So its been two weeks since i quit my job to pursuit my online poker career and i come to realize one thing, you can never be truly free if you depend on money. I have recently started to try to understand yoga and by chance i stumbled upon the writings of Osho and I can honestly say he has changed the way i look at life.

Here’s a quote from him: “Dont waste your life for that which is going to be taken away. Trust life. If you trust, only then can you drop your knowledge, only then can you put your mind aside. And with trust, something immense opens up. Then this life is no longer ordinary life, it becomes full of God, overflowing. When the heart is innocent and the walls have disappeared, you are bridged with infinity. And you are not deceived; there is nothing that can be taken away from you. That which can be taken away from you is not worth keeping, and that which cannot be taken away from you… why should one be afraid of its being taken away? It cannot be taken away, there is no possibility. You cannot lose your real treasure.”

But enough of all of this day dreaming and philosophy, the truth is i need money and i have to work hard everyday for it and it doesn’t matter if I’m bored or tired, I HAVE TO WORK. Being your own boss is more difficult then it seems and it takes a lot of self discipline and motivation every day to put in the hours.

In the first 15 days of my pro career 5 of them i lacked the tool for the job… a internet connection, but still i didn’t play nearly as much as i would have liked so without further a due this the graph at 4 tables.

In the end i want to leave you with one of my favorite songs, one that i think is very appropriate for this entry.

Begin.
“It has been one standard A.U. year since we started traveling together, Ishmael.”
“Oh really, that long?” he begins to reply. Ishmael is sitting in a repli-wood chair inside an eating establishment on a mining colony outside the Mars-Jupiter asteroid belt. We are stopping to resupply. He has lost five percent of his body mass due to rationing food stores over the past weeks. His brown hair is approximately six centimeters longer than historical average. He is consuming his food faster than his historical average.
The rest of his reply continues. “I didn’t notice, what with all the partying and fun times making that time just fly by.”
He is momentarily distracted from talking and eating by the waitress, Rachelle, who brings another cup of coffee for Ishmael.
“Thanks, beautiful.”
Rachelle exhibits the flushing cheeks, smile, and body language I associate with a female’s positive response to Ishmael’s attention. Hearts do not actually flutter when their owner is flattered. Rachelle’s heart keeps steady. That expression is an invention of poetic license. Saying chemical receptors in a person’s brain changed polarity is not considered romantic by the majority of humans.
She responds.
“Oh. Well, thanks. So, what’s a spacer like you doing on the station? Ore hauler?”
Ishmael’s pulse quickens a small amount.
“Just getting repairs done. The ship is independent, not a trucker type. We’re on a…” The pause is artificial, perhaps to create dramatic tension. “Adventure.”
Rachelle’s response is ideal according to several books written by humans, for other humans, on how to approach and engage the opposite sex in coversation and mating rituals. Reading the textbooks did not help me gain an understanding. Nor did the holos.
“Adventure? Looting ghost ships and searching for lost colonies, and the like?”
“Exactly. And we stop some places just to have fun, or resupply, or both.” I believe the wink is not supposed to be subtle.

“I was just discussing with my friend here how much we like to throw parties and have a good time on the ship. Don’t we, Kurt?”
I am socially aware enough to understand this rhetorical question is leading and expressed with the hope that anything I say next will increase Ishmael’s chances of having sexual intercourse. This particular instance is slightly confusing because Rachelle’s body mass index is noticably larger than the typical recipient of Ishmael’s flattery. Her hair is reddish colored and extends past her shoulders. Ishmael expressed once, while inebriated, that, “they just don’t make red heads like they used to,” alluding to their perceived worth to him and not the actual genetic process. That metaphor took some research to understand due to Ishmael’s inability to explain it at the time of him using it.
These facts pertain to this current moment because Ishmael is fond of red headed women and will, most likely, attempt to bring Rochelle back to the ship. Then, he will ask me to vacate the premises for several hours while he attempts to have sexual intercourse with her. He has also expressed during other periods of alcoholic indulgence that, “being a real captain of a ship in a backwards system like this, where a body is lucky to ever see a foreign moon or sunset, is just as good as being rich.”
Being told to leave the ship for a period of time and forced to wander the halls of a station that does not contain a single sentient machine is frustrating. After estimating outcomes and possibility matrices, I make a conclusion. While Ishmael is lonely due to our recent isolation in space, more frustrated than normal with me due to continued exposure, and has a strongly perceived need to have interaction with his own species, or sexual intercourse, I know that making a detrimental comment will not anger him enough to request me to leave our ship. In addition, I own 40 percent of the ship and believe I have some say over the affairs of the ship. Ishmael is free to conduct these types of affairs elsewhere.
“You mean our ship, Ishmael.”
Rachelle’s eyes quickly look from him, to me, and return to Ishmael.
“You mean, it owns part of your ship?”
“It” is supposed to mean me. Ishmael does not look pleased with Rachelle’s response.
“He travels with me. Navigator. I’m the captain. I own most of the ship.”
Ishmael states this in a rushed manner. I decide to act socially inept. Ishmael once told me I had a great poker face, which was a jest and not a compliment at the time. It aids me mpre than he is aware.
“40 percent is legally owned by me. His 60 percent makes him captain, according to our charter.”
“Oh.” Rachelle replies after two seconds of silence. “The doors will automatically debit you on your way out.”
She places the coffee pot on the table. As she walks away, she wrings her hands in her apron repeatedly.
I turn to see Ishmael, who has white knuckles as he grips his eating utensil.
This is the closest I experience to the emotion of amused. I planned something. It worked as I intended. It benefits me. It is not serious. Ishmael, in time, will laugh or enjoy recalling the anecdote, despite his current frustration. Satisfaction would be if I had done it for myself.
I keep my voice evenly modulated.
“Was it something I said?”

“Most people don’t remember all of them.”
“Ishmael, I am asking about you specifically. If I wanted statistics, that would be on one of those drives I have not indexed yet. I am sure I am aware of more studies than you are, once I reload and remember them.”
“I don’t think it counts unless you can remember off the top of your head.”
“Upper right, forward chest cavity, but I understand your meaning.”
He watched me push flash cloned greens and vat-meat that hadn’t been exercised enough around a pan.
“Last week you arose from your slumber yelling a few nights in a row. I am asking if you remember what you dream about to understand the deviation from your normal rest patterns.”
There was a piece of meat burning and sticking to one of the worn places in the wok. I stabbed it with my spatula.
“I was dreaming of a woman.”
“Yet, you do not respond in this fashion to every member of the opposite sex.”
“How observant of you.”
“May I inquire why this is?”
“Because it was more like a bad dream.”
“The woman attacked you?”
“No.” I scooped the food onto a plate. It was cooling already. It didn’t matter how pressurized the ship was, food cooled too quickly in space. “She was standing still in the space port when I left.”
“You regret having to leave her.”
“Very much.”
A moment passed in silence except for the sound of my chewing. Kurt stood there, probably watching me. I pretended to go back to my magazine.
“Do you have happier dreams as well?”
“Sometimes, I’m sure. Mostly bad ones now.”
“Then perhaps it is not so odd that my current index has classified many more incidents to learn from than pleasant ones to enjoy.”
“Perhaps, Kurt. I don’t know. People don’t choose their dreams or their memories. They just happen.”
“Then what of pictograms and videograms?”
I threw down my fork and plate to look up at Kurt.
“For the stars’ sakes, can’t a man just eat in peace? You decide to bring up bad memories and dreams, and then want to discuss them. Last I checked, they don’t run psych programs on tools!”
I let it out and instantly regretted it. The diodes on Kurts face dimmed just a candela, perceptively.
“Tools. Yes, I have upset you.”
I put my head in my hands.
“Moon below, Kurt. I didn’t mean it. Slip of the tongue.”
His voice was a bit more distant as I heard his heavy feet tread in the direction of his quarters.
“Thank the Maker I did not come with that feature.”

“What are you doing with that stack of my memories?”
I looked at Kurt over the pile of electronics in my arms.
“This is just storage, right? I’m moving it back into the comp room.”
“Ishmael, please set them down gently. If any of the data sectors are damaged, I will not be able to replace it for months due to the limited bandwidth on the IPN. I will move them back into my quarters personally.”
“Uh, ok.” I set them on a nearby shelf. The clacking sound of several trays of datables made Kurt visibly flinch, as if he was going to catch one. Kurt rarely flinched since most things wouldn’t dent his exterior.
“I can not stress how easily these high density formats are corrupted, Ishmael.”
“What are you irritated about? Don’t leave your stuff lying around the hold. This ship is small enough without both of our junk lying around.”
“I was sorting through my external storage backups to find a pleasing memory. It is faster to have the ship index them instead of going sensory deaf while I relive the experiences.”
“Does the ship know what makes you happy? I thought I’d only just learned and we’ve been traveling years now.”
“One year, nine months, and twenty seven days does not make multiple years.”
“Stars above, Kurt. I must’ve lost count of the number of good days or something. Perhaps it was the number of times you’ve corrected my facts.”
“I am reasonably sure you do not want the actual number of times I’ve corrected you.”
“Of course not. But you know that number, don’t you?
“Yes.”
“This is why you will never get married to a Second Woman. Forget that stuff. Besides, I thought these datables were your memories.”
“Certain information is better to have readily available in internal storage.”
“Right. Glad you got your priorities straight.”
I headed into the kitchen to make some food to eat. I was less likely to run into Kurt in there.

Less likely is still just a probability, apparently. Kurt followed me in as I turned on the water heater.
“Do you dream, Ishmael?”
“Sure. Everyone does.”
“Let me clarify. Do you remember your dreams?”

The stick containing the credits wasn’t heavier or extra shiny, but I knew it was more special in five million little ways than any other credcard I’d had in a long while. I presented it to Kurt in the waiting room of the Ganymede Internment Center.
“You know what this credcard represents, Kurt?”
“Five million credits. I think you are implying some metaphoric relationship that is not readily apparent, though.” Deadpan, as usual.
“Well, sure I am. This means an actual animal slaughtered steak dinner. Perhaps a bottle of actual red wine; not because it tastes better than assembly drinks, but just because we can. How do you want to celebrate and be happy?”
He rose from the bench and followed me out into the walking path.
“We have had this discussion before, Ishmael. Just because I am sentient does not require me to feel certain emotions.”
People kept taking double takes at Kurt’s dull metal faceplate as they entered or exited the walkways. One salary man missed his exit from the runway and fell down. His briefcase spilled styluses and data pads.
“Okay,” I said. “Think a bit. What’s the emotion you experience the most?”
“When I am running low on joint lubricant, or am being treated unfairly despite my legal freedom, I experience an awareness of my condition that treats the constant internal reminders to be something like frustration, I believe, compared to what you and many authors have described.”
We side-stepped to the runway and were heading towards the space port.
“So all the time.”
“The majority of time.”
“When don’t you feel,” I made air quotes with my fingers, “frustrated?”
“When properly lubricated and on our ship. I am not sure you remember when we discovered that antique probe circling Phobos.”
We made the transition to another walkway and headed towards a ship resupply store.
“I remember. It cost our last fifty thousand to get the landing gear bay door fixed.”
“Yes. That one. I was curious that entries in the standard historical and navigation archives did not mention it, and had to do some extensive searching on the Interplanetary University Databases to find out it was a satellite from the twenty-first century.”
“So you like doing research?”
“I wanted to fix the blanks in the archives and my personal knowledge.”
“You wanted to, like code, or wanted to on your own?”
Kurt tapped the upper right side of his chest, which is like a human tapping their temple. “Just because my sentience is the result of a complex, emergent software grafted into a hardware frame does not mean my programming makes me do anything more or less than the systematic pulses your neurons provide from inside your chemically fueled brain. I wanted to, as in I had a desire.”
I rolled my eyes. It was something Kurt couldn’t do, which I liked. “Right, whatever. So here’s what you can do. I’ll transfer twenty thousand credits to our second credcard.” I handed him a credcard which he took in his digits like he was studying a disgusting new bug. “Then you can go find a pre-spacer science book, or get yourself a subscription to a new library or database.”
We exited the walkway and stood in front of the port’s refueling and provisioning office. As I took a step to walk in, Kurt put a hand on my shoulder. The move startled me inside, but I made an effort to hide the surprise.
“Ishmael, to what end? This celebration money could be spent on our search to find a place where the inhabitants do not have this awful prejudice towards Second Men.” He gestured to two people trying too hard to look idle while leaning against the wall of the neighboring store. “Those two have been following us since the Internment Center.”
I took another look at them and decided they were toughs visiting friends in the GIC, cops in plain clothes, or both. Even I could tell their hands were holding on to something inside their coats.
“Twenty thousand will buy enough rations and fuel to take us somewhere else, Ishmael.”
“Fine, Kurt.” I poked him in his steel breastplate with a finger, words colored more by disgust than defeat. “But I’m buying you a complete nano scrub to go with a case or three of the top synthetic joint lube. Then go sit in the ship while I find some whiskey old enough to order another whiskey, and actual Terra-Asian style takeout while we wait for the fuel to get pumped.” I headed inside and started keying the ship’s details into the automated fueler machine. Kurt came in and stood behind me, watching the door.
“The nano scrub is unnecessary. I am well within the tolerable limits for foreign matter.”
“That’s the point of celebration, Kurt. It’s supposed to be unnecessary. Enjoy the sensation of being clean and not having any humans around. Maybe it will cut down on those internal reminders.”
“I predict that the state of being afterwards would best be described as peaceful. Right now, I am most likely grateful.”

“Be grateful for the joint lube.  I think it might be a while before we find the place.”

Kurt missed.
The bullet shattered through the window and pieces of slug and glass ricocheted off Ventura’s flight helmet. His head snapped sideways before we heard the rifle’s report and I cursed faster than he could hit the ground. I dove to the ground. His pistol, obviously an automatic, fired rounds over my head.
At the galleries, Kurt never missed. When the interplanetary fair was in town, they wouldn’t let a Second Man with precisely controlled synthetic muscles ever have a second chance at any of the carnie games. “Only real people have luck,” they’d say. “Lady Luck don’t go on dates with Metal Men.”
Why is this relevant? Ventura had been pointing that automatic at me and standing still when Kurt pulled the trigger.
I didn’t have a conscience like Kurt did, just instinct, and dashed the last twenty feet. I pulled my .38 revolver from its holster and pressed it against Ventura’s cheek.
“I hope you can hear me over the bells ringing inside your head. My partner missed, but I’m a pretty good shot at this range. I don’t particularly trust those fancy automatics, so unless you’d like a very in-depth lesson on the reliability of revolvers, I suggest you throw your weapon away.” I didn’t pull my eyes from the unfocused look on Ventura’s face, but heard the gunmetal skitter along the laminate floor.
I rolled him over, cuffed his hands and legs together, and then left him on his side. I was gingerly unloading the machined pistol when Kurt came inside the small house a moment later.
“This humidity and brackish water of my wet observation post is interfering with my inputs and leg joints, Ishmael.”
That’s me. Ishmael. Insert white whale reference here.
“Also, pardon the miscalculation, but I did not notice the plating in the walls or that the windows are military grade glass until I was within two hundred meters of the house just now.”
“It’s fine, Kurt. He’s alive and worth more because of it. You make it seem like I can’t handle myself.”
“The human mind does almost incalculable amounts of math every day to keep your bodies running. Yet, it was not hard for me to see that Ventura held the advantage when he leaped out of the freezer unit and pointed his weapon at you.”
“Is that so? Amazing. I felt like I had the situation under control the whole time.” I started scribbling requests for a convict pick up in to Sheriff’s Net.
“That was clever of him to hide from my thermal optics by using the ice-covered interior of the freezer. For all that mathematical potential, humans are entertainingly random occasionally.” Kurt unloaded the ammo from his iron sights rifle and looked around the old warehouse. “I deduct that the metal lining and thick glass make this place an excellent slaughterhouse.”
“Thankfully for us, it wasn’t today.”
“Yes. Ventura will be worth two million more credits alive than dead.”
“I meant we’re thankful that I didn’t die, Kurt.”
“Yes, I imagine you are.”
I rammed my hands into the pockets of my parka.
“Sometimes, you’re a heartless bastard, Kurt. Did you know that?”
“You know as well as I do, I do not have a father or a heart.”

I shook my head and stepped back outside to await the pickup vessel.

“No, I suppose you don’t.”

“This is not smart. You have not thought about this at all,” Kurt stated.
“Why do you ask these questions when you know the answers?” I replied.
“When you respond to my statements with a rhetorical question, you do not expect an answer or to succeed.”
“When did you learn how to use rhetoric? Did that come in a firmware upgrade or something?”
Stillness was the closest Kurt got to looking frustrated.
“Hostility as well, without a human female in the area to warrant this show of threatening bravado. Interesting.”
“The tin-man learned sarcasm as well. I pine for the days when they just silently obeyed orders, I really do.”
“Finally, we are at the dejected but inevitable realization that what I said was true. This is not smart.”
Kurt had this bad habit, or coded routine, of pronouncing the punctuation that most people skipped over. When he uses a comma in speech, he actually pauses. Periods at the ends of sentences take a moment all their own in Kurt’s voice box. I did my best impression.
“It’s this simple: we need credits and they have credits. They want certain outlaws brought back for justice; we have weapons just like everyone else.” I patted the revolver holstered on my thigh. “They don’t want to leave the security of their climate controlled settlements; our home is a space worthy hunk of junk and relocates easily. All these good reasons just stack up.”
Kurt continued to give me the unblinking gaze, possibly unconvinced.
“Let me put it this way. If we bring back the outlaw, we’ll receive enough credits to really stretch out the fuel, food, and juice so we won’t have to come across another settlement that is as,” I paused for emphasis that I hoped wasn’t lost, “disapproving, let’s say, of other Second Men like yourself.”
Sometimes, when I really give Kurt something to think about, the diodes in his eyes dim just the fraction of a lumen. I take it to mean he’s rerouting power from something unnecessary as appearance and switching it towards crunching numbers with his conscience.
“Ok. We will apprehend the outlaw. This bounty hunter mission can not be a regular occurrence. Humans get nervous enough seeing me walking around free. I hypothesize their reactions to seeing me with a gun will also be less than pleasant.”
“If only they knew what a pleasure it was to live with you, Kurt, they wouldn’t worry about you with a gun.”
“Ah. Your Contented chortling because you successfully over ruled my initial objections.”
“No, Kurt, just confidence in knowing a person would be much more dangerous to their own self if given a loaded weapon after living with you for so long.”
I smiled as his eyes flickered for the second time today.

Back on the ship, the group hurried to get of the planet. Their call for help from the imperial base as well as the holovid recording of Dex the separatist hero were going to broadcast in a while and they wanted to be well underway when they did.

The ship lifted and headed out to space. But it didn’t get far before its sensors started blinking and Natook shouted.

- I think something is coming out of hyperspace!

The group gathered in the cockpit and watched how two imperial victory class cruisers appeared in front of them, cutting them off from their escape route.

- Make the jump! Aleema exclaimed.
- We can’t, we’re too close to the planet, the hyperdrive won’t let us jump. Natook responded.

Static sparked on the comm system before the imperial cruiser alerted them about their intent to board and search the small freighter.

- Just cut off the security system, we don’t need it. Dex said with a great deal of confidence.
- And crash into any planet on the way? No, thanks. Natook wasn’t convinced. They’re looking for jedis, why don’t you two just hide?
- Alright, we’ll hide but in the mean time, you disable the security system preventing us from jumping to hyperspace. We’ll make two small jump to the other side of the planet and then make the real one. That should confuse them, said Imnos.

The jedis grabbed whatever items they could think could give them away and crawled into the hidden smuggler compartments. Natook grabbed her tools, ran to the machine room and started working on the hyperdrive. The security system was easily identified and she disconnected it just as Dex punched the jump button. She was tossed against the wall as the ship suddenly accelerated.

The jump was fast and Natook barely recovered before the ship jumped again, tossing her onto the other wall. As the ship stopped again Natook quickly reconnected the security system and headed out into the cockpit.

- you fly like a wookie on gigglegust. She grunted.
- I am a wookiee on giggledust, Dex responded happily.

At least they finally were on their way to the rendez-vous point where they would be meeting George again.

—

The rendez-vous went well and the group delivered the head of the person they had been commissioned to silence. (As you might recall, the order wasn’t necessarily to kill him but as the person was found in such a bad shape, the kill was merciful)

Natook once again found herself flirting with George to get to share some of his liquor. It tasted vilely, but Natook couldn’t tell if it was the drink or the company.

The journey went well and they found themselves back on the pirate outpost.

The first item on their agenda was to decrypt the datapad that they had found on their mission. Natook had identified that the encryption required some more computer power than they had. The two jedi seemed anxious to read it so they asked George for help. George didn’t even seem to know what a datapad was and redirected them to a ubese that might be able to help them. She could be found in one of the shady joints of the outpost.

The grouped headed there and while Imnos and Aleema did their best to fit in at the bar with their glasses of milk, Natook and Dex tried to get to talk to the ubese computer expert . Her table was garded  by two grunts who refused to let them in. Natook took a breath, changed her posture and tone of voice.

-”She would love talking to me, we have sooo much in common.” Natook said with confidence and somehow managed to bat her lashes at the same time.
- “Oh, well, in that case… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. But only you!”.
The guards let her through but Dex was left alone.

As they talked, Dex didn’t run out of ideas. Persuading the guards by himself wasn’t working so he took some credit chips and headed over to a couple of dancing girls. He convinced them to go over and flirt with the guards. The plan was successful and suddenly Natook found Dex standing next to her.

After the negociations were done, the group decided to use the ubese’s service in exchange of payment and that she would be able to decode the datapad for them but with the promise of not storing the information. They were given an address to a hacker who would help them.

The hacker couldn’t give them a price until he had seen what he was working with. He gave it a try but quickly changed mood. From casual and cocky to fascinated and consumed by his task.

“Go ahead, have a seat, and use the holonet if you want. This will take a while”

The group looked at each other, this was usually an expensive service and they were getting it for free. They didn’t waste any time and as Imnos monitored the hacker’s work to be sure that he wasn’t up to anything, the others sat down at the free monitors and began reading up on what was happening in the world.

After a while, the hacker had given up. He claimed the encryption was too hard, it seemed to be official in some way. The only thing he managed to figure out was the name of the file: Project Vader. He appologized for not being more helpful and assured them payment wasn’t necessary.

Jenny looked around the empty store and sighed. It had been a long, slow day with hardly any customers. No one was interesting in braving the heavy rains to go shopping today, not even for boutique individually painted high heels. She walked to the door and looked out at the torrent of water smacking down onto the pavement outside, and shivered. A gloomy mist had been slowly filling the pedestrian arcade all day, thickening like some sort of custard.

Still, at least it was nearly 4:00. That meant that Jonah would be in soon to see her. It was a daily ritual – he would finish school down the road, walk to the store and hang out with her until closing time, and then together they would walk home, stopping along the way at the deli to pick up something for dinner. It was the sort of ritual that they both relied on heavily to define their days now. Ever since their mother had been killed in a car accident, they had turned more and more to rigid schedules.

Jenny eyed the fog and rain warily. She wasn’t looking forward to traipsing her way home in that sort of weather. Turning her back on the gloom outside, she turned on some thumping music and began to sing along, dancing through the shop tidying things up.

When Jonah pushed open the door twenty minutes later, she was jumping around and crooning at a cherry red pump with intricate embroidery in the heel.

“Don’t drip on anything,” she said huffily, turning away to put the heel down, but also to cover up her bright pink cheeks.

Jonah sighed and dropped his school bags by the door. “Then I’d better just stay here. I’m soaked. Nearly didn’t make it here, the wind was blowing so hard. I thought we were supposed to be in summertime now? Doesn’t that mean sunshine and sweltering hot days?”

“Must be global warming,” Jenny said vaguely, ducking into the back storage area of the small shop. “How was school?”

“Boring. Very, very boring. It’s hard to muster up the energy to pay attention in class when I’m so close to the end.”

Jenny frowned at her younger brother, advancing on him threateningly with a roll of paper towels in one hand and a mop in the other. “Well you’re not there yet. And if you don’t study hard, you wan’t get into a good school, and then you won’t get a good degree, and then you won’t -”

“‘Be able to look after you in the manner to which you are accustomed’,” Jonah chimed in sourly, rolling his eyes. “And then I’ll probably end up working at some fast food place, covered in grease and stinking of burnt meat. I know the drill, Jenny. Don’t worry. I’m just saying, it’s hard to stay motivated.”

“I can only make our inheritance stretch so far,” Jenny said lightly, trying to keep a smile on her face. “And sure, this job pays well, but who knows how long the evil witch will be able to stay in business?”

Jonah grabbed a cluster of paper towels and began to wipe himself down. “Evil witch? More like bloodsucking vampire. She’s sucking the life out of you,” he said bitterly.

Jenny grinned, knowing that things would be okay now that they were falling back into their usual banter about her boss. “Careful, she’s probably got the shop wired,” she said gamely, beginning to mop up the puddle forming around Jonah. “And then -”

But her words were cut off mid-sentence by a sudden howling shriek from outside. A flash of lightning, a clap of thunder, and the power went out, plunging them into gloomy darkness. The shop door ripped open behind Jonah, the glass shattering as it smashed into the wall. A giant gust of wind burst into the shop, knocking Jenny to the ground. She groaned, the wicked edge of a shard of glass slicing into her calf. A dark shape advanced in from the rain, the cowl around its face eerily dry. Jenny watched in terror as a pale, skeletal hand reached out from amongst thick robes and wrapped itself around Jonah’s neck. Jonah struggled at the hand, gasping for air, panic painted across his face.

At the edge of hearing, a voice hissed, “Yessss, you’ll do quite nicely.”

Jenny struggled to get up, to knock the stranger away form her brother. But then, in another blinding flash of lightning, they were gone.

The story of this picture is from a random joke that a my friend Benny and I had in the college dorms. Dark Potassium was my given nickname from these events, and many seemed to enjoy. Not everyone appreciated it however, some thought that it was childish and immature.
My response to this is “why are you worried about this kind of perception?”. Did they not see what the joke of the fun with in it? Can they not see the potential of what it is, and what it could be. So now I bring this to you, in a different context. Should we be worried about the perceptions of Christianity? There seems to be a lot of hate towards the faith, and we may very well be losing chances of conviction with these individuals. So should we worry about the hate, both in and out of the family of Christ?

Today after yesterdays super failure the sites viewers have doubled. Just a quick guess is that our enemy have been calling around, telling people to watch our failure.

But me and Blach are happy to give you the satisfaction from your malicious pleasure. We are not sad or feeling ill about the losses, we just spit in our fist and keep going. Nothing comes easy and we know it.

In the hunt for money you need to have some capital to invest. Therefore I have created a new user on www.nordicbet.com and deposit 1000 skr. A nice thing is that after we have put down or first bet they will match the bet 100%. I given Blach the mission to find the bet which we will put 1000 skr on. You think he will manage it? I know I do!

This Saturdays plan is  therefore to bet 1000 skr on one coupon and then bet some really wild shots with a smaller amount. I will not write down those bets because there is so many matches but you can still cross your fingers for us .

Continue on the story…Mitch the Nose have now seen our story and responded. He have also started to attack Blach on MSN and there he wished that we had lost money on Detroit. Too bad for you Mitch that we are to professional to gamble on the season opening. To respond on your comment about that Blach gonna start betting without me knowing ain’t gonna happen this time. We have written a contract which will make him pay a descent amount of money if he will do that.

Here is the bets for today.

#1 Detroit Redwings – St. Louis Blues 1 1.95

Florida Panthers - Chicago Blackhawks 2 moneyline 1.65

Total 3.22*1000 = 3217.5

#2 Wolverhampton - Portsmouth x2 1.67

Djurgarden – Brynas IF 1 1.75

Florida Panters – Chicago Blackhawks 2 moneyline 1.66

Detroit Redwings – St. Louis Blues -1   2.75

Total 13.34*180 = 2401

#3 Manchester United – Sunderland 1 1.21

Total 1.21*1000 = 1210

Four more coupons are played for 130, 19, 181 and 100.

Balance: 600 skr
Bets: 9
Won: 1
Lost: 8
Turnover: 3430 skr

What can I say. This day was a big day…in loses. Well not every day can start with sunshine. But we will come back be sure of that!

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By the end of the week, Holden’s no longer confined to his room, but he often goes through the motions of his daily routine without interest.

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He and Eliza interact infrequently; when she’s not at work, she’s quite often lost in her own world.

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She tries to breach the subject of Holden’s future once again, but he reacts violently.

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Sadly though, he really just wants what they had before Sherman died.  Eliza was always aloof and selfish, and Holden was a loner from birth, but they had at least shared a loose, comfortable bond.

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Now, Holden finds himself able to walk away from her.  In fact, he’s saving up his money to buy a guitar one day, and he doesn’t feel the need to gain her permission or blessing.

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He sneaks out of the house to pay his aunt Rhoda a badly-needed visit; he hasn’t seen her since Sherman’s death.

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She’s not happy, especially when he fills her in on the details of the “accident.”

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Rhoda promises to make sure Eliza gets what’s coming to her, but she’ll need Holden to be patient; since Holden’s still a minor in Eliza’s care, and Rhoda doesn’t want him to get lost in the foster care system, her plan will have to wait.

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In the meantime, she wants to finish polishing Sherman’s old foosball table and head over to the Renfield home and blow off some steam.

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Rhoda is unable to actually fire Eliza now that she owns a large portion of the company’s assets, and Eliza knows it.

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Eliza reacts badly…

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…as does Holden.

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As Rhoda storms off, Eliza bows her head.  Maybe somewhere, deep down, she’s realizing the magnitude of what she’s done?

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Later that day, after Eliza has headed off to work, Holden gets a phone call from Rhoda.  She repeats what she said before about biding time and lying low.

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Holden spends the last days of his childhood wandering the fields and shores of Riverview alone but content.

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Sherman joins Eliza the next day for an early dinner, and they discuss Holden’s poor academic record. He wonders where the boy is, but Eliza tells him he’s over a friend’s house for the day. Those strange pounding noises coming from downstairs? It’s just the wind.

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Later, she takes him outside to see the new Renfield family crypt she’s built in the back yard.

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Inside, Ma and Sam Bagley are already on display. Oh, look! There’s an empty space in the middle!

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By nightfall, she leads him down into the basement level of the crpyt. Sherman is tempted to run, but what would Eliza do? If he angers her, could she stop him from visiting his son?

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Eliza admires her little shrine with such happiness. Seriously, Sherman, run!. She’s more than a few gnomes shy a full garden.

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I give up, Sherman. She and Grim can have you if you’re going to be this spineless.

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It’s been nice knowing you.

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Meanwhile, Holden finally manages to pick the lock on his bedroom door and runs straight for the crypt.

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Eliza tells Sherman it’s his fault that Holden has broken her heart by not wanting to follow in her foosteps. After all, that’s what Sherman did to his mother.

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Holden arrives too late; she’s already blocked the pool entrance with rocks from the pond.

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Sherman briefly wonders if Rhoda will take care of his beloved foosball table after he’s gone. Oh, and his son, too.

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Holden lashes out at Eliza.

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He even promises to study hard and become a good henchman if she lets Sherman go.

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Just as Eliza looks like she’s about to relent, Sherman goes under.

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They both sense the chilling arrival of the Grim Reaper just beyond the crypt wall.

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Thus ends the life of Sherman Bagley.

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Sam comes out of his urn to join Holden in mourning.

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Eliza looks pleased with her work.

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She places Sherman carefully on the pedestal. She’ll never have to hear him ramble on and on about giving money to charities or being friendly to people ever again!

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Holden’s sent back to his room. He’s had such a bad day today that even his fish has died.

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Next: (07) Backlash

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Rhoda is pleased with Eliza and her handiwork, and she quickly pushes her through the Criminal ranks.

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Now at the top of her career track, Eliza finally spends her savings on building a real house.  She loves the durable fencing to keep intruders out and the dark, cozy basement in which she can hide and feel secure.

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Best of all, she’s got her own evil office for plotting and entertaining her shady business associates.

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Sherman keeps showing up, though, and Eliza doesn’t understand why.

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Oh, right.  Kid.

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Holden’s also been growing closer to his aunt Rhoda who, unlike Eliza, actually spends time with him.

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When Eliza does interact with her son, she tells him about how he’ll someday take over the family business.

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Holden tries to tell her that he thinks he’d rather make music than be an evil henchman, but Eliza doesn’t take him seriously.

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Surely, these silly notions of his must be his father’s fault somehow.  To get even, Eliza sneaks over to the Bagley residence one night and steals Sherman’s car.

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It’s around this time that Sherman really begins to get nervous around Eliza.  Well, moreso than he already was.

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In fact, he’s taken to fainting when she shows up at his house unexpectedly.

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He keeps visiting his son fairly regularly, despite the fact that the house gives him the creeps.  Sherman knows he’s a coward, so maybe he’s just overreacting.  He puts on his most convincing smile and goes in.

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Sherman’s suspicions are confirmed, however, when Holden greets him with a warning :  Eliza’s been wishing to see his ghost lately.

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Eliza spends some more time in jail.  Seriously, she gets taken there at least once a week.

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As soon as Eliza is free again, she comes by to invite Sherman over for dinner the following night, and it does not help Sherman’s nerves that she is so very nice and pleasant about it.  She’s got a surprise for him — she’s done some remodeling in the backyard, and she’s sure he’ll love it.  Despite her cheerful tone (or rather, because of it), Sherman is not looking forward this.

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Next: (06) Waterlogged

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Eliza is quite pleased with herself; she’s hoping for a little girl to carry on her evil legacy.

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Unfortunately, what she gets is a boy without any evil in him at all.

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Sherman’s still trying to stand by Eliza despite her temper.

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She can’t tolerate him anymore, though; she got what she wanted, and her patience is wearing thin. Everything about him annoys her – his good luck, his cowardice, his good nature. They’re polar opposites.

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So Eliza settles into motherhood alone, which suits her just fine, but the boy refuses to stop crying.

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Revenge comes in the form of sweet, brightly-colored lollipops. In fact, Eliza was able to rack up over 3,000 achievement points from stealing her son’s candy alone.

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By the time he’s a toddler, his screaming can apparently wake the dead.

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However, there are moments when she is pleased with him; one of his favorite games is imitating his mother by playing “Breaking & Entering” with his action figures.  Eliza finally names the boy Holden and thinks he might turn out all right after all.

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Eliza gets caught one evening at work, and she spends the rest of the night in jail. This turns out to be a common occurrence during Holden’s rocky childhood.

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Holden grows up accustomed to his mother’s unstable schedule, the presence of his grandmother’s ghost, and the long hours of solitude. It’s not surprising that his traits now include insane, loner, and hot-headed.

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Next: (05) Warning Signs

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The Riverview branch of the Outstanding Citizen Warehouse Corp. is conveniently located by a public pool.  It lacks the snack bar and nicer facilities the gym in Sunset Valley, but it’s convenient.

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She’s not really getting along with her boss, though; Rhoda thinks Eliza still gets into too many unnecessary fights.

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Perhaps, Eliza thinks, it was unwise for her to steal Rhoda’s favorite bale of hay.

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Their main disagreement is how the family business is to be run now that Ma Bagley has passed on.  Rhoda’s getting older, and she never took a break from her career to have children.  Her brother, Sherman, doesn’t seem too interested in helping out with any criminal activities.  Eliza’s got a lot of bright ideas, but Rhoda insists that Eliza’s still too much of an outsider.

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Eliza’s birthday party goes well, having included all of her accomplices from work, and she corners Rhoda outside, away from the laughing crowds.  She’s come up with a plan she’s sure will win her a secure place within the company for a long time to come, but it will require some manipulation.

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Her plan is further impeded by the fact that Sherman is not only a coward, but also good. Ugh.

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Her ambition is rewarded, though, and she makes some progess.  Sherman is beginning to like her, despite his constant wariness toward his family’s business associates as well as her own shifty nature.

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Eliza rarely thinks things through before she acts, and when she tries to push things along the next day, she comes off a bit too strong for Sherman to handle.

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But as we all know, stalking is the most successful way into a man’s heart.

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Success!  She’s “bagged” a Bagley, and soon, she’ll give birth to a bouncing, 8-pound bundle of job security.

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Next: (04) Holden

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Eliza checks into town and immediately buys the best plot of land she can afford.  As she looks around at her rich neighbors’ houses, she happily predicts she can bring down the values of their lots in no time.

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Okay, perhaps she spent a bit too much on land and not enough on other essentials – but she’s good at getting by, and she’s already planning her next heist to help cover the costs.

Speaking of, it’s time to check in with the Bagley family.  They’re expecting her soon.

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Well, maybe Eliza’s got enough time to start pilfering from her neighbors.

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Her stroll through the park isn’t so pleasant, though.  She’s jumping at every shadow because of the large number of strangers – any one of them could be a cop, someone who might report her to a cop, or worst of all… someone good.

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She also discovers that this transfer was really a demotion in disguise.  This town is so painfully rural, landlocked and filled with farmlands, that she has trouble imaging that crime here could be profitable at all.

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She finally makes it to Ma Bagley’s house, sneaking in through the front door with a gleefully deranged look on her face.  Seriously, she looks like she’s about to burn down an orphanage and toss a box of kittens off a bridge, all while stealing candy from a small child.

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It turns out Ma Bagley is actually retired now, but her daughter is in charge.  Rhoda is impressed by the quality of Eliza’s fiendish cackle and previous bank heist.

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Later that night, as Eliza is putting the final touches on her tiny brick mansion, Rhoda calls to tell her what her new work schedule will be.

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Inspired, Eliza spends the night prowling through her new town, peaking into windows and defiling City Hall.

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When morning comes, she lovingly arranges her loot in a perverse sort of shrine and admires her work.  She’ll be in a good mood later today when she starts her new job.

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Next: (03) Familial Bonds

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Meet Eliza Renfield.  Today’s her last day in Sunset Valley, so she’s in a rather foul mood.  Don’t expect any smiles from her.  Not even this picnic lunch stolen from a happy couple in the park could cheer her up.

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The trouble started when she met Thornton Wolff…

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…and perhaps became a little close to him that evening.

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Yeah, definitely too close.

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The snag? His wife, Morgana.  She found out the next day and did not take the news quietly.

I’m not sure if she’s indicating a betrayal of trust in this picture or threatening to cut him into little pieces.

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Eliza tried in vain to persuade Thornton to leave Morgana.

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She then tried reasoning with Morgana.  Well, what Eliza considers “reasoning,” at least.

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There may have been something from the police department about a “restraining order” or something.  Whatever.

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Then her boss at the Outstanding Citizen Warehouse Corp. said something about blowing her cover, drawing too much attention from the authorities, and generally risking some of their more covert investments.  A transfer was in order, effective immediately.

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Off to Riverview then, with strict orders to report to Ma Bagley and her crew for further instructions and a fresh start.

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Next: (02) Settling in… Fiendishly

After we had rushed to explain things to Casey, the ride fell to silence. The roads were still empty; as I glanced down a side street, I yelled at Eric to stop. He hit the breaks and I pointed out another “construction” project that hadn’t been there the day before.

“Wow, another roadblock…do you think they’re quarantining parts of the town?”

“It sure looks that way, Den.” Eric replied, and got the truck moving again.

“Umm…after we talk to your buddy, uh…Kyle? Connor, that’s it…after we talk to him, maybe we should skip town for a few days, get a room somewhere and let this whole thing blow over…” Casey suggested nervously.

Karen grinned, “Girl, I barely know you but we already think alike. I say we get Connor and Doc J and take a road trip to anywhere but here.”

“Yea, you’re right,” I turned in my seat to talk to the girls, “This place isn’t safe anymore; and it’s only a matter of time before they’re doing construction on the West Bridge.”

“Oh yea, I didn’t even think of that! If they close the-Whoa!” Casey was cut off by the squeal of tires as the SUV came to a sudden halt. I turned to face forward and see what was wrong; my mouth hung open in shock. Before us was another roadblock, this one complete with a military humvee; there was blood all over the ground, and not a person in sight.

“What the…what happened here?” Karen asked, “Where are the soldiers, or construction workers?”

“I don’t know…but there’s a lot of blood…maybe they got attacked by some of the infected…” I suggested.

“But if they got attacked, they would’ve fought them off right? I mean, there were soldiers, with guns, assault rifles man! If there aren’t any soldiers here, then…” Eric let the thought trail off.

“Let’s not think about that and focus on getting to Rachel’s. We should probably go around, rather than drive straight through here. Do you know a back way?” I asked Casey.

Her voice broke up as she spoke, nearly sobbing, “No…this is it, we’ve gotta go through here…this is Rachel’s development, the only way in…her development…which was under quarantine…was, until…”

Karen leaned over and put an arm around the crying girl, “It’ll be alright Case, Rachel’s probably fine.”

“You…you think so?” Karen nodded and managed a weak smile, but there had been fear in her voice.

Eric moved to put the truck in drive, when I stopped him. “Bro, we can’t just leave.”

“Why not? We should hurry to Rachel’s then meet up with Doc J.”

“I wanna check out that humvee; what if there’s somebody inside? Or, what if there’re guns?”

“You want a gun?! Are you crazy? Have you even fired a gun before?”

My cheeks colored, “Yea! Well…I had a BB gun…as a kid. Shot cans and stuff. Anyway, you saw that guy on the way to Casey’s, and now this. There are crazy people, infected people all over! I want a way to protect myself…to protect us all, in case we run into them again.”

Eric sighed; he knew how stubborn I could be sometimes. “Fine, but make it quick.”

As I opened the door, Karen spoke up, “Dennis…you shouldn’t go alone,” she looked pointedly at Eric; he caught her gaze and looked away.

“I’ll go,” Casey said, her voice strong as she wiped her eyes and stepped out of the SUV.

I climbed out as well, and leaned in before closing the door, “We’ll be right back, hopefully with a pistol or two. Keep it runnin’.”

“Ohmygod, is he ok?” Karen asked us.

“He looks pretty far from ok, Karen.” I said

“Are you ok?!” she called aloud; the man looked up at Karen’s call, and quickened his step. His bloody hands outstretched, he staggered toward us and uttered a low growl.

“Karen, get in the car,” Eric said, and rushed into the driver’s seat. This time, Karen complied and I jumped in the vehicle as well. Our tires spun as we raced away from the scene, in time to see a woman shamble out of the house behind the injured man. As we drove off, I was shaking with fear. The older couple, maybe they were infected or crazy, like the guy at the party. But that little girl…she was dead…and not because of Eric’s inattentive driving. But if she was dead…how did she try to bite my hand off?

Eric was still flying down the road when we reached Casey’s; he had to lock the brakes up to stop in time. He turned to me, “I’m keeping it running. Hell, I’m not even putting it in park. Get in there, get her and get back out here before more of those…things…show up.”

“Got it, I’ll be right out.” I left the truck and beat a quick jog to her front door. I hit the bell and immediately began banging on the door, all the time looking left and right like a paranoid psycho. I caught some movement from one of the window blinds, then the door swung open.

“Oh, it’s you. Hey, what took-“

“No time, let’s go,” I cut her off and grabbed her wrist, half leading half dragging her to Eric’s truck. I got in with the quickness; Eric was speeding away before Casey had even closed the door. Once we were in motion again, I uttered a small sigh of relief.

We filled Casey in on what had just happened as she directed us to Rachel’s. The four of us all came to the same conclusion: whatever had infected Chelsea’s dad at the party last night was spreading, and fast. We just had to hope that Connor and his military friends had a solution…

We nervously reassured each other that the silence was normal, and that everything was on the up and up, but it didn’t help us much. We were freaked out and jumping at each other shadows for the entirety of our short walk to the SUV. The click of the vehicle unlocking echoed throughout the garage; as we got in and closed the door, the slam seemed like it would shatter glass. Eric started the car, then looked over at me and deliberately locked the doors; I nodded, and we all felt a little safer.

I typed out a text to Casey and told her we were on our way to her place. She replied her thanks within seconds. As we were driving, the streets were empty, even for a Sunday. We didn’t see another soul on the back roads, and on Broadway going to Casey’s, the only other vehicles we saw were a fire truck and an ambulance heading in the opposite direction.

When we rounded the corner onto Casey’s street, Karen yelled from the back seat: “Look out!”

Eric slammed on the brakes but it was too late; the girl rolled over the roof of the truck and we heard her land with a thud. We stopped and sat, frozen for a second, then left the car in a rush and ran over to the girl. She looked to be around 7 or 8, in a pale white dress, laying there with her left arm twisted. She wasn’t moving; we had all stopped a few feet away from her.

I glanced at Karen and Eric; neither moved to help her so I knelt beside her. I placed a hand on her shoulder-intending to roll her onto her back-then jumped back in surprise. She was cold as ice. “What the hell…” I mumbled to myself.

“What…what is it? Is she…?” Eric let the question trail off.

I placed my hand on her neck, and didn’t feel a pulse. Just as I moved my hand away, the little girl snapped at it. I fell back onto my ass and quickly got to my feet, and that’s when I heard it for the first time. They make this…sound…it’s kind of a cross between a hiss and a growl; it sent shivers right up my spine. We didn’t have a word for it then, but we later came to call it the Death Rattle, or just the Rattle.

When Karen and Eric saw the little girl move, they immediately rushed forward but I held them back. “Let go Den, she’s hurt and needs help.”

“Eric, man, you’re not gonna believe me but…that girl’s got no pulse. And she was cold, man…dead cold.”

We watched for a minute as she writhed there in the road; the SUV had broken her back so she couldn’t stand up or even crawl.

“Whatever was wrong with that guy at the party last night…this kid’s got it too. Now if you wanna call 911, fine, but whatever’s wrong with her, she tried to bite my hand so I say she can lay here and rot!”

“Dennis!” Karen exclaimed, “That’s heartless! She’s a sick little girl, we should try to help her.”

Her words made sense, but my gut said otherwise. Honestly, I was scared to death of that…thing; I wanted nothing more than to get as far from it as possible. “Fine, you deal with her, I’m gonna wait in the-“ My words died on my tongue, “Uhh…guys…we should go. Like, now.”

“No, I’m calling 911,” Karen said dismissively as she pulled out her cell.

“I mean it, we have got to get out of here,” I walked over to Karen and turned her by the shoulders so she could see what I saw. From the house on the corner, a man was walking towards us. He was wearing a bathrobe and staggered with each step; his hands were covered in blood, and he was missing most of the left side of his face.

As we drove home from the diner, I remember thinking that I’d be up all night, thinking about the things I’d seen. However, truth is I hit my bed like a sack of potatoes and slept almost instantly; the stress of the evening had taken its toll on my body, until I finally found release.

I awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon cooking; I staggered out to the kitchen confused, since Eric never cooked breakfast. Then I remembered: Karen had been so freaked out that she hadn’t wanted to go home. I chuckled to myself at the irony of what it took to get her to finally put out…

“Morning, Den” she said, in that obnoxious tone people reserve for those of us who are not ‘morning persons’, “How do you like your eggs?”

I muttered, “Scrambled, thanks,” and walked towards the bathroom to wash the sleep from my eyes.

“Ok, it’ll be a few minutes,” she called to my retreating form.

As we were eating breakfast, I heard my phone go off; I left the kitchen and scanned my room, before finding my cell in last night’s jeans. I flipped it open and saw two messages; the first had come from Doc J, confirming that we were still meeting at 8am. I checked the clock, which read 7:15; plenty of time to finish eating before we were to reconvene.

I walked back to the kitchen and scrolled to the second message. This one was from Casey, “omg rach isnt answerin!! -.-;; im worried bout her can u pick me up an take me over there? she wuz my ride 2 tha diner neway…” The look on my face got Eric’s attention, and I handed him the phone when I was done reading it.

“Oh god, do you think…you think something happened?” he asked and showed Karen the message.

I was freaking out as bad as he was, “Maybe…I don’t know…I just met the girl last night…”

“Yea, me too, but Casey’s her friend, right? And she’s really worried about her.”

“Look, we were at a party. She probably had too much to drink and now she’s just hung-over and ignoring her phone. It’s probably nothing,” Karen said, but her voice had a nervous edge to it.

“Yea…you could be right K…” Eric caved quickly, but I was still worried.

“But what if you’re wrong? Either way, we have to go get Casey now since she doesn’t have a car. While we’re out we might as well check on Rachel. If she’s puking her guts out, no harm no foul. But if something’s really wrong, we gotta know.” Eric sighed, knowing I could be stubborn at times, and we all rushed to get ready to leave.

As we walked out of the apartment complex and into the parking garage, I immediately sensed something was wrong. Our conversation fell to whispers, then died; Eric and Karen could feel it too. I glanced around, but nothing looked amiss.

“You hear that?” I asked

“Hear what?” Eric replied.

“No, Den, I don’t hear anything,” Karen looked at me, puzzled.

“Exactly.” There were no birds singing or crickets chirping; not even the engine of a passing car broke the eerie silence.