Grim reaper flipping off
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2016.04.09 02:23 ,
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2023.06.03 16:29 xtremexavier15 TSROTI 2 (pt 2)
The scene faded back in to a shot of some treetops, Sammy saying "Well, even though we didn't finish, I'm glad I didn't get targeted," as the camera panned down to the Rats walking through the woods. "It was bad enough watching Leshawna and DJ go through it."
"Girl, you can't let that stuff get to you," Leshawna told her, the two girls walking at the front of their team's pack. "Sure it's humiliating, but it'll pass in time. Besides, it's not like any of us would've held your secrets against you, not when my secret was revealed."
"I hadn't thought of that," Sammy said with a contemplative look.
"We can't let our fears control us. It'll just prevent us from achieving what we want to do," Sierra told her team while focusing on her phone. She tripped on a rock and landed on her face as a result.
Confessional: Sammy
"Back home, there's this girl who's basically the princess of my school," Sammy exclaimed. "She leaks out the students' personal secrets just to get even with them or simply be mean," she gulped, "and when one of my own secrets got posted, I was teased for a week."
"Thankfully, my friends didn't bother me about it and still continued to hang out with me."
Confessional Ends
The scene cut back to the Maggots, also walking through the woods together, and focused on Anne Maria and Katie at the middle of their pack.
"This is the longest I've ever gone without using an electronic," Katie droned. "How am I gonna talk to my viewers about my day and give them advice?"
"You don't need to be on a device 24/7," Anne Maria spoke to the girl.
"Easy for you to say," Katie said snottily. "You don't have to worry about vlogs since you focus on maintaining your hair."
"Ya think that's easy?" Anne Maria retorted calmly. "I have to work overtime at a diner just to buy all the hairspray that I can afford."
Confessional: Katie
"Maybe I could've been nicer there," Katie admitted, "but my subscribers can go down if I don't upload anything."
Confessional Ends
The shot cut ahead to Scarlett and Molly, the former looking like she's been listening to the conversation behind her. "Chris has created a disadvantage for us by taking away Katie's gadget right before the game!"
"True, but Chris thankfully had the decency to end the challenge before he could reveal any more of our embarrassments," Molly said.
"The host just thrives off our pain and suffering," Scarlett summarized.
"You can say that again," Molly told her. "Sociopathy is something that could be cured, but Chris is way long gone."
\
"Welcome, players!" Chris announced over the loudspeaker again, the camera cutting down to ground level to show the Rats meeting up with the Maggots again. "Now that you're all here, it's time for part two of today's challenge," the host continued, the shot zooming out to show all thirteen campers standing in some sort of wide field of mud with a wooden ramp leading up off-camera on the right.
"The 'Mad Skills Obstacle Course'," Chris announced, the shot cutting to him standing on some patch of grass.
"The relay race begins with a mad dash from the Kick Start," the shot cut to the wooden platform at the other end of the ramp, where an absurdly large rubber root was connected by wooden shaft and gear to a pole sticking up out of the platform. "Forget coffee," the host said as the boot swung squeakily back and forth in demonstration, "if this baby doesn't get you goin', nothin' will."
"Then it's off to the race against time that is the Cannonball Run," Chris said, the camera following his motion further onward to another stretch of wooden platform. Several cannons situated below suddenly blew gaping holes in it, and the shot zoomed out to show several more cannons hooked up to a scaffold over the platform and aimed downward.
"Over to my personal fave," the shot moved to the end of the platform where a log had been set up to rotate on its side, "Wrecking Ball Alley! Hurts so good," he said as the camera panned across and the titular wrecking ball swung down over the rolling log.
"And moving on," the shot cut next to a few higher, disconnected, and generally precarious platforms, "we head to the Gang Plank, complete with rabid mutant beavers." The shot cut to the mud pit at the bottom where two giant wooly beavers with boney spikes along their back were busily chewing through the poles the gang plank platforms were on.
"Followed by," the shot cut to a close-up of a large, red, butt-shaped apparatus that was moving up and down, "the bouncy agony of Double Trouble." The shot zoomed out to show four of the butt-shaped things moving up and down between two platforms.
"And finally," Chris said, "the Grand Slam," the shot cut to several giant baseball bats sticking up out of the mud surrounding an equally giant baseball mitt, "where you'll use ropes to swing into the giant baseball mitt, while avoiding those deadly bats." The shot zoomed in on the mitt, then panned over to one of the bats as a small red bird flew head-first into it, knocking it out with a clonk. "Piece of cake," Chris said with a chuckle as the shot cut back to the staring and nervous campers.
"Oh, and as you may remember," the host added, "I said that the winning team from part one would have a distinct advantage in part two?"
"But there was no winner!" Sierra reminded the host. "You canceled the first part!"
"Yeah, don't remind me," Chris answered in annoyance. "The losing team was gonna wear snazzy specs while competing," he explained with a chipper smile, "but since we never actually finished the competition," he became annoyed again, "I've decided that everybody has to wear them!" He laughed, and the campers looked behind them to see Chef Hatchet holding a cardboard box.
Dave was the first to step forward, taking out one of the pairs of glasses – thick, ugly things that almost seemed to have a greenish tint to them – and put them on. His brow shot up immediately. "Hey, what's with the old glasses?" he asked. "We won't be able to see anything wearing these!" The perspective shifted to demonstrate what he was seeing, which was little more than an incredibly blurry shot of the forest and some unknown body of water.
"Dorktacular goggles won't make part two easy," Chris said, "or attractive," he shrugged, "but it can be done. In theory."
The campers groaned.
"Since the Maggots have one more player than the Rats," Chris added on, "one of them has to sit this one out."
"It should be Katie," Scarlett suggested to her team, "She's still suffering from her tech withdrawal."
"Fine by me," Molly boldly said. "I don't want her losing for us."
"Competitors, take your positions!" he said, and the footage flashed forward to show Anne Maria and Geoff together near the edge of the first platform, the jersey shore reject waving her hands in front of her face in order to see. "First up at the Kick Start it's Anne Maria against Geoff," the host said before the shot moved on to the next pair. "Then, it's DJ versus Sammy," the brickhouse and nervous cheerleader looked about before the shot pulled back to show the cannons, "versus the Cannonballs."
"Molly faces Scott in Wrecking Ball Alley," the indie chick and social seeker stared at each other. "B is up against Scarlett in the Gang Plank," the camera cut to the base of the ladder then panned all the way up to it to the strong, silent genius and the quiet brainiac on top, "Dave and Leshawna will battle Double Trouble," the normal guy looked warily at the butt-shaped apparatus in front of him while the sista just cracked her knuckles, "and, Sierra will fight Trent for the Grand Slam." The obsessive uberfan nervously looked around while the cool guy tried to maintain his balance, the shot moving out to show the baseball mitt.
"First team to finish wins the whoooole shebang," Chris explained. "And, the other team loses a member tonight! Since it's a relay race," he added, "you'll need something to pass: your mascots," he said with a grin. "Oh, intern~!"
A scrawny white boy with his long black hair flipped over his eyes walked up to Geoff and Anne Maria holding a pair of pet carriers; whatever was inside was snarling angrily enough for the two competitors to exchange a wary look. "Team Rat gets a mutant rat," Chris announced as the intern thrust a large, squealing, six-legged hairless rat into Geoff's arms. "And Team Maggot gets," the host continued, "a mutant maggot," a large, slimy green maggot was thrust into Anne Maria's arms.
"Ew. It's a what?" Anne Maria said in surprise.
"Aaaand," Chris said as he prepared an airhorn, "go!"
At the sound of the horn the giant boot swung down on the two campers. With a yelp Anne Maria managed to duck out of the way, but Geoff was not so lucky and got sent flying with a scream. He landed in the mud between platforms, but kept the rat held high. It burped as Chris said "And Geoff gets the boot!"
Anne Maria hopped across the gap between platforms with the maggot in her arms.
"Anne Maria takes the early lead," Chris continued, and the jersey girl ran up to DJ.
"Here!" Anne Maria held out their mascot.
"I'll take this cute critter from here," DJ took the maggot from her, then turned and ran off down the course.
"Yeah, I got it goin' on," Anne Maria walked back the opposite way...and blindly fell into the gap between platforms, landing with a squelch of mud.
The shot cut to DJ as he ran along his part of the platform. He slammed face-first into a post, then recoiled a few steps. He vigorously shook his head and sidestepped around the post. He only got another two steps before a sudden cannon volley through the floor in front of him forced him to a stop with a yelp.
Now covered in mud, Geoff ran along the first part of the platform with his rat held out in front of him. He jumped the gap, and soon reached Sammy. "We're already far behind! Go!" the party boy held out their team's mascot.
"Got it!" Sammy said, grabbing the rat and running off.
"The Rats take the lead!" Chris called out as Sammy caught up to DJ at the start of the cannonball run. Another cannon fired towards them, forcing both to dart and duck out of the way.
"Okay," Sammy assured herself, "I just have to dodge a bunch of cannons that are impossible to see!" She charged forward, leaving DJ to chase after her.
"Time to try again," DJ added in.
The scene moved to Scott and Molly waiting at the start of the next leg. Sammy ran up and thrust the rat into Scott's arms, panting after she did so.
"Wow. We're in the lead? Great," Scott realized and started to walk slowly. "Nice and slow, all the way to last place. Right, little guy?" He told the rat while walking along the rolling log, but the rat bit him in the chin. He howled painfully and missed the wrecking ball swinging down at him. It caught him and sent him flying, all the way into B.
"Faster, DJ!" Molly yelled as DJ ran up to her and handed over their maggot.
"Good luck," DJ supported Molly as she headed for the rolling logs.
Scott was lying on the floor and petting the rat with B watching as the shot cut back to them.
"Aww, who's my good freak? Who's my good little freak?" Scott faux affectionately talked to the rat in order to slow them down as B was signaling him to pass it to him. "There, there, little guy. Uncle Scotty kept you safe and sound." He saw B waiting. "Oh, do you want this? Why didn't you say so, Beverly?"
Having enough, B took the rat before putting it in his pocket and jumped on to the first precariously isolated platform. It immediately started to wobble and sink, and B quietly cried out in alarm as the camera quick-panned to the base revealing the two mutant beavers making quick work of the pole, causing him to fall down into the mud. He recovered and saw the two ferocious-looking beavers he had landed next to.
Molly was looking up and back just in time to see the wrecking ball swinging towards her. She jumped up, safely grabbing on to the ball and allowing it to carry her forward. She jumped off at the extent of its swing, and sailed further on through the air.
The camera quick-panned over to B as he hastily sculpted a female beaver out of mud. The two beavers looked past the muddy feel and fell in love with it. As they ran over to hug it, B sneakily slipped past.
"And in a surprisingly touching move, B extends the Rats' lead," Chris announced out loud.
Scott was watching from where he landed. "Oh, come on!" he whined in disappointment.
"Go now!" Molly told Scarlett as she handed the maggot over, Scarlett immediately turning.
The beavers stopped hugging the mud sculptured beaver when the head fell off. Realizing that they were tricked, they soon turned vengeful.
Scarlett hopped to the first platform. It immediately wobbled thanks to the beavers gnawing the leg, taking Scarlett down.
"Alright, my brotha!" Leshawna cheered and took the rat from the tired B. "Let me take it from here."
Leshawna threw herself on to the first butt-shaped thing, landed, and bounced off it without a word. She continued on in this way, bouncing from one to the next until eventually she reached the end. "Sierra, take it!" she yelled to her teammate, the fangirl waiting with her back turned at the edge of the next platform.
Despite stretching her rat-holding arms out towards him as she fell, Leshawna was unable to make the pass-off in time before falling completely past her and landing in the mud. "What?" Sierra said as she finally turned around. "Aww. I missed the catch."
The shot cut to Leshawna face down in the mud. The mutant rat scampered out of her grasp. With a growl, Leshawna scrambled to her feet and chased after it screaming "Get back here!"
"Here you go," Scarlett told her teammate as the shot cut back to her holding the muddy and slimy maggot out to him.
"Got it!" Dave said as he reached out for the mutated larva.
It promptly vomited onto his face.
"IT THREW UP ON ME!!!" Dave freaked out and ran while one of the beavers grabbed Scarlett's head and dragged her down.
The perspective briefly changed to show the blurry obstacle that Dave was approaching, then changed back to his head-on close-up as he became visibly determined.
"The quicker I finish this, the quicker I can clean up!" Dave told himself just as he jumped onto the first butt-shaped object; he landed on his chest with a pained yelp and bounced off, continuing on painfully from one bouncy apparatus to the next until eventually he landed on his chest on the far platform with a slam and a groan.
"And Dave takes back the lead for the Maggots!" Chris announced, the camera cutting to him and Chef on their chairs. "He really doesn't like to get messy."
"Alright, it's my turn!" Trent declared confidently, turning proudly towards the end of the course.
"Hurry up!" Dave told him impatiently.
The camera panned back to the left, passing Dave and reaching Sierra just as Leshawna forced their team's mascot into her arms. "Here!" she commanded.
"Sorry I didn't catch it in time," Sierra apologized.
"It's like they say on Blackcomb Mountain. "Best glimpse of heaven's on the way into-" Trent said before reaching the giant mitt and saw how far it was. "Hello."
Meanwhile, Scarlett was in danger courtesy of the two beavers.
"I would ask if you detach from me now," Scarlett begged while a beaver took out a bottle of ketchup and licked their teeth. "I warned you," Scarlett growled before kicking both of their groins, making them moan. "If you had simply not taken me, then I wouldn't have had to resort to kicking you two. I show no sympathy."
Sierra had finally caught up to Trent in the Grand Slam. "This is like the electric eel part of the trust challenge from season one," Sierra talked to herself before grabbing one of the ropes that had been loosely tied there and swung off.
She passed between the baseball bats, and planted her feet on the baseball mitt. Sierra slowly lost her standing and fell into the mud. "Being splattered by mud is better than being electrocuted I guess," she laughed a bit.
Back at the edge of the platform, Trent grabbed the end of the other rope. He unleashed his own terrified cry as he swung blindly through the Grand Slam, and almost made it to the mitt – but slammed into one of the last bats with his legs spread wide. He painfully groaned as he slid down into the mud.
The footage skipped ahead to show a muddy Sierra running up for her second go, the ropes once again tied to a post on the side of the platform. "This time, I should swing higher. Then I'll be on the mitt for sure," the blogger discussed with herself.
"C'mon Sierra!" Geoff called out to her, the shot cutting to show him and the other Rats standing on a nearby platform without the glasses that had been forced on them. "Swing!"
Sierra grabbed one of the ropes again and jumped off. She stuck her legs out in front of her and passed by each bat in turn. However, her muddy hands caused her to fall from the rope just before she reached the mitt and she fell into the mud.
The Rats all groaned.
The camera panned past them and on to Trent, who had grabbed his own rope again and was sizing up his next swing. "My team needs the win," he told himself, tucking the maggot under his arm as he used his fingers to frame his target.
The music turned triumphant as he ran forward and swung off. He hit all the bats, and the peak of his swing put him just about over the mitt. It was then that he let go of the rope and fell down towards the goal, landing on his head as the maggot landed on top of him.
"The Maggots win!" Chris announced, and the maggot mascot threw up on the musician.
The Maggots cheered, having also discarded their glasses, while the five nearby members of the Toxic Rats groaned once more.
"To the Maggots, the spoils," Chris announced as Chef walked over to the winning team holding some kind of gift basket. "McLean Brand Soap, Shampoo, and Conditioner. Guaranteed to wash off the stink!" the host listed over a close-up of the gift basket, showing off its contents against a radiant yellow background.
"I'll definitely keep those in handy!" Dave said with a smile.
"Make sure not to hog all of it," Katie reminded him.
Confessional: Katie
"If my team was up for elimination, I probably would have been the one eliminated, and I wouldn't have my tablet with me. I dodged a bullet there," Katie cheered.
Confessional Ends
"Rats, see you at the elimination ceremony!' Chris added with his usual smile.
The five members of the Rats groaned for a third time. "I could've used the reward to wash off the mess," Leshawna groaned.
Sierra moaned as she got off the muddy floor, coughing up mud in the process. "Losing two times in a row? That's not gonna go well for my blog."
\
The footage flashed ahead to all of the Toxic Rats except for B and Sierra assembled at the steps leading up to their cabin. The camera focused on Scott, who was standing on the ground in front of the others. "All right, guys. Sierra's gotta go. She lost the challenge for us, and she's more focused on using her phone than competing most of the time."
"Now hang on!" Geoff replied. "So she made a mistake and slipped up. We aren't robots. I'm thinking we should give her a second chance."
"Sierra is also a big fan of the show," Sammy said. "Voting her off this early wouldn't be fair to her."
"Fair, smhair," Leshawna muttered. "If eliminating her allows us to sleep without being disturbed by her constant texting to her friends, I'm all for it."
\
The footage flashed ahead again to show the Toxic Rats at the campfire pit, Chef and Chris standing before them with their respective marshmallows.
"Ready?" Chris asked. "Everyone gets a marshmallow, even the loser!" The shot cut to a close-up of the strongbox in Chef's mitted hands. "But that's one marshmallow you do not wanna eat," Chris added as his assistant flipped the lid up and revealed the bright glowing thing inside.
"To the votes! The following people are safe," the host said, picking up the first normal marshmallow off his tray. "Geoff." The party guy caught his prize with a smile.
"Leshawna." The sista sitting next to him was next, satisfied as she caught her marshmallow.
"Scott." The devious, slumped forward, raised his free left hand and caught his prize.
"And Sammy." The nervous cheerleader allowed her marshmallow to fall into her open hands.
"Which leaves, Sierra and Bev," Chris announced, earning a nervous look from both teens.
"What?" Sierra asked in shock.
"And the Marshmallow of Loserdom goes to," Chris said, trailing off as the camera slowly zoomed in on the faces of the bottom two nervous campers.
"Sierra," the host finished.
"Me? But why?" Sierra sputtered in shock while B caught his marshmallow with his mouth.
"Don't know and don't care," Chris said. "You're out."
Sierra dodged the toxic marshmallow thrown her way. "It is what it is, but one last thing!" She whipped out her phone and snapped a photo of her and her teammates, blinding their eyesight and making them audibly yelp. "#ToxicRatsForever!" she enthusiastically claimed and ran to the Hurl of Shame.
\
The footage cut over to the Dock of Shame, the camera zoomed in on Chris and Sierra in the catapult's bucket.
"Any last words before we give you the Hurl of Shame?" Chris asked.
"Of course. Can I have a self-" Sierra said before Chris unflinchingly launched her into the air. Sierra finished with a scream as she disappeared into the night.
Chris laughed. "It was a rhetorical question. Two hurls down, twelve to go! Who will be eliminated next?" he asked the camera. "Tune in, and find out, on Total! Drama! Revenge! Of! The Island!"
(Roll the Credits)
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"Girl, you can't let that stuff get to you," Leshawna told her, the two girls walking at the front of their team's pack. "Sure it's humiliating, but it'll pass in time. Besides, it's not like any of us would've held your secrets against you, not when my secret was revealed."
"I hadn't thought of that," Sammy said with a contemplative look.
"We can't let our fears control us. It'll just prevent us from achieving what we want to do," Sierra told her team while focusing on her phone. She tripped on a rock and landed on her face as a result.
Confessional: Sammy
"Back home, there's this girl who's basically the princess of my school," Sammy exclaimed. "She leaks out the students' personal secrets just to get even with them or simply be mean," she gulped, "and when one of my own secrets got posted, I was teased for a week."
"Thankfully, my friends didn't bother me about it and still continued to hang out with me."
Confessional Ends
The scene cut back to the Maggots, also walking through the woods together, and focused on Anne Maria and Katie at the middle of their pack.
"This is the longest I've ever gone without using an electronic," Katie droned. "How am I gonna talk to my viewers about my day and give them advice?"
"You don't need to be on a device 24/7," Anne Maria spoke to the girl.
"Easy for you to say," Katie said snottily. "You don't have to worry about vlogs since you focus on maintaining your hair."
"Ya think that's easy?" Anne Maria retorted calmly. "I have to work overtime at a diner just to buy all the hairspray that I can afford."
Confessional: Katie
"Maybe I could've been nicer there," Katie admitted, "but my subscribers can go down if I don't upload anything."
Confessional Ends
The shot cut ahead to Scarlett and Molly, the former looking like she's been listening to the conversation behind her. "Chris has created a disadvantage for us by taking away Katie's gadget right before the game!"
"True, but Chris thankfully had the decency to end the challenge before he could reveal any more of our embarrassments," Molly said.
"The host just thrives off our pain and suffering," Scarlett summarized.
"You can say that again," Molly told her. "Sociopathy is something that could be cured, but Chris is way long gone."
\
"Welcome, players!" Chris announced over the loudspeaker again, the camera cutting down to ground level to show the Rats meeting up with the Maggots again. "Now that you're all here, it's time for part two of today's challenge," the host continued, the shot zooming out to show all thirteen campers standing in some sort of wide field of mud with a wooden ramp leading up off-camera on the right.
"The 'Mad Skills Obstacle Course'," Chris announced, the shot cutting to him standing on some patch of grass.
"The relay race begins with a mad dash from the Kick Start," the shot cut to the wooden platform at the other end of the ramp, where an absurdly large rubber root was connected by wooden shaft and gear to a pole sticking up out of the platform. "Forget coffee," the host said as the boot swung squeakily back and forth in demonstration, "if this baby doesn't get you goin', nothin' will."
"Then it's off to the race against time that is the Cannonball Run," Chris said, the camera following his motion further onward to another stretch of wooden platform. Several cannons situated below suddenly blew gaping holes in it, and the shot zoomed out to show several more cannons hooked up to a scaffold over the platform and aimed downward.
"Over to my personal fave," the shot moved to the end of the platform where a log had been set up to rotate on its side, "Wrecking Ball Alley! Hurts so good," he said as the camera panned across and the titular wrecking ball swung down over the rolling log.
"And moving on," the shot cut next to a few higher, disconnected, and generally precarious platforms, "we head to the Gang Plank, complete with rabid mutant beavers." The shot cut to the mud pit at the bottom where two giant wooly beavers with boney spikes along their back were busily chewing through the poles the gang plank platforms were on.
"Followed by," the shot cut to a close-up of a large, red, butt-shaped apparatus that was moving up and down, "the bouncy agony of Double Trouble." The shot zoomed out to show four of the butt-shaped things moving up and down between two platforms.
"And finally," Chris said, "the Grand Slam," the shot cut to several giant baseball bats sticking up out of the mud surrounding an equally giant baseball mitt, "where you'll use ropes to swing into the giant baseball mitt, while avoiding those deadly bats." The shot zoomed in on the mitt, then panned over to one of the bats as a small red bird flew head-first into it, knocking it out with a clonk. "Piece of cake," Chris said with a chuckle as the shot cut back to the staring and nervous campers.
"Oh, and as you may remember," the host added, "I said that the winning team from part one would have a distinct advantage in part two?"
"But there was no winner!" Sierra reminded the host. "You canceled the first part!"
"Yeah, don't remind me," Chris answered in annoyance. "The losing team was gonna wear snazzy specs while competing," he explained with a chipper smile, "but since we never actually finished the competition," he became annoyed again, "I've decided that everybody has to wear them!" He laughed, and the campers looked behind them to see Chef Hatchet holding a cardboard box.
Dave was the first to step forward, taking out one of the pairs of glasses – thick, ugly things that almost seemed to have a greenish tint to them – and put them on. His brow shot up immediately. "Hey, what's with the old glasses?" he asked. "We won't be able to see anything wearing these!" The perspective shifted to demonstrate what he was seeing, which was little more than an incredibly blurry shot of the forest and some unknown body of water.
"Dorktacular goggles won't make part two easy," Chris said, "or attractive," he shrugged, "but it can be done. In theory."
The campers groaned.
"Since the Maggots have one more player than the Rats," Chris added on, "one of them has to sit this one out."
"It should be Katie," Scarlett suggested to her team, "She's still suffering from her tech withdrawal."
"Fine by me," Molly boldly said. "I don't want her losing for us."
"Competitors, take your positions!" he said, and the footage flashed forward to show Anne Maria and Geoff together near the edge of the first platform, the jersey shore reject waving her hands in front of her face in order to see. "First up at the Kick Start it's Anne Maria against Geoff," the host said before the shot moved on to the next pair. "Then, it's DJ versus Sammy," the brickhouse and nervous cheerleader looked about before the shot pulled back to show the cannons, "versus the Cannonballs."
"Molly faces Scott in Wrecking Ball Alley," the indie chick and social seeker stared at each other. "B is up against Scarlett in the Gang Plank," the camera cut to the base of the ladder then panned all the way up to it to the strong, silent genius and the quiet brainiac on top, "Dave and Leshawna will battle Double Trouble," the normal guy looked warily at the butt-shaped apparatus in front of him while the sista just cracked her knuckles, "and, Sierra will fight Trent for the Grand Slam." The obsessive uberfan nervously looked around while the cool guy tried to maintain his balance, the shot moving out to show the baseball mitt.
"First team to finish wins the whoooole shebang," Chris explained. "And, the other team loses a member tonight! Since it's a relay race," he added, "you'll need something to pass: your mascots," he said with a grin. "Oh, intern~!"
A scrawny white boy with his long black hair flipped over his eyes walked up to Geoff and Anne Maria holding a pair of pet carriers; whatever was inside was snarling angrily enough for the two competitors to exchange a wary look. "Team Rat gets a mutant rat," Chris announced as the intern thrust a large, squealing, six-legged hairless rat into Geoff's arms. "And Team Maggot gets," the host continued, "a mutant maggot," a large, slimy green maggot was thrust into Anne Maria's arms.
"Ew. It's a what?" Anne Maria said in surprise.
"Aaaand," Chris said as he prepared an airhorn, "go!"
At the sound of the horn the giant boot swung down on the two campers. With a yelp Anne Maria managed to duck out of the way, but Geoff was not so lucky and got sent flying with a scream. He landed in the mud between platforms, but kept the rat held high. It burped as Chris said "And Geoff gets the boot!"
Anne Maria hopped across the gap between platforms with the maggot in her arms.
"Anne Maria takes the early lead," Chris continued, and the jersey girl ran up to DJ.
"Here!" Anne Maria held out their mascot.
"I'll take this cute critter from here," DJ took the maggot from her, then turned and ran off down the course.
"Yeah, I got it goin' on," Anne Maria walked back the opposite way...and blindly fell into the gap between platforms, landing with a squelch of mud.
The shot cut to DJ as he ran along his part of the platform. He slammed face-first into a post, then recoiled a few steps. He vigorously shook his head and sidestepped around the post. He only got another two steps before a sudden cannon volley through the floor in front of him forced him to a stop with a yelp.
Now covered in mud, Geoff ran along the first part of the platform with his rat held out in front of him. He jumped the gap, and soon reached Sammy. "We're already far behind! Go!" the party boy held out their team's mascot.
"Got it!" Sammy said, grabbing the rat and running off.
"The Rats take the lead!" Chris called out as Sammy caught up to DJ at the start of the cannonball run. Another cannon fired towards them, forcing both to dart and duck out of the way.
"Okay," Sammy assured herself, "I just have to dodge a bunch of cannons that are impossible to see!" She charged forward, leaving DJ to chase after her.
"Time to try again," DJ added in.
The scene moved to Scott and Molly waiting at the start of the next leg. Sammy ran up and thrust the rat into Scott's arms, panting after she did so.
"Wow. We're in the lead? Great," Scott realized and started to walk slowly. "Nice and slow, all the way to last place. Right, little guy?" He told the rat while walking along the rolling log, but the rat bit him in the chin. He howled painfully and missed the wrecking ball swinging down at him. It caught him and sent him flying, all the way into B.
"Faster, DJ!" Molly yelled as DJ ran up to her and handed over their maggot.
"Good luck," DJ supported Molly as she headed for the rolling logs.
Scott was lying on the floor and petting the rat with B watching as the shot cut back to them.
"Aww, who's my good freak? Who's my good little freak?" Scott faux affectionately talked to the rat in order to slow them down as B was signaling him to pass it to him. "There, there, little guy. Uncle Scotty kept you safe and sound." He saw B waiting. "Oh, do you want this? Why didn't you say so, Beverly?"
Having enough, B took the rat before putting it in his pocket and jumped on to the first precariously isolated platform. It immediately started to wobble and sink, and B quietly cried out in alarm as the camera quick-panned to the base revealing the two mutant beavers making quick work of the pole, causing him to fall down into the mud. He recovered and saw the two ferocious-looking beavers he had landed next to.
Molly was looking up and back just in time to see the wrecking ball swinging towards her. She jumped up, safely grabbing on to the ball and allowing it to carry her forward. She jumped off at the extent of its swing, and sailed further on through the air.
The camera quick-panned over to B as he hastily sculpted a female beaver out of mud. The two beavers looked past the muddy feel and fell in love with it. As they ran over to hug it, B sneakily slipped past.
"And in a surprisingly touching move, B extends the Rats' lead," Chris announced out loud.
Scott was watching from where he landed. "Oh, come on!" he whined in disappointment.
"Go now!" Molly told Scarlett as she handed the maggot over, Scarlett immediately turning.
The beavers stopped hugging the mud sculptured beaver when the head fell off. Realizing that they were tricked, they soon turned vengeful.
Scarlett hopped to the first platform. It immediately wobbled thanks to the beavers gnawing the leg, taking Scarlett down.
"Alright, my brotha!" Leshawna cheered and took the rat from the tired B. "Let me take it from here."
Leshawna threw herself on to the first butt-shaped thing, landed, and bounced off it without a word. She continued on in this way, bouncing from one to the next until eventually she reached the end. "Sierra, take it!" she yelled to her teammate, the fangirl waiting with her back turned at the edge of the next platform.
Despite stretching her rat-holding arms out towards him as she fell, Leshawna was unable to make the pass-off in time before falling completely past her and landing in the mud. "What?" Sierra said as she finally turned around. "Aww. I missed the catch."
The shot cut to Leshawna face down in the mud. The mutant rat scampered out of her grasp. With a growl, Leshawna scrambled to her feet and chased after it screaming "Get back here!"
"Here you go," Scarlett told her teammate as the shot cut back to her holding the muddy and slimy maggot out to him.
"Got it!" Dave said as he reached out for the mutated larva.
It promptly vomited onto his face.
"IT THREW UP ON ME!!!" Dave freaked out and ran while one of the beavers grabbed Scarlett's head and dragged her down.
The perspective briefly changed to show the blurry obstacle that Dave was approaching, then changed back to his head-on close-up as he became visibly determined.
"The quicker I finish this, the quicker I can clean up!" Dave told himself just as he jumped onto the first butt-shaped object; he landed on his chest with a pained yelp and bounced off, continuing on painfully from one bouncy apparatus to the next until eventually he landed on his chest on the far platform with a slam and a groan.
"And Dave takes back the lead for the Maggots!" Chris announced, the camera cutting to him and Chef on their chairs. "He really doesn't like to get messy."
"Alright, it's my turn!" Trent declared confidently, turning proudly towards the end of the course.
"Hurry up!" Dave told him impatiently.
The camera panned back to the left, passing Dave and reaching Sierra just as Leshawna forced their team's mascot into her arms. "Here!" she commanded.
"Sorry I didn't catch it in time," Sierra apologized.
"It's like they say on Blackcomb Mountain. "Best glimpse of heaven's on the way into-" Trent said before reaching the giant mitt and saw how far it was. "Hello."
Meanwhile, Scarlett was in danger courtesy of the two beavers.
"I would ask if you detach from me now," Scarlett begged while a beaver took out a bottle of ketchup and licked their teeth. "I warned you," Scarlett growled before kicking both of their groins, making them moan. "If you had simply not taken me, then I wouldn't have had to resort to kicking you two. I show no sympathy."
Sierra had finally caught up to Trent in the Grand Slam. "This is like the electric eel part of the trust challenge from season one," Sierra talked to herself before grabbing one of the ropes that had been loosely tied there and swung off.
She passed between the baseball bats, and planted her feet on the baseball mitt. Sierra slowly lost her standing and fell into the mud. "Being splattered by mud is better than being electrocuted I guess," she laughed a bit.
Back at the edge of the platform, Trent grabbed the end of the other rope. He unleashed his own terrified cry as he swung blindly through the Grand Slam, and almost made it to the mitt – but slammed into one of the last bats with his legs spread wide. He painfully groaned as he slid down into the mud.
The footage skipped ahead to show a muddy Sierra running up for her second go, the ropes once again tied to a post on the side of the platform. "This time, I should swing higher. Then I'll be on the mitt for sure," the blogger discussed with herself.
"C'mon Sierra!" Geoff called out to her, the shot cutting to show him and the other Rats standing on a nearby platform without the glasses that had been forced on them. "Swing!"
Sierra grabbed one of the ropes again and jumped off. She stuck her legs out in front of her and passed by each bat in turn. However, her muddy hands caused her to fall from the rope just before she reached the mitt and she fell into the mud.
The Rats all groaned.
The camera panned past them and on to Trent, who had grabbed his own rope again and was sizing up his next swing. "My team needs the win," he told himself, tucking the maggot under his arm as he used his fingers to frame his target.
The music turned triumphant as he ran forward and swung off. He hit all the bats, and the peak of his swing put him just about over the mitt. It was then that he let go of the rope and fell down towards the goal, landing on his head as the maggot landed on top of him.
"The Maggots win!" Chris announced, and the maggot mascot threw up on the musician.
The Maggots cheered, having also discarded their glasses, while the five nearby members of the Toxic Rats groaned once more.
"To the Maggots, the spoils," Chris announced as Chef walked over to the winning team holding some kind of gift basket. "McLean Brand Soap, Shampoo, and Conditioner. Guaranteed to wash off the stink!" the host listed over a close-up of the gift basket, showing off its contents against a radiant yellow background.
"I'll definitely keep those in handy!" Dave said with a smile.
"Make sure not to hog all of it," Katie reminded him.
Confessional: Katie
"If my team was up for elimination, I probably would have been the one eliminated, and I wouldn't have my tablet with me. I dodged a bullet there," Katie cheered.
Confessional Ends
"Rats, see you at the elimination ceremony!' Chris added with his usual smile.
The five members of the Rats groaned for a third time. "I could've used the reward to wash off the mess," Leshawna groaned.
Sierra moaned as she got off the muddy floor, coughing up mud in the process. "Losing two times in a row? That's not gonna go well for my blog."
\
The footage flashed ahead to all of the Toxic Rats except for B and Sierra assembled at the steps leading up to their cabin. The camera focused on Scott, who was standing on the ground in front of the others. "All right, guys. Sierra's gotta go. She lost the challenge for us, and she's more focused on using her phone than competing most of the time."
"Now hang on!" Geoff replied. "So she made a mistake and slipped up. We aren't robots. I'm thinking we should give her a second chance."
"Sierra is also a big fan of the show," Sammy said. "Voting her off this early wouldn't be fair to her."
"Fair, smhair," Leshawna muttered. "If eliminating her allows us to sleep without being disturbed by her constant texting to her friends, I'm all for it."
\
The footage flashed ahead again to show the Toxic Rats at the campfire pit, Chef and Chris standing before them with their respective marshmallows.
"Ready?" Chris asked. "Everyone gets a marshmallow, even the loser!" The shot cut to a close-up of the strongbox in Chef's mitted hands. "But that's one marshmallow you do not wanna eat," Chris added as his assistant flipped the lid up and revealed the bright glowing thing inside.
"To the votes! The following people are safe," the host said, picking up the first normal marshmallow off his tray. "Geoff." The party guy caught his prize with a smile.
"Leshawna." The sista sitting next to him was next, satisfied as she caught her marshmallow.
"Scott." The devious, slumped forward, raised his free left hand and caught his prize.
"And Sammy." The nervous cheerleader allowed her marshmallow to fall into her open hands.
"Which leaves, Sierra and Bev," Chris announced, earning a nervous look from both teens.
"What?" Sierra asked in shock.
"And the Marshmallow of Loserdom goes to," Chris said, trailing off as the camera slowly zoomed in on the faces of the bottom two nervous campers.
"Sierra," the host finished.
"Me? But why?" Sierra sputtered in shock while B caught his marshmallow with his mouth.
"Don't know and don't care," Chris said. "You're out."
Sierra dodged the toxic marshmallow thrown her way. "It is what it is, but one last thing!" She whipped out her phone and snapped a photo of her and her teammates, blinding their eyesight and making them audibly yelp. "#ToxicRatsForever!" she enthusiastically claimed and ran to the Hurl of Shame.
\
The footage cut over to the Dock of Shame, the camera zoomed in on Chris and Sierra in the catapult's bucket.
"Any last words before we give you the Hurl of Shame?" Chris asked.
"Of course. Can I have a self-" Sierra said before Chris unflinchingly launched her into the air. Sierra finished with a scream as she disappeared into the night.
Chris laughed. "It was a rhetorical question. Two hurls down, twelve to go! Who will be eliminated next?" he asked the camera. "Tune in, and find out, on Total! Drama! Revenge! Of! The Island!"
(Roll the Credits)
2023.06.03 16:26 JAC246 The downside of people sharing great perk cards
I have luck cards to 14 , bloody mess, better criticals, class freak, starched genes and critical savvy all maxed, then a teammate shared three star grim reaper sprint and it was great, I was at line in the sand and was unstoppable, killing everything with one to two shots no cool down for vats as it would fill again I only stopped to reload and especially great with gun fu as I didn't have to re aim just fire knock down everything fast,
Is it worth knocking better criticals and bloody mess down to two stars or critical savvy down to two
submitted by JAC246 to fo76 [link] [comments]
Is it worth knocking better criticals and bloody mess down to two stars or critical savvy down to two
2023.06.03 16:25 itsvill Need some help with identification of this beast!!
Apologies for the undercarriage shot… should have asked him to flip over first.
Pest control sprayed corners of this room the day before. Found him here twitching. Not really sure what they sprayed, but I guess it was so strong it tore his leg off, lol.
submitted by itsvill to pestcontrol [link] [comments]
Pest control sprayed corners of this room the day before. Found him here twitching. Not really sure what they sprayed, but I guess it was so strong it tore his leg off, lol.
2023.06.03 16:14 Jumpingdead Q: Is there an electrical way I can gate a conveyor belt?
First time playing, about 150 hours in, just unlocked and started making aluminum. For experience/context.
My issue: I have remote plants set up near resources that manufacture specific goods. Steel near iron and coal, copper, plastic and rubber, etc.
Now I have these brought to my main factory via conveyors, trucks, or train.
My first factory was a god awful mess, so I started rebuilding with much more care as to organization. It’s not anywhere near done. In fact the main factory has no production going on at all, unless I spot build something and tear it down after.
I have a TON of resources flowing into my base that are being recycled. Lotta tickets. All my storage for those items are full, overflow goes to the muncher.
What I would LIKE to do is have storage stockpiled at the production sites also, in case I need to produce something that I don’t have the capacity for yet. It’s happened twice now. Both times I go out to the site and build more capacity, and after hours of reorganizing and getting sidetracked to go mine another spot, see a crash site and go get that, explore more, ADHD etc… it takes forever.
Like that last paragraph went off the rails.
I’d like to have storage stockpiles remotely, that I can “turn on” when needed. Remote storage container, filled with an overflow belt that leads to the conveyor back or the train or truck stop. I flip a power switch at home base, and the outlet belt for that the remote storage starts pumping that out.
I can do it with liquids. Build a 15m tall pipe tower that does a u turn back down with a pump on it. Pump powered off, it doesn’t have the head lift to make it over the hump. Throw a switch and the pump pushes it over, fluid flows. (I don’t actually do this, but it’s a proof of concept).
AFAIK there is nothing like this for belt fed items.
Heading off possible “just do this” suggestions: Trains: Power them down. That’s easy. But not all my supply chains run on trains. Detach the belt locally: Could work, but really not convenient, and I’d love a control panel where I can “dip into reserves”. Vehicles: Haven’t tried powering off the truck stop, but still have the belt issue. Just run through the remote container: Container will immediately empty as it fills. Fill the container first before connecting the belt to home base: Will work, but if demand goes above supply and the container starts emptying, I won’t know (without manual checking), and after demand drops the container won’t refill until I do it manually. Build more machines to produce and leave them off: Dumb. Just build them and leave them on and skip the whole thing. Building them is part of the issue (time/space etc)
Ugh, sorry this became so long.
Any innovative ideas? Considered building a micro train station as the stop gap but that is absurdly excessive (and a huge footprint for a simple problem)
submitted by Jumpingdead to SatisfactoryGame [link] [comments]
My issue: I have remote plants set up near resources that manufacture specific goods. Steel near iron and coal, copper, plastic and rubber, etc.
Now I have these brought to my main factory via conveyors, trucks, or train.
My first factory was a god awful mess, so I started rebuilding with much more care as to organization. It’s not anywhere near done. In fact the main factory has no production going on at all, unless I spot build something and tear it down after.
I have a TON of resources flowing into my base that are being recycled. Lotta tickets. All my storage for those items are full, overflow goes to the muncher.
What I would LIKE to do is have storage stockpiled at the production sites also, in case I need to produce something that I don’t have the capacity for yet. It’s happened twice now. Both times I go out to the site and build more capacity, and after hours of reorganizing and getting sidetracked to go mine another spot, see a crash site and go get that, explore more, ADHD etc… it takes forever.
Like that last paragraph went off the rails.
I’d like to have storage stockpiles remotely, that I can “turn on” when needed. Remote storage container, filled with an overflow belt that leads to the conveyor back or the train or truck stop. I flip a power switch at home base, and the outlet belt for that the remote storage starts pumping that out.
I can do it with liquids. Build a 15m tall pipe tower that does a u turn back down with a pump on it. Pump powered off, it doesn’t have the head lift to make it over the hump. Throw a switch and the pump pushes it over, fluid flows. (I don’t actually do this, but it’s a proof of concept).
AFAIK there is nothing like this for belt fed items.
Heading off possible “just do this” suggestions: Trains: Power them down. That’s easy. But not all my supply chains run on trains. Detach the belt locally: Could work, but really not convenient, and I’d love a control panel where I can “dip into reserves”. Vehicles: Haven’t tried powering off the truck stop, but still have the belt issue. Just run through the remote container: Container will immediately empty as it fills. Fill the container first before connecting the belt to home base: Will work, but if demand goes above supply and the container starts emptying, I won’t know (without manual checking), and after demand drops the container won’t refill until I do it manually. Build more machines to produce and leave them off: Dumb. Just build them and leave them on and skip the whole thing. Building them is part of the issue (time/space etc)
Ugh, sorry this became so long.
Any innovative ideas? Considered building a micro train station as the stop gap but that is absurdly excessive (and a huge footprint for a simple problem)
2023.06.03 16:13 xJTE93 High beam short?
Hey, everyone, so I've got a '16 GLI and this morning I got a warning on the dash about the driver side high beam being out. Opened the cap to check if the bulb burned out and it cut right on when I pulled it out and the warning went away. Got back in the car after leaving the store and the warning is back on the dash. When I got back home I noticed that if I tap on the cap behind the bulb hard enough it'll cut on and stay on until I flip the switch off, but will have to tap again to get it to turn back on. Has anyone else had a similar issue? I replaced all low/high beams less than a month ago so my first though was it's shorting out since the bulb still turns on
submitted by xJTE93 to jetta [link] [comments]
2023.06.03 16:10 Recent-Development10 [A Terran Space Story: Lieutenant Saga] - Chapter 118
John asks for permission, for a change, to do something unorthodox. Does he get permission? Does it work? I hope you enjoy!
The next chapter will be out on Tuesday.
Terran Space Story: The Lieutenant Saga
Academy Days First Previous Next
Chapter 118: Master Escalator
1 Day Later. March 13th, 2267. 08:00 Slip Space – Captain’s Ready Room
John was sitting in his chair pleading his case to Admirals Dufresne and Dickinson. He had a hard time reading the men as they both had steeled themselves to reactions. Neither man appeared happy with the situation they were in. John wasn’t responsible for the situation, but it was undoubtedly clear- he was the one that lit the match.
“Sirs, now more than ever the Icarus needs to die. We kill her and this bullshit pirate alliance ends,” John said.
“How would you presume to do this,” Admiral Dickinson said, “The Icarus isn’t going to attack you if you have battlecruiser or battleship support.”
“Give me two more cruisers and four frigates. We ought to be able to make do with that,” John said.
Admiral Dufresne was the first to show a bit of emotion, “How are you going to pull that off?”
“There’s a large pirate base in the Altair system. If Naval Intelligence data is to be believed, and frankly I have no reason to suspect otherwise, it’s their primary staging point in this sector. It’s also lightly guarded at the moment because the pirate fleet is elsewhere.”
“So, you mean to toss gasoline onto the fire,” Admiral Dickinson nodded, “That could work. It does carry a fair amount of risk though. What if the pirates attack a colony.”
“Civilian sentiment leans strongly on us but it’s a simple majority at this point,” John said, “If they attack civilians then that sentiment is pegged against them.”
“He’s not wrong. The sentiment against them will grow slowly over time if they stick to attacking military assets. And frankly, we have far more of them than we do ships to guard them,” Admiral Dufresne said, “The problem is the request for ships. We don’t have any ships to give you.”
“There are six ships in the Altair system already,” John said pointedly.
“Which are there defending the military installation located there,” Admiral Dickinson said, “What would you have us do? Shut it down and transfer the crew?”
“Yes. For an inner-core system, it’s a shithole. The pirates built this base years ago but abandoned it. They came back recently, and we’ve tolerated their presence instead of snuffing it out,” John said, “I’m also going to need several prison transports rerouted. I see four empty ones within a day and another six that could be used for the same purpose that is two days out.”
“Can you work with Lieutenant Cohen again? You came down hard on him before,” Admiral Dufresne.
“It is unexpected, but I need his help more than I dislike him as a poor captain. It seems my critique of his actions has at the very least improved his ability to captain his ship though.”
“You have a go,” Admiral Dickinson said, “If this doesn’t work out in your favor this could end very poorly for us all.”
“Then I’ll have to ensure that it doesn’t, sirs,” John saluted then before ending the communication.
He had the green light and acquired more ships. Would it be enough? Time would tell. Even with their reinforcements, there was no guarantee that it’d work. But John knew his abrasive personality would get under his enemy’s skin. At a bare minimum, this action would draw out some of the pirates.
March 15th, 2267. 01:00 Altair System – In Orbit around the moon of the second planet
The pirates had not expected a fleet of Confederate ships to attack their base. In the past several months the Altair system served as a fuel stop for passing ships. Warships, of which dozens upon dozens came through the system, were there briefly and then left. The pirates were confident their reactivated base would be safe.
How wrong they were. Then again, how could the pirates predict the Confederacy to go on the attack so quickly? Their typical response was to pull back and guard, then push out. There was always time following an attack to breathe and generate momentum. This time though, that was not the case, this was not John’s way of responding to an attack.
Their base had been brutalized by orbital bombardment. All defensive weaponry, down to the last missile battery, had been utterly destroyed. There was nothing but wishful thinking preventing an assault on the base from happening. The pirate’s morale was low, but they were already prepared for an assault and had dug themselves in.
They were going to make the Confederates pay for each foot of the base they took. Heavy weapon platforms had been erected in the base’s hangars. They knew about the super-heavy power armor and were prepared for it. Or so they thought.
Leading the charge was a brash lieutenant with a somewhat bloodthirsty mood toward pirates. Even more scary, for the pirates that is, is that he was leading the charge on the base. John’s armor had been repainted pitch black. One knee pad was checkerboarded with white and red squares. His helmet was painted bronze, and its face shield had that distinctive white skull he always bore.
The Confederate attack on the enemy base didn’t go according to how the pirates presumed it would occur. Sure, they stormed the docking bays, but they did so after a team of Confederate scouts gained access to the base from a secret entrance on the surface of the moon. Those very same scouts’ mission was to disable the docking bays’ atmospheric shields. An inelegant manner of attack, but none of the pirates were wearing void suits.
Why fight a dug-in enemy when you can simply space the lot of them? Facing heavy weapons deep inside the base was unlikely. In the docking bays though? There was plenty of space to fire them without worrying about the structural integrity of the base. John’s plan was as cunning as it was ruthless.
The transport ships came in quickly and disgorged their armored cargo. Seven hundred and fifty power-armored foes began to fan out into the base. Fifty stayed behind to dismantle, or destroy, the heavy weapons and ensure the pirates don’t do anything to their rides home.
John led the charge down one corridor, “With me, we’re going to rush their central command.”
A squadron of marines, all wearing the older and diminutive suits of power armor, fell in behind John. They charged down the corridor. Unlike John, they did clear the intersections just in case. Some small arms fire came from in front of John, but the moment the pirates saw the hulking mass run towards them they bugged out quickly.
John arrived at the door to the central command of the station. It didn’t open when he pressed the console button in the frame. It also didn’t open when he smashed the button with a closed fist. That gave time for the Marines that were with him to catch up to him.
With his fingers extended John’s right hand shot forward at the point the two doors met in the middle. Both doors bent slightly inward because of the force imparted onto them. John followed that up with his left arm and forced the doors open.
No matter the number of protestations the door’s locking mechanisms gave, the Broadsword’s power was overwhelming them. The locks then succumbed to the imparted force, and the broken doors were wedged into the door frame.
John stepped inside and drew his battle rifle deftly, “Hands up, compliance or death, your choice.”
The guards on either side of the door jumped backward in shock. They immediately dropped their guns and held their hands up. Virtually everyone in the room did that save for the two men sitting at the central console.
“Last chance assholes, hands up,” one of the Marines barked.
“This is a…” the presumed leader said from his seat.
John wasted no time and fired a single round from his rifle. It was a through and through, though thankfully there wasn’t anyone else behind the man taken out as collateral damage. The man that was standing to the side of his boss looked at John, then at the console, and back at John.
“Flinch and you're dead,” John growled.
“Everyone back the fuck away from your stations,” another Marine said as he walked along the outer edge of the room to John’s left.
The second in command tensed up. John reacted almost instantaneously to the man’s action. Whether he was or wasn’t going to do something didn’t matter. In that moment the presumption was he was going to do something bad. John fired off another round. He fell backward, gasping on the ground for a few moments before his life gave out.
John walked over to the console. The self-destruction screen had been pulled up but had not yet been activated. He hovered his hand near an input port. Eve then directed the suit to connect its external cable from John’s wrist to the port.
“Eve, lock out the pirates from their systems and share with our friendlies the locations of all hostiles,” John said calmly.
“Understood,” Eve said as she was already well underway in taking control of the station.
“This Falchion Leader to all teams, the central command is ours. Tactical readouts are to be shared momentarily. Continue with mop-up operations.”
“Sir, the room is secured. All weapons have been taken from the prisoners,” the sergeant of the squad of marines said.
“Excellent,” John said as he carefully removed his helmet, “Now then, who’s going to spill the beans on what y’all are planning and doing?”
“Why should we talk to you?” one of the guards answered.
“Your choice is talking to me instead of Naval Intelligence. I’m a whole lot friendlier to deal with.”
“I doubt that you just merced both our bosses,” another pirate said.
“True, but I ain’t going to make you suffer. I at least have the decency to put you down in one shot.”
“Some comfort that is,” an older-looking man from the rear of the group said, “I’ll take my chances.”
“What can you offer me?” the youngest-looking member of the gaggle of pirates said.
“Don’t you dare tell them anything Tiffany!” huffed another one.
John made a couple of gestures to the Marines. All of the pirates were ushered into a conference room. Two of the Marines watched over them. Tiffany, the traitor pirate, looked confident standing in front of John. Perhaps too confident for John’s taste.
Her corroboration of events wasn’t actually needed. John looked at his wrist and noticed that Eve already pulled highly detailed information on the pirates’ activities. But if there was an opportunity, she really was looking for leniency, John wouldn’t overlook free intel.
“Speak, now,” John said as he loomed large over the young girl.
“This is merely a waystation. We acquire goods and ammunition for pirate vessels. We aren’t…”
“Spare me that bullshit. This isn’t just a waystation. This is home to three different pirate factions,” John hissed, “That’s your first strike. You won’t get another one.”
The young girl took a small step back. Her confidence had left her. In place of that was pure terror. She didn’t know what to do or say anymore. Her eyes darted around the room, in fact the room felt considerably smaller than it had just moments before.
“What do you want to know?” she said as she looked at the floor in shame.
“The truth,” John said before leaning down to get closer to her, “The whole truth.”
“The Alpha and Omega, Pirate Brothers, and the Void Sovereign groups used this as their base. There was an uneasy alliance between the three. None were big enough to take out all their rivals, so an odd partnership formed here.”
John turned and walked near a console, “All of this is known to me.”
“They also made this a port of call of sorts for other pirates. They were charged an arm and a leg, but it brought a steady stream of money and recruits in. When the Confederacy announced their anti-pirate actions, they shut the station down cold and we all left to parts unknown,” the girl continued to stare at the floor, “That was until the hunting appeared to have ceased. We returned and reclaimed our base. At that point, a decision was made to be less boisterous about our base.”
The girl took a deep breath before speaking again, “The Icarus came to visit. She was in rough shape. They called in favors from all three groups and began retrofitting the ship here. My group had to deal with them in the past, and some sizable debts incurred to the Icarus.”
“This is the base that retrofitted the Icarus?”
“It is, yes,” the girl said, “We acquired a retrofitting dock several years ago. We’ve done a fair amount of business using it.”
“Where are the records of this retrofit?” John asked sternly, “I presume you kept detailed records of their upgrade.”
“It should be on our mainframe, or it could be partitioned off into some secret storage. They clearly didn’t want any records of what was being done to the ship kept anywhere.”
John grinned as he turned to face the young girl, “A request your leaders clearly and flagrantly disobeyed.”
She nodded.
“Who knows where that information is?” John said as he looked at his wrist’s holographic outputs.
Eve was listening to the conversation and was already searching for the hidden data. If this story was true and a copy of it was saved it could be an amazing coup of data intelligence. That is if it were true. But the dejected look of the young girl suggested to John that she was telling the truth.
“Jamis. He’s the tall black guy with the grey beard.”
“Corporal, take her to a more secure place away from the rest of her ilk. I’ll decide what to do with her later.”
“You said…”
John raised a finger to shush her, “I promised nothing. You tried to offer me false intelligence. You and I are far from done speaking.”
“Private, bring Jamis from that room, we need to have a conversation.”
The corporal saluted John and walked over to the room. The door on the room’s right side opened. In walked another squad of marines. Their sergeant was leading the way.
“Sergeant Decker, how goes containment?”
“Fighting is contained to a single sector. The pirates there have chosen death over life. We should be completed with the operation within the hour.”
“Excellent. Begin transporting the prisoners to the ships immediately. None of the adults, irrespective of their age, are to be included with the women and children.”
“Sir, even the eighteen-year-olds? There’s a number of them…”
“Include them with the rest of the men. The courts can settle the matter of their punishment or guilt.”
“Understood,” Sergeant Decker saluted John and turned around.
“Jamis, I hear y’all had an interesting guest a while back,” John said to the tall man being held firmly in place by two marines in power armor.
“What do I get out of helping you? And what assurances do I have that you’ll hold your end of the bargain?”
“Clever strategy,” John grinned as he had Eve activate the communication systems, “Hey Mark, how’s life?”
Mark Wilhelm, John’s one-time boss at Naval Intelligence’s Miami Base appeared on screen, “What can I do for you?”
“What criminal history does a Jamis Miles, one-time Alpha Centauri citizen and current pirate affiliated with the Void Sovereign group, have?”
Mark looked down at his console. He then split the communication screen in two. Jamis’ profile appeared on the right side of the screen. A litany of crimes he had committed began to be displayed on the screen. About a third of them he had served his time successfully for but there were some pretty serious charges on the list that had not been adjudicated yet.
“Seems your bargaining position is a bit dubious. There are at least five charges that we can put you away for life,” John said.
“Thirteen actually given his age,” Mark added in his normal monotone way.
“I need a deal and assurances that you will follow through with it,” Jamis hissed back.
“What kind of deal would NI offer?” John asked.
“What are we getting in return?” Mark quipped, “You kind of brought me in mid-conversation as you normally do.”
“Ahh, that’s my bad. Supposedly detailed information on the Icarus’ most recent refit.”
Mark nodded and looked deep in thought. Jamis looked at both men’s emotionless exteriors and didn’t know what to expect. As the silence continued, the more worried and agitated, he grew. He didn’t feel comfortable in his bargaining position. More than that, he trusted none of these men at all. Especially the man in the large suit of armor. There was a callous viciousness underlying his actions that rubbed Jamis the wrong way.
“It’ll depend on…” Mark began to speak but was quickly interrupted.
“No, I get assurances on a deal before I say one goddamned thing.”
“The clock is ticking Jamis. My VI is searching for all known servers and data feeds. If I find it before you do there won’t be a deal,” John said as he turned to face a pair of Marines in the room, “On that note. Corporal, go to this man’s quarters on the station. Flip the place apart, I want every square millimeter scanned and checked for any hidden compartments.”
“Yes sir,” the corporal quickly saluted John.
He and another Marine quickly left the room. John turned to look at Jamis. He loomed large over the man.
“Tick-tock, Jamis.”
“I won’t quite be the antagonistic asshole my former associate is, but ultimately the deal we make with you is going to depend on what you have. What we glean from it is ultimately going to determine the degree of leniency you receive.”
“I want the deal in writing.”
“Which you’ll get, but you are going to have to give me something to work with so I can propose a deal. I won’t be offering any deals, and my superiors certainly won’t sign off on anything, without you telling me what intel you have. Once we receive it and it checks out to what you tell me now, then we can affirm the proposal.”
Jamis shook his head. He wanted more. So much more in fact. But he was not in a position of power. He had some leverage but not much. The concern he had was what could he bargain.
“I want to walk.”
“Not happening,” Mark replied instantly, “That’s not realistic given your checkered past. Were it not for these serious charges I could consider it. But your history warrants a prison sentence.”
“Minimum security, no hard labor. Ideally on the frontier,” Jamis said.
“If you provide us sufficiently detailed information on the Icarus, I’ll remove hard labor from your location. And super-max facilities. We will not offer more than that.”
“Five-year sentence. I want a chance to get out before I’m old and crippled,” Jamis said.
“Minimum fifteen-year sentence, with a parole hearing guaranteed after year five. NI will recommend parole at that time provided the data checks out and you have received appropriate good credit during your stay with us.”
“Three years till the hearing.”
“Five. But I’m going to defer the charging of several of the more egregious ones. If you get out and fall back into your pirate ways we’ll throw the book at you,” Mark stared down the pirate, “No matter how old you may be.”
“Make it five years on parole with a caveat that the remaining charges are expunged permanently, and I’ll agree.”
John smiled. This attack would provoke a response from the pirates. Instead of waiting, like they presumed they’d do, the Navy attacked immediately. Worse, the pirates lost an important staging ground for their attacks. And thousands of prisoners and family members were taken. This would no doubt anger the pirates, but it would also attack the morale of their fleet too.
By the end of the day, everyone would be transferred off the station. A substantial amount of stolen goods was reacquired by the Navy and shipped away to a nearby station. Farther eroding the pirates’ capabilities to wage war.
The last thing John did before they left the system, they detonated several warheads they brought over from the transports within the station. One more station was forever taken from the pirates. If they were lucky, they’d find out exactly what systems the Icarus was upgraded with. With that knowledge, they could develop an attack plan to precisely defeat the Icarus. Now they needed a bit of luck to draw that accursed ship out and engage it in a proper battle.
submitted by Recent-Development10 to HFY [link] [comments]
The next chapter will be out on Tuesday.
Terran Space Story: The Lieutenant Saga
Academy Days First Previous Next
Chapter 118: Master Escalator
1 Day Later. March 13th, 2267. 08:00 Slip Space – Captain’s Ready Room
John was sitting in his chair pleading his case to Admirals Dufresne and Dickinson. He had a hard time reading the men as they both had steeled themselves to reactions. Neither man appeared happy with the situation they were in. John wasn’t responsible for the situation, but it was undoubtedly clear- he was the one that lit the match.
“Sirs, now more than ever the Icarus needs to die. We kill her and this bullshit pirate alliance ends,” John said.
“How would you presume to do this,” Admiral Dickinson said, “The Icarus isn’t going to attack you if you have battlecruiser or battleship support.”
“Give me two more cruisers and four frigates. We ought to be able to make do with that,” John said.
Admiral Dufresne was the first to show a bit of emotion, “How are you going to pull that off?”
“There’s a large pirate base in the Altair system. If Naval Intelligence data is to be believed, and frankly I have no reason to suspect otherwise, it’s their primary staging point in this sector. It’s also lightly guarded at the moment because the pirate fleet is elsewhere.”
“So, you mean to toss gasoline onto the fire,” Admiral Dickinson nodded, “That could work. It does carry a fair amount of risk though. What if the pirates attack a colony.”
“Civilian sentiment leans strongly on us but it’s a simple majority at this point,” John said, “If they attack civilians then that sentiment is pegged against them.”
“He’s not wrong. The sentiment against them will grow slowly over time if they stick to attacking military assets. And frankly, we have far more of them than we do ships to guard them,” Admiral Dufresne said, “The problem is the request for ships. We don’t have any ships to give you.”
“There are six ships in the Altair system already,” John said pointedly.
“Which are there defending the military installation located there,” Admiral Dickinson said, “What would you have us do? Shut it down and transfer the crew?”
“Yes. For an inner-core system, it’s a shithole. The pirates built this base years ago but abandoned it. They came back recently, and we’ve tolerated their presence instead of snuffing it out,” John said, “I’m also going to need several prison transports rerouted. I see four empty ones within a day and another six that could be used for the same purpose that is two days out.”
“Can you work with Lieutenant Cohen again? You came down hard on him before,” Admiral Dufresne.
“It is unexpected, but I need his help more than I dislike him as a poor captain. It seems my critique of his actions has at the very least improved his ability to captain his ship though.”
“You have a go,” Admiral Dickinson said, “If this doesn’t work out in your favor this could end very poorly for us all.”
“Then I’ll have to ensure that it doesn’t, sirs,” John saluted then before ending the communication.
He had the green light and acquired more ships. Would it be enough? Time would tell. Even with their reinforcements, there was no guarantee that it’d work. But John knew his abrasive personality would get under his enemy’s skin. At a bare minimum, this action would draw out some of the pirates.
March 15th, 2267. 01:00 Altair System – In Orbit around the moon of the second planet
The pirates had not expected a fleet of Confederate ships to attack their base. In the past several months the Altair system served as a fuel stop for passing ships. Warships, of which dozens upon dozens came through the system, were there briefly and then left. The pirates were confident their reactivated base would be safe.
How wrong they were. Then again, how could the pirates predict the Confederacy to go on the attack so quickly? Their typical response was to pull back and guard, then push out. There was always time following an attack to breathe and generate momentum. This time though, that was not the case, this was not John’s way of responding to an attack.
Their base had been brutalized by orbital bombardment. All defensive weaponry, down to the last missile battery, had been utterly destroyed. There was nothing but wishful thinking preventing an assault on the base from happening. The pirate’s morale was low, but they were already prepared for an assault and had dug themselves in.
They were going to make the Confederates pay for each foot of the base they took. Heavy weapon platforms had been erected in the base’s hangars. They knew about the super-heavy power armor and were prepared for it. Or so they thought.
Leading the charge was a brash lieutenant with a somewhat bloodthirsty mood toward pirates. Even more scary, for the pirates that is, is that he was leading the charge on the base. John’s armor had been repainted pitch black. One knee pad was checkerboarded with white and red squares. His helmet was painted bronze, and its face shield had that distinctive white skull he always bore.
The Confederate attack on the enemy base didn’t go according to how the pirates presumed it would occur. Sure, they stormed the docking bays, but they did so after a team of Confederate scouts gained access to the base from a secret entrance on the surface of the moon. Those very same scouts’ mission was to disable the docking bays’ atmospheric shields. An inelegant manner of attack, but none of the pirates were wearing void suits.
Why fight a dug-in enemy when you can simply space the lot of them? Facing heavy weapons deep inside the base was unlikely. In the docking bays though? There was plenty of space to fire them without worrying about the structural integrity of the base. John’s plan was as cunning as it was ruthless.
The transport ships came in quickly and disgorged their armored cargo. Seven hundred and fifty power-armored foes began to fan out into the base. Fifty stayed behind to dismantle, or destroy, the heavy weapons and ensure the pirates don’t do anything to their rides home.
John led the charge down one corridor, “With me, we’re going to rush their central command.”
A squadron of marines, all wearing the older and diminutive suits of power armor, fell in behind John. They charged down the corridor. Unlike John, they did clear the intersections just in case. Some small arms fire came from in front of John, but the moment the pirates saw the hulking mass run towards them they bugged out quickly.
John arrived at the door to the central command of the station. It didn’t open when he pressed the console button in the frame. It also didn’t open when he smashed the button with a closed fist. That gave time for the Marines that were with him to catch up to him.
With his fingers extended John’s right hand shot forward at the point the two doors met in the middle. Both doors bent slightly inward because of the force imparted onto them. John followed that up with his left arm and forced the doors open.
No matter the number of protestations the door’s locking mechanisms gave, the Broadsword’s power was overwhelming them. The locks then succumbed to the imparted force, and the broken doors were wedged into the door frame.
John stepped inside and drew his battle rifle deftly, “Hands up, compliance or death, your choice.”
The guards on either side of the door jumped backward in shock. They immediately dropped their guns and held their hands up. Virtually everyone in the room did that save for the two men sitting at the central console.
“Last chance assholes, hands up,” one of the Marines barked.
“This is a…” the presumed leader said from his seat.
John wasted no time and fired a single round from his rifle. It was a through and through, though thankfully there wasn’t anyone else behind the man taken out as collateral damage. The man that was standing to the side of his boss looked at John, then at the console, and back at John.
“Flinch and you're dead,” John growled.
“Everyone back the fuck away from your stations,” another Marine said as he walked along the outer edge of the room to John’s left.
The second in command tensed up. John reacted almost instantaneously to the man’s action. Whether he was or wasn’t going to do something didn’t matter. In that moment the presumption was he was going to do something bad. John fired off another round. He fell backward, gasping on the ground for a few moments before his life gave out.
John walked over to the console. The self-destruction screen had been pulled up but had not yet been activated. He hovered his hand near an input port. Eve then directed the suit to connect its external cable from John’s wrist to the port.
“Eve, lock out the pirates from their systems and share with our friendlies the locations of all hostiles,” John said calmly.
“Understood,” Eve said as she was already well underway in taking control of the station.
“This Falchion Leader to all teams, the central command is ours. Tactical readouts are to be shared momentarily. Continue with mop-up operations.”
“Sir, the room is secured. All weapons have been taken from the prisoners,” the sergeant of the squad of marines said.
“Excellent,” John said as he carefully removed his helmet, “Now then, who’s going to spill the beans on what y’all are planning and doing?”
“Why should we talk to you?” one of the guards answered.
“Your choice is talking to me instead of Naval Intelligence. I’m a whole lot friendlier to deal with.”
“I doubt that you just merced both our bosses,” another pirate said.
“True, but I ain’t going to make you suffer. I at least have the decency to put you down in one shot.”
“Some comfort that is,” an older-looking man from the rear of the group said, “I’ll take my chances.”
“What can you offer me?” the youngest-looking member of the gaggle of pirates said.
“Don’t you dare tell them anything Tiffany!” huffed another one.
John made a couple of gestures to the Marines. All of the pirates were ushered into a conference room. Two of the Marines watched over them. Tiffany, the traitor pirate, looked confident standing in front of John. Perhaps too confident for John’s taste.
Her corroboration of events wasn’t actually needed. John looked at his wrist and noticed that Eve already pulled highly detailed information on the pirates’ activities. But if there was an opportunity, she really was looking for leniency, John wouldn’t overlook free intel.
“Speak, now,” John said as he loomed large over the young girl.
“This is merely a waystation. We acquire goods and ammunition for pirate vessels. We aren’t…”
“Spare me that bullshit. This isn’t just a waystation. This is home to three different pirate factions,” John hissed, “That’s your first strike. You won’t get another one.”
The young girl took a small step back. Her confidence had left her. In place of that was pure terror. She didn’t know what to do or say anymore. Her eyes darted around the room, in fact the room felt considerably smaller than it had just moments before.
“What do you want to know?” she said as she looked at the floor in shame.
“The truth,” John said before leaning down to get closer to her, “The whole truth.”
“The Alpha and Omega, Pirate Brothers, and the Void Sovereign groups used this as their base. There was an uneasy alliance between the three. None were big enough to take out all their rivals, so an odd partnership formed here.”
John turned and walked near a console, “All of this is known to me.”
“They also made this a port of call of sorts for other pirates. They were charged an arm and a leg, but it brought a steady stream of money and recruits in. When the Confederacy announced their anti-pirate actions, they shut the station down cold and we all left to parts unknown,” the girl continued to stare at the floor, “That was until the hunting appeared to have ceased. We returned and reclaimed our base. At that point, a decision was made to be less boisterous about our base.”
The girl took a deep breath before speaking again, “The Icarus came to visit. She was in rough shape. They called in favors from all three groups and began retrofitting the ship here. My group had to deal with them in the past, and some sizable debts incurred to the Icarus.”
“This is the base that retrofitted the Icarus?”
“It is, yes,” the girl said, “We acquired a retrofitting dock several years ago. We’ve done a fair amount of business using it.”
“Where are the records of this retrofit?” John asked sternly, “I presume you kept detailed records of their upgrade.”
“It should be on our mainframe, or it could be partitioned off into some secret storage. They clearly didn’t want any records of what was being done to the ship kept anywhere.”
John grinned as he turned to face the young girl, “A request your leaders clearly and flagrantly disobeyed.”
She nodded.
“Who knows where that information is?” John said as he looked at his wrist’s holographic outputs.
Eve was listening to the conversation and was already searching for the hidden data. If this story was true and a copy of it was saved it could be an amazing coup of data intelligence. That is if it were true. But the dejected look of the young girl suggested to John that she was telling the truth.
“Jamis. He’s the tall black guy with the grey beard.”
“Corporal, take her to a more secure place away from the rest of her ilk. I’ll decide what to do with her later.”
“You said…”
John raised a finger to shush her, “I promised nothing. You tried to offer me false intelligence. You and I are far from done speaking.”
“Private, bring Jamis from that room, we need to have a conversation.”
The corporal saluted John and walked over to the room. The door on the room’s right side opened. In walked another squad of marines. Their sergeant was leading the way.
“Sergeant Decker, how goes containment?”
“Fighting is contained to a single sector. The pirates there have chosen death over life. We should be completed with the operation within the hour.”
“Excellent. Begin transporting the prisoners to the ships immediately. None of the adults, irrespective of their age, are to be included with the women and children.”
“Sir, even the eighteen-year-olds? There’s a number of them…”
“Include them with the rest of the men. The courts can settle the matter of their punishment or guilt.”
“Understood,” Sergeant Decker saluted John and turned around.
“Jamis, I hear y’all had an interesting guest a while back,” John said to the tall man being held firmly in place by two marines in power armor.
“What do I get out of helping you? And what assurances do I have that you’ll hold your end of the bargain?”
“Clever strategy,” John grinned as he had Eve activate the communication systems, “Hey Mark, how’s life?”
Mark Wilhelm, John’s one-time boss at Naval Intelligence’s Miami Base appeared on screen, “What can I do for you?”
“What criminal history does a Jamis Miles, one-time Alpha Centauri citizen and current pirate affiliated with the Void Sovereign group, have?”
Mark looked down at his console. He then split the communication screen in two. Jamis’ profile appeared on the right side of the screen. A litany of crimes he had committed began to be displayed on the screen. About a third of them he had served his time successfully for but there were some pretty serious charges on the list that had not been adjudicated yet.
“Seems your bargaining position is a bit dubious. There are at least five charges that we can put you away for life,” John said.
“Thirteen actually given his age,” Mark added in his normal monotone way.
“I need a deal and assurances that you will follow through with it,” Jamis hissed back.
“What kind of deal would NI offer?” John asked.
“What are we getting in return?” Mark quipped, “You kind of brought me in mid-conversation as you normally do.”
“Ahh, that’s my bad. Supposedly detailed information on the Icarus’ most recent refit.”
Mark nodded and looked deep in thought. Jamis looked at both men’s emotionless exteriors and didn’t know what to expect. As the silence continued, the more worried and agitated, he grew. He didn’t feel comfortable in his bargaining position. More than that, he trusted none of these men at all. Especially the man in the large suit of armor. There was a callous viciousness underlying his actions that rubbed Jamis the wrong way.
“It’ll depend on…” Mark began to speak but was quickly interrupted.
“No, I get assurances on a deal before I say one goddamned thing.”
“The clock is ticking Jamis. My VI is searching for all known servers and data feeds. If I find it before you do there won’t be a deal,” John said as he turned to face a pair of Marines in the room, “On that note. Corporal, go to this man’s quarters on the station. Flip the place apart, I want every square millimeter scanned and checked for any hidden compartments.”
“Yes sir,” the corporal quickly saluted John.
He and another Marine quickly left the room. John turned to look at Jamis. He loomed large over the man.
“Tick-tock, Jamis.”
“I won’t quite be the antagonistic asshole my former associate is, but ultimately the deal we make with you is going to depend on what you have. What we glean from it is ultimately going to determine the degree of leniency you receive.”
“I want the deal in writing.”
“Which you’ll get, but you are going to have to give me something to work with so I can propose a deal. I won’t be offering any deals, and my superiors certainly won’t sign off on anything, without you telling me what intel you have. Once we receive it and it checks out to what you tell me now, then we can affirm the proposal.”
Jamis shook his head. He wanted more. So much more in fact. But he was not in a position of power. He had some leverage but not much. The concern he had was what could he bargain.
“I want to walk.”
“Not happening,” Mark replied instantly, “That’s not realistic given your checkered past. Were it not for these serious charges I could consider it. But your history warrants a prison sentence.”
“Minimum security, no hard labor. Ideally on the frontier,” Jamis said.
“If you provide us sufficiently detailed information on the Icarus, I’ll remove hard labor from your location. And super-max facilities. We will not offer more than that.”
“Five-year sentence. I want a chance to get out before I’m old and crippled,” Jamis said.
“Minimum fifteen-year sentence, with a parole hearing guaranteed after year five. NI will recommend parole at that time provided the data checks out and you have received appropriate good credit during your stay with us.”
“Three years till the hearing.”
“Five. But I’m going to defer the charging of several of the more egregious ones. If you get out and fall back into your pirate ways we’ll throw the book at you,” Mark stared down the pirate, “No matter how old you may be.”
“Make it five years on parole with a caveat that the remaining charges are expunged permanently, and I’ll agree.”
John smiled. This attack would provoke a response from the pirates. Instead of waiting, like they presumed they’d do, the Navy attacked immediately. Worse, the pirates lost an important staging ground for their attacks. And thousands of prisoners and family members were taken. This would no doubt anger the pirates, but it would also attack the morale of their fleet too.
By the end of the day, everyone would be transferred off the station. A substantial amount of stolen goods was reacquired by the Navy and shipped away to a nearby station. Farther eroding the pirates’ capabilities to wage war.
The last thing John did before they left the system, they detonated several warheads they brought over from the transports within the station. One more station was forever taken from the pirates. If they were lucky, they’d find out exactly what systems the Icarus was upgraded with. With that knowledge, they could develop an attack plan to precisely defeat the Icarus. Now they needed a bit of luck to draw that accursed ship out and engage it in a proper battle.
2023.06.03 16:08 GreySeerCriak TM Customs: Hammerhead
 | (Shoutout to u/REVlock72 and his amazing customs that helped inspire mine.) submitted by GreySeerCriak to TwistedMetal [link] [comments] Hammerhead, for whatever reason, was troublesome. First I had to figure out which version of the monster truck to make, and I flip flopped between game 1 and 2’s takes on them. Eventually I opted for the green pickup from TM1, and when I purchased a truck to paint, I opened up the packaging and the chassis snapped off the wheels…great. After gluing the two halves back together, I let it dry and then cracked open the green paint (typing this out I realized I could’ve painted the chassis while it was disconnected first, but oh well). The paint went on fine but if you stare long enough you’ll find spots of yellow peeking through. I’ll likely go over it again at some point, but for now I’m content with my dude-bro monster truck. |
2023.06.03 16:05 SpacePaladin15 The Nature of Predators 121
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Memory transcription subject: Captain Sovlin, United Nations Fleet Command
Date [standardized human time]: January 15, 2137
It wasn’t my imagination; our triangular shuttle was sinking like a stone. Water bobbed up against the cockpit windows, entombing us beneath the waves. Hull integrity would eventually give out and allow water to flood the compartment. The predators were just watching it happen, with not nearly enough panic showing in their binocular eyes. They made no attempt to inflate a life raft and escape, while we could still get the doors open.
The craft had tipped forward at a slight angle, and the airborne vehicle began to sink nose-first toward a watery grave. A feeling of immense claustrophobia gripped me, as the nightmare scenario came to fruition. My claws wrapped around Samantha’s arm before I could stop myself; the human looked at me with sheer disbelief, and pushed me away. Her nose was scrunched in an obvious sign of distaste. Carlos would’ve definitely been more amenable to my desperate outreach for support.
Samantha heaved a sigh. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just fucking do that, but it better not ever happen again.”
“Please! We’re sinking!” I croaked.
Onso snickered. “Sinking? You don’t feel the engines running? It’s a submersible aircraft.”
Upon closer listening, I could feel the quiet hum of the engines. Somehow, the combustion drive was still running underwater, and pushing us in a controlled manner further into the ocean. There were no signs of leaks seeping through the walls, despite being encased in the depths. I’d never heard of a plane that could fly underwater, but I should’ve gleaned our safety from the predators’ calmness.
If a human is running or terrified, that’s when it’s time to assume our deaths are imminent.
Sam wasn’t the least bit amused by me latching onto her arm, but Tyler and Carlos were both masking smirks. I dipped my head in shame. How had the Yotul known of technology which was unfathomable to the wider galaxy? Until today, I wouldn’t have thought such devices would ever have a use. It was embarrassing that the primitive kept his head better than me around novel technology, though I tried to push that egoistic thought out of my mind.
“Do the Yotul have this kind of technology, Onso?” I prompted the reddish-furred marsupial to answer, though I knew the reply would be in the negative. “I’ve never heard of such things, so I’m surprised it’s old news to you.”
“Well, I took it upon myself to read up on the specs; they were included with our briefing notes. Never know when shit’s gonna break, and someone’s gotta fix it. The Yotul have a saying, ‘Everything can break, so assume it will do so today.’”
“That’s valid. Every spacecraft crash is due to a ‘one-in-a-billion’ mechanical failure; unlikelihood upon unlikelihood. Uh, anyhow, I’m a little out of my element here, clearly nothing like you.”
“I don’t mind the water, Sovlin. Mama had a sailboat, which she’d take around the harbor. It was a little disappointing to hear human water activities involve hunting. There’s so many beautiful things to see; it’s the last untamed frontier. Even after space is explored, the oceans still hold so many mysteries and unique lifeforms!”
“Plenty of humans agree with you, even ones who enjoy fishing like Tyler. We’ll go snorkeling or scuba diving just to explore reefs and view marine life,” Carlos chimed in. “No boat, nothing but a basic breathing apparatus.”
“There’s water sports too. Surfing, where you try to ride massive waves on a board.” Samantha made odd gestures with her hands, as though conveying a series of hills. “Parasailing, up in the sky tied to a boat. White water rafting, where you go down turbulent, rocky rapids in an inflatable.”
I groaned. “Why…are any of those not mortally dangerous?! What is wrong with you predators? I thought you evolved from the fucking trees!”
“It’s all in the spirit of fun, a memorable experience. Don’t tell me none of it sounds like something you want to try once.”
“No, those stunts sound horrible. This is horrible. I can see the depth meter going up…it’s double digits! I can’t see the sky!”
“Quit being a baby.”
“Quit being a predator! I hate humans; I can’t stand you! Onso, back me up.”
“The surfing sounds totally badass. I can imagine riding a wave up to its crest, and trying not to fall,” the Yotul answered. “We should try it together, old man. Conquer your fears, do things you think you can’t.”
“I am not doing that. No way on the cradle.”
Tyler sported a devilish grin. “Hey, it could be worse, Sovlin. You could be doing shark cage diving.”
I offered the blond human a blank stare. Through the cockpit behind him, I noticed orange-striped fish swimming clear of the aerosub. There was a dark shadow in the murky depths below, which filled me with palpable unease. What if it was some sort of massive predator which hid in this oceanic range? Chewing at my claws with anxiety, I tried to parse through what he said.
Cage diving? That can’t be what it sounds like; locking yourself in a cage and jumping into the water…not trying to escape. What’s a shark?
We moved closer to the ambiguous shadow within the turquoise ocean, which I tried to ignore. The humans would freak out if there was reason for alarm; I couldn’t make a fool of myself again. Plastering a look of confusion on my face, I flicked a claw at Tyler for an explanation. His blue eyes twinkled with amusement, and my former guards watched with interest.
“Ah, you’re wondering what that is.” Officer Cardona tapped his fingers against his holopad, and noticed that his Yotul exchange partner was intrigued too. He showed a picture to Onso first. “I’d say it’s self-explanatory. Oh, and, yes, they have side-facing eyes, but sharks are predators. Humans have movies about them eating us, even though that’s uncommon in reality.”
Tyler turned the device toward me, and I flinched away with disbelief. Sure enough, a pack of Terrans were suspended in a metal cage below the water. “Sharks” circled them with predatory intent, serrated teeth visible. From what I’d learned about Gojids being omnivores, I’d trust the primates on binocular eyes not being necessary to eat living food. However, deciphering human behavior was a maddening endeavor. Was this some twisted way of reasserting their dominance as apex predators, against animals that dared to prey on them?
“You just said it was in fucked-up human movies…it’s CGI! That’s not a real fucking thing!” I screamed. “I thought we were keeping it professional, huh? You all are definitely saying, and making up, predator nonsense on purpose, at this point!”
Tyler flashed his teeth. “It’s real. We don’t need to make anything up; humans will go to great lengths for thrills.”
“That seems to be tempting fate. I’ve always believed in respecting nature, though it would be cool to see these animals up close,” Onso said.
“Good news: you can see them in aquariums too.”
I thought humans would think water decorations were stupid…wait, what did he just say?!
My spines were bristling. “You have aquariums, like the Kolshians on Aafa?”
“Yep,” Tyler affirmed.
“And instead of sea plants, you keep dangerous predators in them?”
“Yeah? They’re cool to look at, man.”
“Protector, I don’t care if we’re in the middle of the ocean. I want off this sinking boat!”
Carlos stifled a laugh. “Well, your wish is about to be granted. This puppy isn’t meant to dive deeper than 100 meters. The UNS Deep Core is up ahead.”
The foreboding shadow had grown larger in my periphery, and my eyes swiveled back to the viewport. It was a submersed ship, but one that was so large, its breadth faded into the murky distance. There was no way this wasn’t in the triple digits of meters long; the all-black, undecorated exterior would cause an observer to mistake it for a shadowy patch of water. There was a tower affixed to its spine, which perhaps housed an equivalent to a bridge.
“The humans must’ve snuck this ship here days ago. How long has it been lurking?” I murmured to myself. “They couldn’t have airdropped it from too high up either…I don’t think.”
Samantha rubbed her hands together. “If you think this is the only one sent, think again. We’re told as much as we need to know, Sovlin, but it’s a blast to fill in the blanks.”
Our aerosub glided down to the bottom of the Deep Core, before flipping over and latching onto to a watertight door. It was similar to how a spacecraft would dock for boarding; my concerns were assuaged a little, noticing some familiarity. Packing such a large crew into a metal tube must be stressful for any land-dwelling species, but the humans were insane enough to tuck their senses aside. There could be enough predators aboard to compose a small village.
I disliked the fact that I was hanging at a ninety-degree angle, though I didn’t voice my complaints. The humans awkwardly dismounted, with Tyler helping Onso down. Carlos hoisted me to my own two feet, and I took a steadying breath. Our own watertight hatch, which I mistook for an emergency exit when I thought it was a sane vehicle, was on the right exit. There was a click, as human personnel opened the circular door from the other side.
The five of us were helped up through the threshold into the submarine, and we admired the metal inner workings of our surroundings. The tunnels were narrow, with small doorways leading between compartments; many required a slight step up to clear. One Terran greeted us at our docking point, though he wore a different uniform than the getup I was used to. I wasn’t sure what to expect from land predators who operated underwater, but the ample facial hair checked out with my mental image.
“Welcome aboard the Deep Core. I’m Commander Fournier; your presence is requested on the bridge,” a gruff voice greeted us.
I blinked in confusion. “May I ask why…sir?”
“First aliens to step foot on a submarine. You’re VIPs; it’s a good photo-op, you could say. Follow me.”
Of course, the humans are worried about optics as we’re descending to an outlandish location. Sometimes, they’re awfully predictable.
Claustrophobia threatened to flare up, with the cramped passages and lack of direction. Onso showed no such uneasiness, forcing Tyler to ensure that the Yotul studied objects with his eyes, not his paws. The primitive seemed enamored with any machinery or design quirks, even basic things such as hinges. I was really trying not to look down on him, but when he was gawking at simplistic nails, it was difficult. At least his dimwitted curiosity was a distraction from our present environment.
The bearded commander led us to a steep stairway, and communicated for us to follow his lead. There was a thunderous bark of “up ladder!” before the human-in-charge popped open a hatch. Tyler waved a hand at me and Onso, signaling for us to climb after Fournier first. I ensured that my balance was steady, hustling up the rungs. There was a railing surrounding the hatch, along with a safety chain that our guide was unclipping.
“Sir, may I ask how much air we have left?” I couldn’t resist asking, despite being out of breath from the short ascent. “I presume you’ve been submerged a few days. Even spaceships can only carry a few weeks of oxygen, and I don’t see any tanks, um…”
Fournier issued a throaty laugh. “Scared of submarines, Gojid?”
“A little, uh, yes…sir.”
“Don’t be. We have as much air as there is water in the ocean.”
Onso bounded after us. “The Terrans use electrolysis to separate the hydrogen from the oxygen in seawater they collect, then use that O2 to ventilate the ship.”
“Why, I like this one!” the commander bellowed. “Read up on subs, haven’t ya?”
“It drew me in…like a vortex of knowledge. I always liked machines.”
“Then I take it you’re an engineer? I can see that kid-like glee in your eyes.”
“A rocket engineer. The unchanging rules, the complex order, the concreteness and the planning: it speaks to me. Having a new class of machines to study really lit that fire, for the first time since the Federation killed my passion. Not even studying your weaponry truly scratched that itch. It’s just, I never dreamed I’d discover a new alien boat!”
“Well, well! I’m no engineer, but I’ll be happy to share what I know. Feel free to ask any questions; we love talking about what we do, to someone who really wants to hear it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Commander Fournier led us into a stout compartment, where a vast array of gadgetry and screens covered a wall. Humans were examining a green circle on display, with a rotating line and labeled angles. Data feeds were also listed there, which led me to conclude it was a sensors equivalent. Navigations was at the front, at least from the appearance of several control columns. Some predators appeared to be acting as officers or supervisors, peering over others’ shoulders and issuing commands.
This isn’t that dissimilar to a starship, but where is the viewport? How can they see?
I cleared my throat. “Sir, where is the viewport? There’s no windows!”
“We don’t need windows,” Fournier explained. “We use sonar, because sound travels further in water than light. Glass or transparent materials are just a weak point in the hull, and a potential source of leaks if we take a hit.”
“Okay. Then why did the submersible craft we took here have windows?”
“Because it needs to be a spacecraft too, and you need to see when you’re flying. It’s useful enough to outweigh any concerns,” Carlos chimed in.
“This is so cool!” Onso bounced on his digitigrade hindlegs, and the commander fortunately didn’t take offense to his excess excitement. “The sonar doesn’t need to see at all. It just…listens.”
Fournier nodded. “Precisely. I saw you examining the bearings on our machinery, and I’ll impress upon you the importance of noise reduction down here. We keep everything detached from the hull frame to avoid vibrations…even dropping a wrench can give you up to an enemy. Sonar receptors pick up the slightest vibration, and then, they know you’re there.”
“That explains why your engines have to be so quiet. I was reading about how you try to avoid cavitation…you know, where the vacuum pressure caused by the propeller makes water boil. The bubbles pop and give off noise.”
“You don’t need a rundown at all, Yotul; you already know everything. We have a speed range where we can operate silently.”
I was growing bored of the technical explanations, and Onso, a primitive, was outshining my knowledge to the humans. Perhaps the Yotul was desperate to prove himself as an academic equal, but he didn’t need to prattle on about science like he was reading a textbook. While there were impressive feats of engineering on display here, I agreed with Samantha’s assertion of naval obsolescence. What good was fighting in the water, except in this extraordinary circumstance?
The predators can hide far away from any targets or locations of value forever. How ingenious. They’d be unseen altogether if the other human tribes realized this theater was irrelevant in a war.
I suppressed an irritated huff. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted,” Fournier replied, a curious twinkle in his eyes.
“Respectfully, sir, I do not see the purpose of putting all this time into submarine development, at least for military aims. You’re a spacefaring species, and you’re incredible at ground assaults. What use is it to hide so far away from civilization…from the action? Maybe you sink a few ships that are using an outdated method of moving resources, but I don’t get it. You have better weapons.”
“You really don’t know? To use your word, these ships are masterful predators; nearly undetectable, capable of hearing the slightest sound, and able to surface anywhere in the world. But it goes far beyond that. The destructive power housed here is a hell of a deterrent. That’s why we’d never actually trade nukes like ya Feddies thought we did.”
“Nukes? I’m not following.”
“There’s tens of nukes stuffed onto just one of these things. We can hang off the shore anywhere, and fire missiles while underwater. Not that we have to be close to our target; we can shoot ICBMs halfway around the world. You never know where we are, if it’s right down your neck or prowling distant shores. We’re waiting to strike, anywhere and everywhere, with the technology to end civilization itself, even after command is destroyed on land. Obsolete, my ass.”
I gulped with discomfort, wishing I could recede into the ship walls. That declaration was so calm yet predatorily destructive; there were chilling implications for the extent of human aggression. It suddenly made sense why Earth tribes were intent on sniffing these predators out of the ocean’s recesses, and why the subs tried to remain undetectable at all costs. Should the current battle go awry, Talsk could be devastated by an unseen arsenal of epic proportions.
As Commander Fournier took his post, I tried to understand why humans would devise such machinations, for use against their own civilization. The Federation’s “irradiated Earth” could’ve been a reality; these capabilities shouldn’t exist in any culture. I didn’t understand why my kind-hearted friends would even think of such predatory weaponry. Surely, understanding the apocalyptic consequences of these vehicles should’ve convinced them not to build them.
My therapist could’ve elaborated further on the full heights of Terran aggression. Humans didn’t enjoy killing, yet they brainstormed and actualized the optimal ways to kill every human in existence? It was a paradox. Perhaps their predator nature factored into their decision-making in a manner they didn’t understand. Orders were issued to begin our descent, and for all sailors to report to battle stations. I felt the submersible tilt down, so I tried to clear my head of what the primates were capable of.
I have to believe that they will never actually do something like that…that their goodness will prevail. They didn’t snap after Earth, right? I trust their better judgment.
“W-well, if there’s really a base at the bottom of the ocean, the Farsul are fucked,” I murmured to my posse.
Samantha’s fist tightened, as her smirk returned. “I’d say they are.”
The numbers on the depth meter continued to escalate, as the submarine navigated the ocean which spanned below us. Locked inside a steel tube with predators, and knowing the potential of its onboard weaponry, my nerves were anything but quelled. The submarines somehow eclipsed even the worst starships in its dastardly capabilities. The Farsul wouldn’t be prepared for this predatory contraption, should we stumble across any of their flotilla.
I was glad that the humans were on the same team as me; there was no telling where their capacity for annihilation ended.
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Patreon Arxur POV of the Cradle Series wiki Official subreddit Discord
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Memory transcription subject: Captain Sovlin, United Nations Fleet Command
Date [standardized human time]: January 15, 2137
It wasn’t my imagination; our triangular shuttle was sinking like a stone. Water bobbed up against the cockpit windows, entombing us beneath the waves. Hull integrity would eventually give out and allow water to flood the compartment. The predators were just watching it happen, with not nearly enough panic showing in their binocular eyes. They made no attempt to inflate a life raft and escape, while we could still get the doors open.
The craft had tipped forward at a slight angle, and the airborne vehicle began to sink nose-first toward a watery grave. A feeling of immense claustrophobia gripped me, as the nightmare scenario came to fruition. My claws wrapped around Samantha’s arm before I could stop myself; the human looked at me with sheer disbelief, and pushed me away. Her nose was scrunched in an obvious sign of distaste. Carlos would’ve definitely been more amenable to my desperate outreach for support.
Samantha heaved a sigh. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just fucking do that, but it better not ever happen again.”
“Please! We’re sinking!” I croaked.
Onso snickered. “Sinking? You don’t feel the engines running? It’s a submersible aircraft.”
Upon closer listening, I could feel the quiet hum of the engines. Somehow, the combustion drive was still running underwater, and pushing us in a controlled manner further into the ocean. There were no signs of leaks seeping through the walls, despite being encased in the depths. I’d never heard of a plane that could fly underwater, but I should’ve gleaned our safety from the predators’ calmness.
If a human is running or terrified, that’s when it’s time to assume our deaths are imminent.
Sam wasn’t the least bit amused by me latching onto her arm, but Tyler and Carlos were both masking smirks. I dipped my head in shame. How had the Yotul known of technology which was unfathomable to the wider galaxy? Until today, I wouldn’t have thought such devices would ever have a use. It was embarrassing that the primitive kept his head better than me around novel technology, though I tried to push that egoistic thought out of my mind.
“Do the Yotul have this kind of technology, Onso?” I prompted the reddish-furred marsupial to answer, though I knew the reply would be in the negative. “I’ve never heard of such things, so I’m surprised it’s old news to you.”
“Well, I took it upon myself to read up on the specs; they were included with our briefing notes. Never know when shit’s gonna break, and someone’s gotta fix it. The Yotul have a saying, ‘Everything can break, so assume it will do so today.’”
“That’s valid. Every spacecraft crash is due to a ‘one-in-a-billion’ mechanical failure; unlikelihood upon unlikelihood. Uh, anyhow, I’m a little out of my element here, clearly nothing like you.”
“I don’t mind the water, Sovlin. Mama had a sailboat, which she’d take around the harbor. It was a little disappointing to hear human water activities involve hunting. There’s so many beautiful things to see; it’s the last untamed frontier. Even after space is explored, the oceans still hold so many mysteries and unique lifeforms!”
“Plenty of humans agree with you, even ones who enjoy fishing like Tyler. We’ll go snorkeling or scuba diving just to explore reefs and view marine life,” Carlos chimed in. “No boat, nothing but a basic breathing apparatus.”
“There’s water sports too. Surfing, where you try to ride massive waves on a board.” Samantha made odd gestures with her hands, as though conveying a series of hills. “Parasailing, up in the sky tied to a boat. White water rafting, where you go down turbulent, rocky rapids in an inflatable.”
I groaned. “Why…are any of those not mortally dangerous?! What is wrong with you predators? I thought you evolved from the fucking trees!”
“It’s all in the spirit of fun, a memorable experience. Don’t tell me none of it sounds like something you want to try once.”
“No, those stunts sound horrible. This is horrible. I can see the depth meter going up…it’s double digits! I can’t see the sky!”
“Quit being a baby.”
“Quit being a predator! I hate humans; I can’t stand you! Onso, back me up.”
“The surfing sounds totally badass. I can imagine riding a wave up to its crest, and trying not to fall,” the Yotul answered. “We should try it together, old man. Conquer your fears, do things you think you can’t.”
“I am not doing that. No way on the cradle.”
Tyler sported a devilish grin. “Hey, it could be worse, Sovlin. You could be doing shark cage diving.”
I offered the blond human a blank stare. Through the cockpit behind him, I noticed orange-striped fish swimming clear of the aerosub. There was a dark shadow in the murky depths below, which filled me with palpable unease. What if it was some sort of massive predator which hid in this oceanic range? Chewing at my claws with anxiety, I tried to parse through what he said.
Cage diving? That can’t be what it sounds like; locking yourself in a cage and jumping into the water…not trying to escape. What’s a shark?
We moved closer to the ambiguous shadow within the turquoise ocean, which I tried to ignore. The humans would freak out if there was reason for alarm; I couldn’t make a fool of myself again. Plastering a look of confusion on my face, I flicked a claw at Tyler for an explanation. His blue eyes twinkled with amusement, and my former guards watched with interest.
“Ah, you’re wondering what that is.” Officer Cardona tapped his fingers against his holopad, and noticed that his Yotul exchange partner was intrigued too. He showed a picture to Onso first. “I’d say it’s self-explanatory. Oh, and, yes, they have side-facing eyes, but sharks are predators. Humans have movies about them eating us, even though that’s uncommon in reality.”
Tyler turned the device toward me, and I flinched away with disbelief. Sure enough, a pack of Terrans were suspended in a metal cage below the water. “Sharks” circled them with predatory intent, serrated teeth visible. From what I’d learned about Gojids being omnivores, I’d trust the primates on binocular eyes not being necessary to eat living food. However, deciphering human behavior was a maddening endeavor. Was this some twisted way of reasserting their dominance as apex predators, against animals that dared to prey on them?
“You just said it was in fucked-up human movies…it’s CGI! That’s not a real fucking thing!” I screamed. “I thought we were keeping it professional, huh? You all are definitely saying, and making up, predator nonsense on purpose, at this point!”
Tyler flashed his teeth. “It’s real. We don’t need to make anything up; humans will go to great lengths for thrills.”
“That seems to be tempting fate. I’ve always believed in respecting nature, though it would be cool to see these animals up close,” Onso said.
“Good news: you can see them in aquariums too.”
I thought humans would think water decorations were stupid…wait, what did he just say?!
My spines were bristling. “You have aquariums, like the Kolshians on Aafa?”
“Yep,” Tyler affirmed.
“And instead of sea plants, you keep dangerous predators in them?”
“Yeah? They’re cool to look at, man.”
“Protector, I don’t care if we’re in the middle of the ocean. I want off this sinking boat!”
Carlos stifled a laugh. “Well, your wish is about to be granted. This puppy isn’t meant to dive deeper than 100 meters. The UNS Deep Core is up ahead.”
The foreboding shadow had grown larger in my periphery, and my eyes swiveled back to the viewport. It was a submersed ship, but one that was so large, its breadth faded into the murky distance. There was no way this wasn’t in the triple digits of meters long; the all-black, undecorated exterior would cause an observer to mistake it for a shadowy patch of water. There was a tower affixed to its spine, which perhaps housed an equivalent to a bridge.
“The humans must’ve snuck this ship here days ago. How long has it been lurking?” I murmured to myself. “They couldn’t have airdropped it from too high up either…I don’t think.”
Samantha rubbed her hands together. “If you think this is the only one sent, think again. We’re told as much as we need to know, Sovlin, but it’s a blast to fill in the blanks.”
Our aerosub glided down to the bottom of the Deep Core, before flipping over and latching onto to a watertight door. It was similar to how a spacecraft would dock for boarding; my concerns were assuaged a little, noticing some familiarity. Packing such a large crew into a metal tube must be stressful for any land-dwelling species, but the humans were insane enough to tuck their senses aside. There could be enough predators aboard to compose a small village.
I disliked the fact that I was hanging at a ninety-degree angle, though I didn’t voice my complaints. The humans awkwardly dismounted, with Tyler helping Onso down. Carlos hoisted me to my own two feet, and I took a steadying breath. Our own watertight hatch, which I mistook for an emergency exit when I thought it was a sane vehicle, was on the right exit. There was a click, as human personnel opened the circular door from the other side.
The five of us were helped up through the threshold into the submarine, and we admired the metal inner workings of our surroundings. The tunnels were narrow, with small doorways leading between compartments; many required a slight step up to clear. One Terran greeted us at our docking point, though he wore a different uniform than the getup I was used to. I wasn’t sure what to expect from land predators who operated underwater, but the ample facial hair checked out with my mental image.
“Welcome aboard the Deep Core. I’m Commander Fournier; your presence is requested on the bridge,” a gruff voice greeted us.
I blinked in confusion. “May I ask why…sir?”
“First aliens to step foot on a submarine. You’re VIPs; it’s a good photo-op, you could say. Follow me.”
Of course, the humans are worried about optics as we’re descending to an outlandish location. Sometimes, they’re awfully predictable.
Claustrophobia threatened to flare up, with the cramped passages and lack of direction. Onso showed no such uneasiness, forcing Tyler to ensure that the Yotul studied objects with his eyes, not his paws. The primitive seemed enamored with any machinery or design quirks, even basic things such as hinges. I was really trying not to look down on him, but when he was gawking at simplistic nails, it was difficult. At least his dimwitted curiosity was a distraction from our present environment.
The bearded commander led us to a steep stairway, and communicated for us to follow his lead. There was a thunderous bark of “up ladder!” before the human-in-charge popped open a hatch. Tyler waved a hand at me and Onso, signaling for us to climb after Fournier first. I ensured that my balance was steady, hustling up the rungs. There was a railing surrounding the hatch, along with a safety chain that our guide was unclipping.
“Sir, may I ask how much air we have left?” I couldn’t resist asking, despite being out of breath from the short ascent. “I presume you’ve been submerged a few days. Even spaceships can only carry a few weeks of oxygen, and I don’t see any tanks, um…”
Fournier issued a throaty laugh. “Scared of submarines, Gojid?”
“A little, uh, yes…sir.”
“Don’t be. We have as much air as there is water in the ocean.”
Onso bounded after us. “The Terrans use electrolysis to separate the hydrogen from the oxygen in seawater they collect, then use that O2 to ventilate the ship.”
“Why, I like this one!” the commander bellowed. “Read up on subs, haven’t ya?”
“It drew me in…like a vortex of knowledge. I always liked machines.”
“Then I take it you’re an engineer? I can see that kid-like glee in your eyes.”
“A rocket engineer. The unchanging rules, the complex order, the concreteness and the planning: it speaks to me. Having a new class of machines to study really lit that fire, for the first time since the Federation killed my passion. Not even studying your weaponry truly scratched that itch. It’s just, I never dreamed I’d discover a new alien boat!”
“Well, well! I’m no engineer, but I’ll be happy to share what I know. Feel free to ask any questions; we love talking about what we do, to someone who really wants to hear it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Commander Fournier led us into a stout compartment, where a vast array of gadgetry and screens covered a wall. Humans were examining a green circle on display, with a rotating line and labeled angles. Data feeds were also listed there, which led me to conclude it was a sensors equivalent. Navigations was at the front, at least from the appearance of several control columns. Some predators appeared to be acting as officers or supervisors, peering over others’ shoulders and issuing commands.
This isn’t that dissimilar to a starship, but where is the viewport? How can they see?
I cleared my throat. “Sir, where is the viewport? There’s no windows!”
“We don’t need windows,” Fournier explained. “We use sonar, because sound travels further in water than light. Glass or transparent materials are just a weak point in the hull, and a potential source of leaks if we take a hit.”
“Okay. Then why did the submersible craft we took here have windows?”
“Because it needs to be a spacecraft too, and you need to see when you’re flying. It’s useful enough to outweigh any concerns,” Carlos chimed in.
“This is so cool!” Onso bounced on his digitigrade hindlegs, and the commander fortunately didn’t take offense to his excess excitement. “The sonar doesn’t need to see at all. It just…listens.”
Fournier nodded. “Precisely. I saw you examining the bearings on our machinery, and I’ll impress upon you the importance of noise reduction down here. We keep everything detached from the hull frame to avoid vibrations…even dropping a wrench can give you up to an enemy. Sonar receptors pick up the slightest vibration, and then, they know you’re there.”
“That explains why your engines have to be so quiet. I was reading about how you try to avoid cavitation…you know, where the vacuum pressure caused by the propeller makes water boil. The bubbles pop and give off noise.”
“You don’t need a rundown at all, Yotul; you already know everything. We have a speed range where we can operate silently.”
I was growing bored of the technical explanations, and Onso, a primitive, was outshining my knowledge to the humans. Perhaps the Yotul was desperate to prove himself as an academic equal, but he didn’t need to prattle on about science like he was reading a textbook. While there were impressive feats of engineering on display here, I agreed with Samantha’s assertion of naval obsolescence. What good was fighting in the water, except in this extraordinary circumstance?
The predators can hide far away from any targets or locations of value forever. How ingenious. They’d be unseen altogether if the other human tribes realized this theater was irrelevant in a war.
I suppressed an irritated huff. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted,” Fournier replied, a curious twinkle in his eyes.
“Respectfully, sir, I do not see the purpose of putting all this time into submarine development, at least for military aims. You’re a spacefaring species, and you’re incredible at ground assaults. What use is it to hide so far away from civilization…from the action? Maybe you sink a few ships that are using an outdated method of moving resources, but I don’t get it. You have better weapons.”
“You really don’t know? To use your word, these ships are masterful predators; nearly undetectable, capable of hearing the slightest sound, and able to surface anywhere in the world. But it goes far beyond that. The destructive power housed here is a hell of a deterrent. That’s why we’d never actually trade nukes like ya Feddies thought we did.”
“Nukes? I’m not following.”
“There’s tens of nukes stuffed onto just one of these things. We can hang off the shore anywhere, and fire missiles while underwater. Not that we have to be close to our target; we can shoot ICBMs halfway around the world. You never know where we are, if it’s right down your neck or prowling distant shores. We’re waiting to strike, anywhere and everywhere, with the technology to end civilization itself, even after command is destroyed on land. Obsolete, my ass.”
I gulped with discomfort, wishing I could recede into the ship walls. That declaration was so calm yet predatorily destructive; there were chilling implications for the extent of human aggression. It suddenly made sense why Earth tribes were intent on sniffing these predators out of the ocean’s recesses, and why the subs tried to remain undetectable at all costs. Should the current battle go awry, Talsk could be devastated by an unseen arsenal of epic proportions.
As Commander Fournier took his post, I tried to understand why humans would devise such machinations, for use against their own civilization. The Federation’s “irradiated Earth” could’ve been a reality; these capabilities shouldn’t exist in any culture. I didn’t understand why my kind-hearted friends would even think of such predatory weaponry. Surely, understanding the apocalyptic consequences of these vehicles should’ve convinced them not to build them.
My therapist could’ve elaborated further on the full heights of Terran aggression. Humans didn’t enjoy killing, yet they brainstormed and actualized the optimal ways to kill every human in existence? It was a paradox. Perhaps their predator nature factored into their decision-making in a manner they didn’t understand. Orders were issued to begin our descent, and for all sailors to report to battle stations. I felt the submersible tilt down, so I tried to clear my head of what the primates were capable of.
I have to believe that they will never actually do something like that…that their goodness will prevail. They didn’t snap after Earth, right? I trust their better judgment.
“W-well, if there’s really a base at the bottom of the ocean, the Farsul are fucked,” I murmured to my posse.
Samantha’s fist tightened, as her smirk returned. “I’d say they are.”
The numbers on the depth meter continued to escalate, as the submarine navigated the ocean which spanned below us. Locked inside a steel tube with predators, and knowing the potential of its onboard weaponry, my nerves were anything but quelled. The submarines somehow eclipsed even the worst starships in its dastardly capabilities. The Farsul wouldn’t be prepared for this predatory contraption, should we stumble across any of their flotilla.
I was glad that the humans were on the same team as me; there was no telling where their capacity for annihilation ended.
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Patreon Arxur POV of the Cradle Series wiki Official subreddit Discord
2023.06.03 15:58 SoftRaspberry7087 neurotic parent not neurotic?
My husband recently started spending more time at his sister's house since his brother just moved in with her from out of state. We have two kids and he often volunteers to take just one. My almost 4 year old enjoys spending time with her cousins 9, 11 and 15. Usually when I call I ask how she's doing and he says she's upstairs playing with the kids. Anywho, last night we attended a party and she went upstairs with her 9 year old cousin who is autistic when all of a sudden the 9 year old opens the back window to say hi to everyone. Of course everyone starts yelling to close the window so she does but then my 3 year old proceeds to do the same thing. I tell my husband to watch her because I'm going to run upstairs to get her and he proceeds to sit in his lawn chair 20 ft away and just look up at the window. Anyway, my husband is neurotic about everything. If we are out on the walling trails and she runs he loses his mind yelling telling her not to run because she might fall and skin her knee. One time at the park she was in this bucket seat thing that spins around and she wanted to get off so I started walking over there and he flipped out because I didn't run over there and proceeded to talk about for days how she "could have fallen off" the bucket seat that spins around and is 2 feet off the ground. I mentioned that he should offer to install a window lock for the kids at his sister's and now he is mad saying that he is not going to go around baby proofing other people's houses and saying I am being ridiculous. So I said she will not be going over there then. (No skin off his back because he doesn't actually want to watch the kids) but is implying that I don't want him spending time with his family and I'm just placing this rule in order to keep him from spending time over there. What would you do in this situation? tl;dr I asked my husband to baby proof a window at his sister's house but he won't and says I'm being ridiculous
submitted by SoftRaspberry7087 to Parenting [link] [comments]
2023.06.03 15:33 robgill123 Wall dash tips
 | How do you become consistent with these? I get one or 2 that seem fairly good, then I always seem to flip off the wall (see clip, this one worked out nicely though 😂). Is it simply the speed in which you hit jump that's causing this? submitted by robgill123 to RocketLeagueSchool [link] [comments] |
2023.06.03 15:15 Vast-Manufacturer-96 [Prose-in-text] Change of plans
"Where the hell is that ass," the woman grumbled. In her right hand, she twisted an old-fashioned coin through her fing"Where the hell is that ass," the woman grumbled. In her right hand, she twisted an old-fashioned coin through her fingers while her other ran through her shimmering hair.
"Nice trick," commented the man next to her, "I've rarely seen such old money." The woman snorted. "Save it. In this neighborhood, every other business is still paid in cash." She turned her head and eyed the guy like a predator eyes its prey. Gaunt, with worn clothes and burned-out smile, the stranger sat next to her, a green-and-blue drink in front of him. Not her target. She relaxed a little.
Anzio took big sip. The bounty hunter was better trained than expected, but didn't see through him yet. Still, the plan needed to be changed.
Unobtrusively, he tapped his left wrist three times. Now two of the three dots next to the woman's photo were red in his augmented eye. "Seren, another round," he said aloud. The robot behind the counter immediately began swirling the bottles around in his half-dozen arms.
"If you're going to hit on me, you're going to have to come up with a better line. I'm here on business, after all," the woman said, pulling up one corner of her mouth in a slightly demanding manner. Anzio laughed softly. "I don't have a better one. My name is Ley." "Not your real name," the bounty hunter grinned. Anzio resisted the urge to look elsewhere.
She could conceal her weapon, but not the predatory look.
"Hardly," he said instead, possibly a little too quickly. The bounty hunter's gaze hardened a shade. "But," he followed up emphatically slowly. "... I would also like to know your false name."
"Xola," the woman replied slowly. She flipped the coin up one last time, then put it in a pocket. "I'm looking for someone."
"Anyone in particular?" echoed Anzio playfully. He knew exactly who she was looking for.
"Yes." the woman replied, picking up her glass. She hadn't drunk from it in minutes.
Anzio relaxed his muscles, ready to pounce. If she drew her gun, his chances would be extremely slim. But in this dive, she would hardly dare. Everyone here was armed, guests and staff alike. And ready to draw.
"Unless I'm your target, I'd lay off the predator look," Anzio joked. Brutal honesty was deceiving more often than one would think.
The bounty hunter smiled faintly. "Maybe you're my target."
Anzio tilted his head.
"But not in the way you think," the woman followed up, now smiling ambiguously.
"What happened to your business now, anyway?" gasped Anzio as the woman broke away from his lips for once. "Fuck business," the bounty hunter replied, breathing heavily and fiddling with his shirt.
"Good," Anzio said with a change in tone. The woman looked up, just in time to see the tiny injection device in his left hand.
With a tiny prick, she was injected with the nerve agent. In less than sixty seconds she died, in the hands of her target.
submitted by Vast-Manufacturer-96 to WPCritique [link] [comments]
"Nice trick," commented the man next to her, "I've rarely seen such old money." The woman snorted. "Save it. In this neighborhood, every other business is still paid in cash." She turned her head and eyed the guy like a predator eyes its prey. Gaunt, with worn clothes and burned-out smile, the stranger sat next to her, a green-and-blue drink in front of him. Not her target. She relaxed a little.
Anzio took big sip. The bounty hunter was better trained than expected, but didn't see through him yet. Still, the plan needed to be changed.
Unobtrusively, he tapped his left wrist three times. Now two of the three dots next to the woman's photo were red in his augmented eye. "Seren, another round," he said aloud. The robot behind the counter immediately began swirling the bottles around in his half-dozen arms.
"If you're going to hit on me, you're going to have to come up with a better line. I'm here on business, after all," the woman said, pulling up one corner of her mouth in a slightly demanding manner. Anzio laughed softly. "I don't have a better one. My name is Ley." "Not your real name," the bounty hunter grinned. Anzio resisted the urge to look elsewhere.
She could conceal her weapon, but not the predatory look.
"Hardly," he said instead, possibly a little too quickly. The bounty hunter's gaze hardened a shade. "But," he followed up emphatically slowly. "... I would also like to know your false name."
"Xola," the woman replied slowly. She flipped the coin up one last time, then put it in a pocket. "I'm looking for someone."
"Anyone in particular?" echoed Anzio playfully. He knew exactly who she was looking for.
"Yes." the woman replied, picking up her glass. She hadn't drunk from it in minutes.
Anzio relaxed his muscles, ready to pounce. If she drew her gun, his chances would be extremely slim. But in this dive, she would hardly dare. Everyone here was armed, guests and staff alike. And ready to draw.
"Unless I'm your target, I'd lay off the predator look," Anzio joked. Brutal honesty was deceiving more often than one would think.
The bounty hunter smiled faintly. "Maybe you're my target."
Anzio tilted his head.
"But not in the way you think," the woman followed up, now smiling ambiguously.
"What happened to your business now, anyway?" gasped Anzio as the woman broke away from his lips for once. "Fuck business," the bounty hunter replied, breathing heavily and fiddling with his shirt.
"Good," Anzio said with a change in tone. The woman looked up, just in time to see the tiny injection device in his left hand.
With a tiny prick, she was injected with the nerve agent. In less than sixty seconds she died, in the hands of her target.
2023.06.03 15:12 _Triple_ [STORE] 900+ KNIVES/GLOVES/SKINS, 50.000$+ INVENTORY. M9 Fade, M4 Poseidon, BFK Freehand, Crimson Kimono, Nomad Fade, Skeleton, Kara Lore, Bayo Autotronic, AWP Fade, Kara Damas, BFK Ultra, Kara Freehand, Kara Bright, M9 Damas, Omega, Tiger Strike, Flip MF, Bayo Tiger, Deagle Blaze, Talon & More
Everything in my inventory is up for trade. The most valuable items are listed here, the rest you can find in My Inventory
Feel free to Add Me or even better send a Trade Offer. Open for any suggestions: upgrades, downgrades / knives, gloves, skins / stickers, patterns, floats.
All Buyouts are listed in cash value.
KNIVES
★ Butterfly Knife Freehand FN #1, B/O: $2500
★ Butterfly Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $822
★ Butterfly Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $616
⎯★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW #1, B/O: $1300
★ Bayonet Autotronic FN, B/O: $1050
★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW, B/O: $629
★ Bayonet Bright Water FT, B/O: $326
★ Bayonet Safari Mesh BS, B/O: $233
⎯★ Karambit Lore FT, B/O: $1110
★ Karambit Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $840
★ Karambit Freehand MW, B/O: $784
★ Karambit Bright Water MW, B/O: $759
⎯★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801
★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801
★ M9 Bayonet Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $751
⎯★ Nomad Knife Fade FN, B/O: $1156
★ Nomad Knife Slaughter MW, B/O: $544
★ Nomad Knife Blue Steel WW, B/O: $318
⎯★ Flip Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $646
★ Flip Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $574
★ Flip Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) MW, B/O: $552
★ Flip Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $257
★ Flip Knife Freehand FT, B/O: $255
★ StatTrak™ Flip Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $287
⎯★ Huntsman Knife Lore FN, B/O: $461
★ Huntsman Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $436
★ Huntsman Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $353
★ Huntsman Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $212
★ Huntsman Knife Bright Water FT, B/O: $129
★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT MW, B/O: $129
★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT BS, B/O: $123
★ StatTrak™ Huntsman Knife Rust Coat BS, B/O: $127
⎯★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $375
★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $363
★ Bowie Knife Tiger Tooth FN, B/O: $269
★ Bowie Knife Crimson Web WW, B/O: $192
★ Bowie Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $159
★ Bowie Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $126
⎯★ Stiletto Knife Slaughter FN, B/O: $616
★ Stiletto Knife Crimson Web FT, B/O: $412
★ StatTrak™ Stiletto Knife Night Stripe FT, B/O: $227
⎯★ Falchion Knife Lore FT, B/O: $214
★ Falchion Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $192
★ Falchion Knife Scorched WW, B/O: $105
⎯★ Survival Knife Crimson Web BS, B/O: $216
★ Survival Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $198
★ Survival Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $111
⎯★ Shadow Daggers Fade FN, B/O: $368
★ Shadow Daggers Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $228
★ Shadow Daggers, B/O: $201
★ Shadow Daggers Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $108
★ Shadow Daggers Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $105
★ Shadow Daggers Black Laminate FT, B/O: $99
★ Shadow Daggers Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $85
⎯★ Gut Knife Doppler (Sapphire) MW #1, B/O: $1700
★ Gut Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $223
★ Gut Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $203
★ Gut Knife Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $191
★ Gut Knife Case Hardened BS, B/O: $127
⎯★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199
★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199
★ Navaja Knife, B/O: $138
★ Navaja Knife Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $111
⎯★ Classic Knife Urban Masked FT, B/O: $146
★ StatTrak™ Classic Knife Stained BS, B/O: $168
⎯★ Ursus Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $476
★ Ursus Knife, B/O: $375
⎯★ Skeleton Knife, B/O: $1137
★ Talon Knife, B/O: $608
★ Paracord Knife, B/O: $305
★ Survival Knife Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $97
GLOVES
★ Moto Gloves Transport MW, B/O: $204
★ Moto Gloves Polygon BS, B/O: $142
★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84
★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84
★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63
★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63
⎯★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Kimono WW, B/O: $1215
★ Specialist Gloves Tiger Strike FT, B/O: $672
★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander FT, B/O: $305
★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander BS, B/O: $140
★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Web BS, B/O: $137
★ Specialist Gloves Buckshot FT, B/O: $75
⎯★ Driver Gloves Crimson Weave FT, B/O: $359
★ Driver Gloves Imperial Plaid BS, B/O: $229
★ Driver Gloves Overtake BS, B/O: $77
★ Driver Gloves Racing Green FT, B/O: $48
⎯★ Sport Gloves Omega FT, B/O: $739
★ Sport Gloves Amphibious BS #2, B/O: $733
★ Sport Gloves Arid BS, B/O: $292
⎯★ Hand Wraps Giraffe MW, B/O: $212
★ Hand Wraps Leather FT, B/O: $160
★ Hand Wraps Desert Shamagh MW, B/O: $101
⎯★ Broken Fang Gloves Yellow-banded MW, B/O: $185
★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point FT, B/O: $67
★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point WW, B/O: $59
⎯★ Hydra Gloves Case Hardened BS, B/O: $65
★ Hydra Gloves Emerald FT, B/O: $65
★ Hydra Gloves Emerald BS, B/O: $62
WEAPONS
AK-47 Case Hardened BS, B/O: $130
AK-47 Bloodsport MW, B/O: $79
AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76
AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76
AK-47 Bloodsport FT, B/O: $70
AK-47 Neon Rider MW, B/O: $60
StatTrak™ AK-47 Aquamarine Revenge FT, B/O: $72
⎯AWP Fade FN, B/O: $1039
AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139
AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139
AWP Wildfire MW, B/O: $95
AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93
AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93
AWP Duality FN, B/O: $81
AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79
AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79
AWP Chromatic Aberration FN, B/O: $60
StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68
StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68
StatTrak™ AWP Electric Hive FT, B/O: $55
⎯Desert Eagle Blaze FN, B/O: $623
Desert Eagle Emerald Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $241
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Printstream FT, B/O: $54
⎯M4A1-S Blue Phosphor FN, B/O: $434
StatTrak™ M4A1-S Bright Water MW, B/O: $55
⎯M4A4 Poseidon FN, B/O: $1465
M4A4 Asiimov BS, B/O: $55
M4A4 Hellfire MW, B/O: $50
⎯USP-S Kill Confirmed MW, B/O: $72
USP-S Printstream FT, B/O: $69
StatTrak™ USP-S Kill Confirmed FT, B/O: $139
⎯AUG Flame Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $234
P90 Run and Hide FT, B/O: $147
Five-SeveN Candy Apple FN, B/O: $61
Trade Offer Link - Steam Profile Link - My Inventory
Some items on the list may no longer be available or are still locked, visit My Inventory for more details.
Send a Trade Offer for fastest response. I consider all offers.
Add me for discuss if there is a serious offer that needs to be discussed.
2023.06.03 15:05 echopath Dive trip report: Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, Philippines, Palau
Over the last six months, I’ve been in Asia (and the Pacific) bouncing around as part of a larger trip, but diving being a huge emphasis, accumulating around 200 dives during this period. I’m leaving some of my dive log notes and thoughts of each place since it would probably help people in planning which hotspots to go to within this region and how they compare to each other.
For additional context, I went into this trip having around 200 dives, mostly in the Caribbean and Red Sea, with a little bit of SEA experience.
I know it personally was difficult when doing research, especially when pretty much all of these are described as “wOrLd cLaSs” or “bEsT iN tHe wOrLd” to some varying degree (spoiler: not everything is IMO).
I personally dive because of reef health and fish life, so my notes are written with a heavy bias towards that. I acknowledge that bias so obviously places that only have a big muck / macro presence will be rated lower on here.
A-tier and above is a place I’d gladly go back to and dive again. I’d also recommend these places where you should make plans to travel here or go out of your way specifically to dive.
B-tier and above is good. Maybe not incredibly mindblowing but still good and worth doing nonetheless. But there are some flaws that keep it from being superb.
C-tier is mediocre. I could maybe find a few bright spots, but I didn’t find diving here to be particularly great or terrible at the same time. Just average. I wouldn’t make trips to dive these places specifically. I might recommend diving them if they overlap with some better stuff higher on in the list, but they’re skippable.
D to F-tier is just bad. Very little things to enjoy if at all. Avoid.
Difficulty:
Difficulty:
Difficulty:
Difficulty:
Difficulty:
Difficulty:
submitted by echopath to scuba [link] [comments]
For additional context, I went into this trip having around 200 dives, mostly in the Caribbean and Red Sea, with a little bit of SEA experience.
I know it personally was difficult when doing research, especially when pretty much all of these are described as “wOrLd cLaSs” or “bEsT iN tHe wOrLd” to some varying degree (spoiler: not everything is IMO).
I personally dive because of reef health and fish life, so my notes are written with a heavy bias towards that. I acknowledge that bias so obviously places that only have a big muck / macro presence will be rated lower on here.
A-tier and above is a place I’d gladly go back to and dive again. I’d also recommend these places where you should make plans to travel here or go out of your way specifically to dive.
B-tier and above is good. Maybe not incredibly mindblowing but still good and worth doing nonetheless. But there are some flaws that keep it from being superb.
C-tier is mediocre. I could maybe find a few bright spots, but I didn’t find diving here to be particularly great or terrible at the same time. Just average. I wouldn’t make trips to dive these places specifically. I might recommend diving them if they overlap with some better stuff higher on in the list, but they’re skippable.
D to F-tier is just bad. Very little things to enjoy if at all. Avoid.
S
A+
- Raja Ampat, Alor
A
- Komodo, Palau
A-
- Nusa Penida, Apo Island
B+
- Richelieu Rock, Kimud Shoal (sharks)
B
- Gato Island
B-
- Balicasag, Pamilican, Sipadan, Sogod Bay
C+
- Kapalai, Hin Daeng / Hin Muang
C
- Panglao, Malapascua (local diving)
D
- Surin Islands, Mabul, Koh Bida, Dauin
F
- Similan Islands
- Koh Haa
Malaysia
Sipadan, Mabul, Kapalai (15 dives)Difficulty:
- I have a good amount of experience in moderate current, but I found that the diving wasn’t particularly difficult when I was here. We had currents on some Sipadan days, but they were gentle pushes at most. I’d say that Cozumel currents were much stronger than what I experienced at Sipadan. Although, I have heard that Sipadan could get wild sometimes, so YMMV
- Dives could get somewhat deep, so having AOW is probably advisable before coming
- Tons of turtles and sharks. Probably at least half a dozen sharks from afar and even more turtles every dive
- Saw schools of jackfish, parrotfish, and some barracuda here and there, but didn’t see the famous barracuda tornado
- Outside of those, not as many fish as I had hoped for. Decent level of biodiversity, but there were lots of places with little fish activity. The smaller, shallower healthy patches had lots of fish
- I have mixed feelings about the reef life here. The parts that are healthy are super vibrant, but they were in the minority for sure. A lot of really depressing, barren areas with dead fields of coral outnumbered the healthy parts. Reefs are my biggest reason for diving, so I was most disappointed by this.
- Sipadan was likely better in the past, but the overall state of the reef is in much poorer condition nowadays
- The fact that the dive shop I went with only took people to the same three “best” dive sites all the days I dove at Sipadan doesn’t give me much confidence that the rest of the sites look that good or better
- Not too much variation in types of dives or topography of the sites. Mostly wall dives with dropoffs. I got a bit bored after three straight days of diving Sipadan and thought that was an adequate amount of time to spend there. Most dive shops also only focus on the same handful of the best dive sites, so it gets repetitive fast
- You also can’t dive Sipadan every day that you’re there. All resorts will do some sort of package where if you dive with them for five days, three will be Sipadan, etc. and the others will be in Mabul and Kapalai. I think these sites are, for the most part, boring. Honestly speaking, no one should make the trip out here just for these dive sites, unless you enjoy macro that much. Even then, there are many other places around SEA that are easier to get to that have a better reputation for macro
- I do think Sipadan is fairly overrated, probably due to the exclusivity of the diving because of the permit system, giving the illusion that it’s going to the best dives of your life
- Yes, I think the diving is decent, but not exactly “best in the world” as Southeast Asia tends to have a reputation for. I also don’t think Barracuda Point is one of the best dive sites in the world as it’s commonly advertised lol. I think it’s mostly marketing hype. I found lots of areas around SEA with much less marketing behind them to be equivalent or better than Sipadan
- Given how hard it is to get to Sipadan, the costs of diving there, and the proximity of Indonesia / Philippines, I’d say that if you’re deciding between diving in Malaysia and the other two, I’d pick the latter every time
- If I was already in Malaysia and wanted to tack on diving, then yes, Sipadan is a good addition to your existing itinerary. I just wouldn’t go out of my way or pick it over other options. I will likely not be returning to Sipadan to dive for this reason, especially since you can’t even dive Sipadan every day and the non-Sipadan dive sites are not great
Indonesia
Raja Ampat (20 dives)Difficulty:
- Going into this portion of the trip, I was expecting a ton of currents and difficult diving based off what I read online beforehand
- We had currents on most of the dives, but they were pretty manageable for the most part. Many of these dives would be diving with the current, where it felt more like a gentle push, sort of like a slow moving treadmill. Some dives where you fought or swam against the current was more like a tiny bit of resistance where you could still frog kick through
- I also didn’t experience down currents, but based on the dive sites we did, I wouldn’t consider them to be anxiety inducing even if they were present. Most of the dive sites had a sandy bottom and weren’t walls or drop offs, so it’s not like they would be particularly dangerous
- There was only two dives where I felt that the currents could’ve been overwhelming for a less experienced diver, but they were ones where we hid behind rocks or used reef hooks to look at mantas anyway, so it’s not like you’re actively swimming with or against the currents
- Most dives also weren’t that deep, probably around 60-70ft at the absolute deepest. We spent the majority of these dives at 40-50ft
- Even putting myself in the shoes of a less experienced diver, I think the diving was manageable for a wide range of skill levels – which I did see many people of varying experience on my liveaboard and at the dive sites
- All in all, I think you can comfortably enjoy Raja Ampat with sub-50 dives under your belt or if you’re comfortable underwater. The diving is for the most part, not that difficult and shouldn’t be a barrier for your decision making
- Huge schools of the most colorful fish everywhere you look. You’re swimming with schools of fish on most dives. The highest density of fish I’ve ever dove with across every destination I’ve ever been
- Only small criticism here is the lack of pelagic life like sharks, turtles, and mantas (outside of one or two sites), but that’s not a slight on Raja Ampat at all. Seeing pelagics is just the cherry on top of an already amazing experience that you see at Raja
- Some of the best, most colorful, and healthy reefs I’ve seen in my life. That’s not to say that the entire region is pristine (it’s not), but given the world we live in today, it’s the best I’ve personally seen
- I’d consider most sites to be absolutely beautiful, with a handful of them to be “just” good
- Most dive sites were sloping reef dives with maybe some small pinnacles or bommies here and there
- My qualm with the diving in Raja Ampat is that the dive experience is relatively the same across all of them. Get in, dive, look around, get up. No towering structures or interesting topography to navigate. You’re here for the beauty of what lives there, not because of how exhilarating or exciting the actual diving is IMO
- One of the best dive experience of my life so far. I would come back here to dive all the time if I could. Maybe doing a liveaboard to the southern region next time, as I focused on the central this time. But the barriers to dive here are pretty high. Expensive domestic flights, full travel days to and from Raja Ampat including flights / layovers / waiting for transfers, etc., and the best way to dive is via a liveaboard which is more costly than any other option
- Both the floor and ceiling are very high in Raja Ampat. There wasn’t a time where I felt that a dive wasn’t good or that the entire reef looked like it was in poor condition. Every site had something good to write home about
- One thing is that Raja Ampat actually isn’t as remote as you think it is. There’s a huge liveaboard scene and random resorts or homestays sprawled throughout the islands. I had phone signal the entire time lol. A handful of dive sites actually felt a bit crowded at times, in case that matters to you
Difficulty:
- I actually found diving here to be more difficult than Raja Ampat, lol. Currents were present on many dives, but you also had surge and lots of cold water thermoclines to fight against, which I didn’t have in Raja
- All in all, not terribly difficult diving either where you should reconsider if you’re newish, but maybe wait to get a few dives under your belt or be comfortable with various types of underwater conditions to fully appreciate the diving here. Although, I think you can also enjoy most of the diving here while being relatively inexperienced as well, as lots of sites have minimal currents.
- Most reputable dive shops will cater to your experience level anyway, so I wouldn’t let Penida’s reputation deter you completely. I’ve had friends with < 20-30 dives who rarely dive enjoy Penida, and many people get OW certified here, FWIW
- Honestly, a little lackluster. Most sites, while having beautiful and healthy coral, felt like a ghost town because of relatively little fish on them aside from a few select spots
- The manta site that everyone goes to is amazing though. One dive I saw around 20 mantas throughout the hour. Pretty much everyone I know who’s gone to Nusa Penida even for 1-2 days has seen a manta, so I’d say your chances are very high
- I was actually shocked at how good the reef health was here. Some absolutely stunning slopes filled with reef life. I had heard good things about Penida, but was actually blown away by some sites here. I think some of the best sites like Mangrove had reefs that are fairly comparable to the better sites in RA and Alor, IMO
- On average, I think the overall reef is probably some of the best I’ve seen of anywhere
- I thought the diversity in sites was a bit lacking in Penida. Most sites that you visit in Penida are just part of a long reef that spans the length of the island. Because of this, the topography doesn’t change much, nor does the diving experience
- You could spend a whole day diving different sites, but be on the same reef at different parts of the same side of Penida and the experience would be the exact same
- On the days you dive Manta Point, you’d probably also visit Manta Bay and Crystal Bay, which are all fairly boring sites. I’d even say Manta Point is fairly boring outside of the mantas and the latter two are straight up mediocre
- I spent about five days here overall and thought that was a good amount of time since I got to dive the majority of the sites. I could’ve spent another day or two here to dive the other sites in the channel between Penida and Lembongan or on the other side of Penida, but those are less commonly visited
- Really good diving as a whole. If you haven’t dove Indonesia yet, Penida would likely be some of the best warm water diving you’ll do
- I’ve heard Penida being described as Komodo with training wheels and I’d agree with that. Good place to get your bearings in diving with current
Difficulty:
- This is an aspect that I feel is a bit overblown by commenters online. Yes, there is current and yes, sometimes they can get a bit crazy. But that doesn’t mean that as a less experienced diver (<50 dives for example), you can’t enjoy the majority of Komodo. I probably wouldn’t go as a complete newbie with fewer than 20 dives though
- A lot of the sites have current, but fairly similar to other Indonesia and Philippines hotspots. The currents aren’t too bad the majority of the time. The sites with heavy currents are limited to a few, and dive shops will avoid putting you on a boat where you’re going to a site that surpasses your skill level (e.g. they’ll have different groups / boats for central vs. northern sites, the latter tending to have more current)
- That said, if you want to fully enjoy Komodo with no restrictions or limitations, then yes, you should at least AOW / be more experienced or be comfortable in water. This is mainly in the northern sites like Cauldron, Crystal Rock, Castle Rock, and a handful in the central area which are known for currents
- The dives aren’t particularly deep either. Max depth was ~70ft at most for many sites, with the majority of the dives probably spent at 40-50ft for most sites
- The tradeoff between Komodo and Raja Ampat is that the former has more big stuff like mantas, sharks, and turtles, while the latter has more fish activity. Some Komodo dive sites had quite a lot of fish activity, as much as the sites in Raja Ampat, but not comparable on average across all sites. In Komodo, you had a chance to see big stuff on the majority of the dive sites, whereas it was a bit rare in Raja Ampat. The hooked dives in northern Komodo are pretty great too, where you see a lot of fish and sharks swim by, and nothing in Raja can really compare to that
- At the end of the day, it’s a toss-up depending on preference
- Reef quality is amazing at some sites, just good at others, and non-existent at some. Unlike Raja where you could get amazing reef quality on almost every dive, Komodo’s sites were a bit more diverse. Some sites like Manta Point where you’re not necessarily diving for the reef and more so for manta encounters, were filled with rubble and fairly bare. On the other hand, sites like Batu Bolong and Tatawa Kecil are clearly some of the best in the world
- Komodo’s best reefs would be comparable to some of the best Raja sites, but Komodo also had fewer sites where the reef really wowed me
- The good: Komodo has a wider variety of dive sites and dive experiences as a result. The diving here is more “fun” because of the different currents and drifts that let you dive the site differently. The topography of each dive site is also much more diverse, allowing for different dive profiles. You really feel small while diving some of the Komodo sites with all of the towering structures and cliffs. Raja Ampat’s diving, for example, is a bit more “homogenous” in that the experience is fairly similar across all sites
- The bad: There are some “poor” dive sites that you will inevitably visit on your trip. For example, sites where the emphasis is on muck diving. Not my favorite as you know. Or if you go to Manta Point and don’t see any mantas. Or sites where the reef isn’t that good. Muck dives aren’t my favorite, and I almost consider them a wasted dive since it’s all predominantly luck based and you could see nothing. You could feel differently, though
- I spent around ten days diving here doing 30 dives and thought that was perfect. I got to do every site, even some in the south, and repeated some sites that I liked the most. If I were to come back to Komodo, I’d do a liveaboard and spend my time exploring the south, which you can’t really do via day trips
- I think Raja Ampat is better for fish life and coral health while I think Komodo is more fun for different types of diving, bigger animals, and better underwater topography
- As a whole, I think Raja Ampat is a better dive destination for a once in a lifetime trip, especially if you do it on a liveaboard. The whole experience feels very ethereal and special. But if you’re looking for something quicker, easier, and cheaper to do, then Komodo is a very fine substitute
- On a tangential note, and I’m gonna sound a bit gatekeep-y, but I think Labuan Bajo has become or is on its way to becoming a backpacking hotspot, and not in a good way either. It’s undergone a ton of development in the last several years, and the Indonesian government is pumping tons of money into directing people there. Things have grown way too fast and the infrastructure just can’t keep up. I’m hearing from locals who work in the dive industry saying how they’re getting priced out. Selfishly, more development and traffic is always bad for places like this as more shitty divers thrash around on the reefs and more pollutants destroy them too. Anyway, I would probably go sooner rather than later because who knows if the Indonesian government will be able to keep the reef in this condition with the increase in traffic
- You also notice how popular Komodo is getting because a lot of the dive shops are visiting newbie friendly sites every day which aren’t exactly the best ones IMO. I noticed a ton of people getting OW certified or doing their first few open water dives, and I don’t recommend this at all. I would pick a smaller dive op with fewer reviews on Google and TripAdvisor to avoid the cattle boats and for a more personalized experience to avoid the newbies. You’ll get to dive a wider range of sites and they’ll be more receptive to requests if you dive with them continually
Difficulty:
- This place is not easy to dive. Alor probably had the most dangerous and difficult conditions of places I’ve been to yet. There’s a number of challenging environments: thermoclines or huge temperature drops, deep dives, heavy currents that are frequently changing. I’ve experienced up and down currents before, but they were fairly straightforward and not that quick. Even in Palau and Komodo. But some were violent in Alor. I think the area’s topography is the reason for this. You could be zipping by on a wall on a drift dive when suddenly you could be dragged up to the surface, and right after you exhaust some air in your BC to go down, you could be pulled down and out by a downcurrent with just a few seconds in between. Then right after that, the current could change from left to right or vice versa. It got me breathing a bit hard even at my experience level
- Thermoclines also made it a bit more difficult too. The area supposedly gets cold upwellings everywhere that bring the water temperature to the low 70s, but the coldest I’ve experienced were mid 70s only in a specific part of the area. Nevertheless, going from 82-83 to mid 70s isn’t fun
- However, because there’s so many dive sites here with all sorts of conditions, even if you’re not the most experienced, you can still see a lot of really beautiful things in the easier dive sites. I would recommend being more experienced, though. There’s no proper hospital or chamber for hundreds of miles, so you’re fucked if something goes wrong
- Tons of sharks and rays (eagle and spotted, not mantas unfortunately) sightings, on many dives Huge schools of fish, pretty much exactly what I was talking about in the RA section
- Dolphins in crossing on the surface all the time. Rarer to spot while actually diving, but it's possible
- I did a handful of muck dives and we did see some cool nudis, but I can’t definitively say that it’s the best macro diving I’ve done in Indonesia. I enjoyed macro diving more in the Philippines
- Almost just as good as RA’s, if not better in some areas. Insanely diverse corals, huge amounts of thick reef coverage where you don’t even see sand at the bottom. I probably give the edge to RA here since I’m fairly sure the diversity in corals is better at RA, but I did a liveaboard that covered more area whereas Alor is more concentrated. The fact that the two are debatable is a good thing
- I don’t think there was ever a time where I thought I had just an “okay” reef dive here. I think even the worst reef dives here are spectacular in comparison to everywhere else except RA
- The dive site variety in Alor is absurdly high, probably the single most diverse place I’ve ever dove while being land-based. You have almost every single type of diving here: drift, cavern, wall, pinnacle, sloped, hooked, muck, etc.
- There are 70 (and more being still mapped / discovered) dive sites all within a 5-30 minute boat ride. I avoided most of the muck sites, and still felt like I had more reef dies to discover and see after around 25 dives
- Since there’s so few dive shops (~5), they all know each other and coordinate which sites are going to be done the following day. I literally never even saw another dive boat on the same dive site the week I was there
- The underwater topography here is simply amazing. Similar to some sites in Komodo, you just feel small. But there’s a higher proportion of dive sites like this compared to Komodo
- I am obsessed with Alor, and despite diving every day for over a week straight, I’m yearning for my chance to come back and see more of it and see what else has yet to be discovered
- I struggle to properly describe Alor. A more fun RA? Komodo with better reefs? I would characterize Alor as a combination of the best parts of RA and Komodo in one. Alor has the reef quality and fish activity of RA, but with the pelagics, currents, and interesting underwater topography of Komodo. Every criticism I had about RA about how “boring” or easy the diving is, is not an issue within Alor. I rank Alor as just as good as RA for me, and I probably flip flop between which I like more
- Usually when people talk about the best diving in Indonesia, RA and Komodo are the two that are most named. I whole-heartedly believe that Alor is on its way to becoming the third and it’s only a matter of time before everyone catches on and this place explodes in popularity. It’s that damn good Given the quality of dive sites and how close they are, I feel comfortable in saying that Alor is the single best pound for pound diving location I’ve been to. Nowhere I’ve been has this many quality sites in such a compact area. RA, Komodo, and Palau are technically one area too, but the dive sites are way more spread out and sometimes require hours to get to.
- To give you some context on how remote and unvisited it is – you simply cannot decide to walk up and dive this place last minute. You absolutely need to plan it out at least a few months in advance, sometimes 8-10+, and you probably need to be somewhat flexible too. Some dive resorts I contacted were actually booked up this far in advance. There are no hotels, guesthouses, etc., so you need to either stay with the dive resort, or you need their help in booking a local homestay or bungalow. And most dive resorts are small, only catering to 6-10 divers at a time at most
- These small group sizes are actually a bit of a negative, IMO. Because most dive shops only have 1-2 boats at most, if you’re overlapping with divers of different experience levels or people have other requests or preferences, you’re gonna be pulled in one way or another based on the group as a whole
- Truly wild, wild diving here. There is no tourism industry. Dive sites are still being found and figured out on the spot. Lots to still see that aren’t formally written down or documented. Not even RA is like that anymore. This is one of the final frontiers of untouched diving
- It’s kinda funny because no one seems to agree as to what these exact sites and site names are. Google “Alor dive sites” and ask all the dive companies what they call a particular site and you’ll probably get a few different names in return
Palau (25 dives)
Difficulty:- Palau as a whole had some of the more tricky diving that I experienced on this trip. Maybe a bit more difficult than Komodo's diving. I definitely think you need to have a minimum skill level to comfortably dive here. That’ll probably differ from person to person, but overall, I think that while you don’t have to be an expert, you gotta be comfortable in the water at the least.
- There were currents on most dives, ranging from mild to rapid. They weren’t necessarily the strongest currents I’ve faced, but they were some of the trickiest. The currents pushed you up sometimes, down others, and changed directions frequently
- The strongest currents I faced were on the dives where you hooked in and watched pelagics, so I don’t really consider that to be a difficult situation where you need to dive against or with the current. But it’s worth noting since you might have to swim through or against current to get down there in the first place and hook yourself in
- The most shark activity of any warm water diving I’ve ever done. On the hooked dives, we saw at least 10+ sharks every time, oftentimes many in the same camera frame, in addition to some manta action and lots of turtles too. These hooked dive sites also had a great amount of fish activity as well I saw the most medium to big-sized fish activity in Palau relative to anywhere else in Asia. Lots of groupers and bumphead parrot fish, for example. I went around spawning time and saw loads of parrot fish during this time
- The tradeoff is that the biodiversity, density, and color of the fish here isn’t as high as in Indonesia or Philippines
- Wide range in the quality of the reefs. A few sites were absolutely beautiful, most were decent to good, others just okay, and some looked sad (the corner dives for example. They had nice pelagic action but the reef area around where people hooked in were thrashed)
- The walls were very nice, with soft corals and every color of the rainbow up and down the entire wall. The reef dives were a bit monotonous. The corals there were predominately hard, brown, and had lots of dead patches in some areas. Funnily, I think one of the best reef dive sites was on a wreck. The wreck was covered in so much coral it was as if it wasn’t even a wreck
- The reef quality ceiling is very high, but the floor is pretty low too
- Huge amounts of diversity in the type of diving available here. Probably the strongest suit of Palau. There’s something for everyone: drift dives, wrecks, caverns, walls, reefs, hook dives to watch pelagics, etc. And to be honest, I found the washing machine currents to be pretty fun too. It was the first time I experienced them to that extent, and it was fun enjoying the ride
- The diving here is definitely among the most fun I did anywhere on this trip
- I frequently hear people comparing Raja Ampat and Palau as two of the best warm water diving spots there are around the world. I disagree with this comparison and think Raja is a clear step above with its biodiversity. Palau is more comparable to Komodo IMO. I rank Komodo and Palau as a 2A and 2B sort of situation and probably rank Komodo a bit higher
- Palau’s best reefs aren’t as good, fish density isn’t as high as Komodo’s, and the biodiversity of both can’t compare, but Palau does have more pelagics
- Similar to Komodo, Palau provides a great range of diverse dive sites and “fun” diving. Not every site is also the most beautiful either
- I think where Palau does have Indonesia / Komodo beat, is the amount of pelagic action that you see in the hooked dives, with a huge amount of sharks
- I also do agree with the common sentiment that Palau does everything well, but nothing the best
Thailand
Andaman Sea (30 dives)Difficulty:
- I was a bit surprised by the difficulty of diving in the Andaman. I had this perception that Thai diving was calm and easy, but I actually had to work on a number of dives. There were a decent amount of dives that had current. Not sure if it was also my liveaboard, but we were going fairly deep too, around 80+ ft and stayed at depth long enough to reach NDL time on each dive. Not terribly difficult diving, but not a leisurely stroll in the park either
- Lack of fish in many dive sites. At least you’re treated to large schools of sardines and glassfish sometimes
- Saw a very low amount of big stuff — less than five turtles and sharks in total across several dozen dives
- The reef health in Thailand is in abysmal shape for the vast majority of dive sites. There are no colors, and everything is brown or stone gray for the vast majority of sites. A lot of the dive sites are either completely smoothed over or are just fields of dead rubble. Soft coral is pretty much non-existent except from a few places. The rest is falling apart. Truly depressing to see
- That said, Richelieu Rock is one of the few exceptions to this, which I’ll talk about more in a bit
- Southern Similan dive sites are a complete waste of time. I would skip this area if you could. Mostly “rock diving” as the dive guides like to call it, where it’s really just large rocks sitting there because everything has died off, all the fish have left, and all you have left are smooth rocks. Seriously, though, rock diving? I’ve never heard or done anything like it. What a sad excuse for a dive area, and complete waste of money
- The northern sites like Koh Bon and Koh Tachai are a bit better, but still nothing to write home about Surin islands are okayish – I thought Thai diving would be as good as this as the baseline, but I guess not. Mostly just brown hard coral that’s devoid devoid of color, no soft coral, and tons of dead areas here
- Richelieu Rock is objectively a world class dive site, and an instance where its reputation is well deserved. If I didn’t get to visit Richelieu and dive it four times on my liveaboard, I would’ve considered the liveaboard to be a complete waste of time. Probably the fishiest dive site I’ve ever been to, filled with the most colorful soft corals I’ve seen in Thailand. Richelieu Rock would be considered a great dive site anywhere I’ve been around the world. I’m kinda surprised how good the site is given how shit everything else is around it
- I based myself out of Koh Lanta because I heard it had the best day diving, but most of it is just okay. The only trip worthwhile is Hin Daeng / Hin Muang, and even that’s just decent, not great. Not worth going to Thailand just to dive them. Not best in the world by a long shot
- Koh Bida was decent, but skippable, and Koh Haa was straight up terrible and not worth the time nor money to go to
- I’ve never felt more disappointed and misled in all my dive experiences than I was in Thailand. I already had lower expectations going into this portion of my trip since I had just dove all over Indonesia, but Thai diving somehow failed to reach those low expectations
- Ever since I started diving, and as I was doing research for where to dive in Thailand, I’ve read so many reviews or comments that said how Thailand diving was “world class” or that it was “comparable, if not better than the Red Sea”. This may’ve been the case many years ago, but it’s certainly not the case in 2023. I was expecting at least decent diving, but after a 30round dives all along the Andaman on a liveaboard and daily trips, I would consider at most five dive sites to be at least “decent,” and only a few of those to be actually good. The rest ranged from outright bad to mediocre
- I’d say that Andaman diving is more appropriately comparable to Caribbean diving, and I probably err on the side of the Caribbean being better on average as a whole, despite Thailand having one, maybe two dive sites that are better than anything else that I’ve dove in Caribbean
- I only recommend diving in Thailand if you have never dove anywhere else warm in the world. If you’ve dove anywhere else in SEA, don’t waste your time and dive in Thailand
- I did a seven day liveaboard that spanned the entire Andaman and I would recommend to only do a two or three day one that focuses on the Surin islands and Richelieu Rock only
2023.06.03 14:53 thebonesupport Spool not moving but unwinding in AMS
I was loading in a full spool this morning, it seemed to be moving slowly as the AMA loaded the filament. I sort of "helped" along the spool gave it a little nudge. The AMS didn't like that. The spool didn't move but it started unwinding filament off the spool. Had to just flip the switch on the back to stop it. What causes this and do we know how to prevent it?
submitted by thebonesupport to BambuLab [link] [comments]
2023.06.03 14:49 chuckhustmyre [TH] Mirror Image
By Chuck Hustmyre
William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.
THE END
submitted by chuckhustmyre to shortstories [link] [comments]
William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.
THE END
2023.06.03 14:41 ButtonRealistic8545 When you think you’re going to have a good day.
Funny Story to keep from crying
Sharing this story as a warning and for myself.
Yesterday, I was scammed out of $200 in the states. Doesn’t it seem like everything our brains do cost us more money than the others and adds more stress to an already failing heart due to prescribed stimulants.
Anyways, had a full day planned with my boyfriend at Costco. Recently became a member so we’ve been going almost daily. Unfortunately, Costco only accepts VISA payments. My only VISA was out of money, I thought maybe I would just buy a VISA gift card from CVS to use for my Costco trips.
Get to CVS and I have to read every card, pre-paid vs gift cards. I spent about 10-15 mins looking over cards while my boyfriend was outside waiting in the car with our cat and dog (we took them on a nature trail that morning). I was getting overwhelmed by options and my urge to get to Costco was over powering my other senses. With that I blindly grabbed a VISA gift card (Vanilla brand), didn’t look at the packing whatsoever. Get the the register, the guys having problems checking me out and I still don’t look at the packing (I’m more frustrated with the checkout process).
After all that, I’m finally out the door and on the road. I immediately open the gift card and notice that the 3 numbers on the back of the card are SCRATCHED OFF. I immediately knew I was scammed at that point. I flip the card over and more numbers are scratched off, making it useless!!
I’ve gone through the process and made every phone call possible to get this resolved. So I’ll just have to wait till they get to my case. It ruined my morning. And the funny thing is my visa had a check deposited that morning… if I just check my bank account.
submitted by ButtonRealistic8545 to adhdwomen [link] [comments]
Sharing this story as a warning and for myself.
Yesterday, I was scammed out of $200 in the states. Doesn’t it seem like everything our brains do cost us more money than the others and adds more stress to an already failing heart due to prescribed stimulants.
Anyways, had a full day planned with my boyfriend at Costco. Recently became a member so we’ve been going almost daily. Unfortunately, Costco only accepts VISA payments. My only VISA was out of money, I thought maybe I would just buy a VISA gift card from CVS to use for my Costco trips.
Get to CVS and I have to read every card, pre-paid vs gift cards. I spent about 10-15 mins looking over cards while my boyfriend was outside waiting in the car with our cat and dog (we took them on a nature trail that morning). I was getting overwhelmed by options and my urge to get to Costco was over powering my other senses. With that I blindly grabbed a VISA gift card (Vanilla brand), didn’t look at the packing whatsoever. Get the the register, the guys having problems checking me out and I still don’t look at the packing (I’m more frustrated with the checkout process).
After all that, I’m finally out the door and on the road. I immediately open the gift card and notice that the 3 numbers on the back of the card are SCRATCHED OFF. I immediately knew I was scammed at that point. I flip the card over and more numbers are scratched off, making it useless!!
I’ve gone through the process and made every phone call possible to get this resolved. So I’ll just have to wait till they get to my case. It ruined my morning. And the funny thing is my visa had a check deposited that morning… if I just check my bank account.
2023.06.03 14:40 Tasty_Shallot_715 Why is everyone thinking I’m a troller?
On one of my previous posts, some commentators were saying that the OP (which is me) is trolling due to inaction. Now, I want to get my point across.
To start off, I was a new dental assistant that quit almost 2 months ago due to making & repeating mistakes & not meeting the competency that was set upon me. I had posted my struggles on DentalAssistant & also adding my mother’s constant berating & a lot of them were saying the same thing: move away, don’t listen to her, etc.
While I do want to thank everyone for expressing concern for me, there are reasons why I can’t take action, at least, not right now. I need her help on big girl stuff, including finance (I know right, crazy to ask for financial assistance from a 26 year old). I don’t have network. I don’t have resource. I had therapy before & didn‘t want to trouble my mom by asking her I wanted mental help again. And you guys know she’s right. Even if times are changing, she’ll say things like a hard working, rich man don’t want to be with a woman that works at a restaurant or grocery store. I know that‘s not always the case, but she remained firm & says it’s the truth. She’s based off of what society expects people to do & behave. For example, she says a fat woman must keep her eyebrows thick & untamed because groomed brows emphasize the fatness, rich people can only buy expensive perfume & people with low or middle income that buys it will be seen as wired, or in this case, a man with a high paying job only chooses woman with the same pay as him being with any women that’s lower income will be seen as weird. That’s what others think. That’s what she thinks others will think & wanted me to accept it as truth, even when I knew that’s not always true. Do you guys think the examples she said above are right?
To make myself clear, I AM NOT TROLLING. I’m a true, honest young woman that tries her best in this life with weedful amounts of childhood trauma & suspected CPTSD & ADHD. I needed a place to spill word vomit & if I move out or flip the table on my mom, I’ll lose everything. I can’t hate her, but I can’t live with her any longer but like I said, I don’t have any resources. If I were to set up boundaries, I know she’ll say no. All I can do at the moment is to hopefully secure another job & work better until it’s time. I’m tired of having the ‘talk’ & hopefully smack cake on her face for being no different from her sisters.
Previous post:
submitted by Tasty_Shallot_715 to TwoXChromosomes [link] [comments]
To start off, I was a new dental assistant that quit almost 2 months ago due to making & repeating mistakes & not meeting the competency that was set upon me. I had posted my struggles on DentalAssistant & also adding my mother’s constant berating & a lot of them were saying the same thing: move away, don’t listen to her, etc.
While I do want to thank everyone for expressing concern for me, there are reasons why I can’t take action, at least, not right now. I need her help on big girl stuff, including finance (I know right, crazy to ask for financial assistance from a 26 year old). I don’t have network. I don’t have resource. I had therapy before & didn‘t want to trouble my mom by asking her I wanted mental help again. And you guys know she’s right. Even if times are changing, she’ll say things like a hard working, rich man don’t want to be with a woman that works at a restaurant or grocery store. I know that‘s not always the case, but she remained firm & says it’s the truth. She’s based off of what society expects people to do & behave. For example, she says a fat woman must keep her eyebrows thick & untamed because groomed brows emphasize the fatness, rich people can only buy expensive perfume & people with low or middle income that buys it will be seen as wired, or in this case, a man with a high paying job only chooses woman with the same pay as him being with any women that’s lower income will be seen as weird. That’s what others think. That’s what she thinks others will think & wanted me to accept it as truth, even when I knew that’s not always true. Do you guys think the examples she said above are right?
To make myself clear, I AM NOT TROLLING. I’m a true, honest young woman that tries her best in this life with weedful amounts of childhood trauma & suspected CPTSD & ADHD. I needed a place to spill word vomit & if I move out or flip the table on my mom, I’ll lose everything. I can’t hate her, but I can’t live with her any longer but like I said, I don’t have any resources. If I were to set up boundaries, I know she’ll say no. All I can do at the moment is to hopefully secure another job & work better until it’s time. I’m tired of having the ‘talk’ & hopefully smack cake on her face for being no different from her sisters.
Previous post:
2023.06.03 14:37 StretchGOD Houses at a Deep Discount
Houses/lots at a Deep Discount
--
If You are in the Baton Rouge Market, and if you’re looking to
buy off market properties for 30-40% off Market Value and make big profits
on your next rental or flip then PM Me!
--
Drop your email or message⬇️ & I’ll send you some of these deals
submitted by StretchGOD to WholesaleRealestate [link] [comments]
--
If You are in the Baton Rouge Market, and if you’re looking to
buy off market properties for 30-40% off Market Value and make big profits
on your next rental or flip then PM Me!
--
Drop your email or message⬇️ & I’ll send you some of these deals
2023.06.03 14:21 pee_face_applehead Why doesn’t this routine run?
 | I have a smart plug in my bedroom that is connected to a window AC unit. This routine should power on the smart plug and then fire up the AC unit, but it never runs. It will run manually if I start the routine. On the flip side I have a similar routine that turns off the smart plug if the room temp drops below 69°F and that one always works. The AC on routine did seem to work when I did t have a time frame applied to it, but I set a specific time frame and now it never runs, but I don’t need it running except for night when I’m sleeping up there submitted by pee_face_applehead to alexa [link] [comments] |
2023.06.03 14:20 ClosetJack [A4M] Finding My Werewolf
The bright stadium lights illuminated the field below. As masses of padded bodies collided together, hoards of people cheered them on as they watched their teams fight for victory. This was college football, and I stood within the masses cheering on the players and my best friend. Number 19, ____Name____ Quarterback.
____Name____ and I had grown up together. Our mothers were friends from work and often dragged us along with them as they met up to socialize. Which was always amusing to them. Because we didn’t always get along. You were always bolder and crasser. Stealing my toys, my snacks, and whatever else he wanted back then. But that’s not to say I was perfect either. I was an attention hog back then. Crying just because I knew I could get one of our mothers to pay more attention to me. But obviously, we both grew out of that.
_____Name_____ grew into a tall handsome man. Stoic features, nice muscles, cocky attitude. But with looks like his. Who wouldn’t be? While I grew into a slim, toned, and as he likes to call me. A nerd. But hey! Just because I like to read and watch Star Wars, or Lord of the Rings weekly doesn’t make me a nerd…right?
Oh, and I should probably add that _____Name_____ grew up to be a werewolf. Yep, that’s right. A werewolf. His first change happened when he was about 12 and started to go through puberty. I was spending the night at his house, and we were messing around. Wrestling as a matter of fact to see which of us was the strongest. I had him pinned on his back. Hands above his head when he let out a low feral growl. His eyes briefly grew a faint red, and before I knew it, he had me flipped over on my back and sitting on my chest. He gave me his famous crooked smile. His teeth were sharp, and he gripped my arms with long jagged nails that dug into my wrist. Since then, his shift has become more and more wolfish. His ears elongated, fur sprouting up to cover his arms, legs, and feet.
He always had control of his wolf. Well almost. We learned werewolves were nothing like they were in the movies. They didn’t go all feral during a fool moon. They could shift whenever they wanted or needed. The problem was _____Name_____ didn’t know how to control his wolf when he was upset.
Which is why I never quite understood his infatuation with sports. Because of his competitive nature, he was bound to shift during a game. And tonight, was that night.
The ball snapped and _____Name_____ stepped back. Preparing to throw it when he was sacked. The crowd “oooed and awed,” disappointedly as he fell and hit the ground. I watched as his teammates helped him up and they got back into position. The ball snapped again, and this time _____Name_____ tried running through a hole in the defensive line. But as he stepped through a linebacker came up on his right and tackled him. Shoving him down to the ground. More disappointed “awes,” came from the stands as the opponent's stands ruptured into cheers.
Our offensive line was walking off the field as the defensive line ran out. When I noticed _____Name_____ talking to the coach and walking off the field to the locker rooms. I hastily ran down the stadium stairs and headed to the locker rooms at the end of the field. I could hear bodies from the two-team collide again as they continued to play.
The door to the locker room creaked open as I pushed on it. “Hey, you, okay?” I called out as I walked into the locker room. I could hear the water running and made my way towards it. As I walked toward the showers, I came across his jersey, shoulder pads, and chest pads. Which had been discarded on the floor and found _____Name_____ standing underneath the running water still in his pants. His back was towards me, and his arms stretched out to brace himself against the wall. “Dude, are you alright?” I questioned again.
I could see his shoulders and back tense to my voice. But he didn’t move. “______Name_____ what is going on? Are you losing control or something?” I questioned as I stepped into the showers. My shoes slapped against the wet tile floor as I approached him. “Dude Tal-“I was cut off as he quickly turned around and grabbed me by the shoulders. Pinning me to the wall my feet handing above the floor. I swallowed hard as I looked into those red feral eyes. His claws dig into my shoulders.
“Go…. Away.” He growled out. As he let my body slide down the wall until my feet touched the floor.
“You need help. You can’t stay here like this. What if someone sees you?” I pleaded as his grasp on my arms let up. “We need to get you out of here!” I exclaimed.
“No, have to win,” He uttered as he tried to turn around and leave the showers. I reached out and grabbed his wrist. Stopping him.
“If you go out there now, you’re only exposing what you are, you’re going to scare everyone,” I said calmly. He turned back towards me sneering.
“Then they can run away like pussies” He growled as he turned back and headed for the door.
I ran in front of him and tried to push him back. But his muscular and solid body didn’t move. I looked up at him as he stared at me. My mind was rushing to find a solution and did the only thing that made sense to distract him at the time. I reached up and cupped his face with my hands, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him. I could feel his body tense with surprise but quickly eased as I felt him lean into the kiss.
He grabbed onto my hips and pulled his lips from mine. Before turning and pushing me into the wall. I could feel his eyes looking my body over. While he slid one hand up under my shirt to rest against my flat abdomen. His other hand unlacing the top of his football pants. I gulped. “I can smell your lust.” He uttered roughly. “I’ve always been able to smell it”.
I gulped hard. As I anticipated where this was going to go, it filled me with a mixture of anxiety, fear, and excitement. I stood there unable to move as he undid his pants. His hand slid back down my abdomen until his sharp fingers hooked the waistband of my sweatpants and underwear. He pulled them down. Exposing me before he grabbed my waist and lifted me up. Placing my legs over his shoulders and pressing my back against the wall.
“This is what you want. Right?” He smiled deviously. I knew it wasn’t really a question. But more of a confirmation that he knew my desire. He wrapped his hands around my hips and pulled me down slightly to a more appropriate position. His sneer never left his face as he took me then and there.
------------------------------------------------------------
Good day, all, and thank you for reading my long introduction to the prompt. I’m Jax a 27 y/o male in the EST-zone. I am looking for a long-term partner for this and future role plays. While this prompt is written in the M4M format I am more than comfortable playing as a female character opposite to the best friend/werewolf. I’m also comfortable writing in 3rd person. I have just always felt a preference for first. As I find it’s more personal when RPing. This is intended to be a modern fantasy roleplay with an array of genres and emotions. Not just romance and lust. I have tried my best to leave your character entirely up to you including name, looks, and actions going forward. Please feel free to ask any further questions, or if you’re interested in helping me expand on this story. I look forward to meeting you!
submitted by ClosetJack to Roleplay [link] [comments]
____Name____ and I had grown up together. Our mothers were friends from work and often dragged us along with them as they met up to socialize. Which was always amusing to them. Because we didn’t always get along. You were always bolder and crasser. Stealing my toys, my snacks, and whatever else he wanted back then. But that’s not to say I was perfect either. I was an attention hog back then. Crying just because I knew I could get one of our mothers to pay more attention to me. But obviously, we both grew out of that.
_____Name_____ grew into a tall handsome man. Stoic features, nice muscles, cocky attitude. But with looks like his. Who wouldn’t be? While I grew into a slim, toned, and as he likes to call me. A nerd. But hey! Just because I like to read and watch Star Wars, or Lord of the Rings weekly doesn’t make me a nerd…right?
Oh, and I should probably add that _____Name_____ grew up to be a werewolf. Yep, that’s right. A werewolf. His first change happened when he was about 12 and started to go through puberty. I was spending the night at his house, and we were messing around. Wrestling as a matter of fact to see which of us was the strongest. I had him pinned on his back. Hands above his head when he let out a low feral growl. His eyes briefly grew a faint red, and before I knew it, he had me flipped over on my back and sitting on my chest. He gave me his famous crooked smile. His teeth were sharp, and he gripped my arms with long jagged nails that dug into my wrist. Since then, his shift has become more and more wolfish. His ears elongated, fur sprouting up to cover his arms, legs, and feet.
He always had control of his wolf. Well almost. We learned werewolves were nothing like they were in the movies. They didn’t go all feral during a fool moon. They could shift whenever they wanted or needed. The problem was _____Name_____ didn’t know how to control his wolf when he was upset.
Which is why I never quite understood his infatuation with sports. Because of his competitive nature, he was bound to shift during a game. And tonight, was that night.
The ball snapped and _____Name_____ stepped back. Preparing to throw it when he was sacked. The crowd “oooed and awed,” disappointedly as he fell and hit the ground. I watched as his teammates helped him up and they got back into position. The ball snapped again, and this time _____Name_____ tried running through a hole in the defensive line. But as he stepped through a linebacker came up on his right and tackled him. Shoving him down to the ground. More disappointed “awes,” came from the stands as the opponent's stands ruptured into cheers.
Our offensive line was walking off the field as the defensive line ran out. When I noticed _____Name_____ talking to the coach and walking off the field to the locker rooms. I hastily ran down the stadium stairs and headed to the locker rooms at the end of the field. I could hear bodies from the two-team collide again as they continued to play.
The door to the locker room creaked open as I pushed on it. “Hey, you, okay?” I called out as I walked into the locker room. I could hear the water running and made my way towards it. As I walked toward the showers, I came across his jersey, shoulder pads, and chest pads. Which had been discarded on the floor and found _____Name_____ standing underneath the running water still in his pants. His back was towards me, and his arms stretched out to brace himself against the wall. “Dude, are you alright?” I questioned again.
I could see his shoulders and back tense to my voice. But he didn’t move. “______Name_____ what is going on? Are you losing control or something?” I questioned as I stepped into the showers. My shoes slapped against the wet tile floor as I approached him. “Dude Tal-“I was cut off as he quickly turned around and grabbed me by the shoulders. Pinning me to the wall my feet handing above the floor. I swallowed hard as I looked into those red feral eyes. His claws dig into my shoulders.
“Go…. Away.” He growled out. As he let my body slide down the wall until my feet touched the floor.
“You need help. You can’t stay here like this. What if someone sees you?” I pleaded as his grasp on my arms let up. “We need to get you out of here!” I exclaimed.
“No, have to win,” He uttered as he tried to turn around and leave the showers. I reached out and grabbed his wrist. Stopping him.
“If you go out there now, you’re only exposing what you are, you’re going to scare everyone,” I said calmly. He turned back towards me sneering.
“Then they can run away like pussies” He growled as he turned back and headed for the door.
I ran in front of him and tried to push him back. But his muscular and solid body didn’t move. I looked up at him as he stared at me. My mind was rushing to find a solution and did the only thing that made sense to distract him at the time. I reached up and cupped his face with my hands, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him. I could feel his body tense with surprise but quickly eased as I felt him lean into the kiss.
He grabbed onto my hips and pulled his lips from mine. Before turning and pushing me into the wall. I could feel his eyes looking my body over. While he slid one hand up under my shirt to rest against my flat abdomen. His other hand unlacing the top of his football pants. I gulped. “I can smell your lust.” He uttered roughly. “I’ve always been able to smell it”.
I gulped hard. As I anticipated where this was going to go, it filled me with a mixture of anxiety, fear, and excitement. I stood there unable to move as he undid his pants. His hand slid back down my abdomen until his sharp fingers hooked the waistband of my sweatpants and underwear. He pulled them down. Exposing me before he grabbed my waist and lifted me up. Placing my legs over his shoulders and pressing my back against the wall.
“This is what you want. Right?” He smiled deviously. I knew it wasn’t really a question. But more of a confirmation that he knew my desire. He wrapped his hands around my hips and pulled me down slightly to a more appropriate position. His sneer never left his face as he took me then and there.
------------------------------------------------------------
Good day, all, and thank you for reading my long introduction to the prompt. I’m Jax a 27 y/o male in the EST-zone. I am looking for a long-term partner for this and future role plays. While this prompt is written in the M4M format I am more than comfortable playing as a female character opposite to the best friend/werewolf. I’m also comfortable writing in 3rd person. I have just always felt a preference for first. As I find it’s more personal when RPing. This is intended to be a modern fantasy roleplay with an array of genres and emotions. Not just romance and lust. I have tried my best to leave your character entirely up to you including name, looks, and actions going forward. Please feel free to ask any further questions, or if you’re interested in helping me expand on this story. I look forward to meeting you!
2023.06.03 14:09 Trial_by_Combat_ My SM origin story
TW: emotional abuse, racism with bad words, physical abuse, other swear words
Also warning: I believe my mom has ASD and this portrays her in a negative light, but it's a fair description of her abuse of me, and I need to talk about it.
My mom had a consistent habit of misinterpreting me when I spoke. She very easily took things the wrong way, in the most hurtful way possible. I was a very curious child, and asked a lot of questions about the world. But my mom would think I was criticizing her.
For example, as a preschooler I saw rust on our car and I asked, "what's that?". I just wanted the scientific answer, but my mom heard "You should be ashamed for being so poor! How dare you drive me around town in such a crappy broken down car! You're a worthless poor person! Such a loser!" And not only was she furiously angry and yelled at me, she beat me and withheld meals. This was her typical go-to for discipline.
When I was 8 I randomly got the giggles for no reason and couldn't stop laughing. My mom thought I was laughing at her and she spanked me because I wouldn't stop. That didn't work so she pulled me over her knees and kept beating me. I couldn't stop laughing and was crying from the pain at the same time.
When I was about 9 I noticed my mom has a more tan complexion and I thought she looked a bit Native American. I asked "Mom, what race are we?" Well my mom heard something different along the lines of, "Mom, you look like a nigger" and she was soooo insulted. My parents are racist, but at that age I still didn't quite understand race or racism, and I was just asking for more information. Many decades later, we find out me and my mom do have Native American heritage/DNA.
In middle school some other kids were talking about what church they go to, and some kids didn't go to church and they had perfectly good reasons why. They asked me if I go to church. I don't. They asked why, and I didn't know why. So I go home and ask my mom, "why don't we go to church?" But again, my mom heard something different. She thought I said, "you know we should be going to church you Satanic bitch!" And she flipped out on me in her usual manner.
Another time, about age 10, my younger sister had to go to the hospital for a medical condition. My mom took her and said it would be an hour or two. They ended up being gone like seven hours and I was extremely worried and fretting about what my sister was going through. (No cell phones back then) As the hours ticked by my anxiety got worse and worse. When they got back I asked why it took so long and my mom just EXPLODED all of her own emotions on me. Because what she heard was, "Why did you spend so much time with 'sister' when you should have been at home with me waiting on me hand and foot?" It didn't even cross her mind that I was worried about my sister.
These are a handful of examples that I do remember, but this was a consistent behavior pattern so there were lots of other times I barely remember or have probably forgotten. It was the emotional reactivity that traumatized me. I thought it was ok to talk, but then my mom went from ok to level 100 emotional berzerk because I said something. It ended up being not ok to ask about or talk about anything. Therapy has recently helped me figure this all out. It explains why I developed selective mutism. My whole life I didn't really understand why I had so much inhibition against talking. I internalized that my words or voice would make people explode.
I had no guidance on what subject matter was either ok or off limits. It was so random. And because I saw other people talking about topics and it seemed ok, but when I talked about that topic it was not ok, I internalized that it was just me that wasn't allowed to talk. This wasn't a subject matter problem. I was just "less than" and didn't have the right to speak.
One more thing, my dad would always take my mom's side. Like when he got home from work in the evening, my mom would tell him the "horrible" things I "said" and he would yell at me and beat me all over again.
So this is how I lost confidence in my ability to communicate. This is my SM origin story.
submitted by Trial_by_Combat_ to selectivemutism [link] [comments]
Also warning: I believe my mom has ASD and this portrays her in a negative light, but it's a fair description of her abuse of me, and I need to talk about it.
My mom had a consistent habit of misinterpreting me when I spoke. She very easily took things the wrong way, in the most hurtful way possible. I was a very curious child, and asked a lot of questions about the world. But my mom would think I was criticizing her.
For example, as a preschooler I saw rust on our car and I asked, "what's that?". I just wanted the scientific answer, but my mom heard "You should be ashamed for being so poor! How dare you drive me around town in such a crappy broken down car! You're a worthless poor person! Such a loser!" And not only was she furiously angry and yelled at me, she beat me and withheld meals. This was her typical go-to for discipline.
When I was 8 I randomly got the giggles for no reason and couldn't stop laughing. My mom thought I was laughing at her and she spanked me because I wouldn't stop. That didn't work so she pulled me over her knees and kept beating me. I couldn't stop laughing and was crying from the pain at the same time.
When I was about 9 I noticed my mom has a more tan complexion and I thought she looked a bit Native American. I asked "Mom, what race are we?" Well my mom heard something different along the lines of, "Mom, you look like a nigger" and she was soooo insulted. My parents are racist, but at that age I still didn't quite understand race or racism, and I was just asking for more information. Many decades later, we find out me and my mom do have Native American heritage/DNA.
In middle school some other kids were talking about what church they go to, and some kids didn't go to church and they had perfectly good reasons why. They asked me if I go to church. I don't. They asked why, and I didn't know why. So I go home and ask my mom, "why don't we go to church?" But again, my mom heard something different. She thought I said, "you know we should be going to church you Satanic bitch!" And she flipped out on me in her usual manner.
Another time, about age 10, my younger sister had to go to the hospital for a medical condition. My mom took her and said it would be an hour or two. They ended up being gone like seven hours and I was extremely worried and fretting about what my sister was going through. (No cell phones back then) As the hours ticked by my anxiety got worse and worse. When they got back I asked why it took so long and my mom just EXPLODED all of her own emotions on me. Because what she heard was, "Why did you spend so much time with 'sister' when you should have been at home with me waiting on me hand and foot?" It didn't even cross her mind that I was worried about my sister.
These are a handful of examples that I do remember, but this was a consistent behavior pattern so there were lots of other times I barely remember or have probably forgotten. It was the emotional reactivity that traumatized me. I thought it was ok to talk, but then my mom went from ok to level 100 emotional berzerk because I said something. It ended up being not ok to ask about or talk about anything. Therapy has recently helped me figure this all out. It explains why I developed selective mutism. My whole life I didn't really understand why I had so much inhibition against talking. I internalized that my words or voice would make people explode.
I had no guidance on what subject matter was either ok or off limits. It was so random. And because I saw other people talking about topics and it seemed ok, but when I talked about that topic it was not ok, I internalized that it was just me that wasn't allowed to talk. This wasn't a subject matter problem. I was just "less than" and didn't have the right to speak.
One more thing, my dad would always take my mom's side. Like when he got home from work in the evening, my mom would tell him the "horrible" things I "said" and he would yell at me and beat me all over again.
So this is how I lost confidence in my ability to communicate. This is my SM origin story.
2023.06.03 14:07 Trial_by_Combat_ Misinterpreted my words, caused selective mutism
TW: emotional abuse, racism with bad words, physical abuse, other swear words
Also warning: I believe my mom has ASD and this portrays her in a negative light, but it's a fair description of her abuse of me, and I need to talk about it.
My mom had a consistent habit of misinterpreting me when I spoke. She very easily took things the wrong way, in the most hurtful way possible. I was a very curious child, and asked a lot of questions about the world. But my mom would think I was criticizing her.
For example, as a preschooler I saw rust on our car and I asked, "what's that?". I just wanted the scientific answer, but my mom heard "You should be ashamed for being so poor! How dare you drive me around town in such a crappy broken down car! You're a worthless poor person! Such a loser!" And not only was she furiously angry and yelled at me, she beat me and withheld meals. This was her typical go-to for discipline.
When I was 8 I randomly got the giggles for no reason and couldn't stop laughing. My mom thought I was laughing at her and she spanked me because I wouldn't stop. That didn't work so she pulled me over her knees and kept beating me. I couldn't stop laughing and was crying from the pain at the same time.
When I was about 9 I noticed my mom has a more tan complexion and I thought she looked a bit Native American. I asked "Mom, what race are we?" Well my mom heard something different along the lines of, "Mom, you look like a nigger" and she was soooo insulted. My parents are racist, but at that age I still didn't quite understand race or racism, and I was just asking for more information. Many decades later, we find out me and my mom do have Native American heritage/DNA.
In middle school some other kids were talking about what church they go to, and some kids didn't go to church and they had perfectly good reasons why. They asked me if I go to church. I don't. They asked why, and I didn't know why. So I go home and ask my mom, "why don't we go to church?" But again, my mom heard something different. She thought I said, "you know we should be going to church you Satanic bitch!" And she flipped out on me in her usual manner.
Another time, about age 10, my younger sister had to go to the hospital for a medical condition. My mom took her and said it would be an hour or two. They ended up being gone like seven hours and I was extremely worried and fretting about what my sister was going through. (No cell phones back then) As the hours ticked by my anxiety got worse and worse. When they got back I asked why it took so long and my mom just EXPLODED all of her own emotions on me. Because what she heard was, "Why did you spend so much time with 'sister' when you should have been at home with me waiting on me hand and foot?" It didn't even cross her mind that I was worried about my sister.
These are a handful of examples that I do remember, but this was a consistent behavior pattern so there were lots of other times I barely remember or have probably forgotten. It was the emotional reactivity that traumatized me. I thought it was ok to talk, but then my mom went from ok to level 100 emotional berzerk because I said something. It ended up being not ok to ask about or talk about anything. Therapy has recently helped me figure this all out. It explains why I developed selective mutism. My whole life I didn't really understand why I had so much inhibition against talking. I internalized that my words or voice would make people explode.
I had no guidance on what subject matter was either ok or off limits. It was so random. And because I saw other people talking about topics and it seemed ok, but when I talked about that topic it was not ok, I internalized that it was just me that wasn't allowed to talk. This wasn't a subject matter problem. I was just "less than" and didn't have the right to speak.
One more thing, my dad would always take my mom's side. Like when he got home from work in the evening, my mom would tell him the "horrible" things I "said" and he would yell at me and beat me all over again.
So this is how I lost confidence in my ability to communicate. This is my SM origin story.
submitted by Trial_by_Combat_ to CPTSD [link] [comments]
Also warning: I believe my mom has ASD and this portrays her in a negative light, but it's a fair description of her abuse of me, and I need to talk about it.
My mom had a consistent habit of misinterpreting me when I spoke. She very easily took things the wrong way, in the most hurtful way possible. I was a very curious child, and asked a lot of questions about the world. But my mom would think I was criticizing her.
For example, as a preschooler I saw rust on our car and I asked, "what's that?". I just wanted the scientific answer, but my mom heard "You should be ashamed for being so poor! How dare you drive me around town in such a crappy broken down car! You're a worthless poor person! Such a loser!" And not only was she furiously angry and yelled at me, she beat me and withheld meals. This was her typical go-to for discipline.
When I was 8 I randomly got the giggles for no reason and couldn't stop laughing. My mom thought I was laughing at her and she spanked me because I wouldn't stop. That didn't work so she pulled me over her knees and kept beating me. I couldn't stop laughing and was crying from the pain at the same time.
When I was about 9 I noticed my mom has a more tan complexion and I thought she looked a bit Native American. I asked "Mom, what race are we?" Well my mom heard something different along the lines of, "Mom, you look like a nigger" and she was soooo insulted. My parents are racist, but at that age I still didn't quite understand race or racism, and I was just asking for more information. Many decades later, we find out me and my mom do have Native American heritage/DNA.
In middle school some other kids were talking about what church they go to, and some kids didn't go to church and they had perfectly good reasons why. They asked me if I go to church. I don't. They asked why, and I didn't know why. So I go home and ask my mom, "why don't we go to church?" But again, my mom heard something different. She thought I said, "you know we should be going to church you Satanic bitch!" And she flipped out on me in her usual manner.
Another time, about age 10, my younger sister had to go to the hospital for a medical condition. My mom took her and said it would be an hour or two. They ended up being gone like seven hours and I was extremely worried and fretting about what my sister was going through. (No cell phones back then) As the hours ticked by my anxiety got worse and worse. When they got back I asked why it took so long and my mom just EXPLODED all of her own emotions on me. Because what she heard was, "Why did you spend so much time with 'sister' when you should have been at home with me waiting on me hand and foot?" It didn't even cross her mind that I was worried about my sister.
These are a handful of examples that I do remember, but this was a consistent behavior pattern so there were lots of other times I barely remember or have probably forgotten. It was the emotional reactivity that traumatized me. I thought it was ok to talk, but then my mom went from ok to level 100 emotional berzerk because I said something. It ended up being not ok to ask about or talk about anything. Therapy has recently helped me figure this all out. It explains why I developed selective mutism. My whole life I didn't really understand why I had so much inhibition against talking. I internalized that my words or voice would make people explode.
I had no guidance on what subject matter was either ok or off limits. It was so random. And because I saw other people talking about topics and it seemed ok, but when I talked about that topic it was not ok, I internalized that it was just me that wasn't allowed to talk. This wasn't a subject matter problem. I was just "less than" and didn't have the right to speak.
One more thing, my dad would always take my mom's side. Like when he got home from work in the evening, my mom would tell him the "horrible" things I "said" and he would yell at me and beat me all over again.
So this is how I lost confidence in my ability to communicate. This is my SM origin story.