In this case “the force” is my next awesome chapter. True, the entire world was worried that I had lost the will to write it. My friend Matt even asked me if I had something called “writer’s block.” How silly! Not only did I have Christmas to deal with, but my brother got into a bit of an accident. He NEEDED me to be there for him these past couple of months, and family–family always comes first.
It had NOTHING to do with me getting Xenoblade Chronicles X, Tales of Zesteria, Yoshi’s Wooly World, and a new Gameboy.
It MIGHT have had a little to do with getting Fallout 4 though.
Wait, wait, first I DO need to say something about The Force Awakens. Earlier last year I made a post about it, and how it seemed as though the seventh film would be just a repeat of the originals. I HAD NO IDEA it would really be EXACTLY like the first movie. This is the world I live in, future historians: Where the masses CRAVE the same story to be told over and over! I mean, why even put up a “Spoilers” tag if I want to discuss this movie!? You’ve seen it, one way or another! Woo! I’d go over all the similarities but in this case it would be way faster to just tell you what managed to be different:
- The new Death star got the spread gun power-up from Contra and fires three shots.
- One stormtrooper finally realizes that his gun always misses, tosses it down, and beats up someone while using a lightsaber-deflecting baton.
- A different stormtrooper realizes that he is a bad guy and decides to be one of the story’s protagonists instead.
- The new droid in this movie, BB-8, uses a Dhaston orb as its main method of locomotion. Congratulations, Tyle: at some point your dad’s company will be selling self-balancing roller balls to galactic robotics manufacturers!
But the rest was the same! Can you imagine? Anyway, I did get to see one great film this winter. That’s right:
My brother got it for me. He also wrote all over it. But who cares!? Frieza has been resurrected with the dragon balls! Goku must face him once more! CAN he overcome his might!? The wicked space tyrant has powered up a bit since the last cosmic battle, but you know our favorite Saiyan has been honing his skills as well!
And now that I’m talking about MY favorite series it’s totally okay for a movie to recycle the same villain, hero, plot devices, characters, and ending!
Chapter twenty-six, begin!
26 – Hellzoo
“You’re not going to get at me with that,” Mean explained. “I know all your tricks; they won’t work.” She pointed at the copy of her that held the rapier and Dark’s still body at her feet. “I already went though that. It wasn’t really me that did it anyway.”
“I can’t get a reaction out of you anymore, can I?” Her copy said. She dropped the sword to the carpet. “Well, what about you, Dark? Think I can still scare you?”
Mean checked beside her; Dark was not there. The way back had been sealed off.
“Dark!” she cried out. She spun back to her reflection. “Where is he? What did you do!?”
The copy of Mean vanished; behind it a new copy came into focus behind it: another Mean, another sword held to Dark’s face. A shimmer of movement and Mean saw herself and Dark mirrored throughout the room.
“Mean!” one of the Darks exclaimed. He was bound in chains, along with the others. Shirka’s voice cooed from above.
“You didn’t notice the one with you was a fake? You’re not a very good girlfriend.”
Mean clenched her fists, scowling as she listened to Dark’s voice plead from all directions.
“One of them is the real me, with a real weapon,” Shirka said. “Put your face to the floor. Now.”
Mean was still. “Don’t do it!” Dark’s voice behind her said.
“Alright, I’m going,” Mean said, raising her hands. She knelt to the carpet and lowered herself flat. She dug her fingers into the thick fabric of the floor.
“Dark!” she exclaimed; the potted plants in the room lurched, tipping toward the sun-facing window. The leaves rustled as the plants swept into the air; past the copies of Mean and Dark; gravitating toward the window. Mean felt something whiz past the top of her head as she held tight to the floor, her hair standing forward. There was a thud and a crack split the window down the middle. The plants and their pots clanked together at the glass, their green leaves and soil being held to the window. Mean leapt up. She held out her hand at the window.
“Ow. You learned some new moves,” Shirka said. The weeping sun through the window blurred and was covered: Shirka appeared there, clad in the armor, missing only the helmet. Her limbs were spread and her hair was pressed flat to the glass along with the plants’ leaves.
“Dark’s not even here,” Mean uttered. The plants slid off the window and thudded to the carpet. Shirka remained stuck to the cracked glass, her reddish hair settling along the armor’s chest.
“So this is it: the real me,” Shirka said. She stared down at Mean through the ring strapped at her eye. “Here I am with none of my wonderful illusions.”
Mean’s lips crinkled. “You need to watch what you say. After all these years of knowing Dark I’m pretty good at tossing his armor around.”
Shirka’s eyes flicked around the room. The false Means and Darks were blurring away, leaving the area bare. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” she asked. “Not after all I’ve done to help you out?”
“All I’ve seen you do is torment other people,” Mean said. The armor squealed as it slid a bit further up the window.
“Did you miss the part where I just saved every world from my evil siblings?” Shirka wondered. “I saved them from themselves, too. I’m practically a saint!”
“The saint of guilt?” Mean said.
“Oh come on, now,” Shirka cooed. “Guilt is healthy. If people felt guilty more often the universe would be a much safer place.”
“And in what universe do you believe I’ll actually fall for this?” Mean asked.
“Let me give you an example,” Shirka proposed, hanging against the glass. “Why do you think Pinada hid in that cube? I tried to work on him when he was sent to seal my first avatar up. Back in Droldragia and the Teery Mine. But I couldn’t see into his mind with that barrier in the way. And you know what happened next. He went on without remorse for his actions: attacking my planet and killing your friends.”
Mean said nothing, watching Shirka smile. A seam appeared at the neckline of the armor and raced down the middle; branching off at each limb and splitting them wide open along with the body. Shirka dropped to the ground as the suit was dragged up to the top of the window with a long squeal.
“You’re the one twisting reality,” Shirka said. She stood before the window in her black slit dress, with one side wadded up around her right leg. “Making me out to be the villain while you play the avenger. I can give you another sword and a little glass cube to ride around in if you want, ‘hero.’”
“I can still stop you without the armor,” Mean said. She flicked her hand and the plants on the window rolled off: being pulled toward the spot where Shirka stood. Her body jerked and she was brought to her knee as dirt and greenery settled about her.
“You think you have me beat,” Shirka said, her curled hair swaying as her head was pulled lower. “Now that you’ve met me without my illusions and lies.”
Mean stood braced, her thin legs anchored and her brown hair whipping forward. The dangling lights on the ceiling swayed toward Shirka as she clutched her knee. Her stocky calf flexed. She worked her body upright again. Mean pulled her hand back with a start and Shirka lunged: barreling forward with her hair trailing back from her circle-eye. The room blurred and Mean retreated; she banged into a wall.
The space they were in was now smaller and cramped. A poster of Lords Ley Tecker and Vail was hung over a dresser. Shirka caught her by the wrists.
“You do think of your old room when you’re running away,” Shirka said.
“This can’t really be you,” Mean said. She kicked at Shirka’s side with her shin. Shirka let out a sputtering laugh.
“You didn’t actually notice how strong we were,” Shirka mused. Mean cried out as she dug into her forearms with her thumbs. “I’m not quite as powerful as ol’ Slab, but—wow—I’ll bet this really hurts!”
Mean flew to the side, dragging Shirka along with her near the fold-out bed by the window. The weeping sun still shone outside.
“Remember?” Shirka said. “I said you’d come back here to me.”
Mean kicked a switch beneath the mattress; the bed retracted into the wall. She leapt and flipped herself so her feet hit the ceiling, leaving Shirka standing on the floor, still squeezing Mean by the arms. The dresser soared from its spot and smacked into Shirka, crushing her against the wall and window. She released Mean, shoving at the top of the dresser instead.
Mean flipped down to the thin, worn carpet. She inspected her arms: crimson marks marred her skin and her hands were shaking. She made a fist and hissed through her teeth at the pain.
“Ha, what’s wrong?” Shirka asked. She was pulling herself out from behind the dresser. “Would you rather fight some stupid-looking monster? Is the reality of what I am too much?”
The room blurred. As it vanished a new space appeared: polished wood was beneath Mean’s feet, with a grid of metallic bars casting hard shadow upon it from above.
“I like this scene better anyway,” Shirka cooed. “The place where you learned: The only people you’re good at killing are your friends.”
Trisk swept her finger away from the armor; the front of Slaberdashia’s helmet dropped to the ground. Trisk fought to keep the released smell from affecting her composure.
“Something wrong?” Slaberdashia hissed. Darrow offered his opinion.
“Trisk, um, she doesn’t like food!” he explained. “You must have eaten something?” Slaberdashia bared her black teeth. Trisk nodded.
“She’s running out of power,” Clance informed, his face already exposed through a hole in the visor. He pointed at Vornis. “You. I’ll take your energy next.”
“Sure,” Vornis replied. “I don’t need it that much.”
There was tinkle of metal from above. Calm dropped to the floor from a chain.
“Lady Shirka said you can’t come out!” she whined. “She said!”
Darrow put his hands up. “Whoa!”
Calm swiped at the ground with her toes, skating forward in a glide. Clance pointed his fingers at her is if he still held his hairpin. She skidded to a halt, wobbled, and fell on her knee pads.
“No, my skating,” she said. With a drawn-out gasp she tugged at the veil on her face. “Not again! You didn’t all do it to me again!” she wailed.
“So who is that?” Vornis asked. Clance turned away from the sobbing Calm.
“More energy,” he said. “Now keep going.”
The enclosure lifted off, with the high cliff walls and the outer ring of the chandelier visible through the surrounding bars. Shirka’s knees buckled as the room picked up speed. Behind her, the armor vibrated against the floor.
“I can recreate the scene again if you’d like,” Shirka said. “Want to see how you killed Parlay again?”
“You killed her,” Mean shot back. Shirka began to flatten out her wadded-up dress.
“And she was the one that saved you from this situation before, am I right? Kept your little bones from shattering.” A gun appeared in the palm of her hand: Mackaba’s harpoon pistol. “Again, it was my guilt that spurred her to save you.” She closed her fingers on the grip and squeezed off an absent-minded shot in Mean’s direction. Mean kept low, ducking the projectile with her bruised arms dangling. The pistol flew from Shirka’s hand; she produced another in her right and left this time, firing more shots in succession as Mean circled past her. The pistols jerked toward the other direction; Shirka held on, fighting to keep them in her hands. As she regained control she spun to fire again: the harpoon clanged off the armor as it closed around Mean’s body.
“You little puke!” Shirka spat out. She alternated her shots, with each barrel loading as the other fired. Mean threw her arms across her face and the harpoons scattered as they struck the gauntlets. She whipped her hands outward, and Shirka’s pistols followed suit: spreading her arms away from her body as she struggled to keep them both in her grip. Mean’s armor shot forward and she slammed her fist into Shirka’s stomach. She let out a hacking wheeze; the guns whirled away from her fingers as she reached for her abdomen and doubled over. Mean flipped up her palm and hammered Shirka in the face, rising from the ground as she followed through: Shirka did the same, lifting and falling flat on her back.
“This thing is great!” Mean exclaimed. She worked her wrist beneath the glove, keeping Shirka in sight.
“Then die in it!” Shirka screamed from the floor. A blurred shotgun with an ivory stock snapped into focus; Mean turned and ducked; a hail of pellets clanged on her back. Mean flung the gun out of Shirka’s hands again.
“Just stop fighting,” she said, her hair flitting against the collar of the armor. “We can’t kill each other so just stop.”
“I’ll find something to kill you;” Shirka said, standing. She extended one arm and held another poised. A Staccato mk II rifle fell: its cushioned butt landing on her shoulder and the barrel into her waiting palm.
“Oh crap; really!?” Mean spit out as she raced for the far wall. A streak of light licked at her heels as she flew; it appeared and vanished in a blink, sending a burst of sound and pressure into her head. She wavered and thudded against the padding on the enclosure’s partitian with her hands over her ears. With sweaty strands of hair stuck to her nose, she looked over at Shirka. She was down on the ground again, knocked back from the recoil of the gun. It fell to the floor and Shirka sat there, laughing. Through the square bars the cliff wall was fast approaching.
“I’m going to smash you pieces,” Shirka said. Mean could see the buildings of the cliff-side city St. Tra warped and jutting from the stone. “Smashed against that stupid city you hoped to escape. Welcome home!”
Trisk had her fingers arched over Cougo’s left hip.
“Yes, it’s in that pocket,” he told her. Careful!” he cried as she swept her fingertips through the armor.
“Stop whining and hold still,” Trisk said. After a few more precice moves a chunk of the armor fell away. Trisk reached into the exposed pants pocket and removed a coiled spring. “Is this it?” she asked. Cougo nodded, his face sweaty.
“I’ll hang on to that until you’re ready,” Vornis said, taking it into his massive, clawed palm. Trisk moved on to Clance. Dark paced toward Beebee, who was crouched next to Calm.
“Can you sense them?” he asked. Beebee shook her head.
“Shirka and your friend moved out of my range,” Beebee told him. “They went toward the east. I’m sorry I don’t know more.”
Dark ran his hair back over his ear, keeping it clutched in his hand. “But don’t you have one of those avatar things?” he asked. “Since they’re not using you for this couldn’t you–I don’t know–use it to help her somehow?”
Beebee ran her fingers along Calm’s back. “I’ve never used the avatars,” she explained. “I think it’s wrong.”
Dark glanced over and Elder Sain and back to Beebee. “Wrong?” he wondered. “What do you mean? What are they?”
The enclosure whizzed past a sideways tower; Mean hopped into the air, curled into a ball, and covered her tiny head with her arms. The wall of rock rushed at them. There was a crash and the floor buckled; shards of wood flew up against the metal bars. Shirka was flung into the cushioned padding of the enclosure as it smacked into the rock. Mean peeked through the gaps in between her arms, watching. The enclosure creaked as it continued to press against the cliff face. Silty dust seeped upon Shirka’s side.
“You know what I like about your world?” she asked Mean. A shadow passed across her as she stood. “They gave me a name—an identity. Not the acronym I was labeled with by Zonz.”
“What are you talking about!?” Mean said. She kept one arm raised. Small objects were pinging against the bars and falling downward. “You mean Hellzoo?”
“Yes!” Shirka laughed. “A name born from my deeds: not ridiculous, plotted-out expectations!”
Mean took her eyes off Shirka a moment, squinting above. One of the chains supporting the chandelier tower was unraveling. One solid ring was being formed out of the many.
“Hellzoo,” Shirka stated. “Darklord,” she rang. “Vile names that describe us truer than any we were given by our makers.”
“You want to be that monster?” Mean asked. The ring above them separated from the rest of the chain. Behind her, the tower tilted.
“A man in a suit,” Shirka began. “A hideous beast covered in spikes. A little girl pretending to be from a planet that isn’t hers. Who cares what people think we are—as long as it isn’t what we were.”
Mean held out her fist: bits of wood and metal gravitated at the armor there to form a heavy mass. She rocketed forward and swung at Shirka’s face. She twisted to the side, taking the blow on her left cheek. She bounced against the wall and dropped.
“A killer that turned into a normal person,” Shirka said. “And vice-versa.” There was a red mark on her face. She dragged herself up, keeping one arm concealed by her dress. Mean drew her fist back for another blow; Shirka whipped out Pinada’s rapier, lunging at Mean’s chest. Dropping the rubble, she caught the blade in her gloves. The tip dug into the breastplate; Shirka clasped both hands on the hilt. Mean backpedaled as Shirka pushed forward.
“I’m not going back,” Shirka spat. “I’m not going back to being Zonzabee’s weapon, or Elder Sain’s prisoner.” Through the bars above, the circle had formed and the chains around its circumference were reaching down.
“You made me Hellzoo,” Shirka said, her eye wide. “Thank you for that.”
Mean’s back touched the wall, her hands straining against the blade.
“Remove my helmet now,” Elder instructed. Clance, Cougo, and Pladomir knelt near one of the slabs, their palms all placed upon the same collection of items. Trisk began the incisions on the opaque visor. Beneath it, Elder’s face twitched. Slaberdashia approached from the other side. The remaining tools inlaid in the pillar jangled as the tower swayed.
“I am bringing Shirka to the forefront of everyone’s minds,” Pladomir said.
The enclosure pulled away from the cliff with a jerk; Shirka toppled backward; Mean remained pressed to the wall.
“What, you think you can—“ Shirka spat out. She gasped, pressing her palm to her eyepiece. The barrier behind Mean gave way, blurring out of existence. She steadied; the platform below them was still heading backward; it was no longer falling: it rolled on a track. A long, declining tunnel now held them.
“What are you doing!?” Shirka hissed. She scampered backward on the platform. It was leveled out to compensate for the sharp angle of the track.
“What am I doing!?” Mean shot back. “You’re the one making all this crap! This memory isn’t even mine!”
Shirka grimaced, clenching her flat jaw. “This awful place—I never wanted to see it again! What are you doing to me?” She pressed her hands over her ears now. Mean glimpsed behind her at the deep tunnel, lit all the way down to the glass plain at the bottom. The drone of wheels on the track echoed.
“This is your memory now,” Mean said between breaths. She wiped another sweaty strand of brown hair back with her glove. “What—is that what you feel guilty of? About time.”
“Me!?” Shirka screamed. “Me!? You’re doing something to me and I’ll kill you—!” She wobbled and stood as the platform raced downward. A copy of Pinada’s rapier appeared in her hand. Followed by another splitting off from the first. It clanged to the floor and rolled off onto the speeding track along with many more: all multiplying in a cascade from her hand.
“I didn’t tell you to kill her!” a woman’s voice boomed. Mean spun, searching for the speaker. Shirka fell to her knees with the trail of swords bouncing and tinkling on the track behind her.
“You’re dead!” Shirka bellowed. “We all saw you get cut!” Mean jumped as a vertical slash severed the tunnel; the platform bumped her again as it rushed over the dip.
“I need you to be ready for him,” the woman’s voice commanded. “That’s what I made you to do.”
“No! Stop it!” Shirka cried. The tunnel walls were lined with slabs and doors now, the lighting grew brighter and the colors more sterile.
“Repeat the goal I made for you,” the woman’s voice said.
“Simulating—“ Shirka began. “No! I’m not! I’m Hellzoo!”
“Uh, we’re about to hit bottom,” Mean said. She thrust her hand at the platform. It continued on with no pause. “And I really can’t stop this so whatever you’re doing you need to shut it off!”
Shirka’s crimson hair was whipping behind her as she writhed and beat her fist on the ground. Mean leapt up to hover near the ceiling; the platform flew beneath her. The front banged into the glass floor at a sharp angle, flinging the back end up from the track. It smashed through the top of the tunnel, flinging Shirka through it along with chunks of rubble. She fell against the top of the tunnel, rolling down its slope to rest on the plain.
Mean flew over to where the tram car was poking up through the roof. She squeezed through, looking up: they had traveled to the foot of the chandelier tower.
The support chain they had started from was dragging from the outer ring and lumped in heap on the ground; the other four still held. Zeppelins were humming in the sky, positioned above the elaborate spokes that held the chandelier to the ring. The formation of tanks had progressed past Slaberdashia’s arena and were continuing their bombardment on the main tower. Flashes of light retaliated from the zeppelins; after every discharge a dark gas vented from the forward windows to quell the flames that sprang up. Mean went down to where Shirka lay as shots streaked in the air above them.
“Shirka, stop all of this,” Mean pleaded. “Send everyone back.”
“My name is Hellzoo,” Shirka spat out. She rolled over and stared up at the tower, zeppelins, and smoke.
“Repeat the goal,” the woman’s voice said.
“You’re dead!” Shirka screamed, standing in a frenzy of whirling limbs. “This is fake! All of this is fake!”
She rose her arms and the massive struts of the tower blurred. “I made this! It’s fake!” Segments of the chandelier vanished; leaving long portions of the glimmering structure without support. These pieces dropped from the building together: one slammed into a zeppelin, banging it sideways.
“Everyone’s still up there!” Mean cried. She flailed at Shirka with little effect.
“I’ll be the only one left!” Shirka exclaimed as large swaths of the cliffs in the distance vanished. “Die, die, die!”
Mean backed away, watching as twisted buildings toppled free from the rock. Nearer, a curved fragment of the massive support ring boomed to the plains; several tanks were crushed beneath it.
Mean’s shout of “Stop!” was lost to the roars of falling debris; she tackled Shirka and brought them both down. Shirka shrugged Mean off her and began to stand; Mean pounded on the glass plain and they were both pressed flat again. The thick muscles in Shirka’s arms strained as she pushed away from the floor, her curled hair swaying. She smiled down at Mean through the loop at her eye. Her knee drew close to her body and she wobbled, rising.
Mean’s teeth were clenched. “No!” she hissed through them, squeezing her eyes shut. Shirka elbow slammed down and her body flopped over leaving her on her back. The tower above was tilting at them. Her arm trembled as she reached up toward the falling, glimmering pieces. With a smack her hand was pulled to the glass.
Slaberdashia held Elder’s body in her huge, hairy arm as the entire room bobbed and the floor went askew. The slabs ground against the sterile floor, moving toward the wall.
“Is it falling!? We’re falling right!?” Darrow squealed. He stumbled; Vornis caught him, his legs braced.
“No. Something’s pulling us,” Vornis stated. Tools from the pillar rolled past his clawed feet.
“Shirka and Mean—they’re down there,” Beebee said. She held onto Calm with one hand and her hat with the other. Her curly brown hair was swishing toward the wall.
“She’s going a little overboard isn’t she?” Trisk asked Dark.
“She’s ticked off—that’s for sure,” Dark replied.
Shrika was prone on her back. She jerked her head up, only to have it yanked back to the glass.
“You—!” she gasped; her tongue clapping against her throat. Mean was still, her hair pulled straight across her face. The zeppelins’ engines were whining; the noses of the ships pointed upward as the back ends were pulled down. A tank toppled onto its side and slid over the glass; another’s treads were in full reverse as they spun in a futile effort to gain traction on the flat plain.
Specks of debris gathered around Shirka’s body; the skin on her face was pulled back as she growled and writhed. The tops of her arms, legs, and face grew white as the blood in her body pooled. Her eyes rolled, sinking back into their sockets.
With a great release the ships shot higher and the faltering tanks rolled backwards. As the vehicles stabilized and the tower rocked back into place, a calm passed over Arsiling.
Super-quick first draft notes:
Mean faces off against Shirka in many different rooms:
It took me over two months to finish this chapter and now I see that there’s nothing here to re-establish the setting! What is going on? Who are these people!? It’s been so long! I guess that isn’t too much of a problem since Shirka keeps changing everything around anyway!
I may not end up using all of this, but all these false settings help give me ideas for different discussions: regarding guilt and where Shirka believes she fits in.
I also need more things that react to Mean’s gravity spell. Otherwise the reader won’t know that she’s doing it. That kind of explains why I suddenly put leafy plants in the room, ha,ha.
Trisk cuts Slaberdashia out of her armor –
Trisk catches a whiff of something and Darrow covers for her by saying it’s her fear of food. Yeah, you thought I forgot about Trisk’s hatred of food didn’t you!? Well I just interrupted the final showdown to remind everyone!
Mean and Shirka continue to fight –
First of all I should probably think up a better insult than “You little puke!” Sometimes my “no swearing” rules can be a little restrictive.
But finally! Mean gets to try on the armor! Isn’t that exciting? With her gravity and movement capabilities it seems like she’ll be able to–oh, I don’t know–actually do some amazing things with it! And just think of all the conversations she’ll be able to have with Dark now. Maybe we’ll even find out how you go to the bathroom with it affixed to your body! Look forward to many riveting discussions!
Although what if she doesn’t want to take it off after this? Mean, don’t get seduced by the power! Remember what happened to Spiderman!
Trisk cuts out more armor from the siblings as Dark talks to Beebee –
Uh, wait. How did Dark get in here? Shoot, did I mess up? Where did he go after that battle with Mackaba? I guess it wouldn’t be too difficult to find the entrance to this room from the outside but I really should describe it happening. I really can’t remember.
And what is this!? He runs his fingers though his hair!? He’s still supposed to have the helmet on from Shirka’s suit!! Honestly, First Draft Brad! This is what happens when you take too many breaks from writing!
Mean and Shirka continue their fight –
I try to sound all meaningful with Shirka’s insults and motivations; who knows how much of THAT will make it to the next draft.
Pladomir gets everyone on every planet to think about Shirka –
This was part of their plan, remember? I feel sorry for all the people on these planets who just suddenly start obsessing about a woman with a circle strapped to her eye. But that’s just how life goes sometimes.
Mean and Shirka finish their battle –
I apologize if this all seems too difficult to follow. The part where the floating skating rink from Mean’s memory becomes the tram that the siblings used to escape the chandelier was a spur of the moment idea. Wow, written out like that it totally makes sense though!
Then they get back down to the glass plain. Now THIS place is full of things that react to Mean’s gravity spell! Zeppelins, tanks, dirt, eyeballs–well, I don’t know if your eyes would actually sink into your head like that. I’m just guessing since I forgot to take a selfie back when I was riding around in NASA’s G-force training centrifuge. Sorry.