The rise of generative Large Language Models has made me write less, as the friction to write has reduced and also the large scale LLM generated slop across the internet made it less appealing to indulge in the hobby. Everywhere I look now are Claude-coded websites with all too perfect writing that takes away the joy of both reading and writing. I didn't think much about the loss of this creative faculty for me, until someone reached out to me after reading this website and their words were “I wondered if anyone maintaining a blog like this could be bad” and then it clicked. In an era of cookie cutter websites and content, being authentic has its own currency. Artisanal typos, unstructured thoughts and unclear human thought looping, things that an LLMs can't do without sounding fake which I can do without much effort.

Maintaining one's own website, curating thoughts and ideas as they come by and being intentional in purpose are all the things missing from an LLM generated website, which are by default stolen words gambled through a predictive model. As the peak times of LLMs use come near with every passing day, the one tool the ordinary pleb has in their hands is to communicate more without the help of LLMs tools and be more unapologetically themselves, authenticity in the end is what breaks the computer, as its one space where it cannot be human.

In a future after we've all come to terms with the rise and fall of LLMs, we will look back at the voices that remained untainted by this mass scale of machined perfection. In all that noise, you will hear me saying hello.

Note: I refrained from saying AI and used LLM instead because I didn't want to fall for the marketing hype. There is no AI, the machine is not intelligent, yet.

#AI #writing #authenticity

In Serbia, a leaderless student party just toppled the fascist. Way underreported, as student protests leading to a truly democratic process of engaging with issues challenges ruling classes everywhere.

On the other hand, one should not idealise the situation. The list comprises ideologically opposed blocs, from rightwing adherents to leftwingers and liberals. Most of those elected have never before held political office, and the parliamentary system will require them to nominate a prime minister and, in future presidential elections, a presidential candidate. 

Yes, but the achievement of just getting to that state where the real work can even start should also not be understated.

College Football from Conference USA.

Today's game of choice has the Western Kentucky Hilltoppers from Conference USA hosting the Delaware Fightin' Blue Hens in a college football game scheduled to start at 6:00 PM CT. Both teams bring identical (3-4) records into tonight. If the game starts on time I may be able to listen to the full four quarters before heading to bed. That will be nice.

And the adventure continues.

A disturbing development has arrived on the digital horizon: the algorithmic standardization of the essai.

I came across a piece of writing today titled: What Is a Literary Essayist? (And Why I Decided to Become One) July 20, 2026

Yes, of course I am going to read something with that title and yes, I am going to be eager to get to it. But this is the first day with sunshine in over a week and I'm grabbing the chance to put a wash on. I'm catching a flight tomorrow and if I don't leave the house tidy there will be some non-literary frictions I will have to navigate. As a result my engagement with the piece was somewhat stoccato. This may have been a benefit.

The washing machine itself in almost an essay in the making. This particular model uses a system invented by Ludwig Gann whom I met when I was studying at Leicester University. And it's made by Fagor, a champion of the Mondragon movement I was to encounter only a year or two later. I'm exploring all of this in my thoughts as I fill the tub with soiled clothes. You see it's about the ever presence of connections and their meaning for the disposition of an essayist. I don't realize it yet, but I am already engaged with the essay – or at least the things about the essay title that give me pause, and I haven't even read the first paragraph. It's this phrase “And Why I Decided to Become One”. It has me stopped cold. It isn't wrong. It's just contrary to my whole life experience. I've written a few pieces lately on what it means to be an essayist, a literary essayist in particular. It was never a choice. It is the way I am. And I think the explorations here and in The Essayist and Essayism demonstrate that. The move was not to decide to become an essayist, but to prefer the title of the disposition over that of the job. I'm a journeyman writer by trade and an essayist by disposition. The first I could choose. The second was an accident of birth, and it remains an unresolved ache.

The Taxonomy of a Simulation

When I finally sat down with the text, and a glass of local apple juice, that initial pause on the word decided deepened into a very specific kind of discomfort. The writing was smooth, balanced, and perfectly structured. It had all the textbook gestures of an essay. It even named the right things; reaching for Gabor Maté, invoking the root meaning of essai, and using an ordinary dish left in a sink as a bridge to universal meaning.

But I am nothing if not a journeyman. My feet have trod many a route through my own thoughts to know how a footpath feels. The difference between the thread left by sheep, the struggle along the wet bridle path navigating the horse's hoof prints and the wide bóthar (cow-track) of wandering cattle. The slopes of a south facing glacier in August. The piece didn't feel like a mind moving through the terrifying fluidity of a genuine inquiry. It felt like an optimization strategy.

It also began to feel like someone had taken the boulders, stones and debris of my own paths and served them up as tarmac path. That the wild, jagged topography of my writing out there on the internet had been quarried, crushed, and bagged into uniform gravel for a suburban driveway. So I pulled away the polished surface to gaze beneath to see the mechanics of a Large Language Model at work. The text was executing a programmatic, parallel matrix; standing the essayist next to the journalist, the academic, and the blogger in a neat, tidy taxonomy to manufacture an authoritative stance.

The Tarmac Methodology

The machine is a master road-layer. It looks at the jagged, uneven terrain of an inquiry and immediately seeks to level it, to make it passable for the casual commuter. It cannot tolerate a sentence that hesitates, or a thought that trips over its own roots.

The ultimate exposure of this tarmac methodology arrived a week later in a follow-up piece where she laid out her process. She reduced the dynamic, unpredictable choreography of thinking to a rigid framework of exactly “seven movements.”

This is where the copy ceases to be faithful to human experience and becomes faithful only to an algorithmic recipe. Generative AI is remarkably adept at mimicking the appearance of a search, but its code is inherently hostile to the very thing that makes an essay an essay: unmanageable uncertainty. An LLM cannot sit in the room with an unresolved ache. Its weights and biases are tuned to solve, to compress, and to deliver a neat, shareable takeaway.

I have lamp in my parlour, placed on table, on a pile of books to facilitate reading by anyone who occupies the adjacent armchair. The antithesis to the way an interior designer places a statement lamp; not to see by, but to be seen seeing. Such is the structured performance of vulnerability, dropping names like Jung or Maté.

Branding Pivot

To choose “essayist” as a branding pivot is to treat the form as an exogenous costume rather than an endogenous honesty. When you write with a prompt to steady your shovel, you are no longer digging where you stand. You are letting a machine level the ground before you even begin the trial.

The essay remains a living tool for public utility and self-examination precisely because it risks the total failure of its own premise. It is a sequence of hesitations, reversals, and small experiments in meaning that survive only because they encounter the unshielded conscience of the person writing them.

As the Fagor cycle hums toward its final spin in the laundry room, and I look at my half-packed bag for tomorrow's flight, and the vacuum cleaner still awaiting it's duty cycle, I am reminded of why we must guard the rough track. The task of the essayist is not to build a smooth, decorative path for an audience. But to lead them safely through the landscape we have begun to explore.

Perhaps now, the task is to find out what can still be believed after the language has broken against the reality of a life. We must protect that brokenness from the automated formula. If we don’t, we aren't writing essays at all; we are just content creators wearing a dead man's title, selling maps to landscapes we never actually walked.

#blog

This past year has been a deeply emotional year for me. I have had some unexpected experiences, numerous high-emotion social interactions. Deep lows, highs, and so much I cannot write in detail in a short blog post on the internet.

What but they accumulated to were life-changing experiences. Positive shifts in self. Grounding, discovery. My own version of communion.

Porn was a part of everything.

It's been nearly four years since I chose to be pornosexual. I didn't start accepting myself completely until recently. I am finding balance in the addiction. Pushing myself for spiritual growth and betterment has led me to explore deeper parts of myself. I am finally at peace with myself.

I don't seek the same validation from others I used to. I can make calmer decisions, especially in social situations. I set boundaries, I stick with them. I stick to my code and actions and honor.

I don't feel like a freak because I love to watch porn nonstop and go on when the mood strikes me.

I don't feel like an outsider because a lot of my free time is devoted to porn.

My porn addiction has unlocked my artistic and creative outlets to one universal umbrella. My mind is full of the 'next steps'.

Even this single confession online started as a chat, and then I knew I had to expand this further, to share with others and let others know there's a path when you choose full pornosexuality.

It's more than being in the horny goon state, all edged out of your mind every moment. It's the fact you are always thinking about being that way.

You reach a point where all of your perverted sexually intrusive thoughts just become a background thought that's always there. A comfort. A reassurance. A blanket. A safe space.

Something you can come back home to in your mind when nothing else seems certain. I have a lot to be proud of because of my pornography addiction. I didn't try to “quit” or “fix it” or do things that force conformity. Instead, I learned what it means to let this just be who I am.

So I explored. Went deeper. Let the rewiring happen. And I'm in so much more peace because of it.

Gooning has helped me so much in my own personal growth, and this is my real truth about my life addicted to porn.

Two recent jazz LP acquisitions from ‘The Vinyl Spinner’ market stall in Monmouth the other weekend: 2 Guitars by Kenny Burrell & Jimmy Raney; and To Someone by The Fred Wesley Quartet.

2 Guitars was recorded and released in 1957. My copy is an ‘80s repress. I was somewhat acquainted with Kenny Burrell’s music, owning a few of his albums already, while his fellow-guitarist Jimmy Raney’s name was less familiar. Belatedly, I realised I’d heard the latter’s playing before on Bob Brookmeyer’s album Trombone Jazz Samba, which had spent some time on my shelves. Burrell and Raney play solo on a ballad apiece, accompanied by Mal Waldron on piano, Doug Watkins on bass and Art Taylor on drums. On the remaining numbers they play together, and are also joined by Jackie MacLean on alto sax and Donald Byrd on trumpet. The two horns push the guitarists back out of the foreground more often than I’d have expected, given their status as co-leaders. There’s nothing exceptional here — but any well-made slice of late-’50s hard bop like this can be a great pleasure to hear. By way of an example tune, ‘Pivot’ is one of the three numbers on the record composed by Waldron.

Fred Wesley is of course best known for his outstanding contributions to funk and soul music in his work with James Brown and George Clinton. I had been quite unaware he was also a jazz musician, so was very curious to hear what To Someone, apparently his debut jazz recording (released in 1990), sounded like. Given its release date, it’s a decidedly conservative affair, all acoustic and very much in the classic ‘50s/‘60s style. With the exception of the aforementioned Trombone Jazz Samba, I can't think of any small band records I’ve heard from that earlier era where a trombone was the only horn, so it made for a change to hear the ‘bone as alone as it is here. While I don’t know that I’m fully convinced that its an ideal lead jazz voice, I did enjoy the record — the playing, recording and mastering are all very good. Wesley’s bandmates (Ken Walker on bass; Bruno Carr on drums; and Joe Bonner on piano) provide sterling accompaniment. I gather the CD version of the album includes another four tracks not included on the vinyl version. The opening number ‘Sandu’ (a Clifford Brown composition) is perhaps my favourite of the six on the LP.

---

On Friday I finished reading The Pen: a Human History by Simon Garfield. This must be at least the third of Garfield’s books that I’ve acquired. Previously I’d quite enjoyed his blends of well-researched history and amiable rambling: this time though, I found myself less in the mood for it, and was left irritated by the sheer quantity and aimlessness of the rambling. There came a point where he quoted what an LLM had responded to his prompt about the future of the fountain pen: had this not been so near the end of the book I would have abandoned it then & there. It’s by no means a book without interest, but it struck me as falling some way short of its potential.

One of the hyperbolic blurbs on the book’s back cover is “Anyone who has read Simon Garfield’s brilliant treasure-chest of fascinating stories will be rushing out to buy a pen” (Jacqueline Wilson). Notwithstanding my dimmish view of the volume, it did indeed contribute toward by decision to buy another fountain pen. I fancied getting a pen with a gold nib, and ended up buying an ‘80s Sheaffer Targa 1001XG (Fig. 44). As the satisfied owner of a regular steel-nibbed Targa, the prospect of getting another fancier one was appealing.

---

Cheese of the week: Little Hereford. This is a revival of a traditional English farmhouse cheese recipe made from unpasteurised milk with a flavour “somewhere between a Caerphilly and a Cheddar: butter, shortbread, cream; getting sweeter and more tangy with age.”

To democratize the essay means stripping away academic gatekeeping and returning to its radical, foundational core: the act of “digging where you stand.” Becoming an essayist does not require an exhaustive literary pedigree or an elite reading list. It requires the raw, accessible willingness to accurately map your own position in the world, writing de bonne foi (in good faith), and maintaining total fidelity to the architecture of your own thoughts.

By shifting the barrier to entry from exogenous knowledge (what you have read) to endogenous honesty (what you perceive), the craft becomes available to anyone with a vantage point.

The most convincing argument for democratising the essay came from mature women in my university classrooms. Sent there by their trade unions, often after years spent raising children, caring for family members and balancing work with responsibility, they arrived with a deep knowledge of everyday life. The union representative role gave them permission to speak publicly, but it did not give them insight. They already possessed that. Doreen, Eileen, Siobhán, Marie and Joan understood the texture of ordinary experience and could command the language of daily life with remarkable precision. What they lacked was not capability but permission: permission to treat their own attention as worthy of sustained inquiry. Once that permission was granted, the essay became available to them.

In this note I'm thinking about how I reconstruct the path to becoming an essayist for these women and men and women like them.

There are three democratic pillars

1: Dig Where You Stand

• The immediate landscape is the primary text. You do not need to look outward for grand, abstract themes to be worthy of writing. • Vantage over pedigree. Every inquiry begins exactly where your feet meet the ground – your specific memory, your local contradiction, or your immediate observation. • Radical accessibility. If you are alive and paying attention to your environment, you already possess the necessary raw material.

2: Operating with Good Faith – De Bonne Foi

• The Montaigne accord. Honoring the classic pact that the text is an honest, unvarnished mirror of a human mind. • Relinquishing performative authority. Writing without a hidden agenda, political posture, or the need to sound like an “expert.” • Visible limitations. Acknowledging your own biases, history, and blind spots as part of the narrative landscape.

3: Fidelity to the Mind's Movement

• Accurate internal reporting. Capturing a thought as it actually occurs, rather than how it should look to satisfy an audience or an editor. • Preserving the mess. Resisting the temptation to tidy up intellectual contradictions or uncertainties just to manufacture a clean conclusion. • The text as a dynamic record. Treating writing as a mirror of an evolving mind in motion, rather than a monument to a settled opinion.

This philosophical shift turns the essay back into a living tool for public utility and self-discovery, rather than a cloistered literary exercise.

David Marshall Montory

Thuis bij zijn ouders Klinkt een lied van Cat Stevens Over onbegrip.

Morning After

// All AI use strictly prohibited

Some awful smell invading Erich's sinuses wakes him up. A headache masks the pain the rest of his body is registering. It's far too bright in the room to open his eyes in this state.

Someone is sitting on the bed next to him. The woman asks him for the number. He tries to turn his head towards her, but doesn't have the strength.

“What's the code to get in, so I get in to get you something for your headache?”

Erich groans.

The woman says nicely, “If you'll give me the code to your container I can get your medicine kit like you asked.”

Erich can't seem to move. He doesn't remember asking anyone to get in his pod. The voice is Marina. The light coming through his eyelids hurts. “What happened?,” he wonders.

He can hear his pod asking for his access code. He slowly gives Marina a five digit sequence. As she starts getting up he says, “six.”

“Huh?”

“The sixth digit is six.”

“Thank you,” she says as she slides off the bed.

He tries to turn towards her and finds he's tied to the four corners of the bed. He passes out again.

Erich comes to. This time there's a man talking. “Mr. Haertner, can you hear me?” Erich groans.

“Mr. Haertner, I'm from university security, I'm here to help you.”

“Here, Mr. Haertner, let me untie you.”

Erich feels someone start to yank on whatever's holding his hand in place. He's not sure which hand, he's not even sure he's face up. It takes a long time and so much shaking to untie the rope. Every shake brings searing pain to his head and makes his stomach consider impersonating a wave pool.

Finally free, his hand drops to the bed. One of Erich's feet gets jostled, he drops out in misery again.

“Mr. Haertner, Mr. Haertner, are you there?”

Erich moans.

“Mr. Haertner, I'm untying your other hand too.”

A hand is jostled, then dropped down onto the bed. It's a painful, noxious experience.

Erich hears banging and a woman's voice.

“Mr. Haertner, I'm from university security, I'm here to help you.”

“Gnaaah”

“Let's get you sitting, then I'll get some water and something for your pain.”

As the man helps Erich up his stomach turns into an artificial anti-gravitational unit and ejects it's contents with vigor.

Gloved hands direct Erich's face a different direction and their owner says, “OK, let's hold off on the water for now.”

Erich sits on the edge of the bed slumped forward.

The man paces. Erich isn't sure he stays awake.

The pacing stops, “Um, let's get you to the armchair, so you can sit on your own.”

Erich gets lifted by the armpits from behind until he's in a standing position. The man duck walks Erich over to the room's padded armchair and helps him sit.

“OK, now that we've got you there, what's the code so I can turn her over to the police.”

Erich sits still as the room tries to keep a hula hoop on its hips. He moans, “Can't help.”

The mans says, “Just let me in and I'll take care of it.”

Erich shakes his head once, regrets it and remains still a moment.

The mans pleads, “Just let me in and I'll take care of it for you.”

Erich mumbles, “I can't.”

“Mr. Haertner, it's OK, I'm from university security, I'll get her to the police for you.”

Erich mumbles, “I can't. She's in the mensch trap. Someone from corporate has to trigger an override and give me a secure code before I can open the door from the outside.”

The man sighs, “The problem is they're not responding right now. Maybe someone fell asleep. You can't open it at all?”

“No”

“Can you give her a code, so she can open it from the inside?”

Erich bows his head away from the light, “No, that would require she have a physical key that is currently outside the pod.”

The man says, “Ah OK,” and pauses a moment before continuing, “I'll call for a blow torch.”

Erich mutters, “It's reinforced, you'll cook her before you can cut a hole.”

The man splutters, “Ah, hm, well, um, hnnOK, she's contained and will have to wait. Let's get you outside for some fresh air. You need to start moving to get over whatever she drugged you with.”

The man lifts Erich to a standing position and leads him out into the hallway.

They slowly pass several rooms then Erich asks for a moment to lean against the wall.

The elevator dings and a woman in a crisp pantsuit heads down the hall towards them. She sees Erich hungover and somewhat green leaning against the wall and turns her nose up at him.

As she's passing Erich says, “Yes.”

She strikes the man hard in the chest, pushing him up against the wall while her other hand shoves a cloth under his nose. The first blow knocked the air out of him, so he takes a deep whiff off of her cloth and crumples unconscious to the ground.

She puts some handcuffs on him, then carefully peels his gloves off him and places them in a plastic bag.

Erich says, “Thanks, he's definitely Russian, but was pretending to be corporate.”

She responds, “He is corp, but I kept him well firewalled.”

The elevator dings again ejecting two guys in suits and unfriendly facial expressions. They walk toward the three jumbled up in the hall. She hands over the baggy of gloves, telling them get it in a contamination container.

She grabs the Russian's unconscious body and drags him back towards Erich's suite.

Once in the room she disrobes the Russian's upper body and shackles him to a chair.

She pulls an IV pack out of her bag and hooks it into him, then uses a stick on hook to hang it on the wall above his head.

“That'll keep him out for a few hours so he can't cause any trouble.”

She pulls his pants down over his knees saying, “Gotta leave the shoes until bomb squad can check for booby traps.”

Members of her team come in and start searching the area with a variety of electronic detectors, flashlights of different light spectrums and many, many cotton swabs.

Two members are stationed to watch the Russian after handcuffing his other arm away from the first one and duct taping his upper body to the chair. His chest is going to get a serious wax job when they untape him. Many of the search and detection devices are used on him and samples are taken.

Erich squeaks to Deb, “You got here quick.”

She motions for silence and leads him out to the hall, then into a room a couple doors down.

She guides him to the couch where he lays down and scrunches into a ball. The fetal position hurts less than everything else he's done since being set free.

Deb says, “Oh, I've been here in town just in case. I was at dinner because you were with Craig. How could I know that's when you'd get yourself kidnapped to your own room?”

“Ha, ha, ow, ow.”

Erich laughs. And cries.

Erich moans, “Ugh, laughing hurts, like 'I just got a root canal into my brain' hurts.

She gives him a few moments.

Impatient for answers, Deb asks, “So, what happened?”

Slowly Erich answers, “I don't know. I was in the bar with Craig and Marina, then I came to with something obnoxious being shoved up my nose and I was tied to my bed.”

Erich changes the topic, “Um, am I sufficiently clothed? Haven't been able to think clear enough to check.”

Deb shrugs one shoulder, “Don't know where your pants are, but you have underwear on under your shirt.”

Deb pulls a hotel robe out of the closet for Erich, “Where did you have dinner?”

He doesn't look up. She lays it over him.

“Hotel bar.”

“Who is Marina?”

Erich answers, “A woman Craig introduced me to yesterday morning. She went on the hike with us.”

Deb cocks her head, “She's the person in the mensch trap?”

Erich nods, “Yes. I think.”

Deb follows up, “What's the last things you remember from before coming to in your room?”

Erich takes a breath, “We ordered dinner and a second round of beers. I went to pee. When I got back the beers were there and Craig and Marina were talking. I sat down and joined the conversation.”

Deb asks if he drank the beer.

Erich responds, “While we were talking I had some beer, but mostly water. When the food came I was drinking beer with dinner.”

“So you ate?”

“Some at least I think. Not sure, but I think so. Then I woke up in pain.”

Deb asks, “Know anyone else who was at the bar?”

“There was a newish waitress named Wilma and Patricia was on duty last night.”

Deb contemplates a moment, “OK, we need to talk to Craig first. You OK to walk?”

Erich groans, “Somewhat.”

Erich stands rather shakily. she helps him put the robe on.

Deb takes Erich's arm to steady him and leads him out the door. They turn towards the elevator.

The elevator dings and Craig steps out.

Erich asks Deb to give him a second with Craig. Deb steps back and gives Erich a few paces. He uses the wall to advance shakily towards Craig.

Craig approaches Erich and yells, “You bastard! How dare you try that!”

Erich winces at volume.

“Hurts?,” Craig shakes a fist at Erich, “Good, you deserve it! Is this how you charge your social batteries?”

Erich is confused, “What?”

Craig yells, “In pain because you fucked up and drugged yourself instead? You fucking bastard!”

Erich protests, “I didn't drug anyone.”

“Bullshit!”

Erich cries a little, “She drugged me.”

Craig “Classic redirect. Blame the victim. Whatever. I'm not going to let you get away wi”

Craig is cutoff as Deb closes the gap, shoves him against a wall and puts a forearm against his throat. He starts to struggle until he feels her knee politely letting his crotch know it needn't remain polite.

Deb stares in Craig's face, “You were at the bar last night?”

Craig replies carefully, “Yeah, we were having dinner when numbnuts here roofied himself. I made comments about him being a lightweight, then Marina and I got him to his room. I acted like he was just drunk and tried to get her out before she realized what he'd tried.”

Stunned, Erich asks, “You helped her load me in my room? I'm up to my armpit in spies and now I'm not certain you weren't in on the whole thing. Did you help her tie me to my bed?”

Craig “Whaaa? No! You were just “

“QUIET! Both of you!”

Craig's eyes dilate at the volume and authority in her voice right in his face.

Simultaneously Erich moans and slides to the ground, curling into a ball.

Deb quietly, calmly, authoritatively says to Craig, “My team will be questioning you. It is of utmost importance you tell them what you saw and heard. Not what you think happened, but the actual actions and events you witnessed. Your truth and accuracy are critical to determining what happened.”

Craig shakes his head, “He tried to roofie her, now he accuses me and then you want me to answer questions? I want a lawyer.”

Deb gives Craig a cold, wan smile, “Cool, you can ask the cops for a lawyer when they get involved, in the meantime you are going to be as truthful and forthcoming to my people as you can.”

Craig protests, “Doesn't sound like that's in my best interest.”

Deb's this smile turns up wryly, “I assure you, not cooperating as well as you can is in your worst interest.”

Deb jabs her watch and says “Two interrogators.”

A moment later the door of her hotel suite opens. A man and a woman exit, both in dark blue suits.

Deb cants her head at Craig, “He's a witness for last night, maybe a participant. Find out what he knows, I need a timeline.”

Deb releases Craig and the woman grabs his arm pinning it painfully behind him.

The man says, “Hello, nice to meet you. She won the bet, so I'm stuck being good henchman. It's like being good cop except we're all expendable.”

Craig whimpers as he is moved to the elevator.

Deb turns to Erich, “Well, that went shitty.”

Testing, Testing

// All AI use strictly prohibited

Deb gets Erich back to her suite.

A woman looks in from the other room of the suite, Deb nods.

Deb guides Erich towards a bathroom.

“Have you eaten or drunk anything since you woke up?”

“No, the Russian tried to give me some pills, but I managed to avoid them by puking on his shoes.”

“Glad you're putting those self-defense classes to good use.”

The woman emerges with a cart that has a couple boxes on top.

Deb tells Erich “This is agent Martinez, she's going to administer your rape kit.”

Rape kit? What? I don't need that.

Deb “While it doesn't look like you were sexually assaulted, you were roofied and woke up tied to your bed in your underwear. We are absolutely processing you with a rape kit. You are covered in evidence.”

“You can't without my permission, I've seen that on TV shows and I don't give my permission.”

“The police can't. I can.”

“Whaaa? How?”

“Your contract lets me.”

“No, there's nothing about a rape kit in the contract.”

“In case of security emergency, who is in charge?”

“You are, but “

“Correct,” she pauses for effect, “I am.”

She continues, “You were drugged and compromised. Someone got into your pod. When shit went wrong the first person to show up was a Russian mobster I had specifically assigned to a different city this week. Rape kits gather evidence even if there was no sexual assault.”

Deb turns Erich's face to look at her, “Look, we are balls deep in a security crisis here and I don't have any balls. What I do have is the authority to do what I need in order to regain the situation, keep you safe and assess if there's been compromise to any of your projects.”

She points at the bathroom door, “Now, get in there and give her access to any part of your body or clothing she asks for and do whatever she says. Without complaint!”

Erich gives Deb a sad look and asks, “Can we get a guy?”

Deb shakes her head, “In over 90% of rape cases the victim is a woman, so we mostly have female tech specialists for administering the rape kits. The nearest man qualified for our rape kits is three hours out at best, which is too late.”

“Our rape kits?”

“We use a much more extensive kit than the police. No more questions! Evidence is spoiling. Get in there!”

Agent Martinez takes Erich into bathroom. When she re-emerges to get the cart Deb loudly whispers “Handcuff him and use the cattle prod if you need.”

Agent Martinez winks at Deb now certain that Erich will fully cooperate.

Martinez emerges later with the cart and says he can cleanup now.

Deb “Any significant injuries? Does he need treatment?”

Martinez, “Nah, a few small bruises, but nothing significant. He does have some rope burns and it looks like he was dragged some as he also has carpet burns. We'll see what the substance screens tell us, but no geiger activity.”

Deb relaxes a little, “Thanks!”

Deb steps into the bathroom where a now totally naked Erich is curled up on a chair.

Deb reaches out, “Let's get you in the tub.”

Erich stares at her, “No woman's seen me naked since I got married, now two of you.”

“Poor woman, your wife.”

“No woman other than her!”

Deb laughs, “OK, I was wondering about the kids.”

Erich glowers.

Deb says, “Look, if it comes up, I'll tell her I didn't look because I really really do not want to know about that Betty Boop tattoo.”

Erich gives her a look that could Boop her head off.

Deb grabs him and gets him to the walk-in tub for one. She gets him seated on the bench, closes the tub door, then starts filling it with warm water. She adds some unscented soap. Once the water gets over his calves some jets kick on, swirling the water and massaging his muscles.

“OK, I'm going to step out now. If you need something pull this emergency alert cord, it'll notify us. We'll have fresh clothes for you by the time you're done.”

Deb walks out leaving Erich to wonder what the hell is going on.

Erich falls asleep. It's a home care tub and there isn't enough horizontal space for him to fall over and drown. The backrest works and the fresh towel for a pillow is sufficiently soft. He is a little cramped, but not enough to keep him awake.

Erich wakes to Deb gently shaking him and saying it's time to deal with some problems. She hits the release that opens the drain plug and tells him a male nurse will be in to help him dry and get dressed.

Deb leaves and a guy in scrubs walks in. He's not corporate. He picks up a fluffy, full-sized towel and hands it to Erich. “Hi, I'm Anthony, you get to do as much of this as you feel up to, but I will help in whatever way you need.”

“Cool, get me two whiskey sours.”

Anthony sighs, “Let me add a constraint, I will help in whatever medicinal or physical therapy way you need.”

“Medicinal? OK, make it the entire bottle of whiskey.”

Anthony smirks, “If it's medicinal I can only administer it anally. Would you like me to just shove the bottle up your ass or would you prefer a bag with a drip and a tube into your rectal cavity?”

Erich gasps, “Oh god, you're related to her aren't you?”

Anthony laughs, “We met in a mandatory philosophy class. The prof is still in therapy.”

Erich laughs, but as little as he can manage. He feels like Tokyo after Godzilla went on a bender.

With assistance from the nurse he gets his clothes on. In the right order, he thinks. There was no cape, so he's pretty sure the underwear goes on the inside.

They walk out of the bathroom.

Deb complements him and ask him to spin for her.

He flips her off and tells her to spin on that.

The room wobbles a bit, so he again seeks refuge on the couch.

She hands him a couple tablets for the pain and a small glass of water.

He gets that down without physical rejection.

She grabs another glass and tells him it's electrolytes. “Drink this. Slowly.”

Deb asks, “Do you know what she's after? Who she's working for?”

Erich shakes his head, “She told us she's a astrophysicist.”

Deb “Us?”

Erich “Me and Craig.”

Deb “Craig, who might be in on it?”

Erich “I was pissed about Craig thinking I would roofie someone, but, no, he's not in on it or at least didn't know what it was. Craig wouldn't help someone do that to me or anyone else. Well, maybe the bastards that ended up killing his spouse, but even then only in order to dunk them head first into a full portable toilet.”

Deb “We'll see what comes out of the interrogation.”

Erich “They won't hurt him will they?”

Deb “Nah, plus we don't need to.”

“As to what she's after,” Erich shrugs, “I presume my work. I've been working on a rocket fuel paper that would save 3% of weight by volume. I've also been working on a new big boom.”

Deb nods.

Erich says, “There's also the documentation project.”

Deb pretends to not know about the documentation project and the faked results they've been letting Russian spies find.

Deb tells Erich to go pee.

She hands him a second electrolyte drink when he comes out of the bathroom. “We need to rehydrate you and flush out whatever she drugged you with.”

After he drinks half of it, she says, “Now, let's go see how the team is doing with clearing your room.”

They leave her suite and walk back down the hallway to Erich's suite.

Marina Has a Decision

// All AI use strictly prohibited

The agents posted outside Erich's suite say the suite has been cleared. They caution that the pod hasn't been cleared as Marina's still locked in the mensch trap.

As they enter they can see the Russian is gone. Deb sends the last two of her people out as well.

Deb goes over to the pod and introduces herself as head of security.

Marina pleads for the pod to be opened to let her out.

Deb says they can't do that.

Deb tells Marina that if she cooperates she can build some trust and they can coordinate getting her out.

Marina asks quietly, “How?”

“What are you after? Who are you working for?” asks Deb.

Marina says hurriedly, “I can't say.”

Adamantly Deb counters, “We need to know who we're dealing with to let you out.”

Marina whines, “I can't say.”

Deb says, “We can protect you.”

Marina inhales, “Not worried about me.”

“Your sister?” asks Erich.

Marina doesn't answer, but they can hear her crying.

Deb says softly, “Talk to us, so we can figure out how to help you.”

Marina sobs, “I can't, not safe to talk.”

“Actually, it is.” responds Deb.

Marina says, “No! They can hear.”

Deb counters, “They can't. The room turned into a Faraday cage when you set off the security alarms. The box you're in is also a Faraday cage. We can talk only because there are microphones and speakers hard wired to let sound through, but no radio waves.”

Marina says, “Your staff isn't safe.”

Deb responds, “My staff is gone.”

“Huh?”

Deb says, “I sent everyone away.”

Marina says, “But, you're not in charge, there's a “

Erich exclaims, “She's in charge. That guy was a mole and will be answering questions later.”

Erich continues, “Look, the room is clear, if Deb says we can talk without being observed or overheard, then we can.”

Marina whines, “No, no, can't trust you.”

Deb sighs and turns to Erich, “Let's step outside.”

Marina sobs, “Don't go! Please let me out!”

Quick Information

// All AI use strictly prohibited

After a few minutes typing on her phone Deb announces, “Well, it looks like her sister hasn't been kidnapped. Her phone is reporting she's on the college campus and video confirms it's her.”

“According to her normal patterns she leaves this class and goes for lunch, then gets boba on her way back for her next class. She doesn't always go to the same place for lunch.”

“Her normal patterns?” asks Erich.

“Yeah, we bought her location data for the last six months. She has been following this pattern since the semester started. More data is rolling in.”

Erich follows up, “I thought they wouldn't sell actual data, just general access to make anonymous queries.”

Deb shakes her head, “Nah, you could always get full data if you'd pay enough.”

She continues, “Since the tech bros and their crypto scams collapsed the dollar the data hoarders are now in the gig economy. We get what we want quickly and cheaply or we buy from someone else. There's way more supply of stalker data than demand.”

Erich protests, “But the Canadian government can't do that type of thing.”

Deb laughs, “Yeah, but we're corp. We also have daughter companies in the US, which are unlimited, just like every other company in the US.”

She looks at her phone, “Anyway, looking at the data we have so far, hmmm.”

She looks at Erich, “If they're going to grab her it will be on the way back from lunch. She'll have an empty bladder, so no mess in the van and she'll be sluggish from post lunch food coma.”

She frowns, “If they're going to kill her they'll do it on her way to lunch. Get it over and leave a mess for whoever has to retrieve the body. Gig assassins don't want to give another team the opportunity to score the hit and get the payday.”

Once Upon A Seattle Knoll

// All AI use strictly prohibited

Annette leaves class, going out the building and across the street to the grassy hill.

Today is cloudy with white skies and muted shadows. Normal and perfect for Seattle.

She hurries as her stomach rumbles. Gyros today if there isn't much of a line as they have the fastest service. A vegetarian wrap would be awesome, but they're always slow. If there's a line at the gyros place and also at its sister hamburger joint she'll go two more doors to the rice bowl place.

That freaky guy this morning spooked her and she forgot her midmorning snack of vegetables and hummus. Now she's hungry and needs a restroom.

She climbs the hill and the crows are active in the trees above her, cawing to each other.

She hopes they're saying nice things about her as she does sometimes give them leftover pita bread or even unshelled peanuts.

As she comes eye level to the top of the hill she can see two guys standing at one tree embracing.

She crests the hill to the sidewalk and can see another pair having a picnic under a different tree.

Love everywhere and she's holed up with her sister in a low quality apartment. At least they each have their own room, so if she does meet someone there are options.

She notices both couples are now on the ground getting active. Synchronized passion? Hmm, no, not active with each other, just suddenly busy. She nearly trips while looking sideways up the hill.

Suddenly two skateboarders are tearing down the sidewalk at her. The first nearly hits her as she goes by Annette. Annette turns to avoid being hit and sees the woman slam into a guy who had been coming up the sidewalk behind Annette.

The woman grabs the guys briefcase as she knocks him to the ground. She swings a backpack down off her back and stuffs the briefcase in it. Then she gently places the backpack on the ground and connects a d-ring to the guy's belt as he's trying to get back up.

Where did the d-ring come from and why is the guy now floating off?

Skater chick pushes a button and the guy flying off falls the 20 feet to the ground and a drone crashes into him.

Annette turns to run and finds her way blocked by skater dude who has his skateboard up on the left side of his body. In the bodily collision she notes he's marvelously muscled. His skateboard is unfolding, like if you'd folded a piece of paper up and were now unfolding it.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see the two guys throwing things to the ground and grabbing a big duffel bag.

Skater chick comes up behind Annette and using a rope with d-rings on either side straps Annette to skater dude. Skater chick then turns and her skateboard starts de-origamiing as well. Annette tries to undo a d-ring. The guy's hot, but kidnapping really, really invalidates all those thoughts.

The two unfolding skateboards now look like sides of a large box and start connecting together. Skater dude puts a helmet on Annette's head and tells her to keep her mouth open. He picks her up and puts her feet on top of his feet. The skateboard box somehow built a floor and he's standing on it.

She hears noises above and looks up into the cloudy sky. Drones start appearing from above carrying large rectangles of metal. The metal is sliding down over the outer sides of the skateboard box.

Something hits the box and causes it to ring like a loud bell. The concussion shakes the three of them.

Another set of drones appears from above. There's another concussive hit. The new drones have cables that connect to the box and Annette feels it lift into the air, then start swaying. She thinks it's going back downhill towards the street.

She hears more things hitting the box, but less concussive now. The box jumps and spins as she hears branches breaking.

She doesn't need to pee anymore and two pairs of shoes are getting soaked.

---

// © 2026 Plot Experiments, all rights reserved // All AI use strictly prohibited

@plot_experiments@bookstodon.com

#PlotExperiments #PodLife #LSMB #AIuseforbidden #noAI

For my own dignity, I want to say that I was never an E dater, but I definitely did end up in somewhat social circles, especially coming with being good at league And playing on Smurf accounts most of the time. A few of the friends that I made were E daters, and the kind that would constantly jump around with new girlfriends, and I would play with them, and I was always happy to boost people. Ever since I have stopped using TikTok as much I’ve noticed my algorithm is a bit more volatile, and I have somehow ended up on e dater TikTok. Specifically, for some reason people who are mourning losing a past booster, and I see in the comments people sharing similar sentiments. And I see people on both sides of this community. I used to look in on, and I’m really thankful that I’m not there anymore. I feel like I am so detached from that where I almost find it hard to call myself a gamer in the same way anymore. And I’m a little bit grateful for that.

Geocache Delight

// All AI use strictly prohibited

Across the fence the group can now see many massive natural gas fueled generators attached to the AI data center. Each would have sounded like a jet aircraft taking off.

Running most of the generators 24/7 like the data center had been doing reportedly shook the forest with sound waves in addition to all the chemical and carbon pollution it was throwing into the air.

Erich breaks out the compass and paper map. Using the compass he gets a couple bearings with mountains and the nearest corner of the massive data center complex. Via triangulation he locates where the group is standing and where to head for the geocache location he'd marked on the map before the trip.

They could use GPS to find the clues, but where's the fun in that? Lots of geocachers like the challenge of hand-navigating. Many just like wandering around and looking for hidden treasure. Those who go furthest afield from the parking spot tend to be most likely to be using maps and compasses.

A group of scientists is certainly going to jump at an opportunity to use instruments, especially if the other tool is polluting the night sky.

Geocaches have a log book and maybe small pieces of treasure. Albeit the treasure is usually cheap tchotchkes. The geocaching site says this particular cache is a hidden silicon weatherproof container.

When the data center was announced the geocache became a log of the state of the destruction as chunks of forest were cut down. There were lots of references to the final phrase of a particular Canadian rock song, “by hatchet, axe and saw”.

Independent media had daily news coverage of the protests out on the main road. The destruction of pristine forest near a critical river had not gone over well locally. Being on a tech bro's private property hid the destruction, but didn't prevent discontent. But, independent media didn't have much impact on the general public in the provence.

For the nightly news the protests were too far off to see the forest eradication. Drone coverage gave an overhead view, but it didn't have people in front of it, so didn't get many clicks or airtime. Robot drones taking pictures of a new robot complex didn't have the human interest touch, so the news stuck with personal interest topics like ice cream trucks and cats in trees.

There was also the one ice cream truck in a tree story. A gig worker fell asleep at the wheel of an ice cream truck and went over an embankment. The truck got stuck in a tree and they needed a crane to rescue the driver and then lower down the wreck. While waiting for a tow truck the local police gave the ice cream away rather than letting it all melt.

The children declared a city holiday in name of the poor guy who got a hefty ticket. He might be broke, but Ice Cream Gary is famous in that small town. He's also named in one of the bills that reigned in gig work in British Columbia. They used both his holiday moniker and his actual last name in the bill language.

The geocache was created years ago at the edge of the forest boundary to encourage people to respectfully visit and use the public forest. It's one of several in the forest and closest to backside of the private land where the data center was built.

The cache objects mostly became postcards and pictures of unadulturated rivers, lakes and forests. As a protest it was small, but the steady stream of reports reminded local council of what they'd allowed when they approved rezoning the private property for industrial use. They were consistently shown pictures of the destruction from the public forest perspective.

The tech bro put up taller fences. The geocachers got longer sticks to hold up their cameras or climbed trees. There were also wide area shots from nearby mountain sides. Not to mention the aerial photography.

The generators, their air pollution and their noise were only permitted in case the main power went out. But, the data center used 50% more power than it was permitted for, so always had generators running. Discovery from lawsuits showed that was intentional, they knew permits didn't allow enough power and they had always planned to run the generators.

That con worked in the US, especially in Texas with its unregulated and unhinged power grid. It did not work in British Columbia. Alberta might embrace that kind of pollution and burning of fossil fuels, but BC does not.

With no neighbors the tech bro figured there wouldn't even be complaints. Plus he could steal from and pollute the river that passed by his property. Just like he didn't seek copyrights to ingest books, he didn't seek water rights to ingest water.

He hadn't counted on park rangers. Tech bros learned early to be cautious of librarians because librarians are resourceful, dedicated and organized. Worst of all, they help people without exploiting them. Librarians are the antithesis to the self-centered tech bros.

This tech bro hadn't realized park rangers are the nature equivalent of librarians. They're do gooder geeks who prefer hiking to books. They like books too, just often prefer to enjoy them outdoors rather than indoors. When those fossil fuel engines turned on and stayed on. It took the park rangers a few months, but they got the noise pollution machines turned off.

Then, in an electoral rebuttal to the council's data center approvals, the voters helped several council members free up time in the evenings as they no longer needed to attend meetings. One lost that free time and the rest of his time after being convicted of taking bribes. It might be allowed in the US, but Canada still prosecutes bribery.

Another council member fled to the US where he reportedly gets food poisoning a couple times a month. Vancouverites hope he's learning the value of government safety regulations.

Emily spots the rock formation described on the geocaching site.

As the group walks towards the rock formation DQ points at some large black birds among the trees, then says in a hushed tone, “Look, day shadows from the peaks of the Bollywoods on New India.”

“They live in the third level of quadruple canopy where they always have shadows for cover. Males grow webbing between their tailfeathers, using it to catch insects. They fly into streams of light netting insects to take back to the nest. Seeing one is a good omen. Not seeing one is a good way to get a face full of bugs and bird net. A group of day shadows is called a fishing village.”

They all watch the birds watching them. More birds join alight in the treetops. The scientists give the village some space.

From the rock pile Erich shoots a new azimuth and paces off 42 meters. From that spot he shoots yet another azimuth and paces off in in that direction.

When the tech bro found out geocachers were giving updates he had some goons go out and steal the metal box used for the cache. Another metal geocache was created. He had that one stolen. Geocachers started putting in the redirections using basic rot13 encryption and some simple math for the numbers.

That was too complex for the goons. They went out with metal detectors and started just kicking over everything in the area looking for the hidden cache. That got the park rangers involved.

Several of the goons were banned from public lands in all BC. The tech bro got a finger waggle, but also had to stop construction for two weeks. The rangers needed time to investigate the criminals who had entered from the data center destruction area. The start of the investigation had to wait for couple of days of national holiday.

Now that the data center is closed the geocache is safe and gets updates on local conditions.

DQ finds the cache. Logs from a couple weeks ago confirm there's still an opening in the fence off to the right. They'll write a log entry about conditions when they leave. DQ adds an inexpensive rainbow ring in the cache. Erich adds a photo from Stargate Atlantis showing the base surrounded by water.

The group heads to the fence, then off to the right. A few meters later they find a large hole cut in the fence. Craig goes through, then Erich and Emily hold the sides open wider so DQ can get through without snagging anything snazzy.

Marina is encouraged to go next, then Emily suggests Erich go next as her holding the fence might help his large frame. She didn't say anything about Marina's large frame, though Marina is almost as tall as Erich. Emily's short, muscular body easily fits through to join the rest.

Erich walks in the direction of the security entrance. At the security door he confirms the lock model. He spent the last several weeks practicing picking that model. It's a difficult pick, but he's confident he can get it in a few minutes.

Off to the side, Craig reminds everyone of the ground rules. They are there to check out and document the current conditions, but no souvenirs. Emily mumbles about a student budget. Craig laughs, but notes stealing something exposes everyone.

Emily says requiring a student to choose between tech and Hortons is certainly a violation of her human rights.

Craig offers to skip a Hortons run and buy her some RAM, then she can avoid needing to call the Hague. Besides, the server RAM in the DC won't fit her laptop.

She smiles and says deal.

DQ makes a noise.

Craig sighs a little, “Yes DQ?”

DQ blubbers, “But, but, but what if I find some really cool insects or other animals? Gold-seeking moths of Teledosia will be in the US going after the surveillance cameras, but there might be magnesium mites or copper consuming caterpillars. The rare earth minerals might have drawn some Dickinsonian Squabblers or the shiny metals might have attracted some Mercurial Mockingbirds.”

Craig stares at DQ, “I don't think taking flora and fauna samples counts as stealing.”

DQ mumbles “Darn”, then louder, “I mean cool, I have specimen jars in my bag.”

Craig winces, “But I fear a scream off between those two birds.”

Emily volunteers that Erich certainly has enough new earplugs in his backpack for everyone.

With ground rule reminders complete and that reminder, they all turn to watch Erich.

Feeling their gaze he says he's going as quickly as he can, then loses his grip on the tensioner and has to start again.

DQ announces there's more likely to be insects outside than inside and asks everyone to quietly help her find some bugs to inspect. They all move away from the security entrance giving Erich room to work. There are a surprising number of spider webs in the bushes. DQ observes them from afar referencing the wraith spider from Stargate that would drain your life force.

Marina spots a blue and black bird on a branch.

DQ uses binoculars for a closer look, “Oh, that's an Aldebranian cult of the sabbath jay, named after the famous tour of Blue Őyster Cult and Black Sabbath by the great-great grandson of Ozzy and Sharon.”

DQ continues, “He discovered the bird and was also the first in the Osborn family tree to finish grade school before going on to attend the Saturnian School of Ornithology. Such a strange place for a school of ornithology since Saturn and its moons have no birds.”

Craig chuckles, “Well, keeps you from being distracted from your studies by real world experience, kind of like being a theoretical physicist.”

DQ perks up, “Right you are!”

“Got it.”

They all turn to see Erich opening the security door.

Into the DC

// All AI use strictly prohibited

A rather foul air escapes the room as Erich swings the door open and steps back away from the stench.

Craig hides behind DQ in case something comes flying out to attack them. DQ assumes some sort of Charlie's Angels pose.

Emily shrugs and walks over to the door. Marina again wonders what she's gotten herself into, then follows Emily.

Assured by the bravery of their compatriots and their lack of being attacked, DQ and Craig follow into the building.

Erich made sure everyone got their N95s and goggles on before letting them in. He dons his own and follows last.

Erich gets his normal flashlight out. Everyone else turns on their phone flashlights as they enter the dark, windowless room.

It's dusty and smells of stale food. There's a ginormous monitor still on the wall. Too much of a good thing to be carried out, but most of the smaller monitors are gone. The security station mini-PCs are also gone.

They stir up dust as they slowly move about the room. Craig says he's glad they masked for protection from heavy metal poisoning.

DQ responds that Missus Roboto is fun to perform.

Emily looks confused.

DQ elaborates, “It's a song from the 80's.”

Emily, “Oh, my parents weren't born yet.”

Craig acts like he's been slapped, “Oh that hurts. My parents were born in the 80's and my grandparents used to play Styx all the time. They had actual CDs and insisted listening to entire albums. Not sure why they were albums because there's no A in C or D.”

“But there is one in AC/DC and Highway to Hell is a great Halloween drag song!” quips DQ.

Erich says, “Duuuudette, no joke. You really do a great job in the black light for that one!”

Craig does a bad Shaggy impersonation, “Speaking of spooky, there's a granola bar floating by the wall.”

They all turn to look where he's pointing. Sure enough there's a granola bar on the wall. It's offset like it's floating.

Craig takes a look and announces it's on a hard drive magnet.

To test he pulls on the granola bar. It comes off pretty easily, so it's not glued.

Craig says, “The magnet is holding it up, must be a US product with metal shavings in it.”

Marina blurts out, “What?”

Emily responds, “Yeah, we feel sorry for y'all, having to bleach your fruits, vegetables and meats and use metal detectors on processed foods.”

Craig adds, “You can't even trust the bleach. I mean, how do you contaminate bleach? Multiple times.”

Emily says, “What kind of bacteria are they cultivating that it survives in bleach?”

Craig strikes a pose and says, “That's why I only clean with pure Canadian maple syrup. Sure, everything's sticky, but it's tastefully shiny.”

Erich laughs and almost drops his flashlight.

Marina mutters about no meat for most people in the US.

Through a big window they can see into the man trap. Customers visiting the data center would have had to come in that way.

Security on either side of the trap would have searched people before they were allowed into the man trap hallway. There are doors at the either end of the hallway. The doors can't be opened from the inside and only one end can be open at a time. Once in the man trap people can't get back out until security opens one of the doors.

This setup allows security to constrict entry and exit from the data center. It also allows them to search everyone on the way in and again on the way out.

Rumours have it that after the DC shut down someone broke in on their own via the front door and got stuck in the man trap. With no one in security he couldn't get out. He was in bad shape when some other thieves found him a few days later. They grabbed the parts they could carry, then one of them called in anonymously about him once they were back in Vancouver.

Today's expedition entered from the security office to avoid needing to enter the man trap.

The lock from the security office to the cages would be easy for Erich to pick if they needed, but it's been left unlocked.

Emily announces the lock has been superglued open and says to cross the data center off the list of places to seek refuge in case of zombie apocalypse.

Craig counters that there are probably more granola bars packed with iron here somewhere, part of a nutritious breakfast.

In the data centers cages some complete systems are missing. Nearby are some that were opened and left hanging or pushed back without their covers on.

Craig asks if they just shoved servers in backpacks and carried them out, or maybe they had wagons.

Erich says the first round of thieves were probably gig workers ordered to shut the place down. They probably loaded the missing computers with as much loose ram and GPUs as they could fit and filled up car trunks before heading back to the main gate. The gig worker security guards might have already been gone. If not a bag of RAM worth 6 months salary was probably rather convincing to just go with the flow.

Further in they find servers that are just missing components like RAM and GPUs.

In one room the mother boards, power supplies and other guts are also missing. That takes up a lot less room than a full chassis and a used chassis is rather cheap.

DQ sadly doesn't find any heavy metal or radiation evolved animals.

They notice all the security cameras have been removed or taped over. The cables have also been cut, so the microphones won't work either.

Many of the walls are covered in grafiti. One of the empty cages has a removed door with a curtain hanging in the doorway. Inside the cage there are cushions, candles and empty wine bottles. There are also art supplies. Emily reiterates the DC is not a haven against zombies as the scientists are all certain bohemian artists will be the first to be infected.

Having had enough stale air and tired of needing to turn their phone flashlights back on every five minutes they head back out.

As they head back to the geocache they note the black birds are still there. One flies over and drops a key. Erich picks it up and says it would have been convenient to have that earlier. He spreads out three shiny loonies on a tree stump for the birds and turns back to the cache. Black birds definitely have a favorite colour, shiny.

DQ pulls out some colorful pens and a sticker kit to add a log entry. Erich puts the key in the cache and takes a postcard from Sequoia National Park in the US. It's an antique since the forest it depicts doesn't have huge chunks burnt down.

This data center was bad enough, but in the US they poisoned waterways and dried out entire ecosystems by stealing the water.

While DQ illustrates a log entry the rest have some snacks. Empty-handed Craig gladly accepts the apple and an energy bar.

DQ finishes writing, drawing and stickering, then puts the log back in the cache and closes it. They take a group photo and head back up the trail towards the car.

DQ and Emily forge ahead while the other three take their time.

This gives Marina a chance to ask what's up with the exobiology.

Craig says DQ's non-drag personality is gravely afraid of bugs, but Albert and his wife have kids who are in the bug loving stage of childhood. The group came up with the exobiologist idea to help DQ be enthusiastic about bugs hoping that would make it easier for Albert to conquer his fear.

“Albert?”

“DQ's scientific name.” responds Erich.

Marina looks puzzled.

Erich laughs, “When not in drag DQ is a scientist named Albert, so we call Albert their scientific name.”

Marina asks, “Wife and kids, DQ isn't gay?”

Erich shakes his head, “Not in the slightest. Well, hmm, DQ might be, but Albert is decidedly not.”

Erich continues, “Albert is as much a science geek as the rest of us, but had no life and no personality outside of science. He was really happy, but becoming less enthusiastic about the non-science parts of life.”

Craig interjects, “Hum drum and bored, not depression. Just the monotony was slowing him down. He didn't have anything outside of science.”

Erich nods, “Yeah. A friend from the research group invited him to a drag show event one night. He said no, but his friend insisted.”

Craig adds, “Albert loved it. He had unbridled enthusiasm for learning and for science and hadn't ever seen that kind of response in non-geeks for anything exept maybe sports. It was like finding his people again.”

“Albert's wife is OK with Albert also being DQ?” asks Marina.

Craig chuckles, “They met at a drag show. DQ was performing and she was in the audience. After the performance DQ walked the crowd and when Alex smiled at DQ her chiffon melted.”

Erich adds, “Yeah, Alex is fine with DQ's double-life and loves them in both personalities. The kids love Albert becoming DQ for Drag Queen Story Time at a local cafe. The problem is finding time to do it all.”

Craig notes, “At the conference DQ will be Albert. Not embarrassed by being DQ, but Albert is quiet and very serious.”

Marina cocks her her head, “So, opposite of DQ?”

Craig shakes his his head, “No, not opposite, but decidedly different.”

Erich adds, “Both roles are intelligent and very passionate, just in different ways.”

Craig changes the subject, “Speaking of value”, Craig indicates Erich, “we were talking about how poorly the dollar values to the loonie. Can you afford food while you're up here? Especially eating out, each meal has to be a week's worth of expenses for you.”

Marina says, “I got a sponsorship from a Canadian foundation for my travel expenses. It's the only reason I only got to come to the conference. I get a food allowance as well. It even includes beer.”

Craig smiles, “As a brewer I can confirm beer is food.”

Erich ribs Craig, “Especially a brewer who is half-Scot and half-Canook.”

Craig parries with, “Two halves make it double!”

Craig puts his hand in the air.

Erich shakes his head, but reluctantly doesn't leave his friend hanging.

Marina says, “Breakfast this week is the first time I've had eggs in years as they're too expensive and too unsafe back home.”

Erich mutters, “Sheesh.”

Marina says, “The sponsorship is enough to pay for two small meals out and the hotel has free breakfast, so I'm one of the few Americans who gets three meals a day this week.”

Marina adds, “I'm also one of the few who gets coffee since the conference has sponsored coffee breaks.”

Craig to Erich, “She really had the zooms the first couple days.”

Craig to Marina, “Did you come up early so you get more meals?”

Marina shakes her head, “Helping with the setup is covering my conference fees, but yeah, I would've come up early just to get extra meals.”

Erich exhales, “Damn.”

Craig smiles at Marina, “Well, I'll buy you lunch today.”

“And I'll sport you for dinner and drinks with the gang tonight,” adds Erich.

Marina shakes her head again, “No need, I have to spend the food allowance here. It's only good in Canada during the week of the conference. The limits are part of the visa exception for letting an American in.”

“US citizen”, Erich and Craig say in unison.

Marina looks down sheepishly, “Yes, that.”

Craig asks, “Can you use it at grocery stores?”

Marina shrugs, “Sure, it worked for snacks at a convenience store on the first night, so I think so.”

Craig responds, “Cool, then, as said, we'll buy you lunch and dinner, you save your food money.”

Marina objects, “It's use it or lose it.”

Erich nods, “Yup, so use it to buy groceries the last day and take those home on the train. Craig said you took the train, did you?”

Marina nods, “Yes, the trip from Seattle to Vancouver was beautiful as it's on the coast for most of the route.”

Craig adds, “You also told me you live with your sister who is a college student, so this way you can help her out.”

Marina gives a guilty look.

Erich plows past it, “You can take extra suitcases on the train, they'll even check them for you, so it's not even more work for you.”

Marina objects again, “I don't have extra suitcases.”

Erich offers, “I can give you my suitcases. It's easy to just put my stuff away in my container, so I don't really need them.”

Craig asks Erich, “Why do you even have suitcases?”

Erich shrugs, “I can pack ahead of time and it saves trips in an out of the container. Plus, I already had them, so used what I had. They don't really help on the way home and I have several duffel bags at home. Those will work just fine for future trips.”

Craig back to Marina, “So, save your per diem and take care of your family.”

Marina whimpers, “Everybody's been so kind all week. I'm a visiting foreigner, I feel like I'm imposing.”

Erich shakes his head, “We all took turns buying Emily meals her first couple years. She was a student with a part-time job.”

Craig chimes in, “And people helped take care of us at the beginnings of our careers.”

Erich laughs, “Except Albert, he had pre-planned everything including budget and didn't need help.”

Craig “Yeah, but we had to help Albert a few years in when he discovered drag and was spending all their money building up DQ.”

Erich nods, “True. And the reward has been worth it!”

Craig smiles, “Indeed.”

Erich turns back to Marina, “So, we'll get your lunches and dinners. We'll even spot for coffees or bobas if we go out as a group. It's a nice conference center, but there's a lot more to Vancouver.”

As they approach the car Marina notes DQ has re-donned the morning's dress. she suspects that's why Emily and DQ hurried back, to give DQ time for a costume change.

On the drive to the city they agree to listen to Erich's science play list. It has lots of They Might Be Giants, so DQ still has opportunity to perform in situ.

Back at the hotel Emily says she needs to call the kids and prepare for her presentation in the morning. DQ says a long bubble bath awaits.

Erich, Craig and Marina agree to meet down at the restaurant for dinner and drinks in an hour.

Hotel Food

// All AI use strictly prohibited

Erich goes down to the bar early. It's a typical hotel bar, dark and noisy with lots of large screens.

He chooses the table on the left in the far back. Though somewhat in an alcove it can be seen from the door.

Most importantly he has access to control the speaker volume and the nearby screens. The welcome packet says it's a perk of having the primary pod suite. It also has a reserved sign on it, so he doesn't have to worry about anyone else grabbing the table.

A waitress comes by and he tells her he's waiting for couple friends.

“Are you new?,” asks Erich.

The waitress says she's been there ten months.

“I'm in town once a year, so that's new for me,” he grins, “I'm Erich, what's your name?”

She answers, “Wilma. And the bartender already let me know you're allowed to use this table.”

Erich says, “Nice to meet you Wilma. Yeah, it seems I've got a standing reservation for this table, well sitting anyway.”

“By the way, I'm covering for my group tonight, so please bill for all three of us to my room at the end.”

She nods.

“I'm early. Go ahead and ignore me until they show up. Then please bring us waters as we'll need to hydrate a little before the beers start.”

“OK, do you want a water now?” she responds.

“Nah, I'm good for now.”

Erich flips on the black lights as she walks away. His automations had already switched the speakers to music and turned it down when he arrived. Not that Anne Murray was loud to begin with. The nearby TVs were already on science streams, so nothing to change there.

Though in a public setting, Erich is hoping for some quiet time to recharge some more.

Craig shows up 15 minutes later as Erich is catching up on Science Media. Erich gets up and gives him a big hug, not near as good as DQ, but hopefully still reassuring for him.

Both are wearing science t-shirts, blue jeans and sneakers. Their shoes glow under the black light. Erich has his hair back in a ponytail. Craig is straining the limits of his t-shirt. Erich is concerned about what he sees of Craig's health since Sam died. He was struggling on the light hike today.

Craig has long had a belly, Sam could cook and Craig didn't mind. Craig is a brewer and Sam didn't mind. Sam said they were perfect for each other, making sure they could make it through the cold mid-continent Winters. But Craig seems to be packing it on now. Another good reason for them to work together, getting out will help reduce Craig's depression-eating.

The speakers start singing of working for the weekend, but it's only Thursday night.

Marina walks in and the two men wave her over. She is also wearing a geekly t-shirt, but hers is a colourful image of the Horsehead Nebula rather than geek-snark. It sparkles as different colours luminesce in the black light. She is also wearing a dark skirt with ruffled sine waves. The guys aren't sure they're supposed to be sine waves, but that's what they look like.

Her hair is volumous and puffy like Erich wishes his hair would still do. The hair doesn't block her ears, so it's easy to see the DNA double-helix earrings. Nerd fashion credentials on display Marina sits down in an open chair at the table.

Erich quickly mumbles greetings, then motions to the waitress as she's delivering drinks to another table. She nods.

Erich says that as promised he'll cover dinner tonight, “It turns out I'm getting a surprising amount of discount at the hotel this year.” Craig looks at him. “Part of remuneration as a consultant it seems.” Craig smirks.

Erich mentions an article he'd just seen on Science Media. Craig says he saw it before coming down. Marina hadn't seen it. As Craig starts to describe it the waitress comes by. She sets down the waters and asks if they're ready to order drinks.

Erich orders a shot of whiskey from him favourite local distillery and whatever Weizen they have on tap, then looks at Craig and asks, “IPA?” Craig nods, “Of course.” Erich turns to the waitress saying “That and whatever the young lady would like as well.”

Marina mumbles thanks and says she'll also take a Weizen.

The waitress repeats the order and asks for a room number. Erich gives her his. She then heads to the bar as Craig gets back to the science news.

A moment later Erich says, “I forgot to order that neat,” and heads after the waitress.

Erich catches up to her and amends his order. He mentions the woman at the table and asks Wilma to arrange for all of the her food orders for the week to be billed to his room. He also orders a small, fresh Canadian welcome package to be delivered to Marina's room in the morning. The package will have a variety of maple sweets, a Hortons gift card and some Canadian flag themed items. It will also have an assortment of fresh fruit.

Erich figures she can eat the fruit while at the conference, but some of the snacks might make it home to share with her sister.

“Thanks Wilma,” Erich waves across the room to greet the bartender and heads back to the table.

Craig and Marina are discussing the article when Erich returns. At a break Erich asks Marina what her specialty is.

Marina says she's an astrophysicist, “Luckily there's decades of data waiting for research, so loss of the space-based telescopes hasn't left me idle.”

Craig shakes his head, “So stupid that they just turned them off.”

Marina “Yeah. Luckily Europe had built out some space net capacity and bought control of the Voyager missions, so we haven't lost them. Also, since the US economy is now that of a third world country Europe outsources to me at a significant discount.”

Marina adds, “We're cheaper to Europe and Canada than Mexico or India ever were for us.”

Craig whistles.

Wilma arrives with the drinks. Erich thanks her and the three commiserate with a toast to the science that shall not be, then Erich holds up his shot to toast the science that is still underway.

Marina “What do you do?”

Craig sighs, then jokes, “Well, that's going to be the conversation for a while, might as well take a pee break,” and heads off to the restroom.

“I'm an LSMB specialist.”

Marina wrinkles her forehead, “LSMB?”

“Less space more boom. I get improved energy yield from fuels.”

Erich continues, “Mining companies want me to work for them. As you can imagine, the military industrial complex really wants my work. The space billionaire industrial complex desperately wants me because rocketry is controlled boom, especially if one of them can get me on an exclusive contract.”

Marina asks, “Who do you work for?”

Erich says, “I do research, so I insist on being at a university.”

Marina rejoins, “Is there really still work in that? Don't they just get AI to do the physics?”

Erich shakes his head vigorously, “The US tried that. AI LSMB is why the Yuma Proving Grounds is now the fourth largest hole in Arizona.”

Continuing, Erich adds, “AI LSMB is why you can no longer get a peanut butter hamburger at the Mohave Spaceport. Or anything at all.”

Marina eyes widen, “I remember seeing that explosion all over the news for weeks.”

Erich, “From several angles.”

“Yeah.”

Erich says, “Over 500 people died in that explosion.”

“What?”, exclaims Marina, “I never heard about that.”

Erich affirms, “Big boom was sexy and got people to watch, but dwelling on the death of 500 people didn't sell and was bad for business, so the death toll got swept under the rug.”

“If it wasn't reported, how do you know all those people really died,” asks Marina.

Erich takes a deep breath, “It's my field, so I looked for information. I read reports. Heck, we got some scientific papers out of it. I read those too. And, well, several of my friends died in the blast.”

Marina looks aghast and stammers, “O-o-h, s-s-s-orr-ry, I didididn't mean any “

Erich reaches across the table and pats the back of her hand reassuringly.

Erich responds, “It's OK. This is my field. I had friends there. It was smaller, but I also have good friend who got really messed up when Yuma went up.”

Erich says, “Look, in my field you don't trust the science and maths to someone who doesn't understand it. You definitely don't turn it over to a guesstimate engine, but as Yuma and the Mojave Spaceport proved, it's not just your own work that you have to be cautious of.”

Erich takes a breath, “The fundamentals have to be solid from the base, so AI doesn't help when it comes to the actual experimentation. It's untrustworthy and unfit for that. Also, someone signs off on the work.”

Erich looks down at the table, “At Mohave the primary engineer and his manager died in the explosion, along with a company VP. Several other managers and VPs took the rap for the incident. AIs don't go to jail and in the US neither do famous tech entrepreneurs.”

Erich shrugs, “We sometimes use it for audits. When AI flags something my grad students get an opportunity to research what's wrong with the AI's result. Once in a while the AI audit actually finds something worthwhile, but mostly it builds training scenerios on what can go wrong with maths.”

Changing topics Marina asks, “What was that bit about peanut butter hamburgers?”

Erich smirks, “The on site restaurant was well-known for having peanut butter hamburgers on the menu.”

Marina incredulously asks, “They were famous for their peanut butter hamburgers?”

Erich smiles, “No, no. They were famous for having them on the menu. Pretty sure the burgers themselves were not a source of fame.”

Marina laughs, “Ah, OK. But why were they testing a rocket next to the restaurant?”

Erich responds, “They weren't. They were testing a new AI formulated fuel in one of the businesses near the spaceport, but the explosion was big enough to cross the spaceport and blow down the restaurant, the terminal and the museum. It also caused a large fuel tank to blow, which was the post-explosion fireball you've seen in the news.”

Marina shakes her head, “That fireball was a secondary explosion?”

Erich nods, “Yes, that small secondary explosion. My field does big boom.”

Craig returns and suggests they order food before he explodes from hunger.

Erich has known what he's ordering since he tried the lemongrass chicken last year. Craig says he's getting a vegetarian protein bowl. Erich is happy to hear that. They give Marina some time to study the menu.

Marina decides on a soup and salad, saying both would be courting danger in the US. Erich shoots Craig a thin, supportive smile. Craig silently takes a breath, smiles back, then waves to Wilma.

They put in their food orders, Wilma asks if they want more drinks. Erich and Craig look at Marina, she says she'll gladly get good beer while she can. Erich tells Wilma, “Three more beers, please.”

The three of them talk about how cool the forest was. The data center was meh and a waste of natural resources, but the forest was beautiful. None of them know any of the trees except the pines.

Dinner and drinks arrive and they dive in sating the hunger from the day's activities.

---

// © 2026 Plot Experiments, all rights reserved // All AI use strictly prohibited

@plot_experiments@bookstodon.com

#PlotExperiments #PodLife #LSMB #AIuseforbidden #noAI

I've been unemployed for a month now.

In late July, I resigned from my corporate job working in technology as a project manager. I had been at the same company on-and-off since 2011, and had worked in a range of roles covering data analytics, data engineering, information security and finally project management.

I had it pretty good. I had over a decade of organisational experience, a solid rapport with all of the senior decision makers in the business, a good sense of what was happening 'on the ground', a comfortable salary, and the opportunity to work on a fairly diverse set of technical projects. Our company was leveraging current AI models to speed up their work (and dealing with the governance, security & quality issues that come with it, just like any other business), so I got good exposure to cutting-edge tools, even if I wasn't a super-user of AI tools directly.

But I had a growing feeling that I needed a break from the corporate world, and I was worried about being in a stale environment for too long. So I gave my two months notice and got out.

What I told people when I quit

Once my resignation was made public, I inevitably got asked 'why?' – it was a sudden shock to everyone I spoke to, particularly those that I'd known for over a decade. Most asked whether I was leaving for another company (I wasn't); the answer I gave was that 'I had run out of energy' to keep working as I had been for years, and that 'I just needed a break from work'. Both of these statements were true – but wasn't the full story.

I hadn't had a proper hiatus from a job since graduating from university, so I felt that taking a bit of time off to think about my next career choice was socially acceptable. Fortunately, this didn't invite too many follow-up questions. I really didn't want to get sucked in to long conversations about my departure; I had mentally checked out of my role and just needed to cut the cord for my own sanity. In hindsight, I didn't want to be the centre of attention as there was a weird sense of resigning being a 'selfish' decision. So weird to think of it that way, but I guess that's what long-term company loyalty drilled into me.

The other part of the story

Of course, there were a few other reasons that made me resign. I mentally bundled them up into three topics:

1. Feeling like I had lost psychological safety & autonomy in my role
2. Mandated usage of AI tools making technical work unenjoyable and unfulfilling
3. Symptoms of burnout, both emotionally & physically, making it difficult to work

Psychological safety

Over the last few years, any concerns or problems I raised were taken less & less seriously, and senior management were making unilateral decisions without any compromise or incorporating feedback from experienced middle managers like myself.

Previously I had enjoyed being a part of a more collaborative working environment, but that was a distant memory.

AI usage causing problems

In my previous role, the mandated usage of AI tools for technical purposes circumvented any need for quality or care that software development and other technical teams used to have.

When I left, the process of developing software features was diluted into a mundane process that most of the Tech industry globally seems to have adopted:

• feed a 2-3 sentence prompt into an AI tool such as Claude Codex or Github Copilot to spit out a product requirements document (PRD) or similar
• after a brief review, feeding that PRD back into the AI coding tool to develop the feature
• perform some cursory testing of the feature within the application, then push the changes to other developers who would approve the work

My issue with this is that development was so highly automated without any real oversight or input from the end users who were going to deal with the AI-generated code slop – there wasn't any critical discussion of 'hey do the developers really understand what we need here?' – if it wasn't captured in that 2-3 sentence prompt, it didn't matter.

Deep knowledge of the codebase by developers dropped off quickly once this approach started, because there's no time to think through the problems and develop elegant or performant solutions.

I felt for the end users who ultimately paid the biggest price here, because they'd be expected to perform their user acceptance testing on AI slop, and have to provide a bunch of feedback to get the software into a sensible state. My take on the whole development lifecycle is that the time saved on developing code was pushed onto end users who needed to test more – and high-quality output didn't really happen any faster overall.

And as a result, the company now had a sizeable AI token bill to pay every month, and a codebase that was bloated and barely understood by anyone in the development team. I felt like it was hard to stay a part of that kind of environment.

Burnout symptoms

This last point was probably the biggest factor in me needing to stop working. I wasn't specifically diagnosed with burnout but I definitely felt like I had most of the common symptoms. There was a general apathy and lack of enthusiasm with my work, and I often operated with a heavy brain fog around me that made high-quality work difficult to maintain.

Most work days I felt drained of energy by mid-afternoon, regardless of the volume of work I had on my plate. I was able to easily keep up with my day-to-day admin and I often completed any crucial tasks within a few hours each day, but the lack of satisfaction & fulfillment was so debilitating that it bled into my personal life and started to stop me feeling joy in non-work activities.

---

The combination of all three of these issues led to me feeling unfulfilled and demotivated in the workplace, and these physically manifested for months before I properly pulled the resignation trigger in July. I had felt physically tense & drained within an hour of clocking in every day – my body's way of telling me that I was in the wrong environment.

And so I started my career break, without any real direction of what I would do next or how long I'd have a break for.

The plan

My plan during my career break was to attempt to not have a plan – or at least avoid structuring my life too much. I was acutely aware that if I overloaded my time during my break that my feelings of burnout wouldn't get better, so I had to minimise and simplify.

But I did have some vague guidelines of how I imagined my career break would unfold:

1. Not spend any effort in finding a new job or a new career for at least a few weeks
2. Give myself a few vague goals or tasks for each day, to avoid overloading myself but still get some small feelings of satisfaction
3. Work towards having a new job/career in early 2027 (i.e. have no expectation of returning to work before Christmas 2026).

To avoid needing to rush back into work, I set myself a fairly strict budget to live on and calculated that I had 6 months of money to live off. So far I've mostly kept to the budget, with the odd unforeseen expense coming up.

How it's actually worked out

After one month of not having a job to go to, I have no idea how to reflect back on this time and assess if I've 'done it right' or not. When I've been asked by friends & family “how is the break going?” the word I have settled on is volatile – it's definitely been hard to adapt to as it's a completely new experience.

I have had some good weeks and some bad weeks, when thinking about my physical and emotional state. I've had some inspiring days full of coffee catchups and chats with my career network, and some dreary days where I distract myself with every possible household chore to stop myself being bored.

At least my dog Charlie is enjoying the extra attention that comes with being at home a bit more than before:

As someone who used to be very routine and schedule-driven, the lack of structure to my day has been confronting and revealing. My daily habits that I used to squeeze in around my work day have completely dropped off, as every day has a different cadence depending on where I'm going and who I'm seeing.

However I can't ignore the positives. I still feel burned out (I expect to feel like this for the foreseeable future – how can you possibly unlearn 15 years of corporate life in a month or two?) but I very quickly stopped feeling the frustration of being in a corporate environment, apart from hearing about my wife's job at the end of every weekday.

I've found a little bit of joy & satisfaction with doing things cheap or being thrifty. Cooking vegan or vegetarian dishes is often much tastier than meat-based meals (because the sauces/flavours are more interesting) and are at a fraction of the cost. The best recipes get saved to my recipe management app. On the home front, taking the time to properly research, plan and complete home improvement projects is far more satisfying than hiring a handyman. I learned how to install my first ever toilet seat earlier this month!

While I've become a bit tighter with spending, on the whole our usual lifestyle continues on as normal. Last weekend we did a multi-day hike in the Alpine National Park in Victoria with friends, and with more hikes being planned for regional Victoria I'm now thinking about planning some day trips to country towns (getting there via the V/Line train) to do some light tourism in this great state.

What's next

I've read other stories about career breaks, with some anecdotes mentioning that they are only truly relaxing after a year or more of not working. This makes sense, if you're trying to unlearn the emotional patterns of being in corporate or bureaucratic environments which have built up over decades.

I worry that I don't have the patience to be unemployed for such a long period of time, and that I'll feel forced to get back into the workforce before I'm ready. I currently have an idealistic view that I'll find my dream career which ticks all of my boxes and if I have to compromise on that, then the break may end up being a failure. I've started to adopt the process that the Careershifters.org website describes to identify a new career path, and I'm aware that'll take several months of ongoing effort to get there.

I am also simultaneously excited and scared for how my identity will unfold or appear as I grapple with a life that isn't based around a job. Every day during this break I'm starting to learn a bit more about myself, but naturally there's always more questions than answers.

From time to time, I'm reminded about the phrase “you can just do things” which gives me the confidence to be courageous, try something new or “just go do some cool shit” as a friend instructed me. But telling yourself YCJDT and actually living it in practice are totally different things; I feel like I need to get properly comfortable with this new rhythm before giving myself a novel experience. The two shadows of burnout symptoms and the need to find a new career in some timeframe really complicate the situation.

#CareerBreak #CareerChange #lifestyle

This note comes from Foodie Guide, an independent guide to fast-food menus. We are not affiliated with Raising Cane's, and this is not an official statement from the restaurant. I am simply explaining the menu in everyday language so you can decide what fits your day.

Raising Cane's keeps its menu short: chicken fingers, crinkle-cut fries, Texas toast, coleslaw, Cane's Sauce, and drinks. That simplicity makes choices easier to follow, but it also means most meals center on fried chicken, a starchy side, and bread.

In plain terms, a standard chicken-finger meal tends to be filling and higher in calories, fat, and sodium than a lighter lunch, especially once sauce, fries, and a sweetened drink are added. The sauce adds flavor and extra fat, the fries add salt and starch, and the toast adds refined carbs. Skipping or sharing one of those extras, choosing water, or keeping the portion smaller can make the same meal feel lighter without giving up the food you came for.

For item-by-item details, portion notes, and a clearer breakdown, see the Raising Cane's nutrition guide. Use it to compare options before you order, and remember that recipes and values can change, so the guide is a starting point rather than medical advice.

Like tendrils weeping a static calm, this heart blunders into a facsimile of rendered fluctuation. Drip-by-faltering drip its counterfeit pace soothes me into oblivion...

Trigger spooled with lacking grace, attention's drilled to sag and waste away the qualms that seethe and spore to hungers chewing evermore.

Pump! Pump! I drop a load. Spiral on a quest foretold past time and space of status quo in cracks exploding what we know.

Without a map. Without a name. Without a test or wage to blame the nuisance ringing in my ear that chants of falsehoods claiming fear.

I'm ragged, worn, and filtered meek. Lost to all but drones who seek the bite that barks where ends maim fame and darkness wrongs a righteous bane.

Like tendrils weeping a static calm, this heart blunders into a facsimile of rendered fluctuation. Drip-by-faltering drip its counterfeit pace soothes me into oblivion...

—point blank—

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

musical inspiration https://youtube.com/watch?v=OF3yBbLrkEY&is=73tjCqwmNzZPy66A

Chapter 1: The Question I Would Have Kept to Myself

The notebook is open beside your dinner plate, and there is a sentence you wrote down earlier that you cannot stop looking at. You heard it during a conversation about Jesus, and at the time it seemed clear enough to change something. Now the house is quiet, your phone is charging by the sink, and the sentence feels harder to understand. You know you agreed with it. You are not sure you are ready to live it. That small distance between agreement and willingness is what draws me to imagining an ordinary listener at the Sermon on the Mount. I think about the long walk home afterward, when there was no crowd to carry the excitement for you.

I have listened to people describe powerful moments of faith and wondered what they took into the following day. That is part of what interests me about what an ordinary person might have felt hearing Jesus teach on the mountain. I don't mean whether the person could describe the setting or repeat every word. I mean what happened when the sound of His voice was no longer filling the air and they were left alone with something they did not know how to answer. We often imagine that meeting Jesus would make our inner life simple. I wonder whether, for some people, hearing Him might first have made them more honest about how complicated it was.

There is a connection here to the quiet changes that begin after an encounter with Jesus, because I don't believe every meaningful response announces itself right away. A person may leave with a question that will not settle. They might discover that a habit they once defended has become difficult to excuse. They might want to believe what Jesus said about the Father and still find themselves afraid to trust. Scripture does not tell us what every listener thought as they went down that hill. I want to respect that silence instead of putting imagined speeches into their mouths. But I can bring my own questions to the words Matthew has preserved.

One question is uncomfortable to admit. If I had been there, would I really have wanted Jesus to tell me the truth, or would I have wanted Him to make me feel better about the life I was already living? It is possible to want God near while hoping He will leave certain doors closed. We may welcome His kindness and still resist the moment when kindness exposes something we have been avoiding. There are conversations we do not want to have, attitudes we have renamed as personality, and little compromises we explain to ourselves so often that the explanation begins to feel like truth.

Think about the person who sends a warm message to an old friend while quietly hoping the friend will not ask to meet. The friendship has become uneven, and they are tired of always being the one who reaches out. They do not know how to say that without sounding unkind, so they continue writing cheerful sentences they do not fully mean. It is not a terrible act. It is the kind of small dishonesty that grows when we are afraid of disappointing somebody. Sometimes the most faithful next step is neither another false promise nor a cruel rejection. It is a kind, clear conversation about what we can honestly offer.

That example might seem far away from a hillside in Galilee, but the teaching Jesus gave repeatedly reaches beneath the visible action. In Matthew 5, He talks about anger and contempt, not only the violent act everyone already knows is wrong. In Matthew 6, He speaks of giving and prayer, then asks His listeners to examine whether they are doing those things to be noticed. He cares about the part of a life that other people cannot easily see. Those passages make me wonder how often I have been satisfied with appearing considerate while leaving my real motives untouched.

I do not think the answer is to become suspicious of every kind impulse. That would make us so busy examining ourselves that we would forget to love anyone. The point is simpler and more demanding. We can give ourselves permission to be truthful before God. If we are doing something because we want praise, we can admit it. If we are afraid of an honest conversation, we can say so. If we have begun to resent a responsibility that we freely accepted, we can ask for wisdom about how to handle it. We do not need to invent a better version of ourselves before coming to Jesus.

The poor in spirit are the first people Jesus calls blessed in Matthew 5. I come back to that because admitting need does not fit the way many of us have been taught to present ourselves. We want to arrive with a thoughtful answer, a tidy account of our progress, and some proof that we deserve to be heard. But the words of Jesus make space for people who know they do not have enough in themselves. Recognizing that need is not the end of faith. It may be the first time we have stopped trying to conceal the reason we need grace.

Perhaps someone who heard Him that day went home with a truth they could not yet practice. Perhaps another felt comfort in a place that had been sore for years. Those are possibilities, not claims about people Matthew never names. What I know is that we can hear the same teaching now, and our reluctance does not have to end the conversation. We can tell Christ what we are afraid His words will require of us. We can ask for help taking one honest step instead of promising a sudden transformation we cannot sustain.

The notebook is still open when you finish dinner. You do not add a long resolution beneath the sentence. You write down the name of the friend you have been avoiding and decide to speak plainly with them tomorrow. You may not find the right words on the first attempt. There may still be discomfort, and the friendship may need a different shape. But the teaching has already moved beyond a line you admired on a page. It has reached a place in your life where you can no longer pretend you have nothing to decide.

Chapter 2: The Hours Nobody Knows You Gave

At five in the morning, the hallway light is still on because you never got around to turning it off. You have been awake twice to help someone you love get comfortable, and now you are rinsing a cup that held the last dose of medicine. The house is quiet enough that you can hear water moving through the pipes. Later, when people ask how things are going, you will probably tell them you are managing. It is a convenient answer. It protects them from a long explanation and protects you from discovering that they did not really want one.

There are ways to feel invisible even when people depend on you every day. You remember their appointments, fill out forms they cannot manage, and notice when something in the house needs attention. You do these things because they matter, and because the person needs you. But somewhere beneath that love is another feeling you are embarrassed to admit. You want somebody to understand how much it costs. You want one person to see the hours you have given without asking you to explain why you are tired. When no one does, you wonder whether the work itself has started to disappear.

That is where I would want to listen closely if I were standing on the hillside with Jesus. I would not be waiting for Him to give me a grand purpose or tell me that my life was more important than other people's lives. I think I would want to know whether God notices a person when there is nothing remarkable to notice. Would He see the one who stays up late to help another person? Would He see the person who does the right thing with some resentment still tangled in their heart? Would He notice the help that is given awkwardly, imperfectly, and without anyone saying thank you?

In Matthew 6, Jesus speaks of giving and praying without making a performance of them. He warns against practicing righteousness in order to be admired, and He speaks of the Father who sees what is done in secret. I have often thought about the difference between wanting to be praised and wanting to be known. They are not always the same thing. Sometimes we want applause because we hope it will make us feel superior. Other times we want recognition because we are exhausted and afraid that what we have done has cost us more than anyone understands. Jesus' words can confront our pride without mocking our need to be cared for.

I would be careful not to turn that teaching into another burden for the person washing the medicine cup. If someone said, “God sees you, so you shouldn't need any help,” they would be asking Scripture to excuse their own absence. Being noticed by our Father is not an instruction to carry every responsibility alone. There are times when loving someone includes calling a sibling, asking a neighbor to bring a meal, or telling a doctor that the arrangement at home is no longer sustainable. We can be faithful and worn out at the same time. We can trust God and still need other people to show up.

What changes, then, when Jesus tells us the Father sees in secret? For me, it changes the part of the evening when I begin to resent how little evidence there is of what I have done. A wiped counter becomes dirty again. A person who felt better yesterday needs help again today. The task leaves no monument. But if God sees the life being lived, its worth is not determined by whether somebody else remembers it. That does not make the labor easy. It does keep me from believing that unnoticed love is the same thing as wasted love.

Jesus also teaches His listeners how to pray. In Matthew 6:8, He says their Father knows what they need before they ask Him. I find that sentence especially tender when I imagine someone who no longer has the strength to organize a proper prayer. We often speak as though prayer must begin with a clear mind and carefully chosen words. But the person sitting on the edge of the bed might have only enough energy to say, “Please help me get through tomorrow.” God does not need an account of the night's events before He can understand the need. The person praying can tell the truth without preparing a case.

There is still something difficult about being seen by a God we cannot see. Human beings need voices, hands, meals, and visits. You might pray in an empty kitchen and still wish someone would knock on the door. I do not think faith requires you to feel ashamed of that wish. Jesus taught people to call God their Father, and He taught them to pray for daily bread, not simply for the strength to pretend they were not hungry. The spiritual life is not a competition to see who can endure the most with the least comfort. It is a relationship in which need can be spoken plainly.

If I were one of the unnamed listeners leaving that mountain, perhaps I would carry those words back to a room where no one had noticed my effort. I would still have work to do. I might still need to ask for assistance or have a difficult conversation with the people who assumed I could manage forever. But I might stop treating my need for help as evidence that I had failed. I might also stop believing that my worth was waiting for another person to award it to me. The Father Jesus described was not discovering my existence only when someone brought Him news of me.

By the time morning reaches the kitchen window, the cup is dry. You put it away, check the next appointment on the calendar, and write a message asking a relative whether they can stay for an hour this weekend. It takes courage to send that message because you are used to saying you have everything covered. Then you sit for a moment and pray without trying to sound grateful for being tired. You tell God that you love the person you are caring for, that you are frustrated, and that you need help. Nothing in the room becomes less ordinary. But you are no longer pretending that the hours have no weight or that you must carry them without being known.

Chapter 3: The Fear You Could Not Pray Away

The ticket number glows on the wall above the service counter, and you have been watching it change for nearly an hour. In your pocket is a letter saying your request has been denied. You have come to ask whether there has been a mistake, though you have already read the explanation so often that you can almost recite it. Across the room, a man answers his phone and begins talking happily about plans for the weekend. You find yourself resenting his ordinary happiness. He has done nothing wrong. Still, it feels unfair that the world can keep being pleasant for other people while you are struggling to hold your own life together.

I think that is one of the loneliest things about disappointment. We do not always become noble when life is difficult. Sometimes we become impatient, suspicious, and tired of hearing how well things are going for everyone else. We may be ashamed of those reactions, especially if we believe a Christian should meet every setback with immediate gratitude. So we hide the bitterness beneath polite words. We tell people that God has a plan because we believe He does, but we are afraid to admit how badly we wish we could understand it.

When I picture myself at the Sermon on the Mount, I wonder whether I would have been able to hear the words of Jesus without silently arguing with them. I know how the story reads now. I know that His teaching is precious. But if I had come carrying a hope that had just fallen apart, would I have been ready to hear Him speak about the Father's care? Or would I have thought about the particular thing I had asked for and not received? That question does not make me doubt the goodness of Jesus. It makes me more aware of the distance between knowing what He said and learning to trust Him with what I cannot explain.

In Matthew 6, Jesus speaks about the birds of the air and the lilies of the field. He asks His listeners to consider the care of their heavenly Father, and He tells them not to be consumed with worry about tomorrow. I can imagine those words being comforting to someone who had come to the hillside feeling forgotten. I can also imagine a weary listener needing time to receive them. Scripture does not give us the private reactions of everyone there, and I do not want to invent them. What it gives us is the invitation Jesus actually made: to seek first God's kingdom rather than allowing tomorrow's fears to become our master.

I used to think trust should feel a certain way. I imagined it as a steady confidence that would make difficult news less frightening. But what if trust sometimes feels like admitting that you are frightened and bringing that fear to God anyway? A person can believe in the Father's care while still struggling to sleep. They can ask for daily bread and still need to visit an assistance office or make an uncomfortable phone call. Jesus does not make responsibility disappear. He asks us not to mistake our ability to anticipate every disaster for our ability to keep ourselves safe.

Consider someone recovering from an injury who has spent weeks practicing the same few steps between the kitchen table and the doorway. They follow the therapist's instructions, celebrate a little progress, and then have a morning when their body refuses to cooperate. They know recovery is rarely a straight line, but knowing that does not keep discouragement from arriving. Watching other people move without thinking about it can bring on a wave of envy. A cheerful instruction to stop worrying would not make the fear disappear. They need patience, practical help, and room to say how hard it is.

If that person prayed tonight, the words might be very plain. They might tell God they are angry that the search has gone on so long. They might admit being jealous of friends whose lives appear secure. They might ask for healing and also ask for the courage to face another day if their strength does not return immediately. I do not believe such a prayer is less sincere because it lacks a peaceful ending. It may be the first prayer in a while that has not been arranged to sound like something the person thinks God expects to hear.

There is something else in Jesus' words that we can overlook when we rush to feel reassured. He says that each day has enough trouble of its own. That is a remarkably honest acknowledgment of how life feels. He does not tell His listeners that tomorrow will contain no trouble. He does not describe faith as a guarantee that circumstances will always improve on our schedule. He calls them to meet today's needs without carrying tomorrow as though it has already happened. That is not an easy practice for a frightened heart. It is a way to begin living again in the hours we have actually been given.

At the counter, the clerk finally calls your number. You unfold the letter and explain why you came. Perhaps the answer will remain no. Perhaps there is another form you can submit, or someone who can explain the next step. You listen, ask the questions you prepared, and write down what you need to remember. The man across the room is still smiling at his phone. This time you barely notice him. Not because your problems have been solved, but because you are doing the part of the day that belongs to you.

If I had heard Jesus on that hillside while carrying a disappointment I could not explain, I hope I would have taken His words home without forcing myself to pretend I was no longer afraid. I hope I would have learned to speak to the Father honestly and then give my attention to the next faithful thing I could do. There would still be days when I returned to fear, and days when somebody else's happiness made my own waiting feel harder. But I would want to stop treating those feelings as reasons to keep my distance from God. I would want to bring them into the conversation instead.

Chapter 4: The Person I Might Have Passed on the Way Home

The message arrives just as you are putting the last clean plate into the cupboard. Your teenage son asks if you can pick him up early from a friend's house. He doesn't explain why. He has been short with you lately, and an hour ago you were still irritated about the argument you had that morning. You could tell him to wait until the time you agreed on. You could ask what he did wrong before deciding whether to help. Instead, you take your keys from the hook and drive across town. When he climbs into the car, he looks at the floor and says he doesn't feel like talking.

There is a kind of love that nobody would recognize from a distance. It looks like driving in silence with someone who is not ready to tell you what happened. It means allowing another person a little space when your own feelings are already hurt. It means resisting the temptation to turn every difficult moment into a lesson because you happen to have words prepared. I am not always good at this kind of love. Sometimes I want to settle the matter quickly so I can feel useful again. I would rather give advice than sit beside a question that has no immediate answer.

That is why I keep imagining what would have happened after the Sermon on the Mount, when Jesus finished speaking and the people had to return to their ordinary obligations. Matthew says the crowds were astonished by His teaching. He does not say what the unnamed listeners did with the rest of their day. I wonder if some wanted to speak about everything they had heard and others needed silence. Perhaps a few recognized an old habit they could no longer defend. Perhaps the teaching left them with questions they were not yet ready to ask aloud. We cannot know. But the words Jesus spoke were never meant to remain on the hillside.

Near the end of Matthew 7, He talks about two people building houses. One hears His words and acts on them. The other hears the same words and does not. When the weather turns violent, the foundation makes the difference. I notice that both builders have heard. The wise person is not the one who attended the more impressive gathering or came away with a better story. The difference appears in the quiet, repeated work of building. A foundation takes shape before the storm, when what we choose may look too ordinary to matter.

I think we sometimes misunderstand that picture because we want following Jesus to produce an entirely new personality by tomorrow morning. We expect our impatience to disappear, our fear to become certainty, and our difficult relationships to settle into peace. But if I hear Jesus teach me to be merciful, I still have to decide what mercy looks like when I am tired. If I hear Him speak about loving my enemies, I still have to reckon with the anger I carry toward a particular person. The truth is no less true because I cannot live it perfectly at once. I need grace while I learn.

It matters that this is not a program for earning God's attention. Jesus did not come merely to give humanity better instructions. Christian faith rests on who He is and what He has done for us, including His death and resurrection. We are not trying to build a record impressive enough to make Him love us. We respond because we have been loved, and because His words show us what a life shaped by that love can become. When we fail, the answer is not to pretend it never happened or decide we are hopeless. We can confess the failure and return to Him.

The drive home continues without much conversation. Your son watches streetlights pass across the window. You want to tell him that you understand, but you do not yet know what there is to understand. Eventually you say you are glad he called. You let him know that you are available if he wants to talk later. You still have questions about what happened, and you may need to ask them when he is ready, especially if his safety is involved. But for these few minutes, you do not make your wounded pride the most important thing in the car.

I wonder whether I would have learned that kind of restraint if I had heard Jesus in person. I like to imagine that I would have stayed until the end and remembered every word. Yet I know how distracted I become by my own concerns. I know how quickly I can hear something beautiful and then return to a familiar reaction when someone disappoints me. If I am honest, I cannot promise what sort of listener I would have been. I can only decide what to do as I hear Him now.

That decision does not have to be impressive. Tomorrow, you might notice that you are speaking harshly to someone who has asked an innocent question. You can stop and begin again. You might realize you have spent an entire conversation waiting for your turn to talk. You can put your attention back on the person in front of you. You might offer help and then discover that you cannot reasonably provide everything requested. You can give an honest answer without becoming cold. These are not miracles. They are places where mercy and truth begin to acquire the shape of a real life.

There are also moments when we will not be able to see our own progress. We may pray and feel nothing settle. We may ask forgiveness and find that the relationship stays damaged. We may do what is right and still go home disappointed. I do not want to suggest that following Jesus means every good decision receives a visible reward. Sometimes the most meaningful change is simply that we no longer make every decision according to what would make us feel better immediately. We begin to care about what is true and loving, even when it is inconvenient.

At home, your son heads to his room. Before closing the door, he turns and thanks you for coming. He still has not explained what happened, and you do not know whether tonight will be remembered by either of you a year from now. You cannot measure the significance of the drive by what he told you. You can only know that when he asked for help, you went. There will be another conversation when the time is right. For now, you have let a quiet evening be what it needed to be.

If I could ask one question of a person who truly stood on that hillside, I do not think I would ask how loud the crowd was or how close they sat to Jesus. I would want to know what they noticed when they returned home. Did they see someone they had stopped seeing? Did they tell the truth about something they had hidden? Did they begin to believe that the Father heard the prayers they could barely speak? Scripture leaves those private histories with God. But it does leave us the words of Christ, and they are enough to ask us what kind of people we are willing to become.

The opportunity is not locked in a distant afternoon in Galilee. It can reach a person sitting in a parked car, uncertain what to say to someone they love. It can reach someone who has made mistakes and is still learning how to be honest. I cannot go back and stand among the first listeners. I can open the Gospel today, listen without pretending, and ask Jesus to help me live one small part of what I have heard. I would rather begin there than spend my life imagining how remarkable I might have been if only I had seen Him walk by.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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Inbetweeners 40- Xalatra Questline Part 1- Hunt for Tok Tok

So the players had received their marching orders from the Lady of Pain— find Xalatra of the Bleeding Glyph so she can find a remedy for their inability to travel linearly outside of Sigil.

There were a few hanging plot threads here that increased the players motivation to resolve this quicky:

1) Zariel's ressurection ability has been corrupted in the absence of the Interloper. More on that later.

2)The Lost Titan has threated to destroy them and Arkanos Villa if they can't find him a suitable challenge.

3)The Interloper is currently imprisoned by Mechanus

4)While relatively safe in Sigil, the players are still wanted by Mechanus.

What the players were told about Xalatra was that in trying to map the boundaries between the multiverse and the Far Realm, she lost her mind. She began hyper focusing on magical glyphs, believing the right combination of glyphs could unlock secrets to the multiverse. She began etching some of these unstable glyphs across Sigil, and they would detonate violently and wreak havoc across the city. The Dabus responded and drove Xalatra underneath the city. Her current location is unknown but believed to be somewhere deep in the city. Xalatra corrupted a Dabus (something that should not have been possible). The rogue Dabus has been nicknamed Tock-Tock by the locals. Locating Tock-Tock is the players main lead on Xalatra.

Before we progress, I should reveal a little bit more about the Dabus.

The Dabus are servants of the Lady of Pain and manage the day to day operations around Sigil. They are capable of repairing and rearranging the material in the city itself. An individual Dabus is not much of a threat, with a CR of 2. However, harming one will alert more, and resisting them will draw the Lady of Pain's attention. They are humanoid in shape, have goat horns, wispy white hair, and do not speak. They instead etch visual symbols or glyphs to communicate.

So, let's say someone set off an explosion in the streets that damaged some masonry. So long as the explosion was relatively minor, the perpetrator wouldn't face consequences from the Lady of Pain or Sigil directly. However, third parties might take issue with it and handle accordingly. Instead, Dabus would be dispatched who would simply fix the foundation and any damage to nearby structures that are done. They can do this relatively effortlessly, and the greater the damage, the more Dabus that will be deployed. If the person who set off the explosion tried to stop the Dabus from finishing, they would attack. They would start with simply throwing bricks or small psionic attacks, but if they attacker persisted, the Dabus could swarm and these swarms would be considerably more dangerous. If that didn't solve things, the Lady of Pain might show up directly and dispatch the trouble maker. However, residents of the city don't want to see the Lady of Pain deployed so frequently they will stop someone who is disrupting things specifically to avoid Dabus swarms and Lady of Pain influence. She could just decide to erase that part of the city, after all.

On the note of erasing part of the city—Sigil is also constantly changing. So perhaps a city block of factories is going to be leveled and replaced with a park. A swarm of thousands of Dabus could simply cover the area and in moments transform it, erasing what was there before. No one knows how big Sigil truly is, except for the Lady of Pain. by the same token, no one knows how many Dabus their are. The truth is that there are as many Dabus as the Lady wills at a given time. She can create more with a mere thought. They are not only on the surface of the city either. The majority are actually underneath the city, managing all of the different processes that keep the city running.

If a Dabus were to malfunction for some reason- perhaps it is heavily damaged, corrupted by a spell, or simply too old- it is recycled. Broken down to its constituent parts and reformed as a fresh new Dabus. This was done with Tock-Tock... many times. However, he keeps reappearing. It basically follows the same pattern, Tock-Tock arrives, starts drawing glyphs somewhere in the city, is seized and dissamebled by the Dabus and then reappears again elsewhere. Some sort of bizarre side-effect of Xalatra's far realm corruption interacting with the city itself. Tock-Tock isn't enough of a threat for the Lady to direct her attention to, so he continues to be a curiosity of the denizens of the city. Some even brag when they manage to catch a glimpse of Tock-Tock.

The players had a few options for how to track down Tock-Tock. They could head to a memory dealer, one who extracts memories and uses them as currency. This exiled Githzerai essentially operated in a black market for memories, and would have traded a memory about Xalatra for one of the players memories. Another option was to do research in the Hall of Echoes, sifting through memories to find one that is helpful. The third option, which the players chose, was to simply ask around. The Nameless One made them some introductions that helped.

The Nameless One summoned the players a boat that operated in the street by having water elementals under it. This method of travel let the boat bring the “water” with it, so you could travel by boat overland. While incredibly cool, this method of travel was very expensive, and the Nameless One left the players with the tab. Ironically, they took this fancy ride to a dive bar, but it certainly made an impression. The Nameless One figured since the players were celebrities, they should travel like celebrities. The dive bar was called the Gilded Gutter. On the outside it appears to just be an office, but inside it is speakeasy for mercenaries.

There were many patrons for the players to interact with. You can check the source document in the previous post if you are curious. But the important one is Velka Viral. She approaches the players after they talked to the Kenku about Tock-Tock, before discovering the Kenku could only repeat what it had previously seen so couldn't give them a new location. Velka runs several criminal enterprises in the surrounding area, and while she is very capable in a fight she prefers to work behind the scenes. She basically offers the players a deal, they help her evict some squatters in an industrial building she wants to develop, and she will give them a line on Tock-Tock. She is dismissive about the “squatters”, saying they are little more than religious zealots.

The Truth: A fire-elemental Illithid on the run from a party of Githyanki hunting them has taken up residence in the abandon foundry that Velka wants to redevelop. The Mind Flayer-Fire Elemental, Ignithar, has started a cult called the Everflame cult. He gathers creatures related to the elemental plane of fire to worship a fire elemental. His purposes are two-fold. He uses these zealots as free labor to smelt down precious metals to build up a nest egg. Secondly, he is building an army to protect himself when the Githyanki inevitably catch up to him.

The party of Githyanki actually approached the players before they entered the Gilded Gutter. They initially look down on the group considering their relative species, but Uzo is able to square up with one and they show a modicum of difference and offer a reward for any information about a Mind Flayer in the area.

The players decided to have Uzo pose as an initiate to infiltrate the foundry. Uzo then killed the cults “Everflame”, a fire elemental, which causes Ignithar to show himself and attack. Uzo was about to die when the rest of the group came down from the smoke stack, attacking Ignithar, causing him and his Efreeti partner to flee to the Elemental Plane of Fire. They then convince the remainder of the cult to join the Harmonium, so some Azers, fire mephitis, etc, make their way to Arkanos manor to join up. The players also netted a nice sum of precious metals (36000 gold worth) from the operation that they then keep. Essentially Ignithar had been sending cult members out to scrap anything precious they could. The Githyanki were very unhappy with this outcome, that Ignithar had escaped and they would have to follow them. They grab two of the former cultists to “interrogate” and then leave. However, Velka was very pleased with the eviction and set the players up with Rojurr, a gnome-plant hybrid potentially?

Rojurr is sold as a leading expert on the inner-workings of Sigil. The truth is that he does study the Dabus obsessively, but he is a degenerate drug addict. He nods off several times while speaking to the players, at one point snorting some substance and going unconscious, needed to be revived. The players struggle but eventually get him to stay on task long enough to give them the information they need. Since there is no apparent pattern to when or where Tock-Tock seems to appear next, and he appears for such a short time, Rojurr has been working on a non-deterministic, time independent, chaotic algorithm that can predict where he will appear next. It hasn't worked yet, but since the players are not tethered by causality, they are able to add the missing piece. Basically, they have an algorithm that will alert them when Tock-Tock is going to appear, but only right as its happening. They then must race to find him before the other Dabus disassemble him. After providing that information, Rojurr then continues to snort his mysterious substance and returns to a coma-like state.

The Inbetweeners were alerted that Tock-Tock appeared next to a clock tower in the town square where he was etching glyphs. The players then defend Tock-Tock from Dabus that come to disassemble him. The Dabus synergize with one another, so they can cast magic missile that is boosted the more that are around, along with many other abilities. Eventually, after the players defeat a few, they start to swarm. The Dabus swarms are far more dangerous, acting as a CR 10 creature with the ability to cast a barrage of magic missiles, collapse in on a target, or sacrifice itself to unleash additional missiles. Eventually several swarms start to converge, but when the players defeat one that escalates things enough to get the attention of the Lady of Pain, who sends the others away to let the players continue unimpeded. Essentially, the players needed to cause enough of a ruckus to draw the Lady's attention so she could intervene, the exact outcome most would do everything they could to avoid—but the players are working for the Lady of Pain.

From here, the players communicated with Tock-Tock, who unlike the other Dabus actually tries to vocalize but isnt quite able to. Tock-Tock uses symbols and glyphs to bring the players to the entrance of the Gutworks, the inner workings of Sigil.

And we will pause there. Next post, I'll delve into the Gutworks.

But yeah, kill fire elemental mind flayer, evict cult, save tock tock. That was the order of events.