Moon Evans's Questionnaire

1. What town or city do you live in? Why do you live there instead of anywhere else? Describe your home.

Link Answered before Moon Evans's first Contract.

I live in a quaint little town in middle of Wisconsin. This town of mine is very peaceful and hospitable. I moved here 10 years ago. I’m an immigrant from asia, living there with my relative. I work as a philosophy writter, earning my bread by selling books I wrote.

 

I live in an old apartment building. My home is a spritual Buddhism temple with Japanese aesthetic and tea ceremony decoration. I love all things Japanese in general. I consider my home to be a sacred ground.

 

I also live with my niece, who is attending the local college. Both of my parents are death in a shooting several years ago.

2. How do you get your money right now? What do you spend it on?

Link Answered before Moon Evans's first Contract.

I accept no wage. Occasionally, local families leave donations at the altar—rice, coins, old tea, a packet of batteries. I also translate sutras for a nearby temple that lacks younger monks. A friend from my past life—before I shaved my head—still wires me something small each season. I do not ask for money. There is a community envelope from the city meant for the “religious poor.” It is modest. I use only what I must.

 

I serve. I sweep alleys, speak blessings for the dying, and hold silent vigils where the city forgets its dead. These are not jobs. They are necessary acts. 

 

I spend perhaps $45–60, depending on the state of the roof. I track nothing. I live simply. Money is only a tool, and I hold it as little as possible. As an agent of the Change (a form of self developed philosophy that I believe in), I am preparing to leave this body, not preserve its comfort.

3. Describe your Ambition. What are you striving for? How far would you go to achieve this? Would you kill for it? How close to death would you come for it?

Link Answered before Moon Evans's first Contract.

I seek to become the Avatar of the Change—not as a god, but as a fulcrum. I will turn the Wheel by stepping into its center. I will dissolve war not by ending conflict, but by ending the pattern that binds it. The old ways—the empires of fear, the cults of power, the machinery of endless suffering—must be shattered.

 

I have already burned my name, family, and future. I have entered silence when I longed to scream. I have laid still when I wanted to fight.
I will go further still. Into the Forbidden Sutras. Into the temples that have fallen into shadow. Into myself, until I dissolve the ego that resists the Change.

 

I only kill only when death becomes a gentler mercy than the cage a soul inhabits. Only when the Wheel has spun past its point of forgiveness. Only when no other path remains.

 

Death is just another steps of life.

4. What was the most defining event of your life (before signing The Contract), and how did it change you?

Link Answered before Moon Evans's first Contract.

It was a video.

Not even a good one—grainy, vertical, shaky footage from a bystander's phone.

My brother Jun was on his way home from class when a protest turned violent. Police fired into the crowd. Not bullets—canisters. Rubber rounds. But fear doesn’t distinguish. Someone screamed. People ran. Jun didn’t. He stayed behind to help an old man who had fallen.

A flashbang went off two feet from his head.

When the video reached me, I played it twenty-nine times. Each time, I imagined a different ending. That he ducked. That someone else helped. That time slowed. That I was there.

I wasn’t.

And what came after wasn’t justice. It was silence.

Statements were issued. No fault found. Case closed.

My parents changed the locks. They didn’t want trouble. They said Jun should’ve walked away.

I walked instead. Out of that house. Out of that life. Into an old apartment stairwell where the plaster peels like dead skin and a crack in the floor leaks warm air like a breath.

That’s where I built the shrine.

That’s where I learned what stillness means.

That’s where I understood: The world does not change by asking.

You must become the Question that can’t be silenced.

That is when I began to prepare for the Contract.

5. Name and briefly describe three people in your life. One must be the person you are closest to.

Link Answered before Moon Evans's first Contract.

Jun Evans (30 years old): 

My older brother. He was studying urban design, said the city should be shaped like a body—with breath, memory, circulation. He was always fixing things: broken bikes, broken phones, broken silences.

He died trying to help a stranger. That moment, caught on a stranger’s phone, still echoes louder than any chant I’ve recited.

He was the first person I ever followed. He is the reason I no longer follow anyone blindly.

 

Lien (9 years old):

Jun’s daughter. She love drawing—folded paper cranes with temples and dragons and, once, a figure with a bald head and glowing eyes. She called it “Uncle Moon on fire.”

She writes in all caps and misspells everything. I keep every note in a lacquered box under the altar.

I took the contract not to forget the world, but to help create one she can survive in.

 

Alex Jones (same age): 

We were roommates in undergrad, before I left everything behind. He studied software ethics, but works in cybersecurity now. He doesn’t believe in spirits, karma, or destiny—but he believes in me.

Every month, he transfers just enough to cover tea, candles, and rice. Never asks questions.

Once he messaged: “If the world ends and you’re still out there chanting, I want to know I helped pay for the match that lit the fuse.”

I’ve never replied. But I’ve never deleted that message, either.

6. How was your childhood? Who were your parents? What were they like? Did you attend school? If so, did you fit in? If not, why not?

Link Answered after Contract 1, Bobasaurus

My childhood? Hm. Quiet. Not in a peaceful way. More like... everything was muffled, like I was underwater. I grew up in a small town in Northern California—too sleepy to matter, too big to feel safe. The kind of place where secrets rot behind drawn curtains.

My mother was the town librarian. Soft-spoken. Wore long sleeves even in the summer. She read to me every night until I was old enough to read to her. There’s a strength in that kind of gentleness, you know? The kind that endures. My father? I don’t really talk about him. Let’s just say some shadows you grow up in, and some you learn to step out of.

School was... manageable. I was the quiet kid. Too smart, too sensitive. Kept my head down, which only made me a target. The usual. But I learned how to listen. How to disappear. How to let people underestimate me. It’s a skill I still use.

I didn’t fit in, no. But I learned early on that fitting in is overrated. I watched the ones who did—how hard they worked to maintain the illusion, to silence the parts of themselves that didn’t match the script. I never wanted that. I just wanted to survive. Maybe help a few others survive, too.

I guess I always knew I was meant to do something more. Not louder, not grander—just... deeper. More honest. Even if it cost me everything.

7. Have you ever been in love? With who? What happened? If not, why not?

Link Answered after Contract 1, Bobasaurus

Her name was Calista. We met in college—she was studying folklore and comparative religion, I was studying psychology. We used to sneak into the art building after hours and lie on the cold tile floor under the skylight, watching the stars through glass streaked with paint and fingerprints. She was curious about everything. She asked questions like she was trying to unravel the universe, thread by thread.

It wasn’t the kind of love that burns hot and fast—it was quiet. Steady. She made me feel like I was real, like I wasn’t just observing life from the outside. We were together for a little under a year.

And then her brother died. Sudden accident. She pulled away after that, slowly at first. She stopped answering my messages. Skipped classes. One day she was just... gone. Dropped out, moved back home, left no forwarding address. I wrote, once. Never heard back.

Part of me still wonders what would’ve happened if I had pushed harder. If I had followed. But I don’t regret not doing so. She needed space. And I’ve never believed love is about ownership.

Since then? No. I’ve connected with people, sure. Brief moments. Shared silences. But not like that. I don’t know if I’ve built a life that allows for love like that anymore.

Maybe one day. Maybe never.

I’m not sure which I’d prefer.

 

Moon Evans is a monk, in the way only someone disillusioned with the world and seeking quiet clarity can be. But being a monk doesn’t mean he never loved. Quite the opposite, in fact—it might explain why he chose that path.

Love, for Moon, was likely one of the many things that made the world too bright, too loud, too sharp. Losing Calista didn’t just break his heart—it reinforced a deeper truth he already suspected: attachments bring suffering.

That doesn't mean he doesn't care. He cares deeply—that’s why he wanders hospital halls at night healing strangers, why he speaks gently to psychic frogs, why he remains calm even when the world cracks around him. But he's learned to hold people with open hands, not clenched fists.

So yes, he was in love. And then he became a monk. The order may have helped him name the silence that followed, and taught him to stop seeking completion in another person. But the echo of that love? It's still in him. Still a part of the shape of his soul.