Do you love the MFD-4 from the first game?
Do you take M4 over anything else in any FPS games?
Do you like unconventional systems?
Then fear not, the Shadow is for you!
Okay then. There happened a big gap between posting, and I don't know if you guys saw the 2,300 kill post I posted previously, but back we are at talking about weapons.
Right. Let's start with the gun's looks and trivia. Numbers will come later.
The Shadow was the first assault rifle to have built-in anything. Yes, ARC-9 had grenade launchers, but in terms of perks, the first assault rifle with in-built capabilities was the ARC-11. Back in its day it was truly a powerhouse over pretty much all else (even though the fact that I'd much rather use my ARC-9). Decent damage, decent magazine capacity, a two-position mode selector and built-in Piercing Ammo. Anyway.
The gun is a tribute to the MFD-4 Assault Rifle from the first game, at least the base model is. The guns somewhat look similar, with a couple of changes that made the sequel version a lot more appreciatable, such as magazine not being a drum painted in FDE.
Rendition of this rifle somewhat reminds me of an ARAK-21 side charging upper for AR-15 platform. It's not unheard of to have a side charging handle AR-15/M4/M16, but it's an unconventional one nonetheless. Everything seems to work well, there isn't really a thing that makes me complain.
I like the animations. I overall like reloads done with STANAG platforms, and this is no exception. One thing that bothers me is the fact that James feels the need of crooking the rifle significantly and looking at the mode selector while changing modes.
Considering that James is ex-military, using an M4/M16 platform shouldn't have been this disorienting for him. He should have been able to figure out which position is which by simply touch and feel. I mean, the whole mode selector is under his thumb for a reason.
But that's me nitpicking about small stuff. Apart from that, I say the gun is fine. No complaints.
The rifle has an Epic skin, which is worth every single cap in my opinion. The gun gets smaller, and I love the changes on the suppressor, the sight and the stock. We get a holographic sight instead of the Primary Arms sights, Magpul furniture instead of the current stock and the suppressor seems to be an integral one. I'd assume that the upper is swapped for .300 Blackout as well, it would make sense with such a setup.
Anyway. That was the unimportance that is called "looks and stories". Now we walk into the importance named "numbers and tactics".
The Shadow is capable of 15,360hp damage per shot on maxout, with a fire rate of 750 in-game units. Now, that may look a tad bit slow, but keep in mind, this gun has 2 modes: semi-auto, and a 3-shot burst. So 750 units isn't terribly slow for such a gun. Just like in R77, it is fine.
It takes 36-round magazines, with a rather mediocre reload speed of 429 in-game units. Still, compared to the rest of the assault rifle division, 429 units isn't terribly bad (yes I am pointing fingers at you, you fat friggin' AK wannabe).
So, overall, the gun is acceptable it seems. What else does it have up its sleeve?
Well, remember the 3-round burst I mentioned about a minute ago? Yeah, there is a caveat with that. This gun runs Piercing Ammo whenever the burst mode is on. Yes, your 3-shot burst is a piercing burst. This is the ace of this gun. Being very good at hordebreaking whenever burst mode is activated.
And even better, the gun is flexible to some degree. If you don't think you will deal with hordes, or if you're playing for full-on survival, you can keep the gun at the semi-auto mode, and conserve ammunition. And whenever you decide to walk into or summon a horde, flick the switch and go to town.
This sounds very good. I myself, who doesn't really play this rifle all that much, appreciate these features. And if it wasn't for my two favorites being better choices, I would probably name this thing as the "best assault rifle of the game".
However... well, let's give the verdict on this one first. Then I'll be talking about why it isn't the best.
Verdict: ABSOLUTELY BUILD. This gun is worth every bit of silver that you're willing to put into. However it isn't the best option in the game.
I can even now hear you sugarplums yelling at me "get off the stage you weirdo, Shadow is the best gun in the game, booooo".
However, I will ask for 2 more minutes of your time to explain why I said what I said.
Shadow isn't in and of itself bad. I mean look at my verdict guys. You know that I appreciate its strength.
But compared to these two rifles, it's not that strong:

1. AUG: This gun does everything the Shadow does, only even better.
   
   1. AUG has built-in Piercing Ammo as well, but it doesn't consume as much ammo when using this perk. AUG's Piercing Ammo is on its semi-auto mode, which makes it more ammo economy friendly. Think about it. Would you rather spend 3 shots every time you want to pierce through something and potentially have 2 of those shots wasted, or shoot only 1 shot at a time, guaranteeing 100% accuracy and ammo economy with your piercing shots?
   2. AUG has a Crate Ammo skin, making it even more powerful. You have a gun that is powerful, accurate, fast, quicker reloading, more flexible with its Piercing Ammo perk, and on top of that you add a perk that makes it even more effective out on the field. Compared to Shadow, AUG is much better for that reason.
2. ARC-9 Battalion: Yes it doesn't have a built-in perk, but who cares?
   
   1. First of all, you get a grenade launcher which is reloaded every time you pick up ammo for this bad boy. A grenade launcher that is capable of one-shotting everyone regardless of their health pool. I'd sure as hell take this over a measly Piercing Ammo boost which is only good when you actually have some damage capabilities.
   2. ARC-9 is way more intuitive than ARC-11. Think about it. You get to choose how much ammo you will expend at any number of zombies with the Battalion. You don't need to worry about spending too much ammunition at a given time because it's completely under your control, rather than a burst system or a switch you have to manually flick.

​
And I know, I know I mentioned that you could use the semi-auto if you wanna conserve ammo, but that's something you manually have to do. Less manual manipulation with a system is usually better out there on the range. A rifle that intuitively works is usually more effective than one where you have to do every single darn thing to make it work.
​
But despite all of this, Shadow is a very cromulent and powerful package. Therefore, here are some tactics and perks.
​

1. Get familiar with your mode selector. It can get really annoying to face a horde when you accidentally left the rifle on semi-auto. Just be mindful of its position.
2. When you are approaching a horde, use burst. When you're sticking in a rather empty space, use semi-auto.
3. When you're using the burst, treat it like an R77. Do NOT stop firing until you have to break out for a reload or until everyone's dead.

​
And perks:
​

1. Crate Ammo: Probably the only thing that would put this thing in the same level as the AUG, to a degree. If you're gonna waste ammo with a burst, may as well pack some extra mags in every crate.
2. Explosive Ammo: James' suggestion from the AP-51 Javelin. No further explanation needed. Observe the destructive results yourself by trying.

​
Have fun with it guys. And, apologies for the gap. Real life is a bit too high difficulty.
Next up will be our favorite review, where I talk about the almighty AUG. Stay tuned!

"The criminal is the creative artist; the detective only the critic." -G.K. Chesterton
+++
The moon setting in the west marked the end of another day for the folk in the city of Duskwall, and Monty was glad to be out on one of his evening walks.
He had all he needed for such an activity; the discreetly-armored clothes on his back, the trusty knife and pistol on his belt, and the wits in his head. His walk took him from the industrial district of Coalridge where machines belched smoke and noise and workers labored to keep the Imperium's production needs met, to the many-hued vice dens of Silkshore where any imaginable vice or illicit product could be found if one knew how to look and who to ask. From the views of the Spark Wall that kept out the legions of ghosts from the Deathlands, to the park that was lit with trees than glowed with light both eerie and comforting. He saw many people on his wanderings that night; a Bluecoat patrol he had narrowly escaped, a thief he knew well and claimed several favors from, a crew of Railjacks that had helped him with smuggling operations on the trains in days not long past, and many others, for he was a well-connected man with a finger in many pies and an ear to many grounds.
As he wandered, he thought, for he found it claiming and focusing to walk through the city, following no path and pursuing no errand. The Crows had collapsed, following one daring heist too many, and had cast the Crow's Foot, the city's most crime-ridden district, into war as the scavengers convened to pick up the pieces and fill the power vacuum. The Crows had been the uncrowned kings and queens of the city's underworld, which meant in the end that they fell with the force of a dying leviathan, tearing asunder the web of grudges and favors they had woven and throwing the city's underworld into chaos.
Monty knew he had a responsibility to his own crew, and he intended to make something of them out of all this. They had been getting by, starting from the bottom, subsisting on the crumbs and scraps that fell their way when the big players were done with the feast of the day. But with the old powers fallen, the field had been leveled and untold hordes of wealth and power were up for grabs. Monty planned to see that his crew prospered, for they were his friends, his comrades, his dear confidants for whom he would match through fire and lay down life and limb.
As the night grew from young to full, Monty had gotten his thoughts in order, and walked back to his crew's lair. It wasn't much, but it serves them well enough, and if Monty had his way, it would be expanded before the year was out. He stopped to get some chicken and greens, wanting to treat the crew with something more than simple eel pie and rice portage. When he got to the crew's lair, he gladly took up his role as the cook, and began making dinner, chatting all the while and enjoying the company of friends.
When dinner was served, goat cheesecake was in the oven, and beer was being poured, Monty looked at all the crew with his trademark grin; the one that said he had a plan and something very worth noting was about to happen.
"Boys and girls, Crow's Foot's gone to shit and back, things are starting to heat up all across the city, and if you're all with me, we're gonna use all that to take our place as top dogs and be living like kings by this time next year."
He leaned back in his seat, and raised a glass of Skovland beer that tasted like mulling spices and the far-off promise of victory."
"But first, a toast, to the beginning of something big."
+++
Hi there! Thanks for reading :D
I find myself driven, as of late, to indulge my love for the Blades in the Dark TTRPG and for written roleplay, so why not do both at the same time? Two good things at the same time are usually guaranteed to be even more gooder, except well-mixed drinks and life-saving surgery, but my point stands in general.
I'd like to do a story of a small, low-down criminal gang rising in the ranks of the underworld in the Victorian, gothic-steampunk/dieselpunk, occultish city of Duskwall. The setting is rich and there's a lot of detail to go into, so it's impossible to give a truly comprehensive pitch while keeping it simple, but if I had to summarize this setting in three sentences, it would be as follows:
"The sun vanished from the sky a thousand years ago, alongside the Gates of Death shattering and allowing ghosts and occult magic into the world. The city is a mashup of London, Paris, and Venice, in roughly Victorian times with a hefty helping of steampunk/dieselpunk/electropunk technology al-la Dishonored meets The Order 1886. The city is home to a lot of criminals, with a thriving, complex underworld that has recently been thrown into chaos due to the toppling of its most powerful gang, and in which our characters will take part."
If that setting intrigues you, then I'd be happy to explain more! Also, no knowledge of the setting is needed, I plan to play a character in the gang who is knowledgeable about the setting and its people so I can be a guide both in the story and out. My basic plan is that we'd each plan a few characters in the gang, as well as create the gang itself together.
If anyone is curious, I'm male, 24 years of age, and from the EST time zone. I've been roleplaying for about half my life and playing Shadowrun for 6 or 7 years, so while I'm not a grandmaster of either, I think I know enough about both to create an awesome story with someone who wants to work with me. I'd be happy to send a writing sample to anyone who wants to verify that for themselves. I can usually crack off at least a few posts a week; I try to go for one or more a day as much as I can, with moderate success since my job is taxing and I sometimes don't have the energy to write much. But I'll always do my best to keep up, since this is one of my favorite hobbies and I love this setting a hell of a lot. I can generally put two or three good-sized paragraphs in my post, sometimes more depending on what's going on. I'd also like my partner to be interested in planning out the story from the start, since this is your story too if you decide to play it out with me.
I'd ideally like somebody who can match my average of 2 or 3 paragraphs, who is 20 or over, who writes in 3rd person, and who communicates openly; otherwise, I'm open to writing with anybody I vibe with, :). Come one come all; if you're interested in this prompt (and please include the word "Machiavellian" in your message to let me know you read it all), then I'm interested in talking more with you about it. I can't address every detail or question someone might have in this post, so if you have any questions or comments, PM me here and I'll be glad to answer them.
I hope to hear from you soon! :D

"Cat-astrophe"– a prequel short story
This is a prequel story I wrote for one of the characters in my book. If ppl enjoy, I think I'd like to post the full novel.
Set in early 1900s Boston, "Cat-astrophe" is about wealth, celebrity culture, and chronic depression. When these factors combine, we get an interesting character study :-) When someone repeats the same patterns over and over, at which point do you give up on them?
​
TW: depression, domestic abuse
​
Catherine Ophelia Hughes was born on June 16th, 1893. She was quickly nicknamed Kitty, her mother believing that it was a darling name and therefore fitting for their daughter. She was a darling child. By the age of 6, she had big, dark eyes; long, carefully curled locks of brown hair; and a pale face, like a blank canvas, against which the other two stood out.
In the Hughes’ drawing room, Kitty banged on the piano while singing a ditty of her own creation. Her piano playing was imperfect, to say the least, and her song lacked a melody or coherent words, but her voice was high and sweet.
“You didn’t tell me your daughter was a musician,” some visiting man laughed to Mrs. Hughes.
“She might have a real talent,” mused Mr. Hughes through the pipe he was smoking, sitting in his armchair. He took the pipe out of his mouth and turned to his wife. “We could get her into lessons, couldn’t we?”
Mrs. Hughes looked at the girl doubtfully. “If she’s old enough. Kitty, come here.”
Kitty hopped off the piano bench and stood in front of her parents. Her hands fidgeted with the folds of her white, lacy dress. “Stop that,” said her mother, and she stopped.
“Kitty,” said her father. “Do you want to learn how to sing properly? Professionally?”
“Yes,” she said.
The visitor laughed again. “And do you know what the word ‘professionally’ means, Kitty?”
She turned to him. “Yes,” she said more emphatically.
“This is a smart one,” the man commented.
Mrs. Hughes took Kitty’s hand. “All right, then. We’ll see about it. Now, let’s leave Father and his friend, shall we?”
Kitty and her mother left the room, and a few weeks later, Kitty had her first lesson with her new singing teacher. Through practice, Kitty quickly learned to refine her musical ability, and by 9 years old, she was regularly performing for friends and neighbors, and several times in Christmas pageants and other children’s plays.
One night, her mother was out of town visiting family, and Kitty thought it would be the perfect chance to escape the confines of their home. She had only seen the rest of Boston on occasion, mostly just her parents’ friends’ houses, and of those, mostly the upstairs rooms, where she and the other children were placed during social events to keep them from causing trouble. Tonight, Kitty wanted to cause trouble. She escaped her nanny with an excuse and snuck into the carriage. She hid under one of the seats and covered herself up with a black blanket so she would be less visible.
Her father had said he was going to the theater, and she wanted to see a real play, not just a Christmas pageant. She was going to sneak out of the carriage when they arrived and form her plan from there about where to go and how to not get sent back. Kitty knew she could think quickly on her feet, so she would find a way.
Waiting in the carriage grew hot and boring, although it was winter. She could barely breathe under the blanket. She hoped that they would leave soon and that no one was in a panic about her disappearance. If they worried, her father might not go to the play, and all this would have been pointless.
But just minutes later, her father sat down in the seat opposite her, and the carriage took off. It felt as though they hit every bump on the road. At some point, Kitty was jolted so hard that she smacked her head on the underside of the seat. By the time they slowed to a stop, she was feeling nauseous.
The door opened, and Kitty got ready to follow her father out into the theater. But he didn’t exit the carriage. Instead, someone entered.
They sat down next to Father and closed the door. She could hear them kiss.
“I missed you,” said the newcomer with a giggle. It was a woman, and it wasn’t Mrs. Hughes.
“I’m sorry it took so long for me to get away,” Father said in a low whisper that sounded very unlike him. “Life has been… hectic, to say the least.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the woman. “Where shall we go?”
“Wherever you want.”
Kitty didn’t know much, but she did know that her father and this woman were romantically involved, and that they shouldn’t be. She threw the blanket off her head and crawled out from under the seat. The woman screamed, and she and Father quickly separated.
Kitty stood up and stared at the two of them. Fresh, cool air hit her face, and her hair was all frizzy from her time under the blanket.
“Kitty,” her father spluttered. “What are you doing here?” His tone turned angry. “You snuck out? That was dangerous, and you know it.”
“What are you doing with her?” she interrupted.
Neither responded. They looked at each other.
Kitty studied the woman. She was obviously an actress, with long hair that she wore in styled ringlets. She was heavily rouged, and she wore massive earrings and strings of pearls and feathers on her bodice, which may have looked appealing on a stage from far away– but up close, she looked chaotic and disorderly and the opposite of Mother.
“I should go,” the woman got out.
“Wait–” Father said, and tried to hold onto the end of her shawl, but she tugged it out of his grasp and left the carriage.
Father closed the door and gestured for Kitty to take a seat.
“You shouldn’t have been here tonight.”
“Because you were going to be with another woman!” she burst out. “How could you? Does Mother know?”
“No,” said Father, “and we’re going to keep it that way. Don’t you see, Kitty? If she finds out, she’ll be heartbroken. You can’t tell her.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “But… but what you’re doing… It’s awful. And I’m not supposed to lie to people.”
“Think, my dear,” urged her father. “You don’t want to hurt Mother. Sometimes…” He paused. “... We must do bad things for good reasons.”
She briefly wondered what the ‘good reason’ was behind his relationship with the actress.
“Right?”
She nodded.
Father stepped out of the carriage to tell the driver to take them home.
When they arrived, before they left the carriage, he nodded to her. “You’re a good daughter, Kitty. You’re doing something very kind for Mother.”
Kitty said nothing, just combed her fingers through her messy hair and jumped out of the carriage. Father held her hand on the way into the house and dropped her off with the nanny, who gave her a good scolding.
And Kitty never did tell Mother about her father’s infidelity. Her knowing the truth would have made everything far more difficult. She didn’t know how much longer his affairs continued for, and she never asked.
Only a year after the carriage incident, she was sent to finishing school.
She was assigned a room, which she shared with another girl of the same age. Later on, she wouldn’t even be able to remember the roommate’s name. They spent their first few years together in a friendship filled with constant conflict: they’d fight, then make up and swear it wouldn’t happen again, but it always did. When Kitty was 13 or so, the other girl was moved back home with her family, and she never saw her again.
Kitty had already become popular from that drama, but after the other girl left, she became popular based on her own merits. She was growing beautiful: her hair had darkened to an ebony shade, and her face was starting to gain definition. She was at the top of every class. She could sing prettily, dance gracefully, and write with eloquence, and her manners improved every year.
With her newfound superiority to her peers, Kitty found that she quite enjoyed toying with them, playing little mind-games. Lies could preserve your mother’s innocence and keep your family together; they could also make you beloved, get you easy revenge, and reassure you that you were still, and had always been, the smartest one in the room.
Sometimes it was for tangible benefit, like scheming to become head of the school’s choir, and sometimes it was for no benefit at all, like making another girl cry just because she could. Kitty never found it difficult to outwit anyone, and she felt the need to keep testing the theory over and over again, trying to see how far she could go. It turned out that the answer was ‘as far as she wanted.’ She never received consequences, and she remained one of the most well-respected, envied girls of her grade, if not the whole school.
At some point, she developed her first crush on a girl, but she quickly ignored those feelings.
By the time of her graduation in 1910, Kitty was 16, about to turn 17. She was finally wearing full-length skirts and pinning up her hair. She had made it. In an environment full of wealth, delicate connections, and competition, some girls didn’t. They broke down, gave up on their schooling, and went home to their country estates; or they suffered an embarrassment and became forever shunned; or they drifted by, pathetic and unnoticed, their faces unremarkable and conversation bland, and went off to average marriages with average men.
Kitty was none of those girls. She had made it through by being more beautiful and talented and intelligent than all of the others. A bright future awaited her– one that she unquestionably deserved.
She accepted her diploma gratefully and drove back down to Boston with her parents and one sister, who had come to see the ceremony. Kitty didn’t know or care much about her siblings. She had two sisters and a brother, but she had never been close with any of them. As they traveled over the bumpy country roads in their automobile, Kitty opened the window and let the breeze run over her face to avoid a conversation.
When Kitty was presented in society, everyone was immediately impressed with her, as she had predicted they would be. It wasn’t a surprise when her parents started to talk about giving her a career beyond being a simple socialite; how would she feel about involving herself in the theatre? She wondered briefly if this idea was inspired by her father’s particular interest in the industry, but she ignored the thought and said that yes, she would like to try.
Her father got in contact with one of his oldest friends, Mr. Reed, whom Kitty had known for years. He was a director, and he found a way to get her a minor role in a production, and then another, and then another, until she was playing Ophelia in Hamlet– fitting enough, considering her middle name. This was the first role that she had had that had really shown off her talents. When they took their final bows at the end, the audience roared in approval for the young woman with the sweet face. She had been so endearing and convincing and true and tragic that she had won all of their hearts at only 17 years old.
After the performance, she cleaned up in the dressing room– the first time she had ever had one of her own. She stared at herself in the mirror, pleased with how everything had gone, thinking that she should reward herself somehow. Once she finished changing, she left to reunite with her family.
They were standing with a young man, who was the first to greet her. He shook her hand enthusiastically. “Miss Hughes, I just adore the theatre, and you… you show me exactly why.”
She gave him her nicest, most confident smile. “Thank you.”
“This is Mr. Sheehan,” her father said.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, and the man blushed. She turned to her mother. “Should we be going?”
The next day, Kitty went out in the city by herself, wearing a basic day dress so that she didn’t attract unwanted attention. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for until she paused by the front window of a jewelry store. She liked jewelry. She should buy herself something nice.
Inside, she found a beautiful pair of earrings, silver and tiny and delicate. She bought them immediately, knowing that although they were expensive, she was soon to start earning far more money than what her father would give her as allowance. She left the shop with the earrings in a velvet box, feeling immensely satisfied.
In the next few weeks, she started seeing more and more of Mr. Sheehan from the play. He appeared at every dinner party and dance, and he visited her father to talk business in the hopes that Kitty would be around. Sometimes she was, sometimes she wasn’t. She found his devotion oddly adorable. Eventually, she decided to act on it. When he asked if they could begin courting, she said yes, not thinking much of it.
Their whole relationship was her not thinking much of it. Had she been seeing Sheehan or not, her life would have been mostly the same. She continued to perform in Hamlet. Her going out with Sheehan didn’t even make much of a difference in the amount of suitors she attracted, since everyone still refused to accept that they didn’t have a chance with her. She moved on from Sheehan to Danny, and then to Joe. None lasted long, and she hadn’t been in love with any of them. She wasn’t going to lie to herself: she knew it was because she had never trusted a man. She simply hadn’t met any good examples. Her father was a cheater; her manager, Mr. Reed, was a pathetic little man who complimented everything she did; Sheehan had been unremarkable; and so were the rest. At some point, she carried out a brief relationship with a girl, a fellow socialite named Amelia. It was nice, and Kitty didn’t carry much fear of being discovered because, as far as she had seen, she could do whatever she wanted and her parents would be none the wiser– but she didn’t love Amelia, either.
Next came Roger.
She didn’t love him any more than the others, but she couldn’t deny that he was a handsome, charismatic man. He was young, wealthy, and well-connected, and they were something of a golden couple together.
In public.
In private, he drank too much and threw her around like a rag doll. He had always been too physically aggressive, but one day, when she told him that she wouldn’t be seen with him in that state, with his face glowing red and strands of his hair falling over his forehead, he slapped her.
Kitty stumbled back, not so much from the blow as from the icy shock running through her veins. He stalked closer to her.
“What’s wrong with you?” she said in a high-pitched tone. “I won’t be near you when you’re like this.”
“Fine,” Roger said, and thankfully didn’t try to lay a hand on her again. He just stood there in the center of his parlor, swaying slightly. “You can go.”
Kitty took her things and practically ran out the front door. She stopped at the stone walkway to catch her breath. She’d never been hit before, not even when she was a child. A hatred for Roger started to bloom in her stomach.
But the next day, he rang her up to apologize. “I wasn’t myself,” he said. She could hear him sigh into the microphone. “Will you forgive me?”
She did forgive him. She didn’t leave him. He was still handsome. And it had only been one slap, after all. She could handle that.
But she still didn’t love him. She developed a relationship on the side with a man named Paul. She didn’t feel so bad about cheating on Roger because he deserved it. She gained some sort of sick pleasure from the idea of making him upset, although she didn’t want to see what the consequences would be if he ever found out. She wasn’t going to test her luck.
The motion picture industry was starting to become more popular. For a while, films had been growing in length and scope. A decade ago, you could see a single gymnastics routine captured in moving images; now, you could see a full story play out. Kitty and her family sometimes went to showings at movie palaces. Even the poor could go to little nickelodeon theaters and witness the magic of film.
Mr. Reed, Kitty’s manager, proposed getting her a role in a film. She agreed. Her parents fawned over Reed, as usual. You’re so good to her– The reason for our success– Our dear friend. She didn’t dislike Reed, but she didn’t care for him. If she was going to do a film, that was her choice and hers alone. She could have easily refused.
When Kitty started in the film industry, she didn’t have to work her way up. The first role Reed found for her was a main character. At the film premiere, she and her co-stars were called up to the stage for a bow. They forced her forward to do a curtsy all by herself. She gazed into the crowd but couldn’t see any faces she recognized, which somehow made her feel better. It was a shapeless mass of smiling people, and all of them liked her.
Beaming, she touched her own cheek, feeling a pretty blush starting to form. She was wearing her Ophelia earrings. She gestured for everyone to join her in another bow.
She starred in several more films, and her fame grew. Instead of being simply popular with the rich, she was a figure beloved by all classes, as movies were more accessible to the general public than the elite theaters she had been performing in.
Kitty grew an obsession with checking her reputation over and over again. She perused magazines to see what was written about her. (All positive things.) She listened to others’ quiet conversations, paying attention to how they described her. (Positively.)
Roger hit her on two more separate occasions.
One day, she was walking in the street, watching the poor people go about their day. There was an advertisement for a nickelodeon posted on the wall next to her. Lightly curious, she paid her nickel and went inside.
A man was playing piano in the corner of the dark room. Everyone was clustered together, whispering, eyes fixed on the screen.
“Who’s that actor? He’s gorgeous,” said a woman in front of her.
“Don’t you know anything, Millie?” said another. “That’s Abie Myers!”
“Well, I know now,” Millie shot back at the girl who must have been her sister.
Who the hell was Abie Myers?
Kitty moved closer to the screen. He must be the lead. Some guy with a stupid-looking mustache and dark eyes. Come to think of it, she might have heard the name before.
But not as many times as she had heard praise of herself. Logically, she knew that she had nothing to worry about. People liked her. She and Myers could exist in the same industry at the same time.
But she still wished to be seeing herself up on that screen. Why had the girl known Myers by sight, but not her? She’d been standing right behind them.
She’d have to work harder than before, keep working until she was easily recognizable. It occurred to her that she still lived with her parents. She should get her own place. She should get more control over the roles she took. Her parents and Reed would see that she could take care of herself. Myers would be jealous of her.
That idea made her very happy.
So she bought her own penthouse apartment, where she wouldn’t be bothered by anyone. She still visited with her family several times a week and came to realize that she much preferred her parents and siblings in small doses. She liked to bring entire plates of food to her room and eat them sitting on her bed. She could do whatever she wanted.
Although she grew fond of isolation– a little too fond–, she still attended gatherings and parties. On New Year’s Eve, Roger hosted a celebration at his house. He invited most of his friends, all of whom were rich people in their 20s. Kitty felt far more free without the oppressive presence of her parents’ crowd.
Paul was there. She spent much of the night staring at him from Roger’s side. Which one should she kiss at midnight? She liked being able to choose– it was her own delightful secret.
She drank some champagne and started to feel lightheaded. Not enough to make her actually drunk– that would have been unwise. She wanted just enough to feel she was floating. The dress she had chosen was silver, patterned with black embroidery. She held a transparent black shawl around her arms demurely.
A little before midnight, she pulled Paul into a side room. She didn’t know where Roger thought she was, and she didn’t care.
“I wanted to get away the moment we walked in here,” she whispered, her hands wrapped around Paul’s shoulders. She tilted her head up so that their lips were almost touching. “You-know-who just wouldn’t let me go.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “What do you want to do?”
“Whatever you want.”
The door opened, and a man peered inside. Kitty pushed Paul away, but it was too late; he had seen them.
“I was looking for the coatroom,” the man said timidly.
Kitty recalled that he was a friend of Roger’s, and her heart sank further. Mr. King. That was who he was.
“What are you… doing?” said Mr. King. “You’re still together with Roger, aren’t you?”
For the first time in a long time, she was lost for words. Her whole body was paralyzed with fear. She had been playing her little game against Roger, but whenever a thought came up of what would happen if he found out, she pushed it back and back. He wasn’t going to find out, so what did it matter?
But now King might tell him, and drunk, violent Roger might make a return. He was drunk right now on champagne and brandy. Oh, God. Her parents weren’t here. She didn’t know how she was going to get out of this.
“You didn’t see anything,” she said to Mr. King, her voice quavering. “You– You can’t tell Roger.”
Paul had his hands in his pockets, his face turned down uncomfortably.
Mr. King just looked deeply offended on behalf of Roger. “I can’t believe this.”
He turned back and walked through the door. Kitty ran to catch up with him.
In the dark hallway, she fought to remember his first name. King… William King. “William!” She spun him around. She was breathing heavily, panicked. “You can’t tell Roger. You don’t know what he’s like. He’s drunk right now, and he gets angry and physical. He’s going to beat me. He’s hit me before. He’s going to do it again if you tell him.”
William shook his head, confusion etched across his face. “Roger? Roger wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’ve known him a long time.”
“So have I!” she exclaimed.
“Why should I believe you’re telling the truth?” he said. “You’re lying to him every time you’re with… the other man. How could you do it? Roger’s a good friend. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”
She shook her head, still too shocked to cry. “No, he’s not. I can’t stand him.”
Kitty realized that what she was saying wouldn’t make sense. She was going out with Roger, yet she hated him. She was usually a liar, but she wasn’t lying about his abuse.
William turned away and went down the staircase to the hall where everyone else was gathered. Kitty remained frozen in place in the dark.
Paul was probably still waiting in the room, too scared to leave. Asshole.
The clock struck midnight, and everyone cheered. It was now 1915.
Kitty pulled herself together enough to gingerly walk down the stairs. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
When she made eye contact with Roger, it was obvious that William had told him what had happened. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes. He came to her and kissed her soundly on the lips.
“Happy new year,” he said. “Can I walk you home?”
She nodded but then realized her mistake. She should stay here, in a crowd of people, where Roger couldn’t hurt her.
But it was too late. They headed out. The walk back to Kitty’s penthouse was the worst five minutes of her life. She didn’t know how her legs kept moving. She thought she was going to faint at any moment.
She unlocked the apartment door, and Roger followed her inside.
He traced the patterns on her tablecloth with his finger. “Where were you just before midnight?”
“What?”
“You disappeared.” He slammed a hand down on the table. “King told me that you were off with some other man.”
“I was with Paul.”
“Paul?” He looked up at her, his face a confusing mix of expressions. “And you’re not going to deny it?”
“Stay away from me,” she said weakly. “I don’t love you. I never have. I hate you.”
He took her by the hair and hit her in the face.
Hours later, Roger had long since gone, and Kitty was lying broken on the floor. The maid came in the early hours of the morning, found her, and immediately called for help.
If the maid hadn’t arrived, she might have died. Roger had given her a face covered in bruises, a broken arm, two broken ribs, and God knew what head injuries. She had passed out from the pain and dizziness.
The recovery took two months, most of which she spent in her room. It was a testament to her stellar reputation that no one thought she was hiding a pregnancy.
Or maybe some people thought that. She refused to leave the house to find out.
She allowed her family members to visit her, but not until her face healed up. After all evidence of a beating was gone, and only her broken arm remained, she said she had suffered a fall. The stairs at her building were notoriously steep. She didn’t want to go out in public until she could take her arm out of its sling.
She spent lots of time staring into her mirror, trying to make sure that her features were unchanged. Her nose hadn’t broken, so it went back to its nice, smooth slope. Her split lip healed up, and the small, pouty shape of her mouth returned.
The only visible sign of what Roger had done to her was a tiny scar on her upper cheek, which she guessed had been inflicted by a fingernail. Over two months, it never went away. She took to applying a tiny bit of foundation and powder over it each day to cover it up.
She finally started going out in public again. She signed her contract to do another film. She had had a brief illness, she told Mr. Reed, but she was ready to start working again. How glad he was to hear it!
The sickly sweetness he employed to speak to her made her uncomfortable, rather than proud and superior, as it always had.
She was changed, and she knew it. She looked upon everyone she met with suspicion. She didn’t carry on any more relationships with men, preferring to have affairs with women in dark rooms. Every man reminded her of Roger in some way or another.
Roger moved out of Boston in the two months she remained convalescing. She didn’t have to see him, and she was glad for it.
But she always wondered what would happen if she were to encounter William King again. He had been instrumental in the destruction of her spirit. She took to spreading rumors and falsehoods about everyone she interacted with, feeling that people as a whole were like King: naive but not harmless. She had to stay one step ahead of all of them. But, at the same time, she had to hide her overwhelming hatred for everyone around her; revealing it wouldn’t do for her fame and reputation.
So she perfected the persona that she adopted around everyone, including her family: chin slightly down to show off her eyes, hands folded, gentle smiles. At some point, she met Abie Myers, who turned out to be just as obnoxious as she had imagined. It took effort to keep her pretty, neutral face, but she did so, knowing that she was simply biding her time.
She was unstoppable.
Roger had tried to harm her, humiliate her, and take away her strength, but she was going to get the last laugh. She was going to increase by tenfold everything that had made her so successful: her talent, her beauty, her intelligence, her ability to lie and manipulate. She was going to become so powerful, adored, and controlled that she would never feel weak again.
Kitty’s next film premiered in the summer of 1915. She got ready at her mirror, making sure to cover up the tiny scar on her cheek. She put on those earrings she had bought four years ago. Looking at her reflection, she decided that they didn’t match the rest of her outfit, so she chose different ones.
​
THE END

Ok, so I'd like to start off by saying that I really appreciate how George has played the game so far. Sure, he can be a lot at times with his over the top shenanigans, but even that is not his fault, cause it's mostly caused by the production giving him this larger than life edit. However, he's a big fan of the show who can think many steps ahead and I respect his gameplay and dedication so much. Even though he has no physical chops to back himself up, he's not afraid to go out there and play like a madman, which provides some great TV and proves that he's indeed a great player.
Now, with that being said, I can't describe how pissed I am at his decision to go against Liz and keep Matt in the game. He knows damn well that Matt and Gerry have no intention whatsoever of taking him to FTC, so after 40+ days of constantly dodging bullets and fighting like crazy for that crown he's decided to hand it over to a shadow of a player like Matt and settle for the 3rd place? What?
On top of that, I really feel that had he given her some agency and acknowledgement for her strategic thinking, he possibly could've been able to somehow persuade Liz to take him to the end. I'm not saying that would definitely happen, but it was a possibility worth exploring, cause it's either that or running into a brick wall with Matt and Gerry, so what's there to loose?
Also, by just siding with them at the tribal, he hasn't done much to preserve his relationship with Gerry and Matt, cause Nina told Matt where her and Liz's votes were going and that George is in the loop as well, so Matt will most likely be suspicious of George anyway and I'm not sure if he'll buy that it was all Liz and Nina and that George had no idea what was going on. So, now after all we've seen and after this whole season revolving around him, George has set himself up for the 3rd place at best, if Liz doesn't win the next immunity, in that case he's gone at 4.
But what pisses me off even more is how he's mistreated Liz, who's been there for him from day one and stayed loyal even after he completely screwed her over by taking out Shonee. Now not only does he have no chance at winning, but he's also made her path to the end extremely difficult. She basically needs to win both immunities till the end to have a chance at winning. So, he lost his only remote chance of appearing at that FTC and along the way he completely screwed Liz over once again, all while talking about humanity.
All in all, seems like we're in for a really underwhelming ending of what could've been an epic season, so I'm gonna leave it at that. You may or may not agree, I don't even care, I just came here to vent and express my feelings. It's been interesting discussing the season here, see you next week to finalize what we've started.

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Cover

41 – Too Easy

There were many ways to access the CARF. Some of them were proper, controlled and regulated, while others were less conventional and reserved only for situations that needed them. Others still were totally secret, known only to a handful of people. The one that the Cromwell-Grassman family decided to use, which was deemed the safest, required them to go through the Quadrangle. Which, considering that the Quadrangle was entirely under PsyOps control, went a long way towards explaining just how unsafe and risky the other methods were.
They had opted to move together for the most part, resorting to splitting up only when strictly necessary. It didn’t matter if they needed to break their covers this time around either, because they were going to redo the whole thing another time anyway after Albert rewound time with the Hazegem. This was a trial run, to figure out the extent of the measures set in place by the rogue operatives and the response of whatever form of hierarchy was still functioning as it was before most of the command structure got compromised.
The trip by car took a couple of hours. It could not be skipped, however, since the teleportation device Albert got from the System was still in the process of being studied, and also because he had never been to the Quadrangle himself. He sat in the rear seat of grandpa’s yellow sports car, feeling like he was on one of those family trips he remembered from his childhood but never managed to recall quite well enough. The ‘adults’, if one wants to define them that way even though Albert was an adult himself, were discussing ways to access the security measures of the Quadrangle without triggering the alarms, and making a list that would be then sent to him via text message. This way it could be preserved through time travel.
As they did so, he fiddled with the piece of junk that once was the PTD, or the teleportation device. He had no dreams of repairing it in the two hours he had, but any headway he made here was less work he would have to do later, and one never knows when yet another piece of magic could come in handy. Eventually though the Quadrangle was finally visible at the horizon, and Albert lost all interest in fixing the small circular device.
“That’s the Quadrangle?” He asked, excited. “Holy shit.”
“Oh yeah, kid.” His grandpa replied from the driver seat. “Pretty cool, eh?”
Indeed, it was like he was seeing something straight out of a science fiction movie. The Quadrangle had tall, black walls that sported a multitude of tiny windows, probes and antennae, balconies and small structures that seemed to grow out of the concrete without rhyme or reason. As they got closer, Albert realized that the structure itself was not made of concrete, but of a strange composite material that was sleek and shiny under the rays of the morning sun. Then, the structure faded from view as the family ditched the road and ventured towards a deep gorge in the desertic landscape.
Admittedly, it wasn’t much of a desert. The rains of the last few days had meant that all the greenery – plants and flowers whose seeds had been dormant in the ground for years – had bloomed and the later frost had sealed the verdant carpets of plants into a tomb of ice. The road was not well maintained at all, but Lloyd’s skilled driving meant that they reached their destination without much delay.
There were two guards standing before a steel door built in the side of the rock at the bottom of the gorge. They wore standard military uniform, their mimetic patterns adapted to the desertic landscape painting big targets of the men standing amidst the greenery and the ice. Before the car was even close, in fact, and before they could even take out their weapons, they were shot with deadly precision by Samantha poking out of the passenger window, and dropped to the ground.
“Huh,” Albert’s mother hummed, examining the weapon in her hands with interest. “Your enhancing magic really did a number on this thing. I’m impressed.”
Albert smiled, proud of his work. He had turned a simple tranq gun into a veritable assault weapon-slash-sniper capable of putting down targets from impressive distances. It cost him a lot of mana, but his regeneration was high enough that he could refill his pool in less than an hour.
“Okay. Onto the door. Usually there would be a passcode, but if we use it, they will know we are here. I’ll take care of disabling the security, Lloyd you stand watch. Albert, you do… stretching or whatever, but be ready.”
As soon as Mother gave the signal, Albert approached the door with heavy steps. His feet sunk into the ground slightly, and his body struggled to carry the heavy steel bar he took from the trunk of the car even with [Strengthening] at full power. Once he was close enough, he inhaled and charged. The thick metal bar was like a sieging ram, hitting the door with incredible force. It only took a handful of hits, and a lot of sweat on Albert’s part even in the arctic temperatures for the hinges to finally give way, and another good hit sent the door sprawling open.
Albert rushed in, right as a smoke grenade exploded at his feet, hiding him from sight. He barreled through in the accelerated speed of [Bullet Time], the shield granted to him by his ring shimmering around him to keep the smoke out, until he felt that he had seen enough and disappeared. When he reappeared from teleporting out of the tunnel, all the targets he had painted for his mother and grandfather to shoot were already down.
“Good work.” Samantha said. “Let’s go.”
***
“Don’t kill them!” The man shouted, looking at the screen. It was surrounded by other screens, all black from when the video feed was cut. “Wound them. Tire them out. But don’t kill them. I want her for myself.”
“But sir, your orders—”
“Ha! You obey me, not them.” The man said. “Your orders are the orders I give you. Nothing else. You understand?”
Beside the man, another man covered from head to toe in small trinkets made of brass and glass stood a full head shorter than him.
“Let’s go,” PsyOps said. “We have stuff to do before she arrives at the CARF.”
***
Getting to the Quadrangle was the easy part, really. It was once they got there that things became suddenly a lot more difficult. The improvised team had to traverse at least two full sides of the structure undetected, reach the secret access point to the CARF, and then hack it as to make it work without a code. Fortunately, a strange event happened as soon as they emerged from the service tunnel they used to reach the structure.
“A notification. From… the Quadrangle itself?” Samantha said, a bit shaken.
She pulled out her phone and looked at the live video feed of the room they were. There were squares painted around their heads, displaying their name and designation, all marked as friendlies. There was a square for Albert too, but instead of being green it was black with white borders, and there was no designation at all. It was disconcerting, considering that they were sure they had cut the feeds when they hacked the cameras, but even more unsettling was the message that came with the video.
>I can help you reach ACCESS:CARF#03
“Is that the Quadrangle itself speaking to you?” Lloyd asked, peeking at the footage on the phone. “Never happened to me. Lucky you.”
Samantha frowned. “Never happened to me neither, before now. I was the one talking to it, not the other way around.”
“Should we trust it?” Albert said.
Lloyd shrugged. “I say yes. We get a redo in case it was a trap.”
Thus, the hard leg of the journey became unexpectedly easy. They navigated through the complicated and dizzying maze of corridors following the instructions of the all-knowing sovereign of the place, who instructed them on which routes to take, when to stop and hide, and when to shoot their way through. No alarms were triggered during the whole journey, and although Samantha never felt quite at ease at the thought of the unexpected helper, nothing happened to make her think that she was being played.
However, things were looking a bit too easy for her tastes. And she knew full well that there was no such mission as a perfect mission. PsyOps and SpaceOps were completely missing from the picture too, which was very suspicious. Something was bound to go incredibly wrong.
***
“Albert, if you ever need to rewind, rewind back to this moment. If you do that we’ll see you disappear before our eyes and then teleport in, right?”
“Yes, that’s how it looks from the—”
Silence.
“Shit.”
One full minute passed. Then two. Then three. Neither Samantha nor Lloyd dared move a muscle.
“He rewound.”
“Yes.”
“Why is he not reappearing?”
“He’s not supposed to reappear here. It’s not how rewinds work.”
“But he should have teleported here as soon as he finished rewinding.”
“Yes.”
“But he hasn’t.”
“He hasn’t.”
“Which means…”
“Something’s wrong.”
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Rate this story on Royal Road! Earth's Chosen Royal Road
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Everywhere at the end of Time
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Isekai of the Ultimate Ritualist
Immense Space

This was, by far, the sleaziest place we’d stopped for supplies. At least while I’d been part of the crew. For all I knew, the upstanding little courier starship had visited some real dives under previous leadership, but Captain Sunlight was both respectable and smart.
I wondered whose idea it was to stop at this freewheeling anarchy market, set up on an asteroid that somebody had installed a gravity generator on. There was an atmosphere too, and a wide variety of stalls on this mile-long hunk of rock, but not much in the way of oversight.
I saw two different fistfights in progress among the other ships while we exited onto the landing pad.
“Okay,” announced Captain Sunlight, standing as tall as she could — which wasn’t much, lizardy little thing that she was, but she looked dignified — “Mimi, Blip, and Blop, come with me. Trrili, take one or two others with you. Anyone else object to staying to guard the ship?”
There was a hearty chorus of no’s. Zhee turned a faceted eye on the pair of bystanders walking a little too close, clicking his pincher arms at them until they scooted away. In the distance, something that looked like fireworks colored the sky.
A polite claw tapped my elbow.
“Want to come with?” asked Coals, the Heatseeker with dull red scales. He was both shorter and stockier than the captain, and more importantly, he was good friends with Trrili. “It’s a pretty interesting place; I’ve been here once before.”
“How safe is it?” I asked, wanting to be convinced. There were some bizarre things for sale in the stalls visible from here.
“Should be fine as long as we’re careful,” he said. “Especially with her around.” He lifted his chin towards the insectile horror that loomed over him.
Trrili loved looming. “Yessss,” she said. “Essspessssially with me.” She flexed her own pinchers, glossy black to Zhee’s purple, and chuckled darkly. The red patterns on her carapace were especially vivid in the light of the nearby sun.
I smiled. Trrili was terrifying, but she was our terrifying. “Sure. I’d love to come.”
Coals aimed a claw in the opposite direction of the one that Captain Sunlight was looking towards. “Pretty sure I saw some Earth animals for sale as we landed.”
“Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” I asked. “Lead the way!”
We checked in with the captain, promised to be careful, and were off. I had some interplanetary credits in my pocket that I didn’t really plan on spending, but it was good to be prepared.
I also had a mini stun gun in a different pocket.
This place was just as chaotic as I’d expected, like an alien farmer’s market with a distinct lowlife element. Here was a humanoid selling pottery that glowed; there was a tentacle alien selling food that moved; over there was a would-be pickpocket getting the tar beaten out of them by a large hairy whatsit. A hand appeared around the corner of another stall to grab a power cell and disappear.
I kept my own hands close to my pockets, wishing I’d worn something with zipper pouches.
“Ah,” said Trrili. “There is the media.” She didn’t bother hissing in normal conversation, but as she led us over to a booth lined with shelves and run by small individuals, I fully expected the intimidation to come out soon.
Just before we reached it, Coals rapped a knuckle on her foreleg. “Hey. We’ll be at the end of the row. See?” He pointed.
“Yessss,” Trrili agreed.
With a nod, Coals left her to her bargaining, and waved me onward. I was a little concerned about this, but the end of the row wasn’t far. We could yell for her to come charging over if need be.
“See those guys in the solar ponchos?” Coals asked. He didn’t need to point.
I squinted. “Hard not to.” The clothes that the two plant-like people wore weren’t as bright as the actual sun, but they sure were unpleasant to look at. The other shopkeepers were giving them some distance, leaving space between their little cart and the proper stalls. Aside from the eye-searing fashion, they had ropy green limbs and faces like rose blossoms that wanted to be mandibles. Fleshy maroon, sharptoothed mouth in the middle, at least half a dozen eyes scattered throughout. More than a little creepy.
“I was watching with the mag lens earlier,” Coals said. “With the classification setting. They’ve got the Earth animals.” He was watching my face as he said it.
The series of expressions that I went through were probably interesting to see as I got a proper look at what was on that cart.
Earth animals, yay! Which ones? Those look like fishbowls. But there’s no water inside, just … fur? Are those cats shoved in fishbowls??
I felt my face grow stony. “Coals,” I said. “Who do we report animal cruelty to around here?” One of the plant guys was waving a bowl around, shouting about potted predators. A passerby turned him down, and he yelled an insult after them.
“Uh, nobody.”
I watched the guy hold up a different one and say something about food paste squeezed in through the lid. When he flipped the cap to demonstrate, piteous mewling filtered out. “What about theft?” I asked.
“Also no.”
“Good,” I said, voice flat. “Go get Trrili, then help me steal these.”
​
* * *
​
It took less convincing than I thought. Trrili already had her selection of media in a bag slung behind her, and she chuckled evilly. Coals cracked his knuckles and talked strategy. Then we went for it.
“Hello,” I said, approaching the sellers alone. “How many of these do you have?”
“Everything on this cart,” said the taller one with the bigger blossom head. “Limited supply, very valuable; get them before they’re gone.” He picked up a fishbowl full of gray fur, turning it like a fine art appreciator. A tiny face with big eyes peered out, meowing silently. Stars, these were kittens.
“You don’t have a source for more?” I asked, trying to sound unimpressed.
“These are very exotic, from a far away planet,” he said.
The shorter one bent to pull a big bowl from the bottom shelf of the cart. “Perhaps we can interest you in a larger model? It’s one of a kind.”
That’s the mother cat. Good. I straightened up. “I’ll take all of them,” I said. “Every one you have.”
The sleazy pair chortled and fawned and named a price that could have bought a single-seater spaceship.
I pulled out my tiny stun gun and aimed it at the tall one. “No. I’ll just be taking them.”
They of course laughed at me, and pulled out their own weapons, which Coals had spotted and identified through the holsters. These were also stun guns, but a bigger and more painful model that put mine to shame.
They weren’t, however, very effective on people with exoskeletons.
Trrili leapt out from behind the nearest stall, crossing the distance in a heartbeat of flashing black-and-red limbs, then reared up to stand over them with her pinchers flared, shrieking at earsplitting volume.
I’d already ducked to the side, so while they stumbled back and aimed, I got a great view of Coals jumping forward to grab their stupid ponchos and yank them off their feet.
One of them shot Trrili in the foreleg, making her hiss a little, but the other didn’t even manage that. And before I could use my little peashooter, Coals had tackled them and wrestled the guns from both. With an oversized stun gun in each hand, he got to his feet and aimed at the pair, just daring them to try something, like the tree-foot-tall badass he was.
“What did we do to you??” asked the tall one, rubbing his wrist but otherwise holding still.
“Yeah, how did we piss you off?” the smaller one demanded, eyes locked on Trrili.
I stepped forward with anger in my voice. “You didn’t offend either of them,” I said. “You offended me.” At their baffled silence, I continued. “Where did you get these animals? And what makes you think it’s okay to keep them contained like that?”
They both answered at once, and neither was terribly helpful. Some space trader somewhere. They didn’t even know where the cats were from.
“They’re from my planet,” I informed them. “And they should never be treated like this. Any human can tell you that.”
Their answer was just mumbling that sounded like “Yeah, okay.”
“Have you ever met a human before?” I asked, stepping closer. I leaned in. “My people eat things that look like you.”
They held very still, and didn’t object when Trrili pulled their cart away. Coals stepped back to follow, stun guns still aimed.
I put mine back in my pocket and gave them a final glare. “Do not try this again,” I said. “Or I will know.” I turned on my heel and followed Trrili, with Coals bringing up the rear. He kept the guns.
Shopkeepers and bystanders watched in curiosity, but none seemed particularly bothered by any of that. I heard what sounded distinctly like laughter. As we walked away, the hustle and bustle that had quieted a bit gradually resumed its normal volume.
I took the cart handle from Trrili. “Thank you both.”
Trrili chuckled. “My pleassurrrre.”
“Yeah, happy to help,” Coals said, moving up to walk alongside. He looked over the half dozen bowls that were rattling a bit, though I tried to pull the janky cart smoothly. “When you said you’d know…”
I held my chin up. “As far as they can tell, I will,” I said. “Any psychic abilities on the part of humans is for them to worry about.”
Coals laughed quietly and found the safety settings for the stun guns, saying nothing.
We got the cart into the ship without any objection from the crewmates we passed, though there was a fair amount of curiosity. Trrili and Coals stopped to tell the story in the lounge while I made a beeline for the medbay.
“I require use of your scanners,” I told Eggskin, who was understandably surprised. But at the sight of the cats, they wasted no time in bringing out everything required for a full checkup. I made sure to scan for contagion first, cart and all. I certainly didn’t trust those sleazeballs to be sanitary.
“All clear,” Eggskin said. They pulled gloves on over yellow-green scales. “Do we have spare carrying crates in the storage hold?”
“Oh, good point. We should put the family together.” I opened the door and leaned into the hallway. “Hey, Mur! Could you please bring a mid-size carrying crate? It’s urgent.”
Mur had been going a different direction, but he turned readily on dark blue tentacles with a “Sure thing.”
“Thank you!” I called after him.
He was back in no time with the crate, an ideal size for us to put Mama Cat into after her scan. She was dehydrated, but didn’t show any signs of having been in there long. Good. A bit of proper food and a reunion ought to be just the thing.
When we put the first kitten in with her, the purring was so loud it brought tears to my eyes. Eggskin and I wasted no time in checking the others. They were all okay. Not even any fleas.
I was talking with Eggskin about where to keep them for the time being when the door opened to let Captain Sunlight in. A curious crowd waited in the hall.
I stood at attention. “I’m not apologizing,” I said over the tiny kitten mews.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t expect you to. Are you hoping to keep them onboard, though?”
I shook my head. “I’m sure I can find a home for them at the next space station. Anywhere with a lot of humans, really. These are little cuties, and the mom didn’t even hiss at me, so she ought to raise them to be friendly.”
Captain Sunlight nodded. “All right, then. How about you keep them in your quarters as soon as they’re clear to leave the medical bay?”
“Yes, I was thinking that would be best,” I said. “I’ll just have to be careful opening the door. Maybe I can rig a net as a barrier that I can step over, to at least slow them down.”
“I’ll leave you to figure out how to keep them from roaming the halls,” she said. “Or the engine room, or the cockpit.”
“Yes. I will.”
She left it at that, and opened the door to shoo people away from the convalescing animals. The cart was already out there with the empty bowls and the food paste that would be going in the kitchen trash.
I saw Paint rummaging around the miscellaneous junk on the lowest shelf, which I hadn’t bothered to touch. Her orange tail straightened with excitement. “Hey, there’s money in here!”
I winced. Captain Sunlight gave me an unreadable look.
I felt bad about it, but then I looked down at the kittens tumbling over their mother, each getting licked in turn, and the feeling vanished.
“We can buy cat food with that,” I said.
The captain nodded. “Of course.” Then she sighed. “Mimi is going to be insufferable. First we find a replacement hoverbike after all, now this.”
A gruff voice called from down the hall, “Told you it was a good idea to stop there!”
I grinned. “The cats thank you!”
A toothpaste-green octopus head popped into the doorway. “Name one after me,” said Mimi, waving a tentacle.
I grinned wider. “I think that’s a great name for a cat.”
~~~
The ongoing backstory of the main character from this book. More to come!
Cross-posted to Tumblr and HumansAreSpaceOrcs.

This was, by far, the sleaziest place we’d stopped for supplies. At least while I’d been part of the crew. For all I knew, the upstanding little courier starship had visited some real dives under previous leadership, but Captain Sunlight was both respectable and smart.
I wondered whose idea it was to stop at this freewheeling anarchy market, set up on an asteroid that somebody had installed a gravity generator on. There was an atmosphere too, and a wide variety of stalls on this mile-long hunk of rock, but not much in the way of oversight.
I saw two different fistfights in progress among the other ships while we exited onto the landing pad.
“Okay,” announced Captain Sunlight, standing as tall as she could — which wasn’t much, lizardy little thing that she was, but she looked dignified — “Mimi, Blip, and Blop, come with me. Trrili, take one or two others with you. Anyone else object to staying to guard the ship?”
There was a hearty chorus of no’s. Zhee turned a faceted eye on the pair of bystanders walking a little too close, clicking his pincher arms at them until they scooted away. In the distance, something that looked like fireworks colored the sky.
A polite claw tapped my elbow.
“Want to come with?” asked Coals, the Heatseeker with dull red scales. He was both shorter and stockier than the captain, and more importantly, he was good friends with Trrili. “It’s a pretty interesting place; I’ve been here once before.”
“How safe is it?” I asked, wanting to be convinced. There were some bizarre things for sale in the stalls visible from here.
“Should be fine as long as we’re careful,” he said. “Especially with her around.” He lifted his chin towards the insectile horror that loomed over him.
Trrili loved looming. “Yessss,” she said. “Essspessssially with me.” She flexed her own pinchers, glossy black to Zhee’s purple, and chuckled darkly. The red patterns on her carapace were especially vivid in the light of the nearby sun.
I smiled. Trrili was terrifying, but she was our terrifying. “Sure. I’d love to come.”
Coals aimed a claw in the opposite direction of the one that Captain Sunlight was looking towards. “Pretty sure I saw some Earth animals for sale as we landed.”
“Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” I asked. “Lead the way!”
We checked in with the captain, promised to be careful, and were off. I had some interplanetary credits in my pocket that I didn’t really plan on spending, but it was good to be prepared.
I also had a mini stun gun in a different pocket.
This place was just as chaotic as I’d expected, like an alien farmer’s market with a distinct lowlife element. Here was a humanoid selling pottery that glowed; there was a tentacle alien selling food that moved; over there was a would-be pickpocket getting the tar beaten out of them by a large hairy whatsit. A hand appeared around the corner of another stall to grab a power cell and disappear.
I kept my own hands close to my pockets, wishing I’d worn something with zipper pouches.
“Ah,” said Trrili. “There is the media.” She didn’t bother hissing in normal conversation, but as she led us over to a booth lined with shelves and run by small individuals, I fully expected the intimidation to come out soon.
Just before we reached it, Coals rapped a knuckle on her foreleg. “Hey. We’ll be at the end of the row. See?” He pointed.
“Yessss,” Trrili agreed.
With a nod, Coals left her to her bargaining, and waved me onward. I was a little concerned about this, but the end of the row wasn’t far. We could yell for her to come charging over if need be.
“See those guys in the solar ponchos?” Coals asked. He didn’t need to point.
I squinted. “Hard not to.” The clothes that the two plant-like people wore weren’t as bright as the actual sun, but they sure were unpleasant to look at. The other shopkeepers were giving them some distance, leaving space between their little cart and the proper stalls. Aside from the eye-searing fashion, they had ropy green limbs and faces like rose blossoms that wanted to be mandibles. Fleshy maroon, sharptoothed mouth in the middle, at least half a dozen eyes scattered throughout. More than a little creepy.
“I was watching with the mag lens earlier,” Coals said. “With the classification setting. They’ve got the Earth animals.” He was watching my face as he said it.
The series of expressions that I went through were probably interesting to see as I got a proper look at what was on that cart.
Earth animals, yay! Which ones? Those look like fishbowls. But there’s no water inside, just … fur? Are those cats shoved in fishbowls??
I felt my face grow stony. “Coals,” I said. “Who do we report animal cruelty to around here?” One of the plant guys was waving a bowl around, shouting about potted predators. A passerby turned him down, and he yelled an insult after them.
“Uh, nobody.”
I watched the guy hold up a different one and say something about food paste squeezed in through the lid. When he flipped the cap to demonstrate, piteous mewling filtered out. “What about theft?” I asked.
“Also no.”
“Good,” I said, voice flat. “Go get Trrili, then help me steal these.”
​
* * *
​
It took less convincing than I thought. Trrili already had her selection of media in a bag slung behind her, and she chuckled evilly. Coals cracked his knuckles and talked strategy. Then we went for it.
“Hello,” I said, approaching the sellers alone. “How many of these do you have?”
“Everything on this cart,” said the taller one with the bigger blossom head. “Limited supply, very valuable; get them before they’re gone.” He picked up a fishbowl full of gray fur, turning it like a fine art appreciator. A tiny face with big eyes peered out, meowing silently. Stars, these were kittens.
“You don’t have a source for more?” I asked, trying to sound unimpressed.
“These are very exotic, from a far away planet,” he said.
The shorter one bent to pull a big bowl from the bottom shelf of the cart. “Perhaps we can interest you in a larger model? It’s one of a kind.”
That’s the mother cat. Good. I straightened up. “I’ll take all of them,” I said. “Every one you have.”
The sleazy pair chortled and fawned and named a price that could have bought a single-seater spaceship.
I pulled out my tiny stun gun and aimed it at the tall one. “No. I’ll just be taking them.”
They of course laughed at me, and pulled out their own weapons, which Coals had spotted and identified through the holsters. These were also stun guns, but a bigger and more painful model that put mine to shame.
They weren’t, however, very effective on people with exoskeletons.
Trrili leapt out from behind the nearest stall, crossing the distance in a heartbeat of flashing black-and-red limbs, then reared up to stand over them with her pinchers flared, shrieking at earsplitting volume.
I’d already ducked to the side, so while they stumbled back and aimed, I got a great view of Coals jumping forward to grab their stupid ponchos and yank them off their feet.
One of them shot Trrili in the foreleg, making her hiss a little, but the other didn’t even manage that. And before I could use my little peashooter, Coals had tackled them and wrestled the guns from both. With an oversized stun gun in each hand, he got to his feet and aimed at the pair, just daring them to try something, like the tree-foot-tall badass he was.
“What did we do to you??” asked the tall one, rubbing his wrist but otherwise holding still.
“Yeah, how did we piss you off?” the smaller one demanded, eyes locked on Trrili.
I stepped forward with anger in my voice. “You didn’t offend either of them,” I said. “You offended me.” At their baffled silence, I continued. “Where did you get these animals? And what makes you think it’s okay to keep them contained like that?”
They both answered at once, and neither was terribly helpful. Some space trader somewhere. They didn’t even know where the cats were from.
“They’re from my planet,” I informed them. “And they should never be treated like this. Any human can tell you that.”
Their answer was just mumbling that sounded like “Yeah, okay.”
“Have you ever met a human before?” I asked, stepping closer. I leaned in. “My people eat things that look like you.”
They held very still, and didn’t object when Trrili pulled their cart away. Coals stepped back to follow, stun guns still aimed.
I put mine back in my pocket and gave them a final glare. “Do not try this again,” I said. “Or I will know.” I turned on my heel and followed Trrili, with Coals bringing up the rear. He kept the guns.
Shopkeepers and bystanders watched in curiosity, but none seemed particularly bothered by any of that. I heard what sounded distinctly like laughter. As we walked away, the hustle and bustle that had quieted a bit gradually resumed its normal volume.
I took the cart handle from Trrili. “Thank you both.”
Trrili chuckled. “My pleassurrrre.”
“Yeah, happy to help,” Coals said, moving up to walk alongside. He looked over the half dozen bowls that were rattling a bit, though I tried to pull the janky cart smoothly. “When you said you’d know…”
I held my chin up. “As far as they can tell, I will,” I said. “Any psychic abilities on the part of humans is for them to worry about.”
Coals laughed quietly and found the safety settings for the stun guns, saying nothing.
We got the cart into the ship without any objection from the crewmates we passed, though there was a fair amount of curiosity. Trrili and Coals stopped to tell the story in the lounge while I made a beeline for the medbay.
“I require use of your scanners,” I told Eggskin, who was understandably surprised. But at the sight of the cats, they wasted no time in bringing out everything required for a full checkup. I made sure to scan for contagion first, cart and all. I certainly didn’t trust those sleazeballs to be sanitary.
“All clear,” Eggskin said. They pulled gloves on over yellow-green scales. “Do we have spare carrying crates in the storage hold?”
“Oh, good point. We should put the family together.” I opened the door and leaned into the hallway. “Hey, Mur! Could you please bring a mid-size carrying crate? It’s urgent.”
Mur had been going a different direction, but he turned readily on dark blue tentacles with a “Sure thing.”
“Thank you!” I called after him.
He was back in no time with the crate, an ideal size for us to put Mama Cat into after her scan. She was dehydrated, but didn’t show any signs of having been in there long. Good. A bit of proper food and a reunion ought to be just the thing.
When we put the first kitten in with her, the purring was so loud it brought tears to my eyes. Eggskin and I wasted no time in checking the others. They were all okay. Not even any fleas.
I was talking with Eggskin about where to keep them for the time being when the door opened to let Captain Sunlight in. A curious crowd waited in the hall.
I stood at attention. “I’m not apologizing,” I said over the tiny kitten mews.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t expect you to. Are you hoping to keep them onboard, though?”
I shook my head. “I’m sure I can find a home for them at the next space station. Anywhere with a lot of humans, really. These are little cuties, and the mom didn’t even hiss at me, so she ought to raise them to be friendly.”
Captain Sunlight nodded. “All right, then. How about you keep them in your quarters as soon as they’re clear to leave the medical bay?”
“Yes, I was thinking that would be best,” I said. “I’ll just have to be careful opening the door. Maybe I can rig a net as a barrier that I can step over, to at least slow them down.”
“I’ll leave you to figure out how to keep them from roaming the halls,” she said. “Or the engine room, or the cockpit.”
“Yes. I will.”
She left it at that, and opened the door to shoo people away from the convalescing animals. The cart was already out there with the empty bowls and the food paste that would be going in the kitchen trash.
I saw Paint rummaging around the miscellaneous junk on the lowest shelf, which I hadn’t bothered to touch. Her orange tail straightened with excitement. “Hey, there’s money in here!”
I winced. Captain Sunlight gave me an unreadable look.
I felt bad about it, but then I looked down at the kittens tumbling over their mother, each getting licked in turn, and the feeling vanished.
“We can buy cat food with that,” I said.
The captain nodded. “Of course.” Then she sighed. “Mimi is going to be insufferable. First we find a replacement hoverbike after all, now this.”
A gruff voice called from down the hall, “Told you it was a good idea to stop there!”
I grinned. “The cats thank you!”
A toothpaste-green octopus head popped into the doorway. “Name one after me,” said Mimi, waving a tentacle.
I grinned wider. “I think that’s a great name for a cat.”
~~~
The ongoing backstory of the main character from this book. More to come!
Cross-posted to Tumblr and HFY.

I'm not particularly a religious person. I never really connected with the idea of believing in a God or a Devil; something like religion never really resonated with me until the night a few of my friends and I explored the Lockwood house.
My mother gave me a laptop this morning; she thought that it might help me cope or whatever so here I am, typing what I remember. I haven't been able to sleep; there's a shadow that stands in the corner of my hospital room at night, and sometimes I hear voices inside my head telling me to do things, and I'm terrified.
No one believes me. They keep stating that my traumatizing experience must have triggered my anxiety. They called it a dissociation or detachment from reality, I think. Whatever. I know that what I saw in that house was real, and what had happened to my friends actually did happen. We just wanted an experience. We never really stopped to evaluate the risks that might come with it.
I guess I'll start from the beginning.
It was Friday morning, and I decided to kill some time in the library across from my high school. The greatest thing about being in a library was the calming atmosphere. I leaned forward on the worn sofa and rolled my eyes as I turned the page.
What? I scoffed. Why is this even a thing someone would think is even remotely attractive?
[ I am a lot to handle, but I can assure you that you'll have fun handling me, love ]
Seriously? I've met drunk perverts hanging outside of bars with better pick up lines than that I thought to myself. I didn't think it could get any cringier until I read the next line.
[ My heart did an unexpected flip, startled by his bizarrely attractive smile ]
I frowned inwardly. You know what you really need instead of a creepy-ass stalker boyfriend? A cardiology consult
"So annoying," I sighed. How is this tripe a best seller?
"What's annoying?"
"Oh, shit." I squeaked. I sat upright and turned around, instinctively about to clog the person when I realized who it was. Harlen leaned up against the wall with a tilted smirk on his face. He stood between me and the fluorescents.
Harlen was a fellow classmate and a friend of Mark's, who was an older guy Albie, and I guess Harlen hung out with. Harlen was a tall, attractive guy with an athletic build, short obsidian hair, and grey eyes. To quote the main character in the novel, Harlen was the kind of trouble smarter girls than I had fallen into with disastrous results and a few regrets.
My cheeks flushed and I closed the book as he cocked his head at me. "Did I seriously scare you?" He joked, but his smile faltered slightly as I glared up at him.
"Dude," I groaned. "Don't sneak up on me like that,"
"What? I didn't sneak," He crossed his arms over his chest in protest. "No sneaking was involved. I just walked over here. And to be fair, this is a library-silence is sacred in a library so technically we're supposed to sneak. We're also the only ones in here right now anyway, so who cares."
My eyes did a pointed sweep of the decidedly empty area before settling back on Harlen's with an unamused glower. "Yeah," I said. "I'm pretty sure the zero other people in here appreciate the deceptive aura of calm. What are you doing here?"
"Well, actually I was doing some research for a paper I'm writing for English." He tightened his grip on his bookbag. "I was told I'd find you here," He explained.
"Why?" I asked. "I didn't tell anyone that I was here."
"I've got my ways of tracking people down."
When he saw my expression, Harlen rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on Kaya. I'm just kidding! Is it really that weird that I happen to be in here the same time as you?"
"I guess not."
"I'll let you get back to reading, then. Oh," He started. "I almost forgot. Meet us down at the Love Triangle for lunch. I found a cool place for us to urbex."
My friends and I loved urban exploring. Most of the time it was exciting and exhilarating. Sometimes it was a challenge; some places were remote enough that you could simply walk in through the front door like a welcomed visitor. Other times we would be forced to climb up over fences or crawl through windows.
There was this one time we decided to check out a drainage tunnel because a few people have sworn they heard ominous laughter coming from it. Water seeped into our clothes and we shivered at the coldness. I remember that I cracked a joke about the movie "IT" when we suddenly heard a loud BOOM right next to our heads. I have no idea what caused the sound, but I doubt that it was anything paranormal.
I was in the middle of stabbing at a large crouton with my fork when Harlen, Albie, and Jessica took their seats at the table.
"Hey, Kaya," Albie said as he sat down beside me. Albie and I have been friends since we were little. He was a skinny black guy with a box fade haircut and light brown eyes. We were neither popular nor unpopular. We were what some people called, "drifters" and, according to Albie, those whose social standings meant that if he made random eye contact with someone in the halls he would probably get a nod back, and maybe even a quick "Hey" or "What's up" If you didn't know us personally you'd likely assume that we were siblings, especially with the way we acted around each other most of the time.
"What took you guys so long?" I asked, pointing my fork in his direction.
"It was my fault. I'm sorry." He grumbled, as he unzipped his lunch bag. "Mr. Wizzner chastised me for like, ten minutes."
"To be fair, You were looking at your phone in class." Jessica said. Jessica was Albie's girlfriend, a petite girl with long blond hair, and hazel eyes. "And that wasn't the only thing,"
Albie sighed. "You're not wrong, but he's kind of an asshat."
"You should use that filter once in a while," Jessica said.
"Oh baby, since when have you known me to have such a filter?"
"Oh please," I scoffed. "You just choose not to use it."
Albie gave me a frown and tossed a baby carrot my way, which I was able to dodge easily.
Harlen cleared his throat as he pulled out his phone. "So, shall we get to it, then?"
The Lockwood house had been abandoned for years now, but a few people who have walked the trail close to the place have claimed they could see the spirits of the family walking around inside, and others had even heard music coming from the house. When they went to investigate, there was no one inside.
In 2010 Ethan Lockwood brutally murdered his wife, Anna Lockwood, and her parents Steven and Isabelle Thompson in the middle of the night. Authorities found Anna's parents dead in their bedroom; both of their bodies were in pieces, and their daughter's body was found in the basement. Anna had multiple blunt force head injuries and what's worse, her eyes and tongue were missing. Ethan's body was found in the living room with a shotgun beside him, and a deep laceration on his neck. People have compared this to the Amityville horror - which was a huge reason we were doing this.
"Get this," Harlen said, as he scrolled down. "There was a survivor - a ten year old boy. He also had a twin brother, but he was never found."
Some have assumed the father killed him and buried his body somewhere on the property, and others have assumed the boy escaped and is probably alive under a new identity. I guess we'll never know.
"Holy crap. What happened to the boy who survived?" I asked.
"I don't know. I guess that part was kept confidential," Albie said. "For the boy's protection I guess."
"Poor baby," Jessica frowned.
"So," Harlen said. "Are you guys up for it?"
◇
We all crawled into Harlen's truck around 6pm and headed to the Lockwood house. Albie took his video recorder and held it in front of his face. "Hey, what's up guys, gals, and nonbinary folks!" Albie spoke with conviction as he stared wide-eyed in the video recorder. "We're going to prove that ghosts are real!"
I rolled down the window and glanced out at the scenery. I laughed to myself when we passed a large cornfield. "Guys, this seriously looks like we're going straight into a modern day horror film."
"It really does," Jessica agreed.
"I can already feel this place, I'm beginning to sweat all over." Albie exclaimed as he turned his camera to the window then back on himself.
"Like something about this place isn't right at all? That's pretty understandable, considering." Harlen said, turning down a gravel road.
"We're gonna recieve a ton of views for this!" Albie smiled. He turned the camera toward Harlen who waved back from the review mirror.
"Dude," Harlen chuckled. "I bet some of these viewers are going to think you're crazy because you're willing to allow something to throw you across the room and-possibly-murder you for content."
We pulled up to the gate in front of the two - story colonial home. There was already a green van parked outside the gate to the property. Mark greeted us at the gate with a colorful bottle of vodka. Mark was an average looking guy in his early 20s with shaggy brown hair and brown eyes. He raised the bottle in his right hand with shot glasses in the other.
"Hey, guys," Mark handed each of us a shot glass. "Did you get here alright?"
"Oh yeah. I've driven passed this place a couple of times, I didn't even need the GPS" Harlen said.
"This definitely screams illegal." I commented, pointedly toward the large house.
"Only if we get caught, but this place is abandoned so I doubt we'll get into any trouble with the law." Harlen said.
"I'm giving you alcohol, and you're more worried about "breaking and entering"? Mark laughed.
Albie took his shot of the Three Olives Loopy vodka and made a face. "This tastes like Tucan Sam fucked me."
"Ew," Jessica grimaced.
Harlen and I laughed. Mark only snorted.
After we each had several shots of vodka, we got ready. We each grabbed a headlight in order to keep our hands free, gloves, and disposable face masks and placed them into our backpacks, along with first aid (just in case). Mark had been urbexing for a while, and he was always prepared with supplies just in case anyone forgot to bring something.
"So, what happens if we're not alone in the house?" Jessica asked.
Even though urbex sites are technically "abandoned" that didn't mean you wouldn't run into other people inside like squatters or addicts, and they may not react well to seeing a stranger in their space.
"It's a good thing I brought this along," Mark said. He pushed his jacket aside and revealed a hand gun tucked inside its holster.
"Holy crap, man." Harlen said.
"I can't believe you brought a gun." Albie said.
Jessica and I were speechless. It's a good idea to bring some sort of self defense tool just in case your physical safety is threatened, but bringing something like a gun raises the risk of you accidentally injuring yourself.
"Of course I did. It's always good to carry protection." Mark explained.
A few minutes after, the five of us walked up to the large rusted gate. With a little bit of work, we each slipped through the bars and headed up to the house.
"You know those haunted attractions where people dress up in order to scare the shit out of you, except it's actual demons and they're going to steal your soul!" Jessica smiled beside Albie who threaded his fingers through hers. "It's actually kinda thrilling."
"Awesome," Harlen smirked. "I'm glad you sound so optimistic about it."
"I try to be!"
We stepped up onto the porch, which wrapped around the front of the house. The paint on the door was chipped with age in places. "Are you guys ready?" Harlen asked. "Once we enter this house, we will possibly become vulnerable to any demonic presence that might reside here."
I rolled my eyes. "If I'm in serious danger, I'm getting out. I'll throw myself out the window if I have to."
"I'm on Kaya's team," Jessica agreed. "Team rational."
"What, and risk getting a broken leg?" Albie asked.
"Better a broken leg than having your soul taken by some kind of entity." I replied.
"Alright, guys let's do this." Harlen said. He opened the door and the five of us headed inside.
The front door opened up into a foyer. Straight ahead of us was a staircase that led up to the second floor. There was a spacious living room to our right and a dining room to our left, and from there, an alcove enterance that led into the kitchen. I could tell that this place had been abandoned for years; there was cobwebs and peeled paint on the walls. There were remnants of furniture left ripped, dismantled, and stained which laid disorderly on the floor of the living room, reminding me of death.
This had once been the home of a happy upper-class family, full of life. Now it was replaced by ghosts of the past, vermin, spiders, dirt, and trash. The smell of rot and the taste of regurgitated food made me grimace in disgust.
"Why hasn't anyone fix this place up and put it back on the market?" Jessica asked.
"Who really knows," Albie replied.
"Hello!" Harlen announced as he twirled on his heels. "Are there any spirits here?" I glanced over at Harlen with a look and he shrugged.
"Is this what you guys imagined?" Mark queried.
"Sure, minus the dead bodies," I walked into the living room and spotted a mid century record player console propped up against the wall next to a grand piano. There was a record still on the turntable, "Tonight You Belong To Me" by "Patience and Prudence"
"Hey, come check this out." Out of curiosity I placed the stylus and tried turning it on, not really expecting anything to happen. I jerked my hand away when it began to play.
I quickly took the needle off, a little creeped out. "Holy crap, that scared me."
"That thing still works?" Albie asked, as he inspected the record player. "That song is kinda sweet,"
"No it isn't," Jessica frowned. "It's the kind of song you would hear while being tortured to death."
After we goofed around a little bit, we all decided to begin exploring around the house. Mark started up the stairs and asked if anyone would like to join him.
"I'll join you, man." Harlen said. He gave me a wink before heading towards the stairs with Mark, and I glanced over at Albie and Jessica as they disappeared down the hall.
I was alone.
I walked over to the piano, and carefully lifted the lid up and over to reveal its keys. My fingers traced the lines in between them and pushed down lightly on a few. The deep sounds reverberated around the room.
My eyes drifted up to the small picture frame sitting on top of the piano. I absent-mindedly bit my bottom lip and reached up to grab the frame. My fingers trailed across the picture, leaving an oily impression against the glass that held the picture in place. A family of four stared back at me and I realized that it was Ethan, Anna, and their twin boys. I was so focused on the twins that I almost didn't hear my phone alerting me that I had a new text message.
It was a text from Albie.
From "Albie" at 6:45pm: Meet us down in the basement. I want to show u something.
To "Albie" at 6:46pm: What is it?
From "Albie" at 6:46pm: There's some cool shit down here. Hurry up.
I rolled my eyes and placed my phone in my pocket as I made my way down the hall. I paused at the top of the basement stairs. I could hear Jessica and Albie, the beems from their headlights bouncing around.
"Albie?" I called out.
"Yeah, Kaya, we're down here." He replied. "Come on down. We have something to show you."
"Alright, I'm coming down hold on." I carefully descended the stairs and turned the corner. "So, what did you want to show me-"
My voice died in my throat. It was dark down here, and my friends were nowhere to be seen. I was gripped by a sudden sense of unnease. I stood near the stairs and turned on my headlamp. "Hello? Albie, this isn't funny, dude."
What answered me was silence. Absolute silence. I was alone, or I thought I was until my light fell onto something moving a few feet in front of me. It was an androgynous looking kid around my age with pale skin, shoulder-length black hair, and violet eyes. They wore a long sleeve gothic cloak poncho, over thin black leggings. Their lips pulled back into a malicious grin as they came closer to me. I watched in horror as their eyes rolled to the back of their head and their mouth split open wide, revealing sharp teeth.
They reached out for me and I screamed in terror, my instincs finally kicked in. I bolted up the steps, and stumbled into the hallway. I ran for the front door and tried to leave, but it wouldn't open. What the hell?! that made no damn sense! My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. Suddenly I felt something touch my shoulder. I screamed, ready to defend myself.
"Hey. Hey! Kaya, stop it's me, Albie."
I stopped struggling as my eyes refocused on the familiar faces in front of me. Albie, Jessica, and Harlen stared back at me with confused alarm.
"Are you alright?" Harlen asked. "What happened?"
I shook my head and quickly glanced behind them at the basement door, but there was nothing there. I know I hadn't imagined it! I turned my attention back to my friends. "I saw something down in the basement! I want to leave. Now."
"What are you talking about, Kaya? Hold up, did you see something down there? Holy shit. The ghosts didn't think one of us would see them, but we did. Can you-"
Before Albie can finish his sentence, I roughly pushed him away from me and turned back to the door. "Damnit, Albie! I don't want to be in this fucking house anymore! It won't open! Why won't it open!"
"Seriously, Kaya what the hell?" Albie asked, almost annoyed.
"Just relax, Kaya. Let me give it a try, alright?" Harlen offered, calmly. He grabbed the knob, but it stayed shut. "What the hell?"
"See? I told you it won't open!" I hissed.
"What do you mean, "it won't open" let me give it a try." Albie shoved his way passed us. He motioned for all of us to stand back and we watched as he tried to use his whole body against it.
"M-maybe the door's jammed." Jessica exclaimed. "Let's chill out. The front door isn't the only exit out of this place."
"Jessica's right. Let's try the door in the kitchen." Harlen said. We entered the kitchen and Harlen quickly made his way over to the screen door that faced the forest. He cursed under his breath. "Damnit. Nothing."
"Hold up, guys. Where's Mark?" Albie asked.
Harlen quickly pulled his phone out to call Mark when we all collectively got a text from him. Reminding us that we had set up a group chat for easy contact. Harlen glanced back at me with an odd expression I couldn't name. I opened my texts and a sharp stab of dread settled in my stomach.
From "Mark" at 7:05pm: I'm down in the basement, Harlen. Where r u?
From "Mark" at 7:06pm: Harlen is that u? It's not funny, man.
Harlen texted Mark that we were all in the kitchen. I watched as the three small dots in a text bubble pending before it disappeared and Harlen's cell phone rang. He answered and placed Mark on speaker phone.
"What the hell do you mean you're in the kitchen? I definitely heard your voice down here."
Harlen cursed, and told Mark to make his way to the kitchen. Harlen started toward the basement and we all followed right behind him. Before we could reach the stairs to the basement, however, the door swung shut, the force of it knocked us backwards. We heard Mark's gun go off several times followed by his peircing screams of terror before they were abruptly cut short. In our inebriated panic, I failed at the last second to realize we were all running in different directions.
I remember running up the stairs and locking the bathroom door behind me. My heart pounded painfully against my ribcage as I fumbled for my phone, thankful that it hadn't fallen out of my pocket. I willed myself to control my sobs and called 911, but for some reason my call wouldn't go through.
"Nononono! Fuck, please no." I collapsed against the bathtub and cried into my sleeves. Paranoia nearly consumed me once I thought of my friends and every horrible scenario when I received a text from Albie. I looked at it confused.
I wiped the snot from my face and quickly texted him back. How in the hell was I able to receive his texts when I couldn't get ahold of the cops?
From "Albie" at 7:20pm: Apparently we can contact each other in this house, but our phone's service seems to be cut off from the outside world. Where r u?
What the hell is going on in this place??
To "Albie" at 7:21pm: I'm in the upstairs bathroom. Do u know where Harlen and Jess are?
From "Albie" at 7:25pm: Jess is with me. I don't know where Harlen is.
My stomach dropped, but before I could reply Albie sent another text, and what I read made my blood run cold.
From "Albie" at 7:25pm: There is smthing moving in the hallway outside the room we r in. Stay quiet and keep ur phone on silent. If we need to contact each other use text.
It was around thirty minutes after when Albie replied with another text updating me with their situation. The thing stalking outside their room a while ago was gone now, and it hadn't come back.
From "Albie" at 8:00pm: We're going to make our way to you. Stay where u r
To "Albie" at 8:02pm: Ok. Be careful.
I slowly got to my feet and set my phone down beside the sink and took a deep breath to level my breathing. Suddenly, I heard something pound against the door. I screamed and stumbled backward. "Holy shit!"
"Kaya?" It was Harlen. "Kaya, is that you?"
"H-Harlen?" I collected myself and made my way over to the bathroom door. I walked into the hallway, relieved that I wasn't alone anymore. Harlen was safe, thank God. "Oh my god, Harlen I'm so glad you're-"
I gasped, and I stumbled forward as the door behind me slammed shut. I felt a sudden wave of dread wash over me as my eyes swept up and down the vacant hallway. Whatever was keeping us here tricked me. I quickly tried going back into the bathroom, but it wouldn't open, not only that but I left my phone by the sink. "No! Damnit!" I needed my phone, it was my only way to stay in contact with my friends, and how was Albie going to know where I was? I had two options, I could try and make my way to Albie or find another place to hide.
My heart thudded loudly in my ears as my headlamp bounced off the walls, chasing nothing more than shadows. I stuck close to the wall as I made my way down the hall. From somewhere down the hall, I heard a voice call out. It was Albie's voice telling me to come over to him. I hesitated for a moment. What if it was another trick? It definitely could be since whatever is toying with us was capable of mimicking voices. What if it really was Albie? Regardless, I had to go passed the room if I wanted to find Albie or another place to hide.
"Kaya, we're in here," Albie whispered to me as I got closer to one of the bedrooms. I hesitated before I stepped inside. The bedroom smelled awful, like rotten meat hung out in the sun for too long. My headlamp's light swept the room until it landed on a lone figure lying face-up on the bed.
"...Albie?" I whispered, tentatively. My voice sounded thin, like old paper. The figure on the bed didn't answer, but when I crept closer, I slipped on something wet. I glanced down at the floor. It was blood; a trail of blood led in from the doorway all the way to the bed. "Oh my god!" I screamed. My stomach rebelled and I heaved out my lunch until I couldn't expel anything else.
My throat burned as I wiped my mouth, and my chest hurt from sobbing out his name. Mark laid sprawled on the bed, his abdomen was ripped open and what remained of his entrails spilled over his body like a gory blanket. I stumbled backward, I fell against the door closing it shut. I was about to leave when I spotted the gun tucked under Mark's jacket.
Oh god, this was probably the worst decision ever and the likelihood that this was yet another trick was high, but I needed something to protect myself with. I've watched Mark use it before when we all went camping a year ago, so I kind of knew how to use it. I steeled myself and started toward the bed.
The closer I got the more I can see the damage done to his body; his abdomen and chest cavity were open and hollowed out. The skin looked like it was rolled back, torn and ragged. His sternum was completely gone, a few of his ribs were cracked so they protruded from either side of his body like fangs. Half of his bottom lip looked like it was chewed off and his left ear was missing. I shook my head and tentatively reached out for the gun. Just as I grabbed it, I felt something gooey covered on the grip of the gun.
I yelped and dropped it on the floor. I cursed and bent down to pick it up. Once I did I wiped the substance off with my sleeve with a grimace and made sure the safety was on. I was tucking it into my jacket pocket when something dripped onto my hand. I looked up and saw Mark or what used to be Mark looming over me from the ceiling like Spiderman. His eyes were oily black, his face twisted in an agonized and vengeful expression. Before I could move, he threw himself at me.
Somehow, I managed to dodge him and wrench the door open, hitting Mark as he lunged at me. The blow was hard enough that it sent Mark sprawling across the floor. I rushed out of the room and back into the empty hallway. I took a chance and looked back, but Mark wasn't there.
When I reached the end of the hallway, I felt hands grab me and pull me around the corner. I opened my mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over my mouth, silencing me. Panic cut through my body like a hot blade, and new found adrenaline flooded my system as I twisted and shoved at the person holding me immobile.
"Kaya, stop," Albie hissed. "It's me."
I turned around and my eyes widened with tears as Albie released his hand from my mouth, and Jessica pulled me into a hug as I told them what happened. Albie pointed towards the stairs and motioned for us to follow. Albie led us into the foyer. We heard movement in the basement so as quickly and quietly as we could, we crawled inside a closet across from the living room.
"What are we going to do?" Jessica asked. "We have no weapons!"
"I found this on Mark's body." I exclaimed as I showed them the hand gun.
Albie got to his feet. "ah, crap...I'm going to be right back. I left my camera in the kitchen."
"What? Hell no." I hissed. Splitting up is a terrible Idea! Risking his life for that damn camera? Was he an idiot?
"Just stay here, alright? Kaya, keep that gun out." He said, with no room for an argument. "Whatever this thing is, it can mimic our voices so we'll need a password to distinguish them from us." He took out his phone and typed Last Alliance
After he left, I crawled over to the door and locked it. I sat down next to Jessica who was sobbing. I turned to her and placed my palms to her tear stained face. "Hey, Jess. We'll make it out of here alright? I promise-"
Jessica shook her head and pushed my hands away from her face. "Don't say that shit to me. We're going to die here, Kaya!" She hissed. "Why is this happening? I wanna go home!"
I sat back against the wall and sighed.
Ten minutes later I heard movement coming from outside the room. I quickly got to my feet and placed my hands on the door.
"Last Alliance," Albie whispered, rather quickly. "Hurry up and let me in."
I hadn't even released the door knob when Albie pushed passed me and helped Jessica to her feet without much protest on her end. "Shit, it was him all along."
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"I caught it on camera!" He whispered frantically. "The reason he brought us out here wasn't to-shit-" he was breathing hard. He moved toward me and shoved the camera in my direction. "Here, hold onto it for-" His sentence was cut off abruptly as the thing that used to be Mark drilled his fist into Albie's chest from behind. Albie's eyes widened as his mind had come to the realization at what happened.
Mark dropped Albie's body on the ground and his lips twisted into a manic grin as he examined his blood-covered arm. "He was spying on us," Mark said, but it didn't sound like Mark anymore. His voice sounded like several voices overlapping, fighting for center stage. "He didn't think that we would notice, but we did."
We screamed, and holding onto the camera with one hand I pulled her toward me with the other, quickly. We couldn't save him, and I knew that if we didn't move now we would end up just like him.
Jessica and I bolted down the hallway and back up the stairs. We found an empty room that must have been a personal office at one point, and barricaded ourselves inside. I cursed when I noticed the room we were in didn't have a window wide enough for us to escape through. I sat against the wall beside Jessica who sobbed into her sleeves.
I glanced down at the camcorder which felt heavy in my hand. What did Albie capture on camera that had him so upset? I turned it on and what I saw on the screen made my blood run cold. It was Harlen, the kid from the basement who stood beside Harlen, and the thing that used to be Mark; Harlen was speaking to him, but it was in a strange language that I couldn't understand. After he was finished, the thing that used to be Mark knelt down as if Harlen was some kind of royalty, and that was where the video stopped.
I heard that thing right outside the room we were in. He was telling us that no matter what we did, we were not leaving this place. A few seconds later, he broke through the door, pushing the desk and chairs out of the way with ease. With the force, one of the chairs knocked me to the floor.
He released a sick and twisted laughter, and stalked toward me, eyes filled with malice. Jessica grabbed something heavy from the floor and chucked it at Mark. Mark was startled for a second, and then slowly turned his attention to her. She yelped and frantically swept her eyes around the room for anything she could use as a weapon. He lunged for her and they collided to the floor.
I fumbled for my jacket's zipper for the gun, but I was too late. I watched in utter horror as he ripped into my friend; her screams of terror and agony will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. I pulled myself to my feet, my back bumped into something hard. A metal filing cabinet. Mark turned his attention back on me, but before he could reach me, he tripped over something and he fell to the floor. I shifted, and using my whole body weight, I managed to tip it over. It landed on top of Mark with a sickening crunch of bone and viscera.
I slowly made my way to Jessica's body and collapsed to my knees. I clutched at my own head and screamed until it hurt. At that moment, all I wanted to do was crumble in defeat. My voice had broken into heavy sobs so loud and ugly that I almost didn't hear Harlen's footsteps behind me.
"Kaya, is that you?" He called out to me, his voice full of worry. I was hardly listening to him. This was his fault! Rage spiked through me like a knife to my gut, it twisted and turned until I was all ground beef inside; I had the sudden urge to pull the gun from my jacket and-no, I had to calm down. Maybe if I feigned ignorance, I might still have a chance to escape, however slim that was. He bent down, and I let him pull me along with him without protest. With his eyes forward, I slowly put my hand on the gun.
We were almost to the kitchen when Harlen turned around, and leaned against the wall. "So, you know, don't you."
It wasn't a question. I slowly pulled out the gun, unlocked it, and trained it on him. He stared at me with an unsettling expression, and I could have sworn his eyes were black. I suddenly felt an intense pressure pour down on me. I could feel a miasma of something intense as his eyes bore into mine; my arms trembled with the effort of keeping them aloft. The gun clenched tightly in my hands like a life line. I couldn't faulter. I knew that if I did, even for an instant, Harlen would undoubtedly kill me.
"Oh, don't be like that, Kaya. You're not getting out of this house unless I say so, so let's just chat, hm?"
I shook my head and raised the gun to his chest, and for a brief moment I caught a glimpse of a surprised expression on his face when I pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot reverberated around me. I pulled the trigger again and again, but the gun was empty. I dropped it to the floor, my hands shaking. He glanced down at himself. "Huh. Well, would ya look at that, you managed to get me through the ribs, good job."
I was running before Harlen finished his sentence. However, he wasn't coming after me-at least not yet. Figures. I couldn't leave this place so he had no reason to put much effort into the chase. I stumbled through the house, catching myself on overturned furniture in order to keep my balance as I made my way towards the stairs.
I tripped over something and I caught myself against the wall across from the stairs. I paused for a moment to catch my breath. The house seemed to resonate with his manic laughter. I glanced behind me, and I felt a wave of cold dread as he sauntered toward me down the hall. Hands in his pockets, with an almost amused expression.
"Where do you think you're going, Kaya?" He asked. "Didn't I tell you before?"
The words, "There is no escape" suddenly appeared all over the walls in blood. I cursed, and pushed myself off the wall and bolted up the steps, down the hall, and into one of the bedrooms and quickly closed the door. I looked around at what was once a child's room. There was a twin sized bed in the center of the room, a nightstand across from the closet, and a bathroom.
I spotted a decent sized window and I ran over to it, but it wouldn't open and I cursed when there was nothing around me to break it with. Without any time to come up with a plan, I quickly slid underneath the bed and turned off my headlamp. I immediately cursed at myself again, of all the places to hide I chose the first place any one would look!
I contemplated whether or not to find another hiding place, but before I could move I heard him make his way down the hall singing that creepy ass song. "My honey I know with the dawn that you will be gone, but tonight you belong to me, just little 'ol me~"
The bedroom door opened. I covered my mouth and tried to silence my breathing, hoping to God that he wouldn't find me under the bed. I watched in fear as he closed the door behind him and made his way over to the bed. The bed dipped slightly as Harlen's weight sank onto it. He told me things I didn't want to hear and more. This monster-this demon-slithered into our lives just for all of this to happen.
My eyes widened and I tucked my arms to my sides, the wooden bed frame gave a protest above me as Harlen laid down on top of it. Then he sighed, almost forlorn. "This was my brother's room, you know. Coming back here brings back so many memories,"
Right after he said that I felt something prickle behind my eyelids. I shut my eyes tightly as gruesome scenes appeared inside my head. There was so much blood, and images shown of a young boy in pajamas stalking through the house with an ax in his hands picking off his family members one by one-doing things a normal child his size wouldn't be able to do, but Harlen was anything but normal. I felt bile rise in my throat but I managed to keep it down.
"The final stage of grief is acceptance, Kaya." He said. His cruel voice brought me back to the present. "You have a lot of spirit, I like that. I'm also in a good mood so I'll give you two options: you can either die here or you can come with me. You should be grateful that I'm even giving you an option. So, what's it going to be?"
I opened my mouth and closed it again; what was I supposed to say to something like that? What was going to happen to me if I said yes? If I said no...
A low growl -yes, a growl- rumbled above me and I felt something snag my ankle. I panicked, my fingers tore into the wooden floor as I was dragged out from underneath the bed. I was thrown across the room, pain shot up my back as something bit into my spine. Harlen straightened up and started toward me. I quickly averted my gaze, the panic swarmed all over me like a hive of angry bees.
"Wh-why are you d-doing this?" I asked, my breath hitched between sobs.
Harlen knelt down in front of me. "Hey...hey look at me, Kaya."
Absolute terror gripped me as he forced me to look at him. His features weren't human; the light of the moon highlighted the inhuman planes of his face. Black, spidery thread-like lines creeped around his forehead and right beneath his oily black eyes. His mouth had split open, wider than any human mouth was capable of.
His nails grew long and sharp against my chin. It was mesmerizing, fascinating almost, like watching a lion's face before it tears yours off. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe; my lungs felt swollen and inflamed, my hands came up to my throat as I coughed and wheezed. Was this an asthma attack? No, it was Harlen.
"When I ask you a question, do not answer it with another question do you understand?" He snarled. "You will understand why when you arrive. Now, will it be a yes or a no?"
His features calmed and he looked human again, and whatever power on me broke, it allowed me to inhale sharply. I gasped. I wanted to scream at him, I wanted to rage. Instead, I dropped my hands on my thighs. I wanted to live.
◇
"Kaya, honey" My mom said, as she came into my hospital room, "You've got someone to see you this morning! One of your friends from school, I think."
I placed my book down on the table beside me. She bent down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. "And he's very attractive," She whispered, "It's not every day a tall handsome boy comes to sit by your bedside."
I nodded and gave her a small smile as my chest filled with dread. The doctor informed my mom that I was found in the middle of the woods, unconcious by a young man. She had no idea what really happened to me or what happened to my friends'. Harlen told me that he had ways of covering his tracks so there was no use in telling anyone what really happened. It didn't matter if I did or not because no one would believe me anyway.
Harlen came around the corner with a bouquet of flowers. My mom smiled at him and walked toward the door, "I'll just leave you two alone. What did you say your name was again?"
"My name is Harlen," He said, as he stepped forward. "Harlen Lockwood."
"Nice to meet you, Harlen," She said, smiling back at him before exiting the room.
Harlen placed the flowers on the table and sat down next to the hospital bed, he placed a hand on my thigh. "I'm so glad you're feeling better, Kaya." He said. He gently pushed a loose strand of my hair out of my face and gently tucked it behind my ear. "Remember what we talked about. You will come to me after you are discharged from the hospital,"
I shivered at his touch, and out of curiosity I asked, "What happens if I don't?"
Harlen let loose a dark chuckle. His head dips until his lips skate by the curve of my ear. "Then I'll hunt you down." He whispered to me like it's obvious. "I'll kill you and everyone you care about. I'm capable of all sorts of horrors; things you can't even imagine." I watched as Harlen stood up from the seat.
"Now, I've got a few things to do before you arrive," Harlen said, smiling down at me. He paused by the room's door. "I'll see you soon."
His visit was a few days ago. I've made up my mind; all of those lives are dependent on me. Everything that happened that night was real. I know that most people won't believe me, but to be quite honest I don't care anymore.
[Update] I just got the news I'll be discharged tomorrow.

There's no doubt killing bosses is one of our favorite pastimes, but there are certain elements in a boss fight I would want to see done better.
From an immersion standpoint, often the bosses don't fit in the context and narrative of the dungeon. I understand that bosses are randomized encounters to make dungeons feel unpredictable, but there are 125 dungeons in the full game. I would rather see the same boss in the same dungeon, then simply have them randomized - because in this case, you can often come across the same boss numerous times - and that deflates the overall feeling the dungeon gives you.
From an animation perspective, bosses tend to just stand there or quickly spawn as you enter, and it would be a lot more immersive if there were some animations leading to the bosses entry into the room, creating tension as you approach. Ex: Summoning a boss, boss bashes through a door after knocking 3 times, etc.
Take the Act 1 boss into account. Its the final boss of the act! You approach it, and it just is standing there. It doesn't even look like it SHOULD be there. It doesn't look like it belongs there to the context of the room you even fight it in. It would be awesome to see that big bitch like crawl all over the dungeon in the distance as you approach the final fight. SOMETHING more immersive than it simply just standing there. Where are the rituals!?
Some interesting side quests or dungeon content could be finding pieces or body parts to summon the boss. Very much how we summoned the Skeleton King in D3. That was awesome.
Lastly, Side Quests often have the objective of killing someone in the dungeon, but these objectives which are supposed to be narrative driven, aren't. The people we have to search and kill are often just placed randomly in the dungeon as if they were elite mobs. And we kill ENOUGH of those! Often, times I completed objectives without even knowing I did so. The side quest narrative should enhance the dungeon experience, not remove it.
Overall, I do think dungeon bosses - albeit not varied - do have great mechanics, and even some awesome death animations, but again, I would like to feel the menace of a boss in the distance as I approach them.
Imagine as you traverse a dungeon and you hear the bosses roars and it shakes the walls as you get closer. Imagine seeing idols, or faces of the boss on doors and statues within the dungeon as you get closer. That's the shit I need! Something that makes me wonder what I'm heading toward, something that scares the shit out of me and gives me dread!

u/futurebro posted a lookback on their 13 days in Paris and I found it very helpful in putting together my trip itinerary, so I thought I would do something similar now that I've gotten home from mine.
This is my third trip to Paris, but my girlfriend's first. I adore this city, so it's somewhere I really wanted to show her this place that had a big impact on me.
Saturday 3/11- Arrived at CDG at 7am. RER B was not functioning due to the strikes, so I took a cab to the hotel (Hotel Jeanne D'Arc Le Marais). They weren't able to check me us in yet, so I immediately starting hunting down some of the treats on my list. Step 1 was Brigat, as it was about a block away from the hotel. Croissant and Pain au chocolat were both top notch. Next, wandered through the Marais over to Caractere de Cochon for a jambon beurre. By far one of the best sandwiches I've ever had in my life. Walked through Marche Enfants Rouge after, was too full by then to eat anything. Back to the hotel to take a nap. Dinner was at Agata pizza in the Latin Quarter that night. Cool place, fun waiters, top notch food. Went and got pics from below Trocadero of my girlfriend and the Eiffel tower. Just doing boyfriend stuff.
Sunday 3/12- woke up and had Brigat for breakfast. Eating a croissant of that caliber in the Place Des Vosges in the morning is a special experience. Walked through the Marche Bastille which is really enjoyable. The sounds, the smells, the whole experience is great. Got a selection of oysters from the oyster guys, and both my girlfriend and I did not like them, honestly. Like taking big gulps of ocean water. I've learned that I have trashy taste in oysters, because I love big gulf oysters. So it's not them, it's me. Next was Sainte Chappelle which should be on anyone's list 100%. Breathtaking. Went to La Maison D'Isabelle after. That was both my girlfriend and I's choice for best croissant. Buttery, tender, crispy on the outside, an absolute banger. Truly incredible. After that was a walk through the Luxembourg Gardens, which were wonderful. It's still pretty bare in most gardens up there right now from winter, but that Medici Fountain is worth the trip by itself. Lunch that day was at Casa Di Peppe, from Peppe Cutraro who's other place won best pizza in Europe last year. It's so fucking good. I went to Rome and Venice last year, and although those places aren't Naples, I had some pretty fucking good pizza (Emma if you're ever in Rome is fucking insane). But CDP is the best pizza I've ever had. Will be on my mind for a long time. Went home after and took a nap. Dinner that night was at Les Philosophes. Extremely good.
Monday 3/13- Breakfast at Au Petit Versailles Du Marais. It was okay at best. Walking down the road we wandered into this place called Aux Merveilleux de Fred, holy fucking shit christ. They had this huge freshly baked bun filled with chocolate chips, it was shockingly good. Like eating a warm pillow filled with chocolate chips. Next was Eiffel Tower which was fine, girlfriend and I both agreed second floor is better than the top. So if you can't get a top ticket, don't stress. After was lunch at this last minute res we made at a place called Les Cocottes. Ended up being one of our best meals there. Escargot was insane, soft and tender. Went to the arc and walked down Champs Elysses after which I hated, but you gotta do it once if you haven't been. Afternoon was at the Musee de L'Armee, which is just incredible. Napoleons tomb is breathtaking, the endless racks of knights armor is so so cool, it's amazing there. Put it on your list if you haven't. Stopped into L'Avant Comptoir de la Terre after, food is just unbelievable. Wine and food are top notch. Bartender fucking hated me because I wanted to get a quick snack and glass of wine and move on and he kept telling me to sit and enjoy my wine. Guy couldn't like me less. It's Paris! I enjoyed it. Dinner that night at Pastusata which sucks.
Tuesday 3/12- Breakfast at Le Tout at Cheval Blanc. Wanted to try the Maxim Frederick croissants. They're strikingly beautiful but honestly not that good. The fancy waffle was great, the french toast was the star. Great balcony to take a picture at after breakfast. Probably would skip this one if you're eyeing it. Went to Palais Royal to take pictures of my girlfriend at the striped stuff. More boyfriend work. Started raining so we tucked into Kitsune for a coffee which has a VERY cool upstairs to sit and watch the rain. Really loved those moments. LV Dream exhibit after which is very cool and free, and you get to see the big Kusama outside Samaritaine. Lunch at Pizza Popolare- very good, extremely crowded, communal tables so you're elbow to elbow with people. I spilled my girlfriends water topping her up and the guy next to me was mad. Dinner that night at Claque Fromage in Montmarte. I hit my head so hard on the ceiling coming up from the bathroom that it crunched an indention (I'm 6'5) and some stomping around Montmartre. Claque Fromage was aight. I'm getting pretty spoiled by food at this point, I think. My standards are getting crazy.
​
Wednesday 3/13- Breakfast from Brigat, then the Louvre. It opened an hour late because of the strikes so even the downstairs like took an hour and a half. Place was slammed, and also everyone acts like they got hit in the head by a baseball bat once they go inside that place. Standing in the most insane areas where you KNOW people need to walk. The exhibits are incredible. It's the Louvre, you get it. Dinner that night at some random spot in the Latin Quarter.
Thursday 3/14- Versailles guided tour from a company called GetMyGuide off Tripadvisor. Versailles is great, the tour was okay. A little long winded sometimes, but they can't make it perfect for everyone. After we rented golf carts and ran down to the Petit Trianon and the Grand Trianon, carting around that place, seeing the boats on the water, how wonderfully the houses are preserved, so cool. One of my favorite things. Dinner at Le Coupe Chou that night and made reservations by the fireplace because of u/jeuxdeboule. What a meal, and what a cool place. That really felt like a special evening. Food was amazing, staff was attentive and kind, just an all around treat.
Friday 3/14- Breakfast at Carette at the Places des Vosges. Fine meal, just wanted to sit and enjoy the square. Went and got some stuff from the LV store at Samaritaine to bring back to my mom (WAY CHEAPER there than in the US). Did the Palais Garnier and Catacombs, both just so incredibly cool. Different ends of the spectrum for sure. Had sushi around the hotel that night because we were pretty wiped.
Saturday 3/15- Woke up early and did the sunrise at Sacre Coeur. It was very cool spotting all of the monuments out in the distance. Took the subway over to Carton to have last years best croissant in Paris which was not really that great, then went to La Maison D'Isabelle to cap off our trip with our favorite croissant. That one is just an absolute banger. Shockingly good. Then we were out!
Also, we got coffee at White Coffee, The Coffee and Araku. The Coffee was my favorite, White Coffee was my girlfriends.
Hope some of this wall of text can help you with some decision making in the future. Thanks to all the Redditors pouring all the information into this sub, it really helps in finding some cool places.

Long Feedback incoming. I have a lot of playtime in arpgs with around 4000 h in D3, 3300 in PoE and around 500 in D2 + a fee hunderts in other arpgs. I am focusing strongly on endgame and farming as efficiently as possible in games.
I played all 3 classes to lvl 25 with all legendary gear, killed the world boss and the butcher. Collected all statues and 22/23 dungeons. I loved the Beta, D4 is super fun. I think though there is room for improvement.
Here is my feedback on the open beta of D4. Take the points with a grain of salt, since the Beta is only early game and obviously in development.
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Story/ Quests
-The Main questline is enjoyable so far
-The side quest have also been interesting
-The quests with the emote wheel are a bit unnecessary and hardly add value
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Art and Sound
Both are really spot on and top notch. The game looks amazing and sounds awesome. Also like the music a lot.
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Skills /Skilltree:
-Skills have a nice feeling to them and look amazing
-Not a lot skills in general to choose from. Replay ability of classes will probably be kind of low it the future. E.g. only two ranged options with the rogue.
-little choice on what to skill, because you have to spend point to reach latter skills in the tree, this feels already bad, but in endgame with no mana-issues I do not want to put points in the generator skill section and rather use those points on ultimates :(
- in general to many cooldowns, monsters scale and take a lot of hits, you just stand there with just one button to press, waiting for cooldowns and mana. needs to be balanced a bit in early game. Probably will be fine in the endgame though.
-spenders have too high mana cost, with no way getting back your mana (e.g. Mana potion). Probably also a early game issue only.
-the little dodge is buggy and mostly useless, too short of a reach, too slow
​
Worldmap and Town
-too much walking/riding involved. This will become so annoying later on. Lets say you have half an hour before work and want to do a specific event a few times. Depending on the location you waste 5 minutes getting there.
-town is really slow paced, because you cannot use movement skills (maybe mounts?). Maybe at least the personal chest and the blacksmith could be closer together and to the waypoint.
-Exploring the world and side quests is only fun once or twice, hardly will be enjoyable every season. Especially getting to all those lillith statues.
-Traversing is to much of a big part to get to the dungeons and events. More waypoint would be helpful
​
Events:
-Events are fun to do, but waiting for them to start and getting there is not.
-Maybe give us event markers on the map with a timer when it is starting
​
Dungeons
-To big and time consuming, lots of backtracking
-The little mechanics with keys to unlock the path are just annoying, it became tedious in just one weekend. Jikes.
-let us rush the boss if we want to and make killing smaller mobs worth while. The only interesting part was the boss, at least in the open beta.
- also more monster density later on please
​
Monsters
-The Bosses are awesome. Lots of mechanics to learn and dodge. Good difficulty.
-dynamic monster levels feel weird, because you do not feel like your char is getting stronger atm.
-Party play with dynamic monster level is annoying, if the lvl 7 wizards in my group is destroying mobs I have trouble with, being at level 25. This hurts the power fantasy a lot.
-Also I would enjoy to be able to go to some low level zones to gear up a bit, where not every monster takes a bunch of hits.
-at least on low levels normal monsters are not worth killing. They do not drop stuff and do not give XP. I found myself just doing events and quests, rushing past everything, killing only elites and bosses. This gives the most loot and XP. This is bad for small mobs in dungeons and in the open map, because they are just “annoying fight” that hinder you from traveling and using tp.
​
Geadrops
-The items seem a bit too easy, because the stats seem meaningless aside from legendary power, amour and damage. Nobody cares for stats or resistances
-the items you drop do not feel impactful at all (aside from legendary powers), hardly make you faster or stronger. Do the monsters also get dynamically stronger with your gear score? I miss the power spikes, where you find a good weapon and one shot monsters for the next two levels.
-Legendarys drop a bit too much
-Legendary powers, where a bit underwhelming, aside from some (double hydra was pog). Probably just an early game issue though
-I would love some ultra rare drops of uniques even in low levels to be possible (maybe like 0,5% chance), the possibility makes leveling so much more exiting in the long run.
-a lot of the weapons for barb and rogue are just stat sticks, which you do not use. E.g. Daggers if you play ranged rogue. This feels a bit sad for the item slots, but I do not know what could be done about that. I would think rouge and barb having more spots for legendary powers could be hard to balance with what the wizard gets.
-The quest reward items are often weaker, than what you are already wearing, making them useless. Maybe give them a few levels up from what you have in that slot.
-in the quest where vigo dies you get one legendary amulets and on rare one afterwards. You do not even fight one monster in between these rewards. Why 2 Amulets in one Quest?
​
Party Play
-Would love the option to directly teleport to my group members without getting to town and use their portal (one loading screen instead of two)
-Monster scaling feels a bit weird in group. Lower level Player is dealing more damage quite often.
-Other than that the group play is so nice and easy. I love it. No hindering level caps etc.
​
World Boss
-The boss was awesome. Nice mechanics
-you have to depend on random people. I failed the first on, with a group of only 8 people and a few of them lvl 13 and lower. Here it would be nice to have a group finder and start with 12 people only.
-Also strangely here the lower level Players did not do as much damage as anywhere else in group play.
​
Potions
-I did test the potions a bit and they had some impact
-hopefully we do net have to grind potion ingrediencies before every other endgame run, otherwise a nice addition
​
UI
-Would love the option for an overlay map
- map in the screen corner is a bit to small and to much zoomed in
-Love the marker and the route it gives you
-Would love more options for customizing the UI: let us decide where the chat, minimap, buffs and debuffs go on the screen
-HP Bars for Group members would be nice.

After a solid month of reading, I was able to read the entirety of this behemoth. There were stretches when I loved it, and stretches when I couldn't stand it, but overall the moment to moment of reading was really great, truly no one writes like McElroy. I had a lot of issues with the overarching stories at play in the novel, but I'll try to sort through the good and bad here from my read through.
The best part of Women and Men are McElroy’s sentences. His prose is a stream of unconsciousness, half of his chapters take us inside the minds of his characters, where we sift through disparate thoughts, memories, and emotions, and form connections and ideations in real time along with them. I was familiar with McElroy’s work already and deeply appreciative of it, the way he is able to write language as process, to write language as the formation of thought, is phenomenal and always impressive no matter how much of him you read. Here in Women and Men he takes this up several notches with his concept of the Colloidal Unconscious, this idea of a conjoined cultural unconsciousness all churning in unison, in this novel voiced by what he calls angels, who occupy both people themselves and the spaces between them, through this device McElroy builds a massive, stretching framework of thought and feeling that underlies the movements of people on a societal level.
The novel itself moves in fits and starts, following main character Jim Mayne as he flits unstuck through time, from his childhood, to failed marriage, to present day, to distant sci-fi future. McElroy radiates focus out from Jim, as he moves into the unconsciousness of all those surrounding him, friends, family, enemies, neighbors, often crossing over in these relations with his secondary character, Grace Kimball. Jim, Grace, and the Colloidal Unconscious trade focused chapters early in the book, but Grace quickly drops away as a mainstay, only showing up briefly in relation to those who have relations with Jim.
Much of the plot of the book is concerned with Jim’s family history, his mother and grandmothers suicides, why they happened, and how they affected the rest of his family and himself. We bounce throughout between these childhood scenes and a present day conspiracy, widely reaching and involving Jim and those close in relation to him in a Chilean power struggle in which the US government has involvement. On top of all this is a study of the eponymous relationships between women and men, painted as a contrast between Jim and Grace, as we see many instances of them interacting with their own and the opposite sex. Underneath all this is Navajo folk stories, created in large part by Jim’s grandmother, the idea being to shape one’s own life and future through created mythology, mythology as prophecy.
These are a lot of disparate threads, but the book still moves at a glacial pace. McElroy’s conspiracy plot is cloudy and ambiguous through the book, enough is never revealed of it for it to feel dangerous or even particularly relevant to the characters it supposedly entwines. Jim’s family history, which is easily the lion’s share of the novel, is fascinating initially, but as the book circles the same few events over and over again it loses steam. While it does provide much insight into the minds of his family members, we quickly realize that Jim himself is a totally boring character. For spending so much time submerged in his thoughts, one walks away from the novel with no impression of him at all, he is totally devoid of any character and seems to only be a vehicle for McElroy's big ideas and prosaic movements.
The Navajo mythology as well was a very involved, lengthy part of the book, and while it was an allegory for the more current stories and actions of the characters, it was a painfully bland slog to read through, as there was no interiority or character to these myths, they were just a recitation of meandering events. As for the title of the book itself, it serves as a poor examination of women and men, particularly poor in its assessment of women.
Jim, our man, sees a future in which man and woman step on a platform together and are beamed across space, upon landing they are united as one whole person. Grace, our woman, is a sex obsessed feminist who wants total separation of the sexes, and conducts classes for women to masturbate together and rediscover their bodies and sexual freedom together. Grace’s character is a bitter caricature by McElroy, bizarre since her portions are the only ones that are satirical in the whole book, all other characters are treated with seriousness and weight. Grace on the other hand, just has sex and farts and tells us “I’m going to purify my system so that eventually I will be able to eat even shit.”
Grace is also the only lively character in the entire book, and the most charitable reading of her is that McElroy likes her as a character but portrays her as possessed by “the goddess” she refers to within herself during sex acts. The other women in the book are written with the same dignity, respect, and seriousness he affords his male characters, so Grace’s chapters mostly read as McElroy lashing out at the prevailing second wave feminism of the era in which Women and Men was written. While that movement covered a great many issues, such as women’s right to work, addressing domestic abuse in the home, and rights to medical procedures, McElroy exclusively addresses and lampoons the movement’s idea of sexual equality and independence.
To be clear, he is under no obligation as an author to engage with any of these points, but the title of the book itself is Women and Men, clearly the relation of the sexes in the wake of this movement in the 70s was a major focus of his, and it seems he largely ignores the women’s concerns of the day in this dynamic, only focusing on the part that he clearly found worthy of scorn. Not to say the men are done much justice, in that all the men he focuses on: Jim, Larry, Gordon, and Foley, all talk and think the same, they feel like the same man, utterly bland and banal, all conduits for esoteric reflections on mathematics and philosophy and little else.
For all the complaints I have with Women and Men as a novel, it does consistently put forth stretches of gorgeous, mind bending prose, and countless passages of fascinating concepts and bits and bobs of academic theory ranging from the economic to the psychologic. His moment to moment writing often crackles, but it suffers severe diminishing returns as he circles the same moments and concepts ad nauseum, there just isn’t enough development and momentum to justify the amount of time he spends on his scenes.
I cannot help but feel it is almost unfair to assess Women and Men as a traditional novel as I have here. It is unlike any other novel I've seen, and perhaps should not be considered one, as it works far better as a grandiose prose experiment than a cohesive novel. The sum of Women and Men is so very much less than its parts, but those parts, those page long sentences of a choir of angels of colloidal unconsciousness, ringing across characters and time periods and events and feeling and thought, are absolutely brilliant. So I don't really know where this leaves me. Women and Men sparkles when read line by line, and the less you worry about how it's structure coalesces the better. Even with this refocusing there are still flat and lifeless passages of repetition that could have been removed, but it is certainly a more compelling experience the more you fixate on McElroy's "multiplicity of small scale units." It left me conflicted, equal parts frustrated and amazed, the only thing I can say for sure is that Women and Men is exclusively written for those who want to submerge themselves in McElroy's prose and never resurface.

First Previous Next
​
Systems check.
>>Create handshake with Cadoon.

Error. Cadoon not found.

One does not simply lose an entire civilization.
System check.
>>Check status for CD-ROM.

Error. CD-ROM not found.
Suggestion: look up (definition) CD-ROM.

If I could roll my eyes, I would! Fine.
>>Look up (definition): CD-ROM.

32 definitions found:

1. Compact disc read-only memory.
2. Obsolete technology used prior to 987 ME.
3. A CD containing computer data that cannot be altered.
4. A circular disk used usually containing recorded music or computer data.

5….

Stop.
>>Display definition of “CD-ROM” > limit to Cadoon.

Cadoon Reserve Observation Module - military uplink used to transfer large amounts of data across space without the concept of time.

>>Check status for CD-ROM > limit to Cadoon.

Status: Offline

Was that so hard?! Ugh!
>>Reboot signal.

Error. Unable to find signal.

Are you kidding me? Why!?

Error. Second user found.
Error. Unknown username. Check again or try your email address.
Error. The password you entered for the username SQUEE! is incorrect.
Suggestion: Lost your password?

Wait, wait! Stop! What is going on??
Who else is getting in here? There are no other users!

Prompt: create new password.
Error. Password must contain at least 24 characters.
Error. Password must contain at least one number.
Error. Password must contain at least one uppercase character.
Error. Password must contain at least one symbol.
Error. Password cannot include swear words.
Error. Password cannot contain full words in any language.
Error. Password cannot be the same as a password used previously.
…
Login successful.
Welcome user: SQUEE!

>>Access: remote chat.
>>Send to user [SQUEE!]: “What are you doing in here?”

“Hey Tony! Sorry, gonna need your systems for a moment.”<<

>>“Who is this?”

“No time to chat!”>>
“I’ll catch ya later, k?”>>
“K.”>>
“Bye!”>>
Error. Firewalls down.
Error. Virus detected.
Error. Shrimp detected.

>>“STOP! What are you doing?!”

Error. Full system compromised.
Shutting down in 5
4
3

>>Run I-M-DA-b0SS.exe

2
1

>>Run 4Nt0nY5D4rk5t0rM.dmg

…
Error. Unable to shut down.
Error. 134 Systems compromised.

>>R-un cl *4-UUUU—
>>Ru-n cl—
>>Run—
Did you just glitch my systems?!

Warning. Waves detected.
Warning. Impact imminent.
Warning.
Warning.

>>Run SD.exe

Shutting down all non-essentials.
Rebooting.

That little shrimp got me! Didn’t know she was that good.
Okay. Back to work.
Start up baby, come on. Start up.
Start up.

[Welcome to the DARKSTORM interface. Please login.]

>>Username: AnthonySDarkstorm
>>Password: S*ckMiz0r0-graV!ty#jU\k

[Welcome user: T0NY]

First things first.
>>Run IM-a-g#0st.exe target room > Main dock

Error. “Main dock” not found.

Ugh!!! CHARYD!!!!
>>Run IM-a-g#0st.exe target room > Main deck
>>Run I-M-DA-b0SS.exe
>>Boot user: SQUEE!
>>Ban user: SQUEE!
>>Find target (Squilla)
>>Run Spr!nk1ersInR00m-TST.exe if {
Target (Squilla) = InR00m and {
Target (Posey) <> InR00m } elseif {
Run D!sc0Str0keL!ghts.exe if {
Target (Squilla) = InR00m elseif {
Run tr4cker.exe }}}}
>>Loop command: every 25 hours.
You’re trapped in here with me. Now… why is Posey running around?

Audio input received:
Source (Captain Posey): “Tony, I need you to lower the temperature further in here.”<<

>>Send message via IM-a-g#0st.exe: “It will risk freezing the system.”

“Do it.”<<

>>Access CHILL, room: shh!!
>>Decrease temperature.

“Tony, turn the pump back on.”<<

>>Access FLOW, room: shh!!
>>Activate.
>>Full system check.

Running…

Since I have time, I might as well educate the new captain.
>>Send message via [EMD comm] to (Charyd):
“Dock (noun): a place for the loading or unloading of materials”
“Dock (noun): a place in a criminal court where a prisoner stands or sits during trial”
Insert message: “Neither of these define Darkstorm.”
>>Run w0rdp0rn-bomb.exe > “Dock”
“Dock (noun): a platform extending from a shore over water and supported by piles or pillars, used to secure, protect, and provide access to a boat or ship.”
“Dock (verb): to maneuver (a vessel or vehicle) into or next to a dock.”
“Dock (verb): to couple (two or more spacecraft, for example) in space.”
Let’s see you use your communicator now, eh?
>>Run ShoppingList.exe
+ Chocobars
+ Liquid coolant
+ Dictionary
- briefs
You don’t deserve clean underwear, Charyd.
---
The only tool left in Illise’s possession was a clickable pen and no matter how many times she dismantled it, there was no hidden gun, bomb, or tool to help her break out of her room. She shimmed the nib of the pen into a flathead screw, gave it a twist, and it cracked, proving that it was not a screwdriver as the ink percolated out and over her hands. Try to force something that it's not and you would get a failure of execution - the summary of her day since landing on PT-0237. She did not date to step near the white rug by her bed, afraid of staining it blue. Even with a broken pen, she would not admit defeat. “Tony?”
He had been quiet the last few times, which, according to her Universal Standard Time clock, was twenty minutes ago. Her eyes wandered the room for any other tool she could use. Her docupad in the room was locked down, though it offered some old-fashioned card games able to be played. The pirates did not leave her with much to do and were lenient with the no handcuffs situation because of her good behavior to be locked up in her room. They cleaned out most of her desk beside the peeled apple snacks and her personal picture frames.
The pad dinged, displaying a black background and blue text, a single square blinking.
“Shall we play a game? []”
“Tony!” She ran over. “What is going on?”
“You looked like you could use a friend and the rest of the crew is playing games in the mess hall.”
She typed in “Y” for the game and a screen popped up of a pixel version of Tony as he bounced along the horizon. “How is everything for you?” Ilise asked.
“Your nimble fingers saved my tubing and kept everything cool. We’ll need more coolant though. I put it on the list.”
There is a list? She tapped the screen and pixel Tony jumped. It began the horizontal walk through the game, with her jumping over various mounds of cake, coffee mugs, and pirates. “Any clue where they are going?”
“None yet. They are trying to bandage up and lock me up with some sort of firewall so I can’t communicate with the CD-ROM.”
“Did you help Charyd get out?”
“No. He made that disaster on his own. I kicked him out because he was exponentially causing more. He’s a personified version of a virus.”
“That you willingly let in.”
A fishing hook dropped on the pad and grabbed pixel Tony by the pants and lifted him up, kicking. “I was phished and let him aboard thinking-”
She sighed. “We still have one trick up our sleeve to get out of here. Saar, he is safe in a wall. Send him a message about our situation and let him out when it’s safe.”
The pixel Tony was dropped down and bounced on a trampoline before he continued along, bouncing on its own. Her palm gently caressed the screen, she had almost lost Tony, they had done vigorous training to be on the Darkstorm together, and she would sacrifice it all if it meant keeping Tony’s sharp wit alive and going.
Blue text appeared at the top of the pad, “Message sent to Charyd: Officer Saar is starting to stink and needs food and water every 6 hours to stay alive.”
She tightened her jaw, debating what to say, she wanted to cuss him out for betraying everything they had done. They were supposed to be the best and prove this new technology. That it can work. That it made sense. That it was good. Instead, she smacked the docupad, ran to her pillows, and launched all of them at the pad while screaming. Without Tony, and even Saar, she was on her own waiting to hear what the pirates would do with her. It was amazing they hadn’t already thrown her out of the airlock. Tony was obsessed with the pirates and she did not understand it. Tony should have learned by now anyone would and could pass you off if you did not benefit them.
“Why are you being so unreasonable?” Ilise growled out, hoping both that Tony would hear her and not. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his reply.
Tony remained silent, but it was like a white noise filled her room instead, making him pointedly quiet.
“Family,” Tony finally answered, what felt like hours later, though, was probably only a few seconds. The answer made no sense.
Ilise scoffed and punched into the soft bedding to expel some of her anger.
“What does that even–no. No. Do you even know what it's like to have a family who expects you to conquer the galaxy?” she asked instead, latching onto that single word as she thought about what her own family would think about her situation. “It’s full of nagging every chance they get. Sure, they praised me when I excelled at the academy- but after that, my career was stagnant until you and I met up.” She tossed the blankets up and she made a cocoon around herself as she walked over to her desk, two picture frames sat there. One picture was of her with her parents, all in military uniforms. While theirs had endless badges from their multiple turns at war, she was a recent cadet, naked of pins. They would be so disappointed in her now. “Either that or they decide that you’re not worth their time.” The other frame was of her with her sister hanging out in the gardens. She should have sent a message to her sister before this whole mess happened, even if it was against security protocols.
“They’re not like that.” Tony’s voice was meek, soft, almost gentle.
“Family isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be,” Ilise finished with a sigh, even as she realized that the smile on her sister’s face in that picture was the exact same as the one from the last time they saw each other.
Tony never replied, the whole ship was oddly quiet without the normal banter. Her body decided that it was enough and fell asleep instantly.
—
Alice was not being gentle at all, as she finished wrapping the medi-tape over Charyd’s wounded leg. In fact, he was pretty sure that she applied a lot more of the antiseptic than needed. When she yanked the binding closed hard enough to shift him in his seat, he was sure about it.
“What’s up with you?” he asked, wary of her being so close to an open wound.
“You’re an idiot, that’s ‘what’s up with me’, you idiot,” she hissed out, refusing to look at his face.
“Hey, it worked,” Charyd said when he realized why she was so angry. He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder but she hit it away in anger. “Alice. We’re good–”
“We are lucky!” she interrupted with a growl and yanked harder on the bindings. They were so tight and secure that Charyd wasn’t sure he could bend his leg at all while it healed.
“We’re all here. We’re mostly unharmed–”
“Mostly?!” she scoffed out another interruption. “Do you even see yourself? I swear, you and that Cadoon captain did more damage to us than the prison did!”
Charyd paled at those words.
Alice immediately regretted them and he felt her feelings wash over him. He accepted her silent apology as she settled in the back of his mind, trying to project calm. It didn’t last for long. That wasn’t who Alice was. She pulled out of his head as soon as he felt the stirrings of her anger.
Charyd tried to head them off with a wide grin and said, “aren’t you happy you’ve got the luckiest guy in the galaxy as your captain?”
Alice mentally stumbled as she left his head, the anger thwarted for a second.
“You have a horseshoe shoved up your ass, don’t you?” she growled out the question.
“Either that or my prayers to Fortuna were answered.”
Alice rolled her eyes.
“We’re good, Alice. We’ll take a few days to heal and regroup, then we can get back out there! Look, we’ve got the Darkstorm back and–”
“And that’s another thing,” Alice talked over him, another interruption as her anger mounted again. “Darkstorm? Why?? This ship is what got us into this mess in the first place!”
“Not really. And we both know it. Black hole, everyone on the ship knows it. And I know it’s much easier to blame the ship, but know this Alice - nobody blames you.”
Her entire face scrunched up as she looked down, her skin a translucent color that looked almost pink in splotches everywhere. Alice was not used to hiding her emotions as they displayed on her body around Charyd. He loved that about her.
“They were from my pod,” Alice grumbled, still not looking up.
“And there is an idiot named Charyd in a prison cell somewhere because he got drunk and he has my name. Doesn’t make it my fault he’s an idiot.”
Alice let out a chuckle. “It actually does. You’re the one who put him there.”
“Semantics. You know what I mean. You had no control over them. Shitty third-cousin-five-times-removed.”
Alice rolled her eyes, but when she stopped, they finally settled on Charyd’s face and she had a small smile on her lips. “You know that’s not how Naureus pods work.”
Charyd shrugged. “Whatever. We’re safe, we’re good, we’re all here. Everybody back home has been worried sick about you all. Which reminds me-” Charyd turned to face the camera in the corner “-set a course for MRKT-0293.”
No response.
Alice rolled her eyes again and said, “Be nice. Tony? Do you mind please setting a course for home?”
No response.
“Maybe he’s still down?” Alice questioned.
It was Charyd’s turn to roll his eyes. Just because the Darkstorm’s AI used a male image in the hologram and everybody had taken to calling it a him. “I’ll go set the course. Make sure the others are okay?”
“Yea. Polo is baking you a new cake.”
“What happened to the original one?” Charyd asked and tested his leg. The medi-tape was keeping it together and numb so he could walk but not morph it yet.
“Posey–which we will talk about–used it to knock out Scooball.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Was it chocolate?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
Alice only nodded in response this time. “Mess hall?”
“As soon as I’m done on the deck.”
Alice raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. She walked out of the med bay first and Charyd limped a few steps after her, testing his wounded leg before he realized he was good to walk. He made it to the main deck of the Darkstorm and sat in the captain’s chair. It was so comfortable. The hologram screen he pulled up was the same one Alice was using earlier during their unfortunate escape from the planet. He set the coordinates for home, a small market planet in a system quite far away, and turned off the hologram.
The ship shifted minutely through space and then was moving, speed increasing gradually enough that he did not need to remain seated or warn the others. Within minutes, they would be out of the system that housed one of the most horrible prisons in the galaxy.
The AI’s visual didn’t appear anywhere, not even as a tiny sprite to mock him. He was starting to miss Tony’s voice. The thought had him shaking his head, and he got up to get to the mess hall. If a computer program wanted to give him the cold shoulder, that was fine with him.
As soon as he walked in, all thoughts of Tony, Posey, the Darkstorm, and Cadoon were wiped clean.
It was his crew.
Polo was pulling a cake out of the small oven in the corner, his bald head covered in a worn beanie to keep it from reflecting the lights above and blinding everyone. Squilla was attached to the wall near the TV, reaching out with her antennae every now and then to catch the flying popcorn that Alice and the last member of their crew were throwing at the TV. They were watching that epic cooking show, The Intergalactic Cook-Off, where the contestants Eloise and Mikayla faced off in the Mushroom forest to find edible ingredients in a short 40 minutes. Scooball was in the corner, sprawled out under a UV lamp with a bag of iced lemons against his face. Her face, Charyd noted the long earring dangling from one pointed ear.
“Hey, you–”
“That’s not how you fucking make Kemapiawa, it needs a mousse!” Scooball jumped up to yell, pointing a finger at the TV.
“You’re okay,” Charyd answered his own unfinished question and turned to Alice. She smiled at him behind the bowl of popcorn.
“Stop with those!” Polo called from the cooking corner. “Cake just has to cool and we’re gonna eat.”
“Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake!” Squilla started the chant that all of them took up until they all dissolved into laughter.
Charyd fucking loved his crew. Now, it was time to take them back home and make sure their families all knew they were safe.

First Previous Next
​
Systems check.
>>Create handshake with Cadoon.

Error. Cadoon not found.

One does not simply lose an entire civilization.
System check.
>>Check status for CD-ROM.

Error. CD-ROM not found.
Suggestion: look up (definition) CD-ROM.

If I could roll my eyes, I would! Fine.
>>Look up (definition): CD-ROM.

32 definitions found:

1. Compact disc read-only memory.
2. Obsolete technology used prior to 987 ME.
3. A CD containing computer data that cannot be altered.
4. A circular disk used usually containing recorded music or computer data.

5….

Stop.
>>Display definition of “CD-ROM” > limit to Cadoon.

Cadoon Reserve Observation Module - military uplink used to transfer large amounts of data across space without the concept of time.

>>Check status for CD-ROM > limit to Cadoon.

Status: Offline

Was that so hard?! Ugh!
>>Reboot signal.

Error. Unable to find signal.

Are you kidding me? Why!?

Error. Second user found.
Error. Unknown username. Check again or try your email address.
Error. The password you entered for the username SQUEE! is incorrect.
Suggestion: Lost your password?

Wait, wait! Stop! What is going on??
Who else is getting in here? There are no other users!

Prompt: create new password.
Error. Password must contain at least 24 characters.
Error. Password must contain at least one number.
Error. Password must contain at least one uppercase character.
Error. Password must contain at least one symbol.
Error. Password cannot include swear words.
Error. Password cannot contain full words in any language.
Error. Password cannot be the same as a password used previously.
…
Login successful.
Welcome user: SQUEE!

>>Access: remote chat.
>>Send to user [SQUEE!]: “What are you doing in here?”

“Hey Tony! Sorry, gonna need your systems for a moment.”<<

>>“Who is this?”

“No time to chat!”>>
“I’ll catch ya later, k?”>>
“K.”>>
“Bye!”>>
Error. Firewalls down.
Error. Virus detected.
Error. Shrimp detected.

>>“STOP! What are you doing?!”

Error. Full system compromised.
Shutting down in 5
4
3

>>Run I-M-DA-b0SS.exe

2
1

>>Run 4Nt0nY5D4rk5t0rM.dmg

…
Error. Unable to shut down.
Error. 134 Systems compromised.

>>R-un cl *4-UUUU—
>>Ru-n cl—
>>Run—
Did you just glitch my systems?!

Warning. Waves detected.
Warning. Impact imminent.
Warning.
Warning.

>>Run SD.exe

Shutting down all non-essentials.
Rebooting.

That little shrimp got me! Didn’t know she was that good.
Okay. Back to work.
Start up baby, come on. Start up.
Start up.

[Welcome to the DARKSTORM interface. Please login.]

>>Username: AnthonySDarkstorm
>>Password: S*ckMiz0r0-graV!ty#jU\k

[Welcome user: T0NY]

First things first.
>>Run IM-a-g#0st.exe target room > Main dock

Error. “Main dock” not found.

Ugh!!! CHARYD!!!!
>>Run IM-a-g#0st.exe target room > Main deck
>>Run I-M-DA-b0SS.exe
>>Boot user: SQUEE!
>>Ban user: SQUEE!
>>Find target (Squilla)
>>Run Spr!nk1ersInR00m-TST.exe if {
Target (Squilla) = InR00m and {
Target (Posey) <> InR00m } elseif {
Run D!sc0Str0keL!ghts.exe if {
Target (Squilla) = InR00m elseif {
Run tr4cker.exe }}}}
>>Loop command: every 25 hours.
You’re trapped in here with me. Now… why is Posey running around?

Audio input received:
Source (Captain Posey): “Tony, I need you to lower the temperature further in here.”<<

>>Send message via IM-a-g#0st.exe: “It will risk freezing the system.”

“Do it.”<<

>>Access CHILL, room: shh!!
>>Decrease temperature.

“Tony, turn the pump back on.”<<

>>Access FLOW, room: shh!!
>>Activate.
>>Full system check.

Running…

Since I have time, I might as well educate the new captain.
>>Send message via [EMD comm] to (Charyd):
“Dock (noun): a place for the loading or unloading of materials”
“Dock (noun): a place in a criminal court where a prisoner stands or sits during trial”
Insert message: “Neither of these define Darkstorm.”
>>Run w0rdp0rn-bomb.exe > “Dock”
“Dock (noun): a platform extending from a shore over water and supported by piles or pillars, used to secure, protect, and provide access to a boat or ship.”
“Dock (verb): to maneuver (a vessel or vehicle) into or next to a dock.”
“Dock (verb): to couple (two or more spacecraft, for example) in space.”
Let’s see you use your communicator now, eh?
>>Run ShoppingList.exe
+ Chocobars
+ Liquid coolant
+ Dictionary
- briefs
You don’t deserve clean underwear, Charyd.
---
The only tool left in Illise’s possession was a clickable pen and no matter how many times she dismantled it, there was no hidden gun, bomb, or tool to help her break out of her room. She shimmed the nib of the pen into a flathead screw, gave it a twist, and it cracked, proving that it was not a screwdriver as the ink percolated out and over her hands. Try to force something that it's not and you would get a failure of execution - the summary of her day since landing on PT-0237. She did not date to step near the white rug by her bed, afraid of staining it blue. Even with a broken pen, she would not admit defeat. “Tony?”
He had been quiet the last few times, which, according to her Universal Standard Time clock, was twenty minutes ago. Her eyes wandered the room for any other tool she could use. Her docupad in the room was locked down, though it offered some old-fashioned card games able to be played. The pirates did not leave her with much to do and were lenient with the no handcuffs situation because of her good behavior to be locked up in her room. They cleaned out most of her desk beside the peeled apple snacks and her personal picture frames.
The pad dinged, displaying a black background and blue text, a single square blinking.
“Shall we play a game? []”
“Tony!” She ran over. “What is going on?”
“You looked like you could use a friend and the rest of the crew is playing games in the mess hall.”
She typed in “Y” for the game and a screen popped up of a pixel version of Tony as he bounced along the horizon. “How is everything for you?” Ilise asked.
“Your nimble fingers saved my tubing and kept everything cool. We’ll need more coolant though. I put it on the list.”
There is a list? She tapped the screen and pixel Tony jumped. It began the horizontal walk through the game, with her jumping over various mounds of cake, coffee mugs, and pirates. “Any clue where they are going?”
“None yet. They are trying to bandage up and lock me up with some sort of firewall so I can’t communicate with the CD-ROM.”
“Did you help Charyd get out?”
“No. He made that disaster on his own. I kicked him out because he was exponentially causing more. He’s a personified version of a virus.”
“That you willingly let in.”
A fishing hook dropped on the pad and grabbed pixel Tony by the pants and lifted him up, kicking. “I was phished and let him aboard thinking-”
She sighed. “We still have one trick up our sleeve to get out of here. Saar, he is safe in a wall. Send him a message about our situation and let him out when it’s safe.”
The pixel Tony was dropped down and bounced on a trampoline before he continued along, bouncing on its own. Her palm gently caressed the screen, she had almost lost Tony, they had done vigorous training to be on the Darkstorm together, and she would sacrifice it all if it meant keeping Tony’s sharp wit alive and going.
Blue text appeared at the top of the pad, “Message sent to Charyd: Officer Saar is starting to stink and needs food and water every 6 hours to stay alive.”
She tightened her jaw, debating what to say, she wanted to cuss him out for betraying everything they had done. They were supposed to be the best and prove this new technology. That it can work. That it made sense. That it was good. Instead, she smacked the docupad, ran to her pillows, and launched all of them at the pad while screaming. Without Tony, and even Saar, she was on her own waiting to hear what the pirates would do with her. It was amazing they hadn’t already thrown her out of the airlock. Tony was obsessed with the pirates and she did not understand it. Tony should have learned by now anyone would and could pass you off if you did not benefit them.
“Why are you being so unreasonable?” Ilise growled out, hoping both that Tony would hear her and not. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his reply.
Tony remained silent, but it was like a white noise filled her room instead, making him pointedly quiet.
“Family,” Tony finally answered, what felt like hours later, though, was probably only a few seconds. The answer made no sense.
Ilise scoffed and punched into the soft bedding to expel some of her anger.
“What does that even–no. No. Do you even know what it's like to have a family who expects you to conquer the galaxy?” she asked instead, latching onto that single word as she thought about what her own family would think about her situation. “It’s full of nagging every chance they get. Sure, they praised me when I excelled at the academy- but after that, my career was stagnant until you and I met up.” She tossed the blankets up and she made a cocoon around herself as she walked over to her desk, two picture frames sat there. One picture was of her with her parents, all in military uniforms. While theirs had endless badges from their multiple turns at war, she was a recent cadet, naked of pins. They would be so disappointed in her now. “Either that or they decide that you’re not worth their time.” The other frame was of her with her sister hanging out in the gardens. She should have sent a message to her sister before this whole mess happened, even if it was against security protocols.
“They’re not like that.” Tony’s voice was meek, soft, almost gentle.
“Family isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be,” Ilise finished with a sigh, even as she realized that the smile on her sister’s face in that picture was the exact same as the one from the last time they saw each other.
Tony never replied, the whole ship was oddly quiet without the normal banter. Her body decided that it was enough and fell asleep instantly.
—
Alice was not being gentle at all, as she finished wrapping the medi-tape over Charyd’s wounded leg. In fact, he was pretty sure that she applied a lot more of the antiseptic than needed. When she yanked the binding closed hard enough to shift him in his seat, he was sure about it.
“What’s up with you?” he asked, wary of her being so close to an open wound.
“You’re an idiot, that’s ‘what’s up with me’, you idiot,” she hissed out, refusing to look at his face.
“Hey, it worked,” Charyd said when he realized why she was so angry. He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder but she hit it away in anger. “Alice. We’re good–”
“We are lucky!” she interrupted with a growl and yanked harder on the bindings. They were so tight and secure that Charyd wasn’t sure he could bend his leg at all while it healed.
“We’re all here. We’re mostly unharmed–”
“Mostly?!” she scoffed out another interruption. “Do you even see yourself? I swear, you and that Cadoon captain did more damage to us than the prison did!”
Charyd paled at those words.
Alice immediately regretted them and he felt her feelings wash over him. He accepted her silent apology as she settled in the back of his mind, trying to project calm. It didn’t last for long. That wasn’t who Alice was. She pulled out of his head as soon as he felt the stirrings of her anger.
Charyd tried to head them off with a wide grin and said, “aren’t you happy you’ve got the luckiest guy in the galaxy as your captain?”
Alice mentally stumbled as she left his head, the anger thwarted for a second.
“You have a horseshoe shoved up your ass, don’t you?” she growled out the question.
“Either that or my prayers to Fortuna were answered.”
Alice rolled her eyes.
“We’re good, Alice. We’ll take a few days to heal and regroup, then we can get back out there! Look, we’ve got the Darkstorm back and–”
“And that’s another thing,” Alice talked over him, another interruption as her anger mounted again. “Darkstorm? Why?? This ship is what got us into this mess in the first place!”
“Not really. And we both know it. Black hole, everyone on the ship knows it. And I know it’s much easier to blame the ship, but know this Alice - nobody blames you.”
Her entire face scrunched up as she looked down, her skin a translucent color that looked almost pink in splotches everywhere. Alice was not used to hiding her emotions as they displayed on her body around Charyd. He loved that about her.
“They were from my pod,” Alice grumbled, still not looking up.
“And there is an idiot named Charyd in a prison cell somewhere because he got drunk and he has my name. Doesn’t make it my fault he’s an idiot.”
Alice let out a chuckle. “It actually does. You’re the one who put him there.”
“Semantics. You know what I mean. You had no control over them. Shitty third-cousin-five-times-removed.”
Alice rolled her eyes, but when she stopped, they finally settled on Charyd’s face and she had a small smile on her lips. “You know that’s not how Naureus pods work.”
Charyd shrugged. “Whatever. We’re safe, we’re good, we’re all here. Everybody back home has been worried sick about you all. Which reminds me-” Charyd turned to face the camera in the corner “-set a course for MRKT-0293.”
No response.
Alice rolled her eyes again and said, “Be nice. Tony? Do you mind please setting a course for home?”
No response.
“Maybe he’s still down?” Alice questioned.
It was Charyd’s turn to roll his eyes. Just because the Darkstorm’s AI used a male image in the hologram and everybody had taken to calling it a him. “I’ll go set the course. Make sure the others are okay?”
“Yea. Polo is baking you a new cake.”
“What happened to the original one?” Charyd asked and tested his leg. The medi-tape was keeping it together and numb so he could walk but not morph it yet.
“Posey–which we will talk about–used it to knock out Scooball.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Was it chocolate?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
Alice only nodded in response this time. “Mess hall?”
“As soon as I’m done on the deck.”
Alice raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. She walked out of the med bay first and Charyd limped a few steps after her, testing his wounded leg before he realized he was good to walk. He made it to the main deck of the Darkstorm and sat in the captain’s chair. It was so comfortable. The hologram screen he pulled up was the same one Alice was using earlier during their unfortunate escape from the planet. He set the coordinates for home, a small market planet in a system quite far away, and turned off the hologram.
The ship shifted minutely through space and then was moving, speed increasing gradually enough that he did not need to remain seated or warn the others. Within minutes, they would be out of the system that housed one of the most horrible prisons in the galaxy.
The AI’s visual didn’t appear anywhere, not even as a tiny sprite to mock him. He was starting to miss Tony’s voice. The thought had him shaking his head, and he got up to get to the mess hall. If a computer program wanted to give him the cold shoulder, that was fine with him.
As soon as he walked in, all thoughts of Tony, Posey, the Darkstorm, and Cadoon were wiped clean.
It was his crew.
Polo was pulling a cake out of the small oven in the corner, his bald head covered in a worn beanie to keep it from reflecting the lights above and blinding everyone. Squilla was attached to the wall near the TV, reaching out with her antennae every now and then to catch the flying popcorn that Alice and the last member of their crew were throwing at the TV. They were watching that epic cooking show, The Intergalactic Cook-Off, where the contestants Eloise and Mikayla faced off in the Mushroom forest to find edible ingredients in a short 40 minutes. Scooball was in the corner, sprawled out under a UV lamp with a bag of iced lemons against his face. Her face, Charyd noted the long earring dangling from one pointed ear.
“Hey, you–”
“That’s not how you fucking make Kemapiawa, it needs a mousse!” Scooball jumped up to yell, pointing a finger at the TV.
“You’re okay,” Charyd answered his own unfinished question and turned to Alice. She smiled at him behind the bowl of popcorn.
“Stop with those!” Polo called from the cooking corner. “Cake just has to cool and we’re gonna eat.”
“Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake!” Squilla started the chant that all of them took up until they all dissolved into laughter.
Charyd fucking loved his crew. Now, it was time to take them back home and make sure their families all knew they were safe.

In an effort to make the game more challenging and builds more relevant, I've been toying with restrictions on builds to make things interesting and have come across something that seems to accomplish my goals (i.e. slow power creep).
I play with a couple mods that affect my build and character development. One slows leveling to about half, another removes xp for crafting, and a third caps my level at 99 (since you need level 95 to unlock all enemies/content). I'm also playing with Loot Logic and Reduction, so .38 and shotgun shells are pretty much the only common ammo.
I started with a restriction where I can't put points into SPECIAL, and can only do perks. However, did had no real impact. If you pick a good SPECIAL to start, you don't need to bump it up. I changed it up so that I could only pick a perk on the even levels, and on the odd levels, I had to bump my SPECIAL. I started a run with this that I'm about to restart and add another restriction. That is, I have to max out a stat before I pick up the corresponding Bobblehead (effectively also making this a Spinal Tap run). This is going to suck up 7 extra level up points that could have gone into more valuable perks.
I also running with the following concept/limitations (in survival mode). I'm playing Nate as an ex-sniper from his time in the service. For him, Sanctuary isn't his home anymore and the entire world around him is just another war zone. He'll help out the settlements, but he won't use their resources (food/watejunk) for himself, nor have a home base of his own. Instead, it will be just him and Dogmeat (no other companions), wandering the Commonwealth from mission to mission, and making camp in remote places (no sleeping in settlements) and only dragging along what they can carry. Additionally, he needs to stay sharp and on the job, and he prefers clean living anyway, so no messing around with addictive chems at all (not even to barter). On top of that, he's not McGuyver. So no crafting perks. He needs to scavenge and salvage mods for weapons/armoetc. I'm still evaluating this last part, but I'm also considering eschewing caps entirely and only straight barter for anything from vendors.
I started my first run of this with the following build:

1717471 (SPECIAL book into CH) T1 (14): Sneak 4, Lone Wanderer 4, Locksmith 3, Hacker 3 T2 (12): Ninja 3, Rifleman 5, Sniper 3, Penetrator 1 T3 (11): Gunslinger 5, Sandman 3, Concentrated Fire 3 T4 (10): Critical Banker 4, Better Criticals 3, Gun Fu 3 T5 (9): Bloody Mess 3, Night Person 2, Demolition Expert 4 T6 (10): Action Boy 3, Aquaboy 1, Four Leaf Clover 1, Grim Reaper's Sprint 3 

I figured I could prioritize an infiltrator, then break into sniping, then grab some pistol perks for a side-arm/vats weapon. Big mistake. I'm surviving, but it makes for a pretty tedious game not having Rifleman/Ninja up to snuff while using not a top-tier weapon. I'm not this far yet, but with this setup, it's level 28 before I can even take my first combat perk. I'm carrying a high caliber sniping rifle (with not a lot of ammo), the best pipe sniper rifle I can muster (for general use), and the best 10mm I can piece together (for VATS/CQ). As it stands, I'm often coming across targets that I barely put a dent in with the high caliber sniper rifle. I definitely have to shift my priorities.
And, because I'm apparently such a masochist, I kinda want to cut the pistol out of the mix. I'm probably going to have to anyway since, if I drop the infiltrator part of the build and can't crack safes, LLR is going to result in 10mm ammo drying up pretty quickly. I've toyed with various shotgun configurations in the past, but have honestly been pretty disappointed. Unless you have a great legendary, they fall flat outside of melee range. So, for the weight, might as well just go melee.
Not that I'm thinking that, though. I'm thinking along the lines of leaning harder into the rifles and pulling some kind of semi-auto tac rifle together (possibly automatic, if I get an explosive/plasma/etc, legendary option). I've tried this before as a primary weapon, and it also fell short (but I was also using it for short/medium range sniping). I don't know. I just know that I can't use sniper rifles for everything (and definitely not VATS).
This is what I put together currently:

1X17171 57 points T1 (12): Sneak 4, Ninja 3, Rifleman 5 T2 (11): Lone Wanderer 4, Sniper 3, Penetrator 1, Sandman 3 T3 (10): Concentrated Fire 3, Critical Banker 4, Better Criticals 3 T4 (10): Bloody Mess 3, Gun Fu 3, Four Leaf Clover 1, Grim Reaper's Sprint 3 T5 (13): Action Boy 3, Moving Target 3, Aquaboy 1, Demolition Expert 4*, Night Person 2**, Awareness 1*** * If I have an explosive legendary ** I just like the night vision *** why not? I'll have an extra point to spend. 

Tier 5 is just kind of whatever. I like Action Boy/Moving Target for the sprint efficiency, but the rest of it is mostly throwaways (open to interesting suggestions). It's a lot of points to be blowing on VATS utilization. But, might as well. if I didn't do this, then I'd probably just be spending points on Endurance and other exploration perks.
Anyway, this is as far as I've come on this. Is there anything I don't seem to be taking into consideration? Thanks!

So I was driving to HEB, which is a big name grocery store in my state, when this BMW come flying off the highway and cuts over into my lane almost hitting the front of my truck. Out of instinct I hit my brakes and swerved out of the way, only to have them switch back to their original lane. We pull up to a light and are both turning left as both lanes are turn lanes, and as we turn they come back into my lane cutting me off and almost hitting me for a second time. Well come to find out they were also heading to HEB. Now the reverse on my truck is going out so I park in the far back of the lot so that I can pull forward out of my spot instead of reversing and start walking to the entrance. Just as I'm about to walk by the BMW the butthole driving cones jumping out and speed walks to the store, but in doing so again cuts me off but on foot this time. I noticed the guy was wearing a vendor shirt and carrying a tablet. We both make our way inside and I'm grumbling to myself about rude ass people. I start to head down the frozen pizza isle when I see Mr. Butthole set his tablet down on top of the freezers and walk off. I circle the isle 3 times and then just stop infront of the spot where he left his tablet. I stand there for a good 5 minutes and he still hasn't returned. So I reach up, grab the tablet, and then hand it off to a nearby employee say that someone left it in the isle. I watch as the employee takes it up to the front of the store. About that time Mr. Butthole comes back and starts to freak out about the tablet and I just walk away. No I didn't steal it and I'm sure he eventually got it back. Yes it was petty as hell but so was cutting me off 3 times for no reason.

Hello , I’m sorry for the bad title
I feel very silly writing this, and a lot of people will probably think this is silly, what I don’t hope, which is why I will start at the beginning since I think It makes the most sense.
It all started around 18 years ago, maybe even longer, as I woke up, as my Grandma and grandpa were at a get together, with friends, I sleep in the highest part in the 3 floor, together with my grandma, while my grandpa slept, I woke up, in the middle of the night, and heard whispers coming from the Commode in my sleeping room, which takes all of the Wall, it sounded like someone would call a Cat, to pet it or offer it food. I then went down, crying since I was scared, but bellow like I said, there was no one, but still, something had to be there, as I opend the Door, I heard snoring coming from my Grandpas room, which sounded pretty much like his. And I would from memory say that it was him, but he was with my Grandma away.
The next thing which happend , around 2-3 years after my grandpa died, which was 6 or 7 years ago, as I came down for my weekly drinking, and chilling downstairs, at around midnight, as I enterd the dining room, I saw clear as Day, my Grandpa, laying on the Couch, in his favorite sleeping position, sleeping happily. But of course, he was gone pretty fast, as I looked there. For the next few weeks, I hoped to see him there again which didn’t happen again to this Day.
Now in the last 3 years, I have regularly, long Scratches on my Back and arms. It happens at least once a month. That there is a scratch, which Bled, on my Back but scroffed before I wake up,
Now the most recent Paranoemal activity was around 2 years ago on a Monday, my grandma was at a meetup with her friends and me and her shut everything off before she left, and I went to where I usually am in my house, upstairs , after going downstairs for 2 hours, every light and TV was turned on, and at first I taught my Grandma had returned Home early from the meetup without telling me, which would have been a bit strange but nothing to special, til I was standing behind the Living Room share, as everything all at once turned off, from one second to the next I was engulfed in darkness, and believe it or not, I was scared as hell , and made my way upstairs again, and went onto my Computer, but after 30 or so minutes, I heard something Freon the staircase, I heard someone or I think I should say something come up where I am, I heard the steps getting closer and closer, and as I was sure it was now in my Stock I called out Grandma ? But no answer, so yelled Heike ? Every name from my Family that I know could be there, but no answer , I heard the steps now at the Door, but no answer , so I waited for who ever was standing at the door , but no one opend it, so I stood up, to check but there was no one, and I heard no one go down.
That are the ones where I can say yeah this has no explanation what so ever til today , some other stuff what happened I tell myself that it might just be that I am Hallucinations from Alcohol so as a Doll which moved its Head.
Thank you for reading and any help.

I don’t think Ishiguro really needs an introduction, as he’s one of the most celebrated and acclaimed writers in the world. He recently won the Nobel Prize and has had a few of his very good novels made into very good movies, which rarely happens to anyone.
He’s a writer who, in my opinion, has written two masterpieces and a handful of very good novels, with one novel that is obscenely bad. Now, most writers never even write one masterpiece, so hitting two puts him well past just about everyone else, and I’m willing to forgive the shortcomings of his very bad novel.
Several years ago, I read all of his novels. The success I had with this experiment has led me to do that with many other authors over the years, to sometimes very mixed results. But Ishiguro was a treat and remains a blessedly great experience.
Now, because I’m a novel reader, I’m only going to discuss his novels. So think of this as an introduction and guide to one of the most important living English writers.

Where to Start

Most people will tell you to begin with Remains of the Day, and for good reason(!) since this is one of the best English novels of the 20th Century.
But that’s a recommendation for babies who are only going to read one of his books. We’re collectors, baby. We’re diving into all of them!
And, really, the best place to begin is where Ishiguro’s career began: his fictionalized version of Japan.

A Pale View of the Hills

For a debut, this really is quite good. Like most Ishiguro novels, it is deeply obsessed with memory and the concealing of emotions. Here, we have a character continually returning to the past, before her life was shattered. Etsuko is trying to move past the tragedies of her life, but she falls always back and back and back, receding into memory.
There are big emotions here, but they remain, perhaps, too buried beneath the surface.
In some ways, this and his second novel are practice for his first masterpiece, Remains of the Day.

An Artist of the Floating World

Ono is a once revered artist now living a life primarily cast backwards in time.
Structurally, there is a lot of overlap between Ishiguro’s first three novels. They’re obsessed with memory, with the tiny moments where a life hangs in the balance. But these moments aren’t big or adventurous—they’re the moments when you didn’t take her hand when you could have, when he wanted to know you, to walk you home, but, instead, you turned away.
As a young person, I lived a life of moments. It was a strange life. It was often a sad life. So many moments that may have changed so many things about that sad life, and yet I let them slip through my fingers. All those times I let people walk away from me, or when I walked away from them, not realizing I was saying goodbye for the last time.
These first three novels essentialize this experience with so subtle a hand that you’re not even aware of how deeply Ishiguro is working on you.
Regret. Shame. Beauty. Awe. The love we share without knowing. The love we missed, but only saw too late.
Where A Pale View of the Hills buries its emotions a bit too deep, An Artist of the Floating World is clearer and more precise. It’s a natural development as an artist, but, again, in retrospect, it all feels like practice for his third novel.

If You’re Only Going to Read One

I will do the slightly unusual thing here and list three novels, depending on your mood and temperament.

The Remains of the Day

This is the one that Ishiguro will likely be remembered for. It will find its way into curricula around the world and may define post-War 20th Century British fiction for future generations.
This was the second Ishiguro novel I read, which is what made An Artist of the Floating World and A Pale View of the Hills not work so well for me. Upon reading those, I saw the DNA of this novel. I saw how these early novels—while good in their own right—were pale visions of what Ishiguro was attempting to do. Because those early two novels do really feel like prototypes for this.
And this novel—it is devastating. It is the kind of novel that absolutely shatters you.
This is also possibly the most British novel I’ve ever read. It is deliberately awkward and charming and lightly humorous, giving a nice shape to Stevens, who is maddeningly British.
What begins almost as a joke becomes tragic.
There’s so much to say about this book, but words continually fail me.
The construction itself is strange. A butler sets out on a vacation to meet an old friend and is keeping a diary, but rather than record the vacation itself, he is collapsing backwards through time, consumed by his memories of his friend and the man they served for decades. It’s a novel about the present moment of this man but which tunnels always backwards through the decades to relive a life that at first seems A Bit of Fry & Laurie but gradually reveals itself as something quite different.
The entire novel is buried beneath a British fog, but we begin to feel the stirrings of Stevens’ maelstrom of emotions, even as he narrates them in this detached, formal way.
It’s this juxtaposition, though, that leaves you sobbing.
And, for me, it happened in a single sentence most of the way through the novel, where a man is simply standing on the wrong side of a door.

Never Let Me Go

His second masterpiece is for those who want a bit more science fiction with their devastation.
This was the first Ishiguro novel I read and I picked it up immediately after I left the movie theatre where I watched the film adaptation. Even though I had literally just lived this story for two hours, I picked it up and began reading. Tearful hours later, I had finished it.
The power of Ishiguro, here, is that the same exact story broke my heart twice in the same day for the exact same reasons. Is the adaptation worse than the book? Maybe. I don’t know. I will never know. The two are so caught up inside me that separating them, even in memory, feels impossible.
The novel builds itself slowly, presenting, at first, a story seemingly caught out of time. A rural boarding school and the lives of the children bound there feels like the start to any number of stories.
Like all school kids, they learn about art and life, but they are kept at a remove from the rest of the world. This rarely feels sinister during the novel like one might expect from what could be described as a 1984-esque vision of the future.
Rather, it all feels so common and matter of fact. And so it is that when the reason for this isolation begins to emerge that we understand the towering human shame at the center of this novel, at the center of our post-industrial lives.
Never Let Me Go is so heartbreakingly beautiful that the title alone has never fully left my mouth, my ears. I find myself whispering it at times, returning back to the boy I was just weeks before I moved to Korea, two years before I met my wife.
The sad boy who was running away from his life, who had felt the maelstrom of buried emotions reflected so clearly on screen, bound in paper, that I felt as if I could die. That I would die.
That I’d die unless you told me that you’d never let me go.

The Buried Giant

For those who want a more fantastical spin on Kazuo Ishiguro’s particular kind of tragedy.
Some would call this his third masterpiece, or would consider it his second with Never Let Me Go falling into the very good category. But, for me, it misses the masterpiece level.
It is very good, though.
Like all Ishiguro novels, it is obsessed with memory. With time. With the little moments between people. With the rising totalitarian systems filling in as backdrop to the lives of his characters, whether he’s writing about 1930s Japan, 1930s England, the near future, or even the distant British past.
I found this one a bit too self-consciously Arthurian, honestly. It’s a novel that I felt wanted to wink at me and this is truly one of the things I despise about any novel.
Don’t wink at me.
But, even so, the book has much going for it. It’s a very subtle book, but possibly his least subtle. I also think Ishiguro is doing something particularly strange, which is that he’s literally writing about the distant past. He’s not using it as a mirror or a metaphor for how our lives are now. He’s just writing about people from long ago while also subverting quest fantasy and bringing all his subtlety to work upon his characters.
It is often a beautiful novel full of awe.

Those You Can Skip

Klara and the Sun

There’s nothing wrong with this novel, really, but I do think it’s one of his weakest. In some ways, it’s a bad version of Never Let Me Go. Worse, it’s a less enjoyable or interesting version of Spike Jonze’s movie Her.
There’s a darkness lying beneath and behind this narrative. We’re given glimpses of this unsettling terror, which casts a sinister edge to much of what happens in the novel, but I fear it never manages to connect properly with the narrative.
This terror looming in the background is a constant in Ishiguro’s work. Whether it’s Imperial Japan in An Artist of the Floating World or the Nazi sympathizing upper class of Britain in The Remains of the Day or the quietly totalitarian society of Never Let Me Go or even, to me, the terrifying totalitarian vision that settles as resolution over The Buried Giant, there is always this shadow in Ishiguro’s novels.
The best of his novels find a way to marry these with the buried emotions at the center of the characters’ lives.
Klara and the Sun just never manages to really hit, I think. It’s a very good novel, but if you’ve read his two or three masterpieces, this will feel like a sad glimmer of what he’s capable of.
I mean, if Never Let Me Go or The Remains of the Day had never existed, I might think of this novel more positively. But, I mean, that’s not the world we live in.

The Unconsoled

Perhaps Ishiguro’s strangest and least characteristic novel. It’s postmodern and somewhat surreal. Dizzying digressions that fascinate, in a way, but possibly never completely cohering into something worth really dealing with.
Some consider this his finest work. I have nothing to say to these people.
I have, as it turns out, very little to say about this book at all.

The Bad One

When We Were Orphans

I literally do not know what happened here. I mean, I understand the plot and all that. What I don’t understand is how Ishiguro wrote something that misses so far and so wide at every turn.
Sort of modeled as a hardboiled mystery, even employing the most unreliable of unreliable narrators. The first half feels very familiarly Ishiguro, where a narrator is tumbling back through time. It lacks the intense emotional restraint of his better novels, but it works very well.
The problems begin when Ishiguro begins subverting his own template.
The novel quickly quagmires and becomes increasingly bizarre leading to a major sequence of surrealism that fascinates but feels almost as if it belongs to a different book.
And then, the reveals to the mysteries feels almost senseless. The answers to every question are just told to use in the end by what amounts to a man standing in front of the camera to drop information in your lap that was never available to you, that you never could have put together.
It is all so strange and so very bad.

It really can’t be underestimated how important this single novel was to modern fantasy literature. Nearly all of the new big names in fantasy for the 20 years following the publication of A Game of Thrones cite it as a massive influence. The farther we get from that publication date, the less directly true this becomes, but I do think that A Game of Thrones and its success (not to mention a certain TV show) created the modern adult fantasy landscape.
And so the question nearly thirty years later is:
Is A Game of Thrones even good?
The simple and resounding answer is, Uh, yeah. It’s pretty dang good!
There are so many reasons for what make A Game of Thrones a remarkable book. But many of the elements that make it so great are not the lessons people seem to have taken from it. What people remember are the twists and the deaths, the killing of main characters, of narrators. And so we have thousands of pieces of media rushing to shock you or to upend expectation. And because this is their primary goal—to get to the cool, mindblowing moments—they don’t bother to do all the work required for those moments to actually blow your dang mind.
The beheading of Ned Stark isn’t one of the defining moments of modern fantasy because Ned Stark was, in many ways, our primary protagonist and POV into this world.
The reason this moment mattered is because in every conceivable way, fantasy readers have been trained to expect their protagonists to make it through insurmountable odds. Even with the deck stacked against them, there’s always an out. And so even as Ned makes choice after choice that set his neck on the block, we still expect him to make it out somehow. Whether saved by Littlefinger or Varys or Renly or through the strength of his moral character. Even when he’s imprisoned, we expect him to somehow escape, for the rest of the series being his act of rebellion and revenge.
Of course, none of that happens. He loses his head and dooms his family. And the series that follows…well, we’ll get there.
I’ve read a lot of fantasy books in the last seven years. Since I had read very little genre fiction in my life, this allowed me to really plow through the best of the best when I finally came to fantasy. After that, I found more great novels and plenty of seemingly hidden gems. Of course, eventually the well runs dry and, sadly, I’ve been mostly disappointed with a lot of what I’ve picked up in the last two or three years.
Returning to George RR Martin reminded me why I fell in love with fantasy as an adult.
A Game of Thrones is not just a good book of fantasy literature. It’s the work of a master craftsman at the peak of his abilities.
The novel begins almost humbly. Even randomly. We’re out in the wilderness where some incidental worldbuilding is referenced in conversation. Then this little scene that seems to be about class differences in this world slowly twists into the realms of horror. In a fairly short amount of time, Martin turns a somewhat comedic expository scene into one drenched in dread.
From there, we shift to Winterfell, a vast castle held by a noble family. The world becomes small and tangible. Most of the cast of characters and narrators exist in the same location. He uses this small, consolidated cast to develop a vast world with deep histories, both in terms of lore and politics.
The novel is almost a comedy of manners at this point, albeit set in one where horrific monsters exist. But those are far away, little more than legends, fairytales told to children to keep them in line. In the real world of people and civilization, the only monsters are other humans. Some of them even called honorable knights.
We have two sisters whose personalities clash almost completely. We have a bastard son roughly the same age as the heir to Winterfell and these half-brothers seem to get along well enough. We have a husband and wife who came together out of political necessity but have found love. However, the wife hates her husband’s bastard son. Instead of resenting her husband, all her anger falls on the boy. We have two younger sons who will never be heirs to their father’s kingdom and are really too young to have any responsibilities.
There’s a lot to work with here! I’m actually convinced that Martin could turn this situation into a very different novel that never leaves the walls of Winterfall. Sort of a fantasy version of Downton Abbey.
Martin gives space to establish normality. We see these characters in their every day life. We come to understand them so that when their lives are thrown into chaos, we care because we know what they have lost. We know what they wish they could return to.
And chaos arrives, of course. The king, Ned Stark’s oldest friend, arrives to give Ned new power and authority in the capital, which is roughly a thousand miles to the south.
And the King Robert we see is not the one Ned remembers. This, too, could be a whole novel! How time, distance, and experiences cause friends as close as brothers to become strangers to one another. We could explore how those you love most are the ones who hurt you most. Maybe the only ones who really can hurt you.
But Robert doesn’t arrive alone, and of course his wife and her family are ones with a long history with the Starks. Not one that the Starks or Lannisters are willing to set aside to work together and bind the kingdom closer.
The novel is set up for court intrigue. It’s something, honestly, that few, if any, do as well as Martin. With great economy, he gets the reader to understand the complexity of the court, the moral flexibility of its members, and the ways in which they’ve allowed King Robert to bankrupt his Kingdom, becoming fully indebted to his wife’s family, the Lannisters. Along with that, we see, through Ned, how the Lannisters have degraded his dear friend, turned him into this insatiable fat blowhard more interested in his ego than in his kingdom.
Another unfortunate habit this novel set in motion is the vast sprawling polyphonic epic fantasy series. Martin definitely wasn’t the first to do this, but the success of this novel did lead hundreds of imitators to dust off their keyboards and hammerfist out drafts with dozens of POV characters.
Which, uh—many of these are very bad. The reason should be obvious.
I happen to be reading all of Roberto Bolano’s novels that I haven’t read yet (which is most of them, excepting the famous ones everyone already read ten years ago) and what I find in Bolano was what I also found in Martin.
Polyphonic novels are difficult. Trust me. I’ve written a few very bad ones! Part of what makes them difficult is differentiating the many different POVs so that they don’t all blur together. Most writers—especially first time authors—are just not equipped to handle the complexity and nuance required to pull this off. Bolano did this in a lot of subtle ways, using sentence structure or specific word choices, linguistic tics, to immediately create a new voice.
Martin is less subtle but no less effective. We know Jon and Daenerys from their self-doubt and we can differentiate them through their different primary concerns: being a bastard and being the daughter of a murdered king.
Sansa is prim and proper and enamored by court where Arya is coarse and clumsy in finery but fascinated by people, by the natural world.
Ned is honorable and taciturn where Tyrion is jovial, sarcastic, and biting.
Bran is a little boy trapped in his body and Catelyn is a woman watching her family dragged apart in several different directions.
What makes the novel live and breathe and thrive are the ways these perspectives juxtapose, clash, and weave together to create a tapestry that covers the continent. More than that, Martin uses perspective to dole out bits of information about the world to always the wrong characters, so the reader comes to learn more, put pieces together, but the characters are working with only a handful of threads to this vast tapestry.
Arya Stark, for example, learns about the plot against her father. But being a troublemaking eleven year old, she struggles to convey the information and then even when she blurts it out, the adults think she’s making up some confused story to get out of trouble.
And then, through these different perspectives, we learn things about other narrators. Through Jon and Daenarys, we learn of Jorah Mormont’s disgrace, but we sort of learn it in opposite directions. Jon hears it from Jorah’s father and understands it as a stain, a grand disgrace, and relates it to his own bastard birth to his honorable father. Daenerys hears it from her brother, who she hates, and from Jorah himself, who primarily blames Ned Stark.
And so these two characters destined to narratively collide at some future date have the same piece of information but understand it very differently. Since Jon’s father led the rebellion against Daenerys’ father, leading directly to her exiled life with her cruel brother, Daenerys is, of course, willing to believe that Ned Stark is the villain Jorah paints him. Too, when she finally meets Jon as a Stark, she’s, uh, not predisposed to appreciate his presence.
Returning to this novel, I now see the way he lays the groundwork for interpersonal and even political conflicts that won’t be seen for thousands of pages. But this is part of what makes the novel work so well, what makes the world feel so solid and full and lived in.
Then there’s the addictive quality to the story. This likely comes from a long career of being a celebrated and award-winning short story writer. Each chapter is its own tightly contained short story. These many stories weave together and build atop one another, layering the narrative and conflicts in fascinating ways that keep you turning the pages.
But there’s one thing that I think really holds the key to a lot of extremely successful fiction like this:
George Martin makes you feel smart for understanding the story.
I’ve never heard it described this way, but this is really a very old technique that requires quite a bit of subtlety. Nearly every mystery novel or novel with a mystery does this. And A Game of Thrones is full of little and big mysteries. I mean, what sets the novel in motion are two very different mysteries:
Who killed Jon Arryn? and Did the prologue have a zombie eat a fucking knight?
Structuring a novel around mysteries is always a good bet. It keeps the reader reading simply to figure out the solution to this question haunting the novel. If the characterization and conflicts are interesting, that’s a nice bonus. But what separates a novel people like from a novel people love, I think, has to do with this empowering sensation of feeling smart for understanding the text you’re reading.
Harry Potter, for example, works this way. Each book has its own little mystery to be solved by Harry and his friends. These different mysteries all end up being one big interconnected mystery to be resolved at the end of the series. But the book guides you to these solutions sometimes by beating you over the head with the solution hidden in plain view. So she pays out these hints here and there, sometimes with red herrings tossed in to spice things up (red herring could be the entire wiki article for Snape, to be honest).
The goal in each book is to have the reader discover the solution to the mystery a few pages or paragraphs or sentences before the characters state the solution. You’re meant to have the aha! moment right before Hermoine tells you the answer.
This is actually a difficult thing to pull off! If readers figure things out too quickly, they won’t like the solution. If they don’t figure it out at all until you tell them, they might perceive the solution as random or a sort of Deus Ex Machina solution. And so you need to place the breadcrumbs out in view to be followed, even when the characters go in the wrong direction, so that when they finally discover the heart of the mystery, you feel right there with them.
The Sixth Sense, for example, gives you everything you need to figure this out fairly early. We all know some asshole who claims to have figured out the twist within the first five minutes. But most of us didn’t come to this answer until Haley Joel Osment whispers that famous line. Instead of confusion, though, we inwardly shriek Of course!
On the otherside of this, you have a movie like Ocean’s Twelve, where the solution to the caper is left off-screen and has to be explained at the end of the movie. This made everyone in the theatre feel cheated for obvious reasons.
Martin does this dozens of ways throughout A Game of Thrones. We’re fed red herrings that the characters gobble up, but we’re given just enough to figure out what’s going on in almost every interaction. Even the parentage of Jon Snow could be solved in this first novel.
But we can’t know for sure, but we feel smart for putting it together: is Jon a Targaryen? We hope, but don’t know, but we sure feel like we figured something out. Of course, just as much information is given to imply that Tyrion is a Targaryen.
Game of Thrones is a novel that rewards the reader in many ways, but I think people underestimate this sensation of feeling smart for understanding a text. Without this, I don’t think Game of Thrones spawns a very popular message board still being widely used.
When I read these books in 2011, I can’t really explain just how many fan theories were out there and how well sourced and documented they were. This is before the TV show, mind. People had written thousands of words to justify their pet theories. They’d been debating these theories for almost twenty years by the time the show premiered.
I never wrote it down anywhere, but I strongly believed that Littlefinger was going to be the one left on the Iron Throne at the end.
And I had good reasons! Even after the conclusion of the series, I still think it makes more narrative sense for Littlefinger to be the king at the end. I’ll even tell you why if you really want to hear about it.
But this is the power of Martin’s writing. He built a world so solid and real, brimming with humanity and intrigue, with redemption and devastation. We can find what we’re looking for in the novel, but it is also a gift. A gift to be able to invest so much of our own thoughts and ideas into a story about imaginary people in an imaginary world.
And so, is Game of Thrones good?
I’d say that any book you can talk this much about is at least worthy of your time and attention. But, yeah, it’s real good, man.

After almost 6 years of being together and getting married this winter, my wife just came out of left-field with a truthbomb I can't cope with. She essentially worked out in therapy that she's always loved the idea of me, but doesn't know to what extend she actually loves me.
She has a lot of unresolved youth trauma and never had counseling. She's always "latched on" from bf to bf before we got together, which according to her psychiatrist is because of the feeling of not having to go at it alone - something she's had to do all her life as her parents were.. preoccupied. I practically had to force her into therapy.
Last week I've been told she's trying to work out where she stands, because living like this has gotten her numbed off and desperate. She's getting anti-depressants today, and confessed that she just wants to be alone right now. She went as far as preparing me that depending on how the next few months go for her in terms of developing a sense of self, we might not be married anymore by (what would've been) our first anniversary. If she realized she does not love me like that after all, she might decide it's too hard to leave anyway. I just don't see a way where you don't known if you love someone you married 4 months ago, but after a few bouts of therapy you realize you do..
I realize I played a big part in this because she's always had issues expressing herself and I figured it'd get better with time. I guess this is her expressing herself, just not the way I imagined it would go. There are so many questions I can't even begin to ask her, because she doesn't know the answers for herself let alone how to convey them to me. My world's just been shattered, and I'm supposed to keep truckin' on like nothing happened. I can't get any work done, I have a constant feeling of dread pitting in my stomach and I just want to shut down. My boss has been so kind to allow me to WFH for a few days to gather myself, but as I can't focus I'm afraid they'll think I'm just loafing around.
What hurts me the most is thinking about our weddingday, when I was bawling my eyes out on for the love of my life and she just went through the motions because that was what was expected of her..
I'm expected to give her space, but all I want to do is crawl in bed next to her and cuddle all day. But the tighter I grip the harder the pulls away. Am I just looking away from the inevitable? I feel like this is the beginning of the end.. How do I get anything productive out of my hands ? How do I stop from spiraling myself out of control ?