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Three New Terrifying True Scary Tales
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Number One: The Pool
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Now, this happened a very long time ago. I am not going to mention when or where though and I am submitting it anonymously. I don’t want people going back and finding out more about it and then lashing out of me.
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I was 13 years old and my brother was 11. As I mentioned, this happened a long time ago and I think today, not a lot of parents would put a 13 year old in charge of an 11 year old. But this was not unusual at all back then. In fact, I was looking after my little brother all the time before either of us even hit 10 years old.
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After a while, of course, always keeping my eye on him began to get very annoying. It interfered with my hanging out with friends. It was quite a drag when I would try to talk to girls. It was just a pain in the ass, really.
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Anyway, one day during a really hot summer, our parents decided to drop us both off at the local swimming pool for the day. My dad had to work and my mom had errands and stuff to run plus work do to do for the church. It was so hot and there was no way we could afford air conditioning. We had one old fan in the house and a sprinkler in the yard that we could go play in. But the swimming pool was the much better option.
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Of course the pool was very crowded. Lots of families would drop their kids off there during the summertime. And of course, even though I knew it already, my mom stressed to me, “Keep an eye on your little brother at all times.”
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Some of my friends were at the pool too. I got to talking to them and they told me about this new girl who moved into town. She would be starting school that fall and supposedly she was really hot. So of course, I wanted to check her out. I knew the lifeguards would be watching my brother in the water, so he would be fine.
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I went with the guys and the girl was really cute. My buddies all dared me to approach her, which was admittedly a brave thing for a 13 year old boy to do. Of course, I couldn’t chicken out in front of them, so I did just that.
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She was a very sweet girl. We actually ended up talking for a little while. Her parents were at the pool though, and they called her back after too long. So I went back to the water to see how my little brother was doing.
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The only problem was that I couldn’t see him anywhere in the water. This was a small town in a rural area, so although I said the pool was crowded, it wasn’t like a water park is crowded though. I should have easily been able to pick him out of the water. He just wasn’t there.
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I went and searched around the area surrounding the pool and didn’t see him there either. My heart started beating faster and I began panicking. I went to the building where the showers and concession stand were. He wasn’t there either. You couldn’t leave that pool without going through that building, though. I asked the attendant if a 11 year old boy had left the pool on his own in the previous hour and he told me no.
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I then went to the lifeguards and my buddies. I thought maybe there was a chance that I had missed him. It’s easy to occasionally miss someone in a crowd. The lifeguards ordered everyone out of the pool. Fortunately, there were no drowned children in the pool. Unfortunately, my brother was nowhere to be found outside of the pool.
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The lifeguards had to call my mother at the church. I had never before lost track of my little brother like this before. I had no idea what to expect when she showed up. I was only thankful that the police were already at the pool or she probably would have whipped my ass right there in front of the entire pool.
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The trouble I got into at home isn’t something that I want to go into very much. My butt very much has PTSD from the experience. But that was minor compared to the fear I felt for my little brother. Hell, I didn’t even have time to feel guilty although that I knew that I was. I was only concerned for him and wondered what would happen.
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All day and night, I expected the police to bring him home. But that didn’t happen. I expected it the next day too. But it didn’t happen.
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The town organized a search to look for him. I kept expecting to hear from them that they had found him. But that didn’t happen either.
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After about a week of my brother not being found, I began fearing for the worst. I began thinking that he was dead. And I was terrified every waking moment of my life, expecting to absolutely hear the news that his dead body was found.
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Nearly two weeks after the disappearance, we got a phone call from the police. They had found my brother and thankfully, he was alive. But unfortunately, that’s not the whole story.
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Remember the attendant telling me that no boy had left on his own? Well that’s because the boy left with one of the lifeguards who was getting off duty. He had lured my brother out of the pool and into his car with promises of ice cream, something he and I rarely ever got. And my brother went to his house with him.
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For all of that time, he kept my little brother locked up in his basement. He didn’t do anything sexually to him, thank God. But there was a lot of mental and some physical torment when my brother wouldn’t do what he was told to you. But the scariest part for him was thinking he would never get out and be with his family again.
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Here is another weird part. The lifeguard wasn’t an adult. He did this while his parents were out of town for a few weeks. They came back early and caught him. And if you think I felt bad for my parents’ punishing me, what they did to him had to be legendary. The police thought he was either planning on killing or releasing my brother before his parents got home. But no one ever knew for sure.
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He had to live with it without much help for a long time. Mental health assistance had a very bad stigma back then. But we’re both still alive today and he forgave me a long time ago.
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Number Two: Taking the Garbage Out
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A few weeks ago I went outside at around 3am to move the garbage to the curb since pickup would be in the morning. I often do this in the middle of the night. I just tend to keep weird hours and as the weather warms up for the summer I find the warm nights preferable to the sweltering days.
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I’m not worried about bothering my neighbors since I don’t use noisy bins and all of the houses right next to me are currently empty. I actually find the quiet of the neighborhood at night quite relaxing.
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Unfortunately since I don’t use bins animals are able to get into the bags a bit easier and while this doesn’t happen often it had happened on this night. So I was outside picking up the strewn around garbage and putting it into another bag when the silence of the night was suddenly broken by multiple police sirens.
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At first they seemed distant and while they startled me it was not at all unheard of to hear sirens at night here. But usually it would be one in the distance. As I listened, still bagging the garbage, I could tell it was multiple sirens and they were getting closer. Then just as suddenly as it started it stopped again. There was just silence. By the time they stopped they sounded maybe four blocks away.
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For a moment the night was silent again and I began hauling the bags to the curb when the neighborhood dogs began barking all at once. It was like every dog in the neighborhood had gotten the cue to start barking. Many were even howling. It continued for maybe a minute and once again it just stopped as suddenly as it had started.
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I realized I hadn’t heard any barking or howling while the sirens were going and that’s normally how it would work. These dogs had started up separately from the sirens and just stopped all at once. It just wasn’t normal. I went back to the side of the house to grab more bags when the silence was broken a third time. 

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Just a single chime in the night. Like someone getting a phone notification. This sound wasn’t blocks away. This sound was here. RIGHT HERE. No more than feet away. As I said, the houses around me are empty.
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I was done. The rest of the garbage would wait until morning. I didn’t see anyone close by but that just made it worse. There was someone close by that I couldn’t see. I immediately went into the house to leave the garbage for the morning.
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I don’t know if these things were related. If the cops had been chasing someone who’s fleeing had caused the dogs to bark. Someone who received a message on their phone as they approached my house. Or if it was all just a coincidence. But I won’t be taking the garbage out at 3am anymore.
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A Commuter’s Nightmare
William M.
06/30/2021
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Back in the 80s, I worked at the Irwin Memorial Blood Bank in San Francisco while living and commuting from Oakland, CA
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My job as Registrar, took me all over Northern California, during Blood Drives at hospitals, clinics, major corporations, etc., where we would sometimes witness firsthand, the dead, being placed on gurneys, running out of the Coroner's or Medical Examiner’s rear doors, and down the sidewalks, because they simply didn’t have enough room or staff inside the morgues to process them. Mortuaries were having problems too due to the massive overload where deceased loved ones were admitted but not processed or interred for months or even years at a time.
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I remember watching the News and reading newspaper accounts of E.R.s in hospitals, clinics, etc. so clogged with patients, that 1 in 10 would die waiting to just get in to see a Dr. It was a Public Health and Safety nightmare. It was a National disgrace. It was politically orchestrated mass murder. It was the B purge of the ‘80s and ‘90s.
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I remember, starting work early on one of many Blood Drives (the A.I.D.S. epidemic was just getting started) and having to catch the first B.A.R.T. (Bay Area Rapid Transit) train out of the station at about 4:00 am, where morning after morning I would witness hundreds of people sleeping on the benches, or the sidewalks, or on the streets outside, waiting for it to open.
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Hundreds of others would be seen walking around like zombies in the early morning freeze amid the concomitant yelling, screaming, moaning, begging, and pleading, all of it looking like a newsreel of the death camps at Auschwitz-Birkenau.
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Many times, I was woken at home in the middle of the night, to the sounds of people howling and cursing outside my window at some real or imagined threat, until either the police came, which usually took hours because they were spread so thin, or some tenant, or other, ran them off.
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I remember the time I woke up to the sound of a woman’s voice begging in the early morning cold for someone to help her. She kept repeating it over and over growing weaker and weaker until it was little more than a whisper.
By the time I’d gotten up, armed myself with the steel-reinforced baton I’d purchased at a Police Supply store, and ran the 5 floors down to the ground floor, I found her sitting in a taxi shivering from the 42-degree drizzle coming in off the Pacific. The cabbie told me it was alright; she was just cold and needed someplace to rest and warm up; He’d drop her off at one of the nearby shelters.
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At the time, I was living in a local Residence Hall on Lake Merrit in Oakland, California which was little more than a converted Hotel from the San Francisco/Oakland Gilded Age of the late 1920s. It had 5 floors and a penthouse with a capacity of about 200. I never saw it get much beyond about 30 residents. It sported a full kitchen, dining area, big screen tv viewing room, swimming pool, and a recreation room with pool, foosball, and darts.
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I lived with a friend, at the time, on the 5th floor just under the penthouse. There was an elevator, but like most refurbs, it didn’t work. That meant we'd have to climb 10 flights of stairs every day to reach our room. The best part was that we had the entire floor to ourselves. I guess nobody wanted to climb that many stairs. Because we were both runners, it was a little like running the 900 feet to the top of Angel Island, running across The Golden Gate Bridge and back, or running the 3.4 miles around Lake Merrit twice a day.
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Because there was no air-conditioning, all the windows were left open during the summer months, but along with whatever cool air the San Francisco/Oakland Bay would bring through the gaping nearly wall-length vault ceilinged windows, it was always accompanied by the teeming, screaming City of Oakland street din: cabbies, buses, cars, trucks, vans, motorcycles, scooters, police sirens, ambulance, fire department, pedestrians, hustlers, druggies, break-dancers, prostitutes the homeless, et al. Day or night, winter or summer, it was like living in a jet engine test lab, somewhere on the 9th level of hell.
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Of course, we could always close the windows against the noise 5 stories below. But if it was summer, with all the humidity coming off the bay, we’d roast like 2 suckling pigs in our own sweat even if we used a fan.
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One night after a particularly grueling day at work, I came home, climbed Mount Everest (or at least K-2) to my steaming little abattoir, tore off my sports jacket, shirt, and tie, and fell into a coma-like sleep only to awake some 4 hours later to the sound of someone slamming a door, over and over, seemingly as hard as they could. It was about 2:00 am and raining so hard the water was pouring through the open window and flooding the floor and carpet. The sound was coming somewhere down the hall from one of the other units.
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After about the 15th or 16th slam to my inner ear, I was up, as in a trance, running like a lunatic from unit to unit and window to window, covering the entire southside of the 5th floor; battening down the hatches, and getting drenched in the process. It was, how should I say: exhilaratingly infuriating. I was supposed to get up in 2 hours and commute to work in the upper peninsula.
Having unconsciously completed this Sisyphean task and realizing that there was zero chance of getting any sleep, I donned my foul weather gear, equipped my trusty baton (I used to tuck its 2 ½-foot length up my sleeve when running), and headed out the front door to Lake Merrit which was just outside the main entrance. From there, I trotted to the sidewalk circling the lake, and began to run.
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As I ran counterclockwise against a torrential rain with a gale-force wind broken only by the occasional intermittent rainbow-hued lightning flashes which blinded me to almost everything around me, I almost ran into someone up ahead who was walking in the same direction.
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He was hunched over against the wind and rain and wearing a long heavy winter coat. Unusual for that time of year, I thought. Whenever I would run in public, I always made it a courtesy to let people know when I was approaching especially from behind. I’d blurt out a perfunctory:
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“Excuse me.” Followed by a conciliatory:
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“Sorry.”
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But apparently, the person ahead either didn’t hear me or didn’t care because, when I was about 6 feet from him, he suddenly turned around, exposing a darkened contorted face, jagged teeth, and a guttural growl that would have stopped a charging 600-pound Grizzly.
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The sheer force of the malevolence emitted from this inhuman thing almost made me stop, but because I was moving so fast, the inertia along with the gale force wind and lightning strikes propelled me past him (or it), and fingering my steel-reinforced baton, I, in turn, steeled my nerve and kept running. I looked back only once to reassure myself that he (or it) wasn’t following.
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Running on the leeward side now, with the rain at my back, I ran past a group of men in a circle smoking or drinking or doing whatever noxious or illicit thing I imagined, when, feeling charged with my own adrenalin, or the anger and resentment at that woman’s searing pleas for help, or the spook I’d almost run into, or just the gross injustices thrust upon the world in that dank, dark and dangerous time, I almost stopped, baton in hand, intending to take on the whole group: I may go down, I told myself, but at least I would take one or two with me.
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Just then, the lightning struck particularly close to where I and they stood and the sheer blinding flash and concussive boom shook all of us enough to break up their conspiratorial collaboration and my righteous crusade; just enough, that is, to shove me headlong around the next bend, to the long straight full out dash to the front doors, the 5 floors, 10 landings, and 50 risers to rain-sodden home.
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To get to work every day, I'd have to commute to the upper peninsula by using 3 buses, 1 train, and 1 cab and after a 10 or 12 or sometimes 14-hour day, I would have to take the same to get back. This meant that if I didn’t go out, make dinner, eat, or watch tv, I just might get about 4 hours sleep. Commuting took between 2 to 3 hours, one way.
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Once on the way home, almost every stop was crowded with commuters. I was told that it was because there were so many buses down for repair. The ones still running were so filled beyond capacity, that the shocks and springs were sitting on the chassis, and stop after stop proved nearly impossible to take on any more passengers. Still, and despite the few getting out at every stop, the driver would take on even more and just pack them in.
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I remember him yelling for people to get back behind the yellow line over and over. By then, he was long past any semblance of reason; his patience frayed to a single maniacal thought, his voice raspier and raspier, his manner, more and more brusk.
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I can still see when he finally lost it; jumping up, out of his seat, with a nickel-plated 38 Caliber Revolver pointing at one of the passengers; an elderly woman, screaming from the top of his lungs:
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“Get back behind the yellow line!”
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I can still hear the woman begging the driver:
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“Please...” while the passengers behind were practically trampling each other to get out of the line of fire.
I remember the sad, exhausted urgency in her voice; she really was trying to move back, but how could she, an old woman, do that with all those people blocking her way? Everyone knew this was an impossible task; everyone except the maddened driver. He just kept glaring, and bellowing with his gun out pointed right at her and the other passengers.
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"Back up and make room" he yelled.
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‘Or else what?’ I thought. ‘You're gonna kill an old woman?'
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Getting up out of my seat, pushing my way through the throng who were pushing against me to get away, I managed to get within about 6 feet from the front when, roaring through the din and my fear and anger, I ordered the bus driver to:
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“Put the gun down!” And again, with even more rage and authority:
“Put the gun down, now!”
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The bus driver shocked that it might be a cop, or worse, shakily, put his gun back in his concealed carry holster and hypnotically sat back down. He resumed driving without saying another word. I got out at the next stop, along with the elderly woman. She was so shaken, that she busted out crying. I held her still fuming despite the close call because I would now have to wait for another bus and after that, 2 more; the train and a cab to get home. I wasn’t going to make it until well after 8:00 pm. As soon as I got home, I reported the bus number and the driver to Muni.
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Many of the commuters I'd see day to day, or share a seat with were victims of the purge just trying to get out of the rain or the cold, or the wind, or the sun, even for just a little while. For them, it was easing the agony of living on the street, even just a little. For many of us regular commuters, during those dark times, it proved to be the same.
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On one of the final buses that would take me to the train and across the bay, I remember standing, with about 50 others, on Market Street waiting. Like ours, stop after stop was so packed with people, some were standing in the street because there was simply not enough room on the sidewalk. The ones in the street would stay where they were for fear of losing their place and missing their connection and having to wait another hour, or more, to catch another.
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Because the rapidly descending elevation of the southbound streets ending at Market Street from the upper peninsula were so steep and the transverse angle of the turn so sharp, some of the buses would skirt the edge of the curb, sometimes rolling up over it onto the sidewalk putting them dangerously close to the commuters waiting on the other side.
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If there were any people in the street, especially the old or the infirm, they would either have to get out of the way and lose their place in line or hope the bus driver stopped before completing the turn. Most of the drivers would. Once there was one who didn’t.
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I remember the television and newspaper account about an elderly woman waiting at one of the stops during the pm rush hour. When the bus made the oblique turn way too fast at 25 miles per hour she was either too close to the edge or standing in the street when she was hit by the side view mirror across the face and the left side of her head.
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She went down under the wheels and her body got hung up under the chassis. The bus driver too full of passengers to stop, or late for his break, or just too coked up to notice, kept on heading for the Embarcadero before he realized something was wrong. By then, the woman had been dragged over a quarter of a mile. No one knew for sure whether the concussion from the mirror or the relentless dragging was the cause of death. I guess it didn’t matter to her anymore, one way or the other. It mattered to a lot of those who witnessed the whole thing though; screaming and yelling, block after block, trying to get the bus driver to stop.
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To get across the Bay to San Francisco from Oakland or back, one alternative to the nightmare bus commute was the B.A.R.T (Bay Area Rapid Transit). It was quiet, clean, air-conditioned, and fast. Traveling under the Bay, it could span the 13 miles in minutes. Once I’d reach the train station, by bus, from the Oakland side, I’d descend one of the many street-level entries to the below-ground turnstiles which led to the train platform. Of course, there were always hundreds of derelicts, homeless, hustlers, etc., hanging out by the turnstiles waiting for their chance to slip through and get on any one of the many trains that serviced the Bay Area, but sometimes, especially after a scuffle with B.A.R.T. Security or the San Francisco/Oakland Police, they’d scatter to the winds (or the shadows as it were) until everything calmed down and then they'd be back at it again, day and night.
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Almost every week I'd hear about someone falling, or being pushed, or jumping down onto the third rail, which would either short-circuit the line and knock out the power or if it was particularly grisly, halt service entirely. Because service resumption could take hours, waiting passengers would have to go back up and out onto the street and catch another train, take a cab or a bus or just walk or, as was often the case for me, run.
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Once, I remember running to the next stop when I was ascending to the upper peninsula because the previous connection didn’t show up which meant it would have added another 45 minutes to my commute. The choice was obvious and inevitable: I could either
“wait to be late” or go for it. I chose the latter.
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You just can't imagine what it’s like to run at a 20-degree angle uphill for about 2 miles while wearing dress slacks, dress shoes, a white shirt and tie, and a sports jacket, in San Francisco, during the summer, with the humidity until you’ve tried it. It’s, how should I say: exhilaratingly infuriating.
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Running, I came upon a stand-alone, transmission shop, right in the middle of a residential area. The owners must have paid a pretty penny to get away with that one. There were police cars, the fire department, a metro ambulance, the San Francisco Chronicle, and a marked County Coroner’s Office vehicle scattered around the shop.
Some people along with some of the employees: their first names embroidered on their shirts, were standing on the sidewalk just outside the property watching. They’d been there for about an hour when I stopped to ask one of them (Bob) what happened.
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Wearily he said:
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“The girl who worked in the office answering the phone and typing up orders was shot to death by her boyfriend. The boyfriend got away but she was still down there being processed. God, she was only 24 years old. They’ll catch him, though. He hasn’t got a chance.”
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'Nope,' I thought.
'In this town, I don’t expect he would.'
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I was late again when I got home. Vaulting the 5 floors to reach our loft, I held my friend close, the entire night. She was ok with that. So was I.=

DC Next presents:

Suicide Squad

Issue Thirty-Four: Brains Scrambled.:maxbytes(150000):strip_icc()/optaboutcomcoeusresourcescontent_migrationsimply_recipesuploads201005_chili-dog-horiz-a-1600-1a1f025054124cd886baab5b14d8d5b6.jpg)
Arc: Road Trip!
Written by Deadislandman1
Edited by UpinthatBuckethead
 
 
The high pitched whine of the cargo plane slowly wound down, its turbine-assisted wings quieting with the shutdown of the behemoth’s engine. The denizens inside, the remaining members of the Suicide Squad, took this as a sign that they had finally made it to their destination. Flag grabbed a duffel bag, which contained what was left of his belongings after they had totalled their RVs, while the squad simply collected themselves, preparing to step off the plane. The bay door unlocked, slowly lowered until it hit the runway, and the Squad was hit by that familiar mix of heat and humidity.
“Goddamn,” said Raptor, a heavy sense of exhaustion in his voice. “It sucks to be back.”
Flag sighed before stepping off the plane and onto the runway, making the long walk towards a boat set to take them to the prison proper. They had landed on a secret runway out in the swamp, and now it was time to make the final leg of the journey. The rest of the squad followed suit, though in a variety of different states. Dante had ditched his metal suit with the return to a climate with more moisture, yet he also wasn’t entirely covered up in bandages. He allowed his skin to be out and about…free. He didn’t care that the gym shorts and white t-shirt seemed strange when set with his long scarred flesh, he was just happy to feel a bit more like himself again. A bit more normal.
Nicholas was carrying Adella on his back. She had fallen asleep on the flight over, and he didn’t want to wake her. It wasn’t much of an effort, he could flip a car with the flick of a finger, but being gentle, being delicate…that was something he was never taught. Weapons are crafted to harm, not to comfort, Nicholas found he took to the task surprisingly well.
Raptor was sweating up a storm, begrudgingly flipping back his hood to make sure he wasn’t being oven-roasted. The journey had been a rocky one for most, and Raptor couldn’t lie, the road trip over the past month had been one of the bumpiest rides he’d ever had, but truth be told, a part of him was probably going to remember most of it fondly. Still, the remaining bits would also be tainted permanently by Mitchell Mayo’s demise. He hadn’t gotten to know him super well, but he considered him to be a good guy.
Croc felt similarly, though right now he was feeling a lot better about the heat. This was his kind of climate, just like back home where he grew up. If it weren’t for the bomb in his neck, he’d jump into the river for a dip, like a kid rushing into the ocean for the first time. It was almost a pity that they only really ended up near a few city rivers, where the water would probably cause you to grow an extra toe or two.
And then there was Harley, who was clearly not as relieved as everyone else for the trip to be over. Her partner was gone, and while she knew that the team was there for her, it was going to take a damn long time to work through what happened. She could barely feel the heat as she got onto the boat, grabbing a more cushioned seat before lying down in it. Flag dropped his bag to the side and took the helm, starting the engine as everyone else piled in.
Flag himself was, to put it mildly, weary. A kernel of anger had made its home at the back of his brain, a fury at the fact that Waller had yet again refused to tell him everything. However, he wasn’t chomping at the bit to get some answers at the moment, because he felt like he could drop dead at any moment. It was probably unsafe for him to even be driving the boat, but hell, they were almost there. He’d make it to his bed.
The boat slowed to a stop at the dock, and while the Belle Reve guards came out with tasers and batons, Flag simply waved his hand at them, “Relax, they know the drill. No need to be rough.”
As the team got out of the boat, led back into the concrete fortress that was, begrudgingly, their home, Flag grabbed his bag and stepped onto the dock. Realizing something, he called out to one of the guards, “Hey, let Waller know I’m here and that I wanna talk….but not today. I wanna meet tomorrow, because today’s been about a thousand miles of traveling.”
 
 
It took Flag no time at all to navigate the halls of Belle Reve, making his way through the bones of such a vast beast of a prison. There weren’t too many faces to his surprise, but there were quite a lot of renovations happening. Entire cell blocks and research wings were being converted, though Flag had no clue what they would be after construction, and frankly he couldn’t give a damn at the moment. He just wanted to lie down and go to sleep.
Eventually, he rounded the corner to the hall with his room, occupied solely by a man in a doctor’s coat. As Flag approached the door, the man noticed him, jumping in front of the Colonel, “Oh! I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there.”
Flag shouldered his duffle bag, grunting in annoyance, “Why not, it’s my room.”
“Well, it’s because-”
“Nevermind, I don’t give a shit,” said Flag, “You have two seconds to get out of my way before your teeth take a trip down your throat.”
“Urk-” The doctor stepped out of the way, and Flag trudged through the door, happy that the final obstacle to rest had been dealt with. Closing the door behind him, he dropped the duffle bag on the ground, kicked his boots off, and promptly fell into his bed. He groaned, shifting to let himself sink into the mattress.
“Uhhhh.”
“Oh for the love of - ” growled Flag. “Listen buddy, I don’t care if they decided you could room here. It’s my place, now skedaddle.”
“Uh, alright Colonel! I know they took my bomb out, but you’re the boss!”
“Took your…” Flag turned his head to face the voice, finding the one eyed Mitchell Mayo sitting at his desk, a pen in his hand. Flag grunted, “Are you real…I think sleep deprivation’s taking its toll on me.”
“No, I’m real,” said Mayo. “I know Waller said I was dead, but really, I’m not!”
“...I don’t believe you. You’re a figment of my imagination,” said Flag, who lied down again. “Gonna catch my z’s now.”
“Wait, no! I am real,” said Mayo. “ust lemme prove it to you.”
“Good luck with that.”
Flag turned away from Mayo again, prompting Mayo to quickly grab a glass of water from the desk, dipping his fingers in it. Then, he trudged over to the bed and dripped the water onto Flag. Flag immediately cringed at the touch of the liquid, jumping out of bed in anger. Mayo quickly backed up, though he found himself against a wall fairly quickly.
“What the fuck?!” growled Flag.
“I know I know! I’m sorry!” said Mayo. “But look! You’re wet…literally, not the figurative way! I’m real, because who else would put the water on you.”
Flag wiped his face, realizing that there was truth to Mayo’s words, “You’re…you’re not dead. You’re actually-”
Mayo rubbed the back of his head, turning away sheepishly, “Here? Yeah, yeah! Apparently Waller lied to you guys about me surviving, though it’s hard to remember how I-”
Without warning, Flag grabbed Mayo and pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tight. There was a shakiness to his voice, but Mayo could tell that Flag was just…so incredibly overwhelmed.
“You’re… still here,” said Flag.
“Yup! Still here! Loving the hug,” said Mayo. “But I think I’m good now.”
Flag continued to hug Mayo.
“Flag? Flag?” Mayo began to tap on Flag’s shoulder, his voice becoming more of a wheeze as the hug grew tighter. “Flag! Lemme tap out! I can’t breathe, you’re gonna put me in the hospital again! Flaaaaag!”
At that final screech, Flag finally let go, allowing Mayo to catch his breath. The Colonel took a seat on the bed, amazed, “I…this…this feels like a goddamn miracle. I mean, when do any of us catch a break?”
“Catch a break? I mean, I lost an eye,” said Mayo. “But I’m not dead, so I’ll call it a pyrrhic victory.”
“Shit. I’ve got more to say to Waller now,” said Flag. “But that can wait. How have things been?”
“Well, aside from adjusting to the fact that I don’t have depth perception anymore,” said Mayo. “I’m mostly just trying to figure out more life stuff. I was writing down some recipes for different marination sauces.”
“You cook here?” asked Flag.
“They let me into the kitchen sometimes. I’ve had a lot of the flavorless goop when I lived in the cells, so I thought I’d try making something with taste,” said Mayo. “I managed to make some really good Huli-Huli chicken, some chili cheese dogs. I’d love to make more than the others.”
“I’m sure they’d appreciate it!” said Flag. “Though you being alive is already gonna make ‘em happy, Harley especially.”
At Harley’s mention, Mayo’s cheery expression wavered, and his gaze drifted away from Flag’s eyes, “Oh, yeah! Harley.”
Flag raised an eyebrow, “Mitch? What’s wrong?”
“I,” Mayo sighed. “Listen, it’s probably occurred to you that I’m not really a normal prisoner anymore. I don’t have my bomb, and they put me up in your room.”
“Right…”
“And it’s because…it’s because Waller doesn’t think she needs me anymore,” said Mayo. “This cooking stuff? It’s my way of having a skill set for the outside. I say the word, and I’ll be able to head out and grab a job at some top military general’s favorite food joint. Job’s waiting, and I won’t even have to do any parole stuff. It'd be an early release, no strings attached.”
“Shit,” Flag’s eyes widened. “That’s a hell of a deal.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t taken it because…”
“Harley?”
Mayo sighed, “Because of everyone. If I take it, I don’t think I’d be able to face them, Harley especially.”
Flag crossed his arms, “Well…after you said what you said to her, I think you should talk to her either way.”
“After what I said?” Mayo frowned. “What did I say?”
“You…” Flag shook his head. “Wait, you don’t remember?”
“I don’t remember anything from about a week before I was in the hospital,” said Mayo. “The Doctors told me this was lucky though. I got shot in the head, could’ve been really really bad. I could’ve lost all my memories, or my cognitive abilities….or y’know. I could’ve straight up died.”
“So you don’t remember-”
“No,” said Mayo. “Which is why I need you to tell me what I said.”
Flag grimaced, “I don’t think it’s my place to say.”
“What, why?!”
“Because you said some very personal things to her,” said Flag. “If you talk to anyone about what’s going on with you, you should talk to her.”
“Ah jeez.” Mayo shook his head, sitting down at the desk, “I just…god I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be here anymore, even in my current circumstances. But I also don’t want to leave anyone behind.”
Flag took a seat on the bed, across from Mayo. “Then talk to them, tell them this stuff yourself. They might think differently.”
“I don’t know if I can face them, knowing I can leave at any time and they can’t.” said Mayo.
“I can be there,” said Flag. “And trust me when I say that whatever choice you make…it should be your choice only. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. They might be giving their opinions, but it’s your ticket, and you can do what you want with it.”
Mayo smiled, “Thanks Flag, I think I needed to hear that.”
“Good, then get ready, because tomorrow you’ll be able to see them,” said Flag. “Not now though. Now is when I hit the sack.”
Without another word, Flag laid down in bed again, closing his eyes. Sleep came almost instantly. Nodding to himself, Mayo turned back to his desk, writing down some extra notes for his recipe. Tomorrow was now potentially one of the biggest days of his life, and he had to be prepared to say what he wanted to say to everyone else. Yawning, he put down his pen and got out of his chair, deciding that it was time for bed. Looking at the occupied mattress, Mayo suddenly realized something, “Shit…now where am I gonna sleep.”
 
Next Issue: Will he remain?
 

I'm sure you can guess who gets credit for the original universe.
CW: cursing, spacism, gunfire, predatory activities
Memory transcription subject: Jackson Kern, Human-Venlil Exchange Program Candidate
Date [standardized human time]: September 3, 2136
The news that Salvek got a whole 8,000 credits Not much money at all, but this business is cheap so it's more than enough. was a blessing to me. Ever since I was little I wanted to become a rich businessman in a fancy suit who ate caviar every night, despite the fact I hated seafood. In my defense, I didn't know what caviar was when I was 6, I just knew that rich people ate it.
But I quickly learned that starting a business meant I needed money, and my family was poor. Since my options were either crippling student loan debt, a job at McDonald's or the military, I chose the military. I invested my salary, which was actually pretty decent money for a guy whose only job was to shoot Russians, and I had a good chunk of money and a few profitable investments when my service ended.
I was on the path to success, but the divorce got messy and when she left me and took the kids she also took 167,564 dollars and $200 a week in child support payments.
When I tried to get my kids back, I was framed for stalking and harassing her, probably by a cop friend of hers, and the judge agreed to drop the charges on account of my military service. The sole condition was that I cease all attempts to get partial custody and cede another 80,000 dollars. I told my friends what they did, so some powerful friend of my ex's cooked up a scandal against me. They said I had PTSD from what I did in Russia, and they accused me of beating my wife. I couldn't believe it.
Now, I know she stole 200,000 dollars from me, and I know I served in the military, but I've always hated violence. No one believed me, though, and despite there being no evidence, I was forced out of town.
I decided to take it a step further and left my home planet because fuck those crooks.
I should've known that they were just out for my money in the first place, but I figure that regret doesn't do fuck all so I should stop regretting so damn much.
The tiny bit of my money they didn't steal was invested in several orbital shipyard firms, and I had it set up so that every week, 200 bucks get deposited from my account to my ex-wife's because the day they don't the UN or a squad of exterminators would break down my door.
Does Salvek know about ex-wives? Probably. I should give the furry son of a bitch more credit.
I was probably never going to be broke, since I was smart with my investments, or out of a job, since I was a soldier and every PMC or bouncer-less nightclub needs someone who can fight. I could make even more money on Venlil Prime if someone had the balls to hire me, but that's just one of the many downsides of species-wide racism.
Well, not quite species-wide. Salvek was cool, and I've met around a half-dozen other Venlil from the exchange program who didn't actively avoid me. (In Venlil terms, this means they're real Gs) My UHerd account had exactly eight followers, which is a great achievement on Planet Racist.
My pad buzzed, and I took it out to see that I had a ninth follower, who was a Yotul called Osori. A whole nine followers! Almost ten aliens tolerated me! Okay, that wasn't exactly the best thing to be proud of, but when you used to shit in a can in foxholes in Russia and a bucket was a godsend you kinda learn to take what you can get.
I was forced back to reality by the shuddering of the Venlil train stopping abruptly. God damn, are good brakes a strictly human invention? Or did the retards in charge of the Federation label wanting a smooth and easy way to stop 'predatory'?
I got up, remembering to crouch this time because fuck the designer of Venlil Prime trains for not anticipating that a 6'3 man named Jack would need to use them one day, and the monotone voice that announced everything on the thin slice of planet the Venlil called home droned "Welcome to the Grove District." That was my stop, so I and Salvek left. Salvek and I is the proper grammatical usage, but who gives a damn?
Salvek's third-floor apartment was just eight blocks from the train station, and I left this particular station without any problems of the flamethrower-wielding nature because exterminators here weren't as racist as exterminators everywhere else.
They gave me a few suspicious looks, more than a few but potayto, potahto, whatever but I was with Salvek and he was always protective of me so no one bothered me.
If someone told me a month ago that a tiny alien sheeple would be taking less shit than I did I would have referred them to a therapist, but the last few weeks have been crazy for me anyway.
Me and Salvek got to his apartment around nine PM, which is 'kill yourself' in Venlil time, but it was still fucking bright outside so I wasn't gonna sleep a wink. Why? Because God hates me, that's why.
The second we got inside and Salvek closed the door, I ripped off my mask and dropped it on a nearby table. Salvek had seen me many times before without it, and he didn't visibly panic at the sight of my forward-facing eyes anymore. *Incredibly common Salvek W *
Instead of pissing himself in fear like he did the first time he saw me maskless, Salvek just told me "I'm gonna take a nap. Next claw is my work claw, so wake me up in a bit." and went to his room. Claws are around five-ish hours, so I set a timer for four and a half hours and started doing Jack shit. Not jack shit, as in nothing, but Jack shit, as in shit that Jack does. Why did I refer to myself in third person?
First thing's first, I ate a hearty meal of some alien vegetables that I had no idea what to call but God, they tasted good. I will never understand why Venlil cuisine is so mediocre when they have ingredients like these to pick from.
After I finished off my salad, I poured some U.N. mandated vitamin mix into a blender along with some water and protein powder to make myself a protein shake. That was gonna come in handy later.
Once my protein shake got finished, I started working out since you can't get ripped without working out.
Venlil Prime is a high-G planet, so Venlil bodybuilders must be jacked under all that fur! I wonder if Salvek is ripped or not. Maybe he is ripped and I just can't see it? Maybe all Venlil are ripped but since the Feds tell them they're weak and scrawny they just took that to heart. Their minds might be the only thing stopping them from kicking ass.
Those were just some of the thoughts running through my head as I did my workout routine. For those wondering, I did 150 push-ups, 150 sit-ups and 150 weighted squats every day in sets of 50 each, and there wasn't much else to do but be tired and think when you're working out.
Once I was done with my grueling workout, Venlil have to be shredded if they work out in these conditions. I guzzled my protein shake to get bigger and turned on the TV. The remote felt like lead in my hand, half because of my workout and half because of Sheep World's gravity. Your average sheeple could probably beat the piss out of your average human, so why are they so damn scared of us?
I flipped through the channels Turns out even racist aliens have cable. Who knew? until I found an episode of this one show called The Exterminators. Turns out even racist aliens have cop shows. Who knew? Salvek always changed the channel when it showed up, probably for my sake, but I was kinda curious about how bad it really was.
It was bad. Really bad. Imagine if, back during the 40s and the civil rights movement, somebody made a show about the Ku Klux Klan. That's a pretty good analogy for The Exterminators.
Come to think of it, the extermination guild and the KKK are pretty similar. Too similar, really. But it's not like I can do anything about it.
A cheesy space cop show jingle played from the TV's speakers as the screen displayed a group of lizards Technically Harchen, but whatever. If they call me 'predator' I call them lizards. in silver flameproof suits running around and doing exterminator things. They torched a predator's nest, they torched a cartoonishly embellished Shadestalker with orange splattered on its mouth That was unusually graphic for a Fed show but ok., they torched a lot of things. It was their job to torch things.
As the main theme reached its climax, a beetle-like exterminator truck with a machine gun on top zoomed through the streets of a crowded Harchen city. Finally, the camera zoomed out and the lights of the city winked off until the only ones left spelled 'The Exterminators' in Venlilese. Thank god I could read Venlilese.
Below the main title the text 'Episode 389: Terran Trickery' popped up and I sighed. Why did everyone have to be so damn racist?
In spite of the blatant and unapologetic racism, giving the term 'Show about the Ku Klux Klan' a whole new meaning, I watched the whole episode. It was actually quite good, if you looked past all the racism and anti-human propaganda.
Twitter must have had a coronary when they found out about these motherfuckers. It would've been funny as hell to see, but you get what you get on Venlil Prime.
The episode opened with a scene of our exterminator protagonists chilling in the extermination office when a call came in to investigate a predator attack. They answered it, dropping a few cheesy one-liners along the way, and when they got there they saw three body bags, two cops and a human in handcuffs.
This next part was so fucking racist I can't even make it up. I bet somebody could, because somebody did, but I swear this is what I saw.
The human had claws, fucking eight inch claws that were coated orange, and your average shitty human canines were replaced with sharp fangs that were also splattered with orange alien blood. He tugged at his restraints, screaming threats, and the cops didn't do anything except for keeping a safe distance since no one had the balls to muzzle him.
When the exterminators showed up, the first thing they did was to muzzle the spacist caricature of a human and beat his ass with their electrified batons. Then they asked him if he knew anything about the bodies, to which he responded something along the lines of "You can't prove I ate them." The exterminators beat his ass again for that one.
Holy hell, and these were supposed to be the good guys. It's like a KKK member on an escalator the way the racism is on another level. If I wasn't such a kind and forgiving soul, I would throw a molotov cocktail into the show's filming studio.
The exterminators tortured the poor man for a little longer, and he kept saying things like "I bet you taste great raw!" and "I'll kill all of you like I killed the... no one!" because he was a racist caricature in a Fed propaganda reel.
Then, finally, the Venlil authorities showed up and released him, saying that humans had "diplomatic immunity, so you are not to touch him." That would've been fucking nice. Oh yeah, another thing. The guy who called off the flameproof SS squad was obviously in a trance. He had those spirals in his eyes and everything.
Was this meant to be human mind control? Probably.
The exterminators left, and then they started gathering dirt on the human in a boring detective sequence that was also incredibly racist so I used that time to pull up my pad and work on my business. I had four thousand and two hundred credits in my UN/Venlil Goverment sponsored bank account, which was more than enough for what I wanted to do.
I placed an order remotely for 100 shirts, all with the text "Dear Exterminators, My Eyes Face Sideways" on it. After that, I placed an order for some other household items of various shapes and sizes because fuck it, I have money. Those, unlike the shirts, would be useful to Venlil, so that increased my customer base.
That cost me around 2,300 credits since I was buying in bulk, so I used another 500 to rent a storage unit for 4 months and my last purchase of the day was 500 credits for a transport service to bring the merchandise to the storage container.
I paid my last 700 credits of the loan Salvek took out to a web designer to make a website for my business since I needed a website to sell things on. Two minutes after that, I asked for a refund and resolved to put all my shit up on TradeHerd since it was free. The 10% fee it charged per sale could just be countered by a price increase.
The show was getting interesting now, so I finished my business dealings and turned off my pad. The exterminator buggy had just pulled up to an abandoned Predator Disease facility, and the gang were getting out of it while armed to the teeth. From what I could gather, they had found the human's lair and they were going to put him down.
Of course they have to fight a serial killer in an abandoned mental asylum. Even aliens have clichés.
The exterminators swept the place corridor by corridor, using flashlights to illuminate anywhere where their victim could hide and always carrying flamethrowers. I had to admit that this was a tense and entertaining scene. Racists make good TV, who knew?
Finally, we got some action. The exterminators started to see moving shadows, some huge beast type thing, the usual "hunt down a dangerous ambush predator" type things. I know we're not ambush predators, but the Feds never got the fucking memo now did they?
Finally, the exterminator squad formed a circle to protect themselves and the human revealed its monstrous form. God, I sound just like a Fed right now. Is racism contagious?
He had fangs like knives, claws that were also like knives, and muscles like a bodybuilder who vehemently refused to take a drug test. Even I would've been scared if I met this monstrosity on the street.
One exterminator yelled "It's the predator's final form!" I wish it was. Imagine how much I could bench like that! and they all raised their weapons. The battle I was about to witness would have been well worth the 30 minutes of racist drivel before it. I need to use better words than racist. Bigoted, maybe?
I was on the edge of my seat, waiting for the exterminators to fight the roided-up superhuman, when there was a crash from the kitchen window.
Oh, for fuck's sake! Now I have to miss my show.
I stormed to the kitchen in a fury, scanning for the source of the crash, and I slammed the door open with a force I never would have done with Venlil around. I barged into the small room, looked around, and found what caused the problem.
There's a brick on the floor! How sturdy is this building, anyway?
My initial suspicions were overturned by the sound of another brick thudding against the wall, very close to a broken window. Damn, the window's broken. I'm cracking somebody's skull for that one.
The antics of a group of alien pranksters were nothing compared to what I had seen in Russia, so I was totally calm and collected as I stuck my head out of the window and yelled "Fuck off, my show is on!" Well, maybe not totally calm and collected.
The recipients of my harsh words were a group of two Krakotl, a Gojid and a Venlil who were piled into something that looked a lot like a pickup truck. The Venlil's fur was black, and cut quite short.
Exterminators. It's always exterminators.
"You're not welcome here, predator!" A Krakotl shouted at me before hurling another brick at my head. He missed, because aliens without depth perception couldn't throw for shit, but I ducked back behind cover anyway.
Another projectile also bounced harmlessly off the wall, so I poked my head out again and yelled "Just fuck off! You're all gay retards, and you should kill yourselves!" One of the Krakotl reached into his bag, and I yelled "Oh, yeah, throw another rock! Your dumbasses are just lucky I've got depth perception!"
He did not, in fact, throw another rock.
He drew a gun.
And he shot at me.
I didn't even know exterminators had guns.
If I hadn't served in the military, I probably would've died. But I did serve in the military, and I served in some of the harshest battles they could find, so I immediately recognized the metallic object as the gun I had seen a hundred times before, usually in the hands of people who qualified as civilians 3 seconds ago, and I took the expected response of ducking behind cover.
If I had my own gun, this would have been light work for me. But I didn't have a gun, and I wasn't Rambo or Batman, so I pulled out my pad and called the police.
"1234, what's your emergency?" Came a tinny voice on the other end of the line.
"I'm being shot at!" I blurted out, and I was sure the dispatcher could hear the loud gunfire going on outside. Did that bird-brain think his shitty pistol could breach a brick wall? Maybe Venlil bricks are weaker than Earth bricks.
There was silence over the line for a good two seconds, making the sharp cracks of the Krakotl's pistol the only sound, then the dispatcher stuttered "We- we're t-tracing your call now. Officers are o-on their way." Damn. I should have disguised my voice so as not to spook the poor sheeple. On a very related note, would the Venlil authorities delay the squad cars just because I was a predator?
It seemed like a pretty in-character thing for them to do, so I knew I had to take matters into my own hands at least for the time being. They were only shooting at me with a pistol for now, but what if they had grenades or Molotov cocktails stored in that truck? An exterminator could probably procure a firebomb, or at least a flamethrower, and if they used either one on me I was done.
The sensible thing to do would be to leave the apartment. The exterminators wouldn't know, and even if they used heavy weapons I would be safe from the fallout. As I began to crawl through the debris and broken glass, however, I noticed one thing was wrong.
Where the hell is Salvek? Can that bastard really sleep through a gunfight?
I've heard of and seen soldiers fast asleep while their comrades fired automatic weapons right next to them, so it wasn't impossible for Salvek to be snoozing. Plus, I had no idea how deep a Venlil's sleep was.
If it was just me and my show, I would've evacuated faster than we did in Russia, but I would never leave a friend to die.
Man, times like these make me hate my moral code. I love Salvek, but I don't wanna get shot for the guy!
I picked up a brick that the exterminators chucked through the window, adrenaline pumping through my body, and waited for the pause in gunfire that meant the gunman was reloading. Maybe it was a gun-woman? It doesn't matter, these hands preach equality.
Finally, after what felt like hours under heavy machine-gun fire, the gunfire ceased. I had to be quick now. Only a few seconds remained before the alien reloaded, and I couldn't waste even one.
With speed and accuracy that would make Babe Ruth proud, I took aim and hurled a brick at the Krakotl's head. This is why you don't get into a throwing contest with a species designed for throwing, you stupid pyromaniac fucks!
It hit him as he put the magazine into his pistol, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Only then did I realize that Babe Ruth, the guy who I just compared myself to, was not a pitcher.
The other Krakotl immediately began first aid while the Gojid went for the dropped gun. The Venlil, who was the getaway driver, sped away with typical Venlil cowardice. What? If they can call all humans bloodthirsty meat-eating savages I can call all Venlil cowards. At least I have a pass.
As the truck and its bigoted occupants made their escape, one of them tossed a match onto the space-grass lawn in front of my kitchen windows. It was not flammable, because alien grass does alien things, but a pattern of fire began to form on it.
I had seen that symbol before, when Salvek was clearing out all his religious stuff. It was the sigil of Inatala, the Great Protector. "Holy shit." I breathed, astonished.
"It's the fucking KKK in space."
First Previous Next comes when I say it comes

Here is chapter 16 of Tight Money.
Special thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for creating the universe and allowing fan writers to join the fun.
Additional thanks to u/BiasMushroom, u/YakiTapioca, u/cruisingNW, u/SavingsSyllabub7788, u/YaaliAnnar, u/White_Dragon_Coranth, u/Illwood and u/Redundant-Honse for letting me use elements from their fanfics in mine.
Thanks to u/Zyrian150, u/Saint-Andros, and u/Eager_Question for proofreading this chapter.
Today, I have 3 character updates for you. We get to see good things happen to Leena and Dani and we get another update on what Niit is up to as well as revisiting some old characters and introducing a new one. This chapter was my first in collaboration with u/Eager_Question. We are doing a crossover for the next few chapters of Tight Money. A huge thanks to them for entirely changing the trajectory of my plans for Niit and Leena. I'm excited for where this is going.
I love your comments so please tell me what you think so I can get better or if you have suggestions for future snippets of life on Venlil Prime you would like to see me cover, leave it in the comments.
First Previous
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Memory transcription subject: Leena, Human Refugee Host
Date [standardized human time]: November 7, 2136
The smell of delectable food woke me up before my alarm – a sweet scent with a hint of roasted vegetables. My stomach demanded a meal, and glancing at the clock, I could see that I had some time before the twins would wake. Eagerly walking to the kitchen, I saw Dani had placed out all manner of items on the counter. She stood in front of her ‘hot plate,’ stirring a steaming pot that emanated the delightful aroma.
“Good morning, sleepy head!”
“Good waking, Dani. What are you up to with all those fruits and jars?”
“Well, you remember how I told you I was going to make some chalk for the neighborhood kids? That’s what I am doing right now – I'm making colored chalk! It's a fun DIY project. You see…”
“That did not translate correctly. The translator said, ‘letters of the English alphabet ask for clarification.’”
“Oh, it is an acronym that stands for the English words, ‘do it yourself.’ A lot of humans are pretty handy and have the skills to make the things that most people buy from a store. Sometimes they make things to save money, some do it for the challenge to see if they can, some do it because they want to customize something, and a lot of people do it because they enjoy doing it.”
“Like you said at our meal, this last paw.”
“Yeah! First, I slice up these fruits and vegetables into thin slices and boil them in water for [10 minutes]. The boiling process helps extract the natural pigments from the foods. Once I've boiled the fruits, I strain the colored water and keep it aside.”
Dani reached for a strainer and gently poured the steaming water into another pot and put that on the ‘hot plate.’ She set the slices of fire fruit on a plate and took a tentative bite out of a slice. I followed suit and to my delight, the fruit had a new mellower flavor with a hint of sweetness. Looking over the counter while I snacked on the boiled slices of Firefruit I got a better look at the jars of colored water and a few with colored powders.
“Okay, I'm following so far,” I pointed to one of the powder jars. “What are the powders for?”
“I’m doing an experiment. I want to see if I can use the pigment water as is or if I have to bake it to remove even more of the moisture in order to get a good color. I’ve never used these vegetables before so I need to do some trial and error to get this right.”
Dani had received a small strayu forge a few days ago in the mail and was putting it to good use making all manner of things except strayu. Honestly, I had no idea you could do anything else with them. Humans think of the strangest things. The forge dinged alerting her that it was done with whatever it was doing. She pulled out a tray of shriveled up Firefruit slices and transferred them to an empty plate. Dani laid several more fresh Firefruit slices on the trays and began the process anew.
“Dehydrated slices make wonderful snacks. Now, I take plaster,” Dani scooped some white powder into a cheap plastic bowl and poured in two scoops of the colored water, “and mix it with the colored water we obtained earlier. The plaster acts as a base and helps give the chalk a solid form.”
“Dani, that's so clever! So, the colored water gives the plaster its colors?”
“Exactly! The colored water mixes with the plaster, and we end up with a mixture that has the desired colors. Oh, and while I'm doing this, I'm also pouring the mixture into these silicone molds.”
I watched as Dani mixed the blue water and white powder until it turned into a light blue soup. Dani poured the liquid into the cavities of the flexible trays and scrunched up her face the way she did when she was unhappy or thinking.
“Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, it is supposed to be a much deeper blue than this. I think I’ll have to find something else to make a better dye or try the powder method. Oh well, live and learn.”
Dani began to clean up just as my alarm went off, informing me that I needed to get the children ready and fed. When I came out of my room after feeding the twins and grooming their fur, Dani had finished cleaning the counter and sitting on the couch browsing on her tablet. She looked up as I sat down.
“You get your cast off today right?”
Peering at the clock on her tablet, “Yes, my appointment is in quarter a claw at the out-patient recovery facility. It is only a short ride away. Would you?” I passed the twins to Dani before I stood. “I need to get ready.”
“Come here little babies, let's play hide and peek-a-boo.”
A quick shower later and I returned to find Dani loading the twins into the stroller; still talking to them in her higher pitch and smiling. Nothing out of the ordinary about that but what was out of the ordinary was that Vissa and Tas were also showing their teeth. Not quite a smile but not for lack of trying. I wasn’t sure what to say about that. I didn’t want Dani to stop smiling at Vissa and Tas but that behavior worried me.
“Okay, we’re ready.” Dani reached in and tickled my children. When they were done laughing they ceased to show their teeth much to my relief.
“Dani, when I get the cast off and return this scooter, is there anything you would like to do? I would rather not go back home and sit down once I can walk again.”
Dani’s eyes sparkled at my suggestion. “I would love to see some of your museums and I read about these places where people can make communal art. Could you show me one of those?”
“I would love to.” I’m glad I can do something nice for you, after all you have done for me.
​
​
Memory transcription subject: Niit, Capitol Spaceport Logistics Coordinator
Date [standardized human time]: November 9, 2136
I was fortunate. Only three claws after I was fired from the spaceport a new job presented itself. It was a temporary job but it would give me time to find something permanent and help my job history. Getting fired looked worse than the contract ending. They had advertised that they needed someone to come in and finish a new facility. I wondered what happened to the last coordinator. I sent in my application, trying to highlight that I had some experience in procuring building materials for the maintenance of the spaceport hangars.
I was given an interview time for the following paw. That didn’t give me much time to prepare and the place was a bit out of the way. I had to take the train out to the outer ring of the Capital and then walk [20 minutes] more but at least it was easy to find; I could hear the construction a [kilometer] away. A yotul was outside watching the construction crews, obviously impressed with the advanced construction equipment.
“Excuse me,” I tried to be respectful and not shout, “could you direct me to the project manager's office?”
The yotul looked at me and then pointed to a series of temporary buildings in the distance.
“The furthest of the temporary dwellings on the right," he said, "it has a label on the door.”
“Thank you.” I waved my tail goodbye.
I walked over to the white construction shelter the yotul indicated and raised my paw to knock when the door slid open and a large, dark gray venlil appeared in the doorway. I froze in surprise as he looked me up and down with his left eye.
“Are you Niit?”
“Y-y…” I flicked my ear in affirmation.
“Come in.”
The gray venlil stepped inside and motioned to a swivel chair opposite a desk near the door. I took the seat opposite him at the desk and he opened a file with my application on his datapad. The office was a mess of binders, tools, and open cases of energy snacks and drinks; I assumed for the crew. A large map of the block hung on the wall.
"You can call me Foreman Apec or just Foreman is fine too. I'm so glad you could come on such short notice, this project is rather urgent and our last coordinator was poached by one of those ghastly flesh factories they're building now."
The very mention of those atrocious places nearly caused me to lose my lunch. “I-I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, I can guarantee you that I will not be leaving to work in such a place.”
"That's wonderful to hear. Tell me more about your experience, how comfortable are you handling tight schedules?"
“Oh, very, when I worked at the Capital Spaceport I had to manage several tight repair schedules regularly.” I hope he didn’t call Director Cass. I doubt he would give me a positive reference.
"Wonderful to hear. Like I said, we're rather in a rush to get this all done as soon as we can. The good news is that human laborers can work for two, sometimes three claws a shift, so we should be able to manage."
He stated that so nonchalantly, waving his tail around like it wasn’t the most ludicrous thing.
“T-three claws? They can work that long? No,” he’s joking, “You are pulling my ear. There’s no way anyone can work that long.”
Foreman Apec leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially.
"I could scarcely believe it myself! Between you and me, I believe they're what you'd call persistence predators, but they're all hush hush about such things, you know. Anyhow,” he sat back and resumed the interview questions. “You mentioned repairs–I assume for starships-- do you have any experience with buildings?"
Persistence predators? I’ll have to look that up later, focus!
“Some, yes. I managed the construction of hangars 17 and 18 two [years] ago and the repairs to some of the buildings when debris fell after the successful defense against the arxur earlier this [year].”
"Fantastic! And, of course, while the position does not require you to interact with many humans, it'll likely come up due to the nature of the project. Are you comfortable with that?"
“I’ll manage.” It’s only temporary and I have my secret weapon now. Let's see them crawl inside me now. Ha!
"You should be fine. Older fellows like myself seem to struggle much more than youngsters like you, and I have my first meal with a human every paw now! I'm afraid the compensation on the ad is as high as we can go due to the budget, is that also alright?"
He flicked his tail apologetically.
“Yes, I’m grateful for the opportunity to gain experience in construction and try something other than starship repair.”
"Fantastic. When can you start?"
“I can start immediately, thank you!”
"Well, then you're hired! I'll send you an information package as soon as I can, and you can start at the next claw. As I said, we are quite strapped for time."
I rose, my tail wagged with joy, “I won’t let you down. I’m eager to see what this place will look like when it’s finished.”
"As am I. The whole thing has been mired in secrecy. You'll have to sign an agreement when you accept the contract, it'll be in your information package."
A secrecy agreement? What are the humans building here? “Oh… mysterious.” I tried to wave my tail playfully.
"Yes indeed! We'll be able to talk all about it once you sign on officially, but suffice it to say that the building plans are different from any I've ever seen."
The foreman walked around the desk and opened the door to escort me out. As I left, I turned one last time to reply.
“Well, I am eager to talk with you about it next claw.”
"Wonderful. Go, read through the package. Rest up. You'll need it."
​
​
Memory transcription subject: Krin, Capitol Extermination Officer
Date [standardized human time]: November 9, 2136
Driving to another abandoned home, looking for another poor warto spawn for trespassing. Probably gonna have drugs too; they all do. Rigel was driving the truck and seemed rather quiet, well, more quiet than usual.
“This is wrong, Krin. Evicting someone from an abandoned house just feels wrong.”
Rigel you are naive and too emotional. These people have already left the herd and need to shape up.
“I get where you're comin' from, Rigel, but it's our job. Can't let folks squat in places that ain't theirs.”
We were headed to the poorer part of the city. Clean streets but smaller houses; some no bigger than an apartment. The homes had an artificial feel to them, lacking any sort of wood or stone, just fillcrete walls and plastic doors. The road was getting bumpier with potholes in the rubber asphalt and frayed edges. The paint was nearly gone in some places and sunbleached in others.
“But it's rough out there, Krin. The economy's tanking, folks are losing their jobs, the banks aren’t making allowances…. Is throwing someone out really the answer?
For herd’s sake, “Look, Rigel, I feel for 'em, I do. But ya gotta think bigger. This squattin' stuff leads to more crime, drugs, theft, vandalism, urban decay. Ain't good for nobody. It’s a breeding ground for predator disease.”
“I get that, but it's hard not to sympathize. People are struggling. Maybe we could help them instead of evicting them?”
You want to help them so much, go be a social worker and see how much help you can give these people. Social services were drowning. Everyone knew that but with less revenue from fees and taxes, agencies had to make cuts. Everyone just had to make do.
“Help 'em how? We ain't social workers, Rigel. We got our hands full already and the owners are breathing down our necks when they should've taken care of this mess in the first place!”
“I know, Krin, but it just doesn't sit right with me. Can't help but think there's a better way to handle this.”
“We can't solve all the world's problems, Rigel. Our job is to keep the peace, not save everyone. It's tough, but that's reality.” The simple reality that ain’t so simple anymore, stupid humans.
“I just wish we could do more, you know? Feel like we're caught between a cliff and a shadestalker.”
“Trust me, Rigel, I feel it too. But we can't change the system overnight. Gotta focus on what we can control and do our jobs. Besides, no point thinkin’ about it anymore, we’re here.”
I stopped the car and got out. Officer Rigel checked the front door and it swung open. We entered the house, announcing ourselves as we went, but saw no one. The place was rather clean for a squat. If it wasn’t for the makeshift bed in one of the rooms and the inflatable birthday pool in the bathroom with a stack of towels, we wouldn’t have even known there was a squatter here.
“Looks like we came all this way for nothing.” The frustration in Officer Rigels voice mirrored my own.
The water in this pool was almost gone, the towels were dry and we didn’t find any paraphernalia. Whoever had been here, was long gone.
“Yeah, let's call it in and go back to the office.”
We climbed back into the truck and pulled out of the driveway. As I drove us back to the guild, we passed a disheveled man. Is that our squatter? I slowed the car and looked in the mirror, from behind I could see he was wearing a dirty safety vest and carrying a trash stick. No, he’s not a squatter. Glad I’m not that guy though. Sanitation work is not for me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First Previous

The Brothers Baratheon
Ryon rose early, dressing simply in some of his oldest clothes, a pair of brown breeches and a roughspun tunic. Fishing was not something a man dressed up for, unless he wanted to ruin his clothes that is, that or he wasn’t fishing right to begin with. Gathering up his thing he found a young lad from the kitchens giving him a silver coin to run a message to the Bird’s Nest, a famous tavern not far into the city.
Once the boy had run off Ryon stopped by the cook to see what was cooking, filling a trencher with bacon and taking a hardboiled egg he slipped right back out. The kitchen staff was used to the presence of the son of the Hand by now, eighteen years the boy had been darting about the place. Only now as he filled into his form he could no longer slip under their legs when they tried to catch him, but his days of running and youth were about over.
After quickly breaking his fast the young stag slipped toward a gate, hoping he rose early enough his father's men might not spot him from the tower. Though all of his hope left him as he felt a hand take the collar of his shirt.
“And where might you be going this early?” his brother playful pulled him back with a grin and a raised eyebrow, the answer fairly obvious with his fishing gear. “Two poles?”
“Heh yeah! Uhhh, I was hoping I would run into you brother!” Ryon attempted to bail himself out, but his brother's grin never faded. Dropping his shoulders at last he would not quite give in to defeat. “Stop looking at me like that, fine I wasn’t looking for you, I was gonna go by myself.”
“With two poles?” his brother laughed, “You know Father wants you to take a guard when you leave the keep.”
Ryon made a face at that, exactly what he had been hoping to avoid, fathers men told them everything. If he had any company they would hear in short work, then the father would never let him leave his room unattended again.
“I am not a kid anymore I can handle myself, I have been a knight for years.” Ryon pouted at his brother.
“A knight carrying no sword, dressed like a flea bottom boy? Brother, sometimes you make me want to ring your head like a bell.” Quentyn shook his head and looked over his brother again. “Okay, I’ll cover for you.”
“You will?!” Ryon almost shouted but caught himself remembering the time, not that the castle wasn’t alive and bustling but to avoid drawing eyes. Many a man in the keep reported everything back to his father, if not his own agents from the men of the Master of Laws.
“Only if I can come with you,” Quentyn said not waiting for an answer. “I’ll get my own pole, meet me by the River Gate.”
Accepting defeat at last, his brother was not a man to incur the wrath of, usually quiet when mad his brother was the storm itself. Ryon shifted his things and began to head down the high hill toward the gates below. Passing by stall after stall peddling their wares as he headed for the fisherman’s harbor. Outside the River Gate, the Baratheon leaned awaiting his brother, watching the vessels head out for their daily run.
“Let’s go,” Quentyn said appearing at last, bound in leather armor with a mace swinging from his hip. If his brother was to be unguarded he would serve well enough in his own mind.
Walking along the bank of the Blackwater the pair of stags caught up on times past, the brothers having spent a few years apart now. Ryon had to admit he had missed and would miss his brother still when he departed, it was nice to get a moment like this. While his brother marched to war he would be withheld here in King’s Landing ever the spare. Not a long walk, yet not a short one they came to Ryon’s spot eventually.
A giant Oak tree sat over a deep swell in the water, a field at their back, and a deep pool of still water in a bend on the river. Off in the distance a few families held picnics, pavilions, and tents sprouting up along the tree line. Everyone awaiting the tourney just biding the time until they all marched back home. Casting their poles the stags sat by their watering hole, Quentyn kicked up his feet and places his hands behind his head, resting against the great oak. Ryon would keep his focus on the water, occasionally glancing down the bank to see if his guest would show.

I ship a lot of items and receive maybe one or two adjustments per month, those adjustments are usually inaccurate and a user error on USPS’s part (for instance, a 4 ounce package that contained a t shirt being adjusted to be 4 pounds). But by far my worst was my most recent. I sent off a flannel and a t shirt in a polymailer- the total weight was 1 LB. The next day I get a carrier adjustment changing the price of the label from $8.82 to $57.78 and debiting the amount from my bank account! I have never even shipped out something 1/2 that expensive in my entire time selling. I was baffled by how this could even happen. USPS wrote in that my polymailer filled with two shirts was actually a 20x16x15 box weighing 29 pounds! I contacted pirate ship and they sped up the dispute process since it was a crazy mistake on USPS’s part so I got a refund about 10 minutes after I noticed but still. I couldn’t believe it. I assume what happened was they recorded that package before or after mine as being my package after scanning it? I’m not sure. But always always check your carrier adjustments and if they seem excessive then dispute them!

In the world of Kengan Ashura, Arashiyama and Naidan stand out as two of the most formidable grapplers and physical powerhouses. Interestingly, they share a unique training technique seldom explored in the West (excluding Russia), but historically effective in the East for thousands of years: Overcoming Isometrics.
What is Overcoming Isometrics?
Overcoming Isometrics involves pushing or pulling against immovable objects. This technique was utilized by historical strongmen, fighters, and performers to develop and exhibit impressive physical strength. In Kengan Omega, Arashiyama, and Naidan honed their power by pulling such objects - in Naidan's case, even living beings. Interestingly, we've only seen the 'pulling' aspect in the series. Julius, for instance, was depicted pulling a Formula-1 car, but this was more of a display of strength than a training technique (Julius' case dates back to Kengan Ashura, however).
Benefits of Overcoming Isometrics
This unique training technique is believed to develop type-2 muscle fibers—those responsible for explosive strength—more acutely. Furthermore, it conditions the body to recruit more motor units into action, thereby optimizing muscle utilization. One fascinating study indeed demonstrates this effect.
However, a contentious claim from one of the method's most notable practitioners, Alexander Zass, suggests that it strengthens tendons more than muscles. Please note that I have yet to find solid scientific evidence backing up this claim.
Notable Practitioners of Overcoming Isometrics
A variety of historical and modern figures have employed Overcoming Isometrics, including:

• Bruce Lee: His book, "The Art of Expressing the Human Body," recounts his use of 8 overcoming-isometric exercises (page 216).
• Masahiko Kimura: This legendary Judoka, known for his triumph over Helio Gracie, one of the greatest BJJ practitioners, trained by attempting takedowns against a tree daily (among other exercises). His technique resembles that of Arashiyama, leading me to suspect a possible influence.
• Alexander Zass: Credited with numerous extraordinary feats, this Russian strongman claimed the training method helped him achieve incredible strength. However, empirical evidence to support his aforementioned claim about tendon strength is scarce.
• Dennis Rodgers: This modern strongman, known for tearing through a phone book, nailing through a steel pan and a wooden table at once as well as holding two accelerating Harley Davidson motorcycles in place, is another famous practitioner of Overcoming Isometrics.
• The Mighty Atom, Joe Greenstein: A person whose life was allegedly completely transformed by the benefits of overcoming isometrics, Joe used to be an ill individual until he started training overcoming isometrics as a teenager when he was in India. Some of his noteworthy feats include biting through an iron nail and bending iron horseshoes by hand.

In Conclusion
Overcoming Isometrics, a technique seemingly shrouded in mystery, holds a surprisingly significant place in the Kenganverse and real-world strength training. Its influence can be seen not just in the formidable abilities of characters like Arashiyama and Naidan but also in the feats of real-life practitioners. As research continues, we may yet uncover more about its potential benefits and applications!

[←Interlude II] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 62→]
Slowly the group was peeled apart and taken to their various quarters, with the merchant Amicio shuffling off the children and paladins to his junior, taking the commander and captains for himself. Efrain was left with the so-called mentor, who was in a state of nervous agitation.
​
“Alright, you’ll need to explain why you’re about to have a fit,” Efrain said.
​
“Well, of course, of course, you wouldn’t know me,” said the mentor, “I came to the post of mentor long after you’d left the city.”
​
Efrain thought the title vaguely rang a bell, and he was beginning to have a dread certainty of the origin of it.
​
“Please do not tell me you’re a cast-off from Nicolo, aren’t you,” he said, the image of the far too charming ‘scholar’ coming to mind.
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“I-If you’re referring to Nicolo Zarrentini, our most honoured founder, then yes.”
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“That… bastard,” Efrain said, “I told him that it was a joke! A joke!”
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The man shrank back from the apparent anger of Efrain, before growing significantly more confused as Efrain began to howl with laughter.
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“The ass was always fond of his pranks. I believe he even said that he ‘wanted one to follow me into the grave,’” Efrain said, shaking his head, “it was so long ago.”
​
“But-but didn’t you- weren’t you part of the first convocation of the academy?”
​
“It was in Aimstand’s kitchen,” Efrain complained, “two hundred years ago, and they were both so drunk that if they’d taken a few steps to the left, they’d have drowned in the canal. ‘Convocation’ was one way to put it.”
​
This was clearly not the secrets that the mentor desired, judging by his rapidly reddening face.
​
“It was an old joke between friends, the idea of starting and academy of magic,” Efrain said, “I left, what, two hundred years ago?”
​
“But your name… and your books?”
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“My books?” Efrain said, desperately scanning his memory of published works.
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“Well yes. Your books. The ones you left behind. We use them as a foundation text for most of our students and…”
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Efrain didn’t even let him finish, rather grasped him suddenly and violently by the collars.
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“You don’t mean to say that… my old notes are used to teach. Students. Magic?” he said, voice trembling with horror.
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“Yes?” said the man, who was beginning to sweat profusely.
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“Those aboslute motherf-” Efrain said, as a loud gong rang out into the canal.
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“Oh!” said the man, “We’ll have to pick up this conversation later, that’s the signal for canal clearing. We’d better be off before they close it off for the Festival traffic only.”
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“Am I staying with you, then?” Efrain said, trying to drop the note of absolute menace in his voice as best he could.
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“Yes, yes that would be correct,” he said, “as soon as I heard you were coming, I prepared the finest office in the academy for you. It’s not much, but I believe that you would enjoy seeing the labours of your wor…”
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The man trailed off as he remembered the last few minutes of conversation.
​
“Either way, I would hope you’d at least examine it.”
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“I would be happy to, mentor,” Efrain said, straightening himself, “particularly the notes.”
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The man shrank at his venom but lead Efrain to his boat all the same, and they set off down the canals to the south.
​
“The Academy, as you might know,” he said, “is still located in the old district. As such, academy studentship is still a prized opportunity, if only to gain access in and out.”
​
“Gain access?” Efrain said.
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“Well, it’s been monitored for thirty years, restricted to only business, and those with invitations only,” he said, patting a pin on his inner shirt, “academy students have numbered passes that-”
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“No, why is it restricted in the first place?” Efrain said.
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“Oh. Oh of course! You wouldn’t be aware. The Miram estate burned down almost thirty years ago. Suspected arson, though no suspects were ever caught.”
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“Oh really?” Efrain said, “what a pity. I remember the old houses well. They had the most wonderful curtains.”
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“The Mirams?” the man said, “I’ve only ever heard stories.”
​
“So the whole old district has been restricted? From where to where?”
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“Just before the shipyards, master Efrain, to the tip of the white stone ziggurats. Of course the major western canals to the shipyards remain open.”
​
“What?” said Efrain aghast, “that much? Why, that was half the city last time I was here.”
​
“Yes, well,” said the man, adjusting his spectacles, “the Eisen and Poutash have been buying up immense amounts of property throughout the district for, well about eighty years now. The ‘old district’, as we now call it, is effectively two large estates with the central trade offices between.”
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“Huh,” said Efrain, “well that’s not surprising, I suppose. They were always greedy.”
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The man exclaimed in shock at him as they rounded a bend in the canal.
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“My dear master Efrain!” he said, “the Eisen and Poutash are dear patrons, especially the former, who’ve been supporting this institution for generations!”
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“Uh-huh, say,” Efrain said, trying to piece the names beyond the vague historical context that he remembered them in, “do you remember the family trees?”
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“The family trees? Of the houses? Well, I certainly could give a guess,” said the man, “incidentally, Karkosian history is something of a passion of mine.”
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“Well then, the Eisen,” Efrain said, “I distinctly remember something about them. In my time it would’ve been about two hundred years. So, give or take four to five generations from now.”
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The man thought for a moment, and snapped his fingers.
​
“I think I know what you’re looking for,” he said, “you’re wondering who master Nicolo married.”
​
Ah, that had indeed been it - Nicolo did always go on and on about this one girl, who Efrain was fairly sure was well beyond his league. She was an Eisen, now that the memories had jumped to the surface of his mind. No wonder the academy had generational funding if one of the founding fathers had married in.
​
“Yes, yes,” Efrain said, “I think she was a branch family member, if I recall correctly.”
​
“No, master Efrain, you’re mistaken,” said the man, wearing a fairly familiar expression - a combination of fear of failure to please, and taking delight in correcting an error in a field he knew quite a lot about.
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“Oh?” Efrain said, “bold claim, mentor. Back it up.”
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The man once more pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and began to recite.
​
“About a hundred-and-eighty years ago, master Nicolo married Hymatia Eisen. Hymatia Eisen was a daughter to Fielia Eisen, the matriarch of Eisen, hence he did not marry into a branch member of the family. He married into the direct, matrilineal line, represented by current matriach Aysatra, head of the Eisen family. Who is succeeded by, well…”
​
The man dropped his eyes, apparently embarrassed on behalf of the people he’d just named.
​
“Succeded by who?” Efrain said, leaning forward in the boat.
​
“Well, that’s the problem, master Efrain. In fact it’s one we currently struggle with. Oh, I do hate politics, but everything’s political in Karkos when money’s involved,” he said, putting on a expression reminiscent of a begging dog.
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Efrain did not find it particularly charming, and pushed the man to go on.
​
“Well, that’s the thing,” he said, “the matriarch Aysatra, who is as youthful and vigorous as a woman half, no, a third of her age, is still well… older. There’s a clamour at the house of the Eisen on who’s supposed to replace her in the most deeply unfortunate event that she might… expire. No, no that make me sound like I’m talking about food and-”
​
“I get the point,” Efrain said, “spare me the flattery of a person who’s not even here. This matriarch doesn’t have a direct descendent?”
​
“Well, yes…” said the man, “but, it’s not exactly simple. The direct heir left the city some time ago.”
​
“And this relates to the academy, how?” Efrain said, “not that I care, just curious mostly.”
​
“Well, of course,” he said, “some at the house of Eisen… well, they think that our research and education is hopelessly outdated.”
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“You mean useless,” Efrain said, more than ever wanting to get his hands on those notes and burn every copy he could find.
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“Well, yes,” said the man, raising his hands in a gesture of helplessness, “some have used those words.”
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“And you’re concerned that if they’re elected to leadership, your funding will be gone,” Efrain said flatly.
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“Exactly. You’re quite insightful, just as the records suggested,” said the man, sniffing.
​
Before they could pick up the conversation, their polemen, dressed in the same blacks as the academy master, spoke up. They were before a river gate of sharpened palisades, which Efrain immediately recognized as the remnants of the old outer wall of the city, painted a bright red. The guards before it were dressed in ornate brass armour, studded with a set of small pearls and seashells.
​
Not quite the legion of sand and sea of old, though the aesthetic sense clearly meant to harken back to it. Efrain idly wondered how different the city would be if the legion actually still existed. In all the histories he’d read, most of their military exploits were suprisingly minimised, save for the few folk legends about them. Of course, most of those authors immediately left out the fact that almost all the legion commanders were women, which given many history writers were men, made sense.
​
The guards checked the proudly displayed pin, nodded, and opened the canal gates. Efrain immediately noticed the difference in the stone work as the passed beyond. It was more worn, but unmistakable paler, bringing back fond memories of days and nights spent in these canals over two centuries ago. He was just glad he was returning in a black, and not the horrid purple robes that he often inhabited while he was here.
​
The streets were noticeably quieter here, no doubt everyone was completing the final administration for the Festival. The buildings were also considerably older, their wooden slates near the water thick with strands of seaweed and barncles. Efrain more than once recognized the shape of an alley, or more noticeable deviations in the stonework. It was funny just how much he remembered of the old city and its details, and how little of his friends.
​
A couple of twists and turns, and Efrain started to recognize the part of the district he was in. Catching a glimpse of the mountains in the fading sunset, and a bridge or two he recognized, though they’d been significantly upgraded and replaced. With that information, he finally realised where they were, and more importantly, where they might be going.
​
“Noooo,” he groaned, “he didn’t.”
​
The mentor attempted to calm him, not understanding why he was so audibly distraught. The answer soon became quite clear as Efrain recognized the exact route they were taking. By the time they’d passed through the two statues, now dancing fish rather than the familiar wolves, Efrain’s worst fears had come true.
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“He’d better not be buried on the academy grounds,” he said, his fingers fidgeting.
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“I mean - and here we are!” said the academy master, clearly glad to move on to another subject.
​
Efrain looked up, nearly threw himself over the side, and forced himself to look up again. To say that it was exactly the way he remembered it would’ve been a lie. It had clearly expanded to include the surrounding pyramids, connecting them with bridges and walkways where what were presumably students passed by. The centre pyramid was kept more or less the same, with the same augurs drawing up water to the top, cascading it down in falls across terrace after terrace of gardens.
​
Refusing the offered hand, Efrain barged past him to take the steps two at a time.
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“Wait! Wait master Efrain! I-” the man’s voice fell further and further behind as Efrain practically ran into the pyramid.
​
It was still a mess hall, but it was now one of long tables and high back chairs. The banners and plaques above proclaimed a short history of sport and scholarly achievement. Students, predominantly dressed in black, some with colourful stripes that Efrain didn’t bother to try to decode, stared at him. As did the cooks, still busy in the large kitchens that he himself had once manned.
​
The academy master had almost caught up to him when he took off again, striding through the aisle between the tables and out the other end of the pyramid. Yes, it was all the same, the same flower pots, and the marble steps and the little waterfall with the cracked edge. Two centuries, two bloody centuries, and Aimstand never bothered to fix the thing.
​
Efrain felt a internal bout of triumph at being proved right as he continued up the steps, before, finally, coming at last to the top.
​
The garden at the flat top of the pyramid was still as beautiful as ever, and the flowers he’d cultured still survived, although the blooms were less luminous than before. Efrain stepped out into the shallow pool that dominated most of the area, and noted that at the far end, where there used to be a stone bench, sat a gravestone.
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“Found you, bastard,” he said, taking off towards it.
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“Please, master!” said the man, practically sobbing if not for the fact he was out of breath.
​
Several of the more senior looking students had followed, looking totally flabbergasted at the display. Efrain did not stop, nor even look back at the procession, merely took off through the pool until he reached the steps to the little knurl of turf and flowers. There he stopped, parking his hands on his hips, staring at the inscription on the stone.
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“Nicolo Eisen,” he said, drawing every word out, “Father, Teacher, Friend.”
​
“Muh-Master,” said the man, soaked up to his knees from his hurried splashing, “master, what-”
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“Oh, calm yourself,” Efrain said, “I’m not going to do anything.”
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The several students that had followed looked in utter confusion at the two men.
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“Master?” one of them inquired, “should we get the guard?”
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“No,” the man wheezed, bent over to catch his breath.
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“Hold on a second,” Efrain said, bending over himself to gaze at the inscription, “what’s this?”
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“That’s founder Nicolo’s grave, master Efrain,” said the mentor.
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“Yes, I know that,” Efrain said, “I’m old, not blind. What’s this inscription below?”
​
“Oh yes, that,” he said, drawing himself back up to his full height, “It’s actually quite the mystery. No one really knows the language, but it was put there by order of founder Nicolo. Some of our teachers and students have spent quite a bit of time over the years to-”
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“I’d told you I’d do it,” Efrain said.
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“Pardon?”
​
“That’s- that’s what it- oh fuck you Nicolo!” Efrain said, “‘I’d told you I’d do it.’ That’s what it says!”
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The mentor had gone white, while some of the students looked on the verge of fainting from confused apprehension.
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“By all rights, I should burn this place down,” Efrain sneered at the stone, “is that what you wanted? ‘Founder’? If the gods were good, you’d still be alive, so I could kill you myself.”
​
“Please do not do that!” wailed the man, “I can’t understand for the life of me why you’re so angry! I thought you would’ve been happy, maybe even proud of what we’ve achieved!”
​
“I’m not angry at you, you idiot,” Efrain said, rounding on the man, “I’m angry at that smug piece of flotsam happily buried under his lovenest.”
​
“What?” said the mentor, the sentiment echoed by almost all the students present.
​
“All right, all of you, gather round. My first lesson,” he said, and, most likely out of habit, the students fell into a neat semi-circle.
​
“This will be a test of one question, and the one to get the answer right on their first response gets…” he turned to the mentor, “do you have some kind of regular award for achievement here?”
​
“Well, we do have ribbons that correspond to-”
​
“Great, first one to guess correctly gets a ribbon,” Efrain bowled through, “the question is this - why did Nicolo learn magic in the first place?”
​
The students stared at each other, daring the others to respond first.
​
“Well, come on,” Efrain said, “someone must have a theory.”
​
“Because he wanted to expand his own horizons?” a brown-haired boy said.
​
“Wrong!” Efrain said, “if your texts say that, they’re also wrong.”
​
“Because he wanted to shore up the city of Karkos’s defences while expanding on its knowledge?” said a girl with a slightly crooked nose.
​
“Also wrong,” Efrain said, shaking his head, “that’s exactly what he would say. You take that from a speech?”
​
“Well…” said the girl.
​
“Nicolo, you preening, self centered-” Efrain said, holding his head in his hands.
​
“To impress a girl?” said someone.
​
“Who said that?!” Efrain said, the class parting to reveal a younger, shaggy-looking boy.
​
“Well, you said that it was his ‘lovenest’ so…” he shrugged sheepishly.
​
“Mentor, get this young man a ribbon. If you need a reason, then cite him actually paying attention.”
[←Interlude II] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 62→]

It's cold. But when it's winter it must be cold. And that's the problem. You either have to pay for heat or get tired with getting coal or wood, starting the fire and checking it doesn't spread. Going out is a torture. You have to put in a dozen layers of clothes. Underwear, pants, short-sleeved shirt, long-sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, boots, neck warmer, hat, gloves. To go out to a shop that is on the ground level or just around the corner, you need all this wearing and getting tired. Winter clothes are heavy, limit motions, sometimes even visibility, and are hard to put on and put off. So buying those is hard and even if you do, then they're hard to walk in. Summer and spring don't have those problems, because you can put on clothes for outdoors and indoors, just change boots and you're alright.
And winter is such a great time to get sick. And the worst thing is having a stuffed nose and have to breathe with your mouth, with this cold air. Throat damage guaranteed, plus this pain in the face from the cold air blowing in your direction. Summer and spring don't have such problems. And winter has the highest amount of deaths of all the seasons. I literally got a frostbite because I touched snow with my bare hands because I didn't have gloves on them. And if you're healthy and put on the clothes, there's another problem.
Getting around. Most of us are rich and have a car and can drive wherever they want. But if you can't, you have to use public transit. I don't have anything about just using it or the fact of the existence of public transit, but the quality of those in Poland, where I live, leaves much to be desired. You have to wait, in cold. In a city this isn't a problem as big as in the rural areas where buses function. These are often coming only in early mornings and in early afternoon, but even if they come more often, they often are late. And no matter the location, you often have to stand, and even if you find a seat, you can sometimes smell people who don't shower very often. Trams, trains, metros and buses are often heated, like most indoor places, we'll get to that later, and people coming there in winter are usually in jackets and sweat in those vehicles, especially considering how crowded they often get and how warm those crowded people are. You'll sweat like a construction worker after 8 hours of work during a heatwave. And driving doesn't save you from the effects of winter. You have to scrape snow from your car, the engine can not start or the visibility is low and roads are blocked or icy, you can skid easily and crash into another car, a pedestrian, a pole or a tree. Walking does neither. If snow falls, it's crushed by people walking, melts and freezes again, and or forms ice on the sidewalk. And you can slip on it and either break something or die. Each time I walk on it, I think I'm gonna die. Either i slip on it and land on a spiked fence, I land on the sidewalk and break something, or I land on the street and get run over by a semi truck or a car. If you manage to get to your destination, there's another problem.
All the buildings are heated, so if you're in winter clothes, you're going to sweat like a construction worker after 8 hours of work during a heatwave.
It's dark half the day. You go to work or school, dark, you go back, dark. And the other half it's cloudy and grey. And the whole world dies. No leaves, no grass, no flowers, some animals hibernate, just grey, cloudy skies and white brown combination of snow, soil, water and mud. No sun. Sure, there are Christmas lights but let's face it, they are only to hide the grey and dark.
It's a hard time for students. The semester ends. You have to pass everything. They throw a lot of tests and quizzes at you. You will tire yourself to death.
Winter sports and games. Snowballs. I hate snowballs. Even if the person who throws one is someone I like. Usually, I take it easy, but in my mind, I hate it. Ice skating. I can't do that because the nearest lake or skating rink is too far away to walk. I could afford that, but I would need to wear all those clothes, get on the bus, ask my parents for approval, get back. No way. Skiing. I live in a city surrounded by forests and farm fields. No way. Sledding. Those are easier because I have some hills in my neighborhood, but going out, taking the sled, going back. Nope. Snowman. Going out. No.
And there are, CHRISTMAS IN WINTER. I'm fed up with them. Literally a few days after Halloween and All Saints Day, all the shops and malls are decorated, and Christmas songs are playing on the radio and Christmas commercials on TV. "Last Christmas, I gave you my heart...":“Christmas promotion! Bone carp, only 21.37 per package or a withered Christmas tree, 69.69 each plus delivery for 3.21. Holidays for Christmas, Old Zealand, 666.66 both ways. Christmas loans, only in Pierogi Bank Polski." Don't take Christmas loans, that's the stupidest thing you can do in that time of the year. They're still up everywhere, wherever I go, whatever I look at. Until the day finally arrives, December 24, when you are completely fed up with it. And it's not like I hate Christmas. Christmas in their current shape and theme are asking for dislike. You want to get up, leave, and come back when all this madness is over. But it's nice that we have time off and we get presents and meet our family. In the summer we have more free time, and on birthdays and name days we also get gifts and meet our family. But always something. And then there's another holiday.
New Year's Eve and New Year, when humans celebrate Earth going around the Sun once again, while nothing besides it happens in nature and humanity on those two days. You can do whatever you want on that day, and in my case, it'll be sitting on the couch in pajamas, watching TV and eating some unhealthy snacks like chips. Most people will spend it partying with friends and family and doing stuff together. And then, they will count from 10 to 1 like if a rocket was starting, and then fireworks explore, and dogs are scared. Afterwards, people will start to go home. And then you can't sleep the whole night because some idiots have too much fireworks and firecrackers, which is also a problem the whole winter.

Even your shirt can tell you a fantastic tale of an underdog who started as knickers and became a celebrity as a sought-after outer garment, the stuff that blockbuster films are built of. A Chicago Bulls Shirt may adapt to any setting, whether a political rally, a disco party, or a business suit. This versatility of a shirt requires little justification. Many people worldwide prefer to wear inexpensive, high-quality shirts as their everyday apparel. Here mentioned are the things to consider before buying a shirt:
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Size and Fit:
For some people, fit and size are more crucial than for others. Choose one in the same size as you wear year-round if you fall into the latter category. Otherwise, you can visit the store and test each one separately. But when you make an online purchase, you should know the perfect size. The size will differ in terms of brands.
Partial Words:
Those mentioned above are the things to consider before choosing the shirt. The 49Ers Polo Shirt is available in various colors at an affordable price. You should pick a shirt which will be comfortable for you.
Visit-https://rakite.com/

It's cold. But when it's winter it must be cold. And that's the problem. You either have to pay for heat or get tired with getting coal or wood, starting the fire and checking it doesn't spread. Going out is a torture. You have to put in a dozen layers of clothes. Underwear, pants, short-sleeved shirt, long-sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, boots, neck warmer, hat, gloves. To go out to a shop that is on the ground level or just around the corner, you need all this wearing and getting tired. Winter clothes are heavy, limit motions, sometimes even visibility, and are hard to put on and put off. So buying those is hard and even if you do, then they're hard to walk in. Summer and spring don't have those problems, because you can put on clothes for outdoors and indoors, just change boots and you're alright.
And winter is such a great time to get sick. And the worst thing is having a stuffed nose and have to breathe with your mouth, with this cold air. Throat damage guaranteed, plus this pain in the face from the cold air blowing in your direction. Summer and spring don't have such problems. And winter has the highest amount of deaths of all the seasons. I literally got a frostbite because I touched snow with my bare hands because I didn't have gloves on them. And if you're healthy and put on the clothes, there's another problem.
Getting around. Most of us are rich and have a car and can drive wherever they want. But if you can't, you have to use public transit. I don't have anything about just using it or the fact of the existence of public transit, but the quality of those in Poland, where I live, leaves much to be desired. You have to wait, in cold. In a city this isn't a problem as big as in the rural areas where buses function. These are often coming only in early mornings and in early afternoon, but even if they come more often, they often are late. And no matter the location, you often have to stand, and even if you find a seat, you can sometimes smell people who don't shower very often. Trams, trains, metros and buses are often heated, like most indoor places, we'll get to that later, and people coming there in winter are usually in jackets and sweat in those vehicles, especially considering how crowded they often get and how warm those crowded people are. You'll sweat like a construction worker after 8 hours of work during a heatwave. And driving doesn't save you from the effects of winter. You have to scrape snow from your car, the engine can not start or the visibility is low and roads are blocked or icy, you can skid easily and crash into another car, a pedestrian, a pole or a tree. Walking does neither. If snow falls, it's crushed by people walking, melts and freezes again, and or forms ice on the sidewalk. And you can slip on it and either break something or die. Each time I walk on it, I think I'm gonna die. Either i slip on it and land on a spiked fence, I land on the sidewalk and break something, or I land on the street and get run over by a semi truck or a car. If you manage to get to your destination, there's another problem.
All the buildings are heated, so if you're in winter clothes, you're going to sweat like a construction worker after 8 hours of work during a heatwave.
It's dark half the day. You go to work or school, dark, you go back, dark. And the other half it's cloudy and grey. And the whole world dies. No leaves, no grass, no flowers, some animals hibernate, just grey, cloudy skies and white brown combination of snow, soil, water and mud. No sun. Sure, there are Christmas lights but let's face it, they are only to hide the grey and dark.
It's a hard time for students. The semester ends. You have to pass everything. They throw a lot of tests and quizzes at you. You will tire yourself to death.
Winter sports and games. Snowballs. I hate snowballs. Even if the person who throws one is someone I like. Usually, I take it easy, but in my mind, I hate it. Ice skating. I can't do that because the nearest lake or skating rink is too far away to walk. I could afford that, but I would need to wear all those clothes, get on the bus, ask my parents for approval, get back. No way. Skiing. I live in a city surrounded by forests and farm fields. No way. Sledding. Those are easier because I have some hills in my neighborhood, but going out, taking the sled, going back. Nope. Snowman. Going out. No.
And there are, CHRISTMAS IN WINTER. I'm fed up with them. Literally a few days after Halloween and All Saints Day, all the shops and malls are decorated, and Christmas songs are playing on the radio and Christmas commercials on TV. "Last Christmas, I gave you my heart...":“Christmas promotion! Bone carp, only 21.37 per package or a withered Christmas tree, 69.69 each plus delivery for 3.21. Holidays for Christmas, Old Zealand, 666.66 both ways. Christmas loans, only in Pierogi Bank Polski." Don't take Christmas loans, that's the stupidest thing you can do in that time of the year. They're still up everywhere, wherever I go, whatever I look at. Until the day finally arrives, December 24, when you are completely fed up with it. And it's not like I hate Christmas. Christmas in their current shape and theme are asking for dislike. You want to get up, leave, and come back when all this madness is over. But it's nice that we have time off and we get presents and meet our family. In the summer we have more free time, and on birthdays and name days we also get gifts and meet our family. But always something. And then there's another holiday.
New Year's Eve and New Year, when humans celebrate Earth going around the Sun once again, while nothing besides it happens in nature and humanity on those two days. You can do whatever you want on that day, and in my case, it'll be sitting on the couch in pajamas, watching TV and eating some unhealthy snacks like chips. Most people will spend it partying with friends and family and doing stuff together. And then, they will count from 10 to 1 like if a rocket was starting, and then fireworks explore, and dogs are scared. Afterwards, people will start to go home. And then you can't sleep the whole night because some idiots have too much fireworks and firecrackers, which is also a problem the whole winter.

I’m trying to find a good service manual for a 2014 Harley Davidson St. glide special clymer doesn’t seem to sell any. for the 2014 any help would be appreciated. Thanks.

It's cold. But when it's winter it must be cold. And that's the problem. You either have to pay for heat or get tired with getting coal or wood, starting the fire and checking it doesn't spread. Going out is a torture. You have to put in a dozen layers of clothes. Underwear, pants, short-sleeved shirt, long-sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, boots, neck warmer, hat, gloves. To go out to a shop that is on the ground level or just around the corner, you need all this wearing and getting tired. Winter clothes are heavy, limit motions, sometimes even visibility, and are hard to put on and put off. So buying those is hard and even if you do, then they're hard to walk in. Summer and spring don't have those problems, because you can put on clothes for outdoors and indoors, just change boots and you're alright.
And winter is such a great time to get sick. And the worst thing is having a stuffed nose and have to breathe with your mouth, with this cold air. Throat damage guaranteed, plus this pain in the face from the cold air blowing in your direction. Summer and spring don't have such problems. And winter has the highest amount of deaths of all the seasons. I literally got a frostbite because I touched snow with my bare hands because I didn't have gloves on them. And if you're healthy and put on the clothes, there's another problem.
Getting around. Most of us are rich and have a car and can drive wherever they want. But if you can't, you have to use public transit. I don't have anything about just using it or the fact of the existence of public transit, but the quality of those in Poland, where I live, leaves much to be desired. You have to wait, in cold. In a city this isn't a problem as big as in the rural areas where buses function. These are often coming only in early mornings and in early afternoon, but even if they come more often, they often are late. And no matter the location, you often have to stand, and even if you find a seat, you can sometimes smell people who don't shower very often. Trams, trains, metros and buses are often heated, like most indoor places, we'll get to that later, and people coming there in winter are usually in jackets and sweat in those vehicles, especially considering how crowded they often get and how warm those crowded people are. You'll sweat like a construction worker after 8 hours of work during a heatwave. And driving doesn't save you from the effects of winter. You have to scrape snow from your car, the engine can not start or the visibility is low and roads are blocked or icy, you can skid easily and crash into another car, a pedestrian, a pole or a tree. Walking does neither. If snow falls, it's crushed by people walking, melts and freezes again, and or forms ice on the sidewalk. And you can slip on it and either break something or die. Each time I walk on it, I think I'm gonna die. Either i slip on it and land on a spiked fence, I land on the sidewalk and break something, or I land on the street and get run over by a semi truck or a car. If you manage to get to your destination, there's another problem.
All the buildings are heated, so if you're in winter clothes, you're going to sweat like a construction worker after 8 hours of work during a heatwave.
It's dark half the day. You go to work or school, dark, you go back, dark. And the other half it's cloudy and grey. And the whole world dies. No leaves, no grass, no flowers, some animals hibernate, just grey, cloudy skies and white brown combination of snow, soil, water and mud. No sun. Sure, there are Christmas lights but let's face it, they are only to hide the grey and dark.
It's a hard time for students. The semester ends. You have to pass everything. They throw a lot of tests and quizzes at you. You will tire yourself to death.
Winter sports and games. Snowballs. I hate snowballs. Even if the person who throws one is someone I like. Usually, I take it easy, but in my mind, I hate it. Ice skating. I can't do that because the nearest lake or skating rink is too far away to walk. I could afford that, but I would need to wear all those clothes, get on the bus, ask my parents for approval, get back. No way. Skiing. I live in a city surrounded by forests and farm fields. No way. Sledding. Those are easier because I have some hills in my neighborhood, but going out, taking the sled, going back. Nope. Snowman. Going out. No.
And there are, CHRISTMAS IN WINTER. I'm fed up with them. Literally a few days after Halloween and All Saints Day, all the shops and malls are decorated, and Christmas songs are playing on the radio and Christmas commercials on TV. "Last Christmas, I gave you my heart...":“Christmas promotion! Bone carp, only 21.37 per package or a withered Christmas tree, 69.69 each plus delivery for 3.21. Holidays for Christmas, Old Zealand, 666.66 both ways. Christmas loans, only in Pierogi Bank Polski." Don't take Christmas loans, that's the stupidest thing you can do in that time of the year. They're still up everywhere, wherever I go, whatever I look at. Until the day finally arrives, December 24, when you are completely fed up with it. And it's not like I hate Christmas. Christmas in their current shape and theme are asking for dislike. You want to get up, leave, and come back when all this madness is over. But it's nice that we have time off and we get presents and meet our family. In the summer we have more free time, and on birthdays and name days we also get gifts and meet our family. But always something. And then there's another holiday.
New Year's Eve and New Year, when humans celebrate Earth going around the Sun once again, while nothing besides it happens in nature and humanity on those two days. You can do whatever you want on that day, and in my case, it'll be sitting on the couch in pajamas, watching TV and eating some unhealthy snacks like chips. Most people will spend it partying with friends and family and doing stuff together. And then, they will count from 10 to 1 like if a rocket was starting, and then fireworks explore, and dogs are scared. Afterwards, people will start to go home. And then you can't sleep the whole night because some idiots have too much fireworks and firecrackers, which is also a problem the whole winter.

I was at Chase bank the other day and saw this guy with a black tshirt, black cap with a "Dancing Skeleton with a welding wire" logo,probably Gold/yellow color on the backside of his t-shirt and cap. Never got to ask him where he got it from or see a name of either the company or club.
Anyone over here have an idea about it?
June, 5th 2023. Jefferson Park area, Chicago, Illinois, USA

I've been following this guy a lot on YouTube. It seems like his whole thing is to approach homeless people and say he will help them. Then alot of the time he will walk off and act like a totally redneck in the comments he makes. This whole time people are donating money to him through cash app and he says that he puts it toward the cause but there is no proof. Other than a sharpie t shirt he made and some grilled chicken he hands out 20 percent of the time. Now he's on the infamous pdx serial killer. Who he's convinced is in the homeless community. And he's making a living off this. You really only need command of about 12 square blocks of outer se to do this ( this is his base). Everytime he tries to go downtown he gets pretty much ran out of can't comprehend the lack of a total police lock down. I highly recommend this persons channel (please don't feed the animal) he's a special kind of felony Flatts self rituous idiot and it will make you feel better about how stupid you might think you are. ...there's always room to grow

Vell Harlan and the Doomsday Dorms Book 3: Just a Moment
At the world’s top college of magic and technology, every day brings a new discovery -and a new disaster. The advanced experiments of the college students tend to be both ambitious and apocalyptic, with the end of the world only prevented by a mysterious time loop, and a small handful of students who retain their memories.
For the past two years, Vell Harlan has been caught in the loop alongside his best friends, Lee and Harley, and with their help he’s been able to survive every disaster the universe has thrown at him. But as Vell enters his third year, Lee and Harley are entering their fourth (and final) year at the Einstein-Odinson College. With a ticking clock counting down, the trio must cut through the chaos of killer crickets, haunted phones, and naked sorcerers to try and solve some of the mysteries plaguing their lives -including why all these butterflies keep following Vell around...
[Chapter 1 (Book Two)][Previous Chapter][Patreon][Cover Art]
On his first day at a new school, freshman Samson Onwe is shocked to find that he is now caught in a deadly time loop -and that his twin brother isn't. At the risk of alienating his twin, Samson is seeking answers from a certain group of students who share his newfound awareness...
The gang of strangers made a good first impression, at least. They had their own secret lair. Lee asked Samson if he wanted a cup of coffee before they got started, which he managed to refuse. The last thing his nerves needed right now was caffeine.
“Very well then. No one else seems to be showing up, so I think I can get started.”
Harley and Vell were currently taking their turn manning the deja vu booth, but none of the other new students had shown any inklings of awareness of the loops. Samson was their only new looper this year, it seemed.
“To make a long story very short, Samson, this school is in a time loop,” Lee began. “Every day that classes are in session, some event of apocalyptic scale happens, and mass death and destruction follow. Then, time loops back to the beginning of the day, and it’s up to the small handful of us who remember to prevent that disaster.”
She paused in her explanation for a moment to let Samson’s brain process things.
“Every day?”
“Every day of classes, yes,” she confirmed. “Though some apocalypses are less apocalyptic than others. Sometimes it’s only a handful of deaths, or even just one.”
“How- What is- When-”
“Give it a minute, dear, it’s always a bit shocking,” Lee said. “To answer some of those questions you half asked, no, we don’t know what causes it, nor do we know why students seem to be randomly selected to be aware of the loops. What we do know is that if we don’t actively endeavor to change things, the world will repeat the exact same events of the first loop.”
Samson nodded along. That was the first thing he’d heard that made sense, at least.
“And, perhaps most importantly, especially to you, those who aren’t randomly selected to be aware of the loops, cannot, ever, under any circumstances, be made aware of the time loops,” Lee said. “We’ve seen the consequences firsthand, and they are disastrous. Any non-looper who becomes aware of the loops is inevitably driven insane by the knowledge.”
“So...my brother...”
“Can never know,” Lee said. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, what do I do? Can I just say ‘no thanks’, opt out?”
“Only by leaving the school,” Lee said. “As far as we know only students can be aware of the loops, so once you’re no longer a student, the awareness ends.”
“Hell no. I worked too hard to get here,” Samson said. He and Ibrahim had spent hundreds of hours studying as hard as they could to ensure they got to go to the best school on the planet together. Neither would be walking away from that.
“I understand. Then you’re going to have to embrace the oddity, and the secrecy,” Lee said. “Do you have any questions?”
“Not right now, but once my brain catches up, probably,” Samson said. It was a lot to take in all at once. “Is that all you know about the loops?”
“Yes. Though, well, as you might’ve guessed from the fact that we have a robot among our number, there’s a bit more going on here than just the loops,” Lee said. “Things get very complicated very fast around here.”
“More complex than the literal apocalypse on a daily basis?”
“Yes.”
“Well shit,” Samson said. “Like what?”
“For my part, I’m the daughter of Noel Burrows, and I might have some mild psychotic issues in relation to my father,” Lee admitted. “I’ll leave others to explain their own personal issues in time. Both for the sake of their secrecy and the fact your eye is twitching a bit.”
The tide of information and strange circumstances had left Samson a bit twitchy -along with the fact the clock was still ticking.
“Could we deal with the rodent problem? I think I’d be able to cope better if I didn’t have that hanging over my head.”
“Of course. I believe Hawke and Kim—the two you met at the booth earlier—should be dealing with that as we speak,” Lee said. She withdrew her phone to get an update and put it away just as quickly. “Let’s catch up and help them handle it. Seems the zoologists are being touchy.”
***
By the time Lee and Samson had caught up to Hawke and Kim, Harley and Vell had also joined the party. A party which currently was attended mostly by rodents.
“Okay, I get the experiment,” Vell said. “Make a woodchuck able to chuck wood, reference the old tongue twister, score a few, uh, science journal headlines, I guess, and some easy publicity. But why so many?”
“Yeah, it’s ‘how much wood would a woodchuck chuck’, not ‘how much wood would three-hundred and fifty-seven woodchucks chuck’.”
The zoology lab was currently full to bursting with hundreds of woodchucks in cramped cages, nestled between piles of loose timber and planks of wood. Samson kind of wanted to interrupt this experiment just for the sake of getting those animals out of the cages. They looked cramped.
“The essence of science is repetition,” the lead scientist said. “To properly determine how much wood a woodchuck would chuck, we’re going to need to establish a mean quantity of wood chucked.”
“Well you’ve definitely got a mean quantity of woodchucks, but not the kind of mean you’re thinking,” Harley said. “Maybe you should stop wondering what a woodchuck would chuck and start wondering what a woodchuck should chuck.”
All this rhyming was starting to give everyone involved a headache.
“We know what we’re doing, thank you,” the lead scientist chided. “We’ll have these woodchucks chucking wood in no time.”
“No one doubts that, we just doubt whether giving rodents ballistic properties is a good idea,” Lee said.
The zoology team lead refused to yield, and Lee didn’t feel like pressing the issue. As they so often did, the loopers were just going to have to sabotage the experiment. Lee called for the retreat, and the loopers, Samson included, returned to the lair. Samson did get a cup of coffee this time. It turned out to be damn good coffee, too.
“For those of you who haven’t been properly introduced, this is Samson, our newest looper,” Lee said. The other loopers gave a few awkward waves.
“Oh, uh, shit, are we doing introductions,” Samson said.
“Well, not officially, as we do have a bit of a deadline,” Lee said. “We’ll have to grab dinner and chat later, but right now we should focus on the woodchuck issue. We do have just three hours now. Ideas?”
“We could do like, an actual animal rights complaint or something,” Hawke said. “All those animals in cages have to be breaking some kind of rule, right?”
“Possibly, but the Einstein-Odinson can be a bit lax about those kind of things, frankly,” Lee said. “Innovation requires risk, so they say, including to animals.”
“Fuckers. Before we go further, new guy,” Harley snapped. Samson stopped sipping his coffee and sat at attention. “Any chance you got a super specific bit of knowledge or something that would help us with this?”
“Uh, I don’t think so. I’m in computer engineering,” Samson said. “Should I have some kind of superpower?”
“Nah, you’re good, I was just hoping,” Harley said. “Sometimes the day does get saved by us knowing a random piece of trivia, though, so speak up if that ever happens.”
“Will do.”
“Can we use Botley to sneak in, cut open a few cages, and sneak out?” Vell suggested. “It’d probably only take a few loose woodchucks to cause chaos.”
“Been a while since I did a prison break,” Harley said. “I like it! Can we chalk that up as Plan A?”
“Sounds perfectly sensible to me,” Lee said. “Samson, why don’t you go with Vell and Harley? You can get to know them, and Botley while you’re at it.”
“Works for me,” Harley said.
“Just don’t sit on him like you did me,” Vell said. “Or at least ask first.”
Harley did ask, but Samson turned her down.
***
“So she’s just-”
“Out cold,” Vell said. Harley had started manually piloting Botley’s body, a process that involved her physical body effectively being put into a coma. Samson seemed a lot more confused about than Vell had been on his first day. At least she was lying in bed instead of on top of Samson.
“Isn’t this only supposed to work with like, animals and stuff?”
“Botley’s technically alive. Like Kim.”
“Right. And how does that work?”
“If I knew, I would tell you,” Vell said. “Get used to hearing that, it’ll happen a lot.”
“Is it that bad?”
Vell lifted his shirt slightly to expose the circular scar around his waist. At this point, he knew the secret would get revealed sooner or later, so he decided to just get it over with.
“When I was twelve I got cut in half by a train accident,” Vell said. “A secret Goddess named Quenay resurrected me by putting a weird rune on my back, and in my first year two people here kidnapped me trying to study it. It gets weird.”
Samson spent a solid thirty seconds staring at Vell like he’d just grown a second head. Vell turned to showcase the glowing rune on his back, just to confirm his own story.
“What the fuck?”
Vell nodded along with the expression of shock. It was nice to get a new person’s perspective on his circumstances now and then. Helped him stay anchored in how truly insane it all was. Samson hadn’t even heard the finer details yet, like how one of the people to kidnap him had been Vell’s girlfriend at the time. Or how he was being stalked by chronologically impossible purple butterflies, like the three flocking on a windowsill right now.
A longer, even more chaotic explanation was briefly staved off by the return of Harley’s consciousness. She woke up, and shortly after, the tiny mechanical body of Botley appeared next to her in a poof of smoke. She rubbed his round head and congratulated him on a job well done before turning her attention to her human guests.
“Caused a little chaos, but no guarantee of anything,” she said. She took a look at Samson’s face before continuing her debrief. “Oh, I know that look. You tell him about your rune already?”
“Hiding it’s never done us any good, so why not?”
“Honesty is the best policy,” Harley said with a nod. “Except for all the lying and secret keeping we have to do about the time loops. Honesty is the best policy except when it would drive people literally insane, how about that?”
Hearing that only reminded Samson that he would have to lie to Ibrahim about all of this very soon, and that made an already confusing day even worse. He lied to his brother all the time, of course, but about dumb things like stolen snacks and misplaced video games. Never about anything important.
“Looking rough, Samson,” Harley noted. “Can I call you Sam? Sammie?”
“Samson, please,” he said. Harley nodded.
“Well, Samson, let me tell you about a little thing called a coping mechanism,” Harley said. “Food, booze, sex- pick your poison and have as much of it as you want, because there’s no consequences for anything you do on the first loop!”
“That sounds...unhealthy.”
“It is! But long term mental health is a slow process, and having some easy stress relief in the meantime sure helps you get there,” Harley said. “A bandaid ain’t much, but it’s better than bleeding.”
“Harley knows what she’s talking about,” Vell agreed. “Uh, both in the sense that she’s pretty good at the whole mental health thing, and that she has a lot of sex as a coping mechanism.”
“Open invitation to join me in that, by the way,” Harley said. “Just ask.”
“I’ll think about it,” Samson said flatly. He didn’t know what to think about that offer, or anything else he’d heard from these ‘loopers’ so far today. All this chaos would have been overwhelming in the best of circumstances, and being far from home and separated from his brother was far from the best circumstance. Possibly the worst circumstance, even.
For now, Samson bid Harley and Vell goodbye and tried to track down his brother. As they were unused to being separated in the first place, it took a while for them to track each other down.
“There you are,” Ibrahim said, as the two finally crossed paths. “What have you been doing all day?”
For a brief second, the phrase “helping a bunch of lunatics in a time loop disarm three-hundred rodents” flitted through Samson’s head, but he never dared to say it out loud.
“Just got wrapped up in some school stuff,” Samson said. “You know how it is.”
“I don’t, actually, what-”
“Duck!”
In spite of the warning, Ibrahim didn’t duck, so he got a log to the head. A loose woodchuck chittered madly and than grabbed a stick, chucking it in a random direction, before running off. Apparently some of the woodchucks Harley had set loose were already chucking wood.
“What the fuck was that?”
“A woodchuck.”
“Yeah, I could tell,” Ibrahim said, as he rubbed a sore head. “What animal was it?”
“It’s a woodchuck. That’s what it’s called. Also a groundhog, I guess.”
While Ibrahim continued to wonder what the hell was going on, Vell sprinted around the corner, looked around, and spotted Samson.
“Samson, hey, did you, uh, see-”
Samson pointed in the direction the woodchuck had fled, and Vell went running that way. Ibrahim watched the quick exchange and squinted at Samson.
“What the hell is going on with you, Sammie?”
“It’s...it’s nothing,” Samson said. “Don’t worry about it. Also, duck again.”
This time, Ibrahim listened, and the stick went sailing over his head.
“Do I need to start wearing a helmet?”
“Probably not,” Samson said. If the apocalypses were even half as bad as described, a helmet wouldn’t do much good.
In the background, Vell snatched up the wood-chucking rodent and started carrying it away before it bit him. Samson tried to ignore the tiny rodent screeching in the background as Ibrahim tried to talk about his day. He began to wonder if he’d survive a year of this.