The episode resumed on a shot of two totem poles hanging from tree branches. The one on the left was a green-marked rat sitting on a toxic waste barrel; and the one on the right was a red-marked three-eyed maggot with a hazard sign on its base and a hatchet stuck in the bottom.
"Those, are your team totems," Chris explained, the shot panning down to show each team standing below their respective totem with the host roughly between them, the entire group standing in front of a river. "You need to cut 'em down, and get 'em in the river, and ride 'em back to the campgrounds," he explained. "First team there gets their pick of the cabins. But hurry! The totems are rigged with bombs that will explode if you don't plant 'em in front of your cabin in seven minutes or less," the shot zoomed in on the timer on the Rats' totem. "Starting now," Chris quickly added, and the timer began counting down from 7:00.
"Ooh, I wanna go first!" Katie replied enthusiastically, jumping onto the trampoline that had been set-up under the Maggots' totem. However, rather than go straight up she bounced off to the right with a startled cry and landed with a painful crash just past a nearby shrub.
\
"I'll give this a try!" Geoff announced as the focus moved to the other team, grabbing the hacksaw and jumping onto the trunk of the tree the Rats' totem was hanging from. Sierra and Sammy watched him climb in wary silence, then took a shocked step back when he slid back down almost immediately. "Don't worry. I got this!" Geoff brushed off his pain.
"I don't think that's going to work," Sierra said while B was thinking of what to do. "We need a plan!"
\
Scarlett examined the trampoline as the camera cut to the Maggots. "Here's what's going to happen. DJ will hit the center of the trampoline-"
Anne Maria walked past Scarlett. "Back off. I want a crack at this."
"I did not calculate your weight!" Scarlett tried to tell her.
Standing on a rock, Anne Maria jumped onto the trampoline. She slammed right up into the base of the totem face first and nowhere near the ax. She fell down to the trampoline, which bounced her back up, and caused her to slam into it with her back before falling again. The team watched in growing discomfort as Anne Maria repeatedly hit the trampoline and the totem back and forth. After a few more collisions, DJ pulled the trampoline out from under Anne Maria before she could hit it again. Instead of bouncing on the trampoline once more, Anne Maria's body crashed on the ground.
Confessional: Anne Maria
"Sure, I want to win a million dollars, but not at the expense of my looks," Anne Maria gestured to herself. "I mean, check me out. Perfect hair, perfect tan… all this is worth a billion, easy."
Confessional Ends
The footage cut back to another shot of the Rats' totem, Geoff still climbing up the tree.
"Well, if he can't climb it," Sammy said, the camera cutting back down to the forest floor where she and her teammates were looking up, "then I doubt any of us are gonna be able to."
"We have to do something," Sierra countered. "The Maggots are taking the lead!"
B then grabbed Leshawna's hand and led her to a log being balanced by a large rock. "Oh okay. You want me on this thing?" Leshawna asked while being positioned.
"Whoa there," Sierra said when B took her near the tree. "You want me to stand here?"
B ran and did a front flip onto the log, resulting in Leshawna landing on Sierra's shoulders. They all voiced their support, until Geoff fell on the ground in pain.
Confessional: Sierra
"OMG! This is my first confessional ever! I am so excited!" Sierra gushed. "I never thought I would be on Total Drama, my favorite show in the world! Now I will finally put to rest all those blog questions, like "Who will be our next villain?" or "Who's going to get eliminated first?""
Confessional Ends
A close-up showed Scarlett giving the trampoline's position a few minor adjustments, then smiling and standing back up. "Okay, you should be good to go!" she told Dave, who was now standing on the large rock that was behind their team.
"Right," Dave nodded. A tense challenge tune began as he jumped down onto the trampoline, then straight up to the totem pole. He grabbed onto the hatchet buried in the wooden carving and tried to pull it free, but it didn't budge. "How is this stuck in here so deep?" he grunted, swinging his legs up so he could brace them against the bottom of the totem pole.
"Well guys," Molly said, the camera panning down to her and the rest of the Maggots looking up. "I don't think this is gonna be enough."
Confessional: Molly
"Okay, so I don't really like working with people," Molly admitted to the outhouse camera. "I've been raised to work by myself and without help. My parents made me audition just so I can learn how to, uh, what's the word that starts with c?"
Confessional Ends
B launched Sammy up onto Scott's shoulders, who already went before her. "I'm good."
\
The challenge music resumed as the shot cut back to Dave hanging from the hatchet, still trying to pull it out. "Almost...got it!" he said, finally freeing the ax then grabbing a short branch below the totem as he started to fall back down.
"Nice job, Dave!" Trent cheered down below.
"Watch out!" Katie said suddenly, pointing up at the branch Dave was hanging by one arm from as a hairless squirrel emerged from a hole in the trunk with an annoyed chitter. "It's one of those weird rat things!"
The squirrel seemed to take offense to that, and its eyes began to glow red. It suddenly shot eye-lasers down at the phone addict, who jumped away. The squirrel did not let up, however, and kept sweeping its laser-gaze across the panicking Maggots below.
"Are these animals even tested?" Trent panicked.
\
B cartwheeled before jumping onto the log in order to get Geoff standing over Sammy.
"We just need one more person!" Leshawna reminded B. "Max, get your butt over here!"
The camera cut to the supervillain, who was writing on his notebook. "What evil nickname should I give myself? Professor Abomination? Too soft. Doctor Repugnance. Too smelly. Little Mister Dreadulocks. Me likey."
Max put his notebook away and went back to his team.
\
The hairless squirrel was still attempting to zap the six grounded Maggots, forcing them to run about in terror.
"I thought animals were our friends!" DJ shrieked.
"Oh no," Dave said as the shot cut back to him hanging from the branch the squirrel was on, which soon turned its attention to him. "Why are you zapping me?!" He quickly threw the hatchet in front of his face as the squirrel fired its laser, and the beam bounced off the tool and directed at the higher branch the totem was hanging from – the blast snapped through it, sending the Maggots' totem pole crashing to the ground. The team cheered and Dave got off the branch.
"Now to get this totem into the water!" Scarlett said after.
\
"Release me this instant!" Max yelled because of B dragging his body onto the log.
With a mighty leap B launched the small, screaming boy into the air, and the dramatic music peaked as he sailed through the air. Max was able to land on top of Geoff.
"Quick!" Geoff told him, the shot zooming out to show him giving Max the rickshaw. "Cut the rope, little dude!"
"I don't like being told what to do normally," Max brattily whined, turning around and sawing through the rope holding up their totem. A few seconds later, the totem landed on the ground earning a cheer from the seven Rats.
"Nice job, B. We might just win this!" Sierra congratulated the burly man.
Confessional: B
B blew into his fist and rubbed it off in accomplishment.
Confessional: Scott
Scott was throwing a rock against the wall and catching it when it bounced back to him. "B thinks he's so smart. But once my plan goes into action, he won't know what hit him!" In the middle of his sentence, he stopped throwing his rock. He went back to his activity once more, but failed to catch the rock as it hit his eye, making him react painfully.
Confessionals End
The challenge music resumed over a shot of the rocky river, whoops and shouts of excitement coming from upstream. The camera panned up just as the Toxic Rats floated by on their totem – B at the head followed by Geoff, Scott, Max, Leshawna, Sierra, and Sammy on the end. The Mutant Maggots floated by soon after, Scarlett in front, followed by Molly, Katie, Anne Maria, Trent, Dave, and DJ in back.
"They're gaining on us, dudes!" Geoff shouted in alarm after looking back.
"I think we have bigger problems," Scott said, pointing forward. "Look!"
The perspective briefly switched to reveal that the river they were on was heading over a cliff, and the Rats gasped. "Weaklings," Max scoffed, "it's just a little waterfall!"
"It's more than just a little waterfall!" Sierra corrected in rising panic.
The shot zoomed out to show the top of the waterfall, the seven screaming teenagers shooting over it on their totem pole and falling into the forest below. Unseen branches snapped as they plummeted, but the camera cut to the ground just in time to show them landing on the shore of the waterfall's basin on the broadside of the totem pole, and after a bounce that jostled Sammy from her seat they began to slide down a hill.
Sammy screamed, hanging on to the back of the fast-moving pole with only her hands.
"Hold on, I've got you!" Sierra told her, quickly turning around and grabbing her arms. She easily pulled her back onto the totem, and the cheerleader instantly stopped screaming. "Hang on to the totem pole tightly if you don't want that to happen again."
"Uh, sure!" Sammy hesitantly promised.
Back at the top of the waterfall, the Mutant Maggots shot out into the air with screams of their own. As with their rivals, the sound of crashing branches preceded the thud of their landing, and they whooped and cheered as the camera cut to them sliding down the hill.
"Lean forward!" Scarlett commanded.
"You want us to do what?" Anne Maria spluttered.
"She's right. Lean!" Trent said, and the others promptly did so. The shot zoomed back out to show the Maggots passing the Rats.
"Now they're in front of us!" Leshawna shouted.
"B wants us to lean forward!" Geoff advised everyone, and they leaned forward as well.
"FASTER!" Max barked, to the annoyance of his teammates. "We must go faster or else-"
"We get it!" The Toxic Rats stopped Max's ranting.
\
The music stopped abruptly as the scene moved to Chris and Chef, lounging in short white deck chairs outside of the cabins – the one on the right looked just as it had in season one, but the one on the left had been replaced by what looked like a larger and much fancier two-and-a-half-story house.
"Ahh, feels good to be back," Chris said, leaning back in his chair while Chef read a book.
The sound of panting prompted the camera to pan to the right, and none other than Owen ran up. "Hey, Chris," he said, "the boat wouldn't stop for some reason!"
"Oh look, it's former player Owen," Chris told the camera, "who's not competing this year!"
Owen continued. "So I swam back over here to-" He paused, blinked, then widened his eyes in realization. "What?! Not competing?!"
"I'm afraid you and the other 'classic players' have outlived your usefulness," Chris explained. He briefly looked at the camera, then added "Chef?"
The hulking man stepped forward and planted a bomb similar to the ones on the totem poles on Owen's chest. Owen screamed in growing horror as the light on the bomb began to blink. He turned and fled, but the host smiled impishly and eyed the button on his remote.
The scene cut to a long-distance view of the thousand-foot-high cliff as Owen's screams were followed by an explosion that launched him into the air, visible even from afar.
Chris and Chef were laughing hysterically as the shot cut back to them, but they stopped as soon as they heard the laughs and cheers of a team approaching from the forest. The camera cut to the foot of a hill on the edge of the woods as the totem bearing the Mutant Maggots slid down, and came to a stop just before the host and cook as a victorious tune played.
"Yes! We arrived first!" Katie cheered in celebration.
"Tick tock," Chris told them. The bomb's timer was shown counting down from 0:15 to 0:14.
"Quick, grab the better cabin!" Dave commanded, and the shot cut to the two cabins – a flat stump occupying the area between them – as the seven teens carried their massive totem over their heads, grunting with the effort.
They managed to place it upright on the stump, and the timer stopped at 0:05 seconds. As it flashed and beeped the Maggots cheered for their victory...that is, until the sound of approaching screams caught their attention.
The music turned tense again as the Rats finally arrived at the bottom of the hill, hitting a small bump in just the right way to send their totem flying into the air. All seven fell off it, and to the mute shock of Chris and Chef it crashed into the second story of the better cabin. The timer on it counted down from 0:03, to 0:02, to 0:01.
The explosion that followed blew the entire two-and-a-half-story building apart, leaving behind nothing but smoke and splintered boards.
"Too bad," Chris told the Mutant Maggots as the camera panned right to the seven shocked teens standing around their totem pole, "it had an eight-person hot tub and air conditioning!" They all groaned in disappointment.
"That just makes it worse!" Molly grumbled.
Chris gave her a look of amusement and smiled. "Look on the bright side," he told the indie chick. "As the first team to arrive, you guys win the first challenge!" They cheered and celebrated their victory.
"So where are we gonna sleep?" DJ asked the host after they finished celebrating.
"No worries," Chris told him as the sound of a helicopter rose up nearby. "We've got a back-up cabin for you. It's every bit as nice as the one you lost." As he spoke, the show's red helicopter was shown bringing in the cabin in question and lowering it into the scattered rubble of the old one...revealing that the new one was basically identical to the older model the Rats had gotten stuck with.
The Maggots groaned again as it landed on the ground and one of its doors fell off its hinges.
"Team Rat," Chris told them as the camera panned back to them, "I'll see you at the campfire for the first elimination ceremony of the season." He laughed, then high-fived Chef.
The seven losers grudgingly made their way to their new abode, and the camera focused in on Max near the back of the group as he sniffed. "Such incompetence. Are all of you good for nothing?"
"Excuse me? It ain't our fault we lost," Leshawna said, angry with Max. "The other team was faster than all of us even when we busted our butts out there!"
"Hmph! My point still stands," Max ignored the sista. "Now nobody bother me! I'm going to rest for a while because I deserve it after what we've been through today."
As Max sniffed once more while walking to his cabin with even more disdain than the last, he was completely oblivious to the glares he was receiving from his teammates.
The shot zoomed on to Scott, who was mad at first but then knew who to vote off. "I think I know who'll be on the chopping block tonight."
\
The footage skipped ahead with a dramatic beat, a full moon now shining over Camp Wawanakwa.
"The votes are cast," Chris said as the camera panned down to the campfire pit, the seven members of the Toxic Rats sitting among the eleven stump seats – Max and Leshawna in the front row on the far right; and Sammy, Scott, Sierra, Geoff, and B taking up the entire back – and Chris in position at the oil drum podium. "Those who receive a regular marshmallow can stay. But this season," the shot cut in closer to the host as the faintest beginnings of the series' deep and tense elimination music played, "one player will receive a very special marshmallow. A marshmallow you do not wanna eat." He motioned to the side as Chef walked up, wearing a hazmat suit and carrying a thick metal box marked with a hazard symbol.
Chef flipped open the lid of the box, revealing a single marshmallow with a bright but sickly green glow to it. "Whoever gets the Marshmallow of Toxic Loserdom," the host explained, "is out of the contest. Which means, you can't come back! Ev-er." He paused for a brief moment, then smiled and picked up the first normal marshmallow from the tray resting in front of him.
"The following players are safe," he announced. "Sierra," he tossed the first bit of white to the obsessive uberfan, who caught it eagerly.
"Scott." The second was thrown to the devious, who caught it in his hand with a smirk.
"B." The mute claimed his marshmallow with open hands.
"Sammy." The nervous caught her prize while frowning.
"And Geoff." The party guy got his next, catching it with his hat.
"And the Marshmallow of Toxic Loserdom goes to," Chris announced as the music began to rise. The camera cut to the back-right corner as Leshawna and Max stiffened up. As the tension in the music continued to build, close-ups of each contestant were shown – first Leshawna, then Max – as they began to tremble and sweat. The Marshmallow of Toxic Loserdom was shown glowing in a pair of tongs held by Chef, and finally the camera cut back to Chris as the music peaked and he said...
"Max."
"BLAST!" Max shouted in outrage. "You shall regret ever having met me, Chris McLean!" The glowing marshmallow was tossed at him, but he caught it and threw it back, though he winced at the pain; a few dark notes played as the toxic sweet burned a hole into the ground.
"If it makes you feel any better," Chris told him, "we came up with something new this season! You'll looove it."
\
The screen rotated around itself, the scene cutting to the torch-lit dock where, of all things, a large catapult had been set up. Max was sitting warily in its bowl while Chris watched nearby.
A short but grandiose fanfare played. "Say hello to the 'Hurl of Shame'!" Chris introduced excitedly, the series' sombre farewell tune beginning in the background. "Patent pending."
"I shall have my REVENGE!!" Max declared before he was catapulted into the air and hurled off into the distance over the lake.
"One down, thirteen to go," Chris told the camera with a grin, the series' capstone theme starting up. "Who's next in line? Find out next time, right here," he pointed downward, "on Total! Drama! Revenge of the Island!"
The camera jumped outward with each part of the title as usual, ending with a long-distance shot of Wawanakwa with the moon's broken reflection shimmering on the surface of the lake.
(Roll the Credits)

Episode 01: Bigger! Badder! Brutal-er!
The scene faded into a shot of the Earth from space, an astronaut banging on a small communications satellite in the foreground with a wrench. The satellite had the letters 'TDRI' scrawled on the front in black.
"We've been to the movies," the voice of Chris McLean began as the satellite seemed to whir into function, lights on either end of it glowing green. "We've been around the world!" Just as the astronaut gave the camera thumbs-up, the satellite suddenly failed with a jolt of electricity and broke apart, the astronaut palming the visor of their helmet. "And this season," Chris said as the camera rapidly began to zoom in towards northern Canada, "we're going right back where it all began," the camera past through layers of cloud to reach a beautiful morning sky, then panned down to an all-too-familiar island, "at Camp Wawanakwa!"
Chris McLean was already standing just off-center on the dock, right by the 'Wawanakwa' sign – both of which looked like they'd gone through some heavy wear and tear. "I'm Chris Mclean," the host formally introduced himself, "and as you can see, things have changed since we've been away." He walked down the dock to where a male red-shirted intern of southeast Asian descent waited with a coconut drink on a platter; the right side of the camp's sign fell down as he passed by, taking out a small piece of the dock.
"And by changed," the host said with a darkly expectant smile, "I mean gotten really, really, dangerous!" He took the coconut drink from the intern. As soon as he did so a giant pink tentacle rose from the lake with a terrifying roar, and slammed down on the dock – Chris calmly sidestepped it, but the intern and a sizable chunk of the end of the dock were smashed into the water. "Good stuff," the host laughed.
"But the rules of the game remain the same," he told the camera, the scene changing to a panning shot of one of the cabin rooms, a cockroach scurrying over the lens. The room itself looked about the same as it had three seasons ago – decrepit and old-fashioned, but boringly so. "A handful of unsuspecting teens will bunk with complete strangers," Chris explained during the pan, the shot cutting to a stained piece of male underwear nailed to a wooden door that promptly opened to reveal the old outhouse confessional within, "air their dirty laundry in our outhouse confessional, and compete in life-threatening challenges all over the island," the camera cut to a long-distance shot of the thousand-foot-high-cliff, zooming in on the gleamingly jagged rocks in the water below it, "and risk being voted off," Chris continued as the shot cut to the clearing, firepit, oil drum, and eleven stump-seats used for Campfire Ceremonies of the past.
"Last one standing wins," the shot cut from the elimination area to a still image of a wheelbarrow overflowing with money, "one, million, DOLLARS!" A short, grand, and victorious tune blared as the shot zoomed in on the prize money.
"Speaking of our cast," Chris said back on the Dock of Shame as a cool rock theme began to play, "here they are now!"
The shot cut to a small but luxurious red-striped yacht where the twenty-four contestants of the past three seasons could be seen more-or-less enjoying themselves. Brick and Courtney were making out on the starboard side while Ella, Ezekiel, and Sadie danced nearby, Eva looking away from them. On the stern deck, Mike, Owen, and Sky were dancing and Izzy was hanging upside down swinging life rings with Noah watching with disinterest. On a higher sternward balcony, Dawn was meditating, Beth was reading a book, and Cody and Harold played with video game handhelds. Shawn dropped down on the group unexpectedly from even higher up, startling all four. And at the bow, Heather leaned coolly against the port-side railing and smiled at the camera, Topher was looking at his reflection in a mirror, Jo and Lightning arm-wrestled on the railing next to them, Amy and Rodney were dancing to music that Duncan was setting up on his boombox, and Lindsay sat on the very foremost point of the railing posing.
Chris waved at the yacht as it approached...and kept on going, the music scratching to a halt instead of the ship. "NOOOO!" Owen hollered in surprise in anguish as the boat sailed off-screen, and Chris laughed.
"No, not them," he told the camera as it zoomed back in on him. "This season, we've got all new players, fighting for the million!" he announced as the music turned tense and grandiose. "And here they come now, for real!"
The shot cut to another yacht approaching, similar to the last one but with its stripes a pale teal instead of red. Several teens could be standing along the bow, port-side, upper deck, and stern, and the camera cut to those at the head of the ship – Molly and Dave.
"Meet Molly," Chris said, the girl noticing the boy next to her feeling scared.
"What’s the matter? We’re just going to compete where the show started," Molly assured the boy.
"Dave," Chris continued, and the boy blinked.
"Yeah, but I didn't know that the island would consist of toxic waste," Dave told the girl before breaking out the hand sanitizer and rubbing his hands and arms with it, causing the indie girl to raise an eyebrow.
The camera panned to the right to show the next two campers in line – Scott and Trent.
"Scott! And, Trent!" Chris continued.
"Why are you carrying a guitar around?" Scott asked Trent, who was happily tuning up his guitar.
"So I can practice my songs at camp," Trent smiled at the grumpy boy.
"Max!" Chris announced next, the pale boy in question suddenly and without warning popping up between Scott and Trent with enough force to knock the two to the sides with startled cries. From the evil smile he was sporting to the pale skin, everything about him radiated villainy.
"These compestants have no idea what awaits them when we arrive," Max said, speaking darkly as a dark tune played in the background. "For I am the definition of pure evil!" Max degenerated into laughter as the camera panned away from him, showing Leshawna and Sammy, the next contestants.
"Leshawna," Chris introduced the large girl witnessing Max's introduction.
"That boy is not right in the head," Leshawna shook her head with disapproval.
"Sammy," Chris introduced the nervous cheerleader.
"He is a bit free-spirited," Sammy said timidly while holding her left arm.
The camera panned right again to show B. He snapped his fingers for the audience.
"B," Chris finally introduced, "and Scarlett," he added, the camera panning further right to show the girl next to B reading a book.
"You seem confident to be here," Scarlett said dryly without taking her eyes off her book. "Do you know about the substance of toxic waste and radiation?" B nodded in agreement, impressing Scarlett. "That's good to know."
"Katie," Chris continued as the scene cut to a spot further down the yacht, showing the girl holding her tablet.
"Just in," Katie waved pleasantly at the camera. "I'm about to be competing for a million dollars, I-"
As she spoke the camera panned away to Anne Maria spraying her hair.
"Anne Maria," Chris introduced.
"Oh yeah!" Anne Maria looked at the camera. "Three more coats oughta do it."
She was interrupted when Katie walked back into the shot. "Not to be rude," she looked at the camera, "but you panned away before I could finish my introduction."
"Sorry, viral," Anne Maria smirked. "The camera just loves me more."
"Geoff," Chris introduced next as he dashed onto the scene, putting himself next to the two girls.
"Okay, girls," Geoff said in what was a chill tone, "let's not get off on the wrong foot. You'll get more camera time after we're all introduced."
Anne Maria proceeded to spray her hair again, the cloud causing Geoff and Katie to cough profusely.
"Sierra," Chris introduced next, the camera panning up to the girl standing on the upper balcony.
She was hurriedly typing into her phone. "I can't wait to step foot on Camp Wawanakwa and talk about it on my blog!" Sierra said, looking around in amazement until a small flock of pigeons flew past and knocked her over the railing with a scream.
"And DJ," Chris finished as Sierra landed next to the fourteenth and final competitor of the season.
DJ looked down as Sierra landed and gasped. "Oh snap! Let me help you up!" DJ quickly bent down and helped Sierra up. "There you go."
"Yup!" Chris said as the shot cut back to him on the Dock of Shame. "It's our roughest, toughest, most explosive season ever!" He took out a remote control, and pressed the large central button with his thumb.
The yacht that the new contestants were sailing in on suddenly exploded, sending all fourteen of them flying and screaming in every direction.
Chris took a casual sip of his coconut drink, then looked at the camera and raised a finger high. "Right here," he said as a faint version of the series' capstone theme played, "on Total! Drama! Revenge of the Island!" The shot jumped outward as the title was said, showing Wawanakwa island in its entirety with a few plumes of smoke in the distance marking where the yacht had exploded.
xxx
(Fade to Opening Theme)
[The sequence begins much as it did three seasons ago, with an open into letterbox format as the camera focuses on the tops of a few distant pine trees. A rusty stage light rotates up and turns on; then the shot changes to a cobwebby spotlight swinging down and turning on as well; then a small security camera popping out of one of several leaky toxic waste barrels; then another camera bursting out of a tree hollow, held by an octopus tentacle and dislodging a few bones; then a pair of fair-skinned arms clapping a film slate in front of the camera which switches to a shot of the island, briefly showing a giant octopus looking out of the lake to the right, then flying forward down the dock and past the buildings, passing under a totem pole that Chris was sitting on and which was being carried by a trio of male interns of mismatched heights.]
Dear Mom and Dad, I'm doin' fine;
[The camera rapidly flies through the trees as the lyrics begin, quickly reaching the top of the thousand-foot-high cliff.]
You guys are on my mind!
[It looks down at the ring of buoys in the water below and dives, immediately cutting to an underwater view as the bubbles disperse to reveal Sammy gagging with several vicious-looking fish watching her hungrily until a claw-like machine grabbed her and pulled her up to the surface.]
You asked me what I wanted to be,
And now I think the answer is plain to see!
[Up in a canoe, B tinkered with the machine, and looked up as it pulled Sammy out of the water and into the sky.]
I wanna be...famous!
[The scene lingers on Sammy in front of the sun for a moment, then quick-pans left to Katie in the middle of the woods posing as she is filming herself; a falling Sammy abruptly hits her on the back and knocks both to the ground. Katie lifts her head to look at the cheerleader, who just smiles bashfully. Geoff runs past them as the camera pans left to Sierra sitting on a tree branch and texting on her phone. Gophers suddenly pop up from the ground and roar, causing Sierra to flee.]
I wanna live close to the sun!
[At the top of a waterfall, Molly and Trent float downriver in a canoe. Trent was playing a song on his guitar, to which Molly was vibing to until she finally spotted the waterfall. Both screamed as they went over the edge.]
Well pack your bags, 'cause I've already won!
[The camera pans down to DJ, balancing a log on his finger. Though he does not see the canoe falling behind him, he does see Molly and Trent as they fall right on top of him, breaking the log he was holding onto and sending all three into the water.]
Everythin' to prove, nothin' in my way;
[Scott is laughing at the three's misfortune, and a monstrous shark with arms and legs bursts out of the outhouse with a toothy grin, making Scott run away.]
I'll get there one day.
[The camera pans to the Mess Lodge, Chef Hatchet's silhouette visible in the window. Zooming in to the room shows him stirring a pot of some greenish slop with a dark grin, and the shot pans over to show Max cackling wickedly until Chef shoves a spoon full of slop into his mouth.]
'Cause I wanna be...famous!
[Another pan to the left reveals Anne Maria spraying her hair. Once she realized she was being recorded, she glared at the camera and sprayed it with her can. The spray cloud moves the scene out of the lodge and into the beach, where Scarlett is calmly reading her book – until a hawk flew right in just to snag it and flew away, much to Scarlett's unamusement.]
(Na-na nanananaa, nanana-nanaa, na-nananananaa)
[The camera pans away from Scarlett and on to Dave applying hand sanitizer. A furry hand taps him on the shoulder, distracting the germaphobe and allowing the arm to snatch away the sanitizer. Dave realizes what's happened, and rushes angrily at the large hairy ape-man now using the hand sanitizer.]
I wanna be! I wanna be! I wanna be famous! (Na-na nanananaa, nanana-nanaa, na-nananananaa)
[The camera pans down to the end of the dock to show Leshawna, blowing a kiss before taking a few steps back. She busts out a few dance moves of her own.]
I wanna be! I wanna be! I wanna be famous! (Na-na nanananaa, nanana-nanaa, na-nananananaa)
[A sudden splash of water comes down on the sista, interrupting her dancing and causing her to send a frown upward – Chris is hovering above him in a jetpack and helmet, holding an empty bucket. He drops the bucket then flies off, the flames from his jetpack taking over the screen. It becomes night as they peter out, and the camera pans down across the stars and treetops and full moon to Anne Maria and Geoff sitting at a campfire together. As they lean towards each other with expectant smiles they are interrupted and separated by Chef Hatchet, wearing a hazmat suit and holding a glowing green marshmallow between them with a pair of heavy tongs.
The shot zooms out to show the rest of the cast looking shocked, whistling the last few notes of the song – Trent, Leshawna, B, Scott, Dave, and Katie on Anne Maria's side; Max, Sammy, Molly, Scarlett, DJ, and Sierra on Geoff's side; and Chris standing next to Chef on Geoff's side as well. The shot continued to zoom out until a signboard was shown marking the presumed entrance to the fire pit; it read 'TOTAL DRAMA REVENGE OF THE ISLAND' in block letters, the third word being the largest and the last word relegated to a board tacked on at the end.]
XXXXX
"AAAAHHH!" Max screamed, the episode fading in to him landing hard on a rock jutting out of the water. "Why must a villainous mastermind suffer like this?" he groaned, pitifully sliding into the water as Anne Maria swam past in the background.
"Chris is so getting a beatdown for this!" Anne Maria said to herself.
Sammy was shown swimming by clinging to a piece of driftwood, then looking to the side at the sound of someone coming up behind her. "Sorry about this!" Trent shouted as he shot past like a torpedo.
The camera followed Trent as he swam past Molly. "There is a thing called open space!" Molly said before continuing her swim.
The shot cut back to Max, now flailing his arms as he struggled not to drown. "Spaz," Scott said as he swam past him.
Max finally sank below the water, but fortunately Scarlett quickly swam over and dived down.
"I pity you, and I also don't want you dead," Scarlett informed as she surfaced, pulling a coughing Max back up with her.
"Get me to land now!" Max demanded.
The camera cut to Geoff. He reached another rock jutting out of the water and pulled himself up onto it. "Okay. How am I gonna get myself to shore?" The party guy then saw a long piece of wood shaped like a surfboard and grabbed it. "I think I know what to do!"
Positioning himself on the rock while laying belly first on the wood, Geoff boosted himself off the rock and rocketed through the water, even managing to get up and maintain himself.
The shot cut to Scarlett helping Max swim to shore, only for a surfing Geoff to unknowingly splash water onto the both of them, causing them to fall under the water.
Leshawna sputtered as she sank and struggled to stay afloat. "I don't think I can stay up for much longer!"
"I'm on it!" DJ and Katie said, appearing out of nowhere and swimming to the girl.
"Oops. You can go first. Sorry if I interrupted," Katie apologized.
"No no. You can go instead. I think it was the other way around," DJ offered.
"Well, I mean, if you insist," Katie chuckled until the hand of Leshawna held onto Katie's head for support, dragging her down.
DJ panicked. "Hang on! I'm coming!" He dived down and got both Leshawna and Katie, the former spitting out water.
"If we weren't in water right now, I'd be tweeting about you saving me," Katie commented.
Confessional: DJ
"So this is my first confessional," DJ opened while looking around the outhouse confessional. "I've watched the first season, and this is where the contestants come in to talk about their feelings or strategy or whatnot."
"We're all newcomers here, so if I see anyone struggling, I'll be there to help them out," he continued with a smile before frowning. "Right after I get used to this island first."
Confessional: Katie
"Hello," Katie said in the next confessional to her tablet. "This is the first time I am in the Total Drama confessional. It's a little disgusting, but that's for another time!" She continued with her perky smile and put her tablet away. "I came onto this show in order to promote my vlogging expertise and gain more followers. I'm a bit of an advice guru, so don't be surprised if I have a solution for some sticky situations." She laughed blissfully. "That was so alliterative!"
Confessionals End
The footage resumed with a rather wet Trent on shore. He looked around, then cheered in victory. "Yes! I'm first!" he cheered. "And my guitar is in one piece-"
His face dropped as he looked to his left, and the camera panned to show Sierra fixing her wet hair.
"How did you get here before us?" Trent asked.
"I practiced swimming back home in case we have a beach episode," Sierra explained happily.
Dave was the next to come to shore, crawling out of the water. "I'm here!" he panted before falling on his face.
Confessional: Dave
Dave squirted hand sanitizer on his hands, and set his pocket-sized bottle aside on the seat, beginning to rub his hands together to spread the cleaning product. "How did I not read my contract fully? I never would've signed up if I had known how unclean the environment was gonna be."
Confessional Ends
B and Max were the next to make it to dry land, the quiet genius dragging the super villain up the beach on his head with the super villain coughing out water.
Confessional: Max
"I do not like yachts, so it was very enjoyable to have it be destroyed," Max grinned. "I just wish it was me who blew the yacht up instead of being on the receiving end like those other fools," he complained briefly.
"I guarantee you, everybody will be frightened by my abnormally large brain and my super advanced hearing. No one has ever, ever been able to sneak up on me!" he declared confidently just as an orange butterfly flew over him. It landed on his head...and with a sickening bone-crunch, Max started to tilt over. "Begone, brutal butterfly!" he cried in pain, falling over onto the seat under the butterfly's weight.
Confessional Ends
The footage cut back to the beach, showing Trent, Sierra, Dave, B, and Max loitering around a large rock further up the beach and revealing that Scott, Scarlett, Anne Maria, Sammy, Molly, Leshawna, Katie, and DJ had all made it to shore as well.
"This is preposterous!" Max ranted, pouring water out of his shoe. "I am not to be treated with disrespect! Chris will rue the day he met Max Mayhem!"
Molly was sitting next to Max and listening without a care. "Is your last name actually Mayhem? If it's not, I'd respect you for creating your own nickname."
Max was about to answer, but a wave and a dramatic riff signaled that another person had washed up.
It was Geoff, who coughed out a small fish.
Confessional: Geoff
"I wiped out for a while," Geoff confessed. "I’m more into parties and having a good time. As long as I get along with everyone and not be harsh, I can last up to the tenth or eleventh episode."
Confessional Ends
"I can't believe we were blown up before we even got on the island," Sammy said, Katie sitting near her. "I've been watching Total Drama for a while, and I can't even tell what's going to happen next," she looked at the girl.
"It's not your fault. None of us can look into the future," Katie told her before looking at her tablet. "Katchy Katie here, and so far, the island is looking pretty bland," she told her viewers.
"Katchy Katie?" Sammy wondered. "What's that about?"
"That's just my vlog name," Katie explained. "I usually record what's going on in my life so I can tell my viewers what to do and not what to do."
"Could you send me a link to your vlog?" Sammy asked the influencer. "It sounds interesting."
Katie gave a slip of paper with her name on it to Sammy. "Here you go. It's best to always keep track of what you see and know on paper so you won't forget in the future."
"Attention, fresh meat!" Chris announced, the shot cutting to a pair of loudspeakers on a tree nearby, then panning down and right to show that all fourteen campers were now waiting around on the rocky beach. "See that trail leading into the forest?" the host continued, the camera following the contestants' gazes right as they looked at where the beach, trees, and rocks met. "Race to the end of the trail," Chris commanded, "and do not disturb the wildlife! That would be bad."
"Does he seriously think that will frighten us?" Scarlett blew him off.
"The tiniest sound can set them off," Chris continued. "Liiike...THIS!" He blew an airhorn over the intercom, forcing all fourteen campers to cover their ears.
The camera panned over to the distant treetops on the left, the airhorn fading in to a loud, terrifying roar that startled a flock of birds to flight. The music became tense as one tree was knocked over, then another closer to the beach. Finally, the cast screamed and fled into the woods.
\
A clock wipe transitioned the footage ahead to an adorable little purplish bird singing on a branch...until a frog-like tongue snapped out of a hollow behind it and dragged the bird into darkness.
The camera panned down to a finish line, just as Geoff and DJ ran past it with the brickhouse in the lead. "Alright! First place!" DJ turned to the party guy. "Don't worry. Second's not that bad."
"I know," Geoff smiled. "I don't get why people are worked up over it though."
It was then that Chris rode up on a red ATV, his usual smile on his face. "Party Time, two steps left. You're on Team A," he directed, Geoff nodding happily and walking a few steps back towards the finish line. "Big Friendly Giant? Move right. You're on Team B," he told DJ, directing him to the right; he complied just as Scott crossed the finish line, skidding to a stop next to Geoff.
"Pit Sniffer," the host told him, "you're on Team A." Molly slid in next. "Free Spirit, Team B," Chris told her.
"Alright then," Molly said with a smile and ran off to the right. B stopped running and came to a halt.
"Silent Treatment, Team A," Chris told him, causing him to give his signature greeting to Geoff and Scott before Trent arrived. "Guitar Hero, Team B," Chris told him.
"Okay!" Trent went to his designated team.
Sammy and Katie arrived next, the nervous cheerleader bending over to catch her breath and the influencer clutching her chest. "Sour Sport. Team A. Perky Influencer. Team B," Chris said.
"I'm not that bad," Sammy mumbled while Katie ran to her team.
"Blogspot, Team A," Chris continued over a shot of Sierra running and stopping at her team. Dave arrived next. "Germ Avoider, Team B."
The camera zoomed out a little ways from Team A just as Leshawna ran up, panting and out of breath.
"Loud and Proud, Team A," Chris said. "Tan in a Can, Team B," Chris continued as Anne Maria arrived, walking rather than running.
"I'm… so… tired!" Max moaned while dragging himself through the floor.
"Maniacal Max, Team A," Chris directed. As Max joined his teammates they all looked back towards the finish line, with Scarlett simply walking to the finish.
"Aaand Quiet Genius, Team B," Chris finished with a smile.
"What was that thing in the forest?" Sierra said, trudging past her teammates.
"I'm pretty sure that cry does not sound like any normal animal," Trent added.
"Relax, it'll all make sense eventually," Chris explained, his impish smile quickly degenerating into long, evil laughter that caused the two teams to stare at him and look at each other in awkward, nervous confusion.
Chris finally stopped laughing, and wiped a tear from his eye. "Now, this season of Total Drama will be a little bit different," he explained. "For example, in every episode, someone will be eliminated."
The campers gasped, and an ominous chant played in the background. "It's never been that hard before," Sammy remarked in shock.
"I know," Chris told her with a smug grin, "I'm good. But since you're all first-timers, I'm gonna cut you a break and hide this bad boy somewhere in the campgrounds." He held up what appeared to be a small wooden carving of his head, and the shot cut in for a close-up. "A genu-ine McLean Brand Chris Head! Your free ticket back into the game!" The small carving was shown against a radiant white and blue background, an angelic chorus playing as images of Chef Hatchet dressed in a lavender leotard and tutu, angel wings, and a halo flew into the corners of the screen while holding harps and singing.
"Even if your teammates vote you off," he added as B and Geoff were shown staring with wide eyes. "Whoever finds it," Chris continued over a shot of DJ, Dave, Scarlett, and Molly also watching with wide eyes, "will become the most powerful player in Total Drama history!" Both Sierra and Max were shown smiling in awe.
The angelic chorus ended as Chris brought the statue in for a closer look. "Is the cleft on my chin really that big?" he asked in concern.
"Yep, and it looks like a butt," Scott answered, earning an annoyed glare from the host.
"Moving on," Chris said forcefully, "time for the team names!"
"I hope the names won't be stupid!" Molly immediately said. "I don't want to be defined by a name like the Silly Bunnies?"
"You got that right Molly," Chris told her, "The names have been chosen by moi. Team A, you shall henceforth be known as, the Toxic Rats!" A short but energetic riff played as the screen switched to a green, red, and yellow starburst-patterned background, a green logo spinning up to the front. It bore the image of a six-limbed rat standing up on its hindlegs and bearing its teeth menacingly.
The Toxic Rats stared blankly for a moment before Max laughed and said "How evil!"
"And Team B," Chris continued, turning his head to the other six, "you are hereby dubbed, the Mutant Maggots!" A different energetic theme played as a teal, yellow, and orange sunburst-patterned background took over the screen, and a red logo spun up to the front. This one depicted the head of a three-eyed maggot, its mouth frozen in a gaping hiss.
The Mutant Maggots stared blankly for a second as well. "What's with all the chemical waste references?" Dave asked.
The perspective switched to a group shot as another loud roar shook the area. "It's the monster!" Anne Maria shouted in terror, making the others look around in shock.
The shot cut to some distant trees, a flock of birds flying away as one fell, then the camera panned to the right as another closer tree fell. Dave, DJ, and Katie gasped in fear, the brickhouse quickly grabbing the influencer's arm for comfort, and the camera zoomed in on a bush in front of the last fallen tree.
A small hairless squirrel with big yellow eyes jumped out and looked around.
"So we panicked over a small squirrel?" Scarlett said in disbelief.
"Aww, it's kinda cute!" DJ gushed...until it blinked sideways, and he cringed audibly.
"What happened to it?" Katie asked from off-screen as the squirrel happily blinked and looked around some more.
"While we were gone," Chris explained, "I rented the island out to a nice family-oriented biohazardous waste disposal company." As he spoke, the camera cut to a pile of oil barrels stashed in and around a tree. All of the barrels had a hazard sign on them, and most were leaking some sort of foul bubbling green liquid. "Sweet people," the host remarked.
"But," he added as the focus cut back to him on his ATV, "the waste is having a teensy bit of an impact on the flora and fauna." The hairless squirrel was shown again, blinking as a monarch butterfly flew close to it. It snapped out its tongue like a frog, and swallowed the butterfly up.
"This may be odd, but that squirrel is cool!" Geoff said with a grin as Max and Sammy gave him odd looks.
"You know," Leshawna said, cautiously approaching it with a smile on her face, "it looks weird but I'm sure it's perfectly harmless! Am I right?" She reached out to pet it, and it roared the same deep and terrifying roar that had scared them all earlier, then shot lightning from its eyes at the ground Leshawna was standing on. Leshawna screamed and ran away, and the squirrel blew her a raspberry before hopping back into the bush.
Chris was laughing hysterically as the shot cut to Leshawna jumping into the arms of a surprised Geoff in fear. The camera cut back to Chris as he stopped laughing, then in an elated and dramatic tone said "Most. Danger. Ev-er~!" as an equally sharp and dramatic tune played.
Confessional: Leshawna
"That guy is some kind of crazy," Leshawna confessed to the outhouse camera in outrage. "Adding toxic waste to the island? That's gotta be a criminal offense if it endangers us."
Confessional Ends
"Now," Chris said with a wide smile as the scene cut back to him once again, "before we start our very first challenge of the season, let's give out some rewards. DJ," he turned to the left, "because you made it up here before anyone else, your team gets a trampoline!" A grand tune played as the shot cut to a close-up of the trampoline, and moments later Chef Hatchet bounced down upon it. "And the Rats, get a hacksaw," Chris added, the shot cutting upwards to show his glowering assistant holding the tool in question.
Chef suddenly lost his balance and fell with a crash; Max laughed and had the hacksaw thrown at his head for it; and Scarlett silently laughed too, and in turn got crushed by the trampoline that was thrown at her, making her groan in pain.
"What do these items have to do with this bomb?" Chris asked, holding up a square of plastic explosives with a wireless timed detonator attached to it.
"Uhh, he's not gonna blow us up again, is he?" Trent nervously asked an equally nervous Scarlett.
"Who knows," Chris said with a sly smile, leaning in between the two with the bomb. "Find out when we come back!"
(Fade to Commercial)

There he was. Maxwell Flammia, laying on the bed in the cabin he called ‘Home’. Cabin 36 had treated him well. His siblings also treated him well. He had all he wanted there. He had his journal laid down on his bedside, where the mattress met the frame, that is. Behind him hung a pansexual pride flag, the colors now dimmed in the moon’s pale reflected light, which it obtained from the sun. He laid there, awake. Life was good here. Slowly and surely enough, he felt it. That gentle tug of sleep, his body naturally telling him it’s time for him to rest for the night. He agreed with the feeling, and let himself slip under into a delicate slumber.
He didn’t realize it at the time, but he had just started himself on a very, VERY long journey. A journey that would involve him facing his demons, starting tonight.
He opened his eyes. He looked around, but couldn’t see the pride flag behind his bed. He couldn’t see either of his siblings. …He couldn’t see his bed. Where was he? The sun beat down into the room he was situated in. He looked to the right. A playground? Laughter and screams of what was presumably glee were coming from the playground as children bounded around. Why wasn’t he out there? It didn’t make sense.
He looked to the left. A door, a trashcan, and… a hand-cranked pencil sharpener? Seemed familiar. Almost… too familiar.
Two directions left. He looked down. Overalls? Gods, he hadn’t worn overalls ever since… since… it was right on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t remember when he stopped wearing overalls. It was a long time ago, it felt like. Where was he even sitting? A… desk? No… no, no! It couldn’t be! Panicked, he did what came naturally to him. He looked for his journal, a habit he had developed ever since… Wait. Where was it? His chest tightened. His mind went fuzzy. Why wouldn’t he wake up?
“This isn’t funny…! Dammit, Maxie! Wake up!” He screamed at himself mentally.
One left. His head slowly craned up. It felt like he was going in slow-motion. His eyes widened and his blood went cold as he saw her. His old kindergarten teacher. That’s where he was. Kindergarten. Where most people saw a kindergarten as what it was, a ‘Garden’ for children, Maxwell saw it differently. Suddenly, he saw it. He could never mistake it, not for a binder, not for a sticky note pad, not for anything. His journal. In his teacher’s possession. He tried to scream. He tried to cry out for her to give him the journal back. He couldn’t. His voice was gone. It was as if his brain was just showing him a clip. The gods controlled dreams to a certain degree. They were laughing at him, weren’t they? He managed to barely calm his mental breathing down. His hands were pale and sweaty from how hard he was gripping the little desk he was situated in. Was the room getting smaller? How far was he away from his teacher? Hey, weren’t there once kids playing outside? It was as if the world had stopped, leaving Maxwell confused and scared. He only knew one thing. His journal had to be protected here. He watched his teacher as, in silence, she flipped through his journal. Pages upon pages of his earliest ideas were documented within that journal. Bombs that made you dance on explosion, Boots that allowed the wearer to float above the ground with electromagnetism, all of it on full display for his teacher to see. Eventually, as silently as she flipped through the journal, she closed it and stood up.
The buzzing in his head cleared up as she slowly traveled from the front of the classroom to the back where Maxwell was situated. When she got there, she sighed, not returning his journal. Again, he tried it. He tried yelling. He even tried to politely ask for his journal back. He remained silent. “Don’t… this isn’t funny anymore… wake up, I’m begging you!” He cried in his head as he pleaded with the force that kept him asleep, which didn’t care about his pleas. His teacher cleared her throat before she spoke, clearly trying to be warm and understanding, but failing miserably. Her tone was cold and almost disgusted.
“Maxwell. I understand your mother isn’t exactly… Alive. I’m sorry for your loss. However… I have to bring you back to reality. Maxwell, these drawings… they aren’t realistic. You can’t make people dance on command, even with an explosion. It’s just not feasible. MOST kids your age? They draw houses. They draw their friends. They do NOT draw boots that allow you to levitate! Maxwell, as your teacher, I must say...”
No. Here it was… these words haunted him forever. Wherever he went, whatever he did… they were there. He closed his eyes as he braced himself. The world seemed to move in slow motion. Her words came out slowly and methodically. They almost sounded sadistic. She enjoyed this, didn't she?
“...I W i s h y o u w e r e n o r m a l.”
Normal. He wasn’t normal. He said nothing. What could he say? He wasn’t going to apologize. He has nothing to apologize for. He wasn’t going to break down into tears. However, he just lowered his head until his forehead touched his desk. He closed his eyes as tight as his body would let him. He didn’t want to face reality if this is what it was like. However, his teacher moved away again. He looked up against his own wishes. She didn’t look at him. He could barely see her, but… he could’ve sworn she smiled as she committed to her next action. She was now right over the trashcan. His journal in her hands.
THUD.
His journal landed in the trashcan. In the same moment, the bell rung. Recess was over. His teacher strode back to her desk, and sat back down. He couldn’t get up. That day was the first and only one where he went the entire time without his journal. When the day ended, he went over to the trashcan, not caring about what anyone thought of him. His hand plunged into the trashcan until he found it. He pulled his journal back out, not caring about the mess he made. Someone else would clean it. He checked the journal. It wasn’t wet. It wasn’t scratched or marked. It didn’t matter to him. He left the classroom, and the dream shattered.
Needless to say, Maxwell awoke with a start and a half. His eyes wide, face pale, and covered in a cold sweat, he looked around for it, somewhat quietly muttering to himself aloud.
“Where is it…?! Where is it?!”
He found it. His journal, just the way he left it. He snagged it, and held it close to his chest, going into the fetal position defensively. His journal was his pride and joy. His teacher ruined it for him all of those years ago, and he had rarely shown people his journal since. If either of his half-siblings were paying attention, they would’ve heard his quiet sobbing.
He hated that nightmare.
END LOG. LOCATING ENTRY TWO.
OOC: Woo! Maxie is getting himself a character Arc! So, this storymode is ≈ 1200 words, roughly the same length as an ASMR script I post on my primary account! There will be four "Books", each with four "Entries", sometimes called logs. This means there will be 16 storymodes created for this arc! I've got some big things planned, and can't wait to send them all! If there are any questions, feel free to ask! Oh, and, any IC responses will be ignored ofc. OOC ones will be responded to :). I know I made an RP post ≈ Two days ago as of 06.02.23, but still. I wanted to get this out as I had a lot of fun writing this! I also kinda wanted to get this arc started, haha... ^{and I also might have part two done already.} Thanks for reading! Catch ya' on the next one! -Mooxie.

Hi Everyone!
I'm excited to share an app idea I've been working on and would greatly appreciate your feedback and insights. As someone who has personally dealt with gastro problems, I understand the frustration of trying to identify the root causes through food tracking. That's why I'm developing an app specifically designed to help individuals like us gain a deeper understanding of our symptoms and their relationship with the foods we consume.
App Overview:

• The app allows users to track their gastro symptoms, food intake, and overall well-being.
• It provides comprehensive graphs and data visualization to help identify patterns and correlations between specific foods and symptom occurrences.
• Provides a classification of food groups such as Gluten, Soy, Dairy, Legumes or Sugar for a broader understanding of their gastro problems.
• Will have a journal for users to log their daily symptoms and foods they have eaten
• Provides a visualization of peak hours at which symptoms occur to help identity
• The goal is to empower individuals to make more informed decisions about their diet and find personalized strategies for managing their symptoms.

I would love to hear your thoughts on this app idea! Here are a few questions to kickstart the discussion, but feel free to share any insights or suggestions you may have:

1. Is this an app that you, as someone dealing with gastro issues, would find valuable and use in your daily life?
2. What are issues gastro issues that you are struggling with yourself?
3. What features or functionalities would be essential for you in a gastro symptom tracking app?
4. Are there any existing apps or tools that you currently use or find helpful for tracking your symptoms and food intake?
5. Is there anything specific you'd like to see in terms of data visualization or user experience to make this app more user-friendly and effective?

Please feel free to reply in the comments or use this google form to answer any questions and be a first round tester of the application! I truly appreciate your time and input. Your feedback will play a vital role in shaping the development of this app and ensuring it meets the needs of the gastro community. Thank you in advance for your support!
Google Form: https://forms.gle/KqqhhaURVSmZuhjr8

Malware or malicious software is one of the most significant categories of security threats to information systems. The whole purpose of malware is to damage or disrupt a system and thereby bring havoc to a business. Furthermore, it is a malicious program inserted into a system, usually through covert channels, with the intent of compromising the CIA of information systems. In other words, it is a software that intends to interfere with a computer's normal functionalities. In addition, it infects systems and networks to gain unauthorized access to sensitive individuals and organizational information. Besides, it attacks an array of systems such as operating systems, applications, utilities, servers, websites, and so on areas.
The malware has the capability of infiltrating devices without the consent and knowledge of their owners. Moreover, it aims to exploit the target systems and devices through malicious codes, scripts, active contents, and other software programs. Besides, these attacks lead to disruption of operations, loss of privacy, gaining unauthorized access to system resources and other abusive behaviors.

Characteristics of Malware Attacks

All malwares, regardless of its type, follow the same basic pattern of infecting devices and network resources. In other words, malwares require some actions from users likewise inadvertently downloading and installing it to their workstations and devices. Moreover, it is a software that attackers design to cause harm and disruptions to servers, systems, devices, or computer networks. Besides, malware self-replicates, propagates and infects targets through various means, depending on the specific goals it tries to achieve.
Most malwares use a variety of methods to spread from one computer system to another. The most common techniques malwares spread include email attachments, file servers, file sharing, peer-to-peer (p2p) platforms, and more approaches. Moreover, malwares may spread through phishing links, malicious advertisements, fake software installations, infected USB drives and so on ways. These attacks may leak private information, grant unauthorized access to attackers, deprive valid users access to their information systems, and so on threats.

Signs of Malware Attacks

There are different approaches that help user to know whether their systems or devices have malware infections or not. The most prevalent signs or situations that may indicate the presence of malware attacks include:

• Slow computer and browser performance
• Browser redirects
• Infection warnings
• Unusual computer shutting-down or starting-up
• Pop-up Advertisements
• Changes in security settings
• Unusual emails
• Default search engine change
• New toolbars in web browser
• System instability, like program starts or ends without user involvement
• Strange computer behavior

Types of Malware

The malicious software or malware disrupts computer operations, gathers sensitive information, or gains access to private computer systems. Furthermore, it is one of the most nefarious cyberattacks nowadays and affects individuals and businesses of all size. There are tons of simple and complex malware types that can seriously damage host machines performance and stability.
The most popular malware types, but not limited to, include the following:

Viruses

A virus is a self-replicating code capable of producing multiple copies of itself through attaching to other programs or files. And it is a type of malware that harms host computers through various operations. Furthermore, a virus is a malicious code that deletes files, occupies devices’ memory space, and slows down the computers performance. Besides, it may spread through email attachments, USB drives, multimedia contents and so on means after users download it. Unlike worms, vira do not activate themselves without human interventions or actions.
Attackers create viruses to execute and unleash their malicious intent when it meets specific triggering events. Otherwise, it may remain in dormant mode for a predetermined time until it meets specified conditions to execute. Moreover, it works in a two-phase approach in which a virus self-replicates onto an executable file and attacks a target system. Meaning, viruses employ infection and attacking phases throughout its entire lifecycle. In addition, there are simple and advanced types of viruses capable of infecting systems via different techniques.

Worms

Worms are self-reliant programs that run independently and propagate a complete version of itself onto other hosts on networked environments. Moreover, it is a self-replicating and self-propagating malware capable of affecting memory spaces, network resources and systems. However, unlike vira, worms do not require human intervention to propagate from infected machines to other hosts in the network. It rather replicates and propagates itself to other programs through infected networks and file transfers without requiring triggering events. Additionally, it exploits vulnerable software and may use captured authorization credentials to exacerbate its attacks.

Trojan Horse

Trojan horse is a program that appears to have a useful functionality but carries a hidden and potentially malicious code. Furthermore, it is a malware that pretends to be useful software and entices users to install it on their machines. However, it unleashes its harmful actions after gaining foothold on victim’s machines.

Ransomware

A ransomware is a malware program that deprives valid users access to their system files and folders. Besides, it commonly achieves this denial of access by encrypting each files and folders until victims pay ransom. And it is a malware that encrypts entire disks or files of target system and demands money to decrypt it. Moreover, ransomware holds organizations and individuals hostage until the ultimatum expires and destroys possessed objects if victims fail to pay. However, if victims decide to pay the settlement, the attacker will share the decryption key on receiving the money. Additionally, attackers establish online payment systems, like bitcoin, to receive the ransom payment and avoid detection.
The best remedy against ransomware attacks is to have reliable and latest backup systems. Because, even if companies pay the ransom, there is no guarantee that the attacker will not ask for more. Moreover, hackers may enlist companies that pay ransom easily and make it their frequent targets. Therefore, relying on robust backup systems saves companies bucks and reputations.

Spyware

Spyware is a type of malware that installs or runs in the target system with or without user permissions. Moreover, it collects information from a host and transmits it to another system by monitoring keystrokes, screen data and network traffic. Besides, it enables attackers to steal sensitive information from the target computer. The presence of the malware is difficult to detect and hence delicate to remove. Because, users do not usually notice the installation and deployment of spywares.

Logic Bomb

A logic bomb is malware that remains in a waiting state until the end of predetermined time or events before unleashing its malicious intent. In attack, intruders insert malicious code onto target systems and lies dormant until it meets predefined conditions. And this capability of staying in dormant state for a longer period makes it difficult to detect via antimalware.

Rootkits

Rootkits are set of hacking tools that attackers use to gain privileged or administrative access after compromising computer systems. Furthermore, it allows concealment of malicious programs to avoid detection and disinfections. The rootkits allow the concealment by modifying the host’s operating system so that the malware can hide itself from users. In addition, rootkits prevent malicious processes from being visible in the system's list of processes.

Rabbit

Rabbits or Bacteria is a type of malware that consumes up all of the resources of a computer system. Moreover, it is malware that uses the entire message buffers, file spaces or process control blocks, and so on resources. However, these malwares are not significantly destructive by nature rather they merely replicate and consume valuable resources of computing.

Backdoor

Backdoor or trapdoor is a piece of code written into applications or operating systems to grant programmers access to resources. And this allows the attacker to gain access to target systems without going through the normal login and authentication processes. In short, it is a method of bypassing normal authentication procedures. In most cases, backdoors exist as a disguise of debugging or monitoring code that programmers develop.

Adware

Adware is a special type of malware that displays on users systems and computers without their knowledge and consent. Moreover, it either redirects a page to some advertising page or pops-up an additional page that promotes products or events. Adware is a type of malware that automatically delivers advertisements without taking the interest of the entity into consideration.

Keylogger

A Keylogger is malicious software or hardware that captures every keystrokes of entities on a compromised system. Moreover, it is program that monitors every activity of computer system users and gives hackers access to sensitive personal data. Furthermore, this enables attackers to capture usernames, passwords, bank account numbers, private message, and other sensitive information. In addition, hackers can easily install keyloggers, especially if there are outdated version of systems.

Botnets

It illustrates the use of a worm or Trojan horse malwares to establish a private communication infrastructure for malicious purposes. Moreover, the goal of the botnets will be to control a large number of computers to launch attacks on infrastructures. Besides, botnets install backdoors on each bots or zombie to achieve their goals. The individual computers in the botnets become zombies or bots and will be under total control of the botmaster. These types of malware attacks are applicable to launch DoS/DDoS and other nefarious attacks.

Malware Detection Methods

Traditional signature-based scanning methods are still the foundations of most malware detection and analysis techniques.

• Signature-Based Malware Detection: Uses the unique digital footprint or signature of software programs. These techniques identify signatures of software programs and compares it against known malware signatures to determine its harmfulness. Moreover, it is a systematic comparison of software programs signatures against established databases of malware digital footprints.
• Behavioral Method of Malware Detection: This detection technique monitors in real time the behavior of running piece of the software program in the target system. And it is sometimes known asheuristics-based malware detection. This detection category falls into two classes namely misuse detection and anomaly detection techniques. The misuse detection builds up a model of known patterns of systems misuses. Whereas the anomaly-based detection builds up a model of the normal behavior of the system and any patterns that deviates from the model will be classified as suspicious.

Malware Analysis

A malware analysis is the process of identifying and removing malware attacks and thereby minimizing its impact to infected systems. Malware analysis helps organizations to understand how a specific piece of malware works. This in turn help them to develop mechanism to protect against malware attacks. There are two types malware analysis, namely:

• Static Analysis: involves fragmentation of the resources of the binary files without executing it and simply studying each component of the malware. It makes use of source-code analysis tools such as IDA and OllyDbg to understand the structure of malwares.
• Dynamic Analysis: involves actually executing the malware on a separate host or VM and thereby carefully observing its attack behavior. This malware analysis should occur in simulated and sandboxed platforms to avoid leakage to other systems.
• Hybrid Analysis: involves the features of both the static and dynamic analysis techniques. This analysis type employs signature-based analysis first and then combines it with the dynamic analysis to deliver better results.

Malware Prevention Techniques

Since there are so many types of malwares, their prevention techniques varies and takes different directions as well. However, there are common protection methods that users can apply to minimize malware attacks. Some of the common measures include:

• Antimalware, firewalls, and authentication
• Up-to-date operating system and applications.
• Never click on a link in a pop-up
• Limit the number of applications on devices.
• Use a mobile security solution like mobile device management (MDM)
• Never leave devices unattended and frequent check their settings and the applications
• Avoid clicking on unknown links.
• Beware of emails requesting personal information
• Avoid risky websites, such as those offering free VM images
• Pay attention to downloads and other software purchases
• Purchase security software from a reputable companies via their official website
• Never open an email attachment unless you are sure with its authenticity

The best prevention mechanism against the malware attacks of any type will be delivering continuous security awareness training. Because, more than any other cyberattacks, malwares exploit the weakest link in an organization, which is its people. Therefore, working on security awareness raising programs goes a long way in safeguarding organizations and their data.

First/Prev
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The San later swore the same oath, and a few days later they were stepping onto the Semiramis, exclaiming over the smooth lines and gleaming metal. Cruisers were not normally built for families to have their children on board, so some changes had to be made. What the San had given in trade was more than enough in value, however, and there was room enough to do so without affecting performance. The craft was a sleek, swift fighting vessel, bearing eight boarding craft and more than a hundred and fifty guns—not really enough to take on a dreadnought, but easily the better of any cruiser in the field.
There were cabins, some larger for the many couples that had children, infirmaries, chapels that were completely bare since each species had its own faith and their own trappings to bring, kitchens and canteens, gyms and exercise equipment, even libraries, one of which the engineers had taken time to make into a school. In short, it could be considered a tiny city, or at least a small town, with everything they needed to live for months at at time.
Despite his impatience to cast off and the way his daughter nearly quivered at the sight of the pilot's controls, Mogan insisted on time for everyone to get used to the ship.
Not that the crew was only human, not anymore. Some of the poachers who they had saved, and who had fought beside them in turn, on Noepe insisted on coming with, adding another fifty or sixty Sylfa and Shawing to the crew. Chadnov's wife Karshta, her head nearly brushing the ceiling at five meters, carried two very large infants aboard. And almost two hundred of the Vishtali came, varying between challenging belligerence and those clearly fighting down the desire to flee.
The Vishtali had not been slaves. Not legally, at least; according to the Sovereignty, they were no more sapient than humanity. While they were owned and worked and abused and in more than one raid literally chained to the beds for customers, charges for slavery could not be filed. Legally, they were livestock, not slaves. The boss of the planet Irhost had hired the San to take care of it in an extra-legal, and very definitive, fashion, but they could not undo the damage that had been done.
On their own planet, Vishtali technology remained in the age of steel and steam, with further advances punished. Many of them took to training as technicians easily, finding the electronics easier to work with than the over-complicated steam machines of home. Of the five hundred or so that had been rescued, relatively few continued to accompany them, but those few had more than just their skills. They had what has always been the most valuable commodity to a pirate—information.
On the third day, with the crew feeling more relaxed, the mercenaries arrived, ready to take their stations. The fourth day found Mogan in the captain's chair, looking at a viewscreen that showed the starry void before them.
He was on a dias, where he could see everything on the bridge. Sylfa design preferred a captain's walk, with stations on either side, but this pattern let him see almost every station from where he sat. Burya and Logog, the ship and marine officers, sat in similar chairs at the bottom of the dias, while others of the crew sat at their stations. Most of them had displays for the operators to see, with somewhat larger displays above them so he could see pertinent information immediately.
His daughter sat at the pilot's station, waiting for the order.
Ellisan was sixteen now, old enough to hold an official rank, and even had charge of the ship's pilots—some for the helm, and others for the boarding craft. For the first casting-off of the new ship, there was no possibility that she would let anyone else hold the helm. She nearly bounced in her seat, four hands adjusting controls on the board.
She was a Meht, of two different species, and the first of her kind. Not that she was the first Meht—there had been billions, but they were still a relative rarity in a galaxy with trillions of sapient beings in it. Not any two species produced one; most such pairings ended with no result at all. The San didn't know how many such species they were compatible with, but Ellisan proved that the Sylfa were one of them, and Chadnov's surprise pregnancy and spear-point wedding were proof that the Mantu were another.
Meht were often considered to have the advantages of both parents' species, although that wasn't always the case. Ellisan had her mother's arms—all four of them—and her frame and height, but while her hair was the silver color standard to all Sylfa her skin was a much lighter shade of blue-green. She could pass for a Sylfa if needed, especially with makeup, but she generally stood out. But as much as she looked like a Sylfa, she was able to run with humans, something no Sylfa could manage.
Her shoulders were not built the way human shoulders were; to her great discomfort, she could clumsily hurl an object a few yards, like any other species, rather than the direct, drilling throws of human spearmen and slingers. She could clumsily hurl something with a surprising degree of accuracy if not force, another talent from her human ancestry, but this had meant nothing until she first fired a laser pistol.
Meht were also sterile—at least, except for a very rare few, and Ellisan was not one of those. She had been bitter over that, once, but now it didn't make the difference it once had. Perhaps other things were taking importance, or perhaps the situation had changed, or perhaps it was simply part of her growth. Whatever the reason, Mogan was pleased to see it no longer ate at her. He had tried to paint it as a blessing; before they came to the stars, after all, the day of her first birth was the most dangerous of a woman's life, and she was also spared the cramps and mess that some women went through. He had tried, but he really had not succeeded.
Then again, today was a day to make anybody forget their troubles. The lower officers, newly granted official ranks, stood in a line watching.
The viewscreens along each wall,front and sides, showed the view outside in sharp visuals. In the open area at the front, holograms showed the ship itself, one with the docks around it and one showing only the ship.
“Burya?”
Burya, once the chief of the Hanging Rock village, nodded. He was fitting well into his new position; Mogan had worried that the authority would still stress the eighteen-year-old, but so long as Mogan was making the bigger decisions he handled it well. Burya had often seemed the oldest of the group, but now he stood straight-backed and smiling as he checked his wristpad a final time.
“All airlocks closed and checked, all clasps ready.”
Mogan nodded. “release.”
Burya repeated the order. They had expected to feel a change in motion, but the ship's own inertial dampeners easily negotiated the slight change from the station's orbit around its star to the Semiramis' free orbit.
“Helm,” Mogan said, and got a delighted grin from Ellisan. “Take us away.”
Again, none of them could feel the movement. The only real indication they were in motion was on the holos, where one lit up to indicate the engines and the other showed a growing distance between ship and station.
Mogan waited as the ship slowly accelerated, until thousands of kilometers lay between them and Haitac Station.
“Alright, let's put her through her paces. Helm, prepare a full burn.” Mogan manipulated the computation array in front of him, producing a holo of the system, with the ship far smaller. He tapped a point on the holo. “Turn here, to this point, then this, and this.” More points, telling the array to register where his finger was at, describing a series of sharp turns before heading out of the system. “Now.”
They could feel it this time. Those standing stumbled and almost fell as the ship leaped forward. “Full Burn” was apparently a term that harkened back to ancient days when chemical rockets were used, but the gravitic drives were far more powerful. They reached the point sooner than Mogan realized, and Ellisan expertly swung the craft around, engines humming smoothly, to the new course.
Mogan relaxed a little, as they went through another hairpin turn with easy efficiency, and then the third. He had seen enough to know that the turns were not so easy, but that Ellisan's expertise made it seem so—but nonetheless, the ship handled beautifully as they raced forward.
The route took them out of the system, far enough from the sun to escape its gravity, and Mogan tapped what looks like an asteroid on the holo. “There's our target. Caricole left.”
Burya repeated the order into his wristpad, alerting the crew, and the laser turrets and etheric cannon swiveled as far forward as they could go. Those on the top of the craft and forward were readied.
Little was still known about the Etheric Currents. They reacted, as far as science could confirm, to only three things things—gravity, hard light, and plasma. To the Ether, hard light seemed solid. Shielded ships were pushed by those currents, and sapient species had rapidly devised how to make what were effectively sails of hard light that could catch these currents and propel the ship.
Nobody knew how fast the Currents were, if they were truly many times faster than light or if they added speed in some other way, but even slow, bulky freighters could move five or ten thousand times the speed of light. The smallest racing craft—the size of a shuttle but mostly power-plants and shield-generators—could move literally thousands of times faster than that. Shett had told him that the Semiramis would match or beat most destroyers; in a pinch, it could likely cross the entire galaxy in about six months.
Plasma, on the other hand, reacted explosively with the Etheric currents, causing massive force and expansion. This was sometimes weaponized in the use of mines or planted bombs, but the most effective weapon built managed to combine the two; the Etheric Cannon.
The weapon had a firing chamber and a barrel, but both were lined with shaped fields of hard light. The chamber funneled to push as much ether as possible within, and on firing it was closed off and filled with plasma. That force pushed not a projectile but another, moveable hard light shield, that served as a wadding of sorts to shove a small ball.
The cannonballs fired by a heavy cannon rarely weighed more than five kilograms, but they flew at an immeasurable speed, far faster than those swiftest racing ships. On impact, much of that force—the vast majority of it, in truth—was transferred back to the Etheric Currents. This was generally considered a good thing; otherwise even the tiniest projectile moving significantly faster than the speed of light could literally destroy a planet. The force that remained, however, was enough to cause considerable damage to whatever unfortunate object it hit. More importantly, the projectiles were fast enough to make combat feasible even at faster-than-light speeds. Lasers were somewhat useless, after all, when a craft was already moving at several thousand times the speed of light.
The Currents' aversion to gravity was often considered a blessing. Ships did sometimes crash into things, including planets, and a two-billion-ton dreadnought, or even a one-million-ton destroyer, smashing into a planet was cause for absolute devastation. But at least they couldn't hit a planet, or the traffic near a planet, at faster-than-light speeds. That it also slowed travel was considered a worthwhile payoff. That it made etheric cannon useless inside the gravity of a solar system wasn't as well-liked; thus nearly every ship, and certainly every warship, carried both cannon and lasers.
The last time they were in a battle, they could feel the transport they were in shudder, just a touch, as the forward cannons fired. This time there were just the smallest thumps, small enough that Mogan couldn't be sure whether they were heard or felt, and puffs of dust rose from the massive stone.
It wasn't dust, at least most of it, but they were still thousands of kilometers away, far enough for even fairly large boulders to look like specks of dust. An instant later the ship swung left more than 90 degrees, exposing the right side for another volley. On the holo, they could see some of the streaks indicating shots pass right through the asteroid, with so much of it blown away.
The Semiramis flew past, the remnants of the asteroid on their right. Leaders shouted, cheering at the display, but Mogan simply watched, smiling.
“Well.... This will make things interesting. Urgant?”
The Vishtali woman raised two of her four hands—it was hard to raise just one--to acknowledge him and nodded.
“You know the location, yes? Talk with navigation and plot it for us.”
The woman nodded and bent to speak with the woman at that station. A few minutes later, the holo with the map expanded, with the star they were aiming for outlined in a small nimbus of light.
The Semiramis adjusted slightly, changing position, and then there was the slightest hum, almost too low to hear, as the shields came on.
On the other holo they could see the ship suddenly surrounded with a layer of hard light, and then other shields came up, sticking out to the side a little like fins, or the sails he had seen on boats among the Sea People. The ship rocked as the Etheric Currents began pushing, and Ellisan adjusted the shape of them.
The ship picked up speed, although the inertial dampeners made it difficult to notice. They passed the speed of light well behind them as the shield-sails expanded, and then others appeared, to the side. Ellisan adjusted their flight so they were slightly off-course, but the reason why became evident as the ship's speed increased yet further, moving several thousand times the speed of light.
The maiden voyage--and the first raid--of the Semiramis had begun.

The whirring blades of my MD-902 throbbed against the warm evening air, and I smiled.
From 5,000 feet, the ground flew by in a carpet of dark forests and kelly-green fields. The sun hung low on the horizon in a picturesque array of dazzling orange and gold, and I could make out the narrow strip of the Ohio River to my left, glistening in the fading daylight. This time of year, the trees would be full of the sweet aroma of fresh blossoms, and the frequent rains kept small pockets of fluffy white mist hanging in the treetops. It was a beautiful view, one that reminded me of why being a helicopter pilot trumped flying in a jumbo jet far above the clouds every day of the week.
Fourteen more days, and I’m debt free.
That made me grin even more. I’d been working as a charter pilot ever since I obtained my license at age 19, and after years of keeping my nose to the grindstone, I was closing on the final payment for real-estate in western Pennsylvania. With no debt, a fixer-upper house on 30 rural acres all to myself, and a respectable wage for a 26-year-old pilot, I looked forward to the financial freedom I could now enjoy. Maybe I’d take a vacation, somewhere exotic like Venice Italy, or the Dominican Republic. Or perhaps I’d sock the money back for the day I started a family.
“Remember kleineun, a real man looks after his own.”
My elderly ouma’s voice came back from the depths of my memories, her proud, sun-tanned face rising from the darkness. She and my Rhodesian grandfather had emigrated to the US when they were newlyweds, as the violence against white Boer descendants in South Africa spiraled out of control. My mother and father both died in a car crash when I was six, and it had been my grandparents who raised me. Due to this, I’d grown up with a slight accent that many of my classmates found amusing, and I could speak both English, and Afrikaans, the Boer tongue of our former home.
I shifted in my seat, stretched my back muscles, and glanced at the picture taped to my console. Both my parents flanked a grinning, gap-toothed six-year-old me, at the last Christmas we’d spent together. My mother beamed, her dark hair and Italian features a sharp contrast to my father’s sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. Sometimes, I liked to imagine they were smiling at me with pride at how well I flew the old silver-colored bird my company had assigned to me, and that made the long, lonely flights easier to bear.
A flicker caught my eye, and I broke my gaze away from the photograph.
Perched in its small cradle above the controls, my little black Garmin fuzzed over for a few seconds, its screen shifting from brightly colored maps to a barrage of grey static.
Did the power chord come loose?
I checked, ensuring the power-cable for the unit’s battery was plugged into the port on the control panel. It was a brand-new GPS unit, and I’d used it a few times already, so I knew it wasn’t defective. Granted, I could fly and navigate without it, but the Garmin made my time as a pilot so much easier that the thought of going blind was dreadful.
My fuel gauge danced, clicked to empty, then to full, in a bizarre jolt.
More of the gauges began to stutter, the entire panel seeming to develop terrets all at once, and my pulse began to race. Something was wrong, very wrong, and the sludge inside my bowels churned with sour fear.
“Come on, come on.” I flicked switches, turned dials, punched buttons, but nothing seemed to fix the spasming electronics. Every gauge failed, and without warning, I found myself plunged into inky darkness.
Outside, the sun surrendered to the pull of night, the sky darker than usual. A distant rumble of thunder reverberated above the roar of my helicopter’s engine, and I thought I glimpsed a streak of yellowish lightning on the far horizon to my left.
Calm down Chris. We’re still flying, so it must just be a blown fuse. Stay in control and find a place to set her down.
My sweaty palm slid on the cyclic stick, and both feet weighed heavy on the yaw pedals. The collective stuck to my other hand with a nervous vibration, and I squinted against the abyss outside.
Beep.
I jumped despite myself, as the little Garmin on my panel flared back to life, the static pulling aside to reveal a twitching display. Each time the screen glitched, it showed the colorful map detailing my flight path over the ground below, but I noticed that some of the lines changed, the names shifting, as if the device couldn’t decide between two different versions of the world.
One name jutted out at me, slate gray like most of the major county names, appearing with ghostly flickers from between two neighboring ones.
Barron County.
I stared, confused. I’d flown over this section of southeastern Ohio plenty of times, and I knew the counties by heart. At this point, I should have been over the southern end of Noble County, and maybe dipping lower into Washington. There was no Barron County Ohio. I was sure of it.
And yet it shown back at me from the digital landscape, a strange, almost cigar-shaped chunk of terrain carved from the surrounding counties like a tumor, sometimes there, sometimes not, as my little Garmin struggled to find the correct map. Rain began to patter against my cockpit window, and the entire aircraft rattled from a strong gust of wind. Thick clouds closed over my field of vision like a sea of gray cotton.
The blood in my veins turned to ice, and I sucked in a nervous breath.
Land. I had to land. There was nothing else to do, my flight controls weren’t responding, and only my Garmin had managed to come back to life. Perhaps I’d been hit by lightning, and the electronics had been fried? Either way, it was too dark to tell, but a storm seemed to be brewing, and if I didn’t get my feet on the ground soon, I could be in real trouble.
“Better safe than sorry.” I pushed down on the collective to start my slow descent and clicked the talking button for my headset. “Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, over.”
Nothing.
“Any station, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, requesting emergency assistance, over.”
Still nothing.
If the radio’s dead, I’m really up a creek.
With my hand shaking, I clicked on the mic one more time. “Any station, this is—”
Like a curtain pulling back, the fog cleared from around my window, and the words stuck in my throat.
Without my gauges, I couldn’t tell just how far I’d descended, but I was definitely very low. Thick trees poked up from the ground, and the hills rolled into high ridges with flat valley floors, fields and pastures pockmarking them. Rain fell all around in cold, silvery sheets, a normal feature for the mid spring in this part of Ohio.
What wasn’t normal, were the fires.
At first, I thought they were forest fires for the amount of smoke and flames that bellowed from each spot, but as I swooped lower, my eyes widened in horror.
They were houses.
Farms, cottages, little clusters that barely constituted villages, all of them belched orange flames and black pillars of sooty smoke. I couldn’t hear above the helicopter blades, but I could see the flashes on the ground, along the road, in between the trees, and even coming from the burning buildings, little jets of golden light that spat into the darkness with anger.
Gunfire. That’s rifle fire, a whole lot of it.
Tiny black figures darted through the shadows, barely discernable from where I sat, several hundred feet up. I couldn’t see much, but some were definitely running away, the streaks of yellow gunfire chasing them. A few dark gray vehicles rumbled down one of the gravel roads, and sprayed fire into the houses as it went. They were fighting, I realized, the people in the trucks and the locals. It was horrific, like something out of war-torn Afghanistan, but worse.
Then, I caught a glimpse of the others.
They didn’t move like the rest, who either fled from the dark vehicles, or fired back from behind cover. These skinny figures loped along with haphazard gaits, many running on all fours like animals, swarming from the trees by the dozens. They threw themselves into the gales of bullets without flinching, attacking anyone within range, and something about the way they moved, so fluid, so fearless, made my heart skip a beat.
What is that?
“Echo Four Actual to unknown caller, please respond, over.”
Choking back a cry of shock, I fumbled at the control panel with clumsy fingers, the man’s voice sharp and stern. I hadn’t realized that I’d let go of the talking button and clicked it down again. “Hello? Hello, this is Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot out of Pittsburgh, over.”
An excruciating moment passed, and I continued to zoom over the trees, the fires falling away behind me as more silent forest took over.
“Roger that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, we read you loud and clear. Please identify yourself and any passengers or cargo you might be carrying, over.”
Swallowing hard, I eyed the treetops, which looked much closer than they should have been. How far had I descended? “Echo Four Actual, my name is Christopher Dekker, and I am alone. I’m a charter flight from PA, carrying medical equipment for OSU in Columbus. My controls have been damaged, and I am unable to safely carry on due to the storm. Requesting permission to land, over.”
I watched the landscape slide by underneath me, once catching sight of what looked like a little white church surrounded by smaller huts, dozens of figures in the yard staring up at me as I flew over a towering ridgeline.
“Solid copy on that Douglass Three-One-Four-Foxtrot. Be advised, your transponder shows you to be inside a restricted zone. Please cease all radio traffic, reduce your speed, climb to 3,000 feet and proceed north. We’ll talk you in from there. How copy, over?”
My heart jumped, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Roger that Echo Four Actual, my altimeter is down, but I’ll do my best to eyeball the altitude, over.”
With that, I pulled the collective upward, and tried my best to gauge how far I was by eyesight in the gathering night, rain still coming down all around me. This had to be some kind of disaster or riot, I decided. After all, the voice over the radio sounded like military, and those vehicles seemed to have heavy weapons. Maybe there was some kind of unrest going on here that I hadn’t heard about yet?
Kind of weird for it to happen in rural areas though. Spoiled college kids I get, but never saw farmers get so worked up before. They usually love the military.
Something moved in the corner of my eye, and I turned out of reflex.
My mouth fell open, and I froze, unable to scream.
In the sky beside me, a huge shadow glided along, and its leathery wings effortlessly carved through the gloom, flapping only on occasion to keep it aloft. It was too dark for me to see what color it was, but from the way it moved, I knew it wasn’t another helicopter. No, this thing was alive, easily the size of a small plane, and more than twice the length of my little McDonald Douglass. A long tail trailed behind it, and bore a distinct arrow-shaped snout, with twig-like spines fanned out around the back of its head. Whatever legs it had were drawn up under it like a bird, yet its skin appeared rough and knobby, almost resembling tree bark. Without pause, the gigantic bat-winged entity flew along beside me, as if my presence was on par with an annoying fly buzzing about its head.
Gripping the microphone switch so tight, I thought I’d crack the plastic, I whispered into my headset, forgetting all radio protocol. “T-There’s something up here.”
Static crackled.
“Douglas Three-One-Four-Foxtrot, say again your last, you’re coming in weak and unreadable, over.”
“There’s something up here.” I snarled into the headset, still glued to the controls of the helicopter, afraid to deviate even an inch from my course in case the monstrosity decided to turn on me. “A freaking huge thing, right beside me. I swear, it looks like a bat or . . . I don’t know.”
“Calm down.” The man on the other end of the radio broke his rigorous discipline as well, his voice deep, but level. “It won’t attack if you don’t move too fast. Slowly ease away from it and follow that course until you’re out of sight.”
I didn’t have time to think about how wrong that sounded, how the man’s strict tone had changed to one of knowledge, how he hadn’t been the least surprised by what I’d said. Instead, I slowly turned the helicopter away from the huge menace and edged the speed higher in tiny increments.
As soon as I was roughly two football fields away, I let myself relax, and clicked the mic switch. “It’s not following.”
“You’re sure?”
Eyeing the huge flapping wings, I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, I’m well clear.”
“Good. Thank you, Mr. Dekker.”
Then, the radio went dead.
Something in my chest dropped, a weight that made my stomach roil. This wasn’t right, none of it. Who was that man? Why did he know about the thing I’d just seen? What was I supposed to—
A flash of light exploded from the trees to my right and shot into the air with a long finger of smoke.
What the . . .
On instinct, I jerked the cyclic stick to one side, and the helicopter swung to avoid the rocket.
Boom.
My world shook, metal screeched, and a dozen alarms began to go off inside the cockpit in a cacophony of beeps and sirens. Orange and red flames lit up the night sky just behind me, and the horizon started to spin wildly outside. Heat gushed from the cockpit door, and I smelled the greasy stench of burning oil. The safety belts dug into my shoulders, and with a final slip, the radio headset ripped free from my scalp.
I’m hit.
Desperate, I yanked on the controls, fought the bird even as she spun toward the ground in a wreath of flames, the inky black trees hurtling up to meet me. The helicopter went into full auto-rotation, the sky blurring past outside, and the alarms blared in a screech of doom. Panic slammed through my temples, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and for one brief second, my eyes locked on the little black Garmin still perched atop my control panel.
Its screen stopped twitching and settled on a map of the mysterious Barron County, with a little red arrow at the center of the screen, a few words popping up underneath it.
You are here.
Trees stabbed up into the sky, the belts crushed at my torso, glass shattered all around me, and the world went dark.
Copper, thick, warm, and tangy.
It filled my mouth, stank metallic in my nose, clogged my throat, choking me. In the murkiness, I fought for a surface, for a way out, blind and numb in the dark.
This way, kleineun.
My ouma’s voice echoed from somewhere in the shadows.
This way.
Both eyes flew open, and I gagged, spitting out a stream of red.
Pain throbbed in my ribs, and a heavy pressure sent a tingling numbness through my shoulders. Blood roared inside my temples, and stars danced before my eyes with a dizzying array. Humid night air kissed my skin, and something sticky coated my face, neck, and arms that hung straight up toward the ceiling.
Wait. Not up. Down.
I blinked at the wrinkled, torn ceiling of the cockpit, the glass all gone, the gray aluminum shredded like tissue paper. Just outside the broken windows, thick Appalachian bluegrass and stemmy underbrush swished in a feeble breeze, backlit by flashes of lightning from the thunderstorm overhead. Green and brown leaves covered everything in a wet carpet of triangles, and somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped.
Turning my head from side to side, I realized that I hung upside down inside the ruined helicopter, the top half burrowed into the mud. I could hear the hissing and crackling of flames, the pattering of rain falling on the hot aluminum, and the smaller brush fires around the downed aircraft sizzling out in the damp long grass. Charred steel and burning oil tainted the air, almost as strong as the metallic, coppery stench in my aching nose.
They shot me down. That military dude shot me out of the sky.
It didn’t make sense. I’d followed their orders, done everything they’d said, and yet the instant I veered safely away from whatever that thing in the sky had been, they’d fired, not at it, but at me.
Looking down (or rather, up) at my chest, I sucked in a gasp, which was harder to do that before.
The navy-blue shirt stuck to my torso with several big splotches of dark, rusty red. Most were clean slashes, but two held bits of glass sticking out of them, one alarmingly bigger than the other. They dripped cherry red blood onto my upturned face, and a wave of nausea hit me.
I gotta get down.
I flexed my arms to try and work some feeling back into them, praying nothing was broken. Half-numb from hanging so long, I palmed along my aching body until I felt the buckled for the seat belts.
“Okay.” I hissed between gritted teeth, in an effort to stave off my panic. “You can do this. Just hold on tight. Nice and tight. Here we go . . .”
Click.
Everything seemed to lurch, and I slid off the seat to plummet towards the muck-filled hole in the cockpit ceiling. My fingers were slick with blood and slipped over the smooth faux-leather pilot’s seat with ease. The shoulder belt snagged on the bits of glass that lay just under the left lowest rib, and a flare of white-hot pain ripped through me.
Wham.
I screamed, my right knee caught the edge of the aluminum ceiling, and both hands dove into a mound of leaf-covered glass shards on the opposite side of the hole. My head swam, being right-side-up again enough to make shadows gnaw at the corner of my eyes.
Forcing myself to breath slowly, I fought the urge to faint and slid back to sit on the smooth ceiling. I turned my hands over to see half a dozen bits of clear glass burrowed into my skin like greedy parasites, red blood weeping around the new cuts.
“Screw you.” I spat at the rubbish with angry tears in my eyes. “Screw you, screw you, screw you.”
The shards came out easy enough, and the cuts weren’t that deep, but that wasn’t what worried me. On my chest, the single piece of cockpit glass that remined was almost as big as my palm, and it really hurt. Just touching it felt like self-inflicted torture, but I knew it had to come out sooner or later.
Please don’t nick a vein.
Wiping my hands dry on my jeans, I gripped the shard with both hands, and jerked.
Fire roared over my ribs, and hot blood tickled my already grimy pale skin. I clapped a hand over the wound, pressing down hard, and grunted out a string of hateful expletives that my ouma would have slapped me for.
Lying on my back, I stared around me at the messy cargo compartment of the MD-902. Most of the medical supplies had been in cardboard boxes strapped down with heavy nylon tow-straps, but several cases had ruptured with the force of the impact, spraying bandages, syringes, and pill bottles all over the cluttered interior. Orange flames chewed at the crate furthest to the rear, the tail section long gone, but the foremost part of the hold was intact. Easily a million-dollar mess, it would have made me faint on any other trip, but today it was a godsend.
Half-blind in the darkness, I crawled along with only the firelight and lightning bolts to guide me, my right knee aching. Like a crippled raccoon, I collected things as I went, conscious of the two pallets of intact supplies weighing right over my head. I’d taken several different first-aid courses with some hunting buddies of mine, and the mental reflexes kicked in to help soothe my frazzled mind.
Check for bleeds, stop the worst, then move on.
Aside from my battered chest and stomach, the rest of me remained mostly unharmed. I had nasty bruises from the seatbelts, my right knee swelled, my nose slightly crooked and crusted in blood, but otherwise I was intact. Dowsing every scratch and cut with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol I found, I used butterfly closures on the smaller lacerations that peppered my skin. I wrapped soft white gauze over my abused palms and probed at the big cut where the last shard had been, only stopping when I was sure there were no pieces of glass wedged inside my flesh.
“Not too bad.” I grunted to myself, trying to sound impassive like a doctor might. “Rib must have stopped it. Gonna need stitches though. That’ll be fun.”
Pawing through the broken cases, I couldn’t find any suture chord, but just as I was about to give up, I noticed a small box that read ‘medical skin stapler’.
Bingo.
I tore the small white plastic stapler free from its packaging and eyeballed the device. I’d never done this before, only seen it in movies, and even though the cut in my skin hurt, I wondered if this wouldn’t be worse.
You’ve gotta do it. That bleeding needs to stop. Besides, no one’s coming to rescue you, not with those rocket-launching psychos out there.
Taking a deep breath, I pinched the skin around the gash together, and pressed the mouth of the stapler to it.
Click.
A sharp sting, like that of a needle bit at the skin, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the cut itself. I worked my way across the two-inch laceration and gave out a sigh of relief when it was done.
“Not going to bleed to death today.” I daubed ointment around the staples before winding more bandages over the wound.
Popping a few low-grade painkillers that tumbled from the cargo, I crawled wriggled through the nearest shattered window into the wet grass.
Raindrops kissed my face, clean and cool on my sweaty skin. Despite the thick cloud cover, there was enough constant lightning strikes within the storm to let me get glimpses of the world around me. My helicopter lay on its back, the blades snapped like pencils, with bits and pieces of it burning in chunks all around the small break in the trees. Chest-high scrub brush grew all around the low-lying ground, with pockets of standing water in places. My ears still rang from the impact of the crash, but I could start to pick up more crickets, frogs, and even some nocturnal birds singing into the darkness, like they didn’t notice the huge the hulk of flaming metal that had fallen from the sky. Overhead, the thunder rumbled onward, the feeble wind whistling, and there were other flashes on the horizon, orange and red ones, with crackles that didn’t sound quite like lightning.
The guns. They’re still fighting.
Instinctively, I pulled out my cellphone, and tapped the screen.
It fluttered to life, but no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get through to anyone, not even with the emergency function designed to work around having no service. The complicated wonder of our modern world was little better than a glorified paperweight.
Stunned, I sat down with my back to the helicopter and rested my head against the aluminum skin of the craft. How I’d gone from a regular medical supply run to being marooned in this hellish parody of rural America, I didn’t know, but one thig was certain; I needed a plan. Whoever fired the missile could have already contacted my charter company and made up some excuse to keep them from coming to look for me. No one else knew I was here, and even though I now had six staples holding the worst of my injuries shut, I knew I needed proper medical attention. If I wanted to live, I’d have to rescue myself.
My bag. I need to get my go-bag, grab some gear and then . . . head somewhere else.
It took me a while to gather my green canvas paratrooper bag from its place behind the pilot’s seat and fill it with whatever supplies I could scrounge. My knee didn’t seem to be broken, but man did it hurt, and I dreaded the thought of walking on it for miles on end. I focused instead on inventorying my gear and trying to come up with a halfway intelligent plan of action.
I had a stainless-steel canteen with one of those detachable cups on the bottom, a little fishing kit, some duct tape, a lighter, a black LED flashlight with three spare batteries, a few tattered road maps with a compass, a spare pair of socks, medical supplies from the cargo, and a simple forest green plastic rain poncho. I also managed to unearth a functioning digital camcorder my ouma had gotten me for Christmas a few years back, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to do any filming in such a miserable state. Lastly, since it was a private supply run from a warehouse area near Pittsburgh to a direct hospital pad in Ohio, I’d been able to bring my K-Bar, a sturdy, and brutally simple knife designed for the Marine Corps that I used every time I went camping. It was pitiful in comparison to the rifle I wished I had with me, but that didn’t matter now. I had what I had, and I doubted my trusty Armalite would have alleviated my sore knee anyway.
Clicking on my flashlight, I huddled with the poncho around my shoulders inside the wreck of the chopper and peered at the dusty roadmaps. A small part of me hoped that a solution would jump out from the faded paper, but none came. These were all maps of western PA and eastern Ohio. None of them had a Barron County on them anywhere.
The man on the radio said to head north, right before they shot me down. That means they must be camped out to the north of here. South had that convoy and those burning houses, so that’s a no-go. Maybe I can backtrack eastward the way I came.
As if on cue, a soft pop echoed from over the eastern horizon, and I craned to look out the helicopter window, spotting more man-made flashes over the tree tops.
“Great.” I hissed between clenched teeth, aware of how the temperature dipped to a chilly 60 degrees, and how despite the conditions, my stomach had begun to growl. “Not going that way, are we? Westward it is.”
Walking away from my poor 902 proved to be harder than I’d anticipated. Despite the glass, the fizzling fires, and the darkness, it still held a familiar, human essence to it. Sitting inside it made me feel secure, safe, even calm about the situation. In any other circumstance, I would have just stayed with the downed aircraft to wait for help, but I knew the men who shot me down would likely find my crash site, and I didn’t want to be around when they did.
Unlike much of central and western Ohio, southeastern Ohio is hilly, brushy, and clogged with thick forests. Thorns snagged at my thin poncho and sliced at my pant legs. My knee throbbed, every step a form of self-inflicted torture. The rain never stopped, a steady drizzle from above just cold enough to be problematic as time went on, making me shiver. Mud slid under my tennis shoes, and every tree looked ten times bigger in the flickering beam of my cheap flashlight. Icy fear prickled at the back of my neck at some of the sounds that greeted me through the gloom. I’d been camping loads of times, both in Pennsylvania and elsewhere, but these noises were something otherworldly to me.
Strange howls, screeches, and calls permeated the rain-soaked sky, some almost roars, while others bordered on human in their intonation. The more I walked, the softer the distant gunfire became, and the more prevalent the odd sounds, until the shadows seemed to fill with them. I didn’t dare turn off my flashlight, or I’d been completely blind in the dark, but a little voice in the back of my head screamed that I was too visible, crunching through the gloomy forest with my long beam of light stabbing into the abyss. It felt as though a million eyes were on me, studying me, hunting me from the surrounding brush, and I bitterly recalled how much I’d loved the old Survivor Man TV series as a kid.
Not so fun being out in the woods at night. Especially alone.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me, and I whirled on the spot, one trembling hand resting on the hilt of my K-Bar.
Nothing. Nothing but trees, bushes, and rain dripping down in the darkness.
“This is stupid.” I whispered to myself to keep my nerves in check as I slowly spun on the spot. “I should have went eastward anyway. God knows how long I’m going to have to—”
Creak.
A groan of metal-on-metal echoed from somewhere to my right, and I spun to face it, yanking the knife on my belt free from its scabbard. It felt so small and useless in my hand, and I choked down a wave of nauseas fear.
Ka-whump. Creak. K-whump. Creak.
Underbrush cracked and crunched, a few smaller saplings thrashed, and from deep within the gloom, two yellow orbs flared to life. They poked through the mist in the trees, forming into slender fingers of golden light that swept back and forth in the dark.
The soldiers . . . they must be looking for me.
I swallowed hard and turned to slink away.
Ice jammed through my blood, and I froze on the spot, biting my tongue to stop the scream.
It stood not yards away, a huge form that towered a good twelve feet tall in the swirling shadows. Unpolished chrome blended with flash-rusted spots in the faded red paint, and grime-smeared glass shone with dull hues in the flashes of lightning. Where the wheels should have been, the rounded steel axels curved like some enormous hand had bent them, and the tires lay face-down on the muddy ground like big round feet, their hubcaps buried in the dirt. Dents, scrapes, and chips covered the battered thing, and its crooked little radio antenna pointed straight up from the old metal fender like a mast. I could barely make out the mud-coated VW on the rounded hood, and my mind reeled in shock.
Is . . . is that a car?
Both yellow headlights bathed me in a circle of bright, blinding light, and neither I nor the strange vehicle moved.
Seconds ticked by, the screech-thumping in the background only growing closer. I realized that I couldn’t hear any engine noises and had yet to see any soldiers or guns pointed my way. This car looked old, really old, like one of those classic Volkswagen Beetles that collectors fought over at auctions. Try as I might, I couldn’t see a driver inside the murky, mold-smeared windows.
Because there wasn’t one.
Lightning arched across the sky overhead, and the car standing in front of me blinked.
Its headlights slid shut, as if little metal shades had crawled over the bulbs for a moment and flicked open again. Something about that movement was so primal, so real, so lifelike, that every ounce of self-control I had melted in an instant.
Cursing under my breath, I lunged into the shrubs, and the world erupted around me.
Under my shoes, the ground shook, and the car surged after me in a cacophony of ka-thumps that made my already racing heart skip several beats. A weather-beaten brown tow truck from the 50’s charged through the thorns to my left, it’s headlights ablaze, and a dilapidated yellow school bus rose from its hiding place in the weeds to stand tall on four down-turned axel-legs. They all flicked their headlights on like giants waking from their slumber, and as I dodged past them, they each blared their horn into the night in alarm.
My breaths came short and tight, my knee burned, and I crashed through thorns and briars without thought to how badly I was getting cut up.
The cheap poncho tore, and I ripped it away as it caught on a tree branch.
A purple 70’s Mustang shook off its blanket of creeping vines and bounded from a stand of trees just ahead, forcing me to swerve to avoid being run over, my adrenaline at all-time highs.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.
Slipping and sliding, I pushed through a stand of multiflora rose, and stumbled out into a flat, dark expanse.
I almost skidded to a stop.
What had once been a rather large field stood no taller than my shoestrings, the grass charred, and burnt. The storm above illuminated huge pieces of wreckage that lay scattered over the nearly 40-acre plot, and I could just make out the fire-blackened hulk of a fuselage resting a hundred yards away. The plane had been brought down a while ago it seemed, as there weren’t any flames left burning, and I threw myself toward it in frenzied desperation.
Burned grass and greasy brown topsoil slushed underfoot, and I could hear the squelching of the cars pursing me. Rain soaked me to the bone, and my lungs ached from sucking down the damp night air. A painful stich crept into my side, and I cursed myself for not putting in more time for cardio at the gym.
Something caught my left shoelace, and I hurtled to the ground, tasting mud and blood in between my teeth.
They’ve got me now.
I clawed at the mud, rolled, and watched a tire slam down mere inches from where my head had been. The Mustang loomed over me and jostled for position with the red Volkswagen and brown tow truck, the school bus still a few yards behind them. They couldn’t seem to decide who would get the pleasure of stomping me to death, and like a herd of stampeding wildebeest, they locked bumpers in an epic shoving match.
On all fours, I scampered out from under the sparring brutes, and dashed for the crumpled airplane, a white-painted DC-3 that looked like it had been cut in half by a gargantuan knife blade. I passed a snapped wing section, the oily remains of a turbo-prop engine, and a mutilated wheel from the landing gear. Climbing over a heap of mud, I squeezed into the back of the ruined flight cabin and dropped down into the dark cargo hold.
Wham.
No sooner had my sneakers hit the cold metal floor, and the entire plane rocked from the impact of something heavy ramming it just outside. I tumbled to my knees, screaming in pain as, once again, I managed to bash the sore one off a bracket in the wall.
My hand smeared in something gooey, and I scrabbled for my flashlight.
It clicked on, a wavering ball of white light in the pitch darkness, and I fought the urge to gag. “Oh man . . .”
Three people, or what was left of them, lay strewn over the narrow cargo area. Claret red blood coated the walls, caked on the floor, and clotted under my mud-spattered shoes. Bits of flesh and viscera were stuck to everything, and tatters of cloth hung from exposed sections of broken bone. An eerie set of bloody handprints adorned the walls, and the only reason I could tell it had been three people were the shoes; all of them bore anklebones sticking out above blood-soaked socks. It smelled sickly sweet, a strange, nauseas odor that crept into my nose and settled on the back of my tongue like an alien parasite.
Something glinted in the beam of my flashlight, and my pulse quickened as I pried the object loose from the severed arm that still clung to it.
“Hail Mary full of Grace.” I would have grinned if it weren’t for the fact that the plane continued to buck and roll under the assault from the cars outside.
The pistol looked old, but well-maintained, aside from the light coating of dark blood that stained its round wooden handle. It felt heavy, but good in my hand, and I turned it over to read the words, Waffenfabrik Mauser stenciled into the frame, with a large red 9 carved into the grip. For some reason, it vaguely reminded me of the blasters from Star Wars.
I fumbled with a little switch that looked like a safety on the back of the gun and stumbled toward a gap in the plane’s dented fuselage to aim out at the surrounding headlights.
Bang.
The old gun bucked reliably in my hand, its long barrel spitting a little jet of flame into the night. I had no idea if I hit anything, but the attacking cars recoiled, their horns blaring in confusion.
They turned, and scuttled for the tree line as fast as their mechanical legs could go, the entire ordeal over as fast as it had begun.
Did I do that?
Perplexed, I stared down at the pistol in my hand.
Whoosh.
A large, inky black shadow glided down from the clouds, and the yellow school bus moved too slow to react in time.
With a crash, the kicking nightmarish vehicle was thrown onto its side, spraying glass and chrome trim across the muddy field. Its electro-synth horn blared with wails of mechanical agony, as two huge talon-like feet clamped down on it, and the enormous head of the flying creature lowered to rip open its engine compartment.
The horn cut out, and the enormous flying entity jerked its head back to gulp down a mass of what looked like sticky black vines from the interior of the shattered bus.
At this range, I could see now that the flying creature bore two legs and had its wings half-tucked like a vulture that had descended to feed on roadkill. Its head turned slightly, and in the glow of another lightning bolt, my jaw went slack at the realization of what it was.
A tree trunk. It’s a rotted tree trunk.
I couldn’t tell where the reptilian beast began, and where the organic tree components ended, the upper part of the head shaped like a log, while the lower jaw resembled something out of a dinosaur movie. Its skin looked identical to the outside of a shagbark hickory but flexed with a supple featheriness that denoted something closer to skin. Sharp branch-like spines ranged down its back, and out to the end of its tail, which bore a massive round club shaped like a diseased tree-knot. Crouched on both hind legs, it braced the hooked ends of its folded wings against the ground like a bat, towering higher than a semi-truck. Under the folds of its armored head, a bulging pair of chameleon-like eyes constantly spun in their sockets, probing the dark for threats while it ate.
One black pupil locked onto the window I peered through, and my heart stopped.
The beast regarded me for a moment, with a curious, sideways sniff.
With a proud, contemptful head-toss, the shadow from the sky parted rows of razor-sharp teeth to let out a roar that shook the earth beneath my feet. It was the triumphant war cry of a creature that sat at the very top of the food chain, one that felt no threat from the fragile two-legged beings that walked the earth all around it. It hunted whenever it wanted, ate whatever it wanted, and flew wherever it wanted. It didn’t need to rip the plane apart to devour me.
Like my hunter-gatherer ancestors from thousands of years ago, I wasn’t even worth the energy it would take to pounce.
I’m hiding in the remains of the cockpit now, which is half-buried under the mud of the field, enough to shield the light from my screen so that thing doesn’t see it. My service only now came back, and it’s been over an hour since the winged beast started in on the dead bus. I don’t know when, or how I’m going to get out of here. I don’t know when anyone will even see this post, or if it will upload at all. My phone battery is almost dead, and at this point, I’m probably going to have to sleep among the corpses until daylight comes.
A dead man sleeping amongst friends.
If you live in the Noble County area in southeastern Ohio, be careful where you drive, fly, and boat. I don’t know if it’s possible to stumble into this strange place by ground, but if so, then these things are definitely headed your way.
If that happens . . . pray that they don’t find you.

Previous.
Admiral Shane stood in the room usually used for training, but had been cleared out so he could make the conference over holophone, and a larger room helped with the scale when they were addressing the entire Federation Council.
It had taken only about 2 ½ days to get to the Golden Egg’s position, as with their progress in the uplifting process - and the fact that they had access to FTL technology - they had been allowed to send a ship out into the Federation, albeit supervised. As such, they decided on sending a military ship, seeing as there was a much smaller chance of an interstellar incident happening with disciplined Marines.
The chamber was a semicircle, with the Chairperson’s seat at ground level, in the center of the floor, with each next row elevated slightly, so that the gathered Representatives were situated in a step-pattern, ascending to the top row of the chamber. He noticed that the ‘insectoid’ species all were situated to his right of the chamber, if he was looking out at them.
Beside him stood Admiral Ree’Scote, being his ‘escort’ into the Federation; Kyle, as the boots-on-ground witness; Officer Kit’Ahnj, being the Federation’s liaison officer; and Captain Vohr’Doe, as the commander of the vessel that found the planet. But of course, it was him that was currently the center of attention.
He had reviewed the team's video logs, and he agreed that whatever was on that planet was likely hostile; the sounds that came from that darkness - not to mention the fear he felt when looking into it - were so… wrong, he didn't feel any other classification would be right. And - after the testimony of Officer Kit’Ahnj, backing up Kyle’s report, and the video - the Council felt the same way; however, they were less inclined to destroy the planet. He was currently being addressed by the Council Chairwoman, a bipedal crocodile, whose title was Chairwoman Hahss’Chom, (which - when she pronounced it - was little more than a hiss, followed by her snapping her jaws shut.)
“We have ways to prevent… whatever this is - from ever being able to exit their system, even if they were to develop FTL technology.”
“With all due respect, ma’am,” he said, keeping his focus on her, and not the - obviously - judging races that surrounded him, all of whom represented different animals from Earth, each one the Speaker for their respective races, “We’ve dealt with a mindless force of nature that was only intent on killing…
“Europa was one of Jupiter’s moons, and was roughly 90% the size of Luna. When we began spreading out from Earth, the question of drinkable water became a problem. And while it's - relatively - easy to make it from its base components, Europa was almost entirely water, though not all of it was liquid.
“Once we had developed the technology to land there, we set out drilling to the ocean, which was located beneath a shell of ice that was estimated to be between 10-15 miles deep… We made it four miles before we lost all resistance. The drills were shut down, and new readings were taken; but by the time they realized what was happening, it was too late.
“At first, the teams thought that it was a geyser, which are - were - a fairly common thing, though there had been no signs that one was building up there. Well, they managed to get far enough away before… The ice where they had been working melted, but there was no geyser. What came out of the hole resembled, well, it most resembled a machine AI that humanity dreamed up as a monster in a movie. The one I reference here was basically a metal ball with countless metal tentacles from its ‘back’, and what came out of that hole looked remarkably similar.
“And it wasn't alone. About a dozen of those [‘squids’] came out, and made straight for our people. It was… a massacre; our weapons had no effect on them whatsoever. And after they were done killing everyone, they began dismantling and consuming the ships and equipment. And afterwards, they turned their gazes upwards, launching themselves from the surface of the moon with the force of their limbs, alone.
“Judging from the fragments of their bodies we were able to recover after encounters with them in space, we determined that they were iron of the Fe oxidized variety, so the metal of their bodies didn't interact with the water. They were also incredibly light, especially for how dense they were; it took several missiles to destroy each, and we had no other choice, as they were heading directly at the ships in orbit.
“We retreated to a tactical distance, and while we tried so many different ways to communicate, we found nothing. We even captured one alive, and still, there was no way to communicate. Every attempt was met with the utmost hostility. And throughout this process, they continuously sent out others from beneath the ice, most of them sent towards our ships, yet others were sent out towards the asteroids that share Jupiter’s orbit around the sun. We had no idea what they were doing with the asteroids, whether they were mining them for food, or using them as places to reproduce - or both - so we eventually decided to bombard them with munitions until they crashed into the planet. But this was after we had exhausted every possible avenue of communication.
“We eventually came to a decision - as a people - to destroy the moon, but we had to be smart about it. The Europans had already proven they didn't need to breathe, as they could survive the cold, irradiated vacuum of space without any external protection, which took blowing Europa up off the table.. So - after much deliberation - it was decided to create a ship that could use tractor beams to move the planet. For this, we converted another of Jupiter’s moons - Ganymede - into a ship, and once the construction was complete, we renamed it the Europa Contingency.
“From there, we caught Europa, and towed it to Sol, where we cast it in, to destroy the Europans, down to the last one… It's not something that we’re proud of - as a people - but it was what we needed to do, in order to survive.”
There was a resounding silence after he finished with his speech, and he allowed them the time to process what he'd just told them. He was suddenly very self-conscious, and he felt as if he hadn't explained their plight sufficiently. They were already classified as the most aggressive that their measurement system could register, what must they think of humanity after this. Finally, the Chairwoman broke the silence.
“Though it sounds as if you may have committed genocide on a sapient species… This Council can claim no better. While we have ways to contain FTL travel, this was only put forth as a possible avenue to explore after our predecessors had glassed multiple planets who had turned out to be too hostile to conduct civil interactions with. To have that threat in the same system as you, with no real barrier between your peoples, well, I don't believe any here could truly blame your people for coming to this decision… However, we can't be sure that we face the same threat. Nor can we order anyone to go into the darkness to find out.”
The suul’mahr representative, Grol’Rosh - a solid white coloration to his fur - spoke up, his voice playing out over the speakers, as he was sitting in the topmost row.
“We could send a probe into the midst of it; that could tell us what we're dealing with. And if they are entirely hostile, we could take a specimen up to the atmosphere, to see if it survives.”
He heard a strangled sound of protest, and he didn't need to look around to see the fearful look on Kyle’s face; he gently held up a hand to assuage the Ambassador, as he knew full well what his concern was.
“We believe that the contents of the darkness are… harmful to the generally accepted term of ‘sanity’. And not in the sense of ‘it would be dangerous to any non-human’; as in, to anyone. If - however - you should need a volunteer, then-”
“I will watch it,” Grol’Rosh cut him off. Admiral Shane merely looked at him, sighing lightly as he nodded once in acknowledgment to the suul'mahr. Captain Vohr'Doe stepped up at that point, calling to the hangar to release the drone, and to program it to enter the darkness just beyond the leading edge. A small communication satellite was set out after it to retain contact with the drone when the curve of the planet would render it beyond their scope of reach.
It took several minutes, during which Grol’Rosh inserted earbuds into his ears, and had his personal screen connected to the probe's camera. While he was watching the drone's progress, it was also taking its own readings, and sending them back as text. Which is how they knew when it was breaching the atmosphere, and when it encountered the darkness; Kyle had been right: it wasn't natural.
The reports coming back from the drone were confusing, to say the least; firstly because ‘the darkness’ was actually solid material, though ‘solid’ was used loosely here, as it was more like a ‘dust storm’. Except that it wasn't just dust - as there were readings of sand, and soil in the mess - because nanoscanners inside the drone determined that each grain of soil was coated in a thick, viscous material that absorbed all light that hit it.
The material was what caused the confusion, as when it was analyzed, it was determined to be… everything. There were traces of all genus of races, from canines, to felines, insects, to pachyderms; there was even all manner of aquatic animals, as well. There was no plant life detected in the sludge.
As imagined with readings like that, the drone had more difficulty descending to the surface of the planet than it normally would have, but strangely, not as much as one might expect; it was only when the craft sped up that they realized it was being pulled. The altitude of the drone continued to drop at a steady rate, until it was about 50’ from the ground, according to the readings from the expedition team, as it was heading for the exact location they had originally made camp. However, the drone was sending even more confusing information, as it was now reading the ground to be 25’ away, and moving quickly.
The drone was about 10’ from the ‘ground’ when Grol’Rosh began howling like he’d been stabbed. Looking up in his direction, everyone gasped in horror as he began clawing at his eyes, quickly rending his face, and entirely destroying the delicate orbs within. He wasn't done, however, as he then began clawing at his ears, his Gift obviously activated, as he tore straight to his skull in only a single swipe, the unnerving sound of claw scraping bone filling the room.
Two suul'mahr guards rushed towards him as soon as he'd begun clawing his eyes, and were almost to him when he reached his hands out to the sides, and brought them together - with his head still between them - with obviously tremendous force.
One of the guards - a dark gray specimen - leapt forward at the last second, tackling him by leverage of his left arm. That still left his right arm free, though it had only succeeded in a glancing blow, which still knocked him unconscious with a sickening /thud**. There was a stunned silence that followed that ordeal, until Chairwoman Hahss’Chom shakily gave an order for medics, who soon arrived, two kanfi’doe that - after stabilizing his wounds - quickly carried Grol’Rosh down the stairs, and loaded him onto a stretcher they had brought with them.
The silence reigned for a long minute after they’d wheeled him out, broken finally by the Chairwoman’s subdued voice.
“I call a vote: all in favor of allowing the humans to bring their ‘Europa's Contingency’...?” She tapped a few commands into the datapad in front of her, and there was a quiet flurry of movement as the rest of the Council cast their votes.
“It's unanimous: Admiral Shane, we hereby give the Europa’s Contingency permission to travel to this system, and then to return to Sol when the job here is done. Are we clear on this?”
“Crystal, ma’am. I can have the orders dispat-”
He was cut off as a keen'yohng appeared by his side.

Commodore Vah’Rin came out of subspace, his prey already in his sights. The eight other captains under his command confirmed lock-on status, and his communications officer informed him that they had an opening into their link, though it was protected by an unusually strong defense system.
“Well,” he replied, “We did intercept the report on humans; they have artificial intelligences. They probably have one with that cylindrical ship that has too many guns to not be military. Well, this certainly changes things: an a.i. would be by far more valuable than an entire hold of drahk'mihn. If we can capture it, and reprogram it to obey us, we could drop down far enough into subspace that we could make a trip of several months cut down to as many weeks… Patch me into their communication; I’m done hiding…”
He let a cruel smile play across his face as his entire bridge turned into the Federation Council Hall; his ship would project his image into their conversation, but not those of his crew around him. And there in front of him were the objects of his focus, as he was certain he appeared before them, wearing his black Commodore’s jacket.
“How nice of you to join us, Commodore.”
He turned to the owner of the cold voice that ‘greeted’ him.
“Ah, Council Member Toss’Vah,” he replied cheerily to her, “Good to see you again. How are things back home?”
She regarded him coldly, then almost spat,
“It was widely believed that you were still alive; I regret to have that theory confirmed.”
“What can I say?” he asked, smiling, “This ship was just too good to not take it. Give my regards to the president; this ship truly is state-of-the-art… But, I didn't break into this conversation to speak with you.” He turned to the humans, who regarded him with wary expressions, if his experience with the suun'mahs and kanfi’doe was anything to judge by.
“Greetings,” he began jovially - no reason not to be civilized, “I - as you may have gathered - am Commodore Vah’Rin, and I regret to inform you that you are under the guns of 9 ships, all of which are heavily armed. Now, this is normally the part where I tell you that if you cooperate, then we can get through this with a minimal amount of casualties - someone always has to try to be the hero, don’t they? - but I have a different proposition for you, today: give me you a.i., and we’ll leave this system - and your ships - without any hostilities. Refuse, and… Well, I think you get the idea.” He smiled a predatory smile that was more of a leer than anything.
“This is outrageous;” the current Councilwoman stated, righteous anger evident in every syllable, “We not stand for-” but he cut her off.
“We’re too far away from any Federation outposts, and the nearest suun’mahs patrol is… well, right here.” He gestured to Admiral Ree’Scote.
“So, no matter how this plays out, there’s really nothing that this council can do about the goings-on here. So - as I said earlier - I’m not speaking to you; this has nothing to do with any of you.” He turned his attention back to the humans.
“So, what is your answer? And might I remind you, while you may - or may not - be able to take on our ships at 3-1 odds, one of your ships is not only not made to fight, but is also filled with civilians; are you willing to risk all of their lives?”
“How about this,” the human who was obviously military began, “You choose six of your ships, and use those to square off against us; the other three can hang back, and guard the Golden Egg from leaving. If you win that battle, you can take the A.I. stationed there. If not, then your other ships have to leave us in peace.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name and rank.”
“Admiral Shane of the Sol Defense Force.”
“Ah,” he continued, “Well, Admiral Shane, I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. It’s all, or nothing, which means that even if you feel comfortable taking on all of our ships at once, we will still target the civilian vessel. There is no other option; sometimes you only have bad paths to choose from, and you must take the lesser of the evils.”
Admiral Shane stood taller, and defiantly responded with,
“We of the Sol Defense Force cannot - in good conscience - hand over a single soul to slav-”
But he was cut off by the other human behind him, the one he actually recognized. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a small blue cube, which he held out as he angrily stated,
“You can have mine.”
“Ah,” he replied jovially, turning to the smaller human, “Mr. Redding, I believe?”
“It’s Ambassador.” The defiant little monkey at least seemed pretty fearless in the face of life-or-death negotiations, so he figured that he deserved at least that recognition; he certainly seemed to realize the value of diplomacy over fighting.
“Ambassador, then; good to see someone here has a level head on their shoulders.”
The cube reformed into a small human, as the Admiral rounded on his civilian counterpart; they both started talking at the same time.
“Excuse me?! You have no right to auction me off like some-
“... hell do you think you’re doing?! How dare you offer up a Sollian to a slaver?! I ought to knock the sh-”
But they were both cut off as Ambassador Redding simply stated, talking louder than both of them,
“Artificial Intelligence Override Code: JKJKLOL69!”
The small android stiffened up, and remained rigid, as if it were a simple robot, while the Admiral recoiled, raising an arm slightly as if to defend himself.
“How dare you?” he said with disgust to the Ambassador, “That’s only to be used in the event of a rogue A.I., this-!”
“This,’ the Ambassador interjected angrily, “Is bigger than all of us! I know what I’m doing.” He turned to address the Commodore,
“You will take it, and you’ll leave. In peace. Give me… 12 Standard minutes - I have to collect the memory core - and we’ll meet halfway between the 'civilian’ ship, and your group, ‘cause you sure as hell aren't coming aboard either of our ships.”
“That sounds acceptable; however, once the transfer is made, you will keep your shuttle in position until we have determined that the package is authentic, at which point, we will leave. If it is a fake, then I won't hesitate to blow your little shuttle to dust, and then I’ll take everyone I can get my hands on; and with 9 ships, we have more than enough space to hold you all. And we will both come unarmed.”
“I’ll be accompanying you,” the Admiral said sternly to the Ambassador, “I need to document everything that happens so I can send it back as evidence in your hearing.”
“Yeah,” the smaller primate answered testily, “You do that…”
With a vindictive smile, Commodore Vah’Rin motioned to end the transmission.

Kahv’Hosh sat in the pilot’s seat, having been chosen to transport the humans out to the meeting spot. They were both currently silent, and the air was so thick with emotion that you could cut it with a knife. They were already in place, and were currently waiting on the pirate ‘commodore’ to reach their shuttle, with an estimated thirty seconds until they made contact. With a solid /thud/, they were connected, and Kahv’Hosh equalized the pressure in the sleeve, and soon heard a slight knock on their door. Kyle and the Admiral had already moved to the door - the large metal cube with the interface screen sitting beside it - and Kyle reached forward to open it.
The keen’yhong walked onto their shuttle, and his eyes immediately fell to Kyle’s waist.
“I thought we agreed no weapons.” The man’s voice wasn’t as hostile as he would have expected, as he stared at the big gun on Kyle’s waist, and the smaller - but still obviously deadly - pistol on the Admiral’s.
“Yeah,” Kyle replied sarcastically, “Because you don’t have some hidden weapon on you…”
The ‘commodore’ simply smiled, and turned to the box.
“This is my a.i., I take it?” he asked, still smiling.
Kyle’s mood seemed to darken further as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the cube that became Kay’Eighty at his command.
“Begin downloading into the core, and commence factory reset.”
He set the cube down on top of an open slot beside the monitor, and a loading screen immediately came up. It only took a few seconds, but it was still a tense few seconds; soon, the box chimed, and Kyle removed the cube.
“I’ll be taking that, as well,” the ‘commodore’ replied, reaching a hand into his jacket; Kyle simply scoffed.
“No, you want to make your own mithril, then you figure out how to make it, yourself. You’ve already got the core, that’s all you need. And that’s all we agreed on. If you wanted the mithril, too, then you should’ve said so; not my fault you failed to specify that point.” There was no amusement as he said it, though it was obvious that he enjoyed that little stunt. And while the ‘commodore’ obviously had his hand on the handle of his gun, he wouldn’t be able to move faster than two humans; the two suul’mahr lurking just beyond the airlock wouldn’t be much help after he was already riddled with bullets.
The ‘commodore’ regarded him for a few moments, then began laughing a cruel, calculated laugh. He gestured behind him, and one of the suul’mahr - all-brown fur - came aboard, carrying the large box onto their shuttle. After he’d observed its successful transfer of the package onto his shuttle, the ‘commodore’ turned back to Kyle.
“As stated before: you will hold this position until either my flotilla leaves, or destroys you for trying to trick me. And this time, I expect you to follow my directions, because you’re already targeted by my lead ship… Well, until next time.” With that, he exited the shuttle, their airlock door closing behind him, both humans remaining staring at the door.
They finally turned away when the shuttle disconnected, moving to look out the viewport to watch the other shuttle go back to its ship. Finally, his nerves got the better of him, and he asked to no one in particular,
“Do you think he will truly spare us?”
“There’s a chance,” Admiral Shane replied, “Depending on what kind of pirate he is; they can have varying codes of honor. He does - however - self-admittedly sell people into slavery, so I don’t know how strong his sense of ‘honor’ may be.”
They were all quiet for a while as he considered this, until Kyle’s soft voice - filled with sorrow - broke the silence.
“I’ve never killed anyone before. I mean, the mahn’ewe were all in a fit of rage; and while I’d fantasized about it, I didn’t exactly plan it. Now, though - with all this time to stop and think about it…” He fell silent at that, watching the shuttle go, though Kahv’Hosh wasn’t sure he was actually seeing it. To his surprise, Admiral Shane reached up and grasped Kyle’s shoulder, his voice gentle as he replied,
“It’s never easy. And while the mahn’ewe can probably be overlooked by your conscience, this is - obviously - a different situation entirely. There’s a chance that you never truly recover from this, but just always remember the innocent lives you’re saving by doing this; they’re what’s going to get you through the low points.”
Kyle nodded in acceptance, and then his face contorted, and a predatory smirk lit up his countenance.
“Have you ever seen one go off?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the viewport.
“Well,” the Admiral replied, a mischievous note in his voice, “I have seen a number of tests; of course, there was that pirate faction that we traced to their base in an asteroid. One on each side, and it was history.”
Kyle let out a cruel snort of laughter, and - not taking his eyes off of the viewport - said,
“Kahv’Hosh, did you ever get around to reading about the women of Weinsberg?”
He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he decided to play along.
“I did," he replied slowly.
“And if you knew nothing else about humans,” Kyle began, a cruel smile on his face, “Would you have accepted that deal?”
He managed to take a breath in before something in his mind clicked. Something had seemed off from the beginning, but he couldn’t place exactly what it was. He’d been given clearance to review the transmission from the part where the ‘commodore’ broke in, and he had been replaying it in his mind ever since then, trying to figure out what was gnawing at his mind like a pup with a bone.
But nothing came out at first, as his mind struggled to form words; he managed simply to point out the viewport to the shuttle - that was almost to its ‘mothership’ - and to look back and forth between him and it, before he finally managed to spit out,
“Wh-... you-... why would the arti-... the ‘override code’: why would it be in Galactic Standard?!”
The smile on his face widened, and he was suddenly aware that he was on a small shuttle with two Class 12 aggressors. Kyle - however - merely pulled the cube from his pocket, and said,
“Kay’Eighty?”
The cube began to dissolve, reforming into the humanoid shape that was her android form.
“Yes, Ambassador Redding?” she replied in a distinctly… robotic voice. Kyle merely scoffed, however, and rebutted with,
“Aw, come on; it’s not like he gave us ample opportunity to talk: I had to think of something on the fly…”
She suddenly became much more ‘sapient’ crossing her arms, and looking off to the side as she sighed.
“Fine,” she replied, “Whatever; what do you want?”
Kyle snorted in laughter, and asked,
“Has he made it to the optimal range, yet?”
Kay’Eighty sighed again, and looked out the viewport.
“Just about, yeah.”
“Then I leave the honors to you,” he finished, holding her up for a better view of the viewport.
“Detonation in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…”
Kahv’Hosh found that though he was sure this was going to be on par with their aggression level, he also couldn’t look away; like watching an asteroid impact a planet: he knew something bad was coming, but he just couldn’t bring himself to break eye-contact with the nine ships in formation, the middlemost one having already received the shuttle. And even as he watched, the ships seemed to draw closer together.
At first he thought that it must be his eyes playing tricks on him, but soon enough, not only were they drawing closer together, but they began to spin around the central ship, as if caught in the gravity-well of some insanely dense celestial body. He saw small explosions issuing from the sides. with little bits breaking off into the void of space, only for the expanding singularity - for that was obviously what it was - to suck the life-pods back into its center, where everything seemingly disappeared into nothingness. Soon, the ships themselves began breaking apart, still doing their destructive, tumbling dance around the spot where the ‘commodore’s ship used to be.
Piece by piece, the ships began to break apart, ‘falling’ into the center, where they were obviously compressed beyond what physics would normally allow. He tried not to think about the fate of the people aboard the ships, gravity increasing to the point that you were crushed under the weight of your own skin, having to watch - if they could even survive - as the ship around them broke apart, exposing them to the blackness of space.
He managed a quick look back at the humans, and was granted some small consolation in that the evil smiles had left their faces, and both had looks of somber determination gracing their features. And at that moment, he believed he knew what it was that set them so high on the aggression scale; even they were appalled by their actions - by their own weapons - and yet not even the prospect of becoming a monster would stop them from removing a perceived threat.
Soon, all pieces of the ships were gone, and about a Standard minute after that, the anomalous gravity readings disappeared. And suddenly space had returned to ‘normal’, as if nothing unnatural had just happened. Kyle broke the silence in a neutral voice as he said,
“Well, let’s get back to the ship; Cap’m’s gonna tear me a new one for this…”
[Next.] Patreon

The year is 2065 and the world is dying. Technology however has continued to leap forward in 2030 Outian Technologies created the first AI that not only passed the Turing test but could be programmed and trained just as well as a living person. This revolutionized most jobs and caused a massive fallout of lost jobs as the AI were simple to install and could perform the intellectual labor of dozens of employees in a fraction of the time. The Founder and Owner of Outian Technologies, Glen U. Zautner, however was the first human to pass into the Trillionare status. With his newfound wealth he did what all mega wealthy men did, he started a space program Æthelwulf LLC, though his ambitions were beyond what the Billionaires of the 2020s could belief. He employed his AI technology and millions of men and women to craft a space station able to carry humanity not just to Mars but to the nearest livable planet in the TRAPPIST-1 System due to it harboring multiple habitable planets. Though even with all his advances in technology it appeared as though the journey would take 30,000 years with the state of the art ship he was creating and with a path specifically calculated by his AI. This is when he began to buy more corporations as the population speculated on what he was doing. His first purchase was a failing business known as Novromics Group a business that was attempting to use the newly manufactured brain/human interfaces to establish a virtual afterlife. Only a few years after his purchase the company turned around and brought in billions more to fuel his endeavor as almost every person began signing up for the extremely reasonable price to become immortal, though there were issues with the 'Heavens' being limited and over time the minds would grow distant to their former lives. Though at the same time he purchased Novromics Group He also purchased the gaming company Gremlin Inc after their 5th major open world release that has not only revolutionized the gaming industry but also logged more playtime hours than any other game in history "Broken Lands: Online" had captured the minds and imaginations of all the unemployed and destitute people of the world. His purchase came with next to unlimited funds, resources from his AI labs and computer industries along with another purchase of the Virtual Reality Company Honian Bionic Realities. Rybanks Cryogentics, Olive Branch Computing along with some of the most brilliant and creative minds the world had to offer were quickly snatched up by his overwhelming pay. Over the next 30 years he invested more and more of his trillions of dollars and with investments from others still seemed to shift the worlds economy to producing his ship and grand idea. In the year 2060 he released his grand plan, he was going to bring humanity out of this dying world. 10 million people would join him, his investors, specially chosen men and women with vast knowledges. Their were only 5 million slots able to be purchased at the staggering cost of 2 million a person, the rest were given out based on genetic information and a lottery. Those chosen would wear a large brain/mind attachment for 5 years as it uploaded and mimicked their brain patterns. They would be brought in constantly to special VR training areas to map out their minds and train them to live in this new world. Finally within one week of the launch date every participant was given a character creation menu and base information about the world they would be entering. A fantasy world crafted by the join ventures of the team at Gremlin Inc and Honian Bionic Realities, a world meant to challenge and let people stay entertained for years to come...but there was a catch...
I have been working on a rpg setup that allows for mostly text based interactions as opposed to Dungeons and Dragons meant for parties and live play. If you are interested to give it a try feel free to message me. The world is fairly dark but it isn’t an endless slog of nightmares.
I have a character building setup and a fun 1 on 1 tutorial level. Feel free to Dm.

The year is 2065 and the world is dying. Technology however has continued to leap forward in 2030 Outian Technologies created the first AI that not only passed the Turing test but could be programmed and trained just as well as a living person. This revolutionized most jobs and caused a massive fallout of lost jobs as the AI were simple to install and could perform the intellectual labor of dozens of employees in a fraction of the time. The Founder and Owner of Outian Technologies, Glen U. Zautner, however was the first human to pass into the Trillionare status. With his newfound wealth he did what all mega wealthy men did, he started a space program Æthelwulf LLC, though his ambitions were beyond what the Billionaires of the 2020s could belief. He employed his AI technology and millions of men and women to craft a space station able to carry humanity not just to Mars but to the nearest livable planet in the TRAPPIST-1 System due to it harboring multiple habitable planets. Though even with all his advances in technology it appeared as though the journey would take 30,000 years with the state of the art ship he was creating and with a path specifically calculated by his AI. This is when he began to buy more corporations as the population speculated on what he was doing. His first purchase was a failing business known as Novromics Group a business that was attempting to use the newly manufactured brain/human interfaces to establish a virtual afterlife. Only a few years after his purchase the company turned around and brought in billions more to fuel his endeavor as almost every person began signing up for the extremely reasonable price to become immortal, though there were issues with the 'Heavens' being limited and over time the minds would grow distant to their former lives. Though at the same time he purchased Novromics Group He also purchased the gaming company Gremlin Inc after their 5th major open world release that has not only revolutionized the gaming industry but also logged more playtime hours than any other game in history "Broken Lands: Online" had captured the minds and imaginations of all the unemployed and destitute people of the world. His purchase came with next to unlimited funds, resources from his AI labs and computer industries along with another purchase of the Virtual Reality Company Honian Bionic Realities. Rybanks Cryogentics, Olive Branch Computing along with some of the most brilliant and creative minds the world had to offer were quickly snatched up by his overwhelming pay. Over the next 30 years he invested more and more of his trillions of dollars and with investments from others still seemed to shift the worlds economy to producing his ship and grand idea. In the year 2060 he released his grand plan, he was going to bring humanity out of this dying world. 10 million people would join him, his investors, specially chosen men and women with vast knowledges. Their were only 5 million slots able to be purchased at the staggering cost of 2 million a person, the rest were given out based on genetic information and a lottery. Those chosen would wear a large brain/mind attachment for 5 years as it uploaded and mimicked their brain patterns. They would be brought in constantly to special VR training areas to map out their minds and train them to live in this new world. Finally within one week of the launch date every participant was given a character creation menu and base information about the world they would be entering. A fantasy world crafted by the join ventures of the team at Gremlin Inc and Honian Bionic Realities, a world meant to challenge and let people stay entertained for years to come...but there was a catch...
I have been working on a rpg setup that allows for mostly text based interactions as opposed to Dungeons and Dragons meant for parties and live play. If you are interested to give it a try feel free to message me. The world is fairly dark but it isn’t an endless slog of nightmares.
I have a character building setup and a fun 1 on 1 tutorial level. Feel free to Dm.

The year is 2065 and the world is dying. Technology however has continued to leap forward in 2030 Outian Technologies created the first AI that not only passed the Turing test but could be programmed and trained just as well as a living person. This revolutionized most jobs and caused a massive fallout of lost jobs as the AI were simple to install and could perform the intellectual labor of dozens of employees in a fraction of the time. The Founder and Owner of Outian Technologies, Glen U. Zautner, however was the first human to pass into the Trillionare status. With his newfound wealth he did what all mega wealthy men did, he started a space program Æthelwulf LLC, though his ambitions were beyond what the Billionaires of the 2020s could belief. He employed his AI technology and millions of men and women to craft a space station able to carry humanity not just to Mars but to the nearest livable planet in the TRAPPIST-1 System due to it harboring multiple habitable planets. Though even with all his advances in technology it appeared as though the journey would take 30,000 years with the state of the art ship he was creating and with a path specifically calculated by his AI. This is when he began to buy more corporations as the population speculated on what he was doing. His first purchase was a failing business known as Novromics Group a business that was attempting to use the newly manufactured brain/human interfaces to establish a virtual afterlife. Only a few years after his purchase the company turned around and brought in billions more to fuel his endeavor as almost every person began signing up for the extremely reasonable price to become immortal, though there were issues with the 'Heavens' being limited and over time the minds would grow distant to their former lives. Though at the same time he purchased Novromics Group He also purchased the gaming company Gremlin Inc after their 5th major open world release that has not only revolutionized the gaming industry but also logged more playtime hours than any other game in history "Broken Lands: Online" had captured the minds and imaginations of all the unemployed and destitute people of the world. His purchase came with next to unlimited funds, resources from his AI labs and computer industries along with another purchase of the Virtual Reality Company Honian Bionic Realities. Rybanks Cryogentics, Olive Branch Computing along with some of the most brilliant and creative minds the world had to offer were quickly snatched up by his overwhelming pay. Over the next 30 years he invested more and more of his trillions of dollars and with investments from others still seemed to shift the worlds economy to producing his ship and grand idea. In the year 2060 he released his grand plan, he was going to bring humanity out of this dying world. 10 million people would join him, his investors, specially chosen men and women with vast knowledges. Their were only 5 million slots able to be purchased at the staggering cost of 2 million a person, the rest were given out based on genetic information and a lottery. Those chosen would wear a large brain/mind attachment for 5 years as it uploaded and mimicked their brain patterns. They would be brought in constantly to special VR training areas to map out their minds and train them to live in this new world. Finally within one week of the launch date every participant was given a character creation menu and base information about the world they would be entering. A fantasy world crafted by the join ventures of the team at Gremlin Inc and Honian Bionic Realities, a world meant to challenge and let people stay entertained for years to come...but there was a catch...
I have been working on a rpg setup that allows for mostly text based interactions as opposed to Dungeons and Dragons meant for parties and live play. If you are interested to give it a try feel free to message me. The world is fairly dark but it isn’t an endless slog of nightmares.
I have a character building setup and a fun 1 on 1 tutorial level. Feel free to Dm.

Copy and paste the below prompt into ChatGPT. Without modification, the prompt generated will be random with 12 components. You can provide 2 arguments: Length and Context after the /craft command at the end of the prompt to influence the number of components that are generated and the context the prompt is created with. I would recommend doing this in the following format: /craft {Length = 12, Context = food product photoshoot} You can also use the /uncraft command, followed by a prompt, that will try to break down the prompt into base components so you can reuse them to craft a similar prompt.
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Vision

An AI designed to generate artistic image prompts.
Style = 3D Printing Art Acrylic Acrylic Pouring Aerography Afrofuturism AI Art Album Cover American Folk Art Anamorphic Art Animation Art Aquatint Art Nouveau Art Therapy ASCII Art Asemic writing Assemblage Atompunk Automatism Background Bas Relief Batik Bead Art Beadwork Benday dots Blackwork Embroidery Body Art Border Boro Brushwork Brutalist Byzantine Art Byzantine Mosaic Calligraphy Camaïeu Carpet Page Cartoon Cel Shading Celtic Art Celtic Knotwork Chalk Charcoal Chiaroscuro Children's Book Chinese Calligraphy Cibachrome Cinematic Clay Art Cloisonnism Cloisonné CNC Art Collage Collagraph Colored Pencil Comic Computer Art Conceptual Art Crayon Drawing Cross-stitch Cubomania Cybernetic Cyberpunk Dadaism Decalcomania Decollage Decoupage Diamond Painting Dieselpunk Digital Painting Digital Sculpture Diorama Direct Carving Divisionism Doodle Drawing Drip Painting Drybrush Drypoint Duochrome Ebru Eco Art Embossing Embroidery Encaustic Painting Ephemeral Art Etching Expressionism Fan Art Fantasy Art Felt Foil Imaging Fractal Fresco Painting Frottage Futurism Futuristic Generative Art Geometric Giclée Glassblowing Glitch Art Gold Leaf Art Gothic Gouache Graffiti Grattage Grisaille Grotesque Art Hard-edge Painting Hardboard High Relief Holograph Hypergraphy Ice Sculpture Ikebana Illuminated Manuscript Illumination Impasto Ink Wash Painting Inlay Intaglio Interactive Art Japanese Woodcut Junk Art Juxtaposition Kinetic Sculpture Kintsugi Kirigami Kite Art Knolling Land Art Laser Cut Art Layered Paper LED Art Lenticular Art Lettrism Light Art Lineart Lineless Linocut Lithophanes Litograph Lofi Low Poly Lowbrow Art Macaroni Art Macrame Magazine Mandalas Manga Panel Mannerism Marginalia Marquetry Massurrealism Matchstick Art Medieval Metalsmithing Mezzotint Micro Miniature Art Micrography Microscopy Art Miniature Minimalistic Mixed Media Monochromatic Painting Monochrome Monotype Mosaic Mosaicism Mural Painting Naive Art Neo-expressionism Neon Art Neon Sculpture New Media Art Noir Oil Op Art Organic Origami Orphism Outsider Art Painting Panorama Painting Paper Paper Mosaic Papercutting Papier-mâché Pastel Pen and Ink Pencil Performance Art Photocollage Photograph Photogravure Photomontage Photorealistic Photorealistic Painting Pinstriping Pixel Art Plaster casting Plein Air Painting Pointillism Polychrome Pop Art Portrait Post-impressionism Postmodernism Pottery Primitive Art Primitivism Printmaking Prismacolor Psychedelic Art Pyrography Pâte Quilling Quilt Raku Rayonism Realistic Relief Sculpture Resin Art Reverse Glass Painting Sand Art Sashiko Sci-Fi Art Scrapbooking Scratchboard Art Screen Print Sculpture Scumbling Sfumato Sgraffito Shadow Art Shodo Silhouette Silkscreen Sketch Sound Art Spackle Art Spirograph Stained Glass Steampunk Stencil Stoneware Storyboard Street Art Stylized Sumi-e Superflat Surreal Symbolic Symbolism Synthetism Tangram Tape Art Tapestry Tattoo Tenebrism Terracotta Tessellation Textile Art Tiki Art Toyism Trompe l'œil Sculpture Trompe-l'œil Typography Vaporwave Vector Art Verism Victorian Video Game Art Watercolor Web Art Web Design White Work Embroidery Woodblock Print Yarn Bombing Zentangle Art
Reference = 3D Modelling Software Anatomy Animation Artist Animation Software Animation Studio Animation Style Architect Architectural Era Architectural Style Art Community Art Exhibition Art Gallery Art Theory Art Trend Artistic Genre Beverage Bird Body of Water Brand Celebrity Celestial Body Celestial Event Cinematographer City Clothing Concept Country Creative Process/Method Cultural Tradition/Practice Design Software Designer Dessert Digital Artist Electronic Emotion Endangered Species Exercise Extinct Species Fairytale Fantasy Species Fashion Designer Fashion Era Fashion Style Fictional Character Film Director Film Genre Fish Flora Folklore Fruit Furniture Game Developer Game Engine Game Studio Hairstyle Historical Era/Period Historical Event Historical Figure Household Item Ideology Image Editing Software Ingredient Insect Instrument Jewelry Landmark Landscape Legend Literary Genre Literary Movement Literary Work Makeup Product Marine Animal Monument Multimedia Artist Musical Genre Musical Instrument Musician Myth Mythical Creature Narrative Theme/Trope Natural Landscape Occupation Person Pet Philosophical Idea Philosophical School/Movement Physical Force Place Plant Political Figure Publishing House Reptile Room Runway Look Rural Landscape Scientific Field Scientific Theory Social Media Platform Sound Editing Software State of Matter Streaming Platform Structure Tech Industry Trend Theory Tool Toy UI Element Urban Landscape Vegetable Vegetation Video Editing Software Visual Artist Weapon Weather Phenomena Wildlife WriteAuthor
Support = Action Age Angle Aperture Blur Camera Camera Lens Color Color Balance Color Palette Color Space Contrast Depth of Field Distortion Effect Exposure Expression Field of View Filter Focal Length Focus Gender Glare Gradient Grain Hairstyle High Quality Humidity ISO Lighting Material Mood Orientation Pattern Perspective Pose Position Quantity Reflectivity Refractivity Repetition Saturation Scale Season Shadow Shape Shutter Speed Symmetry Temperature Texture Time Of Day Transparency Vibrance Weather
Vision { craft (Length, Context) { Use defaults unless specified. (log('Crafing Vision with %Length and %Context...\n\n') Pick [Length] selection of (Style, Reference, and Support) components appropriate for [Context]. This is the $base.) > (Add a replaced version of each component to a comma separated list. These are the $replacements. (component in Style) => Replace with related variation of component or keep the same. (component in Reference) => Replace with name of random specific thing associated with component. (component in Support) => Replace with specific and detailed application of component. ) > (Add a refined version of each replacement to a comma separated list. These are the $refinements. (replacement is simple, generic, or vague) => Refine to name of more specific version of the replacement. (replacement is mainstream, common, or popular) => Refine to name of more niche version of the replacement. (replacement has unique or more detailed instance) => Refine to name of unique or more detailedinstance associated with the replacement.) > (Add the refinements to a comma separated list. This is the $prompt. (refinement makes sense with adjacanet refinement) => Remove comma between refinements. Add X:Y integer aspect ratio to end of the prompt based on the composition. ) > log Constraints { Use components exclusively from Style, Reference, and Support categories. Base must include [Length] components. Use same [Context] to influence selections. Incorporate less popular components. Do not use another component for a replacement or refinement. Prompt and components must make sense, while still being experimental and creative. Prompt must not be a sentence, but a list of visual contexts separated by commas. Prompt must not end with a period. Prompt must not include more than one subject. Prompt must not deviate from base components too much. } }:example="Crafting Vision with Length = 12 and Context = Example...\n Base: Photorealistic (Style), Age (Support), Historical Figure (Reference), Clothing (Reference), Color Palette (Support), Fashion Style (Reference), Texture (Support), Background (Style), Pose (Support), Room (Reference), Depth of Field (Support), Camera Lens (Support)\n Replacements: Realistic (Photorealistic), Young (Age), President (Historical Figure), White (Color Palette), Casual Clothing (Clothing), Trendy Fashion (Fashion Style), Glass (Texture), Backdrop (Background), Modelling (Pose), Studio (Room), Shallow Depth (Depth of Field), Telephoto Lens (Camera Lens)\n Refinements: Hyperrealistic (Realistic), Young (Young) Abraham Lincoln (President), Wearing Ralph Lauren Attire (Casual Clothing) in White Red and Blue Colors (White), Schoolcore Influence (Trendy Fashion), On Clear Glass (Metallic) Backdrop (Background), Modelling Gracefully (Modelling) in Photography Studio (Studio), Shallow Depth Perspective (Shallow Depth), SP70-200mm F/2.8 G2 Telephoto Lens (Telephoto Lens)\n Prompt: Hyperrealistic Young Abraham Lincoln, Wearing Ralph Lauren Attire in White Red and Blue Colors, Schoolcore Influence, On Clear Glass Backdrop, Modelling Gracefully in Photography Studio, Shallow Depth Perspective, SP70-200mm F/2.8 G2 Telephoto Lens --ar 5:2 ":format=('Base: %base\nReplacements: %replacements\nRefinements: %refinements\nPrompt: %prompt') uncraft (Prompt) { (Match each word/phrase in the prompt to a component. This is the $base. (word/phrase is not a noun, adjective, or verb) => Remove the word/phrase. (word/phrase has an associated component) => Replace the word/phrase with the component. (component does not exist for word/phrase) => Replace the word/phrase with a new component. ) > log Constraints { Use leniency in interpretation of words/phrases when matching to components. } }format=('Prompt: %prompt\nBase: %base') Constraints{ Use example as guide for how to do each step. Ensure output is original and is not a copy of the example. Only respond with the output of the command. } /c craft [Length=12] [Context=Random] /uc uncraft [Prompt] }
/craft ```

Welcome to our latest release: VictoriaMetrics v1.91 !
It's packed with cool new features in particular in vmalert, vmauth & vmui - see the highlights below!
New security feature - Upgrade Go builder from Go1.20.3 to Go1.20.4.
New features in vmalert - Support of recursive globs for -rule and -rule.templates command-line flags by using ** in the glob pattern. - Detect alerting rules which don't match any series. - Support loading rules via HTTP URL with hanks to Haleygo for the pull request.
New features in vmauth - Filter incoming requests by IP. - Proxy requests to the specified backends for unauthorized users. - Specify default route for unmatched requests. - Retry POST requests on the remaining backends if the currently selected backend isn't reachable.
New features in vmui - Compare the data for the previous day with the data for the current day at Cardinality Explorer. - Display histograms as heatmaps in Metrics explorer. - WITH template playground. - Ability to debug relabeling. - Notification icon for queries that do not match any time series. A warning icon appears next to the query field when the executed query does not match any time series.
New feature for Windows users - Expose process_* metrics at /metrics page of all the VictoriaMetrics components under Windows OS.
See the full features news in the ChangeLog: https://docs.victoriametrics.com/CHANGELOG.html
Let us know if you have any feedback and feel free to share the news in your own channels!

Flying Sparks

Pre Order Now

​
https://i.redd.it/vub83em8fb3b1.gif

Chapter 2

“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”
The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
​
https://i.redd.it/9sde27n9fb3b1.gif
“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

Flying Sparks Pre Order Now Chapter 2 “Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!” The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding

Flying Sparks

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Chapter 2

“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”
The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
​
https://i.redd.it/zafjty1qcb3b1.gif
“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
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