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Memory transcription subject: Illia, Federation Communications Technician
Date [standardized human time]: October 21, 2136
Kiran and I embraced for what seemed like forever, idly sitting on the rainbow grass that colored the forest floor while huddled together in the darkness. The campfire near us was still full of life somehow, and provided a good amount of illumination throughout the campsite.
It was quite difficult to sit on my haunches upright, with nothing supporting my back. Despite that, It was well worth it and I would sympathize with her for as long as was needed. I remained alert, with my weapon still in my grip in case the human decided to return for round two. I gently massaged the girl’s back with one of my forehooves, hoping that my attempts at soothing her would ward away the trauma she had experienced.
“Illia..” Kiran sobbed into my chest, drenching the fabric of my jumpsuit. “T-thank you, thank you. I was scared that you didn't m-make it.. I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t. P-please don’t leave me.” She pleaded.
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart, don’t worry.” I replied, my voice a faint whisper. “The only thing that matters now is that you’re safe. You don’t have to worry about that.. thing anymore. It’s gone.” I consoled her, wiping the still-wet tears off of her ruffled feathers. “More importantly, are you hurt?” I checked her over, examining her lithe body from multiple angles.
She thought about that for a little while, then sat up, stretching a wing. She let out a cry of pain once it was half-way extended and brought it back down gingerly, wrapping a wing around her upper shoulder. I reached forward out of sympathy, my maternal instincts moving me to comfort her.
“Oh, Jild.. L-Let me see, honey.” I crooned. She heavily reminded me of my eldest, only daughter, and it was amusing how alike they were, despite being of different species.
I tenderly prodded the dull side of my hoof-paw against her supposed injured appendage, trailing it up towards her shoulder, which earned a startled chirp from her, followed by a slight jump away from my touch. The area of where her wing met her shoulder was bruised a deep purple, visible even beneath her feathers from where she collided with the tree. I was beyond grateful that nothing had broken, or even shattered. That would require extensive care, and we were lightyears away from the nearest hospital.
“How d-does it look, Illia? W-Will I be ok?” She sniffled, caressing her discolored limb while being mindful of its positioning. Sadness etched itself across my face, but I forced a hopeful look in Kiran’s favor. Thankfully, the bruising was the extent of her injuries, none of which were life threatening, though were still in need of urgent medical attention. The most I would be able to do would be to give her painkillers and make a sling for her.
Our best option now is to find Orsik and the rest of the crew.
“It’s.. fine, honey. Don’t you worry. I’ll get you fixed up, and you’ll feel all better, ok?” I said while rummaging through my bag for my first aid kit. I had a thorough understanding of how to dress wounds, as well as the proper medical procedures that came with it. Kiran would need her arm immobilized so that any further injury could be avoided. We’d better find help soon, I can only help her so much. I internalized.
Pulling out the kit, I took out a bottle containing the painkillers and a small, square-shaped piece of cloth, which unfolded into a much longer strand of fabric. I cautiously draped the cloth along her shoulder, positioning her arm along her abdomen much to her discomfort, and tied it off. Her arm was now fully supported, and the risk of worsening the injury had decreased. Feeling satisfied with my work, I grabbed the vial of painkillers, urging her to take one. I then grabbed one of the large bottles of water from my pack, holding it a distance away from her beak. “Drink, sweetie.” She welcomed the fluid into her mouth, tilting her head back as I poured the bottle. She eagerly chugged down the substance in record time, unmistakably parched. It had probably been a while since her last drink of water.
I leaned back and returned the now empty bottle to my bag, and observed her checking out my handiwork. Her gaze met the ground suddenly, and she froze, her eyes glossing over. I waited for her to say something, anything. Her abrupt silence was starting to worry me.
“Sweetie?” She gazed off into the distance, no doubt reliving her near-death experience. “Are you alright?” I nudged her, snapping her attention back to me. Tears began to bubble in those wide eyes of hers again; her grip on my jumpsuit tightened, and her hackles raised. She was visibly shaking.
“It.. it came out of n-nowhere. I could feel it w-watching m-me, even before I s-saw it. It.. I knew it w-was there, and th-then.. She whimpered. T-there was so m-much blood, and I-I.. Her voice was hoarse, describing her contact with the predator. “I-I was.. Was so s-scared.. I-I’ve never been more scared b-before in my life..” She choked the words out. “I didn’t know what to do, I-I couldn’t m-move.”
I lay my head gently on top of her own. “That’s just your instincts kicking in, honey.” I assured her. “Everyone has them.” I felt her rapid heartbeat slow gradually as she listened to my words. “You’re safe. Relax, my sweet.” The corners of my mouth turned up in a smile. “I am very proud of you, setting up camp all by yourself. You’ve proven to be very strong and capable out on your own.” My smile died down a bit. “I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner, but I didn’t forget our promise.”
She released her tight grip on me, reeling back and looking at me with one eye. She swallowed. “Neither did I. I-I knew you would come, so I w-waited.” There was a pause after that, the both of us glad to be in each other's presence. “Thank you, Illia.”
I flicked my ears toward her, and my grin grew wider. “Of course. Let’s get out of here.” I stood up on my hind hooves with a grunt, stretching out my tired muscles. I extended my paw downward towards her, and she took it with her uninjured wing. I helped the virtually weightless girl to her talons, and hefted my backpack over my shoulders. My poor spine ached in protest, practically begging for a break. “Ready?” I turned my head towards her.
“Illia?” She spoke after a moment, craning her neck up towards me.
“Yes, Kiran?”
“That thing, the h-human.. Did you k-kill it? Where did it go?” A worried look crossed her avian features, waiting for my response. I wouldn’t want to worry the poor girl, but I don’t want to lie to her, either.
I inhaled sharply after a moment, inadvertently giving away the answer to Kiran even before my admission. Her brows upturned slightly with worry. My own eyes latched onto hers, and I breathed a sigh, confirming her suspicion.
“Y-you.. You didn’t kill it?! It’s still out there?! Oh, Inatala..” Her feeble legs wobbled, and I kept her from falling over. “W-why? Illia.. Y-you should have killed it when you had the chance! How is it e-even here? Did it f-follow us?!” The distraught avian squawked in alarm, and my ears flattened in response from the sudden change in pitch.
The loud krakotl girl was likely to attract unwanted attention, with how boisterous she was currently. I gently clasped a hoof-paw around her beak, attempting to silence her. “Hey! Calm down, sweetie. Deep breaths. We’re not on Nishtal, or anywhere else. Remember? There’s bound to be predators around here, so we have to be quiet.” That silenced her instantly. “Please, for both of our sakes.” I concernedly whispered. Her frantic chirping died down, and I released my paw.
I inhaled deeply, my lungs pulling in the night’s chilly air. I’d have to answer the many questions that she has bombarded me with now, lest her little heart stops.
A long breath escaped my lips. “I hesitated. I.. I couldn’t pull the trigger, knowing that I would be ending the life of a sapient, living creature. Killing is wrong, regardless of whether it’s prey or predator. I refuse to stoop down to its level.” I explained my actions. “As to how it got here, we must have picked it up somewhere around the time when we boarded the bomber ship. I had a suspicion earlier, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” I was sorely tempted to put the murderous bastard out of its misery then and there, but it didn’t sit right with me.
She clicked silently to herself, the gears slowly turning in her head.
“I-I thought something was wrong, on the ship, with how you were staring at the door. I was w-worried..” She nervously fidgeted, her talons puncturing the surface she stood on. “Uhm, why.. W-why does the human want to k-kill me? What d-did I do?” She timidly met my gaze again, glancing up at me with watery eyes.
I snorted, raising a four-digit paw and setting it down gently on her uninjured shoulder.
“It isn’t you, Kiran. Killing is in a predator’s nature, their bloodlust drives them crazy. They can’t help it even if they tried, that’s why we can’t live in peace.” I snorted, angering myself over my own rant. “I just wish that we had finished the job.” I muttered, referring to erasing humanity from existence.
Something else was plastered on her face now, something not dissimilar to a look of betrayal. “Illia?” She gulped. “D-do.. do you have predator disease?” Her voice was unsteady, but at the same time, nothing but a faint whisper.
Those words rekindled a flame in me that I thought to be snuffed out a while ago. I snorted angrily, outraged that she would even ask me such a thing, after I had saved her life. She would be dead if I hadn’t intervened, but here she was, accusing me of being the very thing that I had saved her from.
The adrenaline in my system dissipated as I stared into her frightened eyes, and I restrained myself from throwing a fit. Kiran was young, and couldn’t comprehend that predator disease wasn’t an actual illness, but instead was a way for the Federation to retain its chokehold over its citizenry. Though, I wasn’t about to berate the girl over flawed conspiracy theories. She clearly knew nothing of the pain it caused, as naive as she was.
But I knew it well.
She was as stiff as the trees surrounding us, eyeing me expectantly. I felt a pang of sadness as I noticed that she even stepped back a few paces, away from my reach. The Federation had indoctrinated her far beyond the point of recovery with their nonsensical rhetoric. It was insane to think that one misguided accusation was all it took to break apart the bond between two people. There was no use reasoning with her, but I could try.
Is that how she saw me? A predator? That caused me more pain than any weapon could physically inflict, especially coming from her. Where did this even come from? I was nowhere close to matching the Humans’ brutality, or even the Arxurs’, and yet, she still regarded me as one of them.
I released a snort, dismissing the indirect insult. “No.” I said sternly, clearly heartbroken, as much as I tried to mask it. “Honey, we’ve known each other for quite a while. If I truly had.. ‘Predator disease’, don’t you think I would have shown signs of it by now?” I left the question in the air as Kiran attempted to make sense of my reasonable statement. “Well?”
“T-That makes sense..” Her voice cracked.
“Don’t you trust me, Kiran? Why would you ask such a thing?” My own voice wavered as my heart split down the middle, waiting for her reply. Although, I knew what it would be.
“I do.” She squawked a little while after, catching me completely off-guard. “It’s just.. I-I heard you, threatening the p-predator. Y-You were so b-brave, and instead of running the other way, you just.. held it at gunpoint, and shooed it away from me. You weren’t s-scared at all, even when it wanted to kill you.” She gulped.
“Of course I was scared. I was terrified.” I pleaded. “But I couldn’t just stand back and do nothing, not while your life was at stake. I had to be strong, whatever the cost. It would forever haunt me if I had left you to die, to save myself. I would n-never, I c-couldn’t..” I whimpered through ragged breaths, a dam of emotion bursting through my guise of strength. “I have known nothing but pain and anguish since I set hoof on this planet. I’ve already lost so much, and losing you would absolutely destroy me.” I sobbed, gasping for air. I felt embarrassed, having Kiran see me in my current state. I had tried so hard to be strong for her, but the events of this past week have finally caught up to me.
I wept, hiding my tears in the crook of my elbow. I felt a warm touch caress my upper arm, and I moved my arm away from my eyes. Looking down, Kiran had moved closer to me with a comforting smile on her face. It would seem that she had discarded the ‘sulean predator’ claim after witnessing the humiliating waterworks display in front of her.
“I believe you.” She smiled with her eyes. Relief washed through me instantly. She was the one person in the Federation who had wanted to be my friend, let alone even talk to me. Despite being on a mystery planet with a slim chance of escape, she was a light in the darkness. I hope she knows what she means to me.
I grew a smile of my own and latched onto her in another embrace, being careful not to disturb her shoulder. I snorted through my nose contentedly. “Thank you.” I sniffed. Although startled at first, she returned the hug, squeezing me tightly. While embraced, for a brief moment all of my worries had faded away, replaced by a feeling of adoration and hope. We departed from each other, our bond reinstated.
“See? I’m not foaming at the mouth, am I? Guess I’m not a predator after all.” I joked, hoping it would be well received. I gently tickled her side with my hooved manipulators, causing her to giggle.
“Ok, ok! I trust you! The little one laughed, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. Her breathing returned to a calm pace. “So. Where to now?”
“What do you mean, little one?” I inquired. “It’s pitch black out there, surely you’re not thinking of heading out now, are you? The human is still out there, and it probably isn’t the only thing we have to worry about.” Wandering through the wilderness in the dead of night wasn’t the best idea, with the looming threat of predators. We’d have to make do here, where our chances of surviving the night were slim enough as it was.
“O-Oh, yeah, you’re right. I-I’m just.. scared that it may come back.” She sheepishly admitted.
“Listen to me.” I met her frightful gaze. “I will not let that thing hurt you ever again. Not while I’m still here.” A motherly tone painted my words, although sounding a bit too harsh.
“Promise?”
“Promise.” I smiled. “Is there only one tent?” I switched the subject.
“Uh, y-yeah, sorry. Is it ok if we share?” She asked while walking up to the circular formation, opening it up.
“Of course.” The exchange was awkward, but we had to make do with what little we had. I climbed inside of the tent after her after taking out my floodlight, switching it on and setting it down directly in front of the tent’s flap, facing towards the shadowy trees. That’d provide us extra security, I hoped. I set my bag down onto the tent’s floor, feeling much better now without it weighing me down.
I plopped down onto my natural state on all fours. I had been ambling on my hind hooves for most of my stay on this planet, and had forgotten the comfort of having my weight equally distributed throughout my body. The muscles in my back ached, and I slid down and rolled onto my side, being able to relax at long last. I scooted my backpack towards me, intending to use it as a makeshift pillow. I released a snort of contentment as I rested my skull on the surprisingly comfortable rucksack. , the tent floor being surprisingly comfortable. A tired yawn escaped me, and my tongue lolled out of my mouth on autopilot as I felt my eyelids droop.
As much as I had wanted to sleep, I wouldn’t be able to, not with the threat of danger still lurking in the forest. We were most vulnerable while sleeping, especially while it was still dark outside. The fire was still going and was fairly close to our tent, but I wouldn’t trust that it would completely protect us from predators. I groggily sat up from my makeshift restplace and shook myself awake, followed by a tired groan. I grasped my forehooves around the weapon that I had clumsily discarded onto the tent’s floor, checking the railgun’s ammunition. Dread hit me with the realization that I was down to a singular bolt. That didn’t make me feel entirely secure, but it was better than nothing at all.
I looked to Kiran, who was already tucked in and ready for the next day. She lay down on a blue sleeping bag, completely enveloped inside of it, except for her head. I chuckled to myself while watching the adorable child snuggle inside of the bag that was far too big for her size.
She caught me staring at her. “Illia?” She spoke, cutting out the crackling of burning wood for a moment.
“Yes, dear?” I yawned again, the tiredness taking over me became unbearable at this point.
“W-What’s the plan for tomorrow?” She asked me with an inquisitive inflection in her voice.
“Well, I would imagine that we’d try to find Orsik. That’s really the only option we have right now. That way, you can be treated by an actual doctor, and not a silly sulean.” I quipped.
“I-I don’t think you’re s-silly..” She admitted meekly.
I faced her, flattered by her comment. I smiled. “Thank you, sweetie. That is very nice of you to say.” A light in the darkness. I crawled over to her, resting on my side next to where she lay. I had my weapon at the ready with a forehoof resting on top of it. I looked down at her adoringly as she shuffled inside of her covers. “Sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll go looking for everyone else tomorrow.”
“What about the ship? Shouldn’t we go there?” One of her blue eyes studied me.
“I came from there, it’s nothing but a smoking heap of metal now.” I yawned. “We shouldn’t move too far away, Orsik said he’ll come to us. Besides, we’re safer here than out in the dark, right?”
Kiran whimpered, not satisfied with my answer. “Remember our promise?” I asked.
Her deflated look withered away. “Y-yes, I do..” She breathed. “O-ok, only if that means that we can leave as soon as they f-find us.”
“Of course. We won’t stay here longer than is absolutely necessary. I’ll get a signal started in the morning.”
“A-Aren’t you worried about predators? What if they come while w-we’re sleeping?”
I lay my head down onto my satchel. “I am.” I admitted. “And I would prefer not to meet them anytime soon. I think it’s a great sign that we haven’t already.” I gave a dismissive snort, hoping that was the last of her questions. “They won’t bother us, at least not tonight. The floodlight should keep them away, no worries.” I reassured her.
“Oh, ok. Good night, Illia.” She chirped.
“Good night. Sweet dreams, little one.” I caressed her feathers, then committed myself to watching the tent’s opening for the rest of the night.
- - -
I awoke, cursing after realizing that I had been asleep. I didn’t expect myself to be awake for the entire duration of the night, but I was still upset with myself for giving in to my fatigue. Something could have happened, but I was glad nothing did. I was still tired, having stayed awake for most of the night watching over Kiran. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with a forepaw. My railgun was still grasped in my other forepaw, and I brought the gun up to my hip, holstering it.
Some of my worries over the human still being out there somewhere had faltered; perhaps it lost interest after witnessing my display of superior strength? Predators preferred a challenge when hunting, but their small brains understood when the odds were not in their favor. This human in particular probably saw our small group as easy pickings, and had developed a taste for krakotl flesh. That’d explain the blood spattered all over it, almost as if it were a trophy.
I looked at Kiran, who was still sound asleep. The beautiful orange of this planet’s sun filtered in through the translucent barrier surrounding us; its angelic rays permeated throughout the tent and casted a wondrous shine onto her dull blue feathers.
I yawned, standing up on all fours and leaned into a stretch. The soreness had worn off, and I was ready for another long journey, this time with the presence of my avian friend. I had another long day of strengthening my hind legs, no doubt. I just hope that the rest of the crew were close.
I unzipped my dirty jumpsuit, checking my small cuts. They seemed to be in relatively good shape and had scabbed over, leaving a soreness behind. After confirming that the wounds weren’t infected, I zipped my uniform back up.
I gently shook the sleeping Kiran awake. “Good morning, sleepy. It’s time to head out.” I whispered softly. She stirred and sat up. “Are you hungry? I have some rations.” I reached for my pack, snatching two cans of processed vegetable bars and handed one to her. “You need to eat to keep your strength up, honey.” I dug into my own helping quite quickly, stowing away the empty can. It wasn’t the best tasting thing in the galaxy as it was made specifically for the krakotls’ sophisticated palate. “How did you sleep?” I spoke between mouthfuls. She ate hers bit by bit, to the best of her ability. I imagine it would be difficult to eat something with a beak as narrow as hers was, so I patiently waited for her to finish.
“I slept well, actually.” She faced me, full of youthful vigor. It was almost as though her self confidence had drastically improved overnight. She stretched her good wing out, and checked the sling on the other. Once she was done with her helping, she got up, brushing her manipulators through her feathers. “How about you, Illia?”
“Good! I’m glad. Me, I slept like a fawn.” I fibbed, stifling another yawn. “Oh, let me take that from you, sweetheart.” I motioned to her empty vegetable bar container. I collected the tin from her, tossing it along with the other. I reached for my bag, leaving the heavy non-essentials inside the tent. I slugged it over my shoulder once more, my spine thanking me for lightening the load. The pack’s weight felt far more manageable than it did before. I might even be able to actually walk around with it this time. I wondered.
“Are we ready to go?” I stood in front of the tent, raising a forehoof to unzip us to freedom. The krakotl girl chirped her affirmative after checking herself over, and we both exited the tent, ready for another adventure. Upon leaving, I was extremely surprised to see that I didn’t even have to reignite the fire, as it was still burning, although not as strong as yesterday. The crimson tree that Kiran had made the campfire out of was highly flammable, if I had to guess. That would explain the randomly scorched trees throughout the landscape that I saw earlier. I was relieved that none of them combusted while we were asleep.
“Alright. Let’s head this way, shall we?” I plucked some of the damp yellow moss from a neighboring tree with a spare piece of fabric in between my hooves in case it was an irritant, which was smart thinking on my behalf. I chucked the large bundle into the blaze, smothering the few flames that remained. The fire choked for a moment, then began eating away at the moss, emitting a white column of smoke that snaked towards the light orange of the morning sky.
We checked if we had everything, then started on our expedition. I wasn’t sure where we’d go first, but it would have to be relatively close to where the campfire was in case anyone was nearby. I eyed the skyline before us, the mountains in the distance were a wonderful gradient of bright reds, purples, and yellows, perfectly blending together.
I breathed in the fresh morning air. This would have been a delightful trip, were we on a civilized planet. It still was, to an extent. The native organisms of this untouched wonder of a planet were truly a sight to behold, regardless of its many dangers. From the vivid colors of the flora to the deep red sky watching overhead, everything about this world was eye-catching.
We ventured throughout the crimson woods, encircling the campsite while keeping an eye on the smoke signal so that we wouldn’t veer off-course too much. I also was wary of the tall grass and dense shrubs around us, concentrating on even the slightest noise or movement. Today was particularly windy, so my efforts were in vain. We kept to the more open areas, even if that meant making sharp detours around areas where a predator could be concealed in.
Every now and then we would stop for a break, as I had done before. Kiran fared well during our hike, if not even better than I. We stopped underneath the shade of some crimson trees for another rest after a long while. I unpacked one of our water bottles, taking a small swig before handing it to Kiran. We rationed our supplies as best as we could, but we were quickly running out of food. We would soon have to resort to checking if the local flora were edible.
The smoke signal was still in my sight, and we only had a small distance to go in order to complete our full circle. I had thought about calling out into the woods, but decided against it, as it was likely that we would attract unwanted attention. I felt extremely uncomfortable within the dark woodland, despite having a firearm in my possession.
I lay on the grassy floor on my side, attempting to cool myself off. Kiran was doing much of the same, though in a sitting posture. I lifted my head up, snorting through my nostrils to get her attention.
“Having fun?” I smirked playfully. She clicked her beak together with amusement.
“I would be, if the sun wasn’t burning into my feathers.” She squawked between pants. She rested her head against a rock that put even the brightest of rainbows to shame.
“It’s not all bad, is it? It's all about perspective; look at the positives! You have to learn to appreciate the little things in life.”
“Ok, I appreciate..” She glanced around her surroundings, looking for something of value. “I appreciate this rock, does that count?” She gestured behind her. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It is quite the rock, isn’t it?” She giggled in response. I adored bonding with the girl, she was almost an extension of my own child, in a way.
I didn’t find it odd or strange at the time to fawn over the beauty of an inanimate object, as we both admired its various colors. “Alright, that’s enough geology for me, I think.” I stood, dusting myself off. I heard a faint snapping sound, and my eyes traveled back to the avian, who now looked absolutely petrified, a lone eye focusing on me. She looked almost as scared as she had been when the human attacked her, but this is far worse. Is she looking at me?
I tilted my head in confusion. “Honey? Y-you’re scaring me.” I chuckled nervously. “What’s wrong?” She gave no response. I suddenly felt a massive surge of anxiety wrack my brain, and my ears perked up. The same feeling that haunted me on the ship returned for a comeback, and this time, my question didn’t have to be answered. I heard shuffling a good distance away from me, and I whipped my head in that direction, following her blank stare. My ribcage tightened as I struggled to breathe. I watched the tall grass adjacent from our position, waiting for something to happen.
The first thing I saw were its horrible forward-facing eyes with slit pupils, instantly recognizing it as a predator. They both were dilated, intent on feasting on our bloody flesh. The feral predator observed me with its piercing golden orbs as it slunk closer. It stalked towards us with its head low to the ground, stray droplets of drool spilling out of its long, gaping maw of which were lined with dozens of razor-sharp teeth capable of effortlessly crushing bone.
I didn’t know what exactly I was looking at, but I knew it was there. The beast prowled out of the tall grass in short strides with its ghastly head low to the ground, drooling over our new and alien scent. The lengthy blades of grass combed over its rainbow-colored hide as it revealed itself. Both it and the grass were a near match in terms of coloration, as I strained my eyes to focus on its appearance.
As it moved further into the light, I was able to get a better glimpse of it. The creature itself was covered in skin instead of fur, which was odd. The upper body of the animal was speckled with various bright colors that mimicked the grass, only for it to darken as the pattern stretched towards its underbelly, and morphed into a full jet black where it reached its clawed feet. I had never feared death before as much as I did right now.
I snapped myself out of my terrified stupor, jumping up to my hind hooves and quickly yanking my railgun out of its holster, jabbing it towards the thing with shaky hooves. I gasped for air as my lungs felt heavy, staring down the freak of nature. My heart sank even further and nearly burst out of my chest as I saw two other predators just like the first emerge from behind it. Oh, fuck. The weapon in my hoof suddenly seemed insignificant.
My eyes widened. We have to go, now. I grabbed Kiran without a word, pulling her along rather roughly. I dashed as fast as my legs could take me while gripping around the length of Kiran’s wing. I didn’t look back once, only focused on making it back to the tent. There was no guarantee that the fire at the campsite would dissuade them from indulging in their hunger at all, but what other option did we have? I glanced back, and was horrified to realize that the reason why they didn’t already tear us apart was because they were giving us a head start. The monstrous things were playing with their ‘food’, for fun.
I looked down to Kiran, then up to the smoke rising from the campsite. We wouldn’t make it in time. I had to make a choice. I swallowed with teary eyes. ‘’G-go.” I flicked an ear towards the campsite. “Now!” I squealed. She obeyed my order without hesitation, and fluttered over that way.
I was not at all prepared for what I was about to do, and doing so would most definitely result in my death. Weeping, I stood in place as the grayish-blue feathered girl escaped to safety.
“H-hey!” I bleated at the top of my lungs while hopping around vigorously, doing everything in my power to attract the predator’s attention towards me. “Over here!” My voice was hoarse, filled with a mixture of emotions. I hope Kiran will be able to forgive me.
All three of their large heads whipped towards me, my diversion evidently working. I holstered my weapon and turned tail, speeding the opposite way and galloping wherever my legs would take me. I leaped through twisted trees only large enough for me to fit through, and hopped over large rocks, hoping it would slow the monsters down.
Just when I thought I was clear, my hind leg unfortunately latched underneath a root peeking out of the ground, forcing me into a halt. I stopped moving instantly as my momentum ceased, and a sharp pain shot through my ankle. I yelped in distress, my upper body smacking onto the dirt with a hard thud. I whined as my weapon was flung out of its holster, landing in front of me. I crawled towards the weapon with all of my remaining strength.
The predators sauntered over, a threatening growl reverberating through the pack’s leader. I crawled towards my last chance at living, finally reaching it. I fitted my fumbling fingers around the weapon as the predator leader charged toward me while I turned around, leveling the weapon with the rainbow demon’s skull. I expelled a single and final shot as the round soared through its nose, expelling a fountain of brain matter behind it as it fell limp, a couple of feet away from me. The other two creatures were taken aback at first, but were now furious that I had dispatched their leader. I was hit with the horrific realization that I had just used the last of my ammunition.
They slowly pressed onward as I lay on my back, a hideous expression of hunger plastered on their flesh-eating faces. I shut my eyes tight, bracing for an excruciating death. Is this it? Is this how I die? At least I can rest well knowing that Kiran is safe. Please, don’t let my death be for nothing. I prayed to whatever deity was listening. Let my family I lo-
My thoughts were interrupted by a sickening crack, followed by the predator closest to me snapping its head back and toppling over, painted by its own viscous blood that spilled out of a gaping wound in its skull. It had taken a clean shot to the side of the head, dying as soon as the projectile had landed. The third predator scampered away after hearing the loud noise, staring daggers into whatever it was that ended the lives of its friends. It tucked its tail between its legs in submission, hissing towards my savior before retreating back to where it came from. What on Jild just happened?
I turned my head to my side slowly, still wary of my surroundings. Right next to me was the same human whom I had spared earlier, with its signature metal pipe still strapped to its back. Its arm was outstretched towards the dead predator, with a terran-made weapon grasped in its paw. It lowered the gun down to its side, and I screamed as it began stomping towards me, intending to claim its stolen kill. “O-Oh, Jild, no! P-please, don-don’t eat me!” I cried, trying to reason with the predator. Without thinking, I mindlessly raised the spent railgun up to the thing, attempting to shoot it, and it retaliated, wrapping its gloved fingers around my own. It effortlessly ripped the useless gun away from my grasp with a mighty paw, tossed it to the side, and wrapped its paw around my body.
My nightmares were coming true. I would be eaten alive, without remorse. I would much rather have died at the fangs of the feral predators instead of the human’s. The human would take its time, and enjoy every second of my suffering.
I was lifted up slightly with incredible strength while screaming my head off, struggling to worm away from its mighty grasp. I squirmed violently, not having enough air in me to continue screaming. The murderer held the gun’s muzzle up to my neck and uttered a single sentence with a deep, growling rumble: “Stop fucking moving.”
My translator implant belted out the meaning to me and I stupidly followed its orders. I shut up, both terrified and surprised that it could understand me or even articulate comprehensive words. I was fully expecting it to sink its fangs into me, but instead, the masked figure slipped the straps of my bag off of my shoulders, dropping me onto the ground and taking my satchel. It began to search through it diligently, tossing out what wasn’t to its liking. The human took out the last of my water supply and interestingly enough, a few of my vegetable bars. It tossed my near-empty bag back to me and slung its own massive bag around, stuffing the supplies inside.
I could only watch as it stole what little supplies I had left. For a moment, I was filled with pure, unbridled rage, replacing my fear with anger. “You m-monster!” I stood on my hind hooves, ignoring the pain burning through my right ankle and attempted to make myself appear as big as I could. “Y-you killed them!” I shouted at the emotionless predator. It had ripped my colleagues to shreds until they were unrecognizable, and it would pay. It in turn slightly tilted its mask towards me, unimpressed. I shrunk back down as its gaze fell upon me, and my ears flattened to my skull.
A low rumble came from it, which my translator picked up on as a chuckle. It was laughing. How dare you?! I snorted angrily. “You.. you’re.. Laughing? Wh-What is wrong with you?!” I yelled at the deranged predator. At that moment I wished I could go back in time and pull the trigger.
“I’m the monster. That’s funny.” It sadistically remarked. “I’m not the one who bombed an entire planet full of billions of innocent women and children.” It turned to face me fully, stalking over to me. My posture tightened as its hulking shadow loomed over me, being closer to me now than ever. It could probably smell the copious amount of fear that my body was producing.
“I should kill you right fucking now.” It growled, practically spitting venom. It gripped its weapon tightly, threatening to break it. The being relented, apparently deciding against it. Wasn’t it going to eat me?
It stood there, staring down at me, unmoving. “W-why?” I whined. “Why did you.. k-kill them?!”
“You’ll have to be more specific.” It taunted me. My anger only grew.
“The.. the forest. Admit it! You killed them! I s-saw, I was there! Only a predator can do what you d-did!” I gasped, not meeting its gaze.
“Forest?” It scoffed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
What?! That made no sense.. Assuming it really didn’t know what I was referring to.. Had it not killed that group of krakotl? No, that can’t be. Is this a case of predatory deceit?
“Wh-wha..” I stammered, confused.
“If you’re referring to the ship, that was me.” It spoke of the murderous act almost as if it was proud of it, which sickened me to the core. “I enjoyed every second of watching those featherfucks gasping for air, pawing at the airlock. I’d do it again, if I could.” Its grating voice resonated through my bones.
I was enraged at the monster’s admittance of murdering the bomber ship's crew. I felt a wealth of emotions coursing through me, none of which I could openly express. I could only stand there, waiting for its next move. I heard my name being called in the distance, but absent-mindedly ignored it.
It leaned forward until I could see my own reflection in its reflective face mask.
“I’ll give you one last chance: you stay far away from your friends, especially that fucking bird, unless you want to die. If I see you again, next time I won’t hesitate to kill you.” It proclaimed with a gravelly voice. It unfolded upward, straightening its spine. It then turned, walking away with its bounty into the wilderness once again, leaving me alone and confused.
Why on Jild did it save me? That made no sense whatsoever, and went against everything I had been taught. Did it really hold back its bloodlust just to taunt me over how much it loved killing? Why didn’t it eat me while I was vulnerable?
Multiple questions flooded my mind, and I had developed a headache that was worsening by the second. Today was quite the adrenaline booster, I would need a long rest after all of this.
With the human gone, I was left to my own devices. I picked up the scattered contents of my pack, recollecting them.
I heard the rustling of leaves across from me, and I faced the source of the noise. I was spent emotionally, the constant adrenaline rushes taking its toll on me. I could do nothing but lean against a lone stump as I accepted my fate.
I had a good run.
- - -
V V V [STORY IS CONTINUED IN THE COMMENTS!!!] V V V
[First] [Previous] [Next]

Today was the final day of our 11 year stretch in the Premier League, and I must say it was one hell of a game to watch from the comfort of my couch in New York. Yet after the final whistle, I found myself reflecting on our time in the Premier League, our next chapter, and what this club has meant to me during my time as a kid, and now as an adult.
I have a lot of family and family friends in the UK, as my father was born in England although he grew up in the States. Thus, I've spent a decent amount of time visiting the UK on various occasions. The first was in March 2013 when I was 8 years old. This March marked the 10th anniversary of when Saints beat Chelsea at home 2-1. That very same day also marked the 10th anniversary of when I decided to become a Saints fan.
Some family friends in London who we were visiting are Saints fans, and so they decided to bring us all the way to Southampton to watch a game. I distinctly remember my friends dad, the actual Saints fan, saying, "Boys, just so you know Southampton isn't very good and Chelsea are a really good team so they'll probably beat us today." Yet after than 2-1 win I walked out of St. Mary's thinking, "Well if this team I've never heard of before can beat Chelsea, a team I play with on FIFA, than I guess they're good and I should root for them."
Thus for the past 10 years, I've been a Southampton supporter. I must admit, I haven't always followed every game, as I mostly played Baseball as a kid and thus I'd only ever occasionally even check the results. It was only when I starting getting back into Soccer (Football I know but indulge me here) during COVID that I really starting watching the matches more frequently. Hell, I was surprised when I heard that we twice qualified for the Europa league, as I had honestly forgot that happened. But despite that, I've always been a Saints fan through and through.
Watching us this year has been really difficult I'm ngl, and while it's really hilarious that everyone genuinely respects me for choosing Southampton instead of Man U, Chelsea, or Arsenal like absolutely everyone my age did when they were 8, it doesn't make up for the pain of relegation.
However, I have hope. Unlike Leeds or Leicester, we have a genuinely good bench, and good academy full of young players who can fill in for many of the key players who are likely to leave this summer. Additionally, our performance today shows exactly what we're capable of against a top side in the Prem, and even when we lose some of our best players, their loss won't be enough to stop us from doing well in the Championship.
I love this club, and it has meant so much to me for so long. I really hope that soon I can come to St. Marys and watch us play in the Prem again, but that won't be next season. So while it sucks right now, and sucks a lot, Imma leave you all off with a line from the most famous American Coach, Ted Lasso:
"Now, look, this is a sad moment right here. For all of us. And there ain't nothing I can say, standing in front of you right now, that can take that away. But please do me this favor, will you? Lift your heads up and look around this locker room. Yeah? Look at everybody else in here. And I want you to be grateful that you're going through this sad moment with all these other folks. Because I promise you, there is something worse out there than being sad, and that is being alone and being sad. Ain't nobody in this room alone. Sam, do you remember what animal has the shortest memory? "
"A goldfish."
"That's right. It's a goldfish. Sam, what do you think we should all do once we get done being sad and/or angry about this situation?"
"I think we should all be a goldfish."
"I agree. Let's be sad now. Let's be sad together. And then we can be a gosh-darn goldfish. Onward. Forward."
Come on you Saints!

Operation Lazarus, Part 2 I woke up in the medic tent to find my comrade; he was a slim fellow with the soft yet hardened face of a veteran. His name was Krowler, meaning "heroic".
He looked at me and told me I should be out in a week. They are going to make a final push into the city of "Volgergrad." If this operation fails, we will all be moved farther down into the northern front.
The federation has also given news that it suspects the war will be over by next winter. I was baffled by the news of the end of the war. But I couldn’t believe it.
We have been lied to our entire lives. This was no time for adventure, and this wasn’t for resources. This whole fucking operation was just to rally support. There were never any negotiations; it was all about popularity to keep the rich in power. They don’t expect us to survive. They want us to die. They did this to please the people and have the possibility of gaining new resources. The war provided jobs for the people back home. We weren’t needed anymore. I was angry and furious with the federation.
I had vowed to fight and survive. To push through hell so I could come back home to see my family and to tell everyone the truth behind the war. They were all blindly looking at the false reality that we were winning. We were not. They were slaughtering us. Their capabilities matched ours. Their determination outdid us. Yet we continue to push on and fight for no justifiable reason. I thought about this for hours that turned into days that turned into a week.
My wounds had healed, and I was good to go. I walked out of the tent; my eyes hurt a little, and I had to adjust to the light. A cold breeze went by, and shivers went down my back. The atmosphere seemed gloomy and gray.
Everyone around me seemed to be sleeping or just resting. I heard crying and sobbing around me. There were rats everywhere, bloated from eating rotten flesh. Is this what the people were cheering for? The death of innocent men We were no civilized race of people; we were savages, ordinary men turned to animals. I heard a few shots pop off from our scouts. The final push will begin tomorrow.

I watched a mech anime movie or show back in the late 90's to early 00's, it took place on mars, and the plot I remember revoles around the development of a mech. There are several moment I remember one being the test pilot getting beaten in a fist fight with a pilot from earth who says something along the lines of "That's the difference between martians and us. Their bones are made of milk." Another is the mech's scientists talking about how the pilot's brainwaves match the mech's making him the only one who can use it from now on. At the same time the pilot's mentality is deteriorating and then beats the earth pilot bloody in another fight. Last I remember when the pilot is having a full breakdown in the mech it then pulls two massive guns in an "akira-like" animation where they come out of its back just below it's wings.

I need help deciding something, so I was bored, and I wrote kind of a Director script of an anime I also have an illustrator’s guide and a voice actor script, but the more I read it the more it sounds like a book. I was wondering if anyone could help me decide if I should turn it into a book or see if I should try to make it into a animated series if a Japanese company does not get involved if it is successful. and if anyone would donate to this “Anime” So here is the first episode, and or chapter. You can vote at the bottom.
———
Scene 1: A Serene Morning - Masaru's Home
Setting: A cozy tatami-floored dining area with low tables and cushions. Soft morning light filters through sliding shoji doors, creating a peaceful ambiance. The room is adorned with minimalistic decorations that reflect a blend of traditional and modern Japanese aesthetics.
Characters: - Masaru Hiroshi: A young man in his late teens, radiating a calm and focused aura. He is dressed in casual attire, ready to start his day.

• Mom: Masaru's caring and nurturing mother. She moves gracefully, serving breakfast dishes that showcase the flavors of Japanese cuisine.
  
• Dad: Masaru's supportive and wise father. He wears a relaxed expression, engaging in conversation with his son.
  

Scene Description: The scene opens with Masaru entering the dining area, greeted by the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea and the subtle fragrance of traditional Japanese breakfast dishes. He smiles warmly at his parents.
Masaru: (cheerfully) Good morning, Mom. Good morning, Dad.
Mom: (with affection) Ohayou gozaimasu, Masaru. Sit down, breakfast is ready.
Masaru takes a seat on a cushion, appreciating the spread of tamago (Japanese omelette), tsukemono (pickled vegetables), and miso soup on the table.
Mom gracefully gets up and reaches for the teapot, pouring steaming tea into Masaru's cup.
Dad: (casually) Masaru, have you decided what you'll be doing today?
Masaru: (thoughtfully) I'm considering helping Mrs. Tanaka with her garden. She could use an extra pair of hands.
Mom returns to her seat, her eyes filled with pride.
Mom: (supportive) That's wonderful, Masaru. Helping others is a true reflection of your character.
Dad: (nodding) Remember, son, the willingness to lend a hand cultivates empathy and strengthens our bonds with the community.
Masaru: (grateful) Thank you, Mom and Dad. Your guidance means the world to me. I'll make sure to assist Mrs. Tanaka to the best of my abilities.
They share a moment of shared understanding, savoring the tranquil morning and the comfort of their familial bonds.
Masaru finishes his breakfast, expressing his appreciation to his parents before preparing for the day ahead.
Masaru: (grateful) Thank you for the delicious meal, Mom. Thank you for your wise words, Dad. I'll see you both later.
End of Scene 1.
Scene two
Scene 2: Masaru's Morning Routine - A Day Begins
Setting: Masaru's bedroom, a reflection of his personality and interests. The room has a blend of traditional and modern elements, with minimalistic decor. The morning sunlight filters through the shoji screens, casting a gentle glow on the room.
Characters: - Masaru Hiroshi: The main character, a young and determined individual. He is dressed in comfortable pajamas, carrying his clothes for the day and wearing a robe. - Inu: Masaru's loyal and playful Shiba Inu dog. Inu looks up at Masaru with adoring eyes.
Scene Description: The scene opens in Masaru's serene bedroom. The room exudes a sense of tranquility, with light wooden flooring and sliding shoji screens allowing soft rays of morning sunlight to illuminate the space.
Masaru stands by his bed, a platform-style bed with a pristine white sheet. He is dressed in comfortable pajamas, the fabric loosely hugging his form. In his hands, he holds his clothes for the day, neatly folded and ready for wear.
With a determined yet calm expression, Masaru carefully selects his outfit, meticulously considering his choice. He slips out of his pajamas, revealing a glimpse of his physique, before smoothly sliding into his daytime attire.
Feeling refreshed from a good night's sleep, Masaru walks towards the en suite bathroom adjoining his room. The bathroom features a modern design, with clean lines and a glass-enclosed shower area.
Inside the shower, the warm water cascades over Masaru's body, rejuvenating him for the day ahead. The sound of water droplets creates a soothing ambiance, as he takes a moment to cleanse both his body and mind.
After his invigorating shower, Masaru steps out of the bathroom, steam lightly clinging to his skin. He reaches for a comfortable robe hanging by the door, slipping it on with a smooth motion. The soft fabric envelopes him, providing a sense of warmth and ease.
Returning to his bedroom, Masaru walks over to a corner of the room where Inu eagerly awaits him. He kneels down, gently petting the Shiba Inu's head, exchanging affectionate glances.
Masaru: (warmly) Take care, Inu. I'll see you later.
Inu barks softly, their bond evident in their connection.
With a sense of readiness, Masaru stands up, his gaze sweeping across the room to ensure he has gathered everything he needs for the day. A desk with a few books and a small shelf housing a collection of samurai figurines catch his eye momentarily.
Satisfied that he has all he requires, Masaru turns his attention towards the door. He takes a step forward, pausing briefly to appreciate the familiarity and comfort of his personal sanctuary.
Masaru walks out of his room and makes his way downstairs, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hallway. As he descends, he catches glimpses of his parents in the living area, each engrossed in their morning routines.
Masaru: (casual) Mom. Dad.
Mom looks up from her activity, her face lighting up with a warm smile.
Mom: Masaru. Have a great day!
Dad glances up from his newspaper, his expression reflecting a mix of pride and support.
Dad: Take care, son. Make it count!
Masaru nods appreciatively, acknowledging their words of encouragement. He continues his stride towards the front door, a subtle determination in his step.
Closing the front door behind him, Masaru steps out into the world, greeted by the embrace of a new day. The possibilities stretch out before him, and he's ready to seize them with
Scene 3: Masaru's Serendipitous Discovery
[The scene begins with Masaru leaving his house, his destination being Mrs. Tanaka's garden, which lies beyond the city market. He walks along the familiar path, lost in his own thoughts.]
Masaru (muttering to himself): Alright, time to head to Mrs. Tanaka's garden. Gotta take this route through the market. Wonder what kind of chaos awaits me there today.
[As Masaru walks, he notices a side street veering off from the main path. Intrigued by the allure of the unknown, he decides to deviate from his usual route.]
Masaru: Huh, a different path this time. It seems less traveled, yet there's something enchanting about it. Let's see where it leads.
[He ventures down the narrow street, leaving behind the bustling sounds of the city market. The path meanders through a lush landscape, revealing a tranquil pond adorned with cherry blossom trees. A sense of peace envelops Masaru as he gazes in awe at the breathtaking beauty before him.]
Masaru (whispering to himself): A hidden gem amidst the hustle and bustle—a peaceful pond embraced by cherry blossoms. Its serene atmosphere captivates my senses, drawing me further into its charm.
[In the heart of the pond, a small bamboo forest emerges, creating a magical scene that feels like a secret sanctuary. Masaru stands in awe, marveling at the harmony between the delicate cherry blossoms and the sturdy bamboo stalks, as if nature itself has crafted a wondrous masterpiece.]
Masaru (amazed): Such a beautiful combination of grace and strength. How is it that this hidden oasis remains undiscovered by so many? It's like stepping into a realm untouched by the chaos beyond.
[As he walks along the path surrounding the pond, Masaru's sharp instincts guide him towards a rare and elusive creature—a magnificent rabbit with fur as white as freshly fallen snow. With his exceptional stealth and agility, Masaru silently approaches the rabbit, capturing it with impressive dexterity.]
Masaru (whispering to the rabbit): Your elegance matches the serenity of this hidden pond. Allow me to admire your presence for a brief moment.
[Examining the rabbit in his hands, Masaru takes in the intricate patterns of its fur, the gleam in its eyes, and the gentle rise and fall of its breathing. His admiration for the creature grows as he realizes the rarity of such an encounter.]
Masaru (in awe): The world holds its breath when you appear, a living testament to nature's beauty. I am grateful to have crossed paths with you.
[With great care, Masaru releases the rabbit back into the freedom of the surrounding landscape. As it bounds away, disappearing into the lush foliage, Masaru smiles, his heart filled with gratitude for the connection he shared with the creature.]
Masaru (grateful): Farewell, my exquisite friend. May your journey be filled with endless wonder and the allure of unexplored paths.
[Inspired by his encounter with the rabbit and the hidden wonders of the pond, Masaru continues his journey towards the city market, anticipation filling his heart. He moves forward, eager to uncover the stories and encounters that await him in the vibrant marketplace.]
Masaru (determined): The city market beckons, a realm of vibrant energy and untold tales. But the memory of this hidden sanctuary will forever be etched in my mind—a testament to the extraordinary wonders that lie just beyond the beaten path.
Scene 4: The City Market
[INT. CITY MARKET - DAY]
Masaru finally arrives at the bustling city market. The atmosphere is lively, filled with colorful stalls, chattering merchants, and the aroma of various foods. He walks through the market, nodding and waving to familiar faces, engaging in small talk with store owners.
MASARU Morning, Mr. Suzuki! How's business today?
MR. SUZUKI Masaru! Good to see you, my boy. Business is steady, thanks for asking. Say, have you seen those new spices I brought in?
MASARU Oh, I haven't checked them out yet, but I'll swing by later. They must be quite something!
Masaru continues his leisurely stroll through the market, enjoying the vibrant sights and sounds. He passes by a fruit stand and strikes up a conversation with the FRUIT MERCHANT.
MASARU Good morning! Those peaches look juicy today. How are they selling?
FRUIT MERCHANT Masaru, my friend! These peaches are flying off the shelves. Can't resist their sweetness. Want to try one?
MASARU Sure, I'll take one. Takes a bite Mmm, delicious as always.
As he walks further, he spots a SHOE VENDOR arranging a display of colorful shoes.
MASARU Morning! Any new styles in stock?
SHOE VENDOR Masaru, my man! Just got these sleek leather boots. Want to give them a try?
MASARU Maybe next time. They look impressive, though.
Masaru continues his journey through the bustling market, exchanging greetings and engaging in short conversations with various merchants. Their words blend with the lively ambiance, creating a tapestry of voices and activity.
As he walks, Masaru catches sight of a signpost indicating the direction to Mrs. Tanaka's garden. The familiarity of the garden tugs at his heart, reminding him of past visits filled with enchantment and tranquility.
MASARU (to himself) Ah, Mrs. Tanaka's garden... Always a haven of beauty and wonder.
With a renewed sense of excitement, Masaru quickens his pace, eager to reconnect with the serenity that awaits him in the familiar garden.
[END OF SCENE]
Scene 5: The Garden Conversation
[Setting: Mrs. Tanaka's Garden. Masaru enters the garden, greeted by the serene beauty and Mrs. Tanaka's warm presence. They sit down at a small table with cups of tea.]
Mrs. Tanaka: [Smiling warmly] Masaru, my dear, before we start working, let's take a moment to enjoy some tea together. So, have you given any thought to what you want to do for your future career?
Masaru: [Sipping his tea, thoughtful] To be honest, Mrs. Tanaka, I'm still unsure. There are so many possibilities, but none of them feel quite right. I've been volunteering to explore different paths, but I know that volunteering doesn't bring money.
Mrs. Tanaka: [Nodding understandingly] Ah, the practical side of things. It's true that we need to consider financial stability as well. However, let me share a different perspective with you. Money is important, but it should not be the sole measure of our success or fulfillment.
Masaru: [Curious] What do you mean?
Mrs. Tanaka: Volunteering may not bring immediate financial rewards, but it can enrich your life in other ways. It helps you develop skills, gain valuable experiences, and build connections with people who share your passions. Sometimes, the true value of a career lies in the impact we make and the joy it brings to our lives.
Masaru: [Contemplative] I've never thought about it that way. I've always been focused on finding a career that brings financial stability, but maybe there's more to it than just money.
Mrs. Tanaka: [Encouragingly] Indeed, Masaru. Follow your heart, pursue what brings you joy and fulfillment. Remember, a fulfilling career is a combination of your passions, values, and the positive impact you can make in the world.
[They continue their conversation over tea, delving deeper into Masaru's interests, dreams, and aspirations, as the tranquil garden surrounds them with its beauty and wisdom.]
Scene 6: The Garden
[The scene is set in Mrs. Tanaka's garden, where Masaru and Mrs. Tanaka are working together, collecting Kubocha squash. They have a pile of squash beside them. They both pause for a moment, catching their breath.]
Mrs. Tanaka: [Wiping her forehead] Ah, the Kubocha squash harvest is coming along nicely, Masaru. Your help is greatly appreciated.
Masaru: [Smiling] It's my pleasure, Mrs. Tanaka. I'm glad to be of assistance.
[They both resume their work, collecting more squash, their movements synchronized.]
Mrs. Tanaka: [Breaking the silence] Masaru, may I ask you a question?
Masaru: [Curious] Of course, Mrs. Tanaka. What's on your mind?
Mrs. Tanaka: [Thoughtful] Do you know what you want to do for your future career? Have you discovered your true calling yet?
Masaru: [Pausing, contemplating] Honestly, Mrs. Tanaka, I'm still uncertain. I haven't found my path yet.
Mrs. Tanaka: [Nodding] I understand. Sometimes, finding one's purpose can be a challenging journey. But let me tell you about one of my grandchildren. He's grown up to become one of the world's greatest swordsman.
Masaru: [Surprised] A swordsman? That sounds incredible. But how does one become a swordsman?
Mrs. Tanaka: [Smiling warmly] It's not just about swinging a blade, Masaru. It's a path of discipline, dedication, and protection. As a swordsman, you learn to wield a blade with precision and skill, defending what you hold dear.
Masaru: [Intrigued] I never thought of it that way. Tell me more.
Mrs. Tanaka: [Eagerly] Being a swordsman means more than just fighting. It's about protecting your beliefs, your village, and the people you care about. It requires physical strength, mental fortitude, and a strong sense of justice.
Masaru: [Absorbing the information] That's fascinating. But where would I even start?
Mrs. Tanaka: [Encouraging] I'm glad you're interested, Masaru. I happen to know the best swordsman master in history, renowned for his wisdom and skill. If you're willing, I can arrange a meeting for you. He can guide you on this incredible journey and teach you the ways of the sword.
[They continue working, picking up more squash, but now there's a sense of anticipation and excitement in the air.]
View Poll

Will keep this direct to the point. Seryoso naman sana.
About me: already working (night shifter) pretty and cute (sabi ng exes and friends lol) not that chubby but not that slim either loves anime/films/series but more into suspense/thriller plays steam games but mostly survival/escape/horror listens to diff kinds of music i.e. jpop, kpop, indie, etc loves match, creamcheese / anything cheesy/creamy
About you: just dont be rude. hindi rin sana maarte. mabait at matino kausap. not too serious, I'd like it more if you can make me laugh hahahaha also, respectful (iykwim) working already, preferrable gy shift so same ikot ng oras natin therefore we can interact or talk more.
That's it. Message me here if you're down, haha.
EDIT: Im from Central QC

Crochet booties are a cute and warm handmade shoe especially designed for babies and toddlers.

They are loved by parents for their unique style and comfort.

This article will take you on an exploration of the features of crochet booties and provide you with information about color matching, matching outfits, considerations and other related information.

I. Features of handmade crochet booties:

Q: What are crochet booties?

A: Crochet booties are handmade by craftspeople with crochet skills. Each pair of shoes is carefully crocheted with a unique sense of handicraft.

Baby buddies:

Crochet booties are made of soft, comfortable fiber materials such as cotton thread or wool that are kind to babies’ delicate skin. They have a soft texture that provides warmth and protection for babies’ tiny feet.

Thermal performance:

Babies’ feet need extra warmth, especially during the cold season. Crochet booties are made of dense weave and thick fiber material that can effectively keep babies’ feet warm.

Comfort:

Crochet booties have a soft texture and a design that fits the baby’s feet. They usually do not have a rigid structure or a tight fit, allowing the baby’s feet to stretch and grow freely.

Adjustable size:

Because babies’ feet grow rapidly, crochet baby shoes are often designed to be adjustable in size. This means that they can be loosely adjusted to fit the baby’s foot size to ensure a comfortable and proper fit.

Personalized design:

Crochet booties offer a rich and diverse selection of designs, including different colors, patterns and decorations. This allows parents to choose shoes that suit their baby’s style, making them more personal and unique.
​

II. Crochet booties in matching colors are recommended:

Q: How to choose the right color scheme for crochet booties?

A: Color matching plays an important role in crochet booties design. Choose soft, warm colors, such as pink, light blue or soft neutral tones to suit the cute and innocent image of the baby.
​

III. Crochet booties with clothing suggestions

Q: How do crochet booties match with clothing?

A: Crochet booties can be paired with baby clothes to create a cute and stylish look.

For female babies:

It can be worn with jumpsuits, skirts or lace-trimmed bottoms.

For male babies:

It can be paired with a printed jumpsuit, a small undershirt or pants.

Q. How to choose the right style of crochet booties?

A. There are many styles of crochet booties to choose from. Choose soft, comfortable styles such as ribbed models, styles with bows or animal shapes. In addition, choose shoes with an elastic or lace-up design to ensure proper fit and comfort.
​

IV. How to maintain crochet booties

Q: How to maintain and care for crochet booties?

A: The key to maintaining crochet booties are to be gentle and mild. Hand washing is the best option, using warm water and a mild detergent to avoid excessive rubbing. Pat dry gently to avoid twisting or distortion. After making sure they are completely dry, you can gently comb the upper with a soft bristle brush to keep them neat and soft.

Remember: Please do not expose yourself to the sun, so as not to cause aging for excessive UV killing of fibers, making the booties hard.

V. Related important matters

Q: What are the important things to note when buying crochet booties?

First:

Ensure that the shoes are made of safe and harmless materials to avoid the use of allergies or harmful substances;

Second:

It is important to choose the right size mittens. It that are too large may not be warm enough, while mittens that are too small can be uncomfortable and restrict finger dexterity. Make sure the mittens fit snugly on the hand, but not too tightly.

In addition:

Attention to the comfort and breathability of the shoes to ensure the health of the infant’s feet;

Finally:

It is recommended to choose a style that is easy to put on and take off and fix for daily use.
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Crochet booties not only provide warmth and comfort, they are also perfect for baby's fashion and personalized look.

Crochet booties not only provide warmth and comfort, they are also perfect for baby’s fashion and personalized look.

To be honest I tried my best remaking from my old roster I posted a while back, but I chose this one due to fan demanded characters, story, fight potential
ROR Animated Series Season 1 Round 1 Thor vs Lu bu(1-0) (Battle of Power and Strength)
Round 2 Zeus vs Adam(2-0) (Battle of Judgment and Independence)
Round 3 Poseidon vs Sasaki Kojiro(2-1) (Battle of Pride and Humanity)
Round 4 Hercules vs Jack the Ripper(2-2) (Battle of Justice and Malice)
ROR Season 2 part 1 Round 5 Shiva vs Vlad the impaler(3-2) (Battle of Destruction and Transformation)
Round 6 Susanoo vs Blackbeard(4-2) (Battle of the Seas)
Round 7 Hades vs Nikola Tesla(5-2) (Battle of dignity and hope)
Round 8 Apollo vs King Leonidas(5-3) (Battle of Prophecy and Rebellion)After seeing what the author did with Leonidas, bringing him earlier and his hate being justified for bringing him out this early, also with Leonidas advancing as a General after death would give Tesla’s speech more impact.
ROR Season 2 part 2 Round 9 Beelzebub/Satan vs Buddha(5-4)This is supposed to be the big mid match of the series and I think this matchup would be better than with zero imo. After reading round 6 I reading about how miserable Zero was and how hajun was handled was kinda cringe for a lack of batter words and I think the message of loving yourself could be approved upon with a character like beelzebub
ROR Season 3 part 1 Round 10 Horus vs Qin Shi Huang(6-4) (Battle of kingship)
Round 11 Anubis vs Rasputin(6-5) (this one is a given)
Round 12 Loki vs Simo Hayha(6-6) (Battle of tricks and traps)
Round 13 Odin vs Nostradamus(7-7) (Battle of wisdom and arrogance)
ROR Season 3 part 2 Round 14 Vidar vs Siegfried(7-8) (Battle of Vengeance and Revengeance

I watched a mech anime movie or show back in the late 90's to early 00's, it took place on mars, and the plot I remember revoles around the development of a mech. There are several moment I remember one being the test pilot getting beaten in a fist fight with a pilot from earth who says something along the lines of "That's the difference between martians and us. Their bones are made of milk." Another is the mech's scientists talking about how the pilot's brainwaves match the mech's making him the only one who can use it from now on. At the same time the pilot's mentality is deteriorating and then beats the earth pilot bloody in another fight. Last I remember when the pilot is having a full breakdown in the mech it then pulls two massive guns in an "akira-like" animation where they come out of its back just below it's wings.

Have been messing with a few different setups, trying to get my brain around it all and find something that'll work right.
​
Say I take a bunch of screenshots of a character from a game (eg: Trevor, from GTAV). Now... there seems to be a whooooole bunch of ideas and articles saying it's the best/only way to do it, and most of them are conflicting and outdated anyway, so... hoping for some recent advice.
Anyway - I take my series of classification images. Given I can grab things straight out of the game, I can get as many as needed, in numerous poses, lighting conditions, different clothes, backgrounds, etc, etc. I can run them through BLIP to get captions for them, and then tweak those captions to suit and insert the token I want to use (eg: 'gtatrev')
Normalisation/regularisation images I presume should closely match the classification images, with the differences highlighting the "Trevorness" of the first... So ideally, different characters in the same setup... a number of normalisation images per classification, each with their own captions with the 'gtatrev' token replaced by something generic ('man'/'woman'/etc). IE they should not be a wide ranging demonstration of every style and person AI can do, but match as closely as possible everything except what you explicitly want it to learn.
Also wondering: should I be including in those image descriptions things like 'in-game'/'3d render'/'cgi'?? IE: known vectors that would let the trainer know that this is a style of gtatrev, not actually a "proper" gtatrev... It seems to me like that would/should allow a bettemore natural result when switching to something like 'photo'/'oil painting'/'anime illustration'/whatever so that the fundamentals of the character are what's there associated with the token.
Am I on the right track here?
OH, FWIW: trying to do this on an 8GB 2080 locally, or a (free) google colab if anyone feels like getting specific with either 8GB or colab-friendly methods.
Many thanks, folks.

I watched a mech anime movie or show back in the late 90's to early 00's, it took place on mars, and the plot I remember revoles around the development of a mech. There are several moment I remember one being the test pilot getting beaten in a fist fight with a pilot from earth who says something along the lines of "That's the difference between martians and us. Their bones are made of milk." Another is the mech's scientists talking about how the pilot's brainwaves match the mech's making him the only one who can use it from now on. At the same time the pilot's mentality is deteriorating and then beats the earth pilot bloody in another fight. Last I remember when the pilot is having a full breakdown in the mech it then pulls two massive guns in an "akira-like" animation where they come out of its back just below it's wings.

Edit: fulfilled and thanks everyone! This has been super fun. Probably do this again soon 😊
It's been a long day involving home repairs and now I just want to do something happy.
I'll take as many claims as I feel capable of doing and will mark fulfilled when I think I've done enough.
These will be pretty random postcards with basically just a bunch of stickers. Lol my mind won't handle much more than that at the moment but may be a short message/quote.
Please be in US
Comment your favorite color or animal and I'll see if I have a card to match.
Please don't be shy about claiming because I'd like to do some of these before bedtime so the sooner you claim, the sooner I can have fun with stickers.

Heyo! I'm here once again to give out free animal pride icons, all you have to do is comment below an animal and a flag :D this is my third year of doing this (of course for the upcoming pride month) feel free to use any of the pictures just make sure to credit me.
I'll be doing them in order from now till the end of June. I may do some out of order if I have the animal drawn already (Since I reuse animals I draw). Also please don't get upset if I don't finish them all, I usually get burned out eventually.

My 13 year old (14 in August) has been riding since she was 5/6. You might say this is all my fault. I brought her to her first lead line lesson - in pajama pants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes - looking for a good summer camp option. She was smitten immediately (which I already guessed might happen - she had been way too into the farmer's market pony rides since the earliest time she could sit up by herself), and so we kept at it. Within a few weeks she had the right gear, etc., and was doing multiple riding lessons at a really good local barn.
In case context is helpful, I'm not a "horse" person and we're definitely suburban types. So I didn't bring tons of personal experience to my daughter's riding. I loved that it was so positive for her. She was taking care of the horses, loved being in the tack rooms, wanted to do everything she could to help care for and maintain all of the ponies and horses and their gear that she could. She became, and remains, a real barn rat.
There's also the backdrop of our personal situation. I've been a single dad since she was 2, and riding quickly became an oasis of stability for my daughter as she dealt with the idea from her first real awareness that her parents were divorced. No real drama with her mom beyond the fact that as divorced co-parents its not always easy on us, but still for my daughter our 50/50 split has meant that she's moving around quite a bit and of course being a child of divorce is hard.
But riding? It was, and is, hers. Regardless of her circumstances, riding was hers. Which becomes a kicker part of our story.
We've had some of the classic, unfortunate riding moments. My daughter's first barn moved, so we tried a pony lesson with the barn where they co-located - literally using the same arenas and trainers, just a different program with different horses - and she was thrown and broke her wrist during her first lesson. We spent a year away and then I tried another barn, where she got stepped on the first time she was there. Not awful - bloodied toe and a nail that came off, but another delay in riding.
Riding has also been expensive for me. We're not loaded, and it's been a stretch - and a mighty stretch at times - to maintain it for my daughter. But it's been such a positive for her, I've made the commitment. So after her wrist and toe, I found another barn option for her that she tentatively agreed to try out.
One thing as a parent and, even worse I think, as a horse dad with almost no prior experience in the horse world, folks don't really prepare you for what's ahead on the horse journey. Maybe it's already out there, but someone should start a horse blog for non-horse experienced parents as they start their children on their riding journey. There's so much to know in terms of how barns work, what different programs prioritize, how to be in touch with trainers, what costs will look like...everything!
We got to my daughter's new barn just as the early days of COVID were hitting. The new facility was mostly outdoors and was located on a property with over 100 acres, which meant that riding was not just in arenas and there were no COVID concerns since everything was outdoors anyway. There were essentially protected trail rides the girls could take, and getting your horse required a 20 minute walk up to the pastures because all of the horses were kept in pastured herds full time. After getting over her initial hesitations from her earlier injuries, my daughter was all in.
We were lucky to avoid the health and other disastrous effects of the pandemic, which I sadly recognize really affected so many others. Because of that, COVID actually became this very beautiful time for us. My daughter was home during the school days and then we would drive an hour each way to this new barn. My daughter could easily spend 4-6 hours there, so I would spend that time walking the property (trying to get into better shape. It only kinda worked) and doing work calls. My daughter immersed herself into this new barn life, riding/taking care of horses, being with other new riding friends, trying out their pony club. And we had all of this great car time going to and from. This is probably ages 8/9 - 10 for her.
While there, my daughter started riding a lesson pony that had been bred on property. She was a young mare with lots of personality and a little off-putting temperament. She was definitely not a push button pony. But she became a good match for my daughter. My daughter had to become a better rider to get her pony to do what she needed to do, and her pony had all the go that my daughter required. Arena lessons, a couple of schooling shows, jumping, dressage work, trail and beach rides, that sweet pony was up for anything with my daughter even though she never lost her essential mareness, if that makes sense. But my daughter was up for it, and having to work with a pony that definitely had her own personality made her a better rider. So, dad buys his daughter a pony for Christmas 2020. I've never had a happier moment as a parent than my daughter realizing that her lesson pony had become her own.
In late 2020 I also had the chance to buy a house that is literally across the street from another barn. It didn't occur to me as we were buying the house, but as soon as I realized my daughter could walk to her horse rather than drive an hour it became really attractive to think about bringing her pony to the new barn. So we did it, and I got another huge lesson as a horse dad. Moving barns is very emotional. But my daughter supported it, and suddenly was literally 2 minutes from her bedroom door to her pony stall. New trainer, new folks to ride with, and she was there every day. She would leave and come back 6 hours later.
Things were great all of 2021 and into the first half of 2022, but nobody tells you this other key thing about your daughter. They keep growing. So by mid-2022, a year and a half after buying her pony, two years after she started riding her, my daughter's trainer (this trainer at the barn across the street) said that it really would make sense to think about getting a horse. My daughter's pony was 13.2 and her legs were simply too long.
We started searching and pretty soon found a beautiful palomino gelding, 16.3, 14 years old, dutch warmblood. The perfect change for my daughter - physically more challenging to ride, but what a wonderful guy. He's been around a bit and needs maintenance for arthritis, but he's really versatile, incredibly sweet, and immediately became a member of the family. Since my daughter isn't doing hardcore training, her new horse can become horse for life, I hope. A wonderful match.
So now I had a horse and a pony in the barn across the street from our house. Our sweet pony was immediately left out since my daughter had to focus her work and effort on learning her new horse. She would ride her, but it wasn't the same training regime any longer. So, consulting with my daughter and her trainer, we decided to return her to the barn we got her from, the place where she was initially bred. She could be reunited with her former trainer, be in pasture, participate in their lesson programs and, ultimately, likely be sold to another owner if we couldn't find anybody to lease her.
My daughter supported that shift and we had the pony at the new (old) barn for the next 9 months. She was in lesson programs, was on a short term lease for a bit, but no takers for purchase. Interestingly, and importantly, over that nine months we never made it over to visit. The pony was in good hands and my daughter was immersed in her training program with her new horse. Moreover, we had moved barns with the horse, too, to find a traineprogram that was a better fit for the new horse's capabilities. So my daughter was learning a new horse, trainer, program and barn while her pony was happily in another stable/barn environment. My daughter is still at her new barn.
Last week I got the big news from the trainer with our pony - someone was coming out with a serious interest in buying her. I was really happy. It has been way more expensive maintaining two horses than I anticipated, and with my daughter not getting to see her pony for 9 months I also felt like maybe the connection had waned a bit. By the end of the week it was done - the new owner had come with payment for the pony and signed paperwork. We had succeeded in selling my daughter's pony to a sweet new home.
So we just needed to go back up to the barn one last time to pick up the paperwork, thank the trainer, and say good-bye to our sweet pony. The barn where the pony is housed is 20 minutes from the barn where my daughter works with her new horse and trainer, so it made sense to visit her pony on the way to her horse lesson. We got up early - our plan was to meet the pony's trainer at 8:30 AM on a weekend and then head to her horse lesson.
When we got to the barn, it was a beautiful, misty morning. Kind of odd weather for May. And there was my daughter's pony, up on the hill above the barn and stables, in pasture with the other horses in her herd. She was probably 400 yards or so - maybe a bit more - from where we parked. Looking up at her, the pony was almost a tiny animal in a framed pastoral picture. A bit of a spec on a green pasture hillside.
We stopped to chat with the trainer and then my daughter went to go say good-bye to her pony. I watched with the trainer as she headed off, getting smaller and smaller, soon a spec herself set against a gorgeous pasture backdrop. I had seen her head up that hill so many times during COVID when we arrived and she had to go to the pastures to get her pony. This time she was headed up, alone, to say good-bye.
I couldn't believe the wave of emotion that hit me as I watched her go up. All of a sudden I mumbled to the trainer - I'll go see them, too - so I could walk up the hill alone, before I burst into tears. And I did. Watching my daughter approach her pony to say good-bye, standing so sweetly, so small, against the backdrop of these beautiful hills was the saddest experience of my horse dad life. It caught me completely by surprise.
I made it up to my daughter, and sure enough she was in tears and had been crying all the way up to visit her pony for the last time. She put her arms around her, hugged her, considered her from a pace or two away. Her pony simply hung out and stared back, not moving after approaching her. It was so heartbreaking. I have to say it was almost a three way street of sadness. My daughter saying good-bye to her pony. Me in my heart-break for her. And I wonder, too, if her pony was in some way saying - where have you been? And why are you leaving? It's almost more than I can bear to imagine even as I write this.
We had a few hour car ride after leaving, and spent most of it in tears. My daughter fell asleep and then I totally lost it. I have worked so hard for riding to be a stabilizing thing for my daughter, and it has been. But I failed to realize something. My daughter's pony, even if she couldn't make it to ride with her, was hers. Essentially, integrally, part of her. And selling her, creating that separation, was a break beyond imagining.
Our backdrop of divorce and my daughter's journey through it certainly adds to the emotion, but I also feel like, as the dad that's tried my best to make all of this happen, I didn't realize how I was severing a fundamental connection for my daughter when I agreed to the sale. In retrospect, I really feel like our pony was a member of our family, that we were spiritually connected to her regardless of her location, and completing a sale severed that connection in a painful way that I was completely unprepared for.
Watching my daughter standing in front of her pony one last time, this tiny spec on the hillside above me, I felt like I was watching her childhood come to an end. It was profound, and so profoundly sad.
So I didn't get it. I didn't realize how connected we were and are to our pony, and I didn't realize that a sale could be so profoundly sad, even when on balance the entire circumstance is really positive all around. But the sense of loss is incredible. I feel like a member of our family has died, and I think my daughter feels the same.
Anyway, putting this all here to try to simply get it out and down on paper. If on the off chance another horse dad happens upon this and it's helpful, I'll be glad. This riding thing is major, in so many ways I couldn't anticipate or appreciate. Learning. But, today, this is really really hard.
All the best to all of you riders and your horses and ponies out there. You are awesome.

Pine needles brushed across Paul's arms as he charged through the trees with his bugout bag slung over his shoulders. Weighing in at forty pounds, it hardly slowed him down as he’d practiced this hike many times. He flicked his wrist and checked his Garmin Solar 2 Tactical Watch. The timer read: 2:23.
“You can do this, Paul.” He increased the pace and gritted his teeth, the weight finally having an effect. Paul bounded over a small creek, up a rolling hill, and pushed through a row of baby birches into a clearing. He doubled over to catch his breath and looked at his watch one more time. Two hours and twenty-eight minutes. Paul pumped his fist in victory.
After a short break, he approached a thorny bush in the center of the clearing. Paul brushed aside sand at the bush’s trunk, revealing a yellow rope. He pulled it, which lifted a hidden door in the ground covered with dirt, shrubbery, and other camouflage on the top side, and drab gray iron on the other. Underneath, wooden stairs descended into darkness. Paul retrieved a flashlight from his pack, clicked on the beam, and disappeared into the earth.
At the bottom of the steps, Paul faced a steel door and a combination lock. With several quick swipes of the dial, he opened the lock and tugged the metal door, which creaked as it cracked open. Paul flashed the beam on the offending hinges and shook his head. Something to fix later. He stepped into the secret chamber and pulled a hanging aluminum chain that turned on a large halogen light, illuminating a twenty-foot by eight-foot metal rectangle. The exposed corrugated walls revealed the bunker was nothing more than a shipping container. Paul buried it two years ago and had divided the interior into three spaces. The entry had a shelf with four dozen gallon jugs of sealed water along with a portable toilet, stacks of toilet paper, and a wastebasket. The middle section was the main living area and contained a futon, a TV with a DVD player, and a neat collection of movies underneath. A nightstand housed a small library of books, including the Bible, The Art of Meditation, Buddhism for Dummies, and other spiritual tomes. The back area of the unit had two shelves filled with canned food—black beans, green beans, peaches, peas, carrots, beef, and chicken. There was also a stationary bike, which was Paul’s proudest accomplishment because he had rigged it to a giant battery that provided power to all the electronics.
Paul was a prepper, and this would be his home when the end of the world came, an event he believed was imminent. The global economy was a house of cards built on greed, corruption, and inflated asset prices, but worst of all, it was based on a faith in paper and digital money.
His fear was triggered four years ago when he attended a lecture by a professor who explained the fragility of the world’s financial system. If a few banks failed, it would rattle people’s confidence, causing a herd-like response. Thousands of people would rush to withdraw their cash, which the banks no longer had because they’d invested it. The banks would either fail, and everyday folks would lose their life savings, or the government would print new money to replace the missing money, making all money worth a lot less. Anyone holding dollars would attempt to convert them to other assets.
Just like dominoes, the banks would topple over one by one, and as they crashed, people’s faith in money would crater. After all, what was money? It was just paper with printed images and numbers that we’d all accepted as having value. More recently, money had become numbers displayed on a computer screen, something Paul knew firsthand as he spent the first seven years of his career working at a regional bank in Asheville, North Carolina. Paul could literally change someone’s net worth with a few keystrokes. He could turn a pauper into a millionaire, or he could bankrupt the richest account holder. Sure, there were safeguards, but all were built on faith, which Paul believed was misplaced. Most people didn’t realize that the Federal Reserve only required each bank to hold at least ten percent of its deposits as a reserve. Ten percent. That’s it. The rest of the money was invested in loans or other financial instruments. As the rich bank owners and executives pushed for bigger and bigger returns, they invested in riskier and riskier assets. The lessons from the financial crisis of 2008 had been forgotten.
Once the monetary system collapsed, the entire economy would become paralyzed. Without a means of exchange, transactions would halt. Think about it. If someone tried to give you a slip of paper that you thought was worthless, would you give them anything of value in return?
The doomsday scenario would escalate. Food and water prices would skyrocket, but with no way to purchase them, many would starve. But people don’t just roll over and die, they would riot and take what they need to survive. Marshall Law would be implemented, but citizens would revolt against the government they felt had cheated them.
As Paul listened to the lecturer that fateful day, a depressing epiphany struck. Everything he’d learned and everything he’d spent his life acquiring was worthless.
Growing up, Paul had been taught the value of money, saving, and planning for retirement. He internalized these lessons as a teen after his father got sick and lost his job. His mother had died when he was very young, but his father still managed to provide him with a stable childhood, even though they were barely middle class. When his father fell ill, Paul witnessed firsthand how fast a family could sink into financial trouble, which couldn’t have come at a worse time. He was applying to colleges, and instead of choosing the one he liked best, he chose the one that gave him the most financial aid, which turned out to be a small school half-way across the country. He also didn’t choose a major he was excited about; he chose the one that would offer the safest financial prospects—economics with an emphasis on banking.
The distance from home meant that Paul didn’t see the rapid deterioration of his father. It wasn’t until he returned for the funeral that family friends told him how the disease had spread. His father had refused to let anyone tell Paul because he didn’t want that to distract Paul from his studies.
After graduating, Paul accepted a job at a bank, and immediately signed up for the company’s 401K match. Most college graduates can't grasp retirement when they enter the workforce, but a 401K match was free money. Over the next several years, Paul worked diligently to advance his career while saving most of his salary. He’d mapped out his life on an excel spreadsheet and calculated that he’d be financially secure at 53.
Everything went according to plan until that damn lecturer came along and blew it up. Sifting through the rubble of his grand scheme, Paul realized that in the new world order, he possessed no skills to survive. The savings he’d so meticulously built up would have little to no value. When the economy collapsed, he'd be like a baby, unable to do anything for himself.
After a week of wallowing in despair, Paul rallied himself. “I can still fix this” became a daily mantra. To start, he threw himself into survival classes. The first was a basic camping course where he learned how to create shelters and start a fire. The next class was more advanced and focused on water purification and building snares for small game.
Paul continued working at the bank, because he needed to pay for the classes and survival equipment he began hoarding, but on his next vacation, he put his training to the test. He planned to camp for a week in the Appalachian Mountains, but the temperature swings, especially at night, were too much. Paul lasted three nights in the wild. The humbling experience forced him to admit that he wasn’t a bushman. His depression returned until he stumbled upon an article about “preppers”—individuals who prepare for end of world disasters. Suddenly, things made sense. He didn’t need to abandon all the comforts of modern society. He needed to prepare for the end of the world the way he had planned for retirement.
As Paul traveled down the rabbit hole of prepping, he uncovered an underground society of people like him who knew the truth about the world’s demise. Of course, not everyone believed it would end because of an economic collapse. Some thought a nuclear war would destroy civilization. Others feared electromagnetic pulses from the sun would wipe out all modern electricity. And still others worried a massive volcanic eruption would spew enough ash and soot into the air to blot out the sun. There was no shortage of theories about the world ending, but one thing was clear. The world would end. Did it matter how it happened?
Paul began his prepping quest by purchasing ten acres an hour and a half outside of Asheville. It had plenty of small animals and a creek running through the middle. He then transported an unused cargo container to the land and buried it. This was the toughest part of the plan because it required heavy equipment. Next, he dug out a staircase and installed a steel door at the entrance. Finally, he furnished it with a mix of modern comforts and survival essentials.
Almost every weekend, Paul trekked to his underground sanctuary and made improvements. He also planned his bugout strategy. When the end of the world hit, he figured he needed to be safely hidden in his home within two and a half hours, a time he had achieved with this latest trip. Everything was set, and Paul could finally relax. He was prepared.
Paul slumped down on his futon and considered playing a movie or cracking the bottle of Jim Beam whiskey he stored in a special cabinet, but he shook off the urge. Those things were the rewards and comforts he’d enjoy after the world ended. His fingers rubbed the top of the Bible, something he planned to read cover to cover once the global economy cratered. He’d have plenty of time then to discover his spiritual side, but not now. Something else needed to be done. Something he’d missed.
The biggest mistake a prepper can make is assuming he had everything covered. This was the lesson taught by Yannis, the guru of the prepping world. He was so well-known within the doomsday community; he only went by one name. The guy was sharp as a whip and could live off the land, if necessary, but he preferred a more sophisticated lifestyle, so he created a luxurious cave that contained backup systems for all his backups. Food, water, shelter, and electricity were all taken care of, and it was projected that Yannis could survive ten years comfortably after the apocalypse. His famous blog titled “ABP” stood for Always Be Preparing. It was a motto Yannis lived by and something Paul aspired to, but as he sat in his bunker after the relentless hike, fatigue set in. He didn’t want to think about prepping or his bugout strategy. He wanted to just be.
Paul tilted his head back onto the futon’s cushion, and a loneliness crept into his mind. All his prepping left little time for relationships. He dated off and on in college, but it was never anything serious. It wasn’t like his high school sweetheart, Kristin Summer. They dated junior and senior year, but then Paul broke it off when his father got sick. Paul couldn’t focus on romance, and he knew the relationship wouldn’t have worked when he left for school 1,500 miles away. It still hurt when he learned from a friend that Kristin started dating Derek Gorman, an old classmate Paul hated. It hurt even more when he found out they had gotten married.
After college, Paul joined a couple of dating sites, but he hadn’t used them in over two years. Most women wouldn’t understand his prepping lifestyle, at least that’s what he feared, so he rejected dating before anyone could reject him. But most wasn't all, and with eight billion people on the planet, there had to be someone for him. Almost without thinking, Paul pulled out his phone and opened “My Match,” the site where he’d had the most luck. His profile still had a photo from his early banking days. He was clean shaven with a naïve smile. The face staring back in the picture differed greatly from the bearded survivalist he’d become. Would anyone consider a relationship with the new Paul? Only one way to find out. He snapped a selfie, uploaded it, and then updated his hobbies with the first being “prepping” followed by “survival skills training.” He finished by pressing the button that showed he was actively looking for someone. All he had to do now was wait.
After spending the night in his bunker, Paul checked the dating site in the morning. No response. “It was a stupid idea,” he told himself, and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He locked his container and returned home.
Over the next two weeks, Paul received zero requests for a date. He didn’t even receive a message from anyone to start a conversation and test the waters. “Shake it off, dumbass,” he said alone in the confines of his cottage-style home. “The world is going to end, anyway.” He clenched his jaw and did what he always did. He researched more ways to survive. Paul poured over blog posts and imagined worst-case scenarios. How could his water be contaminated? Maybe he should bury some caches of water. What if someone finds his shelter? Maybe security cameras were needed. What if he gets lonely in his shelter? No ideas came to mind.
After his eyes got tired from reading, Paul clicked out of his browser, and the list of all his apps stared at him. For reasons unknown to him, he opened Facebook, something he hadn’t done for months. There were a handful of notifications and a couple of friend requests sent weeks ago. His heart raced when he saw the name of one—Kristin Summer. When he accepted, he saw she was on-line right then.
Should he message her? Would that be weird right after accepting her request? But wasn’t it weird that he hadn’t responded for several weeks? He pulled up the messenger and typed. “Hey. Sorry for the delay in accepting your request. Hadn’t been on Facebook in a while. Been busy. Hope you and Derek are well.”
He curled his lip in disgust as he typed Derek’s name and considered deleting it, but he took the moral high ground and hit “send” with his message unaltered.
Kristin Summer. Just the thought of her name brought a smile to Paul’s face.
Bing.
The sound alerted Paul to a response, which he read out loud. “Hey Paul. Good to hear from you. Derek and I divorced a little over a year ago. It was rough at first, but it was for the best. How are you?”
Paul’s eyes widened with shock and excitement. He couldn’t believe Derek was so stupid to let Kristin go. Paul could at least blame their breakup on his father’s illness. His fingers prattled away on the keyboard. “Things are amazing.” He stopped typing. That was a lie. Should he pretend like things were great or should he be honest and tell her about his prepping and the end of the world? Neither option sounded appealing. He tapped the keys without writing until he settled on something uncontroversial.
“Working at Trinity Bank in Asheville. It pays the bills. Where are you?”
Within a minute, the sweet sound of the notification binged. “I’m not too far away in Durham. If you’re ever in town, let me know.”
If you’re ever in town, let me know.
Paul couldn’t believe his eyes. Was Kristin asking him out? He shook his head. Nah, she’s probably just being polite. But maybe. If there was any chance, he had to find out. He chewed his lip and deliberated his next response. Fortune favors the bold, he told himself. Then he remembered Matt Damon telling people that in the now infamous commercial for FTX months before its collapse. When that occurred, Paul thought it was the beginning of the end, and he lived in his bunker for two days before emerging and finding the world still intact.
Paul clenched his fist. It was still good advice, and he had to try. Almost involuntarily, he typed, “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. If you want to get together, let me know.” His finger hit send before he could talk himself out of it. There was no qualification in the message. No waffling or hedging. It was clear Paul wanted to see Kristin. The only question now was whether she wanted to see him.
The next ten minutes felt like ten days. Paul paced back and forth with his hands over his head, and he glanced at the monitor every few seconds, just in case his ears had missed the notification alert.
There was nothing.
A dark depression filled the room. Why had he gotten his hopes up? What was the point, anyway? The world was going to end.
Bing.
Paul leapt to the computer and his eyes widened with each word he read. “How about a lunch at The Fig Tree Restaurant on 7th?”
People overuse the word literally, but Paul at least felt like his jaw was literally on the floor. He had a date with Kristin Summer, the one woman he had loved. His hands rattled away at the keyboard. “See you at 1 tomorrow.”
“Holy crap,” he muttered to himself.
Panic replaced his excitement when he imagined sitting down and talking to Kristin. What would he say? “Hey Kristin, what have you been up to? Oh me? I’ve been working at a job I hate and planning for the end of the world.”
He drifted into the bathroom and stared at the scruffy character in the mirror. Paul could only cringe at the thought of Kristin’s reaction upon seeing him. She might not recognize the bearded loner who resembled Ted Kaczynski more than the short-haired, clean-shaven teen she last saw.
Only one thing to do.
Paul had to prepare. He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of clippers. He began trimming his beard and mustache as short as the clippers would allow. Next, he applied a generous amount of cream and shaved all of it off. Paul smirked at the young man hiding under the shabby beard, but it still wasn’t enough. He set the guard on the clippers to a four and began shaving his head. In college, Paul cut his own hair to save money, and the skill came back to him quickly. He dropped to a three and worked in a fade on the sides and then finished with a two. Paul turned to the left, then to the right, and assessed his work. Not bad.
Next thing to prepare was his outfit. Paul slid the door of his closet open and evaluated his choices. A banker’s suit was too stuffy, and his mountain man denim was too hermit inspired. He yanked the clothes aside and climbed deeper into the recesses of his wardrobe until he found a nice buttoned-down shirt and a dark pair of slacks. It gave just the right vibe of successful and stable, while not trying too hard to impress, even though that was his precisely his goal. Paul laid the selection on the chair by his bed. Durham was a three-and-a-half-hour drive away, and he wanted to make sure he got there with time to find parking, and maybe use the restroom. He set the alarm on his iPhone for 6 a.m. That would give him plenty of time to take a shower, have breakfast, and get dressed.
There was no chance of falling asleep easily. His mind raced with thoughts, questions, and various scenarios about what the day would bring. To relax, he poured himself a double whiskey, which he downed with a single slurp. He poured another and sipped.
Kristin Summer. He shook his head, still in disbelief.
As the effect of alcohol set in, Paul laid down on his bed and shut his eyes. Tomorrow would be a good day.
Paul slipped into a deep, satisfying sleep until his mind jolted him awake. It was past 6 a.m. He didn’t know how he knew. He just knew. Paul had slept through his alarm. He snatched his phone off the nightstand, but it was out of battery. He checked his watch and saw it was 7 a.m. There was still time to get to Durham.
Paul jumped out of bed and into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch, but nothing came on. Paul toggled it on and off, but the outlet was dead.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Paul meandered out of his house and onto the front lawn. Aside from the sirens, there was an uneasy stillness. Paul’s neighbor Kurt ran out from his home with two suitcases that he flung into the trunk of his car.
“Kurt. What’s going on?” Paul asked.
“Fort Knox was bombed. All the gold was obliterated. And something happened to the electricity and the internet. They shut it down.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, man, but it’s not good. No one has access to news, no money, nothing.”
“Where are you going?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere isolated. I’m just hoping there are no more bombings or other attacks.” Kurt jumped into his car and sped away.
This was it. The world was ending. All of his preps were about to pay off. But what about Kristin? Paul didn’t want the world to end. If he tried to get Kristin, there was no chance he could reach his shelter before things get hairy. Plus, there was no way he could find her. He didn’t have her address, and she might have already left Durham for somewhere safe.
Paul forced himself to focus on his plan. This was what he had prepared for. He dashed back inside and changed into his camouflage gear, grabbed his bugout bag, and then sprinted to his truck. He drove through his neighborhood and reached the main road. His shelter and plans were to the left. Kristin and the unknown were to the right. The whites of Paul’s knuckles flared as he gripped the steering wheel. Now was not the time to waffle. He turned left and hit the accelerator.
Paul gritted his teeth and raced down the street. Keep going. Keep going. He urged himself on. Almost involuntarily, his foot slammed on the brakes. Paul couldn’t do it. He’d planned for the worst all his life, and while he sat alone with the engine idling, he had to admit the truth. He’d lived all his life in fear.
Paul yanked the wheel and turned around toward Durham.

The whirring blades of my MD-902 throbbed against the warm evening air, and I smiled.
From 5,000 feet, the ground flew by in a carpet of dark forests and kelly-green fields. The sun hung low on the horizon in a picturesque array of dazzling orange and gold, and I could make out the narrow strip of the Ohio River to my left, glistening in the fading daylight. This time of year, the trees would be full of the sweet aroma of fresh blossoms, and the frequent rains kept small pockets of fluffy white mist hanging in the treetops. It was a beautiful view, one that reminded me of why being a helicopter pilot trumped flying in a jumbo jet far above the clouds every day of the week.
Fourteen more days, and I’m debt free.
That made me grin even more. I’d been working as a charter pilot ever since I obtained my license at age 19, and after years of keeping my nose to the grindstone, I was closing on the final payment for real-estate in western Pennsylvania. With no debt, a fixer-upper house on 30 rural acres all to myself, and a respectable wage for a 26-year-old pilot, I looked forward to the financial freedom I could now enjoy. Maybe I’d take a vacation, somewhere exotic like Venice Italy, or the Dominican Republic. Or perhaps I’d sock the money back for the day I started a family.
“Remember kleineun, a real man looks after his own.”
My elderly ouma’s voice came back from the depths of my memories, her proud, sun-tanned face rising from the darkness. She and my Rhodesian grandfather had emigrated to the US when they were newlyweds, as the violence against white Boer descendants in South Africa spiraled out of control. My mother and father both died in a car crash when I was six, and it had been my grandparents who raised me. Due to this, I’d grown up with a slight accent that many of my classmates found amusing, and I could speak both English, and Afrikaans, the Boer tongue of our former home.
I shifted in my seat, stretched my back muscles, and glanced at the picture taped to my console. Both my parents flanked a grinning, gap-toothed six-year-old me, at the last Christmas we’d spent together. My mother beamed, her dark hair and Italian features a sharp contrast to my father’s sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. Sometimes, I liked to imagine they were smiling at me with pride at how well I flew the old silver-colored bird my company had assigned to me, and that made the long, lonely flights easier to bear.
A flicker caught my eye, and I broke my gaze away from the photograph.
Perched in its small cradle above the controls, my little black Garmin fuzzed over for a few seconds, its screen shifting from brightly colored maps to a barrage of grey static.
Did the power chord come loose?
I checked, ensuring the power-cable for the unit’s battery was plugged into the port on the control panel. It was a brand-new GPS unit, and I’d used it a few times already, so I knew it wasn’t defective. Granted, I could fly and navigate without it, but the Garmin made my time as a pilot so much easier that the thought of going blind was dreadful.
My fuel gauge danced, clicked to empty, then to full, in a bizarre jolt.
More of the gauges began to stutter, the entire panel seeming to develop terrets all at once, and my pulse began to race. Something was wrong, very wrong, and the sludge inside my bowels churned with sour fear.
“Come on, come on.” I flicked switches, turned dials, punched buttons, but nothing seemed to fix the spasming electronics. Every gauge failed, and without warning, I found myself plunged into inky darkness.
Outside, the sun surrendered to the pull of night, the sky darker than usual. A distant rumble of thunder reverberated above the roar of my helicopter’s engine, and I thought I glimpsed a streak of yellowish lightning on the far horizon to my left.
Calm down Chris. We’re still flying, so it must just be a blown fuse. Stay in control and find a place to set her down.
My sweaty palm slid on the cyclic stick, and both feet weighed heavy on the yaw pedals. The collective stuck to my other hand with a nervous vibration, and I squinted against the abyss outside.
Beep.
I jumped despite myself, as the little Garmin on my panel flared back to life, the static pulling aside to reveal a twitching display. Each time the screen glitched, it showed the colorful map detailing my flight path over the ground below, but I noticed that some of the lines changed, the names shifting, as if the device couldn’t decide between two different versions of the world.
One name jutted out at me, slate gray like most of the major county names, appearing with ghostly flickers from between two neighboring ones.
Barron County.
I stared, confused. I’d flown over this section of southeastern Ohio plenty of times, and I knew the counties by heart. At this point, I should have been over the southern end of Noble County, and maybe dipping lower into Washington. There was no Barron County in Ohio. I was sure of it.
And yet it shown back at me from the digital landscape, a strange, almost cigar-shaped chunk of terrain carved from the surrounding counties like a tumor, sometimes there, sometimes not, as my little Garmin struggled to find the correct map. Rain began to patter against my cockpit window, and the entire aircraft rattled from a strong gust of wind. Thick clouds closed over my field of vision like a sea of gray cotton.
The blood in my veins turned to ice, and I sucked in a nervous breath.
Land. I had to land. There was nothing else to do, my flight controls weren’t responding, and only my Garmin had managed to come back to life. Perhaps I’d been hit by lightning, and the electronics had been fried? Either way, it was too dark to tell, but a storm seemed to be brewing, and if I didn’t get my feet on the ground soon, I could be in real trouble.
“Better safe than sorry.” I pushed down on the collective to start my slow descent and clicked the talking button for my headset. “Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, over.”
Nothing.
“Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, requesting emergency assistance, over.”
Still nothing.
If the radio’s dead, I’m really up a creek.
With my hand shaking, I clicked on the mic one more time. “Any station, this is—”
Like a curtain pulling back, the fog cleared from around my window, and the words stuck in my throat.
Without my gauges, I couldn’t tell just how far I’d descended, but I was definitely very low. Thick trees poked up from the ground, and the hills rolled into high ridges with flat valley floors, fields and pastures pockmarking them. Rain fell all around in cold, silvery sheets, a normal feature for the mid spring in this part of Ohio.
What wasn’t normal, were the fires.
At first, I thought they were forest fires for the amount of smoke and flames that bellowed from each spot, but as I swooped lower, my eyes widened in horror.
They were houses.
Farms, cottages, little clusters that barely constituted villages, all of them belched orange flames and black pillars of sooty smoke. I couldn’t hear above the helicopter blades, but I could see the flashes on the ground, along the road, in between the trees, and even coming from the burning buildings, little jets of golden light that spat into the darkness with anger.
Gunfire. That’s rifle fire, a whole lot of it.
Tiny black figures darted through the shadows, barely discernable from where I sat, several hundred feet up. I couldn’t see much, but some were definitely running away, the streaks of yellow gunfire chasing them. A few dark gray vehicles rumbled down one of the gravel roads, and sprayed fire into the houses as it went. They were fighting, I realized, the people in the trucks and the locals. It was horrific, like something out of war-torn Afghanistan, but worse.
Then, I caught a glimpse of the others.
They didn’t move like the rest, who either fled from the dark vehicles, or fired back from behind cover. These skinny figures loped along with haphazard gaits, many running on all fours like animals, swarming from the trees by the dozens. They threw themselves into the gales of bullets without flinching, attacking anyone within range, and something about the way they moved, so fluid, so fearless, made my heart skip a beat.
What is that?
“Echo Four Actual to unknown caller, please respond, over.”
Choking back a cry of shock, I fumbled at the control panel with clumsy fingers, the man’s voice sharp and stern. I hadn’t realized that I’d let go of the talking button and clicked it down again. “Hello? Hello, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot out of Pittsburgh, over.”
An excruciating moment passed, and I continued to zoom over the trees, the fires falling away behind me as more silent forest took over.
“Roger that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, we read you loud and clear. Please identify yourself and any passengers or cargo you might be carrying, over.”
Swallowing hard, I eyed the treetops, which looked much closer than they should have been. How far had I descended? “Echo Four Actual, my name is Christopher Dekker, and I am alone. I’m a charter flight from PA, carrying medical equipment for OSU in Columbus. My controls have been damaged, and I am unable to safely carry on due to the storm. Requesting permission to land, over.”
I watched the landscape slide by underneath me, once catching sight of what looked like a little white church surrounded by smaller huts, dozens of figures in the yard staring up at me as I flew over a nearby ridgeline.
“Solid copy on that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot. Be advised, your transponder shows you to be inside a restricted zone. Please cease all radio traffic, reduce your speed, climb to 3,000 feet and proceed north. We’ll talk you in from there. How copy, over?”
My heart jumped, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Roger that Echo Four Actual, my altimeter is down, but I’ll do my best to eyeball the altitude, over.”
With that, I pulled the collective upward, and tried my best to gauge how far I was by eyesight in the gathering night, rain still coming down all around me. This had to be some kind of disaster or riot, I decided. After all, the voice over the radio sounded like military, and those vehicles seemed to have heavy weapons. Maybe there was some kind of unrest going on here that I hadn’t heard about yet?
Kind of weird for it to happen in rural areas though. Spoiled college kids I get, but never saw farmers get so worked up before. They usually love the military.
Something moved in the corner of my eye, and I turned out of reflex.
My mouth fell open, and I froze, unable to scream.
In the sky beside me, a huge shadow glided along, and its leathery wings effortlessly carved through the gloom, flapping only on occasion to keep it aloft. It was too dark for me to see what color it was, but from the way it moved, I knew it wasn’t another helicopter. No, this thing was alive, easily the size of a small plane, and more than twice the length of my little McDonald Douglass. A long tail trailed behind it, and bore a distinct arrow-shaped snout, with twig-like spines fanned out around the back of its head. Whatever legs it had were drawn up under it like a bird, yet its skin appeared rough and knobby, almost resembling tree bark. Without pause, the gigantic bat-winged entity flew along beside me, as if my presence was on par with an annoying fly buzzing about its head.
Gripping the microphone switch so tight, I thought I’d crack the plastic, I whispered into my headset, forgetting all radio protocol. “T-There’s something up here.”
Static crackled.
“Douglas Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, say again your last, you’re coming in weak and unreadable, over.”
“There’s something up here.” I snarled into the headset, still glued to the controls of the helicopter, afraid to deviate even an inch from my course in case the monstrosity decided to turn on me. “A freaking huge thing, right beside me. I swear, it looks like a bat or . . . I don’t know.”
“Calm down.” The man on the other end of the radio broke his rigorous discipline as well, his voice deep, but level. “It won’t attack if you don’t move too fast. Slowly ease away from it and follow that course until you’re out of sight.”
I didn’t have time to think about how wrong that sounded, how the man’s strict tone had changed to one of knowledge, how he hadn’t been the least surprised by what I’d said. Instead, I slowly turned the helicopter away from the huge menace and edged the speed higher in tiny increments.
As soon as I was roughly two football fields away, I let myself relax, and clicked the mic switch. “It’s not following.”
“You’re sure?”
Eyeing the huge flapping wings, I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, I’m well clear.”
“Good. Thank you, Mr. Dekker.”
Then, the radio went dead.
Something in my chest dropped, a weight that made my stomach roil. This wasn’t right, none of it. Who was that man? Why did he know about the thing I’d just seen? What was I supposed to—
A flash of light exploded from the trees to my right and shot into the air with a long finger of smoke.
What the . . .
On instinct, I jerked the cyclic stick to one side, and the helicopter swung to avoid the rocket.
Boom.
My world shook, metal screeched, and a dozen alarms began to go off inside the cockpit in a cacophony of beeps and sirens. Orange and red flames lit up the night sky just behind me, and the horizon started to spin wildly outside. Heat gushed from the cockpit door, and I smelled the greasy stench of burning oil. The safety belts dug into my shoulders, and with a final slip, the radio headset ripped free from my scalp.
I’m hit.
Desperate, I yanked on the controls, fought the bird even as she spun toward the ground in a wreath of flames, the inky black trees hurtling up to meet me. The helicopter went into full auto-rotation, the sky blurring past outside, and the alarms blared in a screech of doom. Panic slammed through my temples, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and for one brief second, my eyes locked on the little black Garmin still perched atop my control panel.
Its screen stopped twitching and settled on a map of the mysterious Barron County, with a little red arrow at the center of the screen, a few words popping up underneath it.
You are here.
Trees stabbed up into the sky, the belts crushed at my torso, glass shattered all around me, and the world went dark.
Copper, thick, warm, and tangy.
It filled my mouth, stank metallic in my nose, clogged my throat, choking me. In the murkiness, I fought for a surface, for a way out, blind and numb in the dark.
This way, kleineun.
My ouma’s voice echoed from somewhere in the shadows.
This way.
Both eyes flew open, and I gagged, spitting out a stream of red.
Pain throbbed in my ribs, and a heavy pressure sent a tingling numbness through my shoulders. Blood roared inside my temples, and stars danced before my eyes with a dizzying array. Humid night air kissed my skin, and something sticky coated my face, neck, and arms that hung straight up toward the ceiling.
Wait. Not up. Down.
I blinked at the wrinkled, torn ceiling of the cockpit, the glass all gone, the gray aluminum shredded like tissue paper. Just outside the broken windows, thick Appalachian bluegrass and stemmy underbrush swished in a feeble breeze, backlit by flashes of lightning from the thunderstorm overhead. Green and brown leaves covered everything in a wet carpet of triangles, and somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped.
Turning my head from side to side, I realized that I hung upside down inside the ruined helicopter, the top half burrowed into the mud. I could hear the hissing and crackling of flames, the pattering of rain falling on the hot aluminum, and the smaller brush fires around the downed aircraft sizzling out in the damp long grass. Charred steel and burning oil tainted the air, almost as strong as the metallic, coppery stench in my aching nose.
They shot me down. That military dude shot me out of the sky.
It didn’t make sense. I’d followed their orders, done everything they’d said, and yet the instant I veered safely away from whatever that thing in the sky had been, they’d fired, not at it, but at me.
Looking down (or rather, up) at my chest, I sucked in a gasp, which was harder to do that before.
The navy-blue shirt stuck to my torso with several big splotches of dark, rusty red. Most were clean slashes, but two held bits of glass sticking out of them, one alarmingly bigger than the other. They dripped cherry red blood onto my upturned face, and a wave of nausea hit me.
I gotta get down.
I flexed my arms to try and work some feeling back into them, praying nothing was broken. Half-numb from hanging so long, I palmed along my aching body until I felt the buckled for the seat belts.
“Okay.” I hissed between gritted teeth, in an effort to stave off my panic. “You can do this. Just hold on tight. Nice and tight. Here we go . . .”
Click.
Everything seemed to lurch, and I slid off the seat to plummet towards the muck-filled hole in the cockpit ceiling. My fingers were slick with blood and slipped over the smooth faux-leather pilot’s seat with ease. The shoulder belt snagged on the bits of glass that lay just under the left lowest rib, and a flare of white-hot pain ripped through me.
Wham.
I screamed, my right knee caught the edge of the aluminum ceiling, and both hands dove into a mound of leaf-covered glass shards on the opposite side of the hole. My head swam, being right-side-up again enough to make shadows gnaw at the corner of my eyes.
Forcing myself to breath slowly, I fought the urge to faint and slid back to sit on the smooth ceiling. I turned my hands over to see half a dozen bits of clear glass burrowed into my skin like greedy parasites, red blood weeping around the new cuts.
“Screw you.” I spat at the rubbish with angry tears in my eyes. “Screw you, screw you, screw you.”
The shards came out easy enough, and the cuts weren’t that deep, but that wasn’t what worried me. On my chest, the single piece of cockpit glass that remined was almost as big as my palm, and it really hurt. Just touching it felt like self-inflicted torture, but I knew it had to come out sooner or later.
Please don’t nick a vein.
Wiping my hands dry on my jeans, I gripped the shard with both hands, and jerked.
Fire roared over my ribs, and hot blood tickled my already grimy pale skin. I clapped a hand over the wound, pressing down hard, and grunted out a string of hateful expletives that my ouma would have slapped me for.
Lying on my back, I stared around me at the messy cargo compartment of the MD-902. Most of the medical supplies had been in cardboard boxes strapped down with heavy nylon tow-straps, but several cases had ruptured with the force of the impact, spraying bandages, syringes, and pill bottles all over the cluttered interior. Orange flames chewed at the crate furthest to the rear, the tail section long gone, but the foremost part of the hold was intact. Easily a million-dollar mess, it would have made me faint on any other trip, but today it was a godsend.
Half-blind in the darkness, I crawled along with only the firelight and lightning bolts to guide me, my right knee aching. Like a crippled raccoon, I collected things as I went, conscious of the two pallets of intact supplies weighing right over my head. I’d taken several different first-aid courses with some hunting buddies of mine, and the mental reflexes kicked in to help soothe my frazzled mind.
Check for bleeds, stop the worst, then move on.
Aside from my battered chest and stomach, the rest of me remained mostly unharmed. I had nasty bruises from the seatbelts, my right knee swelled, my nose slightly crooked and crusted in blood, but otherwise I was intact. Dowsing every scratch and cut with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol I found, I used butterfly closures on the smaller lacerations that peppered my skin. I wrapped soft white gauze over my abused palms and probed at the big cut where the last shard had been, only stopping when I was sure there were no pieces of glass wedged inside my flesh.
“Not too bad.” I grunted to myself, trying to sound impassive like a doctor might. “Rib must have stopped it. Gonna need stitches though. That’ll be fun.”
Pawing through the broken cases, I couldn’t find any suture chord, but just as I was about to give up, I noticed a small box that read ‘medical skin stapler’.
Bingo.
I tore the small white plastic stapler free from its packaging and eyeballed the device. I’d never done this before, only seen it in movies, and even though the cut in my skin hurt, I wondered if this wouldn’t be worse.
You’ve gotta do it. That bleeding needs to stop. Besides, no one’s coming to rescue you, not with those rocket-launching psychos out there.
Taking a deep breath, I pinched the skin around the gash together, and pressed the mouth of the stapler to it.
Click.
A sharp sting, like that of a needle bit at the skin, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the cut itself. I worked my way across the two-inch laceration and gave out a sigh of relief when it was done.
“Not going to bleed to death today.” I daubed ointment around the staples before winding more bandages over the wound.
Popping a few low-grade painkillers that tumbled from the cargo, I crawled wriggled through the nearest shattered window into the wet grass.
Raindrops kissed my face, clean and cool on my sweaty skin. Despite the thick cloud cover, there was enough constant lightning strikes within the storm to let me get glimpses of the world around me. My helicopter lay on its back, the blades snapped like pencils, with bits and pieces of it burning in chunks all around the small break in the trees. Chest-high scrub brush grew all around the low-lying ground, with pockets of standing water in places. My ears still rang from the impact of the crash, but I could start to pick up more crickets, frogs, and even some nocturnal birds singing into the darkness, like they didn’t notice the huge the hulk of flaming metal that had fallen from the sky. Overhead, the thunder rumbled onward, the feeble wind whistling, and there were other flashes on the horizon, orange and red ones, with crackles that didn’t sound quite like lightning.
The guns. They’re still fighting.
Instinctively, I pulled out my cellphone, and tapped the screen.
It fluttered to life, but no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get through to anyone, not even with the emergency function designed to work around having no service. The complicated wonder of our modern world was little better than a glorified paperweight.
Stunned, I sat down with my back to the helicopter and rested my head against the aluminum skin of the craft. How I’d gone from a regular medical supply run to being marooned in this hellish parody of rural America, I didn’t know, but one thig was certain; I needed a plan. Whoever fired the missile could have already contacted my charter company and made up some excuse to keep them from coming to look for me. No one else knew I was here, and even though I now had six staples holding the worst of my injuries shut, I knew I needed proper medical attention. If I wanted to live, I’d have to rescue myself.
My bag. I need to get my go-bag, grab some gear and then . . . head somewhere else.
It took me a while to gather my green canvas paratrooper bag from its place behind the pilot’s seat and fill it with whatever supplies I could scrounge. My knee didn’t seem to be broken, but man did it hurt, and I dreaded the thought of walking on it for miles on end. I focused instead on inventorying my gear and trying to come up with a halfway intelligent plan of action.
I had a stainless-steel canteen with one of those detachable cups on the bottom, a little fishing kit, some duct tape, a lighter, a black LED flashlight with three spare batteries, a few tattered road maps with a compass, a spare pair of socks, medical supplies from the cargo, and a simple forest green plastic rain poncho. I also managed to unearth a functioning digital camcorder my ouma had gotten me for Christmas a few years back, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to do any filming in such a miserable state. Lastly, since it was a private supply run from a warehouse area near Pittsburgh to a direct hospital pad in Ohio, I’d been able to bring my K-Bar, a sturdy, and brutally simple knife designed for the Marine Corps that I used every time I went camping. It was pitiful in comparison to the rifle I wished I had with me, but that didn’t matter now. I had what I had, and I doubted my trusty Armalite would have alleviated my sore knee anyway.
Clicking on my flashlight, I huddled with the poncho around my shoulders inside the wreck of the chopper and peered at the dusty roadmaps. A small part of me hoped that a solution would jump out from the faded paper, but none came. These were all maps of western PA and eastern Ohio. None of them had a Barron County on them anywhere.
The man on the radio said to head north, right before they shot me down. That means they must be camped out to the north of here. South had that convoy and those burning houses, so that’s a no-go. Maybe I can backtrack eastward the way I came.
As if on cue, a soft pop echoed from over the eastern horizon, and I craned to look out the helicopter window, spotting more man-made flashes over the tree tops.
“Great.” I hissed between clenched teeth, aware of how the temperature dipped to a chilly 60 degrees, and how despite the conditions, my stomach had begun to growl. “Not going that way, are we? Westward it is.”
Walking away from my poor 902 proved to be harder than I’d anticipated. Despite the glass, the fizzling fires, and the darkness, it still held a familiar, human essence to it. Sitting inside it made me feel secure, safe, even calm about the situation. In any other circumstance, I would have just stayed with the downed aircraft to wait for help, but I knew the men who shot me down would likely find my crash site, and I didn’t want to be around when they did.
Unlike much of central and western Ohio, southeastern Ohio is hilly, brushy, and clogged with thick forests. Thorns snagged at my thin poncho and sliced at my pant legs. My knee throbbed, every step a form of self-inflicted torture. The rain never stopped, a steady drizzle from above just cold enough to be problematic as time went on, making me shiver. Mud slid under my tennis shoes, and every tree looked ten times bigger in the flickering beam of my cheap flashlight. Icy fear prickled at the back of my neck at some of the sounds that greeted me through the gloom. I’d been camping loads of times, both in Pennsylvania and elsewhere, but these noises were something otherworldly to me.
Strange howls, screeches, and calls permeated the rain-soaked sky, some almost roars, while others bordered on human in their intonation. The more I walked, the softer the distant gunfire became, and the more prevalent the odd sounds, until the shadows seemed to fill with them. I didn’t dare turn off my flashlight, or I’d been completely blind in the dark, but a little voice in the back of my head screamed that I was too visible, crunching through the gloomy forest with my long beam of light stabbing into the abyss. It felt as though a million eyes were on me, studying me, hunting me from the surrounding brush, and I bitterly recalled how much I’d loved the old Survivor Man TV series as a kid.
Not so fun being out in the woods at night. Especially alone.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me, and I whirled on the spot, one trembling hand resting on the hilt of my K-Bar.
Nothing. Nothing but trees, bushes, and rain dripping down in the darkness.
“This is stupid.” I whispered to myself to keep my nerves in check as I slowly spun on the spot. “I should have went eastward anyway. God knows how long I’m going to have to—”
Creak.
A groan of metal-on-metal echoed from somewhere to my right, and I spun to face it, yanking the knife on my belt free from its scabbard. It felt so small and useless in my hand, and I choked down a wave of nauseas fear.
Ka-whump. Creak. K-whump. Creak.
Underbrush cracked and crunched, a few smaller saplings thrashed, and from deep within the gloom, two yellow orbs flared to life. They poked through the mist in the trees, forming into slender fingers of golden light that swept back and forth in the dark.
The soldiers . . . they must be looking for me.
I swallowed hard and turned to slink away.
Ice jammed through my blood, and I froze on the spot, biting my tongue to stop the scream.
It stood not yards away, a huge form that towered a good twelve feet tall in the swirling shadows. Unpolished chrome blended with flash-rusted spots in the faded red paint, and grime-smeared glass shone with dull hues in the flashes of lightning. Where the wheels should have been, the rounded steel axels curved like some enormous hand had bent them, and the tires lay face-down on the muddy ground like big round feet, their hubcaps buried in the dirt. Dents, scrapes, and chips covered the battered thing, and its crooked little radio antenna pointed straight up from the old metal fender like a mast. I could barely make out the mud-coated VW on the rounded hood, and my mind reeled in shock.
Is . . . is that a car?
Both yellow headlights bathed me in a circle of bright, blinding light, and neither I nor the strange vehicle moved.
Seconds ticked by, the screech-thumping in the background only growing closer. I realized that I couldn’t hear any engine noises and had yet to see any soldiers or guns pointed my way. This car looked old, really old, like one of those classic Volkswagen Beetles that collectors fought over at auctions. Try as I might, I couldn’t see a driver inside the murky, mold-smeared windows.
Because there wasn’t one.
Lightning arched across the sky overhead, and the car standing in front of me blinked.
Its headlights slid shut, as if little metal shades had crawled over the bulbs for a moment and flicked open again. Something about that movement was so primal, so real, so lifelike, that every ounce of self-control I had melted in an instant.
Cursing under my breath, I lunged into the shrubs, and the world erupted around me.
Under my shoes, the ground shook, and the car surged after me in a cacophony of ka-thumps that made my already racing heart skip several beats. A weather-beaten brown tow truck from the 50’s charged through the thorns to my left, it’s headlights ablaze, and a dilapidated yellow school bus rose from its hiding place in the weeds to stand tall on four down-turned axel-legs. They all flicked their headlights on like giants waking from their slumber, and as I dodged past them, they each blared their horn into the night in alarm.
My breaths came short and tight, my knee burned, and I crashed through thorns and briars without thought to how badly I was getting cut up.
The cheap poncho tore, and I ripped it away as it caught on a tree branch.
A purple 70’s Mustang shook off its blanket of creeping vines and bounded from a stand of trees just ahead, forcing me to swerve to avoid being run over, my adrenaline at all-time highs.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.
Slipping and sliding, I pushed through a stand of multiflora rose, and stumbled out into a flat, dark expanse.
I almost skidded to a stop.
What had once been a rather large field stood no taller than my shoestrings, the grass charred, and burnt. The storm above illuminated huge pieces of wreckage that lay scattered over the nearly 40-acre plot, and I could just make out the fire-blackened hulk of a fuselage resting a hundred yards away. The plane had been brought down a while ago it seemed, as there weren’t any flames left burning, and I threw myself toward it in frenzied desperation.
Burned grass and greasy brown topsoil slushed underfoot, and I could hear the squelching of the cars pursing me. Rain soaked me to the bone, and my lungs ached from sucking down the damp night air. A painful stich crept into my side, and I cursed myself for not putting in more time for cardio at the gym.
Something caught my left shoelace, and I hurtled to the ground, tasting mud and blood in between my teeth.
They’ve got me now.
I clawed at the mud, rolled, and watched a tire slam down mere inches from where my head had been. The Mustang loomed over me and jostled for position with the red Volkswagen and brown tow truck, the school bus still a few yards behind them. They couldn’t seem to decide who would get the pleasure of stomping me to death, and like a herd of stampeding wildebeest, they locked bumpers in an epic shoving match.
On all fours, I scampered out from under the sparring brutes, and dashed for the crumpled airplane, a white-painted DC-3 that looked like it had been cut in half by a gargantuan knife blade. I passed a snapped wing section, the oily remains of a turbo-prop engine, and a mutilated wheel from the landing gear. Climbing over a heap of mud, I squeezed into the back of the ruined flight cabin and dropped down into the dark cargo hold.
Wham.
No sooner had my sneakers hit the cold metal floor, and the entire plane rocked from the impact of something heavy ramming it just outside. I tumbled to my knees, screaming in pain as, once again, I managed to bash the sore one off a bracket in the wall.
My hand smeared in something gooey, and I scrabbled for my flashlight.
It clicked on, a wavering ball of white light in the pitch darkness, and I fought the urge to gag. “Oh man . . .”
Three people, or what was left of them, lay strewn over the narrow cargo area. Claret red blood coated the walls, caked on the floor, and clotted under my mud-spattered shoes. Bits of flesh and viscera were stuck to everything, and tatters of cloth hung from exposed sections of broken bone. An eerie set of bloody handprints adorned the walls, and the only reason I could tell it had been three people were the shoes; all of them bore anklebones sticking out above blood-soaked socks. It smelled sickly sweet, a strange, nauseas odor that crept into my nose and settled on the back of my tongue like an alien parasite.
Something glinted in the beam of my flashlight, and my pulse quickened as I pried the object loose from the severed arm that still clung to it.
“Hail Mary full of Grace.” I would have grinned if it weren’t for the fact that the plane continued to buck and roll under the assault from the cars outside.
The pistol looked old, but well-maintained, aside from the light coating of dark blood that stained its round wooden handle. It felt heavy, but good in my hand, and I turned it over to read the words, Waffenfabrik Mauser stenciled into the frame, with a large red 9 carved into the grip. For some reason, it vaguely reminded me of the blasters from Star Wars.
I fumbled with a little switch that looked like a safety on the back of the gun and stumbled toward a gap in the plane’s dented fuselage to aim out at the surrounding headlights.
Bang.
The old gun bucked reliably in my hand, its long barrel spitting a little jet of flame into the night. I had no idea if I hit anything, but the attacking cars recoiled, their horns blaring in confusion.
They turned, and scuttled for the tree line as fast as their mechanical legs could go, the entire ordeal over as fast as it had begun.
Did I do that?
Perplexed, I stared down at the pistol in my hand.
Whoosh.
A large, inky black shadow glided down from the clouds, and the yellow school bus moved too slow to react in time.
With a crash, the kicking nightmarish vehicle was thrown onto its side, spraying glass and chrome trim across the muddy field. Its electro-synth horn blared with wails of mechanical agony, as two huge talon-like feet clamped down on it, and the enormous head of the flying creature lowered to rip open its engine compartment.
The horn cut out, and the enormous flying entity jerked its head back to gulp down a mass of what looked like sticky black vines from the interior of the shattered bus.
At this range, I could see now that the flying creature bore two legs and had its wings half-tucked like a vulture that had descended to feed on roadkill. Its head turned slightly, and in the glow of another lightning bolt, my jaw went slack at the realization of what it was.
A tree trunk. It’s a rotted tree trunk.
I couldn’t tell where the reptilian beast began, and where the organic tree components ended, the upper part of the head shaped like a log, while the lower jaw resembled something out of a dinosaur movie. Its skin looked identical to the outside of a shagbark hickory but flexed with a supple featheriness that denoted something closer to skin. Sharp branch-like spines ranged down its back, and out to the end of its tail, which bore a massive round club shaped like a diseased tree-knot. Crouched on both hind legs, it braced the hooked ends of its folded wings against the ground like a bat, towering higher than a semi-truck. Under the folds of its armored head, a bulging pair of chameleon-like eyes constantly spun in their sockets, probing the dark for threats while it ate.
One black pupil locked onto the window I peered through, and my heart stopped.
The beast regarded me for a moment, making a curious, sideways sniff.
With a proud, contemptful head-toss, the shadow from the sky parted rows of razor-sharp teeth to let out a roar that shook the earth beneath my feet. It was the triumphant war cry of a creature that sat at the very top of the food chain, one that felt no threat from the fragile two-legged beings that walked the earth all around it. It hunted whenever it wanted, ate whatever it wanted, and flew wherever it wanted. It didn’t need to rip the plane apart to devour me.
Like my hunter-gatherer ancestors from thousands of years ago, I wasn’t even worth the energy it would take to pounce.
I’m hiding in the remains of the cockpit now, which is half-buried under the mud of the field, enough to shield the light from my screen so that thing doesn’t see it. My service only now came back, and it’s been over an hour since the winged beast started in on the dead bus. I don’t know when, or how I’m going to get out of here. I don’t know when anyone will even see this post, or if it will upload at all. My phone battery is almost dead, and at this point, I’m probably going to have to sleep among the corpses until daylight comes.
A dead man sleeping amongst friends.
If you live in the Noble County area in southeastern Ohio, be careful where you drive, fly, and boat. I don’t know if it’s possible to stumble into this strange place by ground, but if so, then these things are definitely headed your way.
If that happens . . . pray that they don’t find you.

always wanted to match Danny against comic Spawn, but I figure is way above his league, so hopefully animated Al was closer to his league
1 round

• no prep/knowledge, standard gear, random fight
• in character

2 round

• basic knowledge of their powers abd abilities
• 72 hours prep
• Danny has acces to every Fenton ghost hunting weapon and tool, say they ghost gauntlets, fenton fishline, specter deflecter, that ghost portal bazooka that was so broken they used it once, and the upgraded ecto skeleton
• Al has… more weapons and ammo… guessing some holy weapon… he is Spawn, not the Bat man
• in character

3 round

• full knowledge
• 24 prep
• danny has the reality guantlet with 4 gems
• both as their peak
• in character

- victory by ko, cbfr, apture, submission, or forcing the other to retreat
on Amity Park

always wanted to match Danny against comic Spawn, but I figure is way above his league, so hopefully animated Al was closer to his league
1 round

• no prep/knowledge, standard gear, random fight
• in character

2 round

• basic knowledge of their powers abd abilities
• 72 hours prep
• Danny has acces to every Fenton ghost hunting weapon and tool, say they ghost gauntlets, fenton fishline, specter deflecter, that ghost portal bazooka that was so broken they used it once, and the upgraded ecto skeleton
• Al has… more weapons and ammo… guessing some holy weapon… he is Spawn, not the Bat man
• in character

3 round

• full knowledge
• 24 prep
• danny has the reality guantlet with 4 gems
• both as their peak
• in character

- victory by ko, cbfr, apture, submission, or forcing the other to retreat
on Amity Park