Well, last quiz was slightly embarrassing since I got one of my own questions wrong. I have already edited the quiz to fix that, I won't spoil what I did wrong since I know people like to go back and catch up on these quizzes. I don't know how I missed that error, but the good news is that none of this matters at all. Also, I should've said North America instead of America on one of the challenge questions. If you're taking the quiz from this point on (after the grades are in) take that in to account.
Since I screwed up, I'm giving everyone a +1 to their report scores. I don't know if you have a notebook filled with stickers of your previous scores, but if you do, please see that notebook updated. With the extra point, here is the average scores from the previous quizzes.
Quiz #1 Average (7.86/20)
Quiz #2 Average (8.18/20)
Quiz #3 Average (9.22/20)
I know I sort of artificially added a point due to my own stupidity, but that sort of thing happens in real classrooms. With that said, we are getting closer to the magical 50% average I wanted to achieve.
Today's categories are Discs, Central Coast Disc Golf, Flight Numbers, and of course...
The Challenge Questions, which can be about anything and are intentionally brutal and mean. Because I'm evil :)
Alright! On to the quiz... Good luck
Discs
(1) This Quest AT mold was briefly approved by the PDGA before controversy arose and the mold's approval was rolled back.
Quest AT Turbo Putt
(2) This Innova disc was simply a Panther with a Thumbtrac (and a small bead)
Innova Puma
(3) This odd disc from Kastaplast features a unique inner second rim
Kastaplast Rask. Bonus point if you know about the Rask-Z
(4) Name a three letter Discraft mold
MRX, APX, or MRV
(5) James Conrad's "Greenie" was a
Glow JK Pro Aviar-X. No points for just Aviar, JK is needed. Yes JK not JC. Also, I really don't care about whether you included the -X or not.
Central Coast Disc Golf
(1) Which professional disc golfer served as the inaugural "Champ" in Champs vs Chumps?
Paul McBeth. Bonus point if you remembered that original was just "Champ" vs Chumps
(2) In the battle of the eras, who was the 80s guy?
Nate Sexton
(3) Ian Anderson started CCDG. But Ian Anderson is also the name of a famous musician. Can you name which band Ian played for?
Jethro Tull
(4) Central Coast's most watched video is of one of disc golfs greatest throws. Who threw that shot?
Philo Brathwaite
(5) What fruit was thrown out of a window by Eagle McMahon?
A WATERMELON
Flight Numbers
(1) This brand opted out of the standard Innova Flight Number scheme and instead opted for quantifiable metrics such as recommended disc velocity and turn angle.
Vibram
(2) Although there is no arbitrary limit to glide, MOST brands tend max out at
6. I'd also take 7 as well, but most stop at 6.
(3) This disc was the first 13 speed
Innova Boss
(4) After 16 years of stubbornness, this brand adopted the Innova flight numbers scheme in addition to their stability metric
Discraft
(5) Innova discs were stamped with flight numbers starting in
2009
Challenge Questions
(1) What was the first event Central Coast ever covered. Hint, it was in 2011. That doesn't really help? But whatever.
Santa Maria Open
(2) According to the PDGA approved target list, this basket was the first Champion Category basket.
Mach III, 1987 (you didn't have to guess the year)
(3) Speaking of baskets, can you name the first brand to specialize in making baskets? As in they ONLY made baskets and have no PDGA approved molds.
Stroke Saver, 1996
(4) What name was the Big Bead Aviar or Aviar Driver mold PDGA approved under in 1987?
Aviar Putter
(5) According to Discraft's official flight chart, this disc is their most understable disc. What I mean by understable is simply it's score on their stability scale.
Stratus
That's it!
Thank you playing! Hopefully you found this fun. I write guides, historical posts, reviews, and all sorts of other content on discgolf. If you want to be in the loop when I post things, you can follow my username to increase the likelihood that my posts will appear in your feed. Essentially I just cross post my stuff to my user account which means my stuff will auto show in your feed.

This is my headcanon for the events following Suzerain as the game played out in my (communist) playthrough:
Disclaimer 1: This obviously includes many spoilers from the game.
Disclaimer 2: This story is written with storytelling and lore at the forefront, not necessarily gameplay accuracy.
(Part 2 is on my page if you can't find it elsewhere)
Disclaimer 3: This is only the first chapter (and backstory) of this headcanon story/fanfic/whatever you want to call it. I want to write more, but would like to see what people in the Suzerain community think about the writing so far and if they’d like to see more of it. :)
Background:
Anton Rayne got elected President of Sordland in his first term by promising progress and an end to the recession. In his term, he managed to fulfill these promises and more.
He ended the recession through several economic programs including an infrastructure program that included the building of a highway in Agnland, the distribution of stimulus checks for people in need, an agricultural revitalisation program in the city of Sarna, an economic revitalisation program in the greater region of Bergia, and the establishment of the Fair Trade and Competition Commission.
Rayne had also enacted his foreign policy that prioritised self-determination and non-intervention, which resulted in improved relations with many nations and many new trade deals with Wehlen, Agnolia, and Valgsland. In slight contrast with this policy, however, Rayne entered Sordland into the Contanan Security Pact. While this move alienated Sordland from some western-alligned nations such as Lespia and Arcasia, it increased trade and cooperation with nations of the east and many of the rising powers in Rika and Xina.
Rayne had also enacted gradual reforms of the economic direction of the country by nationalising several large corporations, most notably Gasom and Bergia steel. In order to temporarily appease the oligarchs, Rayne had through his nationalisation of Bergia steel, let Marcel Koronti, one of Sordland’s most powerful oligarchs, increase his power within his circle of oligarchs. He had also, through the extra income the state had earned from nationalisation and trade deals, been able to cut taxes for all, which further appeased the oligarchs. Rayne, as a communist, saw the oligarchs as a threat, however, he saw the sollists, nationalists, and fascists as a bigger threat that required a temporary appeasement of the oligarchs in order to focus on a larger threat within the nation. Towards the end of his term, however, when the old guard had in large part been brought down, Rayne removed the independence of Sordland’s central bank, a body of financial governing that had long been an extension of the power of the Lothenburg Group.
One of Rayne’s big promises of progressive reform included an increase in the healthcare and education budgets. This was also a promise Rayne was able to deliver on, and through the skillful leadership of education minister Ciara Walda and healthcare minister Paskal Beniwoll, the government was able to efficiently use this budget to make many positive changes to the education and healthcare systems in Sordland.
The increased healthcare budget was used to improve the quality of healthcare services provided in the country, especially in rural areas, as well as a complete subsidisation of dental care and prescription medicine for all and the relocation of doctors to rural areas. The Rayne administration also enacted several taxes on consumer products harmful to the health of the people, including a tax on tobacco and alcohol products.
The large educational reform that Rayne embarked on included a large scholarship program for impoverished families, the building of several hundred schools across rural areas of the country, and the relocation of teachers to rural areas. The reform also radically changed the curriculum of Sordish schools, with desollinisation of schools and an implementation of critical pedagogy and a larger focus on science, physical education, and the teaching of subjects unburdened by sollism. Rayne later established rural education institutes across rural areas of Sordland in order to further improve the availability and quality of education in rural Sordland.
The rights of women and minorities also became a critical issue for the Rayne administration. The first lady, Monica Rayne became a large figurehead in the battle against patriarchy and alongside Ciara Walda they established the Commission on the Status of Women and passed the women’s liberation act that included policies that helped victims of domestic violence, abolished the gender pay gap, affirmed equal access to education for all, and enacted maternity leave laws and state-funded daycare. The support of this commission and its policies, along with Rayne’s personal funding of the Sordish League of Women made them a loyal political ally to Rayne and his inner circle.
President Rayne also became known for his pro-Bludish sentiment that led to a political alliance with Mansoun Leke and the declaration of the minority rights act, the establishment of the minority rights commission that would be headed by Leke, and the granting of amnesty to soll-era political prisoners, many of which were Bludish activists.
Rayne’s other progressive reforms included a vast expansion of the sordish welfare program, that came to include the establishment of the Comission of Social Progress and Uplift, the workers rights act that gave better pay and better conditions to workers across Sordland, two new social benefits programs, one for the unemployed and one for impoverished families, as well as a complete subsidy of public transport and a lowering of the retirement age.
As a communist and subscriber to the ideas of Karlos Marcias, Rayne believed that for Sordland to enter a new age of socialism and communism, the power of the existing dictatorship of the bourgeoisie had to be toppled and replaced with a dictatorship of the proletariat. He saw the judiciary and legislature as being tools of the bourgeoisie. However, the presidency, now under a communist president, was Sordland’s chance for the establishment of a dictatorship of the proletariat. Rayne believed that he had to topple the bourgeois institutions of government, and replace them with new ones that represented the proletariat. During his first term, he started doing this with a very risky play. Namely reforming the constitution to give wide-ranging powers to the presidency while he continued to build a dictatorship of the proletariat.
The constitutional reforms included the replacement of the presidential veto with a pocket veto, removing the supreme court’s power to vote on constitutional amendments, removing the ability for the president to be impeached, decreasing the electoral threshold to 8% thus allowing Rayne’s Bludish and communist allies into the legislature, removing the requirement of reviews of presidential decrees, removing the immunity of judges, and abolishing the honorary position and immunity of Tarquin Soll.
Rayne used his new powers to crush the reactionary forces of Sordland, starting with a complete reshuffling of the supreme court. As an extension of the removal of Tarquin Soll’s immunity, Soll was then put on trial in front of a new supreme court that found him guilty and sentenced him to life in prison. After Soll’s imprisonment the Rayne administration started their de-sollinisation efforts in full. Rayne also established the anti-corruption police that he used to investigate corruption within the old guard.
The ACP found evidence of several sollists collaborating with the Young Sords in order to assassinate communist politician Bernard Circas. The investigation led to the arrest of many sollist politicians, most notably minister of interior Lilias Graff and former members of the supreme court Orso Hawker and Heron Garaci. With the old guard crippled, Rayne took advantage of the situation in order to change the manifesto of the United Sordland Party to move away from sollism and towards socialism.
In order to further consolidate his power, Rayne used his presidential decree powers to purge the general staff and thus remove the military’s power in internal political affairs. In the aftermath of this purge, minister of defence Iosef Lancea was also made commander of the sordish armed forces in place of Valken Kruger. Rayne also established the Sordish Radio and Television Supreme Council that he primarily used to further rein in the propaganda spread by the old guard, liberals and oligarchs. Rayne also started funding the Red Youth, an organisation he had previously been a member of, thus winning him another political ally outside of government.
The rising threat of Rumburg was also handled during Rayne’s first term. Using his diplomatic skill as a former diplomat in the foreign ministry, Rayne de-escalated the conflict and made Rumburg appear as an aggressor on the world stage. Any uncertainty about the threat of invasion was then put to rest when Rayne entered Sordland into a military alliance with Valgsland and later joined the Contanan Security Pact.
But as elections approached instability within the Rayne cabinet appeared. First with a political scandal that led to the arrest of Illana Vance, the Rumburg spy that had posed as President Rayne’s assistant. This scandal also led to Vice President Petr Vectern resigning, retiring from politics, and going to rehab. Lucian Galade was appointed Vice President in his stead. The instability continued however, with the resignation of several ministers including minister of economy Symon Holl due to ideological differences with the President, minister of health Paskal Beniwoll due to concern for the President’s machiavellian tactics, and minister of justice Nia Morgna and minister of education Ciara Walda both due to the President’s constitutional reforms.
This flood of resignations coupled with the arrest of minister of interior Lileas Graf and the retirement of foreign minister Deivid Wisci left a vacuum of power within the administration that Rayne had a clear plan on how to fill after his reelection.
After the election, the results came in with a big change in the political environment of Sordland. The USP came in first with a slight increase in votes since the 1953 election, the NFP came in second, thus becoming the second biggest party in the country, and the PFJP suffered a loss, losing a significant amount of votes to the USP, BFP, WPB, and CPS. The Communist party of Sordland finally made the threshold and due to the popularisation of communism under the Rayne administration they were able to become a legislative power to rival the PFJP. The Workers party of Bludia were unable to make the threshold however, due to the Bludish vote being split between the WPB and the BFP.
As Rayne took to the stage for his victory speech, he reaffirmed his commitment to a turn to the left and to the east and promised further expansion of Sordland’s welfare system and political and social reforms. He declared that this was the start of the Sordish Revolution.
Chapter 1: Inauguration Day
In the aftermath of Rayne’s victory speech and after meeting with the people of Sordland at a USP rally, Anton Rayne entered the black presidential car and was met with a smile through the rear-view mirror and the eternally joyful voice of his driver, Serge, greeting him: “That was a great speech Mr. President, I am glad you got re-elected. Where to now?” Rayne smiled slightly as he always did when hearing the voice of the man who had become one of his closest friends during the last four years. “I am glad to hear that Serge, thank you for all of your support these years, I am really grateful for all your kind words.” Rayne took a slight pause before continuing “We’re off to 137 Wisci Avenue.” “Right away, sir.”
As the two sat in the car in momentary silence, Anton regretted having to leave his wife and daughter at the rally with Lucian. But Monica was strong, he thought to himself. She would be able to handle herself against Lucian if he were to try anything. After another few moments of silence, it was finally broken when Anton realised this wasn’t the same car he had been chauffeured around in earlier in the day. It was similar enough he hadn’t noticed, but it was newer and frankly more comfortable to sit in. “When did you get a new car, Serge?” “Finally noticed it, eh Mr. President?” He continued “But it isn’t my car, it’s yours, you’re the President, I am merely your driver” “The car was a gift. Sent from Chancellor Hegel in Valgsland, as a congratulatory gift for winning the elections. It seems you made quite the impact on him when you visited him in Haelm.” Anton adjusted his posture in his seat and asked Serge what he thought of the Chancellor. “Oh, I don’t follow the politics of other countries that closely sir, but if he made a deal with you he must be a smart man.” Rayne, slightly tired after the rally, simply replied “You’re too kind, Serge” and resorted to staring out the window as the ride continued through the streets of Holsord.
After a while, the two men in the car started to see a gradual decline in the quality of the houses and infrastructure on the streets as they got further from the hill of pride. Once the car rolled onto Wisci Avenue there seemed to be a slight improvement in the quality of the street, however it was still a far cry from the hill of pride. Suddenly the car stopped. “Here we are, sir. 137 Wisci Avenue.” Before Anton could say thank you, Serge was already outside of the car opening the door for his president. Anton stepped out and was then able to thank his driver for the pleasant drive and conversation.
He stepped onto the cracked pavement as Serge got back into the car. Anton instinctively put his hands in his trouser pockets, only to find a packet of cigarettes there. As he took them out of his pocket he was reminded of the time he had caught his son, Franc, smoking, and he further was reminded of the promise he made to Franc to stop smoking. Granted it had become easier to stop after the tobacco tax had been implemented, but it was still a difficult task. Anton promised himself he would call Franc when he got home to see how he was faring in medical school in United Contana. He looked back at Serge and called out his name. “Could you take this and throw it away for me?” Anton threw his last packet of cigarettes to Serge who nodded back at him in acknowledgement. “Thanks, Serge. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Anton said as he walked into the building ahead.
It was a two-story flat-building, more specifically it was the home of Ciara Walda, among other people. As the President walked into the building he was surprised by the interior, which was far more well kept than he expected. As he walked up the stairs however, there was still a quite distinct creak with every step he took. When Anton reached the top he stood directly in front of a door that said “1B Walda Residence”. Rayne knocked on the door and was soon met with a slightly dishevelled former minister of education. Ciara looked her usual self for the most part, aside from looking quite a lot less put together than usual. She was sporting an old bathrobe and slippers, as opposed to her usual political uniform of a pantsuit or dress. “Mr. President?” Ciara blurted out, trying to hide her slight surprise at the situation. “Please Ciara, you don’t work for me anymore, and I know you don’t care for formalities.” Ciara slightly adjusted herself and tried to put on her poker face she had become known for during her time in politics. “Would you care for a drink, Anton?” She didn’t wait for a reply however and simply entered her home, leaving Anton to catch the door and come inside.
“Tea would be nice” Anton replied as he walked into Ciara’s flat. He heard a call from the kitchen “Already started making it.” Anton let out a slight chuckle at Ciara’s unique demeanour as he followed her voice to find his way to the kitchen. The flat was a lot nicer than he expected. Far from luxurious, but it was nicely decorated and brightly lit with large windows, something that was somewhat surprising given that this flat belonged to Ciara Walda of all people.
As Anton found the kitchen, Ciara had already moved into the living room with two cups of tea in her hands. Anton sat down across from her and thanked her for the tea as she sat it down on the coffee table. “I suppose congratulations are in order” she said with a barely detectable sadness in her voice. “I hope congratulations will be in order for you too” Anton said, giving Ciara a slightly puzzled look on her face. Before she could ask what the President meant, he continued “Rejoin my cabinet. I know you miss it.” He paused for a brief moment, “And I need you.” he continued. “You are a talented politician, but you’ve been able to keep your ideals. I need ministers like you. I know you don’t approve of my methods but who will you support if not me? Ricter? Kibener? Leke and Stahler don’t stand much of a chance without my support, so by supporting either of them, you’d be supporting me still. Why not take that opportunity to rejoin the cabinet and make some real change again. Continue the reforms you started with me and Monica.”
Ciara looked down for a few seconds before replying “You know why I left. You know I cannot stand by and support your constitutional reforms, they aren’t democratic and-” Before she could continue, Anton cut her off “What would be democratic then?” He paused before continuing to speak “To give power to an indirectly elected assembly of capitalist leeches and fascists who want to kill half the country and oppress the other? To keep the institutions put in place by a sour old man who wants to stop the world from moving on?” That last comment about Soll made Ciara chuckle slightly. “I’ve never heard you talk about him like that.” Anton replied with a smile “Well, I couldn’t bad-mouth that old fool too much when his lackeys still had such a firm grasp on the country.”
“Listen, I know you might not support my constitutional changes, but-” Before he continued he stopped to rephrase himself “You are familiar with Marcian dialectical materialism I assume?” Ciara looked slightly offended. “Of course I am” “Who do you think you’re talking to?” She said with a slight scoff. “So then you know that class struggle is an antagonistic struggle. You know that capitalists won’t give away the means of production willingly. Oppressors must be taken down by force, not by the systems that gave them power in the first place.” Anton sighed “I know it isn’t ideal, but it isn’t supposed to be. If Karlos Marcias taught us anything, it’s that ideals don’t bring change, material conditions do. Reality does. And reality is messy. Ideals are pure, but as long as they remain that way they are just ideas, they cannot bring real change if they cannot exist within material reality. What does this idealist notion of liberal democracy mean compared to the real material change that comes with socialism?” Ciara sat back on her couch and sighed deeply, looking at Anton the entire time. “I still don’t know, it just doesn’t seem right.” They sat in silence for over a minute before Anton got up and sighed for a final time in defeat. “Thank you for your service to the people of Sordland, we’re going to miss you Ciara. Both me and Monica”. Ciara looked back down at her floor after Anton stopped talking and started walking towards the door.
“Wait” she said as he was on his way out. Anton turned back around. “You stood by me in my educational reforms, you stood by me-” she stopped for a moment “Us, you stood by us as we fought for the rights of our gender.” She looked away out her window for a brief few seconds, “I’m not sure even Leke or Stahler would’ve done that. At least to such an extent. I owe you at least another chance. Both you and Monica” she said with a slight glimmer in her eyes. ”Thank
you Ciara. Really, thank you. Because between Gus, Iosef and Lucian, I could really use an ally in my cabinet” They both smiled at each other as Anton exited the flat. As he started walking down the stairs he heard the door open again. As he looked back Ciara bid him farewell “Good luck, Anton.” “You too, Ciara.”
As Anton walked out of the building he saw Serge leaning on the side of the car. As he noticed Anton he quickly stood upright and opened the backseat door for his President, bowing slightly as he did it. “I got a call while I was waiting for you sir. Your wife and daughter have left the rally along with your cabinet and are on their way to the maroon palace for the celebration dinner.”
While Anton’s first term had been ceremonially opened with a grand ball at the maroon palace, the event had ended catastrophically with the assassination of Bernard Circas, which drew a lot of bad press to the tradition. It had already been criticised before for its over-the-top extravagance, a criticism Anton agreed with. However, the event still occurred during Rayne’s first inauguration as it was still a quite popular affair, particularly with sollists who wanted to honour the traditions of the nation, and with oligarchs who wanted to take the opportunity to cosy up to politicians. But with the assassination, and the loss of power suffered by sollists and oligarchs during the first Rayne administration, it became easier, and frankly more popular, to replace the event with a more modest one. Namely a televised dinner with the President and his cabinet, along with their families.
Due to the wave of resignations at the end of Anton’s first term however, the dinner might come across as a little too modest though. Especially with Lucian who was married to his work, and Iosef who was married to his own idealised version of Sordland. It was unclear if Ciara would attend. She definitely knew about the event, as she was one of the people campaigning for an end to the inaugural ball. She was welcome to attend as she was to rejoin the cabinet, but Anton hadn’t thought to ask her. Especially as she wasn’t fond of any sort of ‘style over substance’ meeting.
Anton was brought out of his deep thoughts as Serge cleared his throat, and he realised he’d stood there for a solid half a minute. He shook his head for a moment and saw a bin in the corner of his eye that he hadn’t noticed stood next to the building he’d walked into. Anton noticed his packet of cigarettes laying there along with another pack that looked just as newly thrown away. He smiled to himself and walked into the car, letting Serge close the door behind him and get back into his own seat in the front.
“You trying to quit as well Serge?” The president’s driver looked shocked for a moment, as Anton realised what that might’ve sounded like. “Cigarettes.” he assured Serge. “Oh! I got a tad confused there for a second Mr. President.” he nervously tapped the steering wheel as he started the car's engine. “Yes! I’ve decided to quit Mr. President. I couldn’t have done it without you though! I saw the press conference you and Mr. Beniwoll did on television before he resigned, warning of the dangers of tobacco.” Anton grinned slightly as he heard Paskal’s name, before Serge continued. “And as I noticed you were throwing away your last pack, I thought I’d do the same. Follow the example of a great leader.”

PART EIGHT HUNDRED AND FORTY
[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Friday
Tucker Portsmith’s head pounded so hard he felt like a blood vessel was about to explode behind his eyes. All week he had been dividing his time between trying to find out why he and Helen were no longer permitted to see Alex and doing what was necessary to distance the company from Dyadron to listening to Helen rail about the failings of Pensacola, the US Navy and him as a father and a husband.
He knew he couldn’t contact anyone in the Pentagon for answers. Not after NCIS Director Scott Dyson contacted him via a video call to tell him to his face to stop asking questions that wouldn’t be answered at this time. No matter how hard he tried to word it differently, to get even a hint of what was going on, the director shut him down. Hard. And then, he ended the call with a warning not to interfere. In any way. That they would contact him when they were ready.
Helen, of course, insisted he call the director back and demand the answers she wanted. She hadn’t taken ‘No’ well, but as much as she huffed and puffed, she would not budge him when his actions reflected on his business life. There were times to draw a line for the family and fight for what was right. When the entire US Military was telling you to stand down or risk going to jail and losing everything … that was not one of them.
Last night had been the first real night’s sleep he’d had all week, for they’d severed the last tie with Dyadron and were now completely clear of that nightmare. He might’ve had a drink or ten in private celebration of their achievements and promised Phillipa a steak and lobster dinner once a week for the rest of her life for her part in it. Right after he shook her senseless for not taking better care of herself. She’d been riding his backside about not overdoing it for so long it never occurred to him to do it for her. A mistake he wouldn’t repeat going forward, to be sure.
And now, he had visitors at—he squinted at the glowing timepiece on his side table—WTF o’clock in the morning! The pounding the door to the penthouse apartment took would’ve been heard throughout the building, made worse by the fact it was 5 am. He’d ignored the pounding at first, thinking Helen would answer the door, but when it continued relentlessly, he assumed she had already left to do one of her many daily workouts and dragged himself out of bed.
He tossed on a robe but forwent the slippers in his haste to reach the door. He tied the robe while in motion. “Coming!” he called because, of course, if Helen was gone, Donald would be with her, and he’d be alone. So far, that had suited him, as he’d been able to get a lot of work done without the interruptions.
He looked at the screen and was stunned to see four people crammed into the video image. Two in naval attire (he never did go into the whole who did what rank thing outside of Alex’s rank of Petty Officer) and two ill-fitting suits that made them either detectives or FBI.
The closest in a business suit had his fist raised to pound some more.
“Wait!” Tucker barked, unlocking the door from the inside and opening it just enough to stand in the way. “Can I help you?”
The plain-clothes person that had been beating on his door held up her badge for Tucker to see, along with a piece of paper folded into three, which she pushed into Tucker’s hand on his way past. “Federal agents. We need to conduct a search of your apartment, sir, and you need to step aside. We have a warrant.”
“A warrant for what?” Tucker demanded, opening the letter to skim the contents. In the central portion of the letter was Alexander’s name.
They’re searching for Alex?!
“Are you insane?” he demanded as the rest of them followed the woman’s lead and muscled their way in. “Alex is in a coma! In the hospital! Why …?!” And then his sleep-deprived, mildly alcohol-infused, aching brain kicked in, and he whirled on the people who were sweeping into the living room. “Where is my son?!” he demanded, storming after the four. He caught up with the closest one, who happened to be navy and went to grab her when her partner stepped between them.
“Don’t be touching her, sir. Just stand over there. This won’t take long.”
“Someone had better tell me what the hell is going on! How did you even get a warrant at this ungodly hour?! Based on what? That we’re his parents, and we’re here because he’s in a coma?!”
He watched them head up the hall and try to strongarm the first door, which was locked. “NO!” he shouted, trying without success to push against the man holding him back. “You can’t go in there!”
“That warrant says we can check everything, Mister Portsmith…”
“That room contains access to military secrets that I assure you are NOT on any goddamn warrant, and this says you’re looking for Alexander. That’s fine. I’ll unlock the door, go in first and remove my computer, and you can search to your heart’s content for a comatose patient who isn’t here.”
When the four looked amongst themselves, Tucker straightened and said in his most authoritative voice, “The contents of that room go way above your pay grade, ladies and gentlemen. If you force your way into that room based on the information on this warrant, I assure you, the Pentagon will land on you so hard your families will forget what you look like by the time they see you again.” He stood his ground, knowing he looked as intimidating as a homeless puppy in his robe, but nevertheless, there was a reason he never left that room unlocked.
Finally, the male FBI agent stepped back and gestured at the door. “Unlock it, sir. You may follow me in and collect your computer. I assumed it’s powered down?”
“Of course. My keys are in my bedroom. The master suite, third door on the left in a drawer that can’t possibly contain my son, so you have no reason to open it.” Since the agent was the first to listen to reason, Tucker addressed him. “Let me know when I’m clear to go in there and get them.”
The agent gestured for the sailors to move ahead of them, and when he came back a few minutes later, silently shaking his head, the agent said. “If you’ll come with me, Mister Portsmith.”
Tucker hated being directed like this, but until he could lay his hand on his phone and unleash the avalanche of lawyers that he had at his disposal, he wasn’t sure what was and wasn’t acceptable in this situation. It wasn’t often feds and the military joined forces on things.
He opened the drawer and collected his keys while his other hand holding the warrant palmed his phone off its charging plate. As they went back to the office, he snapped a photo of the insidious document and sent it to his lawyers’ cell phones. Yes, multiple, because it wasn’t just one senior partner that took care of their legal needs but three.
“What did you just do?” the female agent demanded, pulling Tucker’s hands apart.
“I just sent this warrant to my lawyers in New York. You’d better hope you know exactly what you’re doing because…”
His phone immediately exploded with incoming calls, which had him smiling caustically at the woman. Without seeing who had reached him first, he used his thumb to connect the call and put it on speaker.
“Who is executing the warrant?” Julian Santos demanded, his deep baritone voice filling the hallway. The federal agent gave Tucker a disgusted look and gestured at the closed front door.
I don’t think so, junior. “Four, Julian. Two feds and two from the navy. They haven’t specifically identified themselves yet, and they want me to unlock my office door…”
“Don’t you dare! The warrant only demands a search of your present accommodations. It does not include any rooms that fall under the banner of Portsmith Electronics. Those require a very different set of warrants that need to be issued directly from either Washington or the Pentagon, and I doubt you have those at the ready, correct agent?”
“We have the authority to search…” the male agent insisted but was cut off by the three-thousand-dollar an hour attorney.
“Do not unlock that door, Tucker. Even as we speak, I have people in Florida moving to have that search warrant quashed. It’ll be gone in just a few minutes.”
“Until then, this is a valid warrant.” The man turned and quickly gestured for the three with him to fan out, searching the penthouse apartment as fast and thoroughly as they could before the counter-injunction was handled.
Well, well, well. It seemed they were well aware of who they were squaring off with after all.
“Julian, I know Alex isn’t here. He’s been in a coma for over a week, and now they’ve lost him. If I go into my office and remove my computer, is there any harm in letting them search the office for Alex if only to make them go away?”
“Tucker, they’re not going away. The warrant gives them the authority to take you and Helen downtown for questioning.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. As I said, we’ll have a full team ready to move before you leave the apartment, which isn’t going to happen until more security is on hand for your laptop. Is Donald there?”
“He’s with Helen on her run.” The fact he had been locked inside the apartment for days and only ventured out when he was with Helen and, therefore, Donald was not something he was about to get into.
“Fine. I’ll get your office to organise a security detail for you and your computer. Stay put, don’t answer anything until we get there, and for Christ’s sake, leave me on speaker.” Tucker heard several tell-tale crackles in the line to indicate others had been patched into the call but had refrained from speaking.
It was a strange thing, but in Tucker’s head, he was picturing a virtual reality computer game where the enemy had him cornered until, one by one, his own team spawned around him to level the playing field … and then overwhelm it.
He didn’t hear Julian’s voice anymore and assumed he’d been muted so that the senior partner could bark out orders at whoever else was on the line with him.
“I guess you’re not an honourable man after all,” the male FBI agent said with a tight expression.
“Tell me why you think I’d break into a military hospital and kidnap my crippled son, and I’ll be the first to unlock that door.”
“Tucker!” Julian immediately came back onto the line.
“Relax, Julian. I have no idea what’s going on here, but they have no intention of telling me why they want Alex so badly.” Stiffening, he looked down at his phone. “Actually, make that a priority. There’s only so much the military can hide from us, especially if Alex was using family funds in any way to finance his situation. Have someone call Elias Stoll. He can track down Alex’s accounts and find out what he was up to that way.”
“NO!” the agents and the naval personnel all shouted at once.
“Tucker?” Julian queried, for the man wasn’t used to taking those types of directives any more than he was.
“If I do it, I’ll have to put you on hold,” he explained. The rest of that sentence went unspoken. If Julian wanted to remain an ear in the room, someone else had to do the legwork for him.
“Do not hang up,” Julian reiterated, and once more, Tucker was muted from the attorneys’ conversation.
And so began the dance of the law.
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

Long story short: about to be installing my fifth oil filter housing assembly in eight months.
The Jeep: 2016 RHD JK with 100k+ miles, used for mail delivery that I've owned for four years. Using Mobil 1 5W-20 High Mileage Synthetic before the new engine which has had whatever Mopar oil the dealership put in. Also, I do use a torque wrench to tighten the filter to 18 ft. lbs. at every oil change, which I've been doing around every 3,000 miles because of the intense use.
I came home one day in October 2022 and noticed something that caught my eye on the garage floor underneath my Jeep. I looked and there was oil running underneath my Jeep on the backside of the oil pan and along where the inspection plugs are at on the bell housing, and had the transmission pan covered. I looked in the engine bay and I could tell the valve cover gaskets were wet (this will become somewhat relevant later). I checked the dipstick and noticed I was down a half-quart of oil. I got in touch with a local shop that has a good rep within my small community and the mechanic said it wasn't my valve covers, that I had an oil filter housing leak that was just running along the valve cover. I wanted him to do the work because I wasn't super-eager about reassembling the intake and I needed new spark plugs anyways (this will also come back later), so that overlaps well enough. It took him a month to get around to it, I drove my backup a lot in the meantime, and the bill for spark plugs and the oil filter ended up being $660. That's how I got Oil Filter Housing #2.
But the Jeep kept leaking oil.
I took it back to the local mechanic the next chance I got, a couple of weeks later. He said he'd look at it that day, I guess he did, and assured me it was probably old oil that was still stuck along the way. I was skeptical; after probably fifty hours of use, any old oil should have run off or burned off a bit ago. The Jeep keeps on leaking oil, even after I do an oil change. I take it back and the local mechanic pours some dye in and tells me to come back in a day and he will look and see if it's still leaking fresh oil. Local mechanic finds that it is and he reinstalls the oil filter housing, free of charge to me.
We had a wet and icy winter in the central US that kept the garage floor and the bell housing and the transmission pan cleaned off so I didn't notice a lot of oil getting on the floor but I did have to keep the Jeep topped off, losing a quart about every 1500 miles. I'm figuring that's not super unusual for a Pentastar with 100k+ on the clock and I'm busy and don't have time to have the Jeep laid up in the weather that I bought it for. When spring comes around I start to notice the leak again. At this point I'm starting to suspect a rear main seal more than oil filter housing but the inspection holes are still dry.
One weekend in March, I did an oil change on a Sunday afternoon. The next day (Monday, the perfect day of the week for this to happen), I'm heading out to load my Jeep and I notice a gigantic puddle of something underneath my Jeep. It looks to me like the front crankshaft seal just pissed itself. I feel the puddle and the liquid is slick, like oil. It's also barely above 32F outside, and all the liquid I can see is running underneath the crankshaft pulley. Oil stick still looks OK though. I panic drive the Jeep back home and get it in the garage, put a mat under it, get my backup and do my route. I try to get a local shop (the one I went to before or any others within ten miles, which is about as far as I estimate it can go) to see if they can get my Jeep in but they refuse to take it because they are too busy. I call a Jeep dealership a couple of towns over that has a good reputation (as opposed to the one a town over, but owned by the same company, that doesn't) and have it towed there. I tell them about the immediate problem and the oil leak I've been having. The service advisor, who I have to say is one of the better ones I've ever worked with on anything, calls me back and tell me that it wasn't the crank seal, it was the water pump. They also noticed I had some rocker arms going bad. I tell them that I had noticed that too (I had always heard that Jeep dealerships wouldn't look at rockers until a check engine light came on otherwise I'd have taken care of this a year or two ago) and that they would replace those. The oil leak looked to be coming out of the oil filter housing and the valve covers (the same thing I thought six months ago). To skip ahead through a couple of phone calls, the rockers on the left bank of the Pentastar were also bad and a cam over there was damaged. I could have all of that repaired for $5300 or just install a reman engine + the oil filter housing for around $8k, which would include a three year, 100k mile parts & labor warranty. After thinking about what else could continue going wrong, I ended up telling them to put a reman in. I get over to the dealership to pick up my Jeep after it's all said and done and the SA says "Oh, we had to put new spark plugs in, the old ones were junk and weren't really for that vehicle." My opinion of the trusted local mechanic really has gone downhill but I'm thrilled to have all of their bullshit behind me. That's the story of how I got Oil Filter Housing #3.
Things are going fine with the Jeep, not hearing any crazy noises, but it does occur to me to check the oil after about 1,000 miles. I check and it's about a half-quart low. My eyebrows are raised but I think, "well maybe the dealership only put 5.5 quarts in." I top it off with some Mobil 1 I had around, and continue on as normal. After about 2600 miles on the new motor, I decide to check it again and the oil level is barely registering on the dipstick. I look underneath the Jeep and the back of the pan and the bell housing are all covered with oil again (nothing's on the transmission pan, curiously enough). I look up top and I can see oil coming out below where the filter is (which I haven't even touched on this engine). I top off the Jeep (with Mobil 1 again, which I thought about but that didn't make the Jeep oil level low to start with), call the dealership, and they conclude that it is oil filter housing and they replace the oil filter housing and change the oil, all under warranty and it didn't cost me a dime. That's Oil Filter Housing #4.
I got my Jeep back Wednesday of last week. Besides driving it home, I drove my backup vehicle on Thursday and drove the Jeep on the route on Friday & Saturday (yesterday). There's an empty church parking lot I usually stop at and re-sort and reorganize my parcels in. I decided to have a peek underneath just to check things out and sure enough, right on the bottom side of the bell housing once again. I'm going to be calling the dealership back first chance I get this week, so I guess this will be Oil Filter Housing #5.
So that's the full background.
My question is, are there any other causes for this besides just coincidentally bad workmanship spread across multiple mechanics and companies, or have Mopar parts quality just gotten this bad? Is there anything I can bring up to the Jeep SA that might be making these oil filter housing assemblies fail? I'm completely out of ideas here.

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[Claim Information at the Bottom]
Centuries Since Liberation

The Kingdom of Asmanakashra

On a cool summer evening, a gathering of children formed a semicircle around the amber fire, eyes filled with a mix of wonder and excitement. Having entered their 10th year, the boys, girls, and ashten of Jorchiktele were finally old enough to hear the history of their kingdom, including its less savory aspects. As the young ones began to settle around her hearth, the high priestess Ajarma smiled to herself. The story of liberation was her favorite tale to sing. Once everyone was accounted for, her eyes widened as she became animated and her bracelets of iron, copper, and stone jangled together to form their rhythmic clangor. Performing the dance passed down for generations, the priestess began to sing Asmanakashra’s epic of liberation.
“Long ago we worked the mines,”
“Forced to toil akin to beasts.”
“Ancestors from far and wide brought in chains,”
“Unity under the crack of whips.”
“Spirits remained unbroken,”
“Even as bodies collapsed.”
“As we worked we learned,”
“Of gifts placed by the Gods.”
“As we dug deeper and deeper,”
“The bountiful mountains sheltered us.”
“One day the lowland devils,”
“Grew too weak to whip us.”
“Metal in hand we caved their skulls,”
“A people finally freed.”
“Now their bones pave our mountain paths,”
“And their blood grows our wine.”
“We honor our sacred freedom,”
“Praise the Mountains, the King, and the Mines!”
Her performance caused a raucous response from the young audience, who answered the end of her sacred tale with a chorus of oaths:

“Praise the Mountains, the King, and the Mines! Praise the Mountains, the King, and the Mines! Praise the Mountains, the King, and the Mines!”

Sanctification

King Damiharthro of Anagekh, his high priestess Ajarma and an assortment of porters were nearing the final stop of their annual tour of the kingdom. It was nearing the end of the harvest season, and chilled weather was sure to follow. In his youth, King Damiharthro had enjoyed traversing the beautiful hills surrounding his village, but as old age made his body weary even simple tasks like riding his horse were becoming difficult. Even as the evening sun warmed the hillsides and colored his white wool shawl, Damiharthro felt a chill deep in his bones. To age truly is a curse, he thought to himself. Thankfully, this was the last stop on his final tour as king, after which he could finally rest his weary bones.
Damiharthro and his entourage crested a small ridge, and on the other side they found their destination. The village of Keshthrute sat nestled between the ridge and the imposing base of a mountain, with a small brook bubbling through the village’s center. Southwest of Keshthrute and at the intersection of ridge and stoneface was the mine that had given Keshthrute its name. Before liberation, the Keshthrute mine had exported copper far abroad, feeding the war machines of empires far from these sacred lands. After liberation, Keshthrute followed the example of her fellow mine-clans and continued operations, albeit with less demand and under significantly better conditions. After all, the Gods did not fill their mountain homes with metal so it could go unused. Outside Keshthrute’s low stone wall, a man in traditional earth tone wool greeted Damiharthro and his assistants. The man bowed to his king, before declaring,
“I am Nakabno of Keshthrute, the beto of the Keshthrute mine-clan. May your ground be stable.”
“May your ground be stable.” King Damiharthro replied. “Let the sanctification ritual begin.”
Thereafter, the priestess Ajarma led the procession. First they visited Keshthrute’s village shrine at the center of the town square, a squat stone table with a chunk of copper ore embellished at the center of the table’s surface. Upon hearing her sacred chants, the townsfolk surrounding the party cheered. Then they visited the highest point in town, where Ajarma offered her prayers to the herders. At this time of year, many of the shepherds had already migrated east for warmer weather, so prayers at Keshthrute’s highest point were meant to carry across the wind and find their intended target. Next Ajarma arrived at the town’s vineyard. Keshthrute was too high in elevation for the best wine production, but the small grapes received Ajarma’s blessing nonetheless. By this point Damiharthro was fighting off the desire to fall asleep while still riding his horse, but he knew the most important part of the ritual still had yet to be conducted.
Ajarma, Damiharthro, and Nakabno and the other members of the procession finally arrived at the mine just as the sun was sinking beneath the mountain. Ajarma pulled out the sacred mashthra, a thin and slightly concave plate of iron. After a moment, she took her wooden staff and struck the face of the mashthra. The metallic clang reverberated off the mountain face, and the sound resonated well into the ravines beyond. For a moment there was silence, as Ajarma used her mythic intuition to interpret the sound of wood striking metal. Having interpreted the echos, Ajarma told the assembly,
“The Gods favor Keshthrute, but be warned as this year’s winter will be severe. In spring this chill will haunt you, do not plant until later in the season.”
And with that, the augury and sanctification were over. Damiharthro privately had many reservations about the auguries, as he knew they were not always correct. Such was the fickle will of the Gods he supposed.
Before leaving, Nakabno approached Damiharthro with a serene smile on his face. “May your ground be stable, King Damiharthro of Anagekh.”
“And may your ground be stable, Nakabno of Keshthrute. I believe I shall see you this winter?”
“As is my duty,” Nakabno replied.

Lord of the Mine-Clans

Nakabno rode through the chilled winter night as snow quietly settled around him. In Keshthrute snow storms were larger and more frequent, but down here the falling flakes maintained their blissful serenity without a hint of danger. He had always enjoyed the snow, but he certainly would not mind the more mild winters of Jorchiktele. Just as this thought crossed his mind, the fires of the capitol became visible through the darkness. Thankfully he would not have to spend another night camped along the mountain paths, and he would arrive on time if only barely. An extra day’s delay might not have hurt his chances, but it is always difficult to discern what will contribute to the other betya’s considerations.
Jorchiktele had always been an imposing city, situated between two rivers and with mountains to its north and south. The most prominent hill is the eponymous Jorchiktele, which towers over the settlement from the southwest. From the north and the west, the Mitele and Atuare rivers come together to form the Ishtene River, and wheat fields blanket the small valley. When the basin along the Ishtene gives way to the gradually increasing face of Jorchiktele, the wheat fields transform into terraces, although these earthworks do not extend more than two-hundred feet above their lowland counterparts. Above the terraces come squat clay houses, where the majority of Jorchiktele’s people lived. These abodes had a single doorway in and out, and were constructed from the clay sediments harvested in the basin below. Above the clay homes are the stone houses of the merchants and landowners. While they have the influence to live in larger homes of polished sandstone, they pale in comparison to the estates granted to betya. Near the summit of Jorchiktele, these complexes had multiple levels and are built out of the finest stone in the region. They are often accented with gold and copper, two ores long associated with the nobility. Just beneath the final summit are two perfectly square buildings, cast in an amber hue as the flames of a thousand torches lick the polished granite surfaces. Even from this distance, Nakabno could see the metallic iconography catching in the light of the flames, a symbol of authority as resolute as the ground beneath his feet. Even after having visited multiple times, Nakabno was in awe riding towards Asmanakasha’s largest settlement. He hoped that he would soon be able to call it home.
Upon entering the city itself, an attendant led Nakabno to his local estate. As a beto Nakabno was entitled to stay in the luxurious structure while he was visiting the capitol, which far outshone his living quarters back in Keshthrute. The dimensions of his estate, given its position near the summit of the mountain, should have been impossible. Much like the other buildings of Jorchiktele, Nakabno’s temporary abode was partially built into the mountainside, sitting atop a manufactured plot of level ground. Nakabno always privately wondered if these would slide down the mountain-face, but he did not dare question his countrymen’s craftsmanship. Despite these concerns Nakabno had a wonderful night’s sleep, and around noon donned his ceremonial woolen robes to ascend the cobblestone path towards the Royal Palace.
After being ushered in by royal attendants, Nakabno found himself at the center of the palatial complex. The sturdy roof that covered the majority of the building gave way to an open circular courtyard, dotted with fire pits to keep the participants warm in the winter air. Alongside the lack of roofing, the polished granite floors of the palace were replaced with the bare earth of the mountain. Arranged in a circle were a collection of wooden seats and a single floor mat, all of which were empty when Nakabno had arrived. Early once again, that must count for something, he thought to himself.
As noon drew closer, the other betya entered the courtyard. Following them was Ajarma, the priestess of Jorchiktele, and finally King Damiharthro of Anagekh. In the few months since Nakabno had last seen the aged King, his eyes had become even more sunken, and his arms looked like branches in the depths of winter. He had already shed the royal white robes, but atop his head he still wore the Royal Crown. The King waddled to his rightful place on the floor mat, and Ajarma helped him take his seat. Despite his decrepit appearance, King Damiharthro wore a proud smile. After all, his burdens in life were about to be lightened at last.
Once everyone had arrived, Ajarma stepped into the center of the circle. Striking her mashthra and listening to it’s holy resonance, Ajarma announced with a thundering voice,
“The Gods have willed the selection of our next King, deliberation has begun!”
With this announcement, the many betya took their opportunities to speak during their allotted time. Each of these men had been elected in a similar process by their Mine-Clans, whether due to their work ethic, personal charisma, or raw talent when it came to mining and smelting. In addition to these qualities, the men were now to be judged by their administrative careers as well. King Damiharthro heard the arguments of the betya with increasing disinterest, it was clear this long process was wearing out the already weak King. Nonetheless, he remained awake long enough to hear all of the betya make their pitches, after which the debates began.
It was now up to the representatives to pick the leader they would rally behind through a voting process. The new King would require all other members to vote for him, so as could be imagined the selection process could last days or even weeks. Before Nakabno got a second opportunity to speak, the winter sun had already set, signaling the end of the day’s discussions. The betya left the courtyard and headed to their respective manors for the night, but as they say politics do not sleep. Nakabno spent the night hosting a grand celebration for his fellow betya, hoping that his own personal charisma would be enough to secure his place as the King of Asmanakashra.
Four days after deliberation had begun, Nakabno's plan had paid off. Upon entering the courtyard, everyone in attendance agreed to vote for their pleasant host. King Damiharthro, having seen Nakabno’s success only months prior, agreed with the verdict. After the striking of the mashthra, Ajarma carefully removed the Royal Crown from Damiharthro’s head and placed it on Nakabno’s. This artifact had been passed between kings for centuries, a golden ring studded with limestone, sandstone, and granite on the band. At the center of the forehead, the brand dipped towards the nose, the central bridge adorned with copper and iron stones. The Royal Crown fit Nakabno perfectly, and a wide smile spread across his face.
“Hail King Nakabno of Keshthrute!” shouted Ajarma.
“Hail! Hail! Hail!” came a chorus of voices.
Once the ceremony was completed, Damiharthro pulled King Nakabno aside.
“You know my liege, the title of King is a heavy burden to bear. When I was first chosen decades ago the title had been perfunctory, and my role mattered very little in the grand scheme of the Kingdom. But things are changing. In the past few years, there have been reports of other kingdoms ascending, even those who once yoked us in chains. This has the potential to be an unstable time, King Nakabno, and all I ask is that you rule well.”
“Thank you for this advice, Damiharthro of Anagekh. May your ground be stable.”
“May your ground be stable, King Nakabno of Keshthrute.”
Claim Name: The Kingdom of Asmanakashra
Claim Type: Confederation of the Mine-Clans/State
Starting Age: Iron Age
Map: here
Technology: Writing, Bronze Working, Iron Working, Horse Domestication

Postface: Within Aion
First, Aion is not meant to be sardonic nor satirical -- except, one could argue, in the deepest sense: meaning, contemplative. However, it occurs to me as it likely occurs to you: world-conquering powers of any sort, by their very nature, have a satirical edge to them, as they are at once both hypnotic and laughable. Meaning, too evil or grand to be believed. So, it's comforting to know that world-conquering forces, as a general rule, are considered amusing to the point of exhaustion. They are. That's why most space operas have such an edge to them. However, they are not trivial, and the very best fictionalisations of such are inexhaustible (such as Star Wars and the Foundation series). Ultimately, they teach you something about being human.
Secondly, then, at the deepest level, I wanted to do The Lord of the Rings in space. I believe, if you're not aiming at the deepest themes of Man, you're not aiming at anything worthwhile. (Of course, I certainly have not come close to Tolkien -- but, that's not the point of aiming high.)
Part I: The House of the Gathering
Zombies, and sci-fi in general, had long been on my mind in relation to creating my own wargame, so the notion of having zombies on an alien planet, then, was not foreign to me. But, for the first time, I decided to take zombies seriously, and in the context of deep space. In the end, that meant filling the universe -- or, part of it -- with them... and pitting them against a grand empire of sorts. As hearty Americans say: go big or go home. I went big, in all directions, except with respect to the small scale of the gameplay itself. I believe this somewhat harmonised the two extremes.
The Two Aions
In the first place, Aion (known as the Aion Empire) began a few years ago. It was to be a sci-fi empire (rather, empire-like structure), just like this Aion, only it was contained to Earth -- and featured not a single zombie. This was the birth of High King Balthazar (which I later changed to King Balthazar, and which High King Balthazar II retrospectively changed to High King Balthazar I), the Babylonian, god-king, super-ruler. Note that the Balthazar of Aion's central timeline is High King Balthazar II, but is simply known as High King Balthazar in all informal and most formal matters.
We must ask ourselves, 'What is this strange thing called fiction we engage with? All these games and stories and neo-myths and toy soldiers?' Is it all escapism... or, are these works trying -- yearning, clawing, dying -- to confront something real?
The Babylonian ruler concept, as with the entire the project of Aion, was a slow process of stitching ideas, sometimes disparate ideas, together and upon one another. Over ten years ago, I simply and purely loved the name Balthazar. Shockingly, perhaps, I was informed by The Sorcerer's Apprentice (2010) more than the Bible; I had all but forgotten that he brought the gift of myrrh to Jesus Christ.
However, I always liked the name Balthazar in a more anti-hero frame than a saint or otherwise hero (though he is the hero of the aforementioned movie). It was finally time to do something with the notion.
He was white in the movie, but is often African [black] in Biblical contexts. I had no idea what I really wanted to do with Balthazar yet, racially/culturally. But, years later, my research led me to a Near Eastern figure of a relatively similar name: Belshazzar, the regent-to-be-king of Babylon before its fall in 539 BC. He kept the title of crown prince (son of the king).
I blended all of this together, making him Babylonian in terms of his ancestry (technically, of the Neo-Babylonian Empire) and an anti-villain (largely ignoring the historical characters of Belshazzar and Balthazar). I also created some other major characters, and collected some old fantasy notes, with the most notable additions being the Rime-Giants.
High King Balthazar I swiftly became a modern Neo-Babylonian (meaning not really Neo-Babylonian at all) cultist and race supremacist: meaning, he wanted the entire world to be just like him, made in his own image, as he believed his ancestry was supreme (dating back to the Neo-Babylonian Empire, in a neo-mythic, historical revisio-negationist kind of way). This is what ultimately led to the Balthazarian world order (meaning, Earth filled only with what Balthazar considered to be descendants of the Neo-Babylonians).
The second Aion was an idea for a comic version of the first: now, High King Balthazar I was an anti-hero-turned-villain with superpowers (circa 2048 AD), and he wore black and purple clothing. His name was simply Balthazar. He was a rather typical modern, dark supervillain (in the style of Alan Moore, primarily). Here, I added the Bronzed Titan, 27, the Librarian, among other characters and supernatural beings, such as The Face (singular and plural). Many of these remained within my Aionic mythos, just in different ways.
I don't overly care whether this be true history or pure propaganda, in-universe, on the part of High King Balthazar II. Or else, some collective cultural Creation myth. You may, as you wish, shift this in your mind more towards fantasy and supernaturalism, or hard sci-fi.
By combing everything, I arrived at my new High King Balthazar I being relatively similar to the old High King Balthazar I; however, the future of his story was very different. This quickly became a long history of so-called High Balthazars thereafter: seven of them. However, I later changed this to just the first two. In fact, I first used the title of High Emperor, but wanted to move away from the Roman framework, and did not want a literal empire at all; thus, I moved back to the title of High King.
Everything else was a simple -- ah, simple -- matter of filling in the blanks for a complete timeline of over 100,000 years (which became 10,000 years as I was compelled to massively shrink the entire setting). In any event, the really difficult part was delicately crafting it, and trimming it, for the purposes of the game.
Of course, all of this became entirely fictionalised as I moved away from Babylon and the Milky Way and invented my own setting, universe, and humanoid race. I kept the name Balthazar, of course.
'Why an empire spanning many galaxies?' You must be asking this. Well, it's tied back into the Akkadian Empire, as it used and likely invented the title, 'King of the Universe'. This is what drove me to such a vast empire in the first place. I knew that High King Balthazar II, final ruler of Balthazarian Aion, had to be King of the Universe, in some sense.
Note that, as far as I'm concerned, High King Balthazar II (and all else, for that matter) is not allegorical, so much as an example of Tolkien's concept of applicability. He's not to be read or understood in any particular political, social, economic, racial, or otherwise real-world terms, either at present or historically. The themes of Aion aim to be as ambiguous and universal as possible, with Balthazar as the overarching vessel (characteplot device) to those themes, for the fandomeer* (though you don't actually play or directly interact with the character of Balthazar, in-game).
Although the overarching framework of Aion is a clear example of racial dictatorship of sorts, and the basis of the Aionic culture was Babylon, there is no real connection to be found. Indeed, I ultimately shifted away from real humans altogether, by making the Balzarian (and Balthazar's, by definition) skin tone to be a white-grey, and they have different genetic markers and overall biology. But, they are still fundamentally 'human'. (Of course, symbolically, culturally, and linguistically, Aion is a great admixture of many Earth cultures, histories, peoples, and languages. Primary focus is on all things Germanic (Germany proper), Nordic (Norse), English (British), American (U.S.), Akkadian, Babylonian, and Japanese, with some Greek and Roman connections.)
*Fandomeer (fandom + eer (in the style of mountaineer, etc.)): a word I coined to express the nuance in the 'follower' of a fandom. The term, 'fan', 'follower', 'gamer', 'reader', 'consumer', or related is not nuanced enough for our purposes, as they do not fully encapsulate the attitudes and activities of a fandomeer. The fandomeer is a very active, often multi-faceted avid fan of some given fandom or space, or multiple (such as Star Trek science, the Wizarding World, or early Nintendo video games). It's meant to be a wide-ranging, neutral term (meaning, not derogatory or complimentary).

My disabled wife and I live in nothern central MA up by the NH border and honestly, we're not fans. There's nothing to do, no where to go, and the only game store around closed a year ago.
We want somewhere that we can find an actual community and won't be such oddities as a LGBTQ couple. One of the few places we can find houses in our budget is Springfield.
So what's Springfield like for LGBTQ people? How's the community vibes? Are there areas I should stay away from? Are the majority of people LGBTQ accepting? How's the health care? Is it difficult to get Dr's down there too? How are the Dr's with trans health care? How's the local Planned Parenthood? Any stupid laws trying to be passed that I should know about?
And honestly anything else you think someone should know before moving to the Springfield area? I'm also fine with living in a smaller town near Springfield if anyone has suggestions.
If anyone's curious our budget is 200k and under.

So my disabled wife and I live in nothern central MA up by the NH border and honestly, we're not fans. There's nothing to do, no where to go, and the only game store around closed a year ago.
We want somewhere that we can find an actual community and won't be such oddities as a LGBTQ couple. One of the few places we can find houses in our budget is Albany.
So what's Albany like for LGBTQ people? How's the community vibes? Are there areas I should stay away from? Are the majority of people LGBTQ accepting? How's the state aid in NY? My wife is currently on MassHealth, does NY have a program like that? How's the health care? Is it difficult to get Dr's out there like it is in MA? How are the Dr's with trans health care? How's the local Planned Parenthood? Any stupid laws trying to be passed that I should know about?
And honestly anything else you think someone should know before moving to Albany/Albany area? I'm also fine with living in a smaller town near Albany if anyone has suggestions.
If anyone's curious our budget is 200k and under.

Dumbest take you’ve read all day? Maybe. This is a very long analysis so feel free to nope out now if that isn’t your thing.
Huge spoilers for all of Ted Lasso and all of Barry ahead. If you haven’t seen up to the finale of Barry and you think you might want to, please don’t read on.
At first glance, perhaps it seems there are not a lot of parallels between the two shows. Superficially, there are a few. Both are award-winning comedy series’ that explore masculinity and feature eponymous cis, white, male, Gen X protagonists. They happened to run at the same time, and have their series finale in the same week. Both are created, produced, written by, and star two former SNL castmates.*
So maybe a little comparison is worthwhile? The more I looked at these two shows side-by-side, the more parallels I could see.
Tonally they are at different ends of the comedy spectrum, probably reflecting their makers’ personal comedic tastes.
Barry is dark from the start and ends somewhere south of Vantablack. It is a cautionary tale. The comedy often comes from juxtapositions of banality and horror.
Ted Lasso has a much lighter and brighter comedic touch, at turns goofy or silly, witty and smart. It provides more guidance than caution.
But there are more subject and thematic similarities than might first be apparent. Both examine modern masculinity, and they share a vision of the masculine ideal to strive for. Both play with and subvert audience expectations. One possible (reductive) summary for both might be: “man struggles with poor mental health”. These are the areas where I think Ted Lasso and Barry share some common ground.
Trauma and repression Both Barry and Ted are traumatised. Barry by his military service and, it’s implied, his upbringing. Ted by his father’s suicide. Traditional masculinity dictates that men do not express their emotions or process trauma in healthy ways. Barry and Ted both initially adhere to this tradition.
Ted represses his negative emotions. He masks anger and grief behind unrelenting positivity and joviality, until they eventually bubble up through panic attacks. He neglects his own needs through his obsession with helping others. He begins to process his trauma through therapy.
Barry represses his emotions while killing, or moulds them into anger and channels that through violence. His acting classes provide the first opportunity he has had to process his trauma.
Fathers Ted’s dad left him. Barry’s surrogate dad, Fuches, abused and exploited him.
Both protagonists have one son, aged around 8. For each, their son is the centre of their world, central to their sense of identity and purpose. They both project their childhood selves onto their son. Their sons are a representation of their boyhood selves, and they want to protect them in a way they themselves were not.
Barry fails to care for his son in the most fundamental ways - because he doesn’t know how and because he is a narcissist - despite seeing himself as a “good dad”.
Ted loves his son but runs away from him, he fails to give Henry what he most needs; his presence. Ted eventually realises that he needs to confront his fear of abandonment to stop himself abandoning his son.
Masculinity Both shows hold “ethical manhood”** as the ideal version of masculinity. It encompasses reduced conflict, enhanced community, a kinder, gentler version of masculinity. Barry doesn’t offer any examples of course, only cautions against the reverse. Ted Lasso offers Ted and other men as role-models, and maybe goes a step further, hinting at the possibility of “inclusive masculinity”***: a community-based, multi-racial masculinity that is expressive, communal, and supportive. He’s not there yet, but I would argue Ted’s “it’s not about me, it never was” points in that direction.
Subversion of expectations Viewers in season 1 expect redemption for likeable hitman Barry. Redemption is only possible by facing what you’ve done and accepting the consequences of your actions. Barry is incapable of this.
Barry plays to a lot of viewers’ expectations of a macho action man. Barry is kind of a “bad ass”, an emotionless killing-machine. Some viewers were surprised and disappointed when Barry started to crack: emotional breakdowns, increasingly poor mental health, pining for love and connection. Some disliked the bold time jump, in which the show asked: what would happen if Barry got what he wanted? Something nobody expected.
Many viewers expected rom com tropes from Ted Lasso, such as a romantic relationship between the male and female leads. The show rejected this expectation in favour of a platonic male/female relationship. The love triangle was resolved with everyone ending up single.
Both shows made significant structural and tonal changes a couple of seasons in. We are not used to big swings partway through a series. Traditionally, showrunners have striven to maintain a consistent structure and tone, or implemented changes incrementally. Maybe bold shifts will be a new trend and audiences will adjust more quickly.
No happy endings Needs vs wants: In the final season, Barry gets what he wants, but not what he needs. He gets the family and the “normal” life he longed for. But because he’s an irredeemable murderer, it’s horrifying: a dark, twisted, funhouse mirror version of a happy TV family.
Ted gets what he needs, but not necessarily everything he wants (like the Rolling Stones song that plays over the season 3 trailer). He gets to be with his son, and gets help for his mental health. He doesn’t get the girl (Michelle), at least not that we know of. He has a long road ahead of him, rebuilding his life in Kansas and working on his issues.
Both shows feature a somewhat ambiguous look direct to camera as their final shot. Ted’s smile threw some viewers. It’s not the unambiguously happy smile of the hero at the end of a rom com. Sudeikis conveys a lot of conflicting emotion through his eyes in that moment. Uncertainty maybe; resignation that he still has so far to go. A little sadness. Contentment. Bravery is my main takeaway. Ted is willing to do the hard work.
The choice of Fight Test by the Flaming Lips over the finale end credits of Ted Lasso was an interesting choice. It again subverted the idea of a “happy ending”.
Barry’s son John looks to camera immediately after watching the hilariously terrible biopic of his father’s life in which Barry is depicted as a John Wick-style hero protecting his family. He smiles tearfully. What does that smile mean? It seems that John buys in to the Hollywood lie of his dad’s traditionally masculine heroism.
If you made it this far: thanks. Once I started on this, I got tangled up in it all day. And this is a very narrow analysis of just the Ted and Barry characters. There’s a lot more there, but I don’t have the time, and I’m sure you don’t have the patience.
*I am aware that both shows have dozens of other contributors. But that didn’t suit the neatness of the comparison. Work with me here.
** ***stole all of that bit from Dr. David E Magill

[First post]
Dante:
​
I was watching him through some hidden cameras in his room, he didn’t sleep much, obviously. He is now looking out the window, observing the deep space. He has some things on his ears. Earbuds I think that’s what they’re called. He was exhaling smoke from his lungs while holding something in his right hand. It clicked in my brain what it was, humans call it cigarettes. I know it's bad for their health but it also calms them down. This made me a little sad and anxious. I’m tasked with keeping him safe, yet, there he is, voluntarily hurting his own body. In a somewhat fit of rage and fear I left my office and stormed towards his room. I stare at him, his earbuds were still on, he probably didn’t hear me come in as he’s most likely listening to something. I went towards him and snatched his cigarette and earbuds as I shouted at him.
“What are you doing, Dante?!” My voice filled with anger and care at the same time. I want him safe, not hurting himself.
“What are you doing? Give that back!” He tried to reach for the cigarette but I threw it on the ground and stepped on it.
“You are killing yourself, Dante!” I pointed my finger at him as I shouted. I don’t want to be aggressive towards him but I also care for his health, I can’t sit and watch him kill himself.
“And who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do Kaska?!” His face is filled with rage. It’s clear he is going through a rough time.
“Dante, please…” I took a deep breath. “Stop this, I want you safe, not dying…” I spoke a little quieter.
“That calms me down. Kaska, please, leave me alone… I need time.” For the first time, I saw true pain in a human’s eyes, right there, face to face. His mind might be filled with anger, with a desire for revenge but he's still a human… I want him to be happy but I understand this might be difficult right now. I took a deep breath and returned him his earbuds. “Fine. But we will have a discussion about this, Dante. Please, I want you well, not dying…” My voice sounded hurt, I truly care for him, seeing him hurting himself like this is hurting me more than anything.
I saw him sitting on the floor, observing the vast emptiness of the galaxy as he took another cigarette from his pack. His eyes remained hurt as he lit up the cigarette and watched the stars outside.
He took a drag from the cigarette and turned his eyes towards me. “Why do you do this, Kaska? Why are you helping me? Why is this United Galactic Alliance helping us?”
I sat beside him as he smoked, leaning my back against the wall. “Dante, you humans were always something fascinating to me. You live around a hundred years yet, you achieve so much in such little time. In a century, you went from riding on horses to being able to travel to the moon. Your species has such potential, it's amazing. No other species ever did that. I think it’s because we all live longer lives than humans. My species, for example, we live for around 600 years. We don’t have the same necessity that humans have to achieve great things right here, right now.”
I saw his eyes widen as he smoked and listened to me. “600 years!?” he said, clearly shocked.
“Yes, humans are actually the species with the shortest life span when compared with other intelligent life forms. Some admire humanity for having such greatness, others fear it.”
I took a deep breath before continuing my speech. “There’s a great debate in the United Galactic Alliance council going on right now. Some are scared of what humans can do. They want to… let you fend for yourselves.” A deep pain entered my heart once I said that. How could the UGA allow that to happen? They have a right to live just like us. We shouldn’t fear them but help them grow as a greater and kinder species.
“Fear us?” he replied as he let out the smoke from his lungs. “Why do they fear us? We have no desire to hurt anyone besides the Yaktar. They were the ones that took everything from us! They were the ones that killed our brothers! Our sisters! Our fathers, mothers, grandfathers! They took everything from us! What does the UGA expect us to do?! Sit and accept that?!” A great anger was built in his voice, I could see it in his eyes, a flame for revenge, hatred, a desire to kill. It sent shivers down my spine once more. I want to help humans, but, how far will they go? What if they turn that anger towards us?
He got up, I could only see anger in his eyes as he paced around the room, smoking his cigarette. “How dare they?! They expect us to do what?! Sit and watch?! Allow other species to die?! How can they say they wish to protect the galaxy and allow such monsters like the Yaktars to do as they please?!” His anger scared me a little bit. I knew humans could be angry and have a strong desire for revenge and justice, but this, this is something else. Fury, perhaps? No, something more that I can’t quite put my finger on.
“L-like I said, Dante. It’s just talks, nothing is decided yet. I swear, most species want to help humanity.” I’ll admit that I let my fear out as I spoke, he was really scaring me, such desire for anger and revenge was unheard of. Only the Yaktars had this rage for death. But, maybe, that’s what the UGA needs? A monster. A monster worse than the Yaktars themselves.
While this conversation was going on, another conversation was also taking place, in the planet called ‘Galactic Union’. This planet was the hub of the United Galactic Alliance, used only for diplomacy related reasons. It was filled with embassies the size of cities. There were hundreds of them, maybe 3 to 4 hundred of them, spread along the planet. In the central continent there was a big circular building, inside of it, a great debate was going on.
“You know their history, senator! Humans are unpredictable! Who knows what they’ll do if they get their hands on FTL equipment or any other equipment for that matter!” A voice shouted from one of the seats, a creature with six tentacles spoke, it had blue skin and 12 completely black eyes.
“That’s right, ambassador, but!” A voice shouted, seated close by. He had a glowing and translucent green skin. He got up from his seat, putting both his hands with 3 fingers each on the table. “What do you wish to do? Deny this Alliance its purpose? We were created with very simple goals; equality, protection and prosperity. Should we deny humans these principles? They have been clearly showing signs of development, they had an organization similar to ours! Don’t you remember, ambassador? “United Nations”, I think that was the name they gave it.”
That same voice responded, shouting back. “And what did that lead them to, ambassador? From what I recall from the reports, they still fought against each other. For such simple and barbaric reasons as money, territory or religion!” The translucent being answered. “That is indeed correct, ambassador. But may I recall that your species did exactly the same? In fact, pretty much every species seated here today were like humans once. Should we dissolve this Council? I think not, my dear ambassadors. We need to protect humans. Please senator, I beg of you, make the right call.” The greenish translucent being said, looking towards a figure, seated in the middle of this circle.
This figure was a tall and skinny red figure, with two white eyes and a white stripe going down her face in the middle of it. “I’ve made my decision, ambassadors. The humans are on they’re way to a remote planet in the galaxy A3-B, deep in our territory. They will live there for a while, we will help with medical and economical aid. We will only give them the necessary technological equipment to help them develop their planet. We will guarantee their protection as we watch closely and see them develop their type of government by themselves. If they turn hostile, we destroy them. The council is now dismissed. The senator leaves the big circular room. A lot of voices from different species talk amongst themselves, agreeing and disagreeing with each other but they don’t dare go against the senator’s words.
Back on the ship, in that same room, a little time passed by.
“I’m calm, Kaska, sorry…” He said, calming himself after shouting obscenities against the council and their wish to abandon humanity to its faith.
“I understand you, Dante. I just want you to understand how it might be hard, atleast at the beginning, but I promise I’ll be right there, for you. To help you out.” I said, smiling at him, trying to comfort him.
“Thanks, Kaska. That means a lot to me.” He said, smiling back. “But I want to know, when will I meet the other humans? I want to get to know them, speak with them…”
“Soon, Dante. If everything goes according to plan, tomorrow. Some humans, well, they didn’t take this as easily as you did.* I answered him, with a somewhat sad look on my face.
“Yeah, I can imagine… Honestly, I’m still in disbelief, like, I’m going to wake up in a few hours and you will just be a weird dream I had.”
“I can comprehend that, Dante… But you’ll meet them tomorrow, I promise. I’m going to bring you your lunch now.” I started walking towards the door and stopped before leaving. “Dante… Please stop smoking… I don’t like seeing you killing yourself like that” I then left the room with a sad feeling in my heart. I want him well and healthy. I know he can be the man that changes not just humanity but the whole galaxy’s faith.

Violence continues in Sudan, the cryosphere breaks down, recessions, harvest failures, heat waves, droughts, and floods. Mother Earth has got a terminal case of humans.
Last Week in Collapse: May 28-June 3, 2023
This is Last Week in Collapse, a weekly newsletter bringing together some of the most important, timely, useful, sad, ironic, amazing, or otherwise must-see moments in Collapse. Try not to overdose on this week’s Doom dose.
This is the 75th newsletter. You can find the May 21-27 edition (which I accidentally labeled the 73rd edition) here if you missed it last week. These newsletters are also on Substack if you want them sent to your email inbox every Sunday.
——————————
The World Meteorological Congress concluded on Friday, and it released a bunch of reports. The focus this year was on developing early warning systems for wateclimate/weather disasters. Most countries report declining ability to monitor hydrological developments, and almost half of the world’s people lack reliable access to water for at least one month per year, a figure that is expected to grow considerably by 2050.
The WMO also reported on the state of emergency for the cryosphere, those places where ice is formed (and melts). Greenland’s ice has shrunk for 26 consecutive years. Permafrost threatens to release huge quantities of greenhouse gasses over the coming years. Sea levels continue to rise…but you know this already.
Montevideo, Uruguay’s capital, has come up with a plan to extend their almost-exhausted water supply: they’re adding salt to the tap water, against WHO recommendations. This causes people to drink less water—but what are the implications for health, and for small-scale agriculture?
Over 20 million tonnes of what was damaged in China by recent rain, not long before it was scheduled to be harvested. Analysts say this will raise grain prices worldwide. The scale of this blight is larger than recent blights. In the U.S. state of Georgia, 90% of the peach harvest was destroyed by abnormally warm weather; in Vermont, a freak cold snap damaged crops, potentially 30% of apples.
6 years. 800 million trees felled in the Amazon rainforest, all to create space for cattle farms. The loss of rainforest is equivalent roughly to two Corsica islands.
Environmental scientists have discovered a hopeful tool to lower CO2: Greenland’s “rock flour,” which is basically rock dust. A recent study claims that it can be scattered on fields to absorb CO2—and also boost wheat and potato yields. International lawyers are also working on the first global plastics pollution treaty that could be passed later next year.
Yet another study claims that Mother Earth is sick, and that most of our safety thresholds have been crossed. The feedback loops have been activated, the diagnosis is terminal. The Nature study lists the 8 Earth System Boundaries: 1) Climate, 2) Functional Integrity, 3) Natural Ecosystem Area, 4) Surface Water, 5) Groundwater, 6) Nitrogen, 7) Phosphorus, and 8) Subglobal Aerosols. (Not to be confused with the 9 Planetary Boundaries.)
Some insurers in California are cutting homeowner insurance because they can’t make a buck betting against wildfires and desertification. Similar risk is expanding in Texas. Summer is coming. A mysterious wildfire in Scotland is growing out of control, and threatens to become the UK’s largest ever.
Record May rainfall in Bermuda. Part of South Africa also saw record rains in May. Strong rains in southern Spain—but the parched soil can’t absorb much of it. Meanwhile, the Philadelphia area had its driest May in recorded history.
Vicious drought and Afghan dams have raised tensions between iran and Afghanistan, where fighting killed a handful of people two weeks ago. In times of scarcity, no group can have enough water; even less if they’re forced to share. Most of the world’s lakes are drying up.
An official in India ordered the draining of two million liters of water from a reservoir……so he could retrieve his phone, which he dropped in the water while taking a selfie. He was suspended. The phone was recovered—but too damaged to function. The water could have irrigated 6 km² of land.
Wildfires grow in Nova Scotia. Millions going hungry in Madagascar. Record temperatures in Japan. Normalized heat waves across Asia with new records in Central Asia & the Caucasus.
Scientists warn of potential tsunamis caused by underwater landslides in Antarctica. New cold records in Australia. Heat waves in North Africa. Increasing reliance on expensive desalination plants in Barcelona as drought and water supplies worsen.
——————————
Türkiye’s President, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, won reelection, and economists believe it portends the further Collapse of the economy. Investment is pulling out, and the lira is expected to continue sinking. “We will be together until the grave,” said Erdoğan at his victory speech.
The UN operation to drain the *FSO Safer* has begun now that technicians have boarded the vessel. 1.1 million barrels of oil aboard the derelict tanker, stranded off the coast of Yemen, will begin being drained next month.
Petrol prices rise in Benin as Nigeria cuts its fuel subsidies; Iran is limiting fuel purchases too. China’s declining birth rate, growing debt, and ongoing international decoupling is threatening its economy. Eurozone inflation continues. Trade-GDP ratios approaching 2008 levels worryingly.
Budapest is facing bankruptcy. Refugees in Tanzania are seeing their rations cut in half as financing falls off. Vicious conditions inside refugee camps in Chad take advantage of Sudanese refugees. Debts grow in Brazil. Complicated problems continue destabilizing the world’s economic equilibrium.
Another Russian missile attack struck Kyiv last week, after allegedly pro-Ukraine Russian volunteer soldiers made an incursion into Russian territory. Wagner Group’s chief continues provoking Russian leadership as infighting appears to grow, following a Ukrainian drone attack on Moscow. Zelensky says Ukraine’s counteroffensive is now ready.
Myanmar’s Civil War has entered its third year, depending on when you claim it began. In the desperation and chaos of prolonged warfare, it is the environment that pays the price. Wood, gold, jade, and other resources are being exploited by government and private actors after the old economic system broke apart.
——————————
62% of Americans agree that the COVID pandemic is over (it’s not), an increase of 14% since February 2023. 56% of Americans admit that they never mask up in public anymore. An updated booster is coming in September to address the XBB.1.16 variant. Masks may go away, but (Long) COVID will stay with us.
The WHO’s treaty to manage future pandemics is being watered down, leaving humanity less prepared for the next pandemic. Although China denies the lab leak origin story, a prominent Chinese scientist claims it is possible. COVID is never going away, and neither is Long COVID.
Cholera is spreading in several refugee camps in Kenya; medical attention comes too small and too late to prevent the spread. In Sudan, where over a million people have been displaced by recent violence, old inequities linger. Over 13M children are in desperate need of humanitarian aid (about half of Sudan’s 46M population are below 18). Their situation has never been more critical.
Experts continue warning about the dangers of AI, and push for regulation, while other actors push to use AI for economic benefits. I am uncertain which field AI will disrupt the most: military, low-skill workers, societal psyche, institutional integrity, creative jobs, politics, financial markets…? What will be the second-order effects, tertiary, etc.?
Tanzania has called an end to its Marburg virus outbreak, about 10 weeks after it declared an emergency. The UK is advising at-risk people to get vaccinated for mpox/monkeypox before their vaccine program ends in August; 10 new cases in the UK were recently reported.
PFAS, the so-called “forever chemicals” used across many household objects, are dangerous to your health. You also probably could have guessed that manufacturers knew—and lied about—their safety for decades. A study tracked the use of PFAS (since 1940’s) and the knowledge that they were harmful (since 1990’s). Companies including DuPont settled a case for a little over $1 billion USD for their role in the scheme. The billionaire Sackler family also settled a gigantic case regarding opioids, in which they must pay about $6 billion USD, and forfeit control of the pharmaceutical company they’ve held since 1952. The company (formerly Purdue Pharma) is rebranding (as Knoa). Nobody is going to jail.
——————————
A catastrophic train crash in India killed 280+ people. The crash involved 3 trains, and is India’s deadliest in this century.
Riots in Kosovo. Torture in suspected gangster prisons in El Salvador, with 153 prisoners killed since March. Ongoing protests in Israel over the proposed judicial reform.
Lebanon has been without a President for more than 7 months now—and now target dats have been missed to hold important municipal council elections. Town budgets are falling further into chaos, police are going unpaid, garbage is piling up, and would-be foreign investors and money-lenders are losing the scraps of hope they had for Lebanon’s crippled economy. No one is coming to save them.
Cartel violence is rising on the border of Mexico-Guatemala. Organized non-state armed groups conscript local guys, intimidate people into leaving, blockade towns, and shoot each other in the streets. Several thousand people have been displaced—and others disappeared. Far away, Syria is being welcomed back into the Arab fold—on the condition that it cracks down on the intractable drug epidemic of captagon.
One of Libya’s rival PMs was ousted a couple weeks ago, and now the other PM in the east is striking towns in western Libya with drones, allegedly targeting fuel/human smugglers.
Boko Haram jihadists are infighting in northern Nigeria, but the civilians are paying the price. Guerrilla territorial competition may also bring in more people into regional hostilities. In eastern DRC, violence has displaced over 80,000 people so far this year, and their regional hospitals are overcrowded.
Rumors are emerging that M23 will attack Goma, the sprawling epicenter of East Africa’s refugee situation, where human rights abuses are increasingly common and the local ceasefire is breaking down. Islamic radicals also operate in the region, targeting civilians. About 6 million people across the DRC are believed to be internally displaced, and about half a million around Goma (population: unknown, perhaps 750,000 or twice that). There are also reports of planes sighted which belong to the European mercenary company Agemira.
The Sudanese Civil War is spiraling out of control again, as skirmishes broke the incomplete ceasefire. The Central Statistics Bureau was attacked, hampering official data for various purposes. Over 1,000 people have died so far, crossing an unofficial threshold for an armed conflict to officially become a War. About 2M have fled the fighting. Rockets killed 18 and injured many more at a market in Khartoum, sanctions are being imposed by a few nations, and other countries are wading deeper into the War, complicating the situation and preventing clean avenues to another ceasefire.
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Select comments/threads from the subreddit last week suggest:
-There is rain in Romania, based on this observation. But there’s also corruption, growing labor strikes, inflation, and political difficulties.
-Greenland’s climate is out of whack—and apparently the people don’t seem to care that much, judging from this rare observation from West Greenland.
-Portland, Oregon is still a cross-section of modern America’s Collapse, if this observation can be trusted. Heat, insecurity, overcrowding, loneliness, and crows… Reddit has also been affected by psychological decay, according to the poster.
-People are abandoning climate hope, if you believe this gilded thread and its many gilded comments. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.
Have any feedback, questions, comments, resources, recommendations, free PDFs, manifestos, etc.? Consider joining the Last Week in Collapse SubStack if you don’t want to check collapse every Sunday, you can get this newsletter sent to your email inbox every weekend. I always forget something... What did I miss this week?

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[REQ] $400 (#Davenport, FL, USA) Repay $475 by 6/2 (Cashapp)

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First-time borrower but willing to provide supporting documents.
I just started a new job this month but I wanted to get my car payment and insurance taken care of to avoid late fees. Currently paid bi-weekly and if I'm able to pay the loan(+interest) off early I absolutely will. Cashapp preferred but can make arrangements for other forms sending/receiving.

NAHARPUR PRINTS :-
4 days before the release of our album, We got in an argument. I had clarified from the beginning i would need 2 things if we're going to do a collaborative album - a primary on the project + 50% splits (In all of our earlier collaboration nothing like this was ever discussed but we're coming together after 3 years and both of us have a brand of our own now, its work and thus i clarified what i needed before hand). He agreed to that. As soon as the masters came I reminded Nanku that make sure it comes on my profile and you make splits. He uses distrokid where he had exhausted all his artist slots, I suggested him to use CD Baby for one time use and we can split the money its required to distribute through it, He said cool ill do it today and inform you. I checked with him 2 days later to find out he distributed it without my name on the album, without informing me, and without making splits. We were on a call about the same thing and as soon as he cut the call he distributed on Distrokid without adding me in the primary, without making any splits and without informing me. When confronted he says "Yaar ab randirona mat kar". It was followed by a long to and fro where I held him accountable and he tried his best to manipulate me into letting it be. Things like "Dude who cares spotify is social media" "Kya farak padta hai naam aye ya na aaye" "Bhai ek hafte baad sabkuch shift hojayega" "Bro is spotify>Life?" "Ab mai album dekhu ya teri wants" And a couple of more totally obnoxious things. I wanted it to be redistributed the proper way, He was adamant on not doing that because that would mean it wont be live at the bombay gig.
About the Bombay launch – His management had the idea of launching the album on Bombay gig. They almost finalised everything and had made their mind before talking to me about it. Next day when they told me, I said dude you know I have my exams coming any moment now, You know I can’t come there, and if it’s a collaborative album both the artists should present it. He told me he wants even if I’m unable to come, him and his team should launch it themselves because it’s “once in a lifetime” opportunity (?) He started guilting me by saying things like “Bhai mai teri jaga hota toh ye hone deta agar mai nahi aa paata toh bhi” “Bhai isey rok mat isey hone de”
I gave in and said cool. Anyway back to where I was
We fought for a while. He said most he can do is submit an edit request to put my name after (issue with that is, most of times, edits reflect after weeks, so the album would still go live without my name; luckily it went through on time and it got sorted however things had turned way too ugly by then) He then involved a LOT of people and created an absolute mess like Roy who decided to call me randomly and explain to me how I should focus more on youtube and other platforms and not spotify and that he'll make videos and do branding work for me if I let this slide (?).
Anyway. Later that night, He decided to get shit drunk and shout like an absolute maniac at me how i am a fucking this up, simply for wanting my name on my work (lmao) , it got very ugly and got to the point where I wanted it to be canned. The central theme of the project was the time we spent at Naharpur, our friendship, It seemed very lame and meaningless after hearing these things from my “Friend”. I told him i dont wanna produce this anymore, take your songs and produce them yourself to which this dude replies "Teri beats to mai le raha hu, kya karega? Case karega?" and laughed. I warned him if he does that, i will premiere it right now on youtube. He said cool karle. I set the premiere, Informed him that i am doing that. He said alright
If the album comes it will come my way or it wont. Not rijul's way, Not Roy's way, Not anyone else's way. I worked equally hard and contributed a lot more than just beats. If the other half of the project wants to be inconsiderate and selfish, I don’t have any business considering what he wants as well.
Next day they told me I HAVE to come to bombay (In his defense, he had booked expensive last moment tickets for me to come to the gig) But no way I was gonna stay one whole day with this maniac. I cancelled the flight.
During the launch i see him branding the whole thing as "My album", his friends potraying it as “Bhai ki album” and these subtle things. Next day he went ranting and bitching to everyone about how i uploaded "without informing" him and fucked the launch, completing leaving the part he threatened me. Telling people they should not work with me. Verbally harassing my friend Toorjo multiple times for hours at a time (who wasnt even involved in this any way) because he couldnt get to me. Telling him he should watch his back with me, intrestingly he had the same thing to say about Toorjo to me just a few months ago (lol)
PS - my tweet about Reddit review of the album wasn't meant in a bad way and I was not complaining about it. It was just suprising because the songs I was least confident about were appreciated the most (BOP and Zubaida) and opposite with songs i was sure about (Trippy, Dhishkyau!, SOJA).
After a few days, Karun on a call with toorjo said "I don't want to be associated with you guys anymore" and was pretty rude in general, I gave it back to him but I saw them milking our releases 2 days later at paid gigs. If you really do not want to be associated, why not stop playing our instrumentals at gigs? Why not clear royalties and move forward? Fuck that, why not take down and builld the album fresh like you did with Itti si?
J BLOCK
My scene with J block was not related to royalties, it was more of a personal thing. J block had royalty issues with Siddhant, him being a friend, I was standing up for him. It started with Siddhant finding out they split gig money amongst themselves but don’t keep Siddhant in the loop, after which Lonekat flipped out. They held his royalties (650$) for months and then started saying we dont have it, have sent it back to the distribution site, which is impossible. Not sure what happened afterward, stopped following up on that. They also claimed to have “made” Siddhant when in reality, they only started getting any sort of traction after Siddhant came in to the picture. They also used personal incidents Siddhant shared with Lonekat in confidence to trigger and personally attack him. And the worst of it all, they said they’ll send a “bill” to Siddhant for production, mixing mastering, recording his songs. Why would Siddhant pay you for songs that he wrote, recorded, made videos for and agreed to give it to you to put on your channel? He's working and putting stuff on YOUR channel. It’s like I can’t ask someone to give me a verse on my song which is going to release through me and then also say “it’ll cost you to rap on my beat” it doesn’t make sense. After the “bill” thing, Siddhant asked them to remove his stuff. Faizan asked to not include his guitar if Bandeya is reuploaded but when I asked him to take down my songs nicely and politely, it was a big deal? Lol. That’s exactly what you did with Bandeya.
AGAAHI RAAHI -
I agree with Agaahi that I have not been professional and striking isnt the way to deal with things, however he completely skipped the part where It had not come to that before he said something along the lines of – Song isnt coming down do whatever you want, take it down if you can – or something like that. Not sure, don’t have the chats anymore. Hence "gundagardi". I retracted all the strikes the very same day when Circle Tone and Saqlen mediated things. But not surprised Agaahi would talk shit about now out of all times, Block and associates have been trying to ride on Udbhav and Karun’s hype since way too long. Also what’s this “We should call him out” ya’ll already did with some kids putting stories about me after you told them stuff. And weird of him to use Naezy incident against me now when he was very quick to shit on Naezy on facebook posts in support of me when it happened.
NAEZY –
I was in 10th or so when Naezy’s first track had come out (2014-2015). I was very active in the Facebook hip hop community and started talking to Naezy there. He asked me if I can produce, I was fairly new at production. He asked me for a beat on which him and his friends could shoot a cypher on. Few months later he blew up and got signed so I assumed the cypher wont happen anymore and forgot about it. Me and Naezy didn’t communicate after it. 2017 I randomly see that very same beat being used in Bombay 70 – MAMI short film, I wasn’t told anything about my beat being used and there was no credits as such, On reaching out to Naezy he didn’t do anything about it and I let it slide. 3 years later I saw him actually release that song. No permission, No informing, No producer credits in the title (It was pretty standard at that time in hip hop songs). On confronting he said “Description me likha hai na, kaafi hai permission aur title ka kya karna hai” etc. He did some similar shit with the artists who used to make artworks for him. We collectively decided to call him out for these things.
LASTLY –
Feeling solely entitled to a collaborative piece of work seems to be a common issue in all these incidents. I don’t think its very hard to grasp you cannot claim 100% ownership of work you got done for free.
Someone said royalties arent significant in amount, why fight over it – No one knows when a song might blow up, we never knew Aajkal would have half a mil streams 3 years later or Heeriye 800k. Plus if its so hard to get royalties which are small in amount what do you think is going to happen when they are big in number?
I don’t have people to babysit me through a music career unlike some of the people mentioned , So excuse me if i come on a lil too strong to get my share of whatever I have made. I have to look after myself and my work and I don’t find anything wrong in doing so. I’m just trying not to get screwed in the name of brotherhood and friendship. Friends don’t pull shit like this for a couple of claps, views and story mentions.
This is my final say on the issue
Thank you

(Note: this is the second half of the story. Will link the first half shortly)
The two teens both looked toward the front of the room. There was a gray sphere. Hovering in the doorway.
But if you asked Marc, it was an annoying gray sphere. And it hovered in the doorway like an absolute rustnut.
Marc wasn’t sure where on the sphere to level his disdain. The whole dumb surface was the same all over. It was a series of interconnected, translucent hexagons. Stupid yellow lights blinked sporadically across its many faces—for no apparent rhyme or reason—perhaps just to further annoy Marc.
An electronic voice called out from the sphere. “Did I hear muuuuuusic?” he asked. “Before that last plasma burst?”
Marc shot Sid a glare that could kill. But the big blue alien didn’t back down.
“Last impression. Remember?” he told Marc before going toward Tōn-E with a brimming, sharp-toothed smile and arms extended. “Tōn-E! Glad you could make it! Come on in.”
On the inside, Marc cringed. He mostly tried to forget that Tōn-E walked (hovered?) the same Levels as them. Tōn-E represented the most self-destructive habits of the Outpost. The only features of the city indifferent to survival.
But Tōn-E was all too real. He entered the room like a ghost in a nightmare.
“I am also happy to be here,” he said. The faces of his sphere randomly lit up as he spoke. “I otherwise had no plans for tonight. Because the planet is set to explode.”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” Sid joked.
“I approximate it will only take a few more—hold on. What is this??”
Tōn-E spun slowly in the air. The side previously facing Sid rotated toward the ceiling. When it reached the top, a spotlight shot toward the ceiling—right where Sid’s door had slotted in.
The spotlight stretched horizontally across the door until it resembled a straight line. This line swept back and forth across the raised door. It moved as if he was cleaning it.
“I don’t believe it!” Tōn-E said. “What an exquisite painting. A remarkable addition to your growing and ever-expanding portfolio, Sid.”
Tōn-E finished his scan of the painting. His expanding spotlight shut off. And he re-centered himself to face Sid.
“Aww, shanks,” Sid said. Each of his right arms latched onto the bends of the left ones. “You really think so?”
“Of course! There are colors here I’ve only seen named in the logs. You have tastefully incorporated /#FF00FF: a color our ancestors previously referred to as ‘magenta.’”
“Yes! That’s right! I was going for ‘magenta!’ You really think I did it?”
Marc looked down to hide his face. He rolled his eyes. Magenta. He would have loved to tell Sid how much he liked it too. But Marc had spent his years surviving, not studying colors in old, useless historical archives.
Sid and Tōn-E continued their snooty, pretentious discussion.
“I made it mixing legblee blood and just a liiiiiiittle bit of groundwater,” Sid said.
“That was a very clever! Allow me to save your painting to my internal memory.”
“Really??” Sid’s cheeks greened a little.
“Yes, I will review at a later time when I am both unable to view the original but would still like to once again be inspired by your clever and skillful hands.”
“Tōn-E, I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
Marc simmered in his anger. Stupid Tōn-E. Always ruining things. Making them about him and his dumb, endless archives.
“I am perhaps only more impressed by your chosen ensemble! Do my eyes perceive veritable Lenorkian armor?”
The talkative orb whooshed toward Sid. It began revolving around him like an annoyingly-attached moon. As his exo-orb hummed excitedly, Tōn-E rattled off his useless knowledge of antiquated armor.
“Snorp-resistant spiked shoulder caps?!” He spun around Sid’s midsection. “Triple-layered chest plates?!” He dropped closer to the floor. “Anti-gravity shin guards made from the rare lenorkium alloy?!”
Tōn-E giggled as he orbited Sid. His laugh disturbed Marc. It sounded like a space rat being strangled in the bowels of an undersea air vent.
Sid could hardly keep up with Tōn-E’s flying. But he looked happy with the attention. “Yeah! I’m told this suit was built for the Frost Ring wars,” he said. “It never got used.”
Marc continued to not engage. He slunk deeper into his shawl, folded his arms, and sighed.
“I don’t believe it!” Tōn-E said.
He backed off from Sid, flying back toward the doorway. He turned on his spotlight once again. It now stretched over Sid’s body. “Saving! Saving!”
Sid wasted no time posing for the occasion. He flexed all four arms and gritted his snaggling teeth. His irises turned a deep red and his two small horns protruded from his forehead. Tōn-E was overjoyed. “I did not think I would ever have the chance to record your agitated state,” he said.
I’ll show you an agitated state, Marc thought to himself.
“I’ve got a relic you’re going to love,” Tōn-E said. His tiny sphere filled the cave with noise. But it wasn’t Tōn-E’s usual metallic voice. The sound came from another species entirely.
“GwwwwwwuuuhhhAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!”
His orb played an intense, ear-shuddering roar. The recording may have been slightly fuzzy, but Marc knew the source. It was unmistakably Lenorkian.
And like the gears in a drill, something appeared to “click” inside Sid. His eyes widened. His armored chest expanded. And he joined in. But Sid’s roar was… authentic.
“HRRRRRRRRRGAAAAAAAAHHHHH” he blasted out of mouth. Marc’s entire rib cage vibrated uncomfortably.
It spooked Marc. Igniting some primal desire to escape a dangerous predator. That was a feeling he never felt around Sid. He didn’t like it.
Sid himself even looked embarrassed for a second. Something he’d kept suppressed had slipped out. But Tōn-E turned up the volume on his recording. And with a cautious smile of someone nervously breaking a rule, Sid matched it. And then some. The two bellowed together. It was enough to make Marc queasy, although it was unclear whether it was due to the vibrations or Sid bonding so much with Tōn-E.
The roaring continued. Their talking continued. Tōn-E went on about Sid’s armor some more and his people’s valor and the hardship his ancestors must have faced.
“Usually I keep this stuff stashed away,” Sid said to Tōn-E in his soft normal voice. His horns had retracted, and his eyes had returned to normal. “These are shameful pieces of our history. Truly. And with a people I never really fit in with. But tonight, it just felt right to wear it, you know?”
“I understand completely,” Tōn-E said. “It is in these end times that we gravitate toward those traditions that were so much of what made us feel alive in the first place.”
The statement made Marc want to hurl. He didn’t want to entertain such stupid notions. But the gremlin rotated to him next.
“Hello Marc! Did you find any good junk today? Any new additions to your scrap pile?”
Marc seethed. “I didn't scavenge today, Tōn-E. There wouldn't be any use. It's the end of the universe.”
“That surprises me. Humans love their junk and doodads.”
“Yeah well, we don’t have to cling to the past, do we? Not like that ever saved anyone.” He hugged his wrapped arms even tighter, tilting his body away from Sid and Tōn-E. His cold shoulder ended the conversation.
Sid picked it back up. “So Tōn-E, do you, uh… drink?”
As it turned out, he did. Tōn-E accepted a cup of fludge. He held it with a robotic arm—one that had suddenly extended from his exo-orb. Tōn-E’s orb whirred as the center of his “face” sprouted a grotesque, needle-like proboscis. It poked outward like a long nose.
This straw extended into the cup he held. Tōn-E sipped the fludge like an insect sipping nectar (whatever those two things were; the Archives were spotty).
Sid waited with anticipation. Then Tōn-E’s sphere shuddered. The fludge must have reached the insufferable little creature on the inside. “Scrumptious!” he said.
Marc sighed quietly to himself. For some reason, he thought the night would have made a turn for the better if Tōn-E had hated it.
“Two for two!” Sid pumped three victorious fists into the air. He grinned as Tōn-E’s straw dipped into the cup once more. The straw made a little slurping sound.
“My taste buds are tingling!” Tōn-E said.
But the big cup was too much for him to finish. He returned the mostly-full drink to Sid. And his robotic straw receded to his exo-orb. Sid of course finished the cup, slurping up the remaining pool of fludge.
“So…” Sid said. He wiped his mouth. “Should I put some tunes back on?” He pointed over his shoulder to the idle vent. Then he looked across his two guests for an answer.
Marc shrugged. He didn’t care about anything anymore. Next to Marc, Tōn-E bobbed excitedly.
“Oh, yes!” he said. “One reads about concepts such as scales and measures, but it is entirely different to actually experience them with one’s own body!”
What body? Marc thought to himself. And what were the other things Tōn-E had mentioned? Something about… measuring… dragons?
He studied the cave floor while Sid skipped to the vent.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Sid said. “Get those Level 7 legs ready!” He tugged at the creaking cover once more.
It came off easier this time. With a pop! the storm above returned to the cave. Its natural melody filled the room.
“Woooooooo!” Sid raised his hands again and walked back toward the other two.
Tōn-E mimicked him with two twig arms.
But the music didn’t have the same magic as before. The beats were stale. And Marc found himself unable to ignore the sting of the sand pelting his face. He lifted his shawl over his mouth. His voice was barely audible.
“I’m sitting this song out,” he said.
The other two didn't seem to hear him. They were facing each other, waving their arms sporadically against the air current.
Marc didn’t care. He grabbed his unfinished drink from the kitchen. Then he searched for a place to sit.
He found a couch, just in front of the dancing aliens. As he took his seat, his bottom started to sink into the sofa. The tarp covering the couch crinkled.
He tried guessing the material underneath it. Clay, maybe? He pondered the question while watching Sid and Tōn-E figure out dancing without him.
“This is how Marc was doing it before!” Sid said to Tōn-E. His four arms fanned across the breeze.
But he got everything wrong. His arms whipped around the wind, not with it. And he was thinking too much about his next move, as evidenced by his scrunched brows. But the greatest offense of all was his midsection: his hips and legs stayed in place—as if someone had threatened them.
A part of Marc wanted to get up and show him how it was done. But another part wanted to see Sid fail. Realize the effort was futile. Give up on bonding with Tōn-E. And kick the Sphere of Useless Facts out of his house.
“Am I doing it right, Marc?” Sid asked while each of his arms flew in a different direction.
“You look great!” Marc replied. He took a long sip of fludge.
Tōn-E, on the other hand, did his best to replicate Sid. He waved his skinny arms erratically. It almost made Marc laugh; Tōn-E looked like he’d been set on fire.
But in all, the whole thing was awful. A bad impression giving birth to an even worse impression.
And they didn’t seem to be enjoying it much either. Despite Marc’s glowing endorsement, Sid and Tōn-E danced themselves to the brink.
Sid kept losing his balance. He tried to keep up with the music but flung himself too hard in any one direction. And every time he made a misstep, he’d let loose an acidic snarl. Tōn-E grew frustrated as well. Every few seconds, he simply froze. His exterior lights would blink red in error. As Marc had hoped, the two “painting pals” quickly ran out of steam.
The dancing halted altogether. A tired Sid returned to the vent and hoisted the grate back onto the vent’s mouth. The music stopped.
“I’ll just turn it down for a minute,” he said. He adjusted a dial on the grate. The metal slits creaked open. And a muted sandstorm flowed through them.
The music reflected the overall energy in the room: depleted. Sid secured himself two more cups of fludge before joining Marc on the tarp couch.
Tōn-E followed his lead. The little troll took a seat too, which meant hovering over the last open spot on the other side of Marc.
The boys took a minute to relax on the couch. They sat quietly while the plasma storm above the Outpost boomed and cracked.
Well, Sid and Tōn-E relaxed. They chugged down another couple cups of fludge and floated quietly over the couch (respectively). Meanwhile, Marc continued to be annoyed. He considered stepping outside and climbing to Level 1. Offer himself to the plasma storm a few hours early. The non-stop hum of Tōn-E’s exo-orb goaded him further.
Brrrrrrrrr!
Did it really have to make that noise?
Marc didn’t think the afternoon could get any worse. And then it did. Because Tōn-E’s insufferable humming suddenly quieted. And that only could have meant…
“Oh!” Tōn-E exclaimed, “I know what we can talk about!”
Marc braced for impact. His nails dug into his knees.
Don’t you dare, he thought.
“I read the most interesting fact about cats today!” Tōn-E started.
Not again, Marc thought. Absolutely NOT again. His fists trembled with rage.
“Did you know cats were the central deity across ten different ancient civilizations? The trend started with humans, of course, but the religion quickly spread across the galaxy as interplanetary travel became more widely available.”
“I actually didn’t know that,” Sid said, entertaining Tōn-E’s ridiculous theory. “Where did you find that?”
“The Archives! They have somewhat documented this phenomenon. You see, it was a common practice to capture footage of cats, even in their sleeping state. They were so important to these cultures that even the most mundane moment yielded significant reason to capture and worship them. If you want to see, I can—”
Marc had had enough. He slammed his cup down on the floor and flew off the couch.
“—SHUT UP. SHUT UP ABOUT CATS!” he shouted. He swung back around to face the other two. “CATS AREN’T REAL TŌN-E! AND THEY WERE NEVER REAL!”
“That’s enough, Marc!” Sid clenched his teeth.“Don’t start this.”
Marc returned fire, “I didn’t start anything; that was YOU. Going behind my back! Inviting more of these… fairy tales!”
His emotions overwhelmed him. He didn’t know whether to yell more or start crying. He did both.
“It’s the end of the universe!” he said as tears streamed down his face. “We can’t keep clinging to the things that brought us to this point in the first place! All these stupid traditions are the reason no one’s even here with us now! IT KILLED THEM ALL! And anyone stupid enough to keep believing in them is—"
“—I said THAT’S ENOUGH!” Sid growled. Marc didn't care.
“NO!” he said. Then he looked back at Tōn-E. “NONE of what you’re seeing in the Archives is real! The data is corrupt! It’s ALL CORRUPT! And CATS are just another dumb fairy tale to keep people like you going, while…”
He ran out of steam. He realized there was no more “going.” In fact, there was no time remaining in the universe for anything. But that didn’t diminish his animosity and anger toward the world. He glared down at the gray sphere. His chest heaved.
Meanwhile, Sid kept a cooler, bluer head. He too looked to Tōn-E, but with compassion in his eyes.
Tōn-E didn’t immediately respond to either. The only sound in the room came from his exo-orb. Well, the exo-orb plus the ladle on the counter, which suddenly blooped into the big pot.
All eyes were on the atypically quiet alien, whose hexagonal faces began to light up.
“I suppose,” his voice trailed, “that cats may not have been real after all. You said it yourself: records are foggy. They’re all from thousands of years ago...” He sighed. Tōn-E’s lights transitioned to a new blinking pattern. “And I also suppose… that I should have been more mature about interpreting error-prone information in the Archives…”
“It's okay, man,” Sid said. “I like that you dream big.” He reached across the couch to place a comforting hand on Tōn-E. But Tōn-E floated out of reach.
“I understand my presence here is probably upsetting,” he said. “You two have a special bond. I should not have interfered with it in its last moments. I will go.”
“No, Tōn-E,” Sid said. Each pair of his hands met in front of his chest “Please stay. You have every right to be here too.”
“I should go,” Tōn-E said. “I will spend the rest of the evening focused on real things. And because I will no longer be here, I suppose it will be the perfect opportunity to review Sid’s art so I can feel inspired for the end times.”
He slipped between Sid and Marc toward the doorway.
“No, don’t!” Sid called after him. “We should do this together.”
But Tōn-E had already vanished outside.
The Lenorkian, hand extended, waited for Tōn-E to come back. But the floating sphere did not reappear in the doorway.
And that was when a low trill emanated from the couch. It was coming from Sid’s his chest. He looked up at Marc, glaring. He bared his pointed teeth. His horns reappeared. And his eyes flushed with scarlet pigment.
Yuh-oh, Marc thought. About half his prior anger evaporated. Fear of a fight took hold.
Marc didn’t exactly dislike his chances. Lenorkians may have been stronger, but Sid wasn't a fighter. Marc was.
But Sid stuck to his morals.
“GET OUT!” Sid shouted.
Marc reflexively jumped out of reach. The short hop sort of ruined his show of anger. But he was still boiling mad. After all, fifty percent of him hadn't abandoned the cat grudge.
“Fine!” he shouted back. “Have fun exploding alone.” He whipped away to the exit.
The party was finished now. He almost stopped and went back for his fludge. But he didn’t want it anymore either. He just wanted a nice end of the universe with his friend. And now the end of the universe was ruined.
At least the apocalypse outside was behaving predictably. Marc stepped into the adjacent cave corridor. He surveyed the damage outside, looking through the long, horizontal gap in the cave wall. As the experts had predicted, the plasma storm took its toll.
The canyon glowed eerily bright, despite it being evening time. The wind howled as it raced through the canyon. And the cliffs around the gorge flashed white and pink as the storm charged with electricity, preparing to make its final jump.
Lightning cracked toward the ground. Some of the bolts hit the opposing cliff, sending rubble deep into the gorge. A gentle tremor rumbled in the ground beneath him.
The plasma storm overhead only creeped further around the planet. As the canyon brightened, shockwaves coursed through the entire city. They threw Marc off his feet again. He hit the ground.
Behind him, thunderous clacking erupted. The sound of falling rocks filled the corridor. He flipped over to see what explosion had thrown him.
It was bad. He stopped breathing. Because he could no longer see Sid’s home. All he saw was a pile of rubble.

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Finally, consider the location of your accommodations. If you want to be close to the action, choose a place that's centrally located. If you prefer a quieter experience, choose a place that's away from the hustle and bustle. By choosing the right accommodations, you can ensure a comfortable and stress-free stay.

Pack light and smart

Packing can be one of the most stressful aspects of traveling. To avoid feeling overwhelmed, start by making a packing list. This will help you stay organized and ensure that you don't forget anything important. Be sure to pack light and only bring what you need. This will make it easier to navigate airports and public transportation and avoid hefty baggage fees.
When packing, consider using packing cubes or compression bags to save space and keep your belongings organized. Roll your clothes instead of folding them to maximize space in your luggage. And don't forget to pack a small bag for your personal items, such as your passport, wallet, and phone. This will keep your essentials within easy reach and help you avoid the stress of searching through your luggage for important items.
Another packing tip is to pack versatile clothing that can be mixed and matched. This will help you create multiple outfits with fewer pieces of clothing. And be sure to check the weather forecast for your destination before you pack. This will help you avoid packing unnecessary items and ensure that you're prepared for any weather conditions.

Keep important documents and valuables safe

Keeping your important documents and valuables safe is essential to having a stress-free vacation. Start by making copies of your passport, ID, and any other important documents. Keep the copies in a separate location from the originals, such as in your luggage or with a trusted friend or family member. This will ensure that you have a backup in case your documents are lost or stolen.
When traveling, it's also important to keep your valuables safe. Consider investing in a money belt or hidden pouch to keep your cash and credit cards secure. And never leave your valuables unattended in public places, such as beaches or cafes. Keep them locked up in your accommodations or carry them with you at all times.
Finally, consider purchasing travel insurance before your trip. This will provide you with peace of mind and financial protection in case of any unexpected emergencies or accidents.

Stay hydrated and healthy

Staying hydrated and healthy is crucial to having a stress-free vacation. Start by drinking plenty of water throughout your trip. This will help you avoid dehydration and fatigue, especially if you're traveling to a hot or humid destination.
Another important aspect of staying healthy is eating well. Try to eat a balanced diet that includes plenty of fruits and vegetables. And be sure to try the local cuisine, but be mindful of any dietary restrictions or food allergies.
When traveling, it's also important to get enough sleep. This will help you feel rested and energized during your trip. And don't forget to take breaks and rest when needed. This will help you avoid burnout and ensure that you enjoy your trip to the fullest.

Make a budget and stick to it

Making a budget and sticking to it is essential to having a stress-free vacation. Start by creating a rough estimate of your travel expenses, including flights, accommodations, food, and activities. Then, factor in any additional expenses, such as souvenirs or transportation.
Once you have a budget in place, stick to it as closely as possible. Avoid overspending on unnecessary items and look for ways to save money, such as cooking your own meals or using public transportation. And be sure to keep track of your expenses throughout your trip, so you can adjust your budget as needed.

Stay connected with loved ones back home

Staying connected with loved ones back home is important to having a stress-free vacation. Make sure to let your friends and family know where you'll be staying and how to reach you in case of an emergency. And consider using social media or messaging apps to stay in touch and share updates during your trip.
Another important aspect of staying connected is to have a backup plan in case of any unforeseen events. This may include having a trusted friend or family member who can help with any emergencies or unexpected situations.

Embrace local culture and customs

Embracing local culture and customs is a great way to have a stress-free vacation. Take the time to learn about the local customs and traditions, and try to respect them during your trip. This may include learning a few phrases in the local language or trying the local cuisine.
Another great way to embrace local culture is to participate in local activities and events. This may include attending a cultural festival or visiting a historical landmark. By immersing yourself in the local culture, you'll gain a deeper appreciation for your destination and make lasting memories.

Relax and enjoy the journey

Finally, remember to relax and enjoy the journey. Traveling can be stressful, but it can also be a rewarding and enriching experience. Take the time to appreciate the sights, sounds, and experiences of your destination. And don't forget to take breaks and rest when needed. By staying relaxed and present, you'll be able to enjoy your trip to the fullest.

Conclusion

Traveling can be stressful, but with the right preparation and mindset, it can also be a stress-free and enjoyable experience. By planning ahead, choosing the right accommodations, packing light and smart, keeping important documents and valuables safe, staying hydrated and healthy, making a budget and sticking to it, staying connected with loved ones back home, embracing local culture and customs, and relaxing and enjoying the journey, you can make your next vacation a stress-free and unforgettable experience. So go ahead, book that trip and get ready to embark on the adventure of a lifetime!
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