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skylights422 · 5 years ago

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@ace-and-aro-wlw-positivity created a Q&A for aspec authors/writers, and as an aspec author, I am excited to participate and answer as many of their questions as I can. Under a cut since it became really outrageously long.

1. What was your inspiration for your character(s)? Are they modeled on yourself, a person that you know, or a character that’s already been established?

Typically I’d say my characters are a mix of general inspiration from other stories/characters and then bits and pieces taken from myself. I try not to make any of them like a clone of myself or another character, try to mix it up, possibly with mixed success but that is the goal.

2. How much, if any, has your character(s) changed since they were first created? What caused this change?

Oh wow, okay I have characters I still use from grade school and middle school, and those characters have changed/grown a lot. Most notoriously (to me) though are my two fellas Euphranor and Kadri. I created them while daydreaming in middle school while watching those science videos in class about how I could make a more parody-like version of said videos, Kadri being the energetic and comically sadistic teacher and Euphranor being the constantly irritated and foul-tempered student. The core of their designs and personalities haven’t totally changed (Euph is still a hot-head and Kadri still likes to troll him), but they’ve become far more nuanced as characters as their story become more involved and serious. They’ve also become softer characters, with Euph having a Heart of Gold and Kadri being a bit morally grey but generally compassionate and friendly. I think the cause of this change and others comes from a mix of things, for one I simply got older and what I wanted out my characters changed a bit. But also I think it’s because I spent so much time with those characters in my head that I couldn’t help but develop them more fully, which in turn made me want to give them a good story. Also, everyone is definitely more queer now then how they started, largely because I became more aware and comfortable with my own queer identity and spent more time in queer spaces (though with Euph I actually just realized he had to be gay because I every het relationship I envisioned for him fell totally flat and yet imagining him as having crushes on guys just seemed to work better/make more sense, and that was an earlier decision).

4. Do you intend on publishing your story one day? Why, or why not?

I definitely do! I have many, many stories I want to publish, as books or comics or tv shows or films. I’ve always wanted to publish some of writing since it’s one of my main passions and have always taken inspiration from the stories I consumed. I just love writing and would want to be able to do it as my main career, the key will just be figuring out how to focus on one project long enough to finish it. xD

5. Surprise fact! Give a random fact about your character(s), whether it’s their favorite color, food, or even song!

Euphranor loves to sing! He hums to calm himself down and even full on sings to vent his feelings sometimes. Kadri loves literature and video games, and blackberry pie is his favorite food.

6. Admit it, you have a folder on your computer of the various types of picrews you’ve created for your character(s). Would you mind posting a few (or five)?

*VIBRATES* MY TIME HAS COME. I absolutely have way too many picrews of my fellas so I won’t post them all, just two each for the core four of my main novel project. First, Euphranor:

(yes he is a Hufflepuff)

Kadri:

(also since I dragged the Hogwarts houses into this Kadri is Ravenclaw)

Ena:

(I put her in Gryffindor)

And finally, Fiera:

(Right now I have her in Slytherin. She could also be in Ravenclaw though)

7. Time to get serious for a bit. There’s been heavy debate on having non-human characters identify as ace, aro, non-binary, etc., but never actual humans. As someone who’s aspec, how would you explain to someone who’s allo why this can be and is seen as hurtful?

I mean, as a sci-fi fan I definitely love if the non-human characters are queer coded, but it’s definitely important to include human representation as well, and I think there are a few simple reasons for that. One is that queer people are, in fact, humans, and therefore our stories deserve to be told as they are in reality as well as how they could be in fiction. The other is only writing us as inhuman implies you consider our identities as fictitious or too strange for a human to have, and queer people already have to deal with other forms of erasure and invalidation in real life. (Also, not everyone is a fan of sci-fi/fantasy, and they should still be able to read stories where they can see themselves)

8. It’s a sad reality that many stories in mainstream media don’t have characters that are aspec, not to mention without resorting to harmful stereotypes. Besides there being nothing wrong with IDing as aspec, why did you choose to have your character ID as such? What would you tell other authors who’re interested in writing characters that are aspec, but are afraid of offending the community?

I have a huge list of aspec characters, which definitely started happening more once I was aware of my own asexuality (and later, aromanticism), since I realized that I could make my own aro and ace characters and then just went wild with it lol. It’s also easier for me to write since I can actually draw from personal experience somewhat for it. Beyond representation having aro and ace characters also allows you to explore more facets of human emotions/the human experience, so that’s always fun.

As for how I would advise allies looking to write a-spec characters, my main advice would be to remember that we are an incredibly diverse group of people, and so while no one a-spec character will resonate with every a-spec reader, an a-spec character written in good faith will definitely speak to some of us. Write them as an character first, and when it comes to things like how their attraction does or doesn’t work and what they want out of relationships, figure out what works best for them. Really, if you’re concerned your character would be offensive in some way you can always make a post asking about it, many of us are happy to offer constructive advice and appreciate that someone is wanting to put in the effort to write about our experiences. Reading or listening to anecdotes from an array of a-spec people is also a good way of getting ideas of how to portray us, and there are various resources for that (the tags, AUREA collects anecdotes from arospec individuals, and probably more than I can think of offhand)

9. If you’re comfortable with sharing, what is your characters’ identity? Do they use any microlabels? Does theirs reflect your own?

Unsurprisingly I have many characters who are aroace (Fiera is one of them), and Ena is bisexual and gray-aromantic. Kadri was originally supposed to just be bi/pan but has become increasingly aspec, will they end up gray-aro as well as grey-ace? Will they end up as a pan oriented aroace? I don’t know yet, but they sure are a pan a-spec. My most recent project has exclusively aro-spec protagonists, Valentine is aroace, Cedar is demiromantic, Raelene is cupioromantic, and then Clematis and Hadyn are presently just Aro and might stay that way. My aroace characters are often styled after my own aroace experiences, while other a-spec characters aren’t as much.

11. Why do you think that not just representation is important, but GOOD representation? Can you offer any examples?

Well, I think there are a few ways to make ‘good rep��. There is the ‘this character helps bring awareness/educate about the community’ and then there’s ‘this character just resonates with certain a-spec people a lot’, and the main reason I think it’s important is because rep should be for the people they’re representing. So if rep hurts the community or totally fails to be relatable to anyone who’s actually a-spec, then it missed the whole point and is doing just as much to leave the community feeling left in the dust as no rep. Of course things do get complicated when the community is divided on whether the rep is good or not, which I imagine will be a common occurrence, and many examples of rep probably fall into the grey area between Good and Bad, but generally people should aim to tell stories that will help more than hinder the people you are telling your story about. (Although I also think that the long term end goal is to get to the point where there is enough representation that it doesn’t matter if some of it is ‘bad’ or not, since I feel like that is the true state of normalization, but that is sadly not yet the case)

12. What’s the genre of your most recent story? Do you always write in this genre? If so, what other works do you have? If not, why did you pick it?

My most recent story (with Valentine) is fantasy, inspired by shoujo style anime series like Cardcaptor Sakura, while Euph’s story is more dystopian urban fantasy? His exact genre has shifted around a lot and will probably continue to do so. In general, most of my works are fantasy in some way or another. A few are more sci-fi or horror based, but definitely the majority are fantasy whether that be magical girl type stories, urban fantasy, superheroes, or dark fantasy.

14. What’s a brief biography of your character? Is their history, personality, and/or looks similar to your own?

I’m going to go with Fiera here. The short version of her backstory is that she and her older brother were born to neglectful parents, and while their grandmother was attentive emotionally she also lived far away. Her brother discovered magic, long thought forgotten, but killed himself shortly after, leaving Fiera alone and confused. She then made a point to dedicate herself to studying the theory and history of magic in the hope that she may someday understand why her brother would take his own life so suddenly like that. She has a down to earth personality and is very observant, and has a great deal of ambition and focus for tasks. She naturally has a more lighthearted and curious personality, but has become more somber since the death of her brother. While she always struggled with sustaining personal relationships, it’s only recently she started using her power of observation to be more manipulative and always keep a cool, pleasant demeanor. She has a love for fashion and sewing, as well as an interest in chemistry.

She isn’t really based on me at all backstory or appearance wise, and only slightly takes after me personality wise. Our main similarity is that we both can be quietly observant and don’t tend to get outwardly angry very often, and that we are both aroace. But I am nowhere near as focused as her, am terrible at lies/manipulation, and have different interests. I’m also way more prone to energetic rants and blunt statements than she is.

15. What are the themes of your story? Is it a lighthearted adventure, or are we talking deep, ocean-sized levels of angst? Why, or why not, did you choose them?

The tone of Euph’s story is kind of all over the place due to how often I’ve tweaked it, but there are certainly oceans of angst for all the protagonists. There’s just also decided remnants of the wacky humor from when the story was predominantly a comedy, and a lot more scenes of the characters just relaxing or goofing off than might be typical in a high tension drama adventure. My story with Valentine is generally much more lighthearted, though there will be some deeper moments for character development (and also because I want it to have a slightly gothic vibe, just Because)

16. How long have you been writing? Has your style changed from when you first began to now? What are some tips you’d give to those who’re interested in writing a story of their own, be it professionally or as a hobby?

I’ve been writing in some capacity just about as long as I can remember, and so my style has definitely taken various shifts depending on how old I was and what I was taking as my main inspiration at the time. Sometimes I went for more sarcastic and whimsical narration regardless of the events happening of the story, sometimes I went for a more quick modern-ish style, sometimes I would focus more or less on descriptions or dialogue. I don’t really know where I’m at right now though.

What I would advise to anyone wanting to sit down and write is to be patient and kind with yourself. Nine times out of ten what sounds epic in your head will come out at first as clunky and all over the place. But that is pretty much the whole purpose of first drafts; the clunky first draft crawls so the second draft may walk so the third draft may walk a little faster so the final draft may run. The other thing I would advise is to absolutely experiment, and see what works best for you. There is every kind of writing advice out there imaginable, much of it contradictory, so really you just have to mess around with styles and perspective and dialogue and see what happens, which stuff you liked and which stuff you didn’t.

17. What’s your process for writing? Do you plan your story out first, write whatever you want then edit later, or both? How might this help others?

My writing process is pretty much a mishmash of writing whatever comes to me, then planning, then writing, then using a bunch of character building exercises to have fun but make no progress in the plot, then neglect the project for months, then write some more or maybe plan. I don’t know how much this would help others, though I have found when I set goals with deadlines and some external pressure (nanowrimo, reward system implanted by friends, etc) I am far more productive, so perhaps that is something others could try if they struggle with staying on track?

18. Your book’s become quite popular, easily reaching the New York Times Bookseller list, and now, you’ve been picked to lead a writing workshop. It goes swimmingly, and afterward, someone comes and tells you that your book not only inspired them to write a story of their own, but also helped them discover and accept their identity. What’s your reaction?

Mostly I would just be flabbergasted, but also extremely pleased and honored to have been able to provide any kind of help or assistance to my readers.And I would feel very happy for the person, since that sort of inspiration is great to come by.

19. Are there any published stories out there that feature aspec characters that you also read? Do you have any suggestions?

Unfortunately not that I can think of! I am peripherally aware of some ace characters, but they aren’t in stories I personally consume. I hope to find more though!

20. Just for fun, write down a paragraph of your most recent writing. It can be an action-packed scene, some witty dialogue, or a colorful description that you really enjoyed. (Be sure to properly tag any possible triggers!)

Well, my most recent finished work would be the clunky first draft of my novel. So, here’s a silly conversation that entertained me to write:

Once they had bought the food, they went back to the park to eat.

“You know, Fiera, I have come to a realization.” Kadri said.

“Oh? What’s that?” Fiera asked.

“Store snacks are not as filling as restaurant food, nor as refined, but they are decidedly addictive.” he said, munching on Twizzlers.

“Yep. That’s what makes them store snacks. Plus, I couldn’t get any really nice stuff. I’m not made of money.” Fiera explained.

“Which brings me to my next question, how exactly are you financing our meals? You don’t seem to work a job of any kind.” Kadri said. Fiera was almost surprised that he knew about jobs, but decided not to ask about it.

“You’re right, I don’t. But my parents leave me about sixty bucks a week so that they can do what they want without me starving to death in their absence. After yesterday and just now, I’m down to like eight bucks, and the next payment comes in three days, so after this stash goes it's dollar store snacks only.” Fiera explained.

“I see. Fascinating. And these drinks you bought us, why are they vitamin drinks?” Kadri said,looking over a vitamin water curiously.

“Because we definitely aren’t going to get any vitamins from chips and candy.” Fiera said simply.

“There is logic to that, I suppose.” he said. There was silence for a few moments.

“Um… Kadri?” Fiera said after a while.

“Yes, Fiera?” Kadri said.

“You know you can’t eat a whole bag of Twizzlers in one go, right?” Fiera said.

“I don’t see why not. If it is not going to give me the nutrients I need, it may as well provide me with the maximum level of pleasure it is capable of.” Kadri said.

“Yeah, but you’ll get sick. And we have limited supplies.” Fiera countered. Kadri looked at the bag of Twizzlers in alarm.

“These are poisonous in large doses!?” he exclaimed.

“What? No, not poisonous, they just make you sick because they’re candy. All candy does that if you keep eating it.” Fiera said.

“Commoners lead dangerous lives, it would seem. I shall never forget this betrayal.” He said to the bag of Twizzlers, putting it down and taking the vitamin water instead.

#Arospec Awareness Week #aromantic #writing #non-fandom #asaw2020

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elliepassmore · 5 years ago

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The Never Tilting World Review

4/5 stars Recommended for people who like: fantasy, multiple POVs, goddesses, magic, demons, LGBTQ+ romance, strong female leads, kick-ass women, women engineers, disability representation, mental illness representation, characters of color, complex morality I will say that for the most part I really enjoyed this book. The concept is fascinating and the characters and world were splendid. I took off a star because, as nice as it is sometimes to not have every detail of a world explained, with something like magic, it does have to be explained to a certain extent. By-and-large I understand how the 'gates' work, but we're dropped right into the terminology within the first couple of pages without explanation and it was a little confusing and took me a few tries to get at it. Then, I just wasn't a huge fan of Odessa and it does take away from the book a little when you just don't like one of the MCs or narrators, but I'll explain more about Odessa when I get to her. Lan, Tianlan, is the first narrator, so I'm starting with her. She's what's called a Catseye (also something whose we had to figure out figure out ourselves), which means she can heal people or inflict sickness upon them in a form of dual magic. Two sides to every coin, right? I really, really love this idea and think it's a fantastic spin on the typical 'healer' character you see in fantasy. I suppose, theoretically, healers could always turn their magic to use by harming people, in fantasy books healers are relegated to only healing, save for here and in Leigh Bardugo's Grisha and Six of Crows trilogy, where healing and harming are seen as two sides of the same magic, though a person typically has more strength in one than the other, so it doesn't come out quite like it does here. I enjoyed being in Lan's POV because she's caught between wanting to do the right thing by the world that's been plunged into eternal night and also wanting to keep Odessa, her lover, safe. I also thought that Chupeco writing Lan has having PTSD after a pre-book incident was refreshing considering the number of books that just skip over the psychological effects events have on characters. This was also an area where Chupeco turned the 'healer' trope on its head a little, as Catseyes can work with physical illnesses and injuries, but also mental ones, taking on the role of healer and therapist (though obviously not for themselves), so not only do we get to see Lan experiencing PTSD, but we also see her coming to terms with it and seeking therapy-like treatment for it, which is pretty unusual in most novels. Despite being in the 'healer' role and having magic that can infect and destroy if she wishes, Lan is also skilled with a blade and hand-to-hand combat and has something of a quick temper. She's definitely the 'protector' type more than anything else and is striving to make sure everyone comes out alright in the end. Odessa comes next, because I'm grouping the characters based on where they're from and Lan and Odessa are both from Aranth. Odessa is one of the daughter-goddesses in the novel who is unaware her twin is alive. She has some kind of chronic illness that prevents her from being very active without tiring out and that Catseyes have been able to treat but not cure. In the beginning Odessa seems like she'll be a pretty good character, a little too doe-eyed and teary for my tastes, but has plenty of potential. Then she starts to get bratty and doesn't seem to have the ability to logically think things through. From a writing standpoint I really appreciate how complex Chupeco makes Odessa and I think within the plot it's super fascinating. It's even explained to us toward the end why Odessa made the sudden turn from teary-but-okay-princess to brat-with-little-rationale, so I appreciate the cleverness of how the reason was woven throughout Lan and Odessa's chapters for us to find but maybe not pinpoint exactly. However, the great reasoning behind it doesn't stop me from not liking Odessa. The weird power-imbalance Odessa has going on with Lan and their relationship that I'm not a huge favor of. They love each other, great, fantastic, I believe that and I actually think they make a great couple in the beginning of the novel. They certainly have a better set-up for a romance than Arjun and Haidee do, though their 'love' is only marginally slower moving, but I'm just a teeny bit uncomfortable with the power imbalance of Odessa being a goddess/princess and Lan being the person assigned to guard and protect her. It's one thing when Lan is serving the crown in some general 'technical' sense and the two of them are in a relationship and it's another thing entirely when Lan is serving Odessa and her mother directly. It would be better, I think, if Lan wasn't serving directly under Odessa or it was like Lan's previous relationship where both girls were rangers. While Lan has no issues disregarding Odessa's commands, the imbalance is still there and becomes a bit of a problem later, but is never fully addressed, so I'm not sure how I feel about that or about some of the scenes with Lan and dark!Odessa. The relationship has the potential in the beginning and it is, for the most part good, but then once the difference in rank and power becomes clearer and Odessa becomes darker I get just a little uncomfortable with it. Haidee is the other daughter-goddess and she lives in the Golden City on the always-day side of the planet. She's what's called a 'mechanika' in the world, but what we would classify as an engineer. She's quick on her feet, fiery, stubborn, and extremely empathetic. In one of her very first scenes she's crying over a days-dead whale, if that's any indication. As much as I love her determination, smarts, and stubbornness, her ignorance of the world and optimistic attitude do grate on my nerves at times. She's just a bit too happy-go-lucky in some instances, though it largely works out for her. I will be fair, Haidee is one of my favorites, but I feel like Chupeco set things up so that Haidee would always have things work out for her and it seems a bit too obvious at times. Despite my dislike of Odessa, things go wrong for her, sometimes very wrong, and while things do occasionally go wrong for Haidee and seem like they'll be bad, I don't ever really get the full-on sense of dread like I do with Odessa. Arjun and Haidee meet by the whale and their first scene involves them trying to kill each other. Naturally, he becomes her love interest. Arjun is, hands down, the funniest person in the entire book. He has a very dry sense of humor and can be extremely sarcastic. He follows along with the idea of prophecies and with Haidee's ideas a little to mellowly for what I'd been expecting given our introduction to him, which I think says more about the whole 'everything works out for Haidee' but than about him. I also enjoy that Arjun decided to go with a prosthetic magical rifle after he lost his hand (not a spoiler, it happened pre-book). I don't know how they engineer the things they do in the desert, but I just found it amusing that instead of engineering a hand or hook or knife or something they went with a rifle that could channel his fire magic. It really fits his personality, honestly. While Arjun's and Haidee's romance is definitely more power-balanced than Lan's and Odessa's, there are still some holes in it. Mainly that they meet and fall in love within the span of the book, which I'm pretty sure takes place over, like, a month. I love fantasy and dystopian, and sci-fi, but oh my god I am getting sick of the quick romances. Chupeco did a decent job of showing why they fell in love and how they respected each other and became friends before they fell in love, but it's still only been a month. Sorry, but I know 19-year-olds, being one and being in college, and I'm just really not certain that your 'month to love' romance is gonna last. There are different depths to love and you can love more than once, but the insta-true-love, will-survive-anything has just, for some reason, been getting on my nerves lately. Maybe in a couple months or years I'll be fine with it again, but right now I'm just not a fan, even if I do like the characters together. The mythology and general world-building in the book is also something I enjoyed. Chupeco keeps the ideas of duality, sacrifice, and "a demoness is what they call a goddess that men cannot control" going throughout the book. It centers around two young goddesses whose mother(s) are goddesses and a world that somehow stopped spinning and split into only-night and only-day, so there's obviously a lot of mythology and magic going into the base of this book. Since the 'Breaking,' as they call it, neither mother-goddess has really told the twins much about previous generations of goddesses. Odessa gets more of an education about it than Haidee does, but both are still largely left in the dark about their world's mythology, which allows Chupeco to reveal it to the reader in a way that feels natural without info-dumping. There's a lot to do with goddesses, prophecies, and rituals that starts to get unpacked in this one, but which mainly sets up for the sequel. I'm super interested in learning more about the goddesses and rituals in the next book and have plenty of theories regarding them. The duality piece of things is interesting, because you don't necessarily recognize it in the beginning or even halfway through the book. It was more toward the end that I began to see what Chupeco was doing with the night-day, ill-healthy, healer-'plague-giver' sort of balance. The goddesses are twins, as all goddesses before them have been, and that set-up is a fantastic literary device for setting up dualities. You can have the good twin vs. the evil twin, the knowledgeable vs. the ignorant, and so many other varieties, and Chupeco plays with a bit of each in each twin. Odessa knows more about their past from the start, but it's Haidee who learns more about it and their world on the way. Odessa starts out as the chronically-ill sister, but Haidee ends up drained and exhausted. Odessa becomes more and more morally complex and dark but still has soft spots, Haidee is blindingly optimistic but has moments of destructive rage. They're set up to mirror and foil one another, yet each still comes together in the end and finds strength in knowing their twin. The girls are quite similar even though the book sets up a lot of their differences. Without giving too many spoilers I can say that this is 100% reflected in where the plot takes us and the things that are revealed. In terms of world-building I thought Chupeco gave us very distinct settings, creatures, and peoples. The night-side of the world is described as very rainy and cold, with threats of storms, kraken, and icebergs. Though Lan and Odessa are only in the city for a short period of time, I remember the impression I got of it. Old bookstores, tall buildings, dreary because of the rain. This is set against the next setting Lan and Odessa experience, which is the borderlands near the Abyss. While these lands are still dark, there's more foliage described as well as eerie lakes, currents made of air that are strong enough to hold ships, and creatures of darkness and shadow. It is also here where the sky begins to lighten as they move closer to the Abyss and the always-day side of the world. This is even more different from the settings Arjun and Haidee encounter. The desert is vast and deadly, full of dangerous scorpions, an acid sea, and a sea of sand complete with sand-dolphins and sand-sea creatures. The desert is full of raiders and nomadic clans instead of shadow people, but the former can be just as deadly. The Golden City is more steampunk than the night city, Aranth, is described to be. It also seems to be full of snootier people than Aranth does, and all-in-all, despite it being a city run by a twin goddess with a twin goddess daughter, Haidee's city is a very different city from the one Lan and Odessa left. Then there's Inanna's Temple and the Abyss itself, which remind me of dawn and pure darkness, respectively, but still have their own distinct feelings and descriptions. It's very easy to get immersed in the world Chupeco has created here and it's one of those rare world-building experiences that makes me wish I could see it artistically rendered. The Never Tilting World is a good book with unique, distinct characters each with their own strengths and weaknesses that are explored throughout the book. Chupeco writes the characters relatively realistically, meaning they deal with physical and mental trauma as well as tough decisions they sometimes respond to poorly. The Arjun-Haidee romance felt kind of rushed and the Lan-Odessa romance felt like it had a power-imbalance I wasn't 100% comfortable with. Since there is another book, however, and since the Lan-Odessa romance had a lot more promise in the beginning than the middle and end, I'm hoping it'll get itself sorted out. I also dinged the book's score because of terminology that we're left to figure out for ourselves that really would've been better if it had just been explained outright. Definitely think it's a good read, though and would recommend picking it up if you enjoy fantasy.

#book #book recommendations #book review #fiction #ya fiction #fantasy #scifi #multiple pov #rin chupeco #disability representation #women of color #lgbtq #lgbtq representation #lesbian characters #magic #grey morals

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a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives · 5 years ago

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Q&A: Luke Arnold, Author of ‘The Last Smile In Sunder City’

Luke Arnold may be better known to some as a veteran performer on film, TV, as well as theater, but now he’s turned his creative energies towards a new career as a writer. His debut novel, The Last Smile In Sunder City, published on January 28th (Australia) and February 6th (UK) with it to be released February 25th in the US, so we took the opportunity to chat to him about the inspiration for his story, how he manages to balance two careers, and discovering a new love for the fantasy genre.

Thanks for taking the time to talk to us! Firstly, can you tell us a bit about yourself?

For the last decade or so I’ve been lucky enough to work as an actor on a bunch of great projects in Australia (my home) and around the world. Some people might know me as John Silver on a show called Black Sails. One of the quirks of being an actor is that every job ends so you often end up with huge chunks of time while you wait for the next gig. After finishing my work on Black Sails, I used that downtime to write my debut novel The Last Smile in Sunder City.

Has writing always been a passion and how does it fit in with your acting career?

The writing came first. In some ways, the acting was a side-effect of the fact that I was writing things that needed to be performed. My high school principal even warned me that while my writing was impressive, my acting left a lot to be desired. Nevertheless, when I was accepted into university courses for acting, filmmaking and writing, I decided that I’d start with acting and return to writing later. I thought that I’d be a better writer after gaining a little life experience and a career in acting has certainly given me that.

For me, all the creative energy comes from the same place, it’s just expressed in different ways. I’m sit on my own, bashing out a manuscript for a few months, then get called onto set to collaborate with a bunch of other artists for a while. It’s the best of both worlds.

How would you describe your debut novel, The Last Smile in Sunder City, in one sentence?

A hard-boiled detective gets kicked around an dystopian fantasy world hunting real monsters while running from his demons.

The Last Smile in Sunder City features magical beings in a world struggling to deal with the aftermath of magic being lost, which is a very unique concept for a fantasy novel! Do you read much fantasy yourself? If so, was this a deliberate response to common fantasy tropes?

Before writing this book, my knowledge of the fantasy genre was actually pretty abysmal. I cast a wide net with what I read, and I’d had a few early experiences with the genre that kind of turned me off. I’m doing my best to catch up and have quickly realised that I’ve been missing out. It’s an exciting time for fantasy and sci-fi where a lot of writers are breaking the mould of what we thought the genre could be.

This wasn’t a response to existing tropes but I wanted this world to feel as familiar as possible, so that it feels as easy to read as a mystery set in somewhere like Los Angeles. I’m far from the first writer to create a world where the magic is missing, but I hope I’m sitting in the aftermath and examining the idea in a way that feels fresh.

Were there any intentional references to real-life issues in this book? I may be reading too much into it, but I wondered if the issue with magic being lost and its impact on all the species was an analogy for climate change?

It’s hard to avoid the link between the broken world of Sunder City and what’s happening around us, but that wasn’t the initial inspiration. For me, it represents something more internal. As we get older, life can seem less magical than it did when we were kids, even when the world isn’t actually falling to pieces like it is now.

Of course, with things the way they are, I spend a lot of time wondering how to do some good in a breaking world and those thoughts definitely add fuel to Fetch’s journey.

If this book were to be adapted, what format would you prefer it to be, and why?

I think it would really suit a television show. Mystery has always works well on TV but in this golden-era of content, I think we could make something special. Indulge in all the film-noir elements and make something really unique.

The most exciting part would be letting other characters take the story for a bit. These book are all in Fetch’s head but a series would let us wander the streets with other characters and give them time to shine.

The story is told entirely in the first person. How easy was it to get into Fetch’s head and maintain his mindset the whole time? Did you ever have difficulty separating yourself from the darker, at times depressing mood of the book?

While writing the second book, I realised that I needed to shake Fetch out of my system at the end of a writing day. I’m put a lot of my worst tendencies into him, things that I hope I’ve grown past, and spending too much time in his head can drag me backwards. Luckily, Fetch will grow over the course of the books so maybe they won’t always be such dark waters to swim in.

How does your experience with acting and portraying other characters help with creating your own original characters?

It definitely had an effect but it’s hard to pinpoint exactly how. I hope that it had an effect on the secondary characters. As an actor, you become aware of when a character is making choices aren’t organic, but just serve the plot and the needs of the protagonist. Ideally, each character has their own internal world, wants and needs, so that they would be satisfying for an actor to play.

Can you tell us a bit about your writing process? For instance, the world of Sunder City is very detailed, did you figure out the nuts & bolts of its history and workings while you were writing or was there a bible that you created beforehand to refer to?

I started with some of the broad strokes in my head, but I first discovered Sunder City by letting Fetch walk the streets. It began with a short story and I had no outline, no map, no bible. I just set him off on a case and followed him around as he kicked over stones. Of course, there were many rewrites and expansions that took me to the final manuscript, and I now have a huge document with all the species, businesses, streets, histories, technologies, etc, but Fetch came first. I try not to get ahead of him because I want to use the world to best reflect his current state of mind and challenge him in specific ways.

Aside from the sequel, would you write more books in this genre or branch out into others?

I wish I had the time to write everything I want to. I hope to branch out and write something separate the Fetch Phillips archives soon. Not necessarily fantasy, but I do always like a touch of magic realism in what a write. So it will more likely be horror or sci-fi rather than anything too naturalistic but you never know.

And finally, what are you currently reading? Do you have any recommendations?

I’ve just digging into The Bone Ships by R.J. Barker which I am loving. Very on-brand with my pirate past. Rage of Dragons by Evan Winter was brilliant. In some ways, it felt like the exact opposite kind of fantasy to The Last Smile in Sunder City and I love that.

- The Nerd Daily

#luke arnold #luke spam #interview #the last smile in sunder city

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kpopfanfictrash · 7 years ago

Text

Walkers (II)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jimin / Jungkook

Creative Content Contributors: @baebae-goodnight it’s ya girl, and she’s back with another moodboard that perfectly captures the vibe of the fic.

Rating: PG-13 (strong concepts, dark concepts)

Word Count: 6,281

Genre: Fantasy / Sci-Fi; dystopian!AU, magic!AU

Description: There are some beings in the world who can walk in both this one and the next. They exist on two planes – one, the concrete land of buildings and people; the other, a shadowy landscape of dreams and blurred reality. Everyone thought they disappeared though, everyone thought they were gone. You thought this as well, until you began having the dreams.

Chapter Two: The Seer

With a noise like a zap, or a zonk, you burst out in a field.

Stumbling at the resurgence of gravity, you gasp out loud –

– only for Jimin to appear beside you, still tightly holding your hand.

Where he existed previous to now, you haven’t the faintest idea. His hand is grasped warmly in yours – it feels as though it always has been. You would have felt the weight of any disturbance and yet, you blink, disoriented by his appearance. It feels as though the entire universe has reshuffled or, perhaps your particles have reshuffled the world.

“Fuck,” Jimin gasps, letting go of you to drop his hands to his knees. His chest rises and falls with each breath; his forehead is rosy, dotted with sweat.

The removal of his hand is alienating and so, you stuff both of yours in your pockets – as though to hide all physical evidence of your loneliness.

This is when you realize, the world around you is purple.

Strange, varied hues of it – every shade and depth of the color imaginable. Your mouth gapes and you blink several times, as though to rid yourself of the visage. Each time that you do though, the scenery remains. Or – you can’t seem to grasp any empirical evidence otherwise, which means this must be the truth. Things without evidence are often lies. Turning around in a slow circle, your brain balks at the rejection of everything you once believed.

“Welcome to Lilac.”

With a start, Jimin’s voice reminds you that you are not alone on this planet. Glancing to him, you find Jimin has pushed himself upright; one arm of his leans lackadaisically against a tree – the trunk of which is the palest shade of lavender, in contrast to grape-colored leaves.

“I – what?” you gasp, a strangled sound.

No part of ‘Welcome to Lilac’ illuminates your situation – one second, you were in Jimin’s house and now, well, you have no idea. Taking a shaky step forward, you spread your hands in the air. Wriggling them experimentally, they seem to obey every order.

This all seems real, you must say. It’s just, you’ve never dreamt of such a beautiful world before. Only nightmares.

The sky above you is the color of night. Dark ink, swirled with onyx and in the middle are stamped two bright-colored suns. Overly so, they burn dusk-red on the horizon, illuminating the cavernous field that you stand in.

There are two suns in the sky, not one.

“Oh, my fucking god,” you whisper, unable to look away.

Pushing himself off of the tree, Jimin comes closer. “I know – it is a lot to take in, the first time that you travel. I remember back when I – hey! Whoa!” he yelps, when you fly suddenly towards him and begin to pummel his chest with your fists.

“Where the,” you gasp, punching Jimin as hard as you can in the side, “fuck,” another punch, this one to his elbow, “are we?”

The words are hissed between breath, intent upon beating the shit out of him – until you glance up and realize Jimin is no longer there. Jimin waves at you, off to the side and you frown in confusion, when you realize you have been punching at nothing.

Both your hands fall limp. “I – what just happened?”

Jimin laughs at your expression – actually laughs – which makes you think perhaps you were wrong, earlier. Maybe you are dreaming, because several hours prior, you thought the surly Walker not capable of such an emotion. But then a breeze wafts past you, carrying with it the faint tang of citrus and you wonder what kind of dreams are able to produce smell. Well, the scent is probably not citrus, you reason; just something like it. There’s no guarantee this world even has food; not in the human sense of the word.

Shivering, you realize this is the truth of things. This is another world. You are standing on another world, another planet and somehow, Jimin brought you here. Grass tickling your ankles, you take an uncertain step forward. The color of the grass is mauve, another strange shade and you bend, brushing fingertips over the top. It might be your imagination, but the wind seems to whisper in turn.

“What is this place?” you murmurs; this time, the question is asked in a much different tone.

Glancing up, you find Jimin already looking at you. “Lilac,” he repeats – though this, too, he says in a new way. “At least,” he frowns, “that’s what I call it. Not a very creative name, I know but there’s no word in our language. Or, if there is – it’s long been lost to our kind. I found Lilac by accident,” Jimin confesses, looking up at the suns. The wind whips his hair, stirring it into a frenzy. “We’ll be safe here, at least for a little while.”

Slowly, you stand, marveling when the bones in your body remain silent. The past few weeks, you have been barely able to sleep. Dark circles exist under your eyes, your joints creak hazily and each motion produces aches – but no longer.

“Jimin,” you start to say – then stop, considering the enormity of what you wish to ask. There are a billion questions to think of, but none presents itself as most important. “How did you get over there?”

Jimin pauses, before reappearing before you. “Magic,” he answers. Upon seeing your expression, he laughs and adds, “Perhaps you should sit down, while I explain.”

The suggestion seems arbitrary, since you are already halfway to lowering yourself to the ground. This is an odd fact about humans: significant news is often best-received from a seated position. The strange, mauve grass parts when you sit and from here, touching the ground, you look upwards at Jimin.

He settles before you as well, dark hair blown haphazardly over his features. It is odd, the wind of this planet. It doesn’t seem to come from any one direction, or even move in a discernable pattern. It plays with Jimin’s hair as one would with a friend – it touches yours curiously, as though in exploration. Frowning, you shove strands behind your ears in response.

Jimin seems more at ease – no, scratch that, he seems just more and perhaps this is the first time you believe what he says. Jimin is a Walker. He can travel between worlds and if that is true – perhaps what he said about you is true, as well.

Twining a blade of grass with his finger, Jimin frowns while considering where to begin. “I suppose it makes the most sense, starting with the concept of Blocks.”

“Blocks?” You find yourself unfamiliar with the word and, being a person unaccustomed to ignorance, you frown. It is not so much the word in itself, but rather the way Jimin says it – shaped by his lips, as an indication of magic.

He nods, still twirling the blade in his hand. “Magic exists, Y/N.” Jimin pauses, allowing this to sink in.

Rather than be shocked, as he clearly expected, you simply raise both your eyebrows. “That seems a bit obvious,” you say, “given we’re currently sitting on purple grass on another planet, right now.”

Jimin’s face twitches, as though wanting to laugh before he thinks better. “Okay, but it’s more than just traveling between worlds, Y/N. Magic,” he states, lifting a hand – the blade of grass spins, flying overhead in response, “exists everywhere. Magic is an infinite supply of energy that anyone can use, given they have the right capabilities.”

Mouth ajar, you follow the purple grass towards the sky. “And you have the right capabilities?” you manage to ask, although clearly, he does.

Jimin nods, focused on the spinning object above. “So do you, I imagine.”

With a frown, you tear your gaze away from the blade. Squinting at the planet, you try – and fail – to move a leaf with your mind. Perhaps this is because you have no idea what you’re doing. It is as though someone has handed you a blank sheet of paper and told you to draw, but gave no utensil. Or, perhaps they handed over the pencil as well – but still, you have no idea whether to use the tip or the eraser.

Scrunching your eyes, you stare intently at a puce-colored flower.

Jimin chuckles, letting the grass drop to the ground. “It takes practice,” he assures, dusting his hands off on his pants. “For you, right now, there’s a tsunami of information pouring in through a door. It’s too much and you don’t have the time to digest it – which leads to the worst kind of sensory overload. With time, you’ll be able to separate out the strands.”

“Alright,” you sigh, giving up on the pretense that you can do magic for now. “It’s like you’re trying to confuse me. What the fuck are the strands?”

Jimin huffs, a tiny movement of his lips. “Right – strands of magic. Strands of energy, binding together the universe. Everything of consequence is made up of particles – some people can just see them better, that’s all. Some people,” he adds, a slight gleam to his eyes, “can use them.”

A strange kind of excitement unfurls in your stomach. “So,” you respond, returning to looking at the flower, “this is what you do, when you travel between worlds?”

“What we do,” Jimin corrects, arching a brow. “But yes, that’s it. We bend the strands, we move them together into a more efficient fashion.”

“Right.” Pursing your lips, you are sure your face remains dubious. “And what you did earlier, with the grass – that was a different kind of magic, than traveling?”

“Walking,” Jimin corrects, lowering both hands to the dirt. “Although, I guess we sometimes do call it traveling. And yes, in a way. But back to the concept of Blocks,” he says, even though he didn’t explain this the first time. “A Block is a magical entity, of sorts. They are magical entities which exist to cancel out other magic.”

“Cancel out... magic?”

Jimin nods, a knowing look on his face.

In response to this, you scowl, since you have always felt arrogance to be an unbearable character trait. On Jimin, though, it does not seem unattractive, which is an insufferable contradiction.

“What do you mean by, ‘cancel out’?” you prod. “How can one magic diminish another?”

Jimin looks up at the sky. “How does anything work, in any world?” he murmurs, though the question doesn’t seem directed at you. Leaning back on his hands, he sighs. “A Block can be anything – an object, a person, a building. The Earth is a Block,” he offers, looking your way.

You still. In the distance, beyond, wine-colored mountains blend into the sky. It paints a rather lovely portrait.

“The Earth, as a planet, is a giant Block for magic. It’s why we can’t do these kinds of things there,” he explains as, with a wave of his hand, Jimin sets the grass spinning. “Only certain magics work, certain patterns of of energy exist on the Earth. It’s party why the Normals won against us in the war, so many years ago.”

Staring at him dizzily, you wonder when you moved so easily from they to us. For so long, you listened to history lessons about how you won the war. A war where you, the Normals, drove out the dangerous Walkers and regained the planet Earth as your own. Now, you realize you are a part of them. You are the beings so easily stamped out and suddenly, your origin story doesn’t sound so appealing.

Dragging a hand through your hair, you turn to look at the suns.

Odd, how similar this place is to Earth. Except for the purple, of course – but apart from that, it could be a twin. One would think that, given an infinite combination of particles in the universe, molecules would not deign to order themselves the same way. With a noise almost like a chuckle, the breeze stirs in your hair.

Clearing his throat, Jimin returns your attention to him. “Only some magic is possible on Earth,” he affirms. “Walkers travel to other worlds. Seers can do this, and bring items back with them. But on some worlds,” he shrugs, throwing out both arms. Leaves and grass swirl up, between fingers. “We can do more.”

Sunlight pierces the leaves, suspended in midair before you. Staring, you wonder at the change in the air – and in Jimin, seated before you. When you met him on Earth, he was a dim, fading thing. Here, there is something wild and alive in his gaze. Jimin takes a deep breath, exhaling this slow through his nostrils.

“Not every world is like Lilac,” Jimin cautions, keeping both eyes closed. “There are bad places in the universe, Y/N; evil places. They work harder to pull others in, which is why you keep accidentally going to them in your dreams. Worlds like Lilac, these are harder to find.”

Nodding, you lift both hands from the grass – and realize, with shock, the blades cling to your skin. A beacon of energy, Jimin said about you in his attic.

With a sigh, Jimin reaches out, swiping these into the dirt. “I should’ve realized,” he murmurs, brushing the curve of your wrist. More grass tumbles to the ground, but you are not looking at this – you are looking at him. “Even in a mostly dead world, a Seer is dangerous.”

You shiver, this time not from him. You shiver from the idea that just by being here, you are calling things to you – the notion is a frightening one, to say the least, so you push it aside. A mostly dead world, Jimin said. You don’t want to consider what this mostly part means.

Leaning back on your palms, you stare up at the sky. Above are a million, tiny pricks of light. Eerily similar to home and yet, not. You stare, keeping your eyes open for as long as you can and there – in the single, fleeting moment before everything blurs – you think there is a pulse to the rhythm, a stark weaving of energy.

“What is a Seer?” you whisper, when you blink. The energy disappears, leaving you wanting. “I know what you said earlier,” you hasten, noting the change in Jimin’s expression. “I’m a gateway of sorts, between worlds – but what does that mean, really?”

Jimin sighs. “It means not only can you rearrange your own energy – you can rearrange someone else’s. And that is rare.”

“I guess,” you mutter, with a shrug. Truthfully, this does not seem so special. “I don’t see how that’s important, though. Why is it so valuable – why would things seek me out, when I travel?”

Jimin stares at you in amazement. “Are you serious – okay,” he exhales, scooting closer. Grabbing one of your hands, he holds it high overhead. “Let’s call this the Earth.”

Glancing at your hand, you shrug. “Okay.”

“This,” Jimin grabs your other hand, bringing it far away from the first, “is the neighboring planet, Siphon.”

“Siphon?”

“It was the first word I thought of. Anyways, Siphon,” Jimin continues, wriggling the one hand above you, “wants to attack Earth. But – oh, no! What a large waste of perfectly good resources. What a large sum of time, money and spaceships just to get from one side of the galaxy to the other! Unless,” he counters, raising a brow. “What if we simply kidnap a Seer and use them to – zap! – move an entire army from one world to the next.”

Your blood chills, wincing at the sound it makes when Jimin smushes your hands together. “I,” you exhale, then swallow. “Is that possible?”

Jimin nods, releasing your hands and letting them fall to your sides. “It’s happened before,” he states. “It’s happened often enough that Seers were deemed a threat to humanity, long ago. Many were killed during the War,” Jimin admits, a certain sadness entering his gaze. “Which is why you’re so rare, why I didn’t even know what you were. I’ve never met another Seer.”

Your mind crowds, full of noisy implications you would rather not consider. Your powers must have come from somewhere, they had to. From the way Jimin speaks, it seems as though his are hereditary – the Walkers are a people, the Normals are a people. But, if so, what are you? Neither of your parents exhibited signs of being a Seer or, at least, none you can recall. You are all alone and while yes, that is not exactly a new fact, somehow it seems much more permanent.

Jimin tilts his head. “Seers are dangerous,” he explains. “Especially you, since you’re old for a newbie and don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

“Hey!” you blurt out, curling your legs into your chest. “Watch who you’re calling old,” you huff. “You can’t be much younger than I am. If you even are.”

“Sorry,” Jimin shrugs, though he doesn’t look it. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was that Walkers learn to control their powers at a young age. The fact that you never did – well,” Jimin hesitates. “It’s no wonder you’re attracting big prey. Something has kept your powers at bay for a long time – it’s the only explanation, as to why you haven’t realized what you are. Now that your powers are free, though…” Jimin shrugs. “Everything is releasing all at once.”

“A tsunami through a door,” you repeat, borrowing Jimin’s phrase from earlier.

Jimin nods, dark hair pushed back by the wind. “Exactly.”

You are quiet for a few minutes, letting this all sink in. The most logical explanation is a Block – a Block, which exists somewhere in your life and hinders your magical abilities. This is too much to think about now, though, especially when you are here, and not back on Earth.

“Are we the only magical beings that exist?” you query, then frown. “Also, how are there even different magical beings, if all energy is the same? You keep on saying you’re a Walker and yet,” you wave a hand at the grass, “you’re clearly more.”

Jimin hums, lowering himself to lie flat on the world. Arranging himself into a more comfortable position, he stares at the sky. “Ah, that’s hard.” Jimin frowns, lacing his hands over his stomach. “I think it can be best explained, in terms of personality. Let’s pretend, for a moment, I’m very skilled in verbal communication.”

“Ha,” you snort.

Delicately, Jimin arches a brow. “I said pretend. Anyways, pretend I’m a great verbal communicator – this doesn’t mean I can’t communicate through a written medium. It just means I’m most skilled when I speak out loud.” Lifting his head from the grass, Jimin stares at you. “I’m good at traveling places. For some reason, on Earth, everything else becomes muted and only my strongest skill remains. It’s an odd sort of Block.”

“Well,” you exhale, settling down in the grass to match his position. “Why don’t you just stay in other worlds, then? If you can do magic elsewhere, why not just stay here?”

Jimin’s expression takes on a cast of pure obviousness. “Because those other worlds aren’t home.”

Nodding, you lower yourself flat, like he is. To some, this might seem like a silly answer but to you, it makes sense.

“Can people levitate things on Earth?” you ask, turning your head on the grass. “If that’s their ‘specialty,’ as you put it?”

Jimin turns his head as well, meeting your gaze. “In theory, I suppose. I haven’t met any.”

There’s a strange cast to his words, darker than previous and you frown. “Jimin, why are you –”

When he sits up, the movement is abrupt, breaking the moment. “I don’t want to talk about my past,” Jimin mutters. “I don’t want to talk about where I live, or why, or how I came to be there.”

There is something hard, finite to his voice. He stares at the mountains and you try not to notice the raw pain to his gaze. The moment seems oddly private, as though you are not meant to see it. His tone does not invite further conversation and, unwilling to push him on this, you don’t try.

“Okay,” you shrug, returning your gaze to the suns.

Jimin settles onto the grass, kicking one ankle over the other. He stares at the stars for so long, you think he might have forgotten you. “Before,” he sighs, sliding back into conversation. “When you were attempting to assault me, and I disappeared – that is magic I can do back on Earth.”

“Oh, sure,” you respond, turning to face him with a scowl.

He smiles, some of his former ease returning. “That’s just me, traveling – or, Walking. It’s my natural specialty and I can do it quite easily.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Frowning, you stare up at the sky. “You get to zip around the universe, you basically have the power of teleportation – and here I am, a giant doorway.”

“Along with a lighthouse, yes.”

Glaring at nothing, you wave a hand overhead. “Do you see how unfair that is?”

A puff of laughter passes Jimin’s lips. “Yeah. Look – you could have other strengths, as well. Like I said, I’ve never actually met a Seer before. You’re the first. Apparently, this means you can travel, too,” Jimin shrugs. “At least, you did earlier, when I brought you to Lilac.”

When he says this, a horrifying image begins to form in your thoughts. “Wait,” you respond, turning your head on the grass. “Are you saying… that before, when we came here... you didn’t know if I could?”

Jimin’s cheeks color. “It, uh, seemed worth the risk.”

For the second time on the planet, you launch yourself forward and begin pummeling him with your fists. Jimin laughs, curling in on himself – only to disappear, reappearing in a bush several feet over.

“Stop doing that,” you huff, pushing yourself onto your elbows.

Jimin is still laughing, clutching his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he protests, tumbling free of the leaves to wipe mirth from his eyes. “I just haven’t ever experienced my powers with someone else before. Turns out, it’s kind of fun.”

Although you’re still pissed at him, your curiosity gets the better of you. “What do you mean by that?” you ask, lowering yourself on the grass.

“Well,” Jimin muses, scooting closer to flop down on his front. “Being a Walker is kind of alienating. The whole ‘travel by yourself’ thing gets old, fast. I’ve never come to Lilac with anyone else before.”

This thought strikes you as incredibly lonely. “No one? Ever?”

Scanning the horizon of lavender lakes and trees, you wonder if the beauty would hold true, were you to only ever see it by yourself. For some reason, the implication is unsettling.

“No one,” he answers.

“What about another Walker?” you query, turning your head.

“Time is a funny thing,” Jimin says and, when you look, he stares straight overhead. “It moves differently in different parts of the universe. The one time I tried visiting a place with another Walker – they arrived five years in the past, I got there seventy-four in the future.”

Eyes widening, you release the breath you were holding. “How?”

“How,” Jimin sighs, loosening a groan and throwing a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, in between body parts. “Lord – Y/N. Do I seem as though the universe has let me in on all of its personal secrets?”

“Kind of, yeah. You have that ‘omniscient, egotistical asshole’ vibe.”

The corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts. “Ha. Well,” he sighs, from underneath his arm. “I don’t know how it works. Think of it like earlier – when I took your two hands and smushed them together. Time is kind of like that, too.”

“Confusing, and full of crappy metaphors?”

“Sure, but also non-linear,” Jimin points out, finally removing his arm from his face. “Time is amorphous, has no straight lines and when a Walker travels, it is hard to control both space and time in one jump. Except on your planet of birth,” Jimin corrects, thinking it through. “You body reaches for one timeline there, for some reason.”

“Huh.” You can think of no further response – everything about today, or tonight is just one, giant question mark. The rest is just details, until the newness subsides.

“You know, you’re handling this much better than most people would.”

“Am I?” you muse.

Turning, you marvel at the sight of Jimin, bathed in violet twilight.

He nods, profile dipping in and out of shadow. “Most Walkers learn about their abilities at a young age, grow up knowing what they are – even if they have to keep it a secret from society. Anyways, most Walkers reject the concept of magic, the first time that they hear it. You didn’t.”

“Oh. That’s good to know, I guess.”

“Of course, most Walkers are around five or six years old when they learn.”

Without hesitation, you punch Jimin in the arm.

“Hey!” he yelps, though he’s laughing.

“There’s more where that came from,” you inform, folding both hands over your stomach. His laughter quiets and, as the silence stretches between you, uncertainty drifts in and out of your thoughts. “Jimin?”

“Yeah?” he mumbles, both eyes shutting. “Are you going to hit me again?”

“Not if you don’t deserve it,” you huff – but there’s a catch to your voice.

Hearing this, Jimin opens his eyes.

Before you can move, he is before you. In the blink of an eye, Jimin travels closer and you suck in a breath, trying – and failing – to adjust to the nearness of him. This proves to be impossible.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin asks, a subtle tilt to his head.

He’s so near, you almost lose focus. “What now?” you manage to ask, pushing the words into being. Above you, the world is spinning – not literally, although you can’t say that with certainty. “Now that I know what I am – what now?”

Jimin is quiet for a long moment. “I won’t lie to you,” he responds at last, oddly hesitant. “The Earth is not kind, to people like us.”

“Yeah?” you breathe, curling a hand in the grass. There still exist a few inches between you, a fact which seems significant, given how frequently you consider closing that space.

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees, his hand moving nearer. “I mean, you saw where I live. Technically, Walkers don’t even exist back in our world. Neither do you,” he reminds.

“Right.” It is a cold reminder, one which prompts your next question. “The dreams, though,” you whisper, still looking at him. “The whole reason I sought you out was because of the dreams. I keep accidentally traveling in my sleep,” you explain, fingers tightening on mauve. “And until I know how to stop it – aren’t I in danger of bringing something back?”

Jimin doesn’t move. “Yes,” he breathes, barely audible.

“Okay.” With a half-laugh, you tear your gaze quickly away. “At least you’re honest.”

Unprompted, his hand finds yours in the damp, purple grass. “I’ll teach you,” Jimin implores, oddly earnest. You look at him. The weight of his gaze feels alien – there exists a spark within it, one you have never experienced before.

There are only a few people you’ve encountered who contain such fire. Your ex-boyfriend was one of them, before time and secrets dampened that flame. Your mother was another, although she died too soon for you to fully comprehend. This, feels like more than both.

His touch burns. “Sorry,” Jimin winces, pulling back – but you stop him. “I know my body runs hotter than normal. I mean it,” he implores, “when I say that I’ll help you. Traveling in your dreams is fairly normal for a new Walker. I can help you with that.”

“It’s normal?” you respond, lifting a brow. “It’s normal, to call giant monsters to me in my sleep?”

“Okay, maybe that’s unique.” Jimin’s lips quirk. “But still, it’s just sleep-Walking. You’re astral-projecting into other worlds, which is much less intense.”

“Uh,” you blink, understanding about seventy percent of what he just said. “Come again?”

“Oh, right.” Jimin rubs at his forehead – he still hasn’t let go of your hand with the other. “When you sleep, your body is unresponsive but your mind is awake. All your defenses are lowered and when you’re new, oftentimes you travel. But,” he hastens, seeing your expression, “because your body is asleep – only your mind disappears. That’s what I meant, when I Walked in your dreams earlier and told you I was real, but you were not.”

Despite yourself, you shudder. “That somehow sounds worse.”

Jimin nods, thumb tracing over your wrist. “Don’t worry, your soul is made of tougher stuff than you think. It is not as easily – well, physically – harmed. Still, it’s probably best if you stop sleep-Walking altogether.”

“Oh, you think?” Though the response is sarcastic, you don’t move away. “Thanks,” you whisper, closing your eyes – it has not escaped your notice that Jimin does not have to do any this. You are still, by all accounts, a stranger, despite the trauma you share.

“Anytime,” he responds.

When Jimin withdraws his hand, it feels as though the world has, once again, rearranged. Opening your eyes, you push yourself into a seated position. “What’s wrong?” you ask, when he stands.

Stretching both arms, Jimin arches a brow. “We should be getting back,” he explains, holding out a hand to help you up. “Like I said, timing in other places is strange. How long do you think we’ve been here?” he asks, genuinely curious.

You pause, opening your mouth but find yourself stumped. The light around you hasn’t changed. The shadows on the ground are no longer, no less – nothing has moved in the sky, no constellations have shifted from view.

“A few hours?”

Jimin shrugs. “I have no idea. Your guess is as good as mine,” he states – cheerfully, as though he didn’t just admit you could be twenty years in the future. “I suppose we’ll find out, once we get back to Earth.”

This is a horrifying statement, though some of your worry is alleviated when Jimin slips his hand into yours.

Only for a moment though, because then you remember the chaotic world you exited. Jimin’s attic, the booming voice at the door, the forced entrance of someone and their climb up the stairs. You still haven’t asked Jimin who that was but, based on his reaction to them, you assume no one good.

Turning around, the wind blows hair over your eyes. “Where are we going?” you ask, tightening your grip.

If Jimin notices the change, he doesn’t comment. “Somewhere you deem safe. An apartment? Safehouse? Someplace no one will see us when we enter. Just think about it,” he exhales, meeting your gaze. “Think of it, and I’ll get us there.”

“My apartment,” you respond, automatic. “No one will be there, and whoever was at your apartment won’t know that we’re there.”

Jimin’s expression flickers, unreadable for a moment. “I’ve never been to the Peak before. Well,” he sighs, licking his lips. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

You nod, closing your eyes as thoughts of home fill your mind. “Okay,” you exhale, trying not to feel foolish. Squeezing them shut, you visualize the hallway outside your door; the foyer inside, with a blue plastic vase of flowers.

Jimin exhales.

Everything turns dark, and you gasp – or, try to but find you no longer have a body to breathe. No blood pounds through your veins, no bones shiver in your skin, there is nothing but black, dark emptiness and when you try and scream, zap –

You stumble into the hall, nearly smacking your head on the wall.

Jimin follows, catching your waist and spinning you suddenly backwards. His entire body braces, taking the brunt of your fall. Gasping, you feel suddenly whole again – until you retch, leaning over to grasp both knees with your hands. Jimin seems worse off than you are; he heaves in slow, even motions while ducking his head to his chest.

After a few moments of blood pounding through veins, you manage to push yourself upwards. Luckily, the hallway is empty – it seems that you overshot the landing, you realize, squinting at the numbers on doors. Your apartment is down the hall, around two corners and with a shudder, you wonder what would have happened if you’d appeared in someone else’s apartment. That would have been difficult to explain.

No, there would have been no explanation. You would have been reported and – with a shiver, you cut off that next thought. What would have happened next, you don’t want to think about.

Jimin straightens beside you, rubbing his temples. “God,” he groans. “It’s harder, navigating two people at once. It’s like – you’re carrying me,” he frowns, pulling the pieces together. “You’re the Seer, so you’re taking me with you. But you don’t know how to drive, so I keep having to reach into the driver’s seat and yank the wheel.”

Rolling your eyes, you push past. “Thanks,” you huff and Jimin follows, already starting to smile. “It’s not my fault I don’t know how to travel. Like you said – something has been keeping my abilities at bay.”

“Right,” Jimin nods. Turning the corner, a distant pounding reaches your ears. Probably someone else’s music, or a broadcast show. “That’s the strange part, Y/N. I’ve been meaning to tell you, you should be careful.”

“Careful?” you respond, arching a brow and rolling up your shirtsleeve. The barcode on your wrist serves as a key to your door. Walking around the corner, the pounding grows even louder. “And why is that?”

Jimin does not respond.

Coming to a stop, you turn and see him focused on something over your shoulder. All blood has drained from his expression and Jimin remains frozen for only a moment, before he launches himself forward.

“Jimin!” you gasp, thrown sideways for him to barrel angrily past.

Now, the noise from the hallway is clear. Someone stands at your door, violently knocking – you see this for only a moment, before Jimin is there. He grabs the man by the shoulder, yanking him sideways to punch him square in the jaw.

Oh, fuck.

With each passing second, your stomach sinks because now, you recognize who it is. You recognize their black, leather jacket; you recognize the clean cut of their clothing. You recognize his smooth white of his uniform underneath and the way his hair curls, overgrown, at the base of his neck.

He stumbles back, not having expected the punch – but re-gathers himself quickly, ducking to avoid the next blow. The man’s movement is quick, efficient countering Jimin’s oncoming punches, but this is to be expected. The man is captain of the police force and as such, is able to dismantle grown men without thinking twice.

What is odd about this fight is, Jimin seems to possess this skill as well.

He ducks the other man’s blow, weaving easily to deliver a second punch to the groin. The second man groans, doubled over and now Jimin draws back his fist – and you dart in, grabbing him with both hands and dragging him backwards.

“Jimin!” you gasp, using all of your weight to get him to stop. “What are you doing?”

Looking down in surprise, Jimin seems to notice you for the first time. “Y/N,” he growls, gaze tightening. “Get out of the way – you’re in danger!”

“Danger?” you hiss, still staring at Jimin. “What are you even talking about?”

By now, the second man has managed to push himself upwards. Standing in the middle of your hall, he regards the two of you warily. It has not escaped your notice, the way the man’s gaze lingers on your hand, touching Jimin. Instantly, you flush and drop both arms to your side.

Jimin’s jaw tightens, looking at you. “He’s a Block, Y/N,” he grunts, flinging out a hand. The point of his finger is accusatory. “Can’t you feel it? The subtle pull at your powers, your conscience, your being? He’s a fucking Block and he’s here at your door – doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

You want to move. Want to, but can’t; too consumed by the words placed into being. Now that Jimin says it, yes, you can feel it. The slow, subtle drain to your energy ever since turning the corner.

Gaze darting to the other man – whose expression has crumpled into something like fear – you find yourself stuck to the floor. The man now has eyes only for you, completely ignoring Jimin while taking a step forward.

“Fuck,” he whispers, horrified, pushing both hands through his hair. “Y/N... what have you done?”

Jimin freezes, and you know that he hears it. The familiarity, the implicit trust in his tone. “Y/N,” Jimin mutters, not looking away. “What is going on?”

“Jimin,” you whisper, looking from him to the other. “This is my ex-boyfriend. Jungkook.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jungkook states drily, sticking out a hand.

[ Walkers Master List ]

#noonanet #kwriterskollection #bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jimin au #jungkook au #bts au #jimin fantasy au #jungkook fantasy au #bts fantasy au #bts writing #jimin writing #jungkook writing

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binkywinky · 6 years ago

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hi! Comics rec anon here! to answer your question, I'm not entirely new to comics, have read a few but not enough to say I have a specific type. The first series I read was all the jessica jones comics which I really liked, also the miles morales series which i enjoyed and the spidergwen series which was cute but the art was kinda annoying lol. i also like a couple of dc ones like mister miracle. so i think i prefer a general rec from you since the comics world is so big. thanks in advance!

Got it. Hmm… let’s see. It’s probably easiest to break it down by publisher then. I’ll try to give a mix of ongoing, finished, and “classic” stories.

Fair warning, I read a lot of comics (probably about 60 per month, and that’s not including manga), so even though this may feel like a long list, it’s short for me.

Marvel

Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man - Relatively new series, and it’s been fantastic so far. Great art, and a bit more grounded than the Amazing Spider-Man run (which is also great). Stellar art, too.

Miles Morales: Spider-Man - A little YA-ish at times, but overall enjoyable. You get to see a lot more of Miles’ personality in this one, which is always fun.

Superior Spider-Man - Because nothing is more fun than seeing a semi-reformed Otto Octavius try to be a hero.

Captain Marvel - Kelly Thompson does a phenomenal job with this series. She has a great hold of Carol’s voice. Would highly recommend Kelly Sue Deconnick and Margaret Stohl’s previous runs to give context (Captain Marvel 2012-2017, Mighty Captain Marvel, and The Life of Captain Marvel).

Jessica Jones - Not sure if you’ve read Kelly Thompson’s recent run or just Bendis’, but hers is definitely worth a read.

Avengers (2019) - actually a solid run. I would check this out if you’re more into crossover, large-scale storytelling. They’re in the middle of War of the Realms, though… so maybe wait until like August or September?

Immortal Hulk, Daredevil, and X-23 - also good. I read them off and on (not really my fave characters to read on their own, I enjoy them in ensembles), but the stories are solid.

Rogue & Gambit - mini series that I absolutely love by Kelly Thompson (she does great character work) that came out last year. Mr. & Mrs. X is a follow-up to it and also tons of fun (nearing its end as well).

Runaways - I fell off of this when Brian K. Vaughn left, but I can say up through his run ended is well worth the read.

As far as classic stories, Infinity Gauntlet, The Dark Phoenix Saga, X-Men: Age of Apocalypse, Secret Invasion, and Secret Wars would be my first recommendations.

I would’ve recommended Spider-Gwen: Ghost Spider, but maybe wait on that. It’s about to end soon and transition to just Ghost Spider (where she leaves Earth-65 and comes to Earth-616 where Peter and Miles are). Same for X-Men. I’m currently reading Uncanny, but X-Men is about to be overhauled soon. So probably hold on that front.

DC/Vertigo

Honestly, not the biggest DC fan (I lean more towards Vertigo actually), but there are a few that I enjoy.

Action Comics (starting at #1000) - I am not a Superman fan, but I enjoy this series, which says a lot. I enjoy what Bendis is doing with him in this run.

Naomi - a new series, also by Bendis, following the story of a young Black girl who is investigating the circumstances around her adoption. Don’t want to give too much away, but probably my fave DC run at the moment. And Jamal Campbell’s art is fucking gorgeous.

Dial H for Hero - it’s fun. It’s weird. Not for everyone, but maybe give it a shot.

The Flash and Batman, New 52 runs - New 52 gets shit from fans a lot, but I thought these runs were awesome. Very good story-telling.

Dark Nights: Metal event - Probably one of the best things DC did in a long time. It’s a massive event that pretty much reworked the DC universe and all the characters. Enjoyed it immensely.

Heroes in Crisis - this miniseries ended very recently. It’s a story focused on a major event that happens at Sanctuary, a rehab for superheroes suffering from mental health issues (e.g. PTSD after doing something that nearly killed them). Not your usual superhero story, which I liked.

American Carnage - very gritty story focused on a white-passing Black man who infiltrates a white supremacist organization. It’s really fucking good.

High Level - I picked this book up randomly because the cover looked cool. I’ve been reading it ever since. I would say it’s weird sci-fi/fantasy/cyberpunk adventure. A little strong on the language, but very interesting story and great artwork.

Birds of Prey - awesome series with the DC women. A little shaky sometimes, but Gail Simone does really good character work. Her run is probably the only one I’d bother reading.

Deathbed - miniseries by Vertigo that ended maybe a year ago. It’s so bizarre and hilarious and out there. I loved it.

Batwoman (J.H. Williams run) and Batwoman: Rebirth - Kate Kane, my favorite lesbian superhero. Williams did a great job in his run (and the art is to die for). Don’t read the back half, they change writers and it’s a goddamn mess. But then Marguerite Bennett (a queer woman) picked it up in Rebirth, and it got awesome again. Also, shout-out to Greg Rucka for officially making her queerness canon in 52.

Wonder Woman - Wonder Woman’s my fave of DC main characters (along with Martian Manhunter and Wally West I & II), and my favorite run for her is Greg Rucka’s. He does a surprisingly good job of writing women. The run is over at the moment, but I’d check it out. Good stuff there.

For classic stories, Kingdom Come, Watchmen, Flashpoint (precursor to New 52), and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman are some of my faves.

Image

Image is probably what I read the most. Definitely has the most diverse pool of comics to choose from.

Saga - My favorite comic series of all-time. I’ve gotten so many people to read this and they love it. It’s weird - really weird, actually - but the storytelling is phenomenal. And it’s on hiatus right now, so plenty of time to get caught up.

Ice Cream Man - This series is so fucking weird, but I love it. It’s sorta like… Tales from the Crypt? Different stories (mostly horror) that all feature this demon ice cream man.

The Weatherman - This series is such a goddamn delight. I don’t want to ruin the plot but just… yeah. Read the first issue and it just goes crazy from there.

Man-Eaters - Sort of a niche story. Basically, this takes place in a society where when women get their cycle, they turn into giant cats and maul men, so they’ve given them pills to keep them from menstruating. Sounds weird? Wait until you read it. Probably a highlight series of the year for me.

Black Science - You might not like the art in this one, but maybe give it a shot? These scientists are trying to solve the problem of limited resources on Earth by hopping across dimensions for new ones (infinite dimensions, infinite resources). Only problem is, their machine got damaged so now they hop uncontrollably to whatever dimension it chooses for however long it decides. It’s a wild ride.

Middlewest - An interesting take on parent/child relationships and how the consequences of abuse, anger, and depression can manifest in dangerous ways. Sounds more bleak than it is - the story actually has quite a bit of humor.

Excellence - Very new series, but with a PoC lead, about PoCs, with mostly PoC creators. A story about a secret society of Black magicians and a son whose next in line to take on the mantle, and it’s pretty fucking cool. Issue 2 comes out this week - check it out!

The Walking Dead - I don’t think I have to explain this one, do I? Zombies.

Lazarus and Lazarus: Risen - Sci-fi story set in a dystopian society where the world is ruled by like 15 or so families, and they each have a Lazarus to fight for them. This is told from the perspective of the Carlyle family’s Lazarus, Forever.

Die - If Dungeons & Dragons and Jumanji had a baby, it would be this book. Sounds weird, but once you read it, you’ll find the description to be accurate.

Anything from Brian K. Vaughn - I have yet to read something from Brian K. Vaughn that I don’t like. Saga, Paper Girls, Y: The Last Man, Runaways, Barrier… his shit’s always good.

Independents / Not Marvel, DC, or Image

Some of these are nostalgia-based, so fair warning.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BOOM Studios) - very new series that’s out. Great art. If you were a fan of the show, I think you’ll like it. It’s a re-imagining of sorts. There’s also an Angel series that just started.

Nancy Drew (Dynamite) - Listen… I could not stand Nancy Drew as a kid. Never got into it and thought it was boring as hell. But I really loved this miniseries (another Kelly Thompson run). It’s maybe 5 issues?

Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers and Go Go Power Rangers (BOOM Studios) - Honest to God, if you had told me 3 years ago one of my fave comics would be a Power Rangers one, I would have laughed in your face. Both of these series are really good and provide the continuity, nuance, and characterization the show lacked. Fan of the show or not, I’d say it’s worth checking out if you enjoy the teenage superhero genre. Also, just some really amazing art and world-building.

Anything from Jinxworld - This is Bendis’ own publishing company. He’s put out Cover, Pearl, Scarlet, and United States vs. Murder, Inc. All of them are really good.

Umbrella Academy (Dark Horse) - This is the series the Netflix show is based off of. Right now, they’re doing Hotel Oblivion in the comics, but start with Apocalypse Suite and Dallas.

So, there you go anon. There are FAR more I would recommend, but I tried to give a good range of books for you to choose from without (hopefully) overwhelming you. And if you have any questions, I’m more than happy to talk about any of them.

#binky answers anons #binky talks comics

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celestriakle · 7 years ago

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I keep getting people who ask me what podcasts I listen to, what they’re about, and which I recommend, SO. Please note: these are solely my opinions, and your taste may differ from mine.

If you ever want more recommendations, check out Radio Drama Revival, which features all sorts of shows, singular and serial, and interviews with their writers and creators.

(This list is regularly updated. Last update 10/31/21.)

Top 3:

Archive 81: Dan is hired to organize some tapes about a very strange apartment building. Really ramps up in season 2. Horror. Good characters, interesting worldbuilding, intriguing plot, good voice acting, the best sound design of everything I’ve listened to so far. The whole package, really. (Ongoing.)

The Magnus Archives: An archivist for an institute of paranormal research reads aloud witness testimonials that turn out to be connected. The most tightly written podcast yet, perfectly paced, amazing use of framing device, fascinating world-building, wonderful slow-burn character development. Pay attention to the details in this one. (Completed.)

The Penumbra Podcast: There are a handful of stand-alone stories, but the two primary ones are a medieval-adjacent fantasy featuring knights facing monsters and a scifi detective noir story. Good breadth, and all the stories are fun and interesting, the characters endearing. Really excellent dialogue and genre play. (Ongoing.)

Great:

Alice Isn’t Dead: An anxious trucker is looking for her missing wife. Done by the Nightvale people but nothing like it. American Gothic variety horror. Lovely descriptions, a good protagonist, an interesting world, well-paced. (Completed.)

The Bunker: A black comedy about three guys who survived the apocalypse broadcasting a radio show to the wasteland. The episodes are long, but clearly and easily segmented for easy listening. Does an excellent job building up the world and characters and maintaining its bleak humor throughout, while going in depth on its themes and the chosen topics of each episode. (Completed.)

The Bright Sessions: People with powers in therapy to learn to cope with them. Contrary to what one might expect, this isn’t about superheroes, but the way it handles healing and growth and relationships are fantastic. A satisfying ending. Very character-driven. Sequel series are now available on the feed as well. (Completed.)

Caravan: Two best friends are on a camping trip together, when one falls into a midwestern fantasy world. So much fun, the characters are full of charm and heart, and the voice actors portray them well. Another heartwarming whisperforge work, funny too. Mildly NSFW. (Ongoing.)

The Deep Vault: In the near future, a small group escape the apocalypse by taking shelter in a legendary abandoned bunker, but they’re not alone. A 7-ep miniseries made by the same people who did Archive 81, and they’re able to develop their cast and the relationships in it quite effectively in the short span given. A fast paced adventure great for a long drive or quiet afternoon. (Completed.)

The Far Meridian: An agoraphobic young woman wakes up to discover her lighthouse is teleporting around. Gentle surrealism with a focus on story. Even the one-off characters are charming, and there are well-written latino characters everywhere. (Ongoing.)

Girl in Space: Just a girl, in space, taking care of a star with only a glitchy AI for company (for now). The girl’s very charming, and the AI is one of my favorites I’ve seen written. (Ongoing.)

Gone: A woman wakes up one day to discover she's the last person in the world. No apocalypse, everyone's just... gone. Very, very strong voice in the protagonist; she's rough and fascinating. Incorporates a mental health angle often neglected in these types of stories. Another season was promised, as season 1 ends on a cliffhanger, but it hasn’t yet materialized. (Abandoned.)

Greater Boston: In an alternate Boston, the Red Line railway becomes it's own city, and the ramifications of that. A story about community, with the focus on a group of people dealing with the aftermath of a single man's death. Both deeply emotional and very, very funny. There are cheese robots, Atlantis, and guinea pigs. A delightful and very well woven wild ride. (Ongoing.)

Kalila Stormfire’s Economical Magick Services: A pleasant slice-of-life record of a young witch’s attempt to start a business. It takes a little to get going; I didn’t get much invested until episode seven, but ever since then, it’s continually ramped up. The final season especially is a delight. The crossover specials are very fun. (Ongoing.)

Liberty: In a distant Earth colony colony, there is the city of Atrius ruled by the dictatorial Arkon, and outside are the cannibalistic Fringers. Three stories in one. Critical Research, the first and roughest, follows a crew of Atrians going out and studying the Fringers. Tales of the Tower are is an anthology of horror stories aired by the Atrian government. Vigilance is an Actual Play story where the players are Atrians trying to track down three missing persons for community service, and get stuck in a deeper conspiracy. All of them are excellent, amazing soundscaping, good VAs, and intense writing. Vigilance and Critical Research are over, but Tales from the Tower is still ongoing. (Ongoing, but has several completed stories.)

The London Necropolis Railway: A short listen about a railroad that ferries the souls of the dead. A ghost dodged their train and one of the ticketers needs to chase her down. Short episodes, exciting, funny and fun. (Ongoing.)

A Scottish Podcast: A self-absorbed asshole tries to get rich by starting his own supernatural podcast. A parody of The Black Tapes and its ilk. Hilarious and a solid plot. (Ongoing.)

Startripper!!: An alien office worker buys his dream car and quits his job to go have adventures and live his best life. Genuinely the happiest, most feel good podcast I’ve heard. An absolute pleasure. (Ongoing.)

Uncanny County: An anthology series about strange events happening in a backwater town. Mostly has a goofy, off-beat tone, so it’s all good fun. Stories range from a couple that moves into a a house with a bathtub that reduces aging to a couple trying to get over the husband’s fear of clowns by staying a clown hotel. The stories are connected by place, but there’s no overarching plot; it’s just good fun. (Anthology.)

Welcome to Nightvale: The community radio show for the small desert town of Nightvale, where every conspiracy theory is true. You probably know this. WTNV is credited with kickstarting the new age of audio dramas for good reason: it's weird and wonderful with expansive storylines and amazing characters. I first discovered it back in 2015, but dropped it and didn't revisit it until now, five years later. Even with every other show I've heard, even with its own massive backlog, it still holds up with the best of them, still evoking new emotions and unveiling new secrets. WTNV is still very much an amazing podcast worth listening to. (Ongoing.)

The White Vault: An international repair team goes up to a base in Svalbard and becomes trapped by a storm after making an amazing discovery. Arctic horror. Novel framing, excellent suspense, good sound design and voice acting, a well done show. Uses actually international VAs. (Ongoing.)

Within the Wires: Tales from another world told first through relaxation tapes, then museum guides, then a government official’s notes to his secretary. The delicate unveiling of the world, and the complex relationships depicted through these restricted forms is absolutely masterful, allowing a deep understanding in spite of hearing only one voice. It starts off very strange and surreal, but it’s worth listening through that initial bump to get to the meat. (Ongoing.)

Wolf-359: The crew of a deep-space outpost begins receiving a series of strange transmissions. A sci-fi classic in the podcast community for good reason: beautifully plotted, excellent emotional arcs, a cast of characters I loved in their entirety. (Completed.)

Wooden Overcoats: A comedy about two competing funeral homes in a tiny village. Absolutely hilarious. Each character has their trope, but they are never bound by it and all are allowed to grow and develop beyond it. (Ongoing.)

Good:

2298: In a dystopian future where human lives are guided and curated by the Network, resident 24 is haunted by a beautiful golden bird. A modern take on a Big Brother-style dystopia. Quite short, but fun. Connected to the canon of Girl in Space. (Completed.)

36 Questions: An estranged married couple attempts to reconnect by asking each other 36 questions that are supposed to help people fall in love. A musical, only 3 episodes long. Very good, excellent sound design, and this podcast would easily be in the great category if it weren’t for the ending, which I found unsatisfying. (Completed.)

Ars Paradoxica: A scientist accidentally sends herself back to the ‘40s and gets picked up by a military organization and tries to use their resources to get herself back to the present. One of the earlier audio dramas, so it’s a little tropey, but it existed before many of those tropes were established. I’m still listening through! (Completed.)

Beef and Dairy Network: A comedy podcast that made me laugh! The news from a fictitious network, like if Nightvale was about beef and dairy exclusively. Enough plot and fun to keep it fresh, that it really only wears down after 40 or so episodes. (Ongoing.)

The Bridge: The caretakers of Watchtower 10 on the largely abandoned Transatlantic Bridge are all there for a reason. There are frightening things in the water, and a wealth of stories. A little spooky, but not really horror. Big lovable cast, a good format, and several interesting plot threads to put together and follow. (Ongoing.)

Gal Pals Present Overkill: A ghost tries to figure out how she died and navigate the afterlife in a very haunted park. Sweet, does very interesting things with ghosts as a concept. All girls, everyone’s gay, that latina representation I always crave. (Ongoing.)

Kane and Feels: A pair of PIs (Paranormal Investigators) investigate a trail of subconscious strangeness. A very beautiful and surreal story that blurs the world of reality and dreams. Lovely prose and aesthetic. Episodes release extremely sporadically with no clear season breaks. (Ongoing?)

King Falls AM: Two guys host a radio show in a little town full of strange happenings. A similar premise to WTNV executed quite differently. Charming but underwhelming for the first 50-ish episodes, then ramps up sharply and becomes very intense and very good. (Ongoing.)

Lesser Gods: In a post-apocalyptic future after which humans lost the ability to reproduce, the final five youngest on earth attempt to cope with and solve a murder after one of their ranks dies. Like a YA novel in the best way. Very flawed and complex characters. Episodes stopped coming midseason. (Abandoned.)

L I M B O: A dead man meets people from his past. Manages to bring to life several interesting characters in a very short time, though it leaves questions. Connected to the canon of 2298. (Completed.)

Mabel: Live-in caretaker for an elderly woman won’t stop leaving voicemails for the woman’s estranged granddaughter and discovers many strange things in the strange house. Very narrowly got edged out of my top three, but still very good. Gothic horror. Great use of format, well-paced, mellifluous writing and good music that makes it a pleasure to listen to in sound alone. (Ongoing.)

Middle:Below: A man with the ability to travel to the spirit world helps ghosts move on. Very cute and quirky and sweet. The cast’s charming, and the ghosts they deal with are interesting, and there’s still quite a number of mysteries about the world. (Ongoing.)

Outliers: An anthology collection rather than a narrative, each story tells the tale of a lesser known British historical figure. Well-written, well-acted--mostly--with a bonus of some learning on the side. (Completed.)

Passage: Two skeletons on a lifeboat from a ship that supposedly vanished a century ago washes up on the shore of a small town. A mystery miniseries, only 7 episodes long. Half the reason I listened to this is because it takes place in the PNW. A good mystery, an enjoyable quick listen. (Completed.)

Pleasuretown: A western about a small desert town that got wiped out, and the stories of all the inhabitants who used to live there and the strange supernatural encounters they had. It weaves together beautifully with top notch sounds. Starts out very white/male/cishet, but the stories get more diverse and inclusive as the podcast goes on. It’s episodic enough that the stories are enjoyable on their own, but the large overarching story thread never got resolved. (Abandoned.)

Radiation World: A boat full of strangers on a quest discovers a bunker full of people who survived the apocalypse and they help each other out. Shenanigans ensure. Incredibly fun and funny with a great plot and series of twists. The ending implied another season was planned, but there are no major questions left, so it stand on its own. (Completed?)

Station to Station: A researcher is looking into the circumstances of the disappearance of a beloved coworker no one seems to remember. Sporadic update schedule has made this one a bit hard to keep track of. (Ongoing.)

Alright:

Bubble: A hipster human colony that lives in a bubble on a foreign planet occasionally deals with monster attacks. A comedy that knows its type very well: I have an intimate understanding of the people it’s poking fun at, and that made it at once incredibly fun and also hard to listen to. It implied there would be a second season, but one hasn’t yet happened. The first season stands alone well, however. (Completed?)

Big Data: Seven thieves steal the seven keys to the internet to try to take it down. Each individual heist is really interesting and fun with a great thief, but the frame narrative left me wanting. The ending implied there was going to be a sequel series, but one never materialized. (Completed?)

Congeria: A detective searching for a missing girl gets caught up with cults and murderers. A well produced podcast, well acted and well plotted, this is perfect if you love hardboiled detective stories. Honestly, this is only in alright because it’s not my usual genre. It was just a heavy listen. (Completed.)

The Dark Tome: A dark fantasy podcast where a troubled young teen reads a magic, potentially evil book that sucks her into another world and allows her to witness stories. Very much has the feel of a YA novel. Each stories within the frame are written by different authors, so episode quality varies. (Ongoing.)

Deadly Manners: A classic murder mystery at a grand house party. It was enjoyable, the characters reasonably fun (with one massive racist/homophobic/antisemitic exception), but the whole thing still felt very run-of-the-mill nevertheless. (Completed.)

Dreamboy: A depressed musician gets caught up in a conspiracy surrounding a dream and a killer zebra. Honestly, that synopsis isn’t even the half of it. This podcast is incredibly strange (and explicitly NSFW) but quite fascinating. Also, it has fabulous musical numbers. (Completed.)

Empty: Several humans and an AI wake up on a colony spaceship alone, with no memory. Interesting characters, a new favorite AI, but their season finale was more of a cliffhanger than a finale that wrapped up anything. (Abandoned.)

Hadron Gospel Hour: A comedy podcast about a scientist who broke the universe, his everyman sidekick, and the supercomputer helping them fix it. It’s episodic, and there are standalone shorts in it that are funny. Some jokes haven’t aged well, to put it kindly. At least one episode contains a racist joke. The seasons posted are complete, but the overarching plot never finished resolving. (Abandoned.)

The Infinite: The last surviving member of a deep space exploration mission receives a mysterious signal and contemplates if it’s worth chasing. It preceded many of the more popularized space operas and says many of the same things as them. (Completed.)

Janus Descending: A research team of two get killed while on an expedition to an alien planet. Told nonlinearly. There’s so much here that’s good, but the main characters are afflicted with a whole lot of stupid that diminishes the effect. (Completed.)

Joseph: The Revenge of Opus: A far future scifi story where some dude saves the world and the girl. I'm writing this about nine months after first listening, and honestly that's about all I retained. I remember it being fun, and having very excellent sound design, but the story was very predictable and thus forgettable. (Completed.)

LifeAfter/The Message: A pair of discrete podcasts on the same feed. The Message is about a team of scientists trying to decipher a sound that triggered a pandemic, and LifeAfter is about an FBI agent offered a chance to reconnect with his dead wife through an AI. They were both interesting, though The Message hit uncomfortably close to home, since this is being written in Nov 2020. LifeAfter had a stronger plot regardless, though the likability of its protagonist is questionable. (Completed.)

Magic King Dom: One of the few survivors of an apocalypse grows up alone in Disneyland. Cute and well produced, but the pacing is very fast, and Dom’s characterization stretched my suspension of disbelief. Connected to the canon of Girl In Space. (Completed.)

Misadventure by Death: A trope-aware person is hired to take care of an almost certainly haunted house. The writing feels a little amateur at points, but it’s enjoyable and had decent pacing so far. Updates stopped coming midseason. (Abandoned.)

Tides: A xenobiologist who has been stranded on an alien planet that’s regularly soaked by a large tidal wave. It’s acted well enough, the sound is good, and the premise is good along with the dialogue, but a bit too much time is spent on the visual descriptions of alien creatures and the pacing of the main plot has yet to catch up. (Ongoing.)

What’s the Frequency: Something strange is happening with the radio, and two detectives are on the case. Anyone who knows me knows I’m not a fan of avante guarde storytelling methods, and unfortunately, this podcast makes plentiful use of them. It took several episodes for me to grasp a basic idea of which characters were which and what the basic plot was, due to nonlinear narrative, unclear characterization, and similar sounding VAs. In spite of this, the charm of the characters I did grasp and the bits of plot I put together kept me interested and listening. (Ongoing.)

Not Recommended:

The Angel of Vine: A hardboiled PI attempts to solve a grisly murder. A very generic example of its genre, it doesn’t bring anything new or interesting to the table. Just boring.

The Black Tapes: Reporter looks into the unsolved cases of someone who disproves the paranormal for a living. Season one was fantastic, but they start to lose it in season two; the pacing and focus go astray. Season three is worse, and then the finale they put out was one of the most disappointing endings I’ve endured in years. It was bad enough I don’t intend on looking into their other productions, Rabbits and Tanis.

The Blood Crow Stories: S1 is about a malicious entity that haunts a ship, but each season is different. I listened only to s1. If you like villains who get away with all their plans perfectly and face no challenge from the protags whatsoever, then this podcast is for you. The villain is also incredibly overwrought to near laughability and relies on gore and shock value for its fearsomeness. The rest of the cast is alright, but nothing special. Uncomfortable interactions with the creators sealed my decision to not proceed with the other seasons.

Everlasting Beholders: Some aliens attempt to influence an alternate Earth. The changes made are uncomfortable, and it’s a bit hard to follow. Supposedly it connects to Empty, but not in a way I could figure out. It was never finished.

Organism: An alien of some sort learns about the world. Slow, simplistic, boring, with a very strange twist ending.

Ruby and the Galactic Gumshoe (2020): A scifi noir that's a new adventure in a series started in the 80s. Honestly, I loved the narrator and the soundscaping; the feel of this show was amazing. However, I don't recommend it solely because one of the characters is a deeply racist caricature. Ruby has a hi-tech car with an inbuilt AI described as a "big black genie", and whenever he speaks, it's with a thick Indian accent and "mystical" language.

Spines: Amnesiac survivor of a cult ritual tries to find out what happened and where her missing soul mate went by interrogating people with weird powers. Horror. The world is cool, the imagery is very cool, the story is reasonably interesting, but the voice acting is bad. Both voices we hear deliver all their lines, even ones that sound as if they should be deeply emotional, in the same flat, disinterested, apathetic, tired monotone. Not only that, but the pacing and narration destroy any sense of suspense this epic story should have.

Subject: Found: S1 was about a bigfoot hunter, and s2 was about a murderer who loved to kill women. The second story is very much not my thing--especially in light of how s1 treated its main female character--so I only listened to s1. As mentioned, the main female character, the protagonist’s wife, gets her needs constantly deferred or invalidated in favor of her husband’s as part of the story, but he’s the hero so of course he gets the girl. The plot choices that aside are very strange, a bit nonsensical, and the voice acting, main couple aside, is bad.

Dropped:

(Not bad! Just not to my specific tastes.)

Alba Salix, Royal Physician: A grumpy witch tries to keep a kingdom healthy with the help of a fairy and unwilling apprentice. Comedy. I loved Alba, but I’m extremely picky with comedies, and this one wasn’t enough for me to keep with it.

Aqua Marianas: I couldn’t finish the first episode thanks to poor audio quality. From what I heard, it also seemed a bit tropey.

Control Group: A historical fiction about a woman committed to a mental institution for a crime she didn’t commit. I can’t handle this sort of horror; it’s too dark for me.

Counter Worlds: An anthology told audio book style, with narration, which I simply can’t focus on.

Darkest Night: A horror anthology with the frame narrative of a mysterious, suspicious organization doing research into memory. Rather gruesome. Very mainstream sort of horror; some episodes were good, but others indulged too many misogynistic tropes for my taste.

Hector Vs The Future: There was a laugh track and I didn't like that. I didn't make it very far in.

Herbarium Podcasts: A collection of miniseries. Honestly, I can’t even provide an accurate synopsis. My audio processing issues made listening to more than five minutes of this impossible; the inconsistent audio quality was way too distracting and broke my immersion.

Inkwyrm: Intergalactic haute couture. Everything about the concept of this podcast spoke to me on a fundamental level, but I couldn’t even get through all of episode one. The characters didn’t appeal to me, and the sound quality isn’t great. I couldn’t understand the AI character they introduced. When I skipped ahead to see if the audio quality got better, it didn’t, and just like with Herbarium Podcasts above, poor audio is a dealbreaker.

Love and Luck: Two men in love discover they’re witches, told through voicemail. Really, my problem here was just that I wanted more angst. They’re very happy and loving and they work through every relationship problem they have very quickly, and I just plain wanted more conflict and struggle.

Otherverse: Broadcasts from another world where aliens are subjugating humanity. Enjoyable and interesting enough to keep me subscribed, but nothing special. It’s all a little basic, and the audio quality leaves something to be desired. Got bored and the update schedule got sporadic, so I dropped it.

Palimpsest: A girl moves into a haunted house and attempts to cope with the death of her sister. This podcast improved as I listened. The voice acting is solid, but the writing and audio editing in the first few episodes felt very overdone. They picked up as things progressed, and the ending downright surprised me. Season 2 switched protagonists, and the new protag had such a poorly done accent, I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be Scottish, Irish, or Southern, and that bothered me too much to continue listening.

Poplar Cove: They made an asylum joke within the first five minutes of the first episode and that’s a hard no from me.

Sable: From the episode I listened to, this podcast appeared to be about urban legends and monsters, but admittedly I don’t know much. This podcast is told audiobook style, with a single narrator also performing the character voices and no sound effects. I have a very hard time focusing on those sorts of tales.

Saffron and Peri: Comedy podcast about a fairy godparent school. As mentioned previously, I’m extremely picky with comedies and none of the characters pulled me in, so I dropped it.

Tales of Thattown: Effectively, it’s Welcome to Nightvale in the south. Yet another comedy podcast that failed to strike a chord with me, though the creator’s a sweetheart.

Thrilling Adventure Hour: A series of standalone stories. No real complaints; the couple stories I tried just didn't catch my interest.

Tumanbay: A historical fiction podcast surrounding citizens of the imagined city Tumanbay, based on the Mamluk empire in Egypt. Honestly, I'm n the fence on if this should be in my outright "Not Recommended" category. Everything about the production quality was good; the voices and story were interesting. However, this podcast is written and produced by two British men who profess they invented Tumanbay as a separate place because they thought adhering to historical accuracy would be too restrictive and difficult. Little things like the escaped slave who used Slave as his preferred name, or the fact that the more intelligent/cerebral characters all had British accents, while the more brutish ones had Middle Eastern ones, when this is supposedly an entirely Middle Eastern area, got under my skin enough to make me drop it.

Tunnels: A mystery podcast inquiring about a mysterious series of tunnels under a town. The format and tone are rather closely modeled after The Black Tapes, and as I ultimately wasn’t a fan of that, I elected to drop this.

We're Alive: A surviving the zombie apocalypse story. Supposedly, another major pioneer in the rise of modern audio drama. But I didn't realize until I started that the protagonist was a soldier, and I don't care for soldier stories.

Violet Beach: Strange time shenanigans happen to teens when the sun sets purple. The monologues it’s told through tend to meander, and lackluster VAs and no sound design made it especially hard to focus, so I dropped this.

Zoo: An FBI agent attempts to solve the mystery of a traveling zoo home to a variety of cryptids. Lower production value than most other podcasts here and occasionally makes strange choices, but develops its plot steadily and does some interesting things with its premise. Unfortunately, the developments weren’t enough to keep my attention on the long term, so I made the tough choice to drop it.

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sometimesrosy · 7 years ago

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On this show, if you aren't suffering, then you aren't participating in the plot. The only way to 'protect' Raven would be to sideline her. If Raven were a real person, obviously the best thing for her would be to lead a happy, boring life. The 'best' thing for a character on a show like the 100 is to strive, to fight, to get hurt, to get back up and do it again. If Raven does these things more than other characters, good! It means she's one of the most important characters in the narrative.

ALSO, Raven is my favorite character, and seeing her in pain is painful for me. But that is the whole. point. of. the. show. To make you experience strong emotions, often negative ones. If you, as a viewer, don’t like that, then maybe a violent, dystopian sci-fi show is not for you. No judgment! But I think you came to the wrong place.

This is precisely my point of view. And I know people are up in arms about the POC suffering more on The 100, but I just don’t think that’s so and they’ll go through hoops to make it “the truth,” invalidating some characters suffering and high lighting others. Murphy is the character who has probably seen the most consistent, horrible torture and suffering (while actually killing the fewest number of people surprisingly.) But when people make these declarations, they somehow make it so he doesn’t count. Or Clarke. Who has been imprisoned and kidnapped and tortured and has suffered mental collapse for all the horror probably the worst of anyone, is also discounted, because her pain isn’t as physical. Although she’s been beaten up plenty and imprisoned too.

So like. If you erase the suffering of the characters who DON’T fit your hypothesis. And EMPHASIZE the suffering of the character who DO fit your hypothesis, then you are practicing confirmation bias. And your evidence fails to support your theory.

If you also then IGNORE the ratio of POC characters to white characters on the show, seeing as this is a show that has an IMMENSE proportion of POC characters, compared to the rest of tv, and point only to how many POC characters suffer, without recognizing that there are just MORE POC characters on the show. And MORE LEAD POC characters… which means they are the stars of the show and their stories are important to the plot and for the character development, and means we’re SUPPOSED to feel more for the POC characters than Hollywood usually allows.

If you then erase the representation of NON POC minorities, and ignore the representation of LGBT characters, or characters with a mental illness to prove your point, then you’re hypothesis gets even weaker.

If you invalidate the value of the representation of people with chronic illness, who IRL suffer constant pain, and tell those fans that watching Raven in pain (like they are) is bad, you are putting the “representation” over one group of minorities over the other and saying they don’t matter and that makes your thesis suspect and even harmful.

If you also WHITE WASH mixed POC characters and deny them their ethnicity and racial heritage all together just so your theory works, it is again WEAKER. Marcus Kane (Henry Ian Cusick) is Peruvian. His facial features are indigenous. He’s a POC, whether his skin is lighter or not. But I have heard him declared to be a white man again and again in service of these faulty theories.

If you misunderstand the genre of post apocalyptic survival fiction, in which EVERYONE SUFFERS because it is about a dystopian idea of what happens when all the worst things in humanity win, and how humanity can struggle through the collapse of civilization and human kindness, and you don’t understand the VALUE of this kind of story, well then okay. You need to understand what you are watching so you can be an informed viewer. This genre is VALID and people can get a lot of good out of it. If it hurts you to see suffering, then that is also valid and you should not be watching this show. It is not to your taste. But that doesn’t make it wrong for us. It makes it wrong FOR YOU. And you should not be watching it. And you should not be informing people why it is evil, because you cannot understand the perspective of the people who do find value in it.

If you also have NO IDEA what the purpose of conflict, suffering or struggle is in narrative structure, and equate “feeling bad” with “evil thing” and don’t understand that in order for a character to get stronger, they have to win through their struggle, face their fear, beat their pain and come out transformed, and don’t understand that conflict in the narrative makes for a better story, well then, you have no place speaking as an authority on how stories are told. And I am just no longer going to listen to you at all. Because you don’t know what you’re talking about. You are ignorant about the subject.

If you want to talk about what it means and how it feels to you and how I personally process it and what the genre is about and how you can reconcile the bad feelings with the bigger concepts and it’s something you are struggling with and want help and want to talk about… that’s okay. I welcome that kind of conversation. I might jump to conclusions or be defensive because of other conversations I’ve had, (where I’ve literally been told that I [a latina who lived, studied and taught exactly this subject] must be quiet because I don’t understand the POC experience, and have no right to speak,) but if you explain what you meant, and the struggles you are having I will apologize and try to help. If you jump to calling me names and insulting me I won’t, though. And I’ll block.

#the 100 #the 100 fandom #representation #suffering in the 100 #what part of post apocalyptic survival show do we not understand?#narrative device

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aion-rsa · 5 years ago

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How Scorn Turned the Art of H.R. Giger into a Nightmarish Horror Game World

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Ebb Software’s long-awaited horror shooter Scorn is designed to make you squirm in your seat from the second you lay eyes on it. Set in a gruesome world of bone, flesh, and sharp steel, the game is meant to be repulsive, but it’s also absolutely entrancing. The imagery is visceral and gory — from tendrils of meat hanging down from big, grotesque statues to the bloody creatures crawling all over the walls to the webby, diseased-looking membrane covering the skinless protagonist’s head — but you also can’t look away.

According to game director Ljubomir Peklar, the game’s visual style is meant to challenge what we generally consider to be beautiful.

“Human beings are conditioned to like the external beauty of their bodies and see the internal organs, bones, and tissue as something repulsive. It’s a reflex,” Peklar said of the game’s art direction in an interview with Rock.Paper.Shotgun in 2016. “Our existence as a living organism is at the core of the game and human anatomy is the primary subject. Therefore we referenced many different parts of it as a starting point, then we morph, combine, and exaggerate them, change the shapes until we get something visually appealing. It’s not always about functionality but interesting forms that make sense for what we are trying to express.”

It’s clear the team at Ebb is trying to express a deep fascination with the organic while also making sometimes literal connections between living things and machines. Take the game’s main weapons, the pistol and shotgun, which are living organisms with mouths where you’re meant to insert the bullets. There are ribbed cables that run through structures resembling organs, while leaking phallic-shaped mouths protrude from the metal walls.

Scorn‘s challenging and disorienting art style could make it a defining work of horror gaming, but even if it’s not, it’ll certainly be one of the most visually interesting games on the Xbox Series X when it launches later this year. You can see what I mean in this trailer of the game running on the next-gen console:

It’s no secret that this Gothic hell is heavily inspired by the work of two of the greatest surrealists to ever touch a canvas, the Swedish artist H.R. Giger, who you may know best for his designs for the sci-fi horror movie Alien, and the Polish painter Zdzisław Beksiński, whose grim creations are particularly responsible for all of the gore in the game’s environments. This isn’t the first time their work has shown up in some form in a video game, but Scorn could very well be the most faithful of the bunch.

Giger most famously collaborated with developer Cyberdreams in the early ’90s, providing access to his artwork for the psychological horror point-and-click adventure game Dark Seed and its sequel Dark Seed II. But the use of Giger’s work in that game can only be described as “quaint” when compared to what Scorn is doing. After all, the technological limitations of the time prevented Cyberdreams from truly building something out of Giger’s art, forcing the team to instead use his airbrushed paintings as backgrounds in the game to set the mood of the somewhat peculiar plot.

“Actually I think no one really did it the right way,” Peklar says of past adaptations of Giger’s work in an email to Den of Geek. “I don’t remember too much of Dark Seed, I played it a very long time ago. I do know that the artwork was just H.R Giger’s already established work collaged into the background. It was not designed from the ground up to be a setting in a game.”

Peklar asserts that no one has done what Scorn has set out to do. Peklar is not only interested in capturing the look and feel of Giger’s twisted work but also the meaning behind the pieces.

“Giger’s visual influence can be seen in many forms, from movies to games, but only superficially, to represent aliens, monsters maybe some strange planet, etc. Nobody truly dealt and realized Giger’s work thematically,” Peklar says. “His work is the most fascinating part but always sidelined, never the focus.”

Director Ridley Scott might take issue with Peklar’s comments, especially since so much of Alien‘s world is based on Giger’s unique vision, but even those movies don’t quite delve into the full breadth of the artist’s work, which often portrayed human beings in a physical, often erotic, relationship with machines, a style the artist called the “biomechanical.”

Indeed, you can see Giger’s “biomechanical” style in the way Scorn‘s protagonist “plugs into” an exoskeleton made of bone in the XSX trailer or how he sticks his arm inside of a terminal, veins like spaghetti running through the “computer’s” circuits to activate a machine in gameplay footage from 2017.

“It’s not about alien worlds, no matter how many people think that’s what his art is about,” Peklar explains. “There is a much more important subtext to it. It’s about the interweaving of human beings and technology. The organism as a structure that defined our existence up to this point, fused with our own mechanical creations in a ridiculous dance of libido and death. Freudian concepts that both move and terrify us.”

If Giger’s work emphasized the symbiosis between the living and the mechanical, the less well-known Beksiński was more interested in man’s connection to death. Many of his pieces, which often depicted dystopian settings riddled with skeletons and corpses presided over by red, bleeding skies, seem to have a singular focus: the apocalypse and what comes after.

Beksiński loved to paint decaying bodies and skeletal figures stripped of the features that once made them human, like faces and skin. One particularly haunting painting depicts a man’s eyeballs spilling — or perhaps growing out like roots — from their sockets in messy ropes of red. Beksiński’s work is likely the most responsible for Scorn‘s faceless protagonist, whose body is mostly made up of skinless muscle tissue and nerves, with the bones of a naked ribcage protruding from his chest.

Peklar tapped concept designer Filip Acovic to create the look of Scorn, from the levels to the protagonist to the weapons, but the goal wasn’t to just produce a “mere homage to Giger” or Beksiński, as the director told Shacknews in May.

“[Giger and Beksinski] are certainly the two main visual influences but their work was not chosen because it looks cool but because different aspects of their work relate to various themes and ideas in Scorn. We also tried to create our own style,” Peklar told Rock.Paper.Shotgun.

Peklar tells Den of Geek that he believes “the art style should always be in service of the themes and the ideas of the game.” But what is Scorn actually about? Peklar is more secretive about the game’s plot, which will unfold through environmental storytelling as opposed to cinematics. In fact, the director wishes he could have kept the game’s whole existence a secret for much longer than he did.

Since Scorn was announced in 2014 for PC, it has gone through two Kickstarter crowd funding campaigns and was initially set to be released as a two-part experience before announcing a full release on Xbox Series X and Xbox Game Pass in May.

“The reason you heard about the game in 2014, 2016, and 2017 was because we were running out of resources so we had to show it and gather interest so we could convince people to invest in the studio. I said it quite a few times, if I had the all the resources needed to develop the game without public knowing about it I most certainly would. You would be probably hearing about the game for the first time now and thinking it’s a new game.”

Yet, six years of cryptic trailers haven’t betrayed the secrets of a game that was “designed around the idea of being thrown into the world.” Like the Giger and Beksiński pieces that inspired him, Scorn‘s macabre dreamscapes may defy explanation, according to Peklar.

“Like the best of nightmares, that surreal imagery will start playing with your psyche the more you play the game,” Peklar told Shacknews. “When you wake up from a nightmare it’s really hard to define what you dreamt, only snippets remain, and the feeling of anxiety. That is something we are trying to recreate.”

In the Shacknews interview, Peklar compared the feeling of traversing through Scorn‘s work to the hectic opening Dario Argento’s horror masterpiece Suspiria: “It’s a montage of sights and sounds that creates the uneasy feeling. Nothing is set up story-wise and nothing truly graphic is happening. It just is.”

While Peklar looked to horror classics like Resident Evil and Silent Hill for the environmental storytelling that ties Scorn together, Peklar told PC Gamer in 2017 that he wasn’t interested in a scripted story for the game:

“We are not trying to push traditional plot-driven narrative. That is where these games fail for me. Writing an interesting story requires a good writer, and game developers or writers that specialize in games writing are not very good. If they were, they would write a book or a screenplay. That’s the right medium for the job. Games for me are about interactivity and telling you a story through it.”

Ultimately, what Scorn‘s story is about may not be as important as what players take away from it. Peklar says that he’s ultimately happy to let “players to give their interpretation of the game.”

Giger and Beksiński aren’t the only influences on Scorn, according to the director, who says filmmakers like Alejandro Jodorowsky, David Cronenberg, David Lynch, Dario Argento, and John Carpenter are also major inspirations.

“Cronenberg’s main concept that puts our organism at the center of human existence and Giger’s bio structures intersect in many ways,” Peklar says. “Lynch’s surrealness captures the strangeness of the world we inhabit and an oneiric sense of our own being.”

Peklar also cites surrealist writers Franz Kafka and Jorge Luis Borges, whom he says “mostly dealt with the absurdity and weirdness of human existence in this mysterious universe.” Then there’s horror writer Thomas Ligotti, “who deals with all the horrors that come with it,” and the dystopian J.G. Ballard, who “bounds it all together in technological nightmares of sex, violence, and decay.”

What we’ve seen and heard of Scorn so far points to this year’s most twisted game, perhaps even the most uncomfortable visual experience ever released on a console. As I rewatched the footage of the game in preparation for this article, I wondered whether Peklar was worried that gamers would find the finished product too revolting to complete or even play at all. Then I was hit with an even darker thought: was there anything in Scorn that was too fucked up for even Peklar?

When I ask Peklar whether there’s been anything he decided to cut from the game because it went too far, the director simply answers, “I’m hoping for that day to come. Either my imagination is too limited or I have become too numb.”

Scorn is out later this year for Xbox Series X and PC.

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hmhteen · 7 years ago

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HMH Teen Teaser: YOUR ONE AND ONLY by Adrianne Finlay!

It’s time for another teaser from us at HMH Teen! This one’s super fun: well, if you find dystopian societies where humans are extinct and society is now ruled by nine types of clones...fun. Even more fun? You can take our quiz to see which kind of clone you are by clicking here!

YOUR ONE AND ONLY by Adrianne Finlay is a debut with something for everyone: it has a bit of sci-fi, romance, action, and even thriller! We have the first two chapters for you below, so scroll down to learn more.

Chapter One

ALTHEA

Althea-310 waited for class to begin, sitting in a neat row with her nine sisters. They’d spent the morning on their

floor of the Althea dorm twisting bright ribbons into their hair, and all ten of them had a different color winding through oth- erwise identical dark curls. Althea-310 had chosen lavender. Al- thea-316 had wanted lavender, so they’d agreed to draw sticks, but Althea-316 still scowled three seats away with her blue rib- bon, even though it had all been fair and she didn’t have any reason to sulk like that. As the sisters casually communed while waiting for class to start and their emotions mingled together, Althea-316’s resentment threaded through them all like a far- away hum. A Gen-290 Althea had admonished them for invit- ing the conflict into their group, but Althea-310 overheard the older woman comment a few moments later how she’d secretly laughed about it all.

“They should use white, like our generation did,” she’d said. “It’d be so much simpler. I guess it’s something Altheas have to learn on their own. I just thought the Gen-310s would have it figured out by the time they were fifteen. We certainly knew better.”

Althea-310 didn’t care what Altheas were supposed to learn. She liked the way the silky colors fell down her sisters’ backs, a rainbow in an otherwise boring classroom. Anyway, she felt pretty. Lavender really was nicer than blue.

The sisters’ nine faces all turned in Althea’s direction as they sensed the pride coming from her, and Althea-311 gave a small shake of her head, a silent warning. Althea clasped her hands to- gether and focused on tamping the feeling down. It would only make things worse with Althea-316, and there were other things to worry about today besides ribbons.

Vispera’s town council had told the class there would be a test. They were to expect a visitor, someone who was part of a new research experiment that would make the three commu- nities better. Though Althea had a hard time imagining that Vispera, or even the other two communities, could be any better than they were now.

A Gen-290 Samuel walked in brusquely and put his books on the desk up front. It was Samuel-299, who wasn’t actually a teacher, but a Council member and also a doctor at the clinic. So the experiment to make the community better was something medical. That was odd, however, since genetic modification meant that, in three hundred years, no one in Vispera had ever had so much as a cold.

The Samuel’s gaze passed quickly over the ten Carson broth- ers in the back, their feet spread lazily in front of them, taking up as much room as possible. The younger versions of himself, the Gen-310 Samuels, filled the middle row. Then he took in the front row of Altheas, their posture straight and hands folded on their desks. He shook his head at the different colored ribbons in their hair, smiling absently.

“You Altheas,” he said. “Always up to something.” He fiddled with his books, acting strangely nervous for a Samuel. “I know the Council talked to you some about what we’re doing today,” he said, perching on the edge of the desk. “You need to meet someone. He’s going to be part of our class from now on, part of our community, and if things go well, you’ll see a lot more of him. Now, understand, you’ll find him . . . different. But I expect you all to behave and be polite.”

Althea had no idea who the Samuel would want them to meet. And what about the test? Althea had spent last night with her friend Nyla-313 quizzing each other on history, so a medical test would be a disaster.

Althea liked working with Nyla-313. Nyla was learning in the labs how to engineer clever little oranges spliced with wild seeds so they tasted of cinnamon, and she would bring her experi- ments to Althea for their study sessions. Also, the Nylas never teased Althea about the scar on her wrist, and Nyla-313 often told her she shouldn’t bother hiding it. But while Althea enjoyed the colored ribbons, she didn’t like her scar. When it wasn’t cov- ered, the eyes of those in the community landed on the smooth line of white skin circling her wrist, and she hated how they’d inevitably say, “Oh, Althea-310,” as if all they needed to know about her was that she was the sister born with the defect, the one who’d needed a replacement hand grown separately in a limb tank. She used to wonder why she hadn’t been eliminated once it was discovered. It must have been apparent while she floated in the tanks, months before she was born. But it would have shown up too late to start creating another Althea. It had happened before, usually through accidental death, that a mod- el’s generation had only nine people instead of ten, but it caused a lot of discontent, even some disruption. That must have been the reason she hadn’t been eliminated.

Now all the studying they’d done would be for nothing. This was all very unusual; they never strayed from the curriculum. Maybe Samuel-299 had brought in someone from one of the other communities, maybe from Copan or even all the way from Crooked Falls. Maybe even an Althea. Althea had always won- dered how the Altheas in Crooked Falls might be different. Was their penmanship as elegant as the Vispera Altheas’? Did they cut their hair shoulder-length, like the Altheas in Copan? Maybe there was another Althea out there who was born with a defec- tive right hand and also had a scar like the one around her wrist.

But it couldn’t be an Althea from Crooked Falls, of course. The Samuel had said him. It was probably just another Samuel, then. Althea sighed, realizing the ribbons were probably going to be the only real excitement of the day.

Samuel-299 paused at the door before stepping out, his brow creased, his voice plaintive. “Remember, just . . . be kind.”

When Samuel-299 returned, a boy entered behind him. On seeing him, the row of Samuels collectively sucked in a breath. A Carson huffed an incredulous laugh. Every Althea reached a trembling hand for the hand of the sister next to her until their fingers wove together in an unbroken sequence. Althea com- muned with them, feeling their emotions as she felt her own. Every sister and brother communed in small, subtle ways all the time when they were close together, as did everyone in Vispera, but in moments of stress or fear, it was important to seek a strengthened connection through touch. Her sisters’ collective effort to calm one another coursed through her like liquid. It was warm, seeming to fill her limbs. She exhaled as, little by little, the shared anxiety eased.

The boy fidgeted miserably. He ran his fingers through his hair, then pushed his hands into his pockets. Althea tried to fig- ure out his age. She thought he was probably fifteen, like the rest of them. He looked scared, but no one stroked him or tried to comfort him, no one held his hand to commune, not like the brothers and sisters did for one another.

His eyes glanced from student to student, quick and nervous. He looked like he might be somewhat intelligent, but it was hard to tell. Even if he is, she thought, he’s still so strange. He’s not one of us. Not at all. He was like no one else.

Althea had seen so many faces. She’d seen all the nine faces of the nine models of Homo factus, at all different ages. She’d seen these faces in Vispera as well as on a school trip to Copan. They were the same faces she’d see in Crooked Falls as well. There was nothing beyond the walls of the communities but an empty, overgrown wasteland left by a long gone civilization. The faces in the three communities were the only faces that existed anywhere in the whole world, the only ones that had existed for over three hundred years.

The picture on the wall on the far side of the classroom showed these nine faces in a painting an early Inga had rendered based on a photo of the Original Nine. They were the human scientists who’d founded Vispera, using their genes to create the nine models. They stood on the steps of what was now Remem- brance Hall in two rows, serious and self-assured. Their hands rested on one another’s shoulders, and they gazed out at the students in the classroom as if glimpsing the future, hopeful and confident about the new world they were building. The same painting hung in every classroom, and the very first version re- sided in Remembrance Hall.

There were the Samuels, with their dark skin, even darker eyes, and their sharp, angular jaws. They radiated compassion in their thoughtful expressions, which helped when they treated a scraped knee or broken bone. Every model had a specified set of skills and a role within the community, and the Samuels were the doctors, nurses, and caretakers. The Altheas were historians, of course, which meant they kept records and preserved the history of Vispera.

The Nylas, the scientists, had eyes as dark as the Samuels’, but with a life and humor in them that the Samuels didn’t have. The Nylas’ eyes reminded Althea of a black stone on the shore, still wet from salt water and shining with hidden colors. The Ingas, the community’s artists, were tall and broad shouldered, as im- posing as statues, but with light, creamy brown hair that would start turning white in their fortieth year, at about the same age the Carsons’ faces softened and widened, right along with their waists. Not like they were now, in class. As young men the Car- sons were sleek and flat-stomached. Though whatever age the Carsons were, they always strode through the town Commons like it belonged to them. They were the engineers, and they thought that made them more important than the other models.

The Hassans, the ecologists, carried themselves gracefully, like leaves floating over rippling river water, and their small, agile fingers could tinker with a threshing machine so adeptly you’d think they were talking to it and telling it in which direction to move. The Hassans were the complete opposite of the Viktors with their brooding foreheads and hulking shoulders. The Viktors were the philosophers, which meant they were always ready to lay a thick hand on the arm of anyone who broke even the smallest rule. They kept the community safe and regulated.

The Meis and the Kates were a study in contrast, too. Althea admired the Meis’ sense of style, which went far beyond colored ribbons. As theologians, they loved the rituals of the community and always knew how to put the final touches on a ceremony, something that would keep it familiar and comforting, while still offering a new element, like when they hung a glittering chandelier from a balsa tree. They had delicate limbs, and al- ways dressed with careful thought and precision, never forget- ting to include something shiny in their matching dresses. If they wore a ribbon in their perfectly straight hair, it would always be something shimmering. The mathematician Kates, on the other hand, shunned anything sparkly, preferring instead their serious, demure outfits that went along with their turned-down mouths and sloped brown eyes that always made them look somehow disapproving. Or at least that’s how they often looked at the Altheas, who were too unpredictable to ever please the Kates, especially the older ones.

These were the faces Althea knew. She’d known them her en- tire life, and knew them at every age, and in every mood. Sure, sometimes an accident or slight genetic nuance would alter a familiar face — the tiny freckle on Inga-313’s ear, or the little indentation on Viktor-318’s collarbone from when he broke it in a wrestling match. And of course, Althea’s own scarred wrist. These faces were her whole world. They were the whole world.

She’d never seen a face like this boy’s.

And his eyes. Something was wrong with them. The eyes of the nine models were all brown, though they varied in the range of shades. This boy’s were almost colorless, watery and cold, an odd bluish-gray. How could eyes be gray?

Althea shook herself, shivering at the ghostly translucent color, but at the same time realizing it was not simply what he looked like that was disturbing. She also felt nothing from him. It certainly looked as though he was nervous in front of the class, but the only indications of fear were what she could see — his shuffling feet and shaky hands, the way he blinked nervously. Emotions that strong should have been radiating off him like a fever, infecting the whole class. Instead, he was isolated, a soli- tary figment as cold as the stone wall that surrounded the town.

Everyone in class was rustling and shifting in their chairs. They felt the bone-chilling detachment from the boy as well.

“What’s wrong with its face?” Carson-315 asked.

Althea had wondered the same thing, but couldn’t imagine asking the question herself. The boy’s ears brightened red, which meant he had heard and understood Carson-315.

“Nothing’s wrong with his face,” Samuel-299 said. “He’s sim- ply different.”

“Different from what?” a Samuel asked, Samuel-317.

“From the nine models.” Samuel-299 nodded to the painting on the wall. “He’s human, like they were.”

“So he’s not Homo factus,” a Carson said, grimacing. “No. Like I said, he’s human — Homo sapiens.” “Where are his brothers?” Althea-316 asked.

“He has no brothers — he’s alone.”

Alone. The word struck Althea’s ears, its awful power tight- ening her chest. She leaned back, trying to put distance between herself and the strangeness of this boy.

“Why would we bother making a human? What good is it?” Carson-317 said.

Samuel-299 rubbed his mouth as if realizing this situation— whatever it was — should be going better. He took a breath. “The Council has been conducting an experiment. Humans were a great people. It’s because of them that life continued through us.”

Althea noticed that the Samuel hadn’t actually answered the question. He hadn’t said what the Council’s experiment was for. He was hiding something.

“They couldn’t have been that great,” Samuel-314 said. “I mean, they’re dead.”

The Carsons cracked up at that. Carson-310 slapped Sam- uel-310 on the shoulder, and then all the Carsons copied the same action nine more times, right down the row of Samuels. Samuel-299 watched them mimic each other, one by one, a strange look on his face.

“They’re extinct,” Samuel-299 finally said. “Humans repro- duced genetic lines that shouldn’t have been allowed to con- tinue. Their mistakes are what caused the Slow Plague.”

It was hard to imagine what it was like when humans covered the planet. Althea pictured a world overrun by an unrestrained population, reproducing like animals, their genes mingling un- predictably and disastrously. The communities now were en- tirely regulated and controlled. Her people maintained the same three communities with populations that never rose above nine hundred. There were ten generations of each of the nine models, and a new generation born every decade. But before Vispera, every face was unique, and there were millions of them. To Althea, it sounded horrible, like thousands of insects crawling in a thousand directions.

A Carson nodded his chin at the boy. “So is he going to get sick and die like they did?”

The strange boy looked up at Samuel-299 as if waiting for him to say something that would make the others stop looking at him with suspicious glints in their eyes, like they didn’t know whether they should laugh at him or actually be angry that he was contaminating their classroom. The Samuel rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “He’s healthy so far. His lack of abnormality is one of the reasons we chose his genetic material from the Sample Room.”

The boy’s shoulders turned in, deflating under the Samuel’s hand. Althea thought perhaps he wasn’t happy with the way the Samuel was talking about him.

“All of you,” Samuel-299 said, “come from the Originals who lived here back when the humans called it Costa Rica. Our ge- netic lines are refined and perfected. Where humans relied on natural selection, we have technology and science. That’s what makes us fundamentally singular from humans. We have no mu- tations, no genetic outliers, no mistakes or abnormalities. We all work together, communing and cooperating. Jack, on the other hand . . . genetically, his cells were never altered. He’s an exact copy of a human boy who lived in the twenty-first century. And that makes him different. But while he may be different in some ways, in many other ways he’s just like you.”

“Does it talk?” Carson-312 said.

“Yes.” Samuel-299 pierced Carson-312 with a stare. “He talks.” Samuel-299 turned to the boy, hovering over him, his body rigid and impatient. “Go ahead, say hello. Introduce your- self.”

They waited while the boy shuffled his feet.

“My name . . . my name is . . .” He spoke uncertainly, but then stopped as if making a decision. He straightened his shoul- ders to stand with more assurance. “I’m Jack.”

One of Althea’s sisters giggled. “Jack?” she said. “That’s not a name. There’s not even a number after it. What generation is he supposed to be?”

“Maybe he’s Jack Zero,” a Samuel said, and everyone laughed. “Hey, Jack!” one of the boys called. Almost immediately a chorus of calls followed, with the name being shouted by ev- eryone in the classroom. They shouted as if testing the name out, though the more it was said, the more they took delight in jeering at the boy. His name did sound strange, Althea had to admit. Foreign and unfamiliar. Her fingers slid unconsciously to her wrist. She didn’t join in the shouting.

“Please, everyone,” Samuel-299 said. “That’s enough.” Jack’s chest rose and fell, and then rose again.

“Sam,” the boy said, which was odd, because he was talking to Samuel-299. Nobody called any of the Samuels Sam. It seemed disrespectful, though Althea couldn’t say why exactly.

Samuel-299 looked at him sharply. “Jack? Are you all right?” Jack wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His breath wheezed. Carson-318 snorted laughter, repeating the name Jack, mimicking the concerned way Samuel-299 had said it, though

the man was too focused to hear. “Is it an attack?”

The boy nodded. Althea couldn’t figure out what the problem was. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. Sensing some- thing wrong, the class went silent until the only sound in the room was the whistle of air being sucked into the boy’s lungs. As she watched him struggle to breathe, the seconds moved so slowly that Althea imagined for a moment she could see them shimmering the air like heat.

Jack fumbled in his pocket, producing a plastic tube gripped in his palm. Samuel-299 touched his back.

“It’s okay,” he said to Jack. “Calm down.”

Jack put the tube in his mouth, pressed down, and sucked in. It looked like something he’d done many times before. A tension seemed to release from Samuel-299 as Jack’s breathing eased.

“What was that?” a younger Samuel asked.

Samuel-299’s eyes closed briefly before he looked up, reluc- tant to talk about what had just happened. “He uses that device, an inhaler, for a condition called asthma. It makes it hard for him to breathe sometimes, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Carson-317 said, distaste showing on his face. “He’s sick. What if we catch it?”

“You can’t catch it.”

“You said he wasn’t abnormal. That looked pretty abnormal to me,” Carson-314 said.

“He’s not abnormal. He’s human, and in humans a certain amount of abnormality is, well . . . normal.”

The Carsons looked disgusted at the Samuel’s response. Samuel-299 braced his hands on the desk and seemed to come to a decision. “You know, let’s continue this after lunch, shall we?”

“It’s too early for lunch,” someone said.

“Nevertheless, we’ll have a break,” Samuel-299 said dryly.

“Everyone should go outside. Maybe you can all get to know Jack a little better.”

As Althea stood with the others, her pencil bag fell from her desk, spilling its contents. Her sisters were already at the door, so she quickly bent to gather her things. She found herself at eye level with the top of her desk, and there was Jack right in front of her, holding out one of her pencils. She froze, and then real- ized it was rude to stare at him. Still he waited, his hand steady and patient. She reached to take the pencil, and her sleeve rode up to reveal the scar.

One of the Carsons strode past. “Need a hand?” he snickered, as if proud of a joke she’d heard a million times before.

Althea grabbed the pencil and tugged her sleeve down. Her eyes met Jack’s, and his head tilted questioningly. Up close, his eyes startled her yet again with their pale gray.

Altheas were an observant model, so even though Jack seemed unable to commune, Althea could see in his face that he was cu- rious, and also lonely. The other eight models relied exclusively on communing to understand the emotions of others. They would never notice the way his eyes dipped down to her hand holding the pencil, or the way he sucked his lip against his teeth.

He gave her a tentative smile. Two of his bottom teeth over- lapped just a tiny bit, a distracting imperfection none of her own people had. A carved bead hung at the base of his neck on a leather string. As with everything else about the boy, this was strange too. None of the four boys in the community wore neck- laces.

“Thank you,” she murmured, clutching the pencil and allow- ing herself to smile back.

A remaining Carson bumped into her, and then a sister returned to grab her arm and hurry her along with the rest of them. When she glanced back, she saw Jack still watching her.

Outside, the students milled about the schoolyard, unsure of what to do. The brick school was on the edge of town, bor- dered on one side by the stone wall that surrounded Vispera, safeguarding it from the jungle outside, the wild animals and poisonous plants. Jack leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Everyone else had clustered as far from him as possible, their feet kicking up dust from the rust-colored gravel of the yard.

The usual games and sports didn’t feel right. Activities were supposed to happen after lunch, and Jack was making everyone nervous. Althea saw her own worry mirrored in the faces of her sisters. They huddled together, their hands lightly touching hair and arms and backs. The Carsons and Samuels were in their own clusters, and then the Carsons all laughed simultaneously. They passed the Altheas and sauntered toward Jack, who pushed himself away from the wall as they came near.

Carson-312 smirked. “That’s Samuel-299 who brought you, isn’t it? He’s on the Council.” He looked Jack up and down. “What’d the Council do, make a hairless monkey? Isn’t that all a human is, a bald monkey?”

“You’re humans, too,” Jack said. “You’re clones of the Origi- nals, and they were human.”

The Samuels crowded Althea and her sisters as they gathered to watch while keeping a safe distance from Jack.

Carson-312 smirked, then casually picked up a handful of gravel from the ground, jostling it in his palm as he moved closer to Jack. “He’s not very smart, is he? He just called us clones.”

Jack licked his lips uncertainly. “Isn’t that what you are?”

A young Samuel came forward. “Don’t you know anything? We don’t say clone. We’re Homo factus.” He straightened as if proud of the title. “We’re the self-made man.”

“You,” Carson-317 said, looking Jack up and down, “you’re just some defective experiment of the Council. You’re an acci- dent.”

The boy couldn’t be an accident. The Council didn’t make mistakes.

“I’m not an accident,” Jack said, clearly wishing he could of- fer more of a rationale for his existence.

“Yeah?” said another Carson. “So you want to tell us what we need a monkey-boy for, then?”

Althea could tell that Jack was trying. He wanted the other boys, and the Altheas too, to accept him. The Carsons especially were being mean, but Jack looked hopeful, as if somehow things would still be okay. Althea kept quiet. The Altheas weren’t in- volved in this, and there was something wrong with the boy, something much worse than a replaced hand. Whatever asthma really was, it was obviously a disease her people had spent gen- erations eradicating. Her people didn’t suffer from disease. That Jack had a thing like asthma was terrifying. Despite what the Samuel said, human illness was contagious. It was what had killed them all. It was better to keep her distance, as the rest of her sisters were doing.

Jack’s eyes flickered between the Carsons. He looked to the Samuels for help, searching for a friendly face. While they wouldn’t join in with the Carsons, not with an elder Samuel right inside, they also wouldn’t try to stop them. A few of Al- thea’s sisters chewed their nails.

Carson-312 flicked a pebble at Jack’s shoulder. “Well, monkey-boy?” he said. “If you’re not an accident, what the hell are you?”

“I . . . I don’t . . .” Jack struggled, not knowing what answer to give.

“You’re not one of us,” Carson-311 said.

Carson-312 flicked another pebble, hitting Jack’s arm. “You don’t belong here.”

A third pebble immediately followed, this one striking his shoulder again. Jack backed away, his tongue pressing his teeth. The boys sniggered, and now the Samuels joined in. More of the Carsons took up handfuls of gravel.

Jack closed his eyes and pulled an unsteady breath into his chest. “Stop it,” he said, his voice thin and strained. His fingers reached into his pocket, seeking the inhaler he’d used inside. It was the asthma again. The Samuel had called it an attack, as if the boy’s own body were assaulting him just as much as the Car- sons seemed ready to do. Althea shuddered. Jack finally got the inhaler out but then dropped it in the dirt. He fell to his knees, his hands scrambling for it frantically, panic etched on his face.

All ten Carsons grinned at once.

Althea’s sisters stood like her, watching. They were feeling what she was — fear, and also disgust. Carsons were confronta- tional. They were engineers, but also leaders. They liked being in charge, even in Vispera, where the only hierarchy was age and decisions were made by consensus. Still, the community celebrated the Carsons’ sense of leadership as much as it did the Nylas’ work in the labs or the Ingas’ paintings. The com- munity taught the young people that they should think of the differences in the models as the various organs of the body, each with its own role, but working together for the good of the whole.

This, however, was the bad side of the Carsons.

As much as Althea didn’t like what the Carsons and Samuels were doing, it was painfully clear to everyone that Jack wasn’t Homo factus. He did mostly look like all of them, but that only made the blankness they felt from him more terrible. Everyone’s emotions were so strong. In one moment of communing, Al- thea could most palpably feel her sisters’ sick fear. Under that, she sensed the uneasy, excited tension of the Samuels, and then the current of gleeful anger emanating from the Carsons. Like everyone else, she felt nothing from the boy. As if he were an animal. As if he were dead.

Jack’s shoulders hunched forward. Another Carson threw a pebble at his forehead. The pebbles weren’t large enough to cause more than a brief sting, but Jack’s eyes darted from face to face as if he feared what might come next.

Althea peered toward the window of their classroom. Where was the Samuel? And then she saw him. He was watching the students through a window. He was frowning and taking notes. Why didn’t he do something?

It occurred to her then that this was the test the Council had planned. It wasn’t on history or science, or anything they’d stud- ied for. The test was how they acted today, with this boy the Council had thrust upon them. And perhaps they were watching Jack as well, to see how he would fit in. But surely Samuel-299 wouldn’t let things go too far. Althea didn’t like the sneers grow- ing on the Carsons’ faces.

“Look at you,” Carson-312 said, taking a step forward. “You think you’re not an accident? You’re so defective you can’t even breathe right.”

Jack flinched as another pebble hit him. He clutched the re- trieved inhaler close to his chest, and the students closed in.

Althea didn’t know what to do. Her sisters didn’t know what to do. They met each other’s eyes, silently communing with the same feeling. This had to stop.

Althea-313 said, far too softly, “Quit it, you guys.”

It was as if she’d said nothing. The boys paid no attention. The Carsons continued throwing the pebbles while Car-

son-318 tore a narrow switch from a nearby patch of brush and handed it to Carson-312, who whipped it back and forth, testing its heft. It hissed as it cut the air. Standing over Jack, Carson-312 snapped it against Jack’s arm, leaving a thin welt. The brothers continued to jeer and gather more pebbles. Carson-312 swung again, striking Jack’s back.

Althea couldn’t see Jack’s face, but his limbs tightened with each snap of the switch, and she saw his shivering, barely con- tained control. There was a rigidity in his muscles, like his entire body was a spring straining for release.

He was using all his will to hold himself back. He was still hoping they’d stop.

It was too much to watch. Althea broke away from her sisters and grabbed Carson-312’s arm as it rose up again. His elbow hit her eye, and she fell to the ground. Her sisters ran to her, closing her in their protective circle, touching her face.

Althea cupped her aching eye. Her sisters held their own eyes, feeling the burgeoning pain themselves. Carson-312 hadn’t even paused, had probably hardly noticed her near him. The whip slashed across Jack’s back until specks of red dotted the fabric of his shirt like a string of beads. Carson-312 licked his lips and aimed for those lines of red, a glint in his eye. He’s enjoy- ing it, Althea thought. Seeing Jack recoil at the targeted strikes, Carson-312 quickened his swings. Breathless with exertion, he muttered, “Go back to whatever lab they’ve been keeping you in, human. You don’t belong here.”

As the switch came down once again, Jack’s hand shot out and caught it. It sliced into the flesh of his palm as he yanked it from Carson-312. He launched himself off the wall, a yell wrenched from his throat, and flew at Carson-312 faster than Althea thought possible. Jack tackled him to the ground and straddled his chest, striking him over and over. The other Car- sons didn’t dare touch him, even to protect their own brother. They’d never seen such fury.

Jack slammed his fist into Carson-312’s face, and blood poured from his nose. Jack’s wild hits landed again and again. The Carson brothers began to collapse on the ground, moan- ing and clutching their heads, the sound and pain of the blows echoing in their own skulls. One of Althea’s sisters clutched her stomach, and at the same time, Althea felt sick too, all the Alth- eas did.

The class looked on in horror as Jack pummeled Carson-312 until his face was swollen and bloody. Only a few moments had passed, but to Althea it felt like an eternity before Samuel-299 finally ran outside. He hauled Jack off Carson-312. Jack fought, heedless and wild, as Samuel-299 dragged him across the yard and through the school doors.

The class stood silent and motionless, like a held breath, the only sound in the yard Carson-312’s wet, snuffling moans. Al- thea felt everyone’s anger and alarm slowly recede like a tide.

The Carsons gathered around Carson-312, ghosts of his pain stirring in their own bodies.

A couple of them pressed their white shirts to Carson-312’s face, and the cotton bloomed red. Eventually, the Samuels came and took Carson-312 away to the clinic. By the time the stu- dents filed back into the school, Jack was nowhere to be seen, and a Hassan was at the front of the room.

Once more the faces in the painting of the Original Nine stared down at Althea and the rest of the class, their expressions as placid and confident as ever, as if nothing at all had happened.

Chapter Two

JACK

Two Years Later

Jack sat in the grass on the steep side of the hill, knocking a ball against the side of the white-boarded cottage. He heard Sam’s heavy breathing from climbing the steep rise, and he didn’t need to turn around to know he’d find the man standing over him, wearing his white lab coat and disapproving frown. “You shouldn’t be here,” Sam finally said.

“I should be dead,” Jack said. Although if he thought about it, that wasn’t really true. It wasn’t that he should be dead, but that he should never have been born. He should be extinct, like all the other humans.

High on the slope, Jack could see the entire wall encircling the town, six feet high and broad enough to walk on; a dou- ble-winged gate of wrought iron faced Blue River. Within, the school sat on one end, where the Gen-320 children played in the gravel-covered yard, the same one where, two years ago, he’d attacked the Carson; next to that was the cluster of labs where the clones conducted their experiments and grew the new Gens in their tanks. On the other end stood the stout line of nine dorms, one building for every model, a separate room inside for every Gen, each with its own row of ten beds. In the middle of the dorms was the dining hall, a circular, two-story building of limestone quarried from the distant cliffs. All the clones gath- ered there for meals at wooden banquet tables, at least when they weren’t outside celebrating one of their seemingly incessant rituals. In the center of everything stood Remembrance Hall and the Commons, an expanse of lawn around a large kapok tree where the clones held their ceremonies and parties. Sometimes Jack watched at night from a distance while they danced and lights twinkled in the lanky branches of the huge tree.

Beyond the wall at the foot of the cottage’s hill, the lawn dipped down to the banks of Blue River, which flowed north until it disappeared, swallowed by dense jungle. On the far side, fields of corn, barley, and wild rice, dotted by the lingering shadow of summer clouds, stretched all the way to the Novo- mundo Mountains. Novomundo, the New World Mountains. They’d been named by scientists, years before Jack was born, and the world they’d made was no longer new.

Jack had spent his whole life isolated from the clones his own age, and when he’d finally been allowed to join them, it’d been a disaster. The Council never let him go back to school. Now he spent his days living in the tiny bedroom they’d built for him in the labs, occasionally performing some task in the clinic for Sam, like rolling bandages or folding linens. They would never let him forget what had happened, or that it had all been his fault.

Jack hadn’t spoken for several moments, so Sam sighed and sat next to him in the grass. He watched Jack throw the ball. Again and again, he caught and threw, and Sam waited.

If that’s how Sam wanted this to go, that was fine. Jack plucked the ball out of the air once more.

For some reason, Sam couldn’t catch a ball if his life depended on it. Jack had tried to figure out why Sam had such a hard time. He simply couldn’t get the rhythms down, and he missed every throw. Inga-296 had given Jack the ball when he was little. Jack couldn’t remember exactly when, but he must have been about five years old.

“It’s called a baseball,” she’d said. “Young people from your time, they played with it.” She held it out, smiling. “Who knows, maybe your original did.”

Jack had looked up a description of baseball in one of the books that filled the little cottage he and Sam and Inga-296 had shared back then, before Sam brought Jack to live in the labs in town. Before she died. The book said you needed nine people to make a team, so now he just tossed the ball at the side of the house. If the clones ever wanted to play, even with their lousy coordination, they already had their nine models. They wouldn’t include him.

Sam stopped watching the ball. He frowned at Jack while Jack ignored him, each trying to outlast the other. Sam finally heaved a breath and gave in.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said. “It’s not safe outside the wall. You need to come home.”

“This is my home.” Jack felt familiar resentment welling in his veins.

“This hasn’t been your home for years. Your home is in Vispera.”

Jack tossed the ball. “You should have told me.” “My brother told you.”

“You should have told me. You act like you’re all the same person, but you’re not. You’re different from them.”

Sam bristled. “I’m not different from them. They’re Samuels, and I’m a Samuel.”

“They’re Samuels. You’re Sam. Don’t send them to me thinking I can’t tell the difference. They don’t care about me. They wouldn’t care if I died.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Jack knew Sam didn’t really believe they’d care, but he let the man lie to him.

“I’m sorry, Jack. The Council won’t budge.” “You’re on the Council. Did you even try?” “Of course I did.”

“It’s that fat Carson, isn’t it? He thinks I’m a freak, and the others listen to him.”

“It’s all of them. They think it’d be disruptive.”

It wasn’t fair. He was turning seventeen, just like the Gen- 310s, and he should be in the Declaration with them. He’d had as much of an education sitting in the labs as they had at school. More, he’d guess. It was just like last year, when they wouldn’t let him participate in the Gen’s first Pairing Ceremony. He’d wanted to, desperately, but the Council had said no, citing that disastrous day at the school.

That night, when everyone had Paired for the first time except him, he’d watched their celebration hidden in the branches of a tall tree. They’d danced and eaten colorful foods he’d never seen before. The girls wore gauzy dresses, and the boys wore the cer- emonial robes tied with leather belts, and in the evening they’d all chosen their partner for the first Pairing and then spent the rest of the evening laughing together and talking. Jack wasn’t even allowed to sit at the table with the Gens in the Commons for their meal. Sam would bring him potatoes and carrots from the dining halls, or rice and lentils, and sometimes Sam would stay and eat with him, but mostly he was alone. For Jack, those nights were the worst. And it would all happen again tonight after the Declaration. They would eat and dance and laugh, they would Declare and let the community know what apprentice- ship they’d chosen, and then they’d Pair in the evening.

The laughter of the children in the schoolyard carried up the hill on a breeze. Usually they romped on climbing ropes, swings, and slides that the Ingas had made for them, but today they played a game. The children stood in a row with their fisted hands extended, while a single girl walked down the line and cupped their hands in her own one by one. Jack had seen this game before. Sam had told him it was called Button. One child would hold a button in his hand, and the rest would pretend they also had a button. The finder had to guess who actually had it. When Jack had first seen it, he’d thought the point of the game was to keep the secret of having the button, but he’d been wrong. He slowly figured out that the child wanted to be found out. If they played the game well, everyone would know where the button was. It was a way for them to practice communing, not just with their siblings, which seemed to come easily to them, but with the other children in their Gen.

The laughter stopped as abruptly as it’d started, and even from a distance Jack could tell that smiles had spread across their faces as if they’d all heard the same joke at the same time, though nothing had been said. There were no words in this game. Another eruption of laughter ran through the group in eerie unison.

Sam had once tried to describe communing to Jack. He’d had difficulty finding the right words, like describing colors to some- one who’d never seen them. He said communing was like a mur- muring, a sort of whisper of emotions passing from one clone to another when they touched or were close. They didn’t know each other’s thoughts, but they sensed each other’s feelings.

Jack couldn’t commune, of course. He could never play their strange, silent games, and maybe they’d never let him participate in their rituals and ceremonies. But why shouldn’t he be in the Declaration? It only happened once, and then they could send him back to his room in the labs and forget again that he ever existed. What harm would it do to let him be part of the com- munity in this small way? He hadn’t asked to exist. He’d heard the Council talk. They called him an experiment, like one of their genetically modified cows. They called him a de-extinction project, and maybe they called him an accident, but they had created him.

Earlier that morning, the jagged cliffs in the distance had been covered in gray mist, now burned away. They’d looked like pre- historic beasts hiding under the earth. Jack wondered, as he al- ways did, what lay beyond those hills.

“I could leave,” Jack said. “Grab supplies, go to the jungle. Nobody would care anyway.”

“You can’t leave.” “Why not?”

“Because,” Sam said, puffing out his cheeks, “you would die in the jungle. You can’t survive out there alone. I’ve kept you safe here because Inga-296 asked me to. I’m not going to stop now. She said we needed you.”

“That’s a joke, Sam. No one here needs me.”

Sam’s eyes lingered on the baseball that had fallen idle in Jack’s hands. “I know you come here because of the Inga. I know you miss her.”

Jack touched the bead around his neck. He was surprised Sam had mentioned her. Inga-296 had called herself Jack’s mother, even though mothers didn’t exist in Vispera. Jack hadn’t cried about her in years, not since he was little, because early on he’d sensed too keenly Sam’s discomfort with Jack’s emotions at losing her. It was one of the many things that kept Jack apart from everyone else. The clones didn’t miss anyone. They saw themselves as the countless iterations that they were. A part of a whole. Replaceable. But Inga, his mother, had been different from anyone else in Vispera. She’d been different from the other Ingas. She had loved him.

“Of course I miss her. She was my mother.”

“Yes, your mother.” Jack noticed how the word mother rolled in Sam’s mouth, foreign and strange. Not unpleasant, just some- thing to work his tongue around, like a sour candy. “I didn’t agree with her using that term, but she’d taken charge of the ex- periment, so I didn’t argue. Now I think perhaps I should have.” Sam spoke more to himself than to Jack. “And maybe it was a mistake for her to give you all those books.”

Sam was talking about the human books. The ones Sam never read. Jack had learned about humans by reading those books, and one of the things he’d learned was how, even though the humans couldn’t commune, they still cared about each other.

Maybe it would never be enough to tell Sam how he felt and Sam was capable of caring about someone only if emotions em- anated from them like a cloud of reeking smoke.

Deep down, even Jack sometimes wished his mother hadn’t given him the books. According to Sam, she’d been the one who wanted to raise him in the cottage on the edge of the jungle, outside the walls of Vispera. She’d wanted to raise him the way his original might have been, the way a human boy would have been raised in human times — with a home, parents, with human books and games and his own bedroom instead of a line of beds in a dorm. She’d raised him to give him some sense of who he was as a human, when really all he wanted was to be like every- one else and have friends his own age. Sometimes he resented all the ways his mother had made him different. And then, in the process, she’d made herself different too, and that had ended in the worst possible way.

“I’m sorry you won’t be part of the ceremony, Jack. But listen, I do have good news. The Council has agreed to let you have an apprenticeship. We’ll meet with you after the ceremony, and they’ll let you Declare.”

“Declare an apprenticeship?” Jack hadn’t considered this possibility that they might let him have a job in town, serve some useful purpose. He stood. “I’ll show them my music,” he said, thinking of the instrument Sam had given him years ago that was tucked away in the lab.

It’s a guitar, Sam had said back then. At least, that’s what the catalogue in the Tunnels called it. As a child, Jack had built a crude wooden box with strings pulled across the top, trying to mimic the sound of the human recordings his mother had given him. Once Sam had figured out what he was trying to do, he’d brought Jack the guitar from the Tunnels. From the beginning, Jack had been entranced.

“I can tell them how it works,” Jack said. “I’ll explain the history and play for them.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Sam said, eyeing him worriedly. “They won’t understand. I don’t even understand it, and I’ve been lis- tening to you play for years.”

Jack had learned a long time ago that the guitar mystified the clones. He played it sometimes in his room during the day as the lab workers outside the door peered into their micro- scopes. They’d cast him sideways glances, grumbling under their breaths, but the resonant sounds and the strings under his fin- gers soothed him. Sometimes playing his guitar was the only thing that made him feel sane, the only thing that made him feel like he could keep trying for another day.

In the beginning, watching Sam’s reaction to the sound, it had taken a while before Jack understood. The clones actually couldn’t hear the music. No, that wasn’t right. They could hear it, but they couldn’t hear it. They called it noise and compared it to the drone of insects outside in the forest. Once or twice, as if they felt like they should research the question, the clones in the lab had asked him why he sat on his bed for hours, making that racket on a hollow piece of wood. How could he explain that, from the first time he’d held an instrument and strummed his fingers over it, he’d felt the pulse of the strings like it was his own beating heart?

When Jack realized the clones couldn’t hear music, he’d grasped for the first time how different he was from them. He’d always known they communed with each other and he couldn’t, but somehow, their inability to hear music made him feel even more of an outsider. He’d put the guitar away then. But now, with an apprenticeship, it could be different.

“Don’t you see?” Jack said. “I’ll teach them, really help them understand. I’ll show the Council what I can contribute to the community.”

“No, I’ve already thought about this. You’ll Declare an ap- prenticeship in the clinic, work with me. You’ll learn medicine, something useful.”

“The clinic?” Jack said.

“Of course.” Sam stood, done with the conversation. “Just be ready. You’ll talk to the Council tomorrow, after the ceremony’s done.”

Jack chewed the inside of his lip, thinking.

“Don’t look so worried. This is a good thing. And I’ll be there to help. It’ll all be fine.”

Sam walked down the hill, back toward town. Jack’s gaze followed the man’s path until he reached the school, where something had happened in the children’s game. They’d clus- tered together, their hands resting on each other’s shoulders, and seemed to collectively sigh into each other as if they were one body. Then, just like that, they broke apart and ran across the field, as sudden and synchronized as a flight of birds.

The next day, Jack sat in the chairs facing the outdoor stage in the Commons, waiting for the ceremony to end so he could make his presentation to the Council.

The Gen-310s had each Declared already. The Meis would apprentice in the kitchens, working on the menus for the din- ing hall and telling the Hassans, who had Declared as live- stock managers and field planners, what food they would need and what to cook. The Viktors, as always, were order keepers. They’d never Declared anything else. The Carsons would work with the Kates and Nylas in the labs, monitoring the tanks, re- searching genetics, and preparing for the next Gen to be born in three years. The Samuels, as always, Declared as doctors. The Ingas would be designers, keeping the open spaces in town man- icured and beautiful, and the dorms comfortable and clean. The Altheas Declared as record keepers.

They carried on with the ceremony as if everyone didn’t al- ready know what the models would Declare, as if the commu- nity hadn’t gone through the exact same motions of the Decla- ration every ten years. Samuels never worked in the kitchens, as far as Jack knew. But it didn’t matter. Every ten years, they played out the ritual.

With the Declaration over, the Gen was performing the dance now. Jack would speak with the Council when it was done. His guitar lay next to him on the ground, and he tapped his foot nervously. He’d thought about making graphs and charts, but had decided in the end to just play for them, and talk to them about the history of music, about how it was a vestige of human history. For some reason, it had been forgotten, but they could get it back again. Jack would help. He had a skill, an ability, and it wasn’t new or strange. It was old, had been around for millennia. It was simply waiting to be picked up and dusted off.

Sam still thought he was going to Declare to work in the clinic. He wouldn’t be happy about this, but Jack didn’t want to work in the clinic. He had to show them that they didn’t need to be afraid or repulsed, or think he was strange for offering some- thing like music to them. It could make them better. He could make them better by giving them back something they’d lost.

Jack wiped damp hands across his pants. He felt the inhaler tucked in his pocket and took a deep breath in and out, search- ing for any telltale signs that his lungs were going to betray him. He watched the dance. The Gen-310s traded partners and moved silently across the stage, their performance punctuated only by the sound of their tapping, shuffling feet and the birds in the distant trees.

The clones had many dances. The Pairing dance, for one, and the dances for the Binding Ceremony, or the Yielding Ceremony. The one being performed now wasn’t particular for the Decla- ration, it was simply a dance of contentment, meant to express a kind of pleasure or happiness that things were as they should be, and as the Original Nine intended. The Carsons grasped the Altheas and moved in quick, sure steps, holding the girls’ hands with a certain confident authority.

Jack pushed down his dislike for the Carsons. He had to learn. He had to get along with them if the Council was finally going to allow him to have a real purpose in the community. He’d made a mistake when he was fifteen, fighting with the Car- son-312, and the Carsons had spent the past two years making sure he didn’t forget it. They taunted him, tripped him on his way through town, or acted as if he was invisible, knocking into him as they walked past.

They weren’t all like that, though.

Jack searched through the ten Altheas, looking for the 310. The Altheas were graceful as they danced. They moved with a fluid ease that left their dresses flowing behind their legs like birds’ wings. They were pretty, with their long dark hair and smooth limbs. He liked the way their mouths turned down in a flat, serious line when they were thinking hard about something.

He always remembered Althea-310 from that day at school. She’d been the only clone that whole day who’d looked at him and smiled. He’d search for her anytime he walked through town. He’d see her, sometimes with one of the Nylas, or he’d pick her out from her group of sisters by searching for the scar on her wrist. She never spoke to him. He’d tried a few times to talk to her, but she always scurried off or was pulled away by her sisters. There were times, though, he was sure of it, when he caught her staring at him, and there was something in her eyes. It wasn’t pity. It was something else, something better. Like maybe she understood him.

The Altheas’ long sleeves covered their arms and the scar that would be on her wrist, and as they swirled together in the dance, it was impossible to tell which one was her.

Jack kept watching, though, and as he did, his foot tapped to their movements. It was a struggle for them, learning these dances. It reminded Jack of Sam trying to figure out the rhythm of catching and throwing a baseball. None of it came naturally to them, and their only hope of learning the intricate moves was through rote practice, memorization, or careful counting in their heads. Dances for the clones were an exercise in mathematics as much as anything. Jack never let on how different it was for him, the way he could hear music in his head pulsing steadily in time to the steps.

He picked up his guitar, getting ready for the end of the dance and to speak to the Council. He was second-guessing whether he should actually play for them. They wouldn’t enjoy the music, after all. Maybe he would just show them the instrument and introduce the concept. He would Declare as a teacher, perhaps, rather than a musician, but he would teach them music.

His fingers brushed the strings absently as his eyes lingered on the dark hair of the Altheas all spinning with the other clones. The pad of his palm thumped lightly against the wood, and he strummed the strings again. Slowly, he picked up the movement of the dance, and without thinking about it at all, he plucked the strings in time until a soft melody only he could hear synced with the dance.

It was several moments before he realized a hush had spread across the crowd, and the dance he’d been lost in came to a confused, disjointed halt. A Mei bumped into a Carson, who had stopped suddenly. They all stared at him. Not just the Gen- 310s onstage, but the entire audience of all the other Gens in Vispera. The 290s, 280s, the old 240s at the food table, even the little 320s. And the line of Council members, seated in the front row, who’d twisted around to see what was going on. And they weren’t just staring. They were glaring, their eyes cold and resentful. The last reverberations of the guitar faded away as his fingers stilled, and the echo was loud enough for him to un- derstand that he’d been playing much louder than he intended. They’d heard him. He hadn’t meant to play at all. He’d assaulted their ears with a noise that to them sounded like no more than wasps droning in the roof of a barn, and he’d done it without thinking. He’d just ruined everything.

It was such a stupid mistake.

Jack saw Sam in the line of Council members. The man met Jack’s gaze, and the only thing Jack could see in his eyes was disappointment. Jack’s throat burned.

They could hear it if they tried.

The rebellious thought crept its way into his mind, and he forced it away. That kind of thinking wasn’t going to help.

His mother, at the end, had heard it. Her eyes had shone with the understanding. It was right before she’d run away, taking him with her, that she’d first heard it.

Carson-312 jumped down from the stage, a furious crease be- tween his eyebrows. Jack could tell it was the 312 by the patch in his eyebrow where the hair had never grown back after Jack’s fist had split his skin. Before Jack could stop him, he’d wrenched the guitar away.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you even here?” Carson said, raising the instrument out of Jack’s reach.

It stung that Carson’s questions were the same ones Jack asked himself every day.

“Give it back,” Jack said.

Adrenaline pulsed through him, but he tamped it down. The Council, and Sam, were watching. Jack refused to give them a reason to punish him. After that day in school, they’d locked him in the labs for a long time. He wouldn’t let them lock him away again. He knew they’d spent days back then discussing whether they were going to let their experiment continue. Jack had been too scared to ask Sam what terminating their de-extinction proj- ect would mean for him. He clenched his fists against his side and stayed seated, waiting.

“Give it back,” Jack repeated.

Carson’s eyebrows rose with Jack’s words, and Jack realized he’d made yet another mistake. He shouldn’t have let Carson see how much the guitar meant to him. Carson grinned and moved closer. Jack stood and backed away until his legs hit the chairs behind him. Maybe if he played nice, Carson would quit squeez- ing the neck of his guitar, knocking the strings out of tune.

The Declaration was in disarray. Most of the remaining Gen-310s were still onstage, though the dance had ended. The audi- ence had begun to disperse, not really clear on what was hap- pening and confused by the interruption caused by Jack. A small cluster nearby still watched the two boys, including the Council members. Jack was on display. They wanted to see how this con- frontation would play out, and Jack would bear the brunt of anything that went wrong.

“Are they letting you Declare, monkey-boy?” Carson said, bumping the guitar against his hand. “What are you Declaring as, town freak?”

“I’m Declaring as a teacher,” Jack said, his gaze flicking from Carson to the guitar.

Carson pulled at one of the strings. It gave a sharp twang. “What’s that got to do with this thing? I mean, does it do some- thing?”

“Give it back, and I’ll show you.”

“Why, so you can attack me with it? We all know you’re vio- lent. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

Carson tilted his head, that cool grin widening. In the corner of his eye, Jack saw Sam stand from his seat, but the man didn’t move forward or speak.

Jack shook his head. He was clearly the stupid one, insulting a Carson in front of everybody. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut?

“Listen,” he said, taking a breath, his voice low. “It’s nothing. It plays music, that’s all. Just . . . give it back, okay?”

“Okay,” Carson said. “Come get it.”

The onlookers murmured when Jack reached for the guitar and Carson brusquely pulled it away. He drew Jack close, and Jack felt the other boy’s breath as he snarled, “You want to hit me, don’t you?”

Jack pressed his lips together, stifling the desire to do just that. It was exactly what Carson wanted, for Jack to lose control in front of everyone.

“It’s okay,” Carson said, pushing Jack back and suddenly feigning friendliness. “I’ll give it back, for real this time. But lis- ten, tell me what it’s called first.”

“Why?”

“Don’t be so suspicious. I really want to know.” “It’s a guitar,” Jack said curtly. “It’s called a guitar.”

Jack watched Carson while, as if in slow motion, he dropped the guitar on the ground at Jack’s feet.

“You shouldn’t have ruined our dance, monkey-boy. Say goodbye to your guitar.” And with that, Carson smashed his foot into the base of the instrument, splintering the wood into frag- ments. Jack yelled incoherently as Carson crushed the remnants with the heel of his shoe.

The Council was watching. Sam was watching. The Altheas’ brown eyes were on him, too. The Meis, the Hassans, all of them were watching now. None of that mattered as the anger exploded in Jack’s chest. He rushed at Carson. Immediately, two Viktors and a Hassan grabbed his arms. They must have been behind him the whole time, waiting for him to do exactly this. Before he had a chance to connect with Carson or even realize what was happening, he was on his back, the breath knocked out of him. They pinned his hands, then hauled him up again. His limbs shook with unreleased energy.

“Good job, teacher,” Carson said, his mouth twitching up. “I think we learned everything we need to know from you.”

One of the Viktors twisted Jack’s arm, steering him away from the snickering Carson and the stage.

“Sam!” Jack called into the crowd. “Sam, where are you?” Jack searched across the Commons. Countless dark heads

mingled in the crowd, at least twenty different Samuels, any of which could have been Sam. It was impossible to tell. Sam had abandoned him. Again.

The Viktors escorted him back to his room in the labs, locking the door behind them. The usual punishment for bad behavior.

Jack had grown a lot in the past two years. He was taller than the Viktors, taller in fact than all the models. He was stron- ger than them, too. There were times Jack would look at them and be struck by how delicate the clones were. Thin and nar- row-chested. It didn’t matter, however. They controlled every situation, every move he made.

When Sam came by that night and unlocked the door, Jack wanted to scream at him, tackle him to the ground and hit him the way he’d wanted to hit Carson, hit him until that desolate expression left his face. Instead he said, “You left,” and hated the sorry plea in his voice. “You just left.”

Sam sat in a chair, crossing his ankle over his knee. Jack’s room in the labs was nothing like his room in the cottage. It was a small, sectioned-off corner of the building, with linoleum floors and white-tiled walls. It was as sterile as the larger sec- tions, where banks of fluorescent lights swung over rows of marble-topped desks fitted with gas spigots and sinks. He had a narrow bed, a small chair and desk, and a doored-off bathroom. The lab workers could see him through the small window in the door that led out into the hall. They didn’t bother him much. He sometimes watched them working in the daytime, and then at night the bright lights were turned off, and everything was silent and dark.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said with a heavy sigh.

“They locked me in. You told me after last time they wouldn’t do that again.”

“Not everything is in my control.”

“You’re afraid of them. You’re afraid of the Council.”

“I’m on the Council. I have to consider the needs of the com- munity. I can’t just worry about one boy.”

“What am I even doing here? I can’t figure out the point of your experiment. Why the hell was I born, Sam?”

“You have so much potential, Jack, but you certainly weren’t born so you could disrupt the entire community.”

Jack’s heart sank even as pinpricks of anger pierced him. “My mother, she used to call you my father.”

“The Inga wanted to give you something human. Fathers are something humans had. I never had one — none of us do. I’ve done the best I could.”

Sam used to read to him, before Inga died. Not from the nov- els that Jack liked, the ones Sam called human, but from the histories, his physiology books, and the books that had taught him to be a doctor. The clones didn’t get sick, but he’d read to Jack about setting a limb and treating a concussion or infected wound. When they’d all lived in the cottage, Jack remembered Sam sitting in the creased leather chair studying textbooks and psych manuals, discussing with Inga how humans lived their day-to-day lives. Occasionally Sam would see something in the books and then abruptly declare some new activity, like reading aloud together or throwing a ball outside. Jack still remembered Sam dressed in his lab coat and black shoes, chasing after the balls Jack threw.

“It must have been tough, pretending to care for the sake of your experiment.” Jack heard the venom in his own voice. “Act- ing human, like some kind of animal.”

“I care about you, Jack. More . . . more than I should. It has been difficult. My brothers don’t understand. It’s put distance between us, and you don’t know how hard that’s been.”

“So what now?”

“The Council will meet about what happened. I don’t know what their decision will be for your apprenticeship. Why did you have to bring the guitar, Jack? What were you thinking?”

“You’re not even going to stick up for me, are you? You’ll abandon me like always. Like you did today.”

“I have to do what’s best for Vispera.”

“So go, Sam. Go away and leave me alone.” “Please, listen —”

Jack didn’t want to be mad anymore. Instead his voice was almost gentle when he said, “You can stop trying to be a father. You’re not very good at it, and I don’t need one anymore.”

Jack thought he saw something in Sam’s eyes, but he turned away too quickly to see what it was. He looked up only when the lab door closed and the sound of the latch, this time un- locked, rang through the room.

Later that night, Jack lay sleepless on his bed in the dark, his eyes sore and his head aching. Light from flickering lanterns out- side shone through the tiny window above the bed, mottling the floor of his room. Distant voices floated in with the pattering of rain over the wide jungle trees.

With the Declaration over, the Gen would be holding their monthly Pairing Ceremony now. He could picture the girls in the circle of the Commons, each choosing her partner. In his mind he saw a girl with dark curls walking down the path to the Pairing tents, teasing and playful, hand in hand with a boy who couldn’t possibly grasp how much it meant for her to take him in her arms, their bodies lost in a pile of quilts and tapestries.

Jack curled into himself, burying his head under a pillow in an effort to block out the soft laughter of the strolling couples outside.

***

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