Truth Needs No Colors

by Lastingimage24

16. Died Alone - Not One Cared

“A best friend is the only one that walks into your life when the world has walked out.”
Shannon L. Alder

Waking up next to Trust was something that Sketch could get used to. The vigor shooting through him was something he had never experienced before. The repeated advice from older ponies that he had heard throughout his life coalesced into a single ‘I told you so’ that made him want to vomit. He never really put any value in the whole ‘love changes you’ and ‘oh you don’t know what things love makes you do’ until right now, and he felt really silly for that fact.

He looked over Trust, who was still asleep in the bed, softly exhaling into the soft covers. Well, maybe ‘still asleep’ was the wrong term to use. She probably went to bed after staying up all night and watching him sleep. That’s a unique issue, but a small one. Nocturnal... is it weird that he preferred it this way? Doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

He probably should have brought his bag with him, since now he had to go to school without it, but he wasn’t particularly concerned. Though, it seemed that his musings were loud enough to be heard, since Trust sharply inhaled and began stretching. “Sketch? Wheres ya goin’?” she mumbled, still half-asleep.

“School,” he droned, looking for something he could do to get ready, but coming up flat. “It’s going to be fun with none of my stuff.”

“Oh, okerrr...” she slurred into the pillow. “Have fun Sketchy...”

“I’ll try,” he replied with a half-smile. “L... love you.”

“Love- gah!” Trust suddenly jerked to the side and began fishing underneath her own body. “What the-” She pulled out a white feather and ogled it curiously. “Dammit, Haren.”

Sketch chuckled and folded his forelegs. “She’s still finding a way to bug us.”

“I forgot this was her bed.” She rested her hoof on her forehead like a damsel in distress. “Now I feel like I need a bath.”

“Why? Haren’s not a dirty person.” He thought for a second, and pursed his lips. “Well, not in the traditional sense.”

“Exactly why I feel like I need a bath.” She smirked at him uneasily. “No telling what she did on here before we got here.”

Sketch felt his face getting hotter. “I’d perfer not to think about it.“

“Oh you’re such a liar Sketch,” she teased, snickering loosely. “Maybe we should ask her if she could show us.

He was faintly certain the red on his face reached his neck. “A-alright I gotta go.”

He heard her laughter fade out as he got further from the bedroom. The urge to get their own place grew with every shambling step.

---

Sketch counted the cracks in the sidewalk as he trotted down the path. He didn’t realize how weighed down he was before yesterday, and now that it was lifted, he felt like he could breathe again. The tapestry of lies had fallen apart, and sunlight finally found its way into the room. Now there was only the problem of the curtain on the opposite side; his dad. Wishful thinking had him wondering if his dad would actually take the whole thing better than his mom, with him being more proud that he finally got a girlfriend rather than be concerned with her species. Then again, his weird way of handling Haren proved otherwise.

There was no way to go about this cleanly. At least, not a way that he could see. A part of his brain entertained the idea of tying his dad up and forcing him to accept Trust, but that would never work... would it?

No Sketch, whether or not it would work has nothing to do with it. It’s just immoral.

As he rounded the corner of a building, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’, kid.” a familiar voice advised. Classy and casual, friendly and professional.

Syntax. Now, he associated the name with less dread. Odd, though, her mane was a different color. Probably why he didn’t notice her before. “Syntax! You look different. Brown hair.”

“Don’t you think brunettes look smarter?” she asked without an ounce of sincerity. “This is the natural color.”

“Oh, really? You dye your hair?”

“Yeah, but a recent job needs this color.” She shrugged. “I prefer the beige.”

“So do I, to be honest,” he coughed into his hoof, unsure if that was insulting thing to say. “But the brown looks good.”

“Yeah,” she said aside, dismissively. “A stallion I’m interviewing said he prefered his mares natural, though, so I gotta do it.”

They had started walking together at some point, their destinations in the same direction. “I didn’t take you one for doing what someone else wants.”

“Special occasion,” she mentioned flatly. It seemed like she was having trouble maintaining eye contact. Maybe she didn’t believe herself? She had this distant and emotionless smile fakely plastered on her face, like it was an involuntary response that she felt she needed.

“So who are you interviewing?”

“Confidential,” she replied flatly once again. “Doesn’t matter anyways, it’s a done deal.”

“Is that so?” he asked rhetorically. He looked down at his hooves before facing her again. “Where are you going now, then?”

She faced him suddenly, and Sketch almost jumped out of his skin when he saw her blank, tired expression. It was so unbecoming of her, it made him a little uneasy. She stayed like that for a while, as if contemplating whether or not she could tell him. After a measurable pause, she finally nodded to herself. “The CPD.”

“The Canterlot Police Department?” he asked, recognizing the acronym.

“Yup. Got somepony I’m looking into.” She bit her cheek, and grew a devious smile after pausing for a thought. “Actually, you mind tagging along? I could use your help.”

“Why?” he asked, neither saying yes or no.

“You’re a kid. I’mma use you for sympathy.” She laughed. “You’re actually the perfect age for this gambit.”

He rose his brow. “We’re not doing anything illegal, are we?”

“No, no, no. I never break the law.” She closed her eyes and stuck her nose in the air, before slowly opening one to look down at Sketch snidely. “Most of the time.”

Sketch puffed his cheeks out.

She laughed, elbowing Sketch as they walked. “Just kiddin’, Sketchy. Nothing shady.”

He grumbled, and looked away. “I dunno. I gotta get to school.”

She bit her bottom lip with her top row of teeth to stop her from smiling too much. “Oh don’t worry, I can take care of that. C’mon, you might learn something.”

“Hrmm...” He tapped his chin and sighed. “Alright fine. This better be quick.”

“Don’t rush me.”

---

Sketch was assaulted with the smell of wet dirt as he entered the police station. A confusingly refreshing and oddly relaxing smell. Before he could question it, Syntax whispered into his ear.

“Just follow my lead, Sketchy, and don’t talk too much.” She coolly sauntered her way to the front desk directly ahead of the glass door that they entered. There was a small lanky stallion sitting there, lazily playing with a pen, daydreaming away. When Syntax rammed her hoof on the table to wake him up, he still had a bit of a delay as he slowly realized who was standing in front of him.

“S-Syntax?! What are youse doin’ here?” He shiftily looked to the left and right to see if anyone was watching him. “Are we unda review again?!”

“Not yet,” she sang, smirking. “Chill. I just need some info.”

“Oh,” he breathed, smiling weakly and putting a hoof over his heart. “Okay. Okay, I can do’s that. Whatcha need, hotshot?”

“I need a case file,” she replied flatly. The bright face the desk pony wore fell immediately.

“You fookin’ kiddin’ me, hotshot?! I don’t owe ya’s any mo’ favahs, I can’t jus’ do that! Boss would have mah head!” The desk pony with the weird accent slammed his hooves down in front of Syntax’s to punctuate his shouting.

“Don’t give me that, Flat Hoof. We both know that closed case files are public domain if the victims and perpatrators aren’t under any sort of protection. What I’m asking isn’t against the law.” Syntax steeled herself and glowered at him, not budging over his intimidation tactics.

“Dun matter. It’s still against policy, even if aquisition is legal.” He scoweled back. “And I can still git fired fah it.”

She sighed, turned away, and put on a puppy dog mask. “Please, Flat Hoof. I’m doing this for the poor kid here.”

Sketch, who had been kind of zoning out at this point and narrating Syntax’s adventure in his head, uttered the poetic brilliance he had stored in his head. “Buh.”

Flat Hoof looked back and forth from Syntax and Sketch with a dumb inquisitiveness. “You what? What’re you talkin’ bout?”

“I need you to find a case file about a suicide. Filly at the OCC, an equish professor.”

Sketch swallowed with a dry mouth, his blood running cold at the mention of suicide. He blinked a few times, wracking his brain on who this mare was and why Syntax needs the info.

“Suicide?” Flat Hoof darkly mused, looking away. “Why would ya need somethin’ like that?”

Syntax’s face grew dark, but unlike her other looks, this one didn’t seem like a mask. “The boy here, Sketch? We think it’s his mother. He was orphaned at a young age, and we’ve been following lead after lead.”

Flat Hoof looked at her for a long time, an uncertain and unreasonably hostile scowl gracing his features. “I... you... Ya expect me to believe that, Hotshot? I ain’t gonna let ya’s play me again! Why would ya’s suddenly be doin’ the part of a P.I.?”

“Because!” Sketch shouted suddenly, both parties suddenly facing him in astonishment. “Because... Syntax is a close friend of my mom. My uh... mother through adoption, I guess... I just found out a few days ago.... Anyway, they go way back, but lost touch over the years.” He walked up beside her and put on the best puppy dog look he could muster. Syntax at some point began to smile at him. “She offered to look for my real mom as a way of patching things up.”

Flat Hoof was slack-jawed as the feeling of being a terrible person began to boil through him.

Syntax didn’t skip a beat. “See, Flat? Just trying to get some closure for the kid. Don’t stand in the way of that...”

Flat Hoof gritted his teeth and began to sweat, hiding behind one of his forelegs as he leaned on his desk. “I... uh...”

“I’ll even give it back in an hour, promise.” She put a hoof to her heart to show sincerity. It seemed that was the tipping point, as Flat Hoof deflated, almost directly correlating with his side of the argument.

“Alright, alright, yeesh. Prolly wouldn’t git fired anyhow.” He got off of his seat at the desk and mumbled to himself, but loud enough for the others to see it. “Betta not see this shit in the papahs. Wait here.”

When he vacated the area, Syntax softly chuckled in Sketch’s ear. “Nice going,” she whispered.

“Well, if you’ve been doing it enough,” he whispered back.

“Lying? Yeah.” She chuckled, poking his ribs softly. “It doesn’t sound good coming out of you, ya know.”

“I’ll tell the truth when it matters,” he shot back.

“You’re gonna keep telling yourself that, but it never works. Trust me.” Abruptly she grabbed Sketch’s cheek and smushed his face into her chest. She held him there as she rested her chin on his head in a sideways hug. “Do everypony a favor and stay yourself.” When she released him, he nearly fell on his ass from the shock.

Before he could voice his confusion, Flat Hoof returned. “Alright, lucky you, there was only one suicide investigated at Outer Canterlot College. Have fun or whatevah.” He slid the manilla folder across the desk and onto the floor, or it would have been on the floor if Sketch hadn’t caught it with his magic. Syntax genuinely smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Flat.”

“I would say ‘your welcome’ if ya’s weren’t the one who put me behind the desk,” he deadpanned, unamused.

“Oh come on, Flat. Don’t say you didn’t have fun with me,” she teased back as she approached the front door. When Syntax turned around to leave, Sketch saw Flat’s mouth twitch with a ghost of a smirk, whilst shutting his eyes and shaking his head.

“What a bitch...” he laughed under his breath as they left.

Upon exiting the police department, Syntax sought out a bench, and Sketch followed close behind. “Uhh,” Sketch stammered. “That guy called you a bitch.”

“I heard,” Syntax confirmed as she sat down and opened the folder. “Don’t worry, we go way back.”

“He a friend?” Sketch asked as he took a seat next to her.

This actually made Syntax pause. After a long while, she sighed. “Normally I would say ‘no’, but...” She shook the folder in her hooves as if it held all the answers. “I dunno. Maybe I’d want it to be that way.”

Syntax stared at the file and Sketch stared at Syntax. For a long time, the only sounds made were the birds in the air.

“What changed?” Sketch suddenly asked.

She opened the file, as if it had all the answers.

Hell, maybe it did.

“You changed me,” she commented with a mirthless laugh. “Now shut up. I need to concentrate.”

Sketch peeked over the file as Syntax read.

Summative Report as written by Investigator Scrutiny

Equish professor Karia Thortan was found dead at 6:35 AM in her place of residence, hanging from the ceiling by noose, on a bar that stuck out of a damaged roof. The one who found her body was aquaintance and landlord Cherry Tree, who promptly vomited outside the door, having never seen a dead body before. A quick look around the apartment made it clear that we weren’t looking at a crime scene, and the department made quick work for a cleanup. There was no suicide note recovered, but after questioning multiple acquaintances and investigating local records, we can safely deduce that the declining economic situation of the college and her place of employment, coupled with the subsequent layoff that ensued, resulted in her deteriorating mental state and suicide. We sent out officers to inform the friends and family of the deceased, but after a veritable effort, they could not find any. The company involved--

Sketch was shook out of his reading by a sudden tear hitting the paper. He reared his head, sure that it couldn’t have come from Syntax. But, lo and behold, she was there, her face contorted in an odd mix of fear and anger. Drool nearly dropped out of her gritted teeth, but she inhaled sharply enough to prevent it from happening. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop the tears falling down her face. One by one they dropped, at a steadier and steadier rate, ruining the pages below. Noticing that she was inadvertently destroying the file, she quickly closed it and set it aside. She brought her hoof to her eyes and covered them, sobbing softly.

“S... Syn... Syntax...?” Sketch was a complete loss for words, uncomfortable he was suddenly seeing her in such a vulnerable state. “Are...”

“Fuck,” she cursed flatly, wiping her eyes violently. “She died alone and nopony cared.”

“Syntax...” he repeated, attempting to console her, poorly. Except that it was somehow working.

She was shaking and cradling herself, but at least she had stopped her sobbing. This was odd. Syntax was a journalist, and an iron headed one at that. He never thought she’d be so shaken by a sob story. Hell, Sketch considered himself to be a sensitive guy, and all the story did was make a little lump in his throat. Syntax never would have shown so much ‘weakness’. Maybe there was something more to this... maybe she knew the teacher?

“She was so close to finding somepony... all she had to do was look. All she had to do was wait...” She sniffed, rubbing her eyes once more. “Dammit.”

“Syn-” Sketch tried his patented repeating someone’s name consoling method, but was stopped by a mass of mare collapsing into him. She held him close, squeezing him tighter when he didn’t think possible, and sobbed into his ear. “Tax...”

“I don’t deserve this,” she choked, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t deserve hi-... I don’t deserve you. She... She did. Karia did. Why couldn’t she have all this? I wasn’t going to kill myself. I was going to ruin more lives, stir up more trouble, and I was going to fucking love doing it. But she just wanted to teach. So why couldn’t she have the support?” Syntax opened her mouth and screamed into Sketch’s neck, muffling her words slightly. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for friends! For support! So why can’t you just give it to someone else? Someone who deserves it!”

Sketch looked around and saw ponies staring, and some who turned away once they noticed Sketch noticing them. She was making a scene... but that didn’t matter. He turned back around and ignored the other ponies, holding Syntax in the process.

“Syntax... come on...”

Honestly, he didn’t know what to say. After swathes of motivational monologues spewing from his mouth at every opportunity, after days and weeks of knowing exactly what to say, he was stumped.

There were friends. There was family. There were enemies. There were rivals. And then there was Syntax. An unquantifiable entity, an enigma of a mare, the confusing black hole of society. Sketch had to treat her like a fire, trying to extinguish the flames without fanning them. But then, here he was, hugging them like it wasn’t going to burn him alive.

He knew he had to try. He didn’t know why, though. Just that he knew he had to try. He didn’t know why. He just knew that he had to try. Only that he had to try.

He had to try.

He... had... he had to try.

“You have to try.”

She didn’t reply.

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t deserve it. You don’t get a choice in who chooses to believe in you.” Sketch peeled Syntax off of him and looked her in the eye, which had been distorted with tears. “Yeah, that teacher got dealt a shitty hoof, and that sucks. But you have better cards. Don’t throw them away just because you don’t feel like you deserve it.”

She sniffed and looked away. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She got back on her side of the bench and cradled herself again. “Jeez, I’m a mess. Slipping.”

“Slipping?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Nevermind.” She opened the manilla folder again and blew a shaky raspberry to steel herself. “Alright. So... Karia Thortan... That’s not a pony name.”

“Griffin?” Sketch offered, scooting back up to her.

“No,” she denied, shaking her head. “Karia may have been a griffin name but Thortan isn’t. Their native language doesn’t naturally have the ‘th’ phonetic. Like, imagine doing that with a beak.”

“Donkey?”

“Maybe. Why don’t they have a photo of her in here?” She frantically flipped through more pages of superfluous and repetitive reports. “They should have a description at lea- holy shit.”

“Shit what?” Sketch had realized that outside of inspirational speeches his role was delegated to asking stupid questions for a reason he didn’t know for a teacher he never met.

“She was a Zebra. Oh Celestia.” She chuckled darkly. “That changes a lot.”

“Ch... changes? Changes what?” Okay, now Sketch was completely lost. He was hoping he’d get answers for tagging along with her, but it’s only led to more questions.

“Don’t worry about it.” She brought her hoof up to Sketch’s mane and ruffled it. “Thanks for the help, Sketchy.”

“D... Don’t leave me hanging! What’s all this about?!” Sketch hopped up and threw his hooves up. “C’mon!”

“A friend,” she replied flatly, choking up at the last syllable. She covered her mouth as a single tear fell down her cheek, and she smiled. “A friend.”

Sketch sighed, unable to press further because of her tears. He puffed his cheeks out and stepped aside, giving her easier access to the station. Before she entered to return the file, she looked back at him and flashed him a saucy grin. “For what it’s worth, Sketchy.... I hope my story doesn’t completely destroy you.”

“It means more than you think it does,” he replied back, remembering their ‘date’.

“You know... I still don’t think it does...” She tossed her head back and forth. “But it does for you. Maybe that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah... maybe,” he said to a closing door. “Maybe...”

The street seemed emptier with Syntax gone. Looking around, it seemed as though the spectators had all left. Sketch didn’t know what to do with himself, as it felt as though he hadn’t done enough for her. But maybe... it was just because it had already been done, and she was fine. This one time more than any other, he wished Syntax was an easier mare to read.

---

“Ugh, why does this feel wrong?” Sketch picked up his drawing and scrutinized it once more. A zebra with a wavy, curly mane stemming from a single vertical stripe along her head smiled at the audience in a playful, caring way. Her eyes were large, and ‘blue’ (it was a black and white sketch, but he quickly went over it with a colored pencil), an excellent contrast to her monochrome coat. He hadn’t thought about it before, the the black snout on zebras were really cute, even though they tended to be more masculine shaped. Karia was written in Sketch’s best cursive in the bottom right.

“Zebras now?” Conte suddenly asked from beside Sketch. He had stopped being startled from her appearance, she had done that so often, to the point where he probably wouldn’t jump even if she suddenly appeared in his house. “You’re really broadening your horizons.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that,” he solemnly admitted, the subject matter making him uncomfortable. “This girl was a professor at a college who committed suicide a number of years ago.”

“Oh my...” Conte breathed, putting a hoof to her mouth. “Did you know her?”

“I wish I did. Maybe I could have stopped it.” He sighed and pushed the paper away. “I don’t even know what she looked like. I drew this only knowing her name and species.”

“Well, she was a professor, right?” Conte offered shakily. “Maybe... glasses?”

“Glasses?” He picked up his pencil again and started scratching on the paper again. Eventually, after two or so minutes, thick rimmed glasses with a flat top loosely rested on her nose. “Hmm.” It was shocking how much it changed her entire look. Now she looked driven. Determined.

Shit. No wonder Syntax had started crying, the context made this even more sad.... Well, even then, Syntax wasn’t the crying type, but that was neither here nor there.

“Yeah, the glasses fit.” Sketch set the drawing down and glanced outside the window.

“You... okay?” Conté asked sliding her hoof over the counter.

Sketch chuckled, leaning on his hoof with his cheek. “You sound less confident about asking me than usual.”

“Well it feels like your mood had been improving over the last few days,” she replied, chewing on her lip. “But there's still something about you that seems...”

“Uncertain?” he offered. Conté nodded dumbly with an open mouth, surprised that he knew exactly what to say. “Yeah, it's been weird. Not sure what to even feel anymore.”

Conté frowned and craned her head away. “Wish I could help...”

“You've done more than enough.” Sketch coughed into his hoof awkwardly. “Just keep being my friend through the thick of it.”

“Always, Sketchy, always.”

---

“Did you look through my drawers?”

Sketch nearly spat out his drink in surprise, but thankfully he caught it in his mouth and swallowed it. “What? Pfft, noooo. Who’s ya thinks I ams? A... a... okay yeah, I looked through your drawers.”

Haren guffawed, smiling widely and rolling her eyes. “It's okay, I suppose it's good payback for barging in your room that one time.” Haren bounced her eyebrows up and down. “Besides all the really naughty stuff was on the bottom of the drawer.”

Sketch glowed his usual red hue, although at this juncture he had grown accustomed to it. “Well, I really assumed that's what all the suits were for.” He tapped the armrests while swinging his head back and forth. “Unless you're some kinda secret agent.”

“Nah, man. It was for a job.” She snickered to herself and rolled her eyes. “at least it was supposed to be.

“Come again?” Sketch asked, raising his brow. “I thought you worked for a drugstore?”

“This was way back, Sketch. I wanted to be a teacher.” Haren wistfully shook her head and blew out her nostrils. “The first foreign griffin teacher. Would've been cool, huh?”

Wow. Sketch never would've guessed. Upon playing some scenarios in his head, he smirked. “Well if I had you as a teacher I would've paid a helluva lot more attention.”

“Oh stop, you makin’ me blush,” she playfully sang, putting her talons on her hips. “I would've been great.”

“What happened?” Sketch mused, unable to see her shortcomings.

“Well I actually knocked my interviews outta the park. The association even said so.”

“Then...” Sketch didn't like where this was going. Using the process of elimination, it was obvious why she couldn't succeed.

“But... they said ‘my voice is too intimidating for our growing youth. It is naturally masculine and imposing which may harm the learning environment.’” Haren was exaggerating air quotes with her talons as she spoke, ending her recollection with around six quotes too many for her dialogue.

“That sounds like a hot pile of shit,” he deadpanned, furrowing his brows. “Sounds to me like they just didn't want a-”

“Griffin?” Haren finished quickly, clearly having made the connection herself. “Yeah, more like I was intimidating them.”

“Canterlot, sometimes...” Sketch grumbled off to the side. Haren chuckled at this.

“Yeah, well even they said that my skills could probably land me a job somewhere else, like Ponyville or Manehatten. But I was already too fed up by the discrimination to try. I might’ve tried after I cooled off, but by then-”

“By then you got really thirsty for Anthem,” he teased, bouncing his eyebrows up and down. Haren simply chuckled whilst covering her beak as she always did. Sketch lounged back into the sofa after Haren made no effort to deny. “You're suddenly making a whole lot more sense.”

Haren smiled and looked away, strangely silent. After a couple of seconds she cleared her throat and started to murmur. “Well you know...”

“Know what?”

She cleared her throat again and awkwardly stretched. “Dammit. You know how I hold my beak sometimes?”

“Yeah?” Sketch asked. He assumed it was just a tick, not that there was a legit reason behind her actions.

“I do that ‘cause I hate it.” Haren threw her head back and stared at the ceiling.

“What?” Sketch subconsciously scooted forward in disbelief. “Why?”

“I feel like people... ponies... don't treat me the same because of it. Like... they're afraid it's somehow going to hurt them.” She shuffled in her seat. “I wished I was a mare longer than I can remember. Maybe a unicorn. That'd be cool. Might be weird without wings though.”

“Really? That's surprising. Anthem said he loved the beak.” Of course he left out the lewd angle to it. “And I think it's cute.”

Haren slowly looked back at him, wide-eyed. “Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Huh.” She looked somewhere in between flattered and indifferent. “That’s uhh... nice.” Haren tossed her head back and forth. “Shit man, why can't we all just be the same?”

“I think we are, to some degree.” Sketch sighed. “We just... forget.”

We all forget.

Author's Note:

Ending soon.

Comments

[UniqueSKD]

Author's Note:
Ending soon.

Of course. Of course it is. The moment I find one of my favorite fanfics on this accursed site has finally been updated, it's going to end soon. God damn it. I f**king hate it when a good fanfic makes me feel, and then when the going is getting good it pops out and says, "Sorry dickhead, but we're going to cut ourselves abruptly."

I love your story, author, but I hate you so much for leading me on, you talented son of a bitch.

And the worst part...is I can't even stay mad at you.

[Lastingimage24]

8491360
Chillax brutha, still got at least five more chapters left

[UniqueSKD]

8491955
Make it six chapters and I'll come to your house and show you a good time. By taking you to Disney World, paid by my expense.

[Wind of the Skies]

Yay, an update!

[Buckwood]

8491955
Welp, I'll be around to read them when they get here, make'm count!

[Jerrrry]

This took me a second to get into, but damn is this good!

[SloppySlooth]

I just want to say and let everyone know that the author is a garbage PoS person. I've known them for 7 years and they never told me about this amazing book until today. They've kept it a secrete this entire time. I will force them to finish this book, I promise you.

[Amos Anon]

Dang. Finally caught up with this. Wow, I couldn't put this one down.

[Amos Anon]

8918702
I'm going to hold you to that, you know. This story hasn't been updated since last October.

[Deathm0nger]

Is there still life in this? Came across it three days ago and it's been the only open tab I've read from!!!!