About six years ago my family bought a place in rural Indiana, just outside of town. We bought it for the machine shop, a huge industrial building with zoning, power and access for trucks. I had been a professional metal smith for about ten years but had to leave that work behind for financial reasons and the cost of proper space where I live. This new place was on 5 acres with a house, barn and a creek in the back. It was bordered by a neighbor with an extensive garden and orchard on one side and an empty field on the other. Two years after we moved in the field sold. The new owner stored trucks and building supplies there for two years before starting on a house. It took them quite a while to build it- they were building it themselves. They seemed decent enough at the time. Now, I am used to being viewed as nuisance- I run a blacksmith/welding shop. I try to mitigate the noise. The building is insulated, and machinery anchored to huge (and expensive) concrete footings that reduce vibration. I don’t crank the stereo to drown out the machines, I have headphones. I do regular noise audits and keep reasonable hours ( nothing before 7 or after 9, and no weekend work) When the new neighbors began nearing completion, they brought goats out and stuffed them into a chicken coop about midway down our driveway. They would come out to check on the goats every few days but sometimes the animals would go a while without anyone coming by. My wife and I would walk the dogs past a few times a day ( it’s our driveway) and after a few days of goats screaming at us, one of us would go over and give them food and water. This was an every other week kind of thing. I figured these folks were probably really busy and just getting hung up on driving the 45 + minutes to feed the animals- not a big deal really. As they began moving in, they built a fence, or rather, they had a drunk uncle build a fence. It was just a foot, or two or three from my driveway, and as it meandered toward my house veered into my carport. I tried to have a conversation with them about this, and was threatened with a lawsuit… ( my first altercation with them) I approached the county only to be told that it would be a civil dispute and I would have to go through an attorney to get anything done. Now the drunk uncle realized he was off the line when he got to the carport and just stopped. For 8 months they did nothing. Well, they did start collecting animals. 6 more goats, 16 sheep, 2 then 4 horses and 4 cows…all of these tied to posts in chicken wire fences… I did call animal control. Animal control informed me that this county is rural and they can have whatever animals they want, and do to them whatever they want… (damn Indiana… just??? ) this was about the time he decided to start “training “ the horses. This involved tying them to a post in front of my porch, blasting mariachi music, while whipping the horse- for about two hours a night…they lost three horses, and got 5 more…the half built fence blew over into our driveway last spring. I was out of town working and my wife took the dogs out and took some pictures of the fence in our driveway. The neighbor called the police and reported that she was stalking them, and taking pictures of their workers ( who were eating lunch at the time apparently, but ran off when they realized they had been seen) the police were not thrilled with the call and gave the neighbor a bit of a talking to. The following week they pulled the fence and rebuilt it straight. It now fully encloses their property and is not interfering with my carport. Now, I don’t trust these idiots, but hoped this was the end….far from it. They covered their property with flood lights, that are motion activated. We no longer have dark nights. In the fall they began building a 7000-8000 sq ft barn. Right next to my front porch. Now, at least the horses have a decent place…(right? ) they brought in a full time horse trainer and are “raftering” the horses. The new barn comes with a sound system, and the horse beating is now an 8 am- midnight 7 day a week affair. When the horses get unmanageable they trade them out. I have no count on the animals anymore, but at least I don’t have to watch the beatings anymore. Four times now he has charged me on horseback while I was walking the dogs. I figured he had no control the first three times but the last time he looked me in the eye and spurred the horse directly at me… starting in late January the manure began. They have 7 acres. They pile the manure right by my porch. I messaged her- she blocked me. I e-mailed both of them. From February to April they just piled it higher. In May I called the health department ( damn Indiana…) On the books, the pile shouldn’t be within 200 feet of a residence. The inspector said horse manure doesn’t count…. They responded… the inspection got them riled up. Apparently I am the asshole for wanting the poop piled on the side of the barn that is not right by my front door and dining room window…My second conversation with them ( in two years) was two weeks ago, and now they are going out of their way to pile it closer to my house. I haven’t complained about the noise, or called zoning on them for the unapproved event space They are building, or mentioned any of a dozen other obnoxious things they do. I am concerned that they seem to only want to escalate things. From the conversation it sounds like they are getting flak from other neighbors and thinking it is me. I am not sure they realize that there are houses all around them. She “rescued” a cat that belongs to one of the other neighbors which makes me think she hasn’t talked to any of them. And she kept going on about us calling the police, which I never have. I can hear the mariachi music, literally night and day , echoing through my house, and in the shop ( built for noise abatement) with doors closed and machines running) I am fairly certain that is not going over well with some of the neighbors.

Hi! I'm still looking for my person, and still waiting
As the title says, I'm looking for something serious and long term. I hope we can start off as friends, share our interests and hobbies, etc. and turn into something genuine and deeper.
About me: I'm 5'5 moreno a working professional in the health field. Graduated from one of the big 4 and an academic achiever. Loves dogs, cats, and turtles. I'm neither slim or chubby and I always get complinents of my nose and sleepy eyes. I have plans going abroad or pursuing medicine, I'm a very goal-oriented person and I hope we can share our goals in life. Something interesting about me are, I can play musical instruments, sing, and cook japanese foods. Loves to listen to music, watch anime/series (esp sitcoms). I play video games and go to the gym on my free time. Lastly, I am a very level headed person, I rarely shout or get mad at anyone; not a pushover, but I know how to control my emotions. Substantial and may sense naman kausap, introvert but can get talkative with the right person/people. Flexible humor but I like dark humors 😆
Abt you: if preference in looks, I have a soft spot for chinita/mestiza with glasses 🫠, but thats just a preference. I hope you're the same age or younger (since I have plans studying pa, para may kasabay ako magaral din). Have view on future plans/goals para we can talk about it din. In med or archi (para we can build our dream house 🤣), or any, those are just on top of my head rn. Not into fling or "just for fun" type of relationship. HINDI DEAD KAUSAP PLS. Someone who is passionate about something as well.
Tldr: just be yourself and hmu! If you want to swap pics we can.
PS: pls pls pls send an intro and tell me your ideal first date and/or something interesting about you 😆

R-squared values: Linear Regression: 0.8401621913740709 Polynomial Regression: 0.9161966003792115 Exponential Regression: 0.922505755755209 Projected next outcome using damped Exponential Regression: 15916.26589649187 

Darshane Punyam, Sparshane Paapam 

Hi all!
I'd like to know your opinions and points of view on this subject. I don't live in the Netherlands, but I received a job offer of 36,000 euros, including allowances, for a position as a graduate software engineer. Excluding allowances, I believe it comes down to around 2.5k per month. I have a master's degree (in STEM but not CS) but no experience in the field. Is this a fair offer considering the current market rate plus the cost of living, moving, inflation, etc.? I believe I can also get the 30% ruling but not sure...
I was expecting a bit more in terms of salary but I am looking for quite some time now and this was the only offer I got.

Part 14.3

Heracles VS Lernaean Hydra

Author Note: I was thinking about it and I really wish that GT9 used more draconic symbolism throughout the story when (or if) I revisit Team Crowley VS Rosencreutz I'll have symbolism of Aleister (TheBeast666), Aiwass (Codename: DRAGON) and Coronzon (The Dragon of the Abyss) all have symbology of them being Dragons preying on a God/Hero like CRC and the reversed conflict of Chaos VS Order you see in mythology, I also wanted to achieve something similar with Kakine Teitoku as he can represent the Fallen Angel and the Seraphim but for now I'll try adding draconian symbolism into Gunha VS CRC.
True Expert Christian Rosencreutz, with his golden rosy cross sword, clashed relentlessly against the indomitable force of the Strongest Gemstone, Sogiita Gunha. With each clash of their powers, the air crackled and compressed, and the pavement trembled beneath.
CRC, observed Sogiita with a mixture of intrigue and disdain. "You fight like the legendary Heracles," he remarked, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "But know this, I am the Lernaean Hydra, and no matter how many heads you sever, I shall always rise again!" Rosencreutz roared to slice the #7’s midsection.
Sogiita, his entire body wreathed in unknowable energy, met CRC's blade unyielding. "Bring it on, old man!" he retorted, his voice brimming with confidence. "I'll knock you down as many times as it takes! I won't stop till you come to your senses and remember your roots, like the roses you love so much, Rosencreutz!!"
Their clash intensified, that old man’s higher dimensional sword colliding with the raw power of that boy’s fists and kicks as they pushed each other to their limits with each sword swing, punch, kick and flash.
Sogiita unleashed a barrage of punches, each strike carrying the force of a meteor, while that silver young man countered: he wielded his sword in his right hand and released impacts followed by white light that was enough to previously take down all of The Bridge Builders Cabal.
As the battle raged on, the very fabric of reality seemed to warp and shift around them, bearing witness to the titanic struggle between two unparalleled forces.
The founder of Rosicrucianism who intimidated reality itself to obey his will and that Gemstone with an unstable personal reality that could change on a whim.
The atmosphere crackled with electrifying distortion.
Sogiita's fists tore through the air with the ferocity of meteors, their velocity enhanced by his ability to adapt and accelerate, surpassing even CRC's speed. As each blow was released, the friction with the surrounding air molecules ignited a scorching heat, intensifying the impact.
The rapid movement of molecules generated an escalating thermal energy, causing the air to seethe with increasing temperature. It was akin to a tempest of incandescent projectiles hurtling towards CRC, their speed surpassing the limits of human perception.
It was like a storm of brilliant fiery arrows was fired at Rosencreutz.
These blazing arrows of force were reminiscent of the elusive strikes employed by the Rose & Cross Leader, ignoring distance with deceptive agility.
With each thunderous punch, that bandana boy sought to overpower his adversary through sheer kinetic force, his unwavering resolve palpable in every motion.
But that wasn't enough for this superhuman.
CRC, wielding his cross sword with precision and skill, deflected each and every one Sogiita's flaming arrows with calculated strikes of his own. Each impact unleashed a burst of blinding white light, sending shockwaves rippling through the chaotic city.
"You think brute strength alone will defeat me?" the silver man taunted, his voice cutting through the chaos of battle. "You may be strong, but strength without strategy is nothing but raw power wasted."
Sogiita grinned, his confidence unshaken. "Strategies for cowards who can't handle a real fight," he retorted, his voice ringing with defiance. "I'll K.O. you with my fists and guts alone!!!!"
Rosencreutz's eyes narrowed as he parried another of Sogiita's punches. "Your arrogance will be your downfall," he warned, his tone tinged with certainty. "I may not match your overall speed, but I have something you lack: intellect and precision.”
Christian Rosencreutz then plunged his cross sword into the ground.
"This is what harmed Kamijou Touma," he declared, grinning and unleashing a torrent of lethal invisible attacks from his outstretched palms.
However, the #7 countered with a relentless barrage of flaming arrows from the thermal aftershock of his punches.
Each strike akin to a particle accelerator in its intensity and speed. That Gemstone was the particles being fired on the right and that True Expert was the particles fired on the left.
As the attacks clashed, the battlefield became a spectacle of raw power and precision.
“Roar!” CRC held his open palm to his mouth and blew gently on the tip of the middle finger.
That was all it took for a blaze easily outdoing a flamethrower to rush out. And this was not just any fire. It fed on the power of a ley line and stole vitality from space itself. This overwhelming mass of light and heat was wielded for no other purpose than to take lives. Anyone who tried to survive it using simple composite armor or special fibers would dry up and burn away in less than a second.
But that wouldn't kill another superhuman would it?
Of course not.
“Aaaaarghhhh!!!!” screamed the #7.
Some assaults bypassed the fray entirely, slipping through the chaos like elusive particles in a collider.
A smokescreen.
Those brilliant fireworks from hell weren't meant to take Sogiita’s life. They were meant to disrupt the Gemstone's senses and sight so he couldn't counter all of that old man’s deadly attacks.
Invisible strikes found their mark on that Gemstone, and the searing arrows of the arrows scorched Rosencreutz.
CRC was wounded but he rejected to make any whimpers. Instead with a sudden burst of velocity, the young silver man picked up his cross sword from the ground and launched a flurry of strikes, cutting at the #7’s body with pinpoint accuracy.
His arms, his head, his face, his stomach, his legs, his midsection, his back.
Each blow landed with devastating force, causing Sogiita to stagger back under the onslaught.
If that bandana boy hadn't had his defenses and general stats raised by the #5 he’d be cut to pieces.
The #7 fell on his back.
"There's a fire," Sogiita declared, his voice ringing out amidst the chaos of battle.
With each attempt to break his spirit, Sogiita's resolve only grew stronger, fueling the flames of his determination. "Every time someone tries to make me give up, it's like wind feeding my flames, making them burn even brighter just like my punches," he explained, his words carrying the weight of his unwavering determination.
He refused to stay down.
With a roar of defiance, Sogiita surged forward once more, his movements blurring with speed as he disappeared from view. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared behind Christian Rosencreutz, catching the magician off guard.
"Hey, old man," Sogiita taunted, his voice filled with confidence as he seized Rosencreutz from behind.
Christian Rosencreutz's eyes widened in surprise as he realized he had been outmaneuvered.
As Sogiita Gunha faced off against Christian Rosencreutz in their airborne duel, he felt the flames of determination burning within him, driving him forward with unstoppable force.
Before he could react, the boy lifted him effortlessly and slammed him onto the pavement below with a resounding thud.
"I'm not just a kick-boxer!!" Sogiita sang.
As the impact reverberated through the air, the young silver man let out a pained cry. The force of the collision compressed the surrounding air, heating it up until it crackled with energy. Christian Rosencreutz's head struck the ground with a velocity equivalent to mach 20, igniting his body in flames upon impact.
This move is called a suplex.
Struggling to regain his bearings, Rosencreutz muttered in a daze, "The House of the Holy Spirit...the seven walls..."
"You said it yourself, didn't you?" the gutsy boy retorted, cocky. "My power and my guts can break through your impenetrable walls. And I can spread those same guts to the world around me."
With a grimace, Christian Rosencreutz acknowledged the truth of the boy's words. "Your uncontrolled AIM field grants you the ability to imbue non-organic objects with the properties of your virus," he observed, his voice tinged with begrudging admiration. "Allowing them to bypass even the defenses of the seven-walled tomb.”
"A virus? Don't be so gutless, CRC," the #7 retorted, his voice filled with defiance. "This battleground ruled by wills is a two-way road between you and me."
Christian Rosencreutz raised an eyebrow at the boy's words. "Hey Gemstone, you could've killed me if I weren't a superhuman with an idealized body that accomplished The Great Work and crossed the Ungrund, what then short-stack?" he questioned while fitting an insult against his height.
Even without the seven-walled tomb or sheets of diamonds Rosencreutz was cartoonishly durable.
"Sorry, old man," Sogiita replied, his tone tinged with annoyance. "I might've gotten carried away, but I know it'll take more than that to kill you. No matter how many heads you regrow, like Hydra, I will not give up until I've completed all my labors."
"Mhm, so you do know your mythology," CRC remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "The Lernaean Hydra, or simply Hydra, is a serpentine lake monster in Greek and Roman mythology. Its lair was the lake of Lerna in the Argolid, known as an entrance to the Underworld. In the canonical myth, the monster is slain by Heracles as part of his Twelve Labors."
"Yeah, I know," Sogiita replied confidently. "I studied the tales of great gutsy heroes in school.”
"So, short-stack," Christian Rosencreutz began, his voice carrying a hint of scholarly interest. “Have you ever considered the parallels between our battle and ancient Near Eastern religions?”
Sogiita listened intently. "Are you saying you see yourself as a god of war or a hunter?" he inquired.
CRC chuckled softly. "In a sense, indeed. We are both assuming roles in this grand theater, are we not? I, the Hydra, and you, Heracles."
He continued, "Consider the Second Labor of Heracles. Eurystheus, the king of Tiryns, sent Heracles to slay the Hydra, which Hera had raised specifically to defeat him. Heracles approached the swamp near Lake Lerna, where the Hydra dwelled. To protect himself from the poisonous fumes, he covered his mouth and nose with a cloth and shot flaming arrows into the Hydra's lair, causing it to emerge and terrorize the surrounding villages."
CRC paused, drawing a comparison. “In our own clash, the flaming arrows that Heracles hurled at the Hydra find their echo in your lightning-fast fists, generating shockwaves that ignite the air with their speed and force. It's as though each strike of yours is akin to shooting a flaming arrow, much like Heracles did.”
“Huh? Are you suggesting we're caught in a time loop? That some enigmatic group, like the Bridge Builders Cabal, manipulated events to resurrect you, pitting us against each other in a timeless struggle? I've never met them, and I'm certainly no child of Zeus. Are you implying that our battle will be distorted into a Greek legend by a meddling time traveler?!” frantically asked the boy.
“No, no, you simpleton. This world contains synchronicities. In Sumerian, Babylonian, and Assyrian mythology, the war and hunting god Ninurta was celebrated for his deeds. The Angim credited him with slaying eleven monsters during an expedition to the mountains, including a seven-headed serpent, possibly identical to the Mushmahhu, and Bashmu, whose constellation was later associated with the Hydra by the Greeks. In Babylonian contexts, the Hydra's constellation is also linked to Marduk's dragon, the Mushhushshu.”
“Uhhh….” That shounen boy was dumbfounded.
"Hhm, I suppose calling it a time loop isn't technically wrong," Christian Rosencreutz began, his tone measured. "I'll break it down from history class and reconstruct it through the lens of the occult. Historic recurrence, young Gemstone, is the phenomenon of events echoing throughout time. Whether it's the rise and fall of empires or the repetitive cycles within a single society, it's all part of this grand plan that was decided when Adam ate the forbidden fruit."
The #7 with his guard up but curious listened: "So, history just keeps repeating itself? Just a series of coincidences?"
Christian Rosencreutz shook his head sagely. "There is no such thing as coincidences. Take, for instance, the Doctrine of Eternal Recurrence, pondered upon by thinkers like Heinrich Heine and Friedrich Nietzsche. While it's said that 'history repeats itself,' it's not quite that simple. Rather, these recurrences stem from identifiable circumstances and chains of causality."
He continued, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of philosophical debate. "Consider the phenomenon of multiple independent discoveries in science or the reproducible findings in natural and social sciences. These recurrences, whether in the form of rigorous experimentation or comparative research, are vital to our understanding of the world."
Christian Rosencreutz paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "G.W. Trompf, in his seminal work, The Idea of Historical Recurrence in Western Thought, illustrates the recurring patterns of political thought and behavior since ancient times. Through these patterns, history offers us invaluable lessons, often leading to a sense of resonance or déjà vu."
Their words reverberated like a challenge to destiny itself, a testament to their unyielding determination in the face of adversity.
That Gemstone didn't surrender his characteristic fervor. "History echoing through time, huh? It's like the universe itself is stuck on repeat, and we're just caught in the cycle. But you know what? If history's gonna keep looping, then let's break the pattern! Let's smash through those chains of causality and forge our own path. Who cares about déjà vu? We'll create something entirely new, something that'll shake the very foundations of this world and we’ll do it with guts!!!" He defied that silver monster.
But Rosencreutz wasn't finished. He pulled out his Crystal World Map.
The supposedly old man listened intently to that boy's impassioned response, his expression inscrutable behind his clairvoyant card. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke.
“Gemstone, you speak of breaking free from the chains of repetition, of forging a new destiny against the backdrop of eternal return. It is a noble aspiration, indeed. However, consider this: eternal return is not merely a philosophical concept or a whimsical notion of fate. It is the very fabric of existence, woven into the nature of time itself.” He pressed his finger on the Miniature Garden and a 3D holographic projection flew out—
“In ancient times, the Stoics grappled with the idea, seeing in it both a sense of cosmic order and a challenge to individual agency. Augustine and others recoiled from its implications, fearing it as a negation of free will and salvation. And yet, Nietzsche, in his brilliance, dared to confront the concept anew, exploring its depths in the crucible of human consciousness.”
Didn't Aleister Crowley say that he had to shatter every single phase in order to eliminate the concept of fate?
“I will shatter every last phase and put an end to all mysticism. It can be helped and we need not restrain our tears and bite our lip when faced with tragedy. I will bring back the pure world in which everyone can feel anger like normal and question it all like normal!!”
And didn't Coronzon appear to break down all the phases including the Pure World?
Partial destruction would be meaningless. If anything remains and an eternal distortion is born from that, then it will all happen again. I will eliminate the ten spheres, the twenty-two pathways, and the hidden eleventh symbol. Collisions between phases? Sparks and spray? You cannot save anyone if you only treat those symptoms. All of the fundamental clogs must be removed. All so we can pass the baton to whoever comes next.”
“Sparks and Sprays…” Rosencreutz muttered.
“Eh?” The #7 didn't quite hear him.
"Beside time stands fate, cruelty's steadfast herald. In the silent chambers of the soul, whispers the most profound wisdom. Humanity, in its folly, neglected to exalt life's splendor, its radiance, its grandeur. Truly, it is a rare gift to comprehend the forces that shape our existence.” That magician spoke in despair.
“From the moment man ate the fruit of knowledge, he guaranteed your species’ failure... Entrusting his future to the whims of fate, man clutches to a flickering hope. Yet, within the Miniature Garden lies the key to all revelation. Beyond the well-trodden path lies the ultimate terminus. It matters not who you are; Death is the sole certainty awaiting all.” he finished with scorn.
Shokuhou Misaki was currently linked to Sogiita Gunha so was overhearing the entire conversation.
“Are you okay, Leader?” asked Kamijou back at the hospital.
“Yeah…” she responded.
“Really?” Mikoto breathed a white sigh. “It wasn’t the shock of seeing their school destroyed. Nor was it the fear of having those rioters attack. …They’re afraid of their own power. And after learning how exactly to use that power to survive, they’re not sure they can just switch it off and return to their normal lives. So their gears have ground to a halt.” Tokiwadai Middle School was a prestigious esper development school.
The young ladies registered there were Level 3 at the lowest and Level 5 at the highest.
Almost all of the students had a power that surpassed that of a blade or handgun if used properly, but something had become twisted.
Yes.
“A lot of them weren’t really sure why they were training their powers.”
Shokuhou breathed a white breath, wrapped her own arms around herself, and rubbed her thighs together.
Why are you studying?
How many people could give a proper answer to that question? Because my parents told me to, because my teachers taught me to, because that’s how the world works. Those would be most people’s answers. Even the students with a clear vision of their future would only have something vague like “for the entrance exams” or “for my future”.
Only a small handful would have specific puzzle pieces in mind, such as “I need to learn how to use this equation so I can build a rocket”.
The young ladies of Tokiwadai Middle School were the same.
What if the very gears that humans have…their actions, reactions, inactions were all the result of some transcendental entity hovering above.
Like God or The Devil watching over humanity’s reality sphere and ordering around his system like everyone was a pre-programmed NPC that had specific events occur to them to get them to develop in the way that they did and determined their genetic bloodline that composed their psyche?
Is there truly a free will?
It was said that in order for you to break out of the system of society that the working class was stuck in you had to climb to the top where the corrupt elites resided.
Imagine Breaker negated sparks, Aleister Crowley could see through the veil thanks to Holy Guardian Angel Aiwass, Great Demon Coronzon could always see the cogs.
Christian Rosencreutz could view the entire world through his Miniature Garden.
The rest of humanity was at the mercy of their own destinies.
A Guardian Angel wouldn't arrive to save a parent’s child from fate every single time.
"Okay, nice poetry, can we get back to fighting already?" asked the #7 impatiently.
"Seems I got carried away," the old man conceded with a nod. "The synchronicities of this world, akin to the astral configurations in astrology, serve as an example of synchronicity, according to Jung. It describes circumstances that appear meaningfully related yet lack a causal connection, much like the parallel relationship between celestial and terrestrial phenomena. Synchronicity experiences entail subjective encounters where coincidences between events in one's mind and the external world may lack a clear causal link but still harbor an unknown connection.”
"Ah," Sogiita chimed in, recalling his philosophy class discussions. "We talked about synchronicity back then. Jung thought it was a good thing for the mind, but said it could get dicey in psychosis. He cooked up this theory as a kind of mental link between those meaningful coincidences, calling it a noncausal principle. This term came about in the late 1920s, and then he teamed up with physicist Wolfgang Pauli to dive deeper. Their work, The Interpretation of Nature and the Psyche, dropped in 1952. They were big on this idea that these connections, even the ones that don't seem to have a cause, could still teach us a lot about how our minds and the world work."
“Mhm, you know more than you lead on, Gemstone.” pondered CRC.
“Oh this? My teachers say I'm not good at remembering speeches hahaha…” The #7 looked slightly nervous. “You know, analytical psychologists really push for folks to get what these experiences mean to boost their awareness instead of just feeding into superstitions. But funny thing is, when clients spill about their synchronicity experiences, they often feel like no one's really hearing them out, or getting where they're coming from. And hey, having a bunch of these meaningful coincidences flying around can sometimes ring the schizo bell. Delusions aren't healthy.”
Where was this conversation going?
"Delusion! Hah! That's a good one coming from you," CRC fired back.
"The real delusion is thinking humanity isn't worth a damn," Sogiita shot back, pulling out some info from Johansen and Osman. "Some scientists think coincidences are just random flukes, but counselors and psychoanalysts reckon there's more to it, like some deep-down stuff needing to come out.”
"Delusion! Hah! That's a good one coming from you," CRC fired back.
"The real delusion is thinking humanity isn't worth a darn," Sogiita shot back, pulling out some info from Johansen and Osman. "Some scientists think coincidences are just random flukes, but counselors and psychoanalysts reckon there's more to it, like some deep-down stuff needing to come out. Unconscious material to be expressed."
Rosencreutz interjected, his expression reflecting a mix of confusion and concern. "Aleister Crowley's actions have left a lasting scar on this world and this city," he began, his voice weighted with solemnity. “The vacuum-like dichotomy between magic and science created by the use of that colossal psychotronic weapon, has damaged this world's memory irreparably.”
Psychotronic weapon?
The Archetype Controller?
He paused, his gaze piercing as he continued, "Jung's exploration of synchronicity as evidence of the paranormal paved the way for further inquiry, notably by Koestler and the subsequent embrace of these ideas by the New Age movement.”
Sogiita shrugged, "Some folks say synchronicity is impossible to test or prove, so it gets labeled as pseudoscience. Jung even acknowledged that these synchronicity events are basically just coincidences, statistically speaking. But hey, who's to say what's really going on without some solid scientific studies, right?"
"Dubious as his experiments may have been," CRC interrupted, "Jung believed in a connection between synchronicity and the paranormal, drawing parallels to the uncertainty principle and works by parapsychologist Joseph B. Rhine.” CRC posed a thought-provoking question, "How are we to recognize acausal combinations of events, since it is obviously impossible to examine all chance happenings for their causality? The answer lies in the fact that acausal events are most readily expected where a causal connection appears inconceivable upon closer reflection. It's impossible, with our current resources, to explain ESP or meaningful coincidences as mere phenomena of energy. This challenges the very notion of cause and effect, as these events occur simultaneously rather than in a linear cause-and-effect manner. Hence, I have coined the term 'synchronicity' to describe this phenomenon, placing it on equal footing with causality as a principle of explanation."
Getting closer to that Gemstone, CRC emphasized, "Esper abilities cannot be fully understood with science alone. They defy traditional cause-and-effect explanations, instead representing a convergence of factors that create a quantum phenomenon affecting both the micro and macro. Why were there the naturally gifted and the naturally ungifted?”
Why did some students get praised for their abilities while others needed to work harder?
Others among them would have worked every hour of their free time and not progressed anywhere in this city’s leveling curriculum.
Why did this city present such an unfair and unpredictable status quo of potential?
Why did hard work barely matter in a city of empirical evidence to record any possible progress?
Sogiita Gunha wasn't a normal Level 5 but he wasn't always this powerful. He went through the curriculum same as everyone but if the outside conditions for his Gemstone ability to manifest didn't form in the exact way that it did, in such an acausal form then would he even be here to challenge Christian Rosencreutz right now?
Everything just happened to fall right into place.
All those puzzle pieces that would lead to this moment here and now.
Was it all just talent? God picking a fool as his champion?
The #7 leaned back, absorbing CRC's words with a thoughtful expression. "So, what you're saying is, there's this whole other layer to reality that we can't quite wrap our heads around," he summarized, nodding slowly. "I mean, it's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands—slippery and elusive."
He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Historic recurrence, synchronicities, all these things—they're like pieces of a puzzle scattered across this substantial reality. And sometimes, they just... click into place, right? It's like the universe has its own plan, and we're just along for the ride."
That bandana wearing boy's gaze drifted, lost in thought. "You know, CRC, it's funny," he remarked, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Here we are, with all our powers and potential, but at the end of the day, we're still grappling with the same questions as everyone else. Talent, destiny, divine intervention—maybe they're all just different sides of the same coin."
He shrugged, the weight of the philosophical musings settling over the broken city. "Who knows? Maybe God does have a sense of humor, after all.” that boy chuckled.
There was a deep silence between them.
Rosencreutz’ response was swift and resolute, his tone filled with certainty. "All this ‘universe has a plan’ banter is just a distraction from the inevitable," he declared, his eyes narrowing. "We can debate the nature of us being all-powerful yet struggling with mortal issues until the sun burns out, but it won't change the fact that our fate was sealed upon the knowledge Adam learned."
“To think so many trivialities have developed while this old man wasn’t watching. Heh heh. Then I should assume the thread of fate has again begun to weave its strange connections between myself and some unknown human.”
He rose forward, his movements purposeful. "It's time to put an end to this dance of platitudes," CRC continued, his voice cold and unwavering. "We'll settle this the only way that somewhat matters—through objective action in this grand play."
“Silence, preserved doll. Illusionists are meant to remain silent. That is all we magicians are: wielders of substanceless illusions. Opening your mouth serves only to break the illusion.”
With a flicker of resolve in his eyes, he locked gazes with the #7. "I am Hydra, Gemstone," he said, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. "Our battle ends now.” CRC opened both his palms and began shooting at their surroundings, the buildings, the pavement, the apartments, the rubble.
It probably wasn't random as it seemed to create a pattern.
“Huh are you getting senile old man?” asked the young Gemstone.
“What fun. I never imagined someone would bother diligently polishing their skills this far while knowing it is all essentially an illusion. Didn’t you ever feel silly going to the effort?”
Rosencreutz dropped to all fours, his rosy cross sword gripped tightly in his right hand.
He moved—
“Arrgh!” Sogiita yelled amidst the relentless and precise and precise strikes from that golden cross. “Old man?” he asked.
That magician didn't say anything.
That silver man’s movements became more beastly.
Faster.
Stronger.
Fiercer.
Something new was beginning to manifest.
With each strike of his higher dimensional blade that old man’s blows seemed infused with an otherworldly energy.
The wounds inflicted by his weapon burned with a venomous intensity, sending searing pain coursing through Sogiita's body.
That boy grimaced as the poison from that silver man’s strikes surged through his being, each wound feeling like it was ablaze with venomous fire.
"Damn... That burns…like a killer hornet’s sting," he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice strained with effort. Gritting, he fought to maintain his focus, despite the agony threatening to overwhelm him.
Was this another application of The Four Stages? Citrinitas? No, there was nothing yellow here, it was more like a dirty purple.
But it wasn't just the physical damage that posed a threat.
As the Rosy Cross leader leaped on all fours his movements took on an almost erratic quality, he was bouncing from one building to another with an animalistic agility.
With each jump, a shockwave rippled through the air, carrying with it a palpable sense of dread.
Something was spreading.
The air around them seemed to thicken with a toxic miasma. The #7 struggled to breathe, the noxious fumes clouding his senses.
Like a chaotic monster’s venomous poison breath.
The once-clear air now felt thick and suffocating.
Gasping for breath, the bandana boy struggled to maintain his focus amidst the swirling chaos.
His vision blurred, his movements sluggish as he fought against the oppressive atmosphere.
Blinded that heroic boy could only fire a flame arrow without his sight.
His fists striking out with all the strength he could muster. Igniting in that poisonous compressed air.
It seemed to be flammable like a dragon’s breath.
???
At the hospital, Shokuhou's voice carried a mix of surprise and relief. “He caused real damage.” she exclaimed.
Kamijou turned his attention to her, intrigued. “What happened?”
“It's hard to see clearly, but it looks like the #7 managed to rip off CRC's left arm,” she explained. “Though, I'd say it was more of a lucky shot. I can read he acted on pure instinct.”
Kamijou nodded, a hint of melancholy in his tone. “Yeah... the psychic link and all.”
Had the #7 Level 5 given up on the old man?
Back on the battlefield, Sogiita cursed under his breath. “Dammit... Sorry, old man,” he muttered. “I was aiming to hit your whole body to maximize the surface area, maybe break a few bones as a casualty. We can probably get your arm reattached at the hospital. Heaven Canceller has enough guts to even fix me.”
It was clear—he hadn't given up.
It was an accidental strike of his arm.
“As each ghastly head was severed from its serpentine form, dreadfully, two more writhed forth from the abyss.” a cryptic voice amidst the chaos spoke.
Wasn't it said that the Hydra’s lair was the lake of Lerna in the Argolid.
Lerna was reputed to be an entrance to the Underworld.
The abyss.
The Ungrund.
There is no limit to the depth of the Alcyonian Lake, and I know of nobody who by any contrivance has been able to reach the bottom of it since not even Nero, who had ropes made several stades long and fastened them together, tying lead to them, and omitting nothing that might help his experiment, was able to discover any limit to its depth. This, too, I heard. The water of the lake is, to all appearance, calm and quiet but, although it is such to look at, every swimmer who ventures to cross it is dragged down, sucked into the depths, and swept away.
The keeper of the gate to the Underworld that lay in the waters of Lerna was the Hydra.
The serpentine Lake Monster.
“Rosencreutz……?” The #7 muttered.
That magician chuckled ominously. "Indeed, young Heracles," he intoned, his voice echoing with a bizarre resonance. “The Lernaean Hydra's curse is upon you now.” as he said that he ripped off a bit of his arm that was cuterarised and it began bleeding.
Anna Sprengel’s blood was said to create unknown miracles when spilled.
Christian Rosencreutz’ blood was so virulent that even its scent was deadly.
As Sogiita Gunha glanced at his severed arm lying on the ground, a creeping sense of horror enveloped him. "All fate is a curse and that curse," he murmured, his words barely audible over the din of battle, "extends even to my severed limb.”
Christian Rosencreutz’ left arm grew back.
No.
Two new arms grew in its place.
The arm was fully functioning with no defects.
Although one of the arms appeared somewhat scaly and lanky like a serpent.
It had human anatomy but something was abnormal here.
He almost looked like a spider as he emerged from the poisonous fog as he remained on all fours.
“So short-stack. Are you ready to complete your final labor: Crossing the abyss!!!” He challenged that boy with his cross sword facing him.
"Boss, what's up? You look kinda stuck," Kamijou asked, his tone concerned.
Two students were sitting together in the waiting room at a hospital.
"—abyss, Hydra, curse, synchronicities, Historic recurrence." she replied, her words carrying a weight of unease.
"Huh? What? Can you give me the lowdown?" Kamijou prodded, his urgency evident.
"Can't quite wrap my head around it. But what I can tell you is that after CRC started talking about these esoteric concepts, he leveled up his power ability, managed to seriously hurt the #7 despite me cranking up all his stats for the win condition," the honey-blonde girl explained, frustration creeping into her voice.
"Can you beam all that stuff into my head, like a memory download? You're a psychological esper, right? My right hand won't mess with it, and we've done the telepathy thing before," Kamijou suggested.
"Memory download's not quite it, but I can send you a recording," she clarified.
"Got it," Kamijou muttered as he absorbed the info.
"You got any ideas to help the #7’s situation ability, Kamijou-san? We're kinda desperate here," she asked.
"I wish Index was still here, dammit.” he lamented, “But you know about magic, right?" he queried.
"Yeah, people converting their delusions into reality right?," she admitted.
"Well, magic's not just about delusions; it can be tied up to the whole world. Not sure if it's relevant, but based on Idol Theory, Rosencreutz might be pulling in 'energy’ from the Greek 'phase’ of Heracles for an edge," Kamijou theorized.
"Like a chessboard flip?" Shokuhou Misaki inquired, her brow furrowed with concern.
"No, more like... imagine you're playing checkers with a buddy, and you're totally crushing it because you're a checkers pro. Then suddenly, your buddy switches it up and challenges you to an arm wrestling match, and you lose because, well, arm wrestling isn't your forte," Kamijou Touma explained, trying to paint a vivid picture.
"So, by taking on the role of the Hydra from Greek myth, he's essentially forcing the #7 into the role of Heracles? But didn't Heracles defeat the Hydra?" Shokuhou sought clarification.
"Yeah, but..." Kamijou recalled the tale from the movies he'd seen. "Lichas gave Heracles a shirt soaked in the Hydra's poisonous blood from his arrows, which ends up killing him by tearing his flesh down to the bone," he elaborated.
"It was actually Nessus seeking vengeance and tricking Deianira into giving it to Heracles as a gift, delivered by Lichas without disclosing the tunic's lethal bloodstained secret from the Lernaean Hydra, but you're right," Shokuhou corrected gently. "So, Rosencreutz is harnessing the power of that legend to slowly poison the #7 to death?"
"Not literal. I mean the poison is real but his slashes do significant harm now so it's more like shifting the paradigm in his favor shifting his position.” The spiky-haired boy wasn't in the mood to explain Phases, “Earlier, he mentioned Sogiita spreading his 'virus' throughout the world. A virus isn't a poison in the traditional sense, but the Rosicrucians originally sought to create a universal cure for all illnesses. Now, CRC is spreading a literal poison, positioning himself as the ultimate predator and his opponents as prey rather than his savior role, the paradigm has been shifted." Kamijou concluded, his voice tinged with gravity.
“So he’s changed the environment to get the win condition? The #7’s durability doesn't matter in the face of the world being forced to go about a certain way because of Rosencreutz stage play?” The girl asked.
“Yeah…if things keep going this way…Sogiita will….goddamnit….” The spiky haired boy swore. “I can't let someone else die after all that's happened but I feel like if I go out there I really will kill him…” he muttered that last bit while clenching his right fist that began shaking uncontrollably.
The girl’s eyes seemed confused. “What did you say?” The honey blonde middle schooler asked.
“Nothing, just mumbling to myself.” he spat out.
That boy and girl could never come to the right conclusion on their own without the aid of former Magic God Othinus by their side.
“Did you think I had challenged you with no hope of succeeding, you cesspool? The magic born on earth is bound by the directions based on the earth’s magnetic field and by the density and composition of the air which is determined by air pressure which is in turn influenced by gravity. That is inevitable when you are focused on the cardinal directions of north, south, east, and west or on the basic elements of fire, water, wind, and earth. But what you will find upon leaving the atmosphere is an unknown. Coronzon, are you sure there will be no malfunction in the magic giving you control of Avatar Lola? And before, my power was bound by the puny speck named earth which failed to become a black hole or even a sun, but once we enter outer space, just how far do you think that power will be released? I do not mind at all that I will lose the support of Academy City.”
Well the boy was half right.
“Let us test it out, you cuspidor. On one side, we have you using the planet and bound to an avatar. On the other, we have me exposed and freed from the planet. Now, who will be the star of this show?”
Christian Rosencreutz did not shoot at his surroundings for no reason.
The battlefield transformed into Rosencreutz's canvas, resembling the legendary battleground of Lerna where Heracles once clashed with the Hydra.
Yes.
He didn't unleash his powers randomly; every action was deliberate.
In the magical side of Idol Theory, mimicking an object, event, or person allowed one to tap into a fraction of its power.
And that even applied to locations that essentially worked as stage plays.
Idol Theory was so absolute that even the basic cross held a portion of the son of God’s power.
As Above, So Below.
As Below, So Above.
Macro to micro.
Micro to macro.
And the macrocosm and the microcosm are always linked.

FYI, this is a story COLLECTION. Lots of standalones technically. So, you can basically start to read at any chapter, no pre-read of the other chapters needed technically (other than maybe getting better descriptions of characters than: Adam Vir=human, Krill=antlike alien, Sunny=tall alien, Conn=telepathic alien). The numbers are (mostly) only for organization of posts and continuity.
OC Written by Charlie Stastarrfallknightrise,
Typed up and then posted here by me.
Proofreading and language check for some chapters by u/Finbar9800 u/BakeGullible9975 u/Didnotseemecomein and u/medium_jock
Future Lore and fact check done by me.
Caution swearing!
Also, god I love you Conn… please never change!
Previous First [Next](link)
Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?
Here is the link to the master-post.
"Both of you get your suits back on."
"What the hell is going on!?”
Richards demanded, Adam took a deep breath,
"Captain Richards that was not an opening for a discussion, that was an order. Now put the damn suit on, or I swear I will knock you out and do it myself!”
The three of them were floating in the module staring at each other, hands resting against what must have been no more than a few millimeters of aluminum.
He stared at them, and they stared back.
Adam did not break eye contact with the two, willing them to do as they were told. Chavez was the first to move, hurrying over to her space suit and struggling to pull it on in a near panic as bright lights flashed from outside. Inside his heart was pounding but he tried to remain calm for the two standing before him.
He hurried over to help Chavez pull on her gear, finally sealing the helmet in place as Richards finally moved to do the same.
Adam helped pull the hard torso over the man's head and link it to the waist before helping him pull on his gloves and, eventually the helmet. Before he let go, he kept hold of Richards by either side of the helmet staring at him through the glass,
"I promise, if you listen to me, I will keep you safe."
He kept eye contact with the other man until Richards finally nodded, and Adam let him go to float over and put on his own suit. His hands were steady, for now, but he knew as soon as the crisis was over he'd be shaking like a leaf.
If he survived…
He gritted his teeth, cursing himself for thinking like that.
He was Admiral Vir for crying out loud. He had survived far too much to go and die now.
He returned to the helm of the command module as he looked out the thick window at the lights flashing on either side of them. Despite the war that was raging around them, everything seemed so strangely quiet. There was no sound no rumbling, not even a vibration as one of the jets flew past. Despite being at the controls of the vehicle, there was nothing he could do. They only had a certain amount of fuel to get them to the lunar surface, and if he wasted any of it at all, they would be either caught in orbit, or miss the moon entirely.
He had to keep his cool.
Another bright burst of light lit the window to his right. This one was closer this time.
His heart leaped up into his throat.
Richards and Chaves joined him buckling into their seats.
"What is going on?”
Richards demanded again, his mike distant and tinny with the sound of very old technology.
"I believe Anti-Alliance forces are attempting to assassinate me. They have been trying for months now, and I think they are being encouraged by very powerful members of the government."
They watched as another set of ships zoomed past.
He saw a flash of a silhouette, just enough to know that one of them was a Thunderhawk and the other was a silver Rundi drone.
It confirmed his worst fears. The Chairwoman had been behind this the whole time!
[…]
Red nearly collided with the rocket. The Thunderhawk had pulled up the last minute, but he had almost been too late. He jerked the stick to the side, throwing up his wing just in time to avoid hitting the rocket as it made its slow way through space. He dove down on the other side forced to break off pursuit and cut in front of another Thunderhawk coming in from above. He made to look like he was going to ram them, playing a dangerous game of chicken, which he won at the last second as the other pilot panicked and cut to the left.
There were too many of them. Only five out of the original twenty had been destroyed, and he and the rest of their pilots were busy just keeping the thunder hawks away from the rocket, much less to have any time of firing at them. He had sent one of his people down to earth and one of them off towards the moon for backup. The moon was still hours away yet, so the hope that some help would be sent from them was unlikely, and even the woman he had sent down to earth's surface was cutting it close.
He didn't have much hopes that they would be able to hold out that long.
Inside the cockpit his warning lights began to blink and blair as one of the other jets got a lock on him. He rolled right to avoid them and dove down, cutting off the lock but still being pursued by those behind him. Up ahead he saw one of the silver balls erupt into flames as it was targeted by an expert hit from one of the Thunderhawk pilots.
He rolled right.
Someone else rolled left. He cut up just in time to avoid being hit and raced forward to cut off another Thunderbird that was heading directly towards the rocket.
[…]
Eris hurried down the hallway, her knees screaming as she did her very best to sprint, but despite her human anatomy, she was a little too much like a starborn.
With a cry of frustration she reached up and tore off her hoodie, throwing it to the ground and engaging her anti-gravity belt. The ribbons on her back billowed out behind her.
Light spilled in from the windows on either side of the catwalk she was now on, filling her with a buzzing energy that she could feel radiating through the ribbons like electricity. She knew from her study of starborn that they could travel at thousands of miles an hour in the vacuum of space, especially when under the power of a star. She didn't think she needed to go THAT fast, but anything would be better than what she was doing now.
As if in response to her will, she suddenly began to glide forward, picking up speed as she swooped towards the end of the hall, wind catching her in the face and roaring along her cheeks. With her starborn skin, she barely felt a thing as she raced around the corner and out of the waiting door. Two men dressed in military ACUs dived to the side as she blew past them crying out in alarm and confusion as the "Alien" floated by.
Somewhere distantly, she could sense Conn racing in the opposite direction towards the base.
Sunny and Admiral Kelly had Admiral Massie in their custody and were dragging him out into the hallway.
She blew across the open ground her ribbons snapping and billowing behind her as she did. She didn't even have time to imagine what she looked like as she roared over the open field and towards the waiting news vans which were just beginning to pack up their things. They were close to leaving, but she set out a sharp hard telepathic pulse ordering them to stop.
Compelling them to stop.
They froze in their tracks and looked up to see her coming.
Someone scrambled to turn on their camera, not sure what was going on but sure it had to be something good.
She tried not to think about what they would see as the camera flared to life following her approach.
"Make us live."
She ordered,
The news people glanced between each other in confusion,
"But no… we aren’t-"
"What are-"
She came to a sudden jolting stop before them, her billowing black hair fanning out behind her like a curling halo.
"I said, put us on air."
This time the telepathic pulse was too strong to resist. Mostly that, paired with the fact that none of them were sure they really wanted to resist. She was way too interesting to pass up.
They hurried to do what they were doing, and Eris was given just enough time to feel nervous before the camera was turned to her.
They were live.
She read it in the minds of those behind camera who she cut off as she began to speak,
"Citizens of Earth, there has been a horrible conspiracy against you. The UN president has ordered the assassination of Admiral Adam Vir and has continually attempted to sabotage the mission. Just now General Massie was taken into custody after ordering the deployment of twenty Thunderhawk’s to harass the rocket and make its destruction look like some sort of collision with space debris."
The group gawked at her as she raised her hand with the small silver device and began playing the recording.
She knew something like this would never be admissible in court. She was pretty sure it would be considered entrapment of some kind, which is why it must be heard now, before everyone, so that the actions of the president could be judged by a jury of the world where it could not be hidden by political machinations.
"Communications have been lost with Apollo 11. And it is... Well... It is likely that he is already dead..."
Her voice broke,
"No matter what happens, I need you, and this nation to understand what is happening before it gets swept under the rug. I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears and experienced their meeting in the thoughts of a man who is both xenophobic and hateful to his own humankind."
She kept talking trying to give them all the information she could, spilling thoughts she had heard in the head of the UN president and General Massie alike. Every meeting, every liaison, every name until her voice was beginning to crack.
[…]
The UN president was just standing to enter her vehicle when a slow muttering began in the crowd behind her. She turned as the ground before her went silent.
She watched as a wave ran through the people. A wave of nudging and whispering and showing off news feeds they had pulled up on their wrist implants. It wasn't long before the entire crowd was either staring down at their arms or clustered around someone else for viewing.
"What is going on?”
She wondered, turning to one of her men who was staring down at her own wrist.
"Madame president?"
He said with a look of confusion.
She could hear it now.
"Her and General Massie have ordered members of the UNSC to adjust funds in order to hide the twenty Thunderhawk’s they were squirting away for just such an event."
She hurried forward, grabbing the secret serviceman by the arm, staring at it as she watched the streaming newsfeed and the freaky white alien with the large dark eyes and flowing black hair.
"She is afraid of aliens, she wishes to isolate and eventually use humanity's superior forces to overtake trade in the galaxy, forceful if need be."
The muttering behind her had turned into an angry grumbling, and she turned to see the eyes of hundreds that turned towards her.
"Get me out of here."
She hissed. the Secret Serviceman took a step back with a look of confusion and indecision on his face.
"It's your job."
She snarled, but he just stared at her.
She hurriedly ran over to her car as the crowd began to filter in around them pressing close. A few of the secret service men pulled guns, but a large majority of them were frozen with indecision and were taken over by the crowd. She scrambled into the back seat of her vehicle and slammed the door shut screaming at the driver to get moving.
The crowd was surrounding them now, pounding at the glass.
She could hear their angry voices raised for her to be heard behind bullet proof glass.
Outside, she watched a lone figure step onto the platform where the lectern was and stare at her with its beady black eyes. The Chairwoman of the GA stood over the crowd like it's filthy alien lord.
And even though Rundi could not smile, she could swear it was smiling.
[…]
Baby K hit a rough patch of turbulence coming down from the atmosphere. She struggled with the controls as she was thrown left and right inside the cockpit of her rickety shuttle.
Donovan Red had ordered her down here to grab the UNSC, but she was so scared and full of adrenaline that she had dropped it at too steep an angle. The ride was much bumpier than it was supposed to be, and her teeth were rattling inside her head.
Just then two Jets suddenly cut in behind her out of nowhere, and she heard her console beep and warn her about a lock on, making it clear that she was just one click of a trigger away from imminent doom.
"This is Eagle Dispatch One, unidentified vessel, you have crossed into restricted UNSC airspace, identify yourself or be destroyed! You have ten seconds to comply, over."
She scrambled for her communications, but her fingers felt as stiff as wood as she scrambled for the button.
"I repeat, this is Eagle Dispatch One, unidentified vessel, you have entered restricted UNSC airspace, you are ordered to identify yourself or be destroyed. Five seconds remaining. Over."
She slammed her first into the comms button nearly panicking,
"UNSC!"
Her voice was rattling,
"This is B-baby K, and I... The Apollo 11 is under attack!"
She was breathless as she forced the words out.
There was silence over the coms,
"Say again? Uhm I mean please repeat over.”
"Apollo 11 is under attack!"
”…”
”…”
More silence,
”Roger that. Please stand by. Over."
The lock lifted and the two jets pulled up to the side of her, staying close now.
She recognized those jets as two F-90 Darkfires.
They stayed by her side for a moment, and as close as they were she could see one of the pilots fidgeting with the coms, talking and wildly gesticulating, while his copilot was beginning to wildly flip switches.
Meanwhile, a second voice came in over the coms.
"On your left! Eagle Dispatch Two here, unidentified vessel, please land on UNSC base airstrip one. Just contact the control tower once you get close for guidance and instruction."
Baby K looked over into the other jet, just to see the pilot adjusting his helmet and clicking an oxygen tube to the front of his helmet. His co-pilot had already put the additional oxygen mask on and was also flipping switches.
”Uhm aren’t you going to escort me?”
Baby K managed to blurt out in confusion,
”Godspeed Baby K, Eagle Dispatch Two over and out.”
Both men in the jet to her left had apparently finished their preparations and gave her a quick salute.
Then suddenly, both jets adjusted their angle and cut engines, before switching to their big fusion engines, rocketing them up and out of sight within seconds.
[…]
So far it had been a relatively quiet day at the Ellington Field Joint Reserve Base. Most of the air traffic had been canceled due to the launch of the Apollo mission, so there was not much to do, leaving much of the Airport less staffed than normal.
In the Air Traffic Control tower of the base, only two men were working. Though “working” was stretching it, considering Senior Controller M. Fredrick was currently in the middle of his book (though he was at least in front of his station) and his comrade Senior ATC Instructor A. Millard was currently sitting in a corner, watching a movie on his implant.
”So what are you watching? One of those old Star Wars movies?”
”You bet! Those are the best! By the way any info on that “lost civilian” who got into our airspace?”
”No not yet, though I sent Eagle Dispatch and told them to be extra unfriendly, that will scare these civilians off for sure!”
”Pffft, why couldn’t they watch the start like any other person? There is always some dumb rich kid doing dumb stuff with daddies private shuttle… I don’t understand why we always let them off with a warning…”
The console started beeping,
”Oh look that’s them now!”
”Put ‘em on speakers!”
”Will do!”
…
”ATC this is Eagle, come the FUCK in!”
Fredrick rolled his eyes,
”Ahem… This is Elling Field ATC, calling Eagle Dispatch One. We hear you, over.”
”ATC what the FUCK took you so long!?”
”Ellington Field ATC, to Eagle Dispatch one, firstly: language, secondly: please follow standard radio rules, over.”
”THE APOLLO IS UNDER ATACK BY HOSTILE ELEMENTS!”
”Ellingt-WHAAAAT!? Repeat please! Over!”
”THE APOLLO IS BEEING ATACKED BY HOSTILE ELEMENTS! REQUETING IMMEDIATE ASSIST!”
Fredrick just stared at Millard dumbfounded. As the senior officer Millard was quick to collect himself and jumped up and towards his console.
”What are you waiting for Fredrick! Are we blind!? DEPLOY THE GARRISON!”
Fredrick ignored all protocol and just flipped the switch to connect his comms to every recipient available.
”ATC to all personnel and everyone who can hear me, the Apollo is under attack, I repeat, the apollo is under attack. I want all available planes that can reach the outer atmosphere ready ASAP! Get the darkfires on the runway I want them in the air yesterday!”
[…]
Conn raced towards the airstrip, feeling the wind in the ribbons at his back. He couldn't go nearly as fast as he wanted to with air resistance.
Why the hell did Adam always have to get into so much trouble, why did he always have to be the center of attention!?
Everyone either hated him or loved him, but the problem was people who hated him also wanted to kill him.
Why did he have to be so controversial!?
Why did he have to be hated for something that was such a big deal. Why couldn't he be hated for having controversial political opinions. Conn paused…
On second thought, controversial political opinions were kind of what had gotten them here in the first place, so he guessed that was kind of a useless comparison. How about being the kind of guy who liked to talk too much about fishing. That was a great way to make people hate you for being boring, but it didn't usually mean that people wanted to kill you.
Maybe they could get the man a hobby doing something that wasn't so controversial…
Like…
Kicking small Animals or…
Cannibalism.
He came roaring to the stop at the edge of the airfield just in time to watch an entire platoon of pilots racing towards jets. He could hear their minds and looked up to see a rather dinky shuttle descending from the sky. He floated forward towards one of the jets as two pilots leaped inside.
He was going to need a ride.
The pilots turned to look at him, but Conn just shook his head.
The pilots decided to ignore him in the confusion and Conn grabbed on tight.
Starborn, he had come to learn, were a very interesting species in comparison to others. Vertically, as in from the top down he was very fragile and likely to break his neck or collapse his spine if there was any kind of pressure, but with horizontal forces, he was practically indestructible. Below him the ship roared to life and soon they were gathering speed along the runway.
His grip was tight, and he used the extra energy from his ribbons to speed himself up along with the jet to reduce the pull on his arms.
His grip wasn't that strong.
They went vertical almost immediately, and he made sure to orient his body in the correct direction as they went hurtling into the sky.
[…]
Red's right wing had been hit. If there had been atmosphere around him he would have been a goner, but there was no air resistance here, so once he regained control of his roll, he pulled back into position and fired one last shot as the opportunity arose. The sixth Thunderhawk was destroyed in an eruption of debris, which he dodged only with difficulty, limping without the aid of the maneuvering jet on the end of his one wing. Things were only speeding up now, the Rundi were almost gone and the pressure was being laid thick on his people. They were hard to hit but the pursuit made it almost impossible for them to do any real maneuvering of their own. He was almost hit again as another Thunderhawk sped underneath him. They rolled this way and that rocking from one side to the other. Flying through debris and over strips of silver metal.
Below them the earth hung as a glowing orb.
Red cut in a wide circle coming in with the sun at his back, using it to blind one of the enemy Thunderhawk’s as he came in. He watched the group of them form up suddenly as a ring around the slow moving rocket, intending quite certainly to rush it all at once. He screamed into the comm trying to order his men around, but it was going to be too late, he could already see it coming.
The jets rushed forward, and he did too, screaming inside his helmet as they went to broadside Apollo 11.
And then with all the silence of space, sixteen F-90 Dark Fires came spitting overhead all at once, raining down a line of ordinance that cut through the group of unsuspecting Thunderhawk’s.
Space around them was filled with a myriad of silent explosions as each and every one of them was ripped to shreds.
All except one…
He saw it at the last moment.
It had been hit in the tail and had gone wildly off course.
It turned sideways, but had just enough force... For its wing to tear straight through the aluminum siding of the rocket.
FUCK!
[…]
Chavez and Richards had been ordered to strap into their seats.
Adam had taken it upon himself to lock down the rest of the main cabin. Outside the flashing lights were like a fireworks display without sound. He grabbed onto one of the rails, forcing equipment back into place, so that if anything happened it wouldn't fly out.
His legs were kicked up behind him as he floated forward reaching for some of the controls as a sudden bright wash of light filtered in through the windows. He heard a scream over his com, and then the air around him was rent with a horrific tearing noise, which suddenly went silent. There was a rush, and he jerked forward as he was sucked back... And out of the ship entirely.
His hands and legs kicked and flailed as he tried to right himself, hearing his own breathing as the only sound as he watched the rocket begin to spin, debris erupting around him as air, and whatever wasn't strapped down was sucked through the small opening.
The rocket was spinning wildly but still on course, while he was spinning wildly in a silent abyss.
Grunting against the force of his spin, he reached down for the controls to the CO2 canister built into the pack of his spacesuit.
He groaned, not sure which way was up or down or back. He tried to right himself against the spin by firing in the opposite direction to slow his spin.
He could see the rocket now spinning in the opposite direction with the sudden loss of oxygen. He hoped the other astronauts were ok. He saw the silhouette of a jet fly past in the distance making its way towards the spinning rocket.
At least there was someone here to help.
Maybe the others would survive-
And then he just… stopped, coming to a confusing halt in the middle of space.
That shouldn't have been right!
He should have kept going forever!
He tried turning his head, but he felt like the pillsbury doughboy in this two thousand year old suit.
What was happening?
"Did you miss me Baby?”
Well shit, now he sort of wished he could keep spinning.
There was a tugging on the outside of his suit, and Conn floated into view in front of his helmet.
"Hey sweetheart."
"You are probably the last person I wanted to see."
He said, though he didn't entirely mean it, and unfortunately Conn knew that too, the mindreading asshole that he was.
”I could hardly let the father of my child go spinning off into space without taking accountability for his family. After al child support is paying way more than widows pension."
"Shove it up your ass Conn."
"No really, not even the vacuum of space is going to save you from your responsibilities. Now, about custody, I was thinking you could have every other weekend and a couple of major holidays…”
He gave a rueful sort of smile as Conn grabbed him by the life support pack and started floating them towards the rocket.
The F-90s had somehow managed to slow the spin of the rocket, and pull it back on course with grappling magnets.
All around them space was filled with debris. No more working Thunderhawk’s were present and those that were were quickly being grappled. One sleek racing jet slowly cruised past them. One of its wings was damaged, but whoever was inside waved with one hand as he rolled past.
Adam lifted a hand as Conn brought him the last few hundred feet to the torn opening in the side of the ship, allowing him to step through.
Conn patted him on the side of the helmet,
"Make sure to be home by dinnertime sweetie."
Before blowing him a kiss and vanishing back out the hole.
Adam floated there, a bit nonplussed for a moment before turning back to the front of the ship where Chaves and Richards were still strapped into their seats staring at him and after Conn. He floated over to strap himself in.
"Admiral! You're ok!”
"Yes, it seems that I am, thanks to a... Friend of mine."
Just then Conn appeared again just before their right side window, and like the classy gentlemen that he was began rubbing his butt up against the glass.
He sighed,
"Friend is kind of stretching it."
"Apollo 11 this is Houston, do you copy!"
The man on the other end of the line sounded close to tears, and Adam hurried to respond,
"Houston this is Apollo 11."
On the other side he thought he heard the sound of voices cheering in relief.
"What is your status, over?”
"We are a bit beat up Houston, we have a tear in our hull, but our suits are ok, and we have help."
"Prepare to abort mission."
Adam frowned,
"Now wait a second there Houston! I didn't get sucked out the side of my own rocket to just quit now. Tell the boys to come up here and patch us up and we can finish the mission. All systems are still functioning, and we are back on course."
He glanced over at the others,
”That is, if the crew wants to continue."
There was a pause and then Chavez timidly piped in,
"I'd be ok with that."
Richards sighed,
"Roger Houston, patch us up."
Granted it may have been cheating. Apollo 11 hadn't had support with special tools that could just patch up a spaceship within ten minutes, but then again the original Apollo 11 hadn't been in the middle of a firefight while on their journey to the moon.
So it was with some trepidation that Houston allowed it, and before long they had air back inside the cabin back up to pressure, but they also had a sixteen-man rotating escort for the rest of the way.
The group of them were even shocked to see Rundi drones join the formation, only to learn that it had been the UN president who had allegedly called the hit on him. It was hard to believe, but they were only getting snippets here and then from over radio and from Conn, who floated around occasionally to rub another part of his anatomy against the window and give them teasing updates.
The moon was growing slowly in their vision.
"Hehe, I can see my house from here."
Adam remarked as they prepared to detach the lunar module from the rest of the ship.
They landed without incident, observed by mobile camera crews and news reporters as he made his own footprint on the never changing dust of the moon's surface. He gave them a thumbs up to let them know he was fine and hesitated only once before setting up the UN flag in the dirt. He refused to let his enthusiasm be dampened by the day's events and hopped around dancing and leaping for joy as another one of his childhood dreams was fulfilled.
…
That was before he plowed face first into the moon's surface and required help from Richards to stand back up again.
They left soon after taking another three days of escort back to earth before strapping themselves in for final entry.
Conn left them just as they were entering orbit with a very big and very drawn out middle finger for all three of them.
"Your friend is super delightful isn't he?”
"You don’t know the half of it, try having a child with him."
Adam muttered, refusing to elaborate even as they stared at him in confusion.
They fell from the sky and landed somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, picked up by the waiting navy vessel who was within nine miles of their landing site. They were fished from the water and returned safe and sound to the ship to cheers and cameras. Adam's legs felt a little like jelly after days of not using them, and he was finally able to relax lying on the deck of the ship under the sun as people ran around them on either side.
His hands shook slowly building up after the stress of the last week. He took long deep breaths and closed his eyes.
The next few days were going to be a real shit show.
And somehow it wasn’t because he was now known as the man who faceplanted not one, but TWO interstellar bodies…
The media was way to busy with the other story, a massive net of deceit and corruption that would now be uncovered.
Previous First [Next](link)
Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?
Here is the link to the master-post.
Intro post by me
OC-whole collection
Patreon of the author
Thanks for reading! As you saw in the title, this is a cross posted story written by starrfallknightrise and I'll just upload some of it here for you guys, if you are interested and want to read ahead, the original story-collection can be found on tumblr or wattpad to read for free. (link above this text under "OC:..." ) It is the Empyrean Iris story collection by starfallknightrise. Also, if you want to know more about the story collection i made an intro post about it, so feel free to check that out to see what other great characters to look forward to! (Link also above this text). I have no affiliations to the author; just thought I’d share some of the great stories you might enjoy a lot!
Obviously, I have Charlie’s permission to post this and for the people already knowing the stories, or starting to read them: If you follow the link and check out the story you will see some differences. I made some small (non-artistic) changes, mainly correcting writing mistakes, pronoun correction and some small additional info here and there of things which were not thought of/forgotten or even were added/changed in later stories (like the “USS->UNSC” prefix of Stabby, Chalar=/->Sunny etc). As well as some "biggemajor" changes in descriptions and info’s for the same stringency/continuity reason. That can be explained by the story collection being, well a story collection at the start with many standalone-stories just starring the same people, but later on it gets more to a stringent storyline with backstories and throwbacks. (For example Adam Vir has some HEAVY scars over his body, following his bones, which were not really talked about up till half the collection, where it says it covers his whole body and you find out via backflash that he had them the whole time and how he got them, they just weren't mentioned before. However, I would think a doctor would at least see these scars before that, especially since he gets analyzed, treated and goes shirtless/in T-shirts in some stories). So TLDR: Writing and some descriptions are slightly changed, with full OK from the author, since he himself did not bother to correct these things before.

Hi y'all, we're back again this year!
Life Sciences Ontario's scholarship program is awarding 3000 CAD to a minium of 17 Ontario students enrolled in life sciences-related fields in college/university.
The cool thing about this program is that there is a mentorship component and you get paired up with a seasoned professional in the life sciences sector. This would expose you to networking opportunities, guidance and more knowledge about the life sciences sector.
I figured Reddit would be a good place to promote this as I know there are post-secondary students on here. The application process is pretty easy/straightforward.
Here’s the link so you could apply and/or view the eligibility criteria: www.lifesciencesontario.ca/scholarship

Hi y'all, we're back again this year!
Life Sciences Ontario's scholarship program is awarding 3000 CAD to a minium of 17 Ontario students enrolled in life sciences-related fields in college/university.
The cool thing about this program is that there is a mentorship component and you get paired up with a seasoned professional in the life sciences sector. This would expose you to networking opportunities, guidance and more knowledge about the life sciences sector.
I figured Reddit would be a good place to promote this as I know there are post-secondary students on here. The application process is pretty easy/straightforward.
Here’s the link so you could apply and/or view the eligibility criteria: www.lifesciencesontario.ca/scholarship

Hello everyone, welcome to the third discussion about Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman. Hope you studied hard this week, I sure did!

Summary

Previously, in Thinking Fast and Slow, we followed Kahneman and Amos’s academic bromance in the wonderful world of decision making and biases. Our two main characters model two kinds of behavior of the brain. System 1, always on, is the intuitive one, that makes continual judgments and assumptions. System 2 is the slower one, only called when necessary, that produces rational thinking, mathematical reasoning, and is awfully lazy. We learned that even specialists are really bad at intuitive statistics and apply the law of small numbers when they shouldn’t.
Chapter 11: Anchors When we are asked to consider a possible solution to an estimation problem (eg, did Gandhi die after 100 years old?), our answer will be close to this number, like it’s anchored to it. Even when the proposition is obviously unrelated, like with a rigged wheel of fortune. It has many consequences, like with real estate prices and every negotiation. If someone starts one with an absurd price, make a big fuss and stop it until a more reasonable offer.
Both systems cause this behavior. System 1 because of priming (unconscious influence of a previous information). System 2 makes us start at the anchor, and then adjust, often not enough.
Btw, here are the answers to the questions, it annoyed me that they weren’t in the book. Washington became president in 1789. Waters boils at around 70°C/160°F on top of the Everest. Gandhi died at 78 years old.
Chapter 12: Availability We learn about the availability bias. When we are asked to estimate the frequency of an event, our answer depends on how easily we can retrieve examples from our memory. The more dramatic and personal the example is, the more it works. Making people list examples increases the perceived frequency, except when you ask too much. Finding 12 examples of something is hard, and your brain will interpret the cognitive fatigue as a less frequent phenomenon.
Chapter 13: Availability, emotion and risk Our perception of risk is biased by availability and the affect heuristic. If you feel strongly about something negative, you will evaluate the risk as stronger. It’s especially true with very small risks such as terrorism, which our brain is really bad at evaluating (it’s either ignored or given too much weight). And a recent disaster in the news will make us renew our insurance policies. There is a very negative correlation between benefit and risk in the mind of people. This means that if a technology is perceived as highly useful, you will perceive it as less risky, and vice versa.
Kahneman then presents two philosophies about risk assessment and how it affects public policy. There can be availability cascades around public panics such as the Love Canal controversy, fed by media frenzy and politics. Slovic thinks that risk being not objective (it depends on what parameter we prioritize, such as lives or money), the perception of the citizens should never be ignored. Sunstein wants risk experts to rule, because public pressure make the biased lawmakers prioritize the use of tax money inefficiently. Kahneman wisely stays in the middle of this merciless academic scuffle.
Chapter 14: Tom W Tom W is a fictional university student invented by Kahnmos. The goal of the exercise is to guess his specialty. The subjects are told the proportion of the students in each specialty (the base rate, humanities being more probable than STEM), and sometimes a (dubious) psychological profile. He’s described as a nerdy asocial guy who likes bad puns, and if you’re judging him, remember you’re on reddit, so don’t throw any stone here. Most people, even specialists, will infer that Tom studies Computer Science, despite the probabilities given by the base rate, that mean it is more probable for him to study Humanities. It’s because this tells a better story (they choose representativeness instead of base rate. Even if the added information is dubious. Once again, if system 2 is activated (eg by frowning), people will get closer to the base rate.
Kahneman then gives us advice to discipline our faulty intuitions. You just have to use Bayes’s rule and multiply probabilities in your head! Easy. If you cannot do that, I’m sorry you’re an embarrassment to your family and country, but just remember to stay close to the base rate and question the quality of the evidence.
Chapter 15: Linda or less is more Linda is another fictional character created to make us feel bad. She’s described as a left-leaning politically engaged woman. What is more probable, that she’s a bank teller or a feminist bank teller? Most people will choose the second. The problem is that feminist bank tellers are a subset of bank tellers, so there’s less of them (all feminist bank tellers are bank tellers, whereas only some bank tellers are feminist). So it’s mathematically less probable. However, it’s more plausible, tells a causal story, so our System 1 likes it. It’s called conjuction fallacy.
Apparently, Linda caused another controversy in the field of psychology, but Kahneman doesn’t go into details, probably to protect his readers from the gruesome imagery.
Chapter 16 Causes trump statistics We go back to a Tom-like experiment, comparing base rate to other information. When the base rate is neutral, people don’t care about it. But when it is causal and tells a story, the brain will take it into account more. The story (here, it is that a company’s cab cause most of the accidents) creates a stereotype in our head. And in this case, stereotyping helps improving the accuracy of our intuitions.
The author then discusses how to teach psychology to students. He describes the help experiment, where people isolated in booths heard a stooge pretending to die. A minority of people went to help, because of the dilution of responsibility (”someone else can do it!”). When faced to this result, most students accept it but it doesn’t really change their views, in particular of themselves. However, when shown some individuals and their choices, their ideas really evolved. Once again, we suck at statistics and love to make stories from anecdotes. But now we can hack it?
Chapter 17 Regression to the mean Every performance has a random element. That means that if someone has an exceptionally good run, in sports for instance, their results will go down in the future. The opposite is also true. This is called regression to the mean and happens all the time when there is randomness involved. But our brains love causality and will invent a story around it. For instance, this air cadet performed better the second time because I yelled at him, not because of randomness catching up with his bad luck. That’s why we need control groups in every experiment, because many sick people will get better because of time and statistics.

Useful Links

• The Love Canal
• Alar Scare
• Bayesian statistics

You’ll find the questions below, feel free to add your own!

Hello guys,
A few years ago, I wrote a post here about my existential crisis and I got many very supportive responses and they really really helped me. I’m writing here again with more thoughts that could be a bit all over the place, but maybe some of you will also relate. I trust people in here and I am looking forward to your thoughts, and feel free to share your own experiences.
So, as I mentioned, it has been a few years and I wouldn’t say that things got better. I do feel I have depression, I think I had it for most of my life, and I’m mostly just trying to distract myself, I guess like a lot of you guys too. I am trying to accept the fact that questions about the origin of the universe and “why, how, and from where” are unanswerable. My next big task is finding the meaning and purpose of my own life. And it is hard guys. I don’t know…
First and foremost, I have seen that a lot of people here mention distraction as a way to cope. But I think it’s like a double-edged sword. For example, I feel this deep existential loneliness and sadness every time I read a good book or watch a good movie, series or anime. When it ends, I just feel completely empty. While I’m watching/reading, I feel like I immerse myself into a different fantasy world. Especially when binge-watching… And when you finish, there is this “transition period” when you come back to reality and the world feels so meaningless, boring, dull, no magic, no nothing. So, in trying to distract myself I also cause myself to go through this “transition period”. I guess people who binge-watch might understand what I’m talking about. Distracting helps but only for a short period and after that I’m left feeling completely devastated, and I don’t want to go back to the real world. So, I started to analyze more and deeper, why the hell do I feel this way. What is missing in my life? What is so attractive about these stories that I watch/read? And I think I found it – there is one constant in all of them – a good group of friends that go through adventures and hardships together (for example some of these realizations came after I binge-watched the famous anime Attack on Titan; or just basically movies or series where there is a mutual goal between characters, for example, in my favorite movie Interstellar there is a group of people with one specific goal and they are trying to solve a very meaningful problem and are having conversations about the universe, etc.). So, guys, could this be it? Humans are social animals, so to have a very good, trustworthy group of people around you and go through life together sounds like what could make life most meaningful…? But to find such people feels like a very hard task… Even finding one person to talk about existential questions is hard, but to find a group where you all could be on the same level of understanding feels insanely hard because not a lot of people think like this. And you can’t force such things, finding deep connections as an adult is a hard task. Finding a romantic partner is even harder… I wish that I could just talk freely about such topics with people, that it would be “normal”. I want more people to talk openly about this and not pretend... Also, such a want or need for a group of people might come from the fact that I grew up in a very dysfunctional and toxic family, so naturally there is a need to create my own “chosen family”… I have some really good friends in my life, but only a few can go a bit deeper with me on such topics, so mostly I am alone in all of this. Sometimes the loneliness is so deep… It seems others do not feel as deeply this burden of existence as I do. Or that others for some reason don’t have this need for knowing why and from where everything comes from, don’t see the world for what it is but live in illusions and play games. I guess what I am trying to say is that it’s hard to find a person with similar goals and similar motivations (a lot of people have selfish desires and surface-level motivations). And I can’t take it anymore, the small talk and the surface-level conversations, I am so bored out of my mind.
I can sometimes minimize this feeling of dullness with some fun and adrenaline-filled activities, for example, I went skydiving and definitely felt a bit better. But such activities don’t fulfill that deep need of belonging. On some days I feel so fucking depressed and I hide it from everyone so well… I know a therapist can help, especially existential psychotherapy. But I want friends too, to be able to talk to people about this, whenever, don’t pay money for it, create genuine connections with people and do things together. For example, traveling to different countries, immersing into different cultures, and exploring is what makes me really live in the present moment, that’s when I feel most alive. And then to have a good group of friends and be able to travel with them and explore might do it for me. But this wish feels like a fantasy.
Another form of escape I use is daydreaming. I would call it immersive daydreaming. I can just close my eyes and start creating stories and narratives. Sometimes I don’t even need to close my eyes, it just all happens in my mind. Sometimes this helps me get through the day. But of course, naturally, there comes a want to actually experience what you are daydreaming about…
Finding meaning in a profession is a whole nother topic… I am really struggling to find a purposeful and meaningful job. We live in a time where almost everything has already been discovered – continents, countries, oceans, there are plenty of researchers almost in any scientific field and the research topics are becoming narrower and narrower. Of course, there is space, but sadly, for space exploration it is too early… So, most jobs feel like a rat race and just take your precious time… But there is no other option in this capitalistic society. I have various hobbies that help me be in the moment, so at least that. Of course, we can talk about creating something good for the world and leaving some kind of legacy when you die, but we all know that the earth will also someday die. So, talking about everyday life, maybe it’s best to see what is most meaningful to you in the present moment…?

Another topic I wanted to touch upon is these weird and unusual feelings I sometimes have. When I’m ruminating on the nature of existence, I can become so deeply present that I can almost feel the time moving. I feel like I’m too self-aware, too conscious. As if I can feel the earth slowly spin around its axis, almost can see/imagine the atoms. When I think about the universe, I imagine myself from above, from space, looking down below. Like right now I am sitting in my room, that is a box – I am in a certain country – on earth – somewhere in space, and all around is black. I – a tiny speck of dust. Earth – a small ball. ~Almost like in~ the scale of the universe (another good example could be the scene from the movie “Agora” where the camera is zooming in from space down to earth to one specific spot, also with that distant sound… (at 56:13)). And this image appears all at once in my head. And I walk around this world and see myself from two points of view, kind of. Does anyone else experience this? And in general, everything in life seems “double” – like I can see a person and I can also see atoms and molecules that the person is made of. Maybe not “see”, maybe it’s more imagination or understanding. It’s very hard to explain, but basically, all the things are just bundles of atoms interacting with other bundles of atoms. I can also see this duality in everyday conversations, work, everywhere – we are all just pretending, we are doing something to live, to move forward, but it’s all meaningless in the grand scheme of things. It’s meaningful and meaningless at the same time.
Nowadays I avoid a lot of things, like movies, series, books, media, etc., that are associated with existential questions, because they throw me into that panic/crisis state. Also, everyday stressors take me out of this deeper level of thinking a bit, so these feelings of intense self-awareness come and go. For example, when I was working in a very stressful job the everyday challenges took me out to the more surface-level problems.
The one video that really helped me, but at first, I was really reluctant to watch it, is this one. Brian Cox is so positive and calm. That’s the kind of attitude I want to have. Sometimes the clichés also help me, for example, maybe I should be looking at life like a journey and just have a good time? On the other hand, living without a clear purpose is fucking horrible.
So, these were just my random thoughts about searching for what is most meaningful in life and what my experience is like.
Thank you so so much for reading, these topics have been bugging me for quite some time, so it’s good to finally write them out. I hope this made some sense.

For purposes of this OP, I'll assume that votes are counted honestly and accurately, though I am skeptical. However, if they are not counted honestly and accurately, there's not a lot of point in even discussing polls.
Polls Far Out From Election Day. This admittedly cynical belief of mine applies to polls in advance of all elections, not only Presidentials: The purpose of any poll results that are released to the public far out from election day is more to influence public opinion than to reflect it.
Whether the intent is for people to rally around an underdog who is not really an under dog, or whether the intent is to get people who like to vote for a winner to back an ostensible frontrunner may vary.
IMO, some voters are likelier to skip voting when an incumbent is up for re-election than when the Republican nominee and the Democrat nominee are battling each other on a more level playing field.
Whether or not my cynical belief is accurate, polls far out from election day are in fact unreliable. And that fact actually led to my cynical belief about the reason why so many polls are made public as much as two or more years out from a Presidential election.
My classic example of unreliability of polls far in advance: Obama was elected resoundingly in 2008. In the early Spring of 2012, however, then incumbent Obama lost in polls to every single Republican contender and also to "generic Republican." (Truman's 1948 election, which was almost, but not quite, a re-election, may be the most famous in terms of close Presidential elections because Dewey was actually announced as winner.)
Exit Polls This also applies to all offices, not only Presidential elections: Although some people who are willing to announce their supposedly secret vote to an exit pollster may lie, election results that vary significantly from exit poll results are suspicious, at best. Also suspicious: Absence of exit polls.
Presidential Polls That Reflect Only the Popular Vote. This is not only my opinion. The majority of Presidential polls reflect only the irrelevant popular vote, which is increasingly less useful than it once may have been.
Some Presidential election victors won the popular vote by barely a hair or lost the popular vote. Examples are Dubya's re-election in 2004 and Trump's election in 2016, respectively.
Also, do electoral vote poll results for any states other than swing states much matter?
Those are my views about election polls; I'd appreciate learning about yours.

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Hi everyone,
I’m working on a form where I want to change the appearance of how the form looks/ fields are spaced in the view mode of that form. In the edit mode, the fields seem correctly spaced and looks generally aligned well but when switching to view mode it looks misaligned and janky to look at, is there a way to change the appearance in view mode without affecting the edit mode of the form? Many thanks in advance

Yelena watched the doorway through which the young Ashfield scion had just left for a few moments more as she pondered over the meeting they’d just had.
Precocious indeed, she thought with a smile.
A smile that only grew as her gaze flitted over to her childhood friend’s… complicated expression.
It seemed young William’s decision had come as much a surprise to his instructor as it had come to Yelena herself.
“He said no,” Joana said after a few moments.
Yelena nodded slowly as she reclined into her friend’s surprisingly comfortable chair. Given what she knew of Griffith, the Queen had half expected the thing to be harder than mithril when she first sat down - but it was surprisingly plush.
“Not without good reason,” Yelena said as she shifted about.
“Good reason?” Joana scoffed. “You offered him your daughter’s hand.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You offered all of your daughter’s hands.”
Yelena rolled her eyes at her friend’s tone. “And if he’d accepted I would have considered it a bargain.”
A minor scandal and the loss of a number of future marriage alliances was ultimately nothing compared to the ability to raid Kraken nests. And that was ignoring that a hypothetical means to slay kraken in deep water would undoubtedly have other applications.
Applications that would be incredibly useful in the months to come.
Though, perhaps, if young William’s plans came to fruition that coming storm could be delayed by a few years.
“…Are things truly that desperate?” Joana asked quietly.
“They’re not great,” Yelena admitted, massaging the bridge of her nose. “The Blackstones… I knew they’d resist the reforms, but to threaten open rebellion?”
She’d not expected that. Not even in her wildest dreams. Lindholm’s only human ducal house had ever been wilful, and their antipathy towards the Orcs who dwelled in the Sunlands was well documented, but surely even they could see why Yelena was doing what she was.
Regardless of what her critics said, her decision to end the slave trade in Lindholm was most assuredly not the result of ‘useless sentiment’.
Far from it.
Oh certainly, Yelena had no love for the institution of slavery, for reasons both moral and financial, but that wasn’t why she’d created the abolitionist movement.
With each passing year, the Homeland’s view of Lindholm grew ever more covetous. More and more the Sun Empress and Desert Khan’s rhetoric centred less on their ongoing deadlock with each other and more on the idea of ‘recovering wayward territories’.
Certainly, that could have been a reference to Old Growth as much as Lindholm, but Yelena doubted it.
Lindholm might have scared the Solites and Lunites into retreating by choosing to engage them over deep water, but ultimately those victories were borne of a lack of conviction on the part of her foes.
Had the two disparate fleets been willing to risk the permanent loss of a small portion of their mithril cores in order to achieve victory and push towards the mainland, they may well have been able to flip the allegiances of a number of Lindholmian houses.
Oh, certainly, the high elves and dark elves of Lindholm might have prided themselves on maintaining the strictures of equality that defined the Old Empire – but with either Solite or Lunite airships hovering over their family castles, she couldn’t help but wonder if some might reconsider their stances on their fellow elves.
No, while an invasion of Lindholm would certainly be costly, it was entirely within the realm of reason.
An invasion of the Old Growth however?
There was a reason the Wood Elves – as they named themselves – had managed to remain independent of both the other two, much larger, nations despite sharing land borders with both of them.
Their strange magics might have been muted and weak beyond the borders of their home, but within their territory they were nigh invincible.
No, if there was to be any ‘reclamation’ of any territory belonging to the old Aelven Imperium, it was likely to come from Lindholm.
To that end, the kingdom could ill afford to keep feeding people and iron into the meatgrinder that was the Sunlands. Could ill afford to keep orcs that might otherwise be valuable mages laboring in the fields under the eyes of watchful taskmasters.
Lindholm needed every mage-knight it could get – regardless of the color of their skin or the shape of their ears.
Yet after year and years of negotiations and attempts to shift public opinion on the matter, the North still remained willfully ignorant of that truth.
“Surely they know that even if they win, any kind of division between us will just see the Homeland sweep over them?” Joana said.
Yelena shrugged. “I have a feeling that Duchess Blackstone’s victories over both the Lunites and Solites has left her confident of repeating the fact should it come to that.”
Foolhardy, in her eyes, but no one had ever accused the Blackstones of being meek. Nor being incapable of backing up their sometimes insane claims. What other House could lay claim to an ancestry that had once beaten back the Old Imperium at the height of its power?
Where other human nobles had been sworn into the Old Imperium on their knees with their battered armies scattered to the winds, the Blackstones managed to resist long and hard enough that the Imperial Legions had been forced to come to the negotiating table.
Ultimately, the Blackstones had still been absorbed into the Empire, but they’d done so on their terms with their heads unbowed.
…Though it was somewhat ironic that nearly a thousand years on, it was now those same humans in the position of the old Imperial Legion while it was the free orcs who now utilized the same strategies as the old Blackstone tribes – right down to the Wyvern riders.
“I could imagine that,” Joana muttered.
“Is it strange that I think she might pull it off?” Yelena said – though only because she was sure that no one beyond her friend and silent guards was listening.
“Part of me wants to argue that, but… do you think it’s a human thing?”
Yelena thought about the Blackstones and the young man who’d just turned down a chance to be king one day.
“Perhaps,” she admitted.
Personally she thought it was because humans didn’t live as long – and there was more of them. When your life could be measured in but a single century, perhaps you were a bit more inclined towards taking risks that might make an elf balk?
…Risks like trying to take your first year team up against a third year team in the name of trying to avoid a war.
Or at least delay it.
“I still can’t believe he said no to your offer,” Joana said, something… complicated in her friend’s expression.
Yelena grinned at the sight, though she wrestled down the urge to ask a number of probing questions of her normally straight laced friend, who seemed to have a childish crush on a young man nearly ten years her junior – and her student beside.
Normally she’d be all over a scandal that delicious.
Alas, right now was work time. “I can. He gave me his reasons and they were solid.”
Well, solid enough. If you squinted a bit. And tried to think ‘human’.
Rather than all-but guarantee a war by having the Crown break off his betrothal, he intended to do it himself.
Loudly and publicly.
And if he won – and that was a big if – he’d all but destroy any kind of excuse the Blackstones might have to declare war in response. Indeed, by being ‘shamed’ in such a public manner they’d need to spend a few years at least regathering lost support.
After all, who would want to follow a house into a civil war just after their heir was publicly humiliated by a team of cadets two years her junior?
Academy fights weren’t just schoolyard squabbles. They were civil conflicts writ small. A microcosm of the constant jostling and jockeying of Lindholm’s houses.
In other words, they held weight.
If Willaim could beat his fiancée, Yelena knew she’d owe him more than she could ever truly repay. A few more years of preparation would turn an almost guaranteed defeat into something much more even.
Especially if she could scoop up who knows how many mithril cores that were otherwise just littering the ocean. Ninety percent of them would be of limited use immediately, but a few years would give her time to construct at least a few more airship hulls to house the devices.
All that was required was for William to win.
“Solid,” Joana scoffed. “His plan is to go up against a group of third years with a team of firsties.”
Yelena tried to keep the intensity she was feeling out of her tone as she leaned forward. “You don’t think he can do it?”
Joana opened her mouth before hesitating. “I… normally I’d say no. Talented as they are, the gap in experience is just too wide.”
“But…”
The dark elf rolled her silver eyes behind her glasses. “But, with William’s newest invention…” The woman paused. “Son of a bitch.”
For just a moment Yelena was treated to the rare sight of her friend laughing. “I can’t believe I thought he ‘just wanted to use it in a schoolyard fight’,” the Instructor said.
“Well, he sort of is, in a way.” Yelena shrugged. “It just so happens to be a very important schoolyard fight.”
Joana laughed. “I suppose it is.”
“Still, do you think he can win?”
Joana straightened up. “I genuinely don’t know. With his new invention he might be able to catch her off guard. If he can skew the numbers in his favor at the start, they might have a chance.”
Yelena frowned. Not exactly the ringing endorsement she wanted to hear, but that was part of why she valued Joana’s friendship.
Always had really, even when the girl had first come to court at the age of ten as a potential playmate for Yelena’s daughters and told her that her dress made her look like some kind of tropical bird.
Something Yelena realized upon closer inspection was true.
Ever since, the Queen had made a point of checking in with the girl from time to time, if only for the occasional shot of unvarnished truth.
It was a strange ‘friendship’ from the outside looking in, but one that got less so as time went by and the age gap became less stark.
“Well, let’s hope the human capacity for the nigh impossible isn’t relegated entirely to the Blackstones,” Yelena muttered.
Because if it wasn’t, the boy would either have to marry one of Yelena’s daughters or die.
She could not afford the knowledge in his head to reach the Blackstones. To that end, he’d either accept her offer – rolling the dice on the onset of war and all that might come with it – or he’d suffer an accident.
As much as it pained the royal sovereign’s heart to see such a bright and enterprising soul be snuffed out before its time.
Being forced to make such decisions was simply the price of wearing the crown.
“Still,” Joana said, and Yelena was grateful for the distraction as she looked up. “Will you actually leave him alone if he pulls this off?”
Yelena scoffed.
“Of course not. If anything I’ll up my offer.” She shrugged. “I’ll give him you, myself and half my court if it means getting my hands on what’s in his head.”
It was actually a little amusing how Joana flushed at her words, even as she shook her head.
“Yes, that sounds a lot more like you.”
Yelena nodded. Damn right it did.
Though as she did, a thought occurred to her. “Hey Joana?”
“Yes?”
“In your reports to me, didn’t you mention the Ashfield boy having some kind of nickname.”
The dark elf pondered the words for a moment before stiffening. “Hmm, he does actually. A rather apt one considering. Apt enough that I’m wondering if whatever he used to kill Al’Hundra is related.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?”
Joana leaned back, her head craned upwards, as if seeking strength from above.
“Kraken Slayer.”
Yelena laughed. She couldn’t help it.
“Of course it is.”
“You killed Al’Hundra.”
William was still reeling a little from the conversation he’d just had, so he was actually a little caught off guard by a finger being shoved into his face the moment he stepped back into his teams quarters.
Ah, he thought. I promised answers.
Though it seemed that in his absence his team had managed to figure out some of those answers without him.
Glancing past Olzenya’s outstretched arm, he saw Marline shaking her head – as if to vehemently deny she’d told them anything.
She needn’t have bothered, her geass precluded it as an option. Hell, even once everyone found out it would preclude it as an option.
Which was for the best for the moment because now he wasn’t so much trying to hide what he’d done as how he’d done it. Admittedly, Marline didn’t know anything beyond the broadest details, but she knew enough to know that it was some kind of enchantment combined with alchemy.
Now it was possible the forces working against him – or rather simply to profit off him – had already figured that out and he’d hear the alchemy lab exploded any moment now, but he’d sooner put it off for as long as he could.
To that end, he turned to Olzenya – though not before politely lowering her pointing arm.
Something that, to her credit, the high elf allowed – actually looking a little embarrassed by her outburst and thus rudeness.
“Honestly, I was expecting something like that to come from Bonnlyn, not you,” he said to the slightly flushed high elf.
As he glanced over toward where the dwarf was sitting, she shrugged. “I realize I may not be the most classically polite individual around, but I’ve been a merchant long enough to recognize when someone’s got a trade secret they want to keep close to their chests.”
If anything, Olzenya flushed harder, as while she might not have been familiar with trade secrets, she was most definitely familiar with the notion of house spells that needed to be kept secret.
“I also thought ambushing him at the door was a little rude,” Verity murmured from the back of the room.
Olzenya coughed, before backing up. “Of course, I apologize for that William.”
More bemused than anything else, especially as the elf curtsied, he waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Or, understandable, I guess.”
“Good,” Ozlenya smiled, glad for his acceptance… before she shouted again. “Because you lied to us.”
“I did?”
“He didn’t,” Marline said. “He said he had something to bet against Tala.”
Indeed he had, something he’d kept hidden under a sheet. After all, he’d not wanted his big surprise to be spoiled by the rumors of his coming beating him to the cafeteria.
And they would.
Rumors in the academy somehow managed to move at light speed.
“He implied it was gold,” Olzenya shot back.
“And you said Tala wouldn’t go for it, but you came with us anyway,” Bonnlyn said.
Indeed, he had implied it was gold. Or ‘something valuable enough to catch her interest’.
“To comfort him after she shot him down,” Olzenya said. “Instead I damn near tripped over my own feet in front of everyone when he pulled an honest to goddess mithril core out of his ass.”
William was actually a little thrown off – and amused – by the sudden display of crassness from the noble girl.
“But he didn’t lie.” It was actually a little surprising – and heartwarming – to hear Verity speaking so forcefully.
And that Olzenya didn’t immediately snap at her for doing so. The team really had come a long way in just a few months.
Ah, the joys of shared suffering, William thought as he watched the girls bicker amongst themselves.
“As I’m sure you’ve all guessed, I have indeed been less than open about a few things,” he said, silencing all of them – except Marline who’d yet to speak in the first place. “With that said, I’ve never once lied to you about my end goal.”
“Breaking off your betrothal,” Marline said finally.
“Breaking off my betrothal without starting a war,” he said. “If it were that easy, the Queen would have done it for me just now.”
“You met the Queen?” Olzenya sounded a little faint.
“I did.”
Oh, how he did.
“Oh ancestors, please don’t tell me you hit on the queen!?” This time Marline sounded a little faint.
And he actually felt a little offended. “What!? Why would you think that.”
“You’re doing the same thing you do when we talk about Instructor Griffith,” Bonnlyn said with studiously neutral voice. “Or Instructor Morline. Or Instructor Flen. Or some of the guards.”
“Or that one cafeteria lady,” Verity chimed in, a little red in the face.
“Or the-”
“I do not!” He’d finally had enough of these aspersion on his character.
Across the room, a number of sighs rang out, even from the elves.
“At least now I knew why he never checked me out,” Bonnlyn said. “He’s got mommy issues. And I’m not old enough to tickle them.”
“Still, the Queen?” Olzenya hissed.
“I mean, have you seen her?” Marline muttered back. “I mean, I don’t agree with him… but I get it.”
“I didn’t ‘perv’ on the Queen.” Some part of him died on using such childish language. “We had a meeting about my plans and… what occurred with Al’Hundra. Needless to say, the fact that I’m here means she’s agreed to go ahead with them and I’m also to keep quiet about anything I may or may not have had to do with any Kraken going missing. Or their cores.”
He deliberately left out the royal marriage offer.
Still, with those words the room went silent. After all, if the Queen had told him to say nothing, he was expected to say nothing. Just because the North in general didn’t have much respect for royal authority didn’t mean the rest of the kingdom did.
Quite the opposite.
“Well, if the Queen has commanded you to remain silent, I suppose there’s nothing to be done,” Olzenya muttered. “Though I would like answers some day.”
“Hell, I’d like to know why you brought Marline in on your plans,” Bonnlyn said, glancing at the Dark Elf. “You know, and not the rest of us.”
There was no missing the hint of hurt there – which he understood.
“I can promise you it was purely a matter of convenient circumstance,” he said. “And I can promise you, I didn’t confide in Marline for free.”
All the girls glanced up as the dark elf nodded slowly. “He’s not lying – though I can’t say anymore. Literally. It’s a price I paid willingly, but one I doubt any of you would be interested in.”
Almost as one, he could see the lightbulbs turn on in everyone’s brain simultaneously – except for Verity, who took a few seconds.
‘Geass,’ thought none of them said it.
This time though, when the girls looked between him and Marline, there was a definite sense of wariness to it.
“Well, I suppose there’s nothing else to say then,” Bonnyln said. “I guess we should…”
“…Go to bed,” Olzenya nodded warily.
William grinned. “Good idea. Big day tomorrow and all that.”
That was an understatement, and he could tell everyone was thinking it as they made their way over to their rooms.
Still, it was true all the same.
They’d need their rest if they wanted to stand a chance tomorrow.
Indeed, they’d need every advantage they could get.
To that end, William could only hope he’d stacked the deck in their favor enough to matter.
…It took him a long time to get to sleep.
When he did awake, in the early hours of the morning, it was to the sound of an explosion.
In the direction of the old alchemy labs if I’m not wrong, he thought with a grim smile.
It seemed someone had decided to investigate his storage room even sooner than he’d anticipated.
Annoying, but it hardly mattered at this point in time.
All that really mattered was going back to sleep.
He had a big day ahead of him, after all.
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Another three chapters are also available on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/bluefishcake
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Is it possible to export devices in a nice format like XML or CSV, just like you can with the group addresses? I can select the entire building to view all devices, then right click the "devices" tab and select "print", which will give me a PDF, but I want something machine readable.
The reason is we store the device's physical location in the description field, and we need to keep an overview of that elsewhere, which we will be doing programmably.
I cannot use the *.knxproj file, because our project is password protected (with a bunch of device certificates), otherwise I would have.

I am a new player and only recently got into playing cdda. I have only used the evacuee start with a street fighter character after watching some tutorials. This time, the character spawned in an evac shelter with an NPC and I went to talk to it. It gave me the quest to survive 10 days on my own. I have done the evacuee start a lot so I knew what to do at the beginning with a survivor character and for the quest I thought I could find a cabin and stay there for 10 days. I crafted screwdriver, crowbar, quarterstaff and stuffs and went out at night to loot a house in the nearby town and to keep it as my base because i was too lazy to find a cabin. But when I opened the map I saw that there was a hub 01 near my evacuee shelter. I had heard after reading some posts that they had some advanced quests for intermediate players and their armor. I went there just to find out what it was all about. I entered the lab and got a quest to kill a prototype robot. On my way to the robot i found a portal, i entered it and got teleported some distance in front of it. when i reached the field where the robot was, since it was night i couldnt see much, the tiles were all black. i tried walking around the unexplored map tile and heard the machine whirring sound and got scared and backed off a little, but when i heard it again i got curious and thought the robot probably cant see me since i got night vision, big mistake. it saw me but i was able to outrun it thanks to dex 10. then i went back and tried avoiding the robot to find the scientist body. i found it and got two emp grenades. not knowing whether simply throwing it was enough, i went to read some emp grenade posts and got to know stuffs like 'activated but didnt throw', 'blew up myself' and stuffs. i was a little afraid but then i wielded it and activated it, then got just far away from the robot that i could hear its sound and threw the grenade there, but when the robot came into view the grenade was 2 3 tiles away from it, so i tried running around the grenade to make the robot follow me into the grenade range, then i waited for the emp to explode and that's when i thought will the emp hurt me too, it exploded and killed the robot and fried my phone too but i survived. that was a really exciting experience and i felt like it was for experiences like this that people loved cdda this much. then i got the io thingy from the robot and gave it to hub 01 and went on my way because the other quests were obviously too much and much far away from my location. i explored around the road at night and found another evac shelter but this one was infected. a zombie came at me but i was too bored to fight it. so i went away and spotted a cabin on my map. then i thought back to my NPC's quest about surviving on my own for ten days and decided that cabin was perfect. i made my way to the cabin and got attacked by earth worm thingies two separate times but killed the first one and ran away from the second. i slept at the cabin hungry because i didnt have any food. the next day i woke and decided to do foraging. BIG MISTAKE. i didn't even take 10 steps away from the cabin when a frigging graboid popped out of the earth. i ran into the cabin and it tore through the wall. i ran away the opposite way through the window and decided to visit the refugee center which was also close to my starting evac shelter. it was morning and on the way to the refugee center was a town and some zombies on the outskirt of the town saw me and started chasing me. before that i had eaten some fiddlesticks i foraged to stave off my hunger but got food poisoning (i ate them even though the game said they looked poisonous). the way i went i encountered a mass grave and i wanted to avoid it. the zombies from the town were catching up to me so i started to run around the grave, i had turned off the safe mode because it got annoying. my stamina gave off all of a sudden and before you know it i was surrounded by zombies on all sides. the end. my last words were "F*** STAMINAAAAA"

First: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/14vo5lb/troublemakers_deaths_pity/
*previous:* https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1crq34h/troublemakers_buried_secrets_bolster_the_weak/
......
Go'mon strutted around the command center, a cape of deep purple silk flowing about his shoulders as he wore his gilded armor. An ornate helmet underneath one arm, the faceplate forged into the visage of a snarling Rak'nal beast. He peered over the shoulders of drone pilots, observing the carnage on the streets in front of the mansion. His black scimitar hung at his belt, the palm of his war gauntlet resting on the hilt, eyebrow crests rising as he saw the expeditionary general's Buzzard explode.
"Casualty report on General Gra'vos?"
He stated to the small Geknosian woman who deftly piloted her drone closer to the wreckage to pull data from the onboard recorder. Her eyes sparkled, reflected in the screen as the data was streamed directly into her brain through a neural implant.
"Deceased, Just like you planned, his provided pleasure slave threw him from the craft and stole the det-sphere you clipped to his belt. You seem to know a lot about how these humans fight."
Go'mon touched the small grooves underneath the elastomer skin of his face where that parasite had shot him with a concealed gun. He laughed bloodily and purred.
"Failure is the greatest teacher in the universe, these parasites have taught me everything they know. Now we just need to see what their true fighting strength is."
"Understood sir, orders?"
"Get a view on the inner courtyard and report to the commanders of the second and third waves their positions and weaponry."
A young lieutenant called out.
"Sir! Twelve UHM-60 Blackhawks en-route to the enemy base! Advise!"
Go'mon stalked over, peering over the satellite observer's shoulder as he followed a chevron of twelve helicopters loaded down with ancient, obsolete human war-droids. He rapped the claws of his war gauntlet against the handle of his scimitar with a purr.
"Send orders to Commander Mar'tek to equip three of his Gallicks with anti-air weaponry, and orders for Commander Rak'don to equip his light attack craft with visual lock on missiles."
"Yes sir, relaying orders now."
Go'mon patted his subordinate on the shoulder hard enough to make them wince as he stepped back to gaze up at the massive map of Golgotha on the big screen. Small purple dots converging on a black dot that symbolized the human base of operations. He noticed that Mar'tek's forces were delayed, having only made it roughly halfway to their staging area. Walking over to the Comm's desk he asked.
"What's taking Commander Mar'tek so long to get into position?"
"A small group of human Saboteurs dropped a pair of buildings across the roadway, they're still clearing the rubble sir."
Go'mon nodded, picking idly at his metal teeth with the sharp point of his war gauntlet's index finger.
"Hm... I thought the parasite's response was oddly punctual, color me surprised they had the wherewithal to keep scouts. Move Mar'tek to the rear of the attack plan and tell Rak'don he's up next."
"Yessir!"
Go'mon chuckled haughtily, exiting the command room and returning to his field office. Setting his helmet on top of his desk he picked up the communication stick for sylva.
"Sylva, Would you kindly deal with that gate once you've landed?~"
There was a pause before.
"I'm too injured to follow that order sir."
Go'mon raised an eyebrow crest at the monotone voice that echoed back through the device.
"you've never refused a command before darling, would you kindly take care of the gate?"
The pause was longer this time, much longer this time. Then, a different, much younger voice came through, filled with fear, but also tainted with determination.
"Fuck you, Go'mon. These are our friends."
The sound of penny whistles and drums accompanied the words before the comms device popped in his gauntlet with the sound of a musket shot. Impossibly thick gray smoke pulsing from the speaker as he snarled and tossed it to the side.
"Bobby, Would you be a dear and retrieve your sister for me?"
The almost seven foot tall brute slowly nodded, eyes dull behind his ceramite mask as he stomped from the command center, bulky combat armor clattering and clunking with each step. Go'mon pressed his metal teeth together with a hiss. That damned warrior corrupted everything he touched with delusions of free will. Go'mon grabbed a fungal cigar from the box General Da'kos had given him as a thank you gift. The sweet, smoky flavor filling his maw as he lit it with the glowing hot blade of his gauntlet's thumb. He relaxed into his chair, flicking his cape out from beneath him as he enjoyed the cigar to relieve some momentary stress. His body suddenly flared with tingling power as the voice of Conquest growled in his ear.
"Kill that boy before he realises your plan. if he finds out your intentions he won't hold back."
Go'mon puffed the cigar and pulled it from his lips, letting it burst into purple flames and crumble away into cinders as he rose from his chair. He stepped out into the command center and commanded.
"Get me a buzzard to that battlefield, Order's from Conquest herself!"
There was a moment of silence as he let his aura roll over the command room, several of the comms officers immediately setting up a Buzzard for his departure.
...
Dust kicked off the ground as Drake's jump pack slowed his fall meters above the ground, He hit the ground and tore it from his back, whipping it into a group of soldiers and hitting it with a jet of pale flames.
The pack detonated in ball of orange fire that vaporized the soldiers, his cape fluttering in the backdraft before he whipped his sword from it's sheath, keen edges wreathed in pale flames as he took a Geknosian's arm off at the elbow as they tried to stuff a blaster pistol in his face. He snatched the blaster pistol from the air, using it to put a kinetic bolt into the faceplate of a powerarmored soldier with a Warhammer, Crumpling it inwards as he slid a foot back, another warhammer crashing into the ground where he'd just been standing. Another kinetic bolt tore off the soldier's pauldron as the hammer swung up at his face, making him reel back as another hammerhead caught him at the small of his back and knocked the air from his lungs. Another hammer slammed into his faceplate, forcing him to kick himself into a flip to land back on his feet. Ears ringing he deflected a Warhammer with his sword before putting another blaster bolt into the wielder's faceplate. But even as they fell back, another hammerblow hit the side of his helmet and smacked him down. Drake rolled out of the way as twenty millimeter high-explosive rounds shredded his assailants, allowing him to get to his feet as the war-bots formed a lethal semicircle, sending high explosive firepowerinto the rear column of the Geknosian assault at a blistering pace. Drake shook his head clear and vaulted over the back of one, hearing it's gun fall silent as he landed in it's cone of fire. Several flowing chops decimated a small squad of Geknosians as he tried to fight his way to the center of the column where the Gallicks hammered the gate with kinetic penetrators. The armored gate shuddering with each blow as Drake dodged war gauntlets and hammers, retaliating with fast slashes and blinding thrusts. Purple blood drenching him as his heart began to pound with battle lust.
He heard a mighty roar and crackle as one of the flying machines opened up with it's chin gun, harassing a gallick with 20mm High explosive rounds to get it's attention off the gates. It's shadow passing overhead with a Buzzard in pursuit as it slalomed low through the buildings to come back for another gun run. There was a ground shaking Boom! as something exploded beyond the rooftops, a Buzzard, smoking from one engine buzzing overhead and away from the battlefield. Drake quickly returned his focus to the battlefield, Smacking a Warhammer to the side with the blaster pistol before thrusting the blade right beneath the soldier's chin, twisting, and pulling free as a war-bot fell forward, a molten pit of slag glowing in it's back as he turned his head to face another column of armor and armored soldiers as they rounded onto the battlefield, a Buzzard painted the deepest, most royal purple he'd ever seen hovered low in front of them.
A geknosian in gold and purple armor fell from the open door, Cape of purple silk flowing behind them as they landed with one palm against the ground, Dark scimitar slashed out to the side as a crescent blade of purple energy was slung straight at Drake. Death's chosen slashed upward at the crescent, but it flowed around his blade, cutting across his chest and bringing with it a foul, draining weakness as a cold, familiar voice called out.
"That one's mine boys!~ all mine!~"
Drake hadn't recognized Go'mon in the ornate armor, but now there was no mistaking it. He tried to take a step forward but his legs buckled beneath him, sending him to his knees as a festering cold spread from the wounds made by the crescent blade that never touched his armor. He looked in confusion at his sword as the pale flames flickered out, then up just as Go'mons armored shin cracked into the side of his helmet, flinging him through a building as his mind reeled with confusion. He pulled himself from the rubble around him, stumbling to the side as a blade of purple energy sliced through the rubble he'd just been buried in without leaving a mark. He tossed the blaster pistol to the side, bringing the free hand to his mouth, intending to rip a ring off with his teeth. But as Go'mon slung another blade of purple energy with a cackle, He missed the ring, biting off his left index finger, ring and all as a boost of power burned the creeping cold away. He spit the severed digit to the ground as the ring still on it puffed into smoke.
"Feeling weak boy?!~ like your power's been drained?~"
Go'mon purred as he took a step forward, aura swelling with power as he held up the black sword.
"The blade of greed will do that if you let it touch you~"
Go'mon took an unfamiliar stance, Blade arched over his head and pointed down as he fell into a low, wide stance, one arm pushed forward as the blades on his war gauntlet's fingers glowed orange with heat. Drake fell into his peasants guard, gripping his sword in two hands as he glared at Go'mon. His gaze flickered off go'mon for a split second as he thought of everyone still in the mansion and the Geknosian chosen surged forward in a flash of purple light to run drake through before kicking him through the back wall of the building, Drake's power draining away like the blood pouring from the hole in his Lorica. He barely deflected Go'mons black blade as Conquest's chosen surged forward with a brutal slash, unable to focus for the split second required to dissipate a ring and refresh his power. Go'mons aura blooming with power with each blow of that black blade. Drake burst through a wall and into an empty street, tumbling ass over head as he desperately held onto his sword.
Angry red blood spilled from the hole in his armor as he got his elbows under him, a pair of golden boots clomping into view as Go'mon gloated, a softly flickering bloom of pale purple flames in his palm.
"All this power, and you don't even know how to properly control or wield it... Don't worry, you won't have it long~"
Drake manage to dissipate two of the remaining rings on his left hand, an intoxicating burst of power allowing him to launch himself back away from Go'mon as his wounds knitted closed, severed finger growing back with a crunching, fleshy noise. He could feel Go'mons grin behind the snarling visage of his helmet as he fell into a peasants guard, feeling far too weak for having removed five rings. The two stared at each other silently, one of the flying machines spinning to the ground before exploding into a fireball behind Go'mon. Drake fet a deathly calm fall over him as he twisted his sword up into a high guard.
He had to make it back to his people, no matter what. The thumb and pinkie ring on his right hand puffed into smoke as he felt those corvid like wings form at his back, a cold cage of festering ice around the burning sun of rage in his heart. Go'mon took a simple offensive guard, twirling the scimitar with obvious skill in a figure eight in front of him.
The two chosen launched themselves at each other, Drake wreathed in black smoke as Go'mon exploded with pale purple light; the pavement cracking beneath their feet with the violence of the action.
...
Martha tended to the mounting wounded in the infirmary as fast as she could, back splayed open as small gossamer arms allowed her to work on several wounded at once. Many of the ex-slave women helped, binding wounds with clean bandages and splinting broken limbs like they had back at the plantations. Hearing the large wooden doors of the ballroom infirmary slam open, she looked up as Destrier and Caz hauled in a pale remin and a Brutalized young woman. Keeping one hand holding a bundle of gauze against the bleeding wound she was attempting to close up, The young man looking up at her with fear, pain, and hope on his face as he helped hold the gauze down. Pointing to two empty beds she called out.
"Set them there! Where's Drake?! We could really use the walking embodiment of Death right now!"
Destrier hoarsely called back, setting Remin into a bed as the old man struggled to keep his eyes open.
"He's fighting his way towards us from the rear!"
Caz helped the battered young woman into a bed where she curled into the fetal position before the Markswoman swept back out of the infirmary, Huntress humming as she slammed a new flechette into the barrel. Martha continued tying off tattered blood vessels, trying to keep the young man from bleeding out as Cassius appeared next to her, shaking his hands dry after scrubbing them with antiseptic to help close up the gnarly gash in the stomach of the wounded man behind her. Martha's heart pounded in her throat as she finally managed to sew the wound closed before hitting the fighter with a sedative to ease his pain and knock him out. She wanted to cry but held in her tears as she turned around to focus on the same patient as Cassius, but even as she did, the young man placed a bloodied palm on her forearm. She felt a lone tear drip down her snout as she looked at the mans deathly stillness, eyes closed in quiet acceptance of his fate, a grim smile on his face.
Her legs felt weak beneath her as she leaned on Cassius, watching Destrier rush out of the infirmary out of the corner of her eye.
"we're going to need a miracle if we want to make it out of this alive..."
She whimpered as the din of battle echoed dully from outside. That was when a wounded man sat up, grunting as he held the bandages across his torso. She rushed over to stop him from tumbling out of bed when he simply fell through the floor, an odd superposition happening where he was there and not for a split second. But when it faded, there was a note left on the ground, scrawled in blood red, blotchy words.
"I'll be back, and I won't be alone."
Martha could only hope that was true as she turned to continue tending the wounded, Despair filling her heart as more wounded were brought in from the ramparts.
...
Halcyon held the gate, rifle spitting hatred from behind one of the wall's crenellations as one of his Hellions fell next to him, skull split open by gauss slug. Halcyon glanced down at the gate where Thomas and another hulking agri-droid held it against the wall, the gate rattling with each impact of a Gallick's kinetic penetrator, apples of sunlight spreading across the ground where they'd simply sailed straight through. The Geknosian reinforcements turning an already blistering hail of various projectiles and beams becoming an impassable force as several of their light cruisers fired on the helicopters that circled over the battlefield. Missiles streaking upwards and shredding the soft-skinned aircraft, forcing them to take evasive maneuvers and stop the pulse-pounding barrage of their rotary cannons. Halcyon's attention was drawn to the sky as an impossibly loud crash of steel on steel accompanied a streak of pale purple light and void black as they shot into the sky. The black streak getting slammed down by a brutal, unseen strike that made Halcyon's heart leap into his throat. What kind of monster could go toe to toe with Drake, and appear to be winning.
Halcyon, peaked past the cranellation he had his back against, a gauss slug taking his eye out and making him shout in pain as he jerked his head back. Ripping a bundle of gauze from his medi-pack, he rolled it out and bunched it up, pressing it against his vacant and shattered eye socket as a bout of lightheadedness turned the edges of his reduced vision dark.
One of his men crouched beside him flinching when chips of stone exploded from the crenellation they'd been taking cover behind, some sort of heavy weapon having been aimed at them as they darted for Halcyon. Halcyon looked into their eyes, face just as dismayed as he felt, their words barely audible over the din of battle.
"what do we do, sir...?"
Halcyon let out a sigh, shouting over the roar of gunfire.
"Pull back! secure the mansion!"
The fighters didn't need to be told twice as the ramparts were abandoned, leaping from the walls to sprint back to the mansion, The agri-bots forming a phalanx behind them to cover their retreat. But Halcyon couldn't help but feel this is exactly what the Geknosians wanted.
But even as the fighters swarmed into the Mansion, Two figures walked past them.
A hulking man in dark samurai armor wielding an lmg and a smaller woman with a flowing furred cloak and white mask, carrying an ornate rail rifle walked past them through the doors.
Halcyon watched in dismayed confusion as Caz and Destrier stepped out into the sunlight, a jump pack freshly mounted on Destriers back beside his kanabo. Another smaller figure appeared as if from thin air, Cassius spinning the weight at the end of a chain attached to a kama menacingly as the doors closed behind them, massive metal shutters sealing them out as the mansion was locked down. He couldn't help but smile grimly.
There was a reason they were Drake's friends, and it wasn't because they were the best fighters.
It was because when everyone else ran away, they ran towards the fight... regardless of their own safety.
......
Part 109: will be linked here upon release.

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J. V. Stalin
The Party's Tasks Report Delivered at an Enlarged Meeting of the Krasnaya Presnya District Committee of the R.C.P.(B.) With Group Organisers, Members of the Debating Society and of the Bureau of the Party Units December 2, 1923 Source : Works, Vol. 5, 1921 - 1923 Publisher : Foreign Languages Publishing House, Moscow, 1954 Transcription/Markup : Salil Sen for MIA, 2008 Public Domain : Marxists Internet Archive (2008). You may freely copy, distribute, display and perform this work; as well as make derivative and commercial works. Please credit "Marxists Internet Archive" as your source.
Comrades, first of all I must say that I am delivering a report here in my personal capacity and not in the name of the Central Committee of the Party. If the meeting is willing to hear such a report, I am at your service. (Voices : "Yes.") This does not mean that I disagree with the Central Committee in any way on this question; not at all. I am speaking here in my personal capacity only because the commission of the Central Committee for drafting measures to improve the internal situation in the Party 1 is to present its findings to the Central Committee in a day or two; these findings have not yet been presented, and therefore I have as yet no formal right to speak in the name of the Central Committee, although I am sure that what I am about to say to you will, in the main, express the Central Committee's position on these questions.
Discussion — A Sign of the Party's Strength The first question I would like to raise here is that of the significance of the discussion that is now taking place in the press and in the Party units. What does this discussion show? What does it indicate? Is it a storm that has burst into the calm life of the Party? Is this discussion a sign of the Party's disintegration, its decay, as some say, or of its degeneration, as others say?
I think, comrades, that it is neither one nor the other: there is neither degeneration nor disintegration. The fact of the matter is that the Party has grown more mature during the past period; it has adequately rid itself of useless ballast; it has become more proletarian. You know that two years ago we had not less than 700,000 members; you know that several thousand members have dropped out, or have been kicked out, of the Party. Further, the Party membership has improved, its quality has risen in this period as a result of the improvement in the conditions of the working class due to the revival of industry, as a result of the return of the old skilled workers from the countryside, and as a result of the new wave of cultural development that is spreading among the industrial workers.
In short, owing to all these circumstances, the Party has grown more mature, its quality has risen, its needs have grown, it has become more exacting, it wants to know more than it has known up to now, and it wants to decide more than it has up to now.
The discussion which has opened is not a sign of the Party's weakness, still less is it a sign of its disintegration or degeneration; it is a sign of strength, a sign of firmness, a sign of the improvement in the quality of the Party's membership, a sign of its increased activity.
Causes of the Discussion The second question that confronts us is: what has caused the question of internal Party policy to become so acute precisely in the present period, in the autumn of this year? How is this to be explained? What were the causes? I think, comrades, that there were two causes.
The first cause was the wave of discontent and strikes over wages that swept through certain districts of the republic in August of this year. The fact of the matter is that this strike wave exposed the defects in our organisations; it revealed the isolation of our organisations— both Party and trade-union—from the events taking place in the factories. And in connection with this strike wave the existence was discovered within our Party of several secret organisations of an essentially anti-communist nature, which strove to disintegrate the Party. All these defects revealed by the strike wave were exposed to the Party so glaringly, and with such a sobering effect, that it felt the necessity for internal Party changes.
The second cause of the acuteness of the question of internal Party policy precisely at the present moment was the wholesale release of Party comrades to go on vacation. It is natural, of course, for comrades to go on vacation, but this assumed such a mass character, that Party activity became considerably weaker precisely at the time when the discontent arose in the factories, and that greatly helped to expose the accumulated defects just at this period, in the autumn of this year.
Defects in Internal Party Life I have mentioned defects in our Party life that were exposed in the autumn of this year, and which brought up the question of improving internal Party life. What are these defects in internal Party life? Is it that the Party line was wrong, as some comrades think; or that, although the Party's line was correct, in practice it departed from the right road, was distorted because of certain subjective and objective conditions?
I think that the chief defect in our internal Party life is that, although the Party's line, as expressed in the decisions of our congresses, is correct, in the localities (not everywhere, of course, but in certain districts) it was put into practice in an incorrect way. While the proletarian-democratic line of our Party was correct, the way it was put into practice in the localities resulted in cases of bureaucratic distortion of this line.
That is the chief defect. The existence of contradictions between the basic Party line as laid down by the Congresses (Tenth, Eleventh and Twelfth), and the way our organisations put this line into practice in the locali-ties—that is the foundation of all the defects in internal Party life.
The Party line says that the major questions of our Party activities, except, of course, those that brook no delay, or those that are military or diplomatic secrets, must without fail be discussed at Party meetings. That is what the Party line says. But in Party practice in the localities, not everywhere, of course, it was considered that there is really no great need for a number of questions concerning internal Party practice to be discussed at Party meetings since the Central Committee and the other leading organisations will decide these questions.
The Party line says that our Party officials must without fail be elected unless there are insuperable obstacles to this, such as absence of the necessary Party standing, and so forth. You know that, according to the Party rules, secretaries of Gubernia Committees must have a pre-October Party standing, secretaries of Uyezd Committees must have at least three years', and units secretaries a year's, Party standing. In Party practice, however, it was often considered that since a certain Party standing was needed, no real elections were needed.
The Party line says that the Party membership must be kept informed about the work of the economic organisations, the factories and trusts, for, naturally, our Party units are morally responsible to the non-Party masses for the defects in the factories. Nevertheless, in Party practice it was considered that since there is a Central Committee which issues directives to the economic organisations, and since these economic organisations are bound by those directives, the latter will be carried out without control from below by the mass of the Party membership.
The Party line says that responsible workers in different branches of work, whether Party, economic, trade-union, or military workers, notwithstanding their specialisation in their own particular work, are interconnected, constitute inseparable parts of one whole, for they are all working in the common cause of the proletariat, which cannot be torn into parts. In Party practice, however, it was considered that since there is specialisation, division of labour according to properly Party activity and economic, military, etc., activity, the Party officials are not responsible for those working in the economic sphere, the latter are not responsible for the Party officials, and, in general, that the weakening and even loss of connection between them are inevitable.
Such, comrades, are, in general, the contradictions between the Party line, as registered in a number of decisions of our Congresses, from the Tenth to the Twelfth, and Party practice.
I am far from blaming the local organisations for this distortion of the Party line, for, when you come to examine it, this is not so much the fault as the misfortune of our local organisations. The nature of this misfortune, and how things could have taken this turn, I shall tell you later on, but I wanted to register this fact in order to reveal this contradiction to you and then try to propose measures for improvement.
I am also far from considering our Central Committee to be blameless. It, too, has sinned, as has every institution and organisation; it, too, shares part of the blame and part of the misfortune: blame, at least, for not, whatever the reason, exposing these defects in time, and for not taking measures to eliminate them.
But that is not the point now. The point now is to ascertain the causes of the defects I have just spoken about. Indeed, how did these defects arise, and how can they be removed?
The Causes of the Defects The first cause is that our Party organisations have not yet rid themselves, or have still not altogether rid themselves, of certain survivals of the war period, a period that has passed, but has left in the minds of our responsible workers vestiges of the military regime in the Party. I think that these survivals find expression in the view that our Party is not an independently acting organism, not an independently acting, militant organisation of the proletariat, but something in the nature of a system of institutions, something in the nature of a complex of institutions in which there are officials of lower rank and officials of higher rank. That, comrades, is a profoundly mistaken view that has nothing in common with Marxism; that view is a survival that we have inherited from the war period, when we militarised the Party, when the question of the independent activity of the mass of the Party membership had necessarily to be shifted into the background and military orders were of decisive importance. I do not remember that this view was ever definitely expressed; nevertheless, it, or elements of it, still influences our work. Comrades, we must combat such views with all our might, for they are a very real danger and create favourable conditions for the distortion in practice of the essentially correct line of our Party.
The second cause is that our state apparatus, which is bureaucratic to a considerable degree, exerts a certain amount of pressure on the Party and the Party workers. In 1917, when we were forging ahead, towards October, we imagined that we would have a Commune, a free association of working people, that we would put an end to bureaucracy in government institutions, and that it would be possible, if not in the immediate period, then within two or three short periods, to transform the state into a free association of working people. Practice has shown, however, that this is still an ideal which is a long way off, that to rid the state of the elements of bureaucracy, to transform Soviet society into a free association of working people, the people must have a high level of culture, peace conditions must be fully guaranteed all around us so as to remove the necessity of maintaining a large standing army, which entails heavy expenditure and cumbersome administrative departments, the very existence of which leaves its impress upon all the other state institutions. Our state apparatus is bureaucratic to a considerable degree, and it will remain so for a long time to come. Our Party comrades work in this apparatus, and the situation—I might say the atmosphere—in this bureaucratic apparatus is such that it helps to bureaucratise our Party workers and our Party organisations.
The third cause of the defects, comrades, is that some of our units are not sufficiently active, they are backward, and in some cases, particularly in the border regions, they are even wholly illiterate. In these districts, the units display little activity and are politically and culturally backward. That circumstance, too, undoubtedly creates a favourable soil for the distortion of the Party line.
The fourth cause is the absence of a sufficient number of trained Party comrades in the localities. Recently, in the Central Committee, I heard the report of a representative of one of the Ukrainian organisations. The reporter was a very capable comrade who shows great promise. He said that of 130 units, 80 have secretaries who were appointed by the Gubernia Committee. In answer to the remark that this organisation was acting wrongly in this respect, the comrade pleaded that there were no literate people in the units, that they consisted of new members, that the units themselves ask for secretaries to be sent them, and so forth. I may grant that half of what this comrade said was an overstatement, that the matter is not only that there are no trained people in the units, but also that the Gubernia Committee was over-zealous and followed the old tradition. But even if the Gubernia Committee was correct only to the extent of fifty per cent, is it not obvious that if there are such units in the Ukraine, how many more like them must there be in the border regions, where the organisations are young, where there are fewer Party cadres and less literacy than in the Ukraine? That is also one of the factors that create favourable conditions for the distortion in practice of the essentially correct Party line.
Lastly, the fifth cause—insufficient information. We sent out too little information, and this applies primarily to the Central Committee, possibly because it is overburdened with work. We receive too little information from the localities. This must cease. This is also a serious cause of the defects that have accumulated within the Party.
How should the Defects in Internal Party Life be Removed ? What measures must be adopted to remove these defects?
The first thing is tirelessly, by every means, to combat the survivals and habits of the war period in our Party, to combat the erroneous view that our Party is a system of institutions, and not a militant organisation of the proletariat, which is intellectually vigorous, acts independently, lives a full life, is destroying the old and creating the new.
Secondly, the activity of the mass of the Party membership must be increased; all questions of interest to the membership in so far as they can be openly discussed must be submitted to it for open discussion, and the possibility ensured of free criticism of all proposals made by the different Party bodies. Only in this way will it be possible to convert Party discipline into really conscious, really iron discipline; only in this way will it be possible to increase the political, economic and cultural experience of the mass of Party members; only in this way will it be possible to create the conditions necessary to enable the Party membership, step by step, to promote new active workers, new leaders, from its ranks.
Thirdly, the principle of election must be applied in practice to all Party bodies and official posts, if there are no insuperable obstacles to this such as lack of the necessary Party standing, and so forth. We must eliminate the practice of ignoring the will of the majority of the organisations in promoting comrades to responsible
Party posts, and we must see to it that the principle of election is actually applied.
Fourthly, there must exist under the Central Committee and the Gubernia and Regional Committees permanently functioning conferences of responsible workers in all fields of work—economic, Party, trade-union and military; these conferences must be held regularly and discuss any question they consider it necessary to discuss; the interconnection between the workers in all fields must not be broken; all these workers must feel that they are all members of a single Party family, working in a common cause, the cause of the proletariat, which is indivisible; the Central Committee and the local organisations must create an environment that will enable the Party to acquire and test the experience of our responsible workers in all spheres of work.
Fifthly, our Party units in the factories must be drawn into dealing with the various questions relating to the course of affairs in the respective enterprises and trusts. Things must be so arranged that the units are kept informed about the work of the administrations of our enterprises and trusts and are able to exert an influence on this work. You, as representatives of units, are aware how great is the moral responsibility of our factory units to the non-Party masses for the course of affairs in the factories. For the unit to be able to lead and win the following of the non-Party masses in the factory, for it to be able to bear responsibility for the course of affairs in the factory—and it certainly has a moral responsibility to the non-Party masses for defects in the work of the factory—the unit must be kept informed about these affairs, it must be possible for it to influence them in one way or another. Therefore, the units must be drawn into the discussion of economic questions relating to their factories, and economic conferences of representatives of the factory units in a given trust must be called from time to time to discuss questions relating to the affairs of the trust. This is one of the surest ways both of enlarging the economic experience of the Party membership and of organising control from below.
Sixthly, the quality of the membership of our Party units must be improved. Zinoviev has already said in an article of his that here and there the quality of the membership of our Party units is below that of the surrounding non-Party masses.
That statement, of course, must not be generalised and applied to all the units. It would be more exact to say the following for example: our Party units would be on a much higher cultural level than they are now, and would have much greater authority among non-Party people, if we had not denuded these units, if we had not taken from them people we needed for economic, administrative, trade-union and all sorts of other work. If our working-class comrades, the cadres we have taken from the units during the past six years, were to return to their units, does it need proof that those units would stand head and shoulders above all the non-Party workers, even the most advanced? Precisely because the Party has no other cadres with which to improve the state apparatus, precisely because the Party will be obliged to continue using that source, our units will remain on a somewhat unsatisfactory cultural level unless we take urgent measures to improve the quality of their membership. First of all, Party educational work in the units must be increased to the utmost; furthermore, we must get rid of the excessive formalism our local organisations sometimes display in accepting working-class comrades into the Party. I think that we must not allow ourselves to be bound by formalism; the Party can, and must, create easier conditions for the acceptance of new members from the ranks of the working class. That has already begun in the local organisations. The Party must take this matter in hand and launch an organised campaign for creating easier access to the Party for new members from workers at the bench.
Seventhly, work must be intensified among the non-Party workers. This is another means of improving the internal Party situation, of increasing the activity of the Party membership. I must say that our organisations are still paying little attention to the task of drawing non-Party workers into our Soviets. Take, for example, the elections to the Moscow Soviet that are being held now. I consider that one of the big defects in these elections is that too few non-Party people are being elected. It is said that there exists a decision of the organisation to the effect that at least a certain number, a certain percentage, etc., of non-Party people are to be elected; but I see that, in fact, a far smaller number is being elected. It is said that the masses are eager to elect only Communists. I have my doubts about that, comrades. I think that unless we show a certain degree of confidence in the non-Party people they may answer by becoming very distrustful of our organisations. This confidence in the non-Party people is absolutely necessary, comrades. Communists must be induced to withdraw their candidatures.
Speeches must not be delivered urging the election only of Communists; non-Party people must be encouraged, they must be drawn into the work of administering the state. We shall gain by this and in return receive the reciprocal confidence of the non-Party people in our organisations. The elections in Moscow are an example of the degree to which our organisations are beginning to isolate themselves within their Party shell instead of enlarging their field of activity and, step by step, rallying the non-Party people around themselves.
Eighthly, work among the peasants must be intensified. I do not know why our village units, which in some places are wilting, are losing their members and are not trusted much by the peasants (this must be admitted)—I do not know why, for instance, two practical tasks cannot be set these units: firstly, to interpret and popularise the Soviet laws which affect peasant life; secondly, to agitate for and disseminate elementary agronomic knowledge, if only the knowledge that it is necessary to plough the fields in proper time, to sift seed, etc. Do you know, comrades, that if every peasant were to decide to devote a little labour to the sifting of seed, it would be possible without land improvement, and without introducing new machines, to obtain an increase in crop yield amounting to about ten poods per dessiatin? And what does an increase in crop yield of ten poods per dessiatin mean? It means an increase in the gross crop of a thousand million poods per annum. And all this could be achieved without great effort. Why should not our village units take up this matter? Is it less important than talking about Curzon's policy? The peasants would then realise that the Communists have stopped engaging in empty talk and have got down to real business; and then our village units would win the boundless confidence of the peasants.
There is no need for me to stress how necessary it is, for improving and reviving Party life, to intensify Party and political educational work among the youth, the source of new cadres, in the Red Army, among women delegates, and among non-Party people in general.
Nor will I dwell upon the importance of increasing the interchange of information, about which I have already spoken, of increasing the supply of information from the top downwards and from below upwards.
Such, comrades, are the measures for improvement, the course towards internal Party democracy which the Central Committee set as far back as September of this year, and which must be put into practice by all Party organisations from top to bottom.
I would now like to deal with two extremes, two obsessions, on the question of workers' democracy that were to be noted in some of the discussion articles in Pravda.
The first extreme concerns the election principle. It manifests itself in some comrades wanting to have elections "throughout." Since we stand for the election principle, let us go the whole hog in electing! Party standing? What do we want that for? Elect whomever you please. That is a mistaken view, comrades. The Party will not accept it. Of course, we are not now at war; we are in a period of peaceful development. But we are now living under the NEP. Do not forget that, comrades. The Party began the purge not during, but after the war. Why? Because, during the war, fear of defeat drew the Party together into one whole, and some of the disruptive elements in the Party were compelled to keep to the general line of the Party, which was faced with the question of life or death. Now these bonds have fallen away, for we are not now at war; now we have the NEP, we have permitted a revival of capitalism, and the bourgeoisie is reviving. True, all this helps to purge the Party, to strengthen it; but on the other hand, we are being enveloped in a new atmosphere by the nascent and growing bourgeoisie, which is not very strong yet, but which has already succeeded in beating some of our co-operatives and trading organisations in internal trade. It was precisely after the introduction of the NEP that the Party began the purge and reduced its membership by half; it was precisely after the introduction of the NEP that the Party decided that, in order to protect our organisations from the contagion of the NEP, it was necessary, for example, to hinder the influx of non-proletarian elements into the Party, that it was necessary that Party officials should have a definite Party standing, and so forth. Was the Party right in taking these precautionary measures, which restricted "expanded" democracy? I think it was. That is why I think that we must have democracy, we must have the election principle, but the restrictive measures that were adopted by the Eleventh and Twelfth Congresses, at least the chief ones, must still remain in force.
The second extreme concerns the question of the limits of the discussion. This extreme manifests itself in some comrades demanding unlimited discussion; they think that the discussion of problems is the be all and end all of Party work and forget about the other aspect of Party work, namely, action, which calls for the implementation of the Party's decisions. At all events, this was the impression I gained from the short article by Radzin, who tried to substantiate the principle of unlimited discussion by a reference to Trotsky, who is alleged to have said that "the Party is a voluntary association of like-minded people." I searched for that sentence in Trotsky's works, but could not find it. Trotsky could scarcely have uttered it as a finished formula for the definition of the Party; and if he did utter it, he could scarcely have stopped there. The Party is not only an association of like-minded people; it is also an association of like-acting people, it is a militant association of like-acting people who are fighting on a common ideological basis (programme, tactics). I think that the reference to Trotsky is out of place, for I know Trotsky as one of the members of the Central Committee who most of all stress the active side of Party work. I think, therefore, that Radzin himself must bear responsibility for this definition. But what does this definition lead to? One of two possibilities: either that the Party will degenerate into a sect, into a philosophical school, for only in such narrow organisations is complete like-minded-ness possible; or that it will become a permanent debating society, eternally discussing and eternally arguing, until the point is reached where factions form and the Party is split. Our Party cannot accept either of these possibilities. This is why I think that the discussion of problems is needed, a discussion is needed, but limits must be set to such discussion in order to safeguard the Party, to safeguard this fighting unit of the proletariat, against degenerating into a debating society.
In concluding my report, I must warn you, comrades, against these two extremes. I think that if we reject both these extremes and honestly and resolutely steer the course towards internal Party democracy that the Central Committee set already in September of this year, we shall certainly achieve an improvement in our Party work. (Applause.)
Pravda, No. 277, December 6, 1923
Notes 1. This refers to the commission set up in conformity with the decision of the Political Bureau and of the Plenum of the Central Committee of the R.C.P.(B.) which took place on September 23-25, 1923.
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