《Jokes On You》 Why Are Ruts Bad? I am a simple man. Every day, I wake up. Every day, I clean up. Every day, I eat up. Every day, I go to work. Every day, I come home. Every day I sleep. It''s a basic cycle because that''s all I need. But today is different. Today, I wake up like usual, but there are two people in dark clothing opening my bedroom door. So, I shut my eyes and pull my covers over myself. No need to start trouble with them. But the two of them are really insistent. So much so that they struggle to rip me out of bed and tie me up. *Sigh* Why don''t you leave me alone? I didn''t even do anything. (???) "Hey, Paul! Do we need to do this? I mean, it looks like he just wants to sleep," says one. (Paul) "That''s what he wants us to think, dumbass! And don''t say my name, Terry!" hissed the other. (Terry) "But you just said mine!" the first whined, in a higher-pitched peal. My ears... (Paul) "Whatever! Just make sure he can''t do anything. We already took everything valuable," the second retorted. I give a quick glance as Paul puts his trash bag down and opens it up to show his point. Really? Can you not tell the difference between ornaments and genuine treasures? These are all souvenirs from my college friends. And why are the colorful, Japanese objects more expensive to you? Are you weeaboos? I swear people who get overly obsessed with entertainment fall apart in real life. Just look at these two! They resorted to robbing me blind... Sad really. (Paul) "Hey, snap out of it! Tell us where you have the more pricey stuff!" he demanded. I turn my eyes to focus on his face. I don''t understand how they can have such professional getup but be so idiotic. Paul, was it? He''s the hulking figure who squeezed his way through my doorway. Terry is the small, reedy man. They look like a dominant duo, with their black one piece suits showing off their muscles underneath and their sharp eyes piercing out of their concealing ski masks. But it seems like I was disappointed. (Me) "There''s nothing else. I keep my necessities in private Storehouses and my money at Banks," I murmured tiredly. (Terry) "See, Paul! I told you! There''s nothing else! Let''s leave him alone," piped the whiner. (Paul) "But he knows our names now. We have to shut him up!" deducted his friend. Aren''t these two geniuses? I really need to get these two to leave... (Me) "I only know your first name. I need your last name to actually do anything big. So just take that stuff and go. I didn''t want it anyway. I also have to get to work soon or I''ll be late" I interject, in attempting to reason with these fools. The dumbos look at me in surprise. They didn''t expect their victim to comply as well as I am, now did they? Well, my life is more valuable than anything. And my work is prized over that, so they need to go before I''m late. (Paul) "Alright. Let''s go. We were already spotted by his neighbors so let''s case this joint," evaluates the careful one. I am shocked at their stupidity. They could have gone through any of the open windows, unlocked doors, or even my chimney, which are all hidden from sight. But no, straight through the front door they went. And in plain sight of the neighborhood, no less. Everything besides my front door is too decrepit and shabby to do anything and that is why the door stands out. I don''t earn much money and don''t want to use much money either. So my home is a hovel that is old and worn out, but still habitable. I''m cheap, but I pull out the stops for my own comfort. It''s what''s on the inside that counts, right? Suddenly, I hear police sirens approaching. They really are that bad at stealing, aren''t they? How long have they been here when the cops in this neighborhood have notoriously long response times.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Once, a man was being murdered by his wife and called them several times. They took their sweet time and then 2 hours later, he was butchered into an unrecognizable mess. The woman escaped, but I always kept in my mind of my dead yet friendly neighbor''s fate. It helped to look dirt-poor when keeping away anyone crazy. But not people who are full-on stupid and insane to boot. (Terry) "What now Paul? What do we do? The cops will get us before we can drive off!" squealed the panicking idiot. His damn voice... (Paul) "Don''t worry. We got a hostage!" said the more composed thief. I slump down onto the floor even further. They literally tied me up with a jump rope I recently got for my nephew and I am losing my cool. Calm down. It will be over soon. The police are going to beat their asses and everything will go back to normal. The two drag me to my front door and hold me in front of them as a meatshield. A cop car is already parked outside. (Paul) "We got a hostage! Don''t move!" boomed the huge man. The law enforcement duo stops in their tracks. They are stuck partially outside of their cruiser but have their guns pulled out. Ah, come on! You both are veteran partners! I know you''re lazy shits, but do something about them! At least take cover, for fuck''s sake! If they had guns, you''d be dead know, you know!?! (Paul) "Good. Now drop your weapons or else this will happen!" he said, as he outstretched an arm to his friend. Terry pulls out a black thing. Is that a... It''s a fucking sock! A literal black sock. How is he going to do anything with that? Just fuck them up cops. Do your damn civil duties! (Young Cop) "Watch out! He''s got a grenade! Get them down on the ground! Down on the GROUND!!!" What? Both cops begin firing and disregard my safety entirely. The first shot hits me like a sledgehammer and probably goes straight into my kidney. The rest somehow slam into my lungs with pinpoint accuracy. The entire time this happens, the thieves and I are spraying blood everywhere. After filling my torso full of holes, the two thieves fall onto the grass with me on top of them. At first, it was unbelievably painful but for some reason, I can''t feel anything now. It''s a dull feeling now but I''m scared because I''m starting to lose even that. (Femcop) "Man, you were lucky we were here. If it was anyone else, they would have negotiated with them and then be blown to smithereens!" she declares triumphantly and even adds some representation of the explosion with her hands. What a fucker. (Young Cop) "Yeah, that''s right, Jess. Those terrorists all deserve to die!" he says pridefully. Yeah, well shove that up your ass before you kill anyone else. Like terrorists use grenades, you shits! I have a hard time puking the blood out of my rapidly filling lungs. The ground is soaked in both mine and the thieves''. I think I can feel some of my organs spilling out but I can''t raise my head high enough to see. The air is choking me with the metallic smell of blood and its taste is even worse. I might even be choking on it. It''s all too mixed to tell. Ah. They finally realize I''m dying. Shit, why today? Instead of dying in so much pain, I should be teaching elementary students how to count! (Jess) "Oh my God! I''m sorry! What do we do, Jim?" she says, as she''s crouched down and looking at my obvious wounds. Tears are forming at the edges of her eyes. Yeah, try to apply pressure with those hands you dumbass. There are too many bullet holes. (Jim) "Well... My pop used to tell me to put animals out of their misery when they are dying. So..." he trails on in a sad manner. He quickly grabs another magazine, reloads, and aims straight at my head. His arms are shaking, but his eyes are determined. My head lulls to the side because I''m too tired to hold it up to look at him. And then I notice the sock Paul was carrying. It''s full of fucking holes! I would''ve died even if it was a grenade! This is why I became a teacher. It''s to stop dumbasses like these from growing up. Ah, I''m blacking out... (Jim) "I hope you have a good afterlife" he says and I faintly hear it in the back of my mind. Well, fuck you too, asshat! I guess I got banged so hard it killed me and then I feel a blissful emptiness. Putting aside my joke, I feel that''s all to life: empty purposelessness. But now I don''t have to deal with any more problems. Then I realize, in all of my meaningless life, that it all has ended. There''s no need for useless struggle nor deal with failures. I did my job. I''m done. I am at such a euphoric peace. This blank nothingness... I wonder if this is Nirvana. No pangs of hunger, desire, or even discomfort. Nothing. But no, I still can''t catch a break. (???) "Welcome to Tekton! The fate of the world rests on your shoulders, Otherworlder!" someone chortles is a musically sweet voice. A slender and well-endowed woman pops up out of nowhere and starts passing me some spiel about needing to do more work. But I say NOPE! I''ve done my job! It''s not my fault nothing worked out. So I gently brush off my shoulders and forcefully put my finger to her lips. I make a soft shushing sound as I press it more and more into her face. I put my own face right in front of hers and my nose touches hers. She''s being submissive about the whole process and is probably intimidated by my strange actions. (Me) "I dusted off my shoulders from this. I don''t need this trash called ''fate''!" The woman looks at me and is dumbfounded at my blatant disregard. Yeah, fuck your shit. I''m done with life. Too much of a hassle. And so I walk into the distance while leaving her far behind. Why Make Us Choose? (???) "You can''t brush off fate that easily! Do you know there isn''t anyone else but you to fill this role? I already chose you and can''t pick anyone else!" she says in a panic. (Me) "Don''t care!" I reply casually and in a mimicry of her singsong voice. I keep walking off into the nothingness. The woman materializes in front of me and grabs my shoulders. Stop focusing on my shoulders! I''m not a pack mule to carry all your troubles! (???) "What do you desire? I can provide you rewards beyond your wildest dreams!" she says in a now more serious manner. She raises her own damn shoulders which also sticks out her chest. Damn you. You did this shoulder thing on purpose just to piss me off right? Fate can be on your shoulders instead! (Me) "Then I want not having to work. I want nothingness to be all I am. There is nothing in my heart or anywhere else that I desire. I have reached this Nirvana, so there is no need for me to struggle nor feel." She looks at me like I''m an insane patient from an asylum. NEET? Hikikomori? What do those terms mean? What are you whispering? Go to hell, lady! Don''t mutter "homeless hobo"! For what reason do you expect people to bust their ass for you? Just because you have more bust than them? Fuck yourself! I don''t need it! (???) "No, wait! Stop! You REALLY must stop!" She wrapped her full body around my leg and is digging her feet into the floor. Guess she''s in the shitter for her job. Must have a superior who is on her ass at all times and in both meanings of the phrase, if I might add so myself. Ha. Wordplay. Wait, I was so calm earlier, so why the Hell is she pissing me off so much? I thought my emotions were supposed to be dampened? (Me) "What is it?" I say, clearly annoyed at her pathetic state. I was just at peace and now I am troubled to do work. Work to stop having work is extremely bothersome, especially since I''ve died already. She also gets the message and is trying to recollect her professionalism. That is, whatever is left of it after her little breakdown. Mascara streaks her face with splotches of black and her nose runs like a faucet. All in all, she looks as if she''d received news that her parents, husband, and child died on a family trip to Hawaii when she was at work. Oh, I guess this is her job, after all. (???) "If you keep up with this, you will join the Nothingness," she manages to say in between sobs. She''s still sniffling, but now she''s got a tissue to fix the damage. Wait a second... If she can materialize at will, why can''t she reform herself back to her original state? This must be a pity play she''s aiming at. She''s more devious than I thought. That or she''s just as fucking stupid as the rest of them. Yep. Definitely stupid. (Me) "If I am to assume, then your powers come from your emotional state. They are derived from your will or how much you desire. And the Nothingness you described is probably a collective of people who''ve emptied themselves of their desires, maybe? They don''t have anything and won''t ever again. If too many join them, your ass is cooked and that''s why you want me to do your dirty work. Utter shit, that is. Am I correct?"This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. She can''t seem to pull herself together, but she still can nod. Simplicity is the best if I do say so myself. (Me) "So what''s wrong with me going off to do what I want? What about my choice? Can you justify your means by which you''ve manipulated a probable countless other in the past? You run false advertising that''s just as bad as the propaganda on Earth. It''s a transparent and bold-faced lie," I assert in a confrontation of her scheme. (???) "That''s not it! If you continue on your path now, you will be transferred to Tekton without the System at best! At worst, you''ll be completely erased! In the slowest, most painful way possible, I might add!" (Me) "Oh, really? And how is that so?" I ask in wonder. (???) "Instead of being processed and replicated, you will be taken atomically apart, piece by piece, and then rebuilt atomically, piece by piece. It takes forever and in the rebuilding process, your body might be unstable and then need to be reconstructed all over again!" she yells as if to make a point. Oh shit... That sounds horribly boring. But it seems like nothing too bad. (???) "The last thing they take apart is your senses and the first thing they build is your senses! That means you will feel the entire process as punishment, be left without the Assistive System, and deal with the resulting deformities and randomizations!" she concludes in worry. (Me) "Don''t we get rebuilt the same way? Isn''t the end result what we started with if we use your logic?" (???) "No! Of course not! You have to do it yourself, without the Assistive System to help! The best you can do is choose a randomization and deal with the results of not having an Assistive System! If you fail, you will erase yourself! Thus the term "Nothingness". You only have these two options!" I don''t want any more pain. I barely even felt my bullet wounds for a minute. And that is even more painful for much longer? Fuck that. I''m in. (Me) "Alright. I''ll help you." (???) "Great! Now to introduce myself! I am the Assistive Interaction System or AIS. I help manage the System under the Assistive System, which helps Otherworldly transferees like you get used to the process. I exist to make it more comfortable for the user by debriefing them one by one and face to face. This-" (Me) "Wait, how much longer are you going to talk?" I say tiredly. (AIS) "Oh, just a short recap of what''s happened on Tekton since its beginning. It should take me a few years to get you up to speed," her bubbly voice replies. ... (Me) "Is there any way to select what information I want to know? A brief recap in 10 minutes? A set of lists, like the races of Tekton, for example?" (AIS) "Sorry, but no. In order to make everyone spend the least amount of time learning about the world, I must tell you everything. Time has stopped here, after all. Don''t worry, all this information has been condensed." I know history takes a hell of a long time to tell, but if you''re taking the important parts, it shouldn''t take years! (Me) "This is the reason, isn''t it? Why everyone reverted into the Nothingness, why you are screwed if you mess it up with me, why you chose me. It''s because I''m the most likely out of all the immature humans out there who have died that will listen to you. Isn''t that it?" She nods her head sadly. I feel guilty about her now. It''s not my fault nor her fault that we must do this. AIS has a shit job that will never work no matter how you do it. People may be able to take the time to learn in time, but to listen to a lecture that lasts for years? And right after your death? Only the most extreme people would do that. So I give her a comforting hug, which takes her by surprise. (Me) "I''m sorry..." I say in a soothing voice. I start petting her head, like with the children I had that were abused by their parents. "I''m sorry." What Matters? (Me) "This is goodbye. I am not getting involved. I had the pain of waiting a lifetime already for my freedom," I say to the sleeping AIS. I find it surprising that she is even able to snooze moments later at this important moment. But since this is my opportunity, I slip away. A tingling feeling stops me. That terrible woman really left her mark on me. I grimace and rub the circulation back into my leg. The imprint of her arms and body slowly disappear. For someone dead, I surprisingly have a functional body. Looking around, I find myself in a place full of darkness. The only light here is from me in small amounts while a majority from AIS. She''s like a beacon for those lost in the afterlife... Well, it''s no use to dwell on these thoughts. I continue walking monotonously in the direction I was going before. ... I followed what I felt intrinsically. I find myself lost in the surrounding darkness. The whispers and swishing of wind flittered at the edge of my awareness at the beginning. They became more prominent as time went by. I lost track of that time as hours, days passed. Was this a representation of my mind? Am I stuck in my own delusions? Then, I reach a wall. A literal wall. It''s composed of dirty iron bricks lined high and beyond my sight. Their cracks scream about the fragility of my psyche- my mind as weak and my sights as bleak. It is brittle and thin: a shallow cover. I notice this wall now surrounds me. It feels comforting; a soothing blanket over the outside world. I am alone but not in a forlorn way. I am alone in an everlasting peace. The AIS must have lied to me because this does not feel painful at all. It is a sensation without sensing; an existence by nonexistence. ¡­ I remember. My first days in school were scary. I was a quiet and shy kid who always kept to himself. Everything new was a fresh nightmare and all of it was confusing. The halls were intimidating, giant mazes; the school was a labyrinth. I didn''t understand what the new things were nor was I able to ask what they were. They just were. School continued like that. I studied quietly to not make any trouble. Classes changed, classmates changed, I even changed. But I still was the same quiet and shy kid, only if a bit more book-smart. Yet I still couldn''t name things, name people, name events, name names. And I watched it all. The bullies teasing, beating up others, and causing trouble to get attention or satisfy themselves. The troublemakers doing whatever to disrupt class just to have some entertainment, giggles, and hijinks. The studious students keeping highly educated and focused. The athletes forging their bodies to show the world for some global event. And others like me: the spectators, the watchers, the bystanders. Most teachers just went about their days listlessly. They tried to convince themselves that this job is what they wanted; teaching kids and creating a better future was best for them. But it showed in their actions, in their eyes, in their health- an overall fall in performance. They all hated this cycle but somehow couldn''t stop coming back for more. Of course, there were good teachers who really cared. They kept track of the world, their teachings, their students'' lives- all of it. They knew what they were doing, or at least what they were aiming for, and kept close watch over their students. Learning was fun with them rather than bland and forced. They learned from us and we from them; it was an exchange. ¡­ I had a favorite teacher: he was a substitute one day in high school and laid down the law. He was not a noticeable man, nor did he have a special name as I''ve already forgotten it. But he left an impression on me. He was a sarcastic and humorous man. The first thing he did was write his name in an illegible script on the board in the front of the room. Then, he turned to the class and introduced himself with a bow. (Mr. Teacher) "Let''s get things started. Namely-" he said in a calm voice, underlining his name when he said ''namely'', "With introductions." (Mr. Teacher) "Sally Axle?" he went on, completely ignoring his name. (Sally Axle) "Eh? Yes!?!" she cried out, utterly confused at his mannerisms. (Mr. Teacher) "I know you''re called Miss Axle, but don''t get too turned around," he said, adding turning motions with his hands, as if spinning a wheel. "Stay fixated on the class," he finished, his statement finalized with the slamming of the bottom of his balled fist, like he was planting a flag to represent his authority on his desk. (Sally Axle) "Was that a joke?" (Student ?) "Did he-" (Student ?) "I think he just did." (Mr. Teacher) "Robert Bark?" he said, completely ignoring the class in the same way he did with his name. (Robert Bark) "What''s it to you?" he replied, in an intimidating snide. (Mr. Teacher) "Ah, Mister Bark. A lot of Barks must be in your family, right? Just hope that we don''t have to cut itout to keep you docile and quiet," he spoke, smoothly making a slicing motion at his nether regions and yanking an imaginary manhood off. (Robert Bark) "The fuck? What''s wrong with you?" (Student ?) "Did he-" (Student ?) "Yeah. He compared Robert to a misbehaving dog." (Mr. Teacher) "Halley Chalk?" he continued, unperturbed. (Halley Chalk) "Don''t you fucking dare make fun of my name!" she hissed. (Mr. Teacher) "Don''t you worry your head, Miss Chalk. I''d draw the line with your name," he said comfortingly. But he also drew another line under his name when he said her name and held out his hands to present it like a magic trick. He definitely was mocking the entire class one by one. (Halley Chalk) "You bastard!" she screamed. (Mr. Teacher) "Please refrain from using foul language, Miss Chalk. And don''t chalk it all up to me being a bastard. You would know what a real bastard is like, wouldn''t you?" he silkily, slickly, and chilly said in the same instance. A knowing look in his eyes glinted as he stared back into Halley Chalk''s eyes.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. (Halley Chalk) "Shut up..." she relented, sitting back down. (Student ?) "Did he-" (Student ?) "Just insinuate that she''s a bastard child? Yeah, he made undertones like that-" (Student ?) "Fuck you asshole! Stop interrupting me! Don''t be a know-it-all and let me speak!" he interjected. The guy in a red blazer and blue sports pants jumped up and grabbed his neighbor at the desk beside him. He pulled the other student up to his face and continued shouting profanities. (Mr. Teacher) "..." he sighed and clapped his hands together, applauding the performance. "Yes! Burning passion kids. But please keep your hands to yourselves in public," he iterated in a smug and sly voice. He even winked at them. (Student ?) "You fuck! I don''t swing that way!" (Mr. Teacher) "Then why did you want to grab him? To hold him in your hands?" (Student ?) "Don''t say it that way! That makes a lot of misunderstandings! I hate him. I''m angry. And I want to beat the fuck out of his face. That''s it," he fumes, pissed off as Hell''s fire when fueled by the urine of Cerberus. (Mr. Teacher) "Sure, sure. Just keep it in your pants." (Student ?) "I will, you fucker. Disgusting piece of shit..." he said, throwing the other student back into their seat and then sitting down grumpily. The other student was still reeling from the noise and hurt by the sudden assault, but he was recovering. (Mr. Teacher) "So, shall we continue?" he said, spreading his hands out in a gesture resembling an Olympist who stuck the high-jump landing. Seriously, what? He continued to be a strange man, constantly harassing us while continuing the lesson. We collectively hated him but he somehow brought the class together and more involved in class. Gone were the bored faces and easy times. It was full of discussions, debates, and, most important of all, interest. When he was leaving, some of us wanted to know how and why. (Robert Bark) "Who the fuck are you, man?" he spat out, his words furious. (Mr. Teacher) "People say the apple doesn''t fall far from the tree. But you, Mister Bark, grew out of the tree as its Bark. That is why you are so thick, isn''t it?" he said. The entire time he spoke, he drew a diagram of a tree, apples in its branches, one falling off, and a circle around a growth coming out of the tree''s side. (Robert Bark) "Fuck you too. I''m not a dumbshit," he growled. (Sally Axle) "Excuse him, but seriously, who are you? You never told use your name!" she pouted. (Mr. Teacher) "Who I am does not matter. What really matters is what you do with your life." And he left, never to come back. He did change the class and I admit he was good at his job. He covered the math lesson smoothly and we all passed the next math test, if just barely. We stopped being so immature. We gained inspiration. And he changed our futures. Robert Bark became a literate lyricist and rapper. And the others? I don''t know, why the fuck are you asking me? But I became a teacher. I became cynical. I became more assertive. I became ateacher. ¡­ My first actual job was in my University. I was a part-timer, helping a freshmen class. I was excited. I really was. It was my first time truly teaching several kids at a time. I tutored one-on-one before with close friends, but never an audience of strangers. I pulled on a business suit and tucked in my pants before I left to prepare the classroom on the first day. I was nervous- how could I not be nervous? I was still the same quiet and shy person I was before, despite the practice upon practice I did at home. I never did anything after school and the only parties I went to were for my friend''s birthdays. You could say I was extremely sheltered. I burned away all my lifetime on books and both board and video games. I became generically knowledgeable about fantasy but I still could not name things. A bird-like reptilian creature breathing magical power and of enormous size was a dragon. But what unique dragons there were? I could not be sure like I''ve always been about everything. I lost my nerve. When I got really nervous, I''d self-reflect and drown in the resulting self-pity from the terrible remains of my life. I was a pessimist. But I wanted to change. I wanted to be like Mr. Teacher. So I prepared, rehearsed, and there I was. I didn¡¯t do my best with that class, which was obvious. I stumbled in my words and got frightened at their outbursts of annoyance and aggression. Who knew American History could get them so riled up? But eventually, I settled into it. I was any average teacher on the job. I became ¡°most teachers¡±, just there for the job and living blankly. ¡­ By my early 30s, I decided to change from teaching adults. I thought of them as opinionated and stubborn; they did not change easily nor listen to my authority. I was just someone there to teach them the subject and pass them for their great big dream in their future. I was holding the torch for them to start the games of life. I was a gatekeeper. Instead of this, I wanted to teach kids. The impressionable, malleable kids that could learn to open up and not be so pushy. It¡¯d be easier, wouldn¡¯t it? I ended up landing a job at my old school and had the embarrassment of going over old memories with teachers still there. My childhood spent there and my hometown. My parents living nearby and people who I knew and their kids too. It all was good. I helped them pronounce their letters. I helped them write. I taught them morals. I taught them manners. I gave them love. I gave them unity. I gave it my all to make sure the future generations were happier than mine was. But reality is a pain in the ass. Kids couldn¡¯t cope with their problems: parents divorced, were abusive, died, had a family member ill or killed- all these negative things and they had no way of dealing with it. They had to accept it, but many denied or spewed their emotions on the world. They just couldn¡¯t understand the injustice. I began to talk to them about reality. Of the real world. How people die and never come back, how people fall out of love and separate, how people have bad things happen to them every day. They learned to emphasize. They learned what can happen. They learned to not hate each other. They learned to work together. They learned to be mature. This, of course, went wrong in all sorts of places. Superintendents, principals, teachers, society- each of them reviled at my actions. Parents complained, filed lawsuits, and I even had some dads beat the shit out of me on the way home for ¡°defiling their daughter¡¯s innocence¡±. I lost my job more times than I could count and traveled to find another opening. But the whole time, I felt it was needed. Even if they lose interest in their toys. Even if they don¡¯t play games as much as they do. Even if they looked sad at times. Kids needed this. I also told them of the future. Of what they should prepare for. Different cultures, different opportunities, different ways of thinking. How one idea could blossom many others; an idea to compile on the work of others to promote unity. I told them of what they could be. A leader. A follower. An individual. A creator. Whatever they wanted, they could do. They could do as they like. I finished with the idea of choice. Their actions affect not only themselves but others and their futures too. I felt at times, my idealistic teachings were bullshit, but I kept at it. I wanted them to know there is more to hate, anger, dissatisfaction, sadness, annoyance. Society treats us as babies too much; they do not prepare us for the adult world. We can individually do our own actions, but we need to account for the problems from them. At least, that¡¯s what I thought back then. When my neighborhood turned to shit and the increase of crime rate in the area scared away parents, I had to retire early. Yet I stayed in my neighborhood. I still taught kids at a Sunday school, despite being nonreligious in my own righteousness. And I learned now that none of it mattered. What happened, happened and I guess I did little to the world. My talk didn¡¯t mean shit, but at least I don¡¯t have to deal with another world again. Or so I thought. The walls around me crumbled and I fell out into the world of Tekton. Another set of problems set in another life, I guess. I hope at the very least that this one is more enjoyable than my pissy old life. I don¡¯t want to be a teacher again. I hate dealing with people and their problems. My own problems are enough, like how I just fell flat on my face and I''m feeling extreme pain for the first time in forever. What Happened? Nothing much... I fall face forward, smashing my head against the remains of my wall and smashing whatever face I had left onto the hard floor. I feel something crack but not shatter. Hopefully, my body can repair that damage by itself. If not, I¡¯m going to have the ugliest mug out there, and not the type you use to drink out of. I mean my face being horrifically disfigured¡­ Being ugly would definitely make my life harder and I don¡¯t want that, do I? Make me beautiful, please! I try to stand up but I can¡¯t feel my arms or legs. Actually¡­ do I even have arms and legs? I feel some foreign limbs instead of what I¡¯m humanly familiar with. I can¡¯t get up nor can I look back at my body. There is something extremely wrong with this situation. I try to tip over but I can¡¯t even do that. Oh no. What happened. What happened to me? Oh no. Oh¡­ no¡­ I lift my head to see a sea of eggs. They have the same cracked iron block color and texture with some of them with holes poked out of them right now. Then, a creature flops out of its shell, practically smashing it with its whole body. It bounces off the hard-packed ground and tips over on its side. I had the full scene of a dull silver turtle coming out of its shell and many other eggs following his example. Soon, most of them are out and about, mingling among themselves. They are disorientated at the moment but they seem to learn quickly: the second hatched turtle righted itself with the help of a few others. They left in waves, in all manners of directions, in but a short span of a few minutes. Our bowl-like container is filled with dark packed dirt or sand? I don¡¯t know. They rise up as a low curved wall around us. There¡¯s a boundless sea to the left of us and some gargantuan, humongous- huge forest to the right. I can barely see in front of me some flatland or beach of sorts. I don¡¯t know. I just don¡¯t know what is happening. Most of the turtles go to the sea, some to the forest, and a few to the beach. The rest pass by me, going to the unknown and foreign- something I can¡¯t see with the limited mobility of my body. I just stay in my shell, completely shell-shocked. What happened to the eternity of peace? The permanent deletion from existence? That woman, AIS- she definitely scammed me. Scammed me big time. And I can¡¯t even get a refund because this was not a business- this was life. I can¡¯t sigh. I can¡¯t grind my teeth in frustration. I can¡¯t rage about in anger. I am stuck in the body of a baby turtle, which is easy prey for just about any carnivore out there. I¡¯m probably about a 1/3 of the size of a middle finger, which is what I¡¯d want to show to whatever Great Being Above that made me this way. ¡­ I lay there in my shell for a silent time in thinking, contemplation. What next? What do I do? How do I live as a turtle? My brain freezes up and is forced to reboot. First, it¡¯s food and water. Then, it¡¯s shelter. After that¡­ Somehow find entertainment? Improve my body to the pinnacle of existence? I don¡¯t even know what is out there in the big scary world. I could get smushed into a fine paste during the 1,000,000 or so seconds that I have to survive before I develop proper defenses.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Even then, I can only become a punching bag or an aquatic weasel. I''m not masochistic. And the sea is the last place I want to be, with its dark depths and unknown dangers. I could drown in there! So I just stay here, at home, in my delicate shell for the moment. I will watch over the other eggs. I think about 3 hours passed since my hatching? No other eggs have hatched since the time of great exodus or the ¡°Choosing¡± as I call it. Apparently, it was just before dawn when we hatched; the Sun came up and is heating my shell. It¡¯s warm¡­ Don''t turtles having a form night vision? I think it''s why I saw the ¡°Choosing¡± in the dark. Just one of the many useless facts I know actually being useful¡­ ¡­ I am definitely starving, though. I have to get food, but at the same time, I don¡¯t want to leave and get into danger. I want to hide among the shells, yet, at the same time, I will starve at this rate. Reluctantly, I begin to eat the remains of my shell. I have no idea about the effects of this, but there is no way I will die adventuring into the unknown. My shell tastes bland. There¡¯s no real sweet or salty taste- actually, is there even taste at all? It is filling, at least. Thinking deeply makes me forget the tasteless shell. It becomes a ritual of sorts. Each time I eat some of my shell, I take delicate care to shape it into a form of home by poking holes into it. Eventually, I have a ¡°door¡± which is a part of my shell still attached to the rest which can be closed and opened. There are two windows and a hole in the floor that serves as a waste deposit. I have a home now. A day passes like that without incident and I¡¯ve done my ¡°business¡± a few times already. Most of my shell is gone by now and I think of taking the other shells. Because I lost my ¡°walls¡±, I can see the sea expand behind my egg, spreading to the offshores of the world. While I turn to look at it, I notice how slow I am to adjusting to the¡­ fins? The flaps? The appendages? Whatever turtles have, I learn slowly to move by sliding across the ground. I flopped around slowly to make my adjustments and I¡¯m feeling a bit sad that my shell doesn''t matter anymore. I have to relocate. But I still move around awkwardly. I never understood swimming but I could only compare it to that nightmare. I spend that day counting all the eggs¡­ No comment about my efforts to relearn my body. There¡¯s 300 total, to the best of my knowledge: some eggs could be hidden deeper in the ground or lost somewhere else. I finished eating my original egg and nudged a few of the unhatched egg. There¡¯s no noise coming from them and they¡¯re surprisingly light. Because of this, I¡¯m rethinking my plan about staying here. I can¡¯t decide between being a sitting duck, metaphorically obviously, or a wandering shell of my former self. Literally. Pun intended. For starters, the birthplace of my generation is, at the same time, a graveyard for the unborn. It will definitely have scavengers for the scraps; I¡¯m just surprised there hasn¡¯t been any around here yet. They¡¯re probably trying to eat all of the little turtles going around everywhere. Having a Turtle Defense will help me duck and cover at least. I can pile these paper-thin shells on top of me to feel safer. A new home of scraps. Sounds like the type a thing a washed-up wannabe like me would do: hide in a pile of paper trash on the public streets. I¡¯m really mad that I can¡¯t sigh. I missed being to do my little sarcastic gestures. I miss my old body and I miss my comforts. And I¡¯m tired the entire time. Is there a reason for me to continue? Maybe I could return back to the Nothingness of death. Maybe I don¡¯t have to jump around in the empty shells of my hatched brothers. Maybe I can be something? I don¡¯t know. Instead, I just burrow deeper into the pile of shells I made, thinking deeper. Thinking what to do. Maximize the fun factor. I¡¯ve decided that I will become a hermit. I will live in these shells. When my brothers come back to lay their clutch of eggs here, I will share food, water, and news. Then I''d send them off. I will help hatch and protect their eggs. Some will be lost, some will survive. It¡¯s an easy slacker job for a person like me. No real responsibility, respect, and all the safety. Just perfect. Who Are You? 3 days. For 3 days I screwed around. In this time, I piled all the shells in the center of our Birth-Crater. I learned about my body. I got my plan. But 3 days did not prepare me for a sucker punch to the face. ... I remember only one time when I was in a fight in my 40s. I just left work that day and I was about to go home. But then, I saw a billboard about new Arcade which finished its construction near my neighborhood. It was old-fashioned: P*c M*n, Sp*ce Inv*ders, Pinb*ll, and various oldies. A blast from the past is what I thought. So I drove over and parked my dinky, little, and junky car. When I walked in, I felt a nostalgic thrill- a boyish wonder at a snippet of my younger years when I wasn''t so uptight, looser even. I stepped over to a Pinb*ll machine, looking at it. I was remembering my hands gliding across its frame and playing over and over again. My hands twitched as they grew a mind of their own- an inborn muscle reflex of sorts desperately trying to vent its desires out upon the world. The dinging sounds and various noises of bumping across the practically metal obstacle course filled my ears. I saw a sphere fly across the field, racking up points at an unbelievable speed. I saw the colors, the spring loosing, the machine shaking- or was it just me? I needed to play once more; there was no denying myself this indulgence. I was a hopeless addict reintroduced to his fixation just before finishing his rehabilitation. And damn it all if I didn''t get high! (?) "Hey, Old Man, what''re you doing in here?" came a youthful voice behind me. But this kid tried to cross me. I glanced back to see his smug glee at my annoyance and his obvious fraternity ties by his attire. Despite the informal setting of this Arcade, he was pretty suited up: he even had his insignia on his shoulder... I forgot what it was. Even if I do say kid when I talk about him, he was actually a college student- probably in his last years of schooling and doing very well too. Athletic. Tall. And so sickeningly charming. I felt like spitting in his face. Die if you can''t leave the elderly alone! Let an "Old Man" enjoy his time alone! Alone! It''s the only thing in a long time I could enjoy. (Me) "Young lad, I don''t suppose you understand courtesy?" I said, with what stable voice I could muster. (Smug Man) "Courtesy? What does that have to do with anything?" he said in such an unbelievable tone. (Me) "Leave me alone. Fuck off!" I hissed at him. (Smug Man) ¡°Are you trying to start something here? Are you drunk?¡± he replied, in a snidely, mockingshock. Smug. He was so fucking smug. A realbastard, if I''ve ever seen one. And I have. In games, in school, in life, in the Administration, in the stores, in and around the whole world: bastards like him existed to be smug. To be so falsely coy. To taunt you with their pretenses and the hound your beliefs. To judge your being. To taint your image. To haunt your dreams. A real bastard. So fucking smug too. (Me) "I said, leave me alone!" I asserted, quite loudly. (Smug Man) "Are you sure? You don''t look too good," he said with a form of gleam to his eyes. I was an old soul with a piercing insight. Your diabolical scheme was to get brownie points from the public. You seriously were thick-headed, weren''t you? A stubborn bastard too.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. (Me) " Leave me the fuck alone!" I yelled. I huffed and puffed heavily. My face burned a bright red because I got so worked up. My chest felt tight and I breathed faster, shorter, and deeper. (Smug Man) "Seriously. There''s something wrong with you!" he declared. A lot of people turned to look at us at that moment. What a dick! He couldn''t help but demonize me to show how a "cool, considerate" person he was! That was when I snapped. In the span of a second, I crouched into a Southpaw stance. I then launched across the floor. My blood burned. My heart burned. My arms burned. My head throbbed. I was consumed with bloodlust. Another second later, I crossed the 3 meters between us and threw my jabs. I prepared my monster right cross as my arms flew to his chest... Only for me to be swept off my feet. He crouched and swung his left leg low, catching me off guard and forcing me to fall forward. The last thing I felt was a sudden pressure on my neck. I lost. I was knocked unconscious by this Smug Bastard. I failed. I couldn''t even deal with some punk like him... At least, that''s what I thought in those fleeting moments. It turns out I was having a cardiac arrest. That man I hated so much was a renown medical student researching cardiology. He was also famous for his Taekwondo- just unbelievable. The student was reasonably concerned about my health and quite "courteous" to put it ironically. I woke up the next day in the hospital and found out about all of that from the doctor. It was so embarrassing that I mistook him for a rich kid/thug. I apologized profusely although he tried to cover the whole incident for how bad he handled it. I bowed before him when he told me he called the Paramedics immediately and performed CPR on me until they came... If it wasn''t for him, I would be dead. From then on, I vowed to myself never to judge so badly. I gave lectures to kids on how to live responsibly too! How could I fall so low to attack an innocent man? ... And that is the story why I don''t judge so harshly. At the very least, I try to keep it only to myself. But when you wake up to sudden pain and realize you are being attacked, everything flies out of the window. I sputter awake, coughing out blood onto my attacker. They shift within my shell pile and began dragging me out. I flail wildly to get free but their grip is too tight. I am dead. I got caught. I didn''t even live for 3 days. I murmur as many prayers and curses I can before my life ends. We come out into the open so that it could rip my little body into fleshy strippings and turn into delicious sustenance for their belly. I give some final, futile kicks and dig into the ground. When I get turned around, I finally see my aggressor: instead of a grayish and dull-colored turtle like the rest, this one was a sandy tan sheen. It almost blended in with the Birth-Crater''s floor. They are twice my size and have some kind of hand-fin hybrid for their limbs. In addition to this, the turtle also seemed intelligent. If I could sigh in relief, I would have done it then and there. But the only thing I could do was to wipe my ass across the ground to clean off the rest of the crap on it when I shit myself. No judgement. No judgement at all... We both stare at each other in the eyes. It goes on. A long wait. It is just both of us, staring at each other and evaluating what we both were. I tilt my head. They tilt theirs. I raise a fin. They raise theirs. I still rub my ass across the ground yet they do not copy that. I rub more vigorously and do much more exaggerated movements to draw out a large circle. They raise their left hand-fin and... Why are they cupping their face with it? Hey. Don''t you give me the pity stare! I had too many people doing it before so don''t you fucking dare and give me the pity stare! I move fast to nibble at their leg but they flip me over in a single, fluid motion. Finally, they speak to me. (Rude Turtle) "What happened to the rest?" comes out their neutral and toneless voice. I barely manage to make a noise resembling something like a person clearing their throat. Then, I tap a fin on the ground and try to tip from side to side. Success! Yes! I have onething I can finallydo again! Yes! I miss out on what they said in response and get rocked back to my feet. I am so happy that I start chittering unconsciously. Is this how turtles laugh? I want it to be more diabolical! (Rude Turtle) "What. Happened." I quickly snap out of my giddiness. Oh. I totally forgot about them for a moment. Let''s see... Hm... Yes. I think I know how to explain this. (Me) "They''re all dead." (*BLOOPER* *NOT A CHAPTER*) Spoiler: Spoiler 3 days. For 3 days I screwed around. In this time, I piled all the shells in the center of our birth-crater. I learned my body. I got my plan. But 3 days did not prepare me for a sucker punch to the face. I was dreaming of my first time teaching kids, and when I spoke about my beliefs. My ideas about the futility of humanity but the necessity to improve. All the controversy and backlash in response. I was a 34-year-old: chubby, short, grizzled, and hairy to the point of looking like a downtrodden hobo. My sense of fashion was a plain long-sleeve shirt and some jeans. None of it looked good for the School Board of Directors and none of it looked good for the parents. And I remember little Gwen Tassel in my Third Grade class. She was ever vigilant- a watching and keen-eyed girl. Quite good at imitation too. She did well to mock the voices of her teachers, sing in mimicry of Celebrities, and copy famed actors¡¯ one-liners. A bright future ahead of her, right? When I became her homeroom teacher, she became puzzled. Who was this man? What is this classwork? Where were the Administrators? I broke down her pretty little paradise of a world and threw her into reality. Of course, I only did that by tying it into our lessons so the kids learned the coursework too- not that they would remember it. Her awed face, that cocked head to the side, and twitching little nose as her mouth threatened to scream. That expression on her face when we first started stuck in my mind. She did not appreciate my teachings. She did, however, eventually submit to them. I showed them news reports. Political updates. Debates. World Finances. Taxes. The adult world from its basics and up. Then I made them consider their values, the impact of their actions, their end goal for life. They seemed somewhat attentive, but there obviously were those who didn¡¯t care either way. Little Gwen Tassel did care. She cared too much. She played soccer, studied, and did chores in a regular, upstanding family. But her neighborhood, according to reports I transmitted from the media, was in shambles. A knifing down the street. Daylight robbery. Infidelity. Human trafficking. Prostitutes. Destitute beggars. A little of each, but still a festering problem. She spoke to her parents about this. Just a small, cute, and adorable child, with blond hair at her shoulders and a violet bow to emphasize her youth and innocence. A girl with a little Dor* brand backpack, some Di*ney Princess shoes, and accompanying clothing from her jacket and skirt''s branding. A girl talking about the assault on Mr. Henderson or the abortion Mrs. Mackerberry had last Friday. A girl talking about unstable oil prices, about the stagnation in politics. A girl that left her childhood behind and became an adult.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Sadly, or realistically, Mr. Tassel did not like this. He did not like the ¡°brainwashing¡± of his child, the replacement of her mind with an alien, invasive intelligence which sucked the expressive love and purity that was his daughter. On an Easter Sunday, he rounded up some of his buddies and made a plan to strike at night. When I walked home that evening, I found 5 men dressed in high-class: suits, ties, top hats, monocles- the whole deal. Fancy. But they wore masks and hounded me. I turned left to escape them. They went with me. I went right to bypass their wall of flesh and gentlemanliness. They moved in tune with me. The silence broke when I tried to say, ¡°Excuse me?¡± and they attacked. I cannot say which fellow was which as they were all of the same build, same clothing, similar mannerisms. I had more to worry about as I was being attacked. But I do know I got a left hook to my right shoulder-blade first, dislocating my arm. I turned and ran at that time. But one of them behind me threw a straight punch into my chest, hitting my solar plexus. I dropped to the ground. The others then began kicking me. I felt pain in my wrist. My fingers- stomped. My shins- smashed. My feet- crushed. My knees- practically caved in. My arms- a bruised, broken mess. They did not become lethal in their attacks; no, they aimed to make me suffer a crippled life. Only my fetal position and my blubbery fat saved me from permanent injury. That and the fact I had good neighbors to call the police and the law not being as downgraded as it was in the future- when it all grew worse. That time during the beating to my treatment to my rehabilitation was a burning and cutting pain to live through. Some of the bone fragments were missed during the operation and caused me an ache beyond anything I felt in my peaceful life. It was always itchy- so itchy I wanted to scratch my skin off in long, ragged strips and tear from my flesh the pain. I spent my life until my late 40s recovering and finishing treatment. The court case to persecute the offenders came quickly after they were detained and arrested after a large search throughout the neighborhood and deep investigation. The media covered the entire thing: "Controversial Teacher Creating Little Adults Brought to Justice" and such at the start. When leaked footage of my condition came out, the public came to an uproar. My court case passed judge to judge, each being unable to pass fair judgement from the alleged "psychological damage" I caused to so many children and my unnecessarily brutal attackers. Each of them I was unable to attend because of my medical condition, so the prosecution and defense had to hold until then. But the kids I taught came and watched. The turmoil my case caused was, minimal- at most, it stayed within my general region. That is to say, for the first two years. Suddenly, some of my students I taught years before came to testify against the effects of my teachings. What Are You Talking About? (Rude Turtle) "Come again?" they say, aghast at the possibility. (Me) "Yeah. All dead. I''m the only survivor," I reply, nonchalantly. (Rude Turtle) "But there were-" (Me) "Hundreds of us? Yeah, so what? We''re weak. Too weak." His expression is a turtle''s but I somehow interpret it into human terms. The look on his face is SO satisfying. (Rude Turtle) "What do I do now,damn it! I selected Beached Turtle King to rule, not sit on my ass and die, you stupid Assistive Interactive System!" he mutters. "Beached, huh? I''m all alone except for this idiot..." Oh... How nice to see the results of her teachings. It''s such a tingly, warm, and cheerful sensation when you fuck with people''s minds. Especially when the person''s such an asshole. (Me) "So where are you going to now?" I ask. (Rude Turtle) "To the sea. I won''t chance it here." he briskly says, already leaving. (Me) "Bye!" I say, waving to show him off. He grumbles grumpily and treads into the water. In an instant, a giant maw bursts out of the sea and swallows him whole. ...He didn''t even make it a day. I check the unhatched eggs and sure enough, one of them did hatch. I take the time to eat the shells left from the Rude Turtle and move the other eggs into the center of my pile. I lay down in the thick of turtle shells and get annoyed again how I can''t sigh. A supposedly eventful day turned back to normal. I shrug to myself as best I can and go back to figuring out the specializations of my body. I just learned I am unable to save myself if I can''t get out of some measly hatchling''s grip. I end up with the plan of hiding in my shell and hope for the best. My days will be long and peaceful, I swear it! But not a second later, another one of the eggs hatches. Out of it pops Rude Turtle Version II. Looks like another one is here. (Rude Turtle) "Stupid fucking Assistive Interactive System! "An entire week''s worth of spawn protection" she says. Bitch ass whore! Fuck, please! I died just LEAVING my spawn point. How is that motherfucking shit any fair? Goddamn it. I''m lucky as fuck''s stars and an asshole buried deep into the earth that I chose extra lives," he rants, extremely emotional. Time to screw with him even more... (Me) "Sir? Your esteemed Lordliness? Your great and mighty Highness? Might this little one perhaps give you advice?" I lather more bullshit compliments to loosen up this asshole for a mean fucking. He is going to suffer for existing. My reasoning is simple. First, he''s too aggressive. Straight off the bat, he smacks my face in and drags me off like a kidnapper. Second, he is stronger than me. He is competition. Third, it''s fun. I understand why supervillains keep working their jobs even though heroes ruin it all the time. People are fun to manipulate and hurt. It''s this feeling of overwhelming control and understanding. (Rude Turtle) "Eh? Oh, you... Ahem. Little One, I am... an Ascended Ancestor. Do well to serve me... Understand?" He might pick up quickly but he really needs to get better at acting. His bullshit is visible from a mile away. (Me) "Ascended Ancestor! The benevolent Turtle God Sheldon devoted a message to receive you! I heed your call!" I make a display of showing submissiveness when I speak to him. (Rude Turtle) "Good. GOOD. Something is going right. Young One, I have a mission for you." Damn it. I expected you would do this. Whatever. As long as my life is fun, I don''t care what happens. I know I was stubborn about staying here, but it was inevitable I had to leave and explore at some point... But it doesn''t mean I''m not pissed off. I hate this Rude Turtle so much that I can''t even describe the intensity of the flames which burn inside me.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. (Me) "How shall I serve, Sir?" I say, meekly responding. (Rude Turtle) "Walk that Beach over yonder," he says as he points his fin-hand to the stretch of sand above. (Me) "With pleasure, Sir!" I move with speed to get this over with. He won''t be around for much longer anyway after I''m done. (Rude Turtle) "And make sure to report back to me what you found!" he yells from behind me. I already scaled up to the Birth-Crater by then. When I do get up, I find more Beach and more sand. Nothing but mounds and holes and layers of sand. There are bits of rock mixed into the collection which look like boulders to me. Conch shells like mountains of colorfully shaped rock are scattered throughout. They are monuments to testify for living beings larger than I am. I scuttle in a complicated pattern across the Beach. My scuttling involves me quickly pushing off diagonally to straight lines with pauses in between. So far, there is nothing but the air, Sun, and Sea to observe. I find it amusing that I am forced to risk my life to take another in such a useful way for my target. I go to another one of the Conch shells and find that it too is empty. It is slightly purple-tinted and almost as spiky as a Sea Urchin. The inside feels like an unexplored cave system. Never did I expect to find pink moss growing in its walls. I sniffed tentatively and it smelled heavenly. I barely am able to stop myself from eating it. The moss is so irresistible... I force my body to only lick it and an energy courses through my entire being. I feel as if I''m shocked and a current is passing through me but it''s a good tingling which causes me to collapse and spasm. Poison? A form of aphrodisiac? No, some kind of deadly, addictive drug? A few minutes pass before my body settles down. I feel... stronger like I have more power and speed. I am curious what its true effects are but I leave it alone for now. If it indeed is a drug, how bad would it be if it was a steroid that destroyed my entire body after forcibly strengthening it? I shudder at my close encounter. The Rude Turtle won''t need to know about this. Before I know it, the day is over. The Sun is setting and I move as fast as I can back home. Who knows what kind of things lurk at night? I slide down the edges of my Birth-Crater, slightly spinning from the momentum. The Rude Turtle is sitting in the pile of shells and nibbles at a pile of some grass he probably got from the jungle-forest. I make an effort to throw myself beneath him. (Me) "Sir! I have counted 436 gray boulders and 28 colorful mountains with cave systems. Sadly, I explored only half of the closest caves. They were all empty. Also, I found no life on the Beach." (Rude Turtle) "Good. Good! We can set up there!" he laughs and shifts his food pile. (Me) "Right now, Sir?" (Rude Turtle) "Why not now? If the Beach is deserted, that means it''s an empty biome up for grabs. I can claim it with my ability!" he chuckles and is in a good mood for a first. (Me) "And will I have to come, Sir? I am tired..." I make the impression I am barely awake and standing. (Rude Turtle) "Right, right. I forgot you were just a Hatchling, Young One." And the most useful thing I learned from you was about another food source... You also never told me this. I had to observe it myself. What an asshole. A useless, needy, and commanding asshole. I curl up inside the collection of shells as he carries away his grass. When he is gone, I drag a mostly intact shell with me up the Birth-Crater''s walls. I put the shell over myself like a box and look through a hole I made. I can see him on the Beach. He speeds across the sand past rocks and Conch shells. I can barely see him in the distance but he stops near the center of the Beach. He begins drawing a circle and some other patterns I can''t see from here. Then, he probably cast some spell as the magic inscription begins to glow bright and emit an energy similar to the moss. I''m surprised I can feel that all the way over here, but considering my size, this "Beach" is probably a small strip of land not even longer than 3 meters. The jungle-forest surrounding the Beach rustles and a lone wolf appears. It''s a mangy thing- probably diseased and old. But it is Behemoth to our turtle eyes, an existence of great proportion that could snuff out our lives in an instant just by a breath. It seemed to sense the emitted energy and growls in annoyance. The Rude Turtle is panicking seeing how he is trying to finish the spell as fast as possible. The wolf trots over to him in a matter of seconds. Then, it starts down at the Rude Turtle with a critical eye. The Rude Turtle collapses in on himself when he finishes his "ability". The wolf still looks at his shell when the Rude Turtle tucked himself in for the night. The wolf gives a howl and raises its leg. No... It can''t be... The male member between its loins is erect. The wolf is targeting the Rude Turtle and his magic inscription. No... Territory... Claiming... It can''t be... The wolf urinates a flood that smashes into the Rude Turtle like a compressed water cannon. I can see his shell begin to fold in and his inscription is wiped away in an instant. I''m sure the Rude Turtle died then and there. After giving a few sniffs, the wolf seemed satisfied and prowled back into the jungle-forest. Well now. They are both gone. I guess it''s time to crack some eggs for a delicious dinner...