Casino Rides of Dallas Casino Shuttle Transportation ...

This is long, so grab a cup of coffee, tea, or whatever keeps you happy and reading.
I live in a senior housing community for people aged 55 and older. We all have identical 1-bedroom cottages that’s set up in groups of four or quads so that all of our front doors face inward toward each other. So, if I open my front door, I have a very clear view of the front doors of my 3 neighbors and because I am in the back of this quad, I also have a view of the parking area. I think the purpose of grouping the houses this way was to create a friendly and safe atmosphere; however, it’s just creepy in a “you have no privacy” kind of way.
I am F57, disabled, and have a 16-year-old pickup truck that gets me where I need to go most of the time. If you’ve ever owned a pickup truck, you’ll understand my frustration. If you haven’t owned one, talk to anyone who has and they will tell you that according to friends, family, acquaintances, neighbors, and even complete strangers, you have it so that you can help them move, haul furniture or a tree they cut down, and anything else they can’t fit in the trunk of their car. AND because it is a pickup truck, it can be mistreated, abused, dented, scratched, beaten up, and treated like a piece of heavy construction equipment and you shouldn’t care because well. . . it’s a truck.
I have a neighbor (F - about 65 years old) that has kind of made a pest of herself since the day I moved in. I’ve done my best to be neighborly, nice, and accommodating, but each time I interact with her, I’m left feeling used. The neighbor, let's call her Karen, has come over pretending to want to visit with me, which she does for about 2 minutes, and then asks me for something. In the 3 years that I’ve been here, she’s asked me to set up 2 TVs (at different times), take a new alarm clock out of its packaging and then teach her how to operate it. I’ve been asked to fill out her food stamp paperwork, fill out information for her lease renewal, read a piece of mail to her and explain it because she didn’t understand it, to take her places and to “loan” her money for the bus. That’s just a few.
Now that you get the idea of what I’ve dealt with before, it’s time for the story.
One Monday morning, Karen comes beating on my door (she does what I call a “cop knock” – loud, hard, and repeated) around 8 a.m., waking me up. (I am a night owl, by the way.) I go to the door and she is standing there holding her natural gas bill telling me how she needed a ride to the gas company's office to talk to them about paying the bill and hands me the bill. I look at it, hoping to find a phone number for her to call, but there isn't one, but I do see that her bill is for about $17. So, I take her across town with her providing the directions since I had never been to this building (the gas company did not have an office in town, so I guess this was maybe a payment center). I drop her at the front, park, and wait for her. Karen comes out saying that they can't help her there and asks me if she should just call them to make arrangements to make payments since she didn't have the money. I tell her that's what I would do and bring her back home. We basically made this trip for nothing.
Two days later, there is another loud, repeated banging on my door waking me up just before 9 a.m. Karen is back and seems to be a little frantic. She needs a ride again. This time she's very vague about why she wants to go, but left me with the impression that something was going to get turned off, repossessed, or turned over to collections if she didn't go. She's also vague as to where she wants to go. She keeps tell me that it's down by the casino, across the street from the gas station. I told her I'd take her but she would have to point me in the right direction since I've never been to the casino. She gives me turn by turn directions until she has me turn left onto the entrance road for the casino. I'm looking around for any other businesses or even the gas station and I'm not seeing anything other than the casino in front of us and open land on either side. So, I ask her where am I supposed to be dropping her. Karen points to an upcoming sign and says, "See the sign that says 'Valet'? Just follow that sign." Yep, you guessed it, Karen had me drop her at the front entrance to the casino. She'd lied to me by omission. She didn't ask me to take her to the casino (which I would probably have done since it's none of my business how she spends her money), she asked me to take her to a business near the casino. Yeah, well, I wasn't happy. On Monday she couldn't afford to pay her $17 gas bill and on Wednesday she's going to the casino by tricking me into taking her.
A week goes by and I am in the office paying my rent when Karen comes in.
Karen: Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here today. Girl, I just walked all the way here.
Me: Didn’t know you needed a ride. I can give you a ride back to the house if you would like.
I wait while Karen pays her rent and we walk out together. Now, I’m expecting to get in my truck and drive the 4 blocks back to my house. Karen had another idea.
Karen: Take me to Everything’s Cheap store.
Me: Where?
Karen: To Everything’s Cheap. Just turn here at the stop sign and I’ll show you. It’s not far.
Me: Karen, I’m going to take you there, but I’m not shopping and I’m not going to sit in the parking lot and wait for you. You’ll have to get another ride home or walk.
Karen: It’s fine. I won’t be long.
I drop her at the front door and I go home. A couple of hours later, she bangs on my door.
Karen: Where did my ride go?
Me: Home. I told you that I wasn’t going to wait for you.
Karen: I had all my stuff that I had to carry home. Now my back hurts.
Me: I’m sorry, but I warned you.
Karen walks away muttering things that I didn’t understand and slammed her door.
Skip ahead several months and I run into Karen again as I am paying my rent. She wants me to give her a ride to the Social Security office. I tell her that I can't as my truck is not running right and I can't get too far from home in it until I get it check out and fixed. My truck started having issues and it's been difficult trying to get it fixed with lock-down, a back issue that left me bedridden for several weeks, and 2 major hurricanes this year (there’s nothing major wrong with the truck - just needs a new starter and gaskets to fix an oil leak that's caused the starter to go bad).
Karen: But it's just a few blocks away and it's hot out here.
Me: I can't trust my truck not to leave me stranded with no way to get it home.
Karen: It will be fine.
Me: Maybe, but I'm not willing to risk it.
Karen slaps the side of my truck and continues on her walk and I go home in my truck.
Another 3 days go by and more banging on my door and again I am awakened (it's 7:15 a.m.). This time I'm angry and I snatched the door open.
Me: What?
Karen (standing there with her purse and house keys in her hand as if she knows I'll say yes): I need to go to the mattress store. I need to pick up my new queen size mattress.
Me: No. My truck still isn't running right.
Karen: But I need your truck to haul the mattress home.
Me: No.
Karen: It's not a heavy mattress.
Me: Oh, so who’s going to help you get it in and out of my truck and carry it into your house?
Karen: The two of us can do it.
Me: Karen, I have degenerative disk disease. The disks in my spine are disintegrating. I can't lift nor carry a mattress even with someone helping.
Karen: But I already bought it. How am I going to get it home?
Me: Call friends or family to help you.
Karen: They don't have a truck and you do!
Me: Yes, I have a truck, but there is no sign anywhere on it that says Free Moving Company.
I close the door on her and go back to bed. An hour later, more knocking. This time, it's an older man.
Man 1: Excuse me, but is that your truck? (He points at my truck in the parking lot.)
Me: Yes.
Man 1: I have an upright piano I need to move and was wondering if I could use your truck.
Me: No. (I glance over at the neighbor's house and I see her peeking through a crack in her door - I have a sneaking suspicion she has put this guy up to this to see if I would help him.)
Man 1: You can drive the truck. I just need to have the piano hauled to my storage unit.
Me: How are you going to get an upright piano into the bed of my truck?
Man 1: I'll just roll it up a ramp and into the back.
Me: Do you know how much an upright piano weighs? One person can't push it up a ramp. If you use a ramp on my tailgate, you will break the tailgate and probably lose the piano in the process. My truck is large, but the rear end is not made for hauling a piano and will cause the front end to lift off the ground preventing my front wheel drive truck from gaining traction and straining my 16-year-old engine.
Man 1: Well, could you call 4 or 5 of your male friends to help lift it into the back of the truck?
Me: No!
I close the door on this man, too. He didn’t come right out and say it, but I felt like he wanted to borrow my truck so he could go pick up the mattress for Karen. Yeah, I’m a little suspicious.
The following morning . . . *sigh* . . . I ignore the knocking that occurs every half hour or so over a 3-hour period until she finally gives up. Later that afternoon, I open my door to get the mail out of my box when a second man approaches me out of nowhere. It’s like he was hiding around the corner waiting for me to come out of my house.
Man 2 (points at my truck - it irritates me every time someone does this): Is that your truck?
Me (feeling very annoyed and snarky): What gave it away? Is it because it's parked in a space clearly labeled with my house number? Or is it because someone told you who the truck belonged to? (I point at Karen's house.)
Man 2: Does it run?
Me: Listen, I don't know what you're wanting me pick up, deliver, move, haul, transport, or tow, but I am not a moving company, taxi, uber, delivery service, or a tow truck. I won't be doing any of those things and before you ask, I won't be allowing you or anyone else to drive my truck either. Now, do you have any other questions?
Man 2: Uh, do you want to sell it?
Me: What?! Why would I want to sell it?
Man 2: Well, since it needs fixing, I thought maybe you would want to sell it to someone who could afford to fix it.
Me: How do you know it needs fixing?
Man 2 (turns bright red and can't take his eyes off ground): I just thought if you sold it, you could buy something else and I could fix the truck.
Me: Tell Karen that I'm not selling you my truck so that you can fix it to give to her.
Man 2: I wasn't going to give it to her.
Me (pointing at his huge truck parked in Karen's designated space): You want me to believe that you would rather have my 16-year-old truck that needs repair than your brand-new truck? How stupid do you think I am?
As the older man silently stares at the ground, Karen flings her door open and marches up to me.
Karen: Just sell him your truck so he can fix it. You clearly aren't going to do it any time soon. At least I will put it to good use. I need it and I need it more than you apparently do. Now, he’s willing to get it fixed for me, so just sell him the damn truck already!
Me: My truck is not for sale! When or if I get my truck fixed is absolutely none of your business.
Karen: I’m going to call the office and tell them that you have a broken-down truck sitting in the parking lot that needs to be hauled to the junk yard. They’ll make you get rid of it or fix it.
Man 2: Karen, they can’t do anything to her . . .
Karen cuts him off. She’s so angry, she’s crying, shaking, and spitting as she screams
Karen: SHUT UP! STAY OUT OF THIS. I WANT THAT TRUCK AND I’M GOING TO GET IT! I’LL CALL THE POLICE. THEY WILL MAKE HER GET RID OF IT.
Man 2: Karen, the police aren’t . . .
She cuts him off again.
Karen: YES, THEY WILL. THEY'LL LISTEN TO ME.
She storms off to call the police. In the meantime, I brought a chair outside along with a can of soda and a bowl of microwave popcorn. I figured this was going to be a good show. Karen and Man 2 have gone inside her house to wait. The neighbor to my left has come out to see what’s going on. Let’s call her Mary. Mary can’t stand Karen, so she drags a chair out and sits next to me and we share my popcorn.
Enter Cop 1 and Cop 2
The cops arrive in about 5-6 minutes and walk up to Karen’s door and knock while glancing around at Mary and me and grinning. She answers and tells them that I have created an eyesore in the neighborhood by having an old beat up, broken-down truck sitting in the parking lot and she wants it removed immediately.
Cop 1 (pointing at my truck - yep, he does it, too and I can't help but roll my eyes): That truck?
Karen: Yes.
Cop 1: That truck is clean, shiny, no dents, no scratches, new tires . . . are you sure that’s the eyesore?
Karen: Yes. It’s 10 years old and broken and she doesn’t want to fix it. It’s just sitting there doing nothing for months.
Me: It’s 16 years old.
Cop 2 (spins around, surprised): Seriously? That truck is that old? Wow! It’s in great shape. You’ve taken good care of her.
Me: Thank you.
Karen: I want that truck gone!
Cop 2 walks over to me to discuss my truck’s mechanical history. So, I explain to him that in the 16 years that I have owned her, I have changed her oil every 3-4 months, given her a bath once a month, got her a new set of tires 6 years ago, and when I first began having problems with her starting, I bought a new battery (the old one was the original battery from when I bought the truck off the showroom floor), and when the battery wasn’t the problem, I had a mechanic come and look at it. He determined that it was the starter and the gasket was leaking. All I was waiting on was my friend to come and help me start her (someone needs to get under the truck and tap the starter while someone else turns over the ignition) so that I can get it to the mechanic’s house for him to work on it.
Karen: She’s lying. That truck hasn’t moved in 3 months.
Me (offering popcorn to Cop 2 who took a handful): Wrong. It hasn’t moved in 4 days. It’s had problems for 3 or 4 months.
Cop 1: Ms. Karen, there really isn’t anything the police department can do for you. Her truck definitely isn’t an eyesore nor is it sitting there in pieces creating a safety hazard.
Karen: She’s driving down property values.
Cop 1 (starts chuckling): Ms. Karen, you are renting a house in government subsidized senior housing.
Cop 2: Why don’t you tell us the real reason why you want her truck removed.
Mary (who has been silent until now - stands up and turns on her best diva soul-sister voice and attitude and gives the cops the greatest Deep-South Beautiful Black Woman sermon I’ve ever heard – I’ll try to write as best I can): Ohh, Lawd Jesus, help us all! Dis here woman of the night, want everything she can’t have, Lawd! I think it’s cuz she pulls her hair back so tight, Lawd, she can only see what’s in the back o’ her mind! Uh huh! She wants her Old Saggy Boy Toy of the Day here to buy my friend’s pick’em up truck, so she can go and pick’em up, Lawd, mm-hmm, if ya gittin' what I’m sayin’. He buy it and trade it to her for a little roll on her nasty sheets! Lawd Jesus, help us! And she think she all hot and sexy so you believe her and take away my friend’s truck. She a fool, uh huh. She think she can fool you, too, uh huh! How da hell do ya think she got those 2 big ass TVs in there? Mmm-hmm!
Cop 1 is bent over laughing hysterically while Cop 2 is standing with his mouth open and his eyes wide.
Cop 2 (turns to Man 2): Is any of that true?
Man 2 (embarrassed, humiliated, and just looking tired): She wanted the truck and 50 bucks.
Karen and Man 2 are arrested. Not sure what the exact charges were but I heard words being thrown around like pandering, solicitation, scamming, and false complaint among others. A couple of days later, Mary told me that Karen returned home. I guess she found a way to get bailed out. I haven’t seen her and I am hoping that I don’t. As for my “pick’em up truck”, I’m still waiting to get her to the mechanic. My friend will be here on his next day off (he doesn't get them often) to help me. It’s a good thing I’m a patient person with a super diva as a friend and neighbor. It's also good to know that my truck is at least worth one 20-minute roll on the sheets and 50 bucks.
EDIT: Thanks for the awards everyone! And just a little side note for those of you rolling your eyes at the fact that I offered a cop popcorn and he took it - I live in the Deep South in a small-ish college town. The cops here are helpful, friendly (until provoked), and generally good guys. When construction workers stole from me after Hurricane Laura, two cops came to investigate and afterwards I offered them both a bottle of water and they accepted.

Ramtidings, dear friends! It is I, your dutiful lord and master, the eternal GM. My sabbatical proved most fruitful, having figured out some depth mechanics for 3 dimensional combat in my pet project, Blood & Thunder, a maritime piracy RPG that has been both a joy and a nerve-wracking nightmare to create. If you want to see what's going on with that, you can swing by patreon.com/BlackFlagPrintingPress to take a look or support my endeavors. But I digress, because I did not come here today to talk about Blood & Thunder, no. I came here with something else in mind, good friends, for while I have been writing my bread and butter, you have gone without your beard and butter, and this is unacceptable! And so, I have trawled the depths of my memory to bring you yet another TAAAAAALE FROM THE TABLETOP, lovingly subtitled A Prologue Into Poverty.
Life is not an easy thing. There was a time when life was very difficult for me. I had far less than most, and I went without frequently, my entire life loaded into a backpack of bare necessities. Joys were few and times were hard, but I made the best of it. I traveled the countryside, mostly alone, making friends where I could amongst the other forgotten souls who haunt the streets of the United States. I met a good number of people, many of them listless drifters in their own right, who became fast friends. We would hang out for a time, but like all drifters, we would eventually part ways, called to different places to do different things. I had just come from North Carolina. I had been in Asheville, playing bluegrass to make money with friends who eventually proved dishonest, and so I parted ways with them. While in Asheville, I had met a girl, also on the road like myself, and I developed a massive crush on her. Fortune would have it that our time together was short lived, as she disappeared on a freighter down the train tracks, and I layed curled up in a bush sick as a dog for the next 3 days.
You can't get a ride from a freighter with 8 people without getting pulled off by johnny law. Our group had fractured, and myself and one other soul continued on our own, until we parted ways in Atlanta. Now, on my own, clueless and green, I wandered aimlessly, until a friend of mine at the time reached out to me by way of the internet. He had work for me, back in California, if I could just make it there. What's 3000 miles? I've got this. I walked out of Atlanta, hitched a series of rides to Arkansas, and then caught a freighter myself, all the way back to the west coast while UP did the driving. I laid on the back of that train for 3 days until I finally ran out of water and decided to get off. I was in Los Angeles. After a bit of panhandling, I got a bus into the central valley, and my friend came and scooped me up. I worked on my friends farm for a bit, building green houses and stacking money until the time came for me to once again depart. During that time, my crush from North Carolina had found me on Facebook. We got to talking.
She told me she had gone back home to Wisconsin and was working in some greasy spoon trying to save up money to afford a bus. She'd been back for awhile now, but wasn't making any headway. Her vices were getting the best of her, and she couldn't seem to get ahead. I told her she needed to knock that shit off and clean up her act. After a long enough time talking, however, things started to get flirty and dirty.
I wanted to see her, and it's actually amazing what a guy will do for love. You're how far away? Piece of cake. Hold my beer. With the work season coming to a close, I took my pay and my leave of my old friend, and he dropped me off in Modesto at the Greyhound. On the way out, he loaded me up with gifts for my travels - a new backpack, socks, a sleeping bag, some snacks for the ride... and naturally, he gave me a gift that I always treasure. He gave me a set of RPG dice. I gave my boy a hug, wished him well in his endeavors, and promised I'd be back in the fall to help him with the harvest and gathering firewood. So I went on my merry way.
I absolutely despise Greyhounds. Have you ever been on one? It's miserable. There's no room to stretch out unless you sit in the back, right by the toilet. Some asshole is always blaring garbage mumble rap on his phone all day long. It doesn't matter who you are - at the end of the trip you exude the pungent aroma of a neckbeard. This didn't bother me too much - personal hygiene suffers when you have no way to bathe regularly, so I was used to being dirty, and my friends from the road were usually very dirty people in their own right at the time, so I could handle a certain degree of grossness... within limits. I did shower at my friend's farm before I boarded that bus, though, and was feeling rather spiffy - clean body, clean clothes. Life was good and I was on my way to see my woman.
I did my best to zone out. I tried to sleep as much as I could and ignore the general atmosphere of the bus, but that was no longer an option after a layover in Las Vegas. We boarded the bus once more after an almost 24 hour delay on our schedules, and finally got moving again. I sat in the back near the toilet, as I was no stranger to this game and wanted that bench seat, and foul smells at the time didn't bother me much... or so I thought. With the bus filling up and the seats reducing to slim pickings, it dawned on me that my coveted back seat bench was going to get shared. Then, I saw him... the Busbeard.
I'm usually a pretty nice person, but I did not want my coveted backseat benchseat getting taken up, let alone by this massive lardass that now lumbered towards me. I did everything in my power to seem as big and hostile as I could. This was all in vain, however, as some people cannot read social cues. I stared at him, dripping hostility, mentally repeating sit somewhere else like it was a Zen mantra. However, nobody wanted him to sit by them either, and so, he made his way, closer and closer, as he asked people if seats were taken until he got to me at the back. He shifted to sit into the seat, angling his ass in the general direction of my face. The smell of soggy feces-laden underwear wafted up as he slid his bulk onto the bench.
Did I mention that personal hygiene suffers on a greyhound bus ride, especially when you've been riding for days? I've taken my fair share of Greyhounds, and it's unlikely that this new arrival had been riding for awhile. He was eastbound, like the rest of us, and we were in Las Vegas. His point of origin was... not very far east. I had only been on the bus for approximately a day so far, minus the extended layover time of course, so I was getting a ittle sweaty myself, but this guy smelled as if he not only lived on this bus, but was born in the blue poop goop of the latrine. It was a question worthy of debate as to whether this man had actually employed the use of a speed stick in his life. His patchy jowels jiggled at me as he said, hi.
I responded with a gruff and monotone hello, and then turned my attentions to the window, watching the bus depot workers loading up suitcases beneath. My fate was sealed. This man was to be my travel companion all the way to Denver. I decided then that maybe it would be best to ignore him. I plugged in my phone, booted up an emulator I had downloaded, and started to play some Pokemon to whittle away the hours. It didn't take long, however, before I could feel his olfactory looming become physical looming as he examined the screen upon which I played from over my shoulder.
Busbeard: Pokemon? I fucking love Pokemon! I didn't know you could play it on a phone. How are you doing that?
His heavy respirations were like an infusion of green spearmint and halitosis.
GM: Emulators.
I went back to my game, trying to angle myself away from him in such a way that he couldn't lean over my shoulder and watch me as I trained my team, but I was effectively sandwiched between him and the wall, forced to sit straight as he leaned over and watched me play. I debated then, what I ought to do. Playing Pokemon would make the time fly, but I would be crushed between the window and a sweaty fat man. Not playing Pokemon would save me the physical agony of being squished, but I would be painfully bored for seemingly endless miles, and he may use it as an opportunity to interact further. A decision needed to be made.
I shut the emulator off and put away my phone, turning my attention back out the window as the bus pulled out of the Las Vegas terminal and began down the freeway. It was not long after we had pulled out of the station, however, when that wheezing, rasping voice chirped up again.
Busbeard: So where are you going?
I ignored him, focusing on the casinos towering in the distance of the skyline, pretending as if I hadn't heard the question, or as if it weren't addressed at me. With insistance, he repeated his question at my turned back again, searching for a response within my stony exterior. I mumbled, the Midwest, and he questioningly grunted, and asked me to repeat myself. I guess we're doing this.
GM: I'm going to the Midwest.
Busbeard: Where in the Midwest?
GM: Wisconsin.
Busbeard: I've never been to Wisconsin before, but I know they got really good cheese! Hyuk hyuk... Is that why you're going there?
Judging by his smell, he must have been an excessively avid connosieur of fine Wisconsinite cheese. However, cheese was the last thing on my mind at the time.I was enamored with my lady love.
GM: I'm going to see an old friend.
Busbeard: Oh, that's cool... who is it?
The odds of this man knowing the person who I was on my way to visit were astronomically low. Your odds of getting struck by lightning, winning the lottery, and becoming president in the same day were probably higher than this cretin knowing the one specific person whom I was going to go visit in some backwater Wisconsin town. Still, I humored him, and in the same flat voice, answered his question, and told him I was on my way to see my sweetheart.
This caught Busbeard's attention. For a grown man in his mid 30s, he let out a loud "oooooooo" like a middle schooler would when he finds out his friend has a crush. I contemplated execution methods and the subjective severity of their barbarism as he excitedly asked me where she was from.
GM: Wisconsin.
Busbeard: Yeah... but, where in Wiconsin?
GM: Fuck off, dude. I'm not going to tell you the town where she lives.
Busbeard: Heh! I'd be terrified of telling a superior male like me where my girlfriend lives, too. A little kid like you wouldn't stand a chance next to a man like me. Her panties would hit the floor from one whiff of my pheromones. It happens all the time, bro, I swear. I could have any woman on this bus. They just can't resist me. They can sense my manhood, I know it.
I shouldn't stir the pot. All common sense tells me that I should just stop myself while I'm ahead, but sometimes... sometimes I just can't help myself. I've always been a pretty reserved and self-contained person for the most part, and I just want to be left alone 90% of the time to do my thing. Apparently, that's a lot to ask, because every now and then, somebody comes and invades my personal space with their protruding belly, bad breath, and self-aggrandizement, and then I find it really hard to resist my inclination to fuck with them. I know, I know, it's wrong of me to do that, but I'm human, damnit, and something good was cooking in the kitchen. What's the harm in dipping a spoon into this self-important concoction of body odor and bravado?
GM: Any woman, huh? Tell ya what, Busbeard, I just got paid, and you seem really confident in the power of your, ahhhhh, pheromones, so... how about a wager.
I laid out the terms of my devil's bargain. With a wager of 100 dollars, I would pick a lady on the bus at the next break. Busbeard would then have to seduce her. He MUST "present" his pheromones to her, naturally. If he recovered her phone number, or anything in excess thereof, like a kiss or a consensual toilet stall consummation, it would suffice to meet my criteria and loose my grasp from the freshly printed Franklin in my wallet. He agreed enthusiastically to my terms, insisting I was going to loose and he was going to get his dick sucked in a Greyhound portajohn "blumpkin style".
We rode along in silence for the next hour or so. The sun was high in the sky when we made our next stop at some gas station in Utah, and everyone filed off the bus to stretch their legs and get their snacks. I wandered around, huffing down my smoke, chatting it up with people and making friends, seeing just who they were, asking them questions - where they were going, who they were going there with. I got to talking with one guy and his girlfriend.
The guy, who we will call Sarge, was built like a brick shithouse and was a former infantry man who served 2 tours of duty in the middle east. He was traveling with his wife, a young and pretty little thing who we will call Alexandra. They were on their way back to the east coast to stay with family. Alexandra's mom was getting old and had asked them to move in to help take care of her. They were on their way out there to steward her aging mother's estate. I remarked that that was awfully kind of them, and sincerely wished them the best on taking care of Alexandra's aging mom. I told them a little bit about myself, as well... that I was effectively living on the road, playing life by ear, and on the way to see a loved one of mine for a bit before the wind blew me somewhere else.
Eventually, the bus driver gave everyone a 5 minute warning before departure, and we all filed on board. I moved back to my seat and waited for Busbeard to arrive. He came back, cradling piles of gas station sandwiches, bags of chips, and a couple of sodas in his massive paws. He sat down beside me with a loud "oof" and offered me a drink, saying that it's the least he could do before he took my money. I took that beverage. It was both cold and delicious.
GM: Well, Busbeard, I've done my rounds, and I've come to a decision.
Busbeard: Who is it? She better be hot. I swear to God, if you make me waste my time on some dried up roastie, I'm gonna be so fucking pissed at you dude.
GM: Why would I do that dude? Naturally, I only want the best for you. No, she's very pretty. You see that girl over there, in the aisle seat? That's the one. Make your move whenever you're ready.
I pointed out Alexandra to him. I already knew this was going to end very poorly. There was no way in Hell that Alexandra would express any interest in this disgusting lardass whatsoever when she had a stable and solid man like Sarge, and Sarge wasn't about to take guff from anyone. Add on to it that Sarge was easily the size of, if not bigger than, the prodigious Busbeard himself. Sarge was also trained to kill and hardened by years of combat in the graveyard of empires. I can fight - I've fought a lot - and I would not want to square up against him under any circumstances. Busbeard was going to get the snot beat out of him and pay me 100 dollars for that privilege.
The bus took off and I listened to the disgusting sounds of Busbeard inhaling the equivalent of 5 pounds of gas station food. I was only halfway through my soda, when Busbeard emitted a satisfied belch that rumbled the seats, and the feeding frenzy had ended in an effervesence of curdling bile and preservatives just as fast as it had begun. He then started to pump himself up for the task at hand. He started to sweat with excitement and latent cardiac arrest as he prepared his pheromonal aura about himself, and then with a gruff, alright, let's do this, he stood up from his seat and waddled down the aisle, his greasy belly bumping into everybody who had chosen an aisle seat.
He approached Alexandra. They were near the front end of the bus, and so I couldn't hear a word that they were saying. I watched Busbeard as he extended an arm and held on to the overhead luggage rack, exposing the damp miasma of corn-syrup infused armpit sweat to his unsuspecting victim. His pheromones were beginning to work their magic over the unsuspecting Alexandra who would soon be enraptured by its juicy spell. I waited, leaning forward intently, when a loud shout broke the silence.
Sarge: BACK THE FUCK UP.
Alexandra started to shout, too, yelling "get the fuck away from me!"
The driver turned back and yelled for everyone to sit down and shut the hell up or he would pull the bus over.
Sarge: Please do! I'm gonna beat this fucking lardass into the pavement! Saying shit like that to my wife? Who the fuck do you think you are?
The bus driver repeated his warning, and Busbeard began to shout his protests, insisting upon his innocence.
Busbeard: B-but, I was put up to it! It was that guy, in the back seat! He said---
He pointed back at me. I yelled back, I don't fucking know that guy.
The bus driver meant his threat, and pulled the bus over. We were on a long and empty stretch on the I-15 somewhere in rural Utah. The last town I had seen was about 20 miles back. It was late spring, and it was getting hot outside that afternoon. The bus driver got out of his seat, walked up to Busbeard, and told him to get the Hell off of his bus. Busbeard kept protesting, when Sarge moved past his wife, and started forcing Busbeard towards the front door.
I've heard the threat of getting kicked off maybe a thousand times on a Greyhound, but I had never seen it play out before. Busbeard was thrown off the bus. Sarge did not join him outside and pummel him into the asphalt, regrettably, as I would have loved to have watched it. Busbeard kept pleading with the bus driver as the driver shut the door on him, sealing him out on the shoulder of a lonely stretch of highway. I breathed a sigh of relief, and stretched out my legs. It was another 15 miles before we saw signs of civilization. A part of me felt bad for Busbeard, but the other part of me said, "if I can walk 20 miles in a day with 60 lbs of shit on my back, he can do an unencumbered 15 and be fine."
The ride continued on in sweet, reclined silence for me until we reached Denver, werein there was another changeover, and this bus was much, much more desolate. The rest of the Greyhound voyage passed without incident, and I spent my time flirting with my lady love and training some Pokemons. At long last, I finally arrived in Wisconsin. She came to pick me up at the bus station, and when we approached each other, we made out like long lost lovers for a good 5 minutes before we finally caught our breath enough to say hello. I got in her car, and spent maybe a week or so with her, before it was time to take my leave. I couldn't live there forever, and so, as fast as I had drifted into her life, once again, it was time for me to disappear. We said goodbye, and she dropped me off at a lonely interstate overpass on the edge of town. I put my thumb out to catch a ride to Anywhere But Here USA.
I planned my next move, and I figured that there were some friends of hers and mine that lived not too far away in the Dakotas, and maybe I would pay them a visit next. I was in the neighborhood, and figured that I might as well say hello. I reached out to them online, and then made my way west again. They were excited for me to come see them. It was only a day into the voyage when I received a message from Janet. It said, "wait for me, I'm catching up." She had packed her backpack again, and was coming after me, hot on my tail. I told her we could meet up at our mutual friend's house.
I dialed ahead to our friends, who we shall call Sarah and Queenie. Sarah used to travel together with Janet for many months before she stabilized, and then settled down. Queenie was one of my friends from North Carolina. He was a loveable chucklefuck of a drifter, missing a few teeth, wore a skirt, and spoke in the most haggard voice you could imagine. Still... he insisted on being called Queenie. He had settled down with Sarah after they hooked up, and they were living at Sarah's house. He was on thin ice there, however, and she was threatening to kick him out.
I arrived at Sarah's and Queenie's, and spent the next few days waiting for Janet to come up on my heels. During that time, Queenie and I played a lot of Magic (he had just gotten into it), and I remembered the dice that my friend in California had given me that were laying unusued in my backpack. I asked him if he had ever played tabletop RPG's before, to which he answered no. I told him that, maybe next time I see him and I'm in a better spot, we could run a game. Eventually Janet caught up, and we prepared to leave Sarah's for good towards our own new horizons. Queenie, however, had finally broken through the thin ice upon which he skated, and was getting thrown out. On the day of our departure, we asked him if he wanted to join us in our travels so he wouldn't have to go it alone.
Thus we began from Sarah's house out into the unknown once again, a cheerful trio, and true to my word, I began to teach not only Queenie, but Janet as well, the joys of tabletop RPGs.
As I'm sure you can surmise, dear friends, that this is not the end of our story, but only the beginning of another chapter. Is Busbeard still alive? What does the future hold for Ramtide's love life? How do a gaggle of vagabond drifters play tabetop games without a table? Some of these questions will be answered, my dear friends, in our next installment of TAAAAAALES FROM THE TABLETOP.
A shoutout to my lovely patrons, Tatoferret and Sillibits. You guys are wonderful. Thank you for believing in the dream.

High all! I really recently fell in love with the Fallout Universe, with all its complexities and unique stories. In particular, I very much enjoy the subjectivity of interpretations of the games and their outcomes, and I wanted to create my own personal contribution by writing a story specifically set after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. The Courier is referenced once in passing and there's no mention of a next of kin for the Courier. The story is completely original with entirely unique characters that I've made and it takes place after a non-specific timeline in which Mr House wins the fight for the Mojave Desert. I wanted to share some of my work with my fellow Fallout fans and see what you think. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.
Beginning:
After the guns fell silent during the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, the world was forever changed. Mr House’s City State of New Vegas gained full sovereignty and control over the Mojave Desert, and his Securitron Army pushed the exhausted NCR and broken Legion out. In the following years, Mr House rapidly expanded the city of New Vegas, and reignited the production of old Pre-War Technology automobiles, bus lines, and a high speed train line appeared. The Strip itself expanded beyond the Three Families; Strip clubs, pubs, casinos, all you can eat buffets filling the area, with some residential apartments and houses now beginning to be sold to the highest bidder, just as it was in the old world.
The expanded city of Vegas outside the Strip itself however is a slum, crime, inequality, and denigration is all but abundant, and unrest is growing. Following the removal of President Kimball, his Vice President Donald Watson took over and inherited a State in crisis. Faith in the government had rapidly deteriorated, and the economy of the NCR began to suffer as many relocated to the Strip to live a life of luxury and excess. The NCR is now a shadow of its former self, with Military Police now required to keep order on the streets of its towns and cities. The poverty level is rising. In the East, Caesar’s Legion too is changing, and not for the better. With the Western Campaign a failure by all accounts, resources dwindling, questions about the strength of their Leader Caesar are cropping up in the minds of those closest to him.
By 2295, the pieces had fallen into place. The fate of these States and the people who uphold them is uncertain. One thing is for sure. Whatever happens, the Wasteland will be changed unlike it has ever been before.
‘I appreciate your respectful and restrained response to my contact. It is a pleasure to interact with the less agitated members of your State.’
Aminta barely heard Mr House, and instead stared out the windows of the Lucky 38. The skyline of the Strip extended seemingly forever, pushing away the surrounding darkness with neon light. Just beyond the city outskirts, the silhouette of Mr House’s newly created Launch Pad. It was one of five, and she could just see the other four, each slightly further away from the city than the last. She scrutinised them, and was struck by the boundless possibilities of such technology; the opportunities provided. How exciting it would be! Mr House’s voice then cracked her thoughts and brought back to the present. She listened, without comment.
‘Roughly 18 hours ago, a team of five extraordinarily skilled individuals ascended Hoover Dam from the base of the structure,’ The ostentatiously large screen in which Mr House’s face sat suddenly changed to show grainy footage. ‘This was captured by one of our cameras on the perimeter of the dam. I apologise for the bad quality, it has been surprisingly difficult obtaining improved camera lenses, and As you can see, they used some kind of Grapnel Launcher and ascended via the rope.’
On the screen, it was possible to just make out five distinct figures at the base of the dam. They were clearly dressed in dark clothing, though the quality was too poor and the camera was too far away to make out any of the fine details of the material. Aminta scrutinised the footage, watching intently as the five figures used an oblong object, reminiscent of a hunting rifle to fire a rope, or cord up the side of the dam; high enough to catch the top. The operator of the device then disconnected it from the gun, and pressed it into the ground. It appeared to stick. They then ascended the rope. The camera feed then cut to show three of the attackers subdue and restrain two security guards. Due to the light, it was clear that the clothing the criminals were wearing was Recon Armor, though there were no insignia or identifiable characteristics. The two men were then held down by two and clubbed across the face by the third member with the butt of a 10mm pistol. He then turned to the computer and retrieved something from his pocket. Then the screen went black.
‘At this point, at roughly 1:27 am a Trojan was fitted onto the system. It temporarily disabled all the security cameras in the sector. It was one of the strongest Trojans I’ve ever come across, but I was able to get the system back up and running within 15 minutes. Unfortunately we cannot recover any footage from the corrupted data files that detail how the robbers escaped. I hope you can understand why I decided to contact you.’
Aminta pondered to herself. Why would Mr House, a man who controlled Rockets and owned and governed an entire city and it’s enterprises, would need to contact the New California Republic for assistance in a robbery? From where they were standing, he appeared to be in a position any high ranking NCR official would kill for. She didn’t say anything. There had to be more to this meeting than what Mr House was implying. She looked to her left, trying to be casual. Sitting next to her with an overexaggerated grave look on his face was Political Officer Neville Dawson, and next to him was Dennis Crocker, former Ambassador to the Strip. They too were quiet, their faces frustratingly hiding what they were thinking. Not sure where to look, Aminta turned back to the screen Mr House’s caricature face was on. She had to say something.
‘Mr House, why exactly do you think these people targeted Hoover Dam? There are many casinos and places full of money on the New Vegas Strip. Is there anything of massive value at Hoover Dam?’
‘Well Chief Aminta Marr, no, ostensibly speaking, there is nothing there of real value to anyone, unless they have the ability to take and control the Dam and source it’s hydraulic generated electricity,’
‘Then why would someone do this?’ Aminta said curtly. She tensed up, not meaning to sound dismissive.
‘Well Aminta, they did take one thing from what we've deduced,’ Mr House said, appearing to ignore her tone.
‘And what was that Mr House?’ Neville cut in. He was leaning forward, hands clasped tightly together. He was trying - and failing - to ease the tension in the room.
‘Well, before I contacted you Neville, and to answer your question Aminta, I ran through my storage records from 2285 to the present. I had Mr Harvey Shwarze, my ‘Representative in Government’ review them in paper form in our archives. Three things - completely inconsequential things mind you, were missing. Three Platinum Chips.’
‘Three Platinum Chips?’ Neville said concertedly, as if he knew exactly what Mr House was talking about.
‘That’s right. It’s a data storage device, well it was a data storage device. Designed by me before the Great War of 2077. Perhaps once upon a time this would’ve been valuable to somebody, but after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam I had access to all kinds of ruined facilities all over the Mojave to reform to working order. I began reprinting hundreds of Platinum Chips which were variations of the original Platinum Chip. They continuously upgrade and encrypt my software to prevent any outside programmers from accessing my highly sensitive data. I have no idea what a group of hooligans would want with three. I can easily replace them, and since they’re only usable on my systems, well they would simply be useless.’
‘Perhaps they wanted to sell them,’ Aminta proposed. It wasn’t impossible, she thought. People pay top dollar for things with perceived value, isn’t that the cardinal rule of the Strip?
‘To whom?’ Mr House replied. ‘The point still stands. Nobody has any use for them but me.’
‘Well, perhaps they thought they were valuable.’ Dennis remarked.
‘In any case, they will soon learn they are not valuable.’
‘If you have no problems with this Mr House,’ Aminta cut in. ‘Why do you need us here? The NCR has its own problems, big problems, and from where we’re standing, you seem to have everything under control.’
‘That’s precisely the issue!’ Mr House exclaimed. ‘The very fact they managed to steal anything from me at all is deeply disconcerting! I spent days and nights running statistical simulations for all possible scenarios in and formulated the best plans for countering every scenario I came across!’
‘I guess my point is, I do not understand, in any capacity, why you, YOU of all people would need to call us for assistance in a matter that you - whether intentional or not - have spent the last fives minutes telling us it isn’t an issue.’
The room fell quiet. Aminta pulled her hands back from the table and into her lap, and looked down at them, pretending to be occupied analysing them. She had exposed the true, unspoken meaning of this meeting, and they all knew it. She bit her lip. Dennis wiped the sweat off his face. Neville breathed in deeply, as though he was going to speak. But Mr House did first.
‘As I understand it, the NCR has fallen on hard times since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. My Lieutenant after the battle was admittedly curt in regards to handling our relations, and since then it seems your economy is really struggling with extremely poor unemployment and satisfaction levels,’ Mr House paused.
Neville looked at Aminta with a look of understanding, and regret but he didn’t say anything. Mr House was right. Of course he was right.
‘It just so happens that while it may look from the outset I’m doing well, with the occasional launch of one of my experimental rockets, crime in Greater New Vegas is extraordinarily high. To be clear, the Strip is not, but the extended city state with the newly constructed buildings - those areas are. I want to make a proposition for the mutual benefit of the NCR, and New Vegas. Neville, think carefully about what I’m about to say.’
Neville spoke up. ‘Alright, I’m all ears.’
‘Dennis Crocker here can once again become the Ambassador to the Strip, and the NCR can once again have an Embassy. I will also give the NCR access to some of my technologies to help your state re-stabilize after everything that’s happened. In return however, I would like Aminta here, who is your Chief and Commander of both your military and normal police forces, to assist my Securitrons in patrolling Outer Vegas. Securitrons don’t make the best police, and security guards are in short supply and are not equipped, in any sense, to be police. I also would like your help in tracking down the culprits of this robbery; that being an extension of the aforementioned policing stipulation. Such a breach of security cannot happen again. Neville Dawson, I’m willing to sign a treaty pertaining to these terms, or any terms the NCR may propose, unless of course it does mutually benefit both states.’
Aminta felt her twang strike her deep in her heart. For years, the NCR Police Force had been absorbed into the Military Police Unit, and they could barely contain black market dealings of Chems and military grade weaponry on the streets of NCR’s cities. They did not have the resources or power Mr House seemed to think they did. For nearly 3 years straight she had been bombarded with evidence of killings by her own subordinates, illegal incarcerations, and illicit behavior between colleagues within her own chain of command, with no power to rehabilitate or prosecute those involved. Meanwhile, those that had the money to escape fled to New Vegas, desperate to find a life of comfort. It was possible that through re-establishing trade and mutual respect with Mr House, they could rebuild the NCR’s respectability on the international and internal level. She found herself hoping the treaty would be signed.
‘This... is a huge proposition. I hope you can understand the overwhelming nature of what you’re telling us, it’ll take a bit for us to come to a conclusion.’ Neville exhaled, as though he had been holding it for the last minute.
‘I understand.’ Mr House responded.
‘Maybe I ask,’ Donnie piped up. ‘What specific kinds of technology will you provide to the NCR?’
Mr House ran down a checklist. ‘Vehicles. Remade pre-war cars. Excavation machines. Cement mixers. Would provide jobs and improve your infrastructure in the process, whilst also giving me business and improving the situation here. Mutually beneficial for both sides.’
‘I see.’
Aminta struggled to contain her happiness. She had become a police officer to enforce safety and protect those who abide by the law. This was a way back to such operations, in which she could help those in need, rather than sit idly while their situation worsened.
‘I’ll also be willing to give 10% of the electricity produced by Hoover Dam to the NCR. It produces more than I need.’ Mr House offered.
Dennis shifted his weight, and opened his mouth. It was a second before anything came out.
‘15% would be great, if possible.’
‘Done.’ Mr House concluded.
‘Well, we’ll definitely have to confer this back to President Watson. As previously said by Mr Dawson, this is a huge offer.’
‘I understand. Aminta, I can only hope you also support this.’
Aminta smiled. ‘I am willing to establish a NCR Police Force here in New Vegas, and assist in establishing prosperity and stability, for the benefit of both states.’
‘Excellent. I’ll arrange for a Taxi to take you back to the border.’
*****
Nobody said a word in the ride in the elevator down to the entrance of the Lucky 38. There was a perpetual sense of being watched, and listened to, and Aminta supposed they probably were. She sensed from the stiffness of Donnie and Neville’s postures they felt the same way. As the three left through the ground level of the building, the desolate casino indicated a time long past, preserved in pristine condition yet uncannily lifeless; inhabited only by robots. Aminta felt a shiver flow throughout her body, prompting her to hurry outside.
Upon exiting, Aminta was greeted by the fantastic lighting she had seen from the Lucky 38. Buildings stretched high into the now night sky, perpetually lit up and calling for you to spend a few short hours in their luxurious suites and lose all the money you have without knowing it. She had visited the Strip a couple of times before the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. Back then, whilst still grand, its exterior walls felt cobbled-together, layered pieces of steel to preserve what glory the pre-war days had. Now, the Strip felt open, almost a complete return to complete pre-war glory, though there was no way of her knowing what such a time looked like. Polished, beetle like cars with extravagant interwoven pieces of silver and gold making up their hubcaps cluttered the road, filled with nicely dressed young women chattering incessantly.
Boys, ranging from teenagers to old men stumbled around, drunk and happy, their legs falling beneath them as though they were wet noodles. To the left, the Ultra Luxe Casino hotel stood at the far end of the street, intoxicatingly ostentatious and alluring for any hoping to climb the social ladder, despite the many rumors of cannibalism attempting to tarnish the brand. The fountain outside the front sprayed sparkling water into the night air which caught the light of the strip and reflected it like the jewels the building it was in front of was embroidered in. However, Aminta was not taken by the hotel, and watched two NCR troopers, still in their military uniforms be forced to dance in front of a crowd of onlookers. They were pushed and shoved as they struggled to dance, their arms and legs barely keeping to any rhythm as they fell to the ground, vomiting a putrid yellow substance onto the asphalt. She looked away in disgust and embarrassment for the two men.
A man in an expensive looking suit and bowtie greeted the three. Behind him stood a long polished black car.
‘Shall I take you to the crossing point?’
‘Yes.’ Donnie answered. Aminta and Neville followed his lead. He had more experience on the Strip than the majority of the tourists around them. She started the car once they were all inside, the engine barely kicking as it began to drive. Aminta marvelled at its power, it’s sleekness, at the strength and confidence of its movement and the luxury of it’s exotic wood plated interior.
The chauffeur drove to the large South Gate of the Strip, passing multitudinous buildings of similar grandeur and spectacle, all the same though uniquely different, until they all blurred into one mix of different colours and moving forms. The chauffeur leaned out of the side window, showed an identification pass to a Securitron, and the gate opened. Aminta’s car was the only car that left. As the gate closed, the car picked up speed and tore through the rest of Vegas.
Immediately outside the Strip, the buildings were noticeably more dilapidated. Aminta watched as the varied prosperity of the Strip curtailed rapidly into a mess of buildings, barely recognisable as residential or industrial, though they were unmistakably new creations. She almost didn’t notice it at first, but they were all the same. Row after row of buildings with the same geometric exterior, though placed at odd angles to each other, as if a child had been playing with them and haphazardly threw them into where they now stood. As the car moved further and further away from the Strip, lights in these buildings became scarce, and the brickwork became exposed to reveal pipelines and shreds of electrical appliances, some still spitting sparks. When the light of the Strip was nothing more than a flicker of light on the night horizon, the copied buildings were replaced with houses, roofs sagging, walls crumbling. As the car zipped passed, Aminta caught wisps of figures; people moving about the ruins and the darkness like ghosts, until they passed the last house, and all that could be seen was the night sky and desert shrubbery.

After I tried to stop this series and start a new series (which failed), I am back in the driver's seat for King's Survivor's final phase, since it would probably have lasted longer if Adobe didn't cancel Flash (thanks for rushing my series, mate!). This season, I tried to do what u/swoldow did before and make a season called Saints Vs Sinners, where 10 people who embody the term "Saint" will face off against the people who embody the term "Sinner", but unfortunately, it seemed like a lot of the people who signed up misunderstood the definition of saints and sinners. For the love of god, someone who is slightly villainous is not a "sinner", and average people are not "saints". Oh well. I guess it's the best I'm gonna get. Here is the cast:
Kahramanca (Saints) Tribe:
Ardet Prifti, 31, Rhythm Guitarist, u/Twig7665
Ardet lived a difficult life. Born in Albania with a family that was associated with the mafia meant that Ardet was never safe, and one day, he came back home to find his whole family had been murdered by the Albanian mafia. He spent years on the street, struggling to survive, before he discovered his musical talent. He played a guitar (which he had to steal), which enabled him to earn money. After a few years of doing that, he moved to the United States, where he did his best to get into the largest music college in that country, and actually succeeded. He met some people that became his bandmates, and soon they were pretty popular in the underground scene. When their fame exploded, Ardet's bandmates grew either egotistical or paranoid, but Ardet saw fame as a way to spread awareness for mental illness. He has now become a strong supporter of mental health charities around the country, and he signed up for Survivor to raise money for one of the charities he supports.
Ava Chrisly, 23, Kindergarten Teacher, u/Gemini_B
Ava was born deaf. After her father died when she was 3, her birthmother struggled to care for her and her 3 siblings. Ava was especially tough since she needed special treatment and one night her birthmother left her on the doorstep of a rich widow with a note explaining how Ava got there. The Widow, not wanting to deal with a deaf child, left her outside where she spent a cold night alone and scared. She came across Marissa, a young girl who ran away from home. Marissa took pity on her and the two banded together.
They spent years together on the street with Ava learning to read lips and Marissa learning sign language. Marissa quickly saw that Ava had a gift with children and encouraged her to find a job with kids. Ava didn’t want Marissa to leave, but then Marissa surprised her by revealing she had a scholarship to a teachers college. Ava went off to the collage and became a kindergarten teacher, but when she returned she learned that Ava had gone to jail for stealing from a rich old woman and using the money to bribe a college administrator. Ava promised she’d help bail Marissa out, and learned about survivor. She’s hoping she can win the million to help free Marissa and get their lives on track.
Chelsea Rutherford, 22, Lifeguard, u/IAmWolfNinja
Chelsea was the heiress to the throne of a foreign country with a corrupt government. The wealth that came with such a status meant nothing to her, since she was utterly disgusted with the actions of her family. Knowing her resentment for their governmental policies, Chelsea's family gradually became verbally abusive towards her. Unable to take any more, she escaped as a teen to pursue her own path. When she arrived in America, Chelsea wanted to do everything she could to erase her dark past and the actions of her family, so she got a job as a lifeguard, where she has saved countless lives. She's occasionally recognized as an heiress, but when it's brought up, she tends to have nervous breakdowns.
Chester "Cap'n" Richardson, 67, Retired Naval Officer, u/swoldow
Some may see him as just the average old man, but Cap’n has seen and done things most people couldn't fathom. Cap’n joined the navy at a ripe young age about 5 years before the Cold War began, and learned everything from afar, slowly working up the ranks. When things got bad in Vietnam, he was given the chance to take charge of a ship during the war, and he immediately said yes. He ran the ship strictly, but he got both respect from everyone, as well as being genuinely liked as a person by his crew. He led them to many naval victories but unfortunately that didn't last, when his ship was shot with a torpedo, which blew the whole thing up and killed everyone on it, except for Cap’n. With the emotional baggage of watching people he has gotten to know kick the bucket, he immediately resigned from the navy after. As a result of the shipwreck, his mindset has changed, as he’s now super overprotective of his family, and still can't let the explosion go after years and years of retirement. He hopes Survivor can help him learn more about himself, and be the thing he needs to live the rest of his life in peace.
Cornelius Von Helton, 52, CEO, u/Gemini_B
Cornelius was raised by a family that had fallen from riches and was in tough times. He never expected to get to go to university but got lucky by getting a scholarship for his creative greeting cards. While at university, he enrolled in a business course and after collage started a greeting card business with some friends. All of his friends quickly gave up on the business, but Cornelius stuck through it. When he made a greeting card that was delivered to Eddie Murphy, the comedian was impressed and hired him to do his greeting cards to his friends, family, and invitations to parties. Quickly other celebrities started to hire his business and many fans wanted to get into the trend. His business rapidly expanded and he soon found himself with a company that covered parties, greeting cards, published books and even dabbled in a touch of Realestate. While in his thirties though, Cornelius was mugged while on a walk in the park and got stabbed. He was quickly rushed to the hospital and while there, he was nursed back to health by his soon to be wife. He claims that she saved his life and proceeded to date her after leaving the hospital. She was reluctant at first, but he quickly charmed her and the two have been married for 15 years now. He has two children, a son aged 10 and a daughter aged 8. He's continued to run his business, but leaves most of the work to his higher-ups as he wants to be able to spend as much time with his family and employees as possible. He views his employees as his family and does his best to remember all their names and make the workspace as nice for them as possible. He's come to survivor because his wife loves the show and wanted to compete, but due to growing health issues can't. She's trained him to win, and he wants to do this and win for her.
Dana Vasquez, 43, Stay At Home Mom, (filler character)
Greg Zimmer, 40, High School Teacher, u/AngolanDesert
Greg is one of the nicest people you will ever meet. He is very trusting and kind and will do anything for the people he loves. Since he grew up in Texas, hard work has always been his priority. He knows that if he wants to win this game, he has to work hard at everything he does. Greg decided to be a high school teacher so he could teach his students the importance of hard work. He has been a fan of survivor for a while, so when he saw that applications for survivor were going out, he knew he had to join in. Hopefully, he won’t disappoint his students.
Gwendolyn "Gwen" Wallerby, 52, Baker, u/ghetra
Gwen works at a bakery where she gets to do what she loves every day: make many different kinds of pies. She is a very warm, loving person and has a reputation for helping out whoever needs it, usually by baking for them. Baking takes a lot of patience and strength, and she is stronger than she looks. She naturally has a very loud voice that sometimes irks people, but once they get to know her it quickly becomes endearing. Now that her children are out of the house, she has started reading much more and taking classes on different subjects that interest her. The world is her oyster.
Kirk Smolarek, 62, History Teacher, u/Twig7665
Kirk never had a normal childhood. His mom walked out on his family not long after he was born, and his father was a former Polish soldier with PTSD and a severe drug addiction, leading to Kirk experiencing abuse from him for as long as Kirk can remember. Wanting to escape his miserable life, he smuggled himself on a boat bound for Australia when he was 16. Lo and behold, the ship got caught in a windstorm and ended up sinking, and Kirk and a few other survivors ended up stranded on an island. After spending more than a month there, he was taken back to his homeland after being found there. He ended up being the only survivor of the whole ordeal. He was returned to his deranged father, where the next time his father tried to abuse him, he fought back, causing his father to end up in the hospital. Deemed not guilty because he defended himself, Kirk did not spend time in prison for this. His father on the other hand did spend time there for drug-related charges and child abuse, but was killed by another inmate before he could be released. Kirk then went to college, where he studied history there, and decided to become a history teacher. He then kept that job title for over 40 years now, and despite being in his 60s, he is still an enjoyable presence for his students, as he incorporates unusual teaching methods to make his students interested in what he's teaching. Despite being financially stable, he wants to win the money so he can be well off when he retires in a few years.
Maralyn Sander, 32, Tour Guide, u/Void_Drone
Maralyn gives tours of New York, driving around in her bus, answering questions, watching broadway shows. And she spends most of her money on her family, except for the money she spent on her pink pearl necklace. She enjoys the tours for the most part, but when she's alone she vents about how annoying the tours can be.
Kotu Adam (Sinners) Tribe:
Alexa Station, 20, YouTuber, u/IAmWolfNinja
A 3AM YouTuber who arrived late to the trend, Alexa has a tendency to flex her belongings when no one really cares. She was recently involved in a scandal where she faked her boyfriend's death, causing endless amounts of controversy, and a near arrest. Her sub count is dropping significantly every day, so she joined to help gain her popularity (relevancy) back.
Carter Witworth, 23, College Student, u/JTsidol
Witworth, he was born to a extremely rich family, but his parents didn’t have time for him, but spoiled him rotten, when he got into school, he was known for being a bully, however no one confronted him, and everytime he’d get in trouble or fail a test, his parents would pay his way out, last year, he got a slap in the face, when his parents yet again had to bribe the college board to accept him, they cut off his allowance, he’s playing just for the money, nothing else.
Irvin Eamers, 32, Olympic Sprinter, u/asiansurvivorfan
A born athlete, Irvin loved competing in all sports but wasn’t known to play fair as he was never a team player and would often torment others to win. He started training for the Olympics at the age of 17 and eventually got the opportunity to compete in multiple Olympics where he took home many gold medals. However, they were striped from him when he was caught doping and using steroids to give him an edge in races. After the controversy, Irvin’s current wife left him and he was banned from competing in any future competitions. He came on Survivor for one reason and that is that is the money as he’s currently being sued by the Olympic committee.
Jessica Abrefa, 25, Poker Player, u/Twig7665
Jessica wasn't the most well off growing up, she lived in Alabama, where racism was rampant. As such, she was bullied for her race, until one day, she decided that they will all be wrong about her not being able to do anything because of her skin colour. She publicly humiliated the whole football team at her high school, and that stunt got her expelled in her senior year. She didn't care, and then she decided to run away to Las Vegas, which she did. While there, she started modeling, but found it boring. She then picked up the hobby of gambling, and played her first poker match when she was 21. She proved herself to be a formidable foe by beating one of the top poker players at the time, a dude named Brett Herman. Impressed by her skills, he tried to form a bond with her, but she turned him down due to him being a very paranoid man. Now, Jessica dates and cheats on men almost daily, and is considered one of the top female poker players, despite only playing for a few years. An avid Survivor fan, she wants to be as flirty and manipulative as she is in her real life. The only problem would be meeting another poker player, but she finds it unlikely that she will.
Joey "Wildcard" Caruso, 24, Poker Player, u/wordonthestreet2
Joey did not grow up with the best moral compass as his father notoriously had ties to the mafia. He used the money his father made through illegitimate businesses to gamble throughout his teenage years. When his father learned about his poker abilities and how easy it was for him to manipulate his opponents they began using his poker career as a way to launder mafia money through various casinos. He is known for his excellent poker face and unpredictable style of play which earned him the nickname Wildcard.
Maize Nguyen, 28, Heiress, u/Vicctoryy
From the outside looking in, the Nguyen Family Dynasty of San Francisco looks like a well supported and strong business, but from the inside, things are crumbling apart. The matriarch and patriarch are always at each other's necks over the company, leaving their children to clean up their messes. Maize, being the oldest, has taken it upon herself to lead the company, and she leads with an iron will and even harder iron fist. While she seems like a worthy replacement for her faulty parents, she has never been afraid to leave with force. Anyone at the receiving end of a verbal lashing from Maize is likely to not return to work the next day, or ever again. She is arrogant, rude, demeaning, and yet she gets things done. Saving the company from absolute bankruptcy caused a lot of backlash, but Maize couldn't care less. Success should be accomplished by stepping on the necks of those who aren't ready for the power, and Maize has done that exact thing. Any person in Maize's way has been an obstacle she has to conquer, and with a flip of her finger, that obstacle is no longer a problem. She has never been afraid to crack a few eggs to make an omelette, and unfortunately, those eggs have just been working class people struggling to make minimum wage and put dinner on their table. Too bad for them according to Maize. Maize has come to Survivor to prove that the Nguyen Dynasty is far from over, and their business monopoly will run on for years with Maize at the front of it. She is the iceberg, everyone else is a ship with no idea of what's in their way. Those too bold to step in her way are trampled, quite literally. Maize has no problem with controversy, controversy brings attention, attention brings money, and money brings power.
Molly-Anne Benson, 26, Marketing Assistant, u/ghetra
Molly-Anne is a social butterfly. She loves chatting with people about pretty much anything and loves meeting and getting to know new people. She has a natural charm about her that draws people in, but sometimes people are bothered by how chatty she is. She also loves to gossip and is not above spreading rumors. However, she is rather sensitive and can be set off by just about anything. She frequently will push people's buttons if they offend her and will hold a grudge until the end of time.
Nikki Lopez, 29, Stripper, u/Void_Drone
Randall Martin, 49, Real Estate Agent, u/TDSwaggyBoy
Being a self proclaimed sleazeball, which is a very weird thing to be proud of, Randall's life was never too good. He didn't grow up with a lot of close friends. Sure, people liked him at first, but when they really got to know him they didn't appreciate him nor his antics very much. Randall had to make a name for himself. He quickly found a career in the world of real estate. Not even his co-workers enjoyed his company, but they appreciated his skills. Being a fast and smooth talker really pays off in his industry. And now, Randall wants to put his skills to use in SURVIVOR. How well will that pan out?
Vito Luco, 49, Used Car Salesman, u/swoldow
Vito is the last person you'd want to trust with anything. A true con-artist at heart, he now has a job selling used cars, but his past jobs would make you run away from him in fear. When he was younger, he was a part of a major drug-trafficking operation run by the mafia, and he later got a job selling illegal fireworks, both of which got him to do jail time for a decade. Newly released, he seems to be back to his old ways, as he scams people out of their money daily with his faulty cars. He was born constantly overshadowed by his perfect younger brother, who is a popular politician, while he just swindles from people. As a result, he hates people who play loyally, and wants to prove that evil is the best way to play. He isn't afraid to play hard, as that's what he did all his life, and he'll either win, or go out swinging.
Link to Season
Episode 1: The 20 new contestants are welcomed into Turkey, where their first task is to compete in a challenge for reward. The Sinners tribe win this reward due to having more young and fit members than the Saints tribe. As a result, the Saints are already demoralized as they arrive at camp. Cap'n starts to feel good vibes from Ardet and Maralyn, and takes them under his wing to form an alliance. Ava, on the other hand, reveals that she is deaf to Chelsea and Gwen, and the three form another alliance due to being close to one another already. Cap'n sees this and scrambles to find an idol, and does so. Over at the Sinners tribe, Witworth and Jessica see their opportunity to look for an idol, and they find it, giving them more security, while back at camp, Maize and Nikki get into a fight over thinking that the other has an idol, which neither of them do. Vito becomes the moderator of this fight, saying that the three of them plus Irvin and Molly need to stick together in the long run. Randall sees this alliance form and tries to get Alexa, Jessica, Witworth, and Wildcard on board, which they all agree to at first, but then Wildcard sees this as his opportunity to cause conflict within his tribe, so he becomes content with being a swing vote. The Sinners win immunity, and on the Saints tribe it quickly becomes a race to see who can scrape up the swing votes the fastest between Cap'n's alliance and Ava's alliance. Dana becomes the target for Ava's alliance because of her weakness in challenges and her blind loyalty, while Greg is targeted by Ardet and Cap'n due to his shiftiness. They are able to get Kirk and Dana on board to blindside Greg, and they try to talk to Gwen, but she does not flip. Instead, at tribal council, we end up with a 5-5 split, followed by a 4-4 vote split due to no one flipping. Then a rock draw occurs on the first vote of the season. Ardet becomes the victim of the rocks, sending him out of the game despite never receiving a single vote.
Episode 2: After an explosive first vote, Cap'n tries to figure out who flipped on the six and sent Ardet home. No one tells him who did it, so he assumes it was Ardet. Ava tries to flip Maralyn from Cap'n's alliance, but is unsuccessful at doing so. At the Sinners camp, Jessica and Witworth, despite being closely aligned, argue over who gets to keep the idol, and Witworth ends up keeping it in the end. The Saints pull out a surprise victory over the fractured Sinners, and back at camp, Wildcard decides to snake the alliance he was pretending to work with, and joins Vito's alliance. Their first target is none other than Alexa, who saw this game as nothing other than a tool to get more relevancy back, and it particularly irked Vito, who wanted to play against people who played hard. So together, with his alliance and Wildcard, they vote for Alexa. Meanwhile, the four person alliance realizes that Wildcard snaked them, so they vote for him, and Alexa becomes the second person voted off in a 6-4 vote.
Episode 3: After Alexa's vote off, Irvin tries to bond with Vito, wanting to be his right hand man, and they become closer due to both being sleazy people. Wildcard begins to feel like he's in control, and it starts to annoy people on his tribe. At the Saints camp, Cap'n starts to rub people the wrong way because of his cockiness due to having an idol, but no one catches on to him having an idol, which is good news for him, because he plans on holding onto the idol until the merge. The Sinners win immunity for the third time, and they grow cocky because of this. Cap'n and Kirk, being the two oldest men on the tribe, join forces with Dana and Maralyn to take out their biggest threat in the opposing alliance, Greg. However, the other side has majority, and they decide that Dana has been blindly loyal to the other three, and hasn't been pulling her weight in challenges, so she becomes the third person voted out in a 5-4 vote.
Episode 4: After a somewhat boring vote, Greg starts to get paranoid, since he's already gotten 9 votes and it's only episode 4. He then tries to get the minority alliance to pin their votes onto Gwen, but Gwen gets angry at him for doing so, and they have an argument. At Sinners camp, Jessica tries to talk to Irvin, trying to get his alliance to help hers take out Wildcard, and Irvin tells Vito about the plan, and Vito starts to see Wildcard as not being of use anymore. After losing the reward challenge, the Saints come back harder and beat the Sinners at the next challenge. Wildcard lets Vito know that he is going to vote Maize, since he wants to make a big move early on. This becomes the final nail in Wildcard's coffin, as Vito was quite close to Maize. At tribal council, Wildcard becomes the first unanimous boot of the season, going out in a 8-1 vote.
Episode 5: Vito starts to think that Irvin has been playing way too loyally, and he gets into a discussion with him that slowly devolves into a full-blown fight between them, but Vito, realizing that Irvin would make a bad enemy, tries to make it up to him, and it works. The Sinners win both reward and immunity, and they feel elated about it. Cornelius goes to Cap'n and proposes an alliance to him, allowing them to control things from behind the scenes with Maralyn. He also reveals that he has grown a disdain for Greg, and that they need to flip the numbers on him. They get Gwen and Kirk on board, or so they think, but Gwen blabs to Greg and their alliance, leading to Kirk to flip as well. They decide to vote Cornelius out due to him being the biggest gamer on the tribe, and he goes in a 5-3 vote.
Episode 6: The tribes pack up their things, anticipating a swap, but then the host announces that they will be competing for individual immunity on their tribe, and whoever wins will be safe from the double tribal council taking place that night. Maralyn wins for the Saints, and Vito wins for the Sinners. The Sinners also win reward, earning food to enjoy while they watch the other tribe go to tribal council. Witworth, Jessica, and Randall decide it was now or never to get rid of Maize, who had a fight with Randall earlier that day, but Vito, hearing about this, decides that Randall is the biggest sleaze on his tribe, and he needed to go as soon as possible. In his voting confessional, he states there can be only one sleazy guy on the tribe, and that was himself, so Randall had to go, and Randall becomes the sixth person voted out in a 5-3 vote, and he is bitter as all hell about it. At the Saints tribe, Cap'n becomes angry over the fact he cannot vote in the majority, and it makes the majority annoyed with him, so they decide to vote him off. Luckily for Cap'n, he still has an idol, so he and Maralyn vote for the most threatening player in their minds, Chelsea, and Cap'n plays his idol, sending Chelsea out of the game in a 2-0 vote.
Episode 7: After Chelsea's idol out, Cap'n officially became public enemy number one on his tribe, and he tries to find his rehidden idol, but Kirk finds it instead. Maralyn and Greg have a fight due to the food on their tribe running low, and morale being even lower. At the Sinners tribe, Nikki begins to be seen as an easy goat due to her one-sided loyalty to Vito. Morale at the Saints tribe dips even lower when they lose both reward and immunity. Not wanting to lose again,the majority decide to vote off their oldest member, Cap'n, as a last ditch attempt to prevent them from going on a losing streak. Cap'n and Maralyn vote for Greg, and Cap'n becomes the eighth person voted out in a 5-3 vote, missing out on the jury by one placement.
Episode 8: After Cap'n's vote out, there are only five members on the Saints tribe, compared to the Sinners having seven. The Sinners increase their winning streak by two by winning both reward and immunity. At the Sinners camp, Jessica and Witworth have another fight over the idol, with Jessica insisting that she keep it. This causes the rest of the tribe to be alerted to the fact that Jessica and Witworth have an idol, and Witworth becomes a target because of this. At the Saints tribe, the women form a tight three, and Kirk and Greg are forced to band together to survive. At tribal council, the three women stay strong, and Greg is voted out 3-2 and becomes the first member of the jury, leaving only four Saints left in the game.
Episode 9: With his back up against the wall, Kirk knows that he's probably gone next if he didn't have the idol, which ensured his survival until merge. The Saints finally win a challenge, a reward challenge, but lose immunity once again to the inflated egos of the Sinners. Not much else happens this episode, but Kirk tries to get Maralyn to flip and vote out Ava, but she disagrees to do so, and she votes for Gwen instead, making Kirk not trust her, and he decides to vote for her, while also playing his idol. This causes a 1-1-0 tie between Gwen and Maralyn, and Ava, misunderstanding what would happen if she forced a tie, votes for Gwen while Kirk votes for Maralyn, and Ava becomes the second person in King's Survivor history to be eliminated by default, due to there being no other options, and she becomes the second member of the jury
Episode 10: At long last, the tribes merge into the purple Ucurum tribe, meaning balance in Turkish. Left in the game is Witworth, Gwen, Irvin, Jessica, Kirk, Maize, Maralyn, Molly, Nikki, and Vito. At first, it seems like it would be Saint Vs Sinner, but Jessica and Witworth come to the three Saints left in the game, and they convince them to vote with them come tribal council. Vito wins his second immunity challenge of the season, and his target was Witworth for being the strongest male not in his alliance, and also for lying about not having an idol, which he believed was given to Jessica. At tribal council, the lines cause a 5-5 divide between Irvin and Witworth, and on the revote, Maralyn randomly decides to flip to avoid a tie, and Carter Witworth becomes the third member of the jury, and also another person to go out with an idol in their pocket. He is understandably pretty pissed about this ordeal, but wishes his tribe well.
Episode 11: The day after Witworth's blindside, the nine remaining contestants compete in a reward challenge, which the team containing Irvin, Maralyn, and Vito win. At the reward, Irvin and Vito realize how dangerous Maralyn could be after she starts trying to talk game with them. Soon afterwards, Maralyn finds the idol, and Jessica calls out Molly for following Vito almost blindly. Nikki wins the second post merge immunity challenge, and Vito tries to recruit Jessica for the vote, which succeeds. They then choose to target Maralyn, since she was the most threatening out of the three Saints, and the six remaining Sinners pin votes onto her. Unfortunately for them, Maralyn pulls out an idol, and the Saints vote for Irvin, a potential immunity threat, making him the fourth member of the jury in a 3-0 vote.
Episode 12: After Irvin's blindside, only two men are still in the game, compared to the six women. Nikki is able to find an idol, after thinking that she hasn't been playing hard enough, while Molly gets into a fight with Maralyn over the latter pulling out an idol, which she hadn't wanted her to do. Molly wins immunity, and it becomes a battle of the Saints Vs the Sinners, just like the theme of the season. The Saints go after Maize, wanting to weaken Vito further before going after him, but they are unable to swing anyone over and Vito, fueled by vengeance, gets his alliance to vote for Maralyn. In a 5-3 vote, Maralyn becomes the fifth member of the jury. Back at camp, the final seven become annoyed at Nikki's arrogance after being safe from being voted out, so she becomes a target for the two remaining Saints left. Kirk also becomes a target for being a perceived leader for Gwen, causing him to be target numero uno. After Kirk wins immunity, the target shifts from him to Gwen, due to her being perceived as not wanting to play the game, and rather would be along for the ride, which Vito found unpalatable. Kirk and Gwen then try to vote out Molly for her strength in challenges, and in the end, Gwen gets the boot in a 5-2 vote, making her the sixth juror.
Episode 13: With only six people left in the game, the final reward challenge takes place. Maize wins it, and she shares it with Vito, her closest ally, and Jessica, who her and Vito wanted to bring closer. Soon, they realize what a threat she could be, especially because she's a poker player, she becomes the biggest target instead of Kirk. Luckily for her, she wins immunity. Kirk tries to bond with Maize as a way to get Vito to not vote him out, but it backfires, and he becomes the biggest target yet again. At tribal council, he votes for Molly, but everyone else votes for him, making him the seventh juror in a 5-1 vote and completely eliminating the Saints from the game.
Finale: Jessica, Maize, Molly, Nikki, and Vito remain. Five players who had remarkably different playing styles, but all came from the same tribe. They compete in the second-to-last immunity challenge, which Maize wins, and the biggest target becomes Jessica again, who has proven herself to be the only player not following Vito, and only voting with him just to get further in the game. Vito does not feel the same way about keeping Jessica around, so he and his alliance with Nikki, Molly, and Maize vote for her, and Nikki plays her idol in case someone flipped on her, and Jessica becomes the eighth juror in a 4-0 vote. Back at camp, Vito feels incredibly cocky, and he tries to influence a fight, and he does so between Nikki and Maize. He then goes on to win final immunity, and Nikki tanks her own game with her fight with Maize, and everyone votes her out, causing her to become the ninth juror in a 3-1 vote. The final three consists of Maize, Molly, and Vito. Molly gets criticism for her lack of strategy, only using her social game to get far, and her challenge capabilities. Maize is seen as following too closely to Vito, but the jury is willing to vote for her if Vito tanks his jury speech. He does not, and explains his game in great detail, saying he started out forming a five person alliance on the first night, he commenced the Wildcard blindside, the Witworth blindside, the Jessica blindside, etc. He did it all, but the bonds he formed in the game were genuine, and he didn't intend his villainous backstabbing to be taken personal. In the end, he gets all the jury votes, even from two people he never met, Greg and Ava. Maralyn wins the Fan Favorite for standing up to Vito and her idol play.
Winner: Vito Luco, u/swoldow
Fan Favorite: Maralyn Sander, u/Void_Drone
Potential Returnees (yeah, I haven't done this in a while): Vito, Jessica, Kirk, Maralyn, WItworth, Ava, Cap'n, maybe Ardet, if I do a first boot season
Next season, will be the final season before season 35, I won't spoil the theme for 35, but trust me, it won't be a season to miss. Season 34 however, with the release of the new Island Of The Idols sim, it will feature two King's Survivor Idols, who will be revealed with the sign ups. Next season will be King's Survivor Venezuela: Island Of The Idols!

So I’ve been thinking about this a lot since the end of the season, and after we heard a bunch of the talk from the Yohe/Rossi/Madden hot take crowd about the supposed fact that this team is fundamentally flawed, has something wrong with the room, needs to be completely rebuilt, etc. “I know what’s coming this summer” horseshit aside, it’s really been bugging me to think about what these people really expect a rebuild to look like. So, since it’s the offseason and there’s nothing else to do, I figured I’d put on my amateur talent scout/horrible GM prediction skills and analyze what, exactly, the Pens could do, and what they’re likely to do in the offseason. Keep in mind that I’m literally nobody and have no inside information beyond what’s public and I have no credentials on this front either, but I’m also completely an expert and fuck you if you disagree with any of my opinions. I’ll break this down into tiers from most likely to be with the team next season to the UFAs who are almost certainly gone.
Tier One: The Stars
Sid – Goes without saying… right? I mean, maybe not – maybe you blame Sid for the lack of leadership on the team, or you think he’s contributing to an environment that is no longer conducive to winning. But, does anyone really believe that? Plus, and this is actually more important than that kind of tripe that nobody truly believes – can you even begin to think of a trade that would be for equal value to what Sid is worth to this franchise? That last reason is the biggest reason why none of this tier should – or will – be traded: you can’t possibly get equal value back to what they’re worth. Either the team trading for them would be foolish to do it (they’re still young enough that they’re not on their farewell tours, but they’re old enough that you’d have to be in win-now mode, and none of those teams who would fall under that category are going to give up the kind of assets it would take to make an even trade).
Geno – Geno started Game One like a wrecking ball and I was convinced that his line would end up being the turning point in that series. Boy was I right – but also wrong. Instead of dominating the Habs’ lack of depth, they looked listless at times and like they just never got back in sync. That’s led to the yearly talk about trading Geno and Letang, but frankly, JR has already committed to both and you’d never get equal value for Geno. He’s worth too much to the franchise and probably will retire a Penguin unless he leaves as a UFA.
Letang – GMJR has already committed to him so he’s not being traded in all likelihood, and there’s really no trade package that would bring back equal value for what he’s worth to the team. He plays 25 minutes a night, and even though he makes infuriating turnovers at times, they’re usually because he’s trying to be creative and doing something physically gifted that we, as fans, take for granted – even when he fails at it. Do yourself a favor and watch the tape – when there’s a breakout pass out of the defensive zone, watch when Letang fires the pass and then watch when Jack Johnson or even Marcus Pettersson throws the pass and see the difference. Letang makes this offense tick, even when that offense sucks and doesn’t put up any goals against a trash tier team like Montreal. He’s not going anywhere, like his hair or not.
Tier Two: Not Quite Stars, but basically untouchable
John Marino – I’ll eat… something if they trade Marino.
Jake Guentzel – I struggled a bit trying to figure out where to put Jake on this list. The thing is, like it or not, he was Not Good in that series against Montreal. Still, give him a pass because he was coming off of a long term injury that I’ve had and can personally attest to the fact it sucks and takes a while to recover from.
Tristan Jarry – I mean, I’d say he’s PROBABLY in this tier, but who knows; maybe GMJR gets a sick trade package for him and keeps Murray instead. I find that REALLY hard to believe, so I’m keeping him here, but I’d allow for the possibility.
Tier Three: We literally just signed these guys, so why the hell would you trade them?
Brandon Tanev – So his contract still seems a little too long and for a little too much money, but after watching him basically be the only dude on the ice skating hard for long periods of that Montreal series, I can’t imagine trading him even if you could. There’s probably a market for him somewhere if you want to retain salary, but that would be taking a big L on someone who arguably does help the team, so I don’t see it happening.
Jason Zucker – So, Zucker wasn’t nearly the impact player we were hoping to get after he scored a billion goals with Sid after acquiring him, but then again, who was? He’s with the team fairly long term, and while his acquisition price is a sunk cost, it still seems stupid as hell to trade him away at this point. He’s a useful top six forward, even if he’s not a top liner.
Tier Four: Entry Level Contracts/Very Inexpensive Contracts That Make Little Sense to Move
Dominik Simon – Simon is a possession demon, and even if his hands seem like they’re as bad as mine playing beer league sometimes, he’s a valuable part of the team and he costs 750k. I can’t see him getting traded.
Sam Lafferty – He’s still on his ELC and even though he was shit in the one game he got in the playoffs, the coaching staff and JR think highly enough of him to at least try to play him in a playoff game. I doubt he’s going anywhere.
Teddy Blueger – He’s a useful defensive forward making very little money. If you don’t end up needing him for your roster, you probably lose him on waivers, but I doubt trading him is terribly likely. He’s probably still in the bottom six next season.
Chad Ruhwedel – He makes pocket change and seems to be fairly useful #8 defenseman. He’s cleared waivers in the past and probably would in the future again.
Tier Five: I wouldn’t trade them, but GMJR might if he loses a bunch of money at Rivers Casino and wants to shake shit up
Brian Dumoulin – I’m prefacing this with the fact that I really like Dumoulin, and I do value advanced and/or fancy stats so I know he’s not the problem. But, he’s not nearly as untouchable as any of the guys above, and he’s someone with a tradeable contract who could probably fetch some assets back in return. I know absolutely nothing about the locker room culture and I don’t pretend to know anything about it, but if Dumoulin is anything but a model citizen in the room, I could see him getting moved. Still, I wouldn’t do it.
Bryan Rust – Rust seems to be a pretty standard GMJR whipping boy, and I don’t understand it at all. His advanced metrics are pretty amazing and he added the goal scoring touch this year to round out his overall game. If he’s on almost any other team, he’s probably one of their focal point stars but he gets buried a bit here given how talented the lineup is. Still, would anybody be surprised if GMJR goes on a bender and decides to move him?
Tier Six: Trade Possibilities, but what’s the point?
Marcus Pettersson – I know what you’re thinking here – he wasn’t the problem, and I agree. But, he has rather middling advanced metrics, and if I’m being honest, I am not excited to start paying him 4 million next season. Still, of this tier, he’s the least likely to go because… we’re paying him 4 million next year. But he’s very, very far from untouchable and nor should he be untouchable. His pairing was largely buoyed by stellar play from Marino and I’m not sure he’d have been remarkable at all without being tethered to that rocket. Still, with the contract… probably not going anywhere.
Zach Aston-Reese – ZAR was at fault for some pretty bad goals against during the Montreal series, and of that buzzsaw fourth line, he’s probably the most tradeable and replaceable. You could likely get value for him, since he’s only making $1m for another year. I probably would keep him, though.
Jared McCann – He’s probably going to be at least tendered as an RFA because he’s too valuable to let walk without getting anything in return, but the fact that he was the first guy on the bench when things started to go south doesn’t bode well for him – neither does the fact that he was on the single worst line during that shit show of a series. For a while, he looked like one of the future stars of the team as he was riding with Sid, but when he’s been separated from the gravy train, he hasn’t been as productive or looked nearly as irreplaceable. Could you get some value out of him by moving him? Maybe. Maybe not.
Tier Seven: Please God someone take these guys
Nick Bjugstad – He’s not totally useless, but he’s on a horrible contract that’s already gotten him traded once and he’s currently injured. I think it’s fairly unlikely the Pens will be able to move him unless they retain salary, which… sigh. I guess if you have to. At least he’s only got one more year left on his contract. Speaking of which…
Jack Johnson – 3 more years at $3.25m. If you can trade him, you do it. But you probably have to retain salary and you probably have to package something with him to offload him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s still a Penguin next season for that reason.
Tier Eight: More Likely Trade Candidates
Patrick Hornqvist – Horny has had a great career with the Pens, is by all accounts a great locker room dude and a good powerplay guy, and is completely useless at fives. I think you could get some value from trading him to a team who’s in GMJR’s Tom Wilson Fever Dreams Mode (NEED MORE GRIT). I wouldn’t be happy to see him go at all based on what he’s provided over the years, but I would understand and I actually do think it’s time.
Matt Murray – A lot of blame has always been heaped on Murray because he’s the guy who took over for the guy a lot of us liked. I personally don’t buy the exorbitant contract demands talk, but who knows. The bottom line, though, is that his metrics have been suffering for a few seasons now and for better or worse, it doesn’t make much sense to keep both goaltenders and he doesn’t save enough of the highest danger shots. Should he have to? No. But he isn’t really stealing games for us at this point and Jarry sometimes does. There are enough horrible goalie situations in the league that you should be able to trade him somewhere, but I wouldn’t expect to extract a ton of value out of the trade. Hopefully I’ll be pleasantly surprised, though.
Tier Nine: RFA Non-Tender Candidates
Evan Rodrigues – He didn’t really flash when he got a chance, even if that wasn’t much of a chance. He’d be cheap to keep in all likelihood but I wouldn’t be surprised to see him non-tendered.
Jusso Riikola – I kinda doubt you can find much better than him at that price point and I can’t imagine him fetching more than league minimum to be honest. Still, it’s possible GMJR has had enough of the Riikola experiment and is ready to move on. I’d probably keep him, for what it’s worth, but the staff started Jack Johnson over him for four games in the playoffs. Clearly they don’t think terribly highly of him.
Tier Ten: UFA’s
Justin Schultz – And now… starting for your Washington Capitals… Seriously though, JR threw him solidly under the bus and I can’t see him sticking around. And also seriously, I bet he signs with the Caps.
Conor Sheary – They literally just traded for him again, which shows they think he has some value, so it’s possible they throw him a reasonable contract offer. It’s even possible that he decides to stick around. Let me be clear: I actually really liked his game in the playoff series and I say that unironically. He was buzzing a lot, made some creative passes, and was in the right spot pretty often. Still, they lost, and he didn’t score, so he’s an obvious candidate to move on from.
Patrick Marleau – Press F to pay respects.
Conclusions:
So, what’s left? What does a real “rebuild” look like for this team that’s already fairly tight to the cap? Let’s say they move on from everyone I listed in tiers 8-10… your starting lineup looks like this (I have no idea what wings people play so I’m making this up and I fully admit that – this is just an exercise to show you that not much changes, spoiler alert):
Guentzel – Sid – Simon
Zucker – Geno – Rust
X – McCann – X
Tanev – Blueger – ZAR
Letang – Dumo
Marino – Pettersson
Johnson – X
Jarry
X
Extras: Bjugstad, Lafferty, Ruhwedel
Cue “Is This Rebuilding?” meme – even if we started dipping into the less-likely-to-be-traded tiers, this roster really doesn’t feel like it’s being changed much, unless GMJR panics and decides to turn this into Grit City™ again. My prediction is that we don’t see a lot of turnover this season – maybe a few trades here and there, but this roster is mostly the same on opening night in December or January or whenever.
What do you guys think?

OOC:
Below are all the published chapters of Sandman: Homecoming, for your convenience. Enjoy!
Chapter 1 - The Forgemaster's Assistant
Chapter 2 - The Shelf Cloud
Chapter 3 - The Birthday Present
Chapter 4 - The Old and the New
Chapter 5 - The Son of Phobetor
Chapter 6 - The Guilty and the Innocent
Chapter 7 - The Son of Phantasos
I felt bad leaving Camp without much an explanation to my friends, but it was like Brandon said. Sometimes people just leave Camp. I guess I understood what he meant now.
“Last stop, Manhattan station. Everybody out!”
I got off the bus, my now expired, expensive, one-way ticket shoved in the pocket of my signature jacket as I hopped down onto the concrete, muscling through some of the adults that had been on the trip into the city with me. My backpack, the one with the wings, was in my hand, and my Plate of Medusa was on over my shirt and jeans, but none of the passengers seemed to give me much of a glance. My dream-catcher key-chain was shoved into my pocket too. All that was left was-
“That’s one hell of a frisbee, son,” the attendant said, a short, round man with a dark combover style haircut. He wore glasses that made his eyes look larger than fishbowls. He’d been unpacking the bus for the passengers, and was now holding the shield that Jay had given to me, which I took and slung over my shoulder. He continued. “And you’re wearing a… bullet-proof vest, too?”
“Competitive frisbee is pretty hard,” I said simply.
“You’re damn right it’s hard,” he said, a smile now adorning his face. “Don’t let anyone tell you that’s not a sport to be proud of. Go get ‘em, son!”
“Thanks, have a nice day!” I waved at him, then I made my way through the terminal and into the greater city of Manhattan. I’d seen a bit of it from the bus window while riding over the bridge, but it was different up close. I’d been so used to the Greek and cozy architecture of Camp Half-Blood that I’d almost forgotten about the skyscrapers and city streets beyond the Camp’s forcefield border. They looked a lot different now then they did during the Cull, when streets were nearly flooded with blood.
I wondered just how many monsters lurked around the corner, waiting to eat me when I found myself alone. I shifted my dream-catcher key-chain out from my pocket and into my hand.
I got directions to The Henrietta and made my way across the city, crossing every corner thinking it would be my last. When nothing happened, and I made it to the lobby of the Henrietta, I found myself faced with a new concern. The lobby alone looked like something out of a King’s castle, with chandeliers made of more glittering jewels than I’d seen in my entire life. Rich people in fur coats came and went with bellboys following them like shadows, carrying loads of equipment I figured even the Heracles kids back at Camp would have had a hard time with. The adults, all dressed to the nines, gave me some pretty sour looks. No doubt I looked a bit shaggy, and I got the feeling that your average thirteen year old wasn’t even allowed in the lobby of a place like The Henrietta. Was I sure this was the place Albert had wanted me to meet him at?
I fished around for money in my pocket, pulling out a few crumpled twenty dollar bills and some drachma in change, coins I doubted would do me much in the way of favours at the front desk. The man there stared me down like I was a stray dog. He was tall and thin, with white hair kept perfectly clean and suave. He had a pencil thin mustache of the same colour, and a fed up expression. I imagined dealing with rich people all day didn’t make you very accommodating.
“Your business.” The thin man was talking to me, leaning over the pristine counter lined with gold and red velvet. “Are you here to sell... chocolates, perhaps? One of the local school donations?”
“Uh, no,” I said, wondering what he saw when he looked at me, carrying a shield on my back, and a linothorax over my clothes. “I’m… uh, well, I’m meeting a friend, here.”
“I highly doubt that,” the man said, rolling his eyes as he went back to his computer terminal. He didn’t seem in the mood for any further conversation. “Run along now, street rat. I’ll call security if you’ve forgotten where the exit is.”
“No, that’s fine,” I said. “I can make my way out.”
“Perfect. Leave please.”
“Right,” I said. I felt embarrassed. Clearly this wasn’t the right place. I turned to leave, but my suspicions were proven false by the figure that now stood in the threshold of the sliding glass doors of the Henrietta.
He was almost taller in person, I thought, but he was much more clean looking than the last time I’d seen him. Maybe he’d finally gotten some sleep, now that we had an agenda. Albert strode into the lobby wearing a plate set of celestial bronze. He was more shiny than the decorative furniture. His black hair was freshly styled short and clean, and his beard was trimmed down to stubble once again. His blue eyes were piercing azure in contrast to the dull orange glow of his armour. I wondered what all the mortals saw when they looked at him.
“I have a reservation,” he said calmly, giving me a wink as he walked towards the front desk. “I see my friend was trying to check in? It should be under Albert Ethans. The Observer’s Suite, top floor.”
“Ah, mister Ethans,” the thin man said, though he didn’t look apologetic in the slightest, simply looking quizzical as he sorted through some documents on his desk. “You’re the… Twitch… Streamer? Is that correct?”
“Yep,” Albert said. He looked like he was trying to stop himself from laughing.
“And you’re paying in… cash.”
“Yep.”
“Very well,” the thin man said, “you seem to have cleared this with my superiors over the phone.” The man turned from his computer and folded his hands, grinning wider than I’d seen most people capable of. “Your receipt should be in your bag, as is listed in your file.”
“Right, right,” Albert said, and he knelt down in front of the desk. Suddenly, seemingly from no source at all, grains of sand started to formulate and solidify, like a small sand structure of a duffle bag. Albert placed his hands on the sculpture, and suddenly it wasn’t one anymore, but instead a solid bag, a bag he then unzipped to show rolled wads of cash. It looked like something a bank robber might have. He smiled at me again, closed the bag, and as quickly as it had appeared, the bag simply crumpled into the ground like any sandcastle might under the slightest amount of pressure. In a few more seconds, the sand was gone entirely, and Albert had paid for our rooms with more cash than I’d seen in my entire life. I followed Albert to the elevator, watching as he pressed the top-most button and closed the doors behind us.
“What was that?” I asked, still thinking about the bag, “and… he didn’t even, like no one noticed?”
“Barry, come on,” Albert said. “I’m wearing a full set of armour, and no one noticed that either. Mortals see what they want to see. That little trick was no different.”
“Hell of a trick,” I said.
“It’s one you can learn,” Albert said with a smile, leaning against the wall of the elevator as it shot upwards to the suites of The Henrietta. “Once the Dreamscape trusts you, it can keep things for you. Have you ever noticed how you always have your stuff when you go to the Dreamscape? The connection works both ways.”
“Oh,” I said, as the golden doors of the elevator opened, and an equally exuberant hallway stretched out before us. I followed Albert, who seemed to know where he was going. I continued to speak. “Well, I’ll get practicing.”
“Sure, but another night.” Albert had stopped before a set of double doors and swiped a keycard he’d gotten from the thin man at the desk. A light at the base of the doors shifted from red to green. “Tonight we’re just gonna hang out. We catch our train tomorrow.”
~
It turns out that you can do a decent amount of hanging out in a luxury hotel suite, especially when you’ve got nothing to do until tomorrow morning.
Camp Half-Blood had easily been the best place I’d ever lived, but even inside its magical borders there were amenities it couldn’t afford. The Henrietta, on the other hand, had anything a thirteen year old boy could ever want. Our room had a hot tub, a crazy big TV with endless cartoons, game systems, room service - which I tried for the first time - and brochures for free fast food. It was a paradise.
“There’s a place like this in Vegas,” Albert said, taking a slice of pizza and folding it in half as he took a giant bite. “The Lotus Casino, I think it’s called. Just remember that name if you ever take a trip there.”
“Awesome,” I said, my thumbs fumbling over the controller as I tried to play Super Smash Bros, a game I’d played with Brandon on occasion. I was getting in a lot of practice tonight, but I was still pretty terrible. “I’ll look it up.”
“Well, no,” Albert said with a chuckle, “I mean you should try and avoid it. Monsters own the place. They use it for luring demigods and trapping them with luxuries. Time works differently there, so you could be trapped for years without even realizing it.”
“Oh,” I said, looking towards the clock on one of the many nightstands in our gorgeous room. It read 1:13am. I’d realized I’d lost track of time pretty quickly, which meant I probably wouldn’t survive my trip to the Lotus Casino. “Well, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“No problem, Barry,” Albert said, dipping his pizza crust in some sauce I didn’t know the name of. “It’s a big world out there, you’d do well to- Wait, pause the game.”
I hit the start button on my controller, and looked over to Albert. We were both in pajamas, essentially, wearing t-shirts and sweatpants. Even in something so casual Albert had a cautious, almost terrified look on his face.
“What is it?”
Albert held his hand out to me to silence my questions. I tried to listen for something, to hear what Albert was hearing. I didn’t hear anything unusual, but I realized I must have left the shower running, because there was hissing coming from a different room.
But… I didn’t leave the shower running. And the bathroom wasn’t in that direction.
“Shit,” Albert said, and he rolled off the bed to grab his sword. It was a simple thing made of weathered celestial bronze, with more dents and grooves than I’d seen on any training sword at Camp. It had seen more fights than I had, that was for sure.
“What’s happening,” I said, grabbing my key-chain out from my pocket. “What’s going on?”
The door burst open, and there I saw monsters I hadn’t seen since my first summer at Camp Half-Blood. I’d only barely made it away from them before, but that was before my training. Still, even with all the knowledge of combat Jay had managed to shove into my brain, nothing really prepared you for the real thing.
Three scythian dracanae hissed at the threshold of our suite, and after a moment of silent pause, they pounced.
OOC:
Thank you so much for reading! Barry has officially left Camp!
Next Time in Sandman: Homecoming
A familiar face talks. Barry holds a grudge. There’s an explosion in New York.

I have pretty bad bipolar, To the point where I’ve been hospitalized multiple times, and I’ve tried a slew of drugs to help but to no avail. My first actual manic episode occurred in 2011 accompanied by a god complex and believing that my car became a time machine. I would stay at random places in the city of Chicago that year, until I finally ended up back in my parents house in the suburbs which was the very last place I wanted to go after having a failed suicide attempt there prior to my mania. I have saved most of my manic episode images and videos on my hard drives these past few years in an attempt to keep myself from going off the deep end like that again, little did I know that it would not help in any sense of the word. Last year I was self medicating myself with whatever street drugs I could get my hands on to help alleviate my internal brain pains of this existence, and I had been doing it for a while so nothing really changed in that regard, however I had a brilliant idea for a new cryptocurrency and it really took off on 4chan. This token was going to break into the adult webcam tipping industry which is currently in the hands of many third party websites and they don’t even use crypto. So in this stroke of self supposed brilliance a team of incredibly talented people came into my life and helped me develop my idea further. I was broke so I had no actual money to pay these guys, however they were kind enough to accept the tokens that I made as part of their share and payment for the work they completed. Things were off to an amazing start, we had a website, and an incredible back end developer who was on an entire different level as far as his knowledge of cryptography and cryptocurrency development. As things progressed slowly I began to have these ideas of also self supposed brilliance, like being able to decipher and decode my personal subjective viewpoint of reality and also communicate to myself through this “external” self of my immediate environment outside of time/space. Simulation theory also played a big role, along with synchronicity and the phrase “there are no coincidences.” Repeated through my unbeknownst to me revving up doozy of a manic episode. It was so gradual and logic to me in those moments that I never for a chance thought that I was on my way to yet another mega minded god complex episode. As I started spiraling downward in viewpoints of many who had invested in my project, my mother eventually called the police to my apartment for a wellness check. Now I had gotten kicked out of my previous place for inviting some real shitheads to move in, in order to make my newly ex 21 year old girlfriend and my old roommate as uncomfortable as possible. Yeah she started sleeping with my roommate after I got a job...anyway, I digress. I was able to move into an amazing studio apartment using funds that I had obtained from selling a few billion of my tokens to a guy OTC. Things just seemed to magically come together for me in this manic state of mind. So the first wellness check went horribly, as when the police came I was totally naked and they had to convince me to put my clothes on upon entering my abode. It didn’t take me long to figure out I needed clothes to go outside as I was making the argument that I was doing nothing wrong being nude in my own apartment. Next thing I know it’s been 10 entire days in a psych ward. When I finally got out I was welcomed to my entire crypto project team abandoning not only myself but the project entirely. I was devastated and felt betrayed. They had put up a paragraph on the old website giving details on the situation and how they were moving forward with things and starting a new project. I kept moving at incredible speed towards the insanity cliffs that I could not see from my level viewpoint of the mental path ahead of me. To the point of running away from my apartment because I was afraid my mom would call the police on me once again. I ended up taking the metra train all the way to Wisconsin and started walking to Milwaukee from there. I had an ex girlfriend that I had hoped might take me in. I walked until my feet started disintegrating off my legs. I managed to get most of the way to Milwaukee where the police arrested me for walking on the side of the freeway. When they pulled over I was very resisting about them taking me from my PTSD psych ward good times. They ended up only keeping me in jail for the rest of the evening before releasing me into the late night fog. For some reason while I was in jail I got paranoid that those who were in with me were trying to poison me and have me locked in a cell to be killed, so immediate upon release I fled to the nearest bus bound as far north and away from that place as possible. I literally started seeing synchronicities that confirmed all of my increasingly delusional thoughts, going as far as thinking my parents were abusive to us as children and they too were joining in the hunt. I had flashes of imagery of my parents being horrible people and torturing children, and I continued my escape to self assured places of safety. One of the areas I found myself in once I exited walking for miles along some railroad tracks. I felt people trying to ambush me and trap me in this small religious residential town that seemed surrounded by a massive fence with barbed wire. At one point I took my shirt off and acted like a jogger, to where someone released their dogs leash and right onto me...his was not imagined. I ran as fast as I could into a parked boat that was half filled with rain water, and I was so scared that I had to actually dip myself all the way into that very frigid water through my pants as I literally felt hunted. I heard gunshots and voices shouting in the distance, dogs barking, I just laid there completely motionless for my life depended on it. When I finally thought the coast was clear I got out as inconspicuously as possible to which I was met with yet another thunderous brigade of voices and gunshots. I then found myself in a recycling bin before I started to sneak very low around parked cars in the driveways. I finally made it to the end of this nightmare as I could see the fence beyond a final row of houses, I waited a few minutes before finally darting at full speed to and over that barbed wire fence cutting my lower back in the process. So there I was, shirtless, bleeding from a decent sized cut in my back, down the side of a road with quite a bit of traffic, coupled with my state of mind at that time it felt very supernatural. I felt like people were staring at me from their cars and recognizing me as a being not from this world. In my mind I had thought I recognized specific entities that I was channeling information from through the akashic records. I had started posting rap style videos on TikTok, delving through a multitude of emotional ranges and topics. I had thought I was trying to wake up the entire planet to the illusion pulled into their eyes. The final experience I had upon returning south to Milwaukee took me through open fields continuing to feel like a hunted piece of game. I felt that there were other beings that joined this hunt as well, that were not human at all. So now I was trying to evade an alien species that I had thought was controlling the police from the woods of Milwaukee. I had the idea to try to mimic who I had thought these creatures looked and moved like, and I inverted my jacket to further disguise my appearance. I had thought I saw them coming out of the woods so I figured that was where the aliens nest was. It was logical for me to try my best to blend in with them, and of all places to look for me, the last place I would think they would search would be their very own nest. So I mimicked what I thought they were doing going in and out of the woods at a high speed and with veracity. I waited until all cars passed and ran full speed into the woods, and being surprised with not only very thick trees, thorns, and bushes...but a very steep declined terrain. It was very hard for me to control but I kept running through and downward to the depths of what I thought would be an alien nest hell hole. It was pitch black that night and I could barely make out anything, but after about 5 minutes of diving down this steen terrain I began to see a clearing...it was water. As I exited the tree line I walked along this seemingly endless lake that had lights out incredibly far on the horizon, I came to the conclusion that the aliens lived underwater in this lake and the lights were potentially part of their base. As I continued walking down he sliver of a shoreline among the bushes, I saw something I was not expecting...severed giraffe heads with their tongues sticking out. It was surreal. I concluded that this was a place where they studied our animals and dissected them. Upon seeing this I noticed that in the near tree line there was a break, and a very comfortable looking incline out from the pits of that hell I had stumbled into. I calmly walked up and out of there as casually as possible. The police then picked me up after I told them where I was headed and it was around Christmas, so they obliged. I had figured I passed their test and was now the alpha dog in the system of control there in Milwaukee. These scenes and experiences are as close to what I experienced in those moments as I can possibly detail, the police got me on a bus back to Chicago where I finally made it home. This of course was not the end. I had left all of my keys and a lot of clothes I had with me in the deep woods in Milwaukee, so upon arriving to my apartment I could not enter. I ended up throwing a brick into the back door window and entering finally to what I thought would be peace. The entire building I lived in was dead quiet. I had thought that my neighbors were all taken out by black ops because they had been a part of an organized crime scheme, but it was just Christmas. Even my neighbors annoying dog was gone and I assumed they had shot it as well. It is truly incredible what a completely delusional mind is capable of, and I was completely sober the entire time. Once I finally got a chance to sit for a minute and gather my highly dependable thoughts and realized I needed to go to Walmart. I was all comfortable and showered as well as wearing a super comfy ninja turtles onesie that I was planning on rocking in the store while shopping. Immediately upon exiting my apartment complex I realized that I no longer had keys and there was no way I could get to the back door without someone letting me through. I took this as a sign to once again leave my apartment and my belongings and find a safer place. The universe confirmed that I wasn’t supposed to go back home, I had no key and I locked myself out. I headed straight downtown. It was now one of the days on Hanukkah and there were Jewish people everywhere. I felt their eyes grazing me and giving me chuckles as I was wearing this giant green fleece ninja turtles onesie walking around downtown Chicago. I was wearing some old shoes at the time, but because I had convinced myself that shoes were hurting my ability to practice walking correctly for my anatomy, I ditched them in the streets. I walked up to the nearest train station and got on. When I was in the train I had noticed some printouts taped to the car walls showing a human figure above the tracks with a little electric zap near his feet. In my mind I saw this as directions someone had left me on how to finally exit the matrix. I was supposed to jump in the tracks and I would be out of this place as Neo did with landline phones. I slowly made my way to the very rear car of the train and opened the door and slinkied my way through the last safety chain keeping me from my finally found freedom from this horrible nightmare of a “reality” game. I made my way onto the tracks and hopped on top of them in my bare feet. I finally made it to the electrified elevated rail and braced myself for the incoming trip of a lifetime. I gathered all the courage I had and made the jump...nothing. Ok strange. I jumped off and made my way along the other tracks further analyzing them to make sure I had indeed jumped on the electrified track. Confused as I verified it was, I hopped along the other tracks and back towards the wooden platform. During this entire scene there were many people, mostly Jewish who were trying to convince me not to do what I was trying to do. They didn’t know I was escaping the matrix, they thought I was trying to harm myself. I pressed on. I noticed there was a space between the two directional electrified tracks where I would be able to grab one line in each hand, further securing the one way journey I was about to take. I knew that if I grabbed them palms down I wouldn’t let go. I walked to the area and braced myself for what very well nigh still be a very painful ride out. I got in my knees between the tracks and told myself there was no way I would come this far and go though all of this hell to pussy out now. I gathered all of my courage and grabbed both lines. Again I was met with nothing. Maybe I was immune to the electricity? Maybe I had already made the trip? Very confused I started waking on the tracks back towards the shouting people and the platform. Jumping on each rail one foot at a time. BOOM. It hit me before my big toe even touched one of the rails. It threw me immediately off the track and I had a brief moment of unconsciousness while in the air. I landed between the tracks and continued to make it to the platform. A jolt of intense pain shot up my foot from a now bloody big toe. This was entirely unexpected to me as the track I had gotten jolted from was the one I had tested previously with no power. Confused and a bit tingly and disoriented I limped in pain back up to the wooden platform. One of the guards asked if I was alright and I just hurried past them saying I was fine. I got down to the street and in my hazy mind was able to make out a van with its driver standing next to it open and running in the street. Taking this as a sign to move quickly I jumped into his car and shut the door while he yelled for me to not continue. I then grabbed the wheel and hit the gas. I was getting out of here. I never thought I could drive this fast. I was weaving in and out of traffic, barely missing both cars and pedestrians, while assuming the police wouldn’t be far behind. I threw the man’s phone and toll device out of the window as soon as I could. I was still wearing my coat on top of my onesie which I had failed to mention earlier, and while driving I made sure I inverted it and try to blend in to normal flowing traffic. In my stable mind I had come to the conclusion that this van had been used for unanswered trafficking and that there was dead children unseen in the cargo space. I felt like this was a mission to infiltrate this trafficking network to find out what was happening. I had to once again blend in. I drove as fast as I could for the immediate escape of the city, and upon the freeway I stayed within the laws of the road. I are it through several small towns until one seemed as if a police car had started to escort me a certain direction. I acted at first to be taking his direction until halfway through a turn I bolted he opposite direction, ensuing a chase. Many cars were then called and I was being acutely chased now and I started driving to the very ends of my physical limits of reaction time and the vans capability of speed and control. I thought I had a way out, but soon I realized I was trapped. I saw a bus parked near the casino where I had ended up and thought his might have been a drop off/pickup location for the traffickers. I stopped for a moment next to the bus and made eye contact to a very confused looking driver. I then started trying to maneuver away until I quickly ran out of road and bottomed out the delivery van. My ride was coming to an end, I had managed to take half of my onesie off while being in between pursuit so I was now half naked and being commanded by many guy wielding police officers to get out of the vehicle. Thankfully I had remembered in that moment it is very important to always show your hands to police. This detail may have saved me from being suicided by making a wrong move. I was still stuck in the car with my seatbelt on, and repeated to the officers that I was moving my hand to open the door. I opened the door and they proceeded to have me crawl on my stomach towards them scraping against sharp chunks of broken concrete along the way. I kept crawling for seemingly forever as any one of these cops or a failed movement on my part could end this moment quite disastrously. I finally was allowed to get up with their assistance and subsequent handcuffing. They sat me on a large piece of concrete and tried to cover my genital area while trying not to laugh. It was quite the site I am sure. A half naked man wearing a green onesie barefoot and bleeding from his driving toe. I was laughing with the cops and small banter was exchanged as they tried to figure out what to do with me. They asked me what was going on and I told them I know where the bodies were, and I pointed to the concrete that was laying in the area. I was convinced that all the missing children’s bodies were being disposed of via pulverizing and into our cities concrete structures and sidewalks. I didn’t say this to the officers but assumed they knew what I meant when I pointed to the concrete when they asked. I slowly got paranoid they were going to try to kill me. I was asking them questions about where they were taking me and I had thought his was finally the end. I knew too much. An ambulance arrived and I was taken to my certain death. I arrived at a hospital and they do the common questions and my paranoia is in high gear. They want to strap me into the gurney and I kept vehemently refusing. They actually respected my decision as long as I was calm. Slowly my paranoid mentality began to fade as I was logically asking myself why nurses would waste all the effort testing me physically if they were just going to kill me anyway. I was finally safe. Until they injected me with antipsychotics. I am not a fan of big pharma, but I can attest that the shots did help kick me out of my delusional mind. The side effects were horrible, but my mind was finally getting to a point where I could see my insanely delusional mind from the outside instead of through the failed system I had unintentionally built over the course of the last few months. I will never forget this experience. It was indeed life changing and PTSD inducing. I have a completely new respect for what the mind can do, and what seemingly benign and silly mental games can potentially become. I had thought I figured it out, all the while reminding myself that I hadn’t, but also feeling as I was the one who was chosen by the architect of the universe to be his speaker and teacher. I had convinced myself I was an ascended master, practicing transcendental mediation. I was teaching people on the street how to walk. That part is actually true. Balls first, your pinky toe side of your foot is supposed to make first contact, followed by your big toe ball and finally your heel. Look it up. ;) This was quite an unplanned story but I hope you enjoyed the ride and the experience as best as I could convey to to you and your incredibly complex and relatively small space between your two ears. Thank you and have an incredible rest of your vibrant and passionate existence. Remember to respect yourselves and the power you have both individually and collectively. 4444. <3