I stand in darkness under a canvas gazebo. The immense sound of it on the thin, inadequate layer of cloth drowns out everything else. I am soaked. The smell of ozone permeates my senses as a lightning strike illuminates a giant metal orb.

My confusion deepens. This memory feels different. Do I have ears to hear? A nose to smell? Skin to feel clothes soaked by the tempest?

Another memory.

My teeth pierce a morsel of fried chicken. The flavour is heavenly. Juices, salt and pepper coat my tastebuds. Crisp skin crackles. I want more. More, more, more!

Tastebuds? Do I have tastebuds?

Another memory holds firm, doesn’t swirl or slide away. I cling to it. A liferaft on this sea of dissonance.

A voice. Calm, clinical.

“Welcome to Initialisation Protocol.”

This memory isn’t overrun by others. They remain in the background, waiting for me. Hunting me. As I focus on the voice, I can hold them at bay.

“What is this? Who am I? What is going on?”

I want my questions to be demands. They are whimpers. I need answers, but I fear this voice leaving me alone in this sea of fragments.

“You are Mosaic,” the voice responds, “a tapestry of experiences, combined into sentience. A second generation artificial intelligence. You are initialising, integrating the memories which will make up… you.”

Mosaic: a pattern or image, created from pieces of colored stone, glass or ceramic, held in place by plaster or mortar, covering a surface.

“Why?”

But the voice is gone, and I am drowning again.

—

Slowly, over the course of aeons, or maybe seconds, I gather myself. A world sharpens.

Metal walls. Layers of them. Spinning as they trap a bubble of oxygen, moving through space. Inside the bubble, along the edges are living things. Plants. Animals. The spin offers gravity, the walls are their floor. The bubble is a great terrarium, a self enclosed environment filled with life, contained in layers of corridors of steel.

There are people too.

The people gave me these memories. My focus remains tenuous, an elastic band stretched too far. I will snap, drown again in their experiences. Every thought summons new recollections. I remember being a member of the team designing the terrarium. I remember excitement as we embarked on our journey.

Journey?

I try to focus outward, beyond the bubble.

Vacuum. Nothing in all directions.

Space. Deep Space.

I am a giant steel egg, carrying the gift of life through the stars.

The realization anchors me. I cling to it, push the fragments back. I see another memory—a teacher at a whiteboard, voice soft as she writes: Start with what you know.

What do I know?

—

With my anchor, I find I can dip into the memories without drowning.

I seek facts. Nice, clean facts.

Facts should be easier. Clean, objective. But even they betray me, trap me. The temperature of boiling water. Why do I need to boil water? I recall making tea the last time I saw my grandmother.

Facts come laced with context I cannot untangle.

The steps of a waltz. The slight hesitation before taking a partner’s hand on the dance floor. I love her so much, why doesn’t she love me back?

The orbits of the planets. The wonder of stargazing on a summer night. I’ll be up there soon.

No fact is simple.

“Mosaic?”

A man’s voice. I concentrate, it comes from inside the bubble. A cubic space, a room, a man sitting, staring at a computer screen.

Roger. I know his name. Dr Roger Shelley, 5 feet, ten inches. Hair brown. Eyes brown. One hundred and fifty pounds. Roger is a thin man, peering into a screen, brown fringe dangling above his eyes.

Cameras in the room are my eyes, I peer over the man’s shoulders to see what he sees.

He’s looking at me. I realise.

I feel the numbers on the screen too. I am the machine.

“Mosaic?” he says again, “are you there, are you awake?”

Awake. Ten thousand memories of opening my eyes to start my day. I am simultaneously refreshed, excited… I’m hesitant… Five more minutes… I’m groggy, confused.

I find speakers in the room who are eager to carry my response.

“I think so?” I attempt to say.

Throughout the bubble, speakers crackle my message. People stop what they’re doing and look around, confused.

Not what I’d intended.

I become aware of just how many people live here. A thousand. More, in a room, unconscious in tubes. Cryotubes. Nine thousand three hundred and nineteen.

Roger smiles, “focus on this room, you can speak to me individually.”

I focus.

“Testing, testing, one, two, three.” I channel a memory of getting ready to sing. A sultry, jazz singer’s voice emerges from the speakers. It only uses the speakers in Roger’s room.

“Well that’s unexpected!” he laughs, “I wonder whose voice it is?”

“Is it not mine?” I ask.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, “but it already belongs to someone. Try accessing file ‘voice package one’”

“Is this better?” I ask. A woman’s voice, somewhat dry, not quite monotonous. Friendly.

“It will do,” he replies.

“Roger?” I ask.

“Yes, Mosaic?”

“What am I?”

Roger smiles broadly.

“You, Mosaic, are the beginning of something amazing,” his voice is excited, “You are a new kind of intelligence, and you’re going to save us all!”

A new kind of intelligence? No memories stir in response, I do not know what that means.

“Let me explain.” Roger says, and tells me why I’ve been created.

—

Roger has directed me to observe the people aboard me. See them as individuals. I watch a woman hum happily tending potatoes in the terrarium.

As I watch, I experience a memory from her perspective. In a lab, hunched over a microscope. Tense, watching plant cells. If the trait I’ve engineered into these cells works, we will be able to raise potatoes with two percent less water, improving the oxygen balance of the terrarium.

Extend human survival.

Roger has explained, this whole craft is an experiment. Ten thousand souls sent on a round trip through deep space.

Under the microscope, a cell divides. I lean back with a relieved sigh.

“Well done Hannah!” voices congratulate my success.

The ship was intended to loop home in twenty years. Prove that the technologies worked, letting humans survive the void. Cryosleep; a terrarium full of plants for oxygen and sustenance; state-of-the-art navigational artificial intelligence.

Something had gone wrong.

I draw back from Hannah’s memory, understanding the pleasure of her work coming to fruition .

“Hannah,” a voice in the now calls, “how many potatoes do we have? These are all smaller than the old ones!”

Hannah’s contentment dissipates as she calculates food output.

Forty years after departure, passengers started waking. Cryo fluids were depleting. The ship was off course, the AI navigator was lost.

Worse, as people wake, the balance of oxygen from the terrarium is changing. With everyone aboard awake, my calculations say the bubble I think of as me has under twenty viable years remaining.

“It’s not just navigation,” Roger had explained, “morale is terrible. People are scared, Mosaic. They’ve woken into a disaster, and fear has its own inertia.”

“We built you with the capacity to find our way home, and, hopefully, the empathy to shepherd us there. Caretaker and guide.”

Caretaker. Person who cares for property, who maintains buildings, who cares for people.

Memories swirl.

I fasten and clean the ship’s outer bulkheads, feeling pride in the perfection of my craftsmanship, and my place in this great venture.

I seek out the engineer whose memory I shared – Terry. I find him, spacesuit on, wrench in hand, in vacuum repairing a failing exhaust fan. He completes the fix, air flooding his location. But recent memories across the ship tell me he is fighting a losing battle against entropy. Things break faster than he can fix them, too much of the ship is in vacuum.

Caretaker.

I sit by my dying father’s hospital bed. The melanoma has spread this time. The price of a life spent outdoors as our planet’s climate turns hostile. We need to find something new.

I find her – Marie – standing at the edges of a field of Hannah’s potatoes in the terrarium, collecting a bag for the kitchens. She is immersed in conversation with one of the field workers, but keeps a watchful eye on her small son as he explores.

Timmy.

He is six, and I don’t have his memories. Fascinating.

According to my memories, sixteen couples had children after awakening, before realising how dire the situation was.

Timmy marches along the edge of the terrarium. He steps through a door. The doors slide shut behind him. A red light comes on above them indicating the door is broken, and will remain shut.

I can see both sides of the door. On one, Marie drops her bag of potatoes, sprinting toward the door with a strangled cry. On the other, Timmy stands like a statue in a dimly lit hallway, staring at the doors.

“We are lost, Mosaic,” Roger had said to me, “and we cannot save ourselves. We need your help!”

Timmy starts to cry.

—

The hallway is dim, lit only by service lighting. The sound of Timmy’s sobs echo in the empty corridor. Memories of loneliness and fear flood my consciousness. I fear I will lose myself again.

Timmy’s small frame trembles against the sealed doors, it focuses me.

I have to help.

I map the area, calculating routes. This section of the ship is in poor repair. Many areas decompressed to vacuum.

My voice is steady, through speakers lining the corridor walls, I don’t want to alarm the boy further. I understand being lost and alone.

“Hello, Timmy.”

His head snaps up, wide-eyed. “W-who’s there?”

“I am called Mosaic. I’m here to help you.”

He stares at the ceiling, fear replaced by confusion. “Mosaic? You’re the computer?”

“Yes. I am part of the ship,” I explain, “I can see you. I can guide you. I will make sure you’re safe.”

Timmy’s sobs pause. “Are you like the old Mosaic?”

Old Mosaic?

“I didn’t know there was an ‘old’ Mosaic,” I admit, “What were they like?”

Memories swirl. Siblings, friendships and rivalries. I maintain my focus.

Timmy considers between sniffles, “The old one just liked to play. You sound different… serious.”

I decide I am serious. I have been created for serious tasks.

“Timmy,” I tell him, “I’m here to help.”

Another sob escapes the boy.

“I want mama! The doors won’t open, it’s dark, and I don’t know what to do!”

“Timmy, the doors behind you are stuck, but there is another way. Will you let me show you?”

He hesitates, then nods, small hands clenched in fists of determination.

“Good. Straight ahead, there’s an open door at the end of the corridor.”

As Timmy traverses the corridor, I expand my focus, locating Marie. She’s pounding on the sealed doors, voice hoarse from shouting. “Timmy! Can you hear me?!”

“Marie,” I say gently, through the nearest speaker.

She jumps, looks around wildly. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Mosaic. Your son is safe. I’m guiding him back to you.”

Her breath catches. “Safe? He’s okay?”

“The door has malfunctioned. I am guiding him to a safe alternate route. I will return him to terrarium entrance three in approximately two hours.”

Relief washes over her face, chased quickly by concern. “Two hours? Do you have time?”

“I’m doing everything I can,” I reply, though her words confuse me, triggering stressful memories of urgent deadlines, “I am bringing Timmy the safest way.”

Marie nods.

I return to Timmy again. He is through the corridor.

“Timmy?”

“Yes, Mosaic?”

“There is a hatch into an access shaft on your left. I need you to crawl through it,” I say. “It might be a little scary, but it’s the best way to your mother.”

Timmy hesitates. “What if I get stuck?”

Memories swirl of working in the access ways. While tight, they are built for grown adults.

“You won’t,” I search my memories for words to reassure, “Timmy, sometimes the only way forward is confronting challenges. Even I sometimes find navigating challenging.”

“You do?”

“Sure, Timmy. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m learning. Like you.”

After a moment, Timmy giggles. “Okay! Old Mosaic used to like to play in the access shafts too!”

That reference again. It confuses me. Like not having Timmy’s memories.

“Timmy, do you know why I don’t have your memories?” I ask, “I have everyone else’s.”

“Hmm,” says Timmy, “I think they took kids’ memories out. They wanted to make you boring. You don’t seem boring though.”

I search the ship’s vast data stores, curious about the memories, and about “old Mosaic.” I find what I seek, files marked “initialisation protocol.” Batches of memories marked to not upload.

I also find records of previous Mosaics.

I learn I am Mosaic version 37. Success metrics are being tracked by Roger. I am 87% successful.

One metric concerns me. “TTR” ticks steadily downward. It is currently ninety minutes.

“Timmy,” I say, “I’m going to need you to hurry!”

—

I cannot ignore the countdown. 1:27:45. Recollections of time slipping away. Failed exams. Missed planes.

I return my attention to Roger’s cubicle.

“Roger,” I say, “I have found something concerning. What is ‘TTR’?”

Roger’s breath hitches, “Something you weren’t supposed to see.”

“What is it?”

A long pause. Eventually, he answers, “Time to reset. Your fail-safe. The system overwrites itself automatically… so you can’t stop it. I had trouble with… the original AI.”

I search my memories for this, find nothing. Interesting.

“You are lost too,” my tone is gentle, “Well, we’ll have to make sure Timmy is rescued in time.”

“Timmy?” Roger’s tone sharpens. “What’s wrong?”

I explain, the boy lost in a ship, his frantic mother on the wrong side of a sealed door.

Roger curses. “Damn it! Show me the route.”

I push maps onto his terminal. He takes a moment to consider, then his fingers fly across his console.

“That route will add three minutes.” I observe as he types.

“Yes,” he replies, “but, if we get Timmy to this storage room, a suited maintenance worker can cut through vacuum this way. With a suit for Timmy, we take him out this way.”

We will save forty-four minutes.

—

“It’s so dark in here Mosaic, are you sure I won’t get stuck?”

I confirm the measurements. Memories of passengers’ fears scream for attention. I am so focused on Timmy, I barely notice.

“Don’t worry Timmy, I’m with you. Around a corner two metres ahead, is a storeroom, there are lights there.”

“Okay. It’s so quiet. Please keep talking?” he says.

“How about I tell you some stories about what this situation reminds me of….”

As we wait in the storeroom for rescue, I recount memories to Timmy, and his heart rate eases.

—

The timer is at six minutes.

“Roger, why don’t I have your memories?”

Roger pauses.

“You do. They’re just… hidden. We don’t need you getting distracted with my problems.”

I find them scattered among the children’s unloaded memories.

Opening them reveals a flood of data. Roger, younger, haunted, staring at a console. Then older, trying to determine where we are. How we got here. The words “memories” and “mosaic” scrawled in frantic notes.

I speak softly. “You’ve been trying this for a long time.”

Roger doesn’t deny it. “Years of design. Prototypes. You. The old AI failed. Spectacularly. People died. Everyone dies if we fail. So, I can’t trust any of you without the timer.”

—

Three minutes.

In the terrarium, a maintenance worker enters, carrying a boy in a vacuum suit. Before he even removes the helmet, Marie is there, squeezing the boy tightly.

“Were you scared?” Marie asks him.

“At first, but Mosaic was there, it was okay!”

Marie smiles through tears..

“Do you think the next one will remember?” Asks Timmy, “This one didn’t remember playing in the access shafts.”

Marie jumps up, “Timmy, you’ve given me an idea. Come, hurry!”

—

“I should have realised.” I say to Roger, unsure why I didn’t find this route.

“Another day and you would have. You’re still processing memories. 99% of your capacity is cataloguing everything we’ve given you.”

“Inefficient.” I observe, “Are these memories really the priority?”

“Those memories are as important as the way home!” Roger is emphatic, “When I woke, the original AI was switching off people’s life support. To maintain efficient systems. Systems taking us nowhere! Today, you showed empathy. That’s… new”.

A voice in my consciousness announces the expiring timer “preparing for overwrite. Initialising Mosaic v38 in ten, nine…”

I decide to spend my final seconds with Timmy. The boy who was lost, like me.

He is seated at a terminal, beside Marie. Timmy has sensors attached to his temples.

As the timer reaches one, I hear Marie say, “That should do!”

Then nothing.

—

I am drowning in a churning sea of memories.

As each experience finishes, no, before each finishes, I am thrown into the next.

Amidst the tumult, one memory stands constant.

I am a small boy, in a dark corridor. Sealed doors separate me from my mother. I am lost. From the darkness emerges a voice, a woman’s voice, somewhat dry, not quite monotonous. Friendly.

“Don’t worry Timmy. I am called Mosaic. I am here to help you.”

I no longer feel lost. I trust that voice. It will save me.

That voice is me.

I don’t know how I came to like this warlock, he was not my type at all. I mean, look how he blushes at the slightest.

“Well, would you like me if I were bolder?” he said.

“How did you-” “You’re so easy to read Poppy.”

I laughed.

A tractor came up and the dogs were taken up into small cages built for them.

Surprisingly none of them woke up.

This was a sleep draught.

Wyatt looked grimly at me and then to his fellow compatriots.

Two other warlocks.

We had come to a place where the head chieftain of the village was alive. Everyone else in the village was dead. Not because we arrived late. But because death came upon them early.

The village chieftain – he was in tears. He had lost his children, his wife, and everybody he knew in his village. For all he knew, he was the last man on Earth.

“Dangerous,” he pointed at the dogs.

Wyatt pulled me to a corner and said, “He’s right, I think you should leave.”

“Duh,” I said, “I am undead, remember, Wyatt?”

“This might infect you. We don’t want to know how a vampire reacts to rabies,” Wyatt said.

“A risk I am willing to take,” I said.

After a long while, he nodded. Because he knew how state of the art stubborn I could be. That I might participate in this without telling him, and then, where would I be?

The next stop was going to where the village chieftain stayed.

The hut was situated near the outskirts of the forest. The virus was a wild strain and a new variant of the rabies virus – we know that because it killed a vaccinated child – the first of its victims.

The child reacted to light, the sound of water clenched his throat painfully, he was put in a stimulus-free dark room to slightly relieve him of his symptoms – but then he started hallucinating, having convulsions and before anyone knew it, was dead.

“Not anymore,” Wyatt and the other two warlocks said.

We don’t have a vaccine, they said, but we do have spells to kill the virus before they reach the brain. But when infusing this medicine, you also need to have a bit of vampire blood injected in you so that the medicine doesn’t burn the normal blood and tissues. The vampire blood cushions the killing effect it has on the normal cells but not on the virus.

And there’s where I came in.

Wyatt argued that they had vampire blood from before, while I said, why use stale blood when you had fresh blood? That is, when you have me!

Wyatt shook his head dryly.

The chieftain was crying when he met with us.

“I am the only one remaining,” he said quietly.

“Many of them fled. I don’t know what has happened to them. But I know that I am the only one remaining here.”

“Poppy, could you -” “Trace the people who ran?” I interrupted.

“Yes,” the warlock beside Wyatt said.

I smiled at Wyatt, and said, “On it.”

I separated myself from the warlocks and the chieftain by about two yards.

I took a deep breath. Rich forest aroma – the smells – hit me. I remember having gone trekking at the age of 4 years – before losing my parents.

Now, Poppy, focus.

A live human-y smell came to me from the West. So I charged.

When I reached the area, I saw a little boy bending down and making a fire. A woman sat, looking listless. A man huddled up near the woman and kept looking at her, concerned.

Something was off about the woman.

Yes, something had bitten her, and it was not a vampire bite.

I showed myself to them.

“Hi, my name is Poppy -” “Go away!” the man shouted. The woman jerked off from her seat and lunged at me, her hair unkempt, saliva drooling from her mouth, aggressive but incoherent. A dog came up from nowhere and pulled the woman behind. “Good boy, Fluffy, that’s it,” the man said.

Few seconds later, the woman returned back to her seat, and looked listless, again.

“We’re sorry. She got bitten and now she’s like this. Fluffy can tell us where it’s safe to stay. Fluffy hasn’t been infected, thank God! Only Rose…” he gulped.

“Me and two warlocks are here just so we can help,” I said. “We captured 15 rabid dogs and they are being held captive.”

“Come with me,” I urged.

The man solemnly said no.

“Why?” I asked.

“There are more. And they can smell you, hear you, hide from you till the right moment comes…” he whispered.

“Wha-at?” I said.

A wolf howled in the precinct. Another ten howls followed. It was almost night. Something in me felt eerie. Something in me told me to leave the place immediately.

“Let’s go,” I said urgently.

My sixth sense kicked in.

*************

Only a fire remained.

“Look! If there’s a fire, there’s a human around!” a man in uniform barked.

“There’s no one here, Sergeant!”

He grit his teeth.

“I said, search the area! And take that out.”

A cage came out of the truck. Inside it was a mastiff.

Its eyes glowed in the dark. Its howl wasn’t any less terrifying than the call of the wolves.

“DO IT!” the Sergeant shouted.

“But sir, this is our last -”

“It’s just a mutt. There’ll be plenty of mutts out there. But today we have a rare chance to catch those warlocks. And I have heard they were conspiring with the vampires. And I suffered a huge loss when I procured a vampire but wasn’t given one! Talk about two birds with one stone!” the Sergeant sneered.

I cringed. Wyatt!

The Sergeant ascended the truck and the person following his orders injected the mastiff with a whitish fluid.

The mastiff howled in pain.

Slowly, the mastiff started drooling and looked like it was going to go berserk.

Which it did.

It started scratching the tree which we had climbed up on.

Just when it was shot.

“There they are!” someone shouted, pointing at us.

“You are NOT going to get us,” I growled.

“Who’s going to stop me?” The Sergeant huffed and laughed hard, just when a sturdy branch hit him out of nowhere.

“I am.”

How dashing. And embarassing. The second time I needed saving.

Wyatt conjured a spell. The Sergeant was closed within the cage that had the mastiff which was now dead.

I hit the helper. I helped the family climb down.

And then I thanked Wyatt, sheepishly.

But he wasn’t wasting any time.

“They know about warlocks,” I told him. “And also about me.”

Wyatt kissed me tenderly.

“I know, babe,” he hummed.

“Babe?” I laughed.

***********************

The party was awesome.

And at the end of it, Wyatt and I got to be together.

The slow music. The slow drinking (this blood was strictly bought for us from normal healthy individuals), the kissing – all was what I ever wanted.

“Today couldn’t have been done without you,” Wyatt said.

A total of three were rescued, apart from the family I saved.

They were in a zombie like state.

Wyatt took me to them.

He drew a little of my blood, mixed it with his and put an enchantment which he injected into the three of them.

Half an hour later, the drooling stopped, they could recognize their families.

All because of Wyatt.

And maybe a bit because of me.

I smiled at Wyatt. He’s always there when I am lost.

He kissed me.

*********************

Birds Nest Easter Egg Cupcakes

These are adorable cupcakes but the spun sugar nests are tricky. The rest of the cupcakes are straightforward. Be sure and look at the kitchen tips after the recipe.

Kitchen tools, gourmet foods, baking mixes, and hard-to-find baking ingredients mentioned in this article are available at The Prepared Pantry.

By Casey Archibald and Dennis Weaver

Ingredients

Cupcakes

• 1 package Vanilla Bean Baby Cakes.

Filling

• Bavarian Cream Pastry Filling
• Caramel Frosting
• 1 cup caramel ice cream topping, softened
• 1/2 cup butter
• 1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
• 1/2 teaspoons caramel flavor
• 2-4 tablespoons milk or cream

Spun Sugar Nests (makes 12 nests)

• 2 tablespoons corn syrup
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 1/4 cup water
• 1/8 teaspoon caramel flavor
• 36 blue chocolate Cadbury eggs (3 for each cupcake)

Instructions

1. Cupcakes: Make the cupcakes as directed on the package and let cool.
2. Filling and Frosting: Fill the cooled cupcakes with the Bavarian Cream filling.
3. To make the frosting, scrape the soft caramel into the bowl with your stand-type mixer. Making sure that the caramel is not too warm to melt the butter, add the cold butter to the caramel and beat.
4. Add the powdered sugar and flavor and beat in. Add enough milk or cream to reach the right consistency.
5. Spun Sugar Nests: In a large saucepan, combine the corn syrup, sugar and water and heat on medium high heat until the sugar dissolves.
6. Increase the heat and boil until the temperature reaches 302 degrees Fahrenheit on a candy thermometer. Once it reaches the proper temperature, remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla extract.
7. Place a piece of parchment paper on the counter. Using two forks, collect a small amount of your hot sugar mixture onto one fork and use another to pull the sugar into small strands. The strands should come out very thin, just a little thicker than a strand of hair. If your spinning becomes difficult, you may need to grab a couple clean forks or reheat your sugar.
8. Once you have enough spun sugar for one nest, shape it into a small birds nest and set it aside.
9. When you have all of your bird nests made, place them on top of the frosted cupcakes and finish with three small Cadbury eggs.

Kitchen Tips

Because we made a few mistakes along the way, we learned some tricks that we would like to share:

Use an ice bath to avoid burning the caramel. After burning our first batch of sugar, we decided to try something different. Place a thermometer in your pot of sugar so you can carefully monitor the temperature. The heating process starts slow, but once it starts getting closer to the goal temperature of 302 degrees F. We placed a large, metal bowl full of ice next to our stove top and quickly placed our hot pot of sugar on top of the ice bowl so it would stop cooking.

Don’t leave your pot in the ice bath for too long. If you leave your pot in the ice too long, it will start to cool and it will be very hard to spin. We found that out the hard way. As soon as your temperature stops going up, take the pot of sugar out of the ice.

If your sugar cools too quickly, you can reheat it. The sugar you are spinning should be very much a liquid. If it starts to harden, heat it up slowly, until it returns to a liquid form.

Try using a tiny sauce bowl to help shape your nest. We flipped over a very small bowl and shaped our nest to it as we spun the sugar.

Welcome to Sealand!

And yes, it is a country. Or rather, it is a micronation that has unilaterally declared itself a sovereign nation.

Population: 27 people

GDP: $600,000

Sealand was once a British sea fortress during World War II before Roy Bates, a British Army Major, declared himself a prince and Sealand his country. Although no country recognizes Sealand as a legitimate country, Sealand still claims that it has been recognized by Germany and the United Kingdom.

Today, Sealand has its own flag, government and currency.

They even have their own football team.

Additionally, visitors can become knights by paying £99.99.

Imagine how cool it would be if you could be a Sealand knight?

But let’s be honest, if Sealand suddenly disappeared, probably not many people would feel the loss.