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So, if you’re just joining us, I work at a haunted zoo now. Since I’ve gotten some rest, it feels like I’ve got my head on straight, at least, so I’d like to continue where I left off.
I sat on the floor in the office after meeting the ghost until I’d settled my rattled mind (and realized I’d forgotten to ask her name, how rude is that?). I took a deep breath and got up off the floor. Walking over and falling into the rolling chair in front of the large screen of camera views, when I brought up the camera that covered the area in which I’d spotted her, she was still there, and it seemed she hadn’t moved an inch.
Sitting there, at a loss, I continued to watch her. The ghost hung around for another five minutes or so, appearing to look at a few things off-screen, though I’m not sure what. Then she walked off into the forest and left the view of the cameras. I wasn’t sure if she vanished into the ether or if she’d gone looking into the trees to look for something.
But that wasn’t the end of the job interview, so let me jump back there. It continued into what kind of animals the zoo had, with Andrew asking me how much experience I had with dangerous animals.
I took a moment to consider the question. “So, ah…I’ve been going hunting and fishing with a neighbor since I was sixteen,” I told him. “We always have to keep an eye out for gators, bears, and hogs. Then there’s snakes, of course…snapping turtles… Since I’ve lived here my whole life and been aiming for a job with wildlife for a long time, I know a lot about the animals in Arkansas in general. But good advice for all of the above is avoid them, so I’ve had encounters, but I don’t know if you’d say I have experience with them.”
“That’s fine,” Andrew said, nodding. “That’s an answer I’m satisfied with. Now, the ghost was the appetizer, Ripley; here’s the main course. To start with, the pay isn’t twenty-five an hour. It’s fifty.”
Staring in shock for a moment, I asked, “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. But that’d be weird to post online considering what applicants think we need, so I halved it.”
“That’s… Okay, why?”
“The animals are already here. You just can’t see them.”
I stared at him for a long moment, some disbelief worming its way into my expression, before saying, “Sorry, what?”
“There’s a chance you’d naturally never see them, or at least some of them,” he continued casually. “It depends on both your genetics and how long you stay on the job. I can naturally see six of them, but that’s it. Suzanne can see all of them, and more. Some are what people would label demons or ghosts. Or magic. Mostly you’d call them cryptids. The ghost was just a warm-up; I mentioned her first because it never takes more than a week to see her if you work the night shift. If you manage to handle her okay, soon you’ll be able to see the animals too. The more time you spend on the grounds, for weird reasons,” he said, wiggling his fingers in the direction of the back door, “the more you’ll be able to see.”
“So, this…this is a zoo for cryptids,” I echoed slowly. He nodded once, waiting to find out what kind of reaction I would have. I gestured vaguely around the room. “If this is a hidden camera show, will you cut me a check for showing up and participating?”
Andrew coughed out a chuckle and shook his head. “No joke. There are a ton of stories out there that have been written to death, pulverized until they’re not the Grimm stories of old and instead they’re Disney films. A lot of those stories come from what some humans have seen. There are dozens of other worlds pressed up against ours, and occasionally things come through by accident. If they’re smart, they’ll lay low and then make their way back when they can. If not, they become local folklore until someone helps them back. I’m just from London, but Suzanne is from somewhere else. She hires people like us for this zoo. Humans.”
Sighing, I shook my head. “That makes no sense. Why would she hire a muggle for a magic zoo?”
Andrew burst out laughing at that, and then waited to gather himself before he continued. “Fair point, but this is less about magic and more about animals, and you’re missing some information that will explain it. First of all, if I misjudge an employee, and they think they can make bank by outing the endangered and valuable animals we have, it’s easy to relocate the zoo.”
“Because magic?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he replied, ignoring the thread of skepticism in my tone. “That means it isn’t the end of the world if that happened, though it is a pain in the arse. But second…let me ask you a question. Speaking of reality shows, say the Discovery Channel put out a call to replace Steve Irwin when he passed. Imagine they had a line out the door,” he said with a gesture, “of people who thought they had the skill and natural talent to replace him, to take on everything he’d been doing his whole life. How many do you reckon would lose an arm, a leg, or their life, by the end of the day?”
My lips parted in surprise and I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re saying people from…wherever…they’re just as dumb as humans, but they’re worse, because they actually think they can handle these things.”
Andrew pointed the pen at me. “Things. Exactly. You called them things. Suzanne and her friends grew up with them and would call them animals. These animals have dispositions and temperaments that we’ve studied for as long as there have been scientists. Where Suzanne’s from, they know the weaknesses of these animals, and also they’re in enclosures here, even if you and I can’t see the walls because they’re invisible things called ‘wards’. If I hire someone who’s got magic on top of all that, they’ll have almost no instinctive fear.
“Everything here is nocturnal, and every one of them is a hunter. Some of these things? Humans see them and they pass out. Not that I want you passing out, but I need someone who is scared of these things, who knows to stay out of the enclosures no matter what. Not someone who thinks they can train them to do tricks, who gets close enough for them to grab a mouthful of hair and drown them. Once, we had a night shift manager injured, and once killed, because they didn’t take these animals seriously enough.”
Thinking back to the Sea World orca incident I knew he’d been referencing, I remembered wondering how someone at that level of her profession could be so careless as I watched the video on YouTube. It made sense when he explained it like that. I hesitated before mentally throwing my hands up and going all in. “So, why put this place here, then? If they’re endangered and also dangerous, why have a zoo at all instead of just a small reserve?”
He pursed his lips, looking disappointed in me. “Ripley. You know that already. You already said as much.”
Thinking back through our conversation, I said, “The rich humans who pay top dollar to see supernatural animals.”
“Not humans,” he told me. “But people, yes, and they are rich, and they’re making donations and spending their money on a ticket here because everything we have is endangered.”
“So…”
I just let my voice trail off and my mind started to drift. Andrew remained silent, letting me do so. There’s that thing people say, ‘I believe that you believe it,’ which is just a kinder way of saying, ‘Bullshit.’ Parents say it about closet monsters. Psychologists say it to people who say they’ve been abducted and probed by aliens. I wanted to say it to Andrew.
But I also wanted a job. If it meant working overnight at an empty zoo, that was fine. When it came down to it, especially when I took the tone of our conversation into account, this was a zoo specifically focused on preserving endangered ‘animals’, and it was allegedly doing important work. Also, if this turned out to be the real deal and I started seeing the animals, I would deal with it, just like I would deal with an enclosure that had a lion or tiger or gorilla. If it came with a ghost and invisible creatures, I really didn’t see what the difference was, if I couldn’t go in the enclosures either way.
On that note, I’d like you to imagine a kid who looks at a roller coaster, watching everyone screaming and grinning as they go up and down and all around and they’re like, ‘Heck, I could do that! That looks like a blast!’
Then they get on, the first drop hits, and they realize they’ve made a terrible mistake.
“All right,” I sighed. “I can’t say I’m going to turn down a job just because it’s going to be scary. Especially not one with this paycheck.”
Andrew smiled. “Awesome. There’s an adjustment process for anyone working here, similar to a dog that gets adopted, actually. I know the general guidelines of, ‘three days, three weeks, three months’ in terms of milestones, until they finally feel they’re where they’re supposed to be,” he told me, “and you can think of your time here along those lines. I really think you’re a great fit, and once you reach the milestone of working here for three months, I’ll officially consider you our new night shift guard. And I hope you’ll stay with us for many years.”
I nodded and smiled at the flattery of an employer wanting me to work a great job for them for a long time. I’d never had a dog, but those milestones were well-known among anyone who knew animals, especially dogs. The first three days, the dog is getting to know its new digs, exploring, and decompressing. At three weeks, they’ve gotten used to their environment and are starting to get comfortable with their surroundings and the routines of the humans they live with. By three months, they know the rules and follow them, they trust you, and they feel they are where they’re meant to be. I could only hope to be so lucky.
I saw the ghost two days ago and she has yet to make another appearance (for those who are curious, I asked, and her name is Leila), and I still hadn’t seen any animals. I did hear one, though, I feel compelled to note. A growling roar sounded from the lake on occasion, echoing across the vast zoo, sending a shiver down my spine. Whatever that animal was, it sounded gigantic.
Andrew said there was apparently a group that wanted to visit for a birthday and they were offering a huge donation, so he let me know they were making an exception and that this group would be walking through the park that night. That meant I’d be watching people watching animals that, as far as I could tell, weren’t there.
It was anticlimactic. Even the three people who came for the tour just looked like people, not like aliens or something eldritch from another dimension, and I stayed in the security office the whole time. Andrew was the one giving the tour. I watched them spend about five minutes at each enclosure, the hour or so that they were there passing without incident. It was clear that they were able to see all the animals, though, since they motioned excitedly at each enclosure and spoke to Andrew, who presumably answered any questions they had.
If they could see the animals, that was that. There was still that niggle in the back of my head, from my twenty-three years of life never encountering anything like ghosts or cryptids, telling me that this was ridiculous. Waiting for someone to knock on the door, a camera mounted on their shoulder, to tell me that it was a big joke and they wanted to see how long I’d play along. But from all I saw, this was a real place with real, invisible animals.
I do carry a taser and pepper spray in my capacity as a security guard. Though it isn’t for the animals, since they’re in the enclosures; they’re actually for the rare instance of a break-in. Andrew mentioned that it had happened several times it the past, someone trying to steal an animal in the hopes of selling it on the black market. They’d been successful before, but apparently my predecessor Roger was good at his job, and mostly they left in handcuffs.
I’ll be honest, I’m not a huge fan of confrontation, but my job was to call Andrew and then confront the person, not kick their ass. That’s what the police were for, or rather, the people Andrew would call in lieu of police in certain situations.
Fifty bucks an hour. That’s the key here.
Andrew hadn’t set up direct deposit, since he was sticking with a strategy of waiting to see if I’d continue to work there once I found out myself dealing with the animals (I’ve decided I am going to just call them animals). Instead, I got an old-fashioned check after my shift every Friday. The number on the first check was delightful. I went out that evening and had a big dinner at the local diner, order my most expensive favorites on the menu and a big slice of pie for dessert.
When it came to the paychecks in general, though, I had this weird feeling of not wanting to tell my dad and brother about the fact that it was actually $50/hr. I previously mentioned that my dad, his name’s Nathan if you’re curious, works at a local grocery store. Our town has a couple food franchises, but I think its size is just short of whatever threshold Walmart uses to decide where to open. He earns $14/hr. and that’s after the tiny raises he’s gotten over the past thirteen years.
That’s not to say he’d feel bad about not making as much as me. On the contrary, he would be ecstatic for me and really proud. But, like me, he’d be suspicious. That hourly rate was the biggest hint that this was more than just a private zoo for cryptids. And as soon as that fat check cleared without problems, my dad wouldn’t be satisfied with reassurances; he’d want to come visit the zoo and look around.
I’d told him it’s a private preservation with scheduled (expensive) visits only and that it had only eleven animals, so he’d been appeased by me brushing off the idea of a visit. Also, I took a few photos of my workplace; one of the security room, one of me sitting in my chair, one photo of the many screens I watched, and a selfie where I was feigning sleep out of boredom, slouched in my chair with my mouth open in a faux snore. That let him feel like he knew where I was and what I was doing, and that I was safe.
But if I told him I was making double what he thought, my father would practically order me to quit. No job was worth my safety, he’d tell me. I was quite of the opposite opinion, however, considering how crucial any and all conservation efforts were these days. Especially with the steep extinction levels due to humans competing with other animals for space, not to mention climate change. Working in any job that helped preserve species and keep ecosystems in balance, or put them back in balance, was so important.
Then again, my father would also point out something I had realized right away: the fact was that I was working with endangered species that were not from Earth. I wasn’t helping my planet. To be honest, though…that didn’t matter to me. Especially after that talk with Andrew about why he hired a human for this job, I figured whichever dimension these animals came from had the equivalent of us, razing forests to the ground, clouding the planet with pollution, and leaving the animals with no avenue of recourse when yet more land was taken from them.
I really do hope to keep working here for a long time, though, and not just because of the money. I can’t help it; I want to know what these things were, and I want to work with them, to do the job of a zookeeper. The same way you go up to the chain-link fence to get close to a carnivore on the other side who thinks you’d make a nice afternoon snack. You just want to be closer to them, to experience that incredible, daunting feeling of being in their presence.
Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before I got what I wanted.
The day after we had the tour go through, I was doing my sweep when I saw the ghost again. She was sitting on a small boulder in the same area I’d seen her the first time, looking identical, blood covering the front of her slashed shirt, the wounds visible underneath. I stopped and stood there for a moment before I decided to raise my hand in a small wave.
The young woman cocked her head at me and raised a hand in the air in an imitation of my gesture, her expression showing a bit of curiosity.
She was low-key, seemingly not concerned with my presence, looking at me as a novel phenomenon in her world. I wondered what that world consisted of. Was she always here, sometimes visible and sometimes not? Or did she have another world next to ours, in the ether, where she left everything in this world behind and floated in her disembodied form? Did she still feel emotions? Was that really curiosity on her face, or was I projecting? Did she feel happiness? Fear? Did she have the option of moving on, or was she stuck here?
Many questions that I might never get the answers to. And that was assuming Andrew knew the answers, since I’d never met Suzanne Cooper and he hadn’t even mentioned that possibility. This place was clearly her baby, but I’m sure running it was a lot of work. Plus, if she was rich enough to own it, she was rich enough to have other businesses and charities to run.
When it comes to the enclosures, they’re all wrapped by a barrier of some kind, though never one that seems adequate. There was not a single place with the ugly metal weavings of a chain-link fence, and no stretches of circular razor wire. Instead, there are nice fences. Black iron, or wrought steel fencing in a similar style to the one circling the perimeter of the zoo, just shorter and with different patterns. Or a spaced picket fence, the wood stained in some tone of brown, or a split two-rail fence. As if to say, ‘This is the border of your enclosure, but we’re just letting you know out of courtesy.’
When I started to pass enclosure number seven last night, a young woman’s voice spoke, “Hello.”
I startled, unaware that I hadn’t been alone. “Oh. Hi,” I said, staring at her standing a few yards in.
She had been next to a large tree and I hadn’t seen her. This enclosure was behind a picket fence, and she walked through the large area of wild grasses and flowers that stretched across the other side of the fence. There were fewer tall grasses closer to the fence, which I guessed was because it had been tromped down by her regular pacing along it when there were visitors, or if she wanted to see the various enclosures of the zoo. Her sudden appearance was a bit weird, considering I had been expecting to see a cryptid and instead I was looking at, it seemed, an attractive Asian woman.
She wore a black kimono, the soft silk robe draped gently over her body, with beautiful patterns of cherry blossoms, more so over her left side, and red and blue birds with their wings spread. A sash wrapped around her abdomen, she wore socks and sandals on her feet, and her hair was up in those rolls that gave volume to the style.
I was no expert on any fashion, much less that of another country, so I just assumed it was all traditional Japanese clothing. Most likely, the visitors who came liked to see a certain time-honored style and that’s what she stuck with. Or maybe she played on stereotypes. That would be amusing.
“I’m Yui. It’s nice to meet you,” she spoke, arriving at the border of the fence and holding out a hand for me to shake.
I’d been standing about three yards away from her, and I’ll be honest, muscle memory tried to kick in. But I only made it two steps, my hand starting to rise, before I froze, the hand falling limply at my side. “Nice to meet you, too,” I answered, my voice quiet.
Damn. I wonder how many times that honey trap works back where she comes from.
The pleasant look on her face faded, and she lowered her hand. “You won’t shake hands with me? Isn’t that rude?”
“I mean, I kind of like my hand where it is. You know, attached to me.”
Her demure smile widened into something more amused. “I would never do something so revolting.”
Looking her up and down, as if more visual information would give me more knowledge of what she was, I asked her, “What would you do?”
“I would be less wasteful,” she said softly.
A finger of ice trailed down my spine, and I had the sudden image in my head of her grabbing my outstretched hand in an iron grip and yanking me over the fence, leaving me to sprawl on the ground. Then killing and consuming me efficiently, without a single careless step, the same way humans slaughtered pigs, using everything from the hog but the squeal. I was struck with a shiver at the idea of her consuming everything from me but my screams.
Slowly, I took one step further down the path, then another. Just as I got to a walking pace, though, I realized the woman had started walking too, in the same direction. I’d have eventually gotten to the end of her enclosure and keep going, leaving her behind, but she spoke up. “Are you leaving?”
I came to a stop, meeting her gaze again. “My job is to walk the zoo every hour. Then I’ll get back to the security room and stay there until my next walk.”
“Have you met the others yet?”
I hesitated before saying, “Just Leila.”
She blinked languidly. “That means nobody welcomed you here.”
“Andrew did.”
She didn’t reply to that. Instead, she slowly started to lean forward, and I flinched backward a few steps further as I saw insect legs start curling out from her back.
No. Not insect. Arachnid.
The eight legs ended in small ‘paws’ with tiny claws, a layer of hairs covering the leg from top to bottom, like any typical tarantula. I took two more slow steps back and my mouth went dry as the jointed legs just kept lengthening, until they were large enough to lever her off the ground.
My gaze had been on the spider legs, but my heart skipped a beat as I realized her human legs had melded together and turned into a bulging abdomen. Her skin was shifting to a carapace, eventually all the way up to her shoulders and down her arms, her fingers elongating and her nails stretching to claws. From there down, her body was that of a pale tarantula with pedipalps the size of my arms and piercing fangs in her jaws that looked like they could take my head off.
There was a moment, my vision blurring, where I was worried that I might piss myself. The part of my brain that still had its humor intact in that moment told me that I should keep an emergency set of clothes in my car, or at the very least, start wearing Depends to work.
“I show you my true form,” she said softly, her voice now raspy like an eighty-year-old after a lifelong smoking habit. “Welcome to Suzanne Cooper’s zoo. The night shift guard for many years was Roger, before he retired and the zoo moved, and I miss him dearly. What should I call you?”
I choked on my words. There was no way my throat was going to cooperate enough for me to clearly get a sentence out. Instead, I realized my legs had taken control of the situation themselves, unsatisfied with my conscious brain’s decision to stand and stare, taking steps backward. I backed up a yard, then five yards, then ten.
My mind focused on the fact that spiders don’t waste anything, and pictured my demise. I’d be wrapped in a cocoon, killed, and made nice and mushy before she had me for dinner.
The whole time, my brain was a frenzied mess, my pupils were probably the size of dimes, and I was staring at that tiny, pathetic fence between her and me. There was so much adrenaline pumping through my body that I felt like my bones were vibrating. The fence was, to my eyes, the only thing between us. The only thing keeping her from tackling and killing me. My only hope was that she’d do it quickly.
But she didn’t move. As I absorbed her innocent, polite words, the look on her face was calm, and I wondered if this was typically the way a conversation went before she devoured her prey. I wondered how many people she’d eaten. Not humans, not people from Earth, but the ones from where she came from. The fact that she doesn’t scare the shit out of those people means they’re staggeringly dumber than humans.
Finally, I rounded a corner, both relieved at having her out of my sight and worried that she would take that moment to come find me. When she’d been within eyeshot, I had at least known where she was and could run in the other direction. But I didn’t hear the sound of faint footsteps moving rapidly toward me. All was quiet, in that deep, smothering way that only an empty business in the middle of the night in small town America could be.
My hands trembling, I barely paid attention to anything but the confirmation that my surroundings were free of the colossal spider as I finally got back to the door. Grabbing the handle and letting my eyes dart around for about ten seconds and my ears prick for the slightest sound, I finally swiped my key card across the pad and went inside, shutting the door behind me and engaging the backup deadbolt.
Maybe that was why they had decided on keycards. If I was running from something and panicking, using an actual key or inserting the card like at a hotel would keep me from getting to safety considering my hands were shaking enough to mix a margarita.
Walking over to my chair, I fell into it, letting my body flush itself of terror as I looked up at the cameras. There she was, still in arachnid form, exactly where I’d left her behind that rinky-dink fence, casually looking around and slowly pacing back and forth. I stared at her as my racing heart gradually slowed, and a minute or so later she turned on her eight legs and walked back into the trees.
Whatever invisible fences the enclosures have apparently work, which is nice, because I wasn’t keen on getting killed by one of the creatures here. And that’s what brings me here, spilling out everything that’s happened so far. Because nearly passing out from terror isn’t something I wanted to deal with at work, obviously, but I keep going over what she did in my head again and again, and I feel like I reacted like a child who spotted a wolf spider on their bed. I started to worry for my overactive sense of self-preservation, at least in my capacity as an employee here.
The spider didn’t even try to hurt me, and so I was feeling a bit foolish. Even annoyed, actually, at the fact that I’d freaked out so hard and took off instead of trying to engage in at least basic conversation. I got the sense that she wasn’t at human-level intelligence, but I was never going to be able to hold any level of conversation with an alligator.
Sure, she did mention that she wouldn’t be so crass as to yank off my hand because she’d rather just have my entire corpse, but wouldn’t a wolf do the same if it was hungry? Wouldn’t any carnivore? Actually, they probably would’ve been satisfied with one of my hands. The fear here was from the fact that she turned into a giant spider. If she’d turned into Clifford, I would’ve reacted the same way, if not better than, meeting Leila.
With that, I decided I’m staying on the job. Considering how frustrated I can get with foolish people, it’s a bit hypocritical, and I’m being a bit of an idiot. But…there are definitely wards keeping them in their enclosures. Also, I signed up for creatures for another dimension, whether or not I believed in them at the time, and I will not let encountering my first one in an objectively boring way be the reason I quit.
The money is a factor, I’ll grant you. Of course it is. And I can’t spend it if I’m dead, but all signs point to surviving as long as I don’t do anything dumb. Also, yes, I’ll admit there’s a not-so-little voice in the back of my head that’s desperate to know what else is here. I never thought I’d do something like this, but finding out these things are real, I honestly do want to learn more about them.
Still, though, I decided to call Andrew at the end of my shift to ask if the pepper spray and taser I carried worked on a certain spider, as well as the other animals I’d yet to meet.
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/storiesbykaren

(probably should use "twisted" or "corrupted" instead of "perverted", but I like rhymes. And it sounds funnier).
So! Heraldic madness. They all have assigned divine traits, and they all seems to be busy doing the exact opposite. Or they're still doing their thing, but in a twisted way that does more harm than good. Or-- and this is the theory I saw many moons ago-- since they have two traits, one trait is inverted and one trait is perverted. I do really like this theory because it works very well for some of them, but I'm not sure if it holds up for everything. So that's what I'd like to discuss tonight-- which Heralds it fits, where it might fall through, and whether you, dear Redditor, personally find it convincing or not.

Good fits

• Shallash [creative (inverted) /honest (perverted)]: She knows that the Heralds lied and abandoned their duty, and her Honesty has been twisted into a mania where she can't let people worship her. This leads into her Destructiveness, ruining artwork of herself.
  
• Ishar [pious (inverted)/guiding (perverted)]: Tyranny is an extremely direct method of Guiding. And it's hard to get more Blasphemous than declaring yourself God.
  
• Kalak [resolute (inverted)/builder (perverted): We all saw just how Indecisive he was in Rhythm of War; man can barely pick out his socks in the morning. As for Builder, my theory is that when he starts something, it goes out of his control in an entirely unintended direction. Like if, say, he were to start a secret society with purpose of of finding a way for a Herald to escape the planet; their mission statement might devolve into something like "start the Apocalypse in order the bring the Heralds back". Just for example.
  
• Nale [just (perverted)/confident (inverted)]: Nale's Justice has become blind adherence to the letter of the law, because he is Unsure of his own powers of reason. (I'm not entirely happy about this one because it breaks the pattern of the primary trait being the inverted one, but it seems to fit best that way).
  

Only have partial knowledge

• Battar (wise/careful): Taking Tarvy at face value (a thing which has always gone well) when he says she's Dova, she instigated and has been advising the Diagram. I would say that lines up best with a perversion of Wise, in which she is giving good advice for a... less than good end. I guess her inversion would be Carelessness, and you know what? Getting in bed with any old secret society might just indicate a lack of critical thinking.
  
• Jezrien (protecting/leading): He gets drunk and... well, that's most of what we know about him. He's a drunk. Either one of those could be the inversion, and the other one something he does off page. You know what, I'm going to say he's practicing, uh, Dereliction. And he's perverting Protection by enabling alcoholics like Dalinar to avoid facing their pain.
  

Does he even belong on this list?

• Taln (dependable/resourceful): Is Heraldic Opposite-Day Syndrome from breaking the Oathpact, or just a consequence of Honor dying/time passing/something else that applies to them equally? Not that I'm denying Taln is also insane, I'm just not 100% sure it's an insanity related to being Dependable or Resourceful. Though if it is... hmm... this is another one where it could sink the theory by both of them being inversions, or he could be Incapable, and also unhelpfully Dependable with his constant repetition of his "I am Talenel'Elin, Herald of War" speech.

Just have theories

• Chana (brave/obedient): The popular theory is, of course, that she's Shallan's mother. If this turns out to be the case, perhaps her perversion is Obedience, unquestioningly listening to Nale when he says all Radiants need to be killed, even her own daughter. (Though that doesn't differ much from Nale listening to Ishar in the first place). And she might have been hiding away in Jah Kaved due to Cowardice. (I'm having a lot of self-doubt here, largely because I'd been misremembering her primary trait as "Guarding" and had to rethink her on the fly).
  
• Vedel (loving/healing): Another popular theory is that Vedel is Liss the assassin. Which, yeah, Killing would be a pretty straightforward inversion. As for perverting Loving, maybe there's some sort of "putting them out of their misery" self-rationalization involved?
  
• Pailiah (learned/giving): There's an old WoB that she was an ardent Shallan saw in the Palaneum, but then I heard that that it had been retracted, but then I searched Arcanum and I couldn't find the retraction, so... I dunno. If you have any better information, please share. It's too late at night for me to come up with theories based on Schrodinger's WoB.
  

Anyway, what do you guys think? Does this approach have merit, or am I stretching too much?

There were Jewish Freedom fighters in WWII. WHAT IF Magneto escaped the camps and joined them, or was liberated by them? His powers would develop earlier and he would be seen as a young hero, rather than appearing later as an embittered antihero or villain. He might not meet Xavier in the same way, but he wouldn’t oppose him for the same reasons either. If his abilities needed time to develop further before he fully became Magneto he could use guns and knives as a freedom fighter. He could even meet Captain America and get a chance to “Sock Hitler in the JAW!” (Or straight up murder him, or Baron Zemo, someone like that). Magneto being a public figure fighting for good during the War, putting a face to both the plight of the Jewish people and the role of Mutants in modern society, it would go a long way towards actually helping Xavier’s goals, by taking an active protective and defensive role, and possibly prevent Magneto from becoming the thing he hated and feared most, a radicalized Supremacist. He could wear the white and black and gray Krakoan era suit and be a good guy, or maybe he’d go bad during the Civil Rights era of the 60’s and 70’s going “too far” in his efforts (but the reckoning of the American Government) to defend othered groups, not just mutants, leading to a class / race based Civil War or Avengers vs X-MEN where the US Government is like “Cap, go put this guy away,” and Captain America is like “I do what’s right Mr. President (Nixon) and this isn’t right” and so an alternate version of the Thunderbolts is formed, and the fighting results in Xavier being paralyzed, Magneto forming Asteroid M or Genosha, and Mutants facing the Registration Act, but in the 70’s. X-Factor is formed as a Government Liaison team, like a mutant oversight task force. The team consists of several members including Forge, Sabertooth and Mystique, who play both sides by inventing tech and taking out hits on the leaders of anti-mutant hate groups and monitoring the progress of the SENTINEL program. From his base of operations, Magneto recruits mutants into his Brotherhood, including Wolverine, who leads a 70’s version of X-FORCE. In this Timeline, Magneto is more of a good guy, and Logan is less of a good guy, so they balance out. The X-Men still operate out of West Chester NY led by Cyclops, Angel and Jean Grey. When she becomes the Phoenix, she gives birth to Nate Grey and Rachel Summers, who inherit the gift of the Phoenix from her, sharing it between them. At some point Apocalypse rises as the big bad, and Jean joins him, turning Rachel into a Hound, and infecting Nate with the Techno Organic Virus. Cyclops becomes a Horseman and Wolverine blinds him, but is unable to kill Jean. Angel, now Archangel and the Horseman of Death, impales Wolverine with 1,000s of his little wing blades. Jean floats down to Logan and weeps fiery tears, holding him. There are BAMFs everywhere just BAMFin around bein’ silly little gremlins. Nightcrawler comes outta nowhere and stabs Jean (and Logan) through the heart w the Muramasa blade. Magneto goes toe to toe with Apocalypse and wins, the Big A takes the L, accepts defeat. Magneto, Emma Frost, Banshee, Nightcrawler, various other surviving mutants re-establish a base on Muir Island, founding eXCALIBUR and training the young mutants of an alternate Gen X team. 100 issue run, or several seasons of a show. That’s my pitch.

Hello,
I've been dealing with pain in my 5th metatarsal, specifically around the head and fat pad area of my foot. I went to the doctor in January and have had x-rays, however, no stress fracture showed up in the imaging.
The doctor recommended I stick to cross-training and stay with low drop running shoes - which is what I have been doing the past couple of months.
In addition, I have been working on my foot mobility with a Mobo board, doing toe yoga exercises, using toe socks, changing all of my shoes to anatomic toe boxes, doing hip circuit, and more recently have been using toe spacers.
However, I still have lingering pain in the area right behind my 5th toe on my right foot. It gets especially aggravated when walking on hardwood floors.
I'm unsure if there are any other exercises I should be doing and would really appreciate anyone's help and insight with this.
Thank you!

"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.

Just something I was pondering the other day after having a discussion with a co-worker about minimalism. She had no idea that I consider myself a minimalist because I am always the most fashionable person in the office. I broke down my wardrobe to her and she was stunned at how it worked and how she had never noticed the "repetition" before. My co-worker had the stereotype of minimalists in her head: that we all strive to own as little as humanly possible and that we wear super plain things like jeans and black t-shirts as our daily uniform. So, just curious about other minimalists who love fashion of some form and how you do it! I'll outline my system below now for those curious! It's long to type out, but was actually pretty quick conversation over lunch in person!
_________________________________________________________
Basically, besides socks/bras/underwear here is what I own:

1. Leggings. I have about 12 pairs of leggings that are either capris or full-length and basic neutrals like black, grey, and brown. I have 2 pair of fleece-lined ones for winter and separate workout leggings. I buy these new and from two different brands I really like. Replace as needed.
   
2. Dresses. I have about 20-25 dresses at any given moment and they are all simple, classic cuts (t-shirt, a-line, sundress etc.) with a few sweater dresses and maxi dresses. I don't buy "themed" dresses, such as prints that are very obviously Christmas or Halloween. I stick to neutral solid colors and basic patterns like stripes and polka dots, as well as small non-flashy florals. Most of these dresses are thrifted and I enjoy the hunt for something. I do sometimes purchase new dresses but only if they are high quality, extremely versatile, look fantastic on me, and I can get them in several colors/patterns and just buy 4 versions of it in one go.
   
3. Cover-ups. This is where the "style" comes in. I have about 15-20 different coverups in different styles that are ALL thrifted. They consist of things like cardigans, blazers, vests, button-down shirts, and light jackets. These are all pretty neutral as well but I love finding pieces with a little flair to them. Like, I have 2 denim vests, one that is just a plain, simple vest and one that has fun embroidered daisy patches on it.
   
4. Shoes. I pretty much only ever have 9 pairs of shoes. 2 pair of sneakers, 2 pairs of sandals, 2 fashion boots (ankle/riding), 2 ballet flats, and 1 pair of work boots. These are all new and slightly higher quality and I rarely have to replace one, besides the pair or sneakers and boots that I work out/hike in and thus get worn down more quickly.
   
5. Accessories. I have a small collection of scarves, jewelry, purses, belts, and a few odds and ends like that.
   

The only pants I own are a pair of hiking pants and a pair of work overalls! I do have in one part of my sock drawer two hiking t-shirts, a swimsuit, and sleeping shorts/sweats. That's it.
ALL of this fits in one 4 drawer dresser and 1 standard size hanging clothes rack, taking up maybe one quarter of my walk-in closet. Yes, including the accessories. Most of the closet is just storage for the seasonal things like our small boxes of holiday décor, our snowshoes, and the cushions for our patio furniture. There are two whole shelves just empty in there.
Now, the fashionable part is that because all my clothes are mainly neutrals or very subtle little extras, they all mix and match, and I can throw an accessory on to completely change the feel of the outfit. The day my co-worker and I were talking about fashion and minimalism I was wearing a plain black sundress with a plain denim vest, plain blue sandals, and a summery scarf tied in my hair. I told her this was the same dress I wore to the big fancy fundraising dinner last November, but I paired it with a black blazer, my black riding boots, black leggings, and a simple pearl necklace/earring set. I also worse this dress/boot/legging combo to our Christmas party too, I just switched the blazer for a red cardigan and threw on a white scarf and snowflake earrings. She was flabbergasted and she swore she'd never seen this dress on me before. But I literally wear this dress all the time. I've repaired the straps on it twice and the hem once, it's that old and loved. I love taking the same core pieces and mixing & matching them in creative ways to create whole new looks. I've worn the same dress three times in one week and gotten compliments on my outfit from the same people telling me I always look so put together. People think I must own a whole closet full of clothes and spend tons of money, but I don't. It's just strategy! _________________________________________________________
WOW, that was long! But who else can I talk all this out with, lol! There's gotta be SOMEONE here that loves fashion as a minimalist too, or someone who thinks they have to give it up to be a minimalist. This post is for us!

Genocide looked to the sky. He thought of his mentor. The one who had saved him. He remembered his childhood. How powerless he was. He remembered the anger. He never wanted to hurt anybody. He thought of all the times he showed compassion. How much they hurt him for it. He saw the world before him, a graveyard. Humans. People that were supposed to be made in the image of some divine creator. They were but maggots feasting upon his remains. They ate away at his very being until nothing human remained. His thoughts were no longer his own. He had no joys in life that mattered. He hated humanity more than he could love anything about himself. He remember his first killing spree. Being gunned down by police. Left for dead. He remembered a hooded figure moving towards him. Getting closer the more he neared his death. He saw its pale face. Its impossibly black eyes. It was a man. This figure in question appeared to be of Japanese nationality with long, straight, loose hair. It emanated extreme malice. It offered him a choice. A purpose. Power. He thought the figure a reaper but it identified itself as Amakusa Masataka. Masataka guided him on how to kill and gave him specific locations to kill people in. In a sense, he became a hitman for quotas of people. He inquired what Masataka was. The presence of evil, his ability to appear and disappear at will, how he could control what people could see him and what people couldn't. While vague, years of killing for this being offered some insight. Amakusa Masataka belonged to a group of people not of this world. His people had been corrupted by a dark force long ago and had aligned themselves with the warlord who had subjugated their version of Japan. Their dark high priest assisted the warlord along with two others. These four rulers in turn served a larger order. The four were tasked with bringing about the end of the current world as an act of retribution for some fallen deity. Masataka's people acted as covert operatives for this empire. They were feared across the land and were collectively referred to as "Shinigami". An agent of the coming apocalypse, a servant of evil possessed by the will of those gods of death, Genocide would walk the earth.
Genocide stepped toward the station. A police cruiser rammed into him. He pulled out a knife and stabbed the hood of the car. The inhuman force of the knife created sparks which burst the engine into flames. The car crashed into a streetlight and exploded. A second cruiser neared the scene. No way a man could have done this. Yet still, out of the fires Genocide strode forth. It set upon the second vehicle, shooting out it's tires while jumping 9 feet into the air. The car tries to reverse but crashes into a wall. Genocide lands on the hood and kicks through the front window. Glass shatters under its boot, blinding the two officers inside. Genocide shoots one of the officers with a shotgun, killing him. The second officer in the passenger seat readies his pistol and takes aim. Only two shots fired, both directed at Genocide's head. It casually cocks its neck to avoid them. Then it grabs the officer's arm, breaking it. Genocide uses its free hand to grab the officer's head and bangs it into the dashboard no less than 5 times. The skull is shattered on the final impact. Genocide jumps off the car and continues on his mission.
Detective Evans speaks through a megaphone," This is your first and final warning. Stand down or we will use any and all means at our disposal to put you down." Genocide dropped its shotgun and raised its hands. A group of five SWAT team members rushed out the station, surrounding Genocide with riot shields. An officer accompanies them, edging behind the figure to apply handcuffs. Suddenly, Genocide springs to life , grabbing the officer behind him. He flips the officer over his head, slamming him into the pavement at his feet. Then Genocide stomps his head causing it to burst. Genocide drops a flash bomb from his coat sleeve, blinding the SWAT team as he draws his knife. He drives it into one SWAT member, the knife puncturing the shield and piercing his chest. Genocide kicks the corpse away withdrawing his knife. He goes to another, this time using the end of his boot toe in a rising kick to disarm their shield. He grabs them by the throat and drives the knife slowly into their eye socket. Another is tackled to the ground and beaten to death despite still being under the shield. Another is picked up and thrown into the fires still burning from the first auto incident. In no time, Genocide stood before an indistinguishable mass of gore, blood streaking across his black leather outfit. He laughed" So this is all you can give me. I'm not entertained." Officers took aim from the station windows, and snipers did so from other rooftops. Genocide laughed maniacally as he was rained down upon from all sides by a hailstorm of bullets. His body convulsed, but he did not fall. Moments more and he was on his knees. Still though, their efforts were futile. Gracia looked out and saw a black mist coalescing around the man in black. His blood. Blood erupted from his body only to transform into this dark mist that reentered his wounds. Genocide screamed. No. It was just an elevated pitch in his laughter. Optimism failed everyone yet again. Gracia saw Genocide holding something in his right hand. She could only make out a beeping red light. Genocide pushed the button triggering the carefully concealed explosives he laid in preparation for this event. C4 explosives went off in all the places he saw fit. The sniping posts he couldn't reach. The assault of lead lightened. Then Genocide drew an RPG from...somewhere. He collected himself and fired at the station's entrance. The explosion shook the station. From inside, the lights began to flicker. Communications were down on all fronts. Had he modified the rocket with some type of EMP? Not good. Amisdst the confusion Genocide entered using smoke bombs to mask his presence. Moving like a shadow, he killed everyone in the lobby silently with his knife. He made his way to the holding cells. Still they chanted. Still they praised. Still they raved for the arrival of genocide. Genocide shot the lock opening the cell. Jim Jimenez walked out and bowed before his master. Genocide smiled. He couldn't have imagined how proficient he had gotten with possession. Well, not quite possession. He had known of the Shinigami's ability to share their thoughts and emotions with humans. Shinigami like his mentor were ancient. They had so many years of memories, such strong a hatred for life that they overwhelmed the personality of the victim. The victim sees themselves as one of them. Shinigami can't force the will of the victim, so they find those who are already similar to them in some way. Genocide found the collective universal distrust of police to be a prime sentiment to capitalize on. He armed the inmates, infecting them with samples of his own dark essence.One particular inmate caught Genocide's eye. He knew the man's work. An arsonist. The one whom he recalls was responsible for blowing up his first car way back in high school. Rather than a standard firearm, Genocide gave the man a random assortment of grenades containing a special surprise. Genocide showed them visions of anarchy, of sending a message to a society that used and disregarded them. While this was also true of how he felt, years of living in darkness had changed him. He needed no purpose. No end goal. No justification. He just wanted to watch the world burn.
Genocide's small army broke off to engage several different wings of the station. Genocide went to the security room. He found Wayne, his informant, playing some FPS on one of the monitors. Wayne took of his headphones and asked," You kill everyone yet?" Genocide responded," No. You should get going before that happens. Your life becomes fair game if I run out of pigs to cook." Wayne clapped his hands, "Aight, GC my man, say less." He packed his things and left. Genocide drew a twin pair of handguns and laid waste to the station. He followed a group that took cover in the men's restroom. Kicking open multiple stalls he was surprised to find...nothing. Where had they gone? He turned around and saw his mentor, Masataka, smiling at him. It looked like him. Long, dark hair, black clothing, and soulless, empty eyes. But it wasn't. It was Genocide's own reflection in the mirror. Genocide smiled. He didn't notice the changes at first. They must have happened gradually. Subconsciously. From the final stall, an officer sprung into action, rushing Genocide, hitting him point blank with a shockgun round. Genocide felt the tingling sensation electrifying his body and grew numb. In spite of the pain, he took a single step. Then, another. He came within striking range of the officer and snatched the shockgun. Two more officers erupted from another stall, battering him with baton strikes. Genocide felt nothing. He clutched the shockgun in his hand like a bat and went to work pulverizing his attackers. An officer kicked in the bathroom door, a woman holding a pistol. She fired multiple times to no effect. Genocide stood covered in blood. He even let her reload. Twice. He wanted to see her despair. Her hopelessness. He walked towards her, shrugging off bullets as they pierced his body. His wounds healed nigh instantly due to the dark essence he had been imbued with. He held her face with both hands, lifting her body off the ground. As she screamed, he used her head to shatter the restroom mirror, running down the full length of it while smashing her into it at several points. He dropped the remains of what he held, washed his hands with soap, dried them, then exited the restroom.
The inmates that rallied for the cause of genocide attacked the station. Fortunately, they were nowhere near Genocide in terms of power and only carried one type of firearm each. They shared his healing ability but could be killed quite easily. Gracia encountered a sniper on the end or a west wing hallway. Other officers waited behind corners unable to get close. Gracia noticed the faulty lighting. In this hallway, the lights flickered in intervals of 3 seconds. Finding a pattern and timing her movements, she rushed the sniper at the exact moment the lights went out. Running the length of the hall, Gracia zigzagged, dodging the sniper inmate's bullets. She jumped on a wall, ran 3 feet on it, then kicked off it, pouncing on the assailant. She fired five shots into him, making sure to hit the brain and the heart. Two severe injuries that were impossible for Shinigami essence to heal simultaneously. Elsewhere, Evans took on another escaped inmate. A vehicular arsonist named Carson. Carson had a bag filled with an assortment of different grenades and was happily giving them out like candy on Halloween. "A flash bang here, a bit of tear gas there. Oh. Wait! Was that an ice grenade? Did the explosion freeze your leg to the floor? Whoops. Maybe a fire grenade will melt that for you. Hold on let me get one fore you," Carson rambled gleefully. Evans looked at the carnage before him. Officers burning. Officers partially frozen in blocks of ice. He took a breath and aimed his wristgun. He steadied his right forearm. Carson readied to throw a random grenade. Evans shot it the moment it left Carson's hand. The grenade exploded directly in front of Carson. Both Evans and Carson looked at each other in shock. Confetti. A party grenade? Carson quickly fumbled for another but was tackled and restrained by several officers. Meanwhile in the South wing, Lary had some colleagues set a trap for another shotgun toting inmate. He had them bait the inmate and flee. Giving chase he turned a corner and ran straight into Lary's fist. The inmate recovered and motioned to shoot Lary. "Let's tango. " Lary gave the code word. Nearby officers activated a device. A signal jammer of sorts. The inmate shoved the barrel of his gun into Lary's gut and pulled the trigger. Nothing. The special signal jammer in question was designed for firearms. It was a last resort as it left officers just as defenseless. Lary was having fun. He boxed the inmate in hand to hand combat. Despite the inmate's enhanced strength, Lary's technique pulled through. Lary ducked under one of the inmate's wide punches and did some type of rising uppercut where he jumped off the ground while spinning. One of the other officers whispered" The rising dragon." Lary smiled giving a thumbs up" Yeah, it was a rising dragon uppercut. Saw it in one O my kid's vidya games. Thought I'd try it out while I'm jacked on adrenaline".
Jim Jimenez looked long and hard at himself in the mirror. He was in the women's restroom. Some brainless woman had broken the men's restroom mirror with her face. For the first time in a long while Jim could think clearly. He was becoming sane. At the least he was no longer a raving lunatic. The life essence of the dark gods had healed the wounds to both his body and his mind. He saw his face, his scraggly dirty beard. He found a razor and shaved. He trimmed his beard somewhat. He liked it. He washed his hair. It fell down his face like silk, no longer greasy. His bloodshot eyes once burning with crazed intensity had cooled. He blinked. Just for a second, he saw the man known as Genocide. The man that attacked him. The one that killed him and gave him new life. The drug dealers. The police. They were all the same in his eyes now. They were all to blame for the world being what it is. Jim wanted to hate them. He wanted to take revenge, but he felt nothing. It didn't matter. He knew he was wronged, could logically justify acting against them, but he just didn't care anymore. About anything. He was finally free. Sensing his presence was no longer needed here, Jim vanished into the night. He needed to find someone who had had the answers he needed. Himself. Who had he been? Who was he now? Who could he become? Where was he going? So many questions to ponder indefinitely. So much time left in the rest of his life.
Genocide ran down the station's halls raining hailstorms of bullets upon its occupants. He had a handgun in each hand as well as a wristgun on each wrist. This effectively gave him 4 separate firearms that he could use simultaneously. Lary regrouped with Gracia, Evans, and a handful of others. They radioed all surviving officers near Genocide to flee to the roof. This plan had been set in motion days before the assault and had been kept hidden from most of the force. The plan involved scheduling flights for several helicopters to arrive at some point after Genocide arrived. There would be no way for him to prepare for them and pre-scheduling their arrival ensured they arrived regardless of if they were called or not. Lary and the others set about preparing the second jamming device. Genocide stood among a hallway of bodies. He saw one man clinging to life trying to crawl away. He decided on trying that other thing he saw his master do. He grabbed the dying man and pinned him to the wall. Slowly he drove a knife into his chest. As the man's life slipped away, something else entered his body. Genocide channeled a small amount of his essence into the vessel. He had steadily done this with other casualties around the station whose bodies were somewhat salvageable. He dropped the body he was holding and looked upon the others. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his eyed were black, both sclera and iris. The scene before him changed. Genocide had a vision. He saw a dead gray wasteland littered with bodies. These people however weren't cops and wore traditional Japanese attire. In his hand wasn't a gun or knife but a short sickle akin to a farming tool. He heard a dark voice call out to him. Slowly, the corpses around him began to rise, now mere puppets bound eternally to their master's whim. The bodies sold to the reaper who had claimed their lives. Genocide's vision ended. His eyes had returned normal. Around him, dead cops began to rise. His dark essence had entered their bodies and reanimated them. He sent his dead army to attack the officers fleeing to the roof of the station. These zombies swarmed the stairwell giving chase to the few survivors. There were five of them. They had two flights of stairs to climb and a horde of their former colleagues close behind them. One officer tripped and was set upon by the horde. The zombies didn't bite them but held them firmly in place. The other four officers stared down wondering what to do. They could hear Genocide chuckling. They could hear humming. They could feel the temperature rising. Their colleague and the two zombies holding him were hit by an enormous green fireball. Genocide had fired a Magnum Opus and had charged the bullet to level 3. The Magnum Opus was simply a magnum that shot fireballs, with bullets that could be charged by holding down the trigger. It had three levels of charges. Level 1 was a small reddish ball of plasma. Level 2 was slightly larger and yellow. Level 3 was the maximum charge and resulted in a large slow moving green blast of energy. The officer was ignited and Genocide watched gleefully as the force of the blast sent him flying through a wall. The four officers continued up firing occasionally to slow down the zombies. Soon they made it to a door leading to the roof. Before one officer could reach it, he was sniped by Genocide, a bullet to the head killing him instantly. The remaining three made it out. They regrouped with the others already there, 12 in total, including Lary, Evans, and Gracia. This would be their final stand. They just had to hold out until Genocide made it up there. They just had to keep Genocide occupied until the helicopters arrived. Genocide slowly ascended the stairs behind his horde. On the roof, the remaining survivors faced off against waves of the undead. Evans recognized the attackers. These zombies were being controlled by nanomachines. He heard the stories of several weapons encountered by soldiers on the battlefield. These creatures were called Metaldeads as they were reanimated via machines. They had been officially banned by most of the worlds' governments for being unethical. However, this did not stop the technology from being spread still between shady organizations, terrorists, etc. Evans wondered how Genocide got this form of nanotechnology. Evans long speculated that the dark essence used by most of the killers they encountered was a a form of nanotech however it was different from anything else he had seen or heard about. The dark essence seemed to be an amalgamation of other types of nanotech. Evans had to save his inquiries for later. He reloaded his wristgun and took aim at the approaching group of Metaldeads. Gracia steadied her handgun and shot two Metaldeads in the head. From the single door countless arms seemed to spill forth from the darkness. The other officers took turns firing in intervals. this allowed them to create a steady stream of fire where no more that three guns needed to be reloaded at once. The horde seemed to thin out over time as if they were making progress. In actuality, the Metaldeads were just making room for Genocide to enter. Genocide exploded in a sprint from the door. Everyone fired upon the killer. Genocide had now chosen a wrist mounted mini flamethrower to use as his weapon. He stormed past the oncoming bullets taking some damage, but refused to slow down. He unleashed a stream of fire that caught five of the officers in one fell swoop. Gracia fired five rounds into Genocide's face. He stumbled back. Lary took the chance to fire several mine gun bullets at Genocide's feet. The mines quickly detected his movement and exploded. In seconds, Genocide was on his back.
Staring at the night sky Genocide saw the moon. He reached for it. He called for the darkness to give him more power. His wounds began healing. In the sky he could hear the whirl of propellers. There were six helicopters in total. The first two had evacuated the survivors while the others stayed to engage Genocide. Genocide got up and unstrapped the sniper rifle from his back. He stood before the searchlights as a black silhouette, cornered but unwilling to back down. Lary stared down at him smiling. "Okay!" He shouted, "Let's Tango!" Upon this declaration the second jamming device was activated. Now, isolated on the roof, Genocide's guns couldn't be fired and the helicopters were out of range of the device. Now Genocide stood like a sitting duck. A helicopter fired a rocket. Genocide side stepped and grabbed it. He turned his body redirecting the rocket to hit another helicopter. As it exploded Genocide drew his knife and threw it at another helicopter. Behind the knife was such force that it shattered the helicopter window's glass, embedding itself in the pilot. This helicopter too went down where it exploded. "Holy clucknuggets!Did you see that!?" Lary said dumbfounded. Evans looked out the helicopter door he was in jaw open in shock. "There's no way." He collected himself quickly and radioed the remaining two helicopters to keep moving and to use their machineguns as much as possible. The helicopters reigned down upon Genocide tearing apart his body. Shreds of leather and darkened blood sprayed across the pavement of the roof. Gracia watched as Genocide's body was destroyed repeatedly as it tried to heal. Surely he had to stop at some point. After 10 minutes the helicopters had exhausted their cache of ammunition and soldiers opted to fire their own rifles and occasionally throw grenades. After about six minutes, they too had run out of bullets. Genocide stood unfazed. He had long since healed himself and now appeared intangible with gunfire seeming to pass through his body. His coat once ripped , now appeared whole though on closer inspection seemed to writhe. Gracia looked in horror as she remembered the tales her adopted father had told her. Tales he had in turn heard from his predecessors. Every so often officers had reported encounters with ghost like beings cloaked in a cloud of living dark mist. The beings were rumored to be responsible for the deaths of multiple people ranging from scientists, veterans, mafia, politicians, etc. They were seen near such crime scenes and even more shockingly appeared around several sites where suicides were committed. These beings were reportedly impervious to bullets and filled anyone who got near with an impending sense of dread. If Genocide was connected to them or somehow turning into one , there was little chance they would be able to defeat him. Gracia's fears were confirmed when she saw that Genocide's leather coat had been destroyed and he had replaced it with the dark mist coalescing from his own spilled blood. The dark mist, swirling, grew larger and several tendrils sprouted out from it. Gracia could briefly make out a figure standing next to Genocide. A hooded figure cloaked in the same black substance. The figure stared up at her with soulless, blackened eyes which seemed to beckon her to jump from the aircraft she was standing in. Compelling her to give in to the death that plagued the earth. Genocide kneeled to his master. The Shinigami, Masataka stared down at his disciple. "You have done a great service to us. Even now the sealed god stirs in its slumber. Its...Awakening will soon be upon us. It calls out for war. It begs for famine. It longs to continue its conquest. We are the death it so desires. The death that is necessary for this civilization to grow. Use the power that I have bestowed upon you. Finish the mission as you see fit." The Shinigami vanished and Genocide stood.Genocide stared at his hands. He remembered the first killing spree. He was on a bus. It stopped. A woman got on the bus and walked to the back smiling as she passed him. Something about her eyes unnerved him. They were so bright but something dark reflected inside them. He ignored the thought and put in his headphones. In minutes he had dozed off. He jumped awake. He looked around and froze in panic. All around him, everyone had been hacked to pieces. He saw the driver, actively being stabbed by a masked assailant. The mask, painted white with black eyeholes, stared back at him. It raised a finger over where its lips would be. Even under the expressionless visage, he could feel that same smile. He ran home that morning. He went to his room to find it destroyed. His posters, his computer, his tv, everything, had been ruined. He turned around and saw a man at the end of the hallway holding a sledge hammer. "The hell you been, boy?", his stepdad sneered. The man dropped his hammer and walked closer, veins pulsing with rage. He tried to explain how his car had caught fire forcing him to walk 4 miles to the nearest bus stop, but the man's fist was faster than his words. "Boy!Answer me when I talk to you!!" the man says as he backhands the taste out of the would be Genocide's mouth. He took that beating for several minutes before being left to stare at his ransacked room. He hated how his stepdad went out of his way to destroy the things he loved. Soon, another set of footsteps could be heard. It was his mother standing behind his locked door. She didn't knock, or say anything. She just stood there, doing nothing as always. He never knew if she came to talk to him or apologize. All he knew was that she could never bring herself to speak to or even acknowledge him. Maybe out of guilt or perhaps shame. A year or two later after he had had enough he ran away from home. Living out on the streets alone, without friends, or family, he would embark on countless killing sprees. These killings weren't of his own volition however. He was coerced by some corrupt officers from The Unit. They made him kill on their behalf. Sometimes they were protesters, sometimes they were drug dealers, other times, petty criminals they couldn't be bothered to process. It was routine for him to be used to kill entire houses of drug riddled addicts. During one such venture he entered a drug den, killing the dealer as instructed. He took out several junkies before turning to leave. A woman who survived her injuries clung to his heel begging him to stop. Looking down he aimed the handgun he was carrying at her head of long disheveled brown hair and fired. Feeling nothing, he kicked her body aside like trash when it hit him. Her face. This woman had been his mother. What was she doing in a place like this? He felt a shock of emotion. He wondered if she had always been like this, or had she changed after he left. He never made amends, but decided to stop killing from then on. The unit did not like that. Once it became apparent that he was no longer of use to them they started a manhunt to apprehend him with lethal force. They found him. They killed him. But he survived.
He remembered the girl on the bus. He remembered her eyes. Those of a sadistic killer. Still there was something else inside them. Something faint but deeper. So. Much. Sadness. Just like him. He felt the hatred begin to spread. His purpose, he decided, was to make all humans rot in the hell they created for him.
These people, he thought to himself, these living diseases, all needed to die. Their struggles, their problems, they spread like cancer to others. The only cure for humanity's sin, its collective wrongdoings, was genocide.
Around him, dark tendrils continued to form and expand, spinning in a vortex. Genocide pulled out two pistols. He squeezed the triggers to no effect. "As I see fit, huh? Hehe." He squeezed both guns in his hands, breaking them into pieces. He concentrated. In his hands, two more guns materialized now completely black due to being forged from the dark essence. Forged by his will. Immune to the jamming device that shut down conventional firearms. He raised his arms at each remaining helicopter and opened fire. Countless tendrils whipped out and slashed at his targets joining the dark essence bullets. It was chaos. Dark tendrils and bullets tore through every direction as Genocide spun and swirled around in 360 degrees firing randomly with purpose. A tendril pierced Gracia's right arm, another, her abdomen. She was however, fortunate, as the other passengers of her helicopter were dismembered. She barely had time to jump from the vehicle before it crashed. She fell 2 yards onto solid concrete. She felt immense pain as her right shoulder shattered on impact. She looked up to see Genocide's blade like appendages ripping through the other escape helicopters. She rolled onto her back and tried to steady herself. Within seconds her body began to repair itself. The nanocells inside her had saved her life but were now depleted. She would need another supplement lest she receive another fatal injury. The standard nanocells she and the others had were much less potent than those of the killers they faced. In truth, they had only minimal strength boosts being able to lift 5-8 more pounds than before and healing being limited to one or two fatal injuries so long as death didn't occur instantly. Gracia blacked out. She awoke the next morning in a hospital. There the doctors refilled her nanocells. She learned that the station had been left in ruins. Genocide had detonated some type of minature nuke following his rampage. He always blew up the stations as if to send a message. Gracia looked out the window thinking about why she became a cop. Twice her family had been murdered by them. Her biological family had been killed in an on record drug raid committed by a group of corrupt officers called The Unit. She had been adopted by another officer that arrived at the scene who found her as a child hiding in a closed. Sadly, he too was killed for trying to expose the activities of The Unit. Gracia joined the force to avenge both losses and bring justice to the killers that disguised themselves as normal people. Law enforcement was neither good, nor bad. It depended upon the people that made it up. In the dying corrupt world Gracia lived in, she vowed to be a beacon of light. Evans laid in a bed adjacent to Lary. "That damn Genocide's somethin else in' he?Like the stories you told us were understatements. That man could legit not die at this point in the story. Like he has friggin plot armor or somthin.'' Evans cut him off" I get it. We all got our asses handed to us. But did you see that ..thing that appeared next to him. Right before he created that black vortex that wiped us out. That must have something to do with his power. Maybe there's a still a way to stop him."Lary chimed in," That fella looked like he was on the way to a black metal concert wit all the black facepaint he was wearin' Creeped me out to be honest." As the survivors mulled over their predicament, the cycle of evil continued to spread elsewhere.
Budley flips through the pages of a magazine. He checks his watch. He looks around the gas station and doesn't see any customers. Seizing the opportunity, he puts in his headphones and begins playing an imaginary guitar as he jams to a progressive deathcore album. Oblivious to the screams coming from outside, the store clerk moves on to thumping two candy bars on the counter to simulate drums. Budley sees that his shift has ended and begins locking up the store. He sweeps the aisles and jumps as a shadow appears behind him. He turns and sees a well groomed bearded man dressed in a black hoodie, black shirt, and black and gray camo pants. The man holds out his hand and smiles. Budley rings up the pack of nicotine substitute gum. "Tryin to kick the habit huh?" Budley asks. The man replies, "Somethin like that. Gotta get my priorities back in check. Focus on the things that really matter. That damn KonCreep's a hell of a band aren't they?" He nods to the playlist on Budley's phone. "Yeah, they're killer. just got into them a month back." Budley answers. "You know, I'm something of a musician myself. Maybe you'll hear of me on the news someday." Jim Jimenez says as he sees himself out. He walks to the back of the building and passes an ominous form of graffiti. A woman lays unmoving and above her, written on concrete in red is a message that simply says "Genocide Reigns".

I'm pretty positive I have supinated feet. When I walk with just socks on, the socks tend to roll a little toward the outer edges of my feet. And my pinky toes almost point sideways instead of straight up. And my shoes definitely have more wear on the outer edges than the outside.
But, none of this causes me pain as far as I can tell. I only notice it affecting my weight lifting form with squats - my knees move a tad as I try to keep my feet stable and flat when I am driving upwards.
To treat the supination, I have Soles in the shoes I wear the most. And on leg day, I do weighted calf raises to strengthen my foot muscles.
My concern is that my supination will cause issues over time, or get worse. Is it worth seeing a podiatrist to see what my options are? Or will they just tell me to keep doing what I'm doing?

Hey repost bc it didn't do too well and I still need more opinions
I a 19y/o girl is dating this 19y/o guy for about 2 months. Everything is great and i really do love the guy, he gives me butterflies like im a school girl or smt. Last night, he was over at my place chilling in my room and he took his socks off bc it was hot. So for first the time i saw his feet. I look at them and notice how short his toenails are, like to the numb. Which didn't surprise me too much because his finger nails are like that too. I remember on like our second date, him telling me he eats his nails a lot due to anxiety and it's something he's really embaressed about and is actively trying to stop. But me seeing his short toe nails for the first time I jokingly went and said 'omg your toe nails are so short, what do you eat them too' and this embaressed look came over his face. He confessed and said that he use to chew off his toe nails but stopped and year ago and only chews his fingernails now. Honestly i had a hard time believing that bc his toe nails just look like they been ripped off. so i say 'really a year? why are they so short then' and he said it's becuase he clips them now but he will often overclip them because he doesnt know when to stop clipping. I ended by believing him bc i trust him but i still had the ick. The idea of him putting his foot in his mouth and then kissing me, grossed me out, even if it was a year ago. It's been a little over 24h since this happened, hopefully my ick goes away bc i don't want to end a relationship bc of smt so petty. Im aware this bit be seen as immature, i mean why leave over a small inconvience like this? so reddit, is it petty or wrong of me to even think about breaking up bc of this?

so I'm in a bit of a pickle when it comes to running/trail shoes. I have worn Altras for a long time for hiking/backpacking, specifically the Olympus. Last year I tried switching to Hokas (SG5) and while they felt good, the tread sucked and I ended up developing a mortons neuroma from the smaller toebox.
Later last year I got into running in earnest, and was running in Gel Kayano's that were recommended by my physical therapist (I broke my ankle in 2022, yay). They felt fine, but the small toebox ended up making my neuroma 100x worse and put me out of running for months.
What fixed it was switching to Altra Olympis Via, the road version of the Olympus. A combination of that, toe socks, and toe separators has kept the neuroma at bay and I can run without bothering it.
The issue I have is that Altras aren't working for me for another reason. I heavily over pronate, and despite custom insoles I still overpronate to the point where it's causing an impingement on the outside of my ankle, often called athlete's ankle or footballer's ankle. my PT suggested that I switch to a stability shoe that is narrower towards the heel but with a big toe box (so called "asian fit"), preferably with some drop to reduce the pressure on that point in my ankle. I'm having trouble finding much that fits this criteria. Altra has some stability shoes but they all seem to be 0 drop, and most other popular shoe brands don't list how big their toeboxes are so I feel like I'm really limited.
This isn't even going into trail shoes, for which it appears there aren't any stability options with wider toeboxes whatsoever, drop or not.
Finding running shoes that work is my immediate priority, but I'm thru hiking the Appalachian Trail next year and would like to get the overpronation figured out before then. In 2022 I hiked 1,200 miles of it over 3 months in my Altra Olympus's and had constant ankle pain every single day from the aforementioned impingement.
tl;dr: any suggestions for road/trail shoes with a wider toebox, stability, narrow heel, and not zero drop? No concerns with budget, feel etc, just trying to stay pain/injury free.

Hello,
I’m trying to decide what New Balance running shoes to try next, and looking for opinions. Or if I’m missing any I should consider. I’m slowly getting back into exercising, and would like to incorporate running (1-2 miles 2 to 3 times a week). And then some faster sprint type workouts. I wear a 12.5 2E, and am 245lbs. I believe neutral shoes should work for me although my feet are relatively flat.
The shoes I’m considering: -880 v14 -Rebel v4 -Vonga v6
The last shoes I’ve had/tried: Beacon v3: -Liked fresh foam but for some reason they just hurt my knees when walking, they felt like they had no support or contour to my foot. Almost like it was just a flat interior of the shoe.
880 v12: Liked a lot but I kept messing up the sizing. They felt very springy, which I’m not sure if that was from the FuelCell forefoot addition or not.
880 v13: felt like the v12 but the top of my toe kept getting caught on a firmer piece of the upper and bothered me
Rebel v3 12.5 2E: Still have these, but they feel extremely mushy, almost like I go through the cushion. Then I don’t feel like I get much spring afterward. I thought trying a full fuel cell shoe after likening the 880v12’s would be the direction for me, but somehow the v12’s felt more responsive at my weight. The shoe itself is a perfect contour of my foot, almost like a sock which I love. It feels like there is additional arch support. They are great for walking around to me, a little unstable but not worrisome, but the running experience wasn’t super pleasant. I don’t think I want a higher foam stack height than the rebel v3

I work in an environment where we have to wear closed toe and closed heel shoes, have to look presentable, and they should be a dark color and often we get into doing construction projects and a lot of physical moving of heavy loads. I wear Brooks Hyperion shoes in black, but they do get sweaty and smelly even within socks and regular washes. I’m going to try out callans as they seem very low profile and presentable, but I expect the suede to look beat up fast. I was looking at Londons in black leather, but I’m worried in 40 or 41 they will look clowny. I’ve tried super Birkis at the store and they looked and felt great, but I’m not sure if the heel is covered enough. Some women at work wear danskos and sanitas with covered heel, but I move more than them and do more kneeling projects so I need the sole to bend. Any suggestions for a birks to wear at basically a construction job where you also sell, and have to look decent?

Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
It had not been a restful night, all things considered.
First there had been that hideous roar which had shaken the whole jungle into frightened silence, the cries of the nocturnal creatures obliterated by what Zildiz had first mistaken for a violent monsoon wind. For the second time in this miserable day she had looked up and beheld a creature which had no place in the natural world. A winged manta moving so swiftly that it had already passed out of sight before she could even begin to process what she had just seen.
The last thing she needed right now was another challenge to her already tenuous understanding of the world as it was. The grey behemoth from earlier had already left her mind groping for some rational explanation, one that continued to elude her despite Zildiz’s best attempts to form useful analogies.
Sleep soon proved impossible. Her agile mind was too busy wrestling with questions. Was the grey behemoth an act of nature or the result of the Vitalus’ direct intervention, a sort of living earthquake or forest fire that he could summon at will? Had the Vitalus created it solely to eradicate an entire biome? If so, then why? The Amits had always been a central part of the cycles of change, altering the atmosphere through their mound respiratory systems and building the wind walls to help regulare the climate. Why had they drawn the All-In-One’s displeasure? Alternatively, if It had not created the grey behemoth, then what had?
Zildiz left her lair and went for a walk to clear her head. It was well and truly night now, black as the pit and with only the stars to guide her steps. Zildiz’s compound eyes were useless in these conditions. Thankfully her other pair were designed specifically for this, their yellow irises widening to double their usual diameter. Gallivants sometimes hunted at night, though it was a bit trickier than in the day. Her simple eyes could only see within a narrow frontal cone and left her blind in the directions in which she was not directly facing.
Her olfactory organs caught the scent of some speckled tree frogs and she hovered up into the lower boughs of the trees, impaling them on her mantid blades and skinning them carefully to avoid the poisonous coatings which they secreted. Her digestive system could weed out all but the deadliest of toxins, but tonight she wanted to relax and conserve her strength.
That is, until she picked up the trail of another animal close by. She found its tracks in the soil, catching the bright sheen where its feet had compacted the mud. Judging by the depth and spacing of the prints, Zildiz concluded that it was heavy and slow-moving. Also, it had no toes—its foot was made up of a single large hoof that left zigzagging patterns of grooves.
Confusing. Then again, she wasn’t all that familiar with the species of this biome. Well, whatever it was she looked forward to finding out what it tasted like. Zildiz was ravenous. Come to think of it, she had heard what sounded like a large animal crashing through the forest shortly after the flying monsters had appeared, no doubt fleeing from them in fear. Sharpening her blades against each other, Zildiz eagerly set off in pursuit.
Such a meal would sustain her for days. Enough to get her back home again without having to constantly stop and hunt for victuals. This animal did not move quickly even when it was clearly in a hurry. It was the sort of prey-form she could run down even in her injured state. A broken branch and a stone overturned from its resting place guided her in for the kill.
She was close now, barely thirteen wingspans away if she had to guess from the richness of its scent. Too close to risk using her wings—the noise of their fluttering would give her away. Still, it would be better to attack it from above, if only to save her the trouble of a long chase through unfamiliar territory. She sheathed her blades in their housings of flesh and stole up a nearby trunk, her light body making barely a rustle as she transferred her weight between the branches. The going was tortuously slow. She didn’t know how the Leapers could put up with this painstaking approach to killing. It just seemed so very inefficient compared to her way of doing things.
Zildiz took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the deepening night. It did not take long to spot the prey-form. An albino! Its exoskeleton was as white as the snow she’d glimpsed on the peaks of far-off mountains beyond the salt plains. Zildiz wondered how it could have survived long enough to grow so large. The complete lack of camouflage, the plodding pace and the lack of any noticeable armaments made it perfect Leaper food. Perhaps it had some sort of hidden defense mechanism? Like spewing noxious musk out of a gland next to its anus, or having poisonous skin like the frogs (perhaps that would explain its bright and noticeable colors)? What if it was tracking her movements even now, just waiting for her to play right into its hands? Oh, but that would be a clever survival strategy. Zildiz hesitated, beginning to suspect a trap.
But the longer she observed the prey-form, the quicker she came to the conclusion that it was not some cunning adversary, but rather a slow-witted member of its species.
It had tried to hide by wedging itself between the roots of a fatwax tree, covering itself with a single broad palm leaf in a pathetic attempt at camouflage. Something in its total defenselessness and the way it was tucked up into a ball with its arms and legs drawn in reminded Zildiz of her own children. She even felt a morsel of guilt at having to kill it before she squashed the unexpected emotion within herself.
Guilt? For ensuring her survival and that of her brood? She was getting soft in her age. Zildiz made the final preparations, adjusting her footing for the pounce that would end it all. A blade stuck between head and thorax would do it, followed by a twisting wrench of her wrist to sever the nerve cord and render the prey-form totally paralyzed, but still alive as she fed upon it. Zildiz preferred them that way—all the flavors really came to the fore when the meat was still fresh and twitching in the mouth.
She was just about to make her move when an odd breeze made the follicles on her neck stand on end. Danger! Zildiz froze in place and scanned the jungle floor, careful not to move single muscle for fear of giving away her position. Four figures detached themselves from the shifting shadows, each standing nine feet tall on their long, hairy and backwards-jointed legs and making not a whisper as they converged onto her tree.
Leapers! Fighting against the mounting horror she felt, Zildiz steeled herself for the fight of her life.
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

I have a pair of Presidents that I love in size 12 (my normal dress shoe size) but they are a bit loose, more-so than my other Thursday boots in the same size.
I have flat and wide feet so they feel good in width but I think the toe box has too much space and I have to wear thick merino socks and really tighten the laces to get them not to feel too loose when I walk. I don’t know how normal this is. I see some people wear boots with the laces undone but I don’t think I could do that with any of my boots so maybe I’m sizing up too big.
Does anyone have specific insoles that would work well to add a bit of a buffer and make them fit better?

Helena Pederson had few people knock on the door to her cabin. A life ostracized from her community left her with mostly her chickens and sheep and her dog for company, though there were several friendships that sustained themselves despite her exile. She grew food in her garden but also traded, her chickens giving her more eggs than she needed and her sheep growing wool she would use to knit.
The knock that came at night drew her out of a reverie, having been sitting on her couch, sipping a cup of tea she’d just brewed. Her dog Grant lifted his head in curiosity, but didn’t bark, accustomed to knocks and not interested in wasting energy at his older age. Hesitating, Helena put the cup down in its saucer and stood, her socks still on to keep her toes warm against the chill of her hardwood floors. She went to the door, opening it wide.
She stared. “Marius,” she finally managed.
The king stood before her in clothing that made it almost difficult to recognize him. Whether it was the beautiful robes he wore for ceremonies or impeccably sewn clothes for day-to-day life, he always appeared as a king should. But now he was draped in a shabby, worn cloak that covered whatever he wore beneath. She saw his horse nearby, tied to a post, but he was alone, not accompanied by so much as a single guard.
“Helena,” he answered softly. “May I come in?”
Pursing her lips, she paused tersely for a long moment before she moved aside. Marius pulled back the hood of his cloak and stepped inside as Grant trotted over to take in his scent. The unfamiliar presence in the dog’s home made him wary, but the demeanor of his master and her permitting his entrance kept the dog from so much as growling.
Helena shut the door and walked over to the kitchen area. “You still take your tea the same?”
“I do.”
Marius sat on the couch and Grant plodded back over to his bed, laying down on it but keeping his head up and aware. The seconds ticked by slowly as Helena poured the still boiling hot water into another cup. She prepared it as she remembered, down to the exact size of the splash of milk, bringing it over on a saucer.
Marius nodded once in thanks and blew on it before taking a careful sip. Helena took a seat in the handcrafted wooden chair adjacent to the couch rather than beside the king, dismissing her own cup of tea, letting it cool, forgotten. “What’s happened?”
The king paused, taking another sip of tea that Helena knew was still hot enough to burn his tongue. “The battle at Hempstead. We lost…too many men. The situation is declining sharply, and the Empire threatens to overtake the kingdom.”
Helena took in and let out a deep breath, silently. She shook her head. “I know you’ve worked hard to protect this kingdom, and you’ll do what’s best. You always do.”
Marius raised his gaze to meet hers. “Always?”
Helena’s face tightened into a glare. No. Not always. “That doesn’t tell me anything,” she said. “What in God’s name would bring you to my door?”
“Desperation,” he confessed. He took another sip of the tea. “The Empire brings subjugation. They rule with an iron fist and many will die just in their invasion alone. And of course, many men will be conscripted.”
“Are you here to…complain?” Helena asked, leaning back in her chair, confusion thick in her tone.
Marius sighed. “No, Helena, I’m here…” He paused heavily before he met her gaze, with some effort, she noticed. “I’m here to ask for your help.”
Helena stared for a long moment before her confusion turned to shock. “You…” She swallowed hard. “Help.”
The king placed the tea down on the saucer on the table in front of him. “These are my people,” he whispered. “And they will suffer, and there is nothing I can do but watch as it happens. They deserve better.”
“And I didn’t?” she asked, a vice gripping her heart as she felt emotion swell up inside her. “You come asking for help? Your nerve, your arrogance, is unmatched. Besides which, what would you have me do?”
“I need an army that will not fall from an arrow or a sword, an army that feels no pain, that follows orders just as my men do,” he told her. He visibly forced the words out and Helena’s expression descended further into disbelief as he spoke each one. “We have thousands of dead soldiers. Helena, I am more desperate than I’ve ever been because I know what is coming for my citizens and I am afraid.”
Helena’s face twitched in disgust. “I told you,” she whispered, “that I only ever did this for those mourning a loss. For a last goodbye, for a grieving widow or parent or child. And now you come here to ask me to use my skills to raise you an army?”
“I’ve no right.”
“You don’t.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and regulated her breathing, refusing to allow herself to descend into tears. “I’m an exile, Marius. Because of you. What makes you think I would even consider doing this?”
“Because you’re a good person,” he said quietly. Helena’s eyes narrowed in anger. “You broke the law, repeatedly and with no remorse. It forced my hand, you must know that-”
“You are king,” she said. “Nothing forces your hand.”
Marius fell silent for a long moment. “I know I’ve not seen you for many years, but I still care for your well-being. I still have love for you. I’m not sure if that changes anything here, if it’s even relevant, but I wanted to say it, nonetheless. You’re still my sister.”
Helena’s expression slid into a wearied resignation. “Is that meant to sway my response here? This is an affront to everything I’ve ever tried to do with my necromancy.”
“It’s simply the truth.”
They lapsed into a long silence. “What makes you think I could even wield such power? Over so many at once?”
“You would have support,” he answered. “I’ve come to you first, but if you agree to help, there are other witches who would support you with their power. And the battle won’t be lengthy. It can’t be. We need a show of strength that turns the tides, that reveals we will not be conquered as easily as those who’ve fallen in their path so far.”
Helena slowly leaned back in his chair. “They could try the same thing, you know,” she muttered. “They surely have the same intolerance for my kind of magic, but they will find other necromancers among their people if they truly must. Where will you be then? Your soldiers will be pulled back to their decaying, bloody bodies, forced into battle until they can no longer stand, until their spirits untether from this realm because there is nothing left to hold to. The Empire will be the same. All soldiers will fall and even their corpses will become useless, falling to the ground as desecrated shells. What then?”
“I don’t know,” Marius said softly. “I only know that I need to try. I promised that I would try everything to keep our kingdom, to keep their families, safe. And I intend to keep that promise. To try everything.”
Helena’s gaze slid over to her now chilly cup of tea, a part of her wishing she had ignored that knock at the door. She folded her arms around her tightly, emotions she couldn’t describe roiling inside her, trying to hold tight to the life she’d had ten minutes ago. A life that was simple and, in a way, quite sad, but it was enviable from the position she found herself in now.
“How can I say no?” she whispered. Helena met her brother’s eyes, seeing in them a mixture of relief and utter despair. “I’m an outcast of the highest order save for a special few of my oldest friends, but they are still my people. I remember my home in the village, the children who would play in the streets, their parents doing their best to support their families and to simply…live their lives. I couldn’t leave them to be trampled underfoot in a war that is determined to arrive at their doorstep.
“And I hate you for it,” she continued, her gaze thick with a burden of emotion. “I will always hate you for it.”
“That is something I am willing to live with, and I’d expected nothing less,” he said.
Helena pushed herself to her feet. “I’m determined to have one last cup of tea. Then I’ll need someone to look after my animals. You can send word to Kasper Friis; he’d be willing. And then…” She let out an exhausted sigh. “Then…we prepare for battle.”
***
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satisfy, sauce, save, saving, say, scale, scandal, scare, scatter, scenario, scene, schedule, scheme, scholar, scholarship, school, science, scientific, scientist, scope, score, scream, screen, script, sea, search, season, seat, second, secondary, secret, secretary, section, sector, secure, security, see, seed, seek, seem, segment, seize, select, selection, self, sell, Senate, senator, send, senior, sense, sensitive, sentence, separate, sequence, series, serious, seriously, servant, serve, service, session, set, setting, settle, settlement, seven, several, severe, sex, sexual, shade, shadow, shake, shall, shallow, shape, share, sharp, she, sheet, shelf, shell, shelter, shift, shine, ship, shirt, shock, shoe, shoot, shooting, shop, shopping, short, shortly, shot, should, shoulder, shout, show, shower, shrug, shut, shy, sibling, sick, side, sigh, sight, sign, signal, significant, significantly, silence, silent, silver, similar, similarly, simple, simply, sin, since, sing, singer, single, 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weather, web, website, wedding, week, weekend, weekly, weigh, weight, welcome, welfare, well, west, western, wet, what, whatever, wheel, when, whenever, where, whereas, whether, which, while, whisper, white, who, whole, whom, whose, why, wide, widely, widespread, wife, wild, wildlife, will, willing, win, wind, window, wine, wing, winner, winter, wipe, wire, wisdom, wise, wish, with, withdraw, within, without, witness, woman, wonder, wonderful, wood, wooden, word, work, worker, working, workout, workplace, works, workshop, world, worried, worry, worth, would, wound, wrap, write, writer, writing, wrong, yard, yeah, year, yell, yellow, yes, yesterday, yet, yield, you, young, your, yours, yourself, youth, zone.

Began Zepbound in mid-January. In mid-December my highest weight was 257. Following a brief illness I was 247 when I began the meds.
For the first month, I took 2.5, and lost 19 pounds, then moved to 5mg at week 5, and am still on it at week 15. My weight loss which I measure every two weeks began to slow the last 6 weeks. I am stretching out my 5mg awaiting my first 7.5 box.
I have stage 4 cancer for almost 5 years now. I have had chemo every two weeks the past few years in addition to occasional radiation. Four years ago I had emergency brain surgery to remove necrotic tissue left by radiation months earlier. My recovery included weeks/months of steroid use to get better. My weight range, normally 205-220 ballooned up to 257 over time. My fingers, toes, and feet are affected by chemo, making it difficult to exercise in earnest, and it has destroyed my stamina.
In addition to the shots, I have significantly changed my eating habits. I eat approximately 1500 calories a day, no (or very few) carbs, no added sugars, high protein and fruits and vegetables. On Zepbound it has not been a struggle but late in a cycle I do start craving food more.
This morning at my oncologist I weighed 199, which I haven’t seen in 25-30 years. It’s symbolic really, but it made me really happy to see and to accomplish. I have had old clothes of mine boxed up that fit me when I was 210-220 but now fit great again. I am far less winded doing tasks that used to be a struggle, like putting on socks and shoes. I feel great and I know that the weight loss has had positive impacts on my heart, lungs, and overall health, and some of these significant improvements are reflected in my biweekly blood labs.
In short, it has given me back a confidence and a life I had thought would never return, and removed health risks that surely would have affected my cancer and shortened my life.
This medicine, to me, after years of struggling and failing using every diet and strategy I could find, has helped tremendously in many ways that will hopefully keep me alive longer.
I have a second level outside appeal of my insurance to get it covered as I’ve been paying 550/month. For now I will try to get down to 180 before titrating slowly down off the medicine doses and spreading how often I use it (weekly>biweekly>monthly) as recommended by my nutritionist at the hospital.
257 to 199 in 4 months is a godsend and I have felt great throughout with minimal side effects. I figure when I stop the meds I will likely put maybe 20 pounds back on in the 6 months that follow, but hope the changes in eating habits hold (with a weekly cheat day thrown in to keep me honest).
And my cancer is good and controlled currently for anyone who was wondering. 5 years ago I was given a prognosis of 2-5 years. This accounted for 97 percent of similar patients with my cancer. August will be 5 years and I’m still going strong and now enjoying my time more because of the miracle of this drug and its effects.
Good luck to everyone out there working hard to do the same and thanks for reading!