Truth with Teeth
The Fogrunner drifted into the dock at Mid-Rim Trade Hub 9, better known as The Smuggler’s Mall. Julian Fog strode down the ramp of his ship as if he expected an entourage of adoring fans to be waiting to greet him. His boots clanked onto the polished titanium deck of the floating bazaar. The Smuggler's...
Julian Fog stared at the flashing nav screen, espresso bulb in one hand and a death wish in the other. “Okay, Mollie,” he said, propping his boots on the console and pointing at the strange swirling mass of colorful gases and crackling bolts of light on the forward display, “how unstable is it really?” M.O.L.L.I.E....
In the heart of the Garden where legends walk, where banners whisper and sneakers talk, steps a general, small by frame, but vast as the mythos of New York’s name. Mr. Clutch—precision defined, a craftsman of angles, a master of mind. Every pivot, a scholar’s decree, every dribble, a symphony. The clock winds...
Meet Julian Fog: Ex-Space Marine. Smuggler. Collector of Harley-Davidson Relics. In the outer reaches of the galaxy—where laws are loose, loyalty is looser, and espresso bulbs are a basic human right—flies a man with too much charm, too many enemies, and exactly zero self-preservation instincts. His name is Julian Fog. Pilot. Rogue. Chaos gremlin. He...
Julian sat at the counter like some forgotten relic—part monk, part outlaw—cradling a mug of black coffee as if it held the last truth left in the world. No cell phone in sight. In fact, he’d left it outside on the bike, where it wouldn’t be distracted by humans and could just be in the...
He sat in the dimly lit room and stared at the two bottles. The place was quiet. They were all away at some church function. His mind felt numb, enveloped by a fog that he knew the whiskey and pills could not clear. The one thing I’ve been consistently good at is failure. It’s a...
Julian had stayed longer than he should have at the old church—hoping, praying, giving it time. But somewhere along the way, something sacred had gone missing. It wasn’t just a shift in style or a matter of preference. It was deeper. Week after week, he listened as the pastor spun personal stories into arrogant boasts,...
There’s something different that happens when I meet another veteran. It’s immediate—unmistakable. In a world where “connection” usually means a swipe on a screen or a passing comment in a thread, there’s something real about that encounter. No matter our branch, our MOS, or the year we wore the uniform, we carry something that links...
There is a voice that echoes through the ages—through stone tombs, through shattered empires, through bloodied martyrs and trembling saints. It is not a whisper. It is not an echo. It is a shout—a victorious cry from the mouth of a risen Savior: “It is finished.” The resurrection of Jesus Christ was not a symbolic...
Take a day to breathe, belong, and be. The world hurries. Always has. Always will. Emails, alarms, alerts. Deadlines that feel more like lifelines. The hustle is loud. And somewhere along the way, we start mistaking motion for meaning. That’s why Saturday matters. Saturday doesn’t ask anything of you. It doesn’t expect a report or...