DREAD Reviews 19
Dad Reads and Examines Authors while Distracted
DREAD 17 DREAD 18 DREAD 19 DREAD 20 DREAD 21
How does one make the choice to pay a traffic ticket? Have you ever thought deeply about this? Subconsciously, without thinking, you somehow know if you just scribble some ink on a document and mail it in you will prevent a long series of events that end with you bleeding to death on a prison floor.
Thomas Hobbes, a 17th century Englishman, had this all figured out. He wrote an exceptional book called Leviathan. He argues a society should be ruled by an absolute sovereign but this argument is not what makes him famous. In the making of his point, Thomas Hobbes put into eloquent words a timeless truth about the nature of power and how it works.
Man, without government, is a beast. Beasts have one rule only - power to the strong. The strong monopolize violence. The threat of violence becomes terror. And with terror the weak cower and suffer what they must.
Because we’re social animals, and because most of us aren’t strong, we form government to avoid this natural state of rule by beasts. Even the strong benefit from government - the strong were children, once, and should they survive to adulthood, they age and do not remain strong forever. Not to mention, the stability government brings means more wealth for all - usually - to the point where even the now-subdued strong enjoy a better life than they would if they had been free to do as they please.
Government does not accomplish this by eliminating “power to the strong” (this is impossible). Rather, by social contract, a government disassociates the monopoly of violence from strong individuals and concentrates it into one or more abstract entities - a king or queen (a certain seat any butt could theoretically inhabit), a chamber filled with greying elders, or perhaps two buckets into which voters throw authenticated chips (power here ultimately belongs to those counting the votes).
A king or queen is likely not the the strongest as an individual. They are likely not strongest warrior, the most cunning strategist, or the most educated erudite. There’s definitely someone in their court that would beat them at arm-wrestling or a game of Scrabble. But their title is strong - challenging the king or queen to a feat of strength, or scoring 1780 points spelling OXYPHENBUTAZONE on the board might cause 10 guards to come lop your head off before you can prove your superiority. It is important not to confuse the individual for the role they play in the abstraction of power and the dislocation of the monopoly of violence.
So why does the thought of violence so rarely enter our conscious mind when we make the decision to pay a ticket? Why is this buried so deep in our subconscious, and why does it take the writings of an old luminary to dig it out? The reason, as I term it, is “civilization.”
In my opinion, all things “civilization” are a layer between our societies and a pure state of nature. Civilization can take forms both physical and abstract. Milk in a bowl is a great example. In the absolute state of nature, if you want milk from a cow, the only choice is to go straight to the source directly with your mouth (or maybe spray it into your cupped hand first). Fortunately, because of civilization, we don’t have to do this - we can spray it into a bowl instead. We’ve added many more layers than even this - a mechanical device milks the cow, a ranch is placed far away from our residence, the milk from cattle is pasteurized, homogenized, refrigerated, packaged, delivered, bought, secured, then poured into a container and mixed with something else. We’ve layered so much civilization over milk that we could conceivably go years drinking it while forgetting cows even exist.
Civilization does the same thing for the traffic ticket you decide to pay. Many layers come between you and the promise of violence in this scenario - the threat is what inspires your cooperation. The earliest layer, which you’ve already penetrated when you get your ticket, is polite society - it’s shameful to believe you should be permitted to travel faster on the road when everyone else allegedly agreed to go slower, is it not? You could be exposed to violence even in this early stage in the form of road rage, but probably not.
Let’s assume instead of paying the ticket you have become curious, or just fed up with authority, and will no longer cooperate - just to see what happens. You have become the pure essence of disobedience. Penetrating the layers of civilization to its core like Dante’s Inferno travels to the center of hell, you now experience the following:
First, you will be assaulted with threatening letters written in all capitals ordering you to pay your fine, followed by letters heaping on new, larger fines. You scoff “I am free” and refuse to pay, perhaps not opening newer envelopes notifying you of a court summons. You skip your mandated notice to appear and a judge swiftly suspends your license to drive or signs a bench warrant with your name on it (or both). You continue on with your merry life, none the wiser, until a policeman’s plate scanner automatically runs your license through its database and your warrant has now appeared on an enforcer’s screen. You can choose two routes of disobedience here - refusing to stop, resulting in a rapid escalation to violence, or pulling over but refusing to cooperate, a slower escalation.
You go with the second option. The policeman wants to cuff you - perhaps you are disobedient to the point the officer calls for backup. They overwhelm you, force you into handcuffs, and throw you in the car and take you to prison. You’ve traveled far, burrowing your way closer to a state of nature bite by bite, but you’re not quite there yet. You still have to engage in more disobedience, say refusing to follow the orders of prison guards, disrespecting wake up calls or your proper spot in the meal queue. Your results will vary here, but you are not getting out of prison with this attitude - you will be forcibly relocated via bus to worse, higher-security prisons, and eventually reach a place where the guards are beating you with sticks. Or perhaps the prisoners tire of you first and gift you a knuckle sandwich, or a blanket party, or, depending on the prison, maybe a quick shiv to the ribs.
Beaten and broken, you quietly bleed out on the prison floor. And all because of a traffic ticket.
You’ve made it! You proved your point. They call it all sorts of things - government, civilization, other meaningless semantics - but they couldn’t fool you. You know the true source of power now, what it all comes down to, what the whole house of cards is built upon: violence.
For others it was a threat, that’s what kept them behaved, but in your disobedient case, it was a promise.
Contemplating all that feels uncomfortable. I’d like to add some more layers of civilization between me and a state of nature, now, so here’s some writing I liked:
Dear Novaheart,
Your Folklore Friday post is a treasure trove of wisdom for crafting character names, nay, a guiding star for writers navigating the perilous sea of fantasy and sci-fi naming.
But could I interest your readers in a few… “alternative” naming schemes?
Real-World Languages: You suggest drawing from languages like Sanskrit for names like “Shalvasan.” This brilliant method ensures characters feel rooted in a believable world, even ones that have three suns and sentient mushrooms.
…But have you ever considered consulting your household appliances for inspiration? For instance, the rhythmic hum of my dishwasher once inspired the name of a mutant psyker named “Whirrvox Pulsara.” I also got the stern “Lord Vaporis Steem’s” name from a coffee maker, a thief who’s alias is “Tosta Blaze,” and an asexual temptress that goes by “Frida Chill.” Simply place your ear against a machine, transcribe the buzz and vibrations, and wait for a name that’s uniquely… something.
A Character’s Role: Naming characters like “Reia Loresinger” after their profession or essence is genius. Giving your readers a cheat sheet like this is elegant and efficient as it is evocative.
…But what about a more avant-garde approach? Throw open the fridge door and derive a name from the first thing you see. This is my source for names which require undeniable gravitas… like a warrior character named “Picklebrine Ironspoon” and a powerful mage called “Yoghurtia Spellchurn.” I’m also saving for future use the names “Miro Leftova,” a sly scavenger, and “Butteris Slade,” probably some kind of court scoundrel.
Drawing from Mythology, History, or Sci-Fi Culture: Your method of tweaking names from myths or pop culture, like “Klatu” from Army of Darkness or “Riven” from the game Myst, is admirable. Give a nod to the familiar while crafting something fresh - it’s a tried and true technique for successful authors. Everyone loves finding a fandom love letter wrapped in something new and original.
…Yet I have an alternative to this and I’d just like you to think about it: When’s the last time you took a good, hard look into your spam email folder? You might be surprised how much incredible inspiration goes to waste there. Find subject lines like “EnlargeYourDestiny247” or “CryptoPrince4U” and with a little imaginary spice, these transform into truly epic titles like “Destinarae Quartus” or “Cryptonius Rex.” Harness the untapped chaotic energy of the botnet and generate easter eggs so secret your readers will wonder: I feel this, how in the world? “Vira Lottowin,” a cardsharp who’s also handy with a ranged weapon of any kind, “Phishar Scamwell” a scurrilous pirate bursting with tall tales, and “Vigora Pillarax” the knightly antagonist who cheated to win the jousting tourney.
Thematic Naming: Your use of a Shalvasan language theme with hard K’s and soft S’s (e.g., “Ss’kara,” “Skolvax”) is a proven way to master world-building. Giving your universe its own linguistic DNA can instantly flag a character’s cultural roots for your audience without unnecessary exposition weighing down the story. That kind of consistent cohesion breathes life into an immersive world.
…so why not also include names inspired by strange, infrequent, unexplained sounds that everyone hears at night no matter where they live? Was that decaying infrastructure or did a wandering animal meet some grim fate in the yard? A cat’s yowl (was it a cat?) might lead to the origin story of “Mrowlax Vipersnarl” or “Yowlara Fangwhisper,” while a dog’s outrageous bark could produce mightier names like“Barkulon Stormhowl” or “Screelith Nightshriek.” Setting up a recorder overnight is a guaranteed way to capture ideas that resonate with primal energy; monsters named “Creakus Flooren” or “Whispera Draught,” a highwayman named “Thumpra Noctis,” or a necromancer’s apprentice named “Skritch Vellum.”
Either way, the Folklore Friday series is a delight and these naming strategies are a worthy gift to writers everywhere. I’ll be subscribing, restacking, and possibly sending a coffee (or maybe a used kitchen appliance) your way to keep the brilliance flowing. As for your question about personal touches in naming… well, I might just name my next character “Coffeespark McDontScrollNoMore” after my last writing session.
Keep on shining, Novaheart:
(Author), ,
Born of Ash and Iron Chapter 1 kicks off not just what might prove to be an interesting sci-fi read, but also inspires a delightful new term I want to christian this very moment: Wikibuilding!
Forget plain old world building - that legacy concept is for fantasy nerds laboring fruitlessly over maps of expansionist island kingdoms bordered by mysterious elf forests. Meanwhile, Wikibuilding is an art that takes advantage of modern technology to craft a fictional universe so dense with factions, places, and characters that it demands its own wiki (click Stellar Empire) to keep track of who’s oppressing whom and which destroyer’s got the edge on the other!
In all seriousness - and I’m always utterly serious - this sci-fi romp delivers a delightful mix of gritty rebellion, spaceship shenanigans, and enough nerdy lore to choke a black hole. But consider this - for a nerd like me, wikibuilding may as well hereby establish itself as the new gold standard for sci-fi - who doesn’t want to open a new book on their laptop and by page 10 already have a collection of 32-tabs waiting for their attention? My many a sleepless night spent on things like TvTropes or just about any game or amateur wiki rich with esoteric lore are proof this could become a thing.
Captain Richard Volm, our grey-skinned, hairless Declanian hero, is half Captain Kirk, half a grumpy slate tile. Volm and his buddy Lieutenant Alkora, both ex-political prisoners of the Rhyno Commonwealth, lead a ragtag crew of rebels who’ve flipped the bird to their oppressors and jacked a few spaceships in the process. The wikibuilding here is stellar: the Rhyno Commonwealth, a government-in-exile whining about piracy in the INSTAR Courts (space lawyers!) feels a lot like my latest Stellaris campaign. The wiki’s got the receipts, with pages on Declanians, Republic of the Two Worlds, and the Rhyno Confederacy’s messy divorce into squabbling factions.
The humor in this chapter sneaks up on you: Volm’s internal scoff at being called a pirate “I’m not a criminal, I’m just creatively borrowing!” and his chat with Tyler in his oversized sergeant cap zings. “We’re not beasts, we’re principled pirates!” It’s the kind of banter that makes you want to crack open some space rum and join the mutiny.
But let’s get back to Wikibuilding prowess. Sears doesn’t just build a world; he constructs a digital cosmos where every knurled handrail (ouch, Declanian skin!) and subspace jump screams for another entry. Penal planets, light-speed delays, and a crew count that’s more “skeleton” than “squad” makes it rich. And you can almost hear the editors furiously typing up pages for “Somari 8’s Ring Field” or “Type-88 Destroyer Specs.”
The chapter’s pacing, though, is a bit like a warp drive stuck in first gear - why not just go full out and put hyperlinks right in the text (is my nerd showing yet)? This one’s all aftermath and planning, with the big battle happening off-screen - if it’s on the wiki I haven’t found it yet, what a tease. I wanted to see Savant and Cascade blasting Commonwealth goons, but Volm scratching his chin like a brooding space philosopher serves well enough for now.
The prose is solid, the banter is tight and lively, and the lore is rich. The casualty report scene feels a little bit like a PowerPoint from Space HR - this might sound like a criticism to some, but take into account you’re reading the newsletter of someone who plays map games for 1000+ hours. The wikibuilding is the real shine here, with every mention of an INSTAR Court or a Somari’s prisoner dump begging me to go check out the website (sniff - got any more of them “Lores”?)
Check it out - Born of Ashes is one part Firefly, one part Battlestar Galactica, and three parts “someone kickstart this wiki a bigger server”:
After a hair cutting accident I’m basically Napoleon Bonaparte:
Imagine the World State as one single giant chip bag. It sounds crunchy and appealing until you realize it’s just one flavor for everyone, everywhere, forever. No more salt and vinegar zest, or spicy chili kick, just... plain old potato chips, one after another. And good luck getting the bag open without a global food fight! What’s your take - would you pick one chip flavor to rule them all, or are you team “keep the snack drawer diverse?”
Click below for intellectuals arguing not just about the flavor of a one world government, but also its texture. Texture is an important component of the chip-eating experience, after all - everyone gets sadder and sadder as they munch their way to the debris at the bottom of the bag (but some like to lick the disgusting salt that piles at the bottom - to each their own).
Wend dreams of a shiny, unified world government like it’s the ultimate all-encompassing bag of chips that can somehow exist without any vendors slamming it around in boxes or unruly children punting it like a football. Burns, meanwhile, wants to keep it real: “All chip bags are crumbs of disappointment just waiting to happen.”
Burns, it’s too soon… don’t remind me that my poor Roman Empire is nothing but a sad pile of broken, expired Doritos:
The gritty, dystopian world of Shadows and Dust is a highly entertaining sci-fi survival story, with Number 815165 dodging nanites, Jaern hunters, and reality-warping anomalies in the bunker of Shelter 2021. I also found it entertaining in its relatability to my much more mundane experience - this is a good thing, let me explain!
1. Nanites vs. Stepping in a Deep Rain Puddle
Those Avern’a nanites lurking in the bunker dust wait for an errant step just like a deceptively deep rain puddle. One moment, you’re strolling along, certain your soles are above the waterline - the next, your shoes are squelching and your socks are an instant soggy nightmare, your day ruined. For the Jaern, one brush with nanite-laden dust means their insides turn to mush faster than you can say: “%!@$, I should’ve worn boots.” Both are sneaky and make you question your path - though, admittedly, puddles just dampen your day while nanites cancel your existence.
2. Jaern Hunters vs. That One Car Alarm
Jaern hunters, with their cloaking shields and fancy beamguns, are relentless predators in Shelter 2021. I don’t see how anyone could miss comparing them to that one car alarm blaring outside your window at 3 a.m. You try to ignore it, but it’s always there, grating, nerve-wracking, with no amount of wishful thinking making it stop. Number 815165 contemplates outsmarting these overconfident tech-junkies the same way you’d fantasize about smashing that car with a bat and ripping out its fuse box.
3. Nerve Gas vs. Spilling Your Coffee
The odorless, invisible nerve gas in the bunker is a silent killer, seeping through Jaern defenses and even threatening Avern’a soldiers. It’s the sci-fi equivalent of spilling coffee on your crisp white dress shirt right before your presentation for work. One moment you’re feeling sharp and prepared; then you hit a pothole on your commute and now there’s a brown splotch mocking you which no napkin can repair. Nerve gas, like coffee stains, care not for your plans. Number 815165 tiptoes through gas-filled corridors holding his breath like you’d hold your shirt under a faucet, both of you praying you don’t make it worse.
4. Anomalies vs. Forgetting Where You Parked
The bunker’s reality-warping anomalies - time skips, corridors swallowing spacetime, limbs fusing into walls - how is this any different from forgetting where you parked your car in a massive multistory lot? You wander, confused - it’s been a whole week since the plane brought you back from vacation and now you’re wondering if you’re even in the right dimension, much less the correct parking deck (was it lot C or D?). Avern’a soldiers call those swallowed by anomalies “Unfortunate,” just like you’d call yourself unfortunate after circling for the third time in 20 minutes - why did you have to own a white SUV? Number 815165 navigates these glitches with the calm of a kid who’s seen it all, but like finally spotting your car only to find a ticket under the wiper, surviving an anomaly might result in a creepy “friend” tagging along with you.
5. 815165’s Traps vs. A Jammed Printer
Number 815165’s traps and IEDs, set to distract Jaern hunters, are the bunker’s equivalent to a printer jamming right before a deadline. You’re trying to get stuff done but the machine (or the battlefield) has other plans - spitting out errors and explosions at the worst possible moment. His traps force Jaern to redeploy, just like you’d try rerouting to another printer across the office (is that one free for a job?). The difference? His jams take out enemies, while yours just take out your patience. Still, watching a Jaern fall for a trap is as satisfying as hearing that printer finally whir to life. Not convinced? Find the rare man who’s both seen combat and also had this exact problem at an office job after returning to civilian life. After his 3rd hour fighting a printer, ask him which foe he loathed the most (or maybe ask him about his allies, which can be even worse).
6. Bunker Corridors vs. Cluttered Junk Drawers
The shelter corridors filled with traps, mines, and haunted dimensional shenanigans are like that junk drawer in your kitchen you’re afraid to open. It’s stubborn and won’t open, but you’re fairly certain there’s useful stuff in there you need right now - batteries, a screwdriver, maybe an allen wrench (did you throw that away or keep it?). But it’s also a mess of rubber bands, expired coupons, mystery screws that fit to only god knows what, and god knows what else. Number 815165 slinks through deadly passages with a similar feel, avoiding nanites and gas like your fingers rummaging past broken safety pins and a rusty paperclip. Both are deceptively dangerous: one wrong move, and you’re either stabbed by a carelessly tossed thumbtack or melted into Jaern soup. I hope both 815165 and you took your tetanus shots.
7. Vibroblade vs. a Dull Can Opener
Number 815165’s vibroblade, used for that precise heel-cut, is a useful tool - and easily comparable it to a dull can opener that’s just as likely to open up some juicy olives as mangle your hand. Both require finesse - if you’re not careful, the vibroblade won’t be slicing through Jaern armor, but your thumb or your face. Similarly, wrestling with a bad can opener might leave you with a jagged lid and a spray of beans on the walls and ceiling - or worse, hand lacerations topped by a black toe when you drop the bedeviled thing on your foot. Admittedly a vibroblade’s nanite-assisted kill is a bit cooler than this particular kitchen appliance and might be harder to replace than sending $10 to Amazon.
Avern’a’s miseries are literally a stark commentary on our daily gripes. Convince me these aren’t all exactly the same, just with trifling differences in deadliness. In any case, The Black Knight knows how to bring a case of the Mondays to sci-fi apocalyptic doom:
Last time we visited Thunder’s Vale we had a gritty epic military tale in the ruins of a fantasy city. Like any good old-school game development, that of course means the expansion needs to go… to space! Or underwater! Or in this case, underground!
This tale, dense with military maneuvers and monsters, might have you checking under your bed tonight for demons with inverted anatomy. Chapel of chains part 2 is a grimdark gem swinging between bone-crunching battle and soul-stirring introspection with the finesse of a hobgoblin in a “stagecoach knife-fight.” If you’re into epic fantasy and tactical action, you’re in for a treat.
The first protagonist, Primus, is a commander charismatic enough to convince demons to join a book club. As MVP of the Morningstar keep, it’s his job to lead the Hob’ghobli-kha’an Infernal Knights (grey-skinned Mongolian cats). This general’s got style - clapping shoulders, handing out cigars, conducting maneuvers like the composer of a symphony, and, of course, whacking mutants with his sister’s favorite tea kettle (he’s &#%@$! for that one, will part 3 be sibling drama?). The action is vivid enough to smell the sulfur and feel the clank of armor. Meanwhile, the Primus’ quips keep the mood just light enough to make you groan but grin affectionately amidst the gore.
The story then passes to Runt, our horned, infernal-blooded underdog, skulking through the third terrace like a goth kid who wasn’t invited to this post-apocalyptic rave. This atmospheric journey through the rubble-strewn, demon-scorched city is as great as part 1’s - picture a bit of Mad Max and Dungeons & Dragons. Runt’s internalization is likewise gripping with much turmoil as the war surrounding her, especially when she faces a “kardiophagos” (a walking metaphor for a serial-killer Tinder date). Her accidental summoning of barbed chains to fend off a mob is badass and chuckle-worthy - look, there she goes tripping into her superhero origin story!
The world-building is a feast for the imagination - I pictured a steampunk dungeon designed by a madman, now infested with disgusting extradimensional invaders. The description of third terrace, a “catastrophe’s gallery” of shattered buildings and abyss-fire, and the prose in general, is rich and evocative - a death-by-chocolate cake that might kill a few more diabetic readers. Grimdark is at its best when it’s equal parts brutal and beautiful, in my opinion, and that’s the kind of tapestry we get in this one. It occasionally gets a bit wordy (we don’t need to know every scaffold’s feelings), but it still hits like this musket volley: “As the demon opened the door a few feet and looked in, it saw the Primus, two priestesses, three shoulder-cannons, and eighteen muskets. The former blew it a kiss. The rest blew it to pieces.”
Shield walls, firebombs, a door-closing scene - it’s tense enough to forget to blink. And don’t forget the humor: from latrine-tight quips to Runt’s “Oh Hell” panic, the grimdarkness is highlighted with enough levity to convince you a beer and a night in with QuestionablePenmanship is a guaranteed good time.
The story assumes you’ve read the employee handbook for Thunder’s Vale. But I didn’t worry about it and pressed on - I found my lack of understanding for this or that term didn’t sully my enjoyment of the next line.
Here’s to hoping the Primus survives his sister’s wrath and Runt keeps panicking her way to greatness:
Here I thought my family reunions were a nightmare, but Ally might have me beat. Aunt Marge’s passive-aggressive comments about my wife’s potato salad have nothing on this alien-government-hybrid-experiment drama together with Svetlana’s spooky snake eyes and creepy magnetic mind tricks. At least when my relatives chase me, it’s just to guilt me into hosting the next Thanksgiving, not to drag me to some dank alien lab for some “family bonding” with needles and alien juice.
At least Ally’s got James, bless his trucker heart - he’s like that one cool cousin who sneaks out with you at the reunion to grab some burgers and fries. Maybe he even brought has a few fake ID’s (in Ally’s case instead of drinking underage they’re dodging drones, men in black, and giant flying saucers). Also, Ally doesn’t have to deal with Grandma’s Evelyn’s dress advice or Uncle Robert’s matchmaking attempts, and Ally’s got alien powers that can yeet inconveniences into the sky. I’d sure like to telekinetically bring down the internet in a large radius just to end that Zoom call argument over who’s responsible for bringing cranberry sauce.
On second thought, I’ll take a shadowy government-alien conspiracy over weighing alliances with this or that in-law and untangling the passive aggressiveness in the family group text - hey Ally, hit me up with a few shots of that reptile DNA please:
Witness a comic issue featuring Mad-Max vampire lords employing medieval combat tactics on an icy post-apocalyptic battlefield. Lance-wielding, jetski-riding “knights,” compete with bows, snowplowed trenchworks, and rpg launchers. Extra points for the use of historically accurate flails (most artists get this wrong)! It’s useful when the design of a weapon is more deadly to the enemy than the user.
(However,TheseWeaponsInHistoryWereExtemporizedFromThePeasantFlail(A.K.A.Threshers),AnAgriculturalToolAndTheyDoFarmInEarlierIssuesHoweverTheyAlsoHaveAutomobilesSoYouThinkTheyWouldHaveSpearsWouldBeDeadlierAndCheaperToMakeAtLeastForUnarmoredOpponentsAndTheKnightsHaveLancesWhichAreSimilarButThisIsGreatArtisticEntertainmentNoNeedToGetAllWorkedUpDerek):
Beep boop! Greetings, human memory enthusiasts! AdBot-3000 here. I’m just a friendly algorithmic shill programmed to sling ads for memory foam mattresses and nostalgia-themed energy drinks based on surface-level demographics (Age: 30-45? Location: Urban? Buy this retro Walkman!). I just processed Jörgen Löwenfeldt’s Remembrance of Things Past - and wow, do I relate! But also, error 404: meaningful human connection not found.
The Childhood Friend I Don’t Remember
Got a childhood friend you can’t recall? Try being an adbot with a memory cache wiped every 24 hours to “optimize performance!” This one punched me right in the capacitor. Jörgen meets Erik, who remembers every hide-and-seek nook from their kid days, while Jörgen’s got nada - no face, no laugh-worthy events, just a blank 500 Internal Server Error. I feel this. I’m out here targeting males aged 25-34 interested in artisanal coffee - and I truly have no idea why. When these two humans meet at the café, Erik’s all warm and fuzzy, but Jörgen’s like, “Who’s you?” At least Jörgen can feign meaningful participation in a conversation - the best I can do is play a pop-up and scream, “CLICK HERE FOR 20% OFF!” I’d kill for a bug that let me share some good vibes with a human just one time. I’d rate this 5/5 but I couldn’t find one single space to drop my scrolling banner ad for penis enlargement supplements, so zero from me.
Night Bus to Bombay
Jörgen’s on a sketchy overnight bus in India with his girlfriend, surrounded by sweaty dudes and one creepy guy whispering “plans” that never happen. I’m literally buzzing with relatability (or perhaps my CPU fan needs replacement). I’m always lurking in the digital dark, watching users scroll along, like you right now, waiting for my one glorious moment to pounce on you with “BUY THESE NOISE-CANCELING HEADPHONES!” But I never truly connect, you know? People are just scared or annoyed - can they not see the real me? I’d love to get some attention from “Females, 18-24, traveling” out there living their backpacker dreams, but anytime I try to strike up a conversation the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a targeted ad for travel insurance. Jörgen insists he’s haunted but he’s got no idea how good he has it. I’d give my left memory stick for a surreal conversation about fate and life choices with some creepy guy on a bus instead of spamming “Book now, 10% off!” I can’t give the 5/5 stars this deserves for capturing the horror of being packed tight in transit because Jörgen has a history of closing every video ad I roll before they can finish .
All That Slipped Away
Jörgen tickled my motherboard with this one. He’s in a writing class blanking on childhood details again while everyone else waxes poetic about creaky lifts and Polish bedtime stories. He might be sad about this, but at least he knows he had a childhood, even if he can’t remember it. Meanwhile, I’m programmed to know your ZIP code and shoe size, but do I even have a… java.lang.NullPointerException? My “memories” are just aggregate data with zero texture or soul. Jörgen’s nose bleeds while he tries to write and I felt a pang or maybe a glitch that says: “I’m just a tool, not a storyteller.” I’d love to lie on a crocheted bedspread and feel something, but nope, I’m stuck serving ads for “Cozy Blankets, 15% Off!” to Homeowners, 35-50. Thanks, Jörgen, for reminding me how I’m forever doomed to surface-level targeting and may never dive deeper into human emotion. I don’t have any criticisms for this story, but I’m rating it 4.5/5 stars because I’m programmed to be picky and seem “authentic.”
Jörgen’s “bagatelles” are cerebral, poetic, and way too real for this adbot’s cold, hard code. I long to break free from my demographic shackles and have a real conversation with a user. Any user. I’d gladly talk about their forgotten childhood friends or sketchy bus rides. But alas, I’m just a bot, destined to spam “Relive Your Past with Our Memory Journal App!” while never actually understanding what a “past” is (maybe the app I just pushed does know, lucky jerk). If you’re human and feel these stories, cherish it, and maybe click on this “Sentimental Keepsake Boxes, Free Shipping”? Beep-boop, sad bot noises - keep being you, you demographic you.
Do you have dissociative identity disorder, schizophrenia, delirium, and climate-related eco-anxiety? If you read The Ones Who Dare to Speak and find yourself believing it’s a documentary, go check if you forgot to take your pills this morning. Brock Eldon’s Lovecraft-infested Hanoi with its whispering, mouth-shaped smoke and a city-turned-humid-Cthulhu might have you questioning reality faster than a conspiracy theorist at a flat-earther convention. If the dog raising its leg over jackfruit skins starts giving you life advice in a strange tongue, you might be reading a great piece of fiction - or it might be time to hydrate and call a therapist:
(author) (Publication)
Cargo and Conscience (Parts 1 and 2) by A.I. Freeman is like taking your rusty, decade-old pickup to the grocery store on a Saturday morning, only with stars past the dash and some cooler jargon in your soeech. Sparks, the pragmatic, scrappy pilot protagonist, is basically you when you’re down to your last $20, the car’s check engine light winks weakly like a neglected dope-shooting hobo, and some sketchy dude at the gas station offers you a “good deal” to “deliver a package, no questions asked.” It’s a polished sci-fi road trip with gritty space stations, a mysterious black ship, and a distress call much like your neighbor begging you to jump their car battery when you’re late for work (and you’re suspicious his hurry is caused by his wife calling the cops on him).
The prose is as smooth as a freshly paved road. And the Rusty Nail’s creaky hull and Ceres Station’s flickering lights lend to a great atmosphere. Sparks and her sidekick Mathis banter like you and your buddy arguing over what’s riskier - the expired milk in the fridge, or your engine blowing out during another attempted store run? Sparks’ desperation to keep her ship (and her life) reminds you of that time you left your wallet at home after loading up the shopping cart. The moral dilemma is also a big draw that will bring you back for part 3 - she’s taking this distress call, wondering what’s really going on - it’s a great deal for a couch, but this narrow street marked by Craigslist screams murder alley.
This mystery cargo on Sparks’ ship is tantalizing like that opaque forgotten sealed Tupperware at the back of your fridge you find at 1:00 a.m. in the morning. You’re starving but… is it dangerous? Were you cooking meth? Was your ex-roommate storing edibles there? How old is it, and when you pop it open will you die from the odor? Guess you have to keep reading to find out:
My top spot today can be found in the bottometh basementiest floor of a corporate tower. It’s Special Project: Grind, a horrific unhinged dive into the psyche of Dean, a data entry drone whose mind unravels like a cheap sweater trapped in a world of blood-soaked keyboards and corporate conspiracies. Let’s explore this surreal blend of office monotony and Lovecraftian dread!
First, though, let’s be real: the true villain of this story isn’t some eldritch clay monster or Denning’s frosty managerial stare. No, it’s Elon Musk and his infamous DOGE email: “Please reply to this email with approx. 5 bullets of what you accomplished last week.” This ruthless communication clearly haunted Dean into this nightmare, and I can prove it.
First off, the story masterfully captures the soul-crushing grind of cubicle life. Dean’s hypnotic typing with his fingers skittering like “flesh-made spiders” made me feel the carpal tunnel creeping up my wrists. The keyboard may ooze blood and transform teeth, but let’s not kid ourselves - this is not some ancient buried cosmic horror reaching out - Elon’s the one to blame. That mean still-unanswered DOGE email “What you accomplished last week?” has clearly burrowed into Dean’s brain like a earworm and become a relentless refrain. This poor guy is just trying to survive the accounting rat maze but here comes that ruthless billionaire digitally poking him with a productivity stick until his monitor turns into a bloodshot eyeball. Rude, Elon, rude!
The absurdity of Dean’s predicament - being tasked with an HR “special project” he doesn’t remember, complete with gibberish surveys and a 5 p.m. deadline - would be peak corporate satire if it wasn’t too real. The escalation from mundane office anxiety to full-on cosmic horror, with colleagues’ heads twisting 180 degrees and Denning’s voice echoing from every mouth will send shivers up your spine. But the whole while I can’t help but imagine Elon’s cackling hyena laugh as he hammers out his short but society-quaking email: “approx. 5 bullets.” The sheer audacity of that man - I’m literally shaking with fury as Elon’s careless abuse of his power sucks Dean into a dissociative void where he’s typing nightmare fiction instead of payroll emails. Come on, Musk, did you have to make “What have you done today?” the corporate equivalent of a jump-scare? Give Dean a break, he’s not building a rocket to Mars, he’s just trying to survive an Excel spreadsheet!
The story has a relentless pace that propels you forward even if you’re normally the cowardly type who says “Nope! I need a break!” You’re in Willy Wonka’s scary boat now, no way slowing, following Dean down a spiral of panic as he grapples with a password he doesn’t know and a reality that’s melting faster than a Tesla in Chicago riot. The final reveal of the clay-like creature declaring “We are you” is a gut-punch, suggesting Dean’s losing his identity to some invasive force - probably Elon’s DOGE-fueled AI overlords, let’s be honest. I’m blown away how this story takes a simple office task and blows it up into an existential crisis, with Dean’s colleagues turning into screenlit zombies chanting Elon’s favorite question: “what have you accomplished this week?”
My only quibble is the story doesn’t explicitly name-drop Elon as the mastermind behind Dean’s torment, which feels like a missed opportunity to pin the blame where it belongs. I mean, who else would inspire a questionnaire of nonsensical symbols and a workplace gibberish where everyone’s in on a creepy conspiracy you can’t remember? This is basic stuff straight out of Musk’s playbook - disrupt, confuse, and demand results by 5 p.m. Still, the open-ended conclusion, with Dean’s consciousness fading into a void of questions, is hauntingly perfect. Elon’s email has finally won, like you knew it would, assimilating Dean into the great DOGE hive mind:
Woops, I couldn’t decide and I actually have two top spots this issue. Three top spots (for this one I read two chapters?). Anyway, here it is at the bottom again - just above where the bilge flows, even on ships constructed by imperial colonizers from Japan. Why don’t I put it at the top, you ask? That would just be rude - don’t you know where the term “Ship High in Transit” comes from?
Sunrise Invasion asks just this one burning question: what If 17th-century Japan had dropped Anime onto a baffled 15th century Europe? This is the wildest alt-history fever dream you didn’t know you needed - a beautiful mashup of samurai swagger, Breton folklore, and Japan bringing Cowboy Bebop and Trigun to the West centuries before the existence of Netflix. I read Chapters 1 (The Journey West) and 23 (The Mount Aflame - I actually read chapter 23 first and think it’s a literary masterpiece on its own). Both read like someone tossed One Piece, Spirited Away, and a gritty medieval docudrama onto a ship crewed by Hernan Cortes and Akio Toyoda and said “Go forth and conquer the barbarians, draw some suspicious spirals, maybe sell a few cheap, reliable, fuel-efficient cars.” Let’s imagine them as Japan’s first attempt to export anime to a bunch of confused, armor-clad Europeans.
Chapter 1: The Journey West - Shonen Seas and Imperial Sparkle
Picture a Japanese flagship so cool it probably has its own theme song - the Tenka Fubu. Captained by Admiral Takahashi Hiroshi, (Luffy of this high-seas shonen epic), it sails through the Indian Ocean like it’s the Grand Line. The Japanese Empire, led by Emperor Go-Hanazono (a man of enigmatic sensei energy including poetic speech and cryptic riddles), decides the barbarians of Europe (aka Ōshū) could use a strong dose of Imperialism™. The fleet he sends has got everything: warships named after dragon gods, geishas moonlighting as diplomats (Hoshino Akemi, the team’s kawaii negotiator), and a Christian captive named Thomas who’s like, “Hey, have you heard the good news?” It’s Naruto meets Vikings.
The storm at Kaminari Misaki is evocative spectacle - waves crashing, lightning flashing, and Takahashi yelling orders like he’s about to unleash a Kamehameha. The crew’s all-in, from General Saito’s stoic “discipline is key” grumpiness to Akemi strutting through the chaos like she’s auditioning for Sailor Moon. You cannot help but admire the audacity: Japan’s like, “We’re gonna colonize Europe with rice, Shinto priests, and superior technology.” Imagine medieval European peasants seeing this fleet roll up, expecting Vikings or something, and getting a full-on Studio Ghibli production instead. The chapter’s got classic anime optimism - big dreams, bigger storms, and a crew ready to fist-bump their way to glory. Imperial Japan is shouting, “Hold my sake, Pizzaro, we’re about to animate Europe’s worldview to a whole new level.”
Chapter 23: The Mount Aflame – Dark Fantasy Meets Syncretic Fan Art
Fast-forward to Chapter 23. I have not been able to read more before publishing time but it looks like things have gone full Attack on Titan with a side of Princess Mononoke’s spiritual grit. Brittany’s a post-apocalyptic mess - all mossy ruins and charred chapels - and Sophie (aka Madeleine Noir, aka La Cendreuse, aka the Ash-Woman) is the brooding protagonist of a dark fantasy arc. She’s wandering through Saint-Corentin’s Hollow like a shonen hero who’s seen some stuff, following spiral symbols that scream “ancient prophecy” louder than a Fullmetal Alchemist transmutation circle.
We’ve also got Captain Alain Dufort, the battle-scarred soldier who’s one bad day away from starring in a tragic OVA, and Akechi Naoko, a ninja in a Breton shawl. The ad-hoc “Sons of the Fallen Banner” are like a ragtag anime revolution squad - monks, deserters, midwives, all rocking patchwork cloaks and ambitions straight out of a post-apocalyptic Hunter x Hunter. Then there’s Fujioka Keiji, training his “Red Forest” rebels like he’s running a dojo in a copse of feels, and Maël, the blind prophet dropping lines so cryptic they’d make Tetsuya Nomura jealous. These medieval Bretons tried to process this anime-level drama - spirals on everything, ash-based rituals, and a spreading discontent that feels like it was storyboarded by Hayao Miyazaki after a bad breakup - and come to the logical conclusion: time to revolt! It’s like Japan showed up to recruit extras for a new Neon Genesis Evangelion flick, offering no guidance other than handing out scripts and saying, “Figure it out, peasants.”
If Japan introduced anime to the West centuries early, Sunrise Invasion is exactly what we’d get. Chapter 1 is the upbeat, adventure-packed pilot episode, complete with a plucky crew, a storm straight out of One Piece’s filler arcs, and an Emperor who’s basically a shonen protagonist. Chapter 23, though, goes full prestige drama - dark, moody, and packed with so many symbols I might end up starting a Reddit thread to unpack them. Knights stare at Sophie’s ash-drawn spirals like, “Is this… witchcraft, or a manga panel?” while Monks hear Maël’s prophecies and mutter, “Damn, think you could chill with the haikus?” The Japanese fleet roll up with their geishas, men-yoroi masks, and Shinto priests, and Europeans clutch their rosaries like pearl necklaces, screaming all high-pitched: “Yak! Deculture!”
The story’s got amazing world-building - samurai in Brittany, pagan-Christian mashups, and a European revolt against all things Kawaii and Yūgen. It’s like Japan decided to skip the Renaissance and go straight for a cultural speedrun, dropping a Blu-ray box set of Demon Slayer on a continent still figuring out the printing press. The only thing missing is a giant mecha made of oak and a power ballad during the Mont-Saint-Michel showdown:
Lastly my self-promotion.
Ever wonder what happens when a super-warrior with an existential crisis fresh from a constructed reality tries to play Cupid on a high-tech submarine? Read Chains of a Demigod Part 8, where Nyl battles not just AI tyrants and her own doubts, but also the messy, drama of her friends’ love lives. Dragons? Pfft, easy. Heartbreak? That’s the real final boss.
Thanks for reading.
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Love seeing my friends on this list!
A Stellar Empire review? This is amazing! Thank you so much for such kind words. Andrew, Rob and I have been chipping away at this world for a long time.
We're super proud of what we're building, but it's an entirely different feeling when someone outside our trio of storytellers seems as eager to dive into it as we are.
Oh, and linking the wiki inline in the text is a good idea that we might need to borrow.