High Fantasy Epic Sword Fighter Tournament Intro

I love hypothetical crossover fanfiction matchups between different characters. It probably goes back to The Ultimate Showdown type flash animations in the earlier days of the internet. I have long toyed around with the idea of an Ultimate Showdown where I simulate a fight between all major fictional characters and see who comes out on top. There is a fatal flaw with this though: The Reality Benders. Characters like The Beyonder, Dr. Manhattan, Molecule Man, etc can just vaporize 99.9% of the field in an instant. What is Conan the Barbarian supposed to do against someone who can take a nap on the surface of the sun?

There is also the issue of trying to manage thousands, possibly tens of thousands of characters, in a single simulation. So I'm opting to instead break it up into mini tournaments based on certain themes. This first one is a proof of concept. I'm going to pick 16 High Fantasy Sword fighters to face off in a single elimination tournament. Rather than being representative of the total Zeitgeist of high fantasy, I'm going to focus on lore I'm more familiar with since, well, I'm writing this mostly for me. So here is the roster, broken down my franchise. In total there should be 15 posts after this, 8 + 4 + 2 + 1, making this a 16 post sequence. I'll continue working on other things as well like Starcraft Co, but will interweave this as I feel like it.

The Roster:

From ASOIAF-

Jamie Lannister (two hands) Arthur Dayne Jon Snow Brienne of Tarth

From LOTR-

Aragorn Boromir

From Greek Mythology-

Achilles Jason

Other fiction-

Geralt of Rivia Al'Lan Mandragoran Duncan MacLeod Zorro Beatrix Kiddo Maximus Conan the Barbarian Xena Warrior Princess

There are a lot of ways I could do the matchups. I could randomize it, but that would lead to some really lopsided matches. I could try to make the initial fights competitive, but that would also lead to some really lopsided matches later on. Some of these guys cough Jon Snow cough are just gonna get outmatched. Not much I can do about that. So I'm thinking I'll focus on making interesting initial fights and just let the tournament go from there, balancing skill and thematic what if elements. So stay tuned.

an October Monday

A hundred people… Everyone is waiting, Well, most are.

Waiting for The geniuses: Those employees Deemed worthy To tell us why Our silicon idols no Longer respond to Our pokes, swipes, Presses, and prods.

They are the high priests of Our digital worship.

Bless my device, Father, for I Have sinned.

We are all, Each of us, Trapped in digital purgatory.

Our coins tinkle As they spill on The floor in our eagerness To buy Our indulgences.

A few today Are new to our religion. They browse the Sacred art shop For an icon They can call their own.

But it is not theirs. None of this is. We pay exorbitant costs just to be in the collective.

Salvation One app At a time.

The neophyte converts don’t know the secret We devout followers do: That it is already too late.

Once you drink the wine, (even a sip) you are a lifelong drunkard, a rollicking adherent to the cult of Apple.

We don’t even bother to argue our superiority any longer… We know critical mass was reached long ago.

This is why most of us In church today are happy to be here, Loved by digital god.

#poetry

2024-10-15 09:22:50

I am allowed to grieve what I wanted, without dishonoring what I felt.

A very very short read. I don't share Brown's pessimism about AI, but this story dates back to 1954 (!) and is a fun read.

Dwan Ev ceremoniously soldered the final connection with gold. The eyes of a dozen television cameras watched him and the subether bore throughout the universe a dozen pictures of what he was doing.

He straightened and nodded to Dwar Reyn, then moved to a position beside the switch that would complete the contact when he threw it. The switch that would connect, all at once, all of the monster computing machines of all the populated planets in the universe — ninety-six billion planets — into the supercircuit that would connect them all into one supercalculator, one cybernetics machine that would combine all the knowledge of all the galaxies.

Dwar Reyn spoke briefly to the watching and listening trillions. Then after a moment's silence he said, “Now, Dwar Ev.”

Dwar Ev threw the switch. There was a mighty hum, the surge of power from ninety-six billion planets. Lights flashed and quieted along the miles-long panel.

Dwar Ev stepped back and drew a deep breath. “The honor of asking the first question is yours, Dwar Reyn.”

“Thank you,” said Dwar Reyn. “It shall be a question which no single cybernetics machine has been able to answer.”

He turned to face the machine. “Is there a God?”

The mighty voice answered without hesitation, without the clicking of a single relay.

“Yes, now there is a God.”

Sudden fear flashed on the face of Dwar Ev. He leaped to grab the switch.

A bolt of lightning from the cloudless sky struck him down and fused the switch shut.

#brown

Drawing: Julia Royer (copyright 2026)

you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but do not pick your friends nose

This morning, a friend announced with gusto to a group of us, “you don’t love ANYONE as much as you love family!!”

I strained one of my eyes rolling it.

I am sure SOME people love their families more than anyone else. But others of us, well, family is something with which you are stuck. We choose whom we love with absolute abandon, not because of genetics but because the care and interest they have for us. My relatives, I mostly could never see them again and be fine.

Is that the lament of a lonely soul?

My wife is another matter though. When her cousins come to town everyone goes on hold to entertain them. They aren’t even close kin. Gabriel, Sarah and their adult daughter are cousins of a cousin. But in the 40 years I’ve known my wife’s family, he’s always been a fixture.

We used to joke my sister-in-law was secretly in love with Gabriel. Though many serious things are said in jest, nothing ever untoward ever went on. At least as far as I know. In my experience, the heart is more than capable of decades-long affection that goes beyond friendship but never quite blooms into romance.

Arriving at the restaurant tonight, the sun has dipped below the horizon and I wish I’d worn my corduroy hunting jacket. I am chilled and in a complete fog. The family has been trading around a miserable little head cold and while everyone else is either just starting to get it, or get over it, I am at peak feeling-like-shit. I’d rather be in bed. But duty calls. And love, love calls too. Just not of self tonight.

Coming late means everyone’s food is arriving and our waitress forgets to put in our order. The table is clearing before she rushes over with the wrong plate of food. No matter, we have pecked and grazed everyone’s meals and neither of us had much appetite to begin.

While we laugh and tell old stories we’ve traded a hundred times before, my wife has gotten stuck to the table. It is a patio setup and our table, one of two 6’ affairs, has oak slats with .5 inch gaps between each piece of lumber. It is attractive but also very practical for the outdoor setting. Rain cannot pool and the wood’s finish ensures a long, attractive life.

The gaps though, are the perfect size to capture her very elegant 18k gold bracelet that just happens to be .625 inches in width. Resting her wrist on the table allowed the flat chain to wedge between the slats diagonally. Tugging at it has only fastened it more soundly.

She is freed when I remove the bracelet from her wrist, but the gold is stuck fast. Pulling through below only wedges it deeper. The oak slats are new and fresh and have no give when pried apart with forks and knives. Fortunately, my nephew has a very sharp 4” folding knife (this is Texas, so that is normal) and I am able to very gingerly work the leading wedged edge up and out without destroying her bracelet.

We all cheer at the victory. Freed at last, she tucks the bracelet away as conversation shifts to other things.

We talk some of work, life in California (where Gabriel and his family live) and happy reflections on my wife’s sister who passed away in February this year. Many of our old stories have a new weight now that she is gone. God, EVERYTHING has more weight since her loss… I hear Lolly (the daughter) telling my nieces about her trips to Japan and Spain, Disney and Hawaii. She and her parents travel a lot. Gabriel and Sarah aren’t rich, but life in California necessitates a high wage and as Gabriel is a plumber, there’s plenty of cash for travel and experiences. I can sense my niece's jealously.

To my left, my other nephew trades stories about his recent purchase of a white and red 1991 Corvette. He has only owned it for a few weeks and is still very excited about it. I don’t engaged because my feelings are still hurt he wouldn’t let me drive it. I think he’s worried I’ll break the now classic vehicle. I am of the belief that sports cars, regardless of age, are meant to be driven sportily, not like your grandmas sedan.

Remembering his lumbering launch from my mother-in-laws house the night before, I smugly check the vehicles stats. The Chevrolet weighs in at 3400lbs with 245 horsepower. Compared to my old 5 series BMW touring sedan at 3600lbs and 282 HP, it’s not that impressive. I know the Beemer was a much better driving experience as sports cars are notorious rough rides. I know the 2005 540i was the best ride we ever owned. It carried us up and down the Eastern seaboard and across the country in the 5 or so years we owned the vehicle.

Everyone is tired. ARM and I because we got up early, volunteered most of the day, installed a shower in Campervan Beethoven, and cleaned up and dashed to a late dinner. The other 14 people because they spent the day two hours from home in the city. We will ALL sleep well tonight.

At least until some of us spring awake at 4am to reflect on the day.

Paying our tab and saying our farewells, we make plans for tomorrow’s festivity. Worship in the morning, a quick lunch, brief stint doing a little more volunteer work and then everyone is landing at our house for ribs and an animation festival in the evening. I am so tired, the thought does not excite me. But, soldier on we must.

When we arrived, I took note of a darling little Vespa chained to a light pole. As we exit, it is still there, across from the restaurant entrance. But now it has a new accessory: a windburned fellow in a dusty windbreaker and threadbare, greasy jeans. He leans cooly against his white and blue vehicle doing his level best to evoke James Dean.

At 50cc, it is the kind of bike you’d see in Europe ridden my much younger, more attractive men and women. This fellow is easily late 50’s. But I can tell he feels VERY hip. His attire and face are all wrong, but he has the countenance and posing of someone absolutely confident in their persona. A cigarette dangles carelessly from his fingers and he blows clouds of toxic smoke onto the cerulean night sky.

Doing the math, he is probably two strikes in on a DWI and has lost his license. In Texas, one does not need a drivers license for vehicles under 50cc, and his Vespa is technically only 49.

I wonder if he, too, has chosen his version of family—the open road, the night sky, his own company. Maybe not. Maybe he’s waiting for his wife’s shift to end, or perhaps he just needed a smoke break after gorging on spicy chicken sliders and fries.

As we pull away, the grizzled cyclist slips from my mind and I toss a final wave to the cousins and the rest of the family. I start to think of all the people I have chosen to love. Each of them lives in their own little room in my heart. Some exist in closets and some in penthouses. But they are with me all my days. It occurs to me that in this case, I DO love my family more than others. But, this is a choice. And a good one I think.

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#essay #inspiration #motivation #memoir #write #100daystooffload

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2025-03-24 00:01:57

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This is a quick test of the new “embed” functionality in write as.

It doesn't address what I want. I want to be able to upload the audio file into write as.

Adding a hyperlink in a blog post doesn't give me what I want. I might as well just ping the audio hyperlink direct into a social media post rather than write a blog post with it in.

Any way here is the test:

https://open.spotify.com/episode/0s7mgCqMl7VTEzhgu4P3Lz

Everybody has a plan until they punched in the face.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear, but along with the temptation he will also make the way out so that you may be able to endure it. 1 Cor. 10:13.

A real temptation is by definition desirable. Something that is difficult to resist. This prayer to not be tempted beyond what we can bear has been a long prompted request from the Creator. Sometimes, it feels like He's ignoring you. But in reality, His answers don't come in the form of a lightening bolt. They come in the form of a timely phone call or text message. A request for help from someone else who's under their own trial. Maybe even a knock on the door, someone dropping off a gift to say, 'hey, I love you.'

And when that happens, it does two things: 1. it gets you to reign in your heart (hopefully) and 2. it makes Jehovah more real.

If you ask for a blue car and someone drops off a new pair of walking shoes, you might connect the dots and realize Jehovah gave you what you needed, not what you wanted. But if someone shows up with a blue car, it's hard to just cry coincidence.

Here's the key: Do we recognize intervention when in fact that's what it is? Or do we push it off and try to handle it on our own?

And fail.

When we are successful, it's a big deal. Not just because we get through hell, or at least hell-ish, but because we effect our God's heart in a positive way.

That's important. Way more important than minimizing our own suffering.

A successful trial exposes the enemy as the liar and hate-filled creature he is.

1 Corinthians 10:13 guarantees we'll be successful. Jah WILL make the way out. He doesn't make it easy. Just survivable.

I watched Castaway last night and I was thinking about how hope kept him going.

If I was crashed on an island and guaranteed rescue, maybe a satellite beacon or something. That would massively improve my emotional state while I waited. But it would NOT make the existence there any easier.

Same with our lives. We all have to face something. Some dragon you will need to slay. My dragon is different than yours. I watched a friend struggle for years addicted to gambling. Another (several others actually) addicted to pornography. My own mother, grandfather, cousins and uncles addicted to drugs. These are real trials. But my trial is very different. And wholly unexpected.

Yours will be too. If we could anticipate the trial, maybe we could sidestep it. Hence: always be on guard, and the shrewd one considers his steps and conceals himself.

But a lot of the time, real trials and temptations come when we least expect and in ways we never anticipated.

Thank JAH! for scriptures like 1 Cor. Imagine the anxiety we'd have if we were unsure of rescue when that left hook catches us across the nose? Instead, we are told God is faithful.

Faithful. A friend who is there when we need Him. Who doesn't abandon us. Leave us alone to fend for ourselves. He'll let us carry the ball as far as we can, but then He scoops us up and carries us to the finish line.

And that He uses our friends and family to do that is incredible and wonderful. When they help us, we are feeling the hand of Jehovah. When we help others, we become the hand.

So, dear reader, thank you for your role in in helping someone carry their burden, get over their hurdle, get off their island. Because know it or not, sometimes you are the strength Jehovah gives another to endure.

And I think that's beautiful.

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#essay #biblereading

Introduction: The Threshold of Epistemic Surrender

To cross this threshold is to abandon the posture of the academic, the historian, and the speculative theologian. It requires an act of radical epistemic surrender — a shift from reading about the Sacred Text to being read by it.

For centuries, scriptural interpretation (tafsir) has functioned as an accumulative, external discipline. The seeker was taught that to understand the Revelation, one must assemble an ever-expanding apparatus of external data: lexicographical roots, historical contexts of revelation, legal precedents, and the competing opinions of medieval authorities. These tools preserve the historical silhouette of the text. They operate entirely within the realm of objective distance. They treat the Quran as a static, historical object anchored in seventh-century Arabia — a text to be dissected, categorised, and intellectually mastered by an autonomous, detached subject.

Hudur — Divine Presence — shatters that distance. Revelation is not merely an event recorded in history. It is a continuous, real-time descent (tanzil) occurring in the immediate present whenever a heart opens to receive it. The Hermeneutics of Presence does not approach the Quran as a book to be analysed by the human intellect. It approaches the Quran as an active, living environment in which the human soul is exposed, rearranged, and illuminated.

Traditional hermeneutics asks: “What did this verse mean historically?” Legalistic hermeneutics asks: “What rule does this verse extract?” The Hermeneutics of Presence asks: “What is this verse enacting upon my consciousness in this very moment?”

This shift from representation to enactment is the cornerstone of an unmediated Quranic Irfan. The Primary Text does not merely convey information about the Unseen (al-Ghayb). It acts as the primary vehicle through which the Unseen breaks into the domain of human perception. To read with Hudur is to move from secondary reporting (khabar) to direct, existential taste (dhawq). Before the Quran can be understood as a law or a history, it must be experienced as an ontological confrontation between the Absolute and the temporal creature.

The Organ of Perception: Reclaiming the Qalb

The primary barrier to experiencing the Quran as a living presence is not intellectual ignorance. It is an organ error.

Modern educational and religious paradigms have trained us to approach text almost exclusively through the analytical, discursive, conceptual mind. We read to gather information, build arguments, or satisfy intellectual curiosity. The Quran identifies a different organ as the sole recipient of its transformative power: the Heart (al-Qalb).

“Verily in this is a reminder for whoever has a heart, or gives ear while he is present as a witness.” (50:37)

The Quranic Qalb is not the modern sentimental heart — the seat of irrational emotion. In Quranic psychology, it is the central organ of spiritual perception, intuition, and holistic integration. The subtle locus where the divine spark (al-Ruh) meets the physical container of human nature (al-Jasad). The discursive intellect can parse grammar, analyse structure, and categorise laws — but it remains confined to the realm of form (Surah). Only the Qalb perceives meaning (Ma'na), tastes essence (Dhat), and experiences the reality of Presence (Hudur).

When the heart is veiled by heedlessness, intellectual pride, or unexamined egoic attachments, the Sacred Text becomes opaque. The words remain visible on the page. The acoustic vibrations reach the eardrum. The intellect parses the syntax. No illumination occurs. The reader remains locked in the outer shell.

The Hermeneutics of Presence begins with the deliberate purification and orientation of the Qalb. It demands an internal state of stillness and vulnerability before engaging the word. The heart is not a static container. It is a highly sensitive instrument that constantly fluctuates between states of expansion (bast) and contraction (qabd), clarity and turbidity. To read with Hudur is to bring the heart into alignment with the acoustic and spiritual frequency of the Revelation — to fulfill the condition named in the verse: to give ear while present as a witness. The reader does not merely listen or scan. The reader becomes an active, existential witness to the descent of the Word into the vessel of their own immediate awareness.

The Triad of Realisation: Tilawah, Tafsir, and Tadabbur

Three distinct modes of scriptural engagement. Historically conflated or arranged in rigid hierarchies that marginalise the contemplative dimension. In the Hermeneutics of Presence, they form an integrated, non-linear triad — each a necessary phase in the interiorisation of the Word.

1. Tilawah: The Body of the Sound

Not merely the vocalisation of text. The physical incarnation of the Divine Word through human breath, cadence, and resonance. The Quran was revealed as an oral, acoustic phenomenon — a spoken discourse designed to enter the human nervous system through sound. The acoustic patterns of the Arabic — its lengthenings, pauses, reverberations, and rhythmic shifts — are not decorative. They are precise vibratory frequencies engineered to bypass the defensive mechanisms of the analytical ego and directly alter the state of the Qalb. Tilawah provides the physical anchor for Hudur, grounding spiritual presence in the body through rhythmic breath and vocalisation.

2. Tafsir: The Intellectual Frame

The necessary, foundational work of the discursive intellect. Linguistic boundaries, semantic roots, grammatical structures, historical context. Without rigorous grounding in the outward form provided by Tafsir, spiritual interpretation collapses into arbitrary fantasy or subjective projection. But within the Hermeneutics of Presence, Tafsir is a means, not an end. It builds the doorway. It does not constitute entering the room. Once the intellectual frame is established, Tafsir yields to a higher mode of perception.

3. Tadabbur: The Spiritual Penetration

The ultimate engine of the Hermeneutics of Presence. The deliberate, deep, sustained immersion of the purified heart into the internal depths of the verse. Where Tafsir stops at the external meaning of the words, Tadabbur asks what those words reveal about the eternal nature of God, the hidden mechanics of the soul, and the immediate state of the reader. Active, contemplative wrestling — the verse critiques, dismantles, and rebuilds the reader's self-concept. Tadabbur transforms textual knowledge into existential realisation (Tahqiq).

The Four Pillars of the Present Hermeneutic

Pillar 1: Personal Address (Al-Khitab al-Mubashir)

Every statement, command, warning, and glad tiding in the Quran is addressed directly and personally to the reader in the present moment. When the text says, “O you who believe,” it addresses the living spark of faith within your heart right now. When it describes the hypocrites, it commands you to inspect the subtle insincerities, dualities, and hidden compromises within your own psyche — not to point fingers at historical enemies or contemporary opponents. The Quran is a private letter from the Eternal to the individual soul. To read it as a general public document or a dead historical archive is to miss its primary intent.

Pillar 2: The Dissolution of Time (Fana' al-Zaman)

In the state of Hudur, the artificial boundaries of linear time dissolve. The narratives of the prophets, the cosmic descriptions of the Day of Judgment, the creation of Adam — these are not events strung along a chronological timeline. They are simultaneous realities existing within the timeless space of the Divine Consciousness, rendered accessible to the human soul through Revelation. The Day of Judgment is not merely a distant future event; it is an active spiritual reality unfolding within your consciousness whenever the Light of Truth exposes the hidden motives of your ego. Paradise and Fire are not merely future geographical destinations; they are immediate states of proximity and distance, peace and burning remorse, accessible to the heart in the here and now.

Pillar 3: Radical Receptivity (Al-Insaat)

“And when the Quran is recited, listen to it and keep silent, so that you may receive mercy” (7:204). The silence commanded here is not the cessation of physical speech. It is the silence of the internal dialogue. Most readers approach scripture with a noisy mind — pre-existing theological biases, political agendas, personal anxieties, eager attempts to fit the text into pre-built conceptual boxes. Insaat requires suspending all internal chatter, empty opinions, and defensive intellectualising. Becoming an empty vessel upon which the Divine Word can etch its own meaning without distortion.

Pillar 4: The Ontological Reflex (Al-In'ikas)

Every verse possesses a direct, mirror-like reflection in the structure of human existence. Human beings are created as the comprehensive microcosm (al-Kawn al-Jami') — containing within themselves reflections of all Divine Attributes and all cosmic layers. Every textual statement corresponds to an internal state. The text is never “about something else.” It is always, simultaneously, about the divine-human relationship unfolding within the reader's own being.

The Structure Ahead

With the foundational posture of Hudur established, Part I systematically builds the methodology required to read the Sacred Text as an unmediated engine of spiritual illumination.

Chapter 1: The Primary Language of the Unseen examines how the Arabic of Revelation operates fundamentally differently from ordinary human language — not merely as a system of signs designating physical objects and abstract concepts, but as an active alteration of consciousness. It explores the precise distinction between Tafsir and Tadabbur; the principle of polysemy — how a single Quranic root contains multiple, non-contradictory layers of meaning designed to unfold as the reader's spiritual perception deepens; the holographic relationship between the Signs in the Horizons and the Signs in the Soul; and the acoustic mechanics of the oral Quran — how sound, rhythm, and breath operate as direct spiritual transmission.

Chapter 2: The Self-Referential Grammar of Batin establishes a rigorous, text-internal grammar for reading the Quran's inner meanings without drifting into arbitrary allegorisation or flattening literalism. It examines the self-imposed, text-internal constraints that distinguish legitimate ta'wil from arbitrary projection; the primary archetypal metaphors woven throughout the scriptural fabric — Light, Water, Darkness, Clay, and Fire — and how they define the fundamental forces operating within human consciousness; and the re-definition of the Unseen — shifting it from a distant, inaccessible theological realm into an immediate, present dimension of experience waiting to be unveiled through spiritual presence.

The Ultimate Aim of Presence

The Hermeneutics of Presence is not an end in itself. It is the doorway.

When you close the book after reading with true Presence, you do not walk away possessing more information. You walk away altered. The illusions of the ego have been exposed. The heart has been polished. The boundary between the sacred text and your daily existence has begun to dissolve.

The Quran is not merely a book sitting on a shelf. It is the fundamental architecture of Reality itself. By learning to read the written Revelation (al-Kitab al-Mastur) with presence of heart, you unlock the ability to read the open Revelation of Existence (al-Kitab al-Maftuh) with the same illuminated vision. You step out of the secondary shadows of secondhand religion and enter the radiant, unmediated light of the Divine Presence — where the Speaker, the Word, and the Listening Heart meet in singular, uninterrupted communion.

I put a thirst trap on my Hinge, one of the photos of me flexing in the posing room. Suddenly, I’ve gotten a lot more matches, and people are talking with me and flirting. I guess I’m not surprised, but a little part of me is.

Starcraft Co 4- Zerglings II

I know it is not an original title, but it was what the level was titled when it was originally made. Anyway, the conclusion to the Zerg infestation on the Horizons Beyond.

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The Horizons Beyond had another secret. This one was worse. Administrator Kessler contacted StarCraft Co. through the same encrypted channel he had used after the E-Forty-Two incident. He looked less frightened than before, but only because exhaustion had replaced panic. “We leased space,” he said. The commander waited. “To whom?” Kessler admitted it was a private research corporation operating aboard the ship. When the commander asked whether the arrangement was official, Kessler looked away. That was answer enough.

The Horizons Beyond had entire sectors that remained unused between expansion cycles, spaces large enough to become neighborhoods, industrial facilities or storage complexes as demand changed. One of those sectors had been quietly leased to a third-party research company under an arrangement that apparently did not exist in any public registry. “What kind of research?” the commander asked. “Biological.” The commander already suspected the answer to his next question. “Zerg?” Kessler hesitated before admitting it. The commander stared at him. “You rented an unregistered section of a civilian carrier to people experimenting on Zerg?” Kessler insisted that the corporation had assured them its containment protocols exceeded regulatory standards. “They always do,” the commander replied.

The facility was now nonresponsive. Approximately ninety scientists and technical staff worked there, along with twenty-eight members of the corporation's internal security force. All were missing. Worse, Kessler had already sent another mercenary team into the facility six hours earlier. Fourteen people had gone in. Contact had been lost. When the commander asked how many Zerg were inside, Kessler could only say they didn't know. The creatures appeared to be primarily zerglings, with no confirmed sightings of anything else. There were also extensive stores of volatile laboratory materials throughout the sector. Missiles, explosives and heavy weapons were out of the question. It would have to be infantry.

The commander thought about the last infestation. Sending more bodies had not saved the Horizons Beyond security team. Training, equipment and discipline had. StarCraft Co. had learned the same lesson. “Two marine squads. Two firebat squads. Medic support.” Kessler frowned. “That's all?” The commander reminded him that they had sent more personnel into E-Forty-Two because they had known less then. Now they knew what worked. When Kessler asked for the price, the commander named it. Kessler didn't negotiate. StarCraft Co. had officially stopped being the cheap option.

The research sector occupied several contiguous decks below a freight district near the outer hull. Its entrance looked nothing like a laboratory. The public-facing side had been disguised as warehousing and environmental control infrastructure. Behind two security bulkheads, however, the corridors changed abruptly. Sterile white wall panels replaced industrial steel. Observation windows looked into laboratories. Directional markings identified containment suites, tissue culture rooms, specimen storage and restricted research areas. The first body lay ten meters inside. A scientist. The second was farther down the corridor. There was much less of him.

The commander ordered the formation tightened. Marines took the lead while firebats remained one position behind, ready to move forward when the corridors narrowed or the Zerg committed to a rush. Medics stayed central. Every soldier carried upgraded ammunition, improved optics and better armor seals than the company had owned during its first jobs. They had also learned to stop rushing. The first zerglings came through a laboratory wall—not a door, the wall. A section of composite paneling collapsed outward and six creatures poured through the opening. The marines fired immediately, killing the first three before they cleared the rubble. Two more reached the line before the firebats stepped forward and filled the corridor with flame.

The last zergling tried to retreat through the hole. Mercer followed it just far enough to burn whatever was behind the wall, and screaming echoed through the structure. “More in there,” he said. The commander ordered the breach sealed and the force moved on. The next several chambers were almost routine, which disturbed them more than anyone said aloud. Zerglings occupied specimen rooms, maintenance corridors and storage laboratories. Some had nested beneath desks and equipment. Others prowled openly. One group had torn apart an entire bank of refrigeration units and consumed whatever had been stored inside.

The mercenaries cleared each room the same way. Marines identified movement, firebats destroyed concentrations, medics treated wounds, and doors were sealed behind them. They didn't chase. They didn't split. They didn't assume anything was dead. The system worked. By the time they reached the sublevel access, they had killed more zerglings than existed in the entire Varga infestation. Nobody bothered counting anymore.

The elevator had failed, so they took the emergency stairs. Halfway down, the shooting started. It wasn't theirs. Automatic weapons rattled somewhere below, followed by screaming. The commander ordered the forward marine squad to move, and they descended rapidly until the stairwell opened onto a wide service junction. Zerglings filled it. Dozens were attacking a barricade constructed from laboratory benches and storage lockers, with muzzle flashes flickering behind it.

The commander reacted immediately. Firebats went forward while the marines fired high over them. Flame rolled down the corridor and the zerglings turned, dividing the swarm. Half continued attacking the barricade while the rest charged StarCraft Co. Gauss rifles fired over the firebats' shoulders. The first wave died. The second reached them. One firebat went down beneath three zerglings, and another soldier dragged him backward while his squadmates burned the creatures off his armor. Gunfire erupted from behind the barricade at the same time. Caught between both forces, the swarm collapsed. It took less than two minutes. It felt much longer.

When the last zergling stopped moving, nobody advanced immediately. The commander ordered whoever was behind the barricade to identify themselves. A voice answered through an external speaker: “Harrier Group. Contract security.” They had found the missing mercenaries. Seven of the original fourteen were still alive. They emerged carefully, armor scratched, burned and covered with Zerg blood. One man had a bandaged eye. Another could barely stand. Their leader removed his helmet and stared at the StarCraft Co. insignia. “Mercenaries?” Rourke looked at the barricade. “You expecting someone else?” The Harrier leader laughed, halfway hysterically, while Venn's medics began treating his people.

The commander asked what had happened. The Harriers had gone after the nest. They had found where it was forming in Subsector Three and pushed toward it, believing they were chasing perhaps ten or fifteen zerglings. Instead, the Zerg had repeatedly fallen back. The commander understood immediately: they had been led deeper. When he asked how many were waiting there, the Harrier leader shook his head. “Hundreds.” Four of his surviving people could still fight. The commander gave them ammunition and ordered them behind the StarCraft Co. line.

They moved toward Subsector Three together. The first sign of what had happened there was the smell. Then came the blood. The corridor walls were smeared with it. Pieces of uniforms lay among shredded laboratory coats. Human bones had been dragged into corners. Several bodies had been stripped almost completely of flesh. Then they reached the main chamber and pushed a fiber-optic camera beneath the door.

Nobody spoke for a while. A mound of bodies occupied the center of the chamber: scientists, security personnel and members of the Harrier team. Some were recognizable. Most weren't. Zerglings moved across the pile. More than a hundred were visible, while others crawled through ruptures in the walls or disappeared into maintenance conduits. The chamber had become a feeding ground and a nest. The commander watched one small zergling crawl out from beneath the gore, followed by another. He remembered Varga's basement. No queen. No hatchery. Yet again, the numbers made no sense.

“Commander?” Rourke eventually asked. The commander looked away from the feed. “We burn it.”

There was no elegant solution this time. They could not vent the chamber into space. They could not use explosives. They could not collapse the deck without risking volatile storage rooms below. So StarCraft Co. did what infantry had always done when there were no better options. They went in. The first firebat squad entered through the western door and the second through the east, with marines following twenty meters behind. The fire started immediately. Zerglings screamed as the front ranks died, but those behind them kept coming. They came from the corpse pile, holes in the walls, ventilation ducts and broken sections of flooring.

The first firebat line disappeared beneath them. The commander ordered them back while marines fired into the swarm. One firebat rose again covered in burning Zerg. Another didn't. Medics dragged wounded soldiers toward the entrance as the remaining firebats widened their firing arcs. Smoke and flame made the chamber almost impossible to see. Zerglings reached the marine line and rifles went to point-blank fire. One marine disappeared beneath four creatures. Another emptied his magazine and began using his rifle like a club. The Harrier survivors joined the line. Nobody cared whose company logo was painted on whose armor anymore.

Casualty markers began appearing across the commander's display. One. Two. Three. More. He ordered the north access sealed, and a maintenance door slammed shut just before zerglings began tearing at it from the other side. Mercer's squad rotated left, opening a corridor for Rourke and the remaining firebats to advance. They burned directly into the corpse pile. The bodies ignited, as did the organic matter beneath them.

Then the walls began moving.

Dozens more zerglings poured from cavities hidden behind the biological growth. The formation bent and nearly broke. Then the first nest structure collapsed. Flame reached something inside the wall and a pocket of organic tissue ruptured, setting several emerging zerglings ablaze before they even reached the floor. The commander finally understood. “They're using the walls.”

The surviving firebats redirected their weapons. Not toward the Zerg, but toward the nest itself. Marines covered them while the firebats burned everything organic—the walls, the floor, the corpse pile, every cavity and every tunnel. Zerglings kept attacking, but fewer emerged each time. The swarm began thinning.

Twenty minutes into the battle, ammunition became a problem. Thirty minutes in, fuel became a problem. Forty minutes in, the floor was covered in bodies, human and Zerg. One firebat ran dry, drew his sidearm and joined the marines. Another continued firing until his weapon overheated. The medics picked up rifles from the dead. Nobody had enough people left to maintain the original formation, but the Zerg had fewer too.

Eventually the last rush came. Perhaps thirty zerglings emerged from three openings simultaneously. The mercenaries held. The remaining firebats fired until their tanks emptied. Marines fired until the creatures reached them, and then the survivors fought with whatever remained—rifles, sidearms, knives, armor. One Harrier mercenary killed a zergling with a broken section of laboratory railing. Rourke crushed another beneath his boot. Mercer emptied his pistol into the last creature still moving.

Then there was silence. Real silence. Not the pause between attacks, not creatures moving behind walls. Nothing.

The commander ordered them to check everything. Every wall cavity. Every ventilation shaft. Every access tunnel. The firebats burned the entire chamber again. Nothing emerged. Subsector Three was dead.

The casualty report was ugly. StarCraft Co. had lost nine personnel. Several others were wounded badly enough to require surgery. Three of the seven rescued Harrier mercenaries died during the final fight. Four survived. The scientists were all dead. The corporate security team was gone. But the infestation had been destroyed. The commander ordered the entire research sector quarantined and sterilized, then contacted Kessler.

“Finished?” the administrator asked. The commander confirmed it. When Kessler asked about survivors, he told him four Harrier personnel were coming out. Kessler exhaled and said they would be compensated. “They'll be quiet?” the commander asked. Kessler almost smiled. “That depends what we're paying them.” The commander uploaded the casualty list. Kessler's expression changed when he saw it. “That's…” The commander finished the thought for him. “Nine of mine.” Kessler said he understood. “No. You understand the number. You'll understand the cost when I send the invoice.”

This time there was no argument. StarCraft Co. received the full contract payment, replacement costs, medical expenses and death benefits. Then Kessler added a large bonus for recovering the Harrier personnel and maintaining discretion. The commander looked at him for a long moment. “Your ship has had three Zerg incidents.” Kessler said nothing. “That's not bad luck anymore.” Kessler finally admitted that he knew. The administration was conducting an internal investigation. The commander nearly laughed. “Of course you are.”

Kessler ignored the remark. There was one other matter. The surviving Harrier personnel had asked for StarCraft Co.'s contact information. The commander asked why. “I imagine because you saved their lives,” Kessler replied. That made sense. More interestingly, the research corporation's surviving executives also wanted to establish a channel. “After ninety of their people got eaten?” the commander asked. Kessler merely pointed out that they had considerable resources. The commander considered that, then told him to send the information.

For the next several days, industrial sterilization crews moved through the abandoned research sector. Every contaminated chamber was burned, chemically treated and sealed. Contractors quietly replaced entire sections of wall and flooring. Official documentation described the work as remediation following a laboratory solvent accident. Nobody aboard the Horizons Beyond was told about the dead scientists. Nobody was told about the mercenaries. Nobody was told that well over a hundred zerglings had been breeding inside the ship. Eventually the biosignature sweeps came back clean. For the first time in months, every known section of the Horizons Beyond was free of Zerg.

For now.

StarCraft Co. left with fewer soldiers than it had arrived with, but it also left with money, a growing reputation, the gratitude of another mercenary outfit and the contact information of people who operated far beyond the Horizons Beyond. The company had started by killing zerglings in a scientist's basement. Now people were beginning to call them before they called anyone else.

D*m*nic. A British living here for the last 5 years but entered the bakery for the first time today.

L*vi like the jeans, who is a vegan from Texas, with Mexican heritage, who was well-versed in recent viral news of a Singaporean woman who talked about her boyfriend not being her physical type but was also mindful about not adding to the existing misogynistic hate directed at Erica Kirk.

V*n**ss*, who works in tech and M*rk, a dog trainer and forest tour guide.

I like remembering people and their names.

تاريخ النشر: 11:28 فجر الخميس 30 صفر 1448 [بحسب التقويم وننتظر إعلان التاريخ الشرعي من المحكمة]

خلاصة:

تولد الخبرة من أعمالٍ نزاولها ونحسنها بعد حين، لا من نطاقٍ ضيق، أو وصف وظيفي قاصر، أو اسمٍ كبير أو لقب صغير. خلاصة تجربة مهنية بلغت سبعة أعوام ونصف أو تزيد في سوق العمل. ليست دقيقة تنقضي قبل أن ينفتح باب المصعد، لكنها دقائق تساعدك أيضًا على تأمل مسارك المهني مستقيمًا كان أم متعرجًا.

مقدمة:

اشتد تعرج مساري المهني في العام الماضي 1447، واقترن السؤال عنه في المقابلات بصمتٍ يعاقبني بالرفض. ولم تزل إجاباتي -وإن صدقت- شبهة قوية للسائلين على مرافعة دفاعية أنتهض بها للاعتذار عن شيءٍ لا يعتذر منه وليس لي يدٌ فيه أو في أكثره. وما أضيق وقت المقابلات الوظيفية عن الشرح والتعليل والبيان الصادق لما جرى في الماضي.

أحدثكم اليوم عن جمالٍ يتوارى في المسار المتعرج، وعن خبرة تراكمت في مهماتٍ ووظائف لم تكن في الوصف الوظيفي، ومسؤوليات تجاوزت مسؤوليتي المحدودة، ومشروعات ليست في نطاق العمل.

وألحق بالمقال نموذجًا من سيرتي المهنية لمن أراد العلم والعمل بمقتضى العلم.

1- لا تعليق بعد اليوم: استخراج الذهب في قطاع تقنية المعلومات (14-3-1446)

لم يكن من شأني وقد انضممت حديثًا إلى تلك الشركة أن أشتغل بتصنيفها الفني عند هيئة الحكومة الرقمية. لكن رئيس الشركة عهد إلي بمتابعة ذلك الملف العالق لما نالت الشركة أقل مما تستحقه، وكان ينبغي أن تنال التصنيف الذهبي. فشمرت عن ساعدي واشتغلت بتحديث ملفات الشركة، وحسن عرضها، وتتبع ما نقص من شهاداتها ووثائقها، وإعادة رفعه في المنصة، ومواصلة الهيئة بين الحين والآخر.

اشتغلت بالمشروع شهرين ونصف الشهر حتى تحقق الهدف بحمد الله في عصرٍ من الثلاثاء في ثالث شهور السنة [ربيع الأول 1446]. وكان مشروع رفع التصنيف الفني خدمة تضطلع بها مكاتب وشركات وتتقاضى عليها الأموال الطائلة. فحمدت الله عز وجل على عملٍ ناجحٍ تنوء به المكاتب.

لم ألتفت إلى ما أنجزته حتى حدثت به أحد الأصدقاء ذات صباح، فأخبر زملائه عني، وسألوني أن أقدم إليهم عرضًا فنيًا وماليًا. وكاد أن يتم الأمر لولا مشيئة الله.

2- اربط لتضبط: قائمة متجددة لشراكات محلية ودولية (1445/1 – 1445/6)

دخلت إلى دنيا المناقصات وعالم العروض الفنية في منتصف عام 1444. وكان مما أدركته أن منظمة واحدة -وإن كانت كبيرة هائلة- لا تستطيع أن تعمل وحدها على أكثر الفرص التي تناسبها. وعرفت أن نجاح الشراكة شراكة في النجاح.

لم يكن من وصفي الوظيفي متابعة الشراكات القائمة وإدارة علاقات الموردين. إذ كان عندنا قسم المشتريات، والمطلوب مني -ومن سائر الفريق- تقويم المنافسات المختارة من منصة اعتماد، وإعداد ما يناسبها من العروض الفنية والمالية.

لم نتخصص في المجالات التي نخوضها، وكنا نعوِّل كثيرًا على شركاء متشاكسين محليين ودوليين.

ولم يلبث مدير القسم حتى انتخبني لإعداد قائمة الشركاء في الحال والمآل مقترنين بالحلول والخدمات التي يقدمونها.

اشتغلت بمشروع إقامة الشراكات وتقويمها شهرًا أو شهرين، وكان علي أن أتصل بالشركات وأن أبحث عمن يمثلهم في المملكة العربية السعودية أو منطقة الخليج.

وأعجب من ذلك أنني أنفقت بعض أيامي في اجتياز شهادة لإحدى الشركات العالمية، ونجحت في اختبارها بعد شق الأنفس وأعنت زميلًا لي على ذلك.

أفادتني هذه الخبرة كثيرًا بحمد الله، فكانت سببًا ساقه الله إلي لأترشح إلى وظائف المبيعات وبناء الشركات.

الربط سبب وثيق إلى الضبط [1].

3- تقدم إذا تأخر غيرك: المشاركة في إدارة مشروع تقني كبير (1443/6 – 1444/6)

عامٌ مضى في وظيفة أتقنتها، واجتهدت في أداء مهماتها، فلم تزدني الشركة هللة واحدة رغم إلحاحي ومطالبي. كنا نشتغل ببناء ذكاء الذكاء قبل أن يعرف الناس عنه شيئًا. وكنا نعلمه الكلام ونختبر قدرته على الاستجابة، وندربه على عبارات مختلفة عربية وإنجليزية فصحى وعامية.

تخصصت في بناء المحتوى النصي لبرمجيات المحادثة الآلية [شات بوتس Chatbots]، واستطعت أن أزودها بنماذج متعددة من المدخلات والاستفسارات على هيئة (intents, utterances, and queries) ولا داعي لكتابة الكلمات بحروف كبيرة. خطوة مهدت لي التعرف إلى التعلم العميق (deep learning) والذكاء التوليدي (generative AI).

والمقصود أنني اضطلعت بقدرٍ لا بأس به من مهمات إدارة مشروع تقني كبير (وتفاصيله في سيرتي الذاتية الكاملة التي تحصل عليها إذا راسلتني في البريد hijriman47@keemail.me).

استنابني مدير المشروع وكذلك مدير الفريق فصرت أشهد الصراع على المشروع في ساحات الحرب كما يسمونها بالإنجليزية (war rooms) وأفاوض العميل والشركة التي تولت المشروع وكذا فريق الجودة والاختبار.

كنت أتلقى التذكرة في جيرا (Jira) بالواسطة أول الأمر ثم آلت إلي الإجابة عنها، وإغلاقها في وقت محدد يسير، وصرت أباشرها بنفسي في كثيرٍ من الأحيان.

أدركت بنفسي كما لم أدرك من قبل في دورات إدارة المشروعات PMP كيف يتجاذب العميل ومدير المشروع المتطلبات، وكيف تصير الأهداف المتفق عليها سببًا في نزاع مستمر.

أردنا أن نقدم للعميل برنامجًا للمحادثة الآلية يغني عملاءه عن إشغال الموظفين بالطلبات اليسيرة المتكررة، والعجيب أننا لم نملك وسيلة لأتمتة إجراءات البناء والاختيار. اللهم إلا نظامًا يسيرًا بنيته في إكسل Excel من مايكروسوفت لتسريع الإدخال والاختبار.

خبرة تمنيت أن أستثمرها لما أردت الانتقال من الشركة سوى أنني انحصرت في اسم الوظيفة الضيق، وأحبطني قلة التقدير الذي لقيته في نهاية المطاف!

4- شذرات من التجارب (1444/6 – 1448/1)

أ- تكيفٌ بلا حدود: تعرفت إلى مبادئ أتمتة الإجراءات (RPA)، فاستعملت باستعمال باور أوتوميت (Power Automate) لتسريع العمل في السير الذاتية. إذ كانت تعبئتها وإلحاقها بالعروض الفنية استنزافًا للوقت وإرهاقًا للأصابع وإجهادًا في غير فائدة.

طريقة بذلتها إلى زميلٍ ما لما غادرت الشركة، ولم تصلح في شركة أخرى لأنها تستعمل باوربوينت (PowerPoint). لم أجد حلًا قليل التكلفة، فاستبدلت الأتمتة بنصفها وحسنت القوالب لتتسع لعروض أخرى، وأضفت إليها مواضع (placeholders) يسهل تعبئتها بالكلمات الدالة على الجهة والمشروع ومدته واسمه وغير ذلك.

ب- القلم يرفعنا: لم يفارقني القلم يومًا في أعمالي ووظائفي، فكم حررت وراجعت صفحات المواقع (Webpages)، ومذكرات التفاهم (MoUs)، واتفاقيات عدم الإفصاح (NDAs)، والترجمات من العربية إلى الإنجليزية وبعكس ذلك. ولذلك كتبت ستة (6) تقارير في مشروعٍ تريد الشركة أن تحرك مدفوعاته الراكدة، ودفعت إليهم ثلاثة (3) مستندات عربية وإنجليزية مطلوبة للطرح المالي.

لست أنكر أنني أفدت من أدوات الذكاء التوليدي حينها، لا سيما أن بعض أهل الإدارة كانوا يظنونها مفتاحًا لكل المغاليق، وحلًا للمشكلات، وابتكارًا للمخارج السريعة.

والله يعلم أنني لا أحب أن أسيئ في كتابتي، وأحملها على عاتقي، وأنظر بنفسي في المعلومات الواردة، وأتثبت من صحتها (fact-checking) لئلا يسأل عن كاتبها على سبيل الذم والحط.

لست أنسى تلك المقالات المترجمة التي دفعت إلي لأحررها متطوعًا فلم أقنع بعيوبها السطحية، بل نفذت إلى أصولها، وقارنتها، وقدمت لطالب التحرير تقريرًا بشيءٍ من التفصيل في عيوب الترجمة وأخطائها الشنيعة.

ج- البيانات كاشفة: مكنتني إدارة المناقصات من المشاركة مع الأقسام الأخرى من مبيعات ومشتريات وفرقٍ فنية، والمساهمة في تحسين أعمالهم. ومن ذلك أنني أخرجت لمديرين أحدهما في المشتريات ذات مرة تقريرًا عن أداء الموردين وشركائهم مستفادًا من نظامه التقني.

د- العبرة بالنظام لا بالوسيلة: تعلمت إمكان التحول الرقمي وسهولة الانتقال إلى عالم الديجيتال في الشركات الصغيرة حيث تقل الموارد وتضيق الميزانية عن أكفأ الحلول وأفضل الوسائل.

تعرفت إلى إدارة المناقصات في نظام Dynamics 365 من مايكروسوفت لتنظيم موارد المؤسسات (ERP)، وأتقنتها في الشركات الصغيرة التي لا تكاد تستعمل الشير بوينت (SharePoint).

أدركت حينها أن العبرة بحسن بناء النظام وإن كان صغيرًا، وضبط موارده وإن كانت قليلة. وقد أبصرت بنفسي تكاسل طائفة من الموظفين عن استعمال النظام التقني المتقدم، ونشاط بعضهم في مجموعة واتساب أو نظام محدود الإمكانيات.

لم أعد أصحاب تلك الشركة ببناء نظامٍ آلي لرصد المنافسات وتصنيفها. لكنني وعدتهم بنظامٍ يسير لضبط المنافسات الحالية، ومعرفة الناجح منها، ورصد ما يأتي في قادم الأيام. وقد وفيت بهذا الوعد.

خاتمة:

كنت أحب أن أرى ثمارًا للبذور التي وضعتها وسقيتها ورعيتها، وكنت أتمنى أن تكفيني الأرقام الناجحة مؤونة تعليل المسار المتعرج الذي سلكته في مسيرتي المهنية. لكنني أحمد الله عز وجل على خبراتٍ تنوعت وتراكمت، وأفادتني كثيرًا في العمل والإدارة. وأحسب أن ما كتبته من مقال يخفف عني -إن شاء الله- وطأة الأسئلة المزعجة التي تنتهي إلى الرفض أو العرض المجحف وكلاهما مرٌ لا حلاوة فيه. وإن شئت أن تقف على مزيدٍ منها، فدونك السيرة الذاتية التجريبية في الحاشية، فتأملها كما تحب!

وكتب البراء بن محمد.

في مشرق الشمس من يوم الخميس سلخ صفر عام 1448.

30-2-1448

هامش

[1]

كان أحد أصدقائي في الشبكة الرقمية مولعًا باقتباسٍ عجيبٍ عن ابن رشد، تذكرته الآن وقد عرفت فضيلة الربط والضبط. والحق أن كلمته في سياقٍ آخر لا يتصل بما نحن فيه، لكنها لطيفة يحسن ذكرها.

(من لم يعرف الربط لم يقدر على الحل)

[ابن رشد – فصل المقال ص 127 طبعة مركز دراسات الوحدة العربية]

ملحق [السيرة الذاتية التجريبية بحسب آخر تحديث 20 صفر 1448]

صورة من الصفحة الأولى

صورة من الصفحة الثانية

صورة من الصفحة الثالثة

صورة من الصفحة الرابعة

صورة من الصفحة الخامسة