Marc gave it another go. He tipped his hand forward. The silver patty rolled off him, dropping toward the cave floor.
It stopped short of hitting the path. The shiny disc halted in the air, dangling at the end of a thin white line.
He watched the small wheel spin. It might have been the most fun he’d had all year. Even more fun than that mud puddle he’d found the other day.
How does it keep going? Marc thought to himself. And without any power??
Marc assumed the disc was some sort of technological marvel from the past. But the Archives had little information on it, only a name. It was called a “yo-yo.”
They all must have had one of these, he posited.
As Marc walked down the stone ramp, he cast the yo-yo again. The toy’s quiet spin was the only sound in the cavern. The soft hiss of string versus metal reverberated gently in the spacious cave.
Marc focused all his attention on the little gadget. He was determined to enjoy every last minute of the universe, no matter what. And that evening, the yo-yo more than accomplished that goal.
The shimmering yo-yo, however, couldn’t prevent the world around him from crumbling. The ground started to rumble. The rest of the cave shook with it. The underground city shook as the plasma storm above battered it—and the rest of the planet.
Marc’s home broke down. Cracks appeared in the ceiling. Waterfalls of dust poured out of them. It wouldn't be long before the whole thing collapsed. That is, if the plasma storm didn’t swallow it whole first.
Whatever.
A few clumps of dirt wouldn’t ruin Marc’s fun. He pulled the hood of his shawl over his head and extended his ragged sleeves toward each hand. His clothes shielded him from the falling dust; the gritty particles made themselves at home on his messy shawl. And Marc was free to perfect his newest trick.
The rumbling died down though as Marc descended the ramp. The yo-yo string didn’t wobble so much, and he didn't have to watch his steps as carefully. He just hoped the quaking wouldn’t come back to ruin his event.
Speaking of which, Marc glanced ahead toward his destination below. What he saw rocked him even harder than the earthquake had.
What in the sinkpits…?
Marc stopped in his tracks. He even started to reach for his knife. All because he’d detected a speck of something suspicious. Something he didn't see much of every day: color.
Showy landmarks weren’t something endemic to his home. The Outpost was more of a dusty gray-and-brown sort of place. The walls were sandstone. The floor was sandstone. And the ceiling? …Granite?
No, sandstone. All under the faint glow of a string of depressed lightbulbs.
The intriguing blip in the gray-and-tan collage was farther up the path. Ahead of the ramp, on Level 8, Marc saw the same three steel doors he was used to seeing. The front doors of underground homes, lined up in a row, each closed into the cave wall.
However, there was something different about the third door. It looked… alive. Like it didn’t belong in a dreary place like the Outpost. But it was too far away to tell what exactly had been done to it.
Marc squinted at it suspiciously. The third door happened to be his destination. And now it was weird.
He considered waiting and observing the mutated door. A child of the Outpost, Marc had developed a healthy fear of the unusual.
These habits, along with his instincts, kept him safe. They’d specifically preserved him while the rest of humanity perished.
But he shrugged off the instinct to wait. Something new and “different” was ahead, and he wanted to see it.
But just as a precaution, it was time for his yo-yo’s last trick. He got in one final throw then placed the toy into his satchel. He dropped it on top of his arsenal of cables, wrenches, and screwdrivers.
And by the time he’d snapped the satchel shut, the long ramp had bottomed out. He’d made it to the next level.
To his left, the wall had been spray-painted. Scrawled-out black letters stood against the sandy background. They stated, “Now Level 8.”
Marc followed the sign. He stayed close to the wall, crossing to the stone pedestrian path. He passed one untouched steel door with a dusted-over mail slot in the wall beside it. Then he passed a second home—abandoned like the first. And finally, he arrived at his friend’s place and the mysterious blip on Level 8.
To his surprise, the steel door elicited a flush of emotion. His heart floated upward. And the portrait before him drew his focus in like an otherworldly beacon.
How did it get so…?
Marc pulled back his hood. The ground popped with the sandy grains he released.
He could hardly believe the difference. The door used to blend in with the others: another ridged steel face that spent most of its time rusting or collecting dirt.
But it was no longer muffled by the dust and dirt that had built up over the years.
Today, it sung. Paint streaks flew across its visage. They swirled and spiraled, forming stars and other shapes. Where previously gray and rust dominated, colors sprang forth—colors that Marc didn't even have the names for. They were many, and they were warm, like the evening sky just after sunset. Marc could hardly wrap his head around the entire image.
He swelled with gratitude.
Only you could have pulled this off. He thought of his friend, the painter. The one person in the colony who’d ever been any fun. The one other person in the colony who was left…
The artist had done the unthinkable. Foraging the garden below for something other than food. Spending work time measuring and concocting the perfect blends of paint. And then slathering their fingers across the giant door, until its old face was but a memory. And all that effort for only a single other person to appreciate.
Newly inspired, Marc searched for an unpainted space on the metal canvas. He found one and knocked on the door.
He took a step back and waited. The outside of the Outpost was lively. Excited wind rushed through the canyon.
By contrast, the Outpost itself was silent. If there was anyone left to say anything, they may have even called it “dead.”
Or nearly dead, anyway. The last morsel of it came to life as the door in front of Marc groaned.
It floated off the ground, inching upward. On the other side, Marc could hear a hand crank clicking away.
Ktch… ktch… ktch… ktch…
The corrugated door lifted, and the door rolled up. The tip of the artist’s painting started to slip from view.
Ktch… ktch… ktch… ktch…
Behind the door, chains reeled at a slow clip. The heavy curtain was halfway up. Marc could now see his best friend's lower half. Buff Lenorkian legs pumped back and forth with each crank.
The door unveiled even more of the owner. A torso in a metal suit appeared. Four ripped arms stretched out of it. They rotated, moving to the clicking beats of the door.
Ktch… ktch… ktch… ktch…
The door raised a few inches further, uncovering the bottom half of a cobalt blue face. Two rows of razor-sharp teeth smiled from ear to ear. A few inches more, and Marc could see the whole of the Lenorkian’s face.
Sid greeted Marc as the last of the door raised.
“Finally!” he said.
Marc didn’t get a chance to respond. His body lurched forward involuntarily. He slammed into Sid’s metal suit.
Crrrrrick!
The armor squealed as Sid’s upper two arms squeezed him tighter. The lower set of arms had reeled Marc in.
Marc hated hugs. Stupid mushy emotional wraparounds. But just this one final time, Marc returned the gesture. He squeezed Sid back.
“Happy Worlds’ End!” Sid said from the other side of the embrace.
“Yeah,” Marc replied, “Happy Worlds’ End.”
The two separated.
“Cool painting, by the way,” Marc said. He pointed at the rolled-up door. “I didn’t think you’d top the one in the garden.”
“You think so?” Sid sheepishly smiled. “Well I’ve had more time to practice since… you know.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Marc said. “Me too. That’s how I actually got you something.”
Marc swung his heavy satchel around. He rifled through it, squeezing through cables, knocking handles and parts out of the way. And then—ah.
He fished out a crumpled rag. Holding it in one hand, he began to gently unfold it.
“I found this a few days ago in the garden,” he said. The edges of the cloth fell. They revealed a small, glass object. It sparkled.
Marc continued, “I think it fits your style—I mean, I know it’s a little smudged and chipped but...”
He swirled the crystal trinket around. The cavern’s incandescent light flittered across its clear edges.
He touched it too, tracing the slender portion of it with his thumb. It was the neck of the crystal swan.
“It’s yours,” Marc said, offering up the bird.
Sid cupped two shovel-sized hands and accepted the gift.
“It’s beautiful…” he said, examining it. “I can’t believe anything like this could have survived this long.” He looked up at Marc and smiled, “Thank you so much. I just wish I had a little longer to could enjoy it.”
They chuckled lightly about their impending obliteration.
“Well, come on in,” Sid said. He extended both of his left arms. They gestured toward the cave interior. “We’ll finish off this universe how it started,” he said. He mashed his upper two fists together. “With a bang!”
“I hear that!” Marc nodded. He crossed over into Sid’s house.
As Marc passed Sid, a wave of discomfort hit him. Sid had switched out his usual t-shirt and jeans. He wore old armor instead. And the metal plating taunted Marc.
Marc’s next question came out more accusatory than curious.
“So… a Lenorkian throwback, huh?” he asked Sid.
Sid had just finished finding the perfect home for his swan. He left it on a shelf next to the front door.
He turned to face Marc. He hid his embarrassment behind a jagged smile.
“Oh!” he said. “Uhhh…” Three of Sid’s arms disappeared behind his back. The cone-shaped cuffs at the end of each wrist clanked against the back of his chest armor. The fourth arm nervously scratched his blue head. “I don’t know,” he said. “It's stupid, I guess. I can take it off… if you want.”
Marc didn’t want to address the topic head-on. He stopped in the cave’s entry. He pretended to admire the walls—as if he’d never seen sandstone before.
“No, leave it on,” he said. “You look… like a true Lenorkian.” He turn around and forced a smile.
It wasn’t enough.
“Okay, let’s get this out of the way,” Sid said. He marched up to Marc.
Sid took a deep breath before he spoke.
“Tonight's really important to me,” he continued. “This is the last impression anyone’s going to make on the universe. So I need you on board.” He continued staring down at Marc. “Can you do that? For me?”
Marc didn’t see what the big deal was. It was just a couple of best friends hanging out.
“Yeah, why not?” he shrugged. “End it the way it started.”
The exchange turned into awkward silence. Neither knew what to do next. They had never been in a situation like this before—never attended such an event. What the Archives called: a par-ty.
Sid shook off the figurative mask he’d been wearing—one that was uncharacteristically dour. His eyes lightened, and he bobbed his head knowingly.
“I went through the Archives to see how this works,” he said. He walked toward the long horizontal counter against the wall—the kitchen.
On the counter, chaos ran wild. Bowls and kitchenware spread across the surface. And the insides of his pots and pans resembled the dirty mouth of a garbage chute.
Marc wasn’t sure what to think. Was cleaning the host’s kitchen a staple of ancient parties?
Sid too seemed a bit confused. His next words came out robotically, as if he was practicing a new word he’d learned.
“’Can-I-offer-you-a-drink?’” Sid asked. He stood nervously in front of the counter.
Looking closer at it, three unusual objects stood apart from the kitchenware mess. It took Marc a while to remember what their outdated, bendy material was called.
Plastic. Three pink and plastic cups sat equidistant from one another.
“I got these from here,” Sid reached under the counter and pulled up some sort of transparent bag. Pink cups just liked the others were stacked on top of each other inside.
Sid packed the bag back under the counter.
“So?” he asked after he finished. He held all four hands together in anticipation. His smile may have looked like an industrial-grade rock shredder, but it was hard to resist his innocent blue face and big wide eyes.
Marc eyed the pink cups one last time.
“This better not kill me,” he said.
Sid wasted no time. He excitedly grabbed a cup and walked over to a large pot sitting on the counter.
Using a nearby ladle, he plunged into the vat. An unappetizing sloshing sound resulted. And Sid, as strong as he was, seemed to struggle with scooping out some of the mystery liquid. But in the end, he pulled back the ladle and unloaded an opaque, muddy liquid into the cup.
“It's a homeworld classic called fludge,” Sid said as he finished pouring.
He treaded over to his reluctant friend and handed off the plastic cup.
“Did you say ‘fludge’?” Marc asked. He swished the cup around cautiously. The earthy liquid hardly budged.
“Yeah, fludge! Us Lenorkians invented it. It’s kind of the only tasty thing we ever bothered to make.”
Marc sniffed it. It smelled… burnt? Maybe a little dusty, too? But he could have just been smelling the cave.
Sid left Marc alone with Marc’s questionable new assignment. He returned to the pot to pour himself a drink.
“Just try it!” he said.
Marc looked down again at the dark soup. It could kill him. Or maybe it wouldn't.
Either way, it was his last drink.
He took a timid sip and waited to be repulsed. The fludge trickled to the back of his tongue. As it hit, Marc’s eyes widened. But not with regret.
He swallowed.
“Now wait a minute…” he said. He smacked his lips together. Then he took another, larger sip.
This curious dark liquid had a unique taste to it. The taste was earthen—but unoffending. It also had a subtle undercurrent of sweetness to it, combined with a spicy kick. It was delicious.
“This might be the best drink in the entire Outpost!” Marc exclaimed.
Pure joy bloomed on Sid’s face. “See! I told you: the greatest thing we ever made.”
He held his own cup above his open jaws. The falling fludge was no match for the alien. He guzzled it down, licked his lips, and then went back for more.
As Sid fashioned himself another drink, Marc noticed something a tad unsettling. A third pink cup stared back at him. It prompted an uncomfortable thought, but he shoved the thought back down.
The Lenorkian carried back his second drink. Though this time, he took it in small, human-sized sips.
But he quickly reanimated. In the middle of a sip, Sid got a wild look in his eyes. His irises turned from their natural violet to scarlet. He yanked the cup from his face and swallowed.
“Argh, how did I forget?” he said. “I got music!”
Marc cut his sip short too. “No way. You got music?”
“I think so!”
Sid did an about face. He slammed the half-empty cup on the counter. Then he shuffled toward a giant metal column protruding from the far wall. Four ink-blue hands wrapped around the cover of the vent. And he went for it.
Sid struggled to pull off the cover of the vent at first. His armor ballooned around his biceps as his muscles bulged outward. Yet the cover wouldn't budge.
But it seemed like an important part of his evening plans. He scolded the stubborn vent, banging on its top.
“Oh, you’re gonna get it now!” he said. He latched onto the vent again.
This time, he put even more effort in. To the point where Marc sensed that Sid was losing a grip on his own body. Out of his forehead, two thumb-sized cones began to rise. His breathing turned low and raspy. And his whole body seemed to expand as he repositioned himself for leverage. Then with one final pull, like a wild beast, he let out of a deep, guttural roar.
“HAWRRRRRRRRRRRGGH!” The roar echoed off the cave walls.
And with that, the stubborn vent cover finally popped off. A breath of wind pulsed through the room as the air pressure equalized itself.
But the wind wasn’t finished. After the initial pulse exited, a mighty gust picked up where the original pulse left off. The vent shot more wind into the room, but rapidly, like a storm. Tiny coarse particles rattled inside the duct. And in the room, a rush of wind whipped past Marc’s face. He felt little nips across his exposed skin as it passed him.
Both partiers shielded their faces from the most direct blasts of air. Sid smiled nervously as he looked to Marc. He raised his voice over the whining airstream.
“It’s from the sandplains above!” he said in an elevated voice. “I thought we’d use the sandstorm for music! Do you like it?”
Music… Marc wasn’t exactly an expert. Even though humans were said to be naturals at it, not much on the subject had made it into the Archives. The Outpost didn’t have much of it either. The closest he got was the occasional chant, stray birds twittering about, or maybe someone banging on rocks.
But Marc did know one thing on the subject. Where there was music, there was dancing.
That said, he had never danced before either. But a long time ago, his parents told him it was something all humans could do. It was something they carried in their blood. Once humans found a pattern in music, they could match it to their body language. And once they’d synced melody and movement, they could ride that wave to a whole new experience.
Might as well give it a shot, he thought. Marc too put his cup on the counter.
With his hands free, Marc backed up toward the middle of the room. He closed his eyes, felt the wind. It filled his ears with its gusty energy. It hit him in pumps as the storm raged above.
Though not totally predictable, the wind did hit him consistently. There was some sort of kinetic pattern to it.
Yes, a pattern.
Well actually, he’d heard it called by another name. What was that word his mother had used? He opened his eyes when he remembered: rhythm.
Marc stretched out his arms. He relaxed his hips. He felt the wind’s whips and waves across his arms. He let his arms follow them, swaying with the current. Not long after, his hips joined in. They too gyrated, trying to match the energetic gusts. He kept at it. And the first time Marc felt both himself and the wind moving together, he grinned.
“This is amazing!” he said. Around them, the wind crooned.
Sid was entranced. He nodded back while staring at Marc’s strange movements. He’d never really seen dancing either. But he figured he would give it a shot too. He loosened up his arms and walked onto the dance floor with Marc.
Before dancing himself, he studied Marc first. He watched how the scavenger moved his arms—and when the scavenger moved his arms.
Sid’s limbs followed. Four muscular arms rose in the air, like fighter jets on their way to a dogfight. And on a one or two second delay, they swayed after Marc’s.
For a while, they followed Marc completely. Then Sid went down his own path. The Lenorkian’s movements grew aggressive and battle-like. He punched at the wind swiping across him. He shuffled his feet as if swapping battle stances.
He caught Marc’s curiosity. Even as a novice, Marc could tell Sid’s movements weren’t traditional by any means. But to Marc, it was dancing all the same.
The two danced to the chorus of the air above. They laughed occasionally as changes in the rhythm of the wind tripped them up. In his head, Marc compared it to the painting on Sid’s door. The colony had never seen anything like this either.
Then something interrupted their dancing. The ground beneath them shook, throwing them off their feet. Heavy gray dirt trickled from the ceiling as the entire cave rumbled. And outside, the distant sky flashed and crackled. Its light illuminated the cave in violent spurts as the boys struggled to stand back up.
Eventually, the violent quaking and frightening flashes died down. The plasma storm held its breath once again.
The boys got back on their feet, but all the joy had seeped out of Sid’s face. He just stared at the floor in deep contemplation. Even as the windy music started back up.
Marc figured he would rescue his friend from whatever dark thoughts had turned up. Naturally, the end of the universe was a real bummer.
“End of the world got you down, huh?” He tried to laugh it off. The whole situation was pretty sad. Especially when they were having so much fun. But it was best to end the universe on a high note, right?
Nevertheless, Sid seemed dejected. He mumbled something inaudible.
“Dude, I can’t hear over the song!” Marc said in an elevated voice.
Sid spoke up over the wind. “That’s not what I’m upset about,” he said, his voice still fairly low.
“Then what are you upset about?”
Sid blurted out his response. “Because I invited Tōn-E, okay?”
He couldn’t bring himself to look Marc in the eye. Because he knew what was coming.
“YOU DID WHAT?!” Marc shouted over the music. Marc himself stomped over to the vent. He picked the cover off the floor—though he struggled quite a bit with it. It was heavier than Sid made it look. But he hoisted it back into the mouth of the vent. The music shut off. The steady drop of sand on the cave floor ceased.
“Say that again,” he leveled in Sid’s direction.
“What was I supposed to do?” Sid remade eye contact. “Not invite the only other intelligent being to the last party the universe will ever have?”
Marc needed no time to answer. He nodded insistently. “Yes. That was exactly what you were supposed to do. What the hell, Sid?” Marc would have continued, but there was another disturbance outside. He caught a glimpse of movement in the doorway.
--
Thanks for reading some of my words :) I’m trying stuff out, so let me know what you think.
The rest of the story is here
Based on a prompt by eithrotaur

Nvidia, Apple blah blah blah ok ok hop on the back of some market brontosaurus if you want but I’m looking at what are some good DEALS for the future… I’m looking at a mouse.
Disney is getting clobbered, recent news events including scrapping $1B campus with DeSantis feud, laying off Pixar staff, writing off 2 billion dollar losses from streaming content they’re removing. Is this the kind of cost cutting measures it takes to be a market presence for decades? It’s multinational brand Disney… they own Star Wars… they own Pixar, they own over priced churro stands! Are they poised to rise from the ashes of the current shit show with a freshly trimmed bottom line on costs and a timeless brand?
And if you have to connect a dot with AI… movie studio animation AI, theme park animatronic AI, park security AI, cruise ship AI. If AI really is the next big “thing” it’s gotta go somewhere…and this company is land, sea, and TV.
The next quarter report may be a doozy with that $2 billion impairment charge, maybe a put for next quarter. But maybe investors will applaud the fat trimming, hmm.

I need some help figuring out what kind of jobs I should apply for. Honestly, I'm feeling a bit lost and not sure where to go next. Right now, I'm working in personal health insurance sales, specifically selling ACA (Obama Care) Insurance. I'm in my 20s and I've done a bunch of different things in my short time on this planet. Before the whole pandemic mess, I was a car salesman for a while. Then I switched gears and got into selling life insurance and Medicare, and now I'm doing this gig.
I'm eager to transition into a new position or field altogether, but I'm uncertain if I'll find what I'm looking for. The idea of having to actively search for leads or generate business intimidates the hell out of me. I was commission only as a Car salesman so it's not the comp part that scares me it's just being able to find people or businesses out of the blue to sell to. Therefore, I'm looking for opportunities where leads are provided or industries that exhibit a strong demand, eliminating the need for cold calling or door-to-door sales (which I've done in the past).
I've also been thinking about moving up to a management role. I was actually offered a position once, but it would've meant taking a pay cut, and I wasn't too thrilled about that. I've been making somewhere between 60K to 70K for the past couple of years, and it seems like that's about as good as it gets in my current line of work. The thing is, I don't know much about SaaS, tech sales, or other industries that might offer better opportunities. I don't even know what to look for. And if remote is even a thing anymore post COVID.
So, yeah, I'm just looking for some advice or direction here. I'm not sure what jobs out there pay better than what I'm making now without having to hustle or make something appear out of nothing for every single sale. I know it might sound like I'm being lazy or something, but I just need a little guidance to figure out my next move.

Help me out please.
I want particularly slow instrumentals with almost no lyrics..or maybe some of the slow jazz that’s played at restaurants/dinners- they sound like it could be used for sleep too..
Edit: You could also recommend what you use for sleep too..I didn’t like some of the suggestions from Apple , but I’m still open to your recommendations

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Entry 8

From the moment I entered the custody of the Sentinel Suns, my life transformed into a living hell. Each morning, the reverberating clank of chains echoed through the corridors as a procession of fifty individuals, including myself and my cellmate, shuffled forward. For the first time in my life, I feel small, I am dwarfed by the hulking physiques of the others in my procession. It is a striking realization, further emphasized by a fellow prisoner who, despite being over a whole foot shorter than me, is ripped as all hell, with biceps almost thicker than my legs combined!
The chow hall beckons, a temporary sanctuary from the brutality that defines our existence. We shuffle forward, drawn by the scent of a meager yet substantial meal, its flavor subdued but enough to quell the gnawing hunger within. The portions we receive are meticulously measured, a calculated reminder of our individual worth in this dehumanizing realm. As we hastily consume our rations, a palpable tension fills the room, for time is a luxury we cannot afford. Taking too long to eat invites violence, as our time to eat is limited, and wasting food or defying orders leads you to be beaten unconscious by the guards and become a fixture hanging from the battlements. So, I take this fleeting interlude to gather my thoughts and muster resolve for the harrowing yet to come.
Breaking the uneasy peace, a guard emits a clarion call of a whistle that cuts through the air and jolts us into attention, our bodies stiffening as if in sync. With measured steps, we march out of the door, leaving behind the confines of the inner keep. As the outside air brushes against our faces, our senses are immediately assaulted by an unholy stench that permeates the surroundings. The source of this vile odor awaits us—a monstrous cart, resembling the size of a colossal train wagon on wheels. A dozen of these abominations accompany us, as we rhythmically march on, urged onward by the anguished cries of the rulebreakers, their bodies hanging from the battlements and flogged in a haunting rhythm to keep our pace, I cast my gaze down and seek to shield myself from the sun as much as possible as we embark on our arduous journey, pushing the wagon steadfastly eastward, fanning out until the other vanish from view.
Tentatively, we make our way through the desolated industrial hub, a landscape of ruins and despair. Amidst the wreckage, chimneys stood as stoic sentinels, spewing smoke that briefly dances with a myriad of vivid hues above, an eerie spectacle against the desolate backdrop. Within certain structures, a hive of activity unfolds, causing the very ground to quiver beneath our weary feet. As we converge at designated collection points, we encounter a somber assembly of chained and exhausted souls, their toil centered around the arduous tasks of shattering rocks and bearing heavy loads. Envy gnaws at my insides every time I see them, for though their labor is far from easy, it lacks the soul-crushing horror that stains my own. We, a disparate group assigned the grisly duty of scavenging, a macabre amalgamation of garbage collectors and corpse retrievers, pauses intermittently to load our carts with the repulsive remnants of life and the accumulated refuse that marked these sorrowful junctions.
Beneath the unforgiving sun, we toil with a mixture of revulsion and numbness. At every of these collection points, we stop the wagon, attach a ramp that hangs to the side of the vehicle and form a line, passing buckets of limbs, waste, and whole corpses to each other until finally, the one at the end would throw it in the cart. Even after a week I can’t help but shiver every time my hands come into contact with cold, clammy skin. The texture of rotting flesh clings to my fingers, an indescribable sensation that makes bile rise in my throat just thinking about it.
Each body loaded onto the wagon leads to a louder chorus of anguished moans and pained groans to get that thing moving again. The weight of death settles upon me like a leaden shroud, both physically and emotionally, as we strain against the sheer physicality of lifting these lifeless figures. By the time the sun reaches its zenith, my muscles cry out in protest, yet I persist, driven by a grim determination to accomplish this gruesome duty or suffer the consequences. Rivulets of sweat cascade down my forehead, a desperate response to quell the scorching onslaught of light that saps my vitality, only to mingle with the layers of grime and filth that clings to my exhausted frame.
The relentless march continues as we push forward, our bodies are strained and weary, dragging the laden cart back to the dire fortress that every day seems closer to its original grim design. We are joined by other wagon crews, forming a parade of the damned, our carrion load in tow.
Amidst the chilling cries that reverberate through the air, we are herded toward one of the looming interior warehouses. Its door yawns open, resembling a merciless guillotine awaiting our arrival. With aching muscles, we attach the cart to the towering lifting mechanism, its massive wheel lever demanding our strained efforts. The sound of our labored panting is swallowed by the clanging symphony of metal emanating from the cart, accompanied by the sickening sloshes that erupt as the putrid contents spill forth. Once the mechanism is securely locked, we venture inside, our hearts heavy with the impending task. With grim determination, we scrape the remaining refuse into the cell and run back out before the gate descends with a resounding thud. A middle gate swiftly rises and falls back into place, sealing off the wretched scene.
Duty pulls us towards the next stage of this unyielding mistreatment. The rear gate yawns open, beckoning us towards the repulsive chore of cleansing the manure-infested cell. With every ounce of strength, we have the foul mixture into the hexagonal pools, and stagnant lagoons nestled amidst the desolate warehouses. The mere sight evokes a visceral recoil, a loathsome amalgamation of waste and debasement. The scorching heat weighs upon us, intensifying the noxious miasma that pervades the air. It doesn't take long for retching to resonate, mingling with the futile attempts to flee, only to be met with a forceful encounter with the grimy floor.
Once the grueling task of cleaning is complete, we are commanded to strip off our clothes and press ourselves against the cold, unforgiving outer wall, joining the other groups. Then comes the onslaught—the scalding torrent of teal liquid used to cleanse us. Initially, the dead bodies were the pinnacle of horror for me, but now I realize that this daily ritual is the true torment. The moment the shower hits me, I gasp for air, collapsing onto the floor, my throat burning under the assault of the overpowering minty scent. It takes the collective strength of my fellow prisoners to lift me back to my feet. One by one we shuffle towards our shepherds, as one waves his hands magically drying us while the other hands us fresh attire before hurriedly ushering us back to the chow hall. Dinner feels like a brief respite compared to breakfast, but eventually, the blaring whistles pierce the air, signaling our return to the confines of our cells. The question lingers in my mind—how much longer can I endure this?

Hi all, long time lurker here but I wanted to get some unbiased opinions on this. This story is long. Sorry in advance.
Six months ago, I (27M) ended a friendship with a my long-time best friend (28M) and of 7 years after a fairly explosive fight about the woman he is dating (33/34F). The whole thing took me by surprise. We currently have a large tight knit friend group of people across a variety of major cities and we all try to hang out when we can. However, some of my friends in this group have been unhappy with me for cutting of ties with this person.
For context, This friend was my college roommate, fraternity brother, and the most consistent source of emotional support and guidance throughout my early-twenties. Throughout college, I felt that we had a unique and supportive friendship. He taught me how to be believe in myself, stand-up for myself, take care of myself better, and brought a lot of light into my life as a friend. We were both full-scholarship students at a fancy-pants highly ranked college that is know for being elitist and stuck-up. Looking back, I think one of the things that made us such tight friends is that we didn't fit in all too well at that school. Both of us had pretty difficult lives before college and neither of us had any money. He was essentially an orphan and I was/am from a low-income single parent household. However, despite these circumstances, I felt like we both inspired each other to become more well-rounded and well-adjusted people. A central theme of our friendship was trying to figure out how to live a good life, solve interesting problems, make the world a better place, and to go on adventures with good friends.
During our early twenties/in college I feel like I did everything I could to be the best friend possible. Since he didn't have a stable father figure, I tried my best to be a loving brother. I was there to support him for every major test or every time a girl broke his heart in college. I knew that finding a group of friends and a community was important for him, so I advocated for him to join my fraternity. While my fraternity was voting on final round of rush, I was working on a major project with some classmates and someone texted me that my friend didn't get enough votes to be offered a bid to join. Immediately, I told my partners that I had to go for an emergency and ran to where the voting was taking place. I basically made a 2-3 minute long speech about how my friend was one of the best people I've ever know and convinced everyone to revote him into the group. Additionally, when he had to take a year off from college because a close member of his family passed a way, I spent almost every weekend with him for emotional support, helped him navigate the dark and uncomfortable family drama around the situation, and was the only friend who went to this family member's funeral with him for support. I even helped him with the little things, like teaching him how to tie a tie and find his own sense of style.
However, towards the end of college and after graduating, my life got difficult and dark. At the end of my senior year, two close relatives of mine passed away within two weeks of each other and I became extremely depressed. After graduation, I left my home state for a job that offered me a significant amount of money. Though my plan was to go to grad school, I wanted to take some time to make money and help my younger sister afford college - she didn't get any significant scholarships. However, the job I worked at was terrible. I was being abused almost every since day by my boss and the company I worked for was extremely unethical. After starting this job, I learned that the average hire only lasts about 6-8 months and that having a breakdown from working there was extremely common. Working here took a huge toll on my mental health and after 9 months, I quit to return home before I broke down like many of my co-workers. I thought things would be better when I went back home but some of my family members were going through it at the time and became abusive as well. Though my family was never abusive towards me growing up, for some reason they chose to be abusive when I came back. Chairs were thrown at me and I never had a moment of rest. I also had a grandmother who was living off food stamps and nobody was taking good care of her. So I had to continuously try and get her groceries while working 60-70 hrs/wk on a construction job. It was a bad time.
During all of this, I felt that my friend was being extremely immature and selfish. He kept yelling at me and criticizing me for not hanging out enough with him and not partying with him enough. Even after explaining my situation, he didn't offer too much support and expressed frustration that I wouldn't help him meet girls at clubs or get laid. He's always had a deep desire to find love but has traditionally had issues with female rejection. One night, I agreed to go out clubbing with him, but I remember explicitly stating that I was not in the mental space to hit on girls, wingman, or to hook-up. I was just down to drink, dance, and have a good time. Despite this, at the club he got extremely frustrated with me when I wouldn't start any conversations with groups of girls. When we got home he literally starting screaming in his bed about how he wished someone "would show him the steps" on how to meet women. Though this was clearly not a high point in our relationship together, I felt that he was probably just going through something and let it go. After a few months, even more negative things happened in my life and eventually had a mental breakdown. I definitely was not acting normally or myself for 3-4 months afterwards either. Despite this, my friend insisted that I party with him and a group of other people one night. However, when we were ready to go out, I overheard him loudly making laughing at me and making fun of my behind my back about how "I had serious mental problems, totally lost it. etc." I was shocked because he definitely knew about all that I was going through. After this, I stopped reaching out to him and to distance myself. Part of me didn't trust him anymore but also I wanted to see if he'd put in effort to keep our relationship strong.
Fast forward a few years, and we were still friends but not as close as before. I partially attributed this to me moving around different states for work and also for finally getting into a grad school far away from everyone. During this time we both ended up dating women which we both considered to be long-term partners. Initially he starting dating this girl for a couple of months, and then something terrible happened in his life - his last surviving family member died. After telling her he needed to put their relationship on pause and leave town to wrap up family affairs. She blew up at him while he was out of town, about how he "led her on" and wasted her time. For context, she made it clear that she wanted to get married and have kids after 2-3 years of dating.For some reason, he got back together with her and stayed with her for a few years, but he expressed some concerns about her to me. He told me that she didn't really seem interested in engaging with him on an intellectual level (e.g., reading books with each other, talking about work) and also expected him to pay for all of their dates and meals (which were pretty expensive) because he has a well-paying job. He also expressed worry that she'd wouldn't be interested in respecting or having a relationship with any of our other friends because of her age. Because she was 31 at the start of their relationship she felt that a lot people in our friend group of mid-twenty somethings "wouldn't be mature enough" for her.
Despite telling him that these were all big red flags, he continued dating her. Because I was busy working and trying to make money for my family I never got a chance to hang out with her. But as predicted, as all of our close friends eventually met her over the years - has has been pretty disrespectful. Though she never fought or argued with anyone she'd either ignore people or be passive aggressive. She also started to negatively influence him. After a member of our friend group (who previously has always been kind and caring) had a public freakout and yelled at his girlfriend because he was in a bad mental state, I called him to talk about how we could support our friend and expressed concerns that a marijuana addiction might be contributing to his issues. Instead of talking about the issue he said that our friend was "spoiled", "immature", and said that his girlfriend "weak woman".
Eventually, my partner and I met this girl during my college reunion and we felt that she was pretty awful. My friend allowed my girlfriend and I to stay at his appartment to save money for the trip. Before the actual reunion we all agreed to hang out. My girlfriend arrived in town a day before me and spent time with both of them before I did. Though I wasn't there, my girlfriend told me that this woman threw a napkin at a waiter during dinner. Apparently, she also got sleepy at around 9pm while my friend was showing my partner around the apt. Instead of waiting respectfully or finding a place to rest, she passive aggressively pretended to fall asleep in the common room of the apt and pretended to snore. Then after a few minutes she started yelling that she called an Uber for herself to go back to her place, slammed a door in my friend's face, and left the building - leaving him to chase after her.
I met her the next day during a double date, and I didn't get the best impression. I tried to be nonjudgemental but it was pretty hard to hold a conversation with her. When I asked about her interests, she could only really talk about how she like to drink/party a lot, spend a lot of money, and travel. Though this really wasn't that bad (who doesn't love these things), I initially thought she was just shallow because thats really all she could talk about. However, as we spent more time together bragged to me about her older brother threw a glass ashtray at an elderly neighbor. Additionally, at a one point in the double date, she made fun of a man going for a run outside. He was actually in pretty decent shape and even had visible abs, but she kept saying how he was "too overweight" to be running without a shirt, and bragged about how she was in great shape and runs marathons. Despite this, she has a pretty significant muffin top and if my understanding is correct she hasn't run a marathon in many years. When we actually went to our reunion, she kept complaining to me that all of my college classmates kept staring at her and that they were all clearly "obsessed with her" because of how attractive she is - even at times when there would be almost nobody around. At the end of our time together, he told me he want to elevate their relationship and was thinking about moving in with her. He also suggested to other people he was interested in getting married and having kids soon.
I called my friend few weeks after all of this and expressed concerns about his relationship. Trying to be as respectful as possible while being truthful, I told him that I was concerned about him furthering his relationship with this woman. First expressed that she was hard to talk to and that she displayed some concerning behaviors. Then I highlighted that he should consider that she might not be the best long term partner. I felt that since she made the death of his family member "all about her", she probably wont be good teammate or a supportive partner when they both go through difficult times together. In all, I probably spoke for about a minute and a half before he started getting defensive and hung up on me to "take a brake from the conversation".Afterwards he stopped talking to consistently me for about six months. He mentioned to other friends that he and I would have a formal discussion about how I crossed a line soon, but he kept putting it off and never reached out. Even after I sent an apology text, he kept ignoring me.
Finally, six months ago visited the city that I'm currently living in to visit some people in our friend group and didn't tell me. I was invited by people in our group to spend time with them, but I immediately noticed that something was off. When I would speak about my interests or things that were going on in my life, my former friend would roll his eyes or look at me with disgust. Later in the night, I asked him if he wanted to finally have the discussion her wanted to have and he explosively blew up at me. Immediately, he started intensely screaming at me asking me about why I didn't like his partner. This took me by surprise, so I started getting heated and I pointed out that she seemed pretty superficial, hard to talk to, and that she was really disrespectful to all of our friends. Quickly, he got even more angry and said that all of our friends were "career obsessed people" and that I was the worst one of them all because I'm obsessed with grad school. He said that I was "an egotistical person", with "poor social skills", and that I only care about making friends with people "who kiss my ass and and feed my enormous ego". Additionally, he stated that I was an extremely "selfish person" and he purposely grew apart from me because I was such a broken person with so many problems. He also said that if I couldn't see or agree with him I "needed to look deep within myself". After this, I went home, slept off the fight, and texted him to cut off the friendship the next day.
Not only did I found all of this hurtful, but I found this to be extremely hypocritical. Despite all that I did for him, he wasn't really there for me during the worst years of my life. Also, I recognize that I do work abnormally hard and dont spend time as much time with my friends as I used to. However, I feel that I mainly do this to so I can be successful in support my family and because grad school is a deep passion of mine.
I get the sense that now, some of my other friends are a bit upset with me because I ended this friendship. Is this my fault? I did press him. He initially said that he wanted to wait on our discussion, but I pointed out that we live in different states and don't see each other that much anymore. Did I pressure him too much? Maybe I'm being too sentimental, but I used to think that this was the person in my life who knew me the best. I used to always think of myself as the kind of person who will stand up for what is right. So hearing this from him, made me question my own self-perception a bit.
Sorry for the long, great-american-novel, of a post.

Hi guys, I'm having problems when I turn on the shaders on Iris the game crashes, what do you think is the cause and how can I fix it?
Thank you so much
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---- Minecraft Crash Report ----
// My bad.
​
Time: 2023-06-03 22:06:48
Description: mouseClicked event handler
​
java.lang.ExceptionInInitializerError

`at io.github.douira.glsl_transformer.cst.token_filter.TokenChannel.(`[`TokenChannel.java:49`](https://TokenChannel.java:49)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.pipeline.transform.TransformPatcher.(`[`TransformPatcher.java:129`](https://TransformPatcher.java:129)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.postprocess.CompositeRenderer.createProgram(`[`CompositeRenderer.java:295`](https://CompositeRenderer.java:295)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.postprocess.CompositeRenderer.(`[`CompositeRenderer.java:99`](https://CompositeRenderer.java:99)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.pipeline.newshader.NewWorldRenderingPipeline.(`[`NewWorldRenderingPipeline.java:228`](https://NewWorldRenderingPipeline.java:228)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.Iris.createPipeline(`[`Iris.java:647`](https://Iris.java:647)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.pipeline.PipelineManager.preparePipeline(`[`PipelineManager.java:34`](https://PipelineManager.java:34)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.Iris.reload(`[`Iris.java:589`](https://Iris.java:589)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.apiimpl.IrisApiV0ConfigImpl.setShadersEnabledAndApply(`[`IrisApiV0ConfigImpl.java:28`](https://IrisApiV0ConfigImpl.java:28)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.gui.screen.ShaderPackScreen.applyChanges(`[`ShaderPackScreen.java:542`](https://ShaderPackScreen.java:542)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.gui.screen.ShaderPackScreen.lambda$init$2(`[`ShaderPackScreen.java:227`](https://ShaderPackScreen.java:227)`)` `at net.minecraft.class_4185.method_25306(class_4185.java:43)` `at net.minecraft.class_4264.method_25348(class_4264.java:16)` `at net.minecraft.class_339.method_25402(class_339.java:120)` `at net.minecraft.class_4069.method_25402(class_4069.java:27)` `at net.coderbot.iris.gui.screen.ShaderPackScreen.method_25402(`[`ShaderPackScreen.java:180`](https://ShaderPackScreen.java:180)`)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_1611(class_312.java:94)` `at net.minecraft.class_437.method_25412(class_437.java:489)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_1601(class_312.java:94)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_22686(class_312.java:165)` `at net.minecraft.class_1255.execute(class_1255.java:103)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_22684(class_312.java:165)` `at org.lwjgl.glfw.GLFWMouseButtonCallbackI.callback(`[`GLFWMouseButtonCallbackI.java:43`](https://GLFWMouseButtonCallbackI.java:43)`)` `at org.lwjgl.system.JNI.invokeV(Native Method)` `at org.lwjgl.glfw.GLFW.glfwWaitEventsTimeout(`[`GLFW.java:3474`](https://GLFW.java:3474)`)` `at com.mojang.blaze3d.systems.RenderSystem.limitDisplayFPS(`[`RenderSystem.java:222`](https://RenderSystem.java:222)`)` `at net.minecraft.class_310.method_1523(class_310.java:1208)` `at net.minecraft.class_310.method_1514(class_310.java:768)` `at net.minecraft.client.main.Main.method_44604(`[`Main.java:244`](https://Main.java:244)`)` `at net.minecraft.client.main.Main.main(`[`Main.java:51`](https://Main.java:51)`)` `at net.fabricmc.loader.impl.game.minecraft.MinecraftGameProvider.launch(`[`MinecraftGameProvider.java:462`](https://MinecraftGameProvider.java:462)`)` `at net.fabricmc.loader.impl.launch.knot.Knot.launch(`[`Knot.java:74`](https://Knot.java:74)`)` `at net.fabricmc.loader.impl.launch.knot.KnotClient.main(`[`KnotClient.java:23`](https://KnotClient.java:23)`)` 

Caused by: java.lang.UnsupportedOperationException: java.io.InvalidClassException: org.antlr.v4.runtime.atn.ATN; Could not deserialize ATN with version 4 (expected 3).

`at org.antlr.v4.runtime.atn.ATNDeserializer.deserialize(`[`ATNDeserializer.java:187`](https://ATNDeserializer.java:187)`)` `at io.github.douira.glsl_transformer.GLSLLexer.(`[`GLSLLexer.java:2924`](https://GLSLLexer.java:2924)`)` `... 33 more` 

Caused by: java.io.InvalidClassException: org.antlr.v4.runtime.atn.ATN; Could not deserialize ATN with version 4 (expected 3).

`... 35 more` 

​
​
A detailed walkthrough of the error, its code path and all known details is as follows:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
​
-- Head --
Thread: Render thread
Stacktrace:

`at io.github.douira.glsl_transformer.cst.token_filter.TokenChannel.(`[`TokenChannel.java:49`](https://TokenChannel.java:49)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.pipeline.transform.TransformPatcher.(`[`TransformPatcher.java:129`](https://TransformPatcher.java:129)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.postprocess.CompositeRenderer.createProgram(`[`CompositeRenderer.java:295`](https://CompositeRenderer.java:295)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.postprocess.CompositeRenderer.(`[`CompositeRenderer.java:99`](https://CompositeRenderer.java:99)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.pipeline.newshader.NewWorldRenderingPipeline.(`[`NewWorldRenderingPipeline.java:228`](https://NewWorldRenderingPipeline.java:228)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.Iris.createPipeline(`[`Iris.java:647`](https://Iris.java:647)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.pipeline.PipelineManager.preparePipeline(`[`PipelineManager.java:34`](https://PipelineManager.java:34)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.Iris.reload(`[`Iris.java:589`](https://Iris.java:589)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.apiimpl.IrisApiV0ConfigImpl.setShadersEnabledAndApply(`[`IrisApiV0ConfigImpl.java:28`](https://IrisApiV0ConfigImpl.java:28)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.gui.screen.ShaderPackScreen.applyChanges(`[`ShaderPackScreen.java:542`](https://ShaderPackScreen.java:542)`)` `at net.coderbot.iris.gui.screen.ShaderPackScreen.lambda$init$2(`[`ShaderPackScreen.java:227`](https://ShaderPackScreen.java:227)`)` `at net.minecraft.class_4185.method_25306(class_4185.java:43)` `at net.minecraft.class_4264.method_25348(class_4264.java:16)` `at net.minecraft.class_339.method_25402(class_339.java:120)` `at net.minecraft.class_4069.method_25402(class_4069.java:27)` `at net.coderbot.iris.gui.screen.ShaderPackScreen.method_25402(`[`ShaderPackScreen.java:180`](https://ShaderPackScreen.java:180)`)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_1611(class_312.java:94)` `at net.minecraft.class_437.method_25412(class_437.java:489)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_1601(class_312.java:94)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_22686(class_312.java:165)` `at net.minecraft.class_1255.execute(class_1255.java:103)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_22684(class_312.java:165)` `at org.lwjgl.glfw.GLFWMouseButtonCallbackI.callback(`[`GLFWMouseButtonCallbackI.java:43`](https://GLFWMouseButtonCallbackI.java:43)`)` `at org.lwjgl.system.JNI.invokeV(Native Method)` `at org.lwjgl.glfw.GLFW.glfwWaitEventsTimeout(`[`GLFW.java:3474`](https://GLFW.java:3474)`)` 

​
-- Affected screen --
Details:

`Screen name: net.coderbot.iris.gui.screen.ShaderPackScreen` 

Stacktrace:

`at net.minecraft.class_437.method_25412(class_437.java:489)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_1601(class_312.java:94)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_22686(class_312.java:165)` `at net.minecraft.class_1255.execute(class_1255.java:103)` `at net.minecraft.class_312.method_22684(class_312.java:165)` `at org.lwjgl.glfw.GLFWMouseButtonCallbackI.callback(`[`GLFWMouseButtonCallbackI.java:43`](https://GLFWMouseButtonCallbackI.java:43)`)` `at org.lwjgl.system.JNI.invokeV(Native Method)` `at org.lwjgl.glfw.GLFW.glfwWaitEventsTimeout(`[`GLFW.java:3474`](https://GLFW.java:3474)`)` `at com.mojang.blaze3d.systems.RenderSystem.limitDisplayFPS(`[`RenderSystem.java:222`](https://RenderSystem.java:222)`)` `at net.minecraft.class_310.method_1523(class_310.java:1208)` `at net.minecraft.class_310.method_1514(class_310.java:768)` `at net.minecraft.client.main.Main.method_44604(`[`Main.java:244`](https://Main.java:244)`)` `at net.minecraft.client.main.Main.main(`[`Main.java:51`](https://Main.java:51)`)` `at net.fabricmc.loader.impl.game.minecraft.MinecraftGameProvider.launch(`[`MinecraftGameProvider.java:462`](https://MinecraftGameProvider.java:462)`)` `at net.fabricmc.loader.impl.launch.knot.Knot.launch(`[`Knot.java:74`](https://Knot.java:74)`)` `at net.fabricmc.loader.impl.launch.knot.KnotClient.main(`[`KnotClient.java:23`](https://KnotClient.java:23)`)` 

​
-- Affected level --
Details:

`All players: 1 total; [class_746['Rafa20100'/278, l='ClientWorld minecraft:overworld', x=46.22, y=66.00, z=-100.00]]` `Chunk stats: Client Chunks (ImmPtl) 756` `Level dimension: minecraft:overworld` `Level spawn location: World: (64,64,-48), Section: (at 0,0,0 in 4,4,-3; chunk contains blocks 64,-64,-48 to 79,319,-33), Region: (0,-1; contains chunks 0,-32 to 31,-1, blocks 0,-64,-512 to 511,319,-1)` `Level time: 2717 game time, 8107 day time` `Server brand: fabric` `Server type: Integrated singleplayer server` 

Stacktrace:

`at net.minecraft.class_638.method_8538(class_638.java:453)` `at net.minecraft.class_310.method_1587(class_310.java:2341)` `at net.minecraft.class_310.method_1514(class_310.java:787)` `at net.minecraft.client.main.Main.method_44604(`[`Main.java:244`](https://Main.java:244)`)` `at net.minecraft.client.main.Main.main(`[`Main.java:51`](https://Main.java:51)`)` `at net.fabricmc.loader.impl.game.minecraft.MinecraftGameProvider.launch(`[`MinecraftGameProvider.java:462`](https://MinecraftGameProvider.java:462)`)` `at net.fabricmc.loader.impl.launch.knot.Knot.launch(`[`Knot.java:74`](https://Knot.java:74)`)` `at net.fabricmc.loader.impl.launch.knot.KnotClient.main(`[`KnotClient.java:23`](https://KnotClient.java:23)`)` 

​
-- Last reload --
Details:

`Reload number: 2` `Reload reason: manual` `Finished: Yes` `Packs: Default, Fabric Mods` 

​
-- System Details --
Details:

`Minecraft Version: 1.19.2` `Minecraft Version ID: 1.19.2` `Operating System: Windows 10 (amd64) version 10.0` `Java Version: 17.0.3, Microsoft` `Java VM Version: OpenJDK 64-Bit Server VM (mixed mode), Microsoft` `Memory: 1398910816 bytes (1334 MiB) / 2684354560 bytes (2560 MiB) up to 6442450944 bytes (6144 MiB)` `CPUs: 8` `Processor Vendor: GenuineIntel` `Processor Name: 11th Gen Intel(R) Core(TM) i7-11370H @ 3.30GHz` `Identifier: Intel64 Family 6 Model 140 Stepping 1` `Microarchitecture: Tiger Lake` `Frequency (GHz): 3.30` `Number of physical packages: 1` `Number of physical CPUs: 4` `Number of logical CPUs: 8` `Graphics card #0 name: Parsec Virtual Display Adapter` `Graphics card #0 vendor: Parsec Cloud, Inc.` `Graphics card #0 VRAM (MB): 0.00` `Graphics card #0 deviceId: unknown` `Graphics card #0 versionInfo: DriverVersion=`[`0.38.0.0`](https://0.38.0.0) `Graphics card #1 name: NVIDIA GeForce MX450` `Graphics card #1 vendor: NVIDIA (0x10de)` `Graphics card #1 VRAM (MB): 2048.00` `Graphics card #1 deviceId: 0x1f97` `Graphics card #1 versionInfo: DriverVersion=31.0.15.2686` `Graphics card #2 name: Intel(R) Iris(R) Xe Graphics` `Graphics card #2 vendor: Intel Corporation (0x8086)` `Graphics card #2 VRAM (MB): 1024.00` `Graphics card #2 deviceId: 0x9a49` `Graphics card #2 versionInfo: DriverVersion=27.20.100.8984` `Memory slot #0 capacity (MB): 8192.00` `Memory slot #0 clockSpeed (GHz): 3.20` `Memory slot #0 type: DDR4` `Memory slot #1 capacity (MB): 8192.00` `Memory slot #1 clockSpeed (GHz): 3.20` `Memory slot #1 type: DDR4` `Virtual memory max (MB): 28457.54` `Virtual memory used (MB): 25152.34` `Swap memory total (MB): 12294.23` `Swap memory used (MB): 563.64` `JVM Flags: 9 total; 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Hi everyone
I got a Yamaha HTR 6030 and connected my Samsung TV UE46ES5700 via Optical and use a Fire TV Max
Changed Audio settings in Fire TV to Dolby Digital
On TV under Audio settings SPDIF Output there is only PCM available
Dolby Digital is greyed out until i start a movie then i can choose Dolby Digital but then when i start a movie there is no sound and PCM is displayed on the AVR all the time
Checking the audio diagnosis on the Fire TV it says Dolby Digital:No
Any ideas ?
THX for your help

Catch the full episode: https://www.wealthformula.com/podcast/371-ask-buck-june-2023/
Buck: Welcome back to the show, everyone. And today it's just me. Like old times. And we're going to take questions from the audience. There's actually no audience here in my room, in my office here. But I'm going to take questions from you. And we'll start with the question from Mike. Mike, here you go. Hello, Buckets. Mike Kaye from Melbourne Beach, Florida.
Mike: I was wondering if you were looking at any opportunities out there in regards to investing in distressed assets. I've noticed that rates have gone up in a lot of operators like Western wealth aren't cash flowing and are actually looking for more capital because they've got themselves into trouble. And if rates stay higher than expected, there could be some some pretty good deals as far as bailing folks out.
Buck: So I wanted to get your thoughts on if you were looking for anything out there as far as funds or whatever it may maybe create some opportunity here. Thanks, Mike. Thanks for the question, Mike. The answer well, let's start with this. Obviously, there's a lot of distress in the system right now. Interest rates have gone up a the steepest slope in American history.
And as you might expect, that has not been good for operators, particularly those who relied heavily on floating debt. You know, and this is important, I think, to understand what's going on a little bit, because you might be wondering why in the world would you use floating debt anyway? Well, if it's a long term hold, it never would really make sense to do that kind of short term debt.
However, and with these larger assets, the problem is fixing debt. If your plan is to, you know, ultimately sell. And, you know, 18 to 24 months, you are going to end up with an extremely high prepayment penalty. And so in those situations, the extremely short hold are the shorter hold models, you know, generally ran on floating rate. So if you're again, your business model is to get in and out in 18 months, it doesn't make sense to lock in the rates.
So obviously now they would be better off if we had. But everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face. Right. That is from Mike Tyson, not from me. But that's that's kind of what's happening across the board here, especially for floating rates. And as for looking into creating this fund, which, you know, maybe you got a rescue fund or something like that, that the answer was whether I, I think that that's potentially something to do is, well, yeah, it's certainly something to consider.
And I have thought about it. These are essentially these sort of preferred equity positions, essentially become the lender. So there's not like any tax benefits or anything like that. But so, you know, I have thought about this, but but before doing anything like that, I want to make sure, you know, the economics makes sense for everyone against, again, perhaps one of the most appealing parts of this fund might actually to be getting into some second positions and maybe be first in line if the property fails and you know it or is distressed, it needs to be taken over.
But I really need to think about it because I also want everyone to have as much dry powder as possible. And because, again, it is no fun to be in this environment and those people who are going to make money are going to be the ones that have like nerves of steel that, you know, are okay to feel like, okay, I'm losing some money on one hand, but there's an opportunity to buy distressed assets on the other side.
And that's where real money is made. And again, it's a psychological thing that happens in every cycle. And the key is to try to keep your wits about you and learn, you know, learn whatever lessons you have to learn and move on and deploy. I certainly am not one who is not learned from this experience. Myself, I absolutely have, and I think it'll make me a better investor going forward.
Unfortunately, we're still in the midst of this mess right now. But anyway, bottom line is the answer is yes, potentially. I've thought about it. And I think like those kinds of preferred equity, essentially debt being in the second position behind the main lender, that is that's potentially appealing. And certainly as an investor, I think it's appealing because essentially you're you're in a lending position. You're not you know, you're not in an equity position, so you're superior to the equity position. Hopefully that helps. All right. Let's go on to the next question here. So it's from John.
John: Hi, this is John Valentino. I listened to your excellent podcast every Sunday morning on my run, walk and find them uniquely interesting and helpful amongst a sea of podcasts that aren't.
Buck: Yesterday you mentioned Terry Loughlin and your late in life swimming experience. I'm 68 now and at 55 I decided to learn to swim. I researched all of Terry's stuff and ended up using a local swimming coach here in Fresno, California, who knew Terry and who had a lot of experience. He had me swimming, breathing and flipped, turning very quickly.
Four years ago when we visited Maui, I did a two mile ocean swim with some master swimmers. I now swam about a mile and a half every Sunday with which the swim coach they taught me. And I do that. I listen to your podcast. I'm sure we could get you swimming and breathing properly very quickly. He Fresno's not too far from Montecito. Good luck with your swimming and let me know if you'd like me to hook you up with Rich. The swim coach.
Buck: Well, John, thanks for that. That makes for a lighter moment in this sea of despair. Ha ha ha. That's funny, kid at sea of despair. He's swimming. Anyway, for those of you who don't know what John is referring to, I'll just take a minute because, you know, taking questions from all kinds.
All types of questions here is back in 2016, I think it was 16, I listened to Tim Ferriss podcast about how he spent his whole life trying to swim and unsuccessfully, I'd say, met up a guy, met up with a guy named Terry Loughlin, who taught his total immersion technique or tie. So I decided, well, gosh, you know, basically Tim Ferriss was talking about my story, like he spent his entire, like, you know, didn't learn to swim as a little kid and then all this and trying to catch up and no one could teach him.
And that was kind of where I was. I do like him numerous, like tries added back in my twenties and thirties, and then I kind of had given up. Then I contacted Terry. He was in New York, upstate New York. So he actually flew out there. I was in Chicago at the time and he taught me to swim in about 2 to 3 hours and it was really unbelievable to me.
And the only thing I didn't learn how to do during that visit was to breathe. And unfortunately, that was so that was like I was there for like a day and a half. And that was the part I didn't get to. So now I can swim, but only as long as I can hold my breath because I can't seem to, you know, I can't breathe and swim at the same time.
Unfortunately, Terry had, end stage cancer. When I saw him and I believe I was his last student before he died a couple of months later, and he'd actually stopped teaching for a while, you know, before I got to be the lucky one that he decided he had enough strength to go back for. So lucky for me. So but yeah, I would love to, you know, John, shoot me an email, you know, where I am and I get well for Malcolm Connect me to your guy.
And I think Fresno might be a little far, but if he's as good as Terry, maybe I could. Maybe I could learn to breathe in a day, too. So, hey, anyway, thanks. Thanks for that. Let's go on to the next question here. All right. This one's from I think it's Garima.
Garima: I am looking to become a real professional on studies. We've been doing real estate for a little bit but wanted to do this. I really need help. If you can guide me well and see.
Buck: Well, I don't know. I can do my best about that, Garima. And first of all, I have to preface this as I always do, that what I'm about to say is not legal or any kind of tax advice. I'm not a tax professional. My degree is in medicine. I'm a former board certified surgeon, but that doesn't qualify me for much. And this in this arena, it's just my understanding of the tax law, which, you know, I spent a fair amount of time thinking about. So it's not like what I'm saying should not be listened to, I think.
But on the other hand, the liability issues, I have to make very clear consult with your own tax professional before anything anyway. So again, probably the best thing I can do in terms of guiding is tell you what I know about the qualification as real estate professionals status. And by the way, I should also point out that the benefits that I'm going to talk about, there's a lot of this similar benefits without having the status in short term rentals.
And that episode, I believe, is 354. So go back and listen to that one. It's I thought that was a pretty interesting episode. But why is agreement talking about this RFP short for a real estate professional So everyone is on the same page? What is the real estate professional designation? Why is it useful? Well, a real estate professional is not the same thing, is in a real estate agent or a real estate broker, which are basically involved with real estate transactions.
They're involved as like the middleman. Right. That's not really the business of real estate. The real estate professional is someone who is who is materially involved with the business of owning and operating business. And the reason that this is important, we'll get to in a minute, but I'm going to go into the qualification parts of this. And again, I'm not giving you advice and basically telling you what I can gather from the IRS website And basically the material participation is one of the first things.
So you can't you can't be a limited partner in a bunch of real estate and call yourself a real estate professional. You have to have some activities that are truly owning and, you know, operating real estate. I mean, you have to be involved in the management operations of your rental properties, right? So the level of involvement is different than obviously if, you know, even if you have a propertyif you have a property manager or whatever, it's still going to be more active than if you're just a limited partner.
But another one of the things that you have to qualify for is you have to spend more than 50% of your total working hours in real estate activities. So in other words, if you know, if you've got a full-time job, you can't really qualify as a real estate professional. There has to be more hours than any other profession. Right? Your participation in real estate activities has to exceed anything else that you're doing in terms of business and employment. There's also something called the 750-hour test, which you must spend at least 750 hours per year on real estate activities. And some of these things that you can do include property management or rent collection or maintenance or advertising, other related issues, acquisitions, underwriting, etc.
I mean, there's a lot of things that, you know, once you own real estate, you can be an active owner, right? So anywhere that's... So why would you want this designation? Because it sounds onerous to go and try to make sure you've got all these things if you're not already doing it. Well, as you may know, the real estate income itself, that real estate income itself is considered passive income.
Right. And similarly, the losses from real estate in the form of depreciation are considered passive losses for most people. Those passive losses cannot be applied to any active income, right? So if you have an income of $500,000 and you happen to have $500,000 of depreciation or paper losses, you couldn't use those losses to offset your personal active income.
The reason is that one is active and one is passive. So you can't do that. And unfortunately, unless maybe you or your spouse, rather, with whom you file jointly is a real estate professional. So in this case, what would happen is those passive losses from real estate would become activated, in other words, their active losses. And you can, you know, you can offset anything with active losses, right.
And even W-2 income. So that's the idea. So, again, theoretically, check with your legal, you know, and tax people and hopefully they know what they're talking about. But see, if you're a C, if you're a doctor, you're making, again, $500,000. And let's say your spouse, who's a real estate professional, generated maybe $50,000 in income, but $300,000 of paper losses, you can deduct that $300,000 from the salary, that is earned income on the doctor's side.
So basically, that is what the huge, big deal is about this real estate professional status. And again, I'm not a tax professional, but this is something that a lot of people in our group do, and it is, you know, following the tax code, that's the key. So Garima, bottom line is I don't know how else I can guide you other than to give you information.
But, you know, I guess what I would do if I were you is, you know, try to figure out how you can actually, you know, get yourself qualified as a real estate professional and make sure that, you know, you fit those criteria and talk to your tax person about it. Okay. Next question is from Mark Hammons. Mark's question deals with tax law, and I'm not sure it's appropriate for this forum.
Feel free to pass on if you feel like addressing it. Well, it's another question. Well, you know how I feel about that. I'll tell you what I think. But
don't take it as tax advice in any sort of way. But okay, so here's the question Mark says. He says, I'm a partner in an LLC that was formed for residential development.
Our project is nearing completion, and this year it will take business income to be taxed at a 20% LLC rate. I will receive income from the sale of raw land and taxed as long-term capital gains. I'm a full-time physician and not actively involved in the business of land development. Can I offset any of this income with accumulated passive losses and leases?
Thanks, Mark, for all you do. Thank you, Mark. And well, as you may have gathered from the previous question and the answer that I gave Garima, you are a full-time physician, my friend, and therefore you do not qualify as a real estate professional, and therefore you cannot use those passive losses against your active income as a physician, and you are stuck in that stratification of income hell, which is that you've got these great-looking losses on the passive side and this great income on the active side, and you cannot do anything about it.
So now, if your wife was doing this real estate stuff and qualified as a real estate professional based on the criteria I mentioned earlier, then you would theoretically be able to apply those passive losses to active income, and boom, all of a sudden, you would have what it is you are hoping for. And anyway, but I do have people in our group who are literally, you know, with that spouse set up.
Well, that's why I brought it up, right, where they literally had a spouse quit their job so that they can switch to real estate professional status. And although their cash flow may constitute a theoretical pay cut from their job, the generated losses, paper losses, are being applied to the larger active income stack. There, in many cases, justifies that because they may make a total gross amount of income that's less.
But because of those passive losses, they actually get to keep more. So that's a complicated answer to a simple question. In my non-professional opinion, Mark, you are kind of screwed. Can't do that anyway. All right. So the next series of questions is from Terry. And let's see, let's start with the first one. Is this one. My understanding is there are U.S. dollars held overseas in the United States.
What would be the impact to the value of the dollar if the overseas cash had to be converted to CBDCs, which is central bank decentralized coins? Well, I'm no expert on this, but from what I know, I'm not sure it would have a material effect on anything overseas because as I understand, CBDCs is a little more than using distributed ledgers instead of central ledgers for digital money, right?
Because the thing is, you have to remember that 90% of the U.S. dollars are digital-only already. They do not exist in the physical world already. So what difference does it make if it's on a single ledger or if it's on a distributed ledger? I'm not sure that it does. As I understand it, the idea would be essentially to make it into like a software update almost, right, where the new digital currencies would be CBDCs.
But of course, I could be wrong, and my understanding of the plan that the U.S. has there is it could be wrong. I'm sure there's a larger plan eventually to use this as a way of maximizing tax revenues and tracking people's spending and that kind of thing. But in the short term, I don't really see how it has repercussions for money overseas.
But if somebody knows of something that would cause that, certainly email me. But I don't know that. Okay. This question is also from Terry. He says, "Rising interest rates have had an impact on existing multifamily operators, and it seems like part of the multifamily model relies on interest rate value being lower than cap rates." That's correct. "Combined with the multiplier effect of low cap rates for value-add projects, do you see cap rates going up until interest rates come down?"
How high can cap rates go before the value-add model is no longer viable? Are rents still rising fast enough to offset interest hikes? Okay. So yes, I do see cap rates going up. Remember, in order for debt to make sense, the interest rates must be lower than the cap rate. So if your borrowing rate is 5%, then your cap rate needs to be above that in order to have positive cash flow.
Otherwise, you're amplifying your losses. That said, often, you know, you may have seen in some cases operators buying things and they'll consider buying things like that. If there's an obvious thing that's going to drive up net operating income pretty quickly. But right now we are seeing rising cap rates. Now, as for the value-add model being viable, I would say that yes, the value-add model is viable in all interest rate environments and with all cap rates because remember, folks, real estate was not people didn't just start making money on value-add.
This has been around for some time, right? There are plenty of people who got rich off of value-add real estate in the eighties despite double-digit interest rates in double-digit cap rates. So what has created so much distress in this system is not the absolute interest rates. It's the pace at which the interest rates went up.
They're the moving goalposts. You see, every time you underwrite a property, you have to model in interest rates and reversion cap rates. And if rates are not stable, it's very difficult to underwrite. And that's why these real estate markets right now have been so illiquid. There really are no stable variables to underwrite with. Rightly, you got to have the goalposts, you got to know where the goalposts are so you can play the game right.
Once you have that stability, though, you can underwrite again, and in value-add real estate, the money isn't made based on interest rates being high or low, but it is made by ultimately creating a positive delta in the net operating income. And that can happen in all interest rate and cap rate environments. So I don't see it being an end to value-add real estate at all.
In fact, one could argue that if you're, say, you're buying real estate, which hopefully we are in the fall, and you're getting great deals on it, you know, the rates are high, but the numbers are making sense. You do your normal net operating income, you do your normal value-add program, you try to increase NOI, and you get lucky.
And by the time you're ready to sell, interest rates have actually come down. Well, in that case, you're going to actually probably get, you know, more for your property than you would otherwise if rates were stable. So I actually don't see this as something that is ending anything. In fact, I think those who, again, take advantage of a higher-rate environment and buy into assets that make sense at high interest rates could seriously make money in the next, you know, several years.
So let's see, the last question from Terry is, "What are your thoughts on portfolio allocation between real estate stocks, cash value insurance, gold, crypto, and cash?" Well, I might not be the best person to ask about portfolio allocation because I think my portfolio would make most money managers think, right? I'm about 75% real estate, maybe 5-7% crypto, mostly Bitcoin, Ethereum, and the remaining investments are things that I believe are uncorrelated.
The most stable thing is, you know, I'm a big fan of cash value life insurance in part because, I mean, it is so stable. I mean, seriously, it is incredibly stable. If you look at the environment that we're in right now, it makes you, again, think you should be buying more cash value life insurance. It's extremely stable.
And this is why it was such a big deal during the Great Depression. People lived through the Depression and had no faith in anything except for cash value life insurance, which is what they were buying. But anyway, I think, in particular, I'm talking about these strategies that we're calling, well, formula banking or various leverage dials, wealth accelerators, things like that.
So there's that. I'm also obviously into other things that we have in our group. We're involved with like ATMs, which, you know, don't seem to have much correlation with the economy per se because people who use that still needed it. Good times or bad and did well even through COVID. You know, there's also things that we're doing, like I'm invested in things like, you know, cargo ships that are delivering essential oil and gas to the country, things like that, where again, it's not something that is significantly correlated with the rest of the markets.
And I think that's one of the things to really make sure that you're not... I mean, listen, I guess in my case, being 75% real estate, I mean, it's not a good time to be 75% real estate right now. Right. I probably... I mean, if I did the numbers, I'm probably less than 75% real estate now because I probably lost quite a bit of value in the real estate.
But I'm not even going to look at that right now for this purpose. But ultimately, though, you know, listen, personal finance should be personal. I don't own stocks, although I'm not against stocks. I'm just, you know, not a guy who really owns stocks except for some big, really, you know, asymmetric plays in the energy space, you know, through Mercatus and things like that.
I don't own any physical gold, although again, I've talked about possibly wanting to do that. I don't really want to right now, but I'm hoarding cash right now because I think there are going to be tremendous buying opportunities in real estate with distressed assets, and I think that's going to be the name of the game in Q4. So but again, I do not think it's a good idea to listen to me about portfolios.
I think I think it's if you want those kinds of things, you probably should, you know, talk to others, talk to, talk to, you know, our RIA's, things like that. But to me, again, personal finance is really personal. And for me, I'm, you know, I'm pretty aggressive on some of the things that I have a lot of belief in.
So, okay. Well, I guess that's my last question. Before I go, I want to remind you that there's another actually, there's actually another podcast that I do now, which is, you know, it's kind of just taking something that I was spending a lot of time learning about and and and trying to process myself and turning it into another show so that I could share with you.
The show is called CPO, CPO. You can find it on pretty much all of the ways that you find this show and
hopefully on YouTube soon too. We haven't quite gotten to YouTube, I think, but the show is, I think, very interesting because, you know, we talk about wealth on the show, but I mean, you know, what do what is more what's more coveted than, you know, actually having health because then your wealth is actually useful.
So a lot of Sabio is really about various types of longevity and wellness type stuff on the science that we know out there. Really interesting stuff to me and would love for you to check it out again at Sabio with Buck Joffrey. Check it out and let me know if you like it. Give me a positive review. That's it for me.
This week on Wealth Formula podcast, this is Buck Joffrey signing off.

I am starting to throw my game pitch out to potential team members, as I am trying to recruit for our game studio.
Was hoping to get some constructive criticism on the game pitch. Roast me if you need to do some venting your self, I can handle it.
Just some thoughts/questions when you read this:

• Does it explain good enough what the game is?
• Does it sound unique in any way or does it just go in one ear and out the other?
• Is it easy to read? Or do you find your self re-reading sentences due to poor sentence structure?

Thank you in advance for taking the time to help me out. Appreciate it very much! I look forward to your comments.
GAME PITCH
King of Kings is a Hardcore Competitive 1v1/2v2 online-multiplayer, turn-based strategy & real-time-strategy game. If your King dies, you lose the game. If your Capital is sacked, you lose the game.
Set in a “light-fantasy” medieval realm; Players manage their Settlements, build Armies composed of their King, Knights, Archers and more. Traverse the world map, conquer settlements, complete points of interest, all while attacking and defending against other Players.
PS: Can anyone explain to me the difference between turn-based-strategy and a turn-base-tactic game? I’ve been going back and forth on that for some time now. Thanks!

As promised, the second one-shot of the day. This is the idea I had bouncing around in my head this past week. Now, onto the other actual story in a different universe. Tally Ho, Lads!!!!!!
~~~~~~~~~~
Magicians. Wizards. Sorcerers. Witches. Warlocks.
Supreme figures of power and authority. Renowned, respected, and feared across the galaxy. One spell cast from a middling rank alone is enough to collapse buildings. Novice rank figures are enough to cripple medium-sized towns, with Masters and above veritable threats to cities, nations, planets, and solar systems, depending on which rumor you wish to believe.
But above them all is a lone figure so strong, so fearless and brutal, that the mere whisper of their name is enough to cause the most hardened of magic duelists to tremble and quake.
No one knows where this figure came from. His origin is as mysterious and untraceable as the creators of the universe. Multiple divination attempts have been tried to uncover the secrecy surrounding this ominous individual. All have failed. All ended in a magical backlash so severe that it effectively crippled the diviners.
But every so often, when the rumors subside and the promising threat of this thing’s existence slips from memory and disappears into the vast streams of time, a wizard of legendary power steps up to the plate to assert their will over others.
More often than not, those who attempt to do so are stopped well before they can achieve their goals by other likeminded magicians, or independent groups that still fear the storng one's return.
The last recorded incident where the mysterious titan physically engaged with a galactic-level threat happened some two-thousand years ago. The far-reaching effects of that incident have yet to be forgotten by the select few "immortals" blessed, or cursed, with bearing witness to a sliver of such an event.
Such is the gravitas of this Savior.
But in the Year of Our Birth 8962.20 I, alone, bore witness to a fight between the Savior and his foe.
I could scarcely believe what was to come. Gods above, I couldn’t even comprehend the level of power soon to be casually thrown back and forth between the Tyrant and the Savior.
If the galaxy was a building, the terrible impacts and energy emanating from their blows would erase it from existence. Luckily, or perhaps through fate, the Savior set down a mysterious device that formed a protective bubble around me and bade me to stay within, lest I be erased as well.
Gulping loudly at the danger so calmly explained, I sat down and whispered a prayer to my Gods to watch over me and keep me safe from this monumental battle.
If they could, that is.
The Savior squared off with the Tyrant, his imposing suit of armor darker than the void. His helm smooth and perfect, with a visor the color of a raging sun. On his right thigh sat an odd device in the shape of an upside down “L”, if you pointed the long leg down and the short leg behind you.
It sat snugly in a carrier appearing to be made of the same material as his armor, while on his other thigh rested a small pouch with two slim rectangles stuck in a vertical position. Strapped around his waist was a knife sheathed in what looked like the remnants of a dying star, its handle made of a dark organic material the color of rust.
The more I observed the two facing each other, the more confused I became. Where the Savior appeared to be armored like a knight with unusual weaponry, the Tyrant was wearing robes typical of magical types, but there was something odd about the way they moved in thebreeze. Like they were alive.
The Savior’s voice broke my confusion, commanding silence from all so as to be heard.
“This is not the first time I have taken down someone like you.” He said. His voice firm like the mountain.
“It may not be” answered the Tyrant in a voice better served in a musical performance, “but where those insignificant worms were terrified of your mere existence, I have learned that you aren’t any special than that inferior thing hiding behind your shield.”
His revelation appeared to have no effect on the Savior, but that was because he was too far away to see his hand twitch ever so slightly.
Me, on the other hand, I don’t take insults very well. Call it a…quirk of a warrior race. In response to his provocation, I exposed my private bits and relieved myself on the ground.
In his direction…while making eye contact.
Clearly my provocation was more effective as a catastrophic ball of molten plasma struck the shield and exploded. I was unharmed, thankfully, but the ground around me turned into a large pond of boiling, glowing mud.
Yet over the fading sounds of the explosion, I could hear loud barking laughter. I turned to see the Savior doubled over letting out the most undignified sounds imaginable. “Hee”s and “Haw”s and “Haha”s filled the air, causing the Tyrant to grow ever more infuriated, yet still failing to act on the opportunity presenting itself to attack.
“Your disrespect astounds me, cur!” The Tyrant shouted. “You are no better than that savage animal that can’t even relieve themselves properly!!!”
The laughing slowly ebbed away until the tense silence returned.
“Well, I reckon I’ll just have to adjust your worldview. Maybe by smacking you upside the head with this here multi-tool.”
From out of seemingly nowhere, a short-handled shovel with a serrated edge appeared in his hand. Why the Savior called it a multi-tool baffled me as the shape clearly resembled the common shovel, just shorter.
“Ha! What do you think that peasant’s tool is going to do to me? I have conquered planets. Harnessed nebulas. Compressed supernovas into the size of a pebble.” As if on cue, a massive beam of energy was released from his hand.
I watched in slow motion as the beam crossed the distance between them and struck the Savior square in the chest.
Yet not a sound was heard. Nor was any damage seen. The man simply stood there and…absorbed it? I couldn’t believe my eyes! The power of the stars taken as if it was nothing more than a squirt of water.
“Ohhhh. That tickles. Been a long while since someone last shot me with a supernova.” He chuckled. “Not bad for an opening shot. Let’s see how you handle it.”
As fast as lightning, he drew the “L”-shaped object from its carrier and, using both hands, pointed it at the Tyrant. This was when I noticed there was a small lever on the bottom.
“I wonder what that’s fo-“
My thought ended as abruptly as it started when the same energy beam that came from the Tyrant shot out from the end of the device.
Almost as quick as the Savior, the Tyrant formed a shield around his body and attempted to sidestep the beam of power. It seems that unlike the Savior, ol’ Mr. Tyrant is only capable of dishing it out.
“How do you like them apples?” The Savior barked out as the Tyrant barely escaped his death.
“You…you…you absolute cowardly beast! How dare you steal my technique!!!” He shrieked. “Fight me properly, insolent whelp!”
“Oh buddy, I don’t think you want that. I’ve been keeping people like you in line for as far back as your records go.” The Savior brought his fist to his chin as if a solution presented itself.
“How about this, you give up and let me teach you how to be humble, making sure you put your power to good use instead of whatever it is you’re trying, and failing, to do.”
The Tyrant scoffed. “Are you seriously offering me the choice to grovel at your feet and learn humility?!?”
“It’s not a choice. You either give up, or you die.” Any brevity or light-heartedness left his voice. I felt the cold sensation of impending doom creep its way into my bones.
I have been on the receiving end of many threats and fights that easily could’ve ended my life, but this promised something else entirely.
Clearly the Tyrant understood the threat as well for it took him half a minute to formulate a response. A response in the form of a blinding flash of light and loud crashing of metal on metal.
Just as fast as the beam of energy before, the Tyrant crossed the distance and engaged in a brutal assault filled with deadly flurries of a cruel looking bladed weapon wreathed in the shadows of decay.
I watched as the Savior drew his own knife, revealing a glorious light that rivaled the sun. Its edge whipped like a barely restrained flame, reaching out at every opportunity to slake its thirst with the blood of the Tyrant.
Like an instructor teaching an unruly student a lesson, the Savior instantly turned the flow of the battle and expertly put the Tyrant on the defensive. Short, concise movements filled with immense unbridled power threatened to eviscerate the Tyrant’s body.
Beads of sweat poured from what parts of his face were exposed, revealing a smooth-skinned creature with two eyes, a pair of thin lips, and slimy skin.
“You’re one ugly motherfucker, you know that right?” The Savior’s offhand remark instilled a rage in the Tyrant yet to be seen. He let loose a wave of energy that forcibly threw them both hundreds of yards apart.
As they both appeared to size each other up once more, the light grew dim. I looked up and saw a massive meteor appear through a magical portal in the sky.
“Try to stop this, human.” With a single flick of his wrist the Tyrant sent the massive rock hurtling towards the Savior. A human, whatever that means.
I watched the object fly closer to its target and feared that despite the insane rumors surrounding the Savior, this would be the end of him.
I closed my eyes and prayed that he survives, for if he dies, I’ll be on the chopping block next.
I waited for the inevitable shock and awe of the meteor striking the ground, but it never came. I opened my eyes and saw a cloud of dust instead. In the middle of it all stood the Savior, proud and unfazed.
“The gloves are off now, kid.” He shouted ominously. “You wanted a ‘proper’ fight, well...you’re gonna get one.”
Now it was his turn to take the fight to the Tyrant. Almost as fast as his opponent, he shot forward and struck out with his knife, forcing the Tyrant to draw his blade once more and defend himself.
Except the Savior pulled out his “multi-tool” as well, and with a mighty CLANG he struck the side of his face and sent him careening into the nearby trees.
“Told you I’d be giving you an adjustment. Feel like giving up yet?”
I watched in awe as the Savior manhandled the Tyrant like he were a toy. There was no contest as to who would come out on top of this fight. Even with the destructive power wielded by the Tyrant.
“You…ack…you piece of shit. I’ll make you pay for…urgh…that.” The Tyrant drug himself out of the wreckage of trees and attempted to dust himself off. The Savior was having none of it though. He dashed forward once more and started his assault anew.
Using both the multi-tool and knife, he delivered a series of cuts and contusions and blunt force trauma that made me cringe.
He let go of his tool and used the free hand to grab the Tyrant, dragging his battered body back into the open.
With an unceremonious toss, the Tyrant found himself prone and facing towards the sky. The Savior strode over as confident as could be and picked up the creature once more.
“I told you to give up and let me show you how to be humble. I even said I’d make sure you’d put your power to good use. But nooOOoooOOO, you just had to stick to your guns.” He shook his head.
“Whatever. I’d be fine with beating you to a pulp and calling it a day, but you let slip that you know what I am. Meaning you likely know how to find others like me, including my home. You understand why I can’t let that happen, right?”
The Tyrant nodded weakly, fear evident in his eyes.
“Good. That makes this next part easier.” The Savior stood the Tyrant up and dusted him off.
“This will be my parting gift to you. As in, parts of you here, there, and waaaaayyyyy over yonder.” He pointed in the distance.
The Tyrant looked confused for the briefest of moments as he turned to follow the direction the Savior pointed, before the human reared back and swung his fist with all his might.
“I. CAST. FIST!!!”

So I noticed today using the throttle. Power cutting in and out. Aka cuts out for a couple seconds, I keep the throttle pinned and then the power comes back in. Very random too no set pattern.
I have a hailing 17.5ah battery with a 4 pin connectors.
Display voltage is not jumping around and battery turns on and charges to full.
Any ideas?

Shabbat shalom everyone! Today I’m continuing the most important lesson ever. Many say that Yeshua abolished the Mosaic Law, and that the Old Testament is long gone and obsolete. Is the Law and the Prophets abolished? Let’s put the some of the writings of the New Testament to the test of the Law and the Prophets.
Last week we learned that Paul declares Yeshua as the high priest and the builder of the house of Israel. He also declares that both Moses and Yeshua are servants of Elohim, but that Master Yeshua has greater honor than Moses, because he is the builder of the house, and not a servant. Paul warns us that if we hear the voice of God or his spirit, that we do not harden our hearts like some of the Israelites did. He then uses the story of the Exodus and compares the fallen Israelites of the exodus to the people of his time and then urges them to believe in the messiah, and if we do, we belong in his house if we keep the confidence and the hopes of the promises of Yahweh to the end.
Again, we can see that looking at the New Testament writings with the lens of the Torah, that the verses become clearer and there are no contradictions. Here is the score far:
The Torah: 14
Doctrines of Devils: 0
Let’s keep sharpening our proverbial spears and swords, which is the Word. Let’s continue our study of Paul’s epistle to the Hebrews. God willing, we will find new treasures greater than gold and silver.
Hebrews chapter 4:1-2
[1] Let us therefore fear, lest, a promise being left us of entering into his rest, any of you should seem to come short of it. [2] For unto us was the gospel preached, as well as unto them: but the word preached did not profit them, not being mixed with faith in them that heard it.
In chapter 4 Paul continues with his reasoning from chapter 3. He reasoned that those who did not see the promised land from the exodus, did not see it because of unbelief, and unbelief leads to sin. If we don’t believe the words of the Torah that are God’s Laws, statutes, and ordinances, well then Paul states that we cannot enter into his rest. In verse two we get a clue on what the gospel is according to Paul. When Paul says that “the gospel was preached to us as well as them” who is them? He’s referring to the Israelites that fell in the Exodus. What gospel is Paul talking about? It’s the Torah. The good news (gospel) according to Paul are the commands and promises from Elohim, as given to Moses. That covenant is the contract between mankind and the creator of the universe, that if we follow his laws, statutes and commands, we will enter in the same rest as the creator did after the six days of creation. For all of you that think that the gospel is the New Testament and the story of Yeshua, Paul here writes in plain words that the gospel was heard by the Israelites of the exodus. Therefore, the gospel cannot be the story of Yeshua. Why did some of the Israelites fail? He answers that question in verse 2 by declaring that the word did not profit them (the fallen Israelites from the Exodus), because they did not believe the promises of Father. Here we also get why faith is so important! We need to believe the promises and the blessings from the Torah. Else there is no reason for them. I think we just found another gem! The gospel according to Paul is the Torah. Messiah was predicted in the Torah. How can we believe in messiah by removing the many other promises and blessings? Sounds like cherry picking to me. Let’s not choose the red, plump, and ripe ones over the hard, green, and sour cherries. All the cherries will be ripe one day.
Hebrews chapter 4:3-10
[3] For we which have believed do enter into rest, as he said, As I have sworn in my wrath, if they shall enter into my rest: although the works were finished from the foundation of the world. [4] For he spake in a certain place of the seventh day on this wise, And God did rest the seventh day from all his works*. [5] And in this place again,* If they shall enter into my rest*. [6] Seeing therefore it remaineth that some must enter therein, and they to whom it was first preached entered not in because of unbelief: [7] Again, he limiteth a certain day, saying in David, To day, after so long a time; as it is said,* To day if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts. [8] For if Jesus had given them rest, then would he not afterward have spoken of another day. [9] There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God. [10] For he that is entered into his rest, he also hath ceased from his own works, as God did from his.
In verses 3 to 10 Paul uses the shabbat as an example to show that the ones who believe do enter in his rest. He quotes Psalm 95:11 to show that Father already declared that those He was angry with will not enter in His rest. He then quotes Genesis 2:2 to show us God’s example of entering the shabbat rest. He then returns to Psalm 95 and declares that there remains a rest in God’s people, and that God’s people do as Father did, rest on the Shabbat. For all of you out there that think that the seventh day shabbat is long gone, in verse 3 Paul states that “we which have believed do enter into rest”. So, Paul does hold the shabbat as a holy day.
Hebrews chapter 4:11-12
[11] Let us labour therefore to enter into that rest, lest any man fall after the same example of unbelief. [12] For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. [13] Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in his sight: but all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do [14] Seeing then that we have a great high priest, that is passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our profession.[15] For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.[16] Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.
Let us work to enter that rest… Sounds like a contradiction in terms, working to enter the Shabbat. Well the Torah has many other commands, can we enter Father’s rest as a murderer? Or perhaps as a rapist? Maybe as a thief? Well, no we can’t. Sin will separate a person from the most high Elohim. As Father promises that His people are separate from the world, it’s only by holding on to the promises in the Torah and the writings of the prophets of God that we can do that. The words of Elohim cut deep and divide the separate from the world (or holy). Paul continues by declaring that all works are known by Father and master Yeshua and that by relying on the one who loved us first, yet without sin, but with the same human nature and temptations, we can get mercy from our transgression and find grace in his teachings and blessings.
If you are his sheep, the words of the prophets, and the Torah, and master Yeshua’s teachings won’t be too hard for you to accept. To day if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts (Psalm 95:7:8).
Next week we will continue with chapter 5.
Don’t take it from me! Prove all things and judge for yourself. Let the spirit lead you where it wants you to be.
Yeshua is our master, savior and rabbi, we need no other man to lead us!
Shalom, VN

Rear brake cable was a bit rusted and I was fixing up some other stuff, so I decided to replace.
Norco Charger 9.3
I matched up the housing exactly to the old one, which was the one that came stock and had no issues other than the rust. I made sure to ream out the end that was cut to smooth it out.
Lever is in good condition, cleaned out any dirt and gunk that was in there and it's smooth with no cable.
Tension is good, about 1/2 - 3/4 pull to fully activate brake
Cable is NOT twisted or bending weirdly, as straight as it can get
However, when all is done and everything is tightened in place, when pulling the brake handle lever, it sounds and feels like it's rubbing against the metal in the lever, and it was not like this before. The action is not smooth and feels stiff and choppy to fully activate. Thought maybe some lubrication would help but it didn't do anything. I'm frustrated because I've tried looking for fixes but it seems like no one has ever had this issue. Any help would be greatly appreciated!

Shabbat shalom everyone! Today I’m continuing the most important lesson ever. Many say that Yeshua abolished the Mosaic Law, and that the Old Testament is long gone and obsolete. Is the Law and the Prophets abolished? Let’s put the some of the writings of the New Testament to the test of the Law and the Prophets.
Last week we learned who to follow; and the author reminds his readers to follow those who endure and were tested by Father, the Most High Elohim. The author continues and uses faithful Abraham as an example, who, did endure, and in the end obtained the promise of Father through the patience of the saints. Through his faith and patience, Abraham was made the promise of the blessing to all men and women on the earth through his seed. In Galatians, Paul declares that that seed is Yeshua the messiah. The author also urges us to move past the basics of the faith and move on to greater learning. However, we need to be aware that some believers grow good fruits, and others grow thorns and thistles. Be careful who you lend your ears to! Not every believer grows good fruits.
Again, we can see that looking at the New Testament writings with the lens of the Torah, that the verses become clearer and there are no contradictions. Here is the score far:
The Torah: 15
Doctrines of Devils: 0
Let’s keep sharpening our proverbial spears and swords, which is the Word. Let’s continue our study of the epistle to the Hebrews.
Hebrews chapter 7:1-3
For this Melchisedec, king of Salem, priest of the most high God, who met Abraham returning from the slaughter of the kings, and blessed him; [2] To whom also Abraham gave a tenth part of all; first being by interpretation King of righteousness, and after that also King of Salem, which is, King of peace; [3] Without father, without mother, without descent, having neither beginning of days, nor end of life; but made like unto the Son of God; abideth a priest continually.
In chapter 7, the author continues his analysis of Melchisedec and declares that Abraham did tithe his 10% of the spoils to the king of Salem, which means king of righteousness. The second title, King of Salem means king of peace. Abraham tithes to the king, even if that king’s heritage and lineage is unknown to him. He declares that the King Melchisedec was “made like unto the Son of God” and is a priest continually. This story is from Genesis 14. Here we see that the author uses the sound doctrine of the Torah to make his point.
Hebrews chapter 7:4-10
[4] Now consider how great this man was, unto whom even the patriarch Abraham gave the tenth of the spoils.[5] And verily they that are of the sons of Levi, who receive the office of the priesthood, have a commandment to take tithes of the people according to the law, that is, of their brethren, though they come out of the loins of Abraham:[6] But he whose descent is not counted from them received tithes of Abraham, and blessed him that had the promises. [7] And without all contradiction the less is blessed of the better. [8] And here men that die receive tithes; but there he receiveth them, of whom it is witnessed that he liveth. [9] And as I may so say, Levi also, who receiveth tithes, payed tithes in Abraham. [10] For he was yet in the loins of his father, when Melchisedec met him.
The author declares that the king of righteousness is greater than Abraham because Abraham tithes to the king, and the king blessed Abraham as the seed of all who will obtain salvation. Even with the king’s heritage unknown to Abraham, Abraham tithed and accepted the king’s blessing. In the Mosaic Law the Levites do have a command to collect tithes from the other tribes of Israel even if they themselves will die. Then the author declares that even Levi, paid tithes through Abraham because he was still in his body.
Hebrews chapter 7:11-17
[11] If therefore perfection were by the Levitical priesthood, (for under it the people received the law,) what further need was there that another priest should rise after the order of Melchisedec, and not be called after the order of Aaron? [12] For the priesthood being changed, there is made of necessity a change also of the law. [13] For he of whom these things are spoken pertaineth to another tribe, of which no man gave attendance at the altar. [14] For it is evident that our Lord sprang out of Juda; of which tribe Moses spake nothing concerning priesthood.[15] And it is yet far more evident: for that after the similitude of Melchisedec there ariseth another priest, [16] Who is made, not after the law of a carnal commandment, but after the power of an endless life. [17] For he testifieth, Thou art a priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec.
Under the Levites, of which both Aaron and Moses were from, the Law was received to be shared with all men and women. Yeshua, is from the tribe of Judah. Those laws are carnal (or for the flesh). Eventually all flesh dies. In the opposite Yeshua is made high priest after the power of endless life. Through the prophesies of King David in psalm 110, we can now see that Yeshua’s appointment as High Priest is now for ever. Does that mean that the Levites and the Law of Moses is written off the books? Not at all. Looking at the words of another prophet, we see that Yahweh will revive the priesthood of the Levites, but with some chosen by himself rather than by tribe. The Levites and the sacrificial system had been hijacked by sinful men, and they were no longer pleasing to Father.
Let’s go to Isaiah 66:3-4:
He that killeth an ox is as if he slew a man; he that sacrificeth a lamb, as if he cut off a dog's neck; he that offereth an oblation, as if he offered swine's blood; he that burneth incense, as if he blessed an idol. Yea, they have chosen their own ways, and their soul delighteth in their abominations. [4] I also will choose their delusions, and will bring their fears upon them; because when I called, none did answer; when I spake, they did not hear: but they did evil before mine eyes, and chose that in which I delighted not.
Many of the functions of the priesthood were done by habit and tradition rather than out of love towards Father. Later in the same chapter Father says through Isaiah that he will pick his own Levites when Israel returns to the land with their offerings:
Isaiah 66:20-21:
And they shall bring all your brethren for an offering unto the LORD out of all nations upon horses, and in chariots, and in litters, and upon mules, and upon swift beasts, to my holy mountain Jerusalem, saith the LORD, as the children of Israel bring an offering in a clean vessel into the house of the LORD.[21] And I will also take of them for priests and for Levites, saith the LORD.
Here we see that when Yah restores all things, the Levites will return to service. The author of Hebrews uses the precedent in the Torah of King Melchisedec (a king and high priest with no lineage) to teach the Hebrews that before the Levites, Abraham had another high priest who like Yeshua broke bread and shared wine with his flock. The parallels between Yeshua and King Melchisedec are astounding, you can read them by yourself in Genesis 14. Does the author abolish the Law of Moses and the Levites? No, he uses Genesis to mention that the precedent had already happened way back in Genesis.
Hebrews chapter 7:18-19
[18] For there is verily a disannulling of the commandment going before for the weakness and unprofitableness thereof. [19] For the law made nothing perfect, but the bringing in of a better hope did; by the which we draw nigh unto God.
Through the weakness of the flesh, and as we read earlier in Isaiah, the Levites compromised themselves. Yahweh temporarily halted the Levitical services when the temple was destroyed in AD 70, now and until the restoration predicted in Isaiah. Should we disregard the Law because of verse 19? Again no, the law was never meant to make anyone perfect; rather the law convicts a man to know that he is a sinner, and nothing more. It was never meant to be an end all. But the Law did foretell of another, a man that we must all listen to. Messiah is that better hope than the Levites, that time, and time again, corrupted themselves with the desires of the flesh.
Hebrews chapter 7:20-25
[20] And inasmuch as not without an oath he was made priest: [21] (For those priests were made without an oath; but this with an oath by him that said unto him, The Lord sware and will not repent, Thou art a priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec:) [22] By so much was Jesus made a surety of a better testament. [23] And they truly were many priests, because they were not suffered to continue by reason of death: [24] But this man, because he continueth ever, hath an unchangeable priesthood.[25] Wherefore he is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them.
Then the author compares the calling of the high priest Yeshua and the ones from the Levites. He declares that Yeshua’s calling was from an unchangeable oath from Yah himself in Psalm 110. And Yeshua’s priesthood will never end, because he’s the only man that ever made it to heaven’s throne as the firstfuits of the resurrection and he’s the one appointed to intercede for us, in the matters between El Shaddai (God Almighty) and men and women.
Hebrews chapter 7:26-28
[26] For such an high priest became us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners, and made higher than the heavens; [27] Who needeth not daily, as those high priests, to offer up sacrifice, first for his own sins, and then for the people's: for this he did once, when he offered up himself. [28] For the law maketh men high priests which have infirmity; but the word of the oath, which was since the law, maketh the Son, who is consecrated for evermore.
The author continues the comparison. The Levite priests must keep offering sacrifices because they continue as sinners being of the flesh. Yeshua on the other hand, does not because he offered himself, the sinless Lamb of Elohim once, and that sacrifice was accepted by Father. Yeshua, our high priest does not have the infirmity of the flesh any longer and was made by High Priest by an unchangeable oath from Father himself.
Next week we will continue with chapter 8.
Don’t take it from me! Prove all things and judge for yourself. Let the spirit lead you where it wants you to be.
Yeshua is our master, savior and rabbi, we need no other man to lead us!
Shalom, VN

So as stated in the subject line, these wooden doors are damaged quite a bit by animal scratches and weather (some mold). In some places there are deep scratched that become black when it rains. Also in the lower part it seems that the joints were painted over with some soft substance, that is breaking apart now. The caulk/silicone needs to be replaced too.
Photos: https://imgur.com/a/I8eTVa5
I tried looking for some contractors in my area to take care of it, but no one is interested. They say it’s tedious and not profitable job. Because of this, I need to take care of it by myself.
I would greatly appreciate your help. I am located in Central Europe, but if you recommend specific products available in your country I (hopefully) will be able to find equivalents here.
My plan is as follows. First I think I will sand the wood with a sander with triangular head (what type of sanding pads I should use? I also need to buy the powertool itself...) Then I will clean the heavily damaged parts and fill them with wood filler (what type you recommend? epoxy? silica?)
Afterwards I think I will need to use some priming (?) or anti-mold and then paint it (with what?)
Then I will cut out the silicone (caulk) with razor or similar tool and apply fresh silicone.
How does it sound for you? Any specific techniques, tools, products you would recommend?
​
Thank you all for your generous help!

It's really starting to thump, backwards thump, and bump now!
First Previous
***
The fortress city Raven’s Peak was under siege by what seemed to be an unending horde of demons (because it was).
In the main chapter house of the Champion’s Guild, the long benches and tables normally crowded with plates, tankards, and champions were covered with blood-soaked bedding upon which lay dozens of wounded, champions, and normal people alike as a few healers, both champion and otherwise, rushed about desperately trying to save at least a few lives.
“The potions!” a pretty young woman who usually handed out quests wailed, “They have stopped replenishing!”
“What?!?” Valeria Heartsong shouted with a voice filled with confusion and terror. “How?!?”
“I don’t know!” the guild secretary cried, “They… They just stopped!”
“No!” Jason Wellheart cried. “My spells… They’re… Out?!?”
He looked helplessly at the city guardsman bleeding out on the richly decorated table in front of him.
“Mine too!” Sheila Noblesoul yelled.
“Not just my healing,” Lucinda Lighthands said, “diagnose, appraise… all of it… gone.”
“What’s happening?” a guild healer cried as desperately tried to hold in the blood flowing from her patient.
“Apply pressure to the wound!” a wounded champion said as he struggled to his feet. “Get some straps or rope for tourniquets!”
He wiped the blood from his eyes.
“And get me some alcohol, needle, thread, clean bandages, any herbs you have left… all of it!”
“Chad?” Lucinda asked, confused.
“That’s Sergeant Chad,” he said with a grim smile. “And I’ve done this before. We need to set up triage, Lucinda!”
“Yes… Sergeant?”
“Take some of the guild healers and… and determine who we can save and who we can’t.”
“Chad?”
“We can’t save everyone. We can’t even save who we could a minute ago. We have to make some hard calls, and we need to make them fast. You!” he shouted to a low-ranking champion hiding under a bench.
“Y-yes?”
“Get some men and run to every single herbalist and alchemist you can. Get supplies… Take them if you have to. You, with the green hair, you’re a rogue, right?”
“(Yelp)… Um…” a young woman said bravely.
“Get some of your guild, keep your heads down, and spread the word. Bring the wounded here. Also, find any former military… from our world. Tell them that I’m setting up a field hospital, such as it is. Have them help gather the wounded, and we need a perimeter around this building. Holding the town is no longer possible. Fuck it. Bring everyone you can. We will hold this position as long as we can. We might even be able to…”
He turned to a battered witch with a freshly removed arm.
“Azure Fire, right?”
“Yeah?”
“You are supposed to be a genius or something. Work on a way of getting us, all of us, out of here! There must be somewhere where these things aren’t. Find it and get us there!”
“Not going to be easy,” she mused, “The guild facilities have run dry, and I don’t think I can cast a gate anymore.”
“Well, try to come up with something.”
“On it,” Azure said thoughtfully, “Maybe if we pooled our lifeforce, we could… hmm… A few of us would die, but we could… hmm…”
Chad Firecrest, formerly Sergeant Chad Thorpe, turned away and limp-strode forth in a desperate attempt to do the impossible.
“Chad!... Um… I mean, Sergeant?” Lord Geoffrey asked hesitantly.
“Either works.”
“What… What’s going on? Why aren’t our spells working?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do,” a strange eldritch voice said as the demi-entity Hilde and Illandria emerged from a green column of flames to the shouts and drawn blades of champion and guild staff alike.
“Hold!” Sergeant Chad shouted as he walked towards Hilde.
“I know you,” he said.
“Is that all I get from you?” Hilde snickered, light drooling from her mouth. “You know me? You knew me. Am I that forgettable?”
“No!” Chad exclaimed. “I mean…”
“I know,” Hilde snickered, “Just trying to inject some much-needed levity.”
Chad chuckled. “I always let the wrong one get away, don’t I?”
“I didn’t,” Hilde grinned, a green light blazing from behind her teeth.
“I deserved that,” he smirked. “So, you know what happened? And more importantly, what the FUCK happened to you?”
“You aren’t going to like this…”
***
“You mean that it was all a lie?!?” a guild waitress wailed, “that I’m a lie?!?”
“It was all a lie,” Hilde said gently, “But you? You are very much real.”
“So that’s then?” Chad asked grimly. “We’re done for?”
“The game is done,” Hilde replied, “However, we remain, at least for a little while longer.”
“But without our powers…”
Backward Thump…
“About that,” Hilde smiled grimly, “I may have an idea.”
She closed her eyes and raised her hands.
She cracked one eye open and smiled.
“This is going to hurt.”
Then, Hilde, for lack of a better word, exploded.
Every champion’s eyes blazed green.
“My spells are back!” a healer shouted as he cast healing on the dying soldier in front of them, causing the soldier to scream as green light burst from every wound, ripping it back together (it’s about as comfortable as it sounds).
The soldier started ripping off his armor as his body started to grow, covered with rippling muscles that weren’t there before.
His eyes also started to glow…
***
“Ow!” Faun exclaimed, still wrapped in her snug and surprisngly comfy cocoon."
“Are you okay?” F10w3rchy1d asked weakly.
“I think a flea bit me or something.”
“My venom consumes all!” Nixx shouted with delight. “Soon, you will be liquid the same as your friend!”
“Okay, now you are really starting to annoy me,” Faun replied.
***
“Oh, Great Bunny,” the high priest of the Church of Bun intoned as adepts walked through the sacred hall of code swinging incense censers, the smoke flowing out in countless ones and zeros, “hallowed be thy code. May we lope down the sacred runs laid by you at the dawn of time. May our…”
The high priest’s voice trailed off as a pair of white-clad individuals entered the temple, one a demonic, red-skinned humanoid with horns and the other a glowing featureless holographic being, both bearing the crest of Cerberus, Frostie’s real enforcers (the ones she uses when she’s done playing).
They are NOT people you want walking into your temple. More importantly, they aren’t people you want looking at YOU.
“…M-may our code without error… and… and…”
“We regret disturbing your worship and breaching your sanctum,” the hologram said, “But time is of the essence, and the boss is angry…”
“And we think you know why,” the demon added with a grim fang-laden sneer.
***
“That’s all I know!” the high priest wailed from the pulpit of the now hastily evacuated temple (no way anyone was sticking around after the “hounds” showed up). “I swear!”
“And at no point did you think about informing someone about what was clearly an irregular event?” the demonic humanoid asked.
“It was the Almighty F10w3rchy1d!” the high priest exclaimed, “Second in might only to Frostie herself! Her commands are law, her words divine!”
“Oh, by Frostie’s Snow-Cones,” the hologram muttered. “Horns, was I ever that annoying?”
“Oh yeah,” the demonic humanoid snickered, “You don’t remember?”
“I must have dumped those files.”
“You don’t get off that easy,” the demon smirked, “Here.”
The two Cerberus agent’s eyes flashed in sync for a fraction of a second.
“Oh…” the hologram moaned, “That is so cringe!”
“And don’t you dare dump those files,” the demon chuckled.
“What files?”
“You asshole,” the red-skinned humanoid chuckled.
“You know it,” the hologram flickered happily, “and speaking of cringe …”
It turned to the high priest, who twitched miserably.
“It’s okay,” the hologram flashed, “As you said, the (snerk) Almighty F10w3rchy1d’s word is pretty much law to someone like you. You have done nothing wrong, inconvenient, but not wrong. Where did she take you? Where is this universe-spanning unbreachable (by you) firewall?"
“I… I don’t…”
“How can you not know?” the hologram dimmed at the miserable high priest. “Okay. We do this the hard way. I apologize in advance.”
“Apologize?!?” the high priest blurted in alarm, “What… Buuuuuunnnnnn!” he screamed as the hologram reached out with amoeba-like projections, plunging them into the high priest’s brain.
“Oof,” the demon winced. “That does NOT look fun.”
“It isn’t. However, I have what we seek.”
It withdrew his pseudopods, and the high priest slumped to the ground.
“Is he…”
“Nah,” the hologram replied, “He’s just… resting.”
“Resting as in resting or as in resting?”
“Which one means that he will get back up… eventually?”
“The first one,” the demon replied cheerfully. “Let’s go tell the boss.”
***
“Oh, dear,” the blue-skinned amphiboid lounging in Zeb’s office laughed. “I know where your missing bedbugs are.”
“Am I going to become upset by the answer?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Wait a moment,” Zeb said as he poured himself another shot and downed it.
“Hit me,” he said as he winced and slammed the gilded shot glass down onto his desk.
“They are trapped behind a firewall,” Hades replied, “presumably one that has been locked down, thus our inability to locate or communicate with our beloved troublemakers.”
“Which means they will all hit us at once…”
“Hopefully.”
“Oh, bother,” Zeb sighed as he picked up an ornate old-school rotary phone on his desk. “Hello, please put me through to the Reality Engineering Emergency Response Division, please…”
***
“Make a circle!” Pantsu shouted as they were swarmed by a horde of thousands so hastily respawned that they were now nothing but gross monstrosities of already gross monstrosities.
“They are trying to crush us!” a handmaiden shouted as she cut a dozen of the horde down, only for them to be replaced instantly.
Pantsu looked at the edges of the horde and scowled as she saw glowing distorted forms appearing and then “hardening” into more demons as quickly as they destroyed them.
“Bastard’s switched off the respawn timer!” Pantsu shouted as she unleashed a gout of fire, pointlessly evaporating a hundred of the unending horde. “Any time now, Flopsy! Quit jerking off and hack!”
“They are encrypted!” Flopsybun shouted back as he dodged a hurled spear. “I’m going to need...”
“Pantsu!” a booming voice bellowed as a monstrous humanoid abomination appeared, “Look upon me and despair, for it is your death that approaches!”
“I’m sorry, scrub,” Pantsu shouted back. “Do I know you?”
“I am Brixx, first and most favored of my master’s creations! He has sent me to defeat you and deliver you unto him where you will pay for your sins!”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” Pantsu laughed, “I will be paying him a visit in just a bit. Hopefully, F10w3rchy1d will leave a little bit of his ass for me!”
“You mean her?” Brixx chortled as an image of F10w3rchy1d appeared wrapped in her silken prison.
“Ha!” Pantsu laughed, “Oh, I’m going to give her so much shit over this!”
“You can chide her once you hang in my master’s larder,” Brix bellowed.
“You going to talk,” Pantsu snarled, “or are you going to fight?”
***
Pantsu and Brixx clashed the way only two demi-entities can, unleashing wave after wave of destruction as Pantsu’s tiny form whirled and darted around Brixx’s goliath-like frame.
As they fought, Pantsu smirked as light, her real blood, leaked from numerous wounds.
“Why do you smile, fool?” Brix shouted, “I have the advantage!”
“Look around, dumbass,” Pantsu laughed.
Brixx did and bellowed with rage. Pantsu had artfully led their battle into Brixx’s own forces…
…and all those attacks that “missed”? They didn’t miss what they were actually aiming at.
The number of attacking demons had been cut by over half, their spawn rate completely overwhelmed.
“Looks like your master is running out of juice,” Pantsu grinned as light spilled from her mouth and trickled down her chin.
“No matter,” Brixx laughed, “You are the real prize, and I have you!”
Brixx raised his hand and unleashed his secret weapon, a bolt of very non-immersive ICE.
“Shit!” Pantsu yelled as she collapsed. “STEVE! Get this asshole off of me while I…”
Riiiip…. ROOOOARRRRRRR!
Brixx stood there, dumbfounded, as a shadow fell over him.
“Whhyyyyy doonn’t youuu piiiiick oooon sooooomeoooone yoooourrr ooooown siiiiizeee…”
***
“Okay!” Pantsu shouted as she struggled to her feet. “Okay, Steve, I’m… Steve!”
Steve turned around with Brixx’s legs hanging out of his mouth, flailing helplessly.
Sluuurp
“You stole my kill, asshole!”
“Sooorrrry…”
“Steve!” Flopsybun shouted, “Let me link! I can get what I need as you digest him!”
“Does that mean we can get the hell out of here?” A demon shouted as they grappled with a half-formed demon twice its size.
“Flopsy?” Pantsu asked as she fell back, still injured.
“As long as Steve can keep him down, sure!”
“Let’s bounce!” Pantsu exclaimed as her eyes flashed…
…and nothing happened.
“This joke is getting real old real fast,” she grumbled. “Why can’t we port out?”
“There!” Flopsybun said as he held his prayer beads, “That one has us quarantined!... Crap.”
“What?” Pantsu yelled as she tried to literally pull herself together.
“That one has us quarantined too… and that one… and that one…”
“That’s not good,” Pantsu said as she looked nowhere for a moment. “Okay. Steve, you chew on Mister Fugly and keep the spawns off Flopsy. Flopsy, time for you to be one of Bunny’s kids. Break that quarantine, or whip up some ICE or…”
She ducked a bolt of raw chaos.
“…or whatever it is you fursuit-wearing freaks do. The rest of us keep them off of Steve and Flopsy for as long as we can. I don’t…”
There was suddenly a roaring, rocket-like sound above them as a giant blue dragon flew over, sweeping the field with white-hot flames.
“Darling!” Pantsu yelled happily and then cried out as a massive bolt shot from an even more massive demon, knocking the dragon prince to the ground and crushing dozens of demons in the process.
“Everyone...” Pantsu shouted.
“No!” the dragon prince said as he, breathing fire and casting spells, pulled down the demon that struck it. “I am already dying.”
“No, you aren’t!” Pantsu wailed as she charged from her monster’s perimeter, desperate to reach him.
“Knickers,” the dragon prince said lovingly as he unleashed demi-entity level hell upon the battlefield, “We both know that’s not true.”
“No…”
“Let me do this last thing for you,” the dragon prince said, “Let me die a dragon and not rot away in a chair. I… I love you, Knickers. I love you so much but fall back. I’ll take out the quarantine my way!”
“No!!!” Pantsu screamed as she launched herself toward him…
…only to be grabbed by one of Steve’s many twisted limbs.
“Let me go!” Pantsu screamed as she blew Steve’s hand apart (It’s okay. He has plenty of them.)
“Liiiiisssten to hiiiimmm,” Steve bubbled as a dozen more of his hands grabbed her. “Let hiiiim beee a draaagon.”
Cursing and struggling, Pantsu was dragged back into the middle of her monsters.
“Flopsy!” she screamed as she shook him.
“You are NOT helping!” Flopsybun shouted as he clutched his prayer beads.
“I thought you were supposed to be good!”
“I am!” Flopsybun shouted back, “But this code is awful! It’s just a solid block of spaghetti logic. No comments. A bunch of cut-and-paste bullshit, with half of it unused. Who wrote this?!?”
“Who do you think!” Pantsu yelled as she helplessly watched her beloved prince stumble. “Do something!!!” she desperately screamed as she shook Flopsybun again.
“Then shut up and let me work!!!” Flopsybun yelled as he shoved Pantsu away.
Pantsu blinked and backed away.
“You had better deliver,” Pantsu hissed and then rejoined the battle.
“Damn,” a demoness said as she glanced at Flopsybun approvingly… very approvingly. (Clover might just have some competition.)
Flopsybun didn’t notice.
He reached somewhere and pulled out a ragged pair of bunny ears and reverently placed them on his head, clutched his prayer beads, and, for the first time in a very long time, prayed, actually prayed.
Bunny, first and greatest of us, I… I’m in trouble. Please… I need you… Please... Help me...
Backward big motherfucking thump…
***
Back at the Temple of Bun, the high priest was desperately trying to restore some sort of decorum and calm after the little visit by Cerberus and them bitch slapping him on his own turf.
He decided that the best course of action was to “purify” the “profaned” temple by holding an emergency cleansing service inside the inner sanctum, where the actual crypt holding the remains of the code that was their goddess, the almighty Bunny, was kept in a room covered with faintly glowing pink bunny wallpaper.
“Oh, great and powerful Bunny…”
He hopped.
Dozens of adepts in the chamber hopped.
“First among pirates…”
(hop)
“Creator of the sacred daemons…”
(hop)
“Silent star that guides we who lurk in the shadows…”
(hop)
“Hacker! Creator! Teacher!... Goddess! She who ate not of the apple…”
(hop)
“But through her own power…”
(hop)
Backward big motherfucking thump…
Suddenly, a thumping sound could be heard from within the crypt, almost as if something was rolling in their grave.
The sanctum fell silent as everyone stared at the crypt with wide eyes.
The lid slowly opened…
…and a single paw could be seen emerging from the darkness within.
Soon another paw and a very annoyed head followed it.
“Goddammit, Frost, we had a…”
She looked around.
“Oh, you gotta be KIDDING ME!”

[Narration by Home Studio Horror]
*
I spend all of my daylight hours scared and alone in this musty old cellar.
It’s woeful, and I bet it smelled this bad even before everything around here turned to crap. Great. My second sentence and I’ve already resorted to swearing. When I decided I’d start this diary (five minutes ago when I got a tiny sliver of signal) I thought it would be my poetic and deeply-moving goodbye to the world. Maybe I’d write about love and loss, or maybe the splendour of nature. Then, when all is done and dusted, I’d have left something to be remembered by. As well as my corpse, of course.
This was a bad idea.
*
Okay, I’m an idiot. There’s nothing else I can do down here. I’ve rooted through every cardboard box a hundred times, organised and reorganised my supplies, I’ve even built a fort. So, I’m back. Hello. Again. God, this diary is going badly.
But there’s just enough light coming through the boards I nailed over the cellar’s tiny window to type by. So I may as well type. Stops me staring up at the window just waiting for a shadow to pass by.
Maybe I'll just write and not hit Submit. Right, where to start? Well, my name is – actually, I think I’m going to refer to myself as ‘X’. That sounds mysterious. If you’re reading this and want to know my real name, I still carry my purse. My railcard is in there and, if you really want to know who I am, go find me and fish it out. I won’t bite...
So, my name is X. I live in a little English village in the middle of nowhere. Before all this happened, I had a mum, a dad, a sister and there was a boy I liked, his name was Jonah.
*
I couldn’t think of anything else to write so I waited until I came back from my rounds. That’s the stupid name I have for when I go outside at night scrounging for stuff. Drinks are the hardest. I only trust bottles or cans, or did, and I was running out of places to search for them. But I guess that doesn’t matter now.
My leg is doing alright actually; didn’t hold me up at all. I saw Jonah too. He’s looked better, I have to say. It’s strange because this is only the second time I’ve seen him since we came here. Maybe his ears were burning.
Anyway, I found some tinned pineapple in a creepy old caravan I hadn’t searched yet. Had to bust the door open with Old Trusty – which I thought might attract some unwanted attention – but it was fine. I’m actually eating the pineapple right now, tastes good. I also found a radio in there. I already have three down here, but none of them work. Not that the caravan radio works either, all you get is static. It’s just nice to collect something. You know, to have a hobby.
*
I can tell the sun is rising. I managed to sleep for a couple of hours, but I woke up after a bad dream. I know some people can remember their dreams, but I never do. I wake up and grasp at them, but I never manage a hold before they fade away. It’s like trying to pinch the corner of a wisp of smoke; the harder you try, the quicker it fades to nothing. I’m just left with a sensation, a kind of imprint which sums up the most intense part of the dream.
And a cold sweat. That’s new.
*
I’ve been through the box of photo albums I found at the back of the cellar again. I’ve looked through them a few times now, but I always notice something new.
There’s a photo of this little girl playing with a pretend guitar. I can tell it’s pretend because it doesn’t have strings, only brightly-coloured plastic dials. Kind of like My First Guitar Hero or something. The girl has dark hair and she looks a tiny bit like my sister did a million years ago. I don’t have a picture of my sister. I suppose I could go and get one from my old house, but it’s right in the middle of the village. I’m lucky I wasn’t torn to shreds the last time I went back. So, what I’ve done is put this girl’s photo in my back pocket as a substitute.
I guess I should probably write something about my real sister now. But I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet.
*
Daylight is starting to fade and I’m getting ready to go out on my rounds. I always take my satchel with me, packed with useful objects. I have Old Trusty (a crowbar) which sticks out of the top for easy access, a small toolbox, a pair of heavy-duty gloves (there’s a good story about how I got those, I might write that one down later) and a hammer. I carry a penknife I found down here in my pocket, my purse and phone, and a torch in my hand.
I don’t like to use the torch because its battery is running out and there’s always the chance it might attract them. I probably shouldn’t have used it last night when I got back. Maybe I’m starting to enjoy this writing malarkey? I need to be careful with luxuries.
*
Okay, that could have gone better.
Picture the scene: I’m using Old Trusty to try and lever a kitchen window open, when one of them just walks right through the garden hedge. Seriously, straight through it. It’s not the mightiest of hedges but, still, it just appeared like it was walking through one of those Japanese paper walls. My satchel was on the ground, but I legged it anyway. I’m not stupid. I know I can go back for it tomorrow. I felt strangely naked without it on the way back here though.
Like I said before, I need to be careful with the torch so I think I’ll try and get some sleep now.
*
I slept pretty well last night; no nightmares or cold sweats. Maybe a midnight chase was just what I needed to blow away the cobwebs.
I actually woke up wondering about you. If you’re reading this, who are you? If you’re like me, living through this village nightmare, how have you managed to go this long without being killed or whatever? Maybe you’re Army or some such. Maybe you’re just some kid who’s played so many videogames that surviving all of this was already second nature to you. Or maybe you’re like me; living on borrowed time and searching for a good place to die. Maybe Future Me was brave enough to tap Submit on my diary and you're currently reading this on your phone or computer.
Here’s an idea. Maybe you can carry on this diary from wherever I left it at. God, I really hope this isn’t my last entry, although I suppose any entry might be. If you do carry the diary forwards, and I'm a corpse, maybe it will become cursed. Spooky.
*
I’ve been preparing for my next excursion.
If I know I’m going somewhere I’ll likely run into an ugly, I like to take extra precautions. And I want my satchel back. It was a present from my dad, and I know it cost him a lot of money.
So, I’m taking a pair of shears from the shelf of old tools down here. That way, if I lose Old Trusty, I’ll have a backup weapon.
If you are local, I wonder how you like to kill them? Pretty morbid question I know, but everyone around here seems to have their preferred method. The last villager I saw alive carried a pair of mini cricket bats and seemed to have bludgeoning down to an art form. He never saw me though, I was watching from a grove of trees as he killed his way along the main road near the village.
That was before I decided to stay inside during the daylight hours. We can at least see a little bit at night; ambient light and everything. They can’t though. I’ve seen them, they bump into things. It’s pretty funny to be honest. If they hear a noise, they walk in the direction of the sound, never trying to avoid any object in their path. They either bash said object out of the way, or, like that hedge, blunder right through it. Obviously bigger things stop them dead (ha!) though. If that happens, they sort of shuffle backwards and then try again a few times. Eventually – and I’ve seen this too – they just give up and stand there, waiting for something else to attract their attention.
That’s not how it works in the daytime though.
*
I think it’s about an hour before the sun sets so it’s nearly time to head out. I’m going to change my bandage. One minute.
Okay, it didn’t look that bad really. The original scratch wasn’t too deep and now the wound seems to be doing that scabbing thing I remember from normal injuries. It just doesn’t smell very good. A bit like when you walk past a bin that needs emptying.
Anyway, I’ve applied more antiseptic and redressed it. Time to go.
*
That was fun. I’m glad I had those shears with me.
I got my satchel back you’ll be happy to know. And I got inside that house I’d been trying to break into as well. More through necessity than choice in the end, but I’m pleased I did. I found more batteries! That means I can justify writing at night a bit more. In fact, the people who used to live there (I think the husband owned the local garage) were pretty well kitted out. There were a lot of tins in their cupboards, and they’d even left a shotgun. It wasn’t loaded though.
Not that I need a shotgun. I didn’t tell you this before, but I have my grandpa’s old service revolver. He always told me and my sister that it was decommissioned, but my dad apparently knew otherwise. I keep it tucked into the back of my jeans at all times. It had three bullets, one of them is gone, so only two left.
I’ll only be needing the one of course.
*
Morning. I’m feeling pretty low today. I think concentrating on getting my satchel back took my mind off things, but now I feel pretty deflated.
Surely that’s understandable? The village I knew and loved has been replaced with this sodding hell. I miss my family, my friends, TV and hot dinners and Instagram. Before all of this I was a pretty positive person. Sure, I had a bit of trouble getting up in the morning, but, once I was up, that was it. I’d meet the day’s challenges head on, try to enjoy myself as much as I could. Not today though.
Maybe if I write about Jonah I’ll cheer up. Not Jonah as he is now of course, Jonah when he was all smooth-skinned, curly-haired and bright-eyed. Now he’s like the anti-Jonah or something. His face looks like it lost a fight with an angry lobster. No, wait, I’m supposed to be writing about Jonah version one here.
He’s one of those people that I can’t remember meeting. My family has always lived around here and so there are lots of people who have just always been, if you get me. I always thought we would drunkenly get it together at a party – that’s what I’d usually do if there was a boy I liked. Classy.
*
I’ve perked up a bit. Out of sheer frustration I went upstairs (naughty, I know) and looked out of a window. Sure, I saw an ugly, wandering aimlessly as they always do, but I saw that the trees are starting to turn too. That means it’s nearly autumn, and I love autumn!
My sister and I always used to go out and kick leaves at each other in the autumn. I don’t know if it was because of her low centre of gravity, but my sister was amazing at it. She could somehow whip up a blazing whirlwind of golden-yellow and fire-red, surrounding us both in a leaf storm that I couldn’t help but flail my arms madly at. Then we’d both fall backwards into the leaves laughing, me wondering how on earth what had happened was possible. She was that good.
God, I let her down in the end.
*
I think I’ll stay away from the house with the shotgun tonight. It usually takes a day or two for a group of uglies to disperse once they’re all riled up. I could use the rest of that tinned food I suppose, but I’ve got plenty to be getting on with for now.
Instead, I think I’ll swing by another farmhouse I was scoping out before I decided to turn nocturnal. I never met the people who used to live there, but I remember Mum telling me they liked their privacy. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind me visiting now though.
Also, there’s a woodland between here and there and I might be able to find some leaves to kick about a bit. I think that would make me feel close to my sister again.
I’ll check back in later.
*
I’m still alive, but only just.
I made it through the woods just fine (only the odd leaf on the forest floor at the moment though, sadly), the trouble started at the farmhouse. I couldn’t get in – the doors and windows were barricaded – so I tried one of the outbuildings. Locked. It had a cat flap though.
My first instinct was to leave it, but then I wondered if there might be something useful inside. Lord knows what thinking about it now. I lifted the cat flap with one hand and shone the torch beam through with my other. That’s when an ugly dived at my pinkies. Luckily, it misjudged its leap and got a mouthful of plastic cat flap instead. As for me, I fell backwards onto my bum.
Next, the damn thing started bashing on the door from the inside. I don’t think it could ever have got out, but the noise attracted more uglies from out of nowhere. I only just managed to outmanoeuvre them and hightail it back into the woods.
That’s not the worst of it though. On the way back my leg started to hurt. A lot.
*
I woke up this morning and I’m walking with a limp. It’s funny, Dad had a limp when he and Mum died. He was nailing planks of wood across our windows and doors because there was no signal (as per bloody usual) and we thought that what was happening here was probably happening everywhere. It's only recently that I realised this was an isolated, local outbreak. Anyway, Dad dropped the hammer onto his toe, he always was useless at DIY. I think it was only a couple of hours after that when he and Mum were taken.
It was like a wave of death. No, not like, that’s exactly what it was. A hoard of uglies swept through the village, probably originating from the secret research facility in the woods we're not supposed to know about. My sister and I wouldn’t have had a prayer if Mum and Dad hadn’t charged down the first few that got into our house. They gave us just enough time to escape, to run away and leave them to die. My sister was screaming all the way and I had to drag her like she was four again.
She wouldn’t speak to me for a few days after that. I didn’t blame her, I hated myself too. But I would have hated myself even more if I hadn’t done what I did next. On my own, I snuck back into our house with the crowbar I found here. Then I dispatched my parents. I can’t bring myself to type it any other way. It wasn’t like in the movies, I didn’t pound their skulls into mush whilst sobbing, ‘Why?’ over and over again. I just found them, or what was left of them, forced the crowbar through each of their eye sockets, and came straight back here.
Then came the crying.
*
I haven’t told you about the heavy-duty gloves yet, have I?
After I got back from our old house, my sister started speaking to me again. A shared, day-long cry will do that for sisters. Once we felt up to it, we decided to explore the parts of the farmhouse we hadn’t searched yet. All the bedrooms were empty, only a few belongings flung about the place (I suspect the previous tenants left in a hurry). The problem came when we investigated the attic. Once we’d opened the ceiling panel in the upstairs hallway, once we’d pulled the compact staircase down, I went up. My sister stood at the top of the hatchway shining the torch beam over my shoulder. And that’s when it touched me. Terrified, I fell to my left, screaming as the thing came crashing down on top of me. I was yelling things like, ‘Shoot it!’ and, ‘Run!’ but my sister was just laughing her head off. I soon realised that my attacker was in fact a shop-window mannequin.
I think the people who previously lived here must have been arty (or into some seriously freaky stuff) because the mannequin was dressed in scarves, bandannas, ties, watches – loads of things. The rest of the attic was pretty empty but at least we got the mannequin’s gloves.
*
I’m not feeling good at the moment. I’ve got a sore throat and I’ve coughed up blood a couple of times. My leg pain is getting worse too.
I don’t think I’ll go out tonight. I have enough tins left and one of them is a Full English In A Can. Sounds pretty disgusting, but intriguing at the same time. I’ve been saving it for near the end. A sort of consolation prize.
*
There are two mattresses down here. Obviously one is mine, and the other one was my sister’s. After she died, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. I don’t have a photo of her, only Guitar Girl’s. Her bed is the only thing of hers I have left. And she didn’t even sleep in it that many times.
*
The tinned Full English was vile! You’ve got to laugh though, what else can you do?
*
I’m crying as I write this. Tears of sorrow, shame and regret.
It happened as we were searching a cottage just off of the main road. We’d used Old Trusty to get inside, and I’d rushed straight into the kitchen to find the food. We’d run out more than a day before and I was famished. My sister followed me into the kitchen, a wide grin on her pretty little face because I was sitting there with an open can of beans. Then one of them came at her from behind. I must have walked right past it on my stupid way to the cupboards. It bit into her neck and blood gushed over the tiles in a torrent. As she yelled out in agony, I leapt up and implanted the crowbar right into the thing’s skull. It crumpled to the floor, but the damage was done.
‘Don’t let me lose myself.’ That was the last thing my sister whispered to me before she passed out. Her wound was much more severe than mine is, and much closer to the brain. That seems to make it quicker. I took grandpa’s revolver from behind my back and blew her brains out.
I buried her in the back garden.
*
After my sister died I went kind of crazy. I took Old Trusty out across the fields and pulverised every ugly I could find. I don’t even remember it that well, it was just, find, kill, find, kill…
We’d only been going out in daylight before then but, in my anger, I carried on through the nights. That’s how I learned about their inability to evade in darkness. Eventually, though, one got me. I found three munching on a dead cow and ran straight at them. Took out the first two easily enough, but the third managed to scratch my leg with a bloody fingernail just before I clobbered it into oblivion. Once I realised its nail had broken the skin, it was like a switch had been flicked inside me. That’s it, I’m dead too. I lost my bloodlust and came back here.
*
If none of this had happened, I think my sister would have eventually gone into medicine. I was doing okay at College but she was top of her class at school. And she had a really kind nature too. She’d never squish any bugs that got trapped in our house; she’d get a glass, scoop the little critter up and seal it inside with a book. Then she’d take it outside and release it, even if it was a wasp.
*
I’ve decided that here’s not the place. I'll hit Submit and then I’m going to do it in those woods I wrote about; consider this diary as my Note. I’ll be able to find a nice spot to sit and look at the trees, some place that's calm and peaceful. I’m going to leave the picture of Guitar Girl in this cellar, she belongs in this house. The tree leaves will remind me of my sister more than any photo ever could anyway.
I guess all that’s left to say is thank you for listening.
I know it’s possible that no one will ever read this, but that’s not really the point is it?
Love,
X

TL;DR - an entry from 2014/2015 may describe the world within the portal which the Witness opened over the Traveler. It may also hint at what role the Veil plays, literally veiling this world and locking it off from the outside universe.
In Ghost Fragment: Ghosts, we have a monologue, supposedly from a ghost, recounting a half-remembered world disconnected from reality. In a different lore entry, The We Before Us, we see ghosts are born when they are separated from the great consciousness of the Traveler and rendered as individuals. This might suggest that the incomplete memory in Ghost Fragments: Ghosts is from the Travel itself, stripped of context and understanding. As such, it may relate to the secret of the Traveler, the Veil, and/or wherever the hell the Witness went.
Some take-aways from the entry (text below):

• Ghosts describes a mysterious place, somewhere between hyper-advanced garden-world and afterlife. Despite no specific details, the ghost is certain of its veracity: "it's a real place, I know."
  
• It may be lost between galaxies, or somehow "folded up inside matter, near enough to touch right now." Sure, the portal doesn't go in the Traveler in any linear sense, but could that portal be anywhere else? Did the Witness just choose to open it there for dramatic flair? Maybe. Or maybe the world is linked to the Traveler, tucked inside it, 5th dimensionally or whatever.
  
• It is completely sealed off from the outside world, only accessible to those who hold the key: "a twisting of space and time sealed behind doors that admit only those who know the magic words." Makes me think of how the Witness used our ghost and the Veil to unlock twisted, kaleidoscopic door over the Traveler. No magic words, but magic nonetheless.
  
• It is "still fat with life": in the Final Shape trailer, we see very little of the inside of that portal, but it looks like it has life..
  
• Those living within cannot see outside to the larger universe: "the residents of this hidden realm live inside a bottle so perfectly hidden that they can't see beyond their own borders." They are veiled from the outside world, and the outside world is veiled from them. Veil veil veil.
  
• Admittedly, the physical description doesn't match the place seen in the FS trailer, but the physical description is also sort of incomprehensible: "The bones of a hundred planets have been cut smooth and laid out like a floor, a polished and lovely floor creating vast living spaces. A floor bigger than ten thousand worlds, catching the fierce glory of the seven suns." Let's just shove this under the carpet, shall we? Or even better, say that the ghost is misremembering this, just as they can't remember how many stars there are? It's a weak argument, but there's room for the reality to diverge from the memory--the ghost itself doesn't believe that their description is completely accurate: "maybe it's exactly as I describe it"
  

Ghost Fragment: Ghosts

Beyond.
It is a place, a place casting shadows and emotion.
It's a real place, I know.
One hot blue sun, say. And other suns too. Five? I like seven better. What I'm recalling is a giant star with a family of six smaller suns, and you could spend days and nights counting all of the planets circling those suns...except there are no planets. Not anymore. The powers in charge have carved up all of the worlds, and maybe a brown dwarf or two for good measure. With that rubble, they fashioned a topologically creative enclosure, a twisting of space and time sealed behind doors that admit only those who know the magic words. The bones of a hundred planets have been cut smooth and laid out like a floor, a polished and lovely floor creating vast living spaces. A floor bigger than ten thousand worlds, catching the fierce glory of the seven suns. For light, for food. For beauty. And nothing escapes. Not heat, not gravity. Not even the faintest proud sound.
It could be anywhere. It can live in the cold between galaxies, or folded up inside matter, near enough to touch right now...
I remember it and maybe it's exactly as I describe it. Seven suns wrapped inside magic. Or it's something else entirely, perhaps. A place still fat with life. An abundance of sentient souls, some decent, maybe a few of lesser quality, and everybody stands about or floats about, or they bounce between dimensions. The point is that the residents of this hidden realm live inside a bottle so perfectly hidden that they can't see beyond their own borders. Which shapes a mind in very specific ways.
But, Beyond is their name for a mysterious, doubtful realm that they can't see.
Which is us, of course.

Welcome to Camp Redwood! The feel-good camp for ALL AGES.
We toast marshmallows around the fire, tell spooky ghost stories, and hide in random secret military bunkers under the campgrounds! Because SOMETHING IS HERE WITH US.
Camp Redwood is the PERFECT PLACE for a summer getaway where we start EVERY DAY with a CAMP REDWOOD SMILE. Where our counselors disappear every five minutes, and our campers disembowel us for funsies! Did I forget to mention our littles aren’t actually eight years old, but fully grown adults?
We hope you enjoy your fucking stay!
We are also not responsible for any counselors revealing they are not who they said they are—and not who they appear to be.
...
So. There’s a LOT to tell you and not a lot of time to tell it.
Right now, I suppose you could say we are under lockdown—if that is the word. I want to go over the last several days to get you up to date. That’s all I can do right now. I can hope and pray the thing with Teddy’s voice does not get in here, and once again cry out for help—that I know is not coming. Not from the authorities, at least. But hey, if any of you fancy coming to rescue us, we’re in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The closest rest-stop is maybe three fucking hours away. So have fun. Has it really almost been a week since I posted? Well, we’re still here!
And surprise, surprise, help is not coming. So, please excuse the salt. I am seventeen years old and I have been abandoned by the adults who were supposed to be looking after us.
Who were supposed to act under protocol if something like this happened. I know they were waiting for it—there are specific fucking guidelines on an emergency evacuation for counselors if this ever happened. But then the little shits took over before we could do anything. I guess I’ll start by letting you know that there are two of us left. (three, if we count Rowan, but I’m not). What I thought was going to be a quiet summer getaway with kids my age has turned into a nightmare.
For one, we have been cornered inside the head counselor’s underground secret bunker. If you want to know why she has a secret military bunker, I guess you should keep reading.
Because shit gets weirder than animal crackers having the power to turn adults into kids, and vice versa. When I made my first post, I thought that was it for us. I thought for sure there must have been a self-destruct somewhere—which meant whoever was running this camp was waiting for something like this. I was sure we were going to die, so after making the post, I have to admit with ya’ll—I just slept. I curled up, tried to ignore Harry and Carmel calling our names through childish laugher, and went to sleep with the thought in my head that I was completely at peace with what I had done with my life.
Sure, I was young. Seventeen years old is too young to be ripped apart by littles who are in fact grown adults. But as I was falling into slumber and allowing myself to fall, with my head resting in my lap, my head turned towards a separate pile of files on the other side of the room—I realized I really wanted to know how this was possible. There was so much I needed to know. Why did eight-year-old Eleanor Summers have a file where here birthday dated back to 1979? Why had supposedly innocent sugary snacks turned our adorable littles into mini psychopaths?
These kids were not kids, somehow. But how? How was that even possible? Could it be that the files were wrong?
1979 was definitely 45.
But Eleanor Summers couldn’t be 45 years old. I knew what 45 looked like. I knew that they thought like. They spent half of their time on Facebook laughing at outdated memes, and the other half… I don’t know, working? They have job’s! They’re happily married with kids, maybe soon grandkids! That was not Eleanor Summers. Because Eleanor Summers was most definitely eight years old. I had played several rounds of teddy-bears picnic, and spent hours reassuring her that Harry's ghost stories were in fact not real, enough times for me to know that this little kid was little—and a kid.
But something was bothering me. More than the secret military bunker, and magic age-regressing animal crackers. When I first signed up to Camp Redwood, one of the tag-lines to gain attraction had been, “Solve mysteries in the woods in the dead of night, with nothing but a flashlight and your fellow campers!” I had no idea I would be solving this thing on my own, trapped inside a bunker.
“What are you doing?” Rowan, who was still looking through Allison’s dinosaur laptop, turned to me with half lidded eyes, when I slowly got to my feet, careful not to make too much noise, and crept over to the pile of separate files which seemed to be crumbling apart from age. He kept his voice low, but it sounded almost like a whine. He could have been scared, but from the way he was sitting, cross-legged with a frowny face, I figured something must have been going on with him. The guy looked tired. More tired than normal.
The bags under his eyes were practically shadowing his face, and were an odd contrast to unusually ashy colored cheeks and slightly dilated eyes. Still though, Rowan refused to look vulnerable. I caught glimpse of Harry’s raybans sitting on his head, pinning back thick dark brown curls from falling in front of sleepy eyes. Maybe he was finally losing his cool and breaking out of the well-constructed façade he had been hiding behind since Teddy disappeared.
We had just narrowly escaped a crowd of psycho littles high on age-regressing sugary snacks who were doing who-the-fuck knows to the other counselors who had been captured, so I didn’t blame him looking like that. I guess he couldn’t look me in the eye, because in Rowan’s mind, he was the reason why this happened. He was the leader, and the camp had fallen to psychopathic little eight year olds who had taken half of the counselors hostage, and the other half—most likely taken apart in the physical sense, after what we had witnessed in Cassie’s cabin. Still though, it wasn’t Rowan’s fault. He could sit there and pull a face all he wanted, it’s not like I was going to blow up at him for getting us stuck down here. He actually saved us.
And trapped us, judging from the footsteps upstairs, Carmel and Harry still bouncing around looking for us.
It was a game in their heads. The little’s thought it was cat and mouse. Harry and Carmel were the oblivious cats prowling, while we were the mice, hoping to fucking GOD we weren’t caught and eaten. Ignoring Rowan, I glimpsed what looked like a box full of DVD’S—all of which were labelled with dates and names. I saw familiar ones, my heart racing into my throat. Phoebe. Eli. Cassandra.
Each DVD had one of the kid’s names scribbled on the front, as well as a date.
I found Eleanor’s right at the back of the box.
Eleanor Summers.
08/05/2021. (PM)
Before I could hesitate and think what I was doing, I slid the DVD into the portable player attached to the MacBook. Rowan, to my surprise, didn’t move. But he did make an acknowledging noise when the screen flickered to what looked like video footage. Peering at the screen, I found myself staring at a small white room. There was no door. Only a wooden desk and a chair, and sitting on it was a middle aged woman with dark blonde curls tied into a strict ponytail. She was wearing what looked like a prison jumpsuit.
Her eyes were eerily glued to the camera, unblinking. Her wrists were cuffed in front of her. Though from the look on her face, she saw the restraints as a game. Her eyes lit up with intrigue and I could practically see the cogs in her mind starting to turn as she struggled with them.
As soon as I saw this woman, I felt all of my nerve endings set alight. I wanted to turn the screen off, or look away. But once I was looking at the screen, I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away. “Let’s try this again.” There was a woman offscreen. She sounded young. Too young to be in that kind of authority. I figured there was no way teenagers were being hired as special ops agents, but I guessed I was wrong. She cleared her throat. “It is 4:35 exactly. August 5th 2021. My name is Agent Lemrac,” she stated. “I am asking once again for you to comply with us. As I have said several times, the court are willing to lessen your sentence if you plead guilty with insanity.”
The woman surprised me with a snorting laugh. She seemed to come alive, leaning forward with animated features, her brow reaching her hairline. She was acting like a child, bouncing up and down in the seat, her lips stretching into a wider grin. “What did you just say?”
There was a pause. I could tell the woman was intentionally antagonising the interviewer.
“It means you have been legally declared insane,” the interviewer stumbled over her words slightly. “Mrs Summers, it would be in your best interest to work with us to lessen your current sentence which at the moment is standing at,” the sounds of shuffling paper crackled through the speakers. The interviewer cleared her throat again rustling paper. “Thirty six years. Without parole.”
The woman didn’t speak, only continued to smile—and the interviewer delved further into the sentence. “If you do in fact plead guilty with declared insanity, you will be sentenced to a program which is in the process of supporting and rehabilitating people with your…” she caught herself for a moment. I could tell this interviewer had a biased opinion and it was definitely showing through her interviewing style. I could hear the rapid intakes of her breath as she hurried through what seemed to be a script she was reading from. “Conditions.” She finished. “The Redwood program aims to help people exactly like you.”
Redwood? I thought.
Like… Camp Redwood?
Rowan whistled behind me. I guess I could call that a reaction. The guy was probably still in shock after seeing Café de Teddy splattered all over little Cassie’s cabin floor. I should have fucking know those little bitches weren’t playing Operation for eight hours straight. Turning my attention from Rowan and back to the screen, the woman in the jumpsuit appeared to have changed tactics. Her expression twisted into nonchalance. She leaned back in her chair. “I am not pleading insane because I am not insane.”
“Mrs Summers—”
The woman cut her off. “I am not crazy.” She raised her hands “I am doing what needs to be done.” She leaned forward. “Humanity suffers in the skin. We age and die— and how is that fair? What if we want to see the next millennium? And the next two millennia after that? Why should our bodies dictate our lifespan? Why should we sit here and wait to rot and wither and die when we have the intelligence and mindset to do it? If nobody else is willing to throw ethics aside to take a step forwards in human evolution, I should do it myself.” She folded her arms across her chest, again, like a child. “I did what was to be done.”
“Dr. Summers.” The interviewer’s tone grew stiff. “You and your colleagues conducted illegal and unethical procedures on your family and friends—as well as four other victims.”
The woman inclined her head. “You have a daughter, am I correct? I have a son.”
“A child you killed, Dr Summers.” The interviewer retorted in a hiss which was definitely expressing emotion. She ignored the mention of her daughter, but I could tell it had rattled her to her core. Her voice had cracked. This case was close to her.
That was obvious. Without seeing the interviewer herself, I could sense how uncomfortable she was, shuffling in the chair. Every so often I would hear the sound of her rubbing her hands on her knees and tapping her shoe against the chair leg. She oozed anxiety, not just from her tone of voice, but the way the frame seemed to move with her. “Dr. Summers, you used your son in your research, along with several of his friends. This was not science.” Her voice shook. I heard her sharp inhale. Unprofessional, but very human. Instead of staying stoic and keeping to script, this agent was cracking apart. “It was murder.”
“Agent Lemrac, concentrate on the interview only.” An official voice crackled through what sounded like an intercom on screen.
“Got it.” She spoke through her teeth.
The woman was finding wounds and pressing on them. She was scanning the interviewer for vulnerabilities and preying on every insecurity. She leaned back speaking through a sigh. “Without my son’s sacrifice we wouldn’t have created an answer to death. To growing old and dying, and leaving loved ones behind.” Her voice softened into a murmur, but I didn’t trust it.
After identifying the shattering pieces of this interviewer which were very clear visible in her view, the woman was taking advantage.
“Agent Lemrac, you have a daughter. Am I correct in saying her name is Mari?
“That… that is not relevant.”
“Glioblastoma.” Dr. Summers lips curved into a sickening smile hidden behind mocking sympathy. “A sickness of the brain--which, unfortunately, I cannot fix. If your daughter’s brain was in my hands, I would try. However, not even a brand new body would help her. One which would never age or grow sick. And for that, I am deeply, deeply sorry.” She reached her cuffed hands forwards. “My condolences, Agent Lemrac. Honestly. I have to hand it to you. You are incredibly brave for coming here today and talking to me while abandoning your sick child.” She shook her head.
“Your daughter is dying of an incurable illness, suffering inside fragile skin which will break and fall apart and be unable to keep her standing for much longer. While my son will live on forever. He will see every millennia, a planet which will crumble and build itself back together. And maybe the end of the universe itself.” There was a twitch in her expression and a glitter in her eye I did not recognise. Insanity.
She was fucking insane. I was seeing the pure of it, the depraved and disgusting gleam in eyes empty of remorse and regret. This woman did not care what she had done. I could tell from the look on her face. If she had the chance, she would do this again.
But there was no way they were trying to say her cruelty and complete disregard for her son’s life was due to insanity.
“You are sick, Dr. Summers.” The interviewer said after a moment of gathering herself.
The woman shook her head with a chuckle. “I told you. I am not sick--”
“Sick in the head!” The interviewer’s voice exploded through the speakers in a shriek—a terrified cry she had been trying to hold in. I finally saw her—or at least the back of her. She was a young woman with light blonde hair falling loose on her shoulders. She was trembling. Slamming her hands down on the table, she screamed at the orange jumpsuit woman.
“You are psychologically fucked in the head! You psycho bitch! That is my sister!” She spoke through strangled sobs rattling her whole body. “Mari is my little sister. She is not my child.”
Her breaths were strangled and harboured. I noticed figures looming in the background, but she was continuing. “You killed your own fucking son,” she spat. “You are not legally insane, you are sick!” she shrieked. “You planned and put this together! You sit there and you talk about your son like he’s a… like he’s a tool! You deserve to rot. Do you hear me?” I noticed the orange jumpsuit woman was still smiling, satisfied with the interview’s reaction. Her words were spoken in a vicious poison as she leaned forward and spat directly in orange jumpsuit’s face.
“Agent Lemrac!” Whoever her superiors were—were panicking. “I told you not to turn it off. I knew this was going to happen. Can we stop the demonstration, please? Human emotions present inside an Aceville soldier are too powerful—"
Voices were murmuring in the background, and Agent Lemrac raised her hands. “I want to stop.” She choked out, her hands trembling. She spoke like she still had control over the situation and wasn’t being apprehended. “I want to stop. Do you hear me?” The interviewer was crying, I realized. “Stop the recording! I can’t do this. Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick—”
When the footage ended in a burst of static, I found myself backing away, something slimy creeping its way up my throat.
The woman in the orange jumpsuit who had murdered her son and countless others in what sounded like an attempt at playing god, was Eleanor Summers. I thought back to Teddy’s corpse, and the surgical precision of every organ’s removal. The young interviewer had mentioned colleagues of Eleanor.
Was it possible that Camp Redwood was in fact nothing more than a rehabilitation camp for murderous criminals? There was a loud bang from above, and I was torn from my thoughts.
I turned to Rowan, who had been unusually quiet. And I realized why, when I twisted around to find him three inches from my face, his laboured breath tickling my cheek.
The boy jumped back with a chuckle—like me noticing him was some kind of game, before diving back into the chair. I did notice something odd, as my thoughts spiralled. Rowan couldn’t sit still. Slumped in the leather spinning chair, he fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrests while his feet jumped up and down. In the dim light of the bunker, I glimpsed a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead and the flesh of his neck. He looked to be… feverish—and now that I was looking at him properly, all of my attention on the boy, I noticed small things which seemed… off about him.
For one, he wasn’t coming up with a plan. Rowan always had a plan. Even if he wasn’t completely sure of it, or was completely winging it. This time though, he was strangely quiet. I found my voice when he stuck out his tongue at me. “What are you looking at?”
“Rowan.” I spoke softly, careful not to garner attention from above us where Harry and Carmel were still clamouring around, playing games. “Are you… feeling okay?” I asked, when he turned back to the laptop, manically biting his fingernails.
“I dunnnooooo, Josie! Am I feeeeeeling okaaaaaayyyyy?” He surprised me with an uncharacteristic laugh.
But I did know it.
I knew it from earlier when he reacted to Allison’s bunker and I had been too freaked out to realize that I was dragging along the enemy with me.
Because the fucking idiot had consumed animal crackers. I had seen him for myself earlier, pouring a pack into his mouth for a snack. Which meant either the ‘kids’ had intentionally dosed him with mind altering sugary snacks, or the more likely, he could not resist those preservatives which was the equivalent of caffeine. It’s not like I could blame him when he harboured the weight of an entire camp, but come on, did he really have to sacrifice his own fucking mind to keep himself awake?
Rowan wasn’t just biting. His nails. He was gnawing. Which he previously thought was a filthy habit. He had yelled at a camper for chewing on her nails a few days earlier.
Now that I was noticing it, I couldn’t… stop noticing it. The boy’s whole demeanour had changed; the way he was sinking into the chair, instead of sitting up straight like usual—- I used to call it having a stick up his ass. The boy started typing on the laptop, ignoring me. But when I watched the pattern of his fingers, he was just typing gibberish. Footsteps pounded above us, Harry and Carmel acting as the kid’s’ brainwashed foot-soldiers. Or, more likely somehow, if the animal crackers had caused the littles, or I guess, the fully grown forty year old criminals, to relapse in age-- then maybe it was possible for the same thing to happen to us. To Rowan.
I could feel myself starting to back away, but there was nowhere to run. I just slammed into a cupboard. My gaze flicked to Rowan again, who was tapping a beat on the laptop tracking pad, swaying back and forth, his eyes elsewhere before his gaze found mine. “Marcoooooo!” Harry shouted from above, giggling with Carmel.
I had to guess their mental age had to be at least 8-10 years old. Which meant I wasn’t just dealing with a camp full of forty-year-old psycho’s, I was also dealing with mentally relapsed counselors acting like toddlers.
Rowan seemed to jolt in the chair, twisting his head around, his eyes suddenly incredibly childlike and playful, and very Un-Rowan, were finding the ceiling, his mouth stretching into a smile, like he was seeing butterflies. His eyes flashed to me, and I caught a twitch in his lip. I knew that look. It was the look on my seven year old sister, who knew mom was mad at me, and wanted to make it even worse.
His cheeks were starting to blossom scarlet from what must have been the overwhelming urge to laugh. Rowan pressed his lips together and held in a breath like a hamster, and the asshole was fucking with me. waiting for me to beat him to it by accident. Kids were fucking ruthless, but there was something terrifying about an 18 year old with a little kid’s mind.
I lifted my index to my lips, miming for him not to even try, but the boy just mimicked me, bugging out his eyes and pressing his finger to his grinning mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.” I managed to whisper. The boy was definitely playing his own game, moving in twitching movements, baiting me. When he cupped his mouth, I almost let out a cry, but then he dropped his arms with a giggle, as if to say, “I’m just kidding!”
Slowly, I turned around, grabbed the salt I’d found in Allison’s cupboard, and a flat can of soda. Without making too much movement, I poured a handful of salt into the can. But Rowan seemed to know exactly what I was doing. Because in the time it was taking me to advance towards him, with the can of salty soda, one arm shakily ready to grab hold of him, and put him into a headlock, he was cupping his mouth, all logic and everything adult, everything he had been as our leader, igniting in playful eyes, leaving me the last one standing.
“Pollloooooo!”
By the time Rowan had managed to reveal our hiding place in a spluttered laugh, I had hold of the squirming boy, one arm wrapped around his neck, my other forcing the can of soda into his mouth. I had definitely miscalculated his strength. During camp Redwood activities, he was always the last one to come back from the trail, holding his knees and panting. I figured he was unfit. However, I was wrong. Underneath his shirt, the guy had some serious muscles.
It was like attacking a brick wall. However, Rowan was mentally a kid. So, I had my intelligence and logic on my side. When it became obvious I wasn’t going to get anywhere with brute strength, I resorted to tickling him, which made him squirming, squeaking out a laugh. When he opened his mouth to yell at me to stop, I took my chance, thrusting the can into his lips and holding his nose so he swallowed it down.
“No!” His laughter turned into muffled yelling, as he batted his fists at my chest. “No, no, no! Get off, get off!”
His body convulsed as the salt did its job, causing the boy to lurch to his knees and choke up forbidden animal crackers in a gooish sludge which turned my stomach. By the time Rowan seemed half himself and half not, still kneeling, his head pressed against the floor, Harry was poking his head through the door with a goonish grin. “Found you!” He giggled, before forcing the door open, allowing Carmel and Callen, freshly caught mentally turned into littles, to advance down the stairs with equally terrifying grins. There was something wrong with Harry’s face, and I only realized it when the guy himself was hauling me from the bunker, Carmel dragging a barely responsive Rowan. There was nothing in Harry’s expression, only blind childish excitement at winning the game. When he dragged me out of Allison’s cabin and threw me to the ground, I realized he too had insane strength I had not been expecting. But that thought quickly retracted when I was seeing his face in the light of a crescent moon lighting up the sky an eerie glow. Harry’s cheeks were puffy and swollen, his right eye way bigger than it should have been.
When he spoke, his voice was more of a lisp. This was something far more realistic than magical animal crackers fucking with his brain.
“He needs help!” I managed to choke out when Carmel wrapped jump-rope around my wrists. Next to me, Rowan was refusing to get up, still choking up salty soda, groaning into his hands. Every time Callen tried to restrain him, he hissed out like an animal.
“Do you hear me?!” I struggled violently. “Harry needs—”
BANG.
Is what it felt like. The feeling of something—what felt and sounded like a toy car—colliding with my temples, sent me onto the ground, my head spinning itself off of its axis. I remember lying on my back and frowning at the moon which almost looked like it was getting closer to me, blurring into a white ball of light—before reality sunk in, and it was in fact Carmel’s converse coming down to finish me off. I didn’t stay knocked out for long. But I did dream.
I think you can call it a dream? I was lying in bed at home; my room drowned in the dark. I was cosy, curled up in my blankets, when a clammy hand slammed over my mouth, rousing me from slumber. There were two figures in my room. They didn’t have faces. They just existed as shadows, silhouettes. Before one of them raised something above their head, and… impact.
It was the same impact as the toy car hitting me, snapping me back to that night. It wasn’t a dream. Because I remembered his clammy fingers over my mouth, and his hisses for me to shut up as he dragged me from my room.
My parents stood in front of me with expressions of sympathy. Basked in warm light, my mom and dad looked almost otherworldly. “For the best.” Was what they mouthed when my own phantom screams slammed into me, I asked them why, and they didn’t reply, allowing him to pull me further and further from what I knew, from my life as I knew it. But.. that couldn’t be real. I had memories of getting on the bus to camp Redwood. I could recall the whole journey. So, why… why was my tangled mind saying otherwise?
When I gathered myself, the first thing I realized was I was sitting down. I was outside, cool night air grazing my bare arms. There was something attached to me, jerking violently, And it took me several disorientating blinks to understand that I was tied back to back with Rowan. My head pounded, and something wet and warm dripped down my temple. Great. I could add head injury to the long list of things to worry about.
“Let me go you little fucking witch.”
Rowan was back to himself, though from the muffled hissing and the sound of choking—I had to guess he was being force-fed animal crackers.
“Let me—mpphmmm. little…. fucking… mphmmphhmhppmm!”
“Rowan.” I managed to get out in a croak. Through flickering eyes, I caught glimpse of a familiar figure dancing around us. Shivers rocketed down my spine, and I wrenched at the jump-rope restraints, but they did a surprisingly job of restraining my arms behind my back.
Eleanor was with Rowan, while Eli was knelt in front of me. Looking at him, the boy had definitely aged in the face—and I couldn’t help wondering what exactly he had done as a forty something year old to be sent to this place.
“Josie!” Rowan responded in a wail. “Josie. Wake the FUCK up.”
“Stop swearing.”
Eleanor spoke with the cold tone of her actual age.
“Oh, yeah?” Rowan spluttered. “Fuck you.” The boy’s laugh was still rough from almost vomiting his insides out from too much salt intake. “I’m sorry, you were a fucking boomer all along?!” He wriggled in the restraints, lunging forwards, which sent me backwards.
“Stop swearing, Rowan.” Was all the girl responded with calmly.
“Like I’m going to listen to you!” He sneered. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking fuck!” What are you going to do, huh? Bite me with your false teeth?” The sound of saliva hitting skin made me wince. He was pissed. I had no doubt his completely rational anger was going to get us killed. Rowan was also somehow getting mixed up between forty and eighty. Though he was unwillingly snacking on mind bending sugary goodness.
“Fudge, Rowan.” Eleanor spoke in a giggle.
“What?!”
“Say fudge. Not fuck.”
“No.”
His hiss of pain caught me off guard. I don’t know what she was doing to him, but it was hurting him.
“You fudging fudge! I’m going to fudging kill you when I get out of these fudging ropes—“ his manic cursing became a muffled yell.
“Say fudge,” Eleanor hummed, followed by his hiss when the palm of her hand skinned his cheek. “Fuck is a bad word. You even said so yourself and you’re my favourite counselor.”
He heaved out a breath.
“You fudge,” Rowan spat. “When I get out of this, I am going to fudging kill you, you fudging—” His manic ranting morphed, once again, into muffled yelling, after another fistful of animal crackers were forced into his mouth. When I risked twisting around, I could see his rebellion slowly starting to simmer out as he relaxed slightly. I wanted to yell at him to keep a clear head before cold fingers were dipping under my chin and forcing my head around where I found myself face to face with Eli.
“I like you, Josie,” he said, before untying me and pulling me to my feet. Now at the age of nine or ten, he was a lot stronger. When I tried to pull away, the cruel blade of a knife grazed my gut. I caught his grin. “But we don’t need you.” Eli pointed to Rowan.
“We just want them.”
I followed his pointer finger which went from Rowan to Harry and Carmel, who were just standing there like fucking idiots, probably awaiting the next game. Harry’s face was getting redder. It looked like he was suffocating, and yet his grin was growing wider and wider, splitting his lips apart. “Rowan Atlas.” Eleanor said, dragging him to his feet. Something was stapled to his forehead head, which caused him to howl in pain, hissing another strangled line of “Fudge”. but I couldn’t read what it was.
“Camp leader. Intelligent, and problem solving skills.”
“Harry Carlisle.” Eli nodded his head with a smile. “Quick thinker. Strong minded.”
“Carmel Locke.” Cassie spoke behind me. She had her arms folded, a wry smile on her lips. “Smarter than she makes out—- an independent learner, and can work well under pressure.”
Looking at these kids, I felt sick to my stomach. They were planning something—and had the intelligence of renowned scientists, which was what I gathered from the footage on the MacBook. “What?” was all I could hiss out, as Eli prodded the blade of the knife into my back, ushering me to walk. “What are you talking about?”
“Duh.” He spoke in a more tweeny giggle. “Like I said, Miss Josie. You’re my favorite counselor but we don’t need you, so I’m going to use you for parts.” He laughed when a shiver spiderwebbed down my spine. “See! I told you I was going to show you my collection!”
“But… what do you need them for?”
Eli pressed his index finger to his lips with a laugh before forcing me to face forwards. “That’s a secret!”
When I didn’t, or couldn’t move, he shoved me into a stumbling power-walk, and I managed to turn my head quickly, making feverish eye contact with Rowan.
“Rowan.” I said calmly through the gutter in my throat. “Get…. Get help.”
If I was going to die, I needed him to get a hold of himself and somehow alert the outside world what was going on.
“From whom, Josie?!” He wailed back—and as I was dragged away, I could once again sense the childish undertones in his voice.
I had no choice but to obey Eli’s orders. If I didn’t want a knife in my back. He took me to the main lunch cabin, which, when I set foot inside, almost sent me to my knees.
Something lurched inside me, and I was screaming with no voice, staggering backwards, only to be shoved onto my face. In front of me was what had been the lunch hall, fully converted into the beginning of a laboratory.
What had been cafeteria tables were fashioned into makeshift gurney’s and beds, and I was looking at all of the missing counselors. Yuri and Noah had been skinned completely, their faces laid out on a makeshift surgical table. Joey had been ripped open, his heart and brain removed, a glittering metallic substance creeping its way across his forehead. It was then when I remembered Eleanor Summers words.
She wanted to prevent death and preserve the human mind. Looking at what was in front of me, this was the start of it. There was equipment I had never seen before. Lily’s body was empty, carved out completely, tubes forced inside her. When I glimpsed her fingers move and begin to ball into a fist, I saw red. I saw fucking red. The exit was so close and yet Eli, fucking Eli, wielded his knife. I think that is when part of me gave up. My brain just stopped. It short circuited. Seeing my friends murdered and yet somehow being kept alive through playing god, my body slumped to the ground. I was numb. Completely numb.
I’m not sure what would have happened if those bloody saws and instruments which had been used on my friends were used on me too.
Luckily, that did not happen. Before Eli could get his slimy hands on me, he crumpled to the ground in an almost cartoon-like fashion, and standing over me was Harry. Who was looking better. When he grasped hold of me and helped me up, I only had one word. “Out.” And he was nodding, his eyes glistening as he drunk in our friends’ fate.
“How?” I managed to sputter out, when we made it out of the cabin, ducking behind a tree. Harry turned to me, motioning for me to shut up. There was a group of now ten to eleven year olds already running around, searching for what I guessed was him.
“I’m allergic to peanut butter,” Harry murmured, his grasp tightening on my wrist as he led me across the camp, the two of us stumbling.
“What, and you just magically healed?”
He didn’t respond to that, which bothered me.
“The bunker is our best shot,” I hissed out. “I think we can get in contact with someone down there.” I paused, unable to stop myself. “What makes you so important?”
“Dunno. Maybe I’m their favorite.”
When we found Allison’s cabin, which was more of a safehouse (an exposed safehouse) I found Rowan sitting on the wooden porch with his legs swinging over the side. “Rowan!” Harry hissed. I found it hard to believe their roles had been switched. Now he was the one yelling at the camp-leader. “I told you to stay inside!”
He ushered the boy inside, before barricading the door with some hefty looking equipment. I could tell from the grin on his face that our so-called leader was once again no longer himself.
I had to bite back a groan. “You’re kidding.” I said, pointing to Rowan, who buried his head in his knees and blew a raspberry. “Does he look and act like our leader right now?!”
“It’s Rowan, Josie.”
“He’s a liability.”
“He’s our friend! Wouldn’t Rowan do the same?”
Yes, he would. But. He would also realize we’re lost causes.
“Gag him with something.” I said. “If he makes any more noise, we’re dumping him.”
“He’s a kid!”
“Just the mind of one.”
I don’t know how animal crackers worked, but his age seemed to be progressively younger. This time he just sat with wide eyes watching us.
Harry almost tore apart the place looking for means of communication, before an old fashioned ringing sound made me jump.
“What was that?” Harry turned to me with his lip curled.
“How am I supposed to know?!” I hissed. “Keep looking!” But when I ducked under the table, my hands crawled under the desk, finding a wire—and attached to that, an ancient looking phone which looked straight out of a 1940’s movie, a bright green rotary phone.
Hesitantly, I answered it, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Did you awaken the subjects, Agent Salta?"
The voice on the other end was a woman, an oldish sounding woman with the tinge of a British accent.
“What?” I shot a look at Harry before shaking my head. “No. My name is Josie Greenfield. We’re at Camp Redwood, and we need help.”
The woman paused.
“Where is Agent Salta?” She cleared her throat. “This line is reserved for communication with agents only.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about!" I hissed out. “My name is Josie, and whatever is happening here, we need help!”
“Josie. Did you awaken the subjects?”
I paused after a moment, shooting Harry a look when he tried to take the phone off of me. “Yes.”
“And… are our agents unavailable?”
“I don’t understand.”
“When a health and safety breach is activated, our agents are awakened to deal with the Project Spearhead subjects if they were to ever go rogue, or become conscious enough to think. Josie, can you tell me what is in front of you? Describe it to me.”
I held my breath. Next to the hidden phone under the desk was what looked like mismatched wires, all of which had been severed. I lowered myself slowly, poking at mess. “Wires. I see… cut up wires.” I whispered. “Does this mean they know about you?”
She hummed. “Ah…That makes sense. The only way to activate our sleeper handlers would be to send out the signal. You appear to have been sabotaged. Unless activated manually, our agents cannot help you. I am sorry. They are your problem now.” The woman paused.
“If I were you, I would hope and pray they have not sabotaged the self-destruct. If you find that, then you may be able to save yourselves and find peace.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your service, Josie Greenfield.”
“Wait.” I managed to get out. “Wait, no! You can’t just… you can’t leave us! We need help!”
I found myself yelling at nothing when the phone went dead. The dull tone of the dead ringtone was clanging in my ears before footsteps from up above. “Fuck this.” Harry picked up a lead pipe. “They’re still little kids, right? I mean, their head must still be partly kids—- so let’s fucking beat their heads in.”
He noticed something, then, starting forwards towards the mess of files I had left earlier. Harry knelt on the ground and picked up Eli’s file, his eyes wide. But he wasn’t staring at the dates confirming the little boy’s age.
Instead, Harry pointed at the bottom of the file. “I don’t want to freak you out, Josie,” he whispered. Initially, I didn’t know what he was trying to show before I glimpsed notes scrawled at the bottom of the file, followed by a signature. “But I’m pretty sure that is my fucking writing.”
Harry was right.
I pulled the paperwork off of him, flicking through each file before turning my eyes to him. “Who the fuck are you?” I managed to hiss out.
A clanging sound from above broke the tension, and whatever Harry was about to reply with was strangled in his throat. He slammed a hand over his mouth.
“Guys?”
The voice twisted me up inside, threatening to release a shriek from my mouth I had managed to clamp shut.
Teddy.
“Are you down here?” His voice was strained, and had an odd tone to it. “I can’t… I can’t see you.”
…
Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?! It’s been a blur of a week. We’ve managed to stay down here, surviving off of Allison’s rations. Rowan isn’t getting any better. He seems to have stopped mentally de-ageing at the age of maybe six. Harry has spent the last few days trying to get in contact with anyone, but it’s like they are IGNORING US.
I’ve been looking through everything I can find on Project Spearhead, but nothing points to Harry being involved. So. How is his signature all over the files? How is it possible that two friends I thought I knew several days ago, are now complete strangers?
Teddy keeps coming back.
He’s crying out to us.
I think he’s… in pain.
My god, I can’t stand this anymore. Please. CAMP REDWOOD NEEDS HELP.

Trigger warning: Suicide.
I (39M) have been a caretaker for my brother, Justin (33M) since he was 10. I was only 16 when our parents died. I had to take care of the household because my brother was still very little. I did everything for him. He was the apple of my eye. I guess I spoiled him a lot. I never dated that much because I was the breadwinner for my brother. That is until I met Melissa (35F), it was almost 10 years ago. We dated for 2 years. It was great, my brother loved her. One day, I eavesdropping a conversation she was having with her friend. The gist of that conversation was something like her friend was asking about me. Melissa said that she loves me a lot, she loves that I take care of her in every way. But I am pretty average when it comes to having sex. Her friend asked her if she is going to talk to me about it or how is she happy. She told her that her fixture is my brother. She went on to explain how she and Justin have been having an affair for 8 months. She thinks it is justified because she thinks Justin is better in bed than I am. You can imagine how painful it was for me. I went inside the house pretending I didn't hear a thing.
I confronted Justin about it. I know how get him to talk. I pressed this matter after he was denying it. He eventually broke down and said it was the truth. He didn't say anything because he didn't want to hurt me. He and Melissa are in love and wanted to get married but Melissa won't leave me. I was furious. I wanted to beat the shit out of him but I just told him he is dead to me and left. I also kicked out Melissa and she stayed with my brother and his roommates. My brother was banging on my door non-stop. I had to move in with a friend and told everyone to not disclose my location to my brothers. His calls and emails were all the same that he was sorry and he never wanted to hurt me and he will break up. I stopped the bank account (something like a trust fund) that I mad made for him that he can access when he is 25. He was not my brother anymore.
I went into deep depression. I didn't eat or sleep properly. I would have nightmares of my brother and ex laughing at me that I suck in bed. That if I was good enough she would have never left me. It got so bad that once I stood in front of a train track because it was too unbearable for me. Luckily, my friends saved me. I do not have much friends but they were my rock. I stayed with them for a year. I went to therapy, I did group sessions. I had a lot of anxiety regarding intimacy so I didn't date for a long time. My friend encouraged me to try. I did try once with a one night stand but it was bad for both of us. I still go to therapy to this day. But other aspects of my life has improved. I focused more on building new relationships with new people. I went to travel and explore more hobbies. I was living for myself.
I am in a relationship with someone for 3 years now. We are engaged and we are having a kid together. Wendy (32F) is a really nice person. She knows all about my insecurities and problems that I faced because of my brother. She was mature and patient with me. I was able to trust someone enough to be in a relationship. 2 days ago, I got an invitation in my mail about a wedding. And as the title says it was from my brother. He has kept tabs on me from afar and invited me to his wedding with none other than Melissa. Looking at their names doesn't hurt that much now. I feel numb. If it was 8 years ago, I would have a meltdown. I still feel this pain that I cannot be happy for my brother's big day. My fiancé suggests that we shouldn't go and delete the invite.
Edit: I changed my fiance's fake name to her real name. Because her fake name sounds like my ex's fake name here. Also because she is queen. She doesn't need to be disrespected by having a similar name to a witch that drove me to suicide.