Tag Archives: syfy

No. 25

All right, I listened to a song while doing this one as well. Two Steps From Hell, awesome, listen to it please. Link for the song I listened to here;
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7qOJrT_lUg. Enjoy!

The Last Stand (No. 25)
The things rushed forward, thought and logic lost, for the scent of prey, of fear, of life. Screams were heard form the battlements, and the great gates shook in their foundations. The darkness was something unstoppable, like the ocean, or the wind.
They fought, brave survivors with no chance for life, and they knew it. They fought back with the ferocity of beasts, but still, inches were lost, and with each one, people lay down their lives, their blood, their souls, for that inch.
And yet still the things came, feasting on the lives lost on the ground they now overtook. They reached the gate, that had stood for long, but nothing stands forever.
Wood bent, and stone cracked, great chains twisted open like nothing more than paper links. At last, with the sound of death reminiscent of the long dead space whales, the gate gave.
The city had known that it would happen, and yet they had not been expecting it. But as unfathomable creatures swarmed their city, they had to. Nameless things, better unknown, came forward. Creatures of shadow and empty rooms, creatures of silence and leaf-covered graves, creatures of death and creatures of ending.
There were spots of still in the chaos, a million tiny eyes of an endless tempest.
A mother holding the things off for far longer than she should have been able to to protect a baby born only days ago.
A man holding a broken piece of rubble, prepared to defend an alleyway as creatures surrounded him on all sides.
A woman walking into the sea of things, a long forgotten holy sword from a dead religion glowing with the light of determination before she was overtaken.
And so the world was lost, save for the dark, simply craving the emotions that they could never feel, but for the hopes, and fears, and dreams, and terrors of their prey.
And so they fall, and so they forget, and so in the far edges of the forgotten a space whale cries and a mother holds her child.



I wrote this at four in the morning, The next day I had completely forgotten that I had written it. Reading back over it, I was honestly much more interested in some of the throwaway lines for the other universes. I may have to do something with those. Well, enjoy!

The first thing everyone learns, as soon as they can understand the simplest of concepts, is (of course said in the adult voice that demands the utmost respect and listening) do not, under any circumstances, no matter how dire, life threatening, or generally horrible, let a Genie give you a wish.
Don’t make a wish, don’t give them money, handouts, or help, don’t even talk to them if you can help it. Not even ‘I want nothing,’ ‘cause if you say that, you get nothing. No house, no belongings, no spouse or significant other, no cloths, no money, no major internal organs, you get the gist.
You just have to ignore them, like the sad puppies in the pound on West Chester Street, you know the ones with their cages against the window that you walk right by on your way to work, with the little orange signs saying when they’ll be euthanized, and it’s all you can do not to go in there and adopt all of them. Yeah, you know.
It’s like that with the Genies. Say you just lost your phone, and you really need to get a call about where the meeting is scheduled, but you can’t get it and you’re worried about getting fired, so you say to the Genie ‘I wish I knew where my phone is.’ So you know where it is, but there were no guarantees that the Genie didn’t move it to the bottom of the Atlantic. They could move it because they were given the power to manipulate it so that they could find it, so they can keep using the power for a bit longer.
I hear that some universes just have strange men in trench coats who try to sell you knock-off watches, or sex, or drugs in some dark, dingy ally. But at least they’re not Genies. I hear that there’s a universe where the homeless shadows try to peddle you tiny dragons, adorable things really, cuter than rats and almost as smart as humans, they can teleport you as well, anywhere you want to go, for the low, low price of your soul. Grad A free-range soul, they love it, eat ‘em like candy, they’ll almost certainly get it when you die anyway, so why not start early? There’s even a universe where the Great Squishy Giant Omnipotent Tentacle-ey One-eyed Landsquid (the GSGOTOL for short) will buy off your firstborn and give you someone else’s, most people don’t even understand that one.
But the point of that is that they’re not those thrice cursed Genies. Sure it’s not common, but sometimes someone does make a wish, usually when they’re not thinking clearly; someone they loved just died or is going to, they’re drunk (alcohol is banned for this exact reason), they got fired, they’re injured, sleep deprived, insane, or just otherwise mentally and logically compromised. That’s when it gets messy.
We had a zombie epidemic a few years back for just that reason, some poor sap’s friend died and they wished to bring him back. The problem is that every once in a while it works, you get what you wished for, you hire a good enough lawyer to write a wish with no conceivable loopholes (although the Genie usually finds one), or someone gets the rare (and I mean rare, rarer than diamonds in asphalt) good Genie, and then everyone is making wishes. You can probably guess how it ends.
So, hopefully you see why we say not to wish to Genies.

Dredges No. 6

This one is in the same universe as Dredges No. 1, but the stories are different. And yes, I know that the character’s motivation is really lame. I might finish the story-line at some point, but perhaps not.

I ran as fast as I could through the trees, heart pounding and breath hitching in my throat. I could hear the dogs barking behind me, determined to reach the owner of the scent trail that they had been following for some time now, long enough for the sky to go from light to dark.
I slipped on some pine needles and skidded, clutching the vial to my chest to protect it. I slid down an embankment and slammed into a tree. I knew the hounds were gaining, and their human counterparts not far behind, but at least dogs couldn’t climb.
I gripped the vial gently between my teeth, and found a handhold. I scrambled up, overexerted legs straining, until I reached the highest branch that could hold me. I could hear the dogs snuffling at the base of the tree, trying to find a way up.
After a few moments I could hear the heavier, steadier steps of some of the handlers, thankfully they were waiting for the people paying them to tell them what to do, so I was free from the need for action at that exact moment.
Eventually I heard the sound of another person walking up, clearly one of the scientists. And a voice came ringing up, directed at me, “You can come down, it’s ok. We’ll ensure that you are never bothered and get plenty of compensation. Just give us the vial back and we promise to let you go.”
I would have sworn at whomever was talking if it wouldn’t have taken breath that I still didn’t have, “Yeah, no.” I finally managed to rasp out.
The scientist was responding, sounding a bit more irritated now, “Really, it would be in your best interest to give it back. We would let you go on your way and would ensure that you were left alone, as well as plenty of payment. All you would need to do was give us the vial.”
“And really, it would be in your best interest to shut the hell up and stop trying to convince me.” I was uncorking the bottle now, hoping that I would have enough time to close it and set it down safely before I shifted. At least I hoped that I would shift, still in a bit of the experimental phases.
I heard the scientist say to one of the handlers to go up and get me. Not on my watch. I took a sip, hoping that it didn’t need to be injected to work. I corked the bottle, set it down in the little split of two branches, and thought of ospreys. Although perhaps not the first choice of many, they were strong, and I had vivid memories of watching them as a child.
It worked, but it was not fun. My human sized bones had to shift to those of a medium sized bird, as well as everything else, skin, sinew, muscles. Just when I was sure that something had gone very wrong and I was going to be a bloody whimpering mess, my human cry turned to the screeching one of a bird’s.
How long had that taken? The handler must almost be to where I was at this point. I snatched up the vial in my talons and leapt off the branch just as the handler scrambled up. I had just enough time to see his look of surprise and then I was falling.
Some new instinct told me to ease out my wings, catching the wind beneath them, followed by flapping and finding warmer banks of air to raise me higher and help me glide. For just a moment all my worries and tiredness disappeared, replaced by pure exaltation; I was flying, not in the belly of some great craft, but with my own wings.

I shook my head, and got back on track, heading towards the city. My claws easily held the vial steady, keeping it from dropping to an un-ceremonious end.
I had been a book-keeper at the lab, simply a menial desk job to pay my way through college. I suppose the scientists must have assumed that a silly college student would be too sleep deprived, as well as overloaded with work and life, to really pay attention to what they were doing. Idiots.
I of course, trying to have an interest in what I did, noticed something a bit odd about the records and profits I was typing into my computer for a few hours each day. They were getting funded for almost no work; sure they had a few helpful products, but not enough to explain their average revenue.
So I took a few shifts for the person manning and entering what they bought for their research, and it contained, once again, oddness. They were buying only the materials for the things that they were selling, but for far more for each than they used to make them, as well as the question on how they were still making a profit.
I had considered ways to get information on what they were doing. And had found out that there was a group of people that had noticed the same things. I worked to ensure that they were genuine, or as genuine as I could tell, and they added up.
I ended up joining them, and had been doing a scouting mission of the lab when I had found the vials. I reported what the notes that I had read had said, as well as the pictures. Those bloody scientists had created a shape-shifting drug.
We planned that I would go in, try to snag a vial of the stuff, and if I could, destroy the other drugs. Then high-tail it to a virtually unknown spot in the city where our former scientist (he had left because he hated the treatment of the testing animals) would be ready to analyze what was in it and how to make it.
We might not have interfered if the scientists’ notes if they hadn’t been speculating on how to keep it from the public, as well as possibly using it for warfare. It would not stand. It had been decided that something so amazing should not be kept from the populace.
I spiraled down to the decided upon location, swooping back through a window (thankfully open) and skittering down on the desk that Thane was scratching notes at.
He looked at me with surprise for a moment, then realized what must have happened. He grinned, taking the vial. I pecked at his hand, a firm indication of ‘Oy give me that.’ He frowned, “Sorry Sules. I really am, but I actually agree with the scientists. They needed help managing to catch whoever was working against them. If you had just given them back the vial they would have let you go, honestly, but you didn’t. And they couldn’t simply take in anyone for trying to sabotage them with no evidence besides simple meetings that could have amounted to nothing. But they can now jail the entire group. Fools, the lot of you.”
I swore at him then, but sadly it just sounded like “Skraw, skrik, scree skrik screck craw.” I just said it really angrily.
First things first, I had to get back to human. I leapt forward, taking a chunk out of the hand holding the vial. He dropped it, allowing me to catch it and fly to a high ledge where I had a few seconds to uncork it with my beak, and manage to get a bit of the liquid.
I then thought of myself, and my human body. It was much the same as the first time, simply in reverse. Thankfully I somehow still had my cloths, not even sure how that worked.
Although I did run into the problem that my weight on the rather flimsy shelf caused it to break away from its spot on the wall, falling down and taking me with it. I had managed to grab the vial and cork, keeping them from the shelf’s fate.
I corked the vial and stood, making for the exit. It would have been foolish to fight, I was grossly out matched in weight and strength, so running was my best chance. I would have made it, if the stupid guards who must have been sent with Thane in case I was difficult (what else would I be, happy) didn’t tackle me, and have chloroform.
I managed to utter out a little comment before I passed out, “Bastard.”
No. 21
I woke up zip-tied to a chair. Seriously, zip ties. I think I have used those things once in my life, to fix a shelf. Zip ties are nice, they just kind of sit there, looking inconspicuous. Their apparent chair-tying potential well hidden. Stupid zip ties.
My impromptu thought-rant about zip ties made me pretty sure that my head was still a bit muzzy from the chloroform.
I heard footsteps, making me think to look around at where I was. I was in a chair in one of those perfectly white rooms that you see in scfi and medical dramas. They are quite painful on the eyes.
The source of the noise walked in, a tall woman, fairly good looking. Although the tray of vials and syringes decreased her attractiveness by a large amount.
She regarded me, “Miss Redatha I assume.”
“Seriously, zip ties. Have you heard of five-fifty cord?”
She looked a bit confused. Clearly I was going with the tactic of “confuse the hell out of them.”
“Zip ties have been proven to work well as restraints.”
“Wait, people actually put time and effort into figuring out what restraints work the best? Who was paying them, Mad Scientists Inc.?”
And my tactic was apparently turning into “annoy the hell out of them.” Smart.
“Thanks to your lovely job of stealing our newest test material. You have both gotten us jurisdiction to arrest at least one group of people who oppose us, and made sure that the drug doesn’t kill humans. Lovely work. Now since you are written off in the record books as dead from a fiery car crash you get to help us keep testing.”
“What the hell? I’m legally dead? I think faking someone’s death and using them as a dammed lab rat is a worse crime than stealing something.”
She shrugged, “That’s why we work hard to keep people from escaping. Now, you get to benefit scientific research.”
She pulled out one of the empty needles, tied off my arm, and swabbed the vein (facing upwards for your illegal scientific testing convenience). She stuck the needle in and drew a bit of blood.
She set that aside and pulled out one filled with liquid, “Now to see if this is a working solution to keep someone from shape shifting from the drug.”
“Damn. Damn you. Hell-dammit-no.” I get so very literate when angry.
She ignored my deep thoughts on the matter of being a human test subject and stuck the needle in my arm anyway. She then drew my blood again, took out another needle, this one with a recognizable blue substance in it, injected it into my arm, and cut the zip ties on my wrists and ankles.
“You are clearly not skilled in situations when you’re trying to keep people from attacking are you?”
She simply inclined her head towards the two heavily armored security standing in the doorway, both with guns trained on me, then raised an eyebrow.
“I suggest that you attempt to shift into something, quickly. The effects of the energy of the drug, unused, can be quite catastrophic. We were cleaning rat off the ceiling for months.”
I tried to avoid the mental image, and when that didn’t work, envisioned tigers. Big toothy tigers, with sharp claws.
It felt like before, but the whole “I’m on fire from the inside” thing didn’t stop so quickly, and while the rational side of my brain was reassuring me that I was fine, the pain sensing part of my brain was letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that everything was not fine and you should really not feel like this.
The pain sensing part of my brain won and I blacked out.

Dredges No. 1

So, I am dredging through old story files, and they kind of are horrible. But I’m posting them anyway. Yeah. Don’t know why. But here you go anyway.

It’s been a thousand years since scientists created the first changing drug, it was much less advanced, and its effects could be, messy. It’s been a thousand years, and we have traveled so very far. Now, humans can fly like the birds we once so admired, or run like cheetahs. Or they can simply change, it’s so easy to decide how you look now, not just your clothes or your hair, but your whole body. I try to avoid it unless necessary, having to readjust to a new height or strength is hard. Funny how we can control everything now, except for the basic fundamentals of our bodies, not that people haven’t tried.
There are old books, little more than blocks of kindling to most, but a few know how to read. It’s almost a lost art now, no longer needed, you can simply download the information you want to your brain, and you can access it there. No want for books.
Except, it’s a little odd, reading them. So many meaningless words written by people who have been dead for a very long time. Most are probably dust now. And the stories they tell, amazing, wondrous stories, and how it seems that so many of them coveted the idea of being able to become the animals that surrounded them. It’s easy now, take a shot, or one of the new pills, and wish.
But you need to wish for something real, or at least something that used to be real. Trying to become something unknown can turn…problematic, some idiot tried to turn into a shark that could walk on land, he succeeded and turned into a land traveling shark, but his body wasn’t prepared to do that, to become something that was simply pure imagination, he turned back after a minute or so, with no bones. The cartilage from the land-shark refused to turn back into the nice little thing called a skeleton, and his body couldn’t accept the shark shaped cartilage, so no bones.
And you can’t stay a creature too long, it’s not a determined time, but most safety guides say a day, although a few people have survived as animals for weeks. It really all depends on your willpower, your mental strength
I’m sorry if I’m rambling dear reader, but I hope that the somewhat dull talk of things that everyone knows may help to shoo away any disinterested people, only in for giggles. Because you and everyone need to know that the scientists are lying to you. They say that you can only stay an animal for a day but you can stay for far longer than that, the people who stayed animals simply liked it better that way, no entrapment, no losing of their minds to the wild, they just became what they’d always dreamed and couldn’t fathom going back.
And you can become something of pure imagination.
They tell the stories of horrible things that happened to people who tried it, and they’re true. But they’ve created another drug, one unbeknownst to the public, and there are no limits, there are no things stopping you.
I’ve seen it done and I’ve done it myself, become something of pure wonder. I’ve seen people as unicorns of legend, and griffons, and even a chupacabra. I have been a dragon. But the truth is, it might be better that they keep it from us, it’s intoxicating to do. The feeling of being one of those things, it takes your reason, it truly turns all but the most determined and, honestly, headstrong people into the very creature that they change their form to.
It’s because of the magic. It is a thing of pure imagination, so when you think of all these myths and dreams, you see them with magic, so you gain that.
And it is so hard to control. The power, it changes you, so much. But if you have found this I hope that you are strong enough, and have enough reason to destroy the second drug. But you can not, must not, taste its power. I can’t bring myself to do it, to kill the thing that lets me become something from tales, and I have to go back to it, soon. I doubt that I’ll be able to change back again, but dear reader, feel no sorrow for me, or any of the others, we made our choice when we did it, when we took it and wished. But I am begging you to have the strength to do what we could not. And, if you know that you can’t, please leave this so that another may find it, this must not be allowed to reach the masses.
And if it is too late when you read this, if it has been released, I am so sorry. But the magic is calling again. One more thing dear reader, please, if you ever see a dragon from legend flying through some silent forest, please try to wake me up. If you cannot it is alright, for it is so amazing.

I walked through the silent woods, the occasional cricket’s chirp breaking the stillness. Suddenly a large flock of birds flew overhead, sounding the alarm, their cries taking the stillness and stomping on it. I did not have long to wonder what they were flying from, suddenly a great, scaly, beast, flew after them. My mind took a second to register what it was, dragon.
I couldn’t help wondering if it was the unknown writer of the letter, the person who had been the reason that we were not being trapped by a new changing drug. It had been a few hundred years ago, someone had found it and destroyed the second drug, but who they were was unknown as well.
The only way that people knew about it was the fact that the person who found the letter was also an accomplished hacker, they had hacked into every screen receiving data from anything and provided what the letter had said. With a note that this was to remember the unknown writer’s warning.
You did still hear reports of mythical creatures, unicorns, gryphons, someone had turned into a chupacabra even, but not dragons. I decided to try, hoping that the dragon liked sparrows more than people as snacks. I had no name to call to them with, there had been a list found of the group of scientists who had made the second drug, and it was speculated that whomever wrote it must have been one of them.
I had just been reading up on them (Er, thinking up on them), so I still had the names where I could remember them easily, I sucked in my breath, and gave a loud sharp whistle, getting the big lizard’s attention, it landed, and walked forward, inspecting me. Scrambling to remember the names I said them, “Corie, James, Seln, Lana, Christopher, Joy,” none of the names seemed to have an effect on the scaly beast. But then I remembered something, just a snippet that I had accessed, one of them had been nicknamed Nikky, so I gave it a try, “Nikky?” It had an immediate effect on the dragon, she, and clearly she was a her now after the whole female spelling of Nikky thing, turned back towards me. Inspecting me closely.
She looked at me, and shook her head. She most certainly shook her head, then flew back up to the darkness of the sky. I could make out her silhouette as she blotted out stars. I remembered a line that had always nagged at me from her letter,   One more thing dear reader, please, if you ever see a dragon from legend flying through some silent forest, please try to wake me up. If you cannot it is alright, for it is so amazing.
I said the final word of the letter, almost a goodbye to the person who had written it, “Godspeed.”


Here’s another story for all you nonexistant readers! This one is a bit depressing, not tissue depressing. Enjoy!
I stopped respecting myself long ago. Caring about that lack went soon after. I did what I had to survive.
I barley remember pre-apocalypse, I’m calling it that although I know at the time it was classified as something else. And sometimes after a particularly bad-ending raid I think about when it all changed.
I had been nine or so. It started out with little things, small enough that my parents could keep my sister or me from reading them in the paper. When more started happening they couldn’t keep it from us any longer, one of the eastern hemisphere countries was bio engineering some kind of weapon.
There started to be government issued drills, and training for fighting. The problem was, when the time came, no one had been expecting anything so…awful.
Then one day it happened, it was first the news, a reporter got attacked by one of them. I didn’t know what it was, it had been some overlarge wolf, a bit larger than a bull, and after she was dead it had walked towards the camera with intelligence in its eyes.
My dad took me across, got me situated, and made sure I remembered how to open and close the bunker’s door. He then left of help my mom and sister. I never saw any of them again.
I grieved, of course, but I had to keep living. And I did, I lived in there for eight years by my estimate, and probably would have stayed longer if the raiding group hadn’t found the shelter. They took the weapons, food, and anything that could be helpful fighting the howlers, as I heard them called. In an odd act of mercy when they found me one of them shrugged, tossed me two MREs and a gun. They then left.
As time passed I learned how to use the gun, and then how to use a bow and sword. Weapon shops could still sometimes be found un-looted.
Food was getting harder to grow, and I started doing what I had to survive. I would always take my gun to be safe. The protocol was, find camp, request that those in it do not try to attack me, try to knock out any that did, and kill if necessary.
At first it made me sick, but years have passed, and I simply got used to it, although I had always promised myself I never would.
The Howlers were awful to fight, barley noticing if you shot them, like walls of pure muscle and death. I eventually figured out how to hunt them, a mixture of shooting them with an arrow or two and finishing them off with my sword. Sadly they were inedible, probably the fact that their genes were spliced eight ways till Sunday and almost certainly contained some human genes. Although I have had to eat worse.
Sometimes after a really bloody raid on a place I would wonder what would have happened if something, anything, different had happened.
And right now I can really only hope that God is understanding to the necessities of survival, because this Howler has me bit pretty tightly. Damn thing, I can’t even reach it with my sword, it has me twisted in such a way that any weaponry is useless.
I can really only think that God has a sick sense of humor, because this is simply the blasted wolf-thing trying to survive. I’d laugh if I found it funny.
Well I really hope that if He’s up there I won’t get cast down into Hell, although I can conceivably see where, well, never mind, don’t want to think about it.
The damn thing is biting tighter, oh I feel dizzy.  Have to think this, don’t know why, I’m sorry to everyone who I killed, or indirectly harmed, so sorry. Really dizzy now, and my vision is getting blurry. Well damn.

Every sy-fy rescue book ever.

You do a backflip, somehow magically knocking out the (ninja, pirate, assassin, spy, chupacabra) who was attacking you. Thank goodness for the fact that you had been training in (ninja, pirate, assassin, spy, chupacabra) contingency for the past years of your life. At last there is only one left. As you walk up to (him, it), (he, it) looks at you, “If I give you information will you spare me?”
                You shrug.
                “Your (father, sister, brother, mother, childhood best friend) still lives.”
                “No, they died in that fiery (car crash, plane crash, explosion, naga battle). How can they be alive?”
                “Did you ever see their (charred remains, toasty remains, very toasty remains, mildly gnawed on remains)?”
                “No, (I was too young, too scared, they only found a hand, I think the naga swallowed them).”
                “I have given you the information and now, rather than allowing you to let me go I will make a last, desperate attempt to kill you.”
                “Ok, I get a gun from somewhere and shoot you.”
                Along the way you will pick up a companion to help you with my quest to find your (father, sister, brother, mother, childhood best friend). (Select one), (Wise old man, young headstrong fool, loveable character with a past and sense of morals that makes you tear up (I’m looking at you Ed*), person who tries to hide appearance from you, kick butt person who seems to click with you). Now choose inevitable conclusion.
Wise Old Man
                He trains you well and dies right before you go to battle whatever caused the (car crash, plane crash, explosion, naga battle). They leave you with wise words and possibly a walking stick. You never do find the person that you seek, but instead a path to joy and knowledge of how you need to live life with wisdom. (I apologize if you could not hear this synopsis over the sound of my retching. Aurg self-fulfillment, it burns us precious, it burrrns.)
Young Headstrong Fool
                They die too. Sorry. After rushing foolhardily into battle they are grievously wounded, but give you the determination to continue on. You find the person that you were searching for (father, sister, brother, mother, childhood best friend), and head home. Oh yeah you bury him first, if you remember. What was his name again?
Loveable Character With a Past and Sense of Morals That Makes You Tear Up (I’m looking at you Ed)
                So very dead. I’m sorry, but they are doomed and you will cry. Like a baby. In a final act of awesome they sacrifice themselves to (hold the door, distract the baddie so you can kill them, pull the baddie into shark infested waters off the edge of endless cliffs onto rocks with them, take a killing blow meant for you). You bury them, or let little lizards have them, with purple ink. You then return to where you left from, and it is not clear if you achieve finding the (father, sister, brother, mother, childhood best friend) who you were looking for. It is assumed that you do, because it would be heartless to have their sacrifice be in vain. Did I mention tears?
Person Who Tries To Hide Appearance From You
                They’re the person you’re looking for. Although they don’t tell you until you’ve almost died half a dozen times saving their sorry-cloaked-butt. They didn’t tell you because of (really selective amnesia, they are a total jerk). But hey, at least you found them, except they then say goodbye to you and head off to find their destiny. You personally hope that they are eaten by dragons, or at least gnawed on a little bit.
Kick Butt Person Who Really Clicks With You
                They are of course the opposite sex as you, and stunningly (handsome, beautiful). You end up falling in love. In the battle with whatever caused the (car crash, plane crash, explosion, naga battle), they take a hit for you. It appears that they die, and then when you are wiping monster blood and tears off your boots they appear and comfort you. You get a nice little house and have kids. Wait, weren’t you supposed to be looking for someone?
So, yeah…
                There are very few guarantees that you actually find who you’re looking for. (Unless you work with the headstrong fool, I’ve crunched the numbers, you only have a 33.333 chance of this working, but at least its higher than average. Does anyone really need anything from this? Except shoulder pads.) Enjoy risking death and dismemberment for very little. I’m sure you get a shiny nickel somewhere. Have fun!
*A quick note for those of you who have not read the awesomeness of the Digger series this is what it is from (Ed is epic), you can find the awesome author’s blog here; http://www.redwombatstudio.com/blog/ (I’m not sure if this link works, so if you feel the need to read her blog just copy and paste) (you totally should).