The Content Mill

Coming out of the stupor is always the worst part. It’s a come down mixed with the head shattering rattle of artillery shells.

The Empties milled about, snapping their instrument cases closed, then shouldering them out of the smoke filled den. Another show, another underground club that won’t want to see them in the morning.

There was just one problem: that nagging feeling that he had learned something so desperately important…but he couldn’t grasp it again. It was a mystery.

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun

Red lines like tail lights traced ovals around my face in dingy newsprint. The lines raced across the countrysides of text, undulating over photos of mountains, casualty reports, and turn-of-the-century industrial fires.

I followed them, tiptoeing over Mr. Ree until somewhere between the bathroom and the galley kitchen I found it. The ink had run dry in the red pen, its bleeding turned to scratching and tearing. But here, the lines all converged. Hundreds of faces—many of them mine—circled along the way led to this singular house, it's windows colored with a technicolor blue.

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun

Cosmically, he was awake. For the first time in a decade.

Ellington walked among the forest, their twinkling fruits burning brighter than the stars. He saw it all. The Mystery.

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun

Ether-soaked and lost among the trees, Ellington drifted. Floated? Well, either way, he was among the limbs, each thought, each character, pluckable like apples.

Who were they all...and why were they among his forest? The Dame? The Detective? The Emptys. Always the Emptys. Hollow cored and rotten. Planets orbiting his dying sun.

He tugged on an apple, its face obscured by his hand...well, the bones of his hand. Skeletal.

Skellington? He giggled.

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun

Mr. Ree was, in fact, not his given name. He was known to many—millions even—by many names, none of which we shall disclose today.

Mr. Ree was, indeed, someone who enjoyed a little pageantry, after all. It was all in the name, wasn’t it?

We watch Mr. Ree—well, do we watch or does he?—travel from here to elsewhere. The city to the country. A blue house. Two red lights. One fated meeting that had never, but had already, happened. He winks at us.

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun

Blue light pulsed to a different beat, flashing the towering pines in an ethereal glow. The ivy snaked higher than she remembered, but it had been years since she had been this deep into the forest. Centuries even.

No one had been home since that fateful day, so she let herself in.

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun

Red taillights streaked through the countryside, crisscrossing the forest and vales like lines on a map.

The drum beat echoed in her head, pounding out a staccato rhythm piercing through the rev of the engine.

A house. The house. His house. A facade she remembered from a lifetime ago.

——

Thanks to AJ Fillari for joining us this week! Go listen to their show Dot Zip, or hire them to edit your audio!

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun

In this episode of the Content Mill, we dig into the latest news and happenings in the games industry.

Today's big story is the talk of the town: the games industry is taking a big old break. So sit down, relax, and hang out as we talk about the backlog games that will be filling up this year of no new releases!

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun

Mr. Ree was not having a great time. Did not have a great time. He'd been dead for at least a week. But, in a room filled to the brim with newspapers, the body was only the second most unexpected thing.

The place had stunk to high Heaven, but I couldn't tell anymore. This wasn't my first rodeo. No, what grabbed my attention was the organized chaos of the newspapers and the red pen circling words and headlines and faces in photographs. My face, specifically.

There was a meaning to the madness. Somehow, it all pointed back to me.

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun

Predator. Prey. Stars. Smoke.

A drum beat. Pounding. Quarter notes, then eighths. Urgency and danger.

And then she blinked. The Dame—that's who she was now—couldn't shake the hollow gaze and incessant beat of the Emptys' drums. Even miles away, pushing the accelerator to the max, she could still hear them...getting louder, somehow?

Predator. Prey. Stars. Smoke. Predator. Prey. Stars. Smoke.

What did it mean to this her? And what did it have to do with the Emptys?

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun