You can tell that you are getting older when your friends and your television and music stars are all dead.
Sigh.
Not just my friends, I wrote about them earlier. But also other well-known television and movie personalities. Like Sammy Hagar (The Red Rocker), and Ronnie James Dio. Oh, and even Pee Wee Herman. Oh, and Rush Limbaugh too. So many are now gone.
Gone.
I think that this is (like a) landmark or tell-tail that all people go though as they age. There comes a time where your favorite television personalities die. Editorial staff retire, and the size of your family get-together shrinking steadily until many seats are empty.
I’ve passed that point.
What’s the next landmark on the unending march towards the sunset…?
Maybe being woken up by the nurse in the retirement home that I am placed in… yikes!
Not a bad thing. But all of us will see many changes that other people; younger people, will not notice.
Ah…
But I’m still around.
Today…
UPDATED 6:15 PM EDT — RUSSIA WARNS OF “CATASTROPHIC” CONSEQUENCES AFTER TRUMP THREATENS TO BOMB IRAN
Moscow has condemned Trump’s warning to bomb Iran if it refuses a new nuclear deal, calling it an unacceptable “ultimatum.” Iran is now considering a PRE-EMPTIVE STRIKE at Diego Garcia!
Deputy Foreign Minister Sergei Ryabkov said U.S. strikes on Iran’s nuclear infrastructure would destabilize the entire region and urged Washington to de-escalate.
Trump’s message was clear: no deal means unprecedented bombing and renewed sanctions.
Tehran rejected talks, prompting Trump to say, “It will be bombing the likes of which they have never seen.”
Senior Iranian military officials are reportedly advocating for a preemptive strike on the US military base at Diego Garcia, citing concerns that it may soon be used as a launchpad for operations against Iran.
Russia and China are allies of Iran; an attack on Iran is an attack on those two countries, prepare for WW3.
IRAN REVEALS PLASMA WEAPONS
Iran today released information about what it claims is its new plasma weapons.
It’s not laser based, and it is said that right now, only Iran has perfected this technology.
Could this be a game-changer?
IMMEDIATE EFFECTS OF A WAR WITH IRAN
HOT WAR with Iran could trigger INFLATION APOCALYPSE.
Retaliation by Iran could choke off key oil routes such as the Strait of Hormuz and Bab al-Mandeb in the Red Sea, crippling the world’s oil supply, global energy experts say. This would immediately impact 20 MILLION BARRELS p/DAY of oil and 77 million tons of Qatari LNG passing through the Strait of Hormuz.
Brent crude oil price could initially surge to $110-$115 a barrel. The same would apply to LNG prices, with Europe getting hit the hardest.
Global economy growth could be cut by 2%-3% if the disruption lasts 2-3 months.
A conflict with Iran amid a tariff war that the US is waging as of tomorrow, April 2, could set off an inflation spiral that would impact every American household. Why? The US is highly dependent on imports, importing $4 trillion worth of goods in 2024.
The US manufacturing sector has been shrinking for years hitting 10% of US GDP in 2024 compared with 30% for China.
The Federal Reserve upwardly revised its target for US inflation in 2025 from 2.5% to 2.7%. It also reduced its target for the US growth rate in 2025 from 2.1% to 1.7% blaming the revisions on Trump’s tariffs.
UPDATE 6:15 PM EDT —
The Israel Ministry of Foreign Affairs has issued travel warnings for all Israelis traveling abroad.
In addition, the Israeli Air Force has announced exit restrictions from all air bases in the country, with no personnel allowed to leave. (This is a common practice in most military units before a large operation begins. They do it for OpSec, so no troops pillow-talk before the attack begins.)
This morning, the Chief of US Central Command met with Israeli military leaders at the Kyria the underground fortress in Jerusalem, used to control all Israeli military operations.
Russian Foreign Ministry this evening: “We warn against any strikes on Iran’s nuclear infrastructure. Bombing these facilities will have consequences for the entire region.”
Trump Admin Directs Pentagon to Prepare for WAR WITH CHINA + Moscow, Beijing Reaffirm Ties
Fob Story.
Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find…… view prompt
Ken Cartisano
“A limousine style car will pick you up in front of your apartment at precisely eight a.m. tomorrow morning, he will not wait, so don’t be late.”
“Okay, but why? Why does…”
The call ended.
I spend the rest of the evening searching for information about AARI. All I’m able to learn is that it’s a federally funded research lab dedicated to secret black box projects. Alien technology, artificial intelligence, things like that. This information was provided by a former associate with contacts in the State Department. He was so reticent about speaking about them over the phone, that that was the only information he would give me. When I told him of my impending meeting, he asked me if I had a valid passport. When I told him I did, he said he was just kidding. “If they want you, they’ll get you.”
I told him they were sticklers for punctuality and recounted the message I’d received. He said, “Yeah? Maybe you should test their resolve on that issue.”
“I should be late?”
“Why not?”
You can’t be late, that’s why. It’s contrary to your nature.
In fact, you’re two hours early and a sleek black limo is already waiting at the curb, exhaust fumes rising from the tailpipe. Something tells you it’s been sitting there all night long. The rear door pops open as you approach, you know that once you are in the car, you won’t be able to let yourself out.
You get in anyway. The door closes and locks. You feel protected by the spacious interior insulation and comforted by the smell and sound of the leather seats, the glint of the wood and chrome trim. The first thing you notice is that you’re alone as the driverless car eases smoothly into traffic and down the street, and stops at the first traffic light. You realize, in that short distance, all the windows, except the windshield, have become too dark to see through.
The light changes, the car accelerates through the next ten intersections, as if they’ve been timed to your passage, the car makes several turns and goes down into a cross-town tunnel—and doesn’t come out. By some inexplicable mechanical means, the limo has been shunted to an impossible side tunnel with no other vehicles. Here, the limo feels like it accelerates to a very high rate of speed on a road devoid of all traffic.
The minutes pass in silence as you wonder what you might say to the Director of a top-secret facility, until you are suddenly out in the open, flashing down a highway alongside a wide river. The road loops and bends as you go higher and higher above the river. The limo slows, turns, and darts down a deserted street and into an underground garage. The fluorescent lighting rivals the sun at noon. You look at your watch. It’s nearly 7 a.m. The limo comes to a smooth, unhurried stop and the door pops open. You get out, head for the elevator and stop.
You look around. The garage is huge and empty. There is no call button for the elevator. You feel you are surely being monitored as the elevator doors open of their own accord. You step in, they close. ‘This is all going very well,’ you think. A moment later the elevator plummets several dozen stories in a matter of seconds. You push your stomach back down out of your throat and think, ‘What you’ll do with it, (the story, not your stomach) or who you’ll sell it to is anybody’s guess.’
The doors open. You step out, look around. No one is waiting. But there’s a dark stone line in the middle of the marble floor. You follow it.
A monitor dinged softly, indicating the arrival of the elevator down the hall. She found herself holding her breath and, considering who she was, and how powerful, she could not divine the source of her unease.
She took stock. He had followed implicit instructions, some verbal, some subliminal, and had made his way here, to one of AARI’s most tightly secured labs. The place was deserted for security purposes, all personnel had been temporarily reassigned, or furloughed for the time being. An excessive precaution, she thought, which left her vulnerable, and one that she would not allow to happen again.
But her beauty, in its current state, by itself could overwhelm most men, and her ancestral status was nearly as intoxicating to those of her own species. There was no situation she wasn’t prepared for.
Her current assignment rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks.
“Neil Gleary? Come in, come in. Have a seat.” There was no handshake, no touching of any kind. “I’ve got a pleasant surprise for you and some bad news as well. What would you like first?”
He was slow to answer her, and he seemed alarmingly unaffected by her looks. He took a seat, loosening his tie comically. “How about telling me why I’m here?”
“You’re here to be debriefed and deprogrammed, Neil. Just sit back and relax while I ask you a few questions.”
“Debriefed? From what?”
She ignored his question and asked, “Do you recall what elementary school you went to?”
“No.”
“You don’t sound interested.”
“Should I be? It was a long time ago.”
“How about high school? Remember any of your classmates from high school?”
He hesitated.
“You went to college too you know, remember where?”
He did not remember where. “So? So what? I’ve got a bad memory. I thought I was here to interview you? What does my past have to do with the work you conduct here?”
“Ironically, quite a bit. Are you married? No. Got a girlfriend? No. Ever had one? No. Are you hot for me now? No. Because this,” she waved her hands at her exquisite form, “is not your type. You see, Neil, I’m an alien being, I know I don’t look like one, but here’s the crazy part, you’re an alien too.” He made no move to get up and leave. (Darn, she loved using the tractor beam.) “I don’t look like this—and you don’t look like that.”
“Is that so?” He looked around. There was no quick exit for either of them.
She locked eyes with him. “Your name is XIVIC CIM, your mission here was abandoned 19 years ago. Someone should have brought you in a long time ago. I can’t explain why you weren’t—retrieved, debriefed and—reassigned. It’s inexplicable and inexcusable, but it happens. You got lost in the wafer-work or something. No one knew you were here. Excretion, twenty-four years is a long time to work under-cover, the transition into your true self might well be disturbing.
“What? Why, are we that ugly?”
“Are you kidding? This old leather hide versus our glittering silicon features? There’s no competition. None. It’s just that—let’s face it, you probably think I’m a raving lunatic, and really believe that you are a human being, but when we do an exo-alien mind-press, believe me, it sticks. And you’ve been submerged in the role for a quarter of a century. It’s going to be tough on you, but you’ll adjust. Most deep cover agents recover. I don’t know how, to be honest. I can’t stand wearing this disguise, it creeps me out. Everything has some kind of skin on it. Skin here, skin on that. Uch. Six hours a day, that’s my max. The more we talk about it, the grosser I feel. I understand if you don’t want to talk about something you can’t remember. Perfectly understandable. Do you think you’re ready?”
“Not really. Talking is good. Mmmm, tell me, how does this transition work?”
She held up a small key fob.
He said, “Ahh, you just push a button.”
She nodded. “I have no idea how it works, I’m just another cog in a big machine Mr. Gleary. Are you ready to be yourself again?” Her dazzling smile bounced right off his façade.
“How many of those do you have?”
She pulled open her desk drawer, then closed it again just as quickly. “Enough to keep me busy,” she said, inexplicably flustered.
“And they’re all marked?”
“I think,” she said, “we’ve had enough questions for the time…”
“Before you do that,” he jumped out of his chair, “before you do that, let me just…”
She pointed the fob at his chest and pushed the button. Nothing happened. The elevator chimed, she didn’t remember hearing it go back up, let alone come back down. She pushed the button on the fob again and still nothing happened to Neil Gleary’s visage. The elevator doors opened and there was the sound of boots and guns, jackets and shields with FBAI on them.
“But you’re one of us, XIVIC. How could you?”
He had his own fob. As he stepped into the Director’s private lavatory, to make sure it was empty, he stopped in front of the mirror, the image staring back was that of a tall slender Gray, with long fingers and those legendary black, inscrutable eyes. He pushed the button on the fob once more and appeared human again. He was not ‘one of them,’ and his name was not XIVIC CIM.
The silicon-based alien was well out of earshot when Neil Gleary mumbled his reply: “I like it here. That’s how.”
Let’s Watch a Comedy From 1962: The Beverly Hillbillies
Peachy Blueberry Pie
Yield: 8 servings
Ingredients
Crust
- 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 3/4 cup solid vegetable shortening
- 5 to 7 tablespoons cold water
Filling
- 1/2 cup sugar
- 2 tablespoons cornstarch
- 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 2 (16 ounce) packages frozen peach slices, thawed
- 1 cup blueberries
- 1 egg
- 1 tablespoon water
- 2 teaspoons sugar (optional)
- Vanilla ice cream (optional)
Instructions
- Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
Crust
- Combine flour and salt in large bowl; mix well. Cut shortening into flour mixture using Pastry Blender until shortening resembles the size of small peas. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of water over flour mixture; gently toss with a fork. Repeat until mixture is moist enough to form a ball. Divide dough in half. Lightly flour Baker’s Mat. Place one ball of dough on center of mat; flatten to 1/2 inch thickness. Roll dough from center to edges, forming a 12inch circle. Place pastry into Deep Dish Pie Plate. Trim pastry even with rim of pie plate.
Filling
- In large bowl, combine sugar, cornstarch and cinnamon; mix well. Toss peach slices with sugar mixture until evenly coated; gently stir in blueberries. Spoon peach mixture into bottom crust.
- Add top crust. Cut four slits in top crust to allow steam to escape. Sprinkle sugar evenly over crust, if desired. Cover edge of pie with 2 to 3 inch wide strips of aluminum foil or Pie Shield.
- Bake for 45 minutes; remove foil or Pie Shield.
- Bake for an additional 10 to 15 minutes or until crust is golden brown.
- Remove from oven; cool at least 2 hours.
- Serve with ice cream, if desired.
Nutrition
Per serving: Calories 480, Total Fat 19g, Saturated Fat 5g, Cholesterol 25mg, Carbohydrate 72g, Protein 5g, Sodium 160mg, Fiber 4g
Attribution
Pampered Chef
Amid The Mysterious Deaths of U.S. Soldiers in Lithuania, French Soldiers Began Deserting En MASSE
Shorpy
Who Is the US In Debt to?
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Cheese Caper Conspiracy
Ah, welcome back, dear reader! Once again, you’ve come seeking a tale of my brilliance, and I, Sir Whiskerton, the unparalleled detective of the farm, shall not disappoint. This time, I found myself entangled in a case so convoluted, so utterly ridiculous, that it involved not only my frequent nuisance and occasional ally, Rufus the raccoon, but also a new player: Sylvester the field mouse. Sylvester, as you’ll soon see, is a creature of very small stature and very large brains. Together, we unraveled a web of schemes, daring thefts, and, of course, cheese. Lots and lots of cheese.
This, my friends, is the story of The Cheese Caper Conspiracy.
The Crime
It all began on a warm summer evening. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the farm was settling into its usual calm. I was perched on the fence post near the barn, grooming my impeccable fur, when I heard a loud, dramatic wail from the farmhouse.
“My cheese! Someone’s stolen my cheese!”
It was Farmer Joe, his voice echoing across the fields. From the tone of his anguish, you’d think someone had stolen his life savings. Moments later, the animals began whispering among themselves.
“Cheese theft?” Henny Penny clucked nervously. “What kind of monster would do such a thing?”
“Probably Rufus,” Harold the rooster said, glaring toward the barn. “It’s always Rufus.”
“Hey!” Rufus popped his head out of a nearby barrel, looking offended. “I didn’t take it! This time.”
I sighed dramatically and hopped down from the fence post. “Alright, everyone, settle down. There’s no need to panic. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
The animals stopped chattering and turned to me with a mix of relief and expectation. After all, who else could solve the mystery but the great Sir Whiskerton?
The Investigation Begins
My first stop was the farmhouse kitchen, the scene of the crime. The cheese in question—a large wheel of gouda Farmer Joe had been saving for some kind of special occasion—had been taken right off the counter. The only clues left behind were a trail of small, sticky footprints and a few crumbs scattered on the floor.
“Sticky footprints,” I muttered, examining the evidence closely. “Interesting.”
“Sticky like… honey?” Rufus asked, appearing beside me with a guilty grin.
“Not this time, Rufus,” I said, rolling my eyes. “The footprints are too small for you. But don’t go too far—I have a feeling you’ll be involved before this is over.”
Rufus looked offended but stayed quiet, which I considered a small victory.
As I followed the trail of footprints out the back door, I heard a tiny voice behind me.
“Ahem. Sir Whiskerton, I presume?”
I turned and found myself face-to-face—or rather, face-to-paw—with the smallest creature I’d ever seen on the farm. Sylvester the field mouse stood before me, his little nose twitching and his beady eyes gleaming with intelligence. He wore a tiny scrap of fabric slung over his shoulder like a cape, giving him an air of importance.
“You’re the detective around here, aren’t you?” he said, his voice smooth and confident.
“I am,” I replied, narrowing my eyes. “And who are you?”
“Sylvester, at your service,” he said with a small bow. “I couldn’t help overhearing that there’s been a theft. I’d like to offer my assistance.”
“Assistance?” Rufus snorted from the doorway. “You’re, like, four inches tall. What are you gonna do, squeak the thief into submission?”
Sylvester shot him a withering look. “I may be small, but I’m smarter than you and faster than both of you put together. Trust me, you’ll want me on this case.”
I considered him for a moment. He had a point. “Alright, Sylvester,” I said. “You’re in. But no funny business.”
“Of course,” Sylvester said with an innocent smile. “Shall we begin?”
The Suspects
The trail of footprints led us to the barn, where the usual suspects were gathered.
1. Porkchop the Pig
Porkchop was lounging in his mud pit, looking suspiciously content. “Porkchop,” I said, “did you take the cheese?”
He shook his head vehemently. “Cheese? No way! I like my food sloppy, not fancy. That stuff’s too rich for me.”
Sylvester sniffed the air. “He’s telling the truth. No cheese scent on him.”
“Hmm,” I said, moving on.
2. Clover the Goat
Clover was chewing on an old fence post, as usual. “Clover, did you take the cheese?” I asked.
She stopped chewing long enough to say, “Cheese? Ew. Too soft. I like things crunchy.”
“Fair enough,” Sylvester said, jotting something down in a tiny notebook he’d pulled from who-knows-where. “Not our culprit.”
3. Rufus the Raccoon
I turned to Rufus, who was busy innocently whistling. “Rufus,” I said, “are you sure you didn’t take the cheese?”
“Come on, Whiskerton!” Rufus protested. “I’d never steal cheese. Not when there’s a perfectly good jar of peanut butter in the pantry.”
Sylvester raised an eyebrow. “He’s telling the truth. This time.”
“Alright,” I said, my tail twitching. “If none of you took it, then who did?”
The Breakthrough
As I pondered the mystery, Sylvester suddenly perked up. “Wait a minute,” he said, his tiny ears twitching. “Do you hear that?”
I listened closely and heard a faint squeaking sound, followed by the unmistakable creak of a wheel turning.
“The cheese!” Sylvester exclaimed. “Someone’s rolling it away!”
We followed the sound to the edge of the cornfield, where we found the culprits: a gang of field mice, struggling to push the enormous wheel of gouda toward their burrow. They froze when they saw us, their tiny paws still on the cheese.
“Alright, drop the cheese and back away slowly,” I said, stepping forward.
The leader of the gang, a scruffy-looking mouse with a scar over one eye, squeaked nervously. “We didn’t mean any harm! We just… we couldn’t resist. It smelled so good!”
Sylvester stepped forward, his cape fluttering dramatically. “You’ve embarrassed us all,” he said sternly. “Stealing from the humans? That’s rookie behavior.”
The gang hung their heads in shame. “We’re sorry,” the leader mumbled. “We’ll give it back.”
The Happy Ending
With Sylvester’s help, we rolled the cheese back to the farmhouse and left it on the counter. Farmer Joe assumed he’d misplaced it and was none the wiser. The field mice promised to stick to foraging from the fields, and Sylvester, impressed by my investigative skills, promised to lend his help on future cases.
As for Rufus, he spent the rest of the evening trying to convince me he could’ve solved the case without Sylvester. I didn’t bother arguing. Some battles just aren’t worth fighting.
The Moral of the Story
Even the smallest among us can make a big difference, especially when they use their talents for good. And when it comes to cheese, always keep an eye on your kitchen counter—especially if there’s a mouse around.
The End.
Comix
What Exactly Is Jägermeister?
They Always Find Us
Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find…… view prompt
Theo Benson
This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.
Below, it read; See Donor Subject File. Lab Section 13.
She disconnected her datapad and pressed deeper into the lab.
Another shudder shook Silver Grandeur. She began humming softly as she passed more labcoats, remembering the melody her mother would use to comfort her when she was little. After the Seekers first attacked.
On its one-hundredth and fifty-second year of voyaging in space, five years after Silver Grandeur’s passengers were woken from cryo-sleep, the Seekers struck. So did the sickness.
Deep space sickness, they called it.
No one knew what caused it. Some blamed the Seekers, who appeared immune to the disease. With their arrival shortly preceding the first outbreak, they were easy to blame. Some claimed it was a result of extended cryo-sleep. Simply a scientific oversight. And others, the more religious of Silver Grandeur’s passengers, proclaimed it was judgement for their departure from God’s one true home for them – Earth. Apparently, extended cryo-sleep had conveniently allowed them to forget Earth’s death. Reduced to a desolate wasteland, their one true home forced what remained of humanity to flee.
Her mother was one of the first to die from the sickness. Isabelle was ten at the time. Her father threw himself into a frenzy of work after his wife’s death, refusing to take inevitable death – either by sickness or by Seeker – as the final answer. Fifteen years had since passed.
Isabelle reached the end of Section 12 and stopped. Before her lay a single door. Lab Section 13.
Checking behind her to make sure no one was watching, Isabelle opened the door with Dr. Morrison’s access card and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her.
Cold air shocked her. Isabelle shivered. Section 13 was freezing, not to mention smaller than she expected. The room contained only a handful of control panels on either side of the door and a containment unit on the far wall that was coated in frost.
Isabelle frowned. Was this the Donor Subject?
She approached the unit and used her sleeve to wipe a patch of frost from the glass.
A dark form moved inside.
Isabelle had seen Seekers before. Windows across the ship gave good view for those with a morbid enough interest to watch them attack. With a snouted maw filled with teeth, an excess of appendages tipped with claws, long wings, and sleek black bodies, they blended easily against the backdrop of space. Only when close enough to Silver Grandeur’s lights did the light of the ship reflecting off their bodies illuminate their presence. In darkness they did not exist.
She squinted at it. It was almost entirely obscured by the remaining frost and the condensation building inside her goggles. Isabelle steadied her breathing, excitement mounting as she removed her goggles to peer inside. She’d never seen one this close before.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Eyes, eyes that Seekers did not – should not – have, stared back at her.
It lunged.
Isabelle jerked backwards, slamming into the panels behind her. The creature thrashed against the glass and Isabelle glanced down in panic as a small alarm sounded on the panel just under her arm.
The sides of the containment unit hissed open.
Isabelle ran. Tearing metal echoed behind her.
She collided with a labcoat in Section 11. “Go! It’s out!” Not stopping to wait, she ran on through the lab, leaving the startled man behind. Several seconds later there was a scream. A loud crunch. And silence.
Lungs and legs burning, Isabelle burst into Section 1, the door sliding shut behind her. Several dozen scientists milled about, the ship’s shaking having since stopped.
“Run,” she said.
A few labcoats looked at her in confusion. Thudding behind the door she entered grew louder.
Isabelle tore off her mask, wheezing. “Run!”
The door she came through flew across the room, crushing a scientist against the wall. Standing a head taller than Isabelle, the creature that entered stood on legs rippling with sleek black muscle. Its head was surprisingly rounded, with something like the remnants of hair dotting the top of its head. It stretched tall and raised tensed arms, claws glinting in the lab’s harsh light. Opening its mouth, the creature let out a roar.
Scientists screamed and scattered.
Isabelle raced to the door leading into the rest of the ship. Several scientists followed. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and Isabelle careened to the side just in time to avoid a large metal table as it flew past her and smashed into the door. The labcoats weren’t as lucky.
An alarm blared in the lab. The scientist who activated it let out a blood-curdling scream from the center of the room as the creature charged him. It roared again, striking claws into both labcoat and control panel. Metal and flesh tore.
The lab was plunged into darkness.
Isabelle’s feet slid against the floor, a red emergency light flaring to life and pulsing slowly to illuminate the dark puddle she now stood in. She gagged, fighting to stay upright. Something struck her shoulder and Isabelle went down hard. A woman screamed beside her on the floor, having also fallen, and as the lights flashed Isabelle could make out a tall form to her right.
The creature crouched low. Isabelle scurried away as darkness returned. Crunching, twisting – a rending of flesh met her ears a few feet away, and warm liquid splattered her face. The woman’s screams fell silent.
She crawled as quickly as she could until she reached the lab’s wall. Feeling with slick hands along its surface, Isabelle’s fingers found purchase on the metal grooves of a vent grate. Hands shaking, she pulled off the clover, slipped inside the space just wide enough to hold her, and closed it. Cries of terror and agony dwindled one by one. Isabelle could hear them pounding against the crushed door, wailing as they realized it was too damaged to open. A body slammed against the vent grate and slumped to one side. Warm liquid began pooling next to Isabelle and she backed away. Shuffling quietly until she met a curve in the vent shaft, the young Data Reporter choked back tears. Now was not the time to cry.
A final voice cried out, and with that, the lab was silent.
Isabelle stopped.
Another sound had risen to fill the silence. A low vibration, somewhere between a growl and a hum came from the creature. She could feel the sound rumbling in her chest, deep in her lungs and heart, as though tugging on something. Carefully, she started moving again, crawling on slippery hands and knees.
Her knee skidded to the side and struck the vent shaft with a dull thunk. Isabelle steadied herself, holding her breath. She heard the grate tear free and clatter somewhere inside the lab.
Isabelle thrust herself around the bend, not caring how much noise she made now as the sounds of thudding and scraping behind her soon followed. With a cry of alarm, Isabelle’s weight-bearing hand slipped out from under her. Her head crashed against the side of the vent. Swaying awkwardly, Isabelle focused blurred vision up ahead.
Was it her imagination, or was there light around the next bend?
A growling hum propelled her forward.
Pulling with her arms, Isabelle slid around the final bend and was met by another grate leading down, light pouring from it. Every muscle in her body burned as she raised her hand and struck the grate.
It didn’t budge.
With a shriek, she brought her hand down against the grate again. And again and again and again.
CRASH.
Isabelle dropped to the floor below, pain bursting at her feet.
“HELP!” Her shout echoed as she limped quickly, turning right at an intersection in the hallway. “HEL-”
A closed blast door barring her path.
No.
She whirled around to see the creature dash into view.
No. No.
The creature skidded to a halt, muscles tensing. Bright hallway light finally illuminated the scarlet haphazardly painting both monster and woman. Isabelle’s back pressed against the door. It stalk towards her, moving with slow, purposeful steps. That of a hunter. That of one who knew its place in the pecking order.
Seekers. They always find us.
Isabelle’s back slid until she met the ground. She turned her face away.
“Don’t hurt her!” A voice yelled. Her father’s.
Isabelle looked up in surprise. The creature turned to face Dr. Morrison, growling deep in its body and lifting its arms in a display.
“Don’t do this,” he said to the creature.
It roared.
Isabelle sobbed. “What is it?”
It roared again.
“Dad, what is it?”
His voice was even as he spoke. Measured carefully. “We acquired a Seeker’s DNA many years ago, hoping to find a cure. What we discovered was that they had so much more to offer us.” Dr. Morrison’s eyes flashed with something near-feral. “Strength, Izzy.” She watched through tear-streaked vision as he stepped to one side, the creature tracking his movement. “Strength we could never dream of acquiring on our own. We just needed to bridge the genetic gap.” Her father’s expression grew almost sad as he gazed at the creature. “Human experimentation was the only way. I’m sorry, dear.”
With a rippling of muscle the creature pounced. Isabelle forced her eyes to the ground as the sounds of carnage lifted to join that of the alarm. A sickening cacophony.
And then the carnage ceased.
Slow, thudding footsteps approached her. What had once been a growl dwindled to the lowest of vibrations. A soft humming. Isabelle looked at it with a start.
The creature’s face was close. Strings of sinew hung from red teeth, dripping blood onto Isabelle’s legs. As she looked above the horror of its maw, she saw its eyes. Familiar eyes. A memory pressed uninvited into Isabelle’s mind as the hum reverberated in her chest. Her mother, seated at the edge of Isabelle’s bed, the young girl cowering beneath her blankets as Silver Grandeur shuddered. Feeling a hand on her arm over the blanket, she listened to the melody of her mother’s tune as sleep finally overcame fear.
The creature knelt in front of Isabelle. Extending a single, blood-covered hand, it caressed the side of her face.
Isabelle’s eyes widened in shock. “Mom?”
Stories From The Torrid History Of Absinthe
The poets booze of choice.
Coconut Cream Tropical Pie
Yield: 16 servings or 24 sample servings
Ingredients
- 1 (15 ounce) package refrigerated pie crusts (2 crusts)
- 1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
- 1 (8 ounce) can pineapple chunks in juice, undrained
- 1 lime
- 1 (12 ounce) container frozen whipped topping, thawed
- 1 (3.4 ounce) package coconut cream instant pudding and pie filling
- 1/2 cup sweetened flaked coconut, toasted, divided
- 1 large orange, sliced
- 2 kiwi, peeled and sliced
Instructions
- Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
- Let pie crusts stand at room temperature 15 minutes.
- Lightly sprinkle Large Round Stone with flour. Gently unfold one pie crust and place in center of baking stone. Unfold second crust and place over first crust, matching edges and pressing to seal. Using Baker’s Roller(R), roll crusts to edge of baking stone.
- Fold 1/2 inch of edge of crust in toward center, forming an even border; press to seal seam. Flute edge, if desired; use pastry tool to prick entire surface of crust. Bake 20-25 minutes or until light golden brown. Remove from oven; cool completely.
- Place cream cheese in Classic Batter Bowl; whisk until smooth using Stainless Steel Whisk. Drain pineapple, reserving juice. Chop pineapple using Food Chopper. Using Lemon Zester/Scorer, zest lime; set aside for garnish. Juice lime to measure 1 tablespoon juice. Add pineapple, 1/4 cup of the pineapple juice and lime juice to cream cheese; whisk until smooth. Add whipped topping, pudding mix and half of the coconut; mix until well blended using Small Mix ‘N Scraper(R). Spread filling evenly over crust.
- Using Utility Knife, cut peel off orange and slice orange in half lengthwise; slice crosswise into 1/4 inch thick slices. Slice kiwi using Egg Slicer Plus(R). Arrange orange and kiwi slices over filling. Sprinkle remaining coconut around edge of filling. Sprinkle reserved lime zest over fruit.
- Refrigerate 30 minutes.
- Cut into wedges and serve.
Notes
To toast coconut in microwave oven, place coconut in Small Oval Baker; microwave on HIGH 1 to 2 minutes or until golden brown, stirring after each 10 second interval. Cool completely.
Nutrition
Per serving: Calories 280, Total Fat 16g, Saturated Fat 10g, Cholesterol 20mg, Carbohydrate 29g, Protein 2g, Sodium 220mg, Fiber less than 1g
Attribution
Pampered Chef