Seven World Tales

One

“But we’re not retired” Mia said. Barrett continued to stare at his phone. Mia waved her hand in front of his face. “Hello? Earth to Barrett!”. Mia’s Husband finally looked up at her. She repeated herself as he took his headphones out. “We’re not retired, Barrett.”

“Well that’s the genius of it.” Barrett replied. “Here, check this out.” He swiped down to disconnect his earbuds and showed her his phone. On it she saw a youngish man with multicolored hair. Obviously filming the video “selfie style” from the driver’s seat of a newer looking car. The bottom of the screen showed a profile picture of the man, and read “@ThriftyTheo”. “Hey my thrifty folks!” The man exclaimed with the type of excitement that seemed to be a commodity for influencers, “If you’re a freelancer, you are going to want to hear this.”

The video cut to a screenshot of a website, “Retirely.ai”.  ThriftyTheo’s voiceover continued.

Everyone knows about Retirely. It’s a membership for older folks right? Wrong. There is no age minimum to get a Retirely account! None! I know what you’re gonna say, ‘but Theo, don’t you have to be retired?’ Wrong again! You just need to not have a W2. That’s what Retirely uses to decide if someone is retired. And let me tell you, the deals are absolutely too good to be true. Except they ARE true. Alright, I’m out. Stay Thrifty! Barrett clicked his phone off and looked at Mia. Two years of mortgage payments had made him obsessive about saving money. "Here, check this out." He had gotten his laptop out, turning it so she could see the screen.

Mia knew what was coming. Another scheme. Another "opportunity" Barrett had discovered that would let him avoid going back to the agency. She'd been patient about the consultancy thing, even though her graphic design gigs were barely keeping them afloat. Between the mortgage and everything else, they were one emergency away from real trouble. The screen showed the Retirely website. Barrett had pulled up a page called "available discounts".

Mia’s eyes started to glaze over. “I don't see how 3 cents off gas is going to-“

“-This isn't AARP, Mia." Barrett interrupted. Mia locked eyes with him.

"Sorry for interrupting. But just look at this." He said. “Forty percent off gas, fifty percent off meals out, one hundred dollar rebate on groceries.” He added, eyes wide. “This is how we can finally overcome all the inflation, get out of our office jobs, maybe even save some money” he scrolled down. “Look here, three-day all inclusive spa and resort, flights included, nine hundred dollar value, just eighty five dollars.” “Yeah how about this one?” Mia pointed to the screen, "those are really cheap coffins." She smiled wryly. "Prepaid funeral services - sixty percent off! That's one way to plan ahead."

Barrett waved his hand dismissively. "I know, there are some weird ones. We're not their target audience. Just keep going, I think there are a few more you might like” “Holy shit!” Mia exclaimed. “What?” Barrett asked. Mia pointed at the screen “They have my favorite Azelaic Acid face cream for just two bucks! Do you know how expensive that stuff is?” Barrett grinned, “Oh I do. So…” “Ok sign us up. I guess we’re retiring early” ———

*Thump* “Barrett, wake up” Mia said, grabbing his shoulder. “I think something just hit the roof.” “What?” Barrett said, rubbing sleep from his eyes “Oh I think that’s the retirely thing”. “Why would it hit the roof?” Mia asked, still half asleep. She checked the time on her phone. Five AM. “You know these tech companies, babe, they deliver it by drone,” Barrett yawned “I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll get up there and grab it when we wake up.” They went back to sleep.

———

“What would we have done if we were actually old?” Barrett yelled into the house. “If we were older, just getting the welcome package might have been a risky endeavor” he said as he slid the ladder away in the garage. Mia opened the box. She found a high gloss poster that read, in enormous type Welcome to the best years of your life and had the familiar Retirely logo. Beneath it was a large packet. Mia flipped through the pages of extensive instructions for using the Retirely app. Every page printed on what looked like thirty two point font. They had figured out how to use the app the day they signed up. Mia threw the packet in the trash. Barrett came into the kitchen and reached into the box and pulled out a smaller booklet. He began to flip through it. He smiled up at Mia. “It’s just the same coupons from the app. Must be for our fellow members who are technologically challenged.” Mia reached into the box and felt something sharp. “Ow!” She pulled her hand out, and had a nick on her finger. “Something broke when they dropped it on the roof.” Barrett reached in carefully, and pulled out a curved triangular shard of ceramic. He grabbed the other piece of it, and put them together. It was a coffee mug that read “I’m Retired. Every day is Saturday!” “Well that’s a shame” Mia shifted her head to get a better look in the box. "Looks like there's one more bigger thing in there". Barrett reached in and showed it to Mia with a grin. A pill organizer, the kind with compartments for each day of the week. "Not their target audience!" they both said, smiling. Barrett put it on the counter and reached back into the box, pulling out a large bottle. "Men's Daily Multivitamin," he read, grinning. He twisted off the cap and shook two into his palm. "Might as well. Free vitamins."

"You don't even take vitamins," Mia said.

"I do now." He swallowed them dry and tossed the bottle on the counter.

Barrett took a smaller piece of paper from the box. Barrett took out his phone. “Here we go” he said, pointing the phone camera at the paper, scanning the QR code to activate their membership. “Ok, we’re in.” He said, “you’re gonna want to scan this on your phone too. Let’s go gas up the car.”

Two

Mia had heard of deals before. She had seen people use coupons. But this was incredible. Unheard of. Their membership had been active for less than six hours. There was a section in the app that showed their total savings so far. It read $342.98. They left the house that morning and filled the car with gas for seventy five cents per gallon. Then they got lunch. Barrett took a photo of their receipt, and his checking account was instantly credited back with half of what they had paid at the restaurant. Then they went to see a movie. Four dollars for movie tickets. Not each. Total. “This is what prices were like when today’s retirees were our age!” Barrett exclaimed as they left the theater. Next, they went grocery shopping. Seventy five percent off select frozen food, and a flat rate of thirty percent off everything else. The groceries that would likely last them two weeks came out to sixty eight dollars. Mia couldn’t wipe the smile from her face as they drove home. “How is this even possible?” “I know right?” Barrett replied “I see stuff all the time that claims to be like, a money cheat code, but this one”, He burped, “this one was actually legit.” Mia noticed a look of concern on Barrett’s face. “What’s wrong?” She asked. “Nothing, I’m fine. Just got a little nauseous there.” He replied, “Probably over ate at the restaurant.” He laughed. 

———

Mia woke up to a guttural sound. “Barrett?” She asked into the darkness. “I’m in here, I’m fine” he replied between heaving sounds. “I just... had to throw up. Was probably something I ate.” Mia looked at her phone. Three AM. She got up and went to the bathroom. Barrett was sitting on the floor, his face near the toilet. He was pale and shaking a bit. “You sure you’re ok?” She asked. “I’ll be fine, just go back to sleep”. Barrett didn’t come back to bed. At eight, Mia went back to the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bathtub, looking at her sick and in-denial husband.  “This is so weird. We ate all the same things yesterday, didn’t we?” She ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah” Barrett said, burping. “Except…” Mia trailed off.  “The vitamins!” She exclaimed.

Barrett looked up at her. "What?"

"The vitamins from the welcome box. You're the only one who took them." She was already walking to the kitchen. She came back with the bottle, squinting at the label. "Barrett, the expiration date on this is 2019."

"That can't be right."

"I'm calling Retirely."

—

The hold music was uncomfortably cheerful. When someone finally picked up, the voice was so aggressively friendly it was almost jarring.

"Hi! Thank you for calling Retirely! This is Summer, how can I make your day better?"

"Hi, Summer. So, we just joined Retirely and it's been amazing so far. The discounts and coupons have been incredible. But we had an issue with the welcome box.” “Alright I’m just looking up your account.” Summer said “Oh, I see you and your husband are young retirees.” There was a beat. “Is that… allowed?” Mia asked. “Yeah that’s fine! So tell me about the issue with the welcome box” Summer replied in her saccharine customer service voice. “These vitamins,” Mia started, “It looks like they expired?”

"Oh my goodness, I am SO sorry to hear that!  Okay, I see you just activated two days ago, welcome to the Retirely family! And oh! Oh no. Okay, I see what happened here." Summer’s voice somehow got even more sympathetic. "Those vitamins were part of our Senior Wellness bundle. They're formulated for members over seventy. I have no idea how they ended up in your welcome package! This is completely our fault."

"He's really sick," Mia said. “I completely understand,” Summer chirped, “and again, on behalf of everyone here at Retirely, I do apologize for the mix up. Here is what I am going to do for you. I’m adding a two hundred dollar credit to your account.” “Wow, really?” Mia said into the phone, she held the microphone to her hand, and turned to Barrett and mouthed “two hundred dollars!” Barrett smiled wearily. “Yeah you should see that in your app… right… now” Summer added. Mia looked down at her phone, then back at Barrett giving him a thumbs up. “Oh thank you so much, Summer, you really didn’t have to-“ “Oh it’s my pleasure.” Summer replied promptly, “In fact, I am also going to upgrade you and Barrett to Retirely plus. No extra charge, and this will give you access to our concierge medical hotline, pharmacy discounts, and 24/7 priority customer service.”

“Oh thank you Summer” Mia said, looking down to Barrett with concern, “Should we call them now about his… symptoms?”

"The symptoms should pass within 24 hours.” Summer said, “It's just because his system isn't used to that particular formulation. But if he's not better by tomorrow evening, please use that medical hotline. Again, I cannot tell you how sorry we are. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"No, I think that's... that's it."

"Wonderful! Thank you so much for being a Retirely member, and we hope Barrett feels better soon! You two have a great rest of your day!"

The line went dead.

Mia sat on the bathroom floor next to Barrett. She opened the Retirely app. Their membership now had a little gold badge next to it that said "Premium Plus."

"They gave us money," she said quietly. "And upgraded us."

Barrett groaned. "Great. Worth it."

“She said you'll be better by tomorrow."

"Cool."

Mia looked at the vitamin bottle in her hand. The expiration date really did say 2019. She tossed it in the trash.

"Barrett?"

"Yeah?"

"That was weird, right?"

Barrett didn't answer. He'd fallen asleep against the bathtub.

Mia looked back at her phone. The savings counter had updated: $562.98. In two days.

She closed the app.

Three

Two weeks had gone by since the bad vitamins, and Mia had to admit to herself that Barrett’s crazy plan might have just worked. The lower financial stress had helped her better deliver to her clients, and she had new referrals for logos and web design coming in. It felt like they could finally breathe. Barrett used the Retirely discount to get professional headshots, attend some local networking events, and even had some leads coming in for his freelance consulting. For the first time since they bought the house, it really felt like they could do this.

They were buying more, but their monthly spending was down. Their savings, which had dwindled to almost nothing soon after Barrett left his job, was slowly growing again. On the Retirely app, their total membership savings so far read 3,419.26.

Mia had just finished a landing page for a client when she heard what sounded like a gunshot. “Barrett, babe! Everything alright?” Mia yelled from the living room. “I’m fine!” Barrett replied “I think our lawnmower is finally dead.” He appeared in the living room, looking down at his phone. “Retirely can have a new one to us later today.” He said, grinning, “guess how much it retails for?” Mia rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same. “A million dollars”. Barrett showed her his phone. A five thousand dollars. And Retirely had it marked down to $200. “I think we can dip into our savings for that, no?” Barrett asked.

Not more than an hour later they heard a loud humming noise.

Mia and Barrett looked up from their phones and at each other. “Is that the lawnmower? So fast.” Mia said.

“It’s those drones, babe.” Barrett replied, “They must have needed a bigger one this-“ Barrett was interrupted by a loud crashing noise.

They both rushed out through the garage. The giant wooden box was on its side, and a small chunk of their roof had been torn off. unlocked her phone and started dialing.

As Mia listened to the cheerful holding music, Barrett used a crowbar to open the box. “I think it’s ok, babe!” Barrett exclaimed, “They packed it in foam.” He looked up at their garage roof. “We might need some repair here though.

The hold music stopped. “Retirely customer support, This is June” just as chipper as the last. Mia watched her husband retrieve the lawnmower as she spoke into the phone on speaker. “Hi June, Mia here, I just wanted to let you all know about an issue with our last delivery” Mia said with growing anger. “Yes! Mia, was that the lawnmower? I am just seeing you got the Retirely plus priority same day delivery, what seems to be the problem? Did the lawnmower make it in tact?” June replied.

“Yeah June, the lawnmower seems fine” Mia looked at Barrett as he gave her a thumbs up. “But it took a chunk out of our roof on the way down” “Oh no! I am so sorry to hear that Mia. You know these drones, a little change in wind speed and things like this can happen. Can you send me a picture of the damage to your house via the in-app support file upload feature?” Mia walked out to the driveway and used her phone to take a few pictures of the damaged roof. “It’s uploading June, you should see it in-“ “Yes I am seeing it now” June said. “- a few seconds.” Mia said, rolling her eyes at Barrett as he removed foam pads from the bottom of his new toy. “Oh, Mia, let me just say on behalf of everyone here at Retirely I am so sorry about this drone error.” June bubbled, “we are going to send out a crew to fix that this weekend.” “Really?” Mia asked. “Is that standard protocol for this type of thing?” Seems like it would be a little loud.” “Oh it’s 100% included in your membership, and so is the weekend getaway.” June said. “What?” Mia asked. “That’s right! All inclusive stay in a cottage in Vermont for the two of you. Nine hundred dollar value. On us. Car service included!” June beamed. Barrett looked up at Mia, nodding his head. “Oh, ok, when do we leave?” Mia could feel the anger dissolving. The thought of a free vacation was just too good to question. “The car should be there to pick you up Friday morning at 10am. It’s warm in Vermont, and the cottage has a pool, so bring your swim suits. The cottage has hiking poles and climbing equipment if you want.”

“Cool. And your crew, will they need access to the house?” Mia asked. “Nope!” June intoned. “Based on these photos, they should just be able to repair the roof from the outside. Our structural team has assured me that the damage is mostly cosmetic. Will that be all for today Mia?” “Yeah, thanks”. Mia said. “Vermont?” Barrett asked. Mia nodded. “Pack your swimsuit”.

———

Barrett sat on the couch with his backpack next to him as Mia got ready. The car would be there soon, she knew. “Did you pack your swimsuit?” Mia asked. “Yup” Barrett said absently as he looked as his phone. “Oh that’s a shame”. “What? Mia said. “Thriftytheo died” Barrett said. “What?” Mia asked, walking towards Barrett. “He was so young! Like our age right?” “Yep,” Barrett said, turning his phone to show Mia a news article. The headline read: “Influencer dead in freak electrical fire”

“It really sucks” Barrett said. “Think about what our lives would be like if it wasn’t for him?”

They heard a car honk twice outside.

“That must be our driver” Mia said, grabbing the handle on her rolling luggage.

The car was one of the more recent Honda Civics.

Barrett rounded the car to meet the driver, then looked back at Mia. “Babe, check this out!” He yelled back. The car had no driver. In the driver’s seat was a device with several metal extensions coming from a central unit. “Hello, Barrett and Mia” The voice seemed to come from external speakers on the car. “My name is Beebo. I am here to drive you to Mount Anthony in beautiful Vermont.” The trunk of the car opened automatically. Mia was a little alarmed, but it’s not as if driverless taxis were unheard of. “Are you sure about this, Barret?” She asked “We don’t have to go, maybe we can get a different gift from them. We haven’t had the best experience with retiree’s automated vehicles.” “Babe what? No” Barrett said, “Drones are finicky, it’s the wind. There is so much more research and development for this kind of tech. It’s gonna be fine. Haven’t you always wanted to go to Vermont?” Mia sighed. “Yeah ok.”

The ride did not start great. The robot stopped very suddenly at what it thought was a child, but was actually just a stick. After that, it was better though. The robot got them out of town and onto the highway with no blatant errors or lapses in judgement. 

“Isn’t this cool?” Barrett said with childlike wonder. “Yeah, I have to admit, this is pretty cool” Mia smiled, “I think I’m gonna nap.” Wake me up when we get to the mountains.”

———

Mia awoke to a feeling of wetness on her cheek. 

Barrett was screaming“Mia? Babe? Get up we need to get out of here.”

There was water in the car. Mia thought that was funny as she rubbed her eyes. 

Barrett turned to the cracked window “Help!” He cried.

They were in water. What the hell had even happened? Mia tried to clear the fog from her brain as she saw her husband taking his shirt off and wrapping it around his fist.

“Cover your eyes Mia” he said with adrenaline in his voice, “I’m gonna break the window.”

Mia covered her eyes and heard a loud shattering noise as water began to fill the back seat of the Honda Civic.

Barrett grabbed Mia and pulled her out of the open window. This really woke her up, and they both swam to the shore of the small lake. 

They could see mountains on the horizon as the Honda Civic sank to the bottom of the lake. 

They stood on the side of the road, Barrett held his thumb out, but they hadn’t seen another car yet.

“What happened?” Mia asked.

“Babe, it was crazy” Barrett said, his voice ragged, “We got off the highway maybe 30 minutes ago, and we’re driving right up here” he pointed up the road to where Mia could see skid marks, “The car just hit the brakes and veered off into the lake.”

A car drove up to them and stopped. The driver was a middle aged woman. Barrett approached her passenger window as it retracted.

"Hey! Thank you so much for stopping. Our car went in the lake, do you think you could get us to Pearl River?"

"Sure, I'm headed that way. Get in" the woman replied.

They climbed into the back seat, dripping lake water onto her upholstery.

"I'm so sorry about your seats," Mia said.

"Don't worry about it." The woman pulled back onto the road. "What happened? Car just go off?"

"It was one of those driverless ones," Barrett said. "Just... malfunctioned, I guess."

"Ah." The woman nodded knowingly. "Technology. My father was all about that stuff. Always signing up for the latest apps and services." She laughed softly. "He got on this retirement membership thing a few months ago. Retirely, I think? He was so excited about the discounts." Mia and Barrett exchanged a glance.

"Was?" Mia asked carefully.

"Oh. Yeah." The woman's voice softened. "He passed away about two weeks later. Heart attack. He was eighty-three, so... you know. It was his time." She glanced at them in the rearview mirror. "But he loved that service while he had it. Saved him a fortune on his prescriptions."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Mia said quietly.

"Thank you. He had a good life." The woman turned her attention back to the road. "You two live in Pearl River?"

"Yeah," Barrett said. "Just off Main Street."

The rest of the ride passed in silence, Mia staring out the window while Barrett squeezed her hand. They arrived back at their home just after dark. Their garage roof was already fixed

Four

When they got inside, Mia got on her computer to order them new phones. “We’re paying full price.” She said sternly, “they’ll be here the day after tomorrow. Amazon won’t try to kill us.” Barrett huffed. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic? It was an accident.”

“It was four accidents, Barrett” Mia said. “They dropped the welcome package on the house, they poisoned you, they broke our roof, and then they drove us into a lake with that stupid driverless car!”

“Ok. Yes. But that was all through Retiree’s delivery and fulfillment services.” Barrett said, hands on his hips, “What if we just stay on for the gas and groceries? We could still do this, babe.”

Mia didn’t look up from the computer.

“Here, Look at this” she said, turning the screen towards Barrett.

It was a video from Thriftytheo, dated 2 days ago. He looked into the screen, smiling but with some nervousness. Hey thrifty gang! I just wanted to let you know about a whole nother great feature of Retirely! The partner provider network! These are doctors, veterinarians, plumbers, housekeepers and more, at hefty discounts. And if you have Retirely plus, like me? They are free. Just got my wiring redone by a Retirely-approved electrician. Scheduling was easy, and it was totally free. Stay Thrifty! “Barrett” Mia started, “That was the last video he made.”

“Ok, I’ll admit it’s shady with the timing,”Barrett said, “but we don’t have all the facts!”

“Yeah? How about this?” Mia asked, turning the screen back at her husband. It was a reddit thread. 

The post title: “PSA: Be careful with 'Retirely' - shady practices?”

The article linked didn’t open, but the body of the post read: Just seeing a lot of younger people signing up for Retirely. I work for an investment bank and we just did due diligence on the company. They are hemorrhaging money, and no one at my work understands how their business model works. The membership is less than one tenth the value of what most members get from it. I have heard good things about the discounts, but I have heard their delivery service is glitchy. Anyone use it? What do you think about the membership? “Look at the comments, Barrett” Mia said.

“Whoa.” Barrett replied, “And all these accounts have been deleted?”

[deleted user] 2 points 4 months ago I signed up because of ThriftyTheo's video. Two weeks later my brakes failed. Retirely partner mechanic had just done an inspection the day before.

[deleted user] 5 points 4 months ago My partner hotel had a gas leak. Woke up feeling sick, couldn't think straight. The CO detector in the room wasn't working.

[deleted user] 8 points 3 months ago Guys I'm genuinely scared. Three 'accidents' in two months. All at Retirely partner locations or with partner products. I tried to cancel but I couldn’t afford to.

“Wait, What is that?” Mia said pointing to the last one “what did they mean?”

“Maybe like, the discounts?” Barrett replied.

She opened a new tab and went to the Retirely website. She signed in and clicked “live support”

A popup blinked onto the screen, with the Retirely logo and a sound wave animation. “Hello, Retirely support, this is Coral speaking.” The voice was as chipper as June. As chipper as Summer. “Am I speaking to Mia and and Barrett? How is Vermont?”

“Yeah about that,” Mia started, “we never made it to the cottage. Your car tried to kill us, Coral. It drove right into a lake, my husband had to break us out of the car, and we hitchhiked home.” “Oh I am so sorry to hear that,” Coral started,  “you know what? I am going to set you two up with-“

“Hey. Coral” Mia interrupted, “I think we actually just want to cancel.”

There was a long pause.

“Are you, Are you sure about that?” Coral faltered.

“Yep.” Mia said, “Pretty sure. We are just not super jazzed with the life threatening situations. I think we’ll just go back to paying full price on gas.”

“Oh, ok” Coral sighed, “Let me transfer you to cancellations.”

The hold music came from the computer as Mia looked up at Barrett.

“We’ll figure this out, ok?” She said.

Barrett looked down. “I just really don’t want to go back to the office.” He straightened his shirt a bit, “But I will if I have to.”

The music ended mid melody and a new voice came on. Older, less energetic.

“Hello this is Holly, I understand you wanted to cancel your Retirely plus membership?” The voice said.

“Yes, hi holly” Mia said, grinning, “We would like to cancel effective immediately.”

“Have you already wired your cancellation fee?” Holly barked.

“No we haven’t.” Mia said. “How much is it? A couple hundred bucks?” There was a long pause. “Check your welcome packet.” Holly croaked. “So that’s the thing, Holly,” Mia started, weaponizing her own customer service voice, “We don’t have our onboarding paperwork. Can you just tell us how much the cancellation fee is?” “I’m sending you a link through the online portal.” Holly said curtly. “Call back when you’ve paid up and we can talk cancellation”.

The line went dead.

A message box opened up with a link. Mia clicked to download the PDF of their onboarding paperwork.

She searched the document for cancellation terms. 

Barrett sighed, eyes glazing over, “They really make this a pain, maybe we should think about-“ “Here it is.” Mia interrupted. “Cancellation fee… home equity... Oh fuck”

“What? How much is it?” Barrett asked.

Mia pulled up a calculator app on her laptop. “Barrett, if we cancel. They can take the house.”

“What?” Barrett exclaimed. “How is that even legal?”

“They have our e-signatures from when we signed up. The cancellation fee is tied to the value of the house. It comes out to forty seven thousand dollars given our mortgage terms and the house’s current market-“

As Mia spoke, their power went out.

“-value” Mia said.

Five

“Our phones should get there later today” Mia said. “What is the power company saying?” Barrett wiped his eyes with sleep. They had stayed in the car that night. Mia didn’t want to take any chances.

“Huh?” Barrett said, staring absently at his laptop screen. “Oh, they said there is no issue on their end. They can’t send a technician until Monday.”

“Monday?” Mia looked up from her laptop. They were in the parking lot of a nearby coffee shop so they could get on the wifi. “That’s the day after tomorrow. What are we supposed to do?”

“Yeah” Barrett rubbed his face “I said it was an emergency. They said that if it is reading normal on their end, it’s not an emergency. Y’know, I bet Retirely could send someone out in just a few-“

“No” Mia interrupted. She had stayed awake most of the night reading through the terms and conditions they signed less than 3 weeks ago. “Sorry, I’m just a little on edge.” “Understandable” Barrett yawned.

One passage in the cancellation terms kept replaying in Mia’s mind.

"In the event of total property loss due to fire, flood, natural disaster, or other act of God..."

“Maybe we just go to a hotel?” Barrett asked, “Just wait it out. We’ll get our phones later today, stay 2 nights and the technicians will come to the house on Monday”

“A Retirely partner hotel?” Mia asked. “No, probably not” Barrett answered.

“Why don’t we just go home?” Mia asked, “If the house is still safe, we’re probably okay until Monday.”

“Are you serious?” Barrett questioned.

"I mean, it's daytime. And maybe, just maybe we're being a little paranoid." Mia kept her voice casual, reasonable. "ThriftyTheo's fire happened at night. If something's wrong with our electrical, we'd see smoke, smell something. We could wait there for the phones, then decide what to do."

“I don’t know, Mia” Barrett said, barely putting up a fight.

"Barrett." She reached over and took his hand. “We can't live in our car. And we can't afford a hotel. Let's just go home, get the phones, and figure this out. Maybe you're right. Maybe there's another way."

“You really think so?” He asked, searching her face.

“I think…” She trailed off, “I think we’re tired, and sleep deprived, and not thinking straight. We’ll get to the house and sleep in shifts, just for the weekend.” The lies came easily. She squeezed his hand. "Let's just go home."

———

Their house looked completely normal and unthreatening. The newly repaired roof shingles gleamed in the morning light. The suburban dream they had shared for so much of their lives, had finally come true just two years earlier.

The lawnmower sat in its box in the driveway partially unwrapped, foam padding scattered around it.

When they got inside, Barrett tried the light switch. “Power’s still out” he said as Mia walked towards the sunlit kitchen. 

“That’s weird” Mia said.

“What?” Barrett asked. 

He came into the kitchen and saw her pointing to the microwave. The clock was on, blinking, frozen at around the time they arrived back the previous night, waiting to be set.

Barrett tried moved toward an outlet with his laptop charger. 

“Wait!” Mia exclaimed, but it was too late. He plugged it in and his phone began charging.

“It works.” Barrett said, shocked, “and our wifi is back on. Doesn’t really make sense, right?”

“None of this makes sense” Mia retorted. She walked to the kitchen window, looked out at their backyard. The grass was getting long. "You know what? Why don't you try out the new lawnmower? The grass needs it anyway. I’ll figure out which of the outlets work.”

Barrett looked at her like she was insane. "You want me to mow the lawn right now? What happened to sleeping in shifts?”

“I’ll be ok for an hour or so” Mia replied warmly “We’re just waiting for our phones right? We’ll sleep in shifts once they get here. Besides, you were so excited about the lawnmower, five thousand dollar retail value, might as well get our money’s worth”

"Mia,” Barrett started.  

"I'm serious. Go. I'll watch for the delivery." She needed him outside. Needed him away. "It'll be good to do something normal. Clear your head."

Barrett hesitated. He looked around and shrugged “Yeah okay. You’re right.” He looked around as if the room had a crowd, smiling “Public service announcement! My wife is correct, yet again!”

Mia waited until she heard the garage door open, heard him wrestling with the packaging. Then she moved. Once Barrett had gone past the threshold on his way to the backyard, she headed to the garage. She grabbed the Gas can they had kept for the old lawnmower. She climbed the stairs to the second floor. The attic access was in the hallway ceiling. She pulled down the ladder, climbed up into the dim space. 

The repair crew had been up here. She could see the new work. Fresh lumber where the drone had crashed through, new wiring running along the joists. She touched one of the wires. It was warm. Not hot, but warm. In a house with no power.

She unscrewed the cap on the gas can and started pouring. Outside, she heard the lawnmower roar to life. Barrett would be out there for another half hour. Maybe more.

Mia poured the gas, starting with a generous amount on the new wiring. She took the can down the ladder and poured more gas on the second floor. She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at their house. The photos on the wall—their wedding, their families, their life. The paint colors they'd chosen. The floors they'd refinished.

She finished the can in the downstairs by the living room. She grabbed her and Barrett’s laptops as she ambled into the kitchen, turning the stove on and blowing out the flame. She reached into the cupboard and grabbed some matches.

She made her way to the front door to take one final look. Two years of mortgage payments. Every dollar they'd saved for the down payment.

She struck the match.

She walked casually around the side of the house as smoke began to emerge from the downstairs window. Once she rounded the corner she started running, yelling to Barrett. 

"Barrett!" Mia's scream cut through the sound of the lawnmower. "Barrett, fire! Stay there!”

He killed the engine, looked up. Smoke was pouring from the second-floor windows.

“Oh my god!” He started running towards the house but Mia stopped him with a firm palm to his chest.

“It’s too late” she said.

The windows burst as Mia and Barrett covered their heads. Glass and roof shingles flew almost as far out as the end of the yard. 

———

The firefighters were still spraying water on the decrepit pile of wood and concrete when the amazon delivery van showed up. Mia signed for the package. 

She activated her new phone and dialed the number. It was seared into her memory. She put it on speaker phone.

“Is this really the time to call them, babe?” Barrett said, confused.

“We’re finishing this” Mia said with determination. The holding music stopped.

“Retirely, this is Ray speaking how may I help-“ the voice started. Lilting and cheerful as ever.

“Cancellations.” Mia interrupted, “Put me through to cancellations”

The transfer was almost instantaneous.

“Hello, you’ve reached Retirely cancellations department.” The voice said slowly, almost lethargically “This is Noel. How can I help you?”

“Hi Noel. Mia here.” Mia said with confidence “We’re ready to cancel.”

“Just looking up your account, I’m sorry this must be a mistake” Noel stammered, “are you sure you have the right account number?”

“Yep.” Mia replied.

There was another long pause. “But our records show that you and your husband are-“ Noel started.

“Deceased?” Mia said. “Nope. But we’ve paid our cancellation fee.”

Barrett looked at her with confusion, Mia nodded and mouthed “I’ll explain”.

“That’s impossible.” Noel scolded “the contract clearly states-“

“I read your fucking contract, Noel, It’s very clear about cancellations. The fee is tied to our home equity. Our home’s value. I can assure you, our home is now basically worthless. But you knew that. You just didn’t know that we left before it burned down.”

“You seem to know our terms quite well Mia”, Noel said with a smug tone “you have unlocked fee-free cancellation. Press the pound sign on your phone to verify.”

The case that made my career. Down at the precinct they called it “the mindfuck robbery”, and it was universally agreed that if I hadn’t done what I did, we would have never caught the guys.

It started as a normal day at the office. A few muggings, domestic disputes, maybe a bath-salts-fueled molestation of a vending machine. Routine stuff.

Then we got the call. Bank robbery downtown. It was dramatic.

I was a rookie patrolwoman, slightly above average performance stats, but in the three years since I graduated the police academy, and the day of the mind fuck robbery, I really hadn’t done anything to set myself apart.

Well there was one other time my excellent hearing was an advantage. I had helped identify a background noise on a 911 call, and everyone was already calling me “Ears”.

We had officers with awful nicknames, I was glad “Ears” stuck.

So we get to the bank, and we’re playing grunt support and crowd control for the fancy federal agents.

My Sargent mentioned my nickname in passing, and the backstory, and all of a sudden I have two FBI agents looping me in to the situation inside the bank.

Cops are superstitious. FBI agents are superstitious. I tried to explain that I did not have super hearing to no avail.

There I was, listening in on all communications going in or out of the bank. During a major hostage situation.

I was on the news for fucks sake. At that point my vague plan had three elements:

One: don’t say something stupid to one of these FBI agents.

Two: don’t actively fuck up this operation.

Three: do not promise anything regarding your “magic ears”. They got you into this situation, but they are highly unlikely to get you out of it.

Those three inner commands were my true north for most of the night.

Then things started to escalate. The two FBI agents, agent Gad and agent Stone, had me listening in on every call.

Michelle Gad was one of these FBI agents who fit much more into a “bureaucrat” stereotype than a law enforcement agent. Glasses, narrow shoulders, and she wore Kevlar in a way that told me she was probably usually behind a desk.

Jack Stone, the hostage negotiation specialist, was the opposite cliche. This guy was right out of a gritty tv drama. Giant beer belly, two day shadow, and he drank more coffee than anyone I had ever met personally. He would have fit in better as a local cop, I’ll admit. He was about as good as you could ask for in a male colleague. That is, he didn’t sexually harass me, and I was confident that if we both were chasing a perp on foot, I would get the collar as he collapsed into a pile of sweat and runner’s stitch.

They asked me questions like I was some sound analysis or linguistics expert. Did the robbers have accents? They sounded like locals to me. How many were there? I replayed the tapes to try to find out.

The first way I helped, and maybe proved myself a bit, is when they asked how many robbers there might be. We had 3 hour old security footage from outside, from before they took the building. We also had every hostage call on tape.

The voices of the robbers sounded garbled, but it was pretty clear to me there were at least 2 or 3 different people who had been on the other end of the line with the FBI. The only reason I caught it and not someone else, is because all 3 voices used the first person singular to refer to the robbery. “I’m going to kill the hostages if you don’t give me…” etc.

This was a small but definite win. And it only cemented me as “the girl with the magic ears”, or just “ears” for short.

We had worked out that the robbers had at least 3 people just on the phone. Gad was on her computer using a layout of the bank, and predicting possible numbers of robbers, hostages, and locations. She and Stone were talking to The SWAT captain about finally breaching the doors when we heard an ear shattering roar from the building. This was immediately followed by the sounds of glass breaking in several distinct crash-and-shatter noises back to back.

At this point, smoke could be seen coming out of the bank building. Agent Gad had her maps, and had worked out where the smoke was coming from.

The SWAT captain looked to the FBI agents, settling his gaze on Stone. “Sir, I think it’s time we breach the building.” He said.

Stone looked to Gad. I wasn’t sure what the command structure was, but either Gad was Stone’s superior, or Stone was just checking her analytical opinion against his gut instinct.

Gad nodded and turned to the swat team. “Suit up captain. We’re going in.” She looked to Stone, then to me, “Let’s take those ears on the road shall we?” She smiled.

I couldn’t reconcile agent Gad’s personality with the ear thing. In all other ways, she seemed like the least superstitious cop I had ever seen. Maybe she was just doing it to add some confidence. “Hey guys, we’ll be fine, we got magic ears on our side!”

The breach went pretty well. The swat team got into the main lobby and located about 2 dozen hostages. As they approached the vault, we heard one team member on the radio. “We’re almost to the vault, 1 hostile”. I heard the gunfire through the building and on the radio. “Tango down. I repeat tango down.”

The man they shot was identified to be one Mark Cordova, high profile bank robber and conman. He was well known for working alone.

A few minutes later it all clicked. Fuck I was gonna have this nickname for the rest of my life.

I ran back to the FBI staging zone. Gad was still trying to piece it all together, and I could see she was also confused about the number of robbers. I ran through the barricade waving my local PD badge, Gad waved me in.

She started “Ok you’re here to explain how one man pulled this off? We have millions in cash missing, no clue where it is, or how Cordova got it out. He’s always been one of the slipperiest-“

I had to interrupt her. “Cordova was a hostage. They pulled a switch.”

Gad’s face went giddy. We had spent the last 6 hours together outside this bank, and I would have never guessed she had such an electric smile.

“You didn’t release the hostages yet did you?” I asked.

“Hostages?” Agent Gad beamed “hun, this is ain’t my first rodeo” she was not someone I had imagined using the word “ain’t” unironically. “ever since that movie came out, we just keep all the hostages until we sort it out. I’ll get you some voice recordings in the morning and we’ll nail these sons of bitches to the wall.”

“Thankyou agent Gad!” I said. Nervous, relieved, just generally exhausted.

Bruno Deathbright had been born powerful. In the top two percentile of the population.

By his teen years, he had mastered most petty magic, and found himself more intrigued with Terminus than Vitae.

He didn’t read the Vitae-influenced news sites. They made it out to be that The Lux Vitae, The Light of Life, was “good”, and The Lux Terminal, The Light of Death, was “evil”.

Bruno thought himself a wise young man, and joined “c/vitae-terminal-debate” on conjureddit and his figurative devil’s advocate stance became all too literal.

He had become a well known critic of the extreme anti-Terminus measures being taken by the Vitus-controlled government and media.

Although Bruno was a well known Acolyte of Lux Terminus, he had made inroads in the mainstream of society by being approachable and charming.

His voice was that of a moderate, with legitimate criticisms of the government’s discrimination of Terminus practitioners, many of whom were practicing ancient traditions.

Bruno waxed poetic about freedom of religion on cable news, podcasts, conferences, and universities.

He once even hosted Hans Shadowbane on his own show. Bruno thought of Hans as just another Vitus shill, but the two were more similar than either would have liked to admit.

Of course, in a sense, it was all a sham. While Bruno did alright on media appearances, the bulk of his income came from occult consultation he gave to the CIA and MI5. Try getting them to admit it though.

Bruno slicked back his thick, dark brown hair, slapped on his enchanted aftershave from Dior, and posed in the mirror, staring at his own body.

“You’re sexy. You’re powerful. You’re so powerful.” He pointed at his reflection. “You, will bring the Terminus. Manifest it.” He closed his eyes and began to levitate above the marble floors of his midtown apartment.

His body began to lightly glow and hum, growing louder and louder.

“Babe?” He heard the voice of his girlfriend, Natasha Darkblood.

She opened the door and looked up at his naked glowing physique.

“Babe! It’s almost time to go! What are you doing?” She looked him up and down and sniffed at the air, “too much cologne, babe.”

Almost twenty years his junior, Natasha was of course also a magic user, but her powers were limited. Top seventy fifth percentile of the general populace. Not much more than party tricks and some light telekinesis.

But she was pretty, and she was a fairly well known influencer and tv personality, so they were a good fit as far as Bruno was concerned.

Natasha had made her big break on the Netflix occult dating series, “Magic is Blind” in which she was eliminated in the finale for not marrying some Vitus dweeb named Melvin Brightmind.

Her time on the show had paid off, and she amassed a sizeable following on Witchr and Conjuretube. Many of her fans began the narrative that she was actually kicked off the show, as Netflix could not allow a Lux Terminal user to win.

Natasha’s official stance on the matter had always been, “I never said that, and Netflix was very respectful to me, but you know it’s true.”

She pointed her hand at the clothes laid out on their bed, and flung them at Bruno one by one.

He caught them with a point, and floated down to the ground, holding each successive item of clothing in the air above his left shoulder.

They met several months after her time on the Netflix show. He defended her in an interview with occult late night host David Spellerman.

She reached out to him via Witchr DM and they met up for drinks that night.

That was almost a year ago, and while Bruno was certainly bored with the relationship, his manager strongly advised staying with her for the increased media attention. So he did.

As he dressed himself, using telekinesis to slip into his clothes, he asked “why do we even have to go to this thing? It’s some Vitae-sponsored charity garbage. They are just-“

“-Babe,” Natasha interrupted, “We need to engage with them if we are ever going to win over public support. It’s how we get our foot in the door. Plus, didn’t you see what the event is for? Who is going to be there?”

She took out her phone and tapped a few times and handed it to him.

It was the Witchr event page for the charity auction. It said:

Child Leukemia Healing Drive

Saturday, March 5th, 2022

City Occult Museum

With special guests Hans Shadowbane, Natasha Darkblood, and Bruno Deathbright

“So we’re special guests, I knew Hans would be there too.” Bruno said, still not following, as he read he realized.

“The kids!” Bruno exclaimed, pointing a finger in the air. He had begun to float again, and fire emerged from his pointed finger as if from a grill lighter.

“Over two hundred sick, dying children. We will heal many, of course, but surely we can take one?” He said, the flame from his hand growing as he floated higher into the room. He turned to Natasha “Surely we can take one for Balam?”

“We sure can babe, now hurry up let’s go!” Natasha said, motioning to the door.

Bruno floated down a bit, now fully dressed, with a significantly larger flame coming out of his hand.

Bruno continued looking at the phone, flames from his hand expanding up towards the ceiling. “Balam will be pleased!” He said, as one of the curtains caught fire.

“Oh. Fuck.” Bruno said, ceasing the flames from his hand, and immediately pushing out a strong gust of wind at the curtain, which quickly smothered the flame.

The smoke alarm began to ring.

“Whew. Sorry about that.” He said, turning back to Natasha.

“Can we go already?” She asked. He nodded and they walked out the door to their apartment. On his way out, Bruno pointed to the smoke alarm, and it came apart in an instant.

They were silent until the elevator. “It’s good to be fashionably late to something like this.” Bruno said, straightening his tie with his hand. “We’re Terminal! We’re supposed to be edgy!”

“I just fucking got those curtains, Bru!” Natasha exclaimed as the elevator door opened. She hit him with her handbag. In a mocking tone she said “Balam will be pleased!” then in her normal voice added, “Asshole.”

They stepped outside the lobby of the apartment building, and Natasha looked around and then looked at Bruno. “Did you get an Uber or not?”

“Oh was I supposed to do that?” Bruno said. “I got a little lost inside myself for a while there.”

“I’m sure you did.” Natasha said derisively. “Well now we’re gonna be even more late.”

Bruno looked at his watch. They would be on time if they could get to the event in under a minute.

It was across town. 10 minutes for an Uber to get to them, another 25 minutes to get there.

He grabbed Natasha by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes, bowing his head down. “No! No! I hate-“ she started.

They disappeared from the sidewalk outside the apartment building and teleported across town to the sidewalk outside the City Occult Museum.

Natasha doubled over with a wretch. Bruno didn’t look down, but he did distinctively hear the sound of vomit hitting the sidewalk. He felt some of it get on his shoes. He blinked with mild irritation.

“-Transmutation” Natasha finished. “I hate transmutation.” She repeated. And hit him on the shoulder. “Asshole.”

“Well we are here on time. And now you have room for Hors D'oeuvres.” He said pointing down to the puddle that he recognized as the Quinoa bowl they had shared for lunch.

Julian had never seen a hitchhiker in real life. Apparently, they used to be a thing, like dye-free snack foods and casual racism at family dinners.

Basically a ride sharing app for boomers, except you might pick up a murderer, or be picked up by one. 

It had been a hot day in Southern Vermont. Julian was driving from the farmer’s market in Londonderry to his uncle’s house outside of Manchester, where he was staying for the summer. He saw an older man. Mid 60s, fully equipped with hiking gear, he was walking down the shoulder of route 11 with his thumb out.

By week two, Julian had seen hitchhikers in hiking boots, business suits, and a guy holding what was either a bassoon or a sniper rifle.

As someone born in the late 1990s and raised in the cultural milieu of the early 21st century, Julian’s instinct was to drive on by. Stranger danger. There was a reason that people didn’t hitchhike any more. Murderers, remember?

He wasn’t planning to stop. He never planned to stop. But when he saw a woman standing alone on a curve, out of sight from the others, he pulled over.

“I can take you as far as Dorset, if you’re headed that way,” he shouted out of the open passenger-side window.

The woman seemed to wake up from a trance-like state. She nodded lazily, looked at him briefly, then opened the passenger door and sat down.

“Buckle up” Julian said in what he hoped was a friendly tone.

She stared ahead like the road owed her money. Julian wondered if this was a drug thing, or just a Vermont thing.

He drove in silence for what felt like an hour, but must have been only 10 minutes as they approached Manchester.

Julian wondered if hitchhikers operated on some unspoken barter system, where the ride came with a vow of total silence. Maybe they were all in a union and there was a rule about not letting the driver feel comfortable.

“Is Dorset good?” Julian asked, growing impatient, “Where are you trying to get to?” 

The woman started to look around. “No I’m right outside Manchester.”

Julian felt relieved. She was local. Didn’t quite explain everything, but he’d save some time on the drive.

“Great! Same here. When we get into town, you can direct me to wherever…” He trailed off. “Hey, I mean no offense, but, if you’re a local, why were you hitchhiking?”

There was a long and awkward silence as the woman began to look around more deliberately.

“What the fuck is going on here?” She asked.

“I’m giving you a ride. You were hitchhiking” Julian replied. “I think you were just about to give me your-“

“This is my car!” She interrupted “Who the fuck are you?”

Julian felt the cool shock of adrenaline. A complete stranger, who might have been on drugs, was becoming agitated in his car. What’s more, she thought it was her car. 

“I know. Subaru Forester.” Julian said, attempting to keep his cool, “It’s the most popular car in the state. I assure you, it is mine.”

“No! This is my car!” The woman exclaimed. “I have that same air freshener!” She said pointing at the AC vent.

Yeah, because nobody else in Vermont owns a Family Dollar pine tree. Slam dunk, lady. Julian thought.

“And this” She grabbed her headrest, removing it from the seat and turning it around. “It’s damaged from the time I tried fitting a kayak in here”.

Julian went white. He almost lost control of the car. She knew about the damage to his passenger side headrest. She even knew exactly how it happened.

That’s a good guess. That’s a phenomenal guess. That’s an impossible guess.

“Ok lady, I think I’m gonna let you off up here.” Julian said, trying to keep the shock out of his voice as he looked for somewhere to pull over.

“Get out of my car!” The woman exclaimed, lunging at Julian.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and swung her right arm towards his face. Julian jerked his head, trying to keep his eyes on the road.

Her open hand missed his eye, but her nails caught the side of his face, the bright sting of an open wound slicing across his cheek.

“OW! Fuck! You scratched me!” Julian exclaimed “Can’t we talk about this?!”

“Get out of my car!” She screamed, and reached to adjust Julian’s seatbelt in a way that felt more like strangling.

Julian brought his hand up to touch the scratch and their elbows collided. The woman slouched down, and kicked Julian’s face into the driver’s side window.

Just minutes ago, she was catatonic. Now she was kicking his face like some sort of hitchhiking kickboxer.

He felt the dirt from her shoes sting the open scrape on his cheek, and as she kicked, he felt his head hit the window. Julian heard a shattering sound as the window broke from the impact. 

A warm dampness spread across the left side of Julian’s skull as blood began to obscure his vision. He started to lose consciousness as the car careened off the side of the road into a nearby ditch.

—

Julian awoke gradually, his vision blurry. Shapes moved past him, slow, steady, indifferent.

His legs were locked straight. He was standing, but not by choice. Where and who were distant concepts. Right now, he was an upright thumb with a body attached. He began to recognize the shapes. Passing cars. His right arm ached, seemingly frozen in place.

A car slowed. Familiar shape, familiar color. The window rolled down, and a voice drifted out: “Need a ride?” Julian’s legs took over. He slid into the passenger seat without a thought.

The driver’s voice was muffled, underwater, but cheerful. Julian glanced at the dash. The Family Dollar pine tree air freshener swung gently. His gym bag sat in the backseat.

“This is… my car,” Julian whispered.

The driver smiled, wide and knowing. “Not anymore.”

“Why isn’t it working?” asked Benjamin Arboghast.

“I don’t know.” replied Margaret Finch. “We did the incantation, my latin was flawless,” She trailed off, “Wait. In here.” Maggy pointed into the old book she had brought over. She continued, “it says untouched by other magic.”

“So?” Ben asked.

“So? She died 3 days ago Ben. You’re telling me I was your first call?” Maggy was angry at the oversight. She was also angry that she wasn’t Ben’s first call when he decided to try resurrecting his beloved Dog, Daisy.

The dog’s body was sitting in front of them, on top of a messy pile of magic supplies, ancient books, and week-old fast food packaging. Under all of that somewhere, Maggy supposed, was Ben’s coffee table.

Ben hesitated. He looked nervous.

“Well there was this blood oath thing. But I doubt that was even-” Ben started.

“You took a blood oath? Where?” Maggy interrogated. She grabbed his hand and found a scar across his palm.

“Where did you bleed?” Maggy asked insistently.

“Right here! Over the phone. I don’t even know if you can call it a blood oath.” Ben said. Maggy looked at him with pity.

“Wait, was that real? I assumed it was a scam well because,” He gestured to the ripe, decaying carcass of his beloved pet, friend, companion, and confidant, Daisy.

“What was the number? What did they say?” Margaret inquired. She had softened her tone. This had been a difficult week for Ben.

Ben went over to the mess of paper and refuse that some may call a desk. He rummaged past herbs, scrolls, and vials with label’s like “might be pig’s blood” and “wrong snake venom, do not ingest” until he found a magazine, “Conjuror Quarterly”.

Maggy looked over as he flipped through. “Really? Conjuror Quarterly?” she asked, holding back a grin behind a judgmental expression.

Ben continued flipping, but looked up and across the room to her for a moment. “I like their articles, okay? And there are coupons for herbs in the back. Good discounts on wormwood and wolfsbane.”

Maggy took out her iPhone and began flipping through Witchr, the occult microblogging platform on which she was an influencer. She was waiting for verification so she could get a blue broomstick next to her profile picture. It was still pending.

“Found it!” Ben said. He brought the magazine over. It was opened to a full page ad for “Telewarlocks, LLC”

The headline was “Call us up for magic.”

There was an offensive graphic, a picture of very insensitive-looking old-timey stereotypes. One witch, one warlock. Below the image, it read “Our expert team of warlocks, mages, and conjurors is standing by to assist you.”

The page advertised resurrection as well as a whole slew of other services that, to Maggy’s knowledge, were impossible to perform over the phone. There were a few drops of blood on the bottom corner of the page, but they looked like they were part of the ad.

“Seems like a scam right? Oh how could I have been so stupid!” Ben exclaimed.

Maggy put her arm on Ben’s shoulder. “Hey. We’re gonna figure this out. What did they say on the call?”

“So I used the code from the ad.” Ben explained.

Maggy looked at the ad. The code was written at the bottom. It said “First time callers : Use code MAGIC47 for half off your first resurrection or transmutation spell.”

Forty Seven. The Terminus Spell. It couldn’t have been a coincidence, Maggy thought.

“Then what happened?” Maggy said, foreboding creeping into her voice. She looked at the page and grabbed Ben’s bandaged hand. “Please tell me this isn’t your blood. Please tell me it’s part of the ad.”

“Oh no that’s me.”

“Call them back. Call them back now.” Maggy ordered.

Ben got out his phone and called the number. He put the phone on speaker and set it on the coffee table, next to Daisy’s paw.

After two rings, a robotic voice spoke. “TeleWarlocks, LLC. This call will be recorded and monitored for quality assurance.”

The smooth jazz “on-hold” music came on for about 15 seconds before a cheerful voice answered.

“TeleWarlocks, LLC, how may I direct your call?” The voice asked.

“Yes I am calling regarding a resurrection order I placed earlier in the week.” Ben said.

“Is this Ben? For your dog Daisy? We haven’t received the vial of her fur yet in the mail” The voice responded, “Did you want me to call you when-”

Maggy tapped the mute button as the man on the line continued. “You mailed them her fur?”

“Is that bad?” Ben asked.

“Tell them to cancel it.” Maggy said, unmuting the phone.

“Hey there ! Maggy here, friend of the bereaved” She said to it.

“Yes? How can I help you ma’am?” The voice replied. “Did you also want to take part in our resurrection special? You won’t find prices like-”

“No I want to cancel the first resurrection. Full reversal. Blood oath removed, dog fur returned, the whole 9 yards.” Maggy said.

“I’m sorry ma’am unfortunately we cannot cancel the blood oath once the sacrament has been spilled on our enchanted scroll.” He said, in fluent customer service.

“Enchanted scroll?” she asked. “You mean your ad in Conjuror Quarterly?”

“Yes well, actually the ad itself has been enchanted with a very powerful spell. Mister uh, Arboghast’s blood actually bound him to TeleWarlocks, LLC legally. Nothing can be done until the fur-” He paused. “Oh that’s interesting.”

“What?” Ben said, now very worried.

“It does look like we just received the vial of Daisy’s fur. We will be able to perform the resurrection shortly.” the evil customer support representative said.

“Good news!” Ben exclaimed.

“Burn the ad. Burn it Ben!” Maggy commanded.

“What do you mean? They just said-” Ben was cut off by the voice on his phone.

“I assure you, now that we have the dog’s fur, burning our enchanted scroll will do nothing. TeleWarlocks LLC is proud to use the asynchronous conjuration platform. Your dog is coming back, and she’s coming back the TeleWarlocks way.”

At that moment Daisy began moving. She got up off the coffee table, and groggily waddled over to Ben.

“She’s back! She’s alive!” Ben said with glee.

A moment later, Daisy’s eyes began to glow, and took on a menacing red hue. She bit Ben and started furiously shaking her head, instantly mangling his already-scarred hand in a frenzy of blood and saliva.

Maggy stood up, and grabbed her Amazon Basics crystal amulet. It was imbued with the same amount of spiritual power as the expensive ones on Etsy, but she got it for like half the price.

“Agh my hand!” Ben exclaimed. “This doesn’t even make sense! Why would this be your business model?” he cried as Daisy’s eyes grew more red, and her body became larger. “How would you ever get repeat business if your customers are then-” Ben’s speech turned to gargling noise when Daisy bit down on his throat.

Maggy was holding her amulet chanting in latin.

The voice on speaker phone began again. “Trying a temporal shift spell? Not gonna work against TeleWarlocks’ patent pending spellbind proprietary spell system.” the voice said.

Daisy had killed Ben and was only growing larger. Maggy closed her eyes and continued her chant.

“TeleWarlocks, LLC is an unmatched-” Maggy grabbed the phone and threw it against the wall.

She had been trying to cast a powerful spell that would have pushed her back in time by 3 days. She still stood there, with a now horse-sized Daisy, who would soon be done eating Ben. Daisy turned to her with malice, as if the dog could feel Maggy’s attempt to return her to death.

With one large snap she bit Maggy’s head off, and leaped out the window. Towards her new masters.

As Haryk Galter approached with the boy, Jukha was vastly underwhelmed. She had heard of the boy, the heir to the Griffinkeep, as he would soon be one of the most powerful people in the entire Var. That is, if Jukha could keep him alive.

The boy was only twelve years of age, but Jukha could already tell that Taryn Presrona, the heir to the duke of Navarronia, was a sickly child.

His shoulders bent inward in an almost shameful posture. Skinny bones and arms, but despite his frame, the boy had an unlikely double chin.

Jukha had met Connitians a few times in the past five years, and they were certainly of a paler complexion than her countrymen from the southern shores of Votsano, but Taryn Presrona was one of the fairest of skin Jukha had ever seen. Almost as pale as those from the nomadic tribes of Northern Votsano. Not quite, but almost.

Jukha watched from beyond the tree line. A pristine beach, with an embankment one hundred yards from the water. The dunes and small cliffs gave way to a thicket of dry-yet-dense frond bushes. Perfect for hiding, escapes, and brush fires.

The waxing moon illuminated the water. It was right around this spot where the blood sea became the mouth of the Votsan channel.

Jukha heard the slow meandering rhythm of waves lapping against the shore, the slight rustling of foliage as small animals scurried in the forest behind her, and the chaotic drone of beach insects.

To the south, Jukha could see the blazing torch fires of Qanta city off in the distance. like so many thousand small embers in a camp fire just a yard away from her face.

Tropical and breezy on the bloody coast of Paakor, Qanta was one of the first truly metropolitan cities in the whole Var.

Originally settled by the Arbehnese Empire over two hundred years past, the beachfront locale had become a hub of trade and political influence. Qanta was centered between the three most powerful cities in the known Var:

Arbeh’s capital, Ayad, directly to the south of Qanta. Once the seat of a Var-spanning empire. Now simply one of several influential port cities in the blood sea. From Qanta, Ayad was a single day’s voyage via sailboat. Jukha had been to Ayad several times while in the employ of various Arbehnese merchants. It was a middling city, though it might have been the closest one could get to a substitute for Qanta.

Votsano’s closest city, Ravista, was to the north east of Qanta, across the mouth of the Votsan channel. A day and a half to sail. Jukha had passed through Ravista after her exile from Sebina by the sea. She had heard Ravista was a city with a similar romance and intrigue to those great cities of the blood sea. Jukha despised Ravista. If Qanta was a horse, Ravista was a horse’s shit.

Griffinkeep, Capital of Navarronia, was the nearest city on the continent of Connit. Jukha had heard the voyage was treacherous, tracking down and around the jagged coast of Paakor, and navigating through the blistering aisles. It was a three or four day journey.

Jukha had grown up hearing stories of Qanta, the up-and-coming city, the gateway to the west. She never got to see it while in service to the lord of Sebina.

Only in her exile did she get to come to Qanta. Only in her exile did she become drinking companions with a landed knight from Navarronia named Haryk Galter.

Galter was a tubby, older man. Jukha met him a few years ago. He was not as pale as The Presrona boy. If anything he was tan for a Connitian, probably due to his years spent here in Qanta. They met in a dice game in one of the dingy gambling dens near the southern wall of the city.

In the time since her exile by the lord Maybard of Sebina by the sea, Jukha had taken work where she could get it. Mostly fighting and sailing. Galter had hired her previously as extra security for Navarronian nobles on business in Qanta, but that night was different.

She had seen Galter earlier. She had been playing dice at her favorite tavern. She was cleaning up against a gaggle of Arbehnese soldiers, when Galter burst in. He didn’t see her at first, and went to the bar. He spoke to the barkeep, then turned around to look at Jukha quickly.

Galter was out of breath and red faced, but not in the drunk way she was used to seeing him. He looked both afraid and in a hurry.

She went over to him, but he shook his head. His eyes pointed to the door, and he nodded.

She waited for several minutes after he left before following him out. She found him in an alley near the tavern, waiting for her.

“They are bringing him here tonight” Galter had said.

“The ducal heir?” She asked.

“Yes. The Inquisition at court has gained approval of the Navarreen, the Duke has been overruled.” Galter said, regaining his breath. “Meet me on the beach tonight. You know the place.” He looked around with paranoia. “I must go. Thank you Jukha of Sebina”. Galter then ran off. He was faster than Jukha would have thought.

When they met on the beach, Galter still looked out of breath and exhausted. As they approached the embankment that had served as meeting place for Galter and Jukha several times in the past, Jukha pushed through the frond bushes and onto the beach.

The man and the boy turned at the sound of the rustling, as Jukha came out of her hiding place, the ambient noise of waves on sand seeming to return, although they had never gone away.

Galter’s hand was on the boy’s shoulder. “My lord, this is Jukha of Sebina by the sea.” He said.

The boy turned to hide behind Galter. He didn’t make eye contact with Jukha. “You mean formerly of Sebina by the sea. She was exiled for treachery. Seeker Tommen told me.” The boy said pretentiously.

Jukha smiled “Your teacher was not wrong, my lord.” She said. “I was exiled. For killing Lord Maybard’s concubine, Jazarine.”

Galter looked confused and the boy gasped.

“And I did kill her, boy. I will not tell you that I didn’t.” She said.

Galter turned to the boy. “But what Seeker Tommen did not know, could not have known, my lord, is that Jazarine was plotting to kill lord Maybard. Jukha saved his life.” Galter looked up and behind Jukha. She turned and could see distant torch light down the beach. She nodded to Galter.

“Why did he exile you then?” The boy asked. Galter replied curtly “His lord of Sebina was madly in love with Jazarine, my lord. He refused to believe she would kill him. Now you must go with Jukha, you will be safe with her. She will take you north, to the Magi, my lord.” Galter started.

“The savages! Blasphemers!” The boy shouted. Jukha grabbed him and covered his mouth. The spoiled child’s shock would have been satisfying if she wasn’t so worried that the approaching party had heard him.

Galter got down on one knee, and handed a small amulet to the boy. “Listen now, little lord. The Magi will take you in. They will show you how to use your gifts. How to control the power inside you.” Galter stood up and ran towards the torches.

Jukha took the boy in one arm, still trying to cover his mouth with the other, and walked off in the opposite direction. She could hear the sound of swords clashing and men yelling.

She looked back, the torches were closer, they would be able to see her soon. The boy bit her hand and shouted “Blasphemers!” as Jukha saw the soldiers approach.

An Arbehnese patrol would have been troublesome enough, but as they got closer, Jukha saw from their blue armor and straight long swords that they were from the west. Knights of the Navarronian guard, by the look of it.

“Stop! Give us the boy and you shall live!” She heard a voice say.

She dropped the boy and turned around. “Like you let your countryman live?” She yelled, hand on the blade of her Talwar sword.

“Galter was a traitor. You are just a Qantian mercenary. If we leave with The Ducal heir, my lord need not know anyone else was here.” She heard a jingling. “How much coin was that old drunk going to pay you anyway?”

Taryn Presrona, heir to the duchy of Navarronia, had grown much quieter. Suddenly the boy was clutching Jukha by the waist as the man’s voice came closer.

She pushed the boy backwards into the embankment, away from the men, and drew her Talwar.

The first man got to about 5 yards from them, his blood-stained blue armor gleamed in the torch light. His long greasy hair glistening in the moonlight. He stuck his torch in the ground and put his second hand on his sword hilt. He began to circle, almost attempting to just go around Jukha to get to the boy.

Jukha followed him with her feet. She thought of the lessons she received from Harold, the arms master of Sebina by the sea. “Imagine a line… do not let them cross it.”

Jukha watched the man’s steps and waited for the right moment in the rhythm. As she feinted, he kicked up sand. If she had gone in for a true strike, she would have been blinded. She dodged the sand, crouched, and pivoted, closing some of the distance.

Near the ground she lunged and swiped with her curved blade, the man’s armor protected his upper body, but it made the fast movements needed to dodge in sand impossible. He lifted his leg, but not by enough. She had slashed the back of his ankle with her Talwar. He toppled in pain, pointing his sword upward.

Jukha was now standing, as the three remaining men came closer. In one motion, she slit the man’s throat and turned around to return to where she had left the boy on the embankment. The man’s shriek became a low gurgle before falling silent.

The boy was standing now, clutching the amulet Galter had given him.

As two of the men attacked, Jukha attempted to crouch and parry, hoping to put one of them between her and the other.

She was able to slash the nearest of the two across the chest. He was incapacitated or dead. When Jukha turned around, the other man faced the boy.

Taryn’s fisted hand began to glow and bleed. The boy looked angry and anguished. The Navarronian guardsman stood still, Jukha looked around for the other one.

The boy spoke, his voice deepening. The wind began to pick up.

“Fall on your sword” the boy said, at least a full octave lower than his normal voice.

The man froze for a second, he smiled. “What’s this then?”

The boy’s voice deepened, violent gusts kicking up sand all around him.

“Fall on your sword” the boy repeated.

The man held the sword, tip up, and positioned the blade to enter under the armor, near his armpit. In a smooth, intentional motion, he slid his torso onto the blade, using his body weight to impale himself. He shrieked and cried, and then eventually grew silent.

Jukha was beyond shocked. She looked for the fourth man, and he was fleeing down the beach, torch in hand.

Jukha had wanted answers from Galter. Too bad he was dead. Many of her former questions had just been answered. But with that came new questions.

Suddenly, this scrawny, weak-looking child was one of the most terrifying people she had met in her entire life. His hand stopped glowing and he collapsed, unconscious.

Thump

Nick turned over in bed. Back to sleep.

Thump thump

It was probably nothing, he thought. He lay in his queen size bed and listened for more noise. Nothing. He started to doze off again.

Thump thump thump

Nick bolted wide awake. It was a new house. He had moved in a few weeks ago. He had heard a few creaks and groans before, but this was different. More rhythmic.

He wiped the sand from eyes and checked his phone for the time. 2:30 AM. He put his phone in his pocket and made for the bedroom door.

Thump thump thump

It was probably just an animal, he thought. He still had to check. A first time homebuyer at thirty-two years of age, he felt he needed to do the responsible thing. Probably a raccoon. Best case scenario he could scare it away. Worst case scenario, he’d be putting in a call to animal control and getting an extra cup of coffee before work in a few hours.

Nick made his way down the stairs and saw a faint red light in the kitchen. Did he leave his oven on?

He heard a shuffling and noticed a large amorphous shape had replaced his dining room table. He walked towards it, into the kitchen.

CLUNK

Bright searing lights turned on all over his kitchen and conjoined dining room right as he stepped through the threshold, as if he had stepped on a tripwire that activated them. His eyes took a second to adjust to the blinding brightness. He looked around where his dining room table had been, he saw two rows of people in theater-style seats facing the kitchen. He recognized all of them.

His third-grade teacher Mrs. Pemberton, the guy who cut him off in traffic last Tuesday, and someone who looked exactly like the stock photo model from his insurer’s website.

He saw his college roommate Chad, who still owed him $50 he borrowed and lost in a cryptocurrency pyramid scheme.

Even his great aunt Gertrude, sitting in the corner and crocheting a sweater that read “It’s Your Kitchen, Nick”.

“Wait, didn’t she die like 3 years ago?” Nick thought to himself.

They all watched him with an expectant look. The giant flood lights illuminated his kitchen, where he saw two podiums. One was empty, at the other was a middle aged man with a combover and too much bronzer in an electric blue tuxedo who held a long baton with a small sphere at its end. It was a microphone.

“What the hell! How did you people get-” Nick started.

“Hey Nick!” The man in the blue tuxedo interrupted. “I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re doing here, isn’t that right folks?”

A din of agreement and nods of varying enthusiasm came from the crowd that almost paradoxically fit inside his modestly sized dining room. One man, who Nick recognized as his car mechanic from back when he lived in Boston, shouted “That’s right!”.

“Well, Nick, my name is Chuck Bazzleton,” The man at the podium said, his voice booming over speakers Nick couldn’t find, “and we’re here too play…” Chuck smiled and pointed the mic at the crowd.

“IT’S! YOUR! KITCHEN!” The crowd roared in unison.

Nick looked around and felt a wave of vertigo.

How did these people get here? There was a production crew. A camera man. An “on air” sign glowed red where he had hung his NASA deep space photo calendar. After a moment, Nick’s awe and amusement turned to anger.

“No. No. I have work in the morning. I am calling the cops.” Nick said calmly.

A collective gasp from the crowd. Nick took his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911.

“Now, Nick, that isn’t very sportsmanlike of you” Chuck crooned. “What do we think of that folks?”

The crowd booed and a few showed their thumbs down for Nick.

“Why don’t you just be a good sport and play the game, Nick?” Chuck added as Nick waited for the call to connect. Nick heard a momentary dial tone.

“911 What’s your emergency?” The operator asked.

“Yes I’m at 121 Chestnut street, and people have broken into my home.” Nick answered calmly, a smirk growing on his face.

“Just play the game, Nick” the operator said calmly before hanging up.

“Wait! What? Hello?” Nick exclaimed into the phone, as he looked around the room.

“You heard what the nice dispatcher said, Nick” said Chuck Bazzleton. He patted his hand on the empty podium. “Why don’t you just come over here and play. The prize tonight is-”

“No. No!” Nick interrupted. “So you have someone on the inside. I don’t care. I know where the police station is. I’ll just drive over there and tell them”.

“I wouldn’t recommend that, Nick.” Chuck said, his voice growing a bit more hostile. “Hey folks, what do we call a contestant that doesn’t want to play?”

“LOSER!” The crowd said in Unison.

Nick put on his shoes and grabbed his car keys. He opened his front door, but instead of seeing his quiet suburban street, the front door opened up into, his kitchen.

Nick ran to the back door. Before he opened it, he had a feeling he knew what he would see on the other side of the door.

When Nick opened the door, he didn’t see his backyard. He saw exactly what he had seen out the front door.

He felt a dark and foreboding dread build in his gut. He turned back to his kitchen and looked at the empty podium. Chuck and the crowd looked at him longingly. Chuck motioned for Nick to come on stage.

“What is it we say folks?” Chuck said, holding back laughter and pointing his microphone to the crowd.

“IT’S! YOUR! KITCHEN!” The crowd cheered.

“That’s right.” Chuck said through eerily white teeth “And that’s all there is!”

Nick walked back to the kitchen. He saw they had moved his trash can to make room for the two podiums. He stood behind the podium and looked back at the crowd, dejected. Chuck beamed at Nick as cheesy game show music played from the speakers Nick still couldn’t find.

“So glad to have you here Nick. Now tell us, where do you hail from?” Chuck asked.

Nick was incredulous.

“Here. I come from right here. We’re in my house.” Nick said waving his hands around at, well, everything.

“That’s right! We’re in your home! 121 Chestnut, isn’t that right folks?” Chuck exclaimed. “Or it wouldn’t be” He turned the mic to the crowd as Nick closed his eyes in despair.

“IT’S ! YOUR! KITCHEN!” The crowd boomed.

Eyes closed, Nick began to whisper to himself “This isn’t real. This is a dream. Just wake up Nick. It was probably those noodles”.

“Nick, I assure you this IS real” Chuck said. “It has nothing to do with those nine-day-old noodles you had for lunch the other day. Now are you ready to play the game?”

“Sure” Nick said with a resigned shrug.

The crowd cheered.

The lights felt hot on Nick’s skin as Chuck took out some cue cards.

“Ok Nick we’re ready to start playing.” Chuck said as he looked down at the first cue card. “What… is your biggest regret?”

As soon as Chuck had asked, all of the lights, save the spotlight trained on Nick, dimmed. Chuck shoved the microphone in Nick’s face.

“Is this hell?” Nick asked.

The crowd erupted into raucous laughter, and Chuck brought the microphone back to his own face.

“Well that’s not the answer is it folks?” Chuck asked.

“NO!” The crowd sang.

“Now let’s try this again.” Chuck said, the grin widening on his face. “What is your biggest regret?”

“I don’t know.” Nick started. The crowd began to boo. “Ok let me think! Let me think. My biggest regret was probably… Not getting my masters in engineering”.

A loud siren rang as soon as Nick was done talking.

“That is incorrect!” Chuck said with a mischievous grin. “Your biggest regret was breaking up with Janice. She was such a nice girl, you really could have made a life with her.”

“Wait what? How do you know what my-“ Nick started.

“Alright folks,” Chuck interrupted “that was round one, now it’s time for a word from our sponsors”. He smiled into the camera and froze for a moment as the cheesy theme music played again. The lights dimmed, and a serious voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

“Alright people! That’s commercial, we’re back in five.”

In an instant, there were two people standing on either side of Chuck Bazzleton. One patted his face and seemed to be applying makeup while the other handed him a bottle of water. The water had a label that just said “It’s Your Kitchen” in plain black text over a white background.

After the makeup artist and assistant walked off to god knows where, Bazzleton turned to Nick, his voice gravelly, his smile more subdued. “You’re doing great kid. The camera loves you.”

“What the hell is going on! How do you know my biggest regret? Why can’t I leave?” Nick exclaimed.

Chuck turned to the crowd, pointed a thumb at Nick and asked “How about those first timer jitters, folks? Huh?” With a chuckle.

Nick heard a voice he recognized from the crowd. It was his former employer from the power plant, Mike Schmidt, “Just play the game Nick! Don’t overthink it!”

Nick took his phone out of his pocket and attempted to call his dad.

“You really think that’s gonna do anything?” Chuck said with a sneer.

The phone started to ring before blinking an “out of service” message. Nick tried to call again, but the phone ran out of battery. He had been charging it next to his bed all night.

“How is this possible? Why are you here?” Nick screamed. The crowd seemed unfazed. He took a soup ladle off of his counter and started destroying the podium. He must have hit it a dozen times, the cheap fiberboard coming apart. He struck the lights, shouting like a feral animal. He had destroyed two of them and began laughing maniacally.

“Whose… kitchen… is it… Now!” He exclaimed as he destroyed the set, the crowd now looking on with mild interest and disapproval. He pointed the ladle out to the crowd. “And why is my great aunt here? What the FUCK is that?” He shouted. Gertrude didn’t even look up from her crocheting.

He turned back to Chuck Bazzleton and looked down and to his right. The podium he had just destroyed stood there with no visible sign of damage. The lights were on again, not a scratch to be seen.

He pointed the ladle at Chuck Bazzleton’s face, and shouted at the top of his lungs “WHAT IN THE FUCK IS GOING ON?”

Chuck, completely unmoved by Nick’s outburst, shrugged, lean forward, and said “I don’t know, kid. It’s just another gig for me.”

Nick gripped the large metal ladle in both hands like a baseball bat and hit Chuck square in the jaw.

The man went down like a sack of potatoes. Blood pooled on the floor as Nick looked down. He heard the clunk of the spotlight turning back on and felt the heat on his neck.

The voice came again. It wasn’t from the speakers. It almost seemed to come from earbuds in Nick’s ears. But he wasn’t wearing earbuds.

“Alright folks and were back in five, four, three…”

Nick saw the camera man count two and one with his hand. Nick turned around to see Chuck Bazzleton, completely unscathed, standing at his podium smiling his irritatingly charming grin.

The theme music played.

“Alright folks, welcome back, were here with Nick tonight, and it’s time to play…”

Guk examined at the mast, touching his palm to the worn wood. He could feel the power of the seas and the vitality of the ship itself, all through the vibrations in the beam. 

Only two summers ago he would have been clueless about this type of ship.

For the last two years, Guk had been shipping and raiding on Connitian-style galleys. 

He knew now he could never return to the smaller, more maneuverable sailboats that were popular in his home of Forlep. 

On the open sea, there was no comparison.

The mast felt sturdy on Guk’s hand as he looked up at the sky, the imposing storm clouds on the horizon. 

Lord Odo had just said something. Guk wasn’t paying attention, but he could tell his old friend was about to repeat the question.

“You have faced storms like this before, have you not?” Odo asked, with a smile on his lips and true concern in his eyes. 

“I have.” Guk replied calmly, keeping his eyes on the sea.

---

The story of Guk Mogstone, of the house Gormasnel, starts in the town of Durg, on the island of Forlep. 

In a way, Guk had been a pirate his entire life. 

Men and women of [[Forlep]] were expected to know how to sail, and raid, even if it was no longer their primary occupation. 

There would come a day when Guk and his crew would strike fear into the hearts of sailors across the Blood Sea. 

In their youth, Guk and his brother Yog explored the forests near Durg, as many children did. 

Strong boys, and ever the troublemakers.

It wasn’t until their fateful encounter with a bonafide Runetan that Guk had his first taste of the world beyond Durg. 

This encounter has become the beginning of Guk’s legendary saga.

The Runetans that once held dominion over [[Forlep]] were now already scarce. 

Many of Durg’s gentry would say that there were no more Runetans left. Young Guk felt this untrue, and couldn’t explain why.

---

Guk and Yog had been foraging, when a fight broke out between them. Nothing unusual for the two brothers. 

Yog was only slightly taller than his younger brother, and already more wiry. The years of him winning by default were coming to a close.

Yog had bested Guk, and was over him ready to rehearse a killing strike, when they say the Runetan, limping from a clearing into the thick of the forest, appeared.

He looked like half man and half boar. 

An enormous presence, even to two boys born on [[Forlep]], where men and women commonly grew to seven feet or taller.

Towering well over nine feet by Guk’s estimation, the “man” had long grey tusks coming out of a human face, with a large, imposing brow & jaw. 

Besides the tusks, his face looked generally disfigured in a way that Guk couldn’t describe but would remember for the rest of his life.

His head must have been almost the size of a wagon wheel.  

The Runetan spoke in short, percussive sounds, many of which were close enough to common words in Seatongue that the boys could parse his meaning.

He was badly hurt in a shipwreck and collapsed. He wanted to be taken deeper into the forest, but the boys couldn’t carry him. 

The Runetan’s broken, guttural Seatongue went from ambiguous to unintelligible as he began to flutter in and out of the waking realm.

Yog sent Guk to fetch their mother, Kruga. When they returned, they found Yog with the giant, ugly, misshapen man. 

Kruga had smiled when Guk first came for her. As an adult, Guk realized she did not believe him until she saw.

When Guk and Kruga got back to Yog, Kruga told the boys to go back to their home and leave the creature.

The boys assumed the Runetan dead, but when they returned the following day his body was gone. 

Whether there were still Runetans, Guk didn’t know, but he had always heard that Runetan blood flowed throughout the population of [[Forlep]].

It was true that the men and women of [[Forlep]] had a common set of bone and muscular traits that were unseen elsewhere. 

---

“We would be wise to turn back. If we make haste, we can make it back to Masca by-“ Lord Odo began.

“We will stay the course” Guk said calmly.

The thunder raged outside. Guk knew that Odo was a brave man, but even back in the war, he had never been one for the sea.

Guk knew his ship. He would not waver.

---

The Runetans were not known to be a clever race. 

Their historical mystique was that of an ancient, proud people who were good at sailing and fighting, and little else.

On Forlep, and even in many towns on Votsan and Arbeh, it has been said that Runetans built the first boats. 

Whether this was true or not, Guk knew his long-dead ancestors, warriors and kings of old Forlep and old Runetar, both man and Runetan, were true conquerors.

Before old Arbeh, before the great houses of Votsan, before the bloody colonies on Paakor, before the war that had taken the lives of Guk’s brother and his father, before the blood sea had been tamed and brought to heel, there were Runetans.

The histories called them pirates, but as Guk saw later in his life, the distinction between a wicked pirate and a triumphant conqueror comes down to whose stories are passed on.

By the time Guk was born, his homeland’s former glory had given way to a world of empires, in which Forlep was on the periphery of politics and culture. 

The once-great nation of explorers had become a backwater to merchants and nobles across the blood sea and her islands. 

The culture of Forlep had lost it’s pride, but only taken so many steps to become part of the new world. 

One of few lands in all of Var to resist the Arbehnese empire, [[Forlep]]’s power hadn’t extended beyond its own shores for centuries. 

---

Ask a Votsanese noble about the history of Votsan, it’s unlikely they would mention Forlep or Runetans, despite the fact that the land was first colonized by those ancient ancestors of Guk’s.

Ask a man of Forlep about Votsan’s history, and it’s likely he will become enraged.

The reason is what the people of Forlep call “knots”.

The knot that so many Forlepian families found themselves ensnared in was originally an Arbehnese invention and export from Votsan. 

It was one of the most addictive substances that the west had ever created or discovered: debt. 

Over the course of Guk’s childhood, his father Mog was one of several local chieftains to became indebted to a Votsano Noble, the Duke of Ravista, Lord Hernanti of the house Rinata Siggyk. 

Mog was just another man of Forlep who underestimated the machinations of Votsano royalty.

There was a saying on Forlep: “If you are of Votsan, do not fight a man of [[Forlep]]. If you are of Forlep, do not borrow from a man of Votsan”.

Guk thought the phrase may have only come into more common use after his father was thoroughly in debt to Lord Hernanti. 

---

By the time Guk was sixteen, the house of Rinata Siggyk had begun paying other men of Forlep to seek payment from Mog. 

To be more precise, as Guk now understood it, lord Hernanti was *lending* to these mercenaries at very low interest. 

Even his bribes had strings. 

As Ravista geared up for war across the Votsan Channel, Mog offered his service as a soldier to Duke Hernanti.

A counter offer from the Duke’s Conciliere said: 

“Your sons, Yog and Guk are of fighting age as well, are they not?”

The letter detailed Mog’s payment plan. 

If Mog went alone to fight for Ravista, his debt would not have been settled, even if he gave his life for the Duke. 

If he brought his sons, the debt would be settled, so long as one of them lived to collect the credit for their family’s service. 

And so the Gormasnel men prepared for war in the west.

---

Guk met Odo when they landed in Paakor.

He had never met a man of Votsan who knew Seatongue, or used a broadsword of Forlep.

Odo had been raised in Finnbak, a village on Votsan’s eastern shore.

Finnbak was not like the cities of Votsan. It had never truly been conquered. Not by Arbeh, and not by any of the kingdoms of Votsan.

The people of Finnbak lived much like those in Guk’s home of Durg. They held their Runetan ancestry sacred, and while many were farmers, Seatongue was common in the region.

Odo’s father was the lord of Finnbak. He had raised Odo to inherit his seat. This required the strength of a Forlepian cheftain, and the guile of a Votsanese noble.

---

The campaign had been going well for the forces of Votsan. 

It seemed as if they would be able to go home soon, the Gormasnel men relieved of their debt.

Then came the battle at the dagger cliffs outside Qanta.

After a 2 day march, they had made it to Qanta. Just miles outside the city, the Arbehnese forces caught the Votsan host by suprise. The men and women of the Votsanese allied forces had been routed.

Guk’s father and brother were dead.

Guk saw them both go down, then saw an Arbehnese soldier look at them, and deliver killing blows. Guk chased the man down as he fled further into the jungle. 

Guk lost sight of the beach, the battlefield, and the bodies of his father and brother. 

Guk had no idea where he was as he cut through the thick foliage of the blistering forest.

He tried to stay on the trail, but soon became lost. He couldn’t hear the battle, or the beach. He hadn’t avenged his father and brother. He began to wander.

---

“Do you remember the dagger cliffs? The blistering forest?” Guk asked.

Odo was visibly seasick. 

“Of course I do, the memory will never fade” Odo replied. “What of it?”

“That day,” Guk started, slowly leaning in and pointing out the porthole of the Captain’s quarters, “We faced a death far more certain than this storm. And we lived. Trust me old friend”

---

Guk felt he had been walking for days, but the sun was just setting as he pushed closer to the outer border of the jungle. 

In a clearing he saw a knight of Votsan, tending to a wound on his leg.

The knight wore a white cloak, had a stately goatee, and wore an emblem of the house of Rinata Siggyk.

Guk came out, axe up, clearing his throat. 

“Who goes there?” The knight said. “Stay back, savage!”

“Sir, I fight for Ravista.” Guk said, “I am of Forlep, and was contracted to the house of Rinata Siggyk.”

“Forlep? Ah, so you’re my savage.” The knight sighed, grinning. He patted Guk on the shoulder.

“Yes sir, Guk Mogstone, of the house of Gormasnel,” he paused, unsure how to address the knight, “my Lord?”

“That would be ‘your grace’, mister Gormasnel. I am your Prince, Fedmon Rinata. Now do come assist me, we must rejoin our party. I have seven of my River Guard out here somewhere.” 

The Prince looked out towards the beach. They were still too far to see it through the thicket. 

Guk saw as the Prince’s gaze went from pretension and confidence, to a grave expression as he realized how lost he was.

“Ah! Prince Fedmon! Your Grace. Of course.” Guk said, smiling. 

“I am glad I found you, your Grace” Guk said as he helped the prince to his feet, “it must be destiny, as you are just the man I’ve been meaning to talk to.”

“Ah? And what about?” Fedmon asked.

“It’s about how debts are settled in your country. See, my father owed your father a large sum of gold, and interest, and all of that, and now he is dead. My brother is dead. They both died in service to your Duke father. And now I am here, half a world away from my mother, with the son of the man who was owed. So let me ask you, your grace, does saving your life settle my fathers debt?” Guk said. 

“Oh surely it does!” The prince became nervous with this line of questioning, “not only that, but if you get me back safe, I will ensure that you are in good standing to borrow from my family in the future.”

“How wonderful, what luck we have both had, your grace.” Guk said, stopping. “I have just one more question, your grace.”

The Prince nodded anxiously, and looked at Guk for a long silent moment.

Guk looked into the prince’s eyes, “What were they worth?”

“Excuse me?” The Prince asked.

“What was my father’s life worth? What was his death worth? How many gold pieces?” Guk paused. “What was the price of his service?”

The Prince looked mortified.

Guk continued, “What about my brother? Was his youth more valuable than my Father’s experience? I suppose what I want to know is : what’s the rate of exchange, your Grace?”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Prince Fedmon began to actively look around for one of his River Guard “Your service is appreciated, your brother and father died with honor. I can’t put a price on honor.”

The Prince struggled, and Guk gripped his shoulder tightly. Guk was no longer assisting the Prince’s walking. He was restraining him.

“Let me put it this way” Guk whispered, “I have you now, and I feel that my family overpaid our debt to your family. I’m not concerned with the price of honor, and I see my kin’s lives were cheap. So what is the price of a Prince’s life?” Guk asked.

The Prince’s nervousness gave way to a cold, and demeaning tone.

“Ah so that’s what this is. I won’t beg or plead. If you return me right now, you shall be cleared of all debts to my family, and paid very handsomely. How much more I fetch as a ransom than your father and brother did as indentured warriors? You may not want to know. It’s a war. Fathers, sons, and brothers die in wars. It happens all the time.”

Guk looked at him with cold revulsion. He may have been a prince, but in that moment, Guk saw he was an empty vessel. His life was a series of transactions. 

The Prince continued: “Now, if you’re quite finished, we can put this lapse in decorum behind us. I will have your gold by sundown if you can get me to the beach.”

“My gold? What am I getting gold for?” Guk said in feigned confusion.

“Is every man of Forlep a simpleton?” The Prince said. “The money you’ll get for returning me!”

“Oh. But won’t your father want you alive?” Guk asked.

The Prince rolled his eyes, so frustrated with what he thought was stupidity, he failed to see the threat.

“Yes of course he will, and at this speed I’ll have died of old age by the time we arrive at the shoreline.” The Prince said, “Now, move. We make for the beach!”

“Huh, that is unfortunate” Guk said.

“What is?” The Prince replied, still annoyed more than afraid.

“That you were dead when I found you.” Guk said.

The alarm returned to the Prince’s face as Guk pushed the blade of his dagger forward.

“Don’t worry, I know what to tell your father. ‘It’s a war. Fathers, sons, and brothers die in wars. It happens all the time’.

At this, the Prince’s face went white. He was dead in moments. 

Guk took some of the more valuable trinkets and weapons from him, including his great sword. 

Guk spent the next five days alone in the blistering forest before he made it to Qanta, barely alive.

One of the Prince’s rings was able to pay for passage aboard an exports vessel headed for Alabad. 

The ship was called “Sephanim’s Pride” and was captained by an old, surly Connitian named Reginald Toryn.

Toryn had more stories than there were days in a lifetime, and he and Guk became fast friends. 

Though Corsinta had a reputation as a decadent upstart empire, Guk had actually never met a Connitian. 

From what he had heard, he expected them to be like the Votsano, but even more pretentious. 

Captain Toryn confirmed this was true about many of his kin and countrymen. 

Guk saw it to be patently false about the captain himself. 

The captain had a saying that “Every pirate captain makes at least one truly bad call in his life, and that is becoming a pirate captain!”

They shared stories of the war, of pirating, of their homelands, and Guk felt so at home that he sent word to his mother but remained on the ship for a moon’s turn, helping the captain sail cargo from Alabad back into Qanta. 

A few more rings from Prince Fedmon bought him his ship, which he named “The Bad Call”. 

Guk sailed home to Forlep to see his mother Kruga. He delivered a shield from his father, and an axe from his brother. They held a traditional Fire Rite of Old Runetar.

Guk didn’t stay long. He left his mother with enough gold and gems to be comfortable for the rest of her life, and then returned to the sea.

---

The sky cleared as the sun began to set.

Odo stood on the deck of The Bad Call, looking to Guk with a mixture of relief and continuing nausea.

“What did I tell you? “ Guk asked, “we’ve been through worse.”

“You’re right old friend”, Odo replied, “we’ve been through worse, and we’ll go through worse yet.”

Guk saw land on the horizon. “Look” he said, pointing.

Uruk awoke covered in sweat. He must have been knocked out, but how did he get ashore?

He looked around the beach. Driftwood and debris lapped upon the beach, the remains of his father’s vessel, perhaps.

“Uruk! Uruk!” He heard the familiar voice exclaim. It was Brytta. She was by his side in mere moments. The shadow cast by Brytta’s broad shoulders were a reprieve from the relentless sun.

“Where are we?” He asked.

“Just drink some water” Brytta ordered, handing him a tanned foltan-hide jug.

Uruk drank. “What happened?” He croaked.

Brytta turned her gaze to the sea and said “Do you remember boarding the Royal transport?” She asked.

“Yes” he said. “We had them. The Princess said her mother would rather have her die than be captured. The next thing I recall, was waking up here.” He sat up. “Blistering Aisles, by the look of it.” He added rubbing his head and blocking his eyes from the sun.

Brytta nodded “Aye. What you might not recollect is Farad getting you onto a piece of driftwood, and kicking his way to shore.”

“There was a fire!” Uruk exclaimed.

“A fire?” Brytta retorted. “Sir, and inferno formed beneath our feet. A fire from below deck destroyed the ship. Durando must have lit barrels of Corvasi Oil, the way it blew the ship apart.”

The Queen’s Wild Jackal, Hynter Durando, was as much their target as the princess. They had failed on all counts. The princess, who they needed alive, was dead. Durando, who they wanted dead, was alive.

The Wild Jackal of Corsinta was more than a symbolic hero for the Connitian Hegemony. The man was known for his cunning and brutality. He had a reputation across the blood sea for false surrenders, grueling six day marches in the fire jungles of the Paakorian interior, and a penchant for the gruesome rape and murder of the families of Arbehnese rebel leaders.

Uruk’s own mother, brother, and niece had died in a violent ambush perpetrated by the Jackal just ten years past.

“He escaped?” Uruk inquired.

“He did sir. Farad saw him swimming away before the blast.” Brytta replied.

“And my father?” Uruk asked.

“Master Usul died in the blast. We found his body on the shore.” She said with deep sorrow.

Uruk took to his feet and gazed upon the horizon. He knew that many small islands peppered the Connitian sea, but they had not been far enough north, and the sun was too hot for them be anywhere but in the Blood Sea proper.

He couldn’t see another landmass on the horizon.

“Where has Farad gotten to? What do you know of this island?” Uruk asked insistently.

“Farad chops wood for a fire. You awoke as I returned from a full reconnoiter on foot. Twenty and one thousand paces around. Oblong, about six varas across, three varas wide.” She said proudly.

“How long did you swim from the wreck?” He asked.

“Not more than an hour, sir.” She replied. “I wanted to make our camp for the night, if sir would like to join me.”

“What is this sir nonsense?” Uruk began. And he remembered he was their captain now. Captain of a ship blown to bits. Captain of the loose pile of soggy, wet, burned wood that had collected on the sand all around him, and heir to a forgotten fiefdom.

Brytta beckoned him to follow towards the tree line. She had already begun to build a shelter. There was some firewood nearby. Not from the beach, but dry, dead wood from the interior of the island.

Once they got closer, Uruk could hear Farad chopping, and small trees falling, in the hazy distance through the thicket.

Uruk began to build a fire for their first night as castaways, when he heard a sickening shriek.

It could have been an animal at first. The second sound was obviously Farad, as he exclaimed in anguish “No! No!”

His protestations faded into the thick sound of jungle bugs, chirping and clicking.

Uruk and Brytta looked to each other in terror as they heard a mighty chop, followed by the thump of a large tree falling to the ground. Uruk could see the forest rustle in the distance.

Brytta turned to the unfinished tent. Under the canopy, there was a large bundle of canvas. Swords. She saved the swords the clever girl.

She saved the swords, but not my father. Uruk tried to stifle the thought.

Brytta unfolded the canvas and to Uruk’s delight, there was one talwar and two saifs. The talwar was his father’s, an ancient and powerful blade. Passed down from the old days of the empire.

He grabbed the curved blade and held it, examining the razor-sharp edge, feeling the hilt for his hand, and getting a sense for the balance.

Brytta grabbed the saifs. Short, straight daggers with hilts that curve upwards like hooks.

As they walked toward the tree line, a figure emerged.

The Wild Jackal of Corsinta approached them, slow and confident. His azure armor glimmered in the light of the setting sun. Bright crimson blood, fresh blood, Farad’s blood, covered his torso in dripping patches. His armor made a faint clink with every step.

The Jackal paused about 20 paces from the tree line. He looked to Brytta, holding her saifs with confidence and poise.

Uruk, still exhausted and in shock, visibly quivered in fear. Brytta was an exceptionally gifted fighter, but Uruk had heard the stories of fast, decisive duels against great knights of Connit, and he’d seen first hand when the Jackal led the charge at the battle of Ayad.

Well over two yards tall, broad of shoulder, and nimble for his size, Hynter Durando’s reputation as a sick and evil man was matched only by his known prowess as a deadly combatant.

He took all of five seconds to size up Uruk and Brytta. He charged at Brytta.

His steps were like leaps, bounding three or four paces at a gallop. He was closing the distance in less time than Uruk needed to think.

Brytta wasn’t nearly as disoriented. She pivoted and began to run down beach, away from Uruk. Durando followed, now running on a diagonal.

By the time they met in the sand, the Jackal and Brytta were maybe fifty yards from Uruk, who’s feet had been planted, frozen in anxious tension.

Durando came at Brytta with an over-arm chop with his enormous long sword.

Uruk heard a loud crash as he saw Brytta catch the blade with the hooked saifs. She held it above her as Durando continued to push down.

She brought the blade downward to her side as she rolled away, causing The Jackal to stumble forward, losing his footing for just a moment. His sword stuck up in the sand.

As he turned, Brytta slashed his leg with the saif in her right hand, and stood as the colossal mass of Hynter Durando collapsed forward. He fell to one knee. Uruk’s heart soared with excitement.

Brytta was standing above him, and attempted a downward stab with the saif in her left hand aimed at the back of The Jackal’s neck.

Faster than seemed possible, given the man’s size and the armor he wore, Durando pivoted on his knee and caught Brytta’s arm.

He held it in place like a grown man might do to a child.

The Jackal twisted Brytta’s arm as he stood up. Uruk heard an excruciating crack and Brytta wailed in agony.

Uruk tried to avert his eyes at the horror unfolding, but found that he could not. Brytta’s cries ignited an anger in him, a fiery rage that felt like bravery. He slowly made his way toward them.

The Jackal’s right leg appeared injured, but he was back to standing. He held Brytta in the air in his right hand, clutching Brytta by her mangled left wrist. His gauntleted left hand came at her quickly, and grabbed her by the neck. Uruk started running towards them.

As he began to choke Brytta, she brought her right hand up and put the saif into the Jackal’s torso. Between the armor plates. Uruk was within twenty paces now, and slowed. He could see blood spurting from Durando’s huge chest.

The Jackal fell back to his knees, still clutching Brytta’s neck. As her feet hit the ground, she began to struggle. Still on his knees, The Jackal was now only two inches shorter than Brytta. He resettled his weight, and brought his right hand to the wound on his upper chest. In one very fast motion, the Jackal released his grip on Brytta’s neck, and brought his left hand upward and back down, in an armored fist.

Brytta went down decisively. Uruk, merely a few yards away, could see blood coming from the wound.

She might not be dead, she might not have lost her light. Not yet. Uruk thought.

The Jackal looked to Uruk, and then back to Brytta, limp and lifeless in the sand.

“Which one are you then?” He said smugly. His voice carried a slight gurgle, likely from the wound in his chest.

“I am Uruk the son of Usul. Captain of the Jasmin Tide, Da’shar of Arboka.” Uruk said, raising his father’s ancestral weapon.

“Arbehnese petty lords. Titles all sound the same. It’s all part of the Hegemony now anyhow.” The Jackal leaned to his right for his sword, and Uruk stepped forward in response.

The Jackal snatched the blade in his right hand, moving his left to hold his chest. He held the great sword to to Brytta’s head as Uruk hesitated. He looked up at Uruk and spoke.

“She might not be dead.” he threatened.

A long silence passed. Uruk and the Jackal stared into each other’s eyes. Uruk stared with fury. The Jackal stared with sick amusement, a smirk across his wide mouth.

The Jackal looked back down at Brytta. He pushed his sword down slowly through the back of her neck. For an instant, Uruk saw her spasm as she lost her light. The blade came back up, now a dark, wet crimson.

“So she wasn’t. Well, She is now.” The Jackal chortled.

Uruk raised his ancestral blade for a strike, and the Jackal blocked it with the long sword. He raised his left leg to a lunge and held the gargantuan blade up with his right arm. As he pushed, Uruk lost ground, and the Jackal came to a full stand, left arm clutching his torso, right leg visibly draped so as not to hold as much of his weight.

Uruk slid the curved talwar out and did a sweeping motion with his shoulders.

Mid-slide, he felt the weight of the long sword disappear. Durando had lifted it enough for a downward strike. As the sword came down on Uruk’s right shoulder, he followed through on his slash.

The Talwar punctured the weak underarm of the Jackal’s plating, and Uruk saw blood pouring from the wound.

They both collapsed into the sand.

Uruk could barely move. The Jackal had nearly severed his right arm, but not before Uruk opened up his guts.

He used his left arm to prop himself up. The blood was spilling from the Jackal quickly, but the man was still moving.

His spasms slowed and Uruk witnessed him lose his light.

He saw it. As he sat there in pain, he felt a euphoric ecstasy he couldn’t describe. He had killed The Wild Jackal of Corsinta.

He may die on this beach, but as his vision faded, he hoped that some weary traveler would find them here. He hoped that the tale of his final moments on Var became a rallying cry against the hegemony.

Uruk awoke covered in sweat. He must have been knocked out, but how did he get ashore?

He looked around the beach. Driftwood and debris lapped upon the shore, the remains of his father’s vessel, perhaps.

“Uruk! Uruk!” He heard the familiar voice exclaim. It was Brytta. She was by his side in mere moments. The shadow cast by Brytta’s broad shoulders were a reprieve from the relentless sun for Uruk.

“Where are we?” He asked.

“Just drink some water” Brytta ordered, handing him a tanned foltan-hide jug.

Uruk drank. “What happened?” He croaked.

Brytta turned her gaze to the sea and said “Do you remember boarding the Royal transport?” She asked.

“Yes” he said. “We had them. The Princess said her mother would rather have her die than be captured. The next thing I recall, was waking up here.” He sat up. “Blistering Aisles, by the look of it.” He added rubbing his head and blocking his eyes from the sun.

Brytta nodded “Aye. What you might not recollect is Farad getting you onto a piece of driftwood, and kicking his way to shore.”

“There was a fire!” Uruk exclaimed.

“A fire?” Brytta retorted. “Sir, and inferno formed beneath our feet. A fire from below deck destroyed the ship. Durando must have lit barrels of Corvasi Oil, the way it blew the ship apart.”

The Queen’s Wild Jackal, Hynter Durando, was as much their target as the princess. They had failed on all counts. The princess, who they needed alive, was dead. Durando, who they wanted dead, was alive.

The Wild Jackal of Corsinta was more than a symbolic hero for the Connitian Hegemony. The man was known for his cunning and brutality. He was known across the blood sea for false surrenders, grueling six day marches in the fire jungles of the Paakorian interior, and a penchant for the gruesome rape and murder of the families of Arbehnese rebel leaders.

Uruk’s own mother, brother, and niece had died in a violent ambush perpetrated by the Jackal just ten years past.

“He escaped?” Uruk inquired.

“He did sir. Farad saw him swimming away before the blast.” Brytta replied.

“And my father?” Uruk asked.

“Master Usul died in the blast. We found his body on the shore.” She said with deep sorrow.

Uruk took to his feet and gazed upon the horizon. He knew that many small islands peppered the Connitian sea, but they had not been far enough north, and the sun was too hot for them be anywhere but in the Blood Sea proper.

He couldn’t see another landmass on the horizon.

“Where has Farad gotten to? What do you know of this island?” Uruk asked insistently.

“Farad chops wood for a fire. You awoke as I returned from a full reconnoiter on foot. Twenty and one thousand paces around. Oblong, about six varas across, three varas wide.” She said proudly.

“How long did you swim from the wreck?” He asked.

“Not more than an hour, sir.” She replied. “I wanted to make our camp for the night, if sir would like to join me.”

“What is this sir nonsense?” Uruk began. And he remembered he was their captain now. Captain of a ship blown to bits. Captain of the loose pile of soggy, wet, burned wood that had collected on the sand all around him, and heir to a forgotten fiefdom.

Brytta beckoned him to follow towards the tree line. She had already begun to build a shelter. There was some firewood nearby. Not from the beach, but dry, dead wood from the interior of the island.

Once they got closer, Uruk could hear Farad chopping, and small trees falling, in the hazy distance through the thicket.

Uruk began to build a fire for their first night as castaways, when he heard a sickening shriek.

It could have been an animal at first. The second sound was obviously Farad, as he exclaimed in anguish “No! No!”

His protestations faded into the thick sound of jungle bugs, chirping and clicking.

Uruk and Brytta looked to each other in terror as they heard a mighty chop, followed by the thump of a large tree falling to the ground. Uruk could see the forest rustle in the distance.

Brytta turned to the unfinished tent. Under the canopy, there was a large bundle of canvas. Swords. She saved the swords the clever girl.

S*he saved the swords, but not my father.* Uruk tried to stifle the thought.

Brytta unfolded the canvas and to Uruk’s delight, there was one talwar and two saifs. The talwar was his father’s, an ancient and powerful blade. Passed down from the old days of the empire.

He grabbed the curved blade and held it, examining the razor-sharp edge, feeling the hilt for his hand, and getting a sense for the balance.

Brytta grabbed the saifs. Short, straight daggers with hilts that curve upwards like hooks.

As they walked toward the tree line, a figure emerged.

The Wild Jackal of Corsinta approached them, slow and confident. His azure armor glimmered in the light of the setting sun. Bright crimson blood, fresh blood, Farad’s blood, covered his torso in dripping patches. His armor made a faint clink with every step.

The Jackal paused about 20 paces from the tree line. He looked to Brytta, holding her saifs with confidence and poise.

Uruk, still exhausted and in shock, visibly quivered in fear. Brytta was an exceptionally gifted fighter, but Uruk had heard the stories of fast, decisive duels against great knights of [[Connit]], and he’d seen first hand when the Jackal led the charge at the battle of Ayad.

Well over two yards tall, broad of shoulder, and nimble for his size, Hynter Durando’s reputation as a sick and evil man was matched only by his known prowess as a deadly combatant.

He took all of five seconds to size up Uruk and Brytta. He charged at Brytta.

His steps were like leaps, bounding three or four paces at a gallop. He was closing the distance in less time than Uruk needed to think.

Brytta wasn’t nearly as disoriented. She pivoted and began to run down beach, away from Uruk. Durando followed, now running on a diagonal.

By the time they met in the sand, the Jackal and Brytta were maybe fifty yards from Uruk, who’s feet had been planted, frozen in anxious tension.

Durando came at Brytta with an over-arm chop with his enormous long sword.

Uruk heard a loud crash as he saw Brytta catch the blade with the hooked saifs. She held it above her as Durando continued to push down.

She brought the blade downward to her side as she rolled away, causing The Jackal to stumble forward, losing his footing for just a moment. His sword stuck up in the sand.

As he turned, Brytta slashed his leg with the saif in her right hand, and stood as the colossal mass of Hynter Durando collapsed forward. He fell to one knee. Uruk’s heart soared with excitement.

Brytta was standing above him, and attempted a downward stab with the saif in her left hand aimed at the back of The Jackal’s neck.

Faster than seemed possible, given the man’s size and the armor he war, Durando pivoted on his knee and caught Brytta’s arm.

He held it in place like a grown man might do to a child.

The Jackal twisted Brytta’s arm as he stood up. Uruk heard an excruciating crack and Brytta wailed in agony.

Uruk tried to avert his eyes at the horror unfolding, but found that he could not. Brytta’s cries ignited an anger in him, a fiery rage that felt like bravery. He slowly made his way toward them.

The Jackal’s right leg appeared injured, but he was back to standing. He held Brytta in the air in his right hand, clutching Brytta by her mangled left wrist. His gauntleted left hand came at her quickly, and grabbed her by the neck. Uruk started running towards them.

As he began to choke Brytta, she brought her right hand up and put the saif into the Jackal’s torso. Between the armor plates. Uruk was within twenty paces now, and slowed. He could see blood spurting from Durando’s huge chest.

The Jackal fell back to his knees, still clutching Brytta’s neck. As her feet hit the ground, she began to struggle. Still on his knees, The Jackal was now only two inches shorter than Brytta. He resettled his weight, and brought his right hand to the wound on his upper chest. In one very fast motion, the Jackal released his grip on Brytta’s neck, and brought his left hand upward and back down, in an armored fist.

Brytta went down decisively. Uruk, merely a few yards away, could see blood coming from the wound.

*She might not be dead, she might not have lost her light. Not yet.* Uruk thought.

The Jackal looked to Uruk, and then back to Brytta, limp and lifeless in the sand.

“Which one are you then?” He said smugly. His voice carried a slight gurgle, likely from the wound in his chest.

“I am Uruk the son of Usul. Captain of the Jasmin Tide, Da’shar of Arboka.” Uruk said, raising his father’s ancestral weapon.

“Arbehnese petty lords. Titles all sound the same. It’s all part of the Hegemony now anyhow.” The Jackal leaned to his right for his sword, and Uruk stepped forward in response.

The Jackal snatched the blade in his right hand, moving his left to hold his chest. He held the great sword to to Brytta’s head as Uruk hesitated. He looked up at Uruk and spoke.

“She might *not* be dead.” he threatened.

A long silence passed. Uruk and the Jackal stared into each other’s eyes. Uruk stared with fury. The Jackal stared with sick amusement, a smirk across his wide mouth.

The Jackal looked back down at Brytta. He pushed his sword down slowly through the back of her neck. For an instant, Uruk saw her spasm as she lost her light. The blade came back up, now a dark, wet crimson.

“So she wasn’t. Well, She is now.” The Jackal chortled.

Uruk raised his ancestral blade for a strike, and the Jackal blocked it with the long sword. He raised his left leg to a lunge and held the gargantuan blade up with his right arm. As he pushed, Uruk lost ground, and the Jackal came to a full stand, left arm clutching his torso, right leg visibly draped so as not to hold as much of his weight.

Uruk slid the curved talwar out and did a sweeping motion with his shoulders.

Mid-slide, he felt the weight of the long sword disappear. Durando had lifted it enough for a downward strike. As the sword came down on Uruk’s right shoulder, he followed through on his slash.

The Talwar punctured the weak underarm of the Jackal’s plating, and Uruk saw blood pouring from the wound.

They both collapsed into the sand.

Uruk could barely move. The Jackal had nearly severed his right arm, but not before Uruk opened up his guts.

He used his left arm to prop himself up. The blood was spilling from the Jackal quickly, but the man was still moving.

His spasms slowed and Uruk witnessed him lose his light.

He *saw* it. As he sat there in pain, he felt a euphoric ecstasy he couldn’t describe. He had killed *The Wild Jackal of Corsinta.*

He may die on this beach, but as his vision faded, he hoped that some weary traveler would find them here. He hoped that the tale of his final moments on [[Var]] became a rallying cry against the hegemony.

As Donna turned, her entire field of vision went white. She had already been functionally deaf for the last minute and a half. Another sensory grenade had landed closer to their position, leaving her less time to shield her eyes.

She felt an arm on her shoulder as a helmet bumped against hers. In some mix of feeling and hearing, she could sense the vibrations as Katie yelled over the din.

"Gomez is fucking dead!" Katie said. Donna was pretty sure that was what she said. She may have said Gomez had been well fed. Donna inferred that, no, their teammate Aaron Gomez, had died in the line of duty.

Donna sensed how slowly her hearing was returning. She might as well plan for the rest of the fight under the assumption that she would be mostly deaf for the entire thing.

On the other hand, she was definitely getting her sight back. She turned to Katie. "Check on Sarge!" she shouted over both noise and her own lack of hearing. "I'll cover you!"

Katie looked at her, skeptical. She held up three fingers and mouthed "How many?"

Donna shouted "Three! Now go get Sarge!" Donna curved her weapon around a nearby boulder to provide cover fire.

She couldn’t hear, but again, got the uncanny sensation of "feeling" the terrible roar of her weapon through the bones in her arm and shoulder.

She couldn't speak for the whole squad, but Donna personally had *no idea* where the enemy was.

She had a vague sense of where the rest of her Space Navy Seals unit was, but her HUD had been rebooting since the first sensory grenade.

*Sensory grenades with short range EMPs? What kind of pirates carried ordinance like that?*

She let off five quick bursts of standard flechettes from her SNS-Assault 9C rifle. She aimed in the general direction away from the Unit's position.

She saw Katie run for it. Through the ground, she felt the explosions and gunfire nearby. No, she heard it, but through her feet and shoulders, not her ears.

---

Donna felt a tingling sensation on her ear, and suddenly her HUD was back, as were her comms. She quickly keyed in a command to have the channel transcribed on her HUD, and read the incoming messages.

Katie: Sarge is unconscious but alive, repeat Sarge is alive. He's been tagged in the kneecap we are providing medical. Position reported.

Donna used her eye movements to open the map on her HUD. Over half of their unit was down or dead. She counted up the names. Some of her closest friends in life, gone.

She got a direct message from Katie to her HUD.

"Sarge is knocked out. Gomez is dead. You're in charge. Orders?"

Donna could only feel her voice as she shouted in response. "Everyone fall back to the Prometheus! Fall back!"

She stood up over the boulder to look around, and spotted the first actual hostile of the day. A mercenary by the looks of him, he had state of the art gear, and immediately turned around to shoot Donna. She was trained on him as he turned.

The mercenary got a few rounds off, one of which hit Donna's right shoulder, causing an immediate and bright pain. Right where she got hit last time. She had just last week noticed how much the old scar had healed. "Meet the new scar, right?" she thought as she continued to scan the clearing.

She saw on her HUD that the team had begun to fall back. Her morph suit began applying pressure to her shoulder as she prepared for the cauterization.

Katie sent her a direct. "Just saw your vitals spike. You on your way to us?"

Still unable to hear her own voice, Donna rasped "I'm hit. I'll be fine. Get to the Prometheus!"

At that moment the ground began a slow, steady shaking. Donna swiveled to look for some sort of concussive device, but the shaking didn't feel artificial. It felt like, a stampede.

She saw a few more mercenaries darting around in the forest beyond the clearing. She raised her rifle and used a high precision cartridge round to drop one of the mercs at sixty meters. Another spotted her and she got down behind the boulder.

The shaking grew more intense. Whatever was on its way, it was close now.

She stood up to scan the clearing again, and immediately saw five more mercenaries headed towards her.

---

Donna was never big on wildlife. She didn't hate it. She knew intellectually that much of her contact with animals was under sub-ideal circumstances. The Space Navy Seals weren't big on missions with "majestic" or adorable creatures.

Bugs in the jungle, mutated reptiles in a city sewage system, and barns filled with pig shit were the preferred locale for space navy seals missions.

That being said, Donna couldn't help but feel like nature had her back in this moment.

Still deaf, Donna laid down suppressing fire to slow the mercenaries down. They stopped in the clearing just as the herd drove through.

Not many SNS Officers can say they have gotten a field assist by a roaming pack of velociraptors. Donna could now say that.

As the men crossed the clearing, focusing on capturing or killing her, Donna watched as they were sideswiped by the family of predatory creatures.

There was a comical tone to the whole thing.

*Yes, these were evil guys who killed half of her unit, and were engaging in the trade of illegal bio weapons.*

*Yes, these velociraptors were cold blooded pack hunters.*

But what did the scene actually look like? It looked like twelve malnourished, scaly chickens fighting over, then eating, five action figures. Yes they had a lizard look, but those things *pecked like chickens*. "Good riddance", Donna thought.

She called to the Prometheus. "Everyone aboard?" She saw the words come up on her HUD.

"Yes. Where are you?" The response from Katie read.

“We have a perimeter on the facility” S-TAC squad leader Jack Bunter said into his comms mic. “We’re gonna get this son of a bitch.”

---

Dr. Herbert Sadoff was finishing up a routine day in the lab, when he heard a window break, and then a faint hissing sound. He saw a thick smoke filling the far corner of the large facility.

He heard another window break then another. He looked around in terror.

Had his assistant gone home for the day? He couldn’t remember. “Martin, are you still here?” He shouted.

The hissing grew louder, until a crescendo of broken glass and shouting broke out over it.

As Dr. Sadoff began to cower in fear, six heavily armed and armored commandos swooped into the lab on belay gear, shouting things like “go go go!”, “watch my six!”, And “cover the door, clear the area”.

Dr. Sadoff was in the fetal position near a lab table when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

Agent Jack Bunter grabbed the scientist by the shoulder and pulled him up to eye level as the smoke dissipated.

Off in the hallway, Dr. Sadoff heard one off the soldiers yell "Clear!"

Agent Bunter was clutching the scrawny man of science by the collar.

“Where are the rest of those kids, Herr Doctor?” Agent Bunter said.

“What kids? I don’t know any-“ Dr. Sadoff started.

“Don’t give me that you filthy kraut.” Said Agent Bunter as he punched the scientist in the chest.

Dr. Sadoff doubled over in pain. “I swear… I have no idea… what you’re talking about. I am not even German.”

“Yeah sure whatever.” Said Agent Bunter “Our people will get it out of you. I’m not sure how, not my department.” He pulled the doctor back up to standing to cuff him.

“Twenty years they’ve been looking for you, Hausman” Bunter said.

*Hausman?* Sadoff hadn’t heard that name in half a lifetime. *Could he mean the kids from the A.D.A.P.T. program?*

“I am not Hausman. I was his assistant. Has there been a development in his case?” Sadoff asked.

“A development?” Bunter questioned. “Yeah you could say so. One of your test subjects died in a car crash yesterday. Your sick idea actually worked.”

“It did?” Sadoff’s heart soared. He held a lot of guilt from the old days, but his biggest regret was professional, not ethical. He was sure the gene modifications would take hold eventually, and they did.

“It sure did you sick fuck.” Bunter replied, dragging Sadoff out of the lab. “You have got to be one of the most evil, dangerous scientists I have ever met.”

“Really?” Again, Sadoff felt a strange mix of guilt and flattery. It had been years since he had been an ‘evil’ scientist, but hearing the large, scruffy, imposing military assault commando call him “dangerous” gave him a momentary sense of having led a meaningful life of research.

“Yeah, what is it?” Bunter said, looking off into the distance. For a moment, Sadoff was confused. He soon realized that Bunter was now talking into his comms earpiece.

“Really?” Bunter said. “Yeah! He’s probably the most dangerous scientist on the planet. We’ll take the chopper there now.”

There was a pause, and Bunter began to slow down.

“Who? This guy?” Bunter spoke into the earpiece but gestured to Sadoff, looking away.

“Oh no he’s a nobody. We were scraping the bottom of the barrel here.Yeah. Yeah. He gave a few kids the ‘fainting goat’ gene. Yeah they faint when they hear a sudden and loud noise. Yeah. Oh I know. So stupid Oh yeah definitely. Definitely still evil…. But yeah, really dumb also. Just… yeah. Yeah. So dumb.”

There was a long pause. They had come to a stop, and Bunter had been pacing as Sadoff stood nearby, bound. The scientist began to slowly try to slip away, when Bunter, still on the phone, tripped him, and bound his feet together.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna leave him. He’s not a threat to anyone.” Bunter said. “We’ll be there in 20 minutes.” He tapped his ear, switching channels. “Alright boys, pack up the toys, we’re wheels up in three.”

Another long pause as Bunter leaned his head, listening to the comms mic.

“Really? For twenty bucks? You’re on!” He tapped his ear again, and began walking towards the exit, but stopped at Sadoff, who was prone, and unable to move.

Sadoff felt a warmth on his back and heard the sound of a liquid splashing onto fabric. Bunter’s blunt assessment of him as a “nobody” was more painful than being pissed on. That being said, the urine was more uncomfortable to sit in than the feelings of inadequacy.

The commando zipped up and walked away. Sadoff thought he was alone and began to move, when a leg kicked him in the ribs. “Bye bye goat boy” one of the commandos said as they walked by.

He heard the chopper leave. He began to move, trying to get up to standing, and maybe change clothes.

He realized that not only were his arms and feet bound, but his feet were bound to a lab table.

Two-inch thick steel table legs bolted into the concrete floor.

His assistant Martin would be back in the morning, he knew.

---

“What a great day for the good guys am I right?” Bunter said to his team. They had just apprehended one of the most notorious evil scientists on the planet, Dr Jacob Alcazar, responsible for manufacturing bio weapons to be used against civilian populations, and creating viruses meant to target entire continents at a time.

“Hey what about, uh what’s his name? Sad sack?” One of the other commandos asked Bunter.

“Sadoff?” Bunter asked. “He was small time. This guy may be super evil,” he gestured to the unconscious prisoner, “ but did you see his lab? It was fucking cool. At least he’s not a fucking loser”.

---

In the sixteen hours Sadoff spent on the floor, bound, in pain, itchy, dehydrated, and covered in piss, he couldn’t help but crack a grin.

James Broadmore was ready for death, but he was not ready to abandon his duty.

“Listen, comrade” he spewed, pausing to spit a glob of blood onto the floor, “If you think a few punches, stab wounds, electric shocks, and broken fingers are going to make me talk, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

He was bound to the ceiling by both of his wrists. His left hand was already a mangled mess of broken bones. The Russians had been trying to make him talk for six straight days straight, but he was James Broadmore, one of the world’s most elite covert operatives.

“Oh we know exactly who were dealing with” replied Ivan Petrov from across the metal table. The room was dusty, dirty, and dim.

The Russian interrogator stepped into the harsh light of a central bulb directly above Broadmore.

“Did you think we did all this just for the codes? Oh no Mr. Broadmore, this was for my own amusement! We have another plan for making you talk.” Petrov said as he gestured with his hand to someone who had been out of Broadmore’s sight line.

A man came in wheeling a cart with a TV on it. Once it was directly in front of Broadmore, the second man turned the TV on.

“You sick son of a bitch!” Broadmore exclaimed. “You are going to pay for this!” He added as he began to struggle in his shackles. His left hand was a useless mass of excruciating pain, but in his rage he felt a looseness in his fragmented bones. His adrenaline-wracked brain tried to hold on to that information as he looked at the screen.

On it played a video of his daughter Jennifer. They had people following her. He tried to calm himself.

“How can I know when this was taken? How do I know you haven’t killed her?” He asked.

“Mr. Broadmore! Do you take the KGB to be a bunch of amateurs?” Petrov chuckled.

“Yeah, I kind of do.” Broadmore retorted, barely masking the pain in his voice.

Petrov pulled a bulky cordless phone out of the suitcase on the interrogation table. The unwieldy piece of technology was about the size of a brick and had a screen big enough for 20 characters of type, one line up at the top between the dialing buttons and the speaker.

Broadmore could hear it ringing.

---

“Hello?” The voice answered on the other side. Petrov was silent. Broadmore was silent.

“Hello? Who is this?” Broadmore could tell it was her. Petrov held up the phone, gesturing Broadmore to speak.

Broadmore shook his head. He hadn’t spoken to his daughter in over five years. They hadn’t left it well.

“You know, it is truly heartbreaking to see how distant the two of you have grown.” Petrov said with faux sympathy.

“You won’t hurt her. She’s a civilian living on American soil. It’s too much heat.”

Broadmore said grinning.

“That could be true, yes” Petrov replied “except for this.” Petrov added as he took out a folder from the briefcase and spread its contents.

There were pictures of his daughter. It looked like a college party. She was with a man about her age. “So what? She’s got a boyfriend? I forfeited my right to-“ Broadmore started.

“Not just any boyfriend Mr. Broadmore!” Petrov interrupted. He took out an official-looking dossier. It was a personnel file for a KGB sleeper agent. The same man that was with Jennifer at the party.

“So let me tell you what is going to happen. Three very easy steps so that Jennifer’s heart will be broken, metaphorically. Refuse, and her heart will be literally broken. By a bullet.“

At that moment James Broadmore went for broke. He pushed his fractured bone down to release his mangled left hand, the handcuffs slipped around the bar they were attached to, still firmly locked on his right wrist. He dropped to the floor.

He squatted on one knee, with his head facing down. He exaggerated a very real feeling of exhaustion, as feigned the inability to move or stand.

“Six days of suspension by your wrists can have detrimental effects on your-“ Petrov began but was interrupted by James standing up in a quick and violent motion, forcing the top of his skull into Petrov’s jaw as he stood.

---

Petrov was down, and Broadmore now towered over him, raising his manacled right arm, and bringing the hanging handcuff down into Petrov’s face.

Petrov’s nose bloomed instantly with a deep crimson geyser. Broadmore grabbed him by the collar and sank his right knee into Petrov’s chest. He was using his weight to pin Petrov, while punching him in the face. He moved his knee up so that it was crushing Petrov’s windpipe.

At this moment, the guard who had brought the tv cart made it to Broadmore and tackled him off of Petrov.

He had nearly killed him. Now he was tumbling with the guard, his useable right arm flailing around the back of the man as they rolled and grappled.

He was able to get his left arm around to catch the hanging handcuff, and turned himself so that he was behind the guard, like a big spoon.

He pulled on both sides of the handcuffs as he positioned the tether on the man’s neck. He almost passed out from the pain in his left hand and arm, but held the choke long enough to kill the man.

He felt the struggle stop and slowly cautiously let go as the guard went limp.

He used his right arm to get himself up. Not sure when he injured his left leg, but he was now limping from some injury below the knee.

He hobbled back over to Petrov and resumed beating the man with the hanging flail that was the left side handcuff.

“I told you!” He screamed between blows “You! Don’t ! Know ! Who! You’re! Dealing! With!”

Dr. Frederick Burov stood at the observation window, staring into the isolation chamber with a mixture of unease and fascination. The chamber had the deceptive air of a waiting room—comfortable seating, TVs, magazines, even a corner stocked with toys for children. But the faint, erratic movements within betrayed its true purpose.

The thing inside darted around, leaving behind faint, smeared trails on every surface it touched. Whatever it was, its speed made it almost impossible to discern clearly.

“What exactly am I looking at here?” Burov asked, his voice measured but tinged with apprehension.

Dr. Yvette Wheeler approached, tablet in hand. Her face mirrored his curiosity, though a flicker of trepidation crossed her expression. “We were hoping you’d tell us, Fred. Our best guess was some kind of hyperactive ferret—until we slowed it down. Look at this.”

She held up the tablet, tapping the screen. The video feed showed the creature in motion, a blur streaking around the chamber, its path marked by smudges on the floor and furniture. When Wheeler slowed the footage, the form finally became visible: a small, wheel-shaped organism, no larger than a squirrel. It moved not with limbs but by rolling, like a living tire. And it could jump.

Burov leaned closer, watching as the creature paused in the footage, revealing a trail of viscous excretion that seemed to let it adhere to surfaces. “Definitely not a ferret,” he muttered.

“No kidding.” Wheeler smirked. “At first, we thought it relied entirely on touch and balance. But see this?” She pointed to the screen as the slowed footage showed flickering patches along the sides of the creature. “We think those areas are sensitive to light, sound, and smells.”

The creature stopped again, and a small section opened, revealing an orifice. Burov stiffened. “That’s a mouth.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Wheeler countered, though her tone lacked conviction. “This is only the third extraterrestrial humanity’s found, Fred. Look how the other two turned out.”

“The first two?” Burov snorted. “A virus masquerading as a single-celled organism that wiped out Lab Thirty-Two? That wasn’t an alien. And the other one is bark.”

“Bark stronger than steel that grows faster than bamboo,” Wheeler retorted.

“This is different. This is a creature—with eyes and a mouth. It’s the first real alien. Have you tested the secretion?”

“Results should be back soon,” Wheeler replied.

“Given the Omega project’s track record, it wouldn’t surprise me if that thing’s leaving behind crude oil,” Burov remarked dryly.

Their exchange was cut short by a sudden, rapid popping sound emanating from the chamber. A bright glow filled the room, and Wheeler winced at the unexpected noise. “Isn’t the chamber soundproof?” Burov shouted over the cacophony.

“It’s supposed to be!” Wheeler yelled back, panic creeping into her voice. “The glass is unbreakable!”

The popping escalated, and, with a deafening crash, the observation window shattered. The glow vanished as abruptly as it had appeared, replaced by darkness. In the silence, a faint scurrying sound echoed.

Burov and Wheeler exchanged a terrified glance before the lab lights flickered and went out entirely. They moved cautiously toward the exit, but dark streaks began forming around them. The creature was everywhere, its smudges marking a frenetic, chaotic path.

Burov tried to step over one of the streaks but stumbled as the blur intercepted his leg, sending him sprawling. Wheeler watched in horror as stains began to appear on his face, his screams of disgust morphing into cries of agony. “It burns!” he yelled, clawing at his skin as red welts and peeling flesh spread across his face and hands. “Activate the kill switch!”

Wheeler scrambled to a nearby workstation, her hands shaking as she removed the plastic cover from a small red button. Unlocking the safety with a key around her neck, she slammed her palm down on the button.

The lab erupted into a violent explosion. From above, the facility appeared as a grid of perfect squares. One of these squares—Lab 28—was obliterated, collapsing into a pile of fine rubble. The destruction was so precise that no debris reached the neighboring cells.

In a control room far removed from the chaos, a grid of green dots represented the labs. One dot blinked orange, then red, before disappearing. Voices filled the room.

“Did they lose containment?” asked one voice.

“Yes, just before the blast,” another replied.

“Scrap the whole sector.”

The entire grid shifted to orange, then red, and finally disappeared.

Fiona

Fiona Marathi landed in a ninja roll and looked forward. Reba Washington was only a few meters ahead of her, jumping to another rooftop across a small alley.

It had been so close, Fiona thought. Reba couldn’t have gotten into the vault more than ten minutes before her.

Fiona knew it would be Reba. She was glad it was Reba. They had a professional respect for each other. The two best thieves in the world. The only thieves good enough to be hired by the Assassin’s guild.

Fiona followed Reba to the adjacent roof, and saw her look back and grin, the corner of the manilla folder clutched in the front pocket of her jacket was just barely visible.

Reba slowed as she approached the roof’s edge. “Better luck next time, Fi” She said, before jumping for a close vertical drop.

When Fiona got to the edge, she didn’t see Reba. There wasn’t a close enough roof, and she was not on the ground. No one would have been able to roll through the impact of three stories, right?

She leaned over the edge and saw not ten feet from the top, an open window. She ran to the entrance on the roof. Open. She heard footsteps in the stairwell. Fast and aggressive. Could have easily been Reba, Fiona thought.

Fiona looked at the blur of movement in the lower stairwell, approaching the bottom level, and jumped to the opposite side of the stairwell, catching the railing, steadying her weight, then immediately dropping the other story-and-a half to land on top of Reba as she fled.

“I’ll be taking this” Fiona said, her knees pinning Reba down by the shoulders. She grabbed the folder, the dossier on the Al-Mourad crime syndicate.

Lighter than Fiona thought it would be. She removed a zip tie from the tool pouch in her belt, and fastened Reba’s ankles together.

“Sorry about this Reba. Maybe I’ll give you the next one.” Fiona said as she darted through the hallway and out of the facility.

---

Reba

Reba didn’t wait for her to even get outside she got to the knife she kept in an ankle holster. *How did she not find this?* Reba thought.

She cut herself free in time to follow Fiona out of the northern entrance to the building, into an alleyway. By the time she was in the alley, Reba was about thirty meters from her, on the opposite side of the street from where the alley let out.

Fiona turned to her and winked. A large truck passed and Fiona was gone. Reba knew that trick. She sprinted to the end of the alley and jumped on top of a cab to get a better look.

She saw Fiona sticking out from the far side of the truck, holding onto a safety handle on the back. The truck stopped at a red light, only fifty meters ahead. Reba could see Fiona jump from the vehicle onto the nearby sidewalk.

Reba jumped from the cab, to the top of an SUV, which took her closer to the intersection, before jumping to the ground. There was a plaza up ahead. She spotted Fiona heading towards a large crowd near a fountain. It was some sort of protest or rally.

As she got closer, she lost Fiona. Initially in a less dense, sub-crowd that was maybe twenty meters from the border of a thicker, shoulder-to-shoulder throng. Reba approached the smaller of the two crowds at a brisk walk.

Fiona turned back from the clearing between the loose tangle and the larger thicket of bodies. She spotted Reba immediately, smiled and waved, and disappeared into the denser crowd.

Reba shifted herself to a sprint, and made it to the border of the mob in seconds, she pushed through, pissing off strangers left and right. She grabbed Fiona’s jacket through the press of shoulders and elbows, and it fell off a stranger’s back.

Reba held the jacket and looked around. Fiona had ditched the jacket and gotten out. She saw Fiona approaching a car on the sidewalk on the far side of the plaza. She immediately backed out, and now assisted by angry strangers, was pushed from the crowd and onto the ground.

---

Fiona

Fiona peered over her shoulder and spotted Reba, still stuck in the crowd. Her getaway car was here. She got into the black car, greeted the driver, and handed the Manila folder to her handler, Habib.

“Cutting it close today aren’t we, miss Marathi.” Habib said, taking the folder from her and flipping through it. “Seems a bit light, no?”

“It’s all there. I got out-” Fiona started, when both her and Habib looked up at the recognizable sound of someone landing on the roof of the car.

“Were you going to say *clean?* That you got out *clean*?” Habib asked derisively.

Fiona rolled her eyes at the older, snarky man.

“Well I was. I’ll take care of it” Fiona said, just before the end of what looked like a fireman’s axe came through the roof of the car, right between her and Habib’s faces.

Habib looked at the axe for a moment, nonplussed. “Be sure that you do.” he said as he turned back down to the folder and continued reading.

The car was moving at maybe 30 miles per hour around the circular curve of a highway on-ramp. Fiona opened the car door and stood on the inner door handle to quickly get herself onto the roof, the bounce from her jump caused the door to close behind her.

She saw what she expected: Reba with an axe, drawing it up for another strike through the roof.

---

Reba

Reba was about to draw the axe back down through the car roof when Fiona appeared in front of her.

“You are a *sore loser*” Fiona said. The car was about halfway through the figure eight of the on-ramp. Below them on the driver side was a barrier that led to a drop of about seven meters.

“I haven’t lost yet” Reba replied, as both stabilized themselves against the circular turn the car was in the middle of. Reba went for a quick swipe at Fiona with the axe.

Fiona ducked down, Reba missed her by inches. Fiona popped back up and grabbed the back side of the axe, attempting to take it from Reba. Reba shifted her weight with Fiona’s motion, keeping hold of the axe, and grabbing Fiona’s forearm. All of their weight was headed directly off the front driver side of the vehicle.

This attempt to disarm Reba then turned into something of a tackle, and both women tumbled off the car, hitting the barrier of the lane with an impact shared between Reba’s hip and Fiona’s left knee. Still entwined, they spun off the barrier to the ground below.

They landed on a small patch of grass, and not the concrete sidewalk. Reba was thankful for that, but was still pretty sure she was severely injured.

She attempted to get up but couldn’t. She felt an intense pain shooting up from her femur through her hips. She looked over to Fiona.

Fiona’s left leg was obviously fucked. Blood was pouring from where her knee had been bent sideways.

“Fi. Wake up.” Reba said, shoving her with her arm.

“I got it to Habib” Fiona said, laughing sluggishly. She was in shock.

“Listen Fi, I’m calling for extraction. My employer will kill you when they get here.” Reba said with concern.

“I got the dossier. I am the best.” Fiona said in a childish tone. “I was the best. Now you will be the best. If I’m still here when Derek shows up, just tell him to make it quick” She said.

“But Fiona,” Reba started.

“Shh shh” Fiona interrupted.

There was nothing particularly special about the box. Made of old, worn wood, it was a rectangle about two inches tall, five inches across, and four inches from the scratched steel of the front latch to the bubbly oxidized iron of the back hinge.

Kelly Drummer looked at the box intently. It sat on the shop table in the dusty, disused basement.

There were tools and guns on the walls, some ratty furniture, and a workbench, where Kelly’s family used to make custom gear for their heists, she knew. Most of it hadn’t been touched in over twenty years.

Kelly stood maybe a meter from the box. Caleb, her nephew, stood on the opposite side of the shop table.

“How did you get it?” Kelly asked.

Caleb grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know. What matters is we got the thing. C’mon aunt Kelly, call up Dominic! Let’s get paid.”

Kelly was past disapproving of Caleb’s activities. He was a grown man. She knew it was hypocritical to chastise him over this. Maybe she was just jealous that he was able to get the box without her help.

“Wait, how do you know about Dom?” Kelly inquired.

“After you bailed on me, I went to Mama. She told me everything.” Caleb said. “They’ve been after it since before you were born. Did you know that?”

Kelly knew.

Mama was Kelly’s mom, Caleb’s grandmother. Kelly’s sister Brittany died from birth complications when she was eighteen. Caleb was a few weeks old, and Kelly was only eight. Mama raised Caleb like Kelly had a younger brother. Now he was twenty and Kelly was almost thirty. He had known the truth a long time, and began calling Kelly “Aunt Kelly” to mess with her. Somehow it just stuck.

Mama was always gonna be just Mama. Mama had been on the straight and narrow since Brittany died, but the rest of the family kept up with old habits.

Mama had met Kelly and Brittany’s father while working a heist in the 90s. Armored truck. They had a forty five minute long highway chase, got to their rally point, ditched the first car in a tunnel, and got out in a different car before the checkpoints were set up. They conceived Brittany that night, or so the story went.

Now Pop was in jail, Uncle Timmy was there with him. They got popped on a job when Kelly was a kid. Their father had his then-six-and-sixteen year old daughters run interference with airport security as he and his brother attempted to break into a secure hangar.

They had no clue the storage on site had pressure sensitive flooring. They each got twenty-five years. The cops never put together that the two adolescents were a coordinated part of it.

With Pop and Timmy in the can, a lot of the old relatives made their way to other crews, or even other lifestyles, as was the case for Mama.

She used to say she hoped it would skip a generation, and that Kelly and Caleb would stay out of that world. In the last few years, she had become more nostalgic. She told the stories with less guilt and regret, and more of a sense of adventure, like she had when Kelly was younger. When Brittany was still alive.

The box, which sat on the shop table, in the basement of Uncle Timmy’s dilapidated house was something of a “one that got a way” for Mama, Pop, Timmy, and all the extended family that had been around in the early days. In the time since, the legend had only grown.

Kelly grew up hearing stories of their near-miss attempts to steal the thing. She had heard about their mysterious cousin Dominic, who had a patient, wealthy buyer lined up and ready. At this point, every other crew they had heard of had made the attempt, but the box’s owner had a penchant for counter-theft.

Beyond traditional security, the man who had until now held possession of the box, Juan Garshin, was known for misdirects, duplicates, and non-lethal countermeasures.

Garshin’s pranks, games, and industry-savvy security left the impression that he was himself a current or former professional thief.

In one such story, uncle Timmy was nearly decapitated by a power saw that jutted out from the wall of the vault.

This was within a building owned by Juan Garshin, but they never could have proven that. There were shell companies, as well as a long line of management consulting contracts that led from Garshin, to the building in which Timmy found the legendary item.

The saw stopped within millimeters of his neck, then retracted. Timmy returned to the family with the box. They had heard that opening it was risky, but they did it anyway. In it was a note that said “lucky you”. Or so the story went.

Most of the family interpreted that as “You’re lucky I programmed the saw to stop short of killing you, oh and this is a fake”. Kelly had adopted Mama’s theory: the note pertained to the box itself. Timmy was lucky, not because of the saw stopping short, but because the box that he opened was a fake.

It was rumored that the box held some magical power, or dangerous item, within its simple wooden frame.

Most of the Drummer clan chalked all of that up to myths and superstition. Mama had always told it with a bit more openness. Maybe Kelly couldn’t think about it objectively because all of this information had been presented to her as childhood stories.

Kelly looked, unsure if it was the genuine item, but afraid to open it, just in case.

Something about her look made her thoughts clear to Caleb.

“So I suppose we should open it and see if it’s another fake”. Caleb said, grinning.

He turned the box and began to open it.

“Wait Caleb!” Kelly cried.

As soon as Caleb opened the box, Kelly saw a deep blue glow emanating from within. She couldn’t see what was inside. Caleb looked directly at it.

“Oh it‘s-” he started, “it’s a uh,” he looked at it intently, with puzzlement, and a hint of a smile. “Can you believe it just has one of these,” he trailed off “one of these things. It’s just a …”

Kelly shut the box. Caleb wobbled as he stood, steadying himself with an arm on the table. He stared at the now-closed wooden box. There was a beat. Kelly looked at Caleb, Caleb continued to stare, wordless, at the box.

“Caleb?” Kelly said. She bent down to look up into his eyes and snapped in front of his face. He blinked, but other than that remained still, his eyes trained in the direction of the box, but unfocused, almost cross-eyed. He began to drool.

Kelly walked around the shop table and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Are you fucking with me?” She paused. Caleb remained still and catatonic. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She asked insistently, “What is in there?”

Caleb looked up. His eyes still glazed over. He looked in her direction, but his gaze still seemed un-focused, like he was looking past her to something very far away.

“What is it? What is in the box Caleb?” She asked, fear and worry now dominating her voice.

He spoke quietly. “Caleb is in the box.” He walked to the wall, slowly and calmly, and grabbed the revolver off the rack. The one Timmy kept loaded.

Kelly didn’t even think Caleb would know that. He’d only met Uncle Timmy at prison visitation.

She sidled up to him. “Caleb, what are you-“

The sound of Caleb shooting himself in the head was deafening. Between the loss of hearing and outright shock at what had just happened, Kelly also noticed dust fall off of the ceiling and every other surface in the room.

She looked at Caleb’s limp and lifeless body, tears in her eyes. What would she tell Mama?

Billy Fordham

10:30 AM

Billy Fordham spat blood on the table and grinned. “That all you got?” He said derisively.

Another strike to the face. His nose may have been broken. He kept his composure though his voice had a different character to it now.

He knew it was only a matter of time. “You’re dead. You know that right?” He asked, turning to the woman who sat across from him.

The big man hadn’t said a word. He was just here for punching. The lady was running the interrogation. “Who do you think we are, William?” she asked condescendingly.

“You’re crooked cops. No mystery there.”

There was a long pause. His bleeding nose was getting very irritating. He had to spit out the blood every 10 seconds or so. “You got something for this?” he asked, “It don’t hurt or nuttin. Princess over there punches like my 7 year old neice.” he pointed with his thumb at the large silent man. “Just the bleeding is a little irritating.”

The woman brought him a large bandage and he put it over his nose.

A nearly inaudible buzz chirped from the earpiece in the woman’s ear. She touched her hand to it. Such an obvious cop move, Billy thought.

Agent Fiona De Soya

10:35AM

“Go ahead,” Agent Fiona De Soya said, pressing her earpiece.

“We’re ready,” came Agent Harding’s voice, clipped and precise. “Sell it hard.” The line went dead.

“Just keep that area secure” She said, making for the door. She could hear reports of gunfire. She drew her weapon as she left the interrogation room.

She heard Billy exclaim “I told you they would come for me. I told you! You’re dead!”

Billy Fordham

10:40AM

After several minutes of distant gunfire, the lights went out. The sound of heavy boots echoed closer to the interrogation room. Billy grinned through the metallic taste of blood. The giant enforcer didn’t flinch, still as a statue.

“You’re a real pro at dishing it out, big guy,” Billy sneered, his voice thick with mockery. “But I bet you couldn’t take a punch to save your life.”

The door burst open, crashing against the wall. Billy broke into a blood-streaked grin. “Took you long enough, boys!”

Two men in tactical gear stormed in, their black-market Kevlar and high-grade M16s gleaming in the dim light. One moved to untie Billy while the other leveled his rifle at the giant enforcer. A single shot rang out. The muscle-bound man crumpled, blood pooling beneath him in eerie silence. No vocalization whatsoever. The only sound was a thud as his body hit the floor.

The two men untied Billy. “We have to get you out of here. They are sending more agents.”

“Agents?” Billy asked insistently. “You telling me these aren’t crooked local PD?”

“No it’s an FBI Operation. Boss has a man in the bureau.” The man said, gear obscuring his face and body.

“Give me a gun then!” Billy said.

One of the commandos handed Billy his sidearm. “Just stay close in, you won’t have to use it. We already killed their whole squad. As long as we’re gone before backup shows, we’re ghosts.”

Agent Fiona De Soya

10:42 AM

Agent Fiona De Soya remained under the desk. She turned to Agent Harding, also hidden in the viewing room. They both grinned. She stifled a chuckle as they heard Billy, agent Burke, and agent wheeler leave the interrogation room.

Once the coast was clear, they went back into the interrogation room to get Mike.

“How did I do?” The big muscly man asked.

“Perfect Mike” Agent De Soya said, smiling, “You are great at playing dead.” She handed him a handkerchief for the blood packets that had stained his shirt.

He wiped at it to no avail and looked up. “The sacrifices we make, keeping this country safe, Am I right?”

Ryan looked as his watch. “We can do the lights now.” He said, already walking towards the circuit breaker box on the other end of the floor.

Billy Fordham

10:45AM

They were moving down a long corridor. This building was maybe once a hospital, Billy thought. The power returned and the three men paused before advancing down the hallway.

One of the masked rescuers turned to the other. “It’s just the emergency generator. Keep moving!” He said.

As they got to the bottom floor of the labyrinthian facility, one of the commandos, held his hand up in military sign language.

The boss man really hired mercenaries to get him out of that interrogation. Billy was touched. He also knew that any inkling that he had snitched would get him killed.

Good thing he hadn’t snitched.

They held at a corner on the ground floor. Billy could hear shuffling as the two commandos, who Billy had been calling “Jingles” and “Mister Fun”, peered around the corner and made signs at each other.

Jingles grabbed Billy in close to whisper “That’s their backup. There are five agents blocking our escape. Mr. Moltisanti was adamant that you be returned alive. I will provide cover fire, as you two escape through the basement tunnels.” He said, pointing to Billy and Mister Fun.

Adamant? Didn’t sound like boss man. Also, since when did his employees speak his name aloud? This was a last minute thing, these guys were obviously the real deal, maybe they just didn’t know the rules yet.

Jingles nodded to Mister Fun as Mister Fun tugged Billy by the arm to evacuate. Billy saw Jingles throw something, then heard a voice from down the hall scream “Grenade!”

There was a loud crashing sound, followed by more gunfire.

Billy and Mister Fun made their way through a tunnel system, emerging several blocks from the facility. Mister Fun then took him to a rundown apartment nearby and told Billy to wait for a call from their employer.

1:30 PM

Mister Fun had left the “safe house” over an hour ago. Still no call. Something was screwy here, Billy thought.

A nagging unease crept over him. He ejected the magazine from the sidearm and stared at the rounds. Blanks. His stomach twisted. Was this whole thing a setup? He replayed the last 24 hours in his head—the ambush, the rescue, the safe house. Nothing felt right anymore.

He had been jumped, by crooked cops, who actually might have been FBI. If Jingles and Mister fun were in on it, he thought, he couldn’t even be sure of that. The escape, the safe house, everything could be a long con. One of his employer’s rivals trying to shake things up. He had to tell Mr. Moltisanti.

He examined his clothing and looked at his face in a mirror. He splashed his face with water, took the bandage off his nose, and combed his hair. The safe house even had a change of clothes. He got freshened up and left the apartment.

Agent Tom Wheeler

10:55AM

Agent Tom Wheeler stood up and removed his night vision goggles. He let off a few more bursts of blanks from his M16 and came around the corner. Agents Ryan, De Soya, and security guard Mike looked to him questioningly.

“They are in the sub basement by now.” he said, looking at the locator beacon on his field handset. “Agent Burke will get him to the safe house, where he will be told to wait. We’ve got a Lojack on him now, as soon as he get’s impatient he’ll lead us to Moltisanti.”

“You think he’s buying it?” Asked Agent De Soya.

“Oh totally” said agent Wheeler “He gave us nicknames and everything. I think killing Mike right off the bat really helped sell it. Sorry about the shirt, Mike”

With levity Mike said “What’s a ruined shirt, in lieu of justice?”

They all chuckled as Agent Wheeler continued monitoring the locator beacon. They’d have Moltisanti’s whole crew in cuffs by tonight.

Agent Fiona De Soya

4:15PM

“He’s still in the safe house.” Burke said. He was looking at a computer screen with a map of the city. Billy’s location was depicted by a blinking red dot.

“Maybe it’s time Mister Fun gave him a nudge.” Agent De Soya said over his shoulder, “Suit up.”

Agent Ryan Harding

4:45 PM

“I’m getting to the apartment now” Said Burke over his radio. “He’s not here.”

“What?” Fiona exclaimed.

“I’m looking now. He made coffee. Not even warm. He’s been gone for hours.” Burke said.

Agent Ryan Harding stood across the room monitoring the situation. He asked “How is that possible? We have the locator showing him right there in the apartment. Upstairs bathroom.”

“Checking now” Burke said, and there was a short beat.