Harrison, Survival and Fortitude

By Emma Bailey

The game has officially changed...

Everything has been leading to this moment. The day Brightfell became a breeding ground for violence, death and chaos. Hatchet could see that the city was falling into ruin and although she fought to prevent this so-called 'beginning-of-the-end' it was inevitable. Now, stuck in a declined society, Hatchet and her cell are going to have to risk everything to stop the city from tearing itself apart.

What she knew was crazy. What she was about to experience would push the Brightfell vigilante to her limit...

When it comes to survival, people become animals.
If you want to survive, you have to be prepared to kill.
If you have a heart, you're out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9780244805487

Book preview

Harrison, Survival and Fortitude

Harrison, Survival and Fortitude

Copyright

© 2019 Emma Bailey

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2019

ISBN 978-0-244-80548-7

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Design by Emma Bailey

Harrison,

Survival

and Fortitude

Book one – Harrison, Speculation and Sociopaths

Book two – Harrison, Truth and Lies

Book three – Harrison, Life and Death

Book four (the lost years) – Harrison, Survival and Fortitude

YEAR FIVE

Empress

WE'RE ALL JUST WALKING THE ENDS OF THIS EARTH TO OUR GRAVES. Slowly fighting the decline. Squeezing every ounce of happiness from any small thing. Prolonging the suffering that'll come back to bite in you in the ass later. Kick something under the carpet thinking the problem's solved, that it'll go away and never bubble up again. Put dirty laundry in another person's basket so you don't have to get suds under your nails.

We tell ourselves, every day, that we have a purpose for waking up in the morning. Someone, something, some promise of a better life if you scrape the barrel and do what you're told. Boring, lacklustre routine. Repetitive, exhausting chores and labour that nobody wants to do. But you, like a good little worker bee, do your damn job. And society is supposed to thank you for it. You're supposed to feel better. Like you earned that glass of wine when you get home. Like you earned that chocolate bar that's been sitting in your fridge. Like you achieved something today.

But how long do we go unappreciated for breaking bones in our body, lifting heavy boxes, dealing with the brain-numbing stupidity that comes out of a customer's mouth, without so much as a thank you? Without so much as fifteen minutes to ourselves before we have to start the whole fucking circle all over again?

That was society. That was our definition of normal, and we were indoctrinated to accept it without question.

But society broke. It eroded over time, and we – the trash living in this city – we pushed it along. And it died. Everything broke down, gave up, rotted and collapsed. Expectations became a dream and the reality seeped in from our blackest nightmares.

Brightfell died. Innocent people were taken, slaughtered like sheep because there weren't enough resources to go around. Too many mouths to feed. Too many people begging for a drop of tap water, even if it was contaminated beyond safe limits.

They're punishing us. Renee foretold this tragedy, but as always we covered our ears and ignored it. I refused to believe that crime could escalate to the point of no return... but it did.

It did, and what little of us are here now – we're paying for it.

Prisons don't exist anymore. All of the filth from the asylum and every containment facility has already washed down into our streets, our homes, our lives.

And Dakota Faye, she took it upon herself to misinterpret my suggestion. She restarted Dead Caliber, born it anew as a controlling armada of cloaked assassins who kill first and ask questions later.

We already lost people, good people, to a D.C blade. They hold you still and make you watch. If you draw a weapon, you're as good as dead. If you're out when they're patrolling, you'd wish you were.

They took Rosie – Roma Zjastr-Gold, our daughter – from us, kicking and screaming. The only benefit of this sickening practice is they don't kill kids. Though they'll hound and butcher pretty much anything else with two working legs and a heartbeat.

The Montoya sisters, both Cass and Laurie, have gone to ground somewhere. We've lost all contact with them. Things weren't exactly peaches and cream with them to begin with.

They were probably caught after curfew and executed. Worst case scenario, of course, but there isn't any other kind. Not anymore. We practically rewrote that definition in the dictionary.

Hope they're alive. Hope they're at least breathing long enough for us to get them out of Hell. Because we're in a burning city, all we ever see is black and grey, smoke and ash, fires and haphazard conditions. It's not just contained to one area, it's spread city-wide, and like a twenty-foot-monster, nothing is safe from its wake.

We remind ourselves every day now: We're animals first.

We're victims to our primal instincts.

We see people going mad, taking their own lives, taking the lives of others, threatening an old lady for the last pint of milk that hasn't curdled -- and what do we do? Nothing. If it's 'us' or 'them' we prioritise our own needs. Nothing is off-limits. Like the purge, except it's every waking second of every fucking day in this dystopian-hellscape-nightmare-of-a-city.

As long as it's away from the soulless eyes of D.C, you're free to do whatever it takes to survive. Kick, claw, bite, scratch, kill, shoot, maim, torture – anything goes in New Brightfell. Took long enough, but it's finally earned the nickname BrightHell.

Five years after Renee Asher – the demon in my head – fell, and we're still discovering new and worse ways to damn ourselves. One step towards our extinction. Ten steps closer to Switchblade Jack's level of insanity.

We know Michelle Komine – The Writhing Angel, and Kara Osen – The Wolf, Dmeka – are lurking somewhere. Should've put them down for good.

At least then we could worry about our new enemies, instead of the nemeses we were too afraid – too righteous, to bury.

Either way, let's hope we at least go out with a bang.

2023

Hatchet

LET ME BE THE FIRST TO SAY: I HATE MY LIFE. No kidding, if you told me I'd be in the midst of an apocalypse five years ago, I would've laughed in your face. I think Empress still does. Guess it's easier to pick the humour out of something than it is to face reality. It's a coping mechanism that's surfaced and strengthened itself as our days of survival have dragged on.

I'm just taking it one day at a time. The only way I cope is knowing my wife is along for the ride, even though I wish I could scoop her up and drop her somewhere safe, away from all this.

Let's check the score-board.

DEAD: Jackson Cain, Leland Mack, Oliver Bennett, Richard Metal, Matthew Moore, Hunter Reeve, Renee Asher/Riya Saunders, Verity Victoria, Derek Williams, Raden Hall, April Harding, Samuel Francis, a fuck ton of good and bad people.

ALIVE: Harrison Gold/Hatchet, Emma Zjastr/Empress, Sophia Wyler, Dakota Faye, a few dozen assholes, stragglers/civilians, D.C fuckers, probably loads of other uncounted pieces of shit.

MISSING: Roma Zjastr-Gold, Savannah Cass/Cassandra Montoya, Laurie Montoya, Kara Osen, Michelle Komine, children, mothers, prisoners of D.C, my will to live.

You get the idea. Just a few people. You know, no big deal. Not like the list is growing every day. No. Scratch that. Every hour.

Empress ran a hand through her hair and groaned. Yeah, she finally 'hawked it. Apocalypse fashion. It's customary to do some crazy shit to your appearance. I chopped mine, too – bouncing just above shoulder length, now. Gotta keep cool when fires are raging. Not to mention that the imbalance in the air can set off some particularly dangerous storms.

Five days, Hatch, she said, flicking her lighter to try and spark the makeshift cigarette between her fingers: A rolled page from a water-stained library book about gardening. Damn it, everything's fucking breaking! She tossed it aside and slumped back on the step nearest to the front door of the library. This is home, until someone turfs us out. Laurie's dead. She has to be. People who go missing don't come back.

Big whoop. A Montoya goes missing. Yeah, let's just drop everything and send a search party after her, I growled. Last I checked, we didn't associate with her kind. There's no way, in any reality, that we're friends. Not after what she did. She brought us closer to this dystopia and you know it.

You say that now, but think about the number of times she's bailed you out, she stated. And Cass... she redeemed herself. You can't hold a grudge forever. We might not even last another day. You don't want to die with regrets.

For saving my city. Yeah. That's standard pay. I got up and started pacing the breadth of the doorway.  "… I need more, Empress. I can't – we can't – survive on this. My legs are already aching thanks to our mile-long hike over here. I almost fell back onto the step. Struggled to style that one out. Besides, that was before. Far as I'm concerned, we have no ties with them. We're starting everything from scratch. Easier to keep tabs that way."

We've reinvented the old saying: keep your friends close and your enemies closer – don't trust your friends as far as you can throw them, and hurt your enemies within an inch of their life before they have the chance to fuck you over. Honestly, you'd be surprised what people would do for a handful of fusty cereal.

She sighed. City's broke as it is. Trying to find any stray bills is luck on a good day, but you'd be more likely to win the damn lottery. Any kind of lottery, even the one where you go to bed without feeling like your body hates you. Or even better: where you have a place to sleep that isn't cold, damp, and infested with spiders. One-up on that? A place to sleep at all.

Yeah. That'd be nice, I said, pulling myself from the temptation of a daydream. Of what could have been, if the worst hadn't come to pass. It's so tempting to get carried away by your thoughts these days. You end up killing yourself in a whole different way by fantasizing over food, comfort, even basic things like soap and clean water.

Back to reality, Hatch. Don't get lost up there, Empress quipped, nudging my arm, but she knew the internal struggle.

I held my head and rubbed my temples, trailing my palms down the length of my face, dragging the sorrow and sleep-deprivation down with them. Huh? What? Oh... right. Fuck. It's the lack of... well, everything. I feel sick and cold and hungry all at once. Whoever said going on a diet was fun needs shooting.

Yeah, I don't think this counts, she said. Honestly, it's a miracle we're still alive.

Barely. Ticking by isn't the same as living.

Ain't that the fucking truth...

Depression's a silent killer. If you look into a person's eyes – I mean, really look – you'd see the darkness inside their hollow shell, the pain behind their smile. Hope is hard to come by these days, but at least we're trying to see the lighter side of an end-of-generation cleanse.

This end was possibly orchestrated by the Aeqesh gods, but nobody really knows. And Empress is powerless, now, so she can't exactly visit her spirit-guide and ask, 'what the hell is going on'. Renee was probably the one true messenger of the higher-ups... and we killed her. Maybe they're angry about that. Maybe it's still about Empress and her legacy of god killers who murdered the Aeqesh goddess of bound blood, Amvuas.

Does it even matter anymore?

Look. Things have literally gone the furthest South they can go. And we're still here, I pointed out. That's something, right?

In an optimist's eyes, sure, she partially agreed, but we're realists, Hatch. Common sense and a pair of eyes know we're all going to end up fighting each other to survive, like animals. Because let's face it, we're animals first.

I wish that wasn't true. I wish we were more than what evolution dictates – that we can't survive without relying on our primal instincts. Even if that means killing and eating our own species before we find ourselves in a set of jaws – human, or carnivorous predator.

Even animals know how to adapt. We continue like this? It won't be cannibalism that kills us, I said hopelessly. Empress saw my dampening mood and danced her finger along my thigh.

I don't know, cannibalism's looking pretty good. She grabbed my jaw, her eyes darting from my own heterochromia to my lips, which must be cracked and bleeding by now, thanks to living-on-a-desert-island type circumstances. Fresh food, she leaned closer, an excuse to eat you...

I pulled away. Okay, stop. We need to find food.

I've found food, she smirked, eyeing me up like a lion with a deer carcass. Natural, beautiful, not even spoiled. Would keep me going for days, maybe even weeks. ... I might even share.

Please don't hallucinate me on a plate covered in hot sauce...

Actually it was ketchup, she joked, recovering quickly to set my mind at ease, because sometimes it's hard to tell if she's being serious or just an asshole.  I mean, would I do that?!"

You're doing it right now, you weirdo, I couldn't help but play along a little. She makes it easier... I look at her, and I remind myself to keep going. Keep surviving. Keep enduring. For her.

Mm, guilty. Though I must admit, you'd make a really hot salad centrepiece. Oh, what I would give for a salad right about now... emphasis on what I would give, because trades are possible. Not everything has to lead to manslaughter.

Mhm, sure... Blueberry Muffin. I pushed her, and we both giggled like mischievous school girls.

… Rosie. Fuck. Why did I have to dig up that guilt-nest?

She's not dead. I won't believe it until I see her. We'll find her. We have to. Sure, she's old enough to look after herself, now, but even a grown woman can't last long trying to solo an apocalypse.

Great. Now I'm hungry in both the lateral sense, and the not-so-lateral.

Plenty of packets and cans to sift through first, I'm afraid. Gonna have to save that creative appetite for later, killer. My voice was threatening to break.

Can't shift the worry. Keep thinking I'll find our daughter's head torn from her shoulders... her blood... parts of her, littered on the floor, her corpse used as a warning to outsiders, proudly displayed in front of the killer's lair.

Empress caught me looking down at my boots. The same ones that are now sporting some serious wear-and-tear. And stains, from rain and other sources.

Eyes are stinging. I want to cry, but you can't afford to show weakness. Not when it's a dog-eat-dog, fucked-up world.

Hey. You okay? she asked. I was joking. You know that, right?

It's not that. I just... I'm worried about Rosie.

Yeah. Me, too. She held my cheeks and said sincerely, We'll find her. I promise, and sealed her promise with a soft kiss on my lips. She's a tough girl. She'll be okay. She'll give 'em hell.

That's our girl, I smiled, wiping my tears away.

She got her strength from you. You were a good role model.

I let her go. ... They had her, and I... I did nothing.

There was nothing either of us could do. You can't blame yourself. If you stood up to them, they would've killed you. Both of us, even. … I'd never forgive myself if I lost both my daughter and my wife.

I won't let that happen, I assured her, though I knew making such a promise was impossible and somewhat cruel. And even if they tried, I'd take them all down with me.

SUNSET

Hatchet

Flashback: The day Roma Zjastr-Gold was taken.

DAKOTA WAS A GOOD WOMAN. Kind, caring. She even helped us save our adopted daughter's life. But like all good people, she soon found the end of her tether. And when it snapped, she went crazy.

In the grand scale of things, it wasn't even that long ago that our daughter was snatched by the reincarnated bastards of Dead Caliber as part of their night patrol.

We were minding our own business, trying to survive, trying to find shelter for the night. Curfew was in effect from 8 pm. And like every day when the sun began to set, we had to change tactics and avoid the D.C watchdogs.

Streets were dark, empty. Everyone had found somewhere to sleep, or got the hell out of Dodge. They knew the assassins were on their way – and if they weren't wrapped up in their blankets like good girls and boys, they'd be punished worse than grounding.

Generally, you were allowed to make an excuse for yourself if it was valid and, like an alibi, was confirmed – then you'd at least be allowed to walk far enough to find shelter. If you were marked, though – a troublemaker, wanted, a known criminal – you were rounded up like rats, beaten and dragged away. Or something was taken from you.

… Or someone was taken from you.

Fuck. Sun's setting already, I said. We'd better find shelter for the night.

We've checked the whole area, Hatch, Empress replied, her voice tired and hoarse. There isn't anything suitable. We'll just have to keep going, hope we find something.

No. We have to get out off the streets, I said, finding myself already paranoid, checking over my shoulder, knowing someone was bound to jump out. … How are we for weapons?

Empty.

Shit. Seriously?

Part of being in an apocalypse means no bullets, smartass.

This isn't an apocalypse, Rosie disagreed. It's Brightfell. It's home, just darker. We've survived worse. We've all died before – that has to be worse than a few days scavenging for supplies and a few guys with swords.

You don't know what they do to people, Empress said. I'm marked. Hatchet is marked. You're the first thing they'll think to take from us... if they don't kill us out-right.

She's right, I agreed, We're not losing you again. Stay close.

Shit, came my wife's voice, a low whisper, fear glistening in her eyes as she turned away. Two of them. We could take them, but... Dakota's trained them better than even Hunter did. We haven't got the energy to fight. Stick to the back alleys, keep out of the spotlights. Conceal any weapons. Hide your faces.

With a nod, I pulled my hood up and dragged the red face-mask over my mouth and nose. Rosie and Empress both followed my example, masking their identities with hoods. One glance of Empress' noticeable midnight blue dye -- that's all it would take.

What are they? Rosie asked nervously.

Demons. Reincarnated assassins who kill without question and punish without mercy, Empress explained, and as I felt her hand in mine, we looked at each other. Head for that building.

It's on the other side – they'll see us for sure! I panicked.

There's no other choice. If we stay here, they'll see us anyway. At least if we look like we're returning home, we won't look as guilty. Keep your faces hidden. We'll get through this.

I have a bad feeling about this...

I know, she said. Rosie, stay behind us.

We emerged from the corner and began walking at our normal pace, my hand tightly interlocked with hers.

The two patrolling D.C soldiers drew closer. Each step made my breath and heartbeat quicken, but we kept going.

You there. Stay where you are, came a voice, and one of them pointed directly at us.

Shit! They're going to hurt us, they're-- Empress silenced my anxiety with a quick jolt from her elbow, and she continued the facade for as long as we could. We stopped in place. I felt like I was close to fainting, but if we ran it'd only make things worse.

Hands at your necks, they ordered, and we slowly obliged.

They spotted Rosie hiding behind us.

Three women, the soldier said. Show me your faces.

We were just getting some fresh air. Please, our home is just across the street. We'll stay indoors, just take it easy...

I.D and hoods down. Now, they said, and they reached for their weapon, threatening to draw it. Now!

Okay-okay! I'm sweating so much. If they pull our hoods down or see our I.D they'll know we're marked. No way out.

I lowered my hood and face-mask and stared at him, swallowing my fear. Giving him the signature vigilante glare.

Now you. Empress looked at me, and I slowly nodded. She lowered her hood, and immediately both soldiers drew their weapons. Marked. Against the wall.

No! Empress lunged for the gun, but the assassin cracked her arm without even trying. She screamed and held the broken limb, wishing death upon both of them.

Take the shy one, they ordered, and his friend approached Rosie. Empress wanted to fight until they shot all of us dead, but that wouldn't help. We're already marked. We're exhausted, there's no fight left in us, not enough to take on two expert combatants.

No! I protested, kicking and screaming as I found myself restrained by the assassin. I watched my daughter being dragged away like she was a criminal. … Like she'd done something wrong. Let her go! Take me instead! Take me...!

No! Please! Harrison! Empress! … Mum! Rosie's words broke my heart all over again. She was so scared she was going to die. Like she was when Renee took her and drugged her with Jack's altered drug. And she died that night. If we're too late ... Empress can't bring her back this time.

Rosie! No! Empress screamed.

The assassin pressed my cheek against the wall and leaned closer, his hot, threatening breath igniting my rage. If I catch you again, vigilante, I will bleed her and make you watch.

I'm coming for your leader, I said spitefully. And when I do, I'll make sure Dead Caliber never comes back. I won't stop coming after you bastards until you're all dead!

It's a lie. Of course it's a lie. I can't see myself surviving much into next week, let alone having the stability to come up with a cult-ending super-plan.

The soldiers sheathed their weapons and regrouped.

Go home, Harrison Gold, they said coldly, turning away to continue their patrol. And Rosie...? God knows what they're planning on doing to her, or where they're taking her.

I'm going after them, Empress said, biting her tongue as she ignored the searing pain of her broken arm. I'm going to kill them!

I pulled her back by her clothing. No. They'll kill us.

They'll kill her!

No. They have leverage. They need her alive so they can control us. As long as they have her, we have to follow their rules, or they'll hurt her, I explained, though the truth stung like a damn open wound. We have to be strong, hon. For her.

---Now.

Still hurts like ripping off a plaster slowly. Miss her like crazy.

You said that before, Empress said, continuing our conversation. We know better than to go after them while they have something to hurt us with. You said it yourself: We have to follow their rules. It's bullshit, but we're putting Rosie's life at risk by being reckless.

I sighed, knowing the retired D.C badass was right. I wish things were different.

Of course, there is one way you could know for sure...

They'd kill us on sight. They made that clear last time.

Fuck. And just like that, being marked rears its ugly disadvantages, Empress shrugged, and she looked behind her, eyeing up our potential safe-house. Hey, we might as well claim this place. Nobody else is using it.

What good will staying in one place do?

Keep us alive, for one, she said. Look, babe, I'm as giddy about finding food as you are... but if we haven't got a roof to come back to, what's the point?

Shame Lucky Laurie's has already been picked clean.

Yeah. So has literally everywhere else, Empress said. Hell, you could go to the other end of the city and you'd find exactly jack, diddly, and squat. Damn looters...

I got up and joined her, admiring the scale of the building. At least it's big... and reasonably sturdy. I guess it'll do.

It'll have to do. Not many other options.

Yeah. Let's go and make our bed up for the night.

The bastard sun's almost out already?! Ugh. We don't sleep, then we try not to die all day, only to be confined to our shitty barracks the moment the fucking sun shows up. Hate my life.

We've dealt with shit before – we've survived all kinds of hell already – we can survive one more day of boredom. I opened the door and held it for her, being gentlemanly as always. Come on.

You forgot the bags, genius.

You have at least one arm that isn't broken, I jeered.

You're a real bitch sometimes, you know that?

Yeah, but you love me.

... Just hold the damn door, she said.

She hauled the heavy backpacks with her one good arm, putting her muscles to work. At least she's still got her strength. And hey, if I don't encourage her to push her limits, how are we ever going to get out of this cycle of domestic obedience?

I could see the strain on her face, but she was managing. Still exceeding my expectations, even with our damning circumstances. That woman's a powerhouse through-and-through. She's a bloody superhero, whether they're real or not. If I'm a vigilante, she's just as worthy of that title.

Ugh. These bags weigh a ton, and they're not even full, Empress moaned. The hell are we carrying?

Our entire lives. What little we have left, anyway, I said.

Still carrying for three, too. Damn it.

She'll need it when she gets back.

"If she gets back."

I'm not giving up, I insisted.

Then you'll just end up hurting yourself.

Peeved, I released the door, slamming it on her.

Whoops, my hand slipped! The sarcasm was apparent. She touched a nerve and she damn-well knew it. Clumsy me...

Fuck's sake. ... You're going to have to accept it sooner or later, she stated, pushing through the door. She threw the bags on the ground and let the door shut naturally behind her. Look. I'm not saying we won't get our missing friends back – yes, friends, because this 'clean slate' thing is bullshit – I'm saying you need to prepare for the worst. The bad news will tear you apart. You won't be able to cope. And I... I can't lose you, okay?

I'm not just gonna forget about the people I care about!

I'm not asking you to! Just... let's all just calm down, alright?

Fine, I sulked, But you're an asshole.

I'm just trying to keep us alive, Hatch. That doesn't make me a bad person. You know difficult times call for tough decisions. Don't let your heart steer you in the wrong direction.

'The wrong direction.' You mean the one where I have some fucking humanity, I argued, my blood boiling.

She makes me want to punch her one minute, then kiss her the next. Fucking bipolar. Hate fighting with her, but sometimes the things she says just rub me the wrong way. Not her fault, it's just part of her sense of humour – and I've been with her long enough to know what living with Empress entails. And let me tell you: It's a ride. Full of unpredictability, and fun, and fighting. It's part of the package.

Listen. I'm angry too. You're not the only one tempted to break curfew to hurt someone, Empress sniped back. But I know it'll get me killed, or tortured, or worse. When we find some bullets, we can think about fighting. Until then, we have to lie low. It sucks, it's boring, and it's cowardly, but we have to be smart about this. We go in guns blazing, we won't make it far.

I'm a vigilante. I'm not supposed to sit on my ass--!

Times changed. Vigilantes died. We can't save the world, we can't change the past. Get over it already. You're giving me a headache.

How about a concussion? I threatened, raising my fist.

Now you're just being stupid. Grow up, Hatchet. Seriously, she said irritably, unpacking the necessary supplies from our scavenging packs. If people are missing, D.C already found them. End of story. Next chapter: Surviving the night.

Current chapter: You're a selfish bitch. I crossed my arms.

And yet... you married me. Twice. She sighed, looking up from the finite collection of cans and packets. Is this really what our relationship is built on? Fighting? I'm too tired to argue with you all night. ... There's canned fruit, or some... loose packs of dry cereal. Not much of a haul, but it's better than nothing.

It's the hunger that makes me so... nasty. I hate it.

I hate it, too, she admitted, and she passed me a can of mixed tropical fruit. It's the same every fucking day. I'm sick of it! Hell, I miss the days when we were out there kicking ass, and all we had to worry about was a demented psychopath-racist-asshole and a resurrected-embodiment of a voice in my head.

I'd already ripped the lid off my tinned ration and started shovelling the chunks in my mouth like I'd forgotten what manners were. When you're that hungry, being ladylike doesn't even cross your mind.

It was bound to happen, I said, my mouth almost full, a near-perfect impression of a hamster. Put your trust in a vigilante, society's already too far gone to care. … The first few nights after the FOUR-SIX massacre, it was a free-for-all.

Yeah, some sick