morning Willy… 
Morning ROG 
Morning grow fam:grin:
Morning Cray
Morning fellas 
Hi OG, hope your day is going good
Right back at ya Brother
Good morning growmies have a blessedday
Morning @SilvaBack203 have a blessed day also growmie 
Good morning everyone
Morning @WilIy
The Rot Sets In
Willy awoke the next morning feeling strangely refreshed, his mind still hyper-focused. The room was empty. Xylos had evaporated, as he often does after a night of Latrunculi and cosmic relaxation.
Willy immediately fed the sample of the cigar stub to the Chroma-Lexicon, which is SOP after using the handheld tester. Willy stared at the holographic projection of its findings. The final report blazed with answers that were, predictably, insane. The bottom line screamed off the display. The anti-gravity effect was 100% attributable to the expression of the novel cannabinoid, Cannabinoid-Zeta C(30)H(44)O(4).
This effect was triggered by a unique, ancient retroviral insert within the Quasar Pulse genome, activated only when consumed by a small, sentient primate like Willy. However, the sleek, orange cat wearing a purple beret speaking fluent French was a 0% match to chemical hallucination profiles. The Cat’s presence was an EXTERNAL, SENTIENT ANOMALY. Willy had his truth, and it was a doozy. Clemmit’s submission was genetically perfect, the floating was real, and the French-speaking cat was even more real. He print’s it out and pockets it.
Willy, the meticulous guardian, quickly put the cigar stub in a cryo-pouch. His duty was clear, the scientific puzzle was solved. The existential one had just begun.
Willy used his ARE to create a wormhole and slip out, heading straight for the Gardens’ secure archives. His target was the Quasar Pulse records, the ancestral strain containing the retrovirus that created the novel cannabinoid.
He moved with the silence of a true Tarsier in Ninja mode, searching the floor and shelving for any signs the cat had left behind. Willy’s keen senses picked up on a faint scent—not cat odor, but something more refined, almost like expensive leather and a trace of citrus, a cover scent no doubt. That cat was a smooth operator. Back in his hotel room, Willy knew he had to get it to come to him. He set the stage for an encounter. The cigar stub, the bait of novelty, was placed in a clear, unsecured container on a low table, flanked by a small tin of imported pâté and a saucer of warm milk. He then climbed the wall, settling into a position of absolute stillness near the ceiling. This genome guard was ready, the wait wasn’t long.
The cat sensed it was safe and couldn’t resist the lovely aroma wafting from the tin of pâté. It took its time savoring each bite then delicately finished the last morsel, closed its eyes in silent appreciation, and performed a meticulous, slow-motion lick of its whiskers. Finally, the cat opened its emerald eyes, locking them onto Willy. “D’abord, mon ami," the cat purred, its voice thick with a theatrical French accent, “I am a creature of culture, and your tarsier patience is certainly something to behold, and merci for the pâté. Et oui, I could see you before I took my first bite. You may address me as Professor Antoine de Chatres—curator, archivist, painter and frankly, a very old being. Willy, my nocturnal friend, I too have night vision.” Having been discovered, Willy dropped lightly to the floor. "A defense mechanism?,
That’s what Cannabinoid-Zeta is?" he asked. Antoine, smoothing his purple beret, confirmed, “The anti-gravity effect? No, that is merely a side-effect. A cosmic hiccup. The real defense mechanism in Quasar Pulse is communication amplification. Its activation means The Rot is back. The Rot hunts the rarest genes, and your championship victory just announced the location of the Gardens to the entire cosmos.” He paused, adding dryly, “That, and it allows me to smell pizza from four star systems away. I happened to be passing by your dimension when I caught the scent of that glorious pepperoni box, which, by the way, has far too much grease.” Willy realized the Rot wasn’t trying to break into the Gardens, it was trying to acquire the key: Willy.
“We need to go. Right now,” Antoine stated. “Your winning bull, Bodacious Bushwacker, is stabled over a Class-Four trans-dimensional nexus. It’s our only immediate exit.” Willy threw on his PBR belt and sprinted to the arena with Antoine clinging to his fur.
They found stall seven empty. The bull was gone. Willy discovered a piece of wormwood near the trough—the symbol of the Gardens, crudely branded with a red ‘R’. “They didn’t just target me,” Willy growled. “They took the exit. The Rot is already using the nexus!” Willy was forced to enact a secret contingency. “They cut off the bull route, but they didn’t cut off the ocean. We’re going to the Anchor of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel.” They raced to the coast.
Willy explained the new escape route: the nexus was sealed by a harmonic pulse, requiring the kinetic energy and electrical charge of a perfect, highly technical surf maneuver over a submerged reef. Willy, with Antoine clinging to his head, paddled out. After a tense wait, a strange, perfect tidal wave swelled up. Willy executed a flawless, inverted snap that drove his board deep into the crest. The force created a sharp thrum of energy. A section of the massive concrete Anchor support melted away, revealing a swirling, rainbow-hued dimensional portal.
Willy and Antoine dove into the vortex, just as a dark, fungal-spore-shaped vessel, reeking of cheap cologne, broke the surface of the Bay and entered the wormhole. The Rot knew where Willy was going but it was to late, they were trapped.
The last thing the Rot heard before the collapse was WilIy yelling “fool around, find out” and the cat shouting “Arrêtez! Ou nous nous rendrons.” WilIy laughed in disbelief at the fearful Professor.
Willy and Professor Antoine de Chatres tumbled out of the kaleidoscopic wormhole, hitting the ground with a painful, dizzying thump. The dimensional portal didn’t just snap shut—it imploded. The energy from Willy’s flawless, inverted snap was not merely enough to open the nexus. It had been the precise, catastrophic harmonic frequency needed to destabilize the Class-Four portal’s entire structure. The wormhole collapsed in on itself, forming a terminal singularity. The Rot’s dark, fungal-spore-shaped vessel, which had been halfway through the vortex, was crushed into a microscopic speck of non-existence, permanently contained within a dimension now sealed off from all known cosmic space. The threat was not delayed, it was neutralized.
Willy scrambled to his feet, pulling a dazed Antoine from his perch. He looked back at the space where the swirling colors had been. There was nothing now but the familiar, humid scent of salt marsh and the low, persistent call of gulls.
“Magnifique,” Antoine declared, steadying his purple beret and meticulously dusting his whiskers. He inhaled deeply. “One must always appreciate a clean closure. They pursued a tarsier, and were rewarded with total, cosmic non-existence. They have become precisely what they hunted—a thing of myth.”
Willy finally allowed himself a single, sharp exhale. The pressure that had been building since he read the Chroma-Lexicon’s report—this threat to his Gardens—had evaporated. “The scientific puzzle is solved. The Rot is dead. Now, for the problem at hand.”
He took in their surroundings. The air was thick with the smell of brine and diesel. They were on the eastern shore of an immense, murky waterway. Above them, an impossible piece of infrastructure—a colossal steel truss bridge—soared into the sky, eventually vanishing into the clouds. Below, the water was a deep, unsettling black.
Professor Antoine, ever the curator, sniffed the air. “Ah, the lingering aroma of societal decay. We appear to have landed somewhere that finds the concept of verticality deeply appealing. What is this… ‘structure’?”
“The Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge,” Willy mumbled, already scanning the surrounding maintenance tunnels. "We’re not just in a new location; we’re in a completely different state.
This is New York.
He paused, the true weight of the conclusion settling on his large, damp eyes.
“A place where existential threats are released without bail.”
The episodes keep gettin better than ever. Excellent job ! I think you and James Cameron need to discuss a possible series in the near future @WilIy
Bravo Willy et Antoine! 
Another great one @WilIy
I appreciate ya fellas
Excellent read. I fired up a joint of NL ahead of time to better understand Willy 
.
Thank you.
WilIy always makes more sense through ganja-tinted glasses
