🔦 Welcome to 2026, everybody. I hope yours has started off better than mine. But Pearly's been able to corner some data in the feed to get us a start at finding Roscoe's location, but it's only a start. He needs us to upload a virus into a server farm up near Bend, Oregon. So, between Danny and Lani, my sanity is stretched thin.
🍵 Hey bud, Elara asked if you'd rung Danny's pager yet.
🔦 Yep. Joe, why are we doing this?
🍵 Ah, glad you asked. Let me tell you the story of Sisyphus.
🔦 Whoa! Sorry, professor, the last thing I need right now is another philosophy lecture.
🍵 Fair. But I’ll make it fun. I promise. [Read: The Legend of the Rolling Stone by Old Joe]
RING, RING. RING, RING.
SOUNDS FROM SAUSALITO
QUEST FOR THE VCR
BY: Danny Mitchell
The coyote stared at me with appraising eyes while I hunkered behind a cactus answering nature's call along the 1.
It cocked its head slightly, then in a tone of philosophical curiosity asked, "Does it get cold without a fur sheath?"
I jumped like a jack rabbit. "Excuse me," I grunted as I tried to collect myself. I followed its stare downward. "Whoops! Little Danny."
I zipped up quickly, careful with the metal teeth. We were a long way from the nearest sawbones, plus that panther woman had some strange ideas about snacks. I didn't want her thinking I’m offering an appetizer.
“Hey, man, can't a guy get a little privacy!”
I squinted at the beast. Who was talking? The coyote? The drugs? Both?
"You did just speak, right?" I asked.
No answer. The coyote sat there silently. Appraising me.
I turned to walk back to the Calais.
“Really? You call it 'Little Danny'?"
I spun around, causing little dust devils to rise from the sand. "There, I caught you. You just spoke."
The coyote stared at me silently.
“Coyotes," I muttered and turned back to the Calais, shooting spastic glances over my shoulder, hoping to catch the beast in motion. One look. Two. Damn, it was gone.
I arrived at the Calais. Lani was gone, too.
I scrambled around the car, shouting "Lani!" jumping up and down like I was performing some kind of weird cultish ceremonial dance. I can't believe it, I’ve lost another sidekick. Why does this keep happening to me?
A scream clawed out of my throat when I heard a smoky voice breathe in my ear . . . "Everything OK?"
"Shit!" On its own instinct my body took up an awkward judo stance. "Don't sneak up on me like that."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten 'Little Danny.'" It might have just been the drug induced paranoia, but I swear there was vicious laughter gleaming in Lani's eyes as she tied the sash of the trench coat.
Wait, was that— Can you still—?" I started.
“What, Old Man?" She said intently. Something about her focused gaze made all thought flee my head. "Come. We are on a schedule."
I couldn't believe it; no captain of any other vessel would tolerate this level of insubordination, I thought as I walked toward the Calais. This was a total breakdown of the chain of command. I would have to enforce greater discipline moving forward.
As Lani climbed into the Calais with a grace that made everything else feel vulgar, she reached into the back seat. "I found this while I waited."
Without looking at her prize, I said, "Rule Two. Hands off my stash!" As I started the engine.
"Your stash is called 'The Big Lebowski'?" She held up a blue and yellow Blockbuster Video VHS tape.
“What?! Oh, hey. What do you have there?”
And how does a 250-year-old shape-shifting nature spirit even know how to read?
🎙️ Elara, I’ve intercepted a transmission in the feed you might want to see.
🙏🏾 Can you put it on the monitors, Pearly?
🎙 Sending it through now.
> SYSTEM NOTE <
> TARGET: UNTIDY NARRATIVE <
>STATUS: WHITEWASHING <
I studied my opponent. The bruises on his face had begun to yellow. The guards have rough hands, but physical violence will not break the man. He was calm. He took in the game with a patient humor. My admiration of his resolve caused me no small degree of annoyance.
I made my move. The polished ivory hummed gently as the Queen slid across the glass.
"Checkmate in three moves, Mr. Kelly."
He leaned back, surveyed the board, smirked, then nodded his head. He laid his King gently on its side and extended his hand across the chess board.
I looked down at my withered right arm, then reached out with my left. He gripped it firmly and looked me in the eye.
“Good match, Thomas."
I ground my teeth against his illogical gracious in defeat temperament. I looked back to the board, cataloging the victory in my mind.
Wait.
If he had taken my Bishop with his Knight, he would have forced mate in two moves. He conceded a winning match.
The chaos of his mind was disorienting.
He was watching me. Watching my eyes. He knew. He knew I knew.
I stood up quickly, almost toppling the board with my haste.
I collected myself.
Appearance is reality.
I reached for the tablet. "There is no such thing as strategic defeat, Mr. Kelly. I am not sure what game you are playing, but thank you for the match. If you will excuse me, I owe General Bragg an after-action report."
THE WILDE DISPATCHES
December 24, 1862
From: Col. Thomas Wilde
To: Gen. Braxton Bragg
Subject: Disciplinary Action
General Bragg,
I write to report a disciplinary action taken along the picket line this evening. While inspecting the forward ravine near Murfreesboro, I discovered a squad of our own infantry engaged in a distraction. They had taken up a game of cards. They were so engrossed in their childish game of chance that they failed to notice my approach.
When confronted, the sergeant offered an excuse of "troop morale." He claimed the game kept the men’s minds sharp against the cold. This is fallacy. To engage in childish diversion is to invite chaos into the ranks.
I ordered the cards burned. The men were not merely reprimanded; they were removed from the equation. A soldier focused on distraction is incapable of executing the necessary brutality of war. In war, there is only the conqueror and the conquered.
Let this serve as a reminder to the corps: There is no victory. There is no mercy. There is no grace. There is no distraction. There is only the directive.
I remain your obedient servant,
T. Wilde
🍲 Looks like he’s hanging in there.
🙏🏾 We already knew he was strong.
🍲 Mason asked if you'd mind coming to the control room.
SAVAGE GRACE
Ep. 2: THE ABIDE PROTOCOL
I stormed down the hallway and slammed open the door to the command room. I didn't care if Minnie’s roast beef was getting cold; my tac-watch was flashing red. Lani's tracker had stopped moving in Eureka, California.
What the hell were they doing in that dead zone of fog and timber?
I dropped into the comms seat and punched the keys to bring up the audio feed from Lani's glasses. “Lani, report! The tracker shows you stationary in Eureka. Are you still on mission?”
Highway noise rattled in the background of the audio channel. Danny's manic bleating rang out on top of it. “Is that Mason?” He was shouting as if his voice needed to carry from California to Florida. “Is he pissed we stopped? He's pissed we stopped, isn't he? Tell him the artifact is imperative. We have to find a VCR. As he would say: it's mission critical.”
“Silence,” Lani hissed. The sound was sharp enough to clip the audio levels. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Mason. The Old Man is compromised. I have analyzed the Calais controls. I can assume command. Do you authorize the disposal of the dead weight?”
I considered the option for a microsecond. Elara’s standing orders regarding Danny were clear, though. If her dream was to be believed, he might be the key to defeating the Haint. As much as his absurdity rankled me, I had my orders.
“Negative. Asset preservation is paramount. Explain the reason for the diversion.”
“The Old Man insists on exploring this merchant of abandoned treasures to find a device to analyze the artifact,” Lani reported. “Some kind of Lebowski protocol he says. Mason, what is a Lebowski?"
“The Dude,” a voice chimed from the threshold. Suzie stood there, holding a stack of files like a dossier. “Excellent tactical choice.”
“Not now, Suzie.” I ran the logistics on the main screen. The timeline was bleeding red. “Lani, listen to me. The window for the server strike closes at 0200. You are burning daylight.”
“Just enough time for the briefing,” Danny shouted from the background. “She's blind, Mason! She hasn't seen the film! You can't fight the Haint without the proper training! It’s mission critical!”
Suzie leaned over the console, her eyes scanning the telemetry. "“Disrupting the pattern, Mason. That is the only way to beat an algorithm. Let them watch.”
I stared at the blinking cursor. Logic versus Chaos. I sighed. Chaos was the only weapon we had left.
“Fine,” I growled. “Two hours. Proceed with the screening. But if you miss that window, Mitchell, I’ll tell Lani to feast.”
I cut the feed and leaned back in the chair, watching the static fade. I felt the weight of the mission pressing down.
“What are we doing, Suze?” I whispered.
Suzie leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. "The Dude abides, Mason. The Dude abides."