Underneath my right arm pit is really sore

TL;DR at bottom.
I (40m) gave my life to Christ nearly 20 years ago. I attended a storefront church which mostly comprised of the pastors family. I had recently become friends with one of his children. Looking back at that part of my life, it was akin to say- Church of John the Baptist. Things were different, but lead the way to my relationship with Christ. Call it "Church-A." Pastor here has since passed away and his children dispersed to different places.

• Things changed for me, growing spiritually and finding my gifts. Through networking I found myself visiting another church where I felt led to join, and all the pieces fell into place. While those pieces fell into place and things progressed great, I allowed sin to manifest. I was single and in my mid-20s, I stuck out like a sore thumb at this church of ~1000. Call it "Church-B" I loved it there. I worked there first as volunteer and then filing a need in one of the ministry departments. While there, I met a young lady in her early 20s, and through a series of sinful events, while engaged, we had premarital sex and she became pregnant. We married prior the baby's birth, but our connection to Church-B was strained. Some showed love, some didn't bother to hide their judgement and our pride got in-between. We moved away, later having another child and our marriage failing; rarely attending any local church, even more rarely visiting Church-B. Eventually, the marriage failed and ended in divorce.
• Fast forwarding several years: I moved back to the area, but did not return to Church-B. I visited a few places. Met someone and joined her church of about ~500. Call it "Church-C." We got married a few years later, moved away but still attend Church-C. Recently I heard someone say, a church should make you feel like you belong before you believe. Though I believe, I've never felt like I belonged. I have given Church-C; or maybe myself; about a year to grow. There's no serving opportunity. No small groups. No connections. No meaningful replenishment and teaching the Word barely scrapes the surface.
  
• Some days, yearning for biblical teaching and spiritual refreshment each week, we visited another local church, and youtube'd another local church when we couldn't leave home. The one we visited we'll call "Church-D" and one that we watch "Church-E." Both are very biblical and community-driven. Church-D is closer to where we anticipate moving at the end of the year. Church-E has a main campus closer to where we live now, and has smaller 'satellite' churches all over our area.
  
• Church-E is now shepherded by the pastor of Church-B. He and many of his staff that followed were/are very familiar with me and my ex-wife. He had an unfruitful encounter with me when the divorce was in progress. It was my fault, and many of his staff is aware of the encounter. His teaching is solid. As is pastor of Church-D.
  
• Church-C just isn't home. I haven't really found alternatives in the area where we plan to return at the end of the year. But as my wife and newborn are looking to me to lead them, as well as my first two children from my first marriage, I need to find the place that I can be the head of my household and have a church community with me. If I go to Church-E, it may be difficult to serve given the staff and senior pastor familiar with my past. I would not blame them, as trust would need to be restored and we haven't had the opportunity to build that back up.
  
• Church-D would be a fresh start. Plain and simple, but I'm not attempting to hide from my sin and the impact it made in my life. I know what the Bible says. I have Christ and His blood covers me. But I am also unsure and could use the suggestions of strangers on the internet to tell me what I haven't seen.
  

TL;DR. I need a church home for my new mixed family, but of the best two options I have right now, one is lead by the pastor who knows about the sin in my life while I was under his previous church leadership. The other church is a fresh start. Both are very sound places of worship and community.

Round 1, Pick 21 - Chop Robinson, DE, Penn State:
NFL: I see Miami using Robinson as a rotational player early on. An A+ athlete, Robinson is a developmental prospect with first-step quickness and explosiveness but needs more consistency.
CBS Sports: A. I love this pick for Miami. He has the best first step in this draft. With a little coaching, he will become a dominant pass rusher. They can also move him around as a joker on their front. Love it.
ESPN: At some point, the Dolphins may have a lot of money tied up in their outside linebackers room. But until then, this could end up being one of the better pass-rush rotations in the NFL. Robinson recorded fewer than 12 sacks in three collegiate seasons, but his physical traits jump off the tape. He has a powerful first step and will ideally fill the rotational role left by Andrew Van Ginkel's departure. Coach Mike McDaniel loves his pass-rushers and he gets an exciting one in Robinson.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Wants his face mask to be one solid piece like Master Shredder.
Round 2, Pick 55 - Patrick Paul, OT, Houston:
NFL: With the offensive tackle ranks significantly thinned, the Dolphins jumped in on Paul after going defense in Round 1. He wasn't my favorite OT prospect this year, with Paul giving me some Josh Jones vibes. His mass and reach are impressive, and he has 44 college starts at left tackle. But if Paul is Terron Armstead's eventual replacement, getting a year to develop his craft, this pick might work out.
CBS Sports: C-. Strange fit because this is one of the least mobile blockers in the class. Mike McDaniel typically prioritizes athleticism along his offensive line. Absolutely enormous with supreme length. Hand placement is very inconsistent. Gets outside the shoulder pads. Very experienced. Hits on a need.
ESPN: Offensive tackle is not an immediate need with Terron Armstead and Austin Jackson set to reprise their roles at left and right tackle, respectively. But Armstead is expected to retire after this season, and Miami had no immediate successor on its roster -- until Friday night. Paul has enviable size for the position at 6-foot-7, 330 pounds and made 44 starts for Houston at left tackle. He also registered the longest arm length of any tackle at the combine -- a trait which the Dolphins' staff loves. He's not a finished product but the opportunity to develop behind Armstead for at least a year should prove invaluable for a player the Dolphins couldn't hide their excitement about when speaking to the media after the pick.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Did not manage to escape being drafted by the Browns. Oof.
Round 4, Pick 120 - Jaylen Wright, RB, Tennessee:
NFL: The Dolphins love speed, and Wright has plenty of it. He might be able to develop into Raheem Mostert's eventual replacement and a good complement to De'Von Achane. Wright has a lot of tread left on his tires but must prove he can exercise better ball security to earn that role.
CBS Sports: B-. More speed to Miami’s offense. Weight ran through some gaping holes at Tennessee but has high-end acceleration once he’s in the open field. Elusiveness is good, not amazing. Slashing style as opposed to jump-cut back. Would’ve liked to see another position addressed here, but Mike McDaniel will be happy.
ESPN: The Dolphins love speed, and Wright ran the 40-yard dash in 4.38 seconds. He also averaged 7.4 yards per carry last season for the Volunteers. He is yet another home-run hitter on an offense that already features De’Von Achane, Tyreek Hill, Jaylen Waddle and Raheem Mostert. Wright also caught 22 passes for 141 yards last season, teasing potential as a pass-catcher at the next level.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Is excited for the re-release of the 1999 classic, THE MUMMY.
Round 5, Pick 158 - Mohamed Kamara, DE, Colorado State:
NFL: The final player in my last top 100 list, Kamara will have to make it in spite of his poor length, but his hell-on-wheels style and ball-hunting ability make him a fun guy to root for. Watch the Colorado game for a sneak peek of how disruptive he can be.
CBS Sports: B. Smaller EDGE who converts speed to power consistently because of low center of gravity. Burst is there as is his dip/bend around the corner. Nice collection of pass-rush moves. Gets overwhelmed a lot because of his lack of size and length. Turns 25 in his rookie season.
ESPN: Kamara was highly productive in college with 29.5 career sacks, including 13 in his final season at Colorado State. He also recorded 45.5 tackles for a loss, proving he can be a disruptive presence in the front seven. The Dolphins needed to rebuild their depth at pass rusher and may have found a steal with Kamara in the fifth round.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Has a large collection of mini farm animals made of cheese in his dorm.
Round 6, Pick 184 - Malik Washington, WR, Virginia:
NFL: He wasn't going to be for every team because of his smaller frame, but in my opinion, Washington should have been drafted prior to this. His speed makes him a perfect fit in Miami, as Washington could be an ideal fourth or fifth receiver and return threat.
CBS Sports: A+. Electric, short not small wideout who was the heartbeat of the Virginia offense after transferring from Northwestern. Wins underneath with explosion and powerful lower half gives him high-end contact balance. Won’t be huge separator on full route tree. Leaper who can find it in the air. Good, not great speed. Niche type but a lot of fun.
ESPN: Washington led the nation in catches last season with 110, turning them into 1,426 yards and nine touchdowns as the focal point of Virginia's offense. He won't quite play the same role in Miami, but he's a dynamic receiver who could earn reps with a strong summer. The Dolphins' third receiver job is up for the taking.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: He’s convinced he could play in the league today with a leather helmet.
Round 6, Pick 198 - Patrick McMorris, S, California:
NFL: McMorris opened eyes a few years ago with a four-INT season at San Diego State and finished with a solid final year at Cal, but his average traits could always hold him back from starting duty.
CBS Sports: C. Checks size and physicality boxes but doesn’t met normal athleticism or tackling-reliability requirements. Multi-positional usage in college will help him learn the playbook in the NFL. Surprising selection.
ESPN: The Dolphins signed Jordan Poyer this offseason after losing Brandon Jones to free agency, but McMorris adds depth to the position and a potential running mate for Jevon Holland in the future. McMorris recorded 90 tackles in two separate seasons at San Diego and Cal, and is a versatile defensive back who can play multiple positions.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Shocked at how much it costs to rent a jet ski nowadays.
Round 7, Pick 241 - Tahj Washington, WR, USC:
NFL: Washington's small frame likely took him off some boards, especially after he ran in the 4.5 range in the 40. But his big-play production on offense and special teams value cannot be overlooked. Washington might be the type who finds a way to hang around in the league.
CBS Sports: B+. Another springy slot option for Tua Tagovailoa. Nifty after the catch and plays with fun lateral bounce although he doesn’t appear to be top-level athlete. Can uncover underneath and has solid hands. Tiny frame and little catch radius.
ESPN: The Dolphins doubled up on wide receivers and took Washington, who recorded at least 600 receiving yards in four straight seasons. He has a similar physical build as Dolphins wide receiver Jaylen Waddle at 5-foot-10, 175 pounds, and is a solid route runner. His best bet to make the team is likely by establishing himself of special teams.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Thinks sneaker heads are crazy when you can get shoes at Target for like $15.

Hi all,
I love my beard, but I struggle to maintain a proper beardcare regimen, a combination of ADHD and an ambulance service shift pattern. I wash manage to wash it in the shower, but it is very coarse and scratchy the the point it spikes my wife when kissing and causes painful burning rashes on her skin when we are intimate. I also struggle with seborrhoeic dermatitis underneath my beard and hair sometimes - a lot of products try my skin out and makes it flaky and sore. I have products for my scalp that work, but on my face it makes it worse.
Any advice can you give? Even when I shave it for her she really struggles with sandpaper and its affecting our intimacy and relationship, even though we both like the way it looks. Any advice can you give? Happy to try products, but please bear in mind my lifestyle as mentioned above.
Thanks in advance

Seriously, I can’t count the number of people who say they would win in a street fight just because they’re big. I can guarantee you that 99% of these people would get their ass handed to them against a smaller guy who is highly trained in martial arts. Except for me. I’m literally built like a tank. I’m 5’10 and 200 pounds, ain’t no fucking way anyone can beat my ass in a street fight. I mean sure, they might win a boxing match or a BJJ match because of their skills, but in a real fight, you best believe your ass I’m picking them up and slamming them on the ground. I’m not one of those big guys who just hides behind a screen acting tough, I can actually back up my fighting skills. And for the record, I do have martial arts training. Although I don’t do it consistently, I will always remember the basics. Seriously, like, you really think you can pull a flying arm bar on me? That shit only works in the movies. I can literally throw you on the ground with one hand. I don’t give a fuck how much training you have, you’re smaller than me, and you aren’t beating my ass. The reason you see all those big guys losing street fights against small guys is because they are so slow and uncoordinated. But I’m not like that. My fighter instincts will kick in and nobody will be able to pull any of that fancy mortal kombat shit on me. I’m not saying martial arts are useless; they can definitely help you beat a bigger guy, but they won’t help you beat me. You’re better off running away like a little bitch to your mommy. That’s right, no amount of martial arts training can save you now. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.

Well a couple weeks ago I found a more affordable GT-2000 listed on the Bay. It was a little “broken in” the plinth need touched up, and the tone arm had some residue to clean off. It was also stated in the description that the dust cover was cracked and would likely be further damaged during shipping. But it had all its parts and pieces even the whole antiskate assembly.
I decided if I got it at a low enough price, none of that would matter. I could have a custom dust cover made, and a few nicks and scuffs didn’t bother me. The GT-2000 was already one of the lowest prices on the site, but it had a make an offer button…so I did. I offered 1200 shipped, 200 less than listed. Figured they’d counter offer something higher.
Well they counter offered at the same price, but sent a message saying “only buy if you can pay immediately, it’s for sale locally as well”. No worries, had the money set aside so I accepted the offer, knowing it may get a rough treatment coming from Japan to the US. I messaged the seller and requested that they take extra care shipping it overseas. The seller agreed, I was optimistic.
The seller provided tracking data and let me know they shipped in two boxes (awesome, the platter weighs a ton so separating the two was a great sign).
Now the sad part…yesterday the first package arrived, my wife had moved it inside after taking a picture of the delivery condition…it was bad…like “I just shit my pants in the middle of a very important job interview bad. It was crumpled, the corners were torn out and several tears in the box sides were evident. I don’t think you could abuse a package more, it looked like someone drove over it and backed up a few times to make sure they got it good. I’m my head I’m just repeating “please be the platter”. It wasn’t.
The dust cover was the first piece revealed after opening and pulling back the packaging, or rather was the first few pieces, it was shattered in many pieces. Well shit, I already knew that was going to be the case. I pull back more packaging and start to see the plinth…it’s covered in splinters from the veneer breaking off, damn, well that’s cosmetic.
Once I finished pulling back the bubble wrap I see the tonearm…well it was s-shaped to begin with but now it’s s-shaped in multiple directions. It had a significant down turn right after the arm rest. So it’s a goner unless I want to pay another $800 usd for a tonearm.
I’ve contacted the seller, I let him know the bad news and offered that if he can find another YA-39 tonearm and send it, or refund about $600 for me to buy one on my own, I would accept that. If that can’t be worked out I will have to return it (it’s about 30kg of total weight, such a beast!) so I imagine that isn’t cheap return shipping for the seller. I have until mid June to file a return, so maybe something can be worked out, but I doubt it.
The worst part is, now that I’ve handled it and seen it in person…I want one like 10x more badly than I originally did. It’s so awesome, so sexy, and soooooo big (sure, sure, size doesn’t matter or whatever).
Dammit, I doubt I’ll be able to find another working GT-2000 close to that price, and I really wanted a table for my man cave that would look awesome and play awesome. Even if I save up for a while longer, I’m not sure I can justify the likely$2k it would cost to buy one that is comparable, $1200 was already pushing what I was comfortable paying for a decent table.
But damn I really want one.

Hello people,
I am currently playing a second time through the campaign on hard difficulty and since for my first go I got very frustrated from times to times and shared some (I think Helms Deep and Minas Tirith) in this sub and got questions I couldn't really answer since it was too long ago, I thought I recollect my impressions from my second playthrough as some things have changed (at least it feels like). In general: It got easier.
Moria: Very straight forward. Seperated hobbits and actual heroes into 2 groups and started clearing out goblins and skipping level ups. Once an actual hero got to lvl 2 I picked up a level-up getting them to lvl 3. Fittingly there are 5 hidden level ups and 5 actual heroes. So by the end of the level everyone who matters was lvl 3. Yes I hate the hobbits go sue me.
Lorien: Cloak the hobbits, proceed with heroes. Kill the Lumber mill in the bottom left corner, bring the hobbits. Enter Lorien and build 2 Archery Ranges. The hobbits are send to collect the treasure while everyone else is gathering at the north-western bridge. The hobbits naturally arrive at the norther bridge where they will cross and kill the lumber mill. Constantly produce elven archers and keep an eye on gimli, aragorn and boromir as they tend to get themselves isolated at the front without archer support. just get them back and heal if nessesary. between waves the hobbits go and kill the third lumber mill in the north and then run from chasing lumber jacks and orcs. Either kite them to your archers (go back around, don't try to get past a wave) or just enaugh so you can cloak them. once cloaked/save cloak them and forget about them. Southern bridge will be attacked next, so reposition to the south, after which reposition to the north. Freewin.
Rohan:
Your priorities should be: +Command, +Special, +Resources. Use the early missions, which are very easy, to max out on Rohirrim and get all upgrades asap. You should be able to train new units after every mission (as you get +command) which lets you recruit rohirrim archers and sell them at the main building to level your stables to get shields. At around Fangorn the missions will get more tricky as the enemy will have large numbers of spears with improved weapons. Don't charge them if possible. Kite them to a base with towers or just outrun them. You are usually not in a hurry. You are in a hurry tho in 2 missions where "Isengard will arrive in X minutes" - you don't want that. The army that arrives is strong and has wargs and spears which will decimate your Rohirrim. You want your Rohirrim to level from mission to mission as lvl 2 Rohirrim will not be sufficient.
Helms Deep:
There is no use in defending the lower Wall. I sell everything, archers and peasants in the main building and build Elves exclusively (unlucked once the elves arrive). Station them on the third ring at the very top. Leave all gates open, don't close them. Gather as much resources as possible while upgrading your elves with standards and fire arrows. Ignore improved weapons. Use the Rohirrim and Theoden and Eowyn to safe the peasents, let them gather the treasure and sell them. Defend the right gate on the 3rd wall with gimli, aragorn and boromir. Keep them close so they always have archer support.
The enemy will attack soon and flood the first wall (the one you're supposed to protect) but some of them will be diverted to the open gate. Your elves will kill a constant but slow stream of enemies as they trickle through. Close the lower gate from time to time to waste the enemies time as they will walk towards the ladders to climb them. Just open the gate again when rams arrive. The rams will walk through the opened gate and kill the farmsteads on the lower leve. Your archers will take care of them.
At some point ladders will gather up infront of the game unable to pass through. At that point keep the gate open at all times as ballistas will appear. They wont be able to get past the ladders and get stuck. Like this your losses are kept to a minum. From here on out it's basically just holding out. Once Eomer is ready to be called wait. Another wave will trigger shortly after. Once that has passed/reached your first gate call Eomer. Mount Gandalf and charge the first base with Eomers "For the King" ability. your losses will be minimal. After that turn around and charge whatever is left inside the keep and reunite with Theoden. Heal up on a well, maybe wait out another wave and then ride out. Eomers and Theodens abilities make your riders very tanky so you can charge the second base. After that's done retreat into the keep. No more waves will be spawned. Use your heroes to clear up the map like this you can level them up some more.
Isengard:
Became irrelevant, total cake walk. Before fire arrows where a real issue as they just DELETED ents so you had to cheese the Mission. But now, you are so strong no cheese needed. Defend the first attack, clear the goblins and the troll cave, build up ents. Walk around the base and bombard the urukhai pits and any fire-archer troops you can find while 2-3 ents defend while standing in the puddle outside the gate. Then just go in and kill everything. manouver burning ents into puddles and use heal at your own disgretion. Keep Treebeard alive and mount the Hobbits or cloak them.
Ithilien: Build only rangers and equip them with fire arrows. Try to keep everyone alive, you don't want to lose entire battalions. In the south there are a few rangers and a catapult. You can clear a big deal of the enemy camp on the middle plateau with that catapult. Aswell as the Oliphaunt in the top right corner. It will try to attack your catapult but the invisible wall makes it impossible. You can reach the Oliphaunt with your catapult from a cliff spot on the right side of the walkable map. Just area bombard where the oliphaunt stands it will return after charging you after each hit. Once that is done and the middle plateau is cleared position in front of the ramp and use the Terrain ability (that green circle where your units get boni) as close to the top right base as possible. This will trigger the orcs and trolls to attack you. Then proceed to bombard the bottom right base with your catapult and take it down with your rangers. Just take them to the topright base you cleared already and raze it to the ground. this should work ideally before mordor arrives so you can save most of your rangers.
After that you can pick missions again, and again: Command->Special->Resource.
Be careful in Dunharg, there are a lot of spears on that map and it is rather small. Striking fast is the key to victory although I lost some riders.
Osgiliath:
Then the defence of Osgiliath. This mission got a lot easier but is still tricky.
Right at the start move 2 catapults south aswell as the tower guard. Retreat with your rangers so they don't die to the attacking catapult (your otwer guard in the south will most likely be dead already). Build up the base in the south and kill the catapult with towerguard and your own catapults. Focus on Smithies only, build a well in the southern base. Man the towers with rangers and keep towerguard in defensive formation as a meatshield. Don't advance over the bridges. Maybe I got lucky but the Ai ignored the southern bridge from there on and only send waves down the middle and north. The north can easily be defended with 3 Ranger battalions and 1 towerguard.
From there on build your army up: A few tower guard are enaugh (I guess 6-8 batallions) rest Rangers. Get all upgrades from all buildings. Once your army is maxed call faramir, not earlier. You'll need the additional firepower. I used that time to upgrade the ithilien rangers that haven't been upgraded yet and leveled Faramir on the middle bridge to 5 for the +50% armor leadership bonus. I attacked the catapults one by one luring them into death while I also started building all towers in the southern base. Then I gathered everything except for 2 Ranger battalions and 1 Towerguard which stayed north and crossed the river. This will trigger nazgul to attack. Kill them asap. Establish a footholt on the other side and start taking down the base right across the river. Mount Faramir so he can dispatch any catapults quickly. Once that base is fully destroyed a large and very powerful (lvl 4+ Trolls, Oliphaunts and Orcs) will spawn. This is true for every base the enemy has. Therefor I gather all of my troops around the center of the base, once it's cleared I build a base of my own. the entrance will be to the southwest where I will build Towers at the entrance and on each spot while building a statue and a well in the back. The towers in the front will be cleared almost instantly, just rebuild them that gives your rangers till to kill anything that moves. Expect some heavy losses. Rebuild your army and kill everything but one small tower in the bottom right base. then go topside and do the same for the north base. Kill the manned towers with your catapults. Then kill both bases simultaneously and the mordor army will not spawn for base 2 and 3.
Kankra's Lair: Just walk around with Sam and kill all spiders. Don't free any soldiers. In the top left there is a troll which is too strong for Sam. So you let him throw rocks at it, until he is one hit away from death. use heal and wait until his health drops below half (after his health turns yellow one more hit) then activate the light. Once the troll flees just cloak. Wait for Sam to heal up and heal come off cooldown. Repeat this once and on your third fight with the troll sam should win. Proceed to clear everything with sam until you can only move south-east. Go and free all soldiers. Proceed with sam, kill spiders and free soldiers with soldiers. In the south there is a large arena. Gather all soldiers and tank Kankra with Sam. You will need to heal here so Sam doesn't die. Kankra runs and small spiders swarm. Your soldiers will take care of them. Kankra returns and who she focuses is random afaik so try to kite soldiers she targets away so your losses are not too big. After kankra is defeated clear the rest of the caves, gather treasure and free soldiers and gather at the exit. There is a small base in the bottom right corner guarded by some orcs. Kill them. Build the base and build 3 Smithies and a Farmstead where the Lumber Mill stood. Wait until your smithies reach Lvl 2 then research all upgrades. After the upgrades went through demolish 2 Smithies. Build an archery range and a barracks. Recruit 3 swordsmen battalions from the baracks so it reaches lvl 2. Take them and the rescued soldiers and let them die at the enemy base. They're all worthless. Recruit 12 batallions of Tower guard and 12 batallions of Archers. Fully upgrade them. Delete the archery range and build another Smithy. Throw your army against the enemy base. Once you breach the walls mordor will send a strong army so your first army is most likely lost. I managed to kill a lot by positioning towerguard wisely but in the end it wasn't enaugh. The army wont cross the bridge tho so you can just save up and build 12 Tower guard. Demolish the barracks and build an Archery Range. Build 12 Archer Battallions, full upgrade everyone. This force should be enaugh to overwhelm the defenders.
After that is Minas Tirith. That's where I am right now and I will update in the coming days once I complete it.
General: So far I feel like my troops survive more easily, the enemy armies aren't as punishing as before but I had to resort to cheesy strategies in Helms Deep and expect to cheese Minas Tirith aswell. This playthrough is therefor less challenging and usually I prefer more challenging games even or especiall when it frustrates me. But the changes just made me cheese less and restart less because I accidentally wiped 8 batallions of Rohirrim on a single urukhai spear batallion.
Mistakes I made so far: I didn't really level Gandalf in Fangorn or Helms Deep so I wont have access to lvl 10 in minas tirith. Wihch might be an issue.
I lost some Rohirrim in Dunharg which I couldn't really replenish.
(Maybe) bought the Rohirrim special power and am at 11 Special points with Anduril and Army of the dead missing.
Speaking of which: Special abilities, which I took and why:
Heal: Best ability in the game.
Bonus dmg for heroes: Worth the 1 point.
Gandalf the White: Grey is just useless.
Green-Land-Thingy: Handy in some missions.
Rohirrim: Helped me out at some later missions as fodder to throw into dangerous troops like spears and keep them occupied.
Anduril (not bought yet): Stronger Aragorn is always good, but it is a prereq for Army of the Dead.
Army of the Dead: Is good.
Eagles and Ents are not worth the points you can't use them in most missions. Elves were always underwhelming for me, they deal little to no damage, their range is kinda meh and their melee capabilities suck as in those missions you can use them the enemy has leveled and upgraded orcs/urukhai which delete the elves. Upgraded Peasents: The same reason I don't level Hobits. Sure you can take your time to do so but what's the point?

1. Around 8 years old, I dressed up in a ballet outfit with my sister and her next-door neighbour girlfriend. Pictures included (thanks, mom).
   
2. Around 10 years old, I prayed every single night for God (sad tears included) to make me a woman. I was developing "breasts," even though the rest of my body was slim. I started to see myself as "different " than the rest of my friends. I grew up in a predominantly female-led household and saw the world through a sensitive, soft lense. I was becoming the caregiver, maternal role in my friendship circle.
   
3. Around the age of 12, I used to play "bum doctor" with best friend (involved pulling down pants and bending over, while the other pretended to give a needle). I found myself initiating this game a good deal more than him. At this age, there was still a young naivete to this, and I wasn't aware it was "strange."
   
4. Around age 14, "on a dare," I dressed up with (a different) best friends mother's clothing. His mother was away at work, we hand-picked items, right down to the underwear, and got changed together in the bathroom. I changed behind the shower curtain as I was too shy and very embarrassed how my breasts completely filled out the (lactating) bra.
   
5. Around this time, I started to experiment with dressing up in my mother's nighties, as well as both of my sisters clothes. There were little pockets of free time to do this, and everything just felt "right"; like all the dots connected.
   
6. Around age 16, I started getting into porn. I was a late developer, as far as sex drive goes. Started off as regular guy/girl porn, then I quickly became interested in the "anal" category. I found myself very turned on by the cock scenes, but not the rest of the male body. I was attracted to the female body, but in a way that I wanted to "be" the female. The idea of making love to a man put my stomach into knots.
   
7. This "kink" grew and grew, unbeknownst to my family and friends. I was a very late developer, and all my friends had girlfriend's around this time.
   
8. I discovered my sisters had toys, and became rather infatuated with them (insert shameful secrets). The idea of being in a submissive role, the idea of a "male" becoming the one who receives - rather than gives, ignited a very deep switch in my brain. It just felt right, natural.
   
9. I started to become brave enough to buy porn DVD's from the local convenience store - but was very embarrassed, as the same owner basically watched me grow up from a kid to this point. I started to buy exclusively DVD's that featured anal. Finally, it took everything in me to one day buy a trans DVD, and I made a pathetically awkward excuse to the owner of how I was buying it as a joke birthday present for my friend. Oh, the shame.
   
10. I started watching the DVD's, imagining myself as the trans women, and essentially worshipping cock, worshipping men. I had little "sexual" desire at this point to be a male role with any future girlfriends. Still, the idea of men's abs, lips, thighs, arms, butt, etc still turned my stomach into knots. Although, in the very very back of my mind, I think I was starting to consider it.
    
11. I discovered Marijuana and beer around the age of 18, and would cut loose at my friends house (the same friend that I tried his mother's clothes on). He would occasionally put on porn (on mute) later into the evening, and meanwhile we were listening to music / playing guitar, etc. I started to sexually become interested in him. It was slways kind of there, but now with the porn playing, and being able to feel those feelings at the same time, I became sort of turned on by him. More so the idea of getting high and then becoming his submissive plaything. There were moments where iI could tell he was imagining the same, but - spoler alert - I never did (as i was way too shy to pursue it) but that only made the infatuation to be a submissive plaything for men even stronger.
    
12. I started talking to a girl online, and after almost four years of talking and developing a friendship, we decided to meet. I was 23 years old at this point. Fast forward, I became her boyfriend and when we were camping, she had just started showing signs of spotting (on her period), so we were just playing around - I was very nervous, especially because i was expected to be the dominant one. Next thing I knew, I had lost my virginity to her. But here's the kicker - it was from anal.
    
13. Curiosity got the best of me, and I started to seek out the validation and attention from men online. I accidentally left my browser open one night, and she saw everything. There was a big blow up, and she was calling me gay. We were both living at my parents' house at the time, and I'm pretty sure they must have overheard it. We made amends, and I confessed to her that I think I was bi and just needed to understand better. We played around with a strap-on quite often, and I also discovered chastity. Chastity became something of an excuse to not have to be the dominant one. I honestly felt more natural being the one receiving anal vs. penetrating a woman. We ended up mutually breaking up when I was 28. We are still best friends to this day.
    
14. I started to think of the man's body, beyond just his penis. I don't know if it was just due to exposure in films, but the right kind of stomach (slightly hairy, soft, but strong "dad" abs) as well as strong hands and forearms started to turn me on. When I would see older men in real life with any of these attributes, a switch went off in my head and I realized that I was turned on by them, and would start to imagine more than just sucking his cock, or receiving anal. I would imagine first kissing his stomach as a show of affection or adoration before taking him into my mouth. I was starting to imagine holding onto his strong arms and pulling his body closer, deeper into me. Maybe softly kissing his fingers, even playfully biting them.
    
15. I use reddit now, as a means to try and find Mr. Right. It is sort of an unwritten understanding with my partner now that I "explore" myself on reddit, but I don't share any of the details. Perhaps there will come a stage where I'm more open about it.
    
16. Sometimes, I can imagine myself in a gay relationship, but there would be very specific parameters - I would be the submissive one. I would be expected to present as femme as often as possible. I would be the stereotypical "housewife" (cooking, baking, cleaning, being sexually ready at all times, nurturing the husband). Ideally, I would be in chastity 24/7, or have complete disregard toward my penis until it just learns to remain soft on its own (maybe still getting nocturnal emmisions at night). The idea of worshipping and submitting to his body gives me butterflies. And this is a BIG one --- if he knows how to treat me and our chemistry is right, I would maybe even allow him to kiss me.
    
17. As far as porn goes, I now watch different genres for different purposes. Lesbian porn: Imagining myself as one of the "girls" and the other girl is just like me. Genetically born a male, but identifies strongly as a "girl". I imagine that we are playing while Daddy is away or that we're just playing for his amusement. He never let's us orgasm unless he tells us to, and he makes sure that there is a strong, imprinting, humiliating aspect to our orgasms - so that each time, we go deeper into our roles and can no longer deny who we are. Trans porn: obviously imagining myself as the trans pornstar, being taken forcefully by a real man. Having no Fouts about my sexuality. Hypno porn: This pushes me past any of my self-doubt and encourages me to not only drop my defenses but also to accept my fate. Everything I fear, I learn to entertain and even embrace when I'm watching the right kind of hypno porn. Finally gay porn: if I have refrained from cumming for over two months, then my mind really goes to that "desperate" place. Ideally, one man is the Dom, and is masculine, but cute. Not the kind of man who "acts" manly, but just naturally is - confident, smart, strong, manipulative. The other male is the more femme type, but not overly. Still a male (not trans) - soft, gentle, body made to receive, ass is more like a pussy, no hesitation to kiss, to play with his own soft cock, to suck his own fingers while looking at his Daddy in the eyes, gripping onto his Daddys hips, pulling him closer, moaning his name, fully accepting his place.
    

Going forward: I would love to have both a female and male partner. Essentially, to be a cuck to my wife, and only allowed to please her with my mouth - never with my penis (unless after an instructed orgasm, knowing that I'd be too soft to be able to penetrate her). I would only be able to make love to him, and my wife would enjoy watching, and would taunt me, encouraging me to go deeper each time. I would sleep with her each night, wearing something soft and silky, and we may kiss or fondle, or she may get me to eat her out (even if Daddy's cum is inside her still). Some nights she would either sneak off into Daddy's bedroom to sleep with him, or just openly sleep there, leaving me in bed alone some nights. I would hear them making love, but I would be locked in chastity, unable to cum. I'm encouraged at all times to play with my ass (aka my pussy) with either my fingers, a dildo or butt plug, so as to keep me constantly ready and make sure I'm always aroused - and aware of feeling empty if something isn't inside of me at any given time.
I want to be in a safe, loving, encouraging and open relationship where everyone is happy and their needs are met. I'm not sure if I'd classify myself as bi or gay. Definitely not straight. The idea of exploring these limits are what gives me life.

My 7 year old kitty has suddenly developed a limp in her front right paw.
I feed her her wet food every night at 9PM and when my alarm went off, she stayed sleeping/laying in her bed - which is very unusual as she's usually harassing me for a full hour before the dinner alarm goes off. When I got up to go downstairs she sort of wiggled her paws around while looking at me but didn't get up. I thought she was just being sleepy so I carried her downstairs, but when I put her down I noticed she wasn't putting any weight on her front right leg.
I tried to call her over to her food dish (with the wet food in the dish) to see her walk and I can see she's a bit wobbly from the limp. We gently poked around her paw, arm, and shoulder but she didn't vocally express to be in any pain as we did so. She then ate a bite or two of her wet food and was done. She didn't seem to want to walk back up the stairs so I carried her back up to her bed, where she lay really limp and lethargic in my arms (she put the weight of her whole head on my shoulder).
It's evening here and assuming she's the same tomorrow I'll take her to the vet first thing in the AM, but am wondering if anyone has experienced anything similar so I can be sure the vet checks for all options? I'm very worried about her - especially given that she's not interested in her beloved wet food.
She's otherwise always been happy, healthy, and is up to date on all vaccinations, etc.

A few months ago a someone parked their car in my neighborhood right in front of my house, My neighborhood is right next to a highschool so we get a lot of cars parking there each day but this car was left there for about 3 weeks and had not moved. Its always a struggle finding street parking since we live near a highschool and this car was taking up valuable space. I spoke to a few of the neighbors and they all said it was not theirs. It got really dirty and started becoming an eye sore so I decided to call 1-800-abandoned. After a week they marked one of the tires, then a week after that it was gone. I assume they towed it since it was gone very early in the morning and I heard a tow truck early in the morning. Anyways about a month has gone by and now the car is back in the same EXACT spot, but now it is totally spotless like someone detailed it. Its been about 4 days since it was parked and it has not moved. One strange thing about it is that it has dealer plates. (the metal plates that say DLR) which means it belongs to a used car dealer. Its a 2012 BMW 7 series if that's relevant. Has anyone else experienced anything like this? Any advice would be great thank you.

Disclaimer: This is another one of my epic novels. Consider yourself warned.
Rule #1: Don't tell anyone at work. Rule #2: Don't write about work.
Somehow the boss and I got onto the topic of protein the other day... one thing lead to another... and before I could stop my lips, they spilled the tea. I at least managed to leave the MJ part out. Admittedly, it felt a bit like lying to the priest in the confessional (wouldn't be the first time that's happened)... except, this was on Zoom and we could see each other's faces.
Fortunately, I've lost enough weight now that the revelation was met with a raised eyebrow and a "WOW!" rather than the more typical.. "Really? Again? Until when? Lunchtime?". He's seen this rodeo before - more than a few times - so I really couldn't have blamed him if that would've been his response.
So far, he's been right EVERY. TIME.
And then he asked what my goal weight was. I should've known better.
"What? No! That's too much. You're such a big girl!"
Yes... Yes I am... but recent discoveries would indicate otherwise. (see my post EVERYDAY IS AN ADVENTURE for more information)
My goal weight is... ambitious.
While I would be the first to admit that my goal weight seems rather far fetched, based on my current weight. I didn't just pull it out of thin air. It was important to me that I set a goal that was anchored to something tangible - even if it seemed ambitious.
So, just before I started MJ in January 2024, I had a DEXA scan done. If you're not familiar with what a DEXA scan is, in the most simplest of terms, it's essentially a low radiation x-ray that scans your entire body and will calculate your body composition. You're provided with a report that will outline for you how much bone you have, how much lean mass you have (meaning muscle, connective tissue, organs, etc.), and how much fat you have. It takes it even one step further and provide a reasonable estimate of how much subaqueous fat you have (the annoying but tolerable fat) versus the amount of visceral fat you have (the evil fat twin you'd gladly give up for adoption).
So, knowing what my CURRENT lean body mass is under this fluffy quilt I walk around in, I could use that information to figure out what my "ideal" weight should be. How did I do that? Well, LEAN BODY MASS + 24% BODY FAT. Why 24%? Well, based on what I could estimate from guidelines online, 24% seemed to fit the mid-range of what would be considered 'healthy' for a woman of my age and height. So with a little basic math, I came to a number that is now my goal weight.
And yes, I'm perfectly prepared to settle on a much higher weight if, somewhere along this journey I discover a point where I'm actually comfortable in my own skin <-- Ha! Ha! That would be a first!
Plus, thanks to this subreddit, there is at least one person out there that started at a similar weight to me, same height as me, and is maintaining her weight within a range I had calculate. And she has the pictures to prove it! So, there is evidence that my end game is not entirely a made up fantasy. Thankfully, Cautious-Freedom-199 has been very open in sharing her personal journey, and it is her willingness and courage to share this part of herself that has made it possible for me to even imagine the possibilities.
So why am I having to defend myself?
Well, it's human nature.... and I have to keep reminding myself of that. Everyone will always have an opinion about something. We all do it. But what is important, is to recognize the intent. The intention, in this case, was not to harm me or ill will. Clearly, he has a point of reference, that he can relate to. And the number I stated, didn't align with his point of reference. And that's okay.
But still... suddenly I found myself having to justify my goal weight to him. A number, I'm not even convinced myself is based in reality. While I'm cautiously optimistic about the future, there's still a big part of me that has seated herself on the sidelines with her giant bowl of popcorn and strawberry twizzlers, keeping herself entertained with all of the replays of past colossal failures, while she waits, with eager anticipation, for the latest feature failure to premier.
My saving grace is that I'm a little bit of a nerd. I research the most mundane random curiosities, just for entertainment purposes - and also to help inform myself. Health, nutrition, weight loss all happen to be some of the mundane random curiosities I've obsessed over - for MANY YEARS. All in an effort to try and understand where all these little f*** fat cells came from, why they picked MY BODY of all places, and why every other cell in my body knows to DIE - skin cells die... brain cells die... muscle cells die... but for some reason, these fat little f*** fat cells convinced God to grant them eternal life. And with my luck, these little f*** will end up following me into the afterlife and I'll be fat there too - for eternity. My point is, when I find myself in situations like this, talking to someone who knows less about the topic at hand than I do... my super power is to literally bury them with information. More than they ever would want to know. And I don't stop, until they BEG me to.
Credibility is King!
If you're going to put any part of yourself out there, it pays to arm yourself with a few fun facts and have some tangible evidence to back up your rationalization, AND present in a way that is relatable to the personal your talking to. Nothing lends more credibility to what you're saying than sounding like the leading authority. In other words, it's hard to argue with someone who knows their shit. So when I explained how I came up with my goal weight, whether he agreed with it or not, it didn't matter. He could see that there was a methodology behind it, it was based on facts, and presented in a way that allowed him to understand there was strong logical evidence to support that number.
While this won't work in every situation - some people are just an ignorant stick in the mud - and you can't fix stupid, so don't waste your time even trying. Usually, if your audience is of reasonable intelligence and reasonably open-minded, and capable of having a respectful and rational discussion, then you at least have a fighting chance that they'll recognize that whatever your perspective is, has merit and isn't just complete bullshit. They may still chose to disagree - and that's okay. It's not your job to convince anyone that you're right and they're wrong. And so long as everyone agrees to respectfully disagree and leave it at that - there's nothing wrong with it.
Only time will tell....
He could actually be right.
I certainly don't know if I'm right.
And it doesn't matter.
But there are boundaries.
I did leave a key detail out of my discussion with him. Mounjaro. That was not by accident. And that's because I know there is a public perception of GLP-1 medications that is very misguided and misinformed and it is not a mountain I'm prepared to die on anytime soon. I don't know if he's even heard of these medications. It's quite possible he knows nothing about them. But it doesn't matter. This is a small detail I choose to keep close to my chest. Maybe, once I've reached my goal weight, I'll be more open about it. But no sooner than that, and it may well remain something that is on a 'need to know basis only' and most people won't ever need to know.
One thing I know for sure, and has proven itself time and time again, is that someone who has never had a significant weight problem their entire life CANNOT possibly relate to someone who has. They cannot process the distinction. They equate their struggles to lose 10-20-30 lbs to be the same as someone trying to lose 100-200-300 lbs. It's NOT the same. It's a different war on a different battle field with different rules. And I've learned that it's a losing battle to try and convince anyone just how different it is.
There was a podcast I recently watched on YouTube on PeterAttiaMD 's channel talking with Layne Norton. Layne explains why two people - one who has been lean their whole life - the other, fat their whole life - can both try to lose 20lbs and how the deck is stacked against the fat person vs. the lean person. I don't recall the specifics off hand and don't want misquote - but if this is of interest then maybe hunt through those interviews. If I can find it - I'll post it in the comments. But it was definitely an Aha! moment for me when he explained it. Sometimes, you hear someone explain the science and you suddenly feel vindicated.
So how did my conversation end with the boss?
Well, it ended with him asking me how many calories he should be eating per day, how much protein he should have, and then me calculating out his TDEE, caloric target, and macro ratios so that he can start on his own weight loss journey tomorrow. 😉
THE END.
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I've had a weird issue for a while where I just can't revise but I never really tried to focus on how I feel until just now, whenever I need to revise via reading through notes/ revision guides I get a really weird feeling that makes me want to stop, for example right now I'm trying to revise maths statistics and mechanics and I'm currently reading through the revision guide to remember how to do everything. However, I wanna stop and do something else that isn't revision because I've got a tight feeling in my throat/ chest area, my muscles in one of my arms is aching in a weird way, and I feel the need to built my cheek, I genuinely feel like doing nothing is better than revising right now and I don't know why but this has been and issue for me for a while, how do I fix this?

This is the first time I have had a truly negative experience with inlaws (I’ve been lucky I know), And maybe im out of line somewhere but its been weighing heavy on me for a while now. Warning this is very long im sorry!
Me and my bf have been living together for a year now and our SIL and my bfs brother are neighours. When I first moved in I thought the dynamic would be so fun and we could all hangout together! My boyfriend however, was never crazy about the idea. Now I see why.
Anyway, time goes on and my bf and I wanted to go to a rodeo and I thought it would be fun to go us 4 (us and the BIL/SIL). So we invite them and they tag along. When we showed up we realized they had no beer tents or alcohol vendors there, ok that sucks but whatever we are here for the rodeo! Oh no, not my BIL. The whole time we are watching from the grand stands, it is non stop complaining about how much this sucks and that theres no booze. Finally, the main event is about to start and he decides we all need to leave because ‘this f*cking sucks!’. At this point im holding back tears because I was genuinely anticipating this event for weeks. The SIL was laughing off his behaviour and not saying anything and my bf was visibly annoyed. This was the cause of one of my boyfriend and I’s first real ‘fights’, although it wasn’t his fault; he did warn me. We didn’t have to invite them to this event but yet we did, and BIL ruined it. So that was my first red flag.
Red flag #2: Errands/favours. Every now and again they would text us and ask if we had extras of something they could use (cheese slices, water bottles, etc.) Which we are more than happy to help out once in a while! But it started becoming frequent. To the point where okay did you guys even bother to do a grocery, when they were both working in town that same day. My bf and I very rarely ask for anything as we are both very independent and organized, we usually have everything we need at the house or if not we make substitutions or do without. It was getting to the point where I couldn’t open their snapchats at the end of my shift because it was most likely them asking for us to pick up something for them. I lowkey (highkey) felt like an uber eats driver! On the other end, BIL who has a border line drinking problem always taking beers off my bf. Apparently it was much worse before I moved in but essentially BIL will ask us if we have any beers before hes finished his last one. It’s gotten to the point where he walks right into the house and opens our beer fridge to look for some (um wtf knock? this is OUR HOUSE not your kitchen also we could be naked like holy shit.) I feel like I almost have to hide my drink when I go outside because if he sees me with one he will want one. Also, both the BIL and SIL work in town, if they know they are running low they should stock up, constantly bumming stuff off us gets old really fast. My bf constantly asks his brother ‘you didnt buy yourself more?’ to which he usually replies ‘well i am out’ (what kind of answer is that lmao). And we live literally 5 minutes away from a store that sells beer, he could send his wife to get some more (but no she doesn’t want to leave the house). Needless to say, they make their poor planning and laziness OUR problem. At one point it got so bad one sunday morning his brother walked over and asked if we have cream for his coffee. We only had the starbucks flavoured creamer so we offered that and I kid you not he says ‘Ew why dont you have regular creamer i wont drink that!’ WHY DONT YOU HAVE CREAMER. Like the entitlement was insane, my bf told him to go get his own creamer and BIL huffed and puffed back to his house. After that incident they stopped for a while but as of now the beer bumming is still very much happening. Just yesterday he walked right in, asked my bf if he had any beers, he lied and said no. BIL walked to and opened our fridge and grabbed beers anyway ‘you do have beers’. Well dont you think if we said no we probably dont want you having them? The entitlement and absolute disrespect of our boundaries was evident. I feel so torn with this kind of thing because you don’t want to be rude and come off selfish by telling them no, but at the same time they are taking advantage of how close we live to each other and for them its convenient to keep doing it and I feel like its not our responsibility at a certain point. Additionally, if we did the same to them, they would not appreciate it. I also notice how my bf and I rarely ask for favours but when we do (ex. bf needs a ride to the garage), they are always conveniently busy. The whole situation is giving selfish.
Red flag #3: Disrespecting our stuff. Last summer my mom’s boyfriend had passed from cancer, and at the same time I was moving in to my bfs. She had given me their very nice blow up pool since she wont have any use for it but she didn’t want to get rid of it either because it was sentimental. We took it, blew it up in the yard and used it in the beginning of summer, it was awesome! My boyfriend had mentioned that his brother hated the way it looked in the yard and thought it looked trashy, (we share our yard but had it on our side). I thought oh well he can have his opinion but its our pool and we are allowed to have it, they also have a small pool they put on the deck for their dog so I didn’t understand the reasoning. Anyway, summer ends and I wasn’t paying much attention but the pool was out of the yard, I had assumed my bf had put it back in its box and in the shed for the winter. So spring comes along and Im walking in the backyard doing something and I notice a plastic blue thing behind the shed covered by sharp metal and wood and its really buried in there. I inspect it closer and I realize it’s the pool! Assuming it was my bf I called him upset asking why he would treat my stuff that way. He assured me it wasn’t him and that he thought that I had put it away for the winter. We both paused and knew right away what really happened. His brother had thrown it behind the shed and covered it. I was baffled at the fact that he had the audacity to take it upon himself to take something that didn’t belong to him and throw it behind the shed like garbage because he didn’t like it. If they had something on their side of the yard that I didn’t like that does NOT give me the right to get rid of it or destroy it! He could have asked us to put it away and even at that it still doesn’t give him the right to dispose of it. My bf confronted him about it and his exact words were ‘I dont give a f*ck.’ My bf has told me he has done this kind of thing before when my bf wanted to sell his budlight umbrella on market place and his brother took it upon himself to take the umbrella and burn it in the fire pit while my bf was on a work trip. I just can’t believe someone can be so inconsiderate and show no respect for another persons property.
Red flag #4: SIL is not self aware at all and has a guise of being a sweet, quiet person but her actions say different. First and foremost, she has a huge issue with the MIL, that is a whole other story but to say the least she has some valid issues with the MIL i will not deny. But, a lot of the things she detests about the MIL she is guilty of herself. In my opinion, they are very similar people and they don’t even realize it. She claims MIL has a huge issue with boundaries and always wants to be part of all the plans that they make. She argues the MIL dictates and controls the situation every time, even if its a plan they invited her to (keep that in mind later). She is right she does do that. It is a very valid thing to have an issue with but on the other end they always want to do stuff with us when we dont! In the past we do and the BIL never DD’s, always gets fucked up on booze or if there isn’t freaks out (the rodeo). The SIL excuses it thinks its cute or has an attitude of ‘aw boys will be boys’ ( drunks will behave like drunks). SIL always wants to be home early for her dog or to smoke weed or both, which is fine if she takes her own vehicle but when she doesn’t its quite a bummer for the rest of us who are having a good time and dont want to exactly leave right when the fun starts. This happens a lot at family events. When SIL wants to leave early she will usually pawn off her husband to us to drive him home, which is not pleasant most of the time when he is drinking because he gets incoherently drunk and argumentative. SIL also dislikes the fact that MIL is very performative and makes out her life to be perfect, and pretends the very real and ever going family issues don’t exist. She is partially right about that but seeing both perspectives I can honestly say SIL is just as if not more performative than MIL. The most obvious reason for her being this way is the fact that she is her husbands biggest enabler. If my bf acted the way BIL acted I would not continue the relationship, but if I did I believe your duty as a partner is to keep each other in check and grow together. Instead, she often laughs it off and has the sentiment that thats just who he is. If she wants to leave early she pretty much gives us no choice but to give him a ride and its hard to say no considering we are neighbours ‘you’ll drive him home right? i told him not to be rude this time!’ (He almost always is, and drunk or sober never says thankyou btw). SIL also does this thing that I never noticed before because it was so subtle and I am trying not to think the worst of people, but until my friends and coworkers confirmed it with me I realized it was rude. So at first, I was still getting to know SIL and I honestly thought she was super down to earth and level headed I felt like I could confide to her and truly build a friendship. To preface, my boyfriend and I have a very happy relationship, but we, just like every other couple, have disagreements from time to time. Unfortunately I chose to vent to her at first and she would always reply something along the lines of ‘my husband NEVER does that, we are so good at communicating’ or ‘My husband always likes when I do that :)’. And the first times I thought nothing of it but then it dawned on me that she wasn’t being helpful, she was just complimenting herself while also putting my relationship down. Once I noticed this, I didn’t stop noticing it. I told her once how I regretted making fun of someone in high school while I was young and dumb and she replied ‘Oh, I was always nice to everyone i met and tried to always be kind:)’. These little comments were belittling me and almost making me feel ashamed for being vulnerable and admitting fault. And it was all disguised as being nice. She will do the same thing with my bf. She will have no issue talking about his faults while in the same breath saying her husband is nothing like that and they do x y and z better. I always hold my tongue when realistically I shouldn’t. If I had the same energy towards her husband she wouldn’t be as calm as I am. The thing is I know my bfs faults and I will agree if you point them out, same goes for my own. But to use our faults against us when we confide in you and you boost yourselves up with it and disguise it as giving advice? Thats not right. Lastly, already touched on this a bit but inconveniencing favours. We ask her for a ride once in a blue moon like im talking twice or 3 times a year if that, and she’s miraculously busy. But she’ll ask us (more me because my bf doesn’t answer anymore and as of now I wont either) to pick her something up at the store after a 9 hour day at work, meanwhile she works from home and her husband works in a city where he could also do the same errand. The other day she asked my bf if I was sleeping (it was 6-7am), and my bf says yes she is. She proceeds to text me while i unfortunately forgot to turn my ringer off. Now I may have fault in this for even entertaining her but Im the type of person who opens snapchats right away, I am trying to get better at this now. So despite my bf telling her Im sleeping aka do not disturb me, she texts me to go bang on her windows because her husband forgot to set his alarm. I told her just one second I will put my pants on and get out of bed and do that for her right away. I should have told her that she interrupted my sleep and went against what my boyfriend told her but I can be bad with people pleasing so I did it anyway. She constantly tells the family she doesnt sleep well with her back pain but she had no problem with the idea of interrupting mine to wake her husband up. She also complains about people walking over her boundaries but she literally ignored my bf saying I was asleep and messaged me anyway.
I think the main problem here is that they have issues as neighbours and as family members respecting boundaries and privacy. I don’t know what else will solve these issues other than my bf really addressing it all or just plain and simple moving out, which is not what we want to do because we love our house and put so much work into it. I could also address it but I feel like they may not be as receptive to me as they would my bf. UGH sorry that was long

A long read, if you take the times thanks if not. Sorry
As the title says, the state of league ranking system is in a horrible state and I feel that we’re near a tipping point of will it recover or continue to fail.
With the implementation for vanguard I feel this was a step in the right direction but one that’s probably too late.
After leveling several accounts to different areas of the system I can honestly say at this point trolls and throw away accounts and smurfs have infected all lvls of play some worse than others.
For example Bronze and Iron are horrible experiences. Iron itself is just a miserable land of giving up, trolling and ragers purposely losing games for the sheer purpose of just what ever. Instead of it being an area where true beginners can develop and learn it’s instead a prison for trolls , and any one unfortunate enough to drop in never get out from this bottomless pit of despair.
Bronze and instant this off with this . “Bronze should NOT be this hard to climb out of.” This should be a beginners climb as they develop their skills and improve to silver but instead. Bronze is a cesspool of trolls, toxic Smurf’s and throw away accounts mixed with your average players who wants to climb
It’s a horrible frustrating experience I’ve seen for these players as they try to climb and loose multiple games in a row. We all get that you can learn and grow from a loss that not all games are going to have trollers or int feeders. But from my experience here on one of my climbs this is not true.
I’ve learned to not play on the weekends, as there is a huge increase on getting trolled. Personally for me last two weeks I’ve had 5-6 games in a row of int feeders trolls or a Smurf one tricking a lane and trash talking the individual till they gave up. It’s just horrific. From a veiger claiming he was having a mental break down as he ran it down cause a friend told him to play league To a Darius who died two times to teemo the left his lane and started sabotaging his team. Thats literally a rank and a half if not two in losses a player can’t control.
I was in a game where a jungle was going top, stopped to get a grub. Then ganked had the enemy top beat when his own top flashed in to steal the kill and died cause he had possibly 50hp left. That top then raged and ran it down saying jungle did not deserve to win because they stopped for a grubs and caused the top to die.
Silver and gold kinda settle down as this seems to be far enough away from iron and lower bronze where players can actually play and build more on their skill and understandings.
Plat and emerald are basically bronze and just in reverse
Plat is the try Harding players excited to climb and emerald just seems to be the cesspool where lower rank players bought accounts to get out of bronze and iron and are now on their downward drop. While also dealing with Smurf’s boosting accounts up to emerald to sell as one trick accounts and this plague that range or ranked with the exact same issues that are in lower bronze / iron
Diamond which is the highest I ever tried to get seems to be split. Lower ranks of diamonds your dealing with the spill over from emerald. Which is frustrating. While upper diamond seems to be slightly far enough away so you don’t have to deal with that hot mess.
At this point it just feels like the lower ranks are in a chaotic shamble where new and low players can’t improve and instead just get frustrated give up and plunge the ranking system in to chaos cause their only recourse at this point is to just go buy an account for 5-10 bucks and play in emerald. But the. Cause issues as they gradually fall down the system to their proper ranking
I get vanguard stopped the bot account farming and lvling. But it doesn’t really fix any issues with the ranking system because the flood of Smurf / trolls and one trick accounts has stagnated any growth out of the lower elos so instead of a bottom to top elevation development. We are season a top down de elevation in development.

I’m not a regular Reddit user so I hope I’m doing this right. I have wanted to tell Charlotte this story for so long. A little background first. My MIL is my husband’s stepmother. His real mother “disappeared “ when he was 5 years old and has never been found. Everyone knows that his dad murdered her, even the police but there’s never been enough evidence to convict him. He married my MIL, who he was dating at the time of my husband’s mom’s disappearance. They had a child then later divorced. I’ve gotten along with my MIL, her daughter and husband since we met and they ushered me into the family with open arms.
So one Christmas a few years ago, they wanted to have brunch for Christmas. My husband and I both wanted a traditional Christmas meal. So I asked her politely if we could just go over there the next day to do a present exchange. She said absolutely not. I said ok, that’s fine, we’ll be there.
I have trouble with depression. I have been on medication since my early 20s. I have 2 stepdaughters from my husband’s first marriage. They were 12 and 14 when we met. That year was particularly hard for me because they were grown up and had jobs. So no more Christmas vacation with them to play with all the fun presents they got. No making Christmas goodies and gingerbread houses with. No one to trim the trim with. No one to watch Christmas movies with, etc.
So I really wasn’t feeling the Christmas spirit that year to begin with. I thought I had come up with the perfect solution for the food situation that would make everyone happy. I made a full spread Christmas dinner at the last minute on Christmas Eve at my own house for me and my husband. I posted a pic of the food to Facebook and wished everyone a Merry Christmas, which I do every year.
When I got to my SIL house the next day, I thought everything was fine. Then my MIL got there. Everything was not fine. She said she saw my Facebook post. “That was a final F U to me wasn’t it?”, she asked. I said,”Absolutely not! I would never do that. (Hubby) wanted Christmas dinner. I made him Christmas dinner. It had nothing to do with you. And I always post Merry Christmas to Facebook with pics of dinner. “. “Oh, ok”, she said.
Later, someone was walking around with a video camera and I said something about not wanting to be on video, quietly to my husband but my MIL overheard. She had a camera for still pics and said, “Oh, I won’t post them on Facebook “. I said, “Oh, I don’t care about that.”
The rest of the day went fine. I don’t remember when I posted it but sometime during those 2 days I posted “Worst Christmas Ever”. I didn’t elaborate and I was thinking about not having kids to celebrate Christmas with anymore when I wrote that. It had absolutely nothing to do with my MIL family or what had happened with the Christmas meal situation.
On the way home I was looking at Facebook when I see a reply from my MIL sister who I have never met. Apparently, my MIL had told her about the whole thing and she decided to chew me out on my Facebook for being ungrateful and telling me how much her family loved me. So I replied that I didn’t say anything about them. Then my SIL chimed in with the fact that I didn’t invite my stepdaughters to my house for Christmas Eve dinner. #1She couldn’t have known that unless she asked them. #2 They don’t eat that kind of food. At Christmas they eat rolls and deviled eggs without the filling. One of them eats ham, the other one gets her own chicken. They don’t eat what I cook.
The next day I see pics of the festivities on Facebook without me and my husband so I said, “Where are me and (hubby)?” “You said you didn’t want to be in any pictures. “. “No, I didn’t. I said video. “. At this, my SIL makes a text chat group with me, my husband, her and her mom. She lays out everything as she thinks it’s unfolded over the past few days. (Side note: Because of losing his mom at 5 years old and hearing it happen outside his bedroom window, he has learning disabilities which has made him functionally illiterate. There’s no way he’s gonna read a long text thread and his sister knows that!). So, then I explain my side, including what was just a misunderstanding about the pictures. Then my MIL says to me, who DID NOT start this crap, BTW, “Too much drama mamma. “. So I said, “You wanna talk about drama?! You’re the reason my husband’s real mom is dead. “. She refuses to speak to me. I even apologized. She’s such a coward that she won’t even talk to her “son”. My husband said to me because I was upset that I had ruined his relationship with his “mom”“When we got married, we became one. If they stab you in the back, they stab me in the back. “.
This woman hates his ex-wife because she cheated on him. She even believes that one of his daughters isn’t his. (She is. ) But one Thanksgiving, I was uninvited to dinner at their hours because she was going to be there. My husband was though. He didn’t go.
So AITA?

My (F32) husband (M33) drunkenly went to a gentlemans club and I'm struggling to move on
Some context : My husband and I have been married for 12 years. We've got 2 young boys and I'm pregnant with our 3rd (DD 8/29). About 5 years ago we hit a massive rough patch ending with my husband having an emotional affair. I decided to stay with him and although it took a long time, we worked through it. Our marriage actually felt stronger than ever...
Well.... a few weeks ago my husband had to travel for work. On the last night he was there he decided to go out with one of the guys from the office he was helping.
Side note : the guy is a bit younger, single and kind of a F boy. But he's always been really nice to us
They started at dinner and then went for drinks. My husband doesn't really drink, but this specific night his buddy was feeding him shots and beer and even more shots. I ended up checking on him after a few hours of not hearing anything and saw he turned his location off. He wasn't answering his phone, which is totally not like him, and I started to panic thinking something happened. I called local police stations, hospitals, etc seeing if maybe there had been an accident or something. Finally around 2am his time, his location popped back on and I could see he was at a strip club... he then went back to his hotel, answered my call super drunk then passed out.
The next morning he called me asking if everything was okay because I had called so many times and that's when I told him about his location, the not answering, the strip club. He was honestly in disbelief, he couldn't even remember leaving the cocktail bar they went to right after dinner. He didn't believe that he had gone to a strip club until he checked his bank account and saw the $200 withdrawal. He's been trying to piece together the night basically ever since it happened.
What he eventually remembered : going to dinner, drinking at the cocktail bar, then a huge gap. He remembers walking and his buddy grabbing his arm saying "you're going the wrong way." Then another massive gap, he then remembers flashing blue lights (probably from the club) and sitting near his friend and some random couple. He remembers needing to puke and trying to get out of a chair, following orange lights to the bathroom where he did end up puking. Then he remembers some guy telling him he's been in the bathroom for too long and making him leave the club. The last he remembers is fighting with his friend, trying to walk back to the hotel and then being in a car and someone helping him to his room.
What his friend said happened : they were both drunk, friend dragged husband into the club. Friend plopped husband in a chair and he basically sat there slouched until they left.
Here's my dilemma... Im struggling to believe/accept any of it. I'm disgusted, pissed, sad, all the things AND my hormones are absolutely raging because I'm 6 months pregnant. Prior to this my husband had never been to a strip club before, never wanted to go. His mom was totally fucked and exposed him and his siblings to really screwed up stuff when they were super young. So he stayed far away from clubs, strip clubs, drinking, etc. I honestly, truly, believe that if my husband weren't trashed, he would not have gone. He currently hates himself enough for the both of us and it's making it really hard for me to be mad at him. BUT I'm also devastated... We've come so far, built so much together, I just don't understand why he would be so stupid. I'm one of those people who needs all the answers no matter how much pain it causes. I want to know what he thought he was doing when he turned his location off. Why didn't he just go home when he knew how trashed he was? Whyd he pull out money just to sit there drunk af? I want every single detail and he can't give it to me. So now I feel like I'm just making up the story line in my head and it's literally driving me insane. I feel stuck, like I can't move past this... I'm not really sure what I'm looking for by posting this. Maybe just to vent, or hope someone out there can help me move forward. Is it my hormones keeping me stuck? Is this even a normal reaction? Ugh I swear I'm loosing it....
TL;DR; : Husband drunkenly went to a strip club while I'm at home, 6 months pregnant, and now I can't figure out how to move forward.

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.

"Himiko?" Kokichi knocked on the door to Himiko and Tenko's room later that night. Himiko had taken a long nap after such a disappointing day. But, before she fell asleep, she reflected deeply on what Kokichi had told her. She had to admit that he was right, that she needed to a better attitude about herself. But, how to do that, she didn't know. She suddenly remembered his words: You should be smart, confident, and capable of doing things your way. Her way? What was her way, exactly?
"Himiko?" Kokichi whispered a little louder. Himiko opened her eyes, hearing Kokichi calling out to her. She scrambled out of bed and went over to answer the door. Kokichi smiled at her with his usual cheeky grin. "Hey, sleepyhead! Are you still planning on selling cookies?" Himiko took a deep breath and nodded. Kokichi had given her some courage to actually try things and take chances, to try and overcome self-doubt.
"Yeah. I'm ready," she said. There was still a part of her that didn't want to, but she forced that part of her into silence. She lifted her chin and smiled at him. "I'm ready, Kokichi." Kokichi smiled back at her.
"Alright, Monkey Buns!" he cheered, giving her a high five and then a hug. "Same place?"
"Alright," Himiko nodded. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. She remembered what Kokichi had told her earlier about being smart and confident her way. "But, on the way over there, can we stop by my, um..." She paused to whisper. "...secret lair? "
"Ooooh?" Kokichi murmured with a curious smile. "Yeah, we can stop by." Himiko nodded and retreated back into her room to grab the two tin bowls of cookies she had baked with Three and Ten.
"Nyeh...okay, I'm ready," Himiko said. Kokichi took her hand in his, and the two crept downstairs. Some of the others were still in the dining room eating dinner, so Kokichi and Himiko had to leave through the front door to get to Himiko's secret magic room under the gazebo. Kokichi stood outside to keep watch while Himiko went inside her magic room. Once inside, she went for her magical dream powder bottle and poured some of its purple, sparkly contents into a small vial, hiding it in one of her jacket's pockets. Then, she met back up with Kokichi.
"Now I'm ready," she said.
"Okie-dokie!" Kokichi replied, taking the tin bowls from Himiko to hold them for her. "Let's go, HimikoCocoa Bean!" They then hurried over to D.I.C.E. headquarters.
"Boss!" Four said, jumping up from the couch. "And Boss Lady!"
"Hey, Ichiro," Kokichi and Himiko replied.
"Wanna hear a song that I heard on the radio?" Four asked. He cleared his throat, and began singing without waiting for a response. "If you like piña coladaaaaas, and getting caught in the rai-"
"Okay, Ichiro, that's enough," Kokichi interrupted, wincing from Four's terrible voice.
"Urgh...thank you!" Five exclaimed as she wrapped Kokichi's cape around him. After Three placed Kokichi's hat on his head, she turned to Himiko.
"So, Himiko, did you sell a lot of cookies?" she asked eagerly. Himiko gave her an apologetic look and shook her head. Three's shoulders slumped.
"Oh..." she said softly.
"What? Why?" Ten asked. "Did they not like them? Because I put all my blood, sweat, and tears into those things! Er...well, not literally...duh."
"Yeah, I hope not!" Two exclaimed, sticking his tongue out in disgust. "I bet there are people in this world who actually do stuff like that!"
"Nee-heehee...I know a very horny someone who'd do something like that," Kokichi said.
"The tin bowls are still so full!" Three said, her voice dripping with disappointment.
"It's not really the cookies that people didn't like, Keiko," Himiko said. "It was because of me."
"What exactly do you mean by that?" Nine asked.
"Well, I'm not really popular at school to begin with," Himiko said. "But, I wasn't really trying my best to sell them because I didn't think I could."
"Ouch," Six muttered.
"Oh, well...still!" Three huffed. "They could have at least tried your cookies, anyways! Those...those...clowns! " Then she turned to nobody in particular. "No offense, me," she mumbled to herself before turning back to Himiko.
"Hey, no offense to the rest of us, either!" Four said.
"Should we take offense?" Nine asked. "It's not like we're actual professional clow-"
"We get it, Hideyo!" everyone but Himiko interrupted simultaneously.
"Nyeh, well...anyways, thanks to Kokichi, I've decided to try again," Himiko said, giving Kokichi a shy smile.
"Aww, HimiCocoa Bean, you're making me blush!" Kokichi teased, wrapping his arm around her waist. "But, I only get half the credit. You should give yourself credit, too!"
"And you should give us those cookies," Four said, pointing to the tin bowls in Kokichi's hand.
"Himiko, are you still going to sell these?" Kokichi asked. Himiko thought for a moment. She remembered what Tsumugi said about chocolate chip cookies being plain and boring.
"No," she finally answered. "Actually, I've decided to go with Ten's plan from earlier."
"Right! Um...wait, what plan was that again?" Ten asked.
"The plan to make the snickerdoodles," Himiko said.
"Oh, yeah!" Ten remembered, a grin crossing his face.
"But, I wanna add a secret ingredient of mine," Himiko said.
"I hope it's not blood, sweat, and tears," Two said, shuddering.
"Why not?" Seven asked with a creepy smile. "Don't you like that salty, metallic flavor in your cookies?"
"Ew! Yuck! Kokichi, make her stop!" Five said, covering her ears.
"Tsukiko, don't make me tell Emi to get Mr. Sparkles," Kokichi warned. Seven hid under a blanket.
"No, please. Anything but that accursed pink and plushy unicorn!" she hissed. Five grinned smugly at her.
"Can we help you bake again, Himiko?" Three asked hopefully.
"Nyeh...of course!" Himiko answered.

"Neat-o! Let's get started!" Ten said, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. Kokichi nodded to Himiko encouragingly, and she followed Three and Ten to the kitchen. They soon got started on the batter. Himiko removed the vial of dream powder from her pocket.
"Oooo! What is that stuff?" Three asked, entranced by the purple, glittery powder.
"Hopefully the thing that'll win over any potential customers," Himiko answered before pouring the powder into the mixture. She mixed the batter until it became a shiny, glittering harmony of many colors.
"Holy Constantinople-y!" Ten exclaimed. "What the heck kind of secret ingredient is that?!"
"The batter looks so...pretty!" Three breathed in awe. "It's so...shiny and sparkly!" Then, she lowered her voice. "Is this...some of your magic, Himiko?"
"Nyeh...that's right," Himiko nodded.
"I know this is might sound like a dumb question, but...are you allowed to do that?" Ten asked.
"Nobody at school knows about my magic except for Kokichi," Himiko said. "So, technically, it's not not allowed. And besides, Kokichi said that I need to be smart and confident my way. And magic is my way of doing just that."
Part Eight
Sunday afternoon. Himiko took a deep breath, deeply breathing in the warm air as a gentle breeze flowed around her. Today, she felt lucky. She stood behind her table at the front of the school. Above her was a more colorful, glittery sign she and Three had worked on with the word, "Snoozydoodles," written in swirly letters. Hopefully it would be enough to bring in some customers. Her snickerdoodles were laid out on three large trays in front of her so that the other students could see their colorful and sparkly design.
"Hiya, Himiko!" came a cheerful voice. Himiko looked up and was surprised to see Three.
"Keiko?" she whispered. "Nyeh...what are you doing here?"
"I decided to come and cheer you on...and to make sure the turd buckets here buy your cookies," Three replied. "I put some love and special care into those cookies, and I didn't bust my tail just to have nobody buy them!"
"Nyeh...but...Ten and I worked on them, too," Himiko pointed out. "And I put my 'special ingredient' in them."
"I know," Three said. "But, I feel like if I worked hard on something, either by myself or in a group, I'd like for the world to see it, that's all."
"I understand," Himiko said with a small smile. "Wait...this is supposed to be a competition between me and Kokichi! I don't think he'd appreciate you helping me out, especially since I should be doing this myself."
"Well, I'll just be here for emotional support, then!" Three said. Himiko smiled gratefully and nodded.
"I guess that's okay," she said. " Thanks, Keiko. I like your outfit, by the way." Three scanned her outfit proudly. Instead of her D.I.C.E. uniform, she wore an oversized, cream-colored fluffy sweater over a short, pink ruffled skirt. She wore a pair of white tights with some loose pink socks and a pair of black and white checkered lolita shoes with pink straps. In her hair were pink bows over each pigtail.
"Eeee! Thank you!" she squealed happily. "It's not very often I get to go out in cutesy clothes like this, unless I'm undercover! Well...I guess you might say I'm going undercover right now, but...eh, whatever."
"Speaking of which, why are your shoes checkered?" Himiko asked. "Won't that give you away? Part of the reason why people know your organization is because of the checker pattern scarves...which makes me wonder how people haven't suspected Kokichi being part of...you-know-what."
"Heehee...I call that the 'Sailor Moon Effect,'" Three giggled. "But, anyway, when members of the organization are wearing casual clothes, we have to wear some article of clothing with a black and white checkered pattern to let other members know our affiliation. The beauty of it is that there are people not affiliated with us who wear checker patterned clothing, so it gives us a chance to blend in as if we're just regular people. That's why we have a codeword to tell the difference between members and the 'reggies.'"

"What's the codeword?" Himiko asked. Three leaned in closer to Himiko.

"'Funny business,' " she whispered.
"Nyeh...that's actually really cool," Himiko admitted with a smile.
"Yeah! You should really join, Himiko!" Three said. "I think you'll have lots of fun!"
"Fun with what?" asked Tenko, suddenly appearing with Angie and Tsumugi behind her. She had a frown on her face and marched right up to Three. "Himiko, who's this girl, and what's she trying to get you to join? WAIT!! Is this girl the friend you were talking about?! The one who helped you bake cookies yesterday?!"
"Yeah," Himiko nodded.
"Hey! I recognize you!" Angie said. "You're one of the girls who rescued Himiko from that crazy girl many months ago!" Three brightened.
"Yeah! That's me!" she said.
"Tuh...I could have rescued Himiko, you know," Tenko huffed, crossing her arms and glaring at Three.
"Well...why didn't you?" Three asked.
"Urgh...!" Tenko scoffed. "Who do you think you are?!"
"I'm Michika!" Three lied, using one of her aliases. "I'm here to support Himiko with her cookie sale!"
"She doesn't need your support," Tenko said, stepping in between Three and Himiko. "Himiko already has me! Right, Himiko?"
"Umm..." Himiko mumbled.
"Of course you do!" Tenko interrupted.
"But...you didn't even let her finish," Three said.
"I didn't have to," Tenko said. "I already knew what she was thinking because we're best friends."
"Well...then...if you're her best friend, why dont'cha buy a cookie?" Three suggested craftily.
"Hmph! I will!" Tenko scoffed and turned to Himiko. "How much for a cookie, Himiko?"
"Nyeh...same as before," Himiko answered. Tenko paid ¥500 and grabbed a shimmery, glittering light green snickerdoodle from one of the trays. "Ooo, these are pretty, Himiko! Did you bake them all by yourself?"
"No, um...Michika helped me again," Himiko answered. Tenko glared at Three and flipped her hair at her.
"Well...they're okay, then," she said haughtily. "But, they're extra special because you helped, Himiko!"
"What are these cookies called, Himiko?" Tsumugi asked, scrutinizing a glittering blue cookie.
"Nyeh...they're called 'Snoozydoodles,'" Himiko answered. "They're snickerdoodles, but a special kind of snickerdoodles."
"Oooo! Why are they called 'Snoozydoodles?'" asked Angie.
"You have to eat them right before going to sleep to find out," Himiko answered mysteriously. Tenko hovered her cookie in front of her mouth.
"Oh! So, I have to eat this right before bed?" she asked.
"That's right," Himiko nodded.
"Aw, that's so creative, Himiko!" Tenko cried in adoration. "You're really clever, too! I bet you thought of the name!" Three rolled her eyes in annoyance. Himiko provided a little baggy for Tenko to put her cookie in, and provided some for Angie and Tsumugi, as well, after they had paid for their cookies.
"Thank you, Himiko," Tsumugi said.

"Yes! Yes! Thank you, Himiko!" Angie chirped.
"Well...I guess we'd better try out the other cookies," Tsumugi said. "Everyone else said they'd have different flavors of cookies, too. Although, I don't think I'll try Kokichi's after what happened yesterday. I can plainly still feel the burn on my tongue."
"Hmm...I thought his cookies were divine!" Angie exclaimed. "I have never felt such an intense rush of heat before! Especially in a cookie!"
"Leave it up to a degenerate male to bake something so...horrible! " Tenko spat. Three raised a brow at her.
"Degenerate male?" she repeated. She didn't like hearing her boss being referred to that way.
"Yeah! Males are all scum of the Earth!" Tenko said. "Kind of like...best friend stealers."
"I wasn't trying to steal your best friend," Three said, fed up with Tenko.

"Huh...why did you assume I was talking about you? " Tenko asked. "You know what happens to people who assume things, don't you?"

"They end up knocking all 32 teeth out of the person accusing them of assuming things?" Three replied, trying to keep her cool.
"And you're violent!" Tenko shouted. "You're clearly a bad influence on Himiko!" Three stared at her in disbelief, creating an awkward silence to linger in the air.
"Well, um...I guess we should be going then," Tsumugi said, hurriedly yanking Angie away. "C'mon, Angie. Tenko? Are you coming?"

"No. I think I'll stay right here and help Himiko, since she clearly needs my support," Tenko said, glowering at Three.
"Tenko..." Himiko sighed in exasperation, but Three merely smiled sweetly at Tenko.
"Oh, my gosh! Where'd you get your outfit?" she asked. Tenko looked down quizzically at her outfit.
"W-Why...do you want to know?" she replied with suspicion.
"It's just so pretty!" Three replied. "Are you, like, the Ultimate Princess, or the Ultimate Cheerleader, or something?"
"Um...n-no...I'm the Ultimate Aikido Master," Tenko stammered as a small blush appeared on her face.
"Oh, wow! That's even better!" Three exclaimed. "I bet you give those...degenerate males...what they deserve all the time!" The hardened look on Tenko's face from before disappeared.
"You bet I do!" she said proudly.
"Oh...I wish I could be like you!" Three breathed. "You're, like, my hero! I bet you're a hero to girls everywhere!" Tenko lowered her head bashfully, blushing like crazy.
"N-No...I'm not all that...great," she sputtered.
"I bet you'd do anything for girls, huh?" Three asked.
"Oh, yes!" Tenko answered. "So long as you aren't a degenerate male, you're a friend of mine!"
Says the girl who just accused me of stealing her best friend, Three thought to herself. "Hooray! I'm happy to hear that! But...to tell you the truth, I can't believe you just ditched your other friends. They were girls, after all, and you just let them walk right into the school where they could be potential prey for those boys-er...I mean, degenerate males." Tenko gasped with realization.
"Oh, my gosh! You're so right!" she cried. "But...what about Himiko?"
"I'll look after her," Three said. "You trust me, right? I am a girl after all."
"Ohhh...well, okay," Tenko said. Then, she smiled. "I'll trust you, Michika! Take care of Himiko!"
"Oh, I will!" Three said. "Bye! Goodbye!" Tenko waved goodbye, leaving Himiko and Three alone. Three exhaled. "Finally, she's gone!" Himiko stared at her in amazement.
"Nyeh...that was incredible!" she cried. Three shrugged modestly.
"Yeah, I guess I picked up a little bit of manipulation skills from the boss," she said. "He's way better at it than I am, though! That girl was so annoying, by the way! Is she seriously your best friend?!"
"Well, yeah, I guess," Himiko answered. "She wants to support and protect me all the time."
"Sounds more like she wants to breastfeed you, or wipe your butt after you poop," Three said in disgust. She and Himiko shuddered at the thought. "Well, anyways, now that 'Tin Cup' is gone, let's put you on the cookie map!"
"Right!" Himiko said, and gave Three a high five.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.