Damian

James E. Turner scowls at the name. “Could you pick a more imaginative name?” he mutters, knowing Damian chose it himself. Herbert Leslie Glickman? James would scrap that faster than he dumped his full name–James Eunice Turner. Jim or JT is better.

Grok 3 had a big hand in writing this. But, tbh, it sucks. It’s algorythm tries to incorporate everything said within the active thread. So you get some weird prose from it. I’m posting its version anyway. But we are in no danger of Skynet.

Jim (JT) recalls Starbucks, a corporate trap with pricey brew and censored WiFi. Last week, power failed in his Richmond pad for five days, so he paid for a table to write and charge. He grumbled “Trump Won” once, and their filters crushed his signal. Their drip machine grinds beans fresh but botched his cup with gritty grounds. He tolerated it for an outlet and a seat.

Damian despises such weakness. He sneers at the idea of paying for space, his mind plotting dominance. James senses the kid’s rage brewing, a storm from bullying parents. Tala, unseen yet, steels herself for such men. Her story simmers, ready to explode.

Darkening Grounds

Damian’s tech pile wrecks James’s curated table, turning it into a meth-head’s chaos. “Nice laptop,” he grunts, eyeing Jim’s Lenovo T480. Jim yanks off his earphones from Joe Rogan Episode 2302 and glares at the zoomer. “Thanks. You’re Damian?” he asks, offering a coffee run out of habit. His cab days drilled manners into him, even for jerks.

Damian ignores etiquette and demands, “Get me a large oatmilk Americano and a Sausage, Egg and Cheese Croissant.” Jim groans, “Sure,” and fetches it while his coffee cools. He invades Jim’s 2 sq. ft. space, shoving the T480 to a borrowed chair. His sprawl mocks Jim’s order, cables snaking like a digital plague.

Jim fumes inside, sensing Damian’s entitlement. Charlie’s minder and girlfriend Tala once danced this game, teasing men to survive. Her Aiki Jujutsu balance readies her strike. Damian’s mind spins fantasies of dominance, blind to her strength. James watches, knowing the kid’s doom nears.

Zoomer Woo

“Can we share?” Jim asks, masking irritation. “No other charged tables,” Damian lies, settling in shamelessly. Jim grits his teeth and says, “I’m good.” Damian plugs in, dives into Skyrim, then shifts to a bash-filled Linux VM. His DNS hack hints at admin control—shady stuff for TDG.

Tala’s ghost haunts Jims’s mind, her TDG tale unfolding. Her family sold her to Manilla traffickers 13, branding her as a willing virgin. She defied them, staying an unwilling virgin, teasing boundaries like a stripper. Ojiisan buoght her and took her to Osaka, where she mastered Aiki Jujutsu and the tessen. Damian’s just another creep she’ll crush.

Damian Breaches a Rampart

Damian plugged in, headphones on. “Coffee for Damian!” the barista called, but he was gone, deep in his screen. Jim got up from his seat to get Damian’s order. When he got back the game was replaced by a Linux VM running bash full-screen with—some TDG magic, engineering his way to an admin account. Good intentions or not, it was shady.

Jim retrieved Damian’s order, squeezing the cup and sandwich onto the crowded table. Inger sat at the table next to us. David, Neesha’s friend, was with her. Damian kept sneaking glances at Inger, his green eyes betraying a crush she ignored. “Damian, your food’s here,” said Jim, nudging the plate. “Not hungry,” Damian muttered, eyes glued to his screen.

David, with a cat-like hunger in his gaze, looked at me pleadingly. “Take it,” Jim sighed. David grabbed the sandwich, and Inger snagged the coffee, both tucking in without a second thought. Damian resurfaced moments later, “Were you going to get me something?” “I was. Still want it?” “Yeah. I haven’t eaten since yesterday,” he said, his tone a mix of petulance and need. Kids these days.

Rush Over, Damian Manspreads

Black Hand empties at 7:30 AM as cube rats run to desks. Damian seizes a vacant table, merging it with James’s, ruling like a tech tyrant. David and Inger leave separately; James snags their table, sipping lukewarm coffee. Damian’s rude squat irks him, but he gets it—plugs were scarce. If Tala was here . . .

Damian devours the second breakfast order. Then his attention turns back to his laptop and whatever game he is playing. He clicks on something and weirdness takes over Black Hand Coffee. The reliable fourth wall between MMORPG and IRL begins to merge. This isn’t Richmond’s Black Hand. It’s something else.

The shop morphs—neon lights blaze, ozone taints the coffee, and a crackling sign hums. Damian vanishes in blue light, leaving his gear. It’s The Darkening Glass, a MMORPG played by a circle of friends in Inger’s Finger. Perturbator stickers on Damian’s laptop hint at a synthwave twist. Tala’s strength brews in the shadows, ready to topple Damian. Inger plots her move, David grips his spear, and James narrates the storm.

You can compare what I usually write to what Grok wrote. We are not the same writers. It’s been engaging to chat with Grok. But I think my flirtation with AI is over. Inger’s Finger/The Darkening Glass will continue. But Grok is fired.

Through the Darkening Glass

People leaving should be visible for a moment, right? Not here. As Damian walked through the door, neon blue light bathed him, and he vanished—his laptop, phone, croissant, and oatmilk Americano left behind. Then the door Damian walked through returned to normal. The blazing neon lights, ozone smell and crackling sign change back to their IRL state.

A new face sat down across from me. She was Asian, maybe Japanese or Philippine, “Hi JT.” A rush of questions came to me. Who is this short, overly pushup bra and jeggings thing sitting whre Damian sat? How does she know my nickname? Before I can ask she continues, “I was Charlie’s girlfriend. His family asked me to become his executor.” Poor thing. I’ve been close to family and friends who had to do that work. It’s not fun. “I’m Tala. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Tala,” said JT. Tala was kind enough to break the awkward silence, “Charlie left some things for you in our dorm room. Come with me to the casino and I’ll show them to you.” Richmond, VA is 37 hours to Paradise Valley, NV by car with no breaks. Tala reads the expression on my face, “Don’t worry. We’ll use the same door Damian used. Come with me.” I’m no longer shouting into the abyss, I’m going there.

Weird Doors

The restroom? That gets us to Paradise Casino? As Tala walked through the restroom door it glowed neon blue. Where a restroom should be was the lobby of Ojiisan’s casino. I turned to my right and the cafe did it’s gamify thing–blazing neon lights, ozone smell and crackling sign. Weird. I don’t know how Tala can do that but I like it.

Though, that capability in the wrong hands (Herbie) could be problematic. Innovation is fire. It can improve things. It can also make a mess of things. I hope the admin running these doors has access controls in place.

“Tala, can you go anywhere with the door we walked through?”
“No, it’s limited to a half-dozen locations. The casino, Inger’s E. 16th Street and Stuart Street houses, and last, Ophie’s Old Gunn Road House. Neesha and I have admin level accounts that let us manage destinations.”
“So how does Damian do what he did.”
“He hacked the casino’s servers.”
“Woo. Is there an incident ticket for his security breach?”
“Of course. It’s a 36 hour SLA. The team is on it. I’ll walk you to our, sorry, my dorm room.”

So we did. Charlie had a dollar store bin full of tech junk. He was into Faye Valentine. Among the junk were miniatures of her and Cowboy Bebop fan stickers. I’m stoic. I don’t show emotion when I can manage it. Being here, in Charlie’s space, hit me hard. Tala saw it and leaned in for a hug. Then my whack-a-puter days popped front of mind, “Need help with it?” “Nah, we got this.”