Today, we meditate upon the phrase "just a thought." A simple phrase, this line is generally used in a self-deprecating manner, to suggest that a preceding or proceding statement has very little weight because it is, not to put too fine a point on it, just a thought, as opposed to a declarative sentence, a fully-formed argument, a strongly-held opinion, an electric waffle-maker, or the Dutch National Basketball team. The implied point is that whatever statement this phrase refers to is worthy of some consideration but not serious thought, because it's either incomplete, in progress, poorly thought-out, or simply insignificant. Something which is just a thought, obviously, is something which is meant to have less value than, hypothetically, something which is just a twelve-page persuasive essay with counter arguments and references.

It also implies that thoughts are somehow insigificant. Given the kinds of thoughts I think most people think up, I can't fully disagree.

To my mind, the phrase "just a thought" is intrinsically a down-playing one. It says outright that something is "just" as in "merely." In many cases, this is probably quite true... most people don't place much value on their casual thoughts, for better or for worse. Obviously, most people consider their average thoughts to be relatively insignificant. Equally obviously, I think no such thing. My thoughts aren't merely anything. My thoughts are highly significant, each and every one a gem of genius and brilliance (except for the ones that aren't). Even my lesser thoughts are significant -- they have the honour of being the bookeneds of my big, important, significant thoughts. All of my thoughts are special, important, and worth paying attention to. Some of my ideas are bad, and for that matter, some are outright stupid, but thery still aren't "just a thought." They're *my* thoughts.

Similarly, I'm not fond of the phrase "penny for your thoughts." Taking into account normal market fluctuation, my thoughts are currently valued at $12.97 CDN (11.57 USD), and forecasts suggest a rising market value. Of course, my thoughts tend to be larger and more aesthetically pleasant than those of the average thinker, so you get superior quality and value for the higher cost. One phrase which I *am* fond of is "you get what you pay for."

Eric's note: As most of you know, since discovering how much I enjoy writing the KP 42 stories, I've been playing with the idea of selling them, and have in fact sent off two of the stories posted in this Journal to publishers. One thing that occured to me was that if conventional publishers aren't interested in the stories (which is very likely), then I might try selling the stories to the Black Library, the publishing arm of Games Workshop, the company responsible for Warhammer 40K. With only minor modification, the KP 42 stories could be turned from a government agent to an augmetic agent of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and GW has published many stories worse than mine. The following is not, and I use the term very loosely, a cannonical story of KP 42, but rather an experiment with sticking the character into the WH40K universe. The essential character is unchanged, but putting him into an established universe and metaplot does give a variety of new organizations and storylines to play with, even as it restricts some of the stuff I can do with my own characters.

For the record, two people have thus far corectly guessed what universe the "real" KP 42 stories are set in... I've dropped some relatively subtle hints, not the kinds of things I expected anybody to notice. One person suggested that they were alreday set in the 40K universe, given my use of phrases like "augmetic" and "imperial guard" but, obviously, this isn't the case. In reality, KP 42 was originally conceived as existing within my personal favourite future: a Star-Warsian fantasy/future wherein the premiere galactic power is none other than the Aerican Empire. The KP is a little-known but much-feared division of the Aerican Imperial Guard: The Killer Penguins. And now you know.

       A few years back, when I was briefly attached to the staff of Inquisitor Frendo of His Divine Majesty's Ordo Malleus, we were doing the barhop trying to find information on a fleeing suspected witch. While at one of the more disreputable establishments, a drunken native accosted us. Thanks to the cogitator in my head, I can remember the incident word for word, even replay the video for myself if I want to. Loudly and obnoxiously, he walked right up to Inquisitor Frendo, poked him in the chest, and said, "that necklace is the ugliest thing I've ever seen. What does it stand for, 'Idiot?'" For years, I've looked back on that incident and thought it was the stupidest action I'd ever see performed.
       I now stand corrected. This... this is worse.
       I'm crouched on a rocky ledge some thirty feet above what I can only describe as a sacrificial pit. There's a pile of skulls as tall as me in the center, and I'm fairly certain that the arcane symbols drawn on them aren't red paint. There are six people down there, all of them nobles from some of the lesser houses of this misbegotten world. The KP had sent me here because of concerns that some Mechanicus files might have been getting misused by an up-and-coming manufactorum, but now that I'm actually sitting around and watching them get ready to make an invocation to the Ruinous Powers, I'm sort of feeling... Well, let's just say I hate my job.
       The woman closest to the center of the summoning circle is one Lady Desip of House Desip. I know everything about her from her suspected illegal contacts to her favourite foods and her measurements -- the other advantage of having a cogitator in your head being that you never have to work hard to memorise a mission dossier. She's the one brandishing the brass knife and chanting words that make me glad I'm able to filter out sounds from my audioceptors. She's the one I was originally sent here to investigate as a "possible security risk." Let's hear it for solid intel. Besides her, I recognise Lord Secuu (who I believe to be the one who harvested most of those skulls) and Lord Nequabsi (who's really only peripherally involved in this, but whose liquor cabinet I none-the-less confiscated as evidence yesterday... I wonder if he's noticed yet that it's empty...). The other three perople down there aren't of importance -- they're all wearing light armour rather than robes, which suggests that they're either bodyguards or next season's fashion will be kevlar.
       Of course, I said six "people," by which I wasn't including the seventh individual down there. Towering a good two feet taller than any of the humans, the Chaos Marine belongs to a chapter not listed in my databanks, but his dented red armour and huge axe suggest to me his allegiance. I don't know exactly why he's there -- he doesn't seem to be taking part in the ritual itself, but I suppose that maybe he's just keeping an eye (or whatever he sees out of) on things. His presence complicates matters... a cult is one thing, but if one of the Traitor Legions is here, the problem could be worse than even my paranoid delusions (which have so far been proven absolutely correct, thank you very much) had suggested. His presence also means I can't just walk down there and take the humans cultists into custody; even if they were going to come peacefully, the Big Guy will probably scream something about blood and proceed to make a fuss. My enhanced strength isn't a match for his by a long shot, and I'm not carrying any guns right now that I'd give a better than fifty-fifty chance of hurting him. Damn, I hate it when the forces of evil have better armour than I do.
       I'm still trying to decide on the best course of action as the ritual begins. I'm no expert on how these things go, but I assume that I've got at least a few minutes to observe and come up with a plan before whatever they're trying to do happens. I study the scebne's details carefully for a good thirty seconds and let my battle computer run some scenatios. Once it's planned out two or three sequences that don't end in my horrible violent death, I pick one and run with it. I also make a mental note that next time I do a mission like this, I bring with a sniper rifle, regardless of local firearms laws.
       My plan is contingent on two basic premises. First, if I make a big splashy entrance, everybody down there will scatter away from me except for the Marine. I stand up slowly and quietly, then scream something incoherent and jump down. Thirty feet isn't any sort of problem for me, and I land on tips and toes as lightly as an assault marine right in the center of the ritual site.
       "In the name of the Emperor," I shout, the vox in my helmet amplifying my voice and deepening it to a nice, intimidating degree of authority. "You are all under arrest for heresy. Surrender and come peacefully or else."
       Exactly as hoped, the humans all back away from me quickly, and suddenly I've got a good fifteen feet of radius to work with. The Marine actually takes a full two seconds longer than i'd expected before he lifts his axe and charges me -- he must be the cautious type. I spring to my feet and dip my hand into one of my equipment pouches. The Marine is within five feet of me now and starting his swing, slow and inexorable as a docking battle barge. This is where the second basic premise of my plan comes into play: Big Ugly isn't wearing his helmet.
       I toss a grenade into his face and duck, flipping off my audioceptors. My field of view lights up prettily -- fireworks in space -- and then several hundred pounds of headless Chaos Marine thumps to the ground next to me. My audioceptors turn back on in time for me to catch "-- him, shoot him!" And they do, quite well to my annoyance. A half dozen solid slugs hit me from three directions; none of them breach my armour, although I am knocked off my feet by the simple kinetic energy of the impacts. I respond in kind, drawing two laspistols from the holsters built into my legs and letting the targeting computer do the hard work. The bodyguards go down (they weren't wearing helmets either; it's a serious lack of susvival instinct common on this planet, it seems) and nobles start to yell. For a second I think they're panicking, but then the two lords actually jump me. I hear Lady whatshername saying something I can't make out, but I ignore it for the moment to focus on the two morons holding me down. They've got the Khornate tactics down pat, but they haven't got the strength or fighting skills for it... Secuu practically jumps right into my left hand pistol butt (I admit, i had to swing it a *little*), and when Nequabsi wraps his arms around me in a grapple, I break his grip with little more than a stretch, then put him down with what I consider to be a quick and merciful strike to the side of his head. Satisfied, I hop back onto my feet and turn to face her Ladyship.
       It is at this point that I realise that i couldn't understand what she was saying because she had resumed chanting in whatever blasphemous language one uses for such things. I realise this in part because of how she is now yelling and waving her arms and in part because of the swirly red energy field which has sprung out of mid-air and is coalescing between us. The third clue is the daemon forming in the middle of the swirly, but that data seems a little redundant.
       Even as the warp-thing finishes forming, my systems are analysing it. A single individual, only slightly larger than a man, carrying a wicked axe at the end of some sort of pole arm, glares at me balefully. The computer chimes in with an analysis, labelling the thing a "bloodletter" and listing it as a threat index about equivalent to the Chaos Marine had, back when he had his head attached. As daemons go, this is actually good news for me, as I suppose it means I have a chance at taking it down myself.
       It does its impression of Mister Headless and charges me, yelling "blood for the blood god!" as though that's its favourite thing to say. My armour will do about as much to stop its axe as my skin would, and in terms of anything with which I could engage this bugger weapon-to-weapon, I'm unarmed. I do the only thing I can: I scream.
       "I've got no blood, I've got no blood" I say, falling backwards and raising my arms to ward off its blow. Admittedly, it's not the cleverst thing I could say, but the Emperor must indeed watch over fools because the daemon actually stops for a second, confused. For a heartbeat, i can actually see it processing what it should do.
       "Skulls for the skull throne," it yells, raising its axe again. Well, you can't fault its logic. The brief pause is all I need, though, and I've formulated a plan. it's a plan of great cunning, masterful innovation, and unsurpassed wisdom. It's also the exact same plan I used the first time I was in this situation today.
       I toss another grenade in its face.
       Fortunately for me, history repeats itself. The daemon screams -- briefly -- as its head is engluphed in flames and shrapnel. I'm closer to this it than i was to the marine, and the blast knocks me for a loop too, although my armour holds up better than the daemon's body. As the echoes die away, I get back to my feet, and the warp-thing doesn't; its body seems to have vanished entirely, in fact, which is a bit of a shame because I've always wanted to try one of those axes, just for a second. The smoke hasn't cleared yet, so I shift my vision to infrared, and clear as day I spot Lady Desip's heat shape. She's trying to figure out what's just happened, I think, but it looks like she's back towards the staircase so she's probably assuming that her daemon didn't get me.
       "Your ladyship," I say, turning up my vox unit to maximum intimidation and putting in a little reverb just to really put her on edge. "I really must insist that you are under arrest." I pause. "Incedentally, your charge of heresy has been upgraded to consorting with the warp. I don't imagine that this will make you at all more inclined to come peacefully?"
       As the first lasbolt richochets off of my helmet, I have to wonder why I even bother. I'm back on the floor again, only partially on purpose, as bolts spray over me and pretyt much all over the room at about head height. I can only conclude she's picked up some sot of reserve lasweapon broguth by one of the bodyguards and she's blasting full-auto since she doesn't know quite where I am. In theory my armour is more than strong enough to handle the lasfire, but armour provides its best protection if you keep it from getting hit in the first place, so I stay right where I am under her firing line.
       It's almost a relief, to be honest. i don't like killing, but at this point, if I were to even bother arresting her alive, I'd probably be censured for not eliminating a chaos sorcerer while I had the opportunity. She might have been valuable under interrogation, but I've got her two flunkies for that. For that matter, killing her now is probably a mercy given what interrogations of sorcerers, even amateur sorcerers, tend to be like. The smoke is clearing, so I could probably just take her now. Then again, in another second or two, it'll be clear enough for her to shoot me again, and after a marine, a daemon, and her last last bolt to my face, my patience is pretty thin.
       This is why grenades come in packs of three, I suppose. Let the moral of the story be "always keep your equipment pouches full."
       When the last echoes have faded, I drag myself up from the ground and vox for a cleanup crew. While I wait for them, I get some restraints out of my supplies and secure the two surviving heretics. I'm not gentle with them, but then again, they started it. While I'm up, I get my pistol out again and put a half-dozen bolts into the dead marine's torso, making sure to pulp everything that looks like an internal organ, just in case... it'd be damn embarassing if he gets up again and kills me after everything else. As the sounds of tromping boots alerts me to the arrival of the Mechanicus personall, I start climbing the staircase, out of the whole miserable chamber and back towards the city's surface.

Today, I forgot to wear my amulet when I went to school. This is a highly unusual occurence for me; putting on my amulet is part of my daily routine when I leave the house ("armouring up") and is done along with such essentials as putting on my watch, grabbing my cel phone, putting my keys into my pocket, and saying goodbye to my stuffed toys. I've got my phone, glasses, watch and keys with me, so how I forgot to grab my amulet is a bit of a quandry. On the one hand, if I have to forget one of those five items, the amulet is the best one to forget. On the other hand, I feel distinctly naked with its familiar weight on my chest. For those who haven't had the priviledge of ever holding or wearing my amulet, it weighs over a hundred grams and is a very perceptible weight when it's worn, particularly when walking when it bounces around and hits you in the sternum with every step.

The first time I ever wore the Amulet of Forsteri was when I went to my high school graduation dance. I don't recall what day of the year that was, precisely, but it would have been a few days prior to June 24th; this year, for example, the graduation dance at my old high school is June 22nd, which is later this very week. Let's say, for the sake of argument, that my grad dance was the same date (which is actually a plausible assumption). So, as of Thursday of this week, the amulet celebrates seven years since it transmogrified from a humble keychain to its current beloved form. I wasn't wearing it daily back in those days, of course. I first began wearing the amulet regularly over the course of that summer, mostly as a gag, but when I started CEGEP in August of that year I resolved to make the amulet one of my little eccentricities and see how people reacted. Suffice it to say, I've enjoyed it enough that I kept wearing it daily through CEGEP, right through university, and now a full year into my graduate studies. It's gone through a couple of small chnges, of course; it's more scratched today than it used to be, and earlier this year I switched the leather thong on which it had long hung in favour of a lighter and more durable metal chain, but it's still my old, beloved amulet. I'm told that among many people, the amulet is considered my trademark and quite possibly my most defining and recognisable feature, which is actually quite appropriate given that the smiley face motif is the icon of the Empire itself, even if it doesn't appear on my own humble coat of arms.

Digression: It suddenly occurs to me that my forgetting the amulet today may have been the gods' way of drawing my attention to the fact that this week will be the seventh anniversary of the Amulet's creation. I probably wouldn't have thought of it otherwise, and the coicidence of it happening this week (and today, when I've got a modest chunk of time to reflect about it) goes beyond the limits of casual coicidence. This makes me feel better about forgetting it, and also pleasantly reaffirms my faith that the hands of the gods can be quite clearly seen in my daily life. Now if only they'll help me with the exam on Thursday...

Some people are creatures of habit; despite my chaotic tendencies, I should probably count myself among them. I have a natural tendency to fall into patterns and particular ways of doing things. Once I get used to a particular driving route, I'm loathe to change it, even in favour of a more efficient path. Once I learn a particular way of solving a problem, I have a very hard time learning a new approach. When I was learning to paint, I picked up about four separate techniques and then for several years simply refused to change my painting style, even when I had the opportunity to learn "better" techniques. And, of course, as pretty much all of you know, I've been dressing in the exact same style of clothes for about nine years now. All that being said, it's quite understandable that I should feel that i'm missing something today. After ten months of classes, this is the first day when I've failed to wear the amulet (without having some good valid reason for not having it on and visible). It's disconcerting. Every time I bend over to drink from a waterfountain, my hand goes to my chest; under normal circumstances, I have to do so because the weight of the amulet will make it swing right into the fountain or clang loudly against the metal if I don't hold it. Conciously, i know I'm not wearing it today, but every time I've gone for a drink, I've had to pull my hand back down. Similarly, something just feels wrong when i walk; there's nothing hitting me in the chest as there should be. Last and most upsettingly, I sat in a dark room earlier today and nothing, absolutely nothing around me, was glowy. This last item I find intolerable and even vaguely depressing; it's amazing how much I've come to enjoy the simple pleasure of knowing that, so long as the amulet is held close to my heart, I will always glow in the dark. This might be a powerful spiritual metaphor; it might also be that glowy stuff is nifty. Either way, something's missing.

I take much solace in the old adage: "if this is the worst thing that happens to me today, I'm very lucky." Sure, I haven't got my amulet with me, but otherwise it's been a pretty good day. Furthermore, the amulet isn't lost or damaged; it's sitting happily in my drawer, arguably safer where it is than it would be if it was on me, out and about in the city. Whatever else happens, I'll go home tonight, pat it on the head, apologise for forgetting it today, and wear it happily tommorow. Can't complain. Still, I do rather miss not having it with me.

Happy birthday (or maybe rebirthday?) to the Amulet of Forsteri. You are loved, and when absent, you are missed. And above all, wherever you are, whatever happens, you glow in the dark!

Homo Sapiens Callidus
A subspecies of humanity (Homo Sapiens Sapiens), Homo Sapiens Callidus are medium-sized humanoids known for their deceitful tendencies and perversely contrary behaviours. Whimsical and often self-contradictory as a species, Homo Sapiens Callidus tend towards a philosophical view of the universe as opposed to a physical one. While few among them make good soldiers or hunters, the species has produced some of the galaxy's most advanced (albeit, not always accomplished) minds.

Homo Sapiens Callidus are few in number and tend to lurk amidst groups of Humans, for social contact and safety. Although naturally unfriendly towards Humans, Homo Sapiens Callidus have perfected the art of blending in to such a degree that few trained Humans can spot a Homo Sapiens Callidus near them. Often lurking on the fringes of society, taking part in iconoclastic groups more for the sake of it than out of any desire to effect real change.

Personality: Tranquil, imaginative, spiritual, and just a bit mischievous, Homo Sapiens Callidus are by and large a quiet race, content to gather in small groups and engage in esoteric, incomprehensible games and debates while the world goes on around them. Homo Sapiens Callidus prefer simple activities which will keep them busy and amused over excitement, adventure, or unentertaining work. Although capable of amazing feats when properly motivated, Homo Sapiens Callidus will generally try to structure their entire lives around their leisure and artistic endeavors.

Physical Description: Homo Sapiens Callidus stand roughly 1.6 meters. To the casual observer, they appear to be slightly pale humans and have few distinguishing features. A Homo Sapiens Callidus' hair is composed of densely-packed, highly cross-linked protein strands, and so their hair tends to stand up straight even when wet. Grossly, a Homo Sapiens Callidus is indistinguishable from a human, although their internal anatomy has a subtly different organ configuration.

Homeworld: Homo Sapiens Callidus are native to Earth, unfortunately.

Language: Homo Sapiens Callidus speak the language(s) common to whatever Human population in which they are raised.

Age in Years: Child 1-12; young adult 13-25; adult 26-40; middle age 41-65; old 65-80; venerable 80+.

Adventurers: Homo Sapiens Callidus who become adventurers usually do so as an attempt to understand the universe around them by traveling in it, although some do so to instead spread their own understandings to others. Homo Sapiens Callidus tend to be scoundrels, but nobles and scouts are not uncommon.

Homo Sapiens Callidus Species Traits:

• Ability modifiers: -2 strength, -2 constitution, +2 intelligence, +4 wisdom.
• Medium-Size: As Medium-size creatures, Homo Sapiens Callidus have no special modifiers due to their size.
• Speed: Homo Sapiens Callidus base speed is 10 meters.
• Educated: All Knowledge skills are always class skills for Homo Sapiens Callidus.
• Deceitful: Homo Sapiens Callidus gain a +4 species bonus on Bluff checks.
• Clueless: A Homo Sapiens Callidus takes a -4 penalty on all Sense Motive checks made against a members of another race. At every level after first, a Homo Sapiens Callidus may select one individual with whom they have interacted and permanently negate this bonus against them.
• Bonus Feats: A Homo Sapiens Callidus selects a bonus feat from any list avaiable to them at third level and every third level thereafter (6th, 9th...)
• Eccentric: A Homo Sapiens Callidus selects a minor derangement at third level and every third level thereafter (6th, 9th...)

Thought for the day: the impact of art is changed by the medium in which it is perceived. Download an image of a famous painting online; pick any one you want. Generally speaking, the painting loses most of its impact when you don't see it firsthand. Similarly, a recording of a concert is rarely as pulse-pounding as being there in the modst of the crowd. The context in which art is observed, and the change in the work which occurs with any sort of recording, no matter how high quality, inevitably changes the work's nature. This does not have to be a significant change, and in many cases, it may be so small a change as to be totally unnoticable. With some painters -- such as Lauren Harris, who many of you know I'm a fan of, or Vermeer, who I don't like but who has always fascinated me by the way people say his paintings change totally when seen firsthand versus in pictures -- it's a huge change, unignorable. Of course, the altered context could conceivably improve a work through unintended side-effects... this is the case with comic books.

I read comics online. I buy very few comics nowadays, because although I'm a huge fan of the medium, each book has become so expensive in the last few years that collecting to any great degree is simply unfeasible. I download most of my comics because I love them too much to give them up simply because of money. I make an effort to buy some things here and there, to ensure that I'm doing some of my part to keep the industry going, and to be honest, I do occasionally feel guilty about it. This does not stop me from downloading the new stack each week. Assuming that the individual scanning the comic did a halfway decent job, there's usually very little lost in the translation from paper to jpeg; few comics have art of such detail that anything gets lost in high-quality scans, as opposed to paintings, where no matter how good your camera is, it's not as good as taking the canvas and putting it right onto your scanner for immortality. The biggest risk with scanning comics (again, assuming basic competence on the part of the individual doing the scanning) is alteration of colours, because you're taking very glossy paper with often usual inks and shading and trying to capture it precisely. The comic is generally preserved nicely, of course, scanning technology being what it is, but there is often one unintended side effect of the scanning: light.

The most defining thing which separates a comic from a novel is, of course, the art. In particular, the comic book medium is probably most well-known for the over-the-top art, full of explosions, flashes, bursts, beams, rays, pulses, strobes, and every form of light and energetic discharge one could try to imagine. Over the decades, comic artists have found hundreds, probably thousands of ways to visualize the simple explosion, such that a simple splash panel might practically be a given artist's signature. Despite the numerous and often quite brilliant ways in which different people have found that they can portray the simple concept of "boom," comic art is, at heart, restricted to being on paper and drawn in ink. The light can have impact but can never have dimension; it can have light but it can't have eye-dazzling brilliance. Shape and form are there, but if you turn out the lights, the explosion is gone. In contrast, when reading a comic on a computer screen, the illumination is already there and bringing the page to life; when there's a flash of light in the comic on the screen, the miracle of the cathode ray tube means that it can hurt your eyes just to look at the panel. A whole new kind of life is given to the static image. Light isn't merely imitated by the inks -- light is actually given off.

On June 12th, 2006, this Journal turns... let's see... seven hundred and thirty two days old. This in and of itself is a completly meaningless and unimportant number, save only for the fact that if you subtract 2, then you have 730, and if you divide this in two, you get 365, and *that* means that the Journal has just celebrated its second anniversary. On the one hand, I have been able to keep filling this with words far longer than I'd anticipated. On the other hand, dear gods, don't I have anything better to do?

Rough calculation: Suppose that the average Entry takes 20 minutes to write (30 to 40 minutes is probably more accurate, but some have taken far less, and we're pretending that I've calculated a mean or something). 245 times 20 is 4900 minutes, or 81 and 2/3 hours (just over ten days of full-time work) or 3 point 4 days. Just under three and a half days of my life have been spent slaving away over one or another keyboard (by my best estimate, Journal Entries have been written on 10 different computers). I'd originally thought about writing today about the huge amount of time wasted on this Journal over the last two years, but now that I run the numbers, it actually seems like a real bargain for all the pleasure this thing has brought me (and perhaps even other people, too). It seems to me there's a moral here.

An average Entry in this journal comes out at between two and a half to three pages, double spaced, at twelve point font times new roman, roughly eight hundred to one thousand words. KP 42 stories average double or triple that length. A respectable publishing company, if you can find one which accepts unsolicited submissions in this day and age, will often ask for a 25-page writing sample to assess -- the equivalent of no more than any five Entries, less if I provide more short stories and more if I submit mostly parody news stories. If a pocketbook-sized book averages thirty to thirty five lines of text with eight words each per page, I could fill a three hundred page book with roughly eighty Entries, less than one third of what I've written in ten days, working full-time. Of course, I wouldn't necessarily get inspired quite that quickly, but publishing a new book every two years would still sound quite achievable, particularly if I alreday have enough material for, conservatively and eliminating the Entries would lack appeal outside a gamer market, one and a half books, albeit requiring a lot of proof-reading and editing before publication.

Another gang-aft for today's topic is that I'd thought I might write about how in two years, I'd made more posts than most people whose journals I follow. Sadly, this was pur egoism on my part. Of the three journals I bother to read daily, all of them are older than mine or younger by only a couple of months and all three have more posts than mine. Of course, I've got a more regular schedule, but that's not necessarily a benefit for anybody. Curse my excessively literate friends for failing to make me look good in this one particular instance!

An average essay-style Entry has a grade-level of 11 or 12 or, most commonly, is off the scale entirely, as calculated by Microsoft word. This is including the countless typos which I know are there but which I am simply too lazy to clean up, most of the time. The readibility, calculated by the same program, is in the area of fifty or lower, indicating generally easily-read work with, perhaps, a slight tendency towards verbosity and polysyllabicism, and a general complexity of structure as to confound an inexperienced reader. Interestingly, short story Entries actually have a lower grade level (averaging in the area of 8 or 9, the highest one scoring about 10) and are calculated as being easier to read; I attribute this primarily to the large number of words which are not in Word's dictionary (such as "augmetic" and "nanobots") and which are therefore are counted as errors and gibberish, as well as the large number of contractions ("I'm" rather than "I am") which the program misinterprets as being unprofessional rather than stylistic. The Ballad of the Elementals clocks in at just over a third-grade reading level, which drops right off the scale to below 0 when calculated for the Latin translation, which just goes to show what Microsoft thinks of higher education. D-Curriculum columns, which are deliberate uses of the journalistic/scientific writing style, have the highest possible grade level (12), although the readibility rises when all fnords are removed.

Like last year, then, here's to another year full of Entries. May this year be better than the last, and may I somehow aquire a readership base greater than ten people. Writing isn't just what I do well... it's what I do. Whatever else goes on in my life, few people are so blessed as to know exactly what they love doing and have the chance to do it. Now, I just need to find a way to make this pay.

I consider myself blessed to very rarely remember my dreams.

Assuming an even vaguely normal sleeping pattern, a normal human will dream about six times during the course of a night as they cycle through the various sleep stages. Most people will be capable of remembering only their last dream of the night, and even then usually only as fragments. The prvious dreams are lost when the transition is made from REM sleep to slower-wave sleep, as the brain decides that the dream wasn't important enough to bother filing away for long term storage. Most people, on average, will remember at least small parts of their dreams for roughly the first five to ten minutes upon waking, after which they will forget most of it. Individuals who practice lucid dreaming can remember quite a lot more, but in general, will still only ever remember the last dream of the night. Most people will have tremendous difficulty understanding their dreams -- pretty much by definition, dreams are disjointed and confusing imagery which have little to no coherent sense to them (and generally have a very poor quality of pacing, direction, and story).

While I've learned that it's unwise to assume that I'll follow the same rules as a normal human, in terms of sleep, I do fall squarely within the normal range with relatively few surprises to set me apart from my parent species. I tend to have rather more trouble than most people falling asleep, but rather than explaining this as variant neurology, I personally explain it as being nothing more than a corrolary to my hypercognitive nature and my requiring colder-than-average temperatues to be comfortable and relaxed. I suspect that my dreams are a bit stranger than most people's, but I ascribe this primairly to the cultural icons which permeate my life and not, for example, to excess creativity or mental energy, which I blame for my waking thoughts being what they are. The one area where I do consider myself different from the average person (although still well within the range of normal values) is that, on average, I will not remember anything of my dreams when i wake up. On the average night, I will remember not so much as a snippet of dialogue or a single image from my sleep. I consider this to be very fortunate without exception.

There are bascically, in my opinion, two types of dreams. For the sake of simplicity, e shall refer to these as bad dreams (at the extreme, nightmares) and good dreams. Bad dreams are blessedly simple, though aversive. Unpleasant, frightening, or disturbing imagery permeates, sometimes being so unpleasant as to force the body to end it by waking up at a moment not ideal in the sleep cycle. These dreams, for most people, can be profoundly upsetting and can stay with one for days, and persistent nightmares are one of the most common issues facing both psychiatrists and neurologists (whose purview it is to study and treat sleeping problems, often enough). It is often suggested that most nightmares (outside of young childhood) are stress-induced; I've always been pretty good at dealing with stress in my waking life, which may be oneof the reasons why I tend to have very few bad dreams. One way or another, I almost never wake up feeling that I've had a bad dream, and I don't miss them.

Then there are good dreams. Quite franklly, I hate these even more. Good dreams have the power to liven the spirit, give hope for the future, and show people idealized versions of their lives. Most individuals will report that after dreams of happiness and sucess, they feel stronger, happier, and more hopeful, and many people will actually report that they sucedd at more tasks during the day following a really great dream. When I have a dream wherein I have something that I dearly desire or that genuienly matters to me, though, I never wake up feeling refreshed, empowered, or inspired... I wake up wondering what sort of cruel god would force me to wake up when I'd be much happier staying in that dream for the rest of my life. I don't rise from bed after a good dream glad to have had it; I wake up feeling that something dear to me has been stolen and I can't even hit the person who took it.

What brings these thoughts on, of course, was one such dream about two nights ago. I won't go into details -- half the people with sufficient security clearance to hear my dreams don't read this and the other half can ask me if it matters so much to them -- but suffice it to say that I was genuinely and truly happy in the dream. Feeling a reduced range of emotion is often beneficial, sparing one as it does much negative affect, but even when I'm enjoying myself and having a nice time in daily life, I'm very rarely strongly happy. When I woke from the dream, it took me about six seconds to process where I was and why the room I was in a moment earlier had vanished, and I remember that the very first thing I did was hit my head a couple of times against the bed. i'm also fairly certain I cursed the gods, but since I haven't been struck down by anything since then, I guess they didnt' take it too seriously. It's now about twenty-seven hours since waking at that moment, though, and oddly enough, the feeling which has stuck with me every moment since then is a strange sense of loss, almost like mourning, as though I lost a dear friend. Needless to say, I find the whole thing a bit annoying.

There are, of course, neutral dreams, and it's from these that I draw a lot of inspiration and ideas. The moments when I'm falling asleep and when I first wake up are often moments when I'll have ideas of unsurpassed absurdity and comedy which I doubt would come to me in full lucidity. This morning, for example, I woke up with a fully formed song parody in my head, with zombified members of the band Garbage performing "I'm Only Happy Eating Brains." In general, though, these moments are totally unrelated to any dreams which I remember having had at the same time, so I ascibe this as a moment of particular sensitivity to muses rather than dream-induced creativity. I'd happily keep the one without the other.

In general, I'm very happy not to remember my dreams. It's far more pleasant, one way or the other. I much prefer to fight for things in waking life, where I can enjoy them. It may be materialistic and shallow, but when I conquer the Earth, I want to hold onto it for longer than the duration of a single dream.

I was having a conversation recently about the nature of the duality between order and chaos. Nothing much got reseolved during the discussion -- the human and I had, to say the least, unreconcilable differences, but we werefriendly about it -- and afterwards, I was left pondering choice of words I'd used. At one point in the conversation, I referred to myself as a worshipper of chaos, whereas my sparring partner referred to herself as a servant of order. As most of you know, I spend a lot of time replaying interesting conversations in my head (which is part of why I've become so good at rhetoric over the years) and I kept coming back to that little fluke of nomenclature. A brief look at some of my favourite popular culture sources and a glance at some random Google matches suggested that there may indeed be some truth to the observation I'd stumbled upon. Worshippers of chaos and servants of order... the implication, it seems to me, was that chaos is a passion whereas order is a job.

I worship chaos. Strictly speaking, I am not here discussing Forsteri, but Her Niftyness, the Goddess, the Great Lady Eris. The bible commands people to love their god, a sort of relationship which is generally considered unhealthy by psychologists, whereas Eris doesn't demand it but does reward it plentifully. In my own way, I really do love the Goddess, which is really kind of upsetting given the difficulty I have feeling affection towards humans. When I offer Her my faith and service, I do so by free will and knowing choice; I am no mere uneducated convert, but an educated student of religion who came to faith through informed decision and consent. I am, in fact, very nearly an apostate from Judaism, though there's no need for any rabbis to know that. The point is, I do what I do (and I do do it well) out of real enthusiasm for my beliefs. It's a passion.

On the other hand, we have the servants of order. The forces of order offer their own rewards, too, many of which are just as or more tangible than those gifted by chaos. Chaos offers the possibility of reward tainted by the ever present possibility that, for no reason other than whimsy, reward may be withheld. On the other hand, order offers safety, security, confidence, and certainty, all with the assurance that as long as order is maintained, these rewards are, by definition, guaranteed. Eris may promise wealth and deliver a hour of commercials for Skittles, but when order promises a secure job and a comfortable retirement, order delivers. Those who serve order are not even necessarily devoid of passion; anyone who tells you that order must be emotionless is already experiencing their own punishment. Those who have a passion for order act with as much joy and purpose as those who are passionate for chaos. However, at its heart, servitude to order can never be driven wholly by the love of order. Order as a concept is inseparable from its corrolaries, and so service to order is always, without exception, driven by the promise of a clear reward. The reward of order cannot be separated from order itself; it is always a relationship of remuneration for accomplishment.

There is one possible exception to the above, which is mathematics. While every tangible science has an inherent element of unpredictability and chaos, pure mathematics can be considered to be the conversion of a disordered system into an ordered solution for no explicit reward save satisfaction. On the other hand, pure mathematics cannot be said to be a system of perfect order, because to begin, a mathematician must willfully create a chaotic system and then proceed to solve it. Pure mathematics cannot exist without a foundation of chaotic disorder being created for it, and out of every hundred math problems created, an unknown number are never solved. In small and cumulative ways, chaos always wins.

One who strives towards chaos creates chaos for the love of chaos, but one who strives towards order must always, by default, be working towards order for the sake of the results of having an ordered system. The service of order will always therefore be a job, a paid relationship of known work for known reward, while the service of chaos will always be a passion which exists independent of guaranteed reward. It is the dilemma of whether to become a secure bureaucrat or a struggling artist, the quinessential puzzle of modern life.

As always, naturally, balance wins. Forsteri offers a modest base salary and very generous comissions.

In the month of June, the Aerican Empire has its "Culling of the Inactive." On the first of June (sometimes during the last week of May, time permitting), I send out a letter to every individual citizen of the Empire (62 people this year, which is most happymaking) and everyone has tuntil July 1st to reply. If they fail to reply or if their e-mail bounces then I generally have no way of reaching these people and, since for all I know they've been devoured by squirrels, their citizenship is terminated. It's a tough rule but a fair one; numerous steps are taken to ensure that nobody gets cut wrongly if at all possible. Of interest to anyone who reads this Journal may be the fun fact that the phrase "Killer Penguin Death Squads" was not actually originated by me, but was coined by one of my citizens several years back in reponse to a discussion about who it is exactly that goes out, hunts down all the citizens, and eliminates the inactive ones. The name just sort of stuck.

The Culling itself raises one interesting question every year. As most of you know, I love the Empire dearly and genuinely consider it to be a truer citizenship than my Canadian one. I strive constantly to find new ways to attract citizens and members and to stimulate activity among the citizens I've already got. Every year, at the Culling, I have to ask one pertinent question: given how much I want to have a huge population in the Empire, why the heck am I kicking people out?

There are two schools of thought on the subject of citizenship base, between which i have always found myself pulled. The majority of micronations are tiny, rather pathetic ventures that grow and die in the space of six months, never getting more than a handful of members. Because it is these dust mites which have traditionally made up most of the micronational world, at least since the dawn mass-population internet back in '97-'98, the whole micronational culture frequently becomes obsessed, as any field populated primarily by adolescent males i primed to do, with size. Nations will bicker and fith over who has, not the better population, but the larger one, and it is not unheard of for states to simply invent large numbers of members on the theory that if they look populous, mor epeople will join. It rarely occurs to these worthies that no matter how big their population is on paper, if no one ever finds their website, they will never attract real people. None the less, micronational culture is still largely obssessed with who has more members, and population size is often synonymous with sucess, power, and respect. Which is pretty stupid.

On the other side of the fence are the states who argue that population size is irrelevant and only the quality of the members matters. Where the nations who fight over numbers tend to have populations in the area of 10-30, nations who argue that numbers are irrelevant tend to be either those with a tiny number of members (frequently just one) or a tremendous number, over one hundred. These nations argue that it does not matter how many citizens a micronation has if, for example, they go years at a time without any need to update their website or their news page. If they never do, say, or think anything, then all the citizens in the world would not confer quality. This is the school of thought which has very much become widely seen in the last two or three years; states who believe that size matters tend to disapear and, over the years, enough states obsessed with activity rather than numbers have become common enough to be heard. because they are obsessed with activity, these states are less likely to die away. On the other hand, these states might easily have two or three very active, very loud, and very obnoxious members who perform all their activity, and furthermore, their activity tends to consist of doing whatever comes to mind, doing Stuff simply for the sake of doing Stuff. These are the states which tend to, for example, condemn every international incident from their firery pulpit and pass motions stating their positions on world issues, in spite of the fact that they never make any attempt to tell any of the macrostates involved what those opinions are. They adopt the cause of the moment and create laws, not for the sake of a better society, but for the sake of having activity they can report, were they ever to find someone who cared. Which is also pretty stupid.

For my part,I have always fallen somewhere in between the two camps, as I tend to do on most any issue of two extremes. On the one hand, I have fought tooh and nail to raise the Empire's population over the years. I have made posters, sold t-shirts, performed public presentations, given newspaper interviews, and generally done everything I could think of short of buying advertising space (which has, of course, croosed my mind to try). On the other hand, I am of the opinion that it is better to have a small but active (or at least measurably alive) population than it is to have a huge population composed half of bouncing e-mail addresses. What we have is the happy medium: for most of the year I try to attract everyone that I possibly can to join the Empire, and then, if they can't be bothered to reply to one letter every year, the Killer Penguin Death Squads storm their houses, break down their front doors, smash their computers, and beat them to death with fresh halibut. In the event of the KPDS being unavailable, I just remove their names from the website and call it even. This, too, is pretty stupid, but we all have to make our choices even when presented with a list of non-ideal options.

The numbers before and after each Culling in the last several years are made public on our website. If you run them and check, then if the Empire never conducted Cullings, I would today have something in the area of seven hundred citizens. On the other hand, less than 62 of them would be worth having. I stand by my choice.

One thing that's worth considering, though, is population shift in response to the Cullings. Because I'm currently studying bacteria and viruses, I'll use a topical example. If you find a person who's fighting an infection, you can give them an antibiotic to kill it. Most of the bacteria will die, but a few of them, the tougher ones and the ones most resistant to that particular medication, will survive and reproduce, and their offspring will have the same immunities to medicine. When the same patient gets sick again a few weeks later, you can give them a different antibiotic, but again, a handful of bacteria can survive and reproduce. Continue this for long enough and eventually you get a bacteria which is effectively immune to everything you have to throw at it -- a nasty and deadly species is gets selected for its nastiest and deadliest individuals, making it nastier and deadlier with every generation. Similar logic holds true in the Empire (minus the "nasty and deadly," anyway). on average, a Culling will wipe out a significant portion of my citizens, arguably setting the Empire back months or years of growth. On the other hand, there is a clear pattern among those citizens who have stayed with me through one or two or five Cullings, and every year, there are a few more people amongst this hardier, more resilient, "better" group of individuals. It is one thing to be able to attract people to your banner; it is quite another to deliberately use Darwinian machinations to select from that group the best of the bunch of every generation and use them as the core of the next generation. And what the hell, it's worked so far.

Some days, it can be tough to be an aspiring would-conqueror. It's usually worth it.

Hello (setuser=name) ALEC CAMPION,
Congratulations on your purchase of or blessing with the FoG SH-C Human/Cybernetic Solutions Package, the foremost technological hardware and software enhancement package for humans available today. Properly used and maintained, your SH-C will provide you with years of hassle-free enjoyment as you use its many impressive features to battle the forces of evil and forestall the end of the world. This readme file contains important information about the SH-C. We strongly recommend reviewing the entire document before testing more than the basic features of this product.

=================
TABLE OF CONTENTS
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ABOUT THE SH-C HUMAN/CYBERNETIC SOLUTIONS PACKAGE
OPERATING SYSTEM
SOFTWARE FEATURES
TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS
HARDWARE FEATURES
KNOWN ISSUES
TROUBLESHOOTING
TECHNICAL SUPPORT

ABOUT THE SH-C HUMAN/CYBERNETIC SOLUTIONS PACKAGE
=======================
The SH-C, produced by Forces of Good^(TM), is the top of the line synthesis of human and machine and is this age's most advanced union of wetware and hardware. Combining the versatility and adaptability of the human mind with top-notch programing and the best-engineered electronics available in this dimension, the SH-C is the perfect choice for all of your augmetic enhancement needs. Your new onboard operating system has already integrated itself into your nervous system for ease of use, allowing you full control of all your exciting new features with the merest thought. Your neurons have been accelerated with platinum monofilaments, accelerating their impulse conduction, and your ganglia have been replaced by fast and efficient microprocessors which enhance your reflexes, your senses, and you information processing. Your skin has been covered in an armour layer strong enough to render you invulnerable to the sharpest blades and, if maintained, will stop most bullets. Your senses have been enhances to facilitate investigation and will even allow you to detect some invisible objects by cycling through a wider range of the electromagnetic specturm, and a variety of useful tools have been built directly into your body for ease of access. The SH-C has enhanced all aspects of your human anatomy and physiology to maximize your potential and make you the perfect the union of man and machine. For more information about all of your new features, keep reading.

OPERATING SYSTEM
=======================
Your entire nervous system has been enhanced by by your new operating system, DOS 1X10⁷. This operating system possesses a rudimentary artificial intelligence to facilitate its ability to help you with mundane tasks, and its direct linkage with your brain ensures that over time its personality develops similarly enough to your own that the two are indistinguishable. Your operating system primarily makes use of your newly-implanted megaterabyte hard disk but will also make use of your own neural network, enabling it to learn along with you and become more efficient with time. Your new operating system will help you perform menial tasks (your computer will help you walk safely so that you can focus on chewing your gum!) and will generally facilitate complex processing. Thanks to the most revolutionary advances available, you can command your operating system at the speed of thought, opening and closing files, assigning it tasks, running programmed movement routines and even acessing your own memories even faster and more easily than you could have using your own brain. In all ways, your operating system will help you to think faster and work smarter than the forces of evil.

SOFTWARE FEATURES
=======================
In addition to your basic operating system, various useful programs have been preinstalled for your convenience. The most immediately useful of these programs is MemoryTracker. The first time you activate this program, it will run the Synapse Wizard to scan all of your memories and make a recording of them. Once the Wizard has completed this task, all of your old memories and any new memories you form will be recorded with nearly eidetic efficiency and be available to you instantly through its search function. To help you live long enough to form precious memories, your peripheral nervous system is now being monitored by Re-Flex!, the ultimate in survival software. Re-Flex! will constantly monitor all your sensory input and ensure that you can react with superhuman speed to any dangers. Say goodbye to pulling your hand away from a painfully hot stove -- Re-Flex! will help you to spot that the stove is hot and stop you from touching the stove in the first place, all before you’ve even finished thinking about the it. But wait, it gets better, because thanks to your hardware enhancements, no little stove is ever going to burn your skin again. Keep reading to see some of the fantastic features with which you have been augmented.

TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS
=======================
Your height has been increased by three inches to accommodate longer bones. This added height will improve your running efficiency, increase your reach, and provide room for larger and more powerful servo motors in your joints. Fragile collagen, actin, myosin, and hydroxyapatite has been replaced by durable and efficient aluminium, titanium, and steel. Nervous tissue has been supplemented with platinum fibres. Your retina has been supplemented by an adaptable photosensitive screen, your tympanic membrane and ossicles have been replaced by an exquisitely sensitive sound processor, and a vomeronasal processor now supplements your senses of taste and smell. Your head has been encased in a secure and heavily padded and insulated helmet for maximum protection without sacrificing field of view. Not overlooking psychological advantages, the faceplate of your helmet is a mirror-finished metal plate, concealing your eyes and expressions from others while maximizing your intimidating presence.
Height: 6’2” (1.88m)
Weight: 580 lbs (263 kg) in standard gravity
Mass: 263 kg
Volume: 2 cubic feet (3456 cubic inches; 0.06 m³)

HARDWARE FEATURES
=======================
The perfect solution to all the problems associated with a soft and fleshy body, the SH-C is built with numerous revolutionary techniques to make it (and you) the most durable thing around. The SH-C version 12 puts to shame even previous versions of itself with the exciting features included in it. Multilayer titanium-steel/carbon foam mesh covering your skin is several hundred times more durable than any human’s, capable of stopping small arms fire and making it highly unlikely that even large caliber firearms will do more than bruise. Ablative and absorptive materials built into this armour layer give you additional protection against heat and other energies, making you effectively fireproof up to several hundred degrees and protecting your electonics from damaging effects of electricity.

Your onboard computer is capable of storing in excess of one thousand terabytes of data. This ensures that you can store a full lifetime of memories in high-quality video and audio format and still have room to operate your operating system and other programs. You retain sufficient spare storage space to carry several hundred gigabyts of data, which you can upload and download conveniently through your universal computer jack (see below). You may view files easily by displaying them on the HUD on the inside of your helmet.

The SH-C eliminates the need for many human functions, including eating and excreting. Instead of an inefficient adenosine triphosphate based power supply, you are now powered by a small cold-fusion reactor, located behind several redundant layers of armour within your chest. The approximate lifespan of this power unit is several centuries, but thanks to your armour’s ability to absorb ambient energy such as environmental heat, flame, electricity and radiation and use this energy to supplement your generator, this power source is functionally self-perpetuating with a theoretical infinite lifespan given sufficient supplemental energy. To maintain the maximum efficiency of your powersource, spend some of your relaxation time plugged into a convenient power source, ensuring that you stay at peak charge for those times when you need the extra energy. You can plug your power source directly into most standard power outlets using the adaptable prongs concealed in your right pinky finger.

A variety of weapons have been thoughtfully included directly inside your body to ensure that they are easily acessible at all times, in addition to your own hands and feet which are now covered in solid metal. One-size-fits-all pistol holsters have been built mdirectly into your femur of both legs. These holsters will contain anything from a small hold-out to most large military handguns, and are accesible by opening a sliding port on the lateral side of each thigh. Similar sliding ports located in your back allow you convenient access to two-foot-long titanium-steel kali sticks; when not being used to beat justice into the forces of evil, these clubs provide you with extra back support and strength! Finally and most useful is your electric blaster. Built into both of your forearms, this small blaster links directly with your power supply to send powerful bolts of energy with unerring accuracy. When not in use, these blasters are concealed between the radius and ulna of your arms, and will open at your mental command through a sliding panel on the dorsal surface of your arm. In the unlikely even that none of these tools are what you require, you will find a retractable eighteen-inch blade concealed in the ventral side of your left arm, which may be extended and used quickly or removed entirely to allow you a firm grip and a more powerful swing with your whole arm and shoulder behind it.

Most useful to you of all will be the tools and “gagdets” which are now built into you. A collapsible grappling hook has been built into your right forearm and sits just ventral to the blaster cannon on that side. At your command, it will emerge from a panel on the ventral side of your arm, and has effective firing range of approximately 60 feet. Most of your fingers contain similar retractable tools concealed in the distal metacarpal, including a manual lockpick (left index finger), electronic lockpick (left middle) laser cutting torch (right index), and universal computer jack (right middle). The palms of your hands contain powerful flashlights, allowing you to provide light for yourself and others with ease. Finally, the middle metacarpals of all your fingers contain retractable climbing claws which have been designed to provide you with maximum support when climbing up or down a sheer surface. These claws are supplemeted with additional claws in the distal metacarpals of each thumb and a single longer angled claw which emerges from the plantar surface of each foot.

You vision has been enhanced to see outside of the human visual range of the electromagnetic spectrum. Your helmet allows you to instantly and easily switch from the normal colour visual spectrum (400-700 nanometers) to infrared (700 nm-10 micrometers) or ultraviolet (380-200 nm). Your helmet can additionally polarize quickly against excess light and display a HUD with a targeting reticle and zoom function effective to a 20X magnification. Your HUD can additionally be used to display images, videos, or other files stored within your hard drive.

Due to your increased weight and density, you are unable to swim. While you can now go for prolonged periods without breathing, your organics still require oxygen to function, and furthermore, prolonged exposure to water may damage your electronics. An emergency flotation device has been included in your belt which will expand at your command. Inflated, this flotation device will easily support up to eight hundred pounds. It is recommended that you avoid water where possible, however, as this flotation device is intended for emergencies only.

You will find a versatile and convenient equipment belt has been attached directly to your waist, preventing it from being stolen from your person. Your gauntlets contain additional equipment pouches for quick and easy access. Your durable and waterproof pouches contain a variety of useful and mundane tools including matches, plastic specimen envelopes, smelling salts, emergency lockpick, tweezers, waterproof marker, magnesium flares, pocket knife with various blades, pistol ammunition, and other tools which may be useful to you. It is recommended that you periodically check the contents of these pouches and ensure that you still carry a supply of any essential items; while these pouches are provided to you full, it will be your responsibility to ensure that you have whatever tools you require in the future.

Finally, while your organics are still capable of healing normally, your inorganic components are obviously not capable of this. Your body has been supplied with a supply of nanobots capable of effecting quick repairs to your systems and these will help ensure that you have a long functional life. Your nanobots will heal damage to your inorganics at roughly the same rate as your human healing rate would heal analagous damage. While your nanorepair system is the most advanced available, it is advised that you take steps to avoid damage to your systems in the first place.

KNOWN ISSUES
=======================
While the SH-C is the most advanced fusion of biological and technological available today, certain issues will inevitably arise with any technology, and the following are some issues which you will want to be aware of.

Emergency shutdown system: No matter how advanced, all computers are prone to occasional errors. To prevent such errors from causing irreperable damage to your organics, in the event of a catstrophic systems failure, all non-essential electronics will immediately reboot. During this time, all life-sustaining functions will continue uninterrupted but you will be effectively unconcious, immobile, and catatonic. Such periods of innactivation will be rare but it is recommended that you take precautions in case of them.

To maximize your protection, your armour is the most powerful and secure which can be effectively bonded to a human body. Research suggests that the most common cause of armour failure is not a failure of equipment, but is rather caused by user error. To ensure that your protection is as efficient as possible, your armour is not removable. To ensure your psychological well-being, it is encouraged that you make use of your HUD from time to time to view pictures of what you look like under your armour.

TROUBLESHOOTING
=======================
As a Champion of Good, it is expected that you will regularl encounter the Forces of Evil and thwart their malevolent machinations. Your SH-C system has been designed such that you will be most able to find trouble and shoot it. We regret that at the time fo releasing the SH-C version 12, we could not compile a list of common problems. If you encounter unexpected complications with your hardware or software, we wish you the best of luck.

TECHNICAL SUPPORT
=======================
Whenever possible, you will be provided with contact information for your liason to the Forces of Good. You will be able to contact FoG for technical support as frequently as possible. Because your contact may chance from time to time, no specific contact information can be provided at this time.

WARRANTY
=========
As an optimized combat unit designed specifically to battle the Forces of Evil, your SH-C is not under warranty. It is encouraged that you avoid damaging it.

LIMITATIONS AND COPYRIGHT
=========
All components of your Forces of Good^(TM) SH-C Human/Cybernetic Solutions Package Version 12.0 (including but not limited to materials, documents, programs, and hardware) are the property of the Forces of Good. It is immoral for you to deliberatly provide these components to the Forces of Evil, and where possible, you should ensure that such components do not end up in the hands of the Forces of Evil due to your action or inaction. You are granted sole and unlimited rights to use your SH-C as you see fit so long as you operate within the limitations of the Forces of Good and a Good moral code.

Copyright Forces of Good^(TM) © 2006. SH-C is a trademark of FoG^(TM).
Other product and brand names may be trademarks or registered trademarks of their respective owners.