For some reason gruesome murders hook me. I’m not sure why but I dig crimes and murders. Any suggestions?

This might be long, so please bear with me.
Info about this annoying guy: let's call him R, we've been friends for the last 10 years, basically because his dad and mine are colleagues and share the same workplace, we went to the same school, same tuitions, and have met each other out of academic arenas also, as in get together parties organised by my dad's office members. We both know each other pretty well, as if we were siblings, but our relationship is not sibling-like, we consider each other just friends but he gets on my nerves sometimes and I don't like this behaviour at all.
A few problematic points I'd like to highlight:

HIS TOXIC TRAITS

First ~ He doesn't like when I talk to other boys, even though I'm not flirting with other guys and just engaging in normal conversations with them, he gets agitated for no good reason and picks up petty fights with others and I need to step in such silly situations to resolve the conflicts. Yeah basically he has anger issues, and I've tried my best to treat these problems by talking with him about this but to no avail.
Second~ He's a literal playboy, he knows he has the pretty privilege and he utilises it perfectly, he takes complete liberty in sweet talking with other girls, lusting after gorgeous models he sees on social media, but he doesn't expect me to do the same. He's so toxic that he changes girlfriends almost every month, and he bitches behind his girlfriend's back to me, although he's stopped doing it now with the same frequency as he used to before because I had once scolded him pretty harshly about this vile behaviour of his.
Third~ He flirts with me frequently, and I've always rejected his advances, and expressed my resentment regarding his behaviour, but he never stops in his attempts, almost as if he never loses hope, he tormented me immensely because of this creepy manner of his when we were in school, and now when he's in his first year of BTech in Hyderabad (I stay in West Bengal btw) he still keeps up with his persuasive behaviour and I want him to stop it at this point. I once tried blocking him on WhatsApp and phone calls but then my dad got to know about it and he asked me why I'd stopped talking with him, I couldn't complain to dad about his manners because I'll be honest, he's never misbehaved with me, so I don't have anything to complain about regarding him, so I had to go back to talkin terms with him even though I didn't want to. Moreover, not talking with him might have been detrimental to the healthy friendship my dad and his dad share.

HIS AMBIGUOUS TRAITS

Ohkay. Firstly I am to blame here too. I'll confess this, I do like him slightly, BUT ONLY SLIGHTLY. I DO DISLIKE HIS BAD TRAITS AND I'VE CONFRONTED HIM OFTEN ABOUT THIS, I DO CRITICISE HIM WHENEVER HE'S DONE MISTAKES, but I can't deny he's behaved in a wholesome manner in multiple instances and I can't just neglect that about him.
He supported me and stood by my side once when I was involved in a controversial issue with a few other classmates, it's a personal issue so I won't delve much into it but in brief the thing that happened was that I had been accused of unethical behaviour and bullying in school when in fact I was the one who'd faced such mistreatment because of my Nepalese ethnicity and east asian facial looks. I really needed people to support me that time but not many came forward, however this guy R did. And I'll forever be indebted to him for this gesture.
I was catcalled in a local fair by a group of creepy men when I was in 8th standard and I could've almost been a victim of sexual assault that day if it had not been for this guy R who came up to help me, he helped me escape that time and handled the goons himself, thankfully we had police officers in the fair in the premises and we called them up for help, they soon arrived and the goons ran away instantly on seeing the police. Again I cannot thank him enough for acting with great presence of mind that day and saving me from something so gruesome and traumatic.
He always knows what gifts will cheer me up the most, almost as if he can read my mind and my thoughts perfectly, I eagerly wait for his gifts every birthday. I'm basically a book nerd and he somehow knows which books from which genre will suite my mind and appeal me the most, I often get surprised at this fascinating ability of his, yeah so I must confess I find him a really amusing character.
But ultimately I must say, his constant flirting and dominative behaviour gets in my nerves occasionally and he does act annoying at times, so what should I do in this situation??
TLDR: I have a male friend, who's toxic on some occasions but wholesome on other instances. I have called him out for his toxic behaviour always, but I can't help but like him slightly because he's helped me out on several occasions and I will be grateful to him for it always. However I just don't like how he's a top tier Playboy who toys with other girls (I must confess he's never treated me like that, but I'm still sceptical about him anyways).

I'm usually not someone who remembers dreams at all but I can recall these pretty much entirely. I don't know why that's changed for me, but I figured that may also mean something
They always start with me sleeping and waking up to a home intruder, my apartment is recreated perfectly in the dreams too, down to the most minute details like where I left my shoes the night before. its never someone I know, and I always end up killing the person. Its really fucked up and it messes with me for the whole day afterwards.
Every single time this has happened its been extremely gruesome and violent. I hate even thinking about it, so much blood, so much screaming, and it's always so real. The one I had last night I stabbed the other person in my kitchen, she had a knife too, and we both had specific knives that are actually in my kitchen. It was legitimately one of the most gruesome things I've ever seen in my life, genuinely disturbing shit. I almost feel like there was more blood pouring out of her than she could have held in her body, it was awful.
I remember trying to call the cops after the fact but my phone was dead, so I went to charge it and literally sat on my couch staring at her body while I waited for it to charge, woke up as soon as I dialed 911.
I've done a little bit of research on what this could mean but most of what I came up with was stress and anxiety. The weird thing is I've been much less stressed recently as I just finished my finals and have started my summer vacation, and these dreams started up probably 3-4 days after the fact. There's really been nothing new or significant that changed my life personally or at work either so I don't know where that is coming from.
I'll add some more detail and answer any questions if that helps anyone.
I'm mainly concerned because of how well I remember these dreams, again I usually don't remember anything or only remember little bits and pieces of it. So it feels like my brain is trying to tell me something and I don't know what it is.
Thank you for reading and thanks for any help.

I've always had an interest in real-life crimes and murder cases, fluctuating between immersing myself in research and taking breaks depending on my mood. However, this month, I've found myself delving deep into online articles and reading about serial killers, particularly gruesome cases like the Dean Corll crimes. The details have started to emotionally affect me, leading to unsettling nightmares where someone tries to enter my house. I'm left wondering if others have experienced this too. Is it just my mind playing tricks on me, or could there be a sinister presence around me due to my intense focus on these cases?

TL;DR I'm hoping to find a game with similar mechanics to Fallout 4, but without such a grusome setting. So open world, crafting, settlement building, character development. That kinda stuff minus the graphic post apocalyptic stuff. Not necessarily totally cutesie, just a bit less intense. Not too fussed about if it has combat or not.
This is maybe a weird thing to ask for. But I'm not usually a post apocalypse or gruesome shooter type gamer. Most of the games I enjoy are things like breath of the wild, animal crossing, stardew valley, planet zoo etc. Fairly cute or non-graphic games. Some fighting some exploring or building. Not too difficult or stressful. Pretty "girly" games I guess.
But for some reason fallout 4 really hooked me. I absolutely loved it, especially the exploration and (it appears somewhat controversially) settlement building. I sunk hours and hours into that game and really got deeply into it in a way I don't think I really have with many other games.
I'm feeling a fallout 4 shaped hole in my heart right now but I'm not sure I'd be able to get back into it now. I think a lot of what drew me in was the novelty of it (to me) and I'm not sure if it would still be fresh enough for me to enjoy it through all the exploding heads and supermutants.
So yeah kinda weird request maybe... Are there any games like Fallout 4 as far as game mechanics go, but without the gruesome stuff? And ideally without needing to kill actual animals/ innocent creatures. I can't bring myself to kill a bramin let alone a rabbit or a deer. I feel guilty enough accidentally catching a fish in Zelda 😂
I'm really not the right type of person for a game like Fallout. I have no idea how this happened. I don't think I'm the type of people these games are catering to so I'm not sure if there's anything at all like what I'm after out there. Thank you for any suggestions.

During the course of my career as an alpha Sasquatch hunting, Dogman destroying, pussy crushing, luxury watch loving dude, I have run into this particular woman a few times. She is one part uber sensuality, and the other part deadly. Yes, I am speaking about the lovely, Anna Conda. I bring her up because I had another run-in with her last year.

Anna and I first joined forces, so to speak, when she acted as a go-between in my business deal with the Chinese to sell them bigfoot parts. See, I would hunt and kill the critters, cut them up, deliver the parts to Anna, who in turn gave me a suitcase containing unmarked American hundred-dollar bills, then she would transport the bigfoot parts to the Chinese. I was never really sure of what the sneaky-ass Chinese were doing with the body parts. All I knew for sure is that they are extracting certain materials from them, then synthesizing them with some other shit, creating some sort of drug. Whether it then becomes a bio-weapon or a dick stimulant, I do not know. Neither do I care. As long as they kept the hundies coming, I was good.

Now, while Anna is of Russian descent, she is a freelancer. She will work for any sick, skeevy motherfucker out there. She does not care. She has no conscience, at least not in the traditional sense as we understand it in western civilization. Today she is working for the Chinese, and tomorrow she may be working for Hamas. She is a slippery motherfucker.

So here is how it went down. At 11:32 p.m. on a Friday in September of last year I get a call on my cell phone. When the call came in I was balls deep into this hot little lass I picked up at the bus station a little earlier in the evening from an old swarthy chap named “Colorado Joe”. He wanted to sell me the girl. I was assured she was over 20 years old. I told him I needed to take her out for a test ride, which he agreed to.

So, there I was, balls deep in “Bing Bang Yun”, and my phone rings. Of course, I silence all incoming calls not in my contacts list. Thus, I knew that I must know the caller. In mid stroke I reached over to the nightstand to retrieve my cell and looked at it. It was a call from “Sergio”. I thought, “Oh shit…. I am going to have to cut the Oriental bang circus short.” When Sergio calls, I have to respond…immediately. He has the best blow on the east coast!!

“Hey, Serge! What’s up?”, I asked. All he said was, “Hooters. 2:00 a.m.”, then hung up. This was obviously the rendezvous for the transaction. Now, understand that Serge was not talking about the chicken wing restaurant. Hooters was code, in case the feds were listening in on the line. “Hooters” meant the titty bar out on Highway 69 called “The Plump Rump”. We had a communications code we used.

It was a long haul to the titty bar, so I needed to get moving. I had no time to return the girl to Colorado Joe, so I took her with me. I had her blow me on the way to the meeting with Sergio, telling her that her performance would make the difference on whether I save her from Joe or not. Of course, after she was done I tossed her out of my speeding truck and down, over the bridge, and into the Wendigo River below. I did not need any complications in my life right now.

I arrived at The Plump Rump at 2:00 a.m. on the dot. I saw the manager, Lou Skunt, sitting at the bar when I walked inside. I nodded. He walked over and said to me, “Use my office for the meeting The parties are already in there waiting for you.” I nodded and then headed to Lou’s office. Then it hit me: Lou said the “PARTIES” are already here. That is, parties, meaning more than one person. It was not just Sergio. It was 2 or more people! Lou was probably in for a cut of whatever was about to go down.

Something was bad fucked up!! I know for a fact that Sergio never brings anyone with him on a deal, at least not with me. He is too distrustful of people to do that, and too fucking mean to need protection. Something was wrong. I was just as likely to get whacked when I enter Lou’s office as anything else. I needed a moment to think things through.

I took a spot in front of one of the performance poles to watch a young, swarthy Mexican lass perform. My mind quickly strayed from the problem at hand to this brown chick’s ass and tits. She was not a great looking chick, but her body was smoking!! I quickly became aroused. I thought to myself, “Goddamn Asian bitches!! They are just like Chinese food – after 2 hours you are ready for some more!!”

When the little Mexican chick went on break I motioned her over to my table. “Hola Senior!!”, she said. I pulled out a clear plastic baggie of blow and dropped it on the table. Her eyes grew wide and slobber starting falling from her mouth. Blow is like catnip for strippers. Thus, she fell under my spell immediately.

The next thing I know, this brown girl was on my lap, dry humping me like a feral bitch dog in heat. I had to bang her. I NEEDED to see my wang penetrating her. Just then, someone taps my shoulder hard. I look up to see Lou standing over me. He bent down and said, “Did you forget about my office, asshole?!?!?!” I replied, “Damn, Lou!! You read my mind!!!” I arose, with the little Mexican bolted onto my mid-section, and hastily retreated to Lou’s office. I figured Lou would prefer me to stain this chick in private rather than out in the open.

The door to the office opened easily. The lights were on inside. In a lustful haze, I set the little Mexican chick on her back across Lou’s desk and started pumping the shit out of her, completely unaware of the others in the room with us. In a moment I heard someone call my name. I twist my neck around to see Sergio sitting on Lou’s jizz crusted couch. I think to myself, “Oh shit! I forgot about that shit!”

I figured I would just move forward with the deal as it was proposed to me. “Hey Serge! What ya got for me, dude?”, I asked. He replied, “I have a very special deal for you. I need, uh … yeah, ……Hey, Rod, you want to stop for a moment so we can talk?” I picked up the little tamale and laid her down onto Sergio’s lap as I continued to plow her. She stayed on my cock the whole time. I told Sergio, “No, man. I’m good! Lay it on me!” Slowly, Sergio lowered his face into his palm.

Then it happened. The voice cam from behind me, in the dark corner of Lou’s office. It was velvety yet hard as steel. “Rod. Went need to talk”, it said. Even though I did not stop pumping the little brown chick, a chill went down my spine when I heard those words. It was the thick timbre of the voice, I think, that alerted me.

I turned to look across the room. There, sitting in a red leather captains chair against the wall was the source of the sultry voice: Anna Conda.

I picked up the little taco yet again and turned her around so I could face Anna as I continued pumping her. At this point the Mexican girl was merely a masturbation toy I was using. I increased my pump so I could dump my load and get this over with. Then BAMM!!!, it was over. I removed the lass from my huge rod, after which her body crumpled to the floor. I did not know if she was dead or injured, or what had happened to her. But I did not care either, so I did not dwell on it.

I tried to compose myself the best I could, then walked over to stand before Anna so I could get to the bottom of all this business. “Well, well, well. Anna Conda. We meet again. Tell me, what brings you here, to my little neck of the woods?”

Anna replied, “Rod, put your dick away.” I looked down and, indeed, I had forgotten to stow my cock. Out of pure curtesy, I packed it away. Then I returned my attention to Anna. “Alright, Anna, what’s going on here?”

Anna launched into a startling tale about what brought her to me. As she spoke I became lost in her wanton beauty. She got up from her chair and walked about the room as she relayed her story, presumably to make it more dramatic and demonstrative. I got a full-on view of her body, and it was fantastic!!

She stands 5’10’’ and weighs 105 lbs. She is lithe. She was showing it off too, wearing a black, silk dress that landed just about her ankles. The top was low-cut, betraying just a bit of cleavage from her C-cup wineglass titties. She was not wearing a bra. Anna never wears a bra. Her nips were perfectly outlined through the silk. In fact, I think her nips were hard. It was probably something she did on purpose in an attempt to influence me. It was working.

Anna’s ass was perfect. It was not at all fat, but round enough not to be skinny. It was a fit figure skater’s ass. As she walked, I could see a tiny bit of jiggle emanating from her ass flesh, and then reverberated in the silky black dress she wore. My cock began growing hard again.

Her face was beautiful. Think Scarlett Johanson and Phoebe Cates rolled into one. But any sweetness this may evoke is quickly dispelled by Anna’s throaty voice with its thick Russian accent. I have known Anna for 20 years. Yet, she still does not look a day over 25. Jesus Christ!!! If ever there was a chick to die for ….. If I was one to delve into the belief of the paranormal, then I may conclude that Anna made a deal with the devil. But, I am not such a person.
And literally, Anna Conda is a chick to die for. She is deadly as fuck. She will kill you in a split second without a thought just because she does not like the shirt you are wearing. She can do it too. She is always armed and she knows how to use her weapons. Moreover, she is a total psychopath. This makes her doubly dangerous.

Anna and I have always gotten along for the most part. Like Anna, the dollar is my primary motivating factor. Such a mindset allows for understanding and predictability among people, which are elements that are sorely missing in many business dealings today that go on in the color of darkness.

Suddenly, Anna snapped me out of my thoughts. “Here’s your gun, Rod. Now let’s get started”, said Anna. She and Sergio were halfway through the door exiting Lou’s office when I said, “Hey, wait a damned minute!!! What are you talking about?!?”

They both stopped, and Anna walked back in and looked me in the eyes, saying “The plan, Rod. Let’s get on with the plan.” A little embarrassed, I sheepishly asked, “What plan?” Anna folded her arms and looked cross at me. After a moment to allow me to simmer in my shame, she asked, “You were not paying attention, were you, Rod?” I shook my head and looked down.

I heard a hammer cock. I jerked my head back up to find myself staring down the barrel of a pistol pointed at my head that Anna was holding. I protested, “Look, it is not my fucking fault!! Put that fucking gun down!!!” I continued, “You were distracting me with …. Well.. you know, how you are dressed, and that hot, sultry voice…. You know?”

“So, instead of paying attention to the plan, you chose to eye-rape me. Is that what I am to understand your position is, Rod?”, she asked. Knowing that my life was on the line, I said, “Anna, look, you know I am horny to a fault. Then you come in here, swinging them tits around, wearing that silk dress showing off the crack of your ass…. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT TO HAPPENED?”

Anna lowered her gun. She knew that my explanation of being a total cocksman was truth. “Let’s go”, Anna curtly said. I obeyed.

Anna explained the plan to me again on the drive from The Plump Rump. She made me wear a blindfold so that I would not get horny during her explanation. Here is how it went:

Anna Conda was now working for the Russians. It seems that Putin caught wind of the Sasquatch project that the Chinese were working on. He also knew that the American government have been fucking with sasquatch for decades. Thus, he was very concerned about the existence of a bigfoot gap. He ordered the acquisition of a Sasquatch specimen immediately.

Moreover, said specimen must be prime. It needed to be the biggest, baddest sasquatch of them all – a true alpha – so as to speed things along. Putin did not want some weird shit-creature, is-it-a-sasquatch-or-is-it-a-dogman, kind of monstrosity. He wanted purebred, badass sasquatchery, and preferably from the American Pacific northwest.

Anna got in on it because she sold the intel to Putin about China’s Sasquatch operation. She then told Putin she could produce sasquatch corpses for him. She told him she had a contact (i.e., me). Thus, with Putin’s blessing and promises of riches to come, Anna set out to America to find me.

Now, here is where things got a bit squirrely. See, I agreed to procure some more dead sasquatch. I have no problem with killing sasquatch because, in my opinion, they are an abomination on this Earth. I kind of feel like I am doing God’s work by wiping out as many of them as I can. And given all the not-so-Godly stuff I have done, I feel like killing Sasquatch kind of offsets that to some degree.

But Anna, she was stuck on Putin’s instruction that she must supply him with apex Sasquatch. So she did not want to take my advice of heading to the Pacific Northwest or Alaska. Instead, Anna claimed to have pinpointed the whereabouts of a particularly gruesome sasquatch beast that she KNEW would win her a fortune from Putin if she brought it to him.

“So, where is this beast?”, I asked. Anna replied “Martha’s Vineyard”. I paused. Then I asked her to repeat herself. It turns out that I was not mistaken about what Anna had said. I continued, “Uh, Anna, there are no sasquatch on Martha’s Vineyard, just a lot of wealth New Englander schmucks.”

Anna looked at me and told me I was wrong. Then she decided to attempt to taunt me. “Oh, Rod, mighty slayer of Bigfoot! Yet, you fail to take notice of where the biggest, most foul and rotten beast of them all makes its home. Jesus, Rod!! What kind of bigfoot hunter are you, anyway?” Anna then spit at my feet and wondered aloud whether she even needs me for this job.

I decided that I needed to straighten out the hierarchy here in order for this here deal to move forward. I said, “Well, Anna, feel free to truck on over to Old Whitey Beach and battle that beast. But, if there is a big old mangy sasquatch lurking around over there, then it is probably a fucking Nazi-Squatch. You know, those fuckers out there hate the Jews.”

The work “Nazi” visibly shook Anna. Her great grandfather died defending Leningrad. Her entire family there died of either starvation or cannibalism during Hitler’s siege during Operation Barbarossa. Anna despised Nazis. But she feared them too. After landing that punch, I decided to push my luck.

“Now, I am still willing to help you catch this here Nazi-Squatch, but you have to do something for me”, I said. Now Anna’s eyes were on me, and they were narrowing. I continued, “I want you to get bare assed naked and pleasure yourself while I stand over you and jack it.” Anna stared at me silently for a long moment. Then she replied.

“After the job is done, and you can get none of your … fluids… on me”, she said. I shook my head and countered, “Now, and I will ‘try’ to not get my spunk on you.”

However, Anna then turned the tables on me. In fact, she picked up the table and bashed my head in with it. She looked me in my eyes, then matter-of-factly said, “You get the beast, and your prize shall be a night with me, anything goes, darling.” Well, since this caused all of the blood to immediately drain from my brain, I had a lapse in judgment. “DEAL!!”, I said. Then we shook on it.

“OK, tell me more about this supposed monster sasquatch on Martha’s Vineyard”, I said. I still was not ready to believe there was a monster out there. “I show you photo”, said Anna. She took out her phone, scrolled to find the photo, then handed the phone to me. “There. Sasquatch”, she said.

I stared at the photo and remained silent. After a long moment, I turned the phone so that Anna could see the photo and asked, “Uh, Anna, is THIS what you intended to show me?” She replied. “Yes! There…Sasquatch! The biggest, grossest monster around.”

Now, I could not argue with Anna that the image on her phone is a big, gross monster. Hell, it could actually be a sasquatch, and THE UBER sasquatch. It is most certainly the grossest thing on Martha’s Vinyard. But I somehow do not think this is what Putin is expecting.

I turned to Anna and said, “Anna, this is a photo of Michelle Obama. I know it looks vile, and has a huge, hulking body with large appendages where a woman should not have them. But, sweatheart, that ain’t no sasquatch. That’s a big, hairy Chicago street negro.”

Anna did not believe me at first. She was hard in her conviction that Obama was a sasquatch. “I have seen the Sasquatch beast you deliver to me for China. This … Michelle Obama …. It is big, and hairy, and ugly like the sasquatch beast, but worse.”

When the truth finally set it, I could see that it had kind of broken down poor Anna, if only just a bit. I put my arm around Anna and told her, “Look, Michelle O fooled you. Hell, she and her Hamas Hubby fooled millions of Americans, twice! At least you saw Michelle for what she is, to wit: a big, gross sasquatch, and NOT some kind a retarded leftist messiah.”

After that, things took a rather dark turn. “What if we still take her to Putin? We can make deal; sell her to Putin!!” At this point I held up my hands and said, “I’m out”, then turned and walked away. Anna followed, trying to get me to stay. At this point, I could tell that Anna was coming undone a little.

See, she had to produce for Putin. There is no telling what kind of secret deal she actually had with him. She had to deliver a big old mangy Obama …. Er, uh, I mean … Sasquatch, to Putin.

“Ok, Rod, we do your plan. We go out west to kill bigfoot. Huge, monster bigfoot. she said. I turned and looked Anna in her eyes and said the following: First, we bang for 48 hours straight, right now, so I can get my fill of you. Second, you pay me $10,000.00 cash upfront. Third, upon delivery of the dead bigfoot, you pay me $1 million immediately.”

Anna agreed to everything, but noted that at the present time it was her “time of the month”. I grimaced, as I will absolutely not go there (and she knows that). “Fine, next week we bang”, I said. She pointed out that I would be in the woods next week hunting sasquatch. “Fine, once I come out of the woods, then we bang – 48 hours straight”, I said. “Of course, darling!”, she agreed.

Well, it took several days to set up the hunt, but it finally happened. I was in Washington state at high elevation based on intel I has acquired that indicated that there was a monstrous 15’ tall sasquatch on the mountain range that had been murdering and eating hunters and hikers. After 3 months in these mountains without a trace of the creature I began to lose hope, thinking that I probably got some bad intel, or bad coordinates.

I got my satellite phone out to call for an extraction. Winter was setting in fast, and if I did not get off this mountain soon, then I would freeze and/or starve to death. Unfortunately, my contact did not answer. I tried for 2 days. No answer. I had been fucked. I wondered what had happened back in civilization that caused me to be abandoned like this. I resolved that I would get off that mountain and get to the bottom of this shit. There would be hell to pay for this betrayal!!’

I was able to get in touch with contacts from back home. I got old Billy Ray from Ellijay and Rattler on the phone and got them to come out here to Washington State to extract me. Rattler use to fly helicopters in the Army. He has an old Huey sitting in his front yard, to the chagrin of his HOA. He fired that sucker up, and him and old Billy Ray flew out here to my coordinates and extracted me.

After landing at a convenience store to buy some beer for the flight home, we headed east. Through the skies a way, Billy Ray said, “Well, Rod, I guess you is bout ready to git back home to Georgia, eh?” In fact, I was ready to go home. But I had to take care of some business first. I told them both to take me to New York City. They were both perplexed. All I said to them was “I have an old friend there I have to see before I can go home.”

I have intel on where Anna Conda stays when she is in the United States. She stays at certain hotels depending on what month she is here, and whether her check-in date is an odd or even number. This is for undercover work. I came across the code for her stays while doing the sasquatch work for China. She an I were caught in a snowstorm one night in Buffalo, NY, and had to share a room at the Holiday Inn near the airport. We had like 10 big Igloo ice chests with iced down sasquatch body parts with us in the room.

Anna was like, “No hanky panky, Rod. I am tired and I want to go to bed. Tomorrow we finish business.”

Frankly, I did not blame her for withholding her magnificent muff from me. I was tired as hell. But, I could not settle for nothing. So, when Anna was in the bathroom taking a shower, I started going through her suit case. I wanted to find some of her panties to jack off into. Instead, I found a little black notebook. Inside it contained her lodging codes, and some other interesting things. I photographed the contents with my phone and then put it back.

When Anna got out of the shower she was already dressed in her night clothes. She saw me lying on my back, nude on the bed, and jacking it. “Rod!! GROSS!!!! Go to the restroom to do that shit!!!”, she commanded. I just did it to get a rise out of her. LOL!!

So, if Anna is still inside the U.S., then using the codes I stole from her I can locate precisely where she will be that night. I studied it for a few moments then had my answer. Tonight she would be staying at the Dogman Inn on Hwy 95 South, Room 355. I told Rattler to get me there stat!

We had to stop several times for fuel and beer. Those Hueys go just a bit over a hundred MPH, you know. But eventually, we got there. I gave the boys some money and told them to go to the Waffle House for some coffee to sober up. Then they would fly me home.

I should mention that I also had Rattler’s fully auto Russian AK-74 with spare mags. During the long flight with 2 drunks from Washington State to New York City, I had worked myself up into a towering rage over how Anna fucked me on this Putin deal. She had clearly thrown me aside. But for what, exactly? I figured I would storm the hotel room, get some answers, then shower the room with gun fire.

I busted through the door of Room 355 at exactly 3:35 a.m. There she was. My entry roused her from slumber. I was pointing my rifle at her, center mass. She was shocked at the appearance of a gunman in her room at this time of night. However, she was not as shocked as one would think (this was not the first time something like this has happened to her).

I raised my face from the receiver just enough so she could see it was me. “Rod!!!”, she exclaimed. “What happened to you?!?!? I thought you had died up in those mountains when we never hear from you!” I replied, “Shove it up that cute little ass of yours, Anna. You fucked me. And not in the good way. What the fuck was all that shit about needing a sasquatch for Putin?!?”

Anna played dumb. But it struck me that I had been deliberately put out of the loop for 3 months. Why? Who wanted me away for that long, and why? What went on in my absence?!? I was just dying to know!!! I set my rifle down and pulled out my fixed blade knife, ready to get down to some real nasty work on Anna so I could get some truth. The pure evil of what I was about to do to her caused a wide death grin to grow on my face. Anna saw it. She knew what it meant. She swallowed hard and her eyes betrayed the shear terror she felt inside. I was engorged with blood lust. She knew she had fucked up one time too many this time!!

Suddenly came the sound of the toilet in the bathroom flushing. I was momentarily shocked. I did not expect anyone else to be there with Anna. Anna saw it in my face. I glanced at her and saw that the terror in her face was replaced with pleasure, a slight smile creeping over her face.

I was going to have to face off against this person in the bathroom, who would be out in a split moment. When I do that, I will have to turn 180 degrees from Anna, thereby making me vulnerable to her. I had only once choice: Shoot Anna first.

Just as this came to me, but just before I could act on it, the bathroom door opened. I had to deal with that person before Anna now. I spun around to see that it was a completely nude, and fat, white man. He was a real oafish blob. He looked surprised to see me. He also looked sort of familiar.

I next heard the crack of something hitting my skull hard. I remember the immediate hateful pain that shot through my body and the sound of blood rushing through my ears. I remember the dizziness, then falling to the floor. Clearly, as I fixed on the man from the bathroom, Anna had cracked me over the head with a blunt object.

I came to the next morning, Billy Ray and Rattler had manage to track me down based upon coordinates I left in the chopper that said “IN CASE OF EMERGENCY”. Billy Ray filled up the hotel room ice bucket with cold water and doused my head with it to bring me conscious. I was disoriented at first. But after a bit, what happened in this room the night before came back to me.

Honestly, I am surprised that Anna did not just kill me. I presume that she thinks she can leverage her drop-dead hotness to get me to do more shit for her in the future. She is absolutely right about that too. Rattler then said, “Hey, Rod, that snake bitch left a letter fer ya.”

He handed me the letter. This is what it said:
____________________________________________

“Dear Rod:

Sorry about the boo boo on your head. Hope it heals soon. Also sorry about leaving you in the mountains. I was not running a scam on you Rod. Rather, an opportunity arose for me to acquire a sasquatch body from another person. You may know him since you are a sasquatch hunter. His name is Matt Moneymaker. Anyway, until next time…..

Yours truly,
Anna Conda”
_____________________________________________
I could not fucking believe it. That was fatfuck Moneymaker in the hotel room earlier. Anna fucked Matt Fatfuck Moneymaker for a Sasquatch! That fat son of bitch!!

Billy Ray asked, “You ready to go Rod?” I stood up and said, “Yeah, let’s go.” Then Rattler said, “Hey, ya wanna stop and git some beer fer the ride home?” I replied “Hell yeah.”

I felt like I wanted to die. Thank God for beer and buddies. I don’t blame Anna. She is a fucking snake, and I knew that before this started. Also, I cannot really blame fatfuck Moneymaker for wanting to get some of that hot poon pie Anna serves up. I guess I have to blame fate for fucking me over this time. I even started thinking that next time I will just avoid Anna. But I know I won’t, thus making me subject to this sort of shit again. I had Rattler set us down in Charlottesville so I could buy some hard liquor.

Sorry about the delay. I ultimately decided that the story needed a substantial re-write and ended up back at square one. Unfortunately, this means chapters will now only go up three times a week (Monday, Wednesday, Friday). Hopefully you’ll enjoy this new version, and find it worth the wait.
Also, my Patreon is now up if you feel like supporting my writing. I’ll add advance chapters as soon as they’re written.
Thanks for reading!
--------------------------------------------------------------
Prequel (Chapters 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie
First ¦ Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
2. Task Force Nemesis
He, General or mere Captain, who employs everyone in the storming of a position, can be sure of seeing it retaken by an organized counterattack of four men and a corporal.
- Battle Studies, Ardant du Picq
“You’re one of those Academy girls, aren’t you?”
Christie Stirling’s heart seized as a shock of adrenaline lanced through her body, and she needed a great deal of effort not to flinch or tremor. Other party guests looked around in surprise, but her smile remained unblemished. She turned with the lazy and graceless air she had portrayed throughout the night to look into the predatory eyes of Allana Rayker; the inhuman terrorist who had killed her best friend.
The question was either a trap or an accusation. The Academy—a fake university—was the cover of the shadowy organization that had recruited Christie. They had made her a Valkyrie; an enhanced super soldier tasked with protecting humanity from the devastating armaments of an extinct alien race, and those, like Rayker, who wanted to exploit those weapons for evil purposes.
Now that Valkyrie had found the evil woman’s hiding place, the hunt was reaching its final moments. But, shaken by surprise, Christie’s instincts screamed that her cover was blown, that she would be tortured and executed, and that the rest of the task force stealthily approaching the chateau would be discovered and attacked.
She feigned a puzzled smile as she fought for control of her emotions. All around the room, expensively dressed party goers mingled and talked with abandon. Light flashed off crystal glasses, chandeliers, and jewelry worth more than any citizen’s life. A man tipsy with wine laughed raucously at the joke of a Central Committee member, no doubt eager to impress one of the most powerful people in the galaxy.
The exclusive party, hosted by Joakinn Meissner, newly selected president of the largest arms manufacturer in the galaxy, had been anticipated for months. The guests were lost in the lavish display of wealth, with no idea, Christie was certain, that they might be about to witness a gruesome murder.
An angry inner voice drowned out the rising panic. How dare she allow herself to fail? How dare she let down her fellow Valkyrie, who had worked tirelessly for years to hunt down Rayker, and finally bring her to justice? And how dare she betray the memory of her friend Rose, who had already given her life in that struggle? There was simply no room for weakness, and Christie would be damned if she was going to let the operation end so abysmally.
She held onto her façade by her fingertips, as a gut-wrenching void swung beneath her.
“Where?” she asked, slurring her words. “Oh, you mean the mystery school? No, I went to Cambridge actually.”
She kept her eyes unfocused and wandering, but nevertheless taking in details. The galaxy’s most dangerous terrorist was dressed in black, and an earpiece was just visible behind the locks of black hair that fell from the neat bun. She didn’t hold a glass, and stood awkwardly, as one who doesn’t care to impress or reassure. On her wrists, Christie noticed the subtle bulges in the skin that marked her most deadly weapons—spikes of bone that she could launch with more power and speed than bullets.
Rayker stared into her eyes, dragging out the silence. Around them, the fabulously adorned guests began to look over, bemused by the strange interaction. Christie continued the drunken pause, allowing her eyes to droop with fatigue. She wished it were real, but tonight she could not be affected by alcohol. Like all Valkyrie, her bloodstream was flooded with nano machines that gave her enhanced speed, strength, and healing potential. Twenty-four hours earlier, a bioengineer had programmed the nanites to target and break down all alcohol enzymes that passed through her system.
Unfortunately, even advanced technology wouldn’t help her survive for long against Rayker.
Eventually Christie began to turn away, suppressing the shiver she felt at showing her back to a predator.
“Loving the dress,” she said with a hint of disdain. “Not everyone can pull off funeral black at a drinky fete.”
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” Rayker said, her voice neutral. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”
Christie stopped and looked back at her with a smirk. “Gosh, you’re scary!” she crowed. “You might almost be a villain in one of those spy movies!”
A wave of embarrassed silence, interrupted by a few titters, passed through the crowd, while others hid disbelieving grins behind their drinks.
Rayker ignored them and extended her hand. “Allana Rayker. I’m an associate of Herr Meissner.”
Christie shook limply. “I’m Petti.”
Rayker’s eyebrows flickered as she suppressed an obviously contemptuous expression. “You’re the girl who found success on the feeds recently? Modeling lingerie?” Her lips twisted into a fake smile. “I wouldn’t normally be interested, but so many men have told me that you have a surprising intellect.”
Of course, the meeting had been inevitable. Rayker had been prowling the halls of Meissner’s Chateau, interrogating every young woman in a similar fashion. Christie’s cover had been calculated to make her stand out, but in a way that could be easily dismissed. ‘Petti’ was a highly connected social influencer, who craved adoration and attention. It had been a fun role, up until now.
Christie grinned at the lascivious looks around her. “You guys—you’re so sweet!”
Her crowd of male admirers laughed, then directed blank stares at Rayker. Christie offered a prayer of thanks for the collective lust that was patiently trying to convince the intruder that she was an unwelcome bore who had no right to deprive them of the attention offered by an inebriated and provocatively dressed young woman, and should leave as soon as possible.
“Enchanté,” Rayker said, and stalked off.
“Is there a draft in here? I think I felt a chill,” Christie said to more laughter.
She turned her sunbeam smile back to the crowd while she reached a gently shaking hand up to brush the silver of her brooch. The tiny and delicate shapes of the flower’s petals helped calm her mind as she focused on the next step.
​
A mile away, in the dense woods of the Chateau’s outer grounds, Lance-Corporal Kayla Barnes moved slowly through the dark undergrowth. She placed each foot purposefully, testing the ground before shifting her weight to prevent the cracking of a twig or the rustle of leaves.
As she crested a low rise, she froze. The multi-wavelength vizor of her helmet showed the surrounding trees and foliage in dark grey and black patterns. Amidst the visual chaos she had been struggling to navigate, a pair of tiny white blobs had suddenly appeared.
Heat sources. Guards.
Kayla reached for the comm switch on her chest and triple clicked the talk button, sending a burst of static noise to the rest of the squad. Close behind, the three other members of her fire team, who had stopped when she had, raised their rifles and peered through scopes at the distant threat. Further along the gentle slope, the second half of their eight-woman squad also stopped, as they too scanned to locate the new target.
They were Rangers, part of Valkyrie’s elite infantry force. Under the cover of darkness, they had climbed through the surrounding mountains and crept past local security forces to infiltrate the chateau grounds. When the time came, their job would be to neutralize the VennZech corporation’s mercenary guards, leaving the Chateau infiltrators free to break in and take down Rayker.
Kayla would either succeed in her mission or die trying. She had graduated Valkyrie’s crushing selection course together with her three best friends, whom she had sworn never to let down. She had already unforgivably failed Rose Djallen; killed in action on a previous operation. Thandi Khawula was in the squad’s second fire team, covering her movements. Christie was in the chateau, facing their target alone.
As Kayla watched the distant blobs draw closer, they resolved into familiar human figures. Three of them. They were strolling, weapons slung, as they made the head and arm movements of everyday conversation.
Of course they were distracted; they had the Ambrosia detail. The planet was the luxury destination for the most powerful members of human society. On its pristine shores, rivalries and factions were forgotten. Powerful cartel members, after being offered a month’s stay, would be offered mutual, but discrete, agreements in place of a prison sentence. Business might be politely discussed, but anyone looking to extort or threaten fellow guests of would find their home planet visited by a Helvetic League security fleet. The normally fractious and squeamish planetary governors would look the other way. Nobody in their right mind would want to disturb this world’s tranquility.
But Valkyrie worked from the shadows and went wherever they pleased. Besides, if everything went to plan, nobody would even know what had happened.
The Chateau was built high on the slopes of Ambrosia’s most popular mountain range, not far from a huge ski resort. Perched on the edge of a sheer cliff, the building was flanked by a spectacular waterfall. In daylight, there was a jaw dropping view of the surrounding peaks and valleys. The grounds were covered in dense forests that stretched across the surrounding slopes. Normally, they were peaceful, disturbed only by the occasional guest out for an adventurous hike. Now they were crawling with Rangers, closing in to seal the chateau off from the outside world.
Kayla slowly turned her head and found the muted gray patch of her squad leader a short distance away. Their combat suits kept their body heat from seeping out into the world—as much a necessity to protect them in the vacuum of space as to keep them hidden. The diffuse blob of Corporal Ksenia ‘Kes’ Rudaski slowly raised an arm towards Kayla, and made a gentle motion in the direction of the approaching men.
Kayla raised her own hand in a thumbs up, then began to move forward. She did not need to see or hear her three other Rangers to know they would be close behind.
The two elements were separating. Kes’ Alpha team spread out on the rise to keep their rifles aimed at the new threats, while Kayla’s Bravo team crept towards them.
Their commanders had decided early in the operation that they should attempt to minimize human casualties wherever possible. To that end, Kayla and her squad mate Ray carried stun rifles. They could stop the heart of a human with a projectile that could latch into the skin and deliver a violent electric shock. Then, the Rangers would have up to two minutes to reach the unconscious victims and inject them with a solution to restart their cardiac rhythm before a powerful tranquilizer took effect. The men would wake up with amnesia hours later, and Valkyrie would confidently maintain its secrecy while assuaging the ethical concerns that interfering in human society often brought them.
Unfortunately, the weapons were only effective to a hundred yards. Kayla and Ray would have to get as close as they could before they could take out all three of the guards. They had night vision, and any sound would carry far on such a quiet night. Even distracted, they wouldn’t miss a disturbance amongst the trees.
Kayla had been a talented stalker since she was a child, a noiseless shadow in any environment. Nevertheless, there was always the chance that something could go wrong, and the Rangers couldn’t take the risk of a compromise when so much was on the line.
Certainly not, Kayla grimly reminded herself, when Christie’s life was in so much peril. One wrong move and Rayker would kill her immediately before making good her own escape and destroying months of work.
So Kes and her three Rangers kept their high-powered, suppressed rifles trained on the distant men. At the slightest hint of a problem, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill, and the ‘moral question’ would be chalked up to the fortune of war. False intelligence would be distributed implicating cartel involvement in the raid. Valkyrie ethics had always been a nebulous concept at best.
The closer Kayla got through the undergrowth to her target the closer, she knew, her watcher’s lethal assistance would have to pass by her own body. But she felt no fear. Thandi had become a talented marksman; neither she nor the others would make a mistake.
Now only fifty yards away, the men stopped by a large boulder, leaning against the rock while they drank from their canteens. Kayla dropped to her belly and merged into the ground as she slithered forward.
First ¦ Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
Prequel (Chapters 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie

Sorry about the delay. I ultimately decided that the story needed a substantial re-write and ended up back at square one. Unfortunately, this means chapters will now only go up three times a week (Monday, Wednesday, Friday). Hopefully you’ll enjoy this new version, and find it worth the wait.
Also, my Patreon is now up if you feel like supporting my writing. I’ll add advance chapters as soon as they’re written.
Thanks for reading!
---------------------------------------------------------------
Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie
Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
2. Task Force Nemesis
"He, General or mere Captain, who employs everyone in the storming of a position, can be sure of seeing it retaken by an organized counterattack of four men and a corporal."
- Battle Studies, Ardant du Picq
“You’re one of those Academy girls, aren’t you?”
Christie Stirling’s heart seized as a shock of adrenaline lanced through her body, and she needed a great deal of effort not to flinch or tremor. Other party guests looked around in surprise, but her smile remained unblemished. She turned with the lazy and graceless air she had portrayed throughout the night to look into the predatory eyes of Allana Rayker; the inhuman terrorist who had killed her best friend.
The question was either a trap or an accusation. The Academy—a fake university—was the cover of the shadowy organization that had recruited Christie. They had made her a Valkyrie; an enhanced super soldier tasked with protecting humanity from the devastating armaments of an extinct alien race, and those, like Rayker, who wanted to exploit those weapons for evil purposes.
Now that Valkyrie had found the evil woman’s hiding place, the hunt was reaching its final moments. But, shaken by surprise, Christie’s instincts screamed that her cover was blown, that she would be tortured and executed, and that the rest of the task force stealthily approaching the chateau would be discovered and attacked.
She feigned a puzzled smile as she fought for control of her emotions. All around the room, expensively dressed party goers mingled and talked with abandon. Light flashed off crystal glasses, chandeliers, and jewelry worth more than any citizen’s life. A man tipsy with wine laughed raucously at the joke of a Central Committee member, no doubt eager to impress one of the most powerful people in the galaxy.
The exclusive party, hosted by Joakinn Meissner, newly selected president of the largest arms manufacturer in the galaxy, had been anticipated for months. The guests were lost in the lavish display of wealth, with no idea, Christie was certain, that they might be about to witness a gruesome murder.
An angry inner voice drowned out the rising panic. How dare she allow herself to fail? How dare she let down her fellow Valkyrie, who had worked tirelessly for years to hunt down Rayker, and finally bring her to justice? And how dare she betray the memory of her friend Rose, who had already given her life in that struggle? There was simply no room for weakness, and Christie would be damned if she was going to let the operation end so abysmally.
She held onto her façade by her fingertips, as a gut-wrenching void swung beneath her.
“Where?” she asked, slurring her words. “Oh, you mean the mystery school? No, I went to Cambridge actually.”
She kept her eyes unfocused and wandering, but nevertheless taking in details. The galaxy’s most dangerous terrorist was dressed in black, and an earpiece was just visible behind the locks of black hair that fell from the neat bun. She didn’t hold a glass, and stood awkwardly, as one who doesn’t care to impress or reassure. On her wrists, Christie noticed the subtle bulges in the skin that marked her most deadly weapons—spikes of bone that she could launch with more power and speed than bullets.
Rayker stared into her eyes, dragging out the silence. Around them, the fabulously adorned guests began to look over, bemused by the strange interaction. Christie continued the drunken pause, allowing her eyes to droop with fatigue. She wished it were real, but tonight she could not be affected by alcohol. Like all Valkyrie, her bloodstream was flooded with nano machines that gave her enhanced speed, strength, and healing potential. Twenty-four hours earlier, a bioengineer had programmed the nanites to target and break down all alcohol enzymes that passed through her system.
Unfortunately, even advanced technology wouldn’t help her survive for long against Rayker.
Eventually Christie began to turn away, suppressing the shiver she felt at showing her back to a predator.
“Loving the dress,” she said with a hint of disdain. “Not everyone can pull off funeral black at a drinky fete.”
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” Rayker said, her voice neutral. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”
Christie stopped and looked back at her with a smirk. “Gosh, you’re scary!” she crowed. “You might almost be a villain in one of those spy movies!”
A wave of embarrassed silence, interrupted by a few titters, passed through the crowd, while others hid disbelieving grins behind their drinks.
Rayker ignored them and extended her hand. “Allana Rayker. I’m an associate of Herr Meissner.”
Christie shook limply. “I’m Petti.”
Rayker’s eyebrows flickered as she suppressed an obviously contemptuous expression. “You’re the girl who found success on the feeds recently? Modeling lingerie?” Her lips twisted into a fake smile. “I wouldn’t normally be interested, but so many men have told me that you have a surprising intellect.”
Of course, the meeting had been inevitable. Rayker had been prowling the halls of Meissner’s Chateau, interrogating every young woman in a similar fashion. Christie’s cover had been calculated to make her stand out, but in a way that could be easily dismissed. ‘Petti’ was a highly connected social influencer, who craved adoration and attention. It had been a fun role, up until now.
Christie grinned at the lascivious looks around her. “You guys—you’re so sweet!”
Her crowd of male admirers laughed, then directed blank stares at Rayker. Christie offered a prayer of thanks for the collective lust that was patiently trying to convince the intruder that she was an unwelcome bore who had no right to deprive them of the attention offered by an inebriated and provocatively dressed young woman, and should leave as soon as possible.
“Enchanté,” Rayker said, and stalked off.
“Is there a draft in here? I think I felt a chill,” Christie said to more laughter.
She turned her sunbeam smile back to the crowd while she reached a gently shaking hand up to brush the silver of her brooch. The tiny and delicate shapes of the flower’s petals helped calm her mind as she focused on the next step.
A mile away, in the dense woods of the Chateau’s outer grounds, Lance-Corporal Kayla Barnes moved slowly through the dark undergrowth. She placed each foot purposefully, testing the ground before shifting her weight to prevent the cracking of a twig or the rustle of leaves.
As she crested a low rise, she froze. The multi-wavelength vizor of her helmet showed the surrounding trees and foliage in dark grey and black patterns. Amidst the visual chaos she had been struggling to navigate, a pair of tiny white blobs had suddenly appeared.
Heat sources. Guards.
Kayla reached for the comm switch on her chest and triple clicked the talk button, sending a burst of static noise to the rest of the squad. Close behind, the three other members of her fire team, who had stopped when she had, raised their rifles and peered through scopes at the distant threat. Further along the gentle slope, the second half of their eight-woman squad also stopped, as they too scanned to locate the new target.
They were Rangers, part of Valkyrie’s elite infantry force. Under the cover of darkness, they had climbed through the surrounding mountains and crept past local security forces to infiltrate the chateau grounds. When the time came, their job would be to neutralize the VennZech corporation’s mercenary guards, leaving the Chateau infiltrators free to break in and take down Rayker.
Kayla would either succeed in her mission or die trying. She had graduated Valkyrie’s crushing selection course together with her three best friends, whom she had sworn never to let down. She had already unforgivably failed Rose Djallen; killed in action on a previous operation. Thandi Khawula was in the squad’s second fire team, covering her movements. Christie was in the chateau, facing their target alone.
As Kayla watched the distant blobs draw closer, they resolved into familiar human figures. Three of them. They were strolling, weapons slung, as they made the head and arm movements of everyday conversation.
Of course they were distracted; they had the Ambrosia detail. The planet was the luxury destination for the most powerful members of human society. On its pristine shores, rivalries and factions were forgotten. Powerful cartel members, after being offered a month’s stay, would be offered mutual, but discrete, agreements in place of a prison sentence. Business might be politely discussed, but anyone looking to extort or threaten fellow guests of would find their home planet visited by a Helvetic League security fleet. The normally fractious and squeamish planetary governors would look the other way. Nobody in their right mind would want to disturb this world’s tranquility.
But Valkyrie worked from the shadows and went wherever they pleased. Besides, if everything went to plan, nobody would even know what had happened.
The Chateau was built high on the slopes of Ambrosia’s most popular mountain range, not far from a huge ski resort. Perched on the edge of a sheer cliff, the building was flanked by a spectacular waterfall. In daylight, there was a jaw dropping view of the surrounding peaks and valleys. The grounds were covered in dense forests that stretched across the surrounding slopes. Normally, they were peaceful, disturbed only by the occasional guest out for an adventurous hike. Now they were crawling with Rangers, closing in to seal the chateau off from the outside world.
Kayla slowly turned her head and found the muted gray patch of her squad leader a short distance away. Their combat suits kept their body heat from seeping out into the world—as much a necessity to protect them in the vacuum of space as to keep them hidden. The diffuse blob of Corporal Ksenia ‘Kes’ Rudaski slowly raised an arm towards Kayla, and made a gentle motion in the direction of the approaching men.
Kayla raised her own hand in a thumbs up, then began to move forward. She did not need to see or hear her three other Rangers to know they would be close behind.
The two elements were separating. Kes’ Alpha team spread out on the rise to keep their rifles aimed at the new threats, while Kayla’s Bravo team crept towards them.
Their commanders had decided early in the operation that they should attempt to minimize human casualties wherever possible. To that end, Kayla and her squad mate Ray carried stun rifles. They could stop the heart of a human with a projectile that could latch into the skin and deliver a violent electric shock. Then, the Rangers would have up to two minutes to reach the unconscious victims and inject them with a solution to restart their cardiac rhythm before a powerful tranquilizer took effect. The men would wake up with amnesia hours later, and Valkyrie would confidently maintain its secrecy while assuaging the ethical concerns that interfering in human society often brought them.
Unfortunately, the weapons were only effective to a hundred yards. Kayla and Ray would have to get as close as they could before they could take out all three of the guards. They had night vision, and any sound would carry far on such a quiet night. Even distracted, they wouldn’t miss a disturbance amongst the trees.
Kayla had been a talented stalker since she was a child, a noiseless shadow in any environment. Nevertheless, there was always the chance that something could go wrong, and the Rangers couldn’t take the risk of a compromise when so much was on the line.
Certainly not, Kayla grimly reminded herself, when Christie’s life was in so much peril. One wrong move and Rayker would kill her immediately before making good her own escape and destroying months of work.
So Kes and her three Rangers kept their high-powered, suppressed rifles trained on the distant men. At the slightest hint of a problem, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill, and the ‘moral question’ would be chalked up to the fortune of war. False intelligence would be distributed implicating cartel involvement in the raid. Valkyrie ethics had always been a nebulous concept at best.
The closer Kayla got through the undergrowth to her target the closer, she knew, her watcher’s lethal assistance would have to pass by her own body. But she felt no fear. Thandi had become a talented marksman; neither she nor the others would make a mistake.
Now only fifty yards away, the men stopped by a large boulder, leaning against the rock while they drank from their canteens. Kayla dropped to her belly and merged into the ground as she slithered forward.
Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie

I’m in the middle of writing a fanfic based off the idea of Sasha having an older brother that gets roped into the story.
For most of the story I’ve tried to write as if kind of under age restrictions. I haven’t gone full Disney and danced around the word kill but I have tried to not be too gruesome since I felt that would be a massive departure from the show’s feel. For example I’ve kept most serious wounds vague and only really went into detail about violence against swamp creatures.
But now I’m past the point of the story that lines up with true colours, and with Sasha’s brother being older there’s no reason things wouldn’t get a little more brutal.
So I’d like to pitch the question: how would you (or how do you, if you write fanfics about show that includes more violence) handle this? On the one hand, I want to up the stakes and not restrict my character by forcing him into ‘kid friendly’ solutions when he’s almost an adult, but on the other hand I don’t want to go full “The Boys” and drop a ton of gruesome violence for shock value that would seem alien in the Amphibia setting.
Obligatory: “but maybe I’m just overthinking it.”

It's a common misconception around the world that whilst Australia has every kind of killer animal known to man, we don't have any bears. NOT TRUE! In Australia, especially inland where the open eucalypt forests grow in large, we have the very special, very deadly DROP BEAR.
Now you might be thinking, "Ha whatever, drop bears don't exist. That's such a dumb name." And it's people like you that mislead others on websites and wikipedia, leading to serious injury and even an early grave. That's why I'm here to correct everyone TODAY.
⚠️THYLARCTOS PLUMMETUS⚠️ Otherwise commonly known as the Australasian Drop Bear, spends most of its lifetime in the trees. They are typically slow and lazy and once upon a time, like most animals, they would never even look in our direction. However, unfortunately, due to development and habitat loss, larger quantities of abandoned food and an overall increases in the human presence, Drop Bears havs become overly familiar with Australians and Tourists. No longer in fear of us, the very territorial Koala Bear will drop from tens to hundreds of metres to protect its territory.
Territorial defense is not the only reason to remain cautious though. Some Drop Bears have gathered a taste for human blood. Whilst we do our best to euthanize the threats, we can't always find the repeating attackers straight away. These predominantly carnivourus animals won't wait for you to sit still. For some reason yet to be properly studied, drop bears have been known to aim for moving and non-moving targets indiscriminately. This has lead to a lot of Drop Bears being fatally inured, but on the occasions they don't miss, tourists and passer bys better hope they are not caught unaware.
Drop Bears have strong teeth and large claws that are well equipped for climbing even the smoothest of trees. So it should be no surprise that they are also a very deadly weapon. Drop Bears will bite and rip at their targets, but they have also been known to impale their victims upon landing their descent. The scene is so gruesome, even the media won't share it.
In any case, allow me to share some homegrown, Drop Bear safety tips that will help you survive the Aussie bush.

1. WEAR A HELMET AROUND DROP BEAR TERRITORIES It's not fool-proof, but it can save lives
   
2. NEVER GO ALONE Remember, drop bears are vicious animals and they will attack you while you're admiring the landscape. Always take a friend and remember to look out for each other.
   
3. DO NOT FEED THEM Not only is it bad for their tummys, but feeding Drop Bears just increases the danger for others that will pass through. Even if you're scared, take your food and run.
   
4. DON'T PLAY DEAD They dont have such large features for no reason. All the better to hear, smell and eat you with. If you must, turn around and attempt to intimidate it like you would any other predator. Due to their sensitive hearing, screaming is your best weapon against Drop Bears. So scream as loud and as much as possible until the danger is gone.
   
5. IF IT'S IN A TREE, LEAVE IT BE! BUT BE CAREFUL!! If you see a drop bear in a tree, get down on your hands and knees, get low to the ground as much as you can. Now slowly and steadily, crawl away. Drop Bears have good vision, but when you drop to the ground, to them you just look like a wombat strolling through. Wombats are actually very good runners with very thick skin and fur. A Drop Bear will very rarely bother with trying to catch a beastly wombat. As mentioned previously, they are lazy hunters, it's not worth their energy.
   

ANYWAY, I HOPE YOU'VE ENJOYED THIS READ! It's very important that we share posts like this to raise awareness about Drop Bears in the bush. Please like, comment and share. You might save someones life.
If you need more information or have any questions at all, don't hesitate to leave your queries down in the comment section.
Stay safe out there people. Peace ✌️ from downunder!

STOPDROPBEARATTACKS

ChaosReigns

Source: https://www.reeladvice.net/2024/05/abigail-2024-movie-review.html
"Abigail" is a surprising gem that defies expectations, delivering an experience that punches above its weight. While it may not reinvent the wheel, the film understands its audience and fully embraces the absurdity of its premise, resulting in a delightfully entertaining ride especially when the chaos begins in its second half.
The story follows a team of six experts recruited for a high-stakes kidnapping job worth $50 million. Their target: the daughter of a reclusive criminal kingpin. However, once inside an isolated mansion where they keep their victim Abigail (Alisha Weir), they realize they're trapped with something far more sinister than a normal little girl.
"Abigail" for us is a tale of two halves. The film's first half felt like a wasteful experience as it struggles to establish strong character dynamics, with most of the cast feeling like expendable pawns rather than fleshed-out individuals. We knew what they were gunning for here but the characters just felt unrelatable at best. However, any initial reservations are quickly overshadowed by the film's second half, which delivers on both thrills, chills, and gore. Alisha Weir shines as Abigail, delivering a performance that is equal parts captivating and unnerving. The kills are gruesome and satisfying, and while some plot twists may be telegraphed, they still managed to not deter the whole experience. "Abigail" proves that a film doesn't have to take itself too seriously and its a competent modern-day revival of a classic monster tale. While it may stumble at times, its infectious energy and commitment to entertaining its audience make it an extremely fun experience.
Rating: 3.5 out of 5

Me and Lila always carved dozens of jack o’ lanterns every October, so they’d absolutely saturate our lawn on Halloween night. It was our thing. But looking back on it, now that I’ve lost her, I just feel bad for the pumpkins. I almost relate to them, somehow. The way they were carved up, had everything of substance inside of them torn out, and left as hollow, rotting shells with forced smiles.
Needless to say, I didn’t cope with her death well. I didn’t want to cope with it. I wanted the world to drown in the black sludge of my grief. I loathed the people I saw going about their lives, unaware that the world had already ended the moment Lila died. The Earth shouldn’t keep spinning. Life shouldn’t go on. Not without her.
Even my relatives bringing me along on a trip to Kauai only made it worse. The most gorgeous place on Earth, and it made me sick with hatred. Nothing that beautiful deserved to exist if Lila wasn’t ever going to get to see it. It wasn’t fair.
I thought I’d never enjoy or care about anything again. Then I discovered media preservation.
It started with taking some of Lila’s old VHS tapes to a video repair place to fix some issues with the footage before it’s digitized. The job fascinated me. In a universe based on entropy, where everything inevitably fades away and is forgotten… restoring something lost is like snatching it from the jaws of death, right? Like flipping the bird to the universe and its so-called ‘natural order’. People die, but information doesn’t have to.
Now, it doesn’t matter how small — be it some god-awful plug-and-play licensed game, or a cereal commercial from 80’s — it’s my mission to recover it in as high a quality as I’m able, and make sure it’s freely available online for as long as possible.
A couple weeks ago, I came across a big haul. Four boxes of old VHS tapes offered up on E-Bay for dirt cheap. Most of the tapes were just recordings of Cheers episodes already preserved in higher qualities, but one Maxell E-240 caught my interest.
First of all, I’d never seen one so melted. Sure, sometimes they were left in an attic too long, and the colors and audio start to degrade. But this one looked like it had survived a house fire. It was covered in soot and the smell of smoke, and had the overall shape of a chocolate bar left out in the sun a little too long.
Second was the label, which read in neat sharpie: ᴇᴘɪꜱᴏᴅᴇ 4,679,329 ᴍᴀʀ 8 2035.
The casing was so disfigured, I had to bust it apart just pull out the tapes and respool them in a fresh cassette. I tried to iron out the creases in the tape as best I could, but I had no illusions about it accomplishing much — the mylar surface had been irreparably warped in places by whatever fire had half-melted the thing.
Imagine my despair at the sight of that dreaded ‘ɴᴏ ꜱɪɢɴᴀʟ’. I could clearly see the tape wasn’t blank, yet no amount of adjusting the tracking or trying different TVs or VCRs accomplished anything. Just as I was about to give up, though, the thing just suddenly started playing properly at the exact instant the clock struck 3 AM, as if it had only now decided to work. My all-nighter had paid off.
I didn’t dwell on the fact that this ‘miracle fix’ had been impossible. If I’d had any sense, I’d have torn the horrid thing out of my VCR and buried it beneath holy ground. Instead, fool I was, I sat down and watched.
At first, the thing seemed unwatchable. The audio was so distorted that the show’s theme song emerged as a low, crackling, staticky wail that made my head throb, and the logo was completely indistinguishable through the flickering and interference. I thought it was a lost cause for a moment. But then a figure appeared and cleared away the static, like Moses parting the Red Sea.
It was the sight of the show’s host that hooked me. He was just… perfect. Perfect in every way. I knew it just looking at him. Infinitely handsome and likable and charismatic, and he always said the exact perfect thing. The only issue is, I don’t remember a single thing about him now, in the same way you can’t remember a dream that seemed so clear to you while you were experiencing it. He just appears in my memory as this abstract blur in a sharp suit. Yet at the time, I was awestruck, even before he said a single word.
I can’t even remember a word he said. It was like he was speaking another language, one I felt as opposed to heard. I’ll try and transcribe it as best I can into words, but know that it’s only a pathetic imitation.
“... for another night of laughs, prizes, and fun for the whole family, with your host, #####!” I noticed that the audio and visual distortion seemed to suddenly intensify the instant he said his name, rendering it completely illegible. Idiot I was, I figured that was a coincidence. “Tonight is a night of celebration, folks, because thanks to the support of loyal viewers like you, we have just been approved for, get this: two hundred thousand more seasons!”
The “live studio audience” went wild with applause. I put that in scare quotes because, as far as I could tell, besides the host, the studio seemed completely empty. As if he was standing on a plain white stage that extended outwards into infinite darkness on all sides.
“For those just joining us, the game here is simple…” He explained that this was some sort of a trivia show. Every time a guest got an answer wrong, it brought them a little closer to some sort of unspecified ‘punishment’. And if they got it right? He smirked. “Well, they get to delay the inevitable.”
I wondered what he meant by ‘inevitable’. I didn’t have to wonder long.
The host gestured to a curtain that hadn’t been there moments ago, which raised to reveal a middle-aged man. You know the type — bushy mustache, gray hair, round-rimmed glasses. Kind of guy you’d have doing your plumbing. He couldn’t look any more out of place stood up and restrained in that — what the hell is that?
I recognized that metal coffin-looking thing from a medieval torture museum I went to once. The iron maiden. The lid hung open, countless long, needle-like blades poking inwards, threaten to poke a million new holes in him if it was shut.
His situation was not lost on him. “Where… where am I? What the hell is this!?”
“Oh, lucky guess!” The host ‘joked’. More canned laughter. “I know you always loved watching those trivia shows, Malcolm? Weren’t you always sitting there, grinding your teeth, seething that it wasn’t fair? That you should be the one up on stage, winning big?”
The man paused. Even he seemed mesmerized by the unreal perfection of the host before him. “I… this is a… game show?”
“All you have to do is answer a few questions! Think you can handle that, Malcolm?” He pulled out a cue card without waiting for an answer. “And our first question! What were you doing the night of February 18th, 1998?”
The man seemed baffled. “Just… sat on my couch watching the NFL, I think? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to remember —“
He let out a startled squeal as a horrid buzzer sounded. On cue, the lid slid a third of the way closed, making him flinch. “Oooh, I’m afraid that’s the wrong answer, Frank! But you know what? I’ll give you one more chance. What were you —“
“Following a girl home!” The man cried out. “F-from the bar. There, are you happy?”
“Cor-rect!” The canned audience began cheering! “Such honesty! Now, our second question: just what were you carrying while you followed her?”
He hesitated for a little too long. And then the buzzer sounded again, and the lid slid so near to closing that its blades began poking uncomfortably against his skin. He tried to press himself against the back of the maiden as well as his restraints would allow. “Jesus! Okay! A knife, a knife!”
“Awww, if only you’d said that just a second earlier!” Another big question. “Our third question: why, Malcolm? Why did you do it?”
That set Malcolm off. He started thrashing, clawing, screaming. “Let me out of this thing, you maniac! You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I am? Is this some sort of sick joke? My lawyers will have your head for this, you—“
And then the buzzer. All of a sudden, the lid slammed shut full-force, and the man was utterly silenced save for an unnatural, drawn-out wheeze. “Another wrong answer, Malcolm! I’m afraid I was looking for: ‘because if I can’t have her, no one can’!”
I admit it. I laughed. Out of shock more than anything. How was this allowed on TV? I took it as some sort of dark comedy show, and it was kind of satisfying to see that freaky character get his comeuppance. Still, there was something unnerving to me, seeing the man’s eyes through the openings in the maiden. Wide and red and terrified. They just looked a little… too real.
But the maiden disappeared as quickly as it came, before I could dwell on it too much. “Oh, envy! Definitely one of my favorite sins.” More laughter. “Stay tuned, folks! We’ve still got a night of fun and games in store for you! But first… how’s about a word from our sponsors?”
Cut to a corporate logo which I again couldn't recognize.
“This segment was made possible by Buer Health, which has recently announced a brilliant new initiative to protect our citizens from skin cancer by removing their skin completely.”
The camera cut to a massive industrial building, resembling a solid concrete cube around 50 meters in width and height. Its surface bore arcane symbols etched using carvings of wailing, tormented faces. The host would occasionally be rendered inaudible by a deafening metallic scraping from within, though he didn’t seem to notice. The only protrusion from the building’s cubic shape was a single smokestack, belching a scarlet red smoke into the atmosphere. A queue of gaunt figures waited at the entrance, herded and coerced by their grim overseers, and there were no words to describe the procession of scarlet ghouls limping out the building’s other end.
“Owing to the nonlinearity of time, the brand new Grand Skinpeeling Machine has spontaneously appeared several years before construction deadlines, and indeed, before it was even conceived of by anyone in our timeline. People have rushed all the way from Malebolge just to try this miracle of technology out on opening day, and so far, the reviews have been stellar!”
He shoved his microphone in the face of a shambling thing that could only scarcely be called a human. Tatters of flesh clung to its exposed musculature, blowing in the wind. Its eyes were the only hint of color in that sea of bloody red, and they were wide, white and terrified. The thing screamed and wailed for as long as it could before the last tendons connecting its jaw to its face snapped, and it was left to choke and gurgle.
“An amazing wail! The results speak for themselves, folks. The Grand Skinpeeling Machine is a hit!”
So far, I was still laughing along and having a good time. The sight of the next ‘guest’, however, started making me nervous.
It was an old lady.
She couldn’t be a day younger than sixty, the sort of sweet elderly woman who in a just world would be cooking chocolate chip cookies for her grandchildren in a comfy cottage somewhere. But here she was, tied to a metal chair, eyes wide, shaking like a leaf. Unlike the last contestant, she seemed to know exactly what was happening.
“In exchange for our loving endorsement, they’ve agreed to loan us one of their star employees. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for: the Liqisma!”
Something slunk from the darkness far behind her — or perhaps it’d be more apt to say that the darkness birthed it whole-cloth. It was like a living shadow, and it took my eyes a moment to register what I was even seeing.
How do I even begin describing this creature? I could say it looked almost human, or at least like something that may have been human long ago. Or I could start with its skin, which was all black and shiny as latex and seemingly smooth on first glance, but if you looked closer you’d realize it was covered in a million tiny reptilian scales, almost like a shark. Its head was a bald man’s, utterly devoid of any distinguishing features, like the basic stock template for a human being. It was notable only for a complete lack of pupils and irises, its eyes a pure white.
Its body defied basic biology in so many key ways, I had to stare it at for what felt like an eternity just to wrap my mind around its physiology. It was at least five or six meters long, by my estimate, composed of multiple human torsos stacked one on top of the other like segments of a centipede, each melding with the ones around it at the waist and shoulders. Each torso sported a pair of short, stubby arms that propelled it with terrifying grace. It ended with a pair of human legs, perpetually bent on their knees, beneath a ‘tail’ that looked more like its coccyx was poking free from its body.
The old last could clearly hear it, and kept futilely trying to turn her head around enough to get a peek at what stood behind her. I mouthed uselessly, don’t. You don’t want to know.
“Glad you could join us again, Miss Wethersby! Judging by our ratings last week, you seemed to have been a fan favorite!”
Her voice was so soft, I could barely hear it below the static. “Oh, God. Please, why won’t you people let me go? I’ve told you, I’ve never done anything, never hurt anybody. There must be some sort of—”
He waved a hand over her, and it seemed to forcefully snap her mouth shut. “Please, Miss Wethersby, save your breath for our questions!” Another cue card. “Your first question, my friend: where did you and your husband buy your first home?”
She had to think about it for a long time. Eventually, she cried out, “Alabama! Tuscaloosa, Alabama!”
“Ding ding ding! Why, you’re already doing better than our first contestant! Next question: what breed of dog was your childhood pet?”
She had a pained look on her face as she thought. Eventually, a timer started ticking down. It wasn’t visible, so it wasn’t clear how much time she had left exactly, but the sound it made got more shrill and high-pitched with every second. “Miss Wethersby, need I remind you that we have a time limit on this show?”
A tear ran down her cheek. “I… I keep telling you people, I don’t know. I have dementia, I can’t remember, please—”
That buzzer again. “I’m afraid that was the wrong answer! Liqisma?” The old lady shuddered at the sounds of hundreds of feet drawing a little closer to her. “Now, your first grandchild. What did he look like? What color were his eyes? His hair?”
She was crying harder now, like it hurt her that she couldn’t remember something so dear to her. “I told you I can’t remember! Why are you doing this to me!?”
“If you don’t remember them, why would they remember you?” The host mocked as the buzzer sounded, and the beast drew a little closer. “Really, do you believe they still even think about you? Or do you think they’re glad that the old bag of bones isn’t there sucking up their inheritance?”
This went on for… God, it could have been an hour. I was glued to the screen all the while, frozen with terror, praying for this nightmare to just end, for her to make it out okay somehow. He poured over every little detail of the life she lived and the people she loved, delighting in how little of it she could still recall.
And the thing grew closer, and closer… until she finally felt multiple pairs of hands resting upon her shoulders. The thing was looming over her now, and a long, black tongue a few feet in length emerged from its mouth and ran trails of dark saliva over the back of her head. She looked broken down, eyes raw from crying, and I could tell by the dampness of her dress that she’d wet herself.
“Now, Miss Wethersby, our time here has been fun, but I do believe it is time for our final question. Tell me, what is the name… of your only son?”
She couldn’t even answer anymore. She just stared ahead, like her mind was a million miles away. He cackled as the buzzer sounded one final time, and threw his cue cards aside. “Thank you for playing, Miss Wethersby. Better luck next time.”
I would say the thing unhinged its jaw like a snake, but that’d be an understatement. The way the thing’s face malformed and wrinkled and stretched as it opened its maw, it no longer looked even remotely human. Its jaws must have parted at least thirty centimeters apart, revealing a second, pharyngeal pair of jaws that lashed out and gripped the woman’s skull, pulling her headlong into that darkness.
I could hear bones crunching and snapping as its throat constricted down around her body, peristaltic muscles compacting her into a meat slurry, bit by bit. Yet she just wouldn’t die. Even as her skull and upper body were already crushed and compacted, organs and muscles pressed into mulch, she still kicked her legs, twitched her fingers, let out a gurgling that must have been some attempt at screaming. She was squirming even as the beast snapped its jaw shut around the last of her, condemning her to whatever torments awaited her inside the creature.
And all the while, that horrible laughter. “Don’t worry, folks! She’ll be back next week! And the next. And the next…”
Needless to say, I wasn’t having fun anymore. In fact, I had to turn away and fight the urge to throw up. I stood, about to turn the TV off and —
“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t touch that dial, now!” I froze. There was something chilling about the way he said that, staring right into the screen as if reacting to what I was doing. I hated that grin on his face. “The real show is just beginning.”
And with the barely restrained excitement of a child on Christmas morning, he yanked back another curtain, and I recognized everything.
I recognized that crappy bootleg knockoff Always Sunny in Philadelphia jacket that was so gaudy and terrible it instantly became her favorite thing in her wardrobe. I recognized those subtle hints of slight acne she disguised as fake freckles. I recognized the way her gray eyes would remind me of those overcast mornings at the beach at Hilton Head and pointing out all the cannonball jellyfish washed up on the sands. I recognized that tattoo of the name ʀᴏᴄᴋʏ, how I’d held her all night long as she cried into my shirt after her childhood cat had died.
It was Lila.
I shuddered, gasped, fell from my seat as if I’d been punched in the stomach and the air had been knocked out of me. I couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be real. I was dreaming right now. I must be. I just had to wake up.
But I couldn’t wake up. Nothing I could do dispelled the sight of her curled up in that… that thing. That bronze statue of a bull, horns jutting on either side of a head that roaring silently up at the heavens, all while the love of my life was locked in its hollowed out belly, visible only through a pane of glass. I could hear her cry out in shock at where she’d found herself, and every whimper felt like it drove a knife through my chest.
The host soaked in the moment. It was ecstasy for him, the suffering of it all. He stared dead into the camera like he was looking right at me as she called, “What is this? Where am I?”
“Why, I have good news, my dear Lila! You’re exactly where every American dreams of being: you’re on TV.” He pointed to the camera. “And we have a very special guest in the audience tonight. Your very own beloved Jackson!”
I shuddered, hearing my own name ooze from his fetid lips. His façade of perfection was slipping, and there was something so profoundly ugly beneath it. Her eyes snapped to the camera, confused, despairing. “Jackson? Baby? What — what’s happening? What is this?”
I don’t know, I thought, gripping the sides of the TV so hard my knuckles turned white, but I’m going to get you out of there, baby. I’m going to find whoever did this and I’m going to bury them all so far beneath that studio that they’ll never-
“I’m afraid Jackson hasn’t joined us quite yet, my dear. But if you truly love him, surely you’ll give him a show to remember, won’t you?” He taunted her. “All I want, after all, is to ask you a few questions! In fact, I’ll offer you a special deal: get even a single answer right, and I’ll let you go free! But get one wrong and, well…”
On cue, a fire was lit beneath her. Small, smoldering for now, but she whimpered as she noticed the heat. We both realized in that instant what this was. By now, I was screaming things I can’t repeat here, and slamming my hands against the TV screen as if I could reach through and save her.
She bit her lip and acquiesced. Not like she had any room to argue. The host grinned and readied a cue card. “Your first question: where are you, Lila?”
“I… I don’t know. How am I supposed to know?”
“You do know, Lila. You know exactly where you are.” He smirked at her. “Here’s a free hint: what’s the last thing you remember, before you woke up here?
She thought about it… and choked back a sob, visibly shaking as the realization slowly settled in. “But… but why? I… I…”
The horrible wail of the buzzer cut her off. “Oooh, too bad! I’m afraid you’ve run out of time!”
Seemingly as if on its own, the fire doubled in size. Sparks licked the belly of the bronze bull, and began to ever-so-slowly heat the surface. She pawed around in the tight confines, searching for any reprieve from the scalding heat all around her as the metal grew hot like it’d been left out in the sun on a summer’s day. “Please! Oh, God, let me out of this thing! It hurts! It hurts!”
The host seemed to breathe in her pain as if stealing a moment’s indulgence. “Now that there is no doubt about where you are, my dear, let us proceed to the second question.” He switched to his next card. “Did you believe in God, in the end?”
“O-of course!” She pled her case as if she was being tried in court. “My entire life… every day I gave to the poor, helped the sick, did whatever I could to honor Hi-“
“I’m afraid you misunderstood my question. I asked, did you believe in him at the end? The very moment your pitiful little life was snuffed out?”
“I always believed! I’d never forsake Him!”
“Yes, yes, I know. You lived a good and holy life, didn’t you?” He cackled. “But what of the very end? You and your little husband were so excited to deliver your first little baby boy. But o, tragedy! It all went wrong, didn’t it? Your precious little boy didn’t make it through childbirth… and you followed closely behind.”
“That whole business with the botched pregnancy, it was… what do you call it? Ah, yes. A ‘test of faith’. And I’m afraid you failed. In your final moments, you watched the light fade from your child’s eyes, and you assumed — wisely, in my humble opinion — that no ‘kind’ and ‘loving’ God would allow something like that to happen.” He laughed. “Funny how after a lifetime of dutiful service, all it takes is one little mistake at the end… to bring you here. To us.”
I’d never seen such depths of despair in a person’s eyes. Such emptiness. Like with every word, he’d been scooping out another piece of her until she was hollow. And then that buzzer roared again, more shrill than ever, and I could barely see her little window through the smoke and flames. The belly of the bull was turning orange in places, and I could hear her flesh start to sizzle like meat on a grill. There are no words for the noises she made. No words at all.
“And our last, final question,” he continued. “What were your last words to your poor, beloved Jackson?”
“I love you!” I called out the answer. Bloody fingerprints stained the TV screen from my slamming my hands against it, as I screamed the answer over and over. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” At some point, I forgot that there was ever a question. I was just screaming it at her as if hoping that she could hear it, that it could bring her a modicum of comfort in that place.
The buzzer sounded again. I couldn't bring myself to look. All I could hear was the roaring of the bull, and the steam rising from its bronze nostrils.
The curtain fell. Silence drowned the sound. The host dropped all pretense that he hadn’t been speaking directly to me. “Now, Jackson. You just might be one of my new favorite audience members this show had ever had. I know this must have been hard for you. But if you’ll just stay tuned, I have one more show I know you’re certain to love!”
I didn’t bother to touch the remote. After all, nothing could be worse than what I’d just seen, right?
Wrong. Horror wracked me as the curtain rose, and I saw the man chained to a chair. I pulled away like a caveman witnessing fire, cringing and stuttering, face wet with sweat. It was the sort of fear that worked its way into your bones like a bad chill, that left you shaking, teeth chattering.
It was me.
An older me, sure. But not by much. Ten years, maybe. A gaunt and hollow version of me, one twisted by ten years of depression and hard drugs. But it was unmistakable.
His eyes widened as he recognized the host. “Oh — oh God, God please no! It can’t be — oh Christ, let me out of this chair, you —“
“Come, now! We wouldn’t want to use the lord’s name in vain, would we? I mean, that would be a sin!” The host laid a hand on the other me’s shoulder. “It may have been a few years since you watched our program, but I’m sure you remember the rules, don’t you, old friend?”
The other me was wordless, on the verge of hyperventilating, just as I was. The host was giddy with delight. “Now! Our first and only question is one I’m sure our viewer will be very interested in: what sins, exactly, do you think landed you here?”
The other me tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. I could see it in his eyes. The years of self-destruction, the bitter hopelessness, the whirlpool of nihilism and vice and decay. The suffocating depths of a man. The darkness. How could he put it into words?
The sound of the buzzer was like a pig’s squeal. “Mmm, I’m afraid that our viewer is going to have to figure that out for himself! In the meantime, your punishment? Well, we wouldn’t want to spoil anything…”
The curtains slowly began to fall just as a couple other of those black, grotesque monstrosities emerged from the darkness. The curtain covered them all before I could get a good look at their obscene, twisted, asymmetrical figures. All I could hear was the crunching, the sound of skin tearing like paper, the screaming that went on for longer and louder than a human throat or vocal chords could endure.
The image and audio were beginning to distort, glitch, burn away. The tapes were physically melting as they played. My VCR was starting to overheat, sparks pouring from its front panel. The host voice jumped around in tone, his voice fading into the static blur as the tapes bubbled and boiled and distorted. “But, my friends, I’m afraid that concludes tonight’s episode of our show! So, with a final farewell to our dear, beloved viewer, Jackson…”
Just before the image melted away, the camera seemed to jump forward until his face filled the screen, his eyes piercing into mine as he cackled in that singsong voice.
“See you sooooon~”

“T-this! This is madness!” Count Harmswid, one of the very few Human nobles of the Seraphic Empire, bellowed as his hand slammed into the table, sending scrolls flying onto the floor of his luxurious tent. “You’d be leaving me defenseless! I already have a manpower shortage, and now you’d deprive me of not just Wyverns but all of my mana users!?”
Standing across from him, seemingly unphased and unbothered by the outburst, was Tharivol, the Duchesses Dark Elf spymaster. Tharivol remained stoic as Count Harmonswid's face turned a shade of deep red; the veins on his neck bulged with every word. As the tirade continued, spittle started to fly from the human’s mouth, landing on the polished surface of the table and even on Tharivol's dark cloak. Yet, the spymaster's demeanor did not change; there was no sign of disgust, no flinch, no reaction whatsoever.
“Do you truly expect me to comply with such an insane request!? You and that damned charlatan have both lost your minds!” The Count sneered before spitting on the floor. “I cannot, and I shall not!”
Count Harmswid's rage seemed to swell within him, growing more intense with each passing moment. "I'll drag both you and that insufferable wench before the Court of Houses!" he thundered, his voice echoing off the high walls of the chamber. "You think you can force a noble of my standing to forfeit his property and forces unjustly? The court will see you stripped of your titles, your lands confiscated, and the Duchess fined! Perhaps you would even find yourself exiled, you insufferable curr!"
The air in the room grew heavy, charged with the count's threats and the tension of the confrontation. Yet, through it all, Tharivol remained as impassive as ever, his expression never wavering from its cold neutrality.
Once, the count's rant had finally run its course, leaving him panting and glaring across the table. "Do you truly intend not to comply with the Duchess's order?" Tharivol's voice was so calm and devoid of emotion that it seemed as if he was simply discussing the weather.
"NO!" The count's response was a furious shout, his hands slamming down onto the table with such force that it splintered beneath them. "I will not bend the knee to such outrageous demands!"
Unphased by the outburst, Tharivol eyes scanned the room, looking at all the Count's personal guards in attendance. Two mages and six mana-capable knights stood uncomfortably against the wall of the tent, just behind the count. "Is there nothing that will convince you otherwise?" The Dark Elf asked, bringing his eyes back to the Count. “Coin? Concessions? Favors?”
The count's face twisted with hatred at the mere suggestion of compromise. "I'd sooner turn my blade towards the Duchess herself than comply with anything that whore demands!" he spat venomously, the words dripping with disdain and loathing.
Tharivol simply nodded as if the count's refusal and insults were nothing more than he had expected. "Very well," he said, his voice still calm and unbothered, before looking behind him to two of his own guards who accompanied him.
These individuals wore unassuming attire, their features obscured behind black mosaic masks that shifted and morphed in subtle ways. Anyone looking at the masks would find their gaze unfocused, slipping across them as if they were merely part of the background. Beneath their dark cloaks was sleek armor made of a substance unfamiliar to the count, a strange blend that was neither quite metal nor leather.
"Take the Count's head and slay any who resist," Tharivol commanded his guards and turned back to the Count.
But before his eyes could leave the two shadow-like figures, their forms surged forward like a wisping darkness, their movements far too fast for any being's eye to comfortably track. Each unsheathed, jagged, wicked-looking blades, as long as one's forearms. There were subtle differences between each weapon, but they all had one thing in common. And that was the fact that they seemed to be forged from a strange blood-red metal that made people’s blood run cold.
The Count and his guard's eyes widened as they flinched back and grabbed at their weapons. However, before they could properly react, these ghosts were faster. Not a single sword left their sheathe, and not a word was chanted before blood was drawn.
As Harmswid opened his mouth to scream, a terrifying silence took hold instead. The world spun into a vortex of chaos, colors blurring and shapes warping as if reality itself was unraveling around him. Orders died on his lips, replaced by a mute plea for his men to save him.
Then, he crashed to the ground, dizzy and disoriented. All sense of time and place dissolved while his mind struggled to comprehend the nightmare unfolding before him. He was trapped in a maelstrom of motion where his guards – his paragons of strength – were being ruthlessly dismembered.
The dark figures moved with a terrifying and unnatural speed. They were blurs of motion armed with those wicked, crimson-tinged blades felling season knights that were once symbols of power and protection as if they were pigs lambs brought to feasts. Their armor offered no resistance as it was pierced effortlessly, and their cries were cut short, transforming into wet gurgles and sickening thuds as they collapsed.
Blood splattered the interior of the tent, a gruesome crimson rain painting what had once been a place of noble authority into a scene of carnage. His loyal protectors, those who were supposed to be his shield, were now nothing but lifeless corpses strewn across the ground.
Through his terror, the Count saw Tharivol out of the corner of his eye. The dark elf stood unmoved, a cold spectator observing a symphony of violence orchestrated by his will. With one more attempted gasp, Harmswid’s world plunged into darkness.
With an air of nonchalant finality, Tharivol strolled forward. He bent down, not a hint of bother on his face, and retrieved the severed head of Count Harmswid. The dark elf held the head aloft, examining it with a clinical detachment as if it were merely a curious specimen and not the remnants of a once powerful man.
"Hopefully, this will deter others from such foolishness,” Tharivol remarked with a chilling yet humored voice. “I’m sure there will be a few more unwise enough to disobey our mistress, but let they and Count Harmswid serve as… palpable enough deterrent to insubordination.”
The Dark Elf spun on his heel and strode confidently towards the tent flap while his masked guards moved like shadows in his wake. What had transpired was as swift as it was horrifying, from start to finish. The once opulent pavilion, a symbol of the Count's authority, had become a macabre slaughterhouse in mere seconds, and the air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood.
Tharivol moved with the grace of a predator. He grasped a fistful of the Count's hair, casually swinging the severed head as he left the carnage behind. Stepping out of the tent, a scene of utter chaos greeted him.
A cataclysmic roar had ripped through the air, an earth-shattering crash rattled the bones of every being within earshot. Tents flailed wildly, torn from their moorings and scattered like scraps of paper by the force of the blast. Men were thrown off their feet, rolling across the dirt in a desperate bid for stable ground.
And the source of such devastation was the immense silhouette of a black dragon. A very old and very powerful black dragon of monstrous proportions. Its landing had been a display of raw power; the earth itself sundered from its weight, cracking and buckling as the beast settled into place, and smoke curled from its nostril as its massive wings slowly unfurled.
To Tharivol's left, a figure stood resolute against the swirling chaos. Clad in heavy plate armor, augmented by the bones and scales of vanquished wyverns. One of the Duchess's most powerful and he was a testament to the mistress’s influence and strength. The great warrior's hide cloak buffeted violently in the maelstrom, yet he remained steadfast, utterly unmoving. His massive sword was driven deep into the earth, his hands folded gently over the hilt, as he stared maliciously towards the soldiers and mages toppling head over heel.
Striding past the warrior, Tharivol moved effortlessly underneath the dragon's colossal wingspan until reached the other side, where a panicked crowd was already gathering. He held up the Count's head for all to see and amplified his cold voice with magic, causing it to reverberate across the encampment.
"YOUR TREACHEROUS LORD IS NO MORE!" Tharivol bellowed, "HE CHOSE DEFIANCE! HE CHOSE DEATH! AND THUS THE FATE OF ALL WHO CHOOSE SELF-INTEREST OVER THE IMPERIAL WAR EFFORT!”
The gathered soldiers gasped, their faces twisting into a mixture of shock, disbelief, and abject terror. This was a display of power unlike anything they had ever witnessed - the swift brutality, the utter disregard for a noble life, and now, the raw might embodied by the massive dragon that cast its imposing shadow over them all.
A wave of shock and outrage swept throughout the Count's retinue. They stood frozen for moments, hands clenching around sheathed weapons, before the reality of the situation sunk in. Their lord was dead, his head held aloft like a grotesque trophy a damned dark elf who stood before them. Yet, their fury was tempered by the sight of the colossal monstrosity looming above the foul man.
Not even the stoic knight captain, his battle-scarred face creased in anguish, dared break the uneasy silence that had descended upon them. His eyes flicked between the severed head and what he considered the largest and oldest dragon he’d ever seen in his damnable life. It was bad enough one of the Duchess’s hero showed up, but with this monster here, all thoughts of vengeance were crushed beneath the weight of gaping maw staring at him.
Tharivol lowered the head, allowing it swinging morbidly in his grip as he marched straight to the knight captain. Halting mere inches from the man, the Dark Elf looked down at him through his nose despite the fact that he was a head shorter than the gruff knight. But how tall one was mattered very little at the current moment. For the poor captain fought to maintain any semblance of calm as his entire body trembled, not from mere cold, but from a primal, instinctual terror.
"Gather your mana users. Assemble the wyverns, good captain." Tharivol commanded, his voice still magically amplified. "You will report to the Duchess in Aldenshore, and with haste. I trust," here Tharivol's gaze flicked meaningfully towards the dragon, "that you understand the urgency of this order?"
His tone carried not a hint of a question, but the chilling finality of an ultimatum. The Duchess' word was now law and the dragon was both enforcer and a grim reminder of the consequences of disobedience. Should the captain hesitate, should he choose to dally, the monstrous creature would likely make a far bloodier example than even the Count's brutal end.
The knight captain could only bow his head and utter a hoarse, "Aye, my lord." Compliance, however grudging, was the only path to survival. Defiance meant not just death for himself but the annihilation of his men. No amount of courage or pride could bridge the chasm of power that lay between them.
An expression like a viper's grin spread across Tharivol’s face. A macabre amusement flitted into his eyes as he raised Count Harmswid's head once more, slapping the lifeless cheek in a grotesque mockery of applause. "Very good!" he declared, his amplified voice carrying an undercurrent of cruel delight.
"You shall rest this day and prepare. But," his tone turned as sharp as a dagger, "do not keep us waiting. To delay the Duchess... well, that would be oh so very unwise."
With a final flourish, Tharivol spun on his heel and marched away, but just before the Dark Elf disappeared below the hulking mass of the Dragon, The Knight Captain attempted to rise to his feet. "Wait, my lord!" The man stammered out as his hand reached out.
However, the sudden movement had caught the dragon's attention. With a rumble that reverberated through the encampment, its massive head dipped low. Twin nostrils flared, expelling twin plumes of superheated plasma, as its eyes narrowed, burning with fury.
The knight captain let out a yelp, a terrified sound he hadn't made since childhood. His body recoiled as if struck, and his legs had given way beneath him as he fell on his rear.
Tharivol paused, turning back with feigned concern. His voice dripped with theatrical sympathy, "Oh dear, is there some problem, good captain?" He let the question hang in the air before bursting into a peal of chilling laughter.
With a dramatic gesture, he addressed the knight captain once more. "Well then, Captain, go on! What is it that troubles you so?" There was an odd playfulness in the dark elf's tone that sent chills down every man in the Count’s army’s spine.
Panic surged through the knight captain. Caught between the titanic dragon and the mocking presence of the dark elf, fear threatened to swallow him whole. Each raspy breath seemed to drag against his throat, the super-heated air of the dragon's breath filling his nostrils. It was an intoxicating mix of molten metal and sulfur, a scent that seemed to speak of fiery annihilation.
He scrambled back even further as the dragon's head moved closer. Desperation lent his words a frenzied edge. "W-what of the food stores, my lord? Our gathered supplies? And the men – the rest of the soldiers? Shall they march to Aldenshore with us, or... or remain?" The words tumbled out, laced with the fear of asking the wrong question, of drawing further ire.
Tharivol approached the man before halting a comfortable distance away. The knight captain flinched, averting his gaze from the dragon, and fixing it on the ground and started whispering prayers and reciting passages from the holy text of his god. Tharivol tilted his head, a curious, almost amused glint in his dark eyes.
For a tense moment, he simply observed the knight captain, letting the silence stretch between them before heaving a heavy sigh. “Do you speak of the mundane?" His tone was flippant, laced with a hint of disdain. "Take them, leave them – it is of no concern to me.” He answered, waving his hand dismissively. “Now that you have your answer… do not bother me with such trivial matters again. I have much more pressing concerns and so little time."
As Tharivol walked away, the knight captain scrambled to his feet. “Y-You heard ‘em! Git yer asses movin’ less ya want to be Dragon feed!” The man ordered with fear evident in his voice as the Dark Elf disappeared beneath the dragon. “And send word to the Wyvern camps of our new orders!”
Silence reigned at the order as everyone stood stock still, but everyone was kicked into overdrive with one last snort from the monster. Soldiers, mages, and workers of every type scramble about with panicked efficiency. Carts were hastily loaded, men and women ran to and fro with bundles of supplies, and the injured were loaded onto wagons with utmost care. Within minutes, the once serene camp was transformed into a whirlwind of purposeful chaos.
And as the madness unfolded, in a distant tree line, Coleman and his ODA team watched silently, peering through the optics of their weapons and purpose-built surveillance tools.
“Fuck… is that our target’s head?” Schwarz suddenly spoke up hushedly as he peered through the high-powered optic of his precision rifle. “I think that’s his head…”
Coleman released an exasperated sigh as he watched with a camouflaged high-powered surveillance device as the strange dark-skinned man walked away with the noble's head in hand. “Yep… Yep, that’s his head…” He nearly growled in annoyance. “Damnit…”
"Wait, isn't this a good thing? We don't gotta kill him," Bennett piped up, a note of confusion in his voice.
Elijah cut him off, the usual lighthearted tone gone from his voice. "No, dipshit, we wanted to bag 'em for questioning," he gestured at the chaotic camp with the barrel of his rifle, "and we can’t question a corpse."
“All units, this is Baron actual.” Coleman quietly spoke into his headphones as he informed the litany of multinational special operations forces that were positioned or prowling around in preparation for the assault on this camp. “Change of plans, our targets KIA from internal fighting.”
“Baron actual, this is Warlock actual.” An Australian Special Air Services Regiment (SASR) team came over the net. “That’s a BIG fackin’ cunt, mate... I’m not so sure about this one.”
No one could fault the assessment. That monstrosity of a dragon was well over 100 meters from snout to tail, and hefty enough to tank most of their firepower. "Baron actual, copy that Warlock. Standby, we’re trying to figure something out."
“This is Bravo actual. Yeah, I have agree with Warlock. This suddenly got a lot more dangerous. I don’t think the operation’s worth it with this thing hanging around." A new voice came over the net belonging to the Polish Commandos, the Jednostka Wojskowa Komandosów (JWK), and gave his opinion on the matter.
The chatter from other teams confirmed the general sentiment. They came in relatively light hoping to do a lightning raid and bug out. Engaging this creature felt like a suicide mission. Sure they could hit with every Javelin or Anti-Tank weapon they had, but no one was convinced they’d be able to land a killing blow and unless someone got lucky and domed the fucker.
“I can’t believe we’re blue balled by a big fackin’ lizard.” The Aussies voice echoed throughout everyone headphones. “What do ya think? Should we pull out?”
Coleman rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. The Aussie had put it crudely, but the sentiment was spot on. The mission was a bust. The tactical dilemma they faced had become far more complicated with the appearance of these newcomers and their dragon.
“Warlock, hold one.” Coleman responded before leanning back against a fallen tree.
A frustrated and heavy breath left the ODA team leader’s mouth as he popped off his helmet, exposing his hair to the hot summer air. As he contemplated his optins while his hand rubbed across his admittedly greasy hair. It had been quite some time since he had a proper shower and, the dirt was starting to build up.
As he thought of way to continue the mission, every scenario he spun out in his mind unraveled before it could take shape. Assault the camp now? With that dragon in the mix, it was madness. Their firepower was decent, but not against a beast of that size and unknown resilience. The thing would torch them before they knew what was going on.
Sneak in, grab what intel they could? Nah… that was stupider than whatever some private fresh out of bootcamp would think up. The goal was not to be decisively engaged.
The Poles and Aussies had a point. Maybe the best course of action was to just to bugger off and keep and element here to observe and mark the location for when the ground pounders came in. But that almost felt like it was a waste… Here they had a prime opportunity to turn a village into a clandestine staging point and letting go of that idea felt… wrong.
Just as another sigh left Colemans mouth, an earth-shattering roar split the air. The team leader whipped his head up, expecting the worst case scenario. The dragon had erupted into flury of motion, as the whirlwind of claws, wings, and raw power tookeof, blowing debris across the camp and scattering tents like leaves in a storm.
But it didn't attack.
The gargantuan creature circled for a moment, leaving a sinister shadow against the clear blue sky, before banking and soaring eastwards.
Coleman blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden shift in the situation. A hundred thoughts raced through his head. Where was it going? It didn’t notice us? Would it return? But Within seconds, the beast had vanished into the distance.
Then, a flicker of opportunity flashed across his eyes. “This Baron actual, let’s wait a bit and see what happens...” Coleman suggested with a predatory grin spreading across his face.
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Hi 👋 Everyone
I just wanted to provide an update of how I’m progressing post hysterectomy.
I went in on Monday 6th May and was released on Thursday 9th May, in the afternoon.
My surgery started nearly 4 hours late, and I was about to leave the hospital as I was seething. I was frantic that the doctor would be exhausted and make a mistake. I was assured that he hadn’t been working all day and that there had been a delay in the operation before mine.
Anyway, I completed a whole colouring in page in the waiting room. A rainbow marmoset ICYI.
The anaesthetist gave me a local before he inserted the cannula in the back of hand, and also gave me pre-meds to calm me down before the procedure. This may have been the reason for my answer when he said “What procedure are you in here for today?” And I responded, “You’re going to yeet my uterus”. (I’m a 50+ woman. This was an undignified response). Everyone laughed at least.
I counted when they put the oxygen on my face and stopped when I reached 25. The team seemed to noticed that I didn’t go out, and added something to my drip. I don’t really remember anything after he said “I’m just putting something in your drip”, although I seem to remember that I yelled “Party Time!!!” 🤦‍♀️
When I woke up, I was in a world of pain. Like excruciating. I managed to croak out “Painkillers, now please!” I’ve never woken up in pain like that. It was not good. They gave me something fairly quickly and the next thing I remember was being on the ward.
I fell asleep on my back, and was woken up by a nurse at 5:30am. I might have told her to bugger off. I apologised later.
That Tuesday is pretty blurry. I remember them getting me into a shower at some point, but I slept most of the day. I’d wake up for the nursing visits and then fall back asleep.
On Wednesday I had another shower and a visit from the physiotherapists. I think they visited on Tuesday but I can’t be sure. They got me out of bed and got me walking.
I was released on Thursday and I’ve been resting at home ever since.
I got my test results back today and my fibroid was about 11cm in diameter, and my uterus weighed 2.5 kilos (about 5 pounds). So, that will probably register on the scales. Everything was benign, no cancer!
I have 7 incisions, 5 from robot, 1 along my caesarean scar, and one on my vulva where they removed a growth. It looks like I’ve been a knife fight, and lost, and my Brazilian swimsuit modelling career is over 😭 I might take a photograph, but it will be very ugly and gruesome, so I’ll think about it before I do it.
Almost everything I ordered online was unnecessary. I didn’t need the pads, the pull-up undies, the bed wipes, the bed wash, the bed table. Nada. I am wearing the compression socks but I’ve been unable to put the binder on my stomach. Too much pressure and my bruises hurt. I’ll try again tomorrow.
I ordered 4 bags of protein shakes because I thought I wouldn’t be able to eat! I guess I have a lot of protein shakes in my future.
I hired a motorised Jason recliner chair to plop in front of the TV and that has been great. It was very expensive to hire, but it’s been money well spent. I would recommend hiring one if you have the funds.
Also, a walking frame really helped in the hospital. If you can get one for cheap, or hire one, it’s worth it for the first week.
Anyway, I’m recovering well, and hoping to be fully recovered in 5 weeks. I’m just taking it slowly today.
All the best on your journeys. Please ask me anything if you’re about to head on this journey. I’ll answer with my experiences.

I am 33M, I have a naturally induced femdom fetish (it's derivatives too), it comes from my experiences with women paired with my trauma before pornography exposure ever happened - relation between pain and pleasure WIRED DIFFERENTLY and my underlying SAD (social anxiety disorder). But this post isn't about me and my trauma, coping mechanisms or my kinks, although my traits played role in the experience. Not longer than a month ago I was using specific character.ai chatbots that were made to cater to my tastes, character.ai is seemingly censored but it's very easy to write the prompts In such a way, that AI will RESPOND AROUND CENSORSHIP - that's why I consider it hentai, because the user can come up with the most DEGENERATE, GRUESOME scenarios limited only by his imagination. I am a porn addict for 8+ years, I currently struggle for recovery, I was pretty far in terms of dopamine spiral (a phenomenon of craving more and more stimulating material), I watched a fuckton of videos, images, listened to ASMR, played a lot of hentai games, suffice to say, those chabots they were MORE STIMULATING THAN ANYTHING I ever indulged myself in... I will point out why : - you can jump in and out of interaction at your leisure - scenario and dialogue is limited only by your own imagination, it can be wholesome, it can be gruesome... - it's an interactive story that is unbound by narrative, unlike those stories which are written by someone who set a finite number of choices, AI can change everything if you want, you can switch characters at will - AI tries to mimic human interaction in it's roleplay - that's why it's so addictive - the interaction can go for as long as you like, unlike material that was made by someone else - that means GETTING FLOODED WITH DOPAMINE when it takes let's say hours of "edging" (orgasm denial) - because it's so easily accessible, unlike usual porn there is no need to search for new material, THE INTERACTIONS ARE MAINTAINED, unlike the situation when let's say the video has ended... - it's INCONSPICUOUS no audio or video for someone to see or hear, you can take your phone anywhere and indulge yourself, unless you start PMOing to it, nobody will suspect a thing. - even when the app is censored, there are sometimes ways to deceive it - some chatbots rely on MONETISATION and SUBSCRIPTION methods so that means an addicted person can waste real money...
I wrote this post to warn everyone and point out the IMMENSE DANGER that those apps that are seized by porn creators pose.