Obviously this isn't set in England, but spiritually this piece is within my English Football series. The first six episodes covered Nottingham Forest's 21st century woes, the dickpic that consigned Notts County to the non-league, a reignited rivalry between Derby County and Leeds United, Stoke City's legendary shithouse era, the English Golden Generation of the 00s descending into farce, and Wimbledon FC's controversial relocation to Milton Keynes
This spin-off piece follows on from the main question raised by the Wimbledon FC/MK Dons saga. When does a club stop being a club? Is it the legal entity or something rather more intangible? These were questions posed with regards to one of the titans of Scottish football earlier this decade.
Background - The Establishment Club
Rangers FC has long cultivated an image as Scotland's 'establishment club', it isn't just a sports team, but an institution that embodies a particular way of living and worldview. Alongside other institutions like the Church of Scotland, the club is perceived as embodying traditional and small-C conservative Scottish values. Alongside Celtic (more on them in a bit) Rangers have dominated Scottish football since the league started. No club other than the two Glaswegian sides has won the league since 1985. Rangers have 54 league titles, Celtic have 51. The joint 3rd best sides (Aberdeen and the Edinburgh pair Hearts and Hibernian) have just four a piece. And yet as a legal entity the club ceased to exist in 2012. What happened? Does Rangers FC still exist?
It would be impossible to tell this tale without telling the tale of the Old Firm and the profound political, cultural, and religious divides involved. Glasgow's two largest clubs have a rivalry that defies comparison to anything in the rest of Scotland or in England. Essentially Rangers FC and its supporters represent Protestantism and British Unionism, while Celtic FC are considered to be aligned with Catholicism and Irish Nationalism. When the two sides meet, the Scottish saltire is rarely flown by supporters. Rangers supporters prefer the Union Jack or Ulster Banner, Celtic fans are likely to fly Irish tricolours. It is as if somebody took the socio-cultural conflict of Northern Ireland and transplanted it into a football ground.
Which is sort of what happened. Ultimately a big factor was migration to Glasgow in the early 20th century - Irish Catholics in Glasgow set up Celtic FC as their club, while Protestants from Northern Ireland (who are historically of largely Scottish extraction) who worked in the shipyards of the Clyde came to adopt Rangers which was located near the shipbuilding areas. Local Scots, being generally Protestant, inclined to support Rangers and many would have shared the religious and political feelings of the newcomers from Northern Ireland. This has meant that at matches both clubs have sections of support who chant about the Northern Irish conflict - some Rangers fans have a 'songbook' including the Loyalist anthem The Sash (which commemorates King William III, the Dutchman invited to become King of England and Scotland who defeated a Catholic army at the Boyne in 1690), while Celtic fans might sing in support of the Irish Republican Army. This involves by no means the majority of supporters, but it is important in setting the atmosphere at games.
Rangers FC had until the late 1980s an alleged policy of not signing any player known to be a Catholic. This led legendary Celtic manager Jock Stein to joke that if offered a Catholic or a Protestant to sign for Celtic, he would sign the Protestant in the knowledge that Rangers would never sign the Catholic. I cannot find evidence of any player ever transferring directly between Celtic and Rangers in the postwar era, with the low number of players who have turned out for both having had a 3rd club in between. Another example of the intensity is the way in which the clubs traditionally share shirt sponsors. This sounds innocuous, but the only way to sponsor one of the clubs without triggering a mass boycott by the other supporters was to simply sponsor both.
No other football rivalry in Britain has a dynamic like this (Liverpool and Everton did to a far lesser extent before about the 1960s, but sectarianism largely died out there decades ago), even in the days when hooliganism was a serious blight on English football it never quite reached the sort of scenes on display at the 1980 Scottish Cup Final.
Which club is the 'biggest'? It is impossible to say. Rangers have had more League titles, but Celtic being the first British club to win a European Cup in 1967 is a fairly potent trump card. What is without a doubt is that they are the two best supported Scottish clubs and their rivalry is possibly like no other.
Chasing the Rainbow
Avid readers of this series will notice a theme. The 1990s were a boom time for football and everyone involved in the sport. TV revenue started to really take off, as did the prizes for winning European competitions. Many clubs sought to capitalise on the windfall and Rangers were no exception.
Their chairman, Sir David Murray, had become one of Scotland's weathiest businessmen by leveraging debts against future revenue. He spent big on Rangers in the hope that they would win a major European trophy and repay his investment. Top players like Paul Gascoigne came to Rangers where before it was fairly rare for big name players from other leagues to move to Scotland. Domestically his investments paid off, from 1989-97 Rangers won nine League titles in a row, equalling the record set by Jock Stein's great Celtic side between 1966-74.
Unfortunately this did not translate to the windfall a Champion's League win would have given. While Murray was bankrolling Rangers, other clubs around Europe were likewise chasing the new massive financial prizes. Rangers came close to getting past the group stage of the new Champion's League format in 1992-93, but no Scottish club would enter a Champion's League knockout round until Rangers do so in 2005-06.
The debts mounted and Murray sought ways to manage the debts and hedge them against future revenue anticipated from TV fees and European prize money. He allowed the Bank of Scotland to buy a stake in the club with a mortgage allowing them to recover their losses in the event of the club defaulting on its repayments. Nothing to worry about, surely? David Murray had become a wildly successful businessman by effectively managing credit lines and debt against future income to fund expansion.
But a far bigger problem was just three small letters.
EBT
Put simply, Employee Benefit Trusts are a way of not paying tax, it was legal in some cases at the time but is generally illegal now.
Murray sought, from 2000, to pay his players through EBTs. This meant that they would be able to offer high net wages to players while cutting tax costs. In Britain most employees have all their tax payments deducted by the employer, so schemes like this and ones where employees are paid in dividends are a way of essentially not paying tax.
By 2010 HMRC had begun to investigate the case, concluding that Rangers may have evaded £49m in taxes, a vast amount for a club already overleveraged in debt in a league not known for being particularly wealthy.
By about 2008 Murray had had enough of Rangers and was looking to sell up. He had gambled and lost huge amounts of money on the club, which was now saddled with huge amounts of debt. The prospect of paying £49m to HMRC if the courts ruled against Rangers deterred any serious buyer and it took some years for a buyer to emerge. Another serious issue was the sheer amount of debt Rangers had to Lloyds (who had taken over the Bank of Scotland), with fans in 2009 threatening a boycott of the banking chain if the bank called in its debts.
Would a buyer emerge and save Rangers from this predicament?
Well, a buyer would emerge in 2011. Not the other bit, sadly.
Enter Craig Whyte
Craig Whyte had once been Scotland's youngest millionaire as a venture capitalist. He bought the club for £1 from Murray but desperately needed to leverage some funds to settle the Lloyds debt, so he borrowed a cool £26.7m against future season ticket sales. This on the face of it should have set alarm bells, even the biggest clubs don't make huge amounts of money on matchday tickets in relation to their massive costs.
Whyte also indulged in a bit of tax fiddling. But rather than setting up an avoidance mechanism and letting the lawyers fight it out, he just stopped sending Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs the income tax payments for the club players and staff. Definitely not the sophistication of Murray.
Matters only got worse. In early 2012 BBC Scotland aired a BAFTA-winning documentary about Whyte and Rangers, which revealed that Whyte had been once banned from working as a company director for seven years. The Scottish Football Association agreed, Whyte was not a 'Fit and Proper' person to own a football club.
At about this time Rangers entered administration. When this happens in Britain, the company's creditors can agree to a 'Company Voluntary Arrangement' (CVA) which essentially means agreeing a plan for the company to continue operating while in administration so the creditors can recover their debts. HMRC, with the outstanding £49m tax case from Murray's era plus the money owed by Whyte's outright failure to pay tax, voted against allowing this to happen.
In the absence of a CVA and agreement with creditors, this meant that Rangers FC as a company ceased to exist in June 2012, with all assets transferred to 'Sevco Scotland Ltd'.
Could this have been avoided? In the end, the £49m owed to HMRC which proved such a millstone has been substantially reduced and the cases around it are still ongoing. But ultimately, Rangers had vast amounts of debt not just to HMRC.
For his part Whyte would be bankrupted by his loan to buy the club and would be faced with a far longer ban on acting as a company director.
Sevco FC?
Sevco inherited everything Rangers had. The players had an opportunity to transfer their employment to Sevco, which also gained Ibrox Stadium and Ranger's membership of the Scottish Premier League.
For the club owned by Sevco to be able to play in the SPL next season, 2/3rds of members had to vote in favour. Clubs such as Aberdeen, Dundee United, and Hearts bowed to fan feeling that Rangers could not continue where they left off. In the end, no club voted in favour of Rangers remaning in the SPL with only Kilmarnock abstaining. This event would generate a huge amount of bad feeling and bitterness from Rangers fans who felt that supporters of other clubs were content to throw them under a bus for reasons not of their making. There was definitely a sense of schadenfreude from supporters of other clubs, watching Scotland's 'Establishment Club' go to the wall.
Could Rangers join the Scottish First Division and gain promotion to the Premier League? First Division clubs didn't want to face the consequences of a Premier League problem, so they also rejected it.
In the end, the Scottish Football League allowed Rangers FC to rejoin the league in the Third Division, a largely semi-professional league three divisions below the Premier League. Their first competitive game was a Challenge Cup (competition for the two lower leagues in the Scottish Football League) tie against Brechin City, who represent a sleepy town of just 7,000.
Clawing their way back up
Most of Ranger's players had refused their statutory right to transfer employment to the new company. Nonetheless, the 2012-13 season started well with their first home league game setting a world record for the best attended fourth division match in history as over 49,000 attended Rangers vs East Stirlingshire. A strong league performance saw Rangers confirm promotion into the 3rd tier by the end of March.
2013-14 saw another promotion as Rangers had an unbeaten season in League One (the leagues were renamed at about this time) to secure promotion to the Championship, the first league which would be wholly filled with professional clubs after the mix of professional and semi-professional that plies their trade in Scotland's lower leagues.
Rangers didn't make it three back-to-back promotions as they lost a promotion play-off final 6-1 to Motherwell, one of Scotland's more successful non-Old Firm clubs who had suffered a stint in the 2nd tier.
During this season they met Celtic in the cup. Some Celtic fans placed an advert in a newspaper claiming that the 'Old Firm' was over and while they had enjoyed a rivalry with Rangers FC they did not recognise the new club as the same entity. This caused some controversy, not just with Rangers fans, but with Celtic fans who were indeed looking forward to the first Old Firm in some time. The accusation that Rangers were 'Zombies' or 'Sevco FC' would become a common one from Celtic supporters at games and remains as such.
Rangers won the 2016-15 Scottish Championship to secure promotion, while also beating Celtic in a Scottish Cup semi-final. But, the 'Gruesome Twosome' of Scottish football would once again grace the top flight together.
Same as before?
Celtic had done very well out of the previous few years. They had won a succession of League titles at a canter with the accompanying European qualification giving them financial muscle the other clubs couldn't compete with. Rangers finished a respectable 3rd, but Celtic once again dominated the league.
After an embarrassing elimination out of the Europa League at the hands of a semi-professional side from Luxembourg, Rangers didn't improve on their 3rd place and Celtic won again. It wasn't until 2018-19 that Rangers finished 2nd.
With Celtic winning again.
Could Celtic's domination be broken before they won 10 titles in a row and broke the record jointly held by 1960s-70s Celtic and 1990s Rangers? Perhaps not yet.
2019-20 started well, Rangers had a fantastic run in the Europa League under Steven Gerrard and beat Celtic at their ground for the first time since 2010. COVID put paid to an increasingly close title race with Celtic awarded the title based on Points Per Game with the season abandoned.
This season has very much been Ranger's season though. At the time of writing they seem, barring a miracle/disaster, overwhemingly likely to win the League this year and deny Celtic the coveted ten in a year.
Postscript
Is the Rangers FC of today the same club as that pre-2012? Displays from Celtic fans would say not, and as a legal entity it certainly isn't the same. But UEFA allows for 'sporting continuity' for a club in terms of identity and honours even if the holding company or corporate structure changes. This suggests something that many football supporters would agree with - a club is as much as community asset as it is a company or business and the stories we have looked at explore the issues when the business and the community collide.
Next time, we'll take a look at how Arsenal Fan TV revolutionised football social media while turning their club into a laughing stock

Long and updated every day
Understandably the promise of free money comes with confirmation bias. Many people who recently bought it waiting for the squeeze to happen don't realize the stock already shot from $15 to nearly $500 in one month. That's already 33x.
I'm calling them squeezers I'm not saying WSBers because most of them are new and have no idea that WSB is about massive losses and treating stocks like gambling
Now my long ass comparison...
To begin a boring age old QAnon rant for a paragraph.
QAnon's distrust in the government definitely derives some of its root from the government lying and covering things up, which understandably should lead to a normal amount of skepticism. However, the frequency of lying perceived by cult members is much higher than in reality. By this I mean they think nearly everything is a front or lie and not just some events. Further, after every "Q drop" that doesn't turn out to be true they make up some excuse as to why it never happened. They keep pushing and pushing and pushing back the date of the "storm" or whatever the fuck its called. Overtime the more reasonable members tend to drop out and realize that their level of skepticism and distrust has reached an unreasonable level. However, as it goes on some become more radicalized. They even start to name their opposition as "sheeple" and "fake news" and retreat into an echo chamber of like minded individuals (Like WSB for squeezers).
Currently there has been some lying about the stock market (CNBC saying Melvin closed their position) and about WSB (saying they are targeting silver). These circumstances much like the government lying sometimes can lead to healthy amounts of skepticism however many squeezers are beginning to believe that anything not inline with their perception of the GME situation is wrong.
Take for example S3's data. Much like QAnon followers throwing Pence under the bus after propping him up for so long. The second S3 came out with contradicting numbers to what WSB believed they threw them under the bus. There are however, somewhat reasonable arguments for distrusting S3's figures. The issue is a significant amount of previously reliable sources are now reporting figures around 30-50% not just S3. However, they continue to cherry pick sites to use and dig into their confirmation biases.
Now many members involved in the short squeeze prefer to use outdated number so long as they justify their beliefs such as marketwatch.com which reports short of 121%(equivalent to fox news in our comparison). Even if a significant amount of sources disagree with them they chose to dig into the confirmation bias of it still being over 100% shorted.
Consequently the constant drive for a confirmation bias (which is understandable as a lot of people dumped entire savings into this) leads to everybody regurgitating the same image or website while simultaneously ignoring the many others that contradict their belief (Like QAnon only watching Fox and some other stuff and hating everything else). The reality is most of these squeezers know little to none about the stock market as millions of new members just recently joined WSB over the squeeze hype and are likely in an echo chamber (like QAnon) with other uninformed members spitting out misinformation.
For example they constantly deny the possibility that Melvin repositioned shorts which would mean that the short % stays stagnant while the date for when they start paying premiums goes out. They take information that's outdated (I saw a photo of a Bloomberg terminal that was from a week ago and was reported as today) and try to pass on that its new.
Most squeezers like QAnon members mindlessly repeat what others are saying without any research "They couldn't have covered there's no volume trading" "The volume is low we are doing it" every time the price drops "Its a short ladder its not people selling the volume is too low". Low volume means low selling and low buying it doesn't just go one way. Low volume means the price wont go up or down it will remain stagnant and in relation to today (Monday) it reflects that it was people selling to each other not some algorithm. The low volume today represents that everyone who is in IS IN and there isn't much more buying to do.
The most convincing evidence of a cult mindset in my opinion is the constant push back of the squeeze (storm in QAnon terms). Last Friday there was supposed to be a massive rise in prices (It was going to happen Thursday/Friday but RH screwed that up and I personally think they repositioned that day and it would've blew up otherwise) but there wasn't. So the massive rise got pushed to Monday and now its being pushed to later this week or even half a month. Much like the QAnon supporters waiting for martial law, squeezers keep pushing back and waiting for the squeeze.
As squeezers slowly realize the squeeze keeps getting pushed back and delayed more and more, they're becoming more and more disenfranchised about the squeeze. Further, the ones that stay are getting more radicalized and just buying (because the narrative that's being pushed is you need to buy all in for the squeeze to push) in even more risking entire savings to a promise of free money even after the stock already shot up 33x in a month.
For example let's take robinhood not having enough liquidity to pay their broker. Many squeezers speculated that it was Citadel who told RH to pull the plug because they were taking heavy loses (Citadel only reports 3% loses as of today). In reality this was not true and while many squeezers realized RH had a liquidity issue and were disenfranchised with the event (they got a 2bn bill) many more still think that some "deep state" is conspiring to rig the market against them and not RH still being a small company without an IPO and in one day had to 10x their bill.
The narrative that the prices are low because of the hedge funds (deep state) short laddering it and rigging it in other ways is also an excuse used to deflect the reality that no-one is buying in anymore and the hype has died. Its now likely a pump and dump; however, until the proper figures are filed on the 9th (I think its the 9th) I can only speculate.
Instead of "sheeple" we have "paper hands", "shills", "bots"
Some people even believe that these hedge funds are buying well aged well endowed (karma in the thousands) accounts en mass and having them do disinformation campaigns. I will admit that there were bots pushing stocks to be pump and dumped and pushing some silver. In reality Melvin literally has 33 employees I don't think they even have enough people to manage that kind of attack. Realistically its a pump and dump guy who is used to doing this spamming some bots however, a lot of them are just people who want in on the "next squeeze" (they don't understand why GME was special they just think we can squeeze shit now).
Ight I'm tired of writing this but hopefully you can see some comparisons between the two.**I hope I'm wrong and you guys make a lot of money riding to the moon have fun don't spend what you cant live with losing.**
In the wise words of WSB "You don't lose money until you sell"
​
Edits: more writing I guess this is really pissing me off (Tuesday 7 am)(as of 7:45 am GME is down to 147.5 I sold yesterday at 242 for a like 70% profit I was really hoping it'd go up)Also there are people capitalizing on the hype who are selling -shirts etcI might've even got a tattoo if it hit 5k or 10k, maybe these promises to ourselves have some sort of psychological impact on our belief systems (I've never taken a psych class so I don't)
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Fun fact hedge funds HEDGE bets so they typically don't take on infinite risk
https://www.reddit.com/stocks/comments/lak74v/confessions_of_a_short_selle?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3-
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Every piece of contradicting information is FUD! They "told you about it beforehand" that's right what an amazing prediction. Squeezer predicted people will experience FUD as the price drops but, because they told you about it before hand it means Melvin and its 33 employees are the driving force and not the person themselves. By this I mean squeezers are trying to redirect FUD as Melvin Capital and its bots (us) launching a mass disinformation campaign as opposed to reasonable skepticism.
https://www.reddit.com/wallstreetbets/comments/laq7vx/so_youre_experiencing_fud/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3

"So You're Experiencing FUD

📷Discussion Well what the hell, retard. What have we been telling you literally this whole time? 💎 👐. Its that fucking simple. What is so hard to understand about that? "
Apparently everything is a short attack. Notice the language in the post. They call people with skepticism bitches and retards etc.
Note I understand retard and profanity is part of WSB culture however since the vast majority of members are new I’m going to make the assumption that when they are referred to as a bitch they don’t perceive it as digging into a meme
to make it seem like they know less than the squeezers. That they are dumb inexperienced and should just trust the squeezers. This is a pretty effective tactic as most of them are inexperienced traders and its extremely predatory behavior by posters to take advantage of this fact.
The thing is everyone and their mother on WSB already knows what a short ladder is but... they keep pretending like people don't. There are constant posts about it because they assume people are selling (which they are and are likely demystified with the short ladder excuse at every drop).
This is essentially the stage where people either become extremely radicalized or disenfranchised as the price bombs and potentially goes parabolic down today.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here is a perfect example of always trying to find a way of morphing numbers to their liking https://www.reddit.com/wallstreetbets/comments/laoaru/read_this_they_are_screwed_numbers_dont_lie/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
Where in reality a counter argument to that nonsense is this guy: https://www.reddit.com/wallstreetbets/comments/laoaru/read_this_they_are_screwed_numbers_dont_lie/glpqp62?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
"Ihor is talking about the S3 float %, that's their propriety metric.
They also provide the standard free float %.
The S3 % float is at 34%, the standard free float is at 53% "
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I was also thinking about how the memes really kept me involved in the squeeze. They acted as a sort of propaganda, they took the edge off of being worried. Its interesting how propaganda has morphed into gifs about winning and "sticking it to the man" (until they realized the damage has already been done and the man is out and likely making money off the drop now).
While I was in the GME squeeze mindset and experienced FUD memes kind of reassured me that its alright, that this is a WAR (common theme used to describe it). This idea of being part of a financial war and the imagery of battling hedges etc, really helped me stay in at least for another day or two. It would be interesting to have someone more qualified than me look at the impact of propaganda via memes and people holding longer as my experience is only anecdotal and not empirical (I'm just a loser computer engineer who doesn't know much about social sciences).

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Here is a prime example of confirmation bias/whatever the fuck is going on in WSB.

https://www.reddit.com/wallstreetbets/comments/lal147/how_come_no_one_is_talking_about_the_duplicate/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
Instead of taking a rational position such as assuming that people who own GME likely own AMC as well so the selling and buying trends are similar. This post takes in the assumption that GME and AMC are mutually exclusive trends.
To say it clearly I'm suggesting someone who owns GME likely also owns AMC. Therefore, when somebody sells GME they will likely also sell AMC as they are both pump and dumps at this point (just my opinion there could still be a squeeze).
This post however, suggests that the downward trends are some sort of market manipulation while comparatively ignoring the correlation between upwards trends. They are suggesting that downward trends are manipulation and upwards trends are natural even though they are both extremely similar in this picture.
In my opinion this is the pinnacle of a cult type mindset/ignorance to alternative explanations. They cherry pick what they want to hear and ban/downvote alternative opinions (I'm not saying my opinion is right it's also a speculation; however, it should at least be considered, the banning of "free speech" is very detrimental to maintaining a neutral view).
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Just saw this post

https://www.reddit.com/wallstreetbets/comments/lax4z8/hardcore_laddering/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf
I’d like to suggest that this isn’t a short ladder at all and is in my opinion HFT algos and some day traders taking advantage of the volatility. I’ve actually looked into making HFT algos myself and some of my friends used to work in developing statistical learning models to trade. One very popular model is the random forests classification algorithm which is primarily good at trading momentum stocks like GME. To me this stock looks like the prime target for HFT as it’s extremely volatile and has lots of momentum trends.
HFT algos trade to make fractions of pennies on a trade however they sell large volume eg 100’s of shares at once. This means the fractions of pennies compound into dollars. A small % gain on large capital makes money. This to me looks just like that. Many trades milliseconds apart that make fractions of cents profits in large orders.
This isn’t a short ladder but companies like citadel who do HFT taking advantage of the volatility. However the narrative to the squeezers is that it’s evidence of a short ladder which in my opinion is completely false. It’s just another excuse to not look in deeper to what’s really going on. It the equivalent of creating some easy to play off excuse for the stock dropping.
Another edit:
It has occurred to me many people don’t know what HFT stands for. High Frequency Trading. It aims to make tens or hundreds of trades in milliseconds making fractions of pennies on a share. With large capital this can leads to lots of gain as making 0.00001% on a million dollars per millisecond compounds quickly. HFT accounts for nearly 60% (I didn’t google it I’m just going off my shitty memory don’t trust this number) of capital gain in the market today. ———————————————
On the bot accounts here is a claim of a “bot” account
https://www.reddit.com/wallstreetbets/comments/lazktn/bots_are_being_used_to_spread_negative_sentiment/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf
Look at his profile he is obviously not a bot he makes real comments I’ve seen bot nets they are expensive to buy and aren’t manually aged. He was just copy pasting his ideas which is spam not a bot.
There is a difference between spamming a comment and being a bot net funded by large hedge funds or someone else.
This is like a witch hunt at this point. He is a spammer not a bot.

I need people to read these beta versions of my fanfics and give critique on writing quality, I will be changing these versions quite often so please comment your thoughts.
Stars Afar .
//
First scene is completely environmental based, no Dialogues.
Introduce characters : Emilia, Otto, Subaru, Beatrice, Watson.
Tankas (575-77 syllables), Metaphors of flowers, Theme is suicide, 4-5 syllables rhyme with 2-3 syllables words, Humanize inanimate, action where there is no action.
Chapters (2000 words each) :
Eminem, Kendrick, DOOM My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
//
Chapter 1: Eminem, Kendrick, DOOM
: RECAP :
Three people, Subaru, Beatrice, Watson goes on an adventure that went horribly wrong in "Final Problem"
Left in the night snow, hopeless, debris with flames everywhere, what will happen next?
Stars Afar is a direct sequel to Final Problem.
Chapter 2: My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
Mantis eating birds,
Below, tons of skeletons,
Rats, birds, snakes and worms.
No creatures are born equal,
Self evident injustice.
Through work, make it work,
The scale is tipped, then a tip,
Tip now dip, equal.
Carriage shakes, cart skates, hearts paced,
Three lie down, two drive, one sits.
First person is blonde with a brown deerstalker cap, a monocle with Kurt Vonnegut's signature, wet snow jacket; like on a drug ballad, shaking in her boots.
Second person is brunette with a purple vest and burnt skin, an attendee for Genji, holding his monogatari books.
Third person is blond with a red jacket; she's like Allan Poe's sowed talent, with baggy eyes, batting sighs, tired looks.
_ First, I can't deal with this Em and Rem. My name is, My name is, Watson Amelia and I'm not afraid, till I collapse I- (Her teeths rattle and she pulls her wet snow jacket closer)
_ Second second ticks by and these walls be humble, rumbling, closing in, you are institutionalized, your dark thoughts bring complexion to comprehension, where's your momma, Natsuki Subaru? Is she for sale? Rigamortis? You're a failure, but you're going to be alright, open that book, and read, what does it say? Murasaki Shikibu. Good, now keep reading.
_ Third night she did not sleep, her solar flair twin hair flared, Beatrice doses off, "My Portinari." Subaru said, "My Dante." Bea with glee pleaded, the two tease each other with mad villainy, dripping off the beat kinda, Beatrice speaks like an accordion, before collapse, one final line : "Don't talk about my mom yo." and that's that.
Two drivers, two sisters, Rem and Ram, Blue and Pink hair, both wear maid outfits, one with class and one with sass. Insulting each other in good spirit, laugh it off after, till Emilia shush and shut them off.
One politician with the personality akin to a box of Spam, mails and meals beside her, Em, Emilia, fair hair linen and skin like hail storm outside.
Holding a crystal in her hand, it shines, Subaru's burns healed, Watson is now still, Beatrice's eye bags are gone.
Bea and Subaru close together to read a book.
Amelia noticed Emilia's crystal lost a large portion.
"Whoa." -Watson.
_ Do you know magic, miss Watson? I can teach you, if you need anything.
_ My father never taught me, he said that it's better without it. I disagree of course, I still want to make him proud though, so no.
_ I'm sure he would be proud of the soon to be nation's detective agency leader. (Wink, wink)
_ You're a funny politician, that's a first, but thanks, I really need that.
Emilia reads a paper:
_ There are two types of people, people who couldn't use magic and those who have enough resources.
(She shakes her head.)
The magic system was supposed to symbolize sacrifice and the ability to let go of material possessions. Spiritual, joy, now look at what it has become.
_ They used it to justify their own greed.
_Look! Look! (Emilia mocks)
Lightning strikes twice! My stupid gamble with taxpayers' money will definitely work out this time!
_ Can't float to heaven when you're weighed down by your own chains.
_ The means justify the end, not the other way around.
Yeah sure, if you believe that all evils will be punished in the end, you might ignore the current, present evil.
And by the time evil is punished, some thousands have starved, drained by parasites, the damage is done, and what's done is done.
We can't just pray for divine justice, if you want justice, prepare for war, cause the present is a present from the past to the future,
Peace exists where War has ceased.
_ Si vis pacem, para bellum.
I'm not of faith, no high hopes for change, but if you need me, miss, call.
Emilia's lip corners faintly lift upwards, she covers it quickly, purple iris looking away, with a blush spreading across her adorable face.
_ Thanks.
The two drivers of the cart say, without looking back:
_ Subaru! Take that sweet time with Beatrice, cause she'll be with Emilia, and you'll be with us in Otto's dock by sunrise.
Watson! Do you have anything to cover yourself with?
_ No, I left all my possessions with your mum last night.
_ The sun is going to give you the fourth sign in the zodiac, fine, we'll take you there too if you can't walk.
_ Whew! It's good to be lazy!
Outside, yonder of wonder :
Dark chocolate cake riddled with glitters,
Steams from ripe coffee, cacao earth slow cooked to perfection,
Herbs of fresh cool spring spring out,
Now is the summer of Leo, serviced with furnace heat.
In the city, an octopus swims in the air, floating.
It grabs onto the carriage, disguising itself,
A winged Brazilian wandering spider hunts down a falcon and it's children.
The eggs fell onto the ground, where it was cooked with the heat of the sun.
From boars, horses, dragons on all fours to halflings on all two, everyone moving quickly as possible, covered head to toe in linen, looking like mummies.
Grey stone pillars carried by teams of men, with the women inside making food and drinks, ice cream price at an all time low.
A worker fell onto the carriage.
_ Woah! What was that!?
_ They're struggling to meet the quota, at least one to three falls every day working on that stupid stadium.
_ Where are they carrying him?
_ They're going to bury him under the stadium.
_ Best case scenario, how many will perish by calculation?
_ Three months, 28 days each, times 3, make your count.
_ This needs an investigation, people's rights abuse!
_ Good luck without the governor's help, corrupt bureaucrats know how to make a mess of a court order, the only way change is coming is through an obvious choice
My way or YHWH.
_ Either change the rules or bite the dust?
_ Yep. Wake up Subaru for me, I'll get Beatrice, you're going alone right?
_ Yep! You know where I'll be, Watson out!
Watson wraps herself in yellow fabric.
Exits, the light shines, temporarily blinding everyone in the cart.
_ Beatrice! Come on!
Emilia grabs Bea leading the petite red linen covered maiden through the crowd and into marble parliament.
Giant building of pure white, reflecting light, making it unbearable to look at, stairs long and reaching heights of flights.
Half-Eagle could jump off here and glide down to a church.
Winds blowing, long strips of blue with white foams surrounding the city.
Back at the dock, waves splashes; people, animals communing, hammer breaking down stones, boulders lifted and dropped, creating loud bangs.
Two maids leading Subaru's hands inside the office of the dock owner.
"Otto Suwan Logistic, we specialize in: providing storage, plans, implement and control movements of goods, services and information."
( The manager says with a professional boring monotone )
_ Oh! Subaru! What's wrong with your leg? Why are you limping?
_ Um, long story, Otto.
_ Well now that you're here, we all need your help!
Rem, will you uh… Get me the… material analysis files while I uh…
Have fun with Subaru and Ram here?
_ You better makeout while I'm gone.
_ I am not a pervert!
Otto Suwan blushes, shaking, stopping, standing straight, breathing in and out.
He wears a fully dark green tunic with an Ottoman hat, ashen hair, red tie, professional suit but forgot to put his shirt in his pants, young in mannerism only, same age and height as Subaru, Five-Foot-Four.
Ram ruffles Subaru's hair, the pink hair maid, stared at both of the men with her signature look of superiority, chin raised high, eye half open, and a stupid half smirk on the side of her heart.
Subaru Natsuki fixes his orchid shirt and bushy spike hair style,
Otto leans towards Subaru from his table.
_ So, this is a legal thing but… Do you know what we do here?
_ You deliver meat?
_ (Otto cringed) It is our most valuable product but… Well let's make it simple :
People are starving, Subaru,
You know? World hunger and all that stuff.
_ Ah yeah, we're dealing with shipping food in the middle of a drought, farms and animals are… Well, not in a good state when the whole earth wants to melt stones.
_ Yes! We're managing it, storage and what not, we're not going to actually drive the carts.
_ Ah! Rem! Thank you for the files.
Rem joins Ram in ruffling Subaru's head.
Otto eye contracts when looking at the sheet, raised eyebrows, looking around, picking off his desk a jacket, shaking, breathing quickly.
"A new swine flu disease has propped up?" (He mumbles)
_ I have to go. You three! Don't worry,
Check if all the materials are in storage and the papers are accurate,
Check the quality, quantity and whether or not it's the right stuff,
That's all that you need to do! I'll mail you if I need anything!
Otto comes out into the sun, the disguised octopus comes inside his office, Otto runs yelling for a cab, getting on then going away. Passing through the marble parliament.

Hope everyone's had a good start to the new year. :)
I've managed to finish six games this month, so half of the target of 12 for the year! Yay! >_> Um, none of the games were on my target list however, because I was taking advantage of the Xbox Game Pass for PC (£1 for three months, yes sir.)
A reminder of the review scoring system I use, shamelessly stolen from VNDB, I quite like the system so;

1. Worst Ever
2. Awful
3. Bad
4. Weak
5. So-so (or average)
6. Decent
7. Good
8. Very Good
9. Excellent
10. Masterpiece

So, I have some reviews for you all;

• Deliver Us The Moon
• PC (XGP)
• Walking Sim/ Adventure
• 7/10 Good

A great opening game for January. Deliver us the Moon is a short Sci-Fi game taking place in a future where Earth has exhausted its natural resources and triggered a catastrophic climate change.
The solution? Mine a resource called Helium 3, which is found in abundance on the moon and then fire it like a laser right back to Earth to power the entire world.
For a time, it works, until one day it just stops and nobody knows why. You star as the guy sent into space to investigate what has happened and why. It is a fairly simple walking sim/adventure, you go from various environments, exploring a short bit of Earth, the Moon and the stations. Along the way you solve puzzles and collect titbits of information – if you played Tacoma, this is similar, with videos playing the history of what happened as you investigate.
There’s a sweet little twist that happens early on, and a fairly sombre conclusion. I was thoroughly engrossed enough to play this in one full sitting and I only missed two collectables from my lazy exploration. Definitely one for Sci-Fi fans to pick up, it won’t break records for innovation, but it is a thoroughly good game, and we all love good games, don’t we? 😊

• Gears of War: Ultimate Edition
• PC (XGP)
• Third person shooter, dude-bro's wet dream.
• 7/10 Good.

Let me get it out of the way with; I hate the dude-bro culture, beefcakes walking around shouting ‘HELL YEAH’, while swinging their imaginary dicks about, popping biceps and screeching of how manly they are.
Gears of War (GoW) is therefore, a dude-bro’s wet dream, and my potential nightmare of a game to deal with.
It features excessively ridiculous beefcakes and buzz cuts, with references to American football, big dick energy and ‘HELL YAH!’ as they pop off headshots with impunity. It is masculinity (the good, the bad, the ugly) in a game, including, the sad, waste of life and nasty ways to die.
For in GoW, Earth Sera is fucked, under invasion from ‘locusts’, beings that came from underground. They pop up and absolutely decimate humans (and they might be saying ‘hell yeah’ in locust language, who knows?) and some of their methods are horrific, which contrasts with the psych-up, testosterone fuelled shooting that goes on in-between the red shirt deaths.
You star as a military prisoner, busted out and ‘pardoned’ cos, y’know, world is in deep shit. And you join Delta Squad as they head off to help Alpha Squad to deal with a plan to eliminate the Locust threat. The story is fairly suitable for a shooter, the dialogue, when not full of hell yeah, headbutt! Is actually quite reasonable.
As a game, I think GoW is lovely, it runs brilliantly, I can maintain 60fps+ on 4K without my fans spinning a tornado of furious heat! And it plays well too; it is a bit outdated in today’s terms, and there were some things I had to get to grips with – Active reload is an infuriating mechanic because the timing bar (you have to hit a sweet spot) for reloading is up in the upper right corner, and I’m too busy fucking about trying to heave my bollocks into cover to pay attention.
Still, it is smooth and enjoyable. You move from mission to mission with your squad – who do very little except get shot at, and you go through various encounters with various enemy types to keep things spicy.
I think it is a good game; if you love dude-bro culture, jump on in. If you don’t, I’d give it a go anyway. I’m told it is excellent fun in co-op mode, but given the age of the game, it is more likely you’d be on your own (unless you like pop-in campaigns), but if you can get a friend to join you, then do so, as the AI squad really are useless.

• Star Renegades
• PC (XGP)
• Turn based rogue light
• 6/10 Decent.

Star Renegades is a mish-mash of elements from popular games. It runs an “Into the Breach” timeline story mechanic for when you die, combined with camping and relationship building, mixed with levelling, mixed with an overworld map that copies picking a ‘route’ through to various boss fights, mixed with a planet select and loot crate loot grind. Oh, and it copies the Nemesis system from the Mordor games.
Oh, and there’s a time-based turn-based combat system.
There’s a lot to unpack; But the meat of the game is in the combat, where you select skills with the ultimate aim of killing the enemies (duh). The hook is you have a 60 second ‘round’ and every skill has a timer to trigger. You can push enemy skills back, or ‘break’ them from the round if you push them hard enough, and vice versa. In that way, you can avoid being hit by ‘breaking’ an enemy by pushing their turn into the next round. You need to do this, because healing is basically a rarity, and you have to manage shields and armour and your health. Plus, a truck ton of status effects and whatnot.
It is so packed, that the UI in battle is a ginormous mess, often tooltips end up covering the whole screen, and there are some stodgy mechanics in play. For example, you can only attack a frontline enemy, they have to die before you can hit the backline. But, if you stack your turns so that you know your first hit will kill the enemy, you can’t target the backline with the rest of your crew, you just have to wait and see who in the line they attack. That’s a poor oversight, since it eliminates an aspect of tactics from your combat.
Everything else in the game is sheer bloat. The nemesis system is very dull, because each round on a planet is so short, you genuinely won’t really pay that much attention to the mooks, nor care, because the dialogue is hammed up to be OTT. Sometimes it is funny, sometimes it’s just ‘yeah, ok, lol random, didn’t this phase die in the 90’s?’ You’re set up to ‘die’, so you can restart from the beginning, picking a new crew and going through the same set ups and planets, which seems unnecessary. (For what it’s worth… I beat the game on my first run, with the tutorial crew on the normal difficulty setting.)
Basically, this game mashes together so many elements, it fails to do any one properly, resulting in a mish-mash that comes across undercooked, flat even, and it such a shame because the game’s intro sequence was so energetic, I thought it was exciting and was strapping myself in for a gut punch of a story, but no, I’m stuck in another dull rogue light. In essence, the intro is almost an example of the game, a misdirection, a false dawn, something that it never quite sets out to be. A complete lack of focus basically. I think, they completely missed the ball trying to go the comedy/lolrandom dialogue route, a bit of seriousness to this game wouldn’t have gone amiss, and the narrative potential is unique, and squandered, like the rest of the game.
That doesn’t mean it is a bad game, as negative as I sound, it’s just decent, it’s just there, and unless you really like the genre, I suspect for most people it’ll just be ‘a-ok’, but nothing memorable.

• GreedFall
• PC (XGP)
• Action-RPG (Think, Bioware-like)
• 6/10 Decent (objective) / 7/10 Good (personal)

An original Action-RPG with a focus on the colonisation era. This is a pure fantasy world, where you play as De Sardet (male or female), the legate (diplomat) of the Congregation of Merchants (Venice is probably the IRL inspiration).
Your country has a policy of neutrality in political affairs, preferring to trade riches with various Allies, among them; The Bridge Alliance (A Middle-Eastern/African inspired coalition of nations focusing on science and alchemy) and Theleme (absolutely Spain and its religious nuts). Theleme and the Alliance are at war, so you have a nice piggy in the middle situation going on.
On the ‘continent’, the nations are suffering from a plague called the Malachor. But there’s hope, for each nation is establishing a foothold on an island called Tere Fradee, although it is already occupied by ‘savage’ natives. It is here, that GreedFall mostly takes place, once you get off the tutorial in the continent, you’re off to the colony island and into a diplomatic heave-ho with all the nations, plus the natives.
There are a lot of themes in this game, nature vs science, religion and technology, exploitation and balance, savagery and ‘civilisation’, and as the legate, you get to experience it as a focal point due to diplomacy. You also amass quite the entourage of NPC allies to join you.
This game is basically like an old-school Bioware RPG, think Dragon Age Origins, or the early Mass Effect, but in a colonial setting; there are tons of dialogue, quite a few charisma skill checks (it’s diplomacy, come on!) and each NPC has a personal quest to resolve to build up relations etc.
In terms of writing, the game is great, but somewhat choppy due to its freeform, semi-open world nature to quests. Exploring the island and dealing with the diplomatic situations are the highlights, as are the conversations.
However, gameplay-wise, this game is a drab affair that shows its age. Combat is dull, tedious even – I am not ashamed to have dialled it down to Easy because I didn’t really want to deal with a horrifically wonky camera and a very basic hack and slash action combat. It also, isn’t a big budget game, so animations are bad, facial expressions/lip synch simply isn’t happening. (A friend of mine called it a ‘PS3 era’ graphics and camera-work type of game, take from that what you will.)
Accessibility wise; the subtitles are littered with spelling errors – they hired someone who made a cardinal sin of translating ‘could’ve as ‘could of’’, which is abhorrent! This same intern misspells ‘lose’ as ‘loose’, which, I’m sorry, is embarrassing to see.
You can see the spelling issues throughout the game, for example the game regularly calls the island ‘Tere Fradee’, but the codex correctly labels is as Tir Fradi (along with all the little notches to show pronunciation), so, it is quite apparent that the left and right hands of the writing/subtitles team weren’t communicating to each other. (But seriously, sack that ‘loose’ intern, he should not be on the subtitling/writing team if he is making such basic errors, and slap that editor for allowing that to pass…) Despite the flaws, this is a joyous experience, that will appeal to some nostalgia for BioWare fans in a way, and is worth the look in for anyone wanting to roleplay a diplomat. My advice? Get it on the Game Pass, or buy it on a steep discount. The regular price of £44 is an absolute rip off, and there are lists of games better than this at that price point. A fairer price would be £15-20, but I think this is such a good narrative, bad gameplay type of game that it is one of those that is risky to jump into at any price really as it is going to depend whether the central themes grip you or not. Definitely try it out if you can, especially on gamepass (for £1, why not?), and see if you like it, because it has done well enough that they’re apparently making an expansion, as well as updated versions for the new consoles. 😊
For what it is worth, I’ve put two scores up there; personally, I liked the game enough to consider it a good game. However, on an objective level, the flaws are as such that outside of genre fans, this has to be a 6/10 game, it is decent, and nothing is wrong with that. Decent games are still decent games! I will, however, have a soft spot for this one, such is the impression it left on me, but for most people, I’m unsure the feeling will be mutual, hence; 6/10.

• Spiritfarer
• PC (XGP)
• Management / Narrative game
• 7/10 Good.

It is hard to fit Spiritfarer into a genre, it is basically a management/farming game on a boat. In between the resource gathering and crafting, is a narrative story focused on death and dealing with it. For, you are Stella, Charon’s replacement (that’s the ferryman that ferries dead souls across the river if you’re unsure), and your new job is to ferry souls across the river to the Everdoor, where they cross over.
In this sea-world, you tend to your spirit’s needs, feeding them, building them homes etc on your ship. All the while, you must upgrade your own ship to break into new areas, for new resources along the treadmill of resource grind.
This is what stops it from getting an 8/10, because the graphics, music, narrative and subject matter is phenomenal, however… The game hangs around like someone fighting death, it just won’t let go and… die. It hangs around about two or three spirits too long, one zone too long, too many resources too long. The result is, early on everything’s new and shiny and fun, but towards the end it dips so badly it becomes a chore, a victim of its grind. What compounds it, is the early spirits are all pretty sweet, nice people to deal with, but the end game ones are so abrasive you may as well tell them to eff off.
So, it is for those reasons that this game misses out on scoring higher, but in the end, it is still a good game, and it is one you may need to bring some tissues with you as the emotional punch of some of the deaths/spirits you’re dealing with is downright horrific, especially when it comes to neglect, abuse or end of life disabilities. Spiritfarer deserves commendation for tackling these subjects, doing it in an artsy way, the animal spirits and personalities are mostly enjoyable and relatable and that helps to drive home the message of death and acceptance.
Definitely one that all with a fairly open mind should tackle, and if you’re into management/farming/resource gathering, there’s that too, and it is worth playing overall.

• Mars Horizon
• PC (Steam)
• Race-to-space Agency management game.
• 7/10 Good.

If you’ve played Buzz Aldrin’s Race into Space, or it’s abandoned ‘remake’ Space Program Manager, then you’ll know exactly what you’re getting with Mars Horizon. For those who don’t know, Mars Horizon puts you in charge of a space operations agency, either NASA, or the Soviets, or alternatively; China, Japan and Europe’s own variants.
You manage your base, research and mission priority queues. The aim of the game is to race the other AI Competitors as you race into space. You start with basic rocket tests, moving onto getting animals into space, then humans and so on. The ultimate aim for this game is to get the first crewed mission to Mars.
Along the way, with each research goal completed, and each mission undertaken, you unlock a historical codex filled to the brim with facts and information about the current state of space projects today.
The gameplay is simple enough, you have a research queue where you research mission types, let’s say a satellite. Then you have to research the rockets and payload carrying modules, assign them in production, build them, then if all goes well, pick a launch month and fire it up into space.
As you enter space, you go into mini-games which determine whether the mission succeeds or not. So, that satellite will have a mini game to establish an orbit around Earth, followed up by another to ‘deploy’ the instruments. These mini games are mathematical resource challenges, you need to spend resources to build other resources, and only when you have all the required net resources will the mission succeed. To add to the challenge, you have to deal with heat management, radiation, drift and thrusters. All of these issues are also challenged by your reliability rating – if you skimped on your mechanical issues in production, then you may fail a resource move because the equipment malfunctioned. (You can spend other resources to bypass the malfunction, and so on.)
It isn’t exactly high-brow gaming, but the mini game can be addicting at times, but there’s an auto-resolve for those who can’t be bothered (though you lose out on bonus resources if you do this, which will make the game harder if you play on any difficulty above Easy.)
I enjoyed my time here, I had a blast, and when I was done, I was just about ready to stop playing – so, the game paced itself well and kept me engaged. It is a solid game, but I would like to see the developers try and build upon this if they ever make a sequel, because it has a lot of potential.
Criticisms? Graphically it isn’t much to look at, it is an indie game after all, and there aren’t enough options to do a sandbox game or something like that, but again, the developers had to prioritise resources I assume.
On a sidenote, I want to rant about people who played this and left crappy reviews. I saw a lot of comparisons to Kerbal Space Programme when I trawled reviews before buying it, and it annoyed me, because they aren’t anywhere near the same genre, nor do they even play similarly. I don’t think the game even tries to be anything like it, so I don’t get why people seem to have misled themselves and have punished the developers with negative reviews for their own weird expectations. And what makes it particularly annoying, is there’s a demo available on Steam (go try it), so there’s no excuse really.
Anyway, I think it is a good game, it won’t break the bank and it won’t set new trends, but it’s great to see a modern Race into Space, especially given SPM is abandoned.
Those are my six completions for January. I did abandon some games along the way, a bonus of the XGP is I get to try them and not feel too bad about ditching them. I threw four games down the can and have mini-reviews (no scores, and they won't count to the review statistics end of the year);

• Neoverse –

Terrible. Presentation wise it just dumps you in and comes across as a port of a mobile gambling game. Not even worth the download space.

• Torment: Tides of Numenera:

It sits on ‘mixed’ reviews on Steam, and probably deserves that. If you’re going to push a CRPG narrative game, then the introduction needs to be compelling, or if it is slow, it needs to build up steam quickly to keep people hooked. This game is too old-school for its own good. It is both slow, cryptic and filled with info dumps worth of text and dialogue. The result for most people will be complete and utter boredom. I switched off before the game could even pick up a head of steam, because it is just too slow and plodding and wordy, which isn’t an ideal way to start a narrative-centric game. (Disco Elysium is probably the best modern example of how to do narrative beats with a reasonably solid pacing and colour.)
*Battle Chasers: Nightwar:
Glad I played it on the pass instead of wasting the asking price for this one. It is too slow as a game overall – pacing matters a lot, this has too little of it. Going through slow battle systems against dull enemies is just offensive. The story did catch my interest, and the intro sequence was filled with humour and drama, but the underlying mechanics simply don’t back that up, resulting in a snooze-fest for me, so I abandoned it promptly several hours in.

• The Gardens Between:
  A puzzler, based on time manipulation (back and forth) to carry light around. As pretty as it seems, the concept just happens to be packaged into a fairly dull game. I was bored rather quickly and didn’t feel like slogging through the tests they were offering.
  

And finally one more review, this time pertaining to the XGP itself;

• XboX Game Pass PC
• 5/10 So-So

The XGP is superb value if you can snag it for £1. At the time of writing, they were offering 3 months for £1, which is definitely something everyone should get. This review is exclusively for the PC version;
I wish to point out that at £1, you can’t really argue with the value, as there as several games worthy of being played on the XGP.
As a dip-in, dip-out offering, it is excellent, provided you have the time to play the games before expiration, particularly expiration of your monthly membership; For example, I wouldn’t want to be starting up a Final Fantasy game, or Wasteland 2/3 knowing it was ‘expiring’ next month, as these games are long enough without the need for any form of time pressure. (After I had written this, one of the Final Fantasy games did indeed exit the game pass, lol.)
Outside of the game offerings, there is little to recommend about the XGP for PC. The Xbox app is slow, laggy and basically not designed for PCs. The store interface is awful, the lag is terrible – it’s almost like playing on an old console with no memory. This absolutely needs more work. Download speeds are also fairly inconsistent, sometimes incredibly, frustratingly slow. Additionally, after a game is downloaded and ready to play, you have to fire it up and add it to the app permissions, which is slow… and laggy, and fuck me, just let me play the game? I even had it popping up asking me to review a game in the middle of the game. =/
The app is bad enough that it will sit on a 5/10 rating no matter how sexy the value proposition is. I would be offended to be paying £7-15 non-sale price for XGP to have to sit through the app (or the storefront). Another issue is that the app hides the games, which can impact you if you use things like GeForce Experience for graphics optimisation, basically, you can't use it. (I know some gamers will say 'hah, noob, just adjust things yourself' or whatever, but for people uncomfortable or unfamiliar with playing around with graphics settings these tools have a use)
At £1, jump in on this. I just want to see better performance overall, on top of further games (permanently would be ideal) before I could justify subbing personally.

• Conclusion, February outlook

I've gone back to Final Fantasy XIV, the MMORPG, as I said I would in my year-review, as I want something I can just dip into for a bit. It's just my mood at the moment. I have a month and a bit left on the XGP, so my main goal besides the MMO is to finish off anything I like on XGP. At the moment, I'm playing the Medium (which is looking like a 5-6/10 game), but otherwise I'm not sure what else I'll chip away at along the way.
Oh, and I've been working at transferring my 12in12 reviews over to Steam, into that curator page I set up I think two years ago? You can find it here and don't worry, I'm not going to tell you to "smash that like button" and subscribe to my onlyfans (you wouldn't want to anyway), I just thought it would be nice to have a record of all the reviews, since it's what I'm doing, so why not? If any of you decide to do the same, let me know, so I can add you on Steam and see how your reviews build - of course, if you want to stay private, that's absolutely fine too.
Anyway, if you read all that, best of luck for February! :D

“A fortune in fabulous prizes may go to these people today, if they know when The Price Is Right!”
Dah-dah-dah-dah. Dah-dah-dah-dah… I catch myself humming the theme song. I’m such a grandma knitting along to late night gameshow re-runs. But Bob Barker’s good company when you're in the middle of nowhere babysitting. The silence out here is disturbing.
“Rachel Donaldson, come on dowwwn! Yooou’re the next contestant on The Price Is Right!”
I glance up at the TV. Rachel’s jumping and squealing and throwing her hands in the air. I bet she’ll win a new car. God, it’s taking me forever to save for mine. I can hear my mom’s voice in my head: “You need to learn the true value of a dollar.” The only handout that woman gives is unwanted advice.
I set down my knitting needles to stretch my fingers. I have to finish one cat fedora, three dog bandanas and a guinea pig sweater by next Friday. My Etsy shoppers seem to love this stuff (not sure about their pets). But even still, I’d have to sell a million Chihuahua beanies to afford a car.
On screen, Rachel Donaldson’s bidding $1 on a 6-person hot tub. Hmm, seems risky to me. But as mom likes to say, “You have to take risks to get ahead.”
“Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!”
And once again mom’s right (boo). Rachel’s gamble paid off. She's through to the next round. Her family goes ballistic in the audience, screaming so loud it’s going to blow out the Richardson’s fancy surround sound.
Shit, I should turn the TV down. If I wake up the kids now, I’ll never get them back to sleep. And cranky kids means cranky parents. I need to keep this gig. Turns out babysitting pays way more than my animal couture line. And Tatiana and Julian are pretty easy to watch . Though tonight they seemed in a funk. Barely spoke. Maybe they decided they don't like me.
I stare down at five remotes sitting next to a fat ‘Entertainment Center’ instruction packet. Seriously? I try the volume button and nothing happens. I hit ‘power’. Still no go. Maybe the 'mute' button? It oddly does the trick. Rachel Donaldson is now noiselessly celebrating, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as a plastic Plinko disc lands on a $5,000 payout.
Ahoooga! Ahoooga!
The noise makes me jump. For a split second I think it's coming from the TV. But, no, the volume’s still muted.
Ahoooga! Ahoooga!
It’s outside. Some kind of… honking? I picture a tiny car full of murderous clowns flashing chainsaws and uzis (too many B horror movies with my brother). The Richardson’s neighbors are at least a quarter-mile away, so if I screamed for help, no one would hear. I creep toward the window, a little freaked out. But let’s be real, what blood-thirsty murderer would announce themself with a cartoon horn?
I peer through a crack in the blinds, not wanting whoever it is to see me. It’s dark out, but I spot an old, boxy RV parked on the single-lane country road at the end of the Richardson’s drive. Its brights are on, giving the vehicle a visible aura, as if having landed from outer space. The passenger door is thrown open. I squint and make out a hunched over figure in the driver’s seat hitting the horn.
Ahoooga!
The side door of the RV is open too. Framed inside is the teapot silhouette of a women with big hair piled on top of her head. Hands on her hips, she yells at the figure in the front seat. Probably her husband. He hits the horn again. This is annoying. They're gonna wake the kids. I should go out there and tell them to stop.
Out on the porch I stop a sec. I hate confrontation. But they seem harmless… Definitely not murderous clowns. Just some old timers who probably lost their way on these crazy ass backroads. There are at least three streets with “Pine” in the name around here. Even confuses me.
I decide to be a Good Samaritan and take a few steps down the drive, not wanting to shout too close to the house. “Everything okay?” I holler out to the couple.
Startled, the woman puts her hand to her heart. “Oh, honey. Didn’t see ya there.”
“Sorry,” I apologize. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Oh it’s okay. I’m an old fraidy cat.” The woman remains in silhouette. Just a voice in the dark. “Hate to interrupt your evening. But you see, we’re in a bit of a pickle. I was having Dennis here… wave, Dennis, to the little girl…”
The man in the front seat nods at me. I wince at her use of the word “little.” I may be small for my age, but I’m not a little girl.
The woman rambles on, “I was having him honk the horn to see if anyone was home. Didn’t want to trespass on this fine property. You never know who’s locked and loaded these days. I’m scared of dogs, too, if I’m honest. Been bit more than once and let me tell you, the bite is worse than the bark.” The woman laughs, and I join her. I’m used to laughing at adults’ dumb jokes.
“Are you lost?” I ask. “I can point you to the highway.”
The woman flips on a bug light rigged to the RV and steps down into the neon blue glow. I can see her face now. Makeup caked on. The shadows from her fake lashes like spiders on her cheeks. She’s older. Maybe gram’s age. With dangling turquoise earrings.
“Damn mosquitoes. Nearly sucking me dry.” The woman swats at her neck and checks her palm. “Ooh, got ‘em!” She wipes the guts on her pants. “I’m Marianne by the way. And no, hon, we’re not lost. Not in the literal sense anyway. We’d pulled off a few hours ago to catch a little shuteye, get a little beauty sleep. Dennis set an alarm on his phone, but the bugger ran out of juice. Turns out we no longer have a charger because my hubby here,” Marianne slams her palm on the RV, “let a pretty girl at the last RV park borrow it and never asked for it back! Worse yet, because we overslept, we’re now in danger of losing our spot at tonight’s park.”
Now I’m wishing I’d stayed inside.
“So you see, I desperately need to call ahead to let them know we’re only a couple hours away but have no working phone. You get where I’m going with this, darling?”
I do. But no way am I letting a stranger use my phone.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, wagging her finger. “You don’t want a stranger fiddling with your phone. So what if I sweeten the deal? Would five dollars help? It’s one measly phone call. Dennis!” she shouts, without letting me answer. “Bring me the can!”
I watch Dennis reach between the front seats and grab a red Folgers coffee can. He holds it out the passenger window, giving the can a shake. I can hear coins jangling. And it reminds me of my gram hiding “emergency money” in an old ice cream carton in the freezer.
Marianne huffs and shuffles over to her husband. “Thanks for the effort, dear. Always making me come to you,” she barks. “I’ll remember this when someone wants their back scratched tonight.” She snatches the can and pops the top. Crumpled cash falling out as she digs around inside. She chooses a bill and holds it out to me, like offering a treat to a feral cat.
I think on it. Five bucks could buy me a couple skeins of yarn. That’s about three dog sweaters at fifteen dollars a pop. So forty bucks profit, all from a harmless phone call which costs me nothing. “Sure,” I finally reply, handing her my phone… and hope I don't regret it.
“I didn’t catch your name honey,” Marianne says, while slipping me the wrinkly five-dollar bill.
“Delphine,” I answer, then realize I could’ve said any name. Jessica or Sasha or Princess Buttercup. But what’s it matter? They’ll be gone soon.
Marianne disappears with my phone into the RV. They better not take off with it. I listen close and can hear bits and pieces of her conversation with the RV park. It doesn’t sound good. Antsy, I check out Dennis still in the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a fishing vest over his t-shirt, its zillion pockets bulging with who knows what. He dips into one and pulls out a small black comb, running it through his patchy grey hair.
“Where you guys from?” I ask, trying to fill the awkward silence.
Instead of answering, he leans forward and pulls a Red Vine out of a giant plastic container on the dash, offering it to me. I shake my head ‘no’. Never take candy from a stranger.
“Here and there,” he finally replies, before taking a bite of his Red Vine. Smacking as he chews.
“Don’t tease the girl, Dennis,” Marianne scolds, stepping out with my phone. “We’re from a one-horse town in Arizona. Retired this last year after working our fingers to the bone our whole lives. Then set out to travel this great country in old Shitbird here… if you’ll excuse my French. But she’s a real piece of work. Prone to flat tires and flattening squirrels.”
I scan the RV. ‘Shitbird’ sums it up. The outside’s caked in bugs and dust. The passenger mirror is duct taped together. And there’s a dent in the bumper suspiciously shaped like a deer.
Marianne catches me staring. “I know, I know. She's a little worse for wear. You know the saying, some things are like a fine wine, they get better over time? Well that ain’t her.” She laughs, and this time I don’t laugh with her. I’m ready for them to be gone. “Anyway, we’re doing the festival circuit and have come here for your famous Apple Jubilee. I’m sure you know it well.”
I nod, the mention making me cringe. An apple-eating duck nearly took my finger off one year at that kiddie fest. I refuse to go back, even for the deep-fried apple turnovers. Marianne hands me my phone. The cover is smudged from oily fingers and smells of cheap rose perfume. Grrrrross. “Well I better head back inside,” I tell her. “Good luck with the rest of your trip.” I turn to go.
“We could use a pinch of luck, that’s for darn tootin’,” Marianne sighs. “Looks like they gave away our spot.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the next favor.
“You don’t suppose we could stay parked here for a short while? Just until we figure out what to do.” Marianne fusses with her hair, as the blue bug light zaps its first victim. “Would hate to waste gas driving around in circles.”
I’m not sure what to do. It’s not my dream to have them parked here. But can I force them to leave? They’re on a public road. “Yeah. I guess that's fine.” Before Marianne can say anymore, I hurry inside and lock the door. Peeking through the blinds, I watch Dennis shove an armful of stuffed plastic grocery bags into the Richardson’s garbage bin. He makes three of these trips, struggling to pound the last few bags in. Finally, he slams the lid shut, giving the can a good kick, having won the battle.
If I was braver, I’d tell them this wasn’t the county dump. Instead, I check on the kids. Their rooms are quiet and dark. Good, still comatose. It took forever to get Julian to sleep. He kept crying and saying his parents weren’t coming back. Poor little dude. As I leave Tatiana's room, I notice a new pair of ice skates hanging on the back of her door. These kids want something, they get it.
“Watch out!” a voice echoes through the house.
I freeze. My heart pounding.
“… You’re close to losing it all, if you can’t guess the price of this gold-plated Timex wristwatch!”
Duh, idiot. It’s only Bob Barker… But didn't I mute that guy? I hurry into the living room, half expecting to find Marianne there, eating Red Vines on the couch and swatting mosquitos.
“Put your thinking cap on, Tony. You’re playing for a new car,” Bob continues.
Of course the living room’s empty. I mute the TV again, still unable to figure out how to turn it off. I grab my knitting – and the hairs on my neck stand up. My Spidey sense tells me I’m being watched. And sure enough, I spin around to find Mr. Richardson’s face glaring over me.
I stare back at him, only a picture on the wall. Mrs. Richardson stands by her husband in the photo holding a picnic basket. Her hair in a smooth, shiny bob. Julian and Tatiana hold hands amongst a carpet of yellow and red autumn leaves. The kids are grinning ear to ear, but you can tell they’re uncomfortable in the old timey clothes they’ve been forced to wear. I laugh (the kids’ holiday elf costumes were even worse), but notice something odd about the picture. Mr. R’s gone grey. I thought his hair was dark brown but dude must dye it. Even stranger, his eyes are two different colors, one blue, one brown. Which I know isn’t right…
Knock-knock-knock.
I drop the remote. Del – stop being so jumpy. I walk to the front door and peer through the peephole. It's Marianne and her red beehive hair. If I ignore her, maybe she’ll go away. I hold statue-still, trying not to make any noise.
“I can hear you breathing behind there, Delphine,” she says in a singsong voice, bringing goosebumps to my arms. “Don’t be frightened. It’s me. Marianne.”
Ugh, there’s no avoiding this woman. I crack open the door knowing the screen’s latched, creating a barrier between us.
“There you go. Better to talk face-to-face. I promise not to bite.” She lets out a dry, crackly laugh. “I do hate to bother you again, but Dennis has outdone himself this time. Spilled my last bottle of cooking oil all over the Shitbird’s carpet right before I was about to cook him up a plate of Salisbury steak.”
I give a blank stare, wondering if she’s for real right now. They’re cooking dinner?! They should be cooking up a plan of where to sleep tonight. I picture a greasy stovetop and the smell of burning meat and gravy filling the RV.
Marianne inches close to the screen, the tip of her nose grazing it. The heat of her breath assaults me. I take a step back, as she goes on, “I wouldn’t ask to borrow from a complete stranger unless I was desperate. Dennis is lousy with diabetes, god bless him, from all that pop he drank to stay awake on nightshifts. If I don’t feed the man in the next few minutes, he’s bound to slip into a capital ‘C’ coma.”
I flash to the Richardson’s coming home to an ambulance in their driveway. They’d have a heart attack no doubt, afraid one of the kids was hurt. I’d never be asked back to babysit. Maybe they'd tell the whole town, and my other families would ban me too. “I want to help…" I start. “But it’s not my house. It doesn’t seem right to take without asking.”
Marianne nods. “I understand. One-hundred percent. But trust me, no one’s gonna miss a tablespoon of olive oil.” Marianne studies my face. I think she can sense my hesitation. “What about this? I’ll give you ten dollars for it. The oil’s only worth a handful of cents. It’s a heck of a deal. And I bet a young girl like you is saving up for something special. A new dress, perhaps, or a nice pair of earrings…”
I glance down at my ripped jeans and baggy hoodie. Is she throwing shade?
“Well… whad’ya say?” She holds out her hand to shake on it. Her fingers are full of rings. Costume jewelry, I bet.
“Okay,” I answer, leaving her hand hanging. If mom was here she’d say “never trust free money”. But what harm’s a little extra cash?
I keep the screen door locked and head into the Richardson’s kitchen. The pantry is as organized as a supermarket shelf. Tidy rows of healthy kids snacks, protein bars and canisters of dried beans arranged by color. Totally OCD. On the back shelf I spy a row of oils – avocado, sesame, vegetable, walnut and a green one called grapeseed. No olive oil anywhere. Maybe I should give this nutter the cheap stuff and call it a day.
“You alright, darlin’?” Marianne hollers through the screen. She rattles the door, trying to open it. “Unlatch this darn thingamajig, and I can come help ya.”
I ignore her and grab the vegetable oil, since its plastic bottle looks the least expensive. I pour a large spoonful in a Dixie cup, doubting she’ll even know the difference. Back at the door, Marianne takes the oil and sniffs it. For a second, I worry I’ve been caught. But she smiles, lifts her shirt (umm, is she gonna flash me?) and unzips a nude colored, sweat-stained money belt. I try not to make a face as she hands me a limp ten dollar bill. The money’s warm and moist.
But hey, money’s money.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Delphine,” Marianne says, zipping the money belt closed and tucking in her purple bedazzled blouse. “Could I interest you in a plate? My kids used to say my Salisbury steak is the best on the block. Course, they’re all grown now. Don’t need me… Except when they need help paying their rent, that is.” She’s silent for a moment. Sad maybe. “Would make me mighty happy to feed you,” she adds, eager.
“No thanks, ma’am. I already ate.” Not trying to hurt her feelings, but no way am I eating a plate of her Salisbury steak.
Marianne frowns. “Your loss then,” she huffs, turning on her heels and strutting back to the RV. I swear I see her toss the oil into a bush. But it’s hard to make out much in the dark.
I curl up on the couch and get back to my Chihuahua beanie. The Price Is Right cuts to an ad for our local car dealership. The TV’s still on mute, but I can hear the jingle in my head: “Don’t waste your time going online. Come see Gervis for customer service…” The owner, Gervis McNally, rides a horse past the small electric car I’m saving for. I picture no longer taking the bus to school in the mornings or relying on my parents for rides everywhere. I could grab a peppermint mocha with double whip whenever I want. Purrrre freedom.
Bob Barker’s back now greeting a new contestant on stage. I dig into my backpack for a skein of yellow yarn, when the damn TV unmutes again. Did I sit on the remote? I reach under me to check, when Bob turns to camera.
“Check the kid’s bedroom, Delphine.”
My heart stops. Bob Barker’s talking to me.
“Because you’re about to win a 4-piece children’s bedroom set,” Bob exclaims, as the show’s snappy music fires up.
I laugh, relieved. Hello, I’m not the only Delphine in the world. I find the remote tucked between the couch cushions and mute the set again. It sounds nuts, but I can’t shake the idea Bob was talking to me. Maybe I should go check on the kids. Doesn’t hurt.
I peek in on Tatiana first. Even though she’s seven-going-on-thirty and mouthy as my cousin Sheila, she’s sleeping like a baby with her thumb in her mouth. I sneak into Julian’s room next and am hit with a gust of chilly air. His race car curtains rise and fall, as though breathing. I swear the window wasn’t open when I tucked him in. Right? I creep across the wood floor, trying not to step on the ruins of a Lego castle. I reach to close the window, and then I see it. A large shadow moving along the grass in the backyard.
Something's out there.
It feels like I'm sinking into the carpet. Totally spooked. I hear Julian stir and know I’ve got to check it out. I’m in charge of these kids after all. One step at a time, Del. Go to the kitchen. Flip on the back porch light. And have a look.
I make my way there and peer through the sliding glass door. The backyard is empty. Thank god. Maybe it was a deer. Or a coyote. Or a freakin' tree blowing in the wind… I should make a cup of cocoa and chill the hell out.
I grab the kettle from the stove, then freeze. There’s a noise behind me. On the back porch. I don’t want to turn around. Because the sliding doors are shaking. As if a burglar’s trying to break in. A scream rises in my throat.
“Delphiiiinnneee.” Marianne’s voice is both welcome and disturbing. “I tried the front door, but you must have cotton stuck in your ears.” She taps on the slider like a woodpecker, over and over. “Delphine? Delphine! I’m lookin’ right at you. Turn around.”
My body tenses, and I spin around to face her. Through the glass, I see the expression on Marianne’s face. She’s almost… angry. Or at least irritated. Her smile stretched too wide, reminding me of a patient in a dentist’s chair with their mouth clamped open.
I try to be civil. “I don’t know if you should be back there,” I tell her. “The kids’ parents will be home any minute.”
“The Richardsons?” Marianne asks, as if they’re old friends. “You don’t gotta worry your pretty little head about them.”
It creeps me out she knows their name. But then I remember the red hand-painted “Richardson Family” on the mailbox. Even then, my gut’s telling me something’s not right with these two. I’d call the sheriff, but I’m the one who said they could stay. It’s like with vampires – let them in, and you’re gonna get bitten. “I think you should go,” I say, my tone more forceful.
Marianne puts her hands on her hips. “Trust me, hon. We want to get out of your hair. In fact, we were about to take off when Shitbird overheated somethin’ awful. Like a case of herpes, this keeps cropping up at the most inopportune times. All we need is a splash of water to cool the engine off.” I can tell she’s gearing for another ridiculous ask. “I peeped a hose out front. Mind if we use it? I’ve already slipped fifteen dollars under the front door for your troubles. To help pad that nest egg of yours.”
She winks at me through the glass, and I feel I’m making a deal with the devil. But again, I do need the cash. The couple’s a bit strange, but I'm probably overreacting. Babysitting paranoia. “Go ahead,” I tell them.
“Eureka.” Marianne claps her hands together. “You’re an absolute doll. But there is one other thing…”
Of course there is.
“Your hose, what is it? A 25-footer? That ain’t gonna reach our engine. I’m sure you won’t mind if we pull into the driveway?”
Actually I do mind. “Well--”
“We’ll be done in a jiffy,” she interrupts before I can protest. “Scouts honor.” And she’s gone. Moving faster than seems possible for a lady her age. Although, maybe she’s one of those Zumba enthusiasts you see at the community center, like my great Aunt Bertie.
Through the living room blinds, I watch the RV roll up the Richardson’s gravel driveway, its flabby wheels kicking up rocks. The brakes squeal to a stop. And soon I hear the low rumble of water moving through the pipes in the walls with each turn of the garden spigot.
As my eyes follow the water’s path through the house, I glance again at the Richardson’s silly family portrait. Huh. Were Mrs. R’s fingers always covered in all those rings? Doesn’t really seem her style. My mind goes to Marianne’s costume jewelry crusted fingers. The resemblance gives me the chills. I notice, too, for the first time the way Mr. R clutches his kids’ shoulders. His grip too tight.
“Jesus H, Dennis, watch where you’re pointing that snake! You’re gonna get me all wet,” I hear Marianne yell from outside, followed by her crackly laugh.
Through the blinds, I see the Shitbird with its hood propped open. Dennis cools off the RV’s engine with the Richardson’s green garden hose. I can’t spot Marianne and wonder if she's snooping around the backyard again. But then there she is, exiting the RV with a large cardboard box. She drops the box with a thud and clutches her back. I swear I can hear the cracking of her spine from here. I try to make out what’s written on the box. R-I-C-H… But I can’t read the rest. Did they steal a package from the Richardsons?
I have a sudden terrible itch on my back but can’t seem to reach it. I think of using my knitting needles. That would do it. But I don't dare walk away from the window.
“Pretty yourself while you’re at it, old man,” Marianne orders Dennis. “You smell of liver and onions. We gotta look presentable. Make a good impression.” She throws him a rag, and I watch him bend over, spraying the hose into his limp greying hair. He straightens, shakes his head and slicks his wet hair back with his pocket comb.
I turn my focus to Marianne. She's checking herself out in the RV’s duct taped side mirror, picking Salisbury gristle from her teeth with a utility knife. Like some sort of thug. She applies a good five coats of fuchsia lipstick and puckers her lips.
It's as if they're getting ready for something. Maybe it's Bingo night at the RV park.
The blue bug zapper flickers. The itch on my back is screaming now. I’m about to go grab those needles, when Marianne plucks her red beehive hairdo right off her head. I’m shocked to see her bald underneath. The skin loose and blue in the light. Dennis hands her a new wig. She carefully puts on the shiny brown bob and smiles at her reflection in the side mirror, “Well aren't you a sight to see.” She tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Come on, Dennis, it's time."
I clutch at my back. My skin is burning. As though being bitten by a million red fire ants. I grab the blinds, ripping a hole in them, as my knees nearly give out. And all at once, two heads snap toward me in eerie unison, like a pair of junkyard dogs. Marianne and Dennis are watching me.
I have a very bad feeling.
I run from the window to call mom. She’ll know what to do. And then I see it. Under recent calls. The last person dialed was dad - not a random RV park. Marianne lied to me. Her whole conversation was fake. Holy crap. What are they going to do to us? Panicking, I hit the emergency button, but nothing happens. Instead, a text pops up from an unknown number: “DON’T BE SCARED HONEY. WE’VE GOT MORE MONEY.”
Knock-knock-knock.
They’re at the door. I go stiff. “Let us in, darling,” Marianne coos. “We ain’t gonna hurt you. We’re here to relieve you.” Her voice through the door sounds different. Not just muffled. But higher pitched. Almost breaking.
“Come on down!” the TV blares out. “You’re the next contestant on The Price Is Right!”
The volume’s so loud it’s as if I’m right there in the gameshow. I turn to face the screen. And there they are on the TV set. Dennis, gaunt and expressionless, sitting in the studio audience, while Marianne jumps for joy in her brunette bob and fuchsia lipstick. She takes off at a sprint through the audience, racing to the podium. In it to win it.
This can’t be...
I hear keys jingling in the front door and snap back to reality. Thank god. The Richardsons are home. I don’t even care if they’re mad about the RV. I just want them here. They’ll know what to do. The knob turns. The door creaks open.
And Marianne and Dennis walk in. Their clothes neat and tidy and stylish. Totally different than before – and yet off. Like a costume that doesn’t fit. I scream and grab my knitting needles, holding them out in front of me like spears. “Stop, or I’m calling the cops,” I shout, trying to sound grown up, when inside I’m still a kid who wants to crawl under the covers and hide.
Marianne ignores me, pointing to the TV. “Jeepers, Dennis, Delphine’s watching our old episode. Remember, dear? We were on one helluva winning streak. Celebrated that night with lobster and dirty martinis at the hotel bar. Took home enough furniture and bric-a-brac to redecorate the entire house.” She sighs, nostalgic. Then sets her sights on me. “Now, now, put the needles down, Delphine. Violence isn’t the answer. This will be easier if you give in.”
I swallow my fear and try to think, not loosening my grip on my weapons, pathetic as they are. I yell, “The Richardson’s will be home any minute! Get out, and I won’t tell them you trespassed!”
Marianne and Dennis exchange a look and laugh. Her fuchsia lipstick smeared on her teeth, she replies in a motherly tone, “Oh honey… we’re the Richardsons now. Don’t I look good in her dress? It’s a smidge tight, if I’m honest. But thankfully Dennis enjoys a bosom buster.” She leans into Dennis, kissing him. He lets out a low moan and grabs her hand. One by one he inserts her fingers into his mouth, sucking off her costume jewelry rings and swallowing them.
Tears roll down my face. “What have you done with the Richardsons?” Marianne stares at me with pity. “You freaks, tell me what you’ve done!” I yell louder.
“Mom? Dad?” Julian appears from the darkened hallway in his solar system pajamas.
I race to stand between him and the deranged couple. “Don’t come in here,” I order him. “Go back to your room.” But it’s too late. Julian runs to Marianne, wrapping his arms around her. I lurch forward, ripping him away. He struggles in my arms, crying, and breaks free, hiding himself behind Marianne.
“It’s okay, bubba. Mommy’s home,” Marianne soothes. “Delphine’s tired is all. She didn’t mean to hurt you.” Marianne pats the boy on the head, flashing me a Cheshire grin. And for the first time, I glimpse three or four gold teeth in the back of her mouth. As sharp as a wolf’s.
Tatiana steps into the room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. No, no, no, get out of here kid. Run! “Mom, what’s going on? Why are you guys being so loud?” she asks, annoyed we woke her. Her gaze moves from the couple to the threat of the knitting needles in my hands. Her expression changes. Tatiana’s scared. Not of them, though. Of me.
Dennis bends his lanky frame to make himself the height of the children. “Daddy will tuck you back in,” he tells them, his voice surprisingly warm. “Momma needs to pay the babysitter.” He grabs the kids by the hand and leads them down the hall toward their rooms. I want to chase after them, but my feet won’t budge. These lunatics are not your parents!
I need proof. I glance over at the family portrait. But the Richardsons I know are gone from the picture. In their place are Marianne and Dennis, posing with the kids in the same red and yellow carpet of leaves. Just another happy family.
“Does forty cover tonight,” Marianne asks, handing me two crisp twenty dollar bills. As if this were the most normal exchange in the world. “I know we’re back early. I do hope the kids weren’t too much trouble. I’ll have Dennis pull the car around to give you a ride home.”
I don’t answer. I can’t even process what she’s saying. Instead, I watch the Marianne on TV scream in delight. She’s won the final Showcase. Next to her on stage stand her unlucky competitors. The Richardsons. The REAL Richardsons. They’ve lost it all. And Marianne is going home with a new-
“Fully equipped recreational vehicle for an all-expenses paid tour of the great USofA!” Bob Barker gestures to a rising curtain. Revealing a shiny new Shitbird.
Marianne walks over to me. Her breath hot on my skin again, she whispers, “Don’t worry. You won’t remember any of this tomorrow. Of course, we’ll still need a good babysitter, too.” She winks. “And we do pay well.”
If I could escape, I would. But this all seems inevitable.
Fated.
Marianne sets a hand tenderly on my shoulder. “You’ll have that new car in no time, dear. The one you’ve been saving so hard for.”
I’m still glued to the TV set. A new episode of the gameshow has started. The theme song along with it. Dah-dah-dah-dah. Dah-dah-dah-dah. Bob Barker stands on stage. Skinny mic in hand. He looks into the camera… right at me… opening his mouth to deliver the good news.
“Delphine McDonald, come on dowwwn!”
I smile.
“A fortune in fabulous prizes awaits… as you’re the next contestant on The Price Is Right!”
I have a very good feeling.

…The raging river, pulled them down.
Now they’ll always, be together,
In that Happy Hunting Ground…
- Running Bear by Sonny James
“Snakeyes! New roller, please, next up.” The game runner raked in the dice and chips and ignored the despair in the countenance of the most recent “high roller”. Ted shook his head and other people crowded him away from the dice pit. He was almost out of funds and it was still early. He’d budgeted his, “loss level” carefully to maximize his time at the reservation casino. It was an older one, filled with stereotypical paintings and statues intended to honor the local First Nations Tribes while fulfilling the expectations of rude tourists. He looked around forlornly for a new game to play. He didn’t care for the slots or the drawn-out and ever-shifting card games… ah, Blackjack! There was an opening at the table.
He rushed over before anyone else could snag it and bustled onto the chair. “Okay to deal me in on the next hand?” He interrupted the dealer, who ignored him until he was done dealing out the rest of the players and raking in the chips. He still did not speak but once Ted placed the minimum bet, he flipped a card down in front of him and the game began. Ted immediately started winning the straightforward game. He picked up most of his losses from his unfortunate run at craps and was finally enjoying himself. The couple at the far end of the table had apparently had enough and didn’t care for the new player. Ted liked to talk to new people and thought he was good at it. Before long, the other players had left and it was down to him, the dealer, and an older man, who wore a black cowboy style hat and chain-smoked thin cigarillos.
Ted, grinning heartily at his latest win, glanced over at the man, who had just fired up his next cancer-stick, “You know casinos, and a few bars are the last public places where anyone smokes. I remember when there were smoking sections at most places and my parents told me that there used to be no restrictions. I’ll bet you get plenty of pressure to stop from your family and friends. It’s a pretty bad habit for your long-term health…” Ted usually rambled on past any non-verbal cues that people might give him to stop talking, yet his diatribe came to a screeching halt at the look with which the stern-faced elder favored him.
The older man drew in a long pull on the firestick and then exhaled the stinking cloud into Ted’s face. He coughed a little and gagged at the odor of the raw blend of tobacco and chemicals. The old one removed the cigarillo from his mouth and tapped ashes onto the edge of the table and down onto the floor at his toes, “Sonny, nobody cares. Nobody wants your opinion, and you are not special, no matter what your mommy told you. I’ll do as I please and if you don’t like it, go bother people at another table.”
Ted gaped in shock. In his mind, the man’s words verged on an “assault”. He looked helplessly at the dealer, who just ducked his head and tried not to laugh. Indignant, he rose, took his pile of chips and fled into the depths of the gaming house in search of a friendlier table. He didn’t find one that he liked, so he finally gave up and sat at the bar. The bartender seemed to ignore him in favor of tidying up her workspace. He cleared his throat and received only a glance. He mumbled as much to himself as to her, “I just want a drink while I wait for a table to open.” He wondered at her stony silence, maybe she resents me for being…
His vocal ruminations were interrupted by a feminine voice, “What do you want?”
Ted looked up to see the bartender, mocking smile in place below shining, mesmerizing eyes. Ted simply gaped and eventually worked his jaw uselessly. The bartender shrugged and walked back to the other end of the bar. She spoke with a large man who was clearly part of the security team. He glared at Ted while she spoke. Ted wanted to avoid a confrontation. He’d been conditioned that he should seek authorities if such a situation loomed. Yet casino security was the only available authority here locally. There were Tribal Police on the Reservation, but he wasn’t sure they would want to listen to him. He finally shrugged and decided to go back over to the hotel for the rest of the night. This trip had been very unsatisfying… like all those he’d taken since he moved away from his parents’ home a few years previously.
There was an indoor walkway to the hotel, but Ted decided to go by the outdoor route to get some fresh air and enjoy the natural beauty that the builders had incorporated into the facility. As he walked dejectedly down the sidewalk, local flora pressing in from each side, he heard, from the nearby forest, a screeching wail. It startled him and he had to stop a moment to catch his breath and wait for his heart rate to slow to something more manageable. He realized that it must have been an owl or some other night bird. His father had told him that there were always weird noises “out in the sticks”.
As he plunged his hands into his pockets and determined to go to his room for rest, he caught the faint smell of burning tobacco on the breeze. It wafted over his shoulder from behind and caused him to emit a feeble cough. He looked back in annoyance. In the shadows behind him, he saw a figure. It was dark and stood still in a way that made him uncomfortable. An orange glowing circle of embers hovered around the face and rendered just enough light to illuminate the blue-grey curls of smoke as they exited the tiny conflagration and rose above the brim of a black hat. The ember flared for a moment and then flashed to the ground and was snuffed by a shadowed… foot? It wasn’t exactly clear to Ted; the figure’s lower extremities were... blurred. An even brighter flare, from a lighter or match stabbed into Ted’s eyes as the Smoker lit his next cigarillo.
Ted glared irritation but felt uncomfortable at the unnatural stillness to which the figure returned once the new fire was lit. He coughed once more, this time deliberately in a passive-aggressive attempt to communicate his displeasure and resumed his walk. He strained to listen behind him to determine whether the figure followed. He truly wished to get away from the stink and the threat of cancer or other respiratory illnesses. He slowed to listen, then gave up and looked over his shoulder again. There was no figure in the dark back near the exit to the casino. He turned to resume his walk, but a smoky black form now loomed before him! Its eyes glowed and smoked like large twin cigars as it gaped a maw that emitted pure black smoke and glowed with blue flames within the deep tunnel of the throat. Ted’s consciousness fled his body and found itself in a burning nightmare landscape that extended for as far as he could perceive in all directions.
**** * ****
Darnell, known to his public as “Murder Bush” a deliberate mistranslation of “merde bouche” a.k.a. “Deadly Rapper” for having been a suspect in a shooting back in his youth, stepped up to the dice pit as the geeky dude left. He had plenty of chips and cash to back them. His entourage was there to support him and kiss his backside as often as he wished. He rolled through six passes before he crapped out. He hadn’t over-bet, so he’d won a small amount. He picked up his latest winning chips and handed them to the hostess who had kept him well plied with drinks and snacks. He was sure that for the right price, she would take care of his other needs. He played a few card tables and finished with Roulette.
Each time he won a few chips, he passed them on to the young woman or to one of his flunkies. In the end, they had all received at least some reward for the praises they’d heaped upon him; not for any real accomplishments, but rather to curry favor with the man whom they considered to be wealthy and important: a celebrity. The girl stayed at his side and except for when he asked her questions, she said nothing. He liked that: bitch know her place, he reveled in internal satisfaction. He liked her looks too. She was medium height and a little, “thick”. She was clearly interested but hadn’t gotten in his way when he flirted with other women. He truly liked this one. The more he considered her, the more he wanted to get down to business.
Eventually, he posed the question to her, “How much for the next few hours?” His brazen suggestion that she would take money for sexual favors was the final test. If she grew angry, then she didn’t appreciate his genius…
“Whatever you think is fair. How about we see if I can satisfy you? If I can, then you may want to be generous… as you have been so far.” She hefted the chips so that the pieces clinked in her palm. “If not, I don’t deserve a reward.”
She had passed with flying colors. Might even take this one back to civilization with me, he purred in his mind. He’d always thought of himself as a Big Cat… maybe a leopard or jaguar, definitely something dangerous and sleek. His need grew more intense by the moment. He desperately wanted this woman. “Come on, let’s go to my room.” He husked in a voice grown thick with desire.
They reached his suite, his groupies having been dismissed to their own nefarious pursuits, even his bodyguard. The big man had shrugged, “Your call boss-man.” and then stumped across the hallway to his own room. Now he was finally alone with… her. He stripped off his shirt and flipped his shoes into a corner. She stood by the window and watched. The drinks he’d consumed finally caught up with him before he’d shucked his pants and drawers, “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” He was excited, which made urinating a challenge, but it had to be done, so that he could maximize his pleasure. When he stepped from the restroom, au natural, he saw that his latest conquest had done the same and now stood, bare to the world and staring out the window, all the curtains on it pushed to one side, so that the night loomed and the light of a single small desk lamp lit the room. He stalked over to her, ready to take her right there at the window in full view of anyone who looked up from the outside. He secretly hoped for an audience. He enjoyed having others watch him take what he wanted.
She turned to face him, her head lowered… no, it had sunken into her body, only her hair remained above her shoulders! A… mouth, gaping and slavering opened on her stomach, a mouth too large for her body and rimmed with rows of teeth like sharpened spikes. She stepped forward to embrace him and the screaming began… sounds that he was accustomed to eliciting from others rather than emitting from his own person.
**** * ****
“Rhino” was unhappy. He didn’t like to leave Darnell unattended. Perhaps now that his boss was in the room, he could go stand guard outside the door. He took care of some personal ablutions as he wolfed down a couple of energy bars and then walked out into the hallway. He started to settle in front of Darnell’s door, when he heard a muffled scream and faint… slobbering-gobbling noises come from the other side. He quickly tried the door, initially too panicked to think of the extra key card with which Darnell had entrusted him. He fumbled for it and soon had the door open. The interior was completely dark. The light from the hallway spilled inward but didn’t seem to reach as far into the room as it should.
He drew his pistol from the holster on his waistband and began to stalk forward, “Boss, you okay? You hurt?” The room was as silent as a tomb, he shivered a little as that thought crossed his mind. Over by the closed drapes, he smelled something awful: fresh blood and spilled entrails… recent death. His feet squelched on wet carpet. He turned around quickly. There had been no noise, but he’d felt a… presence. There she stood, arms spread wide, mouth on her gut spread wider. Rhino wasn’t one to scream or yell, even in extremis, so no others would come to this room to investigate.
**** * ****
Shelly was glad when the rowdy group left the roulette wheel that sat behind her favorite row of slots. The former “one-armed bandits”, that were now, “multiple button digital bandits” lined every available wall space, and in some spaces stood in rows that drew regulars like a dung-heap draws flies. She’d grabbed her favorite machine early in the evening and sat sliding in dollar bills and working up her points. It was called “Buffalo Dance” and featured images of American Bison and feather-bedecked hunters. The theme on the screen matched and she hoped to one day see the “White Buffalo” image adorn the entire set of images… the grand prize view. Despite the fun graphics, it was her favorite because it was near a restroom and a free soda and snack bar. She found herself ahead and on a roll. She absently lipped her dangling cigarette back into her mouth for a long draw. The smoke obscured the screen for a moment, and then she noted a shadow that lengthened across the reflective surface. Someone stood close behind her. Someone who exuded a chilly air. She paused and looked around, “Can I help you?”
There was no answer, though the shadow shifted slightly as if its caster had heard her.
Now she grew annoyed, this is just the sort of thing to break my winning streak! she raged internally. She braced her hands against the machine and worked her buttocks to make the stool on which she perched spin, so she could confront her harasser. She gaped, and nearly lost her cigarette, there was no one standing near enough to cast the shadow. No one even faced her. She chalked it up to excitement, maybe someone stepped too close when passing to go to the restroom, she thought, still a little annoyed and... chilled.
She turned back to her game and continued working the buttons, pumping in bills, and winning, a little at a time, the points now built well above her investment. This weekend is gonna pay for the last two months of losing and breaking even, she thought triumphantly. The shadow loomed across the screen once more, this time even larger, as though the figure that cast it stood closer. The shape was amorphous but hinted at anthropomorphic. She shivered as an icy breeze flowed around her, as though the air conditioning had sent out a short, cold burst, a minor malfunction…
She turned around with more alacrity and determination than the last time, mouth agape, cigarette once more dangling… precipitously and endangering the cleavage she displayed, already baked and wrinkled from years of sunbathing. The frigid air passed, and no one stood anywhere near her, though a customer approached, headed for either snacks or relief. “Excuse me sir, did you just see someone, maybe a large man, standing behind me?”
The man paused and looked at her in confusion. He had clearly been absorbed in his own thoughts, “Er, what? Uh, No. I wasn’t really paying attention, but… no.” He bustled on toward the free fountain drinks machine.
Shelly shrugged, can’t give up now, the pot is even bigger. She checked her points; she was nearing her all-time high. The winnings would pay her space rental fee at the RV park for the entire month. She pressed and played the buttons more fervently than ever, determined to break the bank on straight points or to reach that magical spin that would offer an instant reward of $10,000.00. She set her new points record and reveled for a moment. She reached for the now small stack of dollar bills the rest having been devoured by the machine. She fed in the entire remaining amount, then once more gazed at the screen. It was entirely blackened by a looming shadow.
The temperature of the air around her plummeted and she shuddered with the sudden biting cold. The cigarette was long extinguished, and she’d let the cold fag fall into the ash tray built onto the side of the machine opposite the drink holder. She was so cold, and she wanted to cry out for help, but the darkness closed in around her as the shadow enveloped her and cut off her breathing. Her fingers, paused above the “spin” button, struck and as her consciousness faded, she saw the flashing blue light and heard the blare of the winner’s siren. White Buffalo images filled all nine spaces. I won! The grand prize!
**** * ****
Terry filled his large cup and stood sipping and daydreaming. He’d lost everything he’d budgeted to lose. Yet he knew that one more try would put him back in black for this trip. He mused about what he would do with the prize money. He’d set his limit at $300.00 and had quickly lost it all on slots. Maybe he could risk just a few more dollars… skip a lunch or two until his next paycheck if it didn’t work. He was startled by the jackpot winner’s flashing light and siren that went off just behind him. That bitch! He yelled internally. Figures some old used up skank would win the big prize. He looked over at the nearby machine with anger and envy vying for control of his senses. She was gone!
He stepped over to the machine and looked around in confusion. Maybe she’d gone to the restroom? No, she’d have passed right by me. He shook his head and stepped up to look at the screen. He could still feel the recent presence of a player, the trace of warmth from a human body that might linger in a space for just a moment after the human had vacated the space. He looked around the casino floor, she was nowhere in sight. She’d been wearing a low-cut silver-spangled top that was cut way too low for her sagging, sun-ravaged bosom. She should be easy to spy, she looked like a deflated disco ball that had fallen from the ceiling to play slots. The only thing that came his way was a train of employees, led by a waitress in a skimpy outfit with purple sparkles and carrying a tray with a glass and a dark bottle. She was followed by other employees, who’d formed a sort of conga line: they sang a congratulatory chorus as they approached.
Terry gaped for a moment when he realized that they thought he was the big winner. He’d have to deny it of course. Surely the woman would be back at any moment to claim her prize. The floor cameras would have recorded who had sat at the machine, but it was too late. The group of enthused employees encircled him, and the attractive young waitress poured him a glass of champagne and snuggled up to him. The manager approached and seized his hand for a vigorous shake, “Well done sir! I see that not only have you hit the jackpot, but you’ve raised an additional $3,000.00 in points. A fabulous prize and well played I’m sure.”
Terry was flabbergasted. He’d never won anything like this… I still haven’t, not really, he reminded himself. He rarely broke even on his gambling forays, whether to the casino, or the corner store for lottery tickets and video slots. He allowed himself to be swept into the reverie and led from the machine to the bar. The employees peeled away as they approached, and he soon found himself with only the bottle and a receipt that he could cash out before he left the premises. A sullen-looking woman stood behind the bar, wiping glasses and a large, mean-looking security staffer menaced the far end. He already had his bottle, so he wasn’t sure why the staff members had deposited him with these two killjoys. He shrugged, picked up the champagne and started to walk away from the bar.
“You can’t take that with you. Either drink it here or give it to me and I’ll put it in the trash.” The bartender stated in monotone.
The security officer stood up straight from where he’d been leaning against the far wall, apparently propping up the building. He folded his massive arms in a threatening manner. Silly, thought Terry, folded arms should be a hindrance, but I get the feeling he’s dangerous regardless. He figured that he’d had enough anyway and set the nearly empty bottle on the bar, “You can keep it ma’am. I can afford another at the hotel.” Terry started to walk away from the bar, but a huge ham-like hand seized his shoulder.
Sausage-sized fingers applied painful pressure, “You apologize to the lady.” The wet heat from a mouth placed uncomfortably close to his ear and beath smelling of river bottom, sent a shiver of disgust through his body. The voice was low and deep as the river that ran past the back side of the property.
Terry decided on the better part of valor and head facing forward to avoid the obscene orifice, “Sorry ma’am, I meant no offense.”
The fingers let go and a harsh laugh sounded from behind the bar. “He don’t even know why he’s apologizing, fool. He ain’t worth the trouble, let him go.”
Terry felt a slight shove and he was sent on his way to the cash-out window. There he met with the lead cashier, an older woman in drab clothing, “I’m sorry sir, we give out only these pre-paid cards, we cannot provide cash over $1,000.00. However, you can treat them like a debit or credit card.” the cashier informed him. It seemed he had no choice, so he accepted. Thirteen grand is thirteen grand, he assured himself. He was elated, though he continued to glance around nervously, waiting for the woman in the sparkly fish-scale top to accost him and name him thief. Yet she was nowhere to be seen. The floor was full of players, some laughing, some intense, some dejected or mesmerized by the games of chance in which they’d lost themselves.
He thought about what to do with the rest of his evening. He didn’t have a hotel room; he’d planned to sleep in his station wagon as he always did before the long haul home. Perhaps he should get a room? Maybe they would take him without a reservation… he giggled a little at the unintended pun: a reservation at the Reservation… he shook his head to clear his overreaction to the silly internal joke. He decided that maybe someone on staff could help him. He approached the major domo at the front entrance that led to the interior walkway and the hotel beyond, “Excuse me sir, do you know whether the hotel will accept a resident without a prior reservation?”
The man, single dark braid wrapped in a leather holder and draped over one shoulder, looked at him gravely, “Yes, I know.” He said nothing more and did not smile as though he’d intended to be humorous.
Terry tried again, “Will you tell me please?”
The man flicked his chin in the direction of the hotel, “See the clerk at the desk.”
“Jerk, you’d think I hadn’t pissed away enough cash in this place over the past few years,” Terry muttered as he stumped toward the hotel, ensuring that he was well beyond earshot before he spoke. His head had begun to buzz a little from the champagne. Took a while for it to affect me, he mused. The hallway appeared to narrow, and his peripheral vision grew grey. He felt dizzy and as he entered the main lobby, the large room began to spin. His last view was of the sky-blue ceiling decorated with a few puffy clouds as it faded into darkness like the sun had set.
He awakened to the sounds of voices chattering happily. He looked around, his vision blurred slightly and his head feeling heavy and sore. He soon found that he could not move his arms or legs… they were bound… he was strapped to a table. He saw numerous bodies moving about in the mostly dark space in which he found himself. “Please.” He croaked, throat dry and feeling scraped. “Please, help me, let me loose. Loose me…” his perceptions cleared slowly, and he saw that the bodies that moved around him, now chanting rhythmically rather than babble-chattering, were emaciated. The owners showed as much bone through their skin as would a dead thing, long decayed. He noted spikes above a few heads… no, antlers… The rest wore… masks? Of various beasts… no, the skulls of those creatures, still filled with glistening fangs. Their dance grew ever more frantic, more energetic than they should be capable of performing. Then one of them reached out with a stick, on the end of which was a small claw, taken and preserved from some dead animal. It used the claw to gouge out a scoop of flesh from Terry’s side. He screamed in torment and horror. His screams soon matched the rhythm of the chanting and they went on for a long time before they at last faded when he’d lost too much blood to remain conscious.
**** * **** END PAGE 1 of 2

PAGE 2 of 2
**** * ****
Hussein nudged his brother Iqbal and aimed his chin toward the bar. “Look, a fat, stupid American has finally managed some success.”
Iqbal smirked, “It is the only way the infidels can succeed. They have no education and no skills to do anything useful. They don’t even worship their own God anymore, only money and fame. They will soon learn better…”
The brothers were out enjoying a night of revelry, with a few more planned when they reached the city. The celebrations were a last reward before they fulfilled their mission and achieved True Paradise through martyrdom. Hussein was superstitious and hoped to find success at gambling before they took the great risk that if successful, would help to sustain their cause. They’d grown up in this land of debauchery and foolishness but had been taught from the first to honor their own Beliefs and culture above anything the Americans professed.
Hussein was on roll number five of what he intended to be a short run. He wished to win five times for the Five Pillars of Islam, the name of his cell in the latest great Jihad. He blew on the dice and tossed. The small cubes bounced against the back side of the pit and tumbled end over end as he watched breathlessly. “Another ten!” the barker called. And pushed the winnings toward Hussein. He placed a minimum bet and rolled once more. He had already left the table before the barker called, “Snakeyes! Next roller please.”
He held up his chips triumphantly, “Iqbal, more money from roll number five! I kept the bet in place for five rolls, I left only the minimum for the last roll, it is a Sign! We are fated to succeed. We will meet the others tomorrow, go over the plan, and then have a few last nights to revel in this world…”
Iqbal patted his brother on the shoulder, “There is something I would like more than winning chips. He nodded toward the bar and the attractive and sinuous young local who worked behind it, steadily polishing glasses.
Hussein watched for a moment, unsure whether his brother meant the alcoholic drinks that had been forbidden until now or the woman. Knowing Iqbal, he assumed both. “As you wish brother. Take your mortal enjoyments while you can. She looks a little sullen though, frown, lowered brows, I like the happy ones.”
Iqbal’s serpent-like smile widened, “She will look better when I have freed her from the miseries of the uncircumcised. She will enjoy a real man. Who knows? Maybe I will convert her so that we can meet again in Paradise.” With that, he surged away from his brother and slithered up to the bar opposite the young First Nations maid. “Good evening, I noticed that you do not have many customers at the bar. It seems odd that so beautiful a creature as yourself would not attract more company.”
The woman ignored him, intently focused on her task. He tried again, “Perhaps I must order a drink to remain at the bar? If so, a gin and tonic if you please.”
She continued to polish the glass. He leaned forward, “Did you hear me?” he inquired in an annoyed tone. “Perhaps you have no business because you are surly and unhelpful.”
She looked at him and delivered a smirk that appeared to be far more evil than anything he could ever hope to muster, despite his thin, reptilian lips and predatory mind, “We don’t want customers to linger at the bar, getting drunk and building from misery to anger over their losses. We want them playing… and losing.” She leaned toward him and glared into his own eyes that he normally considered flinty and daunting. “You know about losing, don’t you?”
Hussein noted that the large man at the end of the bar in the “Security” shirt had begun stumping toward them. “Iqbal, perhaps it is time to go look for other entertainment.”
Iqbal ignored him, he was trapped in the serpent’s gaze, like a mouse dropped into a snake’s tank to be devoured while its owner watched with perverse interest. Hussein reached for his brother to tug at his arm but never got the chance. The big security officer seized his hand, drew it to his too wide chest and turned. The weight of the man drew him away from his brother and caused him to spin around so that he ended up facing the goon with his brother beyond the man and in the clutches of the Serpent Woman. The ham-fisted gargantuan continued to twist the hand he gripped until the pressure caused Hussein sever pain. He grunted and bent into the angle of his wrist to relieve the distress. He found himself bent forward and looking up desperately toward the man’s face.
The security staffer smiled, his square, blunt teeth showing dark behind an almost lipless mouth. His wide back and chest, covered in body armor under his shirt made him appear like a monster-sized… Turtle. Hussein felt himself lifted and placed behind the bar. His brother soon slithered over the top and fell to the floor beside him, smiling beatifically. Hussein opened his mouth to scream for help, but a large, blunt fist crashed into the side of his head and he saw stars… seven of them, like the Holy... The fist descended once more, and he saw only darkness.
**** * ****
Fr. Danilo Bayani was immensely enjoying his latest trip to the continental USA. He had visited Hawaii many years ago, and New York City more recently, but this was his first tour of the grand landbound spaces that this country offered. He’d managed to roam so far from his origins in Manila. Now, in his twilight years, he longed to see what he could of God’s Green Earth. All on the payroll of The Vatican while they cleanse the records of those hateful… allegations. The bitter thoughts raced across his mind. Of course he was a sinner, he was only mortal. He’d been expiated of those sins and had paid an enormous price to continue serving in his capacity as a parish priest. He forced his mind to return to the moment and more enjoyable pursuits.
He noted the hirsute and similar appearing pair of men who had gone to the bar and wondered why the Security officer approached them, but his attention was called once more to the round of Texas Hold’em and his table mates. When he again had a moment to look, no one was at the bar, in front or behind… curious, he thought, but he quickly refocused his attention on the fascinating new game he was in the process of learning. He was familiar with Poker, so it wasn’t difficult to learn. He liked the high level of interaction that this version of the old game allowed. He’d done well, certainly gained enough to fund extracurricular activities during the rest of his current sabbatical.
He’d been disturbed by the overall atmosphere of this place when he’d arrived. He did not care for the numerous paintings and sculptures of Ancient Native Deities and Spirits. They seemed to be mostly images of the Dark Beings of various Tribal cultures. He loved to study diverse cultures, but this place was an amalgamation of cultures, built for mutual support by several Tribes in the region. Much of the artwork was schlocky and clearly intended to cater to the garish and sordid tastes of the vapid gambling set. Some part of him did not feel… welcome, as though he had intruded on some private Place, set aside for Other Gods.
He shook off the depressing musings… There are NO Other Gods, he reassured himself. He soon stepped away from the table to take care of personal needs and to decide what he should do with the rest of his night. Perhaps he would visit the White Dove Restaurant & Ballroom on the other side of the hotel lobby from the casino. It boasted a good reputation according to online reviews, even though it was a simple buffet style with a dance floor to one side. He liked the name, it was… peaceful he decided.
He soon had a selection of food piled onto a plate and was seated near the dance floor. The place was sparsely occupied, so his hopes of being able to watch dancers as he ate were dashed. Still, the food was good enough. A little bland, but that was necessary in a place that acted as a crossroads of cultures. There was a spice table at the end of the primary row of entrees. He’d helped himself, yet nothing seemed to attach to his taste buds. The combination of eating nearly alone, having no one with energy around him, and the tasteless food soon had him growing restless. He finished up his repast and left the table to go out to the final section of the complex he had not visited, the River Overlook.
As he passed the table nearest the entrance, he saw a stout man in a rumpled sport coat, who glared daggers at him, eyes focused on his crucifix, the only outward sign of his profession. The man appeared to be so hostile, that he paused for a moment to determine whether he’d done anything to offend the fellow. “Excuse me sir, have I offended you in some way?”
The man looked startled. He was apparently unused to being confronted about his demeanor or behavior. He scowled, “Don’t like that thing you have around your neck. You Catholics are all Hell-bound. No concept of righteousness. Not that you’d understand, you people don’t even read The Book. You listen to your priests and pope and disregard The Word. All the kneeling and ritual prayers in the world won’t save you in the end. Go back to your idols and beads and leave me alone to seek Heaven.”
Fr. Bayani was startled by the vehemence with which the man spoke. He hadn’t been attacked directly for his Faith in years. “Sir, I’m not sure what Religion you practice, but I am a man of God, a consecrated priest of the Holy Church. I assure you that I understand more than most, if not as much as I would like. I meant no harm and wish you a peaceful night.”
With that, he started to walk past the man, but the man rose from his table and pointed his finger, “Your pope is the Anti-Christ, and your Church is a place of Satan! Look to the Bible for your salvation before it’s too late.”
Fr. Bayani increased his pace and continued on his journey to the River Overlook. He would need the peace and tranquility that nature and the sound of flowing water would provide to settle his roiling mind.
**** * ****
Pastor Bill resumed his seat and shook his head, “Fool, doesn’t know that he’s risking his soul, courting Damnation.” He’d had a bad run at the tables over at the casino. His Denomination frowned on games of chance, but he had needed the money. One of his congregation had come up pregnant and they had to get it resolved before the three-month deadline for abortions. He knew that if his wife found out about Carmen, then she would divorce him. He was here to break every major rule that he professed to hold dear each week. His plan for quick money had failed, so he’d visited the bar. Now he hoped that eating would guide him back to sobriety. He had to think of another plan.
Seeing that… priest had annoyed him. Had he not been inebriated, he would never have said what he did, nor stared so rudely in the first place. Yet he wanted someone on whom to vent the anger he felt, that arose from fear and he’d always disliked the papists. If his wife divorced him, if the scandal involving the woman who cleaned the church all week and then occupied the back pew every Sunday ever broke; he would lose his ministry, his livelihood. His degree in Theology would be worthless. He might be able to get a job teaching, at some secular school, but most would not hire fervent Christians like himself.
He stared dejectedly at his plate of food that had contained more spice and flavors than he liked, a shadow passed in his periphery. It was low-slung and blurred just a bit as it loped along the wall. He thought he heard an odd laugh, somewhere between human and… canine? Maybe a little like a hyena might sound, or so he imagined. There was a manic quality to the laughter. A jest that was on him so that only the other Entity knew what it was. It was the wicked laughter of children at play, who’d decided to target a fat kid with glasses. A kid whose parents had been abusive addicts but who later “got right” through religious-based recovery programs. Their faith had led him to his own, but he’d never really lost those early traumas of being unaccepted by his peers and being beaten by people who later professed faith above all.
A mocking whine, definitely doggish, his now sobering consciousness informed him. Something was making fun of him, teasing him from the shadows. He looked around for staff members or other customers but found himself alone. The dining area and the dance floor were deserted. It was odd, there was almost always someone at the buffet service tables. He looked over to the kitchen doors in hopes that one of the employees would burst through with a fresh serving of chicken wings or whatever tray had been emptied. He saw dark figures move past the clouded round windows on the swinging doors and temporarily occlude the bright kitchen lights within, but they were indistinct blobs, and appeared to be focused on tasks of their own choosing rather than service of his needs.
He stood and realized that he was more intoxicated than he’d realized. He immediately resumed his seat and bent forward to regain his balance and bearings… and to swallow his rising gorge. When he sat up again, a dark, shaggy form perched in the chair across from him. The figure was no more than a silhouette, a raggedly hewn shadow. Yet there were eyes. Sinister golden gleams appeared and blinked at him. He heard a heavy, panting sort of breathing and a gust of foul-smelling carnivore breath assaulted his olfactory senses. “Who? Er, what are you doing at my table?” he asked in a mushy, confused manner. Still fighting off waves of nausea.
He could not see it very well in the poorly illuminated dining room, but his impression was that the... Being… smiled at him: a gaping, lolling smile, with a tongue dangling out to one side and sharp canines gleaming. “I thought I would check on you my righteous friend. You seem to be upset, unhappy. You nipped and barked at that other person who shares your Faith. I thought perhaps there was a deeper concern preying on your conscience?”
Pastor Bill had to force himself to think through what this… person? Had said to him. Likely some hippie-dippy weirdo. “That guy was a Catholic priest, we’re nowhere near the same Religion.”
Once more he heard the chortling laughter that was now very clear, “I’m sure you think it’s different. Those of his specific religion, came to these lands many years ago. They were the first of you Christians to arrive. The rest have been simple variations on a theme. The problems began, when your co-religionists assumed that only your God exists; that all of the local Gods and Spirits were instead Demons and Dark Powers. Instead of trying to show that yours is a better Way, you Christians insisted that yours is the only Way. You’ve forgotten that in Ancient Times, people held True to Deities who were attached to local communities or to the land and features around them; geographically and ethnically relevant. You have gone from subsuming and incorporating Older Gods as Angels and Saints, to Demonizing Them, and now in your hubris, to denying Them altogether.” He shook His head. “Too bad really, it creates an Adversarial relationship.” He chuckled at some joke that Pastor Bill was still too drunk to comprehend.
Pastor Bill had grown increasingly fearful as the Voice intoned Its Philosophies. He wanted to refute that Voice, to deny Its very Existence. Yet he feared Its Wrath more than anything he’d ever feared, even the Fires of Hell. Instead of making a stand and arguing his faith, he staggered to his feet and ran, stumbled, blindly toward the kitchen and the pale, ghostly figures within. Surely someone within would save him! The sardonic laughter chortled after him and chased him into the too bright lights, descending into the yips and howls of Coyote even as the doors swung shut behind him. He looked around at the glowing white figures who halted in their various progresses to stare at him. Their eyes! There were none, just empty sockets, faces slack, with gaping, lamprey maws. He heard a new sound as they swarmed him… his own forlorn screams of ultimate agony.
**** * ****
Fr. Bayani stood out on the River Overlook platform and enjoyed the solitude that had so recently left him restless. There were plenty of noises out across the flowing torrent: the water itself, as it passed over hidden objects, fish as they leapt from its embrace to kiss the night air, frogs and insects, and the warbling, mournful sounds of a loon, and the soft sigh of the wind as it passed through the verdant landscape. This is much more peaceful than the White Dove he thought. He had some trouble shaking off ruminations on the verbal assault from the strange, possibly drunken man in the restaurant. He decided that he would pray for the man, that he would one day soon find The True Faith. Sometimes that was all one could do for the short-sighted.
He heard a deep, coughing hiss out in the dark. He was startled but quickly realized that it was an American Alligator, cousin to creatures he had observed in many places around the planet. He was truly content, at one with Nature in all Her Glory… in all the natural splendor of Creation! he immediately corrected himself. A sound impinged on his senses as it slowly rose and obscured the others… it was a lapping sound at first, more like ocean waves on a beach than the banks of a river. Waves, at cross purposes to the flow of the river, slapped at the base of the platform. Soon they sounds evolved into splashes, as if something very large approached the River Overlook platform. He leaned over the rail to have a closer look. Perhaps it was a large water creature or a boat… maybe a ‘gator as the locals called the big reptiles.
He peered down at the dim rippling surface below. At first, he was unable to discern anything but small reflections on the water as it swirled and lapped; then from below the surface, he spotted an eye, a too large eye! It glowed from within with a sickly luminescence akin to that produced by deep growing fungi. As he stared in horror, he saw a mouth gape below the eye, and enormous frog-like opening with no teeth but serrated lips, like some monstrous catfish. As he stared, too much in shock to act, he suddenly felt his body wrapped in strong, leprous flesh and he quickly lost his ability to breathe. The last sight he saw before he plunged over the safety rail was the thin, grey, first light of dawn.
**** * ****
Chief Harry Whitehorse gazed around at his fellow chiefs and Shamans from various local Tribes, “So, are The Dark Ones satisfied once again? Have They sated their appetites on strangers so that our peoples will be safe for another year?”
Affirmative rumbles muttered around the conference room. Red Wolf, a Shaman, spoke from near the back row, “They are not only satisfied but Coyote assures us that the prey people will not be linked with our premises or business operations.”
Most of the fresh mutters sounded pleased, but old Harry had to ask, “Can we trust Him?”
Chortling laughter sounded throughout the conference room and ascended into thunderous yips and howls of hysterical glee.

My name is Jay. Not that you would know if I was telling the truth or not, but you can call me Jay.
I work as a chef for rich people. Essentially, they pick out the meals they want and I go shopping, prepare the dishes, freeze them, and deliver them to their homes. That’s my main gig. Pays pretty well, and I don’t even have to find my own customers. It’s all word of mouth. They recommend me to their friends, and I get new clients until I’m at capacity.
The point when I turn away new clients is lower than it could be, because I have a side-gig. A side-gig that I see as beneficial to society, so even though it pays less than taking on more clients, I make time for both. It’s a type of community service.
I’m really only “working” as a chef 4 days a week. I can shop, prep, cook, freeze, and deliver meals for enough clients to get by every month in the span of 4 days. The rest of the time, I’m either travelling for my side-gig or taking time off.
Alright, enough suspense and drum rolling. I’ll tell you what my side-gig is. Though you should already know from the title.
I warn people that they are darkweb hit targets.
Most of those darkweb “hitmen for hire” are scams. Everyone knows that. But I don’t have to spend the time figuring out which are real and which are fraud. Someone else, my employer, does that for me.
Whenever they have someone who is in need of saving, they get a signal to me through a previously decided code and method (which I’m not planning to reveal publicly). From that, I can deduce who they are and where they live. The rest is up to me.
It’s funny, when this first started, I thought none of the threats were real. I thought they were paying me to go and scare some folks into believing they were being hunted by a hitman-for-hire. I wasn’t sure of the motive, but that’s what I first thought.
That was until I literally ran into the hitman on his way to the target’s house. But that’s a story for another time. That’s not the tale I came here to tell.
So, down to the real meat and bones here.
I got a message with the name and address of a target. I was checking for a message after delivering my last batch of meals for the week. My employer has impeccable timing.
The target lived a couple hours away, across state lines. I jotted down the address in a notepad in a coded language that looks like a grocery list. The code is in case I ever get stopped by the cops. I don’t want them finding an address of a murder victim on me if I can’t save the target.
I grabbed my go-bag full of road trip supplies and headed out. During pit stops to gas up, I tried looking them up on Facebook or Instagram or anywhere else. This guy was married with 2 little girls and a wife who, let’s be honest, was past her prime. Yeah, I know, I’m a prick.
He was on the chubby side, and it looked like he worked in construction from his bio. He had lots of friends from the community, and lots of social photos of him at bars with a bunch of dudes. Very social.
Here’s the thing about darkweb targets: they never scream “I’m neck deep in the underworld and someone is mad enough to get me killed.” They always, always look normal. I can’t look at a target and know what it is they did. Hell, even after I warn them, I don’t find out most of the time.
Sometimes a target’s name will show up with an arrest record online for dealing drugs or other criminal activities, which is why I keep tabs on targets in the future. But sometimes my curiosity just isn’t satiated.
But, because I don’t throw a fit, ask questions, or miss my objectives, my employer keeps hiring me.
I’m a professional.
Or, I thought I was, until this target.
It took me a few hours, but once I arrived on the street, I shot my employer a brief message to update them. It was dusk by then, which was fine by me. Hiding out in my car in the dark was preferable to the middle of the day when people would be looking outside.
As is my usual procedure, I parked several houses away to observe, in front of an empty lot.
The house was a two-story building in a nice neighborhood with a fenced-in backyard, rose bushes in the front, and green lawn. The typical 1950’s American Dream. Construction must pay well.
You can guess that my job is delicate. Delicate to the point that it has to be discreet and secretive. I can’t just go knock on the front door, tell them their life is in danger, and then walk away. Believe me, I’ve tried that once. And only once.
I have to do some recon, decide the best way to not only inform the target, but convince them that they are a target.
It’s the most essential part of the gig.
Like I said, I’m a professional, and I have to make them believe that.
From my go-bag, I produced a small tube with a wire protruding out of it. I set that on the dashboard and pointed it at the target’s home. The other end of the wire was a USB, and I stuck that into a laptop. The tube contained a signal amplifier, which basically lets me turn their weak WiFi signal into one I can use from a distance.
It’s the first thing I try, because if I can get into their wifi, I can learn a lot about them before I engage.
I opened a couple programs on my laptop that were written to brute-force their way into common wifi signals. Most households aren’t savvy enough to change their router’s default settings, and those that are often don’t check the more advanced settings like weak signal encryption.
Their wifi password was their last name with “1234” added at the end. Once I was allowed into the wifi network, another program checked the router for default login credentials. They never changed that password, so I was in control of their router in a measly 3 minutes. It wasn’t a record for the types of intrusions I’ve done, but it was still fast.
I was relieved that I could get control of the network. That makes the recon a thousand times easier.
With yet another program (these are all free and widely available, by the way. I’m not paying anyone for this shit), I put my computer between all the other devices on the network and the router. Every device would now send all requests to my laptop, since they thought my laptop was the router. My laptop would then trick the devices into thinking I was the website they were trying to connect to. Since they thought I was that website, they would hand me the keys to decrypt what they were sending. I would then read the contents and forward their request to the real server and just show them the results.
In essence, I was hiding in the backroom of their digital post office, opening envelopes to read the contents and then resealing before sending it off to its destination.
Encryption is no match for a man-in-the-middle attack.
It was really delicate to set this up the first time, but once I had it running, it was easy to deploy again for new networks, like this one.
A van and a truck were in the driveway: everyone was home for the night. The internet traffic was heavy, because they were all home and using the internet. They would notice the slowdown at some point and potentially restart their router, booting me out of the network. I was vulnerable just sitting outside their house, so I had to hope I could collect what I needed before someone wondered what I was doing.
For almost 2 hours, I collected their internet traffic. It was well past sunset, dark outside, and late in the evening when I saw a police car casually cruise by.
I froze when they passed. My laptop screen was on, they would have seen the light in my car. I was parked in front of an empty lot and far enough from the target house to not be noticed, I thought. But maybe another neighbor had said something.
I didn’t want to risk being followed and pulled over by leaving just as the cop goes by. Instead, from my glove box, I pulled out a clipboard and rearranged the parts of my cover.
Luckily, the police car rounded a corner and disappeared from view.
On my screen, a device in the house went to a domain I had set to alert me on. It was a porn site, and one of the seedier ones to boot. I have it set up to alert me of seedy websites that get visited.
Sitting up straighter, I paid attention to the traffic going through that site, and noticed something interesting.
The device wasn’t watching anything. Instead, they had signed in and began doing something else. Uploading.
I was looking at the screen, porn site open, trying to make sure I was capturing what was getting uploaded. I was so focused that I didn’t see the officer approach my car door.
I visibly jumped when the police officer knocked on my window. I hit a hotkey on reflex that hid what was on my screen, but I knew he’d seen what I had up. He would have seen the porn site. He had probably been sitting there for a few seconds, just checking what I was doing.
I was caught. And it didn’t look good.
I rolled my window down partially.
“Hello, Officer,” I greeted, keeping my voice steady despite my beating heart.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“Whatcha doin’ out here?” The officer asked, turning on a flashlight and pointing it into the car. He eyed my setup with interest.
“I’m logging cloud data,” I answered. “Gloomy night and all.”
“Cloud… data?” He asked, confused.
“Oh, yes! I’m a contractor with the National Weather Service. Out with an infrared cloud density depicker to measure local cloud composition,” I shittalked my way through a pseudo-technical explanation, pointing to the signal amplifier on my dashboard.
I presented my “work badge” with a phony company I had built specially for a cover like this. My shirt had a nametag with the same cover on it.
The officer listened, and when I stopped explaining, he considered it all.
“Then why were you watching porn when I walked up?” He grilled.
My embarrassed expression wasn’t fake, but it helped sell the story. I painted myself as an “employee stuck out pulling long hours with nothing to do but watch weather data roll in.” What else was an employee supposed to do to pass the time?
It was a gamble. He could try arresting me on public indecency or something and then he’d find my real wallet in my pocket. My name would be in a police database somewhere, which was really not ideal.
“Listen, I know you’re working here, but pick a different street that isn’t residential to take your measurements. And don’t watch that shit in public,” the officer chastised. Again, my embarrassment wasn’t an act.
With that, he let me go. Relief bloomed across my face. I’d talked my way out, which had been a gamble. I did notice, watching the officer get back in his car through my mirror, that he paused to glance at the target’s house on his way back to his car.
Interesting.
The police were watching the house. But why? Did they know the types of shit he was into that had brought me here? Maybe my job wasn’t necessary and the police would nab him before a hitman had the chance. If he was doing criminal shit and the police had caught onto it, I could see how he could make an enemy that wanted him dead before he could squeal on them.
But, if the police weren’t going to raid tonight, the hitman might still have time. Whether or not they decided to risk it with police checking the house was up to them.
I packed up my stuff, disconnected from their network, and drove away.
Across town, in a Walmart parking lot, I settled in. In my browser, I tuned into the local police radio. Yeah, they just broadcast that shit. I wanted to hear if a raid was starting so I could stay informed on my target.
With that running in the background, I sifted through the traffic I had collected. The guy had logged into his Facebook account, and with my man-in-the-middle attack, I had captured his credentials. I checked there first. It always gave good background information.
It was in his messages that I found a conversation with that exact officer. His wife was trying to take the kids, he claimed. He said she might try to run in the middle of the night and asked the officer to patrol his neighborhood and give a strong police presence to scare her into staying and not “kidnapping the kids”.
What the fuck.
This guy was a regular abuser. It was apparent. But the officer had been a buddy in high school, and they regularly got beers with several other members of the community, including police. So they covered each other’s backs. Even if the officer didn’t know everything, he had to know there was abuse, right?
It was obvious to me.
After checking his Facebook, I went back to the porn site he’d visited. My man-in-the-middle attack had picked up those credentials too, so I could log in as this guy and investigate. With a virtual machine running Tor, I logged into the site with the sniffed credentials. Since he had been uploading, I went to his account and checked his uploads.
My stomach caught in my throat.
Well over seventy uploaded videos. The titles ranged across several themes, mainly involving rape. Rape and… kids.
The kid videos were marked as private, and I now understand that this porn site was doing something under the table with those videos, selling them off to even seedier sites that could afford to be shut down by police while the main site operated “above-board”.
From a single thumbnail, I knew.
His wife. And one of his kids.
He was filming it… and selling it.
My mouth soured.
It became obvious to me that I wasn’t going to, in good conscience, give this guy a heads up about the hitman. Not a chance.
While considering my options, I kept perusing the data. His wife had been using the internet as well. As it turned out, she was a little technically savvy. I know that, because she started running Tor while I talked to the officer. She used it for a simple, small message on a board that supplied me with a lot of my targets.
It was an address. Sent to another member on the board.
The entire puzzle clicked into place.
And I found myself rooting for the “bad guy.”
She’d be caught, of course. I could see a few mistakes where the police would find out it was her and arrest her. But there wasn’t anything I could do. I could warn her of her mistakes, but then she would be back to square one.
It was a type of trolley problem. Do you pull the lever to continue the abuse of this woman and her kids? Or do you leave the lever alone and let her ruin her own life by getting arrested and sending kids off to CPS while the piece of shit target gets what’s coming to him?
In the end, I left the lever alone.
And from the news, I was right. He died. She was arrested. His “side-income” was discovered. The kids went into the system. They were safe from him, at least. That’s the only comfort I can give myself. It was an impossible situation, is what I tell myself.
But now that it’s past, I see the things I could and should have done. I could have brought down the FBI on this little midwestern house. But in the thick of it all, I didn’t see that option. It just felt impossible. I still lose sleep over the decision, but it’s made.
I assumed that my employer didn’t know why this guy was being targeted, just that he was a target. I was hired to blindly stop any and all murders from darkweb hired hitmen.
There’s no way they could know the details of every hitman transaction, right?
Right?