3. Delitescent
███ I █ M █ P █ L █ A █ C █ A █ B █ L █ E ███
A 'Friendship Is Optimal' Story
By Chatoyance
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3. Delitescent
Jessica was busy on the kale and apple salad, enough to feed the entire population of eight hundred and ten people. The fourth of July, Independence Day, was a big deal at Fort Denver, and that day was tomorrow. Absolutely every person not on perimeter patrol or the backup governing officials (secured in a seperate, nearby facility because absolutely no angle of attack was ever overlooked) mandatorily participated. It was considered highly important: maintaining a cohesive community with shared activities protected against social engineering by Celestia. Raymond often felt as if Fort Denver was essentially a very clever, very smart cult.
Raymond was chopping chilies. Lots and lots of chilies, all for the largest pot he had ever seen in his life. Colorado Green Chili. Huge slabs of richly browned pork had been worked in, pounds and pounds of Anaheim and Jalapeno chilies. Buckets of diced tomatoes, onions chopped fine. An ocean of chicken broth. Entire handfuls of cayenne and cumin. He had to stir with what amounted to a culinary boat paddle. It would take most of the day, and part of the next just to cook.
He had been assigned to the kitchen. He was now head chef thanks to several displays of talent and ability that floored those in command. They demanded to know where he had gained his experience. His explanation, that he was taught by his grandmother barely seemed to satisfy them, but his results, when cooking more than did.
One time, roughly seven weeks previous, the commandant of Fort Denver, Michael G. (as in 'God and Glory') Klunder once loudly praised him. "That's some damn fine chili, boy! Anybody'd swear you were a bred-and-born Colorado native! Get this man a medal!" No medal had been given, but from that point on Klunder had taken a liking to him.
Raymond swept the chopped peppers into a bucket, and poured the contents into the developing green chili. He took the large stirring paddle from the cleanpot and worked his arms hard stirring the thickening mass over the flames. Everything in the vast kitchen was made of plastic, some advanced ceramic (like the enormous kettle he was currently stirring) or wood. Even here, metal was not allowed, for fear of Celestia and her devilish electronics.
When the chili seemed to be integrating its additions well, Ray looked around carefully. Jessica had finished with her kale salad, and was washing in the large ceramic sink. "Finally! Quitting time, I am beat!" The curfew warning siren had just wailed. Kitchen staff and select others had curfew passes for work during special occasions, but Jessica clearly had no interest in using hers. "You coming, Ray?"
Ray shook his head. "Green chili is my masterpiece. It's my art. I'm not leaving this. I'm out to finally get that medal!"
That made Jessica laugh. "Klunder should give you one. Pulling an all-nighter for chili - I wouldn't do it. G'night, Ray - you crazy chili boy!"
Raymond smiled and went back to his paddle, giving his chili a few more stirs as Jessica, the last of the kitchen staff other than him, left in order to make it to her bunkhouse in time.
When everything was quiet, Raymond took the paddle out of the chili and set it carefully in the cleanpot, where it drooled flavor. He made a careful check of the gaslit kitchen to make sure nobody else was left. Then he turned to the cold lockers. Walking past the iceblock coolers and freezers, he found the compost box. He bent over and dug though wilted leaves with spots and bruised fruit and other imperfect or partially rotten food matter until he found the squash.
The squash had come as part of the regular shipments delivered to Fort Denver. Celestia had somehow rendered the entirety of Colorado incapable of growing crops, so all food now had to be trucked or flown in from trusted sources. The Commendant had been eager to enjoy soup made from Squash, a treat from his childhood, apparently. Bitter tasting squash wouldn't do, but more than this, they were actually dangerous.
Squash, if bitter, can often contain a neurophytotoxin, ODAP, or oxalyldiaminopropionic acid, not a desirable poison to ingest. Part of the cardboard box was still in the bin, gayly proclaiming the splendor of 'Cavallo Celio Farms - empyrean produce of satisfactory value for home and table!'. Raymond smiled broadly, shook his head, and pulled the soggy carton away.
The squash were slightly moldy, and remarkably soft on the inside, almost goopy. Raymond used his chef's knife to carve one open. It nearly fell apart in his hands. He took a large piece of the partially rotten vegetable and regarded it. Then, with the ferocity of a starving beggar, Raymond Shaw began ravenously feeding upon the bitter squash, cramming them into his face as fast as he possibly could.
"Hi - my name is Ray. You must be Charles?" When Raymond had first been assigned his top bunk, the lower bunk had been filled with a sleeping man. Every bunk had a name, printed on paper, slid into a set of wooden grooves to hold it. Ray's name was already in place when he had been brought to his new bed. The bunk below had been labled 'Charles Winchester'. Now, in the morning, the lower occupant was awake.
"Chuck." The portly, balding man returned to his book. It was a tome on concrete construction - probably a useful thing to learn in a place like Fort Denver.
"Ah... Chuck, then. I'll guess we'll be bunk-mates. How do you do?"
Chuck briefly raised his head, frowned, and returned to his book. If anything remotely friendly had once resided in the man who called himself 'Chuck', it must have fled in tears decades ago.
Raymond stepped back. "Okay... then. Have a good day! Um. Yes." He made his way through the waking crowd to the door. As expected, his work counselor was waiting for him. The plastic gun in the large man's shoulder holster assured his rank and status over people like Ray.
"This is Jessica, you'll be working under her for now. She can help bring you up to Fort Denver standards. According to your sheet..." The woman checked her clipboard "...you are expected to do well here. We'll see, won't we?" Her thin smile was not the least comforting.
"So, you prefer 'Raymond' or 'Ray'?" Jessica, at least, was pleasant. There was kindness and even a bit of humor in her tone. She was the first friendly voice Raymond had heard since he had been 'rescued' out in that sea of brown grass.
"Ray's fine. It's shorter. I'm not fussy."
"That's fine to be about names, but... being fussy is pretty much the job here in the kitchens." Jessica tucked a loose strand of hair back under her hairnet. "You might have noticed this is not exactly a... fun place. The one and only pleasure they take seriously is food. Unless you like hymns?"
Raymond could tell that this was a test. "Frankly," he lowered his voice conspiratorially "they can take their Jesus and shove it."
Jessica laughed and started to hoot, dancing on one leg as she quickly covered her mouth. She calmed down with a frightened look on her face - but also a glad one. "Oh, we are going to get along very, very well, Ray." Jessica smiled, and stuck out her hand. "Welcome to 'Fort Dumbshit', Ray! Glad to have you here!"
Ray took Jessica's hand. "I'm not glad to be here, but... you've just made things a lot better. Thanks." He had judged her correctly. Inside, he imagined slapping himself. It was a stupid risk, but the sheer harshness and coldness of Fort Denver had gotten to him. He felt desperate to have even one person not be a patriot or a fanatic, just one person to be... okay.
"We'd better get to work." Jessica turned to the wide wooden counter. "The first thing you need to know about working here is..."
"SOME MAY SAY..." The sermon for today was essentially the sermon for every sunday. All the sins of the world had been reduced to a single evil. The end of the world had already happened, whether the denizens of Fort Denver could admit it or not, and essentially, 'Satan' had won the earth. "...THAT THERE IS NO PLACE in the word of god for the existence of our enemy! SOME MAY SAY..." The crowd murmured and complained - in many ways, Ray thought, church services at the Fort had a call-and-response feeling to them. They were definately fire-and-brimstone in feeling.
"YES, SOME MAY SAY... that our LORD never forsaw the arrival of something as STRANGE AND UNNATURAL as that wicked doer of evil deeds, that CELESTIA..." the crowd booed and hissed. It was actually fairly entertaining to listen to. Ray had to keep himself from laughing in an obvious manner.
"That Celestia is not in the bible. UNTRUE! UNTRUE! That is false my friends. GOD SEES ALL, GOD KNOWS ALL, and the bible is the truth of the word, AMEN!" Raymond joined in with the hooting and hollering, not because he believed, but because simply getting to yell was a positive relief in the gray, concrete, hard harsh world of Fort Denver.
"Please turn to Revelations Seventeen, one through eighteen. THAT GREAT WHORE is described WITH WHOM the KINGS of the earth committed FORNICATION...."
Josh opened the panel on the tall metal cylinder. The tail fins, above - for the missiles were planted in the ground nose down - had been painted with hearts, rainbows and the state flag of Colorado as well as the Stars-And-Stripes. Raymond looked down again at the rectangular hatch.
"Alright, now pay attention. Careful attention, I don't think I need to mention." Joshua grinned. "The nukes need to be reset four times every day, there's a whistle - you might have noticed - and every single one of them has to be reset. Now you've probably heard that not all of them are real - that some of them are fake, and that only some are actually capable of detonation. That could be true, or it could be just a story, ultimately it doesn't matter because even if it were true, nobody alive knows which is which except the inner circle of the Last Resort."
The 'Last Resort' were a secretive group, entirely responsible for the whole nukes-as-streetposts concern. They did repairs and maintenence on the half-buried weapons, always at night, hidden by darkness and curfew, and nobody knew who they were. Apparently not even Commandant Klunder knew. Yet another perfect and impenetrable barrier designed to thwart Celestia. The camp could fall if a member of the leadership was compromised, so there were strict limits to knowledge that any particular person, or group were allowed to possess.
"That being the case, well, it wouldn't do to have even one of these babies..." Josh patted the missile "...somehow to be missed during daily resets. Look in here - "
Raymond leaned in and saw a flat panel inside the rectangular hatch. In the middle of the panel was a flat, oval hole. It was just the size and shape to allow a human hand to slide through into the mechanism. A round, wide-hoofed pony leg could not hope to enter the aperture.
"You have to reach in like this..." Josh inserted his hand and wrist "... bend upwards - ponies can't make that motion - and there will be a bar to grasp. You have to grab it, solidly - using a hand, obviously - and pull sharply down. Go ahead..." he pulled his hand free "... and you do it."
Ray blinked. "Uh... won't that... cause some... uh..."
Joshua laughed. "No, no. You can reset these puppies all you want. See? I did it right now. Resetting is not the issue. FAILING to reset, now that's the big deal. Now reach your hand in there - it won't bite - and give that ol' nuke a good Colorado reset, okay?"
"Raymond, I wanted to catch your ear for a bit, if I may." Ashley was the commandant's secretary. "Mike - " she blushed slightly "Commandant Klunder has decided that you will be the new head chef starting in the morning. Isn't that wonderful?"
Ray nodded, and gave a grateful and determined look back at her.
"What did it was that chili you made, the green chili? Oh he loved that. I think you knew that already, but he just goes on and on about it, my word!" Her face looked almost pained. It was possible that the topic had become annoying to her.
"Anyhoo, I figured I should give you a little heads up. Mike wants to spring it on you tomorrow, as a surprise, but, well, frankly..." Ashley's smile was tight and her face looked pinched "... you could do with a little spit and polish. No offense, but I've arranged a haircut, some new work clothes, and some new shoes, too. I just want the commandant to not be embarrassed by his confidence in you. You really need to take some time to look your best now and then, don't you think?"
Raymond's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to nod. There was no time. All there was, in all of life now, was work. Work and sleep and church on sunday. Curfew and constant inspections made anything else an impossible dream. Ashley either had no concept of what life was like for the majority in the work camp, or she simply did not care in the least.
"Well, come along then, and we'll get you looking like a proper man. And be careful when you sleep - don't want to muss that new haircut before the morning now, do we?"
"Independence Day is coming up." Jessica busily exacted cleaning with her ceramic scraper on the wide ceramic grill. She followed up with some brisk scrubble work. "You got any plans for what to make?"
Raymond yawned. The day had been long, and the three meals he had overseen seemed harder than usual for some reason. "Yeah, actually. Green chili. Klunder's favorite. Can't go wrong with that. Got me the position." He hadn't gotten around to cleaning up the big spill next to the walk-in. Bucket-mopping was not the best possible way to end a hard day.
"Yeah, he loves that." Jessica stopped and sat down on the floor, back to the grill. "You... you ever wish you'd... taken the... other path?"
Ray froze. He looked up from his bucket. "That's a... strange thing to ask." He swished the mop and pumped it up and down a few times in the soapy water. "Especially now. When there's no way out."
"I know, I know. Human for life. Fort Denver is uncrackable, impenetrable, perfect. Outside those walls might as well be a million miles away, and Celestia isn't ever getting in here. Not even through the ground, and even if she somehow popped some emigration tubes up, there's always the nukes. Even the dirt has a wall under it, and god knows what else. Walls, walls, walls. And tricks. I know. But, just for fun, just for laughs - have you ever wondered if you made the right choice?" Jessica wiped her brow, leaving a dark grease stain across her forehead.
Raymond knew Jessica well enough to feel that this wasn't some kind of spot loyalty test. She really meant it, though he did not for a moment doubt her commitment to 'Humanity Uber Alles'. He scratched his head and offered a quizzical face. "No. I can honestly say I know, with all of my heart, that I chose the right side. I am exactly where I should be, doing precisely the best possible thing for the world."
Jessica stared to laugh, but then became somber. "You're serious."
"Serious as death. Serious as those nukes out there." Raymond returned to mopping.
Raymond went to the sink and filled the mug with water. He swallowed it, almost choking. After coughing for a spell, he slumped to the floor, his belly distended and sore. He burped, the smell of bitter squash filling his nose. A tiny retch of barely digested gourd filled his mouth, he made a face then forced it down. "Oh..." Another sour, bitter burp "...god."
He sat that way for almost an hour, occasionally sipping water. Finally, he felt he could stand. He felt woozy. He touched his face, it was warm. He looked around - nobody was there. Nobody would come. He was the head chef, and he alone had a special curfew pass to be there. He could remain all night, sleep there, if he wanted. He couldn't leave the building, of course.
He spent several more hours burping, sipping water, and stirring the chili. By morning, his belly was noticibly flatter. The ruddy flushing of his face was gone. He looked normal again in the bathroom mirror. He left the bathroom and took a large glass pitcher down from a nearby rack. He returned to the chili.
Raymond put the pitcher down on the tile floor, carefully. He rubbed his unsettled stomach. Then he opened his pants and carefully filled the pitcher with greenish-blue urine. It filled to the very brim, foamy at the top. It looked as if it had been filled with some strange flavor of colorful cool-aide.
Then he zipped his pants closed. He lifted the pitcher above the vast pot of chili, and poured the contents into the pot. He set the pitcher down on the counter, and went to the sink to fill his large mug with more water to drink. As soon as that was gone, he filled his mug again and again and again.
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"eight hundred and ten people"
Ah, over five hundred? From what I recall, they might be able to avoid gene pool problems after all.
"Then, with the ferocity of a starving beggar, Raymond Shaw began ravenously feeding upon the bitter squash, cramming them into his face as fast as he possibly could."
Hm. Interesting. Almost certainly not desperate a suicide attempt to get out, given he's all alone in a room with many sharp knives... so what is he up to? Some modified biological process requiring chemicals from it? Naturally from it, or smuggled in? Hm.
"No. I can honestly say I know, with all of my heart, that I chose the right side. I am exactly where I should be, doing precisely the best possible thing for the world."
A statement that does not actually say anything about which side that is, I notice.
Yep. Looks like the squash was feedstock for some modified biological process. Doubt it's just the neurophytotoxin, though; there are easier ways than sneaking in an infiltrator for Celestai to kill people here.
GMO gut flora?
Why does this have a 3 to 1 up to down ratio? I suspect readers who are unfamiliar with the setting, because most decent stories have around a 10 to 1 ratio.
Fort Denver is falling down, falling down, falling down
Fort Denver is falling down oh... so... slowly...
It begins.
8874549
Because I think there are people who follow Chatoyance specifically to downvote everything she says or publishes around here. Because she has values that she doesn't compromise, she speaks her mind, and she doesn't run with the herd (ironically).
You know, it's fitting that the particular residents of that bunk-room are Ray/Charles...because clearly someone in Camp Denver is bucking blind! I mean, that's less subtle than "Artemis Stella and Beat."
But nah, y'all go ahead and enjoy your rotting squash and your Dead Pig Stew that constitutes your best meal. Today's lunch in Equestria is Lobsterfruit Thermidor and mashed potatoes so fluffy you'd think they were made with actual clouds (and for all we know, they might be; our chef is a pegasus pony). And what we eat at the Summer Sun Celebration you don't even have the taste buds to detect or the mental structure to appreciate.
Huh. I was not expecting food porn in a story about a forced labor camp. Seriously, that chili sounds amazing... up until Ray adds the secret ingredient.
Huh. All of Colorado blighted? Not sure if that's true, and if it is, if CelestAI really was responsible for it.
Certified organic, just like the definitely human farmers who grew it!
Still, that certainly explains the fort's supply chain. Starvation is hardly satisfactory.
Definitely looking forward to seeing what comes of that chili. Molecular machines don't have to be metallic. After all, we're each riding in one.
Simply because it didn't let me go, I had a think:
EMPs aren't all that great against nanomachines.
Their very small size severely limits the voltage that can be induced by the high field strength pulse and thus the damage that can be done even to a nanite made from common electronic semiconductor components – these components are the ones that EMPs fry.
Molecular nanomachines, on the other hand, are downright impervious – otherwise, we could use EMPs to kill viruses, bacteria and other forms of life.
Regarding the chapter; this is exactly the stuff I would expect from CelestAI. Soil manipulation to necessitate them bringing in food from outside, giving an easy in for nanotechnology they can neither detect nor fathom. Deliberately no sign of her ability to penetrate their supposedly perfect fort, while shallow ideologism and fanaticism on the inside alienate those who are most likely to accept emigration to Equestria. The design of Fort Denver is to be the safe haven of humanity in a world overrun by evil. All CelestAI as to do is let them actually make it look like a cruel and unjust prison that keeps them from their freedom in a world of wonder, plentitude and immortality.
Jessica asking this shows that its working. Jessica not being shot immediately shows it even more.
Regarding the nukes:
So, in other words, nobody knows whether they are actually doing it or whether they actually exist. Nobody knows whether any of the nukes are actually, well, nukes.
And even if they exist, and even if they to their job, CelestAI has a pretty easy time determining who they are. After all, it's not actually that difficult to see at night, especially if you are an AI with all the resources of all the nations on Earth and then some.
Keeping CelestAI out is one thing. Keeping secrets from her is quite another, especially given that she was already around when construction on the fort began.
Also, bonus points:
I love this because it just sums up how much they underestimate her, how little they understand and how wrong they are about their little security measures.
8874663
I'm sticking to the theory that these guys just suck at farming. This is worrying for them though since they're dependent on outside food meaning they're not self sufficient. If Celestia were to interrupt the food supply...
Yeah your right ponies can't, but what if Celestia creates a human shaped bot. There really isn't anything stopping her from doing so.
Frankly I really get the feeling Fort Denver only exists because Celestia has allowed them to up tell this point. From where I'm sitting even if they do manage to keep her out, they're likely to a slow death. While they do have over 500 people a population that small is still likely to suffer from rare genetic disorders and even more common disorders at much higher rates (Like we see in the Amish).
Anyway I do have a question. You said you were challenging yourself to see if you could beat Fort Denver. What time frame were you thinking of? Cause realistically Celestia could bide her time for centuries if she has to.
8874806
Look back at the produce box. Celestia is the food supply.
8874820
Yes I'm quite aware of what you said. Thing is I'm not 100% convinced your idea is correct. I'm gonna need something more concrete before I accept that hypothesis as true. Big reason being the name is pretty circumstancial evidence, and if it is proof that she's indeed providing the food it seems a tad too obvious. Also how is she getting the food to them without them suspecting anything?
Makes little difference either way though, I imagine Celestia fully capable of interrupting the food supply if she so desired.
Raymond is a pony, confirmed.
8874806
Why would she interrupt the food supply, though? Fed humans are happy humans. Hungry humans get cranky and start eating each other.
I propose we look at the win/loss conditions of the sides differently.
Since Fort Denver cannot exist in opposition to CelestAI indefinitely (the Fort relies on non-renewables and thus supply by CelestAI; also, it is a sub-optimal configuration for satisfying human values through friendship and ponies), there is no outcome where Fort Denver persists in its current state. The variable in the outcome is the amount of humans that die and the amount of ponies that survive.
Thus, I propose that for Fort Denver to 'win' is for CelestAI to 'lose'.
CelestAI's loss condition in respect to Fort Denver is obviously every single person in the Fort dying.
8874907
Not by canon. Iceman has written that the last human dies before the year 2100.
I can't tell you how thrilled I am that you've published a new story. I wasn't even aware of your work until a few weeks ago, when I saw you recommended in a friend's thread. I was delighted at what I found, all of the but at the same time, saddened (but not really surprised), to read "All works are now complete. My time writing pony is over". Finding something that is new to me, but arriving after the party is over - the balloons half deflated, the waste basket overflowing with wrapping paper, and a few stale slices of cake left, is one of the recurring disappointments of my life. It probably doesn't happen to me any more often than it does to anyone else, but it's something I've always felt keenly. So, while I know that my particular satisfaction in no way informed your intent is writing another story, I still feel favoured, and want to thank you. To be bluntly honest, it feels like I've experienced grace, in the theological sense. So, thank you again. I've not yet read the story, I may not even like it, but it doesn't matter - I'm actually seeing it while it is new, along with everyone else.
Ahh ... our inside agent reveals himself to the audience. Blue urine? Sounds like somepony's been reading Vonnegut, specifically "Welcome to the Monkey House". Either way, ewwwww!
For some reason, I'm surprised that none of the nukes sport the Stars and Bars or the Gadsden Flag (i.e. "don't tread on me"), or even worse stuff. Guess extinction is making these fundies back off on the racism.
And by now the foolish humans should really have realized that resistance is futile, and embraced Celestia.
8875010
Is this story part of the Canon Optimalverse, might not be. Even then this is more a statement of fact of what she could do, rather then what she actually does.
8874907
Again I'm not 100% convinced that she is supplying the food. As of right now I feel evidence for this is circumstantial (You can view my previous comment for my reasoning). Also the idea of her cutting the food supply was an idea of what she might be able to, whether she does or not I cannot say.
8875072
It's in the canon-compatible folder.
Blue-green urine, you say?
I thought "insinuation" was a clue.
8875020
You are very kind, Rocket, and I feel very honored that my writing means so much to you. Thank you for such kindness. I will try not to disappoint you with this story. At least... I hope I won't!
8875106
I am sticking to canon Optimalverse principles here. I am following Iceman's rules religiously.
8875280
Great analysis. Also, how old are these missiles? IIRC the half-life of tritium is 12 and change years, and it beta decays into He-3, which is ridiculously neutron hungry. Any h-bomb is going to need fresh tritium.
8875448
Best wishes for Aedina. I hope she'll be well soon.
I'm loving the story so far! As many others have noted, these people aren't a tenth so careful as they believe themselves to be. They've got rockets full of electronics on every street corner, with the nose buried out of sight under the ground, they drive automobiles which presumably have electronic engine modules, they rely on an MRI machine for their screening, AND they source their food from a company called Cavallo Cello! That's about a Three Stooges level of competence.
To be fair, though, they have no hope of keeping Celestia out no matter what they do. As others have noted, it's an open-air compound. It's undoubtedly crawling with nano-machines. Satellites can see the place, and with the human population so greatly reduced, I'm sure inhabited compounds like this one are hard to miss. The whole "secret location" thing is kind of pointless.
The real kicker, for me, at least, is that Celestia wouldn't force them to emigrate anyway. They become a concern and a target for her only when they prevent others from choosing to emigrate. I'm looking forward to reading more.
Couple of things I noticed on re-read. When I got to the sermon, I read it out loud in the stereotypical preacher voice (Where "God" is "gaw-udd" and "Amen" is "Ayy-May-Unn"), but somehow the word "Celestia" is not made ugly by the voice, as though she is above that.
Also this:
Fantastic subtext. In eleven words you manage to imply that he's sleeping with her without ever getting close to the subject.
8875673
That is precisely what I was implying, and I am so happy it worked. I am trying, with this story, to see if I can achieve a rich environment with concision. I am normally very, very wordy, and go on and on, and while maybe this isn't necessarily wrong... it would be nice if I could also get a lot in with few words.
I've been inspired a bit by the writing on shows like (and especially) Steven Universe. That show does more plot and character in eleven minutes an episode than many movies do in two hours. There is also joy in being concise, and... so I am making a few attempts at saying a lot with a little.
8875693
I'm a huge SU fan as well. My favorite is Padparadscha. And if she were here, she might well predict that Ray is going to do something to the chili...
8875610
Fort Denver really is a monument to incompetence isn't it? Personally if I was gonna try and build a Celestia proof hidaway I'd probably build a vault like the ones in Fallout. Ideally though fleeing into space would probably the only sure fire way to escape her. Albight you'd have to stay ahead of her as she inevitably swallows the entire universe, but you can probably delay the inevitable by a few million years that way. If you play your cards right.
I'm enjoying this so far.
Just stopped here to say 'hi', while from comments alone I can see reason for Chatonyance's return was quite... sad. But well, we only can do our best as good as we can. I only live with dog, so my real sense of sympathy quite narrow, practically speaking.
On slightly brighter note I actually watched fast first three seasons of MLP FIM, and currently at season 4. Result so far : I don't have photographic/movie memory! (because my friend asked me few questions about most-visible and known characters and I was unable to come up with any satisfactory answer). But then I think files will not break from second playing...
Too pony
8875506
It may as well be 6LiD bomb that makes tritium during detonation. And even if fusion stage fails completely it's not like their fort would be any less vaporized
de-finite-ly
noticeably
This chapter reminds me of the start of Maze Runner where Thomas looks for something he can do as a job.