Dear Journal,

Wow. it's been a long time since I've written that. handwriting has gotten much less legible tho. Crazy how time flies.

It's Eric, by the way, in case you've forgotten. My therapist is making me do this. Mom's busy with work and stuff and I'm now entering high school as a softmo sophmo sophomore. God that's a pretentious word. Too many O's.

Anyway, I'm entering public school as a soph-o-more and I can just feel that that's gonna end real badly. Best case mom hates the school system and tries to homeschool me again. I'm not sure what the worst case is, but a lot is changing and I don't know how I feel and my therapist said "you should keep a journal," so I'm doing that.

I used to think you were real. Beyond just the tangibility of an actual journal, that is; I used to think you were like living or could think. How crazy is that?

almost as crazy as asking you a question even though I'm old enough and smart enough to know that you are not a living thinking thing. Jelly needs feeding, bc she's a good girl! I'll write when I have something to say.

Dear Journal,

School wasn't exactly as bad as I was expecting it but it was bad. Now, I knew better than to trust high school movie stereotypes, and I was right in that matter, it wasn't that bad. People weren't being mean or anything, they were just apathetic. Everyone is too tired to care. Granted, so was I, but it still kinda sucked. Nobody went out of their way to talk to me today. But I didn't go out of my way to talk to them, so I guess it tracks?

I ate lunch alone on the stairs. Does that make me a loser?
I think that might make me a loser. Well, Jelly likes me, and that's the only opinion that matters to me.

Dear Journal,

Not much happened today at school just more class.

Dad was quiet today, I guess he's happy. I know that he doesn't like me being around the house but what the hell else am I supposed to do? It's not like he does anything when he's home. He'll yell at me for things and then turn around and do them. He yelled at me this summer for watching too much tv. I watched tv about half as much as he was watching golf or hockey or whatever. ugh. whatever. I'll write tomorrow

Dear Journal,

Katherine says I'm supposed to write in you every day but like nothing happened today. It was basically Monday 2: Electric Boogaloo. Jelly's hanging out at the foot of the bed. I'm trying to figure out how to get some self-reflection done. I'm looking back at old entries, seeing where I came from I guess, and

Okay, nevermind, because Dad came in my room while I was writing, so naturally, I closed the journal. And he was like "what are you writing that I can't see?" and I was like "its nothing, just my therapy journal" and he wrestled it from my hands and started reading as I tried to get it back. I guess he read Monday and Tuesday's entries because he got really mad and went on this whole tirade about getting in trouble and "contributing to the household." What the fuck does that even mean? He started yelling about something stupid and hard to follow and basically said he was taking the journal, despite my saying it was for therapy, and he took it to his room. And despite my semi-reluctance to even write, I'm mad that he doesn't respect me enough to not be a complete dick.

I tried to talk to mom about it but she wouldn't listen, just kept saying she was busy. I think she just didn't want to deal with dad, but that means I have to deal with dad, which is bullshit. He fell asleep watching golf again and I straight up just went into his room and grabbed the journal back. Not like he'll remember taking it.

Maybe I should consider hiding my journal.

Dear Journal,

Therapy today. And not that I mind it, but why am I in therapy again? I'm not sure I understand. My mom said something about the developmental years of teenagers. Not sure if I buy that.

Anyway, I told Katherine about my week. She asked if it bothers me that I haven't made any potential friends yet and honestly, yeah it does. It occurs to me I was never quite good at making friends, but that I was more content with fewer friends as a child for some reason. My head is foggy when I think back to then.

Katherine asked about the journal and I told her I'd been writing, and about Dad freaking out yesterday. She said I deserved that privacy and I responded that basically that's a nice sentiment but it doesn't stop my dad from trying to invade it. I told her about how I'd been journaling every day and sometimes it got hard because I felt I was repeating myself. She explained that I didn't have to write in it every day.

Honestly, hearing that it wasnt a daily requirement is such a relief. I've been worrying myself recently over what to write, there have been some days where it felt like nothing happened but I forced myself to write anyways.

When did writing become hard? Like remember when I would try and make my own magic toys? I would write a whole thing about how to turn something normal into something like magical? or just straight up impossible. And at the time, I thought it worked. Glitter glue everywhere. Doing dumb things and ruining perfectly good calculators.

Just those dumb little rituals, trying to make the world a little better, or magical. Wonderful, even.

I was a pretty stupid kid, huh?

Dear Journal,

Friday finally. I'm really not looking forward to having to do school five days a week.

But something weird happened during lunch. I had to get lunch from the cafeteria bc I didn't have time to pack one last night, and as I was walking through the tables to get to the stairs some guy grabbed my shoulder. I think I have 4th period with him. He was like "you're new right" and then invited me to sit at his lunch table. He didn't seem mean and the offer seemed genuine, but when I saw his table was piled high with a bunch of muscular jock-type dudes messing around, I really didn't wanna sit with him.

At that point, somebody behind him was like "actually he was gonna sit with me and Liv today, Jake. Hope that's cool." and Jake and I looked behind us and it was this kid from my 6th period. I think he's in my 5th period too. and Jake the Jock [sidenote: is it just me or does that sound like a character from a kids' book?] was like "yeah totally, see you in history Martin" and left. I sat down at the table with the guy (Martin) because it seemed weird to walk to the stairway at that point but I kinda awkwardly sat there for a few minutes before saying anything. ugh.

Anyway, I finally was like "is there some reason you told me I was sitting with you?" he shrugged and said "I just can't stand to see the jocks grow in numbers." and I couldn't tell if he was joking, but I was too confused scared? anxious to ask for clarification. Martin introduced himself and I did the same and we were coexisting, making small talk. Eventually, this other girl came along and spent like an entire minute talking to Martin before she realized I was there. But she was very apologetic when she did realize! Her name is Liv and she and Martin are really close friends and she said they usually occupy the end of another busy table but this time they were lucky enough to eat with someone else.

Why anyone would wanna be friends with me, I have no clue.

Oh shit, that's why I'm in therapy, isn't it?

Dear Journal,
Journal,
My dearest Journal,
How's it hanging, nal?
Yo, DJ,

Idk. I'm bored. Went shopping for school supplies with Mom. Dad went through my room while I'm gone. He thinks I don't know, but I know how I left things. I think he was looking for this. You. My journal. Ugh. journals are confusing. I'm gonna have to do something about dad.

INVISIBLE JOURNAL NOTES
By Eric
For when people don't respect your privacy

1. Paint the outside of your journal with a repeating pattern, preferably with colors that match the area you plan on hiding it.

2. Grab some material from the place you plan on hiding it (e.g. a scrap of fabric from the pillowcase, thread from a rug, chipped drywall from the closet, etc)

3. Place the material and the journal into a large plastic bag together

4. Submerge the bag in cold water (filled with glitter, obviously)

5. Regret sticking your hand in glitter water

6. Suspend the bag above boiling water (not the glitter water) so that the bag catches the steam

7. Tell your parents you're doing a project on the water cycle when they come back home and find you holding a bag above a stream of steam

I know that's not going to make the journals actually invisible, but they're hidden better now and it gave me something to do. It was nice to relive my childhood sense of wonder and the magic of glitter for like an hour. And I loved painting the covers actually. Anyway now I have multiple journals in case dad tries to steal this one again.

What am I gonna do with all of them?

Hey Eric, you okay?
I'm exhausted. Learning about circadian rhythms and how they shift in teenage years at 7:30am is a cruel irony I wouldn't wish on anyone. We seriously have to do this 5 days in a row every week?
So adjusting from homeschooling is hard? I can't even imagine. :c
Are we allowed to pass notes?
Not really but the teacher doesn't care. :p Anyway, I wanted to invite you to sit with me at lunch again!
Really?
Yeah! :) You were a lot of fun to talk to the other day.
Thanks, but are you sure Martin will be okay with it?
Of course! You made an excellent impression on him. He'd love to have you join us again.
Really? Okay, sure. Thanks.
Great! Just look for us in the cafeteria. We'll save you a seat! :D

Dear Journal,

God, I miss Jelly so much during the day. Literally in the middle of class I nearly got up to go and pet Jelly and then I realized Jelly was at home and I couldn't take a break to pet my own dog. Is this why teenagers are so angsty? They don't have dogs to pet? I think I've cracked the code.

Sat with Liv and Martin again. That jock from Friday Jake came up at lunch and offered me to hang out again. Well, sort of? He was asking for my social media handles and I just kinda had to awkwardly tell him I don't really use social media. (Well, I still use the chatrooms, but that's a secret I take to the grave.) He didn't believe me at first, funny enough, asked to see my home screen. He finally believed me when I pulled out my dumbphone that was supposed to be a play on smartphone but it didn't land bc my phone isn't dumb and I honestly don't really want a smartphone.

Point is, Jake finally believed me after he saw my phone, and Martin and Liv were very clearly trying not to laugh at me, and that kinda sucked for a moment. Jake thought for a minute then decided we'd see each other in class all the time anyway, then went off to take his throne in the jungle of jocks. I can't tell if he's trying to be my friend or just being nice. Something feels off.

I might have to talk with Mom about getting a smartphone. I don't care about the actual smartphone so much. But it would be cool to listen to music. We'll see.

Dear Journal,

I think Martin and Liv have adopted me into their friend group.

I don't know why I say "I think" because they explicitly told me they have and they used that exact verbage. Adopted. what a weird way to say it. In any case we're sitting next to each other any time we have a class together, sitting at their lunch table is officially a standing invitation, etc. So I guess I have friends now. I think? I dunno, maybe they'll decide it's not worth the trouble. But they're really cool and nice and they're super funny, so I hope they keep me around. Is that desperate of me?

Anyway, they asked me if I wanted to hang out after school. They were talking about something called "GSA," and I wanted to hang out with them but therapy is right after school on Thursdays, but I couldn't tell them that, so I just told them I had to get home and apologized. At least they want to hang out with me more. Maybe.

I told Katherine about Martin and Liv today and she got pretty excited. She hid it real well behind her professional demeanor but like. I knew. And she knew I knew and was trying to convince me my knowing was wrong but it wasn't. She was excited and bad at pretending she wasn't is the point. It was weird but also kinda comforting? Like, it's weird when adults are like invested in you having friends, but it's also nice because.

Well, because it means there's someone in your corner.

Dear Journal,

I finally feel comfortable calling Liv and Martin my friends now. Obviously I'm not as close to them as they are to each other, but when they hang out they always invite me along. Mom and Dad have even met them. Mom loved them and appreciated that I'd found friends. Dad liked Liv well enough, but he was real dismissive of Martin. I'm not sure why.

School is bleh still. But when I came home a few nights ago and said I got an A on my first test, she got excited. She said we should celebrate my hard work, and I was like what but she just excitedly hurried off and came back a minute later holding something behind her back. She mentioned the whole smartphone thing and for a second I was like did she get me a smartphone because I'm still not sure if I want one and it would suck to get one only for me to not use it but it was actually a cassette player/recorder. Which honestly I think is really cool. Most artists don't really release on cassette anymore and for good reason, but there's something kind of retro about it that tickles my… whatever the excited version of a funny bone is. She said it was hers when she was younger and she managed to find it and it was still working so I should have it.

I'm actually listening to it right now. It's really hard to not get distracted and accidentally write the lyrics. Whatever, I'm too excited to stop listening.

Yep, it's recording now.
Wow! That's so cool!
Pffft! Liv, you know your phone can record things just as easy. Maybe easier.
Yeah, but this is cooler because tape recorders are more old school!
Martin gets it.
Hey, I'm not denying that old school is cool!
HahaHaha!ha!Hahaha!
Hey guys! Liv, Eric. Martin.
Uh. Hey, Jake. What's up?
Well, there's a party this Saturday, and I wanted to make sure you three knew you're invited.
A party?
Yeah! It'd be your first high school party, right? You gotta come, trust me it'll be sick!
You mean over the top?
Nah, man. It'll just be… chill. Scout's honor!
Pft, you were barely a cub scout.
Well, I think it sounds super fun! We're in.
We are?
Definitely! It'll be a lot of fun.
…I guess we'll see you there.
Sweet! It's at Cam's place. I'll text you guys the address. And Eric, I'll send you a carrier pigeon or something, haha! …Kidding! I'm kidding! I'll see you there.
So… we're going to a party this weekend?
We'll pick you up Saturday afternoon.
It'll be fun. Really, Eric.
Okay. I gotta get some water, I'll be right back.
…So. You gonna ask him any time soon?
I have no clue what you're talking about.
Come on.
…Is it that obvious?
Only to me. Wait. The party, right? That's why you wanted to go.
Partially I guess. I'll ask him then. Maybe then you can talk to Jake.
Hmph. I've tried talking to Jake, and I'm fine just being school friends anyway.
Really?
Well, you know what it's like with Jake. On his own, he's fine, even fun and… surprisingly deep. But in a group…
Yeah. I get it.
I got some chips for us.
Aww, that's sweet of you.
Did I miss any riveting conversation while I was gone?
Not really.
Oh shit my tape recorder is still—

Dear Journal,

So Dad was an asshole today.

Liv and Martin and I got invited to a party, so I told Dad when I got home and he kinda grunted in that way of his that means "okay but I'm not happy about it." But he's been this way about a lot of stuff lately and I just got sick of it so I was like "what? what's your problem with me going to a party?" and he said "I don't want you hanging out with martin anymore." And I was like ?????? "and reduce my total friend count from 2 to one? I thought me having friends was a good thing." and he tried to interrupt me and I was like "he's a good student, he's nice, he's the first person to give a damn about me in this school, he's a good influence on me" and he finally yelled in that way he does when he's like "do whatever the fuck you want but you're gonna regret it." He's so obnoxious when he gets that way.

And then when I got to my room, it was clear that he had been in there and snooping through my stuff again. He tried to put everything back but I could tell. You know, it's weird because based on where everything was he should've found the closet journal. He must've looked right at it and not seen it, because I know if he had, he would've read it and confiscated it. Guess that camouflage paint really worked.

So much happened tonight.

Wait. Shit. I'm supposed to start this with "Dear Journal"

Dear Journal,

So much happened tonight.

The long and short of it is I went to that party and everything is different now.

shit, where do I begin?
ok so

ok so Martin and Liv came over to take me to the party and my dad was grumpy as usual but i didnt pay any mind because I was hanging with my friends.

So we got to the party and immediately i get this gut feeling like i should turn around and bail, but Martin, Liv, and I press on. And I'm there surrounded by people I barely know, and everyone's drinking and stuff. So the three of us are just kind of chilling for like two seconds before Jake finds us and before we can even answer any of the myriad of questions he's asking he's somehow gotten each of us a drink. I think it was beer? it didn't taste any good so i just didnt drink it.

But before we did anything, Liv took me aside and told me that she liked me, like like liked me and basically had this giant crush on me from day one, and asked if I would go on a date with her. that had never happened to me before. And I like Liv, she's sweet and outspoken and honestly very cute, so I said okay, and we kissed a bit. Kissing her was nice, but I dunno. I just wasn't sure what i was expecting, but it wasnt like i was expecting. she wasn't the only person i kissed that night

I don't exactly remember what happened next. But somehow I got next to these guys who were smoking weed. Like, from a bong. Another teen movie cliche. And they passed it to me and Jake was there for some reason and like "I don't think Eric will enjoy that." So i grabbed it and they showed me how to do it and then, like everything got real weird. I'm still feeling it. It was a lot of smoke. Was it? It felt like a lot.

I got a little bit freaked after that? Its weird. But somebody suggested a game, and they definitely said it wasn't spin the bottle, even though it was mostly like spin the bottle. And the people who wanted to play it were like "eric should play" and it seemed like a good idea but something felt off? I looked around and martin was near me so i just kinda blurted "only if martin plays too" and then Jake like had a whisper argument with Martin? I think he was basically trying to get us to not play, but martin became weirdly determined so he sat down and I sat down on the opposite side of the circle.

basically, the game was spin the bottle except after spinning, the spinner left the room and everyone voted on whether the lander should slap or kiss the spinner, and then the spinner came back and that happened. It was fun for a few rounds, but the important thing is that eventually i spun and the bottle landed on martin. and after the deliberation whatever, I sat in front of him, eyes closed for some assenine apparently it's "asinine" reason, and then he kissed me. and it was a good kiss. Like don't get me wrong kissing liv was nice but this. this was on a completely different level. i cant even begin to describe it. It was like

Fireworks. Inside of me.

Thats stupid. And it was probably just the weed. And liv and I are trying to date and I like her.

The rest of the night was boring? we didn't stay long after

so

yeah

a lot happened tonight.

Earth to Eric! U ok there, space cadet?
Yeah, just lost in thought. What are we working on?
Trigonometric functions. I'll catch you up later.
Thanks, Jake, but that's okay.
So, watcha thinkin abt?
The party mostly. A lot happened. A lot of firsts.
& ur trying to find out how to turn those into seconds?
Maybe.
U can have my stash if u want. Been trying to quit. Shit just makes me paranoid but u seemed more relaxed. Better 4 u than me.
Really? Just like that?
Yeah. Come find me after school, we can figure it out then.
Ok. Thanks.
Of course. Just promise u wont do it around Martin 2 much. He worries.
? Ok. I mean, we're still kinda new friends so, I don't know if he'd really be that worried.
Trust me. He'll worry abt u.

Dear Journal,

It's been a while since I wrote in this particular journal. I've been cycling which ones I write through basically bc I'm paranoid. But to catch you up:

Liv and I are like, dating now and it's kinda strange, tbh. My mom was excited and even my dad seemed interested in the development so yay? I'm not sure what's so different with us dating. We make out sometimes but that's about it. Making out with her is nice I guess, and she's pretty but I guess I just don't understand dating. Am I supposed to feel something more? I don't know. I don't get romance.

We don't see Martin as much which makes me sad, and he's weirdly quiet when Liv and I are hanging out and doing couple-y things. I think it must suck to be the third wheel. Not that I know. I don't know. I don't like it though. Martin is my friend too and like sometimes I get this weird ache that's like, I miss him, even when all three of us are hanging out.

I think I just miss how things used to be. I think I might've rushed into this thing with Liv. I think I wasn't prepared to go back to public school. I think a lot of things.
And when I think too much, I get high and I listen to my cassette. And I stop thinking like me, and start thinking like John Lennon, or Nirvana, or whoever. I like not thinking like me.

Dear Journal,

Unsurprisingly, Katherine's not super keen on all of my new habits. But she promised not to tell my mom so that's good at least. She wants me to confront these thoughts I don't like thinking about, but why would I do that? Nothing good can come from me thinking these thoughts. I don't wanna rabbit hole on whatever my latest insecurity is, whether that's being a good boyfriend or wanting to see a friend who I see literally every day more, or what. I know that a wonderland of negative feelings are waiting for me at the bottom of my descent. So I don't wanna think about it.

Katherine said something that basically translated to "you're avoiding these feelings and you shouldn't do that" and I was just like "why? why do I have to be honest with myself 100% of the time?" and her answer basically came out to I'll feel better, but I've been down this road before, and no, I won't. If I have to be honest but feel like shit, I prefer the path of self-delusion and weed and feeling good.

I'm just frustrated. Not even at Katherine. Just with the world I guess. Let's go with that. The world sucks. Makes sense to be mad at the world. It's a mess. And I'm only 15 so I can't do anything to change it. And school sure as shit isn't gonna teach me how either, thereby keeping the world worse. It's a cycle of shit. The world fucking sucks.

I only noticed this recently, but people aren't really talking to me at school. Not that they were talking to me before, but like there used to be like a novelty of me being the new kid. But now I'm not new and I only hang out with Martin and Liv, and I'm okay with that I think? The only other person who regularly goes out of their way to say hi is Jake, and I still have no clue why. I think I'm gaining a reputation as a stoner. Maybe that's true. I can't really tell. I'm not really sure it matters in any case. Like if I am, so what? It feels good. I'm not going overboard after that first night, I'm avoiding the hard shit, I don't do it at home, I'm being careful. It just makes me feel good. I'm not gonna make this the origin story for Eric: the drug addict.

It just makes me feel good, ok?

Comment ça va?
Ça va bien. Est-ce que Mme Prescott lire ceci?
Je pense que tu voulais dire: « Mme Prescott va-t-elle lire ceci? » Et non.
Alors pourquoi sommes-nous encore en français?
Je ne sais pas.
Okay can we talk about the party Jake invited us to?
What about it?
Well it feels like only a few weeks since the last one?
It's been well over a month.
Wow, really? Well, anyway, you don't seem that stoked to go.
Neither did you, tbh.
Yeah. So, like, why are we going?
Liv. She likes partying sometimes. And she's my best friend and your girlfriend.
Right. I don't wanna go. But I don't wanna turn it into a thing with Liv.
She wouldn't turn it into a thing.
I know. I just… can't chance it. I'm not even sure why Jake keeps inviting me.
Because you hang out with Liv and I.
Is or was there something between Liv and Jake?
No, of course not. It's more between me and him. Short version is he and I used to be friends, but I felt neglected by him, so now we're not. Sorta.
Is that how you feel since Liv and I got together? Neglected?
What? No. Why would you think that?
I just feel like things are different between you and me lately. Like I did something wrong and I don't know what. And I think it started at that stupid party.
You haven't done anything wrong. You're still my friend, everything's fine. I guess you're kinda right, but if things are different, that's my fault. I know you two haven't neglected me. And things haven't felt too off to me.
Maybe I'm just paranoid. Maybe what everyone says about me is right.
Fuck them. You're still awesome in my book, and in Liv's.
Good. Yours are the only opinions that matter.
So, the party?
For Liv.
For Liv.

Dear Journal,

You know when your brain moves too fast and you can't process what's going on and you can't even blame it on drugs? Yeah. That feeling is the worst. I want to do something, but there's nothing to do.

Sometimes I just want the world to stop for a second.

Wait. That gives me an idea.

STOP-THE-WORLD WATCH NOTES
By Eric
For when the world is too fucking much

1. Quietly retrieve your old pocket watch (from when you thought pocket watches were cool), red construction paper, scissors, and some glitter glue (duh) in the dead of night. Try not to wake anyone.

2. Try to cut a red octagon out of construction paper.

3. Try again.

4. Try just cutting a square, then cutting out the corners, and finally say fuck it and go with that octagonal mess.

5. Use the glitter glue to stick the red octagon on the back of the watch

6. When that doesn't work use super glue.

7. Sprinkle glitter on the watch face (duh)

8. When the world gets to be too much, hold the watch, breathe deeply, and for just a moment, the world will stop, allowing you to regain your composure.

So me and my friends went to another party tonight. When we got there, Liv was clinging on my arm and it felt weird and public and uncomfortable in a way i couldn't place. and we were hanging out for a little while before running into Jake, and I expect the whole rigamarole of him talking to us too jovially, but instead he just got this stern look on his face and asked Martin "hey can I talk to you somewhere?" and Martin got weirdly defensive, but eventually Jake pulled him away, and Liv and I just looked at each other uncomfortably for a moment, so I was like "I'm gonna get a drink" and I went to look for Martin and Jake, and I didn't see them for a second, but I saw them in the back yard, and I couldn't tell what was happening but Martin seemed really angry, but Jake didn't.

Eventually Martin just stormed away, and Jake tried to follow him but Martin shouted at him, stormed back to the house, grabbed a beer, and chugged it. & that seemed uncharacteristic to me, so I decided to stay sober for the night. For most of the night I just wandered around aimlessly, mainly just trying to make sure Martin was okay.

I passed a group of people who were smoking, and somebody asked if I wanted in. And before I could respond, somebody said "It's Eric, of course he does!" and that really irked me. Because, normally he'd be absolutely right but tonight was different and weird. And I didn't like being spoken for so I was just like "no" and left. I felt weirdly tense, and that made me want to smoke more, but I didn't because I told myself I had to be there for Martin, except Martin was nowhere to be found. Which made me feel stupid and weird.

Eventually I got to a room where people were playing slap or kiss again, because I guess nobody here knows any other party games. And I had no intention of playing. But then I heard a voice say "I'll only play if Eric plays." It was Martin. Slurring his speech, and giving me this dopey grin from the other side of the room. I carefully made my way across the room and was basically like "I'm not playing this stupid game, let's go," but he kept insisting. He pulled me down next to him, and it was at that moment that I realized he had been sitting next to Jake. Jake seemed uncomfortable with the whole thing too, but I couldn't figure out what part of it was wrong.

I played along a few rounds, each time trying to get Martin to get up and leave, until eventually it landed on me and I had to spin. And of course, lucky me, it landed on Martin. So I left the room so they could vote, and then Liv found me. I told her about Martin and she grimaced. I basically said we should leave and she told me she would wait out front for us. And of course, 2 seconds after she leaves, I have to go back in and sit in front of Martin, and I'd hoped our classmates would have some situational awareness, but NOPE. He just started kissing me, and people were laughing, and he was sloppy, but it still felt weirdly good to me for some reason. And I still don't get it.

So it was Martin's turn and he spun and left the room all smiley still, and I just basically told everyone "I'm taking him home," and some people were like disappointed, but Jake was just like "You'll make sure he's okay?" and I was just like "Of course." and then walked out, told Martin "game's over" and started leading him out of the house. And then on our way out he said

I just debated writing this for several minutes.

He said "You know, Liv's wrong. You're an excellent kisser."

And it was weird and embarrassing. And I guess Liv doesn't like my kissing. I wish he hadn't said that.

Liv and I practically carried Martin. Liv went home, but I took Martin back to my house. And Dad didn't want him there at first but mom basically overruled him. I carefully got him in my room, got a sleeping bag out and painfully waited for sleep to come.

But Martin wouldn't stop talking. He was like "Jake is pretty stupid," and kept saying similar things and he was laughing for a bit. But then he got weepy.
And he said "Why do I only ever fall for stupid guys?"
And then everything clicked. The whole thing with Jake. Why my dad doesn't like Martin. The weird unspoken thing of why Martin and Liv aren't dating.
And all I could say is "I'm sorry there are so many stupid guys in your life."

Because I'm a stupid guy, too. Because like

Okay so I like dating Liv. And I find her (and girls in general) attractive. But something happened the two times I kissed him and I can't explain it. I'm like 99.999% sure I'm not gay. But something's missing with me and Liv.

I'm not one of the stupid guys Martin fell for, I know that. But realizing he liked guys made me feel weird. But like a good weird? And feeling good weird made me feel weird weird. Because. Why would that be good?

But I cant stop thinking about the two times I kissed Martin.
And I must've kissed Liv dozens of times. And I never thought about them like this.
And he's asleep now and I can't stop thinking.

I think I think too much. At least I can pet Jelly. And at least I can stop time for a bit. Not that it will get me back the extra hours of sleep.

Dear journal,

I'm still reeling from last night. And I feel really uncomfortable. Martin barely remembered anything this morning and clearly had a massive hangover. As soon as I was awake enough to process what was happening I quickly snuck him out of the house and we went to go get waffles. And we were quiet as we waited for our waffles, which honestly is fine with me, because I just like spending time with him, but then he was like "did I say anything dumb last night?"

And I debated what to say for a sec, but eventually I said "the only thing I remember is that you told me you were… gay." And he didn't really seem surprised or anything. he said something like "it's not a secret or anything." but I still felt weird that he told me and didnt remember and I feel so weird.

I didn't want to bring up Jake. Or the kiss. Or the first kiss. Or anything.

I just wanted to eat a waffle for a few quiet seconds with my best friend.

Dear journal,

It occurred to me that last entry was the first time I called Martin my best friend. But it's true. He is. And it feels weird because I know I'm not his, because he's way closer to Liv. And so despite him being my best friend, and Liv being my girlfriend, I somehow feel left out? I tried to explain how I'm feeling to Katherine but I didn't describe it well. I didn't bring up the kiss thing to Katherine. I know she wouldn't tell my parents, but I'm still trying to figure this out myself. I searched up sexuality test and the first thing I saw was a post online that said if you're searching up sexuality tests, you're gay. Which obviously, cleared everything up for me. Ha.

I just don't get it. Something's shifted and I can't tell what, and it feels like I'm going insane. I bring that stupid pocket watch to school because when I'm alone and I pull it out, I swear I feel everything slow down, just for a second. And I can breathe.

I'll see Jake on occasion. He's not hanging around the other jocks as much anymore. Honestly all I can figure out that something happened or is happening with him and Martin. I've discovered I really don't like Jake. But he's also a decent guy when I have to work with him in class? It's weird. I don't get it. I don't get anything anymore. I just wanna listen to music and feel like things make sense for once.

BIS

EXU

AL!

HOLY
FUCKING
SHIT!!

There's a word for it! How did I never know? Bisexual. There's a word for it.

Okay wait, let me explain.

So Martin and Liv are always doing "GSA" on Thursday afternoons (which I politely pretended to know what it was, like friends do) and Mom always takes me to therapy right after school. Except today my appointment was pushed back an hour, so I was like "might as figure out what the hell GSA stands for." after today, I asked Mom and Katherine if we could have appointments one hour later from now on.

Apparently GSA stands for Gay-Straight Alliance (well, officially it's Gender and Sexuality Alliance but Liv kept saying the first so). There were flags all around the meeting room and different students with pins matching the flag's colors and I was like ??? and Martin was like you know how the rainbow flag is for gay people, to which I nodded like a liar, and he explained there are other flags for other sexualities and even genders and I was confused and a little overwhelmed honestly.

And he explained the rainbow one, and this like cotton candy colored one (trans I think?) and a few others and there was one that was pink and purple and blue and he said that one was bisexual, so I was like whats that, and he said it was when you were attracted to girls and boys and I was like "THAT'S A THING?!?!?!?!?!" which got a laugh from everyone but I didn't know

I didn't know I could be attracted to boys and girls.
I was right. I'm not gay.
I'm BISEXUAL.

Dear journal,

Hi. I'm Bi.

And I think I've just pieced together a lot of really obvious stuff about myself.

Dear journal,

No. I'm not doing it.
But I should.
But it's stupid.
But it's not fair to either of us.
Shut up.
Maybe I should flip a coin.
But I need to think this through.
I need to do it don't I?
But why should I have to?
I can't figure it out.

THE MAKE-UP-YOUR-FUCKING-MIND-A-TRON NOTES
By Eric
For when you just need to make a damn decision

1. Cover a quarter with glitter glue (obviously)

2. Assign options to heads and tails.

3. Flip it.

4. Accept the fucking result and just go along with what it says, steady in your resolve.

Shit.

Dear journal,

Today I made the dumbest choice I've made in a long time.
Well, maybe not the dumbest. I stand by it, but…
I don't know.

The long and short of it is I broke up with Liv. I was honest and I told her something didn't feel right in our relationship, and that I liked her better as a friend, and that she shouldn't have to pretend to like my kissing. I can't tell what she's thinking. But I know she probably doesn't like me right now. That's why I decided to tell her today. Friday after school. She and I will both have the weekend to process and deal with shit.

And then I went to find Martin. Because I wanted him to hear about the break up from me, so that I could explain. And I found him talking to Jake, and I asked to talk to him alone and then I realized.

They were holding hands.
My timing was fucking perfect.

And I brushed him off and said I'd tell him later. And then I went home and started writing, but this isn't working. I feel like crying. Or screaming into my pillow. Or punching a wall. or getting high. Maybe all of the above. I'll let you know what works.

Dear Journal,

Had to get lunch from the cafeteria today. Jake was sitting with Martin and Liv. I looked away before they saw me and went to eat lunch on the stairs. I'm spending most of my time with the other "stoners" these days. I guess it's official.

I don't know why I care so much. I shouldn't.

But I haven't talked to Liv or Martin in almost a week. And I try to ignore Jake in the few classes we have together. Maybe one day this will make sense.

Katherine thinks I should just talk to them. But how can I? Which one of them would want to hang out with me at this point? It's better if I just leave them alone. I don't want to drag them down with me.

Ahhhhh, look at all the lonely people
Ahhhhh, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rig-
-op it, Jelly! Hey, I was listening to that!
Bad dog! Get back here! Oof!
Eric?
Jake. Shit.
Dude, are you okay? I just saw you trip and… wait, Eric-?
I'm fine! Just- Just go away.
Eric, you don't look fine. You look like you've been-
It's weed, okay? Everyone already thinks I'm a stoner so… it's…
Eric… What's wrong? Let's talk about it, huh? I'll walk you home and-
I can't go home.
What?
…my dad kicked me out.
…
Come on, get up.
What?
We're going back to my place.
Jake, I can handle myself.
Where were you planning on going, huh? Where are you going to sleep tonight?
…here?
Yeah, no, you're coming with me.
I appreciate it, but-
Eric. That wasn't a request. Get your ass off the ground, and come with me.
Woof!
Hey there buddy! Who's a good girl? Who's a good girl? You are!
Seems like your dog's made up her mind.
…fine.
…
…
Your dog is really friendly.
Yeah. Jelly. Her name's Jelly. I grabbed her before my dad could say anything.
I have a dog at my place. Scooter.
Yeah?
Yeah. Think they'll play nice?
Jelly loves other dogs, so probably.
Heh. …Have you told Martin and Liv yet?
…I haven't really talked to them in a while.
But they're your best friends.
Were. They were. But since I broke up with Liv… I don't know. I haven't really talked to them. They probably hate me.
I'm sure that's not true. I mean, I don't know how Liv feels, but Martin has no reason to hate you.
Maybe, but I'm not putting him in that situation.
What situation?
Of having to choose between his two closest friends. And I know if I did put him in that situation that he'd choose Liv. I'm just some guy he basically just met.
Dude, what are you on about? Why would he have to choose? Why would he choose Liv if he did have to choose? You're his friend, Eric. And you're really lucky for that.
I know I'm lucky, I know I'm his friend, but I can't lose him because then I won't have anyone, so I don't talk to him so I won't lose him!
…You're not gonna lose anyone. Plus, you have me. And don't go pulling that "we don't know each other" bullshit. I know you, Eric. I see you, and I like what I see.
You don't know the first thing about me.
…What's that there?
Cassette player. Shit it's rec-

Dear Journal,

I was getting careless. I must've left a journal lying out. I don't know which one. I don't know why Dad threw me out. If it was the weed, or the homoerotic subject matter, or something else, or some combination of it all. Or maybe it had nothing to do with it. Maybe he was just drunk and angry about something else. I think that possibility scares me most.

I don't think mom knows. This seems like something dad just kind of decided. I don't know how to approach mom about this or even if I should

I kind of glossed over the staying with Jake thing but it feels like something he just kind of glossed over. Jelly and Scooter are playing in his yard. But it's unsettling to be here when I still don't know how I feel I do know how I feel though. I'm jealous of him. That's what this is isn't it? I'm jealous because

But I'm staying at his house. It's weird. I don't know. I don't know where I'm gonna go tomorrow, but I don't wanna stay here. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. I'm lost.
And to top it all off, I accidentally recorded over my Revolver cassette.
I'm tired.

Hey u still up?
Yeah? Why are we writing instead of whispering?
Family of very light sleepers. Especially the dog. Sound carries weirdly in this house.
What do you want?
i dont know. to talk i guess. to see if ur doin ok. r u?
Not really. Kinda been the worst day of my life.
im sry. i know its not much but i can talk to my parents & explain ur situash. u could prolly stay for a while
Oh shut the fuck up. I'm finding another place to stay tomorrow.
! ? Why?
Because this is too much for me, Jake. Were not even friends.
id beg to differ
you barely know me.
ID BEG TO DIFFER.
whatever.
r u angry @ me? did i do somethin wrong?
No. I just. don't like you in general. which sounds terrible written out like that. because it is. fuck.
?? why??
You dont want to know.
yes i do
No, you don't.
YES I DO
No, you don't. Because then you'll hate me too.
im not gonna hate u. im not capable of that.
come on answer me
look ill be a punching bag 4 u to vent at but i need to know y im being punched
im not gonna stop bothering u until u write back
Fine. You really wanna know?
YES
It's that you're so popular and charasmatic, but you're a dick any time its not one on one. You act like this typical meathead jock but you're too nice to even make fun of. And you clearly pissed off Martin but yet he forgives you? It's all just too much and
That's not it. Those are just rationalizations.
The truth is I'm jealous of you.
?? jealous? y??

…I think I might be in love with Martin.

oh.

yeah.

well i dont hate u
Yeah, right.
i dont. its just. awkward.
how did u know we were… together? i guess?
I was gonna tell him that or some variation on it after breaking up with Liv. But it was too late. He was holding your hand.
oh.
yeah.
…I think Martin hates me.
? I thought you worked things out?
We did. but i was vague with him for a long time. I liked him, but I wasn't ready to be out.
& now you are?
no. not really. but it turns out what bothered Martin abt that wasnt the coming out thing. he felt that i didnt wanna be seen with him because of some social class bs.
which maybe was true. and now im the one who sounds terrible. and also why martin probably hates me
he doesn't hate u.

can I ask when you knew you were queer? If that's the right word?
When I was pretty young I guess? i found out gay marriage was legal in canada and immediately wanted to move to canada to marry my best friend.
y u askin?
Idk. It's all new to me and I'm trying to figure it out.
I'm pretty sure I'm bi? But I only just figured that out recently.
I feel so stupid for not knowing. Not realizing sooner.
hey, ur not stupid. these things take time to figure out
is that y ur dad kicked u out?
I honestly don't know. Maybe. But maybe not. He's an asshole, so he might've just done it out of spite. he's disappointed in me as a son.
Then hes a fucking idiot. & he doesnt see who u r.
I'm starting to get what Martin sees in you.

Jake,

Thanks for letting me making me stay the night. I could say sorry a million times and thank you a million more and it wouldn't make up for what you did for me. I'm eternally in your debt, which kinda sucks all things considered.

As for what we talked about last night, I'm sorry about what I said. It was true, but it was also stupid and baseless. You're actually a really good person, and I'm happy Liv and Martin have accepted you into the group.

Speaking of, you'll notice two more notes underneath this one addressed to each of them. I'm afraid I must ask you a favor. I need you to explain what happened to me and give them the letters. Obviously, I'm not gonna be around for school since I left before you even woke up. I'm fine, don't worry, I'm not hurt, not gonna do anything stupid, I'm just trying to figure out my options. But I can't give these to them. I can't see them again. I don't deserve that privilege after ignoring them for so long. You can look at the letters if you need to, but I'd appreciate you not doing that.

With any luck, I'll be back for Jelly in a few days. But if something goes wrong… will you find her a good home? And give her lots of pets and treats from me? I'll let you know if it comes to that, one way or another.

Thank you so much for everything.
-Eric

Liv,

I'm really sorry for everything I did. For being a bad boyfriend, for breaking up with you, for being a bad kisser, etc. In truth, I was attracted to the intangible idea of a girlfriend that I didn't know what to do when I got one. You deserve so much better than me. Know I don't regret any of the time we spent together. You're really fucking awesome, and if I ever work up the nerve to show my face again, I hope we can be friends again. If that's what you want. Thank you for all of the fun times we had.

-Eric

Martin,

God I have so many things to say to you I don't know where to start. I have apologies I could make for things you never knew about, pleas I could make that you'd have no way of answering, things I could say, so so many things I can say.

But I won't. Because I want what's best for you. And what's best is to only know the following:

I'm sorry that I'm the stupidest guy in your life. And I'm forever grateful that you took a chance on the new kid and decided to be my friend. You were my first and best friend in high school. Maybe ever. And that's meant so much to me. Thank you for everything.

-Eric

Mom,

I really don't know what to say. I just want you to know I'm okay. Maybe you already know. I don't know. I'm sorry.

-Eric

Dad,

I have nothing to say to you.

Dad,

What the fuck is your problem?

Dad,

Why? Why did you do that? Don't I at least deserve an explanation for why today you decided to be a massive dick?

Fuck. And fuck you.

EMPATHY GENERATOR NOTES
By Eric
For my father

1. Carve your name into the last thing you own so no one can take it from you.

2. Buy some blank cassettes

3. Glitter in the cassette player (duh)

4. Do the only thing you can to take your mind off of everything.

5. Record what you're thinking. Unfiltered. Make him understand.

…
…
…Fuck.
I did this specifically so I could speak my mind to you.
Pffffft hehehehe- and now I have no fuckin' idea what to say.
Haha, hahaha, HAHAHA! Fuckin'… incredible.
Ha… ha…
…Dad, why do you hate me so fucking much?
I'm your son. What the fuck did I do to make you despise me? I don't get it. I… never did anything to you. Why do you hate me? You have no clue what it's like being me. But you never give me a chance to explain. You just think I'm a failure… for no reason.
I'm just trying to get through, I'm just trying to survive high school, and dating, and YOU, and I shouldn't need to survive you. I never did…
I never did anything to you. It's not me is it? It's your failing.
Fatherhood too much for you? Not all it was cracked up to be?
…You're the one who should be in therapy.
Maybe then you'll see things from my perspective. For fucking once in your miserable life.


SCP Foundation, Department of Logistics
Mission-95012-2337 - Briefing

Date: 10/19/2019
Assigned Personnel: Courier-49195
Object Involved: SCP-2337
Risk: Low
Description: Using the provided undercover vehicle, you are to retrieve the object from its semi-annual paraveterinary consultation at [Address provided on mission start] in Raleigh, North Carolina. Then, you will transport the object to primary containment at Site-59. You will arrive no later than 1800 hours EST.
Vehicle Provided: 2005 Ford E150 Cargo Van
Notes From Local Manager: This is right up your alley, 49195. Quick and easy.

-- begin --


Content Notice: This article contains graphic violence, significant sexual themes, and parental misgendering. Reader discretion is advised.

Backdoor Soho's premiere hentai, absinthe, and industrial music rental shop was known as A Hole to China. This was a lie for legal reasons; the titular hole actually led to its sister shop in the Chūgoku Cellar, A Hole to Canada. Through this hole, the two shops swapped various products only purchasable—and, in many cases, only legal—in their respective home countries.
A Hole to China's most sought-after title was called Ultimate Wormwood Princess Death Bastard (the hentai)—essentially a highly erotic commercial for Ultimate Wormwood Princess Death Bastard Seven (the absinthe). It was for this legendary VHS that Rukmini Mahakali was currently perusing the shelves of A Hole to China. There! Right between Ultimate World of Bukakke XII: Final Cumsponge Tournament and Ultimate Wrestleman Versus the Dominatrix Guild. Her fingers made contact with the tape.
"Hey!" someone shouted. Rukmini glanced over to see Grilled Chickenhawk, local DJ and part-time homicidal maniac. Chickenhawk looked like—and was—the guy at every rave who sells ecstasy cut with meth and hits on the high schoolers. His arms were covered with enough plastic kandi crap to choke a whole pod of dolphins, and the rest of his outfit was all fishnet and neon, capped off by an indescribably terrible bleached-blond mullet. His left hand was outstretched, pointing at Rukmini; his right held a smartphone with a military-grade sonic weapon bolted to it.
"I'd like to rent that copy of Ultimate Wormwood Princess Death Bastard," he said, flipping his hair back dramatically. "I need to sample it for my next album."
"Oh," she said. "I want it for other reasons."
"Can you wait a couple weeks?" Chickenhawk asked.
"I'd rather not."
"Oh. What's your name?"
"Mahakali."
"Cool, thanks. I'm going to kill you now."
"Oi!" Rukmini and Chickenhawk both looked over at the half-Sidhe clerk seated behind the front desk. She pointed at a sign on the wall.

ALL MURDER MUST BE PRECEDED BY A DUEL OF HONOR1

"Oh, sorry," Chickenhawk said. "Mahakali, I challenge you to a duel for the honor of Ultimate Wormwood Princess Death Bastard!"
Rukmini's hand went for her waistband. "I accept."
Right as her fingers closed around her Sig Sauer, Chickenhawk pressed play on his phone. The sound that came out was comprised of Mongolian throat singing, trash compactors grinding glass, and samples of Afrika Bambataa, compressed so far that the first mix had crushed Chickenhawk's speaker setup into a naked singularity, and then remixed into an unholy fusion of Djent and nightcore.
The Blood Shock Drop. Grilled Chickenhawk's main claim to fame: a bass drop so intense it could induce hypoglycemic shock. The survivors agreed that it was totally worth it.
The beat hit Rukmini like an earthquake. Her head swam, her eyes watered, and her heart-rate hit two hundred as her knees gave out from under her. The clerk was already wearing earplugs and Chickenhawk had long since inured himself to his own sonic gu.
Rukmini slumped against the shelf of DVD porn. She scrabbled around the corner on all fours as Chickenhawk ramped up the volume and a sharp pain lanced through her chest and left arm. Was she really going to go into cardiac arrest in the snack aisle of a porn shop, surrounded by pocky sticks and Ramune? Of all the ways and whys of dying, a hypoglycemic-induced heart attack over hentai had to be the most humiliating. The Afrika Bambaataa definitely didn't help.
Ramune.
Rukmini crashed against the shelf of imported Japanese sodas. Heart pounding and vision whitening, she picked up a bottle and smashed its neck against the shelf, pressing the jagged end to her lips. The taste of blood and melon filled her mouth. More. More more more.
"Be blessed, babe!" Chickenhawk crowed. "You're the first person to hear my new single, Racism Sucks (But Eighteen Year Olds Suck Better)."
He turned the corner to find Rukmini on her feet, surrounded by broken bottles and frenching a bottle of grape Ramune. The soda bottle flipped in her grip to become a fat glass shiv that promptly turned Chickenhawk's neck into a faucet. Rukmini took a celebratory swig, died on the inside, then kicked him through the soda shelf.
"I like KMFDM better," she said. A quick rifle through Chickenhawk's pockets uncovered a platinum debit card that she tossed to the clerk. "Drinks are on him."
Rukmini looked down and scooped up an unbroken bottle from the ground. She peeled off the plastic cap, whacked its plunger down to unseat the safety marble, and pressed the bottle to her lips. She savored the artificial strawberry and grabbed the Ultimate Wormwood Princess Death Bastard tape from the shelf.
Or she would have, if a katana hadn't nearly chopped her fingers off. Rukmini spun around, pistol pointing at her assailant before the bottle could finish falling.
"Konnichiwa, m'lady." He could very well have stepped straight from Sengoku-era Japan, with his kimono, samurai topknot, and geta sandals; that is, if he hadn't been a fat white guy with a three-day neckbeard. "Watashi wa Rupert Smith desu, though my foes know me as the legendary sword-saint Guro Ahegao. I beg you to unhand that sugoi hentai before I need to go all bushido on your oppai."
"I'm going to kill you now. Honor duel?"
"I would not dare harm such a kawaii shojo—"
He was cut off by the clerk. "If you want to kill him, just go for it. I'll tell the cops it was a duel."
Rukmini fired before the second sentence. The sword in Rupert's hands blurred; a bullet hole appeared in each of the foreheads of the erotic Bayonetta and Luigi cardboard cutouts behind him. "You cannot strike me with your bullets, baka gaijin," he gloated, slicing up a second shot and a third. "I have studied the blade. I carry the Shimapan Masamune, the mirror-blade, with which the legendary samurai Netorare Paizuri gazed up the kimono of a thousand beautiful geisha."
Rukmini replied with three rapid trigger pulls.
The mirror-blade became a mirror-blender, sashimiing each round that entered its airspace and reducing Luigi and Bayonetta to cardboard colanders. Rukmini found herself on the defense, backpedaling in the face of the samurai's impenetrable defense and odor. She yelped as her spine stuck into a spike of some kind and simply sat down to avoid Rupert's slash. His blade wedged itself deep into the neck of a life-size Ultimate Wormwood Princess Death Bastard Black Metal statue (with fully articulated tentacles and usable orifices).
"Ahhh!~" Rupert wailed. "Wormwood Princess-chan, I humbly apologize for tainting your beauty!"
Rukmini shot upwards and headbutted him in the chin, forcing him to release the sword and stumble back. She almost ripped the sword from the statue, then reconsidered and wrenched a tentacle loose from the statue's base, wrapping its joints around her hand and pointing the sharp end at Rupert. The tentacle had definitely been in less unsavory places.
"Forgive me, sensei," Rupert whispered loudly. "I must go all out, just this once! Behold, Netorare Paizuri's most forbidden technique—「ヒンゲロ バング」! Kiaiiiiiiiiiii!"
Five fat fingers crashed down upon Rukmini's marital-turned-martial aid, transforming it into a tuning fork that vibrated through her and blew her off her feet. Rupert ripped his blade from the steel princess and stabbed downwards; Rukmini grabbed the closest thing she could find — a box of tester fleshlights — and did her best to block the strike. Their fleshy grip barely stopped the blade from pinning her carotid to the floor.
The two of them strained against each other. The tainted blade sank ever lower, pressing against Rukmini's jugular and then sinking into it. She gasped slightly as blood started to leak out and the samurai leaned forward, hoping to overpower her through sheer weight. Two combat boots hammered into his crotch; instead of keeling over, he stood up and laughed. "Ha! Just as the Masamune was tempered in the very onsens whereupon Paizuri ogled the okami Amaterasu and Inari, so too have I tempered my manhood in the onsens of battle and Tenga!"
Rukmini's fingers closed around the important half of a cephalopodal sex toy. At the exact moment Rupert said tenga, she sat up and rammed the tentacle's pointy end into his crotch. In lieu of a cervix to puncture, it settled for his intestines.
The weeb went slack and sat down heavily, driving the tool even further into his guts. Then he toppled onto his back with a sound like a deflating beach ball.
"Did I… lose?" he asked the air.
"Yeah, kinda," Rukmini rasped. Her hand came away from her neck slicked with blood. Rupert was absolutely not someone she wanted to drink from, so she ripped a strip of fabric from her sweater and tied the makeshift bandage around her neck.
"I have a last wish, kudesai," the dying weeb said. "Will you do me one kindness?"
He coughed up a lungful of blood. "This humble otaku wishes… to visit Nihon… just once before he dies."
The clerk shrugged and pulled a lever behind the desk, opening the shaft to A Hole to Canada — that redneck wonderland of guns, cowboy hats, and porn with guns and cowboy hats. Rukmini prodded Rupert through with her boot, and the portal closed behind him.
"Fucking weebs," Rukmini and the clerk said in unison. They locked eyes briefly; then the clerk resumed flipping through her unlicensed Mechagodzilla/Gundam yaoi doujin as Rukmini turned to grab her limited edition hentai. She barely had time to look at the Ultimate Wormwood Princess Death Bastard tape before the jangling of the front door raised her hackles.
"I cannot BELIEVE the FILTH you peddle here!" The store's newest customer headed straight for the counter to scream at the clerk, spittle flying from her lips. She wore a sensible cardigan and khaki capris; her hair was short and asymmetrical, with truly unfortunate blonde highlights; her sunglasses were Gucci, her charm bracelet Tiffany, her purse Coach, and her racism undisguised. "My little JASON came here ONCE and it SCARRED him!"
"Ma'am, we don't allow minors in here." The clerk was being remarkably patient. Rukmini would've already removed the bitch's teeth. "How old is Jason?"
"He's TWENTY-TWO! But he's still my BABY!" The woman was turning red now; more spittle coated the checkout counter with every word. "And you PERVERTS, you CORRUPTED him! Now he thinks he's a GIRL!"
The clerk's face instantly switched from customer-service fake-nice to barely-contained rage. "Ma'am, you need to leave immediately."
"NO!" It was more a screech than a word, an expression of primal indignation. "I'm not leaving without the CARTOON that stole my SON! It needs to be BURNED!"
Rukmini took that moment to speak up. "Hey lady? Fuck off before I fuck you off. Uh. Before I make you fuck off."
The woman turned on Rukmini, prepared to unleash a barrage of invective—then fixated her fury on the VHS behind her. "THAT ONE!"
She advanced on her prize, fingers curling forward like claws. "The ULTIMATE WORMWOOD thing! That's what turned my BABY BOY into a FILTHY SODOMITE TRA—"
Her shriek flattened into a gurgle. Three inches of wood and steel protruded from the woman's throat as she flopped face-down, revealing the antique crossbow in the clerk's hands. The clerk blew nonexistent smoke off the business end and tapped an autographed poster behind her head.

FUTANARI TITWHORE FIASCO: LIVE IN CRIMEA!

Rukmini raised an eyebrow. The clerk looked back and quickly tapped a different poster.

TRANS RIGHTS!!

She got a thumbs-up from Rukmini and returned it with a wink. "Hey, are you fr—" The door slammed open and cut her off.
"Stop right there!" An aggressively generic twenty-something white dude in an equally generic graphic tee dramatically posed in her direction.
"Who the fuck are you?" Rukmini said.
"My name is Johnny Crusader! I'm on a quest to defeat my crush's seven evil exes, and finally get to go on a date with her!" The dweeb posed again, clearly trying to look menacing. "And you're one of the exes. I challenge you to a duel for her honor!"
"No!" she exclaimed. "No more honor duels, we're in a fucking hentai shop! Just let me rent my porn and leave shamefully!"
"Shamefully?" the clerk said.
"Now get the fuck out of my face before I give you an atomic wedgie."
Then Rukmini's jaw hit the floor as Johnny burst into tears.
"I… I just," he choked out through his sobs. "I just want to impress her… And she's always talking about how she hates you… So I thought—"
"Kid. Who the fuck is this girl."
"Her name's…" He sniffed. "Her name's Naomi. Naomi Hancock."
The name was familiar; Rukmini racked her brains trying to figure out who he could be talking about. Hancock… Oh. She held back a laugh. "Uh… Green hair? Plays roller derby? Knuckle tattoos that say 'CAPS LOCK'?"
Johnny nodded. "Her hair… Her hair's pink now. But yeah."
"Ok, first of all, not my ex, we slept together like twice. Second of all? She doesn't play for your team." Johnny stared at her, his head cocked like a confused dog. "She's bent as a banana." Still no sign of comprehension. Rukmini sighed. "She's a huge lesbian, my man. You don't have a chance."
He burst into tears again, and fell onto his knees. Rukmini had no idea how to react to this. "Ah… Hey… Man… Don't cry, I can't stand it when people cry…" She groaned, and looked toward the clerk for help, but she'd picked up a new volume of her giant robot erotica and was ignoring the drama.
"Look," Rukmini said, squatting in front of the weeping geek, "If it'll make you feel better, I'll duel you. I'll go easy, give you a black eye, you can show it to Naomi and maybe she'll give you a pity handjob or something. Uh, that's a big maybe, don't get your hopes up."
"No! You gotta fight me fight me!"
"Pretty sure beating on someone whose shirt says 'Gamers Do It Online' is child abuse. Black eye. Take it or —"
"Fight me, you cunt!"
Johnny's teeth did not appreciate their engagement with Rukmini's fists, nor their shotgun wedding to the back of his throat. Rukmini stepped over his prone form and reached for the UPWDB tape. "Maybe I'll hit up Naomi later. Kicking your ass is probably worth a gratitude shaAAAA—"
Rukmini's words were lost in a rush of wind as something very large and very heavy grabbed her by the ankle and swung her into the shelf. She rolled over achingly, then looked over to see a massive hulking brute clad in the remains of a Gamers Do It Online shirt. Much to her relief, the crotch of Mega-Johnny's jeans had survived his growth spurt.
"What — the — fuck?" she said haltingly. Her ribs screamed as she pushed herself to her feet, then her skull did the same as a massive fist slammed it against a scattered pile of tenga eggs.
"How's that for a black eye?" Johnny said, rapping his chest with gargantuan knuckles. Rukmini rolled over and shot him in both eyes, then rolled again to avoid his collapsing form. She staggered to her feet, hand against her head. Thankfully her eardrums had survived the impact.
"What the fuck was that?" she asked the clerk.
"I don't — I don't know," the clerk said frantically. "There was a block in the air and he punched it and there was this mushroom and —"
"Oh, God, it's one of those nerds."
A thought occurred to her: Oh, God, it's one of those nerds. She ducked as a massive fist swung over her head and obliterated the shelf next to her.
"EXTRA LIFE, BITCH," Johnny said in a new pack-a-day voice.
I really hope that platinum card covers this.
Rukmini rolled backwards and then scrabbled up his back. Her gun met his neck, and then the barrel exploded.
"What the f—"
She had just enough time to see a scorch mark on the back of his neck before a massive meaty hand grabbed hers and threw her into the Ultra Wormwood Princess Death Bastard statue; her ribs made it clear they did not appreciate the greeting. Rukmini grabbed the statue for support and tried to assess the situation.
The situation was that an extremely large man-child was charging towards her. She ducked behind the statue, letting it take the barrage of beefy fists. Somehow, she doubted her backup knife could get through his abs… but there! Behind Johnny. The Shimapan Masamune. Rukmini swung out from behind the statue and sprinted for the sword. Johnny's size only made him even slower and dumber, so he simply turned around and watched as she whipped the katana towards him.
The sword bounced off a six-pack square enough to grate cheese on. Rukmini flushed and immediately hated herself for it.
"I am protected by the POWER of LOVE!" Johnny swiped for the blade, but Rukmini leapt back in time to keep her hold on it. He roared incoherently, and charged again.
Rukmini's quick feet saved her from becoming the second-sexiest roadkill in Manhattan. She hopped onto a low shelf of sushi-flavored lube, then springboarded off Johnny's shoulder as he lumbered past. Her fingers caught onto the harness of a shibari'd mannequin hanging from the ceiling, and she managed to swing herself up on top before Johnny turned around.
"WHERE ARE YOU?" He stomped through the store, knocking over shelves and overturning tables. "YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME, BITCH!" Eventually, he wandered below Rukmini's perch, and she struck.
"Hey, Johnny!" she said.
Johnny looked up, mouth open in a guttural howl, in time to see the Shimapan Masamune go down his throat. Feet planted firmly on his shoulders, Rukmini held the handle of the sword with one hand and slammed her other fist down on it repeatedly. Blood and incoherent gargles splattered her as she hammered the makeshift spike down his gullet. He grabbed for the blade, then at her arms, then dropped to his knees as the tip of the blade stabbed into the carpeted floor.
Rukmini waited for a tick, then dismounted. "No more extra lives, huh?" She wiped her face on her sweater. "God dammit. I liked this sweater. Blech." She reached for her spare holster to confirm the kill, but nothing was there.
"Where'd my gun go?" she said to the air.
"Right here," the air said.
That wasn't the air. Rukmini spun around and locked eyes with the worst thing to happen to hand-to-hand combat since the thermobaric missile: Roxanne Paperscizzorz (with three Z's), the local roshambo champion who'd spent the last two years trying to set herself up as Rukmini's arch-rival. Most of her original body had been replaced with cheap cybernetics, installed by the sketchiest back-alley bonesaws and heretic Maxwellists that she could afford on a discount razorgirl's paycheck. She needed all that chrome because of her most self-destructive habit: challenging Rukmini to duels. Roxanne never won and always left with a bit less flesh and blood than she'd started with, but refused to properly bugger off and die. She was the roach in the cupboard that was Rukmini's career as a professional ass-kicker.
And this time, the roach had gotten the drop on her. A bullet blew out Rukmini's shoulder as she went for her knife. She felt her own hollowpoint expand inside her joint, and her arm went limp.
"Finally got you right where I want you," Roxanne gloated. She kept the pistol aimed at Rukmini's other shoulder, pausing her advance just out of katana-range. "Now… Let's play a game."
"What?"
"Let's. Play. A game. I think you know which one." Roxanne grinned. A spindly mechanical fist extended from her back.
"Oh my God."
"Rock…"
"Please just shoot me."
"Paper…"
Rukmini sighed and held out her good hand, ready to throw.
"Scissors…"
"This is fucking demeaning."
"Shoot!"
Roxanne threw rock; Rukmini scissors. Another bullet blew out her kneecap. Rukmini screamed and fell backwards, cracking her head on Johnny Crusader's rigid corpse.
"Motherf—"
"Two out of three?" Roxanne asked, taking another step closer.
Rukmini groaned. "Would you please just finish me off? It'd be less humiliating for both of us."
"Tell you what," Roxanne said. "I'll put you out of your misery—if you win this round. Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot!"
Rukmini won this round, scissors against paper. This did not please her opponent. The gun went off again, destroying Rukmini's other kneecap. Roxanne stepped forward again, until she could press Rukmini's own gun against her forehead.
"One final game," Roxanne breathed. "Best two out of three—for your life."
Her finger tightened on the trigger. "Rock. Paper. Scissors —"
Rukmini's hand shot out; sliding the gun to an angle to throw off the first shot, then crushing Roxanne's fingers against the pistol to force her to release it and spinning it around into her waiting grasp. The trigger pulled five more times, drawing a line of holes through the middle of the razorgirl's forehead.
"If you're gonna shoot, shoot," Rukmini hissed. "Don't talk."
She pulled out a bottle of pills from her breast pocket. Powdered stomatodemon, from the Nine Planes of Hunger—she mostly used them for curing hangovers, but they had other uses. Two of them went down her throat and teeth sprouted from her wounds. Then she grabbed Roxanne's corpse tight and let the little mouths do their work: tearing into the razorgirl's corpse, stripping flesh from steel and imbibing it into Rukmini's own body. Refilling veins, patching holes, sewing nerves back together, toning her arms and abs and thighs. The teeth fell out with disgusting little pops, and Rukmini was renewed. She stood up, planted one foot on Johnny's Crusader's perfect abs, and wrenched the sword out of him in a splash of viscera. Would need to be burned.
"Okay," she panted, now thoroughly drenched in blood, guts, and ramen water. "Anybody else? Anybody fucking else wanna go?"
Nobody answered. Rukmini staggered towards the VHS aisle and slowly reached for the tape.
"Oh, hold up!" someone called. She pivoted, stolen samurai sword at the ready. A man in ill-fitting Hawaiian shirt and pink slacks flinched and drew back.
"What?" she said, twitching.
"Oh, uh… I reserved that tape yesterday for rental," the man said. "I'm the Clipper, from, uh, Are We Cool Yet? I was, y'know, going to copy and clip up the tape for my next project."
"Too bad," Rukmini said. "I'm going to go home and viciously get off to it."
"What? But I… called… dibs…"
His voice petered off as the sword aimed at his lower bits. "You know what? I'll just, uh, make a new reservation."
"That would be best."
The Clipper gingerly backed up. He was so busy backing up that he didn't notice the empty Ramune bottle underfoot. There was a single yelp as he fell backwards and slammed his head noisily against the base of the checkout desk.
"You saw that. Wasn't me," Rukmini said.
Blood pooled around the Clipper's head and his body twitched slightly. Rukmini waited. One second. Two seconds. Five seconds. Nothing.
"Fuckin' finally." Rukmini stepped over the pile of corpses to the shelf where her prize awaited. Or should have. Right between Ultimate World of Bukakke XII: Final Cumsponge Tournament and Ultimate Wrestleman Versus the Dominatrix Guild, there was a vacancy, a gap perfectly sized for a single VHS tape. She spun around, seeing nobody who could possibly have snagged her prize; then noticed the clerk waving it at her with a shit-eating grin.
"How…"
"Flash stepping," the clerk whispered into Rukmini's ear. She was back behind the counter before Rukmini could flinch. "So… That'll be five bucks for a week rental. Or…"
"Or?" Rukmini approached the counter, holding her katana warily. "I'm sick of dueling people and you do not want to die to a fucking panty sword."
The clerk shook her head. "Well, it's free with my employee account—and I live upstairs." She bit her lip and winked. "Sound like a plan?"
"I'm covered in blood."
"Shower's big enough for two."
"Oh. It's tempting, don't get me wrong, but—"
"I've also got the 1998 Sidhe dub of Revolutionary Girl Utena."

Rukmini woke up in an unfamiliar bed, an absinthe hangover pounding at her temples. She was wearing an official Ultimate Princess Wormwood Death Bastard t-shirt, a pair of official UPWDB thigh-highs, and a hopefully-unofficial UPWDB strap-on. "Oh, fuck me."
The blankets beside her stirred, and the hentai store clerk's head appeared. "No thanks, I think you broke my pelvis." She tried to sit up, and stopped. "Could you help me with these handcuffs?"

« Seven New Characters Are Introduced | Hub | Conservation of Momentum »

Footnotes
1. Half the reason A Hole to China stayed open is because it was Backdoor Soho's last legal dueling venue.


On an overcast Thursday morning in the summer of 1998, Level 2 Researcher Shiloh Hoffman woke up as they usually did: approximately six and a half seconds too late.
They blinked, sat up, and rubbed the ever-present sleep out of their eyes as Maisy snuffled at their face. Six and a half seconds later, the alarm stopped ringing in their ears. Having confirmed Shiloh's consciousness, Maisy dutifully trotted across the room and returned with the ankle of their left leg carried delicately in her mouth.
"Thank you, Mae," Shiloh murmured, vaguely patting the air around where it would make sense for their service dog's head to be. It always took them a few minutes to calibrate their spatial awareness in the mornings, like a computer waking from hibernation. This time, they managed to get in a solid pat or two before she left to retrieve their sock and shoe.
Shiloh dragged their legs to the side of the bed, painstakingly affixing their prosthetic. It had been nearly a year now, but it was still a discomforting, unfamiliar situation. There were clothes folded up on the bedside table that they didn't remember putting there, but knew from experience they'd chosen last night; a fairly standard soft cotton t-shirt, sweatpants, and mismatched sweatshirt.
It wasn't exactly business casual, but they'd been allowed to wear more comfortable clothes to work to help compensate for all of their capital-I Issues. Accommodations, they'd called it. Dr. Laraskë had joked that the higher-ups felt bad for ruining their life, so they let them have a permanent Casual Friday. Shiloh hadn't really gotten the joke.
They pinned their Foundation ID to their hoodie—it was outdated, with an old picture and the title still reading AGENT - MU-4 (“DEBUGGERS”), they'd have to get that fixed eventually—and stood, unsteadily, with Maisy nervously circling their legs. “Mmalright,” Shiloh mumbled, taking six and a half seconds to ensure the sturdiness of their upright position before patting her behind the ears, more confidently now.
Breakfast. Maisy led them to the kitchen, almost more aware of their routine than they were. It was their usual, a “protein shake” that was more of a highly calculated nutrient slop which happened to have some sort of chocolate flavoring thrown into it at some point. It worked, and it was cheap. That was all that really mattered.
Shiloh could hear someone a few doors over running a blender, which was new. Most people in this complex were their coworkers, so the whole building woke up at the same time every morning. Laraskë always complained about it being “feudalistic”, which Shiloh didn't quite understand. Sure, the site director technically owned the building, and it was pretty much the cheapest place to live within fifty miles, but it wasn't like they had no choices at all. Right?
The doorbell rang. Six and a half seconds later, Shiloh got up to answer the door.
"Hi," they mumbled on instinct, then looked about two feet down to Laraskë's eye level. "Hey."
She grinned and flashed a peace sign, which would have been less weird had she been about fifteen years younger. "Ready to go, kiddo?"
"Don't call me that," Shiloh muttered, but it was good-natured. They couldn't drive on their own because of the Issues, and Laraskë somehow managed to make giving them a ride to work every day not as weird as it sounded on paper. They were an extremely odd pair, and Shiloh couldn't quite recall when they had met or how they had become friends. "Lemme get Maisy and then we can go."
Maisy perked up at the mention of her name, then trotted obediently over for her vest and harness. She'd come pre-trained. It was one of the few upsides to everything that had happened. "Alright, ready."
"Let's bounce."
"Please don't say that."
The drive wasn't long. Neither of them spoke, but it was a comfortable silence; Shiloh was used to Laraskë driving like a maniac by now, and she kept the radio on a nice station. They usually preferred easy listening, music that didn't demand any mental energy, but the vapid pop that played on the radio asked for about as much engagement from them, if not less. They leaned back against the seat and watched the unmarked concrete monoliths surrounding Site-15 pass by.
I know it's up for me
(If you steal my sunshine)
Making sure I'm not in too deep
(If you steal my sunshine)

Shiloh's casual, cozy-looking outfit and permanent droopy-eyed tiredness hopefully made them look a little less intimidating, but the fact remained that they were a nearly seven-foot muscular guy in a facility that employed mostly scrawny intellectual types. Even Laraskë leading them to their workstation didn't spare them of more than a few double takes.
On some level, though, it made sense. Shiloh really was out of place in Site-15, but the universe had conspired to push them out of where it had actually made sense for them to be, and now here they were, a nervous wreck of an ex-MTF agent who had to attend Weird Therapy weekly to make sure their brain didn't completely disintegrate.
They hadn't always been so skittish. Actually, they had used to be the exact opposite: confident, competent, maybe a little loud, but overall had their ducks in a row. It fit better, that description; it was a mental image that made more sense with their actual appearance.
And then one of those fucking chicken-beasts from hell had to go and—
It was more complicated than that, though. Everything was.
In Epsilon-11, they taught new agents that there were three responses to fear: fight, flight, and freeze. Their job, their CO had said, was to train themselves into responding with fight, every time. The training was more mental than physical, conditioning their startle response to be an instant punch to the nose and a hand ready on a sidearm. Shiloh—Agent Hoffman, back then—had taken to it quickly, and for a year and a half they were invincible.
And then—and then. To put it plainly, they proved themself wrong.

It had been a standard breach call, and by then they had climbed up the ranks. Their CO—Agent Oliveira, during the off-hours—had called on Shiloh personally to act as second in command. Nine of the bastards, a damaged containment chamber, and Site-114 on total lockdown, and Nine-Tailed Fox, subunit γ, was called in to clean up. It was chaos, but chaos Shiloh could handle. Was handling, at least until the instincts they thought were permanently drilled into their head faltered.
Six of them were down, and those fucking eggs were everywhere, but Shiloh had let themselves grow too confident, and then they had radioed Oliveira, and then—a gap in their memory. Crucial moments, lost to their own negligence. There was a blank space between the point they'd decided to take a quick breather and—
—and one of them on their leg and dripping, dripping everywhere, a disgusting slurry of marrow and tendons and blood pooled in the cavity of their skin. It was mottled red and thick and smeared on the fucking thing's face and they had fired two shots into its head and four shots into its carcass, and then the trigger clicked seventeen more times on an empty chamber and they were frozen.
That was it, really. Shiloh froze. They had fired on pure adrenaline and then slumped and waited for unconsciousness once the immediate threat was gone, the beast that had gouged out their leg lying dead to the side. They could still hear the wailing as more of them rampaged, and all Shiloh did was wait, for blood loss or shock or another one of those fucking things to finish them off. Shrieks reverberated through the halls of Site-114, and Oliveira's voice faded to static. For twenty-six minutes, everything was over.
They kept track of the time, stared at the digital clock across the hall as they waited for their vision to go black. Somehow, though, it had still felt like an eternity before Oliveira managed to find them. By that point, they were done with the dry heaving, done with the choking on bile, done with the twitching and writhing to somehow make a half-dissolved leg easier to bear. All they had left to give was shallow breaths and a limp body trembling with feverish shock as Oliveira slung them over his shoulder and started towards the medical ward.
He was everything an MTF agent should be. He'd been injured—there were gouges on his arms where the spit of those things had gotten on him—but was still on his feet and alert, even with bits of blood and flesh spattering his tactical vest. Shiloh cursed their own cowardice, then, hated themself for not being able to prevent it or at least to help. Oliveira didn't seem angry, though; he talked to Shiloh as he carried them, managing to find words that weren't empty, soothing you'll be okay and you did well and everyone else is alright and you're gonna be okay, Hoffman, I promise, just stay with me—
The necrosis-blackened remains of their leg, barely attached by half-melted skin and muscle fibers, succumbed to their own weight and hit the floor with a sickening smack. From then on, everything was dark.
—Shiloh came to with the sounds of various discordant beeps and murmurs ringing uncomfortably in their ears. It was an unfamiliar room—they had been invincible, what reason did they have to be in the medical ward—and they didn't recognize most of the faces, except that of Oliveira, who had fallen asleep standing up across the room from them. They couldn't recall exactly what had happened, but they remembered thinking that if Oliveira was there with them, it had to be okay. Right?
As much as they could manage through a haze of sedatives, Shiloh had smiled.
—Shiloh came to and their leg was numb. Their leg, their fucking leg Oliveira please you have to help me I can't feel my fucking leg—
Someone held them down, stuck a syringe into their arm, spoke to them like they were a frightened animal. They couldn't remember when they had stopped thrashing.
—Shiloh came to, and there were hundreds of butterflies, all over their body. The room swam. It smelled like blood and rubbing alcohol. They tried to say something, but it came out upside down.
—Shiloh came to, that lovely drug-haze faded but still present, pain throbbing in their—their leg was gone. They remembered now, their leg was gone, melted and sticky, splattered on the linoleum floor.
The space where their leg ended was covered by a sheet now, and Shiloh assumed that meant it was still too gross to look at. They choked on—something, for certain, maybe a memory, maybe a feeling, coughing and retching as the pain and the sights and sounds crashed through their head again in waves.
Some attendant—a nurse, maybe—hovered over them as soon as they started dry heaving, talking to them in a high-pitched voice, but they couldn't understand, couldn't make anything out under the static buzzing in their ears. "Fuck," they gasped out, phantom aches stinging muscles that weren't there anymore, "fuck, fuck—"
"Hoffman— Shiloh, hey, listen—" A familiar lightly accented voice, a familiar tall, blurry figure hurrying across the room to their side. Oliveira took their hand in both of his, rubbed it lightly with his thumb. "—Hey, you're okay. You're okay, I'm here, look at me. Look— look at me."
They coughed, wiped their mouth, swept at the heat starting to prick at the corner of their eyes. The memories were frozen deep in their lungs, seizing their chest and wracking them with guilt. Freezing up again, just like before. "I fucked up." Shiloh took in a heavy, forced breath, more shaky than they wanted. "I fucked up. I'm sorry."
"Look at me, Shiloh." It was more firm now, and that familiar authoritative tone combined with their seldom-heard first name forced their gaze up. Oliveira looked—emotional, but what about they couldn't quite tell. "It's not your fault. You got the worst of it, everyone else was okay. You did well, understand? It's not— don't blame yourself. That's not like you."
It was almost too intense to bear. Shiloh shrugged noncommittally, letting their eyes wander to the abrupt end of their leg under the sheet. "Th— thanks." They took another shuddering breath. So this was what was happening now. This was reality, unavoidable. "You don't have to— it's fine. I'll be fine. Sorry."
"Stop apologizing." Oliveira's voice sounded clouded with worry in a way they'd never heard. "I mean, jesus. You were—" He cleared his throat. "The surgery was rough. It was infected, you weren't taking to it well, it was bad, okay? I thought we'd lose you." He squeezed their hand again. "Cut yourself a break, will you?"
Shiloh mentally filed it away to take to heart later. "Surgery?"
"You were out for a few days, Hoffman." Oliveira pulled his lips back in a grimace. "It's all patched up now. They tried to ask you what you wanted to do about keeping your knee, but you haven't been lucid enough until today."
They didn't feel very lucid. "Oh." A pause. "I don't know."
Oliveira's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, letting go of their hand in the process. Its absence ached a little. "Shit was rough. I hope they let you get some more rest before they start pestering you." He paused, visibly swallowed. "I hope we can work it out."
Work it out felt like a phrase heavy with implications, but neither of them acknowledged it. Shiloh nodded lightly, letting their head fall back against the thin paper covering the hospital bed.
They complained, later, of their leg hurting, so whatever drug cocktail was being pumped into them was amped up. The rest of the week was spent in an aching, drowsy state of near-consciousness as various people in suits and lab coats they vaguely recognized spoke to them, asked them to sign forms, took notes. It had been hard to hold on to, a continuous hazy march of performed admirably and of course there will be compensation and We're sorry, but and no longer fit to serve and less active opportunities available and absolutely, just sign right here.
Three Fridays after their leg was torn off, Shiloh left the medical ward with crutches, a prescription for 15mg of an anomalous opium compound, and the job title Stationary Agent of MTF Mu-4 ("Debuggers"), subunit λ. They didn't remember when it had happened, just that it had happened. Not a demotion, the woman in a suit had cheerfully informed them, a skill-based reassignment. They almost admired how easily she lied to their face.
They were given a week of paid leave to recover, then transferred to Site-15.

"…new terminals, but it's not like that'll make a difference. You with me, kiddo?"
Six and a half seconds later, Shiloh shook themself, sighed forcefully. "Yeah. Quit calling me that."
"Good, 'cause this is our floor." Laraskë grinned, holding her hand over the elevator door to keep it open. "After you."
Shiloh stepped out into the hallway, Maisy's claws click-clacking on the linoleum beside them.
They missed Oliveira.

half one of two
thank you very much for reading


Color.
Oranges.
Daytime.
Nighttime.
Soft blankets.
Cats.

These are all things I love. I like to list things I love because they're pretty much all I have left. I love when they allow me to practice magic during testing and I get to yell 'abracadabra!' with pride.
Most people in this situation likely don't take it as well as I do. Most probably kick and scream and ignore demands, do everything in their power to attempt to escape. But I find it goes much easier for me if I just listen to what they say. I've found that compliance lets me have cool things like fuzzy blankets and books to read.
Luna used to tell me I could find joy in anything, and she's probably right. I do miss being Flina, but "SCP-0749" has a certain charm to it that I don't mind. It sounds cool, kind of like I'm a robot, or from the future. I don't mind being here, it makes me feel like I'm part of something important.
Though I do suppose I miss seeing my friends. Maisie doesn't do well with loneliness. She was like baby duck following behind its mom. "What item goes on this display? Where does this display go? Isn't X display supposed to be in Y section? Can someone fix it? I don't know how!" That does make me feel better about her being here though. Maisie will likely just listen to what they tell her. Though it might make her sad, which isn't good.
That makes me think of Alize. Alize is a leader, not a follower. I just know that she's making this as difficult for herself as possible. She's probably tried using her magic to escape. I wish I could talk with her. There's nothing we can do about this. So we're caught in some science lab. Why not make the best of it? I hope Alize will realize that.
I'm not quite sure how Xavier is reacting. He was basically a piece of clay, flexible with multiple different purposes, but would take a firm shape and not let anyone mold him when the time came to it. I remember when we had that one super rude customer that brought Maisie to tears. Xavier practically threw that woman through a wall. In fact, he would have, if Alize hadn't caught the poor woman with her wand. I just hope he's doing well.
I wonder the most about Luna.
Luna.
Where to start with Luna.
They looked at Luna differently that day. While they were interested in the four of us as part of a collection, she was the shiny penny. They split us up immediately, so there's no way to really know what happened.
But I can still feel it. Luna didn't get locked in a cage. Luna was the smartest of all of us. We were surprised that with all her degrees and education, that she just decided to stay low and run a fashion shop. I always told Luna that she could change the world. She always insisted that I was wrong.
It was only a matter of time that she would see that I was right.
I hope Luna enjoys being a doctor. Most of the doctors I talk to are distant and professional, but at least they're polite. I can't really tell if it's the work they enjoy, or if it's just me. The stuff they're doing is important, right? Shouldn't you enjoy doing something important?. Now I may just be your simple twenty-four year old witch, but I have a feeling that much more dangerous magic exists in the world. If they're keeping me locked up, I can only imagine the kinds of other things they must be dealing with. I appreciate them keeping the world safe.
I never really thought of myself as dangerous before. I thought that good magic was okay to see. But I suppose the knowledge of any magic could be harmful. You don't want people trying to find out about good magic, only to be faced with harmful magic.
Now that I think about it, I believe Luna and I have encountered some of the bad magic. We were just fourteen, it was after school in the park.
It was cute. I wanted to hug it.
Luna told me it looked mean.
I didn't listen.
Blood gushes from Luna's face.
Magic stops the bleeding.
Magic doesn't remove the scar.
That day was my fault.
Not only that one, but the other one. The reason we're all here. I wanted to expand our audience, so we could spread joy to more people. And, just like that day when we were kids, I didn't listen to Luna.
Maisie could be terrified and lonely.
Alize could be suffering and angry.
Xavier could be confused and hurt.
Luna.
Luna could be living a life she never wanted.

All.
Because.
Of.
Me.

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