#but mostly you can just behold my corporeal form

[scarlettgauthor]

Happy winter holiday of your choice, from our very gay household to yours!

(The cats absolutely are part of this! They wanted to be here!)

[halflifebutawesome]

BEHOLD! FOR THE SECOND TIME, THE GBVRAI LINEUP! now with another weird old dude!

waves my hands around vaguely I wanted to make a nicer looking lineup and more coherent post actually explaining the au. I've now made 2 gbvrai lineups but never a plain old hlvrai lineup. Whatever.

There's a complete AU explanation and individual character profiles (?) under the cut! check it out! ASK ME ABOUT IT !!! SMILES!!!!!

The basic gist of this au is that the science team, are a group of ghost hunting paranormal researchers. The Ghostbusters. You mightve heard of them. This isn't a 1 for 1 au where certain characters take the role of others, it's more just. What if the science team existed in the Ghostbusters universe. They're just the Ghostbusters now.

On a particularly odd case, they bust a ghost that seems... off. It's sentient, it's talking back, and it's psychokinetic energy is off the charts.

Thinking nothing of it, they return to the firehouse and prep the trap for containment disposal. Gordon's the new guy, so he's the unlucky dude who's been assigned the job of disposing of the traps. All the while the ghost will NOT shut up. It's weirdly powerful and seems mostly unbothered. It's name is Benry, and he's a little freak.

the ghost containment unit has been unstable for a while, overfilled with ghosts, but they have to dispose of Benry somehow, so they go ahead with it.

In this AU I'm kind of combining the Resonance Cascade with the Manhattan Crossrip (the Manhattan crossrip is the big scary ghost event that happens at the end of GB1). Basically what happens is that Benrys weirdly powerful ghostly energy, combined with an unstable ghost containment unit, tears a big rip in the fabric between the ghost realm and ours, letting all sorts of ghouls and specters free.

Imagine the Resonance Cascade, with all the aliens getting out and ravaging Black Mesa, but it's a bunch of ghosts getting out and ravaging New York. Gordon and the rest of the team have to fight their way through the ghost filled streets of NYC, and close the crossrip.

Heres some closeups and more individual info/thoughts for the gang!!

GORDON FREEMAN! The new guy. Again, this is less a direct 1 for 1 swap au kind of deal, and more just putting these guys in situations. Gordon's HEV suit, tho, I wanna talk about.

In Ghostbusters canon, they DO have a weird fucked up hazard suit. It first appears in the TRGB episode "Xmas Marks The Spot", where Egon uses it to travel into the ghost realm. I know it makes another appearance in the comics, in a way that's more HEV-esque, but I never finished the comics so idk. It's real tho.

I imagine here that the ghost containment unit is more like the reactor in half life, where it's hazardous to be around for too long, probably bcos of like. I don't know. Concentrated psychokinetic energy. Sure. In any case he needs to wear the HEV to use the containment unit.

My design here is taking the chest piece, helmet, gloves and belts and modifying them to look a little more HEV-esque.

Bennyyyy. Benrey benry beny. He's a ghost, as far as they can tell. It would be more appropriate to call him an entity of sorts.

He's not a ghost simply for the fact that he wasn't ever human. He wasn't ever a living person that died. He's some pure, really powerful, concentrate entity/being that leaked through from the ghost realm. He looks like. A guy, for the most part, but he's a mimic. Something pretending to be human. He's been around for a while, and has settled into this form. He's mostly corporeal, but can phase in and out as he pleases (noclipping) Switching from corporeal/incorporeal when it's funny.

He met Tommy when they were both a lot younger, Benry being fresh out of the ghost realm, and have been bestfriends ever since. ☝️ my au my weirdly specific tommybenny dynamic. Dw about it

TOMMY & SUNKIST!!!! Tommy has grown up around ghosts his whole life, and is pretty in-tune with them. This is proven with his bond to Sunkist, who's decidedly not a real dog, and his longtime friendship with Benry.

I gave him the goggles cos. Tommy's my fave and Ray's my fave and I think they're fun. Also cos if it WAS a 1 to 1 swap I would def have Tommy as Ray. Anyway. He's been a part of the Ghostbusters since he was little, like I said he grew up with them and around them. He's really knowledgeable about ghost types and physics. He knows all the ghost rules.

Sunkist isn't like. His dead childhood dog cos that seems. Kind of sad. Instead she's kind of a church Grimm or hell hound. An entity taking the form of a big huge dog that Tommy befriended when he was a kid, and has now kind of bonded to him. She's pretty corporeal as far as ghosts go, and can interact w the physical environment pretty well.

DARNOLD ^^ my friend darnold. Darnolds not usually super involved in the actual ghostbusting, and prefers to stay behind. He's more of the research and tech kind of guy, he studies the readings and takes measurements.

He's interested in psychokinetic energy and ghost residue and all sorts of like. Ghost sciences. Why some people stay behind, why some people just seem to die and disappear, the properties of the ghost realm and the ghosts themselves. Corporeality and degradation of personhood the longer someone's been a ghost.

When the Resonance Crossrip happens, he opts to stay behind and observe the effects of the insane amounts of ghost energy on the corporeal world.

Hes also a transfer over from the ghost engineers! That's a fun thing for me. I love the ghost engineers idc frozen empire gave me everything I wanted

FORZEN. Forzen is... the same thing as Benry. A mimic, something taking the form of a normal ghost to blend in or hide in plain sight.

He came through with the Resonance Crossrip, but obviously like. He knew Benry before (we WERE bestfriends..). He's not as powerful, which is why he wasn't able to sneak through when Benry did. He's also not super corporeal. He can only interact with the physical world if he's exerting a LOT of energy. Prone to flickering in and out of vision.

Upon coming thru the Crossrip, he kind of just. Decided to hang around the firehouse. Didn't wanna go much further, for fear of being ghostbusted and sent back into the containment unit. The source is the last place they'd look for him!

Darnold, who's holed up in the firehouse, is more than delighted to meet a ghost who's sentient and willing to cooperate to do some tests and experimentation to get never before documented results. They bond and they're cutesit. ☝️ DARZEN WIN. hi splash 👋

Dr Coomer and Dr Bubby are two of the three original founders of the Ghostbusters! They've been around for a looooong time. They're also married obviously but that's like a given.

They helped found the Ghostbusters, having met in college while both were studying parapsychology. I imagine their like. Parapsychology -> Ghostbusters pipeline was very in line with how GB1 starts, where they used to work in an academic environment before getting kicked out and founding the GB.

They're also both. Psychic. Because frozen empire has once again given me everything. Coomers got some like. Idk something that lines up with his self awareness in HLVRAI, maybe prophecy? Vauge visions of the future? Bubby has pyrokinesis. Duh.

and... Mr. Coolatta..... Tommy's dad...he was one of the founders along w Coomer and Bubby and at some point he. Died. And is now a reeeally really powerful ghost. maybe from the exposure to ghost energy or smth?

Now hes got gman powers and just kinda hangs around. Pretty corporeal and solid and. Present. For lack of a better word. But he IS a dead guy. Used to be human.

This is why Tommy kind of grew up around ghosts and knows alot about them :) Mr Coolatta is pretty benevolent, and mostly just kind of spooky and fucked up.

And that's. About it? I believe?? PLEAAASE ASK ME QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS I have so many thoughts. I've been working on this for like 2 months now. Lol.

[damnation-if]

Honestly gotta say, the lore setup of the world alone has filled me with Such intense emotions bc CHEF'S KISS nothing beats world building for me, i want to learn All the Things, no matter how wild or mundane

as such, Twilit has caught my attention for their own interest in knowledge, atop being overall very intriguing to me ( shoutout & air kisses to my darling Heluur too ); the deep irony is that i have severe mottephobia, to the point where even just thinking abt moths ( or anything moth-related ) for beyond a few seconds results in prolonged nausea on my part, which kinda really sucks fhrjjdjf

nonetheless i am determined to at least TRY to woo them, as Largely Beyond Human Comprehension & Old AF are def favored traits of mine to find in characters

thank you for all your hard work you've done thus far! i hope you're getting proper rest too! I'm very excited to continue playing this delightful story 🥳💖

thank you so much for your kind words! i have really enjoyed all the worldbuilding... i'm so glad that other people are also enjoying it! <3

but oh dear... i'm so sorry! obviously don't. feel obliged to push yourself if it's really making you feel ill lmao i'm very sorry that my story has ended up adjacent to your phobia 😔 i Have mentioned it before a long time ago but Twilit isn't really all that Moth-y (in fact they're even less Moth-y than the moth!mc), though i don't really know if that will be any consolation. but hopefully not having buggy eyes or antennae is Something at least.

ironically i ended up going with this fairly lowkey set of moth wings because i thought their original concept would be too scary skbsdfg. in the end i figured i'd keep the original concept as a "true form" of sorts; all of the older and more powerful demons have to do things in order to make themselves Small, in order to Fit inside hell, so much of Twilit's being is. Elsewhere lmfao

i do have a faceclaim for their humanoid avatar that mc mostly gets to interact with haha, which i don't for most of the other ROs. so maybe that helps?

i'm going to spoiler the True Form description for people who don't want to look at it and also possibly just because it's. spoilers, i guess? however i don't think this is ever going to be a Reveal, it's just not obvious at first glance looking at them.

it's not super advisable to look directly at Twilit's true form unless you want a bunch of psychic damage, but obviously other archdemons are capable of Beholding them fine. they're Huge, with differing layers of loosely-connected corporeal form overlapping; the. central body? is squid-like in shape, though the skin is scaled and tough rather than an actual squid's blubber or whatever, with a mass of long tentacles that extend from the uh... torso? the head/face region has that... let's say "conical" squid-shape but augmented with bony plates and cilia that evoke the biblical descriptions of angels, with a halo like a burning wheel and so forth. circling the body is a shroud of moth-like wings that can fold up in on themselves or unfurl based on their whim - when unfurled, they vibrate with a loud humming, buzzing noise. black in colour; they have no visible eyes, ears or mouth, but no matter which direction you look at them from, they always seem to be watching you.

squid... How Do They Work

it's not particularly new ground as far as eldritch beings go but i enjoy a good tentacle... Conceptually i mean. they were actually not a demon in this original iteration though haha... they were an elder god. so. things change!

[meg-moira]

I did the thing. Based on this writing prompt!

.

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What am I, you ask?

It was a question I, too asked myself, once upon a time. I ask it no longer, because I don’t much see the reason in dwelling upon questions which have no definitive answers.

I can tell you what others think I am. Will that satisfy your curiosity?

An aged deity they call me. A minor one, of course. For they know I never laid claim to the vast domains of the Great Gods. War, Knowledge, Death are all grand pursuits, but they are not to my tastes.

Besides, I would never claim anything so specific. To those who live in the village beneath my humble temple, I am the warmth of a tended hearth, the safety of home - and the joy of returning to it.

It is a quiet village, you know. And I know my people by look and by voice. They take turns climbing the steep hill to tend my temple.

I settled here for a reason.

Did you notice my temple? It’s nice, is it not? Wooden, round, and short enough that the adults must bend to enter. Inside, two rows of candles illuminate walls lined with dangling shells dug from deep within the earth. Shelves are stacked with pebbles, feathers, twigs, and flowers. Gifts from my followers and requests I planted in the minds of my most devout.

At the center of it all, bathed in the candles’ butter yellow light sits a gleaming stone. It is opalescent and a pretty enough sight to behold. It was recovered generations ago, a layer or two beneath the dug-up shells.

The humans believe that I reside in the Everstone. That’s what they call it. Everstone. It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

I don’t. Live in the Everstone, that is. I don’t believe I live anywhere in particular.

Occasionally I sit in the stone, just for fun. I warm it sometimes when my followers’ reverent fingers brush the grooves. I like the sound of their surprise and delight. Other times I perch upon the temple’s roof, and drink up light from the first and second sun. And on rare instances, I expend the energy to make myself just corporeal enough to walk upon the hillside and feel the grass between my toes. I only allow my most favorite devotees to see me like this. It is strange and awkward to have limbs and take up space. I only do it because the sensation of touch is so entirely captivating.

Those who glimpse my walking form see someone who looks human in the same way that a painting of an ocean resembles the cold, untamable tides. I take up space, and within that space is the suggestion of personhood. They see a figure draped and hooded in ethereal white, brown skinned and with a face whose features are vague and changing. Human faces fascinate me, and I cannot always make up my mind about the features I want for my own. I-

Why would you interrupt me?

Did you not trudge your ugly boots up this steep hill to seek me out? And if you’ve come, as you say, from lands afar - why would you not want to make conversation?

...Could it be that it is not me you seek, but the one who, even now, lies crumpled and half dead upon my temple floor?

That is the truth of it. I can see it in your terrible war-bright eyes. You are no more human than the one who bleeds ichor on my nice wooden planks.

No. No. Don’t go lifting your ugly spiked weapon just yet. I’m not done talking. I can’t talk with the humans. At least, not like this. And the god currently bleeding in my temple wasn’t much able to make conversation.

He staggered up the hillside not an hour before you arrived. He had taken far more care in the crafting of his physical form than I, and I’d guessed right away that he was one of the visible gods. Likely in possession of both power and desire enough to parade himself about for his followers. To drape his body, wrapped in opulent cloth, across the velvet couch upon his temple dais.

Yes, I made the last part up. I don’t know that he liked to drape himself across couches like a subject waiting to be painted, but with his raven black hair, muscles sculpted by an undoubtedly delicate hand, and a pretty face which did not shift like mine was wont to do, he fit the part well enough.

His fine clothes were ripped and bloody when he staggered up my hillside. And his hair, which looked to have once been drawn back in a sleek braid, was mostly dragged loose, falling in wisps and tangles. His pretty face was cut and broken, and when he pressed a shaking hand upon my wooden walls, he left a smear of ichor, brutal and golden beneath the suns.

“Sanctuary,” he murmured, and his voice was cracked and broken as the rest of him.

I could have barred my door. He might have once been powerful, but it had been cruelly beaten out of him by something.

You, I presume.

No. Enough with the weapon waving. I said I was talking.

I let him in. Don’t ask me why. Maybe stripped of his power, he reminded me of my village devotees. Or maybe I just didn’t want his divinely made flesh to stink up my lawn.

He stumbled in as soon as I opened the door, and immediately collapsed, one hand clutching what was surely a severe wound in his side. If he was as human as he appeared, I’m sure he would have died.

No, he’s not dead.

It was touch-and-go for a while. But, as I’m sure you know, gods are not so easy to kill.

I helped him, pouring some of my own energy into his form. It was like feeding oxygen to a faltering flame. As I worked, he lay limp as a doll, lips half pressed to my wooden floor as his voice rasped, filling the room.

His people call him Praesaro. He told me of how you killed a great number of them, cutting a path so you might reach him. His tears of saltwater and gold dampened the temple floor as he spoke, and where they slipped between the slats of wood, wild clovers sprouted from the soil. His throat was dry and grief-wrung, but I did not need to hear him to feel his overwhelming, aching loss. He’d seen his followers cut down, all while he, their glorious protector, was powerless to stop you.

You smile. Does pain amuse you?

I see. It is not just any pain you seek, but a god’s pain. You cared not for the city you slew, did you? You only wanted the god who protected it. So are you the God Devourer of which the wind has been whispering of late?

I hear conflicting tales of you. The wind says that you came from the skies - or perhaps the heavens. The rocks deep within the earth say that you are not of this world. And the oceans say you smell of strange waters. But all of them are in agreement on this point: You come to consume. And you will not leave until your boundless appetite has feasted upon this world.

And now you do lift that monstrously spiked weapon. You intend to destroy my temple and crush the last of the divine life from poor Praesaro - I can see it in the set of your jaw, the way you bare those sharpened teeth.

You intend to devour me too. In my little temple on this little hill, I probably seem nothing more than a snack to you. But before you unhinge your salivating jaw, dear god eater, let me ask you this:

Do you know why I remain here, on this little hill, above this little village?

It is because I like it here.

Do you feel that? The way the earth trembles beneath your bloodied boots? Or perhaps you’ve noticed the wind and how it nips at your skin. And what about the clouds that darken, bearing down upon my little temple on this single, lonely hill.

I was not entirely honest when I told you that I do not know what I am. Or rather, I have a guess.

You see, I remember when oceans covered these hills, and I remember when tiny creatures filled the shells which are strung up in my temple. I knew where each had burrowed, because they were buried in my soil. The feathers collected for my temple were carried here on my wind. And the pebbles smoothed in my streams.

To these people, I am a minor god, because that is how I wish to be perceived.

But for you, Devourer of Gods, I will deign to stretch out, unfurl.

You came to feast upon gods, little one. I wonder, how will you contend with a world?

.

You can support my writing on Patreon!

[lesserfandomappreciation]

hi think you could do Tali, Garrus and Liara to there S/o reviling a secret they have been hiding taking them to a beautiful planet and there S/o reviled to them that they are the planet it's self a Living Planet (like Ego from guardians of the galaxy)

Tali

Of all the people to reveal this, this scientific breakthrough, this utter breaking of every known law of space and astrophysics, they pick the nerd who knows more science than any university science department? S/o may not be able to die, but the interrogation they undergo would kill any other person. How can someone fit so many questions in under one minute???

Tali is fascinated by the concept of a planet being sentient and also somehow having a human-sized corporeal form to work with. How does the projection work? Is it a form of radiation or is it formed using elements found in this world?

There’s a part of Tali’s mind that can’t help but wonder. Can they change their atmosphere and world? Because, if so, she might have found a solution to a very large problem. 

Garrus

“I- Is this because I said you are ‘my whole world?’ Figurative, that’s supposed to be figurative speech-!” Don’t let his jokes fool anyone, Garrus is using humor to cope with the fact his partner is literally an entire world. Send help. None of his “How to Date ___” guides Mordin sent him remotely prepared him for this. 

He has a lot of questions, but mostly about how they are able to stay solid and be a planet at the same time. Do they.. feel different? Like can they feel him standing on top of the planet’s - their- surface (he is never going to fully understand how the sentence supposedly makes sense)?

If people are living on the surface of them, Garrus is going to need much more time to adjust. 

Liara

Everything I said about Tali, repeated here. 

Liara is just as nerdy as Tali and she is just as excited about this discovery as well. How long have they been a planet? How are they a planet and a person at the same time? Were they a planet first and then developed a consciousness? If so, why?

If s/o brought her planet-side, I’m assuming they knew this was coming. Otherwise the sudden barrage of questions is going to be out of this world for them. 

She wants to see every sight on their surface. Animals, plants, everything. Biologically speaking they are a marvel to behold and she wants to see all sides of them. Even their planet side. 

[writingsofmyimagination]

Instinct |6|

Levi x Reader

Summary: An unwelcome(ish) blast from the Captain’s trainee days comes back to the Scouting Regiment and old habits die hard.

Instinct: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

So I decided to carry on with the series. Bit of a time jump... now around Chapter 72 time :)

tags: @nefelimalfoy​ @beautifulimperfections13​ @pjimochi​ @submissive-bangtan​

Enjoy :)

Words:3232

Warnings: Swearing (Obvs), Smut, Smut -Pretty Sub Levi…..Like Oooof!

“Sooo, how did it go with Erwin, I assume you tried again to convince him to stay” Levi and you merged to walk the same direction in the dusty courtyard. Green cape briskly swept over your shoulder as the wind nipped at your forearms; little pin pricks of cold. The temperature measured equally in Levi’s dark face; hair half drooped over his forehead. The orange hue from all the lamps casting a shadow covering a scowl which quickly came into view.

“That good huh?” you added, trying to coax blood out of a stone.

“Those two brats just don’t stop” The stone completing dodging the question.

Oh

“Again!?” Eyes rolling.

“You should just let them go for it; they’d tire themselves out eventually”

“Ugh… if I didn’t need to make sure his energy was fully preserved for tomorrow I would” Levi unburdened you of the large unopened bottle of vodka from under your arm.

“Corporal YL/N” Erwin called as he added another walking body to the courtyard.

“I’ll catch up” You offered Levi as he’d already turned his back to you and walked off. The trio of Mikasa, Eren and Armin bundled out of the canteen hall in a cheery ball of jest.

“Hey suicidal maniac!” Jean called propping the canteen door open with his foot, hand gripped around a green survey corp jacket.

“You forgot this” Jacket launched quicker than Eren could react. You rushed over before Eren had finished screaming ‘You little…’. Your fist tight around Eren’s. You twisted his arm manipulating him to the ground before he could strike.

“Aaah” Eren wailed as he picked himself up from the dirt.

“Jean, extra clean up duty” His face shadowed with annoyance; Eren’s on the other hand brightened.

“Eren after this mission cleaning duty with Levi wherever he chooses”. It was now Eren’s turn for his face to drop and Jean’s to brighten in a balanced 360.

“Yes Corporal” They both mumbled heads down. Jean disappeared back to the canteen and Eren slumped down on the steps next to Mikasa and Armin.

“Sorry Commander” Returning to where you were called.

“It’s quite alright, ready for tomorrow?”

“As ready as you can be” Your response was still yet polite.

“Oh come on Y/N, I know your pumped, no need to be restrained for me. Anyway, I just wanted to assure you that I will be commanding tomorrows mission Despite the chattering going through the core at present”

“Sir, honestly,  I wouldn’t expect anything less, this is your dream too”

“Levi tried to convince me otherwise, to his failure of course”

“He did mention it, mostly in the form of him being quieter and slightly grumpier than normal”

A slight knowing smile crept minutely onto Erwin’s lips.

“I thought as much, anyway, enjoy your night. I assume the bottle Levi stropped off with was for you”

“Most definitely more for me. Good night commander. Rest well”.

The trio were still sat perched on the steps. Armin, the forever motivator of life beyond the walls exciting the others. The glimmer of hope sprinkled on their expressions light bright fairy dust a refreshing view. Even on Mikasa it was a sight to behold.

Entering the archway something black and still in the corner drew your attention. Head dropped down, his sullen gaze lightened, a few creases less on his face when the confusion struck yours.

“Didn’t know earwigging was your thing” You said, quieter to not alert the three kids. Levi shuffled himself off the floor and vigorously brushed himself down, slight creases grew in his forehead at checking his hands. He gave one more rushed wipe down before you both made your way to his office

“I wasn’t earwigging… I was listening to the brats be hopeful and dream about the future” There was slight distaste scattered through his words.

“Sooooo earwigging…. And is that a bad thing?” The over-dramatic roll of his eyes was heard like a sassy echo in the bare office he liked to squirrel away in.

All that was scattered on the wooden table to the back of the room was a few sheets of paper with diagrams, drawing, indecipherable scribbles that only Levi could understand.

He slumped himself down onto the armed wooden chair, scowl still present staring blankly down at the desk.

Jeez he really is in a grump.

“Okay captain scowl!” You began.

“Erwin needs this, I’m sure he is more than aware that this could potentially be his last mission. He’s not the type to sit back the same way you aren’t” Your arms now folded, strength firm in your stance.

“But his loss would be detrimental to humanity, guy is a damn genius”

“Yeessss he’s a genius, will it be a huge hit, course it will, but he wouldn’t be going if he knew that the Corps wouldn’t be in good hands if something were to happen” He shuffled the papers into a somewhat neater pile and placed them meticulously down in the centre of the table.

“I suppose your right” He conceded twiddling a pencil through his fingers.

“Aren’t I always?” Whisky frosting half of the small tumbler a golden brown which soon disappeared when the glass touched your lips.

“Now....” hanging onto the word diffusing into something much more sultry

You waltzed over to his desk, fingers already teasing undone the buttons of your blouse.

“Can you please stop thinking about work, it’s going to be a challenging day tomorrow as it is” you pleaded leaning against his desk facing him. The final button undone, sight teasing him away from his concentration. Holding the sides of the shirt like curtains to a happier Levi.

“Understatement” He mumbled, his finger finding its way through a belt loop, corner of his lips turning up to a wicked smirk, just how you like them.

“It’s also an understatement that you’re such a tease” he added, the shimmering glaze of mischief reflecting in his eyes coaxed a raised eyebrow with the victorious tinge of your lips.

“Oh Soo I am tempting you then?” his leg now in between yours, his hand resting on your sides

“Perhaps” He tugged at your bra with strong determined hands freeing your breast for his teeth to lightly toy with. Your only was response to hum in approval.

“LEEEVVIIII!” A high wailed cry barely muffled by the dark wooden door.

“Shit!” the pair of you breathed unanimously. You didn’t have any time to fix any of your clothing predicament before the door crashed open and Hanje burst in. To her you were just lent up against Levi’s desk with your arms folder; Levi remained in the chair stoic as ever.

Don’t come round!, don’t come round!

Panicked thoughts spun through your mind like a pin wheel.

“What do you want Hanje?” Annoyance slipping over Levi’s voice coating of distaste thoroughly embedded through it.

“I just wanted to let you know everything is ready for tomorrow”

That’s oddly calm considering her entrance.

Hanje looked mildy uncomfortable, her cheeks were slightly puffed, eyes were wide and flitty. Thankfully she’d not move from where she stopped on the right side of the desk.

You and Levi both waited a beat

“AREN’T YOU BOTH SOOO EXCITED!” She finally burst, her body fully exploding with movement. High pitched; almost intolerable. Levi’s eyes rolled. Obviously.

There we go.

“We’re going to THE BASEMENT!” she continued, her hyped up voice became distant as it was drowned out by the concentration of your fingers being sly in trying to do your buttons up. Levi thankfully battered no eyelids at your miniscule movements. Your shoulders dropped, reveal crisis averted.

“I’m aware” Levi droned

“Is Levi not too much of a damn stone to be spending all this time with? If I didn’t know Levi had such a small capacity for emotions, I’d say you two are a thing”

Hilarious. He may not have the massive heart…

“Can you actually imagine?” You laughed competing with her hysterics.

“Jesus Christ Ladies!” Levi complained tutting.

“I’m sorry Levi” Hanje managed still trying to control her laughter turning and leaving humming way too loudly on her exit.

“Can you not encourage that damn woman” He whined, stood out of his chair encroaching on your personal space, stealing a hard kiss from you.

“I thing you’ll find I’m helping our cover.” The two of you quickly became absorbed into each other again. As cold as he could be, his body never failed to be the warmth pressed against you that you needed.

“I think you’re a pain in my ass” he quipped back.

A pain in his ass he couldn’t let go of

“If you take me upstairs, I will be” You tested. His smirk against your lips was matched, pupils growing pools of craving.

Door clicked shut on the rest of the world, his shirt racing to the floor before you could tussle the buttons of your own shirt back open. The back of your legs hitting the rough surface of the table, the contact not disrupting the soft pressure of his lips dancing with yours; his bottom lip catching numerous times between the gentle tug of your teeth. The harsh pillows didn’t linger on your lips for long. The nips at your neck quickly ached with desperation, impatience crying through the hands fumbling at your trouser buttons. Your trousers pooled at the floor; strong grip at your waist encouraging you half onto the table. You placed a stern hand on his chest in halt.

“What’s wrong?” He breathed through staggered breathes. You answered with movement grabbing the towel from the dresser and coating the table.

“I’m not getting splinters for you. On your knees” You ordered sliding up onto the table after slipping of your underwear in a seductive swoop. Levi on his knees focused glistened eyes zoning on your every small movement. His glare ran ablaze with your foot firm on his shoulder, drinking in the view of soft pale skin. The thighs he knew looked so pretty with blossoming red flower bruises. The way he loved to make them quiver; you whimpering his name.

“Always so patient” you praised. His insides were clenched, teetering on the edge of desperation. Dying for your call. He swallowed hard, with the insatiable thirst had ravaging over him. This may have combusted when your hand dipped between your own thighs. Humanities strongest kneeling desperate on the floor beneath you trying to harness all the will to stay put.

“Tell me what you want” you offered your hand, foot sliding of his shoulder.  His mouth enveloped round the wetness of your fingers; a deep hum vibrated through his throat.

Your legs now parted with him snug in-between. He was making you wait for his answer.

“Well?” He stilled for a moment completely faking to ponder. Hands ghosting up your lower leg, your soft skin only imploring him higher. Your index finger stroking come hither under his chin

“Mmm” The pair of you mumbled, white knuckles gripped his shoulders. Even with your lips pressed together you could feel the wicked way the edges of his lips curled upwards.

“This” he managed, drowning out your whine. Already feeling the controlled digits inside pressing to your walls.

“Be more specific or you get nothing” pleasant strain and held back whines hidden terribly in your voice.

“Ugh” Levi complained.

“Did you roll your eyes at me?”

“On the chair!”. Your tone snapper quicker than a whip.

“You can’t tell me what you want, then I’m just going to keep giving until I’m finished with you”

“Hands behind your back until I say otherwise” you added, hands prying his thighs wider.

“Eyes on me baby” He tried not to blink. Forcing himself to look down, refusing his eyes to roll upward as you’d dropped to your knees. Tongue licking a slow stripe on the underside of his member. His bottom lip catching between his teeth. He could only enjoy the sweet warmth of your mouth for a few blissful moments before his bottom lip puffed out in hardcore sulk mode. You turned from him, sweeping your hair to the front of your shoulder carefully balancing your weight as you lowered yourself onto him; not how he’d like. You’d sat on his lap purposely avoiding him. Your hips circled, your head back resting the side of his neck, his low whines now right at the shell of your ear.

“Oh did you think I’d give it up that easy?”

“Don’t think so ….”

You thumb teased over the tip of his cock before honing your attention to focus on the movement of your hips”

“Please” He whined

“I’ve hardly done anything” You toyed. Knowing full well it didn’t matter; not with the fact the pair of you had had little time over the last week or so. It was all just too easy to get to him.

“Mmm…no. You can sit there and feel me.”

Frustration began seething though his controlled breaths, hips trying to match your movements under your weight. Your skin was heating up, but yet you could almost shiver with how sparked your nerve endings were. His lips stuttering soundlessly

“Something you wanna say?”

“Please just cum on me…”

//

Pale milky wax in droplets solidified on his chest. Each one earned a hiss past his lips with the occasional curse chucked into the air for measure. Moisture gathered where his hair met his skin and shone in the flickering candlelight

Small red flower patches blossomed so prettily when the wax dropped of his skin. Your lips followed the beautiful field to the buds on his chest. His desperate groan elicited at the grip of your teeth his hips couldn’t help but buck up into you.

“Levi…Fuck!” Finally allowing yourself to sink down onto him, exasperated pants omitted by both of you in solace.

“Please let me have you now, I need yooou” Your hands still at his chest, hips circling at a painful pace. Torturous eyes hand in hand with the unforgiving smirk beaming.

“But I love it when you’re so desperate, you’ll be begging me to stop when you’re too sensitive”

“How many times can you cum before you can’t take it anymore?” Levi had a damn near ridiculous refractory period, in addition to his extraordinary strength and healing speed. You loved it and saw it as a fun challenge to push it.

//

“Had enough? More?” You asked the writhing body under you, smirk still strong on your face. Moans choked in his throat. His stomach drizzled with himself, the rest of him you wiped away from around your lips. The veins in his neck jumping as he turned to you, his chest rising and falling in steadying moves. The unmistakeable moisture filled eyes, water gathering at the corners in frustrated droplets. His muscles quivering under your touch, so flooded with sensitivity.

“You” he whined, voice becoming dryer and crying with desperation with each passing breathe.

“Oh you think you can go one more with me?” You’d allowed yourself very little. Your walls were throbbing against nothing. The tension that had filled your muscles the tightly wound fibres needed an outlet.

The exhausted body beneath you moved with a sudden refilled confidence and stability knocking you back. Your hands locked behind his neck; you were half sat up and supported through his hand at your lower back. A fresh accelerated fire fight raging behind the dark orbs of his eyes, you’d pushed him, he’d had enough. Your cry had the hint of a giggle finally having him inside you, cheeky smile under your bit lip.

“Stop being a tortuous brat, ride me, make yourself cum around me or swear to god”

“Swear to god what?” you challenged clenching around him. His response; hissing with regret. Over-sensitivity pained in his features; brows knitted together as yours widened with your smile.

“Mmm” the pained hum melted right in your ear. Melted chocolate dripping of a soft pink marshmallow. Unwavering stable hand still solid supporting you. Your weight cradled into him, fingertips digging into his shoulder blades. Finally allowing your hips to spiral, unwinding all the patience you’ve exercised. Currents of heated heavy breaths washed across your chest. He ceased to challenge with any more words. Chest pushed against his; heat gathering in moist droplets between you.

You stole as many messy kisses in-between your moans and whines as you could; Levi had resorted to mostly grunts, his hips movements becoming staggered, each thrust becoming harder but seemingly more exhaustive. You shifted your weight forward. You’d felt his muscles begin to shake.  Levi was now on his back hair falling against the pillow as beautiful black spikes.

“God you feel so good” You whined rolling your hips. Hands planted cupped around his thighs, gripping hard nails leaving crescents in the muscled flesh. With your back arched, chest bare and vulnerable to the dragged out firm knead of Levi’s hands. His arms dropped to cradle your hips slowing them down.

“Too much for you baby?” You cooed sliding your hands to his chest, one creeping further to sit at his throat.

“Mmmhm…Don’t ……” He warned. You were never going heed his warning; you tightened your grip disobeying the pressure at your hips and rocking him freefalling off that cliff. His head rolled back harsh against the mattress. The intoxicating chimera of blissful pain bled into relief. Hearing the beautiful stuttering sounds and pants of Levi falling apart had you equally calling out his name with jaggged breaths.

//

You were gently coaxed out of sleep by floating plump kisses at your shoulders, a wandering breeze of his hand cloaking round your waist.

“Why does time go so fast” you mumbled, shifting onto your back. The cotton sheets were fresh against your exposed chest, cooled by the crisp air flowing in through the open window. High positive chirps from the birds living un-unbeknown to the burdens of the day ahead.

“Wait how come you’re not up and dressed and kicking me out of bed earlier than necessary?” The pleasant surprise had you smiling more sweetly than you’d like him to see and you felt more peace than you’d normally allow yourself.

The peace went to full blown serenity like a spring morning trickling stream when his lips half turned up followed by a soft chuckle oozing with acknowledgement.

“Jeez you moan when I up and leave and moan when I stay, am I ever going to get a break with you?” Levi huffed way to animatedly to suit him; he kicked off the sheets and went to lug himself out of the bed. You tugged him back towards you just off balance to get him on his back to secure your thighs at his hips.

“Do you honestly wanna break from this?”  Flicking your hair up in your grip allowing it to trickle loosely out of your hand. You fought his weight trying to push you off, which when he actually re-calibrated his balance he managed. One hand weakly holding your wrists together above your head. You were met with silence and a smirk worthy of the first ring of hell. He bounced off and slid his white shirt on. Neither of you spoke again until you dragged yourself to the bathroom.

“Annoyingly even when you act a brat I still can’t stay away. I’d would be weird without you now”

“Exactly”

Wait what?

[rwmhunt]

Leviticus, Chapter 25

1. It is fair to say that a poet Doesn't know their audience, When after 3000 years, a poet Doesn't know their audience. And here we've struck against the base Of our own Biblical Mount Sinai, where God, inside of the mountain, Could be locked therein for ever, yet, From an ocean of unconsciousness, hath he Up and telt this 'bunch of stuff' unto Moses-

2. Promises, promises, lo, My sabbaths; remember them? To summarize- whence Heading out of Exodus, Toward the underground city of Fuckinghell, God continues to remind the Israelites, How it were he who has them here, At assay in an escape of Egypt, As they go totalitaring across a plain, The which of is hardly considered In their headlong rush to go slow.

3. Six years sowing of land That you havn't got yet; So god gets Moses to Shovel it into the frontal lobe, Repeating things unto his pals, So sets off an imflammatory cascade, The old Israelites; a retinue, A ruptcy, @chemical riot, And that bunch of other stuff, You know this, but I'm reminding.

4. A seventh is a sabbath year- A sour, sownless, Pruneless kind of a year, You see it here, for Books are about power And bitter in at least two obvious ways- They first reflect the writer’s yearn For the acquisition of it, And then the mimic, With his fangled state therein, Of playing it.

5. Like most of us who are in this, Moses don’t have alot of power And less need to publish the fact- But speaketh of his learned scree- 'You write wrongly glib and varicose; aye, Where such be the matters I chose; As predisposed to distraction bade" He tries, talking withdrawl, In matters of affect- 'Your sentinels have rafted georgic, Whilest the staid remainder are discovered as wizened, and Departing from the liturgy, though heretical, You largely eschew the regular criticisms leveed agin the book.' But no, I didn't understand where this is coming from; to iterate, sometimes It's only a miracle that a meaning shouldst fall out of anything we find to say at all. Then, no gather; give solemn leave for the land Whence voice-bearers dwelt in rest, Yet as you read this, You are entering the prism of My power fantasy, And as I told you, you know this; So the dogmae live loudly in you. Woof.'

6. Connecting all these sentences, It becomes difficult- for thee, As we carry on recounting, As for thy servant, thence, for thy maid, For thy hired hand and for the settler Who, by thy side, sojourns amongst y'all; Where unto, to place the implied “because”? For lo, Power is versatile like that, And says things that send a spider sense a-creeping- So the sabbath of the land shall fall from thy alms as thy alimony, let Words be tools for regulating bodies, And say things that send a spider sense a-creeping-

7.  Twill be a meat-based year For living on thy laurels with- A trope within a spectrum of abusive behaviours Alleged against the rhyzome Are scrutinising the system, where The fad prov'd trite, so I bade glib, Lo! Then terse, or droll, the dearth, I, gauche, give, both brash and stout, That it be I that is trite as it was glib For, wersh, I am not done with it- The rhyzome.

8. Muster seven sabbaths unto thee, Seven sevens be four and nine, see? From here to here, horizontally, The complete ribosomal pattern hath Codage for associative amino permutations, As universally preserved in the life taxa of all Babel, where the such displaces a lot of linear ideas, and, Lo fate, hallowed, Where hallowed is to be, For I warned thee; Go then, living as the rhyzome.

9. And make proclamation with the blast of the horn, For tis the day that it was once, hence, they Differ only in terms of the number of variables present, The coding of existing relations between the variables, And with regard to the presence or absence of an 'eigendynamic', Thus, can therefore be distinguished thither, As according to complexity, Based on these individual characteristics- As was once so it is differently, lo- Tis Yplangenday, and living is the rhyzome.

10. Round the ordinal up to L and proclaim liberty The bell, so thither, you have time's jubilee, Then let there be untethered utter manumission And flights of immigrant fantasy To whence-so-ever they think to have come. And breathless, Leviticus hath inferred That he was working unto A duel purpose- Firstly, his own double, As for control- To take the world and limit it, Or, extend it, unto his own end; And the other is to commune With the old world, the denied world, The general world; and to influence it, After his own.

11. So, la-la, be jubilee, As wild, As heady as happy can once a life, Or twice with once a memory of the other- And the pneuma of animula blows among the manna A numina, where the lord is the longest polymer chain.

12. So it is; then, Go eat the increase out of the field. But here are we levered; For it might be seen that there is a division second That can be put as of two spheres of imagination- Where firstly, there is that which is unbeknownst unto the beholder, and then also that which is consciously constructed, And yet, there is also the kingdom that lieth between, Which is a land of disconcerting paranoia and deviance, And where we must not lay with pneuma, nor numina As among the manna in the morning.

13. Yet lo, There's no point talking about it Unless you can talk about it; unless- Unless you can create enough updraft anyway; Lo! Then talk about it if you can't And I shall listen for what isn't there And look elsewhere for kennings after, And build about your unsaid vestige A most pious desire to expression; That which might uphold my feeling; No, there's no point talking about it Unless you can talk about it.

14. Barter or borrow and, For one damned year, just Don't get deceitful or try to get one over. Blindsided by the partisan nature of corporate consensus That I saw distort through the Furore Mirrors; There are many hands here, unto mine eyes, But, I don't trust the self who works emotional metaphor, So I won't continue to what I'm talking about.

15. Carry on trading way beyond, It's the local TA. Thus resides in per kilowatt hour, But what are we burning? Outside- I think it's a diesel generator; I hear it rumbling through my days Kept in the playground The fumes form long polymers, Amid the upper atmosphere, Clade with agricultural chemicals, They make headway Amidst our every organ; So be our dearest sacrifice.

16. And the market shall rise and fall With the arbitrary number of years, And whence far enough away, Return to your sarcky disposition- So what are we burning? In the tent, There's a wood burner, but, Really, detritus; Mose never minded, So any old when we run short, Mostly plastic bags; Leviticus has a fit When the smoke's building up, Talks about thousands of parts Per million.

17. To be fair, be fair, be fearful, Still me, remember? There was a grate, clarted up, That took of an outflow as from the tent, Of whatever swarf got sluiced, Unto wherever it went; the rest Were ushered up and borne out- So Terpsichore, laden with ashes, Went abroad one day, far enough That the gall and dust would not Be thought as being that of the tabernacle, Whence, dispensed, ashes and Hunks made boon to the earth's Mutable constant.

18. But the bible's broke and lost with the river That flow in serial and, as sevred, the chronicalers gone. Its belief's a decree you shall not leave me among, Nor make its fuzzy undercurent wash, Wherefore, the doing of statutes, The keeping of ordinances as them too; Though I concider, I cannot.

19. Land's a woman that yields So eat and dwell secluded therein. Love is not a symptom of time, Power is- time takes power, takes time. And you implicitly know this, so Don't think about it. Good girl Jade, who be it, That dwell in the land As declare of it a safe space?

20. And if you should be so bold as to wonder What to eat the year there's nothing, Know, that I'm not in a good mood today, Well yeah, you can say that again, so I said I'm not in a good mood today; As in; best not to press me on it, and Yeah, I heard you the first time.

21. Then sat in our suffering, Stuck in this wilderness, Black is the offering; No good for nothing, this, Left with our echo as Cut from our people. Lo, but, I'll give you a bumper crop From the previous year, and Lo! You're massive, gamesmaster. Ok, so, no worries, bonanza time; Brother, I never steer you wrong.

22. And damn it, Keep at the old store, Through the eighth, All the way into the ninth, Til your ship comes in; O Stop collapsing; Well done, men. It is not wise, it is quite unmeasured, to bait divinity With common hands, to scale Sinai, wild at heart, While sporting ultimatums of, Forgive me lord, Or I shall sin and the like- I said bring me the head of Martin Elginbrod.

23. And the land shall not be sold in perpetuity; For the land is Mine; as ye be strangers and settlers unto Me. So his own words, official words and the words of his advocates Hath set off an imflamatory cascade across hours of solid crowds. But not feeling seriously affected by the articles braught against it, He here found some unexpected allies among the Aaronide, Who, on hearing what he was proposing, Got on the blower to Moses too, and the results May be found between the leaves- as With the vertiginous chicanery they built A plutocratic sanctum of the unthinking overvue And with the allowance of themselves there to continue, Undeposed.

24. And lo, the land of our possession, Shall grant a redemption for the land itself, - So then, young people, said Tokata Iron Eyes, - I feel like we have eachother's future back; This is such a third fire that might save of us all. It won't ofcourse, but it's good to try; ...Shall granteth of us our memories; Let it be said that I so arose...

25. O forgotten brother, How came ye  come so waxen poor As to prowleth these leaves, Having pawneth'd off of your possession, With I, as thy kinsman, that is next here unto thee, and Who hath come to redeem thee thy birthright Which ye hath verily, venally squandered? - Lo, for it is that I've been inside, for that I started fires; As I don't know what was wrong with me; I won’t be buccaneering with people’s lives any more, for I've come to agree 'That man should solve every problem that it hath the wit to so recognise.' And Mose rose while yet he held a look as in his eye.

26. For if a man hath no one to so redeem it, and he be waxen rich And findeth of sufficient wit to himself of it redeem; but 'You're talking into a vacuum about an unknown, So it's unlikely to feel definite.' Would you be the vacuum? 'Yes; for that I would, And yet, I am not what I meant- I mean the bit of your mind that doesn't know.'

27. Let him count the years, And restore the overplus, And get him out of hock, By the strange effect of the interaction That ends with the death of an animal; The flicker of even a spider drain, if There was an action to attain the weird, Folding-in unto an unknown metaphysical, As to return to in the everyday, and then, After a while, a bestial satiation, then, Ritual slaughter be your go-to profession- So make thyself mint.

28. And if it don't work out, well Jubilee, and all shall be returned, For that's the thing- if Fate needst me to, It could put me places No questions asked. And the thing with him, And the thing about such an interpretation As for him, is that it shouldst be of one's own- That it wasn’t wrong of Words but rather, that to Interpret was of a fault, And the problem is with your audacity in feeling uncomfortable, But, alas, tis Jubilee, so all of this is as a bridge under the water.

29 . Vicarious is my favourite word, said Leviticus, - The closest living thing to magic; Words themselves are a kind of vicariousness; And he drifted into another republic. So to the ease or otherwise of obtaining wall, if Erotion could walk by herself; it was difficult. Redeem your house for a year In a city, at zero percent and no questions- Always fair and square, aren't they? The begetting of a room advise Gleaned from passing strangers, Jade, why'd you hide your head?

30. And walled cities are a surety in Jubilee, and their tide go not out in perpetuity. There was a guy who used to draw his dreams, Because he believed them to be previsions For a future. He'd go with his opus to the local bank To have it date stamped in a photograph He'd get taken there, beneath the calendar clock. They were, at best, inconclusive, while he wouldst have Lived thither, as among his creations; - I don't know if there's a structural system in the universe; If i am a fractal of greater or lessers in a relative manner.

31. But should I find a rock Who believed a lampost to be a god, Then, verily should I be impressed with that rock; And daresay wouldst I subscribe Unto a new-found regard For the lampost to boot; so aye, All things can be called relative, By which, if you havn't a wall, You're reckoned with the field, And bailiff time be Jubilee; Now, take this learned decree hence, And be away from my townhouse.

32. I keep telling you- I don't have a favourite, And I don't think you believe me, So I keep telling you that I don't have a favourite, But if I did, it would be you, Though I treat you like shit. Oh, but you, here you can appropriate thus- Make manifest destiny through city or plain, And do not swerve for the biome in the rhyzome; That you havn't a head for mandelbrot sets.

33. It's getting technical, and tainted; Lo, forthwith, the rhyzome acknowledges That these claims about the claimants Be unclaimed, And we retract and withdraw the clause And undertake not to make repeat of them, And that means being open, Transparent and respecting The decisions made in this tent, By strangers in secret.

34. So in our submission, when one looks At our learned judge’s direviction, Freedom is an interface, A phantasmic discrepancy- You are doing as you're impelled to do, And you shalln't believe it so, And don't go selling off land.

35. Let anima be the trick That creates the illusion of life, And also that by which To behold it. And if thy brother be waxen without, And his means fall in with thee; Then thou shalt uphold him: As a stranger and a settler, So shall he live among thee. See? All's equal. And by this drystane dyke he Mopeth that fate shouldst be A fickle star, And got on, Uninterested in the plain.

36. Take thou No interest of him either, Ask not - 'Why your god?' Answer not - 'Because it's yours,' Nor - 'And how do you feel The palace of swords wouldst heareth you speak Your truth today?'. Yet there be, still, Within the arc- A falling.

37. Give him no cash Nor victuals against profit; Let him tarry and know Your god is yours alone; Is interstical and Is cut off from all other gods.

38. Else, in thy virtue, how much virtue, Meaneth you your virtue to signal? Me? I saved you, got you this place You havn't got yet; likewise, see? Manifest Destiny fell among the rationale Which led us out of Egypt in the promises, We can but carry it upon our bondsfolk.

39. And here doth he speake Of his mind As alike a torture chamber that hath Gone about something so insane As to totally overwhelm background processors; Thence, pressed into abandon, and A resultant neglect unto the congregation. Each layer, a further latent lexical signifier, And a broader drain on bios, all Ultimately, of it's own derivation, so, You might as well just assume, Where the real answer Is very close To the wrong answer.

40. The book, behoven As logistical playground, Finally spoke its silence, So I take this cardboard box for Some kind of underwater spaceform, As early evidence of animal oblation At the end of the copper age, As serve ye so until Jubilee. Don't be angry with me.

41.Lo, could I do it again And bury the text A full five times deeper yet, Then go out, to my own, And unto, such paternal possession Rest with him and ‘Hmm,' He’d say. - I’ll learn Hebrew, why not?’ and then, -'But I only know of the letters yet.'

42. My servants, as I so rescued ye, So shall ye not be drawn back to slavery Through the study of the methods of history (Historiography) Or the study of historical persons (Historicity) Where, the first few characters are my laws (Halakha) For how to make of a sacrifice, (Qorban) That a standard historical practice, (Ordinal propriety) Differentiating between what happened And what was hearsay is evinced essential, Lo, for as to a poetical artist, the difference is Negligible stroke incommodious, (Unwelcome) and, as Anytime was closer to history than this one, What do you know?

43. Let not some pious forgery Rule o'er your own with a rigor, But fear such a god who, unreasoned, Would teach the people How to eat right and be clean- Denying the biome is within the rhyzome, For, tis naught but an intolerable Bit of shuffling and roguery In the Jerusalem game of the ‘curios. Whence, various colonial archaeologists Would espouse of an erasure That it goes without saying And is thus worth pointing out- Where the particles of rust Were once elementally a part Of the thing which you are oiling, The particles of rust Were once elementally a part Of the thing which you are oiling.

44. Thus, reality, patterned, Might be applied unto, Whereon the actual engaged Behaviour hath gone and is lost; So take the over-arcing Frame, and know, Thither, it is a recreation, And, probably wrong. Then hold for thy merrye bondsmen and bonnymaidswomen, As of whom thou mayest have gained a fancy hereunto; From the nations that are round about thee, Them, shall ye buy of, that they be thy merrye bondmen and maids.

45. Lo, where each of the laws are windows Into the day of their inception, tis Hard to avoid seeing ancient archetypes at work, for- Who shouldst create a law Where there is no need for a law? Moreover, of the children of the strangers That do sojourn amongst you, Go get 'em cheap; tis my land, so your land, Tis usufruct thither, with they as thy possession.

46. And ye may make these folks into hand-me-downs: For them may ye forever take up as your bondsmen and merrymaids; But ever over your brethren, the children of Morningside, Shall ye not rule, as one over another, as with rigor. I'm not seeing the symmetry of central planning here; But lo, for in the game of one-upmanship Thus bade between the Morlocks and Moses; I'd give it to the Olmecs, Then return it to the virus. For the rest, Leviticus decryeth more fraff On how to pink the codes of holiness with examples, So, still I'm rerecounting-

47. In Exodus, God telt Mose how to build the tabernacle As a tent of meaning, Then it was that Leviticus got involved with God's teaching, As Mose blustered about over the lot and set forth his sacrifice From the land over which he cared not a jot, But to extend the part that is virgin and thus, Easily burned, as where, Maybe you left thinking Such be an example of how to priestlilly keep of your offerings, But we're still here, Positing queries to the tabernacle, Of the ways to behave in an uprightly if convoluted manner; And what am I going to do with this story Of a fellow who did all these wonderful things, Sweet hermit, who was a lion,

48. So let it be said, that Moses sacrifices Aaron to God: Leviticus doesn't remember it like that, But this's what is written, thus, will it be brought to happen. And should a strange settler do as you'd do, But to an offshoot of the rhyzome, then Redeem him damn it, you be a branch and brethren; I'm not spilling of what that means. But, Note well what he tells that isn't of story, For, as being without the narrative, So becometh it boring; Except where it's left, Both latent and loaded, With anecdote of sin or else, Suggestion of a fearful violation, As so be set to go off, though not Suchwise, as if left only unto itself- For there be the dispersal of power.

49. And lo, you can ever redeem of yourself with a flip, For poetry is forced, Forced as a rhubarb That I'd rather have, But, de gustibus, no, You shall not take My heart out To dine.

50. And that I shouldn't choose to be The appropriating, racially charged, Misanthrope that I am; which, By dint of a social education, I know, By the pointing out, I'm ok to carry it on, So giveth unto myself the blank slate- As I'm nearly finished anyway.

51. Some reckoning of years tallied by the sevens, As if it, you know; So as not to give him the pleasure... And if that doesn't work, Mathematically, put a fix in. As levity is a sacrifice That relegates the ur-text, So you will understand me; I pretend not To be the inventor Of anything;

But laughter is not so bad.

52. Lo. the corollary- - If I didn't write all this, Then somebody else would, I read, as I read back across it, And my eyes closed, And my head rolled. I've got to stop it.

53. Here watch the usurpation of another, Distastefully, and to yourself. - Sir, you keep your contempt On a high simmer Throughout your every engagement, And turn it up further Wherever you feel opportunity to do so, Whether it should be used thus or else let pass- And done so as to besmirch the other, all because You've the competitive streak that must Be made manifest among such others equally; First to sate, then, take beyond.

54. Otherwise, Jubilee, Else it is up with me on all sides. So it was with Leviticus, Who never said he were a poet, Only that his dreams Meant more to him Than they realistically Should have, and Though he drempt in such a way That he never thought he knew As to where he was, Thus it was always insubstantial, Yet such needst be enough; And that, atleast, he thought he knew.

55. Then find a man Who speaketh of people By their purpose, Himself as his own singer; Whose openness to wisdom Left him always Half an idiot, Where QED is our bible, Where holy might only Fall down to one's discretion, And use its fatal nature To activate the future, as I told you this already. Tis done.

[rkmuse]

The Republicans...Oh God...You Don’t Want Socialism!

The Republican chant is that Socialism is to be feared. There are also Democrats who reject the idea of Socialism. Are you aware that we already have Socialism in the USA, but it exists only for the wealthiest, and that includes our Congress and Government employees. Most of the members in Congress have become some or the healthiest and wealthiest in our country based on how long they’ve been in office. They’re multi-millionaires and billionaires which has become the norm.

Congress obstructed the Constitution and voted collectively to govern themselves. They give themselves extravagant benefits, raises, and if they get in trouble Congress judges them and not a court of law such as what the majority of the people are judged by. They have a great salary for the time they put in, The best health insurance, their travel is paid for, retirement funds, they take lobbying money, and so many more benefits that include even schooling for their children. When they get ready to retire, many times their children end up running, and it becomes a family business of sorts, and it’s difficult to remove someone who has been in Congress for 40 or more years. They are touts to the lobbiest for huge banks and corporations who count on them to vote a certain way, and their paid well for doing just that. Both parties in Congress are violating what is written in the Constitution. That needs to be on the list of what needs to be changed. The Founders anticipated greed and constructed it as such.

 Large corporations reap even more benefits, they often pay no taxes, and they are the recipients of huge tax breaks from the President. Trump just gifted all his friends, and himself, a huge tax break. When the stimulus came out, huge corporations took the money first, and little was left for small businesses. The very small businesses got nothing and many went out of business. One fat cat was in debt way before the virus. A private airline company Trump knew. He got 10 million from the stimulus and saved his business. The rich have always had a form of socialism and that goes for the President on down to state and city government workers. When they retire from Congress they are mostly all multi millionaires with huge retirement funds, healthcare, and they can take their (pittance) Social Security as well if they paid into it. There is no justice for everybody that harms nobody. When it comes to healthcare that is a right not a privilege. Of course they don’t want the majority of the people to have what they have. They would argue that it would be too costly. After all....they may suffer. Right. The Taxpayers are paying for their own expenses, and constantly fighting for equality through decent healthcare etc. Prescriptions and Big Pharma are a separate issue. 

Trump and the Republicans want to take away Social Security, Medicare, and not cover pre-existing conditions, and that will really only affect the majority of the people. Any Government official is fine. Isn’t it odd that politicians will only talk about the majority of the people getting Obamacare which they say is so good, but it’s not as good as the healthcare that Congress has, and that the taxpayer pays for. Why doesn’t the Congress also have Obamacare? Why do they get more sophisticated plans and pay nothing, or very little?

Social Security is not a gift from the government. People work all their lives and pay into it. Around 66 they can retire, and get a set amount. On occasion, the government will give you a minuscule raise while raising the price of the Medicare that is automatically taken out of your Social Security check. I know what my mother had, and how it worked. Her raise was minuscule when she got one which wasn’t that often. The government has borrowed from the Social Security fund over the decades, and probably never paid it back. It’s your money that was taken out of your paycheck every week when you worked toward your social security and your Medicare. When you retire, the government takes out of your pension a charge for Medicare.  Medicare only pays for 80% and you’re responsible for the remaining 20%. Most people end up taking out GAP insurance (which they pay for themselves) to cover the 20%. That is getting to a big chunk out of just a Social Security check. Trump went into the hospital, had the best care possible, and didn’t pay anything. Why is one human life more important than another whether he’s the President or not.  Everyone in our government has better healthcare then the majority of the people who actually pay for and the quality isn’t the same. So the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. 

We can do better. We have to do better. Congress has to stop governing themselves, and be responsible to the same laws as the people when they break the law. Right now, if a member of Congress does something wrong they’re judged by their piers in the Congress, and they may get a slap on the wrist but no jail time. An example, is Martha Stewart.She was charged with insider trading years ago. She went to prison for 1 year. Right after that, Bill Frist (Senator) did the same thing, only he was judged by the Senate, he got a slap on the wrist and eventually resigned. Fair? I don’t think so.  Congress - The House and Senate, is in violation of the Constitution. The Constitution advocates term limits. You serve a term, and you go back into the pubic arena. Someone else serves a term and then goes back into the public arena etc. etc. Congress turned their positions into a full lifetime career where they keep getting elected and raise money from people who want to keep them in there, so they can count on your vote. Campaign finance. The Republicans got the SCOTUS to open the floodgates to super pacs, and unlimited amounts that corporations and the wealthiest can dump into an election. Then candidates are beholding to the people who donate such vast amounts of money and they vote the way the huge donners want them to vote. If this sounds crooked, it’s because it is.

I’m waiting for people to demand the same healthcare as the Congress has which I’m sure includes dental, vision, everything...and maybe even plastic surgery (lol - forget I said that one) but maybe it does. It’s a Cadillac plan. No person running for office will ever suggest the people get the same healthcare as they get even though you the taxpayer pays for theirs.  

We have so many changes that need to be made and Joe Biden is going to have to be the one to step up to the plate and begin instigating them. But...the people have to organize and demand it. The government won’t just do it. If it’s up to them it will always be inferior. Crumbs not the whole cookie. I do know people that aren’t happy with Obamacare. option 1 - Either the majority of the people need to have the same healthcare as our Congress, or option 2 - Congress needs to take Obamacare, the same healthcare as the majority of the people. I’m sure if the Congress had option 2, they’d work like heck to get option 1 for everyone if they were treated equal to the majority that they are supposed to represent.

[canchewread]

Editor's note: while I've certainly been away from Can't You Read for quite a while, anyone who follows my work at ninaillingworth.com or my Patreon blog already knows that I've been writing (and podcasting) again. You can check out some of my latest essays here, here and here; to listen to the podcast I co-host with Nick Galea (No Fugazi) just click here.

Today however I'm back on my bookworm bullsh*t with another curiously dated review of left wing literature from my extensive library of pinko pontification. In today's review, we're going to be taking a look at “The Chapo Guide to Revolution: a Manifesto Against Logic, Facts and Reason” written by five members of the popular left wing podcast “Chapo Trap House” - specifically, Felix Beiderman, Matt Christman, Brendan James, Will Menaker and Virgil Texas.

Baby Steps up the Ramparts

It is I will theorize, utterly impossible to write a review about the Chapo Trap House book without engaging in the extremely online, three-sided culture war that has sprung up around both “the Chapos” themselves and the enormously popular podcast they host. In light of the fact that seemingly everyone on the internet who detests the show regard the Chapos as slovenly crackpot losers born on third base and podcasting from mom's basement, it really is alarming how much digital ink has been spilled about the various types of “threat” to all that is good and holy this simple irony-infused podcast supposedly represents. While I intend to largely sidestep that discussion by focusing entirely on the book and not the podcast (which I don't listen to regularly, to be honest with you), I accept that virtually nobody reading this is going to be happy unless I do something to address the elephant in the room, so here goes:

Neera Tanden and her winged neoliberal monkeys can eat sh*t, but extremely online leftists have a point that the Chapos themselves occasionally skirt the line between mockingly ironic reactionary thought and just plain old reactionary thought; although this is not particularly alarming to me because they're Americans and America itself is a breeding ground for reactionary ideas – decolonizing your mind is a process and I'm pretty sure it's one I myself am also engaging in still every single day of my life at this point. Importantly, in my opinion this failing does not make them cryptofascists so much as the product of American affluence; I'm having a hard time understanding how teaching Marx and Zinn to Twitter reply guys serves the fascist agenda in any meaningful way. While I obviously can't pretend to know another person's heart, in my opinion the Chapo boys are definitely leftists but they're obviously not labor class and yes it's a little hard to explain away the group's loose affiliation with the (objectively strasserist) Red Scare podcast through co-host Amber A'Lee Frost - but I'm not going to waste a couple thousand words trying to untangle Brooklyn independent media drama from half a country away and besides, Amber didn’t write this book. Despite these critiques however, I think it's important to note that under no circumstances am I prepared to accept the argument that with fascists to the right of me, and lanyards, um also to the right, the real problem here is... Chapo Trap House.

Ok, with that out of the way let's dive right in and talk about the question I think most folks who've written about The Chapo Guide to Revolution have largely failed to grasp – namely, what kind of book is it precisely? Combining elements of comedy, playful online trolling, historical analysis, political theory and good old-fashioned cross platform promotional marketing, the book has often lead critics to compare it to catch-all comedic efforts like Joe Stewart's “America” or even humorous men’s lifestyle advice texts like “Max Headroom's Guide to Life.” This is I think an essential misreading of the fundamentally earnest and direct tone the book actually takes in its efforts to reach a fledgling audience growing more receptive to left wing ideas. The Chapo Guide to Revolution is, as the cover says, a manifesto; but rather than serving as the mission statement for a particular formed political ideology, the Chapos have written an extremely effective, entry-level argument for why labor-class millennials should be leftists – and, of course, why they should listen to Chapo Trap House; this is still a cross-promotional work after all.

Naturally as befits a book about a comedy podcast, albeit a very political one, the Chapo Guide to Revolution is an extremely funny book that does a remarkable job translating the type of caustic online humor previously only found in left wing Twitter circles, onto the written page. While its certainly true that this quirky style of comedy can be a little difficult to grasp for the uninitiated, and typically a cross-promotional work of this type will get bogged down in self-referential humor and inside jokes, the book mostly avoids this trap by sticking with the basics and assuming that the reader has literally never heard an episode of Chapo Trap House, which in turn makes the humor fairly universal and extremely accessible – at least for anyone under the age of fifty. This endeavor is greatly aided by the dark and dystopian, yet hilariously eviscerating art of Eli Valley; a man who himself has since become one of the leading left wing critics of establishment power online through his extremely provocative sketches and ink work.

The truth however is that if the Chapo Guide to Revolution was merely just a funny book, I wouldn't be reviewing it here today. No, the reason this book is worth writing about at all lies in the fact that underneath all the jokes, taunts and “half-baked Marxism” lies an objectively brilliant work of historical analysis, cultural critique and left wing political theory – albeit an unfocused theory that borrows heavily from half a dozen functionally incompatible left wing thinkers and literary giants, but a fundamentally serious work of political philosophy nonetheless.

Yes, that's correct; I said brilliant. Where think-tank minions and neoliberal swine in the corporate media see a petulant pinko tantrum, and  online leftist academics see privileged dudebros appropriating Marx (poorly), I see a brilliant and yet stealthy synthesis of political theories, historical analysis and organizational ideas originally presented by writers like Howard Zinn, Noam Chomsky and Thomas Frank. Drawing on historical theories from Marx, Gramsci and Rocker, the Chapos have cobbled together a rudimentary political philosophy that represents a crude and yet promising welding of anarchist concepts about labor, Marxist concepts about economics and democratic socialist concepts about politics, collected together under the generic banner of “socialism.”

At this point some of you are undoubtedly snickering, but please bear with me for a moment here because what the Chapos (or their ghostwriter) have done in this book is truly a marvelous thing to behold precisely because you can't see it unless you're paying close attention. By positioning The Chapo Guide to Revolution as both a comedic work and an introductory level text, the authors have created a sort of unique crash course in left wing history, geopolitics, philosophy and political theory for a newly awakened generation of Americans who find themselves increasingly politicized whether they like it or not.

Underneath the acerbic millennial humor, “extremely online” diction and unrelenting waves of sarcasm, The Chapo Guide to Revolution is also a surprisingly accurate “CliffsNotes” style textbook presentation of multiple broad-based social science subjects – here are just a few examples:

In “Chapter One: World” the book presents a rudimentary and yet deliciously insightful history of post-World War II American empire that draws on authors like Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky, with a touch of contemporary writers like Greg Grandin and Naomi Klein. In particular the attention devoted to condensing the target audience's formative experiences with empire like the War on Terror, the invasion of Iraq and the war in Afghanistan, into a short and coherent narrative that can be easily shared with other novice political observers makes this book an invaluable resource for budding millennial leftists  Additionally, while it certainly might have been an accident, the Chapos' choice to wrap this “Pig Empire geopolitics for newbs” lesson in a protracted joke about America as an extremely ruthless corporate startup at least touches on ideas presented by writers like Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, Sheldon Wollin (or Chris Hedges repeating Sheldon Wolin), Joel Bakan, Rosa Luxemburg and others.

In Chapters Two and Three, entitled “Libs” and “Cons” respectively, the authors conduct a remarkably thorough political science lesson on the two major mainstream political “ideologies” in American culture, including both a rough outline of their history and their modern calcification inside the Democratic and Republican parties. Of course both of these sections rely heavily on the personal experiences of the authors growing up in a politicized America, but these discussions also dip into the works of Thomas Frank and Cory Robin to explore and critique the liberal and conservative political mindset respectively; in particular the Chapos summary of Robin's work on the conservative worship of hierarchies is an inspired distillation. More importantly however, the Chapos also expose the way in which these two ideologies represent a false dichotomy within the greater confines of a larger capitalist socioeconomic order; which is of course a (still absolutely correct) idea straight out of the works of Karl Marx.

In Chapter Six, appropriately entitled “work” the authors engaged in a disarmingly earnest discussion about wage slavery, the false promises of the protestant work ethic and the history of terrible jobs available to the labor class under various iterations of the capitalist project. This is followed by a humorous, but dystopian review of what future jobs might look like if the neoliberal socioeconomic order continues on as it has so far, and an extremely brief but sincerely argued pitch for completely transforming the role of work in society through some from of technologically assisted anarcho-communism. This last idea is admittedly a little half-baked but you have to admire their balls when the Chapo boys flatly call for a three hour workday; a position that will undoubtedly be popular with the labor class who're currently engaged in all those sh*tty jobs the book describes earlier in the chapter. Once again this synthesis of left wing ideas about work does represent a new and unique formulation, but despite the humorous and original content you can also clearly see the influence of anarchist writers like Kropotkin, Rocker and Goldman in this chapter, as well as contemporary authors like David Graeber and Mark Blyth.

Unfortunately, if there is a downside to writing a brilliantly subversive comedy book that functions as a “my little lefty politics primer” for politically awakening millennials, it's that you simply don't have the space for an intellectually rigorous examination of all the ideas you're sharing – there is after all a big difference between reading the Cliff Notes version of Zinn, Chomsky or Marx, and reading the original theories in their full form. Furthermore, the individual life experiences, idiosyncrasies and humor styles of the authors do at times bleed into the text in a way that I personally suspect was detrimental to the overall analysis. Here's a short list of “sour notes” I found in this otherwise remarkable book:

From what I have listened to of the Chapo Trap House podcast, it has always been my impression that the Chapos were particularly effective critics of American corporate media, so I was a little disappointed that the chapter on media in The Chapo Guide to Revolution was a fairly tepid and narrow discussion about (admittedly vapid) bloggers turned celebrated pundits. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure power dunking on the likes of Matty Yglesias, Meagan McArdell and Andrew Sullivan was viscerally satisfying for the book's target audience, but there's really not much of a broader critique of the media's ideological role in American capitalism and culture here like one would find in Herman & Chomsky's “Manufacturing Consent”, Matt Taibbi's “Hate Inc” or Michael Parenti's “Inventing Reality.” This absence I fear has the tragic side effect of reinforcing the idea the American corporate media sucks because egg-shaped moron bougie pundits are bad at their job and not because of the inherent failings of the for-profit media model and the institution's true role as an ideological shepherd keeping the masses aligned with the goals of elite capital and the ruling classes – almost exclusively against the bests interests of the labor class.  

The introduction is written in what I can only assume is a sarcastic imitation of right-leaning self improvement books with a touch of Tyler Durden's Fight Club ethos thrown in; this might have been a better choice in a completely different book but it's largely out of place with the rest of this book. At this point I should also say that the best part about the Kidzone intermission is that it was only two pages long. Needless to say, neither one of these sections did anything for me whatsoever.

While it's entirely possible that at forty-three years of age, I'm simply too old to really get the “millenialness” of the chapter on Culture, the simple truth is that I found most of it to be a fairly useless examination of pop culture influences the Chapos hold in reasonably high esteem. As someone who isn't particularly engaged in watching lengthy television series or regularly playing video games, I really couldn't dig into most of the material presented and the less said about the art jokes and the bizarre absurdist discussion of elevator brands, the better. There is however one rather notable exception here in the brief essay on The Sorkin Mindset, which is an objectively brilliant evisceration of the liberal obsession with the West Wing and the tragic effect that obsession has had on Democratic Party politics – this really could have gone in the chapter on “Libs” because it's that valuable of a tool for understanding and critiquing the modern liberal lanyard worldview. Finally I guess I should note that while the Chapo boys' insightful critique of the vapid “prestige TV” phenomenon is both interesting and correct, it really only “matters” if you're a consumer of these types of series – and I'm not.

While I certainly understand the authors' decision to use their notes section to preemptively debunk bullsh*t complaints about the more outrageous accusations they level against the American establishment, I would have liked to see a “recommended reading” section. It is very clear that the Chapos have a reasonably strong background in imperial history, political science and labor theory and I feel like pointing readers towards writers who expand on the theories they summarize in The Chapo Guide to Revolution might have been a better use of space than printing links to old internet articles bad faith actors will never type into a search engine anyway.

Although it might seem like there was more about the book I didn't like, than I did, this is a little misleading – the first three chapters of The Chapo Guide to Revolution are pure fire and comprise over half of the volume. If you throw in the brilliant chapter about work and labor theory, the overall package is far more substance than style, despite the fact that it remains humorous and a little bit edgy throughout the book. While it's certainly fair to say that an introductory primer on why you should be a leftist for newly-politicized millennials isn't a must-read for everyone, the simple truth is that the vast majority of online leftists I know could learn a thing or two from this rudimentary synthesis of various left wing ideas into the seeds of a working, modern political ideology compatible with a uniquely Americanized, millennial left.

While no three hundred page comedy book written by five podcasters from Brooklyn is going to teach you everything there is to know about socialism and left wing ideology, there's something to be said for offering an accessible, entry-level alternative tailor-made for a target demographic already being heavily recruited by the fascists. As a starting point for exploring left wing political thought, you could do a lot worse than The Chapo Guide to Revolution and for a generation of kids who've mostly been encouraged to be passive accomplices to their own subjugation while blaming their misery on anyone even more powerless than they are, there is perhaps nothing more valuable than a condensed narrative that explores how to even think about another way to live.

Remarkably, this book finds a way to deliver on that monumental task while simultaneously failing to grasp one single relevant thing about the cherished American novel Moby Dick. Despite this infuriating literary myopia and insolence, this still might literally be the best book ever written for young American leftists who simply aren't going to spend ten years reading academic literature written by dead white guys from Germany and Russia. - nina illingworth Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus. Please help me fight corporate censorship by sharing my articles with your friends online! You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog Updates available on Twitter, Mastodon and Facebook. Podcast at “No Fugazi” on Soundcloud. Chat with fellow readers online at Anarcho Nina Writes on Discord!

[just-the-fics-maam]

Dear Jane,

I don’t know why I came to see you first, Jane, beautiful Jane. It was something like the memory of your courage up on the dark ridge, the way your defiance stirred something in me, although I couldn’t let on anything about the way I felt. You were his, and with all my trickery I don’t steal what isn’t mine. 

What I don’t believe is mine.

But now it’s different. Now.

Stuck in another dimension. Away from everyone I’ve ever really loved, and I say it to myself over and over again -- it’s just as well. It’s just as well! They never really loved me anyway, as quickly as they forgot me.

My own brother. Drowned me out with pizza and beer. He never drowned you out, though, and so maybe you’re a thread back to him and the things that will be forever unsaid.

I can visit, but I can’t stay. That’s what they say. And I visit in another form, so I can watch the world as it moves, unmoved by me.

A cat was perfect, dusty charcoal like the pencil marks smeared in your notebooks, like the second knuckle on your right pinkie finger that gets smudged and silvery from the graphite when you write, and write, and write.

You’re alone, Jane, and I didn’t expect that.

I purr and smooth my shining black fur along your arm, and you always turn to me, rest your palm on top of my head, smooth the ridge of fur down my spine where it stands up straight at the sudden knock of the steam heat, or the sudden darkening of the sun behind a cloud. It’s hard for you to forget the things you’ve seen, Jane, and I can’t forget them, either.

From my perch on the arm of your worn-out chair, I grow my appetite for this realm again, for this part of the universe, for this universe among all the nintey-nine times nine. I curl up beside you and lean into the warmth of you, the curve of your stomach, and my strength returns to me. The breath that was knocked out of me, cold.

I let him kill me, Jane. I know you weren’t there but I want you to know. I can’t tell it to you because of the body I’ve chosen, but I let him choke the life out of me. I knew it was a stupid death. A death they would never believe. I set him up to fail. To try to take me and my brother and his friends would lunge in and save me. A chance to exchange, one life for another, and instead they just watched me die, watched me slip to another dimension.

To them, I am dead.

It’s what they all really wanted, from the start. All of them. Brother, mother, father. All of my loyal subjects who dined and danced and forgot about me the next day. To know that the idea of me is still alive, flying around out there in the corners of the realm. Close enough to hear my faint, Puckish chuckle. Far enough away to never have to see my face, behold the reality of my physical body.

The statue of me burned to a pile of melted ore.

I don’t turn into ash, Jane. This is a secret I never told even Thor. I burst apart, my molecules and then my atoms, into a burst of fiery blue, and I am breathed into the pore of every living thing, and in the interstitial spaces of the earth, of the many planets like these. In my corporeal days I teased, and danced, and tricked, and laughed. Now, forced to transcendence, to quick visits like these, turned from a blazing hot blade of a knife -- my many knives -- to the sparks that fly up from the wright’s anvil with each slam of the hammer, I leave behind the flirting of the coquette. There is no game anymore, Jane.

Here, outside the tightly woven inner circles of Earth, I can see the freedom outside of them. The way the strictures of expectation and of society -- society of any realm -- give way to something much greater. I can see and understand this freedom as almost no one can -- the puny band of earthly heroes and their pat little comforts. My brother, abdicating to a Valkyrie instead of honoring me as he should, not even taking a moment to whisper it to the wind, that I would have been a good king. Not even just as our secret.

He couldn’t give me even that.

I don’t turn into ash, and I don’t blow away, and the elemental light that burned inside of my chest for all my thousand Asgardian years, it is scattered now to the corners of the universe, scattered through the stacked dimensions, laid on top of one another like cards. I am in the air. I am the water. I am the laughing caw of a raven.

Denying me a place at his side, denying the reality of my flesh, the dichotomy of my Jotun blood, my Asgardian heart. The inconvenient truth of me. These things sting, the cells cry as they are rent apart, but in that transformation, Jane… The freedom of the energy that keeps your mortal coil bound together -- when that lets loose, Jane…

Everything is different. Freedom that is freer than the freest you have ever been. No gravity, but without the weightless, aimless feeling of hurtling through deep space, wishing someone thought you were real, wishing someone wanted your physical reality--

You always pet me, Jane, anytime I chirp and push my head into your shoulder, step on your papers and curl up in a tight circle near you.

Here in my elemental fragments, my burning, freezing sparks?

I want to spend my next thousand years setting free as many of you as I can reach. Starting with you. A plan to come back to visit again. To first hop off your balcony, down the railings to the street, to the alley. To rest as galactic particles, and then come back, to knock on your door as the man you’ve always needed, the one my brother could never be. The one these earth boys could never try to touch.

To set you free from loneliness, to break through the last barrier of your creativity. To set you on your feet, to unleash you, Jane. To loose you upon the world. To sit back at the end, as I dissolve into the air, to feel you take me into your tender lungs, to imbue each cell, to brew like tea, to develop like an old fashioned photograph. To watch you become.

To shake up things -- to break things -- to pinprick people awake until they see what they could really be.

In a thousand years the earth will be a monument to me.

They wanted me gone, but in my gone-ness I am free.

[fmddevin]

woosh !! so i was trying to keep my ooc identity a surprise until now, but apparently i was stupid and y’all found out before i could get this up so...yay!! anyways, i’ll try to keep this short and simple! i’m jada, and this is my second baby, and the last for a while - mr. daein “devin” kim! he’s 23, the lead vocal & lead dancer of impulse, and an overall mess. he’s got a lot to work out, but i’m excited to see what i can do with him and how he grows & develop! he’s a little more on the chaotic side than micha is, but don’t let it scare you off! i swear i’ve got a plot page coming really soon, like tomorrow, but in the meantime - here’s his profile & bio! i’m more than happy to plot with you, though, so like this for me to hop in your ims!! trivia & some hawaii event ideas / general plot ideas under the cut.~

ok let’s get this started!! i promise to try to make this short & sweet as possible (but you know i’m jada so-). but before i wrote daein’s profile i made like a....3 page bullet summary of what i wanted him to be, so i’m going to be inputting some of those here!! so if it sounds a bit rambly...you know why!

if you’re just here for the event thread ideas, scroll down towards the end, where hawaii event ideas is in bold! <3

born on march 24th, 1996!

parents koreans from seoul, korea. met through a study abroad program @ their college, fell in love with each other and the us! had baby daein, who got plopped in the middle of tampa, florida!

his whooooole childhood felt like he was living in isolation. being one f the only asian-american kids on the block, he definitely felt like an outsider. when he’d bring kimbap, kimchi, or tteokbokki for lunch, they’d always look at him all confused like?? what is that

it made him sad bc he always had felt like his different was a good thing, and he’d been raised to be proud of his culture, but apparently not??

as a sidenote kid misheard his name in middle school and was like “devin?” and he was like “sure that’s it” and started going by that outside of home ever since bc it made him feel more american 

just throughout his whole childhood he was ridiculed for being different, which was really the start of his obsession with other’s satisfaction and being like everyone else!

so he took matters into his own hands, but in the worst way possible. during this time, he went against everything his parents had taught him and essentially rejected his korean culture. he stopped bothering to learn the tidbits of korean they were trying to teach him, never brought up his culture, and kind of distanced himself from his parents. he always was trying to bring up some excuse for why they couldn’t come to events because he was always embarrassed about their english and how different they all looked compared to everybody else. just...not a good time and his parents were very upset w/him

anyways onto happy times!! middle school was when he discovered his passion for dance, hip hop in particular. he would always be so amazed by the dancers at the boardwalk performing and decided that’s what he wanted to do!!

sOooOo he originally started off as being self-taught through videos on youtube, but eventually his parents agreed to let him dance if he a.) promised it wouldn’t mess up his grades and b.) he paid for them his own

and he did!! it was Hard but he made sure his grades were in check & picked up a part-time job at the ice cream parlor near his house to get money. it was minimum wage and he had to wear a cheesy apron with this ice cream cone hat but anyways

he could only afford one lesson a week at the community dance center, but it taught him a lot!!! where he discovered his true passion for dance, and tbh spent more time there than anywhere else

eventually!! he joined a florida dance crew and that’s when his skills really blossomed and people started taking him seriously, basically was there until the beginning of high school

tw: drug and alcohol addiction!

and then high school is when it...all came crashing down. being such a people pleaser, he fell victim to peer pressure. he was scared of being looked down again, because by now he’d formed a name for himself and was pretty popular. so, to continue blending in, started getting heavily into drinking and drugs and just...not good, because he grew really dependent on it and started losing his enthusiasm for everything else. it’s something he continues to struggle with a lot, although it’s mostly drinking nowadays and the only drug he’s involved with on a regular basis is weed?? but he has relapsed and that’s a major reason he needs people around him to keep him stable!!

also the dance team wouldn’t let him back in bc he failed the drug test and his drug spiral just got worse because he had nothing else to focus his energy on.

it was the only thing that really made him feel something other than dance, and now that he was spending all of his money on it he couldn’t even do that.

tw: drug and alcohol addiction - end!

he partially discovered his love for singing after the months he had to go w/o dancing. he really started to enjoy it but only in private because he was Embarrased of what others would think so

his parents were tired of his bs because he was a junior now and they were basically like we’re tired of the people we hang around and you need to be around family, so for spring break they sent him to seoul!!

boy was hEated alr. like i said, wasn’t a fan of his culture, he had to leave his friends who were all going on fun trips, & he knew NOTHING - not the language, the people, anything.

but when he got there??? kind of actually enjoyed it. he got to meet family he’d never met before, picked up a little of the language, all of that. but hongdae??? - that’s what made him really excited.

he never thought of korea to be a very exciting place, until he went there. there were so many other talented dancers and he felt so at home, but unlike in florida, they looked like him!

so this is where it gets a little funny lmao. his family refused to fund his habits but he wanted to go to a club while he was there to have fun and impress girl??? so basically, he went to hongdae, and tried  busking for some extra cash. and he LOVED IT!! for a reference he freestyled to turn up the music by chris brown lol

and it was real fun!! he genuinely had a really good time - but right before he left some random ass man left him a little slip, and he was like ??? and then he asked him his name, and daein barely understood what he said and in english was like “hey i’m devin??” and when the man realized he was like yes!! and daein was like no??? but took the slip anyways and turns out it was an invitation to a gold star audition!!

the second daein read it said kpop he essentially was like “lmao no” and just threw it in his bag. so he went home, and kind of forgot about it all, until a few months after he got home. things weren’t really looking up for him and he really wanted to continue his dance career, he just didn’t know how. he didn’t get accepted to the college he wanted to because of that time his grades had plummeted, and it was hard to land a stable dance job. & his parents were like look if you don’t make this dance thing happen we’re going to throw you into a business job with a suit and tie u need money

and daein!! hates!! corporate!! so he was like hell no and decided to give this idol thing one last chance

so - he submitted a video audition to gold star, and low and behold!! he made it!!

even though this was his saving grace, he really didn’t know what to do about it. because i mean he loved tampa, and he didn’t want to leave?? but when his parents heard the opportunity they were ELATED because they knew dance was the only thing that really put his focus on good things & they wanted him to be in korea with his family and all that. so!! they were like DO IT. and he really had no other choice so he was like uhhhh i guess

flash forward to the end of may!! right after the end of his junior year of school in tampa, he moved to korea to start training. since he had a pretty good experience during spring break of the year before, he expected his life to be better than he’d expected!! but...it was really hard. since he had to live there, and he was only 16, he felt really lost w/o his parents, and his only real family there were his grandparents and cousins he barely every said hi to so that sucked

tw: depression and light substance abuse!

around this time was when he developed signs of depression, just as he started training. because it was when he really discovered that he couldn’t please everybody, something that he’d strived to do his whole life. 

he lacked a support system & didn’t have anyone really close to him to make the transition better, since his parents were back in florida and he could barely hold a conversation with his family in korea. this is a big reason he remained dependent on drinking especially, because it got him out of his funk and to temporarily forget about all that was going on.

because of it, daein started getting less sleep, eating less, and all that. gold star noticed it really soon and got him in touch with a psychiatrist, which, eventually diagnosed him with depression. but it’s not something he goes around telling everyone, he has some evident signs but he probably wouldn’t openly tell more than a couple really close & trusted friends. but gold star has been monitoring his mental health to make sure he’s okay mentally. he takes medication but?? it doesn’t do him much good but they’re always hounding him about it so 

like i said though, he’s a very independent person so he doesn’t like to feel like he’s a burden, which is why he doesn’t want others to know because he feels like they’re gonna pity him!!

tw: depression and light substance abuse! - end

bc of his more tan skin (back in the day from florida, not really anymore) and broken korean, he felt like a foreigner, but also people would mistake him for having korean nationality whenever they would talk to him. so he felt like he couldn’t really fit either mold, because he was out of place in korea and florida. but!! i digress

he felt like he was kind of thrust into who’s next: origin story because by the time it started he had only been a trainee for...4 months?? like it’s crazy & he clearly wasn’t ready, a major reason for him being on the losing end, but he had the loveable foreigner thing going on so he did get a good fanbase!! even though he was criticized for his short training period

i doubt he was a favorite among the trainees because he’s REEEEEALLY introverted,,, especially in social situations where he’s not the most comfortable with people in so i don’t think he was super talkative.

 a big reason he has trouble on variety shows now!! it’s not that he doesn’t like but they’ve kind of turned it into a “mysterious” thing, which is fine to him if it mean he doesn’t have to talk as much

also he hated it because he constantly had to dodge staff & other trainees whenever he wanted to drink or smoke so he was probably always trying to find a way to sneak out when they had any kind of free time

he got a lotlotlot better at singing during training though, though they’re kind of forcing an unnatural tone for his voice which is making him strain and can’t be good for him in the long run but marketing!! so. anyways he loves singing a lot more than he did before, he’d always expected to be just a dancer but they unleashed his potential so!! that’s one thing he really enjoyed about training

basically he’s been marketed as the “sexy foreigner” and he kinda hates it ngl. because while he never was attached to his korean identity, the more he’s been here the more he’s just wanted to be the same as everybody else?? so that’s not helping with anything. he’s always kind of laughed at for being clueless when a joke flies over his head, made to say things in english ALL THE TIME, just all that. it really gets on his nerves bc nowadays he just wants to blend in and they’re not making it any better!!!

it may sound confusing but basically: as a teen he rejected his korean identity to blend in with everyone in florida, now he’s in korea and wants to be known as less of an american to blend it. it all comes down to him wanting to be like everyone else is nearly every aspect!! 

since he feels like he cheated & got to debut way too easy than some others, he’s been trying to develop his creative and performance skills so he can get more credit and make a name for himself due to his actual abilities rather than just,, him being american lmao!! also trying super super hard to get as good as he can at korean

tw: drug and alcohol addiction!

he still has some trouble getting around & he still feels lost, but he’s trying his best. struggling through his alcohol addiction, which bc is mildly aware about but really trying to keep quiet and he’s been on the verge of leaving more than a few times. but as quiet as he is about it, he really relies on his members a lot to keep himself afloat!! so he appreciates them putting through his shit a lot of the time more than he'll admit.

 tw: drug and alcohol addiction! - end

but rn he’s getting better, slightly, focusing more of his energy into music than anything. he really wants to get into the songwriting industry to get a name for himself on his own instead of just being known for impulse!!

just  as a fyi since it’s a bit confusing his birth name is daein, he went by devin when he lived in america, but he goes by daein again now that he’s in korea, but his stage name is still devin and that’s what his friends from america call him. he prefers to be called daein nowadays, though, so that’s probably the safest best!

also this has not been short at all but anyways

hawaii plots!

he likes to drink & get high way too much and what better place than to do that then on vacation?? he’s been trying to stop, but look, it’s vacation and he’s unwinding and if your muse is down they can both have fun!!

such. an. introvert. even more than micha, because 80% of his interactions by choice come from his group?? but i would love to get him some new friends (especially since he literally has none right now lol)

he’s a bit of a hoe ngl so!! hookups are accepted, that’s the one time he’s not afraid of striking up conversation!!

he’s in the red team so like micha, if you’re members in the red team he could use some buddies to be with!!

someone to explore the island with during the night!

general plots!

he lives in an apartment my himself atm, but a roommate would be lovely!! he needs someone to put him out of his funk, anyways. 

drinking buddies ofc

trainee friends? someone who wasn’t put off by him being super quiet and befriended it and he’s super grateful nowadays? 

give me all the angst & romance because he’s a handful, seriously, phew

besties!! someone that makes him soft and happy bc there are few people who make him super happy & excited, so someone fill in the gap!

[hecallsmehischild]

Recent Media Consumed

Books

The Book of Imaginary Beings by Jorge Luis Borges. Good read. Mostly, I think, good reference and good for getting the imagination churning. I was amused to see 2 or 3 of CS Lewis’ creatures from his space trilogy listed.

Phantastes by George Macdonald. Revered by CS Lewis, Macdonald is an interesting fairy tale spinner. It is harder to read his work, but if you can, there is beautiful poetry and imagery therein.

After the Fall by Jack Fischer. A slim autobiography by Jack Fischer, a promising gymnast who broke his neck and became a quadriplegic. I grew up with Jack and Maria Fischer and their daughter attending our church. I didn’t really know the ins and outs of his story until I was editing this manuscript a couple years back but the Fischers have always been kind to me. It’s definitely a story of perseverance and strength through weakness. A short, good read.

Anime

March Comes In Like A Lion. I know I mentioned this before, but since I finally finished it, it’s worth another few lines. Very slow first arc. Still pretty slow second arc, but pulls in a storyline about bullying that sucked me in pretty deep. It chooses its moments to convey intense emotion and it does it very well. You get a look at the depth attached to each character from time to time and it is a thing of beauty to behold. All in all, a worthwhile slice of life anime about a pro Shogi player who is coming out of the shadow of lifelong depression one move at a time.

The Royal Tutor. It feels like it is trying for the same niche as Ouran High School Host Club in terms of balancing humor, parody, and sincere emotional moments. It was interesting enough to hold my attention, but the sincere emotional situations felt too much like tropes for me to fall in love with this series. Also the twist, from buildup to payoff, really made not sense. It is (to me) mediocre, but not BAD.

Movies

Unplanned. Very difficult movie to watch. However I appreciate its existence a lot more than the traveling pro-life truck billboards. This film follows the story of Abby Johnson, the youngest clinic director in Planned Parenthood history. She worked for them for 8 years, and resigned after witnessing an abortion for the first time. This is that story. It was well done, but don’t eat beforehand. The characters were, I felt, very well balanced. There were a wide range of Pro-Lifers represented and a wide range of Pro-Choicers represented, it was not clear-cut “Pro-Lifers are the heroes, Pro-Choicers are the villains!” In fact, the “turn or burn” crowd was presented as the first Christians you meet. I appreciate that the film owns that that faction exists and does harm. And you root for the clinic workers as they, with heroic music playing, risk their lives to finish all scheduled abortions in advance of Hurricane Ike. You are given the sense that on either side of this issue, people really believe that what they are doing is for the best. Yes, the film is decidedly Pro-Life, but the women are never villainized and neither are the clinicians (exceptions: one corporate climber is typical evil corporate climber, and one doctor is shown to be rough).

Spiderman: Into The Spiderverse. Wow. Just. Wow. I. What do you even say? I want more like this… a lot more. Mostly rendered speechless over here, so that’s about all I’ve got…

Mary Poppins. I re-watched this so that I could move from this into the sequel that was recently released. Man. What a nostalgia trip. I haven’t seen this in over a decade and it’s finally, FINALLY fresh again to me. Has anyone considered that Uncle Albert would fit well with Tumblr’s humor? I feel like I detected an early form of memery in some of his jokes. Also can we please bring Steppin Time back??? Actually, come to think of it, the whole second half is like a meme goldmine. Seriously. Bring it back, guys.

[nutmegthings]

Story about an angel helping pilots in crisis?

I’venever really been one to interact with the humans much personally. They’re allso loud, so destructive, so selfish. However, many of my siblings have foundtheir place on earth among these people. There’s angels for just abouteverything now, for fire, for ice, for mobile phones, and those funny littlecotton swabs on sticks. There’s an angel for just about every major animal youcan think of, personally I fin the ones for insects rather… Strange. Some of ushave traded in our wings for tails to sim in the deep oceans, or swapped outour halos for hats and wigs to walk among the humans unnoticed.

They saythe old gods are dead, and mostly that’s true enough, but what they nevermention is that where gods fail, Angels pick up the slack. Gods are things ofbelief you see, stop believing in a god and they’re as real as Fake News. Seewhat I did there? I’ve even started picking up some of the human’s new slang.But Angels? Well it takes a lot more than just not believing in us to get ridof us. We’re here for the long haul so to speak. Most of us believe that seeingas we’re here to stay we might as well pick our thing and stick to it. Theytell me you’ve gotta be an angel of something, and you know, recently I’mstarting to understand what they mean.

I’vealways been a flyer you know? I mean, if the gods bestow upon you the gift offlight, you may as well fly and all that. Recently the humans have once againlaughed in the face of their gods. They were not given the gift of flight, butdoes that stop them? Ha! No, no it does not. The first time I met one of theirgiant metal birds it damn near tore me out of the skies themselves the damnthing. I was so shocked, they say I didn’t shut up about it for years, though Isuppose I never really have shut up about it yet. I ended up following itaround the sky for hours before it landed, and Lo and behold when it did landout came two cheering humans.

That wasthe very first time I found myself understanding a human, or that I everthought that perhaps a human could understand me. They too loved these skies,they to sought to feel the rushing icy air between their feathers, metal orotherwise. They, perhaps, weren’t so awful after all. I mean what being couldpossibly love these skies and still be awful.

As theyears passed they developed their flying machines. I met a few of their earlyengineers hovering over shoulders as blueprints were drawn, gifting inspirationas the small hours of the day drew in, lending energy to tired hands and tiredminds so that this next model may yet be better than the last. I followed thesmall humans whose passion for flight drove them into the cockpits of thesemetal birds, so brave, to be so sure that something so heavy could ever soar onthe wind. I saved as many as I could, turning turbulent skies peaceful, willingtheir tiny rivets and screws to hold, keeping birds out of their flight paths.I wasn’t always successful, but the humans had such spirit, they never stoppedtrying.

Soonenough my skies were filled with these soaring beasts, wars were waged in myskies, many pilots met their end flying through the clouds. During these times,I became far too familiar with one of the very few remaining gods. Hades, as hesays, will never want for belief, everyone eventually believes in death. Ithink it’s rather a point of pride for him and his wife, who herself stillviciously demands belief from the people of this earth. Spring and winter, iceand fire, fruit and flower, honey and nectar, they all belong to her. Quite thepair they are, life and death themselves. I also met many of my siblings duringthese times, the Angels of death, come to ease the passing from this mortalland. I do not envy their task, I myself consider I have already born witnessto far too much death, I cannot ever hope to imagine the strength my siblingsmust have to carry out their tasks.

With war,however, came innovation. The humans excelled at making more machines to gracemy skies, all different types. Tiny little things, so aerodynamic, so agile, sofast, they could travel around the world in hardly any time at all. Then therecame the goliaths, massive beasts of airships, holding in their guts cargo aslarge as houses, fitting within themselves scores of smaller flyers. It wastruly incredible to see the diversity these people could create. Now if only itwasn’t diversity they were using my skies to wage war on, but then humans willbe humans.

Now Ihave found a place of my own, it’s called an ‘airport’. This is where planesland to rest, where they are kept and maintained, where young humans come tolearn about my skies. Where people congregate and board planes that will takethem across the world, all these people choosing to travel in my skies. Many peopleare terrified. I understand. I’ve seen enough of the carnage they can encounterin these machines to know their fear is warranted. I try to ease their minds asmuch as I can, touching their hearts to bring reassurance. It’s been many yearssince any plane from this airport has had issues thanks to my intervention. Allthe engineers are well rested when they work on my planes, all the pilots alertand filled with my passion for flight. No plane has ever taken off from myairport with any issue that could ever cause their boarded people harm. Theyeven changed the name of the place to Angel Airlines. That was truly an honour,though I know the people don’t know of my existence.

Keepingthese people and this airport safe though has become more difficult recentlywith the new change of owner. Though he had ultimately been behind the changeof name, that doesn’t excuse the other changes he has instigated. Pay cuts allround, longer working hours, less benefits, shorter breaks, and lower qualityfood. I even had to stop a man with allergies enjoying an unmarked dinnercontaining peanuts the other day. Nearly all the food is wasted now. He evenmade it against the airlines policy for the staff to take leftovers, probablyin case they made their way to somewhere useful like a shelter. One of mysiblings had words with me about that one; their shelter had been relying onthe few employees here that gathered up the best of the leftovers after eachshift. There’s not too much I could really do though. People are people and aslong as my planes are safe, I told myself I would not interfere.

Thisthough, this is the last straw. I will not have planes from my airport flyingbroken. I. Will. Not. Allow It. I could hardly do anything as one of theengines blew out, just calm the panicked mind of the pilot, keep the heart ofan unwell passenger pumping as the pilot, bless him, managed a rough butlifesaving emergency landing. The passenger held out until the emergency peoplecame for them, and aside from some minor bumps and bruises everyone was safe inthe end. My plane however, was ruined. He had allowed this, had caused this,with his corner cutting, his disrespect and disregard for my planes, for mypeople. He had done this and by the gods, dead and alive, he is going to fixit.

We arenot supposed to show ourselves to people, an agreement all of my siblings hadmade. We are to stay in the background of things, unseen, unheard, only everguiding, never leading. It makes sense, it made sense, but now I cannot stand bymy agreement. I cannot stay in the background as this man dismantles myairport, I will not.

It takesmere minutes to return to my airport after the crash, after I’ve ensured mypeople are safe. Planes may be fast now, but they are nothing compared to anAngels speed, and I use my agility in full for the first time in many manyyears. This man must pay. My rage fills the hanger as I land and I feel thepeople around me react to it subtly, a small change in their demeanour, nolonger casually polite but instead unthinkingly cruel. That I will have to dealwith later. I storm past them hoping they will be relieved of my persuasion asmy presence grows distant. I find my way quickly to the obnoxiously largeoffice in which I know the head of the airport resides. I take a moment tosteel my heated rage into cold fury before opening the door. I close it behindme and let my glamour fade, revealing my true form as I step forward, slammingmy fists onto the desks and watching as the office chair turns away from thelarge window overlooking my airport.

As itturns, I begin my tirade “you! You complete and utter bastard! Youimbecile, you moron, you, you, you douche bag!” Before I can even reallyrelease some of my pent up anger the man turns to me calmly, and smiling says"An angel with a potty mouth, I guess there is a first foreverything”. A Demon, he’s a fucking demon, of course he is, of course.It’s so obvious. They’re everywhere on earth, mostly in politics and largecorporations, but with a company as successful as mine I should have known itwas only a matter of time. My rage renewed as I continue “you demon!” Theman merely smirks and extending a hand replies "guilty as charged, thenames Mike, a pleasure to meet you I’m sure”.

I hearthe pictures on the wall begin to shake as my anger rolls off me in waves, andbetween gritted teeth, I hiss “get out of my airport”. Genuinesurprise lights Mike’s face as he replies “oh? No I think you’ll find infact, that this airport belongs to me, and come now”. Mike stands andwalks to a gently shaking table with a kettle and mugs lightly rattling on top,he pours us both something and holds one out. He can’t honestly expect me totake anything from a demon can he? When I don’t take it, he sets it down on thedesk in front of me before continuing “it’s not as though I’ve actuallydone anything wrong you know”.

The mugin front of me shatters and a dark steaming liquid pools into the carpet below,littered with shards. “Haven’t done…. HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING WRONG??? Younearly killed a dozen people, on my aeroplane today. Get out, get out of myairport right now!”. I shout and the pictures fall from their hooks on thewalls and shatter on the ground, mingling their glass in with the shards ofbroken pottery on the now soggy carpet. I can feel my chest heaving and mywings twitching in agitation. I haven’t been so furious since the last time Iwatched a plane be shot down. Mike just shakes his head and takes a sip of hisdrink before saying “no. I only did all this for you anyway”.

Shockhits me and I falter confused “for m-me… What?” Mike beams at me andclicks his fingers, the debris from my outburst fixing itself in an instant,the pictures mending themselves and returning to their hooks, my mug now gentlysteaming again in front of me. I resist the urge to just smash it all again,that would be petty. "Of course”, there’s a gentleness to Mike’svoice that seems so out of place coming from him, coming from a demon.“Well flattery didn’t work, and neither did bribery, and I so thoughtyou’d like that new hanger too. All” he gestures with his arms neverspilling a drop from the mug still grasped in one hand, fingers closed just alittle too tight “bright and clean and angelic, you know, I even boughtyou three new planes to fill it with”. “The Wings of Light? That wasyou?” I find myself asking. He beams at me and nods, his vice grip on themug relaxing a little at the acknowledgment.

“Ofcourse” he sighs sitting back in his chair and taking another sip,“and of course, it wasn’t until the violence started that you startedtaking notice”. I reach out and take a sip of my own drink before settingit back down with a grimace “tastes like carpet”. Mike laughs andwalks back over to the table and brews a new drink saying “of course nowwe can actually get this place back up and running again properly now. Finally,it was practically killing me you know, stunting the place like this. Really ifyou’d just come to see me sooner”.

The newdrink tastes of chocolate; it’s far nicer than carpet “what in the skiesare you on about. You want my airport to run well? Why?”. “Ourairport” Mike corrects “and because, believe it or not, demons needhobbies too, it’s all well and good hanging around hell for all eternityindulging in the greatest of sins, but it’s not like Hades Town you known? Youstart to miss people, demons can be so…. Boring”. I take my seat andtake another sip of my drink, it’s actually rather lovely “why then didn’tyou just… Say something to me? Instead of doing all this?” I gesture tothe window which I notice is in fact overlooking the new hanger that is indeedcurrently housing the three brand new air cruisers, the Wings of Light.

Mikeshakes his head sadly “I would have given you them anyway you know, butit’s in the rules really, ‘no demon on earth may willingly reveal her or his orits identity to any persons of an angelic nature, else may they lose all powersof hell and indeed cease entirely to exist.’ A real bummer that’d be you knowso… I improvised. Now whaddya say partner? Shall we get this place back up toscratch?”. I hesitate a moment before grasping his hand, I know a passionfor planes in a soul when I see one, even a soul as dark as Mike’s. But thenreally, what being could possibly love these skies and still be awful.

By Meagan. A. D. (NutMegTales) for @asdfjasklfjdkla

Read my other stuff here: Elsewhere University, Blood Tales, Dark Ones, Misc, Poetry

[nutmegtales]

Skies

I’ve never really been one to interact with the humans much personally. They’re all so loud, so destructive, so selfish. However, many of my siblings have found their place on earth among these people. There’s angels for just about everything now, for fire, for ice, for mobile phones, and those funny little cotton swabs on sticks. There’s an angel for just about every major animal you can think of, personally I fin the ones for insects rather… Strange. Some of us have traded in our wings for tails to sim in the deep oceans, or swapped out our halos for hats and wigs to walk among the humans unnoticed.

They say the old gods are dead, and mostly that’s true enough, but what they never mention is that where gods fail, Angels pick up the slack. Gods are things of belief you see, stop believing in a god and they’re as real as Fake News. See what I did there? I’ve even started picking up some of the human’s new slang. But Angels? Well it takes a lot more than just not believing in us to get rid of us. We’re here for the long haul so to speak. Most of us believe that seeing as we’re here to stay we might as well pick our thing and stick to it. They tell me you’ve gotta be an angel of something, and you know, recently I’m starting to understand what they mean.

I’ve always been a flyer you know? I mean, if the gods bestow upon you the gift of flight, you may as well fly and all that. Recently the humans have once again laughed in the face of their gods. They were not given the gift of flight, but does that stop them? Ha! No, no it does not. The first time I met one of their giant metal birds it damn near tore me out of the skies themselves the damn thing. I was so shocked, they say I didn’t shut up about it for years, though I suppose I never really have shut up about it yet. I ended up following it around the sky for hours before it landed, and Lo and behold when it did land out came two cheering humans.

That was the very first time I found myself understanding a human, or that I ever thought that perhaps a human could understand me. They too loved these skies, they to sought to feel the rushing icy air between their feathers, metal or otherwise. They, perhaps, weren’t so awful after all. I mean what being could possibly love these skies and still be awful.

As the years passed they developed their flying machines. I met a few of their early engineers hovering over shoulders as blueprints were drawn, gifting inspiration as the small hours of the day drew in, lending energy to tired hands and tired minds so that this next model may yet be better than the last. I followed the small humans whose passion for flight drove them into the cockpits of these metal birds, so brave, to be so sure that something so heavy could ever soar on the wind. I saved as many as I could, turning turbulent skies peaceful, willing their tiny rivets and screws to hold, keeping birds out of their flight paths. I wasn’t always successful, but the humans had such spirit, they never stopped trying.

Soon enough my skies were filled with these soaring beasts, wars were waged in my skies, many pilots met their end flying through the clouds. During these times, I became far too familiar with one of the very few remaining gods. Hades, as he says, will never want for belief, everyone eventually believes in death. I think it’s rather a point of pride for him and his wife, who herself still viciously demands belief from the people of this earth. Spring and winter, ice and fire, fruit and flower, honey and nectar, they all belong to her. Quite the pair they are, life and death themselves. I also met many of my siblings during these times, the Angels of death, come to ease the passing from this mortal land. I do not envy their task, I myself consider I have already born witness to far too much death, I cannot ever hope to imagine the strength my siblings must have to carry out their tasks.

With war, however, came innovation. The humans excelled at making more machines to grace my skies, all different types. Tiny little things, so aerodynamic, so agile, so fast, they could travel around the world in hardly any time at all. Then there came the goliaths, massive beasts of airships, holding in their guts cargo as large as houses, fitting within themselves scores of smaller flyers. It was truly incredible to see the diversity these people could create. Now if only it wasn't diversity they were using my skies to wage war on, but then humans will be humans.

Now I have found a place of my own, it's called an ‘airport’. This is where planes land to rest, where they are kept and maintained, where young humans come to learn about my skies. Where people congregate and board planes that will take them across the world, all these people choosing to travel in my skies. Many people are terrified. I understand. I've seen enough of the carnage they can encounter in these machines to know their fear is warranted. I try to ease their minds as much as I can, touching their hearts to bring reassurance. It's been many years since any plane from this airport has had issues thanks to my intervention. All the engineers are well rested when they work on my planes, all the pilots alert and filled with my passion for flight. No plane has ever taken off from my airport with any issue that could ever cause their boarded people harm. They even changed the name of the place to Angel Airlines. That was truly an honour, though I know the people don't know of my existence.

Keeping these people and this airport safe though has become more difficult recently with the new change of owner. Though he had ultimately been behind the change of name, that doesn't excuse the other changes he has instigated. Pay cuts all round, longer working hours, less benefits, shorter breaks, and lower quality food. I even had to stop a man with allergies enjoying an unmarked dinner containing peanuts the other day. Nearly all the food is wasted now. He even made it against the airlines policy for the staff to take leftovers, probably in case they made their way to somewhere useful like a shelter. One of my siblings had words with me about that one; their shelter had been relying on the few employees here that gathered up the best of the leftovers after each shift. There's not too much I could really do though. People are people and as long as my planes are safe, I told myself I would not interfere.

This though, this is the last straw. I will not have planes from my airport flying broken. I. Will. Not. Allow It. I could hardly do anything as one of the engines blew out, just calm the panicked mind of the pilot, keep the heart of an unwell passenger pumping as the pilot, bless him, managed a rough but lifesaving emergency landing. The passenger held out until the emergency people came for them, and aside from some minor bumps and bruises everyone was safe in the end. My plane however, was ruined. He had allowed this, had caused this, with his corner cutting, his disrespect and disregard for my planes, for my people. He had done this and by the gods, dead and alive, he is going to fix it.

We are not supposed to show ourselves to people, an agreement all of my siblings had made. We are to stay in the background of things, unseen, unheard, only ever guiding, never leading. It makes sense, it made sense, but now I cannot stand by my agreement. I cannot stay in the background as this man dismantles my airport, I will not.

It takes mere minutes to return to my airport after the crash, after I've ensured my people are safe. Planes may be fast now, but they are nothing compared to an Angels speed, and I use my agility in full for the first time in many many years. This man must pay. My rage fills the hanger as I land and I feel the people around me react to it subtly, a small change in their demeanour, no longer casually polite but instead unthinkingly cruel. That I will have to deal with later. I storm past them hoping they will be relieved of my persuasion as my presence grows distant. I find my way quickly to the obnoxiously large office in which I know the head of the airport resides. I take a moment to steel my heated rage into cold fury before opening the door. I close it behind me and let my glamour fade, revealing my true form as I step forward, slamming my fists onto the desks and watching as the office chair turns away from the large window overlooking my airport.

As it turns, I begin my tirade "you! You complete and utter bastard! You imbecile, you moron, you, you, you douche bag!” Before I can even really release some of my pent up anger the man turns to me calmly, and smiling says "An angel with a potty mouth, I guess there is a first for everything". A Demon, he's a fucking demon, of course he is, of course. It's so obvious. They're everywhere on earth, mostly in politics and large corporations, but with a company as successful as mine I should have known it was only a matter of time. My rage renewed as I continue "you demon!” The man merely smirks and extending a hand replies "guilty as charged, the names Mike, a pleasure to meet you I'm sure".

I hear the pictures on the wall begin to shake as my anger rolls off me in waves, and between gritted teeth, I hiss "get out of my airport". Genuine surprise lights Mike's face as he replies "oh? No I think you'll find in fact, that this airport belongs to me, and come now". Mike stands and walks to a gently shaking table with a kettle and mugs lightly rattling on top, he pours us both something and holds one out. He can't honestly expect me to take anything from a demon can he? When I don't take it, he sets it down on the desk in front of me before continuing "it's not as though I've actually done anything wrong you know".

The mug in front of me shatters and a dark steaming liquid pools into the carpet below, littered with shards. "Haven't done.... HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING WRONG??? You nearly killed a dozen people, on my aeroplane today. Get out, get out of my airport right now!". I shout and the pictures fall from their hooks on the walls and shatter on the ground, mingling their glass in with the shards of broken pottery on the now soggy carpet. I can feel my chest heaving and my wings twitching in agitation. I haven't been so furious since the last time I watched a plane be shot down. Mike just shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink before saying "no. I only did all this for you anyway".

Shock hits me and I falter confused "for m-me... What?” Mike beams at me and clicks his fingers, the debris from my outburst fixing itself in an instant, the pictures mending themselves and returning to their hooks, my mug now gently steaming again in front of me. I resist the urge to just smash it all again, that would be petty. "Of course", there's a gentleness to Mike’s voice that seems so out of place coming from him, coming from a demon. "Well flattery didn't work, and neither did bribery, and I so thought you'd like that new hanger too. All" he gestures with his arms never spilling a drop from the mug still grasped in one hand, fingers closed just a little too tight "bright and clean and angelic, you know, I even bought you three new planes to fill it with". "The Wings of Light? That was you?" I find myself asking. He beams at me and nods, his vice grip on the mug relaxing a little at the acknowledgment.

"Of course" he sighs sitting back in his chair and taking another sip, "and of course, it wasn't until the violence started that you started taking notice". I reach out and take a sip of my own drink before setting it back down with a grimace "tastes like carpet". Mike laughs and walks back over to the table and brews a new drink saying "of course now we can actually get this place back up and running again properly now. Finally, it was practically killing me you know, stunting the place like this. Really if you'd just come to see me sooner".

The new drink tastes of chocolate; it's far nicer than carpet "what in the skies are you on about. You want my airport to run well? Why?". "Our airport" Mike corrects "and because, believe it or not, demons need hobbies too, it's all well and good hanging around hell for all eternity indulging in the greatest of sins, but it's not like Hades Town you known? You start to miss people, demons can be so.... Boring". I take my seat and take another sip of my drink, it's actually rather lovely "why then didn't you just... Say something to me? Instead of doing all this?" I gesture to the window which I notice is in fact overlooking the new hanger that is indeed currently housing the three brand new air cruisers, the Wings of Light.

Mike shakes his head sadly "I would have given you them anyway you know, but it's in the rules really, 'no demon on earth may willingly reveal her or his or its identity to any persons of an angelic nature, else may they lose all powers of hell and indeed cease entirely to exist.' A real bummer that'd be you know so... I improvised. Now whaddya say partner? Shall we get this place back up to scratch?". I hesitate a moment before grasping his hand, I know a passion for planes in a soul when I see one, even a soul as dark as Mike's. But then really, what being could possibly love these skies and still be awful.

By NutMegTales for @asdfjasklfjdkla

Read my other stuff here: Elsewhere University, Blood Tales, Dark Ones, Misc, Poetry

[kristielynnhiggins]

Free Shades Of Gray Dystopian SciFi Post-apocalyptic Action Adventure Mystery Book Series "1 + 2: This Is Only This Beginning"

http://www.kristielynnhiggins.com/AAAACollections.html "Two FREE NOVELS in one book"  “Read free sample chapter below” & then download entire sci-fi story for FREE.

Kat awakes to a world where she has no rights as an experiment.  She is hunted by Un-Man ( robot hitmen ), Life Closers ( legal assassins ), and bounty hunters. Kat has another problem.  She has no memory.  Can Kim, a Life Closer, help her discover her past and find out why she is called the Pandora Project or will Kim only kill her when she no longer needs her?

"1 + 2: This Is Only This Beginning"

http://www.kristielynnhiggins.com/AAAACollections.html

Shades of Gray #1 Noir, City Shrouded By Darkness

Prologue: On a parallel Earth, thick puffy barriercumulus also known as Dry Clouds covered the sky, and they prevented the glimmer of twilight from shining on the city of Noir.  For three decades, the polluted high-troposphere looming clouds covered half the planet and left part of the world to live in endless night.  The mile-thick clouds yielded petroleum based contaminated water dubbed Tainted Rain and polluted the air, and so they were named Dry Clouds for leaving half the planet without drinkable water.  At first, scientists believed pollution caused the great cloud barrier, but that theory proved to be false.  What caused the Dry Clouds to form baffled scientists and how to reverse them eluded reason, and only technology's constant battle with nature has kept the dark city alive.

Man's need for conquest expanded Noir to cover more than half a continent of what would have been called North America, and Noir became a Mega-city; it was the only one in the world.  Over the last twenty years, Transgenics and bio-mechas evolved at a breakneck pace.  Transgenics were genetically modified organisms with an extra-genome and were mostly plants produced to survive without the sun.  Bio-mechas were robots resembling living things.

On this world, corporations not governments ruled the people, creating a society where profit set policy and dictated life.  Those who resided in Noir were touched by darkness, and the light of goodness seemed a forgotten memory; they... they lived in the gray —Shades of Gray.

Chapter One

The Pandora Project

Chapter One

The Pandora Project

Isaiah 5:30b 

If one looks to the land, behold, darkness and sorrow, even the light will be darkened by the clouds.

The year 31 A.D.C. (After Dry Clouds)...

October 22...

Thursday...

4:44 A.M...

In a secret location known as the Sanctum that housed the main facility of the department known as the Council...

A few hours ago, unknown forces had breached a few of the Council's other facilities, and the Sanctum had also been breached but from within by a Mole, so everyone was still on high alert.  The Chamber was the brains of the Sanctum, and the three members of the Council sat within the Chamber, receiving intel and updates from the Chamber Analysts.

Fifty flat screen monitors covered three of the walls and lit up the dark inner room of the Chamber as data filled the screens in scrolling masses.  Two dozen analysts scrutinized the influx of information coming across the monitors as they typed at their workstations.  The men and women toiled, compiling a range of intelligence from several projects and experiments while they also dealt with the breaches.

"All right people, let's stay focused," a male supervisor shouted.

The male supervisor walked up and down the line of workstations as the hum of equipment and the chatter of the workers filled the area.  The supervisor received updated reports from the analysts and kept his employers, the Council, current on the projects and experiments along with updates to the three breaches.  A female supervisor came in to fill in for Supervisor Annette who had been found out to be the Mole.  Unknown to the Council, Supervisor Annette had been a Mole within the Sanctum for years and with the help of some outside force, she had awakened a project known as Pandora, who had been kept at the Sanctum in stasis.

The male supervisor added, "We need to stay on our toes!  We don't know if there are any more Moles within our ranks or what they might do next!"

The analysts wore indigo jumpsuits with white stripes on the sides, and the supervisors wore crimson jumpsuits with white stripes.  Both the analysts and supervisors wore a wireless earpiece to communicate with operatives in the field and soldiers within their facilities.

In the center of the Chamber, the Council which consisted of two men and a woman sat at a long rectangular table.  Each of them wore a black business suit and had a laptop in front of them as shadows concealed their eyes, leaving only their mouths and chins visible in the computer-blue illumination.  The three scanned reports as they were delivered to them by the supervisors on Hand Held Computers.  The standard size for an H.H.C. was two and a half inches by four and a half inches.

"I want an update on the Pandora Project," Mr. Morta ordered in a deep voice as he sat at the end of the table with the woman to his right and the other man to his left.

"Pandora is still groggy from its abrupt withdraw from stasis, so it has been escorted to a medical suite and is sleeping," Ms. Nona replied.  "The doctor thought it best that the Pandora Project was not fully awakened but allowed to pull out of the hyper-stasis naturally."

"There is nothing natural about the Pandora Project," Mr. Decuma spoke up.  "I do not see why we cannot induce a full activation."

"We are not in any hurry," Mr. Morta stated.  "We had no plans to wake up Pandora, so we should tell the doctor to allow Pandora to come to on its own."

Ms. Nona nodded her agreement and then Mr. Decuma reluctantly did so.

"Good...  Good...  I will inform the doctor," Mr. Morta said.  "Now to address other matters.  I believe we should have a full investigation into how our security was breached.  We should–"

An alarm went off, interrupting him as all three Council members paused and turned to the male supervisor as he rushed over to their table.

"What has happened?" Mr. Morta inquired.

The male supervisor replied, "We have a containment breach in another one of our hyper-stasis chambers!"

"Which one?" Mr. Decuma questioned.

"The Kraken Project," the male supervisor answered.

"If I remember–" Ms. Nona started, "–Kraken is the creature created to glimpse into the future."

"It is," Mr. Decuma replied.  "It was deemed a failure for Kraken had more of an appetite for carnage than to indulge us with its gifts."

The male supervisor listened to his earpiece and then reported, "It has escaped its room, and it's rampaging on Level 159."

"Level 159 is the same level Pandora is on.  Could this also be a part of the earlier attack on our facilities?" Ms. Nona questioned.  "Is someone still trying to take the Pandora Project away from us?"

The male supervisor replied, "I do not believe so.  An experiment was being conducted next door to the Kraken Project's stasis room, and the experiment went out of control and exploded.  The explosion knocked out the hyper-stasis chamber's power source along with its back up, and Kraken awoke, and so far, the creature has killed three of our soldiers."

Mr. Decuma spoke up, "I cannot believe that this is a mere coincidence but..."

"But what?" Ms. Nona inquired when he didn't finish.

Mr. Decuma didn't answer her but posed a different question altogether, "Why not use the Kraken Project to test Pandora?"

"We cannot control Kraken and is the reason it was placed in stasis," Mr. Morta stated, and then he inquired, "How do you propose that we use it to test Pandora?"

"Just evacuate all the workers on Level 159, and Kraken will do the rest for us," Mr. Decuma replied.

Ms. Nona nodded and then Mr. Morta.

"I will set up the test now," Mr. Decuma stated.  "I will also make sure that our soldiers keep Pandora and Kraken on Level 159."

* * *

Level 159...

Sometime earlier...

The Pandora Project's view...

Someone's calling my name from the darkness...  Someone desperately needs my help...  I have to save them, so I slip from sleep into the waking world, and the first thing I notice is that I'm cold.  I shiver, and then I hear the voice of a man.

"I'm with her now," he says.  "I'll call you later when I know more."

I open my eyes to what looks like a hospital room.  The sight doesn't alarm me as if it's the norm, but there's someone who's looking down at me that I don't recognize.  He...  My mind's a little fuzzy...  He must be a doctor, and he looks very worried.

"Drink this," he says.  "It's water."

I take the bottled water and thirstily drink it down.

"We need to go," he tells me.  "Can you move?"

I don't say anything to him as I try to sit up, and I find that I can't do it on my own, so he moves to my side and assists me to a sitting position.  I look around the room and realize I don't know how I got here, but I'm still not upset that I'm in a hospital room as if this place is home.  I try to think back beyond the moment I heard someone calling my name.  I don't remember anything beyond that moment.  It's all fuzzy and then panic sweeps over me like water filling a sinking ship that I'm trapped on.  I grip his wrist tightly.

"How did I get here and where is here?" I ask him and pull on his arm so that he'll lean in closer, and then I tell him, "I don't remember my name."

My name had been so clear when I was sleeping.  I knew it when the person called it out but now... it's as if I never had a name and that thought is what sends me into panic mode, no, sends me into nuclear-panic mode.

"I would like to answer you in more detail than just to say that it's a side effect of the hyper-stasis chamber, but we need to go and go now.  Please try to stand."

The urgency of his voice spurs me to action as I take both his hands and stand wobbly to my feet, leaving behind my questions.  I see that I'm wearing some sort of hospital gown a second before my knees buckle underneath me.  He catches me before I crumble to the ground and then helps me over to a computer chair, and I sit.  He hurries over to the door, peers out the window as if he expects someone to come barging in, and then quickly returns to my side.

"I'm going to inject you with something that should help with the hyper-stasis lag," he tells me as he removes a syringe from his white lab coat pocket.  "I didn't inject you right away because there is a side effect of the injection.  It's going to make you sick, but the effects should only last for a few minutes."  He readies the syringe as he tells me, "You should regain full use of your body again."

He doesn't give me a chance to tell him if I want the injection or not, and he just sticks the needle in my arm.  The prick hurts, and I rub my arm.  I don't feel any different, but gunfire some distance away from us pulls my attention and his to the door.

"We have to go," he tells me with more urgency than before. 

I get to my feet with his help, and we head for the exit.  He opens the door, peers outside, and then ushers me into a vacant hallway.  He helps me along as we hurriedly walk in a direction he seems to be leading us in.  We hear gunfire again coming from behind us, and then we hear this terrifying inhuman scream that's full of anger as something attacks the people with the guns. 

"A creature has gotten out," he tells me.  "We need to run."

I do my best to start running.  I have more feeling in my legs, but the side effect he mentioned earlier comes roaring from my stomach.  I push myself away from him and lean against the wall as I upchuck the water all over the floor.  I continue vomiting as he rushes over to me. 

"I know you're sick, but we can't stop.  We've got to keep moving.  We can't be caught, but we also don't want to run into whatever is coming.  We need to move."

I nod and rush after him as he takes me by the hand.  He leads me through several hallways, and then he ups and stops before we round another corner.  I glance around the corner and see about twenty armed men and a few women at the other end who are set up behind a barrier.  The man pulls me back around the corner and out of sight of the soldiers. 

"They're blocking our way of escape," he tells me, and then he peers around the corner.  "But they don't seem to be coming after us.  Maybe they're here not to capture us but–"

The terrifying inhuman scream we heard before sounds through the hallway again and sends shivers throughout my body.

He tells me, "We need to keep moving.  We have one other escape route.  Let's hurry before the thing beats us to it."

He takes a firm hold of my wrist, and we run forward, fleeing away from the soldiers and the creature that seems to be pursuing us.

"I don't know your name," I say, and then I ask, "Who are you and why are you helping me?"

"You can call me Xavier," he replies.  "R.G. sent me to assist in your escape."

Before I have a chance to ask who R.G. is, the creature screams again.  It sounds like it's only a few hallways back.

Xavier says, "We need to run faster...  It's gaining on us."

We continue running, and then he drags me into a room with only one way in.  He shuts and locks the door.

"Why did we come in here?"

He answers, "There's a small elevator that takes medical waste up to a furnace.  There's room enough for you to go up.  I just need to clear everything out of it."

He unlocks the door to the small elevator by lifting up on a bar, and then he goes to work removing bags of waste from it as all I can do is stand back and watch while I try not to throw up.  Bits and pieces of my memory slowly come back, and I remember someone was taking care of me.  Her name...  Her name was...  I can't seem to remember her name or her face, but I believe this person is very important to me and when I think of her, I get a sense of warmth that wraps around me and makes me feel safe like a child in her mother's arms.  I relax a little in this loving blanket, but then this other sensation of fear and horror moves in like a closet monster that has just crawled under my bed.  The monster makes me want to flee from the memory, but the motherly arms that are blanketing me want me to remain in the memory so that I'll recall all.  Something happened before the hyper-stasis chamber... something I'm afraid to remember.  The monster yearns to surface and make it mine once again, but I fight the recollection.  I war with myself to keep this buried moment in my life a secret.  I begin to lose this battle.  The memory starts to become mine again, sending a fright so deep and terrifying through my soul, I feel like I'm suffocating.  The memory of the woman, whose name I can't remember, places her hand on my psyche's shoulder, and I turn my attention from the monster to her.  The monster is scary, but the woman will be there and help me through the–

"I'm almost done," Xavier tells me, interrupting my thoughts.  "Come over here and climb in."

"What about you?"

"There's only room for you," he tells me.  "Now listen carefully, and I'll tell you what to do once you reach the furnace room."

The creature screams again, and it's right outside the door.  It tries the knob but it's locked, so the creature starts pounding on the door to break it down.  My whole being lights up with fear.

"I can't leave you here," I tell Xavier.  "That thing will kill you."

"You are the one who is important here," he tells me.  "R.G. has a plan for you."

I insist, "Either we both go or we don't go at all!"

The creature outside continues to beat at the door, and then it busts through and rushes in.  I freeze as I stare at a monster right out of a horror movie.  It stands about seven feet tall with reptile-like features and covered in green scales.

The creature pauses and looks right at me as it says, "Look at you... look how you've changed."

Is this the monster that crept from the closet and is hiding under my bed waiting to devour me?

"Do I know you?" I manage to ask it.

"I'm Kraken," it... she answers.  "And you should remember me.  I've killed you nearly a dozen times."  Kraken looks me over, and then she says, "You don't have a weapon this time.  I believe I'll have no problem disposing of you."

Fear sweeps over me, but this time it's not for myself but the man who's standing behind me.  I turn and shove Xavier into the small elevator, then shut the door, lock the bar back in place, and then hit the button, sending the elevator up.

"Getting rid of the normal, good idea," Kraken tells me.  "I have killed quite a few of them already."

I turn back to her and as if I've done this dozens of dozens of times before, I ask, "Why do you want to kill me?"

"Because you're the Pandora Project," she answers.  "There's no other reason."

"Pandora... that's not my name," I tell her.  "I'm..."

Most of my memories, including my name, still elude me.  I'll have to be patient until they surface but first, I have to survive my encounter with this monster.

Kraken peers at me for a long time, and then she says, "You act like you don't remember me."

"Why do you say that?"

She grins before she slithers out, "You aren't running!"

I notice the red blood covering her long claws and that her body is full of bullet holes.

"You're hurt," I say, and I notice how concerned I sound.  Maybe I did know this creature before.

"The soldiers tried to prevent me from coming out and stretching my claws.  I took of their blood–" she tells me as she places a hand on one of her wounds, "–and they repaid me in kind."  Kraken peers at me again as if she's trying to figure out what I'm thinking, and then she says, "You don't remember me, do you?"

"My memory is a little fuzzy since leaving hyper-stasis," I admit to her.  "I get a sense that I know you but–"

"But what?" she asks.

"Fear's not the first thing that comes to mind.  It's more like... somehow we're alike.  Somehow... we... we both shouldn't be in this place."

She lessens her aggressive stance as she tells me, "Shredding you to bits without you knowing the reason why would be a pity.  Why don't you tell me what you do remember?  Maybe it will jog more of your memories."

"I don't remember you at all.  I do remember being forced into the hyper-stasis chamber and forced into hyper-stasis.  There's a reason I was placed there.  Someone was trying to prevent me from doing something."

"Go on," she urges me.  "What were you trying to do?"

"I..."

That particular detail of my memory is still vague.  I do remember the distinct sound of–

"Well," Kraken interrupts my thoughts.  "What were you trying to do?"

"I was trying to save someone... no... I still need to save someone.  I need to go."

"Memories are fickle things," Kraken tells me as if she knows something about me that she's holding to her own.  "Memories make us who we are and glean the path before us.  Our distorted and bloody intertwining-past comprises a great deal of who you are, but it seems to be my lot that our story is put on hold here.  I believe we'll meet again but only when your story is over."

I'm not sure what she means, so I ask, "Are you letting me go?"

Kraken studies me for a few moments more and then moves away from the door, and I slowly move towards it.  I start to head out when Xavier appears in the doorway.  He's armed with a pipe, and he's holding a cell phone in his other hand.

"It's okay," I tell him before he starts for Kraken.  "She's going to let us go."

He takes a step back and then tells me, "Come on.  I found another way out for us."

I turn back to Kraken and question her, "Do you want to come with us?"

"No," she replies.  "I'll wait here until you remember everything, and then I'll come find you, and we can finally finish everything."

I nod and leave her to her fate, then I head out with Xavier, and we run through several hallways.  I keep pace with him until a burst of memories hits me hard, and I double over.  Many images and thoughts from my past slam into me, and it's painful to remember so much at once, but I'm thankful for the return of self.

"What's wrong?" he questions me.

"I remember now..." I tell him as I hold my throbbing head and still manage to smile as my purpose becomes joyfully clear.  "I remember everything now."  I force myself to straighten as I continue, "My name, my mission, and the person I need to save.  We have to hurry before it's too late."

Xavier lifts the cell phone he's been carrying to his ear and talks into it as if he's been on the phone with someone this whole time, "She says she remembers everything.  Yes... yes...  I understand.  I'll make sure she gets out safely."  He hangs up the cell phone and questions me, "Now what?"

I look around the hallway and for the first time, I know where I am, so I turn away from him and say, "This way.  We need to go this way."

"Before we do that..." he starts, so I turn back to him, and he swings the pipe and hits me in the head.

The hallway whirls around me as I crash to the floor.  Xavier drops the pipe and hurries to my side with this look on his face like he hit me harder than he planned to.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you deviate from the path R.G. has set before you," he tells me as he removes another syringe from his lab coat pocket.  "This will help reset you, and then you can begin again without any nasty memories hindering your fate."

He injects me, drops the syringe, then removes another device from his pocket, and tells me, "Once I zap you with this, you won't remember anything from the past hour."

I grab at his arms, but I find I don't have the strength to fight him off and that I'm losing consciousness as the head wound pulls me further down into the void I had just woken up from.  I claw at him as the purpose I had yearned to remember slowly trickles away.

I plead with him, desperate to hang on to what I just gained, "Don't take my memories...  There's something important I need to do and there's someone important I need to save...  Please...  I can't forget about them, and I can't forget what I need to do.  So much depends on me...  Please... at least let me save them.  Let me..."

"I'm sorry but this needs to be done," Xavier interrupts me, then grabs hold of both my arms, and places the device on the back of my neck.

Everything that I had remembered, the purpose I had finally grab hold of, they all slip away in a brilliance of light, and I remember no more.

End the Pandora Project's view...

Sometime later...

Elsewhere in the Sanctum...

The Chamber...

"The Kraken Project just surrendered to our soldiers," the male supervisor reported to the Council.  "It never even engaged the other project."

"What of Pandora?" Mr. Morta inquired.

"Our soldiers believe she escaped from the Sanctum."

Ms. Nona said, "We should have three units of our soldiers give pursuit."

"No need," Mr. Morta spoke.  "There are other ways we can test Pandora."

"Are you sure the project is ready?" Mr. Decuma inquired.  "It just woke up from hyper-stasis.  Maybe we should give it a few more weeks of conditioning before we begin the tests."

"No, launch the Pandora Project," Mr. Morta instructed.  "Let us see what it can do on its own."

* * *

6:04 P.M...

In another part of the city...

Scattered streetlights partially lit an abandoned industrial district, and the wind howled, blowing through overgrown weeds and chilled the air of the blue-gray night.  Over the years, a few trees and plants adapted to the limited artificial light along with a large variety of weeds.  Nocturnal creatures; rats, mice, owls, and cats ruled the alleys and parks of the megacity of Noir.

A black sedan slowly rolled down the street, and its headlights lit up the dark road.  The vehicle stopped at the curb a few hundred yards away from Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse, then the four doors of the vehicle opened, and five men in brown suits exited the car.  Each of them wore polarized spectacles with black mirror-like lenses, and the spectacles hid more than their eyes.  Four of them removed a silver Beretta from their shoulder holster.  The fifth man wore a Coffin Handled Bowie tucked in a belt, and the man tapped the hilt eager to draw the knife.  Eerily in one accord, they turned their heads and stared at the rusted toy building as they awaited orders.  A parking lot stood between them and their target.

Within the Sanctum's Chamber...

"All right people, let's stay focused," the male supervisor shouted as he and the female supervisor walked up and down the line of workstations.  "This is the hour we've been waiting for!"

"Has the Pandora Project been located?" Mr. Morta asked in a deep voice as he twirled a gold ring on his dark brown finger.

"Yes, one of our best operatives, Argus, is watching Pandora," the smaller man, Mr. Decuma answered as he smoothed his hand down a bright orange tie.

"Good...  Good..." Mr. Morta said.  "What does the operative have to report?"

Some distance from Etna Toys...

A man with shoulder-length blond hair wearing a black trench coat peered through specialized binoculars.  Argus had positioned himself in an alley a block from the abandoned toy warehouse to watch Pandora.  He noted the sedan across the street and the five men, and then he reported them to the Sanctum over a cell phone.

Within the Sanctum's Chamber...

The male supervisor handed an H.H.C. to the third member of the Council.

Ms. Nona frowned as she looked over it, thinning her cherry-red lips which contrasted her powdery white skin.  Her frame was the smallest of the members.  She stated, "We have received a second report from our operative."  She scanned the report a second time, disconcerted over the news and then added, "Argus has spotted five bio-mechas, and they are not Proto-Androids but a new model called Un-Men."

"Un-Men?" Mr. Morta spoke, not as surprised as his female counterpart.  "Only one department within the corporation is developing this line of bio-mechas."  Disappointed over the untimely intrusion, he exhaled loudly and then stated, "The Factory has started their Un-Men tests.  I had hoped they would wait."

"You knew it might happen?" Mr. Decuma questioned as he rubbed his finger over a silver tie pin of the word "Fate".

Mr. Morta nodded as he replied, "Yes, it was only a matter of time but it means–"

"It means–" Ms. Nona interrupted, "–that the Factory has decided to go against the wishes of the Council."

"How dare they!" Mr. Decuma uttered, and then he slammed his palms on the table as he stood and declared, "We must do something!"

"But what?" Ms. Nona questioned.

"More importantly," Mr. Morta started.  "What are their plans for our child-like Pandora?"

Back at Etna Toys...

The wind kicked up sand and debris as the five men, the Un-Men, stood by the sedan.  Their Internal Link or I-Link, not only connected them to the Factory but to each other and with the I-Link, they could think and move as one.  They shut the sedan's doors and simultaneously walked toward the warehouse across the parking lot, but the one with the Bowie paused and turned, spotting a heat signature.  The heat signature was of a human hiding in the darkness of an alley that was across the street from it, and the Un-Man could tell the human was watching them.  The Un-Man's I-Link blazed orange through the right lens of its polarized spectacles as it processed the data.

Argus moved his hand to the M4 assault rifle strapped over his shoulder as he tensed, not knowing what it would do.  Argus had encountered a Proto-android before, and it had nearly killed him, but he had no idea what this new model was capable of.  He decided to stay on the safe side and make it clear he wouldn't interfere with their mission, so he moved his hand away from the assault rifle and waited for its reaction.  The Un-Man smirked at him, continued toward Etna, and joined its brethren.  Argus was relieved it worked and grabbed a hold of the M4 as he moved across the street to continue the surveillance of the project.

Within the Sanctum's Chamber...

"The matter is confirmed.  The Factory–" Ms. Nona emphasized the next word, "–has gone against our wishes."  She looked at the larger man and questioned him, "What is our next move?"

"Analyze and record," Mr. Morta answered.  "Our agenda has not changed.  The Un-Men will test Pandora for us."

Within the dark Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse and among boxes of discarded toys and debris, a cot had been set up, and a lamp on a round end table stood beside it and lit up the area in a dim glow.  The woman, Pandora, who was in her early thirties slept on the cot.  She had a shaven head, and the gash on her forehead which Xavier had unintentionally given her, bled.  The trickle of blood flowed past her brow, ran down the side of her face, and dripped to a pillow.  The crimson liquid spotted the white cotton case.  No other bedding covered the old and worn mattress.

She wore a white V neck T-shirt, gray-black pants, and black hiking shoes.  Her eyes rapidly moved underneath her closed eyelids as she dreamed, and her lips moved as she talked within the dream but there was no sound.  Her inaudible narration continued until she spoke out loud, "A love that will not die."

Her breathing increased, and her arms and legs jerked in mock movement as she envisioned herself running.  Sweat speckled her forehead, and her face grimaced in determination as her mind replayed a memory; it was one that would mark her future with sorrow.  Three shots rang out in the dream, then the horrible recollection caused her to scream, and she sat up and frantically searched the building as a panicked feeling urged her to flee.

The Pandora Project's view...

My heart thunders in my chest as I notice I'm alone and not in any immediate danger, so I calm down a little and remember part of the dream.  I was running, but there's something I can't remember.  Whatever it is, I think it's important enough to recall, so I strain to grasp at the fleeting images, but it's too late.  They're gone.

My head hurts, I'm very thirsty, and I feel a little queasy as I examine the old empty building more closely.  Parts of teddy bears are scattered about a stack of boxes, and a layer of dust clings to everything like the building and machinery haven't been used in years.  I remember more of the dream, not the images but the urgency I felt within it, and a sense that there's something I'm supposed to do or someone I'm supposed to help.  The remnants of the dream fade, and I mentally try to grasp for a clue, but it's like trying to capture a dark phantom.  The sensations of fear and anxiety remain with me along with the sound of the three shots, but nothing else of the dream remains and that bothers me.  Was I pursuing someone or was someone chasing me?  Was I the predator or the prey?

I remain on the cot a little longer, hoping something will resurface and tell me how–  I gasp and put a hand to my mouth as I realize something that deeply unsettles me, and the revelation frightens me more than not knowing what happened in the dream.  I realize I don't know who I am.  I can't remember anything past the moment I woke in this warehouse on this cot.  I know I should be doing something, but I can't...  I can't remember anything.  Smothering terror oozes over me like the Blob from the classic horror movie, and its gelatinous glob eats away at my presence of mind, adding my frightened essence to itself.  It'll do me no good to panic, and I mentally spray frigid air on the growing Blob, taking back my sanity from its frozen and cracked form.

My head continues to hurt, so I touch my temple, feel a warm wet substance, and examine my bloody fingers.  Did I hit my head or did someone hurt me?  The thought that someone might have hurt me makes me a little on edge, so I move to the side of the cot, thinking of going to a hospital when I notice a second table; it's square and small and has a few items on it.  I pick up a business card with an image of a flaming bird, flip it over, and find a barcode on its back.  I set it down, pick up a note, and read it aloud.

"Katharine..."

I study the name, wondering if the name belongs to me.  It doesn't sound familiar, so I continue reading, "Katharine, you must not fail.  This is your last chance to redeem yourself.  I know you can complete your mission, my dearest Kat.  I am counting on you."

The note's signed by R.G.

I fold the paper, and then along with the card, I stuff them in my back pocket and decide I need to find help for the wound on my head in case it's serious.  I spot a door and start to stand and move for it when a flash of a violent memory makes me turn my attention back to a metal case on the table.  Why did I ignore this item?  I stretch my hand for it.  Why does my heart pound in dread when I reach for it?  I pause before grabbing it as a sinking feeling sweeps over me, and I pull my hand back and decide it's best to ignore the enigma.  I look at the last object on the table and pick it up; it's a small silver box shaped like a treasure chest and has a small raised star the size of a dime on its lid.  I examine the box and then carefully open it, and its tune sweetly rings in my ears.  The tune reminds me of the opening of a classical piece, but whose?  Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart come to mind, but the piece doesn't seem to belong to either of them, and then I realize I'm wrong; it has elements from each like it's a mixture of several openings playing on top of each other.  I close my eyes, letting the music sink in as a calming solace sweeps over me, and the urgency to leave the building slips away as I focus on the tune.  While I'm in this state of relaxation and before I'm completely engulfed by it, I wonder about a few things.  How do I know all those composers' names and that the piece is Ginn L. Irynkissgthie's Unfinished Melody?  Why do I know some things but my own name's lost to me?

Unfinished Melody is short; it plays about thirty seconds, and then it starts over and plays over and over in a hypnotic flow.  I gaze at the music box, hearing nothing but the haunting arrangement of compound sounds.  My fear and anxiety vanish, and my body relaxes to an absolute state of nirvana as the tune lulls me into a trance.  I slowly closed my eyes and enter a peaceful place within my mind.  The place is a subconscious oasis to the confusion and dread I experienced before the melody.  The tune has a calming effect on me and as I sit there in an ecstatic state, sounds outside of the building become louder and clearer.  The wind howls, rustling the leaves of trees and overgrown bushes.  A moth repeatedly taps the glass of a street light drawn to the artificial flame as four car doors slam.  A cricket chirps, and an owl swoops, landing on a squeaking mouse.

lub-DUB...  lub-DUB...

I open my eyes as my heart thumps so loud I can hear it, and I experience an overwhelming sense of hysteria.  I put a hand on my chest, not in pain but in horror as I realize something's wrong.  I close the music box, place it in my left thigh pocket, and search the building and find it's still empty.  I know I'm in danger, but from what?  I glance at the case I ignored, and a deep dread lifts in me like a leviathan rising from the ocean's abyss.  I freeze as I stare at the metal container; it's like I know what's inside, but my mind refuses to grasp the knowledge and instead, I want to run away from it like it's a maniac chasing me.  I disregard my apprehension about the case and turn my attention back to my pounding heart and the urgency screaming at me to leave.  The longer I wait to act, the more anxious and terrified I become.  I feel like a deer standing in an open meadow, sensing a predator prowling towards me through the tall grass, and I fear I'll be attacked at any moment and from any direction.  I get off the cot and start to run when the lamp beside me shatters, and the surrounding area plunges into darkness as pieces of the lamp ping to the concrete floor.  I shriek, realizing someone shot at me, and I dive as more bullets whizz overhead.  I turn the table over for cover, the case falls, knocking itself open, and a metal object slides from it.

Far from the cot, light from the street dimly shows through Etna's dusty windows.  The light provides limited illumination within the building and within its radius, I see a black gun.  I gasp, staring at the instrument of death that's an arm's length away.  The weapon's familiar to me and yet it seems like some horrendous alien creature that has traveled from a distant planet to wreak havoc on my world.  The monster will devour me if it gets a chance, so I scoot a few feet away from the gun.  I would escape its psychological jaws trying to sink their terror-inducing teeth into me, but there are other things in the building I have to worry about, so I slowly peek over the table and spot two armed men.

End the Pandora Project's view...

She didn't realize they were actually bio-mechas, and as far as Kat knew, they were ordinary men trying to kill her.  They prepared to fire again, and her heart thumped harder as if it would tear through her chest.

lub-DUB...  lub-DUB...

Unknown to her, the muscle coursed artificial adrenaline through her blood, and the synthetic hormone reacted with her body by increasing her heart rate, dilating her pupils, and elevating her blood sugar.  Horrified by what was going on within her body and the men shooting at her, she put her hand to her chest again, realizing her heart wasn't acting naturally.  She wondered if she was having a heart attack.

The two Un-Men moved toward her position after calculating the best way to kill her.  They aimed their weapons at her position with only one goal in mind.

One of them stated in a monotone voice, "Target acquired, moving forward with termination."

Chapter Two

The Rogue

6:43 P.M...

The Sanctum...

Within the dark Chamber...

Desk lamps lit up the faces of the analysts and the supervisors as they observed Pandora's data with interest.  The project was very important to the Council and so it was very important to them.

"Lower the center screen," Mr. Morta commanded from the middle of the room.

A screen four by eight-foot lowered long ways from the ceiling, and it positioned above the Council and in the center of their table.  The screen could be viewed from both sides, and it displayed an outline of a female body.  Each of the major organs was visible on the screen and had bio-data streaming beside them, and the heart had such a large amount of information streaming beside it that the data overlapped the other organs.  An alarm sounded within the Chamber and stopped, and at the top of the bio-screen in bold red letters blinked "First Evolvement Achieved".  Prattle between the analysts started as charged enthusiasm filled the Chamber, and the supervisors quickly quieted the frivolous talk, knowing their employers would be irritated with them.

"Good...  Good..." Mr. Morta said.  "Pandora has achieved Ginn's Alpha Phase."

"You mean Arcamedes' First Evolvement," Mr. Decuma corrected.

Mr. Morta questioned, "Does it matter by which name we call it?  It is the same thing.  It is still the beginning of Pandora's metamorphosis."

"True, but will Pandora take the path Ginn laid out or will Pandora take Arcamedes'?" Ms. Nona asked.  "What Pandora decides to do will determine which name the stages go by."

"Until the path is clear–" Mr. Morta started, "–both men's descriptions can be used."  He studied the center screen's data on his laptop, and then he spoke, "Pandora's first stage is the ability to sense the presence of bio-mechas as predicted by both men, and Pandora's body is preparing itself to combat the Un-Men.  Look at the subject's bio-electricity.  The levels are high enough to trigger the Beta Phase."

"Yes," Ms. Nona said.  "The genetically altered epinephrine hormone we created for Pandora dubbed Ultra-Epi acts as a supercharged neurotransmitter.  If Pandora can reach the next stage, it should have no difficulty dispatching the Un-Men."

" 'If' is the keyword," Mr. Decuma spoke as he tapped across an H.H.C. touch screen and pulled up reports from their operative.  "Argus details that Pandora has not responded to the Un-Men's presence."  Mr. Decuma turned to his laptop as he stated a question, "Can Pandora achieve the Second Evolvement?"  He typed on the keyboard, pulling up more reports.  "Pandora seems to be withstanding the conditioning."  He stated with concern, "If it does not react soon, the subject will die and the Pandora Project will end."

"Patience," Mr. Morta said.  "We did not blindly pick the subject.  Wait and see what it is capable of."

Back at Etna Toys...

Katharine's view...

My heart revs like the pistons in a race car as I hide behind the overturned table.  Why are the men trying to kill me?  Did I do something to them?  I glance at the gun lying on the floor beside its open case not too far from me.  Or am I a wanted person?

The men fire again, one of the bullets grazes my left shoulder, and the pain triggers a latent instinct within me.  I scurry over to the gun, grab a magazine sitting in its case, and insert it into the Beretta with mechanical precision as if I had been programmed to do so without conscious thought.  I pull the sliding block, it makes a metal clicking sound, and then I wildly fire six shots over the cot and miss.  I freeze at hearing the men's guns cocking and then something inside me clicks like a switch.

A bombardment of information assaults my mind like someone's forcibly downloading all this information right into my brain.  Details I shouldn't know, I couldn't possibly know if I was normal, invade my thoughts.  My body is changing, and it's scaring the crap out of me but for some reason, I know what's happening to me.  The electrical field or e-field of my body changes, and the impulses that would normally travel down the optic nerve surges and causes a split feed.  Part of this electricity rushes across my irises and gives my eyes a blue-electrical glow.  I can't see this happening and yet, I can see this happening to me.  It doesn't hurt, it actually feels good for some reason, but it still scares me.  I want to lift my hands and cover both of my eyes like they're on fire to prevent the charged energy from escaping my body.  I want to do this, but I don't.  Instead, I fire four times like I'd been born with a gun in my hand.  I hit one man in the forehead and throat and the other one in the heart and lung.  It's like a trained soldier has taken over my body, and I don't realize what I'm doing till it's over.  The one I shot in the head collapses to his knees and falls back as the other one fires at me again.

I move back to the overturned table, wondering if the one man's wearing a bulletproof vest.  I take a deep breath, rise, return fire, and the bullet hits the second man in the head.  He also falls to the floor.  Silence follows, and it's a maddening silence that clears my head, lets me think, and lets me realize.  My fear turns to uncertainty and uncertainty to self-loathing.  I slump to the floor, lean against the table, and bow my head.  I can't believe I'm the one who committed the violent actions against those men.  I stare at the gun on my lap, trying to distance myself from the incident and fail.  Why am I good at killing?  Why did I feel nothing for the men I murdered?  I put a hand to my mouth as a little bile comes up.  I swallow, forcing the bile back down my throat, and it burns all the way, searing my guilt into my soul.  Is this the kind of person I am?  Am I an emotionless killer?

End Katharine's view...

Within the Chamber...

Mr. Morta cheered, "There!"

Analysts and supervisors high-fived each other.

Mr. Morta looked at the center screen as "Second Evolvement Achieved" brightly flashed from it, and then he said, "The Beta Phase of Pandora's metamorphosis has successfully been reached."  He reviewed a report from Argus.  "Our operative has seen Pandora's extraordinary shooting ability, and he believes when Pandora is in the Beta Phase, it cannot miss.  It has far exceeded our expectations for the Beta Phase.  We believed Pandora would have an aptness for terminating bio-mechas but this..."

"Yes," Ms. Nona agreed.  "It will be a useful skill."

Mr. Decuma interjected, "If it is true."

"The data supports it and Argus witnessed it," Mr. Morta stated and then inquired, "What more do you need to believe?"

Mr. Decuma replied, "More data perhaps or–"

"I want to know," Ms. Nona interrupted, excited about the outcome, and then she questioned, "Do you think Pandora can reach the Gamma Phase today?"

"I believe we are jumping ahead," Mr. Morta replied.  "There are still three Un-Men remaining."

"Yes, and does Pandora have skill or is it mere luck?" Mr. Decuma asked.  "More than half of the Un-Men remain.  Can it defeat them as easily as the first two?"

At Etna Toys...

Katharine's view...

Leaves and other debris blow in through the open front door as I stand and make my way on shaky legs to the men I've gunned down.  I still feel queasy as if at any moment I'll spill my guts all over the floor as guilt continues to shame me to pain and when I reach the men's side, I find a black oil like liquid oozing from the hole in their heads.  They aren't human, they're...  I remove the polarized spectacles of one, revealing not fleshy eyes but glassy robotic ones.  The colored orbs shudder as power surges through its body, the spheres bug out, and its hands gnarl with the mechanical pangs of death.  I stare at its eyes.  The red rings with black centers show no spark of life.  They're merely windows to the soulless.

Relief pours over me as I realize they're not human.  I didn't kill anyone, and I'm not a murderer but...  Did I know it before I shot them or am I still a cold-blooded killer?  My queasiness eases up a little, but my confusion remains as I realize they're bio-mechas, model Un-Men.  Why do I know this fact when I can't remember the simplest thing like my name?  I search them, find a spare magazine on each of them, and place the ammo in my right thigh pocket.

lub-DUB...  lub-DUB...

I sense more bio-mechas and this time, I know their location.  It's like I'm connected to them somehow.  Three of them walk the grounds outside less than fifteen feet away from me, and they're making their way in here.  I frantically search the plant for an escape as the Un-Men split up, and one of them walks through a side entrance.  The Un-Man fires at me as I run and take cover behind a row of machinery.  Sparks fly as bullets ricochet off of metal, and I cover my head.  During the attack, I lose my concentration and the position of the other two, so I blindly dash for the front door as more bullets whizz by.  I return fire and hit my mark, and then I continue to the door.  I glance back at the third Un-Man as it lies face down.  I try to regain the position of the last two Un-Men, but they suddenly appear in the doorway in front of me.  I try to stop my forward momentum, but I can't and run into one.  It's like running into a wall, and I bounce and fall backward and then with speed that can't be normal, I fire twice before landing on my side.  I strike the floor hard and knock the wind out of me.  The first shot disables the Un-Man with the gun, but the one with the Bowie sidesteps my second shot with electrical speed as if the Un-Man anticipated my actions before I took them.  I inhale, sucking in needed air as I hold my hurting ribs.  The Un-Man draws its large knife and stares at me curiously.  None of the others had done that, and it creeps me out to the point that I'm more afraid of it than any of the others.  The dot of light I see in its sunglasses glows brighter and brighter until it appears as if half the Un-Man's face is burning.  I'm looking at some sort of demon!

"The Pandora Project..." the Un-Man sings out, not in the usual monotone of its brethren.  The orange colored dot-light changes to a deep red, a blood-red, and the Un-Man gazes at me as if probing my soul.  "Pandora..."  Its voice is sadistically mellow and toys with me, making me feel violated.  "Pandora, I have found you."  The Un-Man smiles as if it takes pleasure in the hunt, and it states, "Target acquired."  It takes a step towards me, and I scurry backward on my hands and feet as the Un-Man says, "Moving forward with termination."

It lunges for me with the blade and misses as I roll out of the way.  The Un-Man's blade strikes the concrete, and the force cuts into the floor.  I rise to one knee some distance from it, aim, and pull the trigger.  Nothing happens!  The gun's empty!  I pull the trigger, again and again, hoping a bullet will magically materialize and fire.  The Un-Man slowly stands from its kneeling position, takes two quick steps towards me, and kicks me in the ribs.  I grab my side and hurry to my feet, pushing through the pain as the Un-Man slashes towards me.  I leap back and defensively lift my hands, and the blade cuts across my left forearm.  I cry out in pain as blood splatters to the gray floor as the Un-Man finishes its swipe.

The Un-Man wipes the red plasma from the blade with its fingers, and its face beams as if relishing in the combat.

"The Pandora Project," it whispers, fooling with me as if I'm some insect it's going to squash.  "Pan... dora..."

The Un-Man attacks again with the blade, and the air screams with each slash as if the knife cuts open its airy belly and spills out its gaseous guts.

The Un-Man coos, "Pandora, I have found you."

I barely evade the attacks and then run, rushing deeper into the dark building.  I'm so afraid...  I want someone to save me.  I don't want to be here.  Someone help me...  I continue running as dread molests my entire being.  I have to escape this nightmare, so I keep looking around as I tell myself it's because I'm searching for a way out, but I can't fool myself.  I'm hoping someone will appear.  I'm hoping someone will be my Superman or Lassie, but no one comes to my rescue.  I'm on my own, and as much as I don't want to be on my own, the fact still chases after me intent to destroy me as much as the Un-Man wishes me harm.  I keep fleeing as I eject the empty magazine from the Beretta, drop it to the floor, and pull one from my pocket.  I insert the new one in the magazine well, chamber a round, and fire twice behind me, and the Un-Man continues after me, ducking the shots.  Is this what I was dreaming about?  I'm not the predator but the prey?

End Katharine's view...

Within the Chamber...

Mr. Morta said, "Not bad for the opening test.  Pandora achieved the first two phases.  It delivered uncanny accuracy with the weapon we provided and successfully sensed the bio-mechas and once it has achieved all the phases, Pandora will be the perfect weapon."  He drummed his fingers together as he ordered, "Set up another test so we may analyze the range of its gifts and send Pandora down the path to perfection."

Mr. Decuma nodded and typed up the documentation for the next test, and then he asked the male supervisor standing next to him, "Are the new reports on the project ready?"

"They'll be right over," he answered and then went back over to the analysts and within a minute, the supervisor approached, stating, "Here are the reports you requested on her, Mr. Decuma."

"Her?" the Council said in unison.

"Yes, her," the supervisor answered.  He was taken aback by their reaction and asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

"We do not refer to Pandora as she or her," Mr. Decuma reprimanded.  "It is an experiment and is to be referred to as such."  In disdain, he added, "To say she or her in reference implies Pandora has rights."  Mr. Decuma made it quite clear as he stated, "It has none."

"Of course, Mr. Decuma," the supervisor apologized as he handed him the H.H.C.  "My error.  It won't happen again."

He returned to monitoring the analysts.

Ms. Nona scanned the bio-data on the large center screen and then said, "There seems to be no adverse reaction to the Ultra-Epi, though, complications could arise in the future.  Also, Pandora's body is not rejecting the adrenal gland we genetically altered to create the supercharged epinephrine."  She made a few notes.  "We will have to monitor Pandora for any palpitations, tachycardia, anxiety, headaches, tremors, acute pulmonary edema, and hypertension."

Mr. Morta stated, "We will see if it was wise to alter the gland instead of administering injections."

Mr. Decuma finished setting up the test, and then he said, "The Factory will be more than happy to assist us in the next field trial as one of our sister departments in the Sphinx Corporation."

"The fact that they are developing the Un-Men as their new line of bio-mecha assassins does not hurt us either," Ms. Nona added.

"Yes," Mr. Morta agreed.  "The Factory's earlier line of bodyguards was very profitable for the Sphinx Corporation, and now the Factory hopes to improve their power and standing by releasing an unmatched line of bio-mecha assassins.  Pandora is an ideal forum to refine the Un-Men's programming."  He smiled, pleased with the project, and then he added, "With Pandora's help, the Factory will be able to create the perfect killing machines, and in turn, the Factory will help us test Pandora and help Pandora achieve its purpose.  The one seen by Ginn that will–"

"Or Arcamedes," Mr. Decuma interrupted.  "We still do not know the path it will take."

Ms. Nona stated, "You are correct and only time will reveal its path."

The female supervisor handed the councilwoman a report, and Ms. Nona said, "There seems to be a problem.  Pandora has been unable to disable one of the Un-Men."  Ms. Nona re-checked the report, and then she stated, "It is a Type Four model."

"Terminate the test," Mr. Morta ordered, sitting upright.  "Request that the Factory recall its bio-mecha.  Pandora destroyed four of the five Un-Men.  It has done exceptionally well."

"The Factory reports a problem.  The Un-Man has ignored its recall," Mr. Decuma relayed.  "It seems they have a rogue on their hands."

"A rogue, you say?" Mr. Morta questioned.  "The Un-Man must be exceptional in its own right to have survived this long against Pandora.  The very fact of it is most interesting."

"Yes, like I said a rogue," Mr. Decuma answered and then asked, "Shall I have Argus assist the project?"

"No, not at this time," Mr. Morta replied, and then he calmly folded his hands, leaned back in the chair, and spoke, "Pandora must learn to survive on its own.  We not only need to develop Pandora's untested body but its young undeveloped mind and character.  What better way to develop character than to face adversity?  In the past, great warriors went up against other great warriors to test their mettle.  Strength and endurance grow through conflict as steel sharpens steel, and so the Rogue will be Pandora's adversary."

End sample.

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"Shades of Gray #2 From Moscow, With Love"

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I write for a general audience so my books are a good read from young adult through to adult.  The Shades of Gray series covers a multitude of genres including science fiction novel, ya science fiction novel, horror novel, ya horror novel, ya survival book, Supernatural book, ya supernatural novel, action adventure, ya action-adventure, mystery thriller, ya mystery, ya apocalyptic, dystopian novel, ya dystopian book, post-apocalyptic story, ya post-apocalyptic story

"1 + 2: This Is Only This Beginning"

http://www.kristielynnhiggins.com/AAAACollections.html

#ScienceFiction #dystopian #Mystery #ActionAdventure #apocalyptic #SciFi #ILoveSciFi #ILoveScienceFiction #ILoveSciFiBooks #ILoveScienceFictionBooks #ILoveApocalypticBooks #ILoveApocalypticNovels #ILoveApocalypticEbooks #ILoveDystopianBooks #ILoveDystopianNovels #ILoveDystopianEbooks #ILoveSci-Fi #ILoveMysteries #ILoveMysteryBooks #ILoveMysteryEbooks #ILoveMysteryNovels #ILoveSciFi #ILoveAssassins

[theswinginthemoonlight]

That’s The Dream!

Words : 2,716

Warnings : Some swear words, possible angst

Genre : Adventure, action, wishes, angst

That’s The Dream!

The hardest thing to do in this world is to live in it. I mean, it's so dull. Same toothbrush, same coffee, same bread…. No wait, I had bread and butter for breakfast instead of leftover pizza, which my microwave can't warm up to save its own life. I would throw it away but since I'm broke, I can't.

 Some say that I'm talented. Well, if I can monologue about my day while running all the way to my office and finish proofing the last chapter of the draft, I think I am a magically gifted person. My boss won't even care if I'm late; no one does at the publishing company actually. But I do, I still do. And that's why I'm running as if I've got a hellhound on my tail.

 I'd like Scarlett Johansson to portray me, why thank you! Or Emma Watson! She's awesome too.

 By the way, I look nothing like them. I'm just your average everyday girl. We're quite in demand, nowadays. Only we have to take off our glasses to look pretty. But if I took mine off, I don't know about you but you will definitely not look pretty to me at all. Or just look at all.

 I finally reached the office. I run up the stairs, zigzagged through the cubicles, wrenched open my boss's door and slammed the drafts on her desk.

 “TOUCHDOWN!”

 “Good Morning to you, too, Meera. Is this one of your motivational shit?” She looked up at me with amusement.

 “It's not motivational. It's ……. you know… taking the rein of your life in your hands. Passion. You feel shit, you fix it. People do it all the time. Rock climbing, going to rock shows, jumping off high stuff. For what,  exactly? Adrenaline. I felt like I am living in a monotonous routine. So I had different breakfast, wore different clothes, ran all the way up here, got myself fired…. You know..  Adrenaline.” I finally breathed.

 “That's all well and good but I'm not following you. I love my routine, unlike you. But of course, I'm not you so. Sit down, have some water, sprawl yourself.” She smiled.

 If she wasn't my boss, I'd consider her my friend.

 “Also I'm not firing you, quite the opposite actually.” she beamed at me.

 “No.” I said incredulously.

 “Yes, Meera! I'm officially naming you the owner of your own bookstore!”

  Correction: She IS my best friend!

 “But ho… why…. what?!?!?” Yes, I do work for a literary company.

“They agreed to your proposal. I thought after all the effort you put into this company, I think you deserve this. Also, here is a little gift.” She handed me an envelope. It contained a cheque, of money no less! If my tear ducts weren't broken, I might've cried.

I bought a new microwave from the money. Also a new dress for the opening of my bookstore. I was at the store arranging books at 9:30pm. There was nowhere in the world I wanted to be right now.

 I think I heard a small bursting sound, but before I could turn in the direction of the sound, something, or someone caught my attention.

 “You're Meera?”

 It was a guy, a really handsome one at that. He's the kind of the guy who can give tough competition to a rockstar in his plain black shirt and pants at the former's own concert. I have never been to one. But I have YouTube.

 “Yes. But I'm sorry. The store is closed. It was never open, actually. But it will. We're opening quite soon.” I sort of lose all Charm™ as soon as I see a hot guy.

 “I don't think I will be able to make it. But the store is not the reason I'm here. I'm here for you.” He paused and looked at me, then continued, “So what do you want to do?” He enthusiastically looked at me, quite opposite from the forlorn look he gave me earlier.

 Was he on crack? What sort of question was that?

 “An important one. You see, I'm asking you your wish so I can fulfill it. Something you haven't done before or been wanting to do something, et cetera et cetera.” He listed out.

 “Listen. Uh… I just say anything and you will do it? Why? What's the catch? I have nothing to give you, like nothing. And you're not getting my first….” He interrupted me before I could finish.

 “Ok. Ok. Ok. Calm down. I don't want to listen your rant. I want ​you to wish. And I swear that  there is no catch. Only before I ask you your last wish, I will tell you a truth and you have to believe that.”

I know. Stranger danger. But this might be the most adventurous thing I'll ever have the chance to do. That or the last thing that I'll ever do. “So you're a Genie?”

 “Is that a yes? Please say that it's a yes” Damn! Someone ​had a long day.

 “Yeah. Sure. Why not? Well, I want a large……”

 “No. Wait. I said what you want to DO, not want. Let's go over with this again.”

 “So you're an adventure Genie? How does that work? I've never read about you.”

 “I'm not a book character. I'm real and all of this is real. Unlike you”

 “Excuse me!”

 “I mean corporeally. In your adventures, you will feel and experience everything but your physical form won't be malleable.”

 “So, spiritual Genie?” I suggested

 “Stop giving me names, damn it!” He was tired.

 “Okay. Okay. See. I don't really have a happening life. I mean student loans and crippling company does that to your weekend clubbing. But yeah, I've been meaning to do one of those mountain climbing things, only I don't have the patience or energy to actually climb them”

 As soon as I finished the sentence, I found myself in a cozy little tent, in a blanket with Not Genie.

 Woooaaaaah!

 I stepped out with my blanket and Lo and behold! There was a mountain wearing snow like a cap. And the stars! So many stars. There were so many! I have seen pictures, of course, but so many stars! I felt crowded but yet so free.

 “Why?” His voice broke my incoherent thoughts. “You had a chance, right? Then why didn't you?”

 “I wanted to. I was so excited about it, but I had student loans. Huge ones. Also, I got the dream job, at a publishing house. A failing one, but who gets a job right out of college?

 “Also, I fear suffering. People get injured, they die by dehydration or get frostbitten. There are​ so many ways that it can go wrong. I don't want to suffer.”

 “And that is the reason why you chose a life with security?”

 “Yeah” I was suddenly sheepish.” Don't judge me. I worked my ass off to bring the house to this position. I worked day and night to run this company.” I argued defensively.

 “Oh,no! I didn't mean to offend you. I know what you have done and I'm proud of you.” Before I could interpret that he continued “So, what's next?” I grinned mischievously.

 And ​the next thing I know, I'm running in a war suit, my sword unsheathed and my hair tied up. Hey, it's stupid to let your hair loose to get damaged and in the danger of being pulled by people just because you have an aesthetic.

 I was charging in a battlefield towards a dragon. With a mighty yell and an impossible leap, I managed to slice its ugly head off. As soon as the dragon died, the battlefield was now again the prosper city it was before the curse.

 I was sitting on the throne, a crown adorning my head and people praising my valiant efforts. I saw him by my side, mostly because he never left.

 “Your Highness, the kingdom seems to worship you.”

 “I don't want them to worship me. I just want the respect I deserve.”

 “You do.”

 “But it is really hard to not let it go to my head.”

 “Then don't let it go there, go somewhere else.” He smirked.

 And soon, I was dancing senseless in a live Fall Out Boy concert. It feels like I was here since the beginning. This is unbelievable but I fear that if I stop, I might miss it.

 So I didn't. Instead I focused on “Immortals”. I was screaming at the top of my lungs and yet I didn't feel parched. Either it's magic or I'm not talking for the next few days.

 This is real. This is too real to confuse it with hallucinations. I know. I can feel it in my soul. It's true​, it's beautiful and I feel free. For the first time since college, I finally ​felt alive.

 “If I wanted to do something dangerous, would I get hurt?” I yelled, pulling him close.

“Not on my watch.” He smiled.

 This time my hair is loose, flying out in the wind. It's crazy how each time everything is exactly how I picture it. I am screaming as I fall freely in the water from the cliff. Hot damn! I am never living this down. My heart is in my mouth and my brain is surely scattered in my skull. This is perfect!

 I entered the water with a huge splash. It felt as if the water went through my skin and in my veins, soothing me with its coolness. I stayed in the water longer than normally possible before finally coming to the surface. I was greeted with the dark forest around the lake and the moon shining atop the cliff.

 “Thank ​you!” Was all I said before landing in my apartment. “What?” I asked him, quizzically.

 “It's time.”  He looked solemn, as if he was about to witness something tragic and there was nothing he could do about it.

 “But why?” I whined. “I want to do so much more.” There's no harm in pushing your luck, right?

 “Meera, be serious.” He reprimanded me. “Please, just know that I really tried, I did. Please don't hate me. It's not my fault.” Were those tears?

 “What's wrong?” Behind him, the TV switched on.

 ‘There has been a blast at a 4 star restaurant on Park Avenue. The blast was so intense that the neighboring stores and houses were severely damaged. The cause of the blast was a gas leak in the storage room where the gas cylinders were kept.’ The reporter grimly narrated.

 I stood up. The restaurant was right next to the bookstore. Oh, shit! But why was he apologizing? It couldn't be his fault.

 'Casualties may increase but according to the first sweep of the restaurant and the nearby places, it is confirmed that there's been at least 5 fatalities​. The rest injured are being swiftly rushed to the nearest hospital.’ She continued.

 The showed the departed. Two of them, as the reported informed were from the restaurant. Oh, crap. This is so tragic. I knew them.

 ‘As and informed earlier, the blast caused severe damages to the nearby places. This included the yet to open bookstore next to the restaurant. The owner of the bookstore, Miss Meera Roy, was found dead among the wreckage of the store.’ WHAT?!?

 I kept staring at my face flashing on one side of the screen and a body bag being carried in the ambulance in another.

 “What? How is this possible? I'm here! Hey! Genie! Wtf? I'm not dead. I made out. I was with you the whole time.” Now that my voice could be heard, I couldn't stop.

“Were you?” He was still not looking at me.

“Yes” I shrieked “There has obviously been a mistake. Isn't it obvious? I am with you, here. Not in some body bag. TALK TO ME, YOU SHITHEAD!” I screamed. I was out of breath or was I?

“You just have a habit of being out of breath when you panic.” He finally spoke.

 I didn't say it out loud. I never do. I don't think out loud but maybe he's just too powerful. Yes! That's it! I have to embark on a dangerous quest and my mortal world can't be tied to me. He's a magic dude, for love's sake!

 “Actually you're in Denial. That's Stage One.” He corrected me.

“Shut up!”

 No, no, no, no. I'm not dead. I can't be, I was just corporeal.

 The TV switched on again. This time to another channel and I saw myself in the book store. Yes, that's me. Now, he'll be proven wrong. I was listening to music, stacking books. Suddenly there was a loud crash, a loud bursting sound and there was the sound of glass breaking. There were pieces of wooden splinters and glass shards hurtling towards me. The force of the blast threw my body like a Rag doll on the wall. I saw myself barely move before falling lifeless. The store was littered with glass, wood, books and blood. My blood.

 Shrill silence filled me. I was numb. No! I'm not dead. But that voice was now lost, almost forgotten.

 Stage 2: Anger

 “I refuse!”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I refuse to die. I won't die. I will fight this. I'm a fighter. I don't like how my life goes on, I fight to change it. I have fought worse, I will fight this too. I am going to make this a miracle and no one can stop me.” I announced.

 I refuse to live so little. I still have places to be and achievements to conquer. I will not be stopped by some minor inconvenience.

 “You're dead! It's not a minor matter!” Stupid Genie. Hey…. That's it!

 Stage 3: Bargaining

 He's a magical dude. Yes, he is.

 “What do you want?”

 “Not something that you're thinking about.” He breathed out.

 “Of course, you want something. Otherwise why would you grant me these wishes? No one does things just like that. What do I have that you want? Some ancient rune or some spell, or is it my soul? Look, whatever you want just say it. My mother watches the news. And I'm pretty sure she's freaking out. Please!! I'm begging you.” I fell to my knees, my hands joined together. I finally let my tears get the best of me.

 “I expected that you would accuse me of something like that.” Yet his voice was hurt…. What is happening?

 Stage 4: Depression

 It's so worthless!

 I'm sitting on my knees, looking at my awards and accolades adorning the walls. They all are worthless. What is the point of achieving them if I can't save my own life? It's over. I just stopped existing. There is nothing​ from now on that will include me. Nothing.

 “Help me. It's swallowing me.” I put my head in my knees.

He put his arms around me, “Accept it, Meera. That's how you stop it.”

“But I don't want to! How? Why?” I don't remember when I stopped making sense.

“There isn't one answer that you will like.”

“But there is?” I asked him, hopeful.

“It's just your time to leave.” He whispered, prompting a soft 'no’ and an ugly cry from me.

 Stage 5: Acceptance

 When I was finally out of tears to spare, I looked at him and collected whatever was left of my courage.

“ How do I get this done with?”

He smiled ruefully, “ What is your last wish?”

 “I want to eat warm leftover pizza from my new microwave.” I smiled in what felt like centuries.

 And just like that the sky cleared. All my achievements, tantrums, laughter, cries, rights, wrongs, choices, mistakes, passion, victories, failures, love, everything led me to this moment. My last moment. I finally breathed in the serenity of this moment.

 “The rules….”

 “Alright, officer! I want to be sitting in my house, chomping on the leftover pizza warmed by my new microwave. Look, I just bought it. At least let me be the​ first one to use it.”

 “Your wish!” He smiled warmly.

 But not warmer than my pizza from the microwave. It's so perfect that I could just die!