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Saturday, January 17, 2026

Tales of the Sanctum: Era of the Spellbound - Episode 10: Secrets in the Night (Updated January 16, 2026 18:30 EST)


Despite this storyline taking place mostly in Shepperton off the Thames, United Kingdom, it is entirely written in Moss Park, Toronto, Ontario, Canada.


I am Brian Joseph Johns and this is Shhhh! Digital Media at https://www.shhhhdigital.com or https://www.shhhhdigital.ca in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701.


[Spellbound - Siouxie And The Banshees]


Do you like enigmatic characters, engrossing story, magic and the ever atemporal weave?

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Chapters

  1. As in Darkness, So in Light (Finished January 10, 2026)
  2. As in Destitution, So in Wealth (Started January 14, 2026)
  3. As a Black Hole, So a White Hole (coming soon)

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I'd like to point out that it was the incredible Gary Sinese Foundation that brought the issue of Veteran's rights to my attention. I've always had little respect for those who'd forget the great contribution made by those who've risked life and limb to defend those values that so many of us espouse. Perhaps the true measure of one's principles are by that for which they'd risk their life.

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In all truth, there's a good chance that thanks to the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Jonathan Swift, Mary Shelley, Robert Louis Stevenson, Herbert George Wells, Jules Verne, Dr. Seuss, Stephen King, Clive Barker and Pierre Burton (for The Secret World Of Og and his ground breaking interview of Bruce Lee) that all of us are literate. Actually that goes back much farther to the Phoenecians and their first 22 character system of symbols. Literacy is important. Really it is. Literally. It allows us to approach our employer at the end of the week (with a big club) and ask: where my money?! Math important too. It help us count our thirteen fingers and toes.


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Shhhh! Digital Media

Brian Joseph Johns


Shhhh! Digital Media Presents:

Tales of the Sanctum: Era of the Spellbound - Episode 9: What Faust Hath Found

by Brian Joseph Johns





As In Darkness, So In Light


Mila stood before the island countertop in her kitchen, a row of small house plants lined up before her, where each sat in its own pot and tray. She poured water from an old decanter she'd purchased at a local used goods store, giving each of the plants their share of water. When she'd finished with one, she'd step left to the next.


When she'd finished with each of them, she took them two at a time and returned them to their respective place in her home, then returning for the next two and so on until there was but one left.


The bonsai tree sat poignantly, a tiny tree whose trunk followed an elaborate curve, mostly horizontally, veering upwards sharply upon approaching the edge of the planter which contained it. This arrangement of curvature occurred twice before it arrived at a flurry of branches and boughs, each of them tiny and containing ever denser foliage the further it extended from the trunk.


She opened one of the drawers to her right, and retrieved a pair of clippers, wielding them in her left hand. She then began to carefully select, and then clip branches, or sometimes branches of branches from the tree, placing them on the countertop before her.


When she had done so five times, she collected the clippings and on a piece of white cardboard and arranged the first two of them so that they formed a "Y" shape there upon. She then leaned down and opened a cupboard beneath the island countertop and withdrew a tray whereupon sat a bottle of crafting glue, a pair of scissors and various ligatures that seemed to be formed up of clay, each of which was elaborately painted to the tiniest of detail in unimposing shades of pastel.


She placed the tray upon the counter, and then taking the glue, she began affixing the branch clipping to one another, until they formed what appeared to be a tiny bush.


She lowered herself closer to the bonsai tree and peered out through the sliding doors out into the backyard and the bright and sunny day beyond.


There was sleet and ice upon the ground, though much of it had begun melting around the edges. The grass beneath was sparse and withdrawn, still in its winter slumber while the tree that sat just to the right of her view, followed a curvature almost identical to that of the bonsai, though much much larger in terms of scale.


She lined up her view of the scene on her countertop, with the scene in her backyard, the ground coverage from the giant bonsai tree, down to the dock of the lake that inhabited part of her backyard. 


The two trees lined up almost perfectly, the one on her countertop, and the one in her backyard. She then took the bush she'd just crafted, and placed it in the bonsai planter to match a similar bush just to the right of the tree in her yard. She made sure the bush in bonsai was secure, and then began piecing together some of the painted ligatures until they began to take on the shape of a bird. Once, she'd glued them together, she placed the bird upon a branch on the bonsai in her pot, once again making certain that it was affixed and sternly so.


She paused to admire her work, and then from the same viewpoint, she peered at the tree in her backyard. Not a second went by before a bird, almost identical to the one she'd just crafted and placed upon the bonsai, had landed in the tree in her backyard, watching her from the same limb as the equivalent limb of the bird she'd placed on the bonsai.


She admired the two, making sure that each of them were just right, before she took the rest of the pieces of ligature and continued assembling them and gluing them, until they took on the shape of a tiny deer. She confirmed that the fauna she'd just fabricated was stable and then placed it upon its tiny legs, its head poking through the bush in search of berries.


As she had before, she peered to the backyard and to the tree and the very bush that her deer had been foraging only to see a similar deer in her backyard. It too trying to find anything from which it could graze on the bush, finally settling upon a tiny bud nestled close to the border point between limb and branch.


She smiled, taking a moment to appreciate her own progress in the aether craft when a much larger deer suddenly stepped over to the bush, coaxing the smaller and younger deer away and presumably scolding it (by nudging it several times) before the two of them ran off into the brush surrounding the lake, disappearing into the shadows that contrasted the sunny brightness of the day.


The sound of the door chimes drew her away from her moment, as she returned her attention to her surroundings. She stepped over to a small video screen on her kitchen wall and pressed a touchscreen button on it. A video image emerged onto the screen, depicting Nelony, whose breath could be seen as she looked into the camera.


"Hello? Are you in there Mila?" Nelony waved to the camera, her voice emerging from the tiny speakers.


"Hi Nelony! Come in. I'm opening it now," Mila assured her as she pressed a button on the touchscreen marked: unlock.


The front door clicked and Nelony stepped into the front foyer, stomping her feet several times on the door mat and brushing what little snow and ice there was on her boots.


"That's a bit of a walk from the bus stop to your place. Glad its only minus ten out there," Nelony said as she grabbed the broom and dust pan near the door and swept the refuse she'd removed from her boots into it.


She then removed her boots and picked her favourite slippers from Mila's slipper rack, and stepped into them, grabbing up the dust pan and carrying it over to the sliding doors, which she opened, dumping the bits into the compost beside the doors.


"Thank you. Care for some tea?" asked Mila of her friend.


"Oh, that's lovely. Did you just add the bird?" Nelony noticed that detail right away.


"Just before you got here. What kind of tea would you like? I have Oolong, Shanghai green, Osaka glory, Orange pekoe, English breakfast or Earl Grey?" Mila asked Nelony.


"I'll have the English breakfast despite it being after lunch, if you don't mind," Nelony smiled, removing her coat, hat and mitts and hanging them on a rack by the door.


"Where's Shaela today?" asked Mila.


"She's out with Wes. They went to visit the London Archivist Society's collection of books on our favourite topic," Nelony opened the cupboard for Mila as she replaced her art tray within.


"That will undoubtedly be good for our progress if they can find anything," Mila noted aloud.


"And then some. Oh, I almost forgot!" Nelony ran back over to her coat and withdrew a paper back from one of the pockets.


"You're going to spoil that puppy sick, you know?" Mila shook her head.


"The poor little fella has to have something to look forward to from my visits. Where is he?" Nelony asked as she retrieved the designer biscuit from within.


"He's up stairs, passed out. He just finished the last of his breakfast about a half an hour before you showed up. Leave it here for him. We'll give it to him when he wakes up. Milk and sugar?" Mila poured Nelony's tea from the hot water appliance on her fridge.


"One and one, please. So, the reason I came over, aside from spoiling Happiu~isuka silly, was that I found this story when I was reading the news the other day," Nelony pulled her phone from her pocket and quickly navigated the interface to bring up a saved web page entry of a small news article from the London Times, then sliding the phone over to Mila across the counter.


Mila placed Nelony's tea on the counter and then her own, and then picked up the phone and began reading the article.


"...James Benley...? I don't know him. Was he someone in our school?" asked Mila after having quickly browsed the article.


"No. He's someone our age who fell upon difficult times and... you didn't notice the other name?" confirmed Nelony.


"Who? This Norton fellow?" asked Mila.


"Yes. May I suggest that you look a little closer...?" Nelony urged her.


Mila re-read the article, this time paying closer attention to the name that Nelony had indicated, even reading his name aloud when she'd arrived thereupon.


"...Norton Bidner. It sounds familiar? Oh...? Norton Bidner. Nor - Bid. Norbid. That can't be right? Or maybe its just a coincidence?" Mila suggested, though suspiciously as much so as was Nelony of the coincidence.


"That's what I thought initially. However, there's another article related to a different story. Published in the same online newspaper, two days later. Scroll to the right..." Nelony explained to Mila, who immediately followed her instructions.


"Jorge Stockard? Well at least he has money. More so than this other James Benley fellow, though its probably difficult in any case where there's contention over one's identity... Norville Bidman? Are you certain of this?" Mila surmised after having read both articles, only to find that the second party mentioned in the story had a similarly suspicious name as the man in the first.


"You read it right there. Norville Bidman. Nor-Bid. Norbid?" Nelony followed the same chain of logic that had led Mila to find the nature of their mystery.


"So, in the case of this James Benley fellow, he ended up involved in an altercation over issues of his identity not being officially recognized after his identification had been allegedly stolen, which this Norton Bidner fellow who is a private investigator, explained that delusions and mental illness are quite common amongst the population of the homeless, claiming that James Benley's claims over his own identity are fraudulent," Mila confirmed her understanding of the news story with Nelony.


"Correct. He's obviously experiencing issues related to his identity," Nelony agreed.


"This other Jorge Stockard fellow, he's quite rich. Far richer than me, and he's claiming the same thing. That his claim to identity is not being recognized by the people around him, which led to his altercation and to the publishing of his news story. There's obviously a good motive in Jorge's case. He's a multi-millionaire..." Mila reasoned with Nelony.


"Yes indeed. Four hundred million quid is definitely not small change..." Nelony agreed with Mila's observation.


"...but this other fellow? James Benley? He's destitute. He's homeless, or at least he was. He has nothing of value that would be a viable motive for those around him trying to steal his identity," Mila saw no connection between the stories other than the hidden coincidence involving the name Norbid, and the fact that both stories seemed to be centered around the theft of one's identity.


"Really? If you were to take a handful of cash and that designer biscuit and put them each in a bowl on the floor for Happiu~isuka, I think we can both agree that Happiu~isuka would turn his nose up at the money.


"True. Some things are more valuable than money to some individuals, I guess depending upon their situations?" Mila nodded in agreement, taking a sip of her tea.


"How far a cry would it be to consider that these stories came to our attention not long after our having solved the mystery of Goethe and the human soul?" asked Nelony.


"Are you saying that the two mysteries are related?" asked Mila.


"Seems possible," Nelony looked over the rim of her cup as she too took a sip of her tea.


"We determined that the concept of the human soul insofar as the Norbids were attempting to employ it, was like a currency, derived from the events and memories of one's own life, and that it could be used to make purchases, or even be stolen by others," Mila once again followed the trail back to their line of reasoning over the mystery of Goethe.


"Who's to say that this James Benley and Jorge Stockman aren't experiencing the same, or similar thing?" asked Nelony as she placed her cup back on the counter.


"But how can someone's memories be stolen?" asked Mila.


"That's a question that's still up in the air. However we do know that the events of one's life are considered the soul and a form of currency insofar as these Norbid fellows are concerned. Not only that, but they consider memories as the means to hide the past, or even to completely rewrite it," Nelony dug deeply into her philosophical understanding of that which they'd discussed with Miana only two weeks earlier.


"Who's to say what the past is, if there's nobody left with the courage or decency to remember it?" Mila considered aloud.


"So... I was thinking that in the name of helping at least one of these fellows, that we venture into London and have a visit with this fellow, and the homeless shelter where he lived before finding himself housed. I mean, at least we have better access to him than a man with four hundred million quid. Seems more to fit the service of duty of a pair of Wytches of our Sanctum, doesn't it?" Nelony suggested to Mila, taking another sip of her tea and then smiling at the prospect of their own little adventure.


"Very true, and it does at least allow us to progress the Sanctum further, considering that Shaela and Wes are already out there committing their time to such an endeavor. I wouldn't want us to be riding on their coat tails or anything," Mila took a sip of her tea, finishing it and placing it on the counter before her, smiling and winking at Nelony.


Nelony grabbed the paper bag with the biscuit and proceeded over to the stairs.


"How about I feed that little furry monster of yours this treat, and you get ready for our little adventure," Nelony suggested to her friend.


"Now that sounds like a deal to me, but make sure you leave no crumbs on the couch upstairs, or my bed," Mila smiled as she gathered up their cups and loaded them into the dishwasher.


As in Destitution, So in Wealth

Shaela and Wes were both dressed in layers as they contended with the chilly London air. Their breath rose in winding ribbons as they continued on their way to their destination.


"I kind of thought that it'd at least be on one of the main streets. Like Coventry or Jermyn," Wes remarked, almost slipping on a patch of ice before precariously catching himself.


"That wouldn't be very esoteric, would it?" Shaela responded, grabbing onto him just after he'd caught himself.


"No. I suppose not. Well, at least I'm feeling a bit better today. I was out of commission for a few days after our little talk with Miana at the Shepperton Museum of Ages. I hope that you were better off?" Wes asked her.


"Funny you should mention it. I was a little bit off myself, though only for a short spell. A couple of hours into the night I developed a headache, but it was gone when I awoke the next day," Shaela explained to Wes.


"You certainly fared much better did I, thankfully. I was under the blankets for three days. Couldn't eat.  Couldn't drink. Could barely move. Sick to my stomach and the whole time, with a monstrous headache. A migraine for certain. The strange thing was that it hit me all at once. One moment I was feeling fine, and the next I was completely incapacitated. It lasted for exactly three days, and left as quick as it arrived. Like someone had flicked a switch," Wes explained to her.


"That explains why we couldn't get a hold of you then. I thought you'd gone to visit your family or something," Shaela responded.


"I was down for the count the entire time. Kind of strange that it occurred after our talk with Miana don't you think?" asked Wes of her.


"Have you spoken with Neville?" asked Shaela.


"I could barely move, let alone operate my cell phone. Maybe Nelony has spoken with him?" Wes suggested.


"Maybe. Still, it does seem a bit circumspect. We could discuss it at the next meeting," Shaela suggested.


"Alright. Remind me if I forget," Wes requested of her.


"Do I look like your assistant? Get a note book or something. I did. Any time I have recollect or recall of something pertinent, I just whip it out and make a note," Shaela pulled her note book from her inner pocket.


Wes quickly grabbed it and turned to the last empty page without reading any of the previous pages. He  then retrieved a pen from his pocket and jotted down a quick note of his own pertaining to the sudden onset of inexplicable illness.


"There. All done," Wes smiled and handed her note book back to her.


"That's it. Thirty Floral Street," Shaela popped her note book back into her pocket and directed Wes' attention to the Archivist Society building.


"Not what I was expecting. It should have been something a bit more grand. Like that museum. A few pillars and maybe a gargoyle up top to guard against evil spirits?" Wes painted for Shaela the image he'd had in mind of the Archivist building.


"Less noticeable, less of a crowd. Come on, we've got some digging to do," Shaela grabbed Wes' arm and they entered the unassuming building together.

...


A man about twenty years of age squatted in front of a building, a stained parka covering his upper body while a pair of slacks and slippers covered his lower quarters. His hair was messy, a long mop of clutter while his face had four to five days growth.


He took a puff of his cigarette as the door beside him opened and another fellow stepped out and sat beside him in the cold.


"Hey Emmett. Got a fag mate?" the recently arrived fellow asked the first.


"Last one for you today. Ask someone else next time Joey," Emmett responded.


"Rat!" Joey replied as Emmett handed him the pack.


"I beg your pardon mate?!!!" Emmett looked to Joey, the hint of anger present.


"I said thanks," Joey lied, grabbing a cigarette from the pack and lighting it with his lighter.


"That's what I thought. The movie still on?" asked Emmett, withdrawing back into his previous demeanor.


"Ney. Its lunch in ten. Your favourite. Bangers and mash," Joey tried to be encouraging.


"They're all my favourite now. Every day is just the same day, there is no difference, no matter the topping you give it. Its all the effing same," Emmett looked about the street in both directions as pedestrians strode by, keeping their distance from both the two of them and the door from whence they'd come.


"Look at these two. They're real pair. Look! One for us each," Joey nudged Emmett with his elbow as he pointed to the right.


A pretty blonde haired girl in a toque and heavy winter coat walked beside a stunning Japanese woman, both of them their skin flawless, rosy and pink in spots from the temperature, their eyes nose and lips standing out like perfected embellishments on works of art.


"We're nothing to them..." Emmett said skeptically.


"We're nothing to anyone, but we've gotta have some fun?" Joey responded, abandoning the man who'd given him a cigarette only moments earlier, and leaving him alone to his doldrums.


"Look! There coming right to us!" Joey said, nudging Emmett again, who pushed back aggressively almost knocking Joey over.


"Excuse me. You two gents wouldn't happen to know a fellow named James Benley, would you?" asked Mila asked Joey first and then turned to Emmett.


"Is he a friend of yours?" asked Joey, who stood up to talk face to face with the two women.


"Yes. We knew him a long time ago. We heard he was staying here," Nelony jumped in to ensure that their improvisation did not end up out of sync.


"That Quaf? He left us. Got housing, after taking everything of ours," Joey remarked in response to their inquiry.


"I'm sorry, you mean he stole from you? Like your iPod or something?" confirmed Mila.


"iPod? How in the blazes would we afford an iPod?" Emmett spoke up, remaining squatted as he extinguished his cigarette on the cobblestone.


"She means boosting one, don't ya?" Joey smiled, laughing as if he'd made a joke.


"Boosting? What's boosting? You mean like when your car is stuck and someone gives you a boost?" confirmed Mila, clearly confused by the term.


Joey looked nervously to Emmett, who looked away from him rather than to be associated with him.


"Yeah. Its that," Joey responded, covering his tracks.


"So what did James take from you?" asked Nelony.


"He didn't take anything from me personally. He like took our ideas. Our ways. Our goodness," Joey explained to Nelony, then looking shyly to Mila.


"Do you have any recollection about James?" asked Mila of Emmett, preferring another opinion.


"I don't know what he's talking about, but I do know that sometimes he's full of it, if you catch my drift," Emmett responded to her question.


"Do either of you know where he's staying?" asked Nelony, rubbing her mittened hands together for warmth.


The door beside them opened and an older lady peered out from within:


"Lunch! Is there anyone else out there Emmett?" asked the lady after she'd made her announcement.


"No. Just us, unless you'd like to invite these two ladies in, though I think they'd be more a spectacle than anything," Emmett responded as Joey almost pushed him and Mila out of the way trying to get through the door for lunch.


"I'm sorry, but this is a men's shelter facility and we only allow male walk-ins for meals," the lady informed Mila and Nelony, who smiled politely.


"That's alright. We're well fed, but thank you all the same. You wouldn't happen to know about James Benley, would you?" asked Mila of the lady.


"James? He left us a little over two weeks ago. He'd been here for a while and it can be quite difficult and stressful at times, even for the heartiest of us. Nonetheless, he got out of here safely and into his own place, however, I can't divulge that information to you. You understand. Its client confidentiality," the lady responded.


"And you are?" asked Nelony.


"I'm Elsie. Elsie Nicholls... uhhh here. Here's my card," Elsie handed Mila a business card which Mila examined and then stowed in her purse.


"Its chilly and I've got to dip back in. If you need any other assistance or help in how you can find James, just give me a call and I'll put you through the proper channels," Elsie explained to them after which she bid them farewell, closing the door behind her.


"Well that wasn't exactly what I hoping to achieve," Nelony frowned at Mila.


"You have a pen and paper?" asked Emmett, who remained squatting as he pulled another cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.


"Uhhhh sure. Here," Mila handed him a tiny little note pad and a pen.


He placed it on his knee and opened it to an empty page, ignoring the cute little happy faces and smiling kittens as he scrawled a note for them and then handed the pad and pen back.


"That should get you to him, but don't tell him or anyone of these Quafs where you got it," Emmett revealed a little bit of a smile and winked at them.


"We won't. Thank you very much!" Nelony thanked him after which the two of them made their way back to Mila's mini-van.


"So, it sounds a lot like there was some strangeness going on. Maybe similar to our Faust experiences?" Nelony suggested to Mila.


"You mean someone taking your good as payment for being burdened with your bad? Possibly. I think we should look into this a little further," Mila suggested as she started the vehicle.


"I couldn't agree more," Nelony nodded in agreement as she buckled her seatbelt.


"Oh, by the way. What does boost mean?" asked Mila of Nelony.


"I think it means when someone shoplifts items from from a store, with the intention to sell them to someone else," Nelony explained the concept to Mila, who shook her head.


"So this Joey fellow accused James Benley of stealing from them, yet they're obviously well acquainted with boosting?" Mila pointed out.


"I agree. Once again, as Shaela would say, it seems a little circumspect," Nelony nodded in agreement.


"Lets go see what this James fellow has to say," Mila put the van in drive and they pulled out into London traffic just after one in the afternoon.


...


Norton Bidner, a tall fellow of six feet two inches watched as Mila and Nelony drove off in Mila's van. He stepped back into the bakery and cafe from where he'd been watching them and returned to his seat and his tea.


He removed his toque to reveal a grey swath of preened GQ hair atop a wrinkled face of the ages. A pin-striped moustache lined the top of his mouth while a dab of hair underlined his bottom lip. He reached into his trench coat and drew forth a small phone, which he used to make a call:


"Norville? They're on their way to James' place right now. I believe we have a leak inside of the men's shelter. That Emmett fellow," Norton explained to the man on the other end of the call.


"Separate him from the rest and remove him by his own discredit. I'll deal with the women," Norville replied and then hung up.


...


Jorge sat at the High Card Flush table, three stacks of chips beside his right hand: a stack of green, a stack of orange and a stack of pink.


He looked down at the cards that lay face down before him, peeking at them in turn. A five of clubs, a seven of spades, a ten of diamonds, a jack, queen, king and ace of hearts.


"Play?" asked the croupier.


Jorge grabbed three chips from the pink pile and placed them in the betting area.


"Raise times three," the croupier responded.


Three other players beside had waited as the croupier finished up with Jorge.


The croupier turned his cards over revealing a three card flush.


The other three players each groaned as they lost their raise, each of them getting up and stepping away from the table while Jorge collected his winnings from the croupier.


After having collected his winnings (which was well over three month's salary for the average skilled trades worker), he walked over to the collection bin beside the croupier and deposited one of his pink chips.


"Thank you kindly sir. The Casino's Charity Group appreciates your donation," the croupier nodded to Jorge who stepped away and over to the bar as another man kept a careful and watchful eye upon him.


Jorge sat at one of the bar stools, looking around the establishment which was all too familiar to him. It had for the last year, been a second home to him and the only place that he'd been able to escape the tendrils of something that clung to him in much the same way a parasite clings to its host. He was a ship lost at sea, that had found a hidden port not unlike an oasis in a desert of water. His unwanted passengers clinging to the sides of his vessel as the barnacles that they truly were.


"Ahhh, nothing like a stiff drink to help deal with your impending fate, which I'm certain you know gets closer with each passing day?" asked a tall thin man, who like Jorge wore a stylish blazer and pleated shirt, though a tie accompanied his.


"I'm guessing that either you're illiterate, Norville, or court restraining orders don't apply to you?" asked Jorge, picking up his whiskey and sipping it gently so as to savour its complexity.


"You just don't get it yet. The world is a changing place, and we've decided that its time to sort things out. To sort us out, and you're one of the chosen. Chosen to get the heck off of this island Aerth," Norville gestured to the bartender.


"Have I now? Well I hate to break it to you but this game is far from over. You've been trying for some time, and look how far you've gotten for the effort you've put forth. I don't plan on ever giving in to you, and I imagine that those of us left who still have some sense in us enough to recognize such a filthy evil as yourselves, we'll find a way. Resolute and just, without becoming the monsters that you already are," Jorge took another sip of his drink.


The bartender brought a glass of tonic for Norville and he held it up before them.


"Come on. You're a wagering man. Why not take me on? I mean, you're already practically labeled a drunk by most in here who know you, and those who don't, their ears will soon be mine. See my glass here? Its simply tonic. No booze. Just fizzy water with a bit of sugar and sodium. To those looking at us, and there are a few, we are both eligible bachelors, but only one of us has more than a year left. Who's to say who is the drunk, and who simply drinks the tonic? If you played my way, and used that wonderful apparatus in your head, the one that you've saturated with liquor for far too long, you'd likely beat me more often than not, and I'd be the drunk, and you'd simply be the one drinking only tonic. See how this game works?" Norville raised his glass to Jorge.


"Yes, but then I'd also have whatever other hidden luggage you've been carrying for the entire journey, and from my being a wagering man and from what I've learnt of you, I'd bet that luggage is quite a weight for someone who still has a conscience, unlike you. You're only here at this charity event to disguise the fact that you have no conscience. Charity and benevolence is just the means you use to camouflage from others the absence of your conscience, and the emptiness of your soul," Jorge took another drink, emptying the glass and putting it gently down on the bar as he ordered another.


Norville to Jorge, was like the peak of the onset of mania and anxiety. The figurehead of a collective of stressors who'd whittled away at Jorge's life to the point that dimly lit casinos and the dark corners of posh bars throughout London had been the only place where he could find peace, though that peace more and more was dwindling.


"Some would simply call your response to our forwardness a sigh of guilt. A sense of shame over something that burdens your soul. If you recall, a man is a man who is deemed responsible over his life and conduct, and yet there are things in your life from which you run. Things for which you've failed again and again to accept responsibility. You can't be Jorge Stockard without accepting all of him you know," Norville seemed unfazed by Jorge's previous words and instead focused on his own onslaught.


Jorge's first thought was that Norville was completely comfortable with his own lack of conscience (another proof of Jorge's observation as such). That every critique and truth leveled at Norville would bounce off of him harmlessly, because he simply did not care and was incapable of as much. He was driven by the completion and accomplishment of an idea over morality and worth of the lives it cost.


"And those situations over the course of my life that you deem to be issues of my failure to take responsibility, well every single one of them was created and formulated by the membership of your cliquey cult, expressly for the purpose of creating false situations with which I'd never contend or acknowledge, in knowing the fact that they were all illusions and lies. If I was to take responsibility for your illusory situations, then I'd be inheriting the responsibility for the weight of your clique's actions, not mine. You've just cleverly woven a narrative into your lies that wraps those situations around my life, and you've been using them to constrict my ambitions from the earliest point. I'll never concede to your qualifications of what you deem to be responsibility, when your schemes are all about alleviating you and your collective of it, and dumping it onto someone else. Its your dirty pile. The people you used to get close to me were like actors in a play, and all a part of that scheme to take what was mine, and to leave yours and their garbage in its place," Jorge said astutely, standing up and stepping closer to Norville.


"And don't think that I'm unaware of the nonsense that your cult has confabulated to the ends of the idea that even my arguments against you can be wielded by you against me, by the claim that my words originate from someone else, who inhabits my body or mind, and puppeteers me into speaking their truth, not mine. I too have money and resources and while you were unaware, I was able to acquire intelligence about you and your outfit. It just so happens that your collective numbers and ambitions I seem to have underestimated. You're nothing more than the right fervor at the wrong time, and that explains your power and appeal," Jorge took his fresh drink in hand as he returned to the High Card Flush table.


"Alright Jorge. I guess that we'll do this the hard way," Norville responded quietly to himself as Jorge stepped over to the card table.


To be continued...


I am Brian Joseph Johns and this is Shhhh! Digital Media at https://www.shhhhdigital.com or https://www.shhhhdigital.ca in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701.

Credits and attribution:

Special Thanks to the Natural History Museum in London, England and of course to the Royal Ontario Museum in my own home of Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

Special Thanks To Rocket Fuel Lakeshore Blvd West, perhaps the best place in history to get a coffee, circa 2001-2004. Miss you all very much.

Artwork: Amy Wong, Wendy Pusey, Ghastly, Birdman, Brian Joseph Johns, Daz3D, Unreal Engine...

Tools: Daz3D, Corel Painter, Adobe Photoshop, Lightwave 3D, Blender, Stable Diffusion (Easy Diffusion distribution), InstantID, Sadtalker, Google Colaboratory, Microsoft Copilot (Windows 11), Hitfilm, PhotoPea (a great web based Photoshop stand-in if you're on a low budget or in a pinch), Borderline Obsession...

DeepSeek AI for suggestions on exercises to improve aspects of describing scene and settings with a more sensory focused grammar.

InstantID by: Wang, Qixun and Bai, Xu and Wang, Haofan and Qin, Zekui and Chen, Anthony. Research Paper Title: InstantID - Zero-shot Identity-Preserving Generation in Seconds.

Sadtalker by: Zhang, Wenxuan and Cun, Xiaodong and Wang, Xuan and Zhang, Yong and Shen, Xi and Guo, Yu and Shan, Ying and Wang, Fei.
Research Paper Title: SadTalker: Learning Realistic 3D Motion Coefficients for Stylized Audio-Driven Single Image Talking Face Animation.

Gratitude: Our Mentors, Senseis, Sifus, Sebomnims, lifetime inspirations, family, friends, the Nomads (ask Stanton about that one), the Music, the Movies, the Theatre, the Arts, ASMR, (both YouTube and Bilibili and the many other creators on those platforms), the Gaming and Developer communities and of course, the audience.

Martial Arts (in the words of real experts and at least one comedian): https://brucelee.com (home of the real Dragon and an entire family of inspirations), http://iwco.online International Wing Chun Organization (International presence of a very scalable intensity martial art, protected and developed by Shaolin Nun Ng Mui) and the alma mater of Jinn Hua's own specialized variation thereof, https://iogkf.com International Okinawan Goju-Ryu Karatedo Federation (even Hanshi had his teachers), https://itftkd.sport International Taekwondo Federation (Here there be Taegers), https://tangsoodoworld.com Tang Soo Do World (the path of Grandmaster Chuck Norris), https://www.aikido-international.org International Aikido Federation (how else would Navy Chef Steven Seagal liberate a Nimitz Class Aircraft Carrier from a team of hijackers?), https://www.stqitoronto.com Shaolin Temple Quanfa Institute (The City Of Toronto's own Shaolin Temple), https://www.enterthedojoshow.com Master Ken's Ameri-Te-Do presence (If we can't laugh at ourselves, then we can at least laugh the loudest at others, and other Zen)

Magic (performance, illusion and perhaps the real thing): Magic Week Archive (I'm currently growing this section so stay tuned)

Special thanks to Aitrepreneur, Mickmumpitz, Hugging Face and the YouTube educational content producers, including those catering to the AI content production pipeline and of course AlphaSignal.

Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery 
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life

Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery 
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life

Jesse Enkamp: Karate Nerd
Jesse, a reknowned Sensei who runs his own dojo, explores the world of Martial Arts, traveling to many exotic locations to meet practitioners of a variety of different arts

Sensei Rokas: Martial Arts Journey
A reknowned Sensei of Aikido who in seeking to understand the roots of Aikido and its applications, seeks to stress test its effectiveness in a number of real world situations while studying its history

Seamus O'Dowd
An extensive growing archive Katas, Techniques and Waza (mostly Shotokan)

Iaido: Train For Katana Mastery Like Samurai 
The original weapons focused curriculum under which Samurai became masters of their art

Tapp Brothers Exercise For Better Motion 
Extensive courses for calisthenics and body strength, stamina and flexibility

Special thanks to Canva for inspiring other creators and giving them the tools

Special thanks to Captain Crunch and his wonderful sister!

Special thanks to Bandcamp for giving indie music artists a home under one roof

Something to give you perspective: The very first teacher had no formal education, didn't graduate and was self taught, but only because they had no other choice. We do.

This content is entirely produced in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701 under the Shhhh! Digital Media banner.

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