Codex of Aegis State of the Union 2017

For those of you who don’t know, at the beginning of every year I set up a list of goals for the year in the form of a blog post as a way to plan for the entire year. Apparently I don’t know either, because I went to go check the State of the Union for 2016 to see what goals I passed, but as it turns out I didn’t actually make one. So I guess I’ll just check the State of the Union for 2015 and hope that I completed all of them?

Checking 2015 Goals

Goal #1: Release the Codex of Aegis Compilation Book

I mean, we might as well say this is complete. Though I ended up having some trouble releasing this for-pay on an official store, you can easily just click the shop button right above this post (assuming you’re on the blogspot site) and download it for free. It’s finished, it’s out, and although part of the goal wasn’t finished, the core of it was.

Goal #2: Add more Activity on Astuka’s Blog

I guess this would be a good time to point out the fact that, while all the other State of the Unions have been posted on Astuka’s Blog, this one is on Codex of Aegis. That will be important for later when I get into the goals for this year.

Anyway, it’s kind of hard to judge this since this was a goal for 2015. In 2015, yes – there were quite a few posts on Astuka’s Blog, most political, and enough to which I would say it passed the test. In 2016 not so much, but I feel like if I did make a State of the Union in 2016 (oops) it would say I was going to cut back on Astuka’s Blog posts. Once again, we’ll save the details on Astuka’s Blog future for my 2017 goals.

Goal #3: Astukagaming Season 2

This never actually happened, but I never did give a grandiose promise to this. I have been ranting for the past few years or so that gaming-related content, though it gains a lot of views, is quite tedious to make, especially for something that is supposed to be fun. I really just don’t see the point in making gaming videos anymore, except for games or topics I have a lot to talk about. We’ll be talking about this more in depth later.

Goal #4: Codex of Aegis Branding on Youtube Channels

This I feel like was the easy one I set for myself that I did right after I finished the post. Yes, there are banners on the youtube channels that say “A CODEX OF AEGIS CHANNEL”. That was pretty easy.

Goal #5: Casual Streaming

This was my second failure, and for much of the same reasons as the first one. Not that big of a deal, it’s just not worth it for the investment. You have no idea how many times I’ve ragequit because I can’t play two-thirds of the games on my computer on stream. NOT worth.

New 2017 Goals

Goal #1: Major Dialback

If you thought the past few years barely had any content, you’re in for an unfortunate surprise. As it turns out, I’m going into college later this year (though seeing how convoluted and broken the process has been so far maybe we shouldn’t get our hopes up too much yet) and I’m assuming the workload is gonna be heavy (spoiler alert: it really already is). That being said, I’m going to go on a cautious route and not promise too much this year. After I get the hang of things (if I get the hang of things) things will probably go right back to normal.

Goal #2: Favoring Codex of Aegis instead of Astuka’s Blog

I hinted at this previously, but I don’t really like the Astuka’s Blog blog anymore. First of all, do you see how awkward that sentence is? Why even name something “Astuka’s Blog”? Codex of Aegis is just straight up more elegant, not gonna lie. The website link is also pretty embarrassing – astukagaming? What does this website even have to do with gaming anymore? I did just say previously that I’m barely doing any gaming coverage as of now.

So here’s what’s going to happen. In addition to short stories, Codex of Aegis will now also hold political and philosophical content, which is going to be my main goals for content this year. I mean, they do all fit the same tone, don’t they? Anyway, Astuka’s Blog will probably only be used now for advertising new gaming videos, since the site still gets a fair bit of viewership. I’m also going to extend the use of the Codex of Aegis Tumblr site, since Tumblr is admittedly a much more popular blogsite. Do to this popularity, Tumblr will be used to both rehost CoA articles as well as also advertise gaming vids.

Goal #3: Youtube and Twitch won’t have as much focus

Whoops! Looks like I kind of spoiled this one earlier. Like I said, only going to use the Youtube now to do gaming reviews and such that might be too much work writing-wise to make and would be easier to just talk about casually. As for Twitch, I might do an occasional stream if I’m really feeling it, but I really think this one is gonna be dormant. I made an attempt earlier this year to try streaming every day, and got about two weeks in before I just got sick of it. With so many technical issues popping up constantly, it made me feel like I was spending more time trying to fix these issues than actually playing games. No thanks.

Anyway, this has been a quick little sum of my plans for 2017. They’re mostly for my benefit, but I know some of you like to read this, so I’m posting it again anyway! Hopefully I won’t forget to make this again in 2018.

Old World Blues

There’s a saying back from where I’m from – Old World Blues.

It’s used to describe a person who’s so stuck within the past that they can’t seem to see through anything else. I remember that’s what I was thinking about that summer morning. The Old World Blues.

I opened up the shop early, not out of necessity or desire but simply out of convenience. When I drove down that morning I had just happen to arrive a few minutes early, and instead of waiting it out I felt I should just open it up instead.

Private detective work doesn’t get too many customers – at least not on a daily basis. Standard investigations usually last two to three months, padded by small moments of hiatus in between. This was one of them. My last investigation – with which I can’t recall the details of – had ended a few days before. Now, I sat, waiting, thinking about those Old World Blues.

It was two minutes before the office usually opened that I heard a knock. The sound scared me, because I had grown so accustomed to later day calls – not early morning visits – that I forgot about the possibility. I had expected it to be some delivery man ready to give me a package that had been coming a few days late. What I ended up getting wasn’t that at all.

The woman at the other end of the door was clearly in some mix of distress and depression. I thought her to be on the older side, though that could’ve just been due to the stress in her eyes. It was clear that she didn’t choose me first – she had seen a couple of other agencies and all of them had declined. I’ve seen that look of desperation before. It worried me – most of the time when I’m not the first call it’s because they asked for too much, which is usually much more than I myself can handle. And yet the woman had a sort of urgency to her, and urgency that lead me to want to at least humor her in case.

“You’re here a bit early.” I told her, pointing to the Business Hours sign out front.

“Oh, I’m sorry… It looked like the lights were on.”

“Well they’re certainly on now,” I beckoned her, “Come on in.”

Either of us had barely gotten seated when she began her story. From the beige letter bag she had at her side she pulled out a folder, slightly worn, with the slightest dab of a coffee stain on its front center and filled to the brim with what I could only assume she was about to tell me.

“Listen, I’ve contacted a lot of place about this, but… My daughter is missing – she has been for a long time, you see – And I just-”

“Cold case?”

She stuttered. “W-what?”

“Has the official investigation ceased?”

“I mean, yes, but-”

“Sorry, I don’t follow through with cold cases.”

Already I could see her frustration boiling back up once more. She knew exactly what I meant – she had heard it many times before. But she was hoping I wouldn’t have said the same. Now, I did; and she came back to that ever present state. “What? Why?”

I got out my cigarette holder from amongst a pile of old scans, pulling out a very specific card – the only yellow one in the bunch, an old aged Japanese Musumi. They had always given me an age in heated negotiations. And so I lit it.“They’re dead ends. Nothing anyone can do about it. That’s just the painful truth.”

“Could you just… just listen to what I have to say? Please?”

The Musumi always works. Always did work, I should say… but Old World Blues was still on the mind. I struggled to resist the force that had already overtaken me. Following her up, giving her more hope – it was a mistake. But I couldn’t help it. The air was too thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and mystery. I had thought about my own life… the own mysteries I had experienced, as well as the closures I hadn’t. I decided it was time to break the rules.

“Alright, give me the foundations.”

Her eyes perked up. She was never able to convince anyone else. She began: “We were on a trip… we stopped, at a hotel not too far from here, just the two of us. There wasn’t anyone else there, not from what I could see. We got our room together, got ready and went to bed. Last thing I said to her before I dozed off… she was playing with her tablet, and I told her to get to bed or else she’d be tired in the morning. She nodded to me, and I turned and fell asleep. The next morning...”

“She was gone?”

“Yes. Out of nowhere. Tablet and everything was still there. The bed looked fine too… looked like she had just gotten out of bed and never came back.” The nameless woman began to quiver to herself under the recalling of events passed.

“Did you not hear anything during the night? Like her getting out of bed, anything?”

“I heard the bed ricket – her getting out of bed, I think – but nothing else.” The guilt that weighed her down was clear. I felt a tinge of sympathy; but I had seen and heard of many worse cases before, and my empathetic thought had been sanded down by so many years of hearing the same dreadful things over and over again.

“Did you hear the door open or close?”

“No. I heard nothing.”

“And what did the official investigation come up with?”

“That she must have wandered off during the night, or worse… someone got her. I… I just want to see my daughter again, that’s all.” I could feel the mood dampening even lower. She began to shed a tear.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“Not… not long. Almost exactly five days since.”

I thought about it. I thought about the case, and about the mother, and about her missing daughter. I’ve been brought people wanting closure before. Even I myself have felt the pain of not knowing the end of a story. Perhaps that was what brought me into thinking about the Old World Blues that morning in the first place. It was either luck or fate for that women, for in the first time of my entire investigative career, I sat down and decided to accept a cold case request.

“Oh, thank you sir! Thank you so much.”

I shrugged it off, pretending it had less meaning to me than it actually did. “Don’t mention it. I’ll get on it soon.”

I watched her slowly leave her seat, leaving some trepidation behind her, and move silently towards the exit. But right before she turned the brass knob, I recalled one case that I could get closure to.

“What is your name?”

She turned back to me, her panicked hair created a shadow that guised true meaning in her face. “Maria. Maria Cartwell. My daughter’s name is Susie Cartwell.”

No one else came that entire day. No one else needed to. I grabbed the stained portfolio she had left on my desk and flipped it open. It turned out to be a mistake, for the first thing I laid eyes upon was Susie’s smiling face. A smiling face that, perhaps at the time, was meant to have joyful meaning. Meant to be relaxing and peaceful, to calm one that was feeling particularly neurotic. But the context had changed now. For what I now saw in the young daughter’s face now was a beckoning. A plea. Save my mother, she told me. Save my mother, for I am already dead. But if you cannot save her… then at the very least, go and save yourself.

[END OF EPISODE 1]

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Twitter: @CodexofAegis
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The Big Bear Screams Again

When I moved into my apartment in Queens I had a lot of complaints but didn't have a chance to share them. After all, my life at that point had fallen to one of its greatest deeps, and money didn't come to me easily. Perhaps one of the most noteworthy things about the place wasn't the smell of rat piss that diffused through the halls on a near constant basis, or the lack of communication between the ethnic landlord and his audience of tenants, or even the fact that the lock on my door simply held as a ruse and not an actual lock for the first three months of living. No, the biggest, perhaps most important aspect of that apartment, was the walls.

It's not uncommon for a tenant to hate the walls. Every wall is paper thin to everyone, unless you're living in some expensive condominium down with the bourgeoisie. But you'll have to trust me when I say that these walls were a very special case. Privacy was already very sparse in 1963, but when it came to the apartments, community was everything. I say that speaking of nearly every single sound-wave passing through your side could very well be audible on the other. Every day, at 3 pm, I could hear Robert's boys coming home from their classes in the ghetto and turning on the TV to watch some early sitcom I couldn't be arsed to recall the name of. But it wasn't the Robert and his boys I was thinking the most about, but rather the man who stayed in the room opposite to where I held my own bed; the man I knew only as Leubeto.

I didn't know Leubeto was a communist at first. There was nothing about the guy that really struck me as strange; he looked like the same kind of muscular, straight out of the navy, first-rate thug you'd expect to live in these types of places. Occasionally when I'd get home from work I'd see him having a smoke right outside – he'd give me a small nod and I'd give a small nod back – and that was about the extent of our direct acknowledgment of one another. And yet, every Friday night – every Friday night – Leubeto would bring a whore from the shack down at Wilhelm Pier with him, and I'll be damned if I didn't hear every god damn piece of it.

Listening to Leubeto fuck a woman was like listening to a cheap public school symphony. First came the introduction; Leubeto would bad mouth the girl and she would bad mouth back, and then as the clothes came out the language would get more and more filthy to the point where things were finally ready to get heated. From there was when things really began to escalate, but not for very long. It's strange, from a man with the strength and sexual determinacy of Leubeto I would have expected him to last longer, but every time I predicted his breaking point it would always be a little bit before. Perhaps it was because I always had the habit of overestimating Leubeto, but I digress.

As you could tell, this was a bad fuckin' time of day for me. My time in Korea taught me to sleep under hard circumstances, and Leubeto wouldn't last that long anyway, but for that simple five minute period I swear it was a hell of a lot louder than it needed to be. Still, I am a patient man by heart, and so I preserved until a Wednesday night where I had brought my own love over, and right as we were ready to begin, Leubeto's horrifying grunts permeated the room. Turns out he had decided to change schedule on me. It was then that I decided action must be taken.

The first thing I wanted to figure out was what in the hell the big fuck was even doing in there. I obviously couldn't just ask him – and if he caught me watching in the act I might have already been dead. So instead what I devised was an ingenious – if a bit perverse – plan. I figured that Hashraj wouldn't mind if his already deteriorating complex was deteriorated just a tiny bit more, so I took the liberty of constructing a very small and precise that gave a very nice birds eye view of Leubeto's eloquent bedroom. In that case, even if he had discovered the hole, it was easy for me to conclude that it must have been done by a previous inhabitant, and that I myself did not even know who put the hole there or what its purpose served.

I clearly remember the day the plan first came into fruition. It was winter, heavily snowing – must have been early December – and I had been able to get off work early claiming I was suffering from the same stomach bug that a few other employees had been getting. I ended up not getting any pay that week, but it was worth it; I watched through the looking glass down anxiously as Leubeto finally brought in his escort, and they immediately went to town.

I was holding in my laughter and having an existential crisis at the same time. I often wonder what I look like to other people; when I saw Leubeto that night the thought transformed itself to some twisted reality. For the Leubeto I had known – the one who seemed like he can pulverize anyone else in the hall to a pulp, the man of few words but many intimidations – if you told me that man was the same one as the red-faced, lumping, intensely sweaty and slightly emotional man I had seen in the bedroom that night, and you were to say that with no connection between the two bodies like I had, then I would be right to not believe you, as I probably wouldn't. And yet, things came to the head they did, and now my seemingly miserable life had at least one positive – the self-fulfilled enjoyment of a nice Friday night.

…

“You're telling me he's a fuckin' communist?”

“I understand this may come at a great surprise to you, but you must believe me in what I say. In every word. I have already given you the proof; and now I am asking you to step up and help your country one more time.”

“I mean, it's not that I'm going to decline the invitation or anything, it's just – what the hell is he spying on? The lame duck couriers down at the pier? Little Ol' Hashraj? Is he spying on his own ballsack?”

“I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly what we believe he's done. All we can tell you is what we want you to do; go to that little hole you made in the wall and plant this camera there.”

It was a whole three months that had passed when I found the FBI agent at my door. I had been carrying some groceries up when I found him in all his black suited glory, beckoning to me, explaining the situation briefly but offering to explain it in depth over some coffee at a place in the uptown. Being both scared and starving, how could I refuse? I put down the bags inside and then went straight back out to meet him down at his car – a terrible idea in retrospect – but he did keep his end of the bargain and I ended up getting a damn good coffee out of it. I don't recall the entire exact dialogue, but I do remember the key points; so that bit of fictionalized discussion should set up my situation pretty well for you.

The Friday was the first Friday since December since I felt as jittery as I did, although now it was for all the wrong reasons. It turns out my casual fun had attracted quite the pair of wolves, and seeing that I was now between pissing off the KGB and pissing off the CIA, I decided to score one for the true motherland. And so, while Leubeto gave his classic rhythmic thumping, I took the liberty of setting up the camera exactly as I had been instructed.

After that, truth be told, not much else happened. I waited nervously another three and a half weeks before the feds finally busted down Leubeto's door, probably due to the fact that they had enough evidence of whatever the fuck they wanted to know. And then, things went silent. Life moved on. To be honest sometimes I wonder why I treat it so much more than a funny anecdote in a much greater life. I tell this story at parties a lot and it does a lot of good. I figured I'd write it down too.

Leubeto, if you're still out there – sincerest apologies.