“The Chosen” 2025-10-31 (Patreon)

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For Saturday and Sunday, the storylines "The Chosen" and "Ailana's Diary" will be combined into a single post. This is because Izzy invited Ailana Geven to join the group on their project in Colorado.

Chapter 05 Movement II: HEADING WEST by Jacob Brown

Ready for the trip, but I’ve got a lot on my mind. Bags packed, gear checked, passport wallet in my hoodie pocket. Colorado’s going to be beautiful, and working on something that actually matters—helping rebuild forest and water systems after wildfires—feels right. Still, a trip like this stirs up a lot more than logistics.

I’m a kid from Vicksburg, Mississippi, trying to make sense of life in Brooklyn. The difference hits me every day—the noise, the pace, the faces. Back home, things move slower. People speak softer, but they watch closer. There’s warmth, but also walls. In Brooklyn, the walls are still there, but they’re built from speed and space, not silence.

Being a young Black man here feels different than it did in Vicksburg. In Mississippi, you’re seen before you speak. People read you fast—your skin, your clothes, your posture—and decide the rest for themselves. You learn to read them just as quickly: the nod that says “we’re good,” the stare that says “don’t.” Every move carries history, even when no one talks about it.

In Brooklyn, people don’t assume they know your story—but they don’t always see you either. There’s a kind of invisibility that comes with the crowd. You can walk through a thousand people, and no one meets your eyes. That’s a different kind of weight—lighter in some ways, heavier in others. You’re free to be whoever you want, but sometimes it feels like you’re disappearing into the noise.

It’s a strange kind of freedom. In Vicksburg, your identity is assigned. In Brooklyn, you have to keep defining it for yourself.

I think about high school sometimes. Emma and I went to the same one. My family didn’t have much, but she had even less. That made her different to me—someone I respected. We both came from families that worked hard and stretched what they had, making every paycheck, every pair of shoes, last as long as possible.

The rest of this Chapter is exclusive to Patreon.

The difference was, when I walked into a store, people noticed my color first. When she did, they noticed her clothes. For me, judgment came from history; for her, it came from circumstance. We were both being measured by things we couldn’t change, but the reasons were different. Maybe that’s what made us understand each other in a quiet way—two people just trying to be seen for who they really were.

Around the white kids with more money, I always felt the line—polite, invisible, but there. You could joke, talk football, hang out, but you didn’t cross that invisible mark of comfort they drew without realizing it.

Brooklyn’s not free of that either. When I grabbed dinner with Addison, I saw a few looks. Not every time, not everyone—but sometimes. And I can’t help but imagine how that same meal would’ve gone in Vicksburg. Probably more stares, maybe some whispers. I don’t dwell on it, but I notice. You learn to.

There’s a subtle difference between Brooklyn and the South. In Mississippi, awareness lives on the surface—people carry history in their expressions, in who sits where, in the silence that fills certain rooms. You feel it even when no one says anything.

In Brooklyn, it’s quieter, but not gone. It hides under layers of city noise and diversity that don’t always mean equality. Here, people pride themselves on being open-minded, and most really are—but the tension just shifts shape. It’s less about what’s spoken and more about what goes unsaid: the glance that lingers too long, the moment someone overcompensates to prove they’re “cool with it.”

The South feels heavy with memory; Brooklyn moves fast enough to forget. Both have their own kind of pressure—you just breathe it differently.

Heading to Colorado now—I looked it up. Gunnison County’s around 85% white. Not that I’m expecting anything bad, just… I know what it feels like to stand out. Out west, in a place where most people look nothing like me, it’s something I’ll carry in the back of my mind.

But here’s the thing: I trust this team. Emma, Merritt, Hannah, Kent—they see people, not categories. Nobody treats me like the “tech guy” or the “Black guy.” Just Jacob. That’s all I ever wanted.

Okay… so maybe they do think of me as the “tech guy” but that comes second! And to be honest, I’m okay with that one!

I’m looking forward to what’s ahead. This trip. The work. The future.

My dad used to say, “Son, if you want to change your view, change your altitude.” I guess we’re doing both today.

The Storylines are the heart of Ailana Geven Imagines, and they are found in the Collections section of the site.

Support AGI with:• one-time contribution through TipTopJar.• one-time contribution through Throne.• Patreon Membership.

Pleast all characters in this story are fictional characters, their images generated with AI for AGI Stories. They do not represent any real person, nor is their appearance based on any real human.

Chapter 06 Movement II: WHEELS UP by Hannah Madison

Somewhere between excitement and disbelief—That’s me right now. I’m on board The Pay It Forward Society’s Gulfstream, settling in for the flight to Colorado. The cabin lights are warm, the seats way too comfortable, and the hum of the engines feels like adventure itself.

Getting from the office to the airport was… chaos, of course. Rebecca picked Merritt and me up last, and by then the Manhattan traffic had already declared war on our timeline. The pressure on the schedule did not sit well with Merritt. (He’s a “10 minutes early is 5 minutes late” kind of guy, which I really appreciate!) At one point, Rebecca rolled down the window and asked a taxi to move—nicely, but with authority.

Now we’re in the air, and it’s all calm again. Paul has been calling the projects “missions,” and I like that. It makes what we’re doing feel purposeful—and this one really is.

We’re heading to Gunnison County, joining a Colorado Forest Restoration Institute project near the Curecanti Zone. Our team will help replant native trees and install solar water pumps that keep young forests alive after devastating wildfires. It’s hands-on work that connects science, teamwork, and healing.

Every year, around 85 to 90 percent of wildfires are started by people—campfires, sparks, power lines. Once the vegetation burns away, there’s nothing left to hold the soil. Rain carries ash and earth into rivers, choking ecosystems downstream. Trees and ground cover aren’t just pretty scenery—they’re the anchors of an entire web of life.

For me—the daughter of a physics teacher and a guidance counselor—it’s hard to believe I get to be part of something like this. Not just flying west in a jet, but flying toward purpose.

Colorado, here we come.

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