MISSION: THE AI AND THE COMMANDER

[ximilian]

● ● ● M I S S I O N   1 4 . 0

SOMEWHEN • PRESENT DAY • FYI

// SOMEWHEN  

The hum of the teleportation platform is familiar, filling your ears as the bright light dissipates enough to safely open your eyes. You feel something solid beneath your feet, and the lack of scent from the asphalt and dirt in Nuhiri and Deumia marks a departure from anything resembling a planet, the space around you giving you no reason to think anything of it. You're on the Ximilia once again — finally. Another mission successfully accomplished, for whatever other hardships you and the rest of the team have endured. Hot food and hot showers await, and Newt will surely be scurrying off to prepare for the team’s usual post-mission movie night.

You’re back and you can’t wait for Viveca to greet you, and for Degar to take the orb away, back to the North Wing to join the other ones.

Except … the station’s walls appear to be peeling, and some of the equipment looks a little older and unpolished. There’s even a layer of space-dust on one of the control boards. And most importantly: no one is here to greet you. As you turn and look to your fellow crewmates in confusion, even now some of you might start to wonder at the change of routine. Ivy, who had just been handling the orb, will be empty-handed, but surely there’s nothing to worry about. The station is peaceful and still. Nothing feels amiss … yet. And then:

// 0-L1V-14

Oh, hello. You are not the team I know. Yet you are here for the orb … Good.

The sound of 0-L1V-14 — or 'Olivia' as many have come to call her — voice springs to life around you. She almost seems to sound confused for a moment, clearly recalibrating her systems for this strange occurrence, before the gentle tenor of her voice regains its composure and she recalls her mission directive. The lights in the teleportation platform seem to glow just a little brighter, as though the arrival of the crew has buoyed the AI's spirits.

// 0-L1V-14

I've located one within the station, but it seems to have fractured. The air around them appears to have some sort of temporal disturbance that I can't quite pin down. Be cautious, but bring them to me before anything happens.

Well? You heard the AI. Best to start looking.

1.0   The first thing you might think to do is return to the sleeping quarters, either to clean up and change into another set of clothes; or to take a much-deserved nap; or maybe you just need a moment to yourself to collect your thoughts. The doors to the sleeping quarters seem to stick for a moment, which isn’t worrying in and of itself, but as the doors slide open you realize that you’re looking into a dark and empty carved out space that resembles a place for storage more than anything else. The walls and doors that used to make up your individual rooms are absent, and the floors are stripped bare, with rows of perforated grates allowing the cavernous space to remain relatively well-ventilated. It’s clear that no one has visited this room in quite some time, and perhaps there had once been plans for it, now abandoned to hold a stock of random items in its place.

There are boxes stacked against the wall, and a shelving unit that holds miscellaneous supplies: cans and boxes, batteries and wires, old bound notebooks made of paper. Rolls of rough tarp are haphazardly leaning against the wall to one corner, and thermal blankets are scattered amongst scraps of loose-leaf, a sketch of a cluster of spherical shapes in different colours, and other foreign knick-knacks that seem to have no place on a space station. If you decide to explore this space you’ll have to provide your own source of light as none of the lighting above seem to work though the row of fixtures that you’re used to seem, at least, to have been installed. They’re just not currently online.

Investigating the room a little deeper might draw you to a simple metal box sitting in the middle shelf next to what looks like a half-broken lute, its strings missing. There is no lock on this box, as though it wants to be opened, and lifting the lid will reveal a bright rosy-coloured light. Reaching out towards the small sliver of light in the shape of an elongated teardrop will recall a memory of your childhood so vivid, you’ll think you were back in that time, in that exact moment, to relive it again. Whether it's a good memory or a tragic one is left up to random chance. Only someone entering the room to talk you through your memory will remind you that you aren’t actually a child any longer.

2.0   Perhaps you decide to forgo the sleeping quarters entirely, and want to revisit one of your favourite simulations in the simulation room. Familiar oceans, the futuristic bar, or the room filled with adorable puppies might be your first choice — but every preset you’re used to scrolling through seems to be different now. There are the standard, familiar pre-mission training simulations, and even the Lodgen Mountain Mines mission appears to be here, but everything else has either been deleted … or it was never here to begin with.

You might decide to go ahead with one of the already existing simulations anyway, or you might want to start rewriting the one you’d come here for in the first place. It will depend on your luck, and it will depend on the success of your mission-training, but a small shard of bright, silvery coloured light may suddenly reveal itself to you. It appears like a thin tear-shape that hangs suspended in the air. The faintest whisper beckons you close; it’s familiar. Will you reach out to touch it? Doing so will colour the simulation room around you with a memory so real it might as well be — suddenly you might recall a happy moment in your life, or perhaps your greatest victory or adventure. This can be shared with whoever enters the simulation room with you or after you, and will fade when you manage to locate the right door and leave the room.

3.0   The sunlight room that you may have walked through on countless occasions is missing the familiar bridge, the river that runs beneath it, and trees that surround it. Instead, the vegetation around you appears to be far more deliberate and practical, thick foliage like bushes planted in rows, their large leaves covering most of the ground and soil. Several small metal boxes with wires and buttons can be found planted across the space, each with a thin rotating disc that whirs and spins quietly. Each of these boxes appears to give off readings, each screen displaying a continuous green wavy line scrolling across it and text that displays the quality of the air with a percentile grade, the amount of it being produced, and that particular box’s designation zone: Mess Hall, Storage, Living Quarters, and Teleportation Platform among others. This isn’t just a room that simulates nature, but if you were to approach any of the small bushes and saplings here, it’s clear that the plants here are real and they’re currently working to provide the rest of the station with oxygen.

Further to the back of the sunlight room, a bright sliver of colourful green light seems to glitter and glint between the leaves. It feels familiar in the way that it whispers faintly, and if you concentrate you can make out the sound of your name in a voice like that of someone from your past: a friend, perhaps, or a family member. Maybe a loved one or an enemy. Or perhaps it’s a voice you can’t actually recognize. It might compel you to reach out for the light, but will you listen? Or will you turn away?

If you embrace the light and call out in answer to the voice, you will re-experience the action, the conversation, or the thought that you attribute as being the reason you are who you are today with that most important person being the key piece in your memory.

4.0   Looking for your usual snacks? Feeling peckish for that bowl of instant spicy space-ramen you saved for post-mission? You might head into the kitchen expecting the familiar foodstuffs that you’re used to only to find that the room has been rearranged, with far fewer cupboards and appliances, and more of what looks like typical space-fare: freeze-fried items and nutrition-focused meals sealed into silver foiled bags. What ‘fresh’ ingredients exist are even less, and there are a stack of dirty plates and cutlery in the sink that don’t look like anything you or your crewmates might have used. You may already suspect that this whole station isn’t the one you’re used to, or you might still be in denial. Either way, you may find through your rummaging the call to a little sliver of coppery-coloured light located behind the freezer door.

If you decide to touch the fragment of light here, you’ll feel a ghostly burning as though the glint of the light has cut your skin, almost cold enough to feel sharp — but it’s just your imagination, isn’t it? What you remember now as it comes back to life around you (and the team member or members who may have joined you) is the best meal you’ve ever eaten, whether it is something you made for yourself, something made by your loved one, or the meal that leaves your heart feeling empty and aching.

5.0   You may have become so accustomed to seeing the North Wing doors sealed that it’s your curiosity that draws you forward to the wide expanse beyond the now open wing, your feet testing the threshold as if you’re expecting an invisible wall to keep you out. Nothing happens when you step into the North Wing, though you might immediately notice the large tank that holds all of the team’s successfully captured orbs is very clearly missing. And not only that but the space appears to be well lived in, a small cluster of worn chairs and a table set to one side, and data pads and drawings on white-boards in plain view. They don’t seem to be much more than a couple of crude strategy diagrams (and a couple of silly stick figures in one corner) and as you move towards the crew quarters, some of you might instantly recognize the familiar room with its rows of beds and a scattering of personal effects assigned to each bunk. Photos are pinned to walls of a twenty-person crew, pillows and blankets are left in disarray by unfinished knitting projects, a diary written in a language you can’t quite translate, and a stuffed elephant-shaped plush doll lies at the head of one of the beds in the middle of the room. By the door is a neatly made bed. An analogue paperback novel sits on the nightstand, a bookmark set in the middle to note its progress. On top of it is a well-kept watch stopped a little after the sixth hour and a medal of service in the now recognizable insignia of the Ndiera Complex’s Federation.

By the far wall of these sleeping quarters is a bright golden starlight that seems to illuminate that side of the room as though someone had turned on a torchlight to the highest setting; it’s almost blinding. Moving closer to it, you’ll find that it’s like all the other slivers of light scattered across the station — a broken shard, like a piece of a large puzzle. Touching it may pull you — and whoever might be in the room with you — into a memory from your time with the Ximilia crew, whether it happened over a year ago, or it happened only on the last mission. It might be a happy memory, or it might be something you regret, which is poignant considering your initial raison d’etre for being here at all. It’s a vision that appears from your perspective and while you relive it, you feel outside of yourself.

6.0   The rest of the station still appears to be intact, with the infirmary, the training room, and the armoury in the same locations that you remember. Those of you who have been here for quite some time, you’ll find your way around by muscle memory alone; but even if you’re a newer member of the crew you’ll have wandered the halls enough to know what feels familiar to you … and what doesn’t.

The infirmary looks to be a little out of date, though it looks as if it’s seen its fair share of use. And it’s smaller too, the more recent addition and surgical area missing from the cozy space. The training room and the armoury share similar qualities of seeming a little older, a little more lived in, and with well-used equipment and weapons to boot. The training room is still padded with firm padded flooring and benches for sitting. Some of the racks and hooks (all empty) that had been against the wall have fallen now, and similar to the teleportation room, you’ll find that some of the paneling in this room has since peeled away, revealing some of the bare structure behind them. In the armoury, you won’t find your favourite knife or preferred staff but there are still a few choices in weaponry to arm yourself with.

Wherever you decide to explore, you might once more happen upon a bright bluish light that seems to whisper and call to you in soft, hushed tones. No specific words can be picked out through the murmurs but the feeling is all the same — it draws you forward like a moth to flame, but whether you decide to reach a hand out to touch the sliver of light that hangs suspended in the air is entirely your choice. If you do, you might succumb to a vivid memory of a significant injury you or someone important to you had suffered once, reliving that moment with too sharp clarity. Those feelings of fear or threat or maybe even satisfaction seem to come to you again as though you were there again — only this time you may not be alone as you witness this memory, and someone else has entered the room with you.

● ● ●

Present Day.

The teleportation platform hums quietly in a clean, well-maintained room. No walls or floors appear to be even the least bit dented, and now the Commander of the Ximilia stands behind the control board, staring at the screen as though doing so will bring their crew back by some wild form of magic. Degar knows magic — he’d come from a world so full of it. This, however, is something different.

Beside him, Viveca scans through the data that had sent the crew into the Ndiera Complex, as it should have brought them back the same way, with the orb in tow.

// VIVECA

“I don’t know how it happened… they should have arrived here. Everything seemed normal! But I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.”

// DEGAR

“They could be anywhere, right? Except we can’t even help them if we don’t know where that might be.”

// VIVECA

“I know. The strange thing is that it seems that we’ve located another orb… only, it states that it’s here. On the station. So even if the platform sent them straight to it… why aren’t they here?”

The Commander and the AI both turn their gaze towards the still empty teleportation platform before exchanging worried glances with each other. Degar finally heaves an exhale but the frown in his features deepens.

// DEGAR

“Keep working at it. I’m going to see what I can figure out in the station’s systems. Maybe we can trace back to the team somewhere. Or somewhen.”

Viveca nods, her voice sounding complicated when she responds next.

// VIVECA

“Yeah. We’ll find them.”

TOP

F Y I

• The events in this log take place during the first two weeks of June.

• For this mission, we have decided to run the search request mechanic a little differently. Depending on whether your character decides to touch or grasp one or any of the slivers of coloured light that can be found throughout the station, you will have the opportunity to participate in a search request. More on this is explained HERE.

• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.

• Any in-character questions to 0-L1V-14 can be asked HERE.

• And finally, your soundtrack for this log: ♪ ♪ ♪

TOP

▶ NAV

Comments

[dispassioned]

[He probably shouldn't be surprised but he is. A startled breath stutters from his chest as her arms slide around his shoulders.

He wraps his arms around her in response. Slowly, at first, still a little dazed and wrung out from the memory, before fully relaxing into her embrace.]

Alina?

[He'd like to say, it's okay, but he thinks she might disagree. And maybe it's not, really. That memory is a difficult one. Terrible in some ways, exhausting, but it was a turning point for him, too. Kuzuryu's choice had saved him in more ways than one.]

[peasant]

[ she doesn't immediately move to respond. the only evidence she's heard him at all is the cinching, python-squeeze of her arms. but after another breath shudders from her lungs, she mumbles, half-tucked away in the alcove of his shoulder: ]

Do you still feel that way?

[ he must know what she means. like his life is running on limited time, indifferent to the possibility of its end. like the value of it is questionable, at best, and worthless at worst. like — he envies that man's surrender, finding peace even in the midst of a grotesque death.

it doesn't feel fair to ask, as though she's breaching the compromise they'd just made, poking at what he might have never wanted her to witness. but she can't help it, all the same — underlined by an obvious tentativeness in her tone that worries he'll confirm his thoughts haven't changed, haven't faded at all, with time. ]

[dispassioned]

[He blinks slowly at the question. It doesn’t occur to him to object, based on the deal they had just made. Perhaps he’s momentarily forgotten it, or maybe he better understands her desire to let him ask questions once the door has been forced open.

He releases a sigh. He does wonder how much time he’d have once his time on the Ximilia is over. If he might not just return to bleed out and die on the street. But he feels less indifferent to that possibility than he once had. Less content with his resignation.]

No. Not really.

[peasant]

[ okay, she could say. leave it there, content with the affirmation he isn't another man with a death wish circulating through her life, and leave the rest of this baggage untouched. something for him to unpack at a later date, without her prying to move the process along.

that would be what's respectful, perhaps. what might be gentler treatment, as he'd called it.

it isn't what she does. she teeters back, holding fast to the wiry width of his biceps, to determine for herself if the look in his eye is sincere. he's never been one to sugarcoat things, just for the sake of sweetening a harsh and bitter dose of reality, and yet ...

no one ever outright states they long for the escape death could be. he has reason to handle her like a child to be kept in the dark, now. her gaze flickers between his, unsettled, like she's searching for something he isn't privy to. ]

What changed?

[ that's the million dollar question, isn't it? she can't begin to claim she understands what had triggered the switch in him, or the paths presented to him. but she wonders, idly, if it wasn't this very moment — one man's surrender infusing him with a need to move forward. ]

[dispassioned]

[What changed? A lot of things. Kuzuryu and Arisu had changed his worldview, reminding him that kindness did exist in the world and that it wasn’t just a pathetic exercise in futility. He paid Kuzuryu’s sacrifice forward by saving Usagi, and that might have been the end of it, but then the Ximilia happened, with its promise of second chances.

His time on Naephus. The children at the orphanage. Alina.

He sucks a thoughtful breath between his teeth as she searches his face, meeting her gaze.]

Well, it doesn’t all feel pointless now. There are things I want to do.

[peasant]

[ it doesn't take long to slot the pieces together, an easily solvable puzzle. she smiles, though it's faint, a tinge of green and blue around its edges. it's difficult to shake the nausea, and even more difficult to shed the melancholy that had pervaded that memory, but she's —

proud, she thinks. glad, moreso, to see he's found some purpose to fulfill him, now, the way a broken ravka has needed her to heal it. ]

— Because you're planning to practice medicine again.

[ no question tips the end of her question. there's a certain, revelatory confidence that tinges it, instead. what other choice could be so monumental and transformative? his emphasis on lost children has, if this memory is anything to go by, always been a sown seed in his heart. time on naephus must have only ripened that desire until it became a full bloom, impossible to ignore. ]

[dispassioned]

Mm. I'd like to.

[And he'd like to do it on his terms, find a way to do it that's fulfilling rather than disheartening, like it had been on Naephus.

He takes a breath, studying her.]

And I still need to cook something for you.

[This little detour into the past, this ximilia with its limited supplies, had put that plan on hold, but he hadn't forgotten it. Though he realizes she might not want to think about food at the moment.]

When your appetite is back. And we're back in the right time period.

[peasant]

[ predictably, her stomach roils in protest. that appetite isn't going to make its triumphant return any time in the near future, but that serves her well enough. the texture of pasty rations isn't an appealing meal, nutritionally balanced or otherwise.

the corners of her mouth still manage the dying spasms of a smile, regardless. it's such a small reason for anticipating the future, but when you're so certain of your inevitable death ... she understands how it's the minute comforts that keep them all pushing forward.

accepting her own martyrdom as an eventual end to her story had made everything seem brighter, itself.

her fingers drift down his forearms to his hands, snagging up his fingers. they offer a comforting squeeze before she threads them together, loosely laced. ]

You're not going to try to impress me with freeze-dried mystery meats?

[ the teasing in that joke falls half-way flat, with all that's been witnessed today. but — an attempt was made, all the same. ]

[dispassioned]

There's no saving the mystery meats.

[Especially not someone with his limited culinary experience.

But he wonders if she understood what he was trying to say. He realizes sometimes she misses his point when he's indirect about it.

He seems suddenly important that she understand, since she was forced to witness this particular moment of his life.]

Spending time with you makes a difference, too.

[Feeling a connection with someone who is present and alive. It's hard to deny the positive influence of something like that, especially when he's felt so few connections in his life.]

[peasant]

[ it's a terrifying confession, to have a fraction of responsibility for another's happiness. it's a thrilling shock, too, to be an important stitch woven through someone else's life. she stumbles into a smile, more pronounced by the crinkles at her eyes. ]

So I'm one of those "things you want to do".

[ it breaks through some of the depressive veil that drapes around the room, that burst of levity. her dimples carve into her cheeks, then fall to regard him with an attentive tenderness, stroking soft fingers absently over the backs of his knuckles. ]

Makes a difference how?

[dispassioned]

[The joke startles a laugh out of him, his own cheeks dimpling with the smile that comes with it. He can’t deny it’s true, even if that wasn’t what he meant.]

And I wasn’t even trying to be incorrigible that time.

[Apparently, it’s just another natural talent of his.

Her follow up question really seems to answer itself in the face of his amusement. Honest amusement with nothing derisive or mocking behind it.]

Well, you make me smile.

[That's obvious right now, isn’t it? It should be.

But there are a lot of ways she’s made a difference. Like he told her last time they spoke he feels comfortable and accepted with her. She seems to like him and want him around. Little things that can mean a lot to someone who grew up lonely and unable to fit in.

But she’s also had an effect on his world view, reinforced some of the positive lessons he learned in Borderland, encouraged him to expand his horizons a little.]

And you inspired me to look at things differently. To try things.

[peasant]

A first for you.

[ the lack of incorrigibility. a smile enmeshed in sincerity. a new viewpoint. her quip encapsulates all of the above, to the point where she feels no need to offer clarification. a glint of a clandestine smile sparks in her eyes in response, circling her thumb absently over the bones in his wrist.

there's no promise the next world will allow them the same freedoms. that it will be so liberal with what it has to offer. but — ]

Next planet, we'll find more things for you to try. Carry on the tradition.

[ he very well doesn't seem the type to write and pocket a list of all the adventures he's never had. but everyone has to start somewhere on a blank page. a dimpled divot makes its reappearance as she leans in, pressing her mouth to what she can reach with easy effort — the underside of his chin, as it turns out, soft and chaste. ]

Sounds like you're in need of a compass for these sorts of things.

[dispassioned]

[The lack of incorrigiblilty might not last long, honestly. But the other items on the list have the possibility for longevity.

He hums softly, his heart shuddering in his chest as she kisses his chin.]

Do you think so?

[He murmurs thoughtfully as he tips his head downward, brushing his lips against the corner of her mouth.

He hadn't thought of it has needing a compass, but maybe she's right. He hasn't had many people offer him things like encouragement. Things that would act as a compass and provide direction when he needed it. A few teachers here and there telling him he was smart and had potential, but that's it. Until Borderland, anyway.]

[peasant]

I do. Luckily, I'm not the worst at navigation.

[ it doesn't take much thought. not when his compass had surely been pointed toward death and nothingness. who better to redirect him, help him chart a new course forward, than a retired mapmaker?

she lets the words absorb into his cheek, the pointed tip of her nose swiping up to meet his. with it comes the first wave of calm that's swept over her all day, some transient semblance of peace she knows will dissipate like a phantom. but for now —

gingerly, she sets her hands atop the nape of his neck, weaving her fingers together behind his head like latticework. ]

For what it's worth ... I am grateful you didn't give up hope. I'd have never known you, if you had.

[ perhaps it's a selfish, warped sentiment to give. that man's disintegrating body is still fresh in her mind — a statement that had come at a cost. chishiya only lives because he had chosen the peace of sacrifice. but it feels worse, still, to minimize the mercy that he had paid chishiya, that day.

a second chance not taken is a second chance wasted. ]

[dispassioned]

[There's a gentle swelling of warmth in his chest. "For what it’s worth." It’s worth more than he can say. It’s not a sentiment that’s ever been shared with him before. Not like this. Beyond the empty social niceties of nice to meet you, as though it actually means something.

And because he can’t quite find the words to express how it makes him feel, and he knows that even at the best of times putting emotions to words is a challenge for him he chooses to act instead. He leans down to capture her lips with his in a real kiss, gentle and appreciative.

He still feels that actions speak louder, anyway.]

[peasant]

[ yeah, she speaks semi-fluent chishiya, by now. the press of his mouth is a form of gratitude that needs no translation. carries no risk of misunderstanding. she tips up into it, the dainty cusp of her palms framing his cheekbones. it's a lingering, light thing — sweet as gum drops dissolving on the mouth before she pulls away, with a parting peck to the corner of his lips.

the sides of her own slant, as softly teasing as a brush of silk — a match for her warm, balmy whisper. ]

You're welcome.

[dispassioned]

[He hums softly, his lips twitching in amusement. Maybe "thank you" would have sufficed, but this felt better.]

You're good at this.

[At dealing with the aftermath of seeing someone else's memory. At expressing concern and sympathy.

And kissing, too, obviously.]

[peasant]

[ good at it? she's not sure she would pass the same judgment on herself. but it bodes well for the future, if chishiya believes so. grants her the opportunity to extend comforts the darkling had never dared allow his grisha, shuttered away from their reach — too coldly numb to grapple with their lives, their traumas.

her thumb circles the bounding pulse in his wrist, sparing it a few thoughtful seconds before: ]

I would hope so. We've been practicing it for some time.

[ the kissing, obviously. she isn't so densely oblivious, with her head drifting in the clouds, to have his true meaning pass her by. but she would be remiss, if she didn't seize the opportunity to lean into that cheek.

anything, perhaps, to lure him into a distraction. a reminder of how even the smallest light can illuminate a cynical world, if only for a time. an incorrigible grin affixes itself to her mouth, to drive the point home. ]

[dispassioned]

[He huffs a quiet chuckle, his lips quirking upward in amusement again, a glint of mischief returning to his expression.]

We can always practice more, if you want to.

[It seems he can still be incorrigible himself, in case she was worried about that.]

[peasant]

[ ah, there he is. mission? a glaring success. incredulity lifts her eyebrows toward her hairline, squeezing her lungs until she puffs out a breath. ]

Good to see you haven't somehow misplaced your ability to be incorrigible.

[ that's fine. she much prefers him this way, mischievous and mirthful, than the apathetic shell of a man she'd just witnessed. ]

[dispassioned]

[His amusement is clear on his face as he watches her expression shift to one of incredulity. Did she really think he could resist that opening? He doubts it.]

Hm. You can be incorrigible yourself, you know.

[peasant]

[ she sniffs once, twice, all to lend to an air of faux-offense. alina starkov, incorrigible? never. she has a list of eyewitness testimony that would likely dispute that fact, from ana kuya to mal to genya, but they're not very well here to support chishiya's claims. and so — ]

Me?

[ batting her eyelashes innocently would be ineffective. not that the smug upturn to her mouth is doing her many favors. ]

You've no proof.

[dispassioned]

[His eyebrows lift slightly as one side of his mouth quirks upward.]

No? I could have sworn you just made a comment about me wanting to "do you."

[peasant]

[ her brows scrunch up. it's almost an impressively convincing approximation of confused obliviousness, if the truth weren't so apparent. ]

I don't know what that turn of phrase means.

[ and he neither has it in writing or recorded. plausible deniability. so — ]

Is that a euphemism of some sort?

[ 👼 ]

[dispassioned]

[He has seen her express honest confusion maybe one time since he met her and afterwards it took her a good 5 minutes to get past her embarrassment. She's being far to open with it now.

He knows she’s full of shit.

But, she’s left him another opening he can't quite resist.]

Would you like me to show you?