The Dark Lord Helshep was in a council meeting as they were laying out the plans for the next phases of his subjugation of the Stolen Hills region. “My Lord, I suggest we launch a full-force strike here and here,” he said, pointing to points on the map. “Yuu, will this work?” Helshep asked, turning to his oldest friend. She shook her head. “No, the Hills are a veritable fortress. Even Alex will have issues taking them by sheer force,” she explained. Vestari, however, looked offended. “You will refer to Master as My Lord or Lord Helshep. None of this given name stuff,” he snarled. “Oh yeah, tell me who has known him longer? Huh, you big dork,” she said as she squared up against him. “ENOUGH YOU ARE BEING DISRESPECTFUL TO THE BOSS!!” a voice boomed from Silvers Greyback. Both looked suitably admonished. “We can shelve the strategy for later. No need to rush this. I’ve got an idea brewing I think could help regardless, and a bit of time to smooth things out could help,” Helshep said before turning to Serena. “Tell me, Serena, what news on the Heroes party?” he asked. The entire chamber went silent. Few knew what he really was asking about. “Our scouts that we have keeping an eye on them report they have defeated a troll mountain,” she answered. “Just a mountain troll?” one of the officers scoffed. “No General, a Troll Mountain. As in a troll that has grown to the size of a mountain,” she clarified. The General went very pale at the idea. “Where was it?” another asked. “The Dune Sea, apparently it was hidden under a massive set of dunes and recently awoke. The Heroes party swooped in and won the fight by blowing it to dust,” she explained. “What of their Mage... Alice, I believe her name was? She seems like someone who could become a serious threat. Should we not have her eliminated?” another general asked. The room’s temperature dropped by a few degrees as those who knew could only watch the man walking on ice that was creaking. “No, I find her rather entertaining. She shall be left alone,” Helsheps voice echoed around the chamber. A voice that was devoid of all emotion. “I think we should take a break. We sinful lords and close confidants of Lord Helshep can have a friendly chat in private,” Yuu suggested trying to save the general from himself. The room gave a few nods, and the majority left. Leaving only Yuu, the Sinful Lords, Helshep himself with only Heek, the beastling servant, as the only other one present. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop a few rooms over. Yuu looked around and just sighed. “Looks like I’ve got to be the one,” she said, turning to Helshep. “Go on, Alex, get it out your system,” she said, giving a vague gesture in his direction. Helshep looked around the room. His face that was a mask of stern stone reflecting a harsh and brutal life he had lived since he first rose to the throne. At Yuu’s prompting, this mask vanished and was replaced by a man beaming with pride. “Oh, my Gods Yuu!!! She fought a Troll Mountain!!!!!” he yelled with unrestrained joy as he picked up his best friend in a mammoth bearhug before spinning her around. “Bet she’s gotten even stronger,” he was now bouncing like a child the night before Winters Gifting. Putting Yuu down, he rushed over to a wall and moved the curtain against it out the way. It was a map of the world with notes on each of the Heroes party’s exploits. If anyone else saw this, they’d just think he was keeping track of a genuine threat. But the people in this room all knew he was just a dumb doting dad. “That makes this her seventh disaster class monster to date!” he said, pinning a new note to the map. “Actually, boss, that'll be her eighth. They apparently fought an elder dragon as they were sailing over to the Dune Sea,” Heek said. “Why wasn’t this reported?!” he boomed, turning to face the room. “Well, sir, it was a private sailing ship they bought themselves. Also, I only received word of it this morning through our messenger system. I was going to pass it to you later,” Heek explained. “Even better!!” he beamed, adding an extra pin into the Straight of Balthazar. “Master, I hope when the day comes where you will stand on opposite sides, you will take the good of the nation into consideration,” Vestari said. “Huh?” Helshep uttered, confused. “Sorry I wasn’t listening. What was that Vestari?” he said, turning and actually paying attention to his Vizier. “I said will you fight her if you have to?” he asked. “Of course, I will. She is my pride and joy. But she still needs to learn which opponents she should face. I won’t kill her, just a friendly parental beat down,” he said. The crowd were visibly reassured. They often worried about him when it came to his family. As in regards to both his adopted children and his children by blood, he often lost all sense of logic and became an uncontrollable storm. “You know, looking back when I first met her, I knew she had to be your kid Boss,” Silvers said. “Oh?” Helshep said, turning suspiciously towards him. “Yes, Boss, I didn’t think meeting a fifteen-year-old would make me near wet my breeches. Let alone the daft girl turned a useless pebble into pure gold,” he explained. “She did what?!” Helshep beamed as he rushed to stick a pin into Port Staine. “Hopefully, that party will get some common sense drummed into her head,” Yuu muttered. “Doubtful, I’m sorry to say she and Sir Victor are more than likely corrupting the Heroes common sense,” Heek said knowingly. “Well, those that can rise to the top of this world are often those who never really understood that normal crap,” Yuu said, sidling up to Helshep. “Indeed, we blew ourselves up quite a bit back then,” Helshep said, reminiscing with her. While they were lost in their revelry, a knock came at the door. The officers had returned from their break and were ready to resume. “Hey Alex, get your face back on,” Yuu said, jabbing his ribs with her elbow. His face returned to his stern political stone-faced shape with a few slaps. “Enter!” his voice boomed, returning to its emotionless state. The generals shuffled in and around the table. “Ok, I have a plan, and it is inspired by how the heroes beat the Troll Mountain,” he said, letting a sinister grin show.  for more my nonsense go to r/Random3X  extra note: this was originally a response to a WP that was removed thought let people here enjoy it.


It all started when the world seemed at peace. I guess we all got too comfortable; because what happened next nobody expected. I live on the most southern border of Detroit; a city riddled with crime. You got to be tough to grow up in Detroit. We all carried around switchblades in our pockets. My older brother Apollo steals for a living. We grew up poor on the streets after our parents died. I was little and they took me to the central park. We came home and I ran to the street corner. Suddenly I was cornered by a man who put a gun against my temple. I felt metal against my skin, cold and hard. I took one last look at my surroundings before everything went black. I shivered as I prepared for the worst. I had heard that death by gunshot was quick, but I wasn't ready to die. Not yet; I took one last breath and waited. Nothing happened. Am I dead? I heard a scream and ripped off the blindfold and saw my Mom dead. The man had his gun to my Dad who jerked his head slightly; indicating me to leave. The man pulled the trigger and I stayed in place trying to scream; to say anything. I finally dragged my legs and ran away until I collapsed. Chapter 1 I woke up later in a small plain room that I had never seen before. There was a small wooden shelf next to the bed I laid on. In the corner, there was a small bucket. I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Next to me laid a small china cup so thin it looked as though you could break it by staring at it. There was an unmoving black inky liquid inside. I smelled it and gagged. Just then I heard footsteps. I hid under the blanket as a sweet voice burst throughout the whole room. “I know you’re awake deary. You can come out!” I shuddered but knew I was busted. I slowly took the blanket off from the corners and slowly raised my gaze. I didn’t know what I had expected but it sure wasn’t a sweet old lady with graying hair. I checked to make sure she didn’t have any weapons on her. She looked safe. I slowly lifted my eyebrows. Something seemed off about her. I looked into her soulful chocolate eyes and couldn’t set that feeling aside. But something in her dimpled face made me want to trust her. I guess it might just be the fact that I grew up in a harsh place, but something about this house, this lady; didn’t seem right. I swallow and give in. She cant be a criminal. I walk around the house. It is ordinary looking. Everywhere I look is wood. She has no accessories or trinkets lying around the house. There is a trapdoor, a locked vault, and an attic that I noticed when walking around but don’t let on. I feel like I’m being watched in this creepy house. There are portraits of people lining the plain walls. The halls were thin and bare and they lead into a small corridor with a domed glass roof. There were weird walls in the observatory that looked like they pull away. Was it really just my imagination or is she hiding something? I suddenly hear a creak behind me and jump. It’s only the old lady. She looks at me with weird eyes. Her eyelids were drooped and you could only see the whites of her eyes. She walks with a cane that thumps beside her. She is wearing a black shawl over a black blouse. Her voice is much deeper than before as she speaks. “Come down for dinner now! You are not allowed to be in here. Only your bedroom, the kitchen, and the living room! Now child!” I run down before she can come. There is something strange about this lady. I need to find out more. I sit down at the table and notice something gold sticking out. I can’t do anything with the women around, but make note of it. I make note of every time she leaves and when she comes back. I am confined to my three bland rooms, and there is no entertainment. There are some books, but those are big dusty volumes of biographies and fantasies that take place in outlandish worlds with fairies and pixies. There are books written in Greek and Latin. Then I see a big book with a dusty cover. It is so covered I cant see the cover. I brush off the dust with my hand and read the cover. It reads How to Get Away with Murder. Chapter 2: Girl I shudder as I stare. I can’t look away from the big, bolded words in front of me. I hear a door slam and jump away. This woman is crazy! I know I have to run away but I don’t know-how. The next few days I oblige to everything the woman says. I stay in my room. I don’t do anything that might make me a target in this weird house. I know that something is happening when she comes into my room and says she will allow me to come to the market with her. Chapter 3: Lady I could tell as soon as I graciously let her into my humble abode that she was suspicious. I could tell as she glared at me and would not talk. I knew she found out something as she was snooping around my house. After I let her in! I started to show my true self as I knew I couldn’t hide anymore. I tried to be nice but I could tell she knew and didn’t like me. I wanted her to feel safe. I was going to kill her at first, but I couldn’t. She was too much like me. I knew she grew up horribly and when I saw her passed out with tear-stained cheeks I knew I had to do something. I admit I’m not the sanest person and have made a living off of theft and murder, but I have to. I grew up with three siblings and no parents. I got thrown into jail at fourteen and tortured into insanity by the inmates. I learned the secret to life was to not care, and that human lives matter, but they are plentiful and many. It is easier to not care, and not get hurt. I took the girl in because she and I were orphaned. And maybe I could get her to turn her ways. Chapter 4 So I let the girl come to the small central town with me. I brought her to a small gas station with boarded windows. I looked for security cameras. There were goodies and drinks for snacks. I took the girl aside and told her to rob the store. She obviously got nervous. “I cant do that!” she exclaimed. “Why not?” I asked. “It’s quite simple.” “No! That is my brother’s job!” “Here; tell me what he’s like?” I asked sympathetically. “Well;” she exclaims “He is small and skinny. We grew up together on the streets and he raised me. Then one day, he left me and never came back! I haven’t seen him in years!” I look at this girl. She had to grow up without her parents, or her brother. I looked at her face as she pretended to be strong. She had to be, growing up in Detroit, on the streets, with no family. I took her hands and showed her how to steal. She was a natural. We then stole fifty-dollars and went out to eat. The kid seemed to trust me more after that. And it was kind of nice having someone like me around. Chapter 5: Girl I started to trust her after I told her about my brother. We went to a restaurant and she let me order anything I wanted. Half-way through dinner, she left to use the restroom. I sat in the booth and waited as she came running out. We left suddenly without paying. There was some hacking behind us on the way out, but I didn’t pay any attention. That was my first mistake. I didn’t pay attention to anything but the lady. She seemed eager to get out of there as if she knew something I didn’t. We raced back to the house. For the rest of the day, I sat in my room. At dinner, I tried to get out but my door was jammed. I tried wiggling the doorknob but it wouldn’t budge. The woman came and started to tell me that I would be locked in my room. I tried to go to sleep early, but my imagination kept me up. I finally fell asleep, and when I woke up there were bars on my window, and pancakes sitting on a plate on the floor. I ate breakfast and tried the windows. The bars were so thick and impenetrable that no one could have broken through them. I roared and beat my fists on the walls and door all day but to no avail. My fists were bloodied but by the end of the day, nothing worked. For the next three days, I was left in my room with nothing to do. Finally, after a week I got toys and a television. What I saw changed my life. There was an outbreak of some disease that was going around. It caused people to forget their morals and become savages. The world was turning barbaric as people fought with each other, stole, and beat each other to death. The television screen flashed to a bloodied mess with mass murderers and chaos taking over. She shut off the television and shuddered to think about what had happened to humanity. She would get food every day, and plenty of toys for her to occupy herself. After a month of this treatment, she started getting restless wandering around her room. I whined one-day thinking if I complained enough she would allow me to leave. I watched as two months in it was so bad and the human population was down. People hid and murdered each other. It was like a big game of hiding and seek where if you got found you either fight or die. I was glad to be locked in my room I just wish I had gotten a little more freedom. Chapter 6: Lady I felt really bad for the girl. I hated locking her in her room, and when I heard her whine I wanted to let her out and tell her its okay. I am not as cruel as people think. I wanted the girl to be safe and not know how horrible I am, and how this started. I try to give the girl toys and trinkets so she won’t get bored, but I can’t expose her to the outside world. She would probably die, and it would be my fault. I don’t want the blood on my hands. I have barely run out of food but have put off getting more. I run down to my basement under a trapdoor and go to my holding cell. I have hidden extra food underneath the floor in my bunker. In my basement, there is a bunker, food storage, and holding cell similar to the one I was in when I was fourteen. I remember those days and I remember that when I found the little girl she was scared and crying, with a big gash and bruises all over her body. I took her in and healed her; putting her on medication. I was going to kill her or keep her for work, but I couldn’t do it. Human lives are valuable and I have always hated my job, but if I don’t kill: Ill be on the streets for good. Chapter 7:Girl I was sick of waiting in my room. The old lady would come to visit me once in a while. I would get three meals a day, although the portions have gotten smaller. I licked my lips as I thought of a big home-cooked meal. I knew I wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon so I thought about my childhood home. I started crying, and once I started I couldn’t stop. I threw my pillow against the wall. I shivered uncontrollably as I spat all over. The woman ran in and sat down. I choked and sputtered, trying to make out words, or anything. However, nothing came out. Finally, my shaking stopped and my head stopped pounding. “I killed them!” I yell. “I killed them!” “No sweetie! You’re fine, you’re good.” she comforted. “Shh...” I calmed down slightly as I rolled back and forth shaking a little to comfort myself. She held out a soft brown blanket and I held it close to my body as I hugged it. I slowly started feeling better. “I don’t want to be stuck in here anymore!” “I know sweetie, it won’t be long now.” If only that were true. Chapter 8 After three months of being stuck in my room, I began to get bored. The lady gathered books and I would spend all day reading. I did that for months. I wanted to go out, to live a little. I was so bored cramped up in the little wooden room and my muscles tightened up daily. I spent the next few days talking to myself and making up stories. After about five months I started talking to myself and thinking about things. My thoughts started getting scattered and messy. My thoughts turned psychotic and I felt like the dusty leather book on the shelf. For the next two weeks, the lady still hadn’t come. It felt like an eternity but eventually, October passed by followed by a crisp November, and I still wasn’t allowed to leave my room. The news showed chaos and bloodshed as the “plague of attack” continued. People referred to it as the plague of the century or the “plague.” The old lady was nice, but I was so bored. I started talking to my bedpost and imagining it talking back. Finally, December rolled around with the bare minimum of food. I was so bored I started mumbling and pretending I was a model on a red carpet, with cheering adoring fans surrounding me. After a year and two weeks, I was let out of my room and I went to the trapdoor. I walked in and there was a swift breeze as a bunch of airborne drugs came blowing out of a cracked airpipe. I felt my body shiver as if being taken over. My face swelled as my eyelids drooped. I felt different, stronger. I felt my pulse rippling through my veins and I knew something was up. I had watched the news for a year. So, I went to find the lady. ---------Pitch Black------------


The destructive capacities of the ingenuity of the human mind had not been fully unleashed until our first encounter with another intelligent kind. We had written about encountering an alien species for centuries before, but unfortunately we were limited in our imagination and tried conceptualizing of other intelligent life as similar to our own. As in, they perceived the same sensations we did and thought more or less similar to our own patterns of thought. But the 'intelligent' kind we encountered were much more profound. Trying to understand their cognition and how they perceived existence itself is much similar to trying to comprehend what it is like to be both God and a lowly amoeba. It is simply completely different from our own qualia. Our first encounter with this kind of life, if that is what it can be called, spawned a whole new field of philosophy and scientific research dedicated to trying to understand their processes of cognition. But my work isn't related to that field, I don't busy myself with pointless work. Misunderstanding is conducive to conflict, and the profound levels of misunderstanding that existed between humanity and this alien life almost immediately sparked conflict. The United Nations employs me, and a hundred thousand other engineers, mathematicians, and scientists across the globe to research new technologies to support the war effort. It is critical that we win, or we face total annihilation. We don't understand why they seek to destroy us, but we do understand that we must fight to stay alive. The global economy no longer revolves around the endless consumption of goods by consumers, but consumption of goods through the brutality of war. We faced a long series of losses, with only the nuclear bomb recouping our disastrous efforts to somehow strategically counter our enemies, before the 'Titan mech' was developed. It's a robotic machine, in humanoid form, that has several weapon systems embedded upon it and stands several meters tall. The bravest and best-trained of the military forces of the globe pilot these mech's, and they give us the cutting-edge advantage we need to push back our foes. But recently, we lost three outposts on Europa. This moon is critical to our species survival for its reservoirs of water, which have now all but been exhausted on earth. The outposts situated on and in orbit around Europa are some of the most well-guarded in the entire fleet, for this very reason. Our newest Mech's are deployed to this location, meant to hold off new waves of invaders intercepting our solar system from interstellar space. But every mech was obliterated, and the marauders annihilated the outposts. We have stopped receiving radio transmissions for the past three weeks from these locations. Fortunately, Europa was ignored as they clearly don't understand the nature of our logistics chain but the objects are now headed towards Mars -- where a large portion of humanities population resides. The Chilean Radio and X-Ray Observatory has noted a fleet of objects, detectable through the fact that they are spots in the sky where no radio or x-ray signals are emitted whatsoever, is on course to intercept Mars in its orbit. I first assumed that there was some fault in the design of these new Mech's, but I demanded to speak with the United Nations General Secretary after neither myself nor none of the scientists under my command could find any faults. Unfortunately, the United Nations was just as corrupt as it was before the war, only it had access to much larger sums of cash. The last General Secretary was assassinated as a result of him meddling in a border dispute between the Russians and the Germans and some other Europeans, and the new one is known to have only gained his position in politics by acting in service of the corrupt entities which desire to tap into the funds devoted to the war effort. It won't be long before he is assassinated himself, I thought. They typically never last longer than intervals of a decade. When I approached him, I made sure to make a good first impression. This was my first time meeting him, and I wanted him to know that just because he was General Secretary, he really held no power over me. It was the Generals who made the most important calls, after all, the General Secretary just held the official power. "I'd like to know what happened on Europa," I said, disregarding introductions altogether. The General Secretary looked shocked, as though he had been disrespected. "I'm sorry... What makes you think you can just walk in here without any formalities?" He looked old and decrepit and had the face of a person who couldn't think for themselves. "That's a waste of time," I responded. The General Secretary had an expression of contempt on his face. I didn't want to wait for this puppet to lecture me before disclosing the details of whatever went wrong on Europa, so it would be better to cut to the chase. "No, it's not." He responded, almost mumbling like he could barely form sentences. "Sir, I need-" He cut me off. "Our new pilots on Europa weren't adequately prepared for addressing the situation that they were supposed to resolve, and were subsequently wiped out." The General Secretary said, emotionless. "What pilots? Where are you deriving these pilots from?" I demanded. "Whenever we face losses like this, its usually a consequence of the source-nation we are recruiting our pilots." "They were composed of individuals from a largely international background, there was no discrimination involved in this new recruitment program." He responded. "Then what went wrong? Where was the mishap?" I asked. "There was no mishap, simply a new program of training has been introduced." The General Secretary said. "A new program? Why would you think its a good idea to deviate from the original training regiment? It has been refined, over generations, to give us the best pilots." I responded. "The old program was inadequate for our strategic objectives." The General Secretary said. I recognized him now, from the scar on his neck. It was a former admiral of the fleet. I wondered what he was doing here, in this position of authority that was surely going to get him killed, when he could try and pull the strings from the back of the stage. I tried ruminating over the possibilities, when the thought crossed my mind that possibly the old program was too expensive, and some business partners or politicians wanted him to cut funding to it to siphon some of the money allocated to the program to their encrypted accounts. "Are you saying its too expensive?" I asked, ready to try and expose him for what he truly is. "No, in fact, this new program requires an increased amount of funding." He responded. "We had to allocate double the amount of funding we typically do for this reformation of the training program." I scratched my neck, confused. I noted that, upon my entry, the security that protected the General Secretary was far more stringent and larger in scope than it typically is. Maybe he is paranoid, being a new secretary. But it seemed that the military had provided a helping hand in ensuring that his safety is secure, considering the sheer amount of personnel that are protecting him. Perhaps the military played some role in this scheme. "Then what the fuck is going on? Why are we losing?" I demanded. I was the director of research and development for the entire international force, my position was among the most important in the United Nations. When I demanded answers, I got them. "I am sorry to inform you that the idea that we were 'winning' before was simply a propaganda slogan thrown around to keep morale high. We were always losing, this is just a different kind." The General Secretary responded. "A different kind? A different... *kind of losing?* Just give me a straightforward answer." I said. "The truth of the matter is that we have always been losing. The amount of resources that we exhaust to keep the most minor objects away from our important logistics line is too much. The larger attacks, which occur periodically about every five decades, always cripple our command and logistical infrastructure and very nearly wipe us off the map each time." The General Secretary said. "At a space station situated in a polar orbit around Jupiter, one of the most powerful telescopes ever constructed sits. It consists of an array of mirrors some eight hundred meters across, with the appropriate life support systems, hangar modules, and power generating equipment attached. The remainder of the station is dedicated to housing the large computational systems required to process the data it captures, and algorithmically filter through this data to detect small zones deep in interstellar space that emit zero radiation." I now understood that, whatever he was telling me, was something that I had been deliberately kept in the dark about. Something that was a very classified matter, but that he had decided to disclose to me due to my apparent pestering. Perhaps he thought I was too important in my post to see me quit over a lack of information. "Our greatest astrophysicist believe that these intelligent life-forms, if they can be called intelligent in the way we think of that word, are manifested by a form of matter that does not interact with the fundamental forces except in some undetectable manner that deflects all electromagnetic radiation that interacts with the warped area of space it occupies. It's possible that these specimen exist in some sort of higher state, a more dimensionally complex state than ours, where they protrude into our perceptible plane of existence and... for whatever reason they do not take kindly to our existence. Anyways, this telescope has been searching the skies for fifteen years now. The data was streamed to a data processing complex in Tokyo, and for the majority of its operation it did not detect anything." "But two years ago, one of the processors embedded in the great complex of computers aboard that space station detected some sort of anomaly. The computer automatically began utilizing the majority of its processing power to scan this area of space on this spectrum of wavelengths -- which mind you is all classified information that I will not disclose -- and a discovery was made. A fleet of objects, far larger than anything that has ever been detected in our solar system, is situated in interstellar space near Alpha-Centauri. It is larger by a factor of two hundred and fifty, occupying a space nearly a lightyear across. We believe that our kind friends are trying to wear us down, and exhaust us, before making a final, massive thrust to wipe out our species from the solar system. And so far it has been working." The General Secretary said, the lines of age sagging through his distinctly asiatic face. He continued, "As the war has been grinding on-wards for generations, the resources that we can utilize to support our own population have been exhausted at a rate far quicker than typical. Granted, our technological development has been spurred forward by the conflict, but our own technologies can only be sustained if the economy itself can be sustained. And for all intents and purposes, the economy is in a terrible state. Inequality runs rampant, and the vast majority of the globe's population lives in conditions that are best described to be below the poverty line. Even in the wealthiest cities, violence and crime is the most characteristic part of life. Compared to the luxuries the average individual enjoyed before the war, our society is in a dismal state. The only luxuries we have now are created by the technologies we have engineered through our efforts to survive. This is all a consequence of the economy being geared toward the war effort, and not the general growth of living standards. This is further exacerbated by the increasing scarcity of resources. Because of this, the enemy is winning by grinding us down slowly. They may even be able to get us to fight against ourselves before they surmount the final attack." "Me and my comrades directing the international force recognized this, and I was thrust from my position in Japan to General Secretary as soon as the opportunity arose for me to be elected to that position. My first act as General Secretary was to implement a new training program that would not only give us a better advantage against the enemy, but end the war altogether. Even the highest ranking politicians, and the wealthiest individuals, are not aware of this. We were able to influence them in the proper way to encourage the General Assembly to elect me through a long series of empty promises and threats. Acting tangentially to this training program is another weapon and form of travel that I cannot speak of, but I can say that it will deliver our final strike that will annihilate our enemies from the very idea of existence itself. We don't need troops that will simply fend off enemy attacks for a period of time, we need troops that are so finely tuned to excelling in combat that they will counter-attack the enemy and cripple whatever remains. For that reason, we have implemented a global training program that militarily trains children from the moment they reach the meager age of two. Children act like sponges, and can become the greatest soldiers if they are trained correctly. The events on Europa were a mishap, but a step in the right direction. Now if you will excuse me, I have some work I need to finish.


Carter held his wife’s hand and gently pulled her across the beach towards the incoming waves. The tropical sun was shining brightly, and the sea’s soothing sounds filled the air. Her skin, already pale from too much time spent indoors, was now stark white from the thick layer of sunscreen she’d applied. "That’s it, slow and steady. We don’t need to go far today, just wet your feet a little bit," he said. Gracie gave a tiny, quiet whimper but followed along. "Does it get deeper quickly?" she said with her eyes fixed on the gently lapping waves. "No, it’s a really gentle slope. Look how clear the water is! You can see the ground!" "That makes it worse! I don’t know if I’m ready. Can’t we try tomorrow?" she replied in a terrified voice. "I know it’s scary. But the therapist said you need to try and cope with being exposed to your fears. Let’s just try to get as close as we can today, okay?" "Yes, but... I don’t know," Gracie said, a frown forming on her thin face. "You can overcome anything, if you just put your mind to it. I know you can," he said and tugged her hand a little. "I wish I could go swim with you. Like someone normal," Gracie said, head hanging. Carter embraced her, rocking her gently. "Aw honey, I’ll stand here looking at the sea for a hundred years if we have to. I can deal with anything as long as we’re together," he said. They didn’t often engage in public displays of affection any more after years of marriage, but the moment called for a kiss. When they let go, Carter pulled softly on her arm, making a step towards the waves. She resisted for a moment but followed. When they reached the edge of the water, Carter said "I’ll go first," and walked forward a step to where the water swirled around his ankles. Gracie sighed, and tentatively advanced. She glanced towards the open sea and shuddered. "Nice, isn’t it?" Carter said, playfully splashing his feet in the surf. Gracie grimaced. "Let’s just walk along the surf a little," he said and gently strolled forward. It was hot, but a slight breeze made the heat bearable, even pleasant. The water was just the right amount of warm. The corners of her mouth started turning up, just slightly. "I guess it’s not too bad- IEEEH!" Gracie suddenly shrieked and leaped out of the water, tearing her hand out of his. She fell on the sand, holding her left foot, sobbing and shouting something unintelligible. Carter instinctively looked down at his feet. A small gray eel-like thing pulled itself out of the sand. Three pairs of thick fins along its length were trashing furiously. For a moment, the waves receded, letting him see the mottled gray flesh of its back before the water washed over it again. It made Carter think of cockroaches and maggots scurrying in filth. He recoiled at the sight. The eel-centipede thing pumped its powerful limbs and shot off into deeper water, disappearing from sight. "Gracie! Did it bite you?" he shouted. He knelt down beside her, looking at her foot. She was still squirming and sobbing and sat grasping her left foot around the ankle. Blood was seeping out of an almost triangular hole about the width of a pencil in the side of her foot, near the little toe. Gracie’s shrieks turned into a quiet sigh and she passed out. Gracie and Carter walked out of the tiny island hospital. She leaned on Carter to avoid putting weight on her bandaged left foot. Gracie looked miserable while Carter tried to cheer up his wife. "I’m so sorry, sweetie. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Let’s stay at the hotel and enjoy the sunshine at the hotel pool." "Not the pool. I’m not going near any water here," she answered, shuddering. He helped her into a taxi. The beat-up old car puttered past colorful street vendor stands selling fruit and snacks. The oily, spicy fumes of fried street food wafted into their car. Gracie’s stomach suddenly made an astoundingly loud rumbling noise. When Carter looked at her, she had a look of surprise and embarrassment on her face. "Uh, are you hungry, hon? We can stop and take something back to the hotel," he said. "Yes, please," Grace replied. She stared at a little stand where grilled meat was sold on sticks. "Can you bring a few of those please?" she asked. Carter looked at the long sticks, each of which had several hefty chunks of meat. The sizzling morsels glistened with grease and fatty bits and were expertly seared over a coal fire. The fragrance made Carter’s mouth water, but it seemed an unlikely treat for Gracie, who was more of a lean chicken breast person. He looked at her skeptically. "A few? I’m not sure I could eat a whole one," he laughed. "They look so good." Her stomach rumbled again, loudly. "I can put them in the fridge and eat the rest later." She was looking at the food almost longingly. Carter wondered if shock could cause bouts of enhanced appetite and asked the driver to stop for a moment. A few minutes later, he returned, carrying three skewers wrapped in silver foil. To his surprise, Gracie didn’t wait for them to reach the hotel before tucking in. She grabbed one of the wrapped skewers from the paper bag, tore the foil off and started eating. The grilled vegetables were unceremoniously discarded while she ripped pieces out of the steaming gobbets with her teeth. Juice ran over her lips and down her chin in rivulets, but she didn’t seem to notice. Carter hadn’t seen such a blissful, ecstatic expression on her face even during their lovemaking. She devoured the whole thing in a few minutes, and reached for the bag to take another one. Even the driver threw a few glances back at the small woman eating ravenously. "Whoa, chew your food, hon," Carter laughed. When they reached the hotel, Gracie grabbed the bag of food and walked back to their room while Carter paid the driver. He had to hurry to catch up with her, despite her injured foot. She sat down at the small glass table in the suite and immediately started on the last skewer. "I thought you didn’t like barbecue," Carter said. "Dish ish really good," she said, her mouth full of chewed meat. Carter shook his head and stared at her while she wolfed down another helping in a few minutes. She belched loudly and stood up, wiping her mouth with one hand. "Excuse me," she said absentmindedly. "That should tide you over until at least tomorrow’s breakfast, huh?" Carter replied, a little taken aback. "Actually I’m still hungry. Let’s get more food," she said. He raised his hands in a calming motion. "I think we need to go back to the hospital. Maybe you have a tapeworm or something." "Carter, I’m just HUNGRY," she spat. He took an involuntary step backward. There was an intense look in her eyes he couldn’t remember seeing before in five years of marriage and twelve years they knew each other. He tried to negotiate. "Let’s go back to the hospital and we can pick up some food on the way there, okay?" Gracie seemed to consider this, then walked outside without a word. He shook his head and started to follow when he saw something on her skin. "What do you have there?" he said. He ran his fingers over a few gray spots on the back of her neck. They were slightly raised and felt rubbery. Her skin felt hot to the touch. "Honey, are you running a fever?" he said. "Let’s get going," she replied curtly and walked away. Carter decided that the quicker they got to the hospital the better. They had to wait a quarter of an hour before another taxi turned up. Gracie was pacing up and down the pavement, agitated as if running late for an appointment. When their new ride reached the little marketplace where they’d picked up the skewers, Gracie got out without waiting for Carter. He hurried after her as she made a beeline to a stall where chickens were grilling on spits over a coal fire. She ordered two, and started eating one the moment the woman tending the stall handed her the first paper bag, with the other tucked under her arm. Holding the whole bird in one hand, she took rapid bites out of it as if she was eating an apple. "Hot, seniora, hot!" the woman said, laughing. Gracie paid her no mind. As they walked back to their taxi, Carter was astounded to see her gulp down the whole piping hot grilled chicken in less than two minutes. She almost inhaled the meat, barely chewing and absentmindedly dropping the splintered remains of bones on the ground. She was already tearing into the second helping when the taxi got going. "I’ll give you twenty extra if you get us there quicker!" Carter said to the driver. The man replied, "Si senor" and gunned the pedal. Gracie was sucking the meat off the chicken bones at speed, then discarding the gnawed remains on the car’s floor. It wasn’t long before there was nothing left to eat. "I’m hungry," Gracie said, looking around as if there might be more chicken she hadn’t noticed yet in the car. "I’m sure there’s something for you to eat at the hospital, honey," Carter replied. He was sweating. Gracie still looked around, as if unsure where she was. He noticed there were more of those gray spots on her lower jaw. They were raised like pustules and radiated from the jaw down to her neck. He wasn’t sure if that was an illusion from the car’s bumping on the road, but he could have sworn they were twitching. The taxi stopped at a traffic light and Gracie tried to open the door. "Honey, no!" Carter called out and tried to stop her from leaving. She pushed him away with savage force and he was stunned for a moment when he hit his head on the opposite door frame, crying out in pain. The driver shouted at him in Spanish when he followed after her. Gracie was running at full speed back the way they had come. He tried to keep up, but she didn’t seem to tire. Panting heavily and holding his aching side, he suddenly heard a car horn. The taxi driver had turned around and told him to get in. After a few minutes of driving, they saw a small crowd of people shouting and gesticulating in the street. "There!" The car stopped and Carter hurried out, towards the commotion. He pushed through the shouting people and saw another street vendor’s stand in the middle of the crowd: a butcher’s shop. Shanks of meat were on display, and half a pig and other animal parts were hanging from hooks. Gracie stood beside the cart and was gnawing on a raw goat leg, ripping chunks of meat off with her teeth. People were pointing at her and shouting "Esta loca!" A man in a butcher’s apron was lying on the ground, apparently knocked out. Nobody paid him any heed. "Gracie!" he called to her. She looked up from the bloody hunk of meat in her hands. The gray pustules were all over her now, giving her a diseased, bloated appearance. Her stomach was visibly distended, which made her look heavily pregnant. There didn’t seem to be any recognition of him in her eyes. Carter noticed a few spots had grown even on her eyeballs. "Oh God, honey! We need to get you to a doctor!" Carter cried out at the sight. In the crowd, some crossed themselves. In response, Gracie let loose an inhuman screech he would never have believed her to be capable of. She sprang away, still holding the half eaten goat leg. "No, wait!" Carter ran after her. Gracie ran past bushes and palm trees towards another stretch of beach. She somehow managed to take bites out of the meat while she ran. Carter followed as quickly as his tired legs and lungs allowed. Gracie waded out into the water where the waves washed around her knees. The gray spots had taken over most of her body, and grown out in big, mottled clumps that reminded him of the eel-centipede’s flesh. With a scream, he jumped at her, intending to wrestle her to the ground and keep her from escaping again. She swatted him away with frightening ease. He landed heavily on his side, sending a spray of water into the air. She hissed at him again, a sound like an angry cat. The whites of her eyes were fully covered in gray spots, leaving the blue of her pupils the only spot of color. There was no understanding in them, no recognition that they even belonged to the same species. "Gracie, please, don’t leave. We’ll find a way to fix you, I promise," he said, sobbing. She looked at him, teeth bared, giving no indication she understood. She tore her dress away with black, encrusted hands. Exuded slime formed translucent webs between the fingers. Long slits traced her torso, like slashing wounds that had stopped bleeding. She was growling, but there was a wet quality to the sound, as if her lungs were filling with fluid. She seemed to be struggling to breathe and crouched on all fours. Her webbed hands shoved water into the slits in her skin. As her new gills started working, her lungs breathed air for the last time. Further out, the force of the incoming waves rocked her back and forth. She continued undeterred, never looking back. "I love you! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me alone!" Carter shouted. He realized that she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her transformed body would suffocate outside of the water. Soon she was swimming out, her gray fins pumping with powerful strokes. Eventually she dove down, disappearing from sight completely. Carter stood on the beach, alone, shielding his eyes from the sun. There was only the sound of the waves and the wind, and seabirds cried in the distance.


No boy ever learned the concept of justice right off without the whipping post. Elective goodness seemed too complicated, too many fruits of temptation not to slip into vice and transgression. The trick, it seemed, was to sidestep a whipping or a clout to the head. Taking something that didn’t belong to you--many parents agreed on that sermonette--just wasn’t done. Walking the path of thievery was risky. You never knew if some stout mother lying in wait with a wooden spoon might lay a purple knot on your coconut. Sin and sanction seemed an abstraction easy enough to understand, but it was the Batman show that kept it clean. He was the one to thwart bad guys and to hand out sound floggings to whoever scoffed at the law. Yet, his little speech to Lydia Limpet that crime did not pay was an upside-down concept to me, all slogan and puffery, an untruth. I was determined to riddle his adage with holes of logic. Crime could pay, and pay well, and I set out one day to paint that highfalutin moon in blood. It was the Joker and his men stealing from the Ali Baba Jewelry Store that egged me on. I decided to hit the nearest emporium that trafficked in jewels, S.S. Kresge’s Department Store. That afternoon I pushed through the front door alone, meandered about the store, not a penny to my pocket. I wore no mask, no criminal’s costume, just the usual cap, obligatory striped shirt, dungarees and Keds. No adult noticed, no blowhard in a crime-fighting outfit stared me down. I drifted past the teal blue booths of Kresge’s grill and caught whiffs of greasy hamburgers, my mouth watering at the sight of a boy and his sister spooning through 25-cent hot fudge sundaes with whipped topping. Touring toys, I was light on my feet, fingering stock at the pegboard wall where hundreds of Hot Wheels hung stickered at the lofty cost of sixty-six cents each. I wanted something better, a talisman of some kind, a gem worn only in risqué social crowds. Loafing my way past the foul smells of overfed pet fish and sickly parakeets, I stopped at a display of coloring books and crayons before wandering to a center-aisle table overspread with women’s necklaces and bracelets. Crowning the mound was a glittering gold necklace chained to a pendant with an egg-shaped emerald. Its dark vision of eternity captivated my hands to pick it up and to give it a mystical rub. The verdant stone was undoubtedly worth millions, I decided. During those precious seconds of hypnosis, some sinister voice whispered to put it in my pocket. A flashback stirred, opulent images of the Joker’s cask of jewels. I remember him prancing through a museum of rare artifacts. He was a clown with the roar of a lion, a madcap of genius. His ambitious plan worked, and Princess Sandra was out one rare diamond. Why shouldn’t Kresge’s Department Store in Arlington Plaza, too, suffer a loss now and then? After all, Zelda the Great stole the Star of Samarkand, a shivering jawbreaker emerald, and was never once whipped with a switch or beaten with her father's belt. I spied at a short distance the old woman at the register, the perfect seconds of opportunity ticking. She was busy ringing up a heavyset lady whose cart was loaded down with Turkish towels, boxes of chocolate-covered peanuts, and oversized ladies’ underwear. This five-finger discount required baseball surveillance, a darting glance from under the bill of my cap. The coast was clear, aisles empty, no manager in sight. With the emerald necklace tucked in the palm of my hand, I ducked under the table of jewels. All I could see was a pair of pressed slacks passing by, set to the shuffling sound of soft-soled shoes. I was out of sight of the saggy-jowled lady, busy poking keys at the register like a song of prosperity. It was time for business. I slid the emerald into my front pocket and popped up. Down the aisles I began to fake browse, hobbled strangely by a limp. The hot beryl stone turned albatross, its fresh guilt greater than all my sinner’s stains. For that reason, I could not shake the peculiar gate with that emerald feeling every bit the size of a plum. The bulge in my pocket gave an awkward sensation of hiding a baseball. Even my leg hurt. Wandering from aisle to aisle, I was a wounded duck. Every moral sensation to dump the stone was met by the resilience of my inner bandit. I had the jewel and wasn’t about to turn loose of it. Finally, the customer up front had disappeared. No one occupied the space between the chrome divider and the checkout stand. My forehead flushed as I tottered toward the doors emblazoned "EXIT," my chest expanding and deflating like a football. I reached for the door handle when the old woman cried out, “Thank you for shopping Kresge’s!” The alarm of her voice spun me like a spinning top coming off its string. I grinned sheepishly and gave a feeble wave as she stood there snapping her gum, filing her nails absentmindedly. The immediacy of fresh air swirling into auto exhausts and the shifting smells of cigarettes and Plaza Donuts renewed my soul. I had a new lease on escape. No one raced after me, no one shouted, “Stop that boy!” And certainly not a soul striding along the plaza sidewalks realized I had just stolen the Emerald of the City. I strode under the covered walk, cut across an access drive to a perpendicular sidewalk, and continued past the state liquor store. I was quicksilver, a peasant boy looking to vamoose. A sensation came over me that no big cheese could stop me now. No feather was as light as my shoes breezing over the walk. J.C. Penney’s mannequins, normally a source of idle fascination, now blurred with hurry. I ignored, too, several half-smoked cigarettes discarded on the dirty walk, the Beacon Journal news box, and a payphone, where I customarily snapped the coin return in hopes of a ten-cent windfall. Escape was suddenly no pipedream, the end of the walk marked freedom. I threw a nervous glance over my shoulder and cleared the corner of Western Auto. I found myself behind the plaza facade. My breathing relaxed. A commercial dumpster met me there, anchoring the crest of a slow ramp that gave way to a sloping parking lot. The place was empty, just me and the brick walls. The Arlington Plaza was a coin, and I was free as a jailbird on her tails side, all barricade and brickwork. What an abrupt change from the store fronts, the heads side polished glass and inviting imagery. I dawdled there, eying the distant woods should I need to flee. I went to my pocket and studied the angular cuts of the emerald. I did not want the necklace. The links offered a trail back to pilferage, an unnecessary golden rope as evidence. I broke the chain from the pendant and lobbed it over the wall of the trash receptacle. What a burden to lose, nothing short of tossing a lady finger firecracker and getting away. The deed was done, as dirty as they come. I was lambing it now, a fugitive from the justice system of the Greater American Retailers of America. With the naked emerald in hand, I trotted off. For kicks I imagined police in pursuit. I built up my speed until my lungs were puffing to irregular rhythm. Slowing where the sewer creek gurgled under Virginia Avenue, I held up the booty against the sun’s rays and admired the stone. Solitude knew no greater measure than me standing there on a dirt bank shivering and shaking with forbidden excitement. I was free, a boy clutching the Emerald of the World. By the time I reached home, I had slipped the gem into my back pocket. On the porch I snapped the front door handle, slipped through the kitchen, and sealed up my bedroom door behind me with the airy sound of one’s face coming to rest on a pillow. With no door lock, I eased my baseball bat between the wall of the alcove and the door. There was no time to waste, one false move and I might wind up another failed swindler jigging to the leather strap. Batman would have bragging rights over what paid and what did not. I stashed the gem in a place no one would think of--inside my pillowcase. The escapade over, I laid back and rested easy, flipping through the latest copy of Highlights . Days went by before the delinquent’s ego got the better of me, however. I was bursting to share news of the heist. The caper was too big for me. I just had to spill. Inside our wobbly tree fort, all present raised hands and swore to secrecy. This was no small potato. Should just one nincompoop blab, authorities would chase me down like a hound dog, blindfold me, and line me up to face a firing squad. Among my coterie, Dean, the Birdman, and Chad, we had no snitches. I explained how I had pulled it off and even boasted that I would make a better Joker than the rube on Batman because my emerald had been hidden for days without even a whisper of suspicion. I was the man. This seemed a reasonable posture until the fateful afternoon of my mother’s discovery. I was riding my Tonka dump truck in the sandlot minding my own business when the maternal siren went up through the neighborhood. “Stevie! You get in here--right this instant!” I knew that unmistakable intonation of hysteria and anger. Its riveting truth shook me to the bone. I froze a second as the work zone went on around me, boys dozing tufts of grass, erecting new cities, blubbering out the sounds of gritty diesel engines. I ground dirt under my fingernails, dug my knee into the bed of the truck. “I’m coming,” I shouted and abandoned the truck along, my feet dragging through the neighbor’s yard for home. I practiced my surprised face, deciding to dress up disbelief as an ally. After all, I had done nothing wrong just now but play with pals. When I touched the handle to the front door, electricity ran through it. My mother was seated at the table. Her shoulders were slouched, eyes blank with inner thought, the emerald on display before her, a torn popsicle wrapper the only other item on the kitchen table. I plopped down. My mind spun with explanations like someone spitting out fifty-two playing cards. I settled on the Jack of Diamonds. That was the card, my warrant by which I would swear grimacing truths. “Where did you get this?” She tilted it beneath the yellowed kitchen bulb. I opened by pausing for time and offering questions of delay. “Uh--where? Where did I get it? Where did I get that?” “Yes, where did you get it--and don’t lie to me.” “Oh, no. I--I got it down by the slide. It was laying there . . .by the parking lot. And nobody wanted it. You can ask anybody.” I heard my voice chirp falsetto. She furrowed her brow, eyes piercing. “So, just laying there on the ground, huh? By the slide in the parking lot, is that what you’re telling me?” I nodded. She rose and padded into the other room. I found my moment of truth plagued by difficulty swallowing before calling after her. “Uh, yeah. Can I have some water?” My mother returned to the table, placing her well-worn leather edition of the King James Bible next to me. She shook her head to the request for a drink and leaned in. “Now, you put your hand on the Lord’s word,” she said, the tenor of her words offering a slight crackle. “And you look me in the eye and tell me here and now: Did you steal this? Yes, or no?” The sorrow of the moment could not have been greater, save for my father being present. This was the ultimate gauntlet of truth, the spiritual lair by which many a crook had succumbed to the absolute by which all others were weighed and found wanting. One liar’s hand there and you may as well write out your last will and testament. I swear I thought frostbite would set in as I placed a grubby hand on the Good Book. My lower lip began to shake, I sensed disaster would follow. My high-handed plans for an empire of jewels toppled right then. She had me cold, and I was done. Determining a just form of punishment remained the lone question. I nodded and studied the tiles of the kitchen floor, skipping one to the next while thinking, always thinking. I murmured something incoherently, uncertain myself what the string of words meant in English. “Why is it shiny then, like it just came from the store?” My toe tapped the floor like a woodpecker. My hand slipped from the Bible. I was falling apart. I pictured police detectives examining the crime scene, my picture tacked up in post offices across Ohio. “I don’t know. It just is.” “Stevie,” she continued. “Don’t put your chin down. You look me in the eye this time and tell me you didn’t take this from the Plaza.” I left the patterns of gold linoleum and glanced up. Her green eyes surely saw my heart harboring naked despair. I wished at that moment I were wearing the slitted mask of Batman. Were his words true, this entire misdeed an unbelievable prophecy? Crime does not pay. “Tell me!” “I don’t know if I did, Mom. I don’t think I did.” “Well, that's it. You are in for the day. No more playing outside,” she said resolutely. I nodded eagerly, acquiescing to the relatively light sentence, which nearly amounted to a governor’s reprieve. “That’s okay, Mom,” I said brightly. “I understand.” Perhaps my cheerfulness was too soon forthcoming because she wrinkled her brow for a second and added, “And your dad’s going to hear about this. So, go get your truck and get back here on the double.” That evening she revealed the scandal to my shiny-faced sisters as well, once we had gathered for dinner. They seemed uncharacteristically judicious but pleased upon hearing how I was the scoundrel and they were above the law, safe as stones buried in a mountain. Everyone else managed to enjoy supper. In the center of the table, Hamburger Helper ladled onto egg buns mounded over a serving dish, though I could barely chew, wadded bread left in my mouth with nowhere in particular to go. I stopped and concentrated on swallowing. I was to return the pendant and to pay for what I had stolen. I pictured myself blubbering at the counter while nearby adults were certain to sneer at the dishonest youth destined to become a sneak thief. My sentence also came with the spiritual mandate that I ask Jesus in private to forgive me because, apparently, there was little room in heaven for lowdown skunks who swipe costume jewelry from Kresge’s and then lie to the woman who brought them into the world. Lying there on my bunk bed that night, I ran my fingertips over the springs of the bed above me and hummed a bar of “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay,” not because I had forgotten the words to "How Great Thou Art" or any hymn but because the radio belonging to Oscar the Drunk down the sidewalk had been playing Otis Redding when we were last moving dirt with the trucks. It was in my head while my heart teetered somewhere over a dirty lake. I tried mostly that night to conjure up what my mother meant by looking for “inner peace with the Lord.” A spiritual awakening never did overtake me. Instead, I drifted off mumbling "If I should die before I wake." The remainder of my transfiguration was paid mystically in Monopoly scrip and hard truths: Crime did pay in emeralds--despite the epigram of Batman--but in heaven, golden harps. Punishment for my crime began with isolation, a spirit buster for any wayward kid. Being sentenced to the bedroom with a monastic indulgence of being allowed out for meals only felt cruel and unusual, sans any appellate process. During each meal, I noticed my sisters making little eye contact with the boy rogue, my jokes returned by faces of indifference, the clatter of silverware, and deadpanned calls to pass this or pass that. Grounded for days and staring through my bedroom window, I studied the tops of trees on bluebird days and noticed how those same trees roared with movement whenever a storm rushed up. Doing time was no joke. The slow turning between fair and foul weather led to a reverie of the good old days. Memories got the better of me: How I had once been free to ride a bike, to work a yo-yo for hours, to triumph at marbles. Eventually, I was released on probation for good behavior and wandered off to the woods. The new mood replaced my normal sense of genuine hope with institutional cynicism. I needed to do better. That was that. My rehabilitation began at the edge of the woods where a king maple stood fifty feet high and change, as great as the stars on clear nights. Scott Johnson had scaled the tree and looped two ropes over a sky branch, the rope’s ends dangling to the ground. I came upon him threading one end through the punched-out hole of a swing seat, four corners of a rectangular piece of scrap wood.


“Rebel and defend your rights,” “Don’t let the government bullies push you around,” “Do we live in a democracy or not?”--the loud slogans blasted across every window on Karen Singleford’s new car and shouted from the door of her two-bedroom walkup in the Seacrest Arms Luxury Apartment complex. Karen, the single mother of two pre-teen sons, Harry and Jarod, made no secret of her disdain for “health regulations” imposed during the influenza endemic and what she considered the clear danger they presented to her freedom to live life her way and to raise her boys free from bureaucratic interference. Two floors above her, however, ER nurse Nancy Huffingly felt she had experienced enough of the fatal disease close up to religiously follow all the mandates and to condemn those who “posed a real danger to themselves, their families and their neighbors.” Nancy felt she had seen too many hard-working people deprived of their loved ones too early in life due to the ravages of the illness that had taken over her quiet town. She had no problem writing scorching editorials to all forms of social media and the more traditional forms of communication to those in the tiny rural enclave in which both women lived. Sure, Nancy had seen Jan, a fellow nurse and her best friend, undergo a tortious reaction to her third booster of the influenza vaccine. But, thankfully, Jan had recovered after two weeks and the doctors at their hospital saw no lasting effects from the shot. Both Nancy and Jan had come to the realization that Jan’s suffering had been a minor price to pay for living the rest of her life. All medical “experts” consulted by the two nurses agreed wholeheartedly. Karen, however, remained convinced that the vaccination and other requirements imposed during the flu outbreak did nothing to make her life better and ultimately would lead to more totalitarian control of her pleasant suburban life. She also felt Jan’s condition proved the uselessness and danger of the restrictions. For six months the two neighbors loudly attacked each other on social media, in the traditional community press and in person. It got to the point where they couldn’t simply pass each other in the apartment complex hallways or each other without minor skirmishes breaking out. The other tenants also began to complain that they could not live in peace in the complex, and some of the fighting also resulted in damage to both women’s apartments. It got to the point where apartment superintendent Ralph Jacobson warned the bickering belligerents that, if they didn’t call a truce shortly, the authorities would be called and eviction proceedings would begin. That was until the fateful day on June 25, 2022. That morning Jarod woke up with a blazing fever and vomited up every scrap of food his mother fed him. He also told his mother he had lost all taste for the little bit of food he kept down. Karen, who could least afford it on her low-level food server’s salary, stayed home to take her son to the ER and nurse him to recovery as she worried about the future of her small family. Contrary to “theories” advanced by her doctor and the hospital’s other physicians, the young mother swore Jarod’s illness came from the unusually cold and wet weather plaguing their resort community for the last two weeks and not from the disease the bureaucrats used to justify their restrictions. Two weeks later it looked like Karen’s “traditional” remedies had helped Jarod to turn the corner to recovery and she took him home. The recovery proved to be short-lived and the boy’s symptoms began to return. Karen’s physician said the influenza that, in fact, had forced him into bed for several days had returned and might endanger his life. Karen still stubbornly refused to allow her actions to be dictated by the “autocrats whose restrictions ultimately will land this entire country in a social prison.” She continued to minister to her son with “the tried and true methods that have served myself and my family for generations” while stubbornly refusing to give in to any demand to vaccinate Jarod. Jarod appeared to rally at times, but, immediately after each period of turnaround, it looked like his life would slip away for the final time. Karen reluctantly rushed him back into the ER and allowed the doctors to treat him using the updated methods that their training told them would bring her son “back from the brink.” “However,” she warned, “I will not allow them to inject my son with a vaccination that they and their fellow autocrats have used as an excuse to attack everything I believe in.” Finally, when it looked like “traditional” and “modern” medicine had come to a standoff, Karen’s “ideological archenemy,” Nancy, prevailed upon the medical community and government officials to accept a compromise that she believed would save the day. After several heated meetings with the doctors with whom Nancy worked and Karen all involved decided to continue with Karen’s favored treatment. After three days, with only minor progress, the young mother agreed to have her son receive all three doses of the influenza vaccination. Government officials agreed, however, to lift all restrictions and to make treatment voluntary accompanied with constant consultations between members of the medical community and those who supported Karen’s point of view. Following a tense 48 hours during which Jarod slipped in and out of consciousness several times and again seemed on the edge of death, he recovered. Hospital staff released him four days later. Although the disease did not completely let go of its hold on the boy for another two weeks, little sign of the influenza remained. Karen and Nancy began working together with a number of world-renowned medical professionals to disseminate their combined treatment. The voluntary acceptance of the now-improved vaccination combined with improved testing techniques and advances in post-disease treatments greatly reduced the toll the disease took on people around the globe. The seriousness of the influenza and the almost total elimination of fatalities spread throughout their small community and around the world.


Rustlers? “You two gonna pag-nag back there all day? We got beeves to round-up. And I for one want to get back to the ranch house tonight for one decent meal for the week.” “Lighten up there, K-Keyes. Who d-died and left you in ch-charge anyway? We all got equal b-billing with the B-big B-boss.” “Then hustle up there, Stinky.” “W-wish ya didn't call me that no m-more. That encounter with th-that polecat was so long ago his stripes have f-faded away by now and he would just be a c-cuddly p-pussycat.” “Been calling you 'Stinky' for so long don't even know what your name was. What does it matter. We all go by some sort of nick-name. 'Slim' there because he is and 'Tiny' because he isn't. I don't even play the ivories much anymore yet you call me 'Keyes'. Just gotta keep with 'Stinky' 'cause it sticks. Quit ya belly-achin'.” “Well, don't ya'll ever ca-a-all me late for dinner.” “Don't worry so much, Tiny. You have enough saved up ya could miss a meal or two.” “Ha-ha. Ya'll too funny!” “Hey, Fellas, see what I sees?” “What is it, Slim?” “Couple riders atop that ridge yonder. Looks like they's a drivin' some beeves 'afore 'em. Think might be a rustlin' some of ours?” “If they are that's a hanging offense. Let's ride over closer so they see us. If they bolt we know they are up no good and we can shoot them down. Stinky, you hang back some and keep your rifle trained on them for back-up. Otherwise, we just need to get their story. Could be passing through is all. Big Boss owns so much land it is impossible to always go around.” “Sure is pretty land we're passing through, wouldn't you agree, Red Eagle? Grass so green stretching out far and wide. Trickle of a stream in that valley. Maybe we should steer these steers down there for a drink. Looks like they have that same idea anyway. Thirsty cattle can smell water and we have kept them on the move for a long spell already.” “Harrumph.” “Wonder whose land we are on? Haven't seen a homestead for over two days. Hope we aren't trespassing. Not all these landowners are the friendly type who don't mind you passing through.” “Riders.” “Yeah, I see them now. Don't have guns drawn. Maybe won't be a problem. Perhaps we can get their permission to carry on or they can point us to a way around if they don't want us here.” “HOLD UP THERE! State your business, Strangers.” “Howdy, Neighbors. We come on friendly terms. Name is Marcy, Ford Marcy. Just passing through on our way from Texas. Got about a hundred head of longhorns from my father's ranch down near Fort Worth that my friend, Red Eagle, and I are driving to his Osage tribe hold up in the Indian territory, northern part of Oklahoma. Sorry, we didn't know who this land belongs to in order to ask permission to pass. Would that be you?” “Well, now it just might be. A hundred head, you say. That don't sound like it would be very profitable for all the trouble.” “We aren't in it for the money. My father's cattle have been reproducing like crazy so now that the war is over he needs to move some of them. Red Eagles' people need the meat now they can't hunt buffalo. I am headed to Kansas to marry my sweetheart I met last spring on the wagon train I was leading westward. After some tragedies she bailed out and I promised I would be back. Oh, that's way too much information. The two of us couldn't wrangle any more than this herd. So here we are. Been eatin' dust 'bout two weeks already with about that much still to go. Do you need to see our ID papers? Guess that would stand in for a bill of sale. Pops is doing this out of the kindness of his heart. No money is exchanging hands.” “You are right. That is more information than we need. Let us just take a look at the brands and make sure none of ours are accidentally getting mixed in.” “Oh, by all means, but if that has happened it has been totally their own idea. Can't help it your fellas like the looks of our girls, you understand. You are welcome to cut them out. We have our hands full just keeping them together and headed in the right direction. Hard to keep count. We have been tracking in a general northeastern path following some of the rivers. Where exactly are we anyway?” “Hey, Keyes, remembers what some of those drovers in town warns us about Texan longhorns? Might have some tick diseases. Don't wants them mixing with ours.” “You are right, Slim. Marcy, you might have to buy any of ours that have attached themselves to your herd.” “Whoa, that wasn't in the plans. I have never heard of any problems with our herd. Would you know what to look for?” “Not me or the boys here but our Big Boss might. We were hoping to get back into the ranch tonight. Maybe we can check with him. It is going to take you at least a day to pass through his land anyway.” “Be much obliged.” “Come on, Fellas, let's have a look see.” “Mind if I tag along? Want to take a closer look at their health. Stay here, Red Eagle, make sure none are cutting back behind.” “Humph.” “He sure don't say much, does he. Isn't it kind of lonely out on the trail with someone who doesn't talk?” “Most of the time we are on opposite sides of the herd anyway but you have a point. All of your guys talkative?” “Sometimes way too much. That Stinky never wants to shut up does he, Tiny?” “Y'all right 'bout that, Keyes.” “So you are 'Keyes', 'Tiny' is the one not so tiny and 'Slim' is the tall thin guy. Got that but who is 'Stinky'?” “Oh, he is up on the ridge watching over things.” “I take it you try to keep him separate because of his name?” “Oh, no. That's just a hold over from childhood days when he got too close to a polecat.” “Hows ya manage with a native as ya companion? He looks mighty fierce and none too friendly.” “Don't worry, Slim. His best quality is loyalty. And that means a lot. Just like all of you seem very loyal to this Big Boss. Tell me about him.” “Well, he is big, very BIG. And he is the Boss, very Bossy. What more is there to say?” “Well, Slim. We could tell how generous he is.” “Y'all means like when he lets us share his ribs, Keyes?” “Yeah, there is that,Tiny, but he treats us well.” “He has ta if he wants our help. This too big a place to run alone. But I sure does likes his ribs. Da ya remember the one from down Laredo way? She was so-o luscious... “ “Okay, Tiny, I don't think he needs to know everything. Let's look over these beeves.”


The sky is an unsettling dark gray with very thick clouds. Nothing about this beach is right. The sand isn't that beautiful white sand I remember from my visits to Florida's gulf coast. Instead it's the dingy brown sand you'd find along the eastern seaboard. The waves crash violently instead of gently lapping the shore like they did previously. The shore line itself is covered in washed up seaweed. Ever since that one conversation I have a lot less control over the environment. I can pick the location, but not the details. At least Vanessa looks nice. She's wearing the same green dress that she had on when I first met her. Her jet black hair is tied back in a lovely braid. The contrast of her tan complection with her green eyes is still incredible. Except now I see a deep seated despair in those eyes. She glances down at the pistol in my hand. "How do you want to do this?" she asks. "I really don't want to do it at all." "I know, and I hate to put such a burden on your shoulders. But, we already tried the other way, and it didn't work. This is the only alternative I can come up with. I think that you have to push me out of this reality for it to be permanent." "Are you sure this won't kill you in real life?" "I didn't die last time. I just woke up. I think that's a good sign." "Vanessa, I..." she cuts me off, already knowing the words before I even speak them. "Don't say it, please." "I understand. We'd better go ahead. Just turn around and look at the water." I wish I could have given her a better view. Like the beach we stood on before. She turns to face away from me. I take one last look at the way the dress shows off her shape nicely. I raise the gun and take aim at the back of her head. I'm holding it less than six inches away. At this distance I can't miss. I hesitate for a moment and I'm not sure if I have it in me to do this. I have to force it to happen. I feel my finger slowly begin to put pressure on the trigger. \*\*\*\* Vanessa and I are on the rooftop where we danced before. Except this time there's no sound of a Latin street band below, playing that song that she sang along with in Spanish. Now there's mostly just the noise of a heavy wind. There's a sharp chill in the air. This feels more like New York weather than Miami. She sits on the roof ledge and explains her idea. "If I die in here then that should sever this link between us. Then I can live my life, and you can have your own dreams again. You can build the world you want." "I wish it didn't have to be this way. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you." "It's not your fault. I got carried away, and I should have been honest with you from the start. I hope that you'll find someone new, and give her the kind of experiences that you gave me." "If I ever figure this out, I'll definitely try it." She turns herself around facing the ten story drop below. "Goodbye Kevin." she says as she pushes herself off of the ledge. She doesn't scream as she falls. Suddenly I hear the impact. It's a loud thud of something smashing against metal as if she landed on a car below. It jolts me awake, and I lie in bed feeling my heart pounding inside of my chest. \*\*\*\* We're alone in a deluxe hotel penthouse suite. I'm still lying down in the wonderful king size bed. Vanessa is up and looking out the window. I can see in her face that something is bothering her, but I'm not sure what it is. She turns and looks at me. "Kevin, " she begins, "I can't keep doing this." "Why not?" I inquire. She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. "I need to tell you something.” she says. “Out there in the real world, I'm married. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept that from you." She pauses for a moment to let the news sink in. I'm silent, not knowing what to say. Vanessa continues. "I justified this little adventure we've been having because we weren't doing it in real life. But when I’m awake, I'm starting to think about you more often. I can't do that, my husband is a good man, and we have a good life together. I can’t let things that happen in a dream interfere with that." I take a deep breath before speaking. "I understand. This leaves one big question though. How do we stop?" "I don’t know. We’ll have to figure that part out." \*\*\*\* The beach sand is a pristine shade of white, that looks amazing in the sunset. Waves of crystal clear water gently roll in and back out. The air temperature is perfect. I'm relaxing in a beach lounge chair with lots of cushioning, covered by a big blanket. The lounger is double the normal width, which is great since it allows plenty of room for her. She's lying next to me, and my arms are around her. She looks into my eyes and smiles. "This was fun, " she says. " and the beach scene was a nice touch." "I'm glad I wasn't the only one enjoying it." "I'm getting that feeling, like we're gonna wake up soon. Or, at least I am." "Yeah, I'm feeling it too. Hopefully we'll meet up again." "I'm sure we will. It's been pretty consistent so far." "Well, I'll tell you what. While you're awake, think about some different environments you'd like to try, and places to see for next time." "Will do." We lean in and end things with a kiss as I hear the sound of my alarm off in the distance. \*\*\*\* I've been experimenting with lucid dreaming for about five months now. I'm starting to get the hang of it. I've finally reached the point where I can start to control the environment, so I've been exploring different places. This time I'm in a park, looking at a pond with a dozen or so ducks swimming around. "Nice day." I hear a woman's voice say. I turn and look to see her approaching. She's 5'8 and slender. She has a tan complexion, and jet black hair going just past her shoulders. The dress she's wearing is emerald green, and fits just right, showing off the contours nicely. Its color matches her eyes perfectly. "Yes it is." I reply, "I'm Kevin, nice to meet you." "I'm Vanessa. It's nice to meet you too." "So, Vanessa, what brings you here?" "I don't know. This is where my dream started." "Your dream? What do you mean by that?" "I'm a lucid dreamer. I haven't actually had a full conversation with a dream character before, so this is new to me." "Ah, well, I'm not sure how to break this to you, but I'm not a character, and I'm dreaming right now as well. In fact, this is the environment I created for my dream." "What? How is this possible?" "I have no idea." "Well, what are you planning to do while you're here?" "I don't have a set plan, I'm just exploring. Since you're along for the adventure, maybe we should take a walk, and get to know each other better." I reach out my hand for her to take hold of. She looks at it and grins. "Okay, but we have to come to an understanding on one thing first." "What's that?" "Under no circumstances are you getting into my pants." she says, trying to sound very serious. I can't resist the opportunity to say what I'm thinking. "You're not wearing pants." I reply. She gives me a mischievous half smile, and takes my hand anyway.


He had endured a lengthy career. In recent years he had also become aware that his end date in the workplace loomed ever nearer. The signs were everywhere. Interaction with his coworkers had become non-existent. There was a time when all he seemed to do was attend meetings. He had shaken his head and complained to his wife often, explaining that he worked long hours because he could not complete his work because of all the meetings he had to attend. Everyone wanted to hear his opinion. Now he was invisible. He received invitations to only the most general meetings, the kind that was directed at everyone on the team. Yesterday he had overheard his frenemy John refer to him as a dinosaur. The company had initially been a small mom-and-pop type. Bill started working for the company in accounting when he was twenty-eight. The owner was eccentric but devoted to the company and had a strong work ethic. Bill found the owner's behavior more amusing than irritating, and they developed a solid working relationship over the years. The accounting team consisted of the owner's wife and Bill. Twelve years after Bill signed on, the owner's wife, who headed up accounting, retired. Ten years later, the owner retired and turned the business over to his son. To Bill's chagrin, the owner's son was far less ambitious and smug. Bill knew he needed to get on the son's right side once he had taken over operations. So, being an opportunist, he seized the opportunity to expand his territory. Bill offered to become the go-to guy for the third-party IT company that managed the company's network. He had laid it on thick about how the son must be overwhelmed taking on so much responsibility. His delivery was convincing, and he was rewarded with more work but no more pay. Nevertheless, the son managed to keep the company profitable despite his lack of interest and engagement for five years. Then unexpectedly, a large firm looking to expand into the area offered to buy the company. For months it was like watching a tennis match as the offers and refusals went back and forth. Then, finally, a deal was struck, and the unambitious, smug son who had inherited the business became a multi-millionaire. Bill knew he was the reason for the son's continued success. Yet the son did not offer even a small parting gift to Bill for all those years of shouldering the lion's share of the work. On the other hand, the new owner recognized Bill's abilities and offered Bill an increase in salary and a significant retention bonus. Bill accepted the offer without hesitation. There were multiple reasons for Bill's decision to remain. First, he did not want to look for a new job. He liked the new owner well enough and especially liked the independence the new owner allowed him. Secondly, his two children would soon be of college age with a college fund that was sorely lacking. They had been forced to borrow from the college fund years ago when one of the cars stopped running. The car had over two hundred thirty thousand miles on it, and the mechanic said there was just no fixing it. The intent was always to repay the college funds. Then came the leaky roof that had to be replaced, closely followed by a replacement for the twenty-four-year-old HVAC. Then, one by one, the other appliances died and had to be replaced. He was grateful that his wife had chosen to leave the workplace and stay at home while the children were young. His workdays were long, and weekend work was necessary at least once a month. The bulk of the responsibilities of parenting rested squarely on her shoulders. This had been an ongoing point of contention between them throughout the years. And while it was true that he was often not there, what alternative was there? He was the sole provider for their little family of four. As the children got older, he became less grateful for his stay-at-home wife. It would have been a welcome change to have the extra income if she worked part-time. Although they had this discussion regularly, his wife was decidedly against it. She argued that the teenage years are critical to keeping children on the right path. He agreed wholeheartedly with the premise. He did not understand precisely what she did for seven hours a day while the children were in school. Not that it mattered. She had no intention of returning to work, and he knew that. The college funds had never been replenished, and the repayment of college loans rested squarely on him as usual. Over the next fifteen years, there were three more mergers and acquisitions. Bill survived each of them, and John thrived. John was promoted to Manager of Information Technology in the latest buyout. The new owner had explained to Bill that John's education and experience were best aligned with the IT role. He went on to say how much he appreciated all the years Bill had invested and all the demanding work he had managed. It is time for you to take a breath and return to your roots in accounting. Bill was not an idiot, he knew it was only because John was younger, and he was what they would have called a bootlicker in days gone by. It was so unfair and made Bill feel salty. He swallowed the contempt and congratulated John each time he received another unearned accolade. Those years in accounting had served him well. Bill was a planner. He had begun work on a parachute plan years ago. Being the go-to guy in IT had advantages too. He learned so many new things, such as how to design a worm and all about spoofing. The worm he had designed lay dormant, but on January 1, it would come to life. January 1st and 2nd are companywide holidays. It was also when the system backup for the year was generated to set the stage for closing the books on the last year and setting up the new year. The worm's payload would remove operating files and overload the web server, which would cripple the system. There would be no alerts or alarms because they had been disabled. John, the new IT manager, would know something was wrong on January 2 when he set up the script to open a new year. It would take an external systems expert to assess the damage and develop a restoration plan. Then, when the audit was complete, all signs would point to his best frenemy, John. He had not even had to spoof John's IP address. He covered for John when he was on vacation. John had left his laptop behind because he was receiving a new one, and the old one was needed to transfer files and duplicate network settings. It was a cinch to plant the worm on his old computer, which was then transferred to the new computer. In addition, the old computer was wiped clean, so no evidence was left behind. Bill was eavesdropping yesterday evening, as was his habit when he worked late. He learned the current owner is looking to go public with an IPO at the first of the new year. That may not be a bad idea, thought Bill, thinking of the stock awarded to him in place of the richly deserved bonuses. If he retired and sold the stock at year-end, he may come out ahead of the game for once. The owner then said, "pump-and-dump," a vaguely familiar term. He almost held his breath as he listened closely to the rest of the conversation and quietly exited. It was true after all that good things come to those who wait. Bill had hardly slept last night. He had made the decision to postpone his retirement and go another round. He had options now. Option one, ride it out a little longer and time his retirement and the selling of his stock with the pump-and-dump scheme. But, of course, no one would ever believe that bumbling, old Bill was savvy enough to be part of such a slick scheme even if he reaped the benefits. Option two, choose to be a whistleblower, and receive a significant reward along with the title of hero. He typed notification of retirement in the search box on his computer. The file popped up, and he removed it. He then emptied his trash file. Suddenly he realized the icing on the cake was that he would be there watching the year-end debacle up close, and Bill smiled the first genuine smile in a long time.