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IF YOU’RE LOOKING for a place where misadventure could begin, you can’t go past Mbargo. The nightclub’s streetfront is painted a purple so bright you’ll see it in your dreams. Strings of giant sequins shimmer in the breeze. Its phonically inventive name is spelt in silver letters that climb its three-storey terrace facade. Inside are strips of burning neon, a few booths, floorboards so marinated in drink that they have an ingredients list. Bristol is a student city on England’s south coast crowded with music and nightlife and street art. This is Banksy’s home town, and the tourism board suggests in rather strong terms that ‘you would be a fool not to see his amazing work firsthand’. The same organisation describes Mbargo as ‘intimate’, which is fair for a place where you can catch an STI standing up. Students cram into its modest dimensions while people with names like DJ Klaud battle for billing with £1.50 drink deals over seven sloppy nights a week. To get a sense of the story about to come, consider that it’s the kind of place open until two o’clock on a Monday morning, and that at two o’clock on a Monday morning, Ben Stokes still thought it had closed too early.
The Ashes of 2017–18 had disciplinary bookends. It was after that series that Australia’s two leaders went off the rails in South Africa. It was a few weeks before that Ashes tour that England’s biggest star windmilled his way into his own disaster.
In the early hours of 25 September 2017, Stokes and teammate Alex Hales were barred from re-entering Mbargo after a night out on the piss. A Sunday thrashing of an abject West Indies in an ignored series at the fag-end of the season apparently required ample celebration. After arguing with the bouncer and hanging about at the door for a while, they wandered off to find a casino in the hope of more drinking. They’d barely made it around the corner before getting in the middle of a conflict between four locals. As is said on the internet, it escalated quickly.
The 26 September reporting was bloodless. Withholding names, police stated that a man ‘was arrested on suspicion of causing actual bodily harm’ while another went to hospital with facial injuries. England’s director of cricket Andrew Strauss separately confirmed that Stokes was the arrestee, adding that he had been released without charge and that Hales had gamely offered to ‘help police with their enquiries’. Administrators had a good chance of hiding behind that investigation, and the next day Stokes was named in the upcoming Ashes squad as expected. But that night the video emerged.
Bristol student Max Wilson had shot it on his phone, then offered it to The Sun. What he thought was playing hardball was actually lowball: his opening price of £3000 was snapped up by a tabloid that would have paid ten times that. The Sun went on to make a mint by syndicating the rights worldwide. From a window above the fray, the vision showed six men on the street below performing the muddled choreography of a melee. One was right at the centre of it. One was waving a bottle, one dipped in and out, one tried to calm it. Two others floated around the edges. The central figure was unmistakable: red hair burning even in the streetlight as he launched into a series of blows against two of the men, falling to grapple with them on the ground, then following both across the street, swinging punches the whole way. Hales trailed behind, repeatedly and impotently shouting ‘Stokes! Stop! Stokes! Enough!’ The ECB could fudge issues that existed only in thickets of legalese, but not those captured in moving colour. Stokes was stood down from the next West Indies match, then suspended indefinitely. It emerged that he had broken his hand during the fight, something he’d done twice before while punching objects in dressing rooms.
The response in Australia was fierce: Stokes was a thug, a lowlife, a selection that would disgrace England. It was not entirely coincidental that a ban for England’s best player would be handy for the Aussie team, but there was also a cultural split. In England, plenty of people still minimise pub fights as lads letting off steam. In Australia, heavy media coverage as a succession of young men were killed had inverted that tolerance. The discourse now saw any punch as potentially deadly and accordingly reckless. This was more poignant in a cricket context given that David Hookes, the dashing Test batsman and state coach, was killed in 2004 by a pub bouncer’s fist.
The PR situation was bad for Stokes as details emerged of the injuries to the men he’d hit, and that one was a young war veteran and father. Stokes wasn’t officially removed from the Ashes squad through October but stayed behind when his teammates left, hoping for police to dismiss the matter in time for a late dash to Australia. His annual contract was renewed on the due date in case that came to pass. Then 29 October brought a twist in the tale.
‘Ben Stokes praised by gay couple after defending them from homophobic thugs,’ ran the headline. Kai Barry and Billy O’Connell had emerged. Not entirely out of nowhere: while Stokes had made no public comment, this story in his defence had initially been leaked to TV host Piers Morgan after the fight, as soon as the video appeared. Police body-camera footage played in court would later show that Stokes had given the same story to the arresting officer on the night. But no-one knew the identities of the fifth and sixth men in the video, and police appeals had turned up nothing.
It was The Sun again with the breakthrough. Kai and Billy were perfect for a readership not keen on nuance. ‘We couldn’t believe it when we found out they were famous cricketers. I just thought Ben and Alex were quite hot, fit guys,’ said Kai, who was memorably described as a ‘former House of Fraser sales assistant’. The paper had the pair do a full photo shoot: layering the fake tan, showing off chest waxes, mixing Ralph Lauren and Louis Vuitton into a range of outfits. Their best shot had them standing back to back, heads turned to the camera, in a mirror-image Zoolander moment.
Suddenly The Sun was the England team’s best friend. ‘Their claims could lead to the all-rounder being cleared over the punch-up and freed to play in the First Test in Australia next month,’ it gushed, then gave a tasting platter of quotes: ‘We were so grateful to Ben for stepping in to help. He was a real hero.’ ‘If Ben hadn’t intervened it could have been a lot worse for us.’ ‘We could’ve been in real trouble. Ben was a real gentleman.’ Would it be known forever as Kai and Billy’s Ashes? No. While the Bristol boys provided spin for Stokes’ reputation they didn’t influence the police. With charges still pending there was little choice – not given Strauss had previously sacked Kevin Pietersen for being annoying. Stokes remained suspended through the Ashes and a one-day series in Australia, and lost the vice-captaincy. It was January 2018 before the Crown Prosecution Service laid a charge.
That charge surprisingly came in as affray, a crime that can carry prison time but is classified as ‘a breach of the peace as a result of disorderly conduct’. The men he had punched, Ryan Ali and Ryan Hale, faced the same count, charged as equal participants in a fight rather than Stokes being charged with assaulting them. Alex Hales was not charged, despite being seen in the video to aim several kicks when Ryan Ali was lying on the ground. Given the underwhelming standing of the offence, Stokes was cleared by the ECB to tour New Zealand, and kept playing until his trial in August 2018, which he missed a Test to attend. None of the three defendants would be convicted.
The reasoning behind the charges was never released and was attributed vaguely to ‘CPS lawyers’. The service gave the case to Alison Morgan, a prosecutor of a class known as Treasury Counsel who usually handle serious criminal matters. Morgan had a scheduling clash and never ended up court for the case, but in 2018 and 2019 she would go on to win damages and admissions of libel from The Daily Mail, The Times and The Daily Telegraph variously for incorrectly reporting that she had been responsible for the inadequate and inconsistent charging decisions.
Morgan’s successor on the case was Nicholas Corsellis QC, who on the first day of trial was permitted by the CPS to request two assault charges be added against Stokes. ‘Upon further review,’ claimed a CPS statement, ‘we considered that additional assault charges would also be appropriate.’ This was patent nonsense from the service that eight months earlier had chosen the lesser charge. Any lawyer knows that no judge will allow new charges once a trial has begun, because the defence hasn’t had time to prepare. But such a request could deflect criticism of the prosecution service by technically making the judge the one who disallows the charge.
Working through the story from the trial and the tape is complicated. You had a Ryan and a Ryan, a Hale and a Hales, a Billy and a Barry and a Ben. You had several versions of events as to who knew whom, who was drinking with whom, who had insulted whom and who had merely engaged in ‘banter’, a word that in modern Britain has to do an unconscionable amount of lifting. The reporting had constantly mixed up the Ryans as to who had which injury, who was in hospital, who had played which part in the fight, and whose mum had which stern words to say about it.
Let’s agree that from now Ryan Ali is Ryan One, the firefighter who ended up with a fractured eye socket and a cracked tooth. Ryan Two can be Ryan Hale, the soldier who scored concussion and facial lacerations. Mr Barry and Mr O’Connell are best known per The Sun as Kai and Billy. In scorecard parlance we’ll leave the cricketers as Stokes and Hales.
Amid the confusion, Stokes and his lawyers built his case in a straightforward way. The UK legal definition of affray is ‘if a person threatens or uses unlawful violence or force towards another person, which causes another person of reasonable firmness present at the scene to fear for their safety’. That means it doesn’t account for violence that harms a target, but violence that might frighten a theoretical bystander. The wiggle room for Stokes was with ‘unlawful’, because the charge excuses violence in defending oneself or others.
This interpretation hinged on the beginning of the video, where Ryan One waves a beer bottle about and takes a swing at Kai. The version from Stokes was that he was minding his own business walking down the street when he heard homophobic abuse. He intervened verbally and was threatened verbally by Ryan One – something that Ryan One denied but that couldn’t be proved or disproved. In fear for his safety Stokes had to nullify that threat by bashing Ryan One before it went the other way. He registered Ryan Two in his peripheral vision as another possible threat, and again had only one recourse.
Stokes also had to convince the jury to disregard testimony from Mbargo’s bouncer that he had been looking for a fight. A solid lump of a man, Andrew Cunningham had not enjoyed his patron’s attempts to get back into the club after the bouncer declined an offer of a bribe. ‘He got a bit verbally abusive towards myself. He mentioned my gold teeth and he said I looked like a cunt and I replied, “Thank you very much.” He just looked at me and told me my tattoos were shit and to look at my job.’ Cunningham described these words as coming in ‘a spiteful tone, quite an angry tone’, and said that Stokes still seemed angry as he walked away.
These were details the doorman had nothing to gain by inventing, but each of them Stokes denied. By his own accounting he had drunk a beer at the game and three pints at his hotel, then ‘potentially had some Jägerbombs’ along with half a dozen vodkas at the club. He insisted that after all of this he was not drunk.
If I may take a moment here to call upon the wisdom of experience – a person who cannot definitively say whether they have had any Jägerbombs has definitely had some Jägerbombs. A Jägerbomb is an experience that does not pass one by. Further to that, a person who says they have ‘potentially’ done something has definitely done that thing and doesn’t want to admit it. A person who has had between 15 and 24 standard drinks in one evening is shitfaced. A person who tries to bribe a bouncer £300 – three hundred quid! – to get into Mbargo – Mbargo! – is beyond shitfaced.
If Stokes admitted that he was drunk then the prosecution could say he was out of control. He claimed clear recall of assessing a threat, feeling fear and deciding to protect himself with force. He confidently denied details from the bouncer’s testimony, like using the word ‘cunt’ or mentioning gold teeth. Yet on other details he claimed a ‘significant memory blackout’. He didn’t remember the punch that saw Ryan One taken away by ambulance. He didn’t remember what the Ryans had said to Kai and Billy, only that those words were homophobic. With no head injury, as one of the few people who hadn’t been hit, he had supposedly suffered this memory loss despite being sober.
The version from Kai and Billy was compatible but vague: they had been walking along, they ‘heard … shouts’ of abuse from an unspecified source, then Stokes ‘stepped in’ and thus they avoided possible harm. They claimed to have been bought a drink by Stokes at Mbargo, although CCTV showed them meeting outside. The overall implication from both accounts was that the cricketers had been pals with Kai and Billy, while the Ryans as per The Sun’s headline were a roving band of thugs.
The reality though is that the Ryans were the ones hanging out with Kai and Billy at Mbargo. Police discussed CCTV from inside the club in questioning and at trial. On that footage the four Bristolians bought drinks for one another, danced together, and Kai was noted to have variously touched Ryan Two’s crotch and Ryan One’s buttock. Ryan One told police that all of this was taken lightheartedly and wasn’t a problem. Indeed, when the Ryans called it a night the other two left with them.
This much is clear from footage out the front of Mbargo, which shows Kai and Billy exit the club and start talking with a subdued Hales and a demonstrative Stokes, who are stuck outside. The vision was played in court to determine whether Stokes was antagonistic towards Kai and Billy, as he appears to impersonate them and to throw a lit cigarette their way. More interesting is that after a few minutes the Ryans emerge, and all six actors in the fight video briefly form a prequel in the one frame.
Ryan Two pats Billy on the chest in friendly fashion with his right hand before clapping him on the back with his left. He moves past and does the same to Kai before leaving the shot. Ryan One stops to speak to Kai. They lean in for a moment, talking, then Kai turns and they walk out of frame together. Billy hangs around for a few seconds at the door and then looks after them and races to catch up. Stokes and Hales remain outside the club to remonstrate further with the bouncers. Whatever discord develops around the corner is between four men who left amicably together minutes earlier.
There’s no way to know what caused that friction. If Ryan One did use homophobic slurs, he might have been drunkenly obnoxious for no reason. He might have had an insecure macho response to some extra flirtation. He might have thought unkindness was funny – ‘banter’ once again. Or he might have said something that was misunderstood, as both Ryans insisted in court that they had not used nor had the impulse to use any abusive language.
What clearly didn’t happen was an attack by bigots on random passers-by. This kind of crime is regular enough that an audience understands the horror of it, and this is what was evoked by the public accounts of Stokes, Billy and Kai. All we know is that there was some verbal dispute among the Bristol locals, and that Stokes came along behind them and put himself in the middle of it. Ryan One responded to the interference aggressively and away they went. There are plenty of reasons to look sideways at the idea that Stokes was a saviour. Foremost, neither Kai nor Billy was called upon as witnesses in court. You’d think it would be ideal to have Stokes’ story backed up by those who benefited from his selflessness. But his defence team had developed the impression that the pair had shown a changeable recall of events amid a hard-partying lifestyle, and would be dismantled by the prosecution on the stand.
That raises the question of whether The Sun coached their quotes for the 2017 interview. Despite missing court, Kai and Billy clearly enjoyed the attention. In 2018 after the trial they did a follow-up spread in the same paper about how poor Ben had been mistreated. They got a television spot on Good Morning Britain and glowed about his heroism. In 2019 The Sun wheeled them out once more to say that Stokes should get a knighthood. In 2017 they had ‘never watched cricket’ but by 2019 were supposedly volunteering sentences like, ‘He saved us, now he’s saved the Ashes.’ Whether they were paid for these appearances is not known, but the chance to be famous for a day can be lure enough.
If you find this cynical, consider that on the night in question, the Bristol boys were so deeply moved and thankful for Ben’s intervention that they left him to be arrested and never attempted to find out who he was. Seconds after the video ended, an off-duty policeman reached the scene. You might think that someone grateful to a saviour would speak on his behalf. Instead, said Kai, ‘it all got a bit scary so we walked off. It was too much for me and we went to Quigley’s takeaway for chicken burgers and cheesy chips.’ They didn’t give their hero a thought for over a month while police issued multiple appeals for witnesses.
As for Stokes, he told his arresting officer that ‘his friends’ had been attacked. After three minutes of chat outside a nightclub, these friends were so dear to him that he has never contacted them again: not after the newspaper piece, not after the verdict. He didn’t want to see how they were or thank them for their support. He didn’t mention them by name in his solicitor’s statement after the trial.
The Stokes defence rested on Ryan One’s bottle, which he had carried out of Mbargo to finish a beer, not to use in a Sharks versus Jets amateur production. But once he turned it over to hold it by the neck it became a weapon. Intent and interpretation can change the material nature of things. Part of Stokes’ justification in court was that the bottle implied that the two Ryans might have ‘other weapons’ hidden away. You can understand how a jury could decide that created doubt.
Not being convicted, though, doesn’t give the contents of the video a big green tick. It does not, as his lawyer claimed, vindicate Stokes. Looking in detail, Ryan One is belligerent but his movements telegraph a bluff. Hales is the person he’s gesturing at, but they’re several metres apart when Ryan One cocks his arm ostentatiously, showing off the bottle rather than bracing to swing. He skips forward but Hales skips back and Ryan One doesn’t follow. Kai stretches out an arm to impede Ryan One, who has a drunken stumble, nearly eats pavement, then staggers towards Kai and hits him in the back. That hand is still holding the bottle, but his strike is a side-arm cuff on a soft part of the body. It’s all pretty tame.
This is where Stokes gets involved. Having moved across to protect Hales, he now takes three large steps to run around Kai and booms his first punch at Ryan One. They fall to the ground and the bottle clinks away. Stokes gets to his feet to punch down at the fallen man, while Hales arrives to kick him ineffectively then runs off across the street for some unknown reason. Ice-cream van? Stokes is soon back in the grapple having his shirt pulled up to show off his Durham tan. Ryan Two steps in for the first time to pull Stokes away, prompting a couple more random punches at this new target, then Stokes trips backwards over Ryan One and sprawls in the street. Hales chooses this moment to return and aim some solid kicks at the head of the man on the ground. Nothing so far is a triumph of moral philosophy or the pugilistic arts. But if it all stopped here, perhaps you could say it was somewhere approaching fair. Ryan One has behaved like a turnip and it’s not an entirely unjust world that would give him a whack across the chops. The antagonists have disentangled, Stokes has some distance, it’s time to dust off and go home. Ryan Two steps forward for this purpose with his palm raised in conciliatory style and says, ‘Settle down, stop.’
So Stokes punches him.
It’s roughly his fifth punch overall, and he really winds up into this one. He misses so hard that he stumbles away into the shadows of the shop awnings along the road.
Hales starts shouting for him to stop. Ryan Two backs into the street, still holding his palm up. Stokes closes on him from about five metres away, six large steps, to where Ryan Two is standing on his own. Stokes pushes him a couple of times, as Ryan Two keeps trying to placate him and saying ‘Stop.’ Stokes throws his sixth punch, largely missing as his target ducks.
Ryan Two keeps pulling away and reversing, into the middle of the street now. Stokes follows him, grabbing his sleeve to drag him back. By this point Ryan One has found his feet and walked around behind his friend. Both of them are in the same line of sight for Stokes, and both are backing away. Stokes aims his seventh and his eighth punches, which Ryan Two tries to deflect, as Hales walks up behind Stokes to grab him.
Stokes yanks away from his friend and switches to Ryan One instead, taking seven paces to grab him before throwing his ninth punch of the night. He grabs again; Ryan One blocks that arm and pushes himself back away from Stokes. Ryan Two again intercedes, putting himself between the two with his palms up and his arm extended.
Stokes throws his tenth punch, a right-hander at the face of Ryan Two, then shoves him backwards. Ryan Two backs away once more, four paces. Stokes follows, steadies, lines up, then launches his strongest punch yet, his eleventh, a proper right hook from a solid base, one that cracks across the man’s head and gives him concussion. Ryan Two ends up flat on his back in the middle of the street, his hands still outstretched for a moment in useless protest until they twitch and drop to the blacktop.
Stokes isn’t done. He once more shoves away the restraining Hales and follows Ryan One, who keeps backing away saying, ‘Alright, alright, alright.’ Five more paces from Stokes before another blow at the man’s head. Kai and Billy are now standing over the poleaxed Ryan Two. The video ends, but seconds later Stokes will punch Ryan One hard enough to knock him out too, before off-duty cop Andrew Spure arrives on the scene to bring down the curtain. When the body-camera footage kicks in some minutes later, Stokes is in handcuffs but Ryan One is still laid out in the street. Ryan Two has regained consciousness, folded his shirt under his friend’s head and is asking police for an ambulance.
‘At this point, I felt vulnerable and frightened. I was concerned for myself and others.’ This was how Stokes described that sequence to the court. An elite athlete with years of gym work and training to snap a bat through the line of a ball with astounding power and precision, swinging fists as hard as he can at men with none of those advantages. Punching so hard that he breaks his hand, and repeatedly shoving away a friend so he can punch some more. Frightened and threatened by two targets shouting ‘Get back!’ and ‘Stop!’
The off-duty officer testified that Stokes ‘seemed to be the main aggressor or was progressing forward trying to get to’ Ryan One, who was ‘trying to back away or get away from the situation’. The student who filmed the video can be heard on the tape at one stage exclaiming ‘Fuck!’ and testified that it was because ‘I felt a little bit sorry about the lad that had been punched and it looked like he had his hands up’. That tallied with the prosecutor’s depiction of ‘a sustained episode of significant violence that left onlookers shocked at what was taking place’.
The defendant stuck to his strategy. ‘No, my sole focus was to protect myself.’ All up, in the 33 seconds of footage after he falls over, Stokes takes 35 steps forward to keep hitting two men who keep trying to get away. Not once is he hit back.
After the verdict, Stokes’ solicitor positioned him as the victim. It had been ‘an eleven-month ordeal for Ben … The jury’s decision fairly reflects the truth of what happened that night … He was minding his own business … It was only when others came under threat that Ben became physically engaged. The steps that he took were solely aimed at ensuring the safety of himself and the others present …’ The statement was impossibly self-righteous and self-absorbed.
If there was anyone to feel sorry for it was Ryan Hale, the second of our two Ryans. He’s the one who emerged from the club with a friendly arm around the shoulder for Kai and Billy. He’s the one who interposed himself to end the fight, then kept putting himself back in the firing line, trying to calm an intimidating stranger while dodging blows. For his show of restraint he got laid out regardless, concussed in the street, then was issued a criminal charge equal to that of the man who hit him, and described in national media as a violent bigot in an untested story to support that man’s defence.
Lawyers for Ryan Two made a more convincing post-trial statement, noting that Kai and Billy, ‘neither of whom were relied upon by the prosecution or the defence team for Mr Stokes, have taken the opportunity to speak with various media outlets about the alleged homophobic abuse that they received in the early hours of September 25. Mr Hale has passionately denied this allegation throughout the course of this case,’ it continued.
‘It is upsetting to Mr Hale that although he was acquitted, the accusation that he was the author of such abuse remains. Both Mr Hale and Mr Ali were knocked unconscious by Mr Stokes, and although Mr Stokes has been acquitted of an affray, Mr Hale struggles with the reasons why the Crown Prosecution Service did not treat him as a victim of an unlawful assault.’Good question. Avon and Somerset police were the investigating force, and they were frustrated by the decision. Ryan Two was filmed clearly not hurting anyone, but police were instructed by the CPS to proceed with a charge. Hales (the cricketer) was filmed fighting but ‘a decision was made at a senior level of the CPS’ not to proceed. Police expected Stokes to be charged with assault but the CPS declined. It doesn’t take a wild cynic to think that placing the same lukewarm charge on three men for vastly divergent behaviour might ensure that none would be convicted, even as the trial would maintain the pretence that a defendant of influential standing had not been given a free pass.
A couple of years down the line, the original interview with Kai and Billy has disappeared. All traces have been scrubbed from The Sun website, its social media history, and even from the Wayback Machine internet archive. Given its headline of ‘homophobic thugs’ and text that names Ryan Two but not Ryan One, the libel liability isn’t hard to spot. Later interviews with Kai and Billy take the passive voice – they ‘suffered homophobic slurs outside a Bristol nightclub’.
The article that was once claimed to exonerate brave Ben Stokes now links only to a missing content page, with a picture of a dropped ice-cream cone and the phrase ‘legal removal’ inserted into the web URL. In terms of consequences, Stokes missed one tour. When he resumed his career in January 2018, the Australians hadn’t yet ruined theirs. Their year-long bans looked much more stringent. But the Stokes case dragged on in other ways. With no criminal liability, the Australians confessed promptly enough for the sporting world to give them the full length of the lash. Their situation was ugly but there was closure. Stokes got stuck in legal stasis, unable to be fully backed or condemned. Instead his issue was always present, a browser full of open tabs that the ECB swore they would read any day now.
Through 2018 Stokes was back but he wasn’t back, in the sunglasses and finger-guns sense. In his return one-day series he nearly cost England a match with 39 from 73 balls in Wellington. His first Test hit was a duck as England got rolled in Auckland for 58. At Trent Bridge while Stokes was injured, England posted a world record 481 against Australia. With Stokes three weeks later at the same ground they made 268. He crawled to 50 from 103, the second-slowest any Englishman had reached that milestone in 20 years. That span covered Alastair Cook’s whole career. It was apologetic batting, acting out responsibility via the scorecard. Stokes was creeping back into the team like he’d been kicked out in a blazing row and was hoping to tip-toe to the sofa.
It was December 2018 before the ECB disciplinary committee ruled on him and Hales. In a ‘remarkable coincidence’, wrote Simon Heffer in The Telegraph, ‘the punishment both players faced in terms of bans from playing at international level was covered by the amount of games they had already missed when dropped by England’s selectors, in the furore that followed the incident’. The verdict compounded the omissions around the case by not addressing the violence at its heart. Nor did Stokes, apologising only ‘to my team-mates, coaches and support staff’, and then ‘to England supporters and to the public for bringing the game into disrepute’.
The implicit next step was to rebuild that reputation. It might have been easier had his court defence not meant that he wasn’t game to admit any fault at all. It might have been easier if he or his advisers had been willing to change tack once the trial was done. Imagine a world where Stokes had stood outside court and apologised for overreacting, for the injuries he’d caused, and for the time and energy he had sucked out of other people’s lives. That would have been a show of responsibility beyond a scorecard. When the time came around to assess forgiveness, it might have meant forgiveness was deserved.

Story Time 😌: The Sugar Man

My ED is just damage control for the future in my eyes

Basic Rotes for the Euthanatos - Mind

Ok... it took a while but here is the next sphere for the euthanatos. I´m sorry I´m taking this long to release these posts, but life has been truly demanding these weeks. If you guys have the courage to get through this wall of text please say what you think about the work so far.

Please, send some feedback if you can.

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Past Lists:
Basic Rotes for the Traditions
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Mind
O - Dissecting reflections - While many traditions recognize the idea of a soul and relate it to a person's individuality and psychic identity, the chackravanti for their part, hold a very different concept from the ghostly images we often see depicted in stories and myths. That which is truly immortal in ourselves is the atma, which is boundless, infinite and unquantifiable awareness. The mind is actually a material object shaped by karma, a vase full of resplandencent water in which all individuality is just reflected light of the universal consciousness. Lives pass away, worlds arise and dissolve, passions come and go, what remains is the gaze of eternity, from which we all descend.
Through meditation, spiritual communion and immersion on the secrets of life, death, the gods and rebirth, the euthanatos experience all sort of spiritual influences over their minds, bodies and souls. They sediment the realization that even minds are external phenomena, things that we observed, analyse and judge, momentary vessels bound to the wheel as any other physical forms, worn and discarded by the atma in its procession through eternity.
During instructions on this rote, mantras and prayers are taught as aids for mages to retreat from their own minds. In this wordless state of pure awareness, the true source of emotions, memories and thoughts become clear as either bubbling from within or intruding through the actions and influences of exterior forces. Through this spell the traces of mundane persuasion, emotional manipulation and trickery becomes as clear as more overtly supernatural commands and the gross organic motions provoked by drugs, sleep deprivation, physical discomfort, neurological problems or pathologies can be distinguished from pulses arising from deep within the subtle mind. By extending his perceptions to other beings, painting their third eye with sacred tinctures or leading them into song, ritual and yoga, the mage can penetrate the subtle shell that safeguard another consciousness and extend his senses, finding similar clues about influences working inside.
O - Constricting Knots - Fate and karma bind the heart in supernaturally powerful knots, as regret, grief, trauma and longing constrain the shape and movement of the mind, ordaining the obsessive return of specific thoughts, memories and impressions. The connection thanatoic mages have with the wheel makes them especially sensitive to the vibrations, tunes and pulse tormented souls leave in the environment.
After strengthening his personal connection to the forces of fate and karma through exercises of worship, funerary work or spiritual practice, the mage may choose to keep his senses open to the presence of people around him. While walking among those present in a funeral or vigil, it is easily to discern who is most perturbed, regretful or tormented by the passing, while reading the laws of a contract, vows of a pledge or duties associated with a role it is easy to spot the tell tale sign of discomfort and doubt at unfulfilled obligations or unwilling bondages. While watching over a crowd the mage can also discern which souls are most troubled, deranged and who may warrant a deeper investigation, maybe hiding skeletons in their closet. More merciful observations also reveal what people may need a comforting word or even timely intervention in order not to drown on their own grief, sadness or unhealth obsessions.
OO - Whispers of Silence - One of the similarities between the chackravanti, Sahajyia and the akashayana is that a core part of their style lies in the development and cultivation of faculties that outsiders often conflate with all sorts of psychic powers described both in myth and science fiction. These traditions often use meditation, mantras and physical practices such as yoga and martial arts as common gateways to such powers but each group gives emphasis to different elements of those practices. The akashics often immerse themselves in the motion and presence of their exercises learning to cultivate and hold specific transcendental mindset that can hardly be explained by words alone, only experienced through trainning and repetition, Sahajiya pursue the opening of perceptions arising from the energies and states of consciousness developed in such rituals while euthanatos see diligent work, both physical as well as spiritual, as building a stable path of development, strenghtening the spirit in a similar way physical exercise builds the physical body.
This specific rote makes use of the sharpened spiritual senses developed by the mage to capture the faint energetic vibrations provoked by the motions of the mind. Through meditation and yoga the chackravanti infuses vitality in the invisible organism upon which his spiritual senses are build, by painting the third eye with the appropriate spices, herbs and tinctures he both cleanses and attunes it to the proper essence of thought and through mantras and breathing he removes all distraction that could interfere with his supernatural perception. While walking among other meditations, the guru judges if they are holding the proper mental patterns or silently humming the correct mantras, by peering deep into the eyes of a suspect, the investigator listen to all words that aren’t said in a conversation, by diving in crowded markets the peregrim tastes bits and pieces of each person’s thoughts looking for particularly troubled, violent or enlightened scents that may warrant further attention. Both in memorial services as in crime scenes killers are often captured as they can’t help but coming to gloat on bewildered investigators and during high stakes games in casinos both legal and illegal, lakshmits can’t help but smile at how easy it is to bluff their way into the fortunes necessary to fund the tradition.
OO - Gravitas - The heart of each creature pulses with energies and emotions proportional to their level of spiritual evolution. While on a sensible level, all humans may seem similar, the vibrancy, tension and pull of their subtle organisms reveal differences in spiritual evolution as deep as those of the size, gravity and between the planets and stars that dot the night sky. Through their dedication to the maintenance of the universe, euthanatos transform themselves accumulating the kind of enlightened karma that is said to allows souls crossing the wheel to ditch the human condition and rebirth in the exalted form of gods and goddesses. This spiritual merit, can be used to exert enormous emotional pull, plunging the hearts of sleepers into the mage’s metaphysical gravity, synchronizing their moods, feelings and dispositions with the divine motion the mage cultivates inside himself.
By praying for the deceased, the mage can calm the hearts of the grieving, by singing mantras in a temple, worshipers are reminded of the depth of eternity, with whispered threats backed by sacrificial knives, fools can be made to feel deep, unrelenting dread and regret. The focus of this rote is often a jewelry, symbols or idols of the gods of the wheel as well as the morbid attires and distinct signs that set euthanatos as tenders of the dead and gatekeepers of eternity. Whatever the emotions the mage exhudes they all lead to states of deep contemplation. humility, quietude or regret preventing the heart from entertaining the petty problems of daily life, leaning toward appreciation of that which truly matters on a greater picture of the cosmos.
OOO - Dreadful Reminder - There are no perfect crimes or unseen secrets. Our own thoughts, memories and hearts are the eyes of the gods and goddesses of fate, in our roots, we all connect to the eternal motions of the wheel - a single soul split in a million shards, trying to experience a multitude of different lives while longing for the cyclic end of times when everything reconnects and returns to one.
While the life span of universes is long, each heartbeat counts, forever lost once spent. The clock is always ticking and the possibilities of life reduce bit by bit each day. This rote teaches the mage to hold that pervasive fatality through mantras, offerings to the gods and hands dusted with bone ashes or blood tinctures. By touching a sleeper or holding his gaze while performing a dreadful mudra or mantra, the mage infuses his spirit with heavy, sinking energy that resurfaces the deepest regrets or painful losses, makes eyes flood with bitter tears and cracks voices up with supernatural disquiet.
If used on wake victims, this rote may lead to sobbing confessions, catatonic introspection or, if the euthanatos cover his skin with ashes or paints the visage of the black goddess over his face, make the victim see the source of his torments and regrets in the person of the mage.The subject loses notion of time and place, disoriented as if deeply intoxicated, he may think he is relieving the context of a past trauma and may attack, try to make amends, confess or apologize.
If used on a sleeping person, this rote warps dreams into nightmarish reenactments of past trauma, favoring the situations in which the subject regrets having taking part. Shaking and sweating, the person vocalizes in his sleep and may be led to answer questions the mage asks as the words reshape themselves in the lips of the figures present in the dreams.
OOO - Spiritual Agony - Spiritual development is the feeding of a flame that burns brighter and hotter while sustained by karmic fuel. The presence of illuminated beings is bright light that expands just beyond the material spectrum, capable of blinding and burning the senses of lesser beings that refuse to cultivate their spirit or end up becoming too accustomed to dwell into darkness. When channeling the wheel or expressing their inner divinities, chackravanti ignite the invisible bodies like furnaces, blazing like few things on the material world ever could.
This rote is a two part process in which the mage “heats up” his own enlightened soul and, through mantras, curses, and energy projection using asanas and mudras, he stirs into torpid motion the invisible senses of a target. Confronted by a sudden flash of invisible brilliance, the unprepared soul shakes, burns and twists in spiritual agony. Such discomfort manifests as a strange headache that rapidly intensifies into a feverish migraine and a disorientation that becomes a complete inability to string coherent thought, speech or remember anything other than the pain and the present moment. Continuous exposure to this magick rapidly takes out a victim, making its consciousness retreat in itself not to confront the light. This is a technique often used to contain or take out a victim without showing signs of actual physical violence.
OOOO - Hanging by their words - A healer is just a man that set himself to study organisms like his own so he can know health, disease and the divide between, a general is but a soldier that learns to guide a much larger army them himself by predicting the rules and motions of war and the skilled boatsman drinks from the river’s water but knows to respect its currents and depth. The role of a mage, to the euthanatoi, can be understood in the shadows of those figures. While sleepers live and die blind to meaning, fight battles they don’t understand and drown in the currents of fate, the awakened have conditions to learn the eternal laws of karma, become the avatar that turn the great wheel itself and can channel the forces of fate as long as they obey and respect their position related to them.
This rote manifests this perspective as the mage adorns himself with the symbolic garments of the great judges of the underworld, the furies or the sisters of wyrd and lends his eyes, ears and voice to the greater forces of fate, justice and cosmic order. Empowered by and moving along the chains of fate, the euthanatos can force people to comply to oaths previously taken, duties they once accepted and traditional roles that they willingly and knowingly fulfilled.
Under matrimonial vows, partners confess their deepest secrets and desires to each other, In a court of law no lies can be ever uttered, police officers can’t help but uphold not only the letter but also the spirit of the law and are compelled to put their own lives on the line in the defense of the citizens they swore to serve and protect, physicians can do no harm and the self proclaimed followers of a god and adherents of a religion cannot act against their creed, deny service to their temples or participation in adoration of their deities. Promises made in the euthanatos presence can be enforced through mystical might as free will become powerless against the forces itself has put in motion. While the mage is a channel for oppressive spiritual pressure, he is just an instrument to that which people bring upon themselves. If the cause is proper and just, he may try and set traps to ensnare the uncautious, but they must always fall themselves into foolish promises for their will to be subsumed by this spell.
OOOO - Rivers of rebirth - The chackravanti consider physical things many elements other mystics see as intrinsic or deeply tied to the most rarefied parts of the spirit. Among those things is memory itself. Seen as another vessel for the atma or a stains on the outer fabric of the soul, memories are dissolved and washed away in the process of rebirth either in the fires of the Wheel or the cold waters of lethe. By divesting themselves from the heavy substance of past lives, people prepare to reenter the world with a lighter karmic burden, flexible and amenable to building a better platform on which to stand for further cycles of rebirth.
This rote allows the Euthanatos to bring into the living world the spiritual mechanisms that lifts the weight of memory. The enactment of prayers, mantras and the retelling of epics over the consecration of jars of pristine water, specially prepared baths, scented curtains of fine silk or white cloth drenched in perfume create appropriate physical vessels to extremely fine and powerful spiritual emanations. By submerging, bathing or guiding a person through such filters, the mage can make a person forget their whole lives and begin anew, reborn while still in the flesh and better suited to rebuild themselves a better karmic vehicle in this life. A limited, more controlled, version of this process can be enacted by making a people confess their traumas and regrets during the execution of the ritual. By using a lighter touch the mage erases only those elements brought to the forefront of the mind, living all the rest intact. The finest, most delicate version of this rote uses small cloths, special perfumes and exquisite bottles to either douse a victim or with which to imbibes a piece of cloth used to suffocate a target. This very limited exposure only takes away the immediate moment from memory and, if the victim is guided into telling pieces and bits about themselves, those facts are only temporarily removed slowly manifesting back in the recesses of the mind as days pass by.
OOOOO - The Shadow Arbiter - Thanatoic Masters learn how to turn the same processes that nurture their inner gods and goddesses to seed the spirit of other beings. Fed and deeply connected to the strands of fate, these embryos develop into powerful psychic entities, always watching and judging their hosts so they properly fulfill all oaths, duties and vows they might take.
This rote is traditionally done through mantras, brandings and sacrifices made at the feet of statues of cthonic deities or in ancient temples dedicated to the Gods of the Wheel. On their knees, the target host must utter their oaths, promises and vows to the cold uncaring visages of stone and become haunted by their images that burn itself deep inside their minds. From that point onward, whenever they are alone, look to mirrors or fall asleep, the impassive eyes of eternity hover over them and the silhouette of bloodthirst gods dance just outside their field of vision. If they are pious and truthful, such presence recedes to the background, but if they foment even the briefest thought about betraying their duties, terrible and violent images jump to the forefront of their minds, they drop into bouts of insanity and may feel all sort of phantom pains and tortuous delusions.
When brought to the presence of the chackravanti, the hosts of these entities can be made to fall in deep torpor, allowing the entities to take hold of their body to express their judgement and report events that may have happened. In such terrible occasions, the entity and the chackavanti may agree to sentences, missions and attonement plans that are informed through nightmares at the proper times and are enforced through the painful leash of madness.
This is a rote often used to ensure victims make amends for large karmic debts they might hold. It is an alternative to the good death to those beings that are considered too tainted to be safely released into the wheel before working to lift at least some of their karmic debts. While a nightmarish experience, to host such small avatars of the gods, is seen as a sacred honor as it exposes a person to holy emanations that are said to help in growth and healing of maladies of the soul.
OOOOO - Unlocking the Vessel - Mastering the intricate locks that bind the ethereal organism to the gross physical body is the traditional feat that sets masters apart from lesser thanatoic mages. This work is done by carefully using material reagents, pigments and natural essences in an environment properly harmonized through mantras, devotional services and powerful energetic cradles created by the most elevated spiritual faculties of an enlightened master. With a careful touch on the chackras and prana pathways, this rote expertly looses up the soul from its organic vessel without damaging the systems that are used to connect one another. Temporarily freed from its body, the subject of this spell can wander around as a immaterial ghostly figure only other astral travelers and psychics can properly perceive.
While in control over the spiritual gates of the body, the master can also choose to bring other souls into the vacant vessel and, with a proper setup, cross operations can be done, making souls temporarily switch bodies, flowing into each other through a artificial, common, spiritual circuit.
Once the influence of the spell fades, the souls are rapidly brought back to their vessels as long as their silver cord, a metaphysical link between the astral and material vessels, is kept intact. To cut such link, though, is an easy task for a thanatoic mage able of working this rote, and in some war chantries it is a common tactic to keep prisioner’s spírits away from their bodies and under constant treat of a final severance.

Don’t pass out in a Casino bathroom

I had turned 21, on June 21, 2016, and my Grandmother took me to Atlantic City where she went on her honeymoon before the casino’s were established. Unfortunately, my grandfather had passed away in 1999 and at least my Grandmother has me to go places with her.
We stayed at the Trump Taj Mahal and I just loved the bright lights and the sounds of the slot machines. My Grandmother and I decided to play the penny slots with just one penny at a time. We were definitely not their target customers.
My Grandmother carried around a big purse where she had loads of snacks stuffed inside. Between the free drinks and my Grandmother’s snacks there was really no reason to get up besides to go to the bathroom.
Every time I would get up my Grandmother would save my seat at the slot machine. My Grandmother was raised during he depression and she developed some unique habits, like if someone had only eaten half of their hotdog and left it on the side of the garbage then she would just finish eating it. I just thought it was funny and she probably had developed an immunity to every imaginable germ.
Watching my Grandmother, I followed suit and did the same thing by finishing other people’s meals.
I was 21 and had no real responsibilities. I came from a dysfunctional home where my parents were at times functioning alcoholics and other times they weren’t really functional at all.
Unfortunately, I had the same addictive personality like my parents as does my Grandmother and the slot machines were like candy to our brains.
Neither my Grandmother nor I had cell phones so we had no one to bother us. We just had such a good time playing the slots and joking around with each other. There was no real concept of time inside the Taj Mahal. 2:00 am looked the same inside the casino as 2:00 pm.
We just played and played and played. We both seemed to drift off at times and close our eyes for a short time then we wake up and continue to play.
I would lose a penny then win three pennies then lose five pennies then win seven pennies. The thrill of winning mixed with the bright lights and catchy sounds sent a jolt of happiness through my brain.
My grandmother and I were definitely poster child’s for the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. We just both had addictive personalities. I remember reading about radio contests to see who can stay up the longest where days of sleep deprivation led to permanent mental health issues for the contestants.
I knew things were getting bad when multiple cocktail waitresses would say “hey your back again” or “you were in the same spot as last week.”
I was hanging on by a thread. I knew if I got away from the stimulus of the machines then my mind and body would just collapse. I had complete tunnel vision everything besides my Grandmother was completely filtered out.
The casino manager actually approached my Grandmother and I to give us a friendly warning that it was time to leave. I almost collapsed when he told us that it had been three weeks straight that we were playing the same slot machines. I think we caused red flags in their computers because neither of the slot machines we using were generating any money for the hotel.
I think we were scared to move for fear that we would both collapse. The casino made an exception and brought us both coffees.
After drinking the coffees my Grandmother and I agreed to get up and go to the bathroom then leave. When I got into the bathroom I knew that I had pushed my mind and body way to far from days if not weeks of sleep deprivation. I was concerned for my grandmother but I truly had nothing left in me, so I went in one of the bathroom stall’s locked the door and sat down on the toilet where I instantaneously passed out.
I had such deep dreams that I never had before. I was in my own dreamworld. Nothing could wake me up but time.
Then, like a bear knows hibernation is over, I felt a sensation in my head that it was time to get up. I opened my eyes and there’s nothing but absolute darkness. A darkness that I haven’t experienced since I was deep in an underground cave when I was on a tenth grade field trip.
I thought that I had gone blind because there was nothing but darkness. My head was just so exhausted. I feel like I could close my eyes and sleep more, but my adrenaline was starting to kick in.
I’m still feeling a bit woozy and I say “where am I?” I was still trying to remember all the weird dreams I had on top of trying to figure out where I am in this complete darkness. I’m in a sitting position so I try to stand up, but my legs are numb, so I sit back down.
I then try to recall where I am and I say “am I sitting in a toilet in the casino?” I think to myself this can’t be. Did the lights in the bathroom break? Why hasn’t anyone else come in?
I yell out “Hello ... Hello. The lights in the bathroom are out. Grandma! Can you hear me?”
I’m met with deafening silence. I reach my arms out and feel metal walls on both sides of me so I know for sure that I’m in a bathroom stall.
I figure I sat for to long and I must of put to much pressure on my nerves so that’s why my legs are numb. I decide to throw myself on the floor. I lean forward and I could feel the door of the stall in front of me. I use the door to brace myself to the floor.
I continually say “ooh awe ooh” until I hurl myself on the floor. My legs are still to weak to move so I drag myself with my arms and reach up to unlock the door to the stall.
I get out of the stall and I get a sensation of extreme hunger and thirst. I now focus on finding the sinks. I use my arms to drag my body on the bathroom floor. I can’t remember where the sinks were located so I just continually move around on the floor. The fear of the absolute darkness outweighs the disgustingness of the bathroom floor. Eventually I start to feel metal pipes and I realize that I’m under a sink. I’m starting to get a little sensation back in my legs so with one hand I reach up for the sink and I reach out with my other hand and thrust myself upwards until I’m on my knees. I yell out a loud groaning sound and I awkwardly stand up. My legs are shaky and weak but at least I can feel them. I give myself a minute to allow my legs to get reacclimated and allow circulation to go through them.
I reach out and feel metal and I push in and realize that it’s one of those faucets that you push in to get water in order to get water to come out. I use one hand as a cup and I lean forward and continually drink water from my hand until I’m satisfied.
I start to feel that my legs have some strength so I take small steps while I hold onto the sink.
I get an overwhelming urgency to urinate so I decide to pee in the sink rather than trying to find the urinal. I unzip my pants and all I could think of if someone opens the door then I would be so embarrassed or possibly arrested. I finish peeing and I pick a direction and I slowly move my legs. I feel around the walls and eventually I feel the frame of a door and I push on it forward.
As the door opens I see nothing and I hear nothing. I’m scared beyond belief. I don’t know if there was a massive power outage or some type of evacuation happened or there was some type of apocalypse.
I yell out “Hello is there anyone else here Hello!” I get no response so I continually to yell out Hello. I vaguely remember the women’s bathroom being next to the men’s bathroom. So I guide myself against the wall until I feel a door. I figure that it must be the women’s bathroom so I open the door.
I yell out “Grandma are you in there ... Grandma are you there?”
I wait a few moments and in a low raspy voice I hear “John, Is that you? Turn the lights on. Where am I?”
I say “Grandma I think we’re still in the casino and I don’t know what’s going on. There’s no power anywhere. It’s just not the bathroom. The casino is completely dark as well.”
My grandmother responded “Casinos never close. Especially the Taj Mahal.”
I respond “I know Grandma. I have no idea what’s going on!”
My grandma responds “How long have we been asleep?”
I respond “I have no idea. I’m guessing days.”
My grandma says “I can’t move my legs.”
I respond “I know I couldn’t move mine either. Give them a few minutes you’ll get your sensation back. Try to move around as you sit down. I’m going to go and try to find out what’s going on!”
My grandmother responds “Ok but come back. Don’t leave me to die.”
I say “I won’t I’ll come back for you.”
I exit the bathroom and yell out “I’ll be back Grandma!” And she responds “You better!”
I try my best to remember as much as I could about the casino and the arrangements of everything. It’s difficult because it’s as dark as an underground cave. There is zero light or at least I hope that’s the problem and I haven’t gone blind. But then I think that my grandmother couldn’t see either. I thought there’s emergency lights that should come on if there’s a power outage, so I really have no idea of what’s going on.
I get a dreamlike memory of dropping money on the floor and remembering a red like carpet then I remember the garbage cans alongside the walkway where people would leave there their uneaten food.
I slowly start to remember that there’s a walkway made up of tiles in the middle of the casino floor that separates two areas of slot machines. So if I make it to the middle area then I probably could walk towards an exit.
I feel the floor and it’s carpet. I slowly start to walk and I feel slot machine after slot machine. I walk slow so I don’t bang my legs into chairs. I’m in a virtual maze and I feel like I’m just going around in circles.
The feeling of overwhelming hunger is starting to consume me as well. My legs have most of their strength back at this point but I’m consumed with hunger and fear.
Navigating around a casino floor is confusing enough with the lights being on and in complete darkness it’s virtually impossible.
I’ve must have been wandering aimlessly for an hour in a virtual circle. I have to come up with a plan. I know my grandmother must be terrified as well.
I have no rope or anything else. Not to say that rope would help me. Then I have an aha moment. I say out loud “The chairs. Use the chairs.” Meaning that the backs of the chairs move to the side when someone gets up from the slot machines. So if I move the back of the chairs to their sides then that’s how I’ll know I’ve been down the row.
I can’t explain why all the chairs are facing forward. If there was a mass exodus then most of the chairs would be facing to their sides.
As I walk each chair I pass I move it to its side. This takes a painstakingly long amount of time but my wandering method didn’t work.
Eventually my method seems to work as I can tell which rows I’ve been down already. Remarkably I feel a divide in carpet from from tile and I say “Thank God!”
I have grainy memories of coming into the casino and seeing staircases and escalators that were opulent but my Grandmother wanted nothing to do with them. But I do remember getting on an elevator and I believe we went to the third floor, so I know that I have to find stairs now.
I know we originally came in through the boardwalk and we didn’t walk that far once we got inside the casino. So now I have to find the stairs and not miss them because the hotel is long and if walk in a direction opposite the boardwalk I am virtually dead because I’ll never find my way back in the pitch dark because the hotel casino is so big and long.
So I slowly walk with my hands out. I walk back and forth and I can tell that the tiled area is about six feet wide.
Eventually I find an area where the tile opens up. My hands reach out to walls and I feel metal elevator doors. Of course their buttons don’t light up. Next to the elevators is a wall that feels like a dead end. So I feel for the elevators again and move past them. I know there must be stairs in the middle of the casino floor.
I want to find the stairs and I don’t want to keep walking down that tile corridor. Also I don’t want to fall down the stairs so once I make it past the elevators I slowly put my foot down to the right and feel more tile so I’m guessing this is more of the corridor.
I backtrack a little bit and I try to move in a horizontal direction to the elevators towards the middle of the casino floor. I inch my way towards the center with my hands out and eventually my right leg hits something and I quickly determine that it is an escalator.
Though I’m consumed by hunger, I know I’m close to getting out of here. I walk down the escalator then I get off and walk down two more sets of escalators.
I figure that I’m on the ground floor and I’m overwhelmed with disappointment that it’s still complete darkness. I have no answer for this. I figure the glass entry doors should emit some form of light even if it’s the moonlight if it’s dark outside.
I know that I have to walk towards the boardwalk and if I move in the wrong direction then I’m better off dead.
I remembered how I walked down the escalators where I went down one way then the next floor I was turned around.
So I figure that I need to walk straight. I force myself to count steps and if I walk more than a hundred then I know I’m going the wrong way. So I slowly move forward with my arms out.
I counted 60 steps and for the first time I can see something other than darkness. I can barely make out a silhouette of a wall, so I move towards the wall.
As I move towards the wall I can’t explain why there’s only a small amount of light getting through. I reach out with my hands and I feel glass. I’m still baffled on why there’s only faint light. Then as I move along the glass I can eventually see A slither of the boardwalk and it’s daytime and people are just casually walking. Then I see that there is wood panels on the outside and the doors are boarded shut.
So I frantically start banging on the glass doors and I can see people look in my direction but they just continue to walk by. I don’t know if there was a hurricane or something to explain why the doors are boarded shut.
So with the little energy I have left I knock and knock and knock. I don’t know if the people think the knocking is from construction or if they just don’t care.
Eventually I fall to the flood put my back to the wall and bang with my elbows against the glass.
The hope that I once had is gone. My body has zero energy and I’m going to die like a trapped rat. I just can’t keep my eyes open anymore. I have no idea when the last time I ate was because I don’t know how long I was asleep for.
Then I pass out.
I slowly wake up and realize that I’m on a hospital gurney. Apparently someone heard me knocking and notified the police. The Good Samaritan was a former casino worker who knew the casino was essentially abandoned and there was no work going on.
I was given IV’s that gave me enough strength for me to regain my consciousness. I asked the nurse “where’s my grandmother?”
She responds “Do you want me to call your grandmother and tell her your in the hospital?”
I say in a weak raspy voice “No, my grandmother was in the casino with me!”
The nurse said “Sir, the police report says your probably homeless and somehow you wandered into the casino.”
I say “No, my grandmother and I were playing the slot machines for days with no rest and we both went into the bathroom and each passed out in a stall.”
The nurse says “Sir the Taj Mahal went bankrupt months ago. If your story is accurate then you have been asleep for months.”
I start to get weak again and tell the nurse “Please my grandmother is on the third floor on the women’s bathroom.”
Then I pass out again.

True Story Time

Ok, forgive the formatting. This was originally a greentext post for all the /b/tards at 4chan. It's also a long read but if you can get past that then it is actually a quite interesting story that happened to me years ago.
be 22 active duty air force assigned to Nellis in Las Vegas not disclosing job, but no stranger to weapons and tactics get pulled in to supervisor's office one day told I've just been "voluntold" to participate in a training exercise with DOD no other information given other than reporting instructions pretty much any question I asked was answered with "I have no fucking idea " report to conference room at base hotel next morning per instruction see about 12 other guys from my unit also voluntold to be there five guys enter room in civilian clothes introduce themselves as the "WHITEBOX" Group Assume it's an acronym for something, but never explained told we will be upgrading our security clearances hours of paperwork, only told we are participating in a force on force exercise released back to our unit crack jokes about how the exercise is a lie and we will be experimented on return to regular job and time passes eventually assume that it was canceled and forget the whole thing
about 2 months later supervisor pulls me aside and tells me that I need to report to a briefing the next day says it’s about "some WHITEBOX exercise" has no idea what it is and doesn't seem to care. once again report to base hotel with the other 12 guys WHITEBOX guys show up and pick us up in a van driven off base to some random office building and escorted into the offices of the Department of Energy, WTF? mystery only deepens, what the fuck is happening? what if this actually is some evil experimental shit more hours of paperwork and security/safety briefings by random suits had to fill out and sign a non-disclosure agreement and that threatened arrest if violated required to turn in cell phones and any other electronic devices in our possession our cell phones get locked in a cabinet while the office phone in the room gets unplugged WHITEBOX guys finally return and fire up a power point briefing first slide just titled WHITBOX Exercise 0X slide also labeled in bold red letters "CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET / NOFORN / ORCON this is really starting to feel serious
WHITEBOX Exercise finally explained told that for the next two weeks we will be role playing as OPFOR (opposing forces) we will try to attack and penetrate a DOD facility and carry out a simulated act of sabotage facility is protected by a contracted privately owned security force security group is required by the DOD to carry out this exercise in order to audit their protection every couple of years if we succeed, security company fails the audit and looses the contract the exercise is the conclusion of a two week inspection of the security contractors and their procedures every exercise a random military unit is chosen as OPFOR "reminded that we are silent professionals and that this isn’t something we should be advertising shaving wavers granted and civilian attire only FUCKYEAH.jpg power point scrolls to a page with a google earth screenshot on it instantly recognize the picture it's Area 51 holyfuckingshit.exe are we are being told to break into Area 51? can't be real random unit bro pipes up out of nowhere "Is that fucking Area 51?" we are all fucking stoked later told not to call it Area 51 as that just makes you a total chode Groom Lake, Paradise Ranch, or Homey Airbase are the acceptable names many insiders simply refer to it as “The Base” also reminded of the possible legal action via UCMJ if we go around telling everyone about it One of the WHITEBOX guys is now our designated "insider threat" exercise is designed to simulate that someone inside has been comprised by a foreign government he will provide any information that we ask for that he has knowledge of or access to other WHITEBOX guys handle will handle exercise logistics they will provide any weapons or equipment that we request to carry out mission "within reason" told this is not a COD loadout screen
ground rules established... will only be provided with weapons that we are certified to carry weapons will be armed with blank rounds or completely empty also no vehicles will be utilized by us within the DOD property landmarkers simulating road chases are not authorized our insertion is simulated so we will already be escorted/processed through various checkpoints and dropped off near the base no impractical equipment requests, so no tanks, helos, surveillance drones, or scud missiles, lol any explosives we intend to simulate will be assessed by WHITEBOX so if we want to blow the perimeter fences we will tell them before hand, they will calculate the weight of the bang we would need, it would be simulated by rocks, and then someone would need to hump the weight number 1 rule established and stressed with a very serious tone we will be escorted by WHITEBOX evaluators at all times within the DOD landmarkers at no point are any of us authorized to be alone in the facility actual security is not laxed because of the exercise, nor is this a free pass to roam security personnel can still use real force in the event that we deviate from the established protocols shown various pictures within the airbase that most will never get to see a specific hangar is designated as our target building. we will need to gain access to that hangar and carry out an act of sabotage for our sabotage we will need to ///REDACTED/// obviously we won't be doing it for real so we will actually need complete a random task inside the hangar task will be designed to be as complex and time consuming as the real thing all while being hunted by the security force insider threat briefing continues, various elements of the base security procedures and day to day operations explained however, get the impression that the chosen source is someone with a generic admin position and is not actually involved with security we are also encouraged to do our own research and scour the interwebz for info about the base told to supply the URLs to WHITEBOX if we find anything of interest. sorry if we got your Alex Jones or Art Bell conspiracy blogs taken offline briefing finally concludes, we are reminded of our non-disclosure policy and taken back to Nellis and dismissed for the day
next day we all meet at Creech Air Force Base in Indian Springs, Nevada we will be using this location to build our plan of attack and do rehearsals/dry runs it's actually pretty cool because it's on us to plan our op, just a bunch of random Airmen periodically grill our insider with questions and start asking our other WHITEBOX guys for gear we tried to have our insider take pictures of the interior of our target hangar, but he got caught IRL he would be arrested and interrogated by the feds, and the whole op would be dead instead though the guys that caught him received kudos from the inspectors, and he just tells us nope have to rely on a whiteboard sketch of the inside decide to keep it simple, M4 riffles only however I am certified on the Barret M82 .50 cal. we decide that I will carry that heavy mother fucker as well as an M4 and provide overwatch from the distance kind of bummed out because im not going inside it will be on me to neutralize certain security positions that we have previous identified we remind our WHITEBOX guys that the M82 is an anti-material weapon with the ability to disable vehicles they tell us that I will just need to call my shots to the evaluator that I will be partnered with he will radio to the vehicles that they are destroyed and will need to stop driving guess I should mention that is also part of the disadvantage we have we will all be paired with WHITEBOX evaluators who will sort of act as referees during this simulated battle however they will all be wearing bright orange reflective vest identifying them as exercise officials that really fucks our ability to stay hidden and stealthy, but it is what it is also should mention that this is a daytime raid despite our objections sounds like they are setting us up for failure, but they remind us not to think of it like that this is all being done just so the evaluators can get a good look at the security's incident response procedures it's not an unannounced drill, the military doesn't really like to do that kind of thing especially with large scale exercises such as this everyone on the base know we are coming, there's no element of surprise here except with what kind of attack we prep it would be a real hot clusterfuck if the security contractors failed the audit heads would roll, people would get fired, and numerous officers would be relieved of command I still get to attack Area 51 so don't care as this is the coolest thing I've done in the military
our plan is starting to come together over the days decide to sacrifice one of us in a suicide bomb attack figure out which of us is the most "FNG" or lowest ranking and make him do it he will approach one of the ECPs (entry points to the base) on foot wearing a rucksack loaded with rocks (make-believe explosives) he will be wearing a uniform and will identify himself as Air Force and will franticly yell that he needs help we don't anticipate that he will make it that far or that the security will actually swallow this ruse however his goal is to get as close as he can to the ECP and yell allah ackbar and release his dead man's switch and try to take out what he can his evaluatoescort will drop a GBS (ground burst simulator) when he detonates GBS is a little miniature explosive device that just makes a really loud boom anyone who’s been through any type of military training is familiar with them, they are used to add stress and create excitement we are hoping this will be a distraction and will get as much security as possible to converge on that location the rest of us will assault from the other side of the base and try to breach the perimeter several of us will also be rucking explosive rocks for the breach chose a breach point that will have us crossing only a minimal portion of the flightline (place where aircraft operate) if we successfully simulate breaching the perimeter the exercise will be paused and we will be inprocessed through the ECP and brought into the base exercise will resume and we will continue to assault towards the target hangar I will stay outside in my sniper position and try to smoke what I can inside the hangar the team will cover the doors with simulated claymores and take up cover two guys will carry out the simulated sabotage act while the rest cover the doors WHITEBOX doesn't have any inert claymores to provide so the will be simulated with small weighted ammo cans the weight is really starting to become problematic so we abandon the claymores and decide to just cover the doors with firepower would really help if we had a vehicle, but not happening to be fair, vehicles wouldn't make it that close to the base if they tried to attack IRL armored or not
week one down, plan looking solid considering how much of our attack is simulated two weeks of planning is actually excessive not complaining though cause two weeks of hanging out and smoking and joking compared to normal work at Nellis only downside is the hour drive back and forth each day to Creech AFB casino right outside that base with awesome steak and eggs so not too bad though one of the WHITEBOX guys tells us he's actually employed by the Department of Energy he doesn't actually work at Groom Lake, he works at the Nevada Test Range the massive amount of Nevada landscape that is restricted and owned by the feds is actually impressive contrary to popular myth there is road access to Groom Lake via the adjacent test range, but not too many people actually make that drive. the 737 shuttle from McCarran Airport is how everyone gets there since the drive is long as fuck the main paved road through Rachel Nevada that all the tourist flock to doesn't really have any operational use anymore allegedly we will be driving there through the test range via a convoluted series of paved and dirt roads route is CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET, not kidding
DOE dude gives us a tour of the test range one day load cases of water in back of van drive to Mercury Nevada and stop at checkpoint inprocessed inside, get pictures taken and issued escorted visitor passes also required to wear radiation badges once inside get to see all that shit from The Hills Have Eyes, fake towns that were blown up with atomic bombs not as intact as they are portrayed in films though, they are pretty rekt or deconstructed show us a massive crater called the Sedan Crater in the 50's they experimented with using atomic bombs for mass excavation projects hoping they could just nuke the ground and build shit instead of fucking around with bulldozers pretty stupid and impractical but they didn't know any better back then they buried an atomic bomb a half a mile underground and blew it up Sedan Crater left behind as a result and the fucking thing is huge. they allegedly herded cattle down to the bottom of the crater afterwards to test the post fallout effects pretty fuckin savage, and it was actually stunning to look at two hour drive to Groom Lake though endless desert roads now see why we loaded the water, we’d be pretty fucked if the van broke down or got stuck get first distant look at the base without having to enter their checkpoints holyshit.mp4 very few people get to actually see what we are seeing to be honest though, looks like any other air force base I've ever seen except smaller besides the obvious fact that it is in the middle of bum fuck nowhere and its main runway is long as fuck also realize one of the reasons they didn't want us operating vehicles most roads are dirt and the entire lake bed is surrounded by "moon dust" everywhere moon dust is the ultra-fine sand found in certain parts of the desert with the consistency of flour it's also a total bitch to drive in and the security patrols getting stuck is a somewhat frequent occurrence told that they even have some of the AAFES fast food joints there that you find on any other base imagine working at a Burger King that you need a Top Secret security clearance for, how the fuck does that work??? noticed that despite being authorized to be here, we are still being watched by distant security patrols wonder if they know we are the bad guys that are going to be attacking the joint make some minor adjustments to the plan since the google earth pictures lack some detail conclude tour and take the 3 to 4 hour drive back home, most of us slept in the van
arrive at Creech next day and see that more WHITEBOX guys have been added to the mix, now there's like 20 of them for the past two weeks they have been inspecting the security contractors and its procedures you can tell a lot of them are ex-military based off of language and the people that are dipping and spiting in empty water bottles the mood is light, all of the exercise planning is finished, nothing to do the last two days we managed to borrow an empty hangar at Creech and used it as a mockup of our target hangar to run rehearsals no longer asking our insider questions about security, instead start asking completely ridiculous questions about conspiracies for lulz accuse some of them of being reptilians to see how they react, some of them get legit uncomfortable before you go sounding off, doubt they are hiding anything, some folks just don’t get military humor one does, however, and shows us a velcro patch that he wears on his rucksack it's one of those standard patches you spot on a pilot’s flight suit that has the name, rank, branch, and blood type his blood type seriously says reptilian it's obvious that they embrace and poke fun at the reputation this base has, in fact they thrive off of it
the day finally fucking arrives, time to attack this bitch wake up at 0400 and drive an hour to Creech dressed to kill decide to wear DCU "desert combat uniform" pants and a sand t shirt with my personally owned Blackhawk tactical vest to carry spare M4 mags sometimes the military issues some real shitty gear so our unit is somewhat lax and allows us to personally buy our own better equipment if it has command approved use and doesn't break SOPs also wear my empty gas mask pouch attached to my hip and use it to carry spare M82 .50 cal mags also wear a black turban for lulz that I bought off an ANA (Afghani Northern Alliance) dude downrange used to have a guile suite but it got lost on a deployment so that's a no go unfortunately arm up with an M4 with M68 red dot sight and attach a BFA "blank firing adapter" to the muzzle, and load six mags of .556 blanks also provided with my trusty Barret .50 M82 and five mags there is no BFA for the Barret that I'm familiar with so carry that with empty mags, guess I get to cheat with the weight load up in the vans with WHITEBOX team and drive another hour to Mercury get inprosscessed through security checkpoint and receive visitor badges for the test range drive another 2 hour on random roads passing more checkpoints /// REDACTED /// forced to surrender cell phones, personally owned electronic devices and CAC cards (military ID cards) again receive our escorted visitor passes for Groom Lake and now continue down some of the most forbidden roads in American history start unloading as close to our start point as the terrain allows and hump the rest of the distance on foot with our escorts suicide attack bro hangs back in the van with other escorts and is driven to his start point the terrain is favorable and allows us to set up out of sight hence why we chose the spot I break off and try to set up my nest at my chosen OP "observation point" as discreetly as possible not really stealthy cause I'm being followed by a guy wearing an orange reflective vest that says STAN EVAL and he's just casually walking he tells me to set up the Barret, but just simulate your shots by firing the M4 blanks now in a spot where I can observe base activity and provide cover fire for the breach, but I am also the most easy to spot sniper ever now wait for confirmation that our distraction on the other side has happened, taking a real long fucking time
my escort's radio chimes to life and starts talking "attention all WHITEBOX, we now have proper authentication via CASTLE ROCK for initiation of a detachment level exercise" voice on radio proceeds to spit out a long winded exercise safety briefing realize it's been about 40 minutes and we are just now fucking starting another 10 minutes and finally get word that suicide bro is approaching his target escorts all inform us that the security force is responding to reports of an explosion outside of the ECP later find out that suicide bro was stopped and challenged at gun point about 50 meters outside of ECP by a mounted patrol he then just fuck it and started sprinting towards the ECP until they opened fire with blanks and his escort set off the GBS he actually managed to take out the vehicle that stopped him and create several casualties (we gave him the heaviest explosive rocks loadout) overall our distraction was pretty fucking successful give it a another minute or two and finally start shooting and calling my shots to my escort/evaluator he's talking on his radio and relaying my simulated violence, "inform Merc-17 that they are dead from sniper fire" etc... I have predetermined targets to engage based off of what poses the biggest threat to the breach team I actually do some damage and get confirmation of casualties from my escort it's about a 600 meter run to the base perimeter in the open desert so it's on me to try and clear their path as much as I can the plan is to try to lure some security vehicles to our position then eliminate them with the Barret while they are en route the dead vehicles can then serve as points of cover for the breach team as they assault towards the base breach team was also aiming to see if they could snag any security radios from the dead patrols so we can monitor their comms didn't really work out that way however, in the end we simply didn't have all the info about the anticipated security response without giving away too many sensitive details, we all got ambushed by the security from unexpected locations forced to abandon my nest and the Barret to start moving towards another location to back up the breach team that was under fire trade some shots with security until my escort finally announces "ok dude, you're dead. go ahead and lay down" that's it, game over
play dead for about 20 minutes while security cleans up the area breach team gets rekt, we managed to get within 100 meters of the perimeter couple of security dudes approach me and perform a dead combatant body search on me it's a specific type of search designed to search a dead body while also checking for possible explosive booby traps pretend to be dead and let security dudes run my pockets finally one of the evaluators shouts "PauseEx" (pause exercise) we got fucking annihilated, no chance this attack was going to be successful our evaluators tell us that everyone did a great job, HOWEVER.... we are going to continue the exercise because they didn't get the chance to observe much of the internal security components we are going to resume the exercise assuming that we were actually able to get inside that target hangar this will give the evaluators the opportunity to observe the security's recap and recov procedures (re-capture and recovery) we all get magically resurrected from the dead I realize that I am actually going inside Groom Lake! Fucking Awesome...
spend about 15 minutes policing up the area for brass which means wandering around and picking up spent cartridges board vans and get driven around to ECP. realize that only half of the security force is playing in this exercise the rest are still armed with live weapons and are still performing regular protection duties forced to show our visitor passes, names and badge numbers are compared against a master list that the security has /// REDACTED /// /// REDACTED /// notice a homemade sign hanging on the wall at the security center it’s got a picture of an alien with a red X through it that says "no extraterrestrial entities or relics beyond this point" like I said earlier, everyone enjoys the reputation this base has drive to our target hangar, holy fuck! I am now inside Area 51 use of blanks not authorized indoors, everyone is told to clear out weapons rest of the exercise will use simulated firing, the equivalent of pointing your empty weapon at someone and yelling bang sadly not the first time I trained like this, military does it all the time it’s ridiculous and awkward every time, looks like a bunch of kids playing backyard soldiers with sticks security has already reset its posture, they know we are attacking but doesn't know the building we are hitting we all enter the hangar, get the impression that it doesn't actually get used IRL anymore reeks of mildew and no power inside, dust everywhere in the center there is a pickup truck covered with a tarp and roped off with red rope and stanchions, signs posted identifying it as a controlled area told that this is a simulated military asset and this is what we are sabotaging WHITEBOX evaluator pulls a box out of the bed of the truck remember when I said we will have to do a complex and time consuming task to simulate our act of sabotage? it’s a fucking Star Wars Lego kit! I shit you not! evaluators tell us we will need start building it and reach page 12 in the instructions without errors or mistakes kind of wish we went with our earlier plan and brought claymores cause I spotted some sweet chokepoints outside the building to set them up also wish we had the idea of bringing padlocks and chains so we could lock down the hangar and make life more difficult for the security force set up our spots to cover the doors, we are well versed with building clearing tactics so we know what spots to cover to make it hard
WHITEBOX evaluator authenticates over the radio with someone by passing letters and numbers back and forth, process known as sign/countersign voice on radio announces that the detachment level WHITEBOX exercise has resumed showtime! Two unit bros start opening the Lego kit and sorting parts me and the suicide bro weren't supposed to be in this hangar or even on the base to begin with so we don't have points to cover inside come up with idea and ask one of the escorts if we can go out the back on to the flightline plan to walk to two separate buildings in opposite directions and see if we can create distractions evaluators approve the plan, but tell us we can't approach or enter other buildings, nor approach any parked aircraft decide to leave firearms and my tac vest behind for clever reasons if we are unarmed the security will most likely apprehend us, and search us this is more time consuming than just shooting us and will keep them away from the hangar longer exit the back of the hangar on to the flightline and just start casually walking down the tarmac with my escort eventually hear the sound of police sirens in the distance getting louder, hear they come! get the urge to start sprinting but decide not to since it would most likely result in me being tackled on the pavement, fuck that later realize distant sirens are actually responding to hangar after reports of a silent alarm being received so much for the distraction plan
decide not to return to hangar since there is not much I can do unarmed, and continue walking down flightline all the parked aircraft I see are just normal military aircraft, although some do seem to have “enhancements” or cosmetic features that I haven’t seen before ask my escort where they keep all the flying saucers, he smirks and just replies "underground" wonder if there are actually any subterranean levels to this base, suppose a lot of these buildings could support that ask my escort if there are really underground levels, he facetiously says “who knows” white pickup truck with police lights approaching fast pretend not to notice and keep walking voice starts barking at me over a loudspeaker "stop right there! do not move! get your hands up! security mercs climbing out of vehicle with rifles drawn, don't see magazines in the riffles, they are part of the drill they actually try to challenge both of us, escort has to remind them that he is out of play security goons bark at me, "face away from me NOW! keep your hands up!" they are actually pretty intimidating, I comply proceed to have me lay on the ground face down with my arms and legs stretched out yell at me to put my hands in the small of my back, palms together, fingers up big black guy approaches me and actually puts his knee on my neck George Floyd style "don't fight me, don't resist me, or you are gonna get hurt" he says puts me in zip ties and picks me up, see other guards still have weapons drawn on me overall whole thing similar to a gangbanger getting rolled up by the cops black guy puts me in some weird and uncomfortable arm hold tells me to start walking while he steers my body with the arm hold and walks me off the flightline taken to a grassy area, get put back on the ground and searched and questioned /// REDACTED /// I try to bluff and say that the hangar will blow if anyone goes inside, see if that stalls them he tries to question me about it, but I can tell he’s not biting, I decide to tone it down and stay quiet cause the dude really looks like he’s going to fuck me up actually overhear his partner talking on the radio, he’s telling others to exercise caution and beware of possible explosive booby traps lights out, realize that someone put a bag over my head evaluator calls out "EndEX" (end exercise) all portions of the exercise are terminated, it's all over
black security guy cuts my zip ties, takes off the hood and sets me loose later find out that security retook the hangar with no problems my guys inside struggled with the Legos since it was so dark and hard to see instead of immediately going in, security tossed inert CS gas canisters inside none of us brought gas mask since it was something our insider failed to mention evaluator let us build legos for another 30 seconds then yelled “GAS, GAS, GAS” unit bros in the hangar were told to lay on the ground and pretend to be incapacitated security swarmed the place with gas mask and guns, kicked away weapons they got a similar treatment to what I received on the flightline and got hauled out of there we all regroup at the base's main visitor center for the AAR (after action review) overall security responded quite well, only some points were critiqued, nothing failing smoke cigarettes and crack jokes back and forth with the security dudes, finally get to see the human side of the guy who snagged me on the flightline tell him he’s one scary mofo, he smiles and we shake hands security dudes leave, head to base theater for full debrief WHITEBOX guys thank us for our participation, time to head home wait a sec, let’s see some fucking aliens WHITEBOX guy smirks and says he’ll give us the dollar tour another day drive back to Mercury knowing full well that we are not going to hear back from them, especially about a tour return radiation badges to the Mercury office told that if we never hear back from them that it’s a good sign told that if they do call us then our Tricare (military health coverage) will get put to good use whole experience was cool as fuck one of the evaluators hands out business cards for ///REDACTED/// and tells us to look them up when we separate from the military starting pay for the security force is pretty fucking dope and only certain military backgrounds are considered for it return to Indian Springs and hit up the casino for drinks with the original 5 WHITEBOX guys ask if any of the prior OPFOR units actually pulled it off and broke in told that a group of CCT guys from the 24th STS was the closest anyone’s ever gotten but even they still failed makes sense, I’ve heard that those dudes are legit operators tell war stories and get drunk actually receive a letter of appreciation from the Air Force Test Center Detachment 3 from Edwards Air Force Base, California about a month later it thanks me for my participation in an exercise but makes no mention of Groom Lake my participation in a vaguely worded “DOD exercise” actually gets mentioned as a bullet in my annual performance report mfw I attacked Area 51
tldr - me and my coworkers "broke" into Area 51 with automatic weapons so we could put together an X-wing starfighter out of Legos
Thanks for reading. I should mention that I have intentionally withheld a lot of details and even altered a few. I'm not trying to blow up anyone’s spot and compromise shit. Just wanted to share a true story about some cool shit I got to do in my youth. For example WHITEBOX is a completely fabricated name while the whole operation actually went under another random weird name. It still ranks as some of the most cloak and dagger shit I got to do in the military. I actually don’t really tell too many people because it is no one’s business and no one would believe me anyways. I finally figured that enough time has passed and like I said, I have specially tailored this story to avoid leaking any sensitive shit. Overall the base was actually kind of underwhelming. I didn’t really see any earth shattering secrets there. All of the alien and reptilian conspiracy theories were openly mocked and made fun of there. It’s really just a base that gets an extra layer of discreetness and physical security for more sensitive assets and projects to be kept there. The CIA, JSOC and other intel gangs from Washington even have offices out there because it’s just a quiet tucked away place to do business. I will say that their security is no joke and that they have some truly fascinating techniques to detect and deny intruders. Hope you enjoyed.

Unleashed pt. 47

This chapter was a labour of love, heists are hard. Big thanks to u/eruwenn for helping tidy up this bag of snakes.
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“Ranjaz K’Lua, you thieving scumbag!” the Kah’Ree in the purple suit exclaimed loudly as he spotted them across the busy room. “As I live and skral, I never thought you would have the Jolos show your face here again!”
Two J’Rami in suits detached themselves from the lobby wall, walking towards the Kittran and his friends. “Alfor, my old friend!” Ranjaz smiled broadly. “No need for the welcoming party, I’ve got your credits” —he gestured to Cygna— “and a sweetener, for all the trouble I caused last time.”
Alfor paused, lecherous eyes assessing the Fae’Dan. “You know I have a thing for purple.” He chuckled at his own joke and waved the guards back to their posts. “How about we have a drink, and discuss your forgiveness.” He pointed to Thor and Eruwenn. “Brought your own security, or are these Gal. Fed. goons? Everyone knows about your probation.”
The Kittran gave a broad grin. “I got a Tulseria-damned pardon, a new ship and a very lucrative opportunity.”
The Kah’Ree smiled. “How’d a thieving cat like you get a pardon?” He gave Ranjaz an appraising look up and down. “Oh? Now, let me guess, you need something from me and my brother?”
Ranjaz fired his finger guns. “You were always the smart one Alfor, that’s why you run the casino floor.” The Kittran stepped in close. “The item, do you still have it?”
Alfor tilted his head back and away from Ranjaz. “Your little guarantee?” He looked back down at Ranjaz. “We have it somewhere safe. Had some unusual people come by after you got caught. Asked a lot of questions. Made a lot of threats.” His face contorted in anger. “We got audited thanks to you.”
The Kittran smiled. “If only they knew you better, they could have simply paid you for the information.”
“We give nothing for free.” The Kah’Ree gave a sinister smile. “House rule.”
Ranjaz walked forward to put his his arm on Alfor’s back. “Let’s go see your brother. Have a few drinks, maybe gamble a little, and discuss our future riches.”

Ripley stood in the shadows of the staff shuttle bay, watching as the numerous employees of assorted races came and went. Loud laughter caught her attention, and a very strangely dressed Niham broke away from a small group and walked towards her. Ripley tried to maintain her low profile as the scantily clad female strutted towards her in long black boots with pointed heels that clacked loudly with every step.
Deliberately avoiding eye contact the Awakened tried to will herself into the wall but it was too late and a voice called out to her. “Hey Darling! You must be the one I’m looking for.”
Ripley shook her head. The Kittran had said the contact was an Ashi pirate captain, a master gambler and expert in procuring the unusual. “I don’t-”
“Listen cutie,” she interrupted, “you’re the one lurking in dark corners drawing attention to yourself. I’ve got your security card. You tell that fluffy little stud he owes me. And more than a bottle of Fae’Dan wine and a good time, if you know what I mean.” She held up the card between her fingers, just a little out of Ripley’s reach.
The Awakened considered the phrase ‘fluffy little stud’ and decided that, despite her hopes, this was probably her contact. “You’re Captain Whiplash?”
The Ashi laughed genuinely, the jiggling of tightly squeezed breasts bursting at shiny black restraints making Ripley nervous. “Oh, Darling! Only my little pets call me that! You may call me Sho’Na.”
Ripley was momentarily confused. “So, you aren’t a pirate captain?”
“I’m anything they pay me to be.” She smiled at the silver-haired woman's naivety. “You really are new to this.”
Ripley, caught off guard, simply nodded, then replied, “I’m a quick learner.”
“Good for you, Darling.” Sho’Na handed over the card. “Just make sure you get paid up front, and don’t use your real name with clients. Ruins the mystique.”
Ripley was unsure of what was being said. Turning the card over in her hands she saw that the holo-image on the front was of a male Arkellian. “This isn’t me?”
“Honey, I was given half a cycle to get you a level three security card. Just be glad it’s a biped.” Sho’Na looked Ripley up and down. “Our mutual acquaintance told me you were some sort of master of disguise who could even trick Selva Blaster.”
Ripley paused, then smiled. Her appearance had become such an integral part of her identity she had forgotten that it was entirely optional. “It won’t be a problem.” She looked at the card again. “Unless the owner comes looking for it.”
Sho’Na gave another bosom-trembling laugh that threatened to spill out at any moment. “Oh, don’t worry, he’s tied up at the moment.”
The Awakened considered the risk. “Hmmm, but for how long?”
The few strips of shiny black material that comprised Sho’Na’s revealing outfit strained under her amusement. “Don’t you worry, Darling. He paid for the whole night.”

Eruwenn had reassessed her opinion of Ranjaz many times since meeting him. The criminal. The loyal friend. The lazy trouble-maker. All were true, but now she was seeing something new. He sat opposite Toran, the brother of Alfor, in a game of dalcho she wished she could have taken part in, but was equally glad she did not.
At first she had thought the Kittran was outmatched, a few reckless mistakes costing him dearly as the Kah’Ree deftly selected his tiles. Toran was clearly a seasoned gambler, using a blend of the Remee Le’Bow Gambit and the Kowals’Kee Analysis she hadn’t seen before. It seemed to be dismantling Ranjaz’s tiles before he could even prepare his cards. A few fortunate dice rolls and he had taken a strong lead from the outset. The Kittran appeared desperate, playing any tile available to try and slow the defeat.
It had all been a ruse, she saw it; Ranjaz had saved his best tiles and carefully thrown hands to manipulate the cards. In just a few rounds he would be able to dominate the board and raise the stakes, recouping his losses and changing the course of the game entirely. She had encountered few players who could manipulate the game so deftly, using memory and layers of strategy to corner their opponent. It was magnificent.
Eruwenn couldn’t tear her eyes from the board as she stood beside Thor. The Awakened had shown no interest in the game, studiously watching the opposite door as Toran’s staff came in and out. When a waiter entered and began preparing drinks at the small private bar in the executive gambling room, Thor coughed. It was a strange thing for an Awakened to do, and Eruwenn finally looked up from the table. “Are you ok?”
Thor nodded. By the time he had looked towards her, she had returned her attention completely to the game. “You don’t seem concerned about your friend?” he asked.
The Anatidae watched as Ranjaz used a blind double feint, and the sheer audacity of such a move made her swallow hard. She didn’t look back to Thor, but mumbled a response. “I’m very confident in her abilities.”
The waiter was methodically placing drinks by each of the players, but when they stood behind Ranjaz the Kittran surged to his feet, shouting, “Hey! No cheating Toran! Getting your waiter to look over my shoulder? That’s a dirty move I’d expect from your brother!”
Thor had reacted faster than Eruwenn, pinning the arms of the Arkellian waiter in a vice-like bear hug. Toran slowly stood. He was big, heavily muscled, and the veins on his neck bulged as his anger rose. “Don’t accuse me in my own place.” He cracked his knuckles and glowered down at Ranjaz. “I run a straight game.”
Fearlessly the Kittran walked right up to the Kah’Ree and stared up into his face from waist height. “Don’t try and intimidate me, you son of a Vogel.” Ranjaz puffed out his chest and began pushing the burly casino owner. “Nobody cheats me!”
The blow caught Ranjaz across the cheek and sent him sprawling across the room. Eruwenn winced at the impact, but maintained her composure. Toran laughed. “Watch your tongue or I’ll add it to my collection.” He walked round the table and kicked Ranjaz in the stomach, glaring at Thor and Eruwenn, daring them to act. “Know your place trash. You’re at this table because you put credits up front. You are a dishonest thief, begging for scraps, and cosying up to me any my brother to get your little trinket back.” He returned to his seat. “Why would I need to cheat against the likes of you?”
Ranjaz stood, brushing himself off. “Fine, fine.” He waved a hand and Thor dropped the Arkellian. Ranjaz tapped him on the chest. “My mistake.” He sat down and picked up his cards once more. “You’re right Toran, you run a clean game. I’m just a sore loser.” He shuffled the order of the tiles that were still face down on the table. “To show my sincerity, how about we double the buy for the rest of the game?”
Toran snorted. “Double?” He looked at the Kittran, scrutinising his opponent. The game was already over; he had control of the board and his tiles occupied the three prime positions. Was the thief trying to buy his favour, he wondered? How much was the trinket he wanted truly worth? He decided it was worth testing. “Triple, and I’ll forget you dared touch me.”
The Kittran swallowed hard, his ears flat to his head. Toran momentarily worried he’d pushed for too much but a decision seemed to be reached. “Fine. Triple.” The look of defeat was delicious to the Kah’Ree.

Cygna had done her part and lured Alfor to a private room away from his security. She had danced, skipped and side-stepped his groping hands so far, maintaining a playfulness that ensured he complied. This sort of thing was not new to her; she had spent time undercover in the past. Fortunately, there had been little call for it since she had joined forces with Eruwenn.
Alfor’s eyes scanned her body once more. “The Kittran has very good taste.” He licked his lips, a small amount of drool escaping and running down his chin. He wiped it on his sleeve. “Now, I brought you somewhere quiet. How about you show me how sweet you can be?”
The Fae’Dan smiled coyly and continued her dancing just out of reach, glancing to the doorway where Alfor’s two guards stood watching her. “With an audience?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
With a sly grin he waved the guards out of the room. “Now come here and let me satisfy you like only a Kah’Ree can.” His eyes wandered over her body once more.
Cygna smiled, her own eyes moving from the Kah’Ree’s hands to his shoulders, then up towards his neck. An interesting fact about the Kah’Ree was the thick blood vessels on the side of their neck. They often bulged when a Kah’Ree was angry or excited, like Alfor’s were as he leered at her. She danced closer. Another interesting fact was that their brains were not as efficient as those of other species, hence the requirement for additional blood flow; more oxygen per limited thought.
He leaned forward, his eyes locked to her swaying hips. Cygna turned slowly, and his head tilted to appreciate her assets. The third, lesser known, fact about the Kah’Ree was that an interruption to the blood flow while they were in this excited state caused them to lose consciousness rapidly as their brain burned through the available oxygen. “My eyes are up here.” She smiled as he looked up at her with his head still tilted.
He sneered. “Who ca-”
The Fae’Dan struck the side of his neck with the edge of her hand, targeting the throbbing blood vessel with a powerful blow. The interruption to his brain's oxygen supply worked perfectly and he fell face forward onto the ground at her feet. She let out a sigh of relief and looked down at his unconscious body. “Thank you, that was particularly satisfying.”
She walked over to the door and peeked out, finding the guards standing either side. “He said to order us some drinks.” One of the guards nodded and immediately put his hand to his lapel communicator.
Back inside the room, Cygna used her foot to roll Alfor to his back and began searching his pockets. She came up empty. Her eyes caught a glimmer from his collar and she found a heavy gold chain, at the end of which was his security key. She removed it just as a knock came at the door. A deep voice from the other side called out. “Your drinks, boss.”
The Fae’Dan quickly messed up her hair. Using the back of her hand she smeared her lipstick sideways, and then pulled the strap of her dress down off her shoulder. She opened the door and, to her surprise, was faced with an Arkellian waiter. The bodyguards noted her dishevelled appearance and shared a smirk, and she said, “Oh, I wasn’t expec-”
The waiter pushed the trolley into the room. “Don’t keep the boss waiting, lady.” Before Cygna could reply they were inside and the door closed. “Relax, it’s me.”
Ripley’s voice sounded bizarre coming from the male Arkellian form, and Cygna’s eyes went wide in shock. Her sharp mind quickly adjusted to this new information. Of course the Awakened could change their physical appearance; she had just never seen it. They all seemed quite attached to their chosen human forms. “Neat trick.” She held out Alfor’s key. “Did you get the other one?”
Ripley nodded. “The Kittran played his part well. I didn’t see him take it, and didn’t feel it when he placed it in my pocket. Now that was a neat trick.”
The Fae’Dan smiled. “I think I’ll pass on that dalcho game.”
The Arkellian Ripley smiled. “Probably wise.” Turning, she slipped the key into her pocket and headed back out of the door.

Ripley entered the elevator to the owner's private offices on the top floor. Thanks to the distractions downstairs, the two large desks in the centre of the room were empty. She walked straight past them to the large leokas painting on the wall and swung it forward. Behind it was a Fae’Dan safe; she took out the two keys and a small homemade device the Kittran had given her.
Attaching the device to the bio-lock and standing before the safe, she elongated her arms to reach both key positions at once. There was more than one reason she was the one chosen for this task. The device beeped twice and small lights above each lock lit up. She simultaneously turned both keys, and there was a satisfying clunk.
She raised an eyebrow. The device had worked. The heavy safe door swung open and she began her search. Ranjaz had been very specific: while there was one item she had to get, she was to grab as much as possible to obscure their true target.
Quickly grabbing as much as she could she retrieved the keys and ran back across the room towards the elevator.

Cygna hauled Alfor back onto the seat, putting him in a more natural position and messing up his hair. She looked away as she began unbuttoning his clothes, pulling his trousers around his ankles and opening his shirt up to bare his chest. From a secret pocket inside her dress she pulled out a lace thong, setting it on his head like a bandana. She also had a small box which she opened, inside of which was a replica mouth with lipstick that matched her own.
Cygna carefully applied kiss marks all over his exposed skin before popping the fake lips back into the secret pocket. She took the Fae’Dan wine and partially filled two glasses, making sure to take a long drink from one and leave more lipstick marks. The rest of the wine was poured into the ice bucket.
She heard the sound of voices outside the door. The guards were arguing with someone, refusing them entry, but when the name Toran was mentioned it was Ripley who entered, still in uniform but now looking much like her usual self. She smirked at the Kah’Ree in his derobed state. “I can see you had fun.”
The Fae’Dan chuckled. “That’s the idea.” She looked at the Awakened in her true form. “You look… better.”
Ripley cocked her head. “It would be strange if the waiter came back to deliver a message.” She tossed the necklace key to Cygna, who replaced it on Alfor’s neck.
Reclining on the sofa and picking up her glass, Cygna took another long drink. “Get the other one back to Ranjaz quickly. This one won’t be napping much longer.”
The Awakened gave an almost Ranjaz-like grin. “You could always hit him again.” Before the Fae’Dan could reply she had ducked back out of the door. She caught the eye of one of the bodyguards and gave a head tilt back towards the room. “The boss is really enjoying himself!”
As the suited pair chuckled, the larger of the two got a message in his ear piece. “Hey, silver hair.” He grunted. “Boss has an important guest. Meet them in the foyer and bring them to the dalcho room.”
Ripley was relieved – she needed a reason to get into that room. “On my way.”

Toran was seething as he watched as the Kittran flipped his final tile. Why would he have waited so long to play the Wings of Tulseria tile? His stomach sank, and he couldn’t hold back his anger any longer. “Damn you!”
Ranjaz gave a full-fanged grin. “Looks like my luck turned at just the right moment.”
“Luck!” Toran’s tile snapped between his fingers. Why had he let the damned cat goad him into constantly increasing their bet? The cycle had started with him owing the brothers a million credits plus interest, and now the infuritating Kittran had won nearly forty times that. “Nobody is that lucky.”
“Woah!” Ranjaz held up his hands. “I would never cheat, well... certainly not a second time. After you caught me, I’d be a fool to try.”
“Hmm.” Toran looked at the two behind the Kittran. The big one would be a problem, but the Anatidae looked to be nothing special. “How about I give you back your little trinket and we call it even?”
“My trinket?” Ranjaz shook his head. “I had to convince you it was worth the million I owed. Why would you think I’d trade it for thirty eight million credits? I’ll pay what I owe, take my trinket and my winnings and leave.”
Toran folded his arms and looked across the dalcho board at Ranjaz. “And why would I let you do that?” The atmosphere in the room changed as the two security guards changed their stance. “Transfer the credits back to the house.”
Ranjaz dropped the grin, replacing it with a defiant glare. “What happened to you running a straight game?”
“The game was straight. You won, didn’t you?” He leaned forward, his eyes cold and hard. “You’re just in no position to collect.”
The Kittran was about to argue when the door behind Toran opened. He looked up as Ripley entered, and his eyes widened in shock. She wasn’t alone. “Toran, you bastard! You sold me out!”
“For ten million credits.” Toran stared hard at Ranjaz. “Care to make a better offer?”
Eruwenn’s eyes blazed with anger as the grey-suited Niham pulled up a seat and sat down beside Toran. “Now, now, you lied to me about having the item before. Don’t double cross me.” Sentinel Krast placed his hands together on the table, interlacing his fingers. “I’m not somebody who forgives easily.” He looked directly at Eruwenn. “Isn’t that right, former Councillor? A little far from your new Ambassador position, aren’t you?”
Ripley stood back against the wall. She had no idea who the newcomer was, but this most definitely was not the plan. The golden green Anatidae walked forward to stand behind Ranjaz. “Oh, I had a little vacation time saved up, and decided to spend it with my good friend here.” She placed a hand on the Kittrans shoulder. “And what brings a Sentinel here?”
Krast’s lips curled in what might approximate a smile. “I’m also acquainted with Mr K’Lua. In fact, we go back a very long way.” He turned to look directly at Ranjaz. “Now, return what is mine.”
Toran looked from Ranjaz to Krast. “Yours? You don’t look like the tiara wearing type.”
The Sentinel didn’t turn his head. “Ah, so you hid the data chip inside some shiny bauble. As inventive as ever, Mr K’Lua.” The Niham finally acknowledged Toran by looking at him. “Bring. It. Here.”
The Kah’Ree sucked air through his teeth. “Well, seems like we have something mighty important, and two very interested parties.” He stood and walked to his two security officers, who drew their weapons in unison. “Now then, I believe you” —he nodded to Krast— “offered ten million. How about it Ranjaz, old friend? What’s your counter offer?”
The Kittran had been sitting, silently seething at his double cross being double crossed. He looked at Krast. “Were you the one?”
Toran was surprised at being ignored, but before he could reply Krast answered, “The one?”
Ranjaz’s eyes narrowed, his ears alert, his tail swishing aggressively. “The one who took my friend!” he snarled as he felt Eruwenn’s hand holding him back gently.
Krast’s eyes glittered as he saw the impotent rage in his opponent’s eyes. “Ah, the poor deceased human?” He smiled his mannequin-esque smile. “And if I was?”
Toran snatched a pistol from one of his men and fired a blast at the ceiling. “Your quarrel can wait. Let’s settle our business first and you can kill each other after I’m paid.” He paused, then added, “but, not in my casino. Body disposal costs extra.”
Eruwenn’s hand gripped Ranjaz’s shoulder harder, and he braced himself. In one smooth move she both threw him backwards and to the right, and kicked the dalcho table up and forward into Krast's face. The Sentinel fell backwards as a blast from Toran struck the table, but Eruwenn was already on the move, sidestepping left and ducking forward into a cartwheel. Toran's gun had been following Ranjaz, but as her leg swept down it knocked the weapon from his grip.
Once she stabilized, her fist, already primed with momentum from the cartwheel, struck Toran below the ribs and knocked the wind from him. The guard, whose gun the Kah'Ree had been holding, lunged forward to grab Eruwenn but she simply deflected his hand, pairing his forward momentum with her rising elbow to swiftly render him unconscious.
The second guard had just begun to raise his weapon when a huge fist struck him in his chest, sending him careening backwards into the wall. Thor loomed over him, shaking his head as he retrieved the energy pistol. “Too slow.”
Ripley helped Ranjaz to his feet as Krast pushed the table off his chest. Toran was coughing and struggling to breathe as Ranjaz pressed the retrieved energy pistol to his forehead. “Double cross me?” He dragged the Kah’Ree forward. “I want to see the item, then I’ll pay what I owe.” The two of them awkwardly made their way back towards Krast, so Ranjaz could point the gun in his face. “Then we can talk about your body disposal fee.”
Krast stood, and his phony smile was gone. “You can’t kill me. The Sentinels will tear this place apart, hunt you down and kill you. You think I came alone? My ship is in orbit and waiting for my orders!”
Ranjaz grabbed him by the jacket, pulling him down to his level, and struck him in the face with the butt of the pistol. Thor cooly kept his stolen pistol pointed at Toran and the one conscious guard. By the third blow Krast’s face was bloody, his nose broken and he began to struggle against Ranjaz’s assault.
A muted boom caused everyone present to stop in their tracks. Alarms began to sound and Toran swore loudly. He pulled out his communicator, ignoring Thor’s pistol. “What the hell was that!” He held the device close as he listened. “My office?” He patted his pocket. Finding his key in place, he looked to Ranjaz and then Krast. “Seal the casino! And where is my brother?”
Ripley suddenly understood why the Kittran had told her to leave his device on the safe door. After a brief further moment of shock, which she kept from showing on her face, she realized that she had been carrying an explosive without being told. If they survived, Ranjaz was going to need to explain himself. Thoroughly.
Eruwenn, Thor and Ranjaz had backed away to the opposite side of the room, standing by the door. Krast stood alone, holding his profusely bleeding nose. The opposite door soon opened to reveal scrambling casino security, with Toran and his guard standing nearby.
The unconscious guard was carried out without comment, and the Kah’Ree turned to Ripley. “Why are you still here?” She nodded and slipped out of the door, leaving one less concern for the remaining three. “Alright, which one of your skrolg-licking bastards broke into my private safe?”
Krast spat blood onto the floor, pointing at Ranjaz. “He’s the thief. You and I had a deal.”
The Kittran smirked. “I’m a better thief than blowing up a Tulseria-damned safe. If I wanted to steal it, I would have done just that. I would not have announced my arrival and sat down to a game of dalcho.”
Toran looked between the two of them. “He’s got a point.” One of his men handed him a pistol, and he continued to talk a little distractedly into his communicator. “Well, check everywhere!”
Ranjaz stirred the pot. “He’s the bastard who double crossed me, why would he honour your deal?”
Eruwenn nodded. “A government agent can’t be seen working with criminals.”
Krast's face contorted in rage. “Don’t be a damned fool, Toran!” He pointed at Ranjaz. “This is clearly some convoluted distraction.”
Toran shook his head. “They had the upper hand. You were the one getting your face ruined.”

Cygna watched nervously as Alfor began to stir. Things were taking a lot longer than expected. Finally, her signal came; it was not as subtle as she had been led to believe. As soon as the explosion went off the two bodyguards quickly came into the room, glancing from Alfor’s sleeping body to her. She staggered forward, wine bottle in hand. “We need more drinkshh!”
The guard ignored her as he saw the condition of his boss. “Not again,” he groaned. “Toran will kill us for letting him get like this.”
The second guard stepped out into the corridor. “I’m not dressing him! Last time he tried to kiss me!”
Cygna paused, not having expected it to go this way. The first bodyguard walked out as well. “He pissed on my new shoes the time before that. I’m not moving him.”
Their communicators went off and their faces became more serious. Bodyguard two spoke first. “Damn it. Toran wants him.”
The first turned to look at the increasingly bewildered Cygna. “You!” He smiled. “You got him undressed. You can dress him.”
Cygna spotted Ripley running down the corridor towards them, causing her confusion to grow further. The Awakened shouted one word. “Sentinels!”
The Fae’Dan’s mind raced. The plan was clearly blown, and they had to get out. Fast. As the guards were now facing Ripley, she took the opportunity to kick one in the back of the knee. He fell forward, and as the second turned he was met with the upward swing of a wine bottle. The first guard discovered first-hand the shocking truth of how hard the knee of an Awakened could be, and both were unconscious by the time they hit the ground.
Cygna smiled at Ripley. "Thanks."
The Awakened gave a swift nod of acknowledgement. “A Sentinel turned up, so Ranjaz set off the diversion he promised. The other brother is busy trying to figure out whether it’s us or the Sentinels robbing him.”
Cygna took on board the new information quickly, knowing she needed to help the others. “I have an idea. Lie over there and look dead.” She ran back into the room, where Alfor was groaning and starting to move. She slipped the chain from his neck and dropped it into the ice bucket, where it sank out of sight below the dark Fae’Dan wine. She began to slowly shake him.
“Huh,” he grumbled, and slowly opened his eyes. “Wha.. what happened?”
Cygna clung to him tightly. “Oh thank goodness! I thought they killed you!”
“Killed?” Alfor’s head was pounding, his memory blurry. “Who-” He caught sight of his downed guards in the open doorway. “What the hell happened?” He began pulling at his clothes, and swiftly checked that his trousers were dry.
“While we were.. You know…” He nodded; he was buttoning up his clothes. He didn’t remember, but he knew. “Some scary men burst into the room and shot you! I was so scared.” She hugged him tight, pressing herself against him.
He put his arm around her. “What men? Be brave, and tell me what happened.”
She looked up at him, trying to make her eyes as big as possible, adding a lip tremble to really sell it. “I don’t know! They wore grey suits. And one of them took your necklace!”
“My necklace.” He clutched at his chest where it should have been. “Damn Sentinels! I told Toran we couldn't trust them!”
He stepped into the corridor, where Ripley lay on the ground with a terrible energy weapon burn on the side of her face. He pulled out his communicator. “Toran.” He instantly got hold of his brother. “I didn’t answer because I was knocked out. Damn Sentinels took my key, killed some of our guys.” He looked around. “Nobody important, just some waiter.” He finally pulled the underwear from his head. “I’ll go to the security room and look at the video.”
He ended the call and turned back to Cygna. “You stay here.”
She smiled. “Sorry, we can’t let you check the security footage.”
“Wha-”
Ripley struck him from behind and he crumpled to the ground, her fake burn melting from her face. The Awakened looked around, rechecking that all was clear. “I think that’s all we can do; we should get out of here. Come with me, my shuttle is in the staff bay.”

Toran closed his communicator and motioned to a guard. “Search him.”
Eruwenn wished she had some way to capture the look on Krast’s face when the remote detonator was pulled from his pocket. She'd have to hug the light-fingered Kittran later.
The Sentinel grit his teeth. “That’s not mine.”
“Sure, sure,” Toran agreed, while simultaneously shaking his head at the Sentinel. “Looks like you really didn’t come alone.”
Krast was furious, yelling, “I’m telling you-” He broke off when Ranjaz shot him in the leg, falling to the floor.
The Kah’Ree pointed his pistol at the Kittran. “Can’t let you kill a Sentinel in my casino, even if they did just rob me.”
Ranjaz was surprised the Kah’Ree had believed them so easily. “What about us?”
Toran sighed, lowering his weapon. “Take your winnings and get out. If you stole the thing once, I’m sure you can steal it again.”
Eruwenn and Thor both made to leave. Ranjaz paused, knowing he might not get another chance. “And him?”
The Kah’Ree looked at the Sentinel holding his wounded leg. “We’ll send him back to his ship. As much as I hate it, the Sentinels are untouchable.”
Ranjaz raised his pistol. “He took my friend.”
“And we’ll get him back,” Eruwenn said softly. “Then we’ll all deal with him, and the rest of the Sentinels.”
Krast sneered and spat blood once more. “Your human is dead.”
Ranjaz fired.
Krast screamed and grabbed his other leg. “You bastard!”
Toran and his men raised their weapons as the Kah’Ree yelled, “Get the hell out of here!”
Ranjaz turned and followed the others out of the door, but just as it was about to close he poked his head back in. “Oh, one last thing.”
Toran could be seen looking up just as the Kittran fired again, but he ducked out of sight before the true outcome of his shot could be seen. The shrieks of agony, however, followed the trio down the corridor as they broke into a run. Eruwenn spared a glance down at Ranjaz during their retreat. “What did you do?”
The full-fanged grin had never been larger. “Made sure we’ll see him again.”
On the floor of the dalcho room Krast was screaming in agony. He turned over to stare at the closed door. “I’ll kill you! I will hunt you down and kill every last one of you!”
Toran spoke into his communicator. “Tell the Sentinel ship to come get their man. And, bring a doctor. A really good doctor.” He nudged one of his guards and finally let out a chuckle. After all, the Sentinels had just robbed him. “You double-crossing scum always get what you deserve.”
The J’Rami guard raised an eyebrow. “Not sure anyone deserves getting shot in the balls.”

Next

The Future That Never Was: KITTY KITTY - #2 THE TWISTED HEIST

RR link
Previous chapter (RETRO COSMOS)
#2 - THE TWISTED HEIST
A star had just gone out in the distance, sending its entire system, planets and moons, into oblivion. So, what was a simple life compared to a sun? Did the human existence that earthlings highly cherished in the past deserve so much fuss?
I would say no, of course, because I’m a cat. Our condition to us felines will never have to pale in front of a shiny astronomical object. Mine specifically, don’t you think?
Oswald Avery was merely a Homo sapiens. A retired buccaneer, fermenting his adulterated wine on the carcass of a drifting supercargo; all under the remodeled features of a former Galactic Trade Company’s pilot. Alas, regardless of the genetic disguise, the FID rarely lied. It hadn’t fooled us and the masks had fallen off. Just like him.
I’m such a poet.
Anyway… Avery had had a long life of crimes and adventures. He was full of energy in his youth. And as in the universe, nothing is lost, nothing is created, everything is transformed, this energy was reincarnated in a nice amount in our bank account once the old picaroon flatlined.
“We finally got it! And it was a traditional Martian contract. Payable remotely, on condition that the FID is validated. How about that?”
“God… Lee … you’re talking to yourself and it’s only 8 a.m.,” Ali grunted behind me.
My couch potato of an associate had her head still stuck in the cereal box she was nibbling before falling asleep binge-watching Captain Caveman on ABC.
“To begin with, it’s 8 p.m., Martian Time. And we do have a positive balance in our bank account for the first time in months! Do you know what that means, partner?”
“Shopping, bitches!” she shouted as she hurled herself into the void, gliding to the bathroom in the weightlessness.
With the cardboard box on the top of her head, this sugar bishop was swimming after the remnant cereals that floated on her path like Ms. Pac-Man.
“Hell! Have I just opened Pandora’s box?”
The liner Danaë and its forty-eight post-nuclear Baltimore-XVIII heavy reactors made its annual cruise from Lunapolis to the suburbs of Ceres, in the belt. Its figurehead with the effigy of the Greek princess was a two hundred meters long, green ceramic statue. The size of the ship exceeded some inhabited asteroids’ diameter so it possessed its own substantial gravitational field.
“It’s quite a symbol of the decline of humanity,” I said to Ali, pointing with my chin at this unique work of art.
“Why?” my partner asked without caring whatsoever. “Spill the beans, Plato.”
The Kitty had obtained permission to dock and began its approach. I concluded then:
“Humanity no longer erects great and beautiful things without turning them into a shopping mall.”
The gold and ivory Danaë was one of the most luxurious epicenters of human decadence in the system; comprising hotels, casinos, megastores and amusement parks spread over a dozen centrifugal rings. There was something for everyone’s wallet, ready to be emptied, whether one was welcomed at the port or had joined during the crossing.
And to my great regret, the cape of the Danaë was just passing by us that week.
“I believe we should keep our savings for the maintenance of the Swallow. The dashboard lights up like a Christmas tree. Some parts need to be changed…”
“You’re such a bore with your adult talks,” my partner said as she left the fitting room of a luxury chain overlooking the main deck. “What do you think of that? Sexy as fuck, right?”
Her camisole didn’t hide a single inch square of flesh and I subtly pointed it out to her:
“It’s a bit of a back-alley Sally.”
I took a blow on the nose which, this time, was amply justified.
“There’s nothing chicer than Borderline. You don’t know anything about fashion. It’s crazy!”
She was furious. It was entertaining. But she was right. The human female fads were way over my head and I wasn’t a good adviser. Mostly because I didn’t care. At all.
Fortunately, the upscale shopping mall where we were staying had provided us with a free assistant who was even more servile than a decerebrate canine. As usual, the robot carrier that accompanied us did the job by flattering her with its unbearable honeyed tone:
“I find you charming, Madame. Here we have the latest fashionable lingerie on Mars. It’s an ephemeral collection that appears to have been specially made to mold your discreet curves, which seem to have been sculpted by the seraphim.”
Ali gave me a satisfied look that I pretended to ignore. Then she backtracked into the fitting room to put her black suit and pink jacket back on.
I took the opportunity to climb on the shoulders of this silly robot, servant of our servants and last link in this hierarchy whose origins go back to Ancient Egypt.
“One more move like this and I’ll turn you into a gum dispenser.”
The automaton apologized before my partner’s head emerged from behind the silk curtains which were far too fragrant for my taste.
“I just checked; it’s too expensive anyway. I ain’t buying it,” she announced. “Can you order a taxicab to take us to the hotels’ ring? You’d be a sweetheart.”
Happy to leave this irascible human with her robotic slave, I proceeded to the nearest service terminal. By the time I requested a vehicle, a flying cigarette dispenser could light me a Lucky.
“It’s forbidden to smoke in our store, Monsieur.”
The customer attaché, in his blue silk suit with elephant legs, had appeared out of nowhere. Yet, with such a shiny tie, this punk should have dazzled me from the Kuiper belt.
“Please be kind and get me a Pepper Coke instead of ruining my eyesight…” I grumbled in response.
I was in an awful mood. I definitely hated shopping. And people. Yet the pedestrian avenues of the Danaë had a very exceptional population density. Perms were making a strong comeback, as were neon tattoos and overly open flowered shirts. Under the false UVA/B sun, it was a true dance of flesh, steel and plastic bodies with assumed nudity. Implants and surgery erased the hazards of the genetic lottery for better or worse. It was so superficial. So futile. So human.
“Hello, handsome!” Ali cried out, a large smile across her face. “Lee? You didn’t tell me you knew Christophe Lambert! You know I'm a huge Highlander fan!”
My partner had just joined me, arms loaded with bags massive enough to live in it, start a family and park my chromic Pontiac Firebird. All were filled with C$400 t-shirts and sneakers that she didn’t need and would only put on once.
“No smell. Hologram,” I conclude by throwing my cigarette butt through the smiling ghost.
“Shame!” Ali sighed.
She then looked at her terminal, and continued:
“Do you think I have time to grab a watch module? There are sales in the Japanese aisle! I saw some GD-8 that would go well with my new Game Pocket! This boat is fucking rad!”
Ali could not stop humming Who wants to live forever. I had to rub my temples to avoid a migraine before the arrival of our taxicab five minutes later.
These were miniature limousines with double fake leather benches, facing each other at the back. There was a minibar with expensive multicolored drinks and sugar-soaked snacks, the sapiens’ primary source of calories and high Gs space travel drug. For the sensitive, the smart-fridge provided diet sodas with aspartame, but no one took it. Finally, there were free Gauloise cigarettes next to the ashtray on the armrest. And even Tylenol!
“What a time to be alive!”
Right after leaving the fashion district, a soft voice of a young woman, who appeared to us through the armored porthole separating her from her customers, finally emerged from the cockpit:
“Good evening! I’m Miss Meera. At your service. Hotel de Saint-Malo, correct?”
I nodded. She smiled at us. She was beautiful with her incredibly dark night metal skin that contrasted strongly with her silvery-white hair. She also had charming ivory eyes with absolutely no reflection. They were a mesmerizing void of light.
In fact, it was so rare to deal with a real person, and not an AI, that we engaged rapidly in a lovely and honest discussion with Meera. We were mostly talking about life on the Danaë. As she stated, the rules on board were very strict, even military. All was done to make sure that the customer had the most pleasant time at the expense of everything else. Finally, according to her, her condition wasn’t the most to be pitied in the cosmos. And she was fully satisfied with this precarious semi-nomadic existence.
“And what about you? Are you here on vacation or in transit for work?” she eventually asked. “What do you do for a living?”
Should we have told her that we were executing infamous people so Ali would collect expensive t-shirts and I could fulfill my nicotine addiction?
“Don’t get me wrong but I saw that you had a gun. Are you in the police… or are you pirates?”
It wasn’t the first time someone asked us this question. Although weapons were allowed on most ships and stations, it wasn’t wise to display them unless you were looking for trouble. Unfortunately, hiding such a large caliber under such a tight vest was a Herculean task.
“You can get much farther with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone”, simply quoted Ali, her forehead against the window covered with scented stickers.
Meera laughed before continuing:
“Very well, Al Capone. I understand that you’re not the type to let yourself be taken advantage of.”
The taxicab entered the central expressway after the water park then suddenly swerved violently to the left.
“What is going on?” I gasped.
After crushing the safety railing, we fell from one rotating bridge to the other in a frantic cavalcade. Judging by Meera’s swear words, this ride wasn’t part of the show.
Avoiding the stalls of an art market and a group of children coming out of an arcade, the driver finally managed to recover in extremis. It was about time, because within seconds we were passing through the transparent protective wall of the hotels’ deck.
“A thousand apologies! Another one of those mor… clients from the Middle System who doesn’t know how to use a rental car,” she shouted through the window. “Are you guys hurt?”
“No, thanks to you,” I replied, my tail spiked over my head, taped to Ali’s neck now decorated with bloody scratches.
Although my human forehead now had a bump on it the size of a golf ball, it was true that Meera had just saved our lives. This young girl had unsuspected driving talents despite taxicabs’ lack of handling. She didn’t belong here, playing the steward in a yellow circus uniform. This woman should have been a fighter pilot; or a NASCAR driver on Canyon Creek.
“In any case, here you’re almost in front of your hotel,” she replied. “You don’t have to pay anything, and I apologize again for the scare.”
From the outside, the taxicab now looked like a can of nutrigel after going through a crusher. Yet, it still worked. May God Darwin bless Venusian steel.
After thanking her, we wished Meera a good day. But the cockpit window suddenly went down on the passenger side. The smile of the driver had faded. She had tears at the corner of her white eyes.
“Wait!” she asked. “This weapon… do you really know how to use it?”
So, life on the Danaë wasn’t so sweet. As Meera explained to us in a secluded alleyway, a trio of criminals had come to threaten her a few days earlier, after finding she was a bodacious driver. They were preparing a heist in one of the flying city’s fifty casinos. The young woman was now ready to pay the price to settle the case.
“What is your opinion about this whole situation?” I asked Ali, once in our room, a small yet cozy suite whose glass walls overlooked the vacuum of space.
My human had applied a brownish ointment on her hump, which disappeared soon after, leaving only a slight pinkish hematoma.
“Meera said she would provide us with more details tomorrow. However, if she ponies up the cash, I don’t see why we would refuse. We ain’t mercs but these three guys must have a bounty on their heads. Let’s do our job, right?
“Indeed…”
All we had to do was wait for more instructions. Fortunately, it had been months since we had been able to take days off except on miserable gas stations full of drug addicts, implants scavengers and prostitutes.
After another morning of shopping, Ali went to the thalassotherapy center of the neighboring hotel. Her main occupation? Overeating sushi made by 3D nutrigel printing while getting massages.
Alas, I didn’t have the time to bask under the false sun of the lakeside resort and get my belly stroked. As a good captain, I had to go to the maintenance to fix the numerous damages of the Kitty. As always, the bill would be higher than expected.
Everything was orchestrated so that we would never hold a positive balance in this corrupted system. We had to chain contract after contract.
But Meera’s gig didn’t sound right. There was something I didn’t like and I couldn’t catch it yet. All my cat sensors were in the red. Unfortunately, the bounty hunter’s ones only saw the green of the bills.
Don’t judge me.
The young taxicab driver had finally contacted Ali again by holoconference in the early afternoon, shortly before I joined her at the exit of the tanning booths. Or as I called them: human toasters.
“Have you finished roasting like a Thanksgiving turkey?” I asked her as she plunged into the icy water of the adjacent basin, under the lustful gaze of a group of cadets from the Marine Academy.
“Meera will pick us up with a new taxicab in the hotel parking lot,” she whispered once back to me. “Alongside her, we will meet two of the criminals at the burglary location, shortly before midnight.”
“Go on.”
“We take care of these guys and we catch up with the last one: the band leader, in the storage cavities of the hangar reserved for the ship’s logistics. Below the last rotating ring.”
In Eve’s costume, Ali came out of the basin, not without deliberately drenching me. The water had a nasty chemical taste from being filtered day after day.
“Do you have any intelligence on these jokers?” I insisted while lighting a cigarette.
“The Broadway Gang. Three brothers. C$45,000 for the trio. We will also be able to recover at least C$10,000 of Techno-federal tax on their ship depending on its condition. Easy cash with the dollar credits that Meera promises us…”
Now sitting on the ledge, my partner splashed her feet to demonstrate her eagerness to head back swimming.
“Excellent! This will pay for the maintenance and allow us to save some money on our way to the belt.”
“Can I go now?” she asked, sliding back into the water.
“You may,” I had concluded before seeing her leave for her absurd wanderings that would fill her afternoon.
I myself was very busy making eyes at the wealthy guests of the hotel restaurant to glean a few pieces of Peking duck or juicy crabs. They were real farm animals from Mars. Not nutrigel. It was worth abandoning a little dignity aside.
With a full belly, I finally joined Ali in the middle of the evening. Arriving in the corridor of our suite, I crossed the group of cadets noticed near the swimming pool. They seemed tired but blissfully smiling as they just discovered the nirvana. And I knew why…
“Ali? Are you ready?” I said as I walked through the half-open bedroom door.
Her dressing gown had been thrown on the floor. Her gun and badge were resting on the bedside table against a giant bottle of Koala Springs soda and a pyramid of little Yoyo Mints.
To be honest, I expected a bigger mess.
“Gimme five minutes,” she replied while in the shower.
An hour later, we met Meera in the staff parking lot behind the recycling stations. Without further discussion, we joined the expressway in the taxicab. Between two noisy info-ads, the radio played Sweet Transvestite then the rest of the mythical Rocky Horror soundtrack.
“I wonder what Tim Curry’s up to these days,” asked Ali while browsing the intraweb on her implant.
“Being legendary as usual,” I answered.
Afterwards, the casino was in sight. But once on the forecourt illuminated by the gold and silver bulbs, we heard gunshots and screams. My partner and I quickly realized that this was a violent robbery rather than a modest heist.
“What the fuck, Meera?” Ali asked, turning to the porthole that separated us from the cockpit.
There was a hint of irritation in her voice.
Meera remained mute, her hands on the wheel and her gaze forward. In the rear-view mirror the young woman looked panicked.
The right door of the vehicle suddenly opened and two men sat down in front of us. They were wearing theater masks: the first was Melpomene, the sad grimace of tragedy; the second, Thalia, the twisted smile of comedy. Each brigand carried a huge metal block under his arm; drawers that were sure to be full of cash. On the other hand, they held their still smoking ZeG-4 machine guns even more firmly.
When they saw us, they both gasped, in unison:
“What the fuck, Meera?”
One… two. One… two.
Four holes in their faded tuxedo. Four bullets as big as a cat’s eye that silenced them forever, before slowly repainting the bench in red.
“What the fuck was that? You killed them!” Meera shouted this time, as she started the electric engine. “You had tasers at your disposal, you psychos!”
She had finally turned around. Her voice was quivering. She was no longer panicked, but angry.
The tasers must have slipped between the seats because I hadn’t seen them. My partner raised her eyebrows and it made me realize that their use had never been in mind.
“We’re bounty hunters, not 9 to 5 social workers!” continued Ali. “Now, you gotta motor, otherwise the cops will shoot our ass on the spot before we could even meet the third dude!”
Meera put her foot on the pedal and one could almost hear the noise of the thrusters melting the white asphalt.
“I can perceive the sirens, Ali,” I concluded before Meera entered the ring's external road reserved for logistic transport.
We then had the shortest car chase we had taken part in. The Danaë security forces may not have had the best elements in the system, but Meera’s talents didn’t give them a chance. We had crossed half a dozen rotative bridges to the rhythm of Take on Me, zigzagging between expressways and maintenance tunnels to arrive before the song ended at the deserted logistics hangar.
It was similar to a huge supermarket with honeycombed shelves. Each of these garages, dimly illuminated by red LEDs, housed a delivery or transport vessel. There was the most impressive fleet I had ever seen.
In one of the first level’s cells stood, between a set of clamps, a Swift-0 scout, from Peugeot Corp, with wings spread. The Swifts were small and very high-end single-seaters. They could be modified to integrate weapons systems, but their primary characteristics were velocity and evasion.
Leaning on the flank of the mono-turbine, the last of the three criminals, a tall blond man with a “Chevy Chase” prominent chin was looking down on the approaching taxicab.
“Were they planning to escape on that ship? The three of them?” I remarked when the vehicle stopped a few meters from the small vessel.
But Meera ignored me.
“Hand me the money, I’m going out. That was the agreement.”
The porthole opened at its base, allowing us to pass the steel cash drawers. Once the taxicab’s ignition was turned off, only their holographic numbers glowed in the dark.
“It’s all over if his cronies don’t stick their noses out of the car,” Ali replied, finally giving the second drawer away. “He’s going to figure out that it went south. He will kill you!”
Outside, the man was getting impatient. Blinded by the taxicab’s headlights, he came closer before exclaiming:
“Zéphyr, are you there? Where are my brothers? Security is closing all the departure modules. We will be stuck here, for fuck’s sake!”
He now had a gun in his hand. A machine gun identical to those of his companions currently bathed in their blood, nailed to the seats.
“Zéphyr? Wait… I know that name!” I meowed to myself.
The doors and portholes of the taxicab were locked. Ali and I were now stuck in the back with the two flatlined and most wanted criminals on the ship.
“Sorry guys, but I’ll handle the rest.”
Miss Meera, alias Zéphyr, smiled at us through the armored glass just before leaving the cockpit by the driver’s door.
“What a fucking piece of shit… Lee? Do you have a plan? I think the windows are bulletproof. I don’t feel like testing. Especially if it’s bouncing around with us inside, we will be turned into ground beef!”
“Did you forget who I am, my dear?”
I was already crawling under the seat, between a pair of Méduse shoes and half nibbled fried rat wings. It was time to demonstrate all my infiltration skills learned from Ninja Gaiden. Unfortunately, both the crab and the duck slowed me down and my belly remained for a few seconds stuck under the driver’s seat with my head on the brake pedal. How outrageous!
From the porthole, I saw Ali watching what was happening in front of us, near the ship. Our eyes met for a brief moment and I could read on her lips: “diet kibble”.
“Better off dead!” I shouted.
My paw reached the bottom of the dashboard, activating the mechanical opening of doors and windows. And, accidentally, the loudest horn in this dimension.
“My bad!”
My sapiens immediately jumped outside, pointing her gun to Zéphyr. Surprised by the thunderous din, her target pivoted towards us, uncovered, turning her back to the human with the magnificent chin and his ZeG-4 who yelled:
“What in the whole universe is that? Wait! I know her! Did you bring us bounty hunters? You were clearly planning to double-cross us!”
The man shouted and his gun produced a rain of bullets. It first hit the windshield of the taxicab, passing through the conductor compartment where I was. The rounds bent the windscreen, but it held. This wasn’t, however, the case for the hood, protecting the engine and the reservoir full of coolant, which ended up covering the seat and my face.
Fortunately, the sticky alcohol allowed me to escape from this trap and jump out of the vehicle through the window I had previously opened. But, once again, a fire ring enveloped the ZeG-4’s cannon.
“This is how I die…” I meowed, eyes closed.
I was violently tackled and hit the ground. Zéphyr had saved me at the last moment, just before bullets obliterated the front of the taxicab.
Other projectiles ricocheted off the metal money drawers on the floor and got lost in the ceiling, activating the fire sprinklers. This incident triggered a silent light alarm throughout the hangar while the mobster prepared a new salvo.
“Don’t hurt my pilot, you narbo!” roared my partner.
Ali, this time taken as a target, retaliated. She fired a single shot towards the rascal with a formidable precision. No one knew how to handle such a heavy gun as she did. She was my human. She was the best in her field: murder.
And I taught her everything. Almost.
The leader of the robbers tried to reload the magazine of his weapon, unaware that his heart had been punctured a few seconds before. Adrenaline was doing its job. But the blood loss caused by the explosion of the aorta at its base, near the ventricles, gradually stopped him in his gesture. His pressure dropped and the bloodstream no longer reached the brain sufficiently. He was already in a coma when his shoulders touched the ground. He was luckier than the average Joe and died a few seconds later.
“Is everything all right?”
My voice was trembling, still in shock from this disaster. I was wet and frozen.
Zéphyr got up with difficulty. Next to us, one of the metal drawers was opened, revealing a bunch of green bills and a much stranger booty: an eight-inch gold diskette with suspicious Chinese symbols.
Well… I couldn’t read them but Chinese symbols on stuff are always suspect, aren’t they?
But there were more important matters. Because my partner, on the other hand, stayed on the ground. Blood was dripping from her black suit and mixed with the clear firefighting fluid that was falling like an endless rain.
I tried to talk to her again but my voice was lost in a groan.
“Why are you whining, you big baby? It’s just blood.”
With her nose in a puddle, my sapiens smiled at me. Her left hand was compressing her abdomen. The bullet had passed through the external oblique muscle, far from the stomach.
It wasn’t that bad after all but she had scared me. And that deserved a scratch on the wrist that made her scream:
“What the fuck?”
“And the medical expenses? Have you thought about medical expenses? We don’t have insurance!”
“God, Uncle Scrooge! I hate you!”
“We won’t be able to fix the Kitty with your heroic outbursts!” I fulminated to mask my joy of seeing her in one piece.
“I will kill you, Muppet! I almost died! I don’t give a fuck about your rusty trash can which flies like a brick!”
It was true that we hadn’t had a fight for a long time.
“Guys…” intervened Zéphyr.
“What?”
Ali and I had spoken together.
“These three ruffians had planned to steal the diskette drive from me once I got back. I needed a hand, so… thank you… I guess.”
“You’re welcome,” my human answered dryly while sitting.
Although Zéphyr saved me, I didn’t share the same kindness:
“Wait, we’re not letting him go! Do you know who he is?”
Zéphyr. Prince of thieves. And yes, he wasn’t much of a princess either. Just an androgynous cyborg. A breakout king wanted throughout the entire system for his affiliation with the Data Brokers’ Guild. With an incredible bounty of C$800,000, she or he… whatever… was the knight of the brokers’ chessboard.
“I think we’ve had enough for today,” Ali said. “Unless you hope to go after him with these big fat guts of yours.”
“By the 79 moons of Jupiter, you shall pay for this, woman!” I meowed, angry.
My ears were backwards and my hairs were spiky. But soaking wet, it just made Ali and Zéphyr laugh.
Disgrace!
“He’s so cute when he’s furious,” he joked.
Now on his knees, the night-skinned androgynous was blotting Ali’s wound with a torn piece of fabric from his driver’s uniform.
“But more seriously, I need to go. With the bounty, you’ll be able to repair your vessel. As for the hospital fees, I will contact a good friend who will take care of you for free. She’s the ship’s chief medical officer.”
“Thank you,” I simply replied as he helped my partner get back on her feet.
“It’s the least I can do. I wasn’t interested in money. More important information is contained in this,” he said as he was picking up the floppy disk.
This golden diskette must have been worth a lot of cash for Zéphyr to play a taxicab driver to ensure coverage. I had perceived that something was fishy!
Then, halfway to his Swift-0, Zéphyr stopped. I witnessed his hesitation.
“There was nothing personal, you know. We’re all just trying to make our way. The best we can…”
And he ultimately left before adding:
“Maybe we’ll see each other again! You seem like fun.”
Before fleeing away, Zéphyr abandoned one of the boxes near the criminal’s corpse. Thus, he validated the theory of a robbery that had gone wrong. When the security arrived a few minutes later, we were the heroes of the day. And with a little bribe, nobody cared about Zéphyr’s missing ship.
This whole story surely left us a bitter taste. A feeling of defeat and humiliation that the swimming pool under the synthetic sun couldn’t make disappear even a week after.
“He undoubtedly played us as we were rookies, with his little face of a young innocent girl in distress,” I said to Ali right after the end of the daily Brett Maverick.
This old show was dispensed on a couple of giant screens suspended by drones.
Until now, Ali had remained silent on her deckchair; with a brick of sour juice stuck between her breasts and a pair of straws between her teeth. Only inaudible grunts emanated from her mouth since the departure of the sexually unclassifiable mugger.
“I wonder what information this fucking cyber-Tootsie could have been looking for in that casino,” my human mumbled as she squeaked her rainbow flip-flops.
“Admit that it’s not really that question that puts you in such a state…” I answered, now well installed on my motorized buoy that I had gotten as a gift in a diet kibbles package.
“You bet! I will have a nasty tan mark on my stomach with these bandages!” she exploded, spitting out her plastic straws with infinite curls.
My float slipped towards the ledge as a robot came to bring us our next glucose overdose.
Ali finally added:
“I swear that if we run into him again, I’ll smack his fucking angel face.”
Back to business!

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