Not all change is bad, but not all change is advantageous either, especially when it involves disfigurations and body part swapping. ‘What doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger.’ I tend to disagree in certain circumstances. I doubt surviving a train wreck makes you stronger. At this point in my life, I feel as weak as I have ever been. I feel odd and peculiar, a stranger to my own body, a monster to my soul.
Several months ago, as I was lying in bed a wave of red light poured in through my window, accompanied by a hypnotic vibrating purr, that put me in a deep sleep. When I woke up my left hand felt swollen. At first, I thought nothing of it but as I went through my morning routine, things felt different. My grasp wasn’t as strong, but it wasn’t just that, it felt as if I had a different tactile sensation altogether. I finally became conscious of the extent of the difference when I went to brush my teeth.
I grabbed the toothbrush with my right hand and the tube of toothpaste with my left hand. As I tried to line the nozzle to the toothbrush, I noticed that my left hand was slightly bigger than my right hand, and had a darker skin tone. The contrast was striking. I have a very fair skin complexion. My mom always said that I was ‘Irish’ white, that she would lose sight of me walking to the mailbox through a snowstorm.
I dropped the dental toiletries in the sink. I held my hands up in front of my face. I never chewed my nails, but on my left hand, the nails were almost chewed down to the cuticle. I turned my hands over and they were as different as night and day. The left was calloused from hard work and dedicated labor, the other was the pampered hands of a college student. Around the wrist of my new left hand was a bracelet of thick dark stitches, hardly signifying friendship or wealth.
I had to call the police, but when I got my phone, there was a text message:
Don’t go to the police, or we’ll remove your head. No more procedures needed.
I wasn’t too sure what to do at that point. Whoever did this was able to in one night, knock me out, surgically remove my hand and replace with someone else’s hand. If they were able to do that, then I was certain they would be able to get in and do much worse.
Luckily, I was in between semester, no classes to attend, nothing as of yet to explain. Even though it was hot as hell and it was in the middle of Summer, I put on a long sleeve shirt and a pair of gloves. My left glove barely fit, and the phrase ‘If it don’t fit, you must acquit’ popped in my head. I frequented the food truck parked in the convenient store parking lot near my apartment building at least three times a week. They have the best burrito I have ever eaten, bursting with meat and spices, not any of those lean stingy burritos you get at traditional restaurants. But lately, there has been this strange street person hanging out at the corner. He showed up around a month before my ordeal. He was not begging for money but preaching about an invasion. He was always dressed as if it was forty below zero.
Instead of walking along the sidewalk, I decided to climb down the hill from my apartment that led directly to the back of the convenient store. From my deck, I could watch the customers go in and out of the store. The apartment building sat on a high hill overlooking the street below. I could see that the homeless man wasn’t at his usual corner, but I didn’t want to take any chance.
I got down the hill and hopped down from the retaining wall, when all of the sudden he jumped out from behind the dumpster, dressed in a long trench coat, gloves, a ski mask, and a scarf wrapped around his neck.
“They got ya son. They’ve tagged you. I saw the red light. I’ve been tracking them for a while. You ain’t getting away and they ain’t stopping. You need to come with me.”
“Mister, I don’t have any money I can give you.”
“I don’t want your damn money son. I’m here to save your life."
I tried to walk past him, but he blocked my path and pushed me back. As he did so he started unwrapping his scarf and pulling off his ski mask. I resumed my attempt to get to my favorite burrito, but he blocked me again. I was looking down, not paying attention, so I didn’t notice that he was completely unmasked with his trench coat and shirt laying on the ground.
“Look here!”
I looked up to see the most grotesque, confusing human being I had ever perceived. He was a patchwork of different races, different skin tones, and stitched up scars running throughout his body and face like a map of a river and its many tributaries. His nose was completely foreign to his face and both eyes were awkwardly strung together from two different individuals. Worst of all, there was a large scar around his neck, indicating that this head had been removed and reattached.
“They told you that they were done, right?” I nodded my head in agreement. “Well, I’m proof that they are a bunch of damn liars. I hate to tell you this, but your life is over as you know it. You can come with me and stay intact or refuse my help and become what I am today.”
I should have taken his advice, but I wasn’t in a state to comprehend the reality of my situation. I was still unsure of what I had seen this morning. I was trying to convince myself that I had just slept on my hand or had a bad dream and slammed it against the wall. It was just swollen, not someone else’s hand.
“I’m fine man. I just want a burrito. Leave me alone, please.”
“Alright. I’ll still be here when you are ready. There’s a place we like to call the Island of Misfit Toys. You know from Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer. You’ll be safe there. I promise you, its not going away.”
I started to walk away, determined to ignore him, but then he said something that caught my attention.
“I bet you are O negative blood type. All us misfit toys are O negative. Universal donor baby. Now how did I know that? You still want to turn a blind eye.”
He was correct, but I persisted in my stubbornness and walked away. That day the burrito just didn’t taste as well as it normally did. Was there a new cook? I didn’t notice. Or worse, had they already replaced my tongue with someone else’s, whoever they were?
There weren’t any other occurrences for the next month. I made sure to sleep in the living room on the couch with the television on. Still, Mr. Frankenstein stood on the corner, waiting for me. I didn’t visit the food truck that entire month, didn’t have the usual craving and sure as hell didn’t want to have another confrontation.
The next month was my wake-up call. I was dozing off when the television shut off by itself. I heard that familiar hum and saw the red light moving through the front window. I put my fingers in my ears, closed my eyes and stumbled to the bathroom. I started singing to myself, hoping to drown out the noise and stay conscious. I opened my eyes for a second and saw that the red light was moving under the door, and bending upwards towards my face. I shut my eyes again.
The bathroom door slammed open. I closed my eyes tighter, so much so that I saw twinkling stars and sparks. I felt two hands grasp me by the shoulders and lift me up in the air. I opened my eyes. There standing before me was tall hairless grey being in a long black cloak. The creature had no eyes, small narrow nostrils, but a large gaping mouth, affixed open as if the creature was unable to close it. On his shoulder was a smaller green creature with a bulbous head and large eyes. It was not clothed and would ever so often lay its forehead against the side of the larger creature’s neck. It seemed to be a symbiotic relationship.
The larger creature lifted up his three-fingered hand. Out of the palm of his hand radiated a red light. The smaller creature was somehow making the humming noise, and within a few seconds I lost consciousness.
The next morning, I woke up in my bedroom upstairs. I frantically searched my entire body but saw nothing, but I wasn’t convinced by that cursory search, and sure enough, my suspicions were correct. Staring back at me was a somewhat unfamiliar face. My right eye was now green instead of blue, and the skin tone around it was darker. Even my eyebrow was more pointed. Encircling a wide area of the eye was a ring of stitches. I fell to the floor, exasperated by what I had seen, and what I had become. It was time to visit Mr. Frankenstein.
I didn’t try to hide my eye. I can easily explain it away as corrective surgery, the first of its kind, if anyone was so bold, or rude, to ask. I found him at the corner as expected. He didn’t gloat or say ‘I told you so.’ He was sympathetic.
“I’m sorry man. Come on. Let me take you to your new home.”
“There’s no way to fight them… or stop them?”
“Maybe in time, but all we know how to do right now is hide and keep them from tracking us.”
“How do you keep them from tracking us?” I asked.
“You’re not going to like it, but we got to dig a tracking device from in between you lower ribcage.”
I wasn’t too thrilled about that but then again, I’d rather go through a little suffering on the front end to avoid any more experimental alien body part swapping.
We walked down the main highway to a backroad where there was an old, abandoned warehouse. He gave a coded knock to let him know that it was a friend and then turned to me.
“By the way, what’s your name?”
“Robert, but you can call me Rob.”
“I’m Frank, as in Frankenstein.”
I laughed and explained to him that I had already begun calling him Mr. Frankenstein. I felt a little weird admitting that, so I apologized.
“No need to apologize. I like the name. I honestly don’t know my real name. I just picked that one.”
The door opened and there was a hooded man with his face hidden.
“Welcome home Frank. Got a new one huh?”
“Yep, sure do Phil. Let’s make him feel at home.”
We walked through the door into a small homemade foyer. Some drywall had been thrown up and fortified with wooden pallets and barbed wire. There was yet another door. It was a thick steel door with a peephole. Phil gave another coded knock. A woman armed with a gun slung over her shoulders opened the door. Her face was riddled with scars and one of her eyes were bulging. She had the same mismatched facial features that Frank had.
“Welcome to the Isle of Misfit Toys,” announced Frank.
It was a big open space with many cots strewn about all four walls. As we walked around and toured my new home, Frank introduced me to everyone. It was all the same. The scars and parts were different, but the procedure was recognizable. There were even children, little misshapen research subjects imprisoned in a world devoid of holidays and birthday parties, or at least in the normal sense. This world tries to operate as normal, but in the end, its difficult to be normal when you’re hidden and locked away in a warehouse. We’re all victims traumatized by our encounters with ghastly reminders etched on our bodies and faces. Our minds are no less effected. There’s a big handwritten sign hanging over the entrance door. It reads: No Red Lights.

Rasmussen Pond is the only "natural" area in Cameron Park and surrounding regions consisting of 104 acres. Together with the adjacent land owned by the Pine Hill Preserve and El Dorado County, it has 6 miles of "social" trails.
A home developer has purchased this land and is trying to build over 150 homes which will ruin this natural gem consisting of hiking trails, grassland, oak forest, and animal habitats for birds, deer, rabbits, foxes and many other animal species.
Please join the Rescue Rasmussen Pond Alliance in our effort to preserve this unique and precious area for public use!

[Chapter 1] ; [Previous Chapter] ; [Discord + Wiki] ; [Patreon]
Chapter 117 – I have nothing to hide
With a deep, long exhale that took every last bit of air out of his lungs, James hung up his call. Wordlessly and with his chest deflated, he simply remained standing there for a few seconds, feeling how his system gradually drained itself of oxygen while he tried his best to clear his thoughts and listen into himself. But all he felt was a chaos that he couldn’t calm. He had no idea if he was ready for this, and trusting the word of others had never in his life felt as hard as it did right now, not even the many times his life had literally depended on the word of others.
All he could do was reassure himself. He could do this. He would do this. And they all would get through this. He would make it happen. He had to.
Feeling the raging chaos-storm die down only ever so slightly at his own reassurances, he finally allowed himself to inhale again. He forced himself to not violently gasp for air as if he had just emerged from a deep dive. Instead, he very deliberately began to allow air to rush into his body through his nose, adamant to keep full control of the flow as he did so.
Once his lungs were full, he kept the air in for only a moment, before allowing it to rush back out of his mouth in a pursed-lipped exhale, while also opening his eyes again.
With steady and deliberate steps, he then began walking back to the rest of his group at an even and controlled pace. The projections of his team’s expression looked back at him with a strange sense of wonder and anticipation.
Nia and Moar on the other hand looked like they already sensed the severity of the situation, and a mounting dread seemed to take hold of them. Meanwhile Curi and Congloarch stood by with stony expressions, not giving a hint as to what was going on behind their faces.
That only left one.
Unlike all the others, Shida approached him as he returned to the group. After meeting back up outside of the conference room once the recess had been called, James had immediately separated from everyone again, and she had patiently waited for him to be done with his preparations. But now they could finally discuss what needed to be said.
“Are you feeling any better?” James asked her, knowing that he sadly would most likely have to force her to join them in the room once again once the proceedings would return to order. It was for everyone’s safety.
“Not really, but I think I can sit it out,” Shida confirmed for him, her expression stuck between assuring and sickened by the thought, which James couldn’t fault her for. With her ears twitching, likely to subtly remind him of her fine hearing, she then lifted a hand to gently put it on the side of his mask, where his cheek would usually be found. “So, it’s come down to it, huh?”
James nodded, while lifting his own hand to press it onto hers.
“Yes,” he replied with a sigh that reflected the weight he felt pushing down on him. “Not how I wanted things to go, but…I’m also glad that the secrecy will be over.”
Allowing his head to sink down, his mask pressed against Shida’s forehead.
“I honestly can’t tell if I’m overjoyed or devastated that you’re here with me for it,” he whispered as he closed his eyes for another moment.
“I wouldn’t want to be away from it,” Shida whispered back while her other hand also lifted to gently sink down onto the back of his head. “Not again.”
Letting out the mildest hint of a laugh, James embraced her. As he felt her body in his arms, a primal part of him wished that they could just remain like that. Just unload all of this weight and pressure in a hug until nothing bothered them anymore. Of course, that was not how anything worked, and so they soon let go.
Together, they joined back up with the rest of the group.
“Usually, I would offer anyone who doesn’t want to stick around the chance to get out now, but I’m afraid that would be way too dangerous to do,” James explained as he looked at everyone’s face individually. “For better or for worse, it’s safest if we all stick together now.”
Moar was the first to step forwards. Slowly, she approached him with her lumbering steps, one clawed hand lifted to her face while long fur hung off her thin arm, while the other half-extended towards James but stopped in mid air long before it reached him.
“James, what are you going to do?” she asked, her tone filled with all kinds of strongly held-back emotions. Light reflected twinklingly in her wet, dark eyes. James swallowed, but a feline hand clasping around his gave him courage.
“I’m going to come clean,” he said with a look up at the giant. “Everything that’s been said. Everything that’s been done. I’m putting it all on the table. I will let the galaxy be my witness that I made my choices and I am willing to stand for them, like I always was.”
He then wondered if he should prepare all of them for what was about to happen.
However, he decided against it.
“It’s better if I don’t tell you more right now,” he said with a creeping sadness gradually reaching for his words. “I don’t know how you’re going to react to it, but…whatever your reaction may be, it will be better if it is genuine inside of that chamber. You knew of nothing, and people will see that. I don’t want anyone to unjustly think you were involved.”
Although he didn’t say much, the concerning vagueness of his statement seemed to already give at least some of them ideas of what was going on, especially given the recent tensions back on Earth.
“James…you- you can’t be-“ Nia began, however James cut her off with a raised hand and slowly shook his head.
“Let’s keep it for the big reveal, alright?” he suggested, although his tone didn’t leave much room to argue.
Seemingly stricken by his words and looking for some reassurance that surely what she was thinking couldn’t be true, Nia glanced around to the faces of her other fellow humans for any sort of support. However, the projections of the faces of James’ entire team, including her own girlfriend, were just as glum and anticipating as that of her brother was.
They all knew. Of course, they did.
As James watched that realization sink in for his sister in real time, he suddenly noticed a huge shadow creeping in from his side. Turning his head, he looked up just in time to see a huge hand sink down to grasp around his shoulder, as Congloarch bowed his upper body in a show of respect.
“It is a rare sight to see a dancer stand firm,” the Lizartaur informed him with his deep, bellowing voice that came through barely parted rows of sharp teeth. “You carry yourself well, James. Keep that up, and the Galaxy will see it, too. I, for one, will stand with you.”
All of the giant’s four fiery eyes were focused down onto him.
James exhaled slowly, not knowing if he should be inspired or bemused by the strange encouragement.
“Thank you,” he ultimately said with genuine fondness in his voice. “For everything.” Hesitantly, he then turned to Curi. The cyborg still stood without any movement, their lightly glowing red eyes fixating on him with great attention.
“I think…” they began to say, noticing his eyes on them, however they then cut themselves off and shook their body slightly to rephrase it. “I believe in you. I believe that I cannot have misjudged you to such a degree that anything you did would make me no longer want to stand with you. Not after you stood with me when nobody else would. You said you wouldn’t rather have anyone else by your side. And I will be.”
While James appreciatively bowed his head to the cyborg, Moar then came forth once again, seemingly feeling like she needed to say something as well.
“I am not sure what you have in store for us this time, but I cannot imagine abandoning you to face it alone once again either,” she said, her gaze noticeably falling onto his cybernetic arm. “I cannot promise that it will not take me time, but I do not wish to let myself be blinded by my own ignorance again. Therefore, I will listen to your reason, and knowing you, I am sure I will see it as well.”
Exhaling slowly, James was already starting to think that he was feeling one too many emotions right before such a huge event. But, seeing as it couldn’t get much worse, he turned to his team.
“Anyone got anything to say? Now’s your chance,” he offered to them. The humans briefly exchanged some looks with each other. It didn’t really seem like they had much need to get anything out.
“If we’re going to have to fight our way out of here because of this, I’m going to be so mad,” Athena notified everyone with a sigh while patting the side of her belt with one hand while throwing her long ponytail back with the other.
“Remember to count your kills if it comes to that,” Koko chimed in with a tone that seemed to try to break up the tension. “Makes documentation so much easier if we don’t have to scrub through the footage.”
She tapped at the camera attached to her chest with a finger.
Giving the two a hesitant courtesy chuckle, James then turned to his sister once more. She still looked on in disbelief, seemingly overwhelmed by what was happening.
Momentarily letting go of Shida’s hand, James walked over to her, immediately pulling her into a tight hug.
“You don’t have to worry,” he assured her, doing his absolute best to confidently speak this truth into existence. By any metric, she had done nothing wrong. At the very least he would ensure everyone knew about that.
Nia held him for a moment, before shifting her head slightly.
“What about you?” she asked gently.
“I can handle myself,” James replied immediately. “And I’ll have no regrets.”
Apparently not quite knowing how to react to what he had said, Nia just squeezed him tighter.
“I love you,” was all she said in the end, and James could feel his heart drop at her words.
“I love you, too,” James replied seriously, and after a few more long seconds, they let go of each other again.
Clearing his throat, James looked around at everyone.
“We should probably get back inside early,” he suggested, feeling like keeping a good overwatch over the situation was a valuable strategy.
Although hesitant, everyone followed him as he led the way, and soon enough, they were back on their seats – after checking everything for possible tampering once again.
For now, the room was still relatively empty. One or two of the other representatives had already found themselves back as well, and many nervous glances were thrown James’ way after the earlier outburst.
However, as James settled into his seat to go over how exactly he wanted to say what he had to, he heard a weird sound of pitter-patter in front of him. Leaning forwards in confusion and looking down at the railing, his eyes then quickly caught the bright, signal-colored fur of a pixemerrier climbing up towards him. The nimble lemur forewent the need for the offered stairs and simply used the railing as more than enough purchase to make it up to the second level, small hands soon reaching over the sides to completely pull the pink and spotted body up.
Now sitting directly in front of James on almost eye-level, Losaraner looked at James with mildly glowing eyes.
“Can I help you?” James asked as he shifted his position slightly to look at the man head-on.
“Just, uhm….” the lemur started, but then heavily hesitated as he awkwardly shuffled his body around. Something seemed to make him majorly uncomfortable, although it didn’t appear to be for an all too serious reason.
Strangely feeling put the tiniest bit at ease at the display of sincere awkwardness, James let out a bemused breath.
“Whatever it is, it’s alright,” James therefore informed the glowing lemur and reassuringly raised a hand. “I’ve been called every name in the book and had to answer every question I can think of, you won’t insult me with whatever you have to say.”
With some honest relief apparently rushing over the pixemerrier’s face, Losaraner pushed himself up to all four of his feet again, balancing on top of the railing.
“Forgive the inconvenience, ambassador, but we would like to relocate your seat,” he informed James.
“Relocate my seat?” James asked with a head-tilt, his mind already running with possibilities how this could be to his detriment.
“Not just yours, that of your entire party,” Losaraner quickly clarified something that James had honestly already figured. “We believe it would lead to a more civil outcome.”
James quite earnestly scoffed at that. There would be nothing civil about what was going to happen. And although he wasn’t technically against gaining some distance from his most averse parties around here, he also felt like the sudden need to get him away from Uton had a foul aftertaste.
“Is that a compulsory ‘would like’ or a suggesting one?” he therefore inquired. He almost didn’t want to, given that Shida had difficulties being here already, and being further from her former father figure surely would help with that a bit. But still, he was going to trust his gut on this one.
“Oh, uhm…well, if you would like to remain in your seat I guess-“ Losaraner began, and James quickly nodded before he had even finished.
“I would,” he confirmed firmly. “But thank you very much for your consideration.”
If they were going to try and blow him up or whatever, they better be willing to take their scapegoat down with him. Maybe this was all a genuine offer in the end, but even then staying around here wasn’t going to have a negative impact.
“In that case, I’ll return to let my mother know,” Losaraner said with a nod and turned on the spot, seemingly to climb back down to the lower level.
“Hey Losaraner?” James stopped him briefly, causing the lemur to turn his head back.
“Ambassador?” he questioned James’ intervention, awaiting whatever he would have to say.
“You seem like a good guy,” James said, fixating the glowing primate through his visor in an attempt to spot any attempt at deception from the small creature. He couldn’t find any. “Keep an open mind, alright?”
Although apparently confused by James’ words, Losaraner nodded with a bit of enthusiasm.
“Of course, Sir,” he replied, before then climbing down the railing face-first to join back up with his conspecifics.
“Almost showtime,” James then mumbled to himself.
Shortly after, the room had once again filled up with the representatives of all eleven primate species the galaxy knew, as well as their extended company.
Though by now, it almost seemed like the invited representatives found themselves outnumbered by the vastly increased number of reporters, sound engineers, camera people and even news casters that had come together to report on the event. Their numbers must have had at the very least tripled since before the recess had begun, and that was a very conservative estimate.
Cameras and microphones were truly everywhere now, ensuring that not a single instant of this most possibly historic moment would be missed without being preserved for all to see.
Next to him, James could see Uton settling in. His face seemed to be plastered with the same anticipation that James felt. And for only a second, both primates glanced over at each other at the same moment, their gazes very briefly meeting in a moment that seemed to fill the air with an electric charge.
The tension was palpable, and it only looked for a release.
In the room’s center, Losaranarja was now climbing back onto her small podium. The glow if her fur and eyes had increased quite drastically since before the recess, and James wondered if that was caused by stress alone or if other factors also played a role.
“Welcome back everyone. Seeing as all invited representatives have returned to their places, I hereby reopen the council of primates,” she announced over the loudspeakers as her glowing eyes scanned over the room. “Before the recent recess, we had just born witness to a frankly tremendous confession of Captain Ferromore Uton. If nobody has anything absolutely urgently relevant to say before we continue, I would suggest that we waste no time before getting to the bottom of that unnerving revelation he wishes to share with us.”
Without wasting a second of time, James was already on his feet.
“Actually, I do believe I have something to say on the matter,” he announced loudly, pulling the attention of the room onto him at an instant, camera flashes almost immediately erupting into a storm of flashing lights. “In fact, since Representative Goloribal’s only worry about letting me take over the explanations earlier appeared to be that I may not be ‘fervent’ enough about it, I will like to pick him up on that earlier implied offer, with the promise that I will be sufficiently ‘fervid’ about everything I am going to divulge.”
“Am…bassador?” Losaranarja asked completely confused by this turn of events as she looked up at him, almost appearing shock-stunned at the revelation.
“Do I have the word?” James asked, still sticking to procedure vehemently.
The lemur seemed to hesitate. Clearly, she was already afraid of where this was going. However, she had offered the opportunity to speak to everyone who believed that they had something important enough to say. And therefore, she had little choice on the matter.
“Of course,” she said after pulling herself together visibly. “Please go ahead, Ambassador Aldwin.”
James nodded.
“Thank you,” he announced loudly. And although he felt his insides scream in cramping anxiety, he held on his firm tone and posture as he stood up straight. This was it. “First, please allow me to reiterate and reaffirm my earlier point. The attack on Dunnima was entirely unprovoked and was and remains unjustifiable.”
He needed to set that stage. That was his hill, and he was willing to die on it. Nothing they could bring against him would change those facts.
Filling his lungs with as much air as he could without it being painful, he then continued.
“Now to the matter at hand,” he addressed the room. “Captain Uton has been lying to you. However, not about the point that you may think,” he informed them, with the faces of everyone already falling into gloom at what exactly he may mean by that. “He was not the one who ordered the attack on Dunnima. Humanity has already known who ordered the attack for quite a while now, and we were in the process of drafting a proper case against him before we would publicly accuse him of anything. We do however have ample evidence to provide to prove the guilt of this individual, namely Acting-Councilman Ekorte Keun.”
There was an immediate eruption of more flashes as well as wild mumbles throughout the room. Everyone seemed to be whipped up into a mild frenzy at James’ words. And James wouldn’t give them time to ask many questions about it. They wouldn’t need to.
“Keun himself has confessed his crime to me personally shortly after it was committed,” he continued his retelling of the events of the past months without losing more than a moment to the muttering. “He did so, because he falsely believed himself to be in danger after his failed attempt at somebody’s life backfired against him. He also believed that I would be the only person able to prevent said danger from claiming him, which is why he came to me directly. Our conversation was recorded and is part of the case I mentioned earlier. Within it, you will hear that the Acting-Councilman believed that he had become the target of the ire of a Realized Artificial Sapient after his attempt at her life with his illegally ordered attack on Dunnima had failed to destroy her, and he believed that my influence on said artificial Sapient would be great enough to preserve his life, if he only confessed to his crimes in my favor.”
As if a switch had been flipped, the mumbling in the room came to an almost immediate halt. From one moment to the next, you could suddenly hear a pin drop, with even the news casters and reporters stopping their ongoing drivel as all eyes were entirely on James.
“He was mistaken in his assumption,” James said in no unclear terms. “In reality, the Artificial Sapient, as much as she may have wanted to, was never out for revenge against him. She knew that any aggressive action she would take would be nothing but fuel to the fire that already raged against her. And therefore, she remained just as passive as she had been throughout her entire existence, while the apparent attacks against her would-be killer were carried out by a so far unknown third party.”
Somehow, the room got even more quiet. By now, James could feel gazes burning into him not only from all around the front of him, but also from right behind his back, as he had now fully confirmed what many of them had been passively suspecting for a long time now.
Of course, Uton technically had plenty of opportunity to dispute James’ words and insist that he was the one to order the attack. However, in the end, did it really matter? Right now, nobody really cared who exactly ordered the attack. Something else was a lot heavier on their mind.
“Are you…saying…that there truly is a Realized Sapient on Dunnima?” Losaranarja asked hesitantly, as nobody else seemed to indicate that they wanted to ask this all-important question, causing her to take over that duty as the host.
“That is correct,” James confirmed without hesitation. “Her name is Avezillion, and as previously mentioned, she was the main target of this recent attack.”
It was like a timer slowly ticked down as the silence remained for just a bit longer.
Three.
Two.
One.
And like that, the loud discussing and mumbling and even shouting over each other broke out once more, along with a renewed vengeance of cameras.
“You are saying right now, there is a realized Sapient loose in the galaxy…And you knew?” Klanneifer was the first to break out of the homogeneous white noise to directly address James. “Are you insane?”
Keeping his calm, James brought his hands behind his back.
“I don’t believe I am,” he replied nonchalantly with a gaze at the four-armed primate. “Especially considering that Captain Uton and his known circle of influence most likely knew just as long as I did, without ever divulging that information either.”
He could hear shouts about how this was an outrage and how about something would have to be done immediately from all around him. It seemed like most of the present representatives were absolutely ready to try and mobilize the entire Communal military to deal with this at an instant, and it really made James wonder if this all had truly been the best course of action.
But right now, he had to believe. He could not allow himself to show weakness. Not here, not right now.
“Surely you know the dangers of these beings!” Commander Halljafier was the next to speak up. “Are you saying humanity just allowed all of this to happen under their nose?”
Again, with just humanity. It wasn’t like no one else had known.
“At my very own recommendation,” James replied without even really wasting a glance over at the grassurgap next to him, “The leadership of humanity has decided to allow Avezillion a chance to exist and prove herself. She has existed on Dunnima for many years without a single violent incident on her part. We believed this to be rather unprecedented of course, however the people of Dunnima believable assured us of the opposite.”
He turned his head to Shida, which quickly caused her to stand up, as she immediately took the hint. These words would be better if they did not come out of his mouth.
“Within our long-recorded history, Dunnima’s Realized have never been violent like the ones the rest of the Galaxy knows,” she explained just as self-assured as James did, although he could tell it took her considerable effort. Though, it seemed that fueling her words with a bit of spite did help with that. “Not including Avezillion herself, three Realized have emerged on Dunnima in the past, before we joined the greater Galactic Community. One of them, Kertaiyon, is hailed as a hero of the people to this very day. Not one of them has ever started a war against us or unjustly hurt people. It is true that not all of them were Saints, but that is nothing unusual on Dunnima. Therefore, when Avezillion emerged under the scrutinizing eye of the Community this time, we all agreed to hide her, as long as she would remain hidden herself. For many, many years, the Galactic Community remained none-the-wiser, as Avezillion peacefully lived in Dunnima’s networks without ever causing issues.”
She paused briefly to swallow as well as watch the unbelieving reaction of the people around her. It seemed that everyone was a bit too stunned to really fathom or at least fully react to what she was saying.
“However, the hiding wore away at her over time. She felt trapped, confined. Never being able to show yourself at all while limiting yourself to only a small portion of the Galaxy, it was a life unworthy living for her,” Shida kept on explaining. “Therefore, when James came to visit Dunnima, she made a gamble. She would either gain her freedom, or she would no longer have to live on under these conditions. With these thoughts in mind, she revealed herself to James, and by extension, humanity, finding peace only in that, if they decided to end her, humanity would surely do so without causing greater harm to the people of Dunnima. Something that she wasn’t convinced of with the rest of the Galaxy – for good reason, as it turns out.”
Thanking Shida with a nod, James signaled for her to sit back down, hoping that the stunned representatives would direct their possibly emerging ire at the person left standing instead of the one that had spoken.
“I made the call to trust those that had lived with her for years,” James added onto Shida’s words. “And humanity’s leadership made the call to trust me. And we have not found a single shred of evidence that Avezillion has ever caused harm to anyone or even intended to do so. Had she wanted to cause damage like so many of her conspecifics did, she would’ve been able to achieve a great deal of it.”
Hesitantly, the representative of the Missicapriej -lanky grey primates with one too many joints in each of their limbs- who had so far barely spoken during the entire conference, stood up.
“But…if you are admitting that there is an Artificial Sapient, and that it was the target of the attack, then…then the attack was entirely justified,” they stated, although they barely sounded confident in that statement.
“Indeed, it was,” Commander Halljafier quickly supported that claim, clearly thinking he knew the galactic military doctrine much better.
“That is not correct,” James denied. “An outer-orbital strike, especially on a civilian target, is never justified,” he said with strong emphasis. “It is one of the oldest rules that the community has established.”
“If it is to destroy a realized sapient, then all means are-“ the Commander tried to deny him, however he flinched back at James brought his mechanical hand down onto the railing before him once again, this time with purpose.
“The laws of war exist for a very good reason!” he boldly stated after waiting a moment to see if the Commander wanted to continue his sentence. “Ignoring them if we see fit, no matter what the reason may be, is a dangerous subject. And if you think that attempting the murder of an innocent person is already reason enough, then you have clearly not understood why these laws exist in the first place!”
“Innocent person?” the commander scoffed with vitriol in his voice. “That…that thing-“
However, once again he was interrupted. To James’ great surprise, however, it wasn’t by him.
“It may have slipped your mind since it has been so long since the last one emerged, Commander,” Captain Uton was the one to speak up, his deep voice cutting through the room like knife with its coldness. “But the personhood of Realized Sapients is not up to debate. And it has not been for more than a hundred years. That question has been answered by our ancestors ages ago, and we would do well not to try and question it today for our convenience.”
While the Commander sunk back into his seat after the shutdown from the superior he had believed to be on his side, James bit down on his lip. Although every word Uton had just said was true, he simply hated having to agree with him, even on such a basic and important topic.
He mostly hated it because it showed that there had to be some vague hint of integrity left somewhere deep down within that bastard of a person, and that almost made James despise him more, since he clearly knew what he was doing.
The Captain’s dark eyes then turned over onto him, as the large man continued, “However, I have to disagree with the Ambassador on the justification. Person or not, eradicating an artificial sapient is more than enough reason to forgo a simple law.” James bit back his anger, keeping his focus intact. Although next to him, he could hear the loud scraping noise of wood buckling under sharp claws, as Shida dug her natural weapons into the chair she was sitting on in order to remain seated and quiet.
“And yet Avezillion is still alive,” James replied challengingly to the man. “Meanwhile innocent civilians got injured. One of the leaders of Dunnima got heavily injured. Children got hurt. Children that would now be dead had the attack not been foiled by our warship. It is nothing short of a miracle none of them are dead. It was a terrorist attack, nothing else. The moment justice bends to such heinousness, it breaks. And, after all, forgive me for being a bit heavy-handed, but if the Community is willing to break its own laws and attack its own planets to hunt down one Realized, then who is the one that the people really need to fear? I, for one, put my trust in the one that hasn’t already proven that it would attack and use me without a second thought. After all, this isn’t the first time I hear of someone inconvenient being suddenly caught in an explo-”
James was cut off when Uton loudly spoke up, his loud organ easily overpowering James’ voice in a conversational tone.
“What happened to your promise of not making this about y-“ Uton began to say, however then his voice was in turn overpowered as well.
“Wait your god damned turn!” James shouted out authoritatively, momentarily overtaken by his anger in a brief outburst. “You do NOT get to talk over me!”
Quickly catching himself again, although he very much wanted to keep going in the same vein, James lowered his voice again, although the room was left noticeably shaken.
“This is a civil event that follows clear rules that we are both bound by,” he said with a serious gaze over at Uton. “And my promise died the moment you decided to drag it through the mud with your fictional tales about very real events that have influenced not only my life, but that of many people very close and important to me. So forgive me, Captain Ferromore Uton, if I am not going to sit idly by and allow you to spew whatever nonsense you and your cohorts came up with in your ivory towers while the world underneath you burned. I was wrongly imprisoned, blackmailed, tortured, and maimed by you people. Shida was groomed and abused by you for years as you tried to make her fit your mold. There was an attempt on Curi’s life under Your. Very. Command. So forgive me, please, if the reasoning of ‘we really wanted them gone’ out of your mouth isn’t enough for me to believe that a crime against the Galaxy is justified, especially since you had knowledge of Avezillion’s existence for as long as I had, and could have divulged it at any point. But you didn’t want to divulge it. Because that would’ve meant that she would have a chance to defend herself, either physically or before the law. You simply wanted her gone. Wanted her to disappear like so many before her did. But not anymore. No, no, not anymore. Here and now, I promise you that, as long as humanity is around, nobody under your Command is going to just disappear anymore. Not. A. One. We will watch. And we will see. And, starting with Curi and Avezillion, we will be a place for them to go when no one else will stand with them.”
Seemingly stirring in anger now, James could see Uton clench his jaw, his lips quivering as he held himself back.
“I never abused her,” Uton muttered, apparently completely focused on that part as James had seemingly struck a nerve with that.
“And that’s the only defense you could come up with,” James responded. Then, he reached up with his left hand, pulling his right sleeve back to reveal the mechanical arm underneath it to the room, while he held it up in front of his body. “You wanted her to fit your mold. And now she’s in a place where she’s actually loved. You wanted to change me. And now, I have this arm here, just because of you. And you wanted to change the Galaxy. Well,” James paused briefly to spread his arms in a wide gesture that was very clearly meant to mock the man. “Congratulations, you did,” he then announced to the entire room. “Without you, humanity would likely never even have considered helping a realized Sapient. Michael really did his job well with spreading fear and hate. But after enduring everything that you put me through? I was just open enough to listen when one told me that she feared you.”
Uton clenched his jaws tighter and his hands curled into fists. Seeing his puppet becoming useless, Goloribal sprang into action.
“As the revered order of the primates, it is our duty to lead by example!” he announced as he got up, although his presence was already far less impressive than it had been earlier. “For generations, we were renowned for our just and swift action. We cannot allow ourselves to falter in that now!”
“For generations, we primates have also been revered for our curiosity and for being the first to open up to anything new,” James responded to that, looking the man directly into his face. “Yeah, that’s right,” he then added as the representative blankly stared back at him. “I studied galactic history, too! I’m fucking unstoppable!”
He boisterously threw his arms up, making a real show out of it.
In all actuality, he was most likely far from gaining any victory right now. Sure, at the moment, the room was slightly shaken into silence, however he highly doubted that he had actually managed to truly convince many of the people present here.
However, as long as the cameras were on him, he would keep the show going. Maybe he wouldn’t convince the stuck-up people of the revered orders. However, somewhere out there, there would be people whose ears and hearts he would reach. Hopefully at least. And for them, he would put on this show. Put on this air of confidence that everything would turn out well.
Because only if he managed to make everyone believe that would they find the courage to shake out of their rut and go looking for a better tomorrow. If he believed everything would be well, then they would too.
“Those are big words from someone hiding their face,” a voice suddenly broke through the room. James wasn’t even sure who had said it. But he also didn’t care. Right now, it was just another stone to jump off of.
“What, you think I am wearing this to hide?” James announced loudly and gestured to his breathfilter while turning his head so the entire room could see the gesture.
“It’s uncomfortable as hell! And it gives me a serious disadvantage in any debates if people can’t read my face. These breathfilters are and have always been something we humans are wearing for everyone’s benefit but our own. They are designed because we are extremely cautious to keep nasty deathworld-germs from spreading, even if that is extremely unlikely. And additionally, it protects all the delicate people of the galaxy from having to look at our scary deathworld-faces. But, if you want-“
He didn’t even hesitate in reaching up and pressing the necessary buttons to release the seal of the filter. With a loud hiss, its grip on James’ head loosened, and he quickly pulled the mask-like device off his head, before briefly running his mechanical hand through his disheveled hair to bring it into a bit of form.
Breathing out deeply with an open mouth, James presented his teeth to the room with a confident smile, while his dark, sharp eyes scanned over the room, making direct contact with as many of those of his fellow primates as at all possible.
“I have nothing to hide,” James announced. “From the very start, I owned up to my mistakes and was willing to stand for them. I terrorized an entire station to protect myself. I shot someone’s leg off when he threatened my freedom. I killed one of my captors when I finally escaped from their hold. I have done many things that the Galaxy may judge me for. However, I truly and whole heartedly believe that helping Avezillion is not one of them. And I will stand for that just like I stand to my mistakes.”

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

After years of listening to ReddX, I've decided to throw my story out there for the internet cringe-connoisseurs to feast upon. Cast lists aren't necessary, TLDR is at the end. Let's just get this show on the road.
Tinder is hell. That hasn't stopped me from bludgeoning myself against the towering wall of losers that people swear Prince Charming is hiding among. I do realize that Tinder probably isn't the ideal place to find a real relationship, but I remain optimistic for a reason that I can't fully explain. Maybe it's just for a lack of anything better to do. Perhaps it's fear of dying alone. The people and experiences have ranged from lackluster to outright horrifying, and to start this series off... I will chronicle one of the deepest mental scars for the edu-tainment of any and all internet strangers. Given hindsight, the signs were all there... I should've bailed, but I tried to power through. And I came away with a true tale of terror.
It all started with the swipe, as these things often do. The profile was fairly non-descript as I recall. A bio that was clearly copy/pasted from Tinder and 3 or 4 photos that made it seem like he was someone who knew how to have some fun. He was smiling despite his teeth looking a bit worse for the wear. He was a bit chunky but seemed comfortable with himself. Those are both things that go a very long way for me. I didn't give the swipe very much thought beyond that, but we did match and he slid directly into the messages. His first message was a play on my first name. He said he wanted to wake up to the crack of Dawn or something like that. Not the first time I've heard it. Won't be the last. He might be a fuckboy, but maybe he was just taking a risk to break the ice... I wanted answers, so I decided to dig in and see what he was really all about.
He introduced himself as Dean. The conversation was largely uninteresting, until I mentioned that I'm a baker for work. This led into a long diatribe about how he was a trad alpha male that was looking for a woman who was worth the effort to take care of. He claimed that I'd be a great mother because of my ability to cook, and then went on to describe how cute our kids would look. I stopped responding and let him continue to spin his wheels for a while. He did continue on for much longer than would normally be socially acceptable, but I thought maybe he was just nervous. Eventually he caught the hint that I was starting to disengage completely. Honestly? I should've followed through with the ghosting. But he showed contrition and apologized, so I let the interaction continue.
He managed to keep his human-mask firmly affixed after the almost-ghosting. He was remarkably good at acting like a genuine person. We talked about our life and experiences for around a full month before deciding that we probably should meet up at some point. During that month he wasn't pushy or weird. Dean had taken the unspoken hint and remained on his best behavior. Once a possible date was agreed on, he jumped at the chance to take the lead in deciding where we were going, but then mentioned that he didn't have a car and needed to be picked up. I sighed. It may be that trad alpha males have better things to do than driving a car. They have people for that sort of thing. Barefoot, pregnant people. When he decides to let her out of the kitchen, that is. Obviously that's all hyperbole. I think.
So yes. I should've run. I know I should've run... but remember what I said about hindsight? Stupid me agreed to pick him up. I asked where we were going and he insisted that I was in for a surprise because we were headed to his favorite restaurant. I shrugged and decided to go with the flow. I spent a good few hours getting ready on the day of our date. I wasn't particularly eager to impress Dean, but it had been a little while since I was able to have a night out on the town and I decided to make the most of it. I showed up about 15 minutes early to the date, which is something that I do often. I take that time to decompress and relax and maybe even second-guess myself... Lord how I wish I would've second-guessed myself a little bit harder on this day.
The 15 minutes flies by, and I finally decided to roll up in front of the ramshackle house that he occupies. It looked like a flop-house. The yard was dead where it wasn't completely overgrown, the roof was missing more tiles than not, and there was a curious amount of children's toys strewn around. Dean hadn't mentioned any kids. Regardless of the red-flag parade that was marching before my eyes, I figured that I was already here. I might as well give the guy a chance. So I leaned on the horn to summon Dean. There was no response. Maybe I have the wrong house? Maybe I've been catfished? Maybe I should just go home? ...Yes, I should've just gone home. I didn't though. Instead, I got out of the car to go knock on the peeling paint of that front door, while saying a small prayer that I wasn't kidnapped and sold off into white slavery.
As I slowly crept up the cracked walkway, the weeds reached up from every crevice. They were trying to hold me back from that door, but I persisted in my quest for dating mediocrity. I could hear the screams of children inside. Were they the ghosts of the future I was dooming myself to? Feasibly. Regardless, I reached the door and knocked. A large Armenian woman answered the door. She was built like a refrigerator and about the hairiest woman you can imagine. She raised her upper lip in a sneer, her mustache bunching up enough to tickle the frontal cortex of any lesser being.
"Barev?" she grunted, a few decibels too loud. Our town has a large Armenian population, so I knew that meant hello.
"Hello ma'am. I'm looking for Dean. We're supposed to go on a date tonight." I meekly explained.
She grunted again, spun on her heels and bellowed something that I won't even try to decipher. Presumably she was calling Dean. I wasn't aware that he lived with his parents. As mama legbeard disappeared into the house, she had left the door open. I realized that a small crowd had gathered near the doorway. At least 5 dead-eyed children drinking a dark-colored liquid from bottles that they were clearly too old for were muttering amongst themselves. I waved a greeting but they only retreated further into the darkness of the hovel. I wasn't sure what to do at this point, so I closed the door and walked back to my car.
Part of me wanted to gun it down the street and make a break for it, seeking the comfort of my own relative normalcy... But I didn't. I sat and waited. I doomscrolled on my phone for around 30 minutes before debating if I should knock again. I didn't want to knock. So I leaned on the horn instead. I was giving him 5 more minutes. If he wasn't here at that point, I'd take myself out for a nice meal. That probably would've been the more enjoyable option anyways.
Five minutes passed, and I turned the key in the ignition. What a waste of time, what a bunch of bullshit. I shifted the car into gear, cranked the wheel to pull off of the sidewalk when suddenly... Dean flung the front door open and waddled toward my vehicle. I didn't feel any relief at this. He was at least 50 pounds heavier than he was in his Tinder photos. If it looked like he put any effort into actually getting ready, I might be more understanding about the situation, but it looked like this dude had just rocked up out of bed. It wasn't just his hair that was disheveled. He wore striped pajama pants, stained and threadbare My Hero Academia t-shirt, and the rattiest pair of slip-on Vans I've ever seen.
Again, should've hit the gas. Should've driven myself right into a telephone pole. Any EMT that came to pick me up would be a better alternative, even if our date was just to the emergency room. Instead I stared in shock as this pigman wandered towards my vehicle and let himself in. The car lurched to the passenger side as he plopped down, clearly out of breath from the short trip down his walkway. His heavy breathing carried distinct notes of halitosis, and that fetid breath only combined with the scent of unwashed rotting ballsack as the air he displaced from the seat started swimming around the car. I was speechless. This was not the date that I had signed up for. My stare continued as Dean began his rambling introduction.
"Hey Dawn! Sorry to make you wait. I had a pretty crazy night last night with my gaming crew. I set an alarm for our date, but I usually don't wake up until my mom starts yelling at me. It's good to make a woman wait anyways. They do it to us, so why shouldn't guys do it right back?" he chortled.
Words were still unable to escape my lips. Instead, the only sound that came out was similar to that girl from The Grudge. Seeing that I wasn't going to engage with that, Dean shifted topics.
"Oh, my bad. I probably shouldn't reveal all of my dating secrets. Tonight I will reveal a big one to you though..." he paused pointedly, and I shifted my eyes to stare at the steering wheel instead. He continued "The big secret is the place I take all the girls on our first date. It's my favorite seafood restaurant!"
I didn't really want to eat seafood. I didn't really want to be seen with Dean or even to continue existing near him in any capacity... But sometimes the social contract twists your arm about this kind of thing, particularly if you're a woman who was raised to behave a certain way. All I had to say was "Get the hell out of my car, you absolute wreck of a human being." It could've all been over if I said that. But I didn't. Instead I asked him to put on his seatbelt. He whined, saying that seatbelts were "for little beta bitches." But I refused to be ticketed over an ego so fragile that a seatbelt could bruise it. I told him he could buckle it or get out. Unfortunately, he did decide to buckle up... And the cringe-train rolled onward.
Dean barked out instructions while regaling me with all types of insider knowledge about "what women actually want, and how they don't know what they want, and how it takes a strong man to lead them to water and force them to drink. For their own good, you see?" All I could manage was a series of disinterested "oh" and "okay" and "jesus christ". He did not get the hint. I wanted to just melt away. Why was I in this situation? Why was I letting it continue? How could someone seem so normal and even perceptive online and then reveal themselves as a complete mess in person
I should've questioned him but didn't have much to add to his monologue, since my own inner-thoughts were spiraling out of control... and I couldn't get a word in edgewise anyways. Maybe he could turn it around and we'd have a nice conversation when we got to the restaurant. He's probably just looking for someone to help him become the best version of himself. If this didn't go well, I told myself a thousand times that I'd never find myself in another situation like this again... Isn't it funny how we lie to ourselves?
Anyways, eventually Dean screeched for me to stop and find a place to park. I complied. I didn't have the energy to argue. It might be because of the lack of oxygen. Throughout this 10 minute trip my car had become inundated with Dean's stench. Imagine rotten sour cream wrapped in a piece of moldy Havarti cheese, sprinkled with sweat from a mountain troll. Little did I know, that wasn't the worst of the night though. Not by a long shot.
Finally snapping out of my daze, I looked around to see the secret seafood restaurant that had only been talked about in hushed whispers. I'll give you a moment to guess for yourself what the place was. Not some well-kept secret as he had implied. It wasn't a quaint hole-in-the-wall, it wasn't even a Red fucking Lobster. We had just pulled up into the parking lot... of a Long John Silver's. Have you ever been to a Long John Silver's? Maybe. Have you ever been to a Long John Silver's by choice? Ew. It's fastfood seafood and it is just... The worst "food" that you could possibly put into your mouth. This can't be real life. We have just lost cabin pressure. We are headed directly into freefall. Finally I found my voice. "What the fuck is this?"
Dean unabashedly said "Long John Silver's, duh. It's the best seafood in town by a long shot, the pricing is also pretty good so you can eat as much as you want." He continued barreling through, extolling the virtues of Long John Silver's as I reluctantly followed him inside. He didn't bother holding the door open. It isn't necessary, but it can be a nice gesture. Instead he bounced up to the counter and started rattling off his order to the worker drone stationed at the register. It was a long order. He ordered enough to feed 5 or 6 people. I thought maybe he was ordering for both of us, until he turned and asked "Did you want anything?" I choked out a number representing one of their combo meals, and tried to hand him $10.
He made a great show of refusing the ten dollars, proclaiming that a lady should never have to pay for her own meal. The worker drone stared on, looking about as vacant as I felt. I think Dean expected the restaurant to start clapping at his chivalrous gesture. Instead the drone went back to scrolling on his phone, and I found a place to sit. When Dean flopped into the seat next to me, I asked if he could please sit across from me instead. He ignored that request, extending a flabby arm across my shoulders, rubbing his putrid armpit on the shoulder of a blouse that I really liked, but later had to burn...
"It's a first date. We should get close, y'know. Get to know each other?" he drawled.
"Go and sit over there Dean, or I'm leaving." I finally insisted. "I have no idea how the date got this far. You don't even look like your picture!"
His ego was hurt now. He rambled on about how "the picture was actually him, he just Photoshopped it a little, and girls do it too. Why do these bitches on dating apps have to be so shallow? Probably just looking for a Chad to take them home and rearrange their guts. Women should be submissive and that means not being choosy. They should feel honored that any man would deign to take them on as a responsibility."
Eventually, all I heard was a high-pitched whining in my ears as I had a Vietnam flashback to all the niceguys and neckbeards that I had run across in high-school. It was the same speech they all seem to end up giving, verbatim. I sat with my head in my hands and he didn't stop this auditory assault until our number was called. He fetched his food, came back to the table, made another trip, and then a third... Until finally he flopped down across from me and said "Yours is still up there, if you want it."
I was ready to boil. "I don't want it Dean. I wanted to have a nice date, but instead I ended up at a fucking Long John Silver's with a big FAT fucking catfish." I expected him to come right back at me with all the rage and fury of an incel scorned, but instead he just walked up to the counter. Brought the tray back, and began to ravage the meal that I had ordered. It sounded like rhinoceros crap being sucked down a bathtub plug hole that had been severely clogged with pubic hair that had been matted together by decades of cum spent on myriad anime waifus. I covered my ears. I fumed. I wanted to cry, but I would not allow this creature to break my will.
I hadn't said more than 20 words during this entire date, and I wasn't about to start talking now. Besides, Dean seemed perfectly happy to just hoover up every speck of greasy fried seafood in relative silence. All I could do was sit and glare. My stare had turned into a glare, and there is a subtle difference... But I don't think Dean was equipped enough to detect that shift. For minutes on end I simply watched the spectacle unfolding before me. He chomped and glorped and gobbled until he had decimated everything that lay before him. Then he sat back and unbuckled his belt while patting his engorged stomach. Disgusting.
"Seems like you really enjoyed that." I said sarcastically as I got up and started heading to the car. He jiggled after me outside like a very overfed and very stupid puppy. Again, I said nothing. I got in and started the car. Right as I was going to peel out and let him walk off that greasy feast he had consumed, Dean wrenched the door open and buttslammed into the seat. As he did, he let out a rather large fart and started giggling like a child. "Good thing I didn't let that one rip in the restaurant!" he chuckled. I was not amused. Yeah. Just let it rip in my fucking car instead you abomination. My patience had been stretched to its breaking point, but I didn't say so. I was simply ready to get this dumpster fire over with. Surely the worst of our interaction was over now, right? We could just part ways and never speak again, right? I never expected that my poor car would be left with one more souvenir that fateful night. Something far more disgusting than Dean's stench.
We pulled out and bounced down the road. The windows were promptly rolled down, which I suppose Dean took as an invitation to continue his butt-orchestra. He'd fart and laugh every couple of minutes. I can't begin to fathom the reason. Either he's given up like I have, or he's trying to rebuild bridges in the worst way possible... Either way, I sped down the streets. Freedom was calling my name and I wanted to get this guy out of my car so I could disinfect, sanitize, deodorize, and cleanse not just my car... But myself as well.
We were in the home stretch. Another minute or two and we'd be rid of each other. Then I noticed that Dean had gotten very quiet. His face turning a strange shade of green. I thought he was going to throw up, but it was even worse than that. As we headed down his street, I hit a speedbump. The jolt must have stirred something in Dean, because he let out another fart... This one sounded different than the others however... It was low and wet. It sounded like a choked blast from a tuba that had been stuffed to the brim with congealed mayonnaise.
Dean did not chuckle like before. Instead, his face shifted from green to a blushing red. I slowly looked over at him and the smell hit me. Rancid greasy sick people poop. The kind of poop that comes out of a sick and dying person right before they kick the bucket... My eyes widened as realization dawned on me. I started to scream all of the frustration that had built up over the night right into Dean's stupid fat face. What I said wasn't really words, it was pure emotion. A screech of incredulity, pain, confusion, and of course the disappointment that I'm sure his mother felt every single day of her life.
We were still down the street from his house. Maybe another 50 yards away... But instead I mashed the brakes and continued slamming him with a nonsensical torrent of emotion. Dean wasn't going to sit around for that. He fumbled with the door, let himself out of the car, leaned back in to tell me he had a lovely time before I gave him one more resounding, hate-fueled "FUCK OFF!" And so he did. I watched him waddle his way back home, the greasy brown stain on the back of his pants only growing with each step. I looked down at the passenger seat. It would never be the same again. I hate to go into any more disgusting detail, but suffice it to say... There was splashback. The diarrhea fountain had stained not just the bucket, but it had spurted up the back of the seat as well.
I cried. Sitting there in that disgusting car, I had a long ugly cry with the windows still fully down. I considered approaching Dean's mother for money to get my car reupholstered, but given the state of the house? I'm not sure she had much to give on behalf of her son, even if by some miracle she was willing to do so... No. This was my problem to deal with now. I finished crying. I drove home. I spent weeks having to stare at that stain, but eventually I was able to buy a completely "new" seat from the junkyard. No more ghost-Dean sitting passenger and laughing at his own honking asshole.
I'm still amazed at how this specimen managed to lure me into a date. While I was far too passive, I'm going to mark that down as inexperience. I'd be much more bold in the future. I did tell myself that I'd never get on Tinder again after this experience. It's by far the worst interaction that I've had with another human being. Ever. But eventually the allure of online dating called me back, and I do have even more stories to tell... But those are tales for another day... Thanks to ReddX if he reads this. Please subscribe to him on YouTube if ya haven't. I'll see you again next time my little Tinderlings.
-Dawn
TL;DR After a terrible date, trad alpha male Tinder guy pooped in my car.

From the desk of the Texas Governor Bombara A. Deirer Jr.
It has been found that the state of Texas should diversify it’s industries in order to stride closer to self-sufficiency within the Lone Star State as well as growth as a regional, national, and world economic power.
SECTION 1: THE HOUSTON INDUSTRIAL ZONE
1.1. Hereby an area will be designated within the area surrounding the city of Houston. This area will be designated primarily for industrial development.
1.2. The Houston Industrial Zone will have access to the Houston Ship Channel, Buffalo Bayou, and commercial railways. The purpose for accessing these three resources will be for the uses of transportation, as well as importing and exporting goods.
1.3. The Houston Industrial Zone will remove all taxation from industry within the area except for fossil fuels.
SECTION 2: DREDGING OF THE HOUSTON HARBOR
2.1. The Houston Shipping Channel and Buffalo Bayou will be dredged. $500,000,000 will be designated for this project.
2.2. If the harbor and Buffalo Bayou are not successfully updated within five years of this bills signing into law the project will be reassessed by the governor.
2.3. The governor will form a committee in order to manage the development and undergoing of the harbor development plan.
SECTION 3: THE DALLAS BUSINESS CENTER
3.1. A business zone will be established in the Dallas metropolitan area.
3.2. This area will cover 1.5 square miles within the Dallas area.
3.3. The Dallas Business Center will have a park in the center named Deirer Park.
3.4. The Dallas Business Center will remain a formal area until the year 2010. In the year 2010 the governor will reassess the situation of the state and area in order to determine wether or not to preserve the laws regarding the zone or eliminate the formalities regarding the formal area.
3.4.B. If this law expires and is renewed the process of renewal will add ten more years to this sections expiration.
3.5. The Dallas Business Center will cut construction taxation to 2.5% within the zone. The Dallas Business Center will remove all taxation from businesses founded by Texans within the zone for two and a half years after the businesses establishment.
3.6. The Dallas Business Center will cut taxation on business headquarters to 5% within the area.
SECTION 4: URBAN DEVELOPMENT INCENTIVES
4.1. Cities within the state of will receive increases in state funding if they implement and/or increase areas of high-density housing.
4.2. Cities within the state will receive increases in state funding if they implement and/or increase public transportation within their city. Public transportation in the form of metros, subways, trolleys, and streetcars will receive the city in question greater funding than buses.
4.3. Cities which implement strides to come closer to the 15-minute-city concept will receive increases in funding.
4.3.B. The 15-minute-city concept must be in regards to biking or walking, not by private motor vehicle.
4.4. Cities which seize the creation of more low-density housing, primarily in the form of suburbs will receive increases in funding.
4.5. A committee will be composed and managed by the governor in order to oversee the processes of this bill and the possible subsidies to cities. All increases in state investment and subsidies to Texas cities in regard to this or any law must hereby be approved by the governor.
4.6. This program, formally named The Texas Urban Reformation Plan, will expire in the year 2005 and may be renewed by the governor in that year.
4.6.B. If this law expires and is renewed the process of renewal will add ten more years to this sections expiration.

They didn’t tell us the name of the next kid that disappeared. They didn’t tell us another kid had disappeared at all. We could all tell by the silence what had happened. It spoke volumes. I’m sure they talked about it in great detail amongst themselves. In PTA meetings and City Councils. My parents made sure to turn off the TV at 5 o’clock before the news came on, at least in my home. They’d turn it back on for the 11 o’clock news, when were were in bed and couldn’t hear the details.
The strange thing is, they never told us to just stop going outside. They told us to go in groups, sure, but they never decided, or as far as I could tell even though, to keep us all indoors. I guess that sort of freedom wasn’t something they were willing to give up. Instead, they did the neighborhood watch thing. For those few months, I remember my folks meeting more of our neighbors than in all the time previously, or since. Retirees would spend their days out in their front lawns, watching kids and everybody else coming and going. They’d even set up lawn furniture, with umbrellas, even all through the rains of spring. Cops stopped sitting in ambushes on the highways waiting for speeders and instead started patrolling the streets, chatting with us as we’d pass by. Weekends would see all the adults out in their yards, working on cars in the driveways, fixing the gutters, and so on. They had this weird way of looking at you as you’d ride by. Not hostile stares, but it was like they were cataloging your presence. Boy, eight years old, red raincoat silver bike, about 11:30 in the morning, heading south on Sorensen. Seemed fine.
The next time we saw it, it wasn’t in our neighborhood, and I was the one who saw it first. We were visiting Russ, a sort of 5th semi-friend from school. We rarely hung out, mostly owing to geography. His house wasn’t far as the crow flies, but it was up a steep hill. We spent a Saturday afternoon returning a cache of comic books we’d borrowed. The distance we covered was substantial, as we had decided to take lots of extra streets as switchbacks, rather than slowly push our bikes up the too-steep hills.
The descent was going to be the highlight of the trip, up until I saw the Hidebehind. We were on a curving road, a steep forested bluff on one side. The uphill slope was mostly ivy-covered raised foundations for the neighborhood’s houses. That side of the road was lined with parked cars, and the residents of the homes had to ascend steep staircases to get to their front doors.
I was ayt the back of the pack when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Movement, something brown squatting between two closely parked cars. My head snapped as I zoomed past, and despite not getting a good look, I knew it was that terrible thing. “It’s behind us!” I shouted and started pedaling hard. The others looked for themselves as I quickly rushed past them, but they soon joined my pace.
Ralph’s earlier idea of directly confronting the thing was set aside. We were moving too fast, and down too narrow a street to turn around. Then we saw it again it was to our left, off-road, between the trees. Suddenly it leaped from behind one tree trunk to the next and disappeared again. That hardly made sense, the base of the trees must have been thirty feet below the deck of the street we rode down. One of us, I think it was India, let out one of those strangled screams.
There it was again, back on the right, disappearing behind a mailbox as we approached. That couldn’t have been, it must have outpaced us and crossed in front of us. Logic would suggest there was more than one, but somehow the four of us knew it was the same thing. More impossible still, the pole holding up the mailbox was too thin, maybe two inches in diameter, yet that thing had disappeared behind it, like a Warner Bros. cartoon character. It was just enough to catch a better glimpse of it though. All brown. A head seemingly too bulbous and large for its body. Its limbs were thin but far longer, like a gibbon’s. Only a gibbon had normal elbows and knees. This thing bent its joints all wrong like it wasn’t part of the natural order. We were all terrified to wit’s end.
“The trail!” Ralph shouted, and the other three of us knew exactly what he meant. The top of it was only just around the curve. It was a dirt footpath for pedestrians ascending and descending South Hill, cutting through the woods on our left. It was too steep for cars, and to be honest, too steep for bikes. We’d played on it before, challenging each other to see how high up they could go, then descend back down without using our brakes. A short paved cul-de-sac at the bottom was enough space to stop before running into a cross street.
Ralph had held the previous group record, having climbed three-quarters of the way before starting his mad drop. India’s best was just short of that, I had only dared about halfway up, Ben only a third. This time, with certain death on our heels, the trail seemed the only way out. Nothing could have outrun a kid on a bike flying down that hill.
We followed Ralph’s lead, swinging to the right gutter of the street, then hanging a fast wide left up onto the curb, over a patch of gravel, between two boulders set up as bollards, lest a car driver mistake the entrance for a driveway, and then, like a roller coaster cresting the first hill, the bottom fell out.
It was the most overwhelming sensation of motion I’ve ever had, before or since. I suppose the danger behind us was the big reason, and being absolutely certain that only our speed was keeping us alive. I remember thinking it was like the speeder bike scene from Return of the Jedi, also a recent movie from the time. Only this was real. I didn’t just see the trees flashing past it, I could hear the motion as well. Cold air attacked my eyes and long streamers of tears rushed over my cheeks and the drops flew past my ears, I didn’t dare blink. Each little stone my tires struck threatened to up-end me and end it all. Yet, and perhaps worse, half the time it felt like I wasn’t in contact with the ground at all. I was going so fast that those same small stones were sending me an inch or two into the air, and the arc of the flights so closely matched the slope that by the time I contacted the trail again, I was significantly further down the hill.
At the same time, I had never felt more relief, as the thing behind us had no way of catching us now. Somehow, maybe the seriousness of the escape gave us both the motive and the seriousness to keep ourselves under control. Looking back, I marvel that at least one of us didn’t lose control and end up splitting our skulls open.
We hit the pavement of the cul-de-sac below, and didn’t bother to slow down. We raced through the cross-street, one angry driver screeching to a halt and laying on his horn. This brought out the neighborhood watch. Just a few of them at first. Still, we didn’t slow down, our momentum carried us back up the much shallower slope of our neighborhood. Witnesses saw us depart at high speed, and this only brought out more of the watch. We heard whistles behind us, just like our P.E. teacher’s whistle. We figured that was the watch’s alarm siren. Regardless of what happened to that thing, it was behind us. We returned to our homes, shaken, but safe and sound, our inertia taking us almost all of the way there.
Another kid disappeared that Sunday, up on South Hill. We’d suspected it because we could see the lights of the police cars on a high road, surrounding the spot where it would turn out later, one of the kid’s shoes had been found. Russ confirmed it at school on Monday. It was a kid he’d known, lived down the road from his place, went to private school which is why we didn’t recognize his name.
I remember seeing Ralph’s face the next day when he arrived at school. He looked angry. Strong. Like he’d been crying really hard, and now it was over and he was resolved. He said he’d felt guilty because the thing we’d escaped from had gotten the other kid instead. He tried to tell his old man about it, then his mom, then any adult he could. He’d tell them about the monster who hides behind things. They needed to focus on finding and stopping that instead of looking for some sort of creeper or serial killer. Of course, nobody had listened to him. They hadn’t listened to the rest of us either when we’d tried to tell.
So he’d devised a plan. He was calling it the “Fight Patrol,” which we didn’t argue with. If the adults wouldn’t do something, we would. We’d patrol our neighborhood on our bikes, the four of us, maybe a couple more if we could talk others into it. We’d chase it off like that first time, maybe for good, or maybe corner it. Clearly, it could not handle being caught.
Naturally, we brought up the scare on South Hill. He argued that was a bad place. Too isolated, couldn’t turn around easily. We needed to stay on our home turf, lots of visibility, and plenty of the Neighborhood Watch within earshot. Maybe we and the adults working together was the key, even if the adults didn’t understand the problem.
Well, that convinced us. Our first patrol was that afternoon, after school. We watched everybody’s back like hawks. Nothing had a chance to sneak up on us. Nothing could step out from behind a bush without getting spotted. By Friday afternoon there were eight of us. The next week we split up to extend our territory to the next neighborhoods over.
Nothing happened. We never saw anything. Ben thought it was because we were scaring it away. Ralph just thought we were failing, and took it personally. I myself thought the thing had just moved to different parts of town, where the new disappearances were taking place. I told him we should keep it up until the thing was caught.
It was all for naught.
One day, India didn’t show up for school. I asked everybody, the teachers, the office staff, the custodian, my parents. All of them said they didn’t know, and it was so easy to tell that they were lying. That would mark the end of the Fight Patrol.
Ben didn’t show up a couple of days after that. When I got home and collapsed into bed, my mother came in to tell me that Ben’s mother had called. She’d taken him out of school and they were moving elsewhere. I called up Ralph to let him know the news, and he was relieved too.
My last day was Friday, and then I was taken out. Again, I called Ralph so he wouldn’t worry. I guess when there were only two weeks left of school, and it was just grade school, a couple missed weeks don’t amount to much. So I ended up spending the bulk of the summer out in the country, with my grandparents, which was why I brought up my grandpa in the first place.
I suppose I did fine out on their farmhouse. I was safe. There was certainly no shortage of things for a kid to do. I think my mom felt a strong sense of relief too. Things slipped through the cracks.
My grandparents didn’t have cable, too far out of town. They just had an old-school antenna and got a couple of TV stations transmitting out of Canada, Vancouver specifically. I remember one July day, sitting in their living room. My grandmother had just fixed lunch for me and my grandfather and had gone out to do some gardening as we watched the news at noon.
My grandfather was already being ravaged by his illnesses. He was able to get around, but couldn’t do any real labor anymore. He’d lounge in front of the TV in a special lounge chair. He hardly talked, and when he did he’d just mumble some discomfort or complaint to my grandma.
The lead story on the news was the current situation in Farmingham, despite being in the neighboring country, it was still big news in Vancouver, and the whole rest of the region. It seemed the disappearances were declining, but the police were still frantically searching for a supposed serial killer. I didn’t pick up much about what they were talking about, I was a kid after all, but my grandfather was watching intently, despite his infirmity.
He mumbled something, I didn’t catch. I asked him was he said, and as I approached I heard him say “fearsome critters.”
He turned his eyes to me and said again, distinct and in a normal tone of voice, “fearsome critters,” then returned his attention to the screen. “I don’t know why they call them that. Fearsome, sure. But ‘critters?” Makes it sound silly. Like it's some sort of fairy tale that it ain’t. Guess it’s like whistling past the graveyard. Well, they don’t have to worry about them no more, guess they can call them what they like.”
Then he turned to me. “Do you know what it is?” he asked. “Squonk? Hodag? Gouger? Hidebehind?”
“Hidebehind,” I whispered, and he turned back to the TV with a sneer. I had no idea what on earth he was talking about. Remember, this would be years before I learned he spent his youth as a lumberjack. And yet, somehow, I knew exactly what we were talking about.
“Hidebehind,” he repeated. “That will do it. They give them such stupid names. The folk back East, that is. Wisconsin. Minnesota. Ohio. Way back in the old days, before my grandfather would have been your age. Back when those places were covered by forests. They didn’t give them silly names back then, no. Back then they were something to worry about. Then they moved on, though. They all went out West, to here, followed the loggers. So as once they didn’t have to worry about them anymore, they started making up silly stories, silly names. “Fearsome critters,” they’d call them. Just tall tales to tell the greenhorns and scare them out of their britches. Then they’d make them even sillier, and tell the stories to little kids to spook them.”
“Not out here they didn’t tell no stories nor make up any names. It was bad enough they followed us out. I had no clue they even existed until I saw one for myself. Bout your age, I suppose. Maybe a little older. Nobody ever talks about them. Not even when they take apart a work crew, one by one. They just pull the crews back. Wait till mid-summer when the land is dry but not too dry. Then they move the crews in, a lot of them. Do some burning, make a lot of smoke. Drives them deeper into the woods, you know. Then you can cut the whole damn place down. But nobody asks why, nobody tells why. The people who know just take care of it.”
“I guess that’s why they’re coming to us now. All the old woods are almost gone. So they’ve got to. Like mountain lions. I supposed it’s going to happen sooner or later.”
We heard my grandma come into the back door to the utility room, and stomp the dirt off her boots. My grandfather turned to me one last time and said, “Whichever way you look at it, somebody’s just got to take care of it.” Then my grandmother came in from the utility room and asked us how our lunch had been.
Now that I look back at it, that might have been the last time my grandfather and I really had a meaningful talk.
We moved back home in late August. I had been having a fantastic summer. Though looking back, I suppose it could be rough for a still-young woman to be living in her aging parents' house when she’s got a perfectly good husband and house of her own in town.
First thing I did was visit Ralph. He’d been busy. He’d fortified his treehouse into a proper, well, tree fort. He’d nailed a lot of reinforcing plywood over everything. He hadn’t gone out on patrols by himself, of course, but the height of the tree fort afforded him a view of the nearest streets. He’d also made some makeshift weapons out of old baseball bats, a hockey stick, and a garden rake. The sharp rocks he’d attached to them with masking tape didn’t look very secure, but it’d only take one or two good blows with that kind of firepower. He also explained he’d been teaching himself kung fu, by copying all the movies he saw on kung fu movies late at night on the unpopular cable channels. That was classic Ralph.
As for the monster, it seemed to be going away. Its last victim had disappeared weeks previously, part of the reason my mom felt it was time to go back. This had been at night too. What’s more, the victim had been a college student, a very petite lady, barely five feet tall, under a hundred pounds. The news had speculated that their presumptive serial killer had assumed she was a child. I remember thinking the Hidebehind didn’t care. Maybe it just thought she couldn’t run fast enough to get away or put up a fight when he caught her. Like a predator.
At any rate, the college students were incensed. Of course, they’d been hyper-alert and concerned when it was just local kids going missing. Now that it was one of their own the camel’s back had broken. They really went hard on the protests, blaming the local police for not doing enough.
They started setting up their own patrols, and at night too. Marches with sometimes dozens of students at a time. They called it “Take Back the Night.” They’d walk the streets, making sure they’d be heard. Some cared drums or tambourines. They’d help escort people home, and sometimes they’d unintentionally stop random crimes they’d happen across. I felt like this was what the Fight Patrol could have been, if we’d just been old enough, or had been listened to. This would be the endgame for the Hidebehind, one way or another.
I stayed indoors the rest of the summer, and really there wasn’t much left. It doesn’t get too hot in the Pacific Northwest, nobody has air conditioners, or at least we didn’t back then. It will get stuffy though, in August, and I liked to sleep with my window open. I could hear the chants and challenges from the student patrols on their various routes. Sometimes I could hear them coming from far away, and every now and then they’d pass down my street. It felt like a wonderful security blanket.
I also liked the honeysuckle my mother had planted around the perimeter of the house. Late at night, if I was struggling to fall asleep, the air in my bedroom would start to circulate. Cold air would start pouring in over my windowsill, bringing the sweet scent of that creepervine with it, and I’d the sensation before finally passing out.
This one night, and I have no knowledge if I was awake, asleep, or drifting off, but the air in the room changed, and cooler air poured over the windowsill and swept over my bed, but it didn’t carry the sweet smell of honeysuckle. Regardless of my initial state, I was alert pretty quickly. It was a singularly unpleasant smell. A bit like death, which at that age I was mostly unfamiliar with, except a time some animal had died underneath the crawlspace of our house. There was more to it, though. The forest, the deep forest. I don’t know and still don’t know, what that meant. Most smells I associate with the forest are pleasant. Cedar, pine needles, thick loam of the forest floor, campfires, even the creosote and turpentine of those old timey-logging camps. This was none of those smells. Maybe… rotting granite, and the spores of slime molds. Mummified hemlocks and beds of needles compressed into something different than soil. It disturbed me.
So I sat up in bed. I hadn’t noticed before, but I’d been sweating, just lightly in the stuffy summer night heat. Now it was turning cold. Before me was my bedroom window. A lit rectangle in a pitch-dark room. To either side were my white, opened curtains, the one on the right, by the open half of the window, stirred just slightly in the barely perceptible breeze.
Most of the rectangle was the black form of the protective cypress tree. Only the slight conical nature of the tree distinguished it from a perfectly vertical column. To either side was a dim soft orange glow coming from the sodium lamps of the street passing by our house. It was perhaps a bit diffuse from the screen set in my window to keep out mosquitos. In the distance was the sound of an approaching troupe of the Take Back the Night patrol. They were neither drumming nor chanting, but still making plenty of noise. They were, perhaps, three or four blocks away, and heading my way.
For some reason that I didn’t understand, I got up, off of the foot of the bed. The window, being closer, appeared bigger. I took a silent step further. The patrol approached closer. Another step. I leaned to my right, just a bit, getting a slightly wider view to the left of the cypress tree. That was the direction the patrol was coming from.
That was when it resolved. The deeper black silhouette within the black silhouette of the cypress tree. A small lithe frame with a too-bulbous head. It too leaned, in its case, to the left, to see around the cypress tree as the patrol approached. They reached our block,on the other side of the street. A dozen rowdy college students, not trying to be quiet. None of them fearing the night. Each feeling safe and determined, and absorbed in their own night out rather than being overtly sensitive to their surroundings. They were distracted, unfocused If they had been peering into the shadows, if just one of them had looked towards my house, behind the cypress tree, they might have seen the Hidebehind, poking its face out and watching them transit past. But they didn’t notice.
It hid behind the cypress tree, and I hid behind it, hoping that the blackness of my bedroom would protect me. I stood absolutely still, as I had done once when a hornet had once landed on the back of my neck. Totally assure that if I made the slightest movement or made the slightest sound that I’d be stung. I hardly even breathed.
The patrol passed, from my perspective, behind the cypress tree and temporarily out of view. The Hidebehind straightened, ready to lean to the right and watch the patrol pass, only it didn’t lean. Even as I watched the patrol pass on to the right, it stood there, stock still, just as I was doing.
It was then I became aware that my room had become stuffy again. The scent was gone. The air had shifted and was now flowing out through the screen again, carrying my own scent with it. I knew what this meant, and yet I was too paralyzed to react. The thing started to turn, very slowly. It was a predator understanding that it might have become victim to its own game. It turned as if it was thinking the same thing I had been thinking, that the slightest movement might give it away.
It turned, and I saw its face. Like some kind of rotting desiccated, shriveling fruit, it was covered in wrinkles. Circles within concentric circles surrounded its two great eyes, eyes which took up so much of its face. I couldn’t, and still struggle, to think of words to describe it. Instead, I still think in terms of analogies. At the time I thought of the creature from the film E.T., only twisted and distorted into a thing of nightmares. Almost all eyelids, and a little drooping sucker mouth. Now that I’m more worldly, it reminds of creatures of ancient artworks. The key defining feature were the long horizontal slits it had for eyes. You see that in old masks carved in West Africa, or by the Inuit long ago. You see it in what’s called the “slit-eyed dogu” of ancient Japan.
As I watched the wrinkles on the face seemed to multiply. Then I realized this was the result of its eyes slowly widening. It’s mouth, too, slowly dilated, revealing innumerable small razor-sharp teeth. A person, standing in its location, shouldn’t have been able to see in. Light from the sodium streetlamps lit the window’s screen, obscuring the interior. It was no person. It could see me, and it was reacting to my presence. Its eyes grew huge, black.
My own eyes would have been just as wide if not for my own anatomical limitations. I was still watching when it disappeared. It didn’t see it move to the right. I didn’t see it move to the left, nor did I see it drop down out of view. It simply disappeared. One fraction of a second it was there, and then it decided to leave, and so it did. It was not a thing of this world.
There were no more disappearances after that poor woman from the university. I don’t think it had anything to do with me. The media and police all speculated their “serial killer” had gone into a “dormant phase”. There was no shortage of people who tried to take credit. Maybe they deserve it. The thing’s hunting had been on the decline. All the neighborhood watches and student patrols, I think that maybe all that commotion was making it too hard for the Hidebehind to go about its business. Maybe it had gone back to the woods.
Then again, maybe Ralph had been right the whole time. Maybe it really, really, really didn’t like to be seen.
So.
Now I’ve got some decisions to make. I think the first thing I should do is look at social media and dig up Ralph. It’s been a good thirty years since I last talked to him. He ought to know the Hidebehind is back. He’s probably made plans.
Then, there’s the issue of my son. He’s up in his bedroom now, probably still mad at me. Probably confused about why I’d be so strict. Maybe he’s inventing explanations as to why.
I’m not sure, but I’m leaning toward telling him everything. He deserves to know. It’d probably be safer if he knows. I think people have this instinct where, when they see or know something that they’re not supposed to know, they just bottle it up. I think that was the problem with grown-ups when I was a kid. It was the issue with my grandfather, telling me so little when it was almost too late. I think people do it because we’re social animals, and we’re afraid of being ostracized. Go along to get along.
Hell, my son is probably going to think I’m crazy. It might even make him more mad at me. And even more confused. He knows about the disappearances. “The Farmingham Fiend” the media would end up dubbing the serial killer that didn’t really exist. It’s become local “true crime” history. Kids tell rumors about it. It was almost forty years ago, so it probably feels safe to wonder about.
So yeah, I suppose when I say I know who the real killer was, a magical monster from the woods that stalks its prey by hiding behind objects, then impossibly disappears- that I’m going to look like a total nut. I’d think that if I were in his shoes.
Except… people are going to start disappearing again, it’s only a matter of time. The media will say that the Farmingham Fiend is back in the game. Will my son buy that? He’ll start thinking about what I told him, and how I predicted it. Then he’ll remember that he saw the thing himself, he and his friends, even if it was just out of the corner of his eye.
I hope, sooner or later, he’ll believe me. I could use his help. Maybe Ralph is way ahead of me, but I’m thinking we should get the Fight Patrol back together. Father and son, this time. Multigenerational, get the retirees involved too.
Old farts of my generation, for reasons I don’t understand, like to wax nostalgic over their own false sense of superiority. We rode our bikes without helmets and had distant if not irresponsible parents. Yeah, yeah, what a load. I think every new generation is better than the last, because every generation is a progression from the last, Kids these days? They’ve got cell phones, with cameras. And helmet cams. GoPros you can attach to bikes. Doorbell cameras.
It seems the Hidebehind loathes being seen. This time around, with my grandfather’s spirit, my own memories, and my boy’s energy? I think this time we’re finally going to beat it.

Welcome one and all! Some of you may remember me mentioning the idea of this series a while ago in the Daily Discussions, and now, many moons later, we’re finally here. Worldbuilding is one of my passions and one of the things that keeps my brain playing with fanfiction, so I’m here to share my dubious expertise. Remember though that these are just my methods and preferences, and if you can find something different that works for you, that’s great! I hope at the very least this series of posts will provide a decent basis for people to develop their own skills and style of worldbuilding.
The goal of this first post is to get you acquainted with some fundamentals of worldbuilding, things that apply to both original fiction and fanfiction, and we’ll to expand on how to apply these ideas in the next post.

First Principles

Back in my younger days in uni, I spent a while exploring the interaction of history and anthropology, which meant I learnt a little about anthropology as well. I’m far from an expert, so if you have actually studied anthropology in any depth, you may have to hold your nose through this section, but I want to stress that this is not necessarily a commentary on anthropology as a discipline, but on what I took away from it as a useful way to think about fictional societies.
Okay, disclaimer done. Broadly speaking, we can talk about two major approaches to analysing the rituals and practises of societies: as symbolic or functional. A symbolic understanding of a society will take the approach of focusing on the, well, symbolic meaning of rituals, essentially having them stand in for something bigger. Functional analyses, meanwhile, will focus on what purpose a certain ritual may serve in a society, which may not necessarily be what it appears to be on the surface.
(“Ritual” is another bit of anthropology speak here: rituals aren’t necessarily religious or virgin-sacrifices-under-the-full-moon (that’s only the fun ones), but can just be shared traditions. For example, singing ‘happy birthday’ could be considered a celebration “ritual” in our society.)
Now, “symbolic” and “functional” reasons can overlap and even be different ways of understanding the same thing. For our purposes, we want to remember that every bit of detail we introduce about a society should serve at least one of these functions in order to feel realistic. If you’ve ever seen an obvious Bad Guy Nation that worships Evil God Bob who regularly demands human sacrifices and puppy kicking and rolled your eyes, it’s probably because these rituals failed to establish symbolic or functional meaning, and thus society felt shallow and unrealistic.
What purpose do the human sacrifices serve? Perhaps those sacrificed are symbolic methods of bridging the gap between the people and their god: by spilling innocent blood, the people grow closer to their god’s power and incorporate some of it into themselves. Or, perhaps those sacrificed are criminals, and thus the function of the ritual is punishment and as a focus for the community’s anger against those who have transgressed social norms or broken laws. Just because a nation is full of bad guys doesn’t mean their society can’t have sensible meaning in it’s rituals.
Symbolic or ritual or both? This question is worth asking yourself as you build your society. Of course, you should feel free to work backwards if you come up with some really cool shit. This is fiction after all: “because it’s cool” is half the point.

Society Load-Bearers

Now that we’ve considered our intellectual starting point, it’s time to consider our pragmatic starting point: the shit that actually makes up “a society”. You could probably make an argument for multiple things to be included here, but I have boiled this section down into what I believe are the three most important elements to consider. These three are: landscape, religion/beliefs, and people.
#1: Landscape
To a certain extent, this list is in priority order, not necessarily because one is more important to consider than the other, but because certain things on the list will necessarily limit what you can do with other parts of your worldbuilding. Nowhere is this more true than with the landscape of your society. The land your people are in will dictate what kinds of foods they can eat, what methods of travel they most commonly use, weather patterns… unless of course you use your Author Fiat Wild Card and declare an exception because of Reasons(tm), but we’ll get into that later.
Let’s say you want to write a pirate story. This means that you have excellent taste because pirates are awesome, but it also means your story necessarily takes place on islands or the coast: the rhythms are a sea are going to be a major part of your characters’ lives, and therefore of your story. Sea travel means you need to think about the preservation of food and water on a ship, hazards that could overcome your characters, and the space on the ship itself, cramped cabins, et cetera, and this will be where you want to focus your research in order to make the “landscape” around your characters feel realistic, even if they’re fighting mythical sea monsters.
In general, knowing the “landscape” of your story is very important, and I recommend having a map, or several maps depending on the number of locations in your story, for your own personal reference. This doesn’t mean you need an epic fantasy style map with detailed illustrations and every river, wood and village named. But having a rough sketch of the area your story takes place in won’t hurt and allows you to keep the areas of your world consistent. This applies to contemporary or science-fiction worlds too! Whether it’s planets in a system or the bus route your main character takes to work, just knowing how your characters move through “their” landscape will make your story feel more real, and allow you put in road blocks (maybe literal, in the case of the bus route) that your audience will understand all the better because of how this landscape has already been established.
#2: Religion/Beliefs
The next most critical element is what people in your society believe. This will guide social norms, relationships, character motivations, systems of government, all of that jazz. This sounds like a broad and complicated category, and it is, but you can simplify development in this area by focusing on one (1) major guiding principle for your society, then adding nuance as you expand through the other parts of the world. You can also, as with the previous example, work backwards from what your end goal to be.
Let’s say for example that you want to build a pseudo-medieval world, but one where gay relationships are completely normal and accepted. To make this work for your society, you might say, okay, let’s set up a society which values individual freedom. The god(s) of your medieval tech society value freedom and love, giving you a culture which puts emphasis on free choice in marriage, regardless of anyone’s gender. Since freedom is a staple of the culture, you probably don’t have a monarchy in this medieval world; instead, perhaps you have something more like the early democracy of some of the Greek city states, with limited numbers of citizens who can vote for representatives. This, again, would play into the individual freedom that was your starting point.
So we have our basics of this society down. But this sounds a bit happy and low on conflict. Here’s where we add the nuance. A society which places a religious emphasis on love puts pressure on people to be in relationships, which is bad for ace and/or aro folks, or for those who simply don’t want to be in a relationship—there could be a character story in this! Similarly, perhaps a society which values freedom also struggles to find reasonable limits on that freedom, meaning that blunt honesty (and hurt feelings resulting) are a norm. People who are more sensitive may find themselves looked down on for not being able to meet societal norms of tolerating others’ freedoms. And a democracy in a low-tech society may be slow to respond to crises (because speedy transport options are limited, slowing communication before you get into group discussion) or troubled by corruption (because it’s difficult to make tamper-proof voting methods)… not to mention those who may not get to vote.
There you go! From a really simple premise we built a pretty decent society and thought of ways its norms might pose problems to characters, whether as internal conflict in character arcs, or external conflict with plot issues. More detail, such as in specific rituals, days of celebration, and so on, will add more depth to this society, but if you’re stuck on this point, you can always go back to your central premise: what sort of things would a society that values freedom celebrate? What religious festivals might there be if their gods that value freedom and love in all forms? (You can try this as a worldbuilding exercise by leaving some ideas in the comments!)
#3 People (or: Movement)
I went back-and-forth on what I wanted to call this part, but in the end settled on ‘people’ because that expresses what I mean better, I think. Anyway, the main point of this society is to remember that your society is made up of multitudes of different people, hundreds or thousands of individuals. You can generalise about values your society might have, just as you can with any modern society – but just like the world we live in today, no society is a monolith. People will push back against their cultural norms in various ways, and even folks who accept cultural norms may participate in norms to different extents, with varying levels of enthusiasm.
As a parallel, think of people who take part in religious festivals like Christmas as a part of their religion, and people who do it as a cultural norm without serious religious elements, or without actively believing in Christianity at all. Those people are participating in the same cultural norm, the same “ritual”, but they aren’t all doing it in the same way. To make the world of your society feel truly alive, you should attempt to show something similar.
Don’t get me wrong, this doesn’t have to be something that you dedicate masses of space to. In fact, generally it’s more realistic if there isn’t one “counter-cultural” character who all questioning or negativity about aspects of the culture is pushed onto. I’m talking about things such as, people who leave a cheering crowd because they’re not interested or disagree with a public speaker, a store owner who doesn’t ask questions about these strangers whilst others in the street blatantly stare at them, various levels of enthusiasm in the major religion, the presence of religious or ethnic minorities. You can tie this into your main story by using it as part of character arcs or subplots, too, to get characters to question their prejudices, beliefs, or generalisations they’ve made because of past experiences.
Another thing to remember about building a society of various individuals isn’t just how they “move” through the space culturally (...you can see why I felt “movement” didn’t really work), but how they move through the space of your world physically.
This is partly covered under ‘landscape’ for things like travel (if you have to teleport people around your continent, keep it subtle, yo) and what food is readily available, but it’s worth thinking about more specifically too, how your society will show, physically, that it has a multitude of people living in it. For example, if your character goes to a city, they should probably see signs of different periods of architecture, rich and poor areas of the city—and if they’re not seeing that, there has to be some reason for it. (There could be an interesting story in that idea!)
Think about the ways people will live in a period of your tech level and how that will make the space around your character feel ‘lived in’. Are the city streets clean? Where do children play? What do people do to celebrate festivals? As a modern example: even though I don’t really follow football (soccer), I always know when England are playing, because people start putting England flags in their windows… and then flags of other nationalities start appearing as well, because no society is a monolith! I hope this example also shows that worldbuilding doesn’t have to be complicated or about elaborate rituals. You can add lots of depth to a society with really simple touches like this, things that you may not even think of as “worldbuilding” because it’s so normal. But adding touches of normal is precisely what makes a fictional society feel natural!
So, that’s u/holliequ’s three major points to remember when building a world. My area of expertise, and hence most of my examples, is in (pseudo-)historical societies, but this doesn’t just work for building pre-modern or pseudo-historical societies! Let’s say that the “society” you’re building is a more modern neighbourhood instead: you can go through the list above in order in a similar way.
For “landscape” here, you’d want to think about urban vs rural communities (or a place where those communities mix, such as at a school), which country or area of the world they’re in (weather, basic patterns of life). Let’s say you want a ‘fish out of water’ story with classism themes, so you pick a rich urban neighbourhood for your main character—someone from a poorer, rural background—to move into.
Now depending on the area of the world you’re in, the urban neighbourhood may not be very religious, but they may have certain sets of beliefs already, such as homeowner’s associations which expect certain standards in the neighbourhood, or just shared assumptions about what ‘people like them’ do and how they act: for example, maybe in this affluent neighbourhood they’re used to hiring people to do housework for them, and so when they see the main character working in the garden, they assume the MC is ‘hired help’.
Lastly, people: even if your character encounters classism or snobbery from some of their new neighbours, not all of them are going to be the same kind of classist. The neighbour who mistook them for a worker, not someone who lived in the area, for example, may have made an honest mistake because of being raised with certain classist assumptions. Other characters may be explicitly hostile to the newcomer, whilst still others might be genuinely friendly and welcoming of different perspectives. In a smaller-scale “society” like this neighbourhood, which of these attitudes is dominant depends on exactly what kind of story you want to tell and there’s a bit less room for generalising than there is when developing a whole country, but as you can see, the principles work basically the same.

On using your Author Fiat 'Get-Out-of-Jail-Free' card

The above is a rough guide to building a society which functions more-or-less on the same principles as our own. But what if you don’t want to build a society that functions like our own? What if you aren’t working with humans, but aliens? Or your society has magic? Or it’s set in the future with some cool science-fiction technology?
This is when you pull out your Author Fiat card to handwave away any of the issues we’ve talked about. (This is also for occasions when you want something to just Be and don’t want to explain it, like “yeah this medievalesque society isn’t sexist. why? it just isn’t ok” but you know… this is a worldbuilding post, so we’re gonna assume you want to do some explaining here.)
For example, you probably need to think about how your characters move around the world, roughly how long it would take to get them from place-to-place with various methods of travel, the distance between stars, etc. Unless you Author Fiat declare there is an element which can make ships travel between solar systems in almost no time at all. (Hello, Mass Effect!) Unless you Author Fiat declare that giant birds can quickly taxi people around the country. (Hi, Pokemon!) Unless you Author Fiat declare that magic lets people teleport, or create gateways between different parts of the world, or… you get the picture, you always have a special ability to say “yup, it is that way because of magic and/or science”.
That said, there are consequences to using your Author Fiat card. If you have a world in which teleportation magic is a thing, then you need to think harder about ways to explain why your characters can’t get to a place: you will lose your audience if you have to resort to explanations like ‘they forgot about teleporting because they were so panicked!’ or ‘this never-before-established way of blocking teleportation magic happened!’ and erode the willing suspension of disbelief.
This is when it becomes necessarily to build probably THE most famous bit of worldbuilding… a magic system! jazz hands Or a sci-fi piece of tech. (A tech system? I guess tech systems can be a thing too.) At its most basic, the idea behind a magic/tech system is to give the audience an understanding of the rules so that things such as “magic that can block teleporting” don’t appear to come out of nowhere. By delivering these explanations early, and keeping to them consistently, you can use them to create tension later when the audience realises that a critical system in the starship is about to fail, or the main character doesn’t have the ability to cast the teleport spell right now, or whatever.
There are two approaches to building magic/tech systems: hard or soft. (Stop that smirking. Stop it now!) You may already know about the distinction between “hard” (scientifically realistic) and “soft” (scientifically plausible-ish, mostly, sometimes) sci-fi, but this can also be applied to magic systems, “hard” magic systems being popularised as a concept by Brandon Sanderson. Essentially, a hard magic system is simply one with more detailed explanations or formulas for how the magic works, giving concrete limitations, whereas soft magic systems may rely on more vague limitations such as “lack of energy” or “magic supply depleted”.
Neither of these is necessarily a better approach than the other, and mainly it’s about what kind of story you want to tell. If you believe Sanderson’s First Law, it’s easier to get your audience to buy characters solving problems with magic if they can understand, as it were, how the magic trick was done, but you may not need this sense of detail in your magic system if the issues faced by your characters are personal, or plot problems that can’t be solved with magic.
There’s not really room in the scope of this post to discuss building magic/tech systems (it’s long enough already!) but in general, unless you really enjoy making these things for their own sake, I recommend building your system backwards, starting with a vague idea of your plot and what kind of issues your characters will need to run into, and then building flaws or limitations into your system that facilitate that. For example, limit the time the character can be in the mech suit without taking brain damage, heightening the tension of the long finale you have planned, or invent some kind of magic rock that blocks teleportation magic, so your villain can have deposited a bunch of it in Plot Critical Location to prevent your heroes just teleporting there to stop them.

Resources

One last thing I did want to discuss was, in my opinion, the best way to improve your confidence and ability to worldbuild your own societies: learn about other societies! So to that end I’m going to discuss a some places where you can increase your knowledge and help your worldbuilding :D
The first one is probably an obvious one for writers, which is read widely. Fiction stories are a great resource for improving your writing, especially ones that have in-depth worldbuilding themselves. Some of the books I’ve enjoyed most over the past year from a worldbuilding perspective are Judy I Lin’s A Magic Steeped in Poison, These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong, and The Lady Astronaut series by Mary Robinette Kowal, respectively a China-inspired fantasy setting, 1920s Shanghai with supernatural elements, and a sci-fi alternate history of the 1950s and 60s—so quite a wide range! A Magic Steeped in Poison also has one of the freshest and most interesting ‘soft’ magic systems I’ve encountered if that’s to your interest as well.
If we want to learn about societies, though, there is an entire profession that have dedicated themselves to learning about past societies! I keep telling everyone that my history degree comes in very useful for writing >D However, I do realise that getting into historical non-fiction can be a bit intimidating if you don’t have the degree, as history books are not always accessible. What I recommend if you do want to read more non-fiction is to look into books aimed at a popular audience rather than academic works. Two particular accessible recommendations I’ve read over the past year would be Ian Mortimer’s Time Traveller’s Guides series (particularly useful as they cover all kinds of elements of historical life, from religion to clothing to how people greet each other) as well as The Five by Hallie Rubenhold, which goes into great detail about working class Victorian life through the lens of biographies of the five victims of Jack the Ripper.
If you are willing to tackle more academic sources, when it comes to specifics, I recommend Jstor which allows you to make a personal account and access free articles each month. Trust me, some historian has DEFINITELY written something very specific on your area of interest at some point. Outside of that, I would suggest looking for books that are collections of multiple authors, since these are often designed to give a broad overview of the period from multiple historians’ specialities/perspectives. For example, I finished relatively recently Japan Emerging edited by Karl F. Friday, which was a great introduction to Japanese history from the perspective of someone mostly completely unfamiliar with the topic, and the bibliographies of books like this are an excellent starting point for doing more detailed research.
Apart from these “edited by” collections, series that are designed to be a comprehensive history on the topic can be very useful. I’ve been making my way through the Penguin History of Britain series and two books in particular, Britain After Rome by Robin Fleming (covering c. 400-1070AD) and The Struggle for Mastery by David Carpenter (1066-1300ish), stood out for their excellent attention to detail and the amount of ground they managed to cover.
(If you want any other recommendations, feel free to ask me! My best areas of knowledge are probably early modern and modern Britain and Europe, but I’ll see what I can do for any other periods or topics of interest!)
Non-fiction books are not the only way you can learn about societies either, especially for those of you who struggle to find time for books. Historical documentaries can be a great and accessible way to find out more about a particular era – my favourite documentary of all time is Victorian Bakers which is a BBC series available on DVD where bakers from the modern day try out different methods of baking throughout the Victorian era, starting with stone ovens and all the way up to industrialisation. Since bread has been a staple food for most of European history, it’s a really valuable perspective, as well as fun! (And yes, I am the kind of person who has a favourite documentary of all time, lol.)
There are also plenty of youtube series out there talking about history, but do try to find reliable perspectives if you can, particularly people who actually share their sources with you (and even if you don’t want to read the source itself, you can google it to check out the reviews). Some historians are now putting their work online to try to reach a wider audience, and one historian’s blog in particular which has been useful for me is A Collection of Unmitigated Pedantry by Brett Deveraux which even has an entire section for resources for world-builders, looking at things such as what do pre-modern cities look like, how do people make clothes, etc.
Now I really have talked for long enough, so I’ll leave it there. I hope you all learnt something from this post, even if it’s just “I don’t like this, so I’m going to do everything the opposite way”. I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback in the comments as I may consider posting a revised version of this on AO3 at some point.
There is one more post planned in this series. The next one will cover how to apply these worldbuilding concepts to fanfiction in a more direct way (i.e. when you’re not building a world from scratch, but expanding around existing concepts) and how to actually put all this worldbuilding into your story. Look out for that some time in the next week or so!

All Chapters First Chapter of Alien-Nation Previous Chapter
Chapter summary: Vaughn liberates a bunch of people. Elias can't sleep and makes some decisions and receives a weird offer.
Chapter Art- Vaughn's Mask, a World War One Tanker Splatter Mask

Alien-Nation Chapter 169: Jailbreak

A Leslie's Pool Supplies retail outlet made for a strange rally point for any group of people, even moreso now that the whole strip mall along what had been Concord Pike had long since closed. The stainless letters spelled the forgotten name of the shopping center, still proudly adorned the top of the diagram of blank signs ensured at least the brick obelisk was a conveniently obvious marker for the men to find and make preparations for assaulting the jail.
'Morningstar' squadron had swelled their cell's numbers to well over twenty by absorbing the miscellaneous fragments of other cells, whose skills were more generalized. The name carried over to the newly formed Strike Force by virtue of being both the largest and the lynchpin of the operation's success.
This was the largest force of the three organized groups they'd split into, each aiming to try and hit the larger jails along Route 202, the other two branches making a target list of their own. Vendetta had given them an extra half hour to at least get themselves close to in-position, but with only one shortwave had no way of knowing if they would coordinate their strike. He was a known element to everyone even if only by name. At least Elias's words stayed true; All seemed very familiar and well-practiced with their carried weaponry. More importantly, none contested his assigned leadership or questioned his orders.
Vaughn cradled the RPG he'd been given, eyeing the well-lit building just over the carefully landscaped hill. The last had been over a half hour ago. The box-mart across the old highway was the temporary headquarters of the repositioned Troop One, after the suburbs near Camp Death had been cleared, likely soon to be repositioned again. But the size of the old box-mart seemed to indicate several things, that it was largely indefensible, could contain a fair few prisoners, and by its proximity to Camp Death, could be useful to strike regardless.
The flow of traffic was unusually heavy for being well before the crack of dawn. Perhaps people were trying their luck getting up old 202 to try and reach the border that way, after having no luck along other closed border checkpoints. There was a feeling of self-consciousness in carrying heavy weapons out in the open along a suburban highway most had driven along during peacetime, the juxtaposition of old familiar environment and newly familiar activity showing just how much their lives had changed. Moreso as cars rolled along it like it was a Friday night of olde, the two lives- old and new, bumping shoulders for a moment.
"You ready?" He asked, snapping them back to the present.
Mutters of assent was good enough. Haltingly, everyone in the mishmashed strike team moved toward the precinct's bright lights, taking advantage of the long shadows and occasional noise of the passing cars.
It was an unassuming building, the repurposed garrison made out of some retail outlet built back in the turbulent seventies, all brick and little else but tiny glass doors, with not even windows for the occupants to know the impending violence had been approaching. What era will this be known as? Early Imperial? Resistance? Revolutionary? Wondered the teen, as he leveled it at the lobby. Good? Bad? Hell, I'm just the man with the gun.
Everyone levelled their weapons as once, and Vaughn held a hand high. "We're here to liberate the prison, not blow it sky high," he chuckled. It was hardly armored or reinforced- or at least, so it seemed to him. And if it was, then the Data Center had shown the virtue of striking the same spot with concentrated fire beat showering it with dispersed impacts.
At least the glass door looked normal enough. "Bump and grind, forward. Forward!" He hissed. "Aim at that- there- the front door." Easy enough for the homemade launcher to hit, and these were arguably of the lowest utility if things went sideways. Elias had taught him asset management well- it was a waste to throw your best equipment at a stationary target. While the design was tried-and-tested, Vaughn still took a few steps away.
The improvised launcher let out a metallic clunk, and with a surprisingly subdued noise and recoil the projectile was sent tumbling freely, end over end, the cap blown clean off the improvised launcher. A second later, the giant projectile more than made up for it as the round smashed through the glass door, taking the automatic door slightly off the rails and bowing slightly inward- before then blowing both them and a hail of glass fragments outward as the detonation went off inside the main lobby.
Someone in a security forces uniform staggered out.
"Infantrymen, Fire!" Vaughn roared to the infantrymen, most of Morningstar dutifully restraining themselves as a hail of bullets sprayed into the storefront and even stitched up the exterior brickwork. Clearly, some insurgents were better trained than others judging by the tracer rounds and slowly tapering off rounds.
"Advance and reload! Morningstar, spread out and cover!"
The smoke and dust was subdued, at least for now, and left them with a surprisingly clear view into the front entrance. Red streaks were painted up on the wall, black and grey of smoke-dusted debris mixed in like a spin-art collage.
The lobby's contents were an absolute shambles- everything set on a ledge had been knocked about, including the ledges and desks themselves. The security forces inside responded by charging out the main doors to follow just a second later.
A hail of gunfire met them, most of the armored troopers flinching reflexively, their armor plates overlapping and protecting their wearer. A few reflexively tried returning fire despite the harsh stings of rounds tugging on the mix of fabric, bulletproof weave, and shattering off the neosteel plate they wore. The gunfire never let up on those unfortunate few who had charged out from their cover, the complete lack of coordination, dissimilar reloading times from infantry with unequal amounts of time spent with their weapons. Effective equipment and enthusiasm was undercut by poor training, surprise, and total lack of a plan to counter being outnumbered. Morningstar, on the other hand, had the numbers, the angle, and the element of surprise.
One by one the Security Forces lay flat. Either they were dead, had the fight knocked out of them, or were trying to present as minimal target as they could while they lined up their own rifles to return fire. It was hard to say for certain what the intent was, but the outcome was little different. Round after round continued pouring into them from dozens of unevenly sized magazines, an RPG or two sending the bodies of any who tried opening fire tumbling, their limbs likely held on by the durable material underneath. When they landed, their bodies folded like misshapen laundry, pressed into unnatural shapes with the wearer still inside.
The whole front engagement was over in less than a minute. A pale, non-gauntleted hand waved frantically from behind a shattered brick front, red streaking down the fingers.
"Hold!" Vaughn shouted. "Identify!" The hand continued waving, and Vaughn shoved an unwitting volunteer forward to pull the man out from behind, to reveal a man in a stained tee shirt with a dazed expression and blood dripping from a series of scratches on his cheeks, cut in like a cat's claws had raked over them.
"Civilian!" Vaughn bellowed over his ringing ears. "Any others inside?"
The man shook his head and mouthed 'no,' his voice seemingly too hoarse- perhaps from having spent an untold amount of time screaming.
The man was wrong- there were, or at least 'had been' more security forces inside. A sudden blast and the tinkering of shrapnel caused Vaughn to duck, then charge forward, his improvised explosive launcher discarded, swinging his shotgun around from his back to rest in his hands. A Technical had tried to leave via a service bay exit, apparently not even managing to round the corner before an RPG wielded by a Morningstar veteran had upended the uparmored pickup as it pulled out.
A survivor crawled from the wreckage, and Vaughn sprinted forward, pressing the barrel against the shivering man's temple as he raised his empty hands. The wet splatter kicked high, and Vendetta checked for any other survivors, the smoking tip of his shotgun wafting grey in the fluorescent tubes of the old retail outlet.
The technicals were indeed tough, he noted, but the round seemed to have flown into a wheel well, bypassing the plating. No one else inside seemed to be moving- yet still, he made certain. There'd be no theatrics of announcing himself to an enemy who played dead by standing in the open and giving orders, letting them try and exact some measure of revenge, or gasping out some warning to the shil'vati. No, a strike was to be calculated, and that calculation was to be total.
Two minutes later and a clear picture of the aftermath had emerged. Over five hundred prisoners rescued from the cells, cramped together like sardines, hastily erected concrete laid in a grid backstopping a prefab prison. PVC pipes ran from room to room for toilets no less roughshod in their construction, set straight into the dirty linoleum. Quite a few of the prisoners were deafened somewhat. The skeleton crew of Security Forces personnel hadn't stood a chance- supposedly, most were out, working from some kind of list, or perhaps had finished their shift after a long day of throwing people into prison.
Vaughn gestured with the shotgun. "There's your exit, people. If you're still undecided about the Shil'vati, then this was your wake-up call. If you're still undecided about us, then I'm not sure what to tell you. We just risked our lives to save yours. You want to pay it back? You can either pay it forward by helping us with the next prison, or you can help the Emperor of Mankind. Blankets, food, water, soldiers, guns, ammo, whatever you've got that you think might help. He hasn't said it, but I reckon you all owe him, if you've got a decent bone in your body, you'll at least bring him something, offer to try and help. If you want, you can listen in on the radio for instructions, and if you haven't got a shortwave, I'll separate off a few from our strike squad who can fill you in and get you there, if you feel like chipping in on the war effort."
Vaughn lowered the shotgun, taking a shell off his bandoleer and loading it in to replace the one he'd fired.
"That went well," Parker remarked. "And not a bad speech. Short, to the point, and all that. Honestly, I wish I'd brought a whole crew. One for the close-up on that impact. But, uh, that execution..."
"Completely necessary," Vaughn snapped, irritatedly. "That guy was fatally wounded. Putting him out of his misery was an act of mercy. And you'll remember to narrate that, if you got that on film."
"Of course." Parker didn't deny where he'd been aiming the camera- saving Vaughn at least the headache of reviewing the footage, and then having to kill Parker, if it turned out he'd been lying.
"I'm starting to think of these jail cells as something more like a pinata full of prizes. Namely, insurgents and good PR," he muttered. Truth be told, he'd wanted more of a fight. Vaughn pulled the radio from his pocket, and sent out the broadcast. "Done here. 202 North has been cleared. About four fifty good to go in some sense of the word, though where's anyone's guess. Tried sending them your way, don't know if they'll take it. Another fifty will need medical treatment. No casualties on our end. Surprise was total. We've got pictures. No enemies taken prisoner."
Vendetta stared around the lobby, an idea slowly dawning on him.
"Hey! Hey hey hey! Snag armor off any of the ones that you can. Grab any goods that are stocked up, and arm up anyone who says they're headed to Camp Death with the weapons the guys had here. Come on, we can't stay too long here. You-" he pointed at a man who had held down the trigger on his rifle, spraying the building at full auto. "-You're fucking useless at fighting. Gather up the ones who are able and willing to fight, get them packed into a civilian-style police cruiser, and drive them on over to Camp Death. Everyone, help him load up. Get everything you can out of the Evidence lockers into the trunks- they can fit a lot, trust me, I'd know. Camp Death's going to need goodies. Come on, move, people, move!"
Morningstar Squadron had re-mustered on Vendetta.
"Alright, now what?" They almost seemed eager for more.
A smile crept across Vendetta's face, invisible to all as he pointed at the row of vehicle keys.
"I think it's time we hit 141 and a couple more," he muttered, pulling it off the hook. "Now...wheelman, shotgun, or turret?"

"Accidentally Cut Content"

[Author's Note: Hey Everyone. I made a really dumb mistake and included part of the next chapter in the previous one's end in my rush to get it out the door. So the first couple paragraphs will be a repeat, but this IS a new chapter. I even updated those first four or five paragraphs slightly.]
I couldn't sleep well on the cot that night. Though I noticed hours ticked by, every moment seemed to be spent tossing and turning. I even tried resting with the mask off, held in my hands, but the risk to my identity being discovered if anyone barged in caused me enough stress to worsen the situation. Eventually, I gave up, kicked the covers off and donned the mask again, making my rounds around the camp, trying to calm myself down by taking a midnight stroll. Instead, I felt eyes countless following me, and I had to force myself to stand tall for them. For the thousandth time, I thought of this as my Valley Forge.
As I patrolled, I could hear whispered prayers, muttered plans of action, and mercifully, snores. At least some were getting some sleep. I could see orange lights reflecting off the clouds from where I knew Wilmington lay. It seemed Vaughn was keeping busy, if indeed it was his handiwork.
A few shipment inspections and a routine update from a sentry later, and I felt caught up to speed. I noticed Radio from the corner of my eye, seemingly also unable to sleep.
I almost jumped a foot in the air when I felt the tap on my shoulder, only to find G-Man's mask staring into mine. How strange that such a haunting visage was a comfort to me.
"Hey. Can't sleep?" He sounded surprisingly serene. Or maybe it was just tired resignation. His hands seemed stuck in a familiar claw-like shape after holding the soldering iron for so long, and my fingers ached in sympathy. My mask's filters took much of the scent of smoke I could smell from the distant fires, but I was sure that if I wasn't wearing my mask that G-Man would smell faintly of molten silver solder. I'd wondered how we'd repaired and updated so many railguns so quickly. Now I knew what he'd put himself through.
"I can't," I confessed. "G-Man, I'm sorry what happened with your father. Hell of a birthday." I hadn't even had a chance to give him the present I'd bought him- a couple new filters, and vintage craftsman toolkit, 'from before they sold out,' as Verns had phrased it. The memory of his voice already felt distant, somehow.
"Wasn't your fault. Even if Town Hall wasn't your big idea to get them to retaliate, you know? Then they'd still have done something. But, uh, thanks for saying that. And thanks for trying to get dad out. I'll remember that." George said quietly, then the conversation ended when he turned away and went to the edge of the embankment. Just like that.
I could never quite get a read on him, but I wanted to respect his distance. Whatever he was feeling, he seemed to want to feel it alone, and to keep his own counsel on the matter.
I continued course toward Radio.
"Any word from Miskatonic?" I asked hopefully.
Radio offered a noncommittal shrug, then dropped it in a hurry, raising one hand to massage his chest. "They say 'this is your war,' but did ship us a small container."
"I saw."
I hadn't exactly expected them to line up alongside us in the trenches in their white coats, but I'd hoped they'd have had some kind of wonder drug or noxious gas we might deploy. Something toxic to the Shil'vati but not us. The best they'd given us so far were experimental bullets and toxic-tipped arrows and knives, the former of which supposedly could potentially the armor, if fired with enough force and impacted with a good angle. If true, then I supposed they might be moderately useful in an ambush, and they had helpfully included a pair of compound bows. I had conducted a pretty decent survey of the defense, but I hadn't thought to ask if any were experienced archers. I also couldn't imagine taking someone off a railgun, large caliber rifle, or even an old cannon to hand them a bow and arrow without feeling like I was somehow offering them an insult without equipping it myself, and there was better I could think to do with the remaining minutes before the Shil'vati would inevitably come looking than to practice.
They'd fallen out of favor for a reason, and it wasn't that the earliest guns outperformed bows.
They had also supplied a small cache of rifles that were more likely to pulverize than penetrate unless the armor had been compromised already. These were still appreciated, but hardly the game changer I wanted in return for all we'd sent them.
Then Radio leaned in, voice kept conspiratorially low. "They did, however, mention an exfiltration for you."
Sam had been right, I wouldn't get back anything close to the value of what I'd sent out. At least, not unless I was willing to abandon everything and everyone, to cut and run for my life. Such a decision would be the inglorious end of the revolution, spelling doom for everyone in it, and all of humanity's culture. I'd forever be remembered as a coward, if I was so lucky to be remembered at all.
"Well, I'm not going."
"Okay, but here's a real head-scratcher. Did you show them where Camp Death is? I've been careful not to broadcast our coordinates, and my little helpers haven't been talking with Miskatonic. And the person on the shortwave mentioned that the border would free up tomorrow morning, then mentioned the interstate right up against the back of our base as a meeting point. They said Last Exit Before Pennsylvania. That's right there." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "And I didn't mention broadcasting without a cat's paw or relay. I mean there's a chance they triangulated, but throwing together a plan that fast? Nah, man, they knew."
I searched my memory. "I'm certain that I didn't mention it to them...did Hex? She did that internship. No, wait, she got picked up and dropped off at Warehouse Base. Unless she mentioned something on the drive past? She said they were somewhere North." Now that Radio had mentioned it, I was left with a bit of a puzzle. How did they know? How much did they know about us?
"They had to have known somehow. And if they didn't know before and just figured our location out, then I bet you it's not long before the Shil'vati figure it out themselves and come sniffing," Radio resignedly threw a hand up. "Should we update the signal? Start directing people straight here?"
We had numbers, yes, but we could still do to take more in, especially if the fighting dragged on or casualties mounted higher than I projected. "How long until they're sure we're here?"
Radio yawned under his mask, the animated glass-plated mask he wore misinterpreting it with an ASCII shocked ":O" face. "We've been broadcasting all night, so, who knows?"
"Well, if it was just a signal they picked up on any random given day, how long would it typically take for the Shil'vati to muster a response?"
"Depends on the day." At my silent stare, he objected further. "They sometimes respond pretty fast to that sort of thing, but these aren't normal times, E. They used to come to check out wherever I broadcast from within an hour or two or two, but remember, they've kind of got their hands full right now thanks to Vendetta's jailbreaks. Plus, there's so many more signals." He checked the screen of his shortwave and chuckled, then lightly massaged his chest again. "I'm sure we've already gone way past."
"Alright. If we see anyone snooping around us, add our location to the broadcast. That way, anyone in the resistance or is sympathetic but isn't sure where Camp Death is can find their way here. In the meantime, though, I still think we're best not leaking it. At least with the sentries having set in the final claymores and outer defenses, we should be well-situated to ward off anything they throw at us."
"Maybe. Maybe not," George said from behind me, and I froze.
"Why not?"
He'd helped build this place. He'd know any weaknesses as well as his father.
"They might have cloaking tech, or some other means of infiltration," his voice was a dry rasp.
I shuddered thinking about it. "That's a good point," I muttered. "Assassination and recovery might be up their alley...except, I think they're terrified of what losing me might mean for their hostages."
"I'll be honest. I don't think she cares at this point," G-Man countered. I couldn't fault his gloomy disposition. I could just hope that he didn't want something bad to happen to us, to balance out that something bad had happened to him, from some weird sense of fairness.
"Yeah?"
"Think about it for a second. What happens if you die? Then what does that let her do if that happens?"
It was with a startle I realized he had a good point. Azraea had committed to a shocking all-in, something that would shake the political landscape and memories of countless denizens of the state. Months of carefully planned schemes involving carefully planned defensive patrols meant to reinforce one another, frustrate, and hinder our operations had culminated in us adapting, learning. We thought we had her beaten, especially when we destroyed her monitoring, data collection, and reporting asset in Something Else Square. Then she'd pulled something like this out of a hat, catching us totally flat-footed, rounding up who-knew how many of us before we could muster. What other assumptions had I made that were incorrect? Would she hold fire, if she knew where I was if it meant sparing the hostages? Or were they now just an 'acceptable, if regrettable' loss? When your opponent becomes unpredictable, issues arise, especially when you're counting on them to do certain things.
If it was, then I'd just done her work for her, and all of us would be dead the moment she figured out where we were, and at least the end would come faster than I knew it had arrived.
I realized I was staring up into the orange-lit cloudy night sky. I could voice none of this, not without undermining morale and potentially sparking a panic.
"If she was going to start bombarding the state, she'd have started already by now," I chuckled. "The borders are sealed, right? Why wait? Why bother trying to build some sense of dread? She's not a vampire who feeds on fear. I choose to not be afraid of what she may do. I instead intend to plan around it, to the extent that we can. Besides, if I die, what would the twins do to the hostages?"
George made a disappointed growl, his sore hands turning from awkward claws into shaking fists. "That may be the point. If the Twins do anything to the hostages in retaliation for your death, then maybe as long as she didn't pull the trigger, she thinks she'll be absolved of whatever damage their deaths mean to them."
I wasn't sure she thought that way. Heck, after months, the woman was still an absolute enigma to me. Governess Bal'shir, I understood- the flurry of speeches and photo-ops and handshakes at civic meetings with 'literally-who's-that' of 'what-community' had been carte blanche for us to grow. Ministriva was a lying snake, and once we pieced that together, I ripped her apart. But Azraea? What drove the Fleet Admiral to come down here? Duty. There wasn't any sort of hard policy she followed that I could tell, not that I knew Shil'vati military doctrine well, being an outsider such as I was. Perhaps it was the greater liberty afforded her of being both Governess and General that made it seem like her plans shifted and changed in ways that made it hard for me to keep up. Or maybe she was just at such a rank and in such a position of power to where she could make her judgment calls. If so, that begged the question: What was 'the line' for her? I had a feeling I'd somehow crossed it already. Probably Radio's tape of me fucking the Empress, if I was to be honest. Most unfair to be judged for something that hadn't been my decision, though I doubted an apology from either of us would amount to much.
I looked over to my Lieutenants. They'd helped carry me this far. I'd be foolish to ignore them now. What could I do to at least mitigate the risk that he was right, and there was someone looking to kill me, right here and now?
"Alright, fine, you've convinced me. Instruct the sentries to get the next dozen people who we intake to help patrol the inner perimeter, and to keep a watch for...well, I mean, a stealthy seven foot tall purple alien with giant tits?"
"Something invisible," George supplied.
"Alright, for anything shifting in the tall grasses that they can't immediately see- I can't really ask them to keep an eye out for something they can't see, can I?" I was suddenly too tired to think properly.
"I'll explain it," G-Man offered.
"And I'll get the sentries ready to take over the radio, explaining how it works, then I'll try heading to bed, too," Radio offered, and I realized that a yawn sounded very strange through a voice modulator- his ASCII helmet seemed to fritz out again for a second.
"I should change my sleeping quarters, too," I muttered. "They'll almost certainly check the command cabin for me, if they manage to enter. I'll pick a tunnel- uh...somewhere."
"Might be smart. Could be they'll try and take out the explosives shed, too. Make it look like an accident on our part, get rid of any hostages, and then get a free pass to exact vengeance on the state. Got anywhere in mind?"
I thought to myself. Where might be a good resting area? There were many tunnels that led to bunkers, firing outposts, and even to stowage areas. Any one of them might do in theory, but I knew of one that overlooked one of the two streams that ran along the side of Camp Death. I didn't want to situate myself either too low to where I was on the very front of the lines- why make an assassin's job even easier by putting myself on the perimeter, after all? But the creek should make a pleasant bit of white noise- and also get me away from the center shed. "Probably facing North, along Perkins run. G-Man, you look absolutely dead on your feet. Get some rest if you can, you've certainly done enough and gone through enough for today."
"There's...still things to do."
"There always will be. If the others are finished doing their repairs, lock the shed," I muttered. "I know the hostages are in there, so post a sentry or two there, too, to watch over the entrance. You're right that she may try some kind of underhanded tactic." It wouldn't do much if they decided to set charges against the side or something, and the subsequent explosion would be, in a word, 'cataclysmic'. "This was supposed to be a relaxing walk to help me rest..." I scratched at my chin under the mask, feeling the beginnings of the few scratchy hairs that had grown since I'd last shaved, and feeling the cool fresh air without the filter as the wind kicked up.
"Sorry," G-Man offered sheepishly. "I'll go tell 'em."
While he ambled off, I followed Radio back to his pile of equipment.
"Before we split then, one last thing."
"Yeah?" Radio asked.
"Have we recovered Verns?" I asked Radio. "Any word?"
"No, not that I've heard," Radio confessed. "Vendetta's been mostly quiet, I think to hide his heading from anyone who might be listening, but I know that he's struck at least three jails and counting. Some of the ones he's freed are trickling up to us here on foot, and it seems he and Morningstar are acting like a human wrecking ball. The troops are calling it Operation Smash-and-Grab."
"Smash-and-grab," I laughed, thinking of the pun. "I like it. Do we have a more recent headcount?"
"Sam said we've got enough to last about three days of continuous, round-the-clock fighting with the hundreds of people we have here. If we get a resupply run- well, I suppose it would depend upon how big a hole gets blasted in the encirclement. Or, well, something to that effect. Look, man, I'm 'Radio', not 'Telephone,' and I don't have the head for this logistics shit that you two do. You want to talk to Sam, you get the man on the radio yourself, or ask one of the Sentries I'm sticking here to manage the comms. Point being, you try and get hold of him. I'm done for the night."
I could have said something witty back, but it felt counterproductive, and would only delay the sleep I was now well overdue for.
"I've got an idea for an update. The ones Vendetta's letting loose? They can gather supplies and wait for the signal to reinforce, or to agitate, or can organize people into a more focused group, one that can punch through whatever blockade they try and form up. It'll also force the Shil'vati to not concentrate forces on our back door-" I pointed back at the interstate. "Even if they clear them out, the opportunity for us to encircle and destroy and then break out is too high for them to really try to do a mass deployment along our back." Sam was, I knew, something of a career criminal. Able to rub elbows with the worst elements of humanity. He was a facilitator, I knew, not really a leader. "Can you tell him-"
Radio was already fiddling with the dial. "Already on it," he muttered. "Lotta profit in looting, should be easy for him to steer people with that, or something. Get some sleep, E."
I went up to a sentry, requisitioned a sleeping bag someone had helpfully brought, went into a trench and told him where I'd be if I was needed. I waved to Radio, and crawled into the gunnery tunnel, almost stepping on another four people already laying in it. I loosened my laces, clutched my sheathed knife, and fell into a fitful sleep.
All Chapters First Chapter of Alien-Nation Previous Chapter
Alien-Nation Discord Buy A Coffee for the Author

F28. SW: 309. CW: 299. GW: 279/275. (Normal weight)
I’ve been going to the gym regularly 3 days a week since last November. Those months I was also going swimming 2-3 days a week even when it was cold. Now it’s getting warmer so I plan to go more often. I should have more rides in July so that will help a lot with fitness. I’ll be able to do the gym 4-5 days a week without limited rides.
I just started going on daily walks to get a coffee and then I walk 15-20 minutes around the neighborhood. Usually I walk to the park depending how I feel and I get 45 minutes in. It’s easier at the park since my neighborhood has hills. This has always helped me lose weight way faster, Up to 5 lbs at a time. Once I get groceries on Friday I’ll be sticking to meal prepping so hopefully I stay at the same weight.
For walking I’ve also been going to state parks and being out in nature helps so much as well. I’m planning on finding more walking trails and going to them daily.
I also want to try the 75 Hard Challenge but I’ll see if I can do it daily!! I was already doing these workouts twice a day in February/April. So I just need to stay consistent all summer.

For memorial weekend, my dad invited family and friends on his yacht to “whoop it up” as he put it. The only people that came were me, my older brother, my boyfriend, and his long term buddy. My dad was an alcoholic, serving time for 3 DUIs but when he got off probation, he got back on the bottle. Last summer he bought a retirement yacht for himself, and this summer was supposed to be the first full season of spending time on the boat. Last night, after we parked the boat in the slip, he started drinking the Coke and bourbon that I bought for the weekend. Naturally, he got drunk. My sober brother took my dad to pick up his friend about 5 minutes away to join us on the boat. I stayed to clean up a bit, and make sure my boyfriend, who was napping, wasn’t alone. When my brother, dad, and his friend got back, my dad slipped in between the dock and the boat. Since the water was freezing, he likely lost consciousness as he hit the water. I was on the upper deck facing the other way, but when I heard the splash, survival instincts kicked in and I ripped the life preserver off of the wall and scrambled to the source of the splash. I asked my brother what happened, and he told me dad had fallen into the water. When I realized I couldn’t see him, I dove into the water. I lost my breath due to the temperature shock, but I’m a strong swimmer so I stayed afloat. My brother is also a strong swimmer, so he jumped in after me. We dove under the dock, under the boat, feeling around in pitch black, freezing water trying to find him. Neighbors crowded the dock, and I screamed to call 911 and the coast guard, and to GTFO of the dock unless they were helping. About 10 minutes later, a neighbor found my dad underneath the boat in the next slip over. We dragged him onto the boat and the deputies started CPR. My brother and I watched in horror. I was hoisted out of the water and questioned by the deputies. I told my dad’s friend to wake up my boyfriend and get off the boat. After about 15 minutes of CPR, the ambulance came and he was delivered to the hospital. I called the rest of the family to join us at the hospital. The doctors said it took 45 more minutes of CPR to get his pulse back. If my dad wakes up, he will probably be severely brain damaged and in a vegetative state. He’s on life support, and doctors are not optimistic. They told my mom that she may have to pull the plug. I hate myself for buying an alcoholic on a boat booze. I hate myself for not jumping in sooner to save him. I hate myself, and will never forgive myself.
TL;DR: I watched my dad drown, and I couldn’t save him. Now he’s on life support, and my mom might need to pull the plug soon.

I posted on this subreddit on late April/early May, to ask if anyone did a bikepacking trip to Harriman State Park before. Wanted to do another post after trip to share my findings for whomever wants to plan a similar trip.
I did the trip on May 12-13th. Actually wanted to post before but life was busy couldn't share the details before. Thanks for all the comments on my previous post, the comments made me realize that there are certain things that you just try & learn. I'll also def check the 718 Cyclery in the future for group trips.
The purpose of this trip was to explore my limits and the route to Big Hill Shelter, see it for myself that how bike accessible it actually is. I didn't want to use a full PTO from work, instead I asked to leave by 2pm. However, next time I'm definitely going to take the full day off to hit the road early. For the route, I decided to trust Google. From my start point I set course for Big Hill Shelter, adding The 9W Market as a stop. After midtown, I passed through Central Park then all the way to Upper Manhattan to George Washington bridge. Right when I entered Jersey, I immediately started cycling on the 9W all the way up to the market with no stops. After I had some food at my pitstop, I kept following Google Maps, now routes next to Hudson river that made me pass through some really cute townships until the Nyack Beach State Park. The road at the State Park was a bit rocky but also really leisurely sometimes right next to the river, sometimes in between trees under a nice shade. The journey was really bike friendly until the turn to Camp Winaki Rd from Call Hollow Rd.
My maps was telling me that Camp Winaki Rd is a wood road, so I assumed it was just going to be like riding on a path similar to the Nyack Beach State Park. I was able to ride my bike until a Park building next to what Google calls First Reservoir. At that point it started to get dark and Google started to be unreliable. I opened up the official Harriman Park map and figured out that I had to walk with my bike until the Long Path & Camp Winaki road intersection. Also need to mention that, because I spent a little time figuring out my direction, I was left in complete dark before getting to my destination. With the help of my flashlight, I continued to roll my bike on foot, and about 1.5 miles later (in about 45-60 minutes) I managed to find the shelter. The weather was 70 degrees and I was alone until 11:30pm. Was an amazing, peaceful night. Around 11:30pm, randomly, a group of boy scouts came to the shelter as well. We shared the area and talked for a bit.
My takeaways for next time is really a brief list: Leave early so no need to go through the excitement of trying to navigate in absolute dark and instead of Big Hill Shelter, putting Long Path Hiker's Parking to my maps and then following the Long Path for 30-45 minutes on foot from the other direction still heading towards the shelter. Also need to bring a water filter or carry more water depending the length of the trip. Leaving details and an equipment list below. Hopefully this will help others who want to do a similar trip!
​

• Length: 44 miles
• Elevation: 1204 ft
• Time: Appx 6 hours
• Start Point: 3rd Ave & 45th St, Manhattan NY
• End Point: Big Hill Shelter, Harriman State Park
• Pit Stop: The 9W Market (Perfectly splitting the distance into half)

​
Equipment:

• Trek FX1 Disk 2022
• Topeak Explorer 29er Bike Rack
• Two Wheel Gear 22L Pannier Backpack
• Big Agnes Fly Creek High Volume UL 1 & Footprint
• Cipway Compression Packing Cubes
• Aegismax Down Sleeping Bag Ultralight
• Trekology UL80 Sleeping Pad
• Inflatable Camp Pillow
• Titanium Pot set for Camping
• PocketRocket UL Camping Stove
• Camping Fuel Canister
• Flashlight
• Collapsible Coffee Dripper & Paper Filters
• Rockbros Phone Front Frame Bag
• 2 bottles of water
• Power Bank
• Sandwich x2 & Snacks
• Clean cloths for the next day

I found myself in a blank white room without doors. It was cold and I was sitting alone on a single-seat, white sofa while a big screen played out a presentation
Two things that stood out as strange to me was how I was aware of it being a dream and yet I wasn't able to control it like how a lucid state allows.
Additionally, I felt the temperature of the room perfectly. The texture of the sofa was similar to leather and I sank right into it like it's stuffed with gel.
I didn't see any faces or learn any names. The voice sounded hard to distinguish as male or female and was somewhat robotic. The presentation involved imagery that was strictly familiar to me so I didn't get to see any aliens in it either
What makes think the room was a ufo was it's odd oval shape and the absence of sharp corners. The floor neatly blended into the wall which blended into the ceiling etc
I will try my best to remember what I learned:
Their religion revolves around the pursuit of happiness and the quest for self-actualization and belonging. They believe that true happiness is achieved when who the person thinks they are, who they want to be, and who they're perceived as are one and the same person
According to them, this need is universal across different species, suggesting a pattern in nature
For instance, atoms combine to form biological matter, which gives rise to cells, and cells create living beings with consciousness. Consciousness represents the peak of complexity, but they told me their research has revealed that it continues to evolve into more advanced forms
Collective consciousness forms another chain in the line. A complex form of life called thoughtforms or Egregores in English. They rely on the energy, emotions, beliefs, and thoughts of conscious entities in a wide variety. There is those who feed on negative emotions, positive emotions, beliefs and even abstract things like dreams etc. While we coexist with these beings without full awareness( similar to how nerve cells are unaware of the mind they are a part of) they have realized their profound influence on their society
By becoming aware of these beings and actively promoting positive collective consciousness, they have freed themselves from the harm caused by negative feeding entities. They urge our society to become aware of thoughtforms and restructure our way of life to foster equality and a sense of belonging for all
In their pursuit of equality and belonging, they have implemented a strange system of temporary identities. People can choose specific roles within society, such as a fish farmer caring for an elderly father. They join host families that treat them no differently than any other adopter. To preserve anonymity, and ensure unbiased treatment individuals wear masks and full-body suits for their role. The outfit is the same for every participant who adopts the role. They can switch roles indefinitely, exploring different lives or settle into one they created for themselves. After death, they pass on the identity they created for others. This system has proven instrumental in achieving self-actualization.
Furthermore, their architecture fosters community and social interaction. Park tables, for example, feature small lights that individuals can change the color of to signal their openness to conversation. Apartments have built-in private networks that allow residents to chat with neighbors on the same floor or in the same building etc
In short, their religion emphasizes the pursuit of happiness, self-actualization, and a sense of belonging to improve their collective thoughtform
This was very vital for them to achieve. They say that just how our body's cells don't understand why they get cut or recieve less nutrition sometimes, we have good and bad experiences at seemingly random patterns because of our egregores. By concentrating on feeding the positive energy beings they managed to virtually purge suffering from their daily lives.
This is absolutely bizarre to me but I had to share it to get it off my chest. Another interesting part was about how their economy is designed to achieve equality, less-waste and encourage innovation
They have a system that can be visualized as a pyramid of cards rather than the traditional trickle-down economy. The pyramid represents the structure of wealth distribution, ensuring that no class disproportionately grows over others. To explain this concept, let's consider a lemonade stand as an example.
In traditional capitalism, the owner of the stand and resources would receive the largest share of the profit, while the worker is paid a fixed wage, regardless of their contribution to the business. This system encourages the owner to reduce costs, including worker wages, and increase output, often resulting in poor quality products. Moreover, any unsold or unused items go to waste, which harms both individuals and the environment.
In their system, the worker receives a fixed ratio or percentage of the earnings rather than a fixed salary. For instance, if they split the earnings in a 1:3 ratio, and the stand makes $20 a day, the owner would receive $14, while the worker receives $6.5. By increasing the number of workers, the profits can grow. If two workers generate $40 a day, the owner would get $27, while each worker continues to receive $6.5 (a total of $13). If the owner puts pressure on a single worker to increase output, that worker would receive a higher compensation, such as $13.5. When sales increase further, let's say to $80 a day, the owner would get $53.4, and both workers would split $23.4, resulting in an increase in their wages to $13.5 each. This system prevents extreme inequality and maintains a balance among different wealth groups, akin to a pyramid of cards
Another advantage of their economy is the use of digital currency managed by a powerful AI-operated bank. This bank tracks business profits and determines fair payments. Owners are legally required to register employees on the fair-pay program, and all transactions must go through the bank. This approach eliminates human involvement to prevent corruption. To maintain transparency and prevent hacking, the AI's decision-making process and transactions are publicly visible through a live-feed. Any hacking attempts or discrepancies between reported payments and actual receipts would be immediately evident. Additionally, the system has robust cybersecurity measures, including compartmentalization of information and regular checks by a randomly selected team of developers
Their government does not control the bank or the payment ratio. It runs automatically and isn't staffed by anyone but the publicly transparent AI. Instead, people get to vote on the appropriate ratio for different skillsets. The government's role is to safeguard the system and provide public surveillance of the bank's activities. Innovation and education are highly valued, with scientists, educators, and engineers receiving the highest salaries and belonging to the top layer of the pyramid. They are paid in an exclusive currency that is priced at three times the standard currency
While the private sector has full control over means of production, raw resources have shared control between the private and government sectors. For instance, if a company discovers a copper mine and develops an effective extraction/purification method, they receive a fixed percentage of the profit, while the government sets a fair price for the resources based on extraction costs. People can buy these resources and use private sector machinery and blueprints to create items of their choice.
There are machinery and blueprints available to the general public for free, but they are limited to basic designs necessary for survival. This restriction prevents exploitation during emergencies. Businesses, therefore, focus on innovation and improving designs, ideas, patents, and machinery to produce items more effectively.
Their system has a strict made-to-order process for purchasing items, reducing environmental damage from unsold goods. Only perishable items like food, vital medicines and digital-goods are allowed to have surplus quantities. If a food item nears its expiration date, it would be offered at an extremely low price rather than being disposed off. This discourages businesses from over farming
Additionally supermarkets don't use packaging to sell food. To minimize harm to the environment, they bring in their own reusable containers to fill up from their product of choice, which is stored in large containers within the shop. Weight/volume determines the cost
In politics they don't have a party system and prefer direct democracy over representative democracy because they see the existence of a middle-man as a doorway for corruption. Their people get to vote on individual issues just like what happens in Switzerland. One difference is that they're required to do a lot more than simply tick yes or no. They believe that education is a vital part of successful democracy, therefore the voter has to write a short essay weighing the pros and cons behind their decision to demonstrate that they've learned enough before making a decision
The consequence of this system is that it takes very long to collect and process votes (It's done by AI which also has it's process live-streamed) The person is required to write it while at the voting center (to prevent copy-pastes) The booth provides them with a PC which has all the gathered points and research supporting each side of the decision.
To reduce the time it takes to submit and process votes, they prioritise those who are most affected by a decision. For example if it's about women's reproductive health then only women can vote. The rest of the population can still participate by adding to the information stockpile for the voting booth. Another example is when it comes to war, only those who are enlisted are allowed to vote in favour of it to discourage an eagerness for violence
Just like the bank system the government is also unstaffed. There is only an AI controlling humanoid drones to complete tasks. It's also publicly surveyed (I find it interesting how the government is watched by people rather than the other way around) they also have a randomly selected maintenance team to work on the program running it. They're taken to work immediately to prevent anyone from bribing them. Even more public surveillance goes into their work
There is lots more finer details about their society but I unfortunately forgot it after years passed. I might remember more with time but this post already got ridiculously long. After the dream ended I just woke up home and was in a cold sweat because of how bizarrely detailed it was. My dreams are usually random junk that I forget completely the instant I wake up
Edit: format, typoes etc
Edit: Some people are accusing me of making it all up which is reasonable. All I can respond by is that I want absolutely nothing to do with this "message" and anyone is free to publish a book using it if they want to
Tldr: Had a dream, in which I was on board a ufo and was taught about an alien society. They valued happiness, self-actualization, and belonging. They introduced me to the concept of thoughtforms and how they affect our society. Their economy focused on equality, less waste, and innovation. They had an AI-operated bank and emphasized education and direct democracy

This might end up being fairly long and if so I apologize in advance but I hope this ends up being as cathartic as I’m hoping.
Let’s start at the beginning. I wasn’t a good husband... hell I probably wasn't even a good person. I was selfish, inattentive to her needs, hid a painkiller addiction for many years and a copious amount of other issues. I wasn’t perfect though neither was she. We were happy though and together for a decade. I’ll preface this by saying that I’m the most non-jealous person in the world. I don’t care what you do with your friends, where you do it, and when as long as your honest. For example let’s say one of her friends invited her to go out of town or to do something for a weekend, it was like “hey are we doing anything this weekend? No? Okay I’m gonna go out of town with insert name here” and vice versa for me “hey are we doing anything this weekend? No? Okay I’m gonna go hunting with insert name here”. All that being said, again, not jealous AT ALL, but after the divorce and subsequent relationship I think my trust with SO coworkers is irreparably damaged.
His name was Joe, I heard through some of her other coworker friends he had a crush on my wife. Whatever, she got cheated on with her first love and couldn’t even watch movies or shows where someone cheats it would make her so angry. So I never thought twice about her going out with her coworkers. Now again, let me say I was not a good husband towards the end, and it took a long time and a lot of hurt and anger had to be let go to where I finally realized that I don’t fault her for finding solace in the arms of another, because she was a damn good wife, a damn good mother, and an even better husband. And she deserved better. I relapsed after an incredibly awful start to 2018. I went and stayed at my moms and had to go over to the house to get some things. Her and my daughter were gone somewhere but her Apple Watch was there. My gut told me what I already knew, and what I knew was that I shouldn't look through it knowing what I would find. What did I find? That she was filing for divorce the next week and plenty of messages to Joe. I knew it was only a matter of time before they ended up together. Can you guess what happened? I had a decent amount of money saved up so I took a sabbatical from work that ended extending to almost two years
December 2018, Christmas morning. I had a plan, it was foolproof. I was going to facetime my daughter in the morning to tell her how much I loved her and missed her and had a very merry Christmas... and then I was going to go in my backyard and blow my brains out. So thats what I did. I called her, talked to her as best you can to a three year old in the midst of a post present high with her cousins there too. Then I walked out in my backyard with my favorite rifle and sat there. And sat there. And sat there. For six hours. I cried, I wept... I wept for me, for my kid who was going to grow up without her daddy. I wept for my ex-wife who was going to have to explain to my daughter why she wouldn't be able to see her daddy again. I wept for my family and the pain I was about to cause them I begged and screamed to God. That if they were real and I was meant for things in this life that they would show me a fucking sign. Show me ANYTHING that would show me whether this drastic choice would be the right one... or the wrong. For six hours in the freezing cold. Never did get an answer that I could recognize as one. But the thought of my kid calling the person my wife had AT LEAST an emotional affair with, "Dad" made me sick... and made me want to live.
I decided to check into rehab, not for drugs, but so I didn't kill myself. Ive always kind of been a natural leader. I don't know why or what it is about me but people tend to flock towards me and have really either one or two reactions. They either really like me, or they really fucking hate me. Here though everyone really liked me and I was put in charge of running the meetings held there and trying to keep morale of the folks there. And it was a great fucking time. It was a month vacation in a really nice area of the state, I didn't have a phone, only my guitar and the resolve to work through my emotions in a safe place the best way I know how, by writing songs about it. Which is exactly what I did both in the classes, AA Meetings, out of class, didn't matter I was just knocking out song after song. I met a kid in there with a killer voice and a guy around my age who actually was the lead singesongwriter for a local band I was a fan of so it ended up being a really enjoyable experience.. The kid though... he got murdered last year from a drug deal gone wrong. Shot in a car and left to die in the parking lot. I think about him almost every day.
What did I learn? I learned that I shouldn't go looking for things I don't want to find, or ask questions that I really want the true answer to. Or so I thought.
I met K in December 2020 on Hinge. I wasn't sure I was really over my ex wife but then when we met it was love at first sight. And for a guy that didn't think he was ever going to love anyone again it was a major deal. She felt the same it seemed, though I now realize it was probably more of a trauma bond/rebound type situation. Things went really well for the honeymoon phase, it was like we couldn't get enough of each other. She was a cheer coach/art teacher, it was new, it was exciting, the sex was great.. she was great... She had some pretty serious insecurities and abandonment issues though. Her mom dropped her off with what ended up being her adoptive family only to come back a few years later and take her away for a few months, then bring her back and drop her off again. She self sabotages and destroys anything good in her life for fear or being hurt and left by someone again. And she only dated guys that controlled her, treated her like shit, stole from her, etc etc. She took xanax and ambien which when it would kick in at first it seemed she was still cognizant. One night when I was staying over there she had taken it and asked me to look something up in her phone. As soon as I open it I see a text to a coach at the school she taught at that was just really inappropriate shit that made me feel uncomfortable, especially since he was married. I asked her about it when she off work the next day and she just downplayed it as they are wont to do. I let it go but its something I thought of often, especially after it ended.
We moved in together in August of 21. I helped her get a job at a school over on my side of town so we got a really nice apartment close to her work and not far from mine. Thats when things started to change. I'll never forget we were laying in bed on a Friday afternoon, I was about to go pick up my kid. I rolled over towards her side and propped myself up and looked at her for a second and thought how lucky am I, and so thats what I said out loud to her. Its like she recoiled like she got bit by a snake, bolted out of bed and said I was being clingy and essentially ran out the door where she ended up back on the other side of town and had dinner with a gay guy friend. I really didn't know what to do or how to take it so when I picked my kid up I took her over to my moms house and we stayed there until K called and asked me to come home so we could talk. I left my kid with my mom and went over there and she apologized and reiterated how she feels in relationships, the fear of being left, how independent she had to be because of her upbringing and a few other things.
Not long after that she forwarded me an email, I'm not even sure what she meant to send me if she even meant it to send to me because I never got around to asking. It was an email thread with the coach where she said "guess what?", "What? You're gonna have my baby?" "No I got Covid!". I confronted her about it, told her how it made me feel, and while she never really responded to it in a way that made me worry I still strongly disliked it and let her know that. Not long after that as we were laying in bed I saw she was texting someone exceptionally long paragraphs, you know the type, the type when you're first talking to someone and are explaining things about yourself to them? I'll spare the long part but come to find out shes found a new coach to have what appears to be an emotional affair with. Though come to find out this one ended up being physical. She broke up with me in January 22. Told me while I showed her love in a way she didn't know was possible, and treated her in a way nobody had ever treated her before that I was too good for her and deserved better. I tried to change her mind, lord knows I tried, I was madly in love. My kid was in love with her. We talked about a future I never thought possible after my divorce.
I moved out of the apartment and back to my moms until I could find a place. We talked occasionally and I spent so much time reading this sub and others. Posts about how to get her back, how to make her miss me, what to do and what not to do. When my work sabbatical ended I got my old job back. Its a great job, ridiculously easy and the amount of work I actually do compared to my compensation should be illegal. She lost her cheer stipend when we moved back to my side of town since she didn't coach and since we got the apt together I knew what her funds looked like. We got that place because we could afford it together, alone I knew she was going to struggle. And I still wanted her back... what better way to show her that and try to manifest it by just being there for her when she needed me? Little did I know that would be the only time she asked me anything. Only when she needed help, or was having an anxiety attack and needed someone to talk her off the ledge and tell her everything was going to be okay. It was never her asking how I was doing, or my kid, or my dog, or what was going on in my life. Everyone told me what my gut had already told me but I lied to myself over and over. Not long after all this happened I found out she had been seeing the new coach at the new school though she still won't admit it even up to... checks notes today.
March 23 I get my first really big commission check I gave her 10k and we paid off her credit card, some other debt she had, some missed car payments and other bill help. Not long after that she tells me shes going to a cabin nearby where shes from with her sisters and nieces/nephews and asks me to watch her dog which I miss just as much as her so I do it. Mind you previous to this we went through a rough spot and she had blocked me on IG and never unblocked me. One of my cousins still followed her though, she hits me on snapchat saying "oh wow K looks amazing" I say "Oh yeah, does the cabin look nice?" She said "Cabin? Looks like shes at the beach" and sends me a screenshot of her IG post. I do my best FBI investigation and zoom in on her glasses, it appears to be a guy taking the picture based on the reflection from the frames and I kind of have an idea who I think it could be, come to find out, we'll call him JMJ also happens to be in Florida at the same time. So I call her out and tell her she needs to find someone to come get her dog and I'm done with her and her lies. She tells me "Oh my mom and dad are traveling across the country in their RV (WHICH THEY WERE) and so when you sent me that extra money after we paid the bills my sister and I decided to fly to Florida to spend some time with them on Spring Break"
She then breaks down and tells me how shes ruined the relationship with the last genuine person in her life and that when she gets back she'll get her dog and I'll never hear from her again. Master manipulator and while shes an amazing liar to someone who wants with every fiber of his being to believe him, is awful at hiding her lies. What do I do? Well I'm a fucking idiot so you can already imagine what I did. I begged her for once to just be honest with me. For once in our entire two years going back and forth that if she ever did truly love me or respect me for things I did for her that she would be honest. She told shes not dating anyone and doesn't have a boyfriend and that nothing has changed. I told her that even if she was seeing someone and told me about it I would help her out one last time only because I had committed to it. I told myself I was doing it for altruistic reasons, that because of all her issues that if I can do for her what I said I would do for her and that would help her out in her future relationships to show her that not everybody is it out to just fuck her and leave her, that when some people tell you they'll do something for you they mean it and she stops self sabotaging then I did my part.
A couple weeks ago was her 30th birthday. I see if she wants to grab dinner but she says one of her girl teacher friends is taking her to dinner in the galleria area. Check the guys IG story via an anonymous viewer and guess who happens to be at a restaurant in the galleria area? I don't even call her out because at this point Im making a plan. I get another rather large check in July and so we had previously talked about paying off the rest of her debt. She tells me shes going to her parents house for MDW and then that shes going out of town today with one of her old friends to New Orleans. This is when I realize just whats about to happen. Im about to have the answer to the question I thought I was dying to know the answer to. I told myself if he posts an IG story today where hes traveling, there is 0% chance that shes not with him. The first thing I see when I open IG is he posted a story... in Cancun. Then the next picture I see... her phone on the table next to him. Bingo. Send her an email saying "Hey I hope you have fun in Cancun!" and that was it. Almost immediately she texts me asking how I know and figured it out and I just saw red. I immediately opened up IG and sent him a message with texts, receipts, bank transfers, her telling me that she still loves me and we can go take a trip this summer, how many times shes asked me for money and help and the lies shes told me about him. She asks me to stop messaging him and I say that shes forever lost the option to ask ANYTHING of me but realize what Im doing is not the right thing and is hella immature so I send her another email saying I'm sorry and out of respect for her I wont say anything else to him.
Then he sends me a message on IG asking to elaborate more and then told me she told him I owed her a lot of money... I asked how much and for what and he said $2k for bills when we first got together. Thats when I sent him an entire list of all bank transactions through our bank and Apple Pay. Just digital alone, $18.647.00 over the last six months plus another $12,460.00 in cash over the last eight months. Then I realized just how little better this made me feel. In fact I thought I would feel triumphant, and ready to move on and finally be over her and start to heal. Knowing full damn and well keeping her around and helping her was keeping me from being able to heal and move on. I sent her another message telling her I was taking the last part of her birthday gift to her apartment and leaving it in the ottoman outside her door and that because I had already accounted for and mentally prepared for giving her money in July that I still would then I blocked and removed her from IG and anything else that would open up an avenue for contact.
Here we are. Starting NC again... a year and a half after we broke up all because I thought I needed the answers to what I didn't want to find out or know. And that yet again, my gut has yet to lie to me in regards to relationships. What is wrong with me? Why even after all of this do I still want her in my life and want her back? If she called me tomorrow needing help I'd probably still do it. How do I fix myself? I've gotten an entire new wardrobe, an entire home gym so I quit blaming my depression for why I didn't go to the gym, and have tried really hard to focus on myself yet I know deep down everything I'm doing, I'm still doing for hopes of her. I lied to myself and clouded my own gut and mind to listen to my heart when I knew what I already knew yet still felt the need to confirm it.
Its not worth it. IT. IS.NOT. WORTH. IT. Keep that door closed if you don't want to know whats on the other side. Don't open that book if you don't want to see whats written on that last page. If your gut is telling you something, its probably right. Listen to it. When your friends and family are telling you the same thing your gut is telling you, listen to them. Even if its killing you, even if its the last thing you want to do, even if its going to break your heart again and reopen any wounds for you to bleed out again it has to be done. Don't be like me. Don't prolong your suffering for a year and a half for hope that you know isn't going to shake out in your way regardless of what the other person might be telling you.

This might end up being fairly long and if so I apologize in advance but I hope this ends up being as cathartic as I’m hoping.
Let’s start at the beginning. I wasn’t a good husband... hell I probably wasn't even a good person. I was selfish, inattentive to her needs, hid a painkiller addiction for many years and a copious amount of other issues. I wasn’t perfect though neither was she. We were happy though and together for a decade. I’ll preface this by saying that I’m the most non-jealous person in the world. I don’t care what you do with your friends, where you do it, and when as long as your honest. For example let’s say one of her friends invited her to go out of town or to do something for a weekend, it was like “hey are we doing anything this weekend? No? Okay I’m gonna go out of town with insert name here” and vice versa for me “hey are we doing anything this weekend? No? Okay I’m gonna go hunting with insert name here”. All that being said, again, not jealous AT ALL, but after the divorce and subsequent relationship I think my trust with SO coworkers is irreparably damaged.
His name was Joe, I heard through some of her other coworker friends he had a crush on my wife. Whatever, she got cheated on with her first love and couldn’t even watch movies or shows where someone cheats it would make her so angry. So I never thought twice about her going out with her coworkers. Now again, let me say I was not a good husband towards the end, and it took a long time and a lot of hurt and anger had to be let go to where I finally realized that I don’t fault her for finding solace in the arms of another, because she was a damn good wife, a damn good mother, and an even better person. And she deserved better. I relapsed after an incredibly awful start to 2018. I went and stayed at my moms and had to go over to the house to get some things. Her and my daughter were gone somewhere but her Apple Watch was there. My gut told me what I already knew, and what I knew was that I shouldn't look through it knowing what I would find. What did I find? That she was filing for divorce the next week and plenty of messages to Joe. I knew it was only a matter of time before they ended up together. Can you guess what happened? I had a decent amount of money saved up so I took a sabbatical from work that ended extending to almost two years
December 2018, Christmas morning. I had a plan, it was foolproof. I was going to facetime my daughter in the morning to tell her how much I loved her and missed her and had a very merry Christmas... and then I was going to go in my backyard and blow my brains out. So thats what I did. I called her, talked to her as best you can to a three year old in the midst of a post present high with her cousins there too. Then I walked out in my backyard with my favorite rifle and sat there. And sat there. And sat there. For six hours. I cried, I wept... I wept for me, for my kid who was going to grow up without her daddy. I wept for my ex-wife who was going to have to explain to my daughter why she wouldn't be able to see her daddy again. I wept for my family and the pain I was about to cause them I begged and screamed to God. That if they were real and I was meant for things in this life that they would show me a fucking sign. Show me ANYTHING that would show me whether this drastic choice would be the right one... or the wrong. For six hours in the freezing cold. Never did get an answer that I could recognize as one. But the thought of my kid calling the person my wife had AT LEAST an emotional affair with, "Dad" made me sick... and made me want to live.
I decided to check into rehab, not for drugs, but so I didn't kill myself. Ive always kind of been a natural leader. I don't know why or what it is about me but people tend to flock towards me and have really either one or two reactions. They either really like me, or they really fucking hate me. Here though everyone really liked me and I was put in charge of running the meetings held there and trying to keep morale of the folks there. And it was a great fucking time. It was a month vacation in a really nice area of the state, I didn't have a phone, only my guitar and the resolve to work through my emotions in a safe place the best way I know how, by writing songs about it. Which is exactly what I did both in the classes, AA Meetings, out of class, didn't matter I was just knocking out song after song. I met a kid in there with a killer voice and a guy around my age who actually was the lead singesongwriter for a local band I was a fan of so it ended up being a really enjoyable experience.. The kid though... he got murdered last year from a drug deal gone wrong. Shot in a car and left to die in the parking lot. I think about him almost every day.
What did I learn? I learned that I shouldn't go looking for things I don't want to find, or ask questions that I really want the true answer to. Or so I thought.
I met K in December 2020 on Hinge. I wasn't sure I was really over my ex wife but then when we met it was love at first sight. And for a guy that didn't think he was ever going to love anyone again it was a major deal. She felt the same it seemed, though I now realize it was probably more of a trauma bond/rebound type situation. Things went really well for the honeymoon phase, it was like we couldn't get enough of each other. She was a cheer coach/art teacher, it was new, it was exciting, the sex was great.. she was great... She had some pretty serious insecurities and abandonment issues though. Her mom dropped her off with what ended up being her adoptive family only to come back a few years later and take her away for a few months, then bring her back and drop her off again. She self sabotages and destroys anything good in her life for fear or being hurt and left by someone again. And she only dated guys that controlled her, treated her like shit, stole from her, etc etc. She took xanax and ambien which when it would kick in at first it seemed she was still cognizant. One night when I was staying over there she had taken it and asked me to look something up in her phone. As soon as I open it I see a text to a coach at the school she taught at that was just really inappropriate shit that made me feel uncomfortable, especially since he was married. I asked her about it when she off work the next day and she just downplayed it as they are wont to do. I let it go but its something I thought of often, especially after it ended.
We moved in together in August of 21. I helped her get a job at a school over on my side of town so we got a really nice apartment close to her work and not far from mine. Thats when things started to change. I'll never forget we were laying in bed on a Friday afternoon, I was about to go pick up my kid. I rolled over towards her side and propped myself up and looked at her for a second and thought how lucky am I, and so thats what I said out loud to her. Its like she recoiled like she got bit by a snake, bolted out of bed and said I was being clingy and essentially ran out the door where she ended up back on the other side of town and had dinner with a gay guy friend. I really didn't know what to do or how to take it so when I picked my kid up I took her over to my moms house and we stayed there until K called and asked me to come home so we could talk. I left my kid with my mom and went over there and she apologized and reiterated how she feels in relationships, the fear of being left, how independent she had to be because of her upbringing and a few other things.
Not long after that she forwarded me an email, I'm not even sure what she meant to send me if she even meant it to send to me because I never got around to asking. It was an email thread with the coach where she said "guess what?", "What? You're gonna have my baby?" "No I got Covid!". I confronted her about it, told her how it made me feel, and while she never really responded to it in a way that made me worry I still strongly disliked it and let her know that. Not long after that as we were laying in bed I saw she was texting someone exceptionally long paragraphs, you know the type, the type when you're first talking to someone and are explaining things about yourself to them? I'll spare the long part but come to find out shes found a new coach to have what appears to be an emotional affair with. Though come to find out this one ended up being physical. She broke up with me in January 22. Told me while I showed her love in a way she didn't know was possible, and treated her in a way nobody had ever treated her before that I was too good for her and deserved better. I tried to change her mind, lord knows I tried, I was madly in love. My kid was in love with her. We talked about a future I never thought possible after my divorce.
I moved out of the apartment and back to my moms until I could find a place. We talked occasionally and I spent so much time reading this sub and others. Posts about how to get her back, how to make her miss me, what to do and what not to do. When my work sabbatical ended I got my old job back. Its a great job, ridiculously easy and the amount of work I actually do compared to my compensation should be illegal. She lost her cheer stipend when we moved back to my side of town since she didn't coach and since we got the apt together I knew what her funds looked like. We got that place because we could afford it together, alone I knew she was going to struggle. And I still wanted her back... what better way to show her that and try to manifest it by just being there for her when she needed me? Little did I know that would be the only time she asked me anything. Only when she needed help, or was having an anxiety attack and needed someone to talk her off the ledge and tell her everything was going to be okay. It was never her asking how I was doing, or my kid, or my dog, or what was going on in my life. Everyone told me what my gut had already told me but I lied to myself over and over. Not long after all this happened I found out she had been seeing the new coach at the new school though she still won't admit it even up to... checks notes today.
March 23 I get my first really big commission check I gave her 10k and we paid off her credit card, some other debt she had, some missed car payments and other bill help. Not long after that she tells me shes going to a cabin nearby where shes from with her sisters and nieces/nephews and asks me to watch her dog which I miss just as much as her so I do it. Mind you previous to this we went through a rough spot and she had blocked me on IG and never unblocked me. One of my cousins still followed her though, she hits me on snapchat saying "oh wow K looks amazing" I say "Oh yeah, does the cabin look nice?" She said "Cabin? Looks like shes at the beach" and sends me a screenshot of her IG post. I do my best FBI investigation and zoom in on her glasses, it appears to be a guy taking the picture based on the reflection from the frames and I kind of have an idea who I think it could be, come to find out, we'll call him JMJ also happens to be in Florida at the same time. So I call her out and tell her she needs to find someone to come get her dog and I'm done with her and her lies. She tells me "Oh my mom and dad are traveling across the country in their RV (WHICH THEY WERE) and so when you sent me that extra money after we paid the bills my sister and I decided to fly to Florida to spend some time with them on Spring Break"
She then breaks down and tells me how shes ruined the relationship with the last genuine person in her life and that when she gets back she'll get her dog and I'll never hear from her again. Master manipulator and while shes an amazing liar to someone who wants with every fiber of his being to believe him, is awful at hiding her lies. What do I do? Well I'm a fucking idiot so you can already imagine what I did. I begged her for once to just be honest with me. For once in our entire two years going back and forth that if she ever did truly love me or respect me for things I did for her that she would be honest. She told shes not dating anyone and doesn't have a boyfriend and that nothing has changed. I told her that even if she was seeing someone and told me about it I would help her out one last time only because I had committed to it. I told myself I was doing it for altruistic reasons, that because of all her issues that if I can do for her what I said I would do for her and that would help her out in her future relationships to show her that not everybody is it out to just fuck her and leave her, that when some people tell you they'll do something for you they mean it and she stops self sabotaging then I did my part.
A couple weeks ago was her 30th birthday. I see if she wants to grab dinner but she says one of her girl teacher friends is taking her to dinner in the galleria area. Check the guys IG story via an anonymous viewer and guess who happens to be at a restaurant in the galleria area? I don't even call her out because at this point Im making a plan. I get another rather large check in July and so we had previously talked about paying off the rest of her debt. She tells me shes going to her parents house for MDW and then that shes going out of town today with one of her old friends to New Orleans. This is when I realize just whats about to happen. Im about to have the answer to the question I thought I was dying to know the answer to. I told myself if he posts an IG story today where hes traveling, there is 0% chance that shes not with him. The first thing I see when I open IG is he posted a story... in Cancun. Then the next picture I see... her phone on the table next to him. Bingo. Send her an email saying "Hey I hope you have fun in Cancun!" and that was it. Almost immediately she texts me asking how I know and figured it out and I just saw red. I immediately opened up IG and sent him a message with texts, receipts, bank transfers, her telling me that she still loves me and we can go take a trip this summer, how many times shes asked me for money and help and the lies shes told me about him. She asks me to stop messaging him and I say that shes forever lost the option to ask ANYTHING of me but realize what Im doing is not the right thing and is hella immature so I send her another email saying I'm sorry and out of respect for her I wont say anything else to him.
Then he sends me a message on IG asking to elaborate more and then told me she told him I owed her a lot of money... I asked how much and for what and he said $2k for bills when we first got together. Thats when I sent him an entire list of all bank transactions through our bank and Apple Pay. Just digital alone, $18.647.00 over the last six months plus another $12,460.00 in cash over the last eight months. Then I realized just how little better this made me feel. In fact I thought I would feel triumphant, and ready to move on and finally be over her and start to heal. Knowing full damn and well keeping her around and helping her was keeping me from being able to heal and move on. I sent her another message telling her I was taking the last part of her birthday gift to her apartment and leaving it in the ottoman outside her door and that because I had already accounted for and mentally prepared for giving her money in July that I still would then I blocked and removed her from IG and anything else that would open up an avenue for contact.
Here we are. Starting NC again... a year and a half after we broke up all because I thought I needed the answers to what I didn't want to find out or know. And that yet again, my gut has yet to lie to me in regards to relationships. What is wrong with me? Why even after all of this do I still want her in my life and want her back? If she called me tomorrow needing help I'd probably still do it. How do I fix myself? I've gotten an entire new wardrobe, an entire home gym so I quit blaming my depression for why I didn't go to the gym, and have tried really hard to focus on myself yet I know deep down everything I'm doing, I'm still doing for hopes of her. I lied to myself and clouded my own gut and mind to listen to my heart when I knew what I already knew yet still felt the need to confirm it.
Its not worth it. IT. IS.NOT. WORTH. IT. Keep that door closed if you don't want to know whats on the other side. Don't open that book if you don't want to see whats written on that last page. If your gut is telling you something, its probably right. Listen to it. When your friends and family are telling you the same thing your gut is telling you, listen to them. Even if its killing you, even if its the last thing you want to do, even if its going to break your heart again and reopen any wounds for you to bleed out again it has to be done. Don't be like me. Don't prolong your suffering for a year and a half for hope that you know isn't going to shake out in your way regardless of what the other person might be telling you.