The armies of Roden had breached the gate earlier in the day. The Head Monk of the Priory of Earth had abandoned his post in a misguided effort to parlay with the invaders. An inopportune exit through a doorway turned into a hostage, into an entry, into the sacking of the city of Dalira. They had been sieged for weeks and it was over due to one careless mistake.

Nia slipped into the Temple of the Moon and approached the altar. It was a simple stone building, with a small amount of rooms. The main room was the prayer hall, a place of sitting, reflecting, studying the glass windows that told the story of their moons paths.

She kicked off her sandals, smoothed her plain robes and pulled her hood over her head as she took the Head Sister's position behind the altar and exhaled. Head Sister had been thorough in her instruction: strike the bell three times, reach in to the drawer beneath, find the clasp, pull, then speak the prayer aloud. Nia was faithful and attentive, did as she was told, and bowed her head.

"Mother Argenta. Word-Bearer. Bullet of Retribution. Bringer of Faith. Last Woman of the Moon. Please hear my call."

Silence, save for the riots in the streets. And then, distantly, a whisper in her ear, coming from somewhere in the altar. She leaned in, saw where the moons had been carved on its surface, and felt the vibrations as she heard the words.

"Oh what the fuck. You're a kid? What's going on down there."

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"Nancy listen ca-

It's mom, I-

Fucking BLACKOUTS HONEY PULL O-

okay. it's okay. we got enough ubiq signal. ha. hey honey. it's mom. dad's driving. he's focused right now, so he can't-

Hey Nance, love you, mom's gotta talk right now.

-honey focus on the-

I will, I will, you talk to them-

-okay, Nancy, don't go home. do not go home. it's too. I don't know. there's so much happening. there was that announcement, and those jets, and it's not safe in Seattle, it's not safe in the city. Morgan said-

-Morgan's okay, Nancy, Morgan and Taylor and Becks, they're all okay-

-yeah, honey, they're okay. But you can't go home. I know I said, in an emergency, go home, but. There's shooting, there's fires, and-

-hand me the phone?

okay, okay.

Hey. Nancy. Talk to Morgan and the others. We're moving to safety. We'll find you when we can. Promise. Stay safe for me.

-and me.

And your mom. If you die, I'll never hear the end of it, haha.

Love you."

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No, I'm not in trouble. It's. You've seen the news, right?

Kiddo we're on a phone call right now, you at least have cell reception, c'mon, don't bullshit me. And, I know, I know, I always say don't trust the news. But. There's something in California. Something is happening. It looks bad, and I don't think…it may be another pandemic or something. But they're mobilizing forces over it. And it doesn't look good.

I'm not saying, y'know, get a gun. I am not saying that over a phone. What I am saying is: I love you so much. And I'm happy you and your siblings are tough as fucking nails. We weren't good parents. I'm glad we had such good kids.

You don't have to come back down to Seattle. No. Whatever is happening…you might be far enough away from it. Keep yourself safe first and foremost. The rest of us…we'll do what we can. I promise.

Love you, Rebecca. Call me when you can."

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Taylor's busy with friends. She didn't say more than that. I don't know who they are or what with, but I know she won't be around. And I'm having trouble getting in contact with Nancy. I don't know if she didn't pay her phone bill or if she's on shift at her current job, or jobs.

You're probably busy at work too. I hate to do this to you, Morgan, put the burden on you. Can you make sure Nancy's still going to come over too? Your dad's got business going on and I mean actual business, ha. And I have to get to *my* shift.

Text me if you can. Thanks, honey. I love you. Oh, and be careful, please? I know dad says don't trust the news, but.

Something feels bad. Something bigger than that. I can't explain it. Just be careful for the two of us."

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I want you to have your life. I want you to live it. But this is the sort of money that doesn't come back when you spend it.

You're smart, you know that? You and your siblings are all smart. And I thought...maybe her. Maybe the one who's most like me, but is smart like her mother.

I don't know. I don't know where you're staying, I don't know who you're staying with, I don't know what you're doing or how you're going to support yourself. Becks and the twins are busy. Your mother's working on something new. And I'm keeping my head above water. But I worry about you, Taylor. Y'know?

I thought you might be able to turn the money into...something. Something better with an education like that.

[sighs]

That's not fair. I'm frustrated, honey. We try real hard. It's not like you don't know that. I guess I kinda wish I just gave you the money up front and we called it a day, right? [laughs, stops] No that's...I don't know.

I guess...good luck, honey. Do the best you can. And if you need a place to stay, the couch is open. But we can't really give you any more money. And the news has started talking about how unsafe it is, with those attacks.

Promise you'll be careful. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

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I'm sorry. I am. It took a lot of planning, and I was excited for it too. I've only been in California a few times myself, but. We're not getting to Anaheim, not with three of us throwing up like that. Especially not by train.

But, hey, it'll be alright. Klamath Falls is still a city. Has to be stuff worth doing and seeing here, right? How's it sound, you and me, fresh air, walk around, see the city and...I dunno, buy some gifts and stuff for the others? We'll probably stay the night before we get back on the train. Worst case scenario, we stay another night. [laughs] Make them regret hosting the Banks family.

...yeah, I know. This sucks, Becks. It's not any of our faults. One day when you're older, when we both have more money, we'll give it another try. I promise. Ride the rides and see the sights as a family. For now, we're going to have to make do with what two girls can get up to. And, well, we set some money aside for purchases at the park. I'll be damned if anything in this place is as expensive as California. Let's go find our own fun."

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Morgan, Nancy, you two are old enough to enlist if you really wanted to or go into ROTC or something. Don't. Becks and Taylor, you let me know if they do any of those assemblies at your school, okay?

Because it's disgusting. Like. There's a lot going wrong in America these days. The solution to any of it isn't to pick up a gun and go overseas. You've got those games and movies and shows making you think it's the best thing ever. They do those assemblies where they show you the drones, talk about the benefits. Got some asshole in Marines dress pretending it's a big adventure with the speech he's giving. Don't tell your mother I said "asshole". It's a lie, it's a scam, it's a trap.

Look you kids are old enough and smart enough. We're not the richest people in the world. We're *lucky* to have the position we're in; many have it better than us, but more have it worse. I know, I know, dad's having one of those opinions on society and justice and crime again. But let me be clear: I love the four of you. I will support damn near anything you do. I won't ever cut you out of my life for joining the military. But I don't want you all hurting yourselves for no good god damn reason.

The world's big, and we may be small, but we fucking matter and can do what we need to get by without killing strangers over it."

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Where are you?

...okay. I should not have been yo-no, no honey, it's okay, you're...your dad's not here right now. He's here, but he took some medicine before bed, so he's not gonna wake up any time soon. Fuck. Okay. Here's how this is going to work, okay? I'm not him but I know how these sorts of calls go.

You don't have a record, you don't have priors, you are minor, you were a passenger, it's not your car, not your glovebox. Hold all of-Morgan, breathe for me, okay? Don't pass out in the station, you don't want that happening.

You are gonna be okay. I'm going to call for a lawyer. The only thing you need to do is shut your mouth and sit tight. Don't sign anything, invoke your rights as best as you can. I know the laws have been weird lately, but you're still a minor. And, this is important: do not sell Brian out, okay? They're going to want you to do that so they can do less work, honey. Make them work for it. Don't talk back but don't give them anything to work with.

...yeah, honey, you're probably gonna have to stay the night. You'll be okay. I promise.

Love you too. I gotta make some calls and tell Nancy.

Of course I'm telling them. You're the one who ran off without listening to them about Brian Carter. Plus, I'll need them to watch the others.

Stay safe for me. I'll see you soon."

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Oh, the band. Yeah. I thought she was dating Lana when we first met, and I guess Lana thought that too. Got weird when I started hanging out. I think your mom made some mistakes at that time. We were pretty young, it was messy, I was doing my own shit and didn't...pay great attention to the two of them, and then the band fell apart...

I'm not, jealous. I get it. That's a part of what she wants, and I can't really give her. Being her husband doesn't make her any less...bisexual, I guess. I'm her husband and I'm also not, dumb.

Don't give me that look, that's not permission to call me dumb.

I dunno! I don't have a problem with it I liked Lana. If they're good friends, they're good friends, if your mom wants to...weeeeee don't need to keep having this conversation. What was the question?

Oh, no, you're thinking of nonbinary. That's kind of like when you're not a boy or a girl, it's a whole spectrum. Why?"

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Are you sure you want to?

...don't tell your dad, okay? I mean he likes it, but. The swearing and content.

"The Screwdrivers" was a fun time. I think we could've made it. But we didn't have the money, or the commitment...it was a whole thing, we were already doing this the old fashioned way. We had a social media presence, but that's a job. And we did advertising, but that's a job. Only so many of us, not enough money. We had this run of LPs and that was really...it.

Yeah, no, I was good friends with those girls. Really good friends. Sometimes I check in on Lana; she's a session musician, she does good instrumental work still. The others, we don't talk or catch up. But Lana's still doing well.

When your dad was away, we would talk a bunch. Sometimes she'd sing for the twins. Help them to sleep.

You all probably don't remember that, huh? You might remember this song, though. That's me and her on this duet.

Oh it's called, uh. Girlkisser.

We can talk about it when you're older."

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I did say you could use my card to order stuff online. I didn't expect you to sign up for a magazine, and...I'm not going to say money is tight. I am going to say I didn't expect it to be a recurring subscription, y'know? Anyway. I looked into it, because what the hell is "Grills & Grills Quarterly".

So. Uh. You're kind of serious about that roadkill cuisine thing, huh.

Yeah. I know. Food waste is...it sure is a real, rising problem, I could see it helping people. But like. Jesus kiddo I want to be supportive, I do, I promise I do.

It's really damn weird.

[exhales] Your mom is a lot more repulsed than I am. But I gotta have some limits for what I let you kids do. So I have a proposal, and I think it'd be helpful for understanding this. Interest. And give us the opportunity to bond.

You remember Aunt Maxine? I still talk to her sometimes. Hunting season is coming up. We can go upstate, she can teach you how to shoot a little, the three of us go hunting, and we bring what we bag to a butcher. Let you see how, uh. The sausage is made, I guess.

We'll go from there. It's. It's a weird hobby, Becks. Dip your toes and who knows what you'll learn from it. Maybe don't marry yourself to it if it doesn't. Work out, y'know?"

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Hey. You did a big thing, telling all of us at once like that. Takes a lot of guts. I'm proud of you, Taylor.

I'm not making excuses for your father. I'm happy he got up and didn't say anything. He's getting smarter in his old age and learning to keep his mouth shut. I am going to remind you that he loves you to pieces, Taylor. You being his daughter won't change that. I promise. He just doesn't understand it. He *will*. I promise he will. Your father is an idiot but he's not *hateful*. If he didn't love you, you wouldn't be his favorite kid.

Don't tell the others we have favorites.

Well it's not *you*, honey, you're *his* favorite, we can't double up and create a love monopoly. [laughs]

Come here, come here. You're not so big as to not give me a hug. I love you, kiddo. Always have, always will. I'm proud of you. Plus. I'm cool. I used to share a two-bedroom with bunch of girls. I'd help them with their shots or let them crash on my bed. We have to stick together or else we're all not going to make it.

Promise."

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Look, ma'am, my kids worked hard on these costumes, and for you to start throwing words like those around-

I do, yes, we're in district, they go to the school at Twelfth, those two are in sixth grade-

Oh I'm sorry I thought we lived in America? Since when is there a cut-off for Halloween?

They're eleven! I don't give a sh-damn if fifteen-year-olds can go get a job working at Shake-It-Fast, they're still kids! Your lights are on, th-

Y'know what? Fine. Fine! I hope you like getting a bad review on BlockParty! Last time we go trick-or-treating in this neighborhood! C'mon, we're leaving-

I said we're leaving, you don't have to yell-

Morgan, try to look a little more upset? There we go. Perfect. Where the hell are Becks and Taylor. Don't answer that. The less we know the better. Sh-damn. Sorry. I know they had those big bars. I didn't expect her to be such a shi-stick in the mud, heh.

Where did you get those.

...I'm not saying don't put those in her mailbox but if you do, do not tell me. I'm gonna move to the next block. See you two there.

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It was an accident. Everyone saw what happened. They're going to reset her nose, run some tests, she'll be fine. I promise it'll be fine.

Because it happened in such a safe place, is why. I mean. Yeah. You all tend to get the blood up on the field, but. It's just sports, honey. I mean, god knows I got in all sorts of fights in less safe places and came out of it okay myself.

I did too. Ask your father about that night we saw Broken Socket at the grindcore show. I have a reliable eye witness to some shit I don't remember. Heh.

Do I miss it? No. Not at all.

Maybe a little. Ha! Got you smiling. Look, it's...shit like this just happens sometimes, okay? Someone gets knocked down, they need to get picked back up. They need teammates or doctors or moms or whoever. I mean, how many times did you cut your knees learning to ride? You just get back up and keep going.

Do I feel bad about it? I mean. Do you feel bad about hitting Misa?

Alright. And that's okay. It's all a matter of perspective and intent, honey. Shit happens. It's what we do next that matters. I think if you go see her in the hospital and say you're sorry, she'll believe you. Plus it's not like you won the match anyway, her team did win.

Fine, no more jokes. I can be the serious mom.

So. What's the biggest sundae I can go get you that'll get me off the hook for those swear jar donations?

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God how the hell do I even approach this. Fuck. Don't. Don't tell your mother I said that. Ha. Sorry. Look. I understand, Dennis Hanson's a little shit. Don't tell your mother I said that. And I understand he was giving you shit. Again, don't...fuck it. This is serious, Becks. You put him in the hospital.

You really are your mother's daughter sometimes.

You broke your violin and you put that boy in the hospital. I know you're not, sorry. And I get why you're not sorry, I do. It's gonna be hell to replace that and find you a new tutor. If. If we let you keep, playing it. God, kid. Fuck. Fuck!

We'll figure it out. We'll figure it out! I don't have an answer for you, honey, I don't have an...answer to this.

You're probably going to have to apologize to that kid though. I know you won't want to. That's just. Part of how it's all done. Part of the ritual. Polite society. It sucks. I know, and I get it. A lot just, happened today. And it doesn't get to go away. We have to figure out what happens next.

No you, don't have to go to your room. We've said what we have to about it, what is sending you to your room going to do?

It'll be okay. We'll figure it out.

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Things aren't fair. It's not that we're lucky; we are. God, are we lucky. I've got four kids I wouldn't trade for the world. I've got a husband I love, a house I call my own, a job that doesn't break my back, some savings. We're trying to play our cards right to ensure the two of you get to go somewhere like my Aunt Elsie did. We have all of this and it's still not...safe. It's not stable.

God this is a hell of a thing to tell you two. I'm sorry. But I don't want you to be blind-sided if it all changes. Because it could. The world moves in big ways we can't ever anticipate. You saw what happened with...with Mama. None of us saw it coming. We keep going, and we remember her and what we had.

Sorry. Please give me a second, heh.

I'm going to miss her so much. As much as you two will. God. Sorry. I'm okay. Things, uh. Things aren't fair. Your father and I want you to understand the two most important rules. We came up with them when I got pregnant, and we had to go from a couple to parents. They're simple and I hope they help you too.

First, the world's not fair. That's not an excuse to not try to be kind and make it better.

Second, if you have to be unkind or break the rules, you don't do it in the house. Don't bring it home. I can never be mad at that man because he follows that rule, and I do too. Okay?

I love you both so much. Whatever you do, I'll be proud of you.

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Shit I kinda figured one of you might be a chip off my block. Didn't expect *you*, heh. Anyway, uh, here goes.

It's okay to steal stuff, Taylor.

Yeah you didn't really see that coming, huh? There's a part two to that sentence, but. Here. Man to man. Cheers. A small celebration for your accomplishments.

Alright. Serious dad time now. I don't have a problem with you stealing stuff. Neither does your mother, even if she says otherwise. The problem is getting caught and rocking the boat, okay? The way I see it is, we have what we have, and we get all this advertising online and offline talking about what we *could* have. What *others* have and we *don't.* And they try to make us angry about it so we work hard, y'know? "Fuck you, that's mine, I'm gonna work and save and it's gonna be my house, my car, my girlfriend!" They value property over people or try to make people *into* property. Always will. Nothing wrong with not wanting to dance along.

The problem is when you get caught and who you steal from. I've done a *lot* of stealing for you, for me, for all of us. You gotta pick the right people. Grocery stores, for example, have acceptable losses. Jewelry stores don't. Pawn shops? That depends. It's all negotiable and its all risky. A grocery store is safer but certain products aren't safe to steal.

Never thought I'd talking about one of you kids about this. Jesus. I'm not prepared for this. Ugh. My point is. Actions have consequences. The best thing I can do for you, as your father, and as a man who has lived through his consequences, is to teach you how to do it safely. The *second* best thing is to warn you about those consequences. Okay? If you ever have a question, ask me. I don't talk about it much, but I get it. And don't forget I love you.

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The kids are doing okay. Rebecca's big now, she's started walking around. Almost ready to start talking. The twins...well the twins are testing my patience, honey. They keep getting in fights with the other kids. It's always some stupid thing, and they don't cause it, but it doesn't help because they're children. Wish I could grab them and shake them and tell them to knock it off. But they're kids and we don't need to both go to jail, haha.

It's one of two things. Either Morgan is arguing with another kid and starts getting in over his head so Nancy runs over and starts throwing fists. Or, Nancy is getting picked on because she's quiet and Morgan comes over and starts saying shit to them until they cry or scatter. I don't know where he's learned those words. Maybe we should've cleaned up our act a bit. He's cutting when he wants to be. And she's rough when she wants to be. God bless them both for watching out for each other but I wish they wouldn't piss people off doing it, haha.

The school thinks splitting them up in class is a good idea. I'm not so sure. They also say sports might help. I'm not putting my daughter into softball, that's not gonna do anything to help her. Probably see how she likes junior field hockey, though. Should help her burn off energy. As for Morgan, I dunno. He keeps taking shit apart because you're not around to hide the tools. I'll see what programs are around for him to get his fun in. They need an outlet that's not their weird little games.

I miss you a lot. I'll send more commissary credits in a week. The POLICE put a limit on how often I can do that, some stupid new regulation. Respond when you can. Love you a bunch, monkey man.

Lou

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Your mother and I were, to be blunt, using contraception. We wanted kids, but we wanted them on our own timetable. I was working in construction, she was managing stores, we were making ends meet. This company put out this new birth control drug and they were looking for early adopters. It was not a medical test. That's important. Because if it was, we wouldn't have gotten the money for the house, heh. I don't know if they forced it through the FDA or if it was flawed, but the drug didn't do what it was supposed to, and a few months later she was pregnant with the twins.

First thing I did was hustle her over to a doctor, get blood work, all that stuff. It cost us, but it was a smart gamble. See we weren't the only people having kids who shouldn't. And, cynical as it is, we wanted kids and we didn't have the money to. Under other circumstances, we'd've taken care of it. This was our shot *to* have kids *and* have someone else foot the bill about it. Took another risk, called a buddy of mine who was a lawyer, got us into a class action suit against them.

Lots of them took the immediate payout. Not us. We got a structured settlement, a check every two weeks. Squirreled that away for a rainy day. Found this place on a police auction, actually. Hole in the ground but I'd had enough experience fixing bad houses. When the twins were born we had three rooms we could live in, and I kept working at it. You're lucky, Becks. Whole house was done when you showed up.

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Well no honey they're. Mmm. I'm sorry. I get a little heated sometimes, thinking about my siblings. Imagine how you'd feel if someone started saying stuff about Becky or how the twins would feel if someone started picking on you. They're my brother and sister. I have a lot of good memories. Sometimes I wish they were better.

Your Nana and Papa, I can talk to them fine, but they don't like your dad. Not since the arrest. It's a shame, you think folks like them would be able to hold grace in their hearts for their only surviving son. I tried to get it through their skulls, I promise I did. You should ask Morgan about them, he may remember more than Nancy. They were on good terms with me after your dad went inside for a while. They'd visit and help me with Becky when I was getting the others into school for the first time. Then your dad got out...and they stopped wanting to come around and see him. They'd see their grandkids, sure. Not him.

Then I got pregnant with you. And they started getting opinionated about it. At the end of the day I'm not picking my husband's parents over him. Your father is a good man. Sometimes a good man makes mistakes. What's important is where you go from there, not if you have to throw out all those years together. You talk about it, maybe you separate for a while, and you see where life goes. They do send you kids money on your birthday and Christmas, and that's nice of them. But they could do more if they want to be worth being in your lives.

Plus, c'mon. You got Mama and Mom still. Trust me, they bake cookies for you all much better than Nana ever could.

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Yeah, okay, Grandma Nina and Grandma Tess are the exception, we make time for them. It's your aunt and uncle who are the problem. Your mom's still got some positive feelings but I'm the outsider so I can bring a balance to that sort of thing.

So your Uncle Mike, he joined the military. I think he wanted to be a Marine but they ended up making him a drone jockey. He got involved in the surveillance push in the Thompson administration, was involved in Operation Radiant Beacon. I'll explain that when you're older but it's not a good thing he did that. I got in a fight with him one Thanksgiving before you were born. Talking about duty to the country and, well. Never join the military, Taylor, okay? No matter what they say. There's always a better way. I had Morgan and Nancy in my arms and Mike's screaming at me and I thought to myself, "hell with this, I got two toddlers and he's gonna lay into me over this? I don't care if he's her brother." Your mom and I talked about it on the way home. She wasn't happy. But she saw how he was talking to me and the twins and. Yeah.

Your Aunt Elsie...different story. Smart lady. I liked her a lot. Then one day something...shifted in her. She was educated, your grandmas got her through college. She even went Ivy League with a bunch of grants and debts. One day she calls your mom up, smiling wide, "I met the most wonderful man!". They get to talking, your mom hangs up, looks into him and immediately calls her back. See, uh. Sometimes, people hear what they want to hear and then ignore the red flags. There was a lot she shouldn't have ignored. I'll tell you when you're older. Important thing is she lives on his compound out in Montana now and even if we did invite her to holidays...she wouldn't come.

Sorry kiddo. I wish you could meet them. Family's important and you care for them, mostly. Family's still made of people.

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Johnny Banks wasn't really a fixture of the scene as much as he was a nuisance. I used to play in a band back in the day. I even dropped out of school to pursue it, had to get my GED later. Don't drop out to join a band, by the way. Odds are rigged against you. Anyway you've seen those pictures of me in those jeans. We called ourselves The Screwdrivers, we thought we were punks, we thought it was cool. Played a lot of local shows, didn't ever get a record down but we got some EPs together. We were down in the scene and so was Johnny Banks.

Your father, god bless him, used to have the dumbest hair I seen on a man. It was cute. He tried to do the liberty spikes, but never really put enough product in, and had half his head shaved. He looked like a palm tree. He hung around at shows and parties, this beanpole guy in an old army jacket and stompers and chains. Everyone thought he was there to score heroin or screw high school girls, so they gave him a wide berth. He wasn't confident in himself so he'd just stand and loom all quiet.

I didn't meet him properly at a party. I met him at work. I did graveyard at a convenience store. He shuffles in one day, jacket too big, hair all floppy, asks me for smokes. There was this nervous energy and then, suddenly in this shotgun blast of words, he says to me:

"I really like your band. I think you've got some good songs. I have questions about your lyrics. I think you tuned your bass wrong. Can I help you tune it properly?"

I told him to get lost. The next day he showed back up with a tuner. I said "where did you get this?" He smiled wide and said "don't worry about it."

And that's the first present your father ever gave me.

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It was a hot summer, and they'd cancelled public summer camp again for the third year in a row. I was thirteen years old. Not old enough to get a job yet, too old to hang around home and not get told off for it. Richard and Toby and Donny and me stole some shit from the Bullseye and ran off to a nearby park to see what we got and screw around.

Fireworks (the boring kind), some inflatable balls, some food. We didn't steal a pump. Ended up sitting around trying to blow the stupid things up by hand (mouth, really) as we chewed shitty candies and snapping noisemakers at each other. Normal shit. We got a soccer ball mostly inflated, kicked it around a bit. Then I slipped, fell on it and popped the stupid thing. Donny and Toby started laughing, but Richard. Richard was pissed.

"What good is taking crap if you're just gonna break it, you dumb piece of shit?" was more or less his sentiment at the time. Told him the truth: wasn't my fault, wet patch of grass, and maybe it wouldn't pop if you weren't such a weak loser who couldn't inflate a damn ball. He ended up on top of me as Donny and Toby stood around chanting "go! go! go!" whipping noisemakers at us.

I don't remember what happened next. I do remember this clearly: Louise Wallace standing over me as Richard lay howling on the ground. Younger kid, ten years old, wiry girl. Tomboy. Richard had to go to the hospital with the way she hit him. She didn't pay him much mind as she helped me off the ground. I mumbled thanks, because what else am I supposed to say to be saved by a girl. All she did was roll her eyes.

"Don't be a fucking idiot, dude. Learn to shut your mouth."

And those were the first words your mother ever said to me.

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That is not to say that the time of their stories is over. Far from it. Crack'o, Hat and Celene, three chosen Tiny Mall Wizards, embark on a grand quest to save their people and bring balance to the mall. Will they succeed? Will they fail? Only one thing is certain: there will be so much property damage.

We played Grint's game Tiny Mall Wizards and you can too!

https://greenintern.itch.io/tiny-mall-wizards

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They held a meeting. I was more of a consultant than a participant. That's when I knew how bad it all had gotten before they even broached the topic of using it (that would be another meeting, one they didn't think I knew about). This was before the pandemic. We didn't know how things would get and they were already acknowledging the elephant in the room. I made my stance clear to them: that the juice was never worth the squeeze. We buried it deep enough, and all we needed to do was ensure the information was never found by anyone.

They thanked me for my input and kept talking.

Why would they listen to the woman who sequestered herself away from the world, after all. It's not like I was in touch with society anymore; I had my job, my quarters, my research, my neighbor. Too young, too naive. As if they could ever have figured their plans out without me. As if the bargains I made didn't give them the material necessary to put their plans into action when they inevitably did. As if I didn't expect they might take me off the board. As if I never found whispers in the silence, companionship in the dead of night, my own compromises and sacrifices.

As if one of us wouldn't have a conscience, even if it meant dying to do the right thing. More than they ever did.

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Leaning against a railing, drink in hand, enjoying the night. I know a thing or two about perverts and fixations. Seen shit that makes folks' hair stand on end while someone involved begged for more as sweet as can be. My problem isn't with the gratification, it's with the simpering, the begging. There's a difference between an absence of shame and being shameless and these people are shameless. I understand why. I don't approve but I understand: because what they're all focused on there isn't real. It doesn't make sense. Yet here it is, irrefutable, outside under the waves, and it's crossing their wires and making them all think with their pricks and pussies.

The priest is fixated on trying to define the nature of evil and if this thing is evil. The couple just want to dress up and screw about it because if you can't have a kid, why not make the year better. The dancer might as well be Jeffrey Dahmer if he was a worthless bottom who needed his zombie slave to rule his life and be his god. The "Satanists", the gossip, the fascist, the anarchist...it's all like going to your first orgy and realizing that the human body is, first and foremost, a physical thing beholden to disgusting laws of biology. The idea of the orgy is an enticing erotic fantasy, the reality is complicated and often off-putting.

If you're at the pervert convention and nobody around looks normal, you might be a pervert too. All worthless fantasists. Even the pervert I love. Even me.

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Mother has forbade me from sharing in the same love of the sea as my father. She was right and I was foolish and I will go home and she will chide me and I will say "I am so sorry I did not listen, mother" and she will hug me with tears in her eyes and it will all be wonderful. I will go to the school we have decided on, find a husband, bear him many sons, build a home together. They will ask me of the summer I spent with my father and I will never, ever tell them of what we did. His name will be a distant memory.

As we sit here I can see the gears turning in his head. Father defines himself by his worth. Not his income, not his possessions, but a more esoteric thing, a je ne sais quois that he feels makes himself important. He will have a story to share, one that earns him sympathy, even empathy. But these are not worth. He hides it well but he is my father and I am clever. He has already decided there will be another boat. It does not matter if we survive this. He has made up his mind.

So be it. There is only so much ocean, only so many sailors. There is this island and there is me and him and the sea. Somewhere out there are all of the dead and the wreck of the Isabel. I have made up my own mind. Because I am a girl I know I am not supposed to speak my thoughts aloud. I hold them close to my heart unless a man asks, and he will never ask, because he wishes to protect me, even though I am here because of him.

I have decided that if he returns to this line of work, I may never forgive him. My worth will be of my own measure. And I will never fall in love with the sea like Captain Nicholas Flagg.

https://bullypulpitgames.itch.io/desperation

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I was the top of their list. An anomaly. A red flag, highest possible danger. Little old me. Can you believe it? I was clever, but I was outnumbered by people who knew what to look for. Someone who can access juvenile medical records, someone tied into the legal system, someone who knew how to connect the dots on the east and west coast. It's not ever day a girl gets given the treatment and respect she deserves. So I came clean. Yes, you've got me. The executioner of Forest Glen, a person of interest in assorted cases along the Pacific coast, someone in the periphery of misfortune and misery as I got what I wanted.

They told me what they thought I wanted and I laughed. Why would I want that? I have my life, my rules, my honor, my game. That repulsed the youngest one, she had to excuse herself. The other two found their voices and made their pitch: if I joined them, I would know more. About the things I still dreamed about, deep within my loveless heart, the mystery of the world that captivated me as a girl. The beautiful thing out in the sea would be mine to understand.

How could I ever pass up such a reward? Once again, I remain unpunished. Once again, my game continues. This time I had other players.

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They believed they could get what they wanted through sacrifice and they had high hopes. The notes were riddled with inarticulate racist screeds, paranoid doctrines, petty delusions, manic hopes. They had theories and hypotheses and experiments. More organized than I wanted them to be, to the detriment of everyone around them. It was interesting, inexcusable work; they were testing responses, seeing what could or couldn't be given to them. I don't know what caused the Witch and Nance to come to odds, but once Nance was out of the picture it was clear the goals became more desperate, more sloppy, leading me to him and to his death.

I sat on it for another 15 years. Isn't that funny? To keep it all inside for 34 years of my life. I was 42 when I told someone else and it was a woman I met at a gay bar. I told her less than a year after meeting her. Yet that still just broke a seal. It demystified something forbidden. And it lead to a new purpose: community pillar by day, scholar by night, surrounded by three other women. A piece of my heart, even if she never returned my advances, by my side. A protégé who helped us all realize our potential. An asset embedded in the community, watchful, patient, lethally clever. We all believed in the purpose of containing the knowledge, up until we started to see what holding it back was costing the world.

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I disappeared from the world. They funded my transition, my new identity, my studies, my work for them. A history student can access a lot of materials without raising a brow. Put together a historiography of the Bay, looked at surveys, maps, stories. Why did nobody else know about this? Why did a teenage boy with a spectrograph get a community killed and the NSA, with all their fancy toys, had no idea? Mysteries abounded, deeper, ever deeper. I became their pet scholar, their witness. I figured out who else would know. I probed, confirmed, helped construct a threat dossier.

In 2012 we held a sort of convention. All the threats in one place to be assessed, weighed, measured. I did not attend; the three of them wanted to consider the targets without my immediate bias. And I was busy with moving to the island facility. We had to consolidate everything we had and ensure it could hold enemies and witnesses.

The first night in Flagg House I couldn't sleep. Found myself sitting on scrubby, shitty shore in the twilight, bare feet dipped in the shifting tides, smoking a cigarette. It was there, and it was real, and I would be its neighbor until the day I died. A part of me was tired of the loneliness and compartmentalizing, and I decided. If we were to be neighbors, maybe we should learn more about each other. And so I put out my cigarette in the sand, took off my dress and waded out into the surf.

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It's 1998 and it's vapid. The decade has been aimless. You dodged Don't Ask Don't Tell being implemented because you've been out of the game for a while, and it's all your service branch friends want to talk about, and you're tired of it. You all went on that queer veteran march together, heads held high and voices raised. One of the greatest nights of your life. This political news shall pass. But nobody wants to focus on the future. Just the now. The money going up, the newest TV shows, the hottest movies. It's over and your country won and by proxy you won and who cares if you're happy.

It's 1998 and she walks into the bar and maybe there's something good in this decade. She's a doctor, she's educated, she's funny and witty and you share the same politics. You swap CDs and books and enrich each other's worlds; she takes you to the theater, you take her to wrestling. The two of you are like magnesium and aluminum and when you hold hands you could burn together forever.

She wants to make the world better. She's seen things too. Maybe you could improve the world together as a couple but she never says anything about that so you don't either.

It's 1998 and she wants to tell you about a secret. A weird secret. You gotta keep an open mind. But it's her. So you will.

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The truth is, if it came down to me or them, I'd pick myself any time. Not to say I don't appreciate their sacrifice. It just wasn't needed.

They moved me out of state, thought it best if I go somewhere else. The dice landed on Portland. The Millers were good folks: bohemian, stable jobs, never had a daughter before me. They tried their best. I learned what people expected of little girls, and I conformed. It was helpful. Instructive.

Experience is a great educator. What Forest Glen taught me was that if you make a mistake, you learn from it. Get caught? Have a plan. Need to do it? Don't need permission if you don't get caught. If you give them what they expect, they don't look deeper. There was plenty to learn, before and after college, all the way up until I moved back to Brindlewood Bay. And I was an eager student.

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Privately, when I autopsied him and involved myself in the investigation, the authorities had screwed up and knew it. They assumed he took Donna into the woods. We should have thought to look to the bay. I had been expanding my horizons, becoming more cultural and worldly as a student is wont to do, and was struck by this failure and the grim truth that the sea never gives up her dead. His body had been put on display with markings and cuttings. And Nance had been found before Thanksgiving.

Hence, the Witch of November. Though I never said it aloud to them.

What a strange, sad hope I had at the time. I didn't try to get my parents on board, I kept it all to myself. All I had was the work, my studies, music and the desperate fear I might never recognize Donna if she had been alive all these years.

In May of 1983 I put her memory to rest for good, along with three bullets in the head of the Witch of November, his body in the bay, and everything he owned in a locker. He was in no state to answer my questions. I had to do my own research.

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Not like I didn't mourn. We all did. A traditional burial. Mom wanted an urn for the churchyard but Grandpa was firm. We held the funeral on the third day after they found the backpack, people came. No eulogy for Donna. It's tradition. I said something quiet under my breath and that was that.

She would've been 33 by the time I entered medical school. Fifteen years without my sister. Funny how you get used to it. We just didn't talk about her anymore.

And then suddenly we did again. When that man turned up dead and they found him on the trail where they lost her. When they pulled me aside and asked if I knew anything. And when I asked if I could help and they said yes.

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[INVALID ENTRY. INPUT TROOPER ID]

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[INVALID ENTRY. ERRATIC LIFE SIGNS DETECTED. CHANGING TO VOCAL RESPONSE SYSTEM]

"Hello Trooper! Please state your name and identification number!

I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. Can you try again?

You seem to be under distress. I can help! Try nodding your head if you understand, like this!

Very good! Do you need medical assistance? Nod if you understand, like this, yes yes yes, or shake your head if no, like this, no no no.

Understood. A medical officer will not be dispatched to your location at this time. Can you try saying your name? Or a common nickname the other Troopers may have given you?

Very good, Trooper HEATHER. You're doing such a good job! Would you like assistance in operating your armor?

Very good! Try lifting your left hand, like this! This is your left hand!"

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"-dirty little secret of The Iron Ring, one of the most affordable and busy places to live on the entire super-structure! Many would turn up their noses about living in the back yard of a prison, but opportunity takes many forms and a smart operator doesn't scoff at the cards they've been dealt. The Lamb is home to some of the most vital industry around, a vibrant night life and plenty of jobs, none of them in manufacturing! You're above that, after all, let those who did the crime do the time! Now, many will say "well go work at the QIT Distro Hut, or the #01  Plus Ultra Clean! facility or the official Poppin' Brandz Fuck You Got Mine Mineral Extraction and Processing Complex! But real hustlers know the best work is to be found at The Lamb itself. You think you're better than working for the prison? Au contraire! All contracts flow through The Lamb: none of the prisoners can be trusted with the internal workings of the structure and, legally, the guards are not allowed to recover escaped prisoners. Be your own boss! Set your own hours! Hustle them buns and hunt down folks who've skipped bail or slipped between the bars! Just watch out for Triggr crews, Obloqchain film crews, and non-compete contracts, and everything should be hunky dory in your new home! And if you can't beat 'em? Join 'em! Next up is Spiderbite Alley, a unique hab structure that's a bit of a funny misnomer: due to zoning laws, there technically are no alleys in-"

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https://bsky.app/profile/hebanongames.bsky.social

https://hebanon-games.itch.io/red-markets-2nd-edition-beta-playtest

https://www.patreon.com/c/hgod/posts

https://www.patreon.com/c/dgdc/posts

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Years before Molly, Lex, Diego and Karl found a new home and new purpose in Everwhere, Doctor Julius Langstrom was a simple academic dedicated to understanding the fundamental forces of the universe. When his nephew Rene and Rene's friend Lucrezia come to visit, Langstrom shows them his latest theory: that there may exist other worlds than these, ripe for the taking. But what starts as a hesitant experimental jaunt becomes something much more dangerous when the trio come into contact with a mysterious being known as The Grand Architect, a mind without a body capable of bending the world to one's dreams...or nightmares. This is the birth of The Everwhere, but in a world without Wills and Ways, and no easy way to return home or take charge of this strange new frontier.

Book Four in The Everwhere Cycle

Reviews of The Mathematician's Lament:

"E. Stapleton does it again." -M. Washington, The Virtue Times

"Hauntingly dreamlike, ideologically pure." -G. Kasita, District 3 Culture Beat

"A perfect worldview for children and parents who are still kids at heart." -T. Sugimoto, Simple Steward Living

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Six sticks of butter

Three cups vanilla extract

Half a pound of ground coffee beans

A dash of cinnamon

Three cups of sugar

About four cups of ground Telgri beetle (powdered Beloth worm will do as a substitute, not optional, this is where the protein comes from, and don't worry about it being purified of contamination, the minerals are fine in trace amounts!)

Six scoops of nutmeg

Fifty three cranks of pepper

A box of baking soda (baking pepsi will do in a pinch)

A hearty glug of BANG! Poppin' Brandz Orgy Sauss (tm)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Whip butter, sugar, Sauss (tm) and vanilla extract until smooth and creamy, then carefully fold in dry ingredients. Using your hands carefully divide dough into little logs and spread them out on a baking sheet before baking for 25-30 minutes depending on oven. Let them cool thoroughly before enjoying your new favorite energy suppository treat (nobody likes a scalded anus!).

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I am being handed a note from the future.

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what's GOOD you fucking SCRUB welcome to BITCH CITY population YOU! YEAH! Fucking get some you weak-ass chinless FUCK. How the fuck did they let you in if your scrub ass can't land a fucking headshot, did you join the TEF so you can just fondle a gun and pretend it's your big fucking boner? Fucking idiot. Dominated your ass like we're back on fucking Spielberg, how the fuck do you keep losing so fucking much. Lucky fucking you, they're transferring me over to Y so I gotta stop whipping your ass for the glory of Terra and go do some REAL fucking work. They're gonna promote me and make a fucking statue of me dry-humping you while you struggle to jungle. Idiot. It's been real fun but let me give you some advice: fuck yourself and die, Paintball. Caveman OUT! [audio of Trooper playing guitar, song unknown]

[RECORDING ENDS]

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Why is it so far away?

I sang as a child. I don't now.

The flight of words upon the air,

wet emotion pouring from my breath,

I always pretend it meant something.

Childhood forever. Young forever.

A scream preserved in clearest amber.

Hands around my throat and I'm not a child.

I pray to dream that I am an animal.

My deepest wish is to be a bird.

But I was a beast of earth and dust,

A horse lead astray by wandering eyes,

On the edge of yet another drop.

And the Captain begged that I fly.

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My ears are beautiful, pointed and pristine.

My eyes are becoming more clear and skilled.

I am already immortal. I have already conquered this feat. This makes me closer to perfect every day.

I harmonize with the song of creation.

I do not have nightmares.

I do not need to listen to the dread.

I do not wake up remembering my dreams.

I do not flinch at phantom pains. This was an alibi.

Every day I practice makes me closer to walking on water.

I have no urge to bare my soul to others. I am above them. They are slaves to death.

I am psychic.

I do not need to masturbate.

My patience is infinite. My will is eternal.

I do not remember my death.

My eyes are turning more purple every day.

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Finalized Details for Test #18

Six (6) Specimens prepared for experimentation/implantation

Twelve (12) Subjects prepared for testing

Grounds cleared and maintained for testing

Oversight Staff: Director, Intern

Backup Staff: 9th Infantry Unit

Main Objective: run Scenario #44 with Specimen 6, full conditioning protocol engaged after implantation, monitor outcome.

Secondary Objective: contain all Specimens and Subjects to grounds.

Tertiary Objective: recruit useful personnel if applicable.

Director's note: Specimen 6 is not to be underestimated. She is an intricate piece of engineering that can be conditioned, but the devil is oft in the details. Control may be exerted or lessened as needed but collateral damage/creative interpretation of the protocol conditioning will occur regardless of our intentions.

Stay alert. Stay prepared. Stay armed. Faith protects but action saves.

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Thank you for embarking on this grand adventure with me. They drill us on tactics and weapons and all I can do is think of your face, of coming home to you and your home-cooked meals, of the two of us spending another night together. Your company has been an anchor; it's a small place in the machine but it's ours, a cold drink after a hot day.

I'm sorry I can't tell you this in person. I'm sorry I have to leave this message for you to wake up to it. I couldn't bear to tell you when our first mission would be, and that time has come after all these years of traveling together. I think you knew I was hiding it from you, and I'm sorry I was, but I couldn't bear to see you sad.

We'll see each other again and I'll make it up to you. I promise.

Forever faithful, forever yours,
Hoover

https://thecoffin.club