Chinese restaurant buffet near me

Hi! I am a graduate student attending school in Southern California where I am studying urban and regional planning with the ultimate goal of entering the tech or politics field and making an impact on the environment. My home town is in the Bay Area.
When not occupied with school or work, I enjoy hiking, photography, cycling, fashion, traveling (30+ countries), and going to new restaurants. Mexican and Italian cuisine are my favorites.
I am 5’6 with a lean build, light brown eyes and medium brown hair. I am of Jewish descent.
As for who you are, I am looking for a woman (30+ preferably) who is seeking something more than casual, and who

• Is preferably my height or taller
  
• Any race or ethnicity
  

-Is not religious, (I respect religion but as an agnostic religion isn’t a central part of life for me)
-Is not into drugs, (I drink socially but I am not a smoker and I distance myself from drugs)
-Is intelligent, educated, and goal and career oriented
-Does not have kids
-Lives in California (preferably southern), and has a car
I would love to get to know you and take you on fun dates. If you think we might click, drop me a direct message and let me know who you are, what your favorite food is and what your passions are!
https://imgur.com/a/GVfQKKy

"the Prophet (SAW) had a Sahabah named Hassan ibn Thabit who used to write and recite his poetry in the Masjid of the Prophet (SAW).
'From among my followers there will be some people who will consider illegal sexual intercourse, the wearing of silk, the drinking of alcoholic drinks and the use of musical instruments, as lawful. And there will be some people who will stay near the side of a mountain and in the evening their shepherd will come to them with their sheep and ask them for something, but they will say to him, 'Return to us tomorrow.' Allah will destroy them during the night and will let the mountain fall on them, and He will transform the rest of them into monkeys and pigs and they will remain so till the Day of Resurrection.'"
This was in a forum discussing music as haram. This is what was given as one of the examples. I was theorizing subjects on science, and it came clear to me that music, or in this case, "sound which penetrates the mind, where is it known that a 4th dimensional being would be able to see inside the 3d dimensional being, hence the brain being key role in entering into this realm. The mountains after reciting things here are great 3d objects,. The things which are talked about, obviously intoxicating, are: sex being intoxicating to the soul, silk being intoxicating to the flesh, alcohol being intoxicating to the mind, and music being intoxicating to the heart. In this sense what is intoxicating is a way to escape boundaries of what the world is. In this sense, ALLAH has found it a great course to discourage people from these things, so that they do not fumble. Does this make sense to anyone?
If being intoxicated is a way to escape this realm, then that must be haram. Since this world was given to man, and it is only in due time, and through acceptance of ALLAH that we will see the other dimensions, and we will be guided, unlike those who choose to know by themselves, they will be lost, do you not think? I fear that those who seek to know through intoxication are given credit to something else for what is ALLAH's natural gift to those who worship correctly. This is indeed a punishment, and they will be punished; does this make sense?
Please discuss in the comments, I would love to know if anyone understands this, and shares similar ideas.

Took a day and a half trip to Sacramento! Easy two hour drive from the Peninsula. I'm not from Sacramento though I used to visit a lot, apologies for any mistakes or wrong opinions.

• California Railroad Museum: Lives up to the hype. Great museum, with immersive ceiling to floor exhibits, interesting info, and, of course, TRAINS! It's very California/History specific and more about the impact of trains on CA history than about how trains work specifically, but there's a bit of that. Beware: The one train that has sleeper rooms rocks back and forth to simulate the train moving. My wife got seasick from it. (I loved it!) Also, don't forget to visit the the fourth floor.
• Old Sacramento State Historic Park: You really need a guided tour or watch some history videos on YouTube to get the most out of this place. There's a lot of cool facts but you will need to find it yourself or through a tour. This old PBS show has a decent overview: https://youtu.be/Bd4PM8UV5Hw
• Fanny Ann's Saloon: Came here for the "ambiance" over lunch. I could see this place being rocking at night for the bar crowd, but for lunch it's just a funky place with "meh" food. There are pinball and arcade machines and decent amounts of seating.
• Top Hand Ranch Horse Carriage Rides: Since the temperature was moderate and the horses seemed happy, we took a $20, 15 minute ride around Old Town. My kids loved it. It was super calm and uneventful but fun to be so close to people walking around. The ride was a little bouncy even on the paved streets, hard to imagine riding faster on dirt roads.
• Old Town: Pretty touristy. But some of them are really nice tourist traps! Shout outs to Evangeline's Costume for having funky "gifts" and being fairly reasonably priced. Cerealism was kind of funky and not bad (food themed around cereal) and Blueprint Coffee was a nice sleek modern coffee shop. Did not love Boxcar for froyo, overpriced, could have gone for better ice cream but kids wanted it now! Ferris wheel is worth it for the views of Tower Bridge and Old Town, though it goes really fast (speed wise.)
• DOCO: "Newer" style shopping district near the Sacramento King's stadium (some concert was there too). Mostly focused around eating with some light shopping. Made the mistake of walking past DOCO up K street towards the Capital and... it's a ghost town. A drunk guy called us a racial slur and accused us of smelling like vomit. Then a random guy was sitting there swinging a claw hammer around and we decide to go over to Capital Mall where it felt safer.
• State Capital: Very nice, beautiful place, nice architecture. Make sure to check out the "back" where there's a park and war memorial. Sadly, museum and main building were closed by the time we got there.
• Frank Fat's: This place is an institution and we had to try it. The décor is something else and the back booths are very private. The bar and front room, less so, we were practically sitting in the laps of the table next to us. The food is NOT TRADITIONAL CHINESE FOOD. You don't go for that: You go for the California/Chinese historic fusion of food. It's pretty interesting to see how Chinese food would have evolved over time as it intermingled with American palettes and ingredients (and older school cooking methods.) Make reservations in advance, they were turning people away who didn't have reservations. I enjoyed it.
• Sutter's Fort: Pretty small, but really gives you an idea of what living permanently in California would have been like (assuming you weren't Native American) before the gold rush. Sadly, the Donner Party Doll was not viewable as it's deteriorating fast and needs to be restored and taken off display. Each room is decorated to look like it might have during that historic period. There's a bunch of written information and a little hand out with each room labeled. The park rangers are very engaged as well, so feel free to ask questions.
• Sacramento County Fair: A pretty typical CA county fair, dominated by carnival out front. Nice they have a kid specific building and they have more demonstrations than my county fair (like racing ducks, racing pigs, or frisbee dogs, and horse and rider costume events.) Pretty low key like many CA county fairs that aren't in Southern CA. I loved the Demolition Derby where cars smash each other until they can't drive. Overall, I'd say the Sacramento County Fair is better than most Northern California County fairs out of the handful I've been to, but doesn't quite stand up to OC or LA County Fair. I wish I could have seen the Rodeo, but our schedule didn't work out.
• Yang Kee Dumpling (Davis, not Sacramento): Very good Chinese dumplings. The skin of the dumplings is a little thick, but everything tastes very good. Gets crowded on weekends, join the Yelp Waitlist. It's kind of a back building to the Safeway parking lot so it's a little odd to find.

Overall, a good 1.5 day getaway to Sacramento. Still a lot we didn't see (Crocker, Stanford, State Indian Museum, etc.) And last time we were here, we went to Locke with the kids, which is a blast if you're into Chinese in CA history.
Please let me know if I got anything wrong!

First off, I'd (20 F) like to start off by saying I love my mom. I think I'd just say I love, but don't like her. Ever since I was younger, my mom always made serious conversations awkward. Period talk? Awkward. Sex talk? Barely talked about and also awkward. Because of this, as an adult, I find it hard to have serious conversations about things going on in my life because we never had serious and deep conversations. Also, if you try to talk to her while she just so happens to be watching tv or on her phone scrolling, she acts as though you're interrupting her, and she puts on this fake face as though you're bothering her, but she tries to look as though you're not. I've never told her anything going on in my life romantically because of this. I also know she will overact and generally do too much. She will sometimes fake cry and pretend as though you've hurt her feelings without having real tears and she'll stop 30 seconds later. Over the past year, she's started telling me that in the future, I'm going to need a breast reduction. My friends that I've told can't believe she'd say this to me. For one, her boobs are much larger than mine, and I'm an average size. She also puts down my dad's side of the family, saying that I don't want to end up having large breasts like them. She said this the other night while grabbing my boob to see how big it was, which left me feeling slightly violated. It'd be different if I complained about having back pain or any other issues associated with large breasts but I'm nowhere near that point. I also have my hair in a style that she is not a fan of. My hair is well maintained, but she's always telling me that I need to do something with my hair and recently up and called my hair ugly. Every day I get more and more fed up with her bs.

Yes, this is just a post of complaints, so if that upsets you, remember you aren't forced to read it. This has been a complaint of mine ever since the game dropped and It came to my knowledge that Epona was once again not in the newest game, outside of amiibo function. I mean how hard is it to make a descendent or reincarnation of Epona appear near some stable and have a side quest linked to it? So many of the DLC and Amiibo armor sets were put into the base game so why not add Epona? Hell, they even took Wolf Link away...Stable owners even recognize Epona and force you to name her as such, so why not have a side quest/side adventure along with it. I haven't really posted about it before now but it's been bothering me and scratching at the back of my neck for a while now

Sometimes irl, I take deep breaths since they are satisfying, but other times they aren’t. I ruled out any medical issues, and it has something to do with a pseudo condition that i’ve honestly forgotten.
Anyways, in my dream, i was arguing with a teacher about inflation and how her view was incorrect. I felt like I couldn’t talk for long periods since I was running out of breath.
In the dream, I was ordered to pay her $310 because I accidentally took her school trip bus when I was in brooklyn and she charged me for it. I could definitely feel myself getting anxious since I didn’t have the cash to give her at the time and that’s when I started arguing about inflation since my school trips weren’t nearly as expensive.
This was when the shortness of breath happened. I woke up right away, but I wasn’t out of breath irl. This has happened before a lot (usually when my dreams induce any anxiety).
However, there was one time in the middle of the night I gasped for air (irl maybe?) when I was barely awake.
Could it be sleep apnea? I am a nose sleeper and I don’t fit most the symptoms, but you never know. Anyone else have these dreams?

i understand the market for TT positions grows more desperate each year for most fields, mine included (psych/behavior analysis). while i’ve enjoyed all of the research i’ve done so far as a grad student, my true passion lies in my limited experiences in teaching.
im curious as to what the market looks like for non-TT teaching positions, especially the full-time/non-adjunct positions, given the obvious issues with the treatment of adjuncts. for example, one of the profs running my program teaches a 3/3 load iirc, has no research obligations, isnt tenured but has worked here for nearly a decade, and makes a solid income of like, 75k based on my payroll sleuthing — sounds ideal to me, on the surface, at least. i’m assuming these positions similarly competitive and more sparse, but i wanted to see if anyone had insight, whether in psych or another field. much appreciated.

Our table has been playing together for more than two years now, we sometimes have small issues but nothing major.
4 of them had been playing GOT and I decided to pass because I didn't have time atm and honestly I'm not that into got to care. At first they were all pressuring me to join but eventually got tired, and around one month ago the DM asked me again, and i finally decided to build a character.
The DM gave me a lot of rules to fit in the campaign and the universe, he gave me a premade backstory and everything. I'm usually not happy about limitations but since I was joining mid-campaign I went with it and did my best to turn that character into one I liked. The issue was that when I introduced him to the other players they started complaining and saying that my character doesn't fit the party, that they think it's going to break the peace amongst them and they're against him joining. They asked the dm for a character building session where they could all decide on my character and build him together, and that's when I snapped.
I never let these things get to me but this time it made me really anxious and stressed out. The amount of information they had on the character is not nearly enough for them to know that he doesn't fit, i built him with the DM, and I'm not the kind of player that goes against the party.
Now, this was a month ago. Since this happened I've been feeling really anxious about playing in general, any session of any game, with any other table too, but I still do it and und up enjoying it. I haven't been able to show up and play GOT tho, I've skipped two sessions now. I'm writing this because we were making plans for playing something this weekend and they want to play GOT again. I got a panic attack.
I don't know what to do, I really love roleplaying, but I don't like feeling anxious about something I used to love. I've tried joining two more tables bc i thought the problem was with them, but the anxiety is still there.

After a relaxing European vacation with one of his employees, Mark Schaming, director of the New York State Museum, is back and ready to get to work. All who know the man will tell you that he's displayed new energy and ambition after Chris Churchill of the Times Union insinuated that he is unfit in his job as director of the New York State Museum. As Mr. Churchill writes:

The full-sized carousel, up on the fourth floor, has been closed for maintenance for years. The museum's famous subway car is also off-limits, with a sign telling visitors it's closed for repairs. Discovery Place, the building's hands-on learning center for young kids, is also closed.
Those aren't the only disappointments. The State Museum no longer offers a restaurant or any sort of fresh food, forcing visitors to line up at vending machines to quell their grumbling tummies. Some escalators and elevators are out of service. The museum, on the whole, feels forgotten.

From the imposing stone edifice of the Cultural Education Center, Mr. Schaming is cognizant of the cries of the people. This reporter can confirm from a recent visit that Discovery Place has reopened after only three years of closure. JP O'Hare, a spokesperson for the State Museum, explained the long closure, saying that "the pandemic forced us to rethink touchable exhibits."
Visitors to the newly reopened Discovery Place will see that the State Museum has taken to heart rethinking touching exhibits, as it is clear the room has been largely untouched after years of "rethinking" and "renovation." From a cursory glance, it seems to me that the only changes are the removal of all books, toys, puzzles, handouts, and staff.
Now, as a scattering of sources indicate, the New York State Museum approaches its pièce de résistance, the reopening of its carousel which has been closed since 2019. After much digging, it appears the cause of the closure was some minor damage the carousel experienced when it violently (and potentially lethally?) exploded during regular operation. Thinking it unsafe to have metal suspension beams swinging about and shrapnel flying as children rode the carousel, a repair effort was initiated.
The century-old artifact was ridden into the ground (or, technically, helicoptered into the air) once due to poor operating conditions, but the people of Albany ought feel confident that mistakes were learned from. Previously the carousel was operated nearly constantly and without proper care in place to keep the artifact balanced. Although unconfirmed, word is that now the carousel will be operated nearly constantly and without proper care in place to keep the artifact balanced. It is said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, but I call going in circles a carousel.
Fortunately for the carousel, it looks like staffing constraints will interfere with the planned constant operation of the carousel. This is being swiftly addressed by Mr. Schaming, though not by hiring new staff. Rather, as at least one source indicated, Mr. Schaming is currently interested in changing the job descriptions of people in different departments to include carousel operation.
It may seem strange that Mr. Schaming is reticent to staff his museum, but the reader must understand the important considerations behind these decisions. One must first be aware that in 2015 the New York State Museum received $14 million in funds for a massive three to four year renovation. As Paul Grondahl of the Times Union wrote in 2015:

The State Museum will undergo a $14 million renovation that will dramatically re-imagine the exhibits with dynamic technology, interactive displays and a fresh form of narrative storytelling.
When the work is finished in three to four years, it will represent the largest upgrade to the capital city's most popular tourist attraction since it opened in 1976 at the newly built Empire State Plaza.

The expected completion date is in the rear view mirror, and it's now common knowledge that the $14 million gas tank is mostly fumes. Although it has been difficult to unravel exact information, best evidence suggests that currently the State Museum has $5 million still in the pocket. It's time for tightening the belt, and part of that looks to be staffing cuts.
One may be concerned that Mark Schaming, director of the New York State Museum, is having difficulty performing his job. Fortunately the director of the New York State Museum is overseen by the Deputy Commissioner of Cultural Education, who is also Mark Schaming.
One may then be concerned that Mark Schaming, director of the New York State Museum and Deputy Comissioner of Cultural Education, is having difficulty performing his two jobs. Fortunately the director of the New York State Museum who is also the Deputy Commissioner of Cultural Education is overseen by Sharon Cates-Williams. Ms. Williams, who herself holds the two jobs of Deputy Commissioner of Performance Improvement & Management Services (PIMS) and Executive Deputy Commissioner, stated to Mr. Churchill on the matter:

I think he's doing a good job wearing two hats. It does not interfere with the core mission of the museum, and it's a decision that we stand by.

One may then be concerned that Sharon Cates-Williams, herself wearing two hats and self-supervising, may have some biases. Fortunately the Deputy Commissioner of PIMS who is also the Executive Deputy Commissioner reports to Betty A. Rosa, the Commissioner of Education.
Dr. Rosa has served as Commissioner of Education since 2021 when she, as Chancellor of the Board of Regents, elected herself Commissioner of Education. Unlike others, she gave up her former position as Chancellor of the Board of Regents upon her self-election. It is unclear how she feels about others who do not likewise content themselves with wearing only one hat.
Perhaps we soon will have an opportunity to ask Dr. Rosa. Although details are sparse, it has been indicated that Mr. Schaming is planning a victory celebration for managing to successfully reopen the carousel after four years. Specifics on the event and even the exact date have been infuriatingly kept under wraps, but it is speculated that Mark Schaming and Betty A. Rosa plan to celebrate this monumental occasion by giving speeches and riding on the carousel with elementary school students.
We can safely say that the sun is rising on the New York State Museum. After only four years the State Museum has managed to successfully "renovate" Discovery Place through the power of downsizing and is on the cusp of reopening the carousel under the same conditions which led to its prior destruction. With only $5 million remaining in the pocket and only running about five years behind schedule on a grand renovation, who knows what wonders we can expect in the years to come.

Hey all, I could really use some love rn. I just went through a painful rejection. I met this guy 3 months ago that I met from a dating site and we hit it off. Things went left quickly when I inadvertently gave them an STD I wasn't aware I had due to being asymptomatic. Neither one of us exchanged test results prior to being intimate. We kind of did things a\*\^ backwards and tested after he started experiencing symptoms. He initially thought it was a UTI; it turned out to be something neither one of us had heard of before. Good news, it was curable. I decided to get full STD panel, with herpes tests included, with doctor's recommendation; found I had HSV-2 (and possibly HSV-1). I was devastated. My partner stated he was negative for HSV but he was very angry/shady and refused to share his results with me initially, stating that he didn't "owe me anything." He read me for filth. I don't think he was honest with me about getting tested for HSV initially, assuming he didn't have it because he didn't have bumps.
Throughout the process, embarrassing/humiliating as it was, I was very transparent and open with my partner. I even started counseling to help me internally. I didn't hear from my partner anymore after our last phone conversation; never thought I would again.
After a week passed, I started receiving random texts from this person, asking questions about random things. I entertained it momentarily; told them I was not in a place to be 'friends.' I was skeptical about why they were reaching out, considering how they behaved before. It was a total 180. At that time, they told me they missed me; acknowledged their poor behavior and told me they wanted to be together, they just wanted my health to be in order. Health was important to them, etc. You get the picture. They even sent me their test results, which I had requested earlier...with no HSV results, which I noted in a later conversation.
Eventually, old boy tells me they tested positive for HSV-1; tested in the high false positive range. They didn't want to spend the money for a confirmation test because of their bills; but they were taking weekend trips/visiting restaurants. We have hung out a few times since the initial diagnosis; recently, the vibes were just off. We were back to communicating but there was no daily communication like before and it was only texting. I had to initiate most calls. I was willing to take things slow out of respect for the situation. I was just happy there seemed to be light at the end of the tunnel. They reached out to me daily while they were on vacation and sent me cute pics, videos and voice messages of them serenading/singing.
Last night, it was so weird when we hung out, it made me uncomfortable. I really felt like, though they were being polite, they weren't really enjoying my company all that much. They made up an excuse about going to the store just to get rid of me. This morning, I left them a note to share my feelings and see if we were on the same page. They got upset I dropped by unannounced and said they were 'just being nice' by inviting me over and giving me food. Although, I was skeptical the entire time, I'm still pretty upset. I can't necessarily say I was used (we haven't slept together or kissed since STD testing); I definitely felt like I was being led on...I really liked this person...this really hurts and I'm still overcoming self doubt about future love/happiness.

I used to be really close friends with someone that I work with, but I was in love with him. We got physical a few times which wasn't a smart idea on my part. I am to blame for allowing him to disrespect me, but I still feel like he disrespected me. He said he didn't want a relationship, and it had nothing to do with me. He ghosted me over something stupid and he didn't talk to me about it at all despite my apology. I didn't harass him, I let him walk away. Months later, he said that he was still willing to be my friend with no apology for ghosting me. I wasn't willing to be his friend. If he had told me he was gonna take space, it would have saved the friendship, but he just cut off contact with no warning. When I told him he shouldn't have ghosted me, he said he needed to set a boundary. Even though I told him I'm not interested in being his friend, he still tries to talk to me about stuff that isn't work. After he did that like three times in one day, I sat down with him when he was alone and I told him that I need more space. We can still help each other as coworkers and say good morning and goodnight, and of course we'll still end up in group conversations together, but I don't want him coming up to me when I'm alone and talking to me like we're friends. He agreed and said he would do whatever I need. He said he still thinks of me as a friend even if I don't see him as one, but he hurt me too much for me to be his friend. But he hasn't stuck to that. Maybe what I'm asking is unreasonable, but he agreed to it. And why is it okay for him to set a boundary without telling me, but it's not okay for me to clearly staye a boundary? I'm thinking about working at a different restaurant, but if I can cope with him, that would be better. Does anyone have tips? Whether that means convincing him to leave me alone or getting myself to not be upset when he talks to me

Listing a private bedroom of a 2 bed/2bath unit in El Segundo near downtown! Close to stores, restaurants, airport and downtown El Segundo. Close proximity to aerospace companies. Less than 1.5 miles from the beach!
Complex has pool and hot tub. Available July. To sign 12 month lease or we can discuss other options. In unit laundry. Deposit would be 1 month's rent. No pets. No couples. Easy parking. Room unfurnished (Can possibly provide bed if needed).

Xeno Sargent: can some one explain why the recruit is showing up every one in this department? Isn't he from a newly found race?
Xeno training officer: we don't know the rookie is only in his first planetary cycle and he already cleaned nearly 40% of the city of crime.
X.S: some one get me the files on humans

I mean, what was that diary recipe you got soaked in enough to say "this is the one"?
This is circumstantial, as I know some people here are always tinkering, but for those that have a go to, or one you brew often enough to have nearly always on hand, what is it?
For me, it's my strong bitter I've been making minor tweaks to for years. It was my first self made recipe when I was doing partial mash partial boils, and it's my go to ag recipe.

My name is Evaline and my sister who is vital to this as well is named Vivian and we are twins aged twenty-three. Yesterday we went on a graveyard investigation, and I don't think we came back alone.
We pulled up to the graveyard In Vivians beat up red bug. She shut off the car and looked over to me.
“I have a weird feeling, Evaline, are you sure you want to do this?” asked Vivian.
“Oh yeah everyone keeps telling me about this place!” I exclaimed.
As we exited the car and walked up to the property Vivian turned on the ghost box (A tool used for communicating with ghosts by scanning through radio frequencies and white noise).
The ghost box said one word very abruptly “STOP.”
We looked at each other with puzzled faces.
“Do you not want us here?” asked Vivian.
“STOP.’ Came through the ghost box again.
“Uh color me crazy but I think we should still go in.” I said.
Vivian looked at me for a moment and then agreed we heard one final “STOP.” as we entered and then it was dead silent for 15 minutes.
We were walking around when my sister Vivian stopped and looked at a specific tree. This tree is twisted looking literally it has two parts to it that twist together to make sort of an arch way.
“A woman is over there.” Vivian whispered and pointed towards the tree (Vivian Is a medium by the way)
“Well let’s go check It out.” I enthusiastically said.
As we reached the tree the ghost box said the name “ANNIE.”
Vivian Greeted Annie and asked her why she was there.
But I was more Interested In trying to find Annie’s headstone.
“Hey, ask her for her last name!” I shouted over to Vivian who gave me a thumbs up.
I walked further away scanning all the different headstones with my flashlight. Some of these guys are really old, like 17th century old.
“Maybe that’s why it’s so haunted.” I thought to myself.
As I looked up to scan the next headstone, I saw a figure of a man standing by a headstone. “Holy shit where'd he come from?” I thought “Hey Vivian do you see hi-” I cut off because when I pointed back to where I saw him no one was there.
“Okaayyy.” I said in a hushed tone “I’m just going to go walk over there and see what the headstone says.” I made my way over to the headstone.
“Oh no way Vivian come over here, look who I found!” I shouted
“What’s up, what'd you find?” Vivian asked excitedly.
She looked down as I shined my flashlight on the fading stone the words “Annie Forester Beloved Mother and Wife” were shown.
“ME.” Said the ghost box We both looked at each other. We normally don’t get very intelligent responses so this was a big deal.
“What happened to you Annie?” I asked “HUNG.”
“Oh Jesus, that took a dark turn.” I said
“Evaline, stop it.” Vivan shouted, "Can you tell us why?” she asked,
“WITCH.”
“Oh she must have been a part of the old witch hunts that happened all through England and Ireland.” Vivian said
“Yeah but why are you still here Annie?” I asked Nothing happened for a good five minutes before the response
“TO PROTECT” came through.
“Protect what Annie?” I asked another few minutes pass by before the ghost box says “THE LAND”
“Huh that's awfully sweet of you do you make sure the living are safe?” Asked Vivian
“YES” the ghost box replied almost Immediately
“LEAVE” It says.
“Why do you want us to leave?” I asked
“Yeah what's wrong Annie?” Asked Vivian
“HIM”
“Who is him?” Asked Vivian
“PLEASE GO”
Those were the last words the ghost box said for another twenty minutes
“Maybe we should go, it's been a while and we haven't gotten anything else.” Said Vivian
I Looked around the graveyard I had a bad feeling
“Yeah lets get outta here this place is starting to creep me out.” I said as I stood and shook myself off trying to get rid of the odd energy.
We packed up all of our things and headed to the entrance. We said a prayer so nothing negative would follow us and threw our bags in the trunk. As I opened the door I slumped down In the passenger seat.
“Phew.” I breathed
“We got some pretty good stuff from Annie. I just wanna know who the mysterious him is.” Giggled Vivian
The drive home was uneventful but I couldn’t shake that odd energy from my body.
“Hey Viv do you feel weird or is that just a me thing?” I asked looking over at Vivian
“Mmm yeah ever since we left I felt odd, hopefully it's just our nerves.” Vivian said with a warm smile. But something was hidden behind the warmth of her smile : fear.
We pulled up to the house and unloaded our bags onto the kitchen table. It's become sort of a ritual at this point, every time we finish an investigation we unpack and load in all the recordings to listen to with high quality noise canceling headphones. We also order some kind of takeout tonight's meal of champions was Chinese food my favorite.
I stirred together my orange chicken and rice as I pawed through the recordings settling on the third one when Annie mentions “HIM”. The recording fills my ears as I intently listen.
“LEAVE.” Says the ghost box
“Why do you want us to leave?” you can hear us asking
“HIM” the ghost box says
“Who is him?” Vivian’s voice says
I listen closely as silence fills the space
“I'm Him.” A deep voice says not over the voice box but right next to the recorder.
I screamed and jumped out of my seat throwing the headphones on the ground.
“What what what!” Says Vivian
“Oh hell no, that sounded like satan.” I said laughing In disbelief
I rewinded the recording so Vivian could hear it. I saw her face turn into a huge grin.
“Now this is solid stuff we have to go back there!” Exclaimed Vivian
“Yeah I'm down but you're reviewing the tapes next time that voice is creepy.” I said with a smile
“Deal!” Said Vivian as she stuck her hand out for a hand shake. I took it and shook hands.
“I'm gonna get ready for bed Viv goodnight!” I yelled as I walked away
“Goodnight!” yelled Vivian
I stepped into the poorly lit bathroom and turned on the shower
“That voice is seriously creepy.” I muttered to myself as I took out my High ponytail and let my dark brown curls bounce down to my shoulders. My hair always did look nice with my pale skin
“Thanks to you mom.” I said looking up at the ceiling
I stepped into the shower and started washing my hair when I heard something fall.
I opened the shower curtain to see the culprit my cat Leo
“Oh Leo you're going to be the death of me.” I puffed out closing the shower curtain again
Another crash comes from outside the shower curtain
“Leo Get ou-” I ripped open the curtain to find the toilet paper holder in the sink
I stared dumbfounded as to how my small cat could have body builder lifted the toilet paper holder into the sink.
“VIIIIVIAN” I screamed
Heavy footsteps pound down the hallway but no Vivian
“Vivian?” I called
Pounding assaulted the walls to the point they were vibrating as the footsteps continued
“VIVIAN” I endlessly scream for what seems like hours until the door bursts open and the walls stop pounding immediately
“Are you okay, what's wrong, what's going on?” Exclaimed Vivian with a very worried look.
“You didn't hear me screaming for you?” I sobbed
“No, I just now heard you and came in. What happened?” asked Vivian
I told her all of the events that had just occurred she looked towards the sink and back to me with a confused face
“The toilet paper holder isn't in the sink Evaline.” She said pointing towards the sink which was in fact empty
“What no I swear it was!” I exclaimed
“I believe you Evaline you never cry it's just odd try and get some sleep okay maybe you're really tired? Cooed Vivian
“Yeah maybe” I said
I finished my shower without any problems and climbed into bed.Covering myself with the plushy blanket I let sleep take me over.
“Evaline wake up!” Vivian yell whispered as she shook me awake
“What's going on?” I groggily asked and then I heard it pounding on the walls but it was everywhere The walls were all slightly shaking
“Is this what happened in the bathroom?” Vivian asked me
“Yeah pretty much just not as loud.” I said standing up I'm gonna go check it out stay her Vivian
“You're that white girl that dies in the horror movie.” Vivian said with a smirk
I shook my head and stepped out into the hallway. Literally all of the walls seemed to be buzzing with the pounding. I made my way past the family portraits and got to the back door slowly putting my hand on the door knob and twisting it till I quickly pulled it open and the pounding stopped. I Looked around the dark backyard and I noticed something: the figure of a man standing by our fence. I looked closer trying to get a better look it was definitely a man.
I turned around to grab the bat sitting on our porch.
“Hey buddy you better beat it!” I yelled, turning back with bat in arm to see he was gone.
“Weird.” I thought and went back inside the house. I closed the back door and turned to walk back to Vivian when I saw the shadowy man standing right in front of me.
“AH-” I started to scream but the air seemed to be sucked from my lungs and the only thing that came out was a small peep.
“I don’t like you creatures.” The man said in a voice I can’t even begin to describe. It wasn't human.
“But still you exist to only displease me.” He went on
“Who are you?” I stammered
“You wouldn't know the word but you gave a soul hope tonight which made her free of me so now I need another soul in return for the one you greedily took.” The man like thing said
“Annie?” I asked shakily
He made an odd gurgling crunching noise reminiscent of a laugh but sounded more like a garbage disposal.
“Obviously” he replied
“Now you're going to replace that soul.” He said calmly
“Evaline?” Vivian placed her hand on my shoulder
“Evaline Are you there helloooo?” Vivan said snapping her fingers in front of my eyes
“Yeah sorry Viv I just was thinking.” I replied
Now i'm writing this to you hoping someone out there knows what this thing is and how to get rid of it before I become the next soul to be taken by HIM.

-Red-
April 19th, 11:13 A.M., The Sprawl
I sparked a dilapidated Vita-Cig that I’d snagged from Trodes and peered out into the Sprawl; the careful equilibrium of a well-orchestrated black-market had returned; pushers and gangers lined the alleys, watching for signals from rooftop lookouts to avoid the single Peacewatch cruiser that had been stupid enough to enter the dockside. The poor bastard would be dead before the afternoon was over… not that I had much sympathy for his kind. Peacewatch made it a habit to stay out of the Sprawl: unless the Eggheads predictive crime system said something catastrophic was coming, they policed their kind and left us in the hands of the mob. I’d never iced an officer. Not yet at least.
“Your partner should be ready shortly, I think he’s just tying up a few loose ends,” Akari said, snatching the cigarette from my hand and taking a long drag.
“Remind me again why you think I should take the shrimp with me instead of Nico and Roman?”
“He’s smart… and the other two are working on something else. Besides-- you need brains on this one, Red, not muscle,” she giggled, passing the cigarette back.
“Whatever you say,” I paused, grabbing the smoke, “what do you have them up to?”
“There’s a shipment of Xeno-grade weapons coming down from the colonies. Nico and Roman will be liberating them from the Slicers. Or, their share, at least. It won’t be much, maybe a dozen guns, but it’ll be worth it: the force field tech alone will pay for the trip as soon as Fincetti’s goons start trying to take your heads off with plasma cannons and mono blades.”
“What do you mean, their share?”
“The job was too big for us to take on alone. I linked up with another enterprising group of Freelancers. If it goes well, maybe we can hire them on for the heist, we’re going to need more people if we want to walk out of there alive.”
We?
“What, are you planning on coming along now?” I asked, snuffing out the smoke.
“It only seems right; Trodes is coming along, and I’m a better shot than he’ll ever be. Besides, you have a dangerous habit of getting shot, and I can’t have you going down in the field,” she said, winking as if to punctuate the sentence.
“You sure? We can manage, you don’t have to come with us, you’ve done so much already.”
“I know I have, that’s why I have to protect my investment. If you go down out there, then the team is without a leader. A military scale operation like this will go south real fast without someone competent in command.”
“You’ve got me wrong, Akari: I’m no leader. I’m just someone who wants to live in a better city and doesn’t mind taking the trash out himself. Besides, why do we need a leader? We’re all competent adults acting in concert, of our own free will. We all know what we’re doing, if a situation arises and someone needs to take charge, it’ll happen.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in a crew you just met,” Akari said with a sneer.
“You know why I asked you to put the team together, Akari?”
“Because there’s a bounty on your head that could finance twenty retirements, and you know you can trust me?”
“No, well yeah, but that’s beside the point—I asked you because you’re not a Fixer, you’re a part time street doc that works the front desk at the most popular Freelancer hotel in the Sprawl. If there’s anyone who knows who’s gonna get the job done, it’s you. See, a Fixer is going to be okay with whatever losses they deem acceptable beforehand, but they’re fine with keeping that to themselves. If you thought any of these mooks were going to crack under pressure, or do something stupid, you wouldn’t have set me up with them.”
Before she could respond, Trodes emerged from the stairs leading to the lab. He winced as the sunlight hit his eyes, shrugging on the hood of the oversized sweatshirt that blanketed his meek frame. Glimpses of pain showed through every tremor laden step he took. A cloak of wires enveloped his skull, feeding into an old-world cyber console.
“It’s insufferably hot out here,” Trodes sighed.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Chances are that whatever hole we’re meeting BFU in will have air conditioning,” I responded, clicking my key fob, and signaling the bike to pull around.
Trodes face fell flat when the Supersonic rolled around the corner; apparently, the prestige of carving through the skyway on a state-of-the-art Taffington jet-bike was lost on him.
“Are we taking… that?” Trodes stammered.
“We are. Unless you’ve got a pair of wheels with two seats?” I asked, mounting the bike and revving the engine.
With an exasperated sigh, Trodes boarded the passenger seat. I could feel him behind me, vibrating as tremors gripped his body.
“You good, buddy?” I asked.
He nodded vigorously, clenching the handrails with white knuckles.
Akari shook her head and headed back to the lab.
I heard Trodes mumble something under his breath, but it was quickly drowned out by the jet-bike’s purr. I carved into the skyway. Driving in the Sprawl was pure freedom: almost nobody owned vehicles with aerial capabilities in this part of town. It didn’t take long to reach top speed.
Slummers and gutterpunks walked the streets like zombies in a drug addled haze. The scent of gunpowder, pollution and burning ozone coalesced into a putrid stench that reeked of poverty and violence. Patches of azure moved in militant formation below; the Vorrath had taken to the streets. On a different day, a better day, I would’ve helped them. Most slummers hated the Offworlder Coalition, but not me—at the end of the day I always figured that I had more in common with poor people from another planet than rich people from another district of the city. At least we shared the same struggle.
The bike slowed to crawl; the Neo-Confederates were about, backed by a platoon of Brown-Shirts that looked like a tide of sewer run off, crashing through the streets with reckless abandon. Civilians fled for their homes. Fuck.
The jet-bike careened through the air before finally landing atop a building a few blocks away from the impending conflict.
“Get off,” I said, turning back to Trodes.
“Why? You don’t intend to abandon me at this altitude, do you?”
“Not as long as I survive—I’ll be quick, I just need to ventilate some Nazi fucks, understood?”
He shook his head and muttered a string of curses.
I tore through the air, circling around the impending conflict. I chased a handful of cheap amphetamines with a poorly rolled joint and swooped low, behind the rolling tide of brown shirts. This wasn’t the first time I’d made myself an enemy of the city’s Neo-Nazi’s; I’d killed at least a dozen of them in my career as a courier, but those were isolated incidents, back-alley brawls away from the mob.
This was a whole new ball game.
I fell slack as my Teleoperations module synchronized with the bike. My consciousness faded, reemerging into the HALO-Net’s stylized rendition of the bike’s interior. I wasn’t just the pilot now—I was the bike. Bullets carved twin streaks of crimson into the brown tide. It didn’t take long to hit top speed, 3.7 seconds, to be exact.
The group turned in nearly perfect unison, launching volley upon volley as I passed overhead. The bike’s shields barely held together; I felt every round, like a flock of birds violently slamming into my side—not enough to cause any real damage, but more than enough to get the blood pumping. I slid into an alley a few blocks off and waited for the shield generator to recharge. Gunshots rang out from the streets, alongside the sizzle of plasma meeting flesh. Soon the din was drowned beneath the roar of dozens of Vorrath war cries. I took to the sky.
Trodes was exactly where I left him, nervously clutching a knock off version of a Locust flechette pistol.
“I was beginning to doubt your survival,” Trodes said shakily.
“Wrong again, little guy,” I paused, reigniting a half smoked joint, “it was just a quick hit and run, we don’t have the time or the numbers for a pitched battle. Now, hop on.”
It didn’t take long to find BFU’s base of operations. Black flags and Anarchist graffiti covered the walls of the abandoned warehouse they’d apparently taken up residence in. A field of repurposed Peacewatch turrets were installed atop the roof, complimented by a web of cameras that spread across a three-block radius. Anarchists of all species and creeds loitered outside. The guards ranged from Cyborgs and Vat-Grown, to Vorrath and Vorstihl, each wearing a variant of the black flag with colors corresponding to their ideologies.
As I hovered above the building, I saw a familiar face: the rookie from earlier. Alarmingly, his cruiser was nowhere to be seen. His face was wrought with horror, as a pair of cyborgs led him inside the warehouse.
“They’re certainly less than subtle,” Trodes said.
“They don’t have to be subtle, they’re the biggest citizens political organization in the Sprawl. Peacewatch avoids them if they have anything less than a full platoon on hand,” I explained.
“Red… before we enter negotiations with these hooligans, I must inquire as to what your motivation hitting the vault is? Surely you know there’s a strong likelihood that you won’t make it out, and from what I’d heard about you, I always understood you to be a man who knew how to keep himself out of the line of sight of dangerous people,” Trodes said, nervously.
“Fincetti is the most dangerous man in the city, short of O’Bannon. He controls the black market with an iron fist and is instrumental in all the things I hate about living here. The problem is, I have no way to do anything about it right now… but there’s something big in the safe—there must be—for fucks sake, he iced his family over it. I’m hoping there’s something in there that can give me a little leverage, so I can cross him out afterwards.”
Trodes was silent for a moment, simply reaching as if to ask me to pass the joint. I obliged.
“I have my reasons to want O’Bannon dead too, I’m in,” he paused as a coughing fit seized him, causing the joint to fall to the ground, “there’s something you should know though: I’m working with an entity of great power in the Net; I don’t know what precisely it is, but I know it saved my life more than once. As a matter of fact, it’s the only reason I was able to obtain the blueprint of Fincetti’s bunker, and his security plan.”
“Is it… is it an unshackled AI?”
“Unlikely: it seems to understand compassion and empathy on a uniquely organic level, something that rarely slips past Netwatch.”
“Alright, well whatever it is, you keep an eye on it and let me know if things get shady. I appreciate you telling me.”
Trodes nodded in silence.
The crowd parted expectantly as I landed along the streetside. Dozens of eyes were immediately glued to Trodes and I. A cyborg with a steel double mohawk emerged from a sea of leather, patches, and smoke. A sawed-off shotgun hung at his side.
“Red, I presume?” the Cyborg asked, extending a steel hand.
“That’s right, and who’re you?” I answered, clasping the borgs hand as firm as I could manage.
“They call me Diezel, and I’ll be your host today,” he released my hand and looked me up and down as if assessing whether I was a threat, “follow me, everyone’s here so we can get straight down to business.”
The warehouse’s interior had been renovated drastically; layers of open-faced lofts sat stacked upon each other, consuming the walls. Nearly every non-violent law in the city was being broken in the lofts, from cooking chems and explosives to studying banned literature and Doomguard martial arts. It was beautiful. We followed Diezel through a winding hallway of munitions manufacturing stations, before finally emerging into an immense circular room, with rows of seats climbing the walls. I couldn’t believe it—there must have been two hundred people present.
The lights dimmed as we entered the arena. Diezel led us to the rooms center, ushering Trodes and I onto a great circular platform; he fell into place on a platform across from us, beside a Vat-Grown woman bearing an orange and black flag on her arm, and augmentations that cost more than my bike. Behind the duo a bulbous Vorstihl lurked; tentacles draped down his back, carefully pulled away from his cyclopean eye. A red and black flag was displayed on his arm… it was only then that I noticed the blue and black flag on Diezel’s arm.
The platforms each rose roughly fifteen feet into the air, before microphone stands emerged from the center of each platform. Diezel stepped forward, past the microphone.
“Before we start, I’ll explain how this works: the three of us are representatives of our specific unions—but the people are free to interject. One union voting to aid in your endeavors does not guarantee the help of the other two, as each union demands a perfect consensus. Likewise, if a faction without one union decides to help you, it does not necessarily mean you have the support of the entire union. The only way you’ll end up with total support is cross union consensus. Do you understand?”
A consensus: of course, they needed a damned consensus.
“I do,” I answered, speaking away from the microphone.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Diezel stepped back, finding his microphone before continuing, “Red, Trodes, welcome to the Bouleuterion,” he paused a moment as the crowd erupted into cheers, “beside me are my comrades Aria and Korvirex, and we stand ready to hear your proposal.”
“As most of you probably know, Don Fincetti is the most powerful man in the underworld, hell—maybe even the city—what you likely don’t know is that he has a vault beneath the city, guarded by an army of Harvesters. I intend to break into the vault, slaughter the Harvesters and strike a blow to Fincetti that he won’t forget… and I intend to kill him shortly after. What I ask is simple: you help me in what’s to come, and when he’s finally dead, you can all split his turf among yourselves. All I care about is making sure he doesn’t live long enough to poison the Sprawl more than he already has.”
A murmur emerged from the stands. I gazed across the way to see the three representatives huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. Finally, Aria stepped towards her microphone.
“What you ask of us will likely mean the death of many of our people… we need something greater than what you offer—we need a guarantee of mutual aid—you have a reputation in the Sprawl, we would ask that you employ it in helping us when the time comes to resettle the Sprawl. Namely, we’d request your assistance against the gangs that may try to fill the power void you seek to create,” Aria explained.
“That seems reasonable,” I said.
Aria stepped back as Korvirex moved forward.
“Tell me, Red, are you familiar with the Offworlder Coalition?” Korvirex asked.
“I am—as a matter of fact, I aided them on the way here—they were marching against the Neo-Confederates and the Brown Shirts. I insured that they had the element of surprise.”
Korvirex stroked the beard-like tentacles that hung from his chin in contemplation.
“Good. What I ask is that you help us to secure their trust, we have offered solidarity where we could, but our forces are spread thin. The ideology of many of the exiled Vorrath rebels that found their way to Nova City—it matches that of our union. If our help was offered, would you agree to assist us in aiding the Coalition, so that they finally have an opportunity to get on their feet?”
Trodes leaned towards in, whispering in my ear.
“It would be prudent of you to make a counteroffer: proclaim that you’ll help with the Coalition, if they’ll spread the word to other groups whose goals may align with ours. There will likely be at least a couple hundred Harvesters in the Undercity when we strike… unless they’re occupied elsewhere.”
“I would happily help with the Coalition, on the condition that your faction spread the word about what we’re doing to like-minded organizations. As it stands, we could still use more numbers to match the Harvesters,” I said.
“These conditions may be satisfactory,” Korvirex said, before retreating into yet another group huddle.
The audience watched on in silence.
Finally, Diezel reapproached the microphone.
“The representatives have deemed this topic worthy of discussion: you’re free to leave, we’ll get ahold of Akari in a couple days, when all the details are ironed out.”
“A couple days?”
“Reaching a consensus can be a slow process at times—be prepared for a renegotiation of conditions, as there will likely be more stipulations made once the process is complete,” Diezel explained.
I nodded, and the platform beneath my feet began to descend towards the floor. The crowd erupted into cheers.
Hopefully Nico and Roman would beat us home.

Looking to buy my first table saw and after reading many reviews and hearing advice from around the Internet I had decided to get the DWE7491RS. However, when I was shopping, the price for the saw was roughly $550 at retailers. However, now that I've put the money together, the price has gone up to roughly $650 at retailers. I'm not familiar with the tool markets and if it is likely to go on sale again in the near future or if it will probably stay at ~$650. Is this still a good pick for $650?
I'm not an experienced carpentewoodworker by any stretch. I'm looking for a saw to work on general household projects such as building fences and gates etc. However, I'd also prefer a saw that is capable and functional enough to allow me to grow into woodworking as a hobby, eg. building tables, furniture, etc. without causing me to pull my hair out. In other words, I know a cheap Harbor Freight saw would probably be fine for a simple deck or fence project but I imagine you can almost guarantee pulling your hair out trying to keep precision across multiple cuts for things like miter joints etc. keeping in mind that I don't have a collection of other tools such as a miter saw, etc. I like that the DeWalt saw has what looks like a pretty good rolling stand that would be very handy for me as I don't have a very large indoor shop area so lot's of stuff will need to be done outside.
Thanks for the help! Excited to get into it!

This is maybe an odd question, but I'm not sure how or if it's important it is to accurately capture life experience on CASPA. Appreciate any perspective/advice on this, apologies for the wall of text.
I'm in my 30s and I lived a-- for lack of a better phrase-- non-career-focused life in my 20s. Got a bachelors but then spent years doing many small things, often not paid. I wrote for a hyperlocal blog, reviewed theatephotography/painting by emerging artists, wrote neighborhood guides, lived in an illegally converted industrial warehouse artist-collective that hosted readings/exhibitions/parties, published zines, ran writing groups, helped make/acted in experimental short films, traveled around the world, lived in Argentina and Berlin for a bit, interned at a small feminist press, worked at a gallery, did A/V for events for an artist's residency, managed a paintesculptor's studio, wrote/edited artist writing, wrote grants, co-authored a book length manuscript (not published), and other scattered things of this nature. Paid rent by working at neighborhood restaurants where staff was quite involved in the running and community events.
My question is-- currently I'm not really including any of this on CASPA, because a lot of it seems "unprofessional", scattered, and much of it is unpaid. It doesn't fit as volunteer work as it's not serving a community in need in the traditional sense. Right now it looks like I bartended for like 7 years, one little internship, scattered writing, and nothing else during that period, which does not at all capture my life experience and what I think makes me unique as an applicant. My PS is already way too long.
I currently have zero volunteer work listed. But personally I think all these things (mostly all took place in one neighborhood) show a genuine dedication to my artistic community and my 'hood, even if it's not the traditional kind of service. Is this kind of life experience/volunteering not really relevant to apps, counting more as a hobby or something like that? I have a 3.3 cumulative GPA, 4.0 in all pre-reqs & 2k+ hrs PCE.
For example, I lived in Argentina for a while (but it wasn't study abroad/never took a college Spanish class) and am fluent in Spanish. Worked in a Mexican restaurant where most of the staff was Spanish and was bilingual at work. I translate at the hospital every day. My college-aged coworkers applying to PA school have years of college Spanish credits but are not fluent and are not allowed to translate. Another college-aged coworker applying PA is going on a school-sponsored "mission" trip that costs $$$ and the itinerary she showed me looked like a sightseeing/surf vacation. This coddled ~experience~ stuff goes neatly on a resume. (Sorry I'm old and bitter hahaha!!) Seems like a miss to show nowhere on CASPA that I'm a non-native speaker who learned the language on my own through experience and who translates for the docs in the ER. Can't find a way to put it in that doesn't seem awkward and forced.
Again, apologies for the wall of text. Anyone, especially non-trad applicants, have thoughts or advice on this?
Thank you in advance!

-Red-
April 19th, 11:13 A.M., The Sprawl
I sparked a dilapidated Vita-Cig that I’d snagged from Trodes and peered out into the Sprawl; the careful equilibrium of a well-orchestrated black-market had returned; pushers and gangers lined the alleys, watching for signals from rooftop lookouts to avoid the single Peacewatch cruiser that had been stupid enough to enter the dockside. The poor bastard would be dead before the afternoon was over… not that I had much sympathy for his kind. Peacewatch made it a habit to stay out of the Sprawl: unless the Eggheads predictive crime system said something catastrophic was coming, they policed their kind and left us in the hands of the mob. I’d never iced an officer. Not yet at least.
“Your partner should be ready shortly, I think he’s just tying up a few loose ends,” Akari said, snatching the cigarette from my hand and taking a long drag.
“Remind me again why you think I should take the shrimp with me instead of Nico and Roman?”
“He’s smart… and the other two are working on something else. Besides-- you need brains on this one, Red, not muscle,” she giggled, passing the cigarette back.
“Whatever you say,” I paused, grabbing the smoke, “what do you have them up to?”
“There’s a shipment of Xeno-grade weapons coming down from the colonies. Nico and Roman will be liberating them from the Slicers. Or, their share, at least. It won’t be much, maybe a dozen guns, but it’ll be worth it: the force field tech alone will pay for the trip as soon as Fincetti’s goons start trying to take your heads off with plasma cannons and mono blades.”
“What do you mean, their share?”
“The job was too big for us to take on alone. I linked up with another enterprising group of Freelancers. If it goes well, maybe we can hire them on for the heist, we’re going to need more people if we want to walk out of there alive.”
We?
“What, are you planning on coming along now?” I asked, snuffing out the smoke.
“It only seems right; Trodes is coming along, and I’m a better shot than he’ll ever be. Besides, you have a dangerous habit of getting shot, and I can’t have you going down in the field,” she said, winking as if to punctuate the sentence.
“You sure? We can manage, you don’t have to come with us, you’ve done so much already.”
“I know I have, that’s why I have to protect my investment. If you go down out there, then the team is without a leader. A military scale operation like this will go south real fast without someone competent in command.”
“You’ve got me wrong, Akari: I’m no leader. I’m just someone who wants to live in a better city and doesn’t mind taking the trash out himself. Besides, why do we need a leader? We’re all competent adults acting in concert, of our own free will. We all know what we’re doing, if a situation arises and someone needs to take charge, it’ll happen.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in a crew you just met,” Akari said with a sneer.
“You know why I asked you to put the team together, Akari?”
“Because there’s a bounty on your head that could finance twenty retirements, and you know you can trust me?”
“No, well yeah, but that’s beside the point—I asked you because you’re not a Fixer, you’re a part time street doc that works the front desk at the most popular Freelancer hotel in the Sprawl. If there’s anyone who knows who’s gonna get the job done, it’s you. See, a Fixer is going to be okay with whatever losses they deem acceptable beforehand, but they’re fine with keeping that to themselves. If you thought any of these mooks were going to crack under pressure, or do something stupid, you wouldn’t have set me up with them.”
Before she could respond, Trodes emerged from the stairs leading to the lab. He winced as the sunlight hit his eyes, shrugging on the hood of the oversized sweatshirt that blanketed his meek frame. Glimpses of pain showed through every tremor laden step he took. A cloak of wires enveloped his skull, feeding into an old-world cyber console.
“It’s insufferably hot out here,” Trodes sighed.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Chances are that whatever hole we’re meeting BFU in will have air conditioning,” I responded, clicking my key fob, and signaling the bike to pull around.
Trodes face fell flat when the Supersonic rolled around the corner; apparently, the prestige of carving through the skyway on a state-of-the-art Taffington jet-bike was lost on him.
“Are we taking… that?” Trodes stammered.
“We are. Unless you’ve got a pair of wheels with two seats?” I asked, mounting the bike and revving the engine.
With an exasperated sigh, Trodes boarded the passenger seat. I could feel him behind me, vibrating as tremors gripped his body.
“You good, buddy?” I asked.
He nodded vigorously, clenching the handrails with white knuckles.
Akari shook her head and headed back to the lab.
I heard Trodes mumble something under his breath, but it was quickly drowned out by the jet-bike’s purr. I carved into the skyway. Driving in the Sprawl was pure freedom: almost nobody owned vehicles with aerial capabilities in this part of town. It didn’t take long to reach top speed.
Slummers and gutterpunks walked the streets like zombies in a drug addled haze. The scent of gunpowder, pollution and burning ozone coalesced into a putrid stench that reeked of poverty and violence. Patches of azure moved in militant formation below; the Vorrath had taken to the streets. On a different day, a better day, I would’ve helped them. Most slummers hated the Offworlder Coalition, but not me—at the end of the day I always figured that I had more in common with poor people from another planet than rich people from another district of the city. At least we shared the same struggle.
The bike slowed to crawl; the Neo-Confederates were about, backed by a platoon of Brown-Shirts that looked like a tide of sewer run off, crashing through the streets with reckless abandon. Civilians fled for their homes. Fuck.
The jet-bike careened through the air before finally landing atop a building a few blocks away from the impending conflict.
“Get off,” I said, turning back to Trodes.
“Why? You don’t intend to abandon me at this altitude, do you?”
“Not as long as I survive—I’ll be quick, I just need to ventilate some Nazi fucks, understood?”
He shook his head and muttered a string of curses.
I tore through the air, circling around the impending conflict. I chased a handful of cheap amphetamines with a poorly rolled joint and swooped low, behind the rolling tide of brown shirts. This wasn’t the first time I’d made myself an enemy of the city’s Neo-Nazi’s; I’d killed at least a dozen of them in my career as a courier, but those were isolated incidents, back-alley brawls away from the mob.
This was a whole new ball game.
I fell slack as my Teleoperations module synchronized with the bike. My consciousness faded, reemerging into the HALO-Net’s stylized rendition of the bike’s interior. I wasn’t just the pilot now—I was the bike. Bullets carved twin streaks of crimson into the brown tide. It didn’t take long to hit top speed, 3.7 seconds, to be exact.
The group turned in nearly perfect unison, launching volley upon volley as I passed overhead. The bike’s shields barely held together; I felt every round, like a flock of birds violently slamming into my side—not enough to cause any real damage, but more than enough to get the blood pumping. I slid into an alley a few blocks off and waited for the shield generator to recharge. Gunshots rang out from the streets, alongside the sizzle of plasma meeting flesh. Soon the din was drowned beneath the roar of dozens of Vorrath war cries. I took to the sky.
Trodes was exactly where I left him, nervously clutching a knock off version of a Locust flechette pistol.
“I was beginning to doubt your survival,” Trodes said shakily.
“Wrong again, little guy,” I paused, reigniting a half smoked joint, “it was just a quick hit and run, we don’t have the time or the numbers for a pitched battle. Now, hop on.”
It didn’t take long to find BFU’s base of operations. Black flags and Anarchist graffiti covered the walls of the abandoned warehouse they’d apparently taken up residence in. A field of repurposed Peacewatch turrets were installed atop the roof, complimented by a web of cameras that spread across a three-block radius. Anarchists of all species and creeds loitered outside. The guards ranged from Cyborgs and Vat-Grown, to Vorrath and Vorstihl, each wearing a variant of the black flag with colors corresponding to their ideologies.
As I hovered above the building, I saw a familiar face: the rookie from earlier. Alarmingly, his cruiser was nowhere to be seen. His face was wrought with horror, as a pair of cyborgs led him inside the warehouse.
“They’re certainly less than subtle,” Trodes said.
“They don’t have to be subtle, they’re the biggest citizens political organization in the Sprawl. Peacewatch avoids them if they have anything less than a full platoon on hand,” I explained.
“Red… before we enter negotiations with these hooligans, I must inquire as to what your motivation hitting the vault is? Surely you know there’s a strong likelihood that you won’t make it out, and from what I’d heard about you, I always understood you to be a man who knew how to keep himself out of the line of sight of dangerous people,” Trodes said, nervously.
“Fincetti is the most dangerous man in the city, short of O’Bannon. He controls the black market with an iron fist and is instrumental in all the things I hate about living here. The problem is, I have no way to do anything about it right now… but there’s something big in the safe—there must be—for fucks sake, he iced his family over it. I’m hoping there’s something in there that can give me a little leverage, so I can cross him out afterwards.”
Trodes was silent for a moment, simply reaching as if to ask me to pass the joint. I obliged.
“I have my reasons to want O’Bannon dead too, I’m in,” he paused as a coughing fit seized him, causing the joint to fall to the ground, “there’s something you should know though: I’m working with an entity of great power in the Net; I don’t know what precisely it is, but I know it saved my life more than once. As a matter of fact, it’s the only reason I was able to obtain the blueprint of Fincetti’s bunker, and his security plan.”
“Is it… is it an unshackled AI?”
“Unlikely: it seems to understand compassion and empathy on a uniquely organic level, something that rarely slips past Netwatch.”
“Alright, well whatever it is, you keep an eye on it and let me know if things get shady. I appreciate you telling me.”
Trodes nodded in silence.
The crowd parted expectantly as I landed along the streetside. Dozens of eyes were immediately glued to Trodes and I. A cyborg with a steel double mohawk emerged from a sea of leather, patches, and smoke. A sawed-off shotgun hung at his side.
“Red, I presume?” the Cyborg asked, extending a steel hand.
“That’s right, and who’re you?” I answered, clasping the borgs hand as firm as I could manage.
“They call me Diezel, and I’ll be your host today,” he released my hand and looked me up and down as if assessing whether I was a threat, “follow me, everyone’s here so we can get straight down to business.”
The warehouse’s interior had been renovated drastically; layers of open-faced lofts sat stacked upon each other, consuming the walls. Nearly every non-violent law in the city was being broken in the lofts, from cooking chems and explosives to studying banned literature and Doomguard martial arts. It was beautiful. We followed Diezel through a winding hallway of munitions manufacturing stations, before finally emerging into an immense circular room, with rows of seats climbing the walls. I couldn’t believe it—there must have been two hundred people present.
The lights dimmed as we entered the arena. Diezel led us to the rooms center, ushering Trodes and I onto a great circular platform; he fell into place on a platform across from us, beside a Vat-Grown woman bearing an orange and black flag on her arm, and augmentations that cost more than my bike. Behind the duo a bulbous Vorstihl lurked; tentacles draped down his back, carefully pulled away from his cyclopean eye. A red and black flag was displayed on his arm… it was only then that I noticed the blue and black flag on Diezel’s arm.
The platforms each rose roughly fifteen feet into the air, before microphone stands emerged from the center of each platform. Diezel stepped forward, past the microphone.
“Before we start, I’ll explain how this works: the three of us are representatives of our specific unions—but the people are free to interject. One union voting to aid in your endeavors does not guarantee the help of the other two, as each union demands a perfect consensus. Likewise, if a faction without one union decides to help you, it does not necessarily mean you have the support of the entire union. The only way you’ll end up with total support is cross union consensus. Do you understand?”
A consensus: of course, they needed a damned consensus.
“I do,” I answered, speaking away from the microphone.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Diezel stepped back, finding his microphone before continuing, “Red, Trodes, welcome to the Bouleuterion,” he paused a moment as the crowd erupted into cheers, “beside me are my comrades Aria and Korvirex, and we stand ready to hear your proposal.”
“As most of you probably know, Don Fincetti is the most powerful man in the underworld, hell—maybe even the city—what you likely don’t know is that he has a vault beneath the city, guarded by an army of Harvesters. I intend to break into the vault, slaughter the Harvesters and strike a blow to Fincetti that he won’t forget… and I intend to kill him shortly after. What I ask is simple: you help me in what’s to come, and when he’s finally dead, you can all split his turf among yourselves. All I care about is making sure he doesn’t live long enough to poison the Sprawl more than he already has.”
A murmur emerged from the stands. I gazed across the way to see the three representatives huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. Finally, Aria stepped towards her microphone.
“What you ask of us will likely mean the death of many of our people… we need something greater than what you offer—we need a guarantee of mutual aid—you have a reputation in the Sprawl, we would ask that you employ it in helping us when the time comes to resettle the Sprawl. Namely, we’d request your assistance against the gangs that may try to fill the power void you seek to create,” Aria explained.
“That seems reasonable,” I said.
Aria stepped back as Korvirex moved forward.
“Tell me, Red, are you familiar with the Offworlder Coalition?” Korvirex asked.
“I am—as a matter of fact, I aided them on the way here—they were marching against the Neo-Confederates and the Brown Shirts. I insured that they had the element of surprise.”
Korvirex stroked the beard-like tentacles that hung from his chin in contemplation.
“Good. What I ask is that you help us to secure their trust, we have offered solidarity where we could, but our forces are spread thin. The ideology of many of the exiled Vorrath rebels that found their way to Nova City—it matches that of our union. If our help was offered, would you agree to assist us in aiding the Coalition, so that they finally have an opportunity to get on their feet?”
Trodes leaned towards in, whispering in my ear.
“It would be prudent of you to make a counteroffer: proclaim that you’ll help with the Coalition, if they’ll spread the word to other groups whose goals may align with ours. There will likely be at least a couple hundred Harvesters in the Undercity when we strike… unless they’re occupied elsewhere.”
“I would happily help with the Coalition, on the condition that your faction spread the word about what we’re doing to like-minded organizations. As it stands, we could still use more numbers to match the Harvesters,” I said.
“These conditions may be satisfactory,” Korvirex said, before retreating into yet another group huddle.
The audience watched on in silence.
Finally, Diezel reapproached the microphone.
“The representatives have deemed this topic worthy of discussion: you’re free to leave, we’ll get ahold of Akari in a couple days, when all the details are ironed out.”
“A couple days?”
“Reaching a consensus can be a slow process at times—be prepared for a renegotiation of conditions, as there will likely be more stipulations made once the process is complete,” Diezel explained.
I nodded, and the platform beneath my feet began to descend towards the floor. The crowd erupted into cheers.
Hopefully Nico and Roman would beat us home

Demographics: Indian/Pakistani/Persian Male (50% Indian, 25 - 25 others) Apparently this allows me to put MENA on my common app.
Applying to college as a junior because I hate my life and I want to run away. I have guaranteed admission to UCM and UCR which is my worst case scenario.
My family thinks I'm fucked because I got 2 Bs. Residency: SoCal
Top Public High School in California
Income: >350k Intended Major(s): Political Science ACT: 36 (All Sections) UW/W GPA and Rank: 3.92UW/4.27W Top 15% Coursework: AP Chem (5), AP Calc AB (5), APWH (5), AP HUG (5), Intro Poli Sci (community college), Calc 2 (community college) Senior Year APs: AP Lang, APUSH, AP Bio, AP Stats, AP Psych Awards:
- Congressional Gold Medal
- PVSA Lifetime
- Eagle Scout
- County Academic League Winner
- School Character Award (Given to 2 kids per grade)
- Quiz Bowl Team Nationals 13th place
- AP Scholar with Distinction
- Duke Of Edinburgh Silver Award
(lemme know which ones to put) Extracurriculars (Help Me Condense these) Trying to make a story about American Politics:

1. Boy Scouts, Eagle Scouts, and ASPL. Have been in Scouting since first grade.
2. Political Science Research at a T100 UC near me. Doing this for 2 years. My name is on publication.
3. Political Science Research at Brown. Doing this for 3 months.
4. Political Science Research at a State School Online. My name is on Publication.
5. Internship with State Assemblymember.
6. Founder Of a Nonprofit that teaches kids political literacy at three of the local elementary schools. Nonprofit since 7th grade.
7. Vice President Of Quiz Bowl, Have been a part of since 7th grade. Served as Treasurer last year.
8. Captain Of Junior Varsity Academic League
9. President and Founder Of Model Congress Club. First Model Congress in the city.
10. Secretary Of Model UN.
11. Youth Fellow at National Democrat Organization
12. Member Of a National Civics-Based Youth Board
13. USA Head at a big global nonprofit.
14. Wrote and self-published a book on civic engagement for children. Sold over 1000 copies (don't ask who though)

Help me make my story, please
Essays:
8.5/10, gonna write about my struggles with eating disorders and how I lost 150 pounds after my family bullied me for my weight.
LORs: Brown Professor / T100 UC Professor (Depends on which school), AP Chem Teacher 7/10, APWH Teacher (11/10) - Notorious for only writing letters for only 3 kids. She is the advisor of Model UN, Model Congress, Academic League, and Quiz Bowl. In her letter of rec for my youth board, she wrote that I am the hardest working student she has ever had.
Schools: Brown (ED), Bowdoin (ED2), Uchicago EA, UVA EA, NYU (Gallatin) RD, Cornell RD, Dartmouth RD, Amherst RD, UMich EA, Emory RD, Williams RD, USC EA, UCLA, UCB, Harvard RD, Duke RD,
Please let me know what I can do to make my application stronger. I AM DESPERATE TO START A NEW LIFE!!

This is a very affordable rental for UTA students wanting to live near campus!
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