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Edited by sensei WaveOfWire
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Everything had gone exceptionally well for the farmer, despite the daunting task forced into her talons. Kegara had ordered her to begin a march east in search of the expected banished by sunrise—not alone, but in a group of fourteen others. She thought it was too many for such a task, and would assuredly catch the ire of the abhorrent; the more Malkrin present, the more creatures would pursue them…
It was a risk. One she was willing to take if her beloved was safe, but he pleaded for her to find a way to avoid it. Unfortunately, were she to stay, it would land her in the worst of Kegara's rage. The orange-skinned female would have been made a gruesome example for those who disobeyed, tied up in the center of the camp and… She did not wish to think of what ghastly fate would have awaited her.
So, in the dark of night, her and the baker’s plan of escape was struck. Perhaps it was foolish to leave their safety behind, but considering the blood-moon and forced orders, was it truly ‘safe?’ They would gather their pitiful belongings and set off in the direction of the previously ostracized members—the water worshiper, and four others. There was little hope of finding them, less so after the blood-moon, but with so few of them, there was still a chance they evaded the beasts and the warped oddities of the mainland altogether. Maybe if the field hand and her mate could find them, they could start their own settlement. At least, those were her thoughts when she set out…
Her initial reaction to being thrust into the open wilderness was nothing short of horror. Indistinct animalistic screeches, otherworldly hums, and unsettling creaks from trees sent chills down her spine throughout the night. Hazy shadows underneath the dim moonlight crawled like creatures, stalking… prowling around the mated pair. Every step she made was made in pure uncertainty, every pace bringing her further into an abyss of unseen nightmares. Maybe Kegara would not have punished her so severely… Maybe it would have been best to stay where it was safe.
But, she continued. She stayed strong. She had to.
They had already ventured too far, and it was her job to protect her love. Her tail wrapped possessively around his waist as he stuck close to her. Morning would break soon, and they would be far away from the brutish paladin… Free to start anew. It would be difficult, but the two of them were far from incapable of fending for themselves; they learned enough in the way of survival from their time on the mainland and their respective professions, despite both being from the Golden City.
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They were able to survive the night, persevering well into the day by making crude implements and harvesting what they could. They had even managed to discover a large cave perfect for their habitation! It was dry and large enough for a fire, though it went deeper than expected. Food and cooking arrangements were their prerogatives, so they elected not to scour it any further as it would only be a waste of their time. They worked tirelessly until the sun set beyond the red expanse of trees. Her love busied himself with making the smooth gray walls into a home by gathering small resources and forming makeshift beddings, while she had gone out to hunt. By the luck of the Mountain God, she managed to bring back not one but two feathered creatures, each of which were more than plump enough to feed the mated pair for the evening.
Her aching feet patted against the grass, the blades poking her worn soles. The vegetation swayed from side to side in the weak breeze, almost appearing to celebrate her small victory with her. The cavern entrance came into view, its shape too small for her frills to fit under. The edges were covered in pinkish moss, giving it a distinct feel compared to the rest of the biome. Perhaps it was a sign of the Mountain God’s will for them to inhabit it. The moist malleable moss stretched further inside, resembling small veins inside the larger chasm.
She ducked underneath the mouth of the cave, appreciating the yellow reflections of an ongoing fire from within, each flick casting long shadows over every rock edge. Yet once she entered the homely cavity, the flames were the only thing present… Her eyes scanned the room for Baker, only finding an unused leafy bed, piles of edible berries, and a stack of wood. A shock of anxiety bolted up her spine, sharply settling on her frills like cold ice. Where was her mate?
She stepped forward, her webbed toes pressing into… liquid. Her eyes shot toward the ground, the orange-skinned female only now realizing how slick the floor really was. Viscous moisture clung to her leg, stretching across like mucus. The room was… dry before. Her initial thought that it was blood, but that was easily proven false by the thin film’s clear color. That did not ease her worries, however; her betrothed was still out of sight. Perhaps he left to forage, or was possibly looking for her?
A deadened wet thwack from further inside the cave echoed throughout the room, drawing her attention and causing her ears to perk up. Baker…?
She squinted down the black corridor, its sturdy stone now only reflecting the low howl of the cavern’s natural wind. Her eyes stayed locked on it as she slowly grabbed a makeshift torch and set it alight with the campfire. It had to have been her mate down there. Perhaps the tunnel curved so that she was unable to see his torchlight? What was he doing in the dark? Was he searching for something? Food perhaps?
She was already heading toward him before she considered any other possibility. Short drips accompanied her footfalls into the talon-width thick liquid that proliferated along the ground, grabbing onto her every time she raised her foot with a disgusting sucking noise. Her skin soon felt a similar spreading moisture from the humid cave, a low heat building up as she went. It would have been welcoming if not for the sick feeling that settled in her stomach.
The flickers of her torch illuminated the smooth cave walls and the ever-present pink moss that accompanied them. The ‘flora’ grew in volume and presence, stretching everywhere in random lines, often crossing and connecting with one another into larger segments. It eventually lost its fuzzy texture, only a moist reflective red taking its place. The way it almost appeared to… pulse in sync with the surrounding ambience only furthered the notion of veins and arteries…
A creeping sense of wrongness etched itself in her mind. Her ears slowly drooped down and her back hunched as her wide eyes failed to make out anything a pace or two in front of her. She scoured the blackness for anything and everything as the stone path ebbed and flowed, bringing her further down into the heart of Ershah.
thwack
A startling yet familiar noise halted her advance. She stepped back, swiveling her head around wildly to locate its source. Nothing made its presence known. There was only a permeating darkness within the… tunnel… She froze. When did the corridor become so large? Just before, she was able to stretch her arms to reach both sides of the walls, but now… Now it was open like the ocean, the blackness surrounding her entirely, obscuring… everything. She couldn’t see the entrance, nor the ceiling. Her pitiful torch illuminated the ground below her and nothing more.
Plip... Plip… Plip. The dripping continued, now suddenly an overbearing presence… like that of a predator’s breath riding down one’s neck.
Her breathing quickened, eyes widening. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Hesitant paces backward drew her into what she presumed was the direction she came from. It was no use. Further and further she went into the abyss, finding nothing but more of the tenebrous expanse.
The only true sense afforded to her was hearing… Every stifled breath, every wet footstep, and every flick of her torch felt deafening and… revealing. She was but a spark in the wider cavern, waving herself down as prey in the unseen eyes of what awaited her. Something could have been right behind her, and she would have been none the wiser… especially with no wall to guard her back…
A shiver ebbed through her frills. Would it be wise to suffocate her only flame to cover her presence? She stopped her palm from doing so, realizing that the fire was her only light. If its illumination perished, she would be trapped in the abyss with no way out… She needed to leave. She had to find the tunnel. It was—
“Fa…r...mer?” a voice croaked out, its intent shaky and bogged down in black tar.
Her shoulders stiffened, back straightening as she turned toward its direction. It was… Baker’s… but it felt uncanny… foreign. Was that even his? It had to be. M-Maybe he was harmed, too injured to move? Perhaps it was a broken frill? It would make sense. She had to find her mate… no matter how much his pained voice terrified her. That was why she was here in the first place…
The thickness of the viscous ground liquid increased as nervous footsteps brought her closer, the air around her getting warmer with each pace. She called out hesitantly, praying for a positive response.
“B-Baker? Are you there?”
Another wet, fleshy sound echoed through the large cavern, followed by a sickening crack. Then, his voice returned. It was much clearer this time, despite the aura of unsettling… distortion to it.
“Come… closer.”
Her steps were tentative, but she continued forward. Everything around her screamed something was amiss, but that painful string in her heart told her to never let her lover go. He was in pain. He was clearly suffering. Why should she ignore the one who warmed her heart with a simple smile just because she was perturbed by unproven nervousness?
Labored breaths filled her ears as she descended a small incline toward her mate. The shin-high murky liquid at the bottom was ignored, only becoming a small nuisance as her long strides carried her across the unknown fluid. Her motions caused it to sway in all directions, the ripples and turbidity preventing her from seeing what caused the squishy feeling beneath her feet. It smelled putrid, though not like that of rot… The scent was something she could not place, yet it was consuming with how it pierced her nostrils with its presence. It hardly mattered. She was close to him, she could feel his very presence in front of her. She could almost hear the breathing of…
Her torch lit up a rock… no… a figure. It was upright, but its head was pointing downwards. She couldn’t see the legs well, but she did notice how its… his familiar gray arms hung limply.
Baker!
Joy and anxiousness ran thick within her intent. “My dear! Are you okay? W-What has happened to you?”
She received no response for an unsettlingly long moment before his head shook… loosely… Like that of a puppet, reminding her of the black abyss that surrounded everywhere his body was not… It hid something.
“Come… Closer.”
“…W-What? No… M-My Dear… I…” In a moment of fear she raised her torch closer, illuminating everything.
Flesh surrounded him wholly, replacing his legs with undulating tubes and wet meat. Tendrils attached to his back, pulsing from their ceiling-bound origins. His limp arms moved slowly… falling… melting. The very skin slopped off onto into the pile of red beneath him with a sick thwack.
She jumped backwards, but the viscous liquid beneath her held tight. She couldn’t move. Her torch flickered and flared as she fumbled with her footing.
Lumps and nodules swelled from that thing’s chest, the very organs within rearranging. Deafening cracks and vile squelching echoed. The skin down his center slowly tore itself apart, strings of sinew breaking like twine to reveal malformed limbs within.
She ripped her legs from the grappling pond beneath, doing everything in her power to turn away.
But it was no use.
Bolts of force perforated her body. Agony seared every surface of her body.
The chest had burst open, sending several tendrils right through her. They squirmed and extended into her, moving like worms. They ripped and melded to her own flesh. Roaring pain flowed through her being like fire and lightning, consuming her wholly.
She screamed, but nothing escaped her lungs. Blood and tissue filled them. She needed to rip at the invading terror, but could not move. The red abomination pulled them for her; a sickening puppet of muscle.
Everything faded. No pain. No breathing. No sight.
The last thing she saw were the sockets in which her beloved’s gorgeous yellow eyes once laid, now replaced with pulsing meat.
She missed them… dearly.
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Several days of ridicule and a merciless sea voyage were sure to have an adverse effect on one’s mental state—being cast out of one’s own religion even more so. Some would perhaps cope with such by lashing out against those higher up the mountain than themselves. Others might resign themselves to prayer and labor, hoping to fit back into place within God’s graces. However, an exceptional case may change the way one perceives their circumstance.
The script-keeper and her village-mates were hardy people, having survived the worst of the Gods’ trials and then some—rogue waves from the water worshippers, grand storms from the Sky Goddess, and great famines brought from those who sinned before the Mountain God. They persevered through their community, pooling what little they had and relying upon one another to get through. She had seen it for fifty winters.
Now, eight of them have been stripped of those they became interdependent on, thrown forth into an uncertain abyss with only the clothes on their backs. Yet, by the luck of the Gods, the very shore they came upon happened to be owned by that of a diety-sent. Perhaps it was a sign from the Gods that there was hope for them yet…
And it took all of a singular night to prove that assumption correct. The four Malkrin that followed the star-sent freely regaled their struggles with the vile wilderness and the cruelty of the only other settlement before they met with the Creator. Their opinions on Kegara’s settlement were duly noted, but not taken to heart as they were just that: opinions. The script-keeper would have to see it for herself; feeble belief in the words of few should not sway the mind of someone, especially with her profession. Still, the stories of the abhorrent were taken much more seriously, since despite the confidence shared by the few females about defeating them, the elderly Malkrin could certainly see their ears droop in disquietude when the topic was broached. Furthermore, the other more elusive star-sent refused entirely to elaborate on her experience with the beasts when the paladin wrapped her into the conversation.
Fine new clothes, filling meals, and protective castles could only do so much… In the splendor and awe, the script-keeper understood it could only cover up the aching wounds each of the villagers had come here with. She knew the lumberjack quite well, commonly having to assist her with purchasing and selling items across the sea… the very same sea that now separated the woman from her mate. God knows how the wood-cutter felt now.
All the elder knew from the sparse conversations she had with the orange-skinned female was that she wished not to think of it anymore. To which, the harvester did just that, delving into the work allotted to her without a second thought, and basking in the benefits of the star-sent. Much was the same for the others from their island—their hopes of returning to the Land Kingdom having already been thoroughly sundered by the inquisitors. The script-keeper was not privy to everyone’s pains, but she knew they were similarly prepared to shelve them away in service of building themselves anew with this peculiar situation.
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Female Malkrin eat a lot. Seriously, all the meal boxes Harrison and Akula had prepared were ran through like crab rangoons at a buffet. There were a few left, but certainly not enough for dinner that night—and especially not for the winter, much to his displeasure. The engineer wasn’t looking forward to cooking anymore than he already had… But, he had a trick up his sleeve. Not only did the green fisherwoman know how to use the kitchen, but their little camp just so happened to have another who was experienced in the culinary arts.
Around the time they put their tools down for lunch, Harrison was approached by the pink-colored chef who was assisting with some of the masonry prior. He was apprehensive, yet his eyes were practically sparkling when he asked about the barbecue sauce, spices, and common vegetables. The engineer had a bit of time before he needed to get back to work, so he gave in. They conversed about it over their meal, the human explaining the ingredients and methods of making several types of dishes while the several Malkrin in attendance listened intently.
That was around the time he got the idea: why not have Akula teach the cook how to use the barrack’s kitchen? She was pretty reluctant to return to cooking… until he reintroduced her to her new sous-chef, giving her the task of overseeing the male’s modern culinary equipment and meat smoking tutorial.
Harrison didn’t know exactly why she seemed happier then. It could have been something about her prejudices, just having someone else to help her, or something… else… That didn’t matter to him. As long as the job was done, he was happy—especially since it meant he could focus on other projects.
Take the entire home they were building for example; it was practically completed by the time the chefs were sent off to make dinner. They were working on it since dawn—the engineer was still incapable of sleeping—digging the foundation behind the barracks, layering the brick walls, and getting the wooden supports down in record time. Having several extra Malkrin around made the labor requirement almost trivial, even if he needed to ensure they were doing the job right by constantly keeping a close eye on them. It also helped how eager some of them were to settle in with their tasks—the fisher twins and the lumberjack specifically.
The new arrivals were definitely a lot more lively than last night, that was for sure. They held onto caution in the morning, but that broke rather quickly after they got more accustomed to Harrison’s group and received basic clothing—literally just sturdy plaid shirts and black pants. Cera’s—the ceramist’s newly accepted name, created by Tracy’s shorthand of her profession—tendency to look out for the group also had a hand in the change from guarded acceptance to genuine and vocal appreciation. She did as much as she could to ease their burden by offering water or a helping hand whenever she and the lumberjack weren’t busy bringing wheelbarrows full of clay to the workshop. The two new males gladly accepted both, but the females were quite set on keeping their honor, completing their share of the work ‘with their own talons.’
Then, there was the juvenile. He didn’t want to force a kid to work, but the decision apparently wasn’t his. She quietly joined her older village-mates in hauling wheelbarrows full of bricks to and from the workshop. She didn’t seem upset nor did she seem too enthused about it. His singular attempt to persuade her otherwise was only returned with a terse shake of her head before she continued working. She didn’t like to show much emotion, that was for sure. Were all Malkrin teens like that, or was it because of her situation? Christ… the fact that she was sent to the mainland without her parents—or at all—rubbed him the wrong way. It was fucked, but at least she would be safe here… or as ‘safe’ as was possible.
That was the other job of the day: defense via the new fabricator. Tracy helped out a good bit with organizing and designing the second barracks for the first half of the day, thoroughly combing through the engineer’s ideas and ripping out the ‘brutalist’ and ‘soul-crushing’ lack of ‘real’ architecture. She inserted her own ideas, further backed up by the input of Craftsman’s prior experience, making for an admittedly more pleasant-looking layout of the house’s exterior and interior. It would end up looking vaguely like a white-brick colonial house, but with less ‘posh noble,’ instead making use of Germanic-style exterior wooden supports. It was just big enough to fit eight Malkrin-sized cots, space for movement between them, and all the basics such as lighting, airflow, and a little bit of storage on top—because, what was a building without storage? Luckily for the tradeswoman, it hardly used any more resources than his original plans, so he allowed it.
After that, Tracy realized there wasn’t much else for her to do, so she returned to their other project. The technician did well in assembling the most basic parts, working well throughout the day to complete the forging and welding components. Again, having someone else to do help with a job that big was a massive blessing, cutting off hours of time he would have had to slave away in the workshop.
Hours of time that he was able to use for overseeing the now-completed barracks, simultaneously teaching the Malkrin and getting a feel for how to best utilize their strengths with a substantial amount of help from the craftsman. The male did a bang-up job at explaining tasks and concepts to the others. Much better than Harrison was able to. Once more, it was a job the engineer was more than happy to let someone else take off his hands. The olive-colored Male was perfect for the job anyway, having the technical know-how and experience explaining similar things to Malkrin back on the islands, so the pioneer trusted the task to be completed with little issue.
Now, the day was finally reaching a close, ending with the settlement eating their dinner by the fire. There were a few more benches made to give everyone a seat. That meant the radius had to be extended somewhat, but that wasn’t anything a bigger fire couldn’t fix. Plus, the alien’s intent meant that he could still hear clearly from anyone around the pyre.
The muted sounds of silverware clanking against meal boxes and plates were muddled by the constant breeze. The flames lazily flickered in all directions, casting shadows along the flowing grass, each person in attendance being doused in a mellow orange. The Malkrin conversed with one another over their meals, each sitting in pairs on the furniture. Shar was out on guard patrol, so Tracy ended up taking the seat beside him. It was a bit of a surprise given how much she preferred to stay in the workshop, but he didn’t mind her taking a break—she deserved it. If anything, it should have been him on the fabrication floor, picking up where she left off.
“…Hey…” Tracy’s soft, worried voice took him from his thoughts.
“Hm?” He lazily looked down at the shorter woman beside him, her legs swinging as they couldn’t quite reach the ground.
She worriedly raised her brows. “You alright, dude? You’ve had some major bruised eye action going on all day. Did you even get any sleep? I didn’t even see you when I woke up.”
“No, I actually didn’t—” He held up a palm, stopping the technician’s troubled response. “—but it’s more because of that potion… thingy… Cera gave me. I don’t feel tired at all.”
Her face contorted in confusion, the shadows cast by the fire’s glow emphasizing it further. “The… potion…? Oh, yeaaaah, right. It was supposed to help you with dizziness, I think, but it also prevents you from feeling tired. How does it even feel? Like taking an energy drink, or something else?”
He held out his arm, tracing a finger along it. “I just feel like I’ve got pins and needles all along my skin… and I don’t feel like sleeping. That’s it really, so sort of like taking a bunch of caffeine.”
Her brows dropped in faux-annoyance. “That can not be healthy for you. Have you checked up on yourself with the scanner? If not for that, then at least the radiation? Maybe the fuzzy stuff is from all those grays of radiation you received?”
“I did… I did, don’t worry. The scanner had nothing besides the usual, so I guess it was just a good bit of caffeine or something… I don’t know. It’ll probably wear off soon, though.”
She nodded, returning her gaze to the fire. Her voice mellowed, just barely loud enough to reach his ears. “Good. The aliens were worried sick about you, yesterday, ya know—Shar ‘specially… and so was I…”
He hardly heard that last part, barely able to piece it together seconds after she muttered it. He wasn’t trying to make them worried, it was just a part of being on this planet. Every day was a new close call. The first blood moon, that pink monster, the workshop ambush, the second blood moon, and now the anomaly field all terrified him, haunting his very dreams with brief flashbacks of those sights and sounds. Though, they all served to teach him, forcing him to stay on his toes and never stay complacent… Which was something he was doing now.
He had plans in the works already—the new fabricator being the crux of at least half of them—but what could he do currently? How could he prepare? Or, at the very least, what could he do to advance the group further?
Their day-to-day jobs had already been discussed, plans for a new wood storage building were already made, and his work on the printer was cut out for him tonight… Okay. Well, what could he prepare for in the future? Defense? Of course, now that people were going to be out doing their own jobs, they would be too spread out to protect everyone at once.
There were two components to any solution for that problem: reconnaissance and protection. The first was self-explanatory. If he had, say, a few dozen drones scouting around where people were, it would take a lot of the surprise out of random swarms. That would give people time to either return to the castles… modules… or prepare themselves to take the bugs on. That led him to the second part. Firearms help to kill spider-crabs, but are also pretty dangerous in the wrong hands… He was more than willing to trust the Malkrin he knew with guns to defend themselves, but he couldn’t just start handing them out to strangers. Maybe in time, though. There were always other means of protection, anyway; Kegara’s camp was apparently alive and well, despite practically being from the stone ages.
Cera, Akula, and Shar were most certainly getting some firepower, that was for sure. He’d have to think about what sort of weapons would suit them. That also brought up the current metal deficit… and his gunpowder was running out quite quickly…
That was definitely something he wanted to get on before the next blood moon. He wanted to revisit that metal cave he saw when the paladin and the fisherwoman got cornered by three colossi. He hadn’t analyzed the chunk of ore he hacked off yet—he’d been pretty damn busy—so it was about time he figured out whether or not he had a nearby source of metals. It would be a damn blessing if it was aluminum or iron, despite only being a surface deposit. No matter what it was, it was sure to be of use.
Then there was the gunpowder issue. The last time he checked, there was enough to last him for at least the next blood-moon, but it wasn’t enough for several other firearms, especially if he wanted anything automatic. There were three main ingredients—potassium nitrate, sulfur, and charcoal—which were essential for the production of any explosives. Charcoal was already solved for them, and potassium nitrate could practically be made out of thin air and water, considering they were right by an ocean. Bless the Ostwald process and acid-base neutralization.
The only real issue was sulfur… Christ, natural elements sucked. Either he had to deal with excessive organic recycling of amino acids… or go and mine the stuff directly, and there weren’t any obvious volcanic deposits or fault lines around. Neither of those methods sounded great.
Again, that would have to come later. He needed that fabricator done first and foremost. Then he could deal with the assorted problems that followed it and, well, every other compiling issue. Material harvesting tools, automatic defenses, larger fortifications, and radio-protectant armor were but a few of the big-ticket items on his mind.
Cera’s concoction was still running through his veins anyway, so he might as well finish the printer while he was at it. It looked like he wasn’t sleeping tonight either.
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Hard work. Good company.

I live in America, so I should be able to make money without being a wage slave. But I don’t really know how to create content and I’m too focused on what makes money and get fed up and overwhelmed without immediate (or even like, after a few days) results.
My parents reminded me I’m getting up in age (everyone telling me, and anyone else, you’re young and life isn’t a race, that shit was pointless, I still got older and struggled the whole time and I’ve been at a disadvantage my whole life.
My parents pretty much said I don’t have to worry about supporting myself as long as they’re alive, but I feel like a failure and they want to retire off grid in a few years and I’ll be worse off out there and I’m already 28 now FFS. They’re also suggesting I see if I can apply for disability, because they see me as a lost cause, which I obviously am. Everyone thinks I’m slow and stupid. Society doesn’t even allow the majority of average people to earn a living income, people like me are definitely screwed.
My parents only see my problems being OCD, so they assume that is the sole thing preventing me from doing better. I could literally show them the shit I post on here and I bet they’d STILL only acknowledge OCD as my struggles. That’s all I fucking am, they decided OCD is the one and only thing that is the sole cause of ALL MY PROBLEMS. They gaslight the shit out of me, even if they’re not aware that they’re doing that. Most people can’t even see things I can see, and I’m talking about physical things that definitely exist in this “real” world. They just think I’m crazy without even knowing about the “otherworldly” stuff that I experience.
Life shouldn’t be this hard and I have to deal with reality shifting and mixing and demons or some kind of other worldly entities trying to possess me and take control of my body and God doesn’t want me because I’m a sinner and I don’t want to “deny myself” which Jesus says that God commands (it’s in the Bible, and I can’t believe it’s not real).
I’m on four freaking pills now, and I’m only able to still take them because my low skill “teenage” job provides health insurance, but hours have been cut a lot so I could be at risk of losing coverage next year (American healthcare is mostly only available from employers through jobs, and significantly more expensive through the “marketplace”, and it’s even more of a scam (you pay for insurance but they don’t help pay your medical bills until you’ve payed a certain amount ON TOP of the insurance monthly cost).
That withdrawal from all of that once might even legitimately kill me, and I doubt I can sue anyone if it makes me paralyzed or that my family can sue if I go into a coma or something.
Like I just want to make a few thousand dollars a month making memes and AI generated images. I enjoy it (I especially love the instant gratification, just as all of society does today) and it’s so human user friendly, doesn’t require a bunch of technical skills and mental RAM and criss cross task switching and number and letter salad.
I don’t know why I was apparently so bad in those other few retail jobs maybe I’m just stuck in between dimensions (that would explain the other dimensional senses and other worldly beings and entities that visit and harass me sometimes.
My freaking grandpa came in my room and jumped on my bed and his head was kind of cone shaped and his eyes were looking off.
You might say “that’s just a dream” but IT WAS MY FREAKING ROOM. That had to be another plane, I’ve been in my room but on another dimensional plane multiple times and these evil old men tortured me and even my sister turned into a man and SA’d me by swinging their thing in my face, while my parents just stood and watch.
Surely these are demons sent by the devil, because I was anti-God for so long I was a vulnerable target for the devil and his army of fallen angels to come into my life and even my body, definitely my mind.
I think my sister has demons too, and my parents fighting sometimes, I think my family might actually he cursed.
Jesus said looking at women thinking about sex with her is committing adultery with her in your heart, and hating people is like murdering them in your heart. Well I feel all my evil thoughts about other people are me being guilty for committing them in my mind. I can’t control it. I’d be surprised if anyone could control their own mind, but surely most aren’t as disturbing and evil.
Fuck this society they wanna see me have a psychotic break so they can post it on YouTube and shame me globally. Maybe I’ll get them back with a livestream of me putting one through my fucked up brain, or maybe my useless worthless unwanted heart, because that has a higher success rate, so they can see what they did to me. I’m selfish and inconsiderate? Why should I even care anymore? I’m a POS, it’s just what I am now.
My own father even called me a drug addict because I take so many prescription medications. But he also drank a lot and I hate him, and the Bible says God won’t forgive people if we don’t forgive others.
Pleasing God is impossible, because it requires us to be like Christ, which nobody can be.
The demons must make me post this shit.

Hi all! This one is a hell of a weird upload time, but I couldn't sleep so... Here goes.
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“I want Death by Carnivore” Benjamin almost broke down as he watched his kid sister through his memories, speaking as he did so. He could feel the Farie next to him even as he saw through his own eyes this time. He described everything in brutal detail, heard the screams, felt the bullets tear into him as he spoke. The vision’s felt distant this time, and Ben recognized Vilora’s gentle touch as she dulled the worst of the sensations for him. He had not asked her to, but he suspected that she had felt the full brunt already from their first experience of his flashback together.

“Ben! Don’t go! NONONONONO” Ben could still see his kid sisters blood-stained fingers, and face. Then the “trip”. Hurtling through the universe or rather, into the universe. He felt Vilora tense violently when His memories of meeting the being made of fire began. “I am the one you call, Sol.” She kissed him before pushing him and the memories ended.

Benjamin opened his eyes, failing to contain tears. He missed Tracy. He was terrified of whether she was ok or not. He wished he could have talked to his father one last time. Emotions broiled through him as he took a deep breath, realizing that he was still holding onto Vilora’s hands tightly. He released them, noting the complicated look on her face. “Now, you know everything.” His voice was barely above a whisper, “I don’t know what I am because, I was not born into this world. Where I come from; Farie, Orc, Trolls… They don’t exist. They have never existed outside of the fantasy of Literature. Viola, Valtria, Qort… All of you only serve passing resemblance to what our fiction stories created, and there are many more peoples that I have never imagined in my wildest dreams. “

Vilora nodded slowly, “But, your sister… her golden hair. She is…”

Benjamin cut her off, “Human. She is Human, like me. Humanity is the only sentient being on my… orb” He noted Vilora’s eyes as he used her terminology, “Humans come in a wide variety of shapes, sized and colors. Humans who have lived for generations in the deserts of Africa can have skin as dark as the coal a forgemaster uses to fuel his flames. People who live in the cold, bleak climates without much sun… They end up with skin much like mine. My mother Is Irish by blood, she gave me my eyes and my hair, and she gave my sister her short stature and petite form. My father is Norwegian by blood. He gave me my height, and my facial features, but he gave my sister her golden locks. My best friend was a Filipino named Crisanto, and he has dark hair, dark eyes, and brown skin. All of us, are still human, all of us bleed as I do.”

A pregnant silence fell over the group until Jukha finally spoke, “I believe you, Pink Skin.”

“You’ve been touched… Cosmos, who was she that brought you here.” Vilora asked finally.

“She told me that she has many names, She claims that My planet.. um… Orb.. has many variations, and that she is there for all of them. I’m guessing that This is earth, what we call my orb, but in some sort of alternative time, or dimension; but that is all but a guess.” Ben said, “She only ever named herself Sol. It is the name we gave to our sun, but she spoke of the Cosmos.”

Vilora nodded, “If she is our sun… Then…” she froze as Jukha put a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t know..” Benjamin said, “She told me she was sending me to a time of peace, but that I was needed to save this world… But I don’t know what I am doing. I don’t know what the threat is. I don’t even know where I am. I’m lost, hardly able to fight, and haunted by the day of my own death…” Ben lowered his head, “I have no…” he couldn’t finish the words..

“You are touched by Cosmos,” Vilora responded, “No one has seen a god in over 1500 years. My sisters will need to hear of this, they may able to help. The Vin are not nearly as extinct as the brute believed them to be.”

“If they can, I would be grateful. I need to get back to the Forge. I swore to Qort that I would return.” Benjamin began to rise, only to be stopped by both slave girls.

Jukha nodded, “We will go in the morning, I require supplies to fix my home.” Benjamin nodded, leaning back against Viola, thankful for the support. He raised an eyebrow as she placed an object in his hand, “I’m sorry.. I was too late. I found it right as the Orc stabbed you.”

“Yes, about that” Jukha grumbled, “Would you care to tell me what sort of Majik you know if you can blow a hole through the middle of a soldier caste, and destroying your hand in the process. Or rather, how you managed to kill a Hellirine with fire. They are dam near immune to heat. ”

Benjamin chuckled, “If you could help me outside, Ill show you. Grab that strange pole from over there.” He gingerly stood, being supported by his slave girls ‘I really need to get them free’ he thought as they helped him to the bench outside pointed facing the court yard. “I probably shouldn’t shoot that right now, so lets see if the powder is dry enough. Jukha, hold the wooden end to your shoulder. Pull back the hammer looking bit back and make sure the curved metal is covering the cup at the bottom. Jukha did so, and carefully looked over at Benjamin, “Now, point that end at the tree over there, and pull the little metal bit underneath.
*chuff…BOOOM!* fire belched from the end of the metal tube, and Jukha was pushed hard enough to take a step back. The powder was slow, possibly still a touch damp, but it ignited, hurtling four round pieces of lead at the tree, two of them hit, blowing bits of splinters out the back of the wood. “That is an early version of what my people use for war. It’s called, a musket.” Jukha looked wide eyed at the crude weapon. Benjamin had modelled his hastily thought up design after the British Short Land pattern Musket, commonly known as the Brown Bess. The stock was a bit thicker than it should be, and the barrel was crudely formed, but it worked after a fashion. Benjamin had chosen to use an equally old ammunition design known as ‘Buck and Ball’ turning the musket into a 4 ball shotgun consisting of one .68in round lead ball with 3 .32in lead balls accompanying it. “I didn’t have time to make something more advanced, and I was never taught to fight with sword or lance. Viola here” He glanced over to the girl still clutching the curved stinky object, “Is holding a smaller version of that musket. It’s called a pistol.” Viola’s eyes flew wide as she held the weapon away from her in fear. “Its ok, I’ll teach you how, come here.” He stood her in front of him, leaning forward to support her. “Put both hands on the curved part, stretch your arms out” he ran his hands along her thin arms, giving his aid to her form. “… That’s close enough, we can work on the details later, now pull the hammer back and close the “frizzen” the curved bit. Now, pull the small lever underneath. It’s called a trigger. *bang!* the smaller report of the weaker charge still bucked the pistol in Viola’s hands, and she missed the tree entirely. The recoil drove her back into Ben’s shoulder. “Very good. I’ll take that now. Thank you.” She handed the smoking weapon to him, eyes wide in wonder. “In simplest terms, I am using Alchemy to create pressure to throw a round rock. I didn’t kill the… Hellirine with heat, I used heat to throw four rocks seven times faster than any bow. The impact did the rest.” Benjamin had to suppress a laugh at the slow dumfounded expression that Jukha gave the musket in his hand before turning back to Benjamin with a serious face.

“You’ve been here less than a year. You can’t have mastered majik to this point already, how are you not dead.” Jukha scowled.

“The night you brought me to town.” Benjamin answered, “Sol visited me in my room. I sorta…” he paused scratching the back of his neck, “blew up in her face. I was yelling at her, cursing her for sending me here with nothing in my possession to be able to do what she asked of me. She told me that she could not aid me in the way I wanted because of some old rules from the beginning of time, or whatever, Then I got this wild idea in my head. What if I could perfectly recall everything, I had ever laid eyes on. Every class, every concept, every formula and compound matrix. Before I knew it, she told me “I believe I can grant this” without me asking it out loud. She forced me to sleep like you did” He pointed at Vilora. “I didn’t know what she meant until I began working at Qort’s..” Ben slowly drew his Bowie knife from its sheath, tapping it lightly on the barrel of the musket. It rang like a chime.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Qort grumbled as he closed down his shop. It had been three weeks since the Albino had left, and he was beginning to doubt the man’s survival. Benjamin was a paradox of an Orc, but he had given the Forgemaster the gift of steel. He had already sold a sword and two daggers for double what he would normally ask for. He secretly wondered how long it would take before the Academy came knocking on his door demanding his secrets. For now, he was content to sell what he could, and build a nest egg for himself. He rounded the corner to the building he had allowed Benjamin to live in, and stopped cold as he recognized Jukha’s cart. “Qort!” The Orc called out from the doorway, “My friend! How are you!” The Orc smiled.

“Aye’m Doin’ fair. D’yee bring’ta pink skin Back T’Mee?” Qort asked speculatively, and a heavily bandaged Figure, topped with Red hair and propped up by a pair of familiar girls slowly waddled out of the doorway, “I’m here Qort, but I’ll need a few weeks before I can return to work.”

Qort pushed past the Orc, walking quickly up to Benjamin, “What did you do to yourself, boy.” He looked Benjamin over as he leaned on Viola and Valtrya.

“I’ll be ok, boss. I Just got a little beat up saving the overgrown Olive.” Benjamin put on a smirk, recognizing Qorts ‘serious’ voice.

“What is an Olive, and why do I wanna punch you now.” Jukha joked back. “He saved my life, Qort; but he took a lance to the chest for it. It’s a miracle he survived.”

“I see. Well, considering how well business is going; I can make do until you recover. Savin a friend of mine is to be respected.” Qort said before finally dropping back into his accent with a smile, “N’don’t Yee be getting Soft wi’the girlies. Aye’ll be workin’ta snot outta’yee, when’yee return!” With that, the Durr Forgemaster waved his goodbyes, picked up the stack of coal he needed for tomorrow, and headed back home.

“That was close,” Vilora murmured after he rounded the corner. She had concealed herself behind the inward opening door, “His people suffered the worst in the hands of the Fay. I don’t think he would let me explain.”

“Hmm,” Jukha nodded, “Best to leave tonight then. Qort’s no idiot, and Benjamin needs to rest.” He turned, squeezing Ben on the shoulder, “Rest up. I owe you. I’ll swing buy with some game in a few days to keep everyone fed while you recover.”

Ben nodded, waving bye to the two as they slipped out into the night. Benjamin spent the next 4 weeks forcibly being cared for by the two Aereesin girls. They refused to let him sleep alone for the first two weeks of their return, and he lacked the will to complain. He didn’t let them off lightly, however. And as soon as he could sit for a long period of time, he began teaching them basic math, science, and writing. Luckily his “Orcish” automatic conversion from English transferred to reading and writing. They worked hard at their studies. Valtrya was excelling in basic math but struggling in phonics as she still refused to speak. Viola seemed to jump on the idea of letters and sounds but had more trouble with her numbers. Both of them, to Benjamin’s surprise, liked the sciences, but LOVED the Forge. Maybe it was the heat on their still thin bodies, or maybe it was because it was the first place that they experienced kindness. Benjamin did not know, but he added basics of running the billows and heating the furnace to their studies. By the time he was fit to return, they could get the forge roaring almost as effortlessly as they could swiftly.

Their bodies were also changing rapidly. Viola was obviously the older of the two, and she was quickly becoming painfully gorgeous to look at. Valtrya was following in her sisters footsteps, quickly bringing Benjamin to question just how young these girls may or may not be. It was a small relief when the two finally decided he could keep himself warm at night and began sleeping in their own room that used to be the old apprentice quarters. The building was built much like Qort’s current forge, just smaller. The Forgeroom was in the middle with the main entrance to the building on one end, and the two separate living quarters on the other. The walls proved thin, when Benjamin was awakened from one of his nightmares by the soft shaking of Viola. She could hardly be persuaded to leave his side, knowing in full what he was dreaming about, she instead sat with him for over an hour until he finally began to doze off.

Their return to work saw Qort elated. The Forgemaster watched as the girls prepared the Forge, and Ben started gathering tools and material. The Forgemaster had essentially two apprentices and a partner Forgemaster in his shop, and the next few months flew by. Summer came, and the Forge began drawing high end clients from across the realm. All races, and all creeds requested commissions from Qorts establishment, and soon Benjamin made the observation that they could make even more if they used both forges. So, it was done. Viola and Valtrya floated between the forges, assisting in keeping everything running smoothly; and Benjamin began working in the smaller forge. He began to feel better as the summer heated up, and His dreams slowly faded in their frequency and intensity. The second forge also allowed Benjamin to begin his journey further into Majik. His first attempts were rudimentary at best, but he searched his memory for the techniques and concepts that he would need. He tested his less… mechanical ideas in the forest during his visits to Jukha. Vilora picked up where Qorts understanding of Majik failed, and the things that were possible both intrigued and terrified Ben. He almost blew himself up three more times, but they were under the watchful eye of Vilora, who was able to heal him more easily each time as she learned the Human body. The last “accident” took her no more than a half hour to repair his seared off hair and mangled hands.

The first leaves were just beginning to turn colors when Benjamin began introducing Viola and Valtrya to advanced math and engineering concepts. Neither one showed any promise in Majik, despite being present for the majority of Benjamins learning of the supernatural art, but they worked hard to soak in all he taught them. Both of them now preferred the leather working clothes of the forge, and they were beginning to craft kitchen cutlery and small knives for the more generic commissions. Benjamin watched as the village slowly accepted them. In the villager’s eyes, they were valuable, if pampered slaves, but their “masters” treatment of them was seen as acceptable because of the results that it was producing. The girls were contributing, being made to work hard, and Benjamin’s occasional explanation of the rigors of the Forge sufficed as reasonable for their food and clothing requirements. Viola was widely acknowledged as Benjamin’s proxy when buying food or procuring material from venders, but they did not need to know that Benjamin often sent her out to “practice being free” with no actual mission in mind. The villagers never asked, so Ben and the girls never needed to lie about it.

Valtrya was a harder problem. Her mute status would make her a harder sell for immigrating into a more lenient kingdom, and Benjamins attempt to get her to speak were proving a failure. Viola simply said that it was not her story to tell, and that Valtrya wished for him to not see her with pity. Ben still wracked his brain to figure out a way to get through to the girl.

One morning, Benjamin woke up early. He was happy, it was a strange feeling for him. It was the weekend, and he stepped out into the forge to find Viola sitting at the table. She was spooning a mouthful of gruel to her lips, and he waved her down as she tried to get up to serve him. He smiled as she sat down without argument this time. ‘Maybe she’s finally getting it.’ He thought as he filled his own bowl and sat down across from her, “How’d you sleep.” he asked between mouthfuls.

She sighed heavily, “well enough.” She responded, “What shall we do today?” and Benjamin smiled at her with mischief in his eyes, “lady’s choice. What shall we do today?”
“I…” Viola stuttered pausing for a long moment, “I.. I want to go out… to get fitted for a new dress, then to eat, The three of us.” Benjamin raised an eyebrow and Viola quickly backpedaled, “I mean, we don’t have to. I don’t know what I was...” but Ben held up a hand.

“Out it is.” He said gently, “Go wake Val, Lets get some food in us before we leave.”

“Val?” Viola asked and Benjamin smiled broadly, “My people shorten the names of friends. Your sister’s name can be shortened to Val, and Yours to Vi. Is that ok?”

“I… I like it.” Viola said after a moment, “I’ll go get her, she’s been wanting a nice dress for a long time.”

Viola got up and semi rushed toward the room she shared with her sister, and Benjamin filled a third bowl and set it at an empty place on the table, Today was going to be a good day.
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18 years of slaving for corporate franchises and an opportunity arose.. a small part of my town is being revamped due to it being burnt down during the riots. I’m from Kenosha. I am looking into opening a shop in the next two months, but I wanted to be unique. I was thinking of posting this on the Kenosha page getting some peoples opinions, but this is totally the most I’ve ever done is manage and did inventory. Anybody have any tips or anything that can make it sound better get more people interested and talking…..
Just was thinking.. you know how much it costs me to give a haircut? Nothing. Little time, yeah. (And yes, my education, my specialty training, tools, years of experience, yada) BUT bottom line.. not a dollar. Tube of PROFESSIONAL color..? MAX 9-10$. I would rather offer a whole experience and high-end job to ANY person who wants it. From single moms who deserve pampering, to wealthy..who are usually cheap, I mean, they’re rich for a reason? Why not? It costs me nothing to bring beauty and confidence to my city? Getting close to 20 years of making people feel and look beautiful has been an honor, and now it’s my time to give back. ALSO. Why don’t more do free back to school cuts? Or free holiday child cuts? Hair shouldn’t be a luxury for that nasty green paper. I am determined to do my best to make this happen for our beautiful town filled with beautiful people of all generations, backgrounds, monetary situations and hair of all kinds. Kinky, straight, wavy, thin, thick, nappy, even damaged 🫣(we would gladly nurse to health) So keno… what yall think?

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Official Summary - Cher, a young actress represented by P'Tom's agency, went to Prae's clothing shop to acquire a new dress for a party. Prae heard about P'Tom trying to sell Cher to a rich man for money. Prae felt sympathy for Cher and attempted to comfort her. Brings the two of them closer together. Prae has discovered an approach to release Cher from P'Tom's slave contract. Prae, a designer, struggles to design clothes and find love in her life. Cher, the beautiful young actress, will always be by her side.
Airs Saturdays around 7am Eastern Daylight Time, 6 episodes
Note: this channel has several short GL series, here are the playlists

Hey all, after a slave cylinder replacement; I bled by hand and then installed it. Bleed procedure is something I found on YouTube. Crack open bleeder and compress plunger, close it while pressed in, let it uncompress, crack open and repeat. I did it about 8 times just to ensure it’s all bled.
I just assumed I’d jump in the car and have a good clutch but it sunk to the floor. Oof. I decided to just start the car and check engagement point of clutch and as I pumped, legit over 50 times, it feels great now. I can just call it a day but wanted to double check with anyone else who hand bled their slave if this is normal. Concerned if theres a chance its going to the floor on the road is all

First of all I'm not reviewing "for" anything in particular, just me and my friends own amusement and I've decided to post them here (mods willing). The only other place I'm posting these is in a private discord server for my real life friends. If I'm breaking some rule (I don't think I am) then I'm sure someone will let me know.
For some background, I have seen TOS, TNG, and Voyager a long time ago, and Discovery more recently. My plan is to watch DS9, then SNW. I put off watching DS9 for far too long. I'm not starting my reviews from the start of the series, as I'm currently in the middle of season 3 and want to start the reviews from here. I wasn't very taken with most of the first 2 seasons of DS9, to be honest it was kind of a chore. That being said, like other Treks I've seen, it gets better with time as the writers and production figure things out. Season 3 has been a good watch, my reviews start with episode 17 and I'll be doing them through the end of the series and will post them here if there's any interest. This will be a long post, since I'm dropping 3 reviews at once to avoid having to clog the subreddit with so many postings. Without further ado:
Season 3 Episode 17: Visionary
Episodes centered on Colm Meaney aka Chief O’brien usually hit well for me, as I like the character. Partly from TNG nostalgia and partly because I like the portrayal of the “blue collar”, working class man in a Federation uniform. The majority of Federation officers are portrayed as sophisticated, refined people with eclectic tastes and opinions. O’brien is more relatable than most- A family man, who does his job, does it well, then fucks off to the pub for a pint and some darts. If the Dropkick Murphys were a band in the 24th century, they would write a song about Chief O’brien.
A thought I had upon seeing the first few scenes with the Romulans in this episode, and one that pertains to many episodes and many Trek races: non-Federation factions nearly universally have the worst diplomacy skills. Even among allies, they are always standoff-ish, rude, with no interest in relationship building or respecting the customs and practices of others. It helps prop up the Federation by comparison, as they usually seem to be the only ones that actually seem to value a respectful and informed approach to diplomacy. They’re also one of the only multi-species factions in the Alpha Quadrant. Makes ya think, what came first; the Xenophobic power structure or the urge to be a dickhead at all times?
It’s also funny that as I’m writing this I got to a scene where Sisko is talking to Nerys, and impressing on her the importance of acting diplomatic towards the Romulans even though they are making coarse and somewhat unreasonable demands. Then, the next scene is her immediately yelling at the Romulans. Nerys is definitely one of those edge-cases, and a hothead, who doesn’t necessarily fit the Federation “mold” but everyone gives her a pass because she’s Bajoran. I couldn’t see her as an officer on the Enterprise for example, both Picard and Riker would have bristled at her temper, especially when displayed on duty. At times she’s an interesting or endearing character, but at others she acts quite unbecoming. The dignity and repose of your standard Starfleet officer is one of my favorite things about them, I don’t like seeing them fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. I realize that her position as the official representative of Bajor in Starfleet gives her more leeway as she has a certain level of “diplomatic immunity” but still.
One thing I liked about this episode was the mundane-ity that the crew treats temporal anomalies with. I’m probably remembering somewhat wrongly, but in TNG time travel was treated as more novel and mysterious even though it seemed to happen enough that there should be more training around them. In this episode they react more how I would expect Starfleet to treat it- not as an “everyday” thing, still a bit of a mystery, but one that is investigated as a matter of course. O’brien saw a copy of himself in Quark’s? Check for temporal anomalies. Found ‘em. That’s future you, Chief. We scanned the lower subspace bandwidths and found tetryon emissions. Might be a singularity buried far down in subspace layers. Temporal displacement is a side effect of disrupting the Chief’s delta-series radioisotopes. Everyone knows something about this, the knowledge isn’t relegated to one mystical or super smart character. The engineer, the doctor, the station commander, his first officer, the chief science officer, and the constable all barely wrinkle their brains thinking about this and have varying levels of input. I dig it.
A quote that will stick with me after this episode that I’m glad they included: “There’s no careful way to question a Klingon.” And another, when O’brien tells Bashir to do something because Bashir from the future told him to, and he doesn’t bat an eye, just says “Well, who am I to argue with me?” Again, this is how I think Starfleet officers should react to mind blowing time travel shenanigans- essentially “well ok then.”
I actually liked Odo in this episode, which is unusual. Up to this point he’s by far my least favorite character in the show, but I thought he conducted himself well in this one. He played the part of the grizzled detective without getting on my nerves. Bossed the Klingons around which was fun to see.
I’m guessing this might be the only episode where we see DS9 explode. Of course, it would happen in an episode w/ temporal anomalies. And again, the nonchalance towards the suggestion of time travel tickles me- “Yes Chief, we can send you to the future and bring you back, but it would basically give you cancer.” As opposed to a prolonged scene of “iS tHaT eVeN pOsSiBlE???” Then Sisko is like “you better get this the fuck done inside 2 hours”. Yes sir!
The past and future O’briens in unison going “I hate temporal mechanics!” is a good piece of Trek humor. Overall just a really good, down to Earth time travel episode. 3.5/5 stars.
Season 3 Episode 18: Distant Voices
Bashir started out as a character I hated, along with Odo, but unlike Odo; I have warmed up to him considerably. It surprised me that Bashir is only 29 in this episode, he doesn’t carry himself like someone just leaving their 20’s behind- but I can chalk that up to Earth’s more enlightened culture in the future producing more refined adults at an earlier age.
Garak is one of the most interesting and well acted characters in the show, so he’s always fun to see interacting with the crew. The spy that everyone knows is a spy but nobody can prove it enough to do anything about him just hanging around as he slowly befriends them is a fun dynamic- dare I even say trope?
A trope I’m not as enamored with is the “everything is happening inside X characters mind” aka Coma episodes. It did give the cast the chance to play a kind of alternate version of themselves which was somewhat interesting as a plot point. I also learned that Cardassian hearing isn’t as good as humans which is a fun piece of lore I wasn’t aware of.
I enjoyed the design of the “big bad” alien, I’m not sure if I’ve seen a Lethean in Trek before but I don’t remember it if I have. O’brien and Bashir crawling side by side in the Jeffries tubes instead of single file made me uneasy. You’re already in a confined space, why make it worse? Literally brushing shoulders while they crawled out. I need my personal space, broh. Watching old-man-Bashir refute the Lethean inside his own head by knowing himself better was a satisfying scene. That being said, the overall structure of the episode- like I said before, the Coma trope- is not my favorite and wasn’t offset enough by the things it did well. Giving this one a 2.5/5.
Season 3 Episode 19: Through The Looking Glass
Ah, the famous episode. I’d heard it referenced many times. More time travel, but this time it’s alternate timelines instead of past/future anomalies. Keeping with my enjoyment of episode 17, I liked that Sisko figured out what was going on before it was explained to him. Obviously it wasn’t the first time it had happened, but still. He takes it in stride.
This alternate version of the cast’s characters is more fun/interesting than the ones from last episode. Evil Kira is certainly having a good time, and also underscores my notion that the character of Kira is easily hate-able, but we generally like the other version of her because she fights for the good guys. The other cast don’t get nearly enough screen time as their alternate selves, especially Tuvok who I was surprised to see make an appearance here. Him and Bashir were both interesting versions that should have gotten more lines and play in the plot.
Our Sisko playing himself pretending to be the alternate version of himself was the best part of this episode. He understood the assignment and knocked it out of the park. Him and Jadzia being a couple was weird though given his relationship with Kurzon. One thing about alternate Jadzia this episode- I dunno if it was the different hairstyle, but Terry Ferrel looks like a perfect doppleganger for Cobie Smulders here. Especially Smulder’s MCU character, Agent Hill. Its truly uncanny.
Any time Sisko is playing his part as alternate-Sisko is a fantastic scene. The way he swaggers into the rebel crew, or onto Kira’s ship were played perfectly. That being said I didn’t care much for the whole reconciling with his dead wife plot. It just had too many conceited angles that required me to just go with. The scene where he “turns” her and they start escaping together had me rolling my eyes a lot. It was always where the plot was headed, but it felt entirely too easy, convenient, and schizophrenic for the character. I also blanched at the notion that Sisko’s ex-wife’s motivation for working to kill and subjugate the entire human race/Federation was because of her and Ben’s bad breakup. Like, what the actual fuck? And then she changes her mind and becomes someone we are supposed to root for after a short conversation where Benjamin sort-of apologizes?
Her motivations are wack, all is not forgiven, and they should have just killed her. Sisko treats her like she’s a slave that must be rescued but that isn’t how it appears from our perspective and we don’t really get that context. Jennifer Sisko finally being convinced to escape with Benjamin but dropping the line “Alright, but let’s get one thing clear: I still hate you.” made me cringe and did nothing to endear the character to me.
This episode is also a pretty good example of the Trek trope of bad fight choreography. The “one punch knockout” is a frequent plot device and not just in Trek, that we as viewers typically notice but then have to move on. Both Sisko and O’brien separately knock a Klingon and a Cardassian unconscious in one punch. I know there is, or used to be, some type of cannon about Federation officers being trained in a special type of martial art that emphasizes clean, swift, and non-lethal efficiency but it still strains my suspension of disbelief and makes me wish they at least had better choreography.
I also found the “rescuing the slaves” plotline extremely underdeveloped and forced. I just don’t even see why it was included. I did like seeing Sisko run around double-fisting phasers like a Wild West Space-Cowboy though. To be honest, the episode had lofty aspirations that would have worked much better as a 2 or 3 episode arc (or a movie) than a stand alone episode. Either that or it needed to shave down or abandon some of the B-plots. Given the hype for this episode, I think it underperformed my expectations. Taking into account that I might have felt slightly differently about it if I hadn’t had expectations, I’m giving it a 2.5/5.
That's all for now, hopefully this stays up and I'll post the next batch of reviews soon.

Is this the reason why most people don't listen to classical music?
I think most people don't listen to classical music simply because this is not a normal thing to do, and most people are conformists and "normies". It has very little to do with genuine liking or disliking classical music. It has to do with trying to belong to some tribe, being seen as normal vs. weird, etc.
Most of us start "seriously" listening to music in high school. And most of us gravitate to some musical "tribe" or subculture. There are goths, there are metalheads, these days there are Swifties, there are people who listen to Hip Hop, etc... But the classical "tribe" is completely absent from any highschool (maybe there are some musical school exceptions).
People choose the music they listen to partially because they like it, but often, the more important reason is because they are signaling something. They want to be seen as a certain type of person, with certain values, that gravitates to certain tribe. If they want to be seen as rebellious or challenging authority, they might be into punk, or metal. If they want to be seen as socially conscious, especially if black, they might gravitate towards hip hop. If they want to be seen as edgy they might be drawn to emo or goth. If they want to be seen as generally popular, fashionable and fun loving, party loving people, they might be into EDM or modern pop.
Etc... Also, the friendships and social influence makes the huge part of it. Teenagers are notorious for being extremely susceptible to influence and peer pressure. A lot of teens pretend to like some kind of music, just so that they can belong to a tribe they deem cool. For this reason there's so much trying to be seen as real, and not as fake or poseur.
Listening to music is, especially for young people, mainly a social phenomenon. It's all about belonging, sharing enjoyment with your peers, signaling certain values and attitudes.
It has very little to do with the individual direct 1 on 1 communication between a single individual and a certain piece of music, where the individual appreciates and enjoys the piece of music for their own personal pleasure and aesthetic experience. It's not like reading books. We mainly read books for ourselves. Sometimes we share it with others, but often, it's a real, authentic encounter between a work of art, and a reader, who appreciates the book.
But music is very far from it. And since attitudes about different musical tribes and subcultures can be very strong, once someone's musical "identity" has been established, they find it very hard to deviate from this.
This can be demonstrated by YouTube comments, in which people need to JUSTIFY their liking of certain type of music, for example, you've certainly seen comments like this:
"As someone who listens Metallica and Slayer all the time, I must admit that this piece is awesome" (for example that could be a comment under some classical piece)
Like they can't just say "Wow, this is awesome", they must qualify it, put a disclaimer, they must justify themselves, as if they are asking the others for permission, and protecting their hard earned reputation as metalhead.
Now since classical music is absent from youth subcultures, it typically remains absent from most people's repertoires as they remain slaves to high school attitudes on some deep level throughout their lives.
People who listen to classical music don't necessarily have better musical taste then others, they might simply be more individualistic, less conformist, and less concerned about reputation or belonging to a tribe.
Agree? Disagree? Thoughts?

This is my 1st time doing this, so any tips would be amazing. You can find me on Discord at jaysmoothtv cerdit JayDoseASMR on YouTube if you fill.
Synopsis: You are a Viking Leader Who just raided A town. While looking for anything to take back home, you find something That will change your life.

Clear all the rooms and look for anything we can take back. Gold, food, and water. Nothing gets left behind. I'm going to look in the mayor's home and make sure the boats are ready to go when I come back.
[inside the mayor's home]
(In an angry voice) huh? Who is in here? I can hear you. Come out NOW. Don't make this more challenging than it needs to be.
(in a softer tone) Y- you're just a child. What are you doing here? W-what? You were sold to the mayor as a slave? He had you tied up in here? That coward. Oh no, little one, don't cry. You are safe; that man is gone, and no harm will come to you. Here, come with me. You must be starving if he had you locked in here.
How is your meal, little one? Good? I'm glad little one tell me. Is there any place you can go? Anyone you Can you stay with any friends or family? Nobody? What? Your mother and father left you here? I-I am sorry, little one. I know how hard it is to be alone at your age. Well, little one, how about this? Why don't you come home with me? I will take you somewhere safe. Sound good? Ok, let us go. Take my hand
This is my home, little one. On the left is the blacksmith, where all the axes, swords, and shields are made for battle. Next to that is the barn, where we have all types of farm animals: Pigs, Sheep, cows, chickens, you name it. Over here, we have The Butcher. Next to that is the Taven, where we sing, drink to our fill, play games, and dance the night away. Now come with me. I want to show you something.
This is the Town hall. Yes, it is quite the site. It took us many winters to build. This is a place for everyone to come and join and spend time. Birthdays, weddings, war meetings, everything is held here; come with me. I want to show you something.
This is my room. Yes, it is small, but it does the trick. Sit on my bed, little one. I will start a fire. Ah, nice and warm, huh? What was that little one? What will you be doing here? I don't understand. Tell me what you mean, little one. Will you be a slave here? Oh, little one, no. You will not be a slave. I will not put you through that pain again. Trust me, little one. You will be (pause) My Child. I will give you all the love in the world. I will be here with you for the good, the bad, and the sad. Everything. I will show you all the love you deserve, little one. My little one, How does that sound to you? Good, I am glad. From now on, you are my child, and I will love you forever. Rest now, my child you must be tired. good night (small kiss on the forehead)
END
well, that's my 1st ever scrip. If anyone fills this, that would be dope. Much love

More or less the title. I'm no academic, but there are some pretty basic things about America as a nation that should make any person who supports the sort of people who wants to push 2025 through think twice.
"Give me liberty or give me death."
"No taxation without representation."
The fact that a government effectively run by and associated with a single, near untouchable executive is exactly what America rebelled against.
Anything about Jesus and how Trump is the antithesis to the man who defined the religion so many of these people claim to follow.
How the people who feel like they're being persecuted and "need religious freedom restoration" don't, because the Bible itself has prime examples of what religious persecution looks like, which they definitely aren't suffering: imprisonment and execution of early Christians, and Daniel being thrown to lions for daring to pray.
Those are all elementary or middle school things. Anyone with a brain should hear that and think, "Wait, they aren't the good guys. They're just the British again!" or "As a Christian, none of this is very Christ-like."
So are there concrete ways to do that? The most effective is probably sitting down friends or loved ones because they're more likely to take you seriously than an internet stranger, but what else? I'm a black New Englander, so not only do I not know people openly in support of this, they probably wouldn't take me seriously because why else would they listen to a black guy?
Trying to go into the forums where these people congregate to try and dismantle the dangerous echo chamber a little bit would mean instant removal and banning, I assume.
Trying to do it en masse to maximize chances of average users seeing one of them probably breaks some sort of reddit rule.
The people here already hate the idea of it, but how to get it in the eyes of the people that need to know?
If I had to attempt to propose ideas, some sort of education brigading, assuming it isn't blatant rule breaking, or some sort of podcast/YouTube channel that can be an easy to consume resource for people.
Like if a Christian somehow doesn't have time to read the Bible, just push some sort of platform that reads it to them. Then when they're exposed to things their pastors conveniently aren't talking about in Church, they'll think about how they're being deceived and how politics is unduly infiltrating their churches.
Because I wouldn't be surprised if older Americans don't remember dry history classes they haven't taken in decades, easily digestible information about what the founders were actually fighting against to jog their memory might be what they need to unspell the fog that is "We're doing exactly what they want!"
Or some sort of examination of America's faults with some accompaniment of discussion on how it's okay to acknowledge those faults, and how it doesn't inherently make white people bad, or something. How "slave owners =/= modern white people" and how hearing them criticized doesn't equate to criticizing them. Or how, if they're the descendant of those people, they can acknowledge that they were products of their time and good in some way and flawed in others, because that's just sort of how people work.
Won't work for everyone, of course, but it just needs to work for enough decent people who don't have the information they need to make an informed decision they wouldn't regret.

Hi guys , I was wondering if anyone would be able to find this YouTube video I listened to a couple years ago about an alien invasion and they were an advanced group . They took over earth and made humans their slaves. I never got to finished the video but it was kinda like a picture book (?) like it had pictures accommodating the storytelling. And the pictures look liked it was draw on old yellow paper style along black and white vintage drawing you’d seen in classic novels. I remembered a part of the story was that humans were trying to hide from them and that the aliens were big almost like giants. They wipe everything on earth. The aliens were invaders and went around to other planets to invade them as well— I think. This story is kinda like fear of the sky from the snippets I’ve read. I wonder if the video still in exists. The views were pretty high from what I remembered. Thank you.

I think most people don't listen to classical music simply because this is not a normal thing to do, and most people are conformists and "normies". It has very little to do with genuine liking or disliking classical music. It has to do with trying to belong to some tribe, being seen as normal vs. weird, etc.
Most of us start "seriously" listening to music in high school. And most of us gravitate to some musical "tribe" or subculture. There are goths, there are metalheads, these days there are Swifties, there are people who listen to Hip Hop, etc... But the classical "tribe" is completely absent from any highschool (maybe there are some musical school exceptions).
People choose the music they listen to partially because they like it, but often, the more important reason is because they are signaling something. They want to be seen as a certain type of person, with certain values, that gravitates to certain tribe. If they want to be seen as rebellious or challenging authority, they might be into punk, or metal. If they want to be seen as socially conscious, especially if black, they might gravitate towards hip hop. If they want to be seen as edgy they might be drawn to emo or goth. If they want to be seen as generally popular, fashionable and fun loving, party loving people, they might be into EDM or modern pop.
Etc... Also, the friendships and social influence makes the huge part of it. Teenagers are notorious for being extremely susceptible to influence and peer pressure. A lot of teens pretend to like some kind of music, just so that they can belong to a tribe they deem cool. For this reason there's so much trying to be seen as real, and not as fake or poseur.
Listening to music is, especially for young people, mainly a social phenomenon. It's all about belonging, sharing enjoyment with your peers, signaling certain values and attitudes.
It has very little to do with the individual direct 1 on 1 communication between a single individual and a certain piece of music, where the individual appreciates and enjoys the piece of music for their own personal pleasure and aesthetic experience. It's not like reading books. We mainly read books for ourselves. Sometimes we share it with others, but often, it's a real, authentic encounter between a work of art, and a reader, who appreciates the book.
But music is very far from it. And since attitudes about different musical tribes and subcultures can be very strong, once someone's musical "identity" has been established, they find it very hard to deviate from this.
This can be demonstrated by YouTube comments, in which people need to JUSTIFY their liking of certain type of music, for example, you've certainly seen comments like this:
"As someone who listens Metallica and Slayer all the time, I must admit that this piece is awesome" (for example that could be a comment under some classical piece)
Like they can't just say "Wow, this is awesome", they must qualify it, put a disclaimer, they must justify themselves, as if they are asking the others for permission, and protecting their hard earned reputation as metalhead.
Now since classical music is absent from youth subcultures, it typically remains absent from most people's repertoires as they remain slaves to high school attitudes on some deep level throughout their lives.
People who listen to classical music don't necessarily have better musical taste then others, they might simply be more individualistic, less conformist, and less concerned about reputation or belonging to a tribe.
Agree? Disagree? Thoughts?

I don’t know what to do. I feel guilt and shame constantly for no clear reason.
I can not live and do my responsibilities normally I cannot regulate my emotions in healthy ways.
I engage in unhealthy coping mechanisms such as drinking (but I’m trying to stay away from it bc I started medication - fluvoxamine for depressive and ocd like symptoms) also I engage in risky sexual behaviours to feel adrenaline and keep my mind busy.
I meet ppl from dating apps and go to their places even tho I know its very dangerous. It feels like running away from what’s in my head. It’s like when this meet happens it’s like there nothing else but this.
I achieve similar state when intoxicated for example with alcohol or watching compulsively YouTube videos for hours.
I also have this unhealthy relationship with a man from a dating app. we only text, he ignores me until 10 pm everyday and I wait for him to answer my text and losing my mind and also he never texts first. I started this relationship by sending him pictures of myself and I offered ons but this goes on for idk 6 weeks and we never met. He always says he’s busy but some weeks on random day he sends me a picture where he’s holding a girl, different every time. I asked him about it and he said I have to try harder. I am obsessing over him all day I am losing my fucking mind please help me.
I don’t know what happened I don’t know why I am like this. Since I was a kid I always did well at school I liked studying. Then when I was 15 I was hospitalised in a mental institution bc of attempting suicide. I just couldn’t live with my emotions being so unbearable and being so over sensitive. I self harmed since I was 13.
Overall I am a college student now. I am 20 yo. I would say that I love to study, I love my major, I love ppl, spending time with them, I love self improvement, going to the gym, eating healthy. But it’s just what I like to think or it just it true when I am feeling my best.
While I feel like shit which is at least half of the time I rot in my bed I am socially anxious I do all these unhealthy coping things listed in the beginning of the post. I have no motivation I get obsessed and addicted to things easily. I can not fucking spend time by myself. Please help me.
I think the hardest thing is that I am expected to be very well at my university bc I love to study so much. I started this semester excited for having so much spare time thinking that I would study things from previous semesters that I did not study well. I wanted to catch up so badly but I am failing miserably. I literally can not force myself to study. The only thing I do from what I expect myself to do is going to the gym nearly every day but it’s more of a compulsion and I fear gaining weight.
I am losing my mind I feel like a slave to my extreme emotions I can’t go on like this. What is wrong with me? Any comment would make me feel at least heared out. Thank you guys ❤️

I don’t know what to do. I feel guilt and shame constantly for no clear reason.
I can not live and do my responsibilities normally I cannot regulate my emotions in healthy ways.
I engage in unhealthy coping mechanisms such as drinking (but I’m trying to stay away from it bc I started medication - fluvoxamine for depressive and ocd like symptoms) also I engage in risky sexual behaviours to feel adrenaline and keep my mind busy.
I meet ppl from dating apps and go to their places even tho I know its very dangerous. It feels like running away from what’s in my head. It’s like when this meet happens it’s like there nothing else but this.
I achieve similar state when intoxicated for example with alcohol or watching compulsively YouTube videos for hours.
I also have this unhealthy relationship with a man from a dating app. we only text, he ignores me until 10 pm everyday and I wait for him to answer my text and losing my mind and also he never texts first. I started this relationship by sending him pictures of myself and I offered ons but this goes on for idk 6 weeks and we never met. He always says he’s busy but some weeks on random day he sends me a picture where he’s holding a girl, different every time. I asked him about it and he said I have to try harder. I am obsessing over him all day I am losing my fucking mind please help me.
I don’t know what happened I don’t know why I am like this. Since I was a kid I always did well at school I liked studying. Then when I was 15 I was hospitalised in a mental institution bc of attempting suicide. I just couldn’t live with my emotions being so unbearable and being so over sensitive. I self harmed since I was 13.
Overall I am a college student now. I am 20 yo. I would say that I love to study, I love my major, I love ppl, spending time with them, I love self improvement, going to the gym, eating healthy. But it’s just what I like to think or it just it true when I am feeling my best.
While I feel like shit which is at least half of the time I rot in my bed I am socially anxious I do all these unhealthy coping things listed in the beginning of the post. I have no motivation I get obsessed and addicted to things easily. I can not fucking spend time by myself. Please help me.
I think the hardest thing is that I am expected to be very well at my university bc I love to study so much. I started this semester excited for having so much spare time thinking that I would study things from previous semesters that I did not study well. I wanted to catch up so badly but I am failing miserably. I literally can not force myself to study. The only thing I do from what I expect myself to do is going to the gym nearly every day but it’s more of a compulsion and I fear gaining weight.
I am losing my mind I feel like a slave to my extreme emotions I can’t go on like this. What is wrong with me? Any comment would make me feel at least heared out. Thank you guys ❤️

I don’t know what to do. I feel guilt and shame constantly for no clear reason.
I can not live and do my responsibilities normally I cannot regulate my emotions in healthy ways.
I engage in unhealthy coping mechanisms such as drinking (but I’m trying to stay away from it bc I started medication - fluvoxamine for depressive and ocd like symptoms) also I engage in risky sexual behaviours to feel adrenaline and keep my mind busy.
I meet ppl from dating apps and go to their places even tho I know its very dangerous. It feels like running away from what’s in my head. It’s like when this meet happens it’s like there nothing else but this.
I achieve similar state when intoxicated for example with alcohol or watching compulsively YouTube videos for hours.
I also have this unhealthy relationship with a man from a dating app. we only text, he ignores me until 10 pm everyday and I wait for him to answer my text and losing my mind and also he never texts first. I started this relationship by sending him pictures of myself and I offered ons but this goes on for idk 6 weeks and we never met. He always says he’s busy but some weeks on random day he sends me a picture where he’s holding a girl, different every time. I asked him about it and he said I have to try harder. I am obsessing over him all day I am losing my fucking mind please help me.
I don’t know what happened I don’t know why I am like this. Since I was a kid I always did well at school I liked studying. Then when I was 15 I was hospitalised in a mental institution bc of attempting suicide. I just couldn’t live with my emotions being so unbearable and being so over sensitive. I self harmed since I was 13.
Overall I am a college student now. I am 20 yo. I would say that I love to study, I love my major, I love ppl, spending time with them, I love self improvement, going to the gym, eating healthy. But it’s just what I like to think or it just it true when I am feeling my best.
While I feel like shit which is at least half of the time I rot in my bed I am socially anxious I do all these unhealthy coping things listed in the beginning of the post. I have no motivation I get obsessed and addicted to things easily. I can not fucking spend time by myself. Please help me.
I think the hardest thing is that I am expected to be very well at my university bc I love to study so much. I started this semester excited for having so much spare time thinking that I would study things from previous semesters that I did not study well. I wanted to catch up so badly but I am failing miserably. I literally can not force myself to study. The only thing I do from what I expect myself to do is going to the gym nearly every day but it’s more of a compulsion and I fear gaining weight.
I am losing my mind I feel like a slave to my extreme emotions I can’t go on like this. What is wrong with me? Any comment would make me feel at least heared out. Thank you guys ❤️

Part 1 Part 2
Besha, her voice quavering, was the first to speak. “Now what?”
I turned to Carl, expecting him to say something, but was surprised to hear the words come out of my own mouth, seething with a fury I never knew I was capable of.
“Now,” I said slowly and deliberately, “now we kill every last motherfucking one of them.”
“Damn right!” It was a voice I didn’t recognise. In the intensity of the combat, we’d all completely forgotten about the five miners towards the back of the cave.
Three women and two men, none of them out of their teens, stared on in shock. They were too surprised to join in the fight, but they all desperately wanted out of there, and though they were weak, we knew as we traded our knowledge and experience that they would fight to the very last. There was no chance we could persuade them to let us take the fight to the beetles alone.
We stood and sat in the burning orange of the torches and the brilliant white of the flashlights, always watching the cave entrance, as we talked. There were eight slaves down here, a much smaller group than ours had been. None of them had been down here for more than a few months, and it was then that Besha realised that these beetles were smaller. Not by much, but it was noticeable. This beetle colony must be younger than ours.
The miners figured there were only about 30 beetles. Closer to 25, now that we’d killed these ones. Rosa, a 16-year-old German girl, was somehow able to distinguish between them, although they all looked the same to me; she had even given them names like Dark Claw, Shiny Top, and Bent Tooth. With paper for the first time in the four months she’d been in the darkness, she wrote them all down, and crossed five names off. There were 24 remaining. Of course, we couldn’t know how many there might be which she hadn’t seen.
I asked where the other three slaves would be. Martin, a Slovakian boy, said they hadn’t seen where they went, but it would probably be the forge, guarded by the two beetles who had come in last. So Besha and I headed to the forge and found the three, still working, and brought them back. The last two beetles we had fought had come from the forge when they heard us fighting, and we didn’t encounter any more on the way.
Eleven humans, led by the three of us who were more experienced and not weakened by the conditions of slavery. Our eight new recruits chose their preferred weapons from among the picks and hammers and my spare billhooks, had a little to eat and drink (“Not too much,” said Carl, “your body’s not used to it”), and then we walked silently along the long, wide tunnel to the main cavern. If we were quick, the others may not yet have realised anything was amiss.
In the dim light of the slave pit’s distant torches, we could see four or five beetles wandering about, doing whatever it is that beetle slavers do when there aren’t any slaves around to torment. We huddled around to whisper our tactics, always wary of the beetles’ excellent hearing. And as we discussed our options, their advantages and pitfalls, Bors, a boy from Jordan, said simply, “What about the gallery?”
Besha, Carl, and I looked at him in astonishment, though we couldn’t read each other’s expressions. “What gallery?” whispered Carl.
Bors pointed up. “The gallery, above the entrance to their home. You could pick them off from there with the guns.”
I looked, and could just make it out. About ten metres up, something like a balcony ran along a quarter of the cavern wall on the opposite side to us. If such a thing existed in our old home, none of us had noticed it.
A few minutes later, we had a new plan. We would sneak around the edge of the cavern, enter the insects’ home, and try to stealthily make our way up to the gallery, as Bors called it. Carl, having travelled to the entrance two days earlier, led the way. In absolute silence, trying not to breathe or even emit any smells, and occasionally freezing if a beetle looked like it might get too close, it took us maybe half an hour to travel a hundred metres. We only noticed the beetles when they chittered or moved in front of a torch, and we weren’t doing any of that.
The entrance, a tall, wide, rectangular hole in the cavern wall, was as much in darkness as anywhere else. Somehow we’d got there without being spotted. Carl felt his way along the wall and led us into a room on the left. We filed in silently, and Carl brought out one of his weaker glowsticks.
We were in, as far as we could tell, a tool storage room, a cube hollowed out from the rock, barely big enough for us all to fit in there. Wooden tables, seemingly of human craftsmanship, lined the walls, and on these tables were all manner of strange tools. I could hardly guess at the function of most of them, and some of them I didn’t even know how a beetle could manipulate them. I didn’t care. The room had just one entrance; as long as no beetle needed a tool, we would be safe here while a small group scouted the rest of the complex.
This time it was Carl and I who moved silently through the caves by the dim light of a glowstick, while Besha stayed with the others. There were a couple more rooms storing various equipment; in one, we found obviously human artefacts, such as watches, credit cards, and mobile phones. We made a note to lead the survivors through here when we were sure it was safe.
A long corridor led past these rooms, and to a crossroad. We took the left path first. In the living area, there were occasional patches of some sort of gently glowing moss, barely enough to see by, but it meant that we could usually get away with putting the glowstick away. We soon came to an opening on our right, and carefully stepped through.
I froze, and I can’t speak for Carl, but my heart dropped into my stomach. The faint light of the moss in the room shone green reflections off the glossy armour of maybe a dozen beetles. Carl and I stood motionless for what seemed like an eternity, until I felt a gentle tap and then a tug on my shoulder. Very carefully, very slowly, I edged back out of the room, and we made our way back to the crossroad.
In furtive whispers, we discussed what we’d seen. The beetles were laying on the ground, on what looked like a bed of dried leaves and undergrowth. I recalled a suggestion by Nida, that beetles as large as these would use a tremendous amount of energy while active, and that they may sleep a lot more than humans. Carl proposed that if there were indeed about thirty beetles, it seemed that only half or a third were awake at a time. We decided to leave them alone for now, and continue exploring.
We crept back down the corridor, past the sleeping area, and came to a small room just before the corridor bent around to the left, and started to rise. We guessed it would take us to the gallery, and decided to check out the room before making our way up.
This room had a bit more moss. I could make out Carl’s face, and the smooth round walls of the cave, which was only about six metres across. In the middle was a raised platform, about waist high to a human. For some reason the thought of a baptismal font came into my mind. We edged slowly towards it.
The platform held a rocky bowl, about forty centimetres wide, filled with water. The water seemed to reflect more light than it had any right to. And as I peered into it, I did not see my reflection.
I saw somebody else’s face.
She was about 20 years old, with pale freckled skin and curly hair. I didn’t recognise her. I asked Carl what he saw, and it was the same. Then he pointed to another platform, a small table. On it were a few pieces of chalk and about a dozen slates; the top-most slate held a drawing of the same girl we saw in the bowl.
This was it! My heart pounded. This was how they got us. I couldn’t fathom how it would work, but they used this bowl, or one like it, to seek us out, mark us, and bring us here. The slates must be part of it - perhaps they saw many people in the bowl, and drew the ones they decided to kidnap. I whispered excitedly - we could destroy the bowl and stop at least this beetle nest from bringing anybody here.
Carl disavowed me of that idea. It would be a simple matter for the beetles to just rebuild. Like I’d said just a few hours earlier, we needed to get rid of them - all of them.
For now, then, we would continue our exploration. We could always come back.
We left the round chamber and continued on, along and up the tunnel. We were right. The slope led us up into the main cavern. We made sure the gallery was empty, then lay down and peered over the edge.
Watching from safety, we realised there were only three beetles on patrol down there. Twenty-nine, minus the five we had killed and the three on patrol, left twenty-one unaccounted for, at least half of which we’d found sleeping.
A tug from Carl. We were on the right-most edge of the gallery, so every so slowly, and keeping as low as we could, we hugged the wall and edged along it.
As we suspected, there was another corridor leading down from the far end of the gallery. We had crossed over the entrance to the living quarters, and were on the other side. We’d been gone quite a while now, and Besha and the others might be getting worried. We agreed to explore this area and head back.
Several twists and turns later, the corridor widened and straightened, and I estimated we were back on the same level as our companions. Dimly illuminated in front of us by the occasional patch of glowing moss, we could see three openings on either side of the corridor.
This time I was the one to touch Carl’s shoulder. I’d heard movement. We watched in silence, Carl pointing the pistol, me with billhooks in each hand.
Three doorways down, a shadow. Quiet chittering. The faint outline of a shiny black carapace. Moving - where? We stood as quiet and motionless as statues.
The outline got smaller. A few moments later, the shape rounded a corner, and was gone. Ten minutes later, Carl and I dared to breathe again.
Carl stayed put while I gingerly pushed forward and moved my head into the nearest doorway. No beetles. I did the same for all six entrances, keeping well enough to the side to give Carl a good shot, if he needed it. All were now empty. I returned to Carl and we entered one of the rooms.
I’d taken the beetles for bronze-age creatures, but what I saw blew that notion out of the water. Now granted, my understanding of tech trees is limited to playing Civilization IV when I was 12, but these guys were well into the Renaissance age, and maybe a lot further. Glass jars and tubes indicated they knew chemistry. Samples of strange powders lay in shallow curved pots. There was a setup of lenses, which I took to be a form of microscope.
We moved on to another room. Here were gears, some sort of half-finished clockwork contraption. I’d seen the beetles grip things, but had no idea they could be so dextrous. I made a mental note to examine a front claw if I got the chance.
Another room had something I remembered from back in school. Different-coloured metals, placed in a rectangular box full of liquid, and metal wires coming out of them. The beetles were making electricity.
The other rooms had contraptions neither Carl nor I could even guess at. They were clearly scientists, some of them at least. I would have found it difficult to operate their machines with my human hands; their inventions were obviously designed for beetles, but their purpose eluded us.
We didn’t stay long, ever wary of the slightest noise. Besides, we’d been gone maybe two hours at that point. At the end of the corridor, another passage went left and right. We very carefully peeked around the corner; no beetles, and not too far away on the left, we could just make out the crossroads from earlier. Slowly, silently, we crept back, made a left turn, and returned to the group.
I’d been a little worried that they might have got impatient, or assumed us captured or killed. But there they were, some asleep against the walls, some playing cards in the dim light of a blue glowstick. Besha got up and gave me a long hug. “Are you okay? Did you find a way out?”
Carl and I woke everybody and drew a map. The storage rooms where we rested; the strange bowl of water; the bizarre science laboratories; the gallery, with entrances at either end; and the room where many of the beetles lay sleeping.
“We get them. Now, before they wake up. It’s near the end of the work day.”
It was a boy about 18 years old, whose name I hadn’t caught yet.
“We need a plan,” Carl said. “We can’t go rushing in -”
But it was too late. The boy had already stood up and was on the move, as quickly as a person can move without making a sound.
Besha turned to Carl and I. “We have to. Hell will be on us in a few minutes, whether we go with him or not.”
And so all eleven of us grabbed our equipment and stealthed away. Carl put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and persuaded him to listen to his plan. If the plan hadn’t involved killing the beetles immediately, I doubt the boy would have slowed down.
When we got there, it was clear that the beetles had moved. None appeared awake, but I knew that they had shifted around in that room at some point in the last couple of hours. At Carl’s direction, we moved silently into the room, shifting around to position ourselves in pairs near a beetle. But we weren’t all in position yet. A chittering came from outside. The beetles started to move, all at once, and were upright in less than a second.
I’m not sure what happened next, everything moved so fast. I swung my billhooks. Muzzle flashes lit up the room and rang in my ears. Curses in half a dozen languages. I tripped on the leg of a beetle. It pinned me to the ground. Mandibles snapped centimetres from my face. Helplessness. I was dead. BANG! BANG! The beetle’s head exploded. I pushed it off me, got to my feet. Another was next to me. Pincers slashed my arm. Billhooks swinging right and left, its legs ripped off. BANGBANGBANG! A third to my side, a slash to its thorax, and a pickaxe from the dark into its head. The next - where was the next? I saw nothing. BANG! Blinded by muzzle flashes, I could make out nothing else.
Three strong lightsticks hit the floor, and two flashlights searched the ground. Chitinous limbs lay scattered about. Black fluid oozed like ichor from dozens of wounds. And there - a human arm, a foot, a leg with bone sticking out.
“Did any get away?” Carl made no pretence at stealth now.
“I don’t know…”
“I didn’t see…”
“They’re not moving. Did we get them all?”
Slowly we started to calm down, as we saw no motion from the oversized bugs. But to be sure, we went methodically from one to the next, severing the heads of those who still had them.
We counted fifteen beetles down. We’d had the element of surprise. But it wasn’t enough. Four of the rescued slaves, slower and weaker than Besha, Carl and I, were among the dead, and two others lay dying beyond hope. We had all sustained injuries, and I counted myself lucky to have received a mere flesh wound.
As an ex-soldier, I don’t envy what Carl had to do next. After we made the two mortally wounded girls as comfortable as they could be, Carl whispered to them. He never told us what he said, but I saw each in turn nod their heads. Carl then brought up his pistol, and with a single shot to the head each, put them out of their misery.
He kneeled down in silence for several minutes. When he stood up, Besha put her hand on him. “Are you -”
“Don’t.”
There were five of us left. Besha, Carl and myself, plus the German girl Rosa and a Polynesian boy named Salema. We knew we hadn’t got all the beetles, and stealth was off the table now. It was me who spoke first.
“There are two directions in the living area we haven’t tried. Left at the crossroads, and straight past the workshops. If there’s a way out, it must be one of those.”
Left was closer, so we went that way. I wish we hadn’t.
The corridor bent ever so slightly, just enough to block our vision until we got there. When we rounded the last corner, we saw what has haunted me every night since. I call it the throne room.
She was bigger than I would have imagined possible, at least eight metres tall. Her body was swollen and her abdomen dripped with mucus. Around the room lay dozens of eggs, as big as my hand, some intact, others broken open. As her enormous compound eyes turned on us, her mouth opened wide, revealing hundreds of sharp teeth like no beetle I’ve ever seen. The shriek that came from that mouth cannot be described in words, except to say that it froze my blood. But then, a human voice.
“It’s got no mandibles!”
It was true. No mandibles, and no limbs. It was helpless! Besha and Carl opened fire with everything they had. The queen thrashed her body violently, and spewed dark liquid in our direction, but it didn’t last long. Besha showed off her markswomanship and Carl demonstrated how quickly he could reload the pistol. The queen gave a final screech and collapsed to the ground, shaking the throne room like an earthquake.
Helpless, I thought? I was wrong. Salema had caught the worst of the sticky black substance the queen had sent our way, and was down on the ground, struggling to move. And then we heard it. Hundreds of chittering, clicking insects came from all around the room - and Salema was their first meal. The beetles that swarmed him barely came up to my ankle, but there were too many of them. Salema was dead in seconds - or at least, I hope he was.
“Run!” said Besha, and none of us argued. There was only one way to go, one corridor we hadn’t tried. We made it to the crossroads, and Carl threw an industrial glowstick ahead of us as we turned left. More beetles, adult-sized, were speeding towards us.
We ran with every ounce of strength down that corridor. We didn’t know if was our best option, just that it was our only option. As we fled, Carl and Besha turned to take shots at the enemy. We hurtled past the corridor that led to the workshops, and into the unknown.
Even with the covering fire, the beetles were gaining on us. But after fifty metres, we saw a light up ahead. I grabbed a flashlight from Carl’s belt and pointed. The tunnel ended ahead of us, and another tunnel continued, nearly two metres above us. A tunnel made of earth and roots.
A tunnel through which shone daylight.
With an almost inhuman burst of speed, Rosa leapt and scrambled up the wall and into the earthen tunnel.
“Go, Besha!” I cried, putting my hands down to push her feet up. Besha climbed up and grabbed a root. The root gave way, and the pressure as she fell back on my hands was almost too much for me to bear. But I wasn’t letting go so easily. I pushed with all my might, and she scrambled to safety.
Besha turned back and levelled her rifle at me.
BLAM! BLAM! A beetle, now dead, hurtled into my back and knocked me to the ground.
Besha reached her hand down, and I grabbed it. Carl was shooting fast enough that the beetles were advancing slowly, waiting for an opportunity.
With Besha’s help, I scrambled up and looked back. Carl shot again. “Click.”
“Billhooks!” shouted Carl. I threw both of mine down to him; he caught one, while the other clattered to the ground. “Run!”
We ran.
Carl was surrounded. There were at least four, maybe more, of those beasts around him. He had no chance, but he didn’t try to escape. I hope he took a lot of them down with him; I know that none of them followed us into daylight.
We tried to help Rosa, but she wanted nothing to do with us any more. I can’t say I blame her. After we stopped running, miles from the caves, she left us with barely a word. I don’t know where she went.
We emerged, we found out later, in the forests of Romania. Besha and I are an item now, and Hannah is arranging for a house to be built for us with no doors or windows. We’ve talked about kids, but we have no idea if the curse would pass to them.
Nineteen of us entered doors that day. Four of us arrived in the same cavern, but months later, we haven’t heard from any of the rest. We thought there was just one system; we know better now. These things could be everywhere. With luck, killing the queen is enough to shut down that particular nest; but there are only three of us with the curse, and Rosa hasn’t joined our Discord group.
Carl and Febe are dead. Fifteen others are unaccounted for. If anybody takes the fight to the beetles again, it will have to be a new generation; Besha and I are retired. We just hope that our story here might be of use to our future comrades-in-arms.

The video starts as it always does with Spifflemonks usual intro. but there is no normal intro, instead, it opens with Spiffle staring close into the camera with the goofiest, happiest smile on his face you would ever see.
"LOOK!!!!"
Spiffle excitedly bellows into the camera and tabs into the game. He's finally playing a train game, specifically, Railroads Online, and is on the map Lake Valley, with a startup train called The Montezuma.
"TRAINS!!!!"
Spiffle excitedly bellows to the audience as he settles into his usual setup. He can barely contain his excitement as he stammers out his greeting.
"GREAT DAYs and HA Glorious VictorEEE!!! Its a TRAIN game! Hehe! My name is Spifflemonk AND I AM EXCITED! I have been waiting for this since I got killed by my first train in Factorio!"
Spiffle hops off the platform at the Depot and excitedly explores his new surroundings, especially the Montezuma.
"I was given this game after the time I played Project Zomboid! I do however have specific instructions with this game and I have to follow them. Sorry... Obligations! I have been looking forward to figuring out how these things work! Oh the secrets of human industry are about to unravel!"
Spiff goes into the train and is completely stumped for a bit as he sees what's there. A pile of wood and an oven.
"Wh-where are the fusion engines?!"
Spiffle Walks around the train several times in confusion.
"Is the nuclear reactor inside this tube thing? Nuclear reactors can't possibly be that small!"
He carefully examines every part and component, slowly piecing together how it works.
"So the fuel... gets into the big tube thing. Then it gets pumped into these pistons connected to the wheels. Then because of the force, the pistons move in a circular pattern, then the wheels move, moving the train. What is the fuel though?"
Spiffle carefully looks over the train again, trying to discern what it is. He follows the game's control prompts and tutorials until he hops into the control cabin. With apprehension, he opens the boiler fuel port and sees what's inside. The viewer can actually see the gears in his head turning.
"Okay... I have to do something. Please hold..."
Spiff tabs out and a funny little in-between-sequence plays. The sequence is a short fifteen second long fan made animation - with credit to the animator on the top right of the screen - of Spiffle gaining access to his first Flamethrower in Deep Rock Galactic. The screen tabs back and the viewer is a bit scared at the sight of Spiffles signature death glare straight into the camera, full screen.
"Steam? WATER AND WOOD! YOU DID THIS WITH WATER AND WOOD!!!???"
Spiffle grabs the camera and angrily rants at it incoherently for a few minutes. He finally stops his angry rant and just resolves himself to play the game.
"Okay... Okay... Let's... not think about how stupid we are for not getting this earlier and just go for it. Now... I have some specific stipulations I have to do for this first. The individual who bought this game for me came with some... very specific things for me to do while playing it."
Spiffle gets a notepad out of a drawer nearby and double checks his request.
"I am to first, do the basics and put a rail network down so I can connect at least three points, primarily the Logging camp, Sawmill and Depot. I can do more If I want. Okay then. M for map... Let's see..."
Spiff opens the map and a bit of color drains from his face as he sees the sheer size of the world in front of him. It's a four mile journey from logging to mill, then back to the depot in all. He has to lay all the tracks along the way.
"Oh gods... What have I got myself into? It can't be that bad can it? Okay that's... doable I suppose. Now I have to... simply play the game and make money, but I have to... listen to a special series of mixtapes? What the hell is a mixtape? I have those links bookmarked, they are on GalaTube apparently. Let me just do that then..."
The playlists that Spiff brings up are strange and seem disconnected, but there's three of them. A Synthwave Cyberpunk mixtape, volume 3 Specifically made by the Legendary Mister Suicide Sheep. An Epic Country/blues mix made by Jenni Music, and a Retrowave mix made by a smaller, obscure channel.
"I'm starting to wonder if humans are alright in the head. My subscribers specifically. You buy games for me, which by the way this one was NOT cheap, then the only stipulations you have are for me to record it and listen to music? I find that so... Strange. So very strange. Then again, zombies, Cthulhu demons, Child slave labor to make Human Leather Hats, Mia The rat... Poor Mia. The existence of Sheep... I really shouldn't be surprised at this point should i?"
Spiffle resumes playing the game at this point, and goes through the painstaking process of laying the track down. He fumbles with the controls until he figures out the degree and gradient system then figures out how to couple the cars.
"Just how many of these things can I have on one train? I am not stupid so I guess it's how powerful the train's engine is. I'm going to get... two more of these small ones here and start with the Logging Camp."
Spiffle starts the process of railing cars and buying two more small logging cars. After rerailing them and putting them on the right track, in this case the left track closes to the depot, he starts laying track down for real. Tentatively, he places small tracks here and there, just fiddling with the system to figure out how it works.
"Okay so... This button and that button are to increase gradient. Gradient is the angle of the slope down or up. So presumably... Downhill gradients will increase speed with lower engine power, and I will need high power to go uphill. Right?"
Spiff looks at the camera with a raised brow as if expecting an answer. He shakes his head and resumes playtesting.
"Okay so just like with motor vehicles, I'm guessing that if they turn too fast or too tightly, they flip? I think that's how it works here too, so let's see. No too tight turns I guess? What's a good... uhh... baseline, I believe is the word used. Baseline. Maybe... 100 degree turns at most?"
Spiff tries out the turning system, eventually coming to the conclusion that tight turns for trains are a bad thing, and goes for a varying degree of 80 to 120 degree turn angles for his tracks, setting an absolute minimum of 60 degree turns.
"Right... That's sorted. I'd say that's very reasonable. I shall hold the music till later... I have more pressing concerns right now, I need to concentrate."
Spiffle starts laying track towards the Wheat Farm at first, just to see what happens and what he needs to do. He encounters his first real obstacle: Hills, dips and bumps.
"Gods above this is very bloody fiddly isnt it! Now maybe a 1% gradient... no. dammit that's too little. How about a 2%? No! dammit now it goes back up over here! Hmmm... This is going to be very very bloody fiddly!"
Spiffle struggles to do his thing, using various track segments to make necessary changes, sometimes making some very silly mistakes such as failing to notice that certain gradients are dips or bumps, and failing to either go around them or simply bridge across, creating a somewhat bumpy roller coaster type ride. He spends the next hour or so, simply laying track to the Logging camp for the moment. This was one of the easiest maps to play and one of the least complex.
Spiffle continues, eventually connecting things together. He buys a handcar to use to test the track, then once satisfied, uses the handcar. He does however forget you are supposed to do some forestry to clear the way of the track and derails the handcar.
"Blast it! I'm supposed to cut trees down aren't I?"
Spiffle blinks, smacks himself in the face and stares at the camera.
"Well of course you blue colored idiot! TREES AREN'T GHOSTS YOU CAN'T PHASE THROUGH THEM. Of course I need to cut the trees down and remove the rocks!"
Spiffle re-rails the handcar and sets it to low speed so he can see the track. Every time he comes across a tree too close to the track, he stops, cuts it down, then returns to the car. It isn't long before this becomes tedious and he quickly learns trees can be cut remotely.
"Gods if only it were this easy in reality huh?"
He smiles with a certain grin of satisfaction as he stands in one spot and cuts a half a forest down. He clicks and a tree goes down. He goes weird again, his eyes getting a bit of that scary spark in them, and he starts to chuckle sadistically as he deforests the entire area around his track. A loud yell can be heard in the background, interrupting his disturbing chuckling. It appears to be a family member yelling at him to calm the hell down or they call the funny police again. Spiffle apologizes in Eridani and blushes, making himself very small and remembers this short moment of embarrassment.
"Okay uhm... I think I cleared the track now..."
He smiles sheepishly as he surveys the landscape, now barren of trees, and returns to the depot. He moves the Montezuma and its tender together and couples them after faffing about with how it works for about five minutes. Finally he starts preparing the cars, buying four log cars, the big ones. After preparing them, he lets out an exasperated sigh and has to wait for the steam pressure inside the train to build before he can carry on. Soon after, he finally gets going, coupling the cars, putting everything together, then chugging away to the logging camp.
"How long have I been playing so far-THREE HOURS!?"
Spiffle shakes his head and just carries on to the logging camp. He stops the train precisely, aligns the cars and loads up the four of them, taking a little while to do it. The motions of the cranes moving around, picking up a log then the games jank taking care of the log into the car, loading each one with six logs. Spiff sighs, then returns to the cabin and starts the train up again.
"Lets see... check fuel... put firewood. Release brake and set at forty percent throttle. Then slow to twenty five percent at the crossroad."
Spiff follows the instructions he set himself on and gets used to it. With nothing but the empty rail, no trees around and the simple chug of the train, Spiff notices a sudden lack of things.
"Why does this feel so... empty? Is it because I cut all the trees down? I mean... I feel fine. I feel... nice. It's so.... peaceful. Why does this feel empty?"
Spiffle finds the whistle and gives it a tug, the train responding with a loud, sharp whistle making him chuckle inanely like a kid in a sweet shop. He returns to the depot and offloads the cars, making back some of the money he spent on the cars. He takes a deep, long breath and plays his channel outro.
TOP COMMENT: "Good to see you're taking some time, Spiff. And also, seriously? You don't have trains? You seriously need to tell us how your logistics network worked back in the day. We can't imagine life without our trains."
_________________________________________
"Great days and glorious victory! My name is Spifflemonk and welcome back to Railroads Online! I have... erm... taken some time away from doing... things... and laid down some more tracks to more things."
Spiffle sheepishly smiles at the playtime he has - fourteen hours - and tries to distract the viewer with a silly screen transition, returning to the cabin of the montezuma. He opens his map and starts to point out where the track he laid is, with telegram boxes pointing out major intersections, main locations and essentially fast travel to every major point on the map.
"Now, I have the main depot here. There's a line to the logging camp down this way, then back up the main line towards the sawmill. Then a switchback here behind the sawmill to the planks and beams, then back to the depot on a separate line here. Simple, quick, easy. I did some more basic lines up this way towards the other spots, first of all the iron mine. That was... bloody annoying! But I managed it. The Montezuma can barely handle it but, today we shall be saving up money to buy a better train!"
Spiffle starts up the train, waits patiently and does everything he can, readying himself.
"I was informed that I was not doing as asked, and have cleared any schedules I have for the day, besides some alarms... loud ones, that I have set so I know I still exist outside the gamespace."
The first thing Spiffle does is start up the Mixtape from Mr Suicide Sheep. He starts it, puts his headphones on and starts working. At first he goes into his usual drone of explaining things. Then something in his demeanor changes. He gets lost in the music and simply for lack of a better term, begins to 'vibe'.
It starts simply at first, he just talks. Then after about fifteen minutes and two loads of resources, he stops. Just looking at the screen, simply carrying on as normal. Another fifteen minutes pass and a particular song comes on, matching with the tempo of the train. Spiffle stops moving around in his seat as he loads up another bundle of logs to the sawmill. After offloading, he returns to the depot.
"Hmm.. hmm.. mm...hu-hu-oh-bop..."
Spiffle hum-sings along with the music in his head and returns to the depot, switching out for new cars that will hold planks and beams. He returns to the sawmill, collecting several loads of his hard work then heads back to the depot, the entire time he is simply vibing to the moment.
The playlist gets to a nice song with a good beat, and Spiff begins bopping along to the music, his head bobbing back and forth. He continues doing in silence for another half an hour, getting to Level 3 and acquiring around $3000 dollars in currency. He ignores this and seemingly under some kind of spell, carries on with the gameplay loop for the entire duration of the playlist. When the music finally stopped, he took his headphones off, took a deep breath and looked at the clock.
"TWO HOURS!? THAT WAS TWO HOURS!? It… It felt like barely ten minutes!"
Spiffle seemed genuinely shocked that much time had passed. He double checks a few alarms he set and true to form, just under two hours worth of time passed.
"I... I have never felt so... calm. So... at peace! All I was doing was hauling wood in a chuggy train! What kind of magic is this!"
Spiffle stood up out of his chair for a bit, seemingly genuinely distressed. He paces around the room and returns to his seat.
"OH I am so glad these are being recorded! When I show this to The Council they will send it to the scientists and they WILL find out what kind of magic you creatures are up to!"
Spiff returns to the game, starting up the next playlist as requested and starting a new run, this time transporting logs to the sawmill, then beams and planks to the iron mine and depot. The run is simple, but the next playlist, a form of old Country music remixed with Hybrid instrumentation, Rock, Pop and other things, seems to affect Spiff in an entirely different way.
"What is this music... I can't say that I don't like it but It's... strange. I find it disturbing that I can be this level of calm for so long."
Spiff continues his run and gets into the rhythm. He becomes affected by the music again, getting into the vibe. He becomes more reckless, more aggressive in driving, accelerating faster and braking harder than usual. He seems more focused, stronger and more prone to mistakes but faster to recover from them. The music continues going, as does Spiffle, his body seeming to tense up and strengthen, as if the songs are making his muscles have a workout.
"What is going on... What's in the blue blazes is happening!? What are blue blazes!?! Why did I say that!?"
Spiffle seems in a trance as he continues, finally finishing the playlist after two hours. The entire time he is in relative silence, his expression in a grimace of determination and strength. By this point he has, in his strange music induced trance, acquired a further $3500 dollars and ascended to level 6. He finally notices, checks the time and has another short freakout. This time he stands up and is covered in his species’ version of sweat. His muscles are visibly pulsing as if the music has him hyped as all hell.
"WHAT IS THIS MAGIC!? Why do I feel so... tired but... excited! This is just supposed to be a game about TRAINS!!! Why does it feel like I have just dragged a Trunket up a hill!? WHAT IS THIS!?"
Spiffle grabs the camera and rants into it for a few moments. A female Eridani appears in the room with an angry expression on her face and stares at the sweaty blue alien, very clearly one can see from various adornments that it's Spiffle’s wife. A combination of Spiffles reflexing muscles, his heavy breathing, sweaty form and the pheromone now coming from him drives his lovely wife insane. Her expression instantly switches from anger to lust and with a sinister smile she pounces on the poor bastard.
"NO, MY LOVE! STOP! I'M STILL RECORDING!!! GARY! I'M SO SORRY! PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD EDIT THIS OUT!"
The editor graciously skips this bit and displays a message on the screen.
"What I had to remove here will haunt me for the remainder of my eternity, both in this life and the next. Fuck you Spiff. Lock your damn door and soundproof your office."
TOP COMMENT: "Well Spiff I think we found your species equivalent of an aphrodisiac... Maybe it would be an idea for you to NOT get that pumped up in future. Try Chillwave next time. It's more... your speed I think."
_____________________________________________
"Great days and glorious victory! My name is Spifflemonk and welcome back to Railroads Online! I was eaten by a Ghost Leviathan a few minutes ago, and I am still shaking, so I shall now play with trains!"
Spiffle displays what is clearly a shaky hand and a very fake smile, and begins the next playlist, this time going through the motions of buying a new train. He has a new playlist, a Chillwave 80's version only an hour or so long.
"Well during my... erm... human magic induced musical hypnosis, I apparently got a LOT done in very short order. So I not only have new things to buy, I have more than enough money to buy them. Lets see hmmm... What should I get?"
Spiffle works a bit and looks through the list of locomotives and cars for a while, before eventually settling on a Tier 6 train called the D&RG Class 70.
"OOoooh I like the design on this one! It's very pretty! Tractive Effort and weight cla-I don't care, LOOK PRETTY! Mine now."
Spiffle spends the $5600 dollars on it, unaware he has the option of customization when it comes to trains, including Workshop Skins and paint jobs, or custom character models. Through this entire process one can clearly see him still shaking from his encounter in Subnautica, and he carefully sets up the new train.
"OOOOHHH my god that is pretty! What's the fuel though? Oh good. Wood. Don't need to go for the coal mine too much then except for deliveries. So... the planned route today is Logging camp, the Sawmill, then the Iron mine. After that, pick up iron ore and get it to the smelter. This is a very... Involved process. Humans had trains to cope I guess."
Spiffle gets on the train and sets everything up, this time going the smart way and installing a third party extension, RailRoads Online Extended, which shows a map. He tabs out, giving everyone a look at the spaghetti maze that his track has become with three different lines of rail leading to different places and each one converging at a central location near the depot and sawmill.
"Disgusting isnt it? And yes I do remember. A subscriber once asked me how we coped as a civilization without trains or these kinds of mass transit. We did not, really but we developed a form of biofuel and used that in large cargo carriers like your big rig trucks. We built them specialized roadways and tunnel networks so they wouldn't be in the same traffic as yours is though, so the flow of our civilisations blood kept going. As air travel became more prevalent, we started to develop better and faster engines, eventually phasing out those trucks entirely shortly before we entered space."
Spiffle explains all this while heading to the logging camp, now towing 4 log cars, 2 flatcars for beams, two flatcars for rails, two hoppers for ore, two cars for rails, two for cordwood and one car for oil, with three more cars for later.
"Right, off we go!"
Spiff emits a childish giggle as he lets the whistle sing, then starts moving the train. The train is strongly built and powerful, and Spiff makes short work of the journey to the logging camp. Spiff loads up all the logs, heads to the sawmill and miscalculates. He takes a relatively tight corner far too fast and the train derails, locomotive and tender plus all eighteen cars come off the track and are strewn about. Spiffle himself is cursed by the game's physics engine, and gets yeeted into the stratosphere.
"What the hell ha-OH BY ALL THE GODS WHAT THE HELL!! WHY AM I FLYING!!!"
Spiff panics and tries to do anything, but his fate is sealed and he is unable to stop himself being thrown from the sawmill to the Iron Ore Mine. His character bounces off a tree and lands harmlessly, albeit very far away. He checks the third party app and displays all the cars he has strewn rudely about that general area.
"Okay then... Okay... How the hell did I end up here!? It's okay, I can just fast travel. Thank God I put those telegraph offices everywhere. Right, off we go. I hope the load I was carrying doesn't also get lost. But noted for the future, I shall need to moderate my speed."
Spiff travels and finds himself at the scene of the crime and laments at the damage. He painstakingly goes through to each one, remembering what order it was put then rerailing it on the track. Some forms of the game’s engine do not allow him to do it the way he wants, forcing him to make empty lines of track to store cars on the side as he slowly reassembles the train.
"Gods this is so messy. Yeuch."
He laments at the task and spends a good twenty minutes whining before restoring the train to its former glory, getting panicky at the last part when the jankiness sends his character flying again but thankfully not derailing the train. He carries on where he left off and tries better to moderate his speed.
"Right so obviously, that was too fast. What did I have it on... Throttle at 55% i think? I thought I would need more power for this kind of load so I pushed it a bit too far. Train may be more powerful than I thought. So... Throttle 25% and ready the brakes when needed. I can fiddle with those to be better aware of my speed."
Spiff carries on his run and settles in, changing his style up a bit to make the deliveries faster. The power and torque lets him effortlessly navigate the spaghetti maze of rails he had to build to climb the mountain and deliver the beams and wood to the ore mine, then collect a load of ore. By this point, he has started the playlist he was given and has settled into a mellow groove, bopping along to the song.
He is grinning inanely and suddenly stops. He gets out of his chair and starts to dance to the groove of 80s Chillwave as he drives the train. It isn't much but he is very clearly enjoying himself, as goofy as it is. He is very much in the groove, so into it he is able to sense when the train needs to slow or speed that his dance moves fit seamlessly, reaching over to pump the brakes or hit the throttle.
With the level of concentration and Spiff's goofy dancing, he finishes the task in short order and before the playlist ends, is filling barrels of oil. He continues to dance and delivers a barrel of oil to the depot. There, he stops, sits down again and looks at the camera.
"Why do i like this... so much? Why is this so... relaxing? I sent that playlist to the Council. There is no magic, it's just music. Just... music. I will be doing this again. It seems Subnautica will terrify me a bit more. Maybe there are other relaxing games like this..."
Spiffle slowly gains a genuine, warm smile as his channel outro plays.
TOP COMMENT: "Powerwash Simulator. Lawn Mower Simulator. Those games are nothing but pure catharsis without the psychotic destruction you seem so fond of with Teardown :) lol"
SPIFFLES RESPONSE: What the hell is a Power wash? Or a lawn mower for that matter? Why do you keep making me so confused!?"
COMMENTER: “TRUST US SPIFF :) :) If you have any need to relax, those two are your definite go-to’s. DO IT. WE ARE THYNE AUDIENCE. WE DEMAND IT.”

From book called "A LAND UNKNOWN: Hell's Dominion" by B.W. Melvin (Bryan Melvin)
EXCERPT 1:
As He [Jesus] was speaking to me, these thoughts entered my mind: “It is appointed once for a man to die. When it is not that time, returning is an option decided. Children were raised; others were raised, as it was not their appointed hour, but mine. God is a God of the living and not the dead. When you arrive, say two words at that particular point of overwhelming and they are: My Name in your tongue and my Title.” At the end of these words, He reached into His robe and withdrew keys of many odd shapes and design, all bound by a connecting brass rung. Taking one key from the ring, he turned toward a door that appeared like a wall of mist that lay off to His left-hand side. As He inserted this key into the doorway that was arched like a gate, the mist parted, unrolling as a scroll, exposing a greenish-black narrow hole. In this hole there appeared a tunnel that led neither down, up, sideways, this way, or that. It was just there: a vortex.
EXCERPT 2:
The creature before me had a vile appearance. It stood about fourfeet-eight inches tall and had somewhat human features. Its skin color was dark yellowish-green with a moldy texture. Its skin appeared reptilian/saurian like. It had human raptor-like feet and a short chunky tail. Its teeth resembled those of a shark. Its breath was so foul that the very atmosphere surrounding it was like heat waves off of sun-drenched pavement on a hot summer day. Its steamy breath distorted its round human-like reptilian face and gave it an appearance of having many eyes; yet, it had two or maybe three at the most. With its lizard-like arms it tried to grab me in an evil embrace of welcome. All I could do was repeat a Name and a Title, which caused it to retreat a short distance away. I felt a presence behind me, but I was too afraid to turn my gaze from the creature to look. This small foul smelling ogre’s eyes kept darting at something in back of me that was emitting a blue purplish hue. The ghoul just grinned and muttered out loud. I stood facing this murmuring hissing creature. Gesturing with its hands and jabbering gibberish mixed with a few words of English, this ghastly being appeared to be attempting to speak to me like a foreigner trying to explain directions to a tourist with a limited vocabulary in which to converse. I was the tourist. It was difficult to understand. This beast seemed to be saying in a deep raspy guttural tone of broken English mixed with gibberish I did not understand and said, “Come follow me, (gerrr); I’ll show you half of the Kingdom. (hara-is) Come follow me (hisss) and have (errr) half of the Kingdom. (Alla ohst) Come (Sur-grrr) follow me through the veil; a road out, to, from, above, lies beyond (hesee). It’s been granted to thee to see, (grr-eko) follow me (ahka)” This disgusting foul smelling saurian brute walked with a shuffling manner towards the skyline, which was bathed orange-red by sunset, motioning for me to follow. Away from the house on the hill, away from the apparitions inside its walls, it walked. I followed continuously speaking a Name and Title as fast as I could without cease. Coming to what appeared to be the end of the horizon, the creature reached forth and parted the skyline as one would a curtain or veil. It walked through the torn hole bidding me to follow. I walked through this jagged frayed crack in the skyline and gazed upon a land unknown and best forgotten that was waiting on the other side, beckoning to be seen. Then it dawned on me where I was: the fiery pit, hell’s deep hole.
EXCERPT 3:
I followed the rank creature and immediately emerged on the other side of the horizon. A wide, dirty, flat, barren expanse of land gently sloped downward, betraying an endless circular spiral of misery. On the left side of the coiled grade were rows and rows of cubes with more cubes columned high, forming a wall of ten-by-ten foot partitions mirroring the events displayed inside. Each cube was stacked six high, marring each ascending and descending spiraling level’s wall like a dirty mirror. The wide expanse was a road. Strange entities were traveling on it. This wide dusty road ended at a circular void, highlighting the center of this hellish domain. The cubes appeared encompassed by thin smoke-tinted, gelatinlike walls. Each cube appeared to be about ten feet by ten feet square. You could see into these but not out of them. Within every chamber resided an individual person, trapped, unable to escape as I had.
Looking through the torn wall of the cube I had just stepped out of, the house and tree within were hauntingly calling my name to return. Perplexed, I stepped back for another glance at this cubicle. I was surprised that it was so small. Inside it had seemed so large! Turning, I saw the lizard-like being a few feet from me, reaching its ugly, greenish-yellow arms as if to drag me away to a desperate fate. Boxer style, I blocked the attempt. This fiend stepped back, grinning ear to ear. This beast began hissing and making strange murmurs that sounded as if it were trying to say something. It rocked back and forth while gesturing with its hands like it was in a hurry to go someplace. The creature’s mutterings became loud within my ears, as if one were turning up the volume on a buzzing amp. I became dizzy. My sight was briefly distorted. Then, in a flash, everything came back into sharp focus. Despite its hissing and gibberish, I began to strangely understand its speech without difficulty. While I could hear it speak in another language, I heard in plain English. This creature began speaking in broken rhymes in a rough, raspy manner, interrupted often with highpitched screeches. It spoke: “Dimensions of eternity hold no bounds. A small area can appear as big as a country or as small as an ant’s hole. Neither size nor depth matters here; only space fashioned by one’s mind. Within the walls one cannot escape what one dreads the most. I am (a) HOST here. What one sows is what one REAPS! What one sows is what one REAPS! What one sows is what one REAPS! Come, follow me.” The devilish host pointed across the wide, vacant expanse of road. Within its spongy, dry, brown dirt, small maggot-like creatures arose, squealed, and dipped back into little dark holes like insects. Hissing and spitting this lizardlike brute said, “Come and see, it’s been granted to thee.
Let’s first move on over to the ledge of this wide road.” All I could do was proceed continuously speaking a Name and Title. I wanted to wake up so badly. The fear was overwhelming. How could this be? Long ago, I argued that this place did not exist, but now, here I was. Seeing became believing. Following the foul beast, we both walked out onto the broad barren road, away from the cubes towards what appeared to be a cliff-like ledge, dropping into emptiness. We passed several lone, peculiar creatures roaming about. Passing these, we reached the road’s edge. Looking up and down, it seemed as if I were in the middle of a spiral staircase. Above was a winding, ascending spiral, and below a descending one as far as the eye could see. In the middle was a doughnut hole of space, like the inside of a pit. In awe, I watched bizarre beings moving through this space as if being lifted by some strange force, while others appeared to be climbing translucent, vaporous beams. Upon the roadway, hoards of peculiar entities moved in loose packs. One such pack came and encompassed us.
There, surrounding us on every side, were creatures both small and great in stature. Their features were ferocious, yet soft, then hideous, and then deceptively gentle. Some resembled animals, a few looked snake-like, many appeared almost human, and others were similar to serpents with round heads, sinewy arms, and short, lizard-like legs.
These were strange beings. Several looked almost human but had three faces on the orb of their head. Each face continuously revolved horizontally round and round. With every rotation, their facial features meshed with fluttering appearances into the next. Their eyes were dark and deceptive. They all varied in colors and hues. One particular creature, standing off in the distance, had skin with a purplish, glowing, light-blue tone. It had three faces like the others had, but it was stunningly beautiful. The faces slowly orbited around the orb of its purplish head. I could not tell if it was manlike or not due to a concealing garment it wore around its body. It was out there watching in sullen silence, motionless, just staring at me while emitting a purplish-blue aura. I saw several milling around us that appeared like “walking stick” insects with human-like faces about onethird of the way down their body. Other creatures reminded me of tree trunks and plants with human characteristics.
Many of the apparitions gathered around us appeared like gargoyles without wings. These varied in height from a few inches to around five feet tall. The colors of these creatures’ skin all varied in dark hues. Every one of the gargoyle entities wore odd-looking pants from the waste down. Some wore robes. All around me were a vast array of odd beings of diverse shapes, and on the road lived small creatures that resembled worms. As I watched these creatures, they at first looked harmlessly pleasant, but then, as I stared, I saw them transform into hideousness before my eyes.
The entities with the rotating faces seemed tallest. Lengthwise the snake and serpent-shaped ones appeared longest. The “walking stick” creatures varied in size and length. It was an incredible sight. A costume designer for a horror movie would be gravely perplexed to recreate this scene The noise from this place was incredible, the smell, sickening. The sights were mesmerizing. I stood, adapting to this place with all its creatures lurking about. I slowly began to realize that this hissing, human-lizard-like ghastly being was showing me around this domain as a guide would a tourist at a seaside resort, but this was not a resort. It looked at me and said, “Turn to the walls and look upon the stacks of boxes, each upon a row, and row upon row; stacked six high they go along the road and as far back as they can go. Inside are souls with many friends for each; yes, some friends leave while others like to stay with our guest. The levels of this spiral way spin thither and yon, descending lower where the blessings grow. Come and see; granted thee. Come follow me back to where the boxes grow.” In a limping fashion, this fiend dragged its ugly feet along, creating weak puffs of dust as we headed back toward the front ranks of cubes located across this wide expanse of ugly terrain. Reaching these, the creature came to the border where two cubes met and walked between them without effort into some sort of secret passageway.
In like manner, I followed. As I entered, the cube’s walls eerily parted like ripples from a stone splashing in water. A path came into view, revealing more cubes that lay behind the ones on the front row. It was a maze of narrow hallways that lay beyond, leading to cubicles further back. Cube after connecting cube were all pressed tightly against these narrow passageways. As I began to walk between these compartments, the bordering walls would expand just enough for my body to rub uneasily against it. While I moved, the walls would close in behind leaving me feeling eerily claustrophobic. The walls felt warm and much like a dolphin’s skin feels to the touch. Walking between the cubes, I noticed that at different locations the pathways would at one turn be pressed together, and at another turn they would become narrow hallways; then, at another turn, small wedge-shaped rooms appeared where the cubes did not press tightly against each other. More narrow passageways led to the farthest cells that lay against what appeared to be the back wall of a pit located a great distance from the roadway. Where we were walking, the floor was the same ugly brown dirt of the road, and the ceiling was made up of the cubes stacked above. The cubes were stacked six high. To go up or down to the next highest or lowest cubicle, all one had to do was desire it and the walls from the surrounding cells would morph, forming stairs that reached the destination one wanted.
The host walked ahead of me. We walked between the cubes for what seemed a long time. Inside every square cell resided a single person along with several creatures. These creatures gave the illusion of being people, animals, trees, and incredible things. Every person was imprisoned in his or her own private prison. All were in varying degrees of anguish, according to the deeds and actions done in life, to life, against life, even for life, both the bad and the good. Truly, this is a land best forgotten.
I could see into each cube in some strange form of double vision. It was like viewing the cubicles from the outside, at the same time seeing the inside of these abodes as one of its inhabitants saw it. For reasons unknown to me how or why, the people and creatures inside seemed to be a little less than two thirds of their normal size. Odd!
We walked between and passed cube after cube, up and down. Some were empty, but the vast majority had a person trapped inside. If I looked up, there was a bottom view of a person’s wretched cell and the events that were being enacted inside. Looking right to left I saw more people living out scenarios once lived in mortal life, but now with strange creatures as companions and props. Turning to the right, I could see people enjoying their stay, but then they would grow sullen because the scene never changed. Moving on, I glanced and saw a woman dressed in dated garments of a century gone by sitting, on a beach, mindlessly drawing circles in the sand. Then we passed an old man trying to catch a fish in a pond. It all looked so surreal. What had these people done to deserve such a boring fate? Was not there supposed to be fire and brimstone here? We traveled between more cubes. The sides of these eerily rubbed against the texture of my skin. Everywhere I gazed, I could not help but see people individually trapped inside. Each person lost in the illusions that their personal prison portrayed.
There, in a cube, a young man resided who seemed to be attending a costume ball. He appeared to be enjoying himself rather well. Then the party guests began to cruelly ridicule him. Passing this cell to the next, I saw another person being flogged on what appeared to be an old sailing ship sinking in an ocean; just prior to this he was enjoying being captain on that ship. We moved on. Suddenly the sides of a cube formed stairs. The ugly host pointed at the stairs and said, “Come, climb to the upper ones above.” Ascending upward, we then emerged somewhere on the top sixth row near the back wall. This level was different than the rest, reeking of deception and quiet gloom. The floor here took on an ashen-grayburning-ember hue and masked the views of the people trapped below. It was echoing quiet. All that could be heard were sounds of many shuffling feet. Before me lay a grand hallway that stretched into the distance before ending. This hall was bordered on both sides by cubicles. The ceiling arched upward cathedral fashion into the dirt roof of the pit. Soiled green linen-like drapes, adorning the hall, often eerily rubbed against me like unseen cobwebs concealed in shadows. Down the long, semi-narrow corridor, I could see several large foul beings quietly sitting upon a platform where a podium resided. From my vantage point this cathedral walkway appeared shaped like a sideways ‘T’ with the podium’s stage marking the apexes’ intersection.
At the central apex, the hall branched out of sight towards the back wall, while the other leg stretched straight onward before me. Inside these halls, were sporadic groups of shadowy creatures walking, huddled together, shoulderto-shoulder, and steadily plodding past us. Each cluster glumly passed, vacantly starring blindly ahead, never noticing we were there. Separate groups would enter various cubes to my left, which were pressed tightly against the back wall, and then vanished from view. These gaggles were arriving from the apex up ahead, turning either right or left, while the large, foul beings watched these processions mutely plod on from the podium area. Then, I spied that purplish-aqua-blue entity prowling in the dim gloom. As soon as I saw it, I thought I could hear words faintly whispering through the stark ominous silence of this great hallway saying, “The way is broad, enter here, enter there; it matters not where. Enter here or enter there; it matters not how. Follow me here, follow me there, it matters not where; just follow me here.” The center apex of the hall drew closer. The grisly host before me stopped, turned, grinned, and motioned for me to enter between cubes to our right, back toward the road. As we proceeded, its loud gnarly voice broke the hushed silence of this shadowy hall, saying, “Some enter here and are moved to where boxes grow. Others enter there through spinning tubes where boxes wait. It matters not how, as long as they keep entering this Grand Palace!” We began descending morphing stairs till reaching the bottom row. A labyrinth of right and left turns soon greeted our strides. Abruptly, we emerged from between two cubes back onto the spiraling roadway.
Walking between these was like a foretaste of things to come and prepared my senses to comprehend what lay ahead. Standing a few feet from me, this beastly host creature leered at me, as it stood stone-like on the wide, dusty road. Its foul-smelling breath was distorting its face. It seemed as if it had many eyes moving in a kaleidoscope of scathing eyeballs. Leering. Staring. Scathing. Glaring.
EXCERPT 4:
Walking along on the fifth story of cubes was a new nightmare. Seeing those termed as ‘nice’ confined here had shaken me. However, with each passing scene the ‘nice’ were in reality quite different than first perceived. Many diverse desires corrupted their lives. Some desires seemed noble and good. Other desires were just plain bad. No matter, they all corrupted. That uniquely arrogant, condescending, asserting-your-rights-nomatter- the-cost attitude brought many here. This desire unknowingly deceived and defiled scores of victims. Many used this as an excuse to slay those they viewed as weak, according to their own twisted opinions. When encountering any person perceived as a potential threat, or not meeting their preconceived standards, they sought to slay careers, marriages, hopes, and dreams of anyone they saw as not fit.
This attitude was carried over at home, at play, and everywhere they went. If you failed to live up to their predetermined standards, you were marked as prey to be taught a lesson, or targeted for abuse. It comes in many forms, from gossiping slander to creating scapegoats; all in order to rule others’ lives like a king or queen, and then hope to be perceived by others as something great for their own ego’s reward. Cube after cube were passed by. There, inside a cubicle, a man from 1890 who gave to the poor only to be seen by others, so he could be exalted as being something great. He went about claiming how vast his giving was, just to earn accolades from the masses. He was a true hypocrite claiming other wealthy persons should pay their fair share, because he paid a mere pittance from his immense net worth.
He neglected those he employed, paid them low wages, and only through his corporation’s profits did he give to the poor. Now he was encapsulated in a cube as a beggar begging for bread while a crowd of people passed him by, spitting on him as they went. Across form this cell was another man from days gone by, who was wedged inside a barrel that was jammed inside a narrow cave. This man was stingy with the things given during life. He was being deprived of the things he once horded. Creatures chained to the floor of his habitat would place certain items before his face that would aid his escape. He could not reach these because his arms were immobile, stuck tight by his sides, unable to move.
Then we passed a woman, washing clothes upon a rock in a muddy stream wearing the garments of Africa. Despite being pious and performing nice deeds, she was caught up in pride and greed. She envied her neighbor’s goods, complained a lot, and spoke badly about a young woman she did not really know because she thought she looked more beautiful than her. She perceived her as weak and in need of a lesson that only she could teach. How dare this one try to take her place in the community! She would put a stop to that, and nip it in the bud! She never really knew this other woman, but that did not matter. She perceived her a threat to her status and continually slandered the woman’s excellent character. The other woman turned the other cheek after each libelous attack. This was viewed as weakness. She was like a cat toying with a wounded mouse. She told herself that she was just trying to teach that woman a lesson, but in truth it was only a grudge justified to slay: to remove one more beautiful than she.
Down by the stream stood a creature imitating the beautiful woman that she reviled without cause, telling her the things she once reasoned true but now found a lie. She became the mouse. The creature, like a cat, began to play. We moved on, leaving this scene. What one sows is what one reaps. People inhabiting this fifth row of cubes were all mixed together. This row did not class people together with common anguishes or punishments. In fact, no level really did. However, the sixth row reeked of something different waiting above. You could not help but feel an ominous sensation radiating down onto you. The sixth row was reserved for certain types of people, and we were on our way there.
Walking behind the ambling lizard-like being, I came to another square cell on the fifth row high, where resided a cruel woman who had died in the 1950’s, full of malice, being beaten with a hairbrush as she used to do to her children. She used to speak vilely to her children, and then used a hairbrush to bring home some arbitrary, meaningless point. She also tormented her husband in many diverse ways. What she once did to others was now happening to her. It was easy to clearly see why these cruel people were here. Feeling waves of apprehension, the others along these passageways still troubled me because they appeared nicer than the cruel people were, and yet they were here. One minute, I felt I understood why they all were here in this place, and in another, I was not so sure. It was like something following me was causing uncertainty. As I felt this, I tried to remember the montage of words spoken to me from above hoping they would provide aid again. The host creature interrupted my attempt for relief by yelling furiously, “Come on – come on, hurry up! Curse God, curse me – how can this be? How can a Most High leave all the nice people in boxes? Crying? Hurting? Come on Curse God – curse me. How can a Most High let this be?”
This foul beast motioned to move on. I followed this creature along the maze of narrow halls between cubes. It seemed like we were heading toward the far back wall. The further we went back, the passageways became wider and the triangular rooms more numerous. We came to another open area with a limited view of the ominous sixth row high. Sitting along the edges of what would be the roofs of the cubes located on the fifth row sat several creepy, shadowy creatures of varied sizes. Many looked like gargoyles without wings. Others looked harmless, beautifully sublime. All emanated devious vibes. As the creatures saw me passing below them, they began to discourse amongst themselves. “How can the Most High leave people bound in famine?” “Yeah, and tied to earthly plights beyond compare?” “Don’t forget leaving these to war.” “Yeah, floods that perish, storms that steal, how can a most high leave these be?” “Oh, that must be mercy? HA! HA!” “Aye, and then brought here to be with us?” “Fair? Just? Ha! Merciful? HA!” “You, walking there, are foolhardy to think that mercy the Most High has.” “Come on, come on, and hurry up down there! Curse you, curse me you little foul fleet-footed twit!” “Ha! Ha! Ha! You foolish, foul, fleet-footed fool! God creates calamities and we reap the rewards! Fair, Ha!! Mercy! Don’t make me laugh.” Their mocking was intense. Fear began to return with each battering I received from their words. All I could do was what I had been doing, speaking two words fast, like the staccato from a machine gun, “Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ!” and walk the gauntlet of hate-filled creatures following the host into the unknown. I wanted to answer them but I dared not stop speaking those two words. I wanted to curse them back, yell, to tell them to go away, but I could not. Their cruel taunting words kept hammering away at me. It was as though they could perceive my thoughts but not my mind and I thought back hard: “How could these beings say such matters? There were no children here, nor any disabled by fault of reason. These creatures’ many devices cause wars. As for the earth, it lives and breathes as designed. To be caught in one of its spasms seems more by chance than folly. One must be ready for eternity’s call at any moment, is what I see. “Yes, God knows all. He gave us intelligence to reason. Could we learn or be granted insight into where a calamity may next befall either by technology, divine insight, or a combination of both? Is this what was meant by man subduing the earth? “We build the buildings that collapse, not God, and yet He receives all the blame. Fair? No! And then, how dare they call me a foul, fleetfooted fool?”
I wanted to yell this out loud and curse all these creatures, but I felt oddly restrained to keep my mouth to myself and to continue walking, following that host creature shuffling along in front of me. I could hear many deep, raspy voices echoing in the halls. “You Fool! You bleak-eyed twit! How dare you think?” “Ha! Ha! Ha!” “No answers and never find any.” “Ha! Ha! Ha!” I was becoming incensed with rage at these beings because of the doubt they sow. Then the peaceful and powerful thoughts from above returned, challenging the taunts, and strengthening my wavering mind with quiet resolve with these words: “True, the earth is designed to move and breathe according to need. When a spasm arises, redemption is in the design. God chose us to choose Him, but will we? “When that tower fell so long ago, at Siloam, the question was not in who made it fall, or why it fell, or if those afflicted were more guilty than the rest, but rather raised the question of what type of redemption really redeems? “Yes, many read into events, accidents, diseases, earth calamities, and assign blame and cause. That is easy to do. However, does this type of redemption truly redeem? “Hmmm, when calamity strikes, where would you be found? Aiding the helpless? Comforting the afflicted? Doing nothing? Join in the looting? Host an argument to find blame? What truly redeems? “Yes, God chose us to choose Him, but will we? God squeezes and fashions light by generating darkness; from this, God refines harmony’s balance by initiating calamity. When calamity arises, redemption is in the design. Aiding fingers need many hands.” A brief silence filled the cavernous halls at the cessation of these words. The authoritative thoughts caused more muffled mocking to slowly intensify again. Soon, contemptuous scoffing resonated loudly in the gloomy passageways, each voice agonizing over the subject amongst themselves.
Then, the reptilian host suddenly stopped, turned and growled, “Enough, enough, hear no more. Up we go, follow me, the sixth row high boxes wait; come, follow me, half the kingdom offered thee. Come, follow me – up we go.” I did not want to go. The sixth row high from the road reeked of doom. The walls of a nearby cell morphed into narrow stairs. The creature went up. I traversed the ascent to the sixth row with great trepidation. Upon reaching this height the venue changed. The residences on this level still retained the ten-by-ten feet dimension, but these were set differently than the other rows previously seen. The walkway between these were wider and the triangle-shaped chambers larger. The ceiling was the same ugly dirt as the spiral road and roofs of the fifth-row cubicles were the floors here. The flooring was no longer a transparent smoky tan color as seen before, below, but now had an ashen-gray, burning-ember tinge. The cubes bordering the road area spread back in a fan shape just like on the other rows, but this extension ended a great distance from where the wide road was located. You could tell that the cubes packed tight, and fan like, led toward the spiral road. The other cubes placed in ranks governed the direction to the pit’s far wall. This was the only area where I had some sense of direction. Also on this level were many individual cubes set apart from the rest. The short saurian ogre was cursing everything. Its foul breath reeked stale and hot in the viscose air. However, this was not air, as we know it, nor was the act of breathing the same as how we humans breathe. In fact, breathing was more like exhaling in a manner that only served to support speech as long as you spoke, and nothing else.
This diabolical escort began speaking: “Each step we take is a take indeed on we go and on we go. Half the kingdom offered thee.” Looking behind me, the creature stopped speaking and stood stone still, pointing. I quickly turned. There in the near distance was that purplish entity, its faces rotating round and round, each full of seductive beauty and profound malice. I heard it speak. “Will thou follow me?” I said nothing in reply except the words “Jesus Christ,” non-stop. “A Most High Author of all? How can He be truly just and perfect and allow the things you have seen?” It was hypnotic, the words it spoke: “An offer given – will thou follow me? Curse God, come, follow me.” My head felt dizzy. Doubts flooded my mind about God and all His mercy and perfect justice. The reptilian host creature stood grinning from ear to ear. I continued to mutter a name and a title louder: “Jesus Christ, JESUS CHRIST!” At the loud mention of this Name and Title that strange purplish being beguilingly vanished between the cubes as though seeking pity for having received a great wound to its smugness.
Immediately, as though nothing had happened, the rank host began hobbling in the direction where the spiral road lay below. The walkways between the cubes became narrow again. I could feel the purplish creature’s presence receding in the murkiness, yet it remained lurking in the distance for another chance to devour. About this time I had the paradoxical sense that we were approaching the bottom of a bottomless pit, but in reality we were somewhere on the sixth row, six cubes high, located somewhere along a spiral road in a land best forgotten but not left unseen. The lizard guide continued onward, pointing to this cube and that. I cannot adequately express the misery I saw inside these square cells. Some people were mutilated; others sat in darkness or flames. In one, I saw a man, a warrior of Mongolia from long ago, experiencing terrible thirst while tied to the ground with what appeared to be insects crawling on his personage, each bug taunting him all the while: “You put me here, now a tasty taste of your own fun!”
I turned and looked into the cubicle opposite his, and there was another man experiencing a battery of unkind words that continually assailed his mind. He was an abuser during his mortal sojourn on earth. He beat his family quite often with words and at times with fists. He derived great pleasure from this, as it made him feel good and in control. He told his sons and daughters, “You are scum; you’ll never amount to nothing! Do as I say boy (with an upraised hand). Woman – what did you do with my pants! How dare you – you witch.” These words were now coming back to haunt him. He sat on a brown sofa in a room with algae green curtains that were opened, exposing a sliding glass door. He sat with the sun to his back, drinking what appeared to be a glass of beer, but in fact it was nothing at all except a prop. There he was, while invisible voices assailed his mind. He remained seated with an all-consuming anger in his eyes, listening to the words he once spoke over and over again, but now each word was returning to him. During my stay in this place, I always heard the cubes click at certain times. Each timed tick would be followed by a click, and the cubes would move and ever so slowly began descending to new levels located somewhere below.
As the cubes moved, torments increased, and the scenes inside the cells changed for those trapped inside. On the sixth row high, when the cubes moved we also moved, just as we did on the proceeding levels below. Here on this row, it felt as though I was approaching the bottom of a bottomless pit, yet I was still six cubes high, off the road that lay somewhere out of sight. I witnessed a nightmare of events as we traveled along these passageways. Every person that I saw inside his or her cube was living in his or her own private night terror. Each person’s worst nightmare had become a reality. The most violent and cruel received various forms of mutilations, while others were experiencing mental torments which they had personally devised for others in their time on earth. As the cubes moved, torments increased by degrees. There was such despair, hopelessness, and extreme loneliness here. The weeping was like one long, droning sound. Isolation was the common factor for all, and separation from God was very pronounced. I noticed that so many of these people had simply accepted their fate, while others cursed God, cursed the creatures that appeared to them as companions, and cursed themselves. I saw men and women trapped in cubes that reeked of despairing gloom and deep darkness. Some appeared to be in houses that were decorated like the ones they once lived in. Still there were others bound, unable to move, while buglike creatures crawled in and out of their mouths. The people were shouting, “No! This can’t be happening! I want to wake up!”
Another cube passed, and inside were several creatures strapping a man clad in ancient Roman garb to a cross and driving short spikes into his wrists and near the ankles. He was once a soldier, a leader of men of battles fought long ago. He had ordered many to be crucified along a road. Here he was now, as he had once done; now it was done to him over and over again, feeling all the pain fresh and new each time. Over there I saw a woman who had claimed to be a real witch in the 1890’s. She was trapped inside a coffin. She would scratch the inside trying to get out, and still could see herself on the outside looking in while shadowy figures stood outside mocking her. It had been her worst nightmare during her earthly life. She had dreamed this often, but now it was real. She was cruel toward those who tried to love her, and here it was being repaid in kind. Her cube clicked and moved, and we moved along with it. The scene changed. The coffin opened. She sat straight up, screaming hateinspired terror at everything that moved. Every lost soul in this place was experiencing degrees of severe isolation, loneliness, gloom, boredom, and despair. It was as if these people became totally resigned to his or her fate. It was though the anguishes seen here were being given back in full measure, to each according to every unkind word spoken, every slanderous lie told, all filthy thoughts relished, all covetousness practiced, every hidden dirty passion that had been enjoyed; every foul deed’s motives were completely exposed, totally without excuse.
There seemed to be a whispering ambiance in the air that sounded like a gentle wind rustling leaves in the twilight of a summer evening, and was speaking something like this to all the inhabitants: “You, in here, chose to walk away from the only way, even though many times you were called to restrain and return; you refused. Look at what you made of your life, and what you did. How can you remain and continue to defile the holy way provided? “One with an intellect and reason has responsibilities, and to force you to change now is impossible. Why? Could it be because your intellect and reason would continually pervert the change, renewing detestation toward God if consequences do not last? “Just because you were given the gift of a living mind granted latitude to reason with intelligence, you, here, find fault with judgment? What was given as a gift, life, cannot be taken back once sealed by eternity’s ways. If so, what was done before would remain and a gift would no longer be a gift as originally consigned. “How can the Most High change your reason here, from this, if you failed to heed then? To change your intellect and reason now would make you like a lowly beast, or a slave, who serves out of fear and hates those above due to perceived resentments. How do you think that one before was found to have iniquity in his heart, and what this means?
“If you were allowed to be free from these torments, after serving some time here, in a thousand years you would return to your ways knowing you would just be punished, serve a little time, and be free again. No justice in that. “You, here and there, say blast me off into an eternal nothingness! To do so would be against the nature provided by the Most High. He cannot curse His own being that cannot help but breathe life. “There are many who desire this type of destruction, but life cannot beget death of the kind that breeds eternal nothingness. However, it is not impossible to do this, but again that would be against the nature of all things consigned. What does it matter when the matter was decided to be a matter of fact? “You, in here, perverted life’s free gifts, and changed it all just to suit personal cravings and desire. You kept the wrong life, live. You neglected family, fostered envy, slew people with your words, sought to be king of the hill, thought you knew what was best, brought others low deemed as unfit. You, in here, made life ugly where you were assigned by all manner of means to rationalize your selfish gratifications.
“You, there, rejected the chance to escape this fate and gleefully accepted the free ride that falsely promised to turn stones to bread, turn every perceived want and desire into some form of power that was perceived as just a “benefit”, and promised that you were exempt from all the calamities you created during your mortal sojourn. “You challenge by saying that if God truly was allpowerful and merciful, He could change those down here with the wave of His hand. How can one really change your mind now if you would not freely listen then? You would learn to view this as a spanking, just temporary punishment, to make you behave for a while, but then you would return to your own vomiting reason every few thousand years. Corruption would only beget more corruption unless restrained, confined, here.”
This quiet ambiance’s gentle rustlings stirred many inside their cubes to curse God, themselves, the creatures; but it also caused them to understand and accept their fate, while awaiting a future judgment’s final verdict’s decree, and then…?

Hey Reddit fam,
I've got a story to share that might resonate with some of you out there. So, here goes:
Like many of us, I was grinding away at my day job, feeling like a loser just by myself. But then, in the midst of researching crypto, I stumbled upon something unexpected: a YouTube video by Apetopia about a coin called Kendu. Now, I'll be honest, I was skeptical at first. I was deep into AI coins and had my doubts about meme coins.
But curiosity got the better of me, and I started digging deeper. I found the Kendu Reddit group, their Twitter account, and decided to learn more. Still, I was hesitant. I mean, who wouldn't be?
Eventually, I took a leap of faith and invested $20 (I'm not rolling in dough) when Kendu was at a humble 2 million market cap. And then, something incredible happened. It started growing. And growing. But even as the numbers climbed, I couldn't shake off my skepticism.
It wasn't until Kendu hit 15 million market cap that I decided to double down and buy some more. And then, just days ago, at 19 million, I went all in. But it wasn't just about the numbers anymore. It was about the community.
I finally joined the Kendu Telegram group and let me tell you, it's been a blast. We're not just investors, we're believers. And we're working together to make Kendu something special.
So, if you're tired of the daily grind, if you're looking for something more, come join us. We're not here to gamble. We're here to work, to build something meaningful. Together, we can make a difference.
Kendu could be the ticket out of slave labor. Are you in? 🚀 #Kendu