Pocket Battleship Graf Spee

Dominic Langdon, a gang boss, is about to host his birthday banquet soon. He specifically tells everyone that he wants bluefin tuna and premium abalone as the grandest dish in his banquet. That seafood comes to a total of 80 thousand dollars. But my uncle, Steve Cutterson, gives me 800 dollars and tells me to carry out the task. I head toward the garbage dump of the farmers' market immediately. Soon, I return with a cartload of canned sardines and crayfish. After calculating the transportation costs, it comes to a total of 800 dollars. When the cheap-looking seafood is served, Dominic is so pissed that he flips the table on the spot. "How dare you pocket my money! You must have a death wish!" Steve quickly makes me the scapegoat. "Mr. Langdon, Caleb is the one who bought the seafood! He must have embezzled your money! Caleb, you'd better grovel to Mr. Langdon and pay him back right now!" I just show everyone the magnified version of the transfer record of 800 dollars with a stony expression. "Take a good look, Uncle Steve. Do you really think you can afford bluefin tuna with just 800 dollars? Did Mr. Langdon give you the money purely out of charity purposes?"

My mother has volunteered at our neighborhood church for over a decade. Christmas drives, Sunday service, any neighbor in trouble, she's the first one there. Everyone says God sent her to us. She thinks so too. She says God wants her to be generous, so she is. The thing is, when no one's watching, the generosity always comes out of my pocket. After she remarried, she doted on my half-sister Serena. Serena picked up a box of cold medicine for her, and Mom handed Serena the keys to my Tesla. Serena mentioned she needed to renew her car insurance, and Mom wired her the surgery fund I'd been saving for two years for my daughter Emma. That afternoon, Emma collapsed on the floor, lips turning blue, gasping for air. Her medicine was crushed into the carpet. Mom fished the last pill out of her pocket and dangled it in front of me. "Apologize to your sister, and I'll give Emma the pill." I got on my knees. But that same day, she gave away the cardiology appointment I'd spent three months getting. She gave it to Serena. What she didn't know was that the name on the appointment was her own.

On my mother’s seventieth birthday party, I ran around handling various matters, paying out of pocket and putting in all the work. I did not even have the time to sit down and drink a sip of water. When I finally found the time to surprise her, I prepared eighty-eight grams of gold jewelry as her gift. Just as I was about to give it to her, I heard her talking to the other relatives. “See that? My daughter is truly my sweetheart. She woke up so early this morning to bake me this cake. I wouldn’t trade this cake for gold.” Our relatives immediately began praising my younger sister, Jessie Radley, for being so devoted. Only a couple of them pushed back. “Why aren’t you praising your eldest daughter, Mary? I heard she handled the entire birthday party.” “Tch. She only knows how to muddle through things. None of it had been done to my liking. Jessie is the good one. She got up at seven in the morning just to bake me this cake.” I turned around and walked away from the doorway. Since she loved Jessie so much, she could pay for this birthday party, worth eighty thousand dollars.

I had funded Tilly Jenkins for five years—and spent those same five years chasing after her. Just when I thought I had finally won her heart—when I believed she was ready to spend her life with me—I discovered the truth: the one she had loved all along was her childhood sweetheart, the boy who had grown up by her side. I, on the other hand, to her, was nothing more than a privileged elite who used money to grind her pride into the dirt. A few years into our marriage, she secretly transferred my assets away—and even had a child with that childhood sweetheart of hers. In the end, I died filled with resentment, trapped in a raging fire. The flames reflected the sight of the three of them together, smiling like a perfect family, while I cried myself to death in despair. After I was reborn, Tilly's childhood sweetheart shoved me hard, sneering with open contempt. "What do you take us for? Toys for rich people like you?!" I slipped my bank card back into my pocket at once. "Sorry, having money doesn't mean I'm brain-dead. I'm not interested in trashy toys like that."

I help my students gain admission to top state art academies, yet my boss, Sebastian Emerson, withholds every cent of the pay I earned from 24 consecutive days of overtime. When I confront him in anger, he accuses me of stealing 120 thousand dollars in training fees from the students. "Honestly, being poor is no excuse for being shady. And having disabled parents doesn't give you the right to steal. "You've got two days to pay it back! Otherwise, I'll make sure you spend a few nights in jail, and I'll even inform your parents!" When a student calls, he snatches the phone and starts screaming, "There's no money! All your tuition went into buying your art supplies! If you've got a problem, go ahead and sue me, brat!" Meanwhile, Jayla Buckley, who is curled up in his arms, keeps placing order after order of Chaennal haute couture without the slightest hesitation. Watching the two of them colluding so shamelessly, I grip my attorney license in my pocket until my knuckles ache. Take it to court? Litigation? That's my arena. And I'll make sure both of them end up exactly where they belong—behind bars.

They sold me to the Dungeon to save themselves. My own family — my brother Caleb, my mother Anya — fed me to the system like I was nothing. A sacrifice. A liability. The last thing I remembered before the darkness swallowed me whole was the relief on their faces. But I didn't die. I came back. And I came back wrong. Welcome to the ARG — where pocket dimensions bleed into the real world, and only the strong survive. Every player gets a starting ability, gear, a guild, a fighting chance. Every player except me. No ability. No gear. No guild. Just Kiera Vance, standing in a room full of veteran wolves who think I'm dead weight — and one sharp-eyed Alpha named Liam Reed who isn't quite sure what I am. Smart man. They'll call me weak. They'll call me a Luna with no bite. They'll call me crazy. They're only right about the last one. I clawed my way to the top once. I'll do it again — but this time, I won't stop until I've burned the whole system down. My name is Kiera Vance. I was the most feared player in the game. And my Alpha? He's a lunatic. Almost as bad as me.

"Sign here, I have the divorce papers." Areiza Kensley had just walked in the door when Darren Venzor, her husband, handed her the divorce papers. Areiza felt an unbearable pain in her heart. Still, she tried her best to keep a straight face. She didn't want to look weak in front of this man... Areiza quickly took the paper and fished the pen out of her pocket, but Darren snatched it away. He frowned, "Aren't you going to read the agreement?" Areiza pursed her lips and replied, "No need, I know you must have everything ready for me even if I don't need it." Darren nodded. "That's right, this house is yours as well, including your mother's medical bills, which I'll continue to pay in the future, and I'll make sure you live without any burdens." How thoughtful, Areiza thought sarcastically. She grabbed the paper again and signed it forcefully. Areiza thought that once she signed the divorce papers, she would be able to start her new life without the man Darren Venzor interfering in her life... However... Did Areiza and Darren really go their separate ways after the divorce or... There is something waiting for her...

"Buzz… Buzz…" Alexia's cell phone vibrated as she sniffed then reached out for her phone which was in her side pocket and when she took it out she realized it was an unknown number. She furrowed her eyebrows. "Who in the world is this?" she soliloquized then swiped her thumb across the screen taking the phone to her left ear. "Hello… am I speaking with Alexia Chaney?" A deep male voice came through the phone as Alexia sat upright. "Yes, this Is Alexia Chaney," She clears her throat. "I heard you can play the guitar and I hope you will like a day's job, you will be paid handsomely for it. Are you interested?" said the man again over the phone as Alexia blinked. "Okay, I am interested. What is the occasion and venue?" She asked. "SBE wine corporation will be launching a new wine tomorrow alongside the birthday celebration of the CEO, Richard Robertson, and there will be a night party at his Estate," The man said as Alexia's eyes popped wide open and she parted her lips. She couldn't believe she just accepted an invitation to perform for a man who just wrecked her show. "I will text you the address, first thing in the morning. Get prepared because it is a big party and Richard loves something exceptional," said the man as he hung up.

I'm a nationally certified animal trainer running the Lion King, Caesar's final assessment. I've barely stepped into the enclosure corridor when the steel guillotine door slams down behind me. My wife's laughter crackles over the loudspeaker. "Everyone, we're doing the ultimate challenge today! We're locking the so-called number-one animal trainer in the Lion King's enclosure and taking bets on whether he wets himself in ten minutes!" Caesar crouches low and rumbles a warning. I reach for my tranquilizer gun but stop cold. The liquid isn't the right color. In a phony sing-song voice, the veterinarian, Hugh Archer, says, "Lucian, I forgot to mention, I swapped your tranquilizer darts for pepper spray so you won't hurt Caesar by mistake. "You two are so close. Just win him over with love!" I look at Caesar, his eyes bloodshot from the stimulant, and it clicks. Hugh still resents that I stopped him from touching a tiger with his bare hands a few days ago. I tune out the trash blaring over the loudspeaker, pull a remote from my pocket, and hit the button. It's the master switch for the electric fence gates around every predator enclosure in the zoo. If I don't make it out, no one does.

War. War is all we know. War for peace, war to take, war to protect. War for resources. It is impossible to avoid war because your neighbors won’t. If you are perceived as weak, you will be targeted. Your land and wealth stolen, your people killed, sons enslaved and daughters raped. To survive in this world, more important than oxygen; is strength and a cold heart. The only source of strength are mana veins. He who owns mana veins has the right to live and the right to rule. He who owns mana veins better have the strength to keep it or long life is but a pipe dream. Xasha hated war. War had taken everything from him and gave nothing in return. He hated that all wars were over petty things like pride and pocket change. He always looked to the vast wilderness with longing. He wondered why all the warmongers hadn’t turned their spears there. Where vast lands and untapped wealth were. Once he became a father. Xasha, the naïve, knowledge-loving merchant, decided he did not want his child growing up in the same world he did. He decided to change the world, end all war and unite the abandoned region. How will he do it? By starting a war, a war that will end all wars. Not a war with his neighbors over pride or a few mana veins. No. He will rage against the wilderness and the world beyond.