The Nothing Really Interesting Happened After-Action Report

 

🎵 This week’s anthem: “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” (sung off-key in the key of Dave). 🎵

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        "Here's a little song I wrote for Myles
        You might want to sing it note for note
        Don't worry
        Be happy

Zaph' inspired remix:

“In every life we have some trouble
But when you fail to grapple (Zaph) you make it double
Don’t worry
Be happy, don’t worry, be happy now.”

Craig added his verse, which was less lyrical and more tragic:

“Ain’t got no place to lay your head
Craig forgot to build a bed
Don’t worry
Be happy.”

Dave, naturally, brought the gravitas of a Bene Gesserit karaoke night:

“The Landsraad say your rent is late
He may send the Sardaukar to kick in your gate
But don’t worry
Be happy, look at me, I’m happy.”

        "Ain't got no cash, ain't got no style
        Ain't got no Thopter to make you smile
        But don't worry
        Be happy 

And me? I sat there wondering why every one of our “theme songs” doubles as my personal obituary.

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The Errand-Running of the Four Horsemen

• We tidied up chores for our Atreides overlords, which is just Dune-speak for “fetch quests with extra sand.”

• Paid our taxes (Dave insisted it builds “reputation.” I suspect it just builds bureaucracy).

• Zaph forgot how grapples work, channeling his inner John Cleese — all long limbs, mounting fury, and the distinct sense he was about to start shouting at the wall for insubordination..

• Craig struck out into the deep desert and proudly announced his new base. Features include: no bed, no water, and no toilet. A true desert Airbnb.

• Dave went full peacock, scouring ruins for “shiny fabrics” so he could reskin himself into House Atreides’ answer to Milan Fashion Week.

• And finally, we also unlocked the great and mighty Stilltent Achievement™.

  Now, the lore implies this should be a rugged, life-or-death test of endurance — trekking into the deep desert, setting up camp under the cruel Arrakeen stars, moisture reclaimers hissing while you pray the worms don’t sniff you out.

  Naturally, we pitched ours ten metres from base, right at the bottom of the ramp leading to the vehicle bay. True pioneers. Shackleton who?

  The ritual went like this:

  • Dave went in, came out, passed the sacred stilltent to Craig.

  • Craig went in, came out, passed it to me.

  • I went in, came out, passed it to Zaph.

  • Zaph went in, came out, achievement unlocked for all.

  And thus, the proud lineage of hardy desert survivalists was complete — without ever straying out of range of the base Wi-Fi..

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If last week was flaming death, demon possession, and exploding plasma rifles, this week was… sand housekeeping. A lull. A calm. A nothing really interesting happened sort of session. Which, given our usual track record, should terrify everyone.

Because if nothing happened, that means the universe is winding up something big.

Probably involving a worm.

Or Craig.

Or both.

Death, Death, and a Dictionary of Swears

 

The Many Deaths of Myles

It began, as most tragedies do, with Craig issuing a warning.

“Don’t get too close to the giant sandworm corpse,” he said, “or you’ll die.”

This from the man who once jumped headfirst into a canyon because it “looked like a shortcut.” Naturally, we ignored the irony but obeyed the advice. Nobody wanted to be remembered as the guy who died sniffing a radioactive worm husk.

So, we crept beneath its ribcage, shuffled onto the causeway, and engaged in the usual warm-up routine: exchanging bullets, blades, and creative insults with heavies, stabby lads, and your bog-standard shooty grunts. All perfectly ordinary, until we reached The Chamber.

The Chamber of Solo Death

A boss room. But not just any boss room. A solo boss room. One at a time. No buddy system. No Zaph lurking in a corner ready to snipe her kneecaps. No Dave shouting lore at her until she surrenders. No Craig testing whether she had a weak spot in her spleen by repeatedly poking it with a halberd.

Zaph went first. He emerged victorious, sweaty and smug.

“Had to use a sword,” he announced. “Gun didn’t work.”

This was ominous news, because if there is one thing in the known universe Myles cannot do, it is wield a sword. He can map a dungeon, catalogue reagents alphabetically, and survive three decades of Craig’s tactical advice, but put a blade in his hand and he’s basically a butter-knife enthusiast at a gun show.

Dave went in next. Guns blazing, boss collapsing.

“Pfft. Guns work fine,” he declared.

And then it was my turn.

The First Death (The Classic)

I did what any self-respecting Mentat officer would do: deploy decoy, deploy turret, fire disruptor.

The bosswoman looked at the decoy, shrugged, and came straight at me anyway.

Knocked prone.

Couldn’t get up.

Dead.

Respawned back at the ship.

Through the gauntlet again.

Enemies had respawned too.

Died again en route.

This, dear reader, is what scholars refer to as foreshadowing.

The Second Death (The Pointless)

After being escorted by my so-called comrades (who mostly came along to watch the spectacle), I carefully re-read the respawn options and discovered—

Oh.

I could have respawned in the chamber all along.

So I did.

And died again.

No lessons learned, except that profanity really does echo magnificently inside a steel-lined bunker.

The Third Attempt (The Swearing of Distinction)

By this point I was less Mentat officer and more obscenity-generating automaton. If there were academic honours in swearing, I’d have been given a robe, a mortarboard, and tenure.

Decoy down.

Turret down.

Disruptor clip emptied.

Reload—oh no, I’m about to—

…and then, inexplicably, she just dropped dead.

Turret fire?

Cardiac arrest?

Pity?

We’ll never know. But the boss died, and therefore, technically, I won.

Epilogue: Déjà Vu, All Over Again

Standing over her fallen body, gasping and confused, I couldn’t shake the feeling.

We’ve been here before.

The endless dying. The swearing. The improbable final victory.

Like spice visions, but without the enlightenment.

Mission accomplished—if you stretch the definition of “accomplished” to include “eventually blundering through it while screaming like a medieval sailor.”