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[Cover] [Chapter 1] [Table Of Contents] [Patreon] [Discord] [Join my mailing list for a free book]
This is Book 4: Boarding School Break: Happy Thanksgiving
[Book 2: Boarding School Beginnings] [Book 3: Boarding School Boyfriends]
I have always loved the snow. Every snow day, my father would take my brother and I to the big hill at our school. I would sit on my sled, with my friends nearby, and we would race down the hill, laughing the entire way. Then, we would drag our sleds back up the hill, ready to go again.
When I was nine, my friends brought me to the local ski mountain to go tubing. They showed me how to bring my tube to the top of the mountain and how to ride it down, much like riding my sled. The tubing mountain was fantastic. Even though I was going downhill the entire time, there were little hills along the trail that would slow me down and speed me up.
The next snow day, I realized that sledding was no longer fun. It could not compare to the thrill of tubing. That winter, my friends and I made a pact to go tubing the first Saturday of each month as long as the mountain was open.
This will be the first year I’m tubing without them. I wonder if they will keep up the tradition without me.
Pat and Melinda climbed out of her mother’s car as she idled in front of the ski mountain Friday morning.
“I’ll be back around one. Call me if you’re done earlier, but keep in mind, it takes me nearly an hour to get here.”
“Will do,” Melinda said.
Melinda watched her mother drive away before reaching for Pat’s hand, which was difficult to grasp since they both were wearing gloves. “So, do you want to eat first or go tubing?”
“It’s been at least two hours since I last ate. Food first.” Pat sent her his famous smile.
Melinda returned his smile as they walked into the lodge, which was nearly abandoned that morning. They wandered through the cafeteria, deciding to order a soda to share and some freshly made cookies.
Melinda’s previous boyfriends had always paid for their own food, which Melinda found comforting, since she was never sure when she was supposed to pay for other people. Today, however, her mother had given her some cash to pay for both their tubing tickets. When Melinda had informed Pat, he offered to buy the snacks.
They brought their snack to the upper level of the lodge, sitting at a table in the back corner of the room. They were able to watch skiers going up the lifts and coming back down the mountain, while no one was using the tubing section on the far left of the mountain.
Melinda took a bite of her cookie before waving it towards Pat beside her.
“Random question. And, it’s purely because I’m curious. Do you get an allowance?”
Pat smiled. “What do you think?” He stared out the window while he waited for Melinda’s answer.
“See, I never had an allowance. My parents just kinda give me money when I need to buy something. Like, my mom gave me money for tubing today. But, I think your parents are different. I bet you get an allowance. And, I know you get paid for your movies. I bet that goes into some sort of college fund and you get paid from your parents’ money.”
“Meghan’s right. You are insightful.” Pat’s gaze never left the window.
Melinda observed Pat for a few moments. “You look anxious,” she finally decided. “What’s wrong?”
Before he could answer, she was hit with a sudden realization. “Oh! Are you worried about being recognized? I just realized. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.” She began looking around, but they were the only ones there.
Pat turned back to her and smiled warmly, reaching out to touch her hair. “You’re adorable.” He leaned in to kiss her.
“No,” he said a few minutes later, when Melinda’s heartbeat began to return to its normal rhythm. “I thought about it briefly, but figured I would be so bundled up that no one would recognize me. And, it’s pretty derelict here.”
“Derelict?”
Pat smiled, brushing back her hair. “Um…abandoned. Deserted. Almost neglectfully.”
Melinda looked around, understanding Pat’s description. The lodge felt very old and unused. The wooden benches where they sat were slightly splintered and some of the tables had initials carved into them. The fireplace in the corner was unlit. Whenever Melinda had previously visited, it was always so full of people that it gave a homey feeling. However, with no other people around to give the room life, it did feel somewhat neglected.
Melinda returned her attention to Pat. “Okay. You’re not worried about being recognized. Is it the whole Poppy thing?”
Pat smiled at her weakly. “I was wondering when she was going to ruin our time together. I had nearly forgotten about her. I tend not to think about her when I’m with you.”
“What’s happening with all that?” Melinda was trying to sound casual, but she was anxious to hear his answer.
Pat shrugged, again staring out the window as he answered. “Tuesday, after we all calmed down about the incident with Poppy, Meghan and I spent most of lunch having a long talk with Mom about Cynthia. We explained how she’s not looking out for our best interests anymore.”
Pat looked at Melinda, tracing circles on the back of Melinda’s hand that was resting on the table. “By the end of the meal, I had started to worry about finding a new agent. When we got to the studio to pick up Walter, Mom called Cynthia to fire her.”
“So, now what?”
Pat started playing absently with the cookie on his plate. “I started doing some research, found an agent I like. Mom’s gonna contact him today. We’re gonna try to figure out if Walter and I should have different agents. Meghan is pretty sure she wants Mom’s agent. This is gonna sound pompous, but we’re so famous, most agents would love to represent us.”
Pat gave Melinda a weak smile that did not reach his eyes. Melinda smiled back.
“But, what about the Poppy rumor?”
Pat made a face and shook his head. “We fired Cynthia, so Mom’s agent is gonna try to sort things out for us. But, it’s possible it won’t go away. There’s some legal things we might look into, but, honestly, I’m letting Uncle Brendan figure it all out.”
“The lawyer, right?”
Pat nodded, looking back out the window. Melinda took a sip of her soda as she considered Pat for a moment. “If you’re not worried about being recognized, and you’re not upset about Poppy, then why do you look so anxious?”
To Melinda’s amazement, Pat began to turn red. “I’ve just never gone tubing before.”
Melinda giggled, but she rubbed her hand gently up and down Pat’s lower back as she tried to assuage his fear.
“Tubing is a lot of fun. It’s like sledding. Only faster.”
“It’s dangerous. They make your parent sign one of those waiver things.”
Melinda rolled her eyes, giggling when it seemed to distress Pat even more. “Yes, but, you also sign a waiver when you visit the town pool. It’s no more dangerous.”
“Are you kidding? The town pool? That’s got kids peeing in the water and people jumping on top of you. That’s got to be more dangerous than this!”
“Fine. Then…laser tag. You have to sign a waiver for that.”
“People running around in the dark? You can trip over something and break your neck. Or, you can trip over the person that tripped over something, and you both break your necks. Or –”
Melinda kissed Pat to get him to stop rambling. He pulled her close.
“This is nice. Why don’t we just stay here and do this until your mom comes?”
Melinda giggled as she stood, taking Pat’s hand to pull him up. “Come on. You clean this mess, and I’ll go get the tickets.”
​
It took nearly half an hour for Melinda and Pat to put on all their cold weather gear, collect their tubes and helmets from the rentals building, and trudge to the tubing park. This area of the mountain had ten lanes carved into the snow with walls about the height of the tube to separate each lane.
Melinda showed Pat how to attach his tube to his wrist using the strap, then hold on to his tube while he stepped onto the magic carpet lift.
“It’s like the moving walkways the have at the airport!” Pat announced.
At the top of the mountain, they selected adjoining lanes and Melinda showed Pat how to climb into his tube. Then, she removed the strap from her wrist and tossed it to Pat. “Here. Hang on to this and we can go down together.” Pat did as instructed, and they headed down the mountain.
They swerved up and down their lanes, both squealing in delight as they headed down the mountain, occasionally going over slight bumps in the hill, until they skidded to a stop at the end.
Pat jumped to his feet excitedly. “Wow! That was sick. Let’s go again!”
Melinda lost track of how many times they went down the mountain during the two-hours their passes were valid. On the second run, Melinda ended up turning around after the third bump. The following run, Pat was backwards after the first few feet. He enjoyed it so much, that by the fifth run, he had figured out how to make himself turn backwards for most of the way down the mountain.
​
When they returned to the lodge, Pat and Melinda returned to their table in the back of the room. There were only a handful more people in the lodge, since most of the skiers were still on the mountain. Melinda texted her mother that they were finished and they were about to eat.
Melinda had packed jars of peanut butter and jelly and a loaf of bread, and they made their own sandwiches. After they had each eaten two, Pat was still eyeing the bag of bread.
Melinda giggled. “Go ahead. I don’t mind.”
“But, I don’t want to turn into my brother.”
“Tubing is a physical activity. You’ve got to replace the calories you just burned.”
“You only had two.”
“I normally don’t eat two. I’ve seen you eat, Pat. Have another sandwich. I promise not to tell Walter.”
Pat smiled as he made another sandwich. “So, you’ve been here before?”
Melinda nodded. “My friends and I used to come all the time. I’m shorter than them, so they had been once or twice before I was tall enough to join them. It became an annual thing: go tubing one weekend a month all season.”
“You still do it? Go tubing with them?”
Melinda looked down and sighed. Instinctively, Pat gently rubbed his hand up and down her lower back. She leaned into him.
“Did you have any friends who changed when they started high school? Like, not in a good way?”
Pat considered a moment. “Not really. But, I didn’t have a lot of good friends before Hartfield. Some Hollywood friends, some homeschooling friends locally, but no one close. I didn’t mind. I had Meghan and Walter.”
“I had two really good friends growing up. We did everything together. Looking back, I can see a little how I was different from them. Like, they were always calling me Bookworm. Affectionately, but still. Anyway, when they started high school, they became all boy crazy and just totally different. The first time I came home, I went to a football game with them. As soon as we got there, they stripped into really skimpy clothes, put on a thick layer of makeup, and went outside to smoke cigarettes with their boyfriends. Then, they left me alone with some stranger who assumed I was going to make out with him.”
“I’m sorry,” Pat held her close and played with her hair. “I’ve seen that happen too many times. I’d do a movie with people I liked and respected, and then the movie’s over. The next time I see them, they’ve completely changed and I no longer can like and respect them. I can’t say it’s ever happened to a good friend, though.”
“I don’t mind too much. I have Sarah and Walter now.”
“That reminds me,” Pat sat back a little and snapped his fingers. “Zach finally plugged his phone in and has joined the land of the living. He’s looking forward to meeting you next week.”
“Your best friend? He’s home from Spain?”
“Not yet. His term isn’t over until the end of this week. He’s flying into New York early Sunday and heading straight to campus. He’s not even bothering to see his parents. Then again, I think they went there to visit him this week.”
​
When Melinda’s mother arrived, Melinda and Pat were sitting on a bench in front of the lodge. As people began coming into the lodge for lunch, Melinda and Pat noticed people pointing in their direction. They decided to move outside where Pat could wrap himself in his scarf and hat to be less recognizable. After sitting alone by the fire pit, kissing for a long while, they had headed to the bench near the drop off area.
From their perch, they could watch both the parking lot and the skiers on the mountain. Most of the people in the circle were dropping off their teenagers, not picking them up, and Melinda caught a few sideways glances as they were getting into the car.
Melinda’s mother glanced at them in the rearview mirror as she pulled away. “How was tubing?”
Pat smiled. “It was a lot of fun. I’ve never gone tubing before. Thanks for driving me, Mrs. Luzzelli.”
“I’m glad you had fun. Are you going straight home, or were you planning on staying for a while? Either is fine with me.”
Pat turned to Melinda. “Did you finish that puzzle without me?” When she shook her head, he shrugged. “I guess that means I’m staying for a little while.”
​
Melinda let Pat place the last piece into the puzzle. He stared for a moment at the three kittens sitting in a large basket of brightly colored yarn balls. “It’s cute. It’s a shame we worked so hard and now we have to put it back in the box.”
“Why?” Melinda went to search the closet.
“Because we worked so hard on it.”
“No, I mean, why take it apart?” She returned to the table with a bottle of glue.
“What’s that for?”
“You’ve never glued a puzzle?” When Pat stared at her with raised eyebrows, Melinda explained. “We always do this. Look around. All the pictures on the walls are puzzles.”
Melinda unscrewed the top from the bottle and poured a copious amount on top. Then, she began spreading it around with her fingers.
“Aren’t you gonna help me?”
Pat raised his eyebrows. “And get that all over my fingers?’
Melinda tried to attack him with her gluey hands, but he was able to dodge her. She decided against chasing him, and after a moment, he was beside her, helping her get glue into each crack. They ended up using almost the entire bottle of glue, but eventually it was covered with a thin white film. Melinda smiled at him.
“See? Now it’ll dry clear.”
“That’s pretty cool. I may have to start doing this at home. Now what?”
“Well, first we have to wash our hands.” Melinda led the way to the bathroom. “We have a little time, but you have to leave by five.”
“Why? Is your other boyfriend coming over?”
“Yes. His name is Eric and my parents like him better than you.”
When Pat did not reply, Melinda looked around. He had stopped in the doorway on the other side of her room. He gestured towards the bed.
“Is this your bedroom?”
“Yeah. My bathroom’s right here.” Melinda pointed towards a door on the opposite side of the room.
“I can’t go in there.”
“Huh? Oh. Right. I forgot. Hang on.” Melinda washed her hands, then returned to the hallway. “There. I think you can go wash your hands, if I stand here. So, what do you want to do now?”
Pat called through the room. “I have no idea. WTTE?”
“How about cards?”
Pat crossed the room back to her. “I can play solitaire.”
“How about double solitaire?”
They returned to the study, where Melinda retrieved two decks of card from the closet.
“That’s a game?” Pat joined Melinda on the floor, where she had sat to avoid getting glue all over the cards. He watched her shuffle each deck with a practiced ease. “Mom and Dad had a casino party once. They hired actual dealers from real casinos. They shuffled the cards like that, at the corners. Are you a card shark?”
Melinda giggled. “My grandfather loves playing cards. He taught me when I was seven. I could shuffle better than him by the time I started middle school.”
Pat raised his eyebrows. “You are a card shark! I don’t wanna play with you.”
“It’s only solitaire. Watch.” She handed him the deck of red cards. “Do what I do. First, count out thirteen cards and put them on the left. Turn the last one face up.”
Pat followed Melinda’s directions and she continued. “Now, place four cards face up on the right of the stack. These will be your playing slots later. Now, this is your personal area.”
Pat pointed to Melinda’s pile. “That’s my personal area? It looks like yours.”
Melinda made a face at him and continued to explain the rules.
“Got it. Alright. I’m ready.” Pat leaned in closer to his cards, picking up his deck in one hand and getting his other hand ready to flip his first card.
Melinda giggled. “Okay. Go!”
​
It took three rounds before Pat reached 100 points, beating Melinda by two points. After they separated the decks, Melinda taught Pat how to play War.
Melinda began to explain how to play, but Pat interrupted after a moment. “Wait, I know this game. This is the game I play with Frank,” he said, referring to his roommate at school, whose real name was Pete Wu. He had earned himself the nickname Frankenstein as a third former, and now most people called him Frank.
“I thought you said you only play solitaire.”
“Well, I didn’t know the name of this game. He calls it something else. Jung-Jang, I think. His grandfather taught him. One of his grandfathers speaks Korean, the other one Chinese. I’m not sure which one taught him the game.”
Melinda just shook her head as they played a lively battle of war. They had each won a game when Melinda’s mother called that her ride had arrived.
​
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[Table Of Contents] [Chapter 7]
Follow follow Patrick McGregor's story in Confessions of a Teenage Celebrity - Chapter 4: Tubing

[Cover] [Chapter 1] [Table Of Contents] [Patreon] [Discord] [Join my mailing list to receive a free book]
This is Book 4: Boarding School Break: Happy Thanksgiving
[Book 2: Boarding School Beginnings] [Book 3: Boarding School Boyfriends]
I have always loved the snow. Every snow day, my father would take my brother and I to the big hill at our school. I would sit on my sled, with my friends nearby, and we would race down the hill, laughing the entire way. Then, we would drag our sleds back up the hill, ready to go again.
When I was nine, my friends brought me to the local ski mountain to go tubing. They showed me how to bring my tube to the top of the mountain and how to ride it down, much like riding my sled. The tubing mountain was fantastic. Even though I was going downhill the entire time, there were little hills along the trail that would slow me down and speed me up.
The next snow day, I realized that sledding was no longer fun. It could not compare to the thrill of tubing. That winter, my friends and I made a pact to go tubing the first Saturday of each month as long as the mountain was open.
This will be the first year I’m tubing without them. I wonder if they will keep up the tradition without me.
Pat and Melinda climbed out of her mother’s car as she idled in front of the ski mountain Friday morning.
“I’ll be back around one. Call me if you’re done earlier, but keep in mind, it takes me nearly an hour to get here.”
“Will do,” Melinda said.
Melinda watched her mother drive away before reaching for Pat’s hand, which was difficult to grasp since they both were wearing gloves. “So, do you want to eat first or go tubing?”
“It’s been at least two hours since I last ate. Food first.” Pat sent her his famous smile.
Melinda returned his smile as they walked into the lodge, which was nearly abandoned that morning. They wandered through the cafeteria, deciding to order a soda to share and some freshly made cookies.
Melinda’s previous boyfriends had always paid for their own food, which Melinda found comforting, since she was never sure when she was supposed to pay for other people. Today, however, her mother had given her some cash to pay for both their tubing tickets. When Melinda had informed Pat, he offered to buy the snacks.
They brought their snack to the upper level of the lodge, sitting at a table in the back corner of the room. They were able to watch skiers going up the lifts and coming back down the mountain, while no one was using the tubing section on the far left of the mountain.
Melinda took a bite of her cookie before waving it towards Pat beside her.
“Random question. And, it’s purely because I’m curious. Do you get an allowance?”
Pat smiled. “What do you think?” He stared out the window while he waited for Melinda’s answer.
“See, I never had an allowance. My parents just kinda give me money when I need to buy something. Like, my mom gave me money for tubing today. But, I think your parents are different. I bet you get an allowance. And, I know you get paid for your movies. I bet that goes into some sort of college fund and you get paid from your parents’ money.”
“Meghan’s right. You are insightful.” Pat’s gaze never left the window.
Melinda observed Pat for a few moments. “You look anxious,” she finally decided. “What’s wrong?”
Before he could answer, she was hit with a sudden realization. “Oh! Are you worried about being recognized? I just realized. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.” She began looking around, but they were the only ones there.
Pat turned back to her and smiled warmly, reaching out to touch her hair. “You’re adorable.” He leaned in to kiss her.
“No,” he said a few minutes later, when Melinda’s heartbeat began to return to its normal rhythm. “I thought about it briefly, but figured I would be so bundled up that no one would recognize me. And, it’s pretty derelict here.”
“Derelict?”
Pat smiled, brushing back her hair. “Um…abandoned. Deserted. Almost neglectfully.”
Melinda looked around, understanding Pat’s description. The lodge felt very old and unused. The wooden benches where they sat were slightly splintered and some of the tables had initials carved into them. The fireplace in the corner was unlit. Whenever Melinda had previously visited, it was always so full of people that it gave a homey feeling. However, with no other people around to give the room life, it did feel somewhat neglected.
Melinda returned her attention to Pat. “Okay. You’re not worried about being recognized. Is it the whole Poppy thing?”
Pat smiled at her weakly. “I was wondering when she was going to ruin our time together. I had nearly forgotten about her. I tend not to think about her when I’m with you.”
“What’s happening with all that?” Melinda was trying to sound casual, but she was anxious to hear his answer.
Pat shrugged, again staring out the window as he answered. “Tuesday, after we all calmed down about the incident with Poppy, Meghan and I spent most of lunch having a long talk with Mom about Cynthia. We explained how she’s not looking out for our best interests anymore.”
Pat looked at Melinda, tracing circles on the back of Melinda’s hand that was resting on the table. “By the end of the meal, I had started to worry about finding a new agent. When we got to the studio to pick up Walter, Mom called Cynthia to fire her.”
“So, now what?”
Pat started playing absently with the cookie on his plate. “I started doing some research, found an agent I like. Mom’s gonna contact him today. We’re gonna try to figure out if Walter and I should have different agents. Meghan is pretty sure she wants Mom’s agent. This is gonna sound pompous, but we’re so famous, most agents would love to represent us.”
Pat gave Melinda a weak smile that did not reach his eyes. Melinda smiled back.
“But, what about the Poppy rumor?”
Pat made a face and shook his head. “We fired Cynthia, so Mom’s agent is gonna try to sort things out for us. But, it’s possible it won’t go away. There’s some legal things we might look into, but, honestly, I’m letting Uncle Brendan figure it all out.”
“The lawyer, right?”
Pat nodded, looking back out the window. Melinda took a sip of her soda as she considered Pat for a moment. “If you’re not worried about being recognized, and you’re not upset about Poppy, then why do you look so anxious?”
To Melinda’s amazement, Pat began to turn red. “I’ve just never gone tubing before.”
Melinda giggled, but she rubbed her hand gently up and down Pat’s lower back as she tried to assuage his fear.
“Tubing is a lot of fun. It’s like sledding. Only faster.”
“It’s dangerous. They make your parent sign one of those waiver things.”
Melinda rolled her eyes, giggling when it seemed to distress Pat even more. “Yes, but, you also sign a waiver when you visit the town pool. It’s no more dangerous.”
“Are you kidding? The town pool? That’s got kids peeing in the water and people jumping on top of you. That’s got to be more dangerous than this!”
“Fine. Then…laser tag. You have to sign a waiver for that.”
“People running around in the dark? You can trip over something and break your neck. Or, you can trip over the person that tripped over something, and you both break your necks. Or –”
Melinda kissed Pat to get him to stop rambling. He pulled her close.
“This is nice. Why don’t we just stay here and do this until your mom comes?”
Melinda giggled as she stood, taking Pat’s hand to pull him up. “Come on. You clean this mess, and I’ll go get the tickets.”
​
It took nearly half an hour for Melinda and Pat to put on all their cold weather gear, collect their tubes and helmets from the rentals building, and trudge to the tubing park. This area of the mountain had ten lanes carved into the snow with walls about the height of the tube to separate each lane.
Melinda showed Pat how to attach his tube to his wrist using the strap, then hold on to his tube while he stepped onto the magic carpet lift.
“It’s like the moving walkways the have at the airport!” Pat announced.
At the top of the mountain, they selected adjoining lanes and Melinda showed Pat how to climb into his tube. Then, she removed the strap from her wrist and tossed it to Pat. “Here. Hang on to this and we can go down together.” Pat did as instructed, and they headed down the mountain.
They swerved up and down their lanes, both squealing in delight as they headed down the mountain, occasionally going over slight bumps in the hill, until they skidded to a stop at the end.
Pat jumped to his feet excitedly. “Wow! That was sick. Let’s go again!”
Melinda lost track of how many times they went down the mountain during the two-hours their passes were valid. On the second run, Melinda ended up turning around after the third bump. The following run, Pat was backwards after the first few feet. He enjoyed it so much, that by the fifth run, he had figured out how to make himself turn backwards for most of the way down the mountain.
​
When they returned to the lodge, Pat and Melinda returned to their table in the back of the room. There were only a handful more people in the lodge, since most of the skiers were still on the mountain. Melinda texted her mother that they were finished and they were about to eat.
Melinda had packed jars of peanut butter and jelly and a loaf of bread, and they made their own sandwiches. After they had each eaten two, Pat was still eyeing the bag of bread.
Melinda giggled. “Go ahead. I don’t mind.”
“But, I don’t want to turn into my brother.”
“Tubing is a physical activity. You’ve got to replace the calories you just burned.”
“You only had two.”
“I normally don’t eat two. I’ve seen you eat, Pat. Have another sandwich. I promise not to tell Walter.”
Pat smiled as he made another sandwich. “So, you’ve been here before?”
Melinda nodded. “My friends and I used to come all the time. I’m shorter than them, so they had been once or twice before I was tall enough to join them. It became an annual thing: go tubing one weekend a month all season.”
“You still do it? Go tubing with them?”
Melinda looked down and sighed. Instinctively, Pat gently rubbed his hand up and down her lower back. She leaned into him.
“Did you have any friends who changed when they started high school? Like, not in a good way?”
Pat considered a moment. “Not really. But, I didn’t have a lot of good friends before Hartfield. Some Hollywood friends, some homeschooling friends locally, but no one close. I didn’t mind. I had Meghan and Walter.”
“I had two really good friends growing up. We did everything together. Looking back, I can see a little how I was different from them. Like, they were always calling me Bookworm. Affectionately, but still. Anyway, when they started high school, they became all boy crazy and just totally different. The first time I came home, I went to a football game with them. As soon as we got there, they stripped into really skimpy clothes, put on a thick layer of makeup, and went outside to smoke cigarettes with their boyfriends. Then, they left me alone with some stranger who assumed I was going to make out with him.”
“I’m sorry,” Pat held her close and played with her hair. “I’ve seen that happen too many times. I’d do a movie with people I liked and respected, and then the movie’s over. The next time I see them, they’ve completely changed and I no longer can like and respect them. I can’t say it’s ever happened to a good friend, though.”
“I don’t mind too much. I have Sarah and Walter now.”
“That reminds me,” Pat sat back a little and snapped his fingers. “Zach finally plugged his phone in and has joined the land of the living. He’s looking forward to meeting you next week.”
“Your best friend? He’s home from Spain?”
“Not yet. His term isn’t over until the end of this week. He’s flying into New York early Sunday and heading straight to campus. He’s not even bothering to see his parents. Then again, I think they went there to visit him this week.”
​
When Melinda’s mother arrived, Melinda and Pat were sitting on a bench in front of the lodge. As people began coming into the lodge for lunch, Melinda and Pat noticed people pointing in their direction. They decided to move outside where Pat could wrap himself in his scarf and hat to be less recognizable. After sitting alone by the fire pit, kissing for a long while, they had headed to the bench near the drop off area.
From their perch, they could watch both the parking lot and the skiers on the mountain. Most of the people in the circle were dropping off their teenagers, not picking them up, and Melinda caught a few sideways glances as they were getting into the car.
Melinda’s mother glanced at them in the rearview mirror as she pulled away. “How was tubing?”
Pat smiled. “It was a lot of fun. I’ve never gone tubing before. Thanks for driving me, Mrs. Luzzelli.”
“I’m glad you had fun. Are you going straight home, or were you planning on staying for a while? Either is fine with me.”
Pat turned to Melinda. “Did you finish that puzzle without me?” When she shook her head, he shrugged. “I guess that means I’m staying for a little while.”
​
Melinda let Pat place the last piece into the puzzle. He stared for a moment at the three kittens sitting in a large basket of brightly colored yarn balls. “It’s cute. It’s a shame we worked so hard and now we have to put it back in the box.”
“Why?” Melinda went to search the closet.
“Because we worked so hard on it.”
“No, I mean, why take it apart?” She returned to the table with a bottle of glue.
“What’s that for?”
“You’ve never glued a puzzle?” When Pat stared at her with raised eyebrows, Melinda explained. “We always do this. Look around. All the pictures on the walls are puzzles.”
Melinda unscrewed the top from the bottle and poured a copious amount on top. Then, she began spreading it around with her fingers.
“Aren’t you gonna help me?”
Pat raised his eyebrows. “And get that all over my fingers?’
Melinda tried to attack him with her gluey hands, but he was able to dodge her. She decided against chasing him, and after a moment, he was beside her, helping her get glue into each crack. They ended up using almost the entire bottle of glue, but eventually it was covered with a thin white film. Melinda smiled at him.
“See? Now it’ll dry clear.”
“That’s pretty cool. I may have to start doing this at home. Now what?”
“Well, first we have to wash our hands.” Melinda led the way to the bathroom. “We have a little time, but you have to leave by five.”
“Why? Is your other boyfriend coming over?”
“Yes. His name is Eric and my parents like him better than you.”
When Pat did not reply, Melinda looked around. He had stopped in the doorway on the other side of her room. He gestured towards the bed.
“Is this your bedroom?”
“Yeah. My bathroom’s right here.” Melinda pointed towards a door on the opposite side of the room.
“I can’t go in there.”
“Huh? Oh. Right. I forgot. Hang on.” Melinda washed her hands, then returned to the hallway. “There. I think you can go wash your hands, if I stand here. So, what do you want to do now?”
Pat called through the room. “I have no idea. WTTE?”
“How about cards?”
Pat crossed the room back to her. “I can play solitaire.”
“How about double solitaire?”
They returned to the study, where Melinda retrieved two decks of card from the closet.
“That’s a game?” Pat joined Melinda on the floor, where she had sat to avoid getting glue all over the cards. He watched her shuffle each deck with a practiced ease. “Mom and Dad had a casino party once. They hired actual dealers from real casinos. They shuffled the cards like that, at the corners. Are you a card shark?”
Melinda giggled. “My grandfather loves playing cards. He taught me when I was seven. I could shuffle better than him by the time I started middle school.”
Pat raised his eyebrows. “You are a card shark! I don’t wanna play with you.”
“It’s only solitaire. Watch.” She handed him the deck of red cards. “Do what I do. First, count out thirteen cards and put them on the left. Turn the last one face up.”
Pat followed Melinda’s directions and she continued. “Now, place four cards face up on the right of the stack. These will be your playing slots later. Now, this is your personal area.”
Pat pointed to Melinda’s pile. “That’s my personal area? It looks like yours.”
Melinda made a face at him and continued to explain the rules.
“Got it. Alright. I’m ready.” Pat leaned in closer to his cards, picking up his deck in one hand and getting his other hand ready to flip his first card.
Melinda giggled. “Okay. Go!”
​
It took three rounds before Pat reached 100 points, beating Melinda by two points. After they separated the decks, Melinda taught Pat how to play War.
Melinda began to explain how to play, but Pat interrupted after a moment. “Wait, I know this game. This is the game I play with Frank,” he said, referring to his roommate at school, whose real name was Pete Wu. He had earned himself the nickname Frankenstein as a third former, and now most people called him Frank.
“I thought you said you only play solitaire.”
“Well, I didn’t know the name of this game. He calls it something else. Jung-Jang, I think. His grandfather taught him. One of his grandfathers speaks Korean, the other one Chinese. I’m not sure which one taught him the game.”
Melinda just shook her head as they played a lively battle of war. They had each won a game when Melinda’s mother called that her ride had arrived.
​
[Table Of Contents] [Chapter 38]
Follow Patrick McGregor's story in Confessions of a Teenage Celebrity - Chapter 13: Tubing

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I know this took a really long time, hope you guys like it.
If you work for Disney, this is a pitch.
​
Cast
Jack Dylan Grazer as Percy Jackson
Cassidy Nugent as Annabeth Chase
Nick Palatas as Grover Underwood
Liv Tyler as the Nereid
Sylvester Stallone as Gabe Ugliano
Barbra Walters as herself
Vin Diesel as Crusty
Idris Elba as Charon
Andy Serkis as Evil Voice
Hugo Weaving as Hades
Dwayne Johnson as Ares
​
Percy Jackson and the Olympians:
Season one episode five: “And I Thought Airport Security Was Ridiculous” or “Will the Real Lightning Thief Please Stand Up?” screenplay
INT – LAS VEGAS TAXI CAB – EARLY NOON
PERCY, ANNABETH and GROVER get into the back of a taxi cab.
CABBY:
(Bored, uninterested, cigar in mouth)
Where to, kids?
ANNABETH:
(Calm, confident)
Los Angeles, please.
CABBY:
(Raises eyebrow, puffs on cigar)
Dat’s three hundred miles from here, miss. You’ll have to pay upfront.
ANNABETH:
Do you take casino debit cards?
CABBY:
Depends. I’ll have to give it a swipe.
ANNABETH hands the cab driver her LotusCash card, and he looks at it skeptically. He rolls his eyes and swipes it, and the meter begins rattling and the lights on it flash. When an infinity symbol appears on the meter, the cabby’s cigar drops out of his mouth in shock.
CABBY:
(Shocked, excited)
W-where in Los Angeles, your highness?
ANNABETH:
(Sits up a little, smiles)
Santa Monica pier, please. Get us there by evening, and you can keep the change.
The cabby slams down the gas pedal, and several cars honk at him as he flies down the street. As they head through the Mojave desert, PERCY tells ANNABETH and GROVER about the dream he had before they went to the Lotus Hotel and Casino.
PERCY:
… And then the voice in the pit saw me. He showed me my mother… and a black throne carved with faces screaming in agony. And then…
(Gulps)
… The undead soldiers put a red robe and a laurel of thorns on me… and then I became one of them.
GROVER:
Well that got dark fast.
PERCY:
There’s something else. The guy in the cloak, the Lightning Thief, called the voice something… The… “Something” One…
ANNABETH:
(Disappointed, blunt)
Well that’s incredibly unspecific. Was it the Rich One? The Silent One? Those are both nicknames for HADES.
PERCY:
(Unsure)
Maybe…
GROVER:
Well, the throne sounds like the way HADES’S throne is described. Black obsidian carved with faces of damnation.
PERCY:
Yeah but… the throne wasn’t the main part of the dream. And the voice in the pit… I dunno, it just doesn’t feel like the voice of a god. It seemed… older.
ANNABETH’S eye get wide with dread.
PERCY:
(Concerned)
What? What’s wrong?
ANNABETH:
(A bit uneasy)
N-nothing. I was just thinking… no. It has to be HADES. He probably sent the Lightning Thief to steal the MASTER BOLT, and something must’ve went wrong-
PERCY:
Like what?
ANNABETH:
I-
(Reluctant)
-I don’t know. But to steal something as important as the MASTER BOLT, and the fact that ZEUS has his best trackers on the job, a lot of stuff could go wrong. So, the thief could’ve hidden the bolt, or maybe even lost it. Anyway, the thief failed to deliver the BOLT to HADES, that’s what the voice in your dream said, right? The Lightning Thief failed. That explains what the Furies were looking for when they attacked us on the bus. They probably thought we had the BOLT.
PERCY notices a hint of anxiety in ANNABETH’S eyes, and sees that she seems to be shaking a bit.
PERCY:
(Suspicious, confused)
But… if HADES thinks I already have the BOLT, why would I be coming to the UNDERWORLD?
GROVER:
To blackmail him into giving your mom back.
PERCY:
(Surprised)
You know, you have pretty dark thoughts for a goat.
GROVER:
(Blunt)
Thanks.
PERCY:
But… the voice said he was waiting for two items. If the MASTER BOLT’S one, what’s the other?
GROVER shrugs.
PERCY:
(Turns to ANNABETH, knowing look in his eyes)
You know what it is, don’t you? The voice in the pit?
ANNABETH:
(Hesitant, worried)
PERCY, I… let’s not talk about it. It’s probably HADES.
PERCY:
(Thinking)
I just… I just feel like there’s something we’re still missing.
ANNABETH:
(Uneasy)
Well, I guess we’ll find the answer in the UNDERWORLD.
PERCY forlornly looks out the window at the desert scenery whizzing past.
EXT – SANTA MONICA BEACH - SUNSET
The kids head to the edge of the surf.
ANNABETH:
Well? What now?
PERCY stares out over the ocean, and gets a longing look in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, taking in the ocean air, and slowly steps into the water.
ANNABETH:
(Surprised, worried)
PERCY? What are you-
PERCY ignores her, and continues walking into the water.
GROVER:
Dude, do you have any idea how polluted that water is?
ANNABETH:
(Concerned)
PERCY, get out of there. You’ll grow a third-
Once PERCY gets chest deep into the water, he dives under, disappearing from ANNABETH and GROVER’S view.
EXT – UNDER THE PACIFIC OCEAN – SAME TIME
PERCY holds his breath at first, then remembers he can breathe underwater, and lets himself breathe normally.
PERCY:
That’s gonna take some getting used to.
He looks around the water, curious, then notices a mako shark right beside him.
PERCY
(Startled, jumps)
Ah!
PERCY calms down when he realizes the shark is not trying to harm him, and it nuzzles up against him like a dog. PERCY hesitantly touches the shark’s dorsal fin, and it bucks gently, inviting PERCY to hold on tighter. PERCY grabs onto the shark’s fin, and it takes off, blasting through the water like a rocket, pulling PERCY along.
PERCY:
(Surprised)
Whoa, boy!
The shark pulls PERCY deeper and deeper into the ocean.
PERCY:
(Slightly worried)
Where are you taking me?
The shark begins to slow down, and PERCY catches his breath when they come to a huge, gaping, pitch black canyon.
WOMAN’S VOICE: (O.S.)
(Quiet, gentle, far away)
PERSEUS…
PERCY is surprised to hear the voice of the river spirit he spoke to in St. Louis.
WOMAN’S VOICE: (O.S.)
(Gentle)
PERCY JACKSON…
PERCY makes out a light in the darkness of the canyon, and it slowly gets bigger until he sees beautiful woman with black hair, her body glowing gently with white light, wearing a flowing, greenish-white silk dress. She dismounts, smiles, and gives PERCY a small bow. Her giant seahorse and the mako shark begin playfully chasing each other.
WATER SPIRIT:
(Smiling, kind)
You have come far, my hero. Well done.
PERCY awkwardly bows, as she did.
WATER SPIRIT:
(Small laugh)
You are prince, PERCY JACKSON, you need not bow to me.
PERCY:
You’re the spirit I talked to in the Mississippi River, aren’t you?
WATER SPIRIT:
Yes, child. I am a Nereid, a spirit of the sea. It was not easy for me to travel so far up river, but my freshwater cousins, the naiads, were able to help me sustain myself. The naiads honor your father, though they do not serve in his court.
PERCY:
And… you do? Serve in his court, I mean?
NEREID:
Indeed. I must say, it has been many long years since a son of the sea god has been born. My sisters and I have watched over you with great interest.
PERCY:
(Confused, a bit resentful)
If my dad’s so interested in me, why doesn’t he come talk to me in person?
A cold current rises out of the canyon, and almost knocks PERCY off his feet.
NEREID:
(Sad, gentle)
Do not judge the Lord of the Sea too harshly. Your father is incredibly busy; he now stands on the brink of an unwanted war. And apart from that, your father is forbidden from helping you directly. Gods mustn’t show favoritism, you know.
PERCY:
(Surprised, a bit sad)
Even to their own children?
NEREID:
Especially to their own children. However, the gods can work through indirect influences, which is why your father has sent me to give you a warning; and a gift.
The Nereid holds out her hand, and shows PERCY three gleaming white pearls.
NEREID:
You journey to the realm of HADES. Few have returned from that place; Orpheus, who possessed great musical skill, Hercules, who possessed great strength, Houdini, who could escape even the depths of TARTARUS. Have you any of these talents?
PERCY:
(Awkward)
Um… well… no.
NEREID:
(Kind smile)
But you possess something else, PERCY JACKSON. Gifts you have yet to know. The oracles have foretold great and terrible future for you, should you survive to manhood. Your father would not have you die before your time comes. Therefore, he wishes to give you these pearls. When you are in need, smash them at your feet.
PERCY:
(Tentatively takes the pearls)
… What do they do?
NEREID:
That depends on the manner of your need. But remember this; what belongs to the sea will always return to the sea.
PERCY:
(Stares at the pearls with wonder)
You said you also came to give me a warning. What is it?
NEREID:
(Leans forward)
Listen to your heart, or you shall fail. HADES feeds upon doubt and hopelessness. He will try to trick you into mistrusting yourself. Once you enter the Realm of the Dead, he will never willingly let you leave. You must keep strong, and have faith.
The Nereid mounts her giant seahorse, and slowly descends back into the dark canyon.
NEREID:
Good luck, PERCY JACKSON.
PERCY:
(Urgent)
Wait! Back in St. Louis, you told me not to trust “the gifts”. What gifts?
NEREID:
(Voice becoming distant)
Farewell, my young hero. Listen to your heart…
The Nereid disappears into the darkness, leaving PERCY alone with the mako shark. PERCY gives the pearls an empty look, then begins swimming back to the surface.
EXT – SANTA MONICA BEACH – A FEW MINUTES LATER
PERCY shows the pearls to his friends.
ANNABETH:
(Skeptical)
This can’t be good. No gift ever comes for free.
PERCY:
But… she just gave them to me. No strings attached.
ANNABETH:
You ever heard the saying, “No such thing as a free lunch”? It’s an Ancient Greek saying that works pretty well in English, especially in America. There will be a price, just wait and see.
PERCY puts the pearls in his pocket, a slightly worried/disappointed look on his face. Later, as night falls, the kids cautiously wander around L.A., police sirens blaring in the back ground. ANNABETH notices a cop car coming, and pulls the boys into an alley. Once the cop car passes, they cautiously leave the alley.
PERCY:
(Relieved)
Phew… that was a close-
PERCY stops mid-sentence when he sees a his stepdad GABE, who is sitting with a pretty blonde woman, being interviewed by Barbra Walters on a TV in an appliance store.
GABE: (ON TV SCREEN)
(Feigning grief)
Honest, Ms. Walters, if it weren’t for Sugar here, my grief counselor, I… I don’t know what I’d do. My stepson took everything I care about… my wife… my car… I just…
GROVER:
For some reason I don’t think she’s a grief counselor.
GABE:
(Wipes away fake tear)
I’m sorry, I have a hard time talkin’ bout it.
BARBRA WALTERS:
(Overly dramatic, turns to camera)
There you have it, America. A man torn apart. An adolescent boy with serious issues. Here’s the last known photo of the troubled young fugitive, taken in Denver, Colorado, about a week ago.
A grainy image of PERCY, ANNABETH and GROVER talking to ARES outside the diner in Denver comes up on the screen next to Barbra Walters.
BARBRA WALTERS:
(Over dramatic)
Who are the other children in this photo? Who is the man with them? Is PERCY JACKSON simply a delinquent, a terrorist, or perhaps the brainwashed victim of a frightening new cult? When we come back, we’ll chat with leading child psychologist. Stay tuned, America.
PERCY’S face becomes twisted with fury, and GROVER gently grabs him by the shoulder.
GROVER:
Come on, dude. Let’s get going.
The kids begin wandering around L.A., and become nervous when they notice some shady people hanging around. They past by some people who look like gangbangers, bums, and various other suspicious looking people.
GRUFF MALE VOICE: (O.S.)
Hey, kid!
PERCY, startled, stops, and a homeless looking man comes out of an alley.
HOMELESS MAN:
(Fidgeting)
Spare some change?
PERCY:
(Awkward, nervous)
Um… sorry, no.
Several other bums come out of the dark alley, and when the kids try to run, several bums come up from behind them, staring the kids down threateningly. The first bum pulls out a switch blade, and PERCY uncaps Riptide, shocking the bums. PERCY swings his blade at the bum leader, but it passes through him as if he were a hologram.
HOMELESS MAN:
(Shocked)
What the-!?
PERCY:
(Surprised, disappointed)
Oh right, I, uh… I forgot about that.
ANNABETH kicks one of the bums in the crotch, causing him to crumple to the ground in pain.
ANNABETH:
(Urgent)
Run!
The kids start running down the sidewalk, the bums chasing after them, shouting at them to come back. The kids rush around a corner, and ANNABETH sees an open shop called “CRUSTY’S WATER BED PALACE”.
ANNABETH:
There!
The kids run into the shop, hide behind a display bed in the window, and the bums run past.
GROVER:
(Relieved)
Phew… I think we lost them.
MALE VOICE: (O.S.)
Lost who?
PERCY, ANNABETH AND GROVER, IN UNISON:
(Startled, jump)
Ah!
The kids turn around to see a tall, pale, bald man in a tacky leisure suit and silver chains around his neck, standing right behind them.
TALL BALD MAN:
(Grinning creepily, showing off yellow teeth)
How ya’ll doin? I’m Crusty.
PERCY:
(Holding back a laugh, quiet)
Yes, you are.
CRUSTY:
(Raises eyebrow)
Hm?
PERCY:
(Slightly embarrassed, awkward)
I said, uh… sorry to barge… in.
CRUSTY:
Hidin’ from them lowlifes, huh? Yeah, they hang around here every night. I get a lotta people comin’ in here cuz of them. So…
(Gestures around shop)
… Can I interest you kids in a water bed?
PERCY:
(Uncomfortable)
Um… I mean, uh… I don’t really think I need-
CRUSTY gracefully sweeps up behind PERCY, grabs him by the shoulders, and pushes him deeper into the shop.
PERCY:
Uh, okay, this is weird…
CRUSTY proudly gestures to a vibrating bed with lava lamps and black satin sheets.
CRUSTY:
Million hand massage. Why don’t you lie down? Hell, take a nap, I don’t care.
PERCY:
(Anxious)
Um, no, I think we’ll be leave-
GROVER:
(Excited)
Dude, million hand massage?! No way!
GROVER jumps into the massage bed.
GROVER:
(Voice vibrating)
O-oh d-dude, th-this is s-so s-sweet!
CRUSTY:
(Disappointed, stroking chin)
Hmm, not quite…
PERCY:
(Uneasy)
Huh? Not quite what?
CRUSTY:
(Takes ANNABETH by the shoulder)
Do me a favor, honey, and try this one over here.
ANNABETH:
(Uncomfortable)
I… but…
CRUSTY ushers ANNABETH over to a bed, and tries pushing her into it.
ANNABETH:
(Angry)
Hey! Get your hands off-
CRUSTY:
(Snaps fingers)
Ergo!
Ropes grow out from under the bed, and strap ANNABETH down to the mattress.
ANNABETH:
(Panicking, screaming)
Hey! LET ME GO!
GROVER tries to get out of his bed, but ropes tie him down as well.
GROVER:
(Alarmed)
I-it’s n-not s-sweet a-anymore, d-dudes!
PERCY:
(Steps back, shocked)
What the hell are you-
CRUSTY:
(Quickly places hand behind PERCY’S neck)
Whoa, take it easy, kid. I’ll get you your own bed in a sec.
PERCY:
(Assertive, serious)
Let my friends go.
CRUSTY:
(Calm, friendly)
Oh don’t worry, I will. Soon as I make ‘em fit.
PERCY:
(Confused, angry)
Fit? What do you-
CRUSTY:
Lemme explain. All the beds are exactly six feet. Your friends are too short, see, so I gotta stretch ‘em out a bit. Can’t stand imperfect measurements…
CRUSTY snaps his fingers again, and more ropes wrap around GROVER and ANNABETH’S feet and arms, and begin slowly stretching them. PERCY watches in horror as his friends scream in pain.
PERCY:
(Angry, shouting)
Let them go, now!
CRUSTY:
Don’t worry, they only need a few inches. Hell, they might even survive! Now, why don’t we get you set up with a bed you like, huh?
ANNABETH:
(Screaming in pain)
PERCY!!!
GROVER:
(Screaming in pain)
HELP!!!
PERCY:
(Suspicious)
Your name’s not really CRUSTY, is it?
CRUSTY:
Legally, it’s PROCRUSTES.
PERCY:
The Stretcher. The one who tried to kill Theseus with hospitality.
PROCRUSTES:
(Grinning)
That’s me. But who can pronounce Procrustes? ‘Crusty’ on the other hand, much easier to market.
PERCY:
(Eyes get wide, gets an idea)
Uh… yeah! I totally agree. Has a nice ring to it.
PROCRUSTES:
(Flattered)
You think so?
PERCY:
Oh, absolutely. And the craftsmanship on these beds is simply fabulous.
PROCRUSTES:
(Grinning)
I tell my customers that all the time. I mean, how many beds have you seen with lava lamps built into the headboards?
PERCY:
(Shrugging)
Not too many.
PROCRUSTES:
Exactly!
ANNABETH:
(Angry, confused, screaming in pain)
PERCY!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?
PERCY:
(Dismissive)
Don’t mind her. She couldn’t never understand the art of a well crafted bed.
PROCRUSTES:
(Sighing, disappointed)
None of my customers do. Never exactly six feet, so inconsiderate. And then they have the nerve to complain about the fittings!
PERCY:
So… what do you do if they’re taller than six feet?
PROCRUSTES:
Oh, easy fix. I just center the customer best I can, then grab my trusty friend here-
(Lets go of PERCY’S neck, reaches behind desk, pulls out huge, double sided bronze axe)
- And I lop off whatever hangs off either side!
PERCY:
(Surprised, nervous)
Oh… well, I mean, that’s just perfectly sensible.
PROCRUSTES:
(Excited)
Oh, you have no idea what it feels like to finally have an intelligent customer!
PERCY worriedly look over to his friends, ANNABETH gasping for air, struggling against the ropes, GROVER making strangled gurgling sounds.
PERCY:
So… CRUSTY, my man, this bed…
(Gestures to giant heart shaped bed with red satin sheets)
… Does it really have dynamic stabilizers to stop wave motion?
PROCRUSTES:
Sure does. Why don’t you give it a try?
PERCY:
(Stroking chin, pretending to be interested)
Yeah, maybe I will. But… would it work even for a big guy like you?
PROCRUSTES:
Absolutely.
PERCY:
Really? No waves at all?
PROCRUSTES:
None. Guaranteed.
PERCY:
(Pretending to be skeptical)
No way.
PROCRUSTES:
Way.
PERCY:
Prove it.
PROCRUSTES puts his axe down, lies in the bed, and pats the mattress.
PROCRUSTES:
See? No waves at all-
PERCY:
(Snaps fingers)
Ergo!
Ropes spring out of the sides of the bed, tying PROCRUSTES down to it, his head hanging off the top.
PROCRUSTES:
(Shocked, angry)
What the-?!
PERCY:
(Frowns, feigning disappointment)
Oooh, sorry, man. Looks like you don’t quite fit…
(Uncaps Riptide)
… Let me make a few adjustments.
PROCRUSTES:
(Anxious, gulps)
Whoa, uh, y-you drive a hard bargain, kid. Tell you what; let me go, and I, uh… I’ll give you thirty percent off any of the floor models!
PERCY:
(Sarcastic, pretending to consider offer)
Really? Any of the floor models?
PROCRUSTES:
Y-yep! A-and no money down. And no interest for six months.
PERCY:
Hm. That’s a pretty tempting offer. But I think I have a better one.
PROCRUSTES:
(Curious)
Really? What’s that?
PERCY:
(Raises Riptide, aiming for PROCRUSTES’S neck)
Go to TARTARUS.
PROCRUSTES:
(Frowns)
That’s not a-
PERCY swings Riptide down, and chops off PROCRUSTES’S head, turning the giant salesman to yellow dust and black smoke, then quickly cuts GROVER and ANNABETH’S ropes.
PERCY:
(Concerned)
You alright?
ANNABETH:
(Groaning)
Define “alright”.
PERCY:
(Smirks)
You look taller.
ANNABETH:
(Irritated)
Very funny. Could you maybe be faster saving us next time?
PERCY heads behind CRUSTY’S desk, and begins flipping through papers. He finds a pouch of drachmas, and puts them in his pocket, then finds a map.
PERCY:
So, who’s ready to go to the UNDERWORLD?
GROVER:
(Groaning)
Dude, give me a sec…
(Stretches, back makes sickening ‘pop’ sound)
Oooo, that was good. Okay, I’m ready.
PERCY:
Good.
(Holds up map he found on CRUSTY’S desk)
Because it’s right around the block.
EXT – VALENCIA BOULEVARD – A FEW MINUTES LATER
The kids stand outside of a record store with a sign made of black marble engraved with gold lettering that reads: DOA RECORDING STUDIOS, and stenciled words on the glass door that reads: NO SOLICITING, NO LOITERING, NO LIVING.
ANNABETH:
Well, this was not what I was expecting.
PERCY:
What were you expecting?
ANNABETH:
(Shrugging)
I dunno. Like, a hole by the Hollywood sign that opens when you read some Ancient Greek graffiti?
(Looks directly into the camera)
PERCY:
(Confused)
… Okay, whatever. Anyway, you guys remember the plan?
GROVER:
(Nervous)
Yep. The plan. Love the plan.
ANNABETH:
(Critical, curt)
And what if the plan goes wrong?
PERCY:
(Trying to be reassuring)
Oh come on, don’t be so negative, ANNABETH.
ANNABETH:
(Sarcastic)
Oh yes, PERCY. We’re about to enter the Land of the Dead, but I’m sure if we don’t think negative, we’ll be just fine.
PERCY takes the Nereid’s pearls out of his pocket, and stares at them glumly.
ANNABETH:
(Kind, places hand on PERCY’S shoulder)
I’m sorry, PERCY. You’re right. Well make it.
ANNABETH gives GROVER a nudge.
GROVER:
(Nervous, trying to be reassuring)
Y-yeah! I mean, we’ve made it this far, right? We’ll get the BOLT, save your mom, and save the world.
PERCY:
(Smiles, then gets serious)
Alright. Let’s kick some UNDERWORLD ass.
INT – DOA RECORDING STUDIOS – SAME TIME
The kids enter DOA, Muzak playing softly. The walls are steel gray, the furniture black leather. There are people hanging about the lobby, but at closer glance, they are slightly see through, as if they were made of smoke. The kids head to the main desk, which is raised up on a podium. The security guard behind the desk has a military style haircut, dyed bleach blonde, wearing tortoiseshell shades and a white silk Italian suit, with a black rose pinned to his lapel, and a silver name tag.
PERCY:
(Leans forwards, reads name tag, bewildered)
Your name is CHIRON?
SECURITY GUARD:
(Leans over, smiling, soothing voice)
What a precious lad you are. Tell me, do I look like a centaur?
PERCY:
(Slightly embarrassed)
N-no.
SECURITY GUARD:
Sir.
PERCY:
No, sir.
SECURITY GUARD:
(Gestures to name tag)
Take a closer look, now. It’s C-H-A-R-O-N. Now say it with me, CARE-ON.
PERCY:
(A bit irritated)
CHARON.
CHARON:
Ah-mazing. Now, Mr. CHARON.
PERCY:
(Rolls his eyes)
Mr. CHARON.
CHARON:
Well done. I do hate being confused with that old horse. Now, how may I help you little dead ones?
PERCY looks over at ANNABETH.
ANNABETH:
(A bit uncomfortable)
Well, we uh, wanna go to the UNDERWORLD.
CHARON:
(Blunt, a bit surprised)
Oh. Well, that’s refreshing.
ANNABETH:
(Confused)
I, uh- it is?
CHARON:
Oh, absolutely. Just straightforward and honest, no screaming, no “Oh, please, Mr. CHARON, please give me another chance!”.
(Grins, clasps hands)
So, how did you loves die?
PERCY clears his throat.
GROVER:
(Nervous)
Oh! We uh, we drowned. In a bathtub.
CHARON:
(Raises eyebrow)
All three of you at once?
PERCY:
(Awkward)
I-it was a really big bathtub.
CHARON:
(Blunt)
Naturally. I don’t suppose you have coins for passage, though. If you were adults, I could charge your American Express, or add the ferry fee to your last cable bill. But children…
(Sighs, sad)
… Alas, they never die prepared, it seems. I’m afraid you’ll have to take a seat for a few centuries.
PERCY:
Oh, we have coins.
(Places three drachmas on the desk)
CHARON:
(Licks lips, excited)
My my… real golden drachmas… I haven’t seen those in…
(Hand hovers over drachmas, becomes suspicious)
Here now, just a minute ago, you read my name tag wrong. Are you dyslexic, mate?
PERCY:
(A bit nervous)
No, I’m dead.
CHARON:
(Leans forward, stares the kids down)
You’re not dead.
(Sniffs the air, disdainful)
Two godlings and a satyr. I should have known.
PERCY:
(Awkward)
Okay, first of all, I didn’t want to be a half-blood, and second, we really need to get to the UNDERWORLD.
CHARON makes a strange, growling sound in his throat, and the spirits waiting around the lobby start moving around, restless, lighting cigarettes, fidgeting with their watches, etc.
CHARON:
Why don’t you leave now, and I’ll just forget I saw you.
CHARON starts to reach for the drachmas, but PERCY snatches them away.
PERCY:
(Serious, assertive)
No service, no tip.
CHARON growls again, the spirits start banging on the elevator door.
PERCY:
(Pretending to be disappointed)
It’s really a shame. We had more to offer.
PERCY holds up the pouch of drachmas he took from CRUSTY’S place, pulls out a fistful of the golden coins, and lets them run through his fingers.
CHARON:
(Slightly hungry look on face)
You think I can be bought, godling? Hmmm, just out of curiosity, how much you got there?
PERCY:
(Polite)
A lot. So… what’s your pay like, huh? HADES being good to you, or…?
CHARON:
(Annoyed)
Ugh, you don’t know the half of it. Babysitting these spirits for eternity, always with “Please don’t let me be dead”, “Please let me go in for free”, all day, everyday. I haven’t had a raise in almost three thousand years. I mean, look at me.
(Gestures to his suit)
… You think dressing this good is cheap?
PERCY:
(Nodding, slowly drops a few drachmas on the desk)
Clearly, you deserve better wages as, uh… compensation for the, um… mentally taxing environment you work in.
PERCY glances over at ANNABETH, who quickly nods approvingly.
CHARON:
You know, mate? I think you might be starting to talk some sense.
(Strokes chin, thinking)
Hm… boat’s almost full anyway… tell you what, lad. While you’re talking to the boss man, if you were to mention something about giving me a raise…
PERCY:
I guess I could drop a subtle hint or two.
CHARON:
(Smiles coldly, grabs drachmas)
Come along, then.
CHARON begins pushing through the spirits of the dead, the kids follow him. As CHARON pushes through the spirits, they whisper and wail incomprehensible gibberish.
CHARON:
Freeloaders.
CHARON opens the elevator doors, and they get in with several spirits already in the elevator.
CHARON:
(Turns to face the spirits still in the lobby)
No one get any ideas while I’m gone. And if anyone changes the station from easy-listening again, you’ll all be waiting here for another thousand years.
The elevator doors close, and CHARON slides a key card into the slot on the panel, and the elevator begins to descend.
ANNABETH:
(Uncomfortable)
So… what happens to the spirits in the lobby?
CHARON:
(Blunt)
Nothing.
ANNABETH:
Oh… for how long?
CHARON:
Forever. Or until I’m feeling generous.
ANNABETH:
(Curt, sarcastic)
Well that’s fair.
CHARON:
Nothing about death is fair, love. You’ll find that out for yourself soon enough where you’re heading.
PERCY:
(Confident)
We’ll get out alive.
CHARON:
(Dry)
Ha.
Suddenly, PERCY becomes a bit woozy, blinks a few times, and sees that CHARON’S Italian suit has been replaced by a gray tunic and a black cloak, and his tortoiseshell shades have disappeared, revealing his eyes to be empty black pits. PERCY notices the modern clothes of the spirits become tattered gray cloaks.
CHARON:
Well?
PERCY:
(Realizes he was staring at CHARON’S strange eyes)
N-nothing.
CHARON’S face slowly becomes transparent, showing off his grinning skull. The elevator suddenly starts swaying.
GROVER:
(Holds his hand up to his mouth as if about to vomit)
Oh, dude… I’m gonna be sick…
PERCY becomes a bit woozy again, and suddenly the elevator has become a wooden barge, gently drifting down an oily, black river littered with all sorts of things, from college diplomas, dolls, money, and jewelry.
ANNABETH:
The River Styx… it’s so…
CHARON:
Polluted. For thousands of years, the spirits of the dead have thrown in everything they can’t take with them; hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me.
Mist begins curling off the river, PERCY glances up to see huge stalactites, and then sees a strange, poison-green light glowing faintly in the distance. PERCY and ANNABETH begin nervously looking around at the spirits around them, and ANNABETH grabs PERCY’S hand. CHARON rows down the river a bit, and soon, they find themselves approaching the shores of the UNDERWORLD, craggy rocks and black volcanic sand, and about a hundred yards up the shore, a huge, stone wall that seems to go on forever in either direction. The kids become more uneasy when they here a deep, powerful howling sound somewhere in the distance.
CHARON:
(His face almost entirely transparent)
Ol’ three face is hungry. Too bad for you, godlings.
The boat slides up onto the black shores, and PERCY sadly watches the spirits shuffle out of the boat. PERCY, ANNABETH and GROVER hesitantly depart the boat.
CHARON:
So long, mates. I’d wish you luck, but there’s none down here.
CHARON begins rowing away.
CHARON:
Oh, and don’t forget to mention my raise.
CHARON eventually disappears from PERCY’S sight, and the kids forlornly trudge up the path with the spirits. As they get closer to the gate, PERCY sees that the gates of the UNDERWORLD seem to be modeled after airport security, with three different entrances with a sign over them that reads: YOU ARE NOW ENTERING EREBUS. Beyond the gates, there are some tollbooth-like structures manned by ghoulish black robed figures like CHARON. PERCY notices lots of spirits moving right along to a gate with a sign over it that reads: EZ DEATH.
PERCY:
(Points to quick moving line)
What do you make of that?
ANNABETH:
Probably goes to the FIELDS OF ASPHODEL. It’s the place where spirits go if they’re too scared to face judgment in court.
PERCY:
(Surprised)
There’s a court for the dead?
ANNABETH:
Yep. There’s three judges, and HADES switches them around once in a while. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, Shakespeare, people like that. The judges look at a person’s life, and if they were really good, they get to go to ELYSIUM. If they were really bad, the judges decide on a punishment. But for most people… well, most people never do anything really special in their lives, good or evil, so they go to the FIELDS OF ASPHODEL.
PERCY:
Oh… and… what exactly happens in ASPHODEL?
GROVER:
Imagine wandering around in a wheat field.
PERCY:
Well, that doesn't sound so-
GROVER:
Forever.
PERCY:
… Oh. I guess that would kinda suck.
GROVER:
(Eyes wide with fear, points to something)
Not as much as that.
PERCY and ANNABETH look where GROVER is pointing, and see two black robed ghouls grab one of the spirits in line, who begins sniffing him down. They ghouls growl angrily, and begin dragging the shrieking spirit away towards one of the gates.
PERCY:
(Worried, a bit scared)
Where are they taking him?
GROVER:
(Gulps)
FIELDS OF PUNISHMENT, probably. The Furies will set up whatever punishment the judges decide on.
As the kids slowly approach the gates, they hear the howling sound again, but still can’t see where it is coming from. As they get closer to the gates, a huge, a shadowy figure slowly becomes visible, and starts to form the dark, transparent shape of a massive three-headed dog, towering over them, growling.
PERCY:
(Petrified)
H-he’s a rottweiler?
ANNABETH:
(Slowly turns head towards PERCY)
Wow, PERCY. There is, standing in front of us, a three-headed dog twice the size of an elephant, with teeth the size of cinder blocks, and more than likely wants to make us his midnight snack, and the first thing you think to say is, “He’s a rottweiler”?
PERCY:
(Awkward)
I’m just trying to ease the tension.
The kids slowly approach CERBERUS, and notice the giant dog is becoming more visible.
PERCY:
(Curious)
I’m starting to see him better… why?
ANNABETH:
(Gulps, scared)
Well… it’s probably because we’re becoming closer to death.
CERBERUS stoops one of his heads, and begins sniffing.
PERCY:
(Grim)
He can smell the living.
GROVER:
(Trembling with fear)
Yeah. B-b-but it’s okay, cuz we g-g-gotta plan, right?
ANNABETH:
(Small, quiet, terrified)
Yeah. Th-th-the plan.
The kids inch closer the CERBERUS, and the three-headed dog barks so loud, the world seems to shake.
PERCY:
GROVER? Translation?
GROVER:
I, uh, don’t think humans have a four letter word that translates exactly.
PERCY reaches into his backpack, pulling out a broken bedpost.
PERCY:
(Nervous, trying to be calm)
H-hey boy, I bet they don’t play with you much down here, huh?
CERBERUS lets out a thunderous bark.
PERCY:
(Gulps)
G-good boy…
(Waves the stick around)
Y-you see the stick?
CERBERUS’S middle head follows the stick, the other two heads fixed directly on PERCY.
PERCY:
Fetch!
PERCY throws the bedpost, and CERBERUS watches it, unflinching. The stick disappears into the gloom, and splashes into the River Styx. CERBERUS turns his three heads back onto the kids, and growls menacingly.
GROVER:
Um, PERCY?
PERCY:
Yeah?
GROVER:
Just thought you should know, CERBERUS says we have ten seconds to pray to the god of our choice before we become Cerby snacks.
CERBERUS begins snarling, saliva dripping from his three jaws, and ANNABETH’S eyes get wide.
ANNABETH:
Wait! I have an idea.
(Start rifling through backpack)
CERBERUS gets into an attack position.
GROVER:
Um, so I’m thinking maybe we should run now?
ANNABETH:
(Frantically looking through backpack)
Hold on!
CERBERUS roars, and starts to lunge forward when ANNABETH whips a red rubber ball out of her backpack, and the giant dog stops mid lunge, curious.
ANNABETH:
See the ball, boy? You want the ball? Sit!
CERBERUS cocks his heads, confused.
ANNABETH:
(Assertive)
Sit!
To PERCY and GROVER’S surprise, CERBERUS sits, crushing several spirits, who pass through him, shouting angrily in some sort of gibberish.
ANNABETH:
(Pleased)
Good boy!
ANNABETH throws the ball, which CERBERUS catches in his middle mouth. The other two heads start snapping at the ball.
ANNABETH:
Drop it!
CERBERUS whimpers, and gently drops the ball at ANNABETH’S feet, almost bitten in half and covered in slobber.
ANNABETH:
(Picks up ball)
Good boy.
(Glances back at PERCY and GROVER)
Go. EZ DEATH line, it’s faster.
PERCY:
(Worried, hesitant)
But-
ANNABETH:
Go!
PERCY and GROVER reluctantly start inching forward, CERBERUS growls.
ANNABETH:
Stay! You want the ball? Then stay!
PERCY:
(Worried)
What about you?
ANNABETH:
(Slightly nervous)
I know what I’m doing, PERCY. Kinda.
PERCY and GROVER cautiously walk under the giant dog’s legs.
ANNABETH:
Good dog!
ANNABETH throws the ball to CERBERUS, and quickly walks under him while the three heads fight over the ball.
PERCY:
(Impressed)
How’d you do that?
ANNABETH:
(Catching breath)
Obedience school. When I was really little, my dad got a doberman, and-
GROVER:
(Urgent)
Dudes, less talking, more running.
The kids bolt for the EZ DEATH line, and ANNABETH stops when she hears CERBERUS whining behind her. She turns around to face him, and sees the giant dog panting, the ball torn to bits at his feet.
PERCY:
(Worried)
ANNABETH?
ANNABETH:
(Shaky voice, sad smile)
Good boy. I’ll bring you another ball soon. Would you like that?
CERBERUS whines, and lower his three heads.
ANNABETH:
(Petting CERBERUS’S head, holding back tears)
G-good boy. I’ll visit you, okay? I… I promise.
PERCY:
(Sad, hesitant)
ANNABETH… we have to go.
ANNABETH sadly walks away from CERBERUS, and passes through the EZ DEATH line with the boys. As they walk through the metal detector, alarms begin blaring, and CERBERUS starts barking.
AUTOMATED VOICE:
Unauthorized possessions! Magic items detected!
PERCY:
(Urgent)
Run!
The kids run through the gate into the FIELDS OF ASPHODEL, pushing through disgruntled spirits as black robed ghoulish security guards chase after them, shrieking and wailing. The kids scramble down the ridge of a road, and hide in the rotten trunk of a large, black tree. The ghouls run past the tree, still wailing and shrieking. The kids stay in the trunk for a bit to make sure the ghouls are gone.
GROVER:
Your plans suck, dude.
PERCY:
(Irritated)
Yeah, well, you’re a donkey.
(Takes quick look around the corner to make sure it’s safe)
Alright, they’re gone. We should-
PERCY stops mid-sentence when he notices ANNABETH sniffing and wiping tears from her eyes, and hears CERBERUS howling mournfully in the distance.
PERCY:
(Gently places hands on ANNABETH’S shoulders)
Come on. We have to get out of here.
ANNABETH nods, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes, and takes PERCY’S hand.
​
Part 2 will be out soon.

Everyone warned me about going to Tunnica, but we had already booked our trip so there wasnt much we could do...Tunnica is a dying town, with absolutely nothing to do (other then the 2 golf courses, which we ended up doing one of the days). When i say nothing to do, i mean like nothing at all. We are in our 30's and 99% of the people at the casino's are senior citizens so it's not like we could find a bar and talk to anyone else our age.
We ended up staying at the horseshoe, but we did visit all the other casino's.
--The hollywood casino was really nice on the inside, seemed like the newest of the bunch. Had table games, slots, bubble craps, and crapps with the ATS bet.
-Samstown is dead on the inside. They have table games and slots, but it's really small and it didnt look like anyone was winning. Looked really dirty.
-Fitzgerald...I dont know why anyone would go here, it was really small and only had slot machines (we grabbed some food there and didnt see anyone hitting on anything)
-The first jackpot was kind of cool and it's not far from the horseshoe/gold strike. It looked really old, but it's a farm/barn theme so it kind of works for it. They have table games, slots, and bubble crapps.
-The roadhouse casino was closed, but they do still offer hotel rooms.
If anyone ever did visit tunnica and stayed the night, the only options are the horseshoe/gold strike. I wouldn't recommend one over the other, if you typically play at caesars you stay at the horseshoe and if you typically play at mgm resorts you would stay at the gold strike.
-Gold strike felt pretty new on the inside, they had table games and slots. It was pretty similiar to the hollywood casino.
-The horseshoe had table games and slots.. I kind of wish it had the bubble crapps game because those have a version of the firebet that is kind of fun (we hit big on it at both places that had it). The casino felt kind of old and it was about a mile walk to the room they put us in. The food there was ok, you get free drinks when you play, but it was almost impossible to just walk up to the bar and grab a drink. Every bartender was so slow and there was employees sleeping at some of the shops, no one really seemed to care about anything.
All the crapps tables in Tunnica have the ATS bets and none of them were more then 10$ min on the weekend. We actually did pretty well when we played. I hit the ATS twice in a row and a few people i played with had some really long rolls.
Within the next year (or less) i see a lot of these places closing. The fitzgerald felt like it was going to close any day and the same goes for samstown. Once Samstown closes hollywood (across the street) will go next (not that it's not nice on the inside, but because there is nothing else in the area). The other 3 will probably survive another couple years from the locals, but im not sure how long a casino can live off of that when most of the locals come from memphis which is 30 mins away.

I'm a Vegas regular. I travel there for work and play between 6-10 times a year. I've been to Vegas somewhere around 70 times.
Here are some tips, in no particular order.
Orleans Arena is "off strip". It is part of the Orleans Hotel and Casino. If you choose to stay at The Orleans, you will have a 10 minute ubelyft back and forth from the strip. The Strip is the part of Vegas that you always see when you think of Vegas. It's called Las Vegas Boulavard. Orleans is a property that basically has nothing around it, and there is not really much to see without a 20 minute walk to the Palms, or a 20 minute walk to the Rio.
If you are only going to eat, drink, and breathe RLCS, staying at the Orleans is probably a good idea. But if you want to experience Vegas, you want to stay on the strip.
Lodging can be had for cheap, up to more expensive. The cost of hotel rooms is usually based on the property location on the strip, as the more central hotels are the nicer ones.
Bellagio, Aria, and the Cosmo are the best places to stay that are in the middle. They will cost anywhere between $250-$400 a night. A great central location hotel that is more economical is Planet Hollywood, which is right across from the Bellagio. Rooms can be had here for closer to $150 a night.
If you go to the end of the strip, you can have rooms for under $100, such as treasure island, Park MGM, NYNY, and Mandalay Bay, and if you really want to live economical on strip, you can go somewhere like Luxor (far end of strip) The Linq (more middle) and The Mirage.
Any of the places listed above are on strip, and you can get the full Vegas experience. Hotels such as the Palms, Gold Coast, the Rio, Stratosphere, and the Hard Rock are so far off strip that they are extremely isolated from walking distance to most of the action in Vegas.
Weather.... You're going to the Western US in the Desert, the Western US in the Desert is not what you would expect in November. You will be lucky to see temperatures above 70F, and at night it will drop down into the low 40's. Bring warm clothes!
Walking around vegas:
DO NOT, and I repeat DO NOT purchase a single thing from a street vendor. They will try selling you drink coupons, VIP tickets to shows, discounted show tickets, and just about any drug imaginable. Do not give any of these people money for any reason.
While I do not any drugs, some of my friends do, and now that marijuana is completely legal in Las Vegas, everyone raves about going to Essence Cannabis Dispensary. I've been there, and it is amazing, but I can't really speak for their product.
Skanks.... DO NOT be taken advantage of the "street walkers" and "casino crawlers" that are trying to be your friend, will want to go to your room, and after "the deed" is complete, will extort you for money. The rule of thumb, if a girl approaches you in a casino, or on the strip and is acting over friendly, they are probably a hooker, and their pimp is probably within shouting distance.
You can drink on the strip, but you CANNOT have glass. It is usually cheaper to purchase liquor or beer from one of the many CVS stores on strip.
All casinos will give you free drinks while you are playing, but sometimes the waitresses are few and far between. If you are going to be at a craps table or a slot machine for a long time, it is always a good idea to tip them very well and they will come by often.
I stay at the Bellagio the most, but my favorite places to gamble (I don't play slot machines) is a place called O'Sheas in The Linq. It is a total party atmosphere with live bands, beer pong, bean bags, and tons of table games. I think there are close to 50 tables. I'm a sucker for 3 card, and can play there for 10 hours straight.
McCarran international airport (LAS) is a nice place. Do NOT play slot machines there, as the odds are the worst of any place in Nevada. If you have an Amex Cent/Plat card, they have a Centurion lounge which has a full bar, and huge food selection, all for free.
Do not take a Taxi if you don't have to. Taxi drivers in Vegas are notorious for taking "the long way home" and you will be taken advantage of. There is a huge amount of Lyft and Ubers in the city at all times of the day. DO NOT rent a car in vegas. Parking is expensive and driving is pure gridlock.
Last but not least, if you have time, go to the "old strip" which is called Freemont Street. Old vegas is amazing, and there are a bunch of places that should be seen. You can go to the heart attack grill and get spanked for not eating your bacon cheeseburger with 50 strips of bacon, or you can go to the D Casino and have dealers in underwear. Street performers are everywhere, and it is just a good time. WATCH OUT FOR PICK POCKETERS!
Food is expensive in Vegas. The days of "cheap buffets" are gone. A burgefries will set you back somewhere around $20 in the casinos, and the chain restaurants have heavily inflated prices. The best place to eat on the strip is the miracle mile mall that is attached to planet hollywood. A bunch of the restaurants in there offer amazing drink specials and very affordable food.
I hope I covered some basics, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask, and I'll help you out the best I can.

This post is a full analysis about the potential money Cryptic is making this weekend - and is not a commentary on the legitimacy, ethics, financial lifeblood etc. of loot/gamble boxes.
This is an estimate, using educated assumptions and methodology. My model says Cryptic will pull in ~$14M revenue this weekend. You can use your own assumptions in my formula and come up with another estimate.
****
VARIABLES/ASSUMPTIONS:
(A) Average cost per R&D Crate 200-240 zen during weekend sale, = $1.80-$2.40 (depending on prior Zen bonus/discount purchases)
(D) Drop rate of Disco Enterprise. This is unknown, but prior estimates documented over the years from other boxes is 1 in 200 or 0.5% chance. Cryptic can of course change the odds at any time without telling anyone. Estimate a range of 1 in 200 (0.5%), to 1 in 400 (0.25%).
(W) Winners/minute of Disco Enterprise this weekend from opened boxes, as announced in game wide chat. Note this is similar to the jackpot lights going off on casino slot machines, building an atmosphere of winning - and missing out if you don't play. I assume an "average" of roughly 1 to 1.5 winners/minute, every single minute this weekend.
(N) Ninety-six (96) hours, or 5,760 minutes in this weekend's promotion
(H) Hold/Hoarding ratio of purchased R&D boxes to sell later vs. opened boxes this weekend. I assume somewhere between 2:1 to 3:1 ratio. For every 1 box opened by the player base, someone else in the player base saved one (2:1 purchase/open ratio), or saved two (3:1 purchase/open ratio) for later opening/reselling on exchange.
****
ANALYSIS MODEL/FORMULA
****
(A) x (D) = $360-$960. The cost range on each DSC Enterprise. Math: low end is $1.80/box x 200 boxes = $360. High end is $2.40/box x 400 boxes = $960
(A) x (D) x (W) = $360/min - $1,440/min revenue to Cryptic. Using above assumption on cost/Enterprise. This is $360 x 1 winneminute on the low end, and $960 x 1.5 winners/min = $1,440/min on the high end
(A) x (D) x (W) x (5,760 mins in weekend promo) = minimum $2M - $8M revenue this promo weekend from opened boxes alone.
Above number increased by 2:1 or 3:1 "hoarding ratio" to get total purchased boxes = $4M-$24M this promo weekend from purchased boxes.
​
I'm going to take the midpoint of the estimates: $14M this weekend from the promo.
****
SANITY/CROSS-CHECK
Note that PWE (owners of Cryptic/ARC/STO) makes $1.86M/yr per employee per below.
If you assume 30 FTE employees out of 150 at Cryptic) working on STO, this implies STO makes a minimum of $55M+/year. Likely more since as a licensed property, STO should make more than the company average. I also estimated the number of equivalent employees working on STO.
So a $10M weekend is not out of line.
https://quotes.wsj.com/CN/XSHE/002624/financials
****
COMPARISON TO STAR TREK MOVIE BOX OFFICE OPENING WEEKEND
Let's look at a few opening weekends of the Star Trek movies, from Box Office Mojo:
https://www.boxofficemojo.com/search/?q=Star%20Trek
​
REVENUE:
The latest: Star Trek Beyond (2016) - $59M
The best: Star Trek (2009) - $75M - un-adjusted for inflation
The worst (in inflation adjusted dollars): Star Trek Nemesis (2002) $19M - un-adjusted for inflation
Cryptic STO Discovery Enterprise R&D Weekend: $4M-$24M
---
In the ballpark of movie releases, and it certainly takes a LOT less effort.
Note that in movie releases, the distributing theater typically gets 50% of box office, and the studio (CBS/Paramount) gets half.
I don't know what license fee Cryptic pays for Star Trek, but if I were CBS/Paramount, I know I own all the leverage (the game dies without a license) So CBS should have negotiated a revenue share of at least half of Cryptic revenue.
***
CONCLUSION
Big money? - Yes. $10M on opening weekend is better than 95% of Hollywood films. Gaming is big business!
Will this encourage more loot boxes? - It certainly won't discourage them. The revenue model for this "Free-to-play" game seems solid for Cryptic. And there are plenty of gamer "whales" - who in the gaming industry make up 0.5% of the player base, but account for 95%+ of revenue - to keep this model alive.
Scarcity of rare/desired items, and standing out among a crowd because you own it - are what attract whales.
​
Will Cryptic change the odds on the loot box? - Basic Supply and Demand means they can and will change the odds - this is the most effective "lever" they have to use.
Any income maximizing company would absolutely monitor and influence the purchase rate of boxes - and the ding, ding, ding rate of announcing winners to all online.
If not enough is purchased, they tweak the drop rate in favor of the player. Too many winners = high demand for boxes, so they can safely raise the price - which means lowering the odds of winning so the price per Enterprise goes up.
This is also why the drop rate will never be voluntarily published.

I've only been playing craps for a few months. I wanted to learn before I went to Las Vegas. It was my first time in Vegas and my wife hasn't been for 10 or so years.
This report is from 5/4/2019-5/18/2019.
We play in Michigan and Indiana for the most part. There is a Boyd property out here we have been going to for a few years. We were able to get free rooms at the Fremont for 2 nights and Gold Coast for 2 nights. We went to MGM in Detroit once with her mom and they send us offers all the time to go to Vegas. We decided to take them up on it and were able to get 4 nights at the Luxor.
I had a budget of $200/day. My goal was to play $5 craps where I could.
The first weekend we spent mostly at the Fremont. I enjoyed playing at the tables with the older guys and a more relaxed crowd. Always had a $5 table open and the dealers were really nice. I tried to make some 2 way hard ways and yo's and the dealers really seemed to appreciate that. They remembered my name and were always very kind to me. One dealer even flipped the dice to 3-3 for me when he sent them my way to save me time. I really enjoyed playing there.
I saw that they had a shooters club at Fremont and found it curious. I was able to roll 20 and 23 times while I was there, but that's not even close to getting on the wall. I was playing mostly the pass and 6-8 occasionally taking a 5/9 with my winnings. I didn't make much, but people around the table did.
We found our way down to the D and Golden Gate on Sunday afternoon. My wife really enjoyed the Golden Gate and I did as well. Always found 5 dollar tables and at night they have the dancing dealers, which is always a nice thing to look at. Dealers were great any my wife was able to earn comps there quickly. Paid for our dinner at Pizza Rock on just her comps. The D was pretty nice too, but was very loud at night and more crowded.
We had a nice room at the Luxor and spent our first day there (Thursday) walking around the hotels. I was trying to collect a dollar chip from any casino that we went into as a souvenir. Luxor was $10 everytime I was there. 2 tables open in the morning with no one playing. I asked if they would lower it to play, but they declined. We walked to Excalibur and I was able to play for $5 anytime except for Saturday night after 8. They did have a $5 crapless table, but it was crowded and I don't like it. The house edge is high.
I had some coupons for match play at Planet Hollywood so I did play $10 there for about 3 shooters but I lost my money quickly. We had to make some bets for my brother at Caesars so we used his card to park there for free. I did bet one shooter there just to say I played at Caesars.
As you can imagine, the nicer hotels were all $10 and up. I was able to find $5 briefly during the day at Treasure Island and played there for a little while.
We went back downtown the Saturday and Sunday where we could afford to play. My wife found her home at Four Queens. She loved sitting in the Keno room and playing the live Keno and a Keno machine at the same time. She also enjoyed playing High Card Flush and Texas Holdem there. I played craps there for quite a long time, but the dealers for that shift weren't as friendly.
For the most part I would win $100 somewhere and loss $100 somewhere. But I kept most of my money throughout the trip.
Our last weekend we stayed at Gold Coast and played there on Thursday night. We went back downtown Friday night to play at the Golden Gate and Binions. My wife hit a jackpot in slots at Golden Gate before we left that won back all of the money we lost. We left Las Vegas even on money after paying for dinners and such.
It was a really fun trip. I know with my bankroll Vegas can be tough. But we aren't fancy people so downtown was perfect for us. We earned some comps and plan to stay at a Boyd property or the D when we go back in February (we had Disneyland tickets for one day. I've never been and she hasn't been since 1998. But my wife got sick so it's an excuse to go back.). Hoping we can put the money we came back with away to use as a bankroll next time.

The grocery bags plopped down and he collapsed backward onto his couch, breathing heavily. He shook his head and rested. Wow, he was out of shape. His friends were right; he did have to lose weight after all. “Dammit,” he said, recovering. He’d always been a bit chubby, but since getting full-time at the warehouse, he’d gotten so much fatter. The long hours kept murdering his feet and knees, but after being in poverty for practically all his youth, the money more than made up for it, and his waistline expanded accordingly. Pulling the mail from his hoodie pocket, he glanced at each one. The credit card offers he pitched into his burn pile, and his paycheck he opened and checked carefully. They’d finally gotten his name—Manfred Voren—completely correct.
Taking a deep breath, he huffed, and hoisted the six plastic bags into his kitchen and began unloading. Some of the items he chose carefully, as per a recipe he wanted to try. He read the list and arranged each ingredient. Since the recipe estimated a thirty-minute time of completion, he opened his medicine drawer and popped his medication. For the next half hour, he toiled away at the chicken and pasta dish until it very nearly resembled the picture. Scooping it onto his plate, he chowed down while reading comics on his laptop. The latest issue of Breaker featured the main heroine, a tall, muscular power house of a woman, ripping into the powered armor of a bad guy. He knew the lore quite well.
First Breaker was a favorite of his. He’d been reading it since the mid-nineties, having picked it up at age twelve. What attracted him to it, as he had typed into a conversation defending it against arguments of it being outdated, was how unique it was as a comic. “First Breaker,” he had written, plumbing the depths of his childhood memories for the right words, “isn’t just a ‘hey, ‘let’s beat up bad guys and smile for the camera’ superhero story. The main character is Cyroya, a goddess from the fictional ‘Bakeru’ religion. She’s not actually a savior, or a good guy; she’s the main enemy, the Satan of her people’s beliefs. As the Goddess of Strength, she basically shows up in ancient Rome and nearly ends the world, cutting apart entire armies all by herself. Kareth, the God of Mercy and Creation, defeats her, at great cost and casts her into Pareion, basically their religion’s hell.”
He remembered that exchange and how heated he became, even though he realized he was only staring at a computer screen. He’d also introduced several of his friends to it. “Cyroya is cast into the bad place for her many murders, and here’s where it really gets good,” he’d defended. “Where most comics from the late eighties to early nineties—the so-called Dark Age—were just blood and gore for no end, we see her get tortured in Pareion and repent her crimes. That’s when Kareth sends her to the modern world and she must use her powers for good to save humanity, or else spend the rest of eternity in Pareion.”
“So,” his friend Shawn asked, “if this Kareth guy is so powerful, why doesn’t he intervene?”
Manfred took that as his cue. “Because eventually, they encounter threats even beyond the Gods. There’s literally a moment where a guy tells her she can help him take over the universe, and she has a perfectly good chance to kill Kareth and be free of his threat forever. Instead, she helps him defeat the bad guy. It’s great because she’s clearly a recovering villain. You see her have to struggle with the fact that, no, these humans aren’t insects merely there to satisfy your violent urges. You see her literally become a better person.”
He remembered the friend basically answering with, “that’s great, Manny,” and leaving it at that. It was his favorite comic. Shoveling pasta and chicken into his mouth, he pressed the space bar to move forward. Doctor Richard Felaru, the bad guy in the power armor, Manny read, clearly had thought his machine could duplicate the Godess’s power. He’d had her against the ropes, but with the strength of will, she ripped his armor apart. Manny felt like a little kid again. This storyline had been going for the better part of a year, and he was glad to see it end.
“Wow,” he mouthed, reading the last page. The story had ended exactly as he wanted. After finishing his sizeable meal, he washed his plate and silverware, setting it in the drying rack and picking up his laptop. Sitting for too long made his legs hurt, so he walked around carrying it. He shopped for comics online before reading some other issues he had on his computer. Furious Thunder Comic issue 682 appeared full-screen, him clicking on it. He enjoyed it, even though the writing hadn’t always been great. Unlike First Breaker, Furious Thunder was a very traditional super hero story, although not the same as many others. Unlike most of the traditional stories that started in the early Silver Age of Comics, Furious Thunder had started with a female lead. A female lead character, in 1952, was unheard of. Somehow it had managed to avoid being absorbed by the bigger studios, but had suffered in the sixties thus.
The new timeline, he saw, wasn’t quite as good as the one before, but he still kept reading. One of the things that annoyed him was that when the character was first drawn, she was a decently curved woman for sixties standards. Now, she was almost anorexic. It wasn’t unique; many of the big studios had the female supers being model thin, but she was supposed to be a major hero. At least she wasn’t drawn with comically exaggerated breasts—even being a guy, it became annoying and distracting after awhile. Once more, he noticed her pulling her cousin’s pod out of the river. Before it had been a mountain landslide, and the original reboot had it be a river. He knew the story by heart: Michelle Delanter, having been examining archaeological ruins in South America, touched an artifact and was magically transported to another world, where she was forced to fight for her survival for a hundred years, somehow not aging. When she finally succeeded, it was revealed the whole ordeal was an illusory test to see if she was worthy of the power contained within the artifact. She then became Capacitor, a hero that utilized otherworldly energy to possess great strength, speed, and energy abilities.
He read on, seeing that the origin deviated just slightly, with her finding the artifact and the whole training ordeal montaged in a series of six panels. She apparently explained to her cousin that he had been put in stasis because of his disease, and the pod had cured him, right before the earthquake diverted the river through the area where the building was. She grabbed his hand, and shared some of her power with him. “We’ll talk later,” she told him. “Right now, help me save the people downstream.” The next few pages were of the two of them using their powers to save people from the flooding and earthquake. It was nice to see they’d updated her age. In the original 50’s and 60’s comics, she’d been a teenager and her cousin the same age. Now, she was five years older than him.
His cellphone rang and he set down the laptop. The caller ID read a familiar name. “Yeah, Joey? What’s up?” he asked.
“You still hanging out on Saturday?” Joey said.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Manny explained. “Shit, as much as I work these days, it’s the only time I can.”
Joey let out a breath of a laugh. “Ain’t that the damn truth.” He coughed. “Well, if you’re busy right now, I’ll let you go.”
“Eh, I think I’m just staying home,” he replied. “Nothing much to do ‘round here anyway.” He smiled. “See you then.” Both knew too well what he spoke of. Southern Illinois was well-known for a few major things: abandoned buildings where industry once was, being twenty miles from the nearest civilized anything. If he was going to a movie, it would be fifteen miles to Edwardsville, or eight miles to East Alton. There was one book store the Illinois side of the Mississippi river.
He watched some shows on the internet. After that, closed his laptop. Normally, later in the week, he found himself not wanting to be bothered. Now, though, the thought of being around friends made him feel lonely. Still, the nearest mall worth going to would be almost thirty miles away in the Chesterfield, Missouri area. Popping his knuckles, he made up his mind. He didn’t want to be home alone. At least the mall, far away as it was, presented the possibility of running into friends.
His gas gauge reading full, he started it up and headed towards the Missouri line. Miles of forested areas passed by as he left his house, which was just short of Jerseyville, and passed through Alton. The riverside showed block after block of abandoned buildings where jobs used to be, some fifty years prior. The riverboat casinos with their flashing lights stood in stark contrast to the rows upon rows of taverns and bars that segmented sections of former places of business. The economy had been rough and he was lucky to have gotten a job that paid well.
After crossing the Clark Bridge, the economy seemed to get much better, with the businesses of the Florissant area passing by. After more than twenty minutes of driving, he made it to Chesterfield and one of the few remaining malls performing well in the downtrodden economy. The mall looked uncrowded as Thursday evenings weren’t major business. The first store he hit was the bookstore, checking out their manga collection. There seemed to be only twelve people walking around the store, and none of them he knew. He read a few volumes before he left the store.
Walking around the mall, looking around, he felt a bit dumb. There weren’t that many things he wanted to buy, and none of his friends seemed to have thought to come out here. He popped into a dollar store and bought a generic cola. The man behind the counter looked at his shirt and smiled. “Hey, nice shirt,” he said. “Haven’t read a comic since I was a kid, but those movies are great.”
The man looked to be nearly fifty. Manny regarded the man’s gray hair and lined face. “What’d you read growing up?”
“Well, I read a bit of everything,” the man admitted. “I can’t say I remember much of it. Nice to see Hollywood finally giving a thought to it, though.”
Manny let out a humph. “You can say that again,” he responded. “I think when I was a kid, there was the 1989 movie and other than that, a bunch of crap. Now it seems like everyone likes ‘em.” He shrugged. “It’s annoying. Where were these movies when I was in high school about two-thousand-one?”
They shared a laugh and he left the dollar store. It raised his spirit to feel reassured he wasn’t alone. Entering the video and game store, he looked through the Blu-ray section. He came across a copy of the nineteen eighty-one Capacitor movie. They’d made a crappy sequel in two-thousand-five, and hinted at a Furious Thunder reboot, but he always enjoyed the original. He hadn’t seen it in years or had this updated disc, so he bought it to give himself a reason to have come.
He started the car and set his bag in the passenger seat. Flipping the radio on, a news story talking about lights in the sky over various parts of the world, and what the experts had to say about such things. Even though it might have been interesting, he set his radio to Bluetooth and played music from his smartphone. Pressing the emergency brake off, he shifted into drive and left the parking lot. The highway back to southern Illinois signaled his experiment had failed and he had to return home. Miles of highway passed once again. Nothing much out of the ordinary appeared until he got about halfway home.
Pulling the car over to the shoulder, he stared at the sky, both awed and weirded out. Streaks of color, vaguely reminiscent of aurora borealis made streaks across the evening blue. However, these were off-colored. Various pinks, oranges, and silvers streaked in with the green and red. It undulated in the sky like some cosmic worm wriggling. Eager, he checked his mirrors and got out. He clicked his phone’s camera app and pointed it at the sky. The image quality wasn’t fantastic, but he wanted to keep a record of this. Some ten minutes later, it faded, and he got back in his car. Since others were stopping and staring, he took his opportunity and left.
Returning home, he uploaded the photo to his laptop and watched videos on the internet. He opened his bought movies and made sure they worked. After ten minutes, he checked the clock. Work the next morning would be a pain in the ass, so he decided to check in for the night. He set his phone’s alarm clock and changed into his pajamas. The usual evening routine came next: brush teeth, change into pajamas, swallow some pain medication since his feet hurt. Once the ibuprofen kicked in, his mind slipped away into dreams.
The alarm interrupted his dream of driving through a vague pseudo-city consisting of several places he had been to, while fleeing some nondescript sense of dread. Waking up was an exercise in lifting himself to a sitting position and waiting for his sense of balance to kick in. Shaking his head to clear it, he stood up and stumbled a few steps before righting himself and walking to the bathroom. The routine became second nature: brush teeth, do business, shower. He had a half hour or so before he had to be there, so he made himself a few sandwiches for breakfast along with some coffee. He took a hit of his inhaler and dressed himself before heading out the door.
The drive to the warehouse reminded him how much he hated it. His work was a decent paying job; it didn’t, however, mean he enjoyed it. The man at the door scanned his ID badge and he walked over to the counter to be assigned. The woman, a middle-aged smoking victim, regarded him with the same deadpan expression everyone got. The number he got was thirty-three with a ‘C,’ and that meant he would be on shampoo duty. If there existed a better demonstration of how to reduce a man to a robot than the next five hours, he would have loved to see it. His task consisted of taking finished shampoo two-packs, placing them in a cardboard box in their slot, sealing the box in plastic when full, and placing it on a palate for a forklift to retrieve when the palate filled. Other than a single fifteen-minute break, he did nothing else. When the lunch break came, he got in his car and drove to the truck stop across the road and bought a sandwich from the refrigerator along with a generic diet soda. After that, he went back to work and another five hours passed by.
His knees and back ached, and his hands hurt, so when finished he popped two naproxen sodium and finished the last of his green diet soda. It was painful, but at least he was lucky. Some of the other warehouse companies that hired paid only minimum wage. Then again, he rationalized, most of them were staffed by stoners and ex-convicts. On the way home, he stopped by the video rental kiosk and chose some arthouse film one of his friends had recommended. It wasn’t normally the kind of film he watched, but it would be a welcome waste of time. The sun was still up and yet, he wanted nothing more than to plop into his chair and leave the day behind. It bothered him some of his friends worked as much as possible. Other than keeping the house clean—which was the responsibility of everyone with a home—these people exercised for three, sometimes four hours a day, and this is after an eight to ten-hour work shift, and then chores. Maybe by the time they were done, they’d have two, maybe two and a half hours to just relax and do nothing before going to bed at eight-thirty, nine at the absolute latest. His shift started at five-thirty, and he finished at three-thirty. He worked forty hours a week, his default four-day schedule. His arms and back often ached, but damn it, every weekend was three days, he made enough money to pay the bills on a house his parents left him, and that mattered most. Furthermore, if he skipped a few meals here and there, he could save enough money to buy something big. Five years ago, he’d skipped enough meals to buy a two-thousand, five-hundred-dollar gaming laptop. It kicked as much ass as he could hope for. Maybe next year, he would start saving for a new one.
The movie was ok, not exceptional, but he was glad anyway, because it being Thursday, he wouldn’t have to be back at the warehouse until Monday. He pulled out his PC controller and plugged it into his laptop. He decided to play Inindo: Way of the Ninja, a role-playing game from nineteen ninety-three. A relatively obscure game, he’d rented it once as a kid from Blockbuster Video and enjoyed it so much he played it completely at least once a year. It wasn’t particularly breathtaking, but it was a fun way to pass the time. Noticing the clock on the wall was nine P.M., he saved, put his laptop into hibernation, and stretched his limbs. The night was calling and he didn’t want to stay up too late. Just not having to awake at four the next morning felt great. When he turned in the direction of his bookshelf, he saw the book occupying the top slot—volume one of the 2004 run of Capacitor in Furious Thunder Comics. Opening the graphic novel, he remembered the familiar opening. The heroine, Michelle Delanter, with her trademark red hair, reminiscent of the setting sun, flapping in the wind, stood poised to save lives. Her figure, not quite as anorexic as the new run, had the super-skinny frame of a waif model, which, absolutely did not mesh with her powerful expression. He’d been entering college during the original run of these issues, and they were always a fun time. Hard to believe, it had been more than ten long years since then.
Replacing the book, he felt a mild static shock. It annoyed him, and he started towards the bathroom when he felt a mild burning sensation wash over him. He pulled his shirt off, having stripped down to his underwear. Furiously he slapped his hands on his torso, trying to locate if something was injured or in some way damaged. A few seconds passed with the feeling increasing before fading entirely. His head felt slightly dizzy and then became normal again. “What…” he uttered. Before he had a chance to finish the thought, he felt a yanking, a pulling. It came from his abdomen. In a scene of utter impossibility, he looked down to the source of the feeling, and saw—as he continued to feel—his large bulbous fat gut drawing in. His entire torso shrank before his very eyes. “No, oonooo!” Trapped in a panicked thought, that he was shriveling up into a corpse somehow, he grabbed and pinched at skin, pulling and yanking, trying desperately to fight it. After a few moments, there wasn’t enough fat left to grab handfuls of. He gasped and panted, wide-eyed at how small his torso had become. Now the pulling came over his limbs. From his waist to feet, and shoulder to fingertip, his flesh tightened and retreated. Coarse hair disappeared, scant, fair body hair appeared in its place. His mallet-like hand with stubby sausage fingers turned into a dainty palm with slender pianist digits extending from them. Legs became thin, smooth, with only faint hair that wasn’t too noticeable. Giant fat feet shrank several shoe sizes. Finally, a twinge travelled up his chest and to the top of his head. His saggy man-breasts became recognizable ‘B-cup’ women’s breasts. Hair grazed his shoulders. “Yeep!” he shouted, tugging at the intrusion, only to see the reddish hair attached to his own head. The voice registered clearly in an adult woman’s range. He stumbled to the bathroom mirror and stared.
Twenty-year-old, redheaded, superhero, fictional character, Michelle Delanter, or, an incredible facsimile, stared back at him. He shook his head, slamming his eyes shut. No. This is impossible. He had spent years of his life thinking skeptically. It was the reason he’d left religion behind. No, what happened was, he’d gone insane. This was a hell of a hallucination; he hadn’t even had a history of mental illness. Sure, when he was ten, he had a phase where he wanted everyone to call him Batman, but even then, he knew he wasn’t turned into an imaginary character. He ran his hands over his face. The red-headed woman—who, now that he thought about it, had no reason to be a fictional character—rubbed her face the same way. He felt up and down the body, and sure enough, the hands in the mirror moved as well. He took a deep breath and let it go; this was an amazing degree of insanity. He’d really flipped. Not only had he somehow developed a separate personality, but the hallucination was so good, he couldn’t think his way out of it.
A thought occurred to him. Had he been this red-haired woman all along? He fumbled through his wallet. His driver’s license was the same as it was that morning. Manfred Voren, Illinois Driver’s License, five foot nine, two hundred eighty pounds. He took a selfie, making sure to only photograph from the neck up, and sent it to a friend of his. “What do you see here?” he included with the text.
Ten seconds later, his friend Jake responded. “Cute girl,” he said. “Nice hair. She your new girlfriend?”
“She’s a friend,” he replied. He set the phone aside. He sat down on the toilet lid. Either he hallucinated the text, he figured, or else Jake had really seen the girl. That wasn’t evidence enough, he knew, but it was a good start. He honestly expected, had he simply gone crazy, for Jake to say something about why Manny would send a photo of himself. Still, he couldn’t trust his own mind. This wasn’t possible. He had a mountain of evidence to suggest he had spent thirty-one years as Manfred Voren. Thinking about it, he’d never so much as seen a single redhead, anywhere in his life that looked like her.
He sent the photo to his perverted friend John. “Would you do her?”
“Sure, I would,” he replied moments later. “Who’s she?”
“Someone I had a pleasant conversation with earlier,” Manny texted. “Has anyone like her ever been around us before?”
“No, dude, I wish,” John replied. “Don’t miss the opportunity on this one.”
He set the phone down. Now he had more evidence. Still not enough to positively rule out his insanity, but two separate friends acknowledged that the photo he remembered taking a minute before was both not him, and not someone they’d seen before. Either he was insane enough to have hallucinated: transforming, taking a photo of the result, as well as his friends reactions, or something absolutely not possible was actually happening. He still didn’t want to accept what had never happened before in human history. He slapped himself to see if he was dreaming; he wasn’t.
He stood in front of the mirror. In his mind, he could see an image of himself as this woman. He focused hard on the image. He imagined it turning back into him. Nothing happened. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes and saw the image even clearer. He did it again, and still nothing. He imagined both images side by side—himself, as he was before, and her. Nothing happened, except this time, he felt a presence in the back of his head. Not like a person or spirit, but as if a switch or lever had magically appeared in his brain. Obviously, it didn’t have a literal appearance of such a device, or any appearance at all, but he noticed it only when he summoned both images side by side. With thoughts, he manipulated it, imagined it changing. Once more, nothing happened. Almost a half hour passed with nothing changing.
Opening his eyes, he stared once more at the red-haired woman he’d become. If this didn’t change, if he couldn’t change back, he’d have a lot of hell to deal with. Sooner or later, he figured he’d wake up in a nuthouse or a courthouse, having done something like beating a guy to death because he hallucinated the devil in him or some crap like that. Or, if the absurd turned out to be true, he would have no identifying papers as this woman, and no history whatsoever. He’d have no solutions. If he somehow overcame these problems, he’d be spending the rest of his life as this woman. Could he really commit to that? Could he really pull the trigger?
Oh my god, he thought.
It was a trigger!
He coughed to calm himself. Okay, he rationalized. Let’s assume what, again, I know to be impossible, is really happening. Let’s say I’m somehow turning into a woman and back again, his mind fired. Wouldn’t it be damn inconvenient should, say, a random thought morph you in the middle of a crowded room? He was the kind of guy to imagine spiders crawling on the walls at random. He’d hate to have the kind of power to do that. So, he guessed, should there be a fail-safe, to guarantee that no random imagining of himself would cause the change to occur? He focused on the twinge in his head, the feeling the…whatever the hell it was. He imagined her morphing straight back into him. This time, he didn’t imagine himself manipulating the…well, hell, he just decided to call it the Trigger. He committed. He decided, firmly and completely, yes, he wanted to be fat, almost thirty, underpaid and overworked, Illinois native Manfred Voren. He felt the Trigger change to a different state.
Like a bad CGI film, his body morphed back into Manfred Voren. The entire process took eleven seconds. His fingers were fat again, his gut stuck out again, and his penis and testicles had returned, along with his ungainly body hair. He could have cheered when he became normal again. He had never been so glad to be overweight.
And then, his curiosity got the better of him. Oh hell, he realized. He couldn’t let it go. He stepped on the scale, and it read two seventy-nine. Hey, he realized, he’d lost two pounds from the month before. In his mind, he imagined the woman again. He pulled the Trigger by committing to the transformation. Hey, as far as insane ideas went, it was convenient, the equivalent of an “are you sure” before deleting the file from the hard drive. It snapped into its previous state, and the change happened again. This time, the burning was replaced by a tingling, almost like the cold mixed with electric prickling around fur rugs. He stared in bewilderment as the scale plummeted to one hundred and thirty-seven pounds. Wow, not just impossible, he thought, but ultra super-duper impossible, violating the Law of Conservation of Mass impossible. He reversed the transformation and the scale climbed again.
He decided to go to bed. This insanity could wait until the morning. With thoughts raging on his mind, it took quite a while, but he managed to slip off to dream.
The sun’s light peering in through the window and shining in his face woke him up. He rubbed his belly and face. He was still Manny and still fat. How much of what happened the night before had been real? He yawned and stretched. Stumbling to the bathroom, he splashed water on his face. Mental images of himself turning into the woman from the night before returned, and with it, a familiar presence. He pulled the Trigger once again. Eleven seconds later, the red-haired woman stared back at him in the mirror, blinking when he blinked. The possibility that this was a hallucination hadn’t diminished much. Much of what he saw continued to be impossible per all the scientific evidence he knew. He had two pieces of evidence he couldn’t necessarily trust because he could have hallucinated them as well. A decision entered his mind. Since what was going on didn’t appear to be harmful or destructive yet, one of the easiest ways to prove it real would be to do things that it would be utterly impossible for a hallucination to deliver. To get there, he had to know if he had been turned into Capacitor, or just a red-haired woman.
Based on his current supermodel-thin build, it would be utterly impossible for an ordinary woman with red hair to lift a refrigerator. He knelt in front of it, and wrapped his arms around the large metal rectangular prism. He bent his womanly legs and expected his back to scream at him. Instead, he felt weight resistance on par with lifting a beach ball. At fully standing height, he yelped and immediately had to avoid three problems at once: hitting it on the ceiling, dropping it, or banging it into the wall. It felt like carrying a bag of groceries. So, not just an ordinary red-haired woman, he thought, but actually The Capacitor. Gingerly, he set down the fridge. Got it.
He walked around the house a bit, curious as to how many of her powers he had in this form. If this were really happening, he took mental note, he’d already demonstrated strength. She had several more. He stared all around, trying to activate her see-through vision. What the writers had made sure to do, he remembered from the comics, was not to give her x-ray vision. Her vision was a form of psychic remote viewing, since they didn’t want to imply her eyes gave off harmful ionizing radiation. After long minutes of trying, he found wanting to see further caused layers to become transparent, allowing him to see behind and beyond them. With effort, he gained another small, possibly unreliable, piece of evidence that this wasn’t a hallucination. One layer at a time, he saw past the wall of his house, past the walls of the neighbor across the street’s house, and into the books on a shelf perpendicular to his vision in one of their rooms. One book, he had never once read, The Old Man and The Sea by Hemingway, he saw the cover, then the first page. The next page was backwards, obviously, when the first page became invisible as he saw past it. Exercising his will, his vision returned to himself, having remembered the text of the page as best he could.
He downloaded a digital version of the book and read the first page. The text matched what he saw. Alright, I couldn’t have made that up, he realized. Unless somehow, he had read the book somehow and forgot that he read it while still remembering the text, which struck him as unlikely. He still couldn’t rule it out, but now, more evidence mounted. The best evidence, he figured, would be to act as though it were real and see how far it went. Certainly, real life broke down all barriers and the truth eventually came out. If he ventured out into the world, and this was a hallucination, it would come crashing down, wouldn’t it? Sure, it could be disastrous, but if he had the insanity to hallucinate to this degree, what could he trust? It also meant, the farthest and most unlikely scenario could be true. Something impossible could truly be happening, and the implications, he scarcely wanted to contemplate, for the whole universe was involved.
Turning back into himself, he decided to push it. He transformed parts of his body into hers. Individual feet at first, then hands. He could even transfer much of his body fat to her form. This seemed practical, as it meant his clothes would fit her, but at the same time, it bothered him. He thought about it. Ultimately, he shook it off in favor of more pressing matters. Her being fat allowed him to put his clothes on and head outside to do some work. Grabbing the car keys, he headed for the park near Wood River, Illinois. There, he could find a quiet corner of the large open park and practice.
The wooded areas had quite a few places off the beaten path where people hardly went. In a cluster of trees, he stood, focusing on what he knew. Alright, he thought, one of the most basic abilities she had was flight. She could, in the comics, fly incredibly fast. He focused on his presence and imagined himself moving. At first, just as he expected, nothing happened. Practice made perfect. It was just like riding a bike.
After twenty boring minutes of trying different mental techniques, he focused on deciding to levitate upwards. Leaves blew away from him in a circle, as if he had a propeller blowing. His feet left the ground by an inch. I’m getting it! He thought. Then he fell backwards onto his butt. He stood, brushed himself off. Fly, already, he mentally commanded. Upwards! Fly!
As though fired from a cannon he shot up. Uncontrolled at first, he slammed into a tree face first, having surprisingly tested his durability and upon issuing a mental yell of “stop!” he came crashing down with a thump. The thought occurred to him that direction and speed may not be the same mental process. He indicated the direction of up, and decided. Simultaneously, he indicated a speed of slightly above gravity and committed. Like a balloon, he levitated to the height of the tree. At the top, he changed his speed to exactly the speed of gravity. He came to a dead stop and floated alongside the treetop. Left, he focused and thought. Slow. He hovered in the direction of the next tree. What surprised him was that he continued facing the original direction as he moved sideways. He had to turn his body midair to face the direction he moved; it wasn’t automatic. Touching the tree, he stopped and lowered himself. Finesse and fine control would have to wait. He had other powers to practice. What surprised him was that flight worked much like the “trigger” that activated his power: he had to mentally force it so a random thought couldn’t interrupt it.
Sensory powers were her next major task. Sure, he knew, he’d tested her sight, but now, he had hearing to test. This was easy to activate. Unfortunately, it was hard to focus. A thunderstorm erupted in his head. He heard everything from nearby cars starting all the way down to the footfall of a squirrel. Drowning out everything except people’s conversations proved hard. It wasn’t like the comics at all. Sure, with effort, he could hear what they were saying separately by paying attention to it, but just like regular hearing, everything else mixed in.
Ironically, the easiest powers to learn were what he expected to be the hardest. Energy projection, which in the comics, manifested as her being able to emit laser-like beams from her hands and directly in front of her eyes, wasn’t hard at all. He thought of the type of energy to be fired. In this case, a powerful beam of laser light. He pointed at a log. Making the decision, the tip of his finger glowed red and a dot appeared on the log, slowly burning. He decided to increase power. The light turned from red to blue, and it ate through the log in seconds. Once stopped focusing, it vanished. The other, super speed, almost felt like turning a knob. He found the world frozen around him as he focused on it. The only disorienting part was movement. He found he could see and process all the information around him, even though he felt the tremendous speed at which he ran. The logical problem was that his clothes didn’t rip off. The only answer he could come up with was that the invulnerability extended somewhat during running.
He shifted back into his normal male form. Within twenty minutes of testing individual body parts, he found he needed to transform his brain into hers to have any abilities at all. Furthermore, he found he needed at least half his internal organs to be changed to have strength or flight, but sensory powers only required his eyes and ears to change. After a few minutes of testing his sensory powers in his normal form, he realized, it bothered him somehow. It didn’t feel right to him to use powers in his male form. He pondered it a few moments, but shook his head. He had other work to do. Namely, the thing he wanted to do was, in fiction, usually the first thing the hero learned not to do. He’d read enough comics and manga to learn that one of the very first lessons a protagonist learned was not to use their powers for self-interest. It was wrong. To an extent, he knew why it was wrong. But as someone who worked ten-hour days, for less than fifteen dollars an hour, he didn’t care.