"Children learn to correlate consequences with their own actions. This is true of all of us, no matter what species we are. Adulthood is universally defined by maturity, and maturity is defined by nature as appropriate behavior to ensure your species' survival. If we apply this wisdom to the stage of evolution of a species, the culture and conservative capacity of intelligent creatures, then we can see it on that scale also. A species is like a child while they liberally explore their surroundings, learning the best behavior by trying everything, through the Trial of Errors. Then they mature and adopt appropriate behavior, avoiding doing things that work against their species, as individuals and as a whole. We can apply this pattern to the history of all alien races among us here today. This also includes the humans. I testify to this, as one who remains traveling alongside them and seeing each era of their ascended history. As the representative of the will of the Frendsikeel, as attorney to the cause of human endeavors and as their one follower in this galaxy, I say the humans are very cool." The alien sea otter with the boney shells covering her body spoke somehow in a human voice, having perfected the use of her translator so that it was indistinguishable from human speech.
There was applause among the limited audience of aliens at the application hearing for membership, each in their own way of signaling immediate approval. If the Cave Gods agreed, the Combine would be added to the councils of the Cave Gods And Friends Association. It was the dawn of a new and wonderful age for the humans.
The alien attorney visibly shuddered as an equally smoothly articulated translation started, and in a voice all-too-familiar. Osowl Fitten, Attorney-to-the-Humans, heard her nemesis from across the vast distances of both space and time. She was the Sunder representative, Supreme Prosecutor (of the humans) Eshka Layenna. The reptilian alien slithered out with a stylized collar to hide her frill and colorful paint on her face to look more appealing to the human eye. Indeed, the humans felt their eyes drawn to the masterful and ancient alien, who specialized in charm and glamor.
"Beautiful denizens of Rhema, world of art and music, esteemed guru, priests and patrons of the arts, lend to me your native attention. I will speak for you, and worry not what decision is made behind my back, by our wise leaders, the benevolent Cave Gods. They have heard the song of human laughter, recognized the absolution of human mistakes, graced the humans with thousands of years of benefits and gifts simply because they admire the beauty of the human soul. Is beauty not important? I would not stand in the way of beauty. We all know it is the first component of harmony, and we all know harmony is the first component of peace and we also know that peacefulness is necessary for love. And what meaning is there, that is greater than love?" Eshka Layenna spoke with passion in her human sounding voice, translated from a skillful use of her own vowels in order to inflect such sincere emotion. The attorney for the humans worried, for she had sparred with this particular individual alien half a dozen times throughout the centuries, and clearly they were both on the same course through the stars, sleeping for decades at a time in order to extend the usefulness of their respective careers.
The prosecutor skillfully explained that humans were beautiful in the ears of the blind leadership who had overlooked the capacity that humans had for, in their own word: violence.
Osowl Fitten sat quiet during her turn to speak in rebuttal. She could not quickly speak without thinking, it was not the way of her species and she was especially slow to decide what she wanted to say. In the silence one of the humans coughed expectantly, it was meant to prompt her, and she knew so. It was in all things, their little violences, and she had started to find it beautiful.
"Violence is the appropriate behavior when humans utilize it. They are equally capable of restraint and sometimes their violence is directed purely against the storm. Humans respond to all violence, they endure it and survive, they fight back, they commit violence for gain, even sometimes because they want to commit violence, with no further motivation. The Sunder administration has long sought to prosecute the humans because of this, and they are here today, to do this. I approve of this because it is the appropriate behavior. I would like to point out that the Sunder have invented many consequences to inflict on humans, and I must point out that to the human, those are called weapons and the Sunder have become hypocrites. On this day the Sunder are here to prevent the humans from becoming their equal, which is the appropriate behavior for the Sunder, because they anticipate that humans are dangerous, a known threat. They would list off all the times they have tried to blame humans for tragic events, or simply point out that humans were involved in a disproportionate amount of such tragic events, at the very least. And yes, humans are dangerous. Does not each new member bring a gift to the association? The Blue Light Watchers brought the gift of honest music, such as nobody had ever heard. Who among us was not moved by their music? The humans have brought a gift, and I foresee, the Dream Time, that this gift shall prove to be the greatest gift of all."
"What gift would that be?" Eshka Layenna spoke out of turn, amid gasps and gestures of outrageous surprise. Osowl refused to engage her opponent informally and ceased speaking until the Cave Gods had politely reminded the respected and venerable serpent of the absolute procedure of the courtroom, and begged her to behave appropriately. Then Osowl spoke, carefully avoiding addressing the question, while answering it anyway:
"When the Dream Time goes into darkness, and the galaxy can be crossed in an instant by the mere thought of terror, and there is no trade besides violence with this spreading nightmare from outside, that is when the greatest gift of all shall shine upon the threshold." Osowl Fitten turned off her translator and captions and spoke only in her own language. For a moment the court felt confused by this deliberate action, before the significance of it began to sink in. Even the scarred and brutal human Admiral Jinar they had allowed into the proceedings looked deeply moved, her eyes watering, as though she personally understood both the words and the power behind them.
"I have no further arguments, Wise Ones. The prosecution rests." Eshka Layenna said with strange reverence, abandoning her entire cause suddenly.
"This then, is the final enactment of all our discussions, and there are no further actors. Let the humans say then, what is decided here today." The Cave Gods spoke in rehearsed unison.
The humans cheered. They had just become members of the Cave Gods And Friends Association, and the humans were now officially equal to all the coolest aliens throughout the galaxy.
When the courtroom had emptied there were still two creatures sitting there. Osowl Fitten stared for a moment at the human, gradually recognizing her.
"You are Jinar. How so? Humans do not use Star Sleep or live such profoundly long life spans. But I am sure, somehow you are she." Osowl Fitten said at last.
"I am now Admiral Jinar, of the Combine Unified Forces. We are currently disbanded, but I still think they are coming, and we should be preparing for them. Now that we have a say in things, I'd like to get started on that." Admiral Jinar told Osowl Fitten, coldly speaking business.
"Are you not pleased that humans are now recognized as equals to the Cave Gods themselves? In the association, all species have an equal vote." Osowl Fitten twitched her whiskers in a personal greeting, hoping to see Jinar's mood change.
Jinar relaxed and smiled just a little bit. Somehow sitting there trying to interpret the whisker twitches of the Frendsikeel made her feel like a little girl again. It was just a moment, but it reminded her of her own resolve of character. She had felt a kind of personal hell for most of her life, regretting something she had done while she was very young, but worried it somehow defined her. When she had defeated the scout, something had changed, she had realized she was merely playing a role, and the universe was calling the shots.
"Maybe it was better to have gods. The thought that we are responsible for the course is somehow terrifying." Jinar said in plain, soldier-like way of speaking.
"This is humor." Osowl gestured that she found it mildly amusing.
"Do you think they are out there? You're my attorney, I kinda care what you think." Jinar grinned a little, realizing she could communicate very easily with the alien. It was like Osowl just understood everything. It was reassuring to be fully understood and also approved of at the same time.
"It is not a coincidence that I chose this world for Summoning. Allow me to show you what inspires so much art, why this world is a melting pot of artists from seven alien species who all come here for inspiration." Osowl Fitten paused and found a small box held for her by a servo.
"What is it?" Jinar wondered.
"It is a gift." Osowl seemed perplexed. She was trying to assess the correct way to receive such a gift. It was meant as a statement of many different meanings, what was known as a cruciform. Osowl realized it was in the form of clothing, a colorful sash. She wrapped it over one shoulder, wearing it as a kind of toga.
"What for?" Jinar asked.
"It is complicated. I will wear this, to show my admiration and to accept the insult. It is a sign of deep friendship, but one forged through a necessary rivalry, for we are not without the other. My opponent, perhaps she says farewell."
"No, she says she wishes to be your companion still - to continue to argue with you. We shall Star Sleep beside each other and visit the same places. I do not want to be alone and I do not want this to end. It is what is best for each. Ave." The Sunder spoke from the shaded curtains, slithering out dramatically.
"I accept this. I would not wish to be without you. I understand the duality of our arguments the same way you do. Come with me, and we shall visit distant stars and foreign worlds." Osowl Fitten said without hesitation.
From there, the three women went to the attraction of Rhema that Osowl had chosen as a backdrop for the human inclusion in the association.
"Of this moment, we suspend ourselves, for the brace, my dears." Osowl hissed in Sunder and made her new friend laugh with an emote.
Eshka Layenna stopped and suddenly slithered around Jinar with serpentine swiftness. "Is she with us, equal one?" In plain English, another idiom but this as a joke of some kind by Eshka Layenna. She donned a purple garland and wrapped part of it gently around Jinar, the exact movement dancelike and affectionate. She flicked out her snake tongue absently in her self-satisfaction and then turned and wrapped part of the boa around Osowl, who groaned in mock reluctance to the amicable game.
"So we walk together?" Jinar asked.
"Precisely. Unless there is a place we must do something else?" Eshka gestured to the colonial canteen.
"They serve alcohol here?" Jinar felt no resistance as she walked towards the bar with her old lady alien friends in tow, the fragile feathered tether wrapped loosely around all of them.
"Drinks. You may take your toxic beverage." Osowl complained.
"I insist. I know you got something you'll imbibe." Jinar grinned.
At the bar the servo identified them and guessed they wanted alcohol. Osowl was served a thimble of it and a proper shotglass with the colonial guard stamp half scratched off of it was put down for the lady in uniform.
"That's pretty strong. Can I have more?"
"No." The servo said, and took the shotglass and wiped it out with a wash towel.
"Actually, I'm good. That's a pretty nice buzz." Jinar grinned.
"It is precise, madam." The servo said with a little bit of an attitude.
"I'll have mine - not." Osowl said.
"Is that right, are you afraid you'll seem ridiculous? I assure you your friends won't notice your inability to change your eye color while intoxicated. If it helps, you can wear a mood medallion. Would her Gentleness wish her mood medallion?" The servo had split personalities, and was suddenly all cool while talking to Osowl.
"Very much so, Jehosephet." Osowl accepted the medallion with a quickness that conveyed a gleeful shift in her feelings about the bar. Once her medallion was worn and shining, looking exactly like flax colored eyes, she gladly accepted the drink with no further inhibitions. She took the thimble and insufflated it and exhaled what sounded like a drunken wheezing.
"You party hard." Jinar complimented Osowl.
"Yes, this is the celebration I am in for." Osowl seemed to be gagging in her translator and took it off to fumble with the delicate settings.
Jinar laughed, noting that her eyes were flaxen with tints of green and yellow while her medallion showed bright red frustration and embarrassment.
"I cannot drink alcohol, so I shall wear the hat." Eshka Layenna leaned on the bar and the servo placed a massive crown of supreme derpiness on her, some kind of cartoon creature vaguely resembling a Sunder. It looked insane. Jinar laughed so hard she fell over and landed on her butt.
"Okay, so now that none of us may have her pride before the others, now what?" Osowl sounded normal, but her medallion was a glimmering pink, showing she was aware she was being deceptive in some way, as her voice betrayed none of her sloppiness in communicating. It somehow made her seem more hilarious to Jinar, as she could tell Osowl was drunk.
"I am worried that if we stay we'll be seen this way by those who admire and respect us and it will somehow diminish our reputations." Eshka Layenna stated.
"That's part of the fun. But anyhow, we're on a mission. Let's go to this place." Jinar agreed.
"I am afraid our jovial antics won't last beyond the threshold." Osowl cringed as she realized she had spoke a word that meant the same as Threshold, the prophecy of her people.
"What's the matter?" Jinar's voice drained of laughter and she adopted gradual concern, as Osowl hesitated to answer.
"Let us go first, and bid this moment to memory." Osowl insisted.
They departed, leaving their festive garments behind.
There was no landscape to explore, but rather spires of habitats above radiated pools of slag. They flew in a saucer, hovering at different speeds and angles against the natural gravity of Rhema. After a while the saucer had found a break in the low gray-orange clouds that obscured the world below the observational habitats.
"What is the significance of this wasteland?" Jinar asked slowly, not really wanting to hear the answer - already knowing what such an answer would be. The rhetorical nature of her voice was greeted by merciful silence.
The three sisters, each from a distant corner of the galaxy, born in different ages, and different species, stared out at the desolation and they each recognized the same measure of it, for it was the limit of suffering.
Osowl knew her friends understood. She herself had adjusted to her existence, the last of her people. It still hurt to come home.

50F going through perimenopause I think. BMI of 29, so overweight, but my docs are not overly concerned about that. Meds at bottom.
I feel a mild wheezing sensation in my lower right side ribcage area when I work hard enough to breathe hard. I can usually get a full breath of air but it’s harder when I’ve been exerting myself or when I’m feeling anxious, though I don’t feel the wheezing with just anxiety.
I never feel like I can’t breathe and mostly just notice the wheezing down there which lessens and then goes away after I cool down.
What could cause this? Asthma does run in the family with my dad and his mother developing it n later years. It’s honestly not bothersome, but I just worry I’m ignoring something important. Not sure how common this might be.
Thanks for any help you can provide!
Meds: Omeprazole 40 mg Ambien 10 mg Estradiol 1 mg Phentermine, 32.5 mg x a day. (Seeing a doc next week about tapering or ending this and consulting with a nutritionist at a healthcare clinic run by MDs.) Spirolonactone, 100 mg for PCOS

Been coughing and wheezing for 2 months before I've been given the proper treatment for my cough. Now I have costochondritis and it's been 2 weeks already since I had it. I don't want to buy additional stuff at home especially for something which I HOPE is temporary so is there any alternatives for the backpod? Will a regular back stretcher work? Can I use towels/pillows instead? Will a foamroller do? I tried stretching my back with a fat pillow and I almost saw the light from pain when I attempted to get up 🤣 I'm really scared of making this worse than it already is with diy-ing.
Also, unrelated to this post but will upper body workouts negatively affect this condition? I've also considered getting a deep tissue massage but will it make my costo worse?

I pulled up to the Lake Mart gas station convenience store and parked near the entrance in front of the ice machine. It wasn’t a parking spot but I have a small car, a Miata, so I figured no one would mind, plus I would just be in and out real quick - all I needed was a pack of smokes and two white Monster energy drinks. I flung open the door and got out with ease since I had the top down(when the top is up it’s like crawling into a coffin which is kinda cozy in its own way but still hard to get in and out of). I was wearing cheap, black Amazon sweatpants and crocs and a very expensive beige long sleeve V cut sweater. It was a mismatch of the highest order but I didn’t give a shit. “That ain’t a parking spot buddy!” I hear coming from the Ford F-250 filling up with poor-grade 87 unleaded at the pump, the truck isn’t even a manly diesel. I glare at him and yell back: “How’s the ride in that thing? Probably bounces you around a lot on these roads and reminds you of riding your boyfriend.” A very overweight shit kicker type of fella walks around from the side of the F-250. His boots were covered in dried mud along with his Carrhart overalls. It wasn’t fresh mud but definitely from the previous week’s worth of laboring somewhere horrible. “What did you say to me!?” He bellowed. There was some sort of food stain on the front of his T-shirt, possibly mayonnaise or some other condiment. Strange tho since it was only 7:00AM so he clearly wore the shirt the day or days before. “Oh, sorry.” I said to him after seeing his size. “I didn’t realize you were so big, you must be more of a doggy style power bottom type.” “What the fuck does that mean?” he said to me. “It means you’re too fucking fat to be on top of your boyfriend. He rails you from behind.” “Oh that’s it you fuck!” he yelled and started to run at me. Oh shit I thought, I really let my mouth get me into a situation for no real reason. But actually, no fuck this guy, he started it by telling me I can’t park in front of the ice machine. That’s clearly a violation of the Bill of Rights and flagrant treading on me. He was fairly fast for a fat guy but I knew I was faster and had more endurance. I stood there at first near the front of my Miata and he was running full speed and as he closed the distance he stretched his arms out with the intention of grabbing me(to probably try and make out with me). At the last second I strafed to the right behind the safety of the front left panel of my car. Him being inertia laden, was unable to change direction in time to grab me. His arms flailed to his left at me but missed by a wide margin, He contorted his body in trying to grab me in such a way it forced his legs to cross with the next stride and he tripped over his own feet, took two awkward stumbles and ate shit on the asphalt parking lot, landing on his right shoulder before tumbling over himself and into the ice machine. “Dude you just ate shit!” I said to him pointing and laughing. “You’re probably used to it though when you eat your boyfriend’s ass every night.” “You fucking goddamn…” He said as he got to one knee. “Oh no, don’t propose to me, I’m already in a committed relationship…with your mom.” I replied. He finally got to his feet and despite it being only 50 feet that he ran, he was already wheezing. He reached to his right pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife, maybe 3 inches long only but long enough to do some serious damage, then charged at me again. I ran to the rear of my car and put the car between me and him, he tried to slash at me across the trunk but I easily dodged it as he came up feet short. He started chasing me again and I ran to the front of my car and as he ran up to me again, I ran to the rear of my car like a toddler playing “you can’t catch me”. I started laughing at this thought and each time he ran a pass at me I said that to him. “You can’t catch me big fella! You can’t catch me!” I didn’t have to put forth too much effort but I could tell it was taking its toll on him. He had the stubbornness of a retarded mule and refused to give up to save some sense of pride and honor. We played this game for maybe five complete laps around my car before he realized he had no chance of getting to me. He paused for a moment to decide what to do next to save face and not look like such a fat bitch then it donned on him. “You little fuck.” The sweat was pouring down his forehead. “You got a spare tire in the trunk of this shitbox rice burning beanermobile?” He said and eye’d up my right front tire and pulled his arm back. There wasn’t much I could do so as he began to lunge his arm forward to puncture my tire, I let out the loudest and highest pitch rape scream I could make. It was an ear piercing banshee scream and it must have startled him because he missed the tire and hit the fender causing his sweaty hand to slip from the grip and violently slide down the grip and onto the blade of his knife cutting a large gash in his fingers and palm. “FUCKKKKK!” he screamed, still clutching the knife. The Indian clerk that owned and operated the store must have been alerted by my banshee scream and came rushing out the door. “What going on here!?” he yelled, looking concerned and confused. He saw I was standing there and recognized me immediately. I had to be one of the biggest spenders at the store, buying at least a pack of smokes a day and two energy drinks like clockwork and very often getting food for lunch and always paid cash which they loved. They liked me and knew me as well as you’d know a frequent customer. He saw the fat fella was holding a knife but also bleeding. “He chased me and tried to slash my tire.” I said and the clerk nodded and believed me. “That’s not a parking spot!” the big fella said. “He park there every day, never cause any problem. You buddy, you not welcome here. Go now, leave or I call the police!” The big fella glared at me holding his bleeding palm with his other hand now to apply pressure. I didn’t say a word, I just grinned at the big fella and he turned around and went back to his truck, got in and drove off, peeling out with one wheel as he left. I went inside and the clerk apologized to me for the behavior of the big fella even though it wasn’t his fault obviously. I assured him it wasn’t an issue and got my normal supplies and left. I got in my car and hit the vape(I won’t smoke in the car), started the engine and put on some Tool. My adrenaline was still high so I took a deep breath, hit the vape again, and started the engine then pulled out of my personal parking spot. I pulled out onto the road, looking both ways first but not paying attention to the vehicle far down the road and started my short drive home. It was one complete Tool song for the round trip if I drove like a sane person and I causally accelerated. I hadn’t made it a mile before I noticed a F-250 in my rear view mirror growing in size rapidly. It was the big fella and he was going to run me down in a way that wouldn’t exhaust or embarrass him. “Oh fuck” I said and took another vape hit then downshifted into 3rd gear and put the pedal to the floor. The Miata’s engine woke from its slumber and quickly ran the RPM’s up to 6000, putting me back in my seat the entire time. I shifted into 4th and floored it again. The road was awful and full of potholes but the sporty nimbleness of the Miata made avoiding the major potholes and bumps a fun exercise in technical driving. The big fella had a huge run up on me however and was still closing the distance on me even though I was speeding along at close to 90 miles per hour. Either he was an idiot or didn’t know the roads or likely both but as I glanced in the rearview mirror I could see the truck take hit after hit from the potholes. It lurched and bounced each time but the venerable American truck took each hit in stride and held its ground with me. I was doing 105 MPH now on a shitty backcountry road in a 45MPH zone and the F-250’s speed limiter likely kicked in at that speed so I maintained 105 as we approached the curves. I was nervous because I had only one option and that was to navigate a downhill S-turn meant for 35MPH at 105MPH while avoiding potholes that would tear off one of my tires. If I slowed down any, this maniac behind me could plow into me or give me the Pitt Maneuver and spin me out which would inevitably lead to a rollover where I definitely would die. “Fuck it” I said, grabbed another gear and started pulling away from the F-250. There was another option that just came to me ¼ mile from the S-turn and immediately opted for it. Despite the pain of sacrificing it, I lobbed a full 16oz can of white Monster out of the top of my car like a hand grenade. It crashed into the truck’s grill and penetrated through the grill and into the radiator like an armor piercing anti-tank cannon shell. A plume of steam erupted from the truck and I let off the throttle only to see him start gaining ground. I put it to the floor again and clenched my asshole as I was seconds away from barreling down upon the S-turn. I could see far enough ahead that there was no oncoming traffic so I steered as far left as I could to get the best angle entering the turn. The car’s lane detection warning system beeped at me and I told it to fuck off, I was racing for my life here. I tracked into the turn, apexed in the corner and tracked back out into the next turn. I felt myself get lighter when I entered the turn because it was downhill but the Miata stayed true and glued to the road like a Formula 1 car. In the first part of the S-turn, I had to keep the center line in the center of my car because of the massive canyons in the asphalt on the right tire track that Penn Dot hadn’t addressed in several years. There were more potholes but they were minor and at this speed the car glided over them. I had made it halfway through the S-turn and now steered left again and apexed perfectly in the outward curve and accelerated out of it. The next stretch had mild curves that I wasn’t worried about and I got back in my proper lane, now about to check my mirror to see what the big fella’s fate was. I heard the tires squeal as he tried to slow down to make the first curve of the S-turn. He knew nothing of racing despite having decals on his back window of some local hayseed race car driver. When he braked in the middle of the turn, all the weight shifted forward and he lost all rear grip. Combining that with trying to steer right, caused the rear end of the truck to slide out from behind him and he spun 90 degrees. The left front tire caught the canyon pothole and sent the truck into a barrel roll down the hill. I watched it all in my mirror and I slammed on my breaks. The truck barrel rolled at least a half dozen times before hitting the left side guard rail and bounced into the middle of the road. Steam was billowing from the front of the truck and I could see all the airbags had deployed. I pulled the e-brake, did a half turn to slow down and stop, smoke seethed from my tires and when the car came to a halt in the middle of the road, I put on my 4-ways. I then heard a woman yell to me from the nearby house. “Oh my god!” She yelled. “Are you okay!” She saw the smoke and must have thought there was a fire or something coming from my car. “Yeah I’m fine, but that fella probably isn’t” I said motioning to the heap of metal that used to be a F-250. “I saw the whole thing! I was getting my mail when I heard an engine revving”, the woman said, “Why were you going so fast!? Racing?” She was accusatory and slightly distressed or even angry. I turned my head away from the wreck and looked at her. She was in her late 20s, blonde hair, large and possibly fake breasts, blue eyes and wearing the cutest and most sensual peach colored sundress. If she had makeup on it was minor at most and her face held the natural beauty of an entire Miss Universe contest. “I was racing for my life. The guy is a lunatic, he tried to stab me at the gas station then started chasing me. I knew he couldn’t handle that turn but I knew my car could. Looks like I was right.” I said to her. She looked at me seemingly satisfied with my response but asked, “Why did he try to stab you?” “Because I called him gay.” She laughed and smiled thinking I was joking and was about to say something else when we both heard the big fella yell for help. “We prob should check on him” I said and took a deep hit from my vape exhaling more white vapor than was coming from the wrecked truck. A car pulled up and the driver asked if anyone called 911, I said no and he started dialing. “I’m Michelle”, she said and extended her left hand to me to help me out of the car. She presented her left hand palm down so I could clearly see that she didn’t have a wedding ring. I took her hand and got out of the car then released her hand. It was just a short moment but it lasted for decades. I felt an electricity in her touch, the softness of her skin but the strength and firmness of an unyielding woman who was not unsure of herself. She was breeding stock and with each step she took, her breasts bounced slightly and jiggled revealing that they were indeed real and without a doubt perfect. “I’ve never seen anyone drive that fast through that turn before.” she continued. There’s at least a dozen wrecks here a year from people doing the speed limit and you were going how fast?” “105” I replied. “Maybe 110 when I finally hit the brakes.” “You’re insane.” She said and smiled, then adjusted her sundress, undoing one of her buttons revealing a little bit more cleavage. Her nipples were perky and nearly penetrated the fabric. “Its hot this morning…What kind of car is that? It looks German.” “It’s a Miata. Its basically a super car. It has 180hp but don’t let that fool you, the car only weighs a little more than 2200 pounds. Okay, so you've got to understand why the Mazda Miata is such a big deal—it's not just a car; it's a whole vibe! Picture this: It's super lightweight, right? That makes it incredibly fun to drive; it’s like it's practically gliding along the road. And it's got this perfectly balanced rear-wheel drive, so it handles like a dream, especially on curves. Seriously, it's like dancing... but with a car!” I paused for a few moments to catch my breath then added “Plus, it’s affordable, which is crazy considering how sporty it is. It’s like the everyman’s sports car. You can actually own a roadster without breaking the bank!” “Oh well, that’s nice I guess.” She said and continued, “I have to go now actually, I need to…like do some…chores…I mean get ready for work. Bye.” She buttoned up her sundress then ran off back to her driveway. “Are you a fucking idiot?” I heard the big fella yell. I watched as Michelle sprinted up her driveway, not looking back once even though sirens were blaring and the firetrucks and ambulances had arrived. “You had her melting in your hand and you sperged out like a retard about your car? What the hell is wrong with you? I don’t even want to kick your ass anymore, that was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

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

Context: My elderly hamster began making wheezing/congested noises, so we took him to the vet who then said there were some unusual sounds from his lungs leading them to believe it may be a respiratory infection. They gave me antibiotics in a syringe to administer. I’ve been doing that for the past week (along with a bunch of other things to help your hamster when they’re ill/elderly) and he’s gotten much better, stopped making those noises for the most part
The problem is he hates being given his medicine, so I really have to be quick about making sure it gets in his mouth. Tonight I gave it to him and as usual he didn’t want it so I had to quickly administer it. I’ve always tried to be careful not to give too much, let him swallow and process before continuing etc. But this time I fear I may have done it too fast because after I gave it to him he started to make those concerning congested sounds again for a bit as If there could be fluid in his lungs and I was SO so scared I accidentally caused him to inhale the liquid. He made those noises for like a minute or two after and now he’s stopped, went pee, took food and seems fine (edit: now he’s sleeping and when he breathes there’s a clicking noise (similar sounds to when he first got sick/before starting antibiotics).
I’m terrified I caused him to choke? Is there liquid in his lungs? Is there anything I can do? I’m just very shaken and couldn’t forgive myself if I accidentally killed my own hamster or caused harm to his lungs trying to give him medicine.

Context: My elderly hamster began making wheezing/congested noises, so we took him to the vet who then said there were some unusual sounds from his lungs leading them to believe it may be a respiratory infection. They gave me antibiotics in a syringe to administer. I’ve been doing that for the past week (along with a bunch of other things to help your hamster when they’re ill/elderly) and he’s gotten much better, stopped making those noises for the most part
The problem is he hates being given his medicine, so I really have to be quick about making sure it gets in his mouth. Tonight I gave it to him and as usual he didn’t want it so I had to quickly administer it. I’ve always tried to be careful not to give too much, let him swallow and process before continuing etc. But this time I fear I may have done it too fast because after I gave it to him he started to make those concerning congested sounds again for a bit and I was SO so scared I accidentally caused him to inhale the liquid. He made those noises for like a minute or two after and now he’s stopped, went pee, took food and seems fine (edit: now he’s sleeping and when he breathes there’s a clicking noise (similar sounds to when he first got sick/before starting antibiotics)
I’m terrified I caused him to choke? Could there still be liquid in his lungs if he did? Is there anything I can do? I’m just very shaken and couldn’t forgive myself if I accidentally killed my own hamster or caused harm to his lungs trying to give him medicine.

Sorry this took so long, kinda got caught up.
Don't have too much to say, other than Maple Whiskey is rapidly becoming one of my favorite drinks, and I'm sorry this took so long to come out. Real life kinda got in the way for a bit (I have one of those?), and I had to put stuff on the backburner. Sorry.
That about covers it.
Previous/Main/Discord/Next
_________________________________
Fries limped his way down the ship’s hallways, using the wall to his right to support himself. Twisted metal and debris littered the hallways, but it had clearly not come from this sector. He was in the center of the ship, far enough away that nothing was dangerously damaged yet, but they were obviously putting stuff in the wide, CEVA-rated hallways for the time being. He gritted his teeth from the pain and was forced to take short, shallow breaths as he walked. He clutched his side as he shuffled along, almost wishing that he was in one of the suits to help support him.
“Fuck me.” He muttered, pausing for a moment outside of his room to breathe. He was about to type in his code to unlock the door when he realized that it was already unlocked. Not sure why and fearing the worst, he drew his personal pistol from the back of his suit’s waistband, keeping it close in to himself to make sure that it couldn’t get pulled away from him. Exhaling sharply as he brought his arm away from his chest to hit the button that opened the door.
It quickly slid open with a sharp hiss and allowed him into the room. The lights were on, and the room didn’t seem to be different, but he distinctly remembered having locked the room prior. He slowly walked in, trying to clear as much as possible while coming in. He took note of the new bag in the room, but couldn’t see anything else new in the room.
His attention was rapidly divided by a shipwide alert that the admiral had left the vessel, causing him to turn around suddenly.
“You alright?” a voice behind him asked, causing him to rapidly turn around to aim the gun, but wound up hurting him more and causing him to drop to one knee.
“What in the fuck are you doing in my room?” the ODST whispered, barely able to speak from pain.
“Got moved down here for safety, you can ask Donahue.” she stated, helping him up and taking the gun from him.
“Got it… he just left the ship?” he asked, immediately attempting to lay himself down on the bed.
“Yeah, he’s heading to see the Tikaqick.” Firdaus stated with a slight bit of disdain in her voice.
“You got a problem with them?” the ODST muttered, barely looking at her.
“Not as many as with my own people, but certainly a fair number of problems with them.” she hissed, helping the man move towards the bathroom.
“You’re going to need to explain, but in a bit. I have like six different bandages to switch.” Fries grunted, closing the door behind him.
_____
“Sir?” the lieutenant Marine beside him asked, racking a round into her rifle’s chamber, “You alright?”
“Hmm?” The man asked, his head quickly snapping up to look at her, “Oh, yes. I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?” she asked again, watching as the man sealed on his helmet.
“Yes.” He nodded, shooting a glance back at the ship they left from, “Yes… it’s not my first time doing this…”
The crew continued on in relative silence. The Marines and ODSTs were a mix of the two crews, one of each being from the old crew and one of each being the replacement crew. The Marine Lieutenant was one of the new crew, along with the ODST Sergeant. The Marine Sergeant and ODST Captain, however, were both well experienced in combat.
“We’re approaching the landing bay.” The pilot called out over radio, “Thirty seconds.”
“Copy that.” Donahue nodded, standing up and bracing himself against the roof to avoid floating around, “Well… Guess it’s that time again.”
“There’s no CIA on board and the ship isn’t a USS.” The Marine sergeant stated, unbuckling himself but not standing up, “It’ll be different this time.”
“Let’s hope not. Flu’ron’s still on board.” James Orwell, the xenobiologist muttered, attempting to raise his reflective visor, to little avail.
The Marine floated over and helped the man with his visor before floating towards the pilots’ cabin door and letting himself in, floating between the two so he could see out the front window.
“Siddown, Sergeant.” One of the pilots muttered, not looking back as he did minute adjustments to the ship’s trajectory as they approached.
“This whole damn thing could be made of gold…” The Marine muttered, magnetically locking himself to the floor and kneeling down as they approached.
“Crossing threshold, standby for turbulence.” One of the pilots radioed out, a hydraulic whine reverberating through the ship’s hull as they lowered the landing gear.
“Back and seal the hatch, Sergeant.” The other pilot snapped, barely looking back at the Marine, instead focusing on the windows and displays ahead of them.
“Copy that.” The Marine nodded, taking the time to check the two pilots’ weapons stowed behind their chairs before floating himself back into the crew compartment and sealing the hatch behind him.
“Ten seconds to landing. Artificial Gravity is off in the bay, disarming OMS.” A pilot called out, still keeping a smooth voice about him, “Threshold crossed, stand by.”
The ship seemed to do nothing for a moment before a very light shudder echoed through the hull, followed by a sharp, metallic ‘thud’.
“We have contact, maglocks engaged.” The first pilot informed.
“Gravity systems and harmonics coming online. Disengaging RCS.” the second pilot called out, likely talking to his partner over the crew in the back. After a few seconds of silence, the ship seemed to spool down and orange lights came on in the back of the crew compartment, showing up just over the CEVA-sized, round airlock doors at the sides of the craft and above the regularly-sized hexagonal door at the back of the craft. After a moment, a female robotic voice called out ‘Pressure stable’ and the lights switched to green.
“We’re down. Thank you for flying Air Peregrine, please take your bags from the overhead compartments and leave in an orderly fashion.” one of the pilots called out, putting on an extremely good and smooth ‘airline’ voice.
“You are aware that you’re talking to an Admiral, right.?” the Marine Lieutenant asked, seemingly disappointed at the pilot.
“Oh, I imagine he does.” Donahue smiled, motioning for the ODSTs to head out the door first.
The two armored figures were already moving towards the door, letting the ladder come out first before checking pressure one last time and opening the rear door. To their shock and horror, the void of space lay just outside the door, though nothing was losing pressure.
“Plasma barrier?” a Marine asked, his voice faltering slightly when he saw the smoking form of the Dracula in the distance.
“Something like that…” James muttered, waiting for the Admiral to head down the ladder after the ODSTs before following him down.
There were no aliens directly off their ship, which surprised them slightly, but gave the crew time to prepare themselves. They were supposed to form a ‘triangle’ with Donahue at the front, the two ODSTs behind him, and the two Marines on either side of James, behind the ODSTs. However, they had more than enough time to prepare, to the point of it becoming awkward. The team moved to the left side of the Ranger, and sat in waiting. The Marine Sergeant began to get skeptical and checked the chamber of his rifle while his reflective visor dropped into place, subtly preparing for a conflict.
However, before their thoughts could fester any further, a door off the left-side nose of the Ranger opened to reveal the creatures that owned the ship. They were around the same height as a Human, albeit seeming a little taller on average. They were obviously Avian-esque, with short, stubby, owl-like faces, in opposition to the long beaks of Afi’end. They had two large eyes just behind their beak, with what appeared to be two sets of closed eyelids underneath them. Their feathers were gray and black, with a small amount of crow-like iridescence in them. They had long wings which wrapped around their bodies, making a ‘cloak’ around them. Their legs were similar to that of an Afi’end’s, but seemed slightly thinner.
They wore thick, heavily stylized armor. It had gold plating with ivory and blue-diamond accents, glassy pauldrons, and other, seemingly glowing, lines and accents in it.
The rest of the ship looked similar; with gold, ivory, and blue-diamond glass seeming to come from all parts of the ship. The ship looked incredibly clean, with no smudging seeming to come from anything except the Humans. The flight deck they were on was made of some kind of ivory-esque compound as well, with the only scuffs on it being from the RCS thrusters the Ranger had used earlier. Against the gold, whites, and blues of the alien vessel, the greens, grays, and oranges of the Human suits contrasted hard;
Donahue’s suit was nothing special, nor was it too dirty, but it was not perfectly hermetic, like the rest of the ship seemed to be. James’ suit did seem to fit their criteria of cleanliness everywhere except his boots, where it was obvious that he hadn’t put hours of work into cleaning the dirt out of the fabric on the last surface mission he had done. The Marines’s suits were the most well-loved; boasting patches of stained mud, foliage, and other assorted junk all over the suit. The ODSTs were clearly battle-damaged, however: Cuts and scrapes into the plating could be seen around the arms and chest, with plasma burns etched into the metal of the helmet on the more experienced man.
Donahue almost wished he had been able to wash his suit now, but he hoped they would understand.
“Hey, we’re not the only ones to bring armed guards.” The ODST to his right stated.
“Oh thank Christ.” Donahue muttered, shifting his reflective faceplate up, “I would have felt awful if they trusted us that much.”
“Feel better, they don’t.” The ODST muttered back, standing up straighter as the aliens approached.
“Admiral Donahue?” the creature at the front of the group asked, looking at the admiral in the front of his own group.
“Captain Kinlykc?” Donahue asked, stepping towards the aliens. The creature seemed mildly amused at the Admiral’s suit, but went back to looking him in the eyes shortly after.
There was an awkward silence for a moment before the alien decided that it was likely in everyone’s best interests if something was said.
“Apologies for my awkwardness in this situation; it has been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of doing a proper first-contact scenario.” it stated, clearly motioning for his own guards behind him to be less on-guard. The Humans were taken aback a bit, as the creature didn’t move his mouth to speak, but more seemed to emanate the words from itself.
Donahue nodded, but didn’t have to motion to his own men, as they had already come to stand down themselves.
“Entertainingly enough, I was still captaining that ship out there for our true first contact.” Donahue nodded, making sure that both his hands were visible in front of him.
“Really?” the avian asked, motioning for the admiral to follow him deeper into the ship, “Is your ship the only one in your fleet?”
Donahue paused for a moment before following the alien Captain, motioning for his team to follow shortly behind him.
“Negative, we’re just lucky.” The Admiral smiled, attempting to hide his trepidation through humor. The ODSTs were just as slow to follow behind, but eventually caught back up, seemingly worried about leaving the pilots alone. They were brought into a wide hallway. It had the same stylings as the docking bay had, but seemed to have ‘tiling’ instead of the solid piece that the other room had. James slowly pushed his way through the column of armored personnel and wound up beside the Admiral.
“Umm, excuse me, Captain Kinlykc?” He asked, fiddling with his suit to attempt to make sure the external speakers were working.
“Yes?” the avian asked, looking back at the scientist.
“How… are you talking?” He asked, not sure whether the question was to be considered rude or not, “As in, your mouth isn’t moving, how are you talking to us?”
After the scientist clarified himself, the avian seemed to understand the question.
“We do not breathe through our mouth, I’m assuming like you do then.” It nodded, tapping on its beak and unfolding its wings. It raised its arms and pointed at a set of openings under the creature’s armpits, “We breathe and vocalize through these.”
James was speechless for a moment, but the Admiral was relatively sure that was because he was deciding whether or not it was entirely wrong to lean in closer for a better look.
“If you do not mind me asking a question of my own, what are the clothes you’re wearing?” The avian asked, motioning to everybody except the ODSTs, “Are they your uniforms?”
“These?” James repeated, pulling at his suit, “These are pressure suits. To keep our own atmosphere in.”
“But why?” The bird asked, continuing down the path, “We scanned your vessel as the door opened to analyze what your atmosphere was to accommodate, and they were almost identical.”
"We pressurized our vessel to the bay’s atmosphere.” Donahue stated, nodding at the two, “Our atmospheres are similar, and very breathable, but not the same.”
“Why the pressurized suits then? We can breathe the same atmosphere, no?”
“Our people are not nearly as advanced as some others, who can do bacterial scans of atmospheres before they even land to make sure that neither side will infect the other. We cannot do that, so we hermetically seal off from everybody else to avoid infecting them.” James stated, finishing Donahue’s explanation.
That was an answer that seemed to sit well with the avian, who nodded at them and continued down the hallways.
_____
Kinsey practically dive-rolled out of her vessel’s docking port and into the Dracula’s gravity field, her helmetless RHEV suit’s bulk causing her to roll erratically to the side. She quickly got back up and started jogging her way to the other side of the ship, her quickly-moving, armored figure moving everybody out of her way. She wasn’t in any actual hurry, but the message did have to be delivered relatively quickly.
She quickly dog-legged down a side hallway and towards flight bay 3, near the primary medical bay. As soon as she was at the area, she started heading back towards the outer hull of the ship again, turning only when she was directly on a course with the med bay. After a few moments of running, she turned into the medbay, where Flu’ron was inspecting a rifle another Marine had given him.
“Feathers!” she called out, skidding to a halt outside the door.
“Oh Hells.” Flu’ron muttered as he looked up at her. He handed the rifle back to the Marine and walked towards her, “What do you need, Doctor?”
“Only us Marines can call him ‘Feathers’.” the Marine muttered, putting on a fake pout for her.
“Look!” She exclaimed, ignoring the Marine’s protest and shoving a datapad into the avian’s face.
After pulling back a bit, he took the pad from her and started reading the text on it. After a moment, during which the Marine came over to see what the commotion was, Flu’ron looked up from the pad and nodded at her.
“Well… Goddamn!” He smiled, handing the pad back and pulling out his own tablet, “One-hundred. Going your way.”
“Woah, hold on, I think I missed something. What’s going on?” the Marine asked, confused as to why the Afi’end was sending the scientist money.
“Her brother, who was listed KIA a month and a half ago, is not dead.” Flu’ron explained calmly, watching as the scientist practically bounced off the walls with excitement. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the money or that Frost was still alive.
“And the fucker made it onto Xalantun before me!” Kinsey stated, calming down enough to get the words out.
“You saw the ‘sent’ date, right?” Flu’ron stated, making sure she knew how recently she had received it.
“Three hours, forty-five minutes ago!” she stated, nodding enthusiastically.
“If the round-trip time isn’t that long, why’d it take him nearly a month to respond?” Flu’ron asked, just sitting down to enjoy the show.
“I’ve got two theories; either he’s been too busy to respond, or this is the first time he’s gotten a data dump in months.” She stated, “Where’s Firdaus, she owes me money!”
Flu’ron shrugged, but the Marine perked up, “To my knowledge, she’s down in Deck 5, section 6, subsection 3, room 156. She’s keeping hidden from the alien ships around us.”
Kinsey perked up at that knowledge, suddenly looking concerned, “Hold on, what?”
“Yeah, she’s residing in an ODST’s room, to my knowledge. Not sure why she’s hiding though. I’m not saying anything to anybody who isn’t a crewmember on board this ship though, aside from you, doc; she wants to stay hidden, we’ll keep her that way.”
“In an ODST’s room?” Kinsey asked, looking immediately at Flu’ron.
“He’s got four broken ribs, you need to go stop her.” the avian stated, rolling his eyes, “I’ll prep the machines, just in case.”
“Ok, I gotta check on two things with her then.” Kinsey stated, nodding at the two before running out of the room and yelling “Carry on!” at the pair.
_____
“Peregrine, we’re going deeper into the vessel, think you can handle yourselves?” The Marine Sergeant asked, slinging his rifle onto his back.
“Hey! Keep that thing out!” the Lieutenant snapped, motioning to his gun again.
The man rolled his eyes, but unlimbered his rifle again.
“Copy that, Praetor. We’re good for the time being.”
“Understood. Keep us apprised, yeah?” the Marine radioed back, shifting his suit around to relieve a pinch he had created in his armpit.
“Copy that, Praetor. Out.” one of the pilots responded back, killing the communications network afterwards. The Marines and ODSTs walked alongside the Admiral and xenobiologist in silence, taking intrigued glances down hallways as they passed them, and receiving intrigued glances back from aliens as they passed them in the hallways. They weren’t entirely privy to the conversation that was happening ahead of them, but they weren’t looking to be part of it either. The two veterans were far more interested in getting a good look at the ship than having to talk to anybody, and the two newer members were still too paranoid to pay attention to anything other than their duties.
They were brought into an unoccupied room with a large window that looked out into the deep space just beyond, though the Dracula and other alien vessel blocked the view. The guards from both species gave a quick visual sweep of the room as they came in. Upon watching the Tikaqick guards sit down or generally relax, the veteran ODST and Marine slung their weapons and moved towards the back of the room, motioning for the other two to do so as well. Despite obvious hesitation to do so, they eventually moved to the back with the other two soldiers.
“So what, if you are able to tell me, are your people doing out here?” Captain Kinlykc asked, glancing back at the soldiers momentarily before returning his gaze to the Human ship.
“Sadly, I am not able to give you our reasoning for being out here. That’s not exactly something I can give away freely.” Donahue sighed, not even sure why he’d actually have to explain that, “What I can tell you is that we weren’t planning to be out this far.”
“Really?” the avian asked, looking at the man with surprise, “Scans have indicated that your vessel is prepared for long-range assignments, based on compartmentalization and areas theorized to be for food.”
Donahue raised an eyebrow at the statement, realizing that they likely had a near-perfect model of the interior of the ship if they could theorize about the ship’s rooms, even if they couldn’t entirely see the contents of the rooms. He was relatively concerned at the revelation, but didn’t let it show.
“Well, that ship is a modification of our first attempt at a long-range exploration ship, but the project was canceled five years before first contact.” Donahue explained, watching as a few suited figures climbed around the hull of his vessel, “There were only ever three of the ships created, all of which got converted to combat duty."
“Really? I know they got converted, but what became of the other vessels?” the avian asked, seemingly entranced by the same men on the hull.
“Well, the Armstrong-Class exploration vessels, named the AC-00 J.T.K., AC-01 J. Harker, and AC-02 M. Reynolds, were all brought back to our home planet as soon as possible, be that from assignment or construction, for retrofit.” Donahue explained, turning away from the window so he could better look at the avian, who saw the gesture and did the same, “The J.T.K. was a prototype, and was axed shortly thereafter. The Reynolds was renamed to Serenity and moved to be part of the United States Space Force, but was destroyed on assignment after the newly-fitted reactors went on runaway and melted half the ship off.”
“And the J. Harker?” it asked, indicating towards the window, clearly already knowing the answer.
Donahue nodded and motioned out the window, “Refused the new reactors, renamed to Dracula, joined the USSF, made first contact, made first contact negotiations, made first Human-to-alien combat, limped back to our space, received the first official ship-systems AI, became the first ship in the UNITF a year later, and still remains in combat as the oldest space combat ship in our service. As a species.”
The bird looked at the vessel with a new form of respect in its eyes, though whether for the crew or the vessel was unknown. It gave a shallow nod to the vessel before turning back to the man in front of him, “How old is it?”
Donahue had to pause to think for a moment, trying to remember everything he could about his ship.
“Well… the program to make them started nearly seventy years ago, and she was the first ‘production’ model. After decades of systems upgrades and additions, she’s the embodiment of Theseus’s ship, but her original christening would have been… forty-eight years ago.” He muttered, ignoring the confused look on the alien’s head when he mentioned Theseus, “I remember her first launch. I would have been around seven at the time.”
“How… Do you keep something like that running for that long? Especially if it’s a combat device.”
“Same way we keep the grandfather clock and jukebox in the primary lounge running; good care from a good crew.” Donahue nodded, watching as the blue sparks from a plasma cutter lit up a section of hull that was surrounded by CEVAs.
_____
“Watch it! Merde!” The Marine snapped out as Kinsey sprinted past him, intent on quickly making it to the room.
“Sorry! A life is at stake!” she called back, hearing another string of words in French that she didn’t care to translate yelled back at her.
The scientist slid to a halt in front of room 156, trying the door, then knocking on it rapidly. When nobody came to the door, she looked up and down the halls, locking eyes with the Marine, who was still watching her.
While still looking at him, she grabbed a tool out of her belt and started to plug it into a receptacle below the keypad.
“Code is two-five-four-eight.” The Marine called out, shaking his head and just walking away.
“Oh.” was all she could manage, pausing for a second to put the tool away before waving back at the Marine, “Thanks, Frenchie.”
“Je m'appelle Mauvieux…” he mumbled from down the hall, turning down another hall, seemingly to get away from her and the scene of the crime.
She ignored him entirely as she punched in the code and hit the button to open the door. The door had barely slid open entirely before she slipped inside and looked around for the snake.
“Firdaus, don’t! His ribs are-” She started, pausing when she realized that the snake was not doing anything other than sitting curled up in a corner of the room, a book in her hands. She looked surprised when she saw the suited Kinsey enter the room.
A door slid open to the scientist’s right, revealing the ODST she was looking for. Unfortunately, he was covered only by a towel around his waist, was clutching at his floating ribs with one arm, and had a pistol in his other hand, pointed directly at her head. As soon he recognized who he was looking at, he lowered the sidearm and leaned against the doorframe.
“Jesus Christ, Ev. What th’ fuck yeh doin’ in here?” He hissed, letting her take the gun from his hand and put it on a nearby desk, “And who th’ fuck gave you the emergency code to my door?”
“Someone who I forgot the name of.” Kinsey shrugged, stopping the man from bending over to pick up his clothes, which had been unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. She handed them to the ODST, who nodded at her and headed back into the bathroom, leaving the door open and hoping, or simply not caring, that the two women didn’t look into the room while he was dressing.
“Ok then, better question; and one I already asked you: Why the fuck are ya barging in here?” he wheezed out from the bathroom, obviously struggling a bit as he tried to dress himself.
“Making sure the thirty-odd foot long constrictor isn’t doing anything to the poor man with the four broken ribs.” She shrugged, shooting a shit-eating grin back at the snake, who flipped off the woman as she smiled back.
“Hey, don’t worry, I drew a gun on her as well.” Fries chuckled, grunting immediately afterwards. After a moment, he came out of the bathroom far more clothed than previous. He immediately went towards the scientist and gave her a quick, one-armed hug that leaned a fair deal of his weight on her, something that took her off-guard.
“Hey… you alright?” She asked, clearly realizing that something was wrong. She knew how the ODST usually acted, and he wasn’t generally the kind to hug without a stiff drink or three in him, let alone put weight on somebody else.
“Yeah, just… didn’t like what happened out there.” He sighed, pulling his weight off of her and going to lean against a wall.
“Didn’t hear what happened. You mind filling me in?” She muttered, moving to sit in a nearby chair. It creaked in protest to the woman’s suited 6’2” frame sitting down, but didn’t break.
“Thought I was going to die stranded out in the middle of fuck-off=nowhere space.” Fries wheezed, knocking his head on the wall behind him, “Kinda… put into perspective what I was told from day one was still a possibility.”
“Well, now I’m more interested in who told you what from the start.” She chuckled, clearly attempting to lighten the mood.
“Me mum always told me that I’d die alone in space, a billion and a half miles away from home.” He muttered somberly. He thought for a moment before his face twisted into a sad grin, “First time she’d shown concern for me in years.”
“Jesus, man. I’m sorry.” the woman muttered, feeling bad about her previous attempt at humor.
“Seriously; my condolences.” Firdaus piped up, simply sitting in her coils and watching the ODST sadly.
“Ehh… Whatever. That cunt never wanted to have me to begin with.” the man shrugged, grunting slightly as he sat down, “I did her a favor when I joined the forces.”
“That’s… not how you should look at that…” Kinsey muttered, standing up slightly when the man sat down, but sat back down when he waved her down.
“Ehh. Don’t care anymore. She’s six feet under an’ can’t bitch at me anymore.” He stated callously, rolling his eyes.
Kinsey quickly snapped to look at him, an expression of horror and sadness on her face. Firdaus seemed to share the same reaction as her, but was far less expressive in her movements.
“What the hell, dude?! Your mother died?! When! How?!” she exclaimed, getting out of her chair and motioning her arms out.
“Three years ago, MDMA overdose.” he muttered, clearly wanting the subject to change.
“Fuck…” the scientist muttered, picking up on the man’s clear reluctance to continue the conversation, “You could have said something.”
Fries paused for a moment, before simply shaking his head, “Nope.”
Kinsey paused for a heartbeat before nodding and stepping back towards the door, “Well, I’m sorry that there’s no better place to leave this at, but I’m going to head out.”
“Alright. Have a good time doc.” the ODST muttered, looking down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at her and nodding again, “Check in again sometime soon, yeah?”
“Yeah. Can do.” She nodded, opening his door and stepping out.

I’ve had asthma my whole life. About 17 years ago, my insurance company at the time assigned me an RN who specialized in asthma. She would call me every day to see how I was doing, and would advise me on treatment if she heard me clearing my throat a lot, coughing, or wheezing. If my allergies were acting up and I was sneezing a lot, she would advise for that as well. Lots of times she would call 2 or 3 more times during the day to see how I was doing. If it didn’t seem that my breathing was getting better, she’d instruct me to go to my doctor or the ER.
Essentially she trained me on how to recognize different things and to head off major asthma attacks and to control my asthma better than I had been, which was good for my health and saved the insurance company money as I used to be in the ER multiple times a week. She also advised certain Rx’s and that there shouldn’t be a generic substitute, as the generic would get sticky and clog the inhaler, which also meant it was sticky in the lungs.
My asthma has been under great control and the only time I really need to ever use my nebulizer anymore is during Spring and Fall, when my immune system goes to war against the enemy: pollen.
I noticed that shortly after doing my nebulizer treatments I get extremely painful cramps in my feet, legs, hands, and/or arms. I used to have these cramps all the time years ago, and never knew what they were from. But now that I hardly get to the point of needing the nebulizer much, it’s very apparent it’s what’s causing the cramps.
I use Abuterol Sulfate Inhalation Solution 2.5 mg*/3 mL. Does anyone else use this and do you get cramps?
If you don’t use that, what are you using and do you get any adverse effects from it?

I’ve tried Flonase and Citridrops nasal spray for allergies. I reacted to both of them the same, wheezing and trouble breathing, coughing. My allergist keeps pushing me to take nasal sprays for my allergies. I noticed both of them have a quat (benzalkonium chloride) in them and I’m wondering if this is causing the issue? Does anyone else have the same issue?

Having issues with my first rib after a sports injury. fractured at the sternum, probably causing instability and my tos like symptoms. Anyone have this rare injury as well? Any insight? Ultrasound showed mild compression, emg normal, arm gets numb when overhead.
IMPRESSION: 1. Slight widening of the left sternoclavicular joint with high fluid extending into surrounding soft tissue swelling would be consistent with capsular and ligamentous sprain and possible tearing. Although most likely this is posttraumatic other infectious or inflammatory processes should be considered in the correct clinical setting and correlation would be recommended. 2. High signal extending through the costochondral margin of the first rib which may represent a fracture. 3. No disruption of the great vessels is identified, however, recommend CT scan with contrast if clinically indicated to evaluate the great vessels and mediastinum, as well as evaluating the sternoclavicular joint and sternochondral margin of first rib for a small fracture or avulsion fragment

Willow Whisperer moved silently through the brush towards his target. The latest in the strikes, the elves were launching against the pitiful human race.
They had declared war on the barely sentient animals all but three centuries ago—a traditional amount of time to grant both sides a chance to prepare. But so far, they had been woefully unimpressed.
The closest to a weapon Willow Whisperer could find when searching the remains of the humans they had silently killed was a small dagger affixed to their waists.
“This isn’t a war, brother,” Oak Heart said as he approached Willow. “It is basic extermination of pests.”
Willow nodded. His father had told stories of brave humans in full plate armour, covered head to toe in steel. “Hard as dragon scales,” Willow muttered under his breath. The armour the humans wore, if it could be called that was close to what he knew to be called gambison. Only it was able to stop a few arrows. However, aiming for exposed spots resolved that issue quickly enough.
A small movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. With the speed of the wind, he spun around and launched an arrow into the armpit of the human who was trying to sneak away.
“Yet another disappointment,” Willow bemoaned as he approached the groaning man.
“You’ll pay for this,” the man sputtered his teeth, already stained red with blood.
“I doubt we will, human. You were given three centuries to prepare, and this is what we get?” Willow said, gesturing around him.
“Ackh-Heh,” the human half sputtered. “You think this is everything we have?” the human asked between pained chuckles.
“You only have those knives,” Willow said, pointing to the knife on the man's belt.
“The bayo-ack-net?” The human let a large grin spread across his face. “You really didn’t watch us at all, did you?”
“Why watch animals roll in their own filth?”
“You know three hundred years is a long time for us, right?”
“I seem to recall your lifespan is barely a few decades, yes,” Willow replied, wondering where this was going.
“Well, the decade after your declaration, a clever alchemist was playing with some stuff,” the human paused to wheeze a weak breath. “Saltpeter, sulphur, a bunch of other stuff. He mixed it in an iron cauldron to see what would happen.”
“And he made some kind of wonder drug?” Willow asked, curious where this train of thought was going.
“No, the pot lid shot off with a loud boom when he began cooking the mixture. Right then, the most terrible force yet was unleashed.”
“Something that goes bang?”
“Yes-ack- something that goes bang. Clever people with big brains worked out what if we repeated this on purpose. What if we made something that sends something flying with a bang?”
“So you made a projectile? Surely, it was useless. Nothing compared to our bows and millennia of training,” Willow boasted.
“Maybe, but we don’t live long, you see.”
“Yes, you established this. Get to the point, vermin!” Willow snarled as he twisted the arrow, causing the man’s face to contort in agony.
“Raghhh!!! Damn you, you knife-eared prick! We spent centuries improving this toy. Using it on each other in our many wars against one another.”
“You had centuries to prepare and you wasted it on one another?”
“Heh, you see, knife-ear, we are not as long-lived as you bastards. We aren’t as industrious as the dwarves, either. What we are, though, is very busy.”
“Busy?” Willow parroted.
“Yes, we know we don’t have long, so we try to cram as much into each life as possible. Sometimes, that involves creating a gun to kill another human.”
“And this gun will be your salvation?”
“Should be, you know, when you aren't targeting unarmed civilian camps.” the human replied, taking out a hand-sized tube of some kind.
“Is this the gun?” Willow asked, unimpressed.
“No, I left my guns back at base. I was just meant to be delivering food to the refugees. Big oversight on our part,” the human meekly smiled. “This here is a smoke grenade,” he explained, pulling the pin and throwing the device away. Soon, a pop went out, and red smoke began to billow upwards.
“Signalling for help then?” Willow asked cocking his head.
“Yes, calling all one hundred and twenty of my friends to come down on everyone here. You see that red means no survivors.”
“It doesn’t matter how many humans come here. Not one hundred and twenty, not even a thousand, can match our unit!”
“You seem to misunderstand me, knife-ear. The one-twenty isn’t the number of men. It’s the size of the gun. You see, soon after someone made a gun, they asked what if we made it bigger.” Several thunderous booms echoed off in the distance as if to punctuate his point.
“They know the range and settings to hit any and all settlements, just in case.” the human grinned before hacking up a glob of blood.
“Well then, I will shoot down the projectile with my bow,” Willow barked, raising his bow and arrow and scanning the horizon. “Worst case, we can run.”
“How fast?” the human asked.
“Fast as the wind!”
“Tell me… is the wind faster than sound?”
“What?!” Willow barked, looking at the human. “What could possibly move faster than sound?”
“Shrapnel from the very big rounds our big guns just shot. Less than a few seconds before, this place is nothing but a-”
—-----------------------------
“All good hits, sir,” one of the observers announced.
“How many pointy pricks did we get?”
“A good few dozen, sir. They were just all standing around like they were celebrating?”
“I see… well, to be fair, they did need three hundred years to get their heads so far up their arses they can see out their mouths. Send word along the line; we might have more breaches. No more assuming we know where they are.”

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Season 10 “Days of Fury” - Episode 1 “Reaction”

Slowly, consciousness begins to drunkenly crawl its way into his mind. The first thing he notices is the softness of the sheets, then it is the pillow that is just soft enough he can feel his own arm through it, and then the gentle warmth of a sunbeam hitting his body.
It was a comfortable, comforting, sunbeam. But at this point he had learned not to tarry, his body might have learned when to wake up but if he were to answer the call of comfort he was going to be late and he would rather not be. And so Santos steps out of his bed with a yawn and grabs his holopad, tapping the alarm off before it screams at him.
Though the process of doing so draws his attention to something in the device: A multitude of unread messages from the same news site. He had grown to find Prime News a reasonably reliable source of information, particularly on their coverage of the war.
He had not opened a single message ever since he subscribed to the war news.
Setting it down he continues with his morning routine, he knows he has time. First washing up, making sure he was both clean and presentable, then getting dressed. It isn’t until he was halfway through the door that he stops and turns around to look at his apartment. Gently running his tongue through his teeth he considers for a moment.
Huhn… It’s been getting easier
Before turning around and continuing to head out. He stops in front of Keya’s door for just one second, remembering she had left before him, then makes his way down to the streets and towards the precinct. It takes just a minute for a strange sensation to settle on him… There was something wrong and he could not tell what just yet. At this point he had learned to trust his instincts in some manner, and he knew that his pattern-matching sense was warning him of something, but what?
He was halfway to work when it all clicks in place; Blackriver is silent, silent of people. Traffic was usually non-existent but the little hints of people activity were gone. Though a quick scan had shown him some part of the reason as to why, he could see people through the windows, but none outside.
His internal alarms sounded when he crossed the threshold of the precinct. The front was empty, and the only noise happening was that of a distant television. He follows it to the inevitable direction of the breakroom wherein he finds the entire office sitting, either with their focus on the television or their own pads. Even Kessa’s brother was here, and he kept an opposite shift to Marik as the only two armorers. “Clearly something very serious is going on, what happened?”
Everyone turns their ears at him, the ones that were looking down raising the centerline of their view, except for Lunek. The first response comes from the obvious, their boss, and from the contents of her sigh she’s got her full faculties today “You haven’t seen the news?”
The human shrugs “Sorry. I’ve been… Avoiding knowing about the state of the war… For my own sake.” He looks at the television, whatever had happened he had just missed it as he can barely see the governor’s tail vanish from sight and the transmission end “Tell me it’s not something like another fleet”
“Past tense” Marik answers, returning to his holopad
Keya rubs the bridge of her snout “And not for you… Apparently this mess is… Deeper than we ever thought” she presses a few buttons on her own holopad and offers it to Santos.
He takes it, looking at the video. It appears to be an official address, the one he had just missed. The specific words are not important, but the content is still terrifying. It speaks of an assault on a hidden facility, one meant to keep forbidden history. It speaks of a people who fought tooth and nail against their conquerors, and were broken in culture and body. The address is short, far too short for this much weight “I…”
Fuck… This could have been us… It wouldn’t have ended just with bombs… It didn’t for them.
Soon as the video was over, there was a simple link. Following it, there was a page- It was a simple directory of information, linking to articles and videos. Hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds… Recordings of the past, both in video, audio and text. He picks a category and looks at the file names until something familiar appears. “Ilfran’s Landing Revolt” he mutters the name as he calls up the video.
Ilfran’s Landing was a familiar name. The oldest spaceport in the region and named after the captain of the first ship to land there, originally a cargo port as far as he knew; it was a historical multi-centennial building dating all the way to venlil first contact… In the background of the video the triple launch gantries for cargo freighters were recognizable. He had seen them before for a reason: Their Regional lies in Ilfran’s Landing, and he had to go there once for paperwork when he was first assigned here.
It is strangely familiar to see the start of the video, it seems like an overhead camera looking at a riot that could have been full of humans, if not for the blending mass of grays that the venlil become when in a large group. Except this is not a normal riot, riots and protests would have signs or some other means of conveying a message, here they had only weapons. And the side opposite to them were the silver suits, strangely similar silver suits- A monospecies unit, though he can’t ascertain what one.
The video was bloody carnage, though the exterminators fought with bullet, plasma and flame the venlil had little more than sharpened iron and claw. Some scenes would remain with him, the first that’d stick with him was a closeup of a venlil, their legs lacked the inwards bow, their snout was slightly more square not to mention the nostrils- But what stuck the most was his motions. He growled and huffed and lowered himself to threaten like an angry goat.
The second scene was of an attack. It was the familiarity that struck with him, a venlil took a single step and lept through the flames, landing on the chest of an exterminator, bringing their short claws to bear. Almost every single step of the Black Claw, with one difference. This was striking to kill, even in the cacophony of battle it was sickening to see them violently snap their victim’s neck to the side before jumping off the falling body.
The last scene to stick to him was a shorter venlil running towards the exterminators, striking one at about the waist with their head and continuing, dragging them with their motion backwards until they crash through a door. A quite familiar door, this was the Regional, the same building serving the same purpose centuries ago.
Handing back the holopad to his boss, Santos was about to say something when a loud noise calls his attention, in fact the attention of everyone. A holopad had clattered to the ground, Lunek was breathing heavily as if he could not get enough air in his lungs, his arm still stretched out from having tossed the tool. Santos walks over calmly to the holopad, the crack across the surface distorting the hologram projected in the surface but not enough that he can’t see what is in it. It’s an index page for ‘Newborn Issues’.
He picks it up, and slowly walks over to the man who had thrown it. Lunek simply falls back on the couch, crying “Code blue…” he mutters when Santos sits beside him.
“Code blue?” the human furrows his brows, trying to remember some procedure he most certainly did not pay attention to.
“S-sister was a code blue… Tiss was too…” Lunek mutters “Seven… Seven minutes… Eighteen seconds…” his tail is lashing behind him with energy “That… That I didn’t know if she’d start breathing on her own…” his breathing becomes faster, stronger.
“I…” he suddenly turns around, grabbing Santos by the arms “I could have saved her!” he grasps his arms with strength “If I could have taken TWO. FUCKING. STEPS!” he shouts as he shakes “If those stupid broken legs could move, I would have saved her!” he cries out “If- If they hadn’t made us COWARDS I- I-”
Lunek’s voice starts at a low wheeze, building up in intensity into a powerful hiss “I hate them- I hate them… I hate them, I hate them! All of them, we have to-”
“Stop!” Santos finally interferes “Lunek, here” he puts a hand on the man’s shoulder “Will you listen to me? Listen to the end?” he stares directly at the enraged venlil “It will hurt, but will you listen?”
The father reciprocates the stare for a few moments. His breathing slows down gradually, and he finally flicks a positive with his right ear.
“Whatever ‘they’ tried to do to you, they failed.” Santos brings his hand closer to himself, sticking out his index finger “Because do you know the most important part of you? The one that I have seen being exactly what ‘they’ had feared so badly?” he gently taps his finger on Lunek’s head “It’s here, the spirit that is housed here”
“Do you know why I know they failed? Because, first of all, you are a wonderful father. You’d do anything for your family, you would sell your soul if you had to, and you did. You’d do anything, and more, to protect them”
“Do you know why they failed? They’ve been telling you for a hundred years that you’re cowardly and weak, and I saw you take your body to and past your limit all for the sake of saving one life. I saw you move like a storm when the time came to save someone from despair.”
“And I saw you have so much kindness in your heart, as to be able to forgive a wounded beast that nearly killed you”
“You are not weak. We’re all people in here. What the body can’t do, we find a way around as long as we have the will for it, and you’ve proven to have it” Santos takes a deep breath “But this is the part that will hurt you. Because I haven’t been where you are, but I’ve been in that neighborhood. I have to warn you away from one danger, before you step into it.”
He sits down beside the distraught officer “Answer me…” it almost seems like he’s feeling pain as Santos inhales “Would your sister hate you, for what your father did?”
Lunek’s paws twitch- And stop. For a moment he seems to stop breathing, stalled in time as if he had ceased to exist. But Santos continues undaunted “I did not know her, but if she was anything like you… I think she wouldn’t”
The human gently puts his hands on the only piece of uniform Lunek is wearing, the empty holster harness “And yet, here you are” he puts a hand on the badge pinned to it “Wearing the same badge he did”
Lunek seems to return to the flow of time, breathing faster, and looks down “But you are not him. You are a real protector, I have seen your actions since you have come here, and right or wrong your choices have always been guided by what would help people.”
“You are not guilty of your father’s sins” Santos lets go “And that holds true for everyone, you hear?”
Lunek raises his head back again, eyes distant… He takes a few more deep breaths “I… I think I get it…”
Santos raises his right arm up, index and pinky finger raised as he makes a motion with the index, mimicking the positive ear sign “And look. As a species, you’ve been like this for centuries. As a man, you’ve been like this your entire life. One more day will change nothing.” he puts as much emphasis as his tone can put “Just take time to think, alright?”
The father takes a few more calming breaths “Y-yeah… Yeah, you’re right… Yeah…” he repeats himself a few more times “D-don’t do anything rashly- Think- Think it over…”
“Okay” Keya’s voice calls everyone’s attention “But I think that right now, this isn’t the company you should be in” she takes a step back to clear way “There’s others that need you right now, Lunek. Go on, you shouldn’t be here”
He stands up, flicks ‘yes’ just once and begins running right out of the door, his destination obvious. A collective sigh echoes in the room “You do have a gift, it seems” Nila is the first one to speak “I could tell he was struggling”
Santos shakes his head “No, he did the whole job himself. Just needed to get unstuck.” the human rests his head back on the couch “He’s a good guy, deep down and on the surface, he just needs to be reminded of that”
“And how are you doing, Kessa?” Santos turns to face the source of the voice. Kessa’s brother was a bit of an elusive sight in the precinct, being the only other one with armory credentials Vess’ focus on the bureaucratic end of things had earned him permission to work from home when it wasn’t his shift in the armory.
Kessa sighs, looking back at the holopad in her paws “I could ask the same for you” she flicks her ear at Vess.
“Honestly? Angry, confused, overwhelmed… Too much at once” he sighs “But whatever I am feeling like, you look worse, so right now? I only care about how you are feeling, I can feel something later”
Kessa gently brings up her tail to wrap around her brother’s “You were also the better of us…” she sighs “I… I don’t know what possessed me… Looking at the videos, the articles- About schools”
Unlike her coworker, she doesn’t violently discards her holopad, but nonetheless just lets it limp off her paws “I don’t know… I was… Curious. Curious to know if- Ugh” she sighs, bending over to pick up the holopad “‘Associating undesirable behavior with antisocial tendencies, allowing their natural inclination for group cohesion to self-police’... That’s how they described it” she looks at the object’s screen, before setting it on her lap “You know I had… I had hoped that maybe we were just like that in some way, you know?”
Kessa shakes her head left and right with force “But no!” she looks up “Just another tool of control. Make us police ourselves from a young age! Murderous hypocrites. Making us behave like the ‘predators’ they so feared!”
With a swallow she continues “But I’m not putting fault on them like this, no. No… I could have made different choices, been better-” then she slaps her tail on the back of the couch, Vess reaching over to hold her “Tsk…”
“I just wonder…” Nila says, looking up, ears trained on her partner “Why did they do things this way?”
“This way?” Santos prods on
“There are… There’s so many ways to navigate people. There’s so many ways to-” she sighs “If they thought we were too violent then… Why do something so… Extreme?” she brings her tail up in front of her, holding the tip with both paws, staring at it “These kinds of processes don’t really work, they don’t change how people think… There’s no way they couldn’t have known it wouldn’t work out in the end, all that you wind up is… Traumatized people”
“You’re too kind, Nila” the human in the room offers “But you’re coming at this through the wrong angle” he offers a hand motion “They didn’t want to change how you thought. They just wanted to control how you behaved. Obedient and traumatized was good enough.”
“He’s right” Keya interposes “All ythe wanted was obedience, anything else… They didn’t care if it caused problems… And did it cause so many problems” their boss rests against the wall “Now that I think about it… If the way they handled ‘predator disease’ was so… Based on keeping people in line by force…”
“This is all so… Frustrating” Nila hisses “All of this and for what? Just because they were too impatient?!” she takes a deep breath “Or maybe because they’re just plain wrong” she shakes her head “It… Wasn’t just us that they were like this, was it? They were like this in some way with everyone… Void, they’re still like this now, with the facilities, the screenings… It’s all the same thing they’ve done to us then, repeated forever” then, Nila closes her eyes for a second “Boss I-”
“You’re going to have it” Keya interrupts, suddenly “A chance to help fix this mess. But you’re just one woman, even if you’re a miracle-worker. I managed to finagle a position in the next available course but it’s still a herd of paws away.”
“Thank you, boss” Nila flicks her right ear forward, crossing her arms “Is it weird that… I’m more worried about this than… Than what they actually did to us?”
“We all have different priorities, Nila” the next one to speak up is the venlil with the burned arm “Brahk, at least you have good priorities… I’m… I’m so angry and it’s at absolutely nothing, myself” Aren says, sounding irritated
“Even the smallest and strangest thing matters, Aren” she gives back “... Hah, I should listen to my own advice. But, yeah, what’s important is different for everyone, right? So what is it?”
Aren, who is resting himself against a table, looks down at his arms. “Ever since I met Lucas I’d been… Jealous” he turns aside, pulling a piece of paper from the nearby trashcan “He could do something I never could, something I never will, something I am very jealous of…” then, he pulls out a silver square object from a pocket. It’s a lighter, emblazoned with the symbol of the exterminators, a kind of memorabilia that they all have, a symbol not just of the strength of the flame but also its excess.
He flicks open the lighter, and brings the piece of paper over it. With a single motion, for a moment, a greenish jet of plasma appears igniting the paper. “Where there is fire…” he points the paper at Santos “There is smoke. The first sign of flame” he flicks the paper to extinguish it, and taps the top of his snout with the ashen edge “Is here”
“I, of course, always felt a little bit of jealousy of people who could just… Smell it. The smoke. That last bit of the flame that I am missing.” he closes the lighter with a powerful snap “I’d ask Lucas to describe to me the smell of various things burning… It… It was… Nice to have someone that understood it. And I was… Resigned, to the fact nature had made me this way, you know? Bad luck and all”
Slowly, he puts the lighter back on the pocket “And now this. I figure out that… No, that wasn’t nature giving me a bad draw” he brings his paws up to rub his eyes “‘Removed their sense of smell to increase their fear’, no speh. The first sign of fire is the smell of burning…” then, he flaps his ears like batting away some thought “Really? Just because I won’t ever really know if aramek and pine really do smell the same when burned? Is that why I’m feeling this angry? Not even because of what was done just… Just because I was reminded that I can’t…” and finally he sighs “I should be angrier at other parts of this”
Nila emits a light whistle of mirth “No, that’s fine. If anything, I know how important it is to you, Aren.” she offers him a ‘go ahead’ motion with her tail “I say this is just the thing to feel hard about, because it’s about what is important to you. As a person.”
The one who hadn’t been talking up to now finally pipes up “If you want to talk about having weird feelings… What’s it say that I am feeling a little relieved?” Marik says without looking away from his holopad
“Relieved?” Keya answers, ears splayed out horizontally in worry
The dark-furred venlil flicks in affirmative “Always knew there was… Something going on. Turns out that…” he chuckles “We’ve just always been like this”
Marik raises his holopad “I’ve gone and read some of the oldest data. Did you know there was an organization called ‘Rangers’? Their entire task was handling dangerous wildlife, they kept them away from cities and the roads safe” though nobody could really see what sort of video was playing in it, it had to be relevant “Makes sense, doesn’t it? That they’d try to fold them into the exterminators?”
“These records here? Show they tried, and oh… The Rangers made them regret that choice” he sets down his holopad “Because they were protectors of the herd, real hunters… And the exterminators… They were never about that, were they? Their real prey was always inwards.” he sighs “So… So it gives me some relief because… We’ve always been like this. There’s nothing out of the normal here, this is just… What we are”
Marik turns to Santos, looking at him head on “You were right. We are, and have always been, the greatest hunters of this world. And in some way, we hadn’t forgotten that, did we?”
“You sure didn’t” the human chuckles “I guess I can understand, if the translation is working right, why the exterminators might think rangers fit in with them only to regret it. A ranger’s job is as a caretaker of nature, no matter how dangerous it is”
Marik closes his eyes for a moment, slowly a hissing sound builds up- But then it starts to break into tiny whistles, increasing in intensity until he’s reached full blown laughter “Ah, of course! That’s right, isn’t it?” he puts a paw in his face “Father has always been right…” after a few moments he stops suddenly, then sighs “I… I need to make a call.” he simply walks out of the room.
Santos looks as the angry venlil walks out, then turns back to his boss. He stares at her for a moment “Everyone seems to be… Handling it decently, if not well.” he sighs “I know what it’s like to live through the end of the world, but finding i’ve been living this much of an illusion… I don’t know if I can even imagine what you’re going through”
Keya makes a dismissive motion with her tail “I can’t either… Honestly, this is… Just too much to care”
At that, he furrows his eyebrows, focusing his stare directly on her. But he says nothing.
“Look at the scale of this… Look at how long ago all this happened…” with a dismissive wave of her tail she continues “I think I know more than anyone here what it’s like to be stuck with the past. I got enough in mine that I don’t have space for this. We have a lot ahead of us to worry about, that’s what is important”
“What matters is the future, then?”
“Yeah… Me, I can’t bring myself to care. We still have a job to do, a job that needs done…” she then turns her gaze upwards “Of course… I might be doing that again but… I hope I’m not. Just like with the first reveal, things will get hectic. We can’t afford to be stuck in the past when the future is this uncertain.”
Then, she lets out a tiny whistle “Though, knowing all of this sure would have made solving the Black Claw a lot easier.”
Santos can’t help but follow along “Sure would. A lack of fight instinct was always too suspicious” he laughs a little bit, until he stops suddenly, staring off in the distance. The sudden shift in demeanor causes Keya to tilt an ear in his direction “Though… It does bring one thing to mind”
“What?”
“Entire species ousted as perpetrators, this entire organization historically used as colonial enforcers, an entire people who’ve been taught their entire lives that they’re meek harmless things only to learn that the fury they’ve always suppressed is normal.” Santos stands up, and stretches.
“People are going to be angry…” Keya continues
“And they’re going to make their anger known…” Santos looks at her “I think we’re about to learn what a stampede looks like, when it’s not fear driving it. But fury.”
[[FIRST][[NEXT>]]()
And here we are with one more season! "Day of Fury". Starting a little slower- As the crew receives the dreaded news from the Archives. They all have their thoughts on it, what parts of it matters to them, personally, as a people.
Though two are left with less worries about the past... And more about the future.
Not going to say i'm going to be as regular as i've been, those last few weeks have been... Something... But nothing that matters.

Jason Alexander Coyle was dead… Again. Gods’ above this was such an inconvenience. And he hadn’t even managed to go out in some cool display of power and glory. Nooooo, he had died to a MOTHER… F***ING… DEMI-HUMAN. A GODS’ DAMNED GOBLIN of all things. The sheer audacity of it caused him to wallow in shame and seethe in rage. He closed his eyes and once more replayed the events leading up to his downfall. The disgusting little thing hadn’t even had the decency to best him in combat. No, that vile puss skinned whelp had played dead, then stabbed Jason in the back once the battle was over.

Grarothian Powder. Clever little shit. Cover yourself in that stuff and all Jason’s magically enhanced senses meant nothing. He should have known better. I mean, if no one could sense your vitals, what difference was there really between you and just another corpse littering the battlefield? How hadn’t he thought of something so simple? How had he been outsmarted by a goblin?!

The powder was a common enough anti magical tool in that world. A light layer was often applied to armor and weapons as a means to disperse the effects of magic. Strong enough to save you from an otherwise lethal direct hit of a lesser spell, it was more often more useful as a protection from splash effects of a fireball or other large area of effect spells. A nasty sunburn or a few bruised ribs tends to be more acceptable than third-degree burns or being impaled when your mate got turned into a dystopian bit of shrubbery or an ice sculpture. The problem is that once it does its job, the stuff crumbles away. So, most soldiers had taken to carrying around pouches of the stuff, reapplying it before making any mad dashes towards enemy spell casters.

It had been a work of absolute genius, or more likely dumb luck, that the creature had been coated in the stuff. Jason was hard pressed to believe that a sub sapient mongrel was smart enough to come up with such an elaborate plan. He further suspected luck, given that even wild animals knew to avoid heavy direct contact with the stuff, much less to risk ingesting it. Doing so caused a fast-acting cancer to take hold. He’d once had the unfortunate experience of seeing a street mutt be pelted with a full pouch of the stuff. Covered the dog in a heavy bit of powder, but also coated the food the pup had been feasting on. Poor bastard had been found dead the next morning. Apparently, it had developed multiple melon sized tumors in the twelve or so hours between when Jason had last seen it, and its body being found.

Then there was the matter of how the goblin had somehow managed to get its grubby little mitts on a Dathon Disrupter blade. Jason had little doubt the weapon was looted from one of the fallen kingdom soldiers. The maggot’s simplistic animal-like brain must have been captivated by how sparkly the blade was. If he understood goblins even half as well as he thought, the stupid little thing was probably straining its brain to understand that the thing it had picked up was both shiny, AND sharp. “Shiny made it valuable, and anything sharp was good for stabbing.” That was the extent of how deep the goblin's thinking went, Jason was sure.

Sure, if he had noticed the creature, the blade would have been useless against his omnidirectional invincibility. He’d seen much finer weapons shatter when they came into contact with his protective abilities. BUT, despite what people might think, all those superhuman protections had a stifling cost. And what kind of insane fool bothered to keep invincibility turned on when everyone who was anyone of importance in the area was deader than a doornail.

He could still remember the metallic iron taste in the back of his throat as his lungs had filled with blood. He’d of course tried to heal himself, but the disruptor had done its job. Jason’s ability to cast magic had been rendered entirely useless, the arcane energies coming apart as he tried to weave them into even the simplest of spells. The only small justice he could find in the situation was that the assailant had botched their landing. He could only assume the beast had thought the surprise would paralyze him, while he drowned in his own fluids. If that had been the first or even fifth time he’d died, the little monster would have been correct. The realization that you are dying, and there’s nothing you can do about it, was a hell of a thing to cope with. Lucky for Jason, you kind of got ‘better’ at handling the whole impending demise thing, after you’d faced death a dozen times.

The time bought from NOT having your life flash before your eyes, had given him just enough of an opportunity to land a heavy haymaker against the goblin. It wasn’t the cleanest of blows, but it still brought a smile to his face remembering the feeling of the creature’s bones breaking under his empowered fist. He wasn’t sure if it had been enough to kill the thing, but he did know that if it didn’t kill the goblin, it had at least permanently crippled the right side of the beast. Watching the goblin crumple, then begin to twitch, had been the best sight he could imagine as his world faded to blackness.

When he next opened his eyes, he was sitting in his usual seat within the Agency. The room was sparsely decorated, he’d never really seen the point in investing in decorations for a place that held such... complex, emotional significance. Much less a place that he did his best to spend as little time in as possible. Jason was a bit annoyed that his handler wasn’t present to greet him, but then she was never good at doing her job. Sighing, he leaned back in the chair and waited, he knew that she had been paged when he arrived, and he also knew the door wouldn’t open until he had submitted his mission summary.

Ruby had of course lost her metaphorical shit when Jason arrived back at the Agency. The bloody lush had laughed herself into a mini coma when she learned that a lowly goblin, using a glorified butter knife, had been the thing to bring Jason down. Gods, he hated her, no matter when he ran into her, she always reeked like she’d just gotten done bathing in a pool of liquor. He was still not really sure WHERE or HOW she got her hands on Earth booze. Plucking a soul from Earth was troublesome enough, but trying to get physical objects from the place? That was far beyond even Ruby’s power. He did know for a fact that it was Earth liquor, and not some kind of divine proximity, since he’d yet to find a single bar in the entirety of the Agency. Hell, he’d yet to find another being that even understood what alcohol was.

After recovering enough that she could breathe without wheezing, Ruby had gone ahead and made sure that the contract hadn’t been refunded due to Jason’s untimely demise. As luck would have it, it did appear that he had fulfilled just enough of the order so that the client could still be charged for services rendered. Which meant that Jason got his commission, a fair bit smaller than he would have liked after all the fees, but that was the cost one paid to subvert the usual limitations of a mortal body. Not that it mattered, that last job had finally put him over the top. After dozens upon dozens of quests, Jason had finally managed to scrape together enough to buy what he’d been lusting after since he first woke up in this shithole.

A mad smile curled on his lips, as he opened up the shop screen. Navigating through dozens of pages of bog-standard contracts, an asinine level of ads for luxury services, and more high-class cuisine than he could eat in a thousand thousand lifetimes, he finally found the loose thread he had been looking for. Dragging his finger along the lower left-hand side of the screen, he made a series of increasingly complex designs. With a click the screen faded away to a new darker overlay. Moving quickly, he bought the token he was looking for and slipped out of the system.

He’d stumbled across the dark site ages ago, while killing time between missions. The prices were exorbitant if not outright extortive in nature. But it did give one access to certain... choices that would not have otherwise been accessible via the normal shop. It was why Jason had bought the system admin privileges, he needed to access the real good shit. Sure, the base shop allowed agents to pick their own assignments, but the good missions, well those could only be accessed by the admin staff AKA handlers.

The biggest issue was that management did not take too kindly to their staff’s access codes being used by unauthorized individuals. This meant that Jason only had a limited amount of time to peruse the catalog before the system would kick him out and block that access code from being used again. He’d had to burn through three different sets of privileges before he found what he was looking for. A modifiable mission token for an honest to goodness Isekai.

The fact that Isekai were even a real thing, had thrown Jason for a bit of a loop. Well, perhaps more the fact that he had died in a tragic way that even the gods couldn’t seem to explain, and all he’d gotten for his trouble was a small “sign on bonus''. Not that he was complaining too much, the limited New Game+ skill had proven useful in more than one mission. But apparently, some people got a date with Truck-kun and suddenly they are given an entire freaking wish fulfillment fantasy. He would have pissed and moaned to upper management but thought better of it when he remembered that he only knew what he knew by using exploits within the system. There had been rumors about what happened to those who had their access codes stolen, it was not pleasant, and he didn’t want to imagine what would happen if people found out who had been using those stolen codes.

As Ruby droned on and on about whatever it was that drunk was talking about. Jason began calibrating the token to his specifications. The basic token itself had drained an exceedingly large amount of his credits, Isekai missions were... difficult to get a hold of, even for handlers, but it was the add-ons that were really going to strain his budget. He tapped through the various options. It wouldn’t be a proper Isekai without the deluxe harem package.

[click]

After the cluster fuck that was his last mission, he decided to take things on easy mode for his wish fulfillment. It was insanely costly, but the entire Divine Protection suite made him resistant if not straight up immune to every offensive ability that could reasonably be thrown at him.

[click]

Can’t live out your hero fantasy dreams without having to crush a Demon Lord.

[click]

He had deeply enjoyed the incarnations where he had had access to magic. But he couldn’t for the life of him seem to decide what to specialize in. Hemming and hawing for a bit, he finally decided to just splurge and get a little bit of everything. It would give him maximum versatility without over committing one way or another.

[click]

It stands to reason that a proper Demon Lord should be able to bypass divine protections, and might be resistant to magic, so it is probably best to fortify one’s body and boost the crap out of one’s stats.

[click] [click]

Not really looking forward to having to do the whole baby with the mind of an adult trope. He decides to just spawn in with his body already at its apex. He never really understood why the grown ass adults in the shows and manga always seemed to end up as some kid. Like yeah, wish fulfillment for young readers/watchers, but a guy in his twenties is going to wipe the floor with some punk ass sixteen-year-old. Whatever, it didn’t really matter; to each their own he guessed.

[click]

Jason looked at his credit balance; it was painfully low, but he shrugged it off. All he needed to do was complete the mission to get it back to a respectable level. He looked at the payout for completing the mission. It wasn’t impressive, Isekai almost never paid more than a pittance, but it should be enough to tide him over once he’d had his fun and squeezed every drop of wish fulfillment out of whatever backwater world, he ended up in.

Jason’s attention was pulled from the status screen by the sound of a large *CLUNK*. Looking over he saw that Ruby had apparently finally grown bored with her one-sided conversation. To combat this boredom, she had pulled out an entire mothering fucking hogshead of whiskey. From her pocket dimension, she pulls out two crystal glasses and fills both glasses with a hefty amount of liquor. She sets one down in front of herself and puts the other one in front of Jason.

“Drink”

“Thanks, but no thanks, I’m not inclined to degr....”

“I said, DRINK!” Ruby says again, her eyes filled with rage. Her words reinforced with magical power, compel Jason to take a large gulp of the auburn liquid. He’s amazed at the rich flavor of the whiskey. The rich honey notes give the drink a sublime sweetness, without overshadowing the subtle dried red fruit. The decades of barrel aging have left the drink smoother than silk. The vague hints of oak and cinnamon leave him wanting more. Time seems to melt away as he is compelled to have ‘just another sip’... ‘Maybe just a finger’s worth more’... ‘What’s one more drink for the road?’. The world around him seeps away, as he is lost in the complex rich flavors of Ruby’s private stash.

When he next wakes, he’s once more found himself in the Void.

last time I was diagnosed with an asthma flare . cause I just finished prednisone it was basically covering up any wheezing and stuff . but they agreed my symptoms could be returning cause I have a viral upper respiratory infection . my chest is hurting I get breathing issues and I have a fever . and I feel horrible . I feel worse than last time . What the heck is this bs , yes I finished prednisone but I, basically having silent asthma episodes

Feeling under the weather with a cold and less noticeable CI symptoms, very confused about it?
So I have a classic cold, I am on day 3 or 4. Normally I have pain every day to some degree from Fibromyalgia and cold chills from Hashimoto, nearly fainting from suspected Postural hypertension, stuff like prediabetes, Insulin Resistance, gout and some other stupid minor stuff.
Having a cold almost feels like a reprieve and it’s confusing the hell out of me?? Like obviously I feel not great and struggle to even walk to get stuff without doubling over and wheezing with coughing but this all just feels Not That Bad and like a nice change?
Obviously I feel under the weather in a „I got a cold“ way, but other problems I normally have year round like constant back pain, joint pain, brain fog and intense muscle pain have minimised greatly. Ngl it‘s kinda nice even as I’m coughing my lungs out.
I don’t take any medication or pain killers btw. I upped my vitamin C supplements to the safe maximum, that’s all.
Is my immune system simply occupied instead of causing havoc elsewhere?
Anyone else? Theories? Am I going insane?

So I have a classic cold, I am on day 3 or 4. Normally I have pain every day to some degree from Fibromyalgia and cold chills from Hashimoto, nearly fainting from suspected Postural hypertension, stuff like prediabetes, Insulin Resistance, gout and some other stupid minor stuff.
Having a cold almost feels like a reprieve and it’s confusing the hell out of me?? Like obviously I feel not great and struggle to even walk to get stuff without doubling over and wheezing with coughing but this all just feels Not That Bad and like a nice change?
Obviously I feel under the weather in a „I got a cold“ way, but other problems I normally have year round like constant back pain, joint pain, brain fog and intense muscle pain have minimised greatly. Ngl it‘s kinda nice even as I’m coughing my lungs out.
I don’t take any additional medication gor the cold or any pain killers btw. do that’s not it. I just increased my vitamin C and Zinc supplements to the safe maximum (for me an everybody around me) that’s all.
Is my immune system simply occupied instead of causing havoc elsewhere?
Anyone else? Theories? Am I going insane?

Ive noticed like almost every night that i feel like i have such a big build up of mucus at the bottom of my throat, and it causes wheezing and shortness of breath. I dont have asthma, never diagnosed with it, but ever since i started having GERD symptoms (not officially diagnosed but doctors think i have it i have a gi appointment on monday) 6 years ago, i sometimes feel asthma symptoms. it especially feels worse at night or when i lay down. Can GERD cause this? or am I going insane. What else can GERD cause?😭

Male 25 5 feet 8 inches 360 pounds White I don't do drugs, drink or smoke
So for context I have health anxiety and tend to scare myself a lot. I was on the phone and when I breathed in randomly through my mouth, I heard a wheezing in my throat and chest. I freaked out and started panicking and after I hung up o kept breathing in through my mouth to see if the wheezing showed up again. It didn't for about 3 minutes then did it again. After I cleared my throat I wasn't wheezing anymore. I don't have blue lips or skin. I feel like I can breathe normally. I don't feel out of breath. I only feel faint sometimes because I keep taking in deep breaths to test myself and see if I can hear the wheezing which obviously is causing me to feel faint. I was coughing yesterday but that was purely a joke because I was joking with a friend about calling off from work by leaving a message where they were coughing. Well my joke irritated my throat and I legit was coughing last night so I'm not sure if that irritated my throat.
I'm just curious if this sounds normal? As of now I don't hear the wheezing anymore. Surely if I was sick or had pneumonia the wheezing would be constant and I'd be feeling sick.

One would’ve thought I’d be used to this by now – typing with one arm. It takes time to get used to; especially when you’ve spent most of your life in front of a keyboard. Muscle memory digs deep.
A few years ago, I was in a car accident. I was going 60 down an empty road, coming home from a long day of overtime, when some kind of animal came charging out of the woods. Trying to avoid a collision, I swerved off the road. My front left wheel got caught in a ditch, sending the entire vehicle careening off the road; only to smash into the trunk of an ill-placed black walnut tree, driver’s side first.
I have this vague memory of blinking lights and vague shapes in the distance. I was so cold. But at the same time, it was so unreal. I couldn’t even understand what had happened.

I was brought into emergency surgery. My left arm was, literally, hanging by the thread of my jacket. It had come off clean by the socket.
According to the surgeons, I was lucky. Most of my shoulder was intact, so it became a matter of salvaging what they could. The cut had been clean. I did suffer some whiplash damage to my neck and lower back, but considering I could’ve easily died or gotten paralyzed, losing an arm was considered “mild”.
Looking back at it, I am inclined to agree. Considering what could’ve gone down, I was damn lucky. Still, in that luck, I wished I could’ve gotten just a tiny bit luckier. See, I had this gold ring that I’d been given by my later mother. A simple thing with the engraving of a musical note on the inside – a memento of our shared love of music. We played Louis Armstrong at her funeral.
That ring disappeared in the accident. Somehow, that’s what bothered me the most. My arm could be reattached. It could heal. But that little memento was just gone.

What followed was a long period of intense physical therapy, medication, and painful readjustments. It took weeks before I could even move my fingers again, and when I did, it felt like pushing your nerves through an unwashed garlic press. It was this stunning chemical-level kind of pain. The kind where your body just shuts down, begging you to stop.
But over time, I started to get over it. Small movements started to get better. I could tie my shoes. Press the space bar. Hold a knife. I wasn’t about to juggle anytime soon, or play the piano, but I could get by.
Soon enough, I got back to work.

People were glad to see me. I wasn’t gonna be able to work at full capacity in my usual role, but I could still sit in on meetings. I won’t bore you with the details, but most of my work relies on answering e-mails, proofreading, and translation. It’s pretty technical stuff that requires a lot of pitter-patter on keyboards.
At one point, I was stuck in a particularly drawn-out meeting between two clients that we were facilitating. I was there mostly as an observer (to fill the seats), but I was supposed to weigh in if something related to my department came up. Of course, it didn’t, but I still had to act interested. My colleague was trying to draw up a compromise between the two parties, laying out terms and conditions. Meanwhile, I was nursing a cup of coffee and waiting for the day to be over.
Looking over to my side, I noticed something odd. I wasn’t just holding the coffee cup with my left hand; I was stroking it with my index finger. Sort of like how you’d scratch a wary cat under its chin.

It was a strange sensation. I was looking at my own arm, my own hand, and I couldn’t feel what was happening. I couldn’t feel the ceramics tapping against my finger, or the twitch of the nerve as it contracted and extended. It was just happening. An involuntary twitch, perhaps.
But it didn’t feel like it. It felt intended, somehow.
A few similar events took place that day. Grabbing the bathroom door for a little too long. Knocking over desktop decorations. Suddenly letting go of my jacket as I was about to head home. It was just little things. I was still having trouble even using my arm in the first place, so these quirks didn’t bother me too much.
A friend of mine was giving me a ride home. I wasn’t at 100% yet and sitting behind the steering wheel felt like inviting disaster. Instead, I sat in the passenger seat, nodding off as the trees passed me by with a steady rhythm; causing me to blink.

A noise pulled me back. The driver said something, but I wasn’t paying attention. Turning to him, I excused myself.
“Sorry, what was that?” I asked.
“What are you doing?” the driver repeated.
I looked over. My left hand was wrapped around the parking brake, as if ready to pull. I forced myself to let go.
“Nothing,” I said. “Sorry, I don’t… it’s nothing.”
“Right,” he nodded. “Just… don’t do that.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Yeah, no. Sorry.”

That night, I was exhausted. It felt like my lungs had been robbed of breath. I felt weak and trembling. I was cold, yet feverish. Famished, but without an appetite. I went to bed early, faceplanting into the pillow.
I had horrible nightmares, none of which I can remember. I kept waking up over and over, not being able to discern dream from reality. My bed was soaked with cold sweat, sending shiver after shiver up my spine.
By the early hours of the morning, a stray ray of sunshine burned my eyes open. I was lying on my side, looking towards the window, leaning on my left shoulder.
The fingers of my left hand were moving on their own. And not just moving, but bent in every which way; as if lacking bones. They were vibrating, shuddering, like wounded worms fearing a predator.

I grabbed my hand, and my fingers were back to normal. I could move them as usual. For a moment, I was doubting what I’d seen. It was one thing to experience oddities, but that was unreal. I must’ve laid there for half an hour, just expanding and contracting my hand, begging my body to work with me.
“Enough of this,” I begged. “Please. Enough. Please.”
I clapped my hands, cracked my fingers, and ran them through my hair. It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Right?

A couple of weeks passed without any serious peculiarities. I could even work a little. There were a few of oddities, like unknowingly grasping a warm cup, or my fingers pointing in all directions when in contact with cold water. Just strange little things that I could easily get control of.
That was, until one morning at work. We were out of coffee, so I was making myself a cup of tea instead. As the water came to a boiling point, I accidentally spilled some on my arm.
The reaction was immediate.

My arm whipped out to the side, throwing the pot across the room. For a moment, my arm looked like it didn’t have any bones; rippling like a skin-covered liquid. It made me think of it not as a part of me, but as an alien thing attached to my shoulder.
And for a brief moment, in the blink of a heartbeat, I could see my fingers grow and shrink. Fingernails throbbing, like a cat throwing up a hair ball.
Suddenly, it stopped. Looking back, I could see one of my co-workers watching me from the other side of the room. She must’ve heard the crash.
“You alright?” she asked.
“Yeah, just got a burn,” I sighed. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be fine.”
She side-eyed the broken pot on the other side of the room and nodded. Not entirely convinced.

As soon as she left, I looked down on my hand as if shying away from a wild animal. It was alien to me. It was something… other. A twitch was one thing, but this was downright unnatural.
Coming home that night, I had a weekend ahead of me. I ran my symptoms through a couple of online services. While there are a few ways the human body can trick itself, like the alien hand syndrome, or phantom pains, this was different. Physical properties do not rapidly change. Then again, maybe I was imagining it?
I decided to do something crazy. An experiment. I wanted to recreate what’d happened in the break room.

I boiled up some water and poured it into a cup. I held my left hand over my sink, grabbing the cup with my right. I stood there, trying to calm myself. I wasn’t insane. This was a rational thought that I had to play out in order to eliminate an outlandish possibility.
I prepped a cold pack and ran the tap. Then, taking a deep breath, I poured some of the boiling water on my left hand.

Twelve fingers.
My hand split into twelve fingers, lined with raw, open wounds. My wrist rolled, like a cobra fixing its eyes on a prey animal. This was no longer an arm – it was a nest of flesh-colored snakes.
My mind blanked. I fell backwards, smacking at my arm as if trying to kill it. I couldn’t feel a thing. It’s as if all sense of touch ended at my shoulder. I crawled backwards on the floor, trying to wave my arm away, but it clung to me like a parasite fixed on my shoulder.
Seconds later, a searing pain ran up my arm. Looking down on my hand, it looked as it always had. It was just a hand with a burn. I could barely feel it through the pounding in my chest. Every noise in the room was overshadowed by my pulse.
I ran my hand under a tap and wrapped a cold pack around the wrist. It wasn’t a bad burn, but it wasn’t nothing.

I did some research, looking up news from around the time my accident took place. There were a couple of reports, but nothing out of the ordinary. A domestic call, a brawl at a local restaurant, a couple of missing pets. There were a couple of other reports, but they were short and didn’t lead anywhere. A mention of a couple disturbances. Some idiot blasting music in a parking lot.
But there was one more thing I noticed. In one of the reports covering my accident, there was a picture of the car. There was spatter of the blood on the hood, with something meaty stuck in the grille – as if I’d hit an animal.
That caught my interest. I couldn’t remember hitting anything, so what the hell was that about?

The next day, my arm was acting up even worse. It kept going cold, as if circulation was cutting in and out. Before heading out, I wrapped it up in bandages. Partly because of the cold sensation and partly because I just didn’t trust it. There was no way to tell what could happen, or why.
I managed to get a hold of the owner of the junkyard where my trashed car had been towed. I went over there early in the day, just before the fog cleared.
Now, this was long after the car had been crushed and stored, but it was the only lead I had. An older woman greeted me at the gates, letting me in. We had a short chat about the accident as she showed me around, ending up at a stack of metal that could hardly be recognized as anything. The only thing to even hint at my car being in that pile was a thin slice of colored metal from one of the doors.

I dug around there for about 20 minutes; all while being observed by this old woman.
“Yeah, won’t find much,” she said. “If the police didn’t get it, the insurance folks did.”
“Been a lot of people digging around?”
“Not a lot, nah,” she said, shaking her head. “But you ain’t the first.”
And she was right. There wasn’t a drop of blood, or bone, or anything. It was just scrap metal in a pile of even more scrap metal. I was wasting my time.

But as I was about to leave, I noticed something. I hadn’t thought about it, but I could see the old woman was wearing a ring. It looked like a wedding ring at first, but she was wearing it on the wrong finger. I pointed to it.
"You found that?"
"What about it?" she asked.
"It’s got a tune engraved on the inside, right? Like, a, uh… music note?”
There was no response. She just looked at me and sighed. Turns out, I was right. She gave it back.

She’d found it near the hood of the car the night they brought it in. Grabbing it was just a spur of the moment thing, and since no one had come asking for it, she’d kept it. I was a bit annoyed, but mostly relieved that I got it back. But the question remained, how had that ended up at the hood of the car?
“There was all kinds of gunk just kinda hanging there,” she said. “Figured it was an animal.”
“And you’re sure that’s where you found it?”
“Sure as sure can be, yeah.”
I stood there for a moment, feeling an uncomfortable thought forming in the back of my head. There was no way for that ring to go from my broken arm on the driver’s side to a pile of meat stuck in the grille of the car.

But the proof of it had been in front of me all along. I had worn that ring for 12 years. There was a permanent indent on my finger.
Looking down at my left hand, there was no such indent.
This wasn’t my arm.

As soon as that thought settled in my mind, I could feel the arm twist and turn. Hadn’t it been for the bandages, there’s no way to tell what it would’ve done. It squirmed and pulled against me, thrashing like a dying fish on land. The old woman just looked at me.
“You alright? Want me to call someone?” she asked.
“I-I… I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”
I had to get to the bottom of this. I hurried out of there as fast as I could.

It was getting late in the afternoon when I got back home. Grabbing an old backpack and a couple of painkillers, I was about to head right back out. But a thought hit me. Maybe it wasn’t as abstract as I thought. Maybe it wasn’t just a feeling – maybe something was really there.
Looking down at my arm, I could feel it stirring, just within my control. Something sleeping, waiting to spring into action. With my right hand on the front door, I stopped, and spoke out loud.
“Whatever you want, just… don’t,” I asked. “Don’t.”
There was no response. No stirring. On a spur-of-the-moment whim, I packed one more thing into my backpack. Just in case. A hail Mary.

Making my way to the scene of the accident, it was impossible to tell anything had ever happened there. I could barely even make out the place where I swerved, or where my wheel got caught in the ditch. I found the general area in the field where my car had spun out of control, and from there it was easy to find the tree I’d smashed into. It was still there.
I spent hours going over it all. Following the path the car had taken, starting from that tree, and working my way back. There was nothing there. Nothing new. It was all just gravel, weeds, and pavement. What had I expected? A signed confession?
As the sun dipped behind the clouds, I could feel a cold wind coming on. I’d lost track of time.

As I turned back, there was a sudden cramp in my arm. A shock of pain crept up my spine, spreading throughout my body like a spider’s web. I could feel my left arm throbbing against the bandage wrap. Something was wrong.
I was in the middle of the field. I could see for miles in every direction. Cars passing by in the distance. Wet grass staining my pants all the way up to my knees. And this one cold wind, cutting straight through my clothes. I shivered, but my left arm didn’t.
Taking a step back towards where I came from, another shot of pain struck me. This one tripped me, sending me face first into the grass. It knocked the air out of my lungs.
I rolled over on my back, gasping for breath. My left hand was creeping up my stomach like a spider with a meaty tail. It stopped over my face, tapping the bridge of my nose with the index finger. I couldn’t feel a thing. Moving to push it off, it instead struck back; grasping my right hand in return.
“Stop,” I wheezed as I sat back up. “Just stop. Stop this.”
But it didn’t. I just sat there. A wounded man holding his arms.

I struggled back and forth for well over half an hour. Getting back on my feet, only to get knocked back down. By the time I’d made my way back to the road, I looked like I’d been hiking for miles. My hair was a mess, and my clothes were covered in grass and mud. I had a handprint across my face, like I’d smacked myself.
I’d trusted myself with a short drive to get there, but I wasn’t sure about going back. It felt reckless to get behind a wheel in my state. Still, I couldn’t just walk all the way back home, and having it towed would be a pain in the ass.
I got back in my car while I thought about it, wiping myself off with a towel from my backpack.

It’d gotten dark outside. The overcast didn’t help, I could almost taste the rain. I contemplated my options and figured that if I kept it slow and only used my right arm, I could carefully make my way home. I put the keys in and turned on the headlights.
There was an elk standing in front of my car.
It sniffed the hood of my car curiously, then proceeded to stare me down. I was just surprised. I got a good look at it. There was something wrong with one of its hind legs – it lacked fur, and there was a sort of spreading baldness reaching halfway up the side of the body.
My arm was slowly rising on its own, as if looking over the dashboard. The elk recoiled, as if in pain, and set off in a troubled three-legged gallop. It disappeared into the woods.

Looking down at my arm, a stray thought hit me.
Was this spreading too?

I painstakingly made my way back home. I dropped my backpack in the hallway, locked my front door, and collapsed into the shower. I was exhausted.
I stood in the shower for about half an hour, looking down at my mother’s ring. I was wearing it on my right hand now, but it just didn’t feel the same. That wasn’t where it was meant to be. Still, it was nice to have it back. Whenever I turned the ring a little, I could feel the engraving against my skin. It was a little gesture I did when I was anxious, as a reminder that it was still there.
I got dressed and ready for a slow evening at home without any further drama. My arm wasn’t acting up. But as I passed through the hallway, something didn’t feel right.

At first, I couldn’t say what it was. Maybe the hum of an old lamp, or some air duct acting up. I wasn’t sure, but it was something. It had to be. I stepped up to the front door.
There used to be a light coming from the hallway outside. That light was always on, and there should be a little light coming in through the peephole. But there wasn’t. Had a fuse blown? I had a closer look.
There was someone just outside my door.

A click.
My left hand had unlocked the door.

The door flung open, knocking me back. A tall silhouette, close to seven feet tall, pushed its way into my apartment. It was dressed in a sort of black poncho, covering its face with layers of bandages. A single frog-like eye stared me down as it pushed forward.
I scrambled backwards on the floor. It was fast. Damn fast. It stepped forward and reached for one of my legs, but I managed to pull away in time. I got back on my feet, barely managing to pull my left arm along. It was trying to grab a hold of something, as if to slow me down.
In a spur-of-the-moment decision I grabbed a lamp from the windowsill, throwing it across the room. The intruder ducked, then came at me again. I ducked under, just in time, and headed for the door.

As I reached the front door, my left arm tried to force it shut. I fought against myself to get out, but it was useless. The door was shut and locked, and my left hand refused to budge. The seven-foot-tall shape came around the corner, slowly approaching. I had to think of something. Anything.
My backpack. It was right there.

I had packed a couple of things earlier. A towel, some bandages, painkillers, and a water bottle. But I’d also packed some lighter fluid. Seeing as how my left arm had reacted so violently to boiling water, I had this stupid idea that the prospect of a straight-up fire would do something even worse to it.
It didn’t seem so stupid anymore.
I grabbed the lighter fluid and sprinkled it on my left arm. The tall shape stopped, seemingly reacting to the smell of it.
I wanted to say something, but all that came out were empty breaths. We were like animals, circling each other, waiting for one to make the first move. I emptied the lighter fluid, grabbing a box of matches. I held the box with my mouth, and a triplicate of matches in my hand. I spilled the rest on the floor.

For a moment, we just looked at one another. A single inhuman eye peeking through the bandage wraps. The vague shape of four, maybe five extremities at its side. How many arms did this thing hide under the poncho?
A flash of realization came to me. This is what I had almost hit with my car.

And with that, I lit the matches. It leapt at me, but it was too late.
The moment the open flame touched the skin on my left arm, it detached. The open nerves just let go of me, and the thing fell off my body. It squirmed on the floor like a dying animal, grasping at whatever its fingers could reach.
Adrenaline forced me out the door. A heartbeat behind me, the seven-foot-tall figure scooped up my burning arm and pushed past me. Within seconds, it was gone – leaving me with an open wound in the stairwell, smelling of lighter fluid.

One of the neighbors called for help. I didn’t even notice how much blood I was losing, but it was bad. They sent me back into emergency surgery; this time without an arm to reattach.
It was deemed that the wound was self-inflicted. A result of some stress-induced psychosis. I wanted to agree, but I saw what I saw. I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise, but I lived this. This wasn’t any other life but mine.
I’ve since learned to live with a full prosthetic. It’s not much, but I can trust it, and I can wear my mother’s ring the way it was supposed to be. It’s starting to make an indent on the synthetic skin.

I don’t like to think about what would’ve happened if I’d let that thing stay on. But just a couple of weeks ago, I got an answer. I was stuck in traffic, looking out over the fields, when I saw a group of elks in the distance.
One of them had no fur.
None at all.

For anyone who missed how this started
https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/PxAkXKR0aH
I didn’t expect so many people out there would care about what’s happening to me. I’d say it’s humbling, but, well, my situation has been humbling me since I left the states. You guys cheering me on, and trying to help, it’s kept me going though.
So, I figure the least I can do is keep you all updated until something prevents me from doing so. Likely in a permanent fashion.
I'll say, the ride home was awkward, to say the least. For all of the grim predictions running through my head going to the spectacle , on the way back they were ten times worse.
I wasn’t caged, shackled and tortured when I returned. If I said I was greeted with concern by the handful of distant relatives and lost souls I’d be over exaggerating. But there was a bit of respect and kindness .
I was patched up, as far as being stabbed goes, apparently I got lucky.
There was food, question free beer, and a healthy number of people asking how things went.
All I wanted to do was sleep, but something kept me going. Kept me answering questions I’d rather not have, kept my fear fried brain making conversation and trading verbal jabs.
A tap on my shoulder startles me, the sun is rising and if I don’t get to sleep soon, I’m going to fall over.
“Your half. “ Sylvia says, it’s just shy of a thousand pounds.
“All this was for, what is this? $600 American? “ I say.
“ Walk with me. “ Sylvia begins, I follow.
“Money isn’t much good if I’m dead. “ I say, my tone sullen and exasperated.
“Then don’t die. “ She replies, walking across the debris strewn scrub grass toward the farm house.
“Do you have any shame? You kidnapped me in the middle of the night to feed me to a couple of demons. I’m your nephew for Christ’s sake! “ I’m not yelling, I don’t think my body is capable of that much exertion at this point, but my words are clear.
“I’m not your aunt, Nikolas.
Great-Great-Great grandmother, give or take a generation. It’s been a long time.
And if I was doing, as you suggest, yes, I would feel a deep shame.” Sylvia lets the answers and questions ferment in my mind as we walk.
“So why not tell me what’s going on? Maybe teach me some of that magic you were tossing around at the airport. “ we stop outside a sliding door. Sylvia has a genuine look of amusement on her face.
“Magic? Nikolas, magic is what stupid people call being fooled.
Magic is the Priest’s sermon, the fortune teller’s reading, the huckster’s pitch.
It’s a way to create vast amounts of power from nothing.
The world is full of things that defy the laws of nature. What I do, what those of the family with me do, is understand them. We learn, we improvise, and we adapt.
We do not make power from nothing, we find it, and use it. “ Sylvia watches me, judging my response to her statement.
“So that’s what you meant before. About the trappings of the gypsy. This whole vibe, it’s a smokescreen.
Assholes expect the Gritts to be some Romani stereotype, and give you a wide berth. When strange shit happens, they chalk it up to some kind of con, or something they’ve seen in a movie. Either way, they aren’t looking for monster fights, and supernatural research. “ I know I’m in the ballpark when she pats me on the shoulder hard enough to hurt.
“And the value of your half, is somewhere around 30 thousand. We wager in esoteric items, favors, and creatures. When you leave, I’ll make you a fair offer for what is yours.
You’ll understand more in the morning after you have a chance to look around. “ Sylvia says before showing me a sparse, but clean, and comfortable room.
I wake up in the early afternoon, something, beyond the obvious nagging at me.
After a cup of nearly caustic tea, I finally realized what it was.
Sylvia, she told me a lot last night. But many of my questions were avoided. I know about her, and this place, but my fate, beyond another round of tug of war between two nightmares, is unknown.
That being said, my second conclusion, is that I need to start rolling with the punches. I’ve tried calling the police (they asked how Sylvia was doing before I said my name.), my parents, anyone, and like it or not, for one unsaid reason or another, I’m stuck here.
I’m going to skip a lot of introductions. Reading me introducing myself, 50 times and trying not to be awkward around folks that seem way too okay with me dying, probably wouldn’t be the best use of your time.
As I explore the grounds, I enter one of a handful of old barns. The inside has peg board walls hung with tools spanning the spectrum from mundane to esoteric enough I have no idea what they are.
Inside, among benches strewn with a random assortment of objects, and equipment, stand two men.
The first is Colin, he’s pale as a ghost, eyes bloodshot and sleep deprived, he wears an Aerosmith shirt, and toolbelt that is making his pants lose a battle with gravity. The 40 something is holding an electrode connected to a thick, black wire directly patched into the main breaker.
The second, Dafyd is a short, olive skinned man in his mid fifties. His outfit consists of a tweed jacket, blue jeans and plain white shirt.
Between them on a grounded workbench sits a small snow globe, within stands a faded ballerina, one arm lost, floating randomly through the liquid.
My teeth ache as the breaker begins to make a dangerous humming noise. For a couple of seconds, a short blue spark arcs from the electrode to the snow globe.
The air smells of ozone to the point where I’m convinced I’ve burned out my nose hairs. The two men argue a bit between themselves in a language I’ve heard but never learned to speak. Then turn as they notice me.
“Nik, come settle an argument between your uncle and I. “ Dafyd says.
“Don’t know how much help I’m going to be, but I’ll do my best. “ I say, walking up.
“The kid has no idea what’s going on Dafyd. “ Colin says.
“I know, but we’re not looking for an expert opinion.
Nik, what year is it? “ Dafyd asks.
“1993.” I say without hesitation, “ What the hell? “ I add. My brain is a bit fried, but not enough to screw up the date by 30 something years.
“God damn it. “ Colin says.
“I knew it! “ exclaims Dafyd.
“This piece of shit is getting binned.
You look confused kid.
It’s called a gimmick. It’s the stuff side of what we deal in. Some of it, it’s two steps off of a horror novel. Most of it though, it’s just strange.
Figuring them out is 95% engineering and 5% esoterica.
They teaching you anything across the pond? “ Colin asks.
The question leads to a conversation, the conversation leads to a week of me shadowing the two finicky, strange guys.
I’d go into more detail, but as the days go by, things seem more and more like spending time with some out there branches in the family tree. As terrifying as everything has been, as terrifying as it is, it’s, interesting.
But I wouldn’t be writing if things were sunshine and roses though, would I?
One day, after working with objects that scared, confused and frustrated me in equal measure, I realized there was something I was avoiding.
So I found myself standing in front of Augustus, the creature held upright and immobile in it’s coffin-like cage. The Plexiglas window is cracked.
It's worse than I thought it would be. Every time I look at the thing’s face I see the blood it made me spill. I see the power it wields, and the murderous intent in it’s twisted pit of a mind.
But sometime soon, I’m going to be next to it again. I have to be able to keep myself together. I have to understand this thing as much as I can.
“Hey killer, how the fuck ya Doin? “ Augustus taunts. Shame reddens my fear paled face.
“Can we talk? “ I say, I want it to be a demand, it comes out as a whimper.
“What do we have to talk about, bud? What about this are you not picking up on yet? “ Augustus is smug, confident even while confined.
“How you seem to have this limitless ego, when you're being held by literally the oldest woman possible. “ I’m too scared to say this above a whisper.
“That dusty old wizard’s sleeve out there? She’ll fucking get hers.
Lucky bitch on a lucky day is all that was.
But luck runs out, and when it does, I’m gonna uproot your entire sad little family tree. “ Augustus threatens.
I actually take a step backward, and almost turn. The fear this thing causes, it’s more than the knowledge of what it can do, it’s a force in and of itself.
“Augustus, why not hear me out? “ I plead.
“Because kid, that’s not how this story goes.
I’ve got nothing but time, I’ll be around till the heat death of the fucking universe.
I don’t need to hear things like you out, I don’t need to bargain. No matter how airtight your inbred little clan thinks these bonds are, eventually, someone always makes a mistake. Something small, like a wrong angle on a rune.
Or…, “ as the thing talks, the door to the coffin like cage holding it starts to slowly swing outward, “ Something big, like forgetting to set the fucking padlock. “
I’m already running as he talks, but he’s standing in front of the exit before I can take a step.
He looms in front of the door, coat spreading, seemingly of it’s own accord, making the patchwork killer seem like some kind of twisted manta ray.
He locks eyes with me, I’m frozen, gripped in terror so intense I have no idea if it’s mundane or the aura of fear Augustus projects.
Those mismatched orbs burrow into me, I feel like this thing can see into my soul.
He inhales for an impossibly long time, a slick, menacing grin spreading across his leathery face.
“Yeah, today’s the day kid.” He says, a kick sending me across the floor like a smooth rock across the surface of a pond.
I’ve never felt pain like this, I try to stand, but my knee refuses to bend. I hit the ground and my ribs scream, I’m sure at least one was broken in the tumble.
I hear Augustus’ footsteps, my struggles to get to my feet are useless. Seconds in, i’m in literal crippling pain.
He grabs me by the throat, taking his time as he raises me above his head.
The look of joy on his face as I choke and struggle to breathe twists his features, for a moment he appears nearly snakelike.
He holds the tips of his claw-like nails against my stomach. Then draws his arm back.
“Don’t worry bud, I’m not just going to tear out your heart, everyone does that shit.
This isn’t going to be a sprint, it’s a fucking marathon. I just want to aerate the track a little bit before we start. “ His hand blurs and I close my eyes hoping I don’t last very long.
“Stop” I hear a deep, smooth, male voice say.
I hit the ground, and try to see who just stopped the beginning of my execution, but the pain, the cracked ribs, pulled muscles and long ragged scrapes have me seeing spots.
When my vision clears, I see a tall, blond man with impossibly angular features, dressed in an immaculate black and mauve suit.
His eyes try to look kind, but there is something wrong behind them. Something waiting to be let out.
“Who are you? “ I say, one lip, split and torn.
“You can call me Art. Arthur Deus if you feel like being formal.
But what you want to know, is why I’m here.
Well Nikolas, to simplify things, think of me as the older brother of the leering terror your ‘aunt’ has trapped here. “ As Arthur talks, I notice something, the motes of dust in the air are hanging still.
“I have no problems with you taking him. I haven’t seen you, I don’t know your name. Couldn’t stop you if I wanted to. “ I ramble.
Arthur holds up a finger, I go silent.
“If only it were that easy.
See Nikolas, your aunt and I, have quite the history. And as much as it pains me to admit it, she’s a crafty one, and has the means to make things very difficult for me.
Sylvia cannot know I’m involved, this is why I have an offer for you. “ As art says this, he waves a hand, almost dismissively.
Like a switch being flipped my pain stops, I watch as my wounds begin to seal and fade, amazed.
“What is it? “ I say. The words feel like they have weight.
“Sylvia is looking for someone to take over for her. As old as she is, she’s not immortal.
You’re her third attempt.
I’m not going to lie to you and say I care about what’s happening to the humans involved in this grim little spectacle. But I care about my family, and to a lesser extent, those like myself.
This bloodsport that your aunt is a part of, it’s vile. It’s world spanning, and it’s for nothing more than greed and bragging rights.
I want to change this. And I would like you to help me. “ Art’s tone is slick and confident.
“If I do, then you get him to back off? “ I say, pointing to Augustus.
Art looks dismayed for a moment.
“That’s not something I can really promise Nikolas. If anything could force him to listen to reason, he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. “ My heart sinks as Art says this.
“Fuck off Art. “ Augustus says.
Arthur rolls his eyes. They seem to go just a little too far back.
“But what I can do, is have a conversation with him, impress upon him how important it is he works with you. “ Art pats me on the shoulder before turning toward his sibling. His hand is impossibly hot.
“This kid dies, that is not my fault. You’ve seen this shit, he’s not built for it, just bust me out of here. “ Augustus isn’t far off of pleading in his tone.
“You know that’s not possible. I cannot let Sylvia know I’m here. But given time, I will have you out. “ Art assures.
“Fact remains, this kid gets on the wrong side of a blade or a fuckin, werewolf or something, that’s not on me.
Even if he manages to keep his lungs in his chest, look at him. His mind is cracking, he’s either insane or God-damned, catatonic in two months. “ Now Augustus sounds like a cocky piece of shit again.
“Of course, if he dies, or succumbs mentally, that’s not on you.
But I want you, to make a promise to me. I want you to understand that this child cannot be harmed by your hand. “ It sounds like Art is talking to a five year old.
Augustus shrugs before replying.
“The fuck you want me to say? You know me, you know I can’t say I’m not hurting this kid. And I sure as hell am not making a promise about it so you can get you-know-who involved when nature takes it’s course.
Fuck this kid, get me out of here.”
Arthur sighs and turns from Augustus , walking to me.
“Nikolas, I have something to tell you. “ He says, there’s a gravity to his tone that clearly makes Augustus uncomfortable.
“Art, what are you doing? “ The Trenchcoat wearing creature asks.
Art kneels bringing himself eye to eye with me.
“Don’t do this. “ Augustus says.
“Then promise. “ Art replies, a few seconds of silence go by, “ As you can see, I cannot guarantee your safety Nikolas.
But, for his own good, I want to tell you a word, one that will make my myopic brother look at things a little differently, if the need arises.
I’d use it sparingly, it’s not meant for those like yourself. It will have a physical, mental and spiritual toll. But it might spare you the worst of his excesses. “
That word was the last thing Arthur said to me. With a staggering, disorienting lurch, time began to move forward.
It kept moving forward for the next month.
I learned a lot over that time, but, not what you might expect.
As it turns out, there is a hell of a lot more engineering, physics, and chemistry involved in working with the supernatural than, summoning circles and newt eyes.
But eventually, the day I was dreading came.
The venue was a strip club of all places, a massive building, on the outskirts of Norwich, gaudy neon lights illuminate a place that, unlike the theme restaurant, seems to be in active use.
There was a different ambiance this time. The folks milling around the rune etched Lucite box seemed more sedate, and a hell of a lot richer.
The lighting was professional, driving music sets a professional sports tone.
This time I walk in the cage of my own accord. It’s not pride, or bravery, but simply knowing, I have no choice.
The roar of the crowd stokes my fear as Augustus slowly opens the door of his coffin-like vessel.
He loves the attention, his grin both horrifying and genuine.
“Guess we’re in the big leagues now, eh, killer? “ Augustus prods.
I’m sweating. I’ve cut a little weight over the past month, unintentionally, but as I wonder what horror is going to come walking in the other side of this cage. I don’t think being in marginally better shape and having a working knowledge of basic engineering is going to do me a lot of good.
Suddenly the crowd is silent, lights illuminate a spot at the far end of the massive Lucite box.
She’s small, slight, and has grey, lifeless skin. Her eyes are massive, her body beautiful, but exaggerated to the point of looking cartoonish. She’s not wearing much, a small t-shirt and what I’ll generously call a bikini bottom.
Beside her is a massive, brick slab of a man, late twenties or early thirties. His eyes are wild, he’s covered in layers of scars, and burns. He wears an old, worn prison uniform that’s never seen a washing machine.
He matches her strange, boneless stride, with a loping wolf-like gait.
“Entering the ring, you know her, you love her. She’s the Vixen of the void, The Nymph of nothing, Norwich’s own, ‘Sweet’ Francis Anne!
And at her side, brought in at great expense from the land of Twinkies, cheeseburgers and weak beer, The Corps Killer, the Military Mangler, with 24 out of ring kills and 36 in, ‘Big’ Billy Speck! “ an announcer screams.
The crowd bursts into life, noise shakes the walls of the cage.
“And, on the other side, I don’t know, some wanker in a Trenchcoat, and a kid that isn’t even old enough to be here. Let’s watch them die. “ He finishes.
Augustus looks enraged, his teeth chatter, he flexes his clawed hands. I walk in his shadow as he advances to face the creature and her second.
“I know you! “ The grey skinned thing says, her voice high pitched. As she speaks I notice what appears to be a thick scar bisecting her from forehead to stomach.
“Never heard of you. Neither will anyone else after this. “ Augustus says with a grin.
“You’re the runt of the litter right? Royal blood but peasant flesh, that’s what they say, no? “ Francis says, she grins a toothless smile. The inside of her mouth, a black void.
“Fuck my family. What I am is as good as meat gets. I give myself power, all you have is a cosmic std. “ Augustus stares Francis down as he talks.
Francis reacts with nothing more than a coy look. Bill stares down at me, the handle of some large blade sticking out of his right pocket, and a short length of chain wrapped around his left forearm.
A buzzer cuts through the roar of the crowd, the world seems to consist of nothing more than myself and the horrors around me as the timer begins to count down.
Like a flash Augustus leaps at Francis, but her body stretches and contorts as she moves, he never gets close.
I tear myself away from the clash of unnatural creatures as I look to the mutilated killer in front of me.
I didn’t come in unarmed, but I also was expecting another kid. And wanted to avoid what happened last time if at all possible. My heart races as I pull the small black can from the pocket of my worn, grey hoodie.
For a second I feel like a badass. I’ve got the can of mace aimed and spraying before Bill can react.
Four seconds tick by before the can is empty, Bill is soaked in thick yellow liquid, it runs down his face like tears.
The psycho doesn’t even blink.
“You good? “ he asks before slapping my outstretched arm aside and shattering my nose with a backhanded blow that seemed almost an afterthought.
Augustus screams in frustration, moving faster than I can track, but not able to put a scratch on the amorphous, rubbery woman.
Bill uncoils the chain, and I feel a sudden deep, crushing pain in my chest. I stumble backward, coughing. He laughs and whips the chain out again, I manage to see the next blow, but have no way of stopping it.
He manages to hit the same spot, the pain is overwhelming, my lungs feel bruised, I can’t breathe.
Francis seems to have grown bored avoiding Augustus, he pants, sucking wind as she stands in front of him.
That scar splits, not fully, but from forehead to the bridge of her nose. What’s behind it, is nothing.
I mean that in terms so literal, I can’t describe how it looked. It was more of a feeling that a sight. Looking into it, made me understand just how empty something can actually be.
Pieces of Augustus’ skin and flesh begin to, simply not exist. His look of confusion lasts for about a second before he’s sent sailing through the air by a long, whip-like arm.
The trenchcoat clad creature extracts himself from a tangled mess of tables, chairs and debris. Francis and Bill laugh, mocking us.
“Let’s trade dance partners” Augustus says, his two handed shove launching my broken body into Francis.
She catches me, her body absorbing the impact.
Fear is making me hyperventilate, physical trauma is turning that into a wheezing pant that feels like being waterboarded.
Francis looks down at me, violence and seduction in her eyes.
“Make things easy for me and I’ll let you go out with a bang. “ She says, the look of carnal violence on her face makes me gag.
Augustus struggles with Bill, the creatures wounds many and severe.
A minute remains, but I don’t know if I can last another ten seconds.
Francis stretches one arm into a thin tendril, it begins to circle me, caging me into a progressively smaller area.
“I’m sixteen, you paranormal nonce. “ I blurt out, the pain from my broken nose almost making me pass out, “ That’s the word they use around here, right? For the kind of creep that gets supernatural powers to hit on a kid? “
I can’t run, I can’t fight, all I can do is try to distract this thing for another 42 seconds.
Her face begins to turn, shifting and warping into something resembling a cattle skull more than a person.
The wet snapping noise distracts both Francis and myself.
Augustus has his hand buried in the chest of the convict, he holds the man aloft for a moment.
Augustus says something in a language I can’t even guess at, and with one fluid motion tears the black, decayed heart from his own chest and replaces it with that of the killer.
He begins to scream, then laugh, wounds spraying ichor, he seems to swell, his face a mask of pleasure and Ill intent.
“Death machine just needed a new engine. “ Augustus says with a cackle.
Francis forgets about me and lashes out, quite literally, at Augustus. Limbs becoming a frenzied blur of snaking flesh, , destroying anything they so much as graze.
He wades into the storm, flirting around the edges of the cage, making her chase him with the lethal limbs.
The conflict is a blur, but at the 23 second mark I see it. As much as I hate the prick, I’m almost impressed.
She’s tangled, somewhere among the bent stripper poles, and doorways to private booths, She’s caught herself.
Augustus takes his time now, her body is stretched thin, looped around door handles and under stages.
Ten seconds left, Augustus is feet from her writhing, blob-like form. Her features pulled taught enough to be nearly non-existent.
“Takes a lot to open yourself up doesn’t it? “ Augustus says, kneeling, he holds the killer’s knife in one hand, “ Why don’t I do it for you? “
The blade is barely touching her flesh as the timer ends.
“Fuck’s sake! “ Augustus says, standing, and letting the knife fall to the floor.
Something about the way he walks to one end of the Lucite cage worries me.
“Nobody likes a draw, but as far as they go, that was one hell of a kiss to your sister, wasn’t it folks?
No one is defeating our lovely lady of legend, but let’s hear it for the man who tried… Trenchcoat! “ The announcer screams over the loudspeaker.
The crowd is on their feet, bets are being paid out, and two groups of people are trying to open doors conveniently barred by flesh no person is going to get through.
I jog up to him, my body screaming at me every step of the way. He taps along one clear wall.
“Cheap runes. “ Augustus says, before driving his fist like a spear through the Lucite.
The hole he makes is about the size of a watermelon, his hand easily going through all six inches of the wall.
But it’s not big enough to accommodate the body of the poor twenty something he drags through.
In an instant the man is flensed, his small bones broken, eyes, ears and jaw, nothing more than a smear.
But he’s still alive, wailing a haunting death bellow as he struggles to understand what just happened.
“Stop! “ I scream, horrified. Blood sprays from my ruined nose, “You think I won’t say it? “
Augustus slowly cocks his head, punching his fist through the wall again, and tossing another victim beside the first.
“In front of your family, and that aunt of yours? You think this is bad? The shit she’ll do to you if she knows you even looked at my Dangerous Brothers looking prick of a brother will make this look like a massage.” Trenchcoat pauses, letting the reality sink in, letting my absolute lack of power envelop me like a blanket, “ You want me to stop? I’ll give you something no one else has, a choice.
Either finish one of these pieces of meat off, or, have a taste. “
He brings his hand back for another strike, and I make my choice.
No, I’m not telling you which one. I can share a lot of things with you guys. But, I’m sorry, how I picked to save the rest of the people in that place is a shame I’m going to carry on my own.
Don’t know if any of you will want to hear from me again, after knowing what I’ve had to do, who I’ve had to deal with, but I’m going to keep posting. This is getting nothing but worse, and maybe, I can save someone else the same fate.

For anyone who missed how this started.
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/s/8Gy9JbmUVC
I didn’t expect so many people out there would care about what’s happening to me. I’d say it’s humbling, but, well, my situation has been humbling me since I left the states. You guys cheering me on, and trying to help, it’s kept me going though.
So, I figure the least I can do is keep you all updated until something prevents me from doing so. Likely in a permanent fashion.
I'll say, the ride home was awkward, to say the least. For all of the grim predictions running through my head going to the spectacle , on the way back they were ten times worse.
I wasn’t caged, shackled and tortured when I returned. If I said I was greeted with concern by the handful of distant relatives and lost souls I’d be over exaggerating. But there was a bit of respect and kindness .
I was patched up, as far as being stabbed goes, apparently I got lucky.
There was food, question free beer, and a healthy number of people asking how things went.
All I wanted to do was sleep, but something kept me going. Kept me answering questions I’d rather not have, kept my fear fried brain making conversation and trading verbal jabs.
A tap on my shoulder startles me, the sun is rising and if I don’t get to sleep soon, I’m going to fall over.
“Your half. “ Sylvia says, it’s just shy of a thousand pounds.
“All this was for, what is this? $600 American? “ I say.
“ Walk with me. “ Sylvia begins, I follow.
“Money isn’t much good if I’m dead. “ I say, my tone sullen and exasperated.
“Then don’t die. “ She replies, walking across the debris strewn scrub grass toward the farm house.
“Do you have any shame? You kidnapped me in the middle of the night to feed me to a couple of demons. I’m your nephew for Christ’s sake! “ I’m not yelling, I don’t think my body is capable of that much exertion at this point, but my words are clear.
“I’m not your aunt, Nikolas.
Great-Great-Great grandmother, give or take a generation. It’s been a long time.
And if I was doing, as you suggest, yes, I would feel a deep shame.” Sylvia lets the answers and questions ferment in my mind as we walk.
“So why not tell me what’s going on? Maybe teach me some of that magic you were tossing around at the airport. “ we stop outside a sliding door. Sylvia has a genuine look of amusement on her face.
“Magic? Nikolas, magic is what stupid people call being fooled.
Magic is the Priest’s sermon, the fortune teller’s reading, the huckster’s pitch.
It’s a way to create vast amounts of power from nothing.
The world is full of things that defy the laws of nature. What I do, what those of the family with me do, is understand them. We learn, we improvise, and we adapt.
We do not make power from nothing, we find it, and use it. “ Sylvia watches me, judging my response to her statement.
“So that’s what you meant before. About the trappings of the gypsy. This whole vibe, it’s a smokescreen.
Assholes expect the Gritts to be some Romani stereotype, and give you a wide berth. When strange shit happens, they chalk it up to some kind of con, or something they’ve seen in a movie. Either way, they aren’t looking for monster fights, and supernatural research. “ I know I’m in the ballpark when she pats me on the shoulder hard enough to hurt.
“And the value of your half, is somewhere around 30 thousand. We wager in esoteric items, favors, and creatures. When you leave, I’ll make you a fair offer for what is yours.
You’ll understand more in the morning after you have a chance to look around. “ Sylvia says before showing me a sparse, but clean, and comfortable room.
I wake up in the early afternoon, something, beyond the obvious nagging at me.
After a cup of nearly caustic tea, I finally realized what it was.
Sylvia, she told me a lot last night. But many of my questions were avoided. I know about her, and this place, but my fate, beyond another round of tug of war between two nightmares, is unknown.
That being said, my second conclusion, is that I need to start rolling with the punches. I’ve tried calling the police (they asked how Sylvia was doing before I said my name.), my parents, anyone, and like it or not, for one unsaid reason or another, I’m stuck here.
I’m going to skip a lot of introductions. Reading me introducing myself, 50 times and trying not to be awkward around folks that seem way too okay with me dying, probably wouldn’t be the best use of your time.
As I explore the grounds, I enter one of a handful of old barns. The inside has peg board walls hung with tools spanning the spectrum from mundane to esoteric enough I have no idea what they are.
Inside, among benches strewn with a random assortment of objects, and equipment, stand two men.
The first is Colin, he’s pale as a ghost, eyes bloodshot and sleep deprived, he wears an Aerosmith shirt, and toolbelt that is making his pants lose a battle with gravity. The 40 something is holding an electrode connected to a thick, black wire directly patched into the main breaker.
The second, Dafyd is a short, olive skinned man in his mid fifties. His outfit consists of a tweed jacket, blue jeans and plain white shirt.
Between them on a grounded workbench sits a small snow globe, within stands a faded ballerina, one arm lost, floating randomly through the liquid.
My teeth ache as the breaker begins to make a dangerous humming noise. For a couple of seconds, a short blue spark arcs from the electrode to the snow globe.
The air smells of ozone to the point where I’m convinced I’ve burned out my nose hairs. The two men argue a bit between themselves in a language I’ve heard but never learned to speak. Then turn as they notice me.
“Nik, come settle an argument between your uncle and I. “ Dafyd says.
“Don’t know how much help I’m going to be, but I’ll do my best. “ I say, walking up.
“The kid has no idea what’s going on Dafyd. “ Colin says.
“I know, but we’re not looking for an expert opinion.
Nik, what year is it? “ Dafyd asks.
“1993.” I say without hesitation, “ What the hell? “ I add. My brain is a bit fried, but not enough to screw up the date by 30 something years.
“God damn it. “ Colin says.
“I knew it! “ exclaims Dafyd.
“This piece of shit is getting binned.
You look confused kid.
It’s called a gimmick. It’s the stuff side of what we deal in. Some of it, it’s two steps off of a horror novel. Most of it though, it’s just strange.
Figuring them out is 95% engineering and 5% esoterica.
They teaching you anything across the pond? “ Colin asks.
The question leads to a conversation, the conversation leads to a week of me shadowing the two finicky, strange guys.
I’d go into more detail, but as the days go by, things seem more and more like spending time with some out there branches in the family tree. As terrifying as everything has been, as terrifying as it is, it’s, interesting.
But I wouldn’t be writing if things were sunshine and roses though, would I?
One day, after working with objects that scared, confused and frustrated me in equal measure, I realized there was something I was avoiding.
So I found myself standing in front of Augustus, the creature held upright and immobile in it’s coffin-like cage. The Plexiglas window is cracked.
It's worse than I thought it would be. Every time I look at the thing’s face I see the blood it made me spill. I see the power it wields, and the murderous intent in it’s twisted pit of a mind.
But sometime soon, I’m going to be next to it again. I have to be able to keep myself together. I have to understand this thing as much as I can.
“Hey killer, how the fuck ya Doin? “ Augustus taunts. Shame reddens my fear paled face.
“Can we talk? “ I say, I want it to be a demand, it comes out as a whimper.
“What do we have to talk about, bud? What about this are you not picking up on yet? “ Augustus is smug, confident even while confined.
“How you seem to have this limitless ego, when you're being held by literally the oldest woman possible. “ I’m too scared to say this above a whisper.
“That dusty old wizard’s sleeve out there? She’ll fucking get hers.
Lucky bitch on a lucky day is all that was.
But luck runs out, and when it does, I’m gonna uproot your entire sad little family tree. “ Augustus threatens.
I actually take a step backward, and almost turn. The fear this thing causes, it’s more than the knowledge of what it can do, it’s a force in and of itself.
“Augustus, why not hear me out? “ I plead.
“Because kid, that’s not how this story goes.
I’ve got nothing but time, I’ll be around till the heat death of the fucking universe.
I don’t need to hear things like you out, I don’t need to bargain. No matter how airtight your inbred little clan thinks these bonds are, eventually, someone always makes a mistake. Something small, like a wrong angle on a rune.
Or…, “ as the thing talks, the door to the coffin like cage holding it starts to slowly swing outward, “ Something big, like forgetting to set the fucking padlock. “
I’m already running as he talks, but he’s standing in front of the exit before I can take a step.
He looms in front of the door, coat spreading, seemingly of it’s own accord, making the patchwork killer seem like some kind of twisted manta ray.
He locks eyes with me, I’m frozen, gripped in terror so intense I have no idea if it’s mundane or the aura of fear Augustus projects.
Those mismatched orbs burrow into me, I feel like this thing can see into my soul.
He inhales for an impossibly long time, a slick, menacing grin spreading across his leathery face.
“Yeah, today’s the day kid.” He says, a kick sending me across the floor like a smooth rock across the surface of a pond.
I’ve never felt pain like this, I try to stand, but my knee refuses to bend. I hit the ground and my ribs scream, I’m sure at least one was broken in the tumble.
I hear Augustus’ footsteps, my struggles to get to my feet are useless. Seconds in, i’m in literal crippling pain.
He grabs me by the throat, taking his time as he raises me above his head.
The look of joy on his face as I choke and struggle to breathe twists his features, for a moment he appears nearly snakelike.
He holds the tips of his claw-like nails against my stomach. Then draws his arm back.
“Don’t worry bud, I’m not just going to tear out your heart, everyone does that shit.
This isn’t going to be a sprint, it’s a fucking marathon. I just want to aerate the track a little bit before we start. “ His hand blurs and I close my eyes hoping I don’t last very long.
“Stop” I hear a deep, smooth, male voice say.
I hit the ground, and try to see who just stopped the beginning of my execution, but the pain, the cracked ribs, pulled muscles and long ragged scrapes have me seeing spots.
When my vision clears, I see a tall, blond man with impossibly angular features, dressed in an immaculate black and mauve suit.
His eyes try to look kind, but there is something wrong behind them. Something waiting to be let out.
“Who are you? “ I say, one lip, split and torn.
“You can call me Art. Arthur Deus if you feel like being formal.
But what you want to know, is why I’m here.
Well Nikolas, to simplify things, think of me as the older brother of the leering terror your ‘aunt’ has trapped here. “ As Arthur talks, I notice something, the motes of dust in the air are hanging still.
“I have no problems with you taking him. I haven’t seen you, I don’t know your name. Couldn’t stop you if I wanted to. “ I ramble.
Arthur holds up a finger, I go silent.
“If only it were that easy.
See Nikolas, your aunt and I, have quite the history. And as much as it pains me to admit it, she’s a crafty one, and has the means to make things very difficult for me.
Sylvia cannot know I’m involved, this is why I have an offer for you. “ As art says this, he waves a hand, almost dismissively.
Like a switch being flipped my pain stops, I watch as my wounds begin to seal and fade, amazed.
“What is it? “ I say. The words feel like they have weight.
“Sylvia is looking for someone to take over for her. As old as she is, she’s not immortal.
You’re her third attempt.
I’m not going to lie to you and say I care about what’s happening to the humans involved in this grim little spectacle. But I care about my family, and to a lesser extent, those like myself.
This bloodsport that your aunt is a part of, it’s vile. It’s world spanning, and it’s for nothing more than greed and bragging rights.
I want to change this. And I would like you to help me. “ Art’s tone is slick and confident.
“If I do, then you get him to back off? “ I say, pointing to Augustus.
Art looks dismayed for a moment.
“That’s not something I can really promise Nikolas. If anything could force him to listen to reason, he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. “ My heart sinks as Art says this.
“Fuck off Art. “ Augustus says.
Arthur rolls his eyes. They seem to go just a little too far back.
“But what I can do, is have a conversation with him, impress upon him how important it is he works with you. “ Art pats me on the shoulder before turning toward his sibling. His hand is impossibly hot.
“This kid dies, that is not my fault. You’ve seen this shit, he’s not built for it, just bust me out of here. “ Augustus isn’t far off of pleading in his tone.
“You know that’s not possible. I cannot let Sylvia know I’m here. But given time, I will have you out. “ Art assures.
“Fact remains, this kid gets on the wrong side of a blade or a fuckin, werewolf or something, that’s not on me.
Even if he manages to keep his lungs in his chest, look at him. His mind is cracking, he’s either insane or God-damned, catatonic in two months. “ Now Augustus sounds like a cocky piece of shit again.
“Of course, if he dies, or succumbs mentally, that’s not on you.
But I want you, to make a promise to me. I want you to understand that this child cannot be harmed by your hand. “ It sounds like Art is talking to a five year old.
Augustus shrugs before replying.
“The fuck you want me to say? You know me, you know I can’t say I’m not hurting this kid. And I sure as hell am not making a promise about it so you can get you-know-who involved when nature takes it’s course.
Fuck this kid, get me out of here.”
Arthur sighs and turns from Augustus , walking to me.
“Nikolas, I have something to tell you. “ He says, there’s a gravity to his tone that clearly makes Augustus uncomfortable.
“Art, what are you doing? “ The Trenchcoat wearing creature asks.
Art kneels bringing himself eye to eye with me.
“Don’t do this. “ Augustus says.
“Then promise. “ Art replies, a few seconds of silence go by, “ As you can see, I cannot guarantee your safety Nikolas.
But, for his own good, I want to tell you a word, one that will make my myopic brother look at things a little differently, if the need arises.
I’d use it sparingly, it’s not meant for those like yourself. It will have a physical, mental and spiritual toll. But it might spare you the worst of his excesses. “
That word was the last thing Arthur said to me. With a staggering, disorienting lurch, time began to move forward.
It kept moving forward for the next month.
I learned a lot over that time, but, not what you might expect.
As it turns out, there is a hell of a lot more engineering, physics, and chemistry involved in working with the supernatural than, summoning circles and newt eyes.
But eventually, the day I was dreading came.
The venue was a strip club of all places, a massive building, on the outskirts of Norwich, gaudy neon lights illuminate a place that, unlike the theme restaurant, seems to be in active use.
There was a different ambiance this time. The folks milling around the rune etched Lucite box seemed more sedate, and a hell of a lot richer.
The lighting was professional, driving music sets a professional sports tone.
This time I walk in the cage of my own accord. It’s not pride, or bravery, but simply knowing, I have no choice.
The roar of the crowd stokes my fear as Augustus slowly opens the door of his coffin-like vessel.
He loves the attention, his grin both horrifying and genuine.
“Guess we’re in the big leagues now, eh, killer? “ Augustus prods.
I’m sweating. I’ve cut a little weight over the past month, unintentionally, but as I wonder what horror is going to come walking in the other side of this cage. I don’t think being in marginally better shape and having a working knowledge of basic engineering is going to do me a lot of good.
Suddenly the crowd is silent, lights illuminate a spot at the far end of the massive Lucite box.
She’s small, slight, and has grey, lifeless skin. Her eyes are massive, her body beautiful, but exaggerated to the point of looking cartoonish. She’s not wearing much, a small t-shirt and what I’ll generously call a bikini bottom.
Beside her is a massive, brick slab of a man, late twenties or early thirties. His eyes are wild, he’s covered in layers of scars, and burns. He wears an old, worn prison uniform that’s never seen a washing machine.
He matches her strange, boneless stride, with a loping wolf-like gait.
“Entering the ring, you know her, you love her. She’s the Vixen of the void, The Nymph of nothing, Norwich’s own, ‘Sweet’ Francis Anne!
And at her side, brought in at great expense from the land of Twinkies, cheeseburgers and weak beer, The Corps Killer, the Military Mangler, with 24 out of ring kills and 36 in, ‘Big’ Billy Speck! “ an announcer screams.
The crowd bursts into life, noise shakes the walls of the cage.
“And, on the other side, I don’t know, some wanker in a Trenchcoat, and a kid that isn’t even old enough to be here. Let’s watch them die. “ He finishes.
Augustus looks enraged, his teeth chatter, he flexes his clawed hands. I walk in his shadow as he advances to face the creature and her second.
“I know you! “ The grey skinned thing says, her voice high pitched. As she speaks I notice what appears to be a thick scar bisecting her from forehead to stomach.
“Never heard of you. Neither will anyone else after this. “ Augustus says with a grin.
“You’re the runt of the litter right? Royal blood but peasant flesh, that’s what they say, no? “ Francis says, she grins a toothless smile. The inside of her mouth, a black void.
“Fuck my family. What I am is as good as meat gets. I give myself power, all you have is a cosmic std. “ Augustus stares Francis down as he talks.
Francis reacts with nothing more than a coy look. Bill stares down at me, the handle of some large blade sticking out of his right pocket, and a short length of chain wrapped around his left forearm.
A buzzer cuts through the roar of the crowd, the world seems to consist of nothing more than myself and the horrors around me as the timer begins to count down.
Like a flash Augustus leaps at Francis, but her body stretches and contorts as she moves, he never gets close.
I tear myself away from the clash of unnatural creatures as I look to the mutilated killer in front of me.
I didn’t come in unarmed, but I also was expecting another kid. And wanted to avoid what happened last time if at all possible. My heart races as I pull the small black can from the pocket of my worn, grey hoodie.
For a second I feel like a badass. I’ve got the can of mace aimed and spraying before Bill can react.
Four seconds tick by before the can is empty, Bill is soaked in thick yellow liquid, it runs down his face like tears.
The psycho doesn’t even blink.
“You good? “ he asks before slapping my outstretched arm aside and shattering my nose with a backhanded blow that seemed almost an afterthought.
Augustus screams in frustration, moving faster than I can track, but not able to put a scratch on the amorphous, rubbery woman.
Bill uncoils the chain, and I feel a sudden deep, crushing pain in my chest. I stumble backward, coughing. He laughs and whips the chain out again, I manage to see the next blow, but have no way of stopping it.
He manages to hit the same spot, the pain is overwhelming, my lungs feel bruised, I can’t breathe.
Francis seems to have grown bored avoiding Augustus, he pants, sucking wind as she stands in front of him.
That scar splits, not fully, but from forehead to the bridge of her nose. What’s behind it, is nothing.
I mean that in terms so literal, I can’t describe how it looked. It was more of a feeling that a sight. Looking into it, made me understand just how empty something can actually be.
Pieces of Augustus’ skin and flesh begin to, simply not exist. His look of confusion lasts for about a second before he’s sent sailing through the air by a long, whip-like arm.
The trenchcoat clad creature extracts himself from a tangled mess of tables, chairs and debris. Francis and Bill laugh, mocking us.
“Let’s trade dance partners” Augustus says, his two handed shove launching my broken body into Francis.
She catches me, her body absorbing the impact.
Fear is making me hyperventilate, physical trauma is turning that into a wheezing pant that feels like being waterboarded.
Francis looks down at me, violence and seduction in her eyes.
“Make things easy for me and I’ll let you go out with a bang. “ She says, the look of carnal violence on her face makes me gag.
Augustus struggles with Bill, the creatures wounds many and severe.
A minute remains, but I don’t know if I can last another ten seconds.
Francis stretches one arm into a thin tendril, it begins to circle me, caging me into a progressively smaller area.
“I’m sixteen, you paranormal nonce. “ I blurt out, the pain from my broken nose almost making me pass out, “ That’s the word they use around here, right? For the kind of creep that gets supernatural powers to hit on a kid? “
I can’t run, I can’t fight, all I can do is try to distract this thing for another 42 seconds.
Her face begins to turn, shifting and warping into something resembling a cattle skull more than a person.
The wet snapping noise distracts both Francis and myself.
Augustus has his hand buried in the chest of the convict, he holds the man aloft for a moment.
Augustus says something in a language I can’t even guess at, and with one fluid motion tears the black, decayed heart from his own chest and replaces it with that of the killer.
He begins to scream, then laugh, wounds spraying ichor, he seems to swell, his face a mask of pleasure and Ill intent.
“Death machine just needed a new engine. “ Augustus says with a cackle.
Francis forgets about me and lashes out, quite literally, at Augustus. Limbs becoming a frenzied blur of snaking flesh, , destroying anything they so much as graze.
He wades into the storm, flirting around the edges of the cage, making her chase him with the lethal limbs.
The conflict is a blur, but at the 23 second mark I see it. As much as I hate the prick, I’m almost impressed.
She’s tangled, somewhere among the bent stripper poles, and doorways to private booths, She’s caught herself.
Augustus takes his time now, her body is stretched thin, looped around door handles and under stages.
Ten seconds left, Augustus is feet from her writhing, blob-like form. Her features pulled taught enough to be nearly non-existent.
“Takes a lot to open yourself up doesn’t it? “ Augustus says, kneeling, he holds the killer’s knife in one hand, “ Why don’t I do it for you? “
The blade is barely touching her flesh as the timer ends.
“Fuck’s sake! “ Augustus says, standing, and letting the knife fall to the floor.
Something about the way he walks to one end of the Lucite cage worries me.
“Nobody likes a draw, but as far as they go, that was one hell of a kiss to your sister, wasn’t it folks?
No one is defeating our lovely lady of legend, but let’s hear it for the man who tried… Trenchcoat! “ The announcer screams over the loudspeaker.
The crowd is on their feet, bets are being paid out, and two groups of people are trying to open doors conveniently barred by flesh no person is going to get through.
I jog up to him, my body screaming at me every step of the way. He taps along one clear wall.
“Cheap runes. “ Augustus says, before driving his fist like a spear through the Lucite.
The hole he makes is about the size of a watermelon, his hand easily going through all six inches of the wall.
But it’s not big enough to accommodate the body of the poor twenty something he drags through.
In an instant the man is flensed, his small bones broken, eyes, ears and jaw, nothing more than a smear.
But he’s still alive, wailing a haunting death bellow as he struggles to understand what just happened.
“Stop! “ I scream, horrified. Blood sprays from my ruined nose, “You think I won’t say it? “
Augustus slowly cocks his head, punching his fist through the wall again, and tossing another victim beside the first.
“In front of your family, and that aunt of yours? You think this is bad? The shit she’ll do to you if she knows you even looked at my Dangerous Brothers looking prick of a brother will make this look like a massage.” Trenchcoat pauses, letting the reality sink in, letting my absolute lack of power envelop me like a blanket, “ You want me to stop? I’ll give you something no one else has, a choice.
Either finish one of these pieces of meat off, or, have a taste. “
He brings his hand back for another strike, and I make my choice.
No, I’m not telling you which one. I can share a lot of things with you guys. But, I’m sorry, how I picked to save the rest of the people in that place is a shame I’m going to carry on my own.
Don’t know if any of you will want to hear from me again, after knowing what I’ve had to do, who I’ve had to deal with, but I’m going to keep posting. This is getting nothing but worse, and maybe, I can save someone else the same fate.