Like a Wrecking Ball (but With More Deadlines)
Opening Snark (from the desk of Travis I. Sivart)
Let’s get real. June came in like a wrecking ball, and I didn’t even get to ride it shirtless like Miley. Instead, I got a lovely vacation to the ER, a handful of blood pressure meds, and the kind of medical mystery that makes House raise an eyebrow.
I took some time off to unravel the “Why the hell did my body betray me?” plot twist, and now I’m back, baby—swinging my metaphorical sledgehammer at the keyboard, at reality, and at a story that refuses to behave.
So yes, Villain Us: One for the Money took a slight Time Slip (and yes, that pun’s intentional—glaring at you, you cryptic little timeline-hopping bastard). But I’m back in the writing chair, building heists like a French baker crafting pastry: flaky, layered, and probably bad for your health if you devour it too fast.
📚 Project Update: One for the Money
The crew’s coming together. The score’s getting dangerous. And Anton is either the brains of the operation—or the reason we all die in matching leather. Either way, we’re halfway through Act I. Expect chaos, backstabbing, tech-glitches, and at least one emotional breakdown. (Mine. Probably mine.)
🔦 Spotlight: Eye in the Sky (The Traveller’s Inn, Book 3)
Welcome to the city where surveillance is god and truth is just a footnote in a corrupt algorithm.
When a were-Pomeranian, a ghost whisperer, a street samurai, and others uncover a genetic conspiracy to recreate the old ones, it kicks off a chain of events involving rogue government agencies, mad scientists, and something ancient squirming behind the veil of reality. Think cyberpunk, but haunted. Think Cthulhu with a Wi-Fi signal. Think paranoia with a cyberpunk hat.
Eye in the Sky is where conspiracy and magic collides with dark future tech, and where seeing the truth might just drive you mad.
(Book 3 in The Traveller’s Inn series – available now. Book 1 is free. Just saying.)
👉 Grab the whole series here: TravisSivart.com
Travis
Purrella’s Streaming Confession #007
Episode Title: Ghosts, Rodents, and Royal Bling
Look, hums… I wasn’t technically supposed to be in that lab. But when has that ever stopped me?
The place reeked of ghosts. Not literal ones—though I wouldn't bet against it—but memory ghosts. The kind that haunt in smells. Mold. Faded antiseptic. Old urine and sadness. And something else... ozone and lavender. Like a sterile place trying desperately to mask the scent of death with a dash of designer perfume.
I crept through the sliding door like a whisper on velvet. No alarms. No security. No people. Just empty halls soaked in flickering emergency light and decay.
The med-tech I needed was rumored to be stashed here—a rare prototype that could stabilize neural synapses in post-trauma patients. Or fry your brain like a cheap noodle if you looked at it wrong. Either way, I wanted it.
But the deeper I padded, the heavier the air grew. My whiskers twitched. The silence wasn’t quiet, it was listening.
Then I saw it.
A hallway with peeling wall tiles and flickering overheads. On one wall, a cracked and yellowed photo in a scorched metal frame: “Employee of the Month.” The glass was smeared with grime, the ink on the nameplate bled into the paper. But the face…
I stared.
A man. Mid-forties. High cheekbones, clever eyes, tight mouth like he didn’t use it much for smiling. Something about him made my ears flatten. Recognition danced on the edge of thought, but never quite stepped into the light.
I reached out, claws sheathed, and dragged one finger along the glass. Dust clung to my pad. The texture of it jolted something loose. A name. A half-memory. Or maybe just wishful thinking.
I should’ve left. I should’ve grabbed the tech and ghosted.
But no. I lingered. I stared. And that’s when the walls squeaked.
At first, it was subtle. A creak. A shuffle. The scrape of claws. Then, a hiss. No, not a hiss—a chitter. Dozens of mouths clicking in tandem.
I turned.
Out from the shadows came a nightmare. Humanoid mice. Grey fur, red eyes, long twitching tails, and oversized incisors. But worse than their faces were their hands—too human. Dexterous. Grasping.
“Okay,” I whispered, backing up. “Not abandoned. Not alone. Not in the mood.”
They surged.
I ran.
Feet skidding, claws out, I leapt over overturned carts and ducked past a shattered doorway. They gave chase, screeching like broken violins and something with too many legs. I swore one of them laughed. Laughed.
I vaulted a stairwell railing and hit the landing like a comet. One grabbed my vest—bad move. I flipped him over my shoulder into a defunct vending machine. Glass exploded. The scent of ancient chips filled the hall like a greasy final insult.
Up another flight, and there—blessed be the architects with flair—was a skylight.
I didn’t need to use it. There were doors. But come on. Skylights are style.
I launched myself off the handrail, twisted midair, and sliced a perfect X through the glass with my laser-cutter. Shards sparkled around me as I kicked out the weakened pane and launched into the night like a rockstar leaving rehab through the roof.
A hundred feet below, the alley greeted me with the smell of rotting fish and victory. I landed, rolled, and laughed. The mice didn’t follow. Probably didn’t like heights.
Smart rodents.
But me? I needed a win.
And I knew just the crown jewel to lift my spirits. Literally.
Uptown. Three hours later.
They called it the Kitten Crown. Obnoxiously on the nose, but whatever. A delicate silver tiara, encrusted with moonstones, sapphires, and pink diamonds shaped like tiny feline faces. Custom-made for a retired neurosurgeon-turned-collector who lived in a private mansion with too much money and not enough taste.
I’d been casing it for months, waiting for the right distraction. The Royal Museum gala across town pulled most of his private security.
Tonight was perfect.
I scaled the ivy-covered back wall, bypassed the infrared trip-lines, and opened his rooftop display dome like a birthday present. No alarms. Just tastefully dim lighting and—get this—a sensor-activated purring sound system.
Gross.
But then I saw the photo.
On his desk.
Him. The same man from the lab. Older now. Greyer. A deeper sadness behind those clever eyes. No “Employee of the Month” plaque, just a dusty frame of him and another man—arm around his shoulders, both smiling like people who had once believed in something.
Brothers? Twins?
I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
I pocketed the crown.
A girl’s gotta have her bling.
But that face... I uploaded the photo to my secure files. I’d ask CloudSource to run a search. Something told me this story wasn’t over.
As I vanished into the shadows, I turned one last time to the camera hidden in the archway.
I flipped it the paw.
“You’re welcome.”
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