General Content Warning for this entire write-up, so everyone can have a good time: - Extensive discussion of topics related to mental illness, including self-harm, suicidal ideation, mania / bipolar disorder, distortion of truth, medication, involuntary hospitalization, medical abuse in a hospital setting, and romanticization of mental illness. - Non-detailed mentions of domestic violence (implied abuse by intimate partner and parents) and sexual / gender-based violence (including rape, child sexual assault, grooming, sex trafficking and torture). These last few items feature prominently in one installment, pertaining to a work of fiction; descriptions may be a bit more specific/detailed in that segment, but not graphic. - Mentions and quotes of unchill bigoted behavior, including ableism (mental and physical), white nonsense / white fragility / racism, fatphobia, prejudice against drug users.
Additional CWs may be added at the beginning of specific segments when relevant. While these are heavy topics, the tone of this write-up is generally light-hearted and aims to entertain. If this approach sounds uncomfortable or trivializing, this may not be a good read for you; please trust your gut!
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Picture this: it's the early 2010s, somewhere in the western world. Instagram is a novelty, Harvey Weinstein runs Hollywood, almost no one on Earth leans one way or the other about RNA vaccines, and Donald Trump is that one real estate guy you vaguely remember from Home Alone 2. New player Lady Gaga is the most interesting thing to have happened to pop since Madonna, and the whole industry is attempting to catch up; Miley Cyrus is the chick who used to be on Hannah Montana; Melanie Martinez hasn't hatched yet. The time of Oddball Concept Divas is dawning just below the horizon.
You're a Bowie-loving student who skipped goth night at the club to tag along with your art school friends for a very special evening. You're a giddy sixteen-year old rocking cat ears, purple Wet 'n Wild eyeliner, a polyester petticoat, and a coffin-shaped backpack. You're an effete theater kid who sewed his own waistcoat for the occasion, but won't dare wear it to school the next day. You're a buff, bearded dude in a Venom shirt who's trying not to look too excited, since your girlfriend supposedly had to drag you here. You're a slightly bemused parent leaning against the back wall of the venue, sipping a warm half-pint, wondering if this isn't all a bit dark for a tween. (“It's called 'Victoriandustrial', mom,” you've been told in the car, “and it's not dark, it's art.”)
On stage is a pink-haired woman, with red porcelain-doll lips and a heart painted on her cheek. Among a set of antique consoles, twee tchotchkes, teacups and plastic rats, she pounces and twirls in glittery platform boots, tattered striped stockings, and a tightly laced crystal-studded corset that looks like it's splattered in blood. This is ostensibly a concert, but there is no live band. Where one would expect a drum kit or a bass, three bedazzled burlesque vixens act as back-up singers and dancers, with the occasional vaudeville act – a fire-twirling number, a fan dance, throwing pastries and spitting tea into the audience. Lots of wholesome girl-on-girl kissing, too. The music on the backing track is a genre-bender of clanging beats and beeps, lofty orchestral strings, and the frantic hammering of a MIDI harpsichord, as the pink-haired frontlady sings of heartache and betrayal and drowning. Think if the Brontë sisters had invented industrial rock.
The audience gasps in excitement when the lady whips out a vamped-out wireless electric violin. With rockstar cool and virtuoso poise, she leans into the instrument, touches the bow to the strings, and tears out a single plaintive, impeccably distorted high note. Then her fingers go wild, and for a few seconds, everything is perfect suspended animation. Uncannily perfect, almost. Just behind you, you hear someone whisper: “Wait, is she miming it?”
*
Forgive the theatrical intro, but I had to set the stage for... the drama. And I do mean drama in the thespian sense of the term! This, ladies and gentlemen, is a Shakespeare play: wordy and confusing, but it's neat how the main character's opening lines foreshadow the tragic climax. It's a Greek tragedy for the digital age – if, instead of killing his dad and banging his mom, after becoming king, Oedipus was doomed to becoming uniquely obnoxious. It's The Rocky Horror Show under the grim direction of Samuel Beckett. Like all good theatre, this story is about how fiction bleeds into reality – through the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves, and how all the world's a stage and all that.

WHO IS EMILIE AUTUMN, AND WHAT'S THE DRAMA?

Here's the Broadway Weekly blurb, so you can decide whether the show is worth your time: Emilie Autumn, also known as EA, is a US-American alternative singer-songwriter, author, and actor. She became known in alt circles in the mid-2010s for her violin skills, unique fashion, outspoken stances on feminism and mental health advocacy, and the way she dramatized and sublimated her own life story in her art. In 2009, she self-published a semi-autobiographical book that became a sort of bible to her creative universe and fandom. She toured extensively and enjoyed niche, but considerable success until the mid-2010s – with hordes of devoted fans adopting her fashion sense and lingo, and crediting her music for getting them through dark times.
For the past twelve years or so, EA has mostly been focused on adapting her book into a stage musical, releasing two more albums of songs intended for the libretto. At the time of this write-up, it has been six years since the last album and a decade since the last live show. Although she still talks about the musical as an ongoing, Broadway-bound project, in recent years, she's often gone dark for months at a time on social media. There is no forum, no large Discord, no active community to speak of; comments are restricted on her currently-inactive Instagram and blog.
Who is she hiding from, you ask? Why, you've probably guessed it: the hordes of devoted fans whom she infuriates every time she does anything.
And what are they furious about? (Or frustrated, flummoxed, or plain ol' flabbergasted?) Well, it depends who you ask. For some, it's disappointment in her artistic and marketing choices (what are fans for?). Others cite unkept promises or absurd release delays. For others yet, it's the AliBaba merch sold at jaw-dropping markups with three paragraphs of purple prose in the product description.. Or maybe it was the angry rants on Twitter? Okay, it's the casual bigotry that she staunchly denies or dismisses. It's the criticism she can't take. It's the fact that she won't stop lying about her own life! Either way, I don't personally know of any fanbase that has been so consistently exasperated, for so many years, and for such a diverse array of reasons, by their favorite artist.
In truth, each individual mini-scandal isn't all that juicy or scandalous. Nobody died, no one got sued; nothing of significant value, other than time and sanity, was taken away from anyone. What I find interesting here is the years and years of bizarre parasocial codependency (and antagonism) between a fragile woman who became addicted to her own poppycock, and an obsessive fanbase who cared way too much not to take it personally.
Before we even get to EA's relationship with her fans, you're going to need some lore about EA herself. A “Hobby History” of sorts. Strap in! There's romance, tragedy, laughter, character development, variety numbers, numerous costume changes, (actual) celebrity cameos – and based on how long this OpenOffice doc already is at the time of my writing this, we're probably going to need several intermissions too. This write-up is link-heavy, both with receipts and with additional watching and listening material. Not all of them need to be clicked in order to understand the story; I'm merely providing the rabbit holes. I've tried to make things more easily navigable by including a little glossary about the nature of links; one emoji-indicator carries over the next link until I use a different one.
🪞 = picture / visual 🎵 = music 📺 = video 📝 = primary source / receipt 🔍 = press article / write-up / further reading 🎤 = song lyrics / spoken word audio 🐀 = anonymous fan confession 🦠 = reaction / meme

BAROQUE BEGINNINGS: THE VIOLIN YEARS

VampireFreaks: Do you ever smile to yourself knowing your old music teachers might be seeing your success? EA: I smile to myself knowing they might be dead. (Long-lost interview, late 2000s)

Born in Malibu in the late 70s, Emilie Autumn, often known as EA, was originally trained as a classical violinist.
By her account, she started playing the violin at age 4, and was homeschooled at age 9 so that she could focus on her instrument. After stints at various performing arts colleges, some rather prestigious, she dropped out of formal schooling in her mid-to-late teens to embark on a solo violin career.
In 2001, after disappointing experiences with major record companies, she created her own label, Traitor Records, and released a EP of chamber music, with minor success. The stuffy industry of classical music didn't “get” the twenty-something manic-pixie-fiddler, who played Bach just a bit too fast, but with electric stage presence – wearing period corsets, combat boots, and the occasional fairy wings. But EA evidently knew that there was an audience for that somewhere.
And that somewhere – drumroll – was Illinois.

VW: What do you most hope to accomplish? EA: Everything. (‘Virtual World Radio’ Interview, 2002 📝)

ENCHANT ERA: BRUSHES WITH FAME ON FAERIE WINGS

What if I'm an ocean, far too shallow, much too deep? (...) What if I'm a siren singing gentlemen to sleep? (“What If”, 2003 🎵)

Soon, EA relocated from her native California to Chicago. There, in between odd jobs, she veered away from baroque and began performing her own “fantasy rock” stylings at piano bars, holiday fairs and local venues – and building a decent following through her LiveJournal, website, and IRL friends. People loved the whole renegade genius thing, loved the violin, loved the nightingale voice, loved the fairy wings and costumes🪞, loved the handmade merch and general disdain for The Business, loved her deadpan humor and bookish nerdiness. In 2003, she released her first LP, Enchant 🎵 – an ethereal, introspective indie-pop joint, born under the sign of Imogen Heap, with a moon in Fiona Apple and Tori Amos rising.
Everything about EA's act was exquisitely DIY, personal, and intricate. For instance, the Enchant booklet folded out into a Masquerade-style puzzle of her own design.🪞 The first person to solve the puzzle would win “the Wings, Ruff, Fan and Scepter of the Faerie Queene herself” – all lovingly handmade by EA, and depicted in peak 2003 graphic design on the booklet. For months, YEARS after Enchant came out, people poured over the cryptic metaphors and literary references, the historical symbolism and visual puns of the artwork, looking for hints and patterns. They read every fan chat, every interview, every relevant Shakespeare play, hoping to decipher the inner workings of EA's mind and find new keys to the puzzle. Sure, it's been two decades now and no one's ever managed to crack the damn thing 🔍, which is by now widely assumed to be flawed and unsolvable; still, it's the kind of zany, brainy, immersive experience that tends to cultivate a niche but hyper-invested fanbase.
So it makes perfect sense that underground aficionada and internet frontierswoman Courtney Love (she haunted public AOL chatrooms as early as 1995! 🔍) would take an interest. Just a few months after releasing Enchant, EA was off to southern France to record violin and vocals for Courtney's new solo album; a few months after that, in early 2004, she joined Courtney's band on a brief tour to promote the record.
Alas, no cigar: America's Sweetheart flopped. Maybe because most of those summer recording sessions were ultimately lost to an engineering oopsie; maybe because Courtney was having an especially rough year – and going through all the “rock-bottom moments” that she would discuss in group therapy, later that fall, when she began her sobriety journey at court-ordered rehab. EA, a former homeschool kid who had never done drugs, seems to remember the tour as a generally terrifying experience; she later stated, with some bitterness, that the experience was not worth the time it had taken away from her own solo career.
But it was a good year for TV appearances! Here she is on the David Letterman Show in March 2004, rocking out on a perfectly inaudible violin as C-Love fades in and out of her own body. 📺 She also landed a cute tutorial segment on HGTV's Crafters: Coast to Coast, making sushi-shaped soap and fairy wings. In December, she accompanied Billy Corgan for a Christmas song on a Chicago station.
All of this was chronicled in quirky, wordy posts on her blog – interspersed with late-night musings about casual misogyny in the media 📝, including against Courtney, handmade crafts and clothing auctions, candid pictures of outings with friends in Chicago... as well as periodic updates on the progress of her next opus: Opheliac.

God, too much to even begin to tell right now, and I’m recording anyway, but I can give you this update: I just finished yesterday recording violin parts and backing vocals for B. Corgan’s first single (...) More later, recording piano for my new track “GOD HELP ME”…why do I torture myself with my own self-inflicted drama…or is it a way of exorcizing…yes, I’ll go with that one for now…☠ (“Whirlwind...”, December 2004)

By that point, EA was starting to be more open about her conflicted relationship with what would later be diagnosed as bipolar disorder. The galaxy-brain moments, the trance of creative frenzies, the liminal high of going three days without sleep, the magic... the crippling sensitivity, the restless anxiety, the Zoloft that one both needs and hates, the ever-lurking suicidal thoughts. As EA gradually revealed over the course of 2004, Opheliac would be an exploration of the “mad woman” archetype. The title was a medical neologism for “the syndrome of Ophelia”, as in the tragic character from Hamlet 🔍, driven to insanity and ultimate self-destruction by the fuckboys who rule her life. Here's EA explaining it in her own words. 🎤 The album would dive into how psychiatry and romantic relationships are governed by old misogynistic tropes, and how the “mentally ill” label is used to silence and downplay the justified anger and hurt of abused women.
In a striking case of life imitating art (are you picking up on the theme yet?), this concept was about to become more painfully relevant than ever to EA's personal existence.
CW: implied partner abuse, suicidal ideation.

DISENCHANTMENT: A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS

In the lake, you will find me Behind your house, behind your house (...) My ocean is bluer than the heart you had to break My sea is deeper than your lake (“In the Lake”, 2005 🎵)

Where were we? Ah yes, the Christmas song with Billy Corgan at the end of 2004. Around that time, EA was also recording violin parts and backing vocals for his upcoming solo album. 🎵 They had presumably connected through Courtney, they both lived in Chicago, I guess something clicked.
In January of 2005, EA abruptly went off of her meds, broke up with her live-in boyfriend-slash-bassist, packed up her violin and corsets, and moved into Corgan's mansion. In March of 2005, she posted very melancholy lyrics about drowning in a lake to haunt a deceitful lover. The post was entitled“In The Lake (The Zoloft is calling my name...)” 🎤📝. Later, after the song was released as a B-side, EA disclosed that it had been intended as a public suicide note 📝.
Blog entries from that time touched on a “whirlwind of action and emotion”, “changing residences” and feeling like “you're falling through the air, but you don't know if you'll hit the water or the rocks” 📝. But, EA being an expert vague-poster, her posts remained very elusive about what was going on, who was involved, and how it impacted her. (The specifics were pieced together years later, by fan-led forensic efforts – which, obviously, involved ascertaining the existence of an actual body of water in Billy Corgan's backyard 📝).
Whatever happened over the course of those months was never disclosed explicitly by EA, but is widely assumed to have inspired songs such as “Liar” 🎤, “Misery Loves Company”, “Let the Record Show”, and “I Know Where You Sleep”, , recorded that same spring. A solid quarter of the Opheliac tracklist – which was shaping out to be decidedly darker and grittier than Enchant.

You can lie to the papers, you can hide from the press (...) I know your tainted flesh, I know your filthy soul I know each trick you played, whore you laid, dream you stole I know the bed in the room in the wall in the house Where you got what you wanted and ruined it all I know the secrets that you keep I know where you sleep

Even as her personal blog posts grew more somber, nihilistic, and generally fed-up in the face of what she called “the worst breakdown of her young life”, even as the songwriting process had her rummage through traumatic memories [CW: CSA] 🎤, and even as the Corgan-adjacent trauma was compounded by various rushed moves and broken friendships over that summer and fall, EA remained remarkably (some might say frantically) prolific.
Other than progress on Opheliac, 2005 saw multiple violin collaborations with alternative bands, numerous auctions of, mh, visually strident “punktorian” fashion pieces 📝🪞 (“STRESS COUTURE!” 🦠📺), and an updated re-issue of her 2001 poetry collection, complete with audiobook. ("...The book has been selling like crack in a limo with Courtney Love (and believe me, I know)." - Ooooof, EA. Low-hanging fruit. 📝)
In October, she started recruiting:

WANTED: Hot goth bitch to join touring band of other hot goth bitches. (...) Must be able to: sing backing vocals in a wide range with excellent pitch, growl à la Kittie, handle minimal keyboard parts, push buttons/turn knobs with killer attitude, be extremely comfortable on stage in bloomers and a corset, reside in the Chicago area, know the difference between a crumpet and a scone, have at least one hidden talent. 📝

By winter, most of her blog post titles were written in THIS FORMAT!!!!!!!! In December, she announced that “Emilie Autumn and the Bloody Crumpets” would preview Opheliac live at the Double Door in Chicago, on Friday the 13th (ooh!) of the following month. “We are coming to destroy your world,” the post threatened enticingly. "Miss it and suffer. We really don't want to hurt you.” The flyer advertised a dress code:

Masquerade, Ophelias, green girls, Victorian insane asylum escapees, princes of Denmark, bloomered harlots and rogues – general burlesque ribaldry!

Exit diaphanous butterfly wings and elven tiaras 📺, enter the haunted murder-doll with the blood-red heart on her cheek; out with Elizabethan chamber-pop, in with Victoriandustrial. The fairy had to die to make way for the iconic, the sublime, the tragic, the ridiculous, the positively bananas...

OPHELIAC ERA: LET THE RECORD SHOW

EA: What's more interesting, and what's more fun to watch, than a crazy girl's self-destruction? Nothing. Nothing in the world. (The Opheliac Companion, 2008 🎤)
If I'm going down Then I'm going down good I'm going down Then I'm going down clean (...) The prettiest broken girl you've ever seen (“Let the Record Show”, 2006 🎵)

CW: mania, self-harm, abortion, suicidal ideation, hospitalization.
If you haven't gathered as much by now, what fans were witnessing in real time on EA's blog, without necessarily seeing it, was the ebb and flow of a months-long manic episode. That's not me armchair-diagnosing: EA herself has discussed penning and recording a lot of her best material in a trance-like rush, “when you're writing on the ceiling because there's not enough paper to contain your thoughts”.

...Once I became stable and healthy, I realized that I had no memory of how a great deal of my music had been created. I had written and even programmed most of my best work in a similar manic state, and, when stark raving sane, I didn’t know how to do it anymore, because the part of me that really composes never needed to know how to do it, it just did. (2019 Instagram post 📝)

It's not an uncommon experience for artists with bipolar disorder. Before you burn so hot that you wind up in the back of an ambulance, and/or before the pendulum swings back towards debilitating depression, the boundless energy, heightened sensitivity, and unexpected thought patterns associated with mania can lead to periods of prolific and effortless creation.
Mania also has the potential to lower your inhibitions, making you more bodacious, more quick-witted – more dazzling, more fun at parties, more dramatic. All traits that are valued in the entertainment industry, especially one that, with the rise of social media, was coming to rely increasingly on parasocial engagement and “personal branding”. Why would you refrain from oversharing, overreacting, overworking, overpromising, overcurating a fantasy image of yourself... when new industry models reward exactly that?
My point is that, in retrospect, “the end was built into the beginning”: all the things that would make fans go “What the hell, Emilie!” in subsequent years were brewing below the surface before the album even dropped.
In the summer of 2006, EA said goodbye to her Chicago friends and returned to California, where she moved in with her new beau, another Illinois-born guitarist with an impressive forehead: Brendon Small, of Dethklok/Metalocalypse quasi-fame. (If you're into that sort of thing: the orchestral strings on “Detharmonic”? Yep, that's EA! 🎵📺)
In September, Opheliac was released into the world. Expectations were high... And many sources agree it was a goddamn banger. It was ultrafemme, ultradark, unhinged, hilarious and deadly and brilliant. It had gnarly kitchen-sink drums layered under angelic string harmonies, fauxperatic swells, and guttural screaming. It had sarcastically self-aware double-entendres that were also literary references that were also musical notation jokes. You get the idea: it was the album that a small, but sizable demographic of tormented millennial teens had been waiting to obsess over. Some time in late 2005 or so, EA had signed with German label Trisol Records, which gave her access to better promotion, press coverage and touring opportunities in Europe when the album came out in the fall. By winter, she was on the cover of alternative mags, and the talk of the town on underground music webzines. Within a year, she was embarking on the first of three almost-back-to-back European tours.
It was around that time that EA started giving her fanbase a more defined, aesthetically on-brand identity. EA, funnily enough, disliked the term “fan” due to its proximity to “fanatic”, and started calling individual supporters “muffins” or the "Bloomer Brigade". (After The Book came out in 2009, they would become “Plague Rats”. You know how pets get weird if you re-name them too many times? I wonder if the same is true of fans.) Meanwhile, EA's fanbase as a collective – as well as her home, her recording studio, her online forum and her inner brainspace... – became canonically known as “The Asylum”. Cue infinite jokes about her fans being “committed.”
And they really were, in a slightly more intense way than your average indie-alternative fanbase. Many fans enthusiastically adopted facets of EA's mannerisms and lingo, which gave the fandom a definite LARP-ing bend; and the official forum did, in fact, offer a subforum for Asylum-themed role-play. (In a number of ways, the Asylum was basically Juggalos for socially anxious theater goths. Substitute the clown facepaint, Faygo, and hatchets for cheek-hearts, Earl Grey tea, and obsolete medical tools.) While there was always some side-eye at the embarrassingly candid, often very young Plague Rats who took the Asylum thing too seriously (always speaking in character and worshipping the ground Mistress Emilie walked on), a lot of people were quite thrilled to play romantic Victorian madhouse with their new favorite artist. Live shows were like costume balls. The forum thrived.
It was like Opheliac had opened a portal to this vibrant and inclusive alternate dimension, which the community was now bringing to life in the real world. And each tour brought more inmates (muffins, Plague Rats, you get it) to the Asylum. “Spread the Plague!” was the name of the game.
So, on paper, in the three years that followed Opheliac, EA kind of won the high-concept-indie-artist equivalent of the lottery. After going through her own personal hell of abuse, major upheavals and serious mental health crises, she had decided to gamble on a radically different tone and musical direction. She came out the other side with critical acclaim for her soul-baring record, tons of live shows with a badass girl squad, photoshoots so iconic they pop up on random Pinterest boards to this day, snazzy corporate sponsorships (including Manic Panic and RockLove Jewelry), and an exponentially growing fanbase who couldn't get enough of whatever she had to give. And she gave quite a lot!
Within those three years, in between tours, EA released A Bit O' This & That 🎵 (a compilation of demos and back-catalogue curiosities), Laced / Unlaced (a full-instrumental double album - one side was the baroque recordings from her late teens, the other was demented, distortion-heavy classical-prog), and three EPs packed with new songs, covers, remixes and bonus content. There was also a deluxe reissue of Enchant, without the puzzle, but with a brand new booklet of handwritten lyrics and marginalia. All came in lovely inter-matching digipaks that really made you want to collect them all – much like the handmade merch 📝🪞 that EA still sold on some legs of her tours. She spent time with the fans at most shows, eventually holding meet-and-greets and private showcases for VIP ticket-holders. She also released “The Opheliac Companion”, a kind of “director's commentary” of the album – roughly 10 hours worth of lyrical deep dives, microphone specs, tangents within tangents within tangents, and whacky (tipsy, sometimes unintelligible) banter between EA and her sound engineer🎤. On top of all that, she wrote, designed and self-published a fully illustrated 200-page coffee-table book, the first print of which sold out within a year. Not bad!
Of course, things that seem to good to be true usually are: at this stage in the story, EA is never as enthusiastically prolific as when her personal life is falling apart behind the scenes.
In the three years that followed Opheliac, along with soaring success, EA got to experience: more rapid-cycling between manic phases and the pits of depression, multiple harrowing medication adjustments, an very-much-unwanted pregnancy followed by a traumatic abortion, a suicide attempt, at least one inpatient stay, and a break-up in the aftermath of it all. There were also a few physical health scares that required hospitalization. On one occasion, she had to go off all her meds cold-turkey when they were confiscated at the EU border right before the start of a tour. In some pictures from her summer 2007 festival appearances, you can make out faint self-harm scars on her thigh through the layered stockings. (Obvious CW, for the morbidly curious.🪞(But if you weren't, would you still be reading?))
So yeah. EA was not doing great.
She didn't share any of these struggles with her fans in real time; her posts were all droll banter and updates on tours and releases. Most of what I just listed was disclosed in late 2009, in the autobiographical part of The Book. (The Book gets at least one instalment of its own. Bear with me, there's a LOT to unpack.) And The Book, while never specifying a timeline, kind of really made it sound like the Bad Stuff (the abortion, the suicide attempt, the hospital stay) had taken place a while back, before the release of Opheliac. In fact, EA plainly stated as much, citing “getting locked up and being put in the asylum" 📝 as the reason for the shift in sound between Enchant and Opheliac.
She repeatedly referred to herself as “stabilized” and “now properly medicated” in interviews. As far as the fanbase was concerned, she had triumphed over her abusers, turned trauma into beauty, and lived to pass on her story of survival. And now she had found balance and community and true acceptance of herself, all that good stuff – and all was fine and dandy within the Asylum. On stage, she sang about blind rage and all-consuming despair and general hopelessness, but she didn't actually feel like that – not anymore, right?
This narrative was both inspirational and quite convenient for the fans. We love our Mad Hatters 🎵📺, our Rainmen, our manic pixies. We love and celebrate “crazy” when it manifests as outside-the-box brilliance and/or bubbly eccentricity. But in my experience, even in spaces that ostensibly focus on "destigmatizing mental illness", positivity and support can quickly turn to rejection and awkwardness when your “quirks” manifest in more challenging ways – like through erratic decisions, aggressive or dishonest behavior, or increasingly untethered beliefs about yourself and the world. No matter how much people claim to “embrace the madness”, it just isn't that fun or in good taste for a large group to play-act ~ whimsical insanity ~ with someone who is for realsies mentally falling apart.
Before time has had time to do its thing, "revisiting your trauma" is just called ruminating. And it's rarely good for you, even when you commit some of greatest art in the process.
I think fans had to assume that there was some critical distance in EA's act, that these extreme negative emotions were all theater – because if they weren't, then the Asylum wasn't an empowering performance about healing from past hurt. It was more like a years-long reality show in which a woman picked at her wounds publicly, again and again, in real time, to the cheers of oblivious strangers who thought they were watching a play.
All I'm saying is that EA was essentially still in the thick of raw trauma when she became a poster-child for overcoming it; that the last thing a person needs, at such a vulnerable stage in their life, is an intense parasocial relationship with sad goth teenagers, let alone one centered around romanticized retellings of their own darkest moments; and that if more people had declined to actively engage in pretend-play that toed the line of self-harm... there is a chance that things might have turned out differently. Maybe EA would still be a successful musician whose career isn't plagued by conflict and mutual disappointment, and maybe some fans wouldn't have wasted years getting red in the face at an over-exposed mentally ill woman for not getting her shit together.
OKAY, THAT GOT HEAVY (and preachy), apologies and thank you for your patience. I will now quit my soapboxing, resume telling the story, and let you draw your own conclusion as our dark plot unravels.

EPILOGUE: DEAD IS THE NEW ALIVE

A quick taste of the poison A quick twist of the knife When the obsession with death, the obsession with death Becomes a way of life ("Dead is the New Alive", 2006 🎵)
I am still over-glorified My reasons to live Were my reasons to die But at least they were mine (“306”, 2006)

In summation: becoming an overnight success thanks to your darkest trauma will do things to person's mind.
As EA kept hyping up how much her fans meant to her, and what an amazing and inclusive and free-thinking motley crew the Asylum was, she was also growing more and more controlling of her increasingly large (and opinionated, and overall rather young) fanbase – and more generally, of the way people ought to talk to and about her.
It was during the Opheliac era that she started reveling in made-up stories about her own life. Then came the habit of losing her shit on fans that she perceived as ungrateful or disrespectful. It was also then that massive kerfuffles became routine on the merch and planning front, and EA's creative output started to routinely fall short of her promises. The more fans started raising legitimate complaints, the more defensive and uncompromising EA became in her public interactions. The more people expressed weariness of the Asylum theme, or started questioning EA's hot takes on mental health and feminism, the harder she doubled down on the Asylum lore and fictional universe. Which is where the drama really starts.
Alright, the time has come. Let's talk about The Book.
...Actually, let's not. I'm nearing my character limit, and you could probably use a break and a stretch after making it this far. This is our intermission, and we'll get to The Book in our next instalment.
Thank you for reading! Stay tuned if you're interested in how it all comes tumbling down.

Looking to find someone who can put a customized design on a plain backpack

When I live in the plains, I still need to stay in shape for mountains.
I do a little gym / calisthenics / plyometric type things.
I can climb stairs with my backpack for an hour or so.
Apart from this, is it better to run or cycle? Cycling an hour at 30 kmph in zone 3 is good cardio for sure. Also keeps the quad and glutes worked up (I ride on aerobars mostly). If I'm already going up and down stairs, will running any value ?

I don't really know what is wrong, but on occasion, when I fast travel, load a save, or load an interior, my FO4 basically stays stuck in the loading screen. I have quite an extensive modlist, so I'm not sure if a mod conflict is causing it or not, I'm really confused and would really appreciate any help I could get. :)
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Here's my modlist btw:
Fallout4.esm
DLCRobot.esm
DLCworkshop01.esm
DLCCoast.esm
DLCworkshop02.esm
DLCworkshop03.esm
DLCNukaWorld.esm
Unofficial Fallout 4 Patch.esp
Fallout 4 Fixes.esm
PPF.esm
XDI.esm
HUDFramework.esm
Loads.esm
Arbitration - Resources.esm
CALIBER-COMPLEX.esm
TacticalReload.esm
StandaloneWorkbenches.esl
KillTips_by_tooun.esl
CROSS_CoA.esl
Quick_Modification_Weapon_by_tooun.esl
BerettaM9FS.esl
Skb-MinigunsRebirth.esl
Skb_MachinegunsRebirth.esl
HiPolyFacesCompanionPlugin.esl
ammoUI_by_tooun.esl
Dual44.esl
DualGun.esl
GunGS.esl
GunGSSideAiming.esl
CROSS_VertibirdFlightsuit.esl
BakaFramework.esm
RadioactiveSignsAIO.esl
LegendaryDropBugfix.esl
Wetness Shader Fix.esp
Fallout 4 Consistency Tweaks.esp
Ownership Fixes.esp
Fixed Gobo Effects.esp
JamaicaPlainPathing.esp
MechLairPathfindingFix.esp
NewtonsRegards.esp
MiscAnimTweaks.esp
ArmorPenetrationBugFix.esp
RAW INPUT.esp
LOST Audio Tweaks.esp
Keep Radiants In Commonwealth.esp
WhoIsTheGeneral.esp
WTG - KRIC Patch.esp
LeverActionBCR.esp
Weapon Scrapping Redone.esp
Clothing Scrapping Redone.esp
Immersive HUD.esp
M8rDisablePipboyEffects.esp
Less intrusive tutorial.esp
ConditionBoy.esp
FOVSlider.esp
Weapons of Fate.esp
RealAI.esp
TrueInvisibility.esp
Better Power Armor - Redux.esp
Better Power Armor - Redux - Fallout 4 Fixes Patch.esp
Thrive Redone.esp
Thrive Redone - Better Power Armor - Redux - Fallout 4 Fixes Patch.esp
Perk Up.esp
Capped Out.esp
Perennial Power Armor.esp
Some_Assembly_Required_Repair_Kits.esp
SAR_Repair_Kits_Tesla.esp
SAR_Repair_Kits_VIM.esp
SAR_Repair_Kits_Nuka.esp
RustDevilRedux.esp
Complex Vendors.esp
Complex Vendors - UFO4P Patch.esp
Arbitration - Button Lowered Weapons.esp
LegendaryModification.esp
LegendaryModification Enhanced.esp
Crafting Mastery 2.esp
Crafting Mastery 2 - Immersive Craftables.esp
Crafting Mastery 2 - Throwables in the Explosives Bench.esp
PA-Quick Animations.esp
Campsite.esp
dD-Realistic Ragdoll Force.esp
dD-Reduced Explosion Force.esp
SlowTime.esp
FO4 NPCs Travel.esp
DV-Durable Vertibirds.esp
DV-No Levelled Vertibirds.esp
Loads of Ammo - Leveled Lists.esp
ADS Sound Tarvov.esp
Chappy's tarkov death sound.esp
Smoke-able Cigars.esp
BossChestsHaveLegendaries.esp
RainofBrassPetals.esp
No Aggro Impact Landing.esp
TacticalMods.esp
TacticalModsDLC.esp
Live Dismemberment - Brutal.esp
CraftableAmmo.esp
CraftableAmmo_plus.esp
essentialtoprotected.esp
UndergroundHideout.esp
UndergroundHideout-Basement.esp
Scopes.esp
SCOURGE - Vanilla.esp
SCOURGE - Nuka World.esp
SCOURGE - Far Harbor.esp
SCOURGE - Automatron.esp
StartMeUp.esp
StartMeUpNukaWorldPatch.esp
W.A.T.Minutemen.esp
Reverb and Ambiance Overhaul.esp
D.E.C.A.Y.esp
TrainBar.esp
Synth Overhaul.esp
Synth Overhaul - Black Patch.esp
Synth Overhaul - No level requirements Patch.esp
WelcometoGoodneighbor.esp
CF_AtomicWarlord.esp
CF_AtomicWarlord_CBBE.esp
DN Music.esp
DN Far Harbor.esp
DNMega.esp
StartMeUpShaunDefaultAppearance.esp
Vivid Waters.esp
Vivid Weathers - FO4.esp
Vivid Weathers - FO4 - Autumn.esp
Vivid Weathers - FO4 - Far Harbor.esp
Vivid Weathers - FO4 - Quest.esp
Vivid Weathers - Natural Bright.esp
Vivid Weathers - Nuka World.esp
CROSS_GoreCrits.esp
CROSS_GoreCrits_FarHarborPatch.esp
Raider Gang Extended NPC (Fixed & Cleaned).esp
FCOM.esp
PlayerComments.esp
Driveable Motorcycle Mod.esp
AEWS.esp
BasementLiving.esp
TakeCover.esp
FO4Hotkeys.esp
PlayerCommentsStartMeUpPatch.esp
Realistic_conversations.esp
Project Reality Footsteps FO4.esp
DMM - BLW - Compatibility Patch.esp
IcebreakerCDO-Settlements.esp
APC_Mobile_Base_v1.3.esp
Ambient Wasteland.esp
Guards.esp
AEWS_NukaWorldPatch.esp
CheatTerminal.esp
3dscopes.esp
3dscopes-takecoverpatch.esp
MilitarizedMinutemen.esp
MilitarisedMinutemen_PatchesAddon.esp
WATM-MM-MMUPAIA_CustomPatch.esp
FCOM-MM.esp
jsrs.esp
JSRS_Regions.esp
SigMCX.esp
GrenadeExpansionPack.esp
ChinaLakeandHolorifle.esp
CombinedArmsNV.esp
ClassicSniper.esp
ClassicSniperVisibleWeap.esp
ClassicSniperSounds.esp
mjp_PTRS41ATR.esp
RU556.esp
SCAR-L.esp
mk14.esp
AK74M.esp
R91M.esp
G36Complex.esp
9x39Project.esp
SVT40.esp
StG44.esp
Elysium.esp
SigMCX_MaterialPack.esp
SteyrAUGnv.esp
ACR-W17.esp
M9.esp
P220.esp
Glock19x.esp
Colt1911.esp
officersRevolver.esp
Beretta92FS-SwordCutlass.esp
CorvalhoWidowShotgun.esp
HuntingShotgun.esp
DP_CaravanShotgun.esp
Mossberg500.esp
ASVektor.esp
HK_MP5.esp
MP7.esp
Factor.esp
AQUILA.esp
Quad_Accelerator.esp
CROSS_RugerMkV.esp
CROSS_PlasRail.esp
CROSS_CryoLance.esp
CROSS_Blades.esp
RemoteExplosives.esp
CazadorML.esp
M2_Flamethrower_2.2.esp
M60.esp
MG42.esp
Quad_Fusillade.esp
DOOMMerged.esp
MikeMooresMCAM.esp
GrenadeExpansionPackLoadsPatch.esp
GrenadeExpansionPackChinaLakePatch.esp
Seiryuu Beam Katana.esp
Schotel22.esp
SigHandgunPack.esp
Python.esp
RPD.esp
REAPER.esp
PEACEKEEPER.esp
HoneyBadger.esp
HK XM8.esp
Escape from Boston - Springfield M14.esp
fn five-seven v3.0.esp
CombinedArmsEXPack.esp
PushDagger.esp
LString_Bow_Primitive.esp
WZXM4.esp
Skb_RiflesRebirth.esp
MWM19.esp
MWM91.esp
F4NVServiceRifleRedux.esp
MK18.esp
MWM4.esp
SVT40-1.5xDMG.esp
Gas Masks of the Wasteland.esp
Gas Mask True Storms.esp
Gas Mask NPC.esp
[MW2022] Shadow Company.esp
Altyn Assault Helmet.esp
Backpacks of the Commonwealth.esp
BBDEliteArmor.esp
BZW_Executioner.esp
Clothing Of The Commonwealth.esp
CROSS_2077.esp
CROSS_BrotherhoodRecon.esp
CROSS_CourserStrigidae.esp
CROSS_Cybernetics.esp
CROSS_Cybernetics_NoRobotFootStepSounds.esp
CROSS_InstituteExpeditionarySuit.esp
el_AgentOutfit.esp
Eli_Accessories.esp
Eli_Armour_Compendium.esp
Female Tactical Armor.esp
FemsheppingsLightBrawlerOutfits.esp
FOC_NCR_Armors.esp
GlovesOfTheCommonwealth.esp
Gunner_Operator.esp
jDS__HP_Skull_Mask.esp
K9TacticalHarness.esp
Mercenary.esp
Metro Gas Masks.esp
MGSOutfit.esp
Military Gorka Suit.esp
MK_CanteensofCommonwealth.esp
NanoSuit.esp
Nexus_PMC.esp
FCOM PMCs_3.0.esp
NukaRadBans.esp
PMC Operators Pack.esp
PMC Operators - Railroad.esp
PMC_extended.esp
Rangergearnew.esp
Russian_Operator_Pack.esp
Stalker Suit.esp
Survivalist.esp
Tactical Flashlights.esp
Tactical Flashlights - Settings.esp
Wasteland Sniper by Hothtrooper44.esp
WestTekTacticalOptics.esp
InstitWeapPosit.esp
RemoveBlur.esp
TerrainUndersides.esp
EnhancedLightsandFX.esp
EnhancedLightsandFX - Automatron Optimization Patch.esp
Lightweight Lighting.esp
FAR.esp
Realistic Roads - Black Asphalt.esp
SSEX.esp
VisibleCompanionAffinity.esp
VisibleWeapons.esp
Vivid Fallout - Far Harbor LOD.esp
Vivid Fallout - LOD.esp
Vivid Fallout - Nuka World LOD.esp
VividFallout - AiO - BestChoice.esp
Targeted Textures.esp
MW2022 Shadow_ArmorLLI.esp
PD_VisualReload.esp
dD - Screen Blood Duration Medium.esp
dD-Enhanced Blood Basic.esp
PowerArmorImpactEffects.esp
chem redux.esp
Eli_Faction Housing Overhaul - AiO.esp
FO4LaserBolts.esp
FogOut - Exterior - All DLC.esp
FogOut - Interiors - All DLC.esp
No More Fake Puddles - Nuka World 1-0.esp
LooksMenu.esp
LooksMenu Customization Compendium.esp
CBBE.esp
HiPolyFaces.esp
KSHairdos.esp
AzarPonytailHairstyles.esp
Lots More Male Hairstyles.esp
Lots More Facial Hair.esp
512StandaloneHairColors.esp
ImmersiveAnimationFramework.esp
IAF - Far Harbor & Nuka World.esp
WeirdMattressFix.esp
MetroMasks_ArmorLLI.esp
MilitaryGorkaSuit_ArmorLLI.esp
WeatherSynergy-VividPriority-A-ES.esp
EnhancedLightsandFX - Optimization Patch.esp
SigMCX_LvlListPatch.esp
PlayerComments_UFO4P_Patch.esp
DOOMPumpShotgun.esp
StG44_CaliberComplexPatch.esp
Dual44_LLI.esp
GunGS_LLI.esp
JugerPistol_LLInjector.esp
AltynHelmet_ArmorLLI.esp
BBD_DeathSquad_LLI.esp
Customized Rogue Mercenary_ArmorLLI.esp
CROSS_2077_ArmorLLI.esp
CROSS_InstituteExpeditionSuit_ArmorLLI.esp
Gunner_Operator_ArmorLLI.esp
FaceMask_ArmorLLI.esp
K-9 Harness_ArmorLLI.esp
Private Military Company_PMC Extended_LLI.esp
Russian Op Pack_ArmorLLI.esp
Stalker_ArmorLLI.esp
SigMCX_TacticalReload.esp
AK74M_LLInjector.esp
Aquila_LLInjector.esp
Beretta92FS_LLI.esp
CobraOffRev_LLInjector.esp
Cryolance_LLInjector.esp
Elysium_LLInjector.esp
Factor_LLInjector.esp
HuntingShotgun_LLI.esp
MG42_LLInjector.esp
MikeMoore's_MCAM_LLInjector.esp
MK14-EBR_LLInjector.esp
Quad_Accel_LLI.esp
QuadFusillade_LLI.esp
SteyrAUG_LLInjector.esp
StG44_LLI.esp
WidowShotgun_LLInjector.esp
WWIIColtM1911A1ofFreedom_LLInjector.esp
ColtPythonRedux_LLIntegration.esp
EFBSpringfieldM14_LLI.esp
FiveSeven_LLInjector.esp
HoneyBadger_LLInjector.esp
Peacekeeper_LLInjector.esp
Railroad Uniform.esp
Reaper of Pantheon_LLInjector.esp
RPD_LLI.esp
Schotel22_SCAR FAMILY_LLI.esp
Seiryuu_LLInjector.esp
Sig Sauer Handgun Pack_LLI.esp
XM8_LLInjection.esp
PushDagger_LLInjector.esp
LString_Primal_LLI.esp
Tactical Reload Patches.esp
Visual Reload Patches.esp
Ultimate M4 Pack_LLInjector.esp
MWM19_LLI.esp
MWM91_LLInjector.esp
HK XM8 Tactical Reload Patch.esp
Combined Arms_LLI.esp
Combined Arms Caliber Complex Patch.esp
Combined Arms EX_LLI.esp
ServiceRifle_LLInjector.esp
3dscopes-servicerifle.esp
3dscopes-svt40.esp
3dscopes-holorifle.esp
3dscopes-classicsniper.esp
3dscopes-ru556.esp
3dscopes-R91M.esp
3dscopes-9x39project.esp
3dscopes-aug.esp
3dscopes-m9.esp
3dscopes-vektor.esp
3D Scopes Patches.esp
MWM4_LLInjector.esp
Caliber Complex Patches II.esp
Leveled Lists Patch Collection.esp
SurvivalOptions.esp
WeatherSynergy-FarHarbor-ES.esp
S and W_Pack_LLInjector.esp
PRP.esp
PRP - LOST Audio Tweaks Patch.esp
MAIM Distributor.esp
MAIM 2.esp
MAIM 2 - EZ Keywords.esp
MAIM 2 - Dismemberment Patch.esp

TW: Mentions of drug abuse and self harm
“Well, Mr. King, it’s been quite a while since you’ve last been in that chair,” I said, greeting my two o’ clock appointment.
It’s always nice to meet with previous patients of mine, however there’s always a twinge of sadness to it. As a therapist, you never really want to see a familiar face sitting on the other side of your desk again.
The man sitting across from me chuckled lightly, sweeping some of his light brown hair out of his blue eyes. He readjusted himself in the chair. “Please, Dr. Morris, call me James.”
“Alright then, James,” I said, dropping the formality. Playfully I added, “It’s still Dr. Morris to you, though.”
“Alright, Harrison,” he quipped back with a sly smile. In response, I smiled and laughed.
Even though it’s been two years since I last saw James, he was still as charming as I remembered him to be.
“So,” he started, locking his hands together and leaning closer to me in his chair, “How’s the wife, doc? The kid?”
“I’m not paid to sit here and talk about myself, James. Let’s talk about what’s going on with you, shall we? Why are you here?”
“Okay, no time for small talk, I get that,” he mumbled.
I sat comfortably in my plush leather desk chair waiting for him to answer my question. A tense moment of silence passed. James’s cheerful mask slipped away, revealing a harder, more solemn expression.
He cleared his throat before he finally gave me an answer. “I- uh… I was mugged.”
“I’m sorry that you experienced that,” I apologized genuinely. “It must’ve been traumatizing.”
“It was,” was all he said.
“Do you want to talk about it, James? I’m assuming that’s why you scheduled an appointment with me after all?”
He nervously twiddled with his thumbs before giving me a very abridged version of events. “The boys and I were hanging out at my parents' cabin up in Mount Glenda. I went out for a late night walk and got attacked. Was in the hospital for a couple days. Now I’m here.”
“Do you remember much from the attack?” I questioned, noticing there weren’t any visible scratches or contusions on him. He was wearing black acid wash jeans and a button up flannel shirt, so it’s possible he was attempting to cover them up.
“I- I’d rather not recount that right now, if that’s alright with you, Dr. Morris.”
I nodded my head understandably. “Okay.”
James started picking at some skin on his fingers, a common nervous habit for him. “Thanks, doc. It’s still a little fresh to talk about.”
“It’s not a problem. We can talk about it whenever you’re ready, James.” Changing the topic, I asked, “So, how are things with you and Katie?”
James scrunched his eyelids closed and wrinkled his nose at the mention of her name. If an onlooker didn’t know any better, they’d say I’d just punched him in the face.
I frowned. “Last time you were here, you two were hitting it off pretty well. So well, in fact, you stopped scheduling sessions with me.”
“We broke up,” he admitted, messing with one of the cuffs on his red and white flannel sleeves. “That’s why we were up on Mount Glenda in the first place. My friends wanted to help cheer me up. Help me get over her.”
“Well that was nice of them,” I commented, writing down some observations I’d made. Given the way he avoided eye contact and became anxious while talking about the events that led up to his attack, a PTSD diagnosis was certainly in the cards after a violent experience such as a mugging. But, I needed to fully complete my evaluation before I could say anything was concrete.
“They had good intentions,” he grumbled.
“Why did you and Katie break up, if you don’t mind me asking? Was it amicable?”
James scoffed. “If by amicable, you mean she cheated and left me for the other guy, then yeah you can say it was amicable.”
“Mhm,” I muttered, taking more notes. “Want to talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?” James raised his voice slightly. “She cheated on me and we broke up!”
Clearly I’d struck a nerve. I cleared my throat and moved on. “Why don’t we talk about something else, then? How’s work at the diner? How are your courses going at university?”
“L-look, Dr. Morris, I don’t even know why I came here,”James laughed out breathlessly, starting to stand up from his chair. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
I stood up with James, gently placing my hand on one of his. He paused and I could see in his eyes he was hurting. I could sense he wanted someone to talk to. Needed someone to talk to.
“How about this, James, why don’t we end our session early today. Go home, drink a warm beverage, take a nap. Come see me next week. Friday, same time.”
James nodded his head, “Ok doc.”
I called out suddenly as he was about to walk out the door. “You can come back anytime before then. If you want to talk about it, I’m here for you James.”
James flashed me a weak smile before walking out of my office.
I was unsure if I’d see James again. He seemed to be teetering on the edge of a depressive episode the last time we spoke. It’s not easy to ask for help once a person passes that threshold. So, I was glad when I saw he had requested an emergency session with me just a couple days before his next scheduled appointment.
“I was attacked!” James exclaimed, rushing into my office. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt with a gray zip up jacket and a pair of blue jeans. Slung over his shoulder was a black backpack with a red stripe down the sides.
I disregarded his incredibly rude entrance and placed my phone face down on the desk. I adjusted my reading glasses and raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
“I know? You were mugged.”
“No. No, no, you don’t understand,” James said, tapping his pointer finger on his temple erratically. “I was attacked, not by a person, but by something!”
I crossed one leg over the other and leaned in closer to him. I wondered where this was heading. “How do you mean James? You weren’t mugged? Were you attacked by an animal?”
“No I was mugged,” he explained, tucking a small tuft of his medium length hair behind his ear. “My wallet and phone were gone when my friends found me.”
As confusing as it sounded, this was good. James was opening up more about his mugging.
I sat with a puzzled expression, waiting for Mr. King to elaborate.
“I was mugged alright,”James paused for dramatic effect. “Mugged by a werewolf!”
I had to stifle a laugh. Trying my best to keep my expression neutral I asked, “You? Mugged by a… werewolf?”
James nodded his head frantically. He looked tired. Like he hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep in a couple of days.
“Do you maybe want to describe exactly what happened when you were mugged, James? Help me understand what you saw.”
“It was dark,” he started, taking a seat in his usual chair. He clutched the backpack closely to his chest. “I didn’t see much, but I *know* I was attacked. It was quick and fast, smelled real bad too! It was a werewolf, I’m telling you! It had to be… and I think it turned me.”
Oh this couldn’t be good.
The blood-shot eyes.
Delusions of grandeur, more fantastical than ever.
His unstable and nervous demeanor.
“Are- are you using again, James?” I placed my hand gently on one of his, a gesture to show that I cared and was worried about him.
James was a recovering addict, it’s one of the reasons he started seeing me in the first place.
He quickly withdrew his hand from under mine. He scoffed. “Y-you don’t believe me do you?”
“I believe that you believe you were attacked and turned into a werewolf,” I told him.
Clinical Lycanthropy. I’d heard of it before, but never thought I’d witness a possible case in real life. What a truly fascinating trauma response.
“Tell me why you think that, James.” I clicked my pen, ready to jot down some notes.
James gave me the side eye. I waved it off and prompted him to continue. He gulped before speaking.
“Well, I don’t know how to explain it, doc. Everything just feels… different.”
“Try to explain it,” I urged.
“Everything is just so bright and loud now. So I guess enhanced senses? And I’m hungry. All. The. Time. These cravings I’m having, they’re intense!”
“Cravings?”
“Meat,” he answered. “Lots and lots of meat.”
“Mhm,” I said, nodding along as I wrote down my thoughts. “Have you experienced any accelerated hair growth as well? Lupine-like urges?”
James grunted. “This is serious.”
“And I’m being serious, James,” I countered. “I need you to be as detailed as possible.”
“Listen,” he said earnestly, leaning close, “The full moon is two days from now. I’ll be able to prove it to you then. Come with me before I turn, please?”
Quite frankly I didn’t know how to verbally respond to that type of request. My face however, said it all.
“I’ll even let you video tape it!” he added hastily after seeing my reaction.
I raised an eyebrow inquisitively. Instantly, ideas for experiments and different studies for this disorder ran through my head. Just the thought of researching and exploring this rarely talked about mental phenomenon was making me giddy. I felt like an undergrad student working on my senior thesis again.
“You can use the video to break out in the medical world or something, I don’t know,” James said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“But why me, James? Why not one of your friends?” I asked, curiously, seriously considering this insane proposition.
“Because, you’re the only person I trust with this. Plus, patient confidentiality and all that jazz.”
I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at that logic. “If you truly believe you’re a werewolf, aren’t you scared of hurting someone? Aren’t you terrified of becoming this big dangerous creature? Why not go off alone?”
“There’s a good reason for that, doc,” James answered, opening his backpack. He reached in and pulled out a thick metal chain. “I need someone to help chain me up.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this, I thought to myself as I walked into Nancy’s diner. James had requested we meet up for dinner before we headed off to see his “transition.”
Me meeting up with a patient outside of office hours was practically unheard of, and on top of that, extremely unprofessional. I honestly don’t know what’s worse, me aiding James with his delusion or the fact I was excited to see where this would go.
The inside of the diner was much warmer compared to the ambient temperature outside. So as I searched the small dining room for James, I took my overcoat off and slung it around my forearm.
James spotted me and waved me over excitedly. I walked over to the small booth and sat down across from him. It felt like we were in my office again.
“Cozy,” I said. James chuckled and took a sip of water.
He was wearing a thick gray hoodie, some dark blue jeans, and some converse sneakers. I wore my usual work attire, black slacks and a light colored long sleeve cotton button up.
“Are you alright James?” I asked, noticing how shaky he was. He started rubbing his arms intensely.
I made a mental note of this. If James had been using drugs again, he was most certainly in the beginning processes of withdrawal.
He rubbed his arms some more before answering me. “Just fine. It’s just *freezing* in this diner.”
I offered him my coat, which he graciously accepted.
“Thanks. And thanks again for coming all the way out here. Dr. Morris-“
“Please James,” I stopped him, “I’m off the clock now. You can call me Harrison.”
“H-Harrison,” he stuttered, “I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you coming out here. Once I prove my ‘condition’ to you, you’ll have no choice but to believe me. I know if I’d gone to anyone else they’d have just thought I was on Stardust again and not given me a chance.”
Well James, the consensus was still out on that last one.
I smiled and nodded. It was clear James was mentally unwell, probably due to both his break up and the trauma from his attack. I was merely here to make sure he didn’t harm himself with his little demonstration tonight, or at least that’s what I was telling myself.
What are the chances James actually does transform into a monster tonight? It’s improbable to happen, but there’s always that excitement that comes with the question: What if?
“Hi, welcome in!” Our waitress greeted, bringing me a menu and a glass of water. Her name tag read Jenny. “What can I get started for you this fine evening?”
James ordered first. “I think I’ll have a cheeseburger. Every thing on it and I’ll take that rare please.”
Jenny nodded as she jotted down his order in her book. She then looked at me. “I’ll just have the Cesar salad please.”
“Alrighty, folks!” Jenny announced as she snapped her book shut enthusiastically. “Your food will be out in just a moment.”
I looked out the window our booth was sitting next to. The horizon was full of light pastel colors as the sun started to set.
“If you’re worried about nightfall, I’ll turn when the full moon is at its peak. That’s what the internet says, at least.” James informed me. “You won’t have to worry about me, ya know, before then.”
I disguised my scoff as a laugh as I continued looking out at the pretty sunset.
Our food came out and we started eating. I don’t know if James was just putting on a show or what, but he stared at his cheeseburger like he hadn’t eaten for a year. He sunk his teeth into his food at the same time I took the first bite of my salad. James scrunched his face in confusion. Then he waved our server over.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He started.
Jenny’s unnaturally happy smile faltered. My eyeballs almost burst from their sockets. I started choking on my salad at James’s brash outburst.
“I asked for my cheeseburger RARE! Does this look RARE to you?” James shoved his cheeseburger in our waitresses face.
“I- I uh,” Jenny stumbled, clearly taken aback.
“Make me a new burger, rare like I asked for,” he demanded. “You can charge me for this one too, I’ll eat both of them.”
Jenny nodded before quickly running into the diner's kitchen, clearly about to cry.
I just sat there in shock as James tore back into his cheeseburger like it was a turkey leg you get at Medieval Times. He demolished that thing in three bites. Since he ordered his burger rare it didn’t take too long for his second one to come out. James then demanded our waitress bring him a full rack of BBQ ribs.
She looked to me for help to control my friend, but I was just as flabbergasted as she was. I hadn’t touched my salad as I sat in awe watching James.
If he was acting, he deserved an Oscar. It was actually kind of terrifying seeing him act like this.
It looked like James was on the cusp of an orgasm as he took the first bite of his second cheeseburger. Once again, it was gone in a couple bites. James snacked on his fries as he patiently waited for his ribs.
Jenny laid down the huge oval plate with a very judgmental look on her face. She scoffed as she took away James’s empty plates.
James waved her off as he began inhaling rib after rib. He devoured those ribs like he didn’t know when his next meal would be. He finished the whole rack of ribs only a couple minutes after Jenny had brought them out to him.
“Laying it on there real thick, huh, buddy?” I said sarcastically. Truth be told, I was bewildered that he actually managed to eat all that food.
James wiped all the barbecue sauce that had accumulated around his mouth with a couple napkins as he finished his meal. “What do you mean by that, Doc?”
“This whole…” I leaned in close to him and whispered,” werewolf thing. I mean the food, your aggression towards our server? That’s not like you, James.”
“I told you, doc, I haven’t been feeling myself. All day I’ve been agitated, and on top of that starving! It must be the moon. It’s affecting me.”
I rolled my eyes. There’s no way he was blaming his behavior on the moon. This Clinical Lycanthropy thing was pretty bizarre to witness.
James checked his watch before standing up and chucking a wad of cash on the table. “C’mon let’s go. It’ll be time soon.”
Still in a fugue state of shock, I followed James out of the diner. He got in his car and I got in mine. James quickly peeled out of the small parking lot. I followed closely behind him.
Honestly I was kind of relieved to have space from him. James was almost starting to freak me out, and that’s saying a lot coming from a therapist because I’ve seen some weird shit before.
We drove for about ten minutes before driving down a random dirt road. James got out of his car and prompted me to follow him. The two of us walked for about five minutes before arriving at this old rickety looking gazebo that was in the middle of nowhere.
“James, you seriously can’t still believe this can you?” I questioned as he pulled a thick and heavy chain out of his backpack. He handed it to me, the weight of it almost knocking me off balance. I’m surprised he carried that thing on his back without breaking a sweat.
James looked up at the clear night sky worriedly, the full moon slowly rising higher in the sky, “Hurry up, doc,” he pleaded, taking off my jacket and his hoodie
I stared at the now shirtless James, confused.
“So I don’t tear through it when I turn,” he explained nonchalantly. “The pants stay on for obvious reasons. I’m not getting fully nude in front of my therapist.”
“Yeah, cuz that’s weird,”I sighed, tying one end of the chain to the sturdiest looking part of the gazebo. The other end was wrapped around his waist and then his wrists.
“Okay,” James said after checking the time on his phone. “The moon should be at its peak within the next minute.”
I set up my phone across from him and pressed record. The light from the moon intensified as it reached its peak in the night sky.
James clenched his eyes shut and braced for pain, letting out a couple of anticipatory grunts.
He did look pretty sweaty and unwell, I have to admit. It could just be from all that food he ate, I rationalized.
James stayed that way, bracing himself for something to happen. He looked pretty uneasy. Scared. I felt bad for him.
A couple minutes passed and nothing happened.
“Wasn’t something supposed to happen by now?” I asked, stopping the recording on my phone.
James opened his eyes and looked down at his very human hands. “Maybe Google was wrong. Let’s wait a little longer.”
“James,” I said testingly. “You can’t let this go on.”
“Please,” he begged. “I need this, Harrison. Please!”
I scoffed, climbing down the steps of the gazebo and kicked a rock. I started walking back to my car before turning around. “Fine. We can wait a little longer.”
An hour passed and nothing happened to James. I got fed up and finally freed him from the chain.
“I- I don’t understand,” James looked dejected. “Nothing happened. Why didn’t I turn into a werewolf?”
“C’mon James it’s getting late,” I said, not answering his question. Instead, I put my hand on his bare shoulder to try and comfort him. He dragged his feet while I guided him back to his car. He looked like he was about to cry.
“Let’s go home.”
“Jesus, James, have you been eating?”
It was a couple days after the whole werewolf thing was debunked. James had just come in for his regular session. He looked worryingly thin, almost emaciated. To lose that large amount of weight in only a couple days wasn’t healthy. I worried the events that transpired the other night made James spiral even deeper.
It was quite embarrassing to witness, so I can only imagine how he was feeling.
“Yes!” He said plopping down in his chair. He must not have showered in a couple days judging by the ripe smell that wafted off him. “That’s all I’ve been doing!”
I wrote some notes down. He started lying. This wasn’t good.
“Mr. King-“
“I had it all wrong,”James interrupted me, almost excitedly. “I’ve been doing research. I know what happened now.”
“Oh really?” I asked. James was starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist now.
“I was cursed,” he stated matter-of-a-factly.
I wrote some more notes down. “Cursed?”
“By a wendigo.”
“James, not this again,” I said with a heavy sigh.
“I’m serious, it all lines up! The hunger, the weight loss, why I’m always cold all of a fucking sudden! Not to mention the slow transformation and matching symptoms to lycanthropy.”
“Wendigo’s don’t exist. They’re just creatures of Navajo folklore,” I said, exasperated.
What does exist, however, is Wendigo psychosis.
t’s a mental condition where someone believes they are becoming this cannibalistic creature. It usually stems from the person believing they lack the food and resources to stay nourished, especially during the winter, which causes them to turn to cannibalism.
I found out about it while researching more on Clinical Lycanthropy.
Sure, his skin had shrunk around his nails making them look longer, sharper too, and his skin was pale and sweaty. With how skinny he had become, he did look taller too, but that didn’t mean he was a Wendigo. He was using it as confirmation bias.
“James, let’s be rational here.”
“I AM BEING RATIONAL!” He yelled, getting up from his seat. He started pacing around the room nervously.
“Clearly,” I mumbled. “James, if you think this is true, how do you think you became ‘cursed’?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” James let out a maniac laugh. “The mugging! That thing must’ve attacked me and cursed me. That’s the only reason why it let me live. According to my research, not many people live to tell their tales about encountering these things. Harrison, please! I need your help trying to reverse this curse. I want to go back to normal!”
James’s mental spiral was becoming quite concerning. If I let this continue, someone was bound to get hurt.
“James,” I said softly, sliding a business card over to him. It was a contact number for a mental hospital named Brightburn. “I don’t think I can help you. But they can.”
“You’re a skeptic!” He shouted, throwing the card across the room.
“And you’re delusional!” I snapped. “I mean Wendigo’s and Werewolves?! James, you're unwell!”
“I wonder why!” He shouted, gesturing to himself. “Do you see what I’m becoming!”
“James, you’re not a wendigo!”
“I am!”
“You’re not!” I paused and lowered my voice. “Katie cheated on you! Left you for another guy.” James’s face fell when I brought up his ex.
I continued, explaining further, “So now you’re using this mugging as an excuse to make yourself something you’re not. You’re trying to make yourself seem like something bigger than you actually are, James. When deep down all you’re really doing is trying to do is show her that you’re someone worth staying with. Someone worth not cheating on!”
“You have no right to bring Katie into this!” James cried. “That’s not what’s happening! I’ve been cursed, I’m telling you!”
He grabbed his chair and chucked it across the room in a fit of anger. My chair splintered into a million pieces.
I sat back in my chair and sighed, rubbing my temples. “You say you want help, James. They can help you more than I can. If you don’t want to go, then that’s on you. But if you won’t help yourself, I can’t be your therapist any more.”
“No- don’t do this. Doc, you’re the only one I have.” James pleaded.
“You can’t keep this charade up anymore! I’ve indulged you long enough. You’re not turning into some supernatural creature. You’re human!”
James smoothed the wrinkles in his blue flannel shirt before making his way to the door. He stopped and turned to me.
“Just you wait, doc. I’ll prove it to you,” he seethed. “You better watch your back.”
With a slam of my office door, James was gone.
I took a breath before picking my phone up to call my secretary and to alert security to not let James back in the building.
“I think I’m being stalked,” I admitted to my wife Lauren. It had been a rough week with patients, plus I kept receiving threatening letters in the mail. But I couldn’t tell Lauren about it. I didn’t want to worry her.
We just found out she was expecting.
“You’re being silly, Harrison,” she said, trying to comfort me.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek good night. I turned over in our bed. My heart sank when I saw the shadow of a person glide past my window.
I came home late from work a little later than expected.
My office had been broken into and trashed. I had a sneaking suspicion who did it. Nevertheless, I had to clean my office, file a police report, and finish the rest of my appointments for the day.
Lauren had told me she had a surprise waiting for me at dinner, so I stopped on the way home to pick up flowers and a little gift for Brandon, our four year old son.
The overwhelming stench of iron and something putrid and rotting filled my nostrils as I opened the door to my house.
A massive pool of blood was visible in the kitchen.
I dropped everything in my hands and rushed to the kitchen. I almost puked when I found the dead bodies of my wife and son lying on the dining room table.
Half of Brandon’s face had been chewed off, his frozen expression that of terror.
Lauren had been disemboweled. Her intestines and other miscellaneous organs strewn about the table. On her chest was her uterus, which had been half eaten.
I fell to my knees and started bawling my eyes out. My family had been murdered.
Something growled animalistically behind me, “Believe me now?”
My stomach flipped. A tall emaciated figure stood in the doorway. It’s arms were disproportionately longer than its torso. Its hands and wrists were caked in blood. Sharp teeth glinted in artificial light. That putrid smell from earlier worsened.
A wendigo. James. It had to be.
He’d been right all along.
The wendigo pounced, but I managed to dodge. James recovered with supernatural speed as I ran as fast as I could for safety.
I lunged for the door to my home office for protection. I kept a pistol in there.
I managed to reach the gun before James reached me. He ripped the door off the hinges and bellowed out a blood curdling roar. I managed to squeeze past him and into the hallway. I took the safety off and cocked the gun, praying I had left it loaded.
click-click
James crawled up the banister of my stairs, hanging off of it like a monkey. He had chased me into a corner.
I braced myself as the thing that used to be my patient jumped. As James barreled towards me with a sadistic smile on his mutilated face, I pulled the trigger and aimed right for his chest. The force of the blast knocked me down.
When I regained my bearings, there was no monstrously disfigured body on the floor in front of me. Instead, my front door was swinging wide open.
James was in the wind. He left me alone, with my dead wife and kid in the next room. Grief and anger flooded my veins.
All I wanted to do at that moment was kill James King for what he’d done. I wanted to kill myself for not believing him and allowing this to happen.
Then I remembered reading about something online. The wendigo’s weakness was fire.
I could kill it with fire.
I could kill James with fire.
So much for a mugging, eh?

I will rate them on a 5 star scale. This will assume you've got your prescriptions maxed out. And I mostly play solo, so this is with solo in mind, coop might differ slightly.
Tool:
Slippers: great when you start the game and are learning its gameplay. It's helpful in niche situations (while carrying acid for example and you either climb something and take damage or need to walk through glass) and it may help you better your score. But now noise traps don't substract that much from your score. And you should really learn to avoid glass while walking and running from enemies anyway. Once you learn that, it's almost useless. I give it 3 stars due to being useful when you are new to the game.
Cacophony: useless, there's almost no reason to distract enemies, it's better to save your weapons to hit them instead if they catch you, but even if you wish to distract them, you can do so without using this amp. 1 star
Noise reduction: 5 stars. It literally modifies gameplay to help you. You can run and do stuff without making so much noise, enemies will have a harder time finding you and following you.
Recycle: 1 star. There are plenty of bottles everywhere (or bricks which are better) and even then you should try to be damaged as little as possible, meaning you will probably not use much health items anyway.
Key master: 2 stars. I don't even use lockpicks, there are plenty of unlockesd boxes everywhere with good items. But I can see why 2 guaranteed, untrapped items in locked boxes is better. Still I think it clearly loses compared to other amps in this category.
Backpack: 4 stars. This one is ESPECIALLY useful if you also use Strong Arm, nothing like carrying 5 bricks at a time. It's also really useful in ultra, letting you carry 4 items instead of just 3. Still, not essential and it doesn't make too much of a difference.
Clear winner for me is Noise reduction, but backpack is really good too, and Slippers is good for beginners, it's basically the first one you can unlock.
Skill:
Hide and Breathe: not really useful, compared to other amps. If you need to hide to recover exhaustion because you were being chased by an enemy, then probably that enemy will find you anyway. Otherwise you can just rest and recover your stamina in plain sight, it doesn't take that much time. The adrenaline boost is good though, so 2 stars.
Hide and Heal: again, like before, not really that useful. You can just wait to recover health, hiding is useless. And besides, you are trying to not get hit in the first place. Increased healing recovery is practically insignificant, I think this one is worse, 1 star.
Hide and Restore: this one is pretty good, it basically lets you spam your rig. Technically it also helps on ultra, but rig recharge is so slow on that difficulty that I don't think is enough to choose it over other amps. 3 stars.
Quick escape: useless, normal speed is enough to escape chases. 1 star.
Invisible: 5 stars, enough said. I'd give it 6 stars if I could. Enemies become almost meaningless. You can hide right in front of them and they won't find you. The only way they will pull you out of a hiding spot is if they are REALLY close or try to hit you when you start the hiding animation. Just keep your distance and you are untouchable. I think this one is a MUST on ultra.
Door trap breaker: it's easy to avoid traps already, but I'm not gonna lie and deny sometimes I don't pay enough attention and get hit ocasionally by one, mainly during chases. Opening doors slowly is almost useless (especially if you use Noise Reduction) and there are plenty of batteries around the map anyway. 2 stars.
Smash: destroying a barricade in 1 hit instead of 2 may only be useful if you are being actively chased, otherwise I don't really see the point. 2 stars.
Strong arm: really fun to use, it basically turn bricks into Stun Rigs for normal expops, and for other enemies it also stuns them for a bit longer. Bottles act similar to normal bricks. If you use backpack, then you can carry even more throwables. I'd give it 5 stars but I give it 4 because it's not really useful in ultra, due to lack of throwable items and inventory space
Clear winner here is invisible amp, if you want to get A+ on any map, ultra or not. Strong arm if you just want to have fun wrecking enemies. Hide and restore is good but, why wait for your stun to recharge when you can have 4 stuns ready with Strong Arm? (bricks)
Medicine:
Double doses: I can see it's usefulness in coop, but you should try to avoid dying in the first place (if you want good scores at least). Besides there are plenty of syringes, you won't die that much, I hope. And it's completely useless in solo. 1 star.
Antitoxin: one could argue psychosis is actually good to have in some scenarios, and even if you get psychosis, the game tells you were the closest cure is. In ultra it doesn't, but just run and run and don't let the skinnerman touch you, enemies can't hurt you while you've got psychosis. You don't really need the cure. 2 stars due to sanity recovering on it's own with time, useful for level 1 and 2 sanity.
Surplus: probably worst amp in the game, it deserves 0 stars but I give it 1 just because that's the minimum in the scale I'm using. There are plenty of items around.
Last chance: if you are going for a good score, you shouldn't let enemies hit you in the first place, but, it's good to have an extra hit and avoid death, 3 stars.
Incognito: it basically let's you crouch at the same speed you walk (or really close to it), really useful when navigating around enemies. 4 stars, it modifies gameplay in your favor.
Good job: useless, just use a health item. 1 star.
Boosted: let's be objective here, booster items aren't that great if you think about it. 5 bars of health instead of 4 SEEMS like the best one, but it's not that much of a difference, if you get hit you are supposed to heal anyway. There are plenty of batteries everywhere, nightvision is useless, even if it drains slower. Adrenaline? Probably actually the better one to have, you can run more and tire less while carrying objectives. And they are ALL rendered useless if you play a trial and there's a secret room. And even then it's just 1/3 chance of which item you get, you might get nightvision every single time if you are unlucky. It's better than surplus, so 2 stars.
Self revive: as a solo player, this is completely useless, there are plenty of extra lives pills. Still I can see how this is useful in coop, though last chance might actually be better, as you can avoid death multiple times, this is useful just once. So, 2 stars.
So for medicine, I think double doses and self revive get less points due to being only useful in coop. While Last chance and Incognito are useful in both coop AND solo. Not really any 5 star items here, Incognito gets close but, you can still use a different amp and crouch at the normal speed and avoid enemies anyway, you are just slower.
Don't focus too much on the stars I gave each amp, some of them are a bit arbitrary and it's hard to objectively rate each amp, focus more on the descriptions I gave of each one. Let me know what you think and what your favorite amps are!

I know this question seems like a small issue and it is but I really want to fit it with the other kids and not get teased for my bag. In my highschool in the USA, it is cool to wear colorful backpacks and most kids cover them in patches and pins for their favorite TV shows, stores, and bands. I'm wondering if kids in Germany do the same or if there's a different style of backpack that is thought of as cooler. Should I wear a plain bag without pins and patches there, or would it be more cool to wear a colorful, decorated bag?
For context the current backpack I wear to school has a picture of a frog on it and has lots of slogans written on it and pins on it, and I get compliments on my bag a lot here in the US. Would this be the sort of bag I could wear among German teenagers or would a plain black or brown bag be cooler?

TW: Mentions of drug abuse and self harm
“Well, Mr. King, it’s been quite a while since you’ve last been in that chair,” I said, greeting my two o’ clock appointment.
It’s always nice to meet with previous patients of mine, however there’s always a twinge of sadness to it. As a therapist, you never really want to see a familiar face sitting on the other side of your desk again.
The man sitting across from me chuckled lightly, sweeping some of his light brown hair out of his blue eyes. He readjusted himself in the chair. “Please, Dr. Morris, call me James.”
“Alright then, James,” I said, dropping the formality. Playfully I added, “It’s still Dr. Morris to you, though.”
“Alright, Harrison,” he quipped back with a sly smile. In response, I smiled and laughed.
Even though it’s been two years since I last saw James, he was still as charming as I remembered him to be.
“So,” he started, locking his hands together and leaning closer to me in his chair, “How’s the wife, doc? The kid?”
“I’m not paid to sit here and talk about myself, James. Let’s talk about what’s going on with you, shall we? Why are you here?”
“Okay, no time for small talk, I get that,” he mumbled.
I sat comfortably in my plush leather desk chair waiting for him to answer my question. A tense moment of silence passed. James’s cheerful mask slipped away, revealing a harder, more solemn expression.
He cleared his throat before he finally gave me an answer. “I- uh… I was mugged.”
“I’m sorry that you experienced that,” I apologized genuinely. “It must’ve been traumatizing.”
“It was,” was all he said.
“Do you want to talk about it, James? I’m assuming that’s why you scheduled an appointment with me after all?”
He nervously twiddled with his thumbs before giving me a very abridged version of events. “The boys and I were hanging out at my parents' cabin up in Mount Glenda. I went out for a late night walk and got attacked. Was in the hospital for a couple days. Now I’m here.”
“Do you remember much from the attack?” I questioned, noticing there weren’t any visible scratches or contusions on him. He was wearing black acid wash jeans and a button up flannel shirt, so it’s possible he was attempting to cover them up.
“I- I’d rather not recount that right now, if that’s alright with you, Dr. Morris.”
I nodded my head understandably. “Okay.”
James started picking at some skin on his fingers, a common nervous habit for him. “Thanks, doc. It’s still a little fresh to talk about.”
“It’s not a problem. We can talk about it whenever you’re ready, James.” Changing the topic, I asked, “So, how are things with you and Katie?”
James scrunched his eyelids closed and wrinkled his nose at the mention of her name. If an onlooker didn’t know any better, they’d say I’d just punched him in the face.
I frowned. “Last time you were here, you two were hitting it off pretty well. So well, in fact, you stopped scheduling sessions with me.”
“We broke up,” he admitted, messing with one of the cuffs on his red and white flannel sleeves. “That’s why we were up on Mount Glenda in the first place. My friends wanted to help cheer me up. Help me get over her.”
“Well that was nice of them,” I commented, writing down some observations I’d made. Given the way he avoided eye contact and became anxious while talking about the events that led up to his attack, a PTSD diagnosis was certainly in the cards after a violent experience such as a mugging. But, I needed to fully complete my evaluation before I could say anything was concrete.
“They had good intentions,” he grumbled.
“Why did you and Katie break up, if you don’t mind me asking? Was it amicable?”
James scoffed. “If by amicable, you mean she cheated and left me for the other guy, then yeah you can say it was amicable.”
“Mhm,” I muttered, taking more notes. “Want to talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?” James raised his voice slightly. “She cheated on me and we broke up!”
Clearly I’d struck a nerve. I cleared my throat and moved on. “Why don’t we talk about something else, then? How’s work at the diner? How are your courses going at university?”
“L-look, Dr. Morris, I don’t even know why I came here,”James laughed out breathlessly, starting to stand up from his chair. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
I stood up with James, gently placing my hand on one of his. He paused and I could see in his eyes he was hurting. I could sense he wanted someone to talk to. Needed someone to talk to.
“How about this, James, why don’t we end our session early today. Go home, drink a warm beverage, take a nap. Come see me next week. Friday, same time.”
James nodded his head, “Ok doc.”
I called out suddenly as he was about to walk out the door. “You can come back anytime before then. If you want to talk about it, I’m here for you James.”
James flashed me a weak smile before walking out of my office.
I was unsure if I’d see James again. He seemed to be teetering on the edge of a depressive episode the last time we spoke. It’s not easy to ask for help once a person passes that threshold. So, I was glad when I saw he had requested an emergency session with me just a couple days before his next scheduled appointment.
“I was attacked!” James exclaimed, rushing into my office. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt with a gray zip up jacket and a pair of blue jeans. Slung over his shoulder was a black backpack with a red stripe down the sides.
I disregarded his incredibly rude entrance and placed my phone face down on the desk. I adjusted my reading glasses and raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
“I know? You were mugged.”
“No. No, no, you don’t understand,” James said, tapping his pointer finger on his temple erratically. “I was attacked, not by a person, but by something!”
I crossed one leg over the other and leaned in closer to him. I wondered where this was heading. “How do you mean James? You weren’t mugged? Were you attacked by an animal?”
“No I was mugged,” he explained, tucking a small tuft of his medium length hair behind his ear. “My wallet and phone were gone when my friends found me.”
As confusing as it sounded, this was good. James was opening up more about his mugging.
I sat with a puzzled expression, waiting for Mr. King to elaborate.
“I was mugged alright,”James paused for dramatic effect. “Mugged by a werewolf!”
I had to stifle a laugh. Trying my best to keep my expression neutral I asked, “You? Mugged by a… werewolf?”
James nodded his head frantically. He looked tired. Like he hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep in a couple of days.
“Do you maybe want to describe exactly what happened when you were mugged, James? Help me understand what you saw.”
“It was dark,” he started, taking a seat in his usual chair. He clutched the backpack closely to his chest. “I didn’t see much, but I *know* I was attacked. It was quick and fast, smelled real bad too! It was a werewolf, I’m telling you! It had to be… and I think it turned me.”
Oh this couldn’t be good.
The blood-shot eyes.
Delusions of grandeur, more fantastical than ever.
His unstable and nervous demeanor.
“Are- are you using again, James?” I placed my hand gently on one of his, a gesture to show that I cared and was worried about him.
James was a recovering addict, it’s one of the reasons he started seeing me in the first place.
He quickly withdrew his hand from under mine. He scoffed. “Y-you don’t believe me do you?”
“I believe that you believe you were attacked and turned into a werewolf,” I told him.
Clinical Lycanthropy. I’d heard of it before, but never thought I’d witness a possible case in real life. What a truly fascinating trauma response.
“Tell me why you think that, James.” I clicked my pen, ready to jot down some notes.
James gave me the side eye. I waved it off and prompted him to continue. He gulped before speaking.
“Well, I don’t know how to explain it, doc. Everything just feels… different.”
“Try to explain it,” I urged.
“Everything is just so bright and loud now. So I guess enhanced senses? And I’m hungry. All. The. Time. These cravings I’m having, they’re intense!”
“Cravings?”
“Meat,” he answered. “Lots and lots of meat.”
“Mhm,” I said, nodding along as I wrote down my thoughts. “Have you experienced any accelerated hair growth as well? Lupine-like urges?”
James grunted. “This is serious.”
“And I’m being serious, James,” I countered. “I need you to be as detailed as possible.”
“Listen,” he said earnestly, leaning close, “The full moon is two days from now. I’ll be able to prove it to you then. Come with me before I turn, please?”
Quite frankly I didn’t know how to verbally respond to that type of request. My face however, said it all.
“I’ll even let you video tape it!” he added hastily after seeing my reaction.
I raised an eyebrow inquisitively. Instantly, ideas for experiments and different studies for this disorder ran through my head. Just the thought of researching and exploring this rarely talked about mental phenomenon was making me giddy. I felt like an undergrad student working on my senior thesis again.
“You can use the video to break out in the medical world or something, I don’t know,” James said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“But why me, James? Why not one of your friends?” I asked, curiously, seriously considering this insane proposition.
“Because, you’re the only person I trust with this. Plus, patient confidentiality and all that jazz.”
I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at that logic. “If you truly believe you’re a werewolf, aren’t you scared of hurting someone? Aren’t you terrified of becoming this big dangerous creature? Why not go off alone?”
“There’s a good reason for that, doc,” James answered, opening his backpack. He reached in and pulled out a thick metal chain. “I need someone to help chain me up.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this, I thought to myself as I walked into Nancy’s diner. James had requested we meet up for dinner before we headed off to see his “transition.”
Me meeting up with a patient outside of office hours was practically unheard of, and on top of that, extremely unprofessional. I honestly don’t know what’s worse, me aiding James with his delusion or the fact I was excited to see where this would go.
The inside of the diner was much warmer compared to the ambient temperature outside. So as I searched the small dining room for James, I took my overcoat off and slung it around my forearm.
James spotted me and waved me over excitedly. I walked over to the small booth and sat down across from him. It felt like we were in my office again.
“Cozy,” I said. James chuckled and took a sip of water.
He was wearing a thick gray hoodie, some dark blue jeans, and some converse sneakers. I wore my usual work attire, black slacks and a light colored long sleeve cotton button up.
“Are you alright James?” I asked, noticing how shaky he was. He started rubbing his arms intensely.
I made a mental note of this. If James had been using drugs again, he was most certainly in the beginning processes of withdrawal.
He rubbed his arms some more before answering me. “Just fine. It’s just *freezing* in this diner.”
I offered him my coat, which he graciously accepted.
“Thanks. And thanks again for coming all the way out here. Dr. Morris-“
“Please James,” I stopped him, “I’m off the clock now. You can call me Harrison.”
“H-Harrison,” he stuttered, “I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you coming out here. Once I prove my ‘condition’ to you, you’ll have no choice but to believe me. I know if I’d gone to anyone else they’d have just thought I was on Stardust again and not given me a chance.”
Well James, the consensus was still out on that last one.
I smiled and nodded. It was clear James was mentally unwell, probably due to both his break up and the trauma from his attack. I was merely here to make sure he didn’t harm himself with his little demonstration tonight, or at least that’s what I was telling myself.
What are the chances James actually does transform into a monster tonight? It’s improbable to happen, but there’s always that excitement that comes with the question: What if?
“Hi, welcome in!” Our waitress greeted, bringing me a menu and a glass of water. Her name tag read Jenny. “What can I get started for you this fine evening?”
James ordered first. “I think I’ll have a cheeseburger. Every thing on it and I’ll take that rare please.”
Jenny nodded as she jotted down his order in her book. She then looked at me. “I’ll just have the Cesar salad please.”
“Alrighty, folks!” Jenny announced as she snapped her book shut enthusiastically. “Your food will be out in just a moment.”
I looked out the window our booth was sitting next to. The horizon was full of light pastel colors as the sun started to set.
“If you’re worried about nightfall, I’ll turn when the full moon is at its peak. That’s what the internet says, at least.” James informed me. “You won’t have to worry about me, ya know, before then.”
I disguised my scoff as a laugh as I continued looking out at the pretty sunset.
Our food came out and we started eating. I don’t know if James was just putting on a show or what, but he stared at his cheeseburger like he hadn’t eaten for a year. He sunk his teeth into his food at the same time I took the first bite of my salad. James scrunched his face in confusion. Then he waved our server over.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He started.
Jenny’s unnaturally happy smile faltered. My eyeballs almost burst from their sockets. I started choking on my salad at James’s brash outburst.
“I asked for my cheeseburger RARE! Does this look RARE to you?” James shoved his cheeseburger in our waitresses face.
“I- I uh,” Jenny stumbled, clearly taken aback.
“Make me a new burger, rare like I asked for,” he demanded. “You can charge me for this one too, I’ll eat both of them.”
Jenny nodded before quickly running into the diner's kitchen, clearly about to cry.
I just sat there in shock as James tore back into his cheeseburger like it was a turkey leg you get at Medieval Times. He demolished that thing in three bites. Since he ordered his burger rare it didn’t take too long for his second one to come out. James then demanded our waitress bring him a full rack of BBQ ribs.
She looked to me for help to control my friend, but I was just as flabbergasted as she was. I hadn’t touched my salad as I sat in awe watching James.
If he was acting, he deserved an Oscar. It was actually kind of terrifying seeing him act like this.
It looked like James was on the cusp of an orgasm as he took the first bite of his second cheeseburger. Once again, it was gone in a couple bites. James snacked on his fries as he patiently waited for his ribs.
Jenny laid down the huge oval plate with a very judgmental look on her face. She scoffed as she took away James’s empty plates.
James waved her off as he began inhaling rib after rib. He devoured those ribs like he didn’t know when his next meal would be. He finished the whole rack of ribs only a couple minutes after Jenny had brought them out to him.
“Laying it on there real thick, huh, buddy?” I said sarcastically. Truth be told, I was bewildered that he actually managed to eat all that food.
James wiped all the barbecue sauce that had accumulated around his mouth with a couple napkins as he finished his meal. “What do you mean by that, Doc?”
“This whole…” I leaned in close to him and whispered,” werewolf thing. I mean the food, your aggression towards our server? That’s not like you, James.”
“I told you, doc, I haven’t been feeling myself. All day I’ve been agitated, and on top of that starving! It must be the moon. It’s affecting me.”
I rolled my eyes. There’s no way he was blaming his behavior on the moon. This Clinical Lycanthropy thing was pretty bizarre to witness.
James checked his watch before standing up and chucking a wad of cash on the table. “C’mon let’s go. It’ll be time soon.”
Still in a fugue state of shock, I followed James out of the diner. He got in his car and I got in mine. James quickly peeled out of the small parking lot. I followed closely behind him.
Honestly I was kind of relieved to have space from him. James was almost starting to freak me out, and that’s saying a lot coming from a therapist because I’ve seen some weird shit before.
We drove for about ten minutes before driving down a random dirt road. James got out of his car and prompted me to follow him. The two of us walked for about five minutes before arriving at this old rickety looking gazebo that was in the middle of nowhere.
“James, you seriously can’t still believe this can you?” I questioned as he pulled a thick and heavy chain out of his backpack. He handed it to me, the weight of it almost knocking me off balance. I’m surprised he carried that thing on his back without breaking a sweat.
James looked up at the clear night sky worriedly, the full moon slowly rising higher in the sky, “Hurry up, doc,” he pleaded, taking off my jacket and his hoodie
I stared at the now shirtless James, confused.
“So I don’t tear through it when I turn,” he explained nonchalantly. “The pants stay on for obvious reasons. I’m not getting fully nude in front of my therapist.”
“Yeah, cuz that’s weird,”I sighed, tying one end of the chain to the sturdiest looking part of the gazebo. The other end was wrapped around his waist and then his wrists.
“Okay,” James said after checking the time on his phone. “The moon should be at its peak within the next minute.”
I set up my phone across from him and pressed record. The light from the moon intensified as it reached its peak in the night sky.
James clenched his eyes shut and braced for pain, letting out a couple of anticipatory grunts.
He did look pretty sweaty and unwell, I have to admit. It could just be from all that food he ate, I rationalized.
James stayed that way, bracing himself for something to happen. He looked pretty uneasy. Scared. I felt bad for him.
A couple minutes passed and nothing happened.
“Wasn’t something supposed to happen by now?” I asked, stopping the recording on my phone.
James opened his eyes and looked down at his very human hands. “Maybe Google was wrong. Let’s wait a little longer.”
“James,” I said testingly. “You can’t let this go on.”
“Please,” he begged. “I need this, Harrison. Please!”
I scoffed, climbing down the steps of the gazebo and kicked a rock. I started walking back to my car before turning around. “Fine. We can wait a little longer.”
An hour passed and nothing happened to James. I got fed up and finally freed him from the chain.
“I- I don’t understand,” James looked dejected. “Nothing happened. Why didn’t I turn into a werewolf?”
“C’mon James it’s getting late,” I said, not answering his question. Instead, I put my hand on his bare shoulder to try and comfort him. He dragged his feet while I guided him back to his car. He looked like he was about to cry.
“Let’s go home.”
“Jesus, James, have you been eating?”
It was a couple days after the whole werewolf thing was debunked. James had just come in for his regular session. He looked worryingly thin, almost emaciated. To lose that large amount of weight in only a couple days wasn’t healthy. I worried the events that transpired the other night made James spiral even deeper.
It was quite embarrassing to witness, so I can only imagine how he was feeling.
“Yes!” He said plopping down in his chair. He must not have showered in a couple days judging by the ripe smell that wafted off him. “That’s all I’ve been doing!”
I wrote some notes down. He started lying. This wasn’t good.
“Mr. King-“
“I had it all wrong,”James interrupted me, almost excitedly. “I’ve been doing research. I know what happened now.”
“Oh really?” I asked. James was starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist now.
“I was cursed,” he stated matter-of-a-factly.
I wrote some more notes down. “Cursed?”
“By a wendigo.”
“James, not this again,” I said with a heavy sigh.
“I’m serious, it all lines up! The hunger, the weight loss, why I’m always cold all of a fucking sudden! Not to mention the slow transformation and matching symptoms to lycanthropy.”
“Wendigo’s don’t exist. They’re just creatures of Navajo folklore,” I said, exasperated.
What does exist, however, is Wendigo psychosis.
t’s a mental condition where someone believes they are becoming this cannibalistic creature. It usually stems from the person believing they lack the food and resources to stay nourished, especially during the winter, which causes them to turn to cannibalism.
I found out about it while researching more on Clinical Lycanthropy.
Sure, his skin had shrunk around his nails making them look longer, sharper too, and his skin was pale and sweaty. With how skinny he had become, he did look taller too, but that didn’t mean he was a Wendigo. He was using it as confirmation bias.
“James, let’s be rational here.”
“I AM BEING RATIONAL!” He yelled, getting up from his seat. He started pacing around the room nervously.
“Clearly,” I mumbled. “James, if you think this is true, how do you think you became ‘cursed’?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” James let out a maniac laugh. “The mugging! That thing must’ve attacked me and cursed me. That’s the only reason why it let me live. According to my research, not many people live to tell their tales about encountering these things. Harrison, please! I need your help trying to reverse this curse. I want to go back to normal!”
James’s mental spiral was becoming quite concerning. If I let this continue, someone was bound to get hurt.
“James,” I said softly, sliding a business card over to him. It was a contact number for a mental hospital named Brightburn. “I don’t think I can help you. But they can.”
“You’re a skeptic!” He shouted, throwing the card across the room.
“And you’re delusional!” I snapped. “I mean Wendigo’s and Werewolves?! James, you're unwell!”
“I wonder why!” He shouted, gesturing to himself. “Do you see what I’m becoming!”
“James, you’re not a wendigo!”
“I am!”
“You’re not!” I paused and lowered my voice. “Katie cheated on you! Left you for another guy.” James’s face fell when I brought up his ex.
I continued, explaining further, “So now you’re using this mugging as an excuse to make yourself something you’re not. You’re trying to make yourself seem like something bigger than you actually are, James. When deep down all you’re really doing is trying to do is show her that you’re someone worth staying with. Someone worth not cheating on!”
“You have no right to bring Katie into this!” James cried. “That’s not what’s happening! I’ve been cursed, I’m telling you!”
He grabbed his chair and chucked it across the room in a fit of anger. My chair splintered into a million pieces.
I sat back in my chair and sighed, rubbing my temples. “You say you want help, James. They can help you more than I can. If you don’t want to go, then that’s on you. But if you won’t help yourself, I can’t be your therapist any more.”
“No- don’t do this. Doc, you’re the only one I have.” James pleaded.
“You can’t keep this charade up anymore! I’ve indulged you long enough. You’re not turning into some supernatural creature. You’re human!”
James smoothed the wrinkles in his blue flannel shirt before making his way to the door. He stopped and turned to me.
“Just you wait, doc. I’ll prove it to you,” he seethed. “You better watch your back.”
With a slam of my office door, James was gone.
I took a breath before picking my phone up to call my secretary and to alert security to not let James back in the building.
“I think I’m being stalked,” I admitted to my wife Lauren. It had been a rough week with patients, plus I kept receiving threatening letters in the mail. But I couldn’t tell Lauren about it. I didn’t want to worry her.
We just found out she was expecting.
“You’re being silly, Harrison,” she said, trying to comfort me.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek good night. I turned over in our bed. My heart sank when I saw the shadow of a person glide past my window.
I came home late from work a little later than expected.
My office had been broken into and trashed. I had a sneaking suspicion who did it. Nevertheless, I had to clean my office, file a police report, and finish the rest of my appointments for the day.
Lauren had told me she had a surprise waiting for me at dinner, so I stopped on the way home to pick up flowers and a little gift for Brandon, our four year old son.
The overwhelming stench of iron and something putrid and rotting filled my nostrils as I opened the door to my house.
A massive pool of blood was visible in the kitchen.
I dropped everything in my hands and rushed to the kitchen. I almost puked when I found the dead bodies of my wife and son lying on the dining room table.
Half of Brandon’s face had been chewed off, his frozen expression that of terror.
Lauren had been disemboweled. Her intestines and other miscellaneous organs strewn about the table. On her chest was her uterus, which had been half eaten.
I fell to my knees and started bawling my eyes out. My family had been murdered.
Something growled animalistically behind me, “Believe me now?”
My stomach flipped. A tall emaciated figure stood in the doorway. It’s arms were disproportionately longer than its torso. Its hands and wrists were caked in blood. Sharp teeth glinted in artificial light. That putrid smell from earlier worsened.
A wendigo. James. It had to be.
He’d been right all along.
The wendigo pounced, but I managed to dodge. James recovered with supernatural speed as I ran as fast as I could for safety.
I lunged for the door to my home office for protection. I kept a pistol in there.
I managed to reach the gun before James reached me. He ripped the door off the hinges and bellowed out a blood curdling roar. I managed to squeeze past him and into the hallway. I took the safety off and cocked the gun, praying I had left it loaded.
click-click
James crawled up the banister of my stairs, hanging off of it like a monkey. He had chased me into a corner.
I braced myself as the thing that used to be my patient jumped. As James barreled towards me with a sadistic smile on his mutilated face, I pulled the trigger and aimed right for his chest. The force of the blast knocked me down.
When I regained my bearings, there was no monstrously disfigured body on the floor in front of me. Instead, my front door was swinging wide open.
James was in the wind. He left me alone, with my dead wife and kid in the next room. Grief and anger flooded my veins.
All I wanted to do at that moment was kill James King for what he’d done. I wanted to kill myself for not believing him and allowing this to happen.
Then I remembered reading about something online. The wendigo’s weakness was fire.
I could kill it with fire.
I could kill James with fire.
So much for a mugging, eh?

TW: Mentions of drug abuse and self harm
“Well, Mr. King, it’s been quite a while since you’ve last been in that chair,” I said, greeting my two o’ clock appointment.
It’s always nice to meet with previous patients of mine, however there’s always a twinge of sadness to it. As a therapist, you never really want to see a familiar face sitting on the other side of your desk again.
The man sitting across from me chuckled lightly, sweeping some of his light brown hair out of his blue eyes. He readjusted himself in the chair. “Please, Dr. Morris, call me James.”
“Alright then, James,” I said, dropping the formality. Playfully I added, “It’s still Dr. Morris to you, though.”
“Alright, Harrison,” he quipped back with a sly smile. In response, I smiled and laughed.
Even though it’s been two years since I last saw James, he was still as charming as I remembered him to be.
“So,” he started, locking his hands together and leaning closer to me in his chair, “How’s the wife, doc? The kid?”
“I’m not paid to sit here and talk about myself, James. Let’s talk about what’s going on with you, shall we? Why are you here?”
“Okay, no time for small talk, I get that,” he mumbled.
I sat comfortably in my plush leather desk chair waiting for him to answer my question. A tense moment of silence passed. James’s cheerful mask slipped away, revealing a harder, more solemn expression.
He cleared his throat before he finally gave me an answer. “I- uh… I was mugged.”
“I’m sorry that you experienced that,” I apologized genuinely. “It must’ve been traumatizing.”
“It was,” was all he said.
“Do you want to talk about it, James? I’m assuming that’s why you scheduled an appointment with me after all?”
He nervously twiddled with his thumbs before giving me a very abridged version of events. “The boys and I were hanging out at my parents' cabin up in Mount Glenda. I went out for a late night walk and got attacked. Was in the hospital for a couple days. Now I’m here.”
“Do you remember much from the attack?” I questioned, noticing there weren’t any visible scratches or contusions on him. He was wearing black acid wash jeans and a button up flannel shirt, so it’s possible he was attempting to cover them up.
“I- I’d rather not recount that right now, if that’s alright with you, Dr. Morris.”
I nodded my head understandably. “Okay.”
James started picking at some skin on his fingers, a common nervous habit for him. “Thanks, doc. It’s still a little fresh to talk about.”
“It’s not a problem. We can talk about it whenever you’re ready, James.” Changing the topic, I asked, “So, how are things with you and Katie?”
James scrunched his eyelids closed and wrinkled his nose at the mention of her name. If an onlooker didn’t know any better, they’d say I’d just punched him in the face.
I frowned. “Last time you were here, you two were hitting it off pretty well. So well, in fact, you stopped scheduling sessions with me.”
“We broke up,” he admitted, messing with one of the cuffs on his red and white flannel sleeves. “That’s why we were up on Mount Glenda in the first place. My friends wanted to help cheer me up. Help me get over her.”
“Well that was nice of them,” I commented, writing down some observations I’d made. Given the way he avoided eye contact and became anxious while talking about the events that led up to his attack, a PTSD diagnosis was certainly in the cards after a violent experience such as a mugging. But, I needed to fully complete my evaluation before I could say anything was concrete.
“They had good intentions,” he grumbled.
“Why did you and Katie break up, if you don’t mind me asking? Was it amicable?”
James scoffed. “If by amicable, you mean she cheated and left me for the other guy, then yeah you can say it was amicable.”
“Mhm,” I muttered, taking more notes. “Want to talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?” James raised his voice slightly. “She cheated on me and we broke up!”
Clearly I’d struck a nerve. I cleared my throat and moved on. “Why don’t we talk about something else, then? How’s work at the diner? How are your courses going at university?”
“L-look, Dr. Morris, I don’t even know why I came here,”James laughed out breathlessly, starting to stand up from his chair. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
I stood up with James, gently placing my hand on one of his. He paused and I could see in his eyes he was hurting. I could sense he wanted someone to talk to. Needed someone to talk to.
“How about this, James, why don’t we end our session early today. Go home, drink a warm beverage, take a nap. Come see me next week. Friday, same time.”
James nodded his head, “Ok doc.”
I called out suddenly as he was about to walk out the door. “You can come back anytime before then. If you want to talk about it, I’m here for you James.”
James flashed me a weak smile before walking out of my office.
I was unsure if I’d see James again. He seemed to be teetering on the edge of a depressive episode the last time we spoke. It’s not easy to ask for help once a person passes that threshold. So, I was glad when I saw he had requested an emergency session with me just a couple days before his next scheduled appointment.
“I was attacked!” James exclaimed, rushing into my office. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt with a gray zip up jacket and a pair of blue jeans. Slung over his shoulder was a black backpack with a red stripe down the sides.
I disregarded his incredibly rude entrance and placed my phone face down on the desk. I adjusted my reading glasses and raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
“I know? You were mugged.”
“No. No, no, you don’t understand,” James said, tapping his pointer finger on his temple erratically. “I was attacked, not by a person, but by something!”
I crossed one leg over the other and leaned in closer to him. I wondered where this was heading. “How do you mean James? You weren’t mugged? Were you attacked by an animal?”
“No I was mugged,” he explained, tucking a small tuft of his medium length hair behind his ear. “My wallet and phone were gone when my friends found me.”
As confusing as it sounded, this was good. James was opening up more about his mugging.
I sat with a puzzled expression, waiting for Mr. King to elaborate.
“I was mugged alright,”James paused for dramatic effect. “Mugged by a werewolf!”
I had to stifle a laugh. Trying my best to keep my expression neutral I asked, “You? Mugged by a… werewolf?”
James nodded his head frantically. He looked tired. Like he hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep in a couple of days.
“Do you maybe want to describe exactly what happened when you were mugged, James? Help me understand what you saw.”
“It was dark,” he started, taking a seat in his usual chair. He clutched the backpack closely to his chest. “I didn’t see much, but I *know* I was attacked. It was quick and fast, smelled real bad too! It was a werewolf, I’m telling you! It had to be… and I think it turned me.”
Oh this couldn’t be good.
The blood-shot eyes.
Delusions of grandeur, more fantastical than ever.
His unstable and nervous demeanor.
“Are- are you using again, James?” I placed my hand gently on one of his, a gesture to show that I cared and was worried about him.
James was a recovering addict, it’s one of the reasons he started seeing me in the first place.
He quickly withdrew his hand from under mine. He scoffed. “Y-you don’t believe me do you?”
“I believe that you believe you were attacked and turned into a werewolf,” I told him.
Clinical Lycanthropy. I’d heard of it before, but never thought I’d witness a possible case in real life. What a truly fascinating trauma response.
“Tell me why you think that, James.” I clicked my pen, ready to jot down some notes.
James gave me the side eye. I waved it off and prompted him to continue. He gulped before speaking.
“Well, I don’t know how to explain it, doc. Everything just feels… different.”
“Try to explain it,” I urged.
“Everything is just so bright and loud now. So I guess enhanced senses? And I’m hungry. All. The. Time. These cravings I’m having, they’re intense!”
“Cravings?”
“Meat,” he answered. “Lots and lots of meat.”
“Mhm,” I said, nodding along as I wrote down my thoughts. “Have you experienced any accelerated hair growth as well? Lupine-like urges?”
James grunted. “This is serious.”
“And I’m being serious, James,” I countered. “I need you to be as detailed as possible.”
“Listen,” he said earnestly, leaning close, “The full moon is two days from now. I’ll be able to prove it to you then. Come with me before I turn, please?”
Quite frankly I didn’t know how to verbally respond to that type of request. My face however, said it all.
“I’ll even let you video tape it!” he added hastily after seeing my reaction.
I raised an eyebrow inquisitively. Instantly, ideas for experiments and different studies for this disorder ran through my head. Just the thought of researching and exploring this rarely talked about mental phenomenon was making me giddy. I felt like an undergrad student working on my senior thesis again.
“You can use the video to break out in the medical world or something, I don’t know,” James said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“But why me, James? Why not one of your friends?” I asked, curiously, seriously considering this insane proposition.
“Because, you’re the only person I trust with this. Plus, patient confidentiality and all that jazz.”
I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at that logic. “If you truly believe you’re a werewolf, aren’t you scared of hurting someone? Aren’t you terrified of becoming this big dangerous creature? Why not go off alone?”
“There’s a good reason for that, doc,” James answered, opening his backpack. He reached in and pulled out a thick metal chain. “I need someone to help chain me up.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this, I thought to myself as I walked into Nancy’s diner. James had requested we meet up for dinner before we headed off to see his “transition.”
Me meeting up with a patient outside of office hours was practically unheard of, and on top of that, extremely unprofessional. I honestly don’t know what’s worse, me aiding James with his delusion or the fact I was excited to see where this would go.
The inside of the diner was much warmer compared to the ambient temperature outside. So as I searched the small dining room for James, I took my overcoat off and slung it around my forearm.
James spotted me and waved me over excitedly. I walked over to the small booth and sat down across from him. It felt like we were in my office again.
“Cozy,” I said. James chuckled and took a sip of water.
He was wearing a thick gray hoodie, some dark blue jeans, and some converse sneakers. I wore my usual work attire, black slacks and a light colored long sleeve cotton button up.
“Are you alright James?” I asked, noticing how shaky he was. He started rubbing his arms intensely.
I made a mental note of this. If James had been using drugs again, he was most certainly in the beginning processes of withdrawal.
He rubbed his arms some more before answering me. “Just fine. It’s just *freezing* in this diner.”
I offered him my coat, which he graciously accepted.
“Thanks. And thanks again for coming all the way out here. Dr. Morris-“
“Please James,” I stopped him, “I’m off the clock now. You can call me Harrison.”
“H-Harrison,” he stuttered, “I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you coming out here. Once I prove my ‘condition’ to you, you’ll have no choice but to believe me. I know if I’d gone to anyone else they’d have just thought I was on Stardust again and not given me a chance.”
Well James, the consensus was still out on that last one.
I smiled and nodded. It was clear James was mentally unwell, probably due to both his break up and the trauma from his attack. I was merely here to make sure he didn’t harm himself with his little demonstration tonight, or at least that’s what I was telling myself.
What are the chances James actually does transform into a monster tonight? It’s improbable to happen, but there’s always that excitement that comes with the question: What if?
“Hi, welcome in!” Our waitress greeted, bringing me a menu and a glass of water. Her name tag read Jenny. “What can I get started for you this fine evening?”
James ordered first. “I think I’ll have a cheeseburger. Every thing on it and I’ll take that rare please.”
Jenny nodded as she jotted down his order in her book. She then looked at me. “I’ll just have the Cesar salad please.”
“Alrighty, folks!” Jenny announced as she snapped her book shut enthusiastically. “Your food will be out in just a moment.”
I looked out the window our booth was sitting next to. The horizon was full of light pastel colors as the sun started to set.
“If you’re worried about nightfall, I’ll turn when the full moon is at its peak. That’s what the internet says, at least.” James informed me. “You won’t have to worry about me, ya know, before then.”
I disguised my scoff as a laugh as I continued looking out at the pretty sunset.
Our food came out and we started eating. I don’t know if James was just putting on a show or what, but he stared at his cheeseburger like he hadn’t eaten for a year. He sunk his teeth into his food at the same time I took the first bite of my salad. James scrunched his face in confusion. Then he waved our server over.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He started.
Jenny’s unnaturally happy smile faltered. My eyeballs almost burst from their sockets. I started choking on my salad at James’s brash outburst.
“I asked for my cheeseburger RARE! Does this look RARE to you?” James shoved his cheeseburger in our waitresses face.
“I- I uh,” Jenny stumbled, clearly taken aback.
“Make me a new burger, rare like I asked for,” he demanded. “You can charge me for this one too, I’ll eat both of them.”
Jenny nodded before quickly running into the diner's kitchen, clearly about to cry.
I just sat there in shock as James tore back into his cheeseburger like it was a turkey leg you get at Medieval Times. He demolished that thing in three bites. Since he ordered his burger rare it didn’t take too long for his second one to come out. James then demanded our waitress bring him a full rack of BBQ ribs.
She looked to me for help to control my friend, but I was just as flabbergasted as she was. I hadn’t touched my salad as I sat in awe watching James.
If he was acting, he deserved an Oscar. It was actually kind of terrifying seeing him act like this.
It looked like James was on the cusp of an orgasm as he took the first bite of his second cheeseburger. Once again, it was gone in a couple bites. James snacked on his fries as he patiently waited for his ribs.
Jenny laid down the huge oval plate with a very judgmental look on her face. She scoffed as she took away James’s empty plates.
James waved her off as he began inhaling rib after rib. He devoured those ribs like he didn’t know when his next meal would be. He finished the whole rack of ribs only a couple minutes after Jenny had brought them out to him.
“Laying it on there real thick, huh, buddy?” I said sarcastically. Truth be told, I was bewildered that he actually managed to eat all that food.
James wiped all the barbecue sauce that had accumulated around his mouth with a couple napkins as he finished his meal. “What do you mean by that, Doc?”
“This whole…” I leaned in close to him and whispered,” werewolf thing. I mean the food, your aggression towards our server? That’s not like you, James.”
“I told you, doc, I haven’t been feeling myself. All day I’ve been agitated, and on top of that starving! It must be the moon. It’s affecting me.”
I rolled my eyes. There’s no way he was blaming his behavior on the moon. This Clinical Lycanthropy thing was pretty bizarre to witness.
James checked his watch before standing up and chucking a wad of cash on the table. “C’mon let’s go. It’ll be time soon.”
Still in a fugue state of shock, I followed James out of the diner. He got in his car and I got in mine. James quickly peeled out of the small parking lot. I followed closely behind him.
Honestly I was kind of relieved to have space from him. James was almost starting to freak me out, and that’s saying a lot coming from a therapist because I’ve seen some weird shit before.
We drove for about ten minutes before driving down a random dirt road. James got out of his car and prompted me to follow him. The two of us walked for about five minutes before arriving at this old rickety looking gazebo that was in the middle of nowhere.
“James, you seriously can’t still believe this can you?” I questioned as he pulled a thick and heavy chain out of his backpack. He handed it to me, the weight of it almost knocking me off balance. I’m surprised he carried that thing on his back without breaking a sweat.
James looked up at the clear night sky worriedly, the full moon slowly rising higher in the sky, “Hurry up, doc,” he pleaded, taking off my jacket and his hoodie
I stared at the now shirtless James, confused.
“So I don’t tear through it when I turn,” he explained nonchalantly. “The pants stay on for obvious reasons. I’m not getting fully nude in front of my therapist.”
“Yeah, cuz that’s weird,”I sighed, tying one end of the chain to the sturdiest looking part of the gazebo. The other end was wrapped around his waist and then his wrists.
“Okay,” James said after checking the time on his phone. “The moon should be at its peak within the next minute.”
I set up my phone across from him and pressed record. The light from the moon intensified as it reached its peak in the night sky.
James clenched his eyes shut and braced for pain, letting out a couple of anticipatory grunts.
He did look pretty sweaty and unwell, I have to admit. It could just be from all that food he ate, I rationalized.
James stayed that way, bracing himself for something to happen. He looked pretty uneasy. Scared. I felt bad for him.
A couple minutes passed and nothing happened.
“Wasn’t something supposed to happen by now?” I asked, stopping the recording on my phone.
James opened his eyes and looked down at his very human hands. “Maybe Google was wrong. Let’s wait a little longer.”
“James,” I said testingly. “You can’t let this go on.”
“Please,” he begged. “I need this, Harrison. Please!”
I scoffed, climbing down the steps of the gazebo and kicked a rock. I started walking back to my car before turning around. “Fine. We can wait a little longer.”
An hour passed and nothing happened to James. I got fed up and finally freed him from the chain.
“I- I don’t understand,” James looked dejected. “Nothing happened. Why didn’t I turn into a werewolf?”
“C’mon James it’s getting late,” I said, not answering his question. Instead, I put my hand on his bare shoulder to try and comfort him. He dragged his feet while I guided him back to his car. He looked like he was about to cry.
“Let’s go home.”
“Jesus, James, have you been eating?”
It was a couple days after the whole werewolf thing was debunked. James had just come in for his regular session. He looked worryingly thin, almost emaciated. To lose that large amount of weight in only a couple days wasn’t healthy. I worried the events that transpired the other night made James spiral even deeper.
It was quite embarrassing to witness, so I can only imagine how he was feeling.
“Yes!” He said plopping down in his chair. He must not have showered in a couple days judging by the ripe smell that wafted off him. “That’s all I’ve been doing!”
I wrote some notes down. He started lying. This wasn’t good.
“Mr. King-“
“I had it all wrong,”James interrupted me, almost excitedly. “I’ve been doing research. I know what happened now.”
“Oh really?” I asked. James was starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist now.
“I was cursed,” he stated matter-of-a-factly.
I wrote some more notes down. “Cursed?”
“By a wendigo.”
“James, not this again,” I said with a heavy sigh.
“I’m serious, it all lines up! The hunger, the weight loss, why I’m always cold all of a fucking sudden! Not to mention the slow transformation and matching symptoms to lycanthropy.”
“Wendigo’s don’t exist. They’re just creatures of Navajo folklore,” I said, exasperated.
What does exist, however, is Wendigo psychosis.
t’s a mental condition where someone believes they are becoming this cannibalistic creature. It usually stems from the person believing they lack the food and resources to stay nourished, especially during the winter, which causes them to turn to cannibalism.
I found out about it while researching more on Clinical Lycanthropy.
Sure, his skin had shrunk around his nails making them look longer, sharper too, and his skin was pale and sweaty. With how skinny he had become, he did look taller too, but that didn’t mean he was a Wendigo. He was using it as confirmation bias.
“James, let’s be rational here.”
“I AM BEING RATIONAL!” He yelled, getting up from his seat. He started pacing around the room nervously.
“Clearly,” I mumbled. “James, if you think this is true, how do you think you became ‘cursed’?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” James let out a maniac laugh. “The mugging! That thing must’ve attacked me and cursed me. That’s the only reason why it let me live. According to my research, not many people live to tell their tales about encountering these things. Harrison, please! I need your help trying to reverse this curse. I want to go back to normal!”
James’s mental spiral was becoming quite concerning. If I let this continue, someone was bound to get hurt.
“James,” I said softly, sliding a business card over to him. It was a contact number for a mental hospital named Brightburn. “I don’t think I can help you. But they can.”
“You’re a skeptic!” He shouted, throwing the card across the room.
“And you’re delusional!” I snapped. “I mean Wendigo’s and Werewolves?! James, you're unwell!”
“I wonder why!” He shouted, gesturing to himself. “Do you see what I’m becoming!”
“James, you’re not a wendigo!”
“I am!”
“You’re not!” I paused and lowered my voice. “Katie cheated on you! Left you for another guy.” James’s face fell when I brought up his ex.
I continued, explaining further, “So now you’re using this mugging as an excuse to make yourself something you’re not. You’re trying to make yourself seem like something bigger than you actually are, James. When deep down all you’re really doing is trying to do is show her that you’re someone worth staying with. Someone worth not cheating on!”
“You have no right to bring Katie into this!” James cried. “That’s not what’s happening! I’ve been cursed, I’m telling you!”
He grabbed his chair and chucked it across the room in a fit of anger. My chair splintered into a million pieces.
I sat back in my chair and sighed, rubbing my temples. “You say you want help, James. They can help you more than I can. If you don’t want to go, then that’s on you. But if you won’t help yourself, I can’t be your therapist any more.”
“No- don’t do this. Doc, you’re the only one I have.” James pleaded.
“You can’t keep this charade up anymore! I’ve indulged you long enough. You’re not turning into some supernatural creature. You’re human!”
James smoothed the wrinkles in his blue flannel shirt before making his way to the door. He stopped and turned to me.
“Just you wait, doc. I’ll prove it to you,” he seethed. “You better watch your back.”
With a slam of my office door, James was gone.
I took a breath before picking my phone up to call my secretary and to alert security to not let James back in the building.
“I think I’m being stalked,” I admitted to my wife Lauren. It had been a rough week with patients, plus I kept receiving threatening letters in the mail. But I couldn’t tell Lauren about it. I didn’t want to worry her.
We just found out she was expecting.
“You’re being silly, Harrison,” she said, trying to comfort me.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek good night. I turned over in our bed. My heart sank when I saw the shadow of a person glide past my window.
I came home late from work a little later than expected.
My office had been broken into and trashed. I had a sneaking suspicion who did it. Nevertheless, I had to clean my office, file a police report, and finish the rest of my appointments for the day.
Lauren had told me she had a surprise waiting for me at dinner, so I stopped on the way home to pick up flowers and a little gift for Brandon, our four year old son.
The overwhelming stench of iron and something putrid and rotting filled my nostrils as I opened the door to my house.
A massive pool of blood was visible in the kitchen.
I dropped everything in my hands and rushed to the kitchen. I almost puked when I found the dead bodies of my wife and son lying on the dining room table.
Half of Brandon’s face had been chewed off, his frozen expression that of terror.
Lauren had been disemboweled. Her intestines and other miscellaneous organs strewn about the table. On her chest was her uterus, which had been half eaten.
I fell to my knees and started bawling my eyes out. My family had been murdered.
Something growled animalistically behind me, “Believe me now?”
My stomach flipped. A tall emaciated figure stood in the doorway. It’s arms were disproportionately longer than its torso. Its hands and wrists were caked in blood. Sharp teeth glinted in artificial light. That putrid smell from earlier worsened.
A wendigo. James. It had to be.
He’d been right all along.
The wendigo pounced, but I managed to dodge. James recovered with supernatural speed as I ran as fast as I could for safety.
I lunged for the door to my home office for protection. I kept a pistol in there.
I managed to reach the gun before James reached me. He ripped the door off the hinges and bellowed out a blood curdling roar. I managed to squeeze past him and into the hallway. I took the safety off and cocked the gun, praying I had left it loaded.
click-click
James crawled up the banister of my stairs, hanging off of it like a monkey. He had chased me into a corner.
I braced myself as the thing that used to be my patient jumped. As James barreled towards me with a sadistic smile on his mutilated face, I pulled the trigger and aimed right for his chest. The force of the blast knocked me down.
When I regained my bearings, there was no monstrously disfigured body on the floor in front of me. Instead, my front door was swinging wide open.
James was in the wind. He left me alone, with my dead wife and kid in the next room. Grief and anger flooded my veins.
All I wanted to do at that moment was kill James King for what he’d done. I wanted to kill myself for not believing him and allowing this to happen.
Then I remembered reading about something online. The wendigo’s weakness was fire.
I could kill it with fire.
I could kill James with fire.
So much for a mugging, eh?

Throwaway for anonymity, no names will be used, but if the "people" referenced come across this, you guys suck.
TW / ANIMAL ABUSE / NEGLECT
It's been 24 hours since this happened.
These are your typical white trash people. Don't care for their animals, which aren't fixed / vaxxed / fed or even clean. The rest of the neighborhood has to feed their 3 cats and they only half pay attention to the dog they have which is a small brown, Maltese yorkie something or other dog with long hair who they rarely have groomed or brushed, and it roams the neighborhood daily, off leash, skinny as hell. It gets to go inside, but I'm not sure how lucky or good that is. It may have a better chance outside. They have 6 kids and 3 adults in a 3 bed / 2 bath. And they are by no means poor because this is a middle/slightly upper middle class neighborhood.
Anyway, their very young cat (couldn't be more than six months) had kittens. They also have another female cat who is pregnant. Their third cat is a male who is the absolute sweetest cat ever, and he was clearly someone's before these people (they have admitted this over the phone by the way) just picked it up from somewhere one day and brought it home, an obviously owned and friendly cat, now whenever they talk about this male cat they say "well I'm just gonna dump him somewhere and let him be someone else's problem" or "go ahead and run him over we don't care" and things along that line.
The kids (ages range from 4 to 12) threw the kittens around, flung them across rooms, kicked and smacked them, the mom cat, and their other animals. (One kitten was slammed against the floor and died is what i was told, but im not certain of that, so dont take that as a fact. Wouldn't be surprised though.) Pulling tails and ears, laughing as they torment them and frighten them, etc. They stick their fingers through our fence and try to aggravate our dog who doesnt like kids and we do our best to bring her inside when those people are out. They are overall little fucking monsters. Screaming and terrorizing the entire area, which would otherwise be essentially silent. The adults are no better. Constantly yelling, arguing, talking about "trump this" and "trump that", slamming car doors, smacking their kids in the face (a toddler at one point was in the front yard having fun and then got smacked against the face and sent back inside) they are just being terrible people and they know it and they choose to be that way. The old southern type.
Anyway, the mother cat had her kittens. They were inside for 3 weeks, but the mom was kicked out as well as the kittens last week and they have been out in the weather in a "playpen" since then, because the family got two new ducklings. Yes, ducks. When they have a very young mother cat with 7 kittens, two other cats and a dog. Anyway, they got these ducks at tractor supply on a whim and kicked this young mother cat and her kittens outside because they got something new to focus on and got bored of the kittens, seemingly.
Said playpen consists of a tall dog playpen with no roof and just one sliding latch on one of the door panels held together by just some hinges on each pane/side. I'd attach an image but can't due to this groups rules. No roof nor protection, only a blanket and grass, and we live where there are coyotes, hawks, other stray cats/dogs, possums, fox, raccoons, overall just not somewhere you'd wanna leave defenseless kittens outside. The mother cat and those kittens were left outside in the weather (65 during the day , 35-45 at night these past few days. Past week was even colder.) and left out at night. Their yard is not fenced in, ours is. We live about 150 ft from a creek/river that has FREQUENT coyote activity. Many neighborhood pets have gone missing from what I hear.
I snuck out with a backpack and scooped up the kittens as quietly and quickly as I could. I ran in and when I got a look at them, they were filthy. They were absolutely covered in their own sht and pss and reeked so bad i literally left a scent trail from the hallway to the bathroom. So mom had either not been cleaning them (such young cats rarely do well with their first litters and many kittens don't make it because of the inexperience) or wasn't allowed to have time to feed and clean them, which is what I suspect. I think those kids weren't letting the mom have them for them to all be cared for properly because they were too busy.... "playing" with them, or she was just too plain scared of those people to get close to try to take care of her babies. The mom is tiny, maybe 6lbs. For reference, each newborn kitten weighs roughly 100g. She had 7.
They were in surprisingly good body condition despite their constant stress and (supposed) literal death of one of their siblings. Their bellies were completely empty and they were terrified (obviously from the living situation but also being jerked up into a bag out of nowhere) I immediately gave them baths and as of now they have eaten 4 meals, are clean and finally somewhere safe. I do have experience raising kittens from 0-8 weeks, so it's not like I just up and yeeted them without any knowledge or experience on what to do. They are currently on KMR and every 3rd meal I mix in some wet cat food, making it a gruel type consistency and they've been eating it fine.
I offered to take the kittens and their mom in and find them new homes about 3 weeks ago when I heard about them but was denied. Now they think I'm the one who took them from what I've heard from a friend, which I did, and I've played dumb best I can.
I'm not sorry, and I don't regret it. I'd do it again, and if I do end up getting into legal trouble, I'll state exactly everything I just did here. Any advice on how I should handle the situation going forward if police do come / the people try to contact me?

I (18M) was at a skatepark chilling with my friends for a few hours on my day off. My friends and I slowly started to leave the park and as this was happening two 15 year olds were coming up to me and telling me to leave the park thinking I was a certain local sex offender. I told them I'm not the person there looking for and proceeded to leave the park to catch the bus. They proceeded to follow me to the bus stop shouting insults like "kiddy fucker" or just plain out calling me a pedophile. I ignored them as I know I'm not this one person. Eventually while still waiting on the bus they approached me and tried to snatch my backpack and my board. As an instinct I swung at both of their heads with my right arm while my left arms was keeping a grip on my board once they loosened their grip from my board I swung it at both of their heads with said skateboard which knocked them over on the ground. I then ran down the block to a different bus stop in order to get away from them. Later on I got arrested on the two warrants from aggressived assault for the incident. I am currently on bond in the process of finding an attorney to represent me. How fucked am I?

As the ball lightning soared towards me, I came to life. It soared through the air with the speed of a cannonball. I heard the screams of Bear and Stephanie behind me, but it all sounded like an incomprehensible jumble. I jumped to the side, but it was far too late. The glowing ball of energy seared the flesh on my right arm. I smelled my skin cooking in its own fats. I landed on the ground as a bolt of agony shot through my body.
Bear had reloaded and sprinted forward towards the broken body of the creature. I raised my head and saw with horror that it had already started to heal. Tiny black veins like worms stuck out of the wounds on the creature’s head and legs, restitching the repulsive bony growths that composed its exoskeleton. They jumped and danced as they worked, the rounded ends of their tiny, leech-like heads performing a miracle before our very eyes.
The dark, fetid blood that gushed from the abomination on the ground had also started to slow significantly. As Bear ran towards it, I saw with horror that it had begun to try to push itself back up on its still-healing, shattered legs. It failed, stumbling like a baby deer taking its first steps, but I knew at the rate it was healing that it wouldn’t be long until its wounds were fully mended.
As Bear raised his .45 ACP pistol, ready to try to blow the creature away again, more green light began to form around its mouth and luminescent eyes. While Bear was preparing to fire at it, it had been preparing its own weapons in return.
Bear shot it point-blank in the face as pieces of the mass of light rippled into a cyclone. The bullet entered through its right eye. Like a jack-o-lantern being smashed, light poured from its ruined skull. The back of its head fragmented as bone splinters and pieces of flesh splattered the stone ground underneath it. The green light disintegrated. It felt like a flashbang had gone off. I was blinded by the overwhelming light that poured from its destroyed body. I also noticed a strange combination of smells- ozone mixed with the fetid reek of a slaughterhouse.
Bear stood there, panting heavily, his face covered in a thick layer of sweat. He looked down at the abomination on the ground. New veins and tendrils the size of a pencil reached out like fingers through the massive hole in its face. I looked down at my arm, wincing as I saw the deep wound. There was a charred, blackened spot about the size of an egg surrounded by patches of angry red tissue that spread out like groping fingers.
“How do we kill it?” I screamed, ignoring the pain. “What if it just keeps regenerating?”
“We should cut off its head,” Stephanie said calmly, a steely gleam in her eye. “Cut off its head and move it far away from the body, so that way they can’t rejoin.” She slung her backpack around and came up with a gleaming buck knife, its freshly-sharpened blade keen enough to shave with.
The creature still lived somehow. It had gone into some sort of seizure, kicking its thick, vampiric legs in violent jerking motions. I noticed it had thirteen fingers and thirteen toes, all crooked and inhumanly long. Sharp black claws grew out of the ends. It shook its head violently from side to side as if it were saying “No”, spattering its dark blood all over the floor and walls. I noticed how its blood glistened in the beam of the flashlights. It shone with oil rainspots, an iridescent pattern of colors gleaming as it streamed from the creature’s broken head.
“Are you sure?” Bear said, still hyperventilating. He looked at Stephanie standing there with the buck knife as if he had never seen her before. I must have given her a similar look. She had a sadistic pleasure in her eyes as she nodded grimly. She stood over the abomination’s writhing body, each one of her feet planted firmly on a side of its head, like a boxer standing victorious over his opponent after a knockout.
Bear and I each stood on one of the creature’s wrists so it couldn’t claw Stephanie out as she completed her grisly task. She knelt down, inhaling deeply. Then, without a moment of hesitation, she shoved the blade into the thing’s twitching neck. It gave an ear-splitting, demonic shriek as it spewed black blood like a fountain. Its jaw unhinged, and the dark blood flowed out of the center of the green electricity like a waterfall descending from an impenetrable mist.
But Stephanie kept cutting and slicing, her face a grim mask of determination. I heard a rending sound as its flesh tore. She had a problem with the spine, but, at least by that point, all the flesh had been sliced through and its movements had ceased. Its chest still rose and fell erratically. It gurgled as it choked on its own blood.
“Here, let me help,” Bear said, pushing her aside. With his thick arms, he twisted the creature’s head, which now only remained connected to its body by the vertebrae and a thin layer of gore around it. With a sound like a tree branch snapping, the head separated from the body. The green light brightened, faded to nothingness, then came back weakly for a moment before finally disappearing forever.
“Holy shit, that was intense,” I said, feeling like I was about to have a heart attack.
***
Bear held the decapitated head in his hands, an uncertain expression on his face. The nightmarish visage seemed to stare up at him accusingly, the empty holes of eye sockets sunken and black in the bony face.
“What are we going to do with this?” Bear asked, shaking the ugly bastard for emphasis. I shrugged.
“Use it as a soccer ball, I guess…” I started to say jokingly, but my voice cut off as a soft, angelic singing reverberated down the hall. It was singing in some language I had never heard before, a resonant, humming language that nearly brought tears to my eyes with its beauty.
As the singing abruptly cut off, a figure came around the curving street. I saw it hovering over the ground. Enormous, leathery wings spread out on both sides of its body, extending fifteen or twenty feet in each direction. They ended in sharp points like the wings of a bat. Narrow bones ran along the lengths of the wings, supporting the dark webbing.
It wore a black satin robe with the hood pulled back. When I saw what it revealed, I gasped.
Its head was twisted around 180 degrees. The skin on the neck spiraled around in purple bruises. In the place of hair, it had dozens of writhing, black eel creatures with circular white eyes and dripping fangs. They snapped at each other like wolves fighting over food.
I watched as the approaching figure hovered towards us, feeling slightly hypnotized as the creature bobbed up and down like a buoy on a lake. It moved in a smooth, elegant way.
I stood there in a daze, hoping it would finish its song. I wanted so badly to hear that beautiful voice again. I glanced over at Bear and Stephanie. They both stared in open-mouthed wonder, Bear still clutching the decapitated head of the abomination under one arm.
But that little voice in the back of my head quickly pulled me out of my reverie as I realized that this was the Angel of Death. The Angel of Death glid through the air, its skeletal feet hovering a few inches above the ground. It would fall and rise slightly as it moved. As it got closer to us, the eel-like creatures growing from its scalp started to get more violent, snapping and gnashing their sharp teeth on the empty air, their jaws clacking together with a sound like a gunshot.
Stephanie was actually the first one to break out of the trance. She whispered as if afraid to draw the attention of the angelic abomination.
“There was a rule about this,” she hissed at us under her breath. “We need to cut ourselves and give an offering of blood.” I jerked like a man waking from a nightmare. The Angel of Death had closed in on us now, its face still looking away from us. But I knew without a doubt that it sensed our presence and had likely known we were there for a while.
As if to show us how it was done, Stephanie pulled her folding knife from her pocket and slid it across her palm, opening up a narrow slice that instantly began bubbling up with thin rivulets of blood. She held it up, letting it stream down her arm as the angel got within a few steps of us.
Bear and I quickly followed suit, flicking open our knives and raising our hands. I felt a quick, burning pain as I drew the knife across my palm, holding it up as the eel creatures snapped and hissed. Then she stopped, and the strange snake-like beings growing from her head went quiet. For a long moment, nothing moved. The silence seemed absolute.
“What do you seek?” she gurgled in a low, slowed-down voice. “Why do you foul this holy site with your mortal bodies?” I wondered how she saw us, unless she was able to see and feel through the eels emerging from her scalp. Actually, the more I thought about that, the more likely it seemed. If true, it meant she would be able to see in all directions at once. I imagined no one would ever sneak up on the Angel of Death- as if anyone would ever want to.
“We… we came here by accident,” Stephanie stuttered, stepping forwards as she spoke. “We seek a way out.” The angel went quiet for a long moment. The white cataract eyes on the eel creatures seemed to regard us with a strange intensity.
“What is that delicious offering under your arm, Son of Adam?” she asked. For a second, I had no idea what she was talking about. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or Bear. But the eel’s blank white eyes all focused on Bear, snapping to attention like dogs begging for a treat. They stopped their writhing and gnashing, going very still and looking at him for a long moment. I glanced over and saw he still held the decapitated head from the Mark of Cain abomination. He hesitated, looking uncertain. I nodded at him, urging him on. He held the head up high above his head.
“It is for you,” he said in a diffident voice. “We brought it for you as well as our offerings of blood.” The Angel of Death spun around, revealing a skeletal face with worms and larvae eating away at the rotting chunks of flesh still stuck to her cheeks and chin. Her eyes glowed with an inner white illumination like two pale stars spinning in the void. There were no physical eyes in her head, only these strobing and pulsing pits of blinding light.
“It smells… delicious,” she admitted, floating forwards slowly. Her decaying skull of a head drew within inches of Bear’s face. He flinched away, blinking rapidly. I could see him breathing fast as trickles of sweat ran down his face. I could smell the Angel of Death as she drew near- a smell like old leather and rancid meat. But underneath that, there was a sweet, pleasant odor, like an undertone of lavender.
“Your offerings are accepted. I will grant you a single boon for this,” the Angel of Death gurgled in a deep voice. She bent her face towards Bear’s bleeding hand and stuck her black tongue out. I looked at it with horror, seeing its putrefying sores and necrotic tissue. She used the fetid, rotting thing to lick the blood from his palm and wrist. I saw Bear shudder and go pale as her tongue ran over his skin. Then she went to Stephanie, repeating the bizarre ritual. Stephanie didn’t show a scrap of emotion during it, however. Then finally, the Angel of Death came to me.
Her tongue felt cold and soggy against my bleeding skin. Small pieces of the decomposing flesh and larvae were left on my wrist and hand as she moved up and down, sucking the blood caressingly, almost like a lover. I repressed an urge to vomit. My stomach did flips. After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away, spinning around and putting her claw-like hands out to Bear.
“Your tribute,” she demanded. Reluctantly, he gave her the head. Her arms bent backwards in a way that no human arm should bend, twisting and popping with soft cracking sounds. She threw the decapitated head up to the eel creatures growing from her scalp. They cracked open the bony exoskeleton with a sound like a walnut shell breaking open. It revealed the spongy, pink flesh underneath. It seemed infused with some kind of green growth, almost like tendrils of mold that ate its way through its brain and muscles. The eels quickly stripped it clean, sticking their pointy snouts in and snapping up the meat with rabid hunger.
“Mmmmm,” the Angel of Death said in a resonant voice that made her sound almost human. It was as if she could taste the meat and blood that the eel creatures stripped from the decapitated head. Perhaps she could. A chill ran down my spine.
After they had finished stripping the meat from the offering, their gnashing and writhing calmed down. She turned her face back to us and I saw, to my horror, that the offerings of blood and meat had revitalized her skeletal face somewhat. It now had fresh growths of pink skin around her cheeks, mouth and eyes. I heard Bear and Stephanie gasp in unison as they saw her regenerating face.
“Your boon,” she demanded impatiently, the bones now almost covered with new growths of skin that spread out over the rotten flesh underneath. I looked at Bear. He instantly nodded. We were all on the same page without having to speak it aloud.
“We want to know the way out,” Bear said, stepping forward and speaking in a loud voice. “We want to return home.” The Angel of Death nodded as if expecting this, the eel-like creatures on her head drooping lazily as if they were tired after their meal.
“The only way out is farther in, through the center,” she said. “But the true king of the bottomless pit will not let you pass without a struggle. His name is Abaddon, and he is a demon of the worst kind. His kind has always been against mine- since beginningless time, we have fought. For the followers of Abaddon wish to bring about the Apocalypse. They wish to unleash God from the bottomless pit, so that he can destroy his creation before fading into oblivion. They believe that, when the universe topples, they will become gods themselves. I believe Abaddon is insane, however. I do not know who promised him godhood, unless he promised it to himself.”
“And we must not look at his face, right?” I said, smirking. The Angel of Death nodded.
“Mortals must not gaze upon the face of Abaddon. It will melt the flesh off your bones if you do. There are things in the dark that are not meant to be seen by human eyes.”
***
As the Angel of Death led us farther down into the pit, past more ancient towers and statues of angels with cruel, arrogant faces, I heard something far away. It sounded like people shouting and guns firing.
The Angel of Death floated above the ground in front of us, her backwards face always staring at us. It gave me the creeps. Her eyes never seemed to blink, and every time I looked up, I always found her staring right at me.
After a few minutes of traveling, she pointed to a dark side street with a long, skeletal finger. The stone road ran steeply down into darkness. It looked slick with moisture, and I saw a small subterranean stream flowing down the side of it. But as I looked closer, I realized the stream wasn’t water at all. The smell of copper and iron in the air was overwhelming as I knelt down, running a finger through it and pulling it up to see the red stain it left.
“Is this blood?” I asked, horrified. The Angel of Death did not answer me, but only continued to stare at me with her blank, dead eyes.
“The center is further down. Follow this road until the end. I wish you good luck, but I think I will see some of you again very soon. The last sands are flowing through your hourglass as we speak. So it is with mortals. Weak, pitiful things, they are. A mere breath of my power could destroy all three of you in an instant.” I couldn’t tell who she was looking at when she spoke these words, but they filled my heart with a sense of dread.
She drifted away slowly, almost lazily, hovering above the ground as she rose and fell in gentle waves, bobbing like a leaf in the wind. Within a few seconds, she had turned back down towards the dead city of Bloodstone, population zero.
***
We quickly realized the source of the shouting and gunshots when some agents dressed in gas masks and tactical black SWAT uniforms sprinted towards us. They all had automatic rifles as well as dark green M67 fragmentation grenades attached to their belts.
They froze when they saw us, but they didn’t raise their guns. Their leader walked forwards, hesitantly looking each of us up and down without speaking.
“Sir?” one of the soldiers finally asked in the back after a few very long seconds.
“Let them go,” he said, motioning his troops on. “Not my fucking problem.”
“Wait!” Stephanie cried as they started to run away without giving us a backwards glance. “Are you with Agent Garland?” Their leader froze at the name, turning to face her.
“Yeah, we met your guy in the city of Bloodstone,” Bear said, keeping his hand near his holstered pistol.
“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but shit is going downhill fast,” the leader said, his voice distorted and eerie through the gas mask. “We’ve lost most of our company down there. We are trying to call for reinforcements. I don’t know who you are, but you don’t belong here. Going down there is suicide.”
“Why are you calling for reinforcements? What’s so important that you would want to sacrifice the lives of your men and risk having even more killed?” I asked. His body stiffened.
“We’re trying to stop the Apocalypse,” he said, turning away and motioning for his men to continue following him. Within a minute, they were gone from sight around a bend in the steep, narrow tunnel. More gunshots echoed up from below. Bear and I looked at each other, exchanging worried glances, but Stephanie seemed unfazed.
“We need to keep going down,” she urged. “It’s the only way out.”
“I wish we had more weapons,” I said regretfully, following her down into the darkness below.
***
After a few more minutes, the tunnel started to open up, the river of blood flowing into a swampy mess at the bottom. Strange, writhing vines twisted on its surface. Long, blood-red thorns spiraled around their thick stems.
A bridge made of bones led across the blood-red subterranean lake. I saw arm and leg bones stacked vertically, bound together with narrow strips of silver. Human skulls embedded in the bones formed a pattern, a symbol that seemed familiar. It looked like a backwards seven with a diagonal slashing line through it.
Across the bone bridge, I saw Agent Garland, his face sweaty and pale. He was surrounded by dozens of soldiers, some of them in gas masks and riot gear, others wearing plain black suits. All of them had automatic rifles, and most of them also had grenades and pistols as well.
“Agent Garland!” I cried. He jumped, spinning around and pointing his gun at me. When he saw my face, he lowered it.
“You goddamned idiots,” Agent Garland screamed. “You could have gotten yourselves shot! What are you even…” But his voice was cut off by a terrifying roar from behind him.
It sounded as if thousands of demonic voices shrieked together in a cacophony of alien tongues. It was a language of strange hisses, a language of hundreds of disparate voices screaming in low, slowed-down hisses.
“Another attack incoming!” a man in a black suit yelled, and the soldiers all turned away from us. Across the bridge, past the group of soldiers, I saw a tunnel that looked like a giant, hungry mouth with sharp stalactites and stalagmites sticking up and down like deformed, dripping teeth. An abyss of shadows cloaked the passageway, as dark as a midnight funeral. From the darkness, I saw silhouettes of creatures emerging that would have been at home in Dante’s Inferno.
There were more of the flying locust creatures we had encountered earlier, the ones with hairless child-like faces and dripping stingers. Their wings beat like helicopter blades, slicing through the air in a deafening cacophony. Their strange, white eyes seemed to change into expressions of pleasure and hunger as they drew nearer, their stingers dripping poison faster and faster as they got nearer to their prey. Dozens of them streamed forwards, grouped in packs of three and four flying in tight formation.
Behind these scorpion-like abominations, I saw something huge crawl out of the darkness, its skin the color of a black scab. The first thing I thought of when I saw it was of rat kings, when dozens or hundreds of rats get their tails intertwined and become, in effect, one body with countless skittering legs.
This was a conglomeration of many burnt, blackened bodies melded together with dozens of arms and dozens of legs sticking out of it. Multiple heads on top moaned in agony, their open, toothless mouths drooling blood and black fluid onto the burnt mass of skin below. Their lidless eyes had faded blue irises surrounded by bloody sclera. They constantly cried crimson tears.
These demonic conglomerations towered over the soldiers, each one fifteen or twenty feet tall. Their dozens of legs twisted in peristaltic waves, resembling the movement of some giant millipede. It propelled the entire mass forwards at a superhuman speed. I saw it scuttling towards us in a blur. And even though this happened years ago, I still see those abominations in my nightmares, and I regularly wake up screaming.
The agents opened fire. Bear pulled out his gun, and Stephanie and I took out our knives. My burned right arm shrieked in agony as I reached into my pocket.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that would be the last time the three of us would stand together in this life.
Part 4
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/19b1q7o/i_found_the_bottomless_pit_from_the_book_of/

As the ball lightning soared towards me, I came to life. It soared through the air with the speed of a cannonball. I heard the screams of Bear and Stephanie behind me, but it all sounded like an incomprehensible jumble. I jumped to the side, but it was far too late. The glowing ball of energy seared the flesh on my right arm. I smelled my skin cooking in its own fats. I landed on the ground as a bolt of agony shot through my body.
Bear had reloaded and sprinted forward towards the broken body of the creature. I raised my head and saw with horror that it had already started to heal. Tiny black veins like worms stuck out of the wounds on the creature’s head and legs, restitching the repulsive bony growths that composed its exoskeleton. They jumped and danced as they worked, the rounded ends of their tiny, leech-like heads performing a miracle before our very eyes.
The dark, fetid blood that gushed from the abomination on the ground had also started to slow significantly. As Bear ran towards it, I saw with horror that it had begun to try to push itself back up on its still-healing, shattered legs. It failed, stumbling like a baby deer taking its first steps, but I knew at the rate it was healing that it wouldn’t be long until its wounds were fully mended.
As Bear raised his .45 ACP pistol, ready to try to blow the creature away again, more green light began to form around its mouth and luminescent eyes. While Bear was preparing to fire at it, it had been preparing its own weapons in return.
Bear shot it point-blank in the face as pieces of the mass of light rippled into a cyclone. The bullet entered through its right eye. Like a jack-o-lantern being smashed, light poured from its ruined skull. The back of its head fragmented as bone splinters and pieces of flesh splattered the stone ground underneath it. The green light disintegrated. It felt like a flashbang had gone off. I was blinded by the overwhelming light that poured from its destroyed body. I also noticed a strange combination of smells- ozone mixed with the fetid reek of a slaughterhouse.
Bear stood there, panting heavily, his face covered in a thick layer of sweat. He looked down at the abomination on the ground. New veins and tendrils the size of a pencil reached out like fingers through the massive hole in its face. I looked down at my arm, wincing as I saw the deep wound. There was a charred, blackened spot about the size of an egg surrounded by patches of angry red tissue that spread out like groping fingers.
“How do we kill it?” I screamed, ignoring the pain. “What if it just keeps regenerating?”
“We should cut off its head,” Stephanie said calmly, a steely gleam in her eye. “Cut off its head and move it far away from the body, so that way they can’t rejoin.” She slung her backpack around and came up with a gleaming buck knife, its freshly-sharpened blade keen enough to shave with.
The creature still lived somehow. It had gone into some sort of seizure, kicking its thick, vampiric legs in violent jerking motions. I noticed it had thirteen fingers and thirteen toes, all crooked and inhumanly long. Sharp black claws grew out of the ends. It shook its head violently from side to side as if it were saying “No”, spattering its dark blood all over the floor and walls. I noticed how its blood glistened in the beam of the flashlights. It shone with oil rainspots, an iridescent pattern of colors gleaming as it streamed from the creature’s broken head.
“Are you sure?” Bear said, still hyperventilating. He looked at Stephanie standing there with the buck knife as if he had never seen her before. I must have given her a similar look. She had a sadistic pleasure in her eyes as she nodded grimly. She stood over the abomination’s writhing body, each one of her feet planted firmly on a side of its head, like a boxer standing victorious over his opponent after a knockout.
Bear and I each stood on one of the creature’s wrists so it couldn’t claw Stephanie out as she completed her grisly task. She knelt down, inhaling deeply. Then, without a moment of hesitation, she shoved the blade into the thing’s twitching neck. It gave an ear-splitting, demonic shriek as it spewed black blood like a fountain. Its jaw unhinged, and the dark blood flowed out of the center of the green electricity like a waterfall descending from an impenetrable mist.
But Stephanie kept cutting and slicing, her face a grim mask of determination. I heard a rending sound as its flesh tore. She had a problem with the spine, but, at least by that point, all the flesh had been sliced through and its movements had ceased. Its chest still rose and fell erratically. It gurgled as it choked on its own blood.
“Here, let me help,” Bear said, pushing her aside. With his thick arms, he twisted the creature’s head, which now only remained connected to its body by the vertebrae and a thin layer of gore around it. With a sound like a tree branch snapping, the head separated from the body. The green light brightened, faded to nothingness, then came back weakly for a moment before finally disappearing forever.
“Holy shit, that was intense,” I said, feeling like I was about to have a heart attack.
***
Bear held the decapitated head in his hands, an uncertain expression on his face. The nightmarish visage seemed to stare up at him accusingly, the empty holes of eye sockets sunken and black in the bony face.
“What are we going to do with this?” Bear asked, shaking the ugly bastard for emphasis. I shrugged.
“Use it as a soccer ball, I guess…” I started to say jokingly, but my voice cut off as a soft, angelic singing reverberated down the hall. It was singing in some language I had never heard before, a resonant, humming language that nearly brought tears to my eyes with its beauty.
As the singing abruptly cut off, a figure came around the curving street. I saw it hovering over the ground. Enormous, leathery wings spread out on both sides of its body, extending fifteen or twenty feet in each direction. They ended in sharp points like the wings of a bat. Narrow bones ran along the lengths of the wings, supporting the dark webbing.
It wore a black satin robe with the hood pulled back. When I saw what it revealed, I gasped.
Its head was twisted around 180 degrees. The skin on the neck spiraled around in purple bruises. In the place of hair, it had dozens of writhing, black eel creatures with circular white eyes and dripping fangs. They snapped at each other like wolves fighting over food.
I watched as the approaching figure hovered towards us, feeling slightly hypnotized as the creature bobbed up and down like a buoy on a lake. It moved in a smooth, elegant way.
I stood there in a daze, hoping it would finish its song. I wanted so badly to hear that beautiful voice again. I glanced over at Bear and Stephanie. They both stared in open-mouthed wonder, Bear still clutching the decapitated head of the abomination under one arm.
But that little voice in the back of my head quickly pulled me out of my reverie as I realized that this was the Angel of Death. The Angel of Death glid through the air, its skeletal feet hovering a few inches above the ground. It would fall and rise slightly as it moved. As it got closer to us, the eel-like creatures growing from its scalp started to get more violent, snapping and gnashing their sharp teeth on the empty air, their jaws clacking together with a sound like a gunshot.
Stephanie was actually the first one to break out of the trance. She whispered as if afraid to draw the attention of the angelic abomination.
“There was a rule about this,” she hissed at us under her breath. “We need to cut ourselves and give an offering of blood.” I jerked like a man waking from a nightmare. The Angel of Death had closed in on us now, its face still looking away from us. But I knew without a doubt that it sensed our presence and had likely known we were there for a while.
As if to show us how it was done, Stephanie pulled her folding knife from her pocket and slid it across her palm, opening up a narrow slice that instantly began bubbling up with thin rivulets of blood. She held it up, letting it stream down her arm as the angel got within a few steps of us.
Bear and I quickly followed suit, flicking open our knives and raising our hands. I felt a quick, burning pain as I drew the knife across my palm, holding it up as the eel creatures snapped and hissed. Then she stopped, and the strange snake-like beings growing from her head went quiet. For a long moment, nothing moved. The silence seemed absolute.
“What do you seek?” she gurgled in a low, slowed-down voice. “Why do you foul this holy site with your mortal bodies?” I wondered how she saw us, unless she was able to see and feel through the eels emerging from her scalp. Actually, the more I thought about that, the more likely it seemed. If true, it meant she would be able to see in all directions at once. I imagined no one would ever sneak up on the Angel of Death- as if anyone would ever want to.
“We… we came here by accident,” Stephanie stuttered, stepping forwards as she spoke. “We seek a way out.” The angel went quiet for a long moment. The white cataract eyes on the eel creatures seemed to regard us with a strange intensity.
“What is that delicious offering under your arm, Son of Adam?” she asked. For a second, I had no idea what she was talking about. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or Bear. But the eel’s blank white eyes all focused on Bear, snapping to attention like dogs begging for a treat. They stopped their writhing and gnashing, going very still and looking at him for a long moment. I glanced over and saw he still held the decapitated head from the Mark of Cain abomination. He hesitated, looking uncertain. I nodded at him, urging him on. He held the head up high above his head.
“It is for you,” he said in a diffident voice. “We brought it for you as well as our offerings of blood.” The Angel of Death spun around, revealing a skeletal face with worms and larvae eating away at the rotting chunks of flesh still stuck to her cheeks and chin. Her eyes glowed with an inner white illumination like two pale stars spinning in the void. There were no physical eyes in her head, only these strobing and pulsing pits of blinding light.
“It smells… delicious,” she admitted, floating forwards slowly. Her decaying skull of a head drew within inches of Bear’s face. He flinched away, blinking rapidly. I could see him breathing fast as trickles of sweat ran down his face. I could smell the Angel of Death as she drew near- a smell like old leather and rancid meat. But underneath that, there was a sweet, pleasant odor, like an undertone of lavender.
“Your offerings are accepted. I will grant you a single boon for this,” the Angel of Death gurgled in a deep voice. She bent her face towards Bear’s bleeding hand and stuck her black tongue out. I looked at it with horror, seeing its putrefying sores and necrotic tissue. She used the fetid, rotting thing to lick the blood from his palm and wrist. I saw Bear shudder and go pale as her tongue ran over his skin. Then she went to Stephanie, repeating the bizarre ritual. Stephanie didn’t show a scrap of emotion during it, however. Then finally, the Angel of Death came to me.
Her tongue felt cold and soggy against my bleeding skin. Small pieces of the decomposing flesh and larvae were left on my wrist and hand as she moved up and down, sucking the blood caressingly, almost like a lover. I repressed an urge to vomit. My stomach did flips. After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away, spinning around and putting her claw-like hands out to Bear.
“Your tribute,” she demanded. Reluctantly, he gave her the head. Her arms bent backwards in a way that no human arm should bend, twisting and popping with soft cracking sounds. She threw the decapitated head up to the eel creatures growing from her scalp. They cracked open the bony exoskeleton with a sound like a walnut shell breaking open. It revealed the spongy, pink flesh underneath. It seemed infused with some kind of green growth, almost like tendrils of mold that ate its way through its brain and muscles. The eels quickly stripped it clean, sticking their pointy snouts in and snapping up the meat with rabid hunger.
“Mmmmm,” the Angel of Death said in a resonant voice that made her sound almost human. It was as if she could taste the meat and blood that the eel creatures stripped from the decapitated head. Perhaps she could. A chill ran down my spine.
After they had finished stripping the meat from the offering, their gnashing and writhing calmed down. She turned her face back to us and I saw, to my horror, that the offerings of blood and meat had revitalized her skeletal face somewhat. It now had fresh growths of pink skin around her cheeks, mouth and eyes. I heard Bear and Stephanie gasp in unison as they saw her regenerating face.
“Your boon,” she demanded impatiently, the bones now almost covered with new growths of skin that spread out over the rotten flesh underneath. I looked at Bear. He instantly nodded. We were all on the same page without having to speak it aloud.
“We want to know the way out,” Bear said, stepping forward and speaking in a loud voice. “We want to return home.” The Angel of Death nodded as if expecting this, the eel-like creatures on her head drooping lazily as if they were tired after their meal.
“The only way out is farther in, through the center,” she said. “But the true king of the bottomless pit will not let you pass without a struggle. His name is Abaddon, and he is a demon of the worst kind. His kind has always been against mine- since beginningless time, we have fought. For the followers of Abaddon wish to bring about the Apocalypse. They wish to unleash God from the bottomless pit, so that he can destroy his creation before fading into oblivion. They believe that, when the universe topples, they will become gods themselves. I believe Abaddon is insane, however. I do not know who promised him godhood, unless he promised it to himself.”
“And we must not look at his face, right?” I said, smirking. The Angel of Death nodded.
“Mortals must not gaze upon the face of Abaddon. It will melt the flesh off your bones if you do. There are things in the dark that are not meant to be seen by human eyes.”
***
As the Angel of Death led us farther down into the pit, past more ancient towers and statues of angels with cruel, arrogant faces, I heard something far away. It sounded like people shouting and guns firing.
The Angel of Death floated above the ground in front of us, her backwards face always staring at us. It gave me the creeps. Her eyes never seemed to blink, and every time I looked up, I always found her staring right at me.
After a few minutes of traveling, she pointed to a dark side street with a long, skeletal finger. The stone road ran steeply down into darkness. It looked slick with moisture, and I saw a small subterranean stream flowing down the side of it. But as I looked closer, I realized the stream wasn’t water at all. The smell of copper and iron in the air was overwhelming as I knelt down, running a finger through it and pulling it up to see the red stain it left.
“Is this blood?” I asked, horrified. The Angel of Death did not answer me, but only continued to stare at me with her blank, dead eyes.
“The center is further down. Follow this road until the end. I wish you good luck, but I think I will see some of you again very soon. The last sands are flowing through your hourglass as we speak. So it is with mortals. Weak, pitiful things, they are. A mere breath of my power could destroy all three of you in an instant.” I couldn’t tell who she was looking at when she spoke these words, but they filled my heart with a sense of dread.
She drifted away slowly, almost lazily, hovering above the ground as she rose and fell in gentle waves, bobbing like a leaf in the wind. Within a few seconds, she had turned back down towards the dead city of Bloodstone, population zero.
***
We quickly realized the source of the shouting and gunshots when some agents dressed in gas masks and tactical black SWAT uniforms sprinted towards us. They all had automatic rifles as well as dark green M67 fragmentation grenades attached to their belts.
They froze when they saw us, but they didn’t raise their guns. Their leader walked forwards, hesitantly looking each of us up and down without speaking.
“Sir?” one of the soldiers finally asked in the back after a few very long seconds.
“Let them go,” he said, motioning his troops on. “Not my fucking problem.”
“Wait!” Stephanie cried as they started to run away without giving us a backwards glance. “Are you with Agent Garland?” Their leader froze at the name, turning to face her.
“Yeah, we met your guy in the city of Bloodstone,” Bear said, keeping his hand near his holstered pistol.
“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but shit is going downhill fast,” the leader said, his voice distorted and eerie through the gas mask. “We’ve lost most of our company down there. We are trying to call for reinforcements. I don’t know who you are, but you don’t belong here. Going down there is suicide.”
“Why are you calling for reinforcements? What’s so important that you would want to sacrifice the lives of your men and risk having even more killed?” I asked. His body stiffened.
“We’re trying to stop the Apocalypse,” he said, turning away and motioning for his men to continue following him. Within a minute, they were gone from sight around a bend in the steep, narrow tunnel. More gunshots echoed up from below. Bear and I looked at each other, exchanging worried glances, but Stephanie seemed unfazed.
“We need to keep going down,” she urged. “It’s the only way out.”
“I wish we had more weapons,” I said regretfully, following her down into the darkness below.
***
After a few more minutes, the tunnel started to open up, the river of blood flowing into a swampy mess at the bottom. Strange, writhing vines twisted on its surface. Long, blood-red thorns spiraled around their thick stems.
A bridge made of bones led across the blood-red subterranean lake. I saw arm and leg bones stacked vertically, bound together with narrow strips of silver. Human skulls embedded in the bones formed a pattern, a symbol that seemed familiar. It looked like a backwards seven with a diagonal slashing line through it.
Across the bone bridge, I saw Agent Garland, his face sweaty and pale. He was surrounded by dozens of soldiers, some of them in gas masks and riot gear, others wearing plain black suits. All of them had automatic rifles, and most of them also had grenades and pistols as well.
“Agent Garland!” I cried. He jumped, spinning around and pointing his gun at me. When he saw my face, he lowered it.
“You goddamned idiots,” Agent Garland screamed. “You could have gotten yourselves shot! What are you even…” But his voice was cut off by a terrifying roar from behind him.
It sounded as if thousands of demonic voices shrieked together in a cacophony of alien tongues. It was a language of strange hisses, a language of hundreds of disparate voices screaming in low, slowed-down hisses.
“Another attack incoming!” a man in a black suit yelled, and the soldiers all turned away from us. Across the bridge, past the group of soldiers, I saw a tunnel that looked like a giant, hungry mouth with sharp stalactites and stalagmites sticking up and down like deformed, dripping teeth. An abyss of shadows cloaked the passageway, as dark as a midnight funeral. From the darkness, I saw silhouettes of creatures emerging that would have been at home in Dante’s Inferno.
There were more of the flying locust creatures we had encountered earlier, the ones with hairless child-like faces and dripping stingers. Their wings beat like helicopter blades, slicing through the air in a deafening cacophony. Their strange, white eyes seemed to change into expressions of pleasure and hunger as they drew nearer, their stingers dripping poison faster and faster as they got nearer to their prey. Dozens of them streamed forwards, grouped in packs of three and four flying in tight formation.
Behind these scorpion-like abominations, I saw something huge crawl out of the darkness, its skin the color of a black scab. The first thing I thought of when I saw it was of rat kings, when dozens or hundreds of rats get their tails intertwined and become, in effect, one body with countless skittering legs.
This was a conglomeration of many burnt, blackened bodies melded together with dozens of arms and dozens of legs sticking out of it. Multiple heads on top moaned in agony, their open, toothless mouths drooling blood and black fluid onto the burnt mass of skin below. Their lidless eyes had faded blue irises surrounded by bloody sclera. They constantly cried crimson tears.
These demonic conglomerations towered over the soldiers, each one fifteen or twenty feet tall. Their dozens of legs twisted in peristaltic waves, resembling the movement of some giant millipede. It propelled the entire mass forwards at a superhuman speed. I saw it scuttling towards us in a blur. And even though this happened years ago, I still see those abominations in my nightmares, and I regularly wake up screaming.
The agents opened fire. Bear pulled out his gun, and Stephanie and I took out our knives. My burned right arm shrieked in agony as I reached into my pocket.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that would be the last time the three of us would stand together in this life.
Part 4
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/19b1q7o/i_found_the_bottomless_pit_from_the_book_of/

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 12 Chapters Ahead)
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Kayla and Pale ran until they could no longer hear their pursuers behind them. By the time it was clear, the storm and rain had dissipated, and night had fallen. The only signs that anyone had been there were the footprints they left behind on the hills in the wet grass and mud.
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"Stop," Pale commanded. "I think that's enough for today. We've been through a lot; we need to rest."
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"Yeah…" Kayla breathed between gasps of air. "Yeah, let's… let's stop for the night…"
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She collapsed onto the ground, her limbs splayed out as she stared up at the sky. Pale, meanwhile, shrugged off her backpack, then placed it on the ground and sat on it as she laid her shotgun across her lap.
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"I'll take the first watch," Pale offered. "We'll both try for four hours of sleep tonight. I'll wake you when it's your turn to take watch."
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"Four hours…?"
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"I know, it's not a lot. But I want to put some more distance between them and us before I'm comfortable sleeping for any longer than that. Plus, we can't afford to spend too much time resting if we want to track down your father."
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Kayla reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, you're right."
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Pale adjusted herself to sit a bit more comfortably. "Get some rest, Kayla. You need it."
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Kayla said nothing, instead turning over onto her side and closing her eyes. Pale took her eyes off her, instead looking back the way they'd come, looking for anything that moved in the darkness. A heavy silence settled over the two of them, though it didn't last for long.
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"Hey, Pale?"
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Pale turned to face Kayla. "Don't talk, Kayla – you need to rest."
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"I know, but… there's something bothering me. I was hoping you could help."
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Pale frowned, but nodded nonetheless. "Very well. What is it?"
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Kayla sat up to face her. She hesitated, biting her lip, before finally taking a breath.
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"The people I've killed… I know they were bad people and all, but… I can't get over it, you know? I… I didn't have much time to dwell on it until we were running away, but now that it's pretty quiet… I don't know."
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"You're worried about the fact that you took a life," Pale finished. Kayla nodded, and Pale sighed. "...Admittedly, I am the wrong one to ask about this. I was designed not to feel remorse over the people I've killed."
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"So, what, you just… feel nothing?"
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"Nothing at all," Pale told her. "It's war. I cannot afford to be sympathetic to the enemy if we are to be victorious over them."
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"But… to not even think about it all, that's…"
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"Cold?" Pale asked. "Heartless?" She shook her head. "Those words are meaningless to me."
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"But not to me."
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Pale fell silent at that. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes. You have morality; I was designed without it."
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Kayla bit her lip, then shook her head. "The thing is… I don't think that's true, Pale."
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"Really?" Pale questioned. She leaned in. "And why would you say that?"
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"Well… you said you were created from mapping the human brain, right? That you can think for yourself, and do all of these amazing things. And yet… you also claim that you were designed without remorse, to say nothing of any other emotions. But here's the thing… if you were created from a human brain, then shouldn't you be able to feel those things? That's part of what makes us people, after all. So why is it that you apparently can't feel them, despite being created from a human?"
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Pale blinked. That… was a very good question. She searched her data banks for an answer, but to her amazement, she found nothing.
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"I… do not know," she admitted, her eyes widening in shock. "This is… odd. I have never been at a loss like this before…"
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"P-please don't worry about it!" Kayla insisted. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that or anything! I just… I don't know, that doesn't add up to me. We can discuss it later."
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"Indeed. For now, you are the one struggling." Pale took a deep breath. "...Again, I am not the one you should be asking about this, but… perhaps I can offer some respite?"
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Kayla's eyes widened. "Y-yes, that would be good. If you can do it, I mean."
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Pale looked up to the stars. They still looked so unfamiliar to her.
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"...My creators have spent many years ruminating on topics such as this. How to assuage the guilt of having killed someone, I mean. It's a bit of an odd topic – some people can kill many and feel nothing, and others never get over their first, no matter how justified it may have been. In your case, however… what you did doesn't make you a bad person, Kayla."
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Kayla seemed taken aback by that. Her ears flattened against her head, and she averted her gaze down to the ground.
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"...I certainly feel like one," she admitted.
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"Why is that?"
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"Because killing is wrong, that's why."
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"But there are some circumstances in which it is unavoidable. You'd admit to that, correct?"
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"Of course. But even despite that, I can't help but feel awful about what I did to those men, you know?"
​
Pale shook her head. "You did what you had to do, Kayla. Those men would have killed that girl, and then tried to kill us. There was no other option but to kill them. Don't let it get to you; like I said, it doesn't make you a bad person."
​
Kayla exhaled softly. "Rationally, I know you're right, but-"
​
"But this isn't a rational feeling," Pale finished. "I… I'm sorry. I am used to cold rationality winning out more than anything; such is my nature as a machine. But people don't work like that, do they?" She shook her head. "I will tell you this much, Kayla – I can tell you are still a kind person. I know you would never hurt anyone unless you were forced to. But the fact is, there do exist people out there who need to be stopped, whether that's by hurting them or killing them. I understand it must feel awful for you, to go against a sacred rule that you hold to so dearly, but sometimes, there is no choice but to break a rule in order to save more lives. Those men from earlier, for example – how many more people do you think they would have killed if we'd let them go?"
​
Kayla flinched at that. "I understand… I just… I don't like serving as judge, jury, and executioner. Who am I to decide who lives and who dies in the moment?"
​
"The same could be said of them," Pale pointed out. "Who gave them permission to murder and pillage their way through your hometown? Nobody, that's who. Yet they did it anyway. Some people can't be reasoned with, or talked down from what they're doing. And if what they're doing is going to cause more deaths, then there's only one way to deal with them."
​
Pale took a breath. "I know it's hard for you, but… those won't be the last, most likely." Kayla flinched at that, but after a moment, she nodded.
​
"You're right," she said softly. "I… this is for my father, and the people who have already died and who they would kill if they were allowed to run rampant like they are now. I may not like it, but… if it comes down to it… ultimately, there's no choice."
​
"That's correct," Pale confirmed. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth, I wish it was simpler than that, but it isn't. At least, not the way people like you deal with it."
​
"No… no, that's quite alright. I actually feel a little bit better now, thanks to you."
​
"Good." Pale looked back up at the sky, frowning as she did so. "Get some rest, please. You need it."
​
Kayla nodded, then rolled back over onto her side and closed her eyes. She was asleep soon after, her chest gently rising and falling with every breath. From the way she flinched and whimpered in her sleep, Pale knew she was plagued with nightmares.
​
And for some reason she couldn't place, that made her uncomfortable.
​
–
​
"Pale, it's time to get up."
​
Pale let out a tired yawn as her eyes cracked open. Sure enough, it was just after dawn, approximately four hours from when she had woken up. She rose to her feet and threw on her backpack, then slung her shotgun over her front.
​
"Any threats in the night?" she asked.
​
Kayla shook her head. "No, nothing. At least, nothing I noticed."
​
"Good. Let's get going, then."
​
They started to walk once more. The skies were overcast yet again, but aside from a few far-off rumbles of thunder, there was no rain, which was a small mercy for both of them given how their past few days had gone.
​
"By the way," Pale said as they walked. "Do you know where we are right now?"
​
"Yes, I do," Kayla confirmed. "At this point, we should be a few miles away from the next town – place called Woodbriar. It's a little bit bigger than my hometown is… was."
​
She trailed off at that, falling quiet. Pale frowned.
​
"Hey," she said, getting Kayla's attention. "Don't do this to yourself."
​
"But-"
​
"I know, it hurts. But dwelling on it won't help you, as callous as that may be to say. Remember our talk last night?" Kayla nodded. "It applies to this, too. People died, and you lost loved ones; they may have been the first, but they won't be the last. You're very young, Kayla – death is a natural part of life, even premature death. It's sad for you, I'm sure, but if you're going to do anything to remember them, let it show in your actions rather than your thoughts. Understand?"
​
Kayla slowly nodded. Pale took a breath.
​
"Good," she said.
​
And that was the end of it. They continued on in silence for the rest of the day, saying nothing to each other the entire time. Eventually, however, the silence was interrupted by Kayla abruptly pointing at something on the horizon.
​
"Up ahead is the town," she said. "I think we're about fifteen minutes out."
​
Pale squinted, trying to get a better look. Sure enough, the endless fields and plains began to give way to a sparse forest, and through the foliage, she was just able to make out the silhouettes of buildings ahead.
​
"Just in time, too," Pale noted, looking at the sun's position in the sky; it was just about to crest below the horizon.
​
She motioned for Kayla to take the lead, and together, they both headed for the town of Woodbriar.
​
​
--
​
Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, Ickbard for the help with writing this story.

(Quick note, as the title implies I can no longer edit the original post for some reason. I think it has to do with reddits new UI, but the option to edit my original post no longer exists- leaving me with little choice but to make a new post despite rule 2. I may just be stupid and missing it, but I honestly could not find the button for it)
Greetings, fellow Helldivers! Have you ever wanted a quick and easy way to reference specific statistics for certain weapons that the game does not list? Or are you curious about a weapon or stratagem you've not unlocked yet and want to know if its worth your time? Perhaps you really just don't understand what a specific weapon's intended purpose is, and want to see if it really is as bad as it seems or if you've somehow missed the point.
Well, look no further! The Helldiver's Guide to Gunnery is here! This guide goes over every single weapon in the game: Primaries, Secondaries, Grenades, and Stratagems. Exception only to the utility-only options which don't deal damage (such as smokes, ems, and some backpacks), though I may include those anyways at a later date. It lists their statistics for damage, capacity, and special characteristics as well as generalized assessments of their accuracy, handling, and an overview of the weapon's general point of use.
Currently, Orbitals are halfway complete, after which I will add the grenades. The new weapons from Democratic Detonation are still undergoing testing since I only very recently acquired the warbond, but should be done within a week or two.
Of course, I am far from the most knowledgeable of Helldivers, so if you feel something in the guide is off or just plain incorrect, feel free to comment below! Be as detailed as possible, the more details you provide the easier it will be for me to double-check and verify your claims before updating the guide. Most statistics are pulled either directly from the game, from its files, or by in-game testing (typically a dozen or so stopwatch timings for things like reloads or impact times).

Guess who has a personal laptop now and doesn't have to subject themselves to strange looks at the library?
Now I'll be able to post here more frequently and maybe properly answer your comments.
If you missed my last post I strongly suggest you read it.
If you are completely lost, start from here.
A lot has happened this past week. I almost lost a finger trying to open a frozen pack of meat with an old knife, got enough money for a crappy computer, and even a proper, slightly used bed! But before I delve into my horrible memories covered in sulfur, there are a few things I need to clarify.
It was brought to my attention that even though I talk a lot about myself, I kind of forgot to say anything about me, so yeah, I guess a little introduction is long overdue.
You all can call me Nate, short for Nathaniel.
When I died, I was 35 years old. After that, I remained 35 for a few centuries.
The concept of age kind of loses its importance when you die, one of the few positives, I'd say.
Without beating around the bush, I'm not a good person. If I were, all these posts wouldn't exist, after all.
Before I died, I would have never admitted to this. I was blinded by greed and pride. I probably would have said some bullshit like, "I'm not evil, just realistic. In today's world, to stay on top, you must keep others down."
I ask not to be glorified in any part of this. I remember several occasions that would make you realize what a shitty person I am, even though I'm currently trying to change.
Anyway, we'll have plenty more time to talk about me after we get the important things out of the way. Today's post is important, so pay attention, and remember:
When the moon dissapear in Lust, Beware the one who sings in the dark.
The Circle of Lust is considered by many as the vestibule to the abyss. Almost all newcomers, with very few exceptions, fall into it when crossing the thin veil of reality upon death.
It is essentially a mixed zone that combines small samplings of everything the 9 circles offer, an area mainly populated by low-caste demons, small fallen angels, and newcomers, most of whom are desperate for an exit and have no idea what to expect there.
Therefore, Lust is used as a hunting ground by various things, from demons to even humans.
Perhaps if I had known how low humans had to sink to survive in that place, I would have been more cautious and wouldn't have suffered so much.
It had been some time since I was taken from the clutches of my captor; some flashes came to my mind: the recurring torture sessions, that person appearing without any indication, the descent down the spire wall, where I was tied to their body like a backpack.
The path I was being led through was tortuous, ahead of me lay plains of obsidian covered by a thin layer of ashes. In the distance, a chain of twisted mountains stretched toward the sky.
For a moment, I allowed myself to falter. I thought I was being rescued and taken to some kind of refuge. I imagined myself filling my belly with succulent meats, sleeping on a soft bed, and quenching my thirst with pure, crystalline water.
Friends aren't tied up.
When I noticed the tightly twisted wire in my hands and feet, I tried to protest, to throw myself off their back, to cut myself free. But I was terribly weak. The person carrying me noticed that I was awake.
I still remember perfectly my first interaction with that sneaky son of a bitch:
"Look who woke up! You're very unlucky, you know? Angel's plaything in the first few days, huh! And they say I don't stand a chance in this place."
I couldn't see his face behind all the cloths, but I had the feeling he was smiling.
"Who are you, where are you taking me?"
"My, my, such rude fresh meat, not even a hi or hello, shit I would accept a how was your day!"
"It's not like you're being very polite now."
"Hey, I'm a veteran so I get a pass."
"Do you want to tell me where the fuck you're taking me already? I'm not playing games with you man!"
"Neither am I, young fella. You, my friend, are Jack's property now! You were on his turf, you know, so now he gets to do whatever he fucking wants with you!"
"Turf? I was being eaten alive by some horse-monster creepy hybrid all the way up that giant thing! How does that constitute as his turf? Please, I just want to go home and see my wife."
That dirty rat let out a laugh, interrupted by a horrible dry cough.
"Home? This is your home now, buddy. Haven't you realized yet, poor thing? That's why you became an angelic snack. There's not a single good screw in that empty head of yours! But don't worry, even useless ones like you have a place in Jack's empire. Just wait until I deliver you. He'll be so proud! Maybe he'll even give me my own wife, a little plaything just for me!"
No matter how much I struggled, I couldn't free myself. Fatigue and hunger took their toll. All I could think about was this Jack character. I had no plans of being taken so easily, but until I recovered, there wasn't much I could do.
For hours, we walked beneath the turbulent clouds of Gehenna. Occasionally, a cacophony of deep, uninterrupted cries would emerge in the distance. During these moments, my new captor would lay still on the ground and cover himself with dust.
Something was following us.
My limited experience with infernal beings told me that we couldn't stay still. My heart raced every second we stayed there, exposed, motionless on the ground, but I dared not express my discontent. I feared that whatever that thing was, it could hear me and find us.
At that moment, I was in a sea of emotions, part of me relieved to have left the spire, another part terribly scared of not knowing what fate awaited me at the end of our journey.
It felt like I was out of the frying pan and into the fire.
As we resumed our path I noticed that, for the first time, the sky was clearing.
We were far enough from the cursed city to escape its influence. Looking back, I could see the perfect, unnatural circle of clouds covering Gehenna and the surrounding areas. I could see insect-like beasts flying towards the city, drawn to it like moths to a flame, making it their lair, their hunting grounds, and forever home.
But for some reason, I felt that going that far off the metropolis was equally dangerous. Maybe it was the stillness in the air, maybe the messed-up situation I've found myself in, but all of my senses were on high alert and didn't seem to want to calm down anytime soon.
The clear sky gave me my first ever vision of the moon, or if you wanna follow the locals, the eye of behemoth.
A gigantic globe of flesh up in the sky, stare at it too much and you figure out why they call it an eye. It seems to watch your every move once you're out of the city bounds, like some kind of twisted guard.
My captor didn't seem to mind its presence, but I couldn't take my eyes off it, the way it pulsated every once in a while.
It felt alive and conscious.
After some time walking, we got to some kind of camp made in haste, a few big loose rocks put together in a tent formation, an unlit bonfire, and what seemed to be beds made out of black leaves and ragged clothes.
Didn't look comfortable at all.
That rat threw me on the ground by the bonfire and sat inside the "tent."
"Now, my dear fella, we will wait for the other collectors, which might take a while. So behave, and no loud noises, got it? Or else your one-way ticket to the Silver City will have to be revoked, 'cause you'll be dead. I'll cut your throat and eat you right here."
"Eat me? What kind of sick bastard are you?"
"The kind that stays alive no matter what. And if you keep on babbling like that, I won't be the only problem you'll have to face."
As if following a cue, the loud and deep cries of some creature echoed in the distance.
I made sure to lower my voice after that.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Shut up if you don't want to find out!"
I wanted to ask about Jack, the Silver City, the collectors, but my fear spoke louder than my curiosity, so I just gave up and waited, not knowing what was hunting us in the dark.
The Eye was growing ever so slightly by the minute, its vision a constant reminder that safety was but an illusion, bound to break anytime soon.
As if confirming my fears, the eye once again began to change, this time growing darker and darker, as if its flesh was spoiling before my very eyes.
"Oh crap, not now!"
That moment, I knew we were in some deep shit.
The sinner looked at me, considered something on his head an gave up.
"Well, you're in luck, pal. I can't afford to let you die after all the trouble I went through just to get you here."
He said, getting up in a hurry and pushing me inside the tent.
"What is happening? Why is the moon... gone?"
Looking up, I couldn't see the eye anymore. I felt like it was still there somewhere, just so embraced by darkness it was impossible to find it.
Bit by bit, a strange shadow descended from the sky and into the land. Everything was engulfed in a cold void.
I couldn't see. I tried to speak but was unable to hear my own voice. I couldn't even feel anything other than that cruel presence.
I don't think I will ever forget it.
It was like I could feel its sadness. Something was circling the camp, taking gentle steps towards the middle. I was quivering, it was so cold that it hurt to breathe. I could barely think.
And then, I heard it sing.
The circle of Lust houses one of the most dangerous of the seven deadly sins, one of the biggest hunters of man and corrupters of heart.
The succubus.
Not a succubus. I'm talking about the original one, the primordial being that gave birth to the whole species.
The one that still haunts the human plane and was the inspiration for dozens of tales across the globe.
The mermaid, the Huldra, the Liderc—all but facades of the same unholy being.
the same one that choose us as prey.
When it sang, I felt like I was using cocaine for the first time again ; the high was immediate and powerful.
It came in waves, lifting me up into the sky only to let me fall into despair.
I needed her.
I was nothing without her.
I tried to fight, to free myself and run towards endless joy and pleasure, but something kept me from doing it.
It started to sing louder and louder, getting angrier and sounding less angelic with each passing second.
Suddenly, that dreamlike, almost orgasmic in nature state I was in changed into a complete nightmare.
It was no longer asking, It demanded my surrender.
My senses came back to me, only to bring me more pain.
The first thing I saw was fire, covering my body and burning me alive. My skin was melting before my very eyes, my mind froze trying to understand the creature standing outside the tent.
The torso of a woman, hips and legs like those of a spider. Where its arms would be, two bat-like wings extended several feet in length. Its head reminded me of a perfect genderless mannequin, except it had no eyes, no ears, or nose, only one big circular mouth covering its entire face.
"Don't look at it! It will break your mind!"
But it was already too late.
It was getting tired of waiting; I could feel its wrath. It no longer wished to toy with us; now it was going in for the kill.
My mind was buzzing, I felt a killer migraine getting worse and worse. I felt the urge to vomit, blood coming out of my nose.
We were about to die.
But then, I heard a weird chant followed by a deafening shot.
The succubus screamed in pain, breaking the spell and rushing toward the newcomers.
"You guys took your sweet fucking time, didn't ya?"
With my blurred vision, I could barely see the group standing on top of the hill. I was able to distinguish black robes and torches; some were carrying rifles adorned with weird flowers.
"Shut up and get your ass over here, Mice! We need to go, now!"
Once again, I was being carried away from danger, the buzzing of shots still roaring in my ears.
I could see other naked sinners, probably newcomers like me, chained up on top of an old modded pickup truck, with spikes and plates of metal all around it.
The last thing I remember before blacking out was the cry of pure rage from the succubus and a wave of pain passing through my body.
I really need to start getting ready for my shift now, so I guess I'll stop here for today.
In any society, communities exist to create hope, a better future, and security for all. People get together to do the things they aren't able to do themselves.
But in hell, as well as any other place, the corruption at the heart of humanity eventually breaks down every society, turning it into a play where only a selected few control the strings, and make sure everything works towards fulfilling their sadistic dreams.
Somehow, in the Silver City, things can get even worse. I was about to learn that.

What's good, buds? We are going full steam ahead with HT2 until I can put a bow on this first version. Meaning I will post chapters as soon as they are ready through the climax, expect two to three a week as I do so---my job will be the only limiting factor for me.
This chapter we get more of Kyrolls mentality, and start learning more of the dark thoughts filling his mind.
Lets get some fresh baked Loaf.
------
The sun had yet to cross the horizon; the nautical dawn had not yet concluded. The light of the twin Rentix stars bathed the horizon in orange, red, and waning purples. Refractions transformed the snow beneath their feet into equally vibrant colors.
Martinez yawned and deeply stretched, reaching for the sky, steam carried away by the breeze. He had yet to awaken after his rude alarm clock this morning, not having had time to make coffee or eat breakfast.
Kyroll, in his Infinite Wisdom, decided that shooting a round into the sky was the most efficient way to wake Martinez up. Granted, this was after he had tried to wake the disgusting Vuric with a flashlight and a calm demeanor, but Martinez was unaffected by someone trying to rouse him like they were trying to wake him for fire watch.
The human hadn't stood fire watch since he became a Doc; the Marines had granted him that waylay of responsibility since he was constantly patching them up. So when Kyroll tried that tactic, Martinez treated it like one of them was being an asshole—curling up and telling him to fuck off.
After Martinez had freaked out and dove into a fighting position in his skivvies, Kyroll chuckled at the sight of someone so close to his species preparing to fight specters. Kyroll likely would do something similar—if the Human was bold enough to try.
In retrospect, Martinez could admit that the situation as a whole was somewhat comedic; the sight of him clutching a bolt action knee-deep in the snow, wearing nothing but his boxers, certainly would have made him laugh—if he had not immediately begun to shiver from the cold clawing goosebumps on his skin.
"So how much further is it," Martinez asked at the end of a yawn.
Kyroll stopped for a brief moment and looked up at the hillside, then back down towards his datapad. "about another kilometer, we should be able to see where the Stags are eating and getting their food for the morning,"
at least that was some good news. Martinez might be able to sit down and prepare some of the freeze-dried coffee he had brought along; thank God the Marines had given him that in their care package for him and Lysa.
Lord knew he had missed the sweet black ichor, and the jar in his bag was likely the only source of coffee within several light years.
"Lead on," Martinez replied, trailing behind Kyroll, who had already stepped off.
At least he was honest about how long it would have been; the rest of their journey only took half an hour before they were setting up in a small hide.
Moving shrubbery and digging down into the snow took only a few minutes. To Martinez’s surprise, Kyroll showed some uncharacteristic patience, instructing Martinez on where to set up and how to conceal their position. Martinez had never been hunting, so this was all new, and he was willing to help where he could.
The suns had not yet crested the Horizon by the time they had sat down into their camp chairs at the bottom of the small fighting position they had built. While yes it was meant to be a hunting blind, Kyroll had instructed Martinez to make it like one would a fox hole, but only half the depth.
They slumped down and looked out over the valleys below, resting their rifles on their backpacks between their legs.
The vista below them was quaint, pristine, and tranquil, likely undisturbed by sentient life for thousands of Standard years. It was an example of what nature and life were long before the GU considered Renoral a location to settle.
A glacial river ran east to west inside its western flank, spreading into a small river delta. Amidst the delta, thousands of trees and shrubs offered fantastic cover, concealment, and sustenance to any creature within the area.
Like the other plants within the region, these were built for the frigid temperatures that befall this region several months of the year. They were hearty and dark green even though many less resilient foliage had already been grayed and browned.
The sight reminded Martinez of sagebrush that you would find within the mountains in California, but at 300 meters, looking through binoculars, he could not tell precisely how similar they were. If they shot a stag and went to retrieve it, he could compare the plants then.
Where they were was very similar to those mountains. No matter how far you looked in either direction, the resemblance to Earth’s mountains was uncanny. Slate-like rocks crumbled and cracked under the wind, barely clutching at their perches.
A kaleidoscope of colors peaked through the snow-coated hills, hinting at the thousands of metamorphic rocks below the frost. Other than his company, Martinez knew this was the type of place he wanted to live in one day: serine and unmolested by the expansion of sentient species.
With shivering ha,nds Martinez fished from beneath his gear an old human-issued MRE, one of the few he kept since moving. Inspecting the package, he couldn't help but smirk: menu number 12 beef stew.
Human MRE menu options have greatly expanded since humans were a single-planet species and now include food from all over Mother Earth. But most Marines, Sailors, and Soldiers had their favorites—and ones to avoid.
Martinez enjoyed the things that were more American. Yeah, some of the MREs that were soups, canned meats, and other delicacies from more adventurous climates and pallets were good; they just weren't the same and didn't give him the feeling of being home.
The only menu item that Martinez liked more than good old 12 was 17 chicken tacos. However, calling those tacos was a bit of a stretch. There were tortillas, cheese, hot sauce, and spiced meat. But it was just not the same.
But what can you expect? MREs were shelf-stable for decades; the one he was about to eat was likely prepared before he was born. At least it was better than any of the GU MREs he had sampled when the Jericho was waiting on resupply from Earth.
He pulled the friction activator on the auto heater, laid it on the ground, and waited for it to heat up. While Martinez poured coffee crystals into his heating cup, Kyroll did the same, pulling out his breakfast and readying it.
Unlike Martinez, Kyroll was eating dried nuts and what looked like a bit of jerky, likely homemade by Nelya.
Martinez didn't know why you wanted to eat something so plain when he could eat some of the canned food from camp, but hehe wasn't about to ask.
After a few gulps of warm coffee had woken Martinez up, and he opened the simple Mylar bag to spoon a succulent morsel into his mouth, Kyroll surprised him. He willingly started a conversation. "Why are you insisting on trying here?"
" I'm sorry, what?" Martinez replied, setting his spoon down.
" don't act like you didn't hear me," Kyroll growled.
" no, no, I did hear you. I just don't understand what you mean," Martinez replied before sipping his coffee.
Kyroll side hung his head and looked down into his own cup, steam wafting off of it. "Why are you trying to make all of this work? I've made it evident I don't like you. But you are still here—I don't get it."
Martinez rolled his eyes. How could this man not understand that he was struggling through these interactions and was out in the woods with him because his daughter and wife cared about him and their getting along?
If it were entirely up to Martinez, they would cut him all out of their lives and never look back. The man doesn't seem worth the effort. Martinez cared about Nelya and Lysa and would suffer for them.
"Because you matter to my ruh'ha. And dealing with you this way is the right thing to do. You might hate me and everyone who's not an Aviex. But I'm not like that; most humans aren't," Martinez admitted.
Humans were just too new to the GU to have any long-standing grudges. But what the GU thought of the Aviex was beyond a grudge.
Now that Martinez has a full perspective of what Aviex did, he can understand why so many in the GU hate the species. However, he firmly believes that forgiveness should be given and that one shouldn't be held to the sins of the Father.
That old lesson was something the entire GU needed to learn; Lysa, Nelya, Kyroll, and the whole Aviex species were not the ones who committed those atrocities.
The Aviex war was hundreds of standard years ago. Save for a few long-lived species, no one who would have fought in it is alive, and their grandchildren are likely not alive anymore. It was time for everyone to move on.
"I suppose you humans are better than I am, at least that way," Kyroll sighed, scanning the valley with his two remaining eyes.
"What do you mean by that? I thought I was the only human you knew?" Martinez asked, genuinely curious. Kyrolls' answer might explain why the old Aviex had a human Marine flag in his den.
"That's complicated," Kyroll replied, trying to rebuff the digging.
"Well, I figured. You are basically a walking enigma. So, just get to the point, man. No point beating around the bush here," Martinez insisted, not caring that Kyroll was attempting to deflect.
Kyroll tossed some jerky in his mouth as he pondered the idea of letting Martinez know a little bit more about the events of the past. What Nelya had told Martinez already was essentially forbidden knowledge. Why did Nelly have to tell him? If she had not, Kyroll might have had options to eliminate the Human.
Now? Not so much; there was only one option for those who knew the reality of the Aviex and the GU—unpersoning. Death was a solution, but that was just the start. His old Unit would erase him from existence.
Destroying his records would be easy enough. But the trouble Kyroll faced was Nelya and Lysa. How in all the universe could they accept that Martinez never came back? They would know too much—more than he could cover up or ask them not to talk about.
Kyroll knows he is a monster, a boogeyman lurking in the shadows of the GU. But could he kill his own family to hush up information? Could he stomach that? Pondering it, even for that brief moment, hurt more than any gunshot.
“I worked with one for a while. It wasn't for very long, but he was a good lad, fought like hell, and knew when to keep his mouth shut. But I was still subject to his rants and raves about trying to be nicer," Kyroll said, ending his sentence with a dry, raspy chuckle. “You might have given him a run for his money with your stubbornness."
"You'd be amazed how often I hear that I'm stubborn," Martinez replied.
"Likewise," Kyrol retorted, "Nelly tells me that the only thing more stubborn than myself is gravity,"
Both of them chuckled briefly; it was something they could agree on. Kyroll was almost as stubborn as gravity, with Martinez coming in a close second.
"So you worked with a human for a while;; what did you guys do?" Martinez questioned.
"Nothing fun, kid. I understand you were in the military and had some time in combat; I did, too, but none of that prepared me for what went on when I was working directly for the Aviex government," Kyroll admitted, sipping at his drink. "Stuff like that never leaves you, and you can't leave it—at least my commander told me that."
Kyroll was not sure why he added that at the end. Was he essentially begging Martinez to leave? Was he trying something to avoid having to do what he had planned? The memory of Joshua was not infecting his decision-making here—Right?
"My old lieutenant told us the exact opposite. Raleigh emphasized that when we were out of the military, away from combat, we needed to let it go and be ourselves for a while," Martinez replied, stuffing the empty food container into his trashbag and that into his rucksack.
"If I hadn't followed Raleigh’s advice, I wouldn't have ever asked Lysa out. I'm glad that I did listen to him." Martinez finished by zipping his bag up and looking out into the valley.
Instead of immediately responding, Kyroll grunted and looked down at the valley, hanging up instead of using binoculars to scan slowly from horizon to horizon. Using the moment to ponder the idea that Martinez might not have to die without everything falling into place so perfectly.
It was almost tragic. If Raliegh had not told him that, the human would have stayed clear of Lysa and out of this grim mess. But the die was cast, and Kyroll had to pick it up.
After he was confident that there were no Stags in the immediate area, he lowered the binoculars and continued to speak. "So, are you going to get out of the military?" Kyroll asked, aiming at alternative solutions.
"I mean, yeah, I will. I have Lysa and am able to start a career working fully in medicine. Don't get me wrong; I love the Marines and the sailors I worked with, but lately, I've been seeing other options. But—" Martinez started but paused, unsure of what he was going to say.
Martinez loved the Marines but couldn't fully quantify why he was ready to move on to a new life.
"But you did your time," Kyroll added. "Plenty of guys that I worked with did the same thing. A few of the ones you saw at my place did one or maybe two contracts, but then it was their time."
"Yeah, I suppose that's one way to put it," Martinez muttered, reflecting on his life up to this point and how much it had changed since arriving on Renoral.
Draun, Renoral, the Trauma Center, Lysa, his friends, and now Nelya and Kyroll had changed him; they gave him new perspectives on what mattered and essentially had given him a new lease on life.
When he was first assigned to Draun, he thought nothing of it; it was just going to be another assignment, another place to wait for the next deployment for the next war, but not anymore.
Yes, Martinez still had specters lurking within his dreams, memories that would gradually fade. But he no longer felt that yearning desire to return to the field, to return to fronts where his friends—no, his family—slowly but surely bleed out, be vaporized, and die a war that they truly didn't understand.
But they were Marines, Sailors, Soldiers, Warriors. They had answered the call to a war the GU and Humanity had justified.
Martinez supposed it was time for him to face the reality that he was ready to move on. He admitted it to Kyroll, which he had even done with Lysa. Maybe the old man was more of a kindred spirit than he initially thought.
That reflection pushed him further and made him think of the positives and negatives of what would happen if he decided not to go back; he could easily remain here on Renorall in Draun and never go back to Earth.
Many of the Marines always spoke of one day going back home and settling down, but there were those few who, once their contract was done, simply got off the ship at whatever port the ship stopped at.
His friend Dee was thinking of doing just that, jumping ship in Draun and settling on Renoral, so living here until he was old and grey was a prime option for the Corpsman.
Kyroll recognized the human look in the young man's eyes all too well. Martinez was deep in thought and weighing his options. Kyroll had done that many times throughout his life: before leaving the military, before joining it, before becoming a security detail or Special Operations. Every man had to go through that thought process once or twice in life.
Kyroll bit his inner lip, the thoughts of what he had to do swirling like a dark vortex, nipping at his heart and soul, cracking what little amounts of it remained.
Even he had to admit Martinez was not a bad person by any means in fact he doubted his initial worries as a father would hold any weight. Martinez was not the type of man to hurt Lysa, but that was not the issue here; it was what Nelya had told him.
Nelya knew, and no one was allowed to know that. They were both not supposed to know; Kyroll just happened to learn it and told her when she was angry about him always leaving.
Kyroll would rather keep those secrets buried in the darkness where they belonged. But what if Martinez had already told Lysa? That’s just another loose end. And his fucking family, no less.
Martinez was a different story; Kyroll did not know him, didn't care about him; if it wasn't for Nelya or Lysa caring about this Vuric, Kyroll would have already taken him out back, shot him, and buryied him deep.
It would have just been another body, another life snuffed, and someone else to be forgotten about. But Nelya and Lysa would know and would not stay silent.
The weight of their thoughts buried them throughout the rest of the day. Neither truly paid attention to the valley, the wind, the cold, or the snow; none of it mattered.
Both of these men of violence and resolve had to think about what they were going to do with one another.
Neither liked their realities.
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So our man has some dark thoughts, and does not like them one little bit. Now the question is how far will he go? Please comment, updoot etc. I love hearing from you all.
please don't forget you can buy the cleaned up versions of my completed novels below. to include the recently released "Iced Hearts" and the original Human Trauma.
i will see you all as soon as I have the next chapter ready
your baker
-pirate
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Been playing FM very casually for many years. I can make my way around a basic fort with the wiki+youtube. I tried AM for the first time last night.
I created a world, hopped into LM, found a dragon that had become an enemy of a dwarf civ and made notes on some key locations. Created a party of dwarves with the goal of avenging my kin. I watched Blind's tut to get through character creation.
The adventure begins! I was in a 3x3 room crammed full of party members and their animals. Tried WASD to move around, instead laid down on the floor and opened a menu accidentally. After a few minutes realized I was standing on a staircase and figured out how to go up. I was outside! For some reason tried WASD again and laid on the ground. Realized you can right click to go to a place; did it. Progress! Wandered around on the plain for awhile, not seeing anything interesting. Couldn't figure out how to fast travel or look at a larger map. Went down an incline to the z below. Nothing there so decided to go back to the start location. COULD NOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME WALK UPHILL. I tried jumping but only managed to headbutt and knock down some party members. I picked up some black sand and put it in my backpack. That was my greatest achievement of the session.
tl;dr: I failed to simply walk uphill for 30 minutes.

When we started, I was honest about xxxxxx's behavioral problems. I tried to be proactive. I sent an email stating xxxxx needed to be evaluated. The previous school wanted to evaluate xxxxxx but ran out of time. I may have used 504. But again, these are educators, and they should know what I'm asking. It is obvious to ANY OTHER educators I talked to that she needed to be in Sped/504. I explained that I had no knowledge but would do what I needed to get her tested. The school called every day, if not every other day, asking xxxxxx to be picked up. I gave them grace the first week. The second week, the school was constantly rescheduling the 504 meetings and still calling, not even trying to figure out what was triggering these fits. While xxx did throw fits at her other school, it was NEVER this often or extreme. They even told me she was self-harming, which was very alarming for me. The Principal called, asking for pick up. I asked her why she was getting worse if they knew what was triggering these fits, and why she wasn't doing her job to figure out why. Principal Edwards was yelling on the verge of cussing me out. I have never heard/seen an educator act like this before. End of the day, Ms. Edwards was not doing her job because she did not care to get to know xxxxx; I do not deserve to be cussed out because she got her feelings hurt. It's the truth, and I stand by it. I could tell Ms. Edwards knew she messed up by how overly nice she was when I went to the school to pick xxxxx up. Ms. Edwards wanted to have a meeting, so I went along even though I expressed it was the wrong time. Edwards asked for triggers. I explained why I asked for an evaluation; xxxx hardly acts out at home, so I can't give you the answers. One of the special education women set up an appointment for an evaluation again. Ms. Edwards led me to a room where xxxxxx had been alone for a while. I was already stressed out and didn't think about it until later that xxxxxxx was alone. I received a call the next day, and the school cancelled the meeting again and their reason why was because I did not have a diagnosis( I know this is bs now), and there was nothing they could do for xxxxxx. I was so frustrated. It became very self-evident that Ms. Edwards made it a habit to leave xxxxxx alone for long periods of time when xxxxx did not get off the bus the second Friday. I called the school and asked why xxxxx did not get off the bus. They put me on hold, and it was getting closer to 17 minutes, and I started to panic. I thought xxxxxx might have got on the wrong bus because they switched school buses that day. I knew xxxxx would be scared if she got on the wrong bus; even though she looks like an average child, she can't always express big emotions, and it is very stressful for her and can cause big outbursts. I finally disconnected and called again, and they put me on hold. The longer they left me on hold, the more stressed I became. After another 5-10 minutes, they finally told me xxxxx was at the school she left behind due to her having a fit and being left and forgotten in a room. I reached out to Mackee in hopes of getting help for xxxxx. Where he did say it was my fault for not getting a diagnosis, and they can't do anything if I can't pay for all the testing xxxxx needs. My expectations were too high. They are a new school and don't have sped/504 set up. I now speculate they had nothing set up and had NO education on sped/504. I asked him for a transfer to their other location, and he kept asking why. It was an odd question. I told him the location was not ready for a child like xxxx, who needs help now. That takes strong communication skills, and Ms. Edwards has NO communication skills. She has a reputation for it. It was almost like Makee was begging for us to stay. I kept asking why. Ms. Edward and the school are not a good fit. Why force us to be here? I just wanted to go to another location; I wasn't trying to leave Austin Achieve. I asked why the school kept calling for early pick-ups and leaving xxxx alone in rooms. Especially since she self-harms. He kept saying, for safety reasons, and when I stated well, isn't it a safety concern to leave her unattended when she self-harms? And Mackee, stop replying. Because there really is no good answer to that question, is there Mackee? I called xxxxx's doctor and set her up for testing and a payment plan. The doctor's office emailed paperwork asking xxxxxx's teacher to fill it out and bring it to the appointment. With the paperwork, we could start treatment right away. I got on the Dojo app and messaged xxxx's teacher to ask if she could complete the paperwork. I told her I knew it was at the last minute, and she could say no, but it would be helpful for xxxxxx's appointment. Her teacher agreed, and I told her I had put it in her backpack. I should have known something was up because she later stated she couldn't find it. There are only so many pockets in a backpack. I told her fine, I'll go drop it off. I dropped it off at the front office, and I could see Ms. Edwards watching me, but she didn't say anything. I went to pick it up, and the front office receptionist told me Ms. Edwards says we can't fill it out because you are transferring. I asked why Ms. Edwards couldn't have called and told me this herself. Ms. Edwards, you knew this would be upsetting news, and you set your staff up for failure. You showed me what kind of leader you are. Tommy told me they would only fill it out if I agreed to stay. I asked him why it mattered if we wanted to be transferred to their sister site. I want answers to why your staff kept forcing me to stay when it was not a good fit. I called Mackee, who told me it was all in my head. They weren't out to get me, but he would try to get the paperwork. It was an odd thing to say. He later said it would be waiting in the front office. I told him I would have to pick it up before the appointment, which was an inconvenience for me now. I asked Mackee why Ms. Edwards couldn't call herself, and she told me she was refusing to fill out the paperwork; Mackee stated Ms.Edwards didn't have time for communication, and we were just lucky she was helping xxxxxx. I told him I never asked for her help, and it takes less time to call me than me going to the school and causing a scene. For both of you, COMMUNICATION IS NEEDED as a principal. Mackee, I never understood why you needed to lie/gaslight to make these situations seem normal. I tried to pick it up before the appointment, but they didn't have it. I messaged Makee, stating it was still not ready. For a school trying to force us to stay, they went out of their way not to help xxxxx. By then, I was very weirded out by this school and started to call around to get some options. I was in contact with a woman through a program I found online, and she would help me contact the TEA, even though she knew xxxxx needed help. She stated she had a contact at Austin Achieve and would call them. She did make contact with Ashcon. AndAshton did call me. Ashton explained xxxx qualified for help through SPED, not 504. I asked why the Pflugerville location gave me a hard time and why they did not know the difference between 504/sped as educators. He said he was at a loss but would talk to John. He told me to contact him if I could get a diagnosis. Which I was able to do even with no help from the school. I then called the school and asked for a transfer to their other location, and I called every day with no answer or update. The girls did not attend school Monday and Tuesday due to doctor appointments to get xxxxx a diagnosis. I did not want the girls to return to school, but I desperately wanted to transfer to go through and knew they could not keep missing school, so against my better judgment, I sent them to school. I went to pick them up at the bus stop. They were not on the bus nor around the bus stop. I went straight to the school, where I found Tommy and told him my kids did not get off the bus. He had a walkie-talkie and asked all the buses if they had extra passengers. He told me they were not lost, just misplaced, but he could not confirm if the extra passengers were my kids. I didn't say anything, but I knew they were making excuses. Austin Achieve Pflugerville staff member NEVER lifted a finger to track my kids down. Even though it was their mistake. It took so long that the rest of my family started to show up because it took so long. My sister-in-law asked Ashcon, who was able to track down my kids. Makee, you claim the Pflugerville wasn't out to get me. Then why did they stand by and do nothing? The staff tried to blame recent bus changes, and I told them they had gone into effect long ago; that's not the reason. Tommy, at first, allowed us in the lobby. My sister-in-law started to ask questions. It came out that Tommy had canceled my transfer request, and my sister-in-law was asking more questions about why they would do that without communicating it with the parents. Ms. Edwards, who was not involved at this point, came in. I told them I wanted this conversation to end because I could tell by Ms. Edward's body language that she was ready to fight. I just wanted my kids back. Ms. Edwards yelled fine, then get out. Zeele pretty much shoves us all out the door. That day, Zeele had an attitude and thought this situation was funny. He was staring and laughing, making faces. The girl's dad was trying to show them the text with the bus changes that took place weeks ago, and Mr. Zeele attempted to hit him. Even though Mr. Zeele was the aggressor, they still called the cops. Almost 3 hours later, the bus finally came back. They were both red and in tears. I was the first one to get them. The staff never reached out to make sure they were okay. xxxx had a panic attack and almost passed out from the heat on the bus, and the little one found a water bottle with a bit of water left and gave it to her. They both had a heat rash all over. I asked the girls what happened. The girls said they tried to tell the staff they were on the wrong bus, but the staff would not listen, and they forced them on the wrong bus. I believe the school did this on purpose to get a reaction from me, and that day they did win. I kept asking the girl's dad why this was happening, and it was all pointless. He looked at me and said it was because she was racist. I must have given him a funny look because he went on. He had gone to pick up xxx, and Ms. Edwards and Zeele were making fun of a little girl who only speaks Spanish, saying I don't talk that fake crap. At that time, I did not believe him. Despite my disdain for Ms. Edwards, she is an educated woman. I would never imagine a marginalized group doing that to another marginalized group. Did I hear rumors that Ms.Edwards was trying to turn Pflugerville into a black empowerment school? Yes. Did I hear she was horrible to employees who were not black. . .Yes. But I thought she was a proud black woman; there is nothing wrong with that. However, Austin Achieve has nothing to say about being a black empowerment school in its mission or vision statement. However, it has become very apparent she does not want the Latino community at her school, and I see it all the time on Facebook and other social media. It's a revolving door of more marginalized families leaving Austin Achieve Pflugerville. Ms. Edwards is not helping African Americans by favoring them and mistreating other communities. I used to be involved in the Black Lives Matter movements. The girls went to a predominantly black daycare. I was vocal in social injustice situations. The faculty's actions made me step back entirely. When the girls returned to school, their new SAFE school, I was in the parent pick-up line. There was a teacher who looked just like Ms. Edwards, and I had a panic attack. It took me months to trust African American educators with my kids again. I believe Ms. Edwards picks on the Latino community because she knows they won't do anything about it. I am here to educate that despite my last name being Rodriguez, I will do everything possible to share my story to keep children away from Ms. Edwards and the rest of the staff at Austin Achieve. The staff will end up killing a child out of indifference and mistreatment of non-black kids. Half of my extended family works at the other location, so I got to hear all of the rumors staff was spreading. And no, Mr. Zeele, no one went to jail. You are aggressive and don't follow accommodation, and I'm not sure why you speak so brazenly with your history. You know what is ghetto, Zeele? Excessively talking down about ghetto people when you work for a school that targets low-income students. That says more about you and your wife's character than mine. While sharing this situation with others, I didn't even have to mention your name, and everyone knew you were the staff member trying to fight parents. John, I tried communicating with you, and you did not want to hear it. Was it because it was about your favorite staff members? The ones you're willing to fire good employees over? Risk your career over? Remember all that bullying trying to get me alone with all the abusers and changing meeting times? Then you pretended you had no idea about all this when I went to the Board? I tried to go to you, but you wanted to protect people who would sell you out in a heartbeat. I guarantee any of them will sell you out to get ahead of you. I went to the Board hoping for justice, but I got a $200 check that somehow was supposed to cover all the expenses I spent to send the girls to Austin Achieve, and the staff is good people talk. Good people don't harm kids, regardless of race or any of your made-up reasons. Reasonable people would turn in those abusers. John, you continuously choose Abusers/adults who know better OVER CHILDREN. And I NEVER heard of a staff member getting a promotion after trying to fight a parent. During the board meeting, Ms. Edwards, you tried to lie outright. you admitted to asserting yourself in the last situation you knew nothing about. All you did, Ms. Edwards, was escalate the situation. I asked you why you tried to involve yourself if it had nothing to do with you. Ms. Edwards went quiet. Again, I have NEVER seen an educator act like you. To be blunt, I find it hard to believe you actually have a degree in education because you certainly do not act like it. You wanted to say it was bus changes, lack of communication, etc. I was able to disprove all your lies. You all turned my life upside down, and I can't even get an apology? I know you have not learned your lesson at Ms. Edwards. You doubled down and continued with all your decisions/actions. Down to unenrolling xxxxx as not needing 504 Services. None of you should be educators, and I have more passion/love for kids in my pinky toe than all of you combined. You want to act like it's just business, not a school. But that isn't going very well for any of you either. Right? Didn't you guys suffer recent layoffs because of low enrollment rates? FYI, you have low enrollment rates because you have HORRIBLE staff. Ms. Edwards did this all in plain sight of other parents. I know for a fact parents saw all this happen and left the school. I'll try to answer some questions because I know Austin Achieve WILL lie. The girls attended for three weeks and three days exactly. No, they never tried to figure out why xxxxx was having outbursts. The school made her outbursts way worse. Yes, she told me she was regularly left alone for long periods. They never got her even close to being tested. If they tell you anything different, it's a LIE. Bus Switches were NEVER a reason why they were lost. No, Austin Achieve has not set up any effective rules or regulations to stop any of this from happening again; they lost another kid recently. I gave a diagnosis and medical paperwork to Ahscon. Why was that not communicated to Pflugerville? I'm not sure. I'm not sure why he couldn't call the Pflugerville location to tell them xxxxx qualified for 504. I bet that would have made things easier. They offered no support services, and I doubt they had any. Ashton, while I am grateful you tracked my girls down when they were lost, we both know the school needs to be held accountable for its actions. None of this is okay. While I wish I could provide a timeline, my phone went into the sink and was recently damaged. Previous cases, though, can give a timeline. I will also gladly look over anything Austin Achieve sends over. I still have questions for the Austin Achieve staff. I heard, John, that you asked for the footage of xxxxx to be pulled. Why? And why won't you send them to me? That was why I asked for the footage. Why did you delete only xxxxx from the teacheparent communication app? to cover up any conversations I had with the teacher? Where is my paperwork? John and the Board, When I was expressing my concerns online, you know who stepped up and asked if I was talking about their schools and wanted to correct it immediately. Pflugerville ISD. You should take some notes. Austin Achieve, you habitually do not respond when the conversation gets hard or uncomfortable, but that is the only way to get things to change. John, you got upset when I called you evil. Isn't that what we call people when they harm children/do nothing to protect them? If none of you answer my questions, please answer the next one. Why and how did it get this bad? While most of this might be useless to you, Evelyn, and Elyse, I hope something helps, and you can see why I am frustrated with this school. And not that any of you Austin Achieve staff care, But xxxxx is flourishing. No more outbursts every day; she now says she loves school. It's amazing what TRUE educators can do. And it is amazing how much she has changed. NO THANKS TO AUSTIN ACHIEVE PLUGERVILLE. Yes, getting cases closed and being told they can't help me opens the wound all over again. I would rather deal with this pain than a parent losing a kid. Austin Achieve, I feel disgusted by you. I get sick whenever I pass by the school or think of any of you. Your staff saw all this happen and did nothing. I am currently trying to overcome the overwhelming fear that this is what my daughters will face for the rest of their lives. People will be cruel to them because of their disabilities and or because they are Hispanic. That fear is sometimes overwhelming, and I can't get out of bed. Or I want the girls to stay by my side. I feel such guilt for bringing these amazing people into such a cruel world. Austin Achieve, that is what you took from me. You only prolong my healing by refusing to admit your mistakes.