Season 2 Finale
“You look worried Bruce,” my producer jokes, moments before going live. “Even for you.”
This gets a chuckle from the crew.
“Quiet on the set!”
I’m already shaking in my shoes. Not a good sign. Working for the Devil is extremely stressful. And dangerous. And certainly not for the faint of heart. Why I took this gig is beyond me.
(Cue creepy music)
“Going live in five…four…three…”
I get the nod.
(Cut to camera one)
“Greetings Hell Beings and hell raisers. Welcome to the Season 2 finale of….”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
I wave my arms in the air.
The audience jumps to their feet.
Someone heckles.
“Alright. Knock it off.”
I serve up my best game show-host grin. It looks as fake as this cheap Hollywood studio.
“As you probably know, my name is Bruce Davie, and I’m the host of…”
(Cue audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
There’s a disturbance in the audience. A crew member forcefully removes someone. The commotion settles, and I get the go-ahead.
“Phew! A feisty crowd tonight!”
My painted-on smile takes up the entire screen. So does my gleaming bald head.
“Now I know what you’re thinking. What’s the Devil got in store for us this evening?”
The audience rumbles.
I shrug.
“Honestly, I wish I knew!”
This is true. But I’m sure it has something to do with me spending an eternity in Hell. It’s right there in my contract, which runs out after this episode.
(Cut to camera two)
“So, without further ado, let’s bring out tonight’s contestants, shall we?”
The audience roars.
“And yes, you heard me correctly. Tonight, for the first time ever in this show’s defamatory history, we’ve got two contestants!”
Audience is on their feet, whooping and hollering.
(Cut to camera three)
(Cue music)
A middle-aged couple promenade towards the podium. They’re dressed like cowboys, and walk with a sense of purpose.
(Split screen)
“Welcome, both of you.”
More like: Welcome to your funeral.
“Tell us a wee bit about yourselves, why don’t you?”
(Cut to camera four)
The woman speaks first. Her hair is amber, her completion as pale as light beer.
“Well, Bruce. My name is Tammy. I’m a stay-at-home mom. This here’s my partner, Tex. He owns his own gun shop. We live in Austin Texas, with three beautiful children, who are with us here tonight.”
She points.
(Cut to overhead camera)
Two tall boys and a young girl, each dressed head-to-toe in denim, stand and bow.
The audience applauds.
(Split screen)
The other contestant approaches the microphone. He’s as tall as an ivory tower, with a voice like a banjo.
“Howdy Bruce. Good to be here.”
He tilts his cowboy hat. His square jaw and rugged good looks give Chuck Norris a run for his money.
I salute them.
(Cut to camera two)
“Well then, now that we’re finished with the formalities, I do believe it’s time to…”
(Cue audience)
“BRING OUT THE DEVIL.”
(Cue creepy music)
(Cue pyrotechnics)
The stage fills with fire and brimstone. Pentagrams slice through the air. The Devil appears suddenly, dressed in a shiny new devil suit, tailored specifically for tonight’s show. It’s jet-black, and leaves little to the imagination. His pitchforked tail follows closely behind him as he approaches the podium.
(Cut to Camera five)
The Devil wraps his arms around the two contestants, kisses them both on the cheek.
Tex, clearly perturbed, winces, then grudgingly wipes his cheek.
The Devil snarls, then looks him up and down.
“Looks like everything isn’t bigger in Texas,” the Devil teases. Suddenly, he’s grown over eight-feet tall, and is looming over the tall Texan.
(Cut to camera three)
The bright lights and furious makeup make me look like a cartoon.
“What an exciting night this promises to be!”
Tammy steps forward.
“You bet it is, Bruce. We’ve watched every episode. We just love…”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
(Cut to camera three)
“Of course!” Damion boasts. “This is Hell’s most popular show. And for good reason.”
He slaps the woman’s backside with his tail, then raises his eyebrows mockingly. The cowboy puffs out his chest, fists clenched, daring him to touch his wife again.
“Woah, easy their pardner.”
Damion nudges Tex.
Tammy is flushed. “Don’t mind Tex. He’s the jealous kind.”
“Oh really?”
Damion’s tail is now shaped like a lasso. With it, he snags Tammy and pulls her close. Her face turns tomato-red.
The cowboy grunts, pulling it off with one strong swoop.
The audience boos.
The Devil snickers.
I feel sick. If this is to be my last episode (or final day on Earth), I don’t want it spoiled by this denim-clad dude whose hat is bigger than his brains, or by Damion, who seems extra feisty tonight. Even for him.
(Cut to camera one)
I clear my throat.
“Tell us, Tammy and Tex…no, tell all of Hell…what it is your beating hearts desire?”
The audience is on the edge of their seats.
(Split screen)
The Texans exchange doubtful looks.
The wife takes charge.
“Well Bruce,” Tammy says. “We don’t want anything that might get us killed. Being from Dallas, we were raised with some common sense.”
The audience hisses.
(Cut to camera five)
The husband steps up.
“That’s right, Bruce. Simply put, we want to be famous for a day. That’s it. Then we can write a book and live off the royalties.”
The audience erupts into a frenzy of catcalls.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil’s eyebrows touch the top of his head. His voice slithers like a snake.
“Is that so?”
My heart plummets. These Texans are flirting with disaster. If they’d stuck to the script, they might be safe. They were supposed to ask for a lifetime’s supply of Super Bowl tickets. Easy-peasy. Who do these cowpokes think they are? Do they really think they can outsmart the Devil?
“Well then,” I say, shakily. “I’m sure Damion can arrange that.”
I raise my arms.
“What does the audience think?”
The audience goes ballistic.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil, still towering over the Texans, leans into the camera.
“Famous, eh?”
His lips smack against his face. When he touches the dude’s shoulder, the cowboy swipes his arm away.
The audience boos. Someone tosses an egg onto the podium, narrowly missing the contestants.
“Woah! Easy does it!” I spurt out.
All hell breaks loose.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The crew gets busy, disposing of both the egg and the agitator.
(Cut to camera one)
I wipe my sweaty forehead.
“Tough crowd.”
The audience hoots.
The Devil sneers.
“SILENCE!”
Flames flash across the room.
People shriek, including me.
(Close up of Damion)
The Devil, boasting his gambler’s grin, turns to the contestants.
“Yes, yes. You WILL be famous. But just for one day.”
The audience roars their approval.
I shudder. Never in all my years, have I felt so much animosity from an audience. I’ll be lucky to make it out alive.
(Split screen)
“Sounds like the Devil has a plan.”
I try to sound cheerful. But cheerfulness is the opposite of how I feel.
(Cut to camera one)
“Tell us Damion…and all of Hell…what you’ve got cooked up?”
The audience leans in.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil winks at Tammy.
“Well, I do believe it’s time for those two cowpokes to become famous. Am I correct?”
The audience jumps to their feet, chanting: “FAMOUS.… FAMOUS…. FAMOUS.…”
(Split screen)
Tammy looks pleased. Her partner, on the other hand, is showing concern. His shoulders are tense, he’s swallowed his bottom lip.
Damion dazzles the audience.
“Famous, y’all shall be.”
He snaps his fingers.
BAM.
The studio goes dark.
Someone in the audience screams.
Tammy gasps.
Tex grunts.
(Cut to camera one)
I shrug.
Is this Damion’s latest trick? Or did they finally cut the power? We give the impression that this show is hugely popular; but in truth, outside of Hell, this show is a dud. Cable and internet companies avoid us like the plague.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The contestants vanish under a cloud of fog.
A flaming pentagram floats across the stage.
“Well, isn’t that just dandy!”
The Devil points to the large screen behind the audience.
“Mister and Missus Cowpoke are about to jump the falls!”
He snaps his fingers, then he disappears.
My legs go weak. My heart is beating irregularly again. I still don’t know he does it. How any of this works. Suddenly, I’m alone on stage, shaking in my fine Italian boots, while the audience grows rowdier by the second.
Cameras mounted on drones are pointed at Tammy and Tex, who are trapped inside a large, steel barrel, with Niagara Falls looming below them.
Damion flies across the falls, lands next to Tammy and Tex.
He taps the barrel.
“Ain’t she a beauty?”
The audience hurrahs.
The barrel is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Although it’s huge, and probably weighs a ton, it barely contains the two Texans, who are kicking and screaming, cursing up a storm.
“Get me the hell out of here!” Tammy’s voice rips through the noise of the falls. “NOW!”
Damion frowns.
“You wanted to be famous. Am I right?”
The audience chants, “FAMOUS…. FAMOUS.… FAMOUS….”
Tex pokes his head out of the barrel, cowboy hat and all.
“Now wait one minute, Damion. That’s unfair. We wanted fame. Not death.”
The Devil chuckles.
“The two are synonymous, am I right?”
The audience agrees.
Damion checks his watch.
“Well then...”
He slams the lid shut.
That’s the end of the Texans, as far as I’m concerned.
(Close up of Damion)
“Whatcha think? Should they jump the falls?”
The audience shouts, “JUMP…. JUMP…. JUMP….”
(Cut to camera two)
My insides are melting. I’m petrified. You’d think working with the Devil would get easier over time. You’d be dead wrong.
“Looks like the people have spoken!” I hear myself say.
The audience continues their chant.
(Cut to overhead camera)
“Excellent,” Damion says, fiddling his fingers.
He looks over the cliff, and makes a sour face.
“Wowsers. That’s a long way down!”
“JUMP…. JUMP…. JUMP....”
“And so much water!”
(Cut to camera one)
My worried-sick face appears on the screen.
I straighten up.
“Once they jump, Tam and Tex will surely be famous!”
Except of course, they won’t be famous. Not in this world anyways. They’ve been duped. Why these people sign up to die is beyond me. Perhaps we’ve reached a spectacular level of stupidity in human evolution.
(Cut to overhead camera)
Damion’s lips stretch across his reddened face, his arms flex like a weightlifter.
“I’ll give them a helping hand.”
He rolls the giant barrel to the very edge of the cliff, ignoring the banging and hollering coming from within the steel coffin.
“Tammy, Tex…” His lips stretch into a snarl. “Prepare for fame!”
The audience is on their feet.
Damion shoves the barrel over the edge.
(Split screen)
The barrel tumbles down the falls, disappearing into the fast-moving water.
The audience holds its breath.
(Cut to spy camera)
Inside the barrel, the Texans are shrieking. Their heads and arms and legs collide. Chunks of puke pour across Tammy’s sickening face, who’s calling Tex every name in the book, and it’s a big book. Meanwhile, Tex is like a frog in a blender. His face is green, his nose is broken; blood is leaking from every orifice.
There’s a loud crash as the barrel plunders underwater.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The barrel resurfaces, traveling dangerously downstream.
The audience is back on their feet, fist-pumping.
(Split screen)
What troubles me is how the pedestrians and tourists, crowding the streets, remain oblivious. To them, this is nothing out of the ordinary. Nobody watches, or even takes a pic. I’m starting to suspect foul play. Somehow, Damion is controlling this. He’s using dark magic. A spell. Maybe none of this is real. Except of course, it is real.
(Cut to camera one)
I’m trembling.
“What a jump!” my voice ricochets off the studio walls. “They’ll be famous in no time!”
The audience chants:
“FAMOUS…. FAMOUS…. FAMOUS….”
(Closeup of the Devil)
“Yes, yes. An excellent jump, I must say.”
He peaks over the edge.
“Looks like they could use some help.”
(Cut to overhead camera)
Damion flies towards the barrel, which is bouncing off rocks and debris.
(Cut to spy camera)
Blood. So much blood in such a tight space. Tammy’s hair is in disarray. Her face is beyond repair. Tex swallowed his hat. One of his eyeballs is bouncing like a Superball. His left arm is flapping nonsensically. It isn’t attached.
(Cut to camera four)
The Devil scoops up the barrel, then flies to shore. When his feet touch the ground, he shakes off the water, cat-like, then glares at the camera.
“What a jump!”
He cranks open the lip.
(Split screen)
Tammy spills out. So does Tex’s left arm.
The audience gasps.
Damion applauds.
“Such valor and swagger!”
(Cut to camera five)
Tammy is flopping fish-like, barely clinging to life. Her mouth is full of blood and brains.
The Devil puts his foot on her head.
“SAY CHEESE.”
From out of nowhere, a photographer appears.
SNAP.
Damion, looking pleased with himself, is suddenly holding a newspaper.
(Closeup of newspaper)
The headline splashes across the screen: IDIOTS JUMP THE FALLS.
(Cut to camera four)
Damion shoves the newspaper in front of her face.
“Looks like Tammy and Tex are famous.”
Tammy's eyes twitch. Clearly, she needs medical assistance. I’m surprised she’s still alive. Her husbands brains are splattered across the inside of the barrel. The very sight of this makes me gag.
Tammy tries to speak, but fails. Her eyes are filled with rage.
Damion tosses the leftover arm into the water, then shrugs.
“Sorry about your hubby.”
(Cut to camera two)
With wobbly knees, I face the audience.
“Looks like the barrel got the best of Tex!”
The audience bellows.
I continue to talk involuntarily.
“Gosh dolly. Look at all that blood!”
“MORE BLOOD…. MORE BLOOD…. MORE BLOOD….”
I find myself chanting along.
Suddenly, my vision blurs. I clutch my chest. Maybe I’ll suffer a heart attack on live TV. Hell waits for no one, I suppose.
(Cut to camera four)
Tammy spits blood on Damion’s boot.
“Devil be damned.” I blurt.
Damion’s face twists into a ball of fury.
“Now, now, Tammy. That wasn’t very nice.”
He crushes her fingers with his boots.
Tammy yelps.
“I was gonna save your long-limbed partner over there,” he points. “Not anymore!”
The audience is bloodthirsty. Paper airplanes and rotten eggs whizz past me. I duck just in time.
(Closeup of contestant)
Tammy’s tongue is leaking from her bloodied face. She’s missing her front teeth. Damion digs his spiky heel deep into her blood-soaked abdomen.
“I reckon you’ll need medical assistance.”
He snaps his fingers.
Suddenly, they're back in the studio.
Damion is as happy as a filthy pig. Next to him is Tammy, who’s caked in blood and gore. Her corpse-of-a-husband spills from the gigantic steel barrel, taking center stage.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The contestant’s children rush the stage. They’re delirious.
The crew hurry out and drag them aside, along with Tammy, who's rushed to the hospital, where she will certainly die.
“Now that’s what I call speedy service!”
My voice appalls me. So does this job. If only I’d listened to my mother, and got into politics.
Damion snaps his finger, then disappears under a plume of dusty smoke.
(Cut to camera one)
“Well, there you have it folks. That’s the last you’ll see of Tammy and Tex. But fret not, they had their moment of fame…in Hell!”
The audience is tossing trash onto the stage.
I narrowly dodge a projectile.
“Hope you’ve enjoyed Season Two as much as I did.”
I hated it.
“And, unless the Devil strikes me down,” and he very-well might, “I hope to see you this Fall, for Season Three of…”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
Season Two
Season One

On hear I'll go by Bambi for privacy reasons while I'm home. Recently left a long-term relationship and moved home to bigoted parents temporarily. I not only love men but I am also in the process of trying to figure out if I am just a submissive sissy or if I'm genuinely trans. A couple reasons why its unclear still; but I also only realized I much preferred men a few years ago(so low body count) after wanting to be the way my family wanted and stopped seeing girls all together. Unfortunately moving back home; I had to get rid of my make-up, chokers, BDSM stuff, fake eyelashes, my nail kit, my gym and party outfits, my fishnets, warmers, thigh-highs, boots and heels, crop-tops, bralettes, lingerie; etc. I'm looking for friends, groups to party with, gym partners for more booty gains, gaming friends; I'd love to find another dominant alpha male type man to devote myself to and be his dream "girl". I am relationship-oriented. I'm also a gaymer, hippie; and former raver. I have the house to myself tonight so I'm free to either go out if someone can pick me up or have people over for drinks or video/board/card games or to stream a movie on the firestick. Feel free to message me for pictures or anything else. Open to all types of friendships and dynamics while I'm figuring myself out. Peace<3

On hear I'll go by Bambi for privacy reasons while I'm home. Recently left a long-term relationship and moved home to bigoted parents temporarily. I not only love men but I am also in the process of trying to figure out if I am just a submissive sissy or if I'm genuinely trans. A couple reasons why its unclear still; but I also only realized I much preferred men a few years ago(so low body count) after wanting to be the way my family wanted and stopped seeing girls all together. Unfortunately moving back home; I had to get rid of my make-up, chokers, BDSM stuff, fake eyelashes, my nail kit, my gym and party outfits, my fishnets, warmers, thigh-highs, boots and heels, crop-tops, bralettes, lingerie; etc. I'm looking for friends, groups to party with, gym partners for more booty gains, gaming friends; I'd love to find another dominant alpha male type man to devote myself to and be his dream "girl". I am relationship-oriented. I'm also a gaymer, hippie; and former raver. I have the house to myself tonight so I'm free to either go out if someone can pick me up or have people over for drinks or video/board/card games or to stream a movie on the firestick. Feel free to message me for pictures or anything else. Open to all types of friendships and dynamics while I'm figuring myself out. Peace<3

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Chapter Summary:
Shot Heard Across the Galaxy A poor Shil'vati patrol goes looking for that Security Force that just got blasted in the last chapter
First Contact: We jump POV, where Elias gives them "pretty much the exact terms" of their invasion and occupation, turning it back on them.

Shot Heard Across the Galaxy

The summer had clung on by the tips of its fingernails despite the threatening change in season. The dry morning air heated quickly back to what Serenie had grown accustomed to, as if to deny the inevitable unwelcome encroachment of the biting cold night they'd just endured performing riot control in the center city.
Serenie learned some new insults over her comm as a pursuing Captain Goshen had watched the insurgent 'clear a building in a single bound like a retarded kangaroo with viagra in its tail.'" Serenie had never seen a kangaroo, but Earth's nature had fascinated her, and the loose familiarity caused her alone to laugh uproariously at the Captain’s breathless fury.
There were some other matters the Captain had muttered about, such as ‘lies turning truth’ that seemed to elude Serenie’s grasp. One thing that the Captain made certain Serenie did understand was the concept of punishment duty for her laughter. Double-shifts just seemed to be the order of the day, but being sent far afield with these people could hardly be called anything else. The scenery was occasionally something she’d have called nice, if it wasn’t for her present circumstance.
She was stuck with her new podmate, Zell, who it seemed just could not shut up.
"Look. All I'm saying is, they're hot. Hotter than the Security Forces 'squad' we're looking for. 'Squad.' Such a stupid-sounding word."
Serenie's expansive patrol pod had been shattered apart by casualties in the wake of Emperor's attack on Unification Square. The combat patrol had been dropped over twenty feet onto jagged concrete as the overpass they were sprinting across collapsed underneath them into rubble, courtesy of planted explosives. Serenie was one of the only ones to come out with relatively minor injuries and to make a full recovery. She'd even hobbled to the square on a broken leg, just in time to behold the horrific spectacle of the building’s collapse.
Now those cast off shards of incomplete pods had been shuffled and mixed up to serve with some temporarily deployed Shil'vati forces from out-of-state.
Two whole pods made up of the odd numbers from other units, sent to Delaware on punishment duty of their own came together to compose the new team of six out of the hodgepodge. Once Zell had used all her brain to do the math, she announced excitedly: ‘A grateful human boy for each of their rescuers.’
And so the two pods set off with initial enthusiasm, unburdened by much familiarity with one another. That had been three miles ago, and by now the excitement had given way to bitterness over how they were wasting time on a long walk across open, somewhat bleak bulldozed terrain that nature work crews had yet to reclaim, doing Search and Rescue for a bunch of deserters who didn't want to be found at all, instead of rounding up those 'mysterious hot insurgent guys.'
Serenie reflected that at least the razed structures and tall grasses offered a nice view of the vibrant colors the trees were starting to turn. A 'silver lining,' as the more optimistic locals liked to say. 'Well the square was utterly destroyed and you're led by an idiot from a green zone, but at least you're alive!'
The boys here were always upbeat. Then again, they were paid to take their clients' minds off their troubles. And she had to admit they worked better than the stupid Anarevoca. The deep rest in the arms of the man she'd visited while on mandatory medical and psychological leave had done more for her recovery and in then passing the evaluation than anything else she’d tried. She didn’t regret a moment or credit of the exchange, even if the bribes and fees to slip her out and get her the secret rendezvous did her accounts the same kind of damage as she herself had suffered.
She hoped Azraea hadn’t lowered the score just to get every soldier back on the front lines, and switched her line of thought. It did her no benefit to dwell on such things. ‘At least he let me sleep longer than I paid for’, she reflected, remembering the faintly sweet musk of where his shoulder met his neck, and how gently he’d run his fingernails along the back of her head, through her scalp until she fell asleep.
"The insurgents are not 'hot'," Serenie sputtered. "They're supposedly all too old, too set in their ways to adapt. You know, like, twice your age. You got a father-fucker fetish or something?" Serenie had already had more than an earful of this conversation, and repeating her rent-a-paramour’s comforting words buttressed her conviction. The honeyed sense of validation he’d whispered into her ears was better than dwelling on the possibility that the planet and all the men on it all just outright hated her.
"What, so you got your asses kicked by a bunch of daddies?" At Serenie's stare, her new podmate from New Jersey relented slightly. "Okay, fine. At least admit the idea of them is hot. So hot.” When Serenie didn’t bite, Zell kept going. “Come on- physically active, mysterious, and just need some love and affection before they realize we aren't so bad, and you win 'em over with -"
"-Yeah, alright, you find one, you try it, you tell me how it goes. If you survive and he’s somehow tolerating even someone like you, then I figure I can swipe him off you."
"Fuck no, we'll share, and you'll be grateful I'm so generous. Seriously, share the insurgency, I say. I can charm 'em so good we'll have peace within the day."
Serenie wondered how Zell had served this long and didn't realize human men tended to be fiercely monogamous. Maybe things were different where Zell served, though Serenie doubted it was.
"That's something I actually wanted to ask. I thought maybe you'd know." Serenie wasn’t sure why Zell might know anything, but it was at least in the area of Zell’s obvious obsessions. "How is 'fuck' an insult? Especially when the humans say words that mean 'fuck you,' but they use it as an insult. But even other forms of it mean ‘get fucked,’ or something."
"You sure it's an insult? Sounds like an invitation, if you ask me. Have you tried asking them ‘when’?"
Just one more addition to the ever-growing mountain of evidence that Zell was an idiot.
The new pod's equally new sergeant was little better, but at least when Sergeant Patmorica interrupted this time, it was focused on the mission. Her comm cut through the half-hearted banter as she made her periodic report at the required interval.
"Command, we've got eyes on a pretty good LZ on the crest of this hill, mark for exfiltration if necessary." Sergeant Patmorica pointed a gauntleted finger to the ridge on the far side of the field. Rote procedure; the last one she'd pointed to would be marked as a secondary. "Got a wide open view of that woods near where the patrol of Security Forces went missing- not seeing much out here in the field. Permission to move into the forest and check for them?"
Data Officer Borzun's voice floated back. "Granted. Relief forces will be en route if you find anything, ETA eleven minutes from Command."
The return signal sounded distant, quieter than normal. Something about that troubled her, but Serenie didn't want to draw the attention of a sergeant eager to prove she was capable of leading a couple pods, or feel she had to prove herself to the red zone veteran. Even more disturbing, Zell looked ready to start talking again.
"How are the other leads looking?" Serenie piped up quickly. At least the sergeant might offer something helpful, even if the information was secondhand.
"Not great. A lot of the people who are supposed to be patrolling looking for rebels are responding to the strikes and protests at the prisons, beating up protestors who weren't on any lists, trying to restore some semblance of order," Sergeant Patmorica responded with surprising candor.
"Be a real shame if no one's here. We could be out there helping," Zell picked up the line conversationally as they descended from the crest of the hill near the river, past an old sign that read 'Mister Pasta'. "Instead we're chasing down wayward Security Forces, who probably cut and ran."
"Best lead we've had so far," Patmorica responded.
"Have you heard anything about 'Camp Death'?"
"Just whispers. Nothing solid," Patmorica said, stepping over a half-buried old curb. The work here in leveling the town and returning it to nature had certainly been hurried and half-done. The ridge of the distant trees hadn't expanded outward much at all.
"Supposedly, it's somewhere in the North. We're in the North."
"What, you think Camp Death is actually in the middle of nowhere, somewhere out here? Come on, the town's leveled. There was a bomb that went off literally over there-" Serenie pointed across the rubble of the highway they were walking along. "-Some local shirtless kid pulled a Lieutenant out of the rubble."
"Doesn't seem to have been enough for them to consider saving the neighborhood. Not a chance it's out here; Work crews woulda spotted it."
"Guess the work crews finally got around to really taking the place apart before, you know, 'shit hit the fan.'
Human words were very evocative. Terrible situations lined with precious metals, feces being sprayed about by rapid physical impacts- the mental images they provided, disturbing though they often were, seemed silly enough to bring a smile that had been all too absent on the senior private's face ever since her time in Unification Square.
There used to be some roads here, but all that's been cut off. A bunch of trees, and no structures, no infrastructure, and a bunch of troops? That's just begging for an orbital strike."
"He might have the hostages there. Anywhere might."
The sergeant paused, contemplating something, then jumping into a private comm chat with Serenie, her voice coming through a bit more crisply. "Yeah, alright. Look, I read your file. You had your run-ins. You're still shaken, I understand that, but I need you to not jump at shadows, got that? You get to go on patrol with us, finding some lost boys who forgot how to read a map, and maybe lending your local expertise. But I have to weigh that against what you went through. The absolute last thing I need is you opening fire because one of the Security Forces guys sneezes, and it sets you off. Are we clear? Not everything's an insurgent. Not everything is done by insurgents."
"Ma'am," Serenie responded. "Understood. I'm cleared as ready for action." Idiot or not, Sergeant Patmorica was still her commanding officer for the time being, and she couldn't exactly relate her late night rendezvous in a red zone and say she was 'all better now.' Confessing such a violation was just begging to be written up.
"That's what I like to hear." Something about her answer or stature must have been conveyed while providing the words because they seemed to reassure Patmorica of her readiness. Serenie felt a ray of hope that she was really, well and truly had finally free from the aftereffects.
The rest of the walk along the treeline was blessedly quiet. Five minutes of peaceful walking. No idiots, no stupid orders, no more braggadocia. Even in full kit, Serenie enjoyed nature on earth in all its many mysterious and downright strange aspects. The morning chill felt crisp, and the crunch of dried parched dirt and grasses under her boots felt more alive than the steady beat of boots-on-plate aboard a starship's hull, no matter how large or ambient the white noise supplied.
It was as she reflected on the multitudinal ways the experience was different that she had a realization.
"There's something wrong."
"Is it that we got sent out without a vehicle? 'Cause I think we could have covered all this ground in a few seconds. Honestly, says everything that the Governess shipped us out here, but got tight-fisted with vehicles and equipment."
"No, everyone, be quiet!"
"You be quiet, Serenie!" The soldier in front of Zell snapped back.
"Shut up!" She hissed. Sergeant Patmorica spun on her heel. "Private Serenie. What are you-"
"Please, just- just- would you just listen!" A few seconds passed as everyone stared, either obeying or just shocked at the quiet girl's outburst.
"Listen...for what?" Zell finally broke the silence.
"Exactly. Do you hear anything? Birds? See any deer? Where are all the animals?"
"What's your point?"
"I think that we are not alone in this forest."
"Well, we were sent in to investigate where people disappeared to. Duh. It's a good thing if we aren't."
"But where are the animals?"
"I don't know. They migrate, right? Look." As if on cue, a tight formation of flying Canadian Geese passed overhead, honking. "There's your noisy animals right there."
Zell pointed and quipped. “Look sarge, insurgents!” The hand tracked the geese as they flew overhead.
Serenie felt trapped. How had some stranger from out-of-state been promoted to Sergeant and assigned to lead these pods, despite clearly never leading so much as a patrol in a yellow zone? Worse, Patmorica continued her teasing, likely to try and regain some face after her authority being openly challenged.
"Should we call it in? Tell Command: 'it's quiet' or ‘I saw some parrots’? With everything else going on in the state, do you think they'll laugh, or do you think they'll...?" The sergeant turned back to face the forest whose edge they were weaving in and out of, turning to start walking up the steep hill again, as if transfixed by something. "Hold on. I've got some thermal there and- hey, are you Ladies picking this up? I've got an IFF..."
Serenie dutifully reported her readings, grateful to at least get the topic changed. "I've got one friendly- two now. Security Forces standard."
Sergeant Patmorica pointed up the steep embankment she'd been about to start walking up. "I'm reading them as being straight ahead on my map. Confirm?"
This time someone else spoke up, and with all the fresh voices and full helmets, Serenie wasn't sure she could place them all. She was too busy staring at the collection of dead and dried branches lining the bottom of the hill.
What might leave such a large swath or create a clearing? A bear? She'd seen a video of one rubbing their backs against trees, one of the first to return to the state of Delaware, dubbed ‘DelaBear. These were certainly very large, unfamiliar trees. She’d never seen anything like them before, much as she’d never seen a Bear. To her mind, she might imagine such a large furry beast seeking out a suitably large tree, for some purpose or other. But she did not see any tufts of fur stuck in the grass or to the bark. And didn’t they only do that when shedding off their loose fur in Spring?
"It's two of the missing Security Forces," reported the sergeant somewhat spiritedly, leading the way toward the hill, the pod moving forward in her wake.
She crouched low again, taking a step back, eyes following where a serpentine footpath ascended the bluff. It was hard for her to make out if there were any footprints or animal tracks in the parched dirt, until at last she saw one near her own footprint. Conclusive evidence eluded her, but she thought she could make out a boot print, and searched her memory. Was it the pattern of the Security Forces uniforms? Was she just searching for signs and evidence, the conclusion already obvious in her mind?
Then she turned in place, and saw the many trampled grasses behind them, only noticeable once the patrol had reached where they had all converged. There were far, far too many to be the Security Forces.
"Zell. Zell! Hold here," Serenie whispered, putting her hand out to block her new podmate's progress.
"What?"
"Trust me."
"Privates! Fall in!"
Patmorica's tone was harsh. Serenie motioned like she was going to comply, freezing in place again the moment the sergeant's back was turned to her again. Something about this place seemed wrong. Where were the others of their 'squad'? And why hadn't they reached out to them on the comms yet?
Zell shook her hand free of Serenie's.
"Zell. Zell!"
Zell ignored her.
"Zell, will you stop thinking of fucking your father and turning your family tree into a circle for one depths-damned minute and listen to me!? Something. Is. Wrong."
"What?" Zell hissed, annoyedly. "I'm not getting in trouble just because you have 'a feeling'."
"There's some sort of structure up top. I'm getting metal readings. Way more than just their plate armor. Sensors are reading weird depressions on the way up, too. I'll relay it to your suits' telemetry. Are you receiving this?"
"How do I do that?" Zell asked, tapping her helmet. "Ah to the depths with it. Could it be caves?" Serenie's dimwitted podmate asked, clearly dreading that the answer potentially might be: 'Yes, now we have to go explore them.'
"Didn't you read your briefing? Delaware doesn't have caves." Serenie had read that first upon deployment, and then wondered where all the bats came from.
"Then what is-"
At that point, her comms dropped off completely, replaced with a sharp whine in her ear.
Communications lost. Signal lost.
"Ma'am, Sergeant? Zell? I've got a suit malfunction- I can't hear you." Serenie called out, pressing the button to retract the mouthpiece of her helmet. Her suit's connection to the satellites seemed to have cut out. Most of her HUD blanked out as she stepped forward to be heard, the device no longer receiving data to sync with the other suits and Command. The Friendly IFF signals had winked out as well.
Everyone seemed to be looking amongst each other, slowly coming closer together to be heard, faceplates retracting so they could speak, or touching helmets so the suit would pick up the vibrations.
So it wasn't just her, then, but her podmates, too. All of them were eyeing the hill, now, Serenie's sinking suspicion catching on. Then, everyone was calling out activity at once, some of them pointing in different directions, clumsily sighting down their rifles without the HUD to guide their targeting reticle.
"Everyone fall back. Rifles up- rifles up! Those are not friendlies!"
Movement from the crest of the ridge, figures pointing down at them, including the long barrels of unusual weaponry, the likes of which Serenie had seen glimpses of before, and again in her nightmares. Voices called out over one another, without a comms system to filter or grant priority.
"Motion! I've got motion!"
"It's an ambush!"
"Identify and surrender now! Lay down your weapons!" The sergeant yelled. There was no answer, but neither side opened fire. "Identify yourselves immediately!" Bellowed the sergeant, again, switching her command suit to loudly project her voice in the local tongue. "Surrender immediately!" Serenie was pulling Zell back. They were vastly outnumbered.
Those low, unmistakable, clipped and precise tones of the Emperor of Mankind that her translator didn't need to pick up had her heart thrumming in her ears too loud to even make out the words, no matter how clearly enunciated they were. She knew what they meant well enough, and her steps backward started carrying her out of the woods on instinct.
For what it was worth, her sergeant didn't balk, and renewed her demands.
"Surrender immediately! Lay down your arms!"
The response was as sudden as it was brutal. Where once Sergeant Patmorica had stood, now there was empty air. Something powerful cleaved her in half, a sharp roar of noise following as the hypersonic round split the air in a deafening thunderclap.
She hadn't quite been vaporized, rather jerked clean off her feet by a sudden and terrible impact, boots leaving the ground and her body separated at the middle, halves toppling to the ground and held together by the just as suddenly exposed entrails. The shock of the impact had surely killed her instantly.
Serenie turned on her heel and ran for her life.

First Blood

"Sur-ren-dar!" The call sounded out from the valley below. One of those few words the Shil'vati knew and uttered almost every time we met, often before we'd even begun fighting.
I grabbed the megaphone, irritated that I'd been kept waiting so long for them to show up. "We don't have enough facilities to take you all prisoner. Please elect your bravest, most stalwart defenders of your way of life, and have them step forward into the line of fire for us to dispose of. The remainder of you will be afforded the same kindness as you have given our civilians. As you're unfamiliar with democracy and the concept of 'voting,' we'll give you a moment to conform to our system of governance and culture, whether you like it or not. You get an unreasonably short amount of time to comply."
I tossed the Megaphone back down to Larry, who stared up at me with wide eyes. The sound of wind through the trees was all endured for now, a shocked silence settling in.
"What?" I asked, hefting the railgun up to my shoulder with a shrug and aiming down the sights at the one who continued to bellow threats. It seemed we had a volunteer. "Turnabout is fair play."
I raised an open hand to all those who had watched, and the stunned silence turned to eager discipline, men sighting irons and readying themselves to unleash hell as I lowered my hand slowly, indicating I was to take the first shot.
"The Emperor has given his orders!" He bellowed into the megaphone. "Hold the line! Hold for the signal!"
I squeezed off the first round, letting the railgun round kick- and this time I was braced for it. The shot took the woman right in the midsection, and tore her apart. Screaming and shouting from below- but no signs of an immediate mass surrender.
"FIRE!"
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“Are you sure about this?” Comms called through the short-wave, Willin’s headset crackling only slightly louder than the pouring rain. It was distorted and covered the timbre of his voice, but it worked.
He checked the batteries on his guns, both pistol and rifle topped off. The pistol was secured into the holster on his hip, the rifle slung across his chest over the heat-plate designed to dissipate any plasma that might hit it. His armour wouldn’t do the best against kinetic armaments—it was never designed to go against a railgun—but military personnel were rarely given those anyway. Too inefficient.
“As sure as I can be,” he replied, checking his harness. Two spare batteries, four ration packs, water, the transmitter that fed into his headset, some assorted tools for unlikely scenarios, and a knife tucked into his boot. The footwear was typically used for traversing hostile environments or boarding operations—the material thick and cumbersome—but it worked just fine for him. He had gotten used to wearing it.
He opted not to bother with the helmet. It would limit his senses in a place like this, the EW field making even the most basic function disorienting. Tech adjusted the physical scope on her rifle, though her favourite weapons were the two Compact Anti-personnel and Rapid Discharge systems she had attached to her hips—the CARDs being designed to switch between rapid-shot clusters to suppress a wide area, and a single-fire mode better suited to more precise requirements. The larger weapon was mostly for show—there was hardly a reason to carry an Anti-Material Rifle to begin with—but it didn’t hurt to counter possible armour.
The purple-furred female’s true weaponry rested both on and under her armour, her augments and the equipment linked to them making her a mobile Electronic Warfare platform. Though much of her abilities would be limited in scope here, she was still more than capable of supporting him. He would be relying on her to dissuade any action against them, as well as using her modifications to keep them in the loop.
She looked like an oddly-coloured female, but she was closer to a walking EMP and scanner rolled into one.
“Short-wave is stable, if a bit distorted,” Willin continued, flicking some of the water off his fur. “Tech will try to keep the signal clean, but no promises. Comms, Nav, you two are keeping the craft warm and ready.”
“Understood, Leader,” Nav replied, their androgynous voice warbling slightly. “Estimated time-frame?”
“Long enough for you two to figure out the ration-packets.”
Comms laughed over the headset. “Nav would rather lick the floors.”
“Just don’t get too distracted with each other while we’re gone,” Willin teased through his smirk, Tech rolling her eyes at him.
“The same could be said for you, Leader. Don’t get too caught up making ‘friends’ with the locals.”
“Or Tech,” Nav added dryly. Their tone hovering between annoyance at the jibes regarding Comms and Nav’s occasional fling, and amusement at the suggestion Tech was interested in pursuits of the flesh with the crew at all. She might be, but she had a habit of dropping the thermostat of whichever room belonged to whoever made the comment, so it was safer to just assume she was off-limits.
“Cold room,” Tech responded casually as she adjusted her audio interface, Nav sighing loud enough for it to be picked up. Comms laughed in a way that suggested he was thankful for Tech’s assistance in ensuring Nav would be seeking a warm bed for the moon. Willin shook his head, hoping that they didn’t need to extract in any particular hurry.
It was easier to get in the air when your two remaining crew weren’t otherwise occupied.
“Batteries green. Supplies green. Short-wave sufficient,” he reported, receiving confirmations from Tech. “Operation is to establish communication with local Grand Hunter and receive compliance, information on other packs, and facilitate reintroduction to structure.”
“Alternative is to report pack as non-compliant and pursue other Grand Hunters,” Tech added, repeating what they went over earlier. “My augments are heavily limited, but we should be able to deal with it.”
“Are you sure that you two can manage hostilities?” Comms asked, his voice faltering slightly. Though they had been assigned to the scout craft at random, they had grown rather close as a unit over their time. If it wasn’t for the professional obligations prohibiting it, they might have all decided to move into a den together—they were that intimately familiar with each other. As it was, they would likely be reassigned to serve elsewhere after their current mission was complete.
Such was the life of those like them.
“Tech has more equipment under her fur than our ship has installed—weakened or not,” Willin assured the male. He shot a pointed look at the female. “She’s also under direct order to return in the event things become too dangerous. Alone, if required.”
Tech scowled, but nodded anyway. Comms grunted their understanding. “Leader?”
“Yeah?”
A moment of pause. “Nothing. Come back, okay?”
“Will do my best, Comms. Nav, keep an eye on him.”
“It will be done, Leader. Stay safe.”
He placed a paw to his headset, hovering over the button to cut the transmission. “You too.”
“Ready to go?” Tech asked, slinging her AMR over her back and re-securing her CARDs. Willin double checked his auxiliary equipment, hoping that he didn’t need to use any of it. Nodding, he gestured for her to follow, the two leaving behind the craft to slip into the woods.
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“Something up?” he asked, raising a brow at Tech. The female was fidgety, restless and scanning their surroundings more than required. She might have heard something, but the thunderous hiss of rain drowned out most everything—it was part of the reason they waited for it.
She wore a reluctant expression, her eyes flickering to the silver and gold trees for a moment. “Prox’ is going wild.”
“Proximity sensor effected?” he queried, feeling the weight of his weapons tug on his body. Tech nodded.
“It’s weak. I think the ‘spike is messing with it—along with everything else—but it’s reporting…a lot.”
“Moving?”
She shook her head, a paw twitching over a CARD. “Not until we go past them.”
He joined her in looking around, shaking off water uselessly. “Wildlife?”
“This stealthy?”
Willin shrugged. “The message mentioned that it was different.”
“Details would have been nice,” she grumbled in return, waving her paw to get him moving again, though she kept one on her weapon.
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“Visual,” he reported, lowering the rifle from his shoulder. “Anything?”
Tech shook her head, still on a swivel. “Prox’ is still lit up, but at this point it might be less distracting to shut it off.”
“Keep it. Rather have it telling us things are around all the time than miss something big because we got annoyed.”
She sighed, tapping her audio interface twice to change the song she had playing. “What do you see?”
“Low fences, but dense buildings. Lots of traffic despite the weather. Looks like they’re used to it. Think they know we’re here?”
“Doubt it. Gear?”
He shouldered his weapon to look through the scope. “No guns, but lots of melee. Armour seems to be a mix of leather and metal. Can’t say what kind.”
Tech pulled her AMR to look, Willin shifting to keeping lookout. “No guns…” She shot him a look. “I’m not sure if that’s reassuring, or worrying.”
He shrugged. “The less I need to get shot at with, the better.”
“The goal is to not give them reason to.”
“Well, I can’t be perfect all the time.”
Tech laughed, the banter easing her nerves. “You’d have to start, Leader.”
With a roll of his eyes, he patted her shoulder with the back of his paw. “Let’s get moving. Diplomacy doesn’t do itself.”
The purple-furred female sighed, likely biting back another quip as she nodded.
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It went better than expected. So far, anyway.
They had approached the settlement proper, received what could be described as a ‘lukewarm’ welcome, then were told to follow several Lilhuns donning black leather and far too many daggers. Their escorts kept a close eye on the guns that they brought, but no one had made any comments about them yet. It was encouraging, but also worrying.
“Still nothing?” he muttered, quiet enough to not be heard by the others, but loud enough for Tech. She seemed hesitant, glancing over to one of the taller structures as they passed through, but gave a subtle shrug.
“Static is messing with my augments,” she grumbled. “Could be none, could be a few snipers. I can’t tell.”
He exhaled heavily. It was a bit of a blessing that her modifications were working at all, but it was easy enough to see that she felt bare without all the little tweaks she had gotten used to.
Willin never actually got the chance to learn all the tricks she was capable of—it was against policy to ask and she never saw fit to talk about it—but of the ones he did know; her proximity sensor, jammer, and ship integration were her favourites.
It was hard to board her ship if she knew where you were, locked up your gun, then spaced the room you were in, all without closing her game. He was pretty sure she was disappointed that she had only gotten to do that once.
“New ones, the Grand Hunter will see you soon,” an escort informed them as they drew near the Atmospheric Entry Craft that acted as a den for the one they were here to meet. They didn’t know the name yet, nor were they given the chance to do more than say why they were there. He had gotten as far as saying he was from the United Military before the people welcoming them scurried off to get someone else.
He busied himself by inspecting the buildings leading up to the AEC, some being a respectable three floors. Newer constructions seemed to differ in method, the beams a charred ashen colour rather than the same odd silver wood. Why they had elected to burn the materials, he didn’t know, but it seemed to be what they decided to do.
A surprising amount of the population carried a curved stick over their shoulder, the ends tied together by a string. Some attached lengths of a similar material to their leathers, one end made with a small loop as it dangled. The catch they carried to what looked to be a hunter’s lodge suggested it was used during their hunting, but he couldn’t fathom how.
Dragging his attention from the crowd, he eyed the large shuttle.
The massive main doors looked to have been damaged, though a structure had been attached since, leaving the stuck-open entrance to seem less like the result of a hard landing. The gentle hum of the internal power generation was absent, the required energy for what was still working being drawn from large solar panels that had been installed into skylights in the ceiling. The cloud-laden weather dimmed the light that illuminated the inside, but it was serviceable enough. Whatever power was produced, it was being funnelled somewhere that wasn’t servicing the majority of the craft.
Wide halls were populated by Lilhuns and spotted with doorways, the majority propped open since they were programmed to shut in the event of a power outage, lest explosive decompression eject whomever was occupying the room—along with anyone nearby in the hallway, should they be so unlucky.
It was customized, that much was obvious. Several rooms that would have been sparsely populated with anything other than beds were instead modified into training rooms and gyms. Densely packed barracks contrasted against large storage areas filled with various goods, pelts and metal weapons lining various shelves. Newer accommodations had been installed for more of those curved staffs, smaller pointed sticks stacked in piles nearby.
They progressed deeper and deeper into the confines of the shuttle, the common sight of the local pack trickling away, none seeming to have business this far in. Gruffer and more observant Lilhuns became the only people they saw while the hallways narrowed into tighter quarters, what might have fit cargo vehicles now only allowing a few shoulder widths, doorways becoming less common. The wary eyes and darkened clothing paired with the occasional dyed fur of those they passed—black seeming to be the dominant colour.
“In here,” an escort grunted, jabbing their jaw towards an isolated door. A paw was held out as they tried to step forward. “Weapons.”
Tech’s paw twitched towards one of her CARDs, the act of Willin relinquishing his pistol and rifle stopping her from snapping it into rapid-fire and burning the air with plasma. She glared at him for a few seconds before doing the same, the escort smirking.
“You will have them returned. The Grand Hunter is not so desolate as to pilfer the possessions of those who come merely to speak.”
He wasn’t worried about it. The guns were coded to them and Tech could fry them if it came down to it. Well, he wasn’t sure if she could do it with the warp-spike messing with things, but the lock should be enough. The knife in his boot went unnoticed, so it wasn’t like he was completely unarmed anyway.
Tech followed suit, subtly glaring at him the whole time. He shrugged, there wasn’t much they could do about it. They were the ones seeking an audience with the most influential person here.
Satisfied, the escort pulled the door open, the quiet whirring of the unpowered servos accenting the air. They revealed a larger office adorned with little but the most base necessity, a wood and steel desk covered in papers, a chair seeming to be the only extravagant item within—though it was purely for the ergonomics, rather than any aesthetic reason—and the male sat upon it was leafing through a collection of documents while twirling an orange needle-like object in his paw.
The distinct lack of any guards to protect the Grand Hunter was surprising, but that took a back seat to the owner of the room.
Dark grey fur, a clouded eye that retained its sharpness, scars peeking beyond the confines of his leather clothing—the thick hides sporting metal scales sewn onto them. An ear flicked in their direction, the membrane cut at several points. He placed down his papers, leaning forward in his chair as he clasped his paws on the desk, a friendly smile donned that failed to convey anything but malice.
“Greetings, new ones,” the male offered in a cheery tone, the low rumble and gravelled texture of his voice carrying both humour and curiosity. He focused on Tech for a moment, his eyes narrowing over the affable expression before he regarded both of them equally. He gestured to the seating opposite of his desk some small distance away. Close enough to meet, yet far enough that it was made abundantly clear who was in charge.
Willin bowed his head politely, walking the distance and sitting where he was provided. Tech followed suit after a brief hesitation, her unfocused eyes snapping to him with frustration. His raised brow was met with a longer blink—her augments were reporting something that made no sense again.
“Now then,” the dark grey-furred male said, moving some of the documents on his desk to a stack. “What might bring you to me?”
“Forgive me, Grand Hunter…” Willin opened, prodding for a name.
The male simply maintained his attentive posture instead of providing. Willin adjusted his sleeve and decided it was more important to continue than dig for information that he could get by asking anyone who lived in the settlement.
“As for why we’re here; we represent the United Military, responding to a distress call. We have forwarded the request and were tasked with ascertaining the state of affairs before the fleets arrive to assist.”
The Grand Hunter nodded. “Yes, that much I could have surmised from your clothing alone.”
Tech raised a brow as the dark green-furred soldier forced a smile. “Of course. More specifically, we would like to speak with you about what you know of the others of your station, as well as discuss the reintegration of your pack.”
The smile of the grey-furred male widened. “You wish to make a deal?”
Tech’s gaze flickered to several points in the room, her brow furrowing as she jettisoned a huff in frustration. Willin took a moment to consider his plan of action, nodding when he didn’t see the harm.
“I believe we can come to an arrangement. Within reason, of course.”
The Grand Hunter chuckled as the needle he was playing with disappeared at a flick of his wrist. “Of course, of course. Deal, agreements, arrangements, contracts.” The emphasis on the final item tickled something in the back of Willin’s mind. “Itemize it. What do you seek of me? It is rather disorganized to ask without quantifying, no? So…messy.”
“We want information on the other packs. Who leads them, number of members, where their settlements are,” Tech stated tersely, ignoring the disapproving glance Willin gave. “We also need to work on integrating those packs back into the UM—preferably with yourself setting precedent.”
The male’s face grew thoughtful. “As well as forgiveness, though that will cost quite the amount.”
Willin frowned. “Forgiveness? For not knowing your name?”
The Grand Hunter returned a blank stare, a dangerous grin spreading slowly. “Tell me, new ones, do you know of Avalon?”
Tech’s face hardened, her answer slow and cautious. “We do, though only through description.”
The male’s voice fell low. Quiet, yet powerful. His elbows on the table suddenly felt like a far greater threat than any armament. “Do you know the debt your superiors have incurred?”
“I don’t believe we have even had the chance to introduce ourselves,” Willin interjected, noticing Tech’s discomfort, her eyes darting around the room nervously.
“You need not,” the Grand Hunter remarked smugly. “You are forbidden from giving your names, no? Locked behind titles of station, merged and scattered at the whims of your masters. Soldiers who do not exist, yet sit within my office.”
Tech pawed for a CARD, forgetting that she had been disarmed at the door. Willin felt the weight of his knife pull on his boot. The male chuckled as he leaned back in his chair.
“But, given that you did not flee, I will give the benefit of the doubt regarding the debt. Though, it will make offering you more than your lives difficult.”
“What debt?” Willin pressed, receiving a flippant wave of the male’s paw.
“It matters not. I have more pressing matters than hearing why I should join the ranks of that which I supersede.”
“Matters such as?”
The Grand Hunter raised a brow. “You are being given the opportunity to leave whole, new one. I advise you to accept.”
Willin shook his head, ignoring Tech’s pointed look. “We need information. From the message we received, not everyone is as well off as you, and we intend to amend that. What can we trade for it?”
The male clasped his paws over his stomach, passively humouring them. “What do you offer? You may seek the details of the others, but I am not inclined to merely supply it.”
“Supplies, priority cooperation when the UM arrives.”
A chortle sounded out. “We are self sufficient. Such matters little.”
“Is there anything you would want?”
The Grand Hunter smirked, placing a paw on the table as the other produced another needle—this one a more yellow hue, the specifics of its shape blurring as it spun between his claws. “Your superiors asked me a favour. Data. How far could they push the Lilhun body before ligaments broke, the mind following shortly after? How twisted can we shape the psyche of kits?”
The temperature of the room seemed to chill, a twitch of the male’s lips pulling his muzzle into a slight snarl.
“They sought my kit to participate, after a time. Unfortunately, her will aligned—despite my reservations. In return, she would be wiped from the records. Ephemeral, never having existed to begin with. Never suffering the whims of those who became drunk on sending my Blades to their end, never finding their other.” The gravel to his voice turned to broken glass. “Yet your betters violated the agreement. Broke the contract. They pulled her into your service, hid the fact from me, and had the gall to fabricate a story to coincide. Were it not for a particular series of favours I was owed, I would have been still planet-side in our system instead of here.”
The dark grey-furred male smirked, his demeanour relaxing. “It seems she has found what she sought. Without need for my meddling, at that. A shame, really. I had several competent males selected—those who could wield what she had become. Those who might give her what her blood-mother failed to gain.” He paused for a moment, a fraction of longing piercing through the scarred exterior. “Regardless, all I would have wanted has been gained. She is content, and I am crafting that which shall accept her when she is ready. Your military will only muddy that which I have achieved, were they to dig their claws into my work.”
“Their actions are separate from ours,” Willin countered, thankful that the impending conflict had seemingly resolved itself.
“Grand Hunter,” Tech addressed the male, an eye flicking to the ceiling for a fraction. “We were able to see that there are a fair number of settlements, but we need the information to do our job.”
“And your task would interfere with my own,” the grey-furred male reiterated, a polite—if bored—expression returned.
“What if we could ensure that it didn’t?”
The disinterest in the male’s eyes slipped into curiosity. “You seek to trade sovereignty for information? You hold such power?”
“We do,” Willin confirmed, surprised that Tech would offer. “Though you would be disregarding the support of the United Military, we could arrange an agreement of territory on this planet. It’s not as if we could populate the entirety of it within several of our lifetimes anyway.”
The Grand Hunter stared, each moment more uncomfortable than the last. Eventually, he smirked. “Information and the disregarding of the sins your betters inflicted upon me, for sovereignty…and a singular favour.”
“Favour?”
“Indeed,” he replied confidently, reaching into his desk to produce writing implements and paper. “You see, my kit has pledged herself to someone of curiosity. I thought him worthless. Weak. Yet he has performed a duty befitting her Sheath, and I suppose I should reward it.”
Scribbling ceased, impeccable penmanship crafting a contract that was slid forward on the tabletop. He continued after gesturing for Willin to approach.
“Seek him last, give him what information you have gathered, then heed his request,” the male said through his smirk. “I do so look forward to seeing what becomes of it.”
The dark green-furred male perused the document, stipulations and all finely articulated, as if the Grand Hunter lived and breathed transaction. A few points needed to be addressed, mostly possible abuse cases within the fine print, but it was surprisingly fair. There was some worry about the otherwise excessive cost of breaking the contract, but Willin figured that it would be reasonable enough considering the circumstances.
Signing, he gestured Tech to do the same as a witness, the two of them representing the UM for all intents and purposes. It was hardly the first time they had made agreements like this, though trading such a large area on a planet they held no prior influence on was a first.
The Grand Hunter confirmed the terms and conditions with them one last time, smiling when they both nodded.
“Good! Now, for what you seek.” The male rummaged through a few drawers, producing a series of papers that were lined over the desk towards them. “The non-aggression treaty, as well as what my Blades have observed from their scouting.”
Willin read over each, the documents sorted by Grand Hunter, then by who they had under them. His brow raised at a few reports, but questions could wait. The male seemed happy to let them read, so he wanted to take advantage of it. Tech scanned over everything when Willin was done, her augments allowing her to commit the information to a digital memory for future reference back on the ship.
“There are quite a few names marked with this,” Tech noted aloud, pointing to a symbol next to several of the Grand Hunters and their extended packs. The grey-furred male nodded.
“Those have been eliminated or subsumed.”
Willin frowned, parsing the documents again. Mi’low, Toril, and a few others were designated as such. Looking through, only about four seemed to be free of the distinction. He looked questioningly to the male, a grin returned with a separate stack of paper, titled with a single name.
Hasen.
The notation was rather dense, though not in information that Willin was expecting. Instead of settlements or High and Low Hunters, it was laden with mentions of those belonging to the previously marked Grand Hunters. His eyes widened as he connected the dots.
“Hasen is trying to be a Master Hunter.”
“Correct,” the male confirmed cheerily. “He is integrating other packs into his command and eliminating those who refuse. It has become quite an issue as of late.”
Though Grand Hunters could be assigned the moniker by owning territory and a willing pack—assuming they have the force required to defend it—a Master Hunter must own magnitudes more. It was typically achieved by integrating Grand Hunter packs and their subservients through mutual benefit, but taking it by force was a lesser used method.
Given that he had already either taken or purged several, it wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination to assume he would press it to include here.
Willin heard Tech curse under her breath, their promise of sovereignty obligating them to interfere. To allow a member of the military—stranded or not—free action against the grey-furred male’s territory would be the same as endorsing it, now that they were aware. It would be hostility by the UM in all but name, and the consequences that had seemed somewhat extreme before now hung over their heads like an executioner’s axe.
A dark, deep chuckle broke the two of them out of thought. “Contracts, new ones,” the Grand Hunter started, a cold Void pooling in his eyes, “are not to be thought trivial. Do not break them.”
“It was a trap,” Tech snarled, jabbing a claw at the report in her paw. “You set us up.”
“Did I?” the male asked innocently. “You offered self-governance, non-interference, and non-aggression.”
“You withheld information!”
The Grand Hunter smiled, a shiver sent down Willin’s spine. “You agreed without doing proper research.”
Willin held a paw out to stop Tech from storming the male. “The contract is signed, Tech.”
“It’s invalid!” she snarled at him, receiving a cold look in return.
“Do you want to be the one to tell command that we allowed damn near genocide of a crew we were here to assist, just because we were too stubborn to adhere to an agreement?” he countered calmly. “This ‘Hasen’ is wiping almost a year's worth of survival, botanical, and every other specialized knowledge gained, just because he wants to control a section of a planet. This doesn’t change anything, it just means we know what we’re going into.”
“I like him,” the Grand Hunter opined with a grin. “He sees the value that my proposition offers.”
“What’s stopping us from just tearing up the contract right now and leaving you to your fate?” Tech barked.
“Your companions in your craft—quite the ship, might I add—would be a notable starting point.”
The two of them paused, eyes widened. The dark grey-furred male laughed again.
“Your proximity sensor has been reporting since you landed, no?” he asked, pointing to the equipment on Tech’s harness. “It must have been rather vexing, yes? Is it the warp-spike? Is it some army of the unknown? The uncertainty of never confirming what it tells you. The whispers of doubt that follow.”
“I’m surprised you recognized what it was,” Willin replied with a level tone. He didn’t like where this was going. The male offered a smile.
“Wildlife here is especially elusive. Skittish. Ceasing all motion while predators are near and silencing themselves.” Tech and Willin exchanged a glance as the male waved a paw dismissively. “It makes for rather intensive training for my Blades. To hunt without disturbing them. My kit was a natural in such regard, but others have slowly approached such a threshold.”
He folded his paws on the desk. “Your ship is currently being observed by them now, weaponry trained on the defences you thought so adequate. Surely you noticed the lack of guns, yes?”
“The distress message mentioned the lack of them was due to how urgent evacuation was,” Willin added cautiously.
“Yes, quite. I made sure to lock the armouries after taking enough to establish my power,” the male confirmed with a half-shrug. “Among those were rifles not dissimilar to the rifle that the purple one there brought with her.” He leaned back in his chair. “Sufficient to pierce the hull and whoever occupies the space behind it, no?”
Tech’s eyes unfocused, snapping to Willin with a fear behind them. The Grand Hunter spun his quill, unconcerned by the events.
“Your short-wave has been temporarily disabled. You can not warn them.”
“Threatening us to compliance?” Willin asked without emotion to his tone. He needed to keep things from escalating.
“Ensuring you understand the consequences of your actions,” the male replied plainly. “When one barters with Avalon, know that breaching such is grounds for death. Of you, and whoever I need to send with you.”
“They didn’t sign this,” Tech argued, kept in line by Willin’s demeanour.
“But you did,” the Grand Hunter returned coldly. “Honour your signature, or regret such in the Void.”
Tech took an enraged step forward, stopped when her throat pressed against a dagger that was slipped in from behind. Willin felt the pressure of a knife to his own.
“Patience, new ones.”
“You took advantage of the interference to sneak assassins into the room?” Willin noted.
“No, my Blades were always here,” the male refuted lazily, nodding at Tech. “She noticed, but was unable to trust what her equipment told her.” He chortled for a moment. “Quite the annoyance, proximity sensors. I feel rather blessed to have the warp-spike rendering them little more than meaningless noise.”
“So this is it? You kill us now, our friends when they refuse to cooperate, then steal what we brought?”
The pressure on his neck faded with a wave of the male’s paw, the assassins being nowhere to be seen.
“Of course not!” the Grand Hunter exclaimed, his voice returning to its affable cadence. “You now know how futile it is to go against me. Fear not, I see no merit in hindering you. As long as you honour your portion of the contract, I will honour mine. It is a certainty that Avalon was founded on.”
Tech rubbed her neck, glancing questioningly at Willin. He gave the male a wary glance, but closed his eyes to concede. They were just going to get everyone killed if they tried to back out of something they had already agreed to.
“Then we have come to an understanding,” the dark grey-furred male announced happily. “As a show of faith, do you have any questions where I might provide clarity?”
The two soldiers glanced at each other, Tech begrudgingly giving Willin the floor. He gestured to the smallest stack of papers. “Who is this? There’s next to nothing about him. Are you withholding information against your contract?”
The Grand Hunter smirked. “That, new ones, is all I could gather from my Blades.”
“You have Lilhuns disappearing in the room a moment after holding a knife to our throats, and they couldn’t scout a settlement?”
“Isn’t it interesting?”
“Enthralling,” Tech commented dryly. The male tapped a claw against his head.
“Think, new ones. What might render my Blades little more than a mild inconvenience?”
Willin’s eyes narrowed. “Other Blades? Better Blades?”
The dark grey-furred male held an expectant smile. “None have been seen, save for my kit.”
“Your kit’s mate is the Grand Hunter? I don’t see one Blade deterring this many,” he admitted, flicking through the pages. Overt, covert, and disguised. None got very far.
“Thus why I believe the male is owed a favour,” the Grand Hunter explained. “I gave them four Blades as a gift. They have become more.” A predatory look of elation cracked through the veneer. “There exists no better Sheath than a Blademaster. Let alone one who surpasses my methods. If she is to succeed me, I would rather no other to accompany her.”
“Says here that he’s an alien,” Willin noted aloud, trying not to voice his surprise. “I’m skeptical.”
“Oh, please do be. It will make hearing about what he asks of you that much more amusing.”
“Any ideas what he might look for from us?” Tech spat, still irritated.
“Oh, I might have an idea,” the male answered cryptically, sliding a small tablet of silver wood across the desk. Willin picked it up to inspect it, two foreign scripts scratched into the surface. With a questioning glance, the Grand Hunter nodded, Willin stashing the tablet into a pouch. “He seeks that which others might not, for reasons as foreign as he himself is. I have little doubt that something related to that trinket will be his wish.”
“Then why visit him last?” the purple-furred female pressed.
“Because it will influence his decision.”
“Which is enough reason for us,” Willin declared with a warning scowl at Tech. She held his gaze before looking away in annoyance.
“Then our meeting is finished,” the male announced, gesturing to the door. It opened, the whirring of servos giving way to the distant ambient chatter of the hallway. Two of the black leather-clad escorts entered the room and awaited them.
“Is there anything we should know that may have not made it to the report about him?” Willin asked before leaving, turning naught but an ear for the response.
The Grand Hunter hummed for a moment. “Do mind your manners surrounding his kit,” he offered. “Or do not, it matters little to me if you survive past honouring the agreement.”
Tech stopped at the doorway, glaring at the male as Willin exited. “We never did get your name.”
His brows raised in interest. “You saw my signature.”
“I would rather hear it from you,” she insisted coolly.
A toothy smile spread over the male’s muzzle. “Grand Hunter Trill; Blademaster of Avalon, Sire of Phantom, and—if I remember correctly—the Weighted Scale, Aspect of Balance.”
“’May he who barter with the Void fear its ire,’” she recited, conviction in her words.
“’Yet he who uphold bathes in its blessing,’ yes,” Grand Hunter Trill replied with a knowing look. “Consider it, new one. To be crushed under the obligations you fail to upkeep, or revel in that which you covet. Do be warned; though I let you and your party leave—” his eye gained a sharp edge. “You are never beyond my influence.”
“May the sun treat you well, Grand Hunter,” she replied tersely, spinning on her pad to leave. Willin glanced back as he waited for her to pass him, seeing nothing but the door closing behind her.
Their weapons were returned, each in the same state as they were confiscated, save for a familiar knife. He scowled as he shifted his footing to reveal that the comforting weight had been removed from his boot. He begrudgingly accepted the blade, tucking it back into the sheath as the Lilhun smirked at him, his mirth at the dark green-furred male’s displeasure evident.
They were escorted out of the shuttle, a pause afforded long enough for Willin to flick up his hood before they continued to the outermost edge of the settlement. As soon as they were outside of the fence, their escorts turned and quickly faded into the buildings.
A crackle came over the headset.
“Leader! Tech! We thought something may have happened,” Comms shouted into the earpiece, genuine worry coating his words.
“Were you unsuccessful?” Nav added, the sound of a small distance between speaker and microphone suggesting they were sharing.
Willin adjusted the strap of his rifle and started walking, Tech following after a lingering glance at the settlement. “We got what we came for, but it might have cost us.”
“It was simply a meeting, no?” Comms asked to clarify.
“If you can call being strung along by an Aspect ‘simple,’ then yes,” Tech growled.
“Aspect?”
“Balance,” Willin provided through a sigh. “Weighted Scale.”
“Receive your heart’s desire at a heavy sacrifice,” Nav commented after a moment, likely referencing something. “What did you give them?”
“Sovereignty and a favour to be paid out to another Grand Hunter.”
“That does not seem too unreasonable,” Comms voiced curiously.
“We’ll talk about it when we get back. I have a feeling that the hole was dug too deep to see the bottom quite yet.”
“There’s a battle brewing,” Tech notified the crew, adjusting her audio interface. For once, it was completely silent. “We got dragged into it.”
The short-wave fell silent.
“What do we do?” Comms questioned quietly, the crackle of the distortion pitching his voice slightly.
Willin snorted, exhaling slowly.
“We made a deal with Avalon, Comms. We honour the contract.”
Next
A/N: Folded and made a Patreon. You can do the thing there, but i don't have anything to offer. Gonna move the rare AI Gen character art to it though, since it's the best i can offer.

I think this will be THE solution.
Men probably will swipe right once every day on most women anyways.
Women will be getting 1/1000 of the matches that they get today. This will help with two things: if you have less options to choose from, it is easier to make decisions, secondly, if women don't get matches with every guy, they'll lower their expectations
supply demand....

As the world continues to grapple with climate change and the need to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, renewable diesel is emerging as a potential game changer in the fuel industry.
Renewable diesel is a form of diesel fuel that is produced from renewable sources such as vegetable oils, animal fats, and other organic materials. It is chemically identical to traditional diesel fuel and can be used in any diesel engine without any modifications.
But unlike traditional diesel, renewable diesel is a much cleaner and more sustainable fuel option. It emits significantly fewer greenhouse gases compared to traditional diesel and reduces harmful emissions that contribute to air pollution.
With the world increasingly looking for ways to reduce its carbon footprint and embrace sustainable living, renewable diesel has emerged as a critical solution to help mitigate climate change, reduce air pollution, and meet the growing energy demands of a rapidly developing world.

The Rise of Renewable Diesel

The concept of renewable diesel has been around for decades, but it is only in recent years that it has gained significant attention and popularity.
One of the key drivers behind the rise of renewable diesel is the increasing global focus on reducing greenhouse gas emissions and addressing climate change. As a result, governments across the world are introducing new policies and regulations to encourage the use of renewable fuels.
For example, the European Union has set a target to reduce greenhouse gas emissions by 55% by 2030, with renewable energy playing a critical role in achieving this goal. The United States has also set ambitious targets to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and promote the use of renewable energy.
In response to these policies, many companies are now looking to invest in renewable diesel production. For example, Neste, a Finnish oil refining company, is one of the world's largest producers of renewable diesel. The company has invested heavily in renewable diesel production and aims to achieve carbon neutrality by 2035.
Similarly, Total, a French multinational oil and gas company, has also invested in renewable diesel production. The company plans to produce 2 million tons of renewable diesel per year by 2025, which will help reduce greenhouse gas emissions by up to 6 million tons per year.

Benefits of Booster’s Renewable Diesel

· Renewable diesel offers several benefits over traditional diesel fuel. One of the primary benefits of Booster fuels is that it is a cleaner fuel, which means that it emits significantly fewer greenhouse gases and other harmful pollutants compared to traditional diesel.
· According to a study by the California Air Resources Board, renewable diesel can reduce greenhouse gas emissions by up to 80% compared to traditional diesel. This reduction in greenhouse gas emissions is critical in mitigating climate change and addressing air pollution.
· Another benefit of renewable diesel is that it can be produced from a variety of renewable sources, such as vegetable oils, animal fats, and other organic materials. This means that it is a more sustainable fuel option compared to traditional diesel, which is produced from non-renewable sources such as crude oil.
· Renewable diesel is also a more efficient fuel compared to traditional diesel. It has a higher energy density, which means that it can provide more energy and power per gallon compared to traditional diesel.
· Moreover, renewable diesel can be used in any diesel engine without any modifications. This means that it is a drop-in replacement for traditional diesel, which makes it easy to adopt and integrate into existing fuel systems by booster fuels.
· Renewable diesel is also a more reliable fuel compared to traditional diesel. It has a longer shelf life and can be stored for longer periods without degrading or losing its quality.

Applications of Renewable Diesel

Renewable diesel has several applications across various industries, including transportation, agriculture, and energy production.
One of the primary applications of renewable diesel is in the transportation industry. It can be used as a fuel for trucks, buses, and other diesel-powered vehicles. Renewable diesel is particularly useful in the transportation industry as it offers a more sustainable and cleaner fuel option, which helps reduce greenhouse gas emissions and air pollution.
Renewable diesel is also useful in the agriculture industry, where it can be used to power farm equipment and tractors. This helps reduce the carbon footprint of agriculture and promotes sustainable farming practices.
Moreover, renewable diesel can also be used in energy production. It can be used to generate electricity in power plants and can replace traditional diesel in backup generators.

Renewable Diesel Challenges

While renewable diesel offers several benefits, it also faces significant challenges.
Renewable diesel is currently more expensive to produce compared to traditional diesel, which makes it less competitive in the market. However, as the demand for renewable diesel increases, economies of scale are expected to help reduce production costs.
Another challenge is the limited availability of feedstock. Renewable diesel requires a steady supply of feedstocks such as vegetable oils and animal fats, which may not be readily available in some regions. This limits the widespread adoption of renewable diesel and may hinder its growth in the market.
Moreover, there are also challenges related to infrastructure. The existing fuel infrastructure is designed to accommodate traditional diesel, and significant investments would be required to upgrade the infrastructure to support renewable diesel.

Future of Renewable Diesel

Despite the challenges, the future of renewable diesel looks promising. With the world increasingly focusing on reducing greenhouse gas emissions and promoting sustainable living, renewable diesel is well-positioned to play a critical role in the energy mix.
Governments across the world are introducing new policies and regulations to promote the use of renewable fuels, which will help increase the demand for renewable diesel. Moreover, as the cost of production comes down and availability of feedstocks increases, renewable diesel is expected to become more competitive in the market.
The growing demand for renewable diesel has also led to significant investments in research and development. Companies are working on developing new technologies and processes to improve production efficiency and reduce costs.

Conclusion

Renewable diesel is changing the game in the fuel industry. It offers a cleaner, more sustainable, and efficient fuel option compared to traditional diesel. While it faces significant challenges, the growing demand for renewable fuels and investments in technological advancements are expected to drive the growth of renewable diesel in the future.

All prices include shipping CONUS, payment with PayPal G&S, add 3% please. Everything stored in a smoke free home. Feel free to message me for more detailed pictures or info. May be willing to negotiate price a little!
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Imgur Verification Album: https://imgur.com/a/Xs6tLRR
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Garmin Inreach Mini Original (4.0oz) - 195$
Lightly used, screen has a few minor scratches on it - has less than 100 trail miles on the device.
Nashville Pack Cutaway (13.4oz) - 275$
18in Torso, 20.5in Shoulder Straps - The 275$ price tag includes both the shoulder straps, the pack, and the accessory kit - this would be almost 400$ new. I would be willing to part ways with the items separately, please DM me. The pack itself is a catch and release from here, took it on a trip recently and didn't wind up liking it. Pack is slightly dirty and has the tinniest hole in the mesh, in great condition overall; just needs a quick wipe down. Some of the accessories haven't left the bag they came in, and the shoulder straps have been used once.
Senchi Wren (4oz) - 55$
Size XL - Used once, decided that the 60gsm fabric of the Wren is just too see through for me. In great condition still, comes with the wash bag from Senchi.
Men's Montbell Cool Hoodie (7.7oz) - 40$
Size XL - Lightly used, is a bit too baggy on me (200lbs, 5'10) can attest to the fact that it definitely is very good for hot weather.
Osprey Kestrel 38 (3.22lbs according to Osprey) - 85$ Shipped
Size S/M - Bought and used for a singular winter day hike - the hipbelt is just to small for me. In great condition.
Thermarest Xlite 72x20 - Winglock (12.5oz) - 90$ Shipped
Have used a singular night. Other than some dirt, perfect condition with no leaks.
REI Co-op Activator 3.0 Men's Softshell Pants (15.4oz) - 50$ Shipped
Size 36x30 - Bought and used for one trip, so they have a little dirt. Rode too high for my liking.
Gymshark Sport Shorts 5in (3.7oz) - 15$ Shipped
Size Large - Never worn, just hated the color and couldn't return.
Smartwool 150 Boxer Brief (3oz) - 15$ Shipped.
Size Medium - Worn twice (washed now), wound up being a bit tight for my liking.
High Tail Designs Ultralight DCF Rain Mitt (.8oz) - 40$ Shipped.
Brought along on many trips only to sit in my pack, did wind up using them one time but did not like them. Very waterproof and in good condition.
Vasque Men's Breeze WT GTX Men's Boots (1lb 8.2oz, per boot) - 55$ Shipped.
Size 10.5 US - Used for one winter trip but just found they were too much boot for me. They have a lot of support and 200g of thinsulate to protect your toes from getting cold.
Altra Timp 1.5 (1lb 5.8oz for the pair) - 50$ Shipped.
Size 9 US - Used twice and then sat in my garage for a few years, too small for my feet. Hairy, but good condition.
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Thanks for reading :)

The global Duchenne muscular dystrophy treatment market is estimated to grow at a CAGR of ~11% over the forecast period, i.e., 2022 – 2030. The market is segmented on the basis of treatment into corticosteroids, pain management drugs, physical therapy, and others. Out of which, the pain management drugs segment is anticipated to hold the largest revenue share over the forecast period owing to the high demand for pain management drugs, as Duchenne muscular dystrophy can be extremely painful.
The global Duchenne muscular dystrophy or DMD treatment market is anticipated to grow on the back of increasing cases of genetic muscle-related disorders, backed by poor lifestyle of majority of the population. According to the data by the World Health Organization (WHO), over 1.71 billion people suffer from musculoskeletal disorders across the world. Furthermore, the high share of male population globally, is estimated to propel the market growth, as DMD is more prevalent in males. According to the data by the National Organization of Rare Disorders (NORD), 1 in every 3,500 male suffers from DMD. Moreover, the growing demand for treatment method, and increasing research activities for development of efficient treatment are estimated to boost the market growth.
Research Nester published a report titled “Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy Treatment Market: Global Demand Analysis & Opportunity Outlook 2030” which delivers detailed overview of the global Duchenne muscular dystrophy treatment market in terms of market segmentation by therapy, treatment, distribution channel, and by region.
Further, for the in-depth analysis, the report encompasses the industry growth indicators, restraints, supply and demand risk, along with detailed discussion on current and future market trends that are associated with the growth of the market.
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On the basis of geographical analysis, the global Duchenne muscular dystrophy treatment market is segmented into five major regions including North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Latin America and Middle East & Africa region. The market in the North America region is anticipated to gain the largest market share throughout the forecast period on account of the high health awareness amongst the population. Moreover, high investment in R&D activities, and presence of major market players in the region.
The research is global in nature and covers detailed analysis on the market in North America (U.S., Canada), Europe (U.K., Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Hungary, Belgium, Netherlands & Luxembourg, NORDIC [Finland, Sweden, Norway, Denmark], Poland, Turkey, Russia, Rest of Europe), Latin America (Brazil, Mexico, Argentina, Rest of Latin America), Asia-Pacific (China, India, Japan, South Korea, Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia, Australia, New Zealand, Rest of Asia-Pacific), Middle East and Africa (Israel, GCC [Saudi Arabia, UAE, Bahrain, Kuwait, Qatar, Oman], North Africa, South Africa, Rest of Middle East and Africa). In addition, analysis comprising market size, Y-O-Y growth & opportunity analysis, market players’ competitive study, investment opportunities, demand for future outlook etc. has also been covered and displayed in the research report.
High Global Male Population to Boost the Market Growth
According to the statistics by the World Bank, in 2020, 50.415% of the global population was male.
Duchenne muscular dystrophy is a progressive inherited muscular disease, which is highly prevalent amongst men. This is why, the high male population across the globe is estimated to boost the market growth. Moreover, increasing research and development activities in the healthcare industry is estimated to propel the market growth.
However, complicated and difficult diagnosis of DMD, and lack of health awareness amongst underdeveloped region are expected to operate as key restraint to the growth of global Duchenne muscular dystrophy treatment market over the forecast period.
This report also provides the existing competitive scenario of some of the key players of the global Duchenne muscular dystrophy treatment market which includes company profiling of Eli Lilly and Company, Novartis AG, Sanofi-aventis Groupe, Abbott Laboratories, Johnson & Johnson Services, Inc., Merck & Co., Inc., Siemens Healthcare GmbH, and Pfizer Inc. The profiling enfolds key information of the companies which encompasses business overview, products and services, key financials and recent news and developments. On the whole, the report depicts detailed overview of the global Duchenne muscular dystrophy treatment market that will help industry consultants, equipment manufacturers, existing players searching for expansion opportunities, new players searching possibilities and other stakeholders to align their market centric strategies according to the ongoing and expected trends in the future.
Get The Inside Scoop With Sample Report- https://www.researchnester.com/sample-request-3814
Research Nester is a one-stop service provider, leading in strategic market research and consulting with an unbiased and unparalleled approach towards helping global industrial players, conglomerates and executives to make wise decisions for their future investment and expansion by providing them qualitative market insights and strategies while avoiding future uncertainties. We believe in honesty and sheer hard work that we trust is reflected in our work ethics. Our vision is not just limited to gain the trust of our clients but also to be equally respected by our employees and being appreciated by the competitors.
For more information, please contact:
AJ Daniel
Research Nester Email: [email protected] Tel: +1-6465869123

FULL STORY BELOW
INJURIES / TLDR: Deep laceration caused by glass. I severed the tendon, an artery, a large vein, and sensory nerves. The laceration was almost bone-deep; it cut through all layers of skin, fat, and muscle. I did not feel it happen. After noticing it, the sensation I felt was pressure. Slight burning, but mostly an ache. It's similar to stubbing your toe or dropping something on top of your foot.
HERE'S WHAT HAPPENED: There was a glass vase on the floor. Ironically, I put it there so it wouldn't fall off the end table and shatter or if my dogs knocked it over it would topple onto the carpet. Yeah... about that. This story gets even more ridiculous 😆
I was expecting a DoorDash delivery of Jamba Juice. I had actually reordered because what I received earlier was super melted. Anyway, in my excitement I went to the door, looked through the peephole, and when I didn't see the delivery I must've spun around or maybe I was about to skip across my living room. I'm not 100% sure what laws of physics were involved here exactly but whatever I was doing there was momentum.
What I remember clearly is feeling the lip of the vase around my foot; I either knocked it over and my foot went inside it or I tripped and my foot went down and into the vase. I didn't feel the injury happen so I thought I had shaken it off my foot. I heard the glass shatter.
I didn't notice the injury until I stood up but I don't know if I fell down completely or I tripped but regained my balance and didn't fall.
Either way, it's evident that my foot was at an angle and my body weight caused the glass to basically impale me. If you see the second picture, that was immediately after it happened. I thought all that had happened was the layers of skin had been peeled back, kind of like the first incision a surgeon would make. I had no idea it was deep. I thought I'd gotten my foot out of the vase in time.
I'm sitting there on the floor, looking around for anything I can use to stop the bleeding. I couldn't stop the bleeding. The first inkling that this was bad was when I realized that, no, this just is actually a bowl and this bowl keeps filling with blood and spilling over. The carpet beneath my foot quickly became a satirated puddle you could splash in.
Then the DoorDash driver shows up. Well, sh*t. I want my smoothie. In the notes I said to just leave it at the door, but this guy was knocking. I felt weird doing this but I politely yelled, "You can leave it! Thank you! Will leave you a great review."
I crab walked to the door; I had my lower left leg crossed over my right one so I could keep the wound elevated but horizontal and stable, and grabbed my smoothie.
The adrenaline kicked in. I'm sweating, I'm nauseous, and I'm thinking to myself, "I'm glad I don't drive stick anymore," "Does one call 911 for this?" I was going to show my Pops property nearby (I'm a Realtor) so I texted him.
Together with an unknown neighbor, they carried me to my dad's car. To this day, there are still little blood droplet stains trailing from my front door, down the stairs, and all the way to my dad's car. I felt like royalty. Carry me, peasants.
Urgent care unwrapped the shirts I was using to cover the wound. Sadly, one of the shirts was my favorite. When they did this the bowl of blood that was my foot drained out on their floor. This was during COVID restrictions so gloves went on immediately, I felt awkward about that if they told me not to worry about it, it's okay. Several nurses came in, put those dog potty training pads all over the floor. The main doctor came in, wondering what the hustle and bustle was for. He took one look at the wound and said, "Whoa. So, we don't have the supplies necessary to stop the bleeding, figure out what's going on, or treat it. Go to the ER right away." Because you've severed an artery.
They did bandage my foot so that was nice. They still charged us $350 for a blue bandage, some gauze, and minutes of their time. I apologized for the massacre in their clinic. Fair is fair.
I go to the ER. I think my dad must've provided them with the urgent care receipt and explained what happened as I was taken back pretty quickly.
Heart rate was fast. Adrenaline still flowing. The pressure is now turning into a sharp ache. All in all, I was in the ER for 4-6 hours. They were busy. Had x-rays done. Got a tetanus shot.
One of the most part things I've ever experienced was the doctor that was showing a needle at different depths into the wound to numb it for stitches. You'll have to trust me on this one but I've got a great pain threshold. What took place on that evening had my white-knuckle gripping the arms on the hospital bed and shaking. My arms were sore afterward.
That doctor thought the tendon was only partially torn so he had a nurse put my lower leg in a split with my foot at a 90 degree angle so the ends of the tendon could grow back together. It wasn't 90 degrees enough for him so I had to go through that again.
He was rather aggressive cleaning the area prior to stitches, and he had me try and lift my ankle, lift my big toe, etc. It was doing this, IMO, that finally severed the tendon completely.
Look at PICTURE #1 and PICTURE #2. My toe hadn't dropped until the doctor was moving my foot, having me try to lift it, etc. So, I should've had surgery at 2 weeks but instead had CT scans at 2 weeks and surgery a MONTH later. Honestly, I wasn't upset.
The injury had already started forming scar tissue so during the surgery, the wound was completely re-opened.
I have thick adhesions now so I can't curl my toes and if I'm standing, I can't lift my big toe. The circulation is weird, too. my left foot is always MUCH colder than my right one. Occasionally, the adhesion feels tight and cramps. It's a sensation I feel along the full length of the tendon. It's bizarre considering we don't feel our tendons.
The most painful thing post-surgery was Day 2 and Day 3 anytime the medicine wore off. The only more painful was my mom's death.
The nerve damage is mostly on the top left of my foot. It doesn't hurt but if I touch it it the sensation is a weird buzzy, prickly feeling. The deeper nerve damage is one of the reasons I didn't feel the injury happen and perhaps why it wasn't as painful as it should've been.
From injury to being able to walk was two months. A "complete recovery" took 4 months. I was on crutches for 6-8 weeks and then a boot.
I had PT for a few weeks. I didn't have health insurance so it was $80 each time, lasted only half an hour so I stopped going. There was a lot of atrophy; my lower left leg was nearly half the normal size. I'm not a runway model but I've got a great walk; and then I didn't. It's back now.
It's been almost two years and I'm only just now able to stand on my tip toes and flex my calf muscle.
If anyone's interested, I can update this post and add progress pictures.
INJURIES: Severed the EHL tendon.
Goes from the knee, to the ankle, and then to the big toe. You need this tendon when you walk and it allows you to lift your foot up and down at the ankle.

Hi there!
Just sending an updated list of things I've loved for quality of life.
But also things I didn't like and returned. I'll mark them below and put a quick explanation so you'll have a heads-up on them.
​
LOVE THESE

Fenix E03R v2.0 Keychain Flashlight
Learned about this flashlight from a recent Youtube video. But I love that it's simple to use and it's compact and powerful. Unlike the RovyVon A1, the buttons make SENSE. I didn't like the Rovyvon A.
Layrite Natural Matte Cream, 1.5 oz
Been experimenting with different pomades and I actually rather like this one! I've tried Suavecito, Reuzel, Hanz de Fuko, Old Spice, American Crew, Fix Your Lid, Dove Polishing Pomade, etc. But I actually like this one the best. I also like how it easily applies but it also easily washes off with water.
Ohropax Soft Foam Ear Plugs (10 Ear Plugs)
These are just earplugs. Some might say overpriced. But I love the little case that it comes with. Makes it fantastic for travel.
Swiffer Heavy Duty Refills, Ceiling Fan Duster, 11 Count
I love this ceiling fan duster. It extends out. It also turns entirely up or down and is adjustable. I just find it super handy for dusting. Best of all, when done, you just toss out the duster and pop in a new one. I love that you can do that.
3 Tier Mesh Utility Cart, Rolling Metal Organization Cart with Handle and Lockable Wheels, Multifunctional Storage Shelves for Kitchen Living Room Office by Pipishell (Black)
Not putting the direct link but just copy and paste that into Amazon. I love this thing! It's so useful! I basically cart this around to put my equipment and slide it from room to room. It's super easy to put together and makes it so much easier to move components around.
Elgato Wave Microphone Arm LP - Premium Low Profile Microphone Arm with Cable Management (Renewed)
Bought this on Amazon and can vouch for it. It's now replaced my RODE PSA1. I love how this holds my microphone in place but doesn't fill up the screen.
OGUNUOKI Shoe Covers Disposable Recyclable -100 Pack(50 pairs) 15.7'' Hygienic Shoe & Boot Covers Waterproof Non-slip Shoe Booties for Indoors
I haven't yet had a chance to test these but I bought these in case a plumber or handyman comes in our house with messy shoes. They can now just wear these covers for their shoes.
Sennheiser IE 200 In-Ear Audiophile Headphones
I absolutely love these headphones.
SKUPSY 20 Pcs Mini Clear Plastic Box Square Jewelry Earplug Pill Storage Box Case Container with Lid for Storage of Small Items, Crafts, Jewelry, Hardware
Love these for small compact storage of earplugs for travel or for just random things for travel.
Colgate Max Fresh Wisp Disposable Mini Travel Toothbrushes, Peppermint, 24 Count (Pack of 4)
I think these are a bit too much. But I took about 3 of them with me on a recent trip and they were awesome. It's just handy especially in airplanes.
Cuisinart 726-38H Chef's Classic Stainless 14-Inch Stir-Fry Pan with Helper Handle and Glass Cover
Love this thing. It's basically a stainless steel wok. So you just dump it in the dishwasher and it's clean. So its' easier to deal with than a carbon steel wok.
RODE Videomic Go 2
Fantastic little microphone
​
RETURNED THESE OR DID NOT LIKE THESE

8Bitdo Lite Bluetooth Gamepad for Switch Lite, Switch & Windows (Yellow Edition)
Doesn't work on all my Steam games. Not reliable. Returned it.
8Bitdo SN30 Pro Wireless Bluetooth Controller with Joysticks Rumble Vibration USB-C Cable Gamepad Compatible with Switch,Windows, Mac OS, Android, Steam (Gray Edition)
Doesn't work on all my Steam games. Not reliable. Returned it.
Arm & Hammer Ultra Max Antiperspirant Deodorant 1 Ounce Travel Size (Pack of 2)
Didn't like this. It's very tough and pasty.
Dickies Men's Light Comfort Compression Over-The-Calf Socks, Black (2 Pairs)
Didn't like this. It's too bulky to bring for travel.
Final VR3000 – in-Ear Gaming Headset with Microphone for PC Gaming, Consoles and VR equipments
Bought these headphones because people mentioned it had great soundstage. Sound is pretty thin on these. Not very good.
OMOTON Ultra-Slim Bluetooth Keyboard for iPad 10.2(9th/ 8th/ 7th Generation)/ 9.7, iPad Air 4th Generation, iPad Pro 11/12.9, iPad Mini, and More Bluetooth Enabled Devices, White
Thought this would be a super cool and compact keyboard for travel. The Escape key doesn't work. It's honestly botched. You have to press FN+Escape for it to work. Any product that forces someone to change a workflow for the worst is poor product design imo so back to Whole Foods Amazon it went.

Hello,
Looking to sell a custom-built NAS server that's installed with FreeNAS. I'm not looking to part out the individual components since I just want to get rid of the thing. It's been collecting dust in the corner of my room for a couple of years ever since I built a much better and compact NAS server.
Here are the timestamps for most of the components listed here including a BIOS screenshot for the CPU: https://imgur.com/a/ASyJoyq
I'll list a table below of the parts, but I won't list everything as I'm considering most of the smaller parts like case fans, USB drives, cables, and what have you as part of the package. There's also a screenshot of a spreadsheet of all the parts in the imgur album. Please note these were all components bought back in 2020, so these are fairly old pieces, but the system boots up properly with no issues.
​

Component	Details
Motherboard	ASRock Rack Motherboard EPC612D8
CPU	Intel Xeon E5-2650 v3
Memory	Crucial 16GBx2 DDR4-2133 ECC
Power Supply	Corsair SF Series SF450
CPU Fan/Sink	Noctua NH-U12DX i4
Storage	Crucial MX300 750GB x2
	WD Red Plus 10TB x4
	WD Red 8TB x4
	WD Red 4TB x3
	WD Red Plus 4TB x1

Asking Price: $1,100
I am local to Hawthorne, CA 90250, and looking for local trades only.
PM for any questions.

What is Rock, Paper, Shotgun?
Rock, Paper, Shotgun (RPS) is a PC-gaming focused site based in the UK that was started in 2007. It has the usual gaming site content – Top 5/10/50/100 lists, publisher or developer press releases dressed up as news, reviews, previews, press event reports, a podcast, and – important to this story – a comment section below articles where gamers and capital-G Gamers, left-wing and right-wing alike, can find unity in complaining that their favourite was inappropriately placed in the aforementioned Top 5/10/50/100 lists.
(Fun fact: one of the co-founders of RPS was Kieron Gillen, who has since worked on Uncanny X-Men, Young Avengers, Marvel’s Darth Vader, and co-created Doctor Aphra.)
Of note, RPS bucks the generally apolitical nature of gaming sites by being quite openly left-wing. Though it generally isn’t a feature of many articles, it does show up on occasion, and not always in the best light. For instance, this article that has an unusual bone to pick with Rainbow Six Siege having a female hostage in the E3 demo. Despite Tom Clancy himself having a reputation as a conservative, and that’s pretty evident in his fiction, the Rainbow Six series has been unusually progressive in having women fighting terrorists alongside the men since the inception, and Siege was no exception. It was actually quite rare in the ‘90s that a woman not named Lara Croft was involved in the action alongside the boys, so it does seem like an article about Rainbow Six’s treatment of women is more about having a bone to pick.
(Editorial note: I do not believe a person’s identity is political. Some people do. There’s a saying that applies to capital-G Gamers – “There are two genders: male and political.” Often when they decry keeping politics out of video games, it’s directed at any sort of inclusion. So, the political slant on this is just to point out that left-wing people are generally pro-trans and right-wing people are generally not. Spoiler alert, this is a discussion about trans people.)
What is wargaming?
Within gaming, there are genres. Wargaming is one of them, and quite niche. Within the genre, there’s a diverse spectrum of passion. Some would consider themselves wargaming fans if they played and liked the Total War series. More hardcore wargamers would vehemently disagree and look down their nose at a game that has giant men standing on a world map; in their minds, wargaming is the domain of the chit and NATO symbology – a whole other language where a rectangular with an X through it represents an infantry unit, and the number of Xs or Is above the rectangle represents its size from XXXXX being army group, XX being division, II as battalion or I as company. (Give me hexes or give me death!) But in general, it’s operational (think the Italian campaign of WWII), strategic (the invasion of Sicily the Allies), or tactical (taking a specific town in Sicily with a regiment), and generally turn-based but occasionally real-time. You won’t find Age Of Empires in this genre, for instance.
Wargaming is not exclusive to the digital space either, and it’s just as likely to be played around an enormous table with intricate landscapes, pushing 8mm, 15mm or bigger pieces, usually hand-painted, and rolling dice. They’ll have a hefty rulebook in hand to consult how many dice you roll and what sort of success you need in order for your British mortar team to successfully knock out the German machine gun nest on the rooftop. Warhammer 40K is the most famous example, but that’s a single guy per base; the deeper wargames have a single base representing a squad or platoon stuck together to move as a group.
(The more hardcore have taken on the moniker grognards, a reference to old soldiers and specifically the original Imperial Guard that fought under Napoleon at Waterloo.)
What’s The Flare Path?
Among the contributors to RPS was one named Tim Stone, who started writing for the site as soon as it was founded. (I cannot use anonymity, so the usual sub rules apply about leaving people alone; Tim’s still writing and in order to engage with this drama, we have to link articles that clearly have his name on them.) There’s a distinction between staff and contributors; staff were full-time employees of the business, whereas contributors are just freelancers who pop in and out. He was not a run-of-the-mill writer who would guzzy up press releases, Tim only had one ongoing feature called The Flare Path with a supplemental Friday Foxer. Though he started out doing little comics under the title Strafe Left, he moved on to reviews and features before creating the regular feature The Flare Path in 2011.
The title The Flare Path is a reference to the lights that outline runways, allowing aircraft to take off or land at night. And that is a pretty good summation of the feature, because Tim’s focus was exclusively on wargaming and simulations, which could mean directing squadrons of aircraft to take off for a mission, or yourself piloting a plane to a gentle landing guided by the flare path. Every Friday, you would just as likely find an article about a game where you drive a train in rural England as you would a wargame where you command Roman legions in that very same countryside. Among the regular features were A2Z articles, where Tim would have short snippets for each letter of the alphabet, with Q often necessarily “Quick tea break” due to the infrequency of that letter showing up. For instance, a new ARMA game might be A, then teasing a review of Battle Brothers is B, and so on, just a fun way to wrap up a lot of short bits of news that don’t have enough meat for a full article.
Another article type would see Tim break out of his usual Friday containment and run communal games, typically Combat Mission. Combat Mission is a WWII/Cold War turn-based tactics game where you’d queue up orders to your units that would then be executed for 60 seconds, during which the other side would be executing their own orders and you’d simply have to watch how your planning and preparation plays out. And it turns out, this is surprisingly adaptable to a group game – Tim would grid the map, lay out a scenario, identify the units and the objectives, and then people would comment below the article to give instructions. You could only move one unit in a turn and you had to be the first to claim that unit, but you’d say, for example, “I’d like to move 1st Squad to H3 and try to suppress the machine gun,” and Tim would take your comment and play it out. The next day, he’d do a little narrative report on who did what, where, and when, and what the enemy did in response, in a fun narrative way, even naming characters who pulled off particularly heroic or cowardly feats. Then he’d update the map, and the next turn begins.
Alongside his regular article, he’d also post a Friday Foxer. He’d have a variety of different games in the Foxer genre, and often rewarded correct answers with prizes – usually codes for games that developers gave him. One type was giving clues to a location and the readers would have to deduce where Tim was “standing” that fit all the criteria. Others were Catchphrase-like messages hidden in images that you’d need to decode, or a series of seemingly-unrelated images which had a theme that you’d need to identify.
I go on these tangents to emphasize that Tim had built himself a little community on RPS. While contributors did reply to reader comments in articles, Tim was often playing a game with readers, which endeared him to some people. Not only that, if you were interested in wargaming or simulations, any article on RPS about those genres was typically Tim’s domain. For a certain group, Tim was the only regular source of news on two niche genres, and the only reason to read RPS if the newest action game or looter-shooter didn’t appeal to you. There was and (spoilers) is nothing like The Flare Path and the Foxers on RPS, as far as actual engagement with the article itself through community wargames or puzzles.
Equally important, wargaming itself is niche enough that there are few others who do what Tim does. Wargaming.net is actually the name of the company who makes World Of Tanks, World Of Warships and others – ironically, none of which would qualify as wargames and would barely pass musters as simulations either. Wargamer has infrequent articles. The best podcast on the subject is Three Moves Ahead (which originally launched as the podcast for the now-defunct Flash Of Steel website), but the podcast is infrequent as well, is primarily focused on a single game per episode (though with comparisons made by the host or guests to other games), and has a bit too much focus on Total War or every single new Paradox DLC for Crusader Kings at the exclusion of more niche titles.
On a weekly schedule, Tim became a stable pair of hands, and was directing his community to support all sorts of up-and-comers who were otherwise ignored or neglected or just invisible to wider gaming press.
I also want to point out that there’s an often-unspoken ethical question at the core of wargaming as a hobby. To his credit, Tim often wrote about it, and would even avoid wargaming topics as a matter of sensitivity to significant dates. As players in this hobby, we are moving chits around that represent thousands of people and though nobody obviously dies, wargaming frequently deals with historical events and it’s something we need to be aware of. Tim would frequently muse in his articles or bring it up in interviews with developers – to paraphrase, what we’re doing for “fun” is essentially turning some very dark times in human history into entertainment, and to what extent should we be aware of that? Should we want to simulate “playing” as Germany to conquer Europe, which in the real world resulted in tens of millions of innocent and not-so-innocent people dying? It’s a tough conversation to have and Tim chose to engage with it, which probably put him offside with some of his readers, because it’s a topic that actually genuinely is bringing politics into gaming, unlike a lot of the gaming discourse.
A journalist is booted off a fictional radio for being a bit TERFy, resulting in a journalist being booted off a website for being a bit TERFy.
The inciting incident for this drama is an article posted in 2020 about a UK journalist who was one of several used by game developer Ubisoft to provide voiceovers for the video game Watch Dogs Legion. In the article, it is revealed that this journalist had in the past posted a 2017 The Times article titled “A man can’t just say he has turned into a woman.”
What is TERF? Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist, which probably spiked the Google charts more recently with The Author Who Shall Not Be Named. I will add this disclaimer, I am inferring things about Tim when I call him a TERF, and maybe I’m giving too much credit. I don’t know if Tim Stone is a feminist, so I’m giving the benefit of the doubt, and I wear that. The author of The Times article is a self-proclaimed feminist, and does claim to support trans right, but according to the RPS article, “(She) uses familiar hand-wringing about biological sex, transgender identification as a trend, and people with penises in women's changing rooms.” I’ll leave it up to your judgement whether you think either is an actual TERF or not.
In an unusual move, one Tim Stone showed up in the comments of the above article, and that’s the meat of this drama.
The Alamo but with TERFs.
The comments, as you can imagine, were completely chill since obviously “censoring” a “journalist” in a “video game” for “anti-trans views” outside of the game itself is just the perfect intersection of everything political on an internet forum possible. (The voiceover in the game was scripted by Ubisoft and was itself not an issue; they were choosing to remove the voiceover to remove association with the journalist based on their views.)
One user wrote:

there are diverse voices within RPS when it comes to games, genres, preferences etc but I would say (and i’d be prepared to be challenged on this) there is zero diversity in respect of political views and arguable groupthink and alignment particularly around trans issues.

To which Tim opined:

There's at least one regular RPS contributor who'd like to see the site show a little more respect for the gender critical position in the trans rights debate. Me.

He proceeded to link several articles, saying,

I agree with all those arguing for more constructive discussion and less name-calling in this debate.

And we’re off to the races.
One commenter wrote:

never mind 'gender critical' being an obvious dogwhistle, it boggles the mind that you think "trans rights debate" is an acceptable string of words in 2020
trans rights are human rights, this shit isn't a debate

And significantly, it wasn’t just site users who were chiming in. Another writer for RPS came in guns blazing:

The "gender critical position" is tired snivelling cowardice hiding behind Very Real Concerns while throwing shit at the people whose lives are routinely treated like an intellectual excercise. [sic]
I am frankly embarrassed [sic] to see you repeating such dogwhistling bullshit. The obviously lying "I am cancelling my subscription!!!" oafs in here are one thing, but this is just sad.

What the writer was alluding to was the typical capital-G Gamer response to anything political (and often something is only “political” if they don’t like it), namely “Get your politics out of my video games.” Often the corollary of that was “..or I’m getting out of your website.”
The inciting article is itself tame. Incredibly tame. As referenced earlier, it has the usual games journalism scent of just dressing up a press release. At the most judgemental, they referenced that the voiceover-providing journalist had “some pretty ugly opinions about transgender people” and “that’s decidedly not neat,” which is just the lovely understatement you get from British people. “This is a bit bothersome” was, I believe, repeatedly uttered during the Blitz.
I won’t bore with copying over more comments, but it gets quite heated – although Tim seems to remain quite collected in the comments, which does have an air that he isn’t aware of what kind of hornet’s nest he’s kicked. The most noteworthy exchange is between a user and Tim, where the user writes:

It is distressing that you think my rights as a trans person are subject to some sort of "trans rights debate," and that "gender critical" is anything but a dog whistle for the same transphobic rhetoric as I've always been subject to, but now behind a veneer of intellectualism and civil discourse.
This isn't a matter of left and right, it's a matter of respect for other human beings. Good to know at least one RPS writer has none for me.

And Tim’s response:

I have profound respect for you and your life choices.
I also believe that questions like "Should trans women be allowed to compete in female sports?" and "Should male-bodied trans women be housed in womens' prisons?" are worthy of debate.
To forbid all debate on "trans rights" and to seek to silence and cancel people who don't unquestioningly support one side of the argument seems horribly totalitarian to me.

If you were to take an unfriendly view of Tim, this might be it – calling a person’s transition a “life choice”, and then putting the question of trans rights up for debate, calling the desire not to debate someone’s human rights “totalitarian.”
In all, Tim would comment eight times, with his last being:

Some proposed trans rights clash with women's rights in certain areas. It is not bigoted to point this out or advocate debate so that compromises can be reached.

Overrunning the drop zone.
Five days later, the RPS Twitter account posts this tweet.

Trans rights are human rights. We strive to create an inclusive space for all people. Earlier this week, a freelancer used the RPS comments section to express views that failed in that goal. We will no longer be working with this freelancer or publishing their column.

And just like that, the flares are snuffed and Tim’s time at RPS comes to an abrupt end after 13 years of service.
The responses, I’m sure you can imagine, are the usual volleys from the usual battle lines. Left-wing and trans rights people are chuffed to bits, believing that an insidious TERF has been weeded out from RPS. They view his comments about bathrooms and sports as the usual dogwhistle, typical of the alt-right where the goal is to draw increasingly smaller circles to exclude trans people from one thing after another until they ultimately cannot exist in society. Gamers with a right-wing focus and wargamers (and those are not mutually exclusive) try to cancel culture RPS, many declaring that they’d never return to the site for this grave injustice. And for wargamers, that’s pretty easy; Tim was the only one catering to their genre appetite, and there literally was no reason to return without Tim. The most vanilla response was those who didn’t care about the comment section conflict at all and just wanted their dang wargaming news.
(The wargaming audience was not exclusively on the right-wing - the creator of one of the biggest wargaming podcasts showed up in the comments too, and took a distinctly anti-Tim and pro-trans stance.)
The last (spoilers, not really) article posted by Tim was a typical A2Z column, and became somewhat of a shrine to him. Of note, the very user to whom Tim gave his perhaps most damning response showed up:

Please don't assume Tim is a TERF. I was involved, and indeed in lots of was responsible for what happened on the other forum which i am devastated by.
I am trans and Tim replied in support of a view that i expressed! He shared some views and links to articles (including one from a trans blogger) that many people (including many trans people) would agree with. And even if they didn't, and Alison below articulates the position better than i could, its not like he went on an alt right tirade. This is a reasonable person making reasonable views very politely and and commenter whether they agreed with those or not has gained nothing from what happened subsequently, and we have all collectively lost something.

Flare Path fans were somewhat split. The most mild responses were critical of RPS for how they booted Tim out the door without a second chance; some were concerned that it’s not a great way to win allies and convince people. Throw in the usual snippets: “cancel culture” and references to “The Inquisition”, and a number of people saying their farewells to RPS. In an odd way – and I did it myself by calling this a shrine – the comment section really does feel like the man died, with some outright coming to, quote, “pay their respects”.
Of particular note, a user named hms_pepperpot shows up, and it looks like it’s Tim. I have no evidence to the contrary and the phrasing is close enough that I’m willing to believe it. But wait, Tim was posting as Tim Stone in the inflamed comment section, right? Yep, the divorce was so swift and decisive that they even blocked his access to his old username, or deleted it entirely – either way, he was in the comments to say goodbye under an alias.

Leaving RPS without being able to say a proper goodbye to you, the readers who have made my job such a joy this past thirteen years, has been one of the most depressing aspects of the last few days. Your enthusiasm was as important to The Flare Path's modest success as the complete creative freedom Graham afforded me. Thank you for making possible the happiest years of my working life.
While the Flare Path name is destined for the scrap heap, the concept and spirit of the column will hopefully live on. I'm planning to pick up pretty much where I left off early in the new year. An article devoted to the FP game jam entries will be amongst the first pieces I post. Of course, there will be foxers too.
To readers hurt by my words last weekend, all I can say is a heartfelt sorry - I didn't set out to wound and have no wish whatsoever to make the lives of trans people more difficult. To readers baffled by the comments that ended up costing me my job, I strongly recommend reading a thoughtful essay written by Sam Smethers, the CEO of respected British women's rights charity The Fawcett Society. Google 'Sex and Gender Indentity: Finding a Way Forward' and you should find it.
See you in 2021 I hope. Tim.

Of note, HMS Pepperpot is a reference to warship HMS Penelope. With Tim’s penchant for riddles and puzzles, it is not likely a coincidence that:

On wartime service with Force K, she was holed so many times by bomb fragments that she acquired the nickname "HMS Pepperpot".

Though Tim had some in agreement with his views in the inciting comment section, he was undoubtedly outnumbered and taking a lot of flak.
Napoleon’s exile on Elba.
Some time later, Tim would resurface on a new site of his own creation, Tally-Ho Corner. Very much The Flare Path with a new coat of paint, he would carry on with his regular columns on a weekly basis. The Foxers returned, as did A2Z and communal wargaming. RPS, for their part, did not seem to fight to keep the column to themselves. There was a small exodus as RPS had once been a PC gaming site with a wargaming/simulation column, to just a PC gaming site. Those with only an interest in those genres left; there was nothing for them anymore. An unknown number followed Tim to his new endeavour and made themselves known over there. Striking out on his own has costs, however, and Tim sells membership and banner space to those who wish to help out. He has made follow-up requests since Tally-Ho Corner started which would indicate that it isn’t a profitable venture; he says he only wants enough to support the site, and seems to be happy to continue for the love of the hobby. He has alluded to the site not breaking even, so you can infer from that what you want about the size of the Flare Path exodus. Like I said, it’s a very niche hobby, so even 100% of Flare Path readers might not constitute a large number. One of the posts with the most engagements is a community vote on the best PC wargames; two years old, it has 144 comments and a closed comment section, so you could probably extrapolate a rough guess on readers versus commenters to see how popular the site is.
Tim would make the occasional comment about his past misadventure, but generally seemed to just carry on. Others would fight for or against him in other corners of the internet, but publicly, Tim seemed done with the whole thing and happy to just get back to writing about games.
The most blatant reference was an A2Z at the start of this year. No longer than any other entry (remember, he’s filling out 26 entries in a week, they’re usually just snippets), the entry “P is for Pointless provocation” in its entirety:

If, after my bruising departure from RPS in 2020, I had decided to start work on a “cathartic” retro FPS about gunning down dogmatic ‘trans allies’, I hope someone – a friend, colleague, or family member – would have taken me to one side and said “Tim, WTF are you doing?”. Unfortunately, no-one seems to have urged Norwegian coder Sandra Moen to think again. If they had perhaps the nasty Terfenstein 3D wouldn’t have made it onto Steam.

Tim’s back, baby! But it’s not him! But it is!
In a strange, quite dickish move, an RPS writer recycled an old Flare Path to come up with “The 25 best simulation games on PC”, with the writer credited… even though it was copied from Tim’s 2015 article. Tim called it out in an A2Z, as “H is for Hire a new sim correspondent, you cheapskates”, and that really sums it up – they were not rewriting the list, rearranging it, or updating it, they were literally copying the original list over and slapping a new author’s name on it.
If you click the above link, you’ll see that the article now has Tim as the author, changed retroactively (again). That in itself added a new element of drama, as readers who showed up after the edit were surprised by a new article from Mr Flare Path himself. Though it says “updated” in 2022, the giveaway is that the comments are predominantly from 7 years ago, when it was originally posted. One commenter, who I’ll take at their word, seemed to be witnessing the Stalin-esque rewriting of history in real time:

Wow, I just saw that Tim Stone's name has been removed. He was there as author when I first saw it this morning, with a note about it being updated by someone else. Now his name has been fully removed as the original author. I don't know what to say, but it feels icky to rewrite history like that, very 1984.
Update - now it says article by Holly, Additional Contributions by Tim Stone. Still not accurate (seems to be the reverse or reality) but at least the original author's name is in there somewhere again.

(Not calling anyone over there a tyrant or communist or anything, merely referencing that infamous photo where people are removed one by one as they fall afoul of the Stalin regime. In this instance, taking Tim’s work and crediting to someone else, then crediting Tim in addition to the new writer, then finally just calling it a Tim article.)
People noticed that the “updated” tag was the last attempt to hide in plain sight, since there was nothing updated about the list. It was identical to the one posted by Tim in 2015. And the clue was that, according to RPS, no simulation game had managed to crack the list since 2015; the “youngest” game on the list was 7 years old (now 8), a title shared by Farming Simulator 15 and Train Simulator 15.
15, of course, being the year both games released and the year Tim wrote the list.
An odd move to dig up the bones of the past, both the article and Tim’s involvement with RPS, for a single cheap parlour trick. Needless to say, if you search for Tim Stone contributions on RPS now, his “shrine” – a pretty typical A2Z Flare Path – is not his most recent contribution to the site. Instead, it’s “The 25 best simulation games on PC” from 8 years ago.
Fittingly, in the comment section below, the most recent post is by someone seemingly oblivious to the drama surrounding Tim Stone, RPS and trans rights. They’re instead complaining that two other motor racing games were left off the list. And really, there’s probably no better tribute to the community.

This post will refresh the 1^st of every month at 12AM Central Time.
Below are some of the most frequently asked questions and their respective answers. This thread is to help condense these common questions into one location. A lot of newcomers to this community end up stuck in the mod queue and sometimes the threads die so the goal of this post is to stop that from happening and maybe get people a little better help getting started in the sport.
This thread is now mandatory for these types of questions so please don't get your feelings hurt if your post is locked and you are redirected here - it's only to get you better help and better organize the community!
How do I get started?
The best way is to look for a clinic in your area. Nobody is going to recommend you just throw on a helmet and climb on a bull or bronc. If you are looking for specific traineclinic recommendations in your area, feel free to ask in this thread!
I'm , is it too late to start?
No, you're not too old. The best day to start rodeoing was yesterday. The second best day is today.
Where do I buy for bull riding? Ropes?
NRS or Teskey's are both good options.
Where do I ride/rope/wrestle bulls/broncs/steers/calves in my area?
Ask below!
Can I wear a belt buckle that I didn't earn?
If you bought it or it was given to you, you earned it.
Is anyone going to judge me for dressing like a cowboy/cowgirl if I've never ridden a horse touched a cow?
Maybe. Who cares. Go ride a horse and touch a cow. We can make a cowboy/cowgirl out of you yet.
I heard they tie a rope around the bull/bronc's nuts to make him buck.
There is a flank strap loosely cinched to the animal's belly and they buck because they instinctively do it as a defense mechanism. Rodeo animals are trained from a young age to reward this bucking behavior when there is a flank strap attached and this is why they buck.
Additionally, many broncs are mares (female) and so they do not have nuts to tie a rope around.
Is rodeo cruelty?
This is a commonly asked question. Here are some of the responses that have been given before. Tl;dr this community is full of animal lovers and condemns abuse of any kind.

In the US, everyone I know who is involved in rodeo loves the animals. Sometimes the participants (human or livestock) get injured but everyone does their best to take precautions and make sure that doesn’t happen. Most mid-size rodeo events will require at least one veterinarian on site and may have designated animal welfare staff to ensure everything is being done correctly.

​

I have been directly involved in Rodeo for more than a decade now. I work within multiple organizations, some of the biggest promoters in the world. My experience goes all the way down to holding chute tours to give an inside scoop at the sport, the animals, equipment, all of it.
The men and women in rodeo hold the animals in higher regard than themselves. And the ones that don’t, are found out and often find themselves without a rodeo community around them. Their animals are their everything, from their friends in a lot of cases with horses, to their livelihood with cows calves ans bulls thrown in.
Before I started in this industry I definitely took a good hard look at its morals and ethics. And regarding the animals themselves, I don’t know an industry on the planet who perform or compete with animals at this scale and popularity where animal welfare often comes before the humans involved.

​

My competition horses have chiropractors, regular vet check ups, specially metered food and supplements, injections, more expensive shoes every 6 weeks than any pair of boots I have owned, and anything else they require. Maintenance and feed for my horses is my single biggest expense. More than trucks and houses.
Once they are retired, I have a bad habit of keeping them around, so they live out their life turned out, and still get vets, shoes, etc.

​

The fact is horses are way too expensive to mistreat and in competition the only way to win is to have a healthy and comfortable horse that likes it's job. As far as the cattle goes the same comment applies. In general the majority of the money made from the cattle is still what they bring at a market price so if they're mistreated, sick, and injured that's money lost from the stock contractor. Also another comment is the more livestock animals are monitored the better the chance of them getting treatment from sickness or just natural injuries before conditions get worse.

​

I raised rodeo bulls and roping cattle in the past we took better care of our animals than we did ourselves.

​

I live out west and can tell you by personal testimony that people who own rodeo animals love them more than their own kids (depending on how useless the kid is; mileage varies).

​

I’ve grown up around rodeos, and animals, and everyone I know is kind with the animals. There’s some people who do abuse them, but it’s not common at all, and most people will get involved and try to fix it fast. It’s just a few bad apples on a good tree.

I built a pc 2 weeks ago, and I've been enjoying myself. I recently realized that my 6650xt from Newegg came with the Last of Us Part I. I was playing for hours today and was super into the game, so into it, that i didnt hear my cpu fan (stock cooler for the 12400f) stop sounding like a jet engine and sound more like nothing. All of a sudden my game went from 60 to 30fps and it slowly decreased, until is hit 3fps. At this point I restarted the computer thinking it had something to do with the graphics card because the game had been crashing all day until i installed a driver update. As soon as I boot up, everything feels like shit, windows feels like it's 20 years old and im barely pulling 1fps in the start menu of The Last of Us. I realized that something was seriously wrong so i ran Hwinfo64. Sure enough, avg. cpu temps were like 95 celcius and the max was 100. The revelation hit me after immediately shutting down my pc to let it cool off, why didn't my cpu fan sound like my 7 year old ps4 taking off from a runway. Long story short, my cpu fan died for absolutely no reason and so the 12400f overheated, I would appreciate if someone could tell me if 95 celcius for a couple of minutes seriously fried the processor, and if anyone has any ideas on how to get my cpu fan running again. I have tried everything, its not my motherboard headers because I plugged a chassis fan into the cpu fan headers and they worked perfectly, and its not the power supply because all my case fans were running but just not my cpu fan. Any advice would greatly appreciated, thank you.

(Optional) skip settlements skip minute men
Start normal difficulty (Optional) up difficulty later on Use bed saves only (Reccomended) choose a new path after reverting to a bed save. (Optional) don't fast travel Don't use stimpacks Don't use caps in trade (use items) (Optional cap rules) diologue purchases, doctor, ect. Run ends when can't supply or continue game.

Based on a Dream
FDF Resolute, Sanctum Class Battlecruiser, en route to NT-2125 deep Fringe.
Mary had been rather intrigued by the concept of an observation deck on a ship. Curator ship designs didn’t even have windows let alone a whole deck. Yet, deck seemed a bit of a grand exaggeration now that she was standing in the room with the large window dominating one wall. The room was empty aside from herself. Though there were tables and chairs enough to fit a few dozen people easily. No doubt it was more in use if the ship should be hosting dignitaries over some important planet, or picturesque astronomical feature. En route to NT-2125 however they were instead enveloped in the Ink, a sight no one seemed keen on viewing.
Her education had of course touched on the existence of the Ink, but that was about it. She had no idea how it really was used to facilitate FTL travel. What she did know, now that she was looking at it, was that it was rather unpleasant to look at. She had seen purest black. The concept of looking at entirely nothing but a void was fine with her.
The Ink however… While she watched it slowly move around before her eyes it was like a vast ocean of some kind. An ocean of… incredible depth. When she had first stepped into the room and seen it dominating the large window she had thought it to be a mixture of blues, purples, and blacks. But the longer she watched the bubbles and lines slowly moving around she wasn’t sure if she were seeing color at all. Maybe she was seeing not the absence of light, but something opposite to it. As if the Ink gave off… anti-light.
She had no basis for this thought of course. No training, education, or experience to make her believe it was a real thing. Yet, if matter had anti-matter why couldn’t light have anti-light? After all the longer she looked the more if felt like she wasn’t really seeing anything. Nothing real anyway. More like… if she closed her eyes and rubbed against the eyelids and saw the attempts of her brain understand the shadows. Then there was the thought maybe she really was seeing something. Something just under the waves of its vast deep ocean of anti-light. After all, what was causing it to move? Were the waves, ripples, and bubbles purely random? Or was there something making it move?
As unpleasant as her line of thinking was, at least watching it gave her some small alone time on the otherwise crowded vessel. It also gave her an excuse to keep her headset muted. She would much rather deal with staring out at a vast ocean of anti-light than listen to the ship around her at this point. Yet, the moment she began to consider that she saw a flash in the bottom of her vision. Door opening. With a flick she started the program to let her headset gradually increase volume as her ears began to work again.
First sound, click of hard heel on metallic decking. Second sound, sharp intake of breath likely indicating surprise, anxiety, unease, or combination. Third sound, a tongue flicking against teeth before making a disapproving sucking sound. Fourth sound, fabric on fabric rubbing was very low and soft indicating luxury stitching and material. “Hello Director Obli.”
“Translator.” Came the curt reply, though said at a perfectly reasonable volume for normal speaking Mary winced a bit. Going from total silence to even the muted sounds she was getting now was rough at times. Especially as more just kept building. Even at this low level the sound of the ships began to return to her. The groan of metal, the hum of electricity, the distant murmur of people going about their tasks. She had no idea what she’d do without the headset to at least partially mute the world around her.
“Your bodyguards aren’t joining us?” Mary glanced over at the Huul’Rav in his custom suit. She couldn’t see his guards, but she could hear them just outside. She recognized Hrue from his breathing pattern, as smoking had done a number on his lungs. Based on the jingle of grenade tabs the other was Juul.
“If the Curators wanted me dead I highly doubt they’d create you just for the task. They’re more than powerful enough to have no need for subtlety or subterfuge.” Even though the director was talking to her he was looking out the window at the Ink. She could see the disdain on his face rather obviously. A hand moving up to nervously brush his furry chin, even as he tilted his horns side to side.
While he seemed focused on the Ink her mind returned to his curious comment. Did the Curators need to employ subterfuge? Of course they were powerful, but surely there was also use in subterfuge. Regardless, she had not been sent to kill the Director. Or anyone for that matter. She had no training in combat or related topics. He seemed to also be thinking about this though as he looked at her. “You aren’t here to kill me right?”
“No. I’m not here to kill you or anyone else.” She assured him. “I’m just here to facilitate communications during the negotiations.”
“It is curious though. Why the Custodians sent anyone at all…” He trailed off and while she was about to answer he turned and spoke first. “Actually do you mind if we talk somewhere else?” At the end his eyes darted to the window and the swirl of the Ink beyond.
“Certainly.” She nodded, and gestured to the door letting him go first.
“I appreciate it.” He commented and even as he stepped through the door Hrue stepped in front of him to lead, while Juul stepped up behind Mary to follow. “I will admit it spoils my plans a bit. I wanted to talk with you in private a little. But uh… I do not particularly enjoy looking at the Ink.” She could hear his breathing pattern change just being in the hallway, out of sight of the swirling anti-light.
“I’m sure we can find privacy elsewhere. Though I am unsure what kind of private chat you would like. I’m here strictly as a neutral party to facilitate negotiations.” She reminded him.
“As you’ve said many times.” Obli waved off her remark. “Anyway, since you’re new to this sort of thing I just want to introduce you to my underling since you’ll be working for him during the start of the talks.”
Mary frowned at this sudden revelation. “First, I don’t work for you, or your subordinate. I-”
“Are a neutral translator provided by the Curators.” He waved her off again as they walked. All around her she could hear the ship and its crew going about keeping the ship alive as it were. It was an older vessel and every creak and groan of stressed metal, or electrical spark continued to heighten her anxiety. She could not wait to get off this vessel and onto a planet. “I meant work for him in a more metaphorical sense. I know you likely expected to work with me throughout these talks but it’s just not how labor talks to management. They don’t get to start by talking to a Director. They’ll start with someone just important enough to garner attention but with no real power. If he fails, I swoop in and save things. If he succeeds I get to take credit in the end and talk about how I knew he was the man for the job.”
The further they walked from the observation deck and the Ink the more confident and in fact arrogant Obli got. She wasn’t particularly keen on his behavior but she had at least grown accustomed to it on the trip so far. “Why then did you spend most of this trip testing my abilities as a translator?”
“Because I was trying to figure out your angle.” He replied with a glance back over his shoulder as they reached a lift. The four of them filtered into it before Juul hit the button for the hangar deck.
“I don’t have an angle. I was instructed to come here and facilitate-” She began but he yet again waved her off.
“Neutral yes yes. But why? We’ve never needed nor requested Curator assistance for anything like this. We have a proven history of successfully ending labor disputes and organization efforts. So why have the curators bothered to send you? Shouldn’t you be trying to help keep the FDF from falling apart? Or spreading the word of the Curators to the masses or something? That is something they do right? Proselytize?” Mary was fairly confident Obli tried to be dismissive about the Curators just to make himself more comfortable. It was a minor enough annoyance to overlook. Though she wondered if it actually helped ease his fragile ego.
“The Curators do not proselytize no. They have no need. They exist. They act. They do not need the approval of others, nor belief in their correctness. I am here because I have been ordered to be here. I was told I must assist in negotiating between the belligerent parties on NT-2125 and observe the outcome. That is all. If the Curators have a deeper reason for sending me here I do not know it.” While she spoke she could already hear Obli clicking his tongue in disapproval. Hrue was trying, and failing, to breathe quietly. Juul was running her hand over a smooth metallic object in her right pocket, slowly turning it over.
“I know you are flesh and blood, but you’re more like your creators than I find comforting.” Obli very bluntly commented.
“I do not exist for your comfort.” Mary pointedly replied, which made Obli click his tongue in disapproval once more. By that point the lift stopped and the doors opened. The rush of sound from the hangar deck made her wince a moment as she had to deal with the sudden volume as she lowered her headset sensitivity.
“I don’t think you exist for your own comfort either.” Obli remarked, now smirking a little at her obvious discomfort. There was little she could do but cast a glare in his direction as the pain subsided and the sounds took on a more muted level. Looking out across the hangar she could see dozens of people moving around and working on the ship’s complement of shuttles, and fighters. No one was expecting combat, but that didn’t stop the captain from preparing anyway. While she was told most of the machinery operated at frequencies most species couldn’t hear it always gave her a headache to be around so many buzzing, grinding, churning machines.
“Regardless.” Obli continued. “I want to make it clear I have been authorized to extend to the Curators our most sincere intent to be friends. If there is anything we can do to make your job more comfortable let me know. And if you see fit to pass on anything you hear from the labor organizers direct compensation is on offer.”
“I am here as a neutral party.” She reminded him yet again. But he just spread his hands and smiled.
“We’re willing to pay for even what you would consider banter and gossip. Anything you hear. My subordinate is also authorized to compensate you but I’d prefer a direct copy.” He held out an encryption cylinder. While she had no intention of passing along anything she did take it. It might be useful for other reasons.
“I don’t have a bank account, you know. Or any credits.” When she told him this he looked entirely confused. “I am not paid for my efforts. Curators do not use currency of any kind. Resources are simply provided as needed.”
Director Obli’s look of pure disgust was even more obvious than when he’d been in the observation deck. “And here I thought they were civilized… But it’s then all the more important for you to start building up your own nest egg!” He began to pull a credit chip from his pocket but she waved him off.
“I’m not chipped nor do I have a slate.” This time he scoffed and looked confused even as he held it out.
“You can take the whole thing. How do you expect to pay for anything on the planet without credits?” He seemed genuinely baffled.
“I don’t expect to pay for anything on the planet. Your company has extended their most sincere intent to be friends after all.” As she tilted her head a little while looking at him Obli just snorted.
“Ah… This is why my assistant was babbling about an expense waiver. Yes… There are limits to it, you know. Food, drink, necessities only.” Mary just stared at him until he finally sighed and tucked the credit chip back into his pocket. “Fine. It’s best for you to go change now then, the shuttle will be leaving as soon as we hit real space.”
She was wondering why he’d brought her here directly. “And why am I changing?”
“Well, you can go as you are if you like. But this isn’t a Curator ship. The Resolute has to drop further away from the planet so the shuttle will be in space to close the gap to the planet. And, I mean clearly Curator tech never breaks or has any accidents but our poor mortal hands make poor mortal vessels.” Obli spread his hands as if to highlight his own soft, well manicured hands.
“Fine.” While her suit wasn’t as comfortable as her normal clothes she didn’t intend on being the only one killed by some sort of accident on the way to the planet. It would set a terrible precedent. So she walked away from Obli and his guards then towards the hangar’s locker room.
As she strode across the deck, stepping over fuel and coolant lines she tried to make some sense of the mass of sound around her. Obli no doubt thought she was beyond earshot when he spoke to his guards. “Strange bird. Easy on the eyes though.”
Hrue cleared his throat a moment to reply in a gravely, raspy voice. “Think the Curators made her to be attractive to most species somehow? Robot magic or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I still don’t know why they sent anyone at all. I don’t trust those damned machines.” Obli replied. She had expected this sort of reaction. It was in line with their comments during the trip.
Other than that most of the technicians, mechanics, and pilots moving around the hangar seemed much more focused on their work than anything else. Grumblings about the captain’s standards, and an apparent lack of spare parts. Based on the overall comments it seemed to be more about not wanting to do so much work rather than serious concerns over abilities to keep ships functional. Or so she hoped.
Once in the locker room she made her way to the back where a special case had been installed for her suit. While she would have preferred to travel on a Curator vessel she was glad to at least get a Curator suit. They didn’t have many organics, but the suits they made for her and the other Lifted were absolutely the best in terms of survivability, durability, and protection. Just not… comfort.
Since the locker room seemed to be empty she quickly stripped down, setting aside the encryption cylinder Obli had given her. For a moment she examined herself, along the deep red feathers of her head and neck, gradually turning to a sunburst yellow down her torso, and finally a rich deep blue along her legs and tail. Did species find her attractive? If the Curators had intended for this they likely would have included it in her training surely. Must just be Obli and his guards.
Stepping up to the Curator case she hit the activation button and then held perfectly still as the case opened, arms moving out to begin affixing the suit to her body. First she felt the snap of metal rings around her ankles, wrists, neck, hips, and ribs before the rest of the exoskeleton was built up around it. Then came the cool mesh of the inner suit pulled up underneath it and against her feathers. Next was the composites slotted into the outside, layered and overlapped for maximum coverage. Finally she prepared herself for the final step as two hoses connected to the metal collar around her neck. She hated this part.
When the liquid began to pump into the lining between the mesh and the composite layer it was ice cold and caused her to gasp and shudder as it filled in. It took a few minutes while she tried to carefully control her breathing and push past the cold. Once it was finally full the suit activated and the liquid turned solid, controlled by the sophisticated Curator chip in her skull. Her temperature quickly began to return to normal now and she took a slow deep breath in relief before taking the helmet the case offered last.
She refrained from putting the helmet on yet though, it wasn’t quite big enough for her taste and always rubbed her eartips. Walking back out into the hangar she could feel the suit somewhat flowing around her movements. It would turn liquid to move, then solid when it didn’t need to. She was also told it would go selectively rigid to deflect projectiles. A feature she hoped to never test.
Looking around a moment she saw Obli near the closest shuttle, speaking to someone wearing an executive pattern suit. Luxurious and comfortable, but she’d prefer the Curator suit in an emergency. Next to him was a human in a deep blue armored suit with steel accents. As she watched he draped a travel cloak over the shoulders of the suit. An interesting touch. Walking towards them she had to stop a moment to let a rumbling hangar tug pass. Several technicians rode in the back, carried to their next task.
Judging on the whine of the back left wheel she figured their next task might be to fix the tug itself. Either way she continued on up to Director Obli. “Translator. I’d like you to meet Kingus.” Obli gestured to the figure in the executive suit. Up close she could see through his helmet’s faceplate and examine the Nikvic inside. Rather stubby bone ridges. Rather young then for an executive.
“Translator.” He nodded to her.
“Kingus, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Mary, though translator is just fine as well.” She took an amicable approach for now.
“Yes. This is my bodyguard, Eli.” He gestured to the human next to him, who made for an imposing figure in his armor. With his helmet in place the steel visor reflected a distorted reflection of herself back at her.
“Ma’am.” He nodded and extended a hand out from under his cloak. Shifting her helmet to her left hand she carefully reached out to shake his hand in return.
“Eli, it’s nice to meet you.” The first human she’d found in the employ of the company. Though she knew most of the problems on the planet were related to their human miners. Allegedly at least.
“Nice to meet you as well ma’am.” His shake was firm but not aggressive. “We should be ready shortly. They’re loading the last of some food supplies and then we’re waiting on the marines.”
“Food supplies… I don’t even know what we’re taking down there. Argyle is a full fledged city. The problems its facing are related to labor terrorists. Not famine.” Kingus mentioned with a huff.
“It’s likely my food.” Mary answered. “The Curators were unsure how long I would be here and sent me with a full complement of prepared meals.”
“Oh.” Kingus coughed lightly. “Well… that’s fine then. I wasn’t aware you had special dietary needs. But the marines at least should be here. What’s taking them so long?” He tried to deflect a little and looked around.
As if summoned by his complaint she saw a group of human soldiers approaching the shuttle. The few times she had seen soldiers so far they’d been in smart uniforms and moving with purpose and sharp specific gestures. These… did not look nearly so impressive. Or poised. Instead the group just walked casually towards them, in a mixture of armor sets. Most had a haphazard drab olive green coat of paint but much of it was chipped and worn. Not to mention much of it was also covered in writing, drawings, and decals that she doubted were officially sanctioned.
Only the man in the lead looked to be in a truly official uniform set of armor. “I’m Lieutenant Barrow. I assume this is the shuttle we want?”
“Barrow, this is Kingus our Executive Labor Liason.” Director Obli introduced them. “This is our translator Mary.”
“Never seen one of you before. What species are you?” Mary turned to look at the soldier who’d spoken to her. He was just next to the officer, and his armor looked particularly beat up. She also noticed signs of scorch marks in several places. Unlike the single smooth faceplate of Eli’s armor his helmet looked more like a scowling face with golden lenses in the eyes.
“I am not an official species. I was Lifted by the Curators to act as a translator.” She informed him directly.
“Interesting. So you’re a bird. But you’ve got ears. What’s with the headset?” He gestured up at it as she reflexively reached up with her free hand to touch the side.
“There was a slight miscalculation in my creation and I find most settings to be… uncomfortably loud. The headset is to regulate the volume of my surroundings to prevent damage and discomfort.” She explained.
“What… wait. The Curators made a translator who gets hurt by sound? Am I understanding that right?” Mary frowned at his comment.
“That’s somewhat reductive.” She tried to deflect.
“Is it wrong?” He pressed.
“It’s not entirely inaccurate.” Disparaging on the work of the Curators wasn’t something she was comfortable with.
“That’s a fancy way of saying I’m right. So your job, which is listening to things, actively hurts you. Man… sucks to be you.” A few of the other marines snickered and giggled behind him as Mary frowned.
“Gunny, that’s enough.” Barrow finally waved off the other marine.
“Where’s the rest of your company? And the Major?” Obli asked now, thankfully moving things along.
“Elsewhere. He said if you’re not going to the planet yet he doesn’t see a reason to go either. My platoon and I are sufficient at this time. Once you’re ready to head down then the rest of the company will deploy.” Barrow shrugged. “You send your flunkey first he sends his flunkey too.”
“We have concerns about possible terrorist strikes on civilians during the labor talks. Are you sure a platoon is really sufficient?” Kingus asked.
The officer sucked in a breath, likely about to answer but Gunny cut him off. “Isn’t it interesting. All across the fringe you corporate types like to talk about how safe and secure your mining colonies are. Biding everyone to bring their families and get to work. Yet, the moment a union starts to form you start screaming about terrorists and how you need the military to keep order.”
“Gunny.” The officer hissed at him. Gunny waved it off a moment as the officer cleared his throat. “Your own reports suggest corporate security is robust enough to secure the city. We have no intel to suggest any threats of terrorist strikes by the miners are really valid. A platoon will suffice for now. If the situation changes the rest of the company can deploy very quickly I assure you.”
“Fine. But remember just because the miners in question are human doesn’t mean you can give them free reign. The FDF and by extension the marines rely on our funding to keep functioning.” Kingus replied.
“You never let us fucking forget.” Gunny muttered that barely under his breath. Neither Kingus or Obli seemed to pick up on this but Mary did.
“Many species across the Fringe have been generous enough to accept many human refugees. We obviously seek a future of cooperation and mutual success. This is not about humans being singled out. They have been given the same rights and contracts as all other species who join our corporate family.” Director Obli smiled and spread his hands in a friendly gesture. “We ask only that you protect the talks because they’re so important to our continued wellbeing as united front here on the Fringe. The Tide comes for us all and we must be ready. Together.”
“Well said Director.” Kingus nodded in support.
“Fucking please…” Gunny muttered and made some sort of gesture with his fist making a pumping motion in front of his hips. From the reports the Curators had given her, really what it seemed like was the humans massively increased their productivity, but in exchange wanted better treatment from the various industrial consortiums. The executives like Obli enjoyed the productivity but felt treating them better would set a bad precedent.
Across the fringe however humans had been getting their way more often than not. NT-2125 was by far the biggest, most high profile case, but she didn’t imagine it would be anything special. “Yes, well, we are here to keep you safe and make sure no one kills anyone. On either side.” The officer assured them and then gestured at the shuttle. “Shall we?”
“Have a nice flight Translator. Remember to call me.” Obli smiled and nodded at her.
“I’m sure we’ll be in touch, Director.” She finally pulled her helmet up and on, feeling it settle into place with a click and a soft hiss at it pressurized. The very tips of her ears were lightly pressed in by the sides which was why she’d waited this long to put it on. The marines began to board the shuttle first, shuffling along rows in the center to get into seats with metal shoulder restraints that would help hold them in place.
“Hey, so you’re a Lifted? What do the Curators want you here for? What’s the deal?” Gunny asked as he waited near the back for the others to shuffle in.
“I am not at liberty at this time to discuss the Curators or their work.” Mary’s forehead felt slightly warm as she answered him.
“Oh come on. There’s got to be something special the Curators want you here for.” Gunny insisted.
“I am not at liberty at this time to discuss the Curators or their work.” Mary’s forehead felt a bit warmer still.
“Gunny leave her alone.” Barrow instructed.
“C’mon why a translator at all? We’ve got earpieces! I’ve never seen a translator before, let alone a Curator one!” By now the other marines were seated and Mary began to shuffle up the row looking for a free seat.
“Ma’am you’ll need to take one of the jumpseats up front. These harnesses aren’t made for your Curator suit.” Barrow tapped one of the set of shoulder restraints. So she kept shuffling past the row of marines towards the front.
“I don’t rely on machine translation. I am fluent in over six hundred languages and forms of communication. I listen to all parties and ensure nothing is lost in translation.” She assured them.
“Only six hundred? I knew of a guy who was fluent in over six million forms of communication.” Gunny’s voice had a slightly different tone to it. Was he joking?
“Six million seems excessive. I assure you I am well trained for my job.” Now at the front of the shuttle she found the jumpseat in question. Yet, when she went to pull the seat down the dangerous whine and groan of the metal hinged did not inspire her with confidence. Still it was her mission so she settled into the seat and went about trying to figure out the harness.
Barrow approached her and pointed to the straps in order to help her out. “You’ll be fine. This is really just a precaution.” The Lieutenant nodded and gave her shoulder a pat. She smiled up at him then, her faceplate clear unlike their armor. It was thought to be better for non-verbal communication cues if people she spoke to could see her face. Kingus and Eli were the last to settle in seats nearby.
“Hey! Corpse!” Gunny called out as Eli settled into his seat and set the shoulder restraints with practiced ease.
“Excuse me?” Eli looked across the aisle at Gunny.
“You’re corporate security right? Corp-sec.” Gunny more carefully pronounced. But Mary was positive he hadn’t made a mistake earlier.
“I’m a private bodyguard. I work on contract.” Eli corrected him.
“Oh well anyway the fuck is with the cloak?” Gunny gestured at the deep blue cloak draped over Eli’s shoulders and body. “You’re in a suit right? Kind of the point of a space suit to be waterproof and somewhat heat proof and shit yeah? Kind of defeats the point of a cloak right? So what gives?”
“It’s about looking stylish. Something you clearly have no concept of Gunnery Sergeant.” Eli’s response seemed to take Gunny by surprise. The Gunny? Was Gunny a nickname or a title? Either way the marines around snickered and chuckled a bit though she could hear Gunny snort.
Barrow took the jumpseat next to her instead of one of the more secure seats. Possibly to help set her at ease. Which she appreciated. “So, Lieutenant. Do you expect this mission to be dangerous?”
“What? Protecting the talks? No. We’ve done this a few times so far. It’s pretty boring. No one has actually done anything. Usually there are some protests. Corp-sec shove people around. Both sides are upset. But no one dies. The talks advance. The miners get a bit more pay and benefits. Both sides are mutually annoyed with the other. And I’m sure in a few years it’ll all happen again.” Barrow shrugged and seemed entirely unconcerned.
“Don’t be so flippant.” Kingus said even as Barrow seemed to dismiss any concerns. “We’ve had some communications troubles from NT-2125. The work of labor agitators no doubt.”
“Communications troubles? Why are you telling us that now?” Barrow asked, showing some concern.
“I thought it was common knowledge?” Kingus sounded genuinely confused that Barrow was unaware of this. “Is it not? Executives on the ground have spoken of damaged communications systems, and delayed reports from outlying facilities.”
“Have there been delays in ore shipments? Or minerals or whatever?” Barrow asked.
“No. In fact due to our exemplary corporate structure we’re seeing increases across the board.” Kingus nodded, clearly proud of this fact.
“So… in your mind the labor agitators are breaking lines of communication. But not… the ore shipments which you find significantly more valuable?” Barrow asked, clearly not buying the idea.
“Don’t be complacent! Just because labor organizers have been rarely violent in the past doesn’t mean it will always be the case! I want your men on their highest alertness lieutenant!” Kingus stressed.
“Yes sir, I’ll be sure to pass that along.” Barrow assured him, even though Mary could tell by his tone that he had no intention of doing anything.
“What’s the planet like?” She asked next.
“The locals have called it Argyle.” Kingus answered. “It’s our largest mining operation and a highlight of our terraforming technology. A dozen zones have been established across the surface and ten of them are already fully habitable without a suit. We expect work to be done on six zones within the solar cycle, and shall open up another dozen to be finished within the next three solar cycles. Mineral and ore outputs are quadruple expectations. Mostly thanks to our unequaled refinery efficiency.”
“Or maybe cause you’re exploiting the shit out of your workers.” Again Gunny muttered this quietly enough to be missed by the others. Mary was settling into her seat as best she could when she heard the engines spool up. Inside the armored cockpit behind her she could hear the pilots flipping switches.
“Systems check complete. Echo shuttle requesting clearance for departure.” She wasn’t sure if that was the pilot or co-pilot. Deeper, possibly male.
“We got a flight plan?” Lighter possible female. Maybe that was the pilot?
“Yeah.” Navigator. Younger, more youthful. Not clear if male or female. “Not much to it. Follow the automated beacons. Their spaceport is big enough for Tagmax freighters so it should be easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Human definitely.
“We’re clear.” Co-pilot.
“Okay.” There was a moment where Mary’s hearing seemed to echo as she heard both the pilot in the cockpit and over the speakers in the hold at the same time. “We’re in real space and disembarking now. Remember to keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times until we come to a full and complete stop. We know you’ve got no choice in airlines today so suck it up because we’re all you got.” Also definitely human.
Gunny seemed to wiggle and settle in his seat, as if to take a nap. In general the marine chatter in the hold seemed very relaxed and calm. A good sign. The most nervous person was likely Kingus whose breathing she could tell was getting a bit quicker and more nervous. After another few seconds she heard the engine spooling get more intense and the shuttle picked up off the deck. Kingus tensed at this as his hands gripped the seat’s armrests more tightly.
While Mary wished she was in a superior Curator craft she was relatively relaxed. She’d flown many times, especially in her training to make sure she could translate even in stressful situations. Part of her wanted to mute her headset for now, to free herself of the need to listen to every jostle of the shuttle and the people within it, but she knew it was more important to maintain her ability to listen to the flight crew.
For several minutes however she mostly had to fight her growing desire to take a nap. Gunny’s breathing shifted into a soft and consistent snore so he already fell asleep. The gentle rumble of the ship around her and her secure nature also lent itself to a desire to nap… “Hey did we check the sensor calibration before we left?” Navigator.
“Yeah, total systems check. Everything cleared. I’m not seeing any problems.” Pilot.
“Uuuhhh… Okay.” Their tone implied things were not okay. She turned her head a little, and began to dial up her headset, ignoring the other sounds and focusing on the cockpit. Another minute went by as she just had the hum of the engines and marine chatter around her. “We’re sure the sensors were checked?”
“Yeah. Why what’s wrong?” Pilot.
“It’s just… uh… doesn’t make sense. I’m reading like… aaa lot of different atmospheres?” Navigator.
“Yeah. They’re terraforming it. So, a lot of different atmospheric readings.” Co-pilot.
“Sure but… some of these are… bizarre.. Like a… nitrogen? Maybe? And uh… ammonia.” She frowned as the Navigator said this.
“Maybe those are the natural planetary atmosphere. Listen, everything else I’ve got is reading fine.” Pilot.
“Ask ground maybe? Terraforming… accidents?” Navigator.
“Resolute this is Echo Two. Do we have any direct communication with Ground? Over.” Co-pilot. Pause. “No direct comms at this time. But the nav beacons are loud and clear.”
“Probably just some interference. I mean if they’ve had a terraforming accident it’s probably hell on comms.” Pilot.
“Yeah… probably.” Navigator, entirely unconvinced. As she listened she realized Barrow was staring straight at her. Did he suspect something? Was he on their channel?
“Something up?” He asked.
“The navigator thinks there might have been a terraforming accident on the planet.” She explained.
“What? How do you know that?” Barrows looked from her towards the armored door between them.
“I can hear them.” She explained simply.
“Did you say a terraforming accident?” Kinugs looked her way now.
“They say there’s strange atmospherics on the planet.” She revealed.
“I knew it! Labor agitators!” He huffed. “Tell your men to be ready for all manner of terrorism Lieutenant!”
“Mmhh…” Barrow's answer was noncommittal but seemed worried as he focused on Mary. She was still focused on the cockpit however.
“Was there a cruiser in orbit somewhere?” Co-pilot.
“The uh… Tartar or something. At least on the mission brief. We tracking it anywhere?” Pilot.
“I… no. I’ve got us, the orbital refinery platform, and the Resolute.” Navigator.
“Freighters? Shuttles? Corporate Yachts? Anything?” Pilot.
“Nnnnno.” Navigator.
“They aren’t seeing any other traffic in orbit.” She relayed to Barrow.
Barrow cleared his throat and seemed to trigger a mic in his helmet. “Guys, shut the fuck up. Gunny wake up.” A marine besides gunny slapped the man’s shoulder causing him to jerk in his seat and a knife seemed to appear in his hand.
“Wah?” He looked around.
“Something’s up.” Barrow mentioned. “No traffic, planetary comms are down, and terraformers are fucked up.”
Mary expected some smart comment but Gunny tucked his knife away and just listened. “Wait. A… freighter is taking off.” Navigator. “And I’ve got one leaving the orbital platform.”
“Ping them?” Co-pilot. Pilot must have nodded because he continued. “Pinging.” Pause. “Both are automated. Both report… systems are fine. No issues.”
“Nothing from ground? Emergency beacons? Distress? Nothing?” Pilot.
“Nothing.” Co-pilot confirmed.
“I mean… they’d be loath to stop shipping ore. Maybe it’s just really comms trouble and they aren’t flying anything right now. Cruiser might be on the far side assisting with some kind of… recovery effort? I don’t know.” Pilot.
“That might be the case…” The co-pilot did not in fact think that was the case. “Resolute, this is Echo two. Uh… do we have any further… mission details? Are we still go on landing? Over.” He sounded nervous. “We’re still go… they think it’s just comms trouble. But they’re prepping more shuttles now for possible rescue or support efforts.”
“I mean everything I’m seeing is clear. Not even rain clouds.” Pilot.
“They’re saying there’s comms failure on the planet. They’ve found automated traffic only. No distress calls.” Mary relayed. A moment later the pilot keyed in a direct channel and she heard the voice through Barrow’s helmet comm.
“Hey eltea. Just a heads up. We think there’s some kind of comms failure on the planet. And maybe a terraforming accident. No signs of hostile action though. Still prepped to land shortly. But uh giving you a heads up.” So they could talk to him but hadn’t.
“Appreciated. I’ll relay.” He acknowledged. Then she had to try and focus a bit harder as Barrow began to speak to his marines about the situation but the flight crew was still chatting.
“Entering atmo now. Any change in sensor reading?” Pilot.
“No. Area around Argyle looks… okay. Wait, that's the city right?” Navigator.
“Yeah. Uh. Maybe.” Pilot. The shuttle began to shake a bit harder though from what she had experienced before this was just normal for entering atmosphere. They were quiet as the shuttle rumbled. But after another minute the rumbling seemed to get worse instead of better. She was much more acutely aware of the groaning of the metal and just shuddering of everything around her. Kingus’ teeth were rattling and clicking especially. “Okay what the fuck.”
“Yeah… Yeah… Uh… fuck.” Co-pilot. What were they seeing? Just describe it outloud!
“I can’t turn it off. Ground has us locked into our corridor.” Navigator.
“Override!” Pilot.
“I can’t! I’m trying!” Navigator. The shuddering of the shuttle intensified further as it seemed to be moving around, like the pilot was trying to shake them out of whatever their path was and kept getting pulled in. “It’s not using any normal code! I’ve got no fucking clue what this is!”
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!” Mary winced at how loudly the Co-pilot yelled that. So far their voices had been full of stress and anxiety, but not fear, nor had they been loud.
“Jesus!” Pilot. What? What was it? “Look at it fucking move! Chaff! Flares! Dump everything!”
“Brace!” Mary cried out as she clutched her harness. She could hear the deployment of flares and chaff in a rapid series of bops and clanks. Then she could hear something hit the shuttle… But it wasn’t an explosion? Just a meaty metal crunch. Her body jerked hard in the harness as the shuttle around her began to spin, or jerk, or she had no idea but it was twisting violently!
“Fuck!” Pilot
“Watch it!” Co-pilot. Red lights immediately came on in the hold of the shuttle, she could hear as well as feel the violent collision as the port wing slammed into something. For a brief instant she could hear the shattering of glass before her hearing was just overwhelmed by the rest of the crash and the screaming around her. The force yanked her hard against the harness as she heard the terrifying screech of metal being pried apart as the hold and the cockpit sections of the shuttle seemed to detach.
Strapped to the jumpseat she could only watch in horror as the marines before her were suddenly spun in a different direction while Barrow and her were tumbling on the now suddenly exposed outside of the cockpit section. She was screaming as loud as her lungs could bear, but he was oddly quiet. As if resigned to their fate. She could see the city spinning around her, and the straps holding her began to give way as they were never intended for this. Barrow reached out and for a moment she reached towards him but then they hit something hard and her body was sent flying free of the seat.
[Continued in Comments]