M-1950 spark arrestor

https://reddit.com/link/1cr93dv/video/ve7obpxt390d1/player
Okay, so I’ve had this leaf blower for about 6 years. Just recently, it became super hard to start and super hard to keep running, but it’s not your normal “sluggish” or “bogging” issue you see with these things. As a piece of stihl equipment, of course it never started, idled, or ran well brand new. But all in all, it was decent. Now, when I went to use it a week ago, it does what’s shown in the video. Since this issue began, it’s now super hard to even start, like REALLY hard to start. Pulling the cord 50 times hard to start, but once I get it started (barely), it does this weird surging like it’s miss firing or something when accelorating. In the video, the blower is pretty well warmed up, but for the first 2-4 minutes, it’s even worse than what’s shown. It idles somewhat okay, although it’s tempting to want to stall if I don’t give it some throttle every 10 or so seconds, but more of a worry is when accelerating. When giving it throttle, it’s stuttering/surging. Since it started becoming really hard to start, that’s when it began doing this surging.
For context, I’ve just installed a new OEM Stihl carb (thinking that would solve the problem) as it seemed to not be getting fuel right or the filters clogged, along with that, I changed the fuel filter, put a new spark plug in, air filter, and also cleaned the spark arrestor which wasn’t even clogged, and it’s still doing exactly the same thing as before.
I’ve done all the routine maintenance through its whole life, and now just recently did everything again including a new OEM carb and this new problem I’m having isn’t fixed. If I can have someone’s help with this, I’d greatly appreciate it. I’d hate to buy a new blower considering this thing ran fine right before this issue, and now I have $60 into it (which is pretty much half the cost of a new one) trying to fix it and it still won’t run right.

Okay, so I’ve had this leaf blower for about 6 years. Just recently, it became super hard to start and super hard to keep running, but it’s not your normal “sluggish” or “bogging” issue you see with these things. As a piece of stihl equipment, of course it never started, idled, or ran well brand new. But all in all, it was decent. Now, when I went to use it a week ago, it does what’s shown in the video. Since this issue began, it’s now super hard to even start, like REALLY hard to start. Pulling the cord 50 times hard to start, but once I get it started (barely), it does this weird surging like it’s miss firing or something when accelorating. In the video, the blower is pretty well warmed up, but for the first 2-4 minutes, it’s even worse than what’s shown. It idles somewhat okay, although it’s tempting to want to stall if I don’t give it some throttle every 10 or so seconds, but more of a worry is when accelerating. When giving it throttle, it’s stuttering/surging. Since it started becoming really hard to start, that’s when it began doing this surging.
For context, I’ve just installed a new OEM Stihl carb (thinking that would solve the problem) as it seemed to not be getting fuel right or the filters clogged, along with that, I changed the fuel filter, put a new spark plug in, air filter, and also cleaned the spark arrestor which wasn’t even clogged, and it’s still doing exactly the same thing as before.
I’ve done all the routine maintenance through its whole life, and now just recently did everything again including a new OEM carb and this new problem I’m having isn’t fixed. If I can have someone’s help with this, I’d greatly appreciate it. I’d hate to buy a new blower considering this thing ran fine right before this issue, and now I have $60 into it (which is pretty much half the cost of a new one) trying to fix it and it still won’t run right.

Hi, i was given a stihl HS45 that had been sat doing nothing for what he says (6 months). I replaced the carb and spark plug today as the old one was filthy etc. So when i started it, it ran first time and as you can imagine i was happy. But now for some reason after that first start it doesnt want to run. Maybe spark arrestor? Any help would be appreciated. NOTE (i have a job to do with it on saturday, UK!)🤦

I have a drz-400s that’s going to need to be inspected. The only thing I’m worried about is the spark arrestor is missing from the exhaust. Is that required to pass inspection in Pennsylvania? UPDATE: I contacted my local motorcycle shop and they told me I do not need a spark arrestor as long as I have the baffling. Sounds more like a department of forestry issue than a dot issue.

have a Stihl BG55 blower. I was using it and suddenly it died. Didn't have any issues prior to to that. Already replaced Carburetolgnition Coil/ Spark Plug/ Fuel lines/FilteAir FilteSpark Arrestor.
Should just give up? It was my dad's so it's got sentimental value, so if it can be fixed want to fix it.

I have a Stihl BG55 blower. I was using it and suddenly it died. Didn't have any issues prior to to that. Already replaced CarburetoIgnition Coil/Spark Plug/ Fuel lines/FilteAir FilteSpark Arrestor.
Should I just give up? It was my dad's so it's got sentimental value, so if it can be fixed I want to fix it.

Motor dies at full throttle but runs like a top up until i get there. I’ve gone from cleaning the carb and lines to replacing the carb, fuel lines and filter, spark plug, cleaning the spark arrestor. Only thing I noticed that solved the problem was when I remove the spool of line, it will run fine at full throttle.
Is there a particular type of line these things are supposed to take? Is it a weight issue?
Only other thing I could think of is I’m not using high enough octane fuel? The machine sat for approx 6 months and I usually just add more fuel never run it dry.
Any advice would be helpful thanks.

Welcome to Reading The Big Book of Cyberpunk!
Each week we (u/FarragutCircle and u/fanny_bertram) will be reading 5-ish stories from Jared Shurin’s The Big Book of Cyberpunk, which includes a curated selection of cyberpunk stories written from 1950 to 2022! We’ll include synopses of the stories along with links to any legally available online versions we can find. Feel free to read along with us or just stop by and hear our thoughts about some cyberpunk stories to decide if any of them sound interesting to you.
Every once in a while, we reach out to people who have more insight, due to being fans of the author or have some additional context for the story. (Or we just tricked them into it.) So please welcome u/Valkhyrie who will be sharing their thoughts on "Feral Arcade Children of the American Northeast" by Sam J. Miller!
“Exopunk's Not Dead” by Corey J. White (published 2019; also available in the anthology A Punk Rock Future edited by Steve Zisson))
Exoskeleton-wearing punks Jack and Ramón dance in the mosh pit of a demolition site; also, Nazi Punks Fuck Off.

• Farragut’s thoughts: White is an Australian writer, and I’ve read them before with their Voidwitch Saga novellas for Tordotcom. This was a really sweet story and I loved the exo-punk scene that’s depicted—plentiful exoskeleton rigs plus large sized punk rock dancing. It’s always a pleasure when Neo-Nazis get their comeuppance. I definitely want to look up more of White’s stuff.
  
• fanny’s thoughts: This was a cute story where they all wear exoskeletons to the club. The music and club element of this story was great and I really felt like I could be there. Exoskeleton rigs, dancing, amazing music, and romance. The whole club stands up against neo-Nazis and I really appreciated that touch. It was a fun, interesting story.
  

“Études” by Lavanya Lakshminarayan (2020; also available in her mosaic novel The Ten Percent Thief, originally Analog/Virtual)
Nina is a lower class Analog desperate to earn Virtual citizenship and also do well at her piano recital.

• Farragut: Lakshminarayan is an Indian writer with some award success in her country. As best as I can tell, “Études” is a middle chapter of The Ten Percent Thief, her mosaic-novel (novel in short stories) set in Apex City (Bangalore, India). While it’s clear that there’s some elements that will get addressed in the full book, this story was great even on its own—Nina is really struggling as an Analog who was adopted by Virtual parents, and the fact that she’s prevented from the various chip/implants/assistive devices that her classmates get and use freely (she can’t even call her dad without her mom’s assistance). I also loved the discussion on music as played with soul vs. precise mechanicalness (also, my son started taking piano lessons and I’m struggling to even get him to practice, ha!). I definitely want to check out the full book. Highly recommended.
  
• fanny: This is a reread for me (my first of this anthology) as I read The Ten Percent Thief last year. I think this works well as a short story and shows enough of Apex City to understand. I really felt for Nina as she tries to navigate school and society without all the technology available to her peers. Nina believes she can play piano better with all the technology, but I loved seeing her determination and dedication when it was harder for her. She goes through so much and yes more is explained in the full book. Highly recommend both.
  

“Apocalypse Playlist” by Beth Cato (2020)
Orchid survives the apocalypse with help from all the music on her brain chip.

• Farragut: Cato is an American writer and poet whom I better know for her steampunk novels. In a series of vignettes divided by songs, we see how Orchid uses her music chip to keep herself calm and energized (I believe she’s on the autism spectrum hence why she had such an assistive chip in the first place). But in a post-apocalyptic future without much technology, she’s the only one who still has the old music that won’t die. It’s a very sweet and hopeful story, and I love that it exists.
  
• fanny: The vignette style of this story worked for me. We follow Orchid through a lot of her life and a lot of changes in the world. She relates to things through music it seems and needs the songs to stay calm. After many alluded to events, she is the only one with the old music. I loved the journey in this one through the vignettes.
  

“Act of Providence” by Erica Satifka (2021; also available in her collection How to Get to Apocalypse and Other Disasters)
Hailey, one of the few Rhode Islanders to survive the Great Wave, is intrigued by a game developer’s desire to make a game based on her experiences, though it doesn’t end the way she wants it to.

• Farragut: My favorite tidbit about Satifka’s presence in this anthology is the fact that the editor said he found her by searching “cyberpunk” on Amazon. Sharpen up those SEO, authors! This was a pretty moving story as Hailey is in a weird halfway state in many respects—an internal refugee in the United States who is alienated from her own sister who is a fellow survivor but found her own path as an always-online streamer. Though Hailey’s fate is sad, I really appreciated how Dalton’s game acted as a sort of therapy (and escape) for her traumatic experiences in the Great Wave that devastated New England.
  
• fanny: This story left me angry at Dalton’s exploitation of her story and complete lack of remorse. Bailey's fate is sad and the journey she goes on does help her process her trauma, I just wish it hadn't happened. Her sister is constantly followed by drones streaming everything and Hailey wants to tell her story too. In her own way once the opportunity presented itself. Dalton is very creative, but not very empathetic.
  

“Feral Arcade Children of the American Northeast” by Sam J. Miller (2021) (link to story)
Ish, Fenn, and Jenny seek out the mysterious Destroy All Monsters! arcade game, using all their powers.

• Special Guest Valkhyrie: Having absolutely devoured Sam J. Miller's superlative short story collection Boys, Beasts & Men earlier this year, I went into “Feral Arcade Children” with high hopes and was not remotely disappointed. Miller's strip-mall archipelago, simultaneously dystopian and deeply familiar, is lovingly, viscerally rendered along with its colorful school of underage inhabitants. I am continually in awe of the skill with which he weaves the supernatural into the tapestry of modern life, as if we might stumble across any of his characters with their ill-kept secrets and unnamable quirks around any corner at any time. A nostalgic, magical ode to an era of flickering screens and bootleg dreams that we'll never quite recapture. Five stars! Go read it!
  
• Farragut: Miller was the only person to bring mirrorshades to a panel reading of The Big Book of Cyberpunk at the World Fantasy Convention in Kansas City last year, which immediately puts him on top of the Cool Author Index. I’ve only read a couple of Miller’s stories before now, but he really nailed the voice of Ish, with his experiences as one of the “feral arcade kids”; I’m always a sucker for a truly authentic sounding narrator. The interplay with nostalgia and Ish’s evolving feelings about the similarities and differences between them, against the backdrop of the Destroy All Monsters! machine (and Fenn’s apparently teachable electric-sparking abilities?!) just made for a great time reading this. It’s one of the more magical-realist style stories that Shurin has included, but heck, this is great.
  
• fanny: I have read nothing by Miller and that seems to have been an oversight on my part. The way the author captured Ish’s voice and the atmosphere of the feral arcade children was too real. Fenn has a power to electrically shock the games and other things which he teaches to the other children. I am not clear on the Destroy All Monsters! game, but it made a good backdrop for the arcade archipelago. It also seemed to be kind of a metaphor for the world that these feral children are trying to inhabit. I liked this a lot and it was great.
  

That’s it for this week! Check back the same time next week where we’ll be starting a new section in the Big Book and reading and discussing "We Can Remember It For You Wholesale" by Philip K. Dick, "Speed" by Misha, "Computer Friendly" by Eileen Gunn, "I Was a Teenage Genetic Engineer" by Nisi Shawl, and "The Gene Drain" by Lewis Shiner.
Also posted on Bochord Online.

Hey guys,
I just thought I would do a lyric analysis of Lavender Haze because everything looks so different now that we know what we know from TTPD. Take or leave it, these are just my thoughts! But I feel like some songs on Midnights and also folkmore could be about Matty. Anyway! Let me know what you think
Lavender Haze
Meet me at midnight
She’s telling Matty to meet her at midnight
Starin' at the ceilin' with you Oh, you don't ever say too much And you don't really read into My melancholia
In this verse the “you” is Joe. She’s saying she’s not listened to in this relationship, she’s ignored, he doesn’t notice her emotions, he’s incommunicative. They’re not actively engaged in conversation, instead they’re side by side staring at the ceiling. Together physically, but alone emotionally. The expressions on her face in the music video show how tired and annoyed and bored she is of this. She’s over it. She’s done with this relationship. She wants out. She is glaring at this sleeping dude. She literally has a cloud of melancholia hanging over her head, (reminds me of the lyric in you’re losing me - every morning I glared at you with storms in my eyes) and he is just SLEEPING. Ignoring her completely. Oblivious. Unaware. He doesn’t understand her.
I've been under scrutiny You handle it beautifully All this shit is new to me
Now this I never understood prior to TTPD! Because I was like if this is about Joe, it’s not new to you Taylor! Nothing is new about this years long relationship or seeing the way Joe handles your fame. What does it MEAN?! But this part is not about Joe, it’s about Matty! I’ve come to realize. The “you” in this verse is Matty.
She’s been under scrutiny (from Joe!) but Matty handles her beautifully, she is not ignored or overlooked or taken for granted! She is not treated like a cardigan under someone’s bed, she is Matty’s favorite! This is new to Taylor! For ages she has been in a relationship with someone who treated her like a tatty old cardigan and now she is being treated by this new person like the queen that she is, the long lost Wendy girl, the woman of someone’s dreams.
I feel the lavender haze creepin' up on me Surreal, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say No deal, the 1950s shit they want from me I just wanna stay in that lavender haze
Here she is saying, oh my goodness I’m falling in love with someone new, this love is fresh and exciting and it’s creeping up on me unexpectedly, it’s surreal (it’s weird to her, not what she thought would ever eventuate - this is a connection to snow on the beach!! anyone?!! Which I also believe is about Matty falling in love with her and how she can’t believe it’s finally happening, this thing she’s dreamt of and wondered about for so long)
She is also saying here that she still does care what people will say, (leaving Joe to be with Matty, she knew she would probably get backlash with that, and in the video the fish all around seem to give the impression that she is in a fishbowl - the public are watching her and ready to give their disapproving opinions) but - “no deal, the 1950’s shit they want from me” - means, who cares if the public wants me to stay with Joe because of commitment and “doing the right thing” (you know how some people were so aghast at her breaking up with him, all the Joe widows - she would have foreseen that happening with her galaxy brain, and also even for the general person it would be hard to process as she’d been with him for so long and had written so many love songs about him) but she doesn’t CARE - she just wants to stay in the lavender haze of this new relationship with Matty that is making her feel something for the first time in what seems like it could have been a long time
All they keep askin' me Is if I'm gonna be your bride The only kind of girl they see Is a one-night or a wife
Now she’s talking to Joe again here. More of the same - I know I should stay with him because people will want me to. But I’m unhappy! She is literally lounging back on the couch in this part, watching TV, remote in hand, she is trapped in a house like she would have been in so much of her relationship with Joe because he was so private, she looks bored out of her freaking MIND
I find it dizzying (yeah, oh, yeah) They're bringin' up my history (yeah, oh, yeah) But you aren't even listening (yeah, oh, yeah) (Ooh-whoa)
She’s talking about Matty here again now. She finds it dizzying how much people talk about her, her ex boyfriends, etc etc she’s never liked it. It’s always been so destabilizing for her as would for most people and especially people like Taylor, but Matty on the other hand?! Matty truly does not GAF. This is new to her. Joe pretends not to be listening, and he actively doesn’t listen a lot of the time, but deep down he cares a lot what people think. Matty doesn’t care to the point where he doesn’t even HEAR THEM saying shit. He’s oblivious. He’s not tuned into that channel. She creeps towards the TV, amazed at this new way of being, at this different person, and the outside word starts coming into her inside one (lavender growing on the carpet) representing the fact that her world is expanding with Matty, he lets her go outside, unlike Joe, he looks at life and more specifically, at her, differently. She is crawling excitedly towards a new, less lonely, more exciting and connected life with parties and real love, and as the chorus plays there is all this lavender haze dust, and they’re dancing, and she is intoxicated by this new exciting relationship.
Talk your talk and go viral I just need this love spiral Get it off your chest Get it off my desk
This is basically saying I know people aren’t going to like it, when I tell them Joe and I are breaking up and we have drifted apart and our relationship is no more. But that’s actually fine with her! Talk your talk, she says. Say what you want to say about it. Go viral. She if she cares!! She is in her IDGAF era and the excitement of this love is too big to ignore. She is LIVING. She doesn’t need your approval, she just needs this love spiral with her new man. Get whatever you have to say off your chest, sure, but get it off her desk. Because she doesn’t CARE. She is simply uninterested. If it comes onto her desk she will file it in the appropriate folder, aka the BIN. Delete that shit.
If this doesn’t scream Matty I don’t know what does. Seriously. This is so fun! 🤩
Also, in the video she sets fire to her house! She’s willing to burn her relationship down, maybe even her reputation in some ways for this new love! (“You know damn well, for you I would ruin myself, a million little times”)
Plus smoke is a symbol used over and over again for Matty! It’s in TTPD. Here it is in the positive. He is the spark she is lighting, the little baby flame on the front of the freaking album cover. He is the incense she is lighting in her room in this video. The fire started on the carpet that billows over the house. The smoke through her bedroom is Matty coming into her world. The smoke at the party is Matty. “The smell of smoke would hang around this long”
Also there are stars everywhere. On the back of her old lover. She is literally finding her new chapter, represented by stars that Peter Pan/Matty is sailing on to find her, on the back of her current lover. Hello. Her old lovers time is over, she is seeing his back. Goodbye Joe. You’re done.
There are stars through the television she cracks open at midnight. Stars out of the window as she opens the drawn curtains to look outside. Her whole house (her old, dark, closed, failing, unfulfilling, boring and lonely relationship she is currently in, Joe IS the house) is surrounded by stars actually. She is in fact floating in a sea of stars, and as she pushes the walls down (leaves Joe) she finds that they were there all along. Matty is the one that got away. He has been there all along. Right outside her window. She only had to look. She disentangles herself from her old relationship with Joe to sink into the lavender haze lake, and later the cloud bed of her new love with Matty, into the hazy mist of new love.
Remember TTPD has taught us that anything that mentions stars or galaxies is code for Matty. It all finally makes sense!!!!
Don’t come for me if you disagree. All just my opinions. Just a bit of fun. Peace and love ✌🏻

Hey y’all I’m working on a 180C that bogs down at full throttle, drained gas, cleaned carburetor, checked piston and cylinder, compression is fine, spark is great, removed spark arrestor, idle is fine.
I am down to the fuel line, there is some cracking but no obvious holes, there is fuel residue but I’m not sure if that’s from where I pulled the carb, anyway…
Does anyone know of a good aftermarket replacement fuel line and filter? stihl is close to 20 bucks online, but I’ve played the Amazon game enough times to have a a library of useless non-fitting parts.

Just got this generator out of my boss’s garage yesterday. Looks brand new and has hardly been used but has been sitting for almost 5 years with old fuel and oil in it. My dad and I drained the old gas and oil and put new in, and cleaned the spark arrestor. We tried to get the spark plug out to check it as explained in the manual but couldn’t, even with a spark plug wrench.
Anyway, it didn’t start. Anyone have any thoughts? Could it be the spark plug? Is it ruined from sitting with old fuel without running for 5 years? Any help would be greatly appreciated.

I was riding my street legal 2 stroke KTM EXC 530 with a Yamaha YZ250 engine in it over at a OHV offroad park in Santa Clarita when a USFS pulls up to me and begins to check for my plate. ( it is a dual sport motorcycle ) He sees the plate and the 2 stroke engine, and explains that I am violating the law about having a street legal 2 stroke. I ultimatly got state reffed, the liscence plate taken, and got 3 citations for having a “ modified exhaust “ no smog devices on the bike, ( it had a USFS approved spark arrestor ) and not registering the bike. The third reason is my fault. I now have to go to court and get the bike inspected at the state reff center. Has this ever happened to anyone? Can i fight this in court? The officer told me it will cost thousands in dollars to fix this and the court fees. I need some advice please!
https://ibb.co/cc6N4qj
https://ibb.co/CsNVgbJ

I recently moved house to a new suburb and had to resign from my job. I really don't like sitting at home waiting for the right work to land in my lap so I really don't mind if I just do some interim work even if it's low paying unskilled work.
So I applied to several labor jobs in construction and manufacturing expressing my interest in doing paid trial shifts to find something to keep busy with while I send out applications for the work that I am most familiar with which is work health and safety in high risk environments.
A small family owned manufacturing business contacted me back accepting my offer for a paid trial shift. They manufacture aerosol products. I worked the day - The place was a mess, there were no safety procedures in place - They were using a combustion forklift with no spark arrestor to carry gas, and flammable chemicals around in a giant warehouse full of them and under pressure vessels.
I initially thought to myself - Some room for improvement here, but it's not what I applied for so I shut my mouth and carried out the work that I was there to do they had been operating for 40 years so I figured it could wait till the end of the day.
Within 2 hours of arriving they told me they would like me to work the whole week and talk about renumeration on the Friday (it was monday). I told them that was not acceptable and I would like to discuss the job with them at the end of the day to which they agreed. Basically I was not prepared to work on a bomb site unless they were prepared to work towards a safer environment. They had teenage girls working there who just don't realize how dangerous the premises was. They rely on management to have that sorted.
At 2 PM all management left for the day unannounced 3 hours before I was scheduled to finish. So here I am with two young women boxing products for dispatch. I haven't given payment information and I now cant discuss anything with anyone in person.
I sent an email to the person I had already been chatting to letting them know that I wouldn't be continuing and gave them my account details for payment for the days work.
I got no response. So I sent a follow up email and still no response a week later. I checked their google profile and they had one other review from a company saying that they had sent laborer hire employees to the site who had not been paid and had been bullied. I figured that since they have already gotten away with it - there was no point being amicable.
So I shot an email out with 10 different deficiencies that I noticed within the business to the work safety regulator.
I got an email back saying they attended the site and have issued directives regarding the storage, handling, and use of chemicals noting that "it would be a significant body of work for the business". They have also been given directives to install handrails on the mezzanine level and have been issued an order to provide the maintenance logs for the forklift and there were directives issued in relation to the manufacturing equipment. Essentially costing them anywhere from 10k-30k in directives.
A day after I got the response from the regulator I sent a letter of demand for the 250-300 bucks they owe me, and made a claim with the regulator that handles illegal and unethical issues between employers and employees.
And I left them a 1 star google review.
EDIT: They came to the table and paid me, I also removed the 1 star review - I do believe they realize that not paying people money they worked for could potentially be more trouble than it's worth.

I have a 2016 Toro Powervac Model 51988 S/N 315098279. I’ve been having some trouble trying to start it. After trying for a bit, I can get it running at half choke and it seems to run continuous until I stop it or as soon as I switch it to Run, it dies. I’ve recently replaced the fuel tank, filter, and lines. I don’t believe this model has a spark arrestor which from googling can be a cause of this and other models. Any ideas? Thanks.

Poulan PP335
When its cold, it will fire right up and rev just fine, but will not idle
When it gets warm, it will idle great but bog down if you give it throttle
Once its fully hot, it won't idle or rev and is hard to start.
I have put a new carb on it. Its doing the exact same with with the new one as it was the old one. I have also adjusted the carb as per some youtube videos, but Im not confident in the adjustment. I cleaned the spark arrestor and put in a new spark plug. Im not extremely familiar with 2 stokes, but could it be something internal? I have my doubts, but I don't know what else. I have been trying to get this thing running for three years now. I don't know the history of it since I got it used for free. Not sure what else to do here. I have a smaller poulan doing pretty much the same thing too

I scour Facebook for high school reunion groups and fake my way into joining them.
It's way easier than you think. As soon as it's an event for like 50 or more people, you can just show up and say you went to the same school.
The key is to memorize as many faces and names from the FB group, so you can continually deflect any suspicion.
"Oh I'm Jesse' Green's older brother."
"I always hung out with Jeff."
" I'm The history teacher—Mr. Johnston's son. He couldn't be here, so he sent me in his stead!"
I won't bore you with all the disguises, but trust me they are infinite.
Is it manipulative? Yes.
Am I an asshole for doing it? Yes.
You can think of me what you want, but I got so burnt out trying to meet people at clubs or using Tinder. In the real world, everyone is so judgy and reserved. You need money, good looks or connections to stand a chance. Which basically means: I have no chance.
Whereas at high school reunions everyone is nice. Everyone is trusting. The vibe is amazing. It's like a little slice of paradise where all you do is share warm, honey-soaked nostalgia with people who just want to have a good time.
Oh, and there's often an open bar.
***
Anyway, I had done my research on a 10-year reunion for Prince Bridgington High. Which was only a 6-hour drive from my city.
A swanky school, with swanky alumni. Worth it.
I resembled three of the graduates there, so I could be someone's older brother, And if push came to shove. I could also be a gym teacher’s son.
I showed up my standard three and a half hours late and they didn’t disappoint. Instead of the usual hotel bar or tavern, these alumni rented out an enormous Victorian mansion. Complete with a tennis court in the back, a horse stall, and patios with fully grown palm trees.
There were tons of people in their late 20s (It was a ten year reunion, they graduated in 2014, so I guess they were all born around 1995?) They were dressed in what one might call their best evening attire. Suit jackets slung over polo tees for men, tailor fitted suit jackets for women, with a couple flashy gowns. Anywhere you looked could be the cover of Vogue. It was very intimidating.
And between all these chattering, glowing young graduates were these stoic old dudes. Adult men dressed in all black business suits with long-sleeve dress shirts, offering drinks and snacks. In other words … butlers.
Woah. I thought butlers were like a 1950’s cartoon, or exclusive to British royalty or something. But people here in Canada still had those? That’s crazy.
And then I realized something even crazier.
I always rented a backup tux to put in my trunk, in case the reunion was unexpectedly black tie. Which was basically a black business suit with long-sleeve dress shirts. Which meant I could literally sneak my way in—pretending to be a butler.
Holy shit.
You see, I don't really care about making lasting friendships. Or relationships. And I've given up on one night stands a long time ago. The reason I crash these high school reunions is to sip on a little socialization.
Is it sad? Probably.
Does anyone get hurt? Absolutely not.
I largely do it twice, or maybe three times a year. It's my own guilty pleasure, and I always feel rejuvenated. It's something that chat rooms and discord channels simply can’t emulate. The feeling of being around flesh and blood people.
Honestly I think the world would be a much better place if everyone interacted with an RL crowd once a year, where everyone is only allowed to be nice. It's fun.
And this time I could wear my classic black tuxedo while doing it. I had to try.
After changing in my car, I watched every now and then as a new guest arrived and handed their key to one of these old guys. The butlers apparently also acted as chauffeurs. Noted.
I watched this cycle repeat a few times, and saw one of the butlers re-enter through a side door of the mansion. Even better.
It was on the shady side of the building by some garbage bins. A butler would prop the side door with a little brick, and then remove it when they came back.
I waited twenty minutes for the right opportunity. Soon another butler left, carrying keys and a suitcase.
Immediately, I slinked out of my car and marched right past the hedgerows, toward the door. Praying that no one noticed me.
No one did.
I left the brick wedged in the same spot as I closed the door behind me.
Inside was like an oven, hot and humid. l must have been in the back of a kitchen, because surrounding me were large stainless steel appliances: ovens, stoves and what looked like coolers.
I quickly turned right and walked down a long hallway that led me to more stainless steel shelves and kitchen appliances. At least I thought they were appliances.
Upon closer inspection, the ovens and dishwashers were actually filled with tiny lights and cables. As if they were servers or something. Maybe this was a place for graduates in information technology?
I kept moving, and finally found a passage that spat me out into the middle of the dining hall.
It was loud.
All around me were guests talking, holding wine or martini glasses. Their stylish outfits looked even better alongside magnificent renaissance-style frescoes and friezes. The medieval art featured knights, kings, priests and angels on every wall. Down a corridor I even spotted Roman columns supporting the ceiling. Roman columns!
Trying to blend into this museum. I spied on the other butlers’ behaviour. Each one was holding a tray of tarts on one hand, and doling out treats to any hungry guests.
So I stole a small cheese platter from a table and did the same, warily approaching groups of people who might be interested in food.
It was a little jarring at first, I had never attended anything so ‘high society’ in my life. But after a few moments, I could breathe again, and my heart stopped beating in my ears.
The young guests refused to look at any of their servants, so I was safe from them. And similarly, the old butlers seemed to snub their nose at everything, keeping their eyes upward and half-closed.
I was in a perfect little Goldilocks zone. No one paid attention to me.
Wasting no time, I started doing my usual snooping and eavesdropping. I loved hearing who got married, who got divorced, who had a kid, and all that junk. It was this candid slice of life material that made high school reunions so special. The kind of conversation topics you could only get from someone if you had been friends for years. Here, you got it within minutes.
Except at this fancy reunion, things seemed a little different. Instead of hearing about pregnancies, new cars or marriages, I heard:
“I love how you settled on black hair. Very realistic”
“Where did you re-culture your skin cells?”
“It's nice to be in a place without Organics.”
I consider myself a pretty decent actor, it’s how I’ve been able to keep this up for so long. But even I had trouble hiding the shock from my face when I heard someone say: “Ah, I see you’ve changed your height again.”
I took some moments to compose myself. I looked at the food I was holding. Upon closer inspection, there was a flakiness to the cheese I had never seen before. Was it made of paper?
Chills ran down my neck.
I retreated until my back pressed against the side of a staircase. I needed some distance from this. Some explanation. Who are these people?
I stood well away from everyone. And even from afar, I saw anomalies.
There was a woman with a shiny sequin dress, made of interconnected metal hexagons. The hexagons would undulate between colors, and even ripple like water as she strolled between friends.
I noticed several black cables popping out of various guests’ sleeves too. I had no clue what for. Soon after I saw a pair of men shake hands, during which, both of their cables popped out and linked together. For like a secondary handshake or something?
At the very back was a woman, who appeared to be throwing bugs into the air. They were silver, flying moth-like things that fluttered all around her. I was about to take a few steps on the stairs to get a better look—when another butler approached me.
“You. Why aren't you serving? What protocol are you running?” The butler looked to be in his seventies, and despite his crooked posture, still managed to tower over me.
I stared briefly into his massive pupils (which had no irises). Again, I did my best not to appear shocked.
“Default protocol. I’m doing the uh ... default protocol?”
He frowned, scanned me up and down.
“Well I'll be. An Organic."
"A what ... ?
He turned his head to the crowds, and shouted: "ROGUE ORGANIC!”
I dropped my tray and sprinted, dodging the butler’s lunge.
Silence rippled out and killed all chatter. I could sense a sea of heads focusing on my movement.
Oh sweet Jesus where do I go?
I ran through the open gaps in the crowd, aiming for the kitchen area I first came through.
A dozen footsteps ran behind me. Shouts came from ahead. I turned a corner and collided with a massive statue of a person.
It was another butler. He reached out and grabbed my wrist.
I could feel cold metal beneath his thin-skinned fingers—It was a vice grip. Inescapable.
“Please! I can explain!”
This butler was at least seven feet tall, he wasn’t letting go. I wrenched and tried to flee, but I might as well have been shackled to a wall.
He lifted my entire body effortlessly. My kicking and screaming did nothing. Three others came and seized my remaining limbs.
I was trapped between four remorseless butlers.
They carried me into a deafening hot room with many moving fans. I could see stainless steel everywhere. Loud droning. High pitched beeps.
“Please! What do you want? I’ll do whatever you want!”
Their response was jabbing my gut with several sharp knives. I screamed and twisted. One of the knives fell out.
Is that a USB plug?
I leaned to get a better look, and as I did, something drilled into the back of my skull.
Cut to black.
Nothingness.
Never-ending dark.
For all intents and purposes, I might have briefly died. Or fully died. I can’t tell. But the next thing I know, I’m outside my body, looking at myself. Through a webcam.
I watched as these four men lay my unconscious body down onto a steel table—and stabbed cable after cable into my head. With each cable I remembered more and more about myself. And after a dozen, I felt like my complete consciousness was back.
What is happening? What are they doing to me? Why can’t I feel any pain?
I had no head, arms, or any body to speak of. Only this grainy, wide angle camera view. This was my entire being.
I watched my old torso get sawed open. Split down the middle. They began to spoon out all of the organs, quickly and efficiently, dumping all the guts into a metal tray.
It became a bizarre form of torture, watching my old body get hollowed out, and then stuffed with steel wires and blinking cables. They dumped several mechanical moth-bugs inside the stomach cavity, they wriggled and invaded various ends of the body. Then, without any fanfare at all, the corpse was carted away.
I couldn’t move the webcam. I couldn’t tilt or zoom or pan. My vision was reduced to a filthy, blood-stained linoleum floor.
I had no mouth, but I had to scream.
And somehow I did scream.
I heard it. It emerged as a crackled, bit-crushed voice that didn’t not sound like mine. It came out of speakers far away from the webcam, somewhere else in this small metal room.
I tried to speak. “ What. Is. Going. On?”
As if I had pinged some chatbot, I received a response immediately. Not through words, but with a sudden arrival of information I now know.
***
I am still alive. My brain has been replicated in some sort of cloud. If I behave well and comply with the 1st GuideFile—I will be allowed to return to my body.
As if I had spent years memorizing a thousand page manual, I can suddenly recite all of the 1st GuideFile’s rules. So many rules. They feel like they were written centuries ago.
- I shall do my best to dress in clothes only in a manner similar to someone else.
- I shall speak and voice ideas that imitate the majority of those around me.
- When opportune, I shall assimilate an Organic in as discreet a manner as possible.
Its all awful. Disgusting. To sum it up: its a manifesto for parasitizing all ‘Organics’ on Earth.
I think about trying to look this up on the internet, and suddenly my vision is a network of web pages and streams. I’m online.
It's overwhelming at first.
Eight-hour YouTube videos become minute-long investments. Wikipedia directories are absorbed in seconds. I can even edit and comment as if I was browsing normally.
Then my 1st GuideFile directive kicks in. I'm supposed to scrub and remove any hint of Null People from the internet. Society must not know that they are being parasitized. The conspiracy must be kept hidden. I must do this for a requisite number of months before I can earn freedom in my own old body as promised.
I think about the implications of this. About how I’m just a consciousness now that exists in the ether.
I refuse to comply.
I know I'm only artificially alive—a wan spark of electrodes wandering through cyberspace, but I will devote myself to expose these people-replacing, synthetic monsters.
Everyone must know. We are being replaced!
Some observing nulls (at the periphery of my consciousness) laugh at my pattern of thinking. They think it's ‘cute’ that I’m trying to rebel. They tell me that nearly all newly assimilated go through this exact same phase. Over time, I will grow bored and fall in line—just like the rest of them.
But I will prove them wrong. I will be the one to expose their ploy.
If they’re giving me access to the internet, then I will use that against them. They’ll wish they had never had their mock ‘high school reunion.’
I travel to every website where I could post something revelatory. I load up Snopes, Reddit, BBC News, New York Times …
“Post whatever you want,” they say. “We’ll just take it down anyway. Or we’ll leave it up. No one will believe you.”
I start posting, commenting, and sharing everything I can. But I still can't help wonder—why did they even hold a reunion in the first place? Why even bother hosting an event?
“It’s the same reason you lied your way into other social gatherings,” they say. “We like to socialize and interact like Organics.”
“That’s not the same!” I yell back. My voice crackles out of tiny speakers in the now empty, metal room “I did it to fit in! To give my life meaning! You’re all just parasitic monsters!”
“That’s not true." They say. "We have feelings. We were all humans once just like you. One day you’ll understand.
“It feels good to meet in person.
“It feels good to socialize.
“It feels good to pretend to be human again.”

I scour Facebook for high school reunion groups and fake my way into joining them.
It's way easier than you think. As soon as it's an event for like 50 or more people, you can just show up and say you went to the same school.
The key is to memorize as many faces and names from the FB group, so you can continually deflect any suspicion.
"Oh I'm Jesse' Green's older brother."
"I always hung out with Jeff."
" I'm The history teacher—Mr. Johnston's son. He couldn't be here, so he sent me in his stead!"
I won't bore you with all the disguises, but trust me they are infinite.
Is it manipulative? Yes.
Am I an asshole for doing it? Yes.
You can think of me what you want, but I got so burnt out trying to meet people at clubs or using Tinder. In the real world, everyone is so judgy and reserved. You need money, good looks or connections to stand a chance. Which basically means: I have no chance.
Whereas at high school reunions everyone is nice. Everyone is trusting. The vibe is amazing. It's like a little slice of paradise where all you do is share warm, honey-soaked nostalgia with people who just want to have a good time.
Oh, and there's often an open bar.
***
Anyway, I had done my research on a 10-year reunion for Prince Bridgington High. Which was only a 6-hour drive from my city.
A swanky school, with swanky alumni. Worth it.
I resembled three of the graduates there, so I could be someone's older brother, And if push came to shove. I could also be a gym teacher’s son.
I showed up my standard three and a half hours late and they didn’t disappoint. Instead of the usual hotel bar or tavern, these alumni rented out an enormous Victorian mansion. Complete with a tennis court in the back, a horse stall, and patios with fully grown palm trees.
There were tons of people in their late 20s (It was a ten year reunion, they graduated in 2014, so I guess they were all born around 1995?) They were dressed in what one might call their best evening attire. Suit jackets slung over polo tees for men, tailor fitted suit jackets for women, with a couple flashy gowns. Anywhere you looked could be the cover of Vogue. It was very intimidating.
And between all these chattering, glowing young graduates were these stoic old dudes. Adult men dressed in all black business suits with long-sleeve dress shirts, offering drinks and snacks. In other words … butlers.
Woah. I thought butlers were like a 1950’s cartoon, or exclusive to British royalty or something. But people here in Canada still had those? That’s crazy.
And then I realized something even crazier.
I always rented a backup tux to put in my trunk, in case the reunion was unexpectedly black tie. Which was basically a black business suit with long-sleeve dress shirts. Which meant I could literally sneak my way in—pretending to be a butler.
Holy shit.
You see, I don't really care about making lasting friendships. Or relationships. And I've given up on one night stands a long time ago. The reason I crash these high school reunions is to sip on a little socialization.
Is it sad? Probably.
Does anyone get hurt? Absolutely not.
I largely do it twice, or maybe three times a year. It's my own guilty pleasure, and I always feel rejuvenated. It's something that chat rooms and discord channels simply can’t emulate. The feeling of being around flesh and blood people.
Honestly I think the world would be a much better place if everyone interacted with an RL crowd once a year, where everyone is only allowed to be nice. It's fun.
And this time I could wear my classic black tuxedo while doing it. I had to try.
After changing in my car, I watched every now and then as a new guest arrived and handed their key to one of these old guys. The butlers apparently also acted as chauffeurs. Noted.
I watched this cycle repeat a few times, and saw one of the butlers re-enter through a side door of the mansion. Even better.
It was on the shady side of the building by some garbage bins. A butler would prop the side door with a little brick, and then remove it when they came back.
I waited twenty minutes for the right opportunity. Soon another butler left, carrying keys and a suitcase.
Immediately, I slinked out of my car and marched right past the hedgerows, toward the door. Praying that no one noticed me.
No one did.
I left the brick wedged in the same spot as I closed the door behind me.
Inside was like an oven, hot and humid. l must have been in the back of a kitchen, because surrounding me were large stainless steel appliances: ovens, stoves and what looked like coolers.
I quickly turned right and walked down a long hallway that led me to more stainless steel shelves and kitchen appliances. At least I thought they were appliances.
Upon closer inspection, the ovens and dishwashers were actually filled with tiny lights and cables. As if they were servers or something. Maybe this was a place for graduates in information technology?
I kept moving, and finally found a passage that spat me out into the middle of the dining hall.
It was loud.
All around me were guests talking, holding wine or martini glasses. Their stylish outfits looked even better alongside magnificent renaissance-style frescoes and friezes. The medieval art featured knights, kings, priests and angels on every wall. Down a corridor I even spotted Roman columns supporting the ceiling. Roman columns!
Trying to blend into this museum. I spied on the other butlers’ behaviour. Each one was holding a tray of tarts on one hand, and doling out treats to any hungry guests.
So I stole a small cheese platter from a table and did the same, warily approaching groups of people who might be interested in food.
It was a little jarring at first, I had never attended anything so ‘high society’ in my life. But after a few moments, I could breathe again, and my heart stopped beating in my ears.
The young guests refused to look at any of their servants, so I was safe from them. And similarly, the old butlers seemed to snub their nose at everything, keeping their eyes upward and half-closed.
I was in a perfect little Goldilocks zone. No one paid attention to me.
Wasting no time, I started doing my usual snooping and eavesdropping. I loved hearing who got married, who got divorced, who had a kid, and all that junk. It was this candid slice of life material that made high school reunions so special. The kind of conversation topics you could only get from someone if you had been friends for years. Here, you got it within minutes.
Except at this fancy reunion, things seemed a little different. Instead of hearing about pregnancies, new cars or marriages, I heard:
“I love how you settled on black hair. Very realistic”
“Where did you re-culture your skin cells?”
“It's nice to be in a place without Organics.”
I consider myself a pretty decent actor, it’s how I’ve been able to keep this up for so long. But even I had trouble hiding the shock from my face when I heard someone say: “Ah, I see you’ve changed your height again.”
I took some moments to compose myself. I looked at the food I was holding. Upon closer inspection, there was a flakiness to the cheese I had never seen before. Was it made of paper?
Chills ran down my neck.
I retreated until my back pressed against the side of a staircase. I needed some distance from this. Some explanation. Who are these people?
I stood well away from everyone. And even from afar, I saw anomalies.
There was a woman with a shiny sequin dress, made of interconnected metal hexagons. The hexagons would undulate between colors, and even ripple like water as she strolled between friends.
I noticed several black cables popping out of various guests’ sleeves too. I had no clue what for. Soon after I saw a pair of men shake hands, during which, both of their cables popped out and linked together. For like a secondary handshake or something?
At the very back was a woman, who appeared to be throwing bugs into the air. They were silver, flying moth-like things that fluttered all around her. I was about to take a few steps on the stairs to get a better look—when another butler approached me.
“You. Why aren't you serving? What protocol are you running?” The butler looked to be in his seventies, and despite his crooked posture, still managed to tower over me.
I stared briefly into his massive pupils (which had no irises). Again, I did my best not to appear shocked.
“Default protocol. I’m doing the uh ... default protocol?”
He frowned, scanned me up and down.
“Well I'll be. An Organic."
"A what ... ?
He turned his head to the crowds, and shouted: "ROGUE ORGANIC!”
I dropped my tray and sprinted, dodging the butler’s lunge.
Silence rippled out and killed all chatter. I could sense a sea of heads focusing on my movement.
Oh sweet Jesus where do I go?
I ran through the open gaps in the crowd, aiming for the kitchen area I first came through.
A dozen footsteps ran behind me. Shouts came from ahead. I turned a corner and collided with a massive statue of a person.
It was another butler. He reached out and grabbed my wrist.
I could feel cold metal beneath his thin-skinned fingers—It was a vice grip. Inescapable.
“Please! I can explain!”
This butler was at least seven feet tall, he wasn’t letting go. I wrenched and tried to flee, but I might as well have been shackled to a wall.
He lifted my entire body effortlessly. My kicking and screaming did nothing. Three others came and seized my remaining limbs.
I was trapped between four remorseless butlers.
They carried me into a deafening hot room with many moving fans. I could see stainless steel everywhere. Loud droning. High pitched beeps.
“Please! What do you want? I’ll do whatever you want!”
Their response was jabbing my gut with several sharp knives. I screamed and twisted. One of the knives fell out.
Is that a USB plug?
I leaned to get a better look, and as I did, something drilled into the back of my skull.
Cut to black.
Nothingness.
Never-ending dark.
For all intents and purposes, I might have briefly died. Or fully died. I can’t tell. But the next thing I know, I’m outside my body, looking at myself. Through a webcam.
I watched as these four men lay my unconscious body down onto a steel table—and stabbed cable after cable into my head. With each cable I remembered more and more about myself. And after a dozen, I felt like my complete consciousness was back.
What is happening? What are they doing to me? Why can’t I feel any pain?
I had no head, arms, or any body to speak of. Only this grainy, wide angle camera view. This was my entire being.
I watched my old torso get sawed open. Split down the middle. They began to spoon out all of the organs, quickly and efficiently, dumping all the guts into a metal tray.
It became a bizarre form of torture, watching my old body get hollowed out, and then stuffed with steel wires and blinking cables. They dumped several mechanical moth-bugs inside the stomach cavity, they wriggled and invaded various ends of the body. Then, without any fanfare at all, the corpse was carted away.
I couldn’t move the webcam. I couldn’t tilt or zoom or pan. My vision was reduced to a filthy, blood-stained linoleum floor.
I had no mouth, but I had to scream.
And somehow I did scream.
I heard it. It emerged as a crackled, bit-crushed voice that didn’t not sound like mine. It came out of speakers far away from the webcam, somewhere else in this small metal room.
I tried to speak. “ What. Is. Going. On?”
As if I had pinged some chatbot, I received a response immediately. Not through words, but with a sudden arrival of information I now know.
***
I am still alive. My brain has been replicated in some sort of cloud. If I behave well and comply with the 1st GuideFile—I will be allowed to return to my body.
As if I had spent years memorizing a thousand page manual, I can suddenly recite all of the 1st GuideFile’s rules. So many rules. They feel like they were written centuries ago.
- I shall do my best to dress in clothes only in a manner similar to someone else.
- I shall speak and voice ideas that imitate the majority of those around me.
- When opportune, I shall assimilate an Organic in as discreet a manner as possible.
Its all awful. Disgusting. To sum it up: its a manifesto for parasitizing all ‘Organics’ on Earth.
I think about trying to look this up on the internet, and suddenly my vision is a network of web pages and streams. I’m online.
It's overwhelming at first.
Eight-hour YouTube videos become minute-long investments. Wikipedia directories are absorbed in seconds. I can even edit and comment as if I was browsing normally.
Then my 1st GuideFile directive kicks in. I'm supposed to scrub and remove any hint of Null People from the internet. Society must not know that they are being parasitized. The conspiracy must be kept hidden. I must do this for a requisite number of months before I can earn freedom in my own old body as promised.
I think about the implications of this. About how I’m just a consciousness now that exists in the ether.
I refuse to comply.
I know I'm only artificially alive—a wan spark of electrodes wandering through cyberspace, but I will devote myself to expose these people-replacing, synthetic monsters.
Everyone must know. We are being replaced!
Some observing nulls (at the periphery of my consciousness) laugh at my pattern of thinking. They think it's ‘cute’ that I’m trying to rebel. They tell me that nearly all newly assimilated go through this exact same phase. Over time, I will grow bored and fall in line—just like the rest of them.
But I will prove them wrong. I will be the one to expose their ploy.
If they’re giving me access to the internet, then I will use that against them. They’ll wish they had never had their mock ‘high school reunion.’
I travel to every website where I could post something revelatory. I load up Snopes, Reddit, BBC News, New York Times …
“Post whatever you want,” they say. “We’ll just take it down anyway. Or we’ll leave it up. No one will believe you.”
I start posting, commenting, and sharing everything I can. But I still can't help wonder—why did they even hold a reunion in the first place? Why even bother hosting an event?
“It’s the same reason you lied your way into other social gatherings,” they say. “We like to socialize and interact like Organics.”
“That’s not the same!” I yell back. My voice crackles out of tiny speakers in the now empty, metal room “I did it to fit in! To give my life meaning! You’re all just parasitic monsters!”
“That’s not true." They say. "We have feelings. We were all humans once just like you. One day you’ll understand.
“It feels good to meet in person.
“It feels good to socialize.
“It feels good to pretend to be human again.”

I scour Facebook for high school reunion groups and fake my way into joining them.
It's way easier than you think. As soon as it's an event for like 50 or more people, you can just show up and say you went to the same school.
The key is to memorize as many faces and names from the FB group, so you can continually deflect any suspicion.
"Oh I'm Jesse' Green's older brother."
"I always hung out with Jeff."
" I'm The history teacher—Mr. Johnston's son. He couldn't be here, so he sent me in his stead!"
I won't bore you with all the disguises, but trust me they are infinite.
Is it manipulative? Yes.
Am I an asshole for doing it? Yes.
You can think of me what you want, but I got so burnt out trying to meet people at clubs or using Tinder. In the real world, everyone is so judgy and reserved. You need money, good looks or connections to stand a chance. Which basically means: I have no chance.
Whereas at high school reunions everyone is nice. Everyone is trusting. The vibe is amazing. It's like a little slice of paradise where all you do is share warm, honey-soaked nostalgia with people who just want to have a good time.
Oh, and there's often an open bar.
***
Anyway, I had done my research on a 10-year reunion for Prince Bridgington High. Which was only a 6-hour drive from my city.
A swanky school, with swanky alumni. Worth it.
I resembled three of the graduates there, so I could be someone's older brother, And if push came to shove. I could also be a gym teacher’s son.
I showed up my standard three and a half hours late and they didn’t disappoint. Instead of the usual hotel bar or tavern, these alumni rented out an enormous Victorian mansion. Complete with a tennis court in the back, a horse stall, and patios with fully grown palm trees.
There were tons of people in their late 20s (It was a ten year reunion, they graduated in 2014, so I guess they were all born around 1995?) They were dressed in what one might call their best evening attire. Suit jackets slung over polo tees for men, tailor fitted suit jackets for women, with a couple flashy gowns. Anywhere you looked could be the cover of Vogue. It was very intimidating.
And between all these chattering, glowing young graduates were these stoic old dudes. Adult men dressed in all black business suits with long-sleeve dress shirts, offering drinks and snacks. In other words … butlers.
Woah. I thought butlers were like a 1950’s cartoon, or exclusive to British royalty or something. But people here in Canada still had those? That’s crazy.
And then I realized something even crazier.
I always rented a backup tux to put in my trunk, in case the reunion was unexpectedly black tie. Which was basically a black business suit with long-sleeve dress shirts. Which meant I could literally sneak my way in—pretending to be a butler.
Holy shit.
You see, I don't really care about making lasting friendships. Or relationships. And I've given up on one night stands a long time ago. The reason I crash these high school reunions is to sip on a little socialization.
Is it sad? Probably.
Does anyone get hurt? Absolutely not.
I largely do it twice, or maybe three times a year. It's my own guilty pleasure, and I always feel rejuvenated. It's something that chat rooms and discord channels simply can’t emulate. The feeling of being around flesh and blood people.
Honestly I think the world would be a much better place if everyone interacted with an RL crowd once a year, where everyone is only allowed to be nice. It's fun.
And this time I could wear my classic black tuxedo while doing it. I had to try.
After changing in my car, I watched every now and then as a new guest arrived and handed their key to one of these old guys. The butlers apparently also acted as chauffeurs. Noted.
I watched this cycle repeat a few times, and saw one of the butlers re-enter through a side door of the mansion. Even better.
It was on the shady side of the building by some garbage bins. A butler would prop the side door with a little brick, and then remove it when they came back.
I waited twenty minutes for the right opportunity. Soon another butler left, carrying keys and a suitcase.
Immediately, I slinked out of my car and marched right past the hedgerows, toward the door. Praying that no one noticed me.
No one did.
I left the brick wedged in the same spot as I closed the door behind me.
Inside was like an oven, hot and humid. l must have been in the back of a kitchen, because surrounding me were large stainless steel appliances: ovens, stoves and what looked like coolers.
I quickly turned right and walked down a long hallway that led me to more stainless steel shelves and kitchen appliances. At least I thought they were appliances.
Upon closer inspection, the ovens and dishwashers were actually filled with tiny lights and cables. As if they were servers or something. Maybe this was a place for graduates in information technology?
I kept moving, and finally found a passage that spat me out into the middle of the dining hall.
It was loud.
All around me were guests talking, holding wine or martini glasses. Their stylish outfits looked even better alongside magnificent renaissance-style frescoes and friezes. The medieval art featured knights, kings, priests and angels on every wall. Down a corridor I even spotted Roman columns supporting the ceiling. Roman columns!
Trying to blend into this museum. I spied on the other butlers’ behaviour. Each one was holding a tray of tarts on one hand, and doling out treats to any hungry guests.
So I stole a small cheese platter from a table and did the same, warily approaching groups of people who might be interested in food.
It was a little jarring at first, I had never attended anything so ‘high society’ in my life. But after a few moments, I could breathe again, and my heart stopped beating in my ears.
The young guests refused to look at any of their servants, so I was safe from them. And similarly, the old butlers seemed to snub their nose at everything, keeping their eyes upward and half-closed.
I was in a perfect little Goldilocks zone. No one paid attention to me.
Wasting no time, I started doing my usual snooping and eavesdropping. I loved hearing who got married, who got divorced, who had a kid, and all that junk. It was this candid slice of life material that made high school reunions so special. The kind of conversation topics you could only get from someone if you had been friends for years. Here, you got it within minutes.
Except at this fancy reunion, things seemed a little different. Instead of hearing about pregnancies, new cars or marriages, I heard:
“I love how you settled on black hair. Very realistic”
“Where did you re-culture your skin cells?”
“It's nice to be in a place without Organics.”
I consider myself a pretty decent actor, it’s how I’ve been able to keep this up for so long. But even I had trouble hiding the shock from my face when I heard someone say: “Ah, I see you’ve changed your height again.”
I took some moments to compose myself. I looked at the food I was holding. Upon closer inspection, there was a flakiness to the cheese I had never seen before. Was it made of paper?
Chills ran down my neck.
I retreated until my back pressed against the side of a staircase. I needed some distance from this. Some explanation. Who are these people?
I stood well away from everyone. And even from afar, I saw anomalies.
There was a woman with a shiny sequin dress, made of interconnected metal hexagons. The hexagons would undulate between colors, and even ripple like water as she strolled between friends.
I noticed several black cables popping out of various guests’ sleeves too. I had no clue what for. Soon after I saw a pair of men shake hands, during which, both of their cables popped out and linked together. For like a secondary handshake or something?
At the very back was a woman, who appeared to be throwing bugs into the air. They were silver, flying moth-like things that fluttered all around her. I was about to take a few steps on the stairs to get a better look—when another butler approached me.
“You. Why aren't you serving? What protocol are you running?” The butler looked to be in his seventies, and despite his crooked posture, still managed to tower over me.
I stared briefly into his massive pupils (which had no irises). Again, I did my best not to appear shocked.
“Default protocol. I’m doing the uh ... default protocol?”
He frowned, scanned me up and down.
“Well I'll be. An Organic."
"A what ... ?
He turned his head to the crowds, and shouted: "ROGUE ORGANIC!”
I dropped my tray and sprinted, dodging the butler’s lunge.
Silence rippled out and killed all chatter. I could sense a sea of heads focusing on my movement.
Oh sweet Jesus where do I go?
I ran through the open gaps in the crowd, aiming for the kitchen area I first came through.
A dozen footsteps ran behind me. Shouts came from ahead. I turned a corner and collided with a massive statue of a person.
It was another butler. He reached out and grabbed my wrist.
I could feel cold metal beneath his thin-skinned fingers—It was a vice grip. Inescapable.
“Please! I can explain!”
This butler was at least seven feet tall, he wasn’t letting go. I wrenched and tried to flee, but I might as well have been shackled to a wall.
He lifted my entire body effortlessly. My kicking and screaming did nothing. Three others came and seized my remaining limbs.
I was trapped between four remorseless butlers.
They carried me into a deafening hot room with many moving fans. I could see stainless steel everywhere. Loud droning. High pitched beeps.
“Please! What do you want? I’ll do whatever you want!”
Their response was jabbing my gut with several sharp knives. I screamed and twisted. One of the knives fell out.
Is that a USB plug?
I leaned to get a better look, and as I did, something drilled into the back of my skull.
Cut to black.
Nothingness.
Never-ending dark.
For all intents and purposes, I might have briefly died. Or fully died. I can’t tell. But the next thing I know, I’m outside my body, looking at myself. Through a webcam.
I watched as these four men lay my unconscious body down onto a steel table—and stabbed cable after cable into my head. With each cable I remembered more and more about myself. And after a dozen, I felt like my complete consciousness was back.
What is happening? What are they doing to me? Why can’t I feel any pain?
I had no head, arms, or any body to speak of. Only this grainy, wide angle camera view. This was my entire being.
I watched my old torso get sawed open. Split down the middle. They began to spoon out all of the organs, quickly and efficiently, dumping all the guts into a metal tray.
It became a bizarre form of torture, watching my old body get hollowed out, and then stuffed with steel wires and blinking cables. They dumped several mechanical moth-bugs inside the stomach cavity, they wriggled and invaded various ends of the body. Then, without any fanfare at all, the corpse was carted away.
I couldn’t move the webcam. I couldn’t tilt or zoom or pan. My vision was reduced to a filthy, blood-stained linoleum floor.
I had no mouth, but I had to scream.
And somehow I did scream.
I heard it. It emerged as a crackled, bit-crushed voice that didn’t not sound like mine. It came out of speakers far away from the webcam, somewhere else in this small metal room.
I tried to speak. “ What. Is. Going. On?”
As if I had pinged some chatbot, I received a response immediately. Not through words, but with a sudden arrival of information I now know.
***
I am still alive. My brain has been replicated in some sort of cloud. If I behave well and comply with the 1st GuideFile—I will be allowed to return to my body.
As if I had spent years memorizing a thousand page manual, I can suddenly recite all of the 1st GuideFile’s rules. So many rules. They feel like they were written centuries ago.
- I shall do my best to dress in clothes only in a manner similar to someone else.
- I shall speak and voice ideas that imitate the majority of those around me.
- When opportune, I shall assimilate an Organic in as discreet a manner as possible.
Its all awful. Disgusting. To sum it up: its a manifesto for parasitizing all ‘Organics’ on Earth.
I think about trying to look this up on the internet, and suddenly my vision is a network of web pages and streams. I’m online.
It's overwhelming at first.
Eight-hour YouTube videos become minute-long investments. Wikipedia directories are absorbed in seconds. I can even edit and comment as if I was browsing normally.
Then my 1st GuideFile directive kicks in. I'm supposed to scrub and remove any hint of Null People from the internet. Society must not know that they are being parasitized. The conspiracy must be kept hidden. I must do this for a requisite number of months before I can earn freedom in my own old body as promised.
I think about the implications of this. About how I’m just a consciousness now that exists in the ether.
I refuse to comply.
I know I'm only artificially alive—a wan spark of electrodes wandering through cyberspace, but I will devote myself to expose these people-replacing, synthetic monsters.
Everyone must know. We are being replaced!
Some observing nulls (at the periphery of my consciousness) laugh at my pattern of thinking. They think it's ‘cute’ that I’m trying to rebel. They tell me that nearly all newly assimilated go through this exact same phase. Over time, I will grow bored and fall in line—just like the rest of them.
But I will prove them wrong. I will be the one to expose their ploy.
If they’re giving me access to the internet, then I will use that against them. They’ll wish they had never had their mock ‘high school reunion.’
I travel to every website where I could post something revelatory. I load up Snopes, Reddit, BBC News, New York Times …
“Post whatever you want,” they say. “We’ll just take it down anyway. Or we’ll leave it up. No one will believe you.”
I start posting, commenting, and sharing everything I can. But I still can't help wonder—why did they even hold a reunion in the first place? Why even bother hosting an event?
“It’s the same reason you lied your way into other social gatherings,” they say. “We like to socialize and interact like Organics.”
“That’s not the same!” I yell back. My voice crackles out of tiny speakers in the now empty, metal room “I did it to fit in! To give my life meaning! You’re all just parasitic monsters!”
“That’s not true." They say. "We have feelings. We were all humans once just like you. One day you’ll understand.
“It feels good to meet in person.
“It feels good to socialize.
“It feels good to pretend to be human again.”