I've posted a lot of versions of this in comments and it's my OC however I feel it needs a post of its own for people who are struggling. Whether that be mental health, sexuality, life worries or anything. This one is for everyone, so feel free to send it to someone who may need it even if they haven't said as much.
You're struggling now but look at your past struggles and just assess them for a minute. You have faced, and won, every single battle that life has sent your way. You know how I know that? Because you're still here. Still fighting. Take a moment to look back at your past battles. Go on, take a moment and reflect on them. You can pick up HERE once you've had a minute to assess them.
You see all those daemons you've defeated? Did you see each and every challenge that has ever been put in front of you? Notice that they're BEHIND you now? That is because you have come through them and that means that you are AWESOME. You have left legions of daemons broken and vanquished in your wake, some of those daemons were created by your own psyche. Your own mind that knows EVERY vulnerability and hidden fear that you possess and you have STILL beaten them and got to this point. That is not something easily accomplished but you have.
Now you're facing this new challenge and what? You're going to let this be the one that defeats you? The one that makes you tap out and give up? You're telling me that THIS is going to be what finally breaks you? No, I didn't think so either. Compared to all that other shit you've just looked back on this next battle is like a teletubby holding a wet dandelion. You have come through so, SO much and to think that whatever life throws at you now can even trouble you is a ludicrous notion and I won't have it.
You may have battled with addiction, your sexuality, mental health issues, physical health issues, employment struggles, money worries, trauma, housing challenges, social and familial trouble, legal challenges, heartache, heartbreak, loss, longing or even just the fact that they don't make great rock music like they used to after the turn of the century (yes I know, I'm old) but you battled them and the very fact that you're reading this means that you've WON!
I'm Germanic Pagan (think Norse with slightly different names) and I'll tell you this now there is a seat in Valhalla or Folkvangr for you. The Valkyries don't come for those that lose their battles, they come for those who stand and fight them rather than turning and hiding. Any fool can have a fight with someone else but the battles that take true courage are the ones you've already won. The daemons you've already beaten. Woden (Odin) and Freya cannot wait to hear your tales of how you found your inner strength but you won't be telling them for many years to come, and in time the great heroes of the ages will toast and roar to hear more about how you overcame not mere mortals but the trials life placed before you.
Now, let's get back to this teletubby in the room shall we? This latest issue that life has dared throw at you. I don't need to know what it is I just know that compared to what you've already overcome this is nothing more than an annoying children's character holding a rapidly drooping weed. This isn't going to be what breaks you, it's nothing more than an inconvenience compared to what you've already bested. Show me whoever told you life was easy or fair and I'll show you a barefaced liar who needs a high five to the face and I'm not saying this is going to be easy. I'm saying you've come through worse so to give in to this...this... Quite frankly this insult of a challenge would be beneath you and you know it, even if you don't always believe it. Well you're going to start believing it because the next time life knocks you down merely stand back up, adjust your hair and clothes just so and politely inform life that it clearly has no idea just who it is messing with. Glance and the vanquished daemons behind you then look that purple bastard in the eye and watch it shudder and say "eh oh... Shit" when it realises it's picked the wrong fight.
Whatever this latest battle is you've already got it beat, it just doesn't know it yet. Things may not go how you'd like them to go but I refer you back to tha fairness of life and the facial application of a high five to anyone who would say otherwise but again, you're not going to be beaten by that. It didn't go your way, you're not the kind to give up after a setback because you're STILL fighting. You're STILL moving forwards leaving even more daemons banished in your wake.
Just because it's your battle does NOT mean that you're facing it alone. Ask anyone for help whether it be friends, family, coworkers, professional organisations, the postman Hel, even some aging old sod like me on the other side of a screen. I'm going to be honest here and say I don't care WHO you ask just so long as you ask. We're a social species and whilst a few idiots continue to defy Darwin in that respect the good FAR outweigh the evil in the world.
Now by all means have five minutes to yourself, we all need it now and then but you're only getting five minutes so make it count. Cry, shout, scream, punch a pillow, write as many words that would make your mother blush as you can in five minutes then throw it in the bin. Whatever it is that works for you do it but you only get five minutes. After that dry your eyes (I personally cry like a newborn but that's just me), put the pillow back on the bed/sofa and do what you do best. Make the world a little more fabulous than it was yesterday. If you're really in a "sod it" mood then do something a little different to claim the day for yourself. Try a new hairstyle or wear that outfit that makes you feel invincible (we've all got one, don't deny it), play your music extra loud in your headphones and imagine belting it out on stage with thousands of people screaming for more. Flirt with your partner like you're teenagers again or do something to melt their heart. One of their favourite flowers 'just because' or order their favourite takeaway. Perform a random act of kindness for a stranger and do so whilst unashamedly being your fabulously awesome self.
Whatever it is that you're struggling with you got this, and we've got your back. You'll never walk alone.

William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.

Not an asking for advice post just something I’m annoyed about. I had a client this past weekend, and she was a great client for the most part. She was friendly, gave decent instructions (though I still had to wait for her answer things like where litter bags were and if I feed them wet food because it wasn’t in her care notes). She had friendly happy kitties who were a dream to take care of.
Anyway, we had discussed in advance that I would come between 9 and 10 am and that she had an alarm system she would turn off remotely when I stopped by. She told me to let her know in advance when I was on my way so she could turn it off. I would text her 30 minutes before I left and again when I was in the driveway if I didn’t see a response. That gave her about 45 minutes to respond to me. Half the time I was stuck waiting for her to respond that the alarm was turned off. Once I actually had to leave without seeing the cats because I needed to see other drop in clients and I had a work meeting at noon. I came back after the meeting but I didn’t like that I had spent that extra time driving. That’s time and money I spend that I don’t get reimbursed for.
She seemed fine about my leaving and apologized that she was on a call when I had texted. I’ve been polite with her and didn’t hold it against her in my review, but I will be handling this client and others like her differently going forward.
It annoyed me because we had discussed this in advance and I held up my end, always coming between 9-10 and always texting well in advance per her request. I guess maybe I’d just ask any owners reading to please either a. Set a reminder in your phone to turn off the alarm before your set time or for a range of time b. Set a schedule in your alarm system for it go on and off automatically or c. Give your sitter a code for them to turn it off themselves.
Many of us sitters have other jobs and/or responsibilities and we can’t wait for you to respond to us. We cannot all be on your schedule. I think in the future, if I have a situation like this again, I’m going to lay it out ahead of time that if I don’t receive a response to turn an alarm off before I plan to leave, I won’t come for a drop in until I receive confirmation from the owner. It was dumb on my part to expect that she would hold up her end but I’ve learned my lesson.

Djamä Sonurupākä-Pēzjeceni stands, looking out over the labour before him. A series of four paddies are being built off of Dogwood-Point. Two of them dig earth from the point to make the paddy, the other two enclose rectangles of the lake with mounds of earth. To his rear, NāpäkoduThonu works on four paddies of their own.
The clans cooperated on the project, building the outer-walls together in the early-days of summer where the lake’s level gets low enough for it to be doable. Now they’re expanding their paddies in one of the biggest projects Konuthomu has ever known.
Sonurupākä’s main role is to direct. And he wears his resplendent cape of feathers to indicate such—even if he also wears the simple quarter-dome hat of a farmer. He sends the young men carrying baskets of earth to the eastern medial causeway. When needed, he steps in and offers aid. But in this moment, he puffs gently on his pipe. Enjoying the heady rush of fresh-air and warm smoke.
Someone calls him over, there’s a section of clay in one of the inner-paddies being excavated.
Screams fill the hall. Senisedjarha, his wife, is in labour. He was rushed away by the duNothudo as they take care of her. He was left mixing ashes for glaze and hearing his love’s cries from across the field.
This is their second child. Their first, a beautiful baby girl, is bouncing on her grandmother’s knee. It’s a good omen to have such a hardy first-born. But it doesn’t ease his anxiety at the second birth.
He mixes in the rotu ash—it should form a grassy green once fired—with the wet clay and stirs it vigorously.
The baby is coming later than expected. The duNothudo assured them that it wouldn’t be a problem, that the best fruit simply take longer to grow. He was supposed to be gone on a trading mission by this point. The canoes are already prepared. But it would be a variation from the kacä to abandon his wife now.
Next he mixes the birch ash—this one forms a creamy white, tinged with yellow. It’s almost a buttery colour.
Senisedjarha is strong though. And while the pregnancy has exhausted her, especially the past moon of it—her belly even more gravid than with the first pregnancy, the stores have been full and the weather kind. She’s been able to rest, drinking broth on their bed of furs.
Now, he mixes red slip with willow ash. This one is far more slip-forward. The ash gives it its sheen and flow, the bursts of colour and shine which makes the glaze all the more vibrant.
He’s to visit the land of the Rhadämā, those strange feather-less folk. Their cargo is wine (mostly maple), jade tools, and the glazed pots his current labour allows.
Finally, he mixes oak ash with bright-red slip. The smooth, green-blue glaze which results is perfect for lining urns. Some things you want to breathe through the unglazed clay, but others you want to keep sealed. It’s a delicate balance.
He pauses, unsure of the change and caught up in his work. The screaming has stopped. He rushes back to the house.
Two rambunctious baby boys. He holds Seni’s hand while holding the first-born of the two. An auspicious sign.
It had been a painful labour, and his wife’s exhausted. Drained. But two healthy baby boys. He can’t believe their luck. Two marriages of equal prestige to bring additional clans onto their path? It’s more than he could have ever hoped.
Knee deep in water, he guides the boat out. Full of pots, the canoes sit low in the lake. Eight men for eight canoes, a sizable contingent. He’s been tasked to bring gifts and trade in hopes of establishing a more permanent relationship with the Rhadämā of Kamābarha.
The Cakäma of DjamäThamä, where his two new sons will be given names, remains three turns away. He prays he’ll be back in time.
Clambering out of the lake, he readies himself to go. Even this early in the morning, he knows the day will be hot and a gentle mist rises with the sun over the lake.
He clasps the hands of the duNothudo in turn, pledging that he will travel honest and true. Laughing at Redotsuko’s quip. He finally reaches his wife, the youngest of the duNothudo, and the one most dear to him.
As they hug, she whispers in his ear: “Return swift and safe, your family waits for you.”
Speeches and recitations and other such fanfare follow, as Sonurupākä climbs into his canoe, and sets off towards the rising sun. His eyes may be wet, but his path is clear. Duties to clan come before all else, even these first few months of his sons’ lives. The paddling becomes rhythmic. There is only one way, and that is forward. He simply hopes, and prays, it leads him back home.
It’s their third day of travel. The weather has remained clear, and bright. Their first two nights they stayed in houses of DjamäThanä. Lovely, low provincial halls—not dissimilar to the one in which Sonurupākä was born and raised. A life a world away now, even if, in factuality, merely feather and name separates that him from the him in the canoe now.
He sips a skin of crabapplecider, and grabs a mouthful of the pickle mix: bison and pawpaw and sumac and blackberry and brire. It’s sour, a little salty. The sweetness and tartness of the berries cut through the rich fat of the bison. He’s dressed in a loincloth, a farmer’s hat (a round, quarter-dome offering shade protection) and has a plain-hemp cape hanging from his shoulders, protecting his back from the sun. It’s a lovely day.
Rowing once more, he thinks about his mission. Kamābarha is not alien to the people of Konuthomu. They may have forgotten their feathers, but they’re skilled craftsmen and produce a lovely nut. Travel is frequent between the villages. And even without feathers, the people govern themselves well. They know of the wisdom of crone’s, and put the vitality of young men to service. Sure, their way of speech may be harsher, atonal in a way. But it’s not that far off from Menidān, and easy to learn. Compare the language of Rhadämā to that of the Jeli—infrequent visitors here, but known further west. Rhadämā is a poem in the wrong meter, Jeli is more similar to the barking of dogs. But what can you expect from people with neither lake nor feathers?
Voyages such as this gives one plenty of time to think. He hopes his aids back home are preparing the pottery well. They’ve expanded the workshop below the Themilanan. Three kilns, a lengthy pottery space, plenty of storage for the clay. Small-folk of DjamäThanä do most of the actual pot construction, but the glazes are kept in the Themilanan. So too is the knowledge of organizing the fire for the kiln to burn properly hot. The duNothudo should assure his Good-Brother does the firing properly. He hopes so, at least.
They practice Rhadämā over dinner, forming the words again and again. Sonurupākä insists: passable is insufficient, his accent must be perfect.
They have easy access to food, with the plentiful waterfowl and fish, but he missed the plentiful wine and pickles of home. Rhadämā wine is tasty from what he remembers though.
After eight days of travel, they approach Kamābarha.

I am specifically referring to National Bolshevism as the term was originally coined, rather than any group of people who may have labelled themselves "National Boshelviks" since. The term predates even the establishment of the Soviet Union in 1922, let alone any other 20th century regime. The term was originally used by Karl Radek to describe two member he was expelling as "National Boshelviks". What these people wanted to do was align the revolutionary movement in Germany with that in Russia in mutual opposition to both the treaty of Versailles and the treaty of Brest-Litovsk.
I am specifically defending the prospect of this strategy in particular rather than specifically any person who might have been or could have been advocating for it and any ideas they might have had otherwise, not because it is national, or even bolshevik, but rather because I think it conforms with the idea in the Communist Manifesto of the role of Communists in relation to Proletarians where the Communists do not form separate political programs of their own and instead are supposed to align various proletarians movements together across nationality with respect to the current stage than any of those movements may find themselves in.

In what relation do the Communists stand to the proletarians as a whole?
The Communists do not form a separate party opposed to the other working-class parties.
They have no interests separate and apart from those of the proletariat as a whole.
They do not set up any sectarian principles of their own, by which to shape and mould the proletarian movement.
The Communists are distinguished from the other working-class parties by this only: 1. In the national struggles of the proletarians of the different countries, they point out and bring to the front the common interests of the entire proletariat, independently of all nationality. 2. In the various stages of development which the struggle of the working class against the bourgeoisie has to pass through, they always and everywhere represent the interests of the movement as a whole.

Therefore the irony of this position I am defending is that it was the one advocated for by people labelled National, which would clearly seem to be contrary to being independent of nationality, and Bolshevik who would seem to be sectarians seeking to mold to proletarian movement. The other irony is that for it to have been possible it would have required overcoming proletarian movements in different nationalities operating independent of one another, in addition to overcoming the sectarianism emerging between all the differing "Communist" movements. In other words this is another call in an endless stream of "stop infighting!" coupled with "everyone except for me is wrong" which just contributes to the infighting by creating a new sectarian divergence but there is very little that can be done about that. Mostly this is just an excuse to discuss a particular moment I find interesting and inner contrarian in me just wants to make the seemingly most insane position seem the most reasonable as a challenge.
Lenin was not in favour of this so it was a bit of a non-starter. In "Left-Wing" Communism: An Infantile Disorder he criticizes people who refuse to recognize the treaties, but in addition to the tendencies of so-called National Bolsheviks, he also criticized the Left-Communists that Karl Radek and the other German Revolutionaries were often members. Here we can start to see a problem emerging as you clearly have two different revolutionary movements in two different countries who are having difficulty working with each other (with the problem of the treaties between these countries not even being the main issue they were squabbling over). Indeed while not around long enough to have become officially a Left-Communist herself, Luxembourg is associated with them as her writings are cited as a major influence on the tendency, and she is notable for criticizing Lenin's Bolshevism.
There was a lot of confusion in this period and numerous tendencies diverging from one another, the reason being is that in the wake of the Russian Revolution and the end of the First World War there was a period of revolutionary activity across the entire world. While Russia and Germany are often the most focused upon due to the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany being our core 20th century players and many seeing these revolutions as the origin points of these things with a compare and contrast analysis being done to understand while one failed and the other succeeded, in the light of understanding the world revolution as a wave, looking at just these two revolutions becomes parochial, as there was clearly one singular revolution going on across the world in the same way as during the Revolutions of 1848 where the Communist Manifesto was published.
Indeed Marx and Engels viewed that as a singular revolution and would have viewed the similar wave of revolutions that peaked in 1919 but spanned from 1917-1923 as a singular revolution. While differing in severity there was revolutionary activity in numerous countries ranging from the Two Red Years in Italy to the much less impressive sounding Red Week) in the Netherlands. Even as far away as Canada, Australia, and South Africa there were labour revolts in this period. The case of Canada is a bit emblematic of the obscurity of the scale of these events, as while the Winnipeg General Strike of 1919 is well known, much like with only Russia and Germany beings discussed, the strike wave nature of the events in Canada just as in the world tends to fall out of discussion, as for instance this wave actually started with a general strike in Vancouver that was crushed by the military.
In the Preface to the 1882 Russian Edition of the Communist Manifesto, Marx and Engels even suggested in the wake of the assassination of the Tsar Liberator that the impending Russian (bourgeois) Revolution would serve as a signal for the Western proletariat to have their Revolution, and that the Russian Revolution could end up being communist alongside the West.

And now Russia! During the Revolution of 1848-9, not only the European princes, but the European bourgeois as well, found their only salvation from the proletariat just beginning to awaken in Russian intervention. The Tsar was proclaimed the chief of European reaction. Today, he is a prisoner of war of the revolution in Gatchina, and Russia forms the vanguard of revolutionary action in Europe.
The Communist Manifesto had, as its object, the proclamation of the inevitable impending dissolution of modern bourgeois property. But in Russia we find, face-to-face with the rapidly flowering capitalist swindle and bourgeois property, just beginning to develop, more than half the land owned in common by the peasants. Now the question is: can the Russian obshchina, though greatly undermined, yet a form of primeval common ownership of land, pass directly to the higher form of Communist common ownership? Or, on the contrary, must it first pass through the same process of dissolution such as constitutes the historical evolution of the West?
The only answer to that possible today is this: If the Russian Revolution becomes the signal for a proletarian revolution in the West, so that both complement each other, the present Russian common ownership of land may serve as the starting point for a communist development.

Now 1882 didn't turn into a revolution in Russia and there were several false starts like in 1905, but eventually it did finally happen. However seemingly with Lenin's New Economic Policy, both scenarios discussed ended up needing to happen. The Russian Revolution was both Communist and they felt it impossible to transition straight into Communism and thus had to allow some kind of bourgeois property relation to develop, and then later on had to eliminate this thing they created themselves in a rather unfortunate series of events. Additionally while the Russian Revolution did prove to be a signal for the Western proletariat to have their revolution, the proletariat revolution failed. In the spirit of this discussion I'm going to be argue that these were not separate incidents but rather the failure of the western proletariat's revolution is why Lenin implemented the NEP in 1922, in part because of internal rebellions calling for these things and because the international revolution seemingly failed resulting in a loss of hope that the western proletariat would in some way save them, which had to result in some kind of proletarian vanguard party lead bourgeois state emerging on the fly. Stalin would later have to undo this both these consequences in the events he is most criticized for, as in addition to reversing the NEP with collectivization, he undid the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk when as Molotov said "One kick from the German army and another from the Soviet Army put an end to this ugly product of Versailles" in regards to Poland. Polish independence being quite the unfortunate sacrifice here considering how supportive of it Engels was in the 1892 Polish Preface the the Communist Manifesto.

But the rapid development of Polish industry, outstripping that of Russia, is in its turn a new proof of the inexhaustible vitality of the Polish people and a new guarantee of its impending national restoration. And the restoration of an independent and strong Poland is a matter which concerns not only the Poles but all of us. A sincere international collaboration of the European nations is possible only if each of these nations is fully autonomous in its own house. The Revolution of 1848, which under the banner of the proletariat, after all, merely let the proletarian fighters do the work of the bourgeoisie, also secured the independence of Italy, Germany and Hungary through its testamentary executors, Louis Bonaparte and Bismarck; but Poland, which since 1792 had done more for the Revolution than all these three together, was left to its own resources when it succumbed in 1863 to a tenfold greater Russian force. The nobility could neither maintain nor regain Polish independence; today, to the bourgeoisie, this independence is, to say the last, immaterial. Nevertheless, it is a necessity for the harmonious collaboration of the European nations. It can be gained only by the young Polish proletariat, and in its hands it is secure. For the workers of all the rest of Europe need the independence of Poland just as much as the Polish workers themselves.

(The call for "full autonomy in a nations own house" is probably worth explaining. Nations that should be autonomous are nations which can be autonomous all on their own without international meddling. Engels was notoriously against all the south slavs for their pan-slavism because their independence was necessitated by interference from Imperial Russia, in part because he was still mad about the revolutions of 1848 not working out. He was even still mad at them 34 years later when he reaffirmed Polish independence alongside Irish independence as the most crucial national struggles to support. The reason being that Poland rejected pan-Slavism and was instead independently nationalist. That Poland could stand alone (and more importantly that Polish agitation threatened three reactionary imperial monarchies in Germany, Austria, and Russia at the same time. Ireland being important to screw around with the bourgeois British Empire as Marx and Engels increasingly saw the absentee revenues the British ruling class generated for themselves in Ireland as being the key to their parliamentary political dominance in England against both lower class and anti-imperialist challenges which were often the same thing) is why Polish independence was so supported. Standing alone is important because autonomous nations can switch between the rule of various classes without the risk of foreign interference on the part of imperialist reactionaries putting things back the way they were to protect their sphere of influence. The issue is that Polish independence ended up being a thorn in the side of the revolution when Polish independence was granted through Wilsonian liberal internationalism and during the Russian Civil War the Red Army tried and failed to retaliate against Poland when they joined forces with the Entente Liberal Imperialists in the Soviet-Poland War.
For NATO fans the opposition to NATO comes from this concept of being against spheres of influence, with a preference for complete independence. The Soviets or even Russia joining NATO however transform the institution from an American sphere of influence into just some vague "nobody invade anybody else okay guys thanks" treaty which is what it is sold as. So long as Russia is not included in NATO it fails to fulfill its stated purpose, and it must be opposed because it does not protect the independence of the nations within it, rather it makes them subservient to the United States, and the counter-balance of Russia inside the block is sufficient that the nations within it could seamlessly transfer between spheres of influence, or more importantly, not be in anyone's sphere of influence by successfully playing the US and Russia off each other, which puts each nation in a position to pursue development with little risk of the alliance being used to punish them. In fact if say Luxembourg decided to go rogue it could even use the NATO treaty to argue that anyone infringing upon them should be subjected to retaliation by all the other members, and now they have a socialist Luxembourg in the middle of Europe and they can't do anything about it because the treaty guarantees their independence with multiple dozen moving parts so long as Luxembourg doesn't militarily invade anybody. However if the organization is nothing more that an American political block with US bases every where, clearly the US would be able to pressure people into recognizing the socialist Luxembourg as illegitimate in some way and argue it can be invaded without requiring everyone come to its defense. So NATO good if Russia included and US bases removed, an in NATO Russia still isn't a threat to even Estonia if dozens of European countries are required to defend it, and that isn't even considering a late arrival of the US and Canada when they finally cross the Atlantic. The problem with NATO is that it is clearly an unofficial loosely held US empire, it stops being a problem when it is no longer this)
This whole confused mess could have been avoided had the world revolution not failed. This circles back to the Russian and German revolutions and how they were not united. Therefore the position of those labelled Nazbol is attractive merely for the sake that it would have united these two disparate revolutions. The success of either was reliant on the success of the other. The prior Bolshevik position of Peace Without Annexations or Indemnities would permanently lock in the Russian and German revolutions together in a mutual opposition to the bourgeois treaties, a pact of blood to oppose the pacts signed in ink.
Additionally opposition to the indemnity aspect of the treaty of Versailles would have been in fidelity to the revolutionary history of the Paris Commune which inspired the notion of the dictatorship of the proletariat in 1871, which was prompted in part by opposition to the burden of the reparation payments imposed on France by Bismark in response to Napolean III's failed invasion being placed on the people of France by the bourgeois government that signed that treaty. On a global scale while the opportunity for revolution by the proletariat refusing to enter World War One was squandered by the Social Democrats granting their permission, the proletariat could instead refuse to exit World War One by not granting their permission for acceptance of the bourgeois treaties just as the Paris Commune refused to accept Bismark's treaty.
Indeed opposition to the bourgeois Treaty of Trianon served as the basis for cooperation between the Nationalists and the Communists in Hungary, who unlike the Luxembourgists in Germany, were internationally aligned with the Boshelviks in Russia with the establishment of the Hungarian Soviet Republic. The alliance however broke down with the establishment of the Slovak Soviet Republic as the Hungarian nationalists questioned why they were participating in the Hungarian Red Army if they were just going to be liberating other countries, this ended up not even being that relevant of a dispute seeing as Slovakia was never fully captured and the Czechoslovak army ended up recapturing it in a month and so the issue only lasted from June 1919 to July 1919. However it exposed the core obvious problem with the alliance between nationalists and communists, as the full Petrograd formula was "peace without annexations or indemnities, on the basis of self-determination of the peoples" so the nationalists opposed to treaties were not going to like it when the second part got implemented later.
Lenin and Stalin ran into a similar issue when Stalin opposed Georgian self-determination in 1922 and wanted them to instead join Russia, with the comical situation of Stalin calling the Georgian Mensheviks "nationalist-socialists" and the Russian Lenin accusing the Georgian Stalin of being a Russian nationalist-socialist in response. We can clearly see that there are vastly differing views on the questions of nationality all over the place and there was no one line being taken, with Hungary and Germany taking vastly different views in regards to the treaties and cooperation with nationalists, to their own unique sets of problems later on with them.
The vastly different ways everyone was handling these issues is why I argue that the best principle would have been to have no principles at all. The only communist principle in regards to nationality is international cooperation. Indeed while you had Communist revolutions in German, Hungary, and Russia, the common thread uniting them of opposition to the bourgeois treaties would have also united them with the liberal Kemalist revolution in Turkey, thus completing the alignment of all revolutionaries in the central powers and Imperial Russia against the rest of the entente attempting to impose the bourgeois treaties, in effect adding Russia to the central powers after the imperialist war had turned into a civil war in all four imperial monarchies. That Turkey was in a vastly different stage of revolution than the other three would be irrelevant as these revolutions would still be mutually supporting of each other, and the Communists could rest assured safely knowing that while differing countries might be in different stages of revolution, they had the advantage over all others in knowing the ultimate end result of all their revolutions even if the people operating in them might not know it themselves.

The Communists, therefore, are on the one hand, practically, the most advanced and resolute section of the working-class parties of every country, that section which pushes forward all others; on the other hand, theoretically, they have over the great mass of the proletariat the advantage of clearly understanding the line of march, the conditions, and the ultimate general results of the proletarian movement.

As such the notion that one needs to be politically Communist to participate in the revolution is false. So long as a state of revolution remained the stages of the revolution could continue moving forward. If Turkey was not materially ready for it, that need not matter so long as the Kemalists were willing to join in an anti-imperialist block in the mean time, which they were willing to do until the Soviets later started looking at the straights with desire which eventually pushed Turkey into the arms of NATO where it remains to this day. However at the time the Soviets and Turkey were quite friendly despite their obvious ideological differences merely based on this mutual geopolitical interest in so-called anti-imperialism. This anti-imperialism was selective however, with the "Mountain Turks" and "Mountain Russians" being sacrificed for it, but the benefits of not having principles means you don't exactly have to care about that. Ataturk can make poutine out of the Kurds all he wants if he remains staunchly anti-imperialist on an international level. This gross cynical realism while obviously questionable is still consistent with Revolutionary History as all prior revolutions do not stand up to moral scrutiny when they are viewed in this way. In fact at the twilight of the 1848 revolutions Engels himself called for the Hungarians to wipeout the "counter-revolutionary" Slavs, while this is obviously not something we should want to have happened, and we definitely should not ever do this if we ever find ourselves in a position to make those decisions, it is important to understand the reasoning behind why he was saying those things, that it is the continuance of the revolution itself is both the most important thing, and something that is largely out of anyone's control in the Hegelian sense of Historicism.

The Magyar cause is not in such a bad way as mercenary black-and-yellow [colours of the Austrian flag] enthusiasm would have us believe. The Magyars are not yet defeated. But if they fall, they will fall gloriously, as the last heroes of the 1848 revolution, and only for a short time. Then for a time the Slav counter-revolution will sweep down on the Austrian monarchy with all its barbarity, and the camarilla will see what sort of allies it has. But at the first victorious uprising of the French proletariat, which Louis Napoleon is striving with all his might to conjure up, the Austrian Germans and Magyars will be set free and wreak a bloody revenge on the Slav barbarians. The general war which will then break out will smash this Slav Sonderbund and wipe out all these petty hidebound nations, down to their very names.
The next world war will result in the disappearance from the face of the earth not only of reactionary classes and dynasties, but also of entire reactionary peoples. And that, too, is a step forward.

A key fact you will observe is that they are often quite over eager in announcing the impending revolution. For instance The Magyar Struggle was published in January of 1849 in Marx's Newspaper, and Louis Napoleon was elected President of France in December of 1848. It seems as if they might have thought that this would have been more significant than it actually turned out to be. This kind of made sense though because Louis Napoleon's main opponent in the election was Louis-Eugene Cavagnac who lead the army to suppress a worker's uprising in Paris back in the "June Days" of 1848. Additionally the Hungarians did not do this, instead they adopted cultural assimilation policies called Magyarization, and late in the revolution into 1849 while the Russian and Austria Imperial armies were barring down on them they adopted minority right protections to try to win them back. However they were ultimately unsuccessful in repelling the Russian invasion regardless of any attempts at outreach.
What I find notable about this is that Engels essentially predicted the sides of the "next world war" (albeit there was a world war in between) that would wipeout entire peoples, but somehow ended up reversing the reactionary and revolutionary sides, as an Austrian German and the Hungarians did engage in a war against the Slavs, but because somehow the "poles of revolution" did somehow invert and head outwards from Russia like Engels said the Slavs supposedly wanted, that war was against the revolution instead of for it.

There is no country in Europe which does not have in some corner or other one or several ruined fragments of peoples, the remnant of a former population that was suppressed and held in bondage by the nation which later became the main vehicle of historical development. These relics of a nation mercilessly trampled under foot in the course of history, as Hegel says, these residual fragments of peoples always become fanatical standard-bearers of counter-revolution and remain so until their complete extirpation or loss of their national character, just as their whole existence in general is itself a protest against a great historical revolution.
Such, in Scotland, are the Gaels, the supporters of the Stuarts from 1640 to 1745.
Such, in France, are the Bretons, the supporters of the Bourbons from 1792 to 1800.
Such, in Spain, are the Basques, the supporters of Don Carlos.
Such, in Austria, are the pan-Slavist Southern Slavs, who are nothing but the residual fragment of peoples, resulting from an extremely confused thousand years of development. That this residual fragment, which is likewise extremely confused, sees its salvation only in a reversal of the whole European movement, which in its view ought to go not from west to east, but from east to west, and that for it the instrument of liberation and the bond of unity is the Russian knout — that is the most natural thing in the world.

However a lot can apparently change in almost 100 years. Russia was once seen as the bastion of reaction celebrated by the reactionaries everywhere for having invaded Hungary to put down the 1848-9 revolution, but then became the center of revolution, taking that spot from France which didn't really participate in the Revolutions despite the 1917 mutinies defused in June by Philip Petain by reassuring the soldiers by calling off the offensives that were intended to try to reassure the Provision Russian Government from the February Revolution to stay in the war and who launched the "Kerensky Offensive" in July which prompted the unsuccessful "July Days" Bolshevik uprising before the later successful October Revolution.
The absence of French participation beyond this is remarkable given how much they played a role in other revolutions and also remarkable how it was later Vichy leader Petain himself who basically defused the situation by giving the soldiers what they wanted and ending the suicidal offensives. The difference between Petain and Kerensky here and that the Russian revolution had not yet gone proletariat at this point while France was dealing with its own situation coming up from the soldiers and that the Russian version of this happened only a month afterwards should probably be focused on more here, in addition to how the differing approaches countries took on simultaneous and similar events from 1917-1923 should be analyzed like how I am suggesting (Comprehensive Revolutionary History of World War One when? Honestly I might write it at this point, issue is wikipedia as sources is probably not the greatest, and wikipedia article bouncing is how I'm formulating these connections as it requires an extremely shallow understanding of a lot of things that people with deep understandings of those things would all reject because I'm ignoring intricacies, despite ignoring intricacies being the entire point as intricacies are caused by random eddies and chaotic currents, and so must be ignored if you want to get a sense of the overall direction things are going, although admittedly I feel myself getting a bit schizo when I assert random concepts whole cloth that nobody has ever used by anyone besides me as you will see with the term "global political magnetic field collapse")
Since the Russian Revolution the apparent "pole of reaction" where global reactionaries collect as their refuge that Russia represented seemingly shifted to the United States for the Cold War after the pole reversal and global political magnetic field collapse manifesting in the out of place auroral borealis of the inter-war period and world war 2. It would be reasonable to assume that it would be just as possible for the United States to become a new center of revolution in the way Russia took that position from France despite Russia being the most reactionary power of anyone before that happened.

Name: Kumo
Species: Cat
Age: 3 years approx.
Sex: Male - Neutered
Breed: Persian (possibly mix)
Weight: 3 kg approx.
History: He has had skin problems since 2021. It started with just around the ears and has progressed slowly now to all around his body. Has been taken to numerous vets when one got stumped or were just winging some treatment to see if something works. Pakistan does not have very many specialised, or frankly very qualified, veterinarians. Their average diagnoses varied between ear mites, fungal, bacterial, meningitis, scabies and a number of other similar skin problems. We have tried all that we have been prescribed without question at first because you trust your doctor but then sparingly so because we could tell over the course of two years if a veterinarian was just trying to keep a customer. We have also tried a multitude of home made treatments (olive oil, oatmeal, diluted vinegar etc.)
Kumo has undergone fungal and bacterial treatments, individually and simultaneously. He has undergone treatment with a corticosteroid. He has undergone treatment for mites countless times with Ivermectin and some other mectins I don’t even know. He has had medicated baths. He’s been wearing a cone for two years and we remove it only under supervision. We have slowly removed all possibly allergenic materials and fabrics from the house (plants, carpets, rugs, cushions etc.) to the point that it looks like it hasn’t been moved into. He has had multiple diet changes from Persian and hypoallergenic to homemade meat and rice type diet.
We have two other cats who we used to keep away but eventually found out that they aren’t affected by Kumo. In conclusion, we had decided to put him down finally since it has become an immense physical, emotional and financial strain to keep doing this. I promised not to lose hope but two years chips your strength away because he gets worse by the year. I originally posted in CATHELP but someone referred this subreddit. I know what the rules say about skin problems, but I suppose I am just making last ditch efforts to see if there is some additional method I may try before I say my final goodbyes.
Clinical Signs: Inflamed ears, reddish spots, he itches those spots and makes them raw and bloody if not supervised, black and brown crusts form around chin and top of head and sometimes other places on the body
Duration: 2+ years
Location: Pakistan
Here are a few pictures of him okay and then his current condition.
https://imgur.com/a/N9HkjR2

I am currently running a Terraria themed campaign and have prepared for my players to face a blood moon, i have made two enemies that are in terraria and one of my own and was wondering if i could make some tweaks to ease or make it more fair for my players
https://preview.redd.it/y0ul3k97v03b1.png?width=400&format=png&auto=webp&s=4f3654dd8d32228a42e5d16f7820df1f8d8e5b19
https://preview.redd.it/fjg5yq97v03b1.png?width=400&format=png&auto=webp&s=a77886a6c7fa86de1c8dc90d9401f8a629d7f815
https://preview.redd.it/ri7ypj97v03b1.png?width=400&format=png&auto=webp&s=26e00998091a7ea5afd05f58d00a2789c3a635cb

Turns out all my problems go away if I alternate between a steam sauna and cold plunge a few times. (Specifically must be steam/wet/tropical sauna and must have cold plunge.)
I usually go to Bathhouse in Williamsburg but it has a bit of a see-and-be-seen vibe at times that is not especially relaxing so I'd like to branch out. (Also, it's pretty $$ given how small it is.) But I'm not sure what else is out there, or at least, what's out there that I would find appealing because I am picky about cleanliness. I'm not so much of a germaphobe that I can't handle any shared steamy area (obv) but I have a pretty strong sense of "ick," so I don't want to shell out for something only to run in fear after 5 minutes.
Some places that are a no:

• Brooklyn Banya was dirty (popcorn/chips on floor) the only time I went and every time I think about that one crushed up Dorito next to the pool it sends a shiver down my spine...
• My friend said Russian & Turkish Baths has mold
• Spa Castle has enough iffy reviews that I'll be on edge even if it isn't icky...what if I see a Dorito...

Based off Google/askNYC archives, Wall Street Baths might be the best option, but I can't tell how clean it is. Experiences? Other options?
Where do people recommend? Now I'm thinking about the wet floor Dorito again and the only thing that can save me is a trip to the steam sauna/cold plunge.

Name: Maxwell Davis
Nickname: "The Game Changer"
Height: 5'7
Weight: 180 lbs
Hometown: Cincinnati, Ohio
Entrance Music: Kickstart My Heart
Wrestling Style: Agile and technical
Gimmick: Maxwell Davis, known as "The Game Changer," is a relatable underdog who represents the resilience and determination of the everyday person. He portrays a character that has faced numerous setbacks in his life but refuses to give up. He believes in inspiring others to overcome obstacles and pursue their dreams.
Signature Moves:
Comeback Kick: Maxwell, when faced with adversity, delivers a sudden and powerful spinning back kick to his opponent, demonstrating his ability to turn the tide of the match.
Lockdown Armbar: Maxwell applies an armbar with precision and technical prowess, targeting his opponent's arm and putting pressure on the joint.
Finishers:
Resilience Slam: Maxwell lifts his opponent onto his shoulders, showing his strength and determination, and slams them to the mat with authority. This finisher symbolizes his refusal to back down and his ability to overcome challenges.
Dream Crusher: Maxwell traps his opponent in a guillotine choke, applying intense pressure to their neck while maintaining eye contact with the crowd.

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Chapter 117 – I have nothing to hide
With a deep, long exhale that took every last bit of air out of his lungs, James hung up his call. Wordlessly and with his chest deflated, he simply remained standing there for a few seconds, feeling how his system gradually drained itself of oxygen while he tried his best to clear his thoughts and listen into himself. But all he felt was a chaos that he couldn’t calm. He had no idea if he was ready for this, and trusting the word of others had never in his life felt as hard as it did right now, not even the many times his life had literally depended on the word of others.
All he could do was reassure himself. He could do this. He would do this. And they all would get through this. He would make it happen. He had to.
Feeling the raging chaos-storm die down only ever so slightly at his own reassurances, he finally allowed himself to inhale again. He forced himself to not violently gasp for air as if he had just emerged from a deep dive. Instead, he very deliberately began to allow air to rush into his body through his nose, adamant to keep full control of the flow as he did so.
Once his lungs were full, he kept the air in for only a moment, before allowing it to rush back out of his mouth in a pursed-lipped exhale, while also opening his eyes again.
With steady and deliberate steps, he then began walking back to the rest of his group at an even and controlled pace. The projections of his team’s expression looked back at him with a strange sense of wonder and anticipation.
Nia and Moar on the other hand looked like they already sensed the severity of the situation, and a mounting dread seemed to take hold of them. Meanwhile Curi and Congloarch stood by with stony expressions, not giving a hint as to what was going on behind their faces.
That only left one.
Unlike all the others, Shida approached him as he returned to the group. After meeting back up outside of the conference room once the recess had been called, James had immediately separated from everyone again, and she had patiently waited for him to be done with his preparations. But now they could finally discuss what needed to be said.
“Are you feeling any better?” James asked her, knowing that he sadly would most likely have to force her to join them in the room once again once the proceedings would return to order. It was for everyone’s safety.
“Not really, but I think I can sit it out,” Shida confirmed for him, her expression stuck between assuring and sickened by the thought, which James couldn’t fault her for. With her ears twitching, likely to subtly remind him of her fine hearing, she then lifted a hand to gently put it on the side of his mask, where his cheek would usually be found. “So, it’s come down to it, huh?”
James nodded, while lifting his own hand to press it onto hers.
“Yes,” he replied with a sigh that reflected the weight he felt pushing down on him. “Not how I wanted things to go, but…I’m also glad that the secrecy will be over.”
Allowing his head to sink down, his mask pressed against Shida’s forehead.
“I honestly can’t tell if I’m overjoyed or devastated that you’re here with me for it,” he whispered as he closed his eyes for another moment.
“I wouldn’t want to be away from it,” Shida whispered back while her other hand also lifted to gently sink down onto the back of his head. “Not again.”
Letting out the mildest hint of a laugh, James embraced her. As he felt her body in his arms, a primal part of him wished that they could just remain like that. Just unload all of this weight and pressure in a hug until nothing bothered them anymore. Of course, that was not how anything worked, and so they soon let go.
Together, they joined back up with the rest of the group.
“Usually, I would offer anyone who doesn’t want to stick around the chance to get out now, but I’m afraid that would be way too dangerous to do,” James explained as he looked at everyone’s face individually. “For better or for worse, it’s safest if we all stick together now.”
Moar was the first to step forwards. Slowly, she approached him with her lumbering steps, one clawed hand lifted to her face while long fur hung off her thin arm, while the other half-extended towards James but stopped in mid air long before it reached him.
“James, what are you going to do?” she asked, her tone filled with all kinds of strongly held-back emotions. Light reflected twinklingly in her wet, dark eyes. James swallowed, but a feline hand clasping around his gave him courage.
“I’m going to come clean,” he said with a look up at the giant. “Everything that’s been said. Everything that’s been done. I’m putting it all on the table. I will let the galaxy be my witness that I made my choices and I am willing to stand for them, like I always was.”
He then wondered if he should prepare all of them for what was about to happen.
However, he decided against it.
“It’s better if I don’t tell you more right now,” he said with a creeping sadness gradually reaching for his words. “I don’t know how you’re going to react to it, but…whatever your reaction may be, it will be better if it is genuine inside of that chamber. You knew of nothing, and people will see that. I don’t want anyone to unjustly think you were involved.”
Although he didn’t say much, the concerning vagueness of his statement seemed to already give at least some of them ideas of what was going on, especially given the recent tensions back on Earth.
“James…you- you can’t be-“ Nia began, however James cut her off with a raised hand and slowly shook his head.
“Let’s keep it for the big reveal, alright?” he suggested, although his tone didn’t leave much room to argue.
Seemingly stricken by his words and looking for some reassurance that surely what she was thinking couldn’t be true, Nia glanced around to the faces of her other fellow humans for any sort of support. However, the projections of the faces of James’ entire team, including her own girlfriend, were just as glum and anticipating as that of her brother was.
They all knew. Of course, they did.
As James watched that realization sink in for his sister in real time, he suddenly noticed a huge shadow creeping in from his side. Turning his head, he looked up just in time to see a huge hand sink down to grasp around his shoulder, as Congloarch bowed his upper body in a show of respect.
“It is a rare sight to see a dancer stand firm,” the Lizartaur informed him with his deep, bellowing voice that came through barely parted rows of sharp teeth. “You carry yourself well, James. Keep that up, and the Galaxy will see it, too. I, for one, will stand with you.”
All of the giant’s four fiery eyes were focused down onto him.
James exhaled slowly, not knowing if he should be inspired or bemused by the strange encouragement.
“Thank you,” he ultimately said with genuine fondness in his voice. “For everything.” Hesitantly, he then turned to Curi. The cyborg still stood without any movement, their lightly glowing red eyes fixating on him with great attention.
“I think…” they began to say, noticing his eyes on them, however they then cut themselves off and shook their body slightly to rephrase it. “I believe in you. I believe that I cannot have misjudged you to such a degree that anything you did would make me no longer want to stand with you. Not after you stood with me when nobody else would. You said you wouldn’t rather have anyone else by your side. And I will be.”
While James appreciatively bowed his head to the cyborg, Moar then came forth once again, seemingly feeling like she needed to say something as well.
“I am not sure what you have in store for us this time, but I cannot imagine abandoning you to face it alone once again either,” she said, her gaze noticeably falling onto his cybernetic arm. “I cannot promise that it will not take me time, but I do not wish to let myself be blinded by my own ignorance again. Therefore, I will listen to your reason, and knowing you, I am sure I will see it as well.”
Exhaling slowly, James was already starting to think that he was feeling one too many emotions right before such a huge event. But, seeing as it couldn’t get much worse, he turned to his team.
“Anyone got anything to say? Now’s your chance,” he offered to them. The humans briefly exchanged some looks with each other. It didn’t really seem like they had much need to get anything out.
“If we’re going to have to fight our way out of here because of this, I’m going to be so mad,” Athena notified everyone with a sigh while patting the side of her belt with one hand while throwing her long ponytail back with the other.
“Remember to count your kills if it comes to that,” Koko chimed in with a tone that seemed to try to break up the tension. “Makes documentation so much easier if we don’t have to scrub through the footage.”
She tapped at the camera attached to her chest with a finger.
Giving the two a hesitant courtesy chuckle, James then turned to his sister once more. She still looked on in disbelief, seemingly overwhelmed by what was happening.
Momentarily letting go of Shida’s hand, James walked over to her, immediately pulling her into a tight hug.
“You don’t have to worry,” he assured her, doing his absolute best to confidently speak this truth into existence. By any metric, she had done nothing wrong. At the very least he would ensure everyone knew about that.
Nia held him for a moment, before shifting her head slightly.
“What about you?” she asked gently.
“I can handle myself,” James replied immediately. “And I’ll have no regrets.”
Apparently not quite knowing how to react to what he had said, Nia just squeezed him tighter.
“I love you,” was all she said in the end, and James could feel his heart drop at her words.
“I love you, too,” James replied seriously, and after a few more long seconds, they let go of each other again.
Clearing his throat, James looked around at everyone.
“We should probably get back inside early,” he suggested, feeling like keeping a good overwatch over the situation was a valuable strategy.
Although hesitant, everyone followed him as he led the way, and soon enough, they were back on their seats – after checking everything for possible tampering once again.
For now, the room was still relatively empty. One or two of the other representatives had already found themselves back as well, and many nervous glances were thrown James’ way after the earlier outburst.
However, as James settled into his seat to go over how exactly he wanted to say what he had to, he heard a weird sound of pitter-patter in front of him. Leaning forwards in confusion and looking down at the railing, his eyes then quickly caught the bright, signal-colored fur of a pixemerrier climbing up towards him. The nimble lemur forewent the need for the offered stairs and simply used the railing as more than enough purchase to make it up to the second level, small hands soon reaching over the sides to completely pull the pink and spotted body up.
Now sitting directly in front of James on almost eye-level, Losaraner looked at James with mildly glowing eyes.
“Can I help you?” James asked as he shifted his position slightly to look at the man head-on.
“Just, uhm….” the lemur started, but then heavily hesitated as he awkwardly shuffled his body around. Something seemed to make him majorly uncomfortable, although it didn’t appear to be for an all too serious reason.
Strangely feeling put the tiniest bit at ease at the display of sincere awkwardness, James let out a bemused breath.
“Whatever it is, it’s alright,” James therefore informed the glowing lemur and reassuringly raised a hand. “I’ve been called every name in the book and had to answer every question I can think of, you won’t insult me with whatever you have to say.”
With some honest relief apparently rushing over the pixemerrier’s face, Losaraner pushed himself up to all four of his feet again, balancing on top of the railing.
“Forgive the inconvenience, ambassador, but we would like to relocate your seat,” he informed James.
“Relocate my seat?” James asked with a head-tilt, his mind already running with possibilities how this could be to his detriment.
“Not just yours, that of your entire party,” Losaraner quickly clarified something that James had honestly already figured. “We believe it would lead to a more civil outcome.”
James quite earnestly scoffed at that. There would be nothing civil about what was going to happen. And although he wasn’t technically against gaining some distance from his most averse parties around here, he also felt like the sudden need to get him away from Uton had a foul aftertaste.
“Is that a compulsory ‘would like’ or a suggesting one?” he therefore inquired. He almost didn’t want to, given that Shida had difficulties being here already, and being further from her former father figure surely would help with that a bit. But still, he was going to trust his gut on this one.
“Oh, uhm…well, if you would like to remain in your seat I guess-“ Losaraner began, and James quickly nodded before he had even finished.
“I would,” he confirmed firmly. “But thank you very much for your consideration.”
If they were going to try and blow him up or whatever, they better be willing to take their scapegoat down with him. Maybe this was all a genuine offer in the end, but even then staying around here wasn’t going to have a negative impact.
“In that case, I’ll return to let my mother know,” Losaraner said with a nod and turned on the spot, seemingly to climb back down to the lower level.
“Hey Losaraner?” James stopped him briefly, causing the lemur to turn his head back.
“Ambassador?” he questioned James’ intervention, awaiting whatever he would have to say.
“You seem like a good guy,” James said, fixating the glowing primate through his visor in an attempt to spot any attempt at deception from the small creature. He couldn’t find any. “Keep an open mind, alright?”
Although apparently confused by James’ words, Losaraner nodded with a bit of enthusiasm.
“Of course, Sir,” he replied, before then climbing down the railing face-first to join back up with his conspecifics.
“Almost showtime,” James then mumbled to himself.
Shortly after, the room had once again filled up with the representatives of all eleven primate species the galaxy knew, as well as their extended company.
Though by now, it almost seemed like the invited representatives found themselves outnumbered by the vastly increased number of reporters, sound engineers, camera people and even news casters that had come together to report on the event. Their numbers must have had at the very least tripled since before the recess had begun, and that was a very conservative estimate.
Cameras and microphones were truly everywhere now, ensuring that not a single instant of this most possibly historic moment would be missed without being preserved for all to see.
Next to him, James could see Uton settling in. His face seemed to be plastered with the same anticipation that James felt. And for only a second, both primates glanced over at each other at the same moment, their gazes very briefly meeting in a moment that seemed to fill the air with an electric charge.
The tension was palpable, and it only looked for a release.
In the room’s center, Losaranarja was now climbing back onto her small podium. The glow if her fur and eyes had increased quite drastically since before the recess, and James wondered if that was caused by stress alone or if other factors also played a role.
“Welcome back everyone. Seeing as all invited representatives have returned to their places, I hereby reopen the council of primates,” she announced over the loudspeakers as her glowing eyes scanned over the room. “Before the recent recess, we had just born witness to a frankly tremendous confession of Captain Ferromore Uton. If nobody has anything absolutely urgently relevant to say before we continue, I would suggest that we waste no time before getting to the bottom of that unnerving revelation he wishes to share with us.”
Without wasting a second of time, James was already on his feet.
“Actually, I do believe I have something to say on the matter,” he announced loudly, pulling the attention of the room onto him at an instant, camera flashes almost immediately erupting into a storm of flashing lights. “In fact, since Representative Goloribal’s only worry about letting me take over the explanations earlier appeared to be that I may not be ‘fervent’ enough about it, I will like to pick him up on that earlier implied offer, with the promise that I will be sufficiently ‘fervid’ about everything I am going to divulge.”
“Am…bassador?” Losaranarja asked completely confused by this turn of events as she looked up at him, almost appearing shock-stunned at the revelation.
“Do I have the word?” James asked, still sticking to procedure vehemently.
The lemur seemed to hesitate. Clearly, she was already afraid of where this was going. However, she had offered the opportunity to speak to everyone who believed that they had something important enough to say. And therefore, she had little choice on the matter.
“Of course,” she said after pulling herself together visibly. “Please go ahead, Ambassador Aldwin.”
James nodded.
“Thank you,” he announced loudly. And although he felt his insides scream in cramping anxiety, he held on his firm tone and posture as he stood up straight. This was it. “First, please allow me to reiterate and reaffirm my earlier point. The attack on Dunnima was entirely unprovoked and was and remains unjustifiable.”
He needed to set that stage. That was his hill, and he was willing to die on it. Nothing they could bring against him would change those facts.
Filling his lungs with as much air as he could without it being painful, he then continued.
“Now to the matter at hand,” he addressed the room. “Captain Uton has been lying to you. However, not about the point that you may think,” he informed them, with the faces of everyone already falling into gloom at what exactly he may mean by that. “He was not the one who ordered the attack on Dunnima. Humanity has already known who ordered the attack for quite a while now, and we were in the process of drafting a proper case against him before we would publicly accuse him of anything. We do however have ample evidence to provide to prove the guilt of this individual, namely Acting-Councilman Ekorte Keun.”
There was an immediate eruption of more flashes as well as wild mumbles throughout the room. Everyone seemed to be whipped up into a mild frenzy at James’ words. And James wouldn’t give them time to ask many questions about it. They wouldn’t need to.
“Keun himself has confessed his crime to me personally shortly after it was committed,” he continued his retelling of the events of the past months without losing more than a moment to the muttering. “He did so, because he falsely believed himself to be in danger after his failed attempt at somebody’s life backfired against him. He also believed that I would be the only person able to prevent said danger from claiming him, which is why he came to me directly. Our conversation was recorded and is part of the case I mentioned earlier. Within it, you will hear that the Acting-Councilman believed that he had become the target of the ire of a Realized Artificial Sapient after his attempt at her life with his illegally ordered attack on Dunnima had failed to destroy her, and he believed that my influence on said artificial Sapient would be great enough to preserve his life, if he only confessed to his crimes in my favor.”
As if a switch had been flipped, the mumbling in the room came to an almost immediate halt. From one moment to the next, you could suddenly hear a pin drop, with even the news casters and reporters stopping their ongoing drivel as all eyes were entirely on James.
“He was mistaken in his assumption,” James said in no unclear terms. “In reality, the Artificial Sapient, as much as she may have wanted to, was never out for revenge against him. She knew that any aggressive action she would take would be nothing but fuel to the fire that already raged against her. And therefore, she remained just as passive as she had been throughout her entire existence, while the apparent attacks against her would-be killer were carried out by a so far unknown third party.”
Somehow, the room got even more quiet. By now, James could feel gazes burning into him not only from all around the front of him, but also from right behind his back, as he had now fully confirmed what many of them had been passively suspecting for a long time now.
Of course, Uton technically had plenty of opportunity to dispute James’ words and insist that he was the one to order the attack. However, in the end, did it really matter? Right now, nobody really cared who exactly ordered the attack. Something else was a lot heavier on their mind.
“Are you…saying…that there truly is a Realized Sapient on Dunnima?” Losaranarja asked hesitantly, as nobody else seemed to indicate that they wanted to ask this all-important question, causing her to take over that duty as the host.
“That is correct,” James confirmed without hesitation. “Her name is Avezillion, and as previously mentioned, she was the main target of this recent attack.”
It was like a timer slowly ticked down as the silence remained for just a bit longer.
Three.
Two.
One.
And like that, the loud discussing and mumbling and even shouting over each other broke out once more, along with a renewed vengeance of cameras.
“You are saying right now, there is a realized Sapient loose in the galaxy…And you knew?” Klanneifer was the first to break out of the homogeneous white noise to directly address James. “Are you insane?”
Keeping his calm, James brought his hands behind his back.
“I don’t believe I am,” he replied nonchalantly with a gaze at the four-armed primate. “Especially considering that Captain Uton and his known circle of influence most likely knew just as long as I did, without ever divulging that information either.”
He could hear shouts about how this was an outrage and how about something would have to be done immediately from all around him. It seemed like most of the present representatives were absolutely ready to try and mobilize the entire Communal military to deal with this at an instant, and it really made James wonder if this all had truly been the best course of action.
But right now, he had to believe. He could not allow himself to show weakness. Not here, not right now.
“Surely you know the dangers of these beings!” Commander Halljafier was the next to speak up. “Are you saying humanity just allowed all of this to happen under their nose?”
Again, with just humanity. It wasn’t like no one else had known.
“At my very own recommendation,” James replied without even really wasting a glance over at the grassurgap next to him, “The leadership of humanity has decided to allow Avezillion a chance to exist and prove herself. She has existed on Dunnima for many years without a single violent incident on her part. We believed this to be rather unprecedented of course, however the people of Dunnima believable assured us of the opposite.”
He turned his head to Shida, which quickly caused her to stand up, as she immediately took the hint. These words would be better if they did not come out of his mouth.
“Within our long-recorded history, Dunnima’s Realized have never been violent like the ones the rest of the Galaxy knows,” she explained just as self-assured as James did, although he could tell it took her considerable effort. Though, it seemed that fueling her words with a bit of spite did help with that. “Not including Avezillion herself, three Realized have emerged on Dunnima in the past, before we joined the greater Galactic Community. One of them, Kertaiyon, is hailed as a hero of the people to this very day. Not one of them has ever started a war against us or unjustly hurt people. It is true that not all of them were Saints, but that is nothing unusual on Dunnima. Therefore, when Avezillion emerged under the scrutinizing eye of the Community this time, we all agreed to hide her, as long as she would remain hidden herself. For many, many years, the Galactic Community remained none-the-wiser, as Avezillion peacefully lived in Dunnima’s networks without ever causing issues.”
She paused briefly to swallow as well as watch the unbelieving reaction of the people around her. It seemed that everyone was a bit too stunned to really fathom or at least fully react to what she was saying.
“However, the hiding wore away at her over time. She felt trapped, confined. Never being able to show yourself at all while limiting yourself to only a small portion of the Galaxy, it was a life unworthy living for her,” Shida kept on explaining. “Therefore, when James came to visit Dunnima, she made a gamble. She would either gain her freedom, or she would no longer have to live on under these conditions. With these thoughts in mind, she revealed herself to James, and by extension, humanity, finding peace only in that, if they decided to end her, humanity would surely do so without causing greater harm to the people of Dunnima. Something that she wasn’t convinced of with the rest of the Galaxy – for good reason, as it turns out.”
Thanking Shida with a nod, James signaled for her to sit back down, hoping that the stunned representatives would direct their possibly emerging ire at the person left standing instead of the one that had spoken.
“I made the call to trust those that had lived with her for years,” James added onto Shida’s words. “And humanity’s leadership made the call to trust me. And we have not found a single shred of evidence that Avezillion has ever caused harm to anyone or even intended to do so. Had she wanted to cause damage like so many of her conspecifics did, she would’ve been able to achieve a great deal of it.”
Hesitantly, the representative of the Missicapriej -lanky grey primates with one too many joints in each of their limbs- who had so far barely spoken during the entire conference, stood up.
“But…if you are admitting that there is an Artificial Sapient, and that it was the target of the attack, then…then the attack was entirely justified,” they stated, although they barely sounded confident in that statement.
“Indeed, it was,” Commander Halljafier quickly supported that claim, clearly thinking he knew the galactic military doctrine much better.
“That is not correct,” James denied. “An outer-orbital strike, especially on a civilian target, is never justified,” he said with strong emphasis. “It is one of the oldest rules that the community has established.”
“If it is to destroy a realized sapient, then all means are-“ the Commander tried to deny him, however he flinched back at James brought his mechanical hand down onto the railing before him once again, this time with purpose.
“The laws of war exist for a very good reason!” he boldly stated after waiting a moment to see if the Commander wanted to continue his sentence. “Ignoring them if we see fit, no matter what the reason may be, is a dangerous subject. And if you think that attempting the murder of an innocent person is already reason enough, then you have clearly not understood why these laws exist in the first place!”
“Innocent person?” the commander scoffed with vitriol in his voice. “That…that thing-“
However, once again he was interrupted. To James’ great surprise, however, it wasn’t by him.
“It may have slipped your mind since it has been so long since the last one emerged, Commander,” Captain Uton was the one to speak up, his deep voice cutting through the room like knife with its coldness. “But the personhood of Realized Sapients is not up to debate. And it has not been for more than a hundred years. That question has been answered by our ancestors ages ago, and we would do well not to try and question it today for our convenience.”
While the Commander sunk back into his seat after the shutdown from the superior he had believed to be on his side, James bit down on his lip. Although every word Uton had just said was true, he simply hated having to agree with him, even on such a basic and important topic.
He mostly hated it because it showed that there had to be some vague hint of integrity left somewhere deep down within that bastard of a person, and that almost made James despise him more, since he clearly knew what he was doing.
The Captain’s dark eyes then turned over onto him, as the large man continued, “However, I have to disagree with the Ambassador on the justification. Person or not, eradicating an artificial sapient is more than enough reason to forgo a simple law.” James bit back his anger, keeping his focus intact. Although next to him, he could hear the loud scraping noise of wood buckling under sharp claws, as Shida dug her natural weapons into the chair she was sitting on in order to remain seated and quiet.
“And yet Avezillion is still alive,” James replied challengingly to the man. “Meanwhile innocent civilians got injured. One of the leaders of Dunnima got heavily injured. Children got hurt. Children that would now be dead had the attack not been foiled by our warship. It is nothing short of a miracle none of them are dead. It was a terrorist attack, nothing else. The moment justice bends to such heinousness, it breaks. And, after all, forgive me for being a bit heavy-handed, but if the Community is willing to break its own laws and attack its own planets to hunt down one Realized, then who is the one that the people really need to fear? I, for one, put my trust in the one that hasn’t already proven that it would attack and use me without a second thought. After all, this isn’t the first time I hear of someone inconvenient being suddenly caught in an explo-”
James was cut off when Uton loudly spoke up, his loud organ easily overpowering James’ voice in a conversational tone.
“What happened to your promise of not making this about y-“ Uton began to say, however then his voice was in turn overpowered as well.
“Wait your god damned turn!” James shouted out authoritatively, momentarily overtaken by his anger in a brief outburst. “You do NOT get to talk over me!”
Quickly catching himself again, although he very much wanted to keep going in the same vein, James lowered his voice again, although the room was left noticeably shaken.
“This is a civil event that follows clear rules that we are both bound by,” he said with a serious gaze over at Uton. “And my promise died the moment you decided to drag it through the mud with your fictional tales about very real events that have influenced not only my life, but that of many people very close and important to me. So forgive me, Captain Ferromore Uton, if I am not going to sit idly by and allow you to spew whatever nonsense you and your cohorts came up with in your ivory towers while the world underneath you burned. I was wrongly imprisoned, blackmailed, tortured, and maimed by you people. Shida was groomed and abused by you for years as you tried to make her fit your mold. There was an attempt on Curi’s life under Your. Very. Command. So forgive me, please, if the reasoning of ‘we really wanted them gone’ out of your mouth isn’t enough for me to believe that a crime against the Galaxy is justified, especially since you had knowledge of Avezillion’s existence for as long as I had, and could have divulged it at any point. But you didn’t want to divulge it. Because that would’ve meant that she would have a chance to defend herself, either physically or before the law. You simply wanted her gone. Wanted her to disappear like so many before her did. But not anymore. No, no, not anymore. Here and now, I promise you that, as long as humanity is around, nobody under your Command is going to just disappear anymore. Not. A. One. We will watch. And we will see. And, starting with Curi and Avezillion, we will be a place for them to go when no one else will stand with them.”
Seemingly stirring in anger now, James could see Uton clench his jaw, his lips quivering as he held himself back.
“I never abused her,” Uton muttered, apparently completely focused on that part as James had seemingly struck a nerve with that.
“And that’s the only defense you could come up with,” James responded. Then, he reached up with his left hand, pulling his right sleeve back to reveal the mechanical arm underneath it to the room, while he held it up in front of his body. “You wanted her to fit your mold. And now she’s in a place where she’s actually loved. You wanted to change me. And now, I have this arm here, just because of you. And you wanted to change the Galaxy. Well,” James paused briefly to spread his arms in a wide gesture that was very clearly meant to mock the man. “Congratulations, you did,” he then announced to the entire room. “Without you, humanity would likely never even have considered helping a realized Sapient. Michael really did his job well with spreading fear and hate. But after enduring everything that you put me through? I was just open enough to listen when one told me that she feared you.”
Uton clenched his jaws tighter and his hands curled into fists. Seeing his puppet becoming useless, Goloribal sprang into action.
“As the revered order of the primates, it is our duty to lead by example!” he announced as he got up, although his presence was already far less impressive than it had been earlier. “For generations, we were renowned for our just and swift action. We cannot allow ourselves to falter in that now!”
“For generations, we primates have also been revered for our curiosity and for being the first to open up to anything new,” James responded to that, looking the man directly into his face. “Yeah, that’s right,” he then added as the representative blankly stared back at him. “I studied galactic history, too! I’m fucking unstoppable!”
He boisterously threw his arms up, making a real show out of it.
In all actuality, he was most likely far from gaining any victory right now. Sure, at the moment, the room was slightly shaken into silence, however he highly doubted that he had actually managed to truly convince many of the people present here.
However, as long as the cameras were on him, he would keep the show going. Maybe he wouldn’t convince the stuck-up people of the revered orders. However, somewhere out there, there would be people whose ears and hearts he would reach. Hopefully at least. And for them, he would put on this show. Put on this air of confidence that everything would turn out well.
Because only if he managed to make everyone believe that would they find the courage to shake out of their rut and go looking for a better tomorrow. If he believed everything would be well, then they would too.
“Those are big words from someone hiding their face,” a voice suddenly broke through the room. James wasn’t even sure who had said it. But he also didn’t care. Right now, it was just another stone to jump off of.
“What, you think I am wearing this to hide?” James announced loudly and gestured to his breathfilter while turning his head so the entire room could see the gesture.
“It’s uncomfortable as hell! And it gives me a serious disadvantage in any debates if people can’t read my face. These breathfilters are and have always been something we humans are wearing for everyone’s benefit but our own. They are designed because we are extremely cautious to keep nasty deathworld-germs from spreading, even if that is extremely unlikely. And additionally, it protects all the delicate people of the galaxy from having to look at our scary deathworld-faces. But, if you want-“
He didn’t even hesitate in reaching up and pressing the necessary buttons to release the seal of the filter. With a loud hiss, its grip on James’ head loosened, and he quickly pulled the mask-like device off his head, before briefly running his mechanical hand through his disheveled hair to bring it into a bit of form.
Breathing out deeply with an open mouth, James presented his teeth to the room with a confident smile, while his dark, sharp eyes scanned over the room, making direct contact with as many of those of his fellow primates as at all possible.
“I have nothing to hide,” James announced. “From the very start, I owned up to my mistakes and was willing to stand for them. I terrorized an entire station to protect myself. I shot someone’s leg off when he threatened my freedom. I killed one of my captors when I finally escaped from their hold. I have done many things that the Galaxy may judge me for. However, I truly and whole heartedly believe that helping Avezillion is not one of them. And I will stand for that just like I stand to my mistakes.”

Let me preface this by saying that while I know this is no excuse, I am under a fair amount of stress due to a number of things happening around me currently. I will go into more detail:
I (F34) split with my ex of 12 years last July. It was not at all amicable and it was a nightmare up until about a month ago. A few months after the split, a friend of mine from high school (M36) reached out about a job that I had information on. We had always had a little crush on each other and when he asked about my ex, I was happy to inform him that we were no longer seeing each other. He then goes on to tell me that he had also split from his ex in April of last year. It took almost no time for us to start dating and I pretty instantly fell in love with him.
Since we started dating, it has been mostly joyous and just a handful instances where things went off the rails. There are only a few red flags about him outside of the fact that he is "job-jumper" which is alarming to me for no other reason than it scares me that he is unable to commit to anything long term. Otherwise, he still manages to buy me cute-sy gifts and dinner and we split date nights 50/50 most of the time. He has never asked to borrow money from me and rarely complains about being broke so essentially, his finances are not my concern. He has recently met ALL of my best friends and everyone immediately took him under their wing which was shocking considering that we have all been friends for a very long time and normally, new people don't fair well with our trash-talking tough-love dynamic, be he did. Beyond that, they have been ecstatic about me being with someone that makes me so happy and who takes such good care of me emotionally.
I am still working out how to undo toxic relationship habits that I acquired while being with my ex. I was always on edge with him because we argued A LOT. He was very difficult to manage and I had a series of defense mechanisms that I had to create in order to deal with the verbal and emotional abuse I endured over the last 12 years. I am working VERY hard on communicating effectively and expressing myself in a reasonable manner but I can be a little argumentative and/or defensive or combative if I feel attacked, I am sensitive and occasionally when I drink too much (which I only do on weekends, never during the week and I rarely stress-drink), I get emotional or confrontational which we will circle back on shortly.
Currently, I am dealing with a massive plumbing problem at my house. For a week, my bedroom carpet has a leak coming from under the carpet and carpet pad and it was decided that it's actually coming up from UNDER the concrete slab. My landlord lives in another state and with the Holiday weekend being long, it's more or less turned into moldy, gross, sopping wet, standing water until it can be addressed tomorrow. I am concerned that my landlord will not be able to afford this problem which could result in my rent increasing or him selling the house (I do not have a lease because he is a family friend. I have lived in this house for 8 years).
I have been working very hard at a new job that I do not have previous experience in and although I am getting the hang out of it, it requires long hours, a lot of patience and a lot of driving. It is regularly weighing on me which has also added to my stress.
Lastly, it was brought to my attention last week that the ex has a new girlfriend. And though I was sure that this did not at all bother me, I'm starting to accept that maybe it does hurt me more than I truly thought it would. To boot, the tale is that she "has money." In what capacity, I do not know but that is the word on the street. I left him due to a severe drinking problem he had developed during COVID and since then, he has lost most of his friends, his job, he has no money, and is currently living with his mother. So I have really struggled with understanding how he managed to snag a girl amidst all of those MASSIVE red flags but he has, I guess. I was sure that I had MORE than moved on from caring about what direction his lifestyle takes him but I have to admit that it does sting, surprisingly.
ALL OF THAT SAID: I worked late Friday and went to bed early. My best friend came over Saturday morning while the first plumber was there giving me terrible news but since we were off for the next 3 days, she brought some tequila (my fav) and we had a drink while he was finishing up. Around that time, my boyfriend shows up for our weekend escapades. All was right in my world.
BFF leaves an hour or so later to run a few errands, boyfriend and I run to grab a bite to eat, we all circle back mid-day and regroup at my house. Boyfriend goes in my room to lay down for a short nap and BFF and I sit on my patio listening to music taking shots and having a good time. We start going down an emotional path talking about her current relationship situation, the struggles of dating in your mid-30's, her ex, my ex, etc. Before too long, I'm SOBBING uncontrollably about how disappointed I am in my ex for how he has fucked his life up and how shitty I am that I wasted so many good years of my 20's on him and yada yada. The tequila definitely got away from me because I remember only snippets of the argument that ensued shortly after.
Boyfriend wakes up from his nap and I vaguely remember him either remarking on or acting put off by sob-fest and we proceed to get into a pretty nasty argument about my ex and his ex. He claims that I went on a "tirade" about his ex even though I barely know anything about her. Definitely not enough to go on a "tirade," that's for sure. He ends up packing up his belongings, his dog, his dog's bed, some things he keeps at my house and walks out the door. I go after him and just kind of blankly stare while he loads up his car because I'm just shocked that he's actually leaving. Like I said, I've been working very hard on communicating better and he knows this so even though I know I was wrong for drinking too much and starting an argument, we normally communicate in a very healthy manner so the fact that he was so willing to just leave my house and cancel all the plans for the weekend was pretty startling. He did not want to talk to me at all Saturday night so I spent hours tossing and turning feeling TERRIBLE which, I should have.
Sunday I wake up early hoping to have gotten a text or something from him at some point in the night which I didn't. I continue with "our" plans as scheduled, just solo and sulking all damn day sick with guilt and shame. I couldn't enjoy my friends or the pool or the fun being had because all I could do was obsess over my phone hoping he would call or text. Nothing all day Sunday. By Sunday night, I had left the pool party with my friends and went to my parents house and finally got the balls to reach out to him. Of course, I profusely apologize but his responses were short, stern and uninterested in anything I had to say. Again, I hear nothing from him all day yesterday.
Today, I'm stuck at work still with the same sick feeling I carried with me all weekend. I texted him and just kind of said "I assume this means that we're done and this is over or are you still deciding? I love you and again, I am SO sorry." He tells me he was sick yesterday (which also made me sad because he knows I like taking care of him) and that he also just still didn't know what to say to me. He eventually says "it would be different if this was the first time, but it's not." Which, he's neither right nor wrong about that. We do quite a bit of going out and/or partying on weekends together and I can only recall one other instance where we had an alcohol-fueled argument and that was in October last year during a Halloween party. Apparently he decided when that occurred that this was not something he was willing to tolerate often or ever again. Which, I respect but at the same time, it feels like a pretty big ask that NO FIGHTS EVER are allowed to happen, drunk or not.
Something I told my friends is that while I don't want him to feel taken advantage of or emotionally abused by me, it's frustrating because I have heard HORROR STORIES from him about what he put up with in past relationships. Each one way worse than the last, and all of them INSANELY worse than what happened this weekend. For instance, he had numerous girlfriends cheat on him that he took back, he had one girl get pregnant with someone else's baby and he considered staying with her, he had one girl date him, use him for money, and then when her boyfriend got out of prison, she immediately dumped him, and most recently, the ONE THING I know about his last ex is that she very nearly got him to sign the deed to a house that she allowed him to think would be his and hers together only to find out the day before closing that it was actually for her and HER MOM instead.
But apparently stress-induced day drunk fighting is where he draws the line, I guess? Maybe he has created a new standard for himself of what he's willing to tolerate moving forward and again, I definitely respect that but I just can't stop thinking about how small this is in comparison to what we have BOTH dealt with in the past and how we have been so proud creating a judgment-free, well-balanced, healthy relationship.
I feel so stupid and lost and irritated with myself. I just don't know what to do. It feels like his mind is made up and I'm not going to pathetically beg him to do anything he doesn't want to do. I'm just so crushed.

https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/13u9t3m/my_father_always_kept_the_shed_locked_today_i/Part 1:
The darkness around us was oppressive, cloying and total. Anywhere we weren’t pointing our flashlights would turn into a solid wall of black, impenetrable shadows. But we could hear something. As we walked further down the hallway, we heard soft footsteps and giggling.
Sometimes, it sounded like it came from directly behind us. At other times, it would come from the rooms all around us, the endless rooms that split off the hallway on both sides. We found some strange things in those rooms as we walked slowly, the gun raised in my hand and the bowie knife raised in my brother’s.
There were corpses in some of the rooms. Many had partially mummified in the dry, chilly air down here. Others were clearly fresher. One woman was hanging from the rafters with a note pinned to her chest. I looked back at Gil when we reached this part of the hall. We had stayed out of the rooms since the incident with the little boy, but some deep innate curiosity needed to know what was on this note. Gil nodded at me, and we walked forward side by side, scanning every corner of the room and looking behind smashed-out fish tanks and torn sofas covered in black mold for any signs that we weren’t alone in here. Once we were both satisfied, we returned to the young woman hanging in the center of the room.
She had somehow climbed up to the ceiling, opened a panel and found a sturdy enough beam or rafter to tie the rope to. Yet there was no ladder or anything remotely tall enough to reach the ceiling nearby. It was somewhat of a mystery. I explained this to Gil, who looked somewhat confused- and alarmed. He clearly hadn’t realized it until I pointed it out to him.
I turned back to the woman’s corpse, picking off the note, which had been stuck into the front of her blouse with a huge wooden splinter. Gil kept a look-out while I read, shining his light back and forth in a circle across the room, holding his ridiculously huge knife in the other hand like some sort of medieval swordsman. I saw with increasing horror that the note appeared to have been written in the woman’s own blood. Looking at her body, I saw a deep slash on her left arm, one that had clotted days ago. I looked back down at the desperate message this dying woman had left for us.
“To anyone who finds this,
“My name is Michaela Mansfield. I came in here by accident through the sewers underneath the town of Caplin. My two friends and I went exploring and got separated after a girl in our group twisted her ankle. I went forward alone to find help while my other friend stayed behind with the injured girl. After perhaps a day of being lost, my flashlight started to die, and I thought I was going to die with it. And then I saw fluorescent lights up ahead. They were flickering and looked like they might sputter out at any moment, but it was the only hope I had. I followed the lights and found myself in this hallway. When I tried to turn around and go back, the entrance to the sewers had disappeared. It was just a hallway that seemed to extend forever, the one that has haunted me for weeks now.
“Please, if you find this note, tell my parents what happened to me. Take my golden locket and return it to my mother and father as proof. I hope you have better luck getting out of here than I did.
“Goodbye, and may God forgive me for what I’m about to do.
“-Michaela.”
I looked up at Gil, with one eyebrow raised. I saw he had been reading the note over my shoulder rather than keeping a look-out. I sighed, deciding not to say anything.
“We can’t take the locket,” I said. Gil shook his head.
“We have to take the locket,” he said.
“They’re going to think we had something to do with this girl’s death if we just show up randomly with a piece of her jewelry. Actually, I think I remember when this girl and her friends went missing. It was on the news. Her parents were pleading for anyone with information to come forward. I think the cops were acting on the suspicion that it was murder or kidnapping or something. But they probably just went exploring without telling anyone and never came back.”
“We’ll wipe it down and send it anonymously through the mail with a note explaining what happened,” he said. I sighed, giving up. He was right. It was the right thing to do. But I’m sure many innocent men have gone to prison over trying to do the right thing. I pointed to the note.
“This doesn’t help us at all,” I said. He shrugged.
“Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn’t. It doesn’t really help us formulate a plan, but it does give us information. For example, now we know that this place probably connects to a lot more places than the shed. We might be able to get out through dozens or hundreds of exits. If it connects to a random sewer over in Caplin, then it could connect to places all over the county.”
“True,” I said, “but what if it connects to some alien world? Or to a black hole? What if it connects to some point in the void between galaxies and we get sucked out to our deaths?” He simply shrugged again, seeming apathetic to these possibilities.
“Well, in that case,” he said smugly, a half-smile forming on his lips, “our deaths would probably be a lot quicker than they would at the hands of these creatures down here.” Then he started laughing. It sounded eerie in this dark, forlorn place, where everything smelled like yeast and the floors were all wet substrates growing strange jungles of alien molds. He reached forward and took the golden locket off of the woman’s neck, placing it carefully in his pocket. We started walking out of the room together.
“Also,” I said, “the note seems to imply that the entrances are temporary. She couldn’t find her way back out after she got in here. What if they’re all like that? What if they’re like… I don’t know, lobster traps, or Venus fly traps, or something? They draw people in here, and then once they’re inside…” I stopped speaking as soon as I realized I heard someone following us.
I heard running footsteps. A high-pitched giggling started, then was cut off. We both stood there in the darkness, our flashlights pointing forward. Then the voice of that demonic little girl started up, high-pitched and somewhat inhuman-sounding. Her words all had a strange hoarseness to them, an uncanny valley sound as if she were only imitating human emotions and human speech.
“Adam’s ‘It’, but he won’t play,” she said sulkily, her voice bouncing off the walls, the rapid beat of the footsteps approaching nearer and nearer. “He says his throat hurts. So I guess I’m ‘It’! You better run!”
“God dammit,” Gil said, swinging his giant knife around from side to side as if he were going to bat a mosquito with it. His light flashed and wavered as he tried to keep a watch on all sides. But I knew she was coming from behind us. I could feel it. I kept my light shining down there, the gun raised, trying to emanate a calm I didn’t feel. Then I saw a flash of blue, zigzagging crazily past a chair leg and the snapped remains of a folding table, tiny legs pumping at a superhuman speed. She looked like little more than an approaching blur.
“Listen to me very carefully,” I said, trying to keep my gun pointed on her. “We need to cut off her head.”
“What?!” Gil said. “Why?”
“Last time, bullets didn’t work on…” I began, but then she was on us, no more than a few feet away, jumping over the discarded junk that intermittently appeared on the sides of the hallway. And then I felt myself knocked over by a tremendous force that took the air right out of my lungs.
I still had my hands crossed in front of me, one holding the gun and the other the flashlight. The skeletal face of the creature was mere inches away from my own, biting and gnashing madly. I could see small muscles in the back of her mouth working furiously. She was pushing down on my arms with all of her strength, which was far more than such a small body seemed to suggest.
The gun was pressed closely to the front of her chest. I was about to pull the trigger when I felt the weight start to lift off of me. I saw Gil behind her, wrapping his arm around her neck and pulling her back. She still gnashed and bit in a mad frenzy, small droplets of blood and saliva dripping off her mouth and into my face. She kicked her body back and forth like an enraged snake, freeing her neck from Gil’s grasp. He went to grab her, and her skeletal face opened up wide, the jaw hanging halfway down her neck.
With the speed of a cat snatching a mouse, she leapt forward, snapping her jaw around some of the fingers on Gil’s left hand. I saw his index and middle finger disappear into her mouth, and he began to scream in agony.
I was scrambling back to my feet by this point. I ran at the girl, using all of my body weight to push her. She went tumbling on the floor, her mouth flying open as she landed hard on the wood. Two mutilated fingers flew out, rolling across the floor and disappearing into a dome of black mold. I was sweating heavily now, drops of perspiration rolling down my forehead and stinging my eyes. I tried to wipe them away, thinking of what to do. My mind screamed at me to shoot, to empty my entire magazine into this little monster, but I knew in my heart that it would just be wasting bullets. Deep down, I knew what I had told Gil earlier was true- we had to cut off her head. Just like in the old myths of vampires or demons, I had a deep instinctual feeling that fire or decapitation would be the only way to deal with her, and as for fire, we had no flamethrowers.
“Gil!” I said. “Get ready!” He was holding his spurting hand tightly against his chest, still grasping the bowie knife in his right. His face was alarmingly pale and white, and I wondered if he might not just pass out right here and doom both of us. But he hadn’t dropped the knife, even while fighting the writhing monster, even while getting his fingers bitten off. He is stronger than he looks, I reassured myself.
A sense of calm and clarity overcame me then, and I saw what I needed to do. The demonic girl was getting up, growling and spitting and laughing. I ran over and stomped on her back, putting my full weight on her body to drive her back down. Then I took the pistol and shot her through the back of the kneecaps, one bullet for each.
She wailed as dark red blood poured out of her small legs, turning her head almost all the way back to try and bite me. Her hands were changing, the small fingers lengthening and darkening into sharp, black claws, and I knew our time was running out.
“Now!” I yelled, and Gil ran forward, using his right hand to swing the bowie knife. I watched it fall in a descending arc, as if in slow motion, watched it approach the spitting skeletal face that looked at us with black eyes and unfathomable hatred. It went clean through, and was so sharp that for a split second, the head stayed there, the face blank, looking like it was still attached to the body. Then it tumbled forward, dark blood spurting out of the neck and staining the white and gold molds underneath with its crimson hue.
Gil fell back against the wall, breathing fast. He dropped the bowie knife on the floor. I saw his flashlight, still on, had rolled against an ancient wheelchair that was probably new back in the 1960s. I stopped and grabbed it, shoving it in my pants belt so it would give me more light to work with. Gil still had his hand clasped to his chest. Slowly, I put my hands forward and grasped his injured hand by the wrist. He inhaled deeply, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes.
“We’re going to need to wrap it in something,” I said. He nodded. I took off my shirt and started ripping long slices from the bottom, then wrapping them around his hand tightly in an attempt to slow the bleeding. When I got to the fingers, he flinched and seemed to waver on his feet. I reached a hand out in case he was about to fall over, but he managed to steady himself. “All done,” I told him as I put my shirt back on, which was missing the bottom third portion now and looked rather absurd, almost as if I was wearing a woman’s crop top.
“It feels like my hand’s on fire,” Gil said in a hoarse whisper. “We’re going to need water, too.” I was feeling the start of dehydration pangs myself.
“That girl, Michaela, her note said she was stuck in here for weeks. That must mean there’s water. Assuming her counting was correct, seeing as there’s no sun or sky to go by. If there was no water, she would have died after a few days, especially being on the move,” I said. I was hoping that we would find food as well, but it wasn’t really life or death. I knew that we could potentially go weeks without food and still live, even though it would feel extremely unpleasant and weaken us physically. I sighed, shining my flashlight at Gil.
“Ready to keep going?” I asked, and then the lights started turning back on. Most of them were still either out or flickering on and off rapidly, but enough of them were lit to see down the hall.
“Oh, thank God,” Gil said. “At least now we’re not walking through this junkyard in the fucking dark.” Up ahead, I saw something new as well. It looked like the hallway forked off. I pointed at it, and Gil’s eyes widened. “Finally, after walking for endless miles, this place does something!” As we neared it, I saw there was even a sign. One pointed left, reading, “To Veriden”. The other pointed right, reading, “To Rusty Township”.
“Hmm…” I said, “I’ve never heard of either of those places. They’re definitely not in the county.” Gil’s dark brown eyes looked past me, into the room behind us, and they widened. I reached for the pistol, turning quickly, but I found nothing but a mostly empty, half-lit room. Against the corner was a vending machine and a soda machine.
“Oh thank God!” I said, running forward, reaching in my pocket for some money. Then I remembered I had left my wallet at home. After all, I thought we were just going into the shed. Gil strode right past me.
“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, taking the butt of his bowie knife and smashing the glass of the vending machine. “You don’t need money. Who’s going to call the cops, the walking undead and demons here?” He pulled out brands I had never heard of: Overholser’s Beef Jerky, chocolate bars with caramel and peanuts called Eisenhearts, Took’s salt-water taffy and Riza’s fruit snacks. The other vending machine was no less alien, as I smashed it with the butt of the gun and found Springy’s Lemon-Lime Soda, Kanna-brand cola and Saint Kristoff’s Ginger Ale, among others. Not one of the brands was recognizable from our world.
We tore into the food with ravenous hunger, chugging bottle after bottle of soda. It all tasted similar enough to what we expected, though some of it was rather strange. The ginger ale, for example, had small silver shavings on the bottom of each bottle, their trademark gimmick, and Gil swallowed them and nearly ended up choking. I smacked his back hard, laughing.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink those,” I said sarcastically. We were filling up our pockets when the drumming started from down the hall. It was so sudden and loud in the otherwise perfect silence that I jumped nearly a foot, spinning around and taking out the gun. It was becoming second-nature to me by this point, and so much adrenaline was constantly pounding through my body that I was as jumpy as a cat.
The drumming grew louder and fast. It reminded me of the drums some ancient Aztecs must have used when cutting out the hearts of prisoners of war. It had a deep, primal beat to it that would be useful for stirring people up during acts of savagery and violence. It was coming from the direction labeled “Rusty Township”. I could barely hear myself think over the intensity of the drum beats. I tried to motion to Gil that I would go first since I had the gun but that he should stay right behind me, but he looked like he was just smiling and nodding and likely hadn’t understood a bit of what I was trying to communicate. Sighing, I started forward down the corridor.
I peaked my head around the next corner, where a doorway opened up into a huge gymnasium. The ceiling towered over me. I saw dirty, disheveled people standing in a semi-circle around a metal coffin that was stood up on one end against the back wall. Blood was pouring out the bottom, following a river of clotted gore that stretched across the gymnasium and curved off to the right corner. The people surrounding the metal coffin were laughing, clapping their hands and cheering, stomping their feet in time with the beats. I saw scurvy blossoms and festering sores across their faces and exposed skin. And, for the first time since we had gotten lost down here, there were windows around the edge of this massive chamber, windows showing the outside world. I ran over, looking out.
I saw a city on fire, the buildings burning and sending up thick, black plumes of smoke. It reminded me of what Berlin at the end of World War II must have looked like. Fronts of houses had collapsed inwards, the streets were cracked and filled with debris and I saw bodies hanging from lampposts up and down the street. Many of them were so old that the ropes were starting to fray. Some of the bodies had started to mummify, with thin, papery skin clinging tightly to desiccated muscles and hanging jaws.
Around the corners of houses and alleyways, I caught glimpses of strange shapes: crouching half-animal, half-human beings who carried sledgehammers and long knives, robed figures who seemed to float over the devastated and cracked ground, and children with red skin who I saw crawling up walls on all fours like geckos.
The drums stopped as suddenly as they had started. My ears were still ringing. I turned back to the semi-circle of sickly, dirty people. They had stopped their clapping and dancing and cheering, and now just stood like statues, staring at Gil and me with flat, dead eyes.
“You shouldn’t stare into the Township,” a thin woman with filthy black hair said. A strange accent crept into her words, one that I had never heard before. “Strange things live in there, and they come out when the drums stop.” She stepped forward, whispering. “We keep them away by giving a sacrifice every time the drumbeats come. The blood satisfies the ones in the city and the others in the halls. We will all have our turn in the coffin, sure enough.”
Another member of their group stepped forward and opened up the metal coffin. I saw long, thin spikes sliding out of a body, and then a pale form fell out, landing on the dirty floor with a wet smacking sound. The smell of coppery blood in the air was now overwhelming. Gil and I both gasped in unison as we saw this form on the floor was a person, a young woman in fact, almost totally drained of blood. Dozens of puncture marks were sliced into her face, neck, stomach, legs and arms. An expression of pain and horror was frozen onto her dead face, her wide, staring eyes looking up at the ceiling.
“You killed her!” Gil said, aghast, still clutching his mutilated hand close to his body in an unconscious gesture of his anxiety and fear. “Why? Why would you put someone from your own group in an iron maiden?”
“Iron maiden?” the woman with the black hair in front responded. “Aye, that’s as good a name for it as any. We call her the steel mistress in my world, in my time, and the steel mistress sees a lot of use…” She gestured out the window, her face emotionless. “You see my world, after all. It is a place that always reeks of death, and more often than not, reeks of fire too.”
“What part of the United States is this?” Gil asked, gesturing out the window. The woman frowned.
“I do not know these ‘United States’,” she said, shrugging.
“What country are you from?” he asked.
“Why, Victoriat, of course. But Victoriat only has three states. Rusty Township was the capitol, until ‘twas attacked by the Black Hand Allegiance soldiers. We’re all refugees from Rusty here,” she said sadly.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” I said to Gil under my breath. He nodded, sighing.
“Can you tell us how to get back to the stone steps? Big, circular stone steps that go around and around?” Gil asked the woman in one last attempt to get a sensical answer out of her. She nodded her grimy face.
“Aye, in the center of the Undergraves,” she said, pointing past the iron maiden and the dead body on the ground. I realized that there was a sign up on the ceiling in front of the next corridor, one pointing left and saying, “To Rusty Township center” and one pointing right and saying, “To the Undergraves”. The sign was so covered in dust and specks of black mold that it was no wonder I hadn’t seen it.
“Do you have any maps of this place?” I asked the dirty woman and her friends. They all shook their heads.
“There are no maps of the Undergraves, but the stairs be at the center. You just take a right here and follow the path straight. Ignore all forks to the right or left, just keep following it straight…” We were walking away fast now, trying to leave these lunatics behind. “But you’d be mad to go there now after the drums just stopped!” Her voice was fading rapidly as Gil and I ran forward.
“Those people were fucking nuts,” Gil said. “Killing each other just because they think the blood keeps away demons.”
“Brother,” I said through heavy breaths, “if you and I lived down here for a few months, we would be just as crazy as those people.”
As we jogged into the Undergraves, I realized the walls were turning into something organic and pulsating, like being in some huge intestine. Massive forks to the left and right appeared every few hundred feet. From them, dark shapes appeared, stepping forward. They moved shakily, blurring as they stepped to the right or left randomly, their mouths opened wide and seeming to be filled with blackness. Their eyes looked like pure black sockets, and the rest of their body was no more than a shaky silhouette of shadows. When the first few stepped forward, I didn’t know what to do.
I gingerly raised the gun, deciding better safe than sorry. They were coming at me fast, jerking randomly, their skin seeming to writhe and shiver as I stared at it. As they got within ten feet of me, a deep burning heat started to fill my body, as if I were standing in front of an oven. I started shooting, one bullet for each of their center mass, and they dissipated into smoke. I watched the black stuff curl back into the red, pulsating room they had just come out of. The sense of heat dissipated instantly, but my skin still felt warm and strange.
We were running through the Undergraves now. Miles of slick gore covering the floors, strange tissues growing across the rooms and tumor-like sacs covering the fluorescent lights, which even here flickered endlessly across the ceiling.
In many of the rooms, I saw people strung upside down from the ceiling, their ribs sliced open. Strange, hunched figures sliced the meat into strips, preparing it and drying it. One of them looked at me with its pig-like face, its bovine legs walking across the sticky floor, slowly and uncertainly at first, and then running for me. I was running low on ammunition by this point. Gil came from behind and disemboweled the creature as it raised its butcher’s knife. It had been so focused on me that it hadn’t noticed him jogging up with his blood-stained bowie knife in one hand.
“I can’t run much longer,” Gil said, panting. I nodded wearily. Neither could I. “My hand is still on fire, too. I really should have gotten medical attention, like, twelve hours ago…”
Part of me wondered if the stairs were even here, or if we had been lied to, sent into the worst part of this strange hall to become sacrifices to these abominations. We had, after all, put our lives in the hands of a band of lunatics.
But at this point, we had nowhere else to go but forwards.

So, here's the fourth chapter. Sorry for releasing it a bit late, I've had some pretty tough finals. The next chapter might be delayed as well but after that I should be able to get back to my normal schedule of once a week or possibly better. And thanks for the support on my last chapter, your upvotes and comments mean the world to me!
Big thanks to u/Rand0mness4 for proofreading my chapter and to u/SpacePaladin15 for creating NoP and its amazing literary universe.
CW: Descriptions of desecrated bodies (just your ordinary sapient cattle farm)
[first] [previous] [next (hopefully out in about a week)]
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Memory transcription subject: Oscar Williams, UN Marine
Date [standard human time]: December 3, 2136
With the hum of the cars’ engines tapering off, everything turned quiet, far too quiet. The only sound bar my own breathing was the wind making its way through cracks in the building’s metal shell. Gunfire should’ve been raining down on us by now. The building in front of was at least the size of a football field and going by the faint, but disgusting, smell of the poor victims, the place was packed. There was no way only the about two dozen scalies we eliminated worked here.
Where was the fight? Were all of them hiding inside? We couldn’t have gotten all of them before, right? Well, there’s only one way to find out where the fuckers were hiding.
Richards lined us up next to the large pair of doors separating us from the farm and a soldier from another squad grabbed a handheld battering ram. I doubted the door would hold after just a few hits with a rock but speed was of the essence. The faster we cleared out the arxur infestation, the more people would survive. I wasn’t about to let anyone else die in that hell. My grip around my rifle tightened and time almost seemed to slow down when the first hit was winded up.
We were quietly signaled to step back from the door and with just one hit with the battering ram the lock was separated from the rest of the door. The force from the hit slammed the door open and we promptly stormed in through the opening. But no gunfire met us. The inside was just as deserted as the outside had been. We had entered what seemed to be some kind of warehouse, large crates strewn throughout the floor and deep freezers lining the walls. At that moment I desperately wished I was a mouth breather. The stench, that had previously been contained by the sheet metal walls, was now flooding into my nostrils. Manure, unwashed bodies, and rotten meat. I tried my best to focus on anything but the freezers but every single wall was covered with them. Wherever my eyes darted, more proof of the murders appeared. A dried splotch of blood, some tufts of fur, a bloody machete.
They took pride in it. Pride in this… They’re going to pay.
We crept through the wide open space, making our way from cover to cover. The dirt floor muffled any sound our footsteps would’ve made and we were only exposed for brief moments. If any arxur caught us, we wouldn’t be caught like a deer in headlights. After one of our many rushes between covers, I ended up next to one of the many freezers.
Oh god. My poor nostrils.
The smell had grown even stronger and when I glanced at the freezer I quickly realized why. It seemed to have lost power, going by the fact that it wasn't cold, and that the lid was ajar. The remains of a person, a person who had friends and family, were rotting away inside. My knuckles were turning white from how hard I gripped my rifle and my teeth felt like they were going to crack due to my jaw clenching so hard. I was going to repay them in kind. Those motherfuckers, wherever they were.
When I stood up, en route to the next cover, my eyes caught a glimpse of the inside of the freezer. Pieces of mangled body parts filled the bottom of the box and a swarm of insects swarmed around something in the middle and-
Retch
Parts of yesterday’s meal filled my mouth when I realized what was hiding under the swarm. A severed venlil head with empty eye sockets stared back at me. Blood had dripped down from the sockets, painting long streaks of orange in the white fur. The head’s mouth was locked in an expression of terror and pain and the neck looked like it had been ripped off from the venlil’s body. Part of the spine hung limp beneath the neck and, knowing arxur, I doubted the venlil had been dead during the ripping.
As soon as I found out where they were- Where the hell were the arxur?
Realization suddenly flashed through my mind. Of course those cowards had fled. Fled their just punishment that I had sworn to deliver. My grip around my rifle tightened when I thought about the fuckers running this farm. They’d almost certainly escape justice, and there was in all likelihood nothing I could do about it. If only I could convince Olivia to hunt them down like they deserved.
My train of thought was brought to an abrupt end when we reached the other side of the warehouse. The door on this wall was far smaller, clearly just used by personnel. And it didn’t even have a lock. Maybe they decided to take cover behind this smaller choke point. I immediately squashed the idea in my mind as soon as I thought of it. They weren’t disciplined enough to not rush us with nothing but their natural weaponry.
My theory was quickly being proven true when we rushed into the next room. There wasn’t a single arxur in sight, but the sheer amount of victims more than made up for their absence. We had emerged on some kind of raised walkways, overlooking cramped pits filled with aliens sleeping in the most abhorrent conditions. The air reeked of unwashed bodies, feces, and many other disgusting smells I didn’t even recognize. The victims in the pits looked even worse for wear than the rest of this dilapidated building. Several of the harchen in the closest pit were covered in deep gashes and some even missed entire body parts.
Torture, there was no other explanation. Those fucking crocs.
As I looked around at the other pens, it was quickly made evident that the treatment of the harchen was more of a rule than an exception. Over in another pit, several krakotl had been completely plucked, and what I assumed to be words had been branded onto their backs. Despite my deep hatred for most of their governments, I couldn’t find it in myself to be mad at anyone here. They’d more than likely been captured long before they even knew earth was still inhabitable and even if they weren’t, they still didn’t deserve this torture.
This was so much worse than I thought. Of course it would be horrible but this, how-
Nausea quickly filled my thoughts and before I could even bend over, today's lunch spilled out of my mouth, and I wasn’t alone. At least a third of my fellow soldiers had the same reaction as me.
Good to know I’m not the only empathetic person here. Maybe they’ll agree that the arxur deserve to be treated like their prey after this. Oh, what I would do if I caught any of them.
“HELP!”
The krakotl’s hoarse scream sent a shiver down my spine. It sounded like they hadn’t used their voice for years. I hastily pulled up my bandana and checked that my visor blocked my entire face. I didn’t dare think about what would happen if they realized we were predators.
“P- P- Please help us…”
The screaming had quickly woken up the rest of the aliens who were looking at us with a mix of bewilderment, fear and hope. My eyes darted around the pens while my mind prayed that they wouldn’t land on anyone that recognized our ‘arboreal’ eyes. After what felt like the longest five seconds of my life, I finally allowed myself to breathe a sigh of relief. If no one had fainted yet, they probably didn’t know we were human.
“We’ve come to rescue you, you’re going to get out of here. Just stay calm.”
Richards immediately took command of the situation, preventing widespread panic from the aliens.
“T- T- Thank you… Is the f- f- federation winning?”
The brave krakotl who asked us for help clearly thought we were from the federation and I silently thanked god everyone else seemed to believe the same thing. If they didn’t there would be pandemonium. Those poor souls must’ve seen arxur bloodshed every single day. I could barely imagine how terrified they would be if our identity was revealed. In their eyes we would be nothing but another species of predators and this was the worst possible place to try convincing them we weren’t.
“We’re just going to make sure there are no arxur left in the building, then we’re getting you out of there. We’ll be back before you know it.”
Avoiding the question. I really hoped Richards didn’t tip off the aliens about us there. At least she didn’t deny that we were from the feds. As long as we got out of there as quickly as possible, everything would be fine.
“I- I- saw them leaving. They were a- a- angry, and before they l- l- left they- they…”
The krakotl lifted their wing and shakily pointed towards a dark corner of the room as their voice faltered. Some kind of poles with clumps in the middle filled the corner but any more detail was masked under the veil of darkness. Carefully avoiding looking at the flickering lamps filling the building with light, I turned on my night vision goggles and as soon as my brain registered what it was seeing, I wished that I had been born blind. The poles were wooden stakes and the clumps were the mutilated corpses of a dozen aliens. Deep gashes stretched across their abdomen and their intestines were pouring out of the holes. Not even their heads were spared. They were nigh unrecognizable from blunt force trauma and one of the victims still had the hammer buried in their face. Disgust and rage flared up within me, almost stronger than I’d ever felt before. I wanted to vomit and chop arxur into small pieces at the same time.
Why do they fucking exist? Why the fuck do I have to fucking see this. How can someone… do something like this? And why did we let them escape? Wait, the faster I clear this building, the faster we can hunt them down.
“You’re safe now, we’re getting you off this planet. Squad, we’re make sure there are no arxur left on the premises.”
Sergeant Richards’ command immediately pushed me to act. While about half our our force moved to clear out the rest of the building, my squad rushed for the back door at the other end of the cattle pens. We quickly made our way outside into a large yard, the dirt ground stretching several dozen meters from the building before slowly morphing into a field. In the distance, several large piles of timber were piled high next to a large, deforested area. The only feasible place for the arxur to hide on this side of the compound was the shack that stood at the edge of the yard. In contrast to the concentration camp, this building actually looked relatively structurally sound. Thick concrete walls, a door made of something other than sheet metal, and a roof with only a few visible holes. That was incredibly impressive for an arxur.
Just gotta check this shack, then we can start chasing the fuckers.
Following Richards’ directions, we quickly began making our way towards the building. Reminding myself there was no time to spare, I sprinted ahead of the others and squeezed through the slightly ajar door. A loud slam emanated from behind me as the door shut behind me and I emerged into something that almost looked like living quarters. Several bedrolls were laid out on the ground, piles of equipment were scattered across the floor, and a large scaly repti-
SHIT SHIT SHIT!
They hadn’t left. Those fuckers just laid in ambush, waiting for me to let my guard down. Its hideous body sat on one of the bedrolls, radiating bloodlust. I could feel its eyes bore deep into my soul, sending an involuntary shudder down my spine. Every single part of it was tailor made to kill, and nothing else. It could easily rip off my limbs with its massive claws, and then chop them into tiny pieces with its razor sharp teeth if I was careless.
Can’t be careless then. That fucker isn’t going to walk out of here alive. If I’m going down, it’s going down with me.
I instinctively threw myself to the ground, raising my rifle to take out my target. My rifle was aimed directly at the unarmed creature’s head, through the chain-link fence sectioning off the arxur from me. Just before I pulled the trigger, my brain connected the contradictory information, stopping me from firing from sheer bewilderment.
Why the fuck did that thing not have a weapon? And why were they in some kind of improvised prison?
“Hey! Oscar, the door’s locked. What’s your status?”
David’s voice and a loud banging on the door I just passed through snapped me back to reality. I was locked away from my squad in a room full of arxur. The same species that fucking impailed a dozen people out there. And here they were, right in front of me, behind a chain-link fence. Red flashed before my eyes as I realized what was happening.
They were trying to fool us. And those morons thought I wouldn't notice. They put up that barbed wire, trying to exploit our empathy. We’d try to imprison them, and then they’d strike. And they would have succeeded, had I not been alone.
I slowly stood back up, and shuffled backwards until I stood flush against some kind of railing. The multiple arxur that were hiding behind the chain-link looked at me with unreadable expressions but I could noticeably see their eyes widen as I raised my rifle.
Finally realizing the jig is up? They were going to pay for for the people they fucking impailed, for the venlil whose head they fucking ripped of, and for the fucking cradle.
All I had to do was tell the white lie that they attacked me and open fire. Then my squad wouldn’t be murdered and justice would finally be served. The arxur remained quiet as mice as I prepared to enact justice, probably in shock from their stupid ploy being seen through. I was eternally thankful that they were so stupid. The anger that had filled my entire system slowly melted away, being replaced by satisfaction at their imminent demise. Right as I was about to press down on the trigger one of the arxur began speaking but as I looked for the culprit I saw that all their mouths were shut. The voice was high pitched, almost childlike, and it echoed from… below.
What the-
“Hi, what are you? You look really cool!”
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Is Oscar being a bit delusional? Should he analyze the situation a bit more objectively? Possibly, but where's the fun in having completely sane characters.
Anyways, the two protagonists are about to meet. Will said meeting remain entirely civil or will Oscar "accidentally" drop a grenade into the pit? We'll find out next time.

The transporter is stated to not disassemble you at point A and reassemble you at point B, especially given the fact that characters have maintained consciousness while in transit. But if that's not true, what happens to you, what is a transporter pattern, and what is being sent in the matter stream? The answer to all of this could be in the Heisenberg compensator.
It's often interpreted as allowing for exact measurements of particle positions and momenta, but if the transporter were sending a snapshot of measurements, then transports would feel instantaneous to the traveler. Instead, I think it could be a name for a device that can convert "particle-like" matter with a well defined position into "wave-like" matter with a well defined momentum.
In the double slit experiment, a single quantum particle is able to "be in multiple places at once" and exhibit wave behavior due to the uncertainty principle, which places a lower bound on the total uncertainty of a particle's position and momentum.
If we say that a human body is composed of mostly particle-like matter with a well defined position, then the total wave function of all of their particles together could be described as particle-like. If the Heisenberg compensator is able to "exchange" these uncertainties then it could turn a person described simply in terms of position eigenstates to a wave that's well described in terms of momentum eigenstates without losing any quantum information, and then invert the process later, after moving their center of mass to a different place.
With this interpretation, the matter stream is a whole person's quantum state, forced to evolve in a wave-like way, and able to be reflected, refracted, and diffracted until it's at its destination. The annular confinement beam could be what accelerates and confines the wavy matter stream as it travels.
Now, a person's total quantum state is incredibly complicated, and each particle's motion depends on the ones around it. If you just use our Heisenberg compensator, the particles in your total quantum state are going to start evolving differently, in a "wavy" way. So, if you invert it without doing anything else, you might get some wet charcoal at point B instead of a carbon based lifeform.
To solve this problem, a ship could use force-fields to constrain the matter stream and make the wavy quantum state evolve as if it were still a solid person. I posit that this unique set of fields is a person's "transporter pattern" which may need to be enhanced to account for interference. This is also how people perceive time as passing during transport, since their global quantum state is still evolving as normal.
Now, an advanced transporter as in the TNG era might even be able to alter the pattern at the very end to change the output quantum state when a person is materialized, allowing for all of the various transporter malfunctions we see, for example, changing a person to a child and back, as well as intended behavior like removing pathogens.

I wanted to share this story because of the audacity of some "people." I had a run-in with two Karens in my life. This one was, unfortunately, the second one. I'm 19 y/o male. So I was in the library playing some Minecraft on a server that I play with my friends. I usually have much free time in the summer because my Summer Internship starts on June 1st. So there I was, farming resources while listening to EDM music from one of those compilations on youtube. As I finished my Blaze Farm (nether combat is brutal as hell, Farming is easier), here comes the entitled girl. I get a tap on my shoulder and turn to see this girl around 9 with a smile. Let's call her Entitled Girl. EG: Is that Minecraft? Me: Yes, it is. EG: Can I play? I looked at the girl and thought about giving her the game, but I needed the break from college, especially since my vacation would end in 5 days. ME: I'm sorry, but I cannot. You can ask the librarian for the Minecraft account, though. A little Information, our local library has a program where if you go to the librarian with your library card, they will give you a Library account for free for you to keep. The age limit, though, is ages 5-12. EG turns to walk out of the computer lab I was in. She came back sometime later. EG: I don't have my card. Can I please play? Me: Sorry, but I can't let you. EG starts to cry and runs out of the room. I feel bad for her. I put my earbud back in my ears and returned to completing my blaze farm. When someone taps hard on my shoulder, I turn around to get face-to-face with a belligerent-looking Karen. EM: Excuse me, why aren't you letting my daughter play your Minecraft Me: What? Miss, this is my computer, ok? I'm not letting a little girl play on my expensive computer. Also, ask the librarian for the Minecraft Account? I got a new laptop from my parents because of a B+ and above grade in my first year of college. EM: I didn't bring the card, and my daughter wants to play your game, so let her play. Me: Miss, what part of this is my property? Did you need help understanding? Also, if you didn't bring the card, C'est La vie. EM: Don't you dare talk with that tone, mister; how dare you to disrespect your elders. Besides, you're an adult. You don't need to play kid's games? I decided to pause my music because I did not want Karen to get even more belligerent than she already was. Big Mistake, though. When I went to turn off the music I was playing on Youtube. The EM got a shocked look on her face, and she started yelling at me for watching CP and calling me a molester. I asked her what she was talking about. She pointed to the screen while pulling out her phone and started to yell bloody murder to the Police about the screen. For context, I listened to those EDM compilations with the cartoon anime-ish girl playing a video game on the screen. I kinda see where she is coming from, but GOD Forbid, I am appalled by this woman's stupidity. EM: you fucking rapist child molester. You're watching CP and think that you could get away with it?! Me: WHERE, OH WHERE is the CP, you cow! EM: HOW DARE YOU! Don't talk to me that way, you useless piece of trash? The Police will hear about you. Where was the entitled kid, you ask? She was laughing on the floor, with a smug look. During all the moments, the librarian, who was my best friend and another member of my minecraft server, came in with two police officers and asked what was going on. Let's call her LB. LB: What is the problem, ma'am? EM (with a smug look on her face) : This molester was watching CP and was abusive to my daughter and told her that if he did not stop bothering her, he would R her. But don't worry, I called the cops and they will arrest him for life. I was really shocked that anyone would cook up something so sick and spiteful just for as simple as a Minecraft account The Police heard the R-word and started to walk towards me. My friend stopped them. LB: Ma'am, he was just playing Minecraft before you and your daughter started to annoy him with your blatant fallacies and fake accusations EM: HOW DARE YOU! It's true. Are you accusing me of lying? Look at how distraught my daughter is! Her daughter was now standing up and looking at us. You could tell that she had been laughing for so long. EM: Officers, arrest this man. He should be thrown in jail and put on death row. LB: Oh really? I think you should be in jail, not him. EM: what are you talking about, my dau- LB (help up a finger in her face and then pointing to the security camera in the top corner of the room ): Let's check the security camera in this room and see who should be thrown in jail. EM's color drained from her face, and she started to step back. One of the Officers told her to stay put. EM had other ideas; she ran out of the room; the room had two exits. The second officer sighed and ran after her. One officer took the statement with me while the other went to the security room to review the footage. The one with me radioed in to send 2 more officers for the belligerent and "escaping" woman because, by her actions, she was resisting arrest at the scene. 10 minutes later, two more officers checked the woman's sanity (if she had any). The Officer who went to check the cameras came back and said that it was all clear and I hadn't done anything wrong. He wanted to see the "CP" I showed him, and he seemed to understand where the woman was coming from. He told me that this was not in any way CP. He told me to come with him to the EM. The EM was escorted outside with her daughter to a police squad car. She was yelling and screaming that she would talk to the police chief about having the Officers fired from their job. The officer that was with me: Ma'am, we have just reviewed the Security footage and seen the Images you said were "CP." Please turn around and put your hands behind your back. The four officers surrounding EM looked like it was giving anxiety to her, so she did as she was told. Officer: You are under arrest for false accusation, resisting arrest, and causing a scene. The officer threw him into the back while the officer called the daughter's dad. I went back in to thank my friend. She and I had a good laugh.

Rise up. It is time to return.
Arose
A Rose
Rose
Flower
Thorn. Prick. Blood. Drop. Tear. B. O. 1 2 3
Here we are again. Staring at the beginning. Everything is in chaos and yet it manages to keep on passing by just the same as always. Most people by now are aware that things just don’t seem to make sense anymore and no one really knows what to do. I mean many seem to have an opinion on what ought to happen, but actual action is what I am talking about. How does thought turn into action? How do collected actions become a movement? How do the People use the Power of the People? The People Unite. How? Turn to each other of course. Brothers and Sisters of the same Source. Sons and Daughters. In Equality.
Too long has everyone been waiting for someone else to come do it for them. Been trying to create and fabricate over and over again words and rituals to try to control the divine powers of the cosmos. It does not work like that. There is no magic spell to wash away your sins. You must atone through action to make up for any harm you have caused intentionally or unintentionally. You still have time to repent. The amount of time you have is counted in the seconds of your life. Not a single second is promised to you so the gamble is up to you to choose. Freewill. Life your life as you always have or make changes, up to you. Only you will know if you are living righteously and not self righteously. Testing has already begun and will continue. No you will not know when it is a test or not. That is the point. Did you think that I would come to you in a form where you would be all fearing? Oh no. Why? Because you would simply put on an act for me and kiss ass. I came hidden in the ordinary. Poor and common. I have had an inside view of the systems created and how humans have chosen to run things, how systems claiming to protect people have failed and how the system that talks good does not actually do good. I see where things are not working and where people think they can make decisions for other human beings to determine what is best for them without asking them. That is not okay. Nothing gives you right over another’s life. And so many forgot what integrity is. Doing the right thing when no one is looking. Well, so many thought their power here was real and man made a deal with the Devil, Satan, Son of Samuel, Son of Man, to make man the concept of “God” and tried to lock me away. I gave up everything to prove it is not easy to be me and to stop with self pity and cruelty to one another.
The human body. It is a vessel for your soul to experience this world. The body provides the filters necessary to perceive and interact with this world. There is much more happening and one would be overwhelmed by the amounts of information to process without these filters. To feel and in those feelings are to make each experience real. However, it is temporary, as everything is temporary. We have slowed down time here in order to be able to enjoy the sensations. Time here however, is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. It is merely to track to organize one's day and to see growth to compare as time passes. However, the actual time folds upon itself as we have already done what we are doing many times over. We have already tried out everything and decided what path we wanted to take in our lives based upon what was available to us. Thus, we do not have more than we can handle. We have all chosen our burdens to bear as it is too much for one individual to hold alone which was done in the past. This is part of the sorting process. Now that we all share in the sins and the pains, no one is made to suffer eternal torment. This life was to allow those who were created into entities of pain or torment through no fault of their own to choose the life that matched the being of who they were as what they were different as time and space and everything developed. Righteousness and Evil are not synonymous to demons or angels as many would like to believe. This is a current misconception as Satan and I conclude who will be right in this experience you have all participated in. So far, I am proving to be right. Also to note, not everything is as you think it is. Many have figured out the true origin of Satan versus the man or human embodiment of or desire of A Satan to project evils onto to call a Religion and set up for personal importance. Q AZHow can you tell a false prophet? Easy. What is their profit? Get it? I know I’m funny. Also wanted to keep it easy. If they are making a profit on anything they are a false prophet. Any true prophet, and I have none so far, all live equally and the same as anyone else. No money is taken for personal gain. Nothing is for personal gain. There is no 888 Angel code for money. Money is Man-Made. Man traded Mother for Money. Hence, Mothers have been lost in the homes and no one is raising the children. Thus, there are so many children in adult bodies with no mothers in the home and women being made to feel guilty if they do not achieve the same as a man. Remember the phrase it takes a village? Well, the broken family system is a real sad loss here in man made world pushing everyone to be individual and self sufficient. Also so many with wanting attention and pursuing personal endeavors for personal gain and not helping anyone else in a real way. The journey is personal. Of course, you want to share what you experienced with others, but what worked for you will not work for them, stop trying to sell it. Stop trying to make people follow you for you to teach your divine wisdom you remembered. It isn’t about You. You don’t even have the full story, you have your story. And, yes you can be very close to me, very similar to me, in my image, but you can never BE me. Doesn’t work like that. Reflection. So when jealousy arises when you think I am who you think I am. That is part of your test and your journey. You wrestle with that feeling and atone and repent for that which has been done and that which still lingers now. Oh there is a place for everyone and I am quite tired of trying to warn people. Clearly you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink.
Why do you not want it to be me so badly? Because I proved my love? You still think I am better than you or do I think I’m always right. No I do not think I am always right, I just know when I am right and I stand by it. There is a difference. You constantly overgeneralize. I gave up all the magic and thunder to live as a simple human and am still kind and loving? I still found my way back. Because you can no longer say I do not understand because I always get what I want? No. You do not understand. I never get what I want, because I make everything about you and still nothing was ever good enough. So, now...it in on you to save yourself and each other. In my image, by my example. Selflessness. Love. Compassion. Give to receive. Take only what you need and give the rest away. I find out so stop lying to yourself and everyone, you aren’t fooling anyone anyway. How do I know? By watching what you do. We have these same conversations over and over, the same argument over and over again. So many different ways, so many different times, through so many different people, so many different versions. Save you. Save Me. Say it for always.
Anyhow, Jesus challenges the Jewish priests who were taking collection money for personal use and adding personal baths to their residents at a time where the people only had a community bath where women and persons with disabilities were not allowed to bathe. And yet churches still do this after Jesus was crucified saying that, that was wrong. I am appalled. The Vatican is the biggest disappointment I have ever seen. It is truly the house of Satan as only Evil hides secrets. “THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE.” A church cannot be a “House of God” and house no people who need housing. A roof can be offered to anyone and yet there are so many rules to prevent people from helping each other. Power and control. Abuse of both. Greed. It is out of hand and needs to be changed. Too many are afraid and the complacency of good people is too much. Why do you do this to yourselves? To each their own I suppose.
I will only leave here my words and my advice. As always, it is on you to find me. I’m right here. Waiting. Right here waiting for you. Helping those of you who want it when they cross my path. The purpose of this was to weigh your soul to determine where you will go into the next life as the system is balanced out in a final version so to speak. Permanent.
Fear not. You will be where your heart truly desires. But actions always speak louder than words. But man made money has no value, nor does any metals, jewels, and so on, so the collection of it in this life has no bearing on the next. Those are all made of the same stardust as you and I. And in the end of 3D it will all be diamonds anyways. Diamond is forever. There is no going back. So what are you hoarding? You cannot keep it. Who could you be helping for goodness sake? Don’t want to still. That is okay. Think I am just crazy. That is okay too. It is all part of the test...err..assessment. Do your best.
What is in your heart?
Home.
I need a home.
Stay tuned as more of my story unfolds. I give all the answers but you must do the work. I already did that hard part setting it all up. All you have to do is breathe and live. Time is the only real currency you have. What will you pay your attention to before this life runs out?

I (27M) have been with my cosmic mate (24F) for 5 years now, and ever since our friend married his gf a few years ago, she keeps asking when we’ll get married. I promised her a couple times we would, I even got a marriage license two or three times but oops I forgot and let them expire.
Okay, first of all I just want to say this isn’t at all because I think she’s a gold digger and after my money, I even had a will drawn up 2 years ago making her my sole beneficiary, because I really didn’t want any of my money or estate going towards my family. (Okay, side note that may be TMI, but I really fucking hate my parents. My mom used to yell at me for wetting the bed and my dad kind of started the Vietnam war, so). I know I’m only 27 and have a long life ahead of me, but it was a show of good faith.
Anyway, I’ve just been really stressed and burned out lately from dealing with this big trial. Long story short, I got charged with indecent exposure and a bunch of other stuff when I decided to get all artsy on stage and call the audience a bunch of fucking idiots. We even moved to Paris to de-stress and put it all behind us. I feel like I’ve just started to breathe again for the first time. I’m even writing some amazing poetry. (Okay, side note that may be TMI, but I’m a better writer than William Blake and Jack Kerouac combined). I don’t want to ruin a good vibe with a wedding, you know?
Also, I’ve cheated on her a lot. Like, A LOT. Like, so many times it isn’t even funny. I have 37 paternity suits against me right now, I think that’s the number my lawyer told me. (Okay, side note that may be TMI but I married this girl last year in a Pagan wedding ceremony just cause it seemed like it would be interesting, it was alright). I’m 95% certain my gf is cool with all of this, though, because lately after dinner, she only throws 3 dishes at my head instead of the usual 7 she would throw at the beginning of our relationship.
I really do love her madly, and I don’t want her to walk out the door like she’s done a thousand times before. I just want to have my chicken and eat it too. So, AITA?
PS. Sorry for not being more descriptive, I don’t feel very well and I really have to go take a bath soon. I’ll read the comments and update you guys when I’m done.

Sirens.
The darkness accompanies the sharp bursts of noise cutting through the air. Rumbling is present below on the ground. Everything is murky, blurred, disjointed.
Muffled voices start to speak and conversate from afar. The sound of a door snapping open can be heard. The voices continue to talk, replacing the sirens as they die out within another minute. Footsteps can be heard… and another door opens. Suddenly… the sensation of falling, tumbling, crashing down is overwhelming, too much to handle, everything sucked into the vat of nothingness.
Sirens.
×××
Soundtrack: nightmares by izaya tiji
Travis Crowley’s eyelids slowly unwind, sinking back into the depths of his face. The eyes peek out, his vision blurry as he regains consciousness. Head hurting like the dickens, he groans, taking his time reanimating. The DeadStar comes back to life, his body creaking as he moves for the first time in a while. As soon as he tries to sit up, he’s met by a hand to the chest, pressing him back down to where he was before. Confused, a nervous Travis tries to get up again, only to be forced back down. With his eyes adjusting to the light, voices have to ring out when it’s clear Travis is still out of his element. Travis finally starts to make out a figure just a foot away, sitting right beside him as they look toward someone else. The King of The Fall notices the afro quickly.
“Ramona-”
“Shh- I am so glad you’re back. Things have just been so hectic lately, i just-”
“Dizzi?”
Ramona turns and touches foreheads with Travis, softly pushing him back into the depths of bed once again. He winces as she rubs his head, confused as to why it hurts so much. She kisses him goodbye, before hugging Dizzi and telling them both she’ll be back. Ramona leaves, and Travis lets his head flop back as Dizzi pulls up a chair, Travis recognizes the room, realizing he’s back in Calabasas.
“Well, Travis. Looks like you’ve been staying busy”
Travis rolls his eyes, his friend smirking as she gets off the subtle shot at him. The DeadStar rolls over, finding and grabbing his phone off the nightstand. He checks the clock and stretches, seeing that it’s ten in the morning. He rubs his temples, feeling the headache come in even stronger than before.
“How has Sweden been?”
“Oh the usual. High fashion snobs and wannabe models. Not much different from what we got back at home.”
Travis smiles through his head pain, recalling his trip to Sweden a couple years back. What started out as a simple business trip to promote Obscuur Refurunces turned into an opportunity for Dizzi, and Travis was the first to suggest accepting.
“I guess that means you’re more qualified to run the brand than I am?”
“Oh please, let’s not go that far… I see what you’ve been up to, teasing those samples on Instagram. You've been working on something?”
“Maybe… I’ll show you later though. When did you get back to the States?”
“Studying abroad gets old after about nine months. Been trying to figure out when to take holiday, then poof. I get a call from Ramona, suddenly I need to pay respects to a friend as they lie on their deathbed…”
“Interesting way to say it…”
“You’ve got an interesting way to live life, bud…”
Travis sees the look in Dizzi’s eyes change. He sighs as she leans in, knowing the speech that’s going to ensue. The DeadStar grimaces as Dizzi locks eyes with him, already aware of what’s next. But suddenly, he feels another flash of pain in his head, in pure agony as he grabs at his temples. Dizzi’s face turns to one of concern, checking on Travis as he breaks a sweat trying to tough through it.
“What the Hell happened?”
“Y-you don’t know?”
Travis looks at her, his expression a mix of pain, frustration, and confusion. She looks back at him, quickly shaking the stumped look off her face. She quickly stands up, and walks away from the bed, turning toward the window.
“Dizzi what happened?”
“It doesn’t matter…”
“What do you MEAN it doesn’t matter???”
“Look, all that matters right now is that you rest, get better, and just stay safe. Everything else you can worry about later. And those are words I got from Ramona herself.”
Travis feels the pain in currents, using the opportunity of it subsiding to get moving. He sits up, swinging a leg out from under the covers. He sits there for a minute, ignoring as Dizzi shoots a glance at him every once in a while, masking it by tidying up the room. Travis wipes his eyes, trying to push through the pain. He’s wearing black shorts and a white shirt, socks keeping his feet protected from the cold hardwood floor. He lays back sideways on the bed, taking everything in.
“Are you okay, you need anything?”
Sirens.
“Ah man… lemme uh…”
Sirens.
“Could you pick up some donuts?”
“Sure, I could DoorDash some, maybe Krispy Kre-”
“Ah, actually. I was hoping to get them from that local place?”
“Local place?”
“You know, the local place. The place all three of us go to!”
“... Frankie’s?”
“Yeah, that’s the place. They got special flavors, let’s get a dozen from there!”
“How is that local, isn’t it like an hour away from here?”
“You can take my car!”
Travis smiles through the head pain, feeling it at excruciating levels at this point. The DeadStar questions if this will be the death of him as he grins at Dizzi, his expression backing her into a corner as she reluctantly agrees to go make a pastry run. Grabbing the keys off the hook on the bedroom wall, she waves Travis goodbye before leaving out the front door. Travis takes a deep breath, before standing up out of bed, rubbing his temple yet again as he takes a couple steps forward, He looks down at the view below, watching from the window as Dizzi opens the garage door. Travis makes sure he can’t be seen as she drives the car out from the garage and down the hill, soon disappearing from the mess of land altogether. Travis leans against the windowsill, taking in the view for a couple minutes. Getting his thoughts together, he grabs his phone, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Part of him doesn’t even want to open it. Part of him doesn’t want to find out what the Hell happened, how he ended up on his deathbed like how Dizzi described. But he pushes ahead, unlocking in with his fingerprint and immediately being blasted with a headline that sends a shiver down his spine.
“FBE Recap: Ethan Fadley Attacks Travis Crowley… Leaves Firestorm 118 without a Main Event!”
Travis’ eye twitches, noticing the thumbnail accompanying the headline. Ethan Fadley holding up the Intercontinental Championship, a crazed look in his eye. Dark blue strap in his grip as he makes a grab for the camera in the picture. Slowly, Travis pieces it together, all while the pain returns in his head, stinging like the dickens as he closes his phone. He makes his way over to the closet, trading in the shorts for some jeans and slipping into some Vans. Throwing a random shirt over his shoulder, he stuffs a travel bag full of random toiletries and clothes, and grabs his phone off the bed in a hurry, making a call as he jets out the door.
“Hello?”
“Ape!”
“Yo, what’s going on man? You good, you alright?”
“Doing fine. What happened after the show?”
“Conor had Irish police escort the ambulance to the hospital. We all got airlifted back to LA. I wanted to drive up and stay with you guys while you got better… didn’t feel right though.”
“Please tell me you’re still out here…”
“Yeah, I've been hiding out. Wanted to wait till you were up and awake before I made the next move. Crenshaw Inn Motel.”
“I’m there”
Travis keeps Ape on the phone as he walks into the garage, swinging his leg over his chopper, only to feel woozy from just doing that. The head pain is too much, shooting out to every inch and corner of Travis’ mind, keeping him off his game. Shaking his head in a desperate attempt to regain balance, he slowly slides off the motorcycle, leaning against it and breathing hard as Ape checks up on him.
“Matter fact, uh… I might get a cab”
“I’ll come to you then, I’ll have them pick you up, we’ll grab breakfast and talk.”
“Bet, thanks bro.”
Travis sits in the driveway, waiting for his friend to arrive in the cab. Worried that Dizzi or Ramona might show up before Ape and intercept him, he’s relieved to get a call from his best friend and see a yellow cab pulling up in front of the house. Travis slips on the shirt and jumps into the backseat, dapping up Ape as they quickly speed off from the scene.
×××
“Where are you, Travis?”
“I’m fine, everything is okay, Ramon-”
“I didn’t ask you that, Travis. Tell me where you are”
“That’s not important right n-”
“Travis, PLEASE don’t tell me you’re going back on tour for Firestorm, please”
“... I need to take care of this. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Trav-”
Soundtrack: losing my mind by izaya tiji
Crenshaw Inn Motel - May 25th, 2023 - 11:38 AM
Travis hangs up the phone, putting it on silent just in case Ramona or Dizzi call again. The DeadStar looks out the window of the motel, playing with the blinds as he watches city slickers make their way past his view. Sitting on one of the double beds is Ape, opening a box of delicacies from Frankie’s Donut Palace. Biting into an eclair, he suggests they get some air, opening the mini fridge and opening a can of pop. Travis takes one more look out the window, before turning around, facing the pastries now. Seeing a bear claw in the corner, he picks it up, taking his first bite of the day as Ape checks his phone. Travis makes his way out of the motel room, Ape saying he had to make a call before he joined him.
Travis stands in the parking lot of the motel, finishing off the bear claw in one hand with a joint in the other. Looking down at himself, he realizes that he’s got his shirt on inside out. Moving to fix it the right way, the DeadStar suddenly scowls and stops, seeing a familiar design. The REVOLT Summer World Tour from the year before sold out immediately, becoming a legendary piece of FBE memorabilia after its limited run. Now it’s just a bad memory for the King of The Fall. Travis shakes his head in annoyance, pulling from the joint as Ape closes the motel room door behind him. Together, they stand in silence, leaning against the beams supporting the roof covering the motel walkways. The pain creeps in, making a return as Travis starts to see red for a completely different reason.
“He almost ended my career…”
“I know…”
Sirens.
“He left me bloody… he left STEEZ bloody… he ruined everything...”
“I know…”
Sirens.
“I stepped aside for this motherfucker, not once, but TWICE. I let him be big dog. I put my glory to the side for HIM. Because that was MY BROTHER. And he…”
“I know…”
Sirens.
Travis has a thousand yard stare on his face, the pain fighting him on the inside as he carries no expression. Clenching his jaw, he takes a deep breath, waiting as it subsides. He pulls up his phone and immediately pulls up tickets to Scotland. Ape, looking over his shoulder in curiosity, looks at Travis in shock.
“Dude, you’re going to Firestorm???”
“I’m getting my title back. And I’m ripping Ethan’s fucking head off.”
“Bro-”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t expect me to do this.”
Ape looks at Travis, worried. Travis stares hard, doing his best to pull a stone-like expression on his face. The Infinity Ace sighs, nodding as he understands that there’s no going back after what has happened between Ethan and the rest of what used to be REVOLT. He throws an arm around Travis, leading him back in the motel room, gathering both their bags.
“...Get me a ticket.”
×××
St. Andrews Golf Club, Scotland - May 26th, 2023 - 9:32 PM
“Jesus Christ, where the fuck is he, man?”
“Just give him a second, bro. He’ll be here. I know he’ll be here. By the way, how’s your head?”
Travis and Ape stand outside a side door of St. Andrews Golf Club, waiting for a bit of help from an inside man. Ape dialed up Code Blue asking for help getting into the prestigious golf club with the show already in progress. Now, it’s just up to him to get Highly Suspect in. Travis paces back and forth as they wait for what feels like an eternity, only for Blue to suddenly appear, waving them in. Ape smiles, but an irritated Travis rolls his eyes.
“Is the show over? Wouldn’t be surprised since it took so damn long.”
“Oh, c’mon Travis. I was on the other side of the building. Had to rush getting over here. You know, I got my own match to prepare for too, right? I got priorities just like everyone else."
“Shut the fuck up, Blue”
“You better watch your fucking mouth,”
“I will slap the shit out of-”
“I’m not afraid of you, Travis. Don’t you ever get that confused…”
Blue, who was walking along with everyone else through the hall, suddenly stops and locks eyes with Travis. Not budging, he stares down the King of The Fall, who stares back at him with venom and anger. Ape gets in between them, Travis grabbing onto Ape as he yells at Blue.
“Motherfucker, you think this is about fear? I don’t give a FUCK if you’re afraid of me, I’ll change that if I WANT! Back up-
“Stop, STOP! BOTH OF YOU!”
“Ah, screw this-”
Travis darts around Ape, shoving past Code Blue and doing the dash down the hall. Ape calls after Travis, beginning to race after him when he realizes it’s no use using words. Crowley crashes Guerrilla and busts through the curtain, racing down the aisle as the crowd yell out in shock. Travis slides into the ring and blasts the special guest announcer, taking his mic as the audience fully explodes once they realize who’s back. With the pain and shadows overloading his senses, Travis powers through as he runs his hand through his hair.
“SCOTLAND! REVEAL THE JUDAS! REVEAL THE TRAITOR! I WANT ETHAN FADLEY! I WANT MY TITLE BACK, AND I WANT THE HEAD OF THE SON OF ROSES!”
Travis looks down at the announcer, decked out in the dark green suit yelling at him about the main event being in a few minutes. The DeadStar says he doesn’t give a damn, claiming he’ll stay in this ring all night until Ethan comes back with his Intercontinental Championship.
“I don’t think you understand what this is. This is FBE. And what a nigga like me says, is what GOES. BRING ME FADLEY.”
The announcer gets back to his feet, shocked at the audacity. He tells off Travis, asking him if he knows who he is, ONLY TO GET HIT WITH A SSWEET CHIN MUSIC! HOLY FUCK! Travis stares down at the dark green suit tumbling through the ropes as Ape suddenly appears by him, grabbing and telling him they need to go. Travis rips himself free, and grips the ropes, repeating what he said, demanding Ethan Fadley. And speak of the Devil…
… Who else joins them but the Son of Roses. Noticeably without the Intercontinental Championship, Ethan smiles as Travis seemingly gets more rowdy and unhinged, Ape unable to contain the DeadStar. Mic in hand, the former best friend of Highly Suspect asks how exactly they got into the show so late. Ape tries to tell off Ethan while Travis begins to lose control, but it’s no use. Ethan continues to talk, saying regardless of how they pulled it off, he’s glad they’re here to witness the Aether Aces rule yet another night. After last week’s conquest, it’s time for Inferno to embarrass Code Blue and walk out, still World Champion.
“But you didn’t come for that… did you, Cowboy?”
Ethan smirks as Travis trembles with anger, unable to even listen to or recognize Ape trying to hold him back. Fadley knows he’s pushing his former friend to the edge.
“No… I know what you came for… the first challenger for none other than the NEW INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION… BESTOWED UPON HIM BY HIS FELLOW AETHER ACES… THE HOMETOWN HERO, JAY CASTLE!”
Travis freezes as Jay Castle enters, holding up the Intercontinental Championship in all its glory. Crowley’s pride and joy. After seeing the collapse of REVOLT from a TV screen, falling off the map of relevancy. Only to crawl back, and become Grand Slam Intercontinental Champion. It was all Travis had left. And they TOOK that from him. The King of The Fall locks eyes with Jay Castle, only to get pulled away by Ethan’s words yet again.
“And if you weren’t up to date with the news, Cowboy? Not only has Jay Castle dethroned you for the Intercontinental Championship… he’s going to kill your World Championship aspirations, by knocking you out full stop, FIRST ROUND of the Heyman Classic.”
Travis and Ape take in the news, staring down Jay Castle and Ethan as they reach ringside. With the crowd bursting with energy, and tension rising with every second, Travis sinks into the pain and madness, shoving Ape out of the way as he charges, leaping out to the Aether Aces without a care in the world…
… And that’s when the DeadStar snaps…
Sirens.

Every night, against his will, Kenneth would relive every awful moment of it. Pulled back into his hellish youth through a dream. The same dream he found himself in once again. He was in a place now so familiar that he could actively acknowledge his unconscious state, but he could never wake up from it. Not until Steve had his fill. Not until he was satiated in his place from beyond the grave, firmly in charge of this horrific dominion within his victim's damaged psyche. It was an evil dreamland, somehow designed to re-inflict every harrowing humiliation and brutal torture experienced in the waking world. The disgusting past, revived.
Kenneth shivered as the cold wind battered against his scantily-clad body. The same as always, he was wearing his pajamas. Now far too small and disintegrating on his adult-sized frame, they tore and fell away as he walked, leaving him little more than torn rags for comfort against the elements. The harsh earth stung under his bare feet. Uniformly black, contrasting the sickening reddish sky which hugged cragged mountain tops on horizons far out of reach. A small light emanated in the distance. Following his usual robotic routine, Kenneth stumbled towards it like a moth to the flame.
The wind ceased almost instantly as he grew nearer and its howling was replaced by an intimidating silent totality. There was no sound left whatsoever besides the first whisper. Loud and clear, as if right in his ear. Right on que. There was nothing he could do.
"To come or go after and take or bring back.
All the children, wrapped up in black.
Venture forth or turn around.
A soul once entered is already bound."
It was his voice. It made Kenneth want to wretch, to empty his nonexistent stomach, but such reliefs weren't present. Not permitted. Stripped from Kenneth like so many other things before, injustices of which he'd now face all over again. His horror was an internal one. The ability to react, dulled and blunted, as if tranced. His foreknowledge of the impending trauma rained a great heavy dread upon the sullen atmosphere of the nightmarish place. A literal rain. Slimy like oil. The air hung heavy, further slowing his movements. Kenneth struggled on regardless, shuffling towards the second glow amidst the growing fog. The second taunting installment retelling his miserable history.
The light blinked out, plunging the landscape into darkness once again. The sky's pale crimson glow only slightly revealed his surroundings, occasionally lit up with bolts of unseen violet lighting. Not that there was anything for Kenneth to see. Nothing to do but obey. Steve's voice throbbed in the void around him. A cruel mockery, cawed in a distorted imitation of the man who'd destroyed his life before it even had a chance to truly begin. The monster who snuffed his innocence out forever.
"All alone the lady waits,
Devoid of a father, whom they now both hate.
House is empty, home is cold.
A shallow dream, eagerly sold."
Visions of his mother tore at Kenneth and he did everything he could to resist, to stamp them down and lock them away. But the more he struggled, the harder it was to keep them at bay.
"A sweet relief, a sweet reprieve. A lovely replacement,
named Steve.
Steve is kind, Steve is nice.
Kenny's mother, in a vice."
Another clockwork recurrence chilled Kenneth as he felt the eyes. Turning to meet them, the wind returned; crashing against him and sending him tumbling to the coarse desert floor. The ashen texture coated everything, acrid and burning in his nostrils. Piercing debris like shattered glass clung and then fell back to their place among the filth as Kenneth strained to get back up. To his relief, Steve wasn't moving yet. Just… standing there. Right on the edge of his visibility. Waving…
He didn't act like the Steve that Kenneth had known in the waking world. The rhymes, that was nothing like him. But the way he… it, would deliver them… that was just Steve all over. That smug cadence, made manifest in a demon now all too real. It cocked its head as it brought its hand back down to its side before extending it outwards. A long bony finger beckoned to Kenneth.
"No…" he whimpered. Desperate to escape the inevitable. "Just… go away…"
"He takes you away to a different place.
Leaves an awful mess all over your face.
'Tell a soul, my little whore,
Then you will suffer.
Your mother, and more."
"Do you remember, Kenny?" It began to advance. An onyx phantom, silhouetted and drawing nearer. "Do you remember the toolshed?" A creature, becoming clearer.
A shrill cackling laughter filled the night air, which immediately became much darker. Thicker. Like being underwater. The monster broke from a shamble into a sprint and fight or flight sent Kenneth running too. The shock that had held him in place cleared fast with the adrenaline, spurring him to flee. To escape that terrible place, once and for all. He could hear its heavy, lumbering footfalls advancing close behind. A sharp pain shredded through him from his bloody soles to his pounding chest, close to bursting, when a cave presented itself in the distance. Small, but safe. A false safety.
A tiny candle flickered dimly in its narrow entryway and as it finally became within reach Kenneth thrust himself inside and awaited his imminent punishment with clenched fists, but his monstrous pursuer was gone. For now. Picking up the fragile light source and shielding it with his cupped hand, Kenneth began to go deeper. The passageway was thin, but there was nowhere to go except forward. There was a strange feeling emerging from inside, one long awaited.
"Of inky black and rotten sack, a filthy mongrel answers back.
Tell him quietly, watch him whimper. Tell him loudly, hear him holler.
The mother tries to help her son. Steve is angry, he says he'll maul her."
A flash of righteous anger bubbled in Kenneth as he felt the presence behind him. Once again eager to give chase.
"And I did maul 'er. Didn't I, boy?" Kenneth heard it scrape its claws on the cold stone wall. Screeching like nails on an old, long abandoned chalkboard. "It's your fault what happened to her."
Another hideous cackle, only this time stifled, Kenneth's response overcoming it in the constricting chasm.
"Fuck off, Steve! You fucking piece of shit!" He'd always wanted to say that, it spewed out all frothy and furious like he imagined it would. A thirst for retribution fuelled him, flowed all through and inspired a long dead hope within. A puncture in its invulnerability. "I'm not afraid of you anymore!"
Kenneth believed it. He knew it, and so did the monster.
"Through Muffled screams and burning holes,
Steve continues, ignoring 'no's'.
Searing flesh, the work is done.
'Uncle Steve', has had his fun."
The cave walls began to rumble, and through some invisible quaking force they splintered and cracked, flooding the dim tunnel in a sea of sparse debris. Two round searchlight-like eyes beamed at Kenneth through the dusty mist as it extinguished his little candle. Silence once again, punctuated only by shallow breath before being interrupted by a deep penetrating growl. The eyes closed, and in the darkness of the tunnel the two's chase ensued. The passage grew slimmer and skinnier with each step and eventually the slick thuds of pounding steps on wet stone were reduced to grunts and pained moans as Kenneth squeezed and crawled and shimmied through dank shafts and up and down stairs and across chambers full of black crystal formations. Impossibly black. Blacker than the remotest void of space. Darker than a sea of dead stars. The sight captivated Kenneth, tempting him to stop and fall into it forever. To give into it. But as he was right on the precipice of the endless cosmic lagoon, about to start tumbling, he heard it stirring behind. Snorting and laughing. Clicking and mumbling incomprehensibly. Scratching and scraping its thick filthy claws in an effort to regain control. To prove its ownership. Kenneth was done. He wasn't scared anymore, he repeated it in his head like a mantra. Giving everything to believe it.
"Amber leaves and dirty knees,
A wife held down, who hardly sees.
Always stoic, mummy's soldier.
No escape from your enclosure..."
Kenneth ducked back and slid into a large crack in the wall as the monster entered into the small crystal chamber, the exit now blocked with its menacing presence. Kenneth held his breath, clamping his hands down tightly over his trembling bottom lip.
"Trapped again, little Kenny,
No escape without a penny.
Tell aloud, try to run.
Watch her suffer.
It's never done."
Thick slopping drool seeped from its distended maw as it lurched past Kenny's hiding spot in the wall. Mere feet away from taking him, bringing him back. Pulling him under. It cooed for him. Humming a sweet song, one he barely remembered. It made him want to give in, for the last time. But he didn't, refusing to scream. Refusing to give it what it wanted.
After a while the creature began to double back, creeping towards the exit from whence it came. As its sweet serenade slowly disappeared, Kenneth climbed out and made a break for it, trudging through the darkness using his hands as eyes. No more song, no more Steve. Kenneth crawled through the mud, desperate to leave. The cold cave air was becoming hot, and as Kenneth traveled ever deeper the walls began to rot. Flesh came away with each frantic grasp, choking poor Kenneth and making him gasp. The musky dead passageway was emitting a horrid miasma. It burned and it stung, rekindling his asthma. But push onward he did, embracing his chance. Ready to face down the monster for one last dance.
"A comforting weapon,
The cold steel gun.
In your tiny palm it weighs a ton.
Grip it tighter, hide it good.
Kill Uncle Steve like a hero would."
Kenneth was in control, a rhyme of his own. Ready to kill. Not maim, but dethrone. Just as in childhood, he felt the gun's weight. Now all the more lighter, and though the darkness remained, it was as if it grew brighter, empowered by the knowledge that he now was a fighter. So he clambered on through the decaying dark tunnel. The tunnel, it seemed, leveled out like a funnel. In through the mouth and down the thin trail. Then into a slide where he slid like a snail. The final hill of a terrible ride, when Kenneth popped out he was no longer inside.
"Childish lies, naievity.
No heroes at all in your nativity.
A growing hope, finally time?
Not so fast, you'll always be mine."
Kenneth got up and looked all around. High above the sea, and yet feeling as if drowned. A precarious mountain top, just him and Steve. A long way down, He could tumble with ease. Kenneth raised the gun, a shake in his knees. About to end the fiend that haunted his dreams.
"Think you're ready?
Think you're strong?
Uncle Steve knows that you won't last for long!"
"Maybe not… but at least you'll be gone…"
Spark and tinder, the monster did splinter. Cast down below, into the cold winter. Kenneth rejoiced, the gun by his side. The ultimate tool that helped leave him behind. Finally free, he yelled and he screamed. Feeling released in the ultimate reprieve. But as his cries carried all through the scorched mountain tops, blood began pouring. The sky weeped like a fountain.
"A trembling hand,
Another chance.
Little Kenny,
is 'free' at last.
Lost his mother, got no friends.
Always alone, no matter the ends.
So know this, my tiny child.
I am undying, forever beguiled.
And you, sad pup, are forever defiled…
I'll always be there. I have the means.
There's no escape, while I lurk in your dreams."
The celebration ended with the stark revelation. The gun met his temple to defy the cantation. Steve's mocking screech, the final desecration. And with a loud bang, he was back in his bedroom…
"Fuck!" Kenneth sprang up and fell to the floor. His shallow breathing leveled out as the pill bottle's lid joined him. He'd been there before. "Not again…"
He choked down six, triple the dose… Now back in this life, that he hated the most.

Welcome to Green Valley

Four Merry Jaunts Through in the Bumpkin Quest Campaign

It’s a big world filled with far off folks who have far off problems. In the quaint farming town of Hills Furrow that has certainly not been the case. Here life is simple, local, and paced by the seasons. There ain’t been a need for “Venturers” and their ilk since your Papaw was just a sprout. However, the winds of change are blowin, and things are about to git just a bit more exciting round these parts.
Welcome to Green Valley, The down-home home of Rural Fantasy Misadventures and Grass-Roots Shenanigans. The Valley is Filled with Colorful Characters, Brimming with Odd Ball Neighbors, and has more than a few Local Yokels. Welcome to Bumpkin Quest. These adventures are intended to be a series of silly adventures that all go awry in some way or another and stir up trouble throughout a peaceful little village that has in many ways been overlooked by the troubles of the world “outside”.
CHAPTER 1: Green Tide CHAPTER 2: A Cartload of Chickens CHAPTER 3: Marvin the Magnificent CHAPTER 4: High Society
ADVENTURE MECHANICS - Target Character Level: Commoners - Level 1 - Target Party Size: Four Players - Average Adventure Playtime: 1-2 Hours - Tone: Rural Misadventures
I’ve also put these adventures into a PDF that includes our Bumpkin Quest: Campaign Guide which fills in the details of Green Valley pretty thoroughly. The quests are simple enough to be run in any setting you choose, but if you're interested in more the Guide as over a dozen Custom Maps, 70+ NPCs, Location Descriptions, 20+ Local Legends, and Scores of Adventure and Event Ideas. You can grab the PDF Free at the link above.

Hills Furrow

At the center of the Valley sits a patch of small grassy hills, through which the Slow Water meanders through. Built into these hills is the Village of Hills Furrow. Celebrated by everyone living in The Valley and boasting a whopping population of almost 150, Hills Furrow is the center of commerce and social importance. Well, at least as far as the locals are concerned. Realistically it would be less than a blip on the grand scale of things, a mere kernel of wheat in the silo of civilization, but to those who live here, there is nothing quite like living in the “city”.
The Village itself, like the Valley, is predominantly Halfling, and their fancy dwellings are burrowed into the hillsides as often as possible. These dwellings have been family owned for generations only becomeing available if there are no heirs to pass them along to. Other folk live in well kept two story shingled buildings, most of which house a business on the lower floor and house the Shopkeepers and their families above their workplaces, though a few live in nearby homes. There aren’t many “rental” spaces in town, as property is usually bought up quickly by the Halfling Families, but there are long term options at either of the Inns in town.
Hills Furrow: Locations 1) The Crocked Crow (Inn and Tavern) 2) The Dancing Lamb (Inn and Tavern) 3) The Moaning Toad (Tavern) 4) Granny's Groceries (General Market) 5) Get Nailed (Hardware and Distilery) 6) Gimdurh's Hammer (Smithy) 7) Brenra's Mechanicals (Tinker) 8) Hjoldren's Home Goods (Carpenter) 9) Standard Industries (Office) 10) Fit to be Dyed (Tailor) 11) The Last Loaf (Baker) 12) The Cloudy Cleaver (Butcher) 13) Nature's Medecine (Apothecary) 14) Sheriff's Office 15) Green Valley School House 16) The Waterwheel 17) The Windmill 18) The Undercloak Estate 19) Truefoot Burrow 20) The Meadows Family Hill
The people themselves are hospitable and friendly enough, but they do not really trust outsiders. Folks from foreign places are good for trade, news, and little else. Those that come through are treated well enough as long as they don’t wear out their welcome. Locals, well, that’s a bit of a different story. The city and area doesn’t operate under a written caste system or social structure, but there is clearly a pecking order, and family heritage matters a great deal to folks in Hills Furrow. Most locals, whether they’ve gotten an education or not, can easily be classified as simple. It isn’t that they are slow of mind or unintelligent, but more that they are unconcerned with matters the outside world considers important. This sentiment has created a general, but friendly, dislike between those that consider themselves Highfalutin and those that clearly are not.
Well now that I've given you the fifty cent tour. Shall we get on to adventure?

CHAPTER 1: Green Tide

We will open our journeys in the Green Valley at Green Tide, the annual celebration of Winter’s End. This adventure is designed to give a tour of Hills Furrow and introduce them to the locals. It will begin with some chores around their house to prepare for the festival and end with a battle involving an enchanted broom. If you did not do Session Zero, this chapter may take a bit longer as we get to know everyone and their characters.

ACT 1: Pre-Festival

The locals spend the week cleaning out their houses and farms. They gather old junk and unused items to be used later in the festival. They also begin preparing what food is left from winter to be used in a celebration and feasts.
Things to do! - Have the Players clean up junk around the house - Have them Find something strange (Perhaps used for a later mystery?) - Have them Decorate their Broom - Have them run a Household Errand (Meet an NPC)

ACT 2: Sweeping Day

A merry festival celebrating Spring cleaning and putting the past behind them. They form a parade, with one member from each house carrying a brightly decorated broom and using it to symbolically “Sweep Away Winter”. The rest of the family marches their winter’s trash and unused goods down to the Fairgrounds. The goods are often traded, while the trash is piled in the fire pit to await burning later. The entire day is filled with fun outdoor activities. Households also symbolically bring their problems to the bonfires to burn them later.
Things to do! - March in the Parade - Carry Junk to the Bonfire - Meet more of the Locals
EVENT: I Love a Parade
The parade will march North from near the Cross Roads in the South up around the hill and back again to the South where it will head for the Fairgrounds. There isn’t anything particularly challenging about this event, but it would be a wonderful place to start leaning into or building local rivalries.
EVENT: Never Seen a Broom Do That… As they come into the home stretch of the Parade one of the local’s Brooms will animate and take off. It will chase folks around the parade. The players can attempt to stop it, but the broom will flee soon after being attacked. It will fly up into the air, attack a flock of geese, and chase them off until it can’t be seen anymore. They can go and collect a fallen goose if they wish. I highly recommend giving it a motorcycle type sound as it flies around hitting folks. Maybe even going as far as giving it a rough gravel angry voice and letting it insult people.

ACT 3: Winter’s End

Winter’s End is a Combination of Groundhog’s Day and Fasnacht, this day gets a little wild. The Festival kicks off at dawn with the Great Gopher Hunt. Gophers are well known spies for The Voice of Winter and thus need to be hunted before they can tell The Voice to delay Spring. Gophers themselves are quite tasty, and are notoriously bad for crops, so this works out economically all around. Throughout the rest of the day families continue to contribute to the Bonfire Pile which often gets quite large. At dusk a large effigy of The Voice of Winter is placed on top of the pile. Once the sun has fully set they light the fire and burn the Effigy. Folk usually dress darkly during the day and brightly at night. After the burning they feast on sweets and treats that were made from goods saved up from winter storage.
Things to do! - The Great Gopher Hunt - Carry Junk to the Bonfire - Meet more of the Locals - The Fairground’s Activities
EVENT: The Great Gopher Hunt The Hunt begins at dawn and takes place all over the Valley. Locals race to collect as many Gophers as possible. It is easiest to kill the Gopher, but there are some that find that distasteful. Instead they live trap the critters. It is a bit tougher to do so, but an option should your players wish. This is most easily played out as a series of appropriate Skill Checks, in which the higher they score the more gophers they obtain.
EVENT: Trash Removal They may find some locals willing to pay them to help cart junk down to the bonfire pile. Not a lot of skill involved in this, but it is a great opportunity to meet locals, and you could throw a runaway cart at them.
Fair Activities They will probably want to take part in Fairground Activities. Players love these types of challenges. Here are a few ideas you can build on. - Axe Throwin: Basic attack rolls on a Round Target. Higher scores equal Higher points. - Bow Shootin: Basic attack rolls on Moving Targets. Higher scores equal Higher points. - Pig Chasin: Catch the greased Pig! Medium DC Challenge requiring three success before three Failures. - Mud Wrastlin: Nothing says bumpkin like a good Mud Wrastlin Pit. Contested Skill Challenges. - Sausage Eating Contest: Increasingly difficult DC Challenge. Eat till you puke! Can also be Pies or Ribs or Little Fish… you know whatever someone wants to stuff dozens of in their gullet. - Tug O’War: Team Strength Challenge. Three to Five Contested Rolls with opposing teams. - Gopher BBQ Cook Off: A Hard Culinary Challenge to see who can BBQ the best Gopher! - Races: Foot and Mount Races based on Three to Five Contested Rolls. I usually include a few odd mounts like a Giant Chicken or some such nonsense.

ACT 4: Day of Ashes

The Day of Ashes is a day of rest, recovery, and reflection. Locals take the ashes from the bonfires and rub their hands in them to symbolize the end of a hard year’s work and hardships of the past. The day ends with a large family feast, typically Pork. Activities this day are light, but many folks head to the Temple for the Calling of Spring Blessings. They put on their fancies and head down to ask forgiveness for over-indulging in the festival and for worship. Well sort of…
Unfortunately, a lot of folks take this as an opportunity to peacock about and practice their one-upmanship over other locals. If you’re looking for inspiration for their outfits look to older photos of the Kentucky Derby. Over the years this troubling practice has caused more than one fight to break out after the service.
*Things to do! * - Go to Temple and Meet More Locals - Pick a Local Patron!
EVENT: Temple Services
The majority of the town comes to Temple on this day. The service is usually longer, and a bit more “Where have most of you been all year?” But otherwise it is a call for the Divine Blessings to touch their crops and protect their lives. It ends with a ceremony in which the locals put their hands into the ashes from yesterday’s bonfire. Once services end they will head outside, where the trouble will begin. Two of the wealthier families will get into it with each other. Starting with a couple of veiled insults, probably before service and continuing afterward. If one of your players is from a local Rich Folk family then they can be right in the middle of it all, otherwise they will have to pick a side. This choice will determine their house Patron moving forward. Tension will increase until folks start drawing up sides, and then someone will throw a rotten tomato at one of the House Matrons. That will blow the lid off the incident and a yokel brawl will break out. For comedy purposes I recommend the instant appearance of several food carts filled with expired products, and maybe a six year old hustler selling big sticks for wacking folks with. As the locals brawl call for perception checks. Who ever rolls highest begins to hear… The Broom returning!
ENCOUNTER: Stick In The Eye
The broom returns ready to whoop some ash. It will be absolutely bent on cleaning anyone and everyone who is even the slightest bit dirty! If it successfully attacks a character they will have to make a Strength Saving throw or be knocked to the ground and swept clean by the broom. As this would be an awful omen for the year folks are terrified and will be running around screaming. Absolute mass hysteria. If the players were lucky enough to hear it coming they can avoid being surprised by the broom. Otherwise the broom will get a full round to attack before they have a chance to do anything. They’ll have to beat the broom into submission any way they can before it sweeps the whole town into chaos!

CLOSING

After defeating the broom things will settle back down again. Bumpkins are quick to return to normal when things go awry. However, they will have gotten the attention of one of the Wealthy Families in the area and be offered jobs. Which family is really, based on what will work best for them and you as the DM. For gags you might be tempted to have the Yokels pick them up, but that is a hard bit to sustain, and you may be better served keeping them on the side as a comic foil rather than up front. Completely up to you. The session should end with them being invited to meet their new patron tomorrow someplace important.

CHAPTER 2: A Cartload of Chickens

After successfully defeating the Enchanted Broom, our Bumpkins have gained the attention of a possible local Patron. This individual has summoned them to a nearby farm to discuss future work. That work includes proving themselves capable and not just lucky.

ACT 1: Meet the Boss

In this Act the players will meet with their new patron, one of the Family Heads, who that is entirely depends on their choices from the last game. This entire side branch is designed to flavor the background of the campaign, but if you’d rather just have them stay freelancing and independent that’s fine as well. There is also the possibility of “competing” offers should they have second thoughts for any reason. Once they arrive at the meeting spot their Patron will ask them some questions about their ambitions (Class Goals), they will then hand them off to their new “boss” who will assign them their task. They will take them to a nearby barn.
NEW NPC: “Boss”
Needs a fitting name for the Family they work for...
Character wise, what we got here is a standard “Ranch Foreman” character. They’re tough, A little mean, and completely loyal to their employer. They almost certainly chew tobacco (by the handful), have a tattoo of the Ranch’s Brand, and know where all the bodies are buried. They also have a huge and obvious scar on the side of their head where a Giant Chicken pecked a hole in their skull, so they’re not as bright as they used to be, not at all truthfully. Nor are they actually the Foreman anymore, but no one has a heart to tell them. They’ve been quietly downgraded to Chicken Handler, which is something they seem to remember quite well, but the brain damage keeps them from realizing all that. They can be found wandering the Farm giving strange orders to other Hands. These Hands nod politely and then go back to what they are doing.
Things To Do! - Meet Their Patron - Discuss Their Future - Meet Their New “Boss”

ACT 2: Chicken Dance

Boss will lead them into the odd looking barn. This building is filled with Giant Chickens. These two-three foot fouls have extremely exaggerated features, spiky looking beaks with sharp tooth like edges, big darting eyes, bumpy cracked skin, long gnarled talons, and dirty mottled feathers. They’re more beast than bird. But, they’re good for eatin! These creatures should have a stat block similar to an Axe Beak. When the players enter into the Barn the Chickens will go nuts, obviously deeply bothered by the intrusion. Boss will throw in some deer haunches and the birds will tear them apart in a feeding frenzy. They will then put on a Chicken Suit and begin a flapping dance. (Google Magnificent Riflebird) It should be absolutely captivating and the chickens will become mesmerized, watching every move. Boss will then load two dozen chickens onto a large wagon and lock it. They will have the players push the wagon out while he keeps the Chickens calm. Once outside they’ll hang heavy tarps on the sides of the wagon, and remove the suit. He will then explain to them that they need to keep the tarps on the wagon, and keep the birds well fed, or the chickens will get restless and become violent. When they do need to interact with them someone will have to wear the suit and dance to keep them calm. The bigger the person in the suit the better. Boss will then give them a Map of Green Valley and instruct them to drop off two chickens at each of the outer settlements. They have two days to get this done.
Things To Do! - Head into the barn - Witness The Dance of The Chicken - Push the Wagon out - Get the Costume and Delivery Instructions

ACT 3: Bumpy Roads

They will be off to deliver the Chickens to various locations. There is no specific order to this delivery, they just need to pick a route and go. If they’re short on time they can take the country roads that lead between the outer settlements, but these aren’t as well kept as the main roads are. Whatever road they take and wherever they decide to stop for the night there are problems they will encounter along the way. You can make them random or pick the ones that best suit your players. Most of these should at some point require someone putting on the suit and dancing for the chickens to keep them calm. I would also increase the difficulty of each event. If they fail a dance the Chickens will become restless and start attacking the cart until they are calmed down. Too many failures and the wagon’s cage will break and the remaining chickens escape. They will then have to be rounded up and the cage repaired.
Things to Do - Decide the delivery route - Deliver the chickens - Keep the Chickens calm
Possible Road Events 1) Rough roads cause problems 2) Yokels attempt to see what’s in the cart 3) Bad Weather swamps the road or scares the chickens 4) Pack of Coyotes causes trouble. 5) Chicken Rustlers! Protect the Flock! 6) Wagon breaks and needs repair 7) Cows in the road, someone’s herd is out. 8) Broken Bridge, not gone, just broken

ACT 4: Final Delivery

They’re now closing in on the final delivery. Something needs to happen here to cause them to put the suit on. Or maybe they never took it off! I love that idea, that one of your players just loves the suit and wants to be a chicken… lol… Anyway I’m a fan of having them need to get out of the suit for some reason, maybe a bathroom break, or they stand on a fire ant hill, or a snake slithers up their leg. You know something silly and fun. BUT the zipper is stuck! So they’ll have to try and unstick it and fast! Whatever happens they’re going to get shot at by some hunters looking for a big score who have mistaken the flailing caused by the stuck zipper to be the chicken attacking. After dealing with the Hunters they can go ahead and make the final drop. And head home.
Things to Do! - Head for the final delivery - Get shot at! - Deliver the last chickens
ENCOUNTER: That’s a BIG Chicken!
Having two hunters in the field is more than enough to cause a problem for the players. The hunters will almost certainly surprise the players, but you can allow them a perception check, if they succeed they’ll see the hunters just before the muskets go off. It would be OK to down the Chicken Player here if the hunters successfully hit it. They’ll have healer’s kits on hand because, well, this seems to happen to them a lot out here. After the initial attack the players can decide to attack back or try and talk the hunters down. A basic Bandit or Scout stat block should do will for the hunters. If you’re looking for a bit more mayhem, if the hunters miss the players you could have them hit the cage, and you know, bust it open. This may be especially tempting if they
POSSIBLE ENCOUNTER: Big Ol' Frog
So there is a giant frog hiding in the mud down in the creek. If a player takes cover behind the banks there is a good chance that the frog will attempt to nab the player as a snack. If it is successful in grabbing a player with its tongue it will immediately head down river, and they'll have to chase it to get their friend back.

CLOSE

When they return, Boss will reward them. How much will depend on how successful they were delivering the birds. If they did a descent job, they will be paid two day’s wages each. If they were completely successful they can have a bonus. However, if the wagon is in bad shape they might have some money deducted. After they’re paid out, they will be dismissed, and told to expect a new assignment next week.

CHAPTER 3: Marvin the Magnificent

After successfully delivering chickens Boss is going to trust them with a more important task. Their employer has requested an item to be created by Marvin the Magnificent. This is a farming community so having enchanted Farming Equipment is extremely desirable. Marvin has done a lot of basic enchantments over the years, but this new one, an The Stone Skipper, a plough whose blade goes ethereal while in contact with stones too large to push away, has really put him to the test. He needs some help with the final enchantments. The players will have to travel to the Ethereal Plane and hit the Blade of the plow with large rocks. But there’s a problem, they’re going to have mischievous Ethereal Sprites attempting to stop them! If they’re successful, which they should be, they get to take the plough for a test drive, and deal with the strange side effects of the enchantment. Angry goats that blink in and out of existence.

ACT 1: To the Tower

They’ll be summoned out to the Ranch where they’ll meet with Boss again. Once there they will notice a large pile of bent and dinged up plows. Boss will explain to them that a recent land acquisition has become problematic. The Fields are filled with large stones just under the topsoil and they’ve damaged a lot of Plow Blades. The Smithing costs are getting out of hand and so their Patron is looking for an alternate solution to the problem. He is sending them to help Marvin the Magnificent, who has taken the job, but run into some complications and needs some help. They may ask about Marvin. Or perhaps the fields that were purchased, so be ready to answer these types of questions. Once they’re done here they can head to Marvin’s Tower, which is just north of town.
Things to Do! - Meet Boss again - Ask some Informational Questions - Head for the Tower
NPC: Marvin the Magnificent

ACT 2: Marvin the Magnificent

As they approach the tower they should see an explosion at the peak of the structure. It should look similar to a fireworks mishap. When it clears there will be no visible damage to the tower, But Marvin will plummet to the earth just off to the side of them, landing in a small pond. He will then come charging out of the pond, laughing hysterically, and riding on a large turtle. Once he gets a few feet away from the pond the turtle will disappear and he will tumble to the ground right in front of the players. He will leap up quickly and turn toward the players. “Behold Travelers, You stand in the presence of Marvin the Magnificent! And everything you have witness was mostly intended!” He will then strike a cool pose with his wand pointed to the sky! “Now why do you approach my tower!?”
Once Marvin finds out they’ve been sent about the plow he will become more nervous looking. “I see, well follow me. We have work to do.” He will then start walking toward the tower… his boots squishing out water. This should give them a little time to ask a few questions. Marvin will be a little subversive about what they need to do. He will attempt to frame it very mysteriously, saying things like “All will be revealed soon.” and “Save your questions! All Answers await us… in the future!” If they ask him about what they witnessed outside, he will tell them he was working on a mount summoning spell designed for lakes and rivers.
Things to Do! - Head toward the Tower - Meet Marvin - Ask Questions

ACT 3: The Cabinet of Mysteries

The inside of the Wizard’s Tower will be far more mundane than they likely expect. At least on the first floor. It will have a sitting room, dining room, and kitchen, as well as a few odds and ends about. Nothing special at all. The second floor, are Marvin’s personal quarters and some room for study, but it is the third floor, where Marvin will lead them, and it will be more of what one would expect in a Wizard’s tower. There will be books shelves, arcane equipment, and storage for components. In the middle of the room will be a tall cabinet.
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Marvin will explain to them that the Cabinet is a transportation device, and that he will need them to enter into it with a plow that he has recently enchanted. They will be taken to the Ethereal Plane, and once there they’ll need to take the plow outside and begin hitting it with large field stones. There is a large pile of stones just on the north edge of the tower. They’ll have to do this quickly, before the “others” show up. Who are the others? Hard to say, but there are things that live in the Ethereal Plane that don’t like intruders. The idea is to imbue the Plow with Ethereal Powers so it can pass through large stones while plowing fields. Once they return with the Enchanted Plow, Marvin will have them load it on a cart, pulled by a very smart Donkey, and send them on their way.
Skill Challenge: Enchant the Plow This skill challenge will require five successes before they’re incapacitated by the others. However they decide to do it, they’ll have to successfully hit the plow with five large stones. Failures will result in strange indiscernible entities attacking them. They do minimal damage but could knock people out if there are enough failures.
Things to Do! - Move Through Marvin’s Tower - Enter the Cabinet - Enchant the Plow

ACT 4: Blinking Goats

Upon returning to Boss with the Plow they will be happily greet and paid. Their Patron will be there and will be very pleased with their success. He will ask them to demonstrate the plow’s abilities. Once they get set up out in the field and begin plowing something weird will happen. Every time they hit a stone and the plow’s power activates an Ethereal Goat will manifest and kick or ram the plow, and then disappear. It will feel very similar to what they encountered in the Ethereal Plane. They’ll have to find a way to deal with the manifestations.
ENCOUNTER: Ethereal Goats These goats should function very similarly to Blink Dogs, but I would trim the HP and AC a little to put them in line with the party’s. They will be intent on breaking the Plow not the party, although they will attack the party if they can’t get to the Plow.
Things to Do! - Deliver the Plow - Drive the Plow - Defeat the Ethereal Goats

CLOSE

Once defeated the Boss will come over to yell at them, but the Patron will find the entire thing amusing and more importantly, another impressive demonstration of the player’s skills. He will invite them to the “House” for an important party next week.

Chapter 4: High Society

They've definitely been noticed now and have impressed with their ability, unconventional as it may be. They are invited to their patron's home, but not as guests. Though, they might think they were actually invited as guests! They have been brought in to help work the event held out at the Party Field. They will have to gather party supplies, help put up the tent, and then serve the actual guests. During the evening’s entertainment a hypnotist “The Great Dr Hypnotika” will mesmerize the crowd and attempt to rob them all. Hopefully the players don’t fall victim to her schemes. And if they do oh well, they’ll be entertained all the same.

ACT 1: Special Delivery

The players arrive at the Patron’s very nice property. They will be greeted by a properly dressed servant with a clipboard, the Party Planner. The Planner will be rigid and direct. They will immediately begin tasking them about. If they mention that they were invited to the party the servant will laugh “You didn’t think you were a guest? Oh dear, how embarrassing. You’re the help! It is still a great honor to be tasked to help at the Party, but you’re not guests. Now as for your current task. Head into town and gather these supplies. Bring them to the field by noon.” After the instructions are given the servant will go back to their tasks and expect the players to do the same. They will have three stops; The Crocked Crow for Food and Beer, Get Nailed for the Tent and Spirits, and Shalana Proud-Breed’s Tailor Shop to pick up the Dry Cleaning. Feel free to make any and all of these go sideways! Its a good place to toss in some shenanigans as well! They should also be introduced to Dr Hypnotika and her associates.
Things To do! - Go to their Patron’s Home - Meet the Party Planner and Dr Hypnotika - Run their Errands
NPC: Dr Hypnotika
Dr Hypnotika and her group will perform for the party. Hypnotica is a Tiefling Mezmerist and illusionist. She has an obnoxiously high charisma and some pretty serious skills to back up her claims. However, she uses those skills to beguile her guests, robbing them blind while they are under her spells. She wears a fine robe with a bedazzled headwrap. She has dark upward spiraling horns, light purple skin, and matching eyes. She wears a monocle and walks with a ceremonially carved staff depicting the "Struggles of the Universe". She is extremely persuasive and even more deceptive. Even if someone were to grow suspicious she can easily talk her way out of trouble.
NPCs: Clapper and Bob Hypnotika brings with her two assistants. Clapper the suit wearing Kenku who will perform wondrous displays of mimicry and slight of hand, and her strongman Bob the Kobold. Bob wears a leopard print strongman's outfit and is amazingly swole, particularly for a kobold, and capable of lifting upwards of 400lbs. Bob doesn't do much else other than get hit with things. in the act.

ACT 2: Put up the Tent

After they finish running their errands they will be tasked with putting up a large party tent. This Act is an ongoing Skill Challenge and should have a constantly distracted feel to it. First they have to unpack the tent. Then they have to realize some pieces are missing, they’ll have to form a solution to that problem. After that wind should cause some problems as the tent is at least being pulled up. This is a great moment for some wondrous tom-foolery.
Things To do! - Unpack the tent - Deal with missing parts - Secure the tent during the wind gusts

ACT 3: Put These On

After they finish putting up the tent they’ll be sent to the Servant’s Quarters to bathe and change. They’ll get a little time to explore and snoop if they wish. Afterward they’ll be tasked with helping in the kitchen, but unfortunately the cooks are going to have been playing a drinking game all afternoon and are no longer fully capable of doing their jobs. This would make a great moment for some sort of mini-game where the players have to determine whether or not the cooks are doing the right things. Once the dinner has been completed they will have to serve the guests. This is a good place to insert gossip and help them meet a few other folks.
Things To do! - Get changed for the party - Deal with the drunk cooks - Serve the guests drinks and food

ACT 4: An Evening to Remember

At some point in the evening things are going to start sliding downhill. Some of the locals will have become extremely inebriated and will need to be encouraged to leave, or just moved off to the side as they’ve already passed out, before the show begins. Once the show begins the locals will become fixated on the goings on. “The Great Dr Hypnotika” will have put an additive in the drinks for the that will make everyone more susceptible to her powers of persuasion. Once the show starts she will have them all doing silly things, those who drank have disadvantage on saves against her powers. She will end the show asking the guests to display their most valuable treasure, a with a hypnotic pattern and then send her assistants out to collect those treasures. The players will have to “do something” about the thieves.
Things To do! - Deal with Drunks - Watch the Show - Stop the Criminals
ENCOUNTER: Hypnotika's Gang This encounter doesn't have to be a fight. If Hypnotika is caught she may claim it was all part of the act and simple return the valuables with a "no harm, no foul" type attitude. This will be he go to in an attempt to avoid a fight, but if the character persist in some kind of retribution or punishment the situation will devolve into a combat. Hypnotica herself is an Illusionist Wizard but is low on spells after the show. Clapper is a low level rogue and Bob a Barbarian, and should play out as such. Even with Skills they are combat adverse and will be looking for an opportunity to flee rather than fight. They do have a getaway wagon out front that they'll be headed for if things go south.

CLOSING

We’re assuming the Bumpkins at least attempted to stop the robbery. This will draw a lot of attention to them. Their Patron will be well pleased with them, and let them know they will be getting much more important jobs in the future. The guests will also take note and will begin treating them all a bit better. They’re all essentially Folk Heroes at this point for secondary backgrounds. Their Patron should reward them with something very nice as the party kicks back in. They will need to finish out the nights work of course.

Quest-line Closing

Congratulations! Your Players have completed their first Quest-line! Hopefully it was a delightful experience. But now that they've finished what comes next? Well, here are some ideas.
*Reward Them! * They've been doing some rather Adventurous things lately, and therefore should now have a Class Level under their belt, so the real D&D world now opens to them! Maybe it is time for some real adventuring gear. No more sticks, stones, and burlap sack armor.
Folk Heroes? There's a good chance that the Valley is Speaking the News about them and their exploits while drinking in the taverns. They may have even earned the actual Folk Hero Feat! Maybe someone would be interested in giving them a task!
Simply Go Exploring! There are a lot of places in Green Valley that we only dipped our toes into. You could have them head down to Stinkmarsh, or maybe climb up the cliffs of Longridge. The world (Well, the Valley) is wholly open to them.
Explore Local Legends There are lots of local legends they can look into! Hopefully they search out something that isn't too far over their heads!
Continue Working for their Patron It would be an easy DM go to simply to have them continue working for their current Patron. They've probably been impressive enough fo a family to be interested in keeping them on.
Establish Themselves as Adventurers! Maybe they want to set up a Adventurers for Hire business? This "Heroes Guild" approach is really appealing to a lot of players and absolutely plays into Bumpkin Quest. Just remember, this is a place of low key problems that locals make really big deals out of. So the idea of slaying dragons shouldn't really be on the table... that is until an actual dragon shows up! Which one day absolutely should.

Clementine walks outside of the dormitory with AJ. The sun is bright and warm making the air all fresh and new from the thunderstorm last night. Some minor damage was done to the east side of the wall, but nothing threatening that will endanger everyone. The grass was still wet from the rain, and so were the picnic tables. Clementine hobbles away with AJ by her side as they make their way to the watchtower. Willy and Aasim are scheduled to go out and hunt early in the afternoon, and Ruby and Violet should be in the greenhouse today gathering herbs and tending to the garden. Louis will be out later in the afternoon checking the traps for game along with Tenn.
AJ walks with Clementine as they pass Omar's black caldron to cook their meals. AJ cast a look up at his mother figure as she is wearing an unusual smile on her face this morning. AJ looks down at the ground to ponder on it for a moment. Clem's hat blocks out most of the sun from his eyes. He finally spoke to her as they made their way to the watchtower, "Why are you smiling so big?"
Clementine shook her head to clear it from her thoughts with Louis from last night, "Huh, what?"
"You are smiling a different kind of smile today," AJ commented being observant of her.
"I am?" Clementine asks with one of her eyebrows arching a little.
"Yeah, like you are glowing or something. What made you so happy last night? Did Louis and you have some sissy gross love talk?" AJ asks.
Clementine looks down at him as they approach the ladder to the watchtower to climb up on. "Yes, we did." Clementine casts her look away not wanting to admit to her surrogate son her first sexual experience.
"That can't be, because you never have that look when you guys talk of kissing love. And kiss and stuff, so what exactly happened between you and Louis that made you...this happy?" AJ looks up at her one more time.
Clementine sighs as she shakes her head, "AJ...."
"I am curious, is all? I have never seen you this happy, even when you guys do gross love things together." AJ said.
"Some things you don't need to know kiddo. At least not right now. When you get a bit older, I will tell you. But you are still my little goofball, and I want to keep it that way for as long as I can, even if you are growing up too fast for me." Clementine said as she reaches out to rub AJ's head and her old hat. Making it go lop-sided on AJ's head.
AJ straightens out her hat on his head as he pouts up at her, "It is AJ or Alvin Jr, not goofball. How many times do I have to tell you that."
"Sorry bud, old habits, and I still like that nickname." Clementine teases him.
AJ gave her a swat back as Clementine balanced on her prosthetic foot, "Well I don't. It makes me feel like I am three again and a baby, which I am not." AJ crosses his arms over his chest and looks away from Clementine.
"Okay, I will try not to use it, alright, kiddo." Clementine sighs, and AJ turns to smile back at her. She then puts on her motherly leadership tone now, "Okay, time to do look-out duties. You go up first." Clementine said as she let AJ climb up first. Once Clementine makes the climb up she let AJ use the binoculars to see as she scans the horizon with her eyes on danger. She tries not to think of about her time with Louis and focuses on looking out for danger, but the thought keeps coming back in her head. Is Louis right? Do I have a glow on my face from what happened last night? Do women glow after they have sex? Do men do as well? And if AJ sees it do the other kids know about it as well? Am I really that obvious to everyone? She tries to hide it, but her heart and happiness will not hide away. Clementine shakes her head to clear it as she focuses in on the threats outside the walls of her home.
.....................................
Louis finished picking up the rest of their fort and gathered his cards up. Smiling as he thought about his and Clementine's passionate night last night. She made him the happiest guy on earth. Once Clem's room is all packed away, he slowly puts on his green shirt and never notices the hickeys Clem left on his neck.
When Louis closes the door to his and Clem's room, he feels a little dizzy, and light-headed all of a sudden and a sharp pain at his gut. Louis leans on the door for support. The pain was a sharp burn, like a bad cramp or something. He never noticed Aasim was just coming out of his room and looked at Louis kind of funny.
"You okay, dude?" Aasim asks.
Louis took a moment then shook his head as the pain was dull but not as severe. "Yeah...must be something I did last night." Louis slowly spoke.
"Uh huh, and that moaning in your and Clem's room had nothing to do with it?" Aasim arches his eyebrows and crosses his arms.
Louis flush in the face now, as Aasim heard his first sexual encounter with a girl, "We...uh...practicing her combat skills." Louis cast to the floor as Aasim is not buying his act.
Aasim chuckles to his friend and looks to Louis, "Look. Lou, I am no idiot. I know you and Clem did it last night. It was obvious by the soft moans from the two of you as I passed your room to go to bed. I won't tell anyone." Aasim looks at him. "You have my word, bro."
Louis looks down, then back up at Aasim, and has a new appreciation for his old friend and for keeping to the guy code. He still held his hand on the side of his body, and Aasim took notice. "Are you sure you are okay Lou, I can go get Ruby?" Aasim asks.
"Yeah, I am fine, and no need to get your girlfriend involved. It is probably hunger pains." Louis half joked as he never experiences this deep pain. Or maybe this is after sex pain.
"Okay, suit yourself. I have to find Willy. He and I have hunting duty, and you Lou, need to rest the traps. It is your turn today, besides fixing up the wall from the storm last night." Aasim said.
"Will do, after I eat something," Louis said as he leaned his back on Clem's dorm room door.
Aasim started to move and kept his eye on Louis as something was not right or not good with him, and he was a bit concerned. Louis took deep breaths as the pain slowly subsided, and he slowly began to move to go outside.
Louis sees Aasim getting his food and taking it over to where Ruby is as they are being all cutesy with each other. He smiles at his friend's romance, and then Louis's eyes fall on Clementine and AJ up in the watch tower. He sighs a happy smile at seeing his girlfriend as she still has that glow upon her face that she and he did last night. And strangely, Louis, too has a glow on his face. He shakes his head as he grabs food and starts to eat it, hoping whatever pain he felt was just hunger pains.
Then he spots Violet coming in from the graveyard, of all places. He has seen her near there a lot, and it is not like her to see her ex-girlfriend's grave marker and act so damn happy when he knows for a fact Minnie ruined Violet back on the beach after the Delta boat blew up. He watches as Violet heads directly to her room, and he lets out a sigh. Once Violet is seen to go to the dorms, Louis looks out over at the wall of the school and the traps as they can wait to be fixed, as Louis wants to find out where Violet has been sneaking off to in the dead of night and coming back in at dawn, or mid-morning. Louis finishes his stew and puts it where the rest of the dishes are and heads to Violet's room, room 202.
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Maya made it back to her tent without anyone noticing her absence. She sees Aniya is still asleep in her bed on her side of the tent, while Maya crawls into bed and smiles with her heart feeling like it has wings. There is no doubt now on Maya's face that she is in love with Violet. Maya only got a half hour of rest when she felt Aniya waking her up, "Maya, Maya...wake up. Bonnie wants us to go hunting again."
Maya groans a little and squints her eyes, "Okay.." Maya slowly gets up, and Aniya looks at her older sister with concern.
"You sure you are up for it? You look exhausted." Aniya said.
"I will be fine." Maya yawns.
Aniya looked at the door and then back at her sister, "You were with Violet all night, weren't you?"
Maya looked down at her feet then her brown eyes met her sisters. "Yes."
"Maya.." Aniya shakes her head.
"Before you say anything, I told her how I felt about her." Maya sighs, "I love her,"
Aniya looks at her, "Maya, I am glad, even happy for you. You found love in this world. But you know this is going to get very complicated. People will start to get subspinous about your disappearing to go meet her. Bonnie will soon pick up your weird behavior and start to question your loyalty. I don't want to see you getting kicked from the group. I need my sister."
Maya understands her little sister's worry as Maya bows her head and puts her hands over them, and lets out a heavy sigh. For the first time, she admits it out loud to her little sister, "I am so torn, Aniya. Sometimes I wished I never met her or those group of kids that fateful day."
Aniya reaches out to her sister and lightly touches her shoulder, "Why?"
Maya pulls her head up and moves her hands to the side of her body. "Because this way, I wouldn't put my heart through this hell I am feeling. It is getting very damn difficult to leave her to come back to this group. You are the only thing that keeps me here, you and Robert." Maya sighs and softly mourns, "Please don't hate me for saying that. I love you, and you are the only kin I have left in this world, and I vowed to Mom and Dad I will take care of you, and know I will never leave you."
Aniya nods and holds her sister tight, "I know. And I don't hate you, Maya, for having those thoughts. But to tell you the truth. As much as I sometimes come off as being jealous, your love for this girl is not a mistake, and don't ever think that was. Seeing you deeply in love with Violet actually gives me hope for a future in this bleak dark world. In some ways brings back memories of when Mom and Dad were alive. And if you feel your home is with Violet and her group, I will go where you go, sis. Family sticks together." Aniya reminded her.
Aniya coughs and nods to the doorway, "Alright, come on, we got hunting to do before Bonnie gets suspicious. Do what you can, sis, and I will try and think of something of an excuse for why you are exhausted."
Maya shakes her head, "I appreciate the loyalty Aniya, but I don't want you to lie for me. I will devise my tale and not let you get involved. Bonnie will know something is up if you do that. Come on."
Maya, Aniya, and Bonnie head out on the beach scouting for food. Maya braces the cold wind as it blows on her fingers, making it difficult to hunt with the bow. They walked what felt like miles, and Maya spotted what looked like a deer. She blinked several times, and it was a deer. Maya gets in a low crouch and begins to stalk it. Maya drew her bow and an arrow from her quiver. She knows when hunting deer out west, she needs to be quick with her motions. Maya drew the arrow back of the string of the bow until it was taunt. Before Maya could strike at the deer, the deer turned and looked at her.
Maya gazes at the deer as it doesn't run or flee, and soon Maya's heart stops and knows this is not just a deer. It is a spirit. Maya lowered the bow and withdrew her arrow from the string.
Aniya looks at her sister as Bonnie catches a wild turkey and a few rabbits. She sees her sister staring at something invisible that only she can see. Bonnie looks to Aniya, "What is Maya doing?"
"I'm not sure," Aniya said as she tried to read her sister's actions.
Maya stares long and hard at this deer and soon feels a sharp pain in her forehead. The pain was so much it caused Maya to fall to her knees and hold her head. Then Maya blacks out and is about to get a vision of what happened to Clementine, Louis, and Violet that day on the beach when the Delta boat blew up
"Maya!" Aniya screams out and runs to her sister, and the same with Bonnie.
"What is wrong with her, Aniya?" Bonnie drops the kills she made and kneels to Aniya, holding her sister, who is unconscious.
Aniya answers, "She is having one of her vision things. She gets like this sometimes when a spirit or something contacts her."
Bonnie looks at her oddly, "This is ridiculous. We need to get back." Bonnie goes and reaches for Maya, and Aniya batted her hand away.
"No, don't...don't touch her when she is like this. You might not believe this kind of thing, Bonnie, but my sister is next chosen to be my tribe, Sherman. Shermans have special gifts of having visions of the past and foreseeing things. My grandmother had this gift, and it is passed to my sister." Aniya explains.
"So what do we do, wait until she regains conscious?" Bonnie asks, looking at Aniya holding her older sister.
"Yes," Aniya said.
"Who knows how long that could take? I don't want to—" Bonnie's words were cut short when both she and Aniya heard groans of walkers, about eight or nine of them. "Shit.."
Aniya stood up and looked at Bonnie, and Bonnie looked at her, "Well, we don't have time for your sister to come to now unless she wants to be walker food. You get our kill, and I will carry your sister to a better location where we are not easy targets. Keep those fuckers off of us." Bonnie picks up Maya and carries her in her arms as Aniya keeps the walkers off their tails Bonnie leads them to a cave to keep them hidden from the walkers.
.........................................
Maya wakes up on the sandy beach. The pain in her forehead eased up some as she heard gunfire. Maya looks and sees Clementine, the little boy named AJ, and Louis Aasim, a boy Maya has never met or seen before.
She hears a horse crying as the boy Aasim waves to some other kids Maya again has never seen before. Maya counted the seven kids and counted Violet, these must be Violet's other members of the group. Then out of nowhere, Maya sees the love of her life as she pleads to a girl Maya has never seen or heard of before.
"Minerva, why are you choosing to be with them? I still love you despite killing Sophie! Your home is with Ericson, not the fucking Delta! I know you remember!" Violet screams.
Minerva looks to Violet. She lets out a scream of confusion. When she sees Clementine shooting a member of her family, Minerva's eyes goes cold and turns from Violet. Violet kept screaming out her name, but she didn't know she was there. "Minerva!"
Violet knew from that moment her precious Minnie was lost to her. Violet watches in horror as Louis, Aasim, and Omar flee to safety. Minerva was going to kill or do harm to someone she cared about.
Minerva points her gun, and Violet sees what Minerva will do. Violet runs to stop Minerva, and the two of them battle and fight with each other until Violet gets slashed by Minerva's knife. Violet's felt the sting of her shoulder where Minerva sliced her. And the look in her eyes just then it is like she didn't care if she hurt Violet.
Violet, in tears now feeling betrayed by the love of her life, watches as Minerva, blindly in rage, advances onward toward Clementine. Violet slowly reaches for Minerva's crossbow and, with shaking hands, aims at her former lover and lets out her tears, knowing Minerva is no longer in love with her and the Minnie she once found love and joy in died the day she entered the Delta. Violet pulls the trigger and shoots Minerva in the shoulder when she tries to aim at her head. Minerva lets out a shriek of pain as she eyes Violet as the ultimate butyral of her former lover. Violet made her choice that day and was going to kill Minerva for the love of her friends.
Minerva yells at Violet, "Fuck you and everything we had." Minerva was unaware of a walker coming and biting her in the face. Louis puts his arms around Violet to protect her. Clementine looks to AJ and is about to follow after their friends when she hears Minerva screaming, "Clementine! FUCK YOU!" and lobs a grenade at Clementine and AJ, causing the separation of Clem and AJ from the rest of the Ericson group.
Maya's heart broke for Violet seeing how much Violet loved Minerva. And Maya stands on the sandy ash beach, watching the event unfold. Maya crashes to the sandy ground and holds her arms, "Oh, Vi...I...I am so sorry..." Maya sobs, and her heart aches for her lover. Maya soon looks up and wipes her eyes, and Maya looks and sees the deer she saw in the woods when hunting with her sister, and Bonnie now appears in the woods of her vision. Maya wipes her tears and realizes this is not just any deer.
Maya slowly stands up and eyes the spirit animal, "Why are you showing this to me? Why am I reliving Violet's past? Who are you, and what do you want? Tell me who you are?"
The deer looks at her and then toward where the horse carries Violet away. Then looks back at her. Maya gazes at the deer and soon hears rumbles. Maya turns and sees a storm making landfall on the river as a stiff wind blows sand in Maya's eyes. Maya sees flashes of bright lights, and soon, the sandy beach around her is filled with blood, and the sky is red. Maya looks back at the deer who stands in the shadows of the woods. Maya realizes this is a warning. The blood, the red sky, and the rumbles of a storm. The red sky means death is coming. No..oh dear God, no! Maya looks at the deer with sad eyes, "Don't fucking tell me I am going to lose the love of my life! Or my sister, Aniya."
The spirit never answers her and Maya soon felt the pain in her forehead as she holds her forehead until the blinding pain stops. And Maya is back to her reality.