Dearest Claudia, It has been so long since I have seen you, too long. I think about our goodbye at the docks at my boarding of the Eastern Gloam to set sail for Indochina. I remember how you wept, and how I did too, as we kissed goodbye. I remember how you worried about what you heard, about how the people there attacked the French, but I told you that it was still worth it. A decision I still stand by, even though it meant being so far from home, and you. But I have joyous news; I will be home soon. Let me tell you of my adventures! The chance to join the university expedition to parts unknown was well worth it, as it has given me so much to share with you. I was hesitant at first, watching Port Astor sink below the horizon, but if I had only known what awaited! The journey was long, and I assisted the professors with planning the route we would take overland once we arrived in that tropical land so far away. It was then, after spending so much time with Professor Garland,

    Mass Effect was an sci-fi action RPG developed in by BioWare and published by Microsoft Game Studios on the Xbox 360, and EA on the PC and PlayStation 3. It's sequel, Mass Effect 2, was released in 2010, and was also developed by BioWare, and published by EA for the PC and Xbox 360, and later ported to the PlayStation 3 in 2011.      When I first played Mass Effect 1, first released on November 20th, 2007, it was a few years past that. The game had come out, received some good attention, but it had just passed me by. It was not until '08 or '09 that I finally could be bothered to pick it up. But when I did, it quickly become my biggest time sink; cruising the Milky Way in the SR1 Normandy with friends and crew alike filled the bulk of my days, such a luxury was for a fourteen-year-old dropout. But those days are ones I look back fondly on, driving around in the Mako, clunky and awkward as it was, or fighting my way through the worlds that were plot critical; saving or d

      Detective Morris was stumped. He had been assigned this case, and he swore it was going to be the end of him. Dozens of murders across the city, and no leads. The victims were either career criminals, or were killed in commission of a crime-- no saints, to be sure; killers in their own right, thieves, and so on, but nothing to deserve what they got. Vigilantism wasn't a new thing in Port Astor, hell, it used to be something it was (in)famous for in the early 1900's, with the likes of the Ghost of Astor, but those were days long gone. The city, and the detective himself, had enough problems right now, and it didn't need some psycho-hero wannabe taking matters into their own hands.     Half the department, let alone his precinct, was on the take to god-knows-who, crime rates only ever seem to go up, capture rates haven't risen since Reagan, and he's continuously expected to do more with less despite the fact that the police budget has ballooned, with the funds g

      The sound of the shot cracked through the white trees, and the Ritter went down with a sudden crash. Its comrades sharply stopped to see where the shot came from.     In the distance, the lithe shooter slid from her position in the tree, landing softly in the dip just below. This had been the second Ritter she had brought down today, but it would be forfeit if they found her; her thoughts recalled fighting Suited targets on Asovel-- one or two were enough to wipe out entire squads of standard infantry. Expert as she was, she would still be no match for an upfront fight against three of them.     She ran down the snow-lined gulley to remain out of sight. In the distance, the sound of the Ritter's rollers crashing through brush, breaking and snapping, with garbled digitized chatter. The sound grew nearer, and without hesitation, she dived into a hollowed tree. The Ritters went off their rollers with a loud clang, their heavy metal stomping subtly shaking the ground beneath. It

      "You're all that's left?" Aqil al-Azazil asked incredulously. The night before, a encampment of mercenaries was before him, but when he emerged from his caravan, all but the scrawny man before him had gone. The Ragged Hounds, the mercenaries in question, were ones he had bought before he left his home far to the east. They were to be his way of restoring his fortune, but now instead, they have only added to his loss by desertion.     Aqil cleared his throat, and addressed the young man in front of him; young, of dark hair, but sunken eyes of someone much, much older.  "I commend you on your loyalty and dedication to your employer, good sir! Surely this speaks much to your integrity of your character" Aqil said in a commanding voice, fit for stage. "Mister, I don't know what those words mean. The old boss just said that you were the boss now" the younger man said. Aqil's eye twitched. "Good sir, may I ask your name?" he asked

Hello Everyone!         I hope everyone is doing well in the interesting times we live in. There's no story in this; just me talking.     I was never one to keep a diary or journal, though my parents did buy me one once upon a time when I was a kid. It was blue, and had an itty-bitty padlock. I never wrote in it. I don't even know why I had it, or why it was bought for me. For a long time, I think the idea of recording my own thoughts for myself was an odd one, but commonly enough seen on shows like Doug on Nickelodeon back in the day. So why am I doing it here? Fuck if I now, I guess I just feel like it? Do I need a reason? I don't know anymore, man. As far as what I am actually doing, I am working on a few projects. The investigation pieces have been fun, just thinking about presenting information outside of traditional storytelling. Not focusing on how it flows, but what the information is actually presenting. I don't know if, or how, it'll go or if it is receive

     With nowhere else to go, Harah begun a cautious walk down the emergency-lit corridor from Port-3. The Roux was gone, and so the only way off Folban Station was to find either another ship, or smaller launch. After the recent events, it was clear that either this station was experiencing the worst ever recorded incident of system control error, or something was very intent on killing him. He had no desire to find out which one.     The sound of his steps echoed dully, then the PA system cracked on: "...twelve-million dead in the Asovel, and the resignation of Frontier Marshall Reidt to his Majesty for the disgraceful defeat at the hands of the genocidal rebels."      "We weren't the only ones" Harah growled back in his mind, recalling what he had seen planet side on Asovel; aftermaths of civilian executions by Imperial forces as retribution for aiding the "rebels". That was one the images that kept him fighting. It was one of the reasons he did w