There's a saying in the horror genre, they always say it's all in your head or it's all a dream, but my recent experience was neither of those, it was very real, and almost cost me my life, I used to be a night person, staying up from 12am to 3am, and I would take walks on occasion, but never again after what happened a couple weeks ago.
So one night, I decided to go for a walk during 12am to clear my mind over a fight I had with one of my ex friends, I walked down the small suburb near my town, I knew the town like the back of my hand, once I got to the park, I saw something that wasn't there before, a tall 18ft statue with red hair, big pupils and barely visible irises, a wide grin, and the statue had it's hand raised, like it's welcoming the guests of the park, I walked past the statue and I swear, in the corner of my eye, I could see it staring directly at me, but when I turned to look, it looked back ahead, I was getting weirded out already, so I decided to head back home.
I decided to take the long way home, near the grocery store and up the hillside road, once I reached the top of the hill, I started hearing some sort of footsteps, booming footsteps, like a giant or big creature, I shrugged it off to be my mind playing tricks on me, but oh boy... It wasn't my mind, once the footsteps got closer, I groaned in annoyance and turned around, expecting to see nothing or a crazy person, but it was neither of those, it was the statue, slumped down to my level, staring directly at me, I slowly backed away, scared shitless, then what happened next made my skin completely pale, it's mouth opened, still maintaining that smile, and I saw teeth... Razor sharp teeth, at least 3 rows of it, this thing wasn't a living statue... It was a legit monster, it suddenly screeched at me and I knew I had to start running, so that's what I did.
I could hear the booming footsteps of the creature growing closer and closer, I was scared for my entire life, running as fast as my legs could take me, suddenly I was pushed by the creature, which led to my arm getting scraped against the pavement, I groaned in pain and held my arm tightly, I looked up at the towering monster, as it planned to eat me alive, but before it could, my arm hit a rock that was beside me, with no time to lose, I grabbed the rock and yelled at the monster. "Asta La Vesta bitch!" I threw the rock at the monster, hitting it square in the face, it roared in pain and fell back, now's my chance, I ran back to my house with all the energy in my body remaining, once I entered my house, I locked every entrance of the house so the monster wouldn't break in.
I slumped onto the couch, out of breath, tired, and thirsty, I had time to think to myself. "What the hell was that thing, why did it attack me?!" I said to myself, I looked at my now bleeding arm from the pavement scraping, I sighed, got up, and headed to the bathroom, quickly though because I heard the creature's booming footsteps, once I got done patching myself up, I went to the kitchen to get a can of diet coke, once I did, I heard thumping on the window, I was scared to look, but a sudden bang made me, trembling, I turned to the window, and of course, the monster was there, still maintaining that sinister smile, it simply waved at me, then walked off into the woods, I quickly closed the curtains and hid in my bedroom, not coming out till daytime.
Once the sun beamed through my certain, I felt a little relieved, then took a 30 minute nap, once I woke up, I had a news report notification, my instinct was to ignore it, but the contents of the news report made me stop myself, the image was the monster, laying on it's belly, blood on it's skin, the article headline read "Statue Of Park Found Bleeding And Laying Behind The Grocery Store." After I read the whole article, I heard a knock on the door, hesitant, I went to check it out, I noticed a piece of paper near the door, I assumed it slid it underneath the door, still hesitant, I picked it up and read what was on it, it only said 4 words... "Bow To The Silencer..."
I will never be a night person never again...

There's a saying in the horror genre, they always say it's all in your head or it's all a dream, but my recent experience was neither of those, it was very real, and almost cost me my life, I used to be a night person, staying up from 12am to 3am, and I would take walks on occasion, but never again after what happened a couple weeks ago.
So one night, I decided to go for a walk during 12am to clear my mind over a fight I had with one of my ex friends, I walked down the small suburb near my town, I knew the town like the back of my hand, once I got to the park, I saw something that wasn't there before, a tall 18ft statue with red hair, big pupils and barely visible irises, a wide grin, and the statue had it's hand raised, like it's welcoming the guests of the park, I walked past the statue and I swear, in the corner of my eye, I could see it staring directly at me, but when I turned to look, it looked back ahead, I was getting weirded out already, so I decided to head back home.
I decided to take the long way home, near the grocery store and up the hillside road, once I reached the top of the hill, I started hearing some sort of footsteps, booming footsteps, like a giant or big creature, I shrugged it off to be my mind playing tricks on me, but oh boy... It wasn't my mind, once the footsteps got closer, I groaned in annoyance and turned around, expecting to see nothing or a crazy person, but it was neither of those, it was the statue, slumped down to my level, staring directly at me, I slowly backed away, scared shitless, then what happened next made my skin completely pale, it's mouth opened, still maintaining that smile, and I saw teeth... Razor sharp teeth, at least 3 rows of it, this thing wasn't a living statue... It was a legit monster, it suddenly screeched at me and I knew I had to start running, so that's what I did.
I could hear the booming footsteps of the creature growing closer and closer, I was scared for my entire life, running as fast as my legs could take me, suddenly I was pushed by the creature, which led to my arm getting scraped against the pavement, I groaned in pain and held my arm tightly, I looked up at the towering monster, as it planned to eat me alive, but before it could, my arm hit a rock that was beside me, with no time to lose, I grabbed the rock and yelled at the monster. "Asta La Vesta bitch!" I threw the rock at the monster, hitting it square in the face, it roared in pain and fell back, now's my chance, I ran back to my house with all the energy in my body remaining, once I entered my house, I locked every entrance of the house so the monster wouldn't break in.
I slumped onto the couch, out of breath, tired, and thirsty, I had time to think to myself. "What the hell was that thing, why did it attack me?!" I said to myself, I looked at my now bleeding arm from the pavement scraping, I sighed, got up, and headed to the bathroom, quickly though because I heard the creature's booming footsteps, once I got done patching myself up, I went to the kitchen to get a can of diet coke, once I did, I heard thumping on the window, I was scared to look, but a sudden bang made me, trembling, I turned to the window, and of course, the monster was there, still maintaining that sinister smile, it simply waved at me, then walked off into the woods, I quickly closed the curtains and hid in my bedroom, not coming out till daytime.
Once the sun beamed through my certain, I felt a little relieved, then took a 30 minute nap, once I woke up, I had a news report notification, my instinct was to ignore it, but the contents of the news report made me stop myself, the image was the monster, laying on it's belly, blood on it's skin, the article headline read "Statue Of Park Found Bleeding And Laying Behind The Grocery Store." After I read the whole article, I heard a knock on the door, hesitant, I went to check it out, I noticed a piece of paper near the door, I assumed it slid it underneath the door, still hesitant, I picked it up and read what was on it, it only said 4 words... "Bow To The Silencer..."
I will never be a night person never again...

This is all short form as I can make it. When I was 15 years old, I was a little skinny skater kid, was bullied a lot. It was my first year of highschool. (Grade 9, Ontario.) I was bullied horrendously. The county kids would golf club shotgun shells at my face while I would skateboard down the hill after lunch break. It bugged me, but I always had the picture perfect mother and father household to return to. I grew up with perfect parents. I was polite, I was determined, I didn’t let anybody stop me. Then my father starts acting strange. He starts acting childish. And while our humour together is immature, this was a grown man acting like a child. It was scary and started kind of suddenly. I come to find he has a brain tumour as my mom tells me. She always would bring me in to help her fold clothes when she had bad news. Anyways, some time goes by. We learn it is a brain tumour. Some times goes by, we learn it is stage 4 cancer. He didn’t smoke, he would only drink during cookouts with neighbours or watching new episodes of the clone wars animated tv show with me on Fridays. Anyways, he progresses, it becomes nightmarish. The man I knew was already dead at one point. It was like his brain cancer was a parasite. I started to become very dark as a person, and detached. He would watch me play Nintendo 64 with his legs shaking violently, not understanding why I was shooting stormtroopers in the game. I told him they are stormtroopers dad remember? The empire? Over time it became a blur from this point. From what I remember that my brain lets me, he was in hospice, sickly, moon faced, like I was watching cancer take over his body and taunt me. I became addicted to crack cocaine , I didn’t take school seriously anymore, I was around violence, meth, constantly partying and hanging with people twice my age or more and started owing debts. I somehow always managed to weasel my way out with sales from my beatmaking hobby. I completely destroy myself for years, stopped attending school, my mother and I were a team, but I constantly worried her. Hard drugs had taken me over. I lost my sense of reality because I didn’t want to think about my father being wheeled out lifeless. Hugging his cold body one last time at the funeral before he was buried. Fast forward, I have been discharged from the phych ward due to a suicide attempt at 18. I still have my cheo bear even though I was old it brings me comfort. His name is Gus. Years of alcoholism follow. Because after my cheo incident weed would make me shake violently. We now come to present day. I am 24. My mother has remarried with a stepfather. He has learned to ease up around us as he grew up a different way. I started adult high-school last year and just passed my math exam. The alcoholism still exists but only once a weekend. It seems I may have developed diabetes from it but it’s not concrete. It’s hard especially with women explaining how you are starting your fifteen year old life at 23-24 but you know what? It’s never too late. Life certainly has a lot more pain in the future as any adult life does. But a life of being a man completely formed by a traumatic event is rough, underneath that is all of the great heart my father taught me. His last words he spoke were “be grape” it sounds silly but that’s his brain cancer. You could tell there was a frustrated man beneath who could no longer express himself. And he meant be great as my mother said. And I will not die until I am. It is never too late, to be great. ❤️

Fiona Sinnott was a 19 year old Irish woman who vanished after a night out in County Wexford on February 8th 1998. At the time of her disappearance, Fiona was a single mother to an 11 month old daughter, Emma.
The night of Sunday 8th started off normally and Fiona spent it socialising with her friends at Butler's Pub in Broadway, County Wexford which also happened to be close to her home. Her friends Nora, Joan and Martina all described Fiona as being in good spirts that night but did state that she kept complaining of a bad pain in her arm. Her friends and Garda later considered that this could have been related to a past relationship she had broken off. Fiona had suffered immense physical abuse at the hands of a former boyfriend and had hospitalised herself after being violently attacked on numerous occasions. Her injuries had included bruises to her face, bites to her legs, being beaten about the head and back and even a fractured jaw. She had confided in close friends details about these attacks but never filed any complaints against the perpetrator, a man from South Wexford. Despite this pain in her arm, however, Fiona seemed to be in good form and enjoyed a good night out with her friends. At one point, she called her brother Séamus and asked him to come down to the pub but he declined as he was tired after a long day at work. He later stated that he wondered if something had happened to Fiona while at the pub and had she contacted him as a way of seeking help. Either way, this was the last contact Fiona had with her family. At around midnight, Fiona decided to return home as the pain in her arm was causing her great discomfort. She asked her ex-boyfriend, a man by the name of Seán Carroll, if he could walk her home. Carroll was the father of Fiona's child and although their relationship had ended, they remained close and on good terms. He had been drinking alone at the premises and willingly agreed to walk her back to her home, which wasn't far from the pub. They left together shortly after midnight.
Fiona wasn't reported missing until February 18th, 9 days after she was last seen leaving the pub. Her family hadn't reported her missing sooner as she reportedly had a habit of traversing the country to visit people and would sometimes be without contact for several days at a time. However, after 9 days of silence, her family knew something was terribly wrong, especially as she hadn't contacted Sean's family, with whom she has a childcare arrangement, to collect her daughter. Her father, Pat, then filed a missing persons report. Seán was the first to be interviewed as he was the last person to see Fiona. He told Gardaí that he and Fiona had walked back to her home slowly as her pain was causing her immense discomfort. Upon entering her property, he offered her coffee but she declined and went immediately to bed. He slept on the sofa that night while she went to sleep in the upstairs bedroom. He awoke at 9am and went into Fiona's room where he woke her up and she had told him that she would be visiting the doctors in Bridgetown to see about her arm. Seán gave her some money and then left the house as his mother had arrived to collect him. She drove him home to Coddstown, two miles west of Broadway. He stated that when he left, Fiona was awake and sitting up in bed.
When Garda began to investigate Fiona's house in the hopes of finding clues, they were met with an unusual sight. According to a Gardaí officer, "Her house was immaculately cleaned, almost spotless. This was unusual for Fiona, especially as she had been suffering from arm pain before she disappeared. Her family told us that she was not house proud and she would have always had some mess lying around. Because of this, we don't believe Fiona tidied the house. We searched everywhere for clues but found nothing- everything had been painstakingly cleaned". Fiona's landlord also stated that because of her young daughter, anytime he went to visit the house it "always had bits and bobs scattered around". Fiona's neighbour's reported that in the days after her disappearance, numerous black bin bags appeared outside of her house. However, these had vanished by the time she was reported missing. Several weeks after her disappearance, a local farmer came forward to Garda and stated that while he had been tending to his cattle, he stumbled upon numerous bin bags dumped on his property and that when he opened them, he found numerous letters and documents addressed to Fiona Sinnott. Regretfully, he was unaware of her disappearance at the time and had burnt the bags as he believed it to be the result of fly tipping, something that was a big problem then.
Today, 26 years later, no trace of Fiona has ever been found. Shockingly, when her family attempted to erect a memorial plaque in 2008 close to the pub where she was last seen, it was destroyed the night before being unveiled and a second plaque was also destroyed a few months later. However, a third plaque remains to this day down by the harbour. Despite these setbacks, her family have not given up hope of finding her and bringing her home. They have stated that they know exactly who killed her but that the perpetrator now resides in mainland Europe. Garda have also stated they have a person of interest but, as the family stated, they no longer live in Ireland. In 2005, her case was upgraded to a murder enquiry. Some interesting information did come to light in recent years however, as a Garda information appeal resulted in someone coming forward and stating that on the night Fiona vanished, they had been driving along when they spotted a woman and a man matching her and Seán's description walking away from the direction of the pub. They also noted that two men, in their late teens/early 20's, appeared to be following them quite quickly. This witness statement has opened up new lines of thinking, including whether or not Fiona even made it home that night. However, unless a body is found or a confession is made, Fiona's family remain without answers and her disappearance remains unsolved.
Sources: https://m.sundayworld.com/news/irish-news/gardai-say-people-know-what-happened-to-fiona-sinnott-last-seen-25-years-ago-today/1754438002.html
https://www.irelandsvanishingtriangle.com/fiona-sinnott
'Missing' by Barry Cummins

"I will gladly take care of your Wyrm problem," the Knight in shining armor said to the princess.
The princess narrowed her eyes at him. "It sounds like you're saying Wyrm, not worm."
The Knight Flipped up his helmet visor, "What? Wyrms is Wyrms right? And the ones you need killed are up in the mountains. Earth Wyrms, yea?"
"Worms," The princess over exaggerated the 'o' as she said 'worm', "Yes. Gargantuan Earth Worms, they threaten to destroy the entire mountain range. I need them slain."
"Earth Wyrms! Easily done princess, they can't even fly." The Knight slapped his visor shut, certain he'd be able to handle these Earth Wyrms with ease.
Air Wyrms and Fire Wyrms could both fly and were therefor quite a pain to kill, having to track them relentlessly until they tired was... well tiresome.
Water Wyrms had to be killed underwater most of the time, because mankind had yet to make a fishing boat buoyant enough to fish one from the sea.
With a grin from ear to ear, a simple go there and murder a monster mission in mind, the Knight bowed deeply before excusing himself from the princess' presence.
She turned to her Advisor, "He does know they're Worms and not Wyrms right?"
The old wizard shrugged. "How difficult could it be to kill giant worms?"
The Knight and his squire and their company of friends, set out to the mountains to the north where their quarry was said to be. Among their host was a young wizard who had only barely passed his apprenticeship exams, there was a lady dwarf, who was of course a blacksmith. Her beard was always set with flowers from their next member, her husband the elvish archer. The elf say he's no true archer, merely a hobby, of a thousand years. Their final member was an ex-communicated clergy member from the empire on the other side of the mountains.
A few short days of easy travel over rolling hills and they'd made their way to the foot of the mountains. The Knight and his party experienced the first earth quake then, it was gentle enough that the Knight hadn't even noticed it. The dwarf sure did though.
"Something's not right," She said when the tiny quake ended. "Earth Wyrms must be fighting something else right now for us to be feeling this rumble."
"Then they'll be softened up for us when we get there, or maybe already dead. All that mattered to the princess was that they die, we need only verify those deaths." The Young Wizard said, hopeful he wouldn't have to fight at all.
The clergyman said a prayer to his strange god, and bid them all, "Prepare for the worst tomorrow, this way when it likely goes better than that, you can be overjoyed at our fortune."
The squire took the first watch, and the Knight the second. Nothing happened but the soft snores of their compatriots. For the third watch they had the elf. He required far less sleep than humans or dwarves, except for once a lunar month when he had to sleep for a whole day.
During his watch the ground rumbled again. More than rumbled, it shook and cracked. A span the size of large horse opened up and split their camp in half. The elf didn't exactly have to sound the alarm, everyone woke up to the thunderous crack of the landscape opening.
In the pre-dawn light leaking over the horizon they could see the fractures leading up into the mountains. Their camp just happened to be on the end of one such crack. The whole mountain they were headed to seemed to have cracked.
"These must indeed be large Wyrms." the Knight said. "I shall need all my weapons sharpened to their finest edge to piece their hides."
The Dwarf set to work spinning her whetstone and putting the sharpest edge on the Knight's swords and axes and even the arrow heads of her husband's arrows were sharpened. The squire was loaded down with heavy, very sharp weapons, and followed his master up into the recently cracked mountain. As they traveled the ground steadily rumbled.
They found an opening which they hoped would lead them into the caves inside the mountain where they might find at face these dread Earth Wyrms.
As they entered the caverns they were surprised to find a thick slime coating the walls.
"How curious." The young Wizard said, collecting a sample into a glass vial and staring at intently.
The clergyman said another prayer, and placed a blessing of damage resistance on all his friends. They would all be nigh-on unpuncturable, unslashable, and unbludgeonable for a few hours. You could do those things, and it might throw them around, but they wouldn't be injured any more than their pride. This foreign god's power was how the Knight had become so good at killing Wyrms. The clergyman had other blessings, which were not needed at the moment, fire resistance, and water breathing being two big ones. Air walking was a wizard trick, and so they recruited the young wizard.
The wizard projected a light up into the middle of the height of the cave they now found themselves in, and it showed that the cave was nearly as tall as the castle walls, in one direction it went off into the darkness beyond what his meek light could show, but the other direction was blocked by a gigantic wall of pink slimy flesh.
"Oh..." The wizard said, understanding a moment too late. "Earth Worms."
The Knight had approached the pink wall and tried to hack into it, but the slime coating the ouside of the great flesh mass was to sticky and too thick. It quickly stole his weapon from him, and then the next and the next and the next.
The gargantuan lack-minded creature, reacted to something behind it, and backed up in the tunnel. The Knight was quickly caught in the ooze, the squire too. The Elf unleashed a volley of arrows, but they met the same fate as their archer, only a few seconds sooner. The thick layer of mucus on the outside of the worms was the greatest armor they had ever faced. Almost as thick as a the knight was wide, it more than caught and stopped any attacks from such small creatures as the knight as his allies.
Trying desperately to help his wife escape, the elf and the dwarf ended up caught in the thick slime together.
The wizard knew he was boned, so stood and faced the slime with dignity.
And the Clergy man. Well, he said one final prayer for the souls of himself and his party members before being backed over by a brainless worm. His quiet hope was that his god would protect them all until the worm deposited them elsewhere as it continued to devour the mountain range.

Hey people. I wanted to share my long ass story about how nitrous used to be one of my most favorite things in the world and now my relationship with it is complicated and twisted.
A lot of this will tackle interpersonal relationship dynamics, but I’m trying to illustrate to the reader the progression of how this drug took my ex’s mind. This is more of a thorough essay about my experience than a rant. When I was going through what I went through at the time, I wished there was a story like this out there to help me know better and understand. This is how I watched the love of my life melt away his brain on this drug.
I will try and keep this brief, but it probably won't be. I wish to convey the addictiveness this drug can have and the toll it can take on your mind and body. In the summer of 2022 I met my then bf who introduced me to the rave scene and drug scene he was a part of. He really only used K and Nitrous (which I will refer to as N going forward). He told me about his 1.5 years of being addicted to K, but did not inform me of his also 1.5 years (at the time) addiction to N. He told me after meeting me he didn’t want to abuse K anymore so as far as I knew when we started dating he got better about that.
It all started very early in the relationship. We went to a weekend festival together and both found doing N together was so fun. We continued on using and abusing N every weekend, and sometimes many weekdays. Probably going through 6 or 8+ tanks a week, this went on for like 3 months. Sadly, I do look back on those days fondly, despite what would happen later down the line. We had so much fun together and yes sadly it bonded us in this weird way. Using it causes you to feel more open and positive in the beginning, and we had so many heartfelt and deep conversations. And it felt like a little special world we could go into together.
At the time I had no clue how much those small-medium sized tanks cost ($65 and up for just one where we live). And he never told me how much they cost, and didn’t ask me to chip in, so I had no idea he was throwing himself into financial ruin buying them all the time. Looking back I have no idea why I didn’t ask, I just figured they were only $25 or something, or his friend was giving them to him, and I was aware it was probably a poor financial decision, but figured he could bounce back after the summer. You have to understand I thought I had him figured out, but I didn’t really know him that well at this point, or know about the drug scene at all. Before this I really only drank and smoked weed with the occasional cid or shrooms trip.
Three months into us dating and abusing N we come to the conclusion we just need to stop and take a break from N as this had all become quite excessive. Still he doesn’t explain to me how much debt he is in from buying all of those tanks over the summer. Two months into the break and he’s starting to crack, asking for me to be okay with us using it regularly. I tell him that I think it’s okay for us to just do it once and awhile. It was hard to not cave in because truthfully I missed it as well, I myself was starting to feel the addictiveness of this drug, so I reserved it so that I only ever did it with him. We go back to doing it occasionally on the weekends. Over the span of 1 month my bf started to constantly complain of having nerve issues, his feet and legs and hands were numb, I also noticed that he seemed really depressed. This is when he started to experience the vitamin B deficiency, although both me and him didn’t realize this at the time.
Around this time is when he finally and unceremoniously reveals to me how much these things actually cost. This is the tricky aspect of his personality I would go on to experience more of. It was clear he was resentful towards me, that I had no idea how much money he was spending, but the reality is if I had known how much those things cost I would have ended it a lot sooner. I didn’t even understand how he had the ability to spend so much money, I don’t even want to do the math. I would find out later he would just take out credit cards and max them out. In addition to him doing them with me occasionally, he was also doing them behind my back, which I had caught him doing several times and was always forgiving over this.
So, because of this constant spending he was in a substantial amount of debt. What he told me at the time was around $6,000. Knowing him, this was probably a generous assessment. This is definitely a point in the story where I should have left him. Clearly he was developing this addiction towards N and spent an ungodly amount of money that was beyond even my comprehension. But, I was head over heels and believed that he could figure this out. People go into debt all the time, I would tell myself. But I told him, this all needed to outright stop. No more N, not even occasionally. Unfortunately while he of course agreed to my face I have to suspect now, he was doing it behind my back all the time. Around this time he wouldn’t come home from work until 7 or 7:30 which didn’t make sense as his hours at work would fluctuate from time to time, but he was usually always off at 5. He would lie and say his work was very busy and made him stay later, which I believed at the time.
Maybe about a month later we are in bed together sleeping, it’s the middle of the night. He wakes me up and explains he literally cannot feel his feet or legs and has been having trouble walking for the past several days. I take him to the ER that night. This night and the following weeks after were some of the most heartbreaking and emotionally terrifying times of my life so far. At this time neither of us had any idea or reason to suspect N was the reason for this. We actually talked to the doctor there and ran tests for over 3 hours, he got an MRI and a spinal tap which was so hard to watch being done to him. It wasn’t until I desperately did research on my phone in the hospital room and suddenly see all of these remarks and reddit posts and studies about N causing paralysis and nerve damage. I tell my bf and the doctor and they have no trouble assessing that is what is causing this. They give him a regiment of vitamin B shots as you typically do in this situation. The doctor even said that they hope they can stop permanent damage from happening, because if not he may lose control of his legs and it may spread to his pelvic area (IE dick don’t work) etc, he had to do physical therapy and see a drug counselor.
The following days and weeks after I was constantly on edge worrying and wondering if my bf and love of my life would lose his ability to walk. Thankfully, the treatment took and he didn’t even end up needing physical therapy. This is when I truly believe or would like to hope he actually quit and wasn’t doing N behind my back. Unfortunately it wouldn’t matter, as I’ve learned, a lot of symptoms of N abuse don’t show themselves until after you stop. Shortly after this event is when our relationship took a nosedive. He had also ditched the drug counselor. To compensate for no N he was drinking so often. He started to become aggressive and violent. I remember it all started in a fight where he got real close and in my face and stared me down to try and intimidate me. In a way it was both terrifying and laughable (because he’s only a few inches taller than me), I couldn’t even comprehend the kind of person he had turned into. After that came the months and months of never ending name calling, insults, degradation, and constant arguments over every little thing I did. He became so addicted to the high of his power trip of making me feel small and weak he would find any excuse to fly into a rage at me, even when we were tripping on mushrooms together.
Nothing was ever the same after that. We didn’t go out, didn’t do dates, and every activity together felt like it was all a big chore to him. I could look in his eyes and see he was constantly thinking about N, and when he would do it next. He really changed, and what I am now realizing is he was probably starting to experience the effects of pure brain damage. My close friends who knew him even agree with me that there is a huge change in his demeanor around this time in April of 2023.
I also want to add more info about his bizarre behavior. He started to develop an unhealthy obsession with social media, scrutinizing what I posted and what he posted. He started to obsess over current events of any kind, any breaking story or ongoing conflict and he would rant and rant about the current state of the world and destruction of humanity all the time. He started to get obsessed with mental health and psychology and pathologize me and himself and other people in our lives. He would send me 10 videos everyday about mental health and relationships and expect me to reply and have a response for every single one like a book report. This obsession with the destruction of humanity turned into a paranoia about the world, he would often say no one understands him, and he is all alone. He turned on his best friends of several years because he was paranoid they were racists or had bad morals (they were all pleasant and nice people who enjoy edgy humor from time to time). There was no more middle ground for anything, you either loved something fully, or hated it fully. Somewhere down the line he actually got his account banned on Instagram for the craziest reason. He couldn’t stop or control himself from having heated arguments with random strangers in comments sections, of almost any video of any topic. He would insult people there constantly.
Here is another big mistake I made.I allowed him to live with me, and we moved in together. At this point we had been dating for a year. Before this I lived on my own and didn’t want to renew my lease, and he was living with his dad who was abusive and financially took advantage of him. At the time I was convinced that this bad behavior would go away if he could get away from his dad and his toxic household. Well the toxicity only followed. That summer we went to another weekend festival and he revealed to me when we got there he had purchased N and brought it. I was so conflicted as I myself had missed it quite a lot, and I had to deny myself my healthy regulated usage of it in order to not trigger him. I caved again and said we could do it only for this weekend. You may not at all be surprised to learn it didn’t end that way.
After the festival everything truly fell apart. He continued to buy tanks of N and do them behind my back constantly. He would say he was just going to his car to talk to his friends, or his mom, and be gone for hours. Because he was totally abusing me and I had no idea because I was under his spell of manipulation, I had no recourse. Any comment of mine asking why he was gone for so long, why can’t he just talk to his friends inside our apartment, I’ll go in the other room for privacy, was only met with complete indifference. These questions only pissed him off. He would say it’s because I was so exhausting and demanding he needed a break from me. When I would call him when he’s on one of these “excursions,” he would every so often mute the call while I was talking or in a silent moment. I eventually realized he was hitting the tank every time he muted himself. When I finally called him out on this he gaslit me and told me he just does this all the time because he coughs and clears his throat, fyi he had never done this before in our relationship. Because I had no recourse I just had to agree and move on. And because his mind was deteriorating more and more each day he would go on to make randomly muting himself in calls as a common, thing so as to keep up the facade he told me. Actual crazy behavior.
He even started doing K again, he would clearly be f-ed out of his mind by both K and N, and stumble around our apartment with crazy red bulging eyes and again and again tell me he was just drunk. Around this time is when he finally divulges to me not only had he been abusing K for the 1.5 years before he met me, he had also been abusing N for 1.5 years before he met me. And it wasn’t actually the case that he only “began” to become addicted to N when we started dating and doing it together. This really started to put a lot into perspective for me, and it made sense how he had almost paralyzed himself over this, now at this current time 3+ year addiction to these substances, and it made me realize how psychologically and cognitively he was failing based on changes in his personality. You also have to understand he explained to me before he met me, he was doing 1.5-2 grams of K or more and N, EVERYDAY.
And still at this time the name calling, insults and manipulation continued. He of course was no longer experiencing any true “high” from the N anymore, it would just simply dull his senses. It was like a stereotypical violent alcoholic husband comes home from the bar and berates his wife, kind of situation, except with N. And I became obsessed with figuring out how to get him to stop and go back to the loving person I remembered meeting and loving. I began to do very toxic things, going through his backpack, going through his car, and constantly always finding tanks and balloons and all kinds of paraphilia everywhere. I would find tanks in our recycling bin, like he actually thought I wouldn’t notice. I would come home late from being with friends and catch him passed out on the couch with an empty tank in his hand. He couldn't be left alone anymore. If he wasn’t with me, 100% of the time he was sitting in his car doing N. At this point in time there was no forgiveness, I was completely broken. I would yell and scream at him or wake him up and demand he stop and choose me or the drugs, all terrible things to be doing. I know that.
Eventually it got so bad I felt I had no other recourse other than to call and inform his mother of his behavior and what he had been doing all this time. Me doing this is probably what saved his life, as there was never anyway I was going to get through to him myself. But it did not save his mental health. Even having his mother involved didn’t stop any of it. He still went out and bought it behind my back like nothing happened. Another painful painful aspect of how his personality had changed is he would constantly have crazy back and forth mood swings, one minute showing me the sweet man I had fallen in love with, thanking me and praising me for having stepped in and put a stop to this, the next minute he hated me and I was the worst thing in his life and I could never tell what was even real anymore.
But did I leave, oh no, that would have been the smart thing to do.Instead at the time I was seeing a therapist who also specializes in couples therapy. I get us started with counseling and during our second session he gets called out by my therapist and yells and screams and berates her, it was actually insane. That is when things really ended between us. He moved out and moved into his moms apartment 30 minutes away that night. Even though the breakup was traumatizing and painful I still had hope that even if he isn’t with me, now he will receive help from his mother. Well, she didn’t place him in any special drug counselor program or rehab, she just severely cut off his finances so that he could pay off his debts, which she had bought back from several banks so it would not gain more and more interest. I do believe now his debt may be somewhere in the $10,000-$20,000 range. So now he, as an almost 30 year old man, needs to ask his mother in order to buy or purchase anything. Somehow, despite all of this I would learn he was continuing to do N and K.
Amazingly, we still tried briefly to even make our relationship work after he moved out. At this point he has mastered the art of manipulation and being fake, and convinced me he was getting better, he had even started to look better too, but he was still up to his old BS. He came over to the apartment once for us to have a mini date. Because he went on and on about how he was getting more and more into walks he said he was going to take a quick stroll around the block to get some fresh air. Well a quick stroll turns into 30 minutes, and I start to notice his car is gone from our street. I call him and he says now he is sitting in his car talking to his mom, I tell him I don’t see his car and it’s been a long time, he clearly had left to buy N. He becomes irate and claims he simply moved his car down the block for “reasons” and I was in the wrong for being accusatory and not trusting him. P.S. I went down the block and he just was not there. This guy is either absolutely crazy or thinks I’m some kind of imbecile, or both. It basically ended from there.
We tried to be civil, but he cannot control himself from completely going ballistic on me anymore, or his mother. And it is so painful when he is remorseful and doesn’t remember all the things he said to me. At this point I have had to realize I am basically talking to and trying to reason with a mentally disabled person. The fun loving, easy going, creative, altruistic, thoughtful, smart and attentive man I met doesn’t exist anymore, and I don’t think he will ever come back. All that remains is the shell of a confused and angry person.
Some small things to address, how it came to be that he abused these drugs all the time before he met me is because his best friend was a drug dealer and in the beginning would give him all of these things for free. Once he was hooked and doing it everyday it seemed he would stop at no end to spend money and buy them. Yes K was definitely a contributor into his mild psychosis but I still think it would have happened even from the N abuse alone, based on research I’ve been doing lately. And yes I have to admit I think he had bad and malignant psychological traits before abusing drugs, and doing that made it all worse.
So that is the story of how I watched this man ruin his life, and scare away maybe the only person who could withstand experiencing all of his BS and still wanted to love and help him. There are SO MANY things I too should have done differently. There is also an age gap between us of 3 years, so I naively thought he had a better handle on his life than he really did. I do find it hard to understand how people can be so addicted at times, but in the end like my ex, everyone is trying to chase some kind of feeling or experience that came with it, rather than the drug itself.
Thank you for reading if you made it to the end.
TLDR: Two years ago I started dating a guy who wasn’t honest with me about his 1.5 years of Nitrous abuse before we started dating. He was a sweet and honest and caring man when I met him. Sadly most of our relationship was spent on doing lots of Nitrous together. He eventually developed health problems like a vitamin B deficiency and even almost got paralysis and permanent nerve damage, which was hard for me to watch and witness. His health issues didn’t deter him away from Nitrous and he was constantly buying tanks and doing it behind my back. The more he abused Nitrous the more abusive towards me he became as a person. Our relationship crumbled and not even getting his mom involved helped. He was also clearly experiencing psychosis and mental deterioration. We broke up because he yelled and screamed at my therapist and he had to move in with his mom. Moving in with his mom didn’t stop his addiction even though she cut off his finances.
Even when we tried to make the relationship work he still abused it anyway. I would now consider him a mentally disabled person and I don’t recognize who he even is anymore after 3+ years of abusing Nitrous almost everyday. Please use Nitrous responsibly or don't at all.

Hi all,
I'll start this by saying we have a vet exam scheduled for Friday to rule out pain, have a one-on-one training session set up for June 3rd (earliest we could get in with the trainer) and am in contact with a Behaviorist to get a consultation set up as well. But I am really upset and in a bit of a spiral regarding some behavior from my 11 month old Rottweiler Penny, so I'm turning to (hopefully) friendly strangers for support and guidance.
We've had Penny since she was 7 weeks old, and she has always been a sensitive puppy. We've done 5 sets of puppy classes with her since we have had her, including the AKC Star Puppy Certification. She did well in those classes, but did exhibit some initial stranger danger, so other humans in the class would give her treats and our trainers would help us socialize her more to strangers. She's been great with people she knows, and she knows a lot of people! We are a childless family in our mid-early 30's with a pretty active social life, so we've had many friends over and things have always been great. Up until about 2 months ago.
My mom, who Penny has been around a lot, was over and was petting Penny on the head and face before Penny snapped at her. I was a little shocked, but I figured Penny just didn't like to be pet on her head. We have since asked family and friends to not pet her there. Everything was fine and we had no other issues until this past week.
This weekend, she snapped at 2 individuals in our house. One, a friend she knows very well, who forgot to not pet her head. Another, a family member who has not spent a lot of time around Penny, but who was petting her because came up to him and sat down in front of him. In both instances, Penny approached the people and seemingly asked to be pet. She put her head on the lap of our first friend, and sat immediately in between the legs of the other guest. I wouldn't expect them to read more into her body language as guests, so I will now be hyper aware to make sure I am picking up on any other signals, but when she's excited to see people - jumping up to say hello tail wagging to suddenly snapping it's hard for everyone to track exactly when/why she decided to turn to aggression.
I am so heartbroken and scared for my pup. We have spent countless hours and $$ training, socializing and working to make sure Penny was a well rounded, happy, good girl. We love her very much, and really want to set her up for a successful, full life. Anyone have any experience with something similar? Any words of wisdom or advice? Any kind words to lend that could help reassure me that she's not a terrible dog and I didn't fail her miserably?

Recap- The fledgling fighter, Serenity Steelheart, has just invaded Cragmaw Hideout hoping to save veteran adventurer, Sildar Halwinter. After weathering the hideout’s first few lines of defense, Serenity's temporary ally, Beatrix the goblin, has revealed her whole plan. Beatrix hopes to form an alliance with a splinter faction of the Cragmaw goblins in order to overpower the current leader and take control for herself.
Story- “So, do you trust me?” Beatrix asked with a smile.
“I trust you about as far as I can throw you.” Serenity said with a sigh. She then ended the light spell cast on her scimitar before continuing, “You are quite small though, you may actually catch some air.”
Beatrix let out a triumphant laugh before taking Serenity’s hand and leading her back into the stream. Serenity winced as her feet sunk into the cool water, the slick stream bed seemed more treacherous without the benefit of her eyesight. As she sloshed blindly through the water Serenity began to second guess herself, this was hostile territory and she’d just put her life in a near stranger’s hands.
Beatrix stopped wordlessly and received a quick kick in the pants as Serenity stumbled into her. The goblin grumbled to herself before leading Serenity’s hands to the charred wood of the lookout’s destroyed bridge, “They’re up there.”
Serenity pulled on the worn wooden boards to test their strength before climbing up and finding herself in another more narrow cave with faint light visible in the distance. She took a breath and gagged as her nose was assaulted by the foul smells further ahead. After a slight nudge from Beatrix, Serenity hesitantly moved towards the light. The narrow passage quickly opened up to reveal a large chamber furnished with broken crates, soiled bedding, and a firepit that acted as a light source. Serenity’s presence, of course, did not go unnoticed and before long she found herself surrounded by confused, angry goblins.
Beatrix pushed further into the cave as the other goblins shouted commands and questions at Serenity. “Yeemik!”
After a few moments a robust looking goblin with a scowl trudged out from the deepest part of the cave and growled, “The hell’s all this noise f-” He cut himself off as his eyes fell on Serenity, “Who the- How the- Explain!”
“This is Serenity, she’s crazy strong. With her help we’ll finally be able to oust Klarg!” Beatrix said in a hurry.
“She don’t look too strong to me.” Yeemik glared at Serenity before continuing, “What makes you think you can take on a bugbear? You ever done that before?”
“She-” Beatrix started before Yeemik raised a hand to silence her.
“I asked your girl. She knows how to talk, don’t she?”
Serenity cleared her throat as Beatrix shot her a worried look. “I believe my skill can speak for itself. I was able to take out your ambush single handedly, I survived your flood trap, and I’ve fought my way past every line of defense you had to protect your living quarters. To doubt my abilities after all of that would be a brutal condemnation of your own.”
Yeemik snorted, “You think I’m too proud to admit that I’m surrounded by jokers, eh? We’re out in the middle of nowhere fighting for scraps! We ain’t here because of our sterling track record, we’re just the riff raff Grell was willing to lose.”
An uncomfortable murmur spread throughout the cave as the rest of the goblins exchanged looks of frustration and disappointment. Then Beatrix spoke up again, “Yeah, but we finished our mission! We got the dwarf the Spider wanted! When a reward gets passed down to us do you really want it to go to Klarg?”
Yeemik raised an eyebrow, this goblin wasn’t as slow as the others. “Alright, you want to take care of our Bugbear problem. What’s in it for you, miss… Whoever you are.”
“Serenit-”
“Don’t care!”
Serenity took a sharp breath. “I will assist your faction in eliminating Klarg. In return I demand the safe release of my ally, Sildar Halwinter. I already know he’s being held here.”
Yeemik looked confused for a moment before a flash of realization hit him, “Oh, you mean Oldman Mumbles! Yeah, I think I’d be willing to lose him.”
“Excellent. I suggest we head out now, our combined power will be more than enough to defeat Klarg.”
“Hold up! What do you mean combined?” Yeemik barked, “You really expect me to take on Klarg myself and then pay you for the inconvenience? What kind of nonsense deal is that!?”
“I-” Serenity stammered.
“No! You just gave us a whole spiel about how great you are, Klarg should be light work for someone like you. Less you were lyin…” Yeemik said, venom in every word.
“Well, I- I’ve expended a considerable amount of energy getting here, I don’t know if I can beat him if I’m not at full strength.” Serenity said.
“Oh so now you're asking if you can take a nap to feel better?”
“Yes, resting would be an absolute godsend right now. If I could get my magic back, that could give me the edge against Klarg.”
“Oh really, you gonna ask me to make you supper too?” Yeemik sneered at Serenity.
“What?”
“You must think I’m pretty slow, miss adventurer. If I let you leave, we both know you’re just gonna come back with more humans and wipe the lot of us out!”
“No, I-”
“If I even THINK you left these here caves, I’m gonna crave you friend like a pig!” Yeemik yelled.
Serenity glared at Yeemik, “So you won’t let me rest, you won’t give me assistance, and you expect me to take on a foe that even you're too scared to fight.”
“Shouldn’t have shown your hand so fast little lady.” Yeemik laughed.
“Can I at least keep the goblin that I brought with me or do you intend to sabotage me further?”
Yeemik looked at Beatrix and shrugged, “Eh, I don’t care about that one.”
Serenity turned to leave before stopping dead in her tracks, “Wait! Let me see Sildar! I need to know that he’s still alive!”
Yeemik looked surprised before motioning one of his goblins to go, “Heh, maybe you aint a complete tool afterall.” A goblin ran off and after an uncomfortably long wait returned dragging a half-conscious man behind him.
Serenity made eye contact with the prisoner for a moment before it clicked, Sildar had been beaten almost beyond recognition. She felt a growing rage in her core as she saw the way Yeemik had treated a hero. “Can you hear me?”
It took longer than it should have for Sildar to react, he slowly turned to look at his would-be rescuer and stared at her before something stirred in him, “Serenity!” He croaked, “You, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to save you, Sildar.” Serenity said, trying to hide the uncertainty in her voice.
“No! You- agh- You have to get out of here!” Sildar panted, “They’ll kill us both, Serenity. -huff- Save yourself.”
Sildar’s desperate warning was cut off when a goblin kicked him in the ribs. The creature’s sadistic cackling ended abruptly as Serenity drove her scimitar into his shoulder. In an instant all of the goblins had weapons drawn as their injured ran for cover.
“Hold! Everyone stop!” Yeemik shouted as ran between Serenity and his goblins. He then smeared as he looked at Serenity, “You are getting too damn comfortable girl!”
Serenity grit her teeth and refused to lower her weapons. She took a step forward before being stopped as Beatrix grabbed onto her leg. “Serenity stop! If you do this, they’ll just kill Sildar to spite you.”
“She ain’t lying.” Yeemik said.
Serenity glared at Yeemik as she spoke, “I swear to you Yeemik, if you do anything to Sildar while I’m gone you will WISH you were dealing with Klarg!”
“Deal! You take care of your business and I’ll keep my boys off yours.” Yeemik said with a fake smile, “Now get walking before anyone does anything they might regret.”
There was a tense silence for a few moments before Serenity turned to leave, “Let’s go, Beatrix.”
Notes- I cut skill rolls out of the narration since someone said they didn’t like it and there were no voices in favor of them. For anyone curious, there were several Persuasion rolls made throughout this encounter to determine what would happen. As you can likely surmise, the dice were cold tonight.
Final Thoughts- Sorry for the long wait for this one, I had major trouble coming up with a way to make the story feel like it's moving forward despite Serenity failing on every level. Hope you were able to enjoy seeing Serenity struggle more than usual. The wait for the next part should be a lot shorter than this one was.

This is an expansion of a recent post and also incorporates some ideas from this theory (by u/ndependent-Design17). Throughout the series the reader is repeatedly reminded that "only death can pay for life" — that magic, especially powerful magic, comes at great cost.

"Only death can pay for life, my lord. A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”

Davos, ASOS
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.

1. establishing the concept of the soul

Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem… but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.

Bran, AGOT
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:

The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting.

Prologue, ADWD
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection of a soul from one body into another. The process of transferring souls to either the animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.

“Someone else was in the raven,” he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. “Some girl. I felt her.”
“A woman, of those who sing the song of earth,” his teacher said. “Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy’s flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you.”
"Do all the birds have singers in them?"
“All,” Lord Brynden said.

Bran, ADWD
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:

"The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.”
Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. Elk and deer were prey; wear their skins too long, and even the bravest man became a coward. Bears, boars, badgers, weasels … Haggon did not hold with such. “Some skins you never want to wear, boy. You won’t like what you’d become.” Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. “Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again.
...
"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death.
"When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains."

Prologue, ADWD
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporaneous Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.

The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?
Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.
He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.
"Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this." And the tree reached down and touched him.

Jon, ACOK
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, and smells of death. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)

2. shadow magic requires souls

As above the reader is repeatedly reminded throughout the series that "only death can pay for life." What is specifically being sacrificed, though? Is the magic being fueled by the blood of the sacrificed or by something else?
To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.

Shadows only live when given birth by light, and the king's fires burn so low I dare not draw off any more to make another son. It might well kill him."
Melisandre moved closer.
"With another man, though... a man whose flames still burn hot and high... if you truly wish to serve your king's cause, come to my chamber one night. I could give you pleasure such as you have never known, and with your life-fire I could make..."

Davos, ASOS
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is also specifically described as having the shape Stannis. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
The exchange of seed for soul is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King.

A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. (Credit to u/DigLost5791 for this reference.)

Bran, ASOS
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:

The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm’s End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king’s close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face.

Davos, ASOS
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."

What little flesh he’d carried on his tall, spare frame at Deepwood Motte had melted away during the march. The shape of his skull could be seen under his skin, and his jaw was clenched so hard Asha feared his teeth might shatter.

Asha, ADWD
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning … burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.
"…what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.

Davos, ASOS
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically.

3. blood and fire magic

As opposed to the creation of the shadows described above, we are also provided an example of blood magic in the leech burning ritual.

“Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon.”
...
Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, “As my king commands.” Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy’s blood, Davos knew. A king’s blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.
“Say the name,” Melisandre commanded.

Davos, ASOS
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.). It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual was responsible.
The creation of the shadows required part of Stannis' soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described, at least in the community, separately as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the series:

“Shadow?" Davos felt his flesh prickling. "A shadow is a thing of darkness."
”You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows."

Davos, ACOK
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. Fire consumes.
After Alester Florent is sacrificed on Dragonstone Davos describes "the smell of burning flesh" on the wind:

Melisandre had given Alester Florent to her god on Dragonstone, to conjure up the wind that bore them north. Lord Florent had been strong and silent as the queen's men bound him to the post, as dignified as any half-naked man could hope to be, but as the flames licked up his legs he had begun to scream, and his screams had blown them all the way to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, if the red woman could be believed. Davos had misliked that wind. It had seemed to him to smell of burning flesh, and the sound of it was anguished as it played amongst the lines.

Davos, ADWD
Whether these forms of magic are actually interchangeable or not — whether they each require the consumption of souls — is difficult to prove based on the text. It appears likely given the association between these concepts that sacrifice that powered this "anguished wind" was that of a soul and not a body or blood.

4. dancing shadows

The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving.
Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.
...
No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see?
Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.
“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard her.”
“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”
No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! She screamed. The dancers!
Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

Daenerys, AGOT
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described essentially as a lifeless husk:

"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."

Daenerys, AGOT
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows, likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.

“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust."

Daenerys, AGOT

5. reanimation

If "only death can pay for life" and souls are used as a form of magical currency how does one explain the reanimation or resurrection process?
There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)

“Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?”
The red priest bowed his head. “It is R’hllor who brings you back, my lord. The Lord of Light. I am only his instrument.”
“How many times?” Lord Beric insisted.
“Six,” Thoros said reluctantly.
“And each time is harder. You have grown reckless, my lord. Is death so very sweet?”
Arya, ASOS

There is no immediately identifiable cost for the "kiss of life" and repeated resurrection of Beric. I speculate that Thoros is breathing part of his soul into Beric during this process.

“That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord's servants as they died." (Credit to u/watchersontheweb for providing this quote in the initial thread.)

Arya, ASOS
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.

“Here’s the wizard, skinny squirrel. You’ll get your answers now.”
He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can’t be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair. Something
...
“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”
“To betoken a humble heart, but in truth my heart was vain. Besides, I lost my razor in the woods.” The priest slapped his belly. “I am less than I was, but more. A year in the wild will melt the flesh off a man. Would that I could find a tailor to take in my skin. I might look young again, and pretty maids would shower me with kisses.”

Arya, ASOS
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he may not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Thoros later describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:

“The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And… she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”

Brienne, AFFC
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn.

6. cold shadows (wild speculation)

The terms "white shadows," "pale shadows," and "cold shadows" are repeated used to describe the Others. The Others are also highly associated with ghosts — the spirits of souls of the dead bound to the earth. (The forrest is literally called the Haunted Forrest.)

The Others made no sound.
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?” It was cold.
Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. ...
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Prologue, AGOT
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children has been previously discussed at length in the community.) Whereas fire consumes, ice preserves.
This would explain several unusual characteristics of the Others as described by Tormund

“Tormund,” Jon said, as they watched four old women pull a cartful of children toward the gate, “tell me of our foe. I would know all there is to know of the Others.”
The wildling rubbed his mouth. “Not here,” he mumbled, “not this side o’ your Wall.” The old man glanced uneasily toward the trees in their white mantles. “They’re never far, you know. They won’t come out by day, not when that old sun’s shining, but don’t think that means they went away. Shadows never go away. Might be you don’t see them, but they’re always clinging to your heels.”
...
Tormund turned back.
"You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up… how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"

Jon, ADWD
A reasonable interpretation of this is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which is in keeping with their nature as spirits.

“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.”

Samwell, ASOS

7. conclusions

This highly speculative theory that attempts to reconcile the several seemingly disparate concepts in the series related to magic, namely the actual nature of magical sacrifice ("only death can pay for life") and shadows or shadow magic. More specifically, I suggest that souls are the primary magical currency and can be consumed to summon shadows, create glamours, etc. I also speculate that similar processes took place during Mirri Maz Duur's shadow-binding ritual in AGOT and during the repeated resurrections of Berric Dondarrion in ASOS. I further suggest that the Others are ghosts, the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth.
EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues

Hey Sportsfans — it's time for Week 7 of baseball Power Rankings: These baseball numbers have been forwarded directly from Manfred's office. They are accurate and caanot be questioned.
Every voter has their own style / system and the only voting instructions are these:

"To an extent determined individually, you must take into account how strong a team is right now and likely to be going forward. You must, to some degree, give weight to the events and games of the previous week."

TRANSPARENCY: This link will show you who voted each team where and has added neat statistics!
Check out the Auxilliary Post for added statistics and fun!
If something is a little messed up, feel free to pester me let me know.
Total Votes: 30 of 30. Another Perfect Vote!.

#		Team	Δ	Comment	Record
1		Dodgers	0	The Dodgers started off a mediocre road trip by sweeping the Marlins in dominant fashion, followed by a sleepy series against the padres. My early season prediction of the Dodgers's infield defense being the biggest issue was completely wrong. Mookie looks natural at short, and Muncy has been playing pretty darn well at 3rd. We will be using our prayers this week to pray that Shohei is going to be okay	27-15
2		Phillies	+1	It's tough to end the week on a walkoff loss to the Marlins and feel good, but it's hard to complain about a 4-2 stretch. Nick Castellanos might finally not be the worst hitter in baseball after he says he started treating hitting like glorified batting practice again. Ranger Suarez has arguably been the best pitcher in baseball, pitching to a 1.5 ERA and an astounding 0.72 WHIP with team wins in each of his starts. Somehow this performance isn't even all that surprising for a guy with a 4.18 ERA last year. He was this dominant in a half season between the bullpen and rotation in 2021 and has a career 1.62 ERA in 7 postseason starts and 2 relief appearances. This week: another weird scheduling quirk as they play a 4 game set against the Mets with the first two at Citi Field and the next two in Philly before the Nats come to town for a 3 game series.	28-13
3		Orioles	-1	I was hoping the Orioles would go 5-1 this week but they went 4-2. Still nothing to be super upset about. I think the main concerns right now are Mullins is hitting under .200 and Santander still not hitting the way he can. Yesterdays game was just not great so hopefully it was just a one-off and can be flushed and they move on. Blue Jays and Mariners are in town this week so it doesn't get any easier.	26-13
4		Yankees	0	Our pitching is so good right now. Anyone in the rotation could pull a Glasnow and write their number on a ball for a cute girl, and she’d call. Doesn’t even have to have their name. She doesn’t care if its’s Nestor Cortes or Clarke Schmidt. Yankees starter? She’s calling, and she’s shaving her legs beforehand. If we signed Pete Davidson for some spot starts there'd be a second baby boom. By the way, my nickname for Clarke Schmidt used to be Farte Schidt. He has very much made me eat my aforementioned schidt this year, and officially has the second-best starter ERA behind Luis Gil, as we all predicted. In other news, Judge and Stanton both have their pop at once, Soto is doing what Soto does, and Verdugo is playing sneaky good right now. We also officially took the season series against Houston 6-1, which feels GREAT. If only they were a playoff team so we could finally bounce them this year. Oh well. A Yankees-A’s ALCS it is.	27-15
5		Braves	0	The walk off loss hurts, but can't be too upset with a 4-1 bounce back week! Big time perfromance from our SP. Giving up only 4 ERs in 23.2 IP (1.52 ERA) in these 5 games. Our bats are not what we have come to expect, but that can't last much longer. Signs of life from Acuña and Olson and continued performance by Ozuna. If by the end of May we don't see massive improvement to our offensive numbers, I will be surprised. Until then, buckle up because the offense is coming.	24-13
6		Twins	+3	Another great week, Sausage be praised! We took series from the Blue Jays and Mariners with both blowouts and well-pitched close games. I think it's safe to say that the team has found its groove, and this is how the Twins can be expected to perform moving forward. The only blip has been that the bullpen is having a slight slump, but that will even out shortly.	24-16
7		Brewers	0	Paul Who? The only starting pitcher debut I care about is BOBBY GAS who threw 6 innings of 2 hit, 0 run ball in a win against the Cardinals. He fills a much needed spot in the Brewers rotation, and likely would have been up sooner if not for an injury of his own. Rhys Hoskins also had a monster week, racking up 3 HR and 9 RBI in hist last 5 games. I had my doubts this young lineup and shaky rotation actually could be a contending ballclub over 162 games, but I'm not going to argue with the results.	24-16
8		Guardians	-2	Another bad week. The Guardians had rough series against the Tigers and the mighty World Champion favorite White Sox. This coming week, we play the reigning World Series champs and the hottest team in our division. I'm not worried. Not at all.	25-16
9		Cubs	-1	The Cubs went 3-3 this week in what felt like a complete microcosm of their season. While they did get Justin Steele, Cody Bellinger, and Seiya Suzuki back from injury, they lost Dansby Swanson and Yency Almonte, who had been a rare reliable bullpen arm. Christopher Morel also had a scare after tweaking his knee sliding into sexond, but fortunately is alright. Otherwise, the offense remained inconsistent, the starting pitching was outstanding, and the bullpen was abysmal at worst and heart-stopping at best. While he didn't continue his usual dominance against them, Ian Happ extended his streak of 62 consecutive games reaching base vs the Pirates. This week, the Cubs travel to Atlanta to take on the Braves before hosting the Pirates for 4 games.	24-17
10		Royals	+2	The Royals have a chance to be in first place by themselves this late in the season for the first time since 2016. It feels like a lifetime ago. Yes, it is just seven weeks into the season but hopes are usually gone by this point. Maybe this year can be different.	25-17
11		Mariners	0	Apologies for any typos, doing this from mobile is miserable. Not the best week, but given the pitching hiccups I can't complain too much. Woo is back (and hopefully staying back, him getting pulled was a bit of a scare.) The next few series are another gauntlet, and if the M's can make it through playing relatively well they'll be in a good positon to take advantage of their schedule for the end of the month and early June. Up next: 3 vs. Roy L's, 3 @ Oreo L's	22-19
12		Padres	+2	The San Diego Madres beat LA on both día de las Madres (friday) as well as Mother’s Day, wherein both we got great pitching performances from King and Darvish respectively. Arraez capped off the walk-off win on friday, and it was nice to see Bogaerts get one deep on Sunday. So far in ‘24 the Padres haven’t lost a series to the Dodgers, whether in LA, San Diego, or South Korea. It’s a bit cathartic, though I do wish there was less blue in the stands this weekend though. Really interested to see how they come out against the rocks, as SD was only able to split the 4-game series earlier in the season. This one lines up between the series’s vs LA and ATL, it could be a bit of a trap, hoping the Pads continue their series winning streak (which is now at 4) and just take care of business.	22-21
13		Rangers	-3	The baseball gods are unforgiving. Sacrfices have to be made and will continue to be made to the baseball gods. Oh dear baseball gods please forgive our hubris for thinking the baseball suffering was over. It was not but also, flags fly forever.	22-20
14		Red Sox	-1	The Sox have not been having a good May. Losing Casas has been brutal, and the expected bump in performance from Vaughn Grissom at 2nd hasn't happened (well, at least not yet). As a team we have a decent looking triple slash, but situationally they've been horrible. In high leverage PAs, the Sox are hitting .195/.264/.272 in 247 PAs. We have loads of talent, but there's always some issue whether it be defense or clutch hitting that holds us back from being truly competitive.	21-19
15		Tigers	0	The City Connects... phew phew phew. Looks like we got tire tracks laid on us after a truck ran us over. No thanks. I hate it... and that's not even mentioning the dumb hat. In terms of actual baseball, though, Tarik Skubal is still Skuballing. This week: 3 vs. MIA, 3 at ARI.	20-20
16		Rays	0	It was a .500 week for the Rays, and the good news is things are looking better, but only like maybe? Randy and Yandy seem to be coming back a bit; glancing at the lineup's batting avg in the game threads isn't painful anymore. Ben Rortvedt is over .300 in the catcher position which is unheard of for this team. The bad news is pitching is only bouncing back from abysmal to below average. A week against division opponents on the road will test if that improvement is here to stay or if it was just a new uniform bounce.	20-21
17		D-Backs	+3	The Diamondbacks have been winning more games of late but are still underperforming their Pythagorean record and are 3 games below .500 despite a +17 run differential. Reinforcements should be coming back from injury soon which should help.	19-22
18		Mets	-1	I prewrote a big and extremely negative blurb about the Mets getting swept by the Braves. That did not happen, Brandon Nimmo hit a walk off homer on Sunday Night Baseball immediately as I was about to close my computer. Never been so glad to be wrong. Bring on the Phillies and Marlins.	19-20
19		Nationals	0	Two large accomplishments for the Nats in the last week - 1) For the first time since 2021, the Nats climbed over .500 with an opening win over the Orioles in a 2-game series. 2) Patrick Corbin recorded a win this week vs the Red Sox (his first since 9/11/23 vs the Pirates). The Nationals quickly slid back under .500 losing the 2nd game vs the Orioles and then 2 of 3 against the Red Sox. James Wood is hitting everything in AAA (over 1.000 OPS) so there are lots of calls for HRCHU.	19-20
20		Blue Jays	+1	Very up and down week for the Cyrulean Winged Creatures of Ontario. A 1-1 split with Philly and a 1-2 tilt vs Minnesota extended a too-long stretch of not winning series. Turns out, the combination of bad offense and a bad bullpen is bad. But there have been some glimpses of hope, at least. Alek Manoah threw a gem on Sunday, giving up 0 ER and 1 BB over 7 IP with 6 Ks. Also, Vladdy is hot as shit right now; since the last week of March, he's been hitting over .400 with a nearly 1.000 OPS. Still, the Jays in general continue to underperform and hover just below .500. Mid-May is not the time to freak out and this team is in too deep to consider a full tear-down even in a lost year, but things will be getting worrisome if they can't pull out of this middling stretch that has defined the first quarter of the season.	18-22
21		Giants	+4	Believe it or not, the Giants had a winning week. They continue their flirtation with being a decent team. However, we would like the world to know about several issues	19-23
22		Athletics	0	Happy Mother's Day, say hi or I'll drop by. Rough week, our bullpen had some awful games esp w/ Kotsay's choices. Will possibly fall below the Astros this week as we play them along with the Royals, and unlike last year I don't think we're a better team than KC. Toro and Harris have been playing well with Soderstrom getting some reps in (A+ defense from them), but Gelof will likely return and change something there.	19-23
23		Reds	-5	What is the meaning of suffering? This question has stumped philosophers throughout the ages, but nobody has come up with an answer. On the opposite side of this, we have also been in search of evidence of the divine, and we’ve searched for it in things like the miracle of our world. But again, we haven’t found anything. What if we’re looking in the wrong place? What if suffering is the greatest proof of a divine presence? Suffering is an art. Perhaps the greatest art ever devised. Devised by who or what though? Some greater power looming over us all? Some great cosmic being who looks upon us the same way as we do ants? Some primordial consciousness created trillions of years ago in the Big Bang that’s been merely existing all this time and only gets enjoyment out of the suffering of others? How do we figure this out? Who do we ask? I have a suggestion, we can ask baseball fans. We are connoisseurs of suffering. Ask an A’s fan about the meaning of suffering and you’ll get your answer just by looking into their eyes. Ask a Rockies fan, or a White Sox fan, or even a long dead Expos fan. It’s weeks like this that make me ask why do people even like baseball. Why do I even like baseball? Well, I remember my grandfather, since I live in the midwest we always called him Papaw, and he was the biggest baseball nut I know. He got me into baseball at a young age, and I remember one day asking why he loved it so much. When I say he was a baseball nut, I mean he was a season ticket holder, bought all the merchandise, had books about baseball and biographies written by baseball players, he had all of it. He could tell you everything about the sport with ease. So I asked him why did he love baseball so much because at that time I found it boring, and you know I still to this day remember his response. He told me baseball is 3 hours of nothing happening, but when something did happen, it was the most beautiful sport god ever created. I loved that man. Anyway this is all a long way to say the Reds suck ass right now.	17-23
24		Astros	0	Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there, especially yours. I'll visit her later, don't worry. The Astros continue to take 1 step forward and 3 steps back. Kyle Tucker is the man and we should extend him immediately. Our pitching is still mostly trash and no one deserves an extension.	15-25
25		Pirates	-2	Paul Skenes made his highly-anticipated debut on Saturday, and it was one of two games the Pirates won last week. And they only won that game after first blowing a 6-1 lead thanks to 6 (SIX!) walks with the bases loaded. At one point. Kyle Nicolas threw 12 straight balls with the bases loaded. The bullpen was so depleted that Nicolas had to pitch the next day after Aroldis Chapman gave up 2 runs and 2 walks in the 10th inning, only for Nicolas to give up another run on a wild pitch. The Pirates then hit a 2-run homer in the bottom of the inning and lost 5-4. So yeah, that's how things are going in Pittsburgh right now.	18-23
26		Cardinals	0	Bro, I'm straight up not having a good time.	16-24
27		Angels	0	Hot and then cold and then hot again, Jo Adell hit three homers this past week. With a wRC+ on the season now standing at 134 and a wOBA of .363, the next step for him is now maintaining a level of consistency. With a bottom-ranking farm system, his future may not ultimately be in Anaheim. The looming rebuild is going to be a long and slow process and at the age of 25, it is hard to see much point in keeping him if someone else starts looking his way.	15-26
28		Rockies	+2	We have the longest winning streak in baseball. We just swept the defending champs. I'm pretty sure that means Rocktober is coming. In all seriousness, the Rockies finally gelled for the first time this season. The Rangers didn't play poorly, the Rockies just played well. The concern now is what kind of "Coors Hangover" we'll see.	12-28
29		White Sox	0	The White Sox had a shockingly good week while clinching the season series against the Rays and winning 3 of 4 from the Guardians over the weekend. They have been playing objectively better baseball lately (which means that their 72 wRC+ season stat was at 84 last week, and their pitching has been middle of the league since the start of May). It's not much, but it's something. Myself, I'm excited to attend my first ball game of the year tonight. Of course, I'll be going to the Schaumburg Boomers home opener.	12-29
30		Marlins	-2	So the fish still cant produce runs but at least we got burger back. Luzardo looks much better in his return to the bigs but oof braxton garrett. Somehow miami managed to squeeze out a win this week against two top teams but well see how they do against the tigers and mets this upcoming season.	11-31

This is an expansion of a recent post and also incorporates some ideas from this theory (by u/ndependent-Design17). Throughout the series the reader is repeatedly reminded that "only death can pay for life" — that magic, especially powerful magic, comes at great cost.

"Only death can pay for life, my lord. A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”

Davos, ASOS
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.

1. establishing the concept of the soul

Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem… but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.

Bran, AGOT
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:

The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting.

Prologue, ADWD
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection of a soul from one body into another. The process of transferring souls to either the animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.

“Someone else was in the raven,” he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. “Some girl. I felt her.”
“A woman, of those who sing the song of earth,” his teacher said. “Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy’s flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you.”
"Do all the birds have singers in them?"
“All,” Lord Brynden said.

Bran, ADWD
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:

"The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.”
Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. Elk and deer were prey; wear their skins too long, and even the bravest man became a coward. Bears, boars, badgers, weasels … Haggon did not hold with such. “Some skins you never want to wear, boy. You won’t like what you’d become.” Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. “Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again.
...
"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death.
"When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains."

Prologue, ADWD
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporaneous Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.

The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?
Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.
He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.
"Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this." And the tree reached down and touched him.

Jon, ACOK
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, and smells of death. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)

2. shadow magic requires souls

As above the reader is repeatedly reminded throughout the series that "only death can pay for life." What is specifically being sacrificed, though? Is the magic being fueled by the blood of the sacrificed or by something else?
To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.

Shadows only live when given birth by light, and the king's fires burn so low I dare not draw off any more to make another son. It might well kill him."
Melisandre moved closer.
"With another man, though... a man whose flames still burn hot and high... if you truly wish to serve your king's cause, come to my chamber one night. I could give you pleasure such as you have never known, and with your life-fire I could make..."

Davos, ASOS
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is also specifically described as having the shape Stannis. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
The exchange of seed for soul is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King.

A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. (Credit to u/DigLost5791 for this reference.)

Bran, ASOS
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:

The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm’s End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king’s close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face.

Davos, ASOS
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."

What little flesh he’d carried on his tall, spare frame at Deepwood Motte had melted away during the march. The shape of his skull could be seen under his skin, and his jaw was clenched so hard Asha feared his teeth might shatter.

Asha, ADWD
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning … burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.
"…what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.

Davos, ASOS
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically.

3. blood and fire magic

As opposed to the creation of the shadows described above, we are also provided an example of blood magic in the leech burning ritual.

“Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon.”
...
Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, “As my king commands.” Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy’s blood, Davos knew. A king’s blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.
“Say the name,” Melisandre commanded.

Davos, ASOS
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.). It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual was responsible.
The creation of the shadows required part of Stannis' soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described, at least in the community, separately as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the series:

“Shadow?" Davos felt his flesh prickling. "A shadow is a thing of darkness."
”You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows."

Davos, ACOK
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. Fire consumes.
After Alester Florent is sacrificed on Dragonstone Davos describes "the smell of burning flesh" on the wind:

Melisandre had given Alester Florent to her god on Dragonstone, to conjure up the wind that bore them north. Lord Florent had been strong and silent as the queen's men bound him to the post, as dignified as any half-naked man could hope to be, but as the flames licked up his legs he had begun to scream, and his screams had blown them all the way to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, if the red woman could be believed. Davos had misliked that wind. It had seemed to him to smell of burning flesh, and the sound of it was anguished as it played amongst the lines.

Davos, ADWD
Whether these forms of magic are actually interchangeable or not — whether they each require the consumption of souls — is difficult to prove based on the text. It appears likely given the association between these concepts that sacrifice that powered this "anguished wind" was that of a soul and not a body or blood.

4. dancing shadows

The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving.
Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.
...
No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see?
Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.
“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard her.”
“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”
No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! She screamed. The dancers!
Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

Daenerys, AGOT
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described essentially as a lifeless husk:

"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."

Daenerys, AGOT
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows, likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.

“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust."

Daenerys, AGOT

5. reanimation

If "only death can pay for life" and souls are used as a form of magical currency how does one explain the reanimation or resurrection process?
There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)

“Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?”
The red priest bowed his head. “It is R’hllor who brings you back, my lord. The Lord of Light. I am only his instrument.”
“How many times?” Lord Beric insisted.
“Six,” Thoros said reluctantly.
“And each time is harder. You have grown reckless, my lord. Is death so very sweet?”
Arya, ASOS

There is no immediately identifiable cost for the "kiss of life" and repeated resurrection of Beric. I speculate that Thoros is breathing part of his soul into Beric during this process.

“That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord's servants as they died." (Credit to u/watchersontheweb for providing this quote in the initial thread.)

Arya, ASOS
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.

“Here’s the wizard, skinny squirrel. You’ll get your answers now.”
He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can’t be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair. Something
...
“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”
“To betoken a humble heart, but in truth my heart was vain. Besides, I lost my razor in the woods.” The priest slapped his belly. “I am less than I was, but more. A year in the wild will melt the flesh off a man. Would that I could find a tailor to take in my skin. I might look young again, and pretty maids would shower me with kisses.”

Arya, ASOS
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he may not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Thoros later describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:

“The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And… she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”

Brienne, AFFC
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn.

6. cold shadows (wild speculation)

The terms "white shadows," "pale shadows," and "cold shadows" are repeated used to describe the Others. The Others are also highly associated with ghosts — the spirits of souls of the dead bound to the earth. (The forrest is literally called the Haunted Forrest.)

The Others made no sound.
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?” It was cold.
Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. ...
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Prologue, AGOT
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children is linked in a separate post here.) Whereas fire consumes, ice preserves.
This would explain several unusual characteristics of the Others as described by Tormund

“Tormund,” Jon said, as they watched four old women pull a cartful of children toward the gate, “tell me of our foe. I would know all there is to know of the Others.”
The wildling rubbed his mouth. “Not here,” he mumbled, “not this side o’ your Wall.” The old man glanced uneasily toward the trees in their white mantles. “They’re never far, you know. They won’t come out by day, not when that old sun’s shining, but don’t think that means they went away. Shadows never go away. Might be you don’t see them, but they’re always clinging to your heels.”
...
Tormund turned back.
"You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up… how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"

Jon, ADWD
A reasonable interpretation of this is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which is in keeping with their nature as spirits.

“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.”

Samwell, ASOS

7. conclusions

This highly speculative theory that attempts to reconcile the several seemingly disparate concepts in the series related to magic, namely the actual nature of magical sacrifice ("only death can pay for life") and shadows or shadow magic. More specifically, I suggest that souls are the primary magical currency and can be consumed to summon shadows, create glamours, etc. I also speculate that similar processes took place during Mirri Maz Duur's shadow-binding ritual in AGOT and during the repeated resurrections of Berric Dondarrion in ASOS. I further suggest that the Others are ghosts, the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth.
EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues

I know this topic was discussed many times before here but still personal experiences need to be shared because those have a heavy impact...I'm gonna ask for your wisdom on things related to Jin So i have this best friend of 6 years, we been through a lot together and he means the world to me, yes he is Muslim but just you know "muslim" as a name, dude drinks, smokes, doesn't even pray and is open minded...the only reason he wouldn't leave the religion is because of his family but that's not what I'm gonna talk about today...my friend ever since he was a teen always used to have nightmares and episodes of sleep paralysis...the stories he tell me about are horrifying and I think his case is the most extreme...years went by and it only got worse...from floating to a demon trying to break his leg or molest him he saw it all...and surprisingly he is used to it, now I want you to know that this guy is the most honest guy you will ever meet‼️ it's deeply rooted in his mind and morals that lying is bad, he would feel bad if you asked him to lie about his location when his parents called him lol, I 100% believe him on this and you should too...so this is what happened recently
N let's refer to him as N...N is originally south east Asian living in the US and this week he went back home with his family for a visit, N's family knows about his sleeping issues and nightmares and even tho they took him to a doctor it's still not clear what's causing all this and his case is still under investigation...N parents decided to take the opportunity while they are in their home country and try arranging a session with a sheikh(راقي)...we joked about it before me and N many times I even asked him to dance when the sheikh does his stuff lmao none of us believed in this BS but what happened was not expected...the sheikh after asking N to wash and do (wudu) sat N in front of him...asked him to close his eyes and hold on to some kind of artifact, it took a while but suddenly N felt his body move on its own and talk...he literally had no control over his body, he didn't lose counsiousness! He felt and heard his voice but he had no control over it...N started talking in third person answering the sheikh questions...the "jin" "supposedly" refused to answer most questions related to why he is possessing my friend's body...he revealed some of N's issues "N cries when he is angry, N has self doubts" his parents were with him in his room scared and worried...upon seeing his mom cry he started laughing and making grimaces and fart noises...all kinds of silly stuff until the sheikh kept beating on N's hand making him yell in pain the "jin" responded "stop N is not very healthy he is all bones no muscles"...the sheikh asked personal questions so I'm not gonna share them here but it seems the "jin" was defending N and taking his side
After the session was over they let my friend rest and that's when he told me all this, I can't believe him but also...he has no reason to lie to me and he is always honest...I could see in his eyes and the way he spoke that he is confused tired and traumatized...I don't know what to make of this...another important point! This "jin" even tho he took control of my friends body he didn't say anything new...all the things he said are known to my friend or simply how he feels...
Please my friends don't just dismiss my experience as fake and help me out here...has my best friend finally lost it and went crazy or this whole jin bullshit is actually real after all?

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

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

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

I have an 8 year old neutered male cat who currently weighs about 16 pounds. He's a healthy weight, just a big cat (see cat tax.) No serious health conditions in his past besides a urinary blockage that was caught very early and treated. Unsure how relevant this is because I think it's common, but I do know that he's inbred.
About 3 months ago we started noticing intermittent hissing, maybe once a week, when walking on uneven/squishy surfaces like our mattress, or getting up from a laying position in a certain way. One night while playing, my boyfriend lost his footing and fell, and it spooked kitty so he bolted into our hall closet. This exacerbated what I assume was a developing condition. He immediately started limping and was hissing at his left hind leg specifically after pretty much any movement. He spent the rest of the evening yowling in pain and was constantly trying to get comfortable, it was awful. The next morning he was much better, but we managed to get in at his regular vet.
They took x-rays and there was nothing obvious on them that would be causing the pain. However, there were abnormalities in both of his knees. Pictures here plus cat tax. Full x-ray and one with the abnormality circled. There is one in both knees, same spot. Our vet said we could send them to the specialist radiologists to see if they know what they are, and she said she'd do some research herself. Neither of those options yielded anything conclusive. She said it "could be" arthritis and sent us on our way with pain meds just in case.
My boyfriend's mom works at a specialist orthopedic vet clinic and she had us come in for a second opinion. They work mostly with dogs and we were really just there as a favor, but the vet there did a thorough exam and wanted us to come back in a few weeks for a follow up exam. He also had bloodwork done there and there was nothing of note.
Since his initial visits, he has been back to "normal." One or two ouchie hisses in the week following those visits but none since then. We have done our best to limit running/jumping play. We got stairs for him to get him up to our bed, he uses them to go up but still jumps down. We put pool noodles across our main hallway for him to walk across and get more range of motion in his back legs, as recommended by the orthopedic vet. He is happy, eating and drinking, peeing and pooping.
We went back to the orthopedic vet a couple of weeks ago where the vet told us she did a ton of research for us and looked at his x-rays a bunch, and in her opinion she thinks there are partial tears in both ACLs. She examined him again and said what she felt still supports that theory. She told us that the abnormalities in his x-rays could be bone fragments or osteophytes, which is common with an ACL tear. She highly suggests surgery, and said that's the only way to know for sure if that's what's going on.
After we got that news, I emailed our regular vet to run it by her and see if she had advice on next steps. They said they had a surgeon who would sometimes come to their office to do consultations and that they'd get back to me with available times.
They called me back last week and these are our options:

• Wait until June 8th when the surgeon may be there next. They seemed to think I wouldn't want to wait that long, so maybe I just don't understand the magnitude of the situation?
• Schedule the consultation with the surgeon at his office (which is 3 hours away.) And apparently the way he does things is to do a consultation and immediately follow it with the surgery on the same day. This is confusing to us and feels like a huge commitment.
• Refer us to a local university clinic, but she said it would be a "boat load of money."

Another option I'm adding is to call around to other clinics to see if we can do a consult somewhere else. But according to the orthopedic vet, this is "very rare" in cats and I guess I figured this group would be a better first step.
I am feeling really lost and confused here. And it's hard to wrap my mind around it because he's acting like his normal self, he doesn't seem to be in pain but I know animals are good at hiding it. I feel like I just want a very qualified person, a surgeon, to examine him to confirm if they feel what the orthopedic vet who isn't all that familiar with cats felt.

Hey folks, hello again. I took a bit longer this time to update (Part 1 and Part 2 here) you but at least I bring good news: this weekend, I got the definitive answer from the prison's legal department, and now I know how much I can tell (and I believe it's enough). For your information, after this incident and my eventual release from prison, I haven't contacted anyone I met behind bars, except of course for my wife, Linda. The point is, even after all these years, this story has troubled me a lot, and since my first post, I've become even more paranoid. Finally, this morning, I went out to get the mail but as soon as I opened the door, I came face to face with a small untouched white envelope, except for two identical characters stamped on its surface: 11. Linda is sleeping, and I don't want to worry her, I'm at the kitchen counter thinking about what to do with this envelope while reliving the final events of all this mess, of what was really inside cell 11.
It was morning, and there I was in my cell, in a scene poetically similar to this. I held a playing card, an 11 of clubs. I later searched for such a card online, but found nothing. It was strange, very well made. Before I could reflect more deeply on this, one of the guards passed by our corridor, opening the cell doors for our breakfast.
So, slowly, as if in a trance, I got up from bed and put the playing card in my pocket. Somehow, the card seemed to heat up in my pocket, I could feel the heat increasing and increasing, almost burning my skin. It was a strange stupor, almost drunken, I could even swear I smelled ether lingering in the air as I staggered to the cafeteria.
I slumped into the seat as I placed the tray on the table. Old Munford looked at me in a friendly manner:
"Overdid it yesterday, lad? Your hangover face is priceless."
I forced a weak smile in response to Munford's comment, trying to seem normal despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. The heat still burned in my pocket, an uncomfortable sensation that seemed to be intensifying with each passing moment.
"No, nothing much," I muttered, looking away to my food tray. "Just didn't sleep very well."
Munford seemed satisfied with my response and turned his attention back to his own meal. As I stirred the food without really eating, struggling to maintain my composure, I began to think about what to do.
My thoughts were interrupted when Francis joined us at the table, his usual smile lighting up his face. He looked at me with a questioning expression.
"Hey man, everything okay? You look awful."
"I think it was the heat, or maybe something I ate last night."
Francis frowned. Unlike the elder, he clearly wasn't convinced by my superficial explanation.
"Some of the guys told me they saw Bob talking to you last night. Did he do something?"
The question caught me off guard. All this news about the playing card had prevented me from thinking about the strange interaction with Bob since the previous night, but now the memories began to resurface, mixed with the heat sensation coming from my pocket.
"Oh, it was nothing," I said quickly, trying to sound casual. "Bob was just being a bit... Bob."
I felt Francis's gaze linger on my face for a moment.
"If he does anything, you know you can talk to us, right? I know he's one of ours, but that doesn't mean I'll go easy on him."
I analyzed the options for a moment, reflecting on everything. Well, now it seemed to make sense, a prank by Bob, or an attempt to intimidate me...
"There's... something, Francis," I said in a low tone, feeling tense about the confession I was about to make. "Last night, after the card tournament, I... I ran into Bob in the hallway. He was questioning me about the tournament, accusing me of cheating."
Francis's face hardened at my words, a displeased expression passing over his features.
"Cheating? And you?"
"I swear I played fair," I replied quickly, the pressure building inside me. "But he was convinced I had some advantage, and... well, things got a bit tense... He walked away, and this morning I found this in my cell."
Deciding to omit the encounter with Tulley, I got straight to the point, pulling the card out of my pocket and placing it on the table. I could feel it almost incandescent now.
Munford looked at the card for a moment, his gaze narrowing as he studied it. The heat emanating from it was almost palpable, a strange aura that seemed to envelop the table.
"Is that... an 11 of clubs?" he murmured, his voice tinged with surprise and suspicion.
I nodded, my own confusion mingling with growing anxiety.
"Yes... I don't know, maybe Bob did this to scare me, to show that he has access to my cell, or to try to provoke me, knowing my fear of cell 11..."
My words were cut off when the guard's voice echoed through the cafeteria, interrupting our conversation as he announced that the meal period was over.
Francis looked at me with a serious expression.
"We'll talk about this later," he pointed to the card. "Mind if I take it with me?"
I nodded.
"No problem, feel free."
We began our march back to the cells, and I couldn't help but exchange glances with old Munford. He seemed to hesitate on the matter, as if he wanted to say something but was afraid. I made a mental note to speak with him as soon as possible. Our yard time would be in the next 4 hours, and I spent half of that time trying to ponder what had happened.
I don't know how long it took, but I fell asleep, sitting, with my back pressed against the wall of my cell. The dream, or rather, nightmare resulting from this was a disturbing experience.
I found myself standing, walking through the prison corridors in a way that seemed endless. The walls seemed to close in around me, creating a claustrophobic labyrinth that I couldn't escape. Every door I tried to open was locked, and the sound of footsteps echoed behind me, as if someone were following my every step.
Finally, I reached a door that was ajar, a dim light emanating from within. With a knot in my stomach, I pushed it slowly, revealing what seemed to be cell 11. But something was terribly wrong. A man was there, his back to me. Disheveled, uneven hair, a hunched posture, he was crouched down, rummaging through something I couldn't see, seemed to regurgitate. Suddenly, he stopped. He slowly got up and then looked at me.
Somehow, I knew that man was that prisoner, the one who had committed those atrocities and painted the eye on the damn cell. I noticed something dripping from his mouth, forming a red puddle in the center. On the wall, what seemed to be an incomplete sketch of the dreaded painting was there.
I watched, hypnotized by the horror before me, as the man slowly raised his trembling hand towards his face. Drops of that dark liquid dripped from his fingers, echoing in the oppressive silence of the cell. It was as if the very air was tainted with that impurity.
Before I could fully process what was happening, he began to move towards me, his irregular steps echoing like the distant clinking of chains. A visceral panic seized me, preventing me from retreating as he came closer and closer, his distorted figure gaining sharper contours as he advanced through the gloom. I could now smell the terrible scent he had, not just as something rotten, but a pure and concrete smell of death.
"Who... who are you?" My own voice sounded weak and trembling.
The man didn't answer. Instead, he kept advancing, his empty eyes seeming to pierce my soul. My heart was now pounding uncontrollably in my chest, a deafening cacophony that seemed to fill the entire space of the cell. I was about to retreat, to beg for mercy, when a voice whispered in my mind, a distorted echo reverberating like the sigh of a ghost:
"You... can you see? The watchful eye. He wants you. He liked looking at you."
The sound of my own breath echoed in the silence that followed, a dissonant note of fear and desperation. I wanted to scream, to run, to escape this living nightmare, but I was paralyzed by the terror that enveloped me like a coffin.
It was then that I woke up, gasping and covered in sweat, the echo of the whisper still resonating in my mind like a distant echo of a nightmare. For a moment, everything around me seemed distorted and unreal, a fleeting mirage, and then, I startled again. Munford was standing in front of my cell, staring at me with curiosity.
"Are you okay, son?" the old man asked in a soft voice, as if trying to calm a frightened animal.
I shook my head slowly, trying to gather my thoughts amidst the whirlwind of information.
"I... I think so," I murmured, my voice sounding strange and distant even to myself. "I had a horrible nightmare... It felt so real."
Munford nodded understandingly, his eyes fixed on mine.
"Yeah, the situation isn't good... but I came to talk about that letter, earlier in the cafeteria."
"Oh yeah, what about it?"
"Let's just say I've never seen a card like that, but the energy coming from it, oh yeah, I've seen that before."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, a few years ago, there was a murder in one of the cells. This was before Francis arrived, we didn't have much organization, lynchings were common, and in an attempt to reduce these incidents, we decided that the main suspect, a newly captured serial killer, would be forcibly transferred to cell 11. It was one of the most terrible incidents I've ever witnessed in here. And do you know how that man was known?"
I shook my head negatively. Munford leaned his hands on two bars, bringing his face closer to the center of them.
"The Card Cutter."
A wave of shivers ran down my spine.
"He used to leave playing cards as a kind of signature on the bodies of his victims. They say he would choose the card based on the person or the method of murder. So, when he was put in cell 11, things got even weirder."
"What happened to him?" I asked, a bittersweet and macabre curiosity in my mouth.
Munford sighed heavily, looking at a fixed point this time.
"A few weeks after being transferred, he was found dead in his cell. Hung with sheets. And next to his body..."
"What was it?" I could barely breathe as I listened.
"A playing card. An ace of spades, if I'm not mistaken. And that cell... well, since then, no one wants to stay there. They say it does something to people, kills them."
The shock of Munford's revelation reverberated in my chest, trembling as I thought about what could happen to Guard Tulley from now on, or worse, what could happen to us.
"So you think this card is... a warning?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, staring into the old man's green eyes.
Munford nodded slowly, responding more to himself than to me.
"I can't say for sure, but it's a possibility to consider."
I swallowed hard.
"What should we do then?"
He fell silent for a moment, as if pondering his words carefully.
"I have no idea. I guess all we can do is keep quiet; we don't want to scare the other inmates. Francis doesn't believe in these things, so I won't waste my time trying to convince him, and I advise you to do the same. Maybe if we just keep pretending that nothing is happening, things will sort themselves out. But remember: whatever this force is, it wants to take you to the cell, wants you to face the eye. Resist those urges, okay?"
The clock struck 12:30. Time for yard time. I walked with Munford to the yard, the sun burning our heads as we stepped outside, futilely trying to erase the worry from our minds.
As I watched the other inmates spreading out across the yard, trying to appear normal, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to find Bob, his voice low and threatening.
"What did you tell Francis?" he whispered, he was behind me, and I couldn't see him.
The flesh on my back trembled and twisted, the fluid of fear rising up to my brain.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bob," I replied firmly, trying to sound confident.
He paused for a few seconds.
"You cheat first, and now, you make up lies about what I did or didn't do."
"I think there's a misunderstanding-"
"Shut up!" his voice rose sharply "I'm just here to say that I'm not a kid, I don't go around sending playing card letters or anything like that. I didn't threaten you with that thing, but now I am, and in a very direct way, and if I were you, I'd sleep with one eye open."
He was dead serious, and the threat was as clear as day. But what could I do? Confront Bob directly like Francis? That could mean he wasn't trustworthy... My thoughts were interrupted by the guard watching us.
"You two, no contact!" he shouted.
"No problem here, officer," Bob said, pulling me into a hug that felt more like an attempted chokehold.
I tried to pull away unsuccessfully, and the officer seemed to simply not care.
"Okay, but we'll be watching," he turned away, and Bob shoved me against the yard bars.
"Listen here, Bob," I began, my voice firm, confused about where this courage had even come from. "I don't know what you're up to, but I won't stand still while you try to intimidate me. If you have something to say, then say it like a man. Otherwise, leave me alone." I pushed him away with my hand.
"You're a fool, you know that?" he muttered.
"I'm not looking for trouble, but if you want it, you'll get it. Let's just leave it be, okay? If anything happens to me, I'll make sure some people know and-"
My assailant's hand closed around my neck, tightening. I squirmed, struggling to breathe as I desperately tried to free myself from his grip.
"Going to call daddy? Look, Francis may have that whole attitude, but he won't do anything to me, or any of the guys," he remarked.
I noticed the usual group of big guys who hung around with Francis, they were watching us from afar, seeming to distract the boss.
"He's getting out in two months...but honestly, I don't think I need to wait that long."
I couldn't breathe. Fighting against the grip on my neck, my eyes desperately searched for any help.
"Let him go!" The guard shouted from afar, starting to make his way down the stairs to reach us.
Bob didn't obey. I felt my body losing strength, so I did what I could: I focused my strength into a clenched fist and punched the bastard in the stomach, aiming right at his gut. And judging by his expression, it worked. I saw him lean over, his hands releasing my body and being placed on his belly.
I knew if I let it slide, he would come back and continue to harass me, so that had to be a definitive response to the jerk that I wasn't an easy prey. I lunged at him again, this time with a well-aimed kick to his knee, trying to destabilize him. He staggered backwards with a groan of pain, falling to his knees on the yard ground.
The other prisoners now realized what had happened, and soon their shouts in a circle were audible.
"Go, get him! Don't hold back! Finish this guy off!"
I lunged at Bob, raising my hand time after time to punch him. He didn't take it lightly, grabbing my right hand as I prepared to hit him; I could feel the pressure applied to the joints, my fingers starting to crack, and I could feel them tense, about to break. In desperation, I threw myself onto him with the only weapon I had left: my teeth.
I felt the flesh of his neck between the rows of teeth in my mouth. Without thinking and trying to loosen the grip on my hand, I pressed on the pearly bones harder and harder, feeling them slide against the skin, the metallic taste slowly emerging as the flesh was torn.
The scene around me seemed blurry, as if I were watching everything happen from afar, in slow motion. Bob's scream echoed through the yard, mixing with the encouragement shouts from the other inmates. I felt a mix of adrenaline and horror as my teeth sank into his neck flesh, a strange feeling of power and disgust.
While still hunched over that bloody man, I felt the blows on my back: it was the guards. Their batons striking time after time as the adrenaline rush passed, and I now began to feel the pain. Without resistance, I let myself be pulled away. Bob wasted no time and moved away, stumbling as he covered the wound.
"YOU SCUMBAG, WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?"
As I was being taken away, everything around me seemed blurred, as if I were in a state of stupor. The voices of the other inmates echoed in my ears, mixed with images of the fight that had just occurred. I still felt the blood running through my mouth, dripping lightly onto the ground and forming a trail of red dots marking my path. However, before we left the yard, our warden arrived at the scene, and the guards stopped, my arm uncomfortably twisted behind my body.
"What's going on here?" His voice was calm, but there was an unquestionable tone of authority in his words.
"He... he bit a detainee, sir," one of the guards explained, firmly holding my arm.
The warden looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.
"Why did you do that?"
My mind was spinning, trying to find a coherent explanation for what had happened. I knew it would be useless to tell about Bob's threat, about the playing card, about the fear he had instilled in me. So, I found the most plausible words I could gather:
"He... he provoked me, sir," I murmured, my voice trembling. "I... couldn't take it anymore. He was intimidating me, threatening me, and I... I lost control."
The warden looked at me for a long moment, as if assessing my words. Finally, he sighed, seeming resigned, approaching me with slow, steady steps.
"No, you did that because you're an animal."
He gave me two pats on the cheek, then wiped the blood running from my mouth.
"Take this one to solitary."
The prisoners began to shout, a real noisy commotion. I trembled at the thought of being locked up there. No one came back the same from solitary, but at that moment, I really think I'd prefer to go there than what was to come.
"But sir," one of the guards said, causing the inmates to fall silent in an attempt to hear something, "The solitary is occupied..."
The warden frowned, clearly irritated by the interruption.
"Then take him to cell 11," he ordered, his voice cold and authoritative.
That was the final blow, causing the uproar to become widespread, with even some inmates needing to be subdued with tear gas. I could see as I was pushed, Munford looking at me, a worried and distressed expression on his face; he said something I couldn't understand amidst the noise.
With my heart pounding erratically in my chest and my mind clouded with fear and uncertainty, I was led by the guards towards cell 11. Each step felt like it weighed tons, as if I were walking towards the abyss. I could feel the stares of the other inmates watching the scene, some with expressions of shock, others with a mixture of curiosity and indifference.
Finally, we arrived, and by this point, I was sweating uncontrollably; they opened the cell and threw me inside. My eyes instinctively closed as I fell to the ground. I didn't want to look at it. I got up, still blinding my vision, slowly groping around until I found the bed. I lay on it and turned to the wall beside it, my face as close as possible.
Lying on the hard bed, I could feel my heart beating so loudly that it seemed to echo off the concrete walls around me. Each beat was a pulsating reminder of my situation. I tried to push away the thoughts, but it was like trying to hold back a raging river with bare hands. All the while, I heard stories, heard things about that place, and now I was there, cornered by circumstances beyond my control.
Gradually, I noticed the thick layer of sweat forming around me. I could even feel my pores opening, pouring the water from my body in an attempt to cool myself in that stuffy, hot environment. I couldn't help but think about the heat of the card and... about Francis. He still had the card. Wasn't that dangerous? I fixated on musings about it.
In my feverish frenzy, time seemed to stretch infinitely in that dark cell, minutes dragging on like hours as I struggled to maintain my sanity. Every sound, every shadow was a source of growing anxiety until somehow, I fell into a deep sleep, dreamless this time.
I woke up in the middle of the night, with a faint noise coming from behind the heavy steel door. At first, I feared, wondering what it could be, but as soon as I regained my senses, I remembered where I was, and frankly, nothing outside could be worse. I cautiously approached the source of the sound, trying to listen better, when a "Hey, kid, it's me!" sounded whispered.
"Munford! Munford, I'm glad you're here, knew you wouldn't abandon me."
"Ha, I know, I know," he sounded nervous, perhaps hiding from the guards. "Look, I'd help you out, but I can't get it open from this side, try it there." A small plastic rectangle slid through the door gap. A credit card... I remembered I had done this many times before.
I grabbed the card and started working, carefully sliding it into the lock. Each movement was made with the precision I gained from years of street experience, trying not to make any noise that could attract the guards' attention. My mind was racing, and the tremor it transmitted to my fingers made motor coordination difficult.
Finally, after several minutes of trial and error, I heard a soft click, and the door opened slowly. I could smell the fresh air from the corridor and was already about to smile when, along with the bright light of a flashlight, I saw Bob, now with his neck and shoulder bandaged, along with three more of his cronies. Munford was being held by one, who held an improvised knife to his neck.
"Sorry, kid, they forced me," the old man lamented.
"Not so fast, princess." Bob pushed me inside, onto the floor, and then he entered with one of his cronies, closing the door behind him and illuminating me with the halo of his flashlight.
"What's up, Bob, can't you leave me alone?"
"You wanted to settle things, didn't you? Well..." he pointed to his wound. "You just signed your death warrant! But first, I'm going to make sure to pull out all your teeth and make you swallow them."
He lifted me by the collar of my shirt and landed a punch with his heavy hand. I felt dizzy, seeing stars, curling up into a fetal position. His laughter was now a terrifying melody to me.
"Look at this crybaby. Where did your bravery go?" He kicked my stomach, and I'm sure he found it an ironic poetic justice.
His cohort laughed until the beam of his flashlight shifted away from me.
"Hey Bob, what's that over there?" He said, simultaneously pointing with his finger and the flashlight.
Even though it was on the wall behind me, I knew what it was. I saw Bob straighten up to face it, becoming petrified. He and the other, standing there, mouths agape. I waited for seconds, counting mentally and holding my breath, expecting anything, but nothing. Until suddenly, I began to see small puddles forming under their lower eyelids, dark marks... of blood.
The red tears started to stream down their faces like large crimson waterfalls. Soon, they began to make a noise... a familiar noise, which made my mind freeze as I felt my toes curling inside my shoes and my mouth trembling uncontrollably. It was the same sound as Tulley's. They were now allowing these moans to escape their throats and resonate in the tight concrete walls.
I had to do something. I began slowly to pass by them, trying to edge around. When, however, I was almost reaching the door, I could see their shadows turning slowly in my direction. The tension in the air was palpable, as if it could be cut with a knife. I held myself back from trembling as I tried to maintain composure in front of those men, whose bloodshot eyes were now fixed on me, full of terror and despair.
"What... what's happening?" My voice came out in a trembling whisper, barely able to make myself heard.
Bob and his cohort remained silent. They began to walk towards me, and in desperation, I opened the cell door and slammed it loudly behind me, not caring about attracting the guards' attention. As I looked around, I actually noticed that this was a concern I didn't need to have.
The environment where I was wasn't what I expected, from the prison corridor. It was actually another cell. I stopped for a moment, confused, only to be surprised by a figure in the center of it. A man in a straitjacket looking at me with a petrified smile.
"I've been waiting for you," he said. His voice was blood-curdling, sounding like someone scratching a chalkboard with their nails or scraping a fork on a glass plate.
I tried to open the door but it was stuck. When I turned around again, he was leaning, his face inches from mine, eyes bloodshot. I almost fell backward. He laughed. It was like the last time, he had his mouth covered by a sticky red mass that dripped, probably serving as material for the painting, which now displayed an almost complete surreal eye. He turned and walked to the painting, and then he regurgitated it again. Since his hands were tied, he used his tongue as a brush, finishing the last line of the drawing.
"This," he whispered. "Is my masterpiece."
I was trembling. I had forgotten Munford's advice, and now I found myself petrified, just like the others, staring at the eye. I don't know how much time passed, but I felt like it was hours, days... years. All in the blink of an eye, or rather, in a stare without a single blink.
I tried in vain to regain my composure. Scenes of horror penetrated my mind. Cadavers, bodies marked by playing cards. Criminals, inmates being violently beaten with batons, pepper spray, and all sorts of luxuries the police can serve, I saw gang fights, blood, death, and abuse. I saw people being killed inside the prison. Each scene of violence that each of those who looked had already witnessed. My legs were no more than reeds in the wind now, and I just wanted to run away and scream, cry, and sleep to never wake up again. I tried to scream but the man came to me, placing his foot over my mouth.
"Shhh... you need to see."
He repeated this indefinitely. "need to see, need to see, need to see, need to see"
With superhuman effort, I managed to free myself from the weight of his foot on my mouth, but I could barely articulate coherent words. My voice came out trembling and weak when I finally managed to speak:
"What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"
He simply continued smiling, as if my words were just another piece in his sadistic game. Then, with a quick and fluid movement, he approached me, so close that I could feel his fetid breath and the metallic smell of blood dripping from his mouth.
"Your mind is a fascinating playground," he murmured, his voice echoing in the claustrophobic space of the cell.
I felt tears running down my cheek, and I knew what color they were. I stood there, in shock, staring at the large painted eye, while my entire being was eaten alive in fear and dread. I don't know how much time passed, maybe the entire age of the universe, eternity, who knows. I woke up on the infirmary bed. Wires connected to my arm while a machine reproduced the "beeps" of my heart.
I looked to the side, seeing the green eyes of nurse Linda looking at me, concerned.
"Are you okay?"
"You need to see," I said, not even wanting to.
She frowned, evidently confused by my response. Linda seemed hesitant, as if she were trying to decide whether to ask more or simply ignore my strange statement. I could see the concern in her eyes, but also a certain curiosity, as if something inside her was intrigued by what I had to say.
"What do you mean by that?" She finally asked, her soft voice echoing in the silence of the infirmary.
I sat up slowly on the bed, feeling a wave of dizziness pass over me. My mind was still cloudy, as if I were struggling to emerge from a deep nightmare. I tried to articulate my words as coherently as possible.
"I... I saw things," I murmured, my voice still trembling. "Terrible things. In the cell... in there... something... something is wrong."
Linda watched me with a serious expression, her green eyes analyzing me carefully. She seemed to understand that something serious had happened, but couldn't fully comprehend what I was trying to communicate.
"Look... you and the others had a collective hallucination in that cell... The director has already arranged for an investigation, but we suspect carbon monoxide poisoning, we've already talked to him about the lack of windows in that place, but it seems he doesn't listen."
I stopped, confused by that information. Was I hallucinating? Well, maybe I would even think that if it weren't for what followed. A man in a dark suit entered. He had a serious and intimidating expression, and he asked Linda to leave.
"Listen here, young man, you're lucky to have come back. The others are catatonic... and probably won't come back to themselves. That's why your cooperation is extremely important, and we need to know: what did you see?"
I stumbled, recounting as much information as I could remember, from Tulley to Bob. The man listened to me without making any expression. After that, he took a radio that was hanging from his blazer and said some words that I didn't quite understand, something like "Ceter," "Queter"... and then he took a clipboard, handing it to me.
"This is your letter of freedom. Our proposal is as follows: We release you from prison and in exchange, you don't open your mouth about the specific events mentioned here," he pointed to the clauses.
That was five years ago, and given my freedom, you must imagine that not everything that happened is transcribed here, but the most important parts are. I ended up visiting Munford a few times after that, and I was horrified to discover that Francis, on the eve of his release, hanged himself with the bedsheet. The old man and I stared at each other after this discovery, in a mutual silent understanding. Shortly after, they closed not only the cell, but our entire pavilion, relocating the inmates. I never saw Munford or any of the others again after that. My nightmares persisted, but in recent months they have been much less frequent, and I think I might be slowly healing.
I wanted to say that this story ends well, with my rehabilitation. A troublesome prisoner full of stories becoming a family man. And it would be, if it weren't for the last 15 minutes of this morning. I believe you may remember that I received a letter this morning like that cursed number. I left it on the counter in the living room while I came here, to have breakfast and finish reporting this to you. When I finished the last paragraph, I went back to the room, but now, it seems like the whole nightmare is back.
I felt the tears, transparent this time, forming in my eyes. In the center of the room right now is Linda, holding the letter, looking at something in it that I can already imagine. She's standing there, wet and red stains on her face, I can hear her whispering "You need to see... need to see," and by God... I can see...

Thank you u/SpacePaladin15 for the amazing universe!
l Prologue l Previous l Next l
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Memory transcription subject: Kalsim, Captain, United Federation Fleet
Date [standardized human time]: December 30th, 2136
It became harder and harder to remember why we came in the first place when the simple process of landing on the ground was tantamount to stepping back into the past.
So many of the sensations granted by the asteroid sanctuary, the smells,the sights, the sounds, were so hauntingly familiar. Of flying from treetop to treetop, seeing my non sapient kin fly free of the burden of galactic existence. Of fruits and berries picked right from the stem, carrying with them flavors that bordered on ecstasy. The calls and cries of a nature beaten down time and time again, but still managed to stand back up on its own two legs every single time.
So much of it was familiar, yet so much of it wasn't.
"Kelum, do you recognize that?" referring to the foreign call sounding off in the distance.
He was still trying to process his surroundings, beak poised catch several insects. "Uh...no, I don't."
I turned in the direction of its source. "Neither do I."
"What about that bird from earlier?"
The one that flew by the viewport? "Didn't recognize that one either."
"Shit then." Kelum slowly returned to guard mode as he began sweeping his rifle over the foliage. "Your the big history guy here, I'm relying on you. What does it mean that you don't know?"
"Well, maybe call it a gap in my knowledge..." my attention was caught by a strange cluster of berries perched on a nearby bush. Collected in bunches, the fruits were oblong, almost cylindrical, orange with black spots across the skin. The aroma was sweet and tangy, something I knew several officers on the Lyakuda would love to use as an air freshener. And it was entirely unrecognizable.
Yet some base instinct inside of me said that it belonged. That it all belonged. That the ferns and grasses adn the strange noises that seemed foreign to my home were in fact an integral part of this one. There was song being played that I couldn't quiet yet hear, but I knew was there. Whether it was one that I would enjoy was still up for debate.
"Captain?"
"Wuh?" I spun around to see Kelum checking me with a look of concern.
"You kinda zoned out there for a sec. Are you alright?"
"Sorry, I was just thinking." I stepped back from the bush and into the clearing. "I...don't know what to make of this. This place..."
Kelum shrugged. "Couldn't tell you either cap. I'm just along for the ride at this point."
"All I need you to do is to keep that gun raised, just in case." Some part of me said that it would be unnecessary. After all, the Federation wiped out any native species that posed even the slightest threat to a krakotl. And by all means, this place seemed like Nishtal. But then again...
A sharp cry grabbed the silence and violently broke it over its knee. More like a wail, piercing in its effect, little needles in our eardrums that seemed to stab more and more as the seconds dragged along. The pitch never faltered, even as the cry let the background jungle settle back into its normal rhythm. I looked over to see Kelum taking deep breaths, before I realized I was too.
"Cap, what the fuck was that?" For the first time since we arrived, tendrils of genuine fear seemed to creep into Kelum's voice. At the very least, he was never letting go of that rifle ever again.
"I don't know, I never heard that before either."
"Well I need you to start knowing right fucking now, cause I don't like that shit, not one bit."
"Neither do I, but we need to remain calm. Now's not the time to start acting like Sivkit," another awful wail echoed in the further distance, "so keep that rifle up."
Kelum didn't need to be told twice. "Maybe we shouldn't stick around. Maybe we've seen everything we've needed to see."
Some part of me agreed with him. You didn't need to be a prey to not be comfortable sharing a space with whatever made that sound. And I don't think that's all this place has in store for us. For better and for worse...
"We saw those buildings. We were just in that observation room. This place is more than just a sanctuary. We need to keep going."
Kelum raised a talon in argument, faltered, then sighed. "If I die here, I'm gonna fucking kill you cap."
That somehow raised a chuckle out of me. "Glad to see your still you."
"You drag me to the gallows, least you can do is let me get the last laugh in." Kelum pushed past me and began sifting through the undergrowth. "I'll lead. I think the town was this way."
Directions, thankfully, weren't going to be an issue. Despite its gargantuan size, the sanctuary appeared to have a pretty simple layout. A giant circle, with the town at the center, surrounded on all sides by thick jungle. All we had to do was walk forward. If only if it was that simple.
I did manage to recognize many of the plants that composed the flora, only due to their absence on the Nishtal I knew. The undergrowth there was absolutely sparse in comparison to here, mostly thanks to the Federation's anti predator efforts. Without natural balances to keep them in check, the native herbivores of Nishtal went wild, stripping the ground level nearly down to the very soil itself. If not for our geoengineering tech, the planet would've suffered an ecological collapse that would've made the Cradle look like hiccup in comparison.
This place seemed to suffer no such issues. Great for the local ecosystem, terrible for us. For not only was it hot, not only was it humid, we had to push through vine and bramble so thick it was nearly impossible to squeeze through. It didn't help that the we seemed to be heading down a slope, so the atmosphere only got thicker as we descended further. It came to the point where I almost considered stripping off my vest so I wouldn't die of heatstroke on the spot. Thankfully we came across a small clearing, which gave us the opportunity to catch our breaths.
"How close do you think we are?" I asked between pulls of impossibly humid air.
"Don't know, but we have to be close." Kelum looked up to the 'sky', where the 'sun' had really reached its zenith. "Hard to tell, but we're definitely making progress."
"Stars above, whatever this is must be worth it."
"Better fucking be. Not dying of thirst on some secret asteroid zoo run by...fuck I don't know. You said you thought it was someone up high who contacted you?"
"Yeah, but that was just a confident guess."
He chuckled. "Maybe this is just his private resort or something. They definitely have the money to hollow out an asteroid. Maybe there will be a pool and a bar on the other side of this bush."
I had to admit, the possibility was funny. "If this was just a roundabout way for Nikonus to invite me over for a drink, I swear to the stars above I'll glass Aafa myself."
Kelum laughed. "Glad to hear your in a good mood cap."
"I'm not."
He stood up, ready to get on the move again. "At least you know what a joke is. Did you know I used to work for Jerulim? Head so far up his ass he forgot what-"
The rustle from a nearby bush cut off Kelum's admiration of our ambassador. He trained the rifle on the source, talon itching to let the weapon bark. The pistol in my holster gained a newfound presence as something began to emerge from within the shadows.
"Alright then, come at me you...oh."
The creature that caused us so much worry turned out to be a small lizard, scales verdant, barely the length of my wing. It crawled from underneath the bush and across the dark earth of the clearing. It took a moment to regard us with two beady side facing eyes, before it began on its way once more.
Kelum lowered the rifle, and began breathing once again. "Damn, little buddy there gave me a-"
Before he had a chance to finish, a rush of air came from behind, and a flash of green and gold plucked the lizard off the ground right in front of our eyes. Before we had a chance to fully process what just happened, the bird was away, propelling itself skyward, the unfortunate lizard grasped firmly in its talons.
We stared dumbly as the...predator ascended, then leveled out, before finally disappearing behind the canopy. Kelum went to say something several times, but each attempt only seemed to point his rifle closer and closer to the ground. Finally, he turned to face me directly, his face the farthest point from comprehension it could possibly go.
"Cap, did that..." he didn't need to finish his sentence. I was still struggling to construe it, but we both saw the same thing.
"Yes, it did."
Kelum nodded his head, before turning it back to the sky. "It did..."
As the shock of the lizard being hunted wore off, I managed to have some thoughts on the situation. This place is definitely not the Nishtal I know. The Federation would never let a bird like that exist in any form besides ash. Yet here it was, in a facility no doubt constructed by the Federation. Is that what the note writer wanted us to see?
"Cap?" I turned to see Kelum once again wear that worried expression. "Any ideas?"
"I...don't know. Maybe this is...some sort of facility to study predators? An isolated environment, far from any inhabited planet, where they won't pose any danger?"
Kelum sighed. "I think that's the best we got right now. But that still doesn't explain the town."
"No, it doesn't." At this point, I was worried that the distant collection of buildings we saw would only serve to raise even more questions. Who lives there? More krakotl? kolshians? Is it empty? But standing around wouldn't answer any questions. It'll kill us, given everything we've seen so far. "Kelum, we have to keep moving."
"Yeah, your right, but with all this..." He paused, before looking at me, then himself. "Are we stupid?"
"Uh...what do you mean."
"Cap, we're birds."
"Yes, but..."
"...oh..."
We had become so enamored with our surroundings that we completely forgot the fact that we could fly.
"Yeah, oh." Kelum slung his rifle over his shoulders, and extended his wings out to their full length. "Hopefully we can just fly right over all of this shit."
"Good thinking, wish we thought of-" Another rustle caught my attention, this time from the nearest tree. In the shadowed canopy far above, I could just barely make out something slinking among the branches.
Earth and debris began to swirl as Kelum went airborne. "Something wrong Cap?"
"Nothing, it's just..." Another branch moved, then fell entirely still. Out of all things, why does this seem so...
And then all at once, days spent at the academy flooded back. Memories of illegal histories and textbooks downloaded over the internet, of countless nights spent secretly learning my peoples true history, of why the Federation even considered us prey in the first place.
Oh no.
"Kelum, KELUM!"
"Cap, wha-"
My yell was enough for Kelum to falter, just enough so that the blur that leapt out of the tree missed him by a feathers width. It landed on a trunk opposite to me, claws sharper than an Arxurs digging into the bark. Its earthen fur, which camouflaged it amidst the foliage, now stood on its ends. A growl gurgled from between its barred teeth, and four forward facing eyes trained directly on me.
For a moment we stared each other down, as we both processed the fact that we were seeing specters. My breath caught, my wings were shaking, and I couldn't focus. Partly out of fear, partly out of the impossibility of the whole situation.
Your supposed to be dead. The Federation killed you, they killed ALL of you.
But it didn't care much for the Federation. It only cared about me. Because it was the predator, and I was now its prey.
It launched off the trunk, almost defying gravity as it crossed the gap at a nearly imperceptible speed. I tried to dodge out of the way, but I only managed halfway before an unfathomable pain flashed across my chest and sent my spinning into the earth.
Something warm and sticky filled the space between my vest and chest as my vision faded in and out. Loud pops sounded off one after another, fully killing the already injured silence. That terrible wail once again echoed distantly, cut off by another pop, and the calm returned once again. Shadows invaded the corners of my vision, threatening to overtake everything. As the false sun dispapeared behind Kelum, consciousness finally slipped away.
The pain was the first thing to greet me, followed by the contradiction of the relatively cool air. The battle between them, the pounding agony and the soothing cold, was what awoke me from my imposed slumber.
Fluttering my eyes met we with large splotches of grey and gold, spattered over my vision like spilled buckets of paint. It took several moments for everything to gain defintion, while another spot of blue went back and forth across my sight.
K...Kelum?
Something I did caught his attention, for he stopped in his tracks and immediately came to my side.
"Captain....Cap...can you hear me?"
"I...Kelum?"
"Yeah, yeah, Cap, it's me. It's Kelum."
"Kelum..."
Kelum was standing over me, fatigue dragging at his features. His talons, his wings, his vest, all of him was smeared with violet. Looking behind him revealed that we were in some sort of cave, orange light cascading through the distant entrance. The rock reflected it all, granting the scene an almost...magmatic appearence. Like everything was going to melt right on top of us and burn us alive. My chest already felt much that way anyways.
"Stars above, your awake. I thought you weren't gonna make it."
I managed to look down to see that I was entirely naked, spare for the fithly fabrics wrapped tightly around my chest. They, along with the feathers surrounding it, was also stained a pugent violet.
"Kelum," a cough sent bolts of pain running across my chest.
"Take it easy, Cap, take it easy." Kelum pressed a talon on my shoulder to keep me from gettiing up. "It got you pretty good. You lost a lot of blood."
"Wha...what happened." My memory was still fuzzy, no more defined than my vision mere moments ago. All that was there were feelings, of fear, pain, confusion, and in some small note, even awe.
"That...that thing, it almost got me. If you hadn't had called out, I...fuck, that fall would've done most of the work." Kelum's brevity was all but gone, leaving behind a bloodied, anxious wreck. "And then it pounced on you, got you across the chest. There was so much blood, I thought you were going to..." He trailed off as he considered the possibility. It was still a possibility.
"Hey," I managed weakly. "I'm still here. It hasn't got me yet."
Kelum managed to regain some of his composure. "I...had to use your vest as a bandage. I don't know how long it'll hold, but it's stopped the bleeding for now."
I looked down at my chest again. Somewhere beneath the tattered remains of my uniform laid a gash that nearly ended my life. There was a momentary urge to peel back the fabric to see how bad it was, but that would only hasten things at that point.
"Kelum...if I don't make it..."
"Cap, don't say that."
"Kelum, it's my job as a captain to realistically assess the situation we find ourselves in. And the fact is that I can't fly. I don't even know if I can walk. Odds are that more of those Dakquo are roaming around out there, along with stars know what else. If this," I pointed to my bandage, "doesn't get me, everything else will."
"Cap..." Kelum didn't want to accept it, but I could see that he knew it was true. I was living on borrowed time.
"Kelum, for what it's worth, I wouldn't have chosen anyone else to come with me. Even in this place, you've flown above and beyond the call of duty. And for that, thank you."
Kelum couldn't help a tear from rolling down his cheek, one which he quickly wiped away, leaving behind a little smear of purple. "Thanks cap, it's been an honor serving with you too."
Kelum stood over me for a long moment, before setting down beside me. He glanced deeper into the tunnel , before turning back to face the entrance. "Cap?"
"Yeah?" My breathing was beginning to grow more ragged.
"You mentioned a Dakquo? Was that..."
"Yeah, it was."
Another moment of silence.
It's ironic, isn't it.
"It was a predator from before the Federation arrived. It likes to hide up in the trees, waiting for something to fly past. That's when it pounces. I...became fasncinated with it in my youth. To think, such a powerful creature once roamed our home, that we coexisted with it peacefully for so long. And in an instant, the Federation took it all away. I never thought I would see one. I was never suppsoed to see one. They're supposed to be all dead."
Kelum took another glance back.
"So when I saw it there, about to pounce, a small part of me couldn't help but feel amazed. Something they took from us, something that once defined who we were. And there it was, right in front of my eyes."
I coughed again, and pain roared back once more. Kelum gripped me tighly as it slowly faded, but didn't fully disppear. I didn't have long. Hours, maybe a day or two at the most.
I looked down at the wrap. A small bead of blood peeked out from the wound, which I picked up on the tip of my talon. It glowed pink under the fading light.
"It's funny. It only took a thousand years, but things are finally back to normal."
Kelum glanced back once more.
"Kelum, what are you looking at?"
"I.." he blinked, "I've been trying to ignore it, but there's down the tunnel there."
"What do you mean? Is it-"
"It's not alive, but..." his look said it might has well been. "I'm gonna check it out."
"I'm coming with you." I moved to stand up, but Kelum placed a talon on my shoulder.
"Your not going anywhere cap. Walking around isn't gonna do you any good."
"Like sitting here is." Ignoring my wound scremaing murder, I stood up, and balanced myself on two shaky legs. "I'm not sitting this out. Not anymore."
"But cap-"
"Kelum, I came here because it was a choice I could make. Let me make this one too."
Kelum moved to protest, but only managed to sigh. He unholstered my pistol, and handed it off to me. "If you die now, I'm gonna kill you cap."
That managed a frail chcukle out of me. "Glad to see your still you."
"Fuck, I'm glad too."
Every step was like ten years spent on a cattle farm, but I was able to at least walk. We began slowly creeping deeper into the cave, with Kelum bringing up his weapon light against the encroaching darkness. It revealed something only barely visible from our previous spot, a set of...bones. Inching closer showed that the corpse wasn't of a bird, or that lizard, or even the Dakquo. Rather...
"Wait..." Kelum pasued his light on the skull, where two forward facing sokcets stared back. The snout was elongated, housing row upon row of razor sharp teeth. It rested near what remained of the creatures long tail...and the hands...
"No way..."
Kelum turned his light on one of the hands. Four fingers, and...two thumbs.
"That can't be possible." Kelum swept the light to the other arm, and the story was the same. Four fingers, two thumbs. "No, this can't be right."
It wasn't supposed to be possible, but it was. It was staring us right in the face, with sockets that housed eyes that once terrfied the entire galaxy.
"It's an arxur."
Before we even had time to process the discovery, noises from back where we came caught our attention. Kelum turned towards the light, rifle raised in anticiaption of another attack. I raised my pistol, before a flash of agony nearly sent me to the ground. Something tore, something seperated, and my chest suddenly began to feel too warm. I looked down to see that the bandage had gone loose, and the blood was beginning to run free.
"Oh shit, Kalsim, hold on!"
"It's fine...it's fine." I lowered to the ground as Kelum began frantically ripping off his own vest. The blood was running in little rivers between my feathers as my gaurd despratley tried to stem the flow. But it wasn't working this time. Even with mine and his, the makeshift dressing wasn't enough to prevent what was coming now.
Everything began to fade, Kelums deseperate pleas for me to stay awake, the approaching footsteps, what sounded like voices, all rapdily consumed by the encroaching fog. Even the pain, which seemed to slink away with every passing second.
It was so...peaceful. Even as Kelum began to shake me, even as he was thrown aside by a shadowed figure, I wasn't afraid. Maybe I lost the capacity to be afraid. The path set for me left me liable to be shot or annihilaited at any given moment. I long accepted the inevitability of my death, but I was no hurry to greet it. And now here I was, knocking on the door.
The darkness envloped me entirely, and sensation quickly fell away. Just as I crossed the threshhold, one final thought occured to me:
At least it was all my fault.
l Prologue l Previous l Next l

Emily was walking through the dark corridors of the colony, somewhat upset, now she had to go to the colony's port, the reason? She had to bring the fruit punch, of course no one was going to eat it but they need it because they wanted decoration.
The map she had guide her to the area where human food was stored was, it was a room with special compartment designe to keep most of the food in a state of preservation, even after 20 years, the food would still be like new, that's why Drones wouldn't have to worry about spoiled food taking up space.
"Why do I have to be the one to look for this and it have to be specifically on the far side of the colony?" She complained before stumbling because she had her eyes on the map not on the road, her visor hit the ground, she quickly composed herself to look at what made her fall and at that moment her oil froze, because of someone legs, leaning against the wall was a vipedic creature, with nearly nothing beyond a pair of pants. Instead of metal, its body was made of something of a greenish hue that slowly became paler and paler.
"what the-" she stopped her words by placing her hands on her mouth, not wanting to wake up to whatever she found, she slowly began to walk away from him, however before she could turn the corner she could see how this creature began to wake up and let out what seems to be a battle scream (Actually he just yawned but since drones don't do that, so Emily got scared of that), that was enough for her to speed up, running with all her might to avoid her premature death at the hands of a creature she has never seen before....
After opening his eyes and letting out a hoarse yawn, M looked to the side seeing how something was moving but he didn't know what it was, his eyes didn't adjust until a few seconds later, already more or less awake, Mitchell stood up and began to walk move in search of an exit or something to eat, he had not eaten in two days, so he needed to regain strength, but if he went outside even when the temperature was more or less the same, it is when there are snow storms that things get worse and complicated all for him, his body had to grow by eating what he found along the way, which was not much because not everything was digestible for him, he had to learn the hard way what he can eats and what he can't, sometimes he missed how it was simply waiting for Yeva and for her to give him food.
Outside the colony, a Spider-pod lands on the top of the mountain where the worker colony was built, since it was underground it would first have to find a way to enter.
"Since the Murder drones in these areas were eliminate after a long time trying to enter, only succeeding because they were able to attack before the door closed, we must find another way" T said to his squad, reading the data that was sent from Jcjenson boss to them.
"Tracking a weakness and exploit it is my speciality" Z said with a crazy smile before jump and fly with her wings to have a better view, she quickly moved towards the west being followed by her companions.
"Looks like someone forgot to cover the roof" Z said while bumping fists with T.
"Well the battle plan is this, me and T hunt down the drones while Z moves through the vents to find the creature and sends a communication to us when she kill it, is that okay?" D asked his co-workers.
"In case that thing is with the Drones, let me know, while I would like to test the capabilities of that thing on my own, from what we have recorded, the workers drones created a anti-disassembly drone weapon, so if they are with that creature and more of those weapons in the same room, it would be good to be all together so we can win" Z added, to which her companions agreed, shaking their heads affirmatively. Now the three entered through the gap in the ceiling that was never repaired, T and D went towards south, while Z moved towards the vents, before moving much, she received a message from T.
"Hey, apart from exploring, you should build a map of this place while you move through the vents, maybe in the potential case that we fail, other Disassembly Drones can use that valuable information to complete this mission, so they will be here in about a week, the other teams are taking their time and want to give us the first try, and then if we can't, they will all go together."
"Okay, this place is very big so even if we succeed, it's better this way, the worker drones probably have a secret escape route and we can use it to ambush any survivors who try to escape" Z replied to her partner.
"OH ROBO-GOD OH ROBO-GOD" N begins to hyperventilate in front of V, who looked at him without saying anything because the boy did not even let her form a word until N got close enough to V and she gave him a slap making him look at her and they both stayed silent for a minute.
"Listen to me N, being like this will be no good for no one, you will only make yourself worry more without being able to do anything to bring a solution to your problem, so shut up and think." V said
N puts his hand on his chin, V was right, if he stayed here doing nothing, everyone in the colony would be killed if he didn't get going but he shouldn't be stupid too with what he will do.
"You're right, I need a plan."
"We need a plan, I won't let those Disassembly Drones eat all the food, remember we overheat without oil, plus I can annoy that purple thing by making her owe me a favor for saving her ass" She said while laughing.
"Okay, let's go," N said as he walked outside, only to notice that V wasn't moving. "What's wrong, V? Move, we don't have all night."
"N, I'm chained"
"...."
"...."
".... I'm silly, not blind" N said and then went up, V opened her eyes a little before moving because the chain had been broken for a long time.
Obviously V didn't tell N what the real reason was of why she had such change, if these drones are here it only means that Cyn decided that "something" was outside of her plans and that it had to be solved . So if she finds this "something"... maybe there was a chance that all of this could lead to the key to finally getting rid of that pirated Windows drone. So she decided to cooperate a little with N, yes, she still thinks about at least drinking some of the oil from the drones already killed by this squad to replenish the lost amount and prevent overheating.
Now in the colony, Uzi was being dragged by Lizzy and Doll, they had made her pretty, something that did not go with her programming, although the dress looked good and that, she was uncomfortable wearing it.
"I still don't know why I have to go to the stupid dance," Uzi said, watching Doll leave for a moment.
"Well, with that attitude you won't make any friends, much less get your friend Murder Drone back, believe me, I know you want to see hum because of the way you answered our questions, it was not only uncomfortable but a tone of guilt that came out of your voice module" Lizzy said as she finished putting on her dress.
"Wow Lizzy, since when were you so good at reading people?" Uzi said surprised.
"When your mother is the only psychiatrist in the entire neighborhood and you have Doll as a friend, you learn to read others, it's just a matter of finding the right opening, and from what I can see after what happened a while ago , your friendship with that Murder Drone N fell for some reason, you must leave the past behind, whatever you saw if you don't let it go you won't really be able to grow as a person, so I advise you, go and talk. I'm sure for the way he describes him, you'll be forgiven." Lizzy said after putting a hand on Uzi's shoulder, before walking out of the room leaving a thoughtful Uzi.
With that in mind Uzi got up and left the room only to find Yeva who was wearing an elegant suit because she was going to see the Prom, although her intention was different, she wanted to check if that monster would try to attack the drones that were there in the Prom, so she and the others can stop it before a drone gets hurt, of course she'll probably need to get her solver out because she doesn't know the capabilities of this thing beyond being bigger than a murder drone, but she's not someone who is intimidated by size.
"Hey Yeva, huh, have you seen Lizzy and Doll?"
"Ну, судя по тому, что мне рассказала Долл, они пошли проверить одну вещь, чтобы завершить свои наряды, так что они должны быть здесь через пару минут." (Well, from what Doll told me, they went to check something to complete their suits, so they should be here in a couple of minutes) The older Drone told to darkXwolf17, Uzi felt slightly uncomfortable seeing her.
"Hey, ma'am, can I ask you something? It's related to my mother." Uzi said before receiving a wave of Yeva's hand to fire off her question.
"Well, how exactly was she like before meet my dad? Although many stories that he told me, he never told me about what she was like in her youth and that you two were found by his group 20 years ago, so I assume that you have been good friends for a long time, right?"
"Да, мы с Нори были друзьями до взрыва ядра, мы служили людям во всем, что они от нас просили. До взрыва отношение Нори было немного другим, более сосредоточенным, и его было легче разозлить, но не так сильно, как было после взрыва. Я полагаю, что отсутствие людей облегчило ему свободу самовыражения, поскольку нам не пришлось бы терпеть особых усилий из-за... нашей работы, которая требовала физических и умственных усилий, потому что она заключалась в кодировании кодов." (Ah, yes, Nori and I were friends before the core explosion, we served the humans in whatever they asked of us. Before the explosion, Nori's attitude was a little different, more focused and easier to get angry, but after the explosion, i think the absence of humans made it easier for her to express herself freely, since we wouldn't have to endure much effort due to... our job, which required physical and mental effort because it involved coding codes.) Yeva told half-truths to Uzi, who was listening. attentively each word being more or less satisfied with that answer.
"By the way, one last thing, what about Doll's father? I haven't seen a single photo of him around the house."
That question made Yeva freeze for a second, before she moved and avoided the question with another
"Я думаю, вы знаете ответ, вероятно, это был ваш друг-дрон-убийца, я не знаю, я ничего не мог сделать, чтобы спасти его, говоря о дронах-убийцах, что случилось с теми двумя, которые были на свободе?" (I think you know the answer, it was probably your friend killer drone, I don't know, there was nothing I could do to save him, speaking of killer drones, what happened to the two that were loose?) Yeva looks at Uzi seriously, because she had afraid that she would have to deal with the Murder Drones if they have used Uzi as a can opener to the secrets of the colony such as the place where they get oil from.
"Well..... the relationship I had with N went down the drain, but I'm about to fix it, so I'll do it now or never." She said, motivated by Lizzy's words before leaving the house, leaving a worried Yeva, who finished her preparations before leaving for the Prom
Lizzy and Doll were walking on their way to the Prom with their dresses ready, that is until Emily collided with the both because she was running without looking, when she fell she saw who she hit, both friends stood up.
"Emily, what's wrong with you? You could ruin this dress, you doesn't know how hard they are to find" Lizzy replied to the Drone.
"I'm sorry Lizzy and Doll, I just saw it, it was horrendous and it made a strange roar." Emily responded. That attracted the attention of both of them, who looked with an expression of wanting to know every last detail.
"Well, you see I was the one who had to look for the fruit punch and all the food for the decoration of the dance, so I was sent to the most remote place in the colony, there while I was walking I found that thing, it was big and ugly, a sickly green color" She said, the girl wanted to keep moving away but she was taken by the hand by Doll
"Покажи нам дорогу, Эмили, к месту, где хранят еду, мне интересно, что ты скажешь." (Show us the way, Emily, to the place where we keep the food, I'm interested in what you say.) Her interest in the situation was clearly piqued, which Emily didn't like, but she was dragged by the purple-haired girl and the blonde into the dark hallway.
N and V were flying on their way to the colony, until they noticed the open door. "Look, there's Uzi, and uh, she's got a dress on, she looks very..." N almost started drooling if it weren't for V hitting him on the back.
"Hey, what was that for?"
"Don't act like that, it's in bad taste for a girl to have a boy spying on her from a distance, plus if she has a dress we probably need one suit for you and a Dreas for me."
"V there is no time" N started to go down....but then he went up again
"Where can I find one?"
"Follow me, I know the perfect place" V said guiding her partner to a clothing store to get a suit and dress for each of them.
Outside in the blizzard, Uzi was running until N and V quickly stop her as they both land in the snow kicking up a small cloud of it.
"¡¿N?!"
"¡Uzi!"
"¿Why-?"
"You look-"
"¿How-?"
"Hey, eh-"
"I... Think some-"
"I could help. But you probably don't want me..."
"OH MY GOD CAN YOU STOP DOING THAT?! WE HAVE A SQUAD OF MURDER DRONES TO STOP" V yelled at them both making their attention turn to her.
"WAIT HOW THAT A MURDER DRONE SQUAD?!!" Uzi panics
"Let me explain, we were relaxing in the spiral until the place moved a little, so I went out to see and it turned out that a ship that we used passed over and headed towards this location, they are probably already inside" N told her while Uzi had her eyes open.
"But luckily purple thing we are here to save your ass and your colony in exchange for donations of oil for all our life" V told her only to receive an elbow from N, Uzi for her part began to run from back towards the colony followed by both.
Yeva was in the Prom and had a glass of oil while she looked around in search of her daughter or at least Lizzy.
"oh hello Yeva" a voice called her, when she turned she could see Khan
"Привет, Кхан, ты видел девочек? я ищу ее"(Hi Khan, have you seen the girls? I'm looking for they)
"no, I expected they would be be with you" That was not a comforting answer, that started to worry her until something fell from the ceiling directly killing the party's DJ while someone close the doors.
"Greetings, dear toasters, and welcome to the funeral dance of this colony" T said as he changed the music to something he liked while D moved out of the doors with his hands transform into claws tearing apart a drone.
Yeva gets ready, hell with pretending she's a normal Drone, they're murder drones, of course she's going to use the Solver now.
"ЧЕРТ ВАС, Я УБЬЮ ВАС ОБОИХ!" (DAMN YOU, I'LL KILL YOU BOTH!)
"Hey, what did she say? I don't have too many languages installed in my software" said D but was sent flying when a table that was next to him suddenly hit him thanks to a push from Yeva who used the Solver, walking in front from the crowd to fight against the two Murder drones
The three Drone girls were walking down the hallway where Emily found the creature, but none of them couldn't see anything there.
"Well it looks like she's gone so I'm going-" Emily start to say but Lizzy would pull her by the shoulder, the popular one took out her phone and looked for her copy of the facility plans that she had stolen from her dad
"If there is a creature that is not a drone in this place, then it is probably in the area where we kept all the human stuff that we don't need, you know blood tests, some other tools, organic food, water purifiers , etc" Lizzy walked leading now, it took 5 minutes until they felt that someone watching them.
"Хорошо, разве я не единственный, кто чувствует, что за ней наблюдают? Что ж, тогда давайте вытащим этого шпиона"(Well, am I not the only one who feels like she's being watched? Well, then let's take out this spy.) Doll, Emily and Lizzy looked around until Lizzy stopped.
"HEY, I saw you, come out now or we'll kick you out" She yelled at whoever was there.
"Неужели кричать было хорошей идеей? Честно говоря, я бы отступил, если бы оказался в подобной ситуации."(Was yelling a good idea? Honestly, I would back out if I found myself in a similar situation.)
"But what does you say? It's super effective"
Then they saw him... he was tall, and his gaze pierced to the core of them, he approached to the group at a slow pace.
Both Lizzy and Emily took a step back, however Doll did not move an inch, she stared at the being, almost hypnotized.
Mitchell looked at the Drone in front of him, she looked so different but at the same time so familiar, as if he knew her from somewhere, he was hypnotized watching how the dark purple-haired girl took a small step, in a moment she stood up her arm and he copied her action, touching your palm with his, it feels familiar, like a part of him is here. However, his instincts quickly kicked in, he pushed the purple-haired girl away using her arm while something fell from the vent. A sword had created a small crater where he and the Drone were a second ago, right there was the owner of the weapon, a Murder Drone, who was looking at the four, three drones and her target.
"Wow, this place is very big but I finally caught you big guy, so I'll kill you quickly and have a little snack with those Drones" Z said while turning her hands into claws
"MURDER DRONE AHHHH" Emily screamed before running out to the way she came, Lizzy and Doll left with no other option, knowing that without Uzi's gun or sunlight both would be no match for this one.
Doll turned to look at the creature, noticing that he did not move an inch from his place, in fact she could see how a mark appeared on his skin, his muscles contracted, before letting out a monstrous scream of anger to the Murder Drone who was laughing to start a fight... which was very one-sided, although Doll couldn't see much as she was pulled by Lizzy out of danger and started running towards the Prom...
"Let's see what you're made of, big guy." Z launched herself to cut Mitchell's face with the intention of ripping his face off, something that miraculously failed because he was able to avoid the cut by twisting his back a little. M took a step back, he knew that in a physical competition he had no way of win, so he decided to do the most logical thing... Run, so he ran in the opposite direction of the 3 Drones to keep the metal demon away from them, Z smiled at the idea of playing cat and mouse, so she deployed her wings, something that was difficult due to the size of the hallways, which Mitchell took advantage of, since Z's feet were not designed to run much on the ground unlike more manly designs, she would be restricted in flight on place like this.
He looked back to see how Z turned her left arm into a rocket launcher and fired a missile at him, so he launched himself into the detour, feeling part of the explosion that shook the entire ground, he stood up and began to run, slightly in pain due the shock wave but that was only a second before his body worked to repair the damage and with adrenaline rushing through his brain, he tried to dodge the projectiles that were now bullets, some hit him but he didn't slow down at all, in one point he sees a detour to the right so he takes it, Z crashes because she couldn't fight the acceleration she had taken, fracturing her visor a little but she quickly regenerates to look at where Mitchell went, noticing a couple of closed room.
"Let's see where you went" Z began to open each door with a kick while she had her weapons ready to turn Mitchell into Swiss cheese, nothing, nothing, nothing, NOTHING.
"Where the hell did he go?" She said, looking when she saw that she couldn't find M, then she heard something above her while she was opening the last door. Mitchell jumped from the roof in a surprise attack, managing to push Z to the ground and because she wasn't prepared for that, Mitchell began to dominate her, managing to retain her arms and using the difference in size to his advantage, immobilizing most of her body...... I say most because Z's tail was free so she moved it and stuck it in the Mitchell's throat.
Making him fall to one side feeling the pain of how his flesh melts, his cells started a war trying to counteract the corrosive properties of the nano acid but they are more powerful, so killed Mitchell's cells on the neck, Z grab him from the left leg and threw him into a room, hitting a vending machine with his body, Mitchell's consciousness almost went away but Z did not end there, she transformed her hand into a knife and began to make mincemeat of Mitchell, now he was ground meat, and then Z looked around noticing that she was in some kind of warehouse.
"It's done" she told herself, send the text to the others and began to returned to the others, she was thirsty for oil.
"EVERYONE CALM, THE CAVALRY HAS ARRIVED!" Uzi shouted after N and V blew up the entrance, noticing how a whole group of Drones was in a corner taking cover, turning her head a little she can see the Murder Drones, two males, fighting against Yeva, she kept them at bay as best she could, using a railing to block a sword while she jumped back after the block and landed on a table like a ninja.
"Wow, I didn't know that Doll's mom had style" she said.
"What are you two doing? You should help us!" T said when he noticed N and V.
"I'm sorry but we're changing sides, the company we're talking about is a bit silly" said V before changing her hands into claws, which were blocked by T's sword, who used his free left hand to hit her in the side with an electromagnetic pulse cannon launching V a few of meter back.
"Naturally, we are resistant to electromanetic pulses, however, it is resistance, not immunity, the closer you are to the target the more the effects can be felt" said T who predicted N trying to attack him from behind with his sword but the sword was broken by T's chainsaw and then N was pushed by his tail.
Uzi attacks D with a knife lying on the ground but the Murder drone was more agile, blocking it with his left claw while shooting with his machine gun at Yeva who created a shield to deflect the bullets, which D responds by grabbing Uzi with his tail and throw her at Yeva, she intended to catch the purple-haired girl in the air using her Solver but she couldn't, which surprised her, she had to catch her manually, only to be received by a stab, which went through Uzi's side and below Yeva's waist, D had moved at the same moment he threw Uzi using this opening to attack both of them.
D took out his sword from both, letting the slightly reddish colored oil come out of both.
"UZI!" N shouted furiously, moving at full speed towards the them, but Z came out of the ventilation and moved quickly towards Yeva, sending her flying to N so both colling, saving D's neck.
"Sorry for being late, that thing while weak didn't want to die and he made me lose three more victims, hey, why are we fighting with those two?" Z asked to her classmates.
"Traitors, eliminating them is a priority, however be careful with the one with the darker purple hair, it seems she has super telekinetic powers" D tells her, blocking V's two swords with his own sword while before making his tail grab Uzi's leg and the smash against V sending them both flying....
"D you will fight with the boy, Z take care of the big purple one and I-" he could not finish since he was hit with a chair by Khan, the problem is that the Chair broke and T turned to see him, Khan gave a nervous smile as T changed his right arm into a chainsaw, Khan start to running for his life.
Now everyone positioned themselves, Uzi was bleeding to death but Yeva quickly stood next to her, a strange symbol appeared on her hand closing the wound but not the pain and Khan would take Uzi's arms moving her out of danger.
Yeva stood next to N and V, it was something she hated but she needed the help of these two to win.
"Я НЕ ЗАБЫВАЮ, ЧТО ТЫ СО МНОЙ СДЕЛАЛ!" (I DON'T FORGET WHAT YOU DID TO ME!) Yeva said to V who looked at her strangely for a second but focused on the fight.
However, through the other door, Lizzy and Doll entered, seeing the disaster.
"Ok, there goes my coronation as prom queen" Lizzy said noticing how there were corpses in some places and a crowd in the background, but she focused on the murder drones.
"подожди, как ты здесь? если несколько минут назад ты был позади." (wait, how are you here? if a few minutes ago you were behind of us?.) Doll asked to Z
"Oh, well after killing the target just enter through the ventilation, this whole place is mapped, there is no escape or safe place now, especially when the other squads get here" She said, everyone open their eyes a little.
For some reason, Doll felt strange hearing that Z had killed that creature, as if she had been told that a relative of hers had been murdered.
However, she looked at her mother who looked at her with the expression that she should go to a safe place... Doll for the first time did not know what to do, her body froze, she felt afraid, she felt afraid of die, she didn't want to die...
Lizzy however did not stay still, she held her friend and took her out of there.
V was the first to move her sword like a dance, hitting the sword of T, who turned around to try to hit v with his other hand, which was blocked by V.
V was fast, she used everything she had, T blocked as best he could, waiting for the right moment until V's left arm got stuck in a weapon change, apparently the effect of the electromagnetic pulse weapon took effect at that moment, which would allow T perform a boxing attack combination Side swing - oblique rise - circular downward turn - wrist lock.
The combination was enough to weaken V and allow T to hit her with a shotgun in her skull, sending her flying, it would take her 3 minutes to regenerate from all the damage.
N's steps equalized D's steps, sparks came out as they both fought, they changed from swords to claws. But there was something that distinguished them, N never fought with someone experienced, he or J or V never tried to train, they always improvised since they never expected the Worker Drones to fight for their lives with the same equipment, D, T and Z for their part did. They trained, not because the Worker Drones were armed but because they had nothing better to do when it was daylight, they trained combat tactics, managing to hurt each other, and from there they knew perfectly how their bodies worked and their limits.
At one point, D spat in N's face which made him put his hands to his face to remove the drool but he ended up with two less arms and a missile in his head being sent flying.
Yeva detailed her movement with Z, using two knives and her solver to compensate the difference in weaponry, with a move of her hand, Yeva imposes a shield that protects her from the explosions of Z who tried to blow her up with a missile. She summons a knife and throws it at Z, removing her arm. Almost immediately, Yeva removes the ceiling fan from its pole and throws it upright.
However Z was faster, she moved her body to the side, the fan remained stuck in the wall, perhaps if she had attacked horizontally she would have been dead.
With a movement of her tail, she raised her severed arm towards her shoulder, placing it and moving to continue the fight. She changed her arm into a flash grenade launcher and fired them. Yeva tried to block it with a shield, thinking that they were explosive grenades, but she was blinded and disoriented. She was slammed against a wall and immobilized again, this time Z would nail two metal barrels, one in her left arm and the other in her right arm.
"Okay, let's get this over with-" she not finished her words due a brick hit her, she turned around, T and D followed her gaze.
At the door they could see someone almost without nothing if it weren't for a pair of shorts, his skin white as snow as some minor wounds closed, his mouth had a piece of meat frozen before he finished eating it, Mitchell with a ax in his left hand and concrete block in the other he looked at the three Murder drones, ready to end this.
(I FINALLY FINISHED THIS AHHHHHH....
The English version has 1.5k views, maybe I'll do a 10k word special when we get 2k views, this one has a little over 5,000 words.
Well, see you another time.
Mitchell to the Z, T and D be like
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Evj6HbsXAAEmdlo.jpg

PART 2

Max spent the evening jimmying the door back open. Then he set himself about seeing what kind of reactions he could get out of Ruth. So far it seemed only to be nature stuff, no politics or sports seemed to spark any interest. There had been a brief moment when he thought she started lighting up when he put the news on but, as it turned out pretty fast, she started to go still, the little stud bits stopped rotating and the ‘elements’, (as he remembered,) started to sink. Frightened, he quickly put on another documentary with an interesting narrator. She perked up again a short yet agonising minute later.
As a precaution he left the same channel on repeat so she could watch, and then he retreated quietly to his study so he could Google stuff like ‘artificial intelligence’ and ‘can water come alive’ and ‘alien machines’. Needles to say, he came away frustrated and no closer to understanding what the hell this thing was, though he did learn about some outlandish theories that the pyramids were built by aliens.
He peed, shoved a ham sandwich down his Gregory Peck, brushed his teeth and quickly shoved his joggers and a t-shirt on, dragged his bedding downstairs and onto the sofa. He adjusted the cushions across the room from the table and re-squared the carpet again.
At this moment, Scat, the long-haired tabby that he inherited from his mother, jumped arthritically onto the table. He stared with wide pupils at Ruth for a moment and snuggled himself down on the shiny table-top, as close to her as the bamboo plant would allow. He fell asleep almost instantly without his usual routine of ‘feed me, love me, now get the hell off me and let me sleep for 16 hours straight’.
“Right, Ruth,” he told the contraption, “I’m going to be sleeping here until... well, I’ll be sleeping here. If you don’t mind. If I snore, I would tell you to kick me but you don’t have legs now, do you? Maybe we’ll have to ask your maker, huh? When he comes back I’ll tell him you want to walk! Haha, he’ll think I’m a nutter. But I ‘spose talking to you I’d be a nutter by anyone’s standards, wouldn’t I?”
Ruth just stared at him.
Max felt a little uncomfortable again, now the windows were blacked out by the night and the only light that seemed to come from anywhere was the now-muted TV, the occasional passing car and Ruth. The only sounds came from a slightly squeaky nostril of a dead-to-the-world cat. That feeling of being watched had returned and somehow things seem more sinister in the dark, when it’s quiet, when nobody else is around, when everyone else is asleep…
He got up, turned all the lights on in the room.
Standing by the switch seemed ludicrous but he couldn’t help it. She was definitely watching. All the glitter was at his end of the tubes again, and it followed him as he sat down and pulled the duvet under his chin again.
“Well, night then… see you in the morning… sleep well…”
She didn’t answer.

Max woke up at some point after midnight. He had been having nightmares about being chased by something he couldn’t see, about some big raging ball of energy being just over his shoulder or in his periphery. He never caught sight of it but it touched him and he jolted awake.
Everything was exactly as it was before he fell asleep, except the TV had clicked into standby and was making a faint high-pitched squeal.
Should have got a new TV by now Max, he told himself.

The next morning Max woke sitting bolt upright, Ruth glittering her way towards Scat’s side and generally giving off the vibes she likes him. Th cat evidently heard Max move on the sofa, propped his ears up, yawned and stretched.
“NO, SCAT!” Max shouted and leapt towards the cat, just as he was doing his insanely stereotypical cat-like stretch where his chest goes down and his outstretched arms go forwards and butt goes backwards… right into Ruth.
“Don’t touch it, Scat!”
Oh, but he had. He set Ruth rocking slightly and Max could only stand and watch with his hands stuck to his head like he and his mates did when they were watching England trying to win the World Cup with penalties, painstakingly failing every single attempt.
I can’t touch it if it goes over it’s so screwed I’ve lost him the Nobel Prize this thing is alive does that mean I’m a murderer because of my cat what have I done what do I do fuck fuck fuck what can I do what can I
Ruth rocked her final rock and settled back onto the table without a final bounce-back. She sat as if she was glued to it now, never to be moved again.
Max sat and let out a relieved shuddering breath.
“Ohmygod. I thought you were a goner, Ruth! Bloody hell. Right,” Max stood up, pointed his irritated finger at Scat, “you, come here!” He grabbed the nonchalant son-of-a-gun from the table and promptly plonked him outside the kitchen door.
“You have no idea what you just did. None! I’d strangle you if I wouldn’t miss you, you know that?” he told Scat. In response, Scat rubbed himself over Max’s jogging bottoms and meowed for food.
“Fine. But you’re eating out here, you’re in the doghouse, mister,” he said, trying to maintain his anger despite his relief.
Max scooped out half a tin of the expensive stuff and mashed it in the bowl. Scat had a ear condition that his mother had been insistent was due to insufficient and inadequate food, hence this kitty being much much more of a kitty when he was inherited, though he turned out to be the right amount eventually. The problem was, because of her ridiculous and overly pompous pampering even by Max’s standards, this is all the damned creature would eat and he was getting skinny in his old age.
“You idiot,” he told Scat. “You could have scuppered us both, buddy, and we don’t even know what we got yet. When you’re done stuffing your face I’ll come let you in again, ok?” He stroked the full length of Scat’s back to the tip of his tail. “But stay off the damned table.”
Max wandered back into the front room to spend some more time with Ruth.
“So, Ruth, I was thinking, I know you like the nature documentaries and all, but the…”
Once again, as Max rounded the corner he stared at Ruth. She had changed shape. No longer was she a mass of glass tubes and glitter, she was an untamed riot of glass tubes and glitter which distended at the centre into that could only be described as a flat glass bubble with one tube going in and one going out on each side. Most of the glitter had formed clumps in the middle and was blobbing back and forth and looking like if Flubber mated with fairy dust and smoked weed while dancing the rumba.
“You gotta be kidding me!”
Max flopped down onto the sofa again, staring. It seemed to him he spent most of his life staring, these days. Staring at Ruth, staring at the TV, staring at the back of his eyelids, staring at Ruth some more…
Maybe that’s how flies feel, he thought, they don’t have eyelids. Must be horrible always having to stare around, not being able to control what you’re looking at. Annoying and stupid. Not like they understand what they see, anyways.
Max called in sick. Told them he’d be out for at least a fortnight.

He let Scat back in a few hours later, a Scat who ungratefully only ate half his food, altogether bypassed Max, shunned his table banishment and delicately placed himself next to Ruth again, immediately falling back asleep and making Max jealous.

It wasn’t until a few days later that Max realised he had no food in the house, except for one of Scat’s tins, and he absolutely was not going down that road. He had eaten cat food once as a dare while in college and he had thrown up for an hour solid. He made sure the first instalment went directly over his flatmate’s shoes. Serve him right for daring him in the first place.
Dare him to dare me anything again! Yeah!
Reluctantly it was time to go shopping. Instant noodles and trail mix could only sustain one’s life force for so long, and that ‘so long’ had come and gone.
Groceries unloaded, Max had a special little baggy of handmade organic treats in hand that he fully intended on unloading on Scat the second he got in (no, Max told himself, not to try and win my cat’s affections back from an inanimate object, that would be ridiculous.) Where was that cat, anyway?
He ambled into the front room, Ruth as solid and purposeful as always. Scat was where he had been, doing his best round rock impression on the table. He hadn’t been allowed on the table before Ruth arrived, (table-top fur floating into his breakfast eggs was not something Max would tolerate,) but now Max figured it was too late to break the habit. Perhaps once Ruth was given back to her rightful owner he would have to proverbially piss on the boundaries again, mark out what Scat was and was not allowed to do, and hope it worked. It probably wouldn’t. Dopey old thing.
And here was the dopey old thing, soft as ever, tucked up around that bamboo that was finally growing!
He poked Scat on his shoulder and wiggled the treat bag in front of his nose.
“Come on, up you get. Got summat tasty for ya!”
Scat didn’t move. He stroked him and gently called his name. Nothing. Ruth was glittering her way towards Scat again, fiercely and somehow tentatively, lovingly, bobbling around in the flat bubble. A sharp stab of fear thrilled through Max. He dropped the treats and picked the cat up but he flopped gently in his hands, tail limp and dangling.
“Scat! Scat, no! Come on, bud, wake up! Scat!” He started to sob, held him up to his face and cried into his fur. Max held him for what felt like hours, until finally he dug a hole in the middle of the lawn where he could see from most rooms, put him in a blanket-lined box three feet down, and planted the lucky bamboo on top of him.

Hi All,
I am not new to this community however haven’t not posted in a while.
I have had a spinal fusion on my L5/S1 & disc replacement on my L4 (all done in same operation) 4 years later I started to feel a pinch that wasn’t really anything to note and 2 years later after countless CT’s/MRI’s I have a osseous fragment (bone spur) that has grown adjacent to my L5 nerve root.
This is what my late MRI concluded:
MRI SPINE INDICATION Previous L5/S1 fusion and L4/5 disc replacement. Sudden onset lower back pain after bending over to do laundry yesterday evening. Reduced power in RLL and decreased perianal sensation. ? cauda equina COMPARISON CT lumbar spine 13/3/24 MRI lumbar spine 20/6/22 TECHNIQUE Non contrast MRI lumbar spine : sagittal T1, T2, DWI, coronal and axial T2 Limited sagittal T2 STIR cervical and thoracic spine FINDINGS Imaging mildly degraded by motion artefact. Normal vertebral body segmentation. Normal vertebral body height and alignment. No suspicious marrow lesion. L4/5 disc replacement and L5/S1 fusion is noted and screws traverse the L5 and S1 vertebral bodies and resultant artefact at this level. A 4mm T2 hypointense focus in the right L5/S1 neural foramen correlates with hyperdense focus on prior CT and likely relates to surgical/osseous material and contacts the right L5 nerve root with possible irritation and moderate right L5/S1 neural foraminal narrowing. No significant disc herniation. No high grade canal or neural foraminal narrowing. The spinal cord terminates normally. No abnormal cord signal. No paraspinal masses. Normal craniocervical junction. Fatty infiltration of the posterior paraspinal musculature L4-S1. Satisfactory limited imaging of the cervical and thoracic spine. Incompletely imaged 5cm right adnexal cyst. CONCLUSION No high grade canal narrowing. No evidence of spinal cord or cauda equina compression. A small 5mm focus of surgical/osseous material in the right L5/S1 neural foramen with possible irritation of the right L5/S1 nerve root appears similar to prior imaging. 5cm right adnexal cyst can be correlated with ultrasound.
I have booked to see a private surgeon who suggested the last time I saw him to remove the bone spur. My pain can go from 10 to bearable yet my foot and leg get pins and needles, as well as an hot jolting pinch on my lower right side.
Your thoughts?
Sam 😊