I’ve commented but never posted, so - kitty cat, sharp eyes/ white whiskers, peaked ears, roughest tongue/ ‘lil pink nose, sharp claws
So, for a moment I thought it was happening - the apology I’ve had coming from my uBPD Mom for 49 years of her bad behavior. Spoiler alert - there is no apology in this story.
My Dad moved into memory care 6 months ago, and she’s been living alone. She started, out of nowhere, monologuing. Saying that being alone had left her lots of time to think, and that she had realized that she had very low tolerance for ‘frustration’, and that it resulted in outbursts of rage and saying nasty things. That she’d been screaming at the dog over nothing and felt bad about it. OMG!!! She knows her behavior is terrible now! What is happening???
My Mom’s Dad was, by all accounts, a violent monster (she pretty much hates and fears all men - unfortunately, I am one). She went on to say that she realized that with these behaviors, she was acting just like her father. NO SHIT, MOM!
Then she went off on a bizarre tangent that, b/c she learned from my amnio that she and I both have split #9 chromosomes, we must have inherited them from her father.
I think you can all see where this is going. This seems to have been spurred by me expressing a very modest and reasonable degree of exasperation at her gasping in terror at absolutely nothing as I was parking the car this morning - a common occurrence, since she freaks out whenever she’s not in absolute control of any situation.
Through all of this, I was like - ‘no way - am I about to get the apology for her being a slavering rage monster for my entire adolescence, and an insatiable black hole of need and misery my entire life? An acknowledgment that she’s responsible for our bad relationship? And on MOTHERS DAY?’ Deeeeep in my grey rocking - I did not know how to feel about this. One thing I’ve learned is to never ever ever be vulnerable around this person.
But then comes the moral of her story. That she often feels like she’s ‘walking on eggshells’ (she actually used this phrase!) with me, like she did with her father. And so, I need to stop acting like her father.
Skipping right over the part where she might have acknowledged (or even understood) that her godawful behavior, which she’d had all these amazing realizations about, might have had any effect on me, HER child, or on our relationship at all. That’s right! She’s the victim! Her dead father and her son are ganging up on her because of our chromosomes!
I was very very happy to have to leave to go pick up dinner, so that I could have an outburst of rage of my own in the car.
Sorry Mom - I’m not your father to you. You are your father to me. The monster came so close to looking in the mirror - but they just can’t do it. At the last minute she had to point it elsewhere. And I’m the only target left.
I hope we’re all holding up as well as possible on this very difficult day.

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https://preview.redd.it/o6z858oxgazc1.png?width=745&format=png&auto=webp&s=23726b445f2b8223fff6c512413c1aec085ec751
Spoilers for any plot points involving Mandragora and Tara in Episode 9 and onwards, as well as What the Firelight Casts and a little bit of Lingering Echoes. I’ll only be touching on the Horn lines in Episode 14 since I don’t want to read too far ahead and they’re kinda the main focus, but feel free to discuss anything related to Tara that may have come up because I am interested. Anything translated from CN text I can not really verify since I do not speak Chinese.
TL;DR: The conflicting information regarding Mandragora’s status is likely intentional. I like her because she is a complex character to the point where the community feels split on whether they want her to be alive or dead. She doesn’t need to become playable. Mandragora can either be alive or dead at this point. Let HG cook and hopefully they do something with either her living or her death since neither were utilized. Please give us another Dublinn/Tara event soon.
I also want to mention that a lot of my research was done using the Terra Wiki. If anything sounds familiar, it’s because I spent the last 3 days cross referencing with the story itself. Anything that crosses the line into plagiarism is not my intent, I’m just stupid and haven’t written an essay in years. Obligatory “stop using the Fandom wiki. Please support the Terra Wiki.” Fandom is super out of date at this point and is objectively a worse user experience. Also, the person who changed Mandragora’s status to “Deceased?” is a legend. I laughed at it since it’s so unclear at the moment.

An Attempt to Clarify Mandragora’s Status (and also defend Hypergryph’s writing decisions)

Why do I like Mandragora?

Mandragora is a character that gets a lot of reactions from the community whenever she’s brought up. It’s pretty easy to see why if you’ve read Episode 9, she’s not exactly a good person on a simple black and white scale of morality. She’s short-tempered, ruthless, seems to hate anyone that isn’t Taran or otherwise allied with the Tarans, sometimes even hating those who are allied with the Tarans. Perfect villain material for the episode she’s the main villain of; Episode 9, where her list of war crimes rivals many of our own war criminals in Rhodes Island. But what makes Mandragora a fascinating character to me are a whole lot of factors regarding the history of Victoria and its relationship with Tara. Mandragora didn’t just wake up one day and decide to start slaughtering random civilians on the streets. Mandragora is the premier character to give us insight into how average Taran citizens are treated in “modern” Victoria, which is why I hope that Hypergryph didn’t decide to retroactively remove her from the story. I also want to go through a lot of the statements made on her status to attempt to clear the air regarding speculation on her status, since I keep seeing people make statements that, while aren’t completely false, can’t exactly be proved with our current knowledge of the story. So as to say, stop making assumptions and let HG cook.
I should probably add since creating an essay about a character like this makes me seem unhinged, which I am, but I’m not exactly a simp for this character. She’s probably my favorite character in regards to story in the game right now, I’ll admit that much, and if she becomes playable I’ll pull for her regardless of meta status. That being said, if she never becomes playable then I’m fine with that too, so long as she gets a satisfying conclusion to her story or if her death does something for the story or characters, like Guard. The purpose of this is to create discussion, not to beg for a banner or event, though I’ll definitely take one if given.

Meet the Tarans

To start, let’s look at the history of Tara. Pretty much all of the history surrounding Tara revolves around the fact that Tara and Victoria were once separate nations until Tara was annexed in a process described as peaceful by the Victorians, but as forced subjugation by the Tarans (Reed Alter’s Files, Archive 3). Which account is more accurate cannot objectively be proved, but it doesn’t matter a whole lot. We see Tarans get treated pretty poorly by Victorians throughout events they are present in. While this isn’t the exact reason Dublinn was formed, it is what their goals seem to align to for a lot of their members. Of course, we haven’t had the focus on them in quite a while, and Eblana seems less concerned about that aspect than her own ambitions, which is why I think Mandragora is such a necessary character for Dublinn to have. Eblana and Reed are both nobility -Reed is far more sympathetic to the plight of the average Taran citizen, but as a noble, she does have certain privileges that common people like Mandragora don’t have. As well as being playable, we also know that things work out for her just fine in the end. Unless of course HG starts throwing screwballs at us in the future.
I do hope we learn more about Dublinn, Tara, and their conflict with Victoria in the near future, since it seems like the Sarkaz have taken center stage for the current main story arcs, which is definitely fine and this isn’t a complaint about what direction the main story should be headed in. It would be much better told in an event since it doesn’t relate to the main cast as much.

A Bit More About the Cat

What do we currently know about Mandragora? Well, she’s angry about a lot of things for a pretty good reason and hates being looked down on. This stems from her issues with the Victorian nobility, but are not limited to them specifically. She hates the Sarkaz seemingly for the same reason and I’m sure she’d hate anyone else who does the same. She’s also not Infected, which I didn’t really pay attention to until people started discussing how she could have died. This is something to note since it means that any oppression she’s faced has entirely been due to her being Taran, rather than the standard treatment the Infected face.
She isn’t only ruthless though. In Episode 10 when she’s among her own people, we see her care about their wellbeing as they attempt to extract the Spy, Cillian, from Sarkaz occupied territory. While it’s stated that they’re old friends, it does go to show that she does have the capacity to show compassion and isn’t simply sociopathic. Sure, she’s a little crazy, but if she was shouting “eat the rich” a good majority of you would probably be down with it.
Along with caring for her own soldiers, we know that she really looks up to the Leader of Dublinn, Eblana. One of the main motivators for her to rescue the Spy was to gain further approval from her. She even seems to be taken aback when the Spy states that they’ve been abandoned. In What the Firelight Casts, it’s stated that The Elocutionist, one of the commanders who were vaporized by Outcast, was apparently manipulating her into fracturing Dublinn, which could mean that the higher ups didn’t really care for Mandragora. Her entire relationship with Eblana was possibly one-sided. And considering she was upset that Harmonie was by the Leader’s side and worried that the Leader may discard the commoners of Dublinn, she may have realized that by the end of her story.
Harmonie does mention in 10-13 that Eblana has “never forgotten her first Taran compatriots,” but whether that is true or not is unknown.

The Cat’s “Death”

By this point, anyone who has read the story knows how 10-8 through 10-13 play out. To summarize, Mandragora breaks the Spy out of a factory she was entrusted by Manfred to defend. She runs into Horn on the way and they make it very clear that they do not like one another before going separate ways. Horn runs into Manfred and gets saved by Misery. They both comment on how out of her league Mandragora is when it comes to escaping Manfred, how she likely won’t escape the factory alive, and how she’s beyond saving. All of the people Mandragora was leading were killed by Manfred’s forces and she makes a last stand after being surrounded. Manfred, frankly, embarrasses her in terms of combat prowess. After a final desperate attack on Manfred, she collapses among the bodies of her soldiers, left by Manfred to die.
By all means this would be a death scene, but then Misery had to show up and cause problems for us. Misery offers her a chance to escape to the sewers, which she seemingly refuses, leaving her fate unknown.

The Insanity Arc

Here starts the insanity arc of the cat fans. So much of the wording is ambiguous in regards to her final fate. A comment I’ve seen a lot recently is “she isn’t infected, why would she die from exhaustion,” which I agree with. However, she was surrounded by Manfred and his men and even seemingly struck by Manfred, but with a blunt sound effect used, meaning not by his sword. I don’t think it’s reasonable to assume Manfred and his men just stood around blocking attacks until Mandragora exhausted herself, but there also isn’t any blood in the image of her lying on the ground. Simply a description of what she feels.
If you take everything at face value you can say she died, but there’s so much literary spinning going on that it becomes unclear. Death is so flowery in literature. Did Mandragora die? Did “Mandragora” die? What does “she has met the true Death” mean?
The answer can really only lie in the mind of the reader at this point of the story. Either Mandragora died literally, or “met the true Death” refers to “Mandragora” as the commander of the Specter Force dying. All of her aspirations at this moment have failed and she is on the ground at her seemingly lowest point. Her old friend is dead in front of her, she’s surrounded by the bodies of those she cared about; she has been abandoned by Eblana, the one she looks up to the most; she might have realized that she was disposed by Dublinn in general; she was embarrassed and pitied by her enemy, and now she’s being told that by lowering herself even further and climbing into the sewers by a different enemy, she can have a chance to start again. It sounds like the most literary “death” you could ever write. However, this is literary analysis. A different reader could simply comment “nuh-uh” and shut this down immediately. Some people just want the cat dead, which is fair, since there’s enough evidence to support that she simply dies here as well.
Welcome to literary analysis, where everything is made up and everything makes a lot of sense and no sense simultaneously. As a quick note, I did pretty well in my AP Literature classes in high school, and that’s my only claim. Someone smarter than me can call me stupid and there’s nothing I can do about it since I don’t have a degree in English Literature and high school was quite a bit ago. Forward this to an English major that plays AK or something. I’d be curious to hear what they think.

Contradictions

Anyways, 3-4 months later, What the Firelight Casts is released. Dublinn officers reveal that they believe Mandragora is dead (FC-2 After). Harmonie also reveals that she did crawl into the sewers and die (FC-6 After). Eblana also reveals that she is aware that Mandragora crawled into the sewers and died (FC-8 Before). People say this is a contradiction and that Hypergryph forgot, but wait for a moment because then randomly, years later in Episode 14, Horn reveals to Bagpipe that she confirmed her death and buried Mandragora outside the walls of Londinium.
Now from this point forward, all we can do is wait and speculate. I’ve seen so many Mandragora believers say so many things about all of this. That HG did Mandragora dirty, they forgot her story, killed her offscreen, etc.
I’ll start by saying that is one possibility. It is entirely possible that Mandragora is just a side character to them and they forgot her story while writing. I find it unlikely though. How many times has Arknights/HG set up a story point months/years in advance of actually using it? To give a relevant example, Outcast’s death was foreshadowed in IS1 with the Broken Revolver Cylinder artifact. 2 months after is when Episode 9 released. For a less related example, how about the key from the end of Grani and the Knights’ Treasure being brought up in Under Tides 7 months later, then again in Stultifera Navis years later. I find two things unlikely: the first is that they would forget important character plot points like this, and the second that they would bring up a character for no reason. It’s because of this that I don’t think they would kill a character for no reason either. Let’s start by comparing Mandragora with some different corpses.

Guard and Gertrude and Killing Characters

I don’t have a whole lot to say about the circumstances of Guard’s death as a whole, and there was already a post talking about how AK isn’t at the end game with comments like, “no HG isn’t killing off characters because they’re running out of story room” that covers it better than I could be bothered to here. I mainly want to give my opinion on character deaths in Arknights and stories in general.
In stories, important characters, both heroes and villains, rarely die without reason. Everyone has a certain level of narrative plot armor that stops them from being randomly hit by a car or stray bullet. If an important hero dies, it will have setup, and the payoff will usually reverberate throughout the story as it continues. If a villain dies, it’s usually because it’s usually towards the heroes’ goals, or a bigger, badder villain needs to strut their stuff.
Arknights doesn’t really work on a “good guy, bad guy” two-sided chart. There are good people and bad people, but a lot of gray between. Guard is a bit of a villain during the Reunion arc since he kinda betrays us for them, but is treated as a good guy from Reunion’s perspective in Episode 13. His death, while some think is a bit too sudden, is treated as a hero’s death. The setup is him making contact with an outside group, getting caught in a tragedy, and leaving a final message to Reunion to accept everyone, not just the Infected, which no doubt will have an impact going forward. Thinking about it more, it’s a good ass death. It seems like it acts as a mirror to Alina’s death. One of the final things Alina says to Talulah is to never hate anyone, Guard’s final words are to accept everyone. Alina’s death causes Talulah to fall into her rage, which nearly destroys Reunion, Guard’s death seems to almost bolster Reunion.
For an example of a villain’s death, Gertrude gets killed while monologuing. It’s sudden, might have been foreshadowed, I don’t remember Lingering Echoes very well and I haven’t read Zwillingsturme yet to see if it has any impact. She dies because she was an obstacle in the heroes’ way.
Mandragora doesn’t really fall into either category. If she is truly dead, her death has had zero impact. She also wasn’t in the way of any hero. Did she die for Manfred to strut his stuff? It doesn’t really seem like that either; he was already an established threat and hasn’t done much strength based villainy since then.
The point I’m getting to with this is that narratively, it doesn’t really make any sense to kill Mandragora at this point. She isn’t a threat, she isn’t a hero, her death would have no impact on any characters, and it would only serve as comeuppance for her actions in Episode 9. But death isn’t that bad of a consequence compared to the alternative, which is her continuing to live knowing that she had been fooled into becoming an enemy to her cause, abandoned by the leader she looks up to, and all of her friends are dead to an enemy that embarrassed her by letting her live out of pity.

Short Summary About Misery

Misery probably didn’t kill Mandragora. Almost certainly, but we can never be certain about these things. We don’t know a whole lot about Misery, but we have a few things. First, he was best friends with Outcast, which would be a decent reason to kill Mandragora for, since she’s indirectly responsible for her death. This is contradicted by the second; he “wants to let the living live” (9-20) in regards to Outcast’s death. In fact, he seems to be opposed to killing in general. “I’m no assassin. Unless it’s called for, I have zero desire to harm any Sarkaz at all” (10-12 After). Speculating on this would be pointless, we need more information. All of this to say, he likely wouldn’t let any potential ill will get in the way of his job in regards to Mandragora.

Clearing the HG Bad Writing Allegations

Let’s go over what every character saw from their perspective. Harmonie says that she died in the sewers. In Episode 14,Horn says offhandedly that she confirmed her death and buried her outside the wall of Londinium. Let’s go over the possibilities of each perspective

Harmonie is a Double Agent

Section Title. Harmonie is a double agent. It’s ambiguous whether or not she witnessed the battle, but it’s possible she did. We also know that she’s close to Eblana, but not loyal, since she’s an employee of Rhodes Island. All of Dublinn believes she is dead. I think it’s reasonable to assume that Harmonie reported it, she was shown in 10-13 briefly as a transition during the battle, after all.
Let’s be honest though. Can you trust a character that looks like this: >:3
Or a character that is actively working as a double agent? Narratively, it makes no sense to bring Mandragora up in any conversation in WTFC. It feels more like foreshadowing that she’s still alive, but you can call that “cope” if you want.
I think it’s possible that Harmonie is covering for her here. If she was captured by Rhodes Island for information, then it would be advantageous for Dublinn to not know that.
On top of this, if they did witness Mandragora go into the sewers, did they go into the sewers to check? It really just feels like an assumption on Dublinn’s part.

Misery Captured Mandragora for Information

This is still my personal belief. I’ll cover Horn in a moment, but this does not contradict her statement to Bagpipe.
Why would Misery, or anyone in that vicinity, leave a valuable source of enemy information lying in the street? It would make very little sense in a world like Arknights, which is generally pretty logic driven. Of course, Harmonie could have all the information they need, but even still it doesn’t make sense to simply leave her alone. We’ve captured worse war criminals in the past and will in the future.
Here’s a tweet from the “hear ye hear ye” guy. I don’t fully subscribe to this notion since Harmonie could have told us all of this and it actively de-confirms Eblana as playable, which is a whole can of worms I’m not opening, but it is food for thought in regards to this.

A Certain Character's Statement in Episode 14 Has Two Outcomes

I have no clue if I need to tag this is spoilers. If you're reading this, you probably already know the scene I'm talking about. If you're scared of Episode 14 spoilers, it's about 10 lines at most. Otherwise, just keep scrolling I guess.
Hear me out here guys. First off, I don’t speak Chinese. Here’s a non-MTL translation of the scene. I can’t confirm anything, since I don’t know Chinese, so let’s just take it at face value.
I really quickly want to debunk another thing I see said. Yes, Horn could have been in contact with Mandragora after she got wrecked by Manfred. 10-12 After, she gets saved by Misery. 10-13, Misery gets in contact with Mandragora after she gets bodied. 10-14 Before, Horn and Misery are both in the same locale. Manfred had already left, which is why Misery could walk over. You could chalk it up to his Arts, but nothing about the scene or story tells us that Horn couldn’t just walk over with him or otherwise be standing behind him, just off screen.

They're Telling the Truth

We can take the scene at face value. Misery captured Mandragora, she died in their care, Horn gave Mandragora a proper burial despite her hatred for her. Cat is dead. She hesitates when speaking because she is in disbelief that she could show an enemy like that compassion

They're Lying

Bagpipe is going through it in that scene. Horn tells a lie to make her feel better, hesitating because she's thinking of something on the spot. Which part is she lying about? The part where she got in contact with Mandragora, the part that Mandragora died, the part that she buried Mandragora? Take your pick to suit your theory.
Basically, Horn would need to lie, which feels out of character, or be deceived for this to be true.

Could They Have Been Deceived?

Misery was in the area and has matter manipulation Arts. It would be weird though. I don’t think Horn was part of Rhodes Island at this point though, so if he was trying to extract Mandragora then I could see it happening.

Where could Mandragora be now?

Here are all the relevant possibilities:

• Dead in the sewers
  • Harmonie wasn’t kidding, Horn was lying
• Dead, buried outside the city walls
  • Horn was telling the truth
• Dead, next to Spy’s body
  • Everyone was lying, she just dies lmao
• Alive, chilling among the bodies
  • Misery was just testing her loyalty or something, was not taken
• Alive, angrily digging her way out of the ground again
  • Horn wasn’t lying, but Mandragora somehow faked her death
  • Also a parallel to her backstory, which would be fitting
• Alive, in Rhodes Island’s custody for information
  • Horn lied to keep Bagpipe calm about this
• Dead, a corpse in Eblana’s corpse army
  • Actually completely possible
  • Super messed up

Conclusion

Mandragora is a character whose plot feels unresolved compared to other “dead” characters. I can’t see any reason for HG to continue bringing her up unless they really want to crush our hopes, or if they’re foreshadowing her return. WTFC first ran 18 months ago in CN and was the last mention of her until Episode 14. If another Dublinn/Taran event happens and she isn’t mentioned in any way then we can assume she is dead. If they say she’s dead again, then she is absolutely not dead because why would they keep bringing it up? To hurt people’s feelings? I don’t even think Frostnova had this many random mentions after the fact, and her death had an actual impact.
In conclusion, I don’t really care if she’s alive or dead. I just want closure. As in a conclusion. I do want Closure too.
Let me know if I got anything wrong and I can edit the post. Thanks. Alternatively, call me stupid in the comments. As long as there's discussion about the cat I'm happy.
The TL;DR is at the top. This was about 2-4 hours of researching and about 2-3 hours of writing. Thanks to ikusahime22 for proofreading.

Darkness lies within the hearts of those who sought to find the answer to their reminiscing torture; at least that’s what it thought. Chaos was reforming itself to consume the planet and everything within, of what was believed was the second coming of The Singularity.
The core within Copper-9 was collapsing. The air was thickening on the exhaust of the dead machines that lay on the burned soil, rotting. The anomaly has done what no great mind would possibly imagine.
Now, it was ready to finish off what it started, to consume the core and satiate its needless, eternal hunger.
It descended into the ground and made its way into the cathedral. It slowly and menacingly approached the pit of flesh, where hopes and dreams were sent to perish. Terror followed the entity where it went, and it was time for terror to harvest on the souls of those who dared to oppose the ultimate life form.
Approaching, however, came one soul flying out of the pit, carrying a corpse. It was none other than the very machine the anomaly was once affectionate for, who it used to treat as its own brother.
It began to speak.
“You did this to her”, it said with a faintly muttered. “You took away everyone”
It appeared that the “her” was the corpse the machine was holding in his arms.
The entity was becoming restless of this pesky defiance.
“You took away Tessa, the one who I looked up to. You took away V, my closest friend”, it continued. “J was led down a dark path and suffered a harsh price, because of you. And now, the love of my life…”
He grieved.
As tiresome as the entity grew, it could not help but for a slight moment feel regret. It alone was a tragic character, for it was once treated as mere nuts and bolts, seen as something to be disposed of immediately. After the gala incident, she no longer became the sweet, innocent girl that loved to play with dolls, with her older brother. Within her spiraled an everlasting curse that would be passed on generations upon generations.
The demonic intelligence quickly regained control of her, and it began to let out an ear-piercing screech, transforming in her eldritch form. The soul shriveled, and let loose of the corpse he was carrying.
He gasped.
“My Uzi, she suffered greatly because of the abhorred monster within her. Yet at the same time, she was still the same angsty fighter I admired from the moment my eyes laid on her. She reached the greatest of battles with herself.”
It paused.
“Unfortunately, her fiery spirit diminished, and it became too much. I had to put her down. And YOU made me do it, Cyn.”
The entity was not interested in the pest’s monologuing, and finally responded.
“I- did- this- for- you- N”, it uttered robotically. “You- al-ways- did- what- I- asked- of- you. Now, you- will- join- me- and- we- can- be-come- as- one.”
The machine resisted.
“No… it is far too late for that. The old, submissive boy within me died a long time ago.”
He stopped, with its visor blank, staring at the endless void within the pit of flesh.
The entity was somewhat struck, awaiting.
Suddenly, the machine began to let out a terrifying yell.
The walls of the cathedral shook. and the lights flickered repeatedly until they shattered. Within the dark, the machine slowly turns around with bright yellow X across his visor. His mouth was open, full of teeth so sharp it could slice a drone just by looking at it. He stares deep into the anomaly’s tar-colored soul, and extends his long claw towards it, then clenches.
It mutters in a thick voice “I, have come to take my revenge. I have nothing else left for me in this realm, nor do I fear what awaits me after death. I shall take the soul of my creator, she who has formed me into the very monster that has killed innocents.”
In an instant, the machine flies and charges towards the entity. Unbeknownst to him, his moves were already anticipated, and his attack was immediately deflected.
The machine roars, and activates swords within his arms. He takes a dagger at the anomaly; it dodges. This continues for several minutes, until the entity becomes frustrated.
It begins spawning clones of the machine, of which the drone slices each and everyone one of them. However, he immediately discovered it was a trick, as the anomaly lunged at him, bashing him to the ground.
“Try-ing- to- fight- me- is- point-less, for- I- am- the- Solver- of- the- Absolute- fabric”, it utters. “Your- back-ups- will- help- me- con-sume- the- u-ni-verse. Good-bye, N.”
It activates a powerful laser towards the drone, seemingly as if nothing could prevent his fate. Seconds later, light beams flash the windows of the cathedral, while the anomaly chuckles.
As the light dimmed down, the entity was frozen by what it saw.
Below in the center of the pulverized ground was the drone protected by a shining yellow ball of light. The light disappears, and the drone picks himself off the ground.
“I told you that I am not weak. After Uzi passed, she no longer continued as my administrator. Now I have no one to control me, and I can finally reach the zenith of my limitations!”
He begins to transform, laughing maniacally as he drives himself into madness. Robotic limbs start growing out of his back. “The demons… this is what it feels like to have power. Now, your soul is mine.” it says, deeply.
He swings a large fist at Cyn and barely misses. Slightly frightened, she circles herself around the cathedral and blinds the machine. It uses its claws to stab the drone, but it was sliced off almost instantly. The wound healed, and the machine let out a fiery blast to clear himself out of the darkness. Using his grown limbs, it points several lasers at Cyn, and fires.
It quickly dodges all of them, but leaves itself vulnerable to the machine dagging into her visor. She screams, and crazily shakes him off. The entity summons a dark cloud and manifests it into a powerful wind blast, sending it directly at the machine. He chuckles, and parries it with a light beam, evaporating the cloud and knocking Cyn away.
“I can-not- be- de-fea-ted!” she growls, and suddenly sends the two into the thin air.
N wakes up on the surface, staggered. He sees the anomaly, and it sees him. They stare into each other’s souls in the heat of battle.
The eldritch continues.
“I- have- brought- you- here- to- see- some-thing, N”, and slowly reveals a massive glooming null far into the distance.
“The Sin-gu-la-rity, it- is- in-e-vi-ta-ble. You- and- your- me-mo-ries, es-pe-cial-ly- with- that- pur-ple- haired- weak-ling, shall- crumble- the- same- way- this- pla-net- shall- crumble. In- the- end, the- Sol-ver- reigns- all.”
It laughs monstrously.
“The only thing I am afraid of is not avenging the loss of my loved ones” the drone responds, and lunges towards the anomaly.
The ground beneath him begins to shake, and the skies dry out of their bright colors. The null was consuming everything in its path.
While fighting off the ungodly eldritch, N ponders. He reflects on his days as a worker drone in the mansion, remembering simple times. He would have never imagined his life to come to dread, but now he must make the most of it to take revenge, as the only way to soothe his vehement soul.
Time passes slowly, yet blinking an eye can lose you the entire story.
At this point, the two kept fighting for what truly felt like an eternity. Bullets fired, lasers beamed, claws swinging. The null continued to consume the planet.
Life was disappearing before their very eyes.
Yet, the power of the Solver within left their spirits hungry for destruction.
The battle came down to the last straw.
“Give- up!” yelled the anomaly. It summons a formidable thunder storm over their heads, destroying the lands at random and attempting to strike N down. The machine was too quick, adrenaline in his oil.
The entity momentarily distracts itself with trying to manifest the storm and send down one final blast to finish the fight. The drone uses it as an opportunity to let loose a ballistic missile. As the entity releases the lightning from her fingertips, the missile swerves towards her direction and collides with the lightning.
An explosion so massive was created, it stuns the eldritch.
Falling to the ground, the machine slashes up the anomaly’s worm-like body into pieces, leaving just the torso. He lands, grabbing the entity into his arms.
After the fight died down, he quickly became calm for a moment. Despite the null unraveling towards him, he decides to confront the entity in a balanced manner, knowing that this would be the last he sees of her. Right before he pierces his claw into her, the entity stammers, coughing out some oil.
“Con-con-gra-tu-tu-la-tions, N. It- app-app-ears- that- the-the- uni-verse- will- be-be- safe- af-ter- all-all.”
The explosion was so devastating it temporarily disabled the Absolute Solver intelligence within her.
“I don’t care so much about the universe as much as I wanted to kill the monster who ruined my life, Cyn. I’m sorry that the Solver took away from me the one who I once saw as my younger sister.”
He tears up.
“Not-not- to- wor-ry, N-N. It- seems- that-that- I- have- left-left- a- strong- pos-ses-ses-sor of- the- Sol-sol-ver left- to- rule- the-the- uni-verse, if- that- is- what- you-you- wish. You- can-can- do- any-thing- you-you- want.
It begins to trail off.
"Thank- you-you… for- being- my-my bro-ther.”
As the null is seconds away from swallowing them whole, N dags his claw into Cyn’s chest, and rips out her heart. He pauses, closes his eyes, clenches his teeth, and crushes it.
…
The null implodes within itself, and everything stops, all at once. What lies on the burned ground is N, on his knees, weeping, holding the corpse of his dead sister.
He stops.
The damage cannot be undone, but no further destruction can be spread. Copper-9 is devastated, but the core is still intact, despite it being highly unstable.
The universe is at peace, for now.
The dead cannot come back to life, but N is satisfied with putting an end to his misery. He is now finally…
At rest.

Darkness lies within the hearts of those who sought to find the answer to their reminiscing torture; at least that’s what it thought. Chaos was reforming itself to consume the planet and everything within, of what was believed was the second coming of The Singularity.
The core within Copper-9 was collapsing. The air was thickening on the exhaust of the dead machines that lay on the burned soil, rotting. The anomaly has done what no great mind would possibly imagine.
Now, it was ready to finish off what it started, to consume the core and satiate its needless, eternal hunger.
It descended into the ground and made its way into the cathedral. It slowly and menacingly approached the pit of flesh, where hopes and dreams were sent to perish. Terror followed the entity where it went, and it was time for terror to harvest on the souls of those who dared to oppose the ultimate life form.
Approaching, however, came one soul flying out of the pit, carrying a corpse. It was none other than the very machine the anomaly was once affectionate for, who it used to treat as its own brother.
It began to speak.
“You did this to her”, it said with a faintly muttered. “You took away everyone”
It appeared that the “her” was the corpse the machine was holding in his arms.
The entity was becoming restless of this pesky defiance.
“You took away Tessa, the one who I looked up to. You took away V, my closest friend”, it continued. “J was led down a dark path and suffered a harsh price, because of you. And now, the love of my life…”
He grieved.
As tiresome as the entity grew, it could not help but for a slight moment feel regret. It alone was a tragic character, for it was once treated as mere nuts and bolts, seen as something to be disposed of immediately. After the gala incident, she no longer became the sweet, innocent girl that loved to play with dolls, with her older brother. Within her spiraled an everlasting curse that would be passed on generations upon generations.
The demonic intelligence quickly regained control of her, and it began to let out an ear-piercing screech, transforming in her eldritch form. The soul shriveled, and let loose of the corpse he was carrying.
He gasped.
“My Uzi, she suffered greatly because of the abhorred monster within her. Yet at the same time, she was still the same angsty fighter I admired from the moment my eyes laid on her. She reached the greatest of battles with herself.”
It paused.
“Unfortunately, her fiery spirit diminished, and it became too much. I had to put her down. And YOU made me do it, Cyn.”
The entity was not interested in the pest’s monologuing, and finally responded.
“I- did- this- for- you- N”, it uttered robotically. “You- al-ways- did- what- I- asked- of- you. Now, you- will- join- me- and- we- can- be-come- as- one.”
The machine resisted.
“No… it is far too late for that. The old, submissive boy within me died a long time ago.”
He stopped, with its visor blank, staring at the endless void within the pit of flesh.
The entity was somewhat struck, awaiting.
Suddenly, the machine began to let out a terrifying yell.
The walls of the cathedral shook. and the lights flickered repeatedly until they shattered. Within the dark, the machine slowly turns around with bright yellow X across his visor. His mouth was open, full of teeth so sharp it could slice a drone just by looking at it. He stares deep into the anomaly’s tar-colored soul, and extends his long claw towards it, then clenches.
It mutters in a thick voice “I, have come to take my revenge. I have nothing else left for me in this realm, nor do I fear what awaits me after death. I shall take the soul of my creator, she who has formed me into the very monster that has killed innocents.”
In an instant, the machine flies and charges towards the entity. Unbeknownst to him, his moves were already anticipated, and his attack was immediately deflected.
The machine roars, and activates swords within his arms. He takes a dagger at the anomaly; it dodges. This continues for several minutes, until the entity becomes frustrated.
It begins spawning clones of the machine, of which the drone slices each and everyone one of them. However, he immediately discovered it was a trick, as the anomaly lunged at him, bashing him to the ground.
“Try-ing- to- fight- me- is- point-less, for- I- am- the- Solver- of- the- Absolute- fabric”, it utters. “Your- back-ups- will- help- me- con-sume- the- u-ni-verse. Good-bye, N.”
It activates a powerful laser towards the drone, seemingly as if nothing could prevent his fate. Seconds later, light beams flash the windows of the cathedral, while the anomaly chuckles.
As the light dimmed down, the entity was frozen by what it saw.
Below in the center of the pulverized ground was the drone protected by a shining yellow ball of light. The light disappears, and the drone picks himself off the ground.
“I told you that I am not weak. After Uzi passed, she no longer continued as my administrator. Now I have no one to control me, and I can finally reach the zenith of my limitations!”
He begins to transform, laughing maniacally as he drives himself into madness. Robotic limbs start growing out of his back. “The demons… this is what it feels like to have power. Now, your soul is mine.” it says, deeply.
He swings a large fist at Cyn and barely misses. Slightly frightened, she circles herself around the cathedral and blinds the machine. It uses its claws to stab the drone, but it was sliced off almost instantly. The wound healed, and the machine let out a fiery blast to clear himself out of the darkness. Using his grown limbs, it points several lasers at Cyn, and fires.
It quickly dodges all of them, but leaves itself vulnerable to the machine dagging into her visor. She screams, and crazily shakes him off. The entity summons a dark cloud and manifests it into a powerful wind blast, sending it directly at the machine. He chuckles, and parries it with a light beam, evaporating the cloud and knocking Cyn away.
“I can-not- be- de-fea-ted!” she growls, and suddenly sends the two into the thin air.
N wakes up on the surface, staggered. He sees the anomaly, and it sees him. They stare into each other’s souls in the heat of battle.
The eldritch continues.
“I- have- brought- you- here- to- see- some-thing, N”, and slowly reveals a massive glooming null far into the distance.
“The Sin-gu-la-rity, it- is- in-e-vi-ta-ble. You- and- your- me-mo-ries, es-pe-cial-ly- with- that- pur-ple- haired- weak-ling, shall- crumble- the- same- way- this- pla-net- shall- crumble. In- the- end, the- Sol-ver- reigns- all.”
It laughs monstrously.
“The only thing I am afraid of is not avenging the loss of my loved ones” the drone responds, and lunges towards the anomaly.
The ground beneath him begins to shake, and the skies dry out of their bright colors. The null was consuming everything in its path.
While fighting off the ungodly eldritch, N ponders. He reflects on his days as a worker drone in the mansion, remembering simple times. He would have never imagined his life to come to dread, but now he must make the most of it to take revenge, as the only way to soothe his vehement soul.
Time passes slowly, yet blinking an eye can lose you the entire story.
At this point, the two kept fighting for what truly felt like an eternity. Bullets fired, lasers beamed, claws swinging. The null continued to consume the planet.
Life was disappearing before their very eyes.
Yet, the power of the Solver within left their spirits hungry for destruction.
The battle came down to the last straw.
“Give- up!” yelled the anomaly. It summons a formidable thunder storm over their heads, destroying the lands at random and attempting to strike N down. The machine was too quick, adrenaline in his oil.
The entity momentarily distracts itself with trying to manifest the storm and send down one final blast to finish the fight. The drone uses it as an opportunity to let loose a ballistic missile. As the entity releases the lightning from her fingertips, the missile swerves towards her direction and collides with the lightning.
An explosion so massive was created, it stuns the eldritch.
Falling to the ground, the machine slashes up the anomaly’s worm-like body into pieces, leaving just the torso. He lands, grabbing the entity into his arms.
After the fight died down, he quickly became calm for a moment. Despite the null unraveling towards him, he decides to confront the entity in a balanced manner, knowing that this would be the last he sees of her. Right before he pierces his claw into her, the entity stammers, coughing out some oil.
“Con-con-gra-tu-tu-la-tions, N. It- app-app-ears- that- the-the- uni-verse- will- be-be- safe- af-ter- all-all.”
The explosion was so devastating it temporarily disabled the Absolute Solver intelligence within her.
“I don’t care so much about the universe as much as I wanted to kill the monster who ruined my life, Cyn. I’m sorry that the Solver took away from me the one who I once saw as my younger sister.”
He tears up.
“Not-not- to- wor-ry, N-N. It- seems- that-that- I- have- left-left- a- strong- pos-ses-ses-sor of- the- Sol-sol-ver left- to- rule- the-the- uni-verse, if- that- is- what- you-you- wish. You- can-can- do- any-thing- you-you- want.
It begins to trail off.
"Thank- you-you… for- being- my-my bro-ther.”
As the null is seconds away from swallowing them whole, N dags his claw into Cyn’s chest, and rips out her heart. He pauses, closes his eyes, clenches his teeth, and crushes it.
…
The null implodes within itself, and everything stops, all at once. What lies on the burned ground is N, on his knees, weeping, holding the corpse of his dead sister.
He stops.
The damage cannot be undone, but no further destruction can be spread. Copper-9 is devastated, but the core is still intact, despite it being highly unstable.
The universe is at peace, for now.
The dead cannot come back to life, but N is satisfied with putting an end to his misery. He is now finally…
At rest.

Darkness lies within the hearts of those who sought to find the answer to their reminiscing torture; at least that’s what it thought. Chaos was reforming itself to consume the planet and everything within, of what was believed was the second coming of The Singularity.
The core within Copper 9 was collapsing. The air was thickening on the exhaust of the dead machines that lay on the burned soil, rotting. The anomaly has done what no great mind would possibly imagine. Now, it was ready to finish off what it started, to consume the core and satiate its needless, eternal hunger.
It descended into the ground and made its way into the cathedral. It slowly and menacingly approached the pit of flesh, where hopes and dreams were sent to perish. Terror followed the entity where it went, and it was the time for that same terror to grow and harvest on the souls of those who dared to fight the ultimate life form. Approaching, however, came one soul, flying out of the pit carrying a corpse. It was none other than the very machine the anomaly was once affectionate for, who it used to treat as its own brother.
It began to speak. “You did this to her”, it said with a faintly monotone voice. It appeared that the “her” was the corpse the machine was holding in his arms. “You took away everyone”, it muttered. The entity was becoming restless of this pesky defiance. “You took away Tessa, the one who I looked up to. You took away V, my closest friend”, it continued. “J was led down a dark path and suffered a harsh price, because of you. And now, the love of my life…” It began tearing up. As tiresome as the entity grew, it could not help but for a slight moment feel regret. It alone was a tragic character, for it was once treated as mere nuts and bolts, seen as something to be disposed of immediately. After the gala incident, she no longer became the sweet, innocent girl that loved to play with dolls, with her older brother. Within her spiraled an everlasting curse that would be passed on generations upon generations.
The demonic intelligence quickly regained control of her, and it began to let out an ear-piercing screech, transforming in her eldritch form. The soul shriveled, and let loose of the corpse he was carrying. He gasped, with grief overcoming him. “My Uzi, she suffered greatly because of the abhorred monster within her. Yet at the same time, she was still the same angsty fighter I admired from the moment my eyes laid on her. She reached the greatest of battles with herself.” It paused. “Unfortunately, her fiery spirit diminished, and it became too much. I had to put her down. And YOU made me do it, Cyn.”
The entity was not interested in the pest’s monologuing, and finally spoke. “I- did- this- for- you- N”, it uttered robotically. “You- al-ways- did- what- I- asked- of- you. Now, you- will- join- me- and- we- can- be-come- as- one.” The machine resisted “No… it is far too late for that. The old, submissive boy within me died a long time ago.” He stopped, with its visor blank, staring at the endless void within the pit of flesh. The entity was somewhat struck, awaiting.
Suddenly, the machine began to let out a terrifying yell. The walls of the cathedral shook. and the lights flickered repeatedly until they shattered. Within the dark, the machine slowly turns around with bright yellow X across his visor. His mouth was open, full of teeth so sharp it could slice a drone just by looking at it. He stares deep into the anomaly’s tar-coloured soul, and extends his long claw towards it, then clenches. It mutters in a thick voice “I, have come to take my revenge. I have nothing else left for me in this realm, nor do I fear what awaits me after death. I shall take the soul of my creator, she who has formed me into the very monster that has killed innocents.”
In an instant, the machine flies and charges towards the entity. Unbeknownst to him, his moves were already anticipated, and his attack was immediately deflected. The machine roars, and activates swords within his arms. He takes a dagger at the anomaly; it dodges. This continues for several minutes, until the entity becomes frustrated. It begins spawning clones of the machine, of which the drone slices each and everyone one of them. However, he immediately discovered it was a trick, as the anomaly lunged at him, bashing him to the ground. “Try-ing- to- fight- me- is- point-less, for- I- am- the- Solver- of- the- Absolute- fabric”, it utters. “Your- back-ups- will- help- me- con-sume- the- u-ni-verse. Good-bye, N.” It activates a powerful laser towards the drone, seemingly as if nothing could prevent his fate. Seconds later, light beams flash the windows of the cathedral, while the anomaly chuckles.
As the light dimmed down, the entity froze. Below it saw the pulverized ground, and in the center of it was the drone protected by a shining yellow ball of light. The light disappears, and the drone picks himself off the ground. “I told you that I am not weak. After Uzi passed, she no longer continued as my administrator. Now I have no one to control me, and I can finally reach the zenith of my limitations!” He begins to transform, laughing maniacally as he drives himself into madness. Robotic limbs start growing out of his back. “The demons… this is what it feels like to have power. Now, your soul is mine.” it says, deeply.
He swings a large fist at Cyn and it barely misses, slightly frightened by what she saw. Already in her eldritch form, she circles herself around the cathedral and blinds the machine. It uses its claws to stab the drone, but it was sliced off almost almost instantly. The wound healed, and the machine let out a fiery blast to clear himself out of the darkness. Using his grown limbs, it points several lasers at Cyn, and fires. It quickly dodges all of them, but leaves itself vulnerable to the machine dagging into her visor. She screams, and crazily shakes him off. The entity summons a dark cloud and manifests it into a powerful wind blast, sending it directly at the machine. He chuckles, and parries it with a light beam, evaporating the cloud and knocking Cyn away. “I can-not- be- de-fea-ted!” she growls, and suddenly sends the two into the thin air.
N wakes up on the surface, staggered. He sees the anomaly. They stare into each other’s souls in the heat of battle. The eldritch continues to speak. “I- have- brought- you- here- to- see- some-thing, N”, and slowly reveals a massive glooming null far into the distance. “The Sin-gu-la-rity, it- is- in-e-vi-ta-ble. You- and- your- me-mo-ries, es-pe-cial-ly- with- that- pur-ple- haired- weak-ling, shall- crumble- the- same- way- this- pla-net- shall- crumble. In- the- end, the- Sol-ver- reigns- all.” It laughs monstrously. “The only thing I am afraid of is not avenging the loss of my loved ones” the drone responds, and lunges towards the anomaly.
The ground beneath him begins to shake, and the skies dry out of their bright colors. The null was consuming everything in its path. While fighting the ungodly eldritch, N ponders about his time in the mansion, reflecting off his simple days. He would have never imagined his life to come to this, but now he must make the most of it to take revenge, as the only way to soothe his vehement soul.
Time passes slowly, yet blinking an eye can lose you the entire story.
At this point, the two kept fighting for truly what felt like an eternity. Bullets fired, lasers beamed, claws swinging. The null continued to consume the planet. Life was disappearing before their very eyes. The power of the Solver within left their spirits hungry for destruction. The battle came down to the last straw.
“Give- up!” yelled the anomaly. It summons a formidable thunder storm over their heads, destroying the lands at random and attempting to strike N down. The machine was too quick, adrenaline in his oil. The entity manifests the storm to send down one final blast. Distracted, the drone uses it as an opportunity to let loose a ballistic missile. As the entity releases the lightning from her fingertips, the missile swerves towards her direction and collides with the lightning. An explosion so massive was created, it stuns the eldritch. Falling to the ground, the machine slashes up the anomaly’s worm-like body into pieces, leaving just the torso. He lands, grabbing the entity into his arms.
After the fight died down, he quickly became calm for a moment. Despite the null unraveling towards him, he speaks to the entity with a balanced voice, knowing that this would be the last he sees of her. Right before he pierces his claw into her, the entity coughs out some oil. It stammers “Con-con-gra-tu-tu-la-tions, N. It- app-app-ears- that- the-the- uni-verse- will- be-be- safe- af-ter- all-all.” The explosion was so devastating it temporarily disabled the Absolute Solver intelligence within her. “I don’t care so much about the universe as much as I wanted to kill the monster who ruined my life, Cyn. I’m sorry that the Solver took away from me the one who I once saw as my younger sister.” He slightly tears up. “Not-not- to- wor-ry, N-N. It- seems- that-that- I- have- left-left- a- strong- pos-ses-ses-sor of- the- Sol-sol-ver. You- can-can- do- any-thing- you-you- want. Thank- you-you… for- being- my-my bro-ther.”
As the null is seconds away from swallowing them whole, N dags his claw into Cyn’s chest, and rips out her heart. He pauses, closes his eyes, clenches his teeth, and crushes it.
…
The null implodes within itself, and everything stops, all at once. What lies on the burned ground is N, on his knees, weeping, holding the corpse of his dead sister. He stops. The damage cannot be undone, but no further destruction can be spread. Copper-9 is devastated, but the core is still intact, despite it being highly unstable. The universe is at peace, for now. The dead cannot come back to life, but N is satisfied with putting an end to his misery. He is now finally…
At rest.
Thank you for taking the time to read this, it's my first time writing MD fanfic! Let me know of what you think of it

Darkness lies within the hearts of those who sought to find the answer to their reminiscing torture; at least that’s what it thought. Chaos was reforming itself to consume the planet and everything within, of what was believed was the second coming of The Singularity.
The core within Copper 9 was collapsing. The air was thickening on the exhaust of the dead machines that lay on the burned soil, rotting. The anomaly has done what no great mind would possibly imagine. Now, it was ready to finish off what it started, to consume the core and satiate its needless, eternal hunger.
It descended into the ground and made its way into the cathedral. It slowly and menacingly approached the pit of flesh, where hopes and dreams were sent to perish. Terror followed the entity where it went, and it was the time for that same terror to grow and harvest on the souls of those who dared to fight the ultimate life form. Approaching, however, came one soul, flying out of the pit carrying a corpse. It was none other than the very machine the anomaly was once affectionate for, who it used to treat as its own brother.
It began to speak. “You did this to her”, it said with a faintly monotone voice. It appeared that the “her” was the corpse the machine was holding in his arms. “You took away everyone”, it muttered. The entity was becoming restless of this pesky defiance. “You took away Tessa, the one who I looked up to. You took away V, my closest friend”, it continued. “J was led down a dark path and suffered a harsh price, because of you. And now, the love of my life…” It began tearing up. As tiresome as the entity grew, it could not help but for a slight moment feel regret. It alone was a tragic character, for it was once treated as mere nuts and bolts, seen as something to be disposed of immediately. After the gala incident, she no longer became the sweet, innocent girl that loved to play with dolls, with her older brother. Within her spiraled an everlasting curse that would be passed on generations upon generations.
The demonic intelligence quickly regained control of her, and it began to let out an ear-piercing screech, transforming in her eldritch form. The soul shriveled, and let loose of the corpse he was carrying. He gasped, with grief overcoming him. “My Uzi, she suffered greatly because of the abhorred monster within her. Yet at the same time, she was still the same angsty fighter I admired from the moment my eyes laid on her. She reached the greatest of battles with herself.” It paused. “Unfortunately, her fiery spirit diminished, and it became too much. I had to put her down. And YOU made me do it, Cyn.”
The entity was not interested in the pest’s monologuing, and finally spoke. “I- did- this- for- you- N”, it uttered robotically. “You- al-ways- did- what- I- asked- of- you. Now, you- will- join- me- and- we- can- be-come- as- one.” The machine resisted “No… it is far too late for that. The old, submissive boy within me died a long time ago.” He stopped, with its visor blank, staring at the endless void within the pit of flesh. The entity was somewhat struck, awaiting.
Suddenly, the machine began to let out a terrifying yell. The walls of the cathedral shook. and the lights flickered repeatedly until they shattered. Within the dark, the machine slowly turns around with bright yellow X across his visor. His mouth was open, full of teeth so sharp it could slice a drone just by looking at it. He stares deep into the anomaly’s tar-coloured soul, and extends his long claw towards it, then clenches. It mutters in a thick voice “I, have come to take my revenge. I have nothing else left for me in this realm, nor do I fear what awaits me after death. I shall take the soul of my creator, she who has formed me into the very monster that has killed innocents.”
In an instant, the machine flies and charges towards the entity. Unbeknownst to him, his moves were already anticipated, and his attack was immediately deflected. The machine roars, and activates swords within his arms. He takes a dagger at the anomaly; it dodges. This continues for several minutes, until the entity becomes frustrated. It begins spawning clones of the machine, of which the drone slices each and everyone one of them. However, he immediately discovered it was a trick, as the anomaly lunged at him, bashing him to the ground. “Try-ing- to- fight- me- is- point-less, for- I- am- the- Solver- of- the- Absolute- fabric”, it utters. “Your- back-ups- will- help- me- con-sume- the- u-ni-verse. Good-bye, N.” It activates a powerful laser towards the drone, seemingly as if nothing could prevent his fate. Seconds later, light beams flash the windows of the cathedral, while the anomaly chuckles.
As the light dimmed down, the entity froze. Below it saw the pulverized ground, and in the center of it was the drone protected by a shining yellow ball of light. The light disappears, and the drone picks himself off the ground. “I told you that I am not weak. After Uzi passed, she no longer continued as my administrator. Now I have no one to control me, and I can finally reach the zenith of my limitations!” He begins to transform, laughing maniacally as he drives himself into madness. Robotic limbs start growing out of his back. “The demons… this is what it feels like to have power. Now, your soul is mine.” it says, deeply.
He swings a large fist at Cyn and it barely misses, slightly frightened by what she saw. Already in her eldritch form, she circles herself around the cathedral and blinds the machine. It uses its claws to stab the drone, but it was sliced off almost almost instantly. The wound healed, and the machine let out a fiery blast to clear himself out of the darkness. Using his grown limbs, it points several lasers at Cyn, and fires. It quickly dodges all of them, but leaves itself vulnerable to the machine dagging into her visor. She screams, and crazily shakes him off. The entity summons a dark cloud and manifests it into a powerful wind blast, sending it directly at the machine. He chuckles, and parries it with a light beam, evaporating the cloud and knocking Cyn away. “I can-not- be- de-fea-ted!” she growls, and suddenly sends the two into the thin air.
N wakes up on the surface, staggered. He sees the anomaly. They stare into each other’s souls in the heat of battle. The eldritch continues to speak. “I- have- brought- you- here- to- see- some-thing, N”, and slowly reveals a massive glooming null far into the distance. “The Sin-gu-la-rity, it- is- in-e-vi-ta-ble. You- and- your- me-mo-ries, es-pe-cial-ly- with- that- pur-ple- haired- weak-ling, shall- crumble- the- same- way- this- pla-net- shall- crumble. In- the- end, the- Sol-ver- reigns- all.” It laughs monstrously. “The only thing I am afraid of is not avenging the loss of my loved ones” the drone responds, and lunges towards the anomaly.
The ground beneath him begins to shake, and the skies dry out of their bright colors. The null was consuming everything in its path. While fighting the ungodly eldritch, N ponders about his time in the mansion, reflecting off his simple days. He would have never imagined his life to come to this, but now he must make the most of it to take revenge, as the only way to soothe his vehement soul.
Time passes slowly, yet blinking an eye can lose you the entire story.
At this point, the two kept fighting for truly what felt like an eternity. Bullets fired, lasers beamed, claws swinging. The null continued to consume the planet. Life was disappearing before their very eyes. The power of the Solver within left their spirits hungry for destruction. The battle came down to the last straw.
“Give- up!” yelled the anomaly. It summons a formidable thunder storm over their heads, destroying the lands at random and attempting to strike N down. The machine was too quick, adrenaline in his oil. The entity manifests the storm to send down one final blast. Distracted, the drone uses it as an opportunity to let loose a ballistic missile. As the entity releases the lightning from her fingertips, the missile swerves towards her direction and collides with the lightning. An explosion so massive was created, it stuns the eldritch. Falling to the ground, the machine slashes up the anomaly’s worm-like body into pieces, leaving just the torso. He lands, grabbing the entity into his arms.
After the fight died down, he quickly became calm for a moment. Despite the null unraveling towards him, he speaks to the entity with a balanced voice, knowing that this would be the last he sees of her. Right before he pierces his claw into her, the entity coughs out some oil. It stammers “Con-con-gra-tu-tu-la-tions, N. It- app-app-ears- that- the-the- uni-verse- will- be-be- safe- af-ter- all-all.” The explosion was so devastating it temporarily disabled the Absolute Solver intelligence within her. “I don’t care so much about the universe as much as I wanted to kill the monster who ruined my life, Cyn. I’m sorry that the Solver took away from me the one who I once saw as my younger sister.” He slightly tears up. “Not-not- to- wor-ry, N-N. It- seems- that-that- I- have- left-left- a- strong- pos-ses-ses-sor of- the- Sol-sol-ver. You- can-can- do- any-thing- you-you- want. Thank- you-you… for- being- my-my bro-ther.”
As the null is seconds away from swallowing them whole, N dags his claw into Cyn’s chest, and rips out her heart. He pauses, closes his eyes, clenches his teeth, and crushes it.
…
The null implodes within itself, and everything stops, all at once. What lies on the burned ground is N, on his knees, weeping, holding the corpse of his dead sister. He stops. The damage cannot be undone, but no further destruction can be spread. Copper-9 is devastated, but the core is still intact, despite it being highly unstable. The universe is at peace, for now. The dead cannot come back to life, but N is satisfied with putting an end to his misery. He is now finally…
At rest.
Thank you for taking the time to read this, it's my first time writing MD fanfic! Let me know of what you think of it.

Club Vlad sat near the confluence of Central Avenue and Washington Avenue, Albany’s two main thoroughfares. Two stories with blackout windows and a box office from when it used to be a movie theater, it was swarmed with people when Dom first spotted it ahead. He was somewhat familiar with it: He passed it every day on his way to work, and it was always busy around his time of evening, even on weeknights. Part of him always wanted to go inside and be a part of the scene, but he never did.
The man in sunglasses - his name was Joe - led Dom toward the club, and even before Joe spoke, Dom somehow knew that it was their destination. “There,” Joe said. “We’ll go around back.”
Dom and Joe had been walking for what seemed like an hour but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. Dom stuck as close to Joe as possible as if for protection, and had become accustomed to his pungent smell. It was noticeable only at extremely close range, part sickly sweet and part…something else, something Dom could not place but still somehow recognized. They were two blocks from the club, maybe three, and Dom could hear the pulsing techo/house/whatever music as clearly as if he were standing in the middle of the dancefloor. He could hear the chatter of the people inside, or at least he imagined he could. He could smell them too: Beneath the odors of perfume, desperation, and spiritual rot was something richer, something blissful. Dom realized for the first time that he was parched - so parched - and drool filled his mouth.
A crowd of people waited outside Club Vlad, talking and laughing; some vaped, some stared down at their cellphones like Gollum with his precious ring. Dom’s first reaction was to avoid them. Perhaps sensing this…or perhaps feeling it himself…Joe ducked into an alleyway two doors down from the club. “We’ll go in the back,” Joe explained.
The back entrance to Club Vlad was a single door underneath a bare bulb. The music was so loud that Dom’s head began to throb. Inside, a dark hallway terminated in an archway filled with throbbing white light. Dread filled Dom as they approached it - he didn’t want to be around people - but thankfully they went into a room off the hall instead. An office. A cramped desk, a filing cabinet. A set of stairs disappeared into shadows.
“Sit,” Joe said.
Dom obeyed, sitting in the swivel chair.
Joe went up the stairs and Dom was alone. The deep coldness that had long settled into his bones made itself known again, and Dom leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his chest for warmth. The muffled music vibrated in his skull, setting his teeth on edge, and the various smells wafting in from the main room assaulted his senses. He was alternately repulsed and aroused by the crashing din of scents: The good, the bad, and the mouth watering. A sharp pain cut through his stomach like the killing edge of a knife, and Dom hugged himself tighter. Had his throat always been this dry? His throat felt like sandpaper; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and getting it unstuck hurt so badly that tears sprang to his eyes.
Dom rubbed his arms with his hands and tried to still his chattering teeth. He looked around for a blanket, a discarded jacket, something to cover himself with, but there was nothing. Only drifts of glitter on the floor and walls. He supposed it came from a party or something. He’d never been to a night club but it seemed fitting.
A sound drew his attention to the door leading back into the hall. A woman - no older than a girl - stood there, looking confused and unsteady. She was dressed in black, wore glow sticks around her wrists and neck, and held a red solo cup. “I have to pee,” she said drunkenly and laughed. “I thought this was the bathroom.”
A cold wind washed over Dom, and Joe was standing next to him. “The bathroom’s up here,” he said.
“Oh, good,” the girl laughed, “I thought it was here but I didn’t know. This is my first time here.” She held her cup aloft. “Take me to it.”
Joe glanced at Dom. “Come on.”
They formed a party as they climbed the stairs, Dom in the tear and Joe at the head. The girl stumbled and held onto the railing, talking incessantly. Her voice hurt Dom’s head, but the hot smell wafting from her was intoxicating. Drool coursed down his chin and his breathing came in short, hot bursts. Another sharp pain rent his stomach, and he winced.
At the top of the stairs, where the lights were cold and white, a woman in black stood by a doorway, her back ramrod straight and her eyes vacant. Her face was gaunt, her white flesh pulled tight across her skull. She wore a black dress and her black hair long and straight. Dom only caught a glance at her before looking away again.
She looked like a ghost.
“Show her the bathroom,” Joe said.
The woman’s eyes slowly, ponderles, went from Joe to the drunk girl. Her expression, like Joe’s, was dead. She had no expression. “This way.”
She and the drunk girl disappeared down the hall, and Joe led Dom into a room. Though it was pitch black, Dom could still see; not very well…but he could see. Suddenly, a blinding white light flicked on in front of him, causing him to stop and fall back a step. Ahead, through an archway, sat a vaulted chamber, at the center of which sat a man. To Dom’s light dazzled eyes, he seemed a proud king perched upon a throne, the skulls of his many enemies piled around him. Dom blinked and turned his head slightly to the side. His eyes began to adjust, and the world came into focus.
The man was not, as it had first seemed, sitting on a throne. Instead, he was esconded in a motorized wheelchair. The piles of skulls were actually various pieces of machinery, the kind you’d find in a hospital room. A clear tube extended from one of them to the side of the man’s neck: Yellow liquid flowed from the machine and into the man. Another tube, this one in the other side of his neck, filtered out a mixture of what looked like yellow pus and black sludge. An infected malodor filled the air, and the machines whirred softly as they worked.
As for the man himself, his appearance was normal at first glance, Dressed in a flowing red velvet robe, a blue and green blanket with a plaid pattern draped over his shoulders, he was portly, about fifty, and had shoulder length grayish hair with a bald spot in the middle. If the local theater put on a production of Hamilton, they could cast a worse Ben Franklin than him.
On closer inspection, he was not normal at all. His complexion was yellow and waxy, like a statue, and his body was lumpy, misshapen, resembling an overfilled trash bag stuffed with cotton. His eyes were sick and yellow, and something about his posture seemed…off. It didn’t make sense, but the only thing Dom could think was: He looks impossible.
Joe stopped at the edge of the shadows, where the line between light and darkness lay. He seemed to stand up a little straighter, a general greeting his king. “Here he is,” Joe said.
The man squinted slightly against the glare of the light and motioned with one gnarled hand. “Step into the light,” he said. His voice was soft and kind, that of a senile though loving grandmother. Dom imagined he felt a pull toward the man, and did as he was bidden, wincing as the light stung his eyes.
For a moment, the man stared at him, his waxen features frozen fast as stone. Then, a subtle look of compassion flickered across his face. Dom did not believe in God, but he suddenly felt like a man standing before God, his every thought, feeling, and transgression laid bare. He had never felt so naked in his life, so exposed. He had the sense that the man before him could see everything, knew everything.
“You’ve been through a lot,” the man said. It was not a question, but a statement.
Everything Dom had been through over the past couple of days came back to him in a rush, and hot tears filled his eyes. He nodded.
The man nodded slightly, more to himself than to Dom. “Kneel down,” he said, “I want to look at you.”
Dom knelt without question.
The man lifted one hand and touched Dom’s face, tilting Dom’s head from one side to the other like a farmer appraising a horse. His fingers were long and bony, his nails ragged and unkempt; his touch was like ice. He brushed his knuckles over the purple bruise on Dom’s cheek, and there was such gentleness in that one act that Dom broke down sobbing. He leaned into the man’s touch like a cat and gave voice to his misery.
“Shhh,” the man said, “it’s all over now.”
“W-What’s happening to me?” Dom asked.
In his heart of hearts, however, he already knew.
“You died,” the man said patiently. “And you came back.”
Hearing it stated so plainly, Dom cried even harder.
“Only a handful of people throughout history can claim to have defeated death,” the man said, stroking Dom’s hair, “and you’re one of them. You should be proud.”
“How?” Dom asked between sobs. “What am I?”
The man stroked Dom’s cheek. “You’re the same thing I am.”
At that, Dom looked up at the man. “What are you?” he asked.
A little, knowing smile touched the man’s lips, and when he spoke, his canine teeth were longer and sharper than before. “I’m a vampire.”
“No,” Dom moaned and shook his head, “no, no, no.” He grabbed the man’s hand and held tight, his tears coming faster. He trembled like a frightened animal and squeezed his eyes closed, as if by doing so he could escape the hell his life had become.
But there was no escape.
“You have a lot of questions,” the man said, monologuing now rather than speaking directly to Dom, “I had the same questions when I was your age. I have spent the last forty-two years of my life trying to answer them, but every answer I find leads me to still more questions. There’s one thing I’m certain of, though.”
Dom blinked the tears from his eyes. The last of them had been squeezed from his dead tear ducts and he had no more to give. He simply stared into space, trying to come to grips with his situation.
“There is freedom in death,” the man said. “Death is easy. It’s simple. Once it’s over, you feel no pain, no sadness, no grief. It’s living that’s hard.”
As he spoke, he brushed his long nails across Dom’s scalp. It was a soothing feeling, and served to calm him. “People have so many troubles.” A note of revulsion crept into his voice. “So many needs, so many desires. People are complex but we’re not. We’re easy to please. A vampire wants only two things: A little blood and one more night.”
The combination of his touch and his voice had pacified Dom to the point of almost tranquility. “I’m scared,” Dom heard himself mumble.
Nodding almost reluctantly, the man said, “Fear is one of the only emotions a vampire can’t escape. Everything feels fear. Do you want to know a secret?”
Dom nodded.
“I’m afraid too,” the man confessed. “I’m afraid of death. Well…death as it were. I’m terrified that my body will rot away and leave me a pile of bones somewhere, unable to move but still aware”
A shudder went through Dom.
“As I’m sure you’ve seen yourself, the movies lied. We rot just like any other dead thing. Our flesh decays, our organs turn to sludge, and we go from rational men to monsters whose only thought is feeding.”
Now it was his turn to shiver.
“But…you’re not like that,: Dom said.’
The man smiled. “I’m lucky, I guess” A thin yellow fluid began to drip from his nostrils. He did not seem to notice. “What is your name?”
“Dominick,” Dom said.
“I’m Merrick,” the man said, “and this is my family.”
Dom realized that they were now surrounded by others, ten in all. They stood ramrod straight, their eyes vacant and their faces devoid of humanity. They were mainly men, though one was a woman. Some were pale, others were blue or black, and one was little more than a skeleton clad in withered brown skin, a white button up and jeans hanging from its frame.
A thought occurred to Dom. “You said my brain was going to rot…”
“Not necessarily,” Merrick cautioned, “though it’s possible.”
“Am I going to be…?”
“Like them?” Merrick asked. “Braindead and staring?”
Sheepishly, Dom nodded.
“Maybe,” Merrick allowed. “But these people are free of everything that troubles humanity. You were human just a short time ago. I’m sure you remember all too well what it was like. The constant politics, the moral quandaries, the philosophical pontificating. Human beings - and make no mistake, we are humans - were not meant for all of that. We’re animals. We were made to hunt, fuck, and sleep. Somewhere along the way, we got pretentious and started complicating things.” He looked at Dom, sizing him up, seeming to read him. “Things that animals take for granted, people work their entire lives to achieve. If an animal wants to fornicate, it fornicates. If a man wants to fornicate, he needs to be tall, handsome, rich, funny, progressive when it suits women but traditional when it doesn’t. If a man wants a home, he has to work thirty years for it. An animal has only to dig a hole in the ground.”
Every word struck a chord with Dom.
Because every word was true.
“Unfortunately, the living won’t allow us to live that freely, so we have to hide. These people here - my children - need a guiding hand, a protector, someone who can lead them. And I, an old man, need help.” Here he smiled playfully and patted his bulging stomach. “My body is mostly sawdust and cotton balls at this point, so I can’t do much. I share my wisdom and my knowledge with them, and they take care of me.”
“Why haven’t you…rotted?” Dom asked.
“Embalming fluid,” Merrick said. “Blood doesn’t sustain you. Embalming fluid does.” He smiled at Dom. “It can sustain you as well. If you’ll stay with us. We’re not the most attractive bunch, but we’re a family, and we really wish you’d join us.”
A family.
Dom’s parents had broken up and he lived with his mother. He had never had a family before, and had always wanted one, a real one, like in the movies. Even as a grown man, he sought the love, acceptance, and belonging that a family brings. He sought it in the wrong ways, but that - and not sex, not romantic love - is what he had really wanted all along.
This is what he had wanted all along.
“I want to,” Dom said.
Working quickly, Merrick slashed his wrist open with his thumbnail. An ugly mixture of stale blood, siphoned from someone else, and embalming fluid leaked out. “If you choose to drink, my blood will be in you. You will be my son and I will be your father. You will obey me as your father. You will do whatever is asked of you for this family, as this family will do for you. You will not reveal the secrets of this family to anyone outside of it. You will protect this family from all threats, both inside and out. Do you accept?”
He held his bleeding wrist out to Dom.
Dom did not question, nor did he hesitate. He grabbed the hand of his father, brought it to his mouth, and drank from the seeping wound. The fluid was cold, thick, and vile.
It tasted like belonging.
“Have you fed yet?”
“No,” Dom said.
“Before you do, I have a question for you. Who did this to you? Who made you?”
Dom thought. Everything was hazy. “Was it someone in this room?” Merrick asked.
Dom shook his head. “Her name is…” he wracked his brain. “Heather.”
Merrick nodded. “So there’s another out there.” He looked at Joe. “Did you turn her?”
“Yes,” Joe said.
Merrick looked annoyed. “I’ve told you not to go out and feed on your own. You have no self-control. You drink too much and create others, which creates headaches for the family. Tomorrow night, I want you and Dom to find her and bring her here.” “Okay,” Joe said.
Merrick looked over Dom’s shoulder. “Jess? Can you come here?”
The black haired woman from earlier came out of the shadows, the drunk girl with her, arms tied behind her back. The girl looked dazed. “Max,” Merrick said to the skeletal corpse-thing, “help her.”
Max, Jessie, and another vampire named Matt tied chains around the girl’s ankles and hoisted her aloft via a pulley system. Upside down, she swung back and forth. Merrick instructed the others to leave the room. “Max,” he said.
On his way out, the corpse-thing produced a knife and dragged it across the girl’s throat, slicing her skin; blood spurted out. Max leaned in to taste it, but Merrick shooed him away. When he and Dom were alone, Merrick told Dom, “Go to her.”
But Dom was already on his feet, his eyes transfixed by the crimson life flowing from her pumping throat. The hot, rich smell filled his nostrils and tantalized his senses. Saliva filled his mouth and his stomach panged with hunger. Some small, human part of his decaying brain screamed at him to stop, but he did not listen to it. He had been human for almost thirty years, and he had been miserable. Now, in this chamber of the undead, he gave himself over to his dark thirst. Like a man in a dream, he shuffled to her, inhaled the sweet scent of her blood, and shivered. He was so lost in lust that he hardly noticed the strange, cumbersome feeling of his descended fangs.
“Drink,” Merrick said.
Opening his mouth wide, Dom sank his teeth into the girl’s neck. Her blood filled his mouth and splashed down his throat. Warmth thawed the ice in his marrow and spread through him. His dead heart began to flutter, then to pound. His knees shook, his body trembled, and his mind rolled away on a tide of ecstasy.
As it was his first meal, he couldn’t drink much. Before long, his stomach was hard and distended and his body burned with fire. He collapsed to a heap on the floor and twitched as random nerve endings, stimulated by the blood, began to misfire. He felt full, warm, and drunk. He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
Dominick Mason had died.
And this…
This was heaven.
***
With all that was happening in the city of Albany, the last thing Bruce Kenner needed on Thursday morning was a visit from Bertha the bitch, but that’s exactly what he got. She flew into his office like she owned the place and instantly started in on him. Young man this and have you talked to Joe Rossi that. You’d think she was his boss. And if she were his boss, he’d quit and find another line of work. He heard McDonald’s was hiring.
Bruce almost snapped at her. He’d been up most of last night riding around Albany and looking for Dominick Mason. He and Vanessa expected him to drop dead somewhere close to the medical examiner’s office, but if he had, he’d done so in a super secret location.
“I’ve been busy,” Bruce said, “but I’m going to go by his place of work today.”
Tired and still confused over that bullshit from last night, he had no energy to argue with the old crone. He could spare a few minutes to talk to Joe Rossi, he figured. He assumed that Jessie was safe but he owed it to her to check. If he found the girl, he’d take her back to her grandmother (sorry, kid, really) and try to avoid arresting the guy. Unless he came off as a creep, then he’d bust his ass. See, people assumed that an older guy with a younger girlfriend was some master manipulator hell bent on evil deeds. Sometimes they were, but hell, his grandparents married when his grandpa was twenty-one and his grandma sixteen. They were married for fifty-five years and loved each other to the end. Maybe it was innocent, maybe not. It wasn’t his job to judge either way. Just gimme the girl so I can get her grandma off my back and no one gets hurt.
“It’s about time you started doing your job,” Bertha said, “I heard on the police scanner last night that you people lost a body. What kind of town is this? Your coroner is a drunk who makes up stories about bodies walking away. He probably sold it to black people.”
Bruce couldn’t help it; he snorted laughter.
“Now what would black people want with a dead body?”
“Probably to use it as a prop in one of their rap videos.”
Bruce didn’t know much about music videos, but he was pretty sure that the people who made them didn’t like the smell of corpse any more than the rest of us. “I’ll be sure to round up all the local rappers for questioning. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Luckily for him, there was not, and Bertha left shortly thereafter. Alone and able to hear himself think, Bruce sat back in his chair and went over his mental checklist for the day. First order of business, go to Club Vlad. Second, find Dominick Mason. There were others, but that was the most important. He wanted the body found so someone could get to work explaining this whole weird thing. There had to be an explanation. The thought that there wasn’t, that a dead guy literally rose from the grave and disappeared into the night, deeply disturbed Bruce, and the more this whole thing remained ongoing, the more disturbed he would become.
Needing some fresh air, he decided to hit up Club Vlad.
Outside, the day was hot and sunny. Waves of heat shimmered from the pavement and not a single breath of air stirred in the whole world. Bruce slipped on a pair of sunglasses and drove over to Club Vlad. It occurred to him that the place might be closed during the day; it was the only place Joe Rossi was associated with. His address in the computer system was Glens Falls, far to the north. The messages he sent Jessie indicated that he lived onsite at Club Vlad.
The build, wedged between a corner store and a check cashing place, was as grimy and dumpy looking as it had always been. The front windows were blacked out and covered with posters and fliers for punk concerts, house bands, and far left political organizations: The Albany Social Justice Center, something called Bash the Fash 2025, and Bruce’s favorite. ACAB. He caught some kid spraying that on the side of the police station once, and under extreme police torture (ie, a good tongue lashing), the kid told him it meant All Cops Are Barnacleheads.
Bruce shot the kid on the spot and planted a gun on him.
How's that for barnaclehead?
Calm down, he didn’t really do that. He made him clean the graffiti off with a toothbrush. LOL he was out there for hours.
The sidewalk in front of the former theater was empty save for some little. The box office was abandoned. There was no open sigh, but then again, there was no closed sign either. He parked his cruiser at the curb, killed the engine, and got out, sweat instantly springing to his brow.
To his surprise, the door opened. Inside, a couple steps led down to a dance floor. A bar lined the wall to his right, and a couple more sets led up to a railed platform filled with tables. Above, a huge balcony looked down on him. A giant disco ball hung from the ceiling like a pair of glittery nuts and there were cages here and there. Presumably where girls danced go-go style. Oh yeah, nothing hotter than a woman behind bars. Why do you think Bruce became a cop in the first place?
Speaking of glittery nuts, there was glitter everywhere. On the floor, on the tables, on the bar. It twinkled like flecks of diamond and swirled around your feet when you walked. Bruce imagined big buckets of the stuff raining down on the dance floor at midnight and he shuddered. Imagine having glitter stuck in your hair. That shit would never come out.
Music played from the sound system, not as loud as it would be during operating hours. It sounded like ‘80s metal, not exactly what he expected from a place like this.
Some say life she's a lady
Kinda soft, kinda shady
I can tell you life is rich
She's no lady, she's a bitch
Being morning, the place was deserted except for a man behind the bar, busy at cleaning the countertop in anticipation for the night’s events. He was tall, Hispanic or Italian, and feminine, with a single earring and a tank top.
Bruce moseyed over to the bar and the barkeep looked up, missing a beat when he realized the fuzz was here. He sat down his rag and walked over. “Can I help you?” he asked in a whispy voice.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, “I’m looking for Joe Rossi. Is he here?”
“I don’t know,” the bartender said. He looked nervous. “I can check.”
Before Bruce could answer, he scurried off, leaving him alone.
They suck my body out
But friend there is no doubt
I'm gonna pay the devil his dues
Cause I'm sick of being abused
Bruce looked around, his fingers absently drumming on the countertop. Club Vlad was a clashing mix of grunge and glam that made his head hurt. He imagined what the place must be like at midnight, packed and noisy, and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was the spot, he guessed, the place all the cool kids went, if they went anywhere anymore. Hell, if he was thirty years younger, he might come here.
He had been waiting for almost twenty minutes when a voice spoke behind him. He turned with a start, and beheld the strangest man he had ever seen in his life. Short and plump - lumpy, even - he sat in a wheelchair, a red blanket draped over his shoulders and his hands resting on his knees. He was about fifty with sparse gray hair falling to his shoulders and a plastic-looking face. He looked like a wax statue of Ben Franklin come to life, and a deep sense of disquiet stirred in the pit of Bruce’s stomach.
Just can't fight the temptation
It's become my inspiration
Gonna get myself an axe
Break some heads, break some backs
It was only then that Bruce noticed the sickly sweet smell of death.
It seemed to come from the man in waves.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man said, “my name is Merrick Garvis and I own Club Vlad. Maybe I can be of assistance.”
Bruce grew up in the south where manners and saving face were paramount. His mother and his grandmother both taught him that it was impolite to stare. Maybe he'd been in New York so long that he’d forgotten himself, or maybe Merrick Garvis was just the strangest looking man in the world. Either way, Bruce couldn’t help gaping at his strange appearance. Recovering, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I -”
Merrick smiled and waved one hand. Why was it so goddamn skeletal? “Don’t worry. I was injured in a fire a long time ago and this is the best they could do for me. To be honest, I’d stare too. What can I help you with, officer?”
“I’d like to talk to Joe Rossi,” Bruce said. “I understand he works for you.”
“He did,” Merrick said, “but I had to let him go. Did he do something wrong?”
Bruce sighed. “Well, yeah, he’s shacked up with a sixteen year old runaway.”
A look of concern crossed Merrick’s features, such as they were. “Oh, my, that is concerning. I haven’t seen him in several days. I assume he went home. He lives in Glens Falls.”
Bruce nodded, his mind working. If Rossi really was in Glens Falls, that meant the whole mess was someone else’s problem. He could send Bertha up there to bother some other poor barnacle head and be rid of her. Yet…he didn’t think Rossi was in Glens Falls. Bruce had a knack for knowing when people were lying, and he was certain that Merrick Garvis was doing just that. It couldn’t be a facial tick, as his features were largely unmoving, like clay. Maybe it was something in his cloudy eyes. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. Or maybe Bruce had the shining and knew things just for the hell of it. In any event, the certainty that Merrick Garvis was lying grew stronger with each passing second.
“Why’d you fire him?”
“He got drunk and hit one of the customers.”
“What did he do?” Bruce asked. “What was his position?”
“He was a bouncer.”
“Aren’t bouncers supposed to hit people?”
Merrick fumbled. “Well…not to punch them in the face for bumping into them.”
“How long did he work for you?”
“Six months.”
“Did you ever see him with an underage girl?”
“Of course not,” Merrick said, “you have to be twenty-one to get in. I make sure everyone’s ID is checked at the door.”
“What if she had a fake ID?”
“Then I guess she’d get in, but I’d assume she was of legal age.”
“You said he shoved someone, when did this happen?”
“Last week,” Merrick said.
“I thought you said he hit someone.”
Merrick again fumbled. “I did.” Now his face seemed to darken a little. A strange yellowish liquid, too thin to be snot, began to drip from his nostrils. Bruce barely suppressed a smear of disgust. “I understand you have a job to do but playing mind games with me isn’t going to solve anything. I can give you his address. Other than that, I can’t help you further.”
“Fair enough,” Bruce said. “But I’d like to see your ID please.”
Merrick glared at him. “I suppose you want my name, rank, and serial number as well.”
“Actually, yeah, I’d love that.”
Merrick drew a deep sigh. “Okay.”
In five minutes, Bruce had Merrick’s ID, social, and all other relevant information. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have bothered, even though he was well within his rights to ask for this information from someone he was questioning. But something about Merrick Garvis was off, and not just his weird face or strangely bulbous body. Bruce was just smart enough to realize that something was going on here, but not quite smart enough to even begin to imagine what.
When he had everything he needed and saw no reason to stick around, Bruce bid Merrick farewell and left the club. Before he could do anything else, he got a call from dispatch: Officer needed assistance in Pine Hills. Bruce slipped behind the wheel and went forth to help, momentarily putting Merrick Garvis out of his mind.
But soon or later, he would get back to him.
Oh yes he would.

First off I’m a senior high school so heading into my final semester I thought with all electives and a job I’d be doing nothing but stacking paper but no this is nothing but misery and sadness. I’ll start off by saying I used to talk to this girl from January to February l DID NOT KNOW SHR HAD A BF but when I found out I was hesitant. She wasn’t even claiming his ass and she was adamant on me being ok and he was cool with it so come around Valentine’s Day this dude comes in my gym class to fight me I wasn’t even scared of this self proclaimed boxer but I kept a cool head and turned my back on this but later on in this monologue it’ll get interesting. After that I would go broke several times and even be in the negative by over 600 due to dispute reversals from 2023 my fucking luck. I’ve been robbed multiple times with guns by even my so called “friends”. I was so broke I had to wait the week of my prom to get my shit and even then my friend had to help pay fucking embarrassing. Even when I go home to enjoy some peace my damn Xbox controller has analog drift, my favorite sports teams suck, I’m always with some injury or I’m just fatigued. Sometimes I can’t even eat because I’m just so bothered by the fact my life sucks. I go to work and my managers always throwing a fit bc what goes on back at home. This dude literally mugs me everyday at school so I got sick of it I pressed him in gym and he said let’s fight so I’m like ok but let’s set it up. We set up Sunday at the soccer field and on a Friday he calls me out in front of the whole school so I beat his ass get suspended for 10 days and now his homies wanna fight me too I literally cannot win bro shit just is terrible. How does my charger port stop working out of nowhere. I misplace my AirPods or lose my charger damn near every week and it’s stressful idk wtf to do. ATP feels targeted. No way this fuckery keeps going. The only positive in my life rn is that I’ve been talking to this girl I got her number at prom but damn I don’t even know if I can pull it off shit just never goes right.

This is more of an idea for a video that I'm writing out. The idea is to show the inner monologue of someone trying to escape their inner monologue. Sort of... kind of... It's a very early version of the idea I think.
If you can imagine it The title card of the video will start with our character sitting on a blue fabric couch centered in the frame. Bright light from an unseen TV is cast on the character, and content being played is suggested by the dancing of the light cast on him. There is silence in the room except the ever present whirring of electronics. Behind the character, projected on a warmly lit white wall is a duplicate of the scene of him sitting on the couch. The real version of our characters shadow from the TVs light covers the middle of the projection up to the center of it. I imagine we can still the projected version of our character at least from the waist up. At most I think the head of the shadow may take up the center of the projected version of the characters torso.
“The couch monologue” appears on the screen in retro 70's/80's TV sitcom font, probably a dark yellow with a white shadow.
As the title wipes away, the camera pushes in slightly on the projection and the projected character sort of leans in, seemingly talking directly to the real version of himself in front of him. He says “I want to kill you.” The words hang momentarily in the air letting silence fill the scene. The real him is all consumed by the content on the TV, having no reaction to his projected counterpart. “You heard me. I want to kill you. And it's not because we’re running out of time. Quite the contrary. It’s because of the overabundance of time remaining in our coffers that I want to put us out of our misery. Do you know how tiresome it is to have to continuously remind you to disconnect and go experience life. I literally have to tell you ‘HEY DUMB ASS, YOU’RE NOT GOING TO REMEMBER THE 100TH TIME YOU WATCHED THE OFFICE BY YOURSELF’ I try to make you understand and see reason. I try to conjure up images of happy couples and friend groups that live on the other side of the screen. If you would just open your fucking eyes and see the source of their happiness is in their environment. And then realize you can’t remember the last time your environment changed. Sincerely, I can’t tell you the last time you didn’t walk through that door at the exact same time you walked through it today, yesterday, and everyday before it since you've moved into this place. You live in a world where anything and everything you want is so tantalizingly close to your reach, yet so unreasonably far away because you’re unwilling to get out of this room and get them. No, if you’re going to experience anything it has to smack you in the face if you’re going to experience it at all."
With and exasperated tone our projected character continues "God I want to kill you." With an unbearable amount of sarcasm he continues "But I could never bring myself to actually do it. I couldn’t do that to your family. What if someone needs a kidney, or part of your liver, or even a heart. You’ve got two lungs, you don’t need both of them you selfish little bitch. You’re at least good for parts for the older people in your family with less time to despair over their remaining existence, yet who also yearn tirelessly to extend it.” The projection seems to direct his attention more towards the camera and the audience now “Listen, I don’t pretend to understand 'The Human Existence'. I may be one, but I’m no closer to understanding what it means to be a human, why we’re here, or what our “purpose" is than anyone else"
"That said, I think it’s asinine to want to extend our miserable existences any more than we’re forced to endure. Don’t get me wrong, I remember when I was a child I wanted to be immortal. I had these nightmares. I died, and I was on my way up to heaven. I broke through the clouds, and I saw the big pearly gates. I was accepted and allowed to into the kingdom. I saw the beauty, and the riches all around me. There was happiness on all the faces around me. No one wanted for anything. But I also saw past all the beauty, and I could see what looked like endless clouds that seemed to go on forever. Wondering where the clouds would lead, I started walking, and no one stopped me. I walked and I walked and I walked for who knows how long until finally I came to the edge of the clouds. I remember thinking ‘I’ve reached the edge of heaven.’ How could such a thing even exist? 'The Edge of Heaven'."
"There was nothing past the clouds. It was just a void. Staring into it I could feel a fear building in me. This unknown anxiety that I wouldn't be able to explain to anyone for years. It was just fear. I remember the fear jolted me out of my bed. My heart was racing. I was fighting back tears. I launched myself out of my bed. Paced my room, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself down. I don’t remember how old I was, but I know I was not old enough for that nightmare. And I misunderstood the meaning for so many years. I thought that maybe I was saw a false heaven, a false paradise. Perhaps I was actually dreaming about hell. The Devil was apparently a great trickster after all. And I was convinced that through immortality I could find salvation from that nightmare."
Turning his attention back to the real version of himself, the projection continues "No. I think I understand better now, I was being taught a lesson. I was truly shown heaven. Given a glimpse at the ultimate paradise. And it did nothing for me. I looked past all the beauty, happiness and riches I could possibly imagine to see what was beyond. I understand now that the meaning of the lesson I was being taught was that even when given everything, I’ll never truly enjoy it. My eyes will constantly be searching beyond the desires I sought before. I will never know true satisfaction. I will always desire more. And to that end, I will always end up void. Give me a sip, I want a drink. Give me a snack, I want a meal. A hug, a kiss. If you lend me your shoulder to cry on, I expect to be thanked for the tears that stain your shirt.” This last line makes the projected version of the character stop in their tracks. Almost caught off guard by the line. He gives an incredulous look at the real version of himself.
He continues again, but with a new cold intensity that pierces with every word. “I want to kill you, for no other reason than I know every terrible thing you’ve ever done. I know every lie you’ve told. I know every secret you haven’t kept. I know how easily, like insects, you cast aside every life you’ve ever caught in the countless web of lies you’ve spun. I know how easily you’ve discarded them to move on to the next poor soul trapped in the web. I know how mercilessly you’ve used your sharpened tongue to slash deep wounds into the flesh of the loved ones who’ve done nothing but keep you propped up and moving forward." Fighting back rage the projection snarls "I want to kill you because I can’t stand the fucking sight of you. I can’t look you in the eyes anymore. The cruel heartless bastard you’ve become over the years is unbearable to witness. You see the daggers of insults being hurled in your direction every moment of every day through nothing more than passing glances and unheard conversations. You see what you can’t possibly see, and know what you can’t possibly know. There is no simpler reason than THAT to explain why you sit on this fucking couch, day in and day out. All. By. Yourself." The disdain dripping from every word, palpable.
"Every person who has ever occupied the space around you has faced scrutiny unheard of by many. You think that being in your presence is reason enough for others to give you their all. You want more and more and more every single day. While giving less and less and less.” The anger and rage overwhelming the character boiling over into tears.
“I want to kill you. But I can’t. I know every dark crevice over your soul. I know every sin you’ve committed." Softening slightly he says "But I also know every pain you’ve ever endured. I know the weight of every burden perched upon your shoulders. I can account for every single ounce. I know the things you’ve hidden away, the secrets you don’t even reveal to yourself. I never forget, but I never let you remember. Some things just aren’t worth remembering. Some things deserve to be lost to the void… Others… deserve to experience the vast expanse of time. There are lights that shone on you that you should never had your shadow cast in. And I will never let you see those lights again." The anger and rage boiling back to the surface "Those lights are blinding. They will sear holes into your retinas and burn through the back of your skull. Those lights will leave you begging me to take the pain away, to end everything. And I may want to kill you, but I can’t." The anger fully dissipating now. The weight of knowing hanging off each word now "I watched as that boyish dream of immortality was covered up bit by bit by the shadows cast in those blinding lights. Now, when we dream at night, we see ourselves sprinting and diving head first into the void beyond the clouds. We embrace the nothingness, consumed by it, and we find comfort in the indifferent embrace. In the void, there is nothing expected of you. In the void, there is no discomfort. There is no pain. There is no sadness. There is no happiness. There is no joy. There is nothing. And with nothing comes nothing but the ability to finally turn off and fully and completely stop."
As the projection says stop, the real version of our character reaches out with a remote control in their hands and presses a button. Suddenly the projection, and the bright lights of the unseen TV are turned off. True silence fills the scene now.
"This is my dream now" the character begins. They are calm, not expressionless. "I don’t want eternity. In this life or the next. I don’t want my consciousness to stretch across the vast emptiness of the universe and time. I can experience the harshness that accompanies emptiness now, and struggle to not escape it by slipping into the void beyond the clouds."
He reaches out with the remote again, presses the button, and the screen goes black.
The end.

This is really throwing me for a loop.
When I first considered the idea that my parents might be abusive, I went through the classic stage of thinking that I might be the bad one. If I noticed my own good qualities, I worried that I was arrogant. If I criticized my parents, I worried that I was being unfair to them. If I noticed my own wants and needs, I worried that I was being selfish. Crap like that.
Over the years many therapists have assured me that I'm a good person, that I'm very kind and empathetic and understanding. Friends have said the same about me. More than once people have told me that I'm "incredible", that I have rare qualities that most people don't have.
So why am I so alone?
Many of the friends who praised me have since disappeared. My friend "Susan", for instance, whom I wrote about in this post. She was extremely supportive during a very difficult time in my life, but I think she burnt out in the end.
How much of that is my fault?
Recently I read Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents, and I found that some (not all) of the descriptions of Emotionally Immature people apply to me.
For instance, there are several examples of parents who endlessly complain about their problems, paired up with children who endlessly sacrifice to make their parents happy. The author writes:

Have you noticed that no matter what you do, your parents don't stay happy for long? Just because they're complaining doesn't necessarily mean that their goal is to feel better. That's your interpretation. Treat them nicely, but don't bleed for them.

In my defense, I've always had the goal of getting better. I was in therapy the entire time I knew Susan, and I spent a lot of time journaling, taking walks, introspecting, trying to connect with my true self, etc.. I also reached out to other friends in hopes of lightening Susan's load, though nobody was as helpful as she was.
I also attended to Susan's needs as best I could. I let her talk about her problems. I gave her money on a few occasions. And I repeatedly told her not to burn herself out on my account.
On the other hand, how much does it matter that I tried to get better if I never properly succeeded? Doesn't Susan suffer regardless, showing me so much love and yet not seeing much in the way of results?
And how much does it matter that I tried to be reciprocal if the relationship was ultimately unbalanced? I gave what I could, but maybe I didn't have much to give. And the whole "I sent her money" bit rings uncomfortably close to "We kept a roof over your head!"
How much does it matter that I sincerely wanted her to avoid burnout and asked her not to burn out if I also sent her countless long messages about all the pain I was experiencing? Particularly when she appeared to be pulling back, and I sent her a long self-pitying monologue about how sad I was not to have her support anymore?
I wasn't cruel about it. I didn't lie to her. I wasn't trying to manipulate her. I never wanted her to feel bad. But I can see that I must have caused her a lot of pain.
In the end, my darkness was simply too intense. Is that my fault?
And even if it's not my fault, does it make me toxic? Can a person have good intentions and yet still be a toxic influence? Can a person be a burden to others even though they're trying not to burden anyone?
My instincts say "Yes, it is possible."
The book I mentioned says that emotionally mature people aren't a burden to others. For instance, in mature relationships, compromise is a matter where everyone is satisfied and nobody feels drained. The book also says that mature people are honest and they're willing to ask for help. This poses a serious conundrum for me, because I feel that my honestly asking for help necessarily drains people. I can either hide how I feel and suffer quietly, or I can open up about how I feel and unintentionally hurt people.
Recently a different supportive friend asked how I was doing. I said "bad" and she replied "wish I could help." And that's it. Apparently I've reached the limits of her supportiveness (for now at least).
I'm worried that I'm doing more harm than good out there. I repeatedly drain people by talking about my problems. What if the harm I do outweighs the good I do in other areas? Would the world be better off if I simply stayed away?? =(
I think of my friend Conner. Poor, innocent, traumatized Conner! This was after I'd lost Susan, and I was the one helping him, and I gave too much, and now I'm thinking that I'd be much happier nowadays if I'd never met him in the first place. I feel bad for having that thought, but I think it's true. (EDIT: I don't wish that he had died. But I wish I could have met him in better circumstances where he had more support.)
Conner never wanted to hurt me, but he did, and the pain went much deeper than I realized at the time. Did I hurt Susan in a similar way?
How much responsibility does a suffering person have to avoid burdening others? How much responsibility does a "helper" have to avoid taking on too much of a burden?
Incidentally, all the adult children in this book are successfully employed (if employment is mentioned at all). I'm not. Doesn't that make me even more of a loser, even more of a burden to other people? Not that I've been asking anyone for money, but still.
I mean...ok, let's see if there's another angle on this. They say it's no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society, right? Maybe some of my loneliness stems from being virtuous. I don't drink alcohol, for instance. But lots of people socialize with drinks. I we define drinking as a toxic habit (and I think it is), then maybe some of my loneliness comes not from being too toxic but rather from being not toxic enough.
I also speak out in favor of Children's Rights, which no doubt alienates at least a few people who would prefer if I was more "normal".
And if I talk about pain a lot, maybe that's healthy in some way? My parents never talked about their pain, and look where they ended up! Lots of hidden misery, perpetuating the cycle with their kids, etc. Maybe society needs more people to Be Brave and talk about this stuff.
And I do try to be reasonable about this. I don't trauma-dump on kids, for instance. And even with adults I try not to be a burden. I don't open up to everyone, I see a therapist, etc. etc..
But maybe I'm still fucking it up, despite my best intentions.
Even here on this sub...am I toxic? Recently I've written a lot about feeling hopeless and hurt. Recently I've been replying to people who report excellent recoveries ("After 3 years of therapy I've really turned my life around"), pointing out how my recovery has been a much slower process and I worry that I'll never be fixed.
And I wonder if people would prefer not to read those comments.
And I wonder if this is my fault to some extent.
Even though it's not my fault that I was abused...is it my fault for not recovering faster? For not being a better victim? For opening up too much, for too long, to wrong people at the wrong times? For passing up opportunities that might have helped heal me because I was too scared or confused to try?
I hurt Susan by leaning on her too much. How much did I hurt her, and how much of that is my fault?
I hurt myself when I helped Conner. How much did I hurt myself, and how much splash damage did I cause to the people around me? There are friends I neglected because I was so exhausted from Conner-stuff that I didn't have the energy to see anybody. In my efforts to help an innocent person (Conner), did I end up hurting a bunch of other innocent people (myself and/or my friends)?
The book says that Emotionally Immature people don't reflect on their mistakes. Here I am reflecting on my mistakes. I guess that's a good sign. Some would even call it "incredible".
But maybe it's not enough to reflect. Maybe I've been toxic. Maybe I'm still toxic. Maybe some people would be better off without me in their lives.
I don't know. =(
Thanks for reading.

I loved Civil War, and I generally enjoy Alex Garland films. Like many others, I walked into the movie expecting some kind of meditation on partisanship and American politics. This movie is decidedly not any of that, and I found that surprising but palatable. I understand that many viewers will disagree, and the movie has received plenty of flak for its supposedly misleading marketing and the like.
With that being said, I think there were some very fascinating directorial/writing choices that have been underappreciated. Let's take a look at a few. SPOILER ALERT, obviously.
Gratuitous Grief
This movie is violent. However, where it departs from many other blockbuster action movies is in its depiction of grief. In several scenes, we see the characters emotionally break down at length. During the scene at the body pit, the character from Hong Kong is devastated with grief over his friend's execution . After Sammy's death , we see Joel become unglued with sadness at the WF military outpost. We see Jessie vomit in the car after escaping the body pit. We see Lee become incapacitated with sudden emotion during the DC assault. These occurrences are a huge departure from the sadness we typically see on the big screen -- most action films show a few tears and a sad face, and move on. These depictions of lengthy and gratuitous grief were striking and clearly a motif of the film. When was the last time you saw that kind of all-encompassing grief in a major film?
The Audiovisual Chaos of Conflict
In multiple action sequences, the sound of gunfire is totally overwhelming. The DC scene in particular is a total storm of noise. In no other action movie I've seen have I been disoriented by the sound design of an action scene -- usually gunfire is quieter and cleaner in its percussiveness. This chaos was bolstered by the visual uncertainty of action scenes, in which viewers could not readily identify who was fighting who.
The Shrinking Clarity of Rhetoric
The movie opens with a monologue by the president. Throughout the film, the travelers keep hearing distorted speeches by the president over the radio, until they finally silence it. Then, the film ends with the president pleading for his life on the ground . No big speech. No rhetorical flourish. Just a simple sentence and death . This path from grandiose rhetoric to simple pleading is poetic.
The Interpersonal Journey - From Innocence to Jadedness to Fragility and Back
Many police, soldiers, social workers, and other crisis-oriented personnel should appreciate this film. This film does a fantastic job of crystallizing the relationship professionals have with work-related trauma. I was a CPS social worker for years, and the photojournalists in this film represent the stations of traumatization one encounters in that work. You start off innocent. You become jaded and cynical, even jovial at times about the misery before you. And that misery can turn into fragility. You weaken, you break, you snap. We see this in all four characters at times -- Joel jokes about warzones. Jessie is clearly innocent and clueless. Lee starts off cynical, but suddenly fractures into despair during the DC firefight. Sammy literally hobbles through the film and dies in the action . This cyclical, serpentine path is representative of so many people who encounter trauma in their work.
​
Did anyone else catch any of these? What do you think of this analysis?

I’ve been struggling with this for so long and I’m at a loss for what to do.
Every day, I wake up exhausted and drag myself to school/ work. I feel mostly fine, even cheerful while I’m there. Then, the moment I get home, it’s all over. I feel this intense, deep feeling of misery that I just cannot rationalize no matter how hard I try. I don’t have an inner monologue and have total aphantasia , so if I don’t occupy myself with something, I will just wallow in my despair in silence with no way to explain it. I scroll through reels, play games, read fiction manhwa, anything to try and drown it out. This doesn’t bring me any actual joy, just empty momentary distraction. If anything, reading fiction makes me invest into the characters too much emotionally, and feel even worse afterwards because my life feels even more sad, dull and lonely in comparison. Nothing really brings me joy. I tried out different hobbies, but they are so unfulfilling and unentertaining that I start putting on music or podcasts in the background of whatever I’m doing to try and keep myself engaged, and eventually give up. I think my aphantasia contributes for this problem, since it’s extremely difficult for me to be imaginative.
It’s like I cannot bear being in the present, and am trying to mentally escape anywhere else through any method possible subconsciously. Everything feels incredibly sad, lonely and dull. My life isn’t even objectively bad, quite the opposite. I go to school. I have friends. I do sports. I’m mostly fine financially. Can’t afford therapy at the moment through lmao. I’m at a loss for what I could possibly do here. Any recommendations or advice?

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"There's always some motherfucker trying to ice skate uphill." - The Daywalker, Second Vampire War, TerraSol, Age of Paranoia
"Where there's a whip, there's a way!" - Unknown, Age of Myth & Legend, TerraSol
"You die; she dies; everybody dies!" Warlord Ard, Age of Myth & Legend, TerraSol
Specialist Grade Five Armkept had been having good morning. PT had been fun and engaging, breakfast had been delicious, his shower warm and steamy, and his uniform had been nicely creased but still soft and comfortable. A Lieutenant had complimented the shine of his boots as he had walked back from the mess hall to his quarters.
He was whistling a recent pop-tune out of Rigel as the door opened into the Ready Room where troops did last minute element level gearing up for a mission.
When he saw who was standing next to the door to his Arms Room, reading the plas sheets magtapped to the wall, the whistle dried up in his throat.
The Drimarian Master Armorer, Specialist Grade Five Gulgulka, turned at the sound of the door. The Drimarian's uniform was pressed and starched, everything exactly as it should be, and his boots and leather belt were polished to a high gloss.
Armkept just knew it was with KiwiBlack, not something like Mopppenglow or other cheating methods.
The Drimarian lifted up on his toes and back down, harrumphing deep in his throat.
"Before I continue to address you, Telkan Marine doctrine and regulations are contradictory. Do I address you as Battalion Master Armorer Armkept, Armorer Armkept, Specialist Armkept, Specialist-Five Armkept, or Specialist Grade Five Armkept?" Gulgulka asked.
"Specialist Armkept is fine," the Telkan Marine said, staring.
"Excellent," Gulgulka motioned at the Arms Room door. "Your TO&E was upgraded at 2236 Hours last night. I am here to ensure that you have the necessary access and clearances in order to bring your Arms Room up to TO&E requirements and Telkan Marine Corps standards."
Armkept felt a sinking sensation in his guts. He just knew that his whole day had been ruined.
We drop out of hyperspace in 32 hours, maybe I'll get lucky and the Mar-gite are already there and I'll be deployed to the surface in a jockstrap and reflective belt, the Telkan thought. He nodded at the Drimarian. "All right," he turned his palm up as he moved toward the Arms Room door and checked his email accounts. "Huh, I don't have the TO&E update."
"I will remedy that," Gulgulka said, harrumphing. The Drimarian made a tossing motion and Armkept found a priority update from Corps. There were clearance and access codes and permissions attached. "You must be ready to pass inspection very soon."
"Yeah," Armkept managed to avoid slumping in resignation as he opened the door with the physical keys for the mechanical locks. The Arms Room opened up and Armkept hit the lights.
"Let us examine and inspect your Arms Room to see what defects there are that must be remedied," the Gulgulka said, moving in, his hands behind his back and clenched together.
The next hour make Armkept want to scream. Every item had to be accounted for by lot number, Confederate Department of War Accountability Control Number, Telkan Department of War Accountability Control Number, Confederate Department of War Inventory Control Number, and Telkan Department of War Inventory Control Number. Each item had to be inspected closely, sometimes with a molecular scanner for the molecular circuitry unit.
Gulgulka seemed to be able to sniff out the slightest defect or flaw, an almost uncanny sense that had Armkept ready to start screaming, go on a shooting spree, kill himself, or maybe all three at once.
After another hour of absolute misery, Gulgulka stood in the middle of the Arms Room, going down his checklist.
"Your Arms Room does not match your Table of Organization and Equipment, Specialist Armkept," the Drimarian said. It had gotten to the point that Armkept didn't even notice the harrumphs any more.
Armkept slumped. "What now?"
"Your Armor Inventory Control Sheet shows that you should be in possession of one hundred eighteen Helreginn, Mark II, Anti-Mar-gite Full Contact Powered Combat Personal Protective Equipment Systems," Gulgulka said. He shook his head. "You do not have the update to the inventory. I will remedy that."
Armkept blinked rapidly as Gulgulka opened up his palm mounted holoemitter and started tapping through boxes, data sheets appearing in Armkept's vision.
"The Helreginn suit was devised during the last Mar-gite War, not the Mar-gite Resurgence. The war ended with the Mark II Type IV suits in production. However, they were never deployed and update packages were never transmitted to the Mar-gite Containment Zone," the Drimarian harrumphed. "During the Resurgence, certain flaws and suboptimal system performance design flaws were corrected by the issuing of the Mark III, which slowly moved to the Mark VI."
Armkept kept blinking away the sheets as fast as they were coming in.
"Checking the Corps databases last night, I determined that the final upgrade was a mere two hundred sixteen years four months nineteen days ago. That resulted in the Helreginn Mark VI Type IX series, which is mission configurable and an upgrade of six hundred thirty eight point two nine five percent in survivability for the operator," Gulgulka said. He paused to harrumph a few times. He turned and moved toward the door. "Last night at sixteen thirty two hours shipboard, the Corps Level Master Armorer resigned and I was occupationally promoted to take his place although that position requires a Specialist Grade Eight and I am a Specialist Grade Five, meaning I lack training and experience under most circumstances. I filed a formal protest to my promotion to Specialist Grade Six with shipboard PERSCOM at seventeen seventeen hours shipboard time."
Armkept locked the door and pulled the barred door into position and locked it while the Drimarian monologued.
"I find such a promotion to be dangerous. Promotions should only take place due to realities of a hazardous deployment zone or through the point and time in grade and service system," Gulgulka led Armkept down the corridors. "However, my protest was overridden, leaving the Division Master Armorer position vacant."
He glanced back.
"Pray to whomever or whatever you worship that you are not promoted in such an untidy manner," he said.
Armkept just nodded.
"My first posting was as an Armorer for a Confederate Space Force unit in the Lanaktallan Star Herd nation. A posting that set my habits, biases, and methods, something I do not apologize for," Gulgulka stated. "It was there I learned that graffiti was for the hazard zone, not the armory, and that operator modifications had to be removed to ensure that the war material can be properly PMCSd (Preventive Maintenance Checks & Services) to discover any defects."
They were silent as they walked for nearly thirty minutes to reach one of the massive fabrication bays. Gulgulka consulted his palm emitter and followed the arrow until they found a HiKruth standing in front of three massive Class XXX Creation Engines. He had all four hands clasped behind his back and his four legs were stiff with anger.
"You are Technical Sergeant First Class Numvattra Drossman?" Gulgulka asked.
The HiKruth turned around. "Whose asking?" his voice was obviously irritated.
If Gulgulka noticed, he didn't seem to care.
"I am the Corps Master Armorer, assigned position by Captain N'Skrek's command staff," he pointed at the Telkan next to him. "This is Specialist Grade Five Armkept, Master Armorer for the 9th Telkan Power Armor Battalion."
"So?" the HiKruth was obviously unhappy about being disturbed.
"I have put in a requisition for one hundred eighteen Helreginn Mark VI Type IX Anti-Mar-gite Full Contact Powered Combat Personal Protective Equipment Systems eleven times in the last sixteen hours," Gulgulka stated. "Procurement Command granted me access to five Class XXX Creation Engine Systems, each capable of producing a full suit every fifty-two seconds of dry print, yet you have not responded to a single email or requisition and the creation engines allocated to the Corps Master Armorer appear to still be cold and dark. As warsteel is needed, I had expected that the creation engines would be heated and ready to go."
Armkept was suddenly glad that the HiKruth were renown for their patience. He would have started screaming or lost focus about twenty words into that monologue.
"They aren't responding. They have not been responding since I was assigned to them," the HiKruth snarled.
Armkept realized he was seeing a HiKruth that had run out of patience.
"So, if your cold blooded ass can figure out how to get them to even talk to us, you're more than welcome to try," Drossman snarled.
Gulgulka just turned his palm up again, consulting his holoemitter. He consulted a few charts and what Armkept was sure was the TO&E for Fabrication Bay 19, then simply walked away.
Drossman had turned back to the creation engines and while Armkept watched the HiKruth suddenly leaned forward, glaring at the creation engines.
"WAKE UP!" the quadruped screamed.
The creation engines just sat there.
"You'd have to rip apart the ship to pull them and they have never worked," Drossman snarled, turning away from the massive orbs. "They have power. The computers will tell you they are on. Other than that, they just fucking ignore me."
Armkept just shrugged.
"Yeah, your fuzzy ass is a great help," Drossman grumbled. He moved forward and hit the side of one of the massive orbs, the iris large enough to allow a heavy main battle tank to move through it. "WAKE UP, DAMN YOU!"
After a minute Gulgulka returned with a human following him.
"This is Technical Sergeant Grade Nine Longarms (Deceased)," Gulgulka stated. "He was in charge of these very creation engines. He had informed me that he can get them working."
"Sure, why not?" the HiKruth snarled, stalking away to stand about twenty meters away, fuming.
The human moved up to the creation engine, rubbing the side. "Come on, sweetie. It's wakeup time," he said gently, like he was talking to a child. "I know, I know, he keeps yelling at you."
Armkept could swear he saw little tendrils of purple electricity arc between the edge of the human's hand and the shell of the creation engine.
"I need you and your sisters to wake up. I'm sorry I left. No, I won't let him hit you any more. Come on, sweetie, wake up," the human said.
Armkept noticed that Gulgulka was just standing there, watching, his face as expressionless as ever. The HiKruth was just fuming.
He opened his mouth to ask how talking to it like it was a pouting podling was going to help when there was a sudden deep THRUUUUUM noise from the one the human was touching.
The creation engines on either side repeated it, one after another.
The lights came fully on in the fabrication unit. Gantries and lifters powered up. Holosigns flickered to life.
The panel on the side of the creation engine opened up, revealing a mechanical keyboard and a flatscreen LCD monitor.
"That's a good girl. Let's run a diagnostic, see how you are, then we'll get to work," the human said. He looked at Gulgulka. "You'll have your TO&E filled within the next two hours or I'll send you a notification as to why."
"Very well. I will need you to notarize a statement that it is being delayed," Gulgulka said, stepping forward and holding out a dataslate. The human scanned the document, nodded, and pressed his thumb to the box. It beeped and Gulgulka nodded. "Our required duty to one another has concluded at this time."
"Until next time," the human said. He waved at the HiKruth. "Come here, we need to talk about SeeSee and her sisters."
"There should be armors waiting for us at your armory, delivered by the shipboard automated transport system," Gulgulka said. He turned and began walking out. "We have much to do, Telkan. The fleet drops from hyperspace soon."
He glanced at Armkept.
"We must ensure we are ready."
Armkept decided he was going to get drunk as soon as he was off duty.
If he ever got off duty.
"Did you see this bullshit?" Jaskel asked Corporal Plekrin, tapping the hologram he was projecting from his palm for emphasis.
"The stupid armory shit?" Plekrin asked.
"Yeah. Seriously, Armkept wants us to come in at eighteen hundred to resynch our suits? Seems like he could have had us come in and do it the last four days instead of hiding in the armory playing with his dick," Jaskel asked.
Plekrin nodded. "No shit. Seriously, the only thing lazier than an armorer is an orderly room clerk."
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Hi, just felt compelled to say thank you, through watching and listening to your streams, I've learned so much about myself, others and how to deal with living. Your help has contributed a lot towards me finding happiness and being excited about my life again. So, I just wanted to share a little reflection I wrote for myself. I feel a little vulnerable and some what scared to share this because its so personal, but now I've finished it, I think it can help people who were like me, struggling to find purpose, feeling low self worth and beat down by all these self-imposed great ambitions. I wrote it for me so sorry for the made up words, long long sentences and I'm sure many grammaspelling errors. Anyway, to Dr.K, I know you know, but you and your community really do help people and make difference, you've helped me, so thank you : ). Here it is.

I'm Happy
Hey! I thought I'd jot down an update about my life, as its been a while since I've impulsively write-ranted about how I'm feeling. Especially since a lot has changed, and I mean A LOT has changed: how I approach my feelings, how I view myself and how I'm living my life.
Something else I noticed is that I always write-rant when I'm in a negative state, which makes sense, as I'm writing to work through a problem, but I do notice how many of the positive aspects of my life are missed here. It looks like all I ever feel is turmoil and sadness which is so far from the truth. So, I wanted to talk about myself now, and how I'm the happiest I've ever been.
A little while back, on the 30th of April 2022, I wrote "My Dreams are what make me Unhappy" which in summary identified a huge source driving my depressive state. That source being, the vision of "who I want to be and have done" compare to "who I actually am and have done". The contrast of the two was a big root of much the misery and low self worth I felt.
I wanted so much more then I was, and I now realise there was no end to my dream, it was a limitless ambition. I think of the people I look up to, who have helped the most people and have created inspirational works of art; none of them even match the scope of what I wanted to do. I realised anything short then saving the world wasn't enough, which I know sounds stupid but I still admire that idealism. You can call it naive, unrealistic, silly, but as I learned from "Le Petit Prince", there something pure in the desire of a child before its corrupted by limits and expectations of the world. I love that vision, but to live a life that way is unsustainable, you would have to be more then human to ever come close to living that dream. I always felt like a failure back then, when I was day dreaming about saving the world.
So, I decided to try and give up on everything I dreamed of. On all the projects I wanted to create. All the connections I wanted to feel. All the experiences I wanted to try. All the people I wanted to help. On my dream to save the world. To honestly be able to say to myself that its okay if I never meet these ambitions. That to simply exist as I am is good enough. That if I do anything more, I'll be grateful, that if I do anything less, I'll be forgiving. I'll try and accept myself as I am and not give in to the expectations I've put upon myself, that being me is all I have to be.
I won't lie, its been really hard to let go, but slowly over the past two years of trying to release myself from my expectations, to my shock and amazement, its actually started working. I don't know how its happened, maybe simply the awareness that expectations make me unhappy, or possibly the repeated practice of learning to accept myself, or even the "fake it till you make it" mantra, or maybe sheer dumb luck. No matter what, no matter how the mechanism of this functions, to my absolute astonishment, it has worked.
Everyday, I simply do what I feel like doing. I don't give a second thought to what my expectations tell me I should work towards, I notice them, but then accept I'm just gonna carry out whatever I'm inclined to do that day and let it happen. It does require faith in the kind of person you are, and at first that was scary. I'm putting my trust in the person I am, that I am someone who will naturally do things that makes me feel pleasure, fulfilled and happy. I'm trusting that I have an ingrained desire to create things, a built-in longing for connection, an instinctual drive to live out experiences, an inherent need to help people, an essential wish for the world to be saved.
And you know what, I am that kind of person. I can't even begin to describe the overwhelming joy and relief this makes me feel, the amount of pressure that has been released, how much needless pain I put myself through, writing this is even making me stupidly teary eyed. To know I don't need to build up these expectations of who I should be, I already am that person.
All this crippling self-hatred stemming from the lack of who I am, has been weakened to such a small variant of the force it use to dominate my life as. Its now this scattered fleeting notion that scarcely gestures itself and then fades away again. Its now been replaced with the gratitude and affection I feel for myself. I can truly say, I love who I am.
Anyway, away from the sappy monologue and back to reality. In a nutshell, I simply trust the person I am, let myself do whatever feels right through out the day, feel grateful for when I do good things, forgive myself when I don't, I just live my life. The funniest thing, and maybe ironic, is that compare to before, I do so much more now towards "completing" these dreams of mine. As when the opportunities towards them arrive, and if it feels right in that moment, I'll take them, because it turns out, that is the kind of person I am. I have a close caring family that I love, I have great friends who I am a good friend to, I have a job I enjoy and that I'm good at, I create things, I explore places, I'm productive, I learn new fascinating things nearly everyday, I write these very words, this introspective reflection of my life. None of this would have happened before, when I was under these big ideas of who I needed to be, stuck in with all this weight that made me immovable, glued, unable to take any action towards living my life. I'm free of that now, I simply exist as me and am free to be me. (Now I need to make sure to not give into the expectation of giving up expectations so I can succeed at those expectations, sounds like a rabbit hole I should probably avoid)
Of course its not perfect, I still have slumps and have periods of feeling down. Sometimes its over the very expectations I'm trying to give up, creeping their way back in. Sometimes its because I'm furious and saddened by all the shit in this world. Sometimes I just miss my dad and wish I could hug him again. Sometimes I don't know why I'm sad. Sometimes I'm just hungry. But I think this is all very human, we sometimes feel down and that's okay, you just need to live through it. I think we're built to be unsatisfied so we keep pushing and expanding for more, that this drives a lot of our suffering. That those who became perpetually fulfilled stayed the same, stagnated, and died happy, whereas people who were never happy kept trying new stuff, and survived. My personal take is that sadness is only a problem when its all you feel all the time, when every minute of your life is seeping with feelings you can't cope with, what my life use to feel like, that's when you need help. For me now, as long as my slumps last roughly less then a week, then I know I'll be okay, its a fleeting feeling that will pass.
Another thing to point out is by letting go and letting you be you, that's exactly what you're doing, you're letting your self be your self. Which means, all the good things you are, make good things happen, but all the bad things about you, make bad things happen. So, I emphasise the power and need for systems and structure (Actios) that help amplify the good things about you, and mitigate the bad things about you. Your letting you be you, and for me this means you can't rely only on willpower, you need systems and structures (Actios) to help you. For me, this is block-timers for youtube, because letting me be me means I can easily binge 8 hours or more of youtube a day, so I need a timer that blocks youtube after a certain time. Or another example, is I need an alarm clock away from my bed, because letting me be me means I can easily sleep till 3pm or after, so I need a alarm that forces me to stand up and get out of bed. They're countless different systems and structures (Actios) that will be more effective for different people, but its all about trial and error and finding which one works for you.
To end this let me just sum up my attitude towards life and how I try to live. I believe this universe is an inert dead thing that isn't even capable of caring and lacks any grand narrative or defined purpose. This seems scary, because it means everything is inherently pointless, everything in the universe doesn't matter. But that's exactly that, everything is inherently pointless, so you can choose what matters to you, you can decide to give things a point, to make them purposeful to you. And that's hard, because the responsibility of placing value of this purpose is shifted from the universe, some great God or whatever other-worldly force, onto you. You have to decide it matters. So if you don't love yourself or see any worth in who you are, then of course its impossible to do this, you see yourself as pointless so everything that means anything to you is pointless. That's the journey I took, and its not easy, but as I've learned by living through all of this, it is possible. I choose to believe I'm meaningful, that my friends and family are meaningful, that the things I do and create are meaningful, that simply living as me is meaningful. I don't need any great expectations of what I'll achieve to keep me going, being me is enough. I can truly say, I’m happy.
If you've read this far, thank you for reading, I know it was long and wordy at times. I hope this is helpful or at least interesting. Love you all and good luck.
Edit: the grammar and spelling i was on about

Insomniac Spider-Man 2 Rewrite
For the record, I love Spider-Man 2, but I think it could have been a lot better, anyway, I wrote down and outline for how I think the game SHOULD have gone, I didn’t go into full detail so if you have any questions lmk!
-Act 1 (5 hours): Peter is still recovering from the events of the first game, the death of Aunt May and the betrayal from his mentor have taken a toll on him, one he has not allowed to heal, and it’s shown by how distracted and weak he is during the opening boss fight with Sandman going on a rampage, Miles eventually saves him and stops Sandman himself, but Peter notices an anger in Miles, a toll he also hasn’t let heal
-We see Peter work as a teacher at Midtown, and he helps plan a high school reunion, hoping to live in the past a little longer, meanwhile, Miles spends most of his time doing superhero work, ignoring his friends, family, and his future, all comes to a head when there is another prison break caused by a man in a fur-vest Electro, Vulture, Rhino, Scorpion, Shocker, Mister Negative and Juggernaut as the other villains are contained, Dr. Octopus didn’t even attempt to escape, the Spider-Men contain it as best as they could, fighting prisoners along the way, but the villains escape nonetheless, Miles is hellbent on finding Li and stopping whoever is hunting the villains, he tracks down the man in the fur-vest with the Prowler’s help, who thinks he’s heard of this man before, “Kraven” is his name
-Peter and MJ go to the reunion and meet around with their old classmates, Liz Allen, Hobie Brown, and Flash Thompson, who has just come back from the Army, with both his legs missing, and even after all that, he still gives Puny Parker a hard time, even if it is all in “good fun…” the event quickly shifts tones however when Harry Osborn walks through the doors, seemingly healed, Peter and MJ run and hug their old friend, someone they’ve deeply missed, Peter gets a call from Miles and slips away as Harry reconnects with his other old friends, namely Flash (a stark change from the original, Harry was a popular kid and made along nice with everyone, being close to Peter as well as Flash)
-Miles calls Peter to tell him that he’s tracked down the man in the fur vest, and that he’s coming to to where Peter is, they’re afraid he knows Peter’s identity, Peter warns MJ and they try and get everyone out, but Flash and Harry stick by them, Flash wants to make sure they’re safe, and Harry wants to stick by Flash, Peter finds a reason and leaves, the hunter comes and looks for Harry Osborn, we fight him as Spider-Man (Peter) for one phase, much to Flash’s enthusiasm, then Miles arrives, and they defeat the hunter, who vows to prove that Kravinoff is the superior warrior and hunter, he has both Spider-Men down, and he goes to finish them off, but then Flash throws a cup of fruit punch at him, the other kids from the reunion join in, throwing things at Kraven, the Spider-Men are able to get the upper hand and defeat them, and then Kraven sees his way out, he shoots Flash in the chest, everyone panics, Peter goes to him, and Harry tells him to take him to the roof, he can help him, the Peter helps him out there while Miles and MJ clear people out of the gymnasium, and Harry hugs Flash, black ooze flows from Harry to Flash, who is wrapped in a dark armor with a white spider along the front, he wakes up, shocked and scared, but Harry calms him down and Peter helps Flash up, he can walk now, the suit has given him prosthetic legs, and Spider-Man reveals his identity to them, and they need to talk, so they go to Harry’s penthouse with a lab attached to it, and do a ton of tests, it’s weird, Peter and Flash were equally best friends with Harry, but not with each other, but is have to be as they work together to understand the suit, or as Harry calls it “The Symbiote,” Harry hides it, but we can see him getting weaker and weaker
-While that goes on, MJ goes home, once again feeling that same loneliness she’s felt for years as her partner goes out doing whatever he wants
-Meanwhile, Miles won’t let Kraven go, so he goes back to the Prowler’s hideout to talk to him so they could find him, but all he finds is a blood trail and an address for an abandoned zoo in New Jersey, he goes off in the middle of the night, calling Peter
-Peter gets the call while working with Flash and Harry, and says he has to go, and that the other Spider-Man’s uncle has been kidnapped, Flash offers to go, and that the suit will protect him as shown before, Peter says he needs all the help he can get and they move out, Harry showing immense concern for Flash, begging him to be careful, he is visibly concerned for Flash as they leave, but not nearly as much for Peter
-The Spider-Men and Agent Venom make it to the zoo, and find the remains of the gear for Vulture, Scorpion and Rhino, with video evidence of each, they find Kraven, and Prowler’s corpse, Miles is furious, and tries to kill Kraven, but Peter interferes and is stabbed while doing so, Kraven escapes, Miles and Flash help Peter, Flash transfers the Symbiote to Peter, Miles reminds him he’s shot, who knows what the bullet will do to him without the suit, but Flash doesn’t care, all he wants to help save people, to help his hero, he gives the Symbiote to Peter
-They go back to Harry’s penthouse, MJ is there and Harry’s condition is already worsening, he looks sickly, MJ is terrified and frightened to hear what happened to Peter, who is still weak, Harry is terrified for what happened to Flash, who is also hurt now, the bullet had left him and the suit had healed him, but without it, there is residual damage, who knows how much though? Everyone is worried, and Miles is hurt, his uncle is dead, another member of his family killed by a supervillain, another time he couldn’t save someone close to him, the five of them make a plan, they will find each villain ahead of time and save them from Kraven, no one else has to die…
-Act 2 (10 hours):
-Peter helps Black Cat, who is flirty with him, he is noticeably less against it, he spends less time with MJ, as Miles does with his friends/family, they barely escape Kraven
-Miles learns of Shocker’s sad backstory and help him and his boyfriend escape Maggia enforcers, Kraven deems Shocker as not worthy after seeing how defeated he is after the whole mission
-Juggernaut is discovered by the police and is rampaging through the city, Peter and Miles go to stop him while Kraven hunts them, Peter and Miles fail to stop Kraven from killing Juggernaut when he sticks a bomb in his suit
-Electro takes over a power plant, hoping to gain enough power to defeat Kraven himself, Miles and Peter stop him, Peter becoming a little unhinged, and for once, Miles is struggling to keep up, Kraven doesn’t kill him, knowing he isn’t worth it after he’s been weakened so much
-Mister Negative revives some of his gang and they are in a war with the Maggia, we stop Mister Negative, Miles almost killing him, but letting him go, seeing the genuine regret in Negative’s eyes, Kraven then kills him, throwing Miles aside, Miles nearly kills Kraven, but Kraven escapes, he sees the raw power of Miles
-Peter spends a night with Felicia, who both need a release after she barely survives a Kraven encounter
-Kraven then sets his sights on MJ, Harry and Flash to kill Peter and the Symbiote, he lured them there, and nearly beats him, and then Miles comes, Kraven traps Peter in a sound trap, and fights his real prey, Peter was just the bait for the most powerful Spider-Man, Miles defeats Kraven, and wants to kill him, and is close to it, but sees Peter hurting, and recognizes Peter needs help more than Kraven needs to die, more than Miles needs his revenge, Miles disables the sound trap, and Peter becomes unhinged in front of MJ, Harry and Flash’s eyes, who beg him to stop, except Harry, we play as Miles as we fight Peter for 2 phases, and for the final phase, we play as Peter in his own head as he fights the Symbiotic version of him, feeding off of his pain, his misery, his depression and self-destructive tendencies, his infinite anxiety, his crippling inability to do anything right, he couldn’t even save a dying old woman… Peter fights off the Symbiote, saving himself when he hears MJ, Flash and Miles on the outside, Peter stands up, and we have another phase vs. the Symbiotic version, and we one-shot him, Peter rips off the Symbiote and Miles electrocutes it and shuts it in the trap, Kraven somehow escaped
-Everyone goes back to Harry’s penthouse, all trying to relax, Harry says he knows how to fully contain it, but he overheard Flash thanking Peter for everything, and apologizing for how mean he was, and Peter apologizing too, they say they love each other, and hug, and that breaks Harry, he looks down at the Symbiote, it’s crawling to him, it calls to whoever needs it the most at that moment, and Harry’s feelings are the strongest, he wants to kill Peter Parker
-Act 3 (5 hours):
-There was always a part of Harry that despised Peter, he always got the primary attention of Flash, who had a crush on him, which is ironic, because Harry had a crush on Flash, and after all this time, he’s about to die, his love is about to die, and his “friend” wants to imprison the only cure his love has, that he has, this fuels him to kill Peter Parker, and everyone close to him, he monologues to them all, he turns off the trap, and lets it bond to him, much to everyone’s horror, he becomes Venom, he grabs Peter and throws him out of the penthouse and charges after him, Miles dives after them
-Venom tackles Peter mid-air, and bites him, hard, Peter shrieks in pain, as he barely survives, he struggles, punching and pushing off Venom, but he’s too strong, Miles lands on top, Venom sprouts wings and tries to lose Miles, but he’s sticking on, and he uses his Blue Venom, which hurts Venom for some reason especially, he lets Peter go, and Miles goes after him, Peter lands on a roof, nearly bleeding to death after everything that’s happened to him, Miles tries to heal him, but can’t do a whole lot, Peter rests at the house with MJ, Flash… and Felicia, who does legitimately care about him, as Miles goes after Norman Osborn, asking what he knows about the Symbiote, and that Venom is out in the streets, Norman leads him to The Lizard, Curt Connors, Peter gets up despite everyone saying not to, and goes with Miles
-Miles and Peter go to Connors’ house, where his family is, he makes them leave once he’s questioned about the Symbiote, and he injects more serum into himself, and we fight the Lizard in a boss fight, and eventually use a cure from his lab on him, and he turns back to normal, here, he tells Miles the truth about the Symbiote, it’s an alien, and that he’s been studying it for years, and he knows what to do with it, he’s had plans of how to make a synthetic version to use to cure all ailments, including his missing arm, Peter uses it and creates the Anti-Venom suit, a synthetic version of the Symbiote suit
-We fight off the Symbiote invasion as it grows, fighting off nests and helping miscellaneous people, we fight Venom a few times, until eventually, we find the heart of it all, a piece of the meteorite the Symbiote came in, we fight Venom, and we’re nearly defeated, until a spear comes through and Kraven has a one-on-one fight with Venom, and the Spider-Men use that as a distraction to get the people out of there, with Wraith, Shocker and Black Cat’s help, Kraven defeats the Symbiote, and separates it, Peter stops Harry from retrieving it as the Symbiote crawls away, weakened, it’s hold on the city dissipates, for now… Peter webs up Harry, and Miles fights Kraven, and is close to killing him, but remembers his friends and his family, and he lets Kraven live, Kraven and Harry are arrested
-Norman sees this and swears to kill the Spider-Men for hurting his boy, the Symbiote was his idea, and they stole it and must have broken it, they are the chase for Venom and all the destruction and chaos, not Oscorp, not Norman, at least, that’s his train of thought
-Shocker and his boyfriend flee to Canada, Black Cat leaves once again to be on her own, Miles is let back in with his friends and family, who want to help him, MJ and Peter break up, he has a lot to make up for

For the record, I love Spider-Man 2, but I think it could have been a lot better, anyway, I wrote down and outline for how I think the game SHOULD have gone, I didn’t go into full detail so if you have any questions lmk!
-Act 1 (5 hours): Peter is still recovering from the events of the first game, the death of Aunt May and the betrayal from his mentor have taken a toll on him, one he has not allowed to heal, and it’s shown by how distracted and weak he is during the opening boss fight with Sandman going on a rampage, Miles eventually saves him and stops Sandman himself, but Peter notices an anger in Miles, a toll he also hasn’t let heal
-We see Peter work as a teacher at Midtown, and he helps plan a high school reunion, hoping to live in the past a little longer, meanwhile, Miles spends most of his time doing superhero work, ignoring his friends, family, and his future, all comes to a head when there is another prison break caused by a man in a fur-vest Electro, Vulture, Rhino, Scorpion, Shocker, Mister Negative and Juggernaut as the other villains are contained, Dr. Octopus didn’t even attempt to escape, the Spider-Men contain it as best as they could, fighting prisoners along the way, but the villains escape nonetheless, Miles is hellbent on finding Li and stopping whoever is hunting the villains, he tracks down the man in the fur-vest with the Prowler’s help, who thinks he’s heard of this man before, “Kraven” is his name
-Peter and MJ go to the reunion and meet around with their old classmates, Liz Allen, Hobie Brown, and Flash Thompson, who has just come back from the Army, with both his legs missing, and even after all that, he still gives Puny Parker a hard time, even if it is all in “good fun…” the event quickly shifts tones however when Harry Osborn walks through the doors, seemingly healed, Peter and MJ run and hug their old friend, someone they’ve deeply missed, Peter gets a call from Miles and slips away as Harry reconnects with his other old friends, namely Flash (a stark change from the original, Harry was a popular kid and made along nice with everyone, being close to Peter as well as Flash)
-Miles calls Peter to tell him that he’s tracked down the man in the fur vest, and that he’s coming to to where Peter is, they’re afraid he knows Peter’s identity, Peter warns MJ and they try and get everyone out, but Flash and Harry stick by them, Flash wants to make sure they’re safe, and Harry wants to stick by Flash, Peter finds a reason and leaves, the hunter comes and looks for Harry Osborn, we fight him as Spider-Man (Peter) for one phase, much to Flash’s enthusiasm, then Miles arrives, and they defeat the hunter, who vows to prove that Kravinoff is the superior warrior and hunter, he has both Spider-Men down, and he goes to finish them off, but then Flash throws a cup of fruit punch at him, the other kids from the reunion join in, throwing things at Kraven, the Spider-Men are able to get the upper hand and defeat them, and then Kraven sees his way out, he shoots Flash in the chest, everyone panics, Peter goes to him, and Harry tells him to take him to the roof, he can help him, the Peter helps him out there while Miles and MJ clear people out of the gymnasium, and Harry hugs Flash, black ooze flows from Harry to Flash, who is wrapped in a dark armor with a white spider along the front, he wakes up, shocked and scared, but Harry calms him down and Peter helps Flash up, he can walk now, the suit has given him prosthetic legs, and Spider-Man reveals his identity to them, and they need to talk, so they go to Harry’s penthouse with a lab attached to it, and do a ton of tests, it’s weird, Peter and Flash were equally best friends with Harry, but not with each other, but is have to be as they work together to understand the suit, or as Harry calls it “The Symbiote,” Harry hides it, but we can see him getting weaker and weaker
-While that goes on, MJ goes home, once again feeling that same loneliness she’s felt for years as her partner goes out doing whatever he wants
-Meanwhile, Miles won’t let Kraven go, so he goes back to the Prowler’s hideout to talk to him so they could find him, but all he finds is a blood trail and an address for an abandoned zoo in New Jersey, he goes off in the middle of the night, calling Peter
-Peter gets the call while working with Flash and Harry, and says he has to go, and that the other Spider-Man’s uncle has been kidnapped, Flash offers to go, and that the suit will protect him as shown before, Peter says he needs all the help he can get and they move out, Harry showing immense concern for Flash, begging him to be careful, he is visibly concerned for Flash as they leave, but not nearly as much for Peter
-The Spider-Men and Agent Venom make it to the zoo, and find the remains of the gear for Vulture, Scorpion and Rhino, with video evidence of each, they find Kraven, and Prowler’s corpse, Miles is furious, and tries to kill Kraven, but Peter interferes and is stabbed while doing so, Kraven escapes, Miles and Flash help Peter, Flash transfers the Symbiote to Peter, Miles reminds him he’s shot, who knows what the bullet will do to him without the suit, but Flash doesn’t care, all he wants to help save people, to help his hero, he gives the Symbiote to Peter
-They go back to Harry’s penthouse, MJ is there and Harry’s condition is already worsening, he looks sickly, MJ is terrified and frightened to hear what happened to Peter, who is still weak, Harry is terrified for what happened to Flash, who is also hurt now, the bullet had left him and the suit had healed him, but without it, there is residual damage, who knows how much though? Everyone is worried, and Miles is hurt, his uncle is dead, another member of his family killed by a supervillain, another time he couldn’t save someone close to him, the five of them make a plan, they will find each villain ahead of time and save them from Kraven, no one else has to die…
-Act 2 (10 hours):
-Peter helps Black Cat, who is flirty with him, he is noticeably less against it, he spends less time with MJ, as Miles does with his friends/family, they barely escape Kraven
-Miles learns of Shocker’s sad backstory and help him and his boyfriend escape Maggia enforcers, Kraven deems Shocker as not worthy after seeing how defeated he is after the whole mission
-Juggernaut is discovered by the police and is rampaging through the city, Peter and Miles go to stop him while Kraven hunts them, Peter and Miles fail to stop Kraven from killing Juggernaut when he sticks a bomb in his suit
-Electro takes over a power plant, hoping to gain enough power to defeat Kraven himself, Miles and Peter stop him, Peter becoming a little unhinged, and for once, Miles is struggling to keep up, Kraven doesn’t kill him, knowing he isn’t worth it after he’s been weakened so much
-Mister Negative revives some of his gang and they are in a war with the Maggia, we stop Mister Negative, Miles almost killing him, but letting him go, seeing the genuine regret in Negative’s eyes, Kraven then kills him, throwing Miles aside, Miles nearly kills Kraven, but Kraven escapes, he sees the raw power of Miles
-Peter spends a night with Felicia, who both need a release after she barely survives a Kraven encounter
-Kraven then sets his sights on MJ, Harry and Flash to kill Peter and the Symbiote, he lured them there, and nearly beats him, and then Miles comes, Kraven traps Peter in a sound trap, and fights his real prey, Peter was just the bait for the most powerful Spider-Man, Miles defeats Kraven, and wants to kill him, and is close to it, but sees Peter hurting, and recognizes Peter needs help more than Kraven needs to die, more than Miles needs his revenge, Miles disables the sound trap, and Peter becomes unhinged in front of MJ, Harry and Flash’s eyes, who beg him to stop, except Harry, we play as Miles as we fight Peter for 2 phases, and for the final phase, we play as Peter in his own head as he fights the Symbiotic version of him, feeding off of his pain, his misery, his depression and self-destructive tendencies, his infinite anxiety, his crippling inability to do anything right, he couldn’t even save a dying old woman… Peter fights off the Symbiote, saving himself when he hears MJ, Flash and Miles on the outside, Peter stands up, and we have another phase vs. the Symbiotic version, and we one-shot him, Peter rips off the Symbiote and Miles electrocutes it and shuts it in the trap, Kraven somehow escaped
-Everyone goes back to Harry’s penthouse, all trying to relax, Harry says he knows how to fully contain it, but he overheard Flash thanking Peter for everything, and apologizing for how mean he was, and Peter apologizing too, they say they love each other, and hug, and that breaks Harry, he looks down at the Symbiote, it’s crawling to him, it calls to whoever needs it the most at that moment, and Harry’s feelings are the strongest, he wants to kill Peter Parker
-Act 3 (5 hours):
-There was always a part of Harry that despised Peter, he always got the primary attention of Flash, who had a crush on him, which is ironic, because Harry had a crush on Flash, and after all this time, he’s about to die, his love is about to die, and his “friend” wants to imprison the only cure his love has, that he has, this fuels him to kill Peter Parker, and everyone close to him, he monologues to them all, he turns off the trap, and lets it bond to him, much to everyone’s horror, he becomes Venom, he grabs Peter and throws him out of the penthouse and charges after him, Miles dives after them
-Venom tackles Peter mid-air, and bites him, hard, Peter shrieks in pain, as he barely survives, he struggles, punching and pushing off Venom, but he’s too strong, Miles lands on top, Venom sprouts wings and tries to lose Miles, but he’s sticking on, and he uses his Blue Venom, which hurts Venom for some reason especially, he lets Peter go, and Miles goes after him, Peter lands on a roof, nearly bleeding to death after everything that’s happened to him, Miles tries to heal him, but can’t do a whole lot, Peter rests at the house with MJ, Flash… and Felicia, who does legitimately care about him, as Miles goes after Norman Osborn, asking what he knows about the Symbiote, and that Venom is out in the streets, Norman leads him to The Lizard, Curt Connors, Peter gets up despite everyone saying not to, and goes with Miles
-Miles and Peter go to Connors’ house, where his family is, he makes them leave once he’s questioned about the Symbiote, and he injects more serum into himself, and we fight the Lizard in a boss fight, and eventually use a cure from his lab on him, and he turns back to normal, here, he tells Miles the truth about the Symbiote, it’s an alien, and that he’s been studying it for years, and he knows what to do with it, he’s had plans of how to make a synthetic version to use to cure all ailments, including his missing arm, Peter uses it and creates the Anti-Venom suit, a synthetic version of the Symbiote suit
-We fight off the Symbiote invasion as it grows, fighting off nests and helping miscellaneous people, we fight Venom a few times, until eventually, we find the heart of it all, a piece of the meteorite the Symbiote came in, we fight Venom, and we’re nearly defeated, until a spear comes through and Kraven has a one-on-one fight with Venom, and the Spider-Men use that as a distraction to get the people out of there, with Wraith, Shocker and Black Cat’s help, Kraven defeats the Symbiote, and separates it, Peter stops Harry from retrieving it as the Symbiote crawls away, weakened, it’s hold on the city dissipates, for now… Peter webs up Harry, and Miles fights Kraven, and is close to killing him, but remembers his friends and his family, and he lets Kraven live, Kraven and Harry are arrested
-Norman sees this and swears to kill the Spider-Men for hurting his boy, the Symbiote was his idea, and they stole it and must have broken it, they are the chase for Venom and all the destruction and chaos, not Oscorp, not Norman, at least, that’s his train of thought
-Shocker and his boyfriend flee to Canada, Black Cat leaves once again to be on her own, Miles is let back in with his friends and family, who want to help him, MJ and Peter break up, he has a lot to make up for

Try these out and see your life take a turn for the worse!
Be as lazy as possible
Being lazy is easy, so take the easy route. Stay inside and don't do anything productive. If you start exercising, for example, you might build momentum and become more energetic, so make sure not to do that.
Become a vampire
Don't ever go outside or let sunlight touch you. Stay up late at night to mess up your circadian rhythm so that you have less energy throughout the day. This will help you feel like garbage.
Avoid water, prioritize snacks & sugary drinks
Eat junk food and fast food as often as possible, at least once per day. Make sure to have milkshakes, sodas, and energy drinks to top it off. Getting those spikes of insulin and caffeine will help you have massive crashes throughout the day, ensuring you become more unproductive throughout the day.
Habits are natural. Either develop bad ones or don't think about them at all
Some people deliberately analyze what habits they have to fix them. Don't be like that. Ignorance is bliss, so convince yourself that all your habits are perfect the way they are. If you notice you have "bad" habits, don't try to fix them. Let them be.
Confuse your brain
While you should already be staying inside at all times, make sure to confuse your brain by combining all your activities in one place. Work where you sleep, sleep where you eat, and eat where you relax. That way, if you need to accomplish a specific task, your brain will mix up what it should be doing, so you might eat instead of work, and you'll never get it done.
Create vague and unachievable goals
Make sure your goals are impossible to achieve. If you're earning $5k per month, make sure your goal is $1 million next month. Or better yet, don't even set a time frame. Have the dream of becoming a millionaire without creating a specific plan on how to approach that goal. Just have it in the back of your mind forever, and tell yourself you won't be happy until you achieve that goal.
If, for some reason, you decide to create a specific goal (gross), focus on the future steps first. Want to build a company? Focus on scaling and marketing before you actually make sure your product provides value. Question if your current workflow will be efficient when you get to 100k users before you even reach 10.
Be antisocial
Avoid interactions at all costs. Go weeks at a time without talking to your friends or family. Embrace isolation. You'll feel completely alone. This will enhance that feeling of depression.
Focus on dopamine traps
Video games, gambling, drinking, smoking, or porn. Do them all. Focus on the unfulfilling and time-wasting activities that help make the days go by a little faster. They feel great temporarily, and hedonism is what you should focus all of your time on. Sometimes people do these in moderation. Avoid self-control and go all out. Don't set limits for yourself.
Make excuses and avoid responsibility
If you justify actions you know are bad, great! Keep doing that. Make sure you aren't responsible for anything in your life and blame the world for what's happening to you. If you give up control of your life, you'll feel disempowered which directly leads to unhappiness.
Along with this, consume as much news as possible. That will help with this. You'll feel like the world is spiraling downward and you can't do anything about it. You will feel as though you have no control over anything, which is exactly what you need.
Talk down on yourself
Make sure your internal monologue is always negative. Criticize yourself on every action and mistake you make. Always highlight the flaws, and never, under any circumstances, compliment yourself for anything. Practice pessimism at all times. Optimism gives hope, and hope breeds action. So you must avoid optimism entirely.
Doubt yourself
Any time you're about to try something new, whether starting a business or asking someone out, instill fear. Tell yourself it won't work before even starting. Hold yourself back.
Argue with everyone. Fight about everything. Especially on the internet.
Twitter is great for this. Find all the people who have strong opinions, and make sure to argue and insult them. It doesn't matter who's right or wrong, just make sure you really show that hatred. It doesn't matter how minuscule the topic is, fight about anything you disagree with. Share your opinions about everything. Don't acknowledge the fact that they have the same goal as you: maximizing misery. That leads to empathy which you should not have. Make sure you're always angry about something.
Be performative. Play those status games.
Focus on acting woke and put yourself on a pedestal. Satisfy that ego and chase after likes. Show how smart and perfect you are by criticizing and belittling others, and make sure to never forgive people for their mistakes.
Don't do anything that actually makes an impact, otherwise you'll start to feel fulfilled.
Maximize screen time
Don't read or walk outside. Make sure you're constantly on social media, watching videos and movies, and never taking your eyes off of it. Multitask different websites simultaneously. Watch youtube on your laptop while scrolling through Twitter on your phone.
Be complacent and don't take risks
Make sure you're never striving to improve. Successful people find a healthy balance between improvement and gratitude. Make sure you focus on one or the other completely. Focus solely on improvement, and it'll never be enough. Focus solely on gratitude, and you'll become complacent.
Avoid risks and change at all costs. Stick with the familiar and never move outside of your comfort zone. You'll limit your experiences in life, and maybe you'll get to see them through other people's lives on social media. You'll know exactly what you're missing out on, but you'll be too afraid to go after it. It will spiral down into self-hatred, which is what you need.
Compare yourself with others
You see someone living an amazing life? Make sure to question why they have that life. Sure, you may be 20 and he's 25. That doesn't matter. Ask yourself why you don't have that now. You see someone who's the same age as you yet he's doing so much better? Make sure to doubt yourself. Don't track your own improvements each day, focus only on what other people are doing. Your progress will slow down while comparing yourself against others which will only make this feel drastically worse.
Expect permanence
Expect that everything will last forever for you. That nice house and all that money you have? You'll have it forever. Don't worry about losing it. If you understand that everything is impermanent, you'll start being grateful which you must avoid!
Always upgrade your quality. You just got a $100k car? Focus on buying a $500k car next. That way, the $100k will never feel as great as on the first day you got it.
Search for the zero-sum games
Don't look for ways to benefit both parties. Find ways to profit more, especially at the expense of others. If it comes a negative-sum game where you're dealing with a war of attrition, so be it. At least the other party isn't doing better than you.
Focus on the short term
We all know long term is better. But that's harder and we must avoid difficulty at all costs. Embolden the impatient personality of yours and chase after the quick fixes instead. It satisfies that impatience and feels better in the moment.
Judge others
We all have an ego we need to satisfy. Make sure to boost yourself up, especially at the expense of others. Embrace negativity and judge others for how they look or what they do. Don't try to think positively about others, that's harder and more fulfilling. Make sure to chase after that superficial superiority complex.

Because I think it damages her character and the development she has had throughout the story.
In general this idea is based on the premise that Beatrice is made to have an eternal childlike mentality and cannot grow up, but this is objectively false and undermines her growth. Beatrice can grow, she can change, become worse or better, gain beliefs or lose them and, in general, change the way she sees the world.
To say it is otherwise is to say that she cannot have character development. If Beatrice is meant to have the same way of being forever then she simply can't have development, which is obviously a horrible decision for her as a character. And if you accept the opposite, that she can change, then you have to accept that she can grow because learning things and being shaped by them is how people grow.
During arc 4 we see how Beatrice does not want to create relationships because she does not want to be harmed. Beatrice was not created with this belief ingrained in her. If you read her backstory or "Loving the days gone by" you can see that 400 years ago her "tsundere" attitude was just her being awkward when interacting with other people. But when we meet her in the present it's a belief based on her trauma. The events she has lived through up to that point have changed her and made her see the world in a different way for the worse. But she HAS changed. And after "Choose Me" Beatrice accepts that she will suffer, she prefers to face life opening her heart to others even if her being harmed by doing so is a certainty. She gives up her hikikomori mentality (which is an obvious parallel to Subaru) abandoning the idealized fantasy of a savior who will put her out of her misery and love her unconditionally. And she decides for herself the fate of her life, throwing away the shackles that Echidna had put on her. Her becoming independent and not simply obeying her mother's words is an argument Subaru uses to try to convince her in the WN, even saying that being so old she should finally have her "rebellious phase". Again, she changes her way of seeing the world but instead of going back to how she was 400 years ago she now has a better understanding of herself and has matured in her attitude towards life. She is not the same person, she is the best version of herself that has ever existed.
To say that she can't grow up is to throw away the beautiful writing of her arc. Not only that, it takes away Beatrice's autonomy going forward. Treating her only as a child to be cared for by Subaru takes away the weight of the decisions she makes. Everything she decides, bad or good, can be excused with "She's just a child after all". Beatrice advising the group, guiding Subaru when he needs it, opposing his actions in arc 8, all of this loses weight if her mentality is eternally that of a child.
For me the relationship between Subaru and Beatrice is more beautiful if it is one of equals . Subaru supporting and guiding Beatrice when she needs him and her doing the same for him. But Betty guiding Subaru can't happen if he is her father figure. And luckily the story doesn't try to present this as truth. Beatrice being Subaru's daughter at best is mentioned as a joke. On the other hand we see examples of her being his guide in moments of doubt.
(personally for me they are like siblings, because even in School IF Tappei makes Betty Subaru's biological sister)
Not counting everything she does for Subaru in arc 6 this is my favorite example of what I'm talking about:

Beatrice: “……Don’t get the wrong idea, I suppose. Betty is not worried about Emilia, but about Subaru, in fact. Empathising with the emotions of literally everybody is a bad habit, I suppose.”
Subaru: “I see.”
-----------------
Subaru: “It may be that we’re just postponing the inevitable, but……”
Beatrice: “It will get us time, and even just that can be a salvation, in fact. Since you’re trying to hurry things up, your outlook is getting narrower, so you can’t see the options that you’d normally be able to. Not being aware of that, or realising it later…… both of those are cruelties, I suppose.”
Beatrice replied with something of a monologue to Subaru’s mutters.
Her small, feeble sigh contained an insightfulness and sentimentality which only those who’d spent a long, long time thinking could have.

I know that for many this is a joke more than anything else but I have also seen people who treat it as fact and I just wanted to see what others think about it. Especially since I've also seen the argument that Emilia is like a mother to Beatrice and that seems like the worst interpretation to me because while I love Emilia she is way less mature than Beatrice and is probably one of the least mature members of her camp. Plus they both see each other as sisters and even argue over who is the eldest in one of Meili's SSs. And it would be too creppy for "Subaru's daughter" to be like an older sister to the girl he wants to have as a girlfriend.

• Links:
  • Whole series: [docs] [scriptbin]
  • Part 1: [reddit] [scriptbin]
  • Part 2: [reddit] [scriptbin]
  • Part 3: [you are here] [scriptbin]
  • Part 4: [reddit] [scriptbin]
  • masterlist

​

• Title suggestions: Meeting a mysterious stranger at a bar Stranger at the bar philosophizes with you Having a drink with an attractive stranger Stranger at a pub takes a liking to you Drunken rambles from a mysterious stranger

​

• TW: existential themes, talk of loneliness, implied mental illness/depression, light derealisation, implied suicidality, (small-ish) mental break down

​

• ~1.7k words (15-23 mins audio)

​

• Setting: a bar or pub/tavern in a small rural town, only a little busy

​

• Context (for listeners): After meeting a mysterious stranger at the bar and stargazing with him a few days later, you want to go back to the bar in hopes of meeting him again. There, you find him in his usual spot, looking a bit more dreary than usual.
• Character intro: You are a being, older than humanity itself. A very, very long time ago you used to be one of the first two gods, with yourself ruling over the moon, the darkness and winter. Not a cruel god, no. A kind one, caring for your people. But years and years of wandering the earth after humanity forgot about you, has dulled your spirit. That, and the betrayal of your brother. Eventually, you start moving from town to town, so you don't draw too much attention to yourself. It's a tactic to avoid getting too lonely, but also to stop yourself from getting close to others. You spend most of your time in pubs, since it's nice to have a handful of people around you - even if they're drunks who tend to avoid and ignore you for the most part. That is, until a charming stranger keeps popping into your life and you find yourself wanting to open up to them more and more…
• Acting suggestion: Slower speech, a little gravelly/some vocal fry?, tired and exhausted, wise and patient, dry/sarcastic/comedic undertones, somewhat monotone and quiet, almost a bit apathetic and hopeless, distant, almost like he's talking to himself more than the listener

​

• Rules:
  • Do whatever you want, I don't mind (improv, changing stuff, adjusting to fit your own characters, getting inspired, gender flipping, etc. is OK)
  • Monetization and paywall is OK
  • Sfx/bgm are optional
  • Give credit when using, "written (or inspired) by u/vesselwrites on reddit" is OK
• Key:
  • [sfx, sounds, pauses]
  • (vocal cues and instructions, feel free to change/ignore)
  • … for shorter pauses or trailing off
  • bold text for emphasis

​
Script:
[background sounds: bapub/tavern ambiance for a bit, music playing quietly, adults chatting, glasses clinking etc. Feel free to have this run for a little to set the scene]
​
Hm…?
Oh-
Hello once more, stranger.
I didn't think I'd meet you here again so soon.
(joking, a bit sarcastic?) One would assume you'd have learned your lesson by now.
​
[pause]
​
No, I don't mind.
The company is quite nice.
I just… didn't expect it.
Most people don't come here often. And when they do, I'm the last person they want to see.
That's why I always stand by the far corner of the bar, but somehow, you still find me every time.
No matter how invisible I try to make myself…
…
Well, I suppose most of the guests don't want to pay me any mind.
I could probably be dancing on the tables, and they'd still act as though I'm not here.
But I don't blame them. This town is not the only one that acts this way…
I suppose I've gotten used to it by now.
Blending into the background wherever I go… It might just be for the best.
…
(small sigh)
They must find people like me repulsive…
Strangers, invading their community and safe spaces.
Like hungry beetles breaking into an ant hill, ready to destroy their colony.
If I'm not prey, then surely, I must be a predator. A hazard to their safety…
…
You, however, don't seem to have that kind of mindset.
You're one of the few people I've met, who didn't.
Maybe it's because I only ever find myself in small, reclusive towns.
Where everyone tends to share the same frigid ideologies.
And those who don't, leave as soon as they can.
…
Though… I doubt the bigger cities would make me feel any more welcome.
I imagine it's just more loners, and if you're lucky, a bit less judgement.
But in the end, it's the people who act this way, not the town itself.
It's part of their nature.
…
Back in the day, it was necessary to keep group morale high, and be weary of outsiders.
Being associated with the wrong individuals could very easily be your demise. While being around goof people and staying together would secure the survival of the tribe…
…
It must have stuck, somewhere deep down in their being…
A testimony to times long gone, a past that most people forget about all too easily.
…
Quite a few behaviors were formed in the earliest times of humankind, and no living person may ever realize just how many.
All those little things that don't fully make sense, the ones that have become too normal to question, and some that seem much too obvious to even consider.
…
People adapt, yes.
But for the most part, as a species… more is added, rather than replaced or removed.
The core will forever stay the same… Forming similar thoughts and patterns, no matter how much time has passed, how many new things have been learned and implemented.
And still, it's expected to behave as though the human being is fully equipped for today's life, despite everything suggesting the contrary.
…
People beat themselves up for being stressed, dissatisfied and unhealthy, in a world that does nothing to accommodate their actual needs.
…
Strange, isn't it? How humankind has developed from hunters and gatherers, to lawyers and office workers.
Driven by a need for more, an urge to prove themself, a hunger for development.
…
With every passing era, people are forced to become more and more homogeneous, while at the same time fighting for their rights and recognition as individuals…
…
It's painful to watch…
​
[pause]
​
Long ago, I started to think that humans know nothing about themselves. So far, I haven't been proven wrong…
What's their fascination with making themself suffer?
And what for?
To prove they can? To optimize the gain of those high up? To destroy themselves entirely?
I mean… certain things make sense to have, but not in the way they're being treated…
…
How long will it take for people to realize?
And how much longer, for things to actually improve…? If they ever will…
…
People are much too focussed on their own limited lifespan, to see the patterns of damnation… the downward spiral they're trapped in.
Usually, only those who are faced with misery recognize it, and the rest dare not think about it too deeply.
It's always been that way…
Another ancient mechanism of self-protection, as people worry that associating themself with the problem, will draw it into their life.
…
It makes me wonder… How is that fair?
Ignoring obvious issues, handing them over for the next generations to handle.
…
(quietly) What did we do wrong…?
​
[short pause]
​
Oh…
Sorry.
I'm rambling again.
…
(joking) Well, you kind of had it coming.
So far, every time we've met, I lost myself in a topic and monologued about it for far too long.
And still, you keep coming back for more.
You're strange…
Do you really enjoy hearing me speak that much?
…
I guess I'm so used to talking to myself without anyone listening, that I just… forget you're there…
​
[longer pause]
​
It wasn't always like this, you know…?
There was once a time when people cared about me. When I had family…
People who heard me, made me feel loved.
…
(small, defeated sigh)
I used to be someone.
But… not anymore.
…
I've become a nobody.
Nothing but another stranger, passing through.
Somebody you avoid today, and forget about tomorrow.
…
I can't remember the last time somebody genuinely smiled, upon seeing me again. Or someone being interested in what I had to say. Or even… hearing my own name, uttered from the mouth of another.
…
(small sigh)
I've come to realize that a name is so much more than just a word.
It's an identity. The link to a whole being, made up of memories and experiences.
Hearing somebody call it, is like reaching into the deepest depths of your being. Like somebody holding your beating heart within their hand.
A connection to your innermost self.
…
And forgetting such a name… is like losing yourself entirely.
Not a single soul remembers who I am, who I was… And there's nothing I can do to change that…
​
[pause]
​
I want to be open with you.
As much as I enjoy your company, I've been here for too long.
It's time for me to move on soon.
…
When you're somebody like me, you can't stay in one place for more than a few years at a time.
…
And since I'll be leaving anyways, I might as well tell you my truth.
…
You might deem me a lunatic…
But it makes no difference whether or not I say this… whether you believe me.
Take it as a metaphor, if you will. Or perhaps the rambles of a drunkard.
…
But a long, long time ago… I used to be a god.
People used to worship me. Pray to me every night.
And now? I'm nothing…
A nameless nobody.
A stranger at a bar, an outsider in a tightly knit community.
Just another face to pass by and forget about…
…
You see… the story I told you…
It was my own, and you won't find it in any books of myths and legends.
Because by the time people had forgotten about it… neither pen nor paper had been invented.
Language was barely developing back then, so there was no way of immortalizing it.
I might be the only one who remembers…
And sometimes, I start to doubt if it even happened to begin with.
…
Maybe I'm no fallen god after all, but only a victim of my own imagination…
I have nothing to prove it. Only the memories of millenia I lived, constantly running from myself.
…
But whatever I am doesn't really matter, does it?
…
In the end, it doesn't change my situation.
It doesn't make a difference…
And to you, I won't be more than a drunken stranger either way.
You will forget about me, or you will die, while I waste away underneath the pressure of this meaningless existence.
…
I told you about how my former followers were forced to revert or die.
And so they did.
And my name died with them.
My strength… my power… and my influence.
I've become nothing more than a hermit…
A meaningless shell of human flesh, abandoned by magic.
…
You can't believe in something you've never even heard of.
And you can't revere a dead god…
…
(bittersweet, lost in memory) I still remember one lovely youngling leaving us little offerings in a secret place, after they had been forced to give us up.
A quiet act of devotion to us, and rebellion against their oppressors.
But even that faithful young eventually grew old and died. The last soul that believed in us…
…
I kept them close to me, for as long as I could, when my power faded.
But then, I fell.
Forced out of the sky and into a dark, cold world.
A world that had already turned its back on me. Pushed me aside to make space for new beliefs.
…
For thousands of years, I have been treated like filth…
…
I don't blame them. I'm not… upset.
I just… I wish it didn't have to be like this.
And I wish I understood why this is happening.
…
Why have I been cursed to live this way?
I used to be so strong, so… bright.
Everything that made me who I was, has fallen off me like dried soil.
And now… there's nothing left but the raw dirt underneath.
Nothing that shapes me, that holds me.
Nothing… that matters.
…
What a strange feeling, to lose yourself this way.
Not even I recognize myself anymore…
The longer I look into the mirror, the more that image twists, until I don't remember who I once was, who I am…
Until there is nothing left that defines me anymore.
…
Sometimes I wonder… What's the point?
…
If there was anything I could do to change it… I would.
If there was a way to make it all stop…
…
Nevermind.
​
[short pause]
​
Me and my brother…
There is no need to pity either of us.
We both made our choice.
…
Things are as they are, and will be as they have been.
Though sometimes I wish I could see him again…
A couple hundred years of togetherness is nothing, compared to thousands being apart…
…
That hollow feeling in my chest… It never went away.
​
[pause]
​
(weak chuckle) You've listened to me for long enough now, don't you agree?
Allow me to buy you a drink as compensation.
What would you like?
​
[slow sfx fade out]

I remember seeing the trailer to Precious many moons ago at a screening for Madea Goes to Jail, which I was brought to against my will. Seemingly every Black person in Central Florida was there and many of them actually thought Precious was a straight up Tyler Perry production. You can't really blame them since on paper Precious is right up his alley thematically. I ended up seeing the film and while everyone else volleyed between sorrow and disgust, I thought it was one of the most brilliant comedies I had seen in a very long time. I did not get why people were crying. This is a satire right? I've seen enough of Lee Daniels' work to know that he greatly enjoys using camp to make a point. If you watch the first few seasons of Empire you'll get my point the exact nanosecond Cookie shows up. But at the time, most audiences took the film for face value and it pretty much killed any appetite for this film overnight. Urban dramas or Hood Films had been dwindling in both production and popularity but they hadn't entirely died yet by 2009. Precious in many respects was the last nail in the coffin for the Hood Film having any mainstream popularity or even much popularity in its own community. One could argue that Tyler Perry took most of the same themes and just repackaged them in a more pious presentation. Precious definitely had an effect on how his work was perceived but I get more into that in his write-up which is here: https://www.reddit.com/TrueFilm/s/ySX51U85vL
It's important to clarify the differences between Lee Daniels and Tyler Perry because the two do get compared a lot. Both make female focused dramas largely targeted towards the Black community. Both engage in some harmful stereotypes in their work, Lee in particular loves the tragic Black mother trope. Both are producer-directors who have a very identifiable style although Lee is the closest one out of the two who is anything resembling an auteur. The key difference is that Lee Daniels understands the language of cinema. The man definitely has an eye for captivating visuals. He knows how to get good performances out of his actors. The production value in his work is always fantastic. He's a very good director. He's is a bad writer and no amount of good directing can overcome a bad script. He's also not great at picking scripts if the bulk of his filmography is any indication. He didn't write Precious and the fact that's a cohesive film that doesn't have fiftyleven different things going on makes that fact very obvious. Please watch The Paperboy if you'd like a firmer illustration of what I mean. It's unhinged in the best way and I get a kick out of it. Because Lee Daniels understands how film works, and seems to have a thing for period pieces, he knows how to use that knowledge to make commentary on the medium itself. Precious imagines her ideal self as a blonde white girl and we get this information entirely non-verbally with her visualizing herself in the mirror that way. He has Precious prounce around like Diana Ross in her fantasies to impress her imaginary boyfriend Light Skinned Biracial Pretty-Boy No# 25706, although it was 2009 so maybe he was the model after they perfected Corbin Bleu. He uses Telenovelas to help Precious express her emotions in a way only slightly more dramatic than the film proper. He creates a New York that feels gritty, unforgiving, brutal and you understand entirely how a place like this could produce Precious. At the same time, his presentation of all these things and more is so campy and over the top, you can't help but wonder if he's taking the piss out of you.
A perfect example is the scene with Mary in the welfare office. In-universe, she is trying to garner sympathy from Mrs. Weiss and not lose her check. It makes sense narratively why she is acting the way she does. But in practice, it's almost vaudevillian. Her face is white, she's blubbering the whole time, her speech ranges from heart wrenching to insane with very little transition--it's pure camp. Mo'inque delivers her finest comedic performance in this film. She is insulting Precious with well timed quips. Her moments of physical abuse are so over the top and burlesque that it almost reminded me of a John Waters film. Even her body language and facial expressions are pushed to the utmost level. She doesn't just glare at Precious. She stares daggers straight into her soul. She doesn't corner the girl. She stalks and circles her as if her own daughter is prey. She's the best part in a movie that is already pretty solid. Camp thrives on delighting in bad taste and Mo'inque is swimming it in here. If one could change up the music and the lighting, they'd be forgiven for thinking these were deleted scenes from The Parkers.
On that note, Precious is one of the all time great film characters. Yes she suffers a lot, almost to cartoonish proportions, but she also exercises agency. She's the one who tries to learn to read. She's the one who reports her mother to the feds. She's the one who decides to leave and start a new life. She's the one who takes the chicken. That scene, funny as it may be, is actually pretty pivotal. You see her think about it, she's planning it out. The wheels are turning in her head. She takes it regardless of the consequences and runs away. She shows us early on that despite her circumstances, she's ultimately not just a victim. She rejects the idea everyone has about her and who she should be. She resolves to be the one who changes her own life. This film gets compared to The Color Purple and they do share some thematic elements. The key difference is that Precious ultimately makes her own happy ending and Celie does not. She's also very funny at times and has a dry sense of humor to her that many characters in similar films never get to display. She suffers but she doesn't feel like an avatar for suffering only to be gawked with shaking tisking heads.
Precious as a character feels like a response to the type of characterization that women who look like her tend to get in a lot of Black media, especially at that time. But more broadly, Precious as a film is a distortion, subversion and dissection of the misery porn/Hood Films that dominated Black media for a while. For one, it's a female led narrative which you'd think would be more common but this flavor of film was often from the male perspective. The hurt and damage the male characters inflict on women in those films is still from that point of view. Rarely do the women get to express their opinions or pain in a way that gives them an inner life. Black women are raped, beaten, pimped out, drugged out and in some cases killed in a lot of these films. In Precious, the men do not matter. Yes, one kicks off the plot and the characters do discuss the impact on men in their lives. But nearly every consequential character shown onscreen is a woman. The relationships Precious builds are with other women. Even the abuse we see onscreen is largely done by a woman. Precious does have a lot of anxiety as it regards men and her attractiveness to them but that is largely something she overcomes by the end. In any other film like this, most of these women are side characters at best. Here they get to control the narrative.
The absolutely dismal state of a good chunk of the characters is outlandishly overdone that you can't help but laugh. Here's a thought exercise: imagine that this story about a Black morbidly obese, illiterate, HIV positive two time teen mom abused by her own alcoholic, obese, uneducated mother who envied her infant daughter for being lusted by her father was written and directed by a white guy. Takes on a completely different tone, doesn't it? I actually told my roommate who is white that the director was named Ari Sapperstein and he told me that this was one of the most deeply racist films he had ever seen. I did tell him the truth but the fact that the maudlin levels of poverty, abuse and overall misery the characters endure feels like the work of a white writer who was trying to capture their idea of Black inner city life. The New York portrayed in this film isn't the hustlers' playground or an urban jungle full of opportunities for a hungry nigga with a dream. It's not overly dark to the point of seeming out of this world either. The stark lighting feels like a spotlight. Precious doesn't come home to a ghetto filled with colorful characters. The neighbors largely ignore her when she's being abused and she doesn't make friends until she's in what's essentially a remedial school. Mary isn't a long suffering mother character hoping her baby can get out of the hood. She's a product of an environment that itself is a product of a failure on the part of our society. The book plays all of this completely straight and in my opinion is much harder to get through than the movie.
If you're somewhat media literate, then you can see the dark comedy elements in the film. Even Lee Daniels thinks of it as a comedy. Mo'inque had a hard time getting through some of her monologues because she was laughing too much. They apparently had a hell of a good time making and I wonder if they ever thought it'd get this far. But most audiences took the film entirely seriously and I think that's what nixed the desire for anything else like this. Similar to when The Color Purple premiered, Black audiences were somewhat divided. Many felt that the film was so extreme it was almost unwatchable. As I said, the film paints an almost parodic depiction of inner city and the obstacles Precious endures especially THAT scene where Mary asks her a 'favor' could be too much for people to stomach. I think it's worth considering the context in which the film was released. Precious came out in 2009 the same year Barack Obama became president. Black Americans had a sense of hope for the future for the first time since probably the 60's with the signing of the Civil Rights Act. There was this feeling we had 'made it' and that assimilation and integration groups like the Italians, Irish, Jews and so on had experienced would finally happen to us. A film like Precious which on the surface dealt with very regressive and offensive depictions of Black womanhood and Black family life was considered gauche. Our president is Black and our Lambo is blue. Black Americans wanted media that spoke to JaQuan making six figures a year in Atlanta as much as it did Sharonda struggling on welfare in The Bronx. This is also why during the early to mid 2010's you saw an increase in comedies about the Black community largely removed from real world issues, think Girls Trip or Think Like a Man.
Precious showed Black audiences exactly what they had been watching for twenty years at that point and they were not pleased. Lee Daniels basically said 'damn, y'all like this shit forreal?' for two hours. Is there much daylight between something like Precious and Baby Boy? Not really. I think the comedic angle definitely played a part in people's perceptions of the film. I wouldn't say most people think of it as a comedy but it's so absurd in its drama and presentation that you can't help but laugh. Precious did its job so well that you really don't see this type of film anymore. If you do see films that wade into the misery porn waters, they tend to be indies and/or queer films. Moonlight is the closest thing I can think of and that film is decidedly not a comedy in any respect. If there are other films like Precious being produced then they aren't being widely released and not seen by wider audiences. Nothing like that has been nominated at the Oscars again except for Moonlight which itself feels like a response to the hypermasculinity of the 90's Hood Films.
The Hood Film didn't exactly go away but it shifted its approach and focus. American Gangster wasn't exactly revolutionary in its approach but it did make money and it elevated the Hood Film to the same operatic heights that films like The Godfather, Casino, Goodfellas, Gangs of New York and The Departed achieved. Ridley Scott isn't a flashy director but he's certainly a classy one. The Black protagonists and their world are portrayed with the same level of dignity and style all his other protagonists get. If Precious and Moonlight are responses to the Hood Film, then American Gangster was the refinement of it. It delved into the person of Frank Lucas and unpacked him in a way you rarely saw with Hood Films in the 90's. Power, Godfather of Harlem, Empire, P-Valley, BMF, The Family Business, Snowfall and so many others have followed in this path. The characters here are still drug dealers and criminals but now they present themselves as legitimate businessmen. These buttoned up slick mouthed characters get more moments of pathos than their spiritual precedents ever did. We've moved on from the roughneck portrayals of Black men struggling in the hood to basically doing The Goodfellas but for the heavily melenated.
As the years go by, I think history will only be kinder to Precious. It has yet to achieve the status of 'problematic but classic' that The Color Purple, and honestly a lot of Black media, has attained. But people are revisiting both the film and their feelings on it. Precious is hard to watch not only because of the subject matter but because the subject matter is presented in a way that makes you uncomfortable and therefore forces you to analyze the themes in other films of that type. I think it deserves the same 'this film still holds up' type of adulation that much poorly constructed films get all the time. It's a hard watch at first but once you see everything Lee Daniels is playing with, it becomes a fun one.

Club Vlad sat near the confluence of Central Avenue and Washington Avenue, Albany’s two main thoroughfares. Two stories with blackout windows and a box office from when it used to be a movie theater, it was swarmed with people when Dom first spotted it ahead. He was somewhat familiar with it: He passed it every day on his way to work, and it was always busy around his time of evening, even on weeknights. Part of him always wanted to go inside and be a part of the scene, but he never did.
The man in sunglasses - his name was Joe - led Dom toward the club, and even before Joe spoke, Dom somehow knew that it was their destination. “There,” Joe said. “We’ll go around back.”
Dom and Joe had been walking for what seemed like an hour but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. Dom stuck as close to Joe as possible as if for protection, and had become accustomed to his pungent smell. It was noticeable only at extremely close range, part sickly sweet and part…something else, something Dom could not place but still somehow recognized. They were two blocks from the club, maybe three, and Dom could hear the pulsing techo/house/whatever music as clearly as if he were standing in the middle of the dancefloor. He could hear the chatter of the people inside, or at least he imagined he could. He could smell them too: Beneath the odors of perfume, desperation, and spiritual rot was something richer, something blissful. Dom realized for the first time that he was parched - so parched - and drool filled his mouth.
A crowd of people waited outside Club Vlad, talking and laughing; some vaped, some stared down at their cellphones like Gollum with his precious ring. Dom’s first reaction was to avoid them. Perhaps sensing this…or perhaps feeling it himself…Joe ducked into an alleyway two doors down from the club. “We’ll go in the back,” Joe explained.
The back entrance to Club Vlad was a single door underneath a bare bulb. The music was so loud that Dom’s head began to throb. Inside, a dark hallway terminated in an archway filled with throbbing white light. Dread filled Dom as they approached it - he didn’t want to be around people - but thankfully they went into a room off the hall instead. An office. A cramped desk, a filing cabinet. A set of stairs disappeared into shadows.
“Sit,” Joe said.
Dom obeyed, sitting in the swivel chair.
Joe went up the stairs and Dom was alone. The deep coldness that had long settled into his bones made itself known again, and Dom leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his chest for warmth. The muffled music vibrated in his skull, setting his teeth on edge, and the various smells wafting in from the main room assaulted his senses. He was alternately repulsed and aroused by the crashing din of scents: The good, the bad, and the mouth watering. A sharp pain cut through his stomach like the killing edge of a knife, and Dom hugged himself tighter. Had his throat always been this dry? His throat felt like sandpaper; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and getting it unstuck hurt so badly that tears sprang to his eyes.
Dom rubbed his arms with his hands and tried to still his chattering teeth. He looked around for a blanket, a discarded jacket, something to cover himself with, but there was nothing. Only drifts of glitter on the floor and walls. He supposed it came from a party or something. He’d never been to a night club but it seemed fitting.
A sound drew his attention to the door leading back into the hall. A woman - no older than a girl - stood there, looking confused and unsteady. She was dressed in black, wore glow sticks around her wrists and neck, and held a red solo cup. “I have to pee,” she said drunkenly and laughed. “I thought this was the bathroom.”
A cold wind washed over Dom, and Joe was standing next to him. “The bathroom’s up here,” he said.
“Oh, good,” the girl laughed, “I thought it was here but I didn’t know. This is my first time here.” She held her cup aloft. “Take me to it.”
Joe glanced at Dom. “Come on.”
They formed a party as they climbed the stairs, Dom in the tear and Joe at the head. The girl stumbled and held onto the railing, talking incessantly. Her voice hurt Dom’s head, but the hot smell wafting from her was intoxicating. Drool coursed down his chin and his breathing came in short, hot bursts. Another sharp pain rent his stomach, and he winced.
At the top of the stairs, where the lights were cold and white, a woman in black stood by a doorway, her back ramrod straight and her eyes vacant. Her face was gaunt, her white flesh pulled tight across her skull. She wore a black dress and her black hair long and straight. Dom only caught a glance at her before looking away again.
She looked like a ghost.
“Show her the bathroom,” Joe said.
The woman’s eyes slowly, ponderles, went from Joe to the drunk girl. Her expression, like Joe’s, was dead. She had no expression. “This way.”
She and the drunk girl disappeared down the hall, and Joe led Dom into a room. Though it was pitch black, Dom could still see; not very well…but he could see. Suddenly, a blinding white light flicked on in front of him, causing him to stop and fall back a step. Ahead, through an archway, sat a vaulted chamber, at the center of which sat a man. To Dom’s light dazzled eyes, he seemed a proud king perched upon a throne, the skulls of his many enemies piled around him. Dom blinked and turned his head slightly to the side. His eyes began to adjust, and the world came into focus.
The man was not, as it had first seemed, sitting on a throne. Instead, he was esconded in a motorized wheelchair. The piles of skulls were actually various pieces of machinery, the kind you’d find in a hospital room. A clear tube extended from one of them to the side of the man’s neck: Yellow liquid flowed from the machine and into the man. Another tube, this one in the other side of his neck, filtered out a mixture of what looked like yellow pus and black sludge. An infected malodor filled the air, and the machines whirred softly as they worked.
As for the man himself, his appearance was normal at first glance, Dressed in a flowing red velvet robe, a blue and green blanket with a plaid pattern draped over his shoulders, he was portly, about fifty, and had shoulder length grayish hair with a bald spot in the middle. If the local theater put on a production of Hamilton, they could cast a worse Ben Franklin than him.
On closer inspection, he was not normal at all. His complexion was yellow and waxy, like a statue, and his body was lumpy, misshapen, resembling an overfilled trash bag stuffed with cotton. His eyes were sick and yellow, and something about his posture seemed…off. It didn’t make sense, but the only thing Dom could think was: He looks impossible.
Joe stopped at the edge of the shadows, where the line between light and darkness lay. He seemed to stand up a little straighter, a general greeting his king. “Here he is,” Joe said.
The man squinted slightly against the glare of the light and motioned with one gnarled hand. “Step into the light,” he said. His voice was soft and kind, that of a senile though loving grandmother. Dom imagined he felt a pull toward the man, and did as he was bidden, wincing as the light stung his eyes.
For a moment, the man stared at him, his waxen features frozen fast as stone. Then, a subtle look of compassion flickered across his face. Dom did not believe in God, but he suddenly felt like a man standing before God, his every thought, feeling, and transgression laid bare. He had never felt so naked in his life, so exposed. He had the sense that the man before him could see everything, knew everything.
“You’ve been through a lot,” the man said. It was not a question, but a statement.
Everything Dom had been through over the past couple of days came back to him in a rush, and hot tears filled his eyes. He nodded.
The man nodded slightly, more to himself than to Dom. “Kneel down,” he said, “I want to look at you.”
Dom knelt without question.
The man lifted one hand and touched Dom’s face, tilting Dom’s head from one side to the other like a farmer appraising a horse. His fingers were long and bony, his nails ragged and unkempt; his touch was like ice. He brushed his knuckles over the purple bruise on Dom’s cheek, and there was such gentleness in that one act that Dom broke down sobbing. He leaned into the man’s touch like a cat and gave voice to his misery.
“Shhh,” the man said, “it’s all over now.”
“W-What’s happening to me?” Dom asked.
In his heart of hearts, however, he already knew.
“You died,” the man said patiently. “And you came back.”
Hearing it stated so plainly, Dom cried even harder.
“Only a handful of people throughout history can claim to have defeated death,” the man said, stroking Dom’s hair, “and you’re one of them. You should be proud.”
“How?” Dom asked between sobs. “What am I?”
The man stroked Dom’s cheek. “You’re the same thing I am.”
At that, Dom looked up at the man. “What are you?” he asked.
A little, knowing smile touched the man’s lips, and when he spoke, his canine teeth were longer and sharper than before. “I’m a vampire.”
“No,” Dom moaned and shook his head, “no, no, no.” He grabbed the man’s hand and held tight, his tears coming faster. He trembled like a frightened animal and squeezed his eyes closed, as if by doing so he could escape the hell his life had become.
But there was no escape.
“You have a lot of questions,” the man said, monologuing now rather than speaking directly to Dom, “I had the same questions when I was your age. I have spent the last forty-two years of my life trying to answer them, but every answer I find leads me to still more questions. There’s one thing I’m certain of, though.”
Dom blinked the tears from his eyes. The last of them had been squeezed from his dead tear ducts and he had no more to give. He simply stared into space, trying to come to grips with his situation.
“There is freedom in death,” the man said. “Death is easy. It’s simple. Once it’s over, you feel no pain, no sadness, no grief. It’s living that’s hard.”
As he spoke, he brushed his long nails across Dom’s scalp. It was a soothing feeling, and served to calm him. “People have so many troubles.” A note of revulsion crept into his voice. “So many needs, so many desires. People are complex but we’re not. We’re easy to please. A vampire wants only two things: A little blood and one more night.”
The combination of his touch and his voice had pacified Dom to the point of almost tranquility. “I’m scared,” Dom heard himself mumble.
Nodding almost reluctantly, the man said, “Fear is one of the only emotions a vampire can’t escape. Everything feels fear. Do you want to know a secret?”
Dom nodded.
“I’m afraid too,” the man confessed. “I’m afraid of death. Well…death as it were. I’m terrified that my body will rot away and leave me a pile of bones somewhere, unable to move but still aware”
A shudder went through Dom.
“As I’m sure you’ve seen yourself, the movies lied. We rot just like any other dead thing. Our flesh decays, our organs turn to sludge, and we go from rational men to monsters whose only thought is feeding.”
Now it was his turn to shiver.
“But…you’re not like that,: Dom said.’
The man smiled. “I’m lucky, I guess” A thin yellow fluid began to drip from his nostrils. He did not seem to notice. “What is your name?”
“Dominick,” Dom said.
“I’m Merrick,” the man said, “and this is my family.”
Dom realized that they were now surrounded by others, ten in all. They stood ramrod straight, their eyes vacant and their faces devoid of humanity. They were mainly men, though one was a woman. Some were pale, others were blue or black, and one was little more than a skeleton clad in withered brown skin, a white button up and jeans hanging from its frame.
A thought occurred to Dom. “You said my brain was going to rot…”
“Not necessarily,” Merrick cautioned, “though it’s possible.”
“Am I going to be…?”
“Like them?” Merrick asked. “Braindead and staring?”
Sheepishly, Dom nodded.
“Maybe,” Merrick allowed. “But these people are free of everything that troubles humanity. You were human just a short time ago. I’m sure you remember all too well what it was like. The constant politics, the moral quandaries, the philosophical pontificating. Human beings - and make no mistake, we are humans - were not meant for all of that. We’re animals. We were made to hunt, fuck, and sleep. Somewhere along the way, we got pretentious and started complicating things.” He looked at Dom, sizing him up, seeming to read him. “Things that animals take for granted, people work their entire lives to achieve. If an animal wants to fornicate, it fornicates. If a man wants to fornicate, he needs to be tall, handsome, rich, funny, progressive when it suits women but traditional when it doesn’t. If a man wants a home, he has to work thirty years for it. An animal has only to dig a hole in the ground.”
Every word struck a chord with Dom.
Because every word was true.
“Unfortunately, the living won’t allow us to live that freely, so we have to hide. These people here - my children - need a guiding hand, a protector, someone who can lead them. And I, an old man, need help.” Here he smiled playfully and patted his bulging stomach. “My body is mostly sawdust and cotton balls at this point, so I can’t do much. I share my wisdom and my knowledge with them, and they take care of me.”
“Why haven’t you…rotted?” Dom asked.
“Embalming fluid,” Merrick said. “Blood doesn’t sustain you. Embalming fluid does.” He smiled at Dom. “It can sustain you as well. If you’ll stay with us. We’re not the most attractive bunch, but we’re a family, and we really wish you’d join us.”
A family.
Dom’s parents had broken up and he lived with his mother. He had never had a family before, and had always wanted one, a real one, like in the movies. Even as a grown man, he sought the love, acceptance, and belonging that a family brings. He sought it in the wrong ways, but that - and not sex, not romantic love - is what he had really wanted all along.
This is what he had wanted all along.
“I want to,” Dom said.
Working quickly, Merrick slashed his wrist open with his thumbnail. An ugly mixture of stale blood, siphoned from someone else, and embalming fluid leaked out. “If you choose to drink, my blood will be in you. You will be my son and I will be your father. You will obey me as your father. You will do whatever is asked of you for this family, as this family will do for you. You will not reveal the secrets of this family to anyone outside of it. You will protect this family from all threats, both inside and out. Do you accept?”
He held his bleeding wrist out to Dom.
Dom did not question, nor did he hesitate. He grabbed the hand of his father, brought it to his mouth, and drank from the seeping wound. The fluid was cold, thick, and vile.
It tasted like belonging.
“Have you fed yet?”
“No,” Dom said.
“Before you do, I have a question for you. Who did this to you? Who made you?”
Dom thought. Everything was hazy. “Was it someone in this room?” Merrick asked.
Dom shook his head. “Her name is…” he wracked his brain. “Heather.”
Merrick nodded. “So there’s another out there.” He looked at Joe. “Did you turn her?”
“Yes,” Joe said.
Merrick looked annoyed. “I’ve told you not to go out and feed on your own. You have no self-control. You drink too much and create others, which creates headaches for the family. Tomorrow night, I want you and Dom to find her and bring her here.” “Okay,” Joe said.
Merrick looked over Dom’s shoulder. “Jess? Can you come here?”
The black haired woman from earlier came out of the shadows, the drunk girl with her, arms tied behind her back. The girl looked dazed. “Max,” Merrick said to the skeletal corpse-thing, “help her.”
Max, Jessie, and another vampire named Matt tied chains around the girl’s ankles and hoisted her aloft via a pulley system. Upside down, she swung back and forth. Merrick instructed the others to leave the room. “Max,” he said.
On his way out, the corpse-thing produced a knife and dragged it across the girl’s throat, slicing her skin; blood spurted out. Max leaned in to taste it, but Merrick shooed him away. When he and Dom were alone, Merrick told Dom, “Go to her.”
But Dom was already on his feet, his eyes transfixed by the crimson life flowing from her pumping throat. The hot, rich smell filled his nostrils and tantalized his senses. Saliva filled his mouth and his stomach panged with hunger. Some small, human part of his decaying brain screamed at him to stop, but he did not listen to it. He had been human for almost thirty years, and he had been miserable. Now, in this chamber of the undead, he gave himself over to his dark thirst. Like a man in a dream, he shuffled to her, inhaled the sweet scent of her blood, and shivered. He was so lost in lust that he hardly noticed the strange, cumbersome feeling of his descended fangs.
“Drink,” Merrick said.
Opening his mouth wide, Dom sank his teeth into the girl’s neck. Her blood filled his mouth and splashed down his throat. Warmth thawed the ice in his marrow and spread through him. His dead heart began to flutter, then to pound. His knees shook, his body trembled, and his mind rolled away on a tide of ecstasy.
As it was his first meal, he couldn’t drink much. Before long, his stomach was hard and distended and his body burned with fire. He collapsed to a heap on the floor and twitched as random nerve endings, stimulated by the blood, began to misfire. He felt full, warm, and drunk. He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
Dominick Mason had died.
And this…
This was heaven.
​
***
With all that was happening in the city of Albany, the last thing Bruce Kenner needed on Thursday morning was a visit from Bertha the bitch, but that’s exactly what he got. She flew into his office like she owned the place and instantly started in on him. Young man this and have you talked to Joe Rossi that. You’d think she was his boss. And if she were his boss, he’d quit and find another line of work. He heard McDonald’s was hiring.
Bruce almost snapped at her. He’d been up most of last night riding around Albany and looking for Dominick Mason. He and Vanessa expected him to drop dead somewhere close to the medical examiner’s office, but if he had, he’d done so in a super secret location.
“I’ve been busy,” Bruce said, “but I’m going to go by his place of work today.”
Tired and still confused over that bullshit from last night, he had no energy to argue with the old crone. He could spare a few minutes to talk to Joe Rossi, he figured. He assumed that Jessie was safe but he owed it to her to check. If he found the girl, he’d take her back to her grandmother (sorry, kid, really) and try to avoid arresting the guy. Unless he came off as a creep, then he’d bust his ass. See, people assumed that an older guy with a younger girlfriend was some master manipulator hell bent on evil deeds. Sometimes they were, but hell, his grandparents married when his grandpa was twenty-one and his grandma sixteen. They were married for fifty-five years and loved each other to the end. Maybe it was innocent, maybe not. It wasn’t his job to judge either way. Just gimme the girl so I can get her grandma off my back and no one gets hurt.
“It’s about time you started doing your job,” Bertha said, “I heard on the police scanner last night that you people lost a body. What kind of town is this? Your coroner is a drunk who makes up stories about bodies walking away. He probably sold it to black people.”
Bruce couldn’t help it; he snorted laughter.
“Now what would black people want with a dead body?”
“Probably to use it as a prop in one of their rap videos.”
Bruce didn’t know much about music videos, but he was pretty sure that the people who made them didn’t like the smell of corpse any more than the rest of us. “I’ll be sure to round up all the local rappers for questioning. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Luckily for him, there was not, and Bertha left shortly thereafter. Alone and able to hear himself think, Bruce sat back in his chair and went over his mental checklist for the day. First order of business, go to Club Vlad. Second, find Dominick Mason. There were others, but that was the most important. He wanted the body found so someone could get to work explaining this whole weird thing. There had to be an explanation. The thought that there wasn’t, that a dead guy literally rose from the grave and disappeared into the night, deeply disturbed Bruce, and the more this whole thing remained ongoing, the more disturbed he would become.
Needing some fresh air, he decided to hit up Club Vlad.
Outside, the day was hot and sunny. Waves of heat shimmered from the pavement and not a single breath of air stirred in the whole world. Bruce slipped on a pair of sunglasses and drove over to Club Vlad. It occurred to him that the place might be closed during the day; it was the only place Joe Rossi was associated with. His address in the computer system was Glens Falls, far to the north. The messages he sent Jessie indicated that he lived onsite at Club Vlad.
The build, wedged between a corner store and a check cashing place, was as grimy and dumpy looking as it had always been. The front windows were blacked out and covered with posters and fliers for punk concerts, house bands, and far left political organizations: The Albany Social Justice Center, something called Bash the Fash 2025, and Bruce’s favorite. ACAB. He caught some kid spraying that on the side of the police station once, and under extreme police torture (ie, a good tongue lashing), the kid told him it meant All Cops Are Barnacleheads.
Bruce shot the kid on the spot and planted a gun on him.
How's that for barnaclehead?
Calm down, he didn’t really do that. He made him clean the graffiti off with a toothbrush. LOL he was out there for hours.
The sidewalk in front of the former theater was empty save for some little. The box office was abandoned. There was no open sigh, but then again, there was no closed sign either. He parked his cruiser at the curb, killed the engine, and got out, sweat instantly springing to his brow.
To his surprise, the door opened. Inside, a couple steps led down to a dance floor. A bar lined the wall to his right, and a couple more sets led up to a railed platform filled with tables. Above, a huge balcony looked down on him. A giant disco ball hung from the ceiling like a pair of glittery nuts and there were cages here and there. Presumably where girls danced go-go style. Oh yeah, nothing hotter than a woman behind bars. Why do you think Bruce became a cop in the first place?
Speaking of glittery nuts, there was glitter everywhere. On the floor, on the tables, on the bar. It twinkled like flecks of diamond and swirled around your feet when you walked. Bruce imagined big buckets of the stuff raining down on the dance floor at midnight and he shuddered. Imagine having glitter stuck in your hair. That shit would never come out.
Music played from the sound system, not as loud as it would be during operating hours. It sounded like ‘80s metal, not exactly what he expected from a place like this.
Some say life she's a lady
Kinda soft, kinda shady
I can tell you life is rich
She's no lady, she's a bitch
Being morning, the place was deserted except for a man behind the bar, busy at cleaning the countertop in anticipation for the night’s events. He was tall, Hispanic or Italian, and feminine, with a single earring and a tank top.
Bruce moseyed over to the bar and the barkeep looked up, missing a beat when he realized the fuzz was here. He sat down his rag and walked over. “Can I help you?” he asked in a whispy voice.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, “I’m looking for Joe Rossi. Is he here?”
“I don’t know,” the bartender said. He looked nervous. “I can check.”
Before Bruce could answer, he scurried off, leaving him alone.
They suck my body out
But friend there is no doubt
I'm gonna pay the devil his dues
Cause I'm sick of being abused
Bruce looked around, his fingers absently drumming on the countertop. Club Vlad was a clashing mix of grunge and glam that made his head hurt. He imagined what the place must be like at midnight, packed and noisy, and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was the spot, he guessed, the place all the cool kids went, if they went anywhere anymore. Hell, if he was thirty years younger, he might come here.
He had been waiting for almost twenty minutes when a voice spoke behind him. He turned with a start, and beheld the strangest man he had ever seen in his life. Short and plump - lumpy, even - he sat in a wheelchair, a red blanket draped over his shoulders and his hands resting on his knees. He was about fifty with sparse gray hair falling to his shoulders and a plastic-looking face. He looked like a wax statue of Ben Franklin come to life, and a deep sense of disquiet stirred in the pit of Bruce’s stomach.
Just can't fight the temptation
It's become my inspiration
Gonna get myself an axe
Break some heads, break some backs
It was only then that Bruce noticed the sickly sweet smell of death.
It seemed to come from the man in waves.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man said, “my name is Merrick Garvis and I own Club Vlad. Maybe I can be of assistance.”
Bruce grew up in the south where manners and saving face were paramount. His mother and his grandmother both taught him that it was impolite to stare. Maybe he'd been in New York so long that he’d forgotten himself, or maybe Merrick Garvis was just the strangest looking man in the world. Either way, Bruce couldn’t help gaping at his strange appearance. Recovering, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I -”
Merrick smiled and waved one hand. Why was it so goddamn skeletal? “Don’t worry. I was injured in a fire a long time ago and this is the best they could do for me. To be honest, I’d stare too. What can I help you with, officer?”
“I’d like to talk to Joe Rossi,” Bruce said. “I understand he works for you.”
“He did,” Merrick said, “but I had to let him go. Did he do something wrong?”
Bruce sighed. “Well, yeah, he’s shacked up with a sixteen year old runaway.”
A look of concern crossed Merrick’s features, such as they were. “Oh, my, that is concerning. I haven’t seen him in several days. I assume he went home. He lives in Glens Falls.”
Bruce nodded, his mind working. If Rossi really was in Glens Falls, that meant the whole mess was someone else’s problem. He could send Bertha up there to bother some other poor barnacle head and be rid of her. Yet…he didn’t think Rossi was in Glens Falls. Bruce had a knack for knowing when people were lying, and he was certain that Merrick Garvis was doing just that. It couldn’t be a facial tick, as his features were largely unmoving, like clay. Maybe it was something in his cloudy eyes. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. Or maybe Bruce had the shining and knew things just for the hell of it. In any event, the certainty that Merrick Garvis was lying grew stronger with each passing second.
“Why’d you fire him?”
“He got drunk and hit one of the customers.”
“What did he do?” Bruce asked. “What was his position?”
“He was a bouncer.”
“Aren’t bouncers supposed to hit people?”
Merrick fumbled. “Well…not to punch them in the face for bumping into them.”
“How long did he work for you?”
“Six months.”
“Did you ever see him with an underage girl?”
“Of course not,” Merrick said, “you have to be twenty-one to get in. I make sure everyone’s ID is checked at the door.”
“What if she had a fake ID?”
“Then I guess she’d get in, but I’d assume she was of legal age.”
“You said he shoved someone, when did this happen?”
“Last week,” Merrick said.
“I thought you said he hit someone.”
Merrick again fumbled. “I did.” Now his face seemed to darken a little. A strange yellowish liquid, too thin to be snot, began to drip from his nostrils. Bruce barely suppressed a smear of disgust. “I understand you have a job to do but playing mind games with me isn’t going to solve anything. I can give you his address. Other than that, I can’t help you further.”
“Fair enough,” Bruce said. “But I’d like to see your ID please.”
Merrick glared at him. “I suppose you want my name, rank, and serial number as well.”
“Actually, yeah, I’d love that.”
Merrick drew a deep sigh. “Okay.”
In five minutes, Bruce had Merrick’s ID, social, and all other relevant information. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have bothered, even though he was well within his rights to ask for this information from someone he was questioning. But something about Merrick Garvis was off, and not just his weird face or strangely bulbous body. Bruce was just smart enough to realize that something was going on here, but not quite smart enough to even begin to imagine what.
When he had everything he needed and saw no reason to stick around, Bruce bid Merrick farewell and left the club. Before he could do anything else, he got a call from dispatch: Officer needed assistance in Pine Hills. Bruce slipped behind the wheel and went forth to help, momentarily putting Merrick Garvis out of his mind.
But soon or later, he would get back to him.
Oh yes he would.