Commodore James Tanner paced the deck of The Royal Sovereign, Flagship of his Flotilla of two First Rate ships of the line, a hundred guns plus each. It was his first posting as Commodore, all he had to do was sink one poxy pirate Brig and it would not be his last. He had dragged himself up the greasy pole of command the hard way, and would not brook failure.

"Ship Sighted sir! Tis the Jackdaw!" Came the cry from the mainmast. The lookout was a Devon poacher with eyes sharper than the hawks whose nests he raided. Tanner put his telescope to his eye and confirmed the report. The rickety little ship was stupid enough to sail right for them! He'd be Admiral by Christmas.

"Mr Inch, a shilling for that man! Mr Dalby, make signal to Sandford on Fearless, close action! We'll crush this Kenway between us!" Inch hastened to obey, he was a well loved and effective Captain. Tanner liked him as well as any man he had sailed with.

The two ships, pride of His majesty's navy made full sail for the pirate. He almost felt sorry for Kenway. Tanner had had his men heat their heavy shot. Suddenly, the sky lit up.

"They're firing mortars!" Sure enough, long before Royal Sovereign was in range of the smaller ship, flaming, explosive shells were raining down upon her deck, instantly transforming it from an orderly crew to a butcher's parlour.

"WHAT? Why don't we have mortars? We're twice their size! How can we allow them to outgun us?" Nonetheless, there was nothing to be done that to continue to make for them. Fearless was positioned just perfectly so that the mortar toting brig would have to face both their broadsides at once, with no room to run.

Tanner's morale returned as Jackdaw sailed neatly into the killing zone. He laughed to himself as he could see the ship's guns were made of solid gold. What kind of material was that for a cannon?

"BY THE MARK, FIRE!" Came the voice of Mr Weigell, the Second Lieutenant, and master of Royal Sovereign's armament. The man was deaf from years in his trade, but his voice carried clear enough.

All too clear, it would turn out. Jackdaw turned on the head of a pin, so they could rake it down the stern. This should be a killing blow.

Alas, for some reason both Royal Sovereign and Fearless did'nt just fire the guns pointed at Jackdaw, but every gun on the broadside at once, so the two consorts raked each other as badly as the pirate. The decks of the ship filled with the howls of the maimed and dying.

"WHAT THE HELL! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL! WHY WON'T YOU FIRE IN SECTIONS DAMN YOUR EYES! YOU'LL SWING FOR THIS WEIGELL, YOU AND THAT THRICE CURSED FOOL SANDFORD TOO!"* and worse was to come, for Captain Inch desperately noted that the men on Jackdaw had ducked, meaning of course their ship was barely scratched.

"DUCKED? DUCKED? AM I GOING STARK RAVING MAD? PLEASE, WILL SOMEONE TELL ME WHY IN ALL MY YEARS AT SEA, I WAS NEVER INFORMED THAT CROUCHING BEHIND YOUR WOODEN SHIP PROTECTS IT FROM DAMAGE? CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN HOW THIS ESCAPED ME? AT THE LEAST, CAN OUR MARKSMEN NOT SHOOT FOR THEIR CAPTAIN?"

But the marksmen stood there like lemons. They would not fire their rifles unless boarded for some reason that eluded Tanner. Didn't want to get their uniforms dirty or something?

And then Jackdaw struck back. She unleashed Chain shot into the side of fearless, stopping it dead.

"WHAT? THEY HIT THE HULL! THE HULL! WITH CHAIN SHOT! WHY, FOR THE LOVE OF SWEET MARY, DOES THAT PREVENT THAT HANGDOG BASTARD OF A POST CAPTAIN FROM SAILING HIS BLASTED SHIP?" Tanner's blood pressure was now almost as much a danger as the Jackdaw, as it unloaded shot after shot, and before long, the Fearless was sunk, and Kenway's rogues fished 10,000 Spanish reales from the wreck without even slowing or having to launch boats. Tanner stared aghast. The Fearless had been a perfect example of his craft, the pride of his Majesty's Royal Navy. Placed under his command, and now it was driftwood. Win or lose, Tanner's career was over.

"RIGHT, FUCK IT! LET'S JUST BLOODY WELL RAM THEM SHALL WE? WHY NOT? WHY THE FUCK NOT? BY ALL THE SAINTS, MAKE STRAIGHT FOR THEM!" The Royal Sovereign, reduced to a medieval battering ram. But Tanner's woes would not end there. The Jackdaw simply tossed kegs of powder into the sea behind them, which for some reason blew up on impact when the first rater plowed into them.

"HOW? BY GOD'S TEETH HOW? THERE WAS NO FUSE! NO FUSE! NO DETONATOR! GUNPOWDER SHOULD NOT BE TRIGGERED BY SIMPLE IMPACT!" Tanner howled as his ship went to the bottom.

I live in Steelport, which should already tell you I’m a fucking idiot. I’m nearly hit by cars every day. I’m lucky if gimps and furries don’t try to murder me on the streets. Every day living here feels like The Purge on LSD. But, maybe out of some kind of stubborn arrogance, I wanted to make it work somehow. So one day, I decided I’d be much safer with a gun, and went to a Friendly Fire.

The name of the gun store was already a bit concerning, but I figured it was better than Rim Jobs. On my way to the store, I saw a man sprinting through traffic, wearing nothing but nipple pasties and a thong. You know what’s funny? I thought it was a relatively classy move. He could’ve just been naked.

I entered the store and began browsing. It was one of those rare moments where everything actually felt normal. The store looked mostly like a normal gun store. Nothing was exploding. Nobody was being lit on fire.

But then I heard a scream from outside. It was a sound I’d heard many times before. The unmistakable cry of pain someone makes when they’re punched in the dick. In walks the man in the thong, who I then recognized from the news. It was the butcher of Stillwater. Avid collector of blow up dolls and aggressive activist against non-bruised genitalia. Enthusiast of cosmetic surgery that only seemed to make him look uglier and fatter. He casually strolled up to the counter while holding a rocket launcher. The store owner, a greasy-looking bald man with a mustache, shook the butcher’s hand eagerly and thanked him for purchasing the store moments ago. He asked him some business-related questions, which the butcher had absolutely no interest in answering.

The butcher had an almost bored look on his face when he asked for a dildo bat. As in, a giant dildo that could be used as a bat, and was also purple. I’d never heard of such a thing. I’d also never heard of dildos being sold in a gun shop. Heavily disassociating, I stared at a wall and looked for whatever computer code might be seeping through the cracks.

The owner pulled out a giant dildo bat that was the exact right shade of purple. I couldn’t tell if he’d been keeping it for a customer, or if it was a personal item. It was probably both, actually. The butcher started twerking joyfully. When the butcher finally took the bat from the owner’s hands, he immediately turned around and swung it at a customer, an old man who collapsed immediately. Swing after swing, his blood splattered all over the walls of the store. The store owner grinned, satisfied. I decided far too late that this was not the right store, or the right planet for me.

I tried to tell the police. Said that I would, in fact, testify that I had genuinely seen someone be killed by a giant dildo. They laughed it off, and told me that people could be legally murdered on gameshows, so this was a non-issue.

I’ve been hearing there’s a new STAG initiative that’s meant to clean these streets up. I was optimistic at first, until I heard they were using jets with laser beams. I figure that the butcher will find a way to make one shaped like a dildo, so things are only going to get worse.

So I'm from Mexico and there is this thing called "Horizon Festival". It's annoying as hell, you see supercars flying, and crashes are a common thing here.

Anyways I was in Guanajuato to buy something for my daughter because it was her birthday. I finished, and I drove out of Guanajuato towards my home in Mulege. When I got into the highway I saw some supercars and hypercars going towards me. Just your average street race. When I tried to avoid one, I accidentally hit another, ramming him and causing him to lose control and crash at like 300kph. My car did not sustain damage nor I got injured fortunately. I got home safely. AITA?

I work in Gotham city. I got let go from my job. Brother in law says he can get me a gig packing shipments into crates. Accept because I'm less than a month away from being homeless with my wife and kids.

Once I get there it turns out to be drugs. I don't agree with it but I've got a family to support. I just pack the product.

One night a PTSD ridden trust fund kid with gear that costs the GDP of some countries flies through a window and punches me in the throat before I could surrender.

Bankrupt from the hospital fees and now my family is homeless. The Wayne foundation should put a bounty on this dickhead

So I have a new partner, Cole Phelps. He’s new to the Vice Department. Actually, he’s pretty new to detective work in general. I think it’s a little funny that he’s been promoted about 3 times after working only about 10 cases, when other detectives haven’t been promoted in years, but what can I say, the kid has talent. Most of the time.

See, one of Cole’s many flaws, aside from volume control, losing his temper with old ladies, and cheating on his wife with a random broad that he was screaming at only moments earlier- anyway, one of Cole’s flaws is that he lacks common sense. We were on a case having to do with morphine. Right, I know, sounds like all our cases. The real issue was this time, Mickey’s goons were gunning people down. We put some of those thugs down quick, and then get a call about another shooting elsewhere. I go to hop back in the car, when I see Cole running the opposite direction.

I think, ‘Okay, maybe the kid found some sort of clue we missed. It better be important.’ So I follow him.

Cole then gets into a random dump truck loaded with barrels. He smirks at me and says,

“You can drive. I need to go over the case notes.”

I stand there for a minute, thinking he must be joking. But Cole doesn’t budge. For the sake of urgency, I get in, and I’m surprised to see some dope had actually left the keys in the ignition. It was almost like Cole had staged this.

I start hauling this thing to the shooting, wondering what the hell Cole could know that I didn’t. Was there some sort of point to this? In the meantime, Cole drew penises in his sketchbook and giggled. To be honest, it was better that I drive. Cole is a terrible driver and frankly puts everyone’s lives in danger any time he gets behind a wheel. I can’t even imagine him driving a truck.

We pull up to the shooting and many of our men were already there engaged in a firefight; they got there much sooner than us, I’m sure. One of them gave me a funny look as I stepped out the truck.

We get through the shitshow no worse for wear, but as we head out, Cole jumps into another patrolman’s car. I walk over to tell him to knock it off, and he leans over the window and- this kid, he seriously tells me:

“You can drive. You know the way.”

The shit eating grin on his face. I’ll never forget it. I can just picture him getting demoted to Arson soon. I hope he has a wonderful time trying to get evidence from burnt pieces of wood. I guess if anyone could do it, it might just be him, the nutcase that he is.

I was eating fruitcake in my office one day when I got a call. I was shocked, since basically nobody ever called. Nannies were not in high demand in Simcity. Besides, whenever someone did call, they expected a really mean British lady, and not a bearded middle-aged man. I was in crippling debt.

I picked up the phone and was shocked at who was calling- it was Ms. Terrific! The world-famous celebrity and simoleonaire.

She told me that my services had come highly recommended by a friend of hers, and that she was willing to hire me for zero dollars. She assured me that this was the standard rate she paid all of her staff- something about a “free services” reward, whatever that meant. I let her know that I was happy to work free of charge- I would basically get to hang out in her celebrity mansion for free! And maybe my business would get some much-needed exposure.

And so I arrived the next day, eager to get to work, only to find…Terrific had no kids. She had no children of any kind. I scratched my head, a little confused of what exactly I was being hired to do. Terrific was very kind regardless, introducing me to her girlfriend and fixing me a drink at her fancy bar. The three of us ended up watching a movie on her outdoor projector. There were garlic decorations everywhere for some reason, and the smell started to bother me, so I called it a night and left. I suppose I would’ve felt guilty, but to be fair, I wasn’t actually being paid anything.

The next day- when I was supposed to be working- Ms. Terrific invited me to a dinner party at her home. She told me that all the important sims in town would be there and that I was obligated to come. As a starving, um, “nanny”, it wasn’t like I was going to refuse.

When I arrived, Terrific welcomed me in like before, but I was surprised to see that her girlfriend was not around. In fact, barely anyone was. There was a seedy-looking, overweight woman with glasses who was wearing a tank top and shorts that were way too small. She had greasy cornrows and seemed like she hadn’t showered in days. There was only one other guest: a skinny, pale man who wore a red velvet tuxedo. He seemed extremely uncomfortable and was sweating profusely and squinting, as though he couldn’t handle the light. There was also a hired entertainer, but he went off to perform standup in another room. To no one.

I was starting to feel like my organs were going to be stolen tonight, when Terrific suddenly called us all to a meal that she’d already prepared. I had to admit, it was delicious. Terrific had made a creamy garlic pasta. We all made awkward conversation as we ate, as none of us had been introduced to each other and had no clue what our relations to Terrific were… uh, if any.

The man in the tuxedo wasn’t much for conversation, and seemed like he was going to throw up; he quickly left for the bathroom. I was left alone with the other two, and became a bit uncomfortable as they began, um, winking and blowing kisses at each other. It wasn’t long before they were making out and then discussing that they’d like to have children together. I decided to make myself a drink at the bar while they gave each other foot massages in the other room. I felt bad for the comedian, who was surely questioning his life choices as much as I was.

Later, the man in the bathroom came out and complained that he hadn’t had any plasma in hours. He told me this as loud sex noises erupted from upstairs. I looked at him, blinked, shook my head, and walked out the door. I figured Ms. Terrific wouldn’t notice I was gone, and I was correct in that assumption.

I didn’t show up again and Ms. Terrific didn’t say anything at first, but suddenly called me a week later, requesting my services once again. I arrived, worried what might happen if I didn’t, and met Terrific and her original girlfriend, who was apparently now her wife. With a guilty conscience, I considered informing her of her Terrific’s infidelity. That was before Terrific introduced me to her other three girlfriends.

I had been expecting a childless home once again, but was brought upstairs to find 4 babies screaming. They sounded like they hadn’t been fed in days. Terrific and her girlfriends started to breastfeed and cradle them, and I once again wondered what my job was supposed to be. I decided to go watch a movie, because apparently that’s all they wanted me to do.

When I went back upstairs, the babies looked years older. They were suddenly walking and talking. That was it. I had to be on some kind of celebrity prank show, surely? What the hell was going on?

Ms. Terrific entered a rocketship in her front yard and I decided it was time to leave once again. I never came back and never returned the multiple calls that I would get from her at 2AM every Saturday. To this day, I sometimes wonder if the whole thing was some sort of fever dream.

I heard from a friend of mine that there was a new super cool arcade in town, so I decided to stop by. When I parked, it just looked like a laundromat, and I was totally confused. I walked in and the place smelled like ass, and there was garbage everywhere- pizza boxes (who eats pizza at a laundromat?) coffee cups, and even dirty socks. Then on a door in the back, I saw a sketchy sign labeled “arcade”.

I walked in, half expecting to be kidnapped. The place was dimly lit and smelled like rotten pizza, and there were a few broken televisions inside. I saw a girl pulling used gum off a table with her bare hands, which was completely disgusting. There were only 3 arcade games in there- one of them was called “racer chaser” and was some shitty knockoff of pac man. I played it for a few minutes before getting bored.

When I went to use the bathroom it completely reeked, so I stepped back out. Then I saw the girl from before rush in and slam a plunger into the toilet. The bathroom door was open, and I watched her splash toilet water everywhere as she aggressively plunged like a total maniac. Finally I heard a flush, and she rushed back out without washing her hands.

I went back to playing a video table hockey game, which was pretty lame without anyone to play with. It was also pretty uncomfortable as the silent girl dragged a trash bag around, collecting empty bottles that littered the floor. She also rudely pushed me off the game at some point so she could play.

I went to go play the only other game, a candy crush knockoff. Out of morbid curiosity, I glanced over to see what the girl was doing now, and she was flicking cockroaches off some kind of motherboard. I wanted to puke. Eventually she played some music on a jukebox nearby that sounded like Nickelback. She kept playing the same song over and over, which I took as my cue to leave.

As I was leaving, I watched her sprint into the laundry room to manhandle other people’s laundry, throwing it in all different washing and drying machines. Again, with her bare hands, she was touching people’s used thongs. She didn’t utter a word as I left, not a “have a nice day”, not even a glance in my direction. It was like I didn’t exist.

Safe to say, that was the least radical “arcade paradise” I’ve ever been in. I won’t be coming back.

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I was waiting for a friend, and even though it was in the evening, I decided to pop into a nearby coffee shop. I was a bit surprised the place was open at all, and figured it must be closing soon. I came in, expecting that it might be a moment before someone would come up to the counter- but as soon as I walked in, a man was already there, wearing an apron, staring at me.

I took a seat at the bar and glanced at my phone. Damn. No text back yet. It was then that I heard heavy breathing. I glanced up, and the barista had a furrowed brow, and looked frustrated. Right. I guess I hadn’t ordered yet. I asked for some tea, and this seemed to calm him down. I watched him pour milk into a cup, and then run it through an espresso machine. With a beaming smile, he then handed me a cup of boiling hot milk. I was feeling a little uneasy at this point, and decided it wasn’t worth arguing over. The drink wasn’t really important anyway. I just needed to kill some time.

I scrolled twitter for a bit until I heard heavy breathing again. I looked at the barista, and then their name tag, and then the barista again. I paused. No way this could be real.

“Orville Redenbacher? Are you actually the Orville Redenbacher?”

The barista grinned. He had the iconic bow tie, the glasses, the curly gray hair. Only, his eyes were bloodshot. Maybe he’d had too much coffee. He explained that he had gotten tired of making popcorn, and decided to open a coffee shop at night.

“But aren’t you supposed to be dead?” I asked.

Orville’s smile vanished, and he looked away grimly. “We don’t talk about that here.”

I had already lost interest and gone back to my phone, when another customer came in, a dark-haired woman. Orville greeted them warmly, and they asked for an espresso. Orville winked, and made them a hot chocolate “with extra lemon.”

The customer didn’t complain, other then to point out that Orville had gone a bit heavy with the lemon. They insisted that the drink was “not bad.” This didn’t seem to go over well with Orville. I could seem him wringing his hands behind the counter, as if he wanted to strangle someone. Through gritted teeth, he replied,

“Noted.”

Orville stared at the woman, and then back at me, and back at the woman. He kept clearing his throat and coughing awkwardly. It seemed like maybe he wanted us to make conversation. Since all I had was steamed milk to entertain myself, I decided to ask Orville some questions about his remarkable life, but he would only give vague, mysterious answers. When I asked why he owned a coffee shop where he apparently refused to sell actual coffee, he was visibly annoyed and answered that it wasn’t important.

A third customer came in, a bearded man, and Orville didn’t greet him, possibly expecting that he would strike up a conversation with the other two customers. He didn’t, and it was awkward. Orville seemed happy nonetheless, until the customer asked for a latte, and Orville whined that now he would need to check his “Brewpad.”

The customer waited about ten minutes while Orville scrolled on his phone, reading instructions out loud like he was trying to build IKEA furniture. The bearded man looked at me as if to say, “Is this normal?” I shrugged.

Orville made a few different lattes, but would dump them out when he realized he hadn’t drawn a perfect penis in the foam art. Finally, he settled on steamed milk with mint and ginger. The man took one look at his drink, told Orville to go fuck himself, then walked out without paying. Orville was unfazed, and explained out loud- to no one in particular- that if he was in it for the money, he would’ve stayed in the popcorn business.

I finished my milk and got up to leave. The calm music that had been playing in the background suddenly stopped. I could feel Orville’s eyes burning a hole through me as a I reached for the door. I turned to say goodbye, and Orville’s face was flushed red with rage, his veins jutting out. He was cutting ginger aggressively. I decided it was best to just leave.

“Mithrandir has ordered a retreat. We’re cut off.”

It was the first full sentence I’d actually listened to for a day and half. Maybe even the first I’d actually heard since then. I looked down at my hands; even with my gloves on, the constant drawing of my bow and nipping of arrows had left them bloody. I looked to my left and right, at my comrades. Gondorians all, but so young.

I had heard the gate collapse, seen the orcs flood in. I’d assumed we’d push them back. I suppose I was wrong.

The baying of the Mordor horde was getting closer. I checked my quiver and found it empty. In the distance, I heard him; Mithrandir, ‘Gandalf,’ yelling “Fall back! To the second level!”

That didn’t really help us first level gate guards, did it?

I’d been issued a short sword when I started as an archer. I didn’t really know how to use it.

I could hear the snarls of the orcs as they slaughtered their way up the staircase to our position.

“Well,” I said to the guys as they drew their own weapons, “Fuck it, I guess.”

I pray this letter makes it back to my homeland, to show the citizens of the empire the truth of this endless war. My name is Olive Oilus. I am one of 15,000 nameless, faceless human cannon fodder of the Southern Empire's great army, currently engaged in a bloody campaign (one might call it a genocide) to conquer the desert lands of the Aserai to the south.

I am thousands of miles from my home in Vostrum, where I was dumb enough to join the ranks of the army as an imperial recruit. Rhagae, empress of the Southern empire, had just declared war on 3 different countries at the same time because she is a dumbass and her lords were going form town to town, desperately trying to build the ranks of their armies to prepare for the inevitable invasions. I was 18 years old and wanted to see the world, so I signed up for the army and underwent my rigorous training of hitting a practice dummy with my gardening hoe for an hour. I was given no armor. I was given nothing, except an injured donkey to ride on as my army marched out of the city.

My commanding lord is a 7 foot tall, bald headed, scar faced lunatic called Lord Chad Dominus. I insist on this being a fake name but I've been told never to bring that up. He is a cruel, unforgiving bastard. For example, we marched the entire 500 mile journey to the Aserai desert without resting and only subsisting on fish. The only times we stopped in to a town was so Lord Chad could recruit some more troops or to work on his swords at the blacksmith. He makes swords that, for some unknown reason, merchants are willing to pay their entire life's savings for. Apparently, he is the richest man in the entire empire. Anyways, we march and march until we reached the hot unforgiving desert.

My first battle should have been my last. We came across a Aserai lord with 100 men in his army. They were highly trained, armored, killing machines who had much more experience than us, and yet, Lord Chad saw fit to line up us infantrymen and charge us straight up the middle. I was so scared I soiled my pants. We ran at the line of men in their shining golden armor and swung our gardening tools as hard as we could, only managing to kill a few of them before they unleashed hell and killed half of the front line in seconds. The few experienced troops we had luckily charged through and pushed them back, while our archers finished them off. At the end of it I found myself covered in blood that wasn't mine, looking at the mangled corpses of my friends mixed with the dead enemy. And on a nearby hilltop I saw the brave Lord Chad, atop his armored horse, never having even moved an inch from when the battle started.

We have had almost a dozen battles since then, usually against various lords and some mercenary groups, and despite all our losses, our Lord Chad continues filling the gaps with fresh new recruits from any town he comes across. Our last battle was not against an enemy army, but against an innocent village. Lord Chad said there was a rebellion that started in the nearby city of Razih, and that the rebels keep recruiting their troops from the villages. So he sent us into the village and ordered us to slaughter the farmers and villagers who tried to stop us from burning it to the ground. We burned all of the villages in the area, even taking their fish to sustain our army. I will never forget seeing Lord Chad cutting down those unarmed peasants with his giant two handed sword. Their screams remain with me. Finally we found and captured the leaders of the rebellion, and Lord Chad executed every single one of them.

I am told the Empire is making good progress in capturing Aserai cities to the west, and we are now marching that way to assist them. I hope it is a swift victory, I wish to leave this desert and never return. I am sure more battles are to come.

I mean if the dragonborn as I played him turned up I'd be scared shitless.

There I am the Jarl of Whiterun. I run my city with strict but fair laws.

Some random guy comes in covered in blood with arrows sticking out his head eating bread by the barrel.

I need a distraction to get this psycho away from my children so I pawn him off on my head wizard.

Turns out my wizard needed some rock and this monster happened to be holding that rock at the time. Now I'm stuck with this thing standing in front of me while I sit in my throne just staring at me. I can't leave or it would undermine my leadership to leave before a commoner.

It's been 7 hours and he's just standing there. His dead eyes not moving as his body twitches and the arrows slowly fall out.

A guard bursts in and screams about a dragon sighting. I tell the demon if he can assist my men in slaying the dragon I'll reward him. He turns around without a thought and sprints out the door.

May the gods bless me this thing never darkens my domain again.

Journal of Alfred Pennyworth

Master Bruce had a journal before he unfortunately passed away. I think I shall do the same, now that he’s no longer around. Hopefully the records I keep might help us solve some important cases, and help these new vigilantes be the best they can be. In fact, I’d like to comment on the progress of each of these young heroes.

I’m concerned with Timothy Drake. He hasn’t been as active as the others. He spends most of his time in his room playing Fortnite. When I tell him it’s time for dinner, he does that dance he calls the ‘The Floss ’. I can never keep up with these trends, but I’m glad he’s happy. He doesn’t seem the least bit affected by Batman’s death, but I know deep down, his heart is surely aching. Sometimes when Barbara uses the batcomputer, she notices that he’s been watching “hot tub streamers”, a lady named Pokimane (a positive influence, I hope) and “Five Nights at Freddie’s” pornography. The pornography most concerns me, but young men have their urges, after all. I just hope that he can find relief, and not distraction, in these vices. Robin is a bright young man, after all. He tries to teach me quite a bit about quantum theory, although I admittedly have a hard time listening, old man that I am.

Jason Todd has been in much darker spirits, but more about his own death than Bruce’s. He reminds me and the others that he’s died very often. Sometimes he seems to forget, and asks me if he’s died, or if he’s still alive. Other times he’ll curl up in the corner in a fetal position, whisper about Vietnam, and aim his pistols at his head and pretend to pull the trigger, probably for attention. Thankfully the pistols are non lethal, as I would never trust him with real ones. When he’s not in these traumatic states, he tries to wrestle and hit me, and I have to remind him that that’s not polite and no way for a young vigilante to behave. Still, he has grown up to be a big, strong boy, and when I remind him of this, he cracks a smile even when he’s in the foulest of moods. The biggest concern I have is with his infatuation with knives, whether it be holding and admiring them, or stabbing them into walls and tables. He’s one of the most active of the vigilantes, and I surely hope he’s doing more good than harm on the streets. There has been an increase in stabbings and serial killings, after all. Though he would certainly never have anything to do with these crimes, I hope he doesn’t take inspiration from them.

Dick Grayson certainly tries to be the team leader, but just like his mentor, Bruce, he sometimes struggles to relate to others. However, whereas Batman was often preoccupied with his own thoughts, Nightwing is most preoccupied with his own rear. He spends far too much time staring at his hindquarters in the mirror, when he should be practicing or motivating the others. He even came up to me once to receive advice on which yoga pants he should wear, and what color of nipple clamps would match best with his suit. I simply replied that whatever would help him stop crime would be best, and to this he frowned. He asked Barbara for advice, and she replied that he should wear the pants that “made his cheeks clap” and Dick readily agreed. I must give Dick some credit. The young man’s agility is second to none, and he frequently “twerks” which he insists will help him build core strength. I never saw Bruce twerking, but then again, perhaps he might’ve lived if he had. Like Timothy, he hasn’t been much affected by Bruce’s death, and whenever he starts to feel down, he simply scrolls TikTok, munches on avocado toast and sips a pumpkin spice latte. I won’t comment too much on the lingerie in his laundry basket, other than to say that it’s probably not from a woman.

Barbara Gordon doesn’t care much about the death of her father OR Bruce, and hasn’t once spoken to me about it. I don’t chalk this up to a lack of remorse, but rather her incredible independence and strength of character. Like the others, I believe she is hurting more on the inside than she would like to let on, and this is why she spends so much time playing that new game the kids must like, Minecraft. She tells me her favorite thing to do in that game is luring creepers into people’s homes (not the kind of thing I’d like for her to do on the streets) and she also loves to hack people’s “World of Warcraft” accounts. I asked if she ever hacks into the accounts of real life criminals, and she said that sounded boring. Cleaning up her jars of urine and empty Mountain Dew bottles can certainly be a chore, and she is always quick to tell me to hurry up with the dinosaur chicken nuggies (she’ll only eat them if they’re dinosaur-shaped). But I always maintain absolute professionalism, even when it’s time for me to shave her legbeard, surely one of the most difficult of my duties. Barbara requires quite a bit of care, but that’s only because she has such phenomenal potential as a hero. Being both a vigilante and a professional hacker is difficult work, so I don’t fault her in the slightest when she asks me to hold her dew after a hard day of “pwning noobs.”

While these young heroes have their challenges ahead of them, I think Bruce would be truly proud to see the progress they’ve made. The gym and sparring equipment are in sterling condition, as if they’ve never even been touched, and all four heroes have now managed to chew with their mouths closed and avoid burping and farting at the table, which was previously a very difficult task for them. Indeed, crime levels are the highest they’ve ever been in Gotham, and it’s hard for me to sleep between the sounds of screaming and murder outside and the sounds of Robin playing Fortnite inside. But my rest is not nearly as important as theirs, and they’ve perfected a system where only one of them fights crime once a night, which allows for everyone else to continue the grieving process and heal from their wounds. Nightwing once complained that he had been the only one fighting crime for seven straight nights, but relented once the others explained that his cheeks were now in perfect shape. Overall, Batman has much to be proud of, and the fact that people are still frequently asking for Batman’s help and not the help of these young heroes, only tells me that they’ve done such an excellent job of stepping into his shoes.

I was stumbling through a small island town with my crewmate, Dave. We’d had quite a bit of rum by this point, when Dave turns to me, and says:

“Alright, now that we’re out in the open, it’s about time we discuss some highly illegal smuggling business, shouldn’t we?”

I eagerly agreed. “Right, no better time or place to discuss that kind of nasty pirate business, way I see it. The kind of pirate business could get us quickly and violently hanged, should someone overhear us. If I were a thinking man, I’d say it’s about time we loudly discuss that right here in this town square.”

Dave nodded. “Bart, you’ve always been the cleverest of us two, so if you agree, then I think we shall proceed. Anyway-hey, do you see that man there?”

A man with an eyepatch, pirate hat, swords and flintlock pistols stood awkwardly nearby. He coughed and tried to cover his face- his face that looked eerily just like the one on the “wanted” poster right next to him.

Dave glared. “Somethin’ does not seem right with that man.”

The stranger then walked over to a few prostitutes, and stood awkwardly in the middle of them as they danced.

“You know Dave, I was going to agree with you,” I remarked. “But now that he’s standing with those prostitutes, he seems dramatically less suspicious. Just seems like a right proper bloke trying to get his rocks off, you ask me. Kind of fella I’d like to share a pint with.”

Dave stroked his beard, and replied, “If that man steps even a few inches away from those women, I might be inclined to disagree, and walk over there and cut his throat m’self. But, and maybe this is just the alcohol- but I’m having a hard time telling if there’s a man even standing there at all. I have just one question. Why does a fine gentleman like that seem to be staring unwaveringly at us, and not those gorgeous ladies?”

“Perhaps he’s not interested in women. Wouldn’t be proper to assume, innit? Or maybe he’s actually one of those prostitutes himself. Just trying to make an honest living. No different then us, now, really. We should get moving, s’not polite to stare.”

“Right, right.”

Me and Dave continued to walk down a few alleys, continuing to discuss how dangerous it would be if someone overheard us.

Dave drunkenly burped, then said, “All this talk of being hanged makes me think I should turn around and stare very hard down the street, very paranoid like.”

“You know me. Of course I’ll have your back on this, my good friend.”

We both turned and squinted very hard. It was then that I saw what looked like the same man directly in front us, so close I could smell his cologne. My face was inches away from his, and I could make out his face entirely. It looked identical to Edward Kenway’s.

“Well well. Look what we ave here-“

Dave nudged me. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. This must be that notorious pirate, Edward Kenway, who killed our mates just the other day. But how could such a scurvy dog be with such a reputable crew?”

I noticed that the man had stepped a few feet towards a gang of mercenaries- many of which I’d actually met over the years. “Dave, you’re right! That’s Pete, and Cooper! They would surely be pounding on this bloke if he were Kenway. In fact, now that he’s standing next to them, he doesn’t much look like Kenway at all. Just a very dignified-like warrior, I’ll say.”

“I was thinking more of a cosplayer, really,” said Dave. “Those pistol swords have to be replicas. No way those things could really work. Now, if he had sprinted over towards those mercenaries, I probably would’ve thought they were real, and given him a swift ass kicking. But since he slowly walked in a very gentle way, my primitive, rum-addled brain wasn’t able to register him as a threat.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean by that last part, Dave, but let’s keep going, and pretend this never happened.”

As me and Dave walked, we could hear wood planks and infrastructure creaking above us. It sounded like a man was sprinting and leaping across rooftops.

“Windy today, innit?” I whistled.

“Aye,” Dave nodded. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a thunderstorm, or someone staring at us creepily from above. But I’m much too tired to look.”

I groaned. “Now, why would you even say something like that? Just thinking of looking up made me completely exhausted. Captain has had us working too hard at all these execution-worthy offenses we’ve been committing lately. We’re going to get assassinated good and proper one of these days, we keep this up. It’s about time we walk slowly back to headquarters, so that any prying eyes would have no trouble following us.”

“Aye. Never had a more brilliant idea m’self.”

Dearest shopkeeper,

I know our glorious cities have been flooded with a wave of new and old heros.

In light of this - please remember to continue giving them the counterfeit "gold" coins provided by the gnome blacksmithing guild.

By the heavens Ragnaros know our economy is fragile enough as it is with all the calamities.

The heros hoard useless garbage they find in lakes, animals, and slain enemies. Only to carry them vast distances to sell them to you... This is just as strange to me as it is to you.

The whole reason we built the auction houses was to alleviate some of the pressure from you. We were hoping they would trade the "gold" and "epic loots" amongst themselves. Turns out that just made them greedier.

Our nations thank you for your cooperation. Remember to burn this letter after reading.

For the Alliance ~Anduin Llane Wrynn

P.S. Should you need more "gold", please send a letter to your local blacksmith requesting "copper screws". We will continue to have local smelting guilds pick up the hero's garbage sold to you every morning at 4 a.m.

To the good people of the hold:

I must thank you for continuing to pretend to not see the Dragonborn when they're crouching around the city. I know it really means a lot to them. Keep it up.

So hi, I'm Meridia, you probably know of me as the Daedric Prince of Life and Energy and she with a (justified in my opinion) raging hate boner for the undead. Until recently I had a problem with some asshole deciding to use my temple as a base for some weird necromantic ritual or something. Why he thought that was a good idea I have no idea.

​

So some guy finds my beacon in a chest somewhere, I forget exactly where. So I use the connection to get him to place it in it's proper place at the base of my statue. You know, the giant one West of Solitude. You can't miss it, that guy had a hell of a crush on me. He didn't really understand that I'm more of a concept than a person, and I have no desire to fall in love with a creature that dies so quickly. But anyway, I'm getting sidetracked.

​

So the dude arrives with the beacon, and lo and behold, it's the Dragonborn himself. I decide to task him with clearing my temple of that asshole so off he goes, spreading my cleansing light as he goes to purify the temple. Now right at the heart of my temple is the place where I placed Dawnbreaker. You remember Dawnbreaker right? It was my partially succesful attempt to create a fire that subsisted entirely on exploding undead to speed up clearing out hordes of undead. Pity it doesn't work all the time. I'm getting sidetracked again.

​

So anyway, he comes back from clearing my temple and he has two Dawnbreakers in his hands. I have no idea how he got the second one, and both of them look identical. They look the same, they feel the same. I bestowed them with part of my godly powers and that has somehow been duplicated as well!

​

I just don't know what to think.

“You’ve got this, soldier.”

The word echoed through my mind. But I didn’t. I didn’t got this. I was a nervous wreck. My thoughts were racing. I tried to concentrate, but this sneaker-wearing hedgehog was so damn fast.

I was commanding the Bigfoot mech, and struggling to work the controls. It was pretty new technology designed by someone who insisted he was a “hedgehog assassination expert” in the research division. Nobody had ever been trained to use this damn thing. It had never been tested, but then again, when did we ever test anything? How about the thousands of faulty ass fucking robots we blew money on? Half of the things exploded on their own, or at the slightest moment a lightweight animal happened to “homing attack” them.

I was sweating and gasping. About the most I could do was fly the mech around in circles and shoot aimlessly at the ground, missing completely as the blue menace crashed violently and repeatedly into the mech with a surprising amount of force. He told me he was too fast, and I knew in my heart of hearts that he was right. My trembling hands grasped at the radio and I managed to call for backup. The radio was silent. Then I heard a snicker in the background, and a whisper:

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s Jared. He’s getting his ass kicked by a hedgehog. I know right?”

I turned off the radio and chucked it. What was I thinking? There wouldn’t be backup. There was never backup. We never had a plan B. All G.U.N. soldiers did was get pathetically hospitalized by small mammals. What made me think I’d be any different?

The mech was beginning to catch fire and its legs gave way. I think it was actually made mostly of plastic, which explained why it was falling apart so easily and why it smelled like burnt plastic. I coughed and wheezed. The cockpit glass was shattering and from outside I could hear the demented laughs of a meth-fueled hedgehog. I pulled out a picture of my wife and kids. I remembered telling my kids I was going to fight aliens and terrorists. That I would see them again one day. I imagined soldiers at their door, telling them their father had his ass kicked by a hedgehog so hard he died. Somehow, I didn’t shed a tear.

The flames began to engulf me, but I didn’t dare scream. I watched the blue menace turn away, content with his victory, not even interested enough to watch me die. He held out an emerald to no one in particular, and posed as if there were cameras around. None of it mattered. My fists clenched so hard that they broke off one of the plastic joysticks controlling the mech. The anxiety I’d felt before vanished, replaced by severe pain and rage, and then a sudden euphoria. With my last wits, I wondered. Wondered how a man could build a life, build a family. How he could work and train and love and fight and learn and pray to the heavens above, how he could go to church every Sunday, how he could go to college and enlist in the pseudo-military and commit war crimes and travel to every end of the earth and commit war crimes at every end of the earth and at the end of it all no matter what he did there would always be a hedgehog waiting for him, waiting to kick his ass, waiting to homing attack him, waiting to knock his dick into the dirt. Blood dribbled down my chin and I started to laugh. It was a joke. It was all a joke. Mother forgive me. I mumbled my last words:

“What? For just one hedgehog?”

I was born in the Legion. It made me who I am today. I’m not going to pretend I haven’t done some violent things. I’ve killed a lot of people in lots of different ways. Sometimes, violence defines us; it reminds us we’re alive. But then again, sometimes peace is what you remember most. I remember when one of the higher ups chose peace. He chose peace because he was a fucking idiot, and then he died. Here’s the story.

So me and the other troops had spent the last few weeks preparing for the battle of Hoover Dam. We knew this battle might be the toughest we ever fought. Most of us weren’t going to make it out alive, but we were willing to lay down our lives for Caesar. The physical and mental conditioning we had gone through was the most rigorous we’d ever faced, but we were ready.

We got to the dam with Legate Lanius leading us, an incredible warrior. Shortly off in the distance, I saw a scruffy man in a dirty, tacky suit and fedora. He had beady, insect-like eyes with oversized pupils. He was nervous and shaking, and was carrying an oversized sledgehammer, which seemed far too heavy for his skinny frame. I’d say he was about 4 feet tall.

Legate Lanius approached and his shadow cast entirely over the pathetic excuse for a man. I thought Lanius might crush him with one hand… but surprisingly, the two struck up a political discussion. I was just close enough that I could make out some words. I heard some things about Brexit and Ukraine. The beady-eyed man would stroke his neck beard thoughtfully at times, and mentioned Confucius at one point. There were long pauses throughout, and I’d say the conversation went on for about 20 minutes, while we all stood staring at our navels, taking practice swings with our weapons. After discussing Bosnian tax policy, Lanius seemed very pensive for a while, and just stood quietly, gazing across the sand. It was disgustingly peaceful. Finally, Lanius muttered something about being “black-pilled” and turned and walked away from the man.

At first, I thought Lanius had suffered a crisis of confidence, and didn’t think he could fight the man. But how? He was a legendary fighter… that couldn’t be it. Perhaps there was some deception, some blackmail at play?

Lanius gathered us all together, and explained that sometimes life is hard, and you have to make hard decisions. Like, sometimes you gather an army for a legendary battle and then someone talks you out of it and you, you know, just need to chill for a bit. We stared at him blankly. He scratched his neck awkwardly. Said something about a vacation he was wanting to take, mumbled that he hadn’t seen his kids in a while. He kept trying to explain “the East and the West” like it was some kind of complex math equation, and that the two were somehow cancelling each other out. He mentioned seeing an article that the Legion wasn’t really that great anyway and even though he didn’t agree with it, it was interesting to look at and all. It was then I realized that for all his martial skill, Lanius was not very bright, and he’d been duped.

We all tried to restore Lanius’ faith in our cause, tried to explain to him that this was a massive conquest ripe for the taking, but he was having none of it. He insisted that he was going to break the news to Caesar himself, and that if he had been here, Caesar would’ve surely agreed with him on this monumental decision. I had my doubts.

And my doubts were confirmed when a few days later, Lanius was executed for being literally the worst Legate we’d ever had, who choked at the most important battle we’d ever had, to the point we didn’t actually have the battle at all. I was concerned that we might come under fire too, just for going along with Lanius’ ridiculous order to retreat, but Caesar took mercy on us, stating “I wouldn’t fucking argue with that freak of nature either, are you kidding me LOL.”

Yes, Caesar is the kind of guy who says LOL out loud.

I found out later that the beady-eyed man had actually been the Caesar’s doctor at one point, which didn’t really surprise me. I thought he seemed familiar, and I could then recall him wandering around our camps before, taking part in fights, complaining that we wouldn’t let his NCR buddy in and trying to do whip-its in front of us. In summary, he was exactly the kind of person that Caesar would trust to operate on his brain.

Before Lanius died, he stated in his final words that he hoped we would all come to understand the wisdom that the “courier” (courier for what, exactly? Do I even want to know?) had taught him, and that the courier was a true wiseman and a gentleman of honor. Lanius read this from a post-it note scrawled over in crayon. I had to stop him from eating the crayon. Maybe we really will encounter this “courier” some day. If we do, I want absolutely nothing to do with his “black pills”. They sound like witchcraft to me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-c7TjfMzK4

Let's look back at some memorable moments and interesting insights from last year.

Your top 10 posts:

• "Skyrim shopkeeper" by u/virussordid
• "[GTA San Andreas] Ryder is worried about CJ" by u/2pacisalive95
• "[Various] I hope your is allowed here because the OP and comments are a treasure trove." by u/cheesymoonshadow
• "Why yes I’m the main character how could you tell?" by u/Gradighet
• "[Skyrim] Archery trainer for hire!" by u/ung9oy
• "[Skyrim] Life in Markarth" by u/Lorebeardz
• "Everything seemed so normal [Sims]" by u/iamyourcheese
• "[Mass Effect 3] I just wanted some sushi…" by u/NoItsBecky_127
• "[Dragon Age Inquisition] Below Expectations" by u/2pacisalive95
• "[Assassins Creed: Black Flag] it sucks being a soldier"

Part 1 I wrote over a year ago, and now got inspired to continue a little bit.

It's been almost a year that I had seen papa. Thank the divines I get along with my step sister very well, otherwise this would've been a disaster! Papa finally came home after all this time, but he seemed... odd... His skin was so pale it was almost as white as the snow, and his eyes were glowing bright orange, and looked so mean! But he brought me and Sophie some sweetrolls, so it was all good!

While me and Sophie were eating our favorite treats, papa broke the big news to us. We were moving. Up north. Like aaaaaaaalll the way north, well almost. To a mountain, just a bit south of Dawnstar. A place called Bloodchill Cavern.

I was excited to move out, but that soon changed. The road to our new home was long, and so very cold. Sophie didn't seem to be bothered by the cold, but I guess that's to be expected from someone who's born in Windhelm. Then we had to climb the mountain, and it got even colder to further we went to the top. Yes, we had to go all the way to the top of this mountain! I totally expected to see a house up there, but I was so confused when the road ended at a cave entrance.

Surprisingly enough, inside the cave, there were some trees, a waterfall, and a wall, with a door. Me and Sophie couldn't believe our eyes as we walked down the steps, further into our new home. It was like a castle! A castle... without... windows... We still find that odd. Sophie is sad about it because she's sure she could see Windhelm from up here! And then there's the odd bloodstains. Like, everywhere. Mostly in the main hall, the kitchen, and papa's new treasure room. That last room is really cool by the way! Papa has put all his cool armours and weapons on display there, but me and Sophie don't dare touch anything, but it's fun to look and fantasize about how papa got all this stuff.

However, the treasure room is the only fun thing about this place. There are no windows, we're all the way up on a mountain with no living soul nearby. The only exit is on the north side of the mountain. There's an old ruined tower very close by, that's infested with bandits, so me and Sophie can't play there. Luckily they don't get close to our cave-castle-home.

There's a lighthouse further south, but it seems abandoned as well. And finally there's Elf tooth... I mean, Alftand. Blegh, I hate Dwemer names. It's an old Dwemer ruin but it's also ruined and abandoned.

Why is everything ruined and abandoned? Does nobody want to live here?! Well I don't, either! There's literally nothing for me and Sophie to do here, other than to stare at the view in the blistering cold. The castle is cold and dark. There are no friendly people around once again, just like when we lived near Riverwood.

Why can't papa just buy a house in a city so that me and Sophie can actually make friends and have fun? I would ask him but he is never home, and mama Taarie still hasn't showed up either in the 3 months we've been stranded here. Please, papa, come home soon, I hate it here!

Journal of the Dragon King, Onaga

2005 I’ve found some young fool named Shujinko who can acquire the Kamidogu relics for me and bring them to my sanctuary, which will allow me to rule all the realms. He thinks this is a quest for the Elder Gods. I couldn’t acquire the relics myself, because, well, I guess I could but I’m sort of a dragon emperor god thing, and people look at me weird when I go out and it’s kind of awkward… but with Shujinko’s unwitting help, I will soon have total power once again!

2010 Shujinko has spent a few years training with his drunken fatass master, Bo Rai Cho. I don’t think Shujinko really learned anything useful during this time, but he did need to attend some AA meetings. I’ve tried to be patient, but I can’t help but wonder if I could’ve just chosen some sorcerer who could travel the realms in minutes instead of choosing a literal child at random. Oh well. Shujinko has collected the earthrealm relic and will be heading to the netherrealm soon to collect the next Kamidogu.

2020 I’ve noticed Shujinko has an unfortunate habit of helping everyone he comes across. I groaned and watched him collect demon teeth for some Black Dragon loser. It’s already been years now, and we’ve made very little progress because Shujinko is some wannabe Kung fu master, and insists on learning the “martial art techniques” of every derelict he comes across. For example, he trained with Baraka so he could learn the use of arm blades he doesn’t even have.

2047 Shujinko… I mean I don’t even know what to say about this guy. He just spent years on some retreat with Nightwolf “cleansing his spirit”. All they really did was drop acid and smoke weed. Now I’m sending Shujinko back to the Netherrealm. I told him he needed to retaint his spirit so he can travel the realms again, but really I just want him to suffer for his insolence.

2077 After years and years of dicking around, Shujinko violated a curfew and got himself locked up in a prison in Orderrealm. I sent help to free him, and now Shujinko is getting extremely old. I’m beginning to wonder if he can even finish his quest. Still, he runs around like the Flash on meth, so I guess he’s got some spirit left in him.

3040 Shujinko has spent more years meditating and wandering the realms, punching people indiscriminately and running errands for strangers. He seems to have forgotten he has a quest to do. He’s probably forgotten a lot of things, actually.

4084 I’m not sure how Shujinko is still alive at this point. Perhaps the kamidogu are sustaining him. My dreams of becoming king are starting to fade away. Time and time again I have asked Shujinko to simply bring the relics back to me. He nods and agrees but never follows through, saying that he needs to get “more coins for the crypt” first, whatever the actual fuck that means. It’s not like he’s doing anything exciting, anyway. At 2089 years old, Shujinko has remained a virgin. He has never taken a shower. All of the Earthrealmers have ascended reality and are hooked up to VR TikTok machines, but Shujinko continues to run around barren landscapes in search of people to help. I once watched him meditate for a month straight, only to get up and walk around after like nothing happened, scratching his ass and looking around like he wanted to microwave a hot pocket. I can’t imagine he had any real catharsis.

Of course, I would’ve just killed him long ago, but now he is too dangerous while in possession of all the Kamidogu, and has somehow mastered every martial art in existence on top of that. There was one relic in possession of Quan Chi that he never attained, but Quan Chi died a long time ago, and now the Relic is somewhere in the Netherrealm. Needless to say, the situation is hopeless; I have essentially given up, and my interest in ruling the realms has decreased significantly anyway since there is little to rule over anymore. I only occasionally watch Shujinko now to see what the madman is up to.

6055 I was watching Game of Thrones when I heard whistling. I looked to see Shujinko casually waltzing into the sanctuary, announcing that he had finally finished his quest. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. He could barely walk as he placed the last Kamidogu in its place. After all this time, he still thought he was working for the Elder Gods. I finally revealed my true plans, and he only seemed mildly annoyed. I didn’t bother chasing him when he ran away into a portal (I was really hooked on my show) but now I’m not sure where the last relic is, and now I need Shujinko to… oh no…

8094 After finally finding Shujinko, I saw that he had passed away after, according to the locals, meditating too hard. There wasn’t really a funeral, and nobody missed him. I ended up crying for hours, but I think that had more to do with the shrooms Nightwolf gave me then Shujinko’s death. Though my dragon lifespan has served me well, I’ve started to rethink a lot of my life decisions. I got into therapy and realized I had a lot of daddy issues, you know, because I never actually had a dad and just sort of spawned into existence as an immortal dragon king. That really does a number on your psyche, you know? And I made fun of Shujinko for being a thousand year old virgin earlier, but really, when was the last time I hit some hot 10000 year old dragon ass? Anyway, I’ve sort of outgrown this whole being a god emperor thing. I think I should go back and finish high school, since my Soundcloud rapper career never really worked out before. Maybe get into Dragon college. Learn how to read. You know, that would be nice. Learning how to read and write. Since I had to hire someone to write this journal for me. Because I’m an illiterate mutant dragon freak and all. Leave that part out, the dragon freak thing. Why are you still writing? You know what, just forget it.

I’m not sure what made me fall in love with Nosferatu. Was it his skinny, freakishly pale body? His black eyeliner and missing eyebrows? The way he ate food out of the trash? His unabashed confidence when he would pee himself?

I was just walking through the city one day when I passed this very small house on an oversized lot. It was basically the size of a single bedroom. I guess it would be more accurate to just call it a bedroom, really. Anyway, I was passing by when Nosferatu creeped out of his mancave and introduced himself, then tried to kiss me after about a few seconds of talking, before I’d even said my name. He grossed me out at first, and I left after a short while… but something brought me back.

I came back the next day and he invited me inside. There were no lights at all, and the walls were bare. He had a single fridge with a toilet next to it that looked like it hadn’t been flushed in weeks or cleaned ever. There were pee stains all over the floor, presumably from before he caved in and decided he did, in fact, need a toilet in his house.

He had a shower that was broken and spraying water everywhere. I think he just gave up on that. There was also a desk, and an expensive computer that probably costed more than the house. I was surprised to see a very fancy bed as well, that he said cost him 10,000 dollars- he said it would give him more time to “troll teh forums,” whatever that meant.

I chatted with him while he “made viruses” on the computer. He bragged that he was a criminal mastermind, and I rolled my eyes and went to take out his overstuffed trash for him. He gave me a sad look, as if I just took his candy away. He ate some garbage on his bed while we talked, and I… I can’t explain what happened next. He kissed me, and next thing I knew we were having totally unprotected sex. He’d realized his single bed wasn’t big enough, so we did it on an extremely cheap double bed he placed outside the house in view of everyone. I realized I was pregnant not long after, and vomited in his dirty toilet while he modded video games. He left for his job as a “petty thief” not long after.

I kept coming back. I didn’t care when he tried to steal my wallet as he hugged me, or when he’d fart and wave it in my face. There was something irresistible about him. He didn’t seem to notice that I was very visibly pregnant, and was usually more focused on “hacking the mainframe.” Things had been working out alright between us until one awful night.

I came over again and Nosferatu invited me to swim in his pool. He tore out the pool ladder shortly after, then started building a fence. I didn’t think to question why… I wish I had. Nosferatu began flirting with another woman passing by. He was treating her just like he treated me when we first met. He even did the fart trick. It wasn’t long before they were heading for the outside bed, placed in clear view of me. I was helpless to do anything. I watched, horrified at what he was doing. When they were done, she vomited, and Nosferatu seemed to think he hadn’t done anything wrong. We weren’t dating, after all. He’d never asked me to be his girlfriend. And so he had two children from two different mothers. He seemed frustrated that I hadn’t drowned in the pool yet, since he was “trying to complete an aspiration.” I cried and teleported away.

After spending a lot of time alone, taking care of my new baby and attending therapy, I realized that my relationship with Nosferatu had been incredibly toxic. Still, I called him to let him know that he had a (admittedly horrific-looking) son. I heard him have a panic attack over the phone, but he never bothered to visit or meet his son- the one he’d almost indirectly killed by trying to drown me. I figured it was probably better that Nosferatu never come to visit.

I happened to pass by the other day and saw his new pregnant girlfriend in the pool. Nosferatu was nearby, looking bored as he sipped his soda, ignoring a baby crying in a crib nearby. He’d gotten a bit fat and was clearly trying to do the fence thing again. I wanted to say something. I really did. His girlfriend was grinning ear to ear as she splashed around- she even peed in the pool, loudly letting out a sigh of relief. But how- how could I tell her? That the man she thought she loved was trying to kill her? How could I inflict the same pain on her that he’d inflicted on me?

I left. And I’d like to say that I regretted it. But the truth was, if it wasn’t her, it would just be someone else. And I was just glad it wasn’t me. Every moment I spent waking up without Nosferatu or his bloody, urine soaked sheets anywhere near me was a moment I cherished.

So I’m a guard at Zora’s Domain, since I kinda live here and it’s the most exciting job in this boring city. As usual I’m just patrolling the south bridge, which is also one of the entrances into the city.

I’m doing my job when suddenly this small little hylian just strolls in, which is very strange seeing as for a hylian he’s pretty small and we don’t get much visitors anyways since the divine beast has been raining all over the region. He doesn’t say anything and I don’t confront him cause I’m to weirded out, and I trust our prince Sidon will deal with him. Though one thing I did notice was he had a strange slate on his hip, though unlike the big ones that told our history it glowed orange. I could tell just by looking at it, that it was ancient.

So I go back to my job and just try to forget he exists. About an hour later I hear yelling coming from the center of the city, right by the statue of our princess Mipha, who sadly passed away in the calamity 100 years ago. The yelling was coming from the kings adviser and from the looks of it he was shouting at the strange hylian who our prince Sidon was beaming proudly at.

Sidon told the hylian to try on a special piece of Zoro armor, and it was the kind that our women make and give to their lovers. And it fit him perfectly. That stopped Muzu the advisor from yelling and he stormed off.

Now that I’m at this point I should probably tell you about the other problem threatening our city, a strange beast started living on shatterback point, which kinda sucks because me and a couple others liked to jump off it. But we can’t cause it attackas anything or anyone who gets near.

So this guy, the hylian goes up there and soon after comes back, not a scratch on him while holding its weapons. He shows some shock arrows to Sidon which I think is crazy because those are very dangerous to our kind. Well they’re dangerous to all creatures but more so to us. They set off for the lake which is weird because that’s where the divine beast is. And it also attacks anything that gets close.

Soon Sidon comes back alone. But the rain has also stopped so I can only assume and beat the beast somehow. After about a couple days something crazy happened. A strange glowing ball fell right in front of me and then the guy just appeared right there out of nothing. And soon after the beast climbed out of the lake, fearing the worst I prepared to fight but it completely ignored the city and climbed to a tall point and some weird red light started shining in a line. The hylian left and so far I haven’t seen him. Life is strange.

Running a business in some random basement

Small kid comes along. Says he’s running from his mom or something.

Being the businessperson I am, I offer to sell him my wares.

He’s broke, so he buzzes off to find more Pennies.

He comes back looking…different.

He’s got massive bumps all over his head.

He’s also got spider bites all over him.

He buys a soul heart and leaves.

I start moving shop to the next floor.

He arrives later than last time.

He now looks even crazier.

He has demon wings and his mouth is sewn shut.

He hold a dice in the air

My wares are now entirely different?

He buys this weird symbol thingy and leaves.

I start setting up shop on the next floor.

Wait, since when did I sell any of these items???

The abomination of a toddler walks in with a dollar bill he got somewhere.

He buys this weird object with an R on it.

He leaves the store.

Next floor he shows up again

He shows interest in a weird heart I’m apparently selling.

He’s just a few pennies short.

He chucks a bomb my way.

Not gonna bother coming back, the greeds can have the next 2 shops.

Finally, peace

Suddenly I’m back in the first shop.

What is happening.

The toddler is unrecognizable.

My wares were still abnormal.

He buys a weird remote.

He clicks a button and suddenly turns into a girl with long black hair.

Why am I even doing this?

I woke up at first light as always, immediately stepping out of the warrens to get a breath of dust free air. Dust free meant full of coal smoke from the smelter and the smithy directly above it- but in Markarth you took what you could get. Unlike most of the Reach at least Markarth was safe- no Forsworn lunatics in this city, Markarth is a shithole for entirely different reasons.

I made five septims shoving an empty shovel in and out of the smelter yesterday, and today I would treat myself by visiting the market and browsing goods I could never afford. Maybe I’d try hitting on Muiri or Ghorza again too, not that it’d work though.

Like usual on the way to the market a guard politely reminded me that lollygagging is illegal. I could also overhear the local witch-hunter asking the same person the exact same question about the same abandoned house for the millionth time like he expected a different answer.

The people here are really fucking stupid, but that’s why I still live in Markarth, nothing unexpected ever happens. Unlike Helgen which got burned down by a dragon or Windhelm where they’ve been dealing with a string of murders, in Markarth a man can just get on with his life of doing absolutely nothing of note in peace.

At least that’s what I thought until I went to the market that day. A stranger walked in, I’d never seen him before, odd but not alarming. But then a woman was murdered right in front of me, the guy who did it was one of my buddies who worked at the smelter. Out of nowhere this dude pulled out a dagger and started screaming about the Forsworn. What the fuck. Weylin seemed normal before, no idea what got into him. It’s like he just snapped.

Now you’re probably thinking this is a coincidence. But it’s not. Everytime this guy walks into this city everyone confides their problems with him like he’s a damn therapist. But no, that’s not the end of it. A lot of the times when he walks in there’s a disaster. Vampires, Dragons, Cultists, you name it, it only happens with him around.

I’ve had it. I’d been saving up coin for a potion of charisma to up my game with the ladies, but I’ve decided I’m going to spend it on some hitmen instead. Maybe we’ll get some peace when this “Dragonborn” guy is six feet under. It’s not like I’m dumb enough to write my name on the contract or anything.