My Writing on Kai's Stupid Website

Them

Sun, 09 Nov 2025 16:08:30 -0700

Content Warning

This story contains content involving death and suicide.

The first time I met them was in middle school. They walked up to me, step by deliberate step as I hung in the boy’s restroom, our eyes meeting somewhere far away. They stopped; I felt a whisper of their outstretched hand caressing my cheek.

There was a profound sadness in their eyes, a longing for a time long past. A deep pity for the broken husk that hung before them. That sadness carried a profound weight to it. Had I made a mistake? I managed to crack my mouth open to ask. Nothing came out.

My vision began to ebb. Frame by frame, their had moved to close my eyelids. One last echo of desperation cried out of the depths of my chest begging for a single word, a smile, a tear, yet nothing made it out. I liked to believe that they knew how thankful I was; I was always terrified that I’d die alone. And as my conciousness receeded perhaps for the last time, I burned their face into my mind: my last and only friend. Then with a loud “crack!” I came crashing back to reality.

When I woke up, the doctor told me there was nobody else in that restroom. My mind reeled as she chided me about how bad the school would have looked if their suicide count had hit 50 that year. I wasn’t listening; I was already keenly aware of the statistics. Thanks dad.

Instead, as it would be for the rest of my life, my mind was firmly locked on Them. They were real. I was certain of it. Nobody I asked seemed to recognize them. I must have hacked into the school’s various data systems at least a dozen times, all to no avail. The mystery person simply didn’t exist. Ironically, my search for them kept me going for another couple of years, but like a moth to a flame, they found their way back to me.

I’m an engineer. I’m a programmer. I’ve worked with cyberware as far back as I can remember. The week before, I had just figured out how to modify my ears to only hear certain frequencies of sound. I was damn good at what I did. What I do.

However, one thing I am not is a chemist. Perhaps I should have tested my creations on a mouse or something first, but I was desperate. So, it took me a moment to process things when I saw a ghost of their figure in the bloody mirror fragments.

I gasped and moved to sit up, giving a little lurch instead, making a little “plish” as I landed back into my growing pool of blood and tears. My arms simply refused to do as I told them, keeping me strictly anchored to the ground. The slits in my wrists that were supposed to free me choosing to instead root me in my awful body.

I gave a slight chuckle, glancing around at my failed experiment. I was damn foolish to believe that some half corrupted old webpage that I had dug up from the old net would adequately instruct me on the nuances of hormone structure. I glanced a reflection of myself on the volumetric flask containing the concentrated essence of failure. The damn thing kept following me around. My vision flashed red in sheer self hatred. I wanted it gone, my failure, the flask, but most of all that awful, evil face that looked back at me. My hands of course did nothing, so I opted instead to writhe in desperation.

A soft “splash” of a boot making contact with my pool of misery put my useless movements to a stop. They were back.

“Destroy it all” I felt my hoarse voice say. They finally came into view, kneeling by my side, that look of melancholy still present on their face as I had remembered it all those years ago. They placed a hand on my shoulder, grabbing and shaking it slightly. Their eyebrows were pressed together in a look of concern. A plea of some sort. I couldn’t parse it. Decyphering things had gotten rather difficult from all the blood loss, and i had gotten rather exhausted from all the movement.

“hmmm?” I asked drowsily as they sat me up wrapping their arm under mine. “Wherarewegoing?” I mumbled as they stood me up and began to move toawrds the balcony. They creaked the door open and moved us outside, setting me down with my back propped up against the wall. They sat down next to me gazing out over the vast cityscape, the city staring back at us beautiful, haunting, and uncaring as ever.

I hated the city. It ground people up and fed them to its proverbial wood chipper just to squeeze out a couple extra dollars in corpo market cap. But somehow its regular cursed glow had abated at the mere sight of Them, resulting in a beautiful view I had never quite seen before.

I shfted my weight as best I could, manging a semi-controlled slump onto them, my head resting on their shoulder. They placed an arm around me. A tear rolled down my cheek; I hadn’t been this close to another person in my life. Fitting, perhaps, that it would occur in death.

“Thanks,” I whispered. They gave me a little squeeze in response. We gazed out over the endless city till I lost conciousness. How long that was, I couldn’t tell you. When I woke up, they were gone, and my wounds had miraculously scabbed over. After dressing my injuries, I laid back in my chair, pensively surveying the blood pool, the shattered mirror, and (against my best efforts), my still intact experiment.

One more try.

After I graduated high school, I had been taking side gigs netrunning for cyberwatch’s intelligence wing just to keep the food coming while I searched for Them. They had become an obsession of mine, which was probably a good thing. You can’t survive in the modern day without something keeping you going; Some have lofty ideals, some have hard drugs, i just had Them.

My experiments had eventually succeeded which certaintly didnt hurt either. I liked to think that plea that they had given me was one of encouragement; a vote of confidence. Every failure, every setback brought their face into my head, making giving up impossible.

I had been evicted from my cargo crate the week earlier; Just one of the 120,995 that would be evicted in such a way this year. As a result, I had deemed that cyberwatch gig necessary. I needed the scratch to afford a roof over my head. There’s a reason everyone tells you to avoid gig work for corps (12,492 “work related” deaths this year), but I was young and thought I could get away with it. All I know is that one moment I was under, and the next I was wrenched back into my body, looking directly into their eyes again as they lay next to me. How I had missed those eyes. Hello again they seemed to say, regretfully. The sting of the dozen or so holes in my torso was reduced to little more than a subtle tone that echoed across my body. Like the dial tone on my dad’s old rotary phone he bought after the old net collapsed. I managed little more than a weak cough and a “Who?” carried over the whisper of whatever air happened to remain in my tattered lungs. I think I already knew, subconsciously, but the little smile they gave me all but confirmed it.

Death.

How anyone could fear such a beautiful and delicate creature was beyond me. I inched my hand towards theirs and they took it tenderly. I smiled, the muted tone echoing through my body subsiding to a fuzzy static. I didn’t care. Bleeding out in an abandoned building, like that night on the balcony, I was alright again. Content to spend the short remainder of my life laying there motionless, holding hands with them.

The immediate pity in their eyes was obvious but behind that I could clearly identify a heavier sadness, grounded in an ocean of exhaustion. How long had they been alive? What had they seen? Experienced? Felt? Fuck, now I was the one pitying them. Had they had a single break? Or were they forced to witness statistic after statistic? And why me? I knew these numbers like the back of my hand: there were at least twenty other people in that city dying at that very instant. Why spend precious time lying in the dirt with some fucking idiot? Whatever the reason, I slowly mouthed a word of thanks at them. They squeezed my hand, which for some reason brought tears to my eyes.

A million miles away, a noise played. Almost a recording of a glass vase falling, shattering, played back as quietly as speakers would allow. Then voices. Annoying voices. Like the voices that played on dad’s post-old net radio. Dad. I think i forgave him a bit in that moment. He must have met Death as well. He must have known them like I did. Why else would you kill yourself with a 13 year old kid to take care of? Especially with a motto like “Don’t add to the statistics.”

I felt my body lurch. Odd. I certainly didn’t have the strength for such things. A pinch on my arm echoed across my hollow consciousness, followed quickly by a burning sensation that rapidly replaced the comfortable radio fuzz. The lurch happened again. Wait, I was moving. Death! Where were they? We couldn’t be separated again. I wouldn’t allow it. Ignoring the fire in my veins and the screaming voices in my head I lurched up, writhing back and forth. Loud shouting ensued. I spotted them back on the ground where we laid seconds before, sitting up, looking at me with a hopeful smile. I felt another pinch as we locked eyes. They mouthed a silent “go”, and the world melted away.

I awoke pissed in a hospital bed. Someone was going to pay.

“Your rescue wasn’t cheap, kid” a voice stated behind me. I turned, conealing my seething anger. A woman in a dark black suit, seated at my beadside studied me with a jaded look. Fucking corpo.

I knew the deal:

“What do you want.”

“Information. What you were doing for cyberwatch, what you got, contacts, names, the lot.”

“Done. I have full logs and stats on my cyberdeck.” She smiled. She must have been desperate, going after a contract worker like me; corps always keep us at an arm’s length to protect against this kind of stuff. She rifled through a bag, pulling out my cyberdeck. She handed it to me along with a chip.

“Address and instructions are on here.” I nodded, taking it and typing in my passkey. A screech leapt out of the device, high pitched and unbelievably loud. Her hands involuntarily leapt to her ears as the monotone sound poured out of the device. Those modifications I had made in high school had paid off; I was unaffected. She was not so lucky, doubling over in pain.

I inputted a few keystrokes, and was met with my usual list of options. I disdainfully picked the quickest, affording her a short glance of pity, and shut off the audio. She removed her hands from her ears, glaring at me.

“You little…” A loud electrical pop emitted from her head, and the left side of her face went slack. Poor bastard, one of 83 this year. I slowly eased my way out of the bed, as she fell to her knees behind me, a slurry of biomechanical sludge beginning to drip from her nose. I took a few weak steps towards the window as a dull thump signaled the end of her short journey to the floor. I took an apprehensive sigh as I inputted a couple more keystrokes into my device, opening the window to the outside.

“I’m coming back, honey,” I mutter as I gaze out over the city once again. It really just doesn’t look the same without them. I give it one last little smile as I finally contribute my tick mark to the statistics.

Clear Thoughts

Sat, 23 Aug 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Man I’m bored.

So bored.

Ah shit, you’ve gone and stepped in a puddle, great job, ya gonk. Now your socks are wet.

Why the hell is it even rainy, anyway?

Those dumbasses at Auracorp aren’t doing their damn jobs.

Ugh, squish, squish, squish, Ick, Ick, Ick.

God I can’t with these damn socks.

I’ll take em off at the stop.

…

Bored!

Bored, Bored, Bored!

Bororororeedddddd.

Boooooorrrrrrr–

Oh hey wait Mac said they were headed to the ripperdoc yesterday; I should check in to see how they’re doing.

Ah shit, right, my fucking HUD is gone, great.

Fuck this HUD upgrade, man I thought it would be easy.

One day without your HUD, how hard could it be?

Pretty damn hard as it turns out. Preem.

Shoulda gone for that loaner HUD, cheap ass gonk.

How did people even survive without HUDs back in the day, my god.

…

Thank goodnesss those socks are off, ugh.

Did people back in the day just sit at train stations and… do nothing?

Like, everyone’s on their HUD and I’m just… sitting here.

Awkwardly.

Real awkwardly.

Ugh make it stop.

Oh shit I zoned out staring at them didn’t I– oh shit oh shit did they notice? oh where do I look.. NO DON’T LOOK BACK AT THEM IDIOT! WHERE’S THE TRAIN ALREADY PLEASE MAKE IT STOP.

…

Guess what? Still bored.

bored bored bored

So bored that the word bored is starting to mean nothing.

bored.

board.

browed.

broad.

borrowed.

I wonder how the word bored became a thing.

Like what’s the history behind bored.

barred.

brine.

bork.

Oh hey train’s here… finally.

What a day.

You know, I don’t think I’ve ever gone this far in the day without hearing the news one way or another.

Honestly in a really weird way, it’s kinda relaxing.

And now I have a categorical list of slant rhymes for “bored” in my brain for some reason.

Are those even slant rhymes?

Maybe I should write a rock song.

Ditch this cushy corpo job, get out there, and live life.

Learn Guitar.

Hit the stage.

What do musicians sing about?

Usually their favorite kinda soda or something like that.

That sounds… fine?

Maybe?

I think?

I guess I don’t really know.

Well, can I sing about other stuff?

Is that allowed?

Do I know any musicians that do that?

Hmmm…

Dad used to listen to a girl that sung about other stuff when I was a kid I think.

What was her name?

Lightning J or something silly like that.

I should have a cool rock name.

Something like chrome eyeball… no.

Ripper axe… no.

Eh, I’ll workshop it.

But yeah, what did she sing about again?

Something about corpos this capitalism that.

I don’t think she liked corpos much.

Which is silly, I mean, how would anyone survive without the corps.

Like if you don’t get a corpo job the streets would eat you alive.

Corps are necessary.

.. right?

I mean… Nomads do perfectly fine without corps.

But they steal stuff from the corps, if we didn’t have corps they wouldn’t be able to survive either.

Ok then case closed, corps are good.

.. But mac’s brother did get his skull exploded back in march because he got promoted to counterintel.

Like the world is definitely not better off for him… Or for his loved ones for that matter.

Poor mac. I hope they’re doing better.

I should reach out… Ah shit, yep no HUD, that’s right.

Well, as a mental excersise, let’s just see if we can create a world that exists without corps and we can compare it to what we have now.

So, let’s start by—

FUCK

FUCK FUCK FUCK!

I’m missing it! Shit! Where’s my HUD when I need it? Damn it!

Everyone’s getting the fucking points but me!

Why is the ONE GODDAMN DAY I don’t have my HUD, they show a rare ad on the train?!

I bet it’s for some hot new chrome or something too, damn lucky bastards!

Gahhh aaaand this is my stop.

How did people even survive without HUDs back in the day, my god.

Whatever it takes

Fri, 03 Jan 2025 00:00:00 +0000

The mood at the docks was in the damn garbage. The dreary, rainy ambiance usually never helped the matter, but the Wednesday shipment had been delayed- again- and we were all stuck tryna figure out how to find the scrip to live another day without work. The more industrious among us set out looking for another job, those with a bit of scrip remaining found themselves, willing or not, in the company tavern, and those who remained wandered the streets thinking about death.

Me and my buddy Sven were of the latter group, having made our way to the pier out of sheer habit. Our walk was a silent one, however as we sat at the end of the pier, he broke the silence. “Ya reckon it’s better to make a difference as a devil or be forgotten a saint?” These kinds of questions weren’t incredibly uncommon for the man; his unkempt beard and generally dirty appearance concealed an introspective mind. I looked out over the ocean, thinking. A moment passed, the waves lapping at the poles far below us.

“I’d opt to make a difference, easy. I’d wager everyone round these parts has opted for the latter though." I finally replied. “Living peacefully by the rules, offing themselves like good dogs when the company no longer needs them.” I spat bitterly off the edge, the droplet suspending itself in air before being taken by gravity and pulled down down down into the depths of the ocean, like the many friends, siblings, and parents before it. We gave the thought a moment of silence. Sven’s face held a melancholy smile at the irony of the thought.

“We remember them don’t we?” Asked sven, his eyes on the water.

“Indeed we do, but not because they changed anything ‘round here. I want to be remembered for having done something. Made a difference.” I looked out at the line of docked ships in the cloudy harbor as Sven pondered my comment. In the nearest one, I could make out a person moving about on deck. A pirate. Or at least the conventional image of one, complete with a Tripoint hat, an Eye patch, and a bottle of rum. We made eye contact. The pirate smiled, winked, and disappeared below deck without a further word.

“Doing somethin’ and makin’ a difference demand a heavy price.” Sven replied, jarring me back to the conversation. “Why not just live yer life?”

“There ain’t no devil popping out of the floorboards, but if there were, i’d give it whatever damn thing it asked for. I ain’t going out like the rest of ’em.” I laid back on the hardwood.

“Ah, but you’re still going out, aintcha?” Sven smiled a toothy grin. Lightning struck nearby and for an instant his grinning skull was illuminated through his skin like something right out of a horror story told to children to keep them away from the harbor. “And yet there still be worse things than death”

“Like what?”

“Losin’ yerself”

I laughed. “Then so be it. That would be no great tragedy.” Sven gave me a concerned look, but said nothing. We were silent for a while. A raven flew overhead, heralding the first droplet of rain on my face. I sat up. “Reckon I should hit the sack. With any luck the shipment will be in tomorrow and we can get the scrip for a good meal, for once.”

“One can dream,” Sven said as we moved to shelter. “Hey” he paused. “I got this cousin, see, and he’s wrapped up in some shit. But if you really need the scrip, he said he had a job.”

“A job?”

“Remember that devil in the floorboards?” He pulled out a stark white business card, and held it out to me. The bright rectangle was wedged between Sven’s grubby fingers, set in front of the dark grays, browns and blues of the docks. It felt alien, like something from another world. I felt my hand reach out and take it. He grabbed my hand. “Promise me ye won’t let it change ye.” His dark eyes were locked with mine, an ocean of regret hidden behind them.

“Of course, Sven” I replied, a little frazzled. That was a lot even from him. Sven nodded, let go of my hand, put his hands in his pockets, and turned to leave.

“Wait” I stopped him. “Why not take the job yourself?” I asked, my mind spinning. He looked back at me with a sad smile.

“Call me naive, but I think I wanna be one of them forgotten. Sounds peaceful.”

After Sven left, I wandered restlessly around the docks. Sven always seemed like the calm and quiet type but would he really bend to the company instead of turning and fighting? It was his prerogative, but the mere thought left a sour taste in my mouth. And the card, what was it? It featured simply a name: ‘Lyra Trenton’, and an address: ‘13 Lakeshore Ave. Harborline Trading, OR’. I always thought it was narcissistic to name the docks after the company, but hey, they ran everything here, so why would they not? Nobody, including Sven in his company-loving way, would ever be caught dead actually calling the docks “Harborline Trading, Oregon”, but that was the name all the same.

I didn’t know Sven had a cousin though. The Lyra woman was a mystery; She shared Sven’s last name: Trenton, so perhaps she was related to the cousin somehow? His wife perhaps? But then why was she on the card? The most interesting part of the card, however, was Lakeshore avenue. The mere thought of the place sent a little shiver down my spine. The neighborhood was located in a part of the docks that had been abandoned for a while, being initially built for the company elites to live while onsite. Partway through its creation, the elites had clearly decided that they’d rather not visit directly and just send subordinates, so the half-built buildings remained that way, an image of decrepit opulence at the heart of the docks.

My thoughts turned back to the card and its implications. “Devil in the floorboards” I muttered to myself as I paced. A smile unconsciously spread across my face. That sounded exciting. Suddenly, I bumped someone, stumbling then falling to the ground; The card, where was it?

“Aye matey, ya dropped something” I whipped around. It was the pirate from earlier, offering me the card. His eyes met mine, carrying a jolt of crazed, powerful energy. I grabbed it.

“Thanks” I said, but he was already on his way.

The next morning I found myself standing outside number 13 Lakeshore, the card clutched in my right hand, surveying the building. It appeared to be the most complete of the buildings around, resembling a small manor. A raven was perched at the top. Only the most desperate of people actually came out to Lakeshore; The place was definitely haunted. Many stories were told of workers getting evicted from the barracks, making their way to Lakeshore to find some shelter then being killed or disappearing in some gruesome way or another. I eyed the raven suspiciously. Was I really desperate enough to take this job? My stomach rumbled as if to answer my question. I hadn’t had the scrip for food last night and had to scrounge for snails. Sometimes I would get lucky and find enough of them to cook over a fire to eat a good meal on the days I’ve run out of scrip, but not yesterday. And definitely not this morning. I had to swipe an apple from the general store, but clearly that wasn’t holding me up as much as i’d hoped. I walked up to the house, eying the raven. Desperate as I was, being in the lakeshore district with this raven wasn’t exactly my preferred way to spend the morning.

The manor door creaked open and the raven was forgotten. An old man, leg in cast, on crutches emerged; I’d seen him around a few times sans crutches, his name was Walter. I wondered what circumstances had brought him here.

“Oi, bugger off!” he said in a gravelly tone.

“Is there a Lyra Trenton at this location?” I asked, holding up the card. His eyes narrowed.

“Who’s asking? He asked.

“Vic Henson. My buddy Sven sent me.” He held out his hand; I handed him the card. He looked at it, at me, then back at it. He nodded.

“Alrite, in ye go.”

The inside of the manor was, as expected, barren. The stairs were incomplete, leading up to a second floor that had collapsed likely years earlier, scattering wood everywhere. Walter navigated the wood expertly with his crutches and I followed. “Hey, where are we going? I’m told there was a job?” I asked as we made our way into the bowels of the house.

“You wanted to see the boss” He smiled a checkered smile, a nonzero number of missing teeth causing gaps that stuck out like a sore thumb. “As fer the job, that’s fer her to decide. Fresh meat always goes through her.”

Fresh meat? Sounds like things are about to get interesting, I thought. My stomach grumbled, clearly having taken the turn of phrase literally. I did my best to ignore it.

Walter and I finally made our way into the study. He grabbed a plank on the wall and pulled it. There was an audible POP and a section of the wall detached, hinging out to reveal a well-lit hallway.

“After ye” Said Walter with a little bow. Through the tunnel I was met with a room with a large table flanked by an array of people arguing. Perhaps one of them was Sven’s cousin. It was odd that Sven didn’t even tell me his name, now that I think about it. Opposite me there sat a throne of sorts, in it a woman of dark hair and sharp eyes studying the table intently. I think I could recall seeing her on a wanted poster somewhere in town a couple years back or so, but couldn’t recall what exactly she had done to warrant a poster. Or where the posters had gone since. She was almost certainly not someone to mess with though. She looked up as I entered.

“Walter. Who’s this?” She said, her speech short and staccato.

“Fresh meat” Said Walter with his trademark checkerboard smile, patting me on the shoulder. She turned to study me, her eyes scanning me up and down. With a jerk, she turned to the group at the table.

“Walter’s in charge while I’m gone” She turned to me. “New guy, follow.” She turned and began walking down the hallway to my left, without waiting for a response; She was used to having orders followed. I jerked out of my half frozen state, and moved to follow her. Out of the corner of my eye, in the corner of the room I saw a flash of movement. The pirate from earlier stood there casually, a bottle of rum to his lips, bottom towards the ceiling. He finished his swig, smiled a toothy grin at me, and raised the bottle in cheers. Who the hell is he? And why does he find me so interesting? I felt the urge to go and talk to him, but the woman was getting further and further away by the instant. I made the split second decision to follow her, dashing to the hallway. I looked back one last time at the pirate. He was, once again, taking a swig from his bottle. I entered the tunnel and he was blocked from view. I spotted the woman entering a room a good ways down the hall. I hurried to catch up.

“Make a habit of fashionable tardiness?” She asked as I entered. I could feel the weighted blanket of a statement suffocate the atmosphere.

“No I do not.” I responded as formally as I could manage.

“Good, this job does not smile favorably on those incapable of following orders.” She sat at another large chair, behind a desk. She gestured that I sit as well. I quickly did so.

“First thing’s first. My name is Lyra. Do you have any idea what you’re signing up for?” Her eye contact was direct and firm.

“No.” I said. “My buddy Sven said he had a cousin here that was looking for hands. It’s my understanding this job may be less than savory?”

“He wasn’t wrong. We’re a resistance force against the company. Working for us will get you maimed, exiled, or killed. Likely all three. You will follow orders or die. The pay is meager, and the work is hell on earth. But, there is a chance, however small, to actually change the way things work around the docks. Whatever it takes.”

I smiled. I liked this woman. “Sounds like my kind of job.” She smiled back.

“Splendid. You’re to talk to Walter for your first task, then report to me upon its completion. Any further questions?” She asked.

“Uhm.. I’d like to speak with Sven’s cousin, do you know where he is?” Her smile shifted to a forced one.

“You’re looking at her.”

Oh shit; Memories came rushing back. Back then Sven and I weren’t super close, and mostly kept silent in our labour. On our way into work, he had spotted one of Lyra’s wanted posters, immediately getting angry at the sight of it. He muttered something about betrayal, and clocked in before I had the chance to ask him about it. When I asked him about it, his response was curt.

“Me fukin cousin lied to me and everyone else fer the matter. He’s a freak, the company wants ‘im dead, and good damn riddance if ye ask me.” I hadn’t pushed it.

When the posters came down we all thought Lyra had died, or been captured by the company. The figure in front of me sternly gesturing to the door indicated that this was a gravely incorrect assumption. The puzzle pieces of that memory had solved themselves but as I moved towards the hallway I realized they simply assembled themselves into moderately larger puzzle pieces, creating further questions from the answers that had just been revealed.

“Oh, and one more thing.” Lyra said, jolting me from my thoughts. “Speak one word of our organization to the company and I will personally ensure the last thing we do is end your miserable life in the most painful way feasible”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” I responded quickly.

“Good.” We arrived, the pirate nowhere to be seen. “I’ll see you shortly.” Lyra said, returning to her spot at the table. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Come weth me” Walter said, gesturing to the door. He led me out of the building, my mind abuzz.

“Hey” I said. “What’s Lyra’s story?” I asked, hoping to put some more puzzle pieces together. Walter paused and scratched his head.

“Well, ye get about two typsa folks here. Me-types and Lyra-types. Me persanally, I had nothin’ left ta lose. Wanted ta give what little I had left to tha cause. Lyra was more forced inta it. If tha company wants ye dead, only way ye can escape is lie down and die or ye can fight. She chose tha latter.” We continued our walk in relative silence.

“What is ly–” He cut me off, placing one of his crutches in front of me.

“However much tha company don’t want ye to think it, lyra is a person. A woman. And the best damn revolutionary i’ve set me eyes on. We’re here ta fight tha company. All of it. Not just the li’le bits we don’t like. If yer not on board, then we don’t want ye.” I raised my hands in surrender.

“I’m in, i’m in!” I said. Walter lowered his crutch and sighed.

“If yer curious, ask ‘er about it.” he said. I nodded; I might. After doing whatever Walter had planned for me. I needed to refocus on the task at hand. I cleared my head as we moved into the town proper.

“That house” he finally said, gesturing to the company building where we got paid. The raven was back again, eerily standing on the roof. I didn’t like that raven. “There’s some papers in it. I need ya to break in and get ‘em. Got a company stamp on ‘em. Get in an get out.” I nodded. “I’ll stand watch, if someone’s a comin’ I’ll scream at the top o’ ma lungs.” I nodded, and made my way up to the rooftop of a nearby building, climbing through the building’s second floor window. I found myself in a study. If the papers were anywhere, they were gonna be here. I started rifling through papers and drawers. This was exciting! Finally I threw open a drawer on the desk and was met with the stamped papers I was looking for. I spotted the name “Silas Blackwell” on them.

“Interesting” I said. I moved to grab them, but spotted something deeper in the drawer: A large heaping bag. Papers forgotten, I reached out and grabbed the bag. Scrip, Wages. My blood chilled, my fingers tingled. This was real. I dropped the bag, my hands shaking. I took a few deep breaths. This was more scrip than I’d ever seen in my entire life. Take it! My brain urged. My hand reached for it once again, stopped by the images of starving workers, friends, me among them, in line waiting for our pay. If I took it, would they get their scrip? Their food? Ha! Not a chance. The company was certainly not above collective punishment, especially where profits were concerned. My face steeled and I reached instead for the papers, tucking them under my arm and sliding the drawer shut.

“That much scrip and yer just leaving it to the company?” asked a voice behind me. I spun around. The pirate. “I thought ye had what it takes to make a difference. Clearly I was wrong.” His dark eyes bore down into me.

“The workers need the scrip” I responded.

“Aye, and what do ye suppose happens when workers don’t get the money they’re promised?”

“They starve?”

“And they get angry. Angry at the company. We can use that” That was annoying; He had a point. “Well what’ll it be? Are ye in it to make a difference or whine about what needs ta get done for that ta happen?” he asked as he walked towards the window. My brow furrowed.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked. He only smiled and leaned backwards, tumbling out of the window and out of view. I dashed to the window. Nothing. A simple alleyway. The raven perched on a nearby roof.

“I don’t like you,” I said to it.

“CAW” it replied.

Walter’s scream pierced the relative silence of the afternoon, scaring the raven away; I had to go. I froze. I had the papers. But the money. I needed to make a decision and I had to make it now.

Walter smiled big when he saw the bag. “What’ve we got here?” He asked.

“Wages” I said with a plastered smile that barely covered how sick to my stomach I felt at the moment.

“Lyra’s gonna love this” He said, grabbing his crutches, and starting down the alley. I looked back at the house, raven perched atop. I narrowed my eyes. The damn thing was starting to piss me off.

And it was just in the drawer?” asked Lyra. I nodded. “They’re getting lazy” she muttered. “Well good on you for taking it. The rebellion needs the funds. You and Walter get a cut for the grab. Good job, newbie.”

“What were the papers?” I asked, suddenly remembering their contents.

“Blackwell’s an up and rising executive in the company.” She said. “Be a good idea to get an idea of what he has planned.” She held up the documents I had stolen. ”And it don’t look good.” She turned from the pile of scrip on the table to me. “I’m on patrol tonight. Usually I have Walter with me, but he’s still recovering from the leg injury.” She handed me a gun. “You in?” I took it.

“I am.”

“Good. 10PM sharp, outside headquarters; Don’t be late.”

Having been excused, I went directly to the local tavern and had a good meal for the first time in what felt like months. As I munched happily on my food, hunger sated at last, my mind began to drift as I glanced around the very empty tavern. I had scrip now. A lot of it. All I had really done with my time, as far as I can remember, is try to get more. To afford food. Rent. What now? My thoughts were interrupted by shouting from the back room. The tavernkeeper, a rounded man with a stout demeanor and glasses emerged, followed by a begging woman.

“I’m sorry, It had to be done.” Said the innkeeper.

“Please, please, please I have a family, sir” She responded, falling to her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks. The tavernkeeper’s trademark stern look shifted into one of deep melancholy. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Look. Jenny. You’re a great worker; always have been. We just don’t have the scrip to keep everyone on anymore after the company raised prices. I’m sorry.” She nodded slowly, removed her apron and walked wordlessly out the exit.

“Sorry ‘bout that” he said to me, his only customer, angrily wiping away a tear of his own. I nodded at him. He was as much a slave to the company as any of us. This was who I was fighting for. Him. Sven. The woman, Jenny. My brow furrowed as I thought of her. Would she find another job? Or would her family starve like so many others had? The scrip left in my pocket after having paid for food suddenly felt very heavy. I felt myself getting up, and running out of the tavern. I spotted the woman walking in a daze of sorts, I moved towards her, stopped in my tracks by the raven. It stood there, its beady eyes looking into mine. I moved to go around it and it moved in front of me.

“Get out of my way, you stupid bird!” I said. I jumped over it. It cawed, taking to the sky pelting me with pecks as I ran to the woman.

“Hey, miss!” I said. She turned her head slowly. And as quickly as the pecking started, it was gone. “Have this” I said, handing her my coin purse. Her mouth dropped open.

“A… Are you sure?” She stuttered as she looked at it.

“Take it.” She did. She gave me a hug. She thanked me profusely, tears falling freely, and she left. I smiled to myself.

“What do ye think yer doin’” Said the all too recognizable voice of the pirate. I turned and where the raven was a moment before he stood.

“Doing a kindness” I said.

“Aye. It be similar to saying ye be making an island by dropping a handful of sand into the ocean.”

“What does that even mean? Heck, why am I even talking to you, you’re clearly not real.” He only smiled.

“Real, not real, what be the difference? As fer what I mean, ye be about to find out” He gestured behind me. I turned, seeing a mass of bystanders, of all walks of life, most who i’ve seen before in passing, looking at me expectantly. But I had nothing left to give. In a collective wail of anguish my personal hell began.

I sat at the harbor, my head in my hands. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The amount of pain and suffering. The begging. The tears. The anger. It had to stop. I had to make it stop. I heard the flapping of wings.

“Don’t worry,” I said to the pirate before he could say anything. “I get it now.” A calloused hand reached down. I took it.

“Whatever it takes?” Asked the pirate, helping me to my feet.

“Whatever it takes.” I said through gritted teeth.

I was early. The raven was there, however. “I think I’ll name you Edgar,” I told it. It nodded, seemingly satisfied with the name.

“Who’re you talking to?” Asked Lyra behind me. I jumped slightly and turned to face her.

“Oh, hey. Just having my daily banter with my raven,” I gestured at the raven.

“What raven?”

“Tha…” Edgar was gone.

“For both our sakes, I’m going to assume that was a joke. Follow.” I did. I guess that confirmed that Edgar wasn’t real. Not that I was very concerned about it. As the pirate had said earlier, the barrier between real and not real didn’t matter, at least when there were bigger problems to be concerned with.

We followed a short route around the Lakeshore area. About a half hour in, we spotted what looked like a fire inside one of the nearby houses. Lyra signaled to move in and check it out. We did so, gradually picking up the sounds of conversation as we moved closer. Observing the scene, we saw a small group of maybe ten people all appearing to be in their late teens, talking around the fire. Lyra made a dismissive gesture, and signaled to leave. I nodded, and began to move out. Edgar fluttered from the black night onto a nearby rafter. My eyes narrowed. He was warning us of something.

“Hey!” A voice rang out. “We got intruders!” A girl in the group was standing, pointing directly at Lyra.

“Shit” lyra cursed under her breath. She stood, her hands in the air. “Sorry I didn’t intend to alarm you, I was just leaving.”

“Leaving?” Asked one of the others, standing up. “Not so fast. Why come here alone, lady? You spying on us?” The others stood as well, a couple of them hefting blunt objects.

“No, not at all. I was simply wandering the area alone and happened to see your camp. My curiosity got the better of me, I apologize” I picked up on her subtle hints: They didn’t know I was there. I was her ace if the situation were to take a turn for the worse. I drew my gun, its cold steel on my skin pulled my focus like a sharp pinch. I held my breath; The moment of silence seemed to stretch on and on, punctuated by my heartbeats.

“Alright lady, walk away. I got my eye on you.” Said the lead one at last. I let out a little sigh of relief.

“Thank you. Apologies for the interruption” Said Lyra, lowering her hands and turning to leave.

“Ey! She looks like that thing on those wanted posters that were up a couple years back!” Exclaimed one of them. “ There’s ten thousand scrip on your head, lady, or whatever you are!” The leader’s eyes lit up. My heart sank; I could tell he wasn’t going to let ten thousand scrip saunter out of his camp if he had anything to say about it. My vision began to blur. What the hell? I felt my heart beating. I tried moving. No effect. Damn it! Why must my body fail me when I need it?! My eyes watered as I tried to escape the chrysalis of my own flesh.

“On second thought, you’re staying right here” The leader said.

“That was two years ago, you won’t get any money today, I assure you.” Lyra said, turning around.

“We’ll take that up with the sheriff” Said the leader, drawing a gun of his own. Out of my peripheral vision, Edgar fluttered down, his form morphing into a figure. The pirate. He placed a hand on my shoulder as Lyra continued to argue.

“It be coming down to ye” Said the pirate, centering himself in my vision. “Ye can do this. Breathe, matey.” His surprisingly calm voice soaked into my brain almost infectiously. I took a deep breath. Then let it out. I could move again. “Good.” He said “NOW GIVE THEM HELL” I leapt out of cover with a scream. The world went black.

I came to, standing, gun in hand, limp bodies strewn about. Blood was everywhere. I had a bullet hole in my right calf and bruises all around my body. I puked. “Well done, me hearty!” I felt the pirate’s hand on my back. “Ye really do have it in ye!” I stood back up, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. I turned to respond.

“M..Monster!” One of them had crawled into a sitting position, leg clearly broken, bleeding from a bullet hole in his abdomen. Tears ran freely down his face. “They’re.. all… dead”

“Looks like we have us a straggler!” Said the pirate, striding over to him. He looked me in the eye. “Whatever it takes.” He said. I knew what he meant. Survivors would rat us out. No stragglers should survive. I walked up to the straggler. He was just a kid. No older than twenty. None of them were. I felt the tug from my stomach again, but forced it down.

“Whatever it takes.” I said, my hands trembling.

The gunshot echoed for a second before the night’s silence set in again. The kid’s body went limp, a bullet hole, my bullet hole straight between his eyes. I saw the life drain from them, hopes, dreams, futures dulled into a dark glaze on a thousand yard stare, before disappearing entirely, then his body fell down down down, crumpling in a motionless pile on the ground. Edgar landed on my shoulder. I took a deep breath and cried.

What happened next was a blur. I dragged Lyra’s unconscious, yet alive, body back to headquarters. Walter saw to our medical attention and to a cleanup team’s dispatch to the area. A couple days passed in a blur. Walter and I were sitting at headquarters.

“Hey why haven’t I seen Lyra’s wanted posters around lately?” The question had been on my mind since the incident, there just hadn’t been any time to ask it.

“Heard she faked ‘er death. That an there was a new sheriff round when them posters stopped going up.” he said. “Probly got dropped in tha bureaucracy with all the death fakin’.” I nodded. The company was notoriously unstable. “By tha way, How’ve ya been holdin’ up?” Walter asked.

“As good as I can , I guess.” I responded. I had been pretty unstable the past few days, but the raven had kept me company. The little guy was starting to grow on me. “I had to do it.” I said finally. “Their futures were already bleak under company rule. If we succeed many more lives will be better off.”

“Aye.” Walter nodded. “We all got’a reckon with what we do ta make a be’er future for e’ryone.”

“Whatever it takes.” I said.

“Whatever it takes.” He nodded.

I saw Sven at the town square a couple days later in line at the job board. We exchanged a few words. He had to quit his job at the harbor, due to them being unable to pay him. I felt a pang of guilt hearing that, yet said nothing. I tried to give him some money but he refused, saying something along the lines of “It’s tha peaceful life for me.” I could tell he knew what I had been up to, and wanted no part in it. He held a melancholy expression as we talked almost telling me that he knew I had broken my promise not to change. Things between us wouldn’t ever be the same and we both knew it.

Despite Sven’s misfortune, my decision to take the money had been a good one, driving many to join the growing rebellion. A few had likely died, but if that was the cost of rebellion, I was more than willing to pay it.

We reached the front of the line. A big official company notice posted on the job board stated that all store prices were to be increased by twenty percent effective as of yesterday. I noted the signature at the bottom of the notice: Silas Blackwell. I grit my teeth. Silas was a pretty major target of ire within the rebellion. Everyone knew him, and everyone hated him. He was largely attributed with the rapidly falling living conditions at the docks as more and more money was squeezed out of the people via increases to living costs and decreases to wages. It seems he had gone ahead with the former that day. We had learned from the papers I stole that he was to come to town soon, and we needed to be ready when he did.

Lyra spread a map across the table, Walter and I keenly watching. “Blackwell will be in town tomorrow. He’ll be staying in the taven. Our intel says in room 5, but be prepared to adapt if that isn’t the case.” She looked at me. I nodded. “We weren’t able to acquire a key, so you’ll have to get one on site. The cellar opens to an alley, enter through there, get the keys, get to his room, and put a bullet in his head. Meet me at the harbor afterwards for debrief. Simple.” She traced the route with a finger on the map.

“Let’s kill this bastard,” I said.

“Whatever it takes” Said Lyra.

“Whatever it takes” Walter and I echoed.

The night of, I snuck into the cellar easily. It was almost second nature. I grabbed a peanut out of a nearby barrel and fed it to Edgar. CAW! He said,

“You’re welcome” I responded. Now to get the key. I heard rustling upstairs. I made my way up, seeing a barhand in the back room going through supplies. Perfect.

I crept behind them and put my gun to their head. “Give me the keys to Blackwell’s room”

“Vic?” asked a shaky voice. Wait… That voice. that beard. It couldn’t be.

“Sven?” I asked, Lowering my weapon and backing up a pace. Sven turned around, hands raised.

“Fancy seein’ ya here” he said, a single tear tracing its way down his face.

“Just give me the keys.”

“Can’t do that.”

“You need scrip? I’ll give you as much as you need. Just give me the keys, dammit.”

“I ain’t taking yer money. I know where it’s been. ‘Sides I’m no murderer. Take what ya want by force or leave”

“Damn it Sven, just give me the goddamn keys. The company isn’t fucking worth dying over.” I raised my weapon once again. To my sheer horror he placed his forhead against the barrel and looked me in the eyes.

“Make yer decision. I don’t want ta live in a world where ma friend is willing to kill me anyway.” I froze. What the fuck do I do. I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder.

“Whatever it takes.” Said the pirate.

“Whatever it takes.” I whispered. I tightened my grip on the trigger.

“Wait” said sven. “Here you go.” He handed me the keys. I lowered my weapon, and took them. He and I and went up the stairs and I put the bloodied keys in the door. It swung open. I moved in. I got tackled by a shadow, scuffling about. It was weak. A well placed knee to the gut sent the shadow coughing about on the ground.

“Kill him, now.” said the pirate.

“No, Give him his last words.” Said Sven. I nodded at sven.

“Any last words, blackwell?” I asked calmly as I pointed my bloody weapon at him and chambered a new round. I frowned. Where had the other one gone?

“Little rebel rat. Your entire organization only exists because we let it. Your little freak of a leader, Lyra Trenton is doing exactly what the company wants like a little dog” He let out a loud maniacal laugh.

“LIAR!” I shouted. There was no fucking way that everything we had worked for was a sham. I couldn’t accept it. Blackwell kept laughing.

“The only reason I’m the target of your little assassination attempt is because the board wants me out. Don’t just take my word for it, The official orders are in my desk.” I pulled the trigger and walked over to the desk as blackwell’s head fell down down down making a soft thunk on the wooden floor, smile frozen on his now empty face.

“Bastard wasn’t lying.” I said, pulling the papers out of the desk. The text went in and out of focus, confirming the horrible, horrible truth. There was no hope. For the rebellion. For the docks. For me. Blackwell’s dead corpse erupted in hideous laughter. The bastard knew he had won. Shut up. Shut up. shut up, shut up, shut up,shut up,shutup,shutup-shutup-shutup-shutup-SHUTUP-SHUTUP-SHUTUP-SHUTUP! I turned my weapon to him and fired the entire contents of my magazine into his corpse, the laughter only increasing in volume with every shot. I fell to my knees hammering punch after punch onto the laughing man, knocking out teeth and blood with each hit. At last he fell silent. I kept punching, as if my arms had minds of their own, hammering blow after blow into his smug, well-groomed face. At last they stopped, and I sat breathing heavily for a moment. I reloaded my weapon.

“What do we do?” I finally asked.

“The only thing we can” Said the captain. “Revenge” I nodded slowly, getting up off the pile of meat and bone i was sitting on. Me, Sven and the pirate made our way back downstairs.

I saw Walter outside and simply handed him the papers. I saw his face drop as he read them. He thanked me and handed them back. He seemed very emotional. Then I & my friends took off across the docks on my way to confront Lyra at the harbor. I heard a loud bang as we moved away.

“Wait fer me!” shouted Walter, as he ran to catch up, crutches abandoned. I smiled and did, then we went on our way.

When our merry band arrived at the harbor, we found Lyra standing at the end of the pier. I walked up to her holding up the papers.

“Explain yourself.” I said, expressionless. Her face went slack as she saw the papers.

“Ah. You were bound to find out eventually” She looked exhausted; she had already accepted her fate, probably for years at this point. I threw the papers in the air. They scattered, fluttering around like butterflies between Sven, Walter, and Edgar, who, bless his heart, was busy snacking on a nearby snail. They didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve this. The rebellion didn’t deserve this. And most importantly the people of the docks didn’t deserve this.

“DAMN IT, WHY” I yelled. Lyra sighed.

“Back when I joined the revolution, the company wanted me dead because of who I was. I made the decision to burn bright. Throw caution to the wind and live life as myself and not the lifeless shell of a man that I was. The company didn’t like that. It was good, for a short time, but such things don’t last. They captured me and offered me an out where I could still live as myself. I took it.”

“Devil in the floorboards” I muttered.

“I tried to keep the rebellion doing positive things, they only sent in orders once every few months. I didn’t want to trick anyone, it was the only way someone like me,” her voice cracked. “Could live.” She finished. Tears traced their way down my face.

My arms moved on their own again and one, two, three bullet holes appeared in Lyra’s midsection. A weak smile flashed on her face.

“Don’t… blame.. You.” She fell back, over the edge of the pier suspended in air before being taken by gravity and pulled down down down into the depths of the ocean.

“What next?” I asked, to nobody in particular, a detached grin on my face. In response, Edgar launched himself into the air flying towards a huge approaching galleon, her sails full of wind, the colors flying high on the main mast, and Lyra at the helm. Edgar morphed into the pirate as he landed on deck. A Boarding plank lowered to the spot Sven and I had sat just a few days prior. I walked confidently up the plank, jumping off it at the apex, falling down down down onto the solid planks of the main deck, my crew of friends following along. And thus, our ship of ghosts sailed away from the docks, fading into the realm of whispers, echoing softly through the simple history of Harborline Trading, Oregon.