Hello! I (27F, Caucasian, 189lbs, 5’4) apologize in advance as this is my first ever Reddit post and I am a little nervous, so please feel free to remove if any rules are broken.
I am currently struggling with a range of unusual sudden symptoms that have me worried as to whether or not what I am experiencing is a nerve injury of sorts or if it falls under the category of neurodegenerative/neuromuscular disorders. I do not know where to begin so I will start from the beginning (I apologize if it is lengthy):
**January 2024*\*
*Jan. 11^th, 2024*
-I get a sudden, intense, shooting pain in the back of my head along my cervical spine which causes me extreme pain, discomfort, and nausea to the point that I was unable to get out of bed as it would shoot around the back of my head and into my jaw.
-This makes me develop sudden weakness all along my left arm and shoulder as well as a sudden pain that shoots down the arm and into my wrist.
*Jan. 18^th, 2024*
-Along with shooting pain, I get a minor case of Bell’s Palsy which promptly went away with the help of medication as per the ER doctors’ orders (went to ER the morning after it happened).
*Jan. 28^th, 2024*
-I go back to ER for a follow-up and explain the worsening nerve/back of head and neck pain situation.
-They do a CT without contrast of my head and sinuses (due to the neck/back of head pain situation) and given an all clear.
**February 2024*\*
-Pain behind neck, head, and back worsens to the point that I missed several university classes and work because of severe headaches, nausea, wobbly vision, and arm weakness.
-My primary care physician tells me it's nothing and to go home.
*Feb. 14^th, 2024*
-Pain, nausea, and headache from whatever is happening behind my neck causes me to go to the ER where I do a CT without contrast of my cervical spine (C1-D1) which ended up showing (and I'm quoting the results directly):

• Mild intervertebral disc space narrowing and early-right side uncarthrosis (c4-c5)
• Mild intervertebral disc space narrowing and early bilateral uncarthrosis, right more than left (c5-c6)
• Mild intervertebral disc space narrowing with very minimal posterior disc osteophyte complex (c6-D1).
• Reversal of the normal cervical lordosis with kyphosis centered around c5-c6).

-I was simply referred to physio,
**March 2024*\*
-Weakness and shoulder, neck, and back pain persist but the headaches and nausea subside. Eventually, the pain becomes less intense but the weakness throughout the shoulder, neck, and arm continues.
*March 19^th, 2024*
-My doctor. finally reluctantly referred me to a neurologist where I do nerve conduction study of both my arms, hands, and face (my doctor initially thought I had peripheral neuralgia). I also do needle EMG on my left arm from the wrist up to the neck. The neurologist says I should wear braces for carpal and cubital tunnel syndrome (not new information, have known this for years) but that I am showing symptoms of cervical radiculopathy on my left side and need physio.
-A few days later, I developed odd fasciculations and spasming all over my body including the left side of my jaw which were relentless until they subsided on their own about two weeks later.
**April 2024*\*
*April 18^th/20^th, 2024 (Somewhere between that time I do not remember the dates)*
- I do not know if it is because I messed up at the gym, have terrible posture, and sit on my laptop too much because of finals and work and all that, or because I slept on the couch in a weird position that essentially compressed my entire left side), I really hurt myself. Symptoms start with:

• Intense burning pain behind/above the elbows, (which I initially thought was just me exacerbating my cubital tunnel syndrome as it has happened before) but then suddenly it became so painful I was nauseous.
• Further weakness in my left arm/shoulder. Developed wobbly wrists, a wobbly pinky when I try to press it onto my thumb (left more than right), shooting and burning pain up and down my arm, and burning and pins and needles in my shoulder blade, left side of my back down to my ribs when I would lie down on my back or left side.
• Trying to sleep on my right side causes me to mess up my elbow and shoulder on that side too (though not same extent as my left) and wobbly.
• Unusual throbbing, trembling rippling sensations in the back rippling from left lumbathoratic spine outward. Same thing in my shoulder blade on left side.
• Weird rippling sensation of pressure/dull squishing aches that rippled down my arms to the point that they made my wrists ripple.
• Burning/shooting pain near clavicle going down to under armpit, more so on left and right, as well as more pain in the neck.
• Unable to get up from seated/lying down position without having knees tremble and limp. Walking over the next few days worried me as I was afraid I would just drop because my knees felt like jelly. This has since subsided and I'm feeling fine and overall walking normally again.
• I had an appointment with another doctor (unrelated reason) where I also mentioned the jelly knees and the spasm/fasciculation situation from March and she said that could a be neuromuscular disorder.

**May 2024*\*
*May 1^st, 2024*
-These sensations persist so I go to ER. Doctor did cervical spine X-Ray (showed nothing), as well as an ultrasound of my lungs, liver, spleen, and heart (all clear), as well as regular blood tests to check the basics, CBCs, clotting (all good in terms of bloodwork). All the doctor ended up telling me is that everything looks fine and hopefully this goes away on its own but if it continues for another 4-6 months it might be a neuromuscular disorder. He recommended I follow up with a family doctor.
*May 5^th, 2024*
My primary care doctor says I’m stressing for nothing, and sends me home within 5 minutes.
-I get an emergency same-day appointment at another clinic where the doctor prescribed me naproxen and told me that my trap muscles were just tight, and I needed a massage. Tells me I do not need any CT scans, MRIs, or follow-ups with a neurologist.
*May 5^th, 2024-Present*
-Symptoms have subsided however the deep shooting elbow pain persists sometimes, as does the squeezing/ rippling in both my arms. Left side aches/ burns from the cervical spine down, sometimes causing headaches and I feel it in my jaw and my ear, but also between my back. My shoulder still shakes and now my hand just trembles on its own sometimes depending on what I’m doing. I no longer have continuous intense full-body tremors nor excessive pins and needles and burning in my shoulder blades but I still have exacerbated weakness in my arm and hand and I think now on the right side too. Furthermore, I noticed that I only get weird sensations (like muscle spasms? fasciculations? I don't know) on my back depending on how soft the surface I
-Sometimes I get buzzing/ fluttering around/behind my knees, in the creases where each thigh meets the pelvis (like at the front, not between legs), on my butt, and occasionally, on my sternum.
Note:
-So far, I have not lost any strength since January, I carry/hold stuff without issue though not anything too heavy on either arm because I feel a painful burn shoot from my neck down my shoulders and my left shoulder is killing me (like burning). I do not know what atrophy feels or looks like (but I think my left arm/wrist area) is weaker than my right given how my left wrist shakes, also bending my left wrist causes weird pain that happens around my arm).
-My left arm/side is my dominant side.
-I also have another appointment with a different doctor tomorrow at a private clinic because my doctor said I’m stressing for nothing. Although I am getting another doctor tomorrow, I was wondering if this is ALS or some neurodegenerative situation or if could it be the result of an injury? What steps do I take?
Thank you so much and apologies for the lengthy post. Have a great Sunday!

Day of Surgery - Post-Op: Drove home from surgery and took a nap. Numbness started to wear off in a number of hours (by the time I woke up) the same day - pain around 4/10. Had to start taking Tylenol. Overall, everything else fine.
Day 1: Went back to work. With remote work, didn't experience any issues putting on a shirt and getting on zoom meetings. Went to Walgreens to pick up antibacterial and extra strength ibuprofen prescriptions. No pain or real discomfort, took Tylenol throughout the day preemptively.
Day 2: Random little muscle spasms in my right chest/armpit where the vest sits. Happened throughout the day, but easy enough to ignore. Again, with Tylenol, no other real complications or discomfort throughout the day. I can also smell / taste something when I press on my chest (the fluid they injected maybe...?)
Day 3: Didn't take any Tylenol. Muscle spasms in the full chest now, I can feel a pulsating twitch in my right chest throug the day. I started getting a little worried. Started lightly massaging (rubbing) chest with open palm. At night, had a kinda scary feeling of water rushing through my chest. It started on the right side and worked it's way down and over to the left. Decided if I woke up and still felt like things were happening, I'd call the Dr.
Day 4: Discomfort and little irritation (wouldn't necessarily say pain) right under areolasthat came and went throughout the day, but not really muscle spasms or that water feeling anymore. I decided it was probably that the numbing was actually fully wore off and I could now feel the fluid they injected.
Day 5: Dr. Office called me to check up. After explaining the muscle spasms and water feeling, they said the spasms were normal and that the areola itching / irritation and water feelings were both likely due to nerves healing.
Day 6: Finally took my dog for a walk around the park and flung a ball around. She pulls a bit, so had the leash around my back, looped around my arm to lessen any pressure put on my chest. This worked fine enough and I didn't have any issues at all. Was a little hard to avoid drinking with my friends - tomorrow is actually Cinco De Mayo so I'm planning to maybe just not go out if I can avoid it.

I have not been diagnosed, but my experience seems to be similar to most people here and I am hoping to get another checkup soon. Obviously Reddit isn't really the place for medical advice, but if you have any info to help my anxiety about the situation before I get checked, please send it my way.
It started mostly with a dull ache and pressure above my sternum and below the clavicle, as well as shortness of breath and seemingly restricted breathing and inability to expand my chest when breathing, and when I try really hard to, it is uncomfortable and weirdly tickles/itches and makes me feel the need to clear my throat or cough. Some days I can hardly tell anything is off, but others there is pain in the chest, upper back, left ribs, as well as a bloating sensation near where I would expect my diaphragm to be on the left with mild pain that worsens with pressure. I also occasionally get armpit discomfort and pins and needles down my arm, sometimes all the way down to my hand.
One of the more common symptoms when the symptoms flare up is muscle spasms of the left chest wall between the top left and second to top ribs, I can even feel the muscle spasming with my right hand if I put light pressure in that spot and breathe out deeply in some postural positions. I also occasionally get similar spasms in my diaphragm muscles on both sides under my ribs, but these don't seem to be directly correlated with an exhale. I sometimes get spasms in the muscles on both sides of my neck as well near my corotated artery that feel very similar to the chest spasms, which lead me to thing I was having heart palpitations or something of the sort, but I have managed to feel my pulse while my neck was spasming confirming it wasn't a cardiovascular issue. I also get minor twitches in facial muscles, mainly near my temple, my left eyebrow, and the right side of the bridge of my nose. I also seem to get hiccups and diaphragm contractions that feel like a cross between a prolonged hiccup and a yawn, especially after eating.
I think a good chunk of the issue also comes from neck posture, because one of my favorite video games to play is a mobile game where the controls are tilt, and since it is way easier to tilt my head down than to hold my phone out in front of my face for long periods of time, I end up resorting to that most of the time even though I know it is HORRIBLE posture. I also catch myself stretching my neck out forward while at my computer which definitely doesn't help.
I haven't really found any solutions and I am scared of doing stretches and breathing exercises in fear of doing the wrong ones and making it worse, but I am hoping my visit to the doctor will help. all these symptom are accompanied by muscle tightness in places such as the back of my neck, my core, my traps, and sometimes my lower chest (My upper chest seems very underdeveloped comparatively to the lower if that provides additional insight). I even went to the ER once for these symptoms thinking I was having heart or lung problems and was scared it might be a heart attack, but after a chest scan and vitals they said my lungs and cardiovascular system seemed to be normal, though occasionally my breathing would get so sparse that their monitor started beeping at me, and my breath rate went as low as 6 bpm but averaged 10-12. They said it was likely acid reflux and panic attacks though the symptoms persist even when I am not very anxious if at all. I haven't noticed much improvement if any from taking the antacid (omeprazole) and after reading peoples stories with this and how posture is closely related I am fairly confident this is what I am suffering from. If anybody has tips, tricks, or anything of the sort it'd be much appreciated.
Is there a particular type of specialist I should see for this checkup, or should I just go to my general care physician?

Please bear with me, this has been a very long process- I appreciate any input. Keep in mind that we believe I am dealing with 2 separate issues. I am a 36 year old female. Great health overall, no major issues. I am 5'9 130lbs, was very active before all of this- worked out 3-4 days a week, lots of paddleboarding, hiking, etc.
19 months ago I was rear-ended while sitting at a stoplight. At the time of impact I had my neck cocked back taking a drink of coffee, with my body slightly twisted to the right toward the cupholder. Within about 15 min my neck started tightening up. Some minor neck aches and shoulder aches over the next couple of weeks. Next came mid back pain near my spine around T4-T6, both sides.
I began physical therapy 2 weeks after the accident and continued for 2.5 months, as well as seeing the chiropractor in their office who also did some microneedling. The PT would always comment that my traps felt like rocks, and my range of motion was affected. I actually felt like the chiro was making things worse so i stopped seeing him. The pain in my upper mid back would not go away, so I was referred for massage. The massage therapist would akso do cupping all over my shoulders and back. He would always comment on how tight my scalenes and traps were. That is when things got serious- after each massage I had extreme pain- like would lay on the couch for 2 days debating going to the ER. I would take muscle relaxers and ibuprofen with no relief. Eventually the massage therapist said he felt like he was making things worse and told me I needed to move on to the next step.
At that point my PCP (Who is a DO) finally agreed to do an MRI. He ordered a C Spine MRI- i told him all of my severe pain was in my mid and upper back, shoulders and asked him to please order a T spine MRI- he would not- "your tspine pain is paraspinal so an MRI is not warranted." Cspine MRI came back normal other than mild straightening. Every time I would bring up the pain my doctor would respond with 'this is muscular in nature, continue PT, chiro, acupuncture, traction therapy, massage.'
After that I tried just doing daily light workouts at home (before the accident I was in great shape and had been working out 3-4 days a week, super active). Whenever I tried doing any upper body workouts (back, shoulders, chest) I would pay for it for a few days. I also had a PT friend of mine send me over some different stretches to do at home. At this time I decided I would continue down his list and scheduled traction therapy. I had one visit that caused sharp shooting pain down the left side of my neck and therefore didnt go back. At this point I was having daily severe pain in the base of my neck, left and right shoulder, around my scapulas, and it is starting to wrap around my ribs on both sides- the pain is always worse on the left side. It feels like my back has been lit on fire. A couple of friends highly recommended a chiro that really helped them, so I scheduled an appt with him. He told me my left shoulder was much higher than my right shoulder, likely due to the position i was in at impact- he recommended a consult with an upper cervical specialist and said he would not adjust me at all until I got imaging of my TSpine. He ordered an Xray that showed mild facet changes T10-T12, likely degenerative. Considered normal. I called the upper cervical specialist he recommended but they charge an up front fee of $4500 to be treated. Yeah, not happening.
Next was acupuncture. After 10 visits I had little to no results. Each visit she would ask me if i felt better and I would cry and say no. Even her little scans she did beforehand did not improve after 10 visits. I had a roadtrip planned and wasnt sure I could physically do it- she sent me with one of their high end TENS units to take on the trip with me. I would place it at T1 and the base of my lower back. It helped quite a bit and made it so I could actually tolerate sitting in the car. I literally wore the thing for 7 days straight other than when showering or swimming. It definitely took the edge off. After this I searched around and found a different upper cervical specialist that charged like a normal office per visit. She did her specialty xrays and determined that my cspine 'was like the leaning tower of Piza'- it was leaning to the right almost 7 degrees, which according to her is just unheard of. She said normally the worst people she sees are at about 3 degrees and that the only possible way it can be nearly 7 degrees is with trauma. Likely the muscles and ligament on the left were extremely stretched on the left and can't hold my head straight anymore. Her treatments are sort of voodoo-ish however I can say that there is something to it. She does scans each visit that show the temp changes in your muscles on each side of your neck. Most times I dont tell her my pain level until after she does the scans- when my pain is worse the scans look terrible, when my pain is less the scans look much better. By this time I am realizing the more I move my neck, especially side to side, the more pain I get at the base of my neck and top of my shoulders, as well as my upper back. The more I move my back, ie bending, twisting, lifting, pushing, pulling the more pain I get mid back and wrapping around my ribs and now into my chest/abs. At this point I have now been in daily severe pain for 10 months with very little relief, only when i use a tens unit or dont move much. Some days i would lay in bed all day just to avoid moving and being in pain. I quit taking out the trash because it would cause me more pain. I quit going grocery shopping because pushing a cart caused me more pain. I started driving as little as possible because turning my back and body to watch traffic and put my seatbelt on caused the most pain. I could only do basic cleaning because reaching and scrubbing and vacuuming caused more pain. Folding laundry caused more pain, bending and twisting to put clothes away. Even bending to take the clothes out of the washer to put into the dryer causes more pain. I literally feel like i am disabled. I stopped doing everything and my husband picked up the slack- he even cooks most nights now because it is too much bending, twisting, standing in one spot so when i do cook i pay for it the rest of the night.
At this point the pain around my ribs is getting more and more severe and it becomes painful to even breathe. The upper cervical specialist recommended I see my pcp about possible costochondritis. I scheduled with a new doctor since my DO was too conservative and wasnt taking me seriously. I told the new doc everything and asked him about costo- he said you absolutely do not have costo- and he ordered a followup c spine mri and finally a tspine mri, as well as referred me to pain management. The cspine mri showed the same straightening of the lordosis due to muscle spasm. The tspine mri showed 'minimal disc bulge T7/T8 without significant canal or foraminal stenosis, mild thoracic dextroscoliosis, no ligamentous injury, no stenosis throughout thoracic spine.' I went to my first pain management appt- he said my mri's look great, i think this is muscular-try PT again. He said he knew an amazing PT and he was positive she would be able to help me. He gave me a different muscle relaxer to try. My first PT appt she did all kinds of motion tests to see what movements made pain worse. She was essentially doing all of the things I had been desperately trying to avoid the last few months. The next day I thought I was going to die. My entire back, shoulders, chest, neck, armpits everything was on fire. My left forearm and pinky and ring finger were numb and tingling, My face was tingling, my ribs felt like they were on fire and being pulled apart at the same time, my ears were ringing, it hurt to breathe. At my next visit with her i explained everything and she said my nerves were shot and started focusing on nerve glides. When she would move my left leg up and down I would get more sharp pain around my left scapula- she said 'you dont have a muscle that goes from your leg to your scapula- this is obviously nerve related'. I couldnt tolerate upper body nerve glides at all. She also tried a tens unit but rather than putting on my tspine like i normally do she put it all around my left scapula- she put the pads on my skin and I said ok that's high enough--- she hadn't even turned it on yet! My back was to her so i couldnt see when she was turning it on but i knew the second she did- i screamed and pulled the pads off as fast as i could. She said i clearly had nerve issues going on and that i needed to go back to pain management to see if they could some sort of injections to calm things down because she didnt think she'd be able to get any progress without it. She believes I have thoracic outlet syndrome caused by damage to my scalenes (my pec also now has a big knot on it) and she also believes my minor bulging disc is causing symptoms. 6 weeks later was my next pain management (he always does 6 weeks between appts)- i told him everything. I told him about how she would lift my leg up and i would get sharp pain at the bottom of my scapula- he said oh yeah, that's because the muscles are so tight.' I said she really thinks i need to get an injection at c7/T1 because that's where the nerve is that causes the pinky/ring finger numbess, and she feels like that area is stuck, it has no movement. When I said she also believes my little disc bulge is causing symptoms he totally blew me off- he said 'highly unlikely' and just moved on. He did say lets order an EMG on your arms, "but i dont think it's going to show anything. He said injections are not necessary- and gave me a stronger muscle relaxer (my 5th one) and meloxicam. I broke down at this point and said I don't know what else to do, I cant deal with being in pain anymore. I have gone to all kinds of appts multiple times a week for 18 months, I've never missed an appt, I cant do anything I enjoy, I am afraid to move wrong, I have no life- my life revolves around appts and desperately trying to relieve my pain. He said why don't we try cymbalta, it helps with diabetic nerve pain (i thought I didn't have nerve pain 🙄) and he wants me to get a second opinion from another dr in his practice. Around this time I am noticing that every day my feet are falling asleep and sometimes my whole left leg falls asleep. It is always when I am sitting down. Sometimes they wake up quickly when I stand up, sometimes my leg is asleep for entire days. The PT that the pain management dr so highly regarded is extremely frustrated that he is not listening to her- she sent very detailed notes in and at the appts I asked him if he had read them and he said no. Then he skimmed through the things she has been working on- he said 'nerve glides, stretching, etc, etc- this is great! You guys are doing great! Keep doing what you're doing!' He failed to continue reading to the part that said THESE THINGS ARE NOT HELPING AND ARE MAKING SYMPTOMS WORSE!' And he never even read her recommendations. I should also mention that not once did this guy ever touch me, examine me, ask me questions, nothing. He read the mri reports which 'looked great' and immediately determined my issue was muscular. I scheduled the appt with his partner for a second opinion. He was better- he did all kinds of reflex tests, i told him exactly where the pain radiates around my rib cage to my chest in the middle of my back and told him the physical therapist is adament that my minor disc bulge is causing symptoms because it is in the exact same area- he just said 'that is highly unlikely'. He did seem to listen about the thoracic outlet syndrome but never actually acknowledged it. My left leg and foot reflexes were hyperactive so he recommended that we add my left leg to the emg test. He told me "you know moving more isn't going to cause any issues"- i said i physically cant- i can assure you I have tried over and over and over. He said well you're not going to make things worse or injure yourself, ypu need to move more and make sure you're active. I saod I physically CAN'T! I said you're not understanding- i'm not dealing with some minor muscle aches when I do too much, my back literally feels like it is on fire and i cant move! Every day! I CAN'T be more active. He kept commenting on how good everything looked how great my range of motion is even in my shoulders! That I just need to be more active. At this point I was sobbing. He said well your numbness is probably coming from your elbow so lets do the emg and see what's going on. My husband said so would that because causing the pain in her back, because the pain IS IN HER BACK! he said sure, it will be able to check the nerves coming from her neck too, so we'll see.
Ugh. EMG scheduled May 9. I am feeling hopeless. I strongly believe that my bulging disc is causing severe symptoms with certain movements. I also believe I have thoracic outlet on top of it, but I think that treating the bulging disc would allow my muscles to stop spasming so that my shoulders and neck can relax and then we can try Graston on my shoulders and neck to try to break up scar tissue. I am hesitant to even get the EMG with the pain mamagement doc because i dont feel like he is listening to me and I'm afraid he'll correlate my results with whatever muscular issue he is thinking is going on. I am done with him. I feel like I need someone a little younger and less set in their ways, and who will also look at symptoms rather than just mri results.
Anyway- to sum things up-
What we believe is happening: thoracic outlet syndrome + symptomatic minor bulging disc T7/T8.
Symptoms: Upper back pain Mid back pain Rib pain/burning that wraps around sides to chest- i can literally follow the rib around Ab pain sometimes when it is the worst Burning and pain at side of scapula near spine Deep ache at spine mid back on both sides Tight pec that exacerbates pain when i press it Tight scalene on left that exacerbates pain when i press it (which is why I think the massage cause extreme pain) Numbness and tingling both feet Numbness and tingling left leg Sciatica symptoms a couple of times in left leg- knot in butt cheek and shooting pain down leg Muscles pulling at base of skull Traps always spasmed and aching at shoulders and back of neck
Things that help: Tens unit on tspine Diclofenac on scalenes, pec, and under armpit Lidocaine patches Prednisone helped some but as soon as I started tapering down the pain came back.
Things that make pain worse: Bending Lifting Twisting (especially) Lifting my left arm Reaching Turning my neck side to side Bending my neck backward Driving (especially) Sitting down Pushing Pulling Cleaning Upper body massage Basically any exertion I recently tried to do a dead hang because I read that it can relieve some of the pressure on the disc. My left arm gave out.
At this point I hope the EMG shows something, anything to work with. I keep reading that it only shows something if you have severe nerve damage and so it is often inconclusive.
I am open to any suggestions and input- i am willing to try anything. I can't live like this 😔

In need of opinions for a relatives sickness Started out as Pluerisy they thought at the emergency room from X-rays. Ibuprofen taken for a couple days then back pain kicked real bad. Spent a week off work on the couch. Week or so later they ran another test at the emergency room and said it was Pnemonia which she have had for a whole month now. Back spasms continuing and shortness of breath. Eventually wound up going to the hospital and they admitted her for 2 days. Ran all sorts of tests. Normal levels for almost all. X ray showed a lump in the esophagus and they did an endoscopy. It was clear. Turned out to be enlarged lympnode. Also had enlarged ones in neck and under armpit. Discharged and met with a hematologist the next week. Could feel the lymphnodes under arms and one side of neck. Ordered a biopsy of one under the arm. Just stuck a needle in this time. Came back clear. Month came and went and she still was short of breath and back continued to hurt. He suggested seeing a rheumatologist but first removing one of the lymph nodes to make sure it’s not cancer. This was confirmed no cancer after a lymphnode biopsy and one more blood test confirmed the sed rate was normal. Met with rheumatologist that put her on hydroxycloriquine or plaqueno in case of lupus because of a double dna test. Been on that for 3 months and made little improvement. Back spasms are still ongoing and going to PT 2 times a week. A couple weeks into the medicine she got shingles which probably is because the immune system was affected by the medicine. She’s 30 and this has all happened since late August 2023. Back spasms continue. Can’t take real deep breaths at all. Joints will ache and when her hands are cold the fingers turn white and sometimes purple. She has a 2 year old and teaches 1st grade and she can barely be a mom and a teacher. She doesn’t know what to do. Sorry for the book

Red Keep
Music
It was his birthday and he awoke as he had all this week. Feeling hale and fine. He had a huge breakfast, and the serving girl, again as he had this week. Before he cleaned and dressed.
He was greeted by Rudd Morrigen at the door of his chambers and passed the flowering guardsman a smile, which almost had him smile as well. “Come along Rudd.” Aemon said cheerfully as he walked down the hall to the Royal offices and his solar. “It’s a fine day.”
Rudd nodded “It is your Grace.” The knight intoned from behind the dragon. “Happy Birthday.” He added before Aemon looked over his shoulder and laughed.
“So it is.” And he went inside, with the Knight minding the door.
Inside the King settled at his desk, and took parchment and ink. He pushed away old papers and reports. He would get to those later. Instead he set to writing
The Last Wishes and Commands of King Aemon Targaryen, Second of his Name.
And there begin to scribble, his funerary wishes, and certain things he wished passed out and sent from his personal objects to various people. He had even gotten to such
As we look to who shall run the Kingdom, please note, it is my wish that ..
And then he stopped his hand smudging at the letter making it hard to tell if it was a B or an R. And Aemon stared for a moment
“This is too macabre for today.” And there he folded up the letter and got out, opening the door he bumped into Morrigen again. And handed him the paper in his hand “Take care of this, and fetch Daeron, I told him, I would garden with him today.”
The knight seemed confused as he looked at the letter, and then slid it under his breastplate, forgetting it momentarily as he walked to get the grandson And the King made through his own passages to the gardens below.
They had been in the gardens for several hours. It was getting close midday, and the wind had died down. It was getting warmer, and Aemon sat down, allowing Daeron to roam through his thick stalks of vegetables, and fruit trees. At the table, chilled wine was sitting, and Daeron had a water skein, and was tasked to go around the plants and give them water.
Daeron was sinning a song about a bear and a maiden, but Aemon was having trouble hearing. He felt light headed, and his sweat felt cool. Coughing, his throat felt thick, before he reached over and there he took up his cup and drank. Clearing it down, before he drained more. He felt a paint in his left armpit.
He motioned as Daeron looked at him, to some other plants. “Over hackcough over there.” The pain passed, and he coughed more. He glanced to see where Rudd Morrigen was, and the knight was still in his watchful place.
Aemon motioned at Daeron, “Come here boy,” he said softly before a coughing fit came and wine was applied to keep it at bay. The pain came and left. “Have some water, Daeron..” the King said.
“Okay Gwanpaw..” the r’s not being solidified in the young boy’s vocabulary. And while the young boy drank, Aemon drew a knife and took up an apple from the table, and cut a slice. Carefully the old man’s fingers worked at the peel on the back until he had carved a crude set of teeth
“My boy, turn around, turn around..” he said excitedly before he placed the apple teeth in his mouth and then he grabbed Daeron’s shoulders, causing the boy to turn around.
“Aweoooo.” Said the king while pulling a goofily scary face, which prompted a scream from the toddler and had the King scrambling to comfort the boy, taking the apple out:
“No, no no..” he said quickly as he got down to one knee. “It’s just grandpa.. just me, see Daeron?” And slowly the child calmed and started laughing. Aemon wiped the sweat from his brow and his cheeks, as he got up.
“Chase me gwanpa..” Daeron said before he went running into the bushes and flowers. With a lurch Aemon followed placing the fake teeth back in his mouth making fake monster noises. Which brought more squeals from the young boy who he chased around.
“I love you gwanpa!” came Daeron’s shrill voice amidst the cries and the giggles.
Aemon felt his legs feeling heavy and his arms became like bricks. He started coughing again, and felt a spasm of pain in his chest, he reached onto a young grape vine from the reach, and he tried to brace himself.
He spat his apple out.
He coughed again, and felt his throat close off, as his violet eyes rolled back, he moved forward and leaned into a tree, before he fell, his hands groping blindly pulling down several bushes and plants down with him.
He struggled and sat back up briefly, his eyes feeling cloudy, and his body not cooperating the king shakily used his strength and a nearby trough to get himself up.
“Daeron,” he gasped out between a cough. *The boy doesn’t need to see this. “I love you.” He eased out, as he leaned into his arm and that blinding pain sucked the wind from him.
“Run along boy..” he sputtered as he tried a few more steps, but it couldn’t work, and there for a moment he thought he saw a man in grey, or maybe it was Aegon, or Rhaella. Or maybe it was one of his babes- or Alyssa
“Remember, that I love you.”
It was meant for all of them, Daeron, little Aemon, for Baelor and Aegon, for his sweet children lost in the sickness, for Rhaella, For Alyssa for Rhaegar
For the realm.
And the figure was there at his side.
Hello, dear friend. Come for me? he said in his mind
But there was no man, just the awkward jerks as his heart simply stopped and the rest of the body hit the wall as well. He stood, his grip releasing the trough he was using for support, allowing his mass to fall back and crash into the roses he loved and cared for as much as his family, smashing the plants.
Before his back hit the turf and his head rolled to the side, he eased out breathe once, a slight smile there.
Daeron turned back and looked at him. His small voice asking for his grandpa before he turned and made for Rudd Morrigen
Aemon Targaryen, Second of his name, was dead.
Long Live the King.

I'm a 19F who has been having weird symptoms for the last week. It first started off with left arm pain and discomfort in the left chest area. Then it got progressively better, with the pain in the chest subsiding but my left arm still hurt when I turned it. Now it has become more worse and I feel pins and needles on both of my feet toes and my left and right hand fingers and my fingers and toes are very cold. There is pain in my left arm elbow and pain has started in both of my thighs. Last night, I had seizure-like almost symptoms where my whole body sort of jolting, but then once I drank warm milk, the jolting went away. Now the left side of my head and face hurts and my left shoulder hurts as well. Also, sometimes at night my chest would have like a spasm and then my heart rate would be really fast.
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In summary, I have left arm pain, my fingers and toes get pins and needles sensation and are very cold. The left side of my face and head hurts and my left ear does as well. And when I breathe in, the very left side of my chest, like almost under my armpit hurts. Very afraid, need help. I have no family history of stroke or heart disease, and I don't use drugs/alcohol/smoke. I am not on any medications, but I do have autoimmune issues and I am overweight, but not obese. I cannot get medical assistance right away due to financial issues. Please help.
Also, as a side note, I have been sleeping a lot less (5-6 hours a day) before these issues started and was fasting right before these issues started.

Is it possible for an external force to ignite kundalini awaking? I was having encounters with shadow beings who would ‘shoot’ energy into me. It varied in its approach, up my butt! Which would travel through my digestive system and into these spots, or directly into my left temporal or a spot under my left armpit.
These spots would get tension, I stretched them out and would feel a great release of tension from those spots. When I meditate/stretch these spots out I will hear an externally clicking and popping sound and sense and entity upset I am doing this.
I will spontaneously have muscle spasms and want to shake my left left when releasing it, or it will travel out my arms and give a painful pressure in my forearm.
So not sure what’s going on, I was able to get most of these pockets of energy and tension out. I was scared of the entity and it did seem negative but now I just ignore it but it absolutely makes itself known while I am stretching or meditating.

For the past 7 months or so I’ve been going through a pretty intense experience with lots of questions.
I had been doing drugs and drinking a lot when it started fall 2023. Entity’s were popping up and seemingly trickster esque at first but then full on demonic toward the end. I have lots posted about it while it was happening I won’t repeat all of it.
Today I’m sober, as I would get attacked when I was on drugs and drinking, once I stopped substances I’m today where they can hardly bother me physically and mentally.
During the ‘attacks’ a large part of what these entities would do to me was ‘shoot’ energy into me, only way I can describe it. Sometimes things would fly up my butt, lol I’m dead serious, or would enter through my feet a lot, and some other seemingly random spots on my body, for instances a common spot was under my left armpit. But it’s besides the point for this post, this energy would pool in certain areas in my body.
So I’m sober with all this muscle tension, I would have hardcore muscle spasms and shivers stretching this shit out of my body.
TLDR; What is going on in my body when negative entities ‘place’ energy into my body and why does it cause muscle spasms and intense shivers?

I am very thirsty for knowledge, and always seeking more. During my experience these are some of observations.
Physical Effects: Energy being ‘shot’ into me with main target areas just under left armpit toward back and left temporal, energy being ‘shot’ up my butt that I feel travel up through my digestive system, electrical shocks in feet, increasing body temperature, MUSCLE SPASMS (very broad and complex including violent), tickling or suddenly very itchy spots all over body, cold all over body or back of neck (not breezes but stuck to you, sudden extreme cold over entire body, feeling the entity lay onto me.
The muscle tension is most common. Last night for example I can feel a ‘tickle’ area in my head that I proceed to stretch. The more you stretch that spot the more it is painful until it finally ‘snaps’ then the energy leaves different ways, yesterday it presented as heaviness in my arms as it left my fingers and also a sudden shock in my big toe that also made my leg spasm. It feels amazing when you get these pockets out, your body will just suddenly relax.
Sensory Observations: Flashes of light, clicking noise (the most common) similar to the sound an oven makes while pre heating, shadow beings, light orbs, blurry moving entities almost like a heatwave on the road ahead.
Also the typical physiological effects nightmares, depression, blah blah we all know these
So any insight? Anyone going through this!?

Hey y’all,
I need a bit of help understanding my cervical spine MRI and where to from here.
SYMPTOMS

• Long Covid patient of 2.5 years
• First and only infection Dec 2021, short periods of relative recovery lasting only 2-3 months max before next crash. Crashes are recurring and not reducing in severity.
• Radiculopathy - Predominantly left side numbness and tingles but also on the right, entire body, including left side of face, brain. Most intense at base of skull. Severe and worsens to lack of consciousness.
• Muscle twitches and spasms
• Dryness in throat on left side
• Coat hanger pain
• Nerve pain, base of skull, neck and thoracic spine and groin
• Eye twitches, pain, aches, with vision disturbances (blurry, fuzzy and sometimes flashes)
• Dropped left shoulder
• Sore armpits and inside of elbow
• Tissue loss and atrophy, predominantly on left side
• Dry, deep cough
• Very difficult to cough up phlegm but the cough is productive
• Severe loss of cognitive capacity, difficulty with conversations, cannot read or write, cannot think well.
• PEM, exercise intolerance.
• Struggles to stand for more than a few minutes
• Fainting in shower, loss of consciousness in bed when extreme
• Weak neck and difficulty holding head up
• Bobble head when symptoms are extreme
• Most recent crash was caused by chin tucks, physio/spinal decompression exercises and reading
• Body not coping with infection - inflamed gum with unknown growth on left side, recurring yeast infection and herpes infection.
• Underlying hereditary blood condition, Von Willebrand Disease. Normally very mild.
• Also definitely hypermobile, several physios have told me this.

MRI CERVICAL SPINE

• CONCLUSION: Mild changes at the C5/6 level with very mild left foraminal narrowing only.
• Clinical: Has long COVID symptoms with numbness.
• Findings: The vertebral body heights appear maintained. The cord demonstrates normal signal. The craniocervical junction appears normal. There is no suspicious paravertebral abnormality.
• At the C2/3, C3/4 and C4/5 levels there is no significant canal or foraminal narrowing.
• At the C5/6 level there is a mild circumferential disc bulge and left uncovertebral joint degenerative changes which narrows the left foramen mildly. The right foramen appears well patent.
• At the C6/7 level there is no significant canal or foraminal narrowing.
• At the C7/T1 level there is no significant canal for foraminal narrowing.

So, I received the above MRI result the other day and am a bit thrown by some of the stuff my GP said. I had suspected nerve root compression for some time, largely due to most of my symptoms beginning to concentrate in that particular area over time. The base of my skull, neck and thoracic spine are for sure problem areas. Thoracic outlet syndrome was ruled out early on, though none of my specialists have given me a clear answer as to why. I feel like I’m getting close to an answer and was hopeful that I was getting close to a treatment option. I was beginning to consider a SGB but figured it would be a challenge to find someone willing to do it. So, the other day my new GP that I travelled interstate to see (relocating home) basically told me that this result wasn’t even enough to cause symptoms and he would not be intervening in any way, including medication. While I’m very happy/grateful that this result is indeed mild and surgery will not be necessary, I’m not sure I believe that this isn’t causing my symptoms. It seems to me that I’ve just found evidence of nerve root compression and he’s just blowing it off? Like, surely that puts me in the camp of nerve root compression long haulers and I should treat it as such? He suggested physical therapy and Chiro, which of course I have tried many times before, most recently causing a debilitating crash lasting 2 months long, which led to the cervical MRI in the first place. He referred me to a physician (who was very obviously his med school buddy) and I’m undecided yet as to whether I’ll see the guy. On first instinct it just seems like a goose chase and more money out of pocket.
I suppose I’m just seeking people’s thoughts/whether ya’ll think it’s worth getting someone else to review my MRI, pushing for a SGB even though I’m confident that most doctors in Australia will consider it “overkill” with this result or attempting physical therapy again when I can haul ass out of this crash? I’m confused because it seems like I just found the answer, but then like…. no? The last physio I saw was completely unprofessional and way too rough, despite me telling him multiple times to pretend he's doing physio on a baby mouse. I do have a more professional physio in mind now that I’m back in my home state...
Anyway, thank you all in advance!
TLDR: Cervical spine MRI showed mild c5/c6 disc bulge with mild foraminal narrowing. Albeit mild, GP totally blew it off and said it’s not even enough to cause symptoms and refused treatment options, suggested Physio despite recent Physio causing a debilitating two month crash. No idea what to do next...

33 year old Female with history of Hashimotos and PCOS
Late in October 2023 was just getting over being sick and felt like my heart was racing and I couldn't breathe one time in church.
November 14,2023 I was cooking dinner and started to get dizzy once I stood up to get it when it was done. Continued to feel more and more light headed as I was scooping everyone's soup into their bowls. I thought I was just needing to eat. Once I ate about 20 minutes later I started having the symptoms below and I Felt Like I was having a heart attack and had my husband call 911. Ambulance said was not having a heart attack. Went to the hospital and they decided it was my esophagus spasming (no tests to support this done at ER) and gave me a GI cocktail and sent me on my way, symptoms went away a few hours later. I was told to take prilosec for 30 days.
Symptoms I was having: Starts with feeling dizzy a couple times eventually will feel like I am going to pass out Then hands and feet start getting cold Then legs start feeling like they need to stiffen and tighten Then an anxiety kind of feeling happens and legs start shaking quickly and can’t control them Then feels like heart is racing and skipping a beat or having a really big beat in my chest Start feeling nauseous and hot all over Dull pain happened in center of chest and little under left breast Then feel like I need to catch breath and have a ache in side of neck If I stand up it gets way worse. So I try to stay as still as possible and not move. Starts to get better Each cycle lasts for 10-15 min with a break about 5-20 min between This continues in cycles first getting worse then not lasting as long with more time between them for several hours.
I was told the EKG Was normal and Chest x-ray was clear.
Abnormal Bloodwork shows (all other labs in normal range): Chloride Lvl 108 H 98-107 (mmol/L) Glucose Lvl 111 H 60-100 (mg/dL) WBC 15.0 H 4.3-10.2 (x10(3)/mcL) RBC 5.07 H 4.10-4.70 (x10(6)/mcL) MCH 26.6 L 28.3-31.1 (pg) Platelet 473 H 150-450 (x10(3)/mcL) % Neutro 82 H 43-81 (%)

Neutro 12.3 H 1.8-7.0 (x10(3)/mcL)

Basophil 0.1 H 0.0-0.0 (x10(3)/mcL)

TSH 9.545 H .550-4.780 (uIU/mL)
Urinalysis showed abnormal (was on period): UA Blood 3+ ABN Negative UA Leuk Est 75 ABN Negative (leu/uL) UA RBC for UMIC 10 H <=2 (/HPF UA WBC for UMIC 8 H <=2 (/HPF) UA Epith 31 H <=6 (/HPF)
Next day I was exhausted and sore everywhere but seemed to recover quickly.
I saw my doctor on November 17, 2023 and she ordered bloodwork, a barium upper GI series, a thyroid ultrasound, and referrals to cardiology and Gastrointestinal medicine doctors.
Towards the beginning of December 2023 I was beginning to get tired more easily and parts of my muscles and joints would hurt frequently. I also noticed the following symptoms happening regularly.
Exhausted like everything takes a lot more effort Dizzy Shortness of breath Hands feel tingling Arms feel heavy Nausea Legs cramping aches in small places along muscles Backs of arms achy Side of neck hurt Slight chest discomfort Headaches
I went from walking 3 miles multiple times a week to barely being able to walk around the block or get ready for the day without feeling exhausted. Even walking up the stairs in our house started to make me feel out of breath and like my heart would race.
On December 11, 2023 I had another episode like the one that sent me to the hospital and it lasted around 4 hours.
I again was exhausted and sore the next day but this time never recovered or felt like I went back to normal for more than a day without having the above symptoms even more often and almost daily.
December 14, 2023 I finished my 30 days of prilosec.
On December 23rd around 2 in the afternoon I started having an episode again. This time the episode would go away after about 5 hours give me about 2 hours rest and them come back again. This continued on December 24th until around 1pm I had someone take me to the ER. Again Chest xray and EKG were normal although the EKG took them multiple tries to get a clear reading at witch point I was not having the heart racing or skipping a beat feeling any longer. They decided that it was anxiety and the fact that I hadn't eaten that day giving me the symptoms and disregarded it when I told them that the symptoms all started the day before. They sent me home telling me all my labs and everything showed I did not have anything wrong. Despite the anxiety pill having no effect on my symptoms.
When I review the Chest x-ray report it does say: Pulmonary vascular congestion where the previous makes no mention of it.
Abnormal labs (the rest were all in normal range: WBC 11.7 H 4.3-10.2 (x10(3)/mcL) RBC 5.72 H 4.10-4.70 (x10(6)/mcL) HCT 45 H 37-43 (%) MCH 26.3 L 28.3-31.1 (pg) MCV 79 L 80-99 (fL) Platelet 515 H 150-450 (x10(3)/mcL) Glucose Lvl 121 H 60-100 (mg/dL) Creatinine Lvl 1.03 H 0.55-1.02 (mg/dL) Total Protein 8.6 H 5.7-8.2 (g/dL) Albumin Lvl 5.1 H 3.2-4.8 (g/dL)

Neutro 9.2 H 1.8-7.0 (x10(3)/mcL)

Basophil 0.1 H 0.0-0.0 (x10(3)/mcL)

The episode finally ended around 2am on December 24th. On December 25th I was still very much out of it and spent most of my day laying down and dizzy and sore. I have very little memory of things that happened on December 23rd-26th. Most of those few days my family says I was very out of it.
On December 28th I got bloodwork done in preparation for my followup appointment.
Abnormal Labs (all rest were normal): RED BLOOD CELL COUNT 5.22 H 3.80-5.10 (Million/uL) MCV 78.2 L 80.0-100.0 (fL) MCH 26.1 L 27.0-33.0 (pg) PLATELET COUNT 470 H 140-400 (Thousand/uL) GLUCOSE 104 H 65-99 (mg/dL) SED RATE BY MODIFIED WESTERGREN 36 H < OR = 20 (mm/h) C-REACTIVE PROTEIN 14.1 H <8.0 (mg/L) HDL CHOLESTEROL 37 L > OR = 50 (mg/dL)
On January 6th I had another episode lasting from around 2pm until around 11pm.
On January 9th I had an appointment with the cardiologist and he ordered a heart ultrasound and 5 days wearing the Holter monitor. He was concerned my heart rate was higher than it should be.
On January 16th I had another episode from 4pm - 1 am
I have continued to have symptoms almost daily and have not seen improvement in running out of breath easily either.
On January 24th I saw my primary for a follow up appointment and a physical including pap smear. My heart rate was high there as well. After getting up from the pap smear I got so dizzy I nearly fainted. We Discussed the increased bloodwork levels and she referred me to a Hematologist and a Neurologist. I was also given a prescription cream for the rash on my armpits ( this still has not resolved itself or changed at all as of 3/4 with daily use of cream since 1/24).
On January 29th I got the barium upper GI Series done. Results were: FINDINGS: Preliminary view of the abdomen demonstrate nonspecific bowel gas pattern. The liver is slightly enlarged. The lung bases are clear.
Patient able to swallow barium without any aspiration or penetration.
The esophagus demonstrates normal course, caliber, and motility. No mucosal irregularity or obstructing mass or stricture.
There is no hiatal hernia. Severe gastroesophageal reflux (to thoracic ) was evident during this examination..
The stomach is normal in appearance. The gastric mucosal pattern, folds and contour are normal. There is no evidence of gastric mass or ulceration. Stomach empties normally.
The duodenal bulb and duodenal C-loop are normal. There is no mucosal irregularities or ulcerations or polypoid lesions.
Visualized portion of the small bowel loops are norma
IMPRESSION:

1. Severe gastroesophageal reflux. No evidence of esophagitis or strictures are ulcerations or masses
   
2. No peptic ulcer disease.
   
3. Incidentally noted the liver is slightly enlarged. The recommend sonogram of the liver. An Abdominal ultrasound was ordered.
   

On February 1st I had xrays done of my knee and shin Report was normal
On February 3rd I had another episode from around 1pm until 8pm
On February 5th I noticed the back of my knee was bruising weird despite nothing happening to cause injury.
On February 8th I had a thyroid ultrasound done. Results were: FINDINGS:
The right lobe measures 5.9 x 2.4 x 3.0 cm. The left lobe measures 5.6 x 2.4 x 2.3 cm. The isthmus measures 0.7 cm. Overall thyroid is enlarged. Thyroid parenchyma demonstrates diffusely heterogeneous echotexture and mildly increased vascularity.
NODULES:
No discrete or solid thyroid nodules.
Survey images of the neck demonstrate bilateral benign-appearing cervical lymph nodes with preserved fatty hila. The right level 2 cervical lymph node measures 2.2 x 0.5 x 1.7 cm. The left level 3 cervical lymph node measures 2.1 x 0.7 x 1.7 cm.
IMPRESSION:

1. Enlarged, diffusely heterogeneous and mildly hypervascular thyroid gland, suggestive of acute thyroiditis. This is unchanged comparison to the prior 2014 study.
2. No discrete nodules appreciated.
3. Bilateral benign-appearing cervical lymph nodes, likely postinflammatory.

On February 12th I had my abdominal ultrasound done. Results were: FINDINGS:
Liver: Diffusely increased echogenicity. No focal abnormality is seen. The liver measures 20.6 cm. The main portal vein measures 1.2 cm in diameter and demonstrates appropriate, hepatopetal flow. Middle hepatic vein is patent.
Bile Ducts: Intrahepatic and extrahepatic bile ducts are not dilated. The common bile duct measures 2.1 mm.
Gallbladder: Normal.
Pancreas: Visualized portions of the pancreas are unremarkable.
Right Kidney: The right kidney measures 11.3 cm in length. No pelvicaliceal dilatation. Normal parenchymal thickness and echogenicity.
Abdominal Aorta and Inferior Vena Cava: Visualized portions appear normal.
IMPRESSION:

1. Fatty infiltration of liver and hepatomegaly.

On February 22nd I was given a Echocardiogram and fitted with a Holter monitor for 5 days
On February 23rd I went to Hematology/oncology she said my iron was a little low and to start taking a iron pill and a probiotic to help with possible stomach issues it may cause. She also ordered more bloodwork and some tests for genetic mutations. She was concerned about my platelets being high.
On February 29, I got blood work done for hematology and the results were: Red blood cell count 5.21. H. 3.8-5.10. MCV 71.9. L. 80.0-100.0 MCH. 26.7. L. 27.0-33.0 Platelet count. 459. H. 140-400 % Saturation Iron. 12. L. 16-45 C-Reactive Protein. 16.5. H. <8.0 All other tests including mutations were normal.
March 4th I had my follow up to get the results of my holter and echo at the cardiologist. He Said the Echo was normal and that my heart rate showed nothing significant that would need medication and my average heart rate was a little high at 84bpm. My max heart rate was 152 beats per minute and Minimum was 42 beats per minute. I mentioned the incident at my PCP’s office and he ordered a tilt table test.

She scoured her eyes with steel wool then slotted old railway spikes in her ears and knocked them deep with a hammer for the terrible things she had known were too far beyond the real.
The faint call of waterfowl became fainter still because the landscape browned in fresh decay and early Autumn was upon the uneven hills of the New River Valley; each year the seasons shifted further on and the cold chill came but snow became infrequent and the olds gathered on storefront rockers to mutter about global warming and how it could be so biting cold on a planet that’s gone warm, but that was a time away yet.
There was an old house which sat in solitude, overlooking Redman Branch, a small offshoot of the New River, and it would’ve been a good old house if not for it being plotted atop a cliff of running clay—foundation cracks sprawled across the cement block foundation that’d been exposed to the elements, untreated, unpainted for the last twenty years or more and the paint from its last coat came off in white chips that fell away like bad fingernails. The forever wet clay beneath the house had since attempted to reject the structure like a rotted tooth, but there it stood, not one of its webbing wounds spaced more than an inch, but those cracks were often and all manner of insects found refuge there and pushed the cracks further in their lodging; birds too took to the gutters where pine needles overflowed; a person could examine the uneven distribution of debris along the roof’s edge where blue jays or cardinals or titmouses may have left and there were new birds too that made residence there—Carolina wrens or the winter birds like that consistent dark-eyed junco, coy, serene in its stuttered trill.
An old house it was and like others of its kind, it sat unquiet as a breathing creature resting there in its ground with sprigs of weeds caught up around its stained white latticework throat, shielding whatever trash caught there; tracing from the unmarked road to that desolate structure was hardly a path, overgrown with wheat-thick grass, flagstones placed ages ago, broken, more loam than rock. Out nearer Redman Branch where mist rose off the stream and collected in the morning dew, there sat a square patch of fenced land no bigger than the house, overgrown with milkweed and angry thistles; the forgotten vegetable garden was as sorry as the rest, a demonstration of nature conquering man again.
Clouds pushed across the sky, gray, and made the air so thick with the threat of a storm, a person couldn’t help but breathe longer. Still, it did not rain.
The house was a singular story against those clouds, against the yellowed greens of half-naked pine trees further beyond the unkempt lawn, and yet its peak forgave an attic with a porthole overlooking the gravel street from a position, inches higher than the porch’s slanted roof, which jutted from the wood paneling of the home, constructed uneven, warped, and unprofessional as any addition by a poor roustabout. Across the mouth of the house stood a cross of tautly lined neon yellow tape.
It was a stain on the incline, a dilapidated artifact, and inside was the body of a dead woman.
A white van in a cloud of blue smoke growled along the gravel street at a crawl, a biohazard sticker was planted across its rear doors, and decals ran either side of its body that read GRAYSON COUNTY CORONER’S OFFICE in thick arial black lettering against dry mud splashed white paint. The van came to a halt at the pathway with tall yard grass overhanging the gravel, reaching for the tires; the vehicle inched forward then turned in four points—as though the driver was nervous about getting it stuck—to reverse itself partially onto the path leading to the house, its back doors facing the home. Two white men removed themselves from the carriage, each looking first to the graying sky with wistful expressions then to each other.
One of the men wore a red baseball cap; the words: Make America Great Again stood across his forehead in threadwork. His face adorned a wiry beard and old acne pock scars dotted his cheeks where they were visible. He reached into the cabin to turn the van dead and removed his mouth-sliding coffee thermos which he held from the rim crane-handedly. Across the left breast of his navy-blue collared work shirt, his name was printed: Bud.
The other man, younger and shorter and skinner, stepped from the passenger seat, spat, and pulled a deck of cigarettes from his jeans pocket and lit one off a plastic Circle-K brand lighter; his thumb was brown with tobacco residue. “Bet there’s ticks n’ chiggers in this mess,” he said, then batted at the midriff-high grass, rounded the rear of the van, and stumbled over knotted places where weeds intertwined thick. His shirt was much the same as Bud’s, but the name on his was C.W.
Bud nodded and met him there at the back of the van, casting another wayward glance at the coming storm overhead. “God, I hope it ain’t gonna rain.” He took a swig from his thermos and looked at the other man. “Smoke it quick—there’s work to do.”
C.W. carelessly wafted his hand to demonstrate his care then pushed his free fingers across his buzzed head. “Should we offload the board, or?”
“Might oughta check we’ve got a clear path through the house n’ see what the damage is. It’s a hoarder. You’n see the junk piled in the windows, can’tcha?”
C.W. observed the still house then nodded and took a final long drag from the cigarette, shoots of smoke plumed from his nostrils, and he flicked the remnant unseen into the grass. He flung open a rear door of the van and reached into a netted pocket by the bulge spot of the rear right tire.
Bud looked at where C.W. had thrown the cigarette and shook his head. “Might catch fire.”
Without pulling his upper body from the van, C.W. said, “S’gonna rain anyhow.” Then the man slammed the door shut, a white cotton mask obscuring the lower half of his face; he pushed another mask out to his coworker.
The two men marched toward the home, mask strings strung over their ears and the creak of the first porch step gave them pause and Bud tested the step with his weight and then they both angled under the police tape, C.W. quickly then Bud followed with his knees each giving off a pop as he rose to full standing again.
A disconnected bench swing lay across the boards of the unpainted porch, its chains haphazardly strewn and a rusty washing machine sat there too, furthest from the entry, paneling half gone on one side from corrosion and among the rubbish were full, doughy trash bags piled tall, partly torn open to expose innards of cardboard, petrified food, stained linens. Each of the men withdrew latex gloves and donned them.
“Shew,” said C.W., “I smell it from right here.” He shook his head and reached for the front door’s hand-worn oval brass knob.
They pushed through the threshold into a blackened oblivion while shapes remained outlined in gentle light through brackish windows of the home; spiderwebs disbanded hung weakly as laxed garland from corners, and the tenuous grasp for the layout of this new land was abruptly lifted when Bud withdrew a pocket flashlight and pointed it straight up to catch the full place in a harsh white glow. The door swung gently closed behind the men and they scrunched together within the snake path that led onward; C.W. stood ahead and Bud’s breath came heavy behind his mask.
Piles of stale tomes and subscription magazines remained stacked high on either side of the entryway like skyscrapers of a miniature city, spiraled haphazardly in their columns so that stained papers folded out from the collected pages here and there and though there seemed to be a method to their organization—a tower of fishing magazines was separated from a pamphlet targeted at automotive enthusiasts and even a few supernatural tabloids remained catalogued on their own, one of which boldly celebrated the marriage of Big Foot and a gray alien with poorly photoshopped wedding photos accompanying an article discussing the pair’s deformed offspring—as Bud’s flashlight passed over them, neither of the men took more than a brief notice or said a word of them. Across the bulk of the room were more trash bags much the same as the ones the two men had left on the porch, and some were so old sitting and worn in places that holes appeared either by disintegration or infestation. Whatever furniture had once been accessible in the room they found themselves, was long buried under said bags or loose raw garbage that had, in places, dried hard as bone. To the left was a closed door, unopened in ages with a residual splash across its face of a caramel color since dried. Along the wall that sectioned the room inaccessible by that door were a series of fiddles which hung stiffly from ornate, decorative hooks pegged across a six-foot lacquered board that’d lost its shine. Worst of all, in that derelict otherworld, was the trapped aroma of cadaverine.
Bud, the older man, handed his flashlight to C.W. so that he may lead them then planted a firm hand on the younger’s shoulder for balance as they waded through the barely maneuverable trench, discarded items or once sentimental treasures carelessly fell beneath their feet and the two men sallied forth, stepped on whatever thing it was—sometimes a glass picture frame haphazardly balanced atop a stack of books and sometimes it was only an opened envelope that had gone the color of parchment. Flies and gnats, usually comfortable and undisturbed, lifted to life and buzzed among the men’s heads like plague crowns and C.W. blinked through them while Bud precariously covered his eyes with the forearm attached to the hand in which he carried his thermos.
“I see’er.” C.W. shook his head and wiped his eyes for the pungent stench had moistened them.
See the woman lying there, just through the threshold of the kitchen, face down in a circle of smeared dried filth, muumuu floral gown once a veritable collection of vibrant wildflowers now with streaks of brown blood dashed around the collar and the rest remaining in a dull purgatory from years of grime. Her once dark black skin had grayed. Her elderly calves looked as thin as children’s forearms and her calloused naked heels were upturned, cracked, and whitened.
Bud blew a gush of air heavy through his nose. “See the head?”
“Nah.”
“Gimme me some room, step around her n’ let me get closer.”
C.W. awkwardly stepped to meet the small opening between her feet then pirouetted gently, clawing the threshold’s edge to step into the kitchen. The linoleum could hardly be seen, but the places where it stood bare of the hoard were frays and plyboard could be spied beneath. “C’mon then,” said C.W.
Bud angled into the doorway, into the space between the corpse’s feet. “I knew there’d be spikes in ‘er head, but I almost didn’t believe it.”
C.W. sighed, “Yup.”
The kitchen, the same as all else, had a sepia blanket of color, though the transparent blue curtains tacked over the window above the sink let in a dimness. The younger man, nearer the counter, whipped the left curtain panel open, letting in what sunlight escaped the clouds; he clicked the flashlight off then pocketed the tube. Tupperware containers with smatters of residue, stacks of boxes, and more trash bags were piled there in the kitchen too; the sink was high with bowls, plates, utensils, and a few curious cockroaches raised their antennae from the crevices therein, hesitant as cave-men looking out from their strange porcelain abodes—one even leapt from the counter to the floor making the same sound as dropping a cracker and C.W. watched it and casually planted a foot. The insect exploded; custard innards squirted from underneath the man’s boot. Shiny brown carapace flakes and twitching legs clung to the floor there.
A decrepit gas stove sat in the far corner, grimed, each eye stacked high with used pans—some still contained the crisped edges of fried eggs or burnt spices or congealed lard; up the side of the wall adjacent the stove was a rack for hanging mitts and potholders, and the wall itself looked stained from past explosions of grease, uncleaned.
The older gentleman hovered partly over the body, holding himself upright by a hand on the wall and shot his coworker a look. Bud shook his head. “Imagine goin’ out without a person to care. This is hell.” Examining the clutter both behind and in front, he shivered then caught C.W.’s eyes.
“Pfft. Look around. Nasty bitch. If I had family like this, I’d leave ‘em to rot in the mess too. Makes my skin crawl. Look a’ that.” C.W. pointed to a place in front of the fridge and Bud craned forward to see. “That’s ‘er throne.”
Angled cockeyed beside the fridge’s closed door was a medical commode resting in a frame like that of a walker; its lid refused to close entirely. Blue and white plastic checkout bags were stuffed along the toilet rim and splattered with feces and urine and dots of black mold grew up its legs and reached to the object’s armrests.
“Bet she roosted there every night.” C.W. started to gag but refrained.
“If you need to,” said Bud, “Go on.”
C.W. shook his head.
Bud searched for a place to put his thermos, shrugged, then sat it by his feet.
“Should’a left it outside.”
“C’mon. Gimme a hand.” Bud hunkered precariously and grabbed the dead woman’s ankles.
C.W. reached down and helped to twist the body so it would be face up. With the corpse lying the way it was, blood pooled into the front of it to solidify, leaving behind trace outlines of purple and sickly yellow bruising; the bones had gone loose within the body. The woman’s face was terrible to behold, soft tissue of the eyes gone, and each lid torn free from scrubbing. An incredibly thin cockroach antenna protruded from her left nostril like a whisker then disappeared. The rusted railway spikes, one pushed into each of her ears, surely the thing that had killed her, oozed syrup upon her coming to rest in her new position. Her belly beneath the muumuu stood round and heavy as if with child, but she was far beyond that in years. C.W.’s eyes stuttered blinks and he let go of another dry retch; his mask had gone wet and clung to him. Bud watched him and asked again if he needed to excuse himself but was offered the same reply as before.
“Should’ve got the fire department on this one,” said C.W.
“We’ve got it,” Bud waved the protest away.
Due to the shifting of jellied organs, liquid erupted from beneath the muumuu and diarrhea puddled around Bud’s feet; a mess of earwigs swam from the hem of the gown and the older man, in a panic, lifted his left foot then his right foot then his left foot again then accepted his fate. He held the wall, hat tilted to his crown, forehead lain against his raised forearms which exposed a sliver of his hairy chubby stomach. His shoulders shimmied up and down quietly.
“You cryin’?” asked C.W.
Bud shook his head, pulled his mask down while looking away, then vomited into the room they had come from, glazing a nearby trash bag. He pinched the collar of his shirt and popped it twice before returning the mask to his face.
C.W. pointed to the thermos Bud left on the floor, bottom flooded with feces.
Bud shook his head. “She can have it.”
“Should we get the board?”
“Aw hell—I need air. I’ll suffocate in this.”
Bud was gone from the house in crazed, tripped strides, the door shutting from the tilt of the house before the younger man could even catch up.
Standing on the porch, the two of them wore the cotton masks around their throats, chuffing into their fists or cupped hands; their faces were deep pink.
“Feels like I’ve got shit all over me!” said Bud.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe we should’ve called the fire department anyway—goddamn you’re right. Let them deal with that!”
“Yeah.”
Bud leaned off the railing of the porch, putting his hands together and spat a glob he found in the back of his throat. “Ugh.”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t you say anything more ‘an ‘yeah’?”
C.W. smiled and ran his fingers through his buzzed hair. “Nah.”
“Ain’t that some shit.” Bud removed his hat and slapped it against the handrail before returning it to his head.
“Sure was.” C.W. spat in the same general direction then lit a cigarette. “Looks like you’ve been walkin’ through mud.” There was a moment of quiet while C.W. drew off the tobacco. “Shew boy.” He shook his head.
Arriving upon the unmarked gravel street, appearing from the tree line which obscured the road further on, and headed in the direction of the stream, came a young girl in buttoned coveralls without a shirt; beneath the straps of the jean coveralls was the dull beige color of an old bra. She was skinny and pale black and wore a domed straw hat with a frayed brim. In her left hand she carried a blue tackle box which sometimes bumped her knee and under her right armpit were stuffed two long fishing poles. As she got closer to the scene, her gaze went slow across the van then the two men on the porch there. She walked to the edge of the yard where the land rose to afford the clay cliff where the house was. “Hey!” she called.
C.W. waved absently while Bud kept his hands interlocked on his head, elbows winged.
She examined the scene, eyes remaining on the yellow tape more than anything else. “Bailey’s dead, yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Bud.
The girl looked at the sky then back at the men. “How long?”
“Least three days. You knew her?”
The brim of the hat came slowly up then down in a hesitant nod, but she stopped. “Well. Some. She come to church sometimes. When someone’d drive her. I ain’t seen her in weeks. She hollered to me from her porch when she was out—I live just up the way a scooch—and she’d let me come and fish over yonder. I guess it’s her land.” She pointed to Redman Branch. “Had cops come ask me and mine yesterday about if we saw anybody suspicious in the area past couple of days. Figured somebody murdered her, I guess. She go quick?”
“Yeah,” said Bud.
“Good.” The girl adjusted her hat with the arm carrying the fishing poles. “I’s hopin’ to catch somethin’ afore it rains—if it does. Can I fish?”
“We ain’t the police,” said C.W.
This seemed well enough because the girl said, “Thanks,” then continued her march.
She traced down the way, circled the house wide then the overrun garden, then pushed on through a thicket by the stream and went out of sight of either of the men.
Bud sighed, “You get the feet when we go back in.”
“The hell, you say. You’re already caked in it.”
“Exactly, I had my turn. Now it’s yours.”
“Nah.”
“Boy, don’t sass your elders.”
C.W. flicked debris from the end of his cigarette where it fell to the porch, and he pushed the clump into a crack in the slits. “I ain’t doin’ it. ‘Sides, you the one that wanted to come out here just the two of us in the first place. ‘Won’t take much effort. We can do it quick—just you an’ me,’ you said.” His voice grew to a mock falsetto upon imitating the other man.
Bud pointed an index finger close to C.W.’s face, “You get that attitude from your mama, don’tcha?”
The young man held a wry grin. “What you know about my mama?”
“She never mentioned me?” Bud pantomimed a vulgar thrust with his pelvis while gently pumping his fist alongside his hip.
“Mhm. Goofy bastard.”
The older man sighed, planting his hands into the shape of a diamond over his mouth, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fore fingers. “Fine. Let’s get it done. Suits?”
C.W. nodded. “Should’ve from the start.”
Bud met him with an agreeable flattish smile.
Thunder sounded far off still and the pair froze there for a moment, each peering closely for rain, but none came and C.W. tossed the cigarette butt and they tore through the police tape, leaving it to catch on the breeze, and moved through the tall grass again, opened the rear doors of their work van completely then began removing equipment: a stiff, orange plastic board—seven feet in length—with black harness straps, a folded body bag of thick material, two yellow onesies with hoods, two pairs of glasses, and another set of masks. The two men dressed in the onesies, pulled their hoods over their heads and the elastic kept tight around their faces, framing them round; Bud tossed his hat into the back of the van and so when they each lodged the plastic frame of the protective glasses behind their ears and donned fresh masks, they seemed strange twins ready to embark across that alien landscape again, one taller with beard plume around the chin of his face hole and the other small, wiry, agile through the narrow path, body bag clamped tightly by his ribcage with a forearm and the flashlight outstretched in his other hand as he reembarked into the house. Bud lifted the board and followed, careful to slip it through the doorway longways. He stumbled through the mess, trading color on the rear edge of the board with the doorframe but found his footing and continued.
The house groaned from the wind outside and there the body was.
The men moved the dead woman so they could place the body bag open beside her; C.W. took her under the arms and lifted the top of the body from the floor while Bud took the ankles, and they shifted her into the bag before zipping it shut. Bud took the board from the resting spot where he’d angled it against the doorframe leading into the kitchen and laid the bag there, cinching the harnesses tightly. Neither man said a word. Only a catching of one another’s eyes and a swift nod while they lifted their respective ends of the board. They maneuvered the body through the house—Bud gently wobbled on his feet as he walked backwards while C.W. held the head-end with measured patience.
“Hang on,” said C.W.
“Arms gettin’ tired?” asked Bud.
The pair stood in the living room, holding the board at chest height.
“Nah.” There was a pause filled with the moldering house’s protests. “You hear a buzzin’?”
“Yeah. There’s about a million flies in this bitch. What about it?”
“Nah. It’s worse ‘an that. Like a hum.” C.W. cocked his head as though to listen. “It’s like vibratin’.”
“Shit-fire, we can talk about all the buzzin’ and vibratin’ after we get her out of here. The hell’s a’matter with you?”
C.W. nodded.
They went on in their way till Bud met the front door where it had swung shut on its own again; the man palmed the bottom of the board with one hand, to refuse it shifting, then reached blindly behind himself for the knob with his other. Bud remained fumbling for the handle for moments.
C.W. sniffled then asked, “What’s ‘at?”
“What’s what?” asked Bud, struggling to hold the board with a single hand.
“That buzzin’! It’s deep somewhere like hummin’—deep like a machine er something.”
“Will you quit that? Hush.”
“Nah, I mean it. Makin’ me lightheaded. There a gas leak?”
“There ain’t no damn gas leak. Shut your mouth and hold her steady dammit.” Bud’s gloved fingers snagged the door open smally, and he planted a foot in the crack then shoved with his rear to widen its mouth. “C’mon.”
The men wavered from the house then came the rain—it was an immediate wall of shower that pushed from the north and in seconds, everything on that hill by Redman Branch was drenched and with the morning dew remaining as thick as it was, visibility beyond much was impossible; the two men sighed and sat the board on the porch slats and then took up by the rail again where they swept off their hoods and wore their masks like necklaces.
Trees far off became impressions of trees and everything was gray.
C.W. spoke louder for the rain or something else, “You can’t hear that? It’s louder out here now. Mechanical like a engine.”
Bud stiffened and chewed on his tongue for a quiet moment. “I hear it,” he said.
The younger man rubbed his arms. “S’cold.”
“Yeah.”
The pair stood on the porch without speaking with the corpse bag lying at their feet, instead they watched the gray outskirts of the high yard, the faint outline of their work van at the edge of the road. A thing beyond the real emerged in the downpour, initially hardly a silhouette placed in the center of the road, but neither man said a word; Bud let out an audible breath and it caught as a mist before his face then was gone. They remained squinting, fists balled by their sides, neither daring a glance from that thing out there. The thing defied examination, but the men tried and although every chemical compulsion compelled them to move, to flee, they were glued there like miniature models no more than imitating life.
“What’s ‘at?” whispered C.W.
Bud shrugged.
“You ever see anything like it?”
Bud shook his head. “That engine sound’s loudest now.”
“It’s comin’ from that?”
“Maybe. Don’t move. Don’t call out for it.”
“Think it sees us?” C.W. pushed a gloved pinky into his left ear and jostled the canal. “S’loud.”
“Mm.”
C.W.’s finger spasmed near violent in his ear while he took his other gloved hand and began massaging the soft flesh directly beneath his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.
“Quit touching your face. You were just handling her,” Bud nodded at the corpse bag.
The younger man stood straighter and replaced his hands to his sides; a shiver danced off his shoulders. “Look at it out there.”
Bud already was.
The thing was not human, was not creature, was not plant nor fungi nor anything natural of the material world, but rather an amalgam of all places through time collapsed within a single entity—hideous, vile. Dazzling multicolor lights erupted from it while objects resembling levers, unattended, rose and fell on their own, throbbing tumorous bulbs exhaled wind from pores while wild metal limbs extended then retracted in rhythm like an arachnid in pulses of death. It was there and did not speak for there was no language for it—no mouth either.
The rain went as quickly as it had come and the sun unmasked from a cloud, sent golden refractions through droplets caught on the grass in the yard; a low faint rainbow hung across the path to the work van and the two men said nothing and went to the board with the body. In quiet, besides the overwhelming whippoorwill calls of the forest beyond, the men loaded the corpse into the rear of the van, undressed from their hazard garb then rounded the van to the cabin on their respective sides; Bud strode with a puffed chest like a cartoon pigeon, his hat returned to his head, bill cocked oddly, while C.W. pushed his pinky into his left ear again, perhaps digging for brains for the first knuckle was gone in his head and he scraped with his nail while blinking furiously.
They sat in the van and as it came alive with Bud twisting the key, the two of them flinched, their eyes scanning the road, the thickets out by the stream, the trees of the stripping forest.
Rubber ground against soil and gravel as the van kicked from the path onto the street and blue smoke rose from the exhaust and took the road from Redman Branch—at a pace faster than it had arrived—through a forest where houses or outbuildings stood spaced in clearings sometimes acres from another; the van turned onto Englewood Road and continued. Bud’s hands trembled whenever he relaxed them on the wheel, so he held on with both hands properly. C.W. pushed deeper into his ear canal and hissed through his teeth; upon removing his hand from the side of his face, Bud shot him a look. Thin blood collected on C.W.’s fingernail and the younger man wiped it on his jeans, down his thigh. A dribble of blood collected on the young man’s ear lobe. He pushed his fore knuckles into his closed eyes, rotating his fists on their wrists.
“Stop,” said Bud.
“I feel sick or somethin’.”
“Stop.”
“Woozy.” C.W. raked his clawed fingers down his eyes.
Instantly, the van came to a sliding halt and its left wheels left the ground for a moment before it rocked gently on the righthand shoulder of the way where the trees had been cleared for grazing land; taut barbed fencing stretched across posts on either side of the road where cows gnawed cud and watched without fascination. Bud erupted from the carriage with it still running—the driver’s side door remained open. His hat left him so that his thin hay-textured hair stood sweaty off his round head. The man galloped from the vehicle, arms pumping madly in the dash.
The passenger door of the van swung out and C.W. spilled on the shoulder blindly, landed knees first, and blinked his partially destroyed eyelids. He crawled on elbows, slick fingers madly entering his ears.
Bud ran till the van was out of sight, till he caught a coughing fit; the man spat and looked back the way he’d come while wiping his mouth with a forearm then his gaze settled further up Englewood and he took a measured pace in the direction opposite where he’d left his coworker.
The older man stopped on the side of the road after perhaps fifteen minutes and leaned against a fence post where his breathing went softer then he angled back to look at the sky; he took a palm across his head to flatten his wildered hair.
He tilted his head like a curious dog at a noise then cupped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes closed.

Hello /Helldivers! Bit of a theory crafting post, and, I admit, it’s long compared to most posts on this subreddit. Still, I hope you enjoy my musings on the origins of the Helldivers!
Anyone who might be familiar with my posts on /Halostory will know the drill, but for those who don’t, consider this a catalogue of all known facts about the Helldivers from an in-universe perspective but through a doyalist lens. I’ll be looking at armour and item descriptions, visual stylings, and what lore we can find from in-game to try and piece things together as best as possible.
Obviously, I’m not a developer at Arrowhead, nor do I have access to their behind the scenes lore. This is all inferences made based off of publicly available information, and is likely to change or be made wholly obsolete based on the evolving story of Helldivers 2.
That said, let’s begin:
PART 1: PROPAGANDA OR RETCON?
There is, unfortunately, a bit of a pickle when it comes to how the Helldivers came about, and it has to do with the way the first game is treated.
Much of our lore comes from incredibly biased sources, and isn’t really trustworthy. The majority of our lore in Helldivers 1 comes from three (3) “sources”.

1. the in-game encyclopedia.
   
2. the Science Officer, Admiral, and Ordinance Officer, and the two Privates on the bridge - more on this later.
   
3. DLC item descriptions.
   

If there was no sequel (Helldivers 2) I’d take these sources as gospel - biased though they are… but with the information from the second game, a lot of the information is now suspect.
For example, the Helldivers 1 Encyclopedia, found on the ship’s bridge, states that Helldivers are drafted from the regular army.
In Helldivers 2, though, it’s clear that Helldivers are volunteers - and idolized by the people - not draftees from the regular armed forces.
With this in mind, I’m going to try and squish both games’ lore together as best I can, though I would also say that aside from the broad strokes Helldivers 1 might be retconned in most cases.
So, aside from the Encyclopedia what else are we told about the Helldivers origins?
Well, for one, that Helldivers first used Hellpods - and thus earned their name - when they put down an insurrection on the world of Northman’s Creek:

These massive near-suicidal pods were invented to counter the threat of the oppressive regime of the socialists that had dug themselves in on Northman's Creek. Super Earth was unable to gain air superiority and therefore developed these supersonic pods equipped with stabilizers and extreme shock absorbers that can hit a space-coin and allow for drops into basically any type of terrain.
As fifty Helldivers dropped into the Parliament and quickly relieved the regime from power (and life), their troops scattered and the fight was easily won. Northman's Creek was once again united with the federation of Super Earth.

• Helldivers 1 Wiki article Hellpods

This is where I need to apologize, and bring up the issue with the bridge officers. Due to the way Helldivers 1 handles lore (alongside Helldivers 2) much of our lore comes from voice lines said by characters, not easily screenshotted, recorded or easy to find links. The actual blurb comes from the Ordinance Officer, but unfortunately try as I might I’ve been unable to get the blurb the appear. The wiki does mention the information as directly quoted above… but provides no source or image to verify it. To that end, I unfortunately must use the wiki’s paragraph on the topic, but I apologize for it. “Trust me bro” isn’t a worthy source, but unfortunately it’s all I have at the moment.
That being said, our two other bits of Helldiver origin lore come from Helldiver 1 DLC’s, specifically the Ranger and Defender packs:

Specially trained in scouting and assassination of high value targets, these Rangers are the first to drop into the unknown. Ranger training was standard procedure for all HELLDIVERS in the early days of SUPER EARTH, but has now become rarer.
HELLDIVER Defenders are the unmovable objects of humanity, capable of holding their ground in any situation. They have a bulkier look and a helmet reminiscent of the knights of Old Earth and used to double as riot police before humanity unified properly.

• RANGER and DEFENDER pack descriptions, Helldivers 1

The implications from these two bits of lore are that Helldivers were originally riot police units, and that ranger training - probably to do with both survival skills and, as the description states, scouting/assassination meant Helldivers were trained to operate alone or isolated for extended periods of time, but also that they did so before Super Earth was unified.
This overall ties in well with the lore of Northman’s Creek - that the first real deployment of Helldivers saw them quell an insurrection by assassinating their leadership… but it might not be the current canon…
PART II: War Never Changes
Helldivers 2 presents us with a different sort of lore, however, one that rather heavily conflicts with the first game, and it’s all because of one armour set.
The SC-37 Legionnaire.
Released as part of the first rotation of the Superstore, the SC-37 Legionnaire is a light armour set with the corresponding description:

SC-37 Legionnaire: This armor is based on the uniforms of the ‘Super Earth Legion’. A less patriotic precursor to the Helldivers.

• SC-37 Legionnaire armour description

As you can probably tell, this is a bit of an issue, and presents a conflict from the first game. The first game implies that Helldivers were a thing before Super Earth even unified, but this armour set implies Super Earth was already a concept and idea by the time this unit was disbanded, and more specifically, that they were a military unit, not police units, like the Defenders.
The armour overall is quite interesting from a visual standpoint, and might give us some idea as to who or what they were, and what wars they may have fought. An olive green pair of fatigues over what seems like a Kevlar vest with a half-curiass of metal.
The suit’s most prominent feature is the canister hooked under the left armpit, and the tubing hose attached to it. The hose ends at the chest plate, seemingly hooking into it. Admittedly I’m not exactly sure why, but my guess would be that this is the “idle” position, and if a soldier needed it connected to their helmet (the suit’s corresponding helmet seems like it has a spot to connect the end of the tube) they would remove it from the chest piece and connect it to the mouth grille.
The extra armour added on seems a little odd, the pauldrons especially with their studs seem more than a little unwieldy. I can’t really think of why they would be placed there, they don’t seem to offer any structural support, nor do they seem like a form of ERA or NERA, and they don’t look prominent enough to turn shrapnel. Possibly some purely aesthetic choice, or maybe some sort of branding. The rest of the plating looks tame, without the extra studs, instead, it’s simple metal, most of it with orange accents painted over the grey metal aside from the cuirass which holds the end of the tubing.
The helmet is interesting, as it’s most prominent feature is the faceplate. It doesn’t seem like the glass or plastic (or future material) faceplate of the traditional Helldiver B-01 Tactical helmet. It’s possible it’s a sort of camera set up, projecting an augmented reality display to the user. It’s also possible it’s a removable faceplate, for if the AR features are damaged. Otherwise the helmet itself is very contemporary. Noise-cancelling/sound dampening pieces are attached to the side of the helmet, and it looks like there’s a cover for the attachment of lights or a Night-Vision or Onfrared camera system on the top. On the back of the helmet is a circular metal piece near the base of the skull, though I’ve no idea what it could be for.
Attached to the chestplate are four magazines of ammunition. Coloured a light tan/khaki, they contain single stack rifle cartridges. The magazines themselves bear no resemblance to any weapon currently found in game… but they might be for a weapon from the first game; the AR-14D Paragon:

The AR-14D Paragon is in reality an old assault rifle rarely seen in use amongst the armed forces. It uses the same cartridge as the AR-20L Justice but in a heavier, semi-automatic rifle. The rifle has been modernized and now fires a poison-laced round causing targets hit to spasm and slow. Part of the Hazard Ops equipment kit.

• AR-14D Paragon description

The rifle being old would suit the Legionnaires being precursors to the Helldivers, and though the first game’s style is less grounded overall, the magazine might fit, at least size wise.
But then, what wars did the Super Earth Legion fight? Were they fighting in space, or on Earth?
We get a potential clue from the world map posted on the official discord a week before launch by Arrowhead’s CEO.
The map shows Super Earth and the region zones, with countries removed in place of sectors, these sectors then have a large mega-city as the sector capital, and they seem to generally correspond to cities of today.
More important for us though is the areas of northern canada, Alaska, parts of Greenland, the entirety of the UK and Ireland, and Russia that have been declared “wastelands of the last Great War”. As well, we can see no signs of any sort of Arctic or Antarctic ice, the poles seem entirely gone. The regions of northern canada and Alaska that border the Arctic circle are a hotly debated topic in some circles today. As the ice melts due to climate change, the northwest passage and other arctic regions will become a new shipping route beyond what it is today. Russia, Denmark, Norway, the United States, and Canada have laid claim to the territory in various areas and have disputes between each other overall, for example, the rather humourous “war” of Hans Island between Denmark and Canada, where both countries claim ownership.
Helldivers seems to have gone the route of a “Cold War” (heh) gone hot, as the polar regions melted, countries made their claims and, through some spark, war erupted.
This then, might explain the oxygen tubing and canister on the armour. The map lists these northern regions as wastelands, and the implication is I think obviously a nuclear exchange, or perhaps multiple exchanges, by the belligerent powers. Backlit by the mushroom clouds of nuclear fire, soldiers of various national militaries fought in the wastelands of the northern regions, until finally, someone came out victorious… or perhaps the great powers of the world had been so badly mauled that peace was sought, not by conquered and the conquering, but by the tired and the downtrodden.
PART III: PUTTING THE PIECES TOGETHER
Though the lore of the second game somewhat conflicts with the first, the two could be squished together, somewhat.
After the calamities of the Great War, lawlessness may very well have run rampant, countries dissolved, people made into refugees, mass migration, disease, famine, and other such ills could have befallen Earth. A new way of living was needed.
Managed Democracy. But not all might have agreed. Force may have been required to… “liberate” the disparate and democratically desperate.
The soldiers and humanitarian workers that went into these potential disaster zones would have had to have been trained to handle civil disobedience, and, possibly eliminate any elements that did not agree to the new regime.
Perhaps, then, they may very well have been given a nickname, or a slang term to easily identify them. Maybe it was nothing more than a joke at first, or a dry sarcastic bit of gallows humour, but the people took to it well, and the burgeoning, infant Super Earth government might very well have used it for their own ends.
The nations and their militaries of old were gone, and soon would the Super Earth Legion follow in their footsteps as a relic of a bygone past. In their place would be a unit of elite soldiers deployed to the most dangerous war fronts, idolized by the people from Super Earth and beyond…
The Helldivers.
CLOSING THOUGHTS
While this post might have thread into a bit of poetic theory crafting, I hope everyone enjoyed the read! I’d appreciate your thoughts, if you have any!
Regardless, thank you for taking the time to read,
~ EternalCanadian

I’m a 20 year old female and I have been experiencing some discomfort and slight pain in my chest for around 5 days now. The day it started, I took a freezing cold shower (no hot water) and smoked some weed (from a bong) that sent me into a coughing fit. I have not smoked weed since then. I am assuming the discomfort and pain could be from those 2 factors, but am unsure why it is persisting 5 days later.
The pain is mostly in my left side of my chest, which has caused some anxiety for me (I’m quite anxiety ridden and maybe a bit of a hypochondriac, but have been getting better at managing my anxiety and issues like that.) I am experiencing discomfort and pain on the side of my left breast, under my armpit, and on my wrist down by my veins (on my left side). I have also experienced pain and discomfort on my right side along with some short muscle spasms in my right arm. The discomfort and pain mostly goes away when I cross my arms and place my hands on my shoulders, and it is mostly unnoticeable when I have my arms around a pillow. I am not experiencing any other issues that are causing concern, and the discomfort and pain is not disrupting my life or causing me to be unable to perform my daily tasks. The feeling mostly happens when I am sitting, laying, or relaxing. I haven’t noticed any pain or discomfort when standing and moving until today, but to be fair I did have a panic attack last night which may be causing me to feel the discomfort more.
Thank you in advance!

[Part 8]
[Part 10]
My breath came in short, shaky gasps, and I put down the wrench to feel for my submachine gun.
We are so screwed, we are so screwed, we are so screwed.
Engines revved all around me, gunfire continued to ring from the various truck windows and firing slots, but with all the lights extinguished, it seemed as though I’d been struck blind. Acrid smoke from burned gunpowder hung on the air inside the armored compartment, and I could feel the same apprehension in the muted breathes of the others in the truck, a creeping terror that followed on the heels of reality.
Daylight was several hours away, and we didn’t have that kind of time.
“Rhino 1, this is Hilltop, we’ve got units inbound to assist you, and a howitzer crew on standby. Can you move far enough for us to have a clear shot, over?” Through the speakers, Sean spoke in the deep, calm tones of a policeman, though I knew everyone on his side of the radio would be scrambling.
“Negative, Hilltop.” Chris radioed back, and I thought I caught the slightest crack in his voice over the airwaves, almost imperceptible beneath the roar of his rifle in the background. “They’ve got us pinned down. It’s not just mutants, I think we have—Oscar, don’t!”
Light flickered from somewhere up ahead, and to my horror, I watched Chris’s driver push his door open to climb out.
The flashlight on the end of his rifle shone brightly against the dark, but it wasn’t pointed out into the night. Instead, Oscar held his rifle at his side, aimlessly pointing the beam at the ground without his finger anywhere near the trigger. He stared out into the abyss with a blank, emotionless gaze, and Oscar stuck one boot out to step down into the mud.
Dread soaked my mind like ice water, and I waited for the surge of teeth to come for him.
What is he doing?
His boot heel touched the ground, and the roars of the Birch Crawlers stilled, the thunder of their charge dissipating all at once.
Like a blanket of lead, the silence settled over our convoy, each gun petering out as the shadows went motionless. With the tumbling rain, I struggled to see anything further than a few yards away, even with the light mounted on my Type 9, but I could make out thin shapes in the gloom.
Oscar took a step away from the truck.
Gray hands reached out from the dark, close to a dozen with chipped fingernails and black scabs over their cuts. Their fingers danced over his arms and shoulders, poking and prodding at him in an almost playful way, though from how others gripped Oscar’s wrists, I doubted he could have pulled away if he tried.
His rifle light flickered off, and Oscar vanished.
“Stay in your trucks!” Chris bellowed through the radio, his truck door slamming after Oscar’s departure, but something began to trickle in over the drumming rain, a hoarse, dull noise that I could barely discern over the rumble of the diesels.
Sitting on the floor of the armored compartment next to Zach, I swallowed a sour lump of fear, and hugged my submachine gun closer.
It’s not real, it’s all in your head, it has to be.
“D-Do you hear that?” Zach’s words came out ragged and shallow, though I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to.
For in that moment, the sound increased in volume, enough to be unmistakable, along with the blood-curdling scratch-scratch of fingernails on metal.
Whispers.
Hundreds of whispers, just on the other side of the armor plating, filled with unintelligible words. They raked grimy fingers over our trucks in slow, deliberate swipes, and a sensation of being watched flooded over me.
Too scared to stay motionless, I rolled to a crouch, eye level with the nearest gun slit.
With a trembling hand, I raised my Type 9, and clicked the flashlight taped to its barrel on.
Mother of God.
A sea of white round eyes gleamed back at me, wide grins stretched over pallid faces tucked between oily curtains of black, rotted hair. Thunder rolled high overhead, the rain soaked their exposed bodies, but the beings remained still, their tattered clothes dripping. Their cracked lips moved in a jumbled mass of the same sounds, unsynchronized, but similar nonetheless. Some of the decaying stench was suppressed by the rain, but I could still taste it on the back of my tongue, the sickly-sweet aroma of their unwashed, maltreated bodies, bound together with mud and wood. The ones who weren’t close enough to run their hands over the truck’s skin stood relaxed, with more crude weapons in their hands, all fashioned from bones, sinew, and flesh. Watching from the tree line, riders atop packs of Birch Crawlers awaited some sort of signal, some sign that I couldn’t understand.
What were they waiting for?
“Have to go.” One of the crew from truck three murmured in the headset, his words slurred as though he were drunk. “Need to see it.”
A seatbelt clicked, and Jamie surged through the truck interior past me, crawling on her hands and knees. “Liam? Liam, don’t you dare get out of that truck. Stay inside, you hear me?”
I scrabbled up beside her at the rear gun slots, only to stare in horror as the back doors of truck three swung open, and the crowd of eyes surged forward.
Screams cut through the night from inside the compartment, the truck rocked, and a rifle went off.
Silence.
“It’s so warm in the rain.” Truck four’s commander sighed over the speakers, with a strange, lilt to his voice.
Jamie racked the bolt on her AK and stuck the muzzle out the rearward firing slit, though I doubted she had a clear shot of anything for how dark it was. “Reggie, I swear to God, if you open that door I will put a bullet in your—”
Click.
It came from behind me, and I turned, my mouth falling open in muted dread.
Oh no.
Kevin’s head swiveled around to look back at us, his eyes glazed in an empty stare as he shoved open the driver’s door.
“It only hurts for a moment.” He cooed, in a soft breathlessness that seemed rife with anticipation.
Scarcely had the words left his mouth, and a river of gray hands dragged themselves into the truck.
Everything seemed to happen at once. Zach tried to back away from the horde, but more Puppets wriggled inside, and grabbed him by the ankles. Jamie’s AK spat fire into the oncoming gray faces, its report deafening inside the armored metal box. My submachine gun floated up into my field of vision, and the ringing in my ears reached a fever pitch as bullets sang into the night.
Clack.
The bolt rammed home on an empty chamber, and I reached for another magazine.
“Chris!” I shrieked into my headset, fumbling to reload my weapon. “Chris, they’re coming in, we can’t—”
A grimy set of fingers wrapped around my left boot and jerked me off balance.
The Type 9 blazed a stream of rounds into the ceiling of the armored compartment, the lead whining and ricochetting off the interior like a swarm of angry bees. Hands clawed at my legs, sharp fingernails turned only by the rough weave of my khakis, and I was dragged over the cluttered floor of the truck bed.
I thrashed, kicked, and swung the barrel of my submachine gun down to catch a few in the face with the last rounds of the magazine, but it was no use. My heels went over the center console, and I just managed to stop them from pulling me out by wrapping by arms around the headrest of the driver’s seat. More hands pried at my fingers, yanked at my hair, gripped my clothing, and ensured I couldn’t break free of the sinister tide.
“Jamie!” Reaching one desperate hand from the seat, I called to her, my eyes filled with horrified tears.
Jamie crouched against the rear doors of the truck, fanning the trigger of her rifle with all she had just to keep the mutants back. As my Type 9 slid from my grasp, they piled over one another, grinning soundlessly as they slid past me to climb further inside.
My free hand brushed cold steel at my hip, and I closed my hand over the pistol Andrew had given me as a belated birthday present. A one-to-one clone of Chris’s antique Mauser handgun, this one came newly made from the armory, chambered in the same 9mm cartridge as my Type 9, but with a smaller 10-round magazine. It had more than enough power to deal with these creatures, and I pushed the muzzle point-blank into the nearest Puppet’s face.
Bang.
It crumpled backward, but more pressed in to claim its place, and the gun’s bolt locked to the rear after the tenth round went off.
I felt my fingers slip on the seat cushion, and my heart stopped.
I should’ve saved that last bullet.
“No!” Jamie’s sheet-white face contorted in horror, and she reached for my hand, but it was too late.
A blizzard of filthy palms overwhelmed me, and the world blurred as I was carried off into the pouring rain.
Cold raindrops soaked me to the bone, my pistol clattered to the gravel beside the truck, and with every step the freaks held me aloft like a nightmarish mosh pit. One slimy hand clamped over my mouth to stifle my screams for help, and another went over my eyes, my limbs pinned down in a similar fashion. Gunfire picked up all along the convoy, but it faded into the distance as my captors fled into the underbrush with me. Unable to free myself, I shut my eyes beneath the dirty hand that covered them and waited for teeth to sink into my skin.
Splat.
Cold earth rammed into my knees, and I found myself dumped onto the mud, though the fiends maintained their grip on my legs, arms, and mouth. Daring to blink through the slightly parted fingers of my captors, I could just make out a small circle of lights around me, and spotted several different flashlights stuck into the mud, with their lenses angled upward like torches. Close to a hundred or more Puppets ringed the small clearing I knelt in, their continued whispers audible in the cold breeze, though I could see little more than gleaming white eyes in the darkness. Slumped in front of them were more rangers from our patrol, their heads hanging limp, held in place by rigid teams of grinning Puppets. They seemed to be unconscious, but otherwise unharmed, and I would have been more confused if I hadn’t been so frightened.
How are they doing this? They were mindless freaks not days ago. This shouldn’t be possible.
All at once, the whispers stopped.
I craned my head to try and see more, but the hands forced me to look forward, the fingers over my eyes staying where they were. As one, the Puppet’s heads turned in the misty gloom, and they looked toward the forest as if in anticipation.
A shape glided through the rain, stooping low to walk under the thorns and tangled branches. It stood as tall as any other human might, but not until it stepped into the circle of flashlights did I notice the long, moldy canvas of an old military poncho draped across its shoulders. With a cavernous hood to cover its owner’s head, the poncho went all the way to the ground so that I almost didn’t see the old boots covered in rips, scratches, and holes walking along the muck. Something about this mysterious being made my guts roil, but I could do nothing but remain where I knelt, shivering in the cold rain.
Reaching the center of the small clearing, the hooded figure stopped, all eyes on it.
Two hands slid from under the poncho, one surprisingly human and pale, the other gray and torn, with two of the fingers worn down to the bone, flesh hanging in rotted tatters. They lifted up toward the sky, like some kind of priestly gesture, and from beneath the ragged hood, came a voice.
“The way lies open.” It rasped in a fluid-filled gargle that made me want to gag sympathetically, and slowly turned on the spot to address all the freaks in the circle. “The hunt has begun. Let us purge this corruption, my children, that the Nameless One might take pleasure in our conquest.”
Beaming like kids at a candy store, the Puppets all turned their gazes toward us, their bared wooden teeth dripping with rainwater and black slime. Seeing them all upright, responding to speech, with their own crude weapons in hand sent my mind into overdrive.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Walking over to the first captive, the hooded figure took the man’s chin in its good hand and raised his unconscious head upward.
My stomach lurched as I recognized Kevin, his buzz-cut brown hair glistening with raindrops.
“Awaken, little one.” Raising its ruined hand high, the hooded figure held something long and black in its grasp. “Our glorious era draws near.”
The dead hand plunged down, and I winced at a sickening crunch.
In a spasm, Kevin’s eyes flew open, and he let out a guttural cry of pain that rang into the surrounding trees. His body tensed as if to struggle, but another sound overpowered his voice, a squelching gurgle that choked out Kevin’s wail.
He froze, stiff as a statue, and Kevin’s jaw stuck open in mid-scream.
I squinted hard between the fingers over my eyes, in time to spot something black poked from between his teeth. It wriggled like a worm, even as more shapes like it spread around Kevin’s bedraggled head from the back. Oily tendrils pried their way under his eyelids, up his nostrils, and into Kevin’s ears until they completely encased his head, and I realized what they were.
Roots. Those are roots. Like from a tree.
With an incessant march of rot and wood, the roots burrowed under Kevin’s pale skin, dark lines appearing like spiderwebs over his neck. More wove themselves over his body from head to toe, all leading back to a long, thin blade that protruded from the back of his skull. It looked to be fashioned it seemed from a single piece of hardwood, like someone had split off a chunk of an old tree trunk and left the end sharp like a knife. Bits of human hair lay braided around the hilt, and something about the weapon made my head spin, static rising inside my brain in a dizzying avalanche of noise.
The hooded figure withdrew the odd knife from Kevin’s skull, and the roots continued to wrap around him in a wall of black. Ripping and popping sounds came from underneath, and between the snaking tendrils, I watched in shock as pools of red blood oozed out, followed by chunks of rubbery stuff that looked like flesh.
Toward the back of Kevin’s head, the sprouts began to withdraw, and from under them, black oily hair tumbled forth.
It’s not possible.
Helplessly I watched as the dark vines receded to show gray skin, torn clothing, and two milky white eyes sunken into the face. The last of the tendrils flowed over the Kevin’s chin, before disappearing down his now blackened throat to leave behind square, brown wooden teeth.
The new Puppet blinked, and his frozen scream stretched into a familiar, wide grin.
My breath caught in my chest, and I gritted my teeth to hold back nausea. It had been common knowledge amongst the rangers that a Puppet bite, while full of nasty bacteria, wouldn’t turn you into one like in a zombie movie. In fact, while I’d seen Puppets converted to humans, I never considered in all my worst nightmares that the opposite could take place. Yet I’d just seen it with my own eyes, and horrid despair invaded my mind.
They were going to do that to me.
Beaming in eerie joy, the new Puppet stood and bowed its head to the hooded figure.
“Finish it, my child.” With a wave of its human hand, the figure directed the Puppet’s gaze to the flashlight by its feet. “Let go of the corruption that is the old. Embrace the perpetual night.”
Without pause, the Puppet who had been Kevin obediently brough his heel down on the light from his old rifle, and the glass crunched under his boot.
At that moment, I made the mistake of inhaling through my nose, and caught a whiff of the Puppet’s grimy hand that was over my mouth. It stank of must and mold, enough that my nose flared with a strong, sudden itch.
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t . . .
Desperate to hold it in, I tried to pull my nose away from the thing’s hand but couldn’t squirm loose.
“Achoo.”
Every gaze shifted to me, dozens of neck vertebrae crunching in sequence, and I choked down a whimper of fear.
“What’s this?” Under its moldy hood, the figure’s head turned, the gaping maw of inky shadow examining me from a distance.
It paced closer and towered over me, a mass of black shadow. The Puppets didn’t move, but a few made muffled clacks of their peg-shaped teeth in excitement, the fingers holding my shoulders drumming on my skin in glee.
Kneeling down, the hooded figure reached out with its good hand to pull the Puppet’s grubby palm from my face. “You can resist the master’s call? I am impressed. Just who might you be?”
I’ve gotta stall. Maybe I can get loose, maybe I can run. I just need time.
“H-Hannah.” I stammered out, the icy rainwater dripping down my neck in rivulets enough to make my skin feel numb. “Hannah Brun.”
“What a lovely name.” The voice wheezed, too deep and rough to be female, but so garbled and strained that I wondered if it could be human at all. “And yet, so ill fitted for your kind. Creative energy was always something wasted on man. I will give you a new one, a better one, and you will sing with my sons and daughters in the sacred grove of the Nameless One. Would you like that?”
Swallowing, I fought to keep from hyperventilating, and flexed my fingers over the sections of my war belt that I could reach, in search of something to stab with. “What’s the sacred grove?”
Clammy fingers stroked my cheek in a way that made my skin crawl. “A gift, dear one. A chance to start over, to bring balance to this noxious world, and restore it to its former glory. You will see it with new eyes, and you will rejoice.”
“Who are you?” I gulped, eyeing the figure’s opposite hand, where it grasped the jagged wooden knife, Kevin’s blood speckled on the grain.
Somehow, even though I couldn’t see its face, I knew the figure was smiling for how it bowed its head in faux appreciation. “I am the usher of the great devourer, champion of the eternal road, priest of the living shadow. Once, I had another name but now . . . now I am Vecitorak.”
At the name, a hushed gasp of wonder came from the army of Puppets, as if just hearing it was enough to make them faint. I had to admit, it sent chills up my already cold spine, the word echoing in my ringing ears with an ancient, otherworldly vibration. In my old life I might have laughed at such a name, but here I trembled, for the title had power, and even the instinctive cells of my body knew it.
“What do you want?” I squeaked, fingers closing on nothing, my knife too far back on my war belt to grasp.
Vecitorak’s grip tightened on my chin, and I tried to pull away, but couldn’t.
Eager hands closed in from every side to hold me down, and the wooden dagger rose into the rainy sky.
“There is no need to fight it.” Vecitorak bent over me with oppressive weight, as the Puppets shoved my head forward, parting my hair to bare the back of my skull. “It only hurts for a moment.”
God, let me die instead.
Unable to move, I tried to scream, but only managed a strangled sob. This wasn’t death; it was worse. A remaking of me from the inside out, a violation so permanent, so cruel that I wouldn’t even be me afterward. I’d be a freak, roaming the woods and clacking my teeth on all fours. I wouldn’t know the sun, or cool summer breeze. I wouldn’t remember what it was to eat a nice dinner or feel Chris’s arms around me.
I wouldn’t be anymore.
Taking in the last breath I’d ever draw, I shut my watery eyes, and pictured Chris, our unborn children, and our cozy homestead in rural Pennsylvania. All a dream. One I’d never have again.
Thunk.
Something bounced off the mud a few feet away, and the excited murmurs of the Puppets dropped into stoney silence.
Bang.
My already abused eardrums trilled with protest before I even had a chance to open both eyes, and the world lit up in a bright white flash.
Rifle fire cut through the forest, and shrieks of alarm went up from all the Puppets around me.
Lukewarm spatters coated my cheek as something whizzed by, and the hands loosened their grip on my arms.
Heart leaping in my chest, I wrenched away from them, and threw myself into the mud on hands and knees as fast as I could go. Without a hand to cover my eyes, I could see two huge plumes of orange flame sweeping back and forth in the distant brush, along with bursts of yellow muzzle flashes, the trees raging with fire. Puppets charged, but were cut down, and from the gloom, a familiar silhouette emerged with his maple-syrup colored hair plastered down on his head with rain.
Chris.
Fresh blood ran down his face and arms, but Chris advanced into the inferno with his M4 blazing, the leftover rangers from the convoy scything through freaks like they were made of butter. Beside him, Jamie hammered away with her Kalashnikov, her light blonde hair shining like a star in the firelight. The columns of orange flame came from two rangers dressed in black protective suits and welder’s helmets, holding the nozzles of a set of homemade flamethrowers that belched liquid fire into the sodden woods like dragons. To their left, squads of workers erupted from the thorn bushes still in their denim overalls, Ethan Sanderson at their head, driving back the ranks of Birch Crawlers by tossing hand grenades in waves. On the right, underbrush crashed, and glowing green antlers bobbed into view, the thunder of hooves unmistakable as long swords flashed alongside the rifles of Ark River.
A smile crossed my face, and I pushed myself to my feet.
Just a few more yards.
I picked one boot off the ground to run, my eyes on Chris, and opened my mouth to call his name.
“Where are you going, Hannah?” A fist yanked my head backward by my hair, and the warbly voice chuckled in my ear.
Searing pain exploded just under my ribs, and both feet buckled under me.
With a scream I landed on my stomach, and through eyes blurred by tears, I looked up to see the hooded figure crouched over me.
Vecitorak bent low, his dead hand pressing the wooden blade deeper into my side and put all of his weight on the gnarled weapon. “You think you’ve won?”
My skin itched, and pain seethed outward from the skin near my ribs, with a crawling sensation that wasn’t from sweat or blood. I tried to squirm free, tried to fight, but he pinned my wrists with his good hand, and drove the knife in so that I screeched in agony.
“You cannot hide.” He leaned down, so close that I could smell the fetid breath, the hood too deep to catch a glimpse of the face beneath. “Your world will fall. I already own you, child.”
Whispers rose in my head, my flesh twitched from foreign prodding beneath its surface, and the world spun.
Vecitorak let go of my wrists and yanked the knife from my side with a harsh twist.
I yelped in torment, but he just pressed his one good hand to the side of my head, pushed my skull into the mud, and raised his knife for the final blow.
Bang.
Vecitorak howled, and through bleary eyes, I glimpsed a nearby figure emerge from a white cloud of gun smoke.
A flintlock pistol fell to the mud, and steel twinkled in the aura of the growing flames as a cutlass whirled in the air.
Metal and wood met for an instant with a dull clang and heavy feet thudded over the ground into the trees.
Can’t fall asleep.
Whispers clogged my brain, and I tried to push myself up onto all fours, one hand clapped to the dripping gouge in my torso. It hurt worse than anything I’d ever dealt with before, and the pain continued to spread under my trembling fingers, movement that wasn’t mine.
Unable to get my legs to work, I tugged aside my shirt, and stared in terrified revulsion.
Crimson streams leaked from where the knife had gone in, but under the torn flesh, black lines fanned out in a slow, but steady network of curious growth. Cruel oily tendrils sliced tunnels through my skin, wiggled with parasite joy at every groan of pain I made, and various roots spouted from the wound itself, as if tasting the outside air. My muscles ached, the skin seemed to be on fire, and nausea wracked me in a tidal wave of sickness.
Collapsing onto the ground, I vomited, and tasted metallic blood amongst the sour bile.
“Over here!” A face appeared overhead, dark hair and scruff with a bandana and old-fashioned coat.
My vision dimmed, and my throat started to close, each breath a tortuous fight.
“No, no, no!” Chris’s voice echoed, as if he were far away in a tunnel, laced with a sadness that hurt almost as bad as the roots chewing through me. “My God, Hannah, no.”
“We have to get her to O’Brian.” A bleach blonde head bolted into view, two green eyes looking down into mine. “Hannah, say with me. Stay with me, we’re going to get you fixed up, just stay with me, please.”
Darkness closed in, the whispers in my ear rising to shrill screams.
“Someone get me a truck, now!” Chris’s shout broke halfway through with a muffled sob, and two arms circled under my armpits.
The world tilted, hungry tongues of fire consumed the trees, and my limp heels plowed furrows into the earth as they dragged me away. All the heat seeped out of my body, my throat went dry and tight, and the static melted my thoughts.
Too weak to fight them, I let the whispers sweep over me, and everything went black.

[Part 8]
[Part 10]
My breath came in short, shaky gasps, and I put down the wrench to feel for my submachine gun.
We are so screwed, we are so screwed, we are so screwed.
Engines revved all around me, gunfire continued to ring from the various truck windows and firing slots, but with all the lights extinguished, it seemed as though I’d been struck blind. Acrid smoke from burned gunpowder hung on the air inside the armored compartment, and I could feel the same apprehension in the muted breathes of the others in the truck, a creeping terror that followed on the heels of reality.
Daylight was several hours away, and we didn’t have that kind of time.
“Rhino 1, this is Hilltop, we’ve got units inbound to assist you, and a howitzer crew on standby. Can you move far enough for us to have a clear shot, over?” Through the speakers, Sean spoke in the deep, calm tones of a policeman, though I knew everyone on his side of the radio would be scrambling.
“Negative, Hilltop.” Chris radioed back, and I thought I caught the slightest crack in his voice over the airwaves, almost imperceptible beneath the roar of his rifle in the background. “They’ve got us pinned down. It’s not just mutants, I think we have—Oscar, don’t!”
Light flickered from somewhere up ahead, and to my horror, I watched Chris’s driver push his door open to climb out.
The flashlight on the end of his rifle shone brightly against the dark, but it wasn’t pointed out into the night. Instead, Oscar held his rifle at his side, aimlessly pointing the beam at the ground without his finger anywhere near the trigger. He stared out into the abyss with a blank, emotionless gaze, and Oscar stuck one boot out to step down into the mud.
Dread soaked my mind like ice water, and I waited for the surge of teeth to come for him.
What is he doing?
His boot heel touched the ground, and the roars of the Birch Crawlers stilled, the thunder of their charge dissipating all at once.
Like a blanket of lead, the silence settled over our convoy, each gun petering out as the shadows went motionless. With the tumbling rain, I struggled to see anything further than a few yards away, even with the light mounted on my Type 9, but I could make out thin shapes in the gloom.
Oscar took a step away from the truck.
Gray hands reached out from the dark, close to a dozen with chipped fingernails and black scabs over their cuts. Their fingers danced over his arms and shoulders, poking and prodding at him in an almost playful way, though from how others gripped Oscar’s wrists, I doubted he could have pulled away if he tried.
His rifle light flickered off, and Oscar vanished.
“Stay in your trucks!” Chris bellowed through the radio, his truck door slamming after Oscar’s departure, but something began to trickle in over the drumming rain, a hoarse, dull noise that I could barely discern over the rumble of the diesels.
Sitting on the floor of the armored compartment next to Zach, I swallowed a sour lump of fear, and hugged my submachine gun closer.
It’s not real, it’s all in your head, it has to be.
“D-Do you hear that?” Zach’s words came out ragged and shallow, though I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to.
For in that moment, the sound increased in volume, enough to be unmistakable, along with the blood-curdling scratch-scratch of fingernails on metal.
Whispers.
Hundreds of whispers, just on the other side of the armor plating, filled with unintelligible words. They raked grimy fingers over our trucks in slow, deliberate swipes, and a sensation of being watched flooded over me.
Too scared to stay motionless, I rolled to a crouch, eye level with the nearest gun slit.
With a trembling hand, I raised my Type 9, and clicked the flashlight taped to its barrel on.
Mother of God.
A sea of white round eyes gleamed back at me, wide grins stretched over pallid faces tucked between oily curtains of black, rotted hair. Thunder rolled high overhead, the rain soaked their exposed bodies, but the beings remained still, their tattered clothes dripping. Their cracked lips moved in a jumbled mass of the same sounds, unsynchronized, but similar nonetheless. Some of the decaying stench was suppressed by the rain, but I could still taste it on the back of my tongue, the sickly-sweet aroma of their unwashed, maltreated bodies, bound together with mud and wood. The ones who weren’t close enough to run their hands over the truck’s skin stood relaxed, with more crude weapons in their hands, all fashioned from bones, sinew, and flesh. Watching from the tree line, riders atop packs of Birch Crawlers awaited some sort of signal, some sign that I couldn’t understand.
What were they waiting for?
“Have to go.” One of the crew from truck three murmured in the headset, his words slurred as though he were drunk. “Need to see it.”
A seatbelt clicked, and Jamie surged through the truck interior past me, crawling on her hands and knees. “Liam? Liam, don’t you dare get out of that truck. Stay inside, you hear me?”
I scrabbled up beside her at the rear gun slots, only to stare in horror as the back doors of truck three swung open, and the crowd of eyes surged forward.
Screams cut through the night from inside the compartment, the truck rocked, and a rifle went off.
Silence.
“It’s so warm in the rain.” Truck four’s commander sighed over the speakers, with a strange, lilt to his voice.
Jamie racked the bolt on her AK and stuck the muzzle out the rearward firing slit, though I doubted she had a clear shot of anything for how dark it was. “Reggie, I swear to God, if you open that door I will put a bullet in your—”
Click.
It came from behind me, and I turned, my mouth falling open in muted dread.
Oh no.
Kevin’s head swiveled around to look back at us, his eyes glazed in an empty stare as he shoved open the driver’s door.
“It only hurts for a moment.” He cooed, in a soft breathlessness that seemed rife with anticipation.
Scarcely had the words left his mouth, and a river of gray hands dragged themselves into the truck.
Everything seemed to happen at once. Zach tried to back away from the horde, but more Puppets wriggled inside, and grabbed him by the ankles. Jamie’s AK spat fire into the oncoming gray faces, its report deafening inside the armored metal box. My submachine gun floated up into my field of vision, and the ringing in my ears reached a fever pitch as bullets sang into the night.
Clack.
The bolt rammed home on an empty chamber, and I reached for another magazine.
“Chris!” I shrieked into my headset, fumbling to reload my weapon. “Chris, they’re coming in, we can’t—”
A grimy set of fingers wrapped around my left boot and jerked me off balance.
The Type 9 blazed a stream of rounds into the ceiling of the armored compartment, the lead whining and ricochetting off the interior like a swarm of angry bees. Hands clawed at my legs, sharp fingernails turned only by the rough weave of my khakis, and I was dragged over the cluttered floor of the truck bed.
I thrashed, kicked, and swung the barrel of my submachine gun down to catch a few in the face with the last rounds of the magazine, but it was no use. My heels went over the center console, and I just managed to stop them from pulling me out by wrapping by arms around the headrest of the driver’s seat. More hands pried at my fingers, yanked at my hair, gripped my clothing, and ensured I couldn’t break free of the sinister tide.
“Jamie!” Reaching one desperate hand from the seat, I called to her, my eyes filled with horrified tears.
Jamie crouched against the rear doors of the truck, fanning the trigger of her rifle with all she had just to keep the mutants back. As my Type 9 slid from my grasp, they piled over one another, grinning soundlessly as they slid past me to climb further inside.
My free hand brushed cold steel at my hip, and I closed my hand over the pistol Andrew had given me as a belated birthday present. A one-to-one clone of Chris’s antique Mauser handgun, this one came newly made from the armory, chambered in the same 9mm cartridge as my Type 9, but with a smaller 10-round magazine. It had more than enough power to deal with these creatures, and I pushed the muzzle point-blank into the nearest Puppet’s face.
Bang.
It crumpled backward, but more pressed in to claim its place, and the gun’s bolt locked to the rear after the tenth round went off.
I felt my fingers slip on the seat cushion, and my heart stopped.
I should’ve saved that last bullet.
“No!” Jamie’s sheet-white face contorted in horror, and she reached for my hand, but it was too late.
A blizzard of filthy palms overwhelmed me, and the world blurred as I was carried off into the pouring rain.
Cold raindrops soaked me to the bone, my pistol clattered to the gravel beside the truck, and with every step the freaks held me aloft like a nightmarish mosh pit. One slimy hand clamped over my mouth to stifle my screams for help, and another went over my eyes, my limbs pinned down in a similar fashion. Gunfire picked up all along the convoy, but it faded into the distance as my captors fled into the underbrush with me. Unable to free myself, I shut my eyes beneath the dirty hand that covered them and waited for teeth to sink into my skin.
Splat.
Cold earth rammed into my knees, and I found myself dumped onto the mud, though the fiends maintained their grip on my legs, arms, and mouth. Daring to blink through the slightly parted fingers of my captors, I could just make out a small circle of lights around me, and spotted several different flashlights stuck into the mud, with their lenses angled upward like torches. Close to a hundred or more Puppets ringed the small clearing I knelt in, their continued whispers audible in the cold breeze, though I could see little more than gleaming white eyes in the darkness. Slumped in front of them were more rangers from our patrol, their heads hanging limp, held in place by rigid teams of grinning Puppets. They seemed to be unconscious, but otherwise unharmed, and I would have been more confused if I hadn’t been so frightened.
How are they doing this? They were mindless freaks not days ago. This shouldn’t be possible.
All at once, the whispers stopped.
I craned my head to try and see more, but the hands forced me to look forward, the fingers over my eyes staying where they were. As one, the Puppet’s heads turned in the misty gloom, and they looked toward the forest as if in anticipation.
A shape glided through the rain, stooping low to walk under the thorns and tangled branches. It stood as tall as any other human might, but not until it stepped into the circle of flashlights did I notice the long, moldy canvas of an old military poncho draped across its shoulders. With a cavernous hood to cover its owner’s head, the poncho went all the way to the ground so that I almost didn’t see the old boots covered in rips, scratches, and holes walking along the muck. Something about this mysterious being made my guts roil, but I could do nothing but remain where I knelt, shivering in the cold rain.
Reaching the center of the small clearing, the hooded figure stopped, all eyes on it.
Two hands slid from under the poncho, one surprisingly human and pale, the other gray and torn, with two of the fingers worn down to the bone, flesh hanging in rotted tatters. They lifted up toward the sky, like some kind of priestly gesture, and from beneath the ragged hood, came a voice.
“The way lies open.” It rasped in a fluid-filled gargle that made me want to gag sympathetically, and slowly turned on the spot to address all the freaks in the circle. “The hunt has begun. Let us purge this corruption, my children, that the Nameless One might take pleasure in our conquest.”
Beaming like kids at a candy store, the Puppets all turned their gazes toward us, their bared wooden teeth dripping with rainwater and black slime. Seeing them all upright, responding to speech, with their own crude weapons in hand sent my mind into overdrive.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Walking over to the first captive, the hooded figure took the man’s chin in its good hand and raised his unconscious head upward.
My stomach lurched as I recognized Kevin, his buzz-cut brown hair glistening with raindrops.
“Awaken, little one.” Raising its ruined hand high, the hooded figure held something long and black in its grasp. “Our glorious era draws near.”
The dead hand plunged down, and I winced at a sickening crunch.
In a spasm, Kevin’s eyes flew open, and he let out a guttural cry of pain that rang into the surrounding trees. His body tensed as if to struggle, but another sound overpowered his voice, a squelching gurgle that choked out Kevin’s wail.
He froze, stiff as a statue, and Kevin’s jaw stuck open in mid-scream.
I squinted hard between the fingers over my eyes, in time to spot something black poked from between his teeth. It wriggled like a worm, even as more shapes like it spread around Kevin’s bedraggled head from the back. Oily tendrils pried their way under his eyelids, up his nostrils, and into Kevin’s ears until they completely encased his head, and I realized what they were.
Roots. Those are roots. Like from a tree.
With an incessant march of rot and wood, the roots burrowed under Kevin’s pale skin, dark lines appearing like spiderwebs over his neck. More wove themselves over his body from head to toe, all leading back to a long, thin blade that protruded from the back of his skull. It looked to be fashioned it seemed from a single piece of hardwood, like someone had split off a chunk of an old tree trunk and left the end sharp like a knife. Bits of human hair lay braided around the hilt, and something about the weapon made my head spin, static rising inside my brain in a dizzying avalanche of noise.
The hooded figure withdrew the odd knife from Kevin’s skull, and the roots continued to wrap around him in a wall of black. Ripping and popping sounds came from underneath, and between the snaking tendrils, I watched in shock as pools of red blood oozed out, followed by chunks of rubbery stuff that looked like flesh.
Toward the back of Kevin’s head, the sprouts began to withdraw, and from under them, black oily hair tumbled forth.
It’s not possible.
Helplessly I watched as the dark vines receded to show gray skin, torn clothing, and two milky white eyes sunken into the face. The last of the tendrils flowed over the Kevin’s chin, before disappearing down his now blackened throat to leave behind square, brown wooden teeth.
The new Puppet blinked, and his frozen scream stretched into a familiar, wide grin.
My breath caught in my chest, and I gritted my teeth to hold back nausea. It had been common knowledge amongst the rangers that a Puppet bite, while full of nasty bacteria, wouldn’t turn you into one like in a zombie movie. In fact, while I’d seen Puppets converted to humans, I never considered in all my worst nightmares that the opposite could take place. Yet I’d just seen it with my own eyes, and horrid despair invaded my mind.
They were going to do that to me.
Beaming in eerie joy, the new Puppet stood and bowed its head to the hooded figure.
“Finish it, my child.” With a wave of its human hand, the figure directed the Puppet’s gaze to the flashlight by its feet. “Let go of the corruption that is the old. Embrace the perpetual night.”
Without pause, the Puppet who had been Kevin obediently brough his heel down on the light from his old rifle, and the glass crunched under his boot.
At that moment, I made the mistake of inhaling through my nose, and caught a whiff of the Puppet’s grimy hand that was over my mouth. It stank of must and mold, enough that my nose flared with a strong, sudden itch.
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t . . .
Desperate to hold it in, I tried to pull my nose away from the thing’s hand but couldn’t squirm loose.
“Achoo.”
Every gaze shifted to me, dozens of neck vertebrae crunching in sequence, and I choked down a whimper of fear.
“What’s this?” Under its moldy hood, the figure’s head turned, the gaping maw of inky shadow examining me from a distance.
It paced closer and towered over me, a mass of black shadow. The Puppets didn’t move, but a few made muffled clacks of their peg-shaped teeth in excitement, the fingers holding my shoulders drumming on my skin in glee.
Kneeling down, the hooded figure reached out with its good hand to pull the Puppet’s grubby palm from my face. “You can resist the master’s call? I am impressed. Just who might you be?”
I’ve gotta stall. Maybe I can get loose, maybe I can run. I just need time.
“H-Hannah.” I stammered out, the icy rainwater dripping down my neck in rivulets enough to make my skin feel numb. “Hannah Brun.”
“What a lovely name.” The voice wheezed, too deep and rough to be female, but so garbled and strained that I wondered if it could be human at all. “And yet, so ill fitted for your kind. Creative energy was always something wasted on man. I will give you a new one, a better one, and you will sing with my sons and daughters in the sacred grove of the Nameless One. Would you like that?”
Swallowing, I fought to keep from hyperventilating, and flexed my fingers over the sections of my war belt that I could reach, in search of something to stab with. “What’s the sacred grove?”
Clammy fingers stroked my cheek in a way that made my skin crawl. “A gift, dear one. A chance to start over, to bring balance to this noxious world, and restore it to its former glory. You will see it with new eyes, and you will rejoice.”
“Who are you?” I gulped, eyeing the figure’s opposite hand, where it grasped the jagged wooden knife, Kevin’s blood speckled on the grain.
Somehow, even though I couldn’t see its face, I knew the figure was smiling for how it bowed its head in faux appreciation. “I am the usher of the great devourer, champion of the eternal road, priest of the living shadow. Once, I had another name but now . . . now I am Vecitorak.”
At the name, a hushed gasp of wonder came from the army of Puppets, as if just hearing it was enough to make them faint. I had to admit, it sent chills up my already cold spine, the word echoing in my ringing ears with an ancient, otherworldly vibration. In my old life I might have laughed at such a name, but here I trembled, for the title had power, and even the instinctive cells of my body knew it.
“What do you want?” I squeaked, fingers closing on nothing, my knife too far back on my war belt to grasp.
Vecitorak’s grip tightened on my chin, and I tried to pull away, but couldn’t.
Eager hands closed in from every side to hold me down, and the wooden dagger rose into the rainy sky.
“There is no need to fight it.” Vecitorak bent over me with oppressive weight, as the Puppets shoved my head forward, parting my hair to bare the back of my skull. “It only hurts for a moment.”
God, let me die instead.
Unable to move, I tried to scream, but only managed a strangled sob. This wasn’t death; it was worse. A remaking of me from the inside out, a violation so permanent, so cruel that I wouldn’t even be me afterward. I’d be a freak, roaming the woods and clacking my teeth on all fours. I wouldn’t know the sun, or cool summer breeze. I wouldn’t remember what it was to eat a nice dinner or feel Chris’s arms around me.
I wouldn’t be anymore.
Taking in the last breath I’d ever draw, I shut my watery eyes, and pictured Chris, our unborn children, and our cozy homestead in rural Pennsylvania. All a dream. One I’d never have again.
Thunk.
Something bounced off the mud a few feet away, and the excited murmurs of the Puppets dropped into stoney silence.
Bang.
My already abused eardrums trilled with protest before I even had a chance to open both eyes, and the world lit up in a bright white flash.
Rifle fire cut through the forest, and shrieks of alarm went up from all the Puppets around me.
Lukewarm spatters coated my cheek as something whizzed by, and the hands loosened their grip on my arms.
Heart leaping in my chest, I wrenched away from them, and threw myself into the mud on hands and knees as fast as I could go. Without a hand to cover my eyes, I could see two huge plumes of orange flame sweeping back and forth in the distant brush, along with bursts of yellow muzzle flashes, the trees raging with fire. Puppets charged, but were cut down, and from the gloom, a familiar silhouette emerged with his maple-syrup colored hair plastered down on his head with rain.
Chris.
Fresh blood ran down his face and arms, but Chris advanced into the inferno with his M4 blazing, the leftover rangers from the convoy scything through freaks like they were made of butter. Beside him, Jamie hammered away with her Kalashnikov, her light blonde hair shining like a star in the firelight. The columns of orange flame came from two rangers dressed in black protective suits and welder’s helmets, holding the nozzles of a set of homemade flamethrowers that belched liquid fire into the sodden woods like dragons. To their left, squads of workers erupted from the thorn bushes still in their denim overalls, Ethan Sanderson at their head, driving back the ranks of Birch Crawlers by tossing hand grenades in waves. On the right, underbrush crashed, and glowing green antlers bobbed into view, the thunder of hooves unmistakable as long swords flashed alongside the rifles of Ark River.
A smile crossed my face, and I pushed myself to my feet.
Just a few more yards.
I picked one boot off the ground to run, my eyes on Chris, and opened my mouth to call his name.
“Where are you going, Hannah?” A fist yanked my head backward by my hair, and the warbly voice chuckled in my ear.
Searing pain exploded just under my ribs, and both feet buckled under me.
With a scream I landed on my stomach, and through eyes blurred by tears, I looked up to see the hooded figure crouched over me.
Vecitorak bent low, his dead hand pressing the wooden blade deeper into my side and put all of his weight on the gnarled weapon. “You think you’ve won?”
My skin itched, and pain seethed outward from the skin near my ribs, with a crawling sensation that wasn’t from sweat or blood. I tried to squirm free, tried to fight, but he pinned my wrists with his good hand, and drove the knife in so that I screeched in agony.
“You cannot hide.” He leaned down, so close that I could smell the fetid breath, the hood too deep to catch a glimpse of the face beneath. “Your world will fall. I already own you, child.”
Whispers rose in my head, my flesh twitched from foreign prodding beneath its surface, and the world spun.
Vecitorak let go of my wrists and yanked the knife from my side with a harsh twist.
I yelped in torment, but he just pressed his one good hand to the side of my head, pushed my skull into the mud, and raised his knife for the final blow.
Bang.
Vecitorak howled, and through bleary eyes, I glimpsed a nearby figure emerge from a white cloud of gun smoke.
A flintlock pistol fell to the mud, and steel twinkled in the aura of the growing flames as a cutlass whirled in the air.
Metal and wood met for an instant with a dull clang and heavy feet thudded over the ground into the trees.
Can’t fall asleep.
Whispers clogged my brain, and I tried to push myself up onto all fours, one hand clapped to the dripping gouge in my torso. It hurt worse than anything I’d ever dealt with before, and the pain continued to spread under my trembling fingers, movement that wasn’t mine.
Unable to get my legs to work, I tugged aside my shirt, and stared in terrified revulsion.
Crimson streams leaked from where the knife had gone in, but under the torn flesh, black lines fanned out in a slow, but steady network of curious growth. Cruel oily tendrils sliced tunnels through my skin, wiggled with parasite joy at every groan of pain I made, and various roots spouted from the wound itself, as if tasting the outside air. My muscles ached, the skin seemed to be on fire, and nausea wracked me in a tidal wave of sickness.
Collapsing onto the ground, I vomited, and tasted metallic blood amongst the sour bile.
“Over here!” A face appeared overhead, dark hair and scruff with a bandana and old-fashioned coat.
My vision dimmed, and my throat started to close, each breath a tortuous fight.
“No, no, no!” Chris’s voice echoed, as if he were far away in a tunnel, laced with a sadness that hurt almost as bad as the roots chewing through me. “My God, Hannah, no.”
“We have to get her to O’Brian.” A bleach blonde head bolted into view, two green eyes looking down into mine. “Hannah, say with me. Stay with me, we’re going to get you fixed up, just stay with me, please.”
Darkness closed in, the whispers in my ear rising to shrill screams.
“Someone get me a truck, now!” Chris’s shout broke halfway through with a muffled sob, and two arms circled under my armpits.
The world tilted, hungry tongues of fire consumed the trees, and my limp heels plowed furrows into the earth as they dragged me away. All the heat seeped out of my body, my throat went dry and tight, and the static melted my thoughts.
Too weak to fight them, I let the whispers sweep over me, and everything went black.

[Part 8]
[Part 10]
My breath came in short, shaky gasps, and I put down the wrench to feel for my submachine gun.
We are so screwed, we are so screwed, we are so screwed.
Engines revved all around me, gunfire continued to ring from the various truck windows and firing slots, but with all the lights extinguished, it seemed as though I’d been struck blind. Acrid smoke from burned gunpowder hung on the air inside the armored compartment, and I could feel the same apprehension in the muted breathes of the others in the truck, a creeping terror that followed on the heels of reality.
Daylight was several hours away, and we didn’t have that kind of time.
“Rhino 1, this is Hilltop, we’ve got units inbound to assist you, and a howitzer crew on standby. Can you move far enough for us to have a clear shot, over?” Through the speakers, Sean spoke in the deep, calm tones of a policeman, though I knew everyone on his side of the radio would be scrambling.
“Negative, Hilltop.” Chris radioed back, and I thought I caught the slightest crack in his voice over the airwaves, almost imperceptible beneath the roar of his rifle in the background. “They’ve got us pinned down. It’s not just mutants, I think we have—Oscar, don’t!”
Light flickered from somewhere up ahead, and to my horror, I watched Chris’s driver push his door open to climb out.
The flashlight on the end of his rifle shone brightly against the dark, but it wasn’t pointed out into the night. Instead, Oscar held his rifle at his side, aimlessly pointing the beam at the ground without his finger anywhere near the trigger. He stared out into the abyss with a blank, emotionless gaze, and Oscar stuck one boot out to step down into the mud.
Dread soaked my mind like ice water, and I waited for the surge of teeth to come for him.
What is he doing?
His boot heel touched the ground, and the roars of the Birch Crawlers stilled, the thunder of their charge dissipating all at once.
Like a blanket of lead, the silence settled over our convoy, each gun petering out as the shadows went motionless. With the tumbling rain, I struggled to see anything further than a few yards away, even with the light mounted on my Type 9, but I could make out thin shapes in the gloom.
Oscar took a step away from the truck.
Gray hands reached out from the dark, close to a dozen with chipped fingernails and black scabs over their cuts. Their fingers danced over his arms and shoulders, poking and prodding at him in an almost playful way, though from how others gripped Oscar’s wrists, I doubted he could have pulled away if he tried.
His rifle light flickered off, and Oscar vanished.
“Stay in your trucks!” Chris bellowed through the radio, his truck door slamming after Oscar’s departure, but something began to trickle in over the drumming rain, a hoarse, dull noise that I could barely discern over the rumble of the diesels.
Sitting on the floor of the armored compartment next to Zach, I swallowed a sour lump of fear, and hugged my submachine gun closer.
It’s not real, it’s all in your head, it has to be.
“D-Do you hear that?” Zach’s words came out ragged and shallow, though I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to.
For in that moment, the sound increased in volume, enough to be unmistakable, along with the blood-curdling scratch-scratch of fingernails on metal.
Whispers.
Hundreds of whispers, just on the other side of the armor plating, filled with unintelligible words. They raked grimy fingers over our trucks in slow, deliberate swipes, and a sensation of being watched flooded over me.
Too scared to stay motionless, I rolled to a crouch, eye level with the nearest gun slit.
With a trembling hand, I raised my Type 9, and clicked the flashlight taped to its barrel on.
Mother of God.
A sea of white round eyes gleamed back at me, wide grins stretched over pallid faces tucked between oily curtains of black, rotted hair. Thunder rolled high overhead, the rain soaked their exposed bodies, but the beings remained still, their tattered clothes dripping. Their cracked lips moved in a jumbled mass of the same sounds, unsynchronized, but similar nonetheless. Some of the decaying stench was suppressed by the rain, but I could still taste it on the back of my tongue, the sickly-sweet aroma of their unwashed, maltreated bodies, bound together with mud and wood. The ones who weren’t close enough to run their hands over the truck’s skin stood relaxed, with more crude weapons in their hands, all fashioned from bones, sinew, and flesh. Watching from the tree line, riders atop packs of Birch Crawlers awaited some sort of signal, some sign that I couldn’t understand.
What were they waiting for?
“Have to go.” One of the crew from truck three murmured in the headset, his words slurred as though he were drunk. “Need to see it.”
A seatbelt clicked, and Jamie surged through the truck interior past me, crawling on her hands and knees. “Liam? Liam, don’t you dare get out of that truck. Stay inside, you hear me?”
I scrabbled up beside her at the rear gun slots, only to stare in horror as the back doors of truck three swung open, and the crowd of eyes surged forward.
Screams cut through the night from inside the compartment, the truck rocked, and a rifle went off.
Silence.
“It’s so warm in the rain.” Truck four’s commander sighed over the speakers, with a strange, lilt to his voice.
Jamie racked the bolt on her AK and stuck the muzzle out the rearward firing slit, though I doubted she had a clear shot of anything for how dark it was. “Reggie, I swear to God, if you open that door I will put a bullet in your—”
Click.
It came from behind me, and I turned, my mouth falling open in muted dread.
Oh no.
Kevin’s head swiveled around to look back at us, his eyes glazed in an empty stare as he shoved open the driver’s door.
“It only hurts for a moment.” He cooed, in a soft breathlessness that seemed rife with anticipation.
Scarcely had the words left his mouth, and a river of gray hands dragged themselves into the truck.
Everything seemed to happen at once. Zach tried to back away from the horde, but more Puppets wriggled inside, and grabbed him by the ankles. Jamie’s AK spat fire into the oncoming gray faces, its report deafening inside the armored metal box. My submachine gun floated up into my field of vision, and the ringing in my ears reached a fever pitch as bullets sang into the night.
Clack.
The bolt rammed home on an empty chamber, and I reached for another magazine.
“Chris!” I shrieked into my headset, fumbling to reload my weapon. “Chris, they’re coming in, we can’t—”
A grimy set of fingers wrapped around my left boot and jerked me off balance.
The Type 9 blazed a stream of rounds into the ceiling of the armored compartment, the lead whining and ricochetting off the interior like a swarm of angry bees. Hands clawed at my legs, sharp fingernails turned only by the rough weave of my khakis, and I was dragged over the cluttered floor of the truck bed.
I thrashed, kicked, and swung the barrel of my submachine gun down to catch a few in the face with the last rounds of the magazine, but it was no use. My heels went over the center console, and I just managed to stop them from pulling me out by wrapping by arms around the headrest of the driver’s seat. More hands pried at my fingers, yanked at my hair, gripped my clothing, and ensured I couldn’t break free of the sinister tide.
“Jamie!” Reaching one desperate hand from the seat, I called to her, my eyes filled with horrified tears.
Jamie crouched against the rear doors of the truck, fanning the trigger of her rifle with all she had just to keep the mutants back. As my Type 9 slid from my grasp, they piled over one another, grinning soundlessly as they slid past me to climb further inside.
My free hand brushed cold steel at my hip, and I closed my hand over the pistol Andrew had given me as a belated birthday present. A one-to-one clone of Chris’s antique Mauser handgun, this one came newly made from the armory, chambered in the same 9mm cartridge as my Type 9, but with a smaller 10-round magazine. It had more than enough power to deal with these creatures, and I pushed the muzzle point-blank into the nearest Puppet’s face.
Bang.
It crumpled backward, but more pressed in to claim its place, and the gun’s bolt locked to the rear after the tenth round went off.
I felt my fingers slip on the seat cushion, and my heart stopped.
I should’ve saved that last bullet.
“No!” Jamie’s sheet-white face contorted in horror, and she reached for my hand, but it was too late.
A blizzard of filthy palms overwhelmed me, and the world blurred as I was carried off into the pouring rain.
Cold raindrops soaked me to the bone, my pistol clattered to the gravel beside the truck, and with every step the freaks held me aloft like a nightmarish mosh pit. One slimy hand clamped over my mouth to stifle my screams for help, and another went over my eyes, my limbs pinned down in a similar fashion. Gunfire picked up all along the convoy, but it faded into the distance as my captors fled into the underbrush with me. Unable to free myself, I shut my eyes beneath the dirty hand that covered them and waited for teeth to sink into my skin.
Splat.
Cold earth rammed into my knees, and I found myself dumped onto the mud, though the fiends maintained their grip on my legs, arms, and mouth. Daring to blink through the slightly parted fingers of my captors, I could just make out a small circle of lights around me, and spotted several different flashlights stuck into the mud, with their lenses angled upward like torches. Close to a hundred or more Puppets ringed the small clearing I knelt in, their continued whispers audible in the cold breeze, though I could see little more than gleaming white eyes in the darkness. Slumped in front of them were more rangers from our patrol, their heads hanging limp, held in place by rigid teams of grinning Puppets. They seemed to be unconscious, but otherwise unharmed, and I would have been more confused if I hadn’t been so frightened.
How are they doing this? They were mindless freaks not days ago. This shouldn’t be possible.
All at once, the whispers stopped.
I craned my head to try and see more, but the hands forced me to look forward, the fingers over my eyes staying where they were. As one, the Puppet’s heads turned in the misty gloom, and they looked toward the forest as if in anticipation.
A shape glided through the rain, stooping low to walk under the thorns and tangled branches. It stood as tall as any other human might, but not until it stepped into the circle of flashlights did I notice the long, moldy canvas of an old military poncho draped across its shoulders. With a cavernous hood to cover its owner’s head, the poncho went all the way to the ground so that I almost didn’t see the old boots covered in rips, scratches, and holes walking along the muck. Something about this mysterious being made my guts roil, but I could do nothing but remain where I knelt, shivering in the cold rain.
Reaching the center of the small clearing, the hooded figure stopped, all eyes on it.
Two hands slid from under the poncho, one surprisingly human and pale, the other gray and torn, with two of the fingers worn down to the bone, flesh hanging in rotted tatters. They lifted up toward the sky, like some kind of priestly gesture, and from beneath the ragged hood, came a voice.
“The way lies open.” It rasped in a fluid-filled gargle that made me want to gag sympathetically, and slowly turned on the spot to address all the freaks in the circle. “The hunt has begun. Let us purge this corruption, my children, that the Nameless One might take pleasure in our conquest.”
Beaming like kids at a candy store, the Puppets all turned their gazes toward us, their bared wooden teeth dripping with rainwater and black slime. Seeing them all upright, responding to speech, with their own crude weapons in hand sent my mind into overdrive.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Walking over to the first captive, the hooded figure took the man’s chin in its good hand and raised his unconscious head upward.
My stomach lurched as I recognized Kevin, his buzz-cut brown hair glistening with raindrops.
“Awaken, little one.” Raising its ruined hand high, the hooded figure held something long and black in its grasp. “Our glorious era draws near.”
The dead hand plunged down, and I winced at a sickening crunch.
In a spasm, Kevin’s eyes flew open, and he let out a guttural cry of pain that rang into the surrounding trees. His body tensed as if to struggle, but another sound overpowered his voice, a squelching gurgle that choked out Kevin’s wail.
He froze, stiff as a statue, and Kevin’s jaw stuck open in mid-scream.
I squinted hard between the fingers over my eyes, in time to spot something black poked from between his teeth. It wriggled like a worm, even as more shapes like it spread around Kevin’s bedraggled head from the back. Oily tendrils pried their way under his eyelids, up his nostrils, and into Kevin’s ears until they completely encased his head, and I realized what they were.
Roots. Those are roots. Like from a tree.
With an incessant march of rot and wood, the roots burrowed under Kevin’s pale skin, dark lines appearing like spiderwebs over his neck. More wove themselves over his body from head to toe, all leading back to a long, thin blade that protruded from the back of his skull. It looked to be fashioned it seemed from a single piece of hardwood, like someone had split off a chunk of an old tree trunk and left the end sharp like a knife. Bits of human hair lay braided around the hilt, and something about the weapon made my head spin, static rising inside my brain in a dizzying avalanche of noise.
The hooded figure withdrew the odd knife from Kevin’s skull, and the roots continued to wrap around him in a wall of black. Ripping and popping sounds came from underneath, and between the snaking tendrils, I watched in shock as pools of red blood oozed out, followed by chunks of rubbery stuff that looked like flesh.
Toward the back of Kevin’s head, the sprouts began to withdraw, and from under them, black oily hair tumbled forth.
It’s not possible.
Helplessly I watched as the dark vines receded to show gray skin, torn clothing, and two milky white eyes sunken into the face. The last of the tendrils flowed over the Kevin’s chin, before disappearing down his now blackened throat to leave behind square, brown wooden teeth.
The new Puppet blinked, and his frozen scream stretched into a familiar, wide grin.
My breath caught in my chest, and I gritted my teeth to hold back nausea. It had been common knowledge amongst the rangers that a Puppet bite, while full of nasty bacteria, wouldn’t turn you into one like in a zombie movie. In fact, while I’d seen Puppets converted to humans, I never considered in all my worst nightmares that the opposite could take place. Yet I’d just seen it with my own eyes, and horrid despair invaded my mind.
They were going to do that to me.
Beaming in eerie joy, the new Puppet stood and bowed its head to the hooded figure.
“Finish it, my child.” With a wave of its human hand, the figure directed the Puppet’s gaze to the flashlight by its feet. “Let go of the corruption that is the old. Embrace the perpetual night.”
Without pause, the Puppet who had been Kevin obediently brough his heel down on the light from his old rifle, and the glass crunched under his boot.
At that moment, I made the mistake of inhaling through my nose, and caught a whiff of the Puppet’s grimy hand that was over my mouth. It stank of must and mold, enough that my nose flared with a strong, sudden itch.
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t . . .
Desperate to hold it in, I tried to pull my nose away from the thing’s hand but couldn’t squirm loose.
“Achoo.”
Every gaze shifted to me, dozens of neck vertebrae crunching in sequence, and I choked down a whimper of fear.
“What’s this?” Under its moldy hood, the figure’s head turned, the gaping maw of inky shadow examining me from a distance.
It paced closer and towered over me, a mass of black shadow. The Puppets didn’t move, but a few made muffled clacks of their peg-shaped teeth in excitement, the fingers holding my shoulders drumming on my skin in glee.
Kneeling down, the hooded figure reached out with its good hand to pull the Puppet’s grubby palm from my face. “You can resist the master’s call? I am impressed. Just who might you be?”
I’ve gotta stall. Maybe I can get loose, maybe I can run. I just need time.
“H-Hannah.” I stammered out, the icy rainwater dripping down my neck in rivulets enough to make my skin feel numb. “Hannah Brun.”
“What a lovely name.” The voice wheezed, too deep and rough to be female, but so garbled and strained that I wondered if it could be human at all. “And yet, so ill fitted for your kind. Creative energy was always something wasted on man. I will give you a new one, a better one, and you will sing with my sons and daughters in the sacred grove of the Nameless One. Would you like that?”
Swallowing, I fought to keep from hyperventilating, and flexed my fingers over the sections of my war belt that I could reach, in search of something to stab with. “What’s the sacred grove?”
Clammy fingers stroked my cheek in a way that made my skin crawl. “A gift, dear one. A chance to start over, to bring balance to this noxious world, and restore it to its former glory. You will see it with new eyes, and you will rejoice.”
“Who are you?” I gulped, eyeing the figure’s opposite hand, where it grasped the jagged wooden knife, Kevin’s blood speckled on the grain.
Somehow, even though I couldn’t see its face, I knew the figure was smiling for how it bowed its head in faux appreciation. “I am the usher of the great devourer, champion of the eternal road, priest of the living shadow. Once, I had another name but now . . . now I am Vecitorak.”
At the name, a hushed gasp of wonder came from the army of Puppets, as if just hearing it was enough to make them faint. I had to admit, it sent chills up my already cold spine, the word echoing in my ringing ears with an ancient, otherworldly vibration. In my old life I might have laughed at such a name, but here I trembled, for the title had power, and even the instinctive cells of my body knew it.
“What do you want?” I squeaked, fingers closing on nothing, my knife too far back on my war belt to grasp.
Vecitorak’s grip tightened on my chin, and I tried to pull away, but couldn’t.
Eager hands closed in from every side to hold me down, and the wooden dagger rose into the rainy sky.
“There is no need to fight it.” Vecitorak bent over me with oppressive weight, as the Puppets shoved my head forward, parting my hair to bare the back of my skull. “It only hurts for a moment.”
God, let me die instead.
Unable to move, I tried to scream, but only managed a strangled sob. This wasn’t death; it was worse. A remaking of me from the inside out, a violation so permanent, so cruel that I wouldn’t even be me afterward. I’d be a freak, roaming the woods and clacking my teeth on all fours. I wouldn’t know the sun, or cool summer breeze. I wouldn’t remember what it was to eat a nice dinner or feel Chris’s arms around me.
I wouldn’t be anymore.
Taking in the last breath I’d ever draw, I shut my watery eyes, and pictured Chris, our unborn children, and our cozy homestead in rural Pennsylvania. All a dream. One I’d never have again.
Thunk.
Something bounced off the mud a few feet away, and the excited murmurs of the Puppets dropped into stoney silence.
Bang.
My already abused eardrums trilled with protest before I even had a chance to open both eyes, and the world lit up in a bright white flash.
Rifle fire cut through the forest, and shrieks of alarm went up from all the Puppets around me.
Lukewarm spatters coated my cheek as something whizzed by, and the hands loosened their grip on my arms.
Heart leaping in my chest, I wrenched away from them, and threw myself into the mud on hands and knees as fast as I could go. Without a hand to cover my eyes, I could see two huge plumes of orange flame sweeping back and forth in the distant brush, along with bursts of yellow muzzle flashes, the trees raging with fire. Puppets charged, but were cut down, and from the gloom, a familiar silhouette emerged with his maple-syrup colored hair plastered down on his head with rain.
Chris.
Fresh blood ran down his face and arms, but Chris advanced into the inferno with his M4 blazing, the leftover rangers from the convoy scything through freaks like they were made of butter. Beside him, Jamie hammered away with her Kalashnikov, her light blonde hair shining like a star in the firelight. The columns of orange flame came from two rangers dressed in black protective suits and welder’s helmets, holding the nozzles of a set of homemade flamethrowers that belched liquid fire into the sodden woods like dragons. To their left, squads of workers erupted from the thorn bushes still in their denim overalls, Ethan Sanderson at their head, driving back the ranks of Birch Crawlers by tossing hand grenades in waves. On the right, underbrush crashed, and glowing green antlers bobbed into view, the thunder of hooves unmistakable as long swords flashed alongside the rifles of Ark River.
A smile crossed my face, and I pushed myself to my feet.
Just a few more yards.
I picked one boot off the ground to run, my eyes on Chris, and opened my mouth to call his name.
“Where are you going, Hannah?” A fist yanked my head backward by my hair, and the warbly voice chuckled in my ear.
Searing pain exploded just under my ribs, and both feet buckled under me.
With a scream I landed on my stomach, and through eyes blurred by tears, I looked up to see the hooded figure crouched over me.
Vecitorak bent low, his dead hand pressing the wooden blade deeper into my side and put all of his weight on the gnarled weapon. “You think you’ve won?”
My skin itched, and pain seethed outward from the skin near my ribs, with a crawling sensation that wasn’t from sweat or blood. I tried to squirm free, tried to fight, but he pinned my wrists with his good hand, and drove the knife in so that I screeched in agony.
“You cannot hide.” He leaned down, so close that I could smell the fetid breath, the hood too deep to catch a glimpse of the face beneath. “Your world will fall. I already own you, child.”
Whispers rose in my head, my flesh twitched from foreign prodding beneath its surface, and the world spun.
Vecitorak let go of my wrists and yanked the knife from my side with a harsh twist.
I yelped in torment, but he just pressed his one good hand to the side of my head, pushed my skull into the mud, and raised his knife for the final blow.
Bang.
Vecitorak howled, and through bleary eyes, I glimpsed a nearby figure emerge from a white cloud of gun smoke.
A flintlock pistol fell to the mud, and steel twinkled in the aura of the growing flames as a cutlass whirled in the air.
Metal and wood met for an instant with a dull clang and heavy feet thudded over the ground into the trees.
Can’t fall asleep.
Whispers clogged my brain, and I tried to push myself up onto all fours, one hand clapped to the dripping gouge in my torso. It hurt worse than anything I’d ever dealt with before, and the pain continued to spread under my trembling fingers, movement that wasn’t mine.
Unable to get my legs to work, I tugged aside my shirt, and stared in terrified revulsion.
Crimson streams leaked from where the knife had gone in, but under the torn flesh, black lines fanned out in a slow, but steady network of curious growth. Cruel oily tendrils sliced tunnels through my skin, wiggled with parasite joy at every groan of pain I made, and various roots spouted from the wound itself, as if tasting the outside air. My muscles ached, the skin seemed to be on fire, and nausea wracked me in a tidal wave of sickness.
Collapsing onto the ground, I vomited, and tasted metallic blood amongst the sour bile.
“Over here!” A face appeared overhead, dark hair and scruff with a bandana and old-fashioned coat.
My vision dimmed, and my throat started to close, each breath a tortuous fight.
“No, no, no!” Chris’s voice echoed, as if he were far away in a tunnel, laced with a sadness that hurt almost as bad as the roots chewing through me. “My God, Hannah, no.”
“We have to get her to O’Brian.” A bleach blonde head bolted into view, two green eyes looking down into mine. “Hannah, say with me. Stay with me, we’re going to get you fixed up, just stay with me, please.”
Darkness closed in, the whispers in my ear rising to shrill screams.
“Someone get me a truck, now!” Chris’s shout broke halfway through with a muffled sob, and two arms circled under my armpits.
The world tilted, hungry tongues of fire consumed the trees, and my limp heels plowed furrows into the earth as they dragged me away. All the heat seeped out of my body, my throat went dry and tight, and the static melted my thoughts.
Too weak to fight them, I let the whispers sweep over me, and everything went black.

PHEW! This was honestly so fun to write so I hope you guys enjoy the climactic fight to end this flashback. Thank you, as always, for reading ;)
The first shot bore into one’s chest. The second caught the other’s knee and forced him to fall into the open. The third shot followed the second and caught the man straight through his skull.
The Sentinel was already moving. She’d pay for the action, but it was the best move amongst a bunch of shitty choices. The Sentinel had brought its mangled arm up and now sent it careening down into Pen’s outstretched grip to disarm her. She only had time to shift her left hand over her right. Still the blow caught her hard.
Pain erupted in her left hand as bones fractured and shattered. The gun clattered to the ground. Pen slammed her right foot into the side of the Sentinel. It barely registered the attack but its only real purpose was to send Pen into a roll out of its reach.
She came out of the roll and forced herself to her feet. Her left hand was throbbing waves of nauseating pain but with her right she pulled her hatchet from her hip and readied the weapon.
The Sentinel straightened, noted its dead allies, and looked at the gun on the floor before kicking it far away. It looked at her and let out another deep buzzing sound.
Without warning it lunged forward, incredibly quick for its weight. Pen went under its attempted grapple and past it on its left. As she passed, she brought her hatchet high ripping into its armpit joint. She then dropped to the ground and brought the hatchet into the back of its left knee. Neither strike disabled anything, but she felt the softer material of the joints give. They took damage.
Again though, she paid for her actions. As she brought the hatchet out of its leg, it was already spinning around on her. That mangled right arm clipped the side of her head as she only half-successfully dodged to the side. Despite her protection and an indirect hit, her vision flashed white with the impact. Ringing and nausea came quickly as she stumbled away from the machine.
It didn’t allow her to put distance between them, though, closing the gap and striking her. Its left arm rocketed into her chest cracking against the armor with hydraulic force. Snaking cracks formed in the armor piece and shards of plating flew outward. Pens feet left the ground and she was sent flying back a few meters before ragdolling to the ground, rolling side over side. It was all she could do to keep hold of her hatchet.
Her ears were ringing. Her stomach was turning. Perhaps the only thing keeping her from retching inside her helmet was her body prioritizing gasping desperately for air after that strike had ripped it all from her lungs.
As her vision returned to her, she found herself staring at the concrete floor. The ringing also subsided, and she could hear stomping metal steps approaching. She pushed herself up to her hands and knees and then to her feet, stumblingly. Once again it was closing on her.
Without thought or hesitation it struck out again with its left.
She could see the blow coming. A focus cut through her blurring vision. The ringing was gone, it was quiet. She could feel her heart beating, pounding, in her chest. Breath came to her. This thing she faced thought faster than her. It moved faster too. And yet at this moment Pen wasn’t really thinking at all. She watched as if her entire body started to move on some autonomic level.
Her right leg stepped back and she dropped herself low. It would react, redirect its strike to follow her. She couldn’t block it either, not with the force this thing would strike with. She didn’t need to, though. As its arm came around and down she hilted the hatched in her hand and struck up into its forearm. She couldn’t block the strike but she could redirect it. Dropping low and to the right and striking its arm was just enough to keep its blow from connecting. Its arm sailed over her head and off to her left.
She saw it. She realized what she was doing. Its neck was exposed and she had a moment to strike before it could recover from its compromised position. She adjusted her grip on her hatchet, brought her left hand against its overextended left arm, and lanced up and out with the hatchet.
Shit.
The curved steel edge bit into metal as the Sentinel quickly brought its chin down into its chest. The hatchet sparked against its featureless faceplate. The droning buzz taunted her. It knew just as well as she did that failing to connect with such a strike left her in a terrible position.
It brought its left arm back across, batting her arms to the side, and then back again catching her neck in its grip.
It lifted her effortlessly off her feet. She could feel her air supply dwindle but more than that she could feel its cold hand tear into her. It wasn’t trying to asphyxiate her. There was no need. That was a byproduct of it simply beginning to crush her neck.
She drove her hatchet up into its left shoulder joint.
It’s buzzing droning sounded out. Its task was nearly completed.
Frantically. Again and again, she struck. She could feel the compression. She could hear it even.
Featureless and emotionless as it was, it almost seemed proud.
With a desperate force she brought the hatchet up once last time.
The socket gave. Some weaker material was cleaved, and blue electricity arced out. The Sentinels grip released, its arm spasming, as it dropped its prey.
Penelope hit the ground roughly but kept a hold of her weapon lodged as it was into the armpit of the machine. She used it as an anchor point pushing the thing around forcing it around to face away from her before wrenching her hatchet out. Without thought she dropped and drew the hatchet across the back of its left knee as she’d done previously. Weakened as it was, this strike managed real damage.
She almost smiled with satisfaction as she felt the ripping and tearing of vital soft mechanics. Whatever the mechanism it needed to keep a functioning joint failed and it dropped to that knee.
As it fell, Pen rose up. She planted one foot onto its hip and wrapped her left arm around its head. Bringing herself up onto it, she let all her weight hand from that point forcing its head back slightly. Slightly, though, was enough.
Her right hand gripped the hatchet tight. Pen brought the edge up, around, and down into its exposed neck.
Again.
Again.
She was unrelenting.
Her left hand screamed in pain but she forced it to do as she bade, to hold fast.
She cleaved into the vulnerable point, each strike biting deeper than the last.
With another strike she cleaved deep enough that as she pulled the hatchet out it tore soft plastics with it. She hacked once again but this time instead of drawing the weapon back out the way it had gone in, she ripped it out to the side. Chunks of vital material were torn out with it. Electricity arced out from the deepening gash.
Another strike and she felt her blade stick between two nodes of some sort of mechanical spinal column. She wrenched her hatchet down before ripping it out again hoping to wedge the thing apart.
Its mangled right arm flailed wildly.
With one final hacking strike, Penelope felt a give and a grinding pop.
“RAHHHHHHHHH!!!”
She screamed as she ripped the hatchet out to the right and twisted the head to the left with her left arm. Its droning buzz sounded frantic as Pen tore its head clean from its shoulders. Sparks and machine fragments flew from the stump as its torso fell forward to the ground.
Pen, mounted as she was, followed it to the ground but caught herself on two feet. She gripped her hatchet in her right hand and the head of the decapitated machine in her left. She gave its featureless face a single glance before spiking it into the floor. Retribution.
At once everything came back to her. The pain in her hand, head, and chest, returned joined by a searing pain in her joints. Every muscle in her body ached or worse. Blood rushed in her ears joined by ringing. She panted for air ready to collapse to the floor.
She was about to drop but noticed something that kept her up. The adrenaline rush returning or at least preparing to.
At the door stood two figures.
Her mind went to her hatchet. The distance was… impossible, but she’d rush them. It was all she could do. Maybe she’d weave between the crates, force them to waste ammunition. She readied her hatchet but stopped there.
They weren’t moving. Nor were they even aiming rifles at her. No, their weapons were pointed at the floor. They looked almost stunned.
She recognized, finally, the color of their gear. Grey urban camo.
Friendlies.
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I am positive I have Eds and my dad has been dismissed his entire life for the same symptoms that I am now experiencing. They have progressed after my pregnancy but I always was able to sublux my shoulder and never knew that wasn’t normal since iv been able to do it since I was a kid. No injuries or anything, just thought I was cool. They sublux when sleeping and iv always had knee problem. Now i was diagnosed with severe spasms in my neck (remembered my dad was too) and I have had severe shoulder and neck pain for as long as I can remember. I have had bursitis 3 times in my left shoulder and was in pt for my knees since early hs. Now I’m having arthritic manifestations. They get red, painful, swollen, hot to the touch and sometimes I just can’t bare weight. The back of my knees hurt as well as the tip but mostly the back and it’s worse when standing or when I’m sitting in bed with them straight. It feels like they are bending the wrong way but I don’t have the Hypermobility looking knees that go backwards when standing. If I am on my feet too long or am doing a lot of cleaning, stair climbing (which is hard in general now) I’m in so much pain and my hips too. My hips will feel like they just are doing whatever they feel like it as far as movement and I wind up limping because it makes me walk funny when this happens. My arms have also been getting severely weak if raising for too long. Even typing on the computer or basically doing anything that involved my elbows coming away from my body for too long cause my arms to feel weak, tremors, pain and like gravity wants them down asap. My legs feel like this too sometimes.
Yesterday my left leg and knee was so bad it felt like it was burning and so heavy and hit but it wasn’t showing pooling. It would go numb and stop on and off. It felt like my knee was filling with fluid and wasn’t attacked to the bottom or top of my legs. It was the most bizarre feeling. I never had anything like it before. It was so painful on top of it.
I’m heat intolerant and have gotten heat hives which randomly started in 2016? and think I have POTs. I have seen a rheum and was diagnosed fibromyalgia but I KNOW it’s more than that.
I have been getting severe, progressive blood pooling in my legs, feet and hands and what the paramedics called catatonia (I think that’s what they said) from panic attack. My hands were like this 🤌🏻🤌🏻 and my body was planking on my back in the bed and I could only move my neck. I was in PAIN. I was paralyzed for like 30 minutes even after taking my emergency lorazapam. I was having a hard time breathing, chest pains, and it just kept feeling like everything was tightening more and more. My fiancé said my face was turning translucent like you could see all my veins and my hands were turning more and more purple.
Ironically my hands sometimes turn pretty dark red when pooling but not like this. There have also been times where I wonder why my veins are so prominent
Well, I’m sure it’s generalized dystonia as it starts in my hands as pins and needles and moves to my arms then my stomach, then my feet and legs. Then my stomach starts vibrating followed by the rest of my limbs. Then I start tensing up and can’t move. My tongue got numb and then after a while my lips and I was struggling to speak.
I just found out my dad has been hospitalized for the same thing. (We don’t speak anymore) They also said Catalonia for him.
I am constantly squeezing my toes and fingers, my shoulders always feel like they’re touching my ears, my chest is tense, EVERYTHING. I get calf cramps, bladder spasm, the whole shibang and found out my dad has all of this too and has complained about it his entire life.
Iv had chronic kidney infections and utis since 3rd grade with no known cause. Iv read Ed’s can cause substantially lower urinary tract dysfunction. My little sister has as well, and she also has POTs symptoms like me, she has painful periods like I did and also almost passes out from them like me. Everything iv read about elhers.
She also had precocious puberty which I read an abstract saying it’s associated.
I also have crazy skin manifestations like easy bruising presenting as urticarial vasculitis at one point which doc thought I was having but came back negative which was odd, random spot on each of my shins that were diagnosed spontaneous dermatitis of unknown origin (eczema doesn’t run in my family, all inflammation tests negative) She thought I had lupus. Negative 2ce for that and any other autoimmune disease. I get heat hives from showers now starting 2016 that never went away. Every single shower. SEVERE ITCHING on my shins and right under my armpits.
I have Nerve pain, burning finger tips, top of hands, face.
I feel like I have everything. This isn’t even all of it.
Currently right next to my right eye it going numb randomly. Idk why. My eye is fine.
I just had my insurance send me a list of geneticist. Iv seen my doctor, am seeing a cardiologist, have seen a rheum

The calculator gave me UK 36J but I find that's almost universally too big in the cup, so I've been looking at 36HH mostly.
The shape test is very confusing because I appear to be full on bottom but I'm quadboobing a lot with bras that fit everywhere else. I do appear to be center full, maybe that's why?
In all of the ones I've tried recently, I have a large gap like the strap goes down my shoulder and then doesn't touch again until it hits the top of the boob. Every single bra cuts in at the straps, so I think I have low roots.
I tried the Panache Envy. The 36HH: https://ibb.co/album/Ld2JWh. Was otherwise comfortable but so tight it caused my back to spasm, so I tried the 38H: https://ibb.co/album/Lhy5MV. It was very comfortable, except it rubbed at the little bit where my breasts join my arm. I think I've lost a lot of tissue under my armpit when I stopped breastfeeding so the wire felt okay but also did threaten to poke me in my armpit.
I also tried the Pour Moi Tropez: https://ibb.co/album/Rvf3YM. It was the worst of the lot. I had an inch between my IMF and the wire. The side wire looked okay?
The ones I currently wear are a 36H Elomi Cate: https://ibb.co/album/2W5XhS Pretty stretched out at this point, quadboob at the top, wire unnecessarily wide. Gore doesn't tack. Elomi Cate 36HH: https://ibb.co/album/2W5XhS Also stretched out, also quadding, also wide wire but also has space at the bottom of the cup. Gore doesn't tack. Panache Underwire Sports Bra 36HH: https://ibb.co/album/C6TnK4 I tried other sizes, this gave the best support, I can run in it. Gore tacks and then the top tissue spreads over the top of the gore but within the cups to almost meet, but that's not a big issue. Might look like quadding in something with a lower cup though.
Can anyone suggest something else j should try? Thanks so much!

I hope the tag is close enough, the science is kinesthetic/body magic...
Y'all, this felt so magical. I have fibromyalgia and lots of body issues, so I've spent a lot of time doing training and reading around the human body, how it works and how to adjust it when needed
My partner got hiccups. Never fun, they expressed their discomfort. And... This isn't anything I've ever specifically been taught, but I had this feeling about how I could heal it. Hiccups are the diaphragm spasming, so I was gonna stabilize it. I stood on a chair to be taller than them, tucked my shoulder under their armpit, and applied firm pressure all the way around their chest. We calmly breathed together like that for a minute or so
And it worked! I just followed my instinct and knew how to do it! I'm curious to try to test this again a number more times. But it was one of those beautiful moments, where I feel magic in a general way usually, but in this moment here I had a clear moment where I feel like there was real confirmation that I am really magical!