So I went to urgent care around March 23rd and told doctor I was experiencing itching that was intense overnight and told him I think I got scabies either from a cruise or mice at home. (I moved out) I have made a previous post about this. He sent me home with permethrin only and scheduled me to see my primary. I saw my primary about a week after and told him the same story but he made a big deal to not see me after getting some photos taken of my hands and feet by a medical assistant. He gave me ivermectin and more permethrin. He told me first he had to get approved by a dermatologist and the dermatologist said yes to prescribe it to me. I took it for two weeks 7 pills one week and 7 pills next. It has helped clear the rash on my forearm. However I was still getting those blisters on my hands and feet. After taking those pills I had requested more ivermectin because I was still feeling crawling and itchiness and the bumps were still showing up but now peeling and it would hurt to walk and my feet were swelling pretty bad and have asked to see a dermatologist in person. He gave me another 4 week dosage of ivermectin until I saw this dermatologist… well as you can see from the photos my hands have cleared up significantly but I’m still dealing with crawling three days after taking ivermectin every time. I saw the dermatologist yesterday and he told me I don’t have scabies. I feel like he didn’t see me at my worst peak cuz he checked between my toes and of course it’s all cleared up now compared to two months ago and he scraped my skin and told me it was negative (he mentioned how it’s 85% accurate) he pulled out the anxiety and stress card and said maybe it’s a form of psoriasis and eczema and put me on prednisone and clobetasol propionate and took me off ivermectin and permethrin. I told him why was ivermectin helping then? And he failed to answer the question and said he’s seen a lot of scabie patients and mine looks nothing like it. And if ivermectin didn’t take away the crawling that it isn’t scabies and if my family isn’t contaminated then it isn’t scabies. And yadayada. I mentioned how I felt this on my face and scalp and all over my body (still am after those ivermectin treatments) and said oh he feels that too like dismissing me as it being normal. Idk but I don’t trust him and he told me that I should try this new medication and that he knows that I’m gonna be feeling these crawling and think I still have scabies but it’ll go away and blah blah, but I’m just scared I’m gonna get those blisters again. And pimple looking things. And I failed to show him photos because he kept dismissing me and it was pissing me off trying to advocate for myself and I just feel so lost idk what to do. Ivermectin was slowly working. :( I moved out of the rat infested place and idk anymore, I’m still feeling bug crawls on my neck back and armpits and creasing of elbows :( is this really not scabies? Why was ivermectin working then. Someone please explain this to me :(

I just keep replaying the whole thing in my head and everyone else’s reactions and I still don’t know if I did the right thing. Did I do too much? Not enough? I’m hoping maybe some parents in here that work in healthcare can give me an unbiased answer.
So daughter is 4 (turning 5 in June). She was diagnosed at birth with septo optic dysplasia and optic nerve hypoplasia. Long story short, she has very low vision and developmental and verbal delays. She is otherwise healthy as a horse, active, very strong, followed by specialists at a children’s hospital nearby, gets therapy through school, all that good stuff. We’ve never had issues with allergies, she’s been stung by a wasp (barely phased her), eats peanut butter, has had cooked egg and stuff made with egg and no issues. So this was alarming to say the least.
We live out in the country and have chickens so there’s no shortage of eggs that are laid out around my kitchen on a daily basis (obviously not anymore). About a month ago she grabbed one off the counter, broke it, and got egg all over her arms and hands and some on her face. I didn’t think much of it, it had happened before plenty of times. I cleaned her up, wiped up the floor and went on making dinner. She went and played in her room and when she walked back out I noticed she had little bumps popping up on her face and arms where the egg got on her. She didn’t seem bothered at all, I put some hydrocortisone cream on her, gave her a dose of Claritin just to be safe and it was cleared up in less than 10 minutes. I mentioned it to one of her teachers the next day at school and asked if they had ever noticed anything when they would have eggs for breakfast and they said no and told me they’d keep an eye out. And that was it. I didn’t think too much about it after that.
Fast forward to yesterday. Same scenario, I’m about to make lunch and she manages to grab an egg that I was sure was out of her reach, she dropped it, I immediately went over and checked her. It wasn’t even that much that got on her that I could tell. I got everything cleaned up and not even 5 minutes later her entire face is swollen, eyes swollen shut, bumps all over her legs and face. I am internally panicking at this point because it was so sudden and not something I ever expected to deal with. Plus we’re home alone and the nearest ER is at least 30 minutes away. There is a local clinic less than 5 minutes from our house so I called them, explained what was going on. Her face was swollen but she was still in good spirits, breathing fine, didn’t seem to be in distress. They told me to go ahead and bring her in. I just assumed the quicker I could get her to medical professionals, the better. I did consider calling for an ambulance but we’re in a rural area with one ambulance to service the entire county and I knew I could get her to the clinic faster than the ambulance could get to me. We get to the clinic, I’m filling out paperwork, nobody at the front really seems phased, they see her face but not really acting like it’s urgent. Nurse takes us back, gets her weight and height, gets history from me. She tried to get Daughter’s vitals but she has never tolerated any of that since infancy. Blood pressure cuffs send her into a full meltdown, she won’t keep a pulse ox on her finger. I always feel so bad for healthcare workers having to deal with her because as sweet as she is, she is EXTREMELY difficult at doctor visits. I can tell the nurse is getting frustrated with us. So then the NP comes in and looks at her and asks me, “So is there a reason why you didn’t just go to the ER?” My heart dropped and I tried to stay calm and told her I came here because it was a lot closer and I did call first and explain the situation and they said it was fine to come in. She then proceeded to tell me that they weren’t really equipped to handle anything like this and I should have just gone to the ER. I guess that was my first dumb mistake, assuming that a clinic with a full pharmacy attached could handle an allergic reaction. I just figured they’d give her a shot of Benadryl and we’d be good. But apparently not.
Other than the swelling and hives, Daughter wasn’t showing any other symptoms. The NP listened to her chest, said everything sounded good but she still wanted her to be monitored in case something happened and we’d be best off taking the ambulance to the ER. They gave her a dose of oral Benadryl and called the ambulance for us. Thirty minutes later the ambulance gets there, and we head to the ER. They were very kind and understanding, Daughter was actually having a good time riding in the ambulance, laughing and singing. She wouldn’t let them hook up any monitoring equipment still but they kept a close eye on her. I start feeling a little bad at this point because she’s still not in any distress and other than the severe facial swelling, seems totally fine, so I started feeling guilty for wasting local resources and peoples time.
We get to the ER and they get us to a bed and one of the nurses comes over and I can just tell right off the bat that she doesn’t even want us there. She was very short with us and kept talking at my daughter telling her that she’d have to leave if she didn’t act right. I kept mentioning that she was low vision and had verbal delays but I don’t know if she was listening. I was beyond stressed at this point and so was Daughter and she was admittedly being difficult yet again and not keeping the pulse ox on her finger. I just mentioned to the nurse that we have to go to the children’s hospital a lot and they’ve only ever managed to get her vitals once when she was sedated for an MRI. I guess at the time I was just trying to acknowledge that yes my kid is difficult and let the nurse know please don’t feel bad because she’s like this with everybody. I wasn’t trying to tell her how to do her job. She glared at me and snapped “I am NOT sedating your child just to get her vitals!” and stormed back over to the nurses station across from our bed and repeated the same thing loudly, “I am NOT sedating someone to get their vitals that’s just RIDICULOUS!!”
I’m trying not to break down and cry at this point. I feel like I should just apologize to everyone for wasting their time and leave. Like I’m that dumbass that went to the ER for no reason and took up space that a real emergency could have used. A different nurse came over and was very sweet. She used a different monitor that taped to her toe and we were able to get a quick reading just to verify that her stats were good. The doctor came in and listened to her heart and checked her out for any other symptoms. Said she seemed stable but he wanted to watch her for a couple of hours to make sure the Benadryl was working and she continued to improve. So after we hung out for an hour and watched PBS kids, her hives went away and her face cleared up and her eyes opened back up. The doctor came in and cleared her, pharmacy tech came in and brought us her Epipen prescription and gave us instructions on what to do next time (Benadryl, blue to sky, orange to thigh, straight to ER). Paid $300 and went home.
Daughter is perfectly fine. I however am not. I barely slept last night between getting up to check on her and replaying the whole scenario in my head. Part of me feels like I didn’t do enough and the other part feels like I overreacted and wasted peoples time. I apologize for this being so long. It’s just all been so heavy on my mind and I needed to get it out and get another perspective on the whole situation. Much thanks to anyone that managed to read all of this.

In the annals of gaming history, few titles command the reverence and adoration as the legendary Doom franchise. Born from the minds of John Romero, John Carmack, Adrian Carmack, and Tom Hall, Doom would go on to lay the foundations for just about every modern video game that exists. It was a true tour de force, a success story few could scarce ever imagine.
Released in 1993, Doom was an immediate smash hit, thanks in no small part to its shareware format, which allowed users to experience the first few levels of Knee Deep In the Dead, and then order the full game via the phone number included. Players could then share the floppy disk with their friends, and so on, and so on. It was a truly revolutionary system, and within a single year, Doom had sold over 2 million copies.
The history of the Doom franchise is one of innovation, ultra violence, and controversy (1999's Columbine High School Massacre), and that reputation is one that continued with 2016's DOOM. DOOM was officially revealed at Quakecon 2014, ten years after Doom 3. Players had long resigned to Doom being considered a dead franchise. A reboot had been in the works for a number of years prior, but never got released, having been quietly cancelled by id in 2010. The future was bleak, but the 30 second long teaser ignited a spark that had been burning dimmer every passing year.
Then came E3 2015.
The hype was unreal. The trailer had everything that fans could possibly want. Gore, intense violence, insane run n gun gameplay, a rip-roaring soundtrack and the MFING CHAINSAW. But fans had been let down before. Would it really hold up its promises?
Yes. Yes, it would.
PART I: Presentation
When DOOM burst onto the scene in 2016, it did so with a visual and auditory spectacle that left players awestruck. From the moment the game boots up, players are made aware that this is not your average shooter. You are greeted with a deep, commanding voice. "Rip and tear, until it is DONE."
Immediately, players are greeted with a scene of carnage and the Doom Slayer chained to a table, which, of course, he instantly breaks free from. A zombie attempts to relieve the Slayer of his life but is beaten to the punch with a prompt skull smashing. After putting the other zombies to rest, he interacts with the panel in the corner, is greeted by one Dr. Samuel Hayden, who attempts to justify the outbreak, and decides he would rather kill shit than listen to excuses and destroys the monitor.
That is the introduction to this game. It never wastes the player's time. We aren't here to listen to long droning monologues or watch MGS style cutscenes. id Software knew their audience, and knew what that audience wanted, and they deliver in spades. This introduction sets the tone for the entire experience: relentless action, unapologetic violence, and a protagonist who is as unstoppable as he is uncompromising. The Doom Slayer's disdain for exposition and his single-minded focus on annihilating demons resonate with players who crave a pure, unadulterated gaming experience.
By eschewing lengthy cutscenes and exposition-heavy dialogue in favor of fast-paced gameplay and visceral action, id Software delivers a game that respects the player's time and delivers exactly what they came for: non-stop demon-slaying action. In an era where many games are criticized for padding their runtime with unnecessary filler, DOOM stands out as a shining example of how to create a focused and engaging experience that keeps players coming back for more.
Rather than bombarding players with lengthy exposition or intrusive cutscenes, DOOM opts for a more environmental storytelling approach. Throughout the game, players can discover audio logs, read text-based terminals, and observe environmental details that provide context and background to the events unfolding around them.
The story of DOOM revolves around the Doom Slayer's mission to stop a demonic invasion unleashed by the Union Aerospace Corporation (UAC) on their Martian facility. As players progress through the game, they uncover details about the UAC's experiments with Hell energy, the origins of the demonic invasion, and the Doom Slayer's own mysterious past.
While the story may not be front and center in DOOM, it nonetheless adds depth and richness to the game world, enhancing the overall experience for players who choose to engage with it. And for those who prefer to focus solely on the action, the story remains secondary, allowing them to enjoy the game on their own terms.
That's all well and good, but what about the actual gameplay? Simply put, it is exhilarating. From the moment you are given control of the Slayer, players are thrust into a frenzy of blood and violence, and it never lets up. At its core, DOOM is a first-person shooter that harkens back to the genre's roots while injecting it with a healthy dose of modern flair. The gameplay is fast-paced, frenetic, and utterly unapologetic in its brutality. You're not just a player – you're the Doom Slayer, a force of nature hell-bent on eradicating every last demon in your path.
Central to the gameplay experience is the game's combat loop, which revolves around a delicate balance of aggression and strategy. In DOOM, there's no hiding behind cover or waiting for your health to regenerate – you're constantly on the move, strafing, dodging, and leaping across the battlefield as you unleash a torrent of bullets, rockets, and plasma upon your enemies.
Weapons include the iconic shotgun, heavy assault rifle, plasma rifle, rocket launcher, and the devastating BFG 9000, among others. Each weapon offers different firing modes, such as single shot, burst fire, and continuous beam, providing players with tactical options in combat. A key aspect of combat is the Glory Kill system, which allows players to perform brutal finishing moves on staggered enemies. Glory Kills not only provide health and ammo but also contribute to the flow of combat by encouraging aggressive play. It is incredibly satisfying to watch the Slayer rip an imp in half or stomp their head into the pavement, and doing so rewards you with a large return of health.
The Chainsaw mechanic is another integral part of combat, allowing players to instantly kill most enemies and gain a large amount of ammo in return. However, Chainsaw fuel is limited and must be managed carefully. Like Glory Kills, watching the chainsaw tear demons apart is incredibly satisfying. Certain demons require more fuel but provide the player with more ammo in return. Balancing which demons you chainsaw and which ones you choose to Glory Kill is an important part of combat.
Exploration is key to progression and is rewarding to those players who choose to do. Hidden throughout the levels of the game are Argent Cells, Praetor Tokens, and Rune Trials. Each of these provide upgrades to your health/shield/ammo, suit, and passive abilities respectively. Also hidden throughout the game are levers that lead you to classic levels from Doom 1 and Doom 2, which then unlock the full level of its respective game, playable from the main menu. You can also find toy models of the Doom Slayer, which unlock various character models to view. On some of these models, the Doom Slayer will perform a unique action when picking it up, such as fist bumping the classic Doomguy. It's a nice and cute little touch added by the developers that does a little to add character to the Slayer, who is a silent protagonist.
id Software masterfully blends modern game design with a deep reverence for the classics, paying homage to the series' storied history while introducing new elements that propel the franchise forward. Central to this approach is the game's character design, which strikes a delicate balance between nostalgia and innovation. At its core is the iconic protagonist, the Doom Slayer, whose design pays homage to the original Doom Marine while incorporating modern updates that make him feel both familiar and fresh. With his battle-worn armor, imposing stature, and silent demeanor, the Doom Slayer is the embodiment of raw power and unrelenting rage.
The game's roster of enemies is a veritable who's who of classic Doom foes, reimagined for the modern era. From the lowly possessed soldiers to the hulking Cyberdemon, each enemy is lovingly crafted to capture the essence of its 1990s counterpart while introducing new mechanics and behaviors that keep players on their toes. Whether you're facing off against the agile Revenants, the relentless Hell Knights, or the grotesque Cacodemons, every encounter is a nostalgic trip down memory lane, punctuated by the satisfying sound of demon flesh being torn asunder.
But the main story is not where it ends. DOOM has an arcade mode, where players can run through the levels again, this time trying for high scores and medals while collecting 1 Ups. It's important to move fast and have accurate aim; the more kills you chain together, the bigger your score is. Getting hit reduces your score. At the end of the level, your score is tallied against others on a leaderboard. It's a great way to incentivize players to keep playing, in order to get a better and better score.
There is also multiplayer, where players compete in various game modes such as classic deathmatch, warpath and free for all. Players can become demons by collecting runes on the battlefield and this gives them a distinct advantage; demons are larger, stronger and more resilient. Players are bizarrely restricted to only two weapons and a loadout in multiplayer, which blew my mind. Loadouts. In a DOOM game. The demons are also massively unbalanced and if one team manages to get a particularly powerful demon such as a baron of hell, then it's a guaranteed win. All in all, the multiplayer just isn't great. You are better off replaying the story or arcade mode, or even SnapMap.
SnapMap is id Software's proprietary level editor, and it puts every other editor on the market to shame. SnapMap is an incredible, intuitive, easy to learn system allowing players to create their own multiplayer, co-op and single player maps. There is an extensive tutorial system that teaches users the basics, and goes up in depth, covering how to use AI triggers, switches, combinations, object layering, actions, recalls, audio cues, etc. Never have I ever seen such an in-depth interface on a console game before. While it is only surface level in the grand scheme of things, SnapMap is a great introduction to teaching users how game development works, and I urge everyone to try it out at least once.
Part II: The Music
In DOOM, the music isn't just a background accompaniment – it's a driving force that propels players forward, electrifying every moment of the gameplay experience. Composed by the incredibly talented Mick Gordon, the soundtrack of DOOM is a relentless onslaught of metal and electronica that perfectly complements the game's fast-paced action and visceral combat. From the moment you boot up the game, you're greeted by the iconic strains of the main theme, a haunting melody that sets the tone for the epic journey that lies ahead. As you traverse the game's environments, the music shifts seamlessly between atmospheric ambience and pulse-pounding metal.
But it's not just the composition of the music that makes it so memorable – it's also the way it's integrated into the gameplay itself. Mick Gordon's dynamic scoring system ensures that the music evolves in real-time based on the player's actions, ramping up in intensity during combat encounters and dialing back during quieter moments of exploration. This creates a sense of momentum and flow that enhances the overall pacing of the game
One of the standout features of the soundtrack is its use of unconventional instrumentation and sound design. Mick Gordon's signature sound combines distorted guitars, pounding drums, and industrial noise to create a sonic palette that is as brutal and unforgiving as the game itself. From the deep, guttural growls of the synth bass to the ear-shredding shrieks of the guitar solos, every element of the music is designed to evoke a sense of chaos and destruction, mirroring the relentless carnage unfolding onscreen.
Of course, no discussion of the music in DOOM would be complete without mentioning the iconic tracks that have become synonymous with the game. From the adrenaline-fueled "Rip & Tear" to the bone-crushing "BFG Division," each track is a masterpiece of composition and production, perfectly capturing the essence of the DOOM experience and elevating it to new heights. Mick Gordon's composition for the DOOM soundtrack is a tour de force in heavy metal and industrial electronica, meticulously crafted to evoke the essence of the game's frenetic gameplay.
The backbone of the soundtrack is the distorted guitar, which provides the driving force behind many of the tracks. Gordon's use of extended-range guitars and custom-tuned instruments gives the music its signature low-end punch, while his aggressive playing style adds a raw, visceral energy to the sound. In addition to guitars, Gordon incorporates a wide range of electronic and synthetic elements into his compositions, including synthesizers, drum machines, and sampled sounds. These elements are used to create atmospheric textures, rhythmic patterns, and dynamic effects.
One of the most innovative aspects of Gordon's sound design is his use of audio manipulation techniques, such as granular synthesis and spectral processing. These techniques allow him to deconstruct and manipulate audio in real-time, creating complex textures and effects.
Perhaps the most revolutionary aspect of Mick Gordon's composition for DOOM is his dynamic scoring system, which adjusts the music in real-time based on the player's actions. This system, known as "MIDI-controlled dynamic music," allows the music to seamlessly transition between different layers and variations depending on the intensity of the gameplay. Gordon achieves this dynamic effect by dividing each track into multiple stems or layers, each representing a different element of the music (e.g., drums, guitars, synths). These stems are then triggered and mixed in real-time using MIDI data generated by the game engine, allowing the music to adapt and evolve dynamically as the player progresses through the game.
Part III: Building a Legacy
All too often in this industry, legacy franchises are either left in the dust to be forgotten, or brought back to a limp fanfare, only to be thrust back into the shadows of the past. This happens for a myriad of reasons, and I believe the biggest one is that they don't respect their legacy, and they don't respect the players who engage with them.
At its core, DOOM is a game that understands what players want: fast-paced action, engaging gameplay, and a sense of empowerment. By focusing on these core principles, id Software created an experience that resonated with players old and new, capturing the spirit of the original games while pushing the series forward. Central to this approach is the game's unwavering commitment to respecting the player. From its minimalist storytelling and streamlined level design to its intuitive controls and dynamic difficulty system, DOOM prioritizes the player's experience above all else, ensuring that every moment of the game is engaging, immersive, and satisfying.
One of the most notable ways that DOOM respects the player is through its approach to difficulty. Rather than imposing artificial barriers or punishing players for their mistakes, the game encourages experimentation and mastery through its responsive gameplay mechanics and adaptive enemy AI. Players are given the freedom to approach encounters in their own way, whether it's through brute force, cunning strategy, or a combination of both.
Another key aspect of DOOM's player-centric design is its emphasis on accessibility. From its difficulty settings and intuitive user interface to its robust accessibility features, such as colorblind modes and customizable controls, the game ensures that players of all skill levels and abilities can enjoy the experience without feeling excluded or overwhelmed.
But perhaps the most important way that DOOM respects the player is through its commitment to fun. At its core, DOOM is a game that prioritizes the player's enjoyment above all else, delivering a seamless and exhilarating experience that keeps players coming back for more. Whether you're blasting demons with a shotgun, exploring hidden secrets, or rocking out to Mick Gordon's pulse-pounding soundtrack, DOOM is a game that never stops prioritizing YOU.
DOOM's legacy is one of respect – respect for the player, respect for the franchise, and respect for the medium of video games as a whole. By prioritizing fun, accessibility, and player agency, id Software created an experience that not only honors the legacy of the original games but also sets a new standard for what a modern first-person shooter can be. And for that, we owe them a debt of gratitude.

(Now there are some parts in this chapter that actually happened in real life, the French revolution and incidents that happened during it. But pretty much the story is a work of fiction.)
Chapter 1: Recollection- I stood and watched the droplets of rain slide down the window pane. This should be a festival, or some type of holiday, as we rarely get any rainfall. I focused my gaze on the neon signs below. The rain falling around them seemed to enhance their luminosity. It is amazing that rainfall can make such a filth-riddled city like this seem almost; normal. After a little while, the rain slowly stopped falling. The dark clouds quickly dissipated and the twin moons cast their brightness, like two large spotlights in a prison yard. The city that was briefly hidden by the rain showed its ugly face. New Grimes City, the place where ‘good people’ are the stuff of legends. Gangsters, thieves, murderers and prostitutes are just some of the people who call this place home. Not a day goes by where you have to watch for wandering fingers reaching for your pockets. Although if you’re someone like me, you have more than just pickpockets to look out for. Being a private investigator has brought a slew of negative attention my way. There have been multiple assassination attempts made against me. But there’s a reason why all who have challenged me have failed.
Being a vampire has its perks, especially in a place like this. That’s the reason why I was sent here in the first place. Back on Earth things like me weren’t allowed in society, in fact anyone who put a single toe out of line was doomed to be sent here. The group known as “The cult of order” saw to that. No one knew of their existence, until the meteor struck. “The cataclysm of 2223”, the year that everything changed. After the meteor fell and single handedly wiped out most of the population of Earth, the remaining survivors needed a leader. The cult of order came to power, and established a "one-world government". sometimes I still can see the events of that fateful day as if it were a movie being played on repeat. I can still see the distant trail of the meteor as it plunged to Earth, see the towering wall of sea water as it came rushing towards the land, and being consumed by it. People who were fortunate enough lived in Strato-houses, or had some type of SHRV (Space Habitation and Recreational Vehicle) to get them out of harm's way. The rest of us weren’t so lucky, I would wager that half of the Earth’s population died that day. I remember as I was underneath the waves watching the many lifeless bodies being dragged along, I didn’t have to worry about drowning but I didn’t want to be stuck under the water. I tried to fight my way to the surface but the weight of the water and raging current made that near impossible. As I still kept trying to fight my way to the surface, I felt a sharp stinging pain in my stomach. A long metal rod had pierced straight through me like a knife through warm butter. When my blood started to mingle with the water that’s when I started to panic, if I didn’t get out of the water soon I would die. I hadn’t eaten in months up until that point, so I was already weak as it is. Bleeding out is kind of an ironic fate for a vampire, and one that I really wanted to take a rain check on. I started reaching out, desperately trying to grab onto something, anything that I could hold onto. If I was lucky, maybe it would be something buoyant enough to get me to the surface. I was so desperate that I started trying to grab hold of the bodies that were being tossed along the current above me. “I can’t die! I won’t die here!” were the thoughts racing through my head. Suddenly; as if some divine force heard my thoughts and felt my desperation, the current started to slow down.
A brief feeling of euphoria hit me as I felt myself just floating in the vast waters that surrounded me. However I knew I wasn’t safe just yet, I was getting weaker from the blood loss, so much so that I couldn’t use any of my magical abilities. With one more desperate reach, I grabbed onto the hand of one of the bodies. It was a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. Her long black hair floated in the water, it made me think of me and my fiancée swimming in the lakes at Versailles. I hadn’t thought about her for ages it seemed, up until that point. She died a very long time ago, and I’ve tried to forget about it. Those were very dark times, even darker than the present I believe. It was at that point where I felt as if I wasn't going to make it up to the surface, I was too weak.Well if I was going to die, I wanted those thoughts of my fiancée to be my last. I remember hearing a beautiful song and the feeling of something embracing me. I surrendered to the warm feeling of it and closed my eyes, I'm pretty sure I smiled.

 I woke up; I was curious as to whether I was still alive, or had died and this was the afterlife. I felt as if I was laying on a bed, or possibly in a coffin with a soft interior. That's when a figure approached me, I couldn't clearly see who it was. I blinked a couple times to try and adjust my vision. It was a man, the thing that struck me was his pale skin. It seemed almost translucent. His piercing hazel eyes glowed brightly in the dark room. Then he smiled; he was a vampire just like me. "W-where am I?" was all I could say. "You are in a sanctuary, for our kind. This place used to be packed to the ceiling, but now it's very rare to see vampires. Alexandre and I have been the only inhabitants of this place for some time, so it's good to see another vampire." the man said. He grabbed my hand and slowly lifted me up. “How did you know I was a vampire?” I asked. “Oh, aside from the pale skin and fangs? No human could truly survive that.” “How did I get here?”, the man before me giggled a little at that question. “ You were rescued by a mermaid, if only I were so lucky,” the man said. “What was she like?” I couldn’t help but wonder, I didn’t realize mermaids were still alive, they are an ancient and resilient species. Also very beautiful, I saw a mermaid resting on a rocky cove a long time ago. Her hair was long and the color was like the stars on a clear night, the scales on her tail were navy blue that transitioned to a silver hue. When she saw me, we just stared at each other for a few seconds. She blew me a kiss and dove underneath the ocean waves. Mermaids do have that reputation for being seductresses, I wouldn’t have minded being tempted for one bit at that time. “Oh she was a thing of beauty, orange hair, sky blue scales, a high-born mermaid for certain.” “High-born?” I asked him, as I didn’t know there were different kinds of Merfolk. “High borns are part of the royal lineage of Merfolk, they can live for at least two-thousand years if all goes well. They are also born with special abilities, such as healing powers.” When I heard him say that I quickly lifted up my shirt, as I had remembered being pierced by that metal rod. To my shock and amazement, the rod and the wound were gone. “I remembered being impaled by a metal rod, and losing blood, did she really save me?” I thought to myself. “She must have, otherwise we wouldn’t be talking right now, would we?” he said. Of course, telepathy. He can read my thoughts, he must be pretty strong for a vampire. “I'm surprised you haven’t learned to read people’s thoughts yet, with you being around for as long as you have.” “Well I never really thought about honing my skills, I’m just trying to exist pretty much.” I said in response. “You need to learn your powers in order to truly survive, you almost died. A vampire almost dying from bleeding out! It’s an oxymoron personified!” The vampire started laughing uncontrollably. “Anyways, let me show you where you will be living. In the meantime I will teach you all you need to know.” The man snapped his fingers, the candles in the room lit up bringing light to the darkness. I saw the man more clearly, his garb was that of the aristocratic kind we wore back during the old regime. His long brown hair tied back into a ponytail. "Were you alive during the reign of the Bourbon?" I asked him. "Yes indeed, those were the days, I miss the gilded halls of Versailles, the large parties and the women, mostly the women." "Sir, may I introduce you?" A voice suddenly spoke, I looked over in the direction of the voice. It was another man, holding a tea tray. The top portion of his head was bald, he had pale skin, and was tall and quite burly. He looked like a rather stern man. If the emotions of happiness and joy were physical beings, they would run away in terror from his intimidating gaze. He was wearing fancy clothing however it was a little less extravagant than the former's, he was most likely a valet. "Yes you may, my dear Alexandre." the vampire said. 

"Very good sir", Alexandre put the tea tray on a little table, stood upright and took two steps forward. "May I present to you, the Chevalier de Castellane!" Alexandre spoke loudly. "You know my dear Alexandre, you don't have to be so dramatic when introducing me." The Chevalier spoke. "I'm sorry sir, but old habits die hard and even though it's true millennia have passed, I still remember introducing you like this at the parties and salons at Versailles." Even though his demeanor was rigid, and his gaze cold, I could see in his eyes a longing for the ways of a time long since forgotten. Sometimes I find myself wishing the same, before the revolution life was paradise. I was due to be married to the woman I loved, I had wealth and status, I would relive that time over and over again if I could. "Please forgive me sir, but I would like to keep my introductions the same as they have always been." Alexandre lowered his head a little, "We don't get many visitors as it is, so may I be allowed to do so?". "Yes you may Alexandre, if it brings you happiness then so be it!" The Chevalier said with a huge grin on his face, he turned and looked at me “You can call me Philippe, it makes things easier.” Alexadre glanced at me, “May I be allowed to introduce you, sir?.” “Oh! Y-yes you may, Alexandre.” The last time I was introduced by a valet was on the night of the last Royal Gala. It was not as extravagant as the other parties I've attended, but it was still a good time. Before; myself, my wife, our friends and family members were imprisoned and killed. “I need your name sir so I am able to.” Alexandre said with a hint of sarcasm. I glanced over towards Philippe, he was pouring himself a bumper of wine. I could smell it from the coffin I was in, Turin Rose Solis was the brand. My personal favorite, I could feel myself salivating. “Sir! Please may I please have your name?”, Alexandre said, this time sounding a bit more frustrated. “My name is È’tienne De la Croix.” I said. I could hear Philippe gasping. I quickly turned my head, I watched as the full glass of wine fell out of his hands. I was expecting it to hit the floor with a crash. However in the blink of an eye, Alexandre was standing next to Philippe. Glass of wine in hand, and the same rigid expression. I looked down to the floor in between the pair, not a single drop spilt. “Sir you have to be more careful, this wine is one of the two bottles we have left of the Turin Rose Solis. It would’ve been such a waste if this were spilled, please do be more careful next time.” The sight made me giggle a little, the Chevalier de Castellane, a nobleman, getting scolded by his valet. I was so distracted by the introductions and conversations, that I didn't look at my surroundings. We were in a cave, I have to admit I was a little disappointed. I thought it would be like a crypt or an old 19th century home. "Did you do the decorating yourself?" I asked, Philippe snickered a little. "No but you can take it up with Alexandre, he thought this place would be convenient for our purposes. But you did say that your name was É'tienne de la Croix, right?". "Yes I did, have we met before?" I asked, he did not seem familiar to me at all. "Yes we did meet, but only briefly. We were both imprisoned at the Hotel de la Force, I remember you being with your fianceé. A beautiful and noble woman I must say, what was her name again?". I could feel my heart breaking all over again, I looked down at the floor. "Genevieve de Lyon", it felt like I was regurgitating little blades trying to say her name. "She was, and still is the love of my life. It's been a very long time, and yet I still can't forget about her. She was an angel personified, a kind and beautiful soul." I could feel tears start to run down my cheeks. "Those revolutionary brutes defiled her, and forced me to watch. After they were done with her they proceeded to torture me. They ended up slitting my throat. They drug her away and left me for dead". After I said those words Philippe piped up, "Alexandre, give him my glass, he looks like he is in urgent need of some wine." "Right away my lord," as soon as Alexandre said those words, the glass of wine was being held in front of me. Alexandre is very good at his job, no wonder Philippe chose him as a companion. I took the glass of wine, "Thank you Alexandre," I said softly, "You're welcome sir." Alexandre quickly took back his place beside Philippe. I took a sip of the wine, if words could describe how delicious it was. I felt brave enough to continue, "The only thing I remember is someone coming to me, and offering me an escape from death and a chance at revenge, I said yes,". I looked up to see Alexandre pouring Philippe a glass of wine, Philippe looked back at me, "Do continue E'tienne, say what you need to say." I wiped the tears streaming down my face, and took another sip of wine. "When I was turned into a vampire, the person told me to wait until everything calmed down. They told me to blend into the crowd and feed to get stronger, to save the real prey for last." Before I could say another word, Philippe spoke. "Evil-doer's blood tastes better when they are afraid," Philippe said. My eyes widened, those were the exact words said to me when I was being told what to do. "Did you read my thoughts again Philippe?" I asked. "No, I was the one who turned you," Philippe said with a bit of pride. He continued to speak, "I'm honestly surprised you didn't remember me, although to be fair I forgot about you as well. I can understand though. The memories seem too much for you to handle. Though I do have a couple of questions in mind, did you find the men? Did you find your wife?"
I was flabbergasted, not only by the fact that I had just met the vampire who made me, but also the fact he could pose such delicate questions so casually. "W-well yes I did, I found both my wife, and the men who hurt her," I shuddered and looked away. "I took some clothes from a dead revolutionary, and escaped under the cover of nightfall. I hid in an abandoned apartment near the prison. When the day broke, I watched as the revolutionaries brought out the dead and the dying from the prison. That's when I saw my wife being dragged into the courtyard, beaten and bloodied beyond belief. A man stood in front of her, accusing her of being a traitor to the revolution, wanting to bring back the monarchy. The punishment was death, and as quickly as he said that, someone came behind her with a sword. With one swift motion of the blade, her head was no longer attached to her body.” The tears started streaming down my face again. Philippe came and sat by my side, “Please È'tienne forgive me for being so intrusive, but I need to know if you made those brutes suffer”. I took a minute to compose myself and wiped the tears from my face, “You're damn right I did-”.
The sudden ringing of the telephone shook me out of my recollections. I quickly look around, I'm still here in my office in New Grimes city. I sighed and walked over to my desk. “Hopefully this is a job opportunity”, I think to myself. I clear my throat and pick up the phone, “This is È'tienne speaking, how can I help you?”. A very familiar voice comes through, “È'tienne my old friend, I need to meet with you at once. There is an issue of grave importance we need to discuss, don't worry this will be a paid job. Meet me at the usual spot, there is someone here who is very anxious to meet you. Hurry, this is the type of man who doesn't like to be kept waiting very long”. With that, the man hangs up the phone. “This is unlike Guillaume, I have to get there right away!” I said out loud. I quickly throw on my overcoat and hat, and slip my pistol into its holster on my hip. I bolt out of my office, I run so fast that I almost bump into my secretary Jenny, who is carrying a load of paperwork. She yelped and stopped in her tracks and braced for impact. Thankfully I stopped just in time otherwise it would've been raining documents of various kinds. “Sir what's the rush?! You almost ran me over!” Jenny shouted at me. “I'm really sorry Jenny, I finally have a job opportunity and I have to get there as soon as possible!” Jenny quickly stood out of the way, “Good for you sir, are you going to Stonehaven?” She asked with a gleeful tone. “Yes, do you want the seafood capellini?” I asked her, trying to speed up the conversation. “You know me so well thank you sir, I'll get your dinner the next time.” she winked at me. I turned and walked towards the door. “Please be careful sir!” Jenny shouted as I closed the door behind me. I'm really grateful for her kindness and her loyalty. Even though business has been slow, she still comes in when she is scheduled. I start making my way towards Stonehaven, the most exclusive vampire watering hole in the city. There are many others, but Stonehaven requires you to be of royal lineage to even be considered a potential member. Thankfully I am of royal lineage, so I am allowed in without any hassle. As I get closer to Stonehaven, I start to feel very uneasy. I feel like something isn't right at all, all of my senses are telling me to run the other way. I start to wonder, why did Guillaume call me after so long? Why did he sound so nervous? There's only one way to find out, I hope my instincts are wrong on this.
(Please tell me what you think about this first chapter, and that if anything can be done different.)

Preface: I started hammering this out not too long ago, with hopes of it extending to the truely amazing lengths that other stories have. Personally I doubt it will, but hey might be entertaining for a few people. Criticism is welcome, constructive criticism even more-so. Formatting is not my strong suit (mobile doesn’t help, nor does not knowing what the hell im doing), neither is pacing nor doling out enough detail to certain points, hopefully in time I will improve. Title may be subject to change, still iffy on it.
Kata surveyed the fields below her, searching for her quarry. The corrupted beast had three times now harassed the keep, harming multiple guards and killing a child. She gripped her bow harder, poor Ensia… just a little girl, ripped from the world too young.
She knew her parents and saw them mourn. It was heart wrenching, listening to them sob. Holding the orange blood stained body of their little girl.
She owed it to them to bring back the beast’s head. She kept a close eye on the ground below, looking for the black furred bear. It fled into the nearby woods.
Tree cover was common but did not prevent much visibility to the ground. She knew it was fairly small, and packed a mean bite, but she had her stinger, positioned at the end of her armored tail.
The red scales a sign of her bloodline, a relative of the royal family. As such, it was her sworn duty to protect her people and hunt down those who threaten them.
Minutes of careful gazing and hearty flying later and she spied her prey, positioned by a tree and ravenously devouring a still live deer. She couldn’t help but pity the deer, dying to feed such a beast. She watched as it struggled, trying to escape.
Kata began to swoop down to the two animals. After she had killed the bear, she would put down the deer. It would only be right.
Tucking in her wings, she began to dive, twisting around a tree and notching an arrow into her bow. Pulling up from the dive to coast a mere 10 feet above the ground, she let the arrow loose, hitting the bear in the back of the neck.
It reared back, roaring in pain as she slung her bow and drew her sword. Coming in low and fast, nimbly twisting around trees, she let her momentum work for the cut as she held it out at an angle.
Simultaneously, she readied her tail to nab a quick sting on the beast just in case the sword wouldn’t prove lethal. Meer moments later her sword cut deep into the bear, dragging along its neck like a guillotine. It hadn’t cut as deep as she would’ve liked, so as she passed the beast she whipped her tail down onto its back, her stinger piercing its thick hide and quickly delivering a dose of paralyzing venom.
Pulling up, she began to loop back around for a second swipe. Agilely twisting mid air to avoid hitting branches. The bear had began turning to face her, stiffly moving as the venom did its work. Confident in its potency, Kata continued forward, sure that the bear would not be able to fight back.
Only as she got too close to turn away had she realized her confidence was for nought, as it reared up onto its hind legs and took a mighty swipe at her, knocking her to the ground and cutting a nasty gash into her face
. As she hit the floor, her head filled with a searing pain like staring into the sun. She began to worry that the bear had hit her far too hard for her to recover and fight back, until with a thunderous clap and bolt of blue light the pain disappeared.
She quickly clambered to her feet, ready to face the bear once more, but to her shock, the beast wasn’t charging her. In fact, before her eyes was not just a bear, but a large building of metal and strange stone.
To her astonishment, the bear started to roar in pain. Looking around for the cause, she noticed a concerning sight. Its rear quarter of its body was fused into the structure. She stepped forward, blood from her face dripping down her neck in non-concerning quantities, inspecting the odd building.
Matthew stared excitedly at the workshop before him.
The most interesting room of the Nevada General Laboratory. A research center for robotics, genetics, botany, and most relevantly, quantum physics.
The mainstay of the Quantum Physics Department was the Quantum Breach Array. Theoretically capable of creating a portal to any point in space, perhaps even time.
The prior test of the array had not gone smoothly. When it was activated, a black bear sized animal had bolted out and started attacking researchers, biting a technician in the shoulder before scurrying back through the array. He had shut it down as soon as he could.
Mostly ignoring a handful of warnings, his boss was too excited about the prospect laid before him to slow down the research. Matthew couldn’t fault him. He was always chasing something exciting, and ever since his career in the military the thrills had to be bigger and more intense.
Seeing as he had combat experience, they’d bought him a fairly sturdy set of equipment from a surplus depot and plopped him down in the room. His technical expertise and education were more than enough to run the necessary equipment.
Perhaps they had gone a bit overkill, with night vision, full body kevlar and plates, M4, 1911, and lever action shotgun, but over equipped was better than under, and he didn’t mind the extra firepower.
He waited until the PA system crackled to life as the words rang out, the excited voices of the skeleton crew in the building.
The Q.P supervisor, two Q.P researchers, and 4 researchers from other departments which wanted to be present for the test. Technically, he wasn’t part of the Q.P department. He was just a technician working with robotics, but he hadn’t minded the hasty change to his job description.
A flurry of quickly hushed voices echoed through the speaker, before a clear concise sentence was beheld.
“Activate the array.”
Like a good grunt, Matthew did as he was told. Walking to the console and starting the device.
He felt sick to his stomach as the array buzzed to life and forced a hole through time and space. An unnatural feeling to be sure.
Stepping away from the console, he heard a capacitor burst and looked up in horror as the array buzzed louder and louder, the blue orb in the middle starting to expand.
Stepping back to the console, he fiddled with the controls, trying to shut it down. Error message after error message met his attempts, before a blinding flash of blue light and a piercing headache pervaded his concentration with a thunderous, seering mental pain.
He hadn’t even had the time to fall to his knees before it dissipated, he went to take a step back, but felt something give resistance, turning around to see something which shouldn’t be there.
A shrub, phased into the floor, right behind him. Had he been standing just a foot back, he’d likely be part of the plant. Atleast, he would be taking up the same space. Something told him that would not be a pleasant experience.
Giving the workshop before him a quick survey, the array was scorched, but the machinery around it was fine. Lathes, drill presses, other machines. He noticed a few patches of grass poking through the concrete floor, as he began walking around around.
With his first real steps around the area, he felt light and airy. Picking up a nearby wrench and dropping it, he noticed as it accelerated down, it was about half the rate it normally should.
Excitement rose in his stomach as the implications were clear, he was in a new world.
He had to see the reactions of the others. Opening the workshop door, he quickly made his way to the observation room. It was close, despite not needing to be. They watched via cameras.
More shrubs and tree limbs littered the halls, which hardly slowed him down. Reaching the observation room, he tried to push the door open to no avail. Giving it a harder push, he heard the crunching of tree limbs. His gut sank with dread as he called out to no response
“Hello?”
He took a few steps back before charging the door with his shoulder, one hit. More crunching. A second, the door opened more, and a third hit forced the door open all the way.
What he saw within did not assuage his concern, as the room was filled with thick tree limbs. Through the leaves and branches he could see bits of lab coats. He could only mumble two words as reality dawned on him
“Dear God.”
All excitement vanished from his mind. He no longer desired to explore the new location before him. It had gotten people killed. Injuries can be treated, but catching a case of death?
Matthew took a deep breath, before closing the door to the observation room and walking down the hall. Heading towards an office, he opened the door and rummaged through one of his coworkers desks.
She was saving the bottle of whiskey for when the array was stable and could be reliably used, celebrating the hard work it took. It was a good bottle too, 20 years old. But she wasn’t going to drink it. None of the staff were, the facility has clearly moved.
The thought crossed his mind, imagine how confused the other departments must be when they show up for work in the morning. Pull into the gravel road, but no building meets them.
The thought of their confused faces forced a small grin on his face. But it didn’t last. Stepping over to a window, he gazed out to the landscape before him. It definitely was not the deserts of Nevada.
Placing his hand onto the window latch to open it, he felt a small static shock.
Kata walked up to the odd stone wall before her. It was quite bumpy and rough, looking as if it were sandstone, yet granite at the same time.
She wondered what it was, and where it was cut from. More importantly, she wondered how it got here. Godly intervention? A sorcerer messing up a spell?
Pulling her from her curious examination, the trapped, corrupt bear let out a low whine, as its forelimbs gave way, hanging awkwardly from its odd binds.
Walking over and hoisting her sword high, and bringing it down hard. Stabbing it between the eyes.
Thick black blood oozed out onto the blade, smelling like the rancid corruption it had been tainted with.
She was both concerned and angry. More and more tainted creatures had been popping up and they couldn’t find the source. It was frustrating, and she couldn’t do anything about it.
Corruption searches needed large, well trained units, along with plenty of supplies and squires. Searches took weeks, and it was imperative all casualties be accounted for. Such forces can only be mustered by houses which have months of preparation.
Returning to the building once more, she slowly outstretched her hand to touch it. Once her fingers neared close enough, a small arc zapped her fingers. Pulling her hand back with a small yelp she looked around, surprised.
The gears turned in her head, a weird building did a weird thing. Weird. But not weirder than it just showing up. Slowly reaching out to touch it again, focusing intently, she was startled by the sound of cracking from above.
She immediately drew her bow and notched an arrow, looking up to where the noise originated. She saw a hand pushing open a window, and acted automatically, letting the arrow loose straight at the hand, cutting a gash into its back.
Had it been parallel to the ground, the arrow would have cleanly pierced the palm. A yell sounded out from the open window followed by words. Foreign words, but words nonetheless.
Kata winced, she thought it was a threat, something tainted. But the corrupted don’t speak. If she were in that situation, she’d probably be swearing, so she guessed that’s what they were.
She called out to the voice, hoping they understood her
“Sorry! So sorry! I thought you could’ve been one of the corrupted!”
Slinging her bow and taking a few steps back, she leaped up to the window, beating her wings to gain more height on the jump. Grabbing onto the ledge and vaulting in, she continued to apologize, atleast, until she was cut off by another yell before a hard impact connected with her head
“OHB’JESUS”
She did not know what an “ohb’jesus” was but she certainly knew the person exclaiming that could pack a punch. Stumbling to her right, she bumped into a desk of sorts and used that to steady herself.
Looking at the person she accidentally attacked and who, to her, reasonably struck back, she was confused by the sight. They were not of her own people. They were slightly shorter than her, but a lot stockier. No wings, tail, or specialized ears. They had pale skin, a compact face, and weird legs. They also wore clothes made of a material unlike anything she’d seen before. They stood firmly, fists raised, ready to throw another punch, something she’d rather not have to deal with. She raised her hands out in front of her, in an expression of ‘lets calm down here, shall we?’
Matthew stood fists raised as a genuinely surprising sight stood before him. A manticore thing, though humanoid in posture. New world, new peoples he supposed. Regardless, he hadn’t expected to get shot nor for someone to just fly through the window, so he clocked them in the face.
He hadn’t hit too hard, but it still sent them stumbling to a desk. He was just about to throw another when they held up their hands.
Hopefully it meant the same thing to both parties, as he shifted his posture and took a step back.
Hopefully they were here to apologize, cause his hand hurt like hell. They began speaking, gesturing with their hands in what seemed like an apology, but Matthew couldn’t be certain. He had no clue what they were saying, new world and thus, new languages.
After a moment of confused staring, they pointed at his hand, to which he just gave a thumbs up. He thought they were offering to help with his hand, something which seemed like a nice gesture but Matthew knew he could fix it better. Unless they had magic.
Now that was something, the excitement of the situation wormed its way back into him.
He cautiously held out his hand, letting them come forward. He used that opportunity to get a good look at them.
They were slightly taller than him, like someone standing on their toes, and casting a quick glance down revealed that’s quite literally why. Their legs were digitigrade. Adding to that, they had wings, a scaled tail, and a mean looking stinger capping it off.
Looking at their face, it was odd. It looked like a shrunk down and slightly misshapen lion's head mixed with that of a humans.
After getting over the mild oddness of the sight, he noticed a mean cut on the side of their head, bleeding bright orange blood.
‘Wonder how they got that’
He thought to himself as he watched curiously as they began to take some items out of a bag. In short order he was disappointed to notice that they were rudimentary bandages.
He withdrew his hand and sighed, seeming to confuse the… person? He was going to go with a person. Before him. If his hand was simply going to be bandaged, he’d rather do it himself.
Walking over to a first aid kit, mounted just under a fire alarm, he opened it and took out a pack of zip stitches and a bandage. He gestured for the manticore person to come over, as he demonstrated the use of the supplies.
Apply the zip stitch, pull, adhere, and place a bandage over it. He gestured to their own injury. He might as well, at the very least, it could build some good will with the locals…

made this for my narrative essay in american literature, but one of my friends said i should share the story
“But I Still Need You” Throughout my life, I had always fallen easy for girls. The elementary mindset of, “she’s cute, so I have a crush on her,” prevented me from developing a legitimate relationship with any girl I tried to talk to. The few times that my feelings were reciprocated, I had no idea because I was already on to the next girl, and this continued until I was left with a multitude of friend-zone situations and a list of “crushes.” My charisma already lacking, it seemed each year that passed, previous to 3rd grade, I grew in weight and therefore awkwardness. The struggle to interact with women lessened as I grew up, while the fat remained. So, by the 8th grade I was the ideal guy friend; easy to talk to, kinda funny, understanding, and unintimidating. My approachable “funny fat friend” nature had its ups and downs. While guys, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, suspected me to be gay, girls found it intriguing and it made them want to be friends with me more. Back then I didn’t know, but now I know that by being forced to be friends first, after finding out I was in fact not gay, the right woman for me would want to be with me for my personality. In the winter of 2021, I fell hard for a girl named Madeline. Maddie was no different than many of the other girls in that she had a bland personality and I thought she was cute. She had brunette hair with bangs, big glasses, way too much makeup on, and a unique fashion sense. Her sense of fashion was one of the few interesting things about her, yet it was disregarded by the public. Not too many guys found her appealing, but I did, for whatever reason. I was dead set on getting to know her better in hope of becoming more than friends. Unfortunately, she hardly paid attention to me, but I didn’t give up. I merely slowed down because of my interest in her friend, Isabella. Isabella is the Spanish and Italian variation of Elizabeth (derived from the Hebrew name Elisheba). The meaning of Elishiba can be translated to, “God is my oath.” In Arabic, the beginning of Isabella, “Isa,” is the classical Arabic name for Jesus, while in the French language, the shortened version of Isabella, “Belle,” translates to “beautiful.” I had met Isabella in the sixth grade, and grew a tiny crush on her, in the elementary sense, before we all went into hibernation (COVID). I barely knew her though, and she had no idea who I was, so when we interacted in my last two classes, if we did at all, it was like two strangers who kept running into each other. I sat by her in my sixth period, and one seat up and to the right from her in seventh. We only ever made small talk and the occasional joke, but when I spoke with her I felt content. Still barely knowing her, all I could admire was the little things in the way she laughed and spoke. I longed to know more about Isabella, she was mature, intelligent, and very opinionated, but still light-hearted and made time pass at the speed of light. It wasn’t until she was in my group in sixth period one day that she began to open up a little by sharing the details of her current long-distance relationship. The shards of my heart stabbed and crushed my stomach; hope, the oxygen to my mind, depleted faster than the air of a broken space shuttle; palpitation, nausea, asphyxia, and neurosis bombarded me like Persian arrows on the Greeks. Then, all at once, the excruciating tidal wave evaporated, but instead of calm waters, I was left with a drought. Every emotion muted or gone, my body went numb while everything I cared for vanished from my mind. I didn’t speak throughout the rest of that day, and went directly from the bus to decaying in my bed. I was devastated, so I retreated to my pointless crush on Maddie. Unrelated to the rather sad lovelife, my anxiety and depression worsened throughout 8th grade, and while I was going to therapy, most of my issues wouldn’t and still haven’t been worked through. Throughout the school year I had developed a toxic system of self pity, in which I would spend hours a day cycling through the feelings of hope, anger, and despair- never that of joy. I knew what I was doing, gathering enough hope to face the school day just before I reflected on the doubts and grievances going on throughout my life. I’d bring myself up just for a greater fall because honestly, overtime I became numb to the natural pain. If I were going to fall into the pit that is depression, the higher I peaked in terms of optimism the more excruciating the freefall of nausea and the heavy flow of salt water. At that point in my life, I saw no point in getting out of bed to do anything, school or even my own mother’s birthday. By the end of eighth grade I had spent almost a total of six weeks absent, two of which were from me being quarantined. Typically over the span of one or two days, others up to four, I would be in my bed “sick.” During these mini-vacations I would sleep all morning, if my mom let me, and stay up all night, oftentimes listening to Radiohead or Cigarettes After Sex while staring at my ceiling. I wanted to stay up, I wanted to feel the bags grabbing and pulling towards my cheekbone, I wanted to feel empty, emotionally and physically. During the day, my anxiety attacks became panic attacks and I would get sent home for vomiting. I'd throw up to give Mom a reason to let me stay home. I’d throw up to feel something, anything. I’d throw up to keep my stomach empty. I’d throw up because I had to, because the nerves and overthinking forced me to. Every morning, I’d drag my black air force ones across cement, carpet, tiles, and marble, each step leading towards Mrs. Clements’ homeroom. For every step, a different worry or insecurity flashed through my brain. But then, out of the blue, I’m “Lincoln” again. I walk into homeroom with an ear-to-ear grin and dap up “the boys”. I’d spend the morning building up hopes of making Isabella laugh today, or maybe calling her once I got home, but I knew that nine times out of ten my hopes were delusional. To “Lincoln,” this was no problem, he would make a gay joke, join the boys with teasing a cute girl in my class, and laugh until just for a moment, the despair was gone. Finally, the sixth period would come and I’d get to see Isabella. In here I got the least work done out of all my classes as I would find myself strategically planning my next interaction with her, just for said plans to go out the window when I was brought face to face with her. Typically seventh period followed the same pattern except Ms. Shirley Davis could never allow small talk in her classroom. When the last bell rang, I went straight to the buses. I’d sleep on the way home, dreaming of a call that would hardly happen. On the off chance my phone didn’t reach its feared 11th cry, we’d talk for hours at a time. On a weekday or not, it seemed that, when we did call, it was guaranteed to go into the early morning. It’s hard to put my finger on a specific topic, or even general. In our conversations, we discussed anything and everything. Everything, except her own love interest. I admired this, as my inability to keep who I’m thinking about at the time a secret is a major flaw of mine. The more that me and her spoke, the more I grew to love her. Our talks were so honest, so raw, that the secret I held began to eat away at me. My core collapsing like a dying star, each day it felt like the pain got worse. To cope with the feelings I had buried deep inside me, I’d turn to my friends. At first, they said to come forward with my feelings, but I knew that’s what any friend would’ve said. The relief I got from venting the conflicting hurricane within me was brief. Overtime, their words of encouragement turned to annoyance, and understandably so. When people grew sick of the same old sadistic untold love, I turned to Isabella. I wrote a text so full that, to read it, one needed to tap on an arrow at the bottom right corner of my message. The essay was compiled with the confliction I had, developing feelings for a friend, and the sorrow that filled me each day that passed without her. I described the perfect imperfections that I admired about her, how life was complete when I spoke to her, the beauty that paralyzed me every time I saw her in person, and the character that I felt God had curated specifically for me. Sitting there unsure if I should press send, a fear grew within my chest that Isabella would see right through me. I could hear the music that so often triggered tears; the vocals of Thom Yorke or the beats of Kanye West, they faded in and out. What if she didn’t even respond? What if she thought I was a creep? What if- then she responded. Suddenly, the ominous 808s & Heartbreak pounding vanished, my respiratory chaos became paralyzed, and time stood still. I couldn’t breathe until I finished reading, and once I did, my sigh was all but relieving. Isabella explained to me how unhealthy my habits were; even in comparison to the anguish that would follow, I’d suffer far more and far longer should I suppress my emotions. She told me how that level of affection, in the context of the warped concept of romance most men had, was something she had only dreamt of. Isabella said that holding these feelings would eat away at me, exponentially increasing in severity, until I broke. Not only would I be hurting myself, but I would be depriving the person I care about most from the appreciation they deserve. I became bloated with fear of the friendzone, those insecurities, all based upon inference, became a reality with Isabella’s last piece of advice. She said, “If she doesn’t reciprocate those emotions, then don’t worry. I’m sure there’s a girl out there who can appreciate your compassion.” The blame had no other place to go than my shoulders, after all, I got what I asked for, advice on another girl. Isabella, even if she saw the crush I had on her, is far too kind to address it. She cared for everyone, and to her, she was merely boosting up a friend who’s down. For the rest of the night her text echoed through my mind; pain, regret, and admiration caused my mind to sporadically leap from conclusion to conclusion. Two years later, those words still haunt me, reiterations of that phrase torturing me when I least expect them. The school year progressed, but my aspirations with Isabella didn’t. Over time, the frequency of my writings grew to be weekly, at times reaching two a week, and the weight of my confessions depleted. I opened my audience to a mutual friend of Isabella’s, Miley, with the intention of acquiring useful advice. Eventually, my choice to try concealing what I felt for Isabella became too heavy of a burden, weighing down on me in forces I had not endured before. Soon, the love I had for Isabella turned to hatred for myself. I was relentlessly criticizing every aspect of myself and my mind. I hated how fat I was, my smile, my voice, my laugh, and most of all my personality. What I had thought was my greatest strength, was revealed as my worst trait. The gullibility I exhibited when thinking for a second Isabella could possibly like me; the lack of confidence that caused me to chicken out of confessing my feelings to her; my insufferable need to make people laugh; the hyperfixation I would develop for those that I love. Everything about me was wrong. I stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped caring, and eventually I stopped living. The “Lincoln” my friends had grown to recognize, the only remnant of the joy I felt when I was younger, died, and I was left with only my love for Isabella and resentment for myself. I began testing the limits of what was left of me, praying for relief. At first in the middle of the night, an anaconda would find its way to my throat, wrapping around my neck. Its cold black scales gracefully gliding across my skin before silencing my cries with the swift tug of its metallic USB head. The snake would maintain pressure until I let go of it, the entire time whispering into my ear, begging me to hold on. Some nights it came with what must have been a full stomach for it was drastically wider, it was brown these nights, with leather skin, and a slight warmth, but it behaved the same. Most visits from the snake ended with my vision blurry, my breath short, or my head dizzy. The only consistency of our transactions was Asia’s Death Lake that streamed down my face from start to finish. Eventually, the snake seemed closer and closer to silencing me forever, but I also became used to its visits. I began writing letters to everyone I loved so that, should the snake come out victorious, they’d have a final goodbye. Once I had sorted out my notes, I called the snake to my room. This time it came striped with shades of blue, its skin a soft fabric. For once, I controlled the snake, because our intentions finally aligned. I locked the door, sent out my texts, placed the written notes on my dresser, and joined the snake at my closet door. Holding onto the doorknob, the snake wrapped itself around my neck just as it had done in nights of the past. It whispered to me, “let go,” for I had been on my knees in hesitation. I followed the snake’s order by making a sort of plank with my body, the bottom half resting on a stack of dirty laundry and pillows while the top was supported by my elbows. Pressure swiftly fell down on my neck and didn’t stop. “This is it,” I thought to myself. My eyes seemed to pop out of my skull, and my tears, falling down like summer rain, became blurry dots as my vision went dark. Next thing I know, I’m waking up, snot, saliva, and tears strung between my face and the carpet floor. My head pounding and my eyes burning, I looked up at the “snake” that was the tie my mom had gotten me for Sunday service. Although my mind was more clear, it was not out of revelation, but from a muted sense of the world around me. Other than Isabella, nothing mattered anymore, and the little emotion I felt was squashed by my immortal love. The following day I get called to the counselors office on charges of suicidal thoughts and self harm. I said what I had to in order to escape her grasp, but left infuriated. Not only had my own friends betrayed me, but the lady who was supposed to guide me essentially scolded me for being sad. Throughout the day my anger faded out and my focus became making an excuse as to why my parents got a weird call from my counselor, then I’d find the traitor who sold me out. That afternoon, I lost two friends, and for the first time ever got mad at Isabella. Apparently, Miley, Maddie, and Isabella all reported me to the counselor that morning. They said I had been traumatizing them with what was going on in my life, being normal and messing around at school, then detailing my thoughts and actions to them outside of school. I felt like I had been tricked. I thought they were my friends. I thought they understood me. They asked me if I was okay, they said they wanted, cared, needed to know, but now I had scared them? I addressed what had happened with Miley first. She immediately lashed out at me, saying I should be thanking them, not be mad. While I didn’t want to accept it, I understood the core of her choices. On the other hand, Maddie’s response to my confrontation was disgustingly cruel. She said I had been unfair and just seeking attention, that no thirteen to fourteen year old should hear about what I was going through because it was unnatural. Before she continued, I apologized, that’s all I could think to do, because deep down I believed her. She told me it wasn’t all my fault because my brain was messed up, and that opening up to the girls would only make them not want to be friends with me. The one word that rang through my head then, and still does today, was “creep,” she claimed that what I felt wasn’t love, but I was just mentally unstable and creepy. Any remnants of the sweet kid from elementary school who just wanted a friend and loved everyone were obliterated. Maddie was right, all I had done was hurt and scare them, it didn’t matter what I thought. I told her all I could, that I didn’t know what to say other than I was sorry for the damage I had done, and I would try and get better. Her response, like a branding iron on my mind, was, “It’s not damage, it’s baggage. Imagine if the roles were reversed.” It was only then that I stopped texting back. I wish I could say it was out of frustration or self respect, but the reality of my manipulative traits is what silenced me. Shockingly, the response that hurt the most was from Isabella, yet it somehow meant the most to me too. Isabella told me that she needed me in the world. She told me that if I ever got those thoughts again, to think about her as well; to think about the pain I’d be causing her; to think about the trauma she’d live with for the rest of her life. After repeating the phrase, “I need you in my life,” she acknowledged how selfish it was, but still didn’t care. Isabella continued elaborating, she didn’t care because no label of selfishness outweighed the value of my life. What she said that night has been vivid in my mind since, but my only wish is that she had needed me as I needed her. Tears began to hide my freckled cheeks as I texted her about how much her words meant to me, how much she meant to me, and I apologized to her. I said sorry for the baggage I caused, the “creepy” behavior, and any other ways I had wronged her. I said sorry for loving her, and told her I’d do better. She disregarded my apologies, telling me that I could always talk to her because no matter the baggage she could carry, it’d be worth taking the smallest bit off of me. Her words meant so much to me, yet hurt me just the same. I hated myself for it. I couldn’t see a life without an affection for her, it was pathetic. If I truly loved her, I’d let my feelings go, right? What kind of person did that make me? Summer came and went. Hoping that time would kill the crush I had on Isabella, I prohibited myself from contacting her. Instead I spent time with my family and a few friends, but Isabella never left my head. Even when accompanying my dad to Berry College for the Governor’s Honors Program, she’s what filled my head. At first I felt frustrated because before I had come forward to her, she had known about the feelings I had. I came to the conclusion that she had been dragging me along, but even then I knew how easily that thought would be abandoned. First day of High school, I got in touch with her. For maybe two weeks, I maintained a platonic relationship before free falling into the ominous pit once again. This time felt different though, it felt like what I had thought about everyday, for what seemed eternity, could be more than a daydream. We texted each other throughout the school day and facetimed after her cheer practice and my band practice. Eventually, Isabella was falling asleep on call. Before, we’d talk long into the night, and it began to drain the energy out of the both of us. Now, we were listening to music, playing Roblox, watching Netflix, or just sitting in silence. I had never felt comfortable with silence, but she made it seem better than having a conversation with anyone else. It’s a beautiful thing when words aren’t required to appreciate someone. The moment I had the courage to do so, I asked her out to Steak n’ Shake. It’s just my luck that the restaurant was hardly a shell of what I remembered as a kid. At first the conversation was awkward because we hardly spoke in person, but as time progressed so did we. I still remember the tightness of my cheeks as I failed to suppress my ear-to-ear grin. The euphoric nausea and beating heart that disappeared throughout our conversation. I remember the booth we sat in, the fact that she wanted me to swap seats with her because of her creaky seat, the way she giggled, how I fought tooth and nail to pay for such a small bill, the way she smiled when she said, “next time you’ve gotta let me pay,” and the shared excitement for our next hangout. Even though Isabella and I were still friends, even though the restaurant was a disaster, even though the fries were stale and the milkshakes chunky, that moment is one of the best in my life. With how well things were going, I thought that it was my best chance at making something more out of this friendship. So, I shot my shot. I told her that despite my efforts the summer before, she still held a special place in my heart. Isabella responded with her own struggles with recovering from a past relationship, detailing the trust issues and pain she still felt almost a year later. I was yet again, devastated. Then she added that despite her own feelings, she had to be careful and the risk of losing our friendship scared her. I understood her reasoning, but it made me sick to think of how close I was. In response, I expressed how I could relate to those feelings, and the conflict I had with them. It felt ridiculous having opened myself up once again, to just be friendzoned. Her response struck me with both hope and devastation, “I f*cking love you a ton Lincoln, but I’m struggling to differentiate my admiration as a friend and as something more. I’m terrified of losing you.” Previously I would have seen this as a sign to keep trying, but at that moment, I couldn’t see past the blatant friendzoning. After pursuing her for so long, it felt cruel of her to continue dragging me along like this, even though she was being honest. My reaction to the straw that broke the camel’s back is one of, if not, the biggest regrets in life. Homecoming was a little over a week away and she was going (as friends) with my buddy, Davis, so in a storm of hatred for myself and the situation I was in, I gave up on her. Our conversations grew to be minimal and far apart. Soon, I started to resent her. Each day since then, I have somehow felt more remorse than the last for not asking her to Homecoming. Homecoming night is when I began flirting with Claire, a sweet redhead from gym class. We connected on not going with the person we had hoped for. All it took was me joking that I should’ve spent more time around her, instead of leaving the dance early, for Claire to lose her mind. Over the next month or so, I was becoming closer and closer with Claire, despite her irritable “quirks”. I only spoke to Isabella if she reached out to me first with the only exception being when I would ask her for “advice” about Claire, which was a shameful habit I started as petty revenge on Isabella. Eventually, Isabella blocked me on Snapchat, but it didn’t matter. Things with me and Claire were going great, she made me feel like I didn’t need to starve myself to be good enough for her. She made me feel like I was enough. For the next two and a half months, life was great. After the first couple months of ignorant bliss, I was sick of her. Sure, there were a variety of reasons to find her annoying, most people I knew could list more than they have fingers and toes, but she didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t have gotten into the relationship in the first place not only because of Isabella, but also the speed at which me and Claire started dating. She was still growing out of the elementary relationship phase, so while it was nice to connect with someone so quickly, it was rushed. Another issue being that I was her first real boyfriend, the baggage that followed me was detrimental to her and I couldn’t give her the attention she needed. As me and Claire began our month long drift apart, I was unblocked by Isabella. She and I caught up, and we quickly began to talk trash about Claire while on call. It was unbelievably toxic, and I’m embarrassed of how I handled things to this day. Eventually, with the support of Isabella, I decided it was time to break up. The only issue was the guilt I had in such a terrible choice, I could never do it. So I began to get more distant by the day, ignored texts and calls, and stopped walking her to classes because “I had to pee.” Eventually she caught wind of my plans and called me after school one day. Sobbing, she told me what she had heard and how she knew it wasn’t true, but it still worried her. I began to get ready to break the news, but she was already crying so what's the worst that could happen? I wish I had never asked myself that, because next she told me she’d been cutting herself. My heart sank in remorse for what I knew I would do. If I led her on longer, the aftermath of my cold actions would lead to even more catastrophe. I was scared, but knew the lesser of the two evils I had to pick from. I calmed her down, quickly notified her friends to be keeping an eye on her, and then dumped her. To this day, I am disgusted by my actions. Throughout the past three months, Claire expressed how she had loved and trusted me, yet I threw that all away. There are so many ways I could’ve handled the situation differently, but two stood out the most. Showing respect by speaking to Claire the moment I realized my feelings had fleeted was the bare minimum that I disregarded, but the second was far simpler. I had known from the start that I was still in love with Isabella and that love never faded, but was only suppressed. The entire relationship we developed, while we both enjoyed parts of it (her more than me), was a lie, and essentially a cruel joke played on Claire. There’s no excuse for my actions, and even worse, I could’ve cared less back then. It was only when time had passed that I began to understand the damage I had done. Without Claire holding me back, my newfound freedom led to a closer friendship with Isabella. I dove headfirst into the familiar pit all over again. A friendship was not enough, I appreciated every interaction I had with Isabella, but my life depended on a future with her. It’s likely she felt this as she slowly began to drift away from me. Before I had stayed up speaking to Isabella, but now I couldn’t sleep out of the tormenting absence of her voice. The only path to good health was time; distance was best for the both of us, and I knew it. For the rest of that school year, everything around me was going, but I stood still. It was like my life was just a sitcom, and I was no longer the main character. The summer that followed was just the same, I was living but dead, moving but still, speaking but silent. I was dissociating from my friends and family, but the absence of that violent snake made my depression insignificant. Living a life without her was more punishment than death itself, and I didn’t deserve relief. Even now, I think of that summer and remember almost nothing, for my life isn’t worth remembering without Isabella in it. Sophomore year began, and so did my conversations with Isabella. This go around, I was subtle with my feelings for her. The excitement I had for speaking with her was under control, but it was because the spark inside me had faded, even when it came to Isabella.The years of self pity and depression had left a toll on me that could never be reversed, and it didn’t help that Isabella began to build a relationship with another guy. When we spoke, if we did, Isabella’s concern for my mental state outweighed the friendship we were struggling to preserve. I had come to the conclusion that pursuing Isabella would only make things worse, and I needed to just be her friend. Since I couldn’t lose the feelings I had for her, I just sat in them. While I sat in the pit, Isabella and I had one particular Facetime call in which I brought up how much I regretted dating Claire. To that, Isabella added, “Yeah, she’s so annoying. I can’t remember if you told me why you got together in the first place, what led you to her?” I paused with the thousand-yard stare of an American private fresh out of West Point. “I guess I was just so disappointed with myself for not being able to go to homecoming with you and being stuck on you for so long that I impulsively got with another girl to forget about my shortcomings,” I said with reluctance and stuttering every few words. She told me that she would’ve said yes to homecoming without a second thought, but I knew she meant as friends. Then, to my dismay, Isabella revealed that whenever I got with Claire, she still had feelings for me. It was me talking to Isabella about how great things were with me and Claire that led her to block me and cut contact with me. The piano melody from “No Surprises” by Radiohead began looping through my mind as tears ran down my face. I forget how I ended the call, but once I did, I broke. I lost my breath, my head got light, my eyes became blurry, my stomach was nauseous, and my insides sank as far as they could. Everything I wanted, dreamed of, needed had been so close, and I blew it. Everything was my fault. Later I would ask her why she lost them, and her answer proved how much better she was than me. Isabella answered, “I had been hurt, so I moved on. Just got over it.” We hardly spoke anymore, but one text message has found a permanent home in my mind. After asking me how I was, Isabella wasn’t satisfied with, “it’s complicated.” She asked that I explain it to her so that she could try to understand. I told her about all the issues going on in my life, except the torch I still held for her. She wrote, “I know you’re not religious, so it may not mean anything, but I pray for you every night, Lincoln. Even though it sounds bad, I think that I've known you weren’t in the greatest mental place for a while. I want you to know I'm not judging you, I want you to feel comfortable enough to share that with someone. You have to be able to recognize how you’re feeling in order to even fix it.” These words broke me despite their simplistic appearance. Reading that she prayed for me hit me hard as she had always tried to get me to believe in God again. I’m agnostic, and nothing has come closer to bringing me back to faith as Isabella did. The idea that if God were real and I could see her in heaven was appealing, but should Christianity be the wrong choice, I wanted to be wrong with Isabella. In the following days, Isabella told me about Alex, a guy she had been talking to a lot, and how they were at most a month away from being together. I hated everything about Alex, which is a stupid name in the first place. I hated his choice of friends, I hated how white-washed he was, I hated how he dressed like a conservative cowboy, I hated the underbite that made him look like a pug, I hated his short curly hair, I hated the fact that he was a diehard Trump supporter while people of his race were being oppressed, I hated how he pretended to be someone else when he was around Isabella, I hated how he hid unhealthy habits from her, I hated that a guy like him garnered Isabella’s affection when I couldn’t. I barely knew the guy and I was wasting my energy with hatred for him, when in reality, he was just a mind-numbingly basic douche among the hundreds just like him at our school. Isabella regularly complained about Alex, but hardly did anything. Instead she stopped bringing it up, saying that talking about her issues with others only makes it worse and that she was just wining. The monotone delivery of her reasoning hurt my soul, it was like she was reciting a text from Alex. Each day that passed, I felt the urgency of expressing my feelings one more time rising. Soon Isabella and Alex would be official, and I would lose my chance to try and express how I felt one more time. I reached out to Isabella and asked if she was free to hangout that friday. On November 10, 2023, Isabella picked me up around 5:30 in the evening. She kept the inside of her SUV looking brand new in contrast to the familiarity of her smile. My nerves left me winded after every sentence and shivering in her passenger seat. Quickly our conversation became more natural as I cracked jokes to ease my anxiety, but my shaky breathing never stopped. We went to Publix to grab some snacks and drinks and headed right back to my neighborhood park. At the Grove Point Park, we found a swinging chair to sit in. Due to the time of the year, the sun had already set, but Isabella’s beauty was indifferent under the moonlight. I haven’t the slightest clue how long we sat there together. When I’m with Isabella, even Father Time gives me grace, for he knows that he is as powerless as I am to the frequency of these moments. After a while, I mentioned that it was getting late and she agreed. On the ride back to my place, I mustered the bare minimum of strength it took to confront my feelings. As she drove over the speed bump before entering the roundabout, I began to open up. I briefly told her that I still felt the same way I did two years ago, that I had tried to forget about the feelings I had with no success, and that I was sorry to once again ruin our unstable friendship. She told me it was fine and my feelings were natural, nothing to regret or be ashamed of. Her words meant nothing to me this time because I had already heard them. Defeated, I paused for a moment, then said, “Isabella, you reciprocated my feelings in the past, so after Alex, do you think that maybe we’d have a chance?” She looked at me with pain in her eyes, not for herself, but for me. She quietly said, “I- Lincoln, you know I can’t answer that. I’m with Alex now, it wouldn’t be fair.” All I could get out was, “Oh- I- I’m sorry. Uh yeah no, you’re uh- you’re right.” Everything in me pulled and begged at my lips to say what I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I still look back on that night and wish I had said the few words I never got to tell her. What if saying them could’ve changed something? Realistically, it wouldn’t have, but the regret remains. I doubt Isabella would have even remembered where my word choice stemmed from. Regardless, the words rang in my head then, and never stopped. All I wanted to say at that moment was, “but I still need you.” Today, 1,725 days since I first saw Isabella, 822 days since I first facetimed Isabella, and 178 days since that heartbreakingly beautiful night, I still love her the same. Looking back on my experience with her, I regret many things (oversharing, Claire, the snake, etc.), but the one thing I have never regretted was meeting and loving her. It was only recently that I realized that loving her has been one of the biggest mistakes in my life. For three years, day in and day out, I’ve thought about her. Three years where I could have met other people, worked on myself, enjoyed my friends and family, but instead I’ve loved her and nothing, nobody else. The one lesson that was essential for me to take away from my experience was impossible. In eighth grade I was 5’7 and 215 lbs, today I’m 5’10 and 165 lbs. In eighth grade I spent time with my parents, today I hide in my room. In eighth grade, I told people how I felt, now I’m too scared. In eighth grade, I talked about my depression, now I am left alone to deal with it. In eighth grade, I had many friends, now I rarely speak to them. In eighth grade, I needed Isabella, but the one lesson I should’ve learned never took effect. I still need her.

My dog is a dachshund female around 7 months old, she isn’t spayed and has no history of illness. Not sure on the weight but she’s a bit muscular for her size. Two days ago I noticed a swollen mass in between her toes and it appeared overnight. I think it’s a spider bite but I have no way to get her to a vet nor any money to do anything about it, I’ve researched as much as I could. She’s very stubborn and I try to not let her lick at it but I’m not around her 24/7. The bump looks like a red raspberry with a few strands of fur in the bumps on the mass. It’s about the size of a Lima bean, I hope I’m describing this well because I can’t post a pic on this subreddit.

Chapter 1 of Finding my Position, written by me.
[Everyone is 18+ and this is fictional]
I signed the dotted line. My full legal name, of course.
I stared up at Angie. She scowled down at me, folding her arms against her chest. Did she know how her boobs pushed back against her arms like that? They looked bigger, firmer - and they were already double D's. God damn those tits. I looked back at her face. What a bitch.
She took the forms, straightened them out and put them in the yellow envelope - A4. Angie licked the glue. I remembered the feeling on my skin, on my tongue, on the tip of my dick. My dick remembered too. I clenched my fists tight.
“Wait” I said - she was going to walk out the door just then, just now.
Angie raised an eyebrow, “What Johnny? It's done.”
“Don't you want a coffee or a beer?” I gestured.
“This is my house, they may as well be my coffee and my beer. You have nothing to offer.” Her lip curled.
I felt my chest puff, I stood, hands on the kitchen island across from her, “Fuck you, you don't pay for shit, can't you stand to be around one minute?”
She put the folder on the side and came round to point an acrylic nail at my chest, “I can't stand to be around you another SECOND you fucking idiot. Do you know what you just signed?”
I smirked, “My get out of jail free card.”
“You FUCKING asshole; careless, SELFISH BASTARD. IF ANYONE'S FREE IT'S ME, I DON'T HAVE TO LOOK AT YOUR UGLY PATHETIC FACE ONE MORE SECOND! I'M FREE FROM YOUR STUPID DICKHEAD BULLSHIT, FREE TO DO WHATEVER I WANT, WHOEVER I WANT FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!”
My dick and the adrenaline lead the way. I grabbed her by the side of the head, pushing her backwards to bump into the island, bending over till my tongue reached her throat. She pushed my chest to stop me, but seemed to be squeezing my pecs over my shirt instead.
One of my hands left to trail down her body - her fragile neck, the sides of her full boobs, her upper back. I laced my fingers under the fabric of her skirt and gripped her pantie- clad ass. She was already kissing back, but to this she moaned against herself and her arms wrapped around my back.
A finger traced her asshole and then further on her pussy opening. I grinned in her mouth - she was already slick through the underwear. I rubbed circles, teasing. She moaned again and again.
I thought about our past sex, having her mouth, pussy and ass. I thought about doggy and cowgirl and even missionary crossed my mind with bliss. That time in her parents bed, that time while I was driving, that time in a pool. My dick throbbed with nostalgia of all these memories.
Simply rubbing her over her panties while I reminisced wasn't what Angie wanted. She grabbed my ears and stopped kissing me, her face pissed. She lowered my head to her cleavage, holding my head tight. I pulled back and moved my slimy fingers so I could take off her top, and my practised hands undid the bra in one motion.
I returned to smothering myself between her tits. One hand held her back steady, the other found the front zip of her skirt. Angie undid my belt buckle and shoved my jeans and boxers down together. I bit and kissed and licked her soft flesh, giving love to the last part of her that deserved it. She held my scalp tight and ground her skirt onto my naked dick, it was fully hard and I was slick from my own sweat and precum, I like to imagine they stain the material forever. She'll never wash out the juice of my cock. Through the fabric I can still place her mound and that crevice shape, I can grind along her clit and pussy like a god fearing teen boy - protected by the fabric.
I graze a nipple with my teeth, and with force attempt to swallow her whole left boob. The flesh squishes into my mouth - I get a good amount. I wish I could choke on it, feel the distinct booby skin blocking my airway. I suck and suck and she moans my name, pleading something. In my mind I've already won before either of us have finished, here she is begging for it, she wants me so badly, her voice so whiny. It occurs to me that right now, SHE is the pathetic one.
Both of my hands go down over her skirt and under the fabric, I cup her asscheeks fully, tight with my fingers. I can’t tell if I’m spreading them, or just squeezing for all she’s worth. My hands brush her panties. I can tell, they’re those basic white pants from Target, cheap bitch. I tear them open and she swears at me - it sounds like another desperate moan though. I tear the side too, and throw the crap cotton on the ground - I look over her tits at the drenched fabric. God, remind me to put that in my pocket before she kicks me out. I spread her cheeks again, and suck on the other boob. My dick feels rubbed raw from the slightly rough skirt fabric. I groan, it’s overstimulating but if I stop pistoning my hips I’ll die. I look her in the eye, she sneers at me.
It crosses my mind that if I don’t taste her pussy now - one last time, I’ll never do it again. But my dick craves her entrance so badly, there’s a desperation in my balls, if I don’t fuck her right now my head will explode. But this is the last time. Fuck. Fuck this bitch. My internal monologue falls away, all I can think about, the only thought. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Hands on her ass and thighs, I push her further onto the island, her arm steadies but knocks a glass onto the floor - dumb bitch, dumb horny bitch - her hole is lined up, her skirt rolled up by one hand. I don’t have to guess, my dick knows her pussyhole more than I know how to breathe, I push forward and sheath in one long, wet motion.
I stay there for a second, I almost lost it, almost came in one stroke. God she’d fucking kill me, it’d be funny but tragic.
Fuck.
The overwhelm passes. One hand on her belly, one hand in her crack, my hips could do this motion dead, I roll in and out of her wet cunt. My ballsack slaps my hand, I move it, it slaps her asshole. God grant me another dick, and a third, let me fuck her everywhere all at once.
Fuuckk.
I’m so focused on my own pleasure, I didn’t notice her panting my name. Dumb bitch.
I look down at her face. Fuck. This part of me, my dick sawing her pussyhole open, keeping it shaped to me, fuck I love her. I love her face, her hair, her lips that shake and beg for me, her eyes that water, her neck, her beautiful beautiful tits bouncy with each thrust, dancing for me. I love the width of her hips, and the squishy fat that’s accumulated over the decade, that I can grip like a pillow while I plough her. I love her waist - the very top of her bikini line that’s less tanned than the rest, the last pure strip of her skintone. I love her thighs that are wrapped around my own hips, keeping me tight, trapped in her, I couldn’t pull out if I wanted to, my dick might as well be stuck here forever. I love her cute little feet, toes tensed. She must be close, just from me pounding her. Fucking whore.
While I thrust, her liquid, the physical form of her desire and desperation for my dick leaks out, down her ass. I growl, grin, and my thick thumb rubs the slick in. I push it into my thumb’s knuckle.
I remember our fifth anniversary. We were so in love, she loved and wanted me so much, she’d do anything. Since college she’d known how badly I wanted her ass, or any ass, and seen how much anal I watched. It’d been a hard no for years, I didn’t even ask anymore. But there, at that cheap swiss chateau on a single bed, I removed her lace panties with my teeth to be greeted by the base of her buttplug. She smiled at me with so much love, and bit her lip. God. I fucked her for two minutes, came, and stayed inside her tight asshole. I kissed her, and cuddled. But my boner wasn’t fading, and I grunted with the feeling coming back. The lube had dried, but we didn’t need it, my cum lubed her better than anything, and I fucked her in so many positions that by the end, when I drizzled a pathetic stream, one or two bursts, my dick went soft and raw. I passed out with not a sperm left in my balls.
That was the first and last time she ever let me in the backdoor, and even now she scowled at me for my only thumb. Warning me that her ass will never let my dick in again.
I scowled back, and picked up the pace. My balls swung steady, not betraying my fury to lust.
I fucked her like she deserved, like a whore. “Tell me you’re a whore.” I growled.
“Fuck you”, she spat, breathy, sweaty.
“Tell me you’re a cumdump slut depressed for my dick, tell me you want it, tell me you’re my bitch.” I was close again. My thighs were beating her ass, I moved my left hand to grasp her tit hard, pulling the nipple like a cow. My thumb stayed tight.
“Fuck you, you bastard. Hey, you’re gonna come already? Limp bastard.”
Godddd fuck.
“HEY! Look at me, look at my face!”, my eyes strayed from my pumping dick killing her pussy, past her - fuckkkk - past her boobs, to her spiteful, red face.
“Do not cum yet you bastard! Do not! Don’t you fucking dare cum yet, can’t you do one thing right? Don’t you fucking dare cum Johnny!”
My balls heard different. My balls heard, “Cum for me Johnny.” “Please, Johnny fuck me, cum for me!” “Johhhnny please please please.” “Cum on my tits Johnny please.” “Johnny I love you, cum for me Johnny.”
Both hands moved to hold her hips tight, she kept yelling but I couldn’t hear,
I thrust hard, and held her hips tight to mine,
“FUCKKKKK ANGIE ANGIE Angie. Angie Fuckk. God fuck.” I came in her hard, my vision blacked out, my dick spurt, I felt the cum of years exit my balls, cum from college, from our first apartment, the engagement, the wedding, cum from the two week honeymoon, cum from years and years of birthdays and christmas and new years and valentines and -
My face was in her cleavage again. There was a faint spasm around my dick, I looked up. Angie was riding the end of her own climax. I had cum so hard I hadn’t noticed her orgasm on my dick, from my cum. It’s been years since we came together.
I sucked a bit of titty in my mouth. She looked down on me, panting. My soft dick flopped out, cum splashed and dripped on the floor - both of ours.
I stood up. I looked at her dripping pussy, and at the mess on the floor of what’s her house now. I couldn’t help but grin as I pulled up my shorts and jeans, buckling the belt.
“Johhny-”
I got my coat. It was a nice denim jacket with a soft lining, no sleeves. My pal Ricky had put some neat patches on. I’d gotten it recently, as a sign I was coming back to myself. My dick was still a little wet in my boxers, but it’s fine, I’d shower at home.
At home.
I walked out the door, Angie was still on the counter. I glanced at the living room, the kitchen, and the door to the dining room. The stairwell. Her house now, or at least her house when the fucking deadbeat lawyers did their jobs.
I left my home, didn’t lock the door, I didn’t have the key anymore, not the right one.
She was on birth control, one of those long-term ones, but goddamn imagine that my cum was so potent, so angry, so ready that she got pregnant with my kid from that. Imagine after she’s just kicked me out, my little bastard grows inside her. God give my cum the strength to tell her to fuck herself. God I pray she never finds a dick that fits like mine, god give her pencil dicks and erectile dysfunction.

Where?: Chapin Forest Reservation in Kirtland, OH
When?: May 4-5, 2024
Goal: Uhh…
Stretch Goal: Find anything remotely appetizing.
Strategy: Pray?
This is the game plan at mile 50. 11.5 hours in. Are my seams really starting to split before the actual race begins? My cheer team from the daylight hours has dwindled. Off to their warm, luxurious beds and their warm, luxurious homes. But I’m out here doing exactly what I love to do, paying the price for it, and curious as to what I’ll find in this vast, approaching darkness.
——
This race was my litmus test. I’d done a few self-supported solo 50ks in the past, but I had yet to find my limit. I eagerly scrambled onto Ultrasignup the morning that I saw registration finally opened. Relying on a totally juvenile, unstructured 8-month training block averaging 50-60 mpw, I was ready to fuck around and find out.
Around 5am, my sister (who’d be my long-haul crew) and I arrived at the inky-blue park grounds; the overnighters still slumbering in their unlit camps, a few runners quietly organizing gear in truck beds and backseats as the balmy darkness lifted. We claimed our spot near the final bend of the 1-mile loop and began setting up as the sleepy atmosphere started to stir.
We took a stroll around the loop, admired “the hill” which comprised most, if not all of the 64-ish feet of vertical gain of the lap. All of us would grow a deep, intimate bond with this hill over the next day. Whether we wanted to or not. Because in the end, even more beautifully menacing foes would make themselves known.
It’s truly a wonderful course, however. It felt evenly broken up into distinct sections with their own unique landmarks and quirks: parking lot, trailhead, the “crescent” between two trail crossings, the hill, the bridge, rolling bunny hills before a smooth downhill, a few flat curves before heading down the straightaway along the field, final turn down another small pine-lined straightaway towards the hairpin back to the start. Monotony, to my surprise, would not be an issue.
Time to toe the line for the send-off. Balmy, cool, and overcast— not too shabby. An odd sense of tranquility washed over me in the corral. Maybe it was the peace of finally surrendering to the thing I hadn’t been able to wrap my head around this entire time: 24 hours. It was a huge relief to know that for the next entire day, I wouldn’t have to worry about much else other than finding a way to put one foot in front of the other. Nowhere to be, nowhere to go. And then, away we went.
——
Mile 0-20 [00:00:00-03:48:27]
I probably went out too fast. But damn, most everyone else seemed to, too! Maybe it was our collective exaltation of finally breaking free from our antsy tapers… or maybe it was just me. At any rate, it simply felt beautiful just to be moving.
A handful of miles in, I already got to chatting with a fella, as big as a minute and full of zest & zeal. A nomadic ultra veteran who looked like he’d been out in the scorching sun longer than I’ve been alive. But he ignited my spirits and made a few laps whiz by like nothing. I think he ended up carrying many other runners through more crucial hours. That guy definitely got me into the encouraging spirit of the endurance game, and I found a strong desire to pass that energy along.
Shortly after hour 2, my lady showed up with her sweet little face and bearing bunch of goodies that would prove to be lifesavers later on. I took a short break to tape up some hot spots and re-supply, but otherwise I was getting into the groove. Feeling fine. Surprised (and simultaneously concerned) that I was maintaining a consistent 10-11 minute pace.
Mile 20-40 [03:48:27-08:31:53]
I’d known long before the race that my Plan A had a 100% chance of falling apart. So would Plan B, C, and so forth. Plan A was to take a substantial break around every 2 hours— fully pull-off into camp, reevaluate gear, eat, re-up on food to-go, first-aid, etc.
I’d been dropping off my soft flasks for refills whenever I needed and picking them up on the next lap, but at about 4 hours in, I was getting a little worried. I‘ve been blessed with a pea-sized bladder, so not hitting the little boys room for over about two hours was a bit concerning. I didn’t want to dig the hydration grave this early, so I began diligently pounding water and tailwind like they owe me money, passing off flasks every loop or two.
Approaching mile 30, I ended up hiking the hill alongside a guy who’d been constantly passing me, looking consistently strong and relaxed. We both commiserated on starting to feel the burn. “I think I’m gonna stop at 50k”, he said. “Nonsense!” I blurted, “there’s a whole lot of race left, man!” I mean, the dude looked like he was fresh off the starting line, and I told him that. Plus he was only a few miles away from his goal. I caught him a little later on his victory lap. Had to give him props for the extra loop. I hope he got a few more in after that.
Midway through hour 6, more friendly faces of family and loved ones showed up to witness the absurdity. I’d just passed mile 33, and while my pace began to dwindle and dip into 12:00 and 13:00, I was still trucking and my soul still relatively intact. Relatively.
Alas, wrapping up mile 35, my cheer team was as numerous and jubilant as ever, and the sobering truth hit me across the head like a sock full of quarters: I’m only a fraction of the way through this thing. I wearily gazed in bags and rifled through coolers for fuel… and absolutely nothing sounded appetizing. I did not want to eat. I understood I had to, but I couldn’t decide on something to shove down that didn’t look utterly repulsive.
I’m pretty sure at one point I just thought aloud to everyone, “I’m really sad right now…” I’m not even sure if I really meant it. In fact, I’m not even sure what I meant to say, or even sure of what I was feeling. And that’s when I spotted the container of watermelon. God bless my sweet lady. She saved my sorry boo-hoo ass with those watermelon chunks. It was nectar. Pure. Lifebreathing. A borderline religious experience.
My sister geared up to keep me company for a few loops. I changed socks and switched to a fresh pair of shoes. So, with a newfound hope just dim enough to shine, I threw some boiled peewee potatoes into my vest and ventured on.
Mile 40-50 [08:31:53-11:22:10]
Among my bubbly cheer team was my lady’s father, a guy who’s been doing ultras long before I was even a thought. He wanted to get a few loops in with me, and I secretly hoped he would drop some life-altering ultra wisdom on me that would somehow alleviate all the bodily bullshit that was just starting to surface after the 40 mile mark.
We went easy, and I needed it. His pace was comfortable and sustainable, but the pounding was continuing to take its toll. The outer ligament behind my right knee began to smart with each step, and the top of my right foot was getting more tender as we went on. None of it was getting less painful. Instead of some earth-shattering, all-curing wisdom, he gave me something actually valuable: the truth. “I think you’re gonna be forced to walk pretty soon.”
Damn straight. In hindsight, what the fuck else did I expect to happen? I barely allowed myself any significant stretches of walking in the entire race up until this point. I surely wasn’t expecting to keep running the way I was in the first 20-30 miles— but whatever sleeper-cell of hubris that arose within me today was likely going to be served a fat slice of humble pie.
Truthfully, I just wanted nothing more than to give this thing my all. 24 hours was still too unwieldy to fit in my mind. So was 12 hours. So was the next hour. I was approaching the event horizon of the almighty present moment. Plans, expectations, goals… all began to dissolve under any amount of scrutiny. Because those things were becoming so besides the point. Something much greater and truer was revealing itself. A sense of appreciation grew that had little to do with running or suffering. There was so much race left, and even in my shitty state, I felt a great relief.
As I wrapped up mile 50, my cheer team fizzled out along with the light of day, and shit was finally getting real. His prediction was absolutely correct. The time was nigh that I would no longer be able to run with the pain. But I sure as hell could walk. On our last loop together, he left me with another piece of wisdom: “You’d be surprised at what happens in the middle of the night.”
Mile 50-64 [11:22:10-16:46:29]
“Oi sir, what are you doing?”
“Uh... trudging. You know, trudging? …To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply… soldier on.” — A Knight’s Tale
—
I’d quickly come to grips with the idea of walking the remaining 12 hours. I texted my folks that the wheels had fallen off and I would endure an indefinite trudge. I was 11 miles away from 100k, which for me was plenty to be proud of. My sister tagged along with me for at least 6 or 7 of those initial “full-time” walking loops. Just chatting, belly-laughing, growing a little delirious, bumping various volumes of Jock Jams during breaks as my appetite started to come alive again.
Cup of ramen in hand on the trail, motes of pollen whizzing by in the light of my headlamp, the tranquil cacophany of crickets and frogs from deep within the perfect blackness… It was simply good enough to just be out there. This bizarre alternate reality was becoming my new home.
After a rest at mile 55, I figured it would finally be a proper time to bust out the big guns: caffeine and tunes. Boy, oh boy am I so glad I held off on my luxuries. Sipping on a can of Guru, jams in the headphones, my trudge became more of a solo top-rocking battle. The course had thinned out dramatically after dark, so the exaggerated bobbing and cartoonish, gesticulative path of my headlamp probably looked amusing from a distance. And completely unhinged up close. I was visibly, shamelessly enjoying myself at this point.
Music felt like the headiest drug, and caffeine… well, it is a drug. I was getting locked in to a pretty decently paced hike (or so it felt), soaking it all in, unbridled from any expectations, and seemingly from reality altogether. I enthusiastically pounded ‘round to mile 60, and by then walking started to feel… actually pretty damn good! Once I passed 100k, I dared a few yards of a trot. Oh shit, okay! That didn’t feel too bad! As I rounded the final bend past camp to wrap up mile 63, I picked up my feet into a careful, steady shuffle. I turned to catch my sister’s attention, punching the air in pathetic, delirious triumph, and her face lit up from above her book.
I was fucking doing it. Nothing hurt and everything was beautiful again. It wasn’t fast, but it sure as hell wasn’t slow. I stripped off my walking hoodie and theatrically threw it back at camp. I wouldn’t need it anymore. The warmth of the proverbial second wind would carry me.
Mile 64-75 [16:46:29-19:53:07]
I’d found a shuffling stride that was gentle and sufficient enough, and best of all, didn’t absolutely obliterate my right knee or foot. At this point, my toes felt like they were going to explode. All of them. But somehow it mattered so little. My quads were getting ripped a fresh pair of assholes on the downhills. Guess I’ll just twinkle-toe gingerly down those. It mattered so little. The amount of general soreness my entire body was experiencing was colossally esclipsed by the simple novelty that, by means unknown to me, I was running again.
I passed a trio of hikers who must’ve recognized me from the previous walking loops featuring my manic B-boy episode, because suddenly a woman from the group erupts, “YES!! LOOK AT YOU GO!!! LOOK AT YOU!! YOU’RE DOING IT!!” And boy did that have my heart soaring and bursting with fresh colors. I shout back with a corny, “I don’t know what the hell is going on! But I’m taking it!” Or something else also completely stupid and to that effect.
Many of the other overnighters had to have known exactly what I was experiencing. Because so many kind and encouraging words found me on those next 9 loops. And I did my best to give the handful of other night owls their rightful props, too.
My appetite held strong in these hours. Powdered mini-donuts were unexpectedly bangin’. Cold pizza, Pringle’s, overnight oats, cheese quesadillas I’d been picking at all race. Things were good. But as I got up from camp to wrap up mile 72, I could feel my triumphant flight coming to a descent. Top of my foot, behind my knee, my achilles, all of the little snags were surfacing again. I managed to eke out a couple wimpy laps in this state, and mile 75 would be the last hurrah of my second wind. The pains would resume business as usual, and Mr. Trudge would be holding court yet again.
Mile 75-81 [19:53:07-22:20:44]
The long walk. Rain began to patter through the shadowy new leaves above. I was certain I would not have the gumption to attempt a trot for the remainder of the race. Doing my best means a lot to me, but not getting injured means more.
My sister joined me every other lap. I started to grow a little delirious in earnest. Roots frequently mistaken for oversized newts. Shadows and pollen motes playing tricks in the light of my headlamp. I’d turn my headlamp off occasionally and let the impossible darkness swell into life; the brush would softly billow from obscurity into vague form, and finally the trail would reveal itself as my eyes adjusted, like a gentle beacon cutting through the shapeless black under a canopy-cracked steel-pink sky.
I remained pretty quiet. Even when my sister came along. Still had my music going quietly, and a cold brew coffee that made me have to piss literally every ten minutes. Sometimes I’d just piss myself if I found myself bookended by headlamps. I’d already been soaked by some flash downpours— okay who am I kidding. I probably would’ve pissed myself regardless. The race is almost over, and I didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t give a fuck who gave a fuck. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t sleepy. I was walking. Only walking. I wasn’t really thinking about anything. No words. No images. No ideas. No cares.
At this point, dear reader, we were getting close to heart of the onion. The existential onion. I’d been shedding layers all day and night, whether I knew it or not, and now some sample-sized essence of singularity was being unceremoniously revealed. No thinking. Just doing. It didn’t feel great. It didn’t feel bad. It didn’t matter what it was. The most serene emptiness. That serene emptiness pulled me around to close in on mile 80. The sun was coming up again.
At that moment I passed camp for what I planned to be the bittersweet end, my sister pops out of the gazebo and gestures down the path, wordlessly saying “One more?”
The thought of doing the loop even once more made me feel ill. Not physically. But in some intangible way. The thought of trying to get up the hill before my groin muscles and achilles detonate was bleak. Downhills? I’d rather be… fucking buried alive, I don’t know. But I can’t let big sis down. She doesn’t know I’m so spent. Plus, I didn’t want to do my last lap alone.
We brought it in for 81 miles at 22 hours and 20 minutes. I turned in my bib, snagged my medal, chopped it up with a couple ballers at the aid station who were still grinding out loops, then sat down in a lawn chair back at camp and stared purposelessly out into the ether. The same tranquility from the starting corral washed over me again in spades.
——
Nothing but pure gratitude. Gratitude became not only imperative, but a natural headspace in this race. Nothing but affinity and respect for everyone who showed up. I felt immersed in the most wholesome, human, ridiculous, faith-restoring, hubris-obliterating, gentle, zen, and idyllic alternate universe for 24 hours. The real world pales in comparison to this.
I now truly understand why people do these things. It makes perfect sense, and the explaination needs zero words. I got my shit rocked real good, in the most soul-enriching fashion, and that’s precisely why I’m doing it again next year.
——

Just some information id like to share for other curious buyers SHOE PHOTOS: https://imgur.com/a/71ql6TC

{SELLER APPRECIATION PART}

Okay so I bought from Eric (my first time buying reps btw) and the transaction was pretty smooth and Eric was nice. I sent the money on 8/19/23 for 4 pairs of shoes, I did the 2 pair GK promo for $300. I go my QC pics on 8/24/23, (5 days) and I checked the shoes out and GL'd 2 pairs which shipped out on 8/25/23 and received in-hand 8/31/23 (6 days). The other 2 pairs I went through like 2 RL's because I thought they were missing some details. Me and Eric conversated back nd forth and everything ended up good. Nonetheless, GL'd at one point and they were shipped out 9/10/23 and I got em 9/21/23. (11 days) The tracking numbers for both were sent to me 2 days after shipping photos. I had a good experience with Eric and would recommend for other people to buy from him. Props to Eric!

{REVIEW PART}

Here is some background so you know how and what I use these shoes for. I play volleyball competitively and I take it quite seriously, I played Men's D3 Collegiate. I also play basketball with my friends where we rent out an indoor court or just go play some pickup. (sometimes that shit gets serious though, yk how it is lol) I put in around 6-8 hours a week for volleyball and 2-4 for basketball.
I'm going to be providing 2 numbers for 2 different COLORWAYS of the shoe. However, I have a theory that I received a GK 1.0 and a GK 2.0 batch. I'll be reviewing my kobe 6 "think pink" and my kobe 6 "EYBL" (I think my EYBL's are 1.0, and my think pink are 2.0, ill explain later)
Traction = 8/10 for both Traction on both are super solid, it's something you can't go wrong with. I've played on ranges of courts from a rec center that's dustier than some grandma knees, and a court so clean you could eat some steak off of it. Obviously the traction is going to be better on a cleaner court, it just makes sense. I do have a habit of wiping my shoes frequently, and I will say on the dustier courts you will collect an okay amount of dust, and need to wipe. Both shoes performed the same for me on all spectrums of the court. You will stop and sprint whenever you want, and truly only slip out if there is a load of dust on the floor. I will mention that this traction is mostly silent. I would occasionally get a squeak from both shoes every now and then, which is nice. I left room for 2 points because in my head, nothing beats the kobe 9 traction and the kd 9 traction. I've only had positive experiences with those shoes and when I had them, their traction was phenomenal
Cushion = 10/10 for "think pink" 7/10 for "eybl" Here is where my theory kicks in, I think I got either a different batch or maybe I got a defect shoe. My "think pink" cushioning is absolutely insane to me. The forefoot zoom unit feels so juicy and comfortable, it screams bounce to me and it makes me feel like I'm jumping way higher than usual. I can feel the bump in my forefoot and I can stay in an athletic stance and FEEL the zoom unit on the forefoot. The heel is also great as well, not as clearly cushioned as my forefoot, but very good balance of cushion where it's a comfortable ride.
My "eybl" cushioning is lackluster compared to my "think pink" shoes. The forefoot zoom feels so dead, I truly cannot tell if its there or not. I want to say that I feel something there, but I just can't tell. When I'm in my passing position or any athletic forefoot position for my "eybl" it just feels like I'm just standing on a bed of midsole foam + MAYBE a little cushion. The heel also feels a bit lackluster as well, not as comfortable as my "think pink" but thick enough to notice something. I want to say some possibilities are that, either I got a different batch of GK/H12 , defective shoe, or the midsole foam in my "eybl" just blows hot ass. Whatever the case is, it's slightly disappointing to me and it leaves me feeling a little bit too close to the ground.
Support = 9/10 for "think pink" 7/10 for "eybl" The support on both shoes are good. My "think pink" shoes feel more snug to me personally, and I love that feeling. It feels like when you wrap a blanket tight around you on a freezing day. The "eybl" doesn't give me that feeling. It has good support and my feet feel comfortable in it, but it doesn't deliver that SNUG feeling that makes me feel incredibly secure. I have to note this saying that my "think pink" laces are thicker than the "eybl" and I can see that this is most likely what causes the issue. If my "eybl" had thicker laces I think it would lockdown my feet a bit better. Both shoes still have great support though, I don't feel like my foot is moving anywhere, I feel in-unison with my shoe when I'm playing. I just have to give the edge to my "think pink" pair because it feels better. The materials on both shoes deliver a comfy experience and I'm not worried at all when I'm doing lateral movements. This is huge for me bc I play volleyball and shuffling side-to-side is one of the most important movements in the game, so both shoes are well off.
Fit = 9/10 for both I got a size 9.5 which is my true size. There's a bit of space between my big toe and the front of my shoe and that's how I've been rocking my ball shoes since day one. These shoe fit slightly snug and I'd recommend to go TTS for an awesome fit.
Durability = 9/10 for both No issues at all really. I've had some scratches from the nike swoosh and the heel-plate logo. But seeing other posts about sole separation, midsole cracks, legitimate holes, I can see maybe I got lucky. Every part of my shoe is in tact and I abuse these shoes when I play because I make a bunch of high impact movements, and everything seems to be very well off. I just have the typical wear and tear shit, nothing crazy.
Overall = 10/10 for "think pink" 8/10 for "eybl" Both shoes have been great to me and I can't really complain too much besides being nitpicky. My personal pick is the "think pink" right now for volley/basket-ball and they have been the best performing shoe I have ever worn tbh. (apologies for the glaze)
[To whoever is interested in buying] I'd recommend to get GK/H12 batch of the kobe 6 reps. I'd also stay away from the EYBL colorway, because personally for me, the laces are just too thin and they get slightly annoying. The cushioning stuff was also unlucky it seems. I wish I knew about it beforehand so I could've told Eric and maybe get some sort of slight refund or exchange of pair, because my "eybl" pair is lackluster compared to my "think pink". Either way, just remember that whatever you purchase, you are taking a risk when it comes to any sort of problem with the shoe.
[Looking for some insight on purchasing more] This is open to everybody, but I'm wondering if I should purchase more GK/H12 from Eric? The next 2 kobe 6's I want to get are "reverse grinch" and "white de sol". Ideally for me, I pray they drop GK/H12 kobe 6 "BHM" or the ones Paul George wore, a kobe 6 PE which was all white with a black swoosh. I'm worried about the quality now and I don't want to get another "eybl" feel type of pair because it's just a lackluster pair. However, my "think pink" ones feel so godlike and I definitely would love to have more of those just in a different colorway. Or my alternative route is to buy lebron 20's because I know the consistency of that shoe will stay the same wherever I buy it from. Lmk what ya'll think I should do? I can't decide between ordering "reverse grinch" and "white de sol" and pray for the best or I just get lebron 20's because I know they are good and will stay good.
Thank you for reading!!!

Look—I love Ryan, I do, but when I get out of this hospital, I'm gonna kill him.
One month ago, my old backpacking group decided to get back together for a trek. Our group of four, consisting of myself, Ryan, Ivan, and Mason, have been going on hikes together since we were in middle school. We've been a close knit crew for over a decade, but after graduating college, our busy schedules made it difficult for us to get everyone together. When Ryan reached out to the rest of us with a route near Oregon's Willamette National Forest, I was thrilled. Ivan, Mason, and I agreed, and the four of us geared up for a trek through a lesser-traveler portion of the wilderness area, which Ryan referred to as "Epiphany Canyon."
Here's the real kicker in all of this—Ryan never even showed up. He canceled on us last minute, leaving the rest of us out to dry thanks to some work thing. I tried asking Mason about it since the two of them worked at the same lab, but he didn't seem to know any more than I did. We were naturally a little annoyed, but we'd already prepared for the seven-day trek, and so we decided to just go without Ryan. Ivan, Mason and I met up in Salem as we'd planned, and after a few hours of suffering through Mason's country music playlist, we made it to Epiphany Canyon's unmarked trailhead.
ONE
The first day of travel went without a hitch. My friends were good company, and I was happy to have nothing to do but walk, take photos, and shoot the shit with the two of them. The only indication I had that something was faintly off was the frequency with which we encountered trail cameras. The first one I spotted was so well disguised that I thought it was lichen. When I realized what it was, I brought it up with Ivan and Mason immediately. Trail cams, in my experience, often indicated conservation areas or hunting grounds, and I wasn't in the mood to get arrested for trespassing or to get shot. Mason assured me that the trail was safe.
"Ryan said that he just did this trail a few weeks ago—I'm sure he'd have mentioned hunters. Let's just stick to his path."
I let it go, but every time I saw a trail cam after that, I couldn't help but look over my shoulder and scan the treeline for the glint of a barrel.
TWO
In the early morning of our second day on the trail, before the others woke up, I stole away from camp for a while. Alone with my camera, I wandered around until I stumbled upon a small clearing. I looked down at the forest floor, hoping for some interesting flora, and saw a large, brown mantis making its way across the ground, marching forward with all the certainty of time itself. When I crouched down to take a picture, it walked fearlessly right across my hiking boot. Amused, I readied my camera, framed the mantis, and …
Snap.
The sound filled the clearing, but I hadn't depressed the shutter button yet. I lowered the camera and turned my head towards the source of the sound, expecting a deer. Instead, I saw a person disappear behind a large fir at the end of the clearing. I had caught such a brief glimpse that I wasn't even sure if I'd seen a man or a woman. Startled, I rose to my feet, taking care not to step on the praying mantis.
"Hello?" I called out. The person, whoever they were, didn't answer. That is, if I had actually seen someone in the first place. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. I hoped that it was, because the alternative was a suspicious, potentially-ill intentioned person out on the trail with us. I waited for a minute, but when I didn't hear or see anything else, I made my way back to camp.
It was warmer than the forecasts had promised. The tree canopy helped some, but by late afternoon our trio was exhausted, sweat-drenched, and irritable. At two o'clock, we heard the running water, and after a small detour, we found a thin stream that wasn't pictured on our maps. We decided to see where it led, agreeing that if we ever began to stray too far from Ryan's trail, we would return to our charted course.
Luckily, the stream kept more or less parallel with Epiphany Trail, and we followed it for the better part of two hours. It slowly grew larger, connecting with another unmarked stream before culminating in a waterfall, about three meters tall with a wide plunge-pool at the bottom. We hiked our way down to the bottom of the falls, where a newly installed signpost had been hammered into the banks. "Gordian Falls", read the signpost, which notably lacked any warnings to stay out of the water. Ivan was quick to strip off his outer layers and charge into the pool.
Mason stayed out, opting to take a walk around the area instead of a swim, but I soon joined Ivan in the water. It was surprisingly warm, almost off-puttingly so, yet not quite hot enough to make me think we'd stumbled into a natural hot spring. After ensuring the pool was deep enough, Ivan suggested diving from the stone overhang at the top of the falls. He began to climb up the side of the waterfall, and I would have happily followed had I not suddenly become aware of a stinging sensation in my foot.
I limped out of the water to check if I'd kicked something sharp, and sure enough, there was a cut on the sole of my foot. While annoying, it was small and didn't bleed much, so I patched myself up quickly. I didn't rejoin Ivan in the water though, not wanting to risk infection. Instead, after warning him to watch out for rocks, I found a spot in the shade to sit and rest as I waited for him to get out.
The next thing I knew, although I didn't even remember closing my eyes, I woke up under a dark sky. I sat up quickly and checked my watch, which read 9:30 P.M. Had I really slept for five hours straight? Why hadn't the others woken me up?
Mason was sitting beside me, staring at the waterfall. I reached out and gave him a shove, not bothering to hide my annoyance as I questioned him.
"What the hell, man; are you two braindead? Why'd you let me sleep for so damn long?"
Mason looked at me briefly, then redirected his gaze towards Gordian Falls. I followed his eyes and was shocked to see Ivan still in the water, floating on his back. For a second I thought he was sleeping, but then he splashed the water gently, propelling his body back towards the center of the plunge pool.
"He hasn't been in there this whole time, has he?" I asked.
"He's come out a few times, but for the most part, yeah."
As if he heard us talking about him, Ivan suddenly flipped onto his stomach and swam towards the banks. When he saw us, he got out and staggered over, smacking the side of his head to get water out of his ear as he did.
"You good?" I asked him, and he gave me a strange look, part grimace and part glare, before shrugging.
"Kinda … dizzy. Must've caught too much sun today."
And with that, he dried off and crawled into one of three tents that Mason must've set up for us while I was sleeping. Despite having slept for hours, I too was ready for bed. I figured that Ivan and I had both caught heat exhaustion, which would explain his dizziness and my fatigue. I bade goodnight to Mason as I clambered into my tent and fell asleep once more.
THREE
On the third day of our trek, I woke up with a pain in my foot, but not where I'd cut myself. There was a tenderness in my ankle, more akin to a bruise than a cut. Somehow, it felt like the pain was behind my bone. I unwrapped my foot to change the bandaging, but the cut looked like it was healing well—no pus, fresh blood, or discoloration. There were, however, some signs of inflammation where my leg met my foot. One of the thin veins near my ankle bone looked darker than normal. I changed my bandage, resolving to keep an eye on it and alert my friends if it got worse. Aside from that, it was a normal, pleasant day.
FOUR
It was a sweltering day. When I crawled out of my tent in the morning, Mason and Ivan were already tearing down their tents, and they were doing so with an uncharacteristic taciturnity. Once I packed up, I took a look at Ryan's map. We were behind schedule, but not by much. I looked up, about to air my suggestions for how best to make up for lost time, when something in the distance caught my eye. In the direction we came, standing atop one of the lower ridges of the mountains that framed Epiphany Canyon, was a person. They were so far away that it was difficult to make out any detail, but this time, unlike the stranger in the clearing, I could tell that this person was a man. I could also tell, rather disturbingly, that he was making no visible attempt at ascending or descending the ridge. He was standing completely still, and I was fairly sure that he was staring in our direction.
The sight of that distant figure filled me with dread. Though he wasn't doing anything obviously sinister, I suspected that he was the same person who had hidden from me in the clearing. If that was true, then my group was being followed. Between him, my foot, and my companions' strange demeanors, I was close to calling it quits and turning around right then and there. But then again, turning around at that point in the trek meant crossing paths with the stranger, which at that point seemed like a bad idea.
I stuffed the map into my pocket and summoned Ivan and Mason for a debrief, explaining my suspicions to them. I suggested that we continue our trek as quickly as possible and start sleeping in shifts during the night, ensuring someone was always awake to alert the group of
unwanted visitors. Though both had been oddly quiet all morning, they seemed to take my words seriously, agreeing to stay vigilant. We finished packing quickly and left the area soon after.
The remainder of the day was productive—we covered enough ground to make up for Day 2, and the sights were the best I'd seen so far. Ivan hung behind Mason and I for most of the day, though he shook his head every time we asked him if something was wrong. When we set up camp that night, he immediately went to sleep, not cracking open a single can of beer with Mason and me.
"I can excuse him spacing out, but Ivan not drinking? He must've hit his head jumping into the falls."
Mason laughed in response to my assertion, though his expression was one of concern.
"Let's keep an eye on him," he said, and I agreed.
Only now as I reflect on our trek do I realize that, despite their prevalence in the surrounding wilderness, I didn't hear a single cricket that night.
FIVE - DAY
It was another brutally hot day, and I couldn't help but fixate on how strange the weather was. Not only had the forecasts promised cooler temperatures, but the bounty of shade from the trees and rocky walls of the canyon seemed to do nothing to combat the heat. Ivan appeared to be the most affected by the heat. He barely spoke, he seemed incapable of walking in a straight line, and he couldn't stop fidgeting. He rubbed at his eyes incessantly and when I suggested he keep his nasty, dirt-stained hands off of his face, he glared at me like I'd cursed his entire family. Mason seemed better off, but he too was more reserved than I'd ever seen him. At a certain point, I'd had enough of their bizarre behavior. I came to a stop a few feet in front of my friends and turned around to face them.
"What's going on with you two?"
It was early evening. The trees had thinned around us, and the narrow trail had opened up into a wide, dry path. To our left, in the distance, was a small, filthy-looking lake. It certainly wasn't the most scenic backdrop for a discussion, but I didn't want to put it off any longer. Mason shifted uncomfortably, looking down at the floor. Ivan, on the other hand, planted his feet firmly on the ground and glowered, visibly tensed. He looked like he was gearing up for a fight.
"What are you … talking about?" He said, pausing in the middle of his sentence as though the simple act of speaking was onerous to him.
"I'm talking about that. The way you're speaking, the way you're walking around like you're drunk. You've just been off since the falls. If you hit your head or snorted a brain eating amoeba then you should've let me know."
I looked at Mason, who'd always been the most level-headed of my friends, in the hopes that he'd come clean and tell me what I'd missed. Instead, I found him still staring at the ground, his eyes wide. I followed his gaze to the forest floor, and what I saw made my jaw drop.
The dirt path was covered in praying mantises. Hundreds of them spilled from the woods, varied in color and size, but all marching in the same direction. For a moment, I thought that the horde was coming for my friends and me, but they didn't pay us any mind. Instead, the mantises crossed the path, continuing towards the stagnant, murky waters of the lake on the other side. Transfixed, I stood very still, knowing that one wrong step could easily crush ten of them. Only once the last insect crossed the path did I dare to move again. I looked at my friends, who looked similarly confused, and then sighed in defeat.
"Let's just go," I said, heading down the path once more. Something told me I needed to get away from that area as soon as I could.
The rest of the afternoon passed in tortuous silence, which I took to mean that my hiking buddies were as keen to get home as I was. We set up camp only once we were too exhausted to take another step. Ivan clambered into his tent without agreeing to a shift, so Mason and I figured we'd be on our own for the night. He agreed to take first watch, which I greatly appreciated.
Before I tucked into my sleeping bag for the night, I took some time to examine my leg. One of the veins in my lower leg had become dark and swollen—"varicosed", I think is the right term for it. I ran a finger over the protruding vein, and then, for some reason, my calf twitched in response. I yanked my hand back in surprise. It was probably a simple muscle contraction, caused by a combination of dehydration and overexertion. I left it alone after that. Somehow, after an hour of tossing and turning, I fell into an uneasy sleep.
FIVE - NIGHT
When I startled awake in the middle of the night, my clothes were soaked through with sweat. My skin felt like a heated blanket; I was half surprised there wasn't steam radiating off of me. Desperate to cool off, I wormed my way out of my sleeping bag and unzipped my tent, stepping out into the night and bumping right into Ivan, who was standing outside in nothing but his boxers. He looked as terrible as I felt—matted hair stuck to his face and his skin so mottled it looked like there was lace under his skin. Worst of all was his left eye, which looked as though it were bulging from its socket.
I'm guessing I wasn't faring much better, because after staring at me for a minute, Ivan reached out his arm and placed it on my shoulder. He gave me what I think was supposed to be a reassuring look, and then abruptly turned around, walking away from camp. Once he'd gotten a few steps away, he turned to look at me, and I got the impression I was supposed to follow.
Quickly, I slipped into my hiking boots and fell into step behind my friend as he ambled deeper into the trees. We spent about five minutes getting further away from camp before I came to my senses enough to ask where we were going. He didn't answer. In fact, Ivan never said anything ever again.
After another few minutes, we came upon another waterfall. This one was slightly larger than Gordian Falls, but it looked strangely similar to the one that we had waded into just days prior. The plunge pool had the same shape, as did the rocky overhang at the crest. Aside from a slight difference in size, they were more or less identical, which I suspected meant one or both were artificially constructed.
It was this realization that shook me from my stupor. I came to a stop, but Ivan kept walking towards the water.
"Ivan, c'mon. Let's just go back to camp." My appeal fell on deaf ears. He trudged his way forward, his ankles disappearing beneath the dark water, then his legs, then his torso. Finally, he was completely submerged.
Reluctantly, I inched towards the waterline. A pit formed in my stomach, growing in intensity with every second Ivan remained beneath the water. The seconds ticked by, and once several minutes had passed and he showed no indication of coming up for air, I was faced with an awful decision: should I go in after him?
As it turned out, something else made that decision for me.
Something surfaced. It was Ivan, or at least Ivan's body. He was face up, his expression contorted in agony. His mouth was open in a silent scream, his cheeks marred with angry, red scratches from where he'd clawed at his skin. As I watched in horror, his eye, the one he'd been worrying all day, bulged until it was pushed clean out of his head. It dangled against the side of his face, held in place by his optic nerve, as a worm as thick as my pointer finger burst out of the bloody socket. It thrashed violently, its tan body curling and uncurling around itself. I didn't wait to see what it would do or try to take a closer look. I bolted from the falls as fast as I could, the image of my dead friend's mangled face permanently seared into my mind.
There was only one thought in my head as I half-ran, half-hopped back to camp:
That's not a vein in my leg.
Mason was sleeping in his tent when I got back to camp, but I amended that quickly—charging in so fast I uprooted one of the tentpoles. I shook him awake as I calmly and eloquently explained the situation to him:
"Mason! Ivan is—Jesus Christ—the water, worms crawling out his eyes—Fuck! We gotta get outta here, like right fucking now!"
Mason squinted up at me.
"Ivan is … Jesus Christ?"
It took me about three more attempts to explain what was happening, but after his initial confusion, Mason seemed to believe me, especially after I showed him my leg. After learning what it was, I swore I could feel it squirming around under my skin. I tried desperately not to think about it as we shoved only the essentials into our packs and prepared to burn through the rest of the trek as quickly as we could.
SIX - DAY
For a while, we made good time. Even though my leg wasn't exactly cooperating, I was motivated by the notion that we were so close to civilization, only a day at most and less if we hauled ass. We had no cell service and had lacked the foresight to bring satellite messengers, but every time we stopped to catch our breaths, I pulled out my phone to check for a signal to no avail. The whole canyon seemed to be a dead zone—yet another thing Ryan neglected to mention about the trail.
I couldn't stop thinking about Ivan, about what he had felt in those final moments. He and I must've obtained the same parasite, though it seemed like he'd gotten unlucky; Ivan's had wormed its way into his head, maybe through an ear canal or nasal passage, whereas mine had entered through the cut in my foot. Clearly, the fact that the thing was in my leg and not my head was sparing me from whatever psychological breakdown had caused Ivan to drown himself, but for how long? Would my parasite rip its way through my insides until it had reached my brain? Would I meet the same fate as Ivan if I didn't get the thing out as quickly as possible?
SIX - EVENING
Every ten minutes or so, I stopped to look at my leg. Although I knew the frequency of my check-ins were slowing us down, I couldn't help but fixate on it. The worm grew longer and thicker at an impossible rate—every time I worked up the courage to glance down, it had grown darker, more pronounced. It hurt, but not nearly as much as I expected it to, which made me wonder if the thing was releasing some kind of numbing agent.
By dusk, it had migrated upwards. One of its ends sat just below my hip bone and the rest of its body had twisted like a spiral staircase around my leg. I considered tying one of our bungee cords around my thigh to deter the worm from moving any closer to my torso, but I doubted I could tie it tight enough, and I was concerned about cutting off my circulation for an extended time period.
I knew what I had to do.
The next time we stopped, I approached my friend.
"Mason," I began. "I think we've … just gotta cut it out."
I was fully prepared to offer more justification, but to my surprise, Mason agreed immediately. We found somewhere to sit and I pulled the first aid kit out of my bag with shaking hands. The worm looked like it was right under my skin. As long as Mason was careful, he probably wouldn't even have to cut that deep—just a little nick and then he or I could grab the worm and pull it out. Easy enough, right?
Mason brought the knife to my leg, and it occurred to me that I was putting my life in the hands of a man who had once gotten so drunk that he'd brought a raccoon into our apartment thinking it was his pet cat. He poised the blade parallel to my shin and asked me if I was ready. Can one ever truly be ready to get a parasite pulled out of their leg in the middle of the woods? I didn't think so, but I said yes anyway.
I'll never forget the feeling of that knife jamming into my calf. The blade was sharp and my adrenaline helped to numb me somewhat, but it was still, undoubtedly, the most painful thing I'd ever felt in my life. It didn't help that Mason was more heavy handed than I expected, cutting much deeper than he needed to. After making an incision, he pulled his hand away, and I saw the worm clearly—it was identical to the tan, tube-shaped creature that had erupted from Ivan's eye socket. It writhed against exposed tissue, trying to evade capture. Mason's arm lashed out, his fingers digging into the deep laceration and curling around the worm. It slipped out of his grasp. Twice more he repeated that process—trying and failing to pinch the slimy, wriggling creature as it burrowed its way deeper into my leg. Remember when I said the cut was the most painful thing I'd ever experienced? I definitely lied, because having someone digging around inside of a fresh wound is ten times worse.
Thankfully, I must've briefly passed out from the pain. When I came to, Mason had finally caught the thing and had almost finished pulling it out of my leg. The worm was unfathomably long, probably over a meter once it was straightened out. Mason yanked the last few inches out of my mangled leg, relieving me of a pressure I hadn't even realized had begun to build around my femur. Relief washed over me, but so too did disgust. I tore my eyes away from the worm to look down at my leg, and the sight of the wound made me gag. I was losing a hell of a lot of blood.
"The gauze," I said to Mason. "Pass me the gauze."
He didn't move. I looked up to find him still holding the worm in his hand. It was no longer thrashing around—one end of its tube-shaped body wrapped around his wrist and the other end hovered in the air a few inches from his face. For no reason at all, the thing had suddenly adopted all the docility of a pet corn snake.
"Dude, put that fucking thing down," I said. Mason said nothing for a moment, and then uttered a single word:
"Lost."
I thought I'd misheard him.
"What?"
My vision was starting to go hazy. Black dots appeared in my periphery, and I realized that I had severely overestimated my ability to bounce back from my impromptu de-worming. Mason crouched down next to me, smiling. With my blurry vision, his face looked distorted, like someone had taken a smudge tool to his features.
"This one got lost."
He reached his arm out towards me, bringing his hand so close that I could see the flecks of gore under his fingernails. The worm slithered down his arm towards me, its tan body stained maroon with my blood. Knowing I wouldn't be able to stand, I tried to crawl away on my hands and feet, but I was weak and sluggish, and Mason easily yanked my head back towards the worm by my hair.
"Let's try this again."
The worm lunged towards me, sliding against my cheek as it made its way towards the side of my head. Just before its tapered head plunged into my ear canal, a BANG! tore through the woods.
I felt Mason's hand release my hair and I instantly swatted the worm off of my face. I watched my friend's body collapse onto the ground as I scrambled backwards, putting some distance between myself and the parasite. A man, decked out head to toe in hunting camo and gripping a rifle, came barrelling into my view. I was fading fast from blood loss, but I raised my hands and told him not to shoot. He didn't seem all that interested in me though—hurrying past me towards where the meter-long worm lay thrashing on the ground.
The last thing I saw before I blacked out again was the man repeatedly smashing the sole of his boot against the worm until all that remained on the dirt path was a puddle of blood.
SEVEN?
When I woke up, my first thought was that I was in the backseat of my sister's car. The gentle undulations I felt told me I was in a moving vehicle, and the pop-rock on the radio sounded just like something she would torment me with on a family road trip. When I sat up, and peered into the rear view mirror however, the face that stared back at me was that of an older man.
"Ah, g'mornin'." The man said, though it was still dark outside. "You have good timing; we're almost to the hospital."
The lights outside the car window confirmed that we were back in the city.
"Uh … thanks for the lift?"
"Don't mention it."
I looked down at my leg, which was now wrapped snugly in white bandages. I had a litany of questions for that stranger, probably longer than we had time for if we were nearing the end of our drive, but I started with:
"Mason, my friend back there, I assume he didn't make it?"
"Kid, what the hell do you think?"
"Oh god … What am I gonna tell his family? And Ivan's family, too. We had another guy with us, but he—well, you're not gonna believe me, but he got this parasite from a place called—"
"Gordian Falls?"
"Yeah …" So he knew about the falls, and he seemed to know about the worm as well. A thought occurred to me. "Back on the trail, there was someone following us. Was that you? Were you the person I saw in the clearing?"
"Yep."
"Why were you following us?"
The man laughed. "'Cause I'm a conservationist."
"And you're conserving … what exactly?"
"Humans."
"I don't get it."
The man sighed, going quiet for a minute as he seemed to consider his next words.
"There's some evil shit going on in that area. I'm not sure how you and your friends found the place, but there are forces at play in that wilderness more malignant and powerful than you know." He caught my eye in the rear view mirror and gave me an appraising look. "You seem skeptical. Tell you what—when the police come to ask you about your missing friends, you tell them exactly what happened. You tell them about the cameras, the mantises, the falls, and the worms. They'll smile and tell you they're on the case, and then you'll never hear from them again. No one will find your friends' bodies, no one will bother to look. They'll tell everyone it was a bear attack, and you'll never hear or see a thing about Epiphany Canyon."
The car pulled into a kind of drop-off area. We were still somewhat far away from the entrance doors, but close enough that I could catch the attention of the people milling around outside for help.
"Well look at that—here already." The man put the car in park, though he didn't turn off the engine. He turned around to look at me, and I was surprised to see that he looked even older than I thought. "Now you just hobble your way up the drive a little and flag someone down. They'll get you a wheelchair and have that leg fixed up—or amputated—in no time."
"But I still have so many que—"
"Get out of my car," he said, firmly but not unkindly. The pain in my leg outweighed my curiosity, and so I obliged, carefully getting out onto the curb. Once I closed the door to the cabin, the man rolled down his passenger's side window and called out to me.
"Hey, kid." He said. "You ever heard of a horsehair worm?"
I shook my head.
"Parasitic worm. Lay their eggs in water, wait for insects to eat 'em before hatching inside their hosts' guts—typical parasite stuff. But what's unusual about 'em is what they do to their hosts when they're ready to leave. They take full control of their hosts, even going as far as to keep the crickets from singing so that they don't get eaten by another predator with the parasite still inside them. When the time comes 'round, they send whatever poor insect they've hijacked towards a body of water, forcing the host to drown itself. Then, the worm burrows out of a hole in the insect's exoskeleton to find a mate and continue its life cycle."
In the distance, near the front doors of the hospital, a staff member seemed to take note of the car. He gave me a tentative wave, then began walking in our direction.
"Insects are pretty simple machines—doesn't take much to puppeteer them. But what if they could take over somethin' bigger? Somethin' more … complex. Imagine the applications of a creature like that. Of somethin' so small, so difficult to detect, yet powerful enough to control the will of a human being. Imagine what, for example, our government could do with a weapon like that. Makes you wonder, don't it?"
The staff member, only a few meters away, called out, asking if we needed help. The man looked between him and I, then gave me a grin.
"Well, guess that's my cue." He said, putting the car back into drive and making a sharp U-turn. Over the squeal of his tires against the asphalt as he floored it out of the driveway, I heard him calling out, "take care of yourself, kid!" I noticed, as he drove away, that there were no license plates on his car.
After that, a few staff members helped me get situated inside. I was able to speak to a police officer about the incident, and though he was understandably incredulous about my worm story, he said he'd escalate the issue. We'll see how it goes. With two people dead, I'll be surprised if I don't get more officers wanting to speak with me.
It seems like the doctors will be able to save my leg, though it might be a while before I can walk normally again. I owe everything to the strange man from the canyon, not just my leg but my life. Of course, there's a good chance he's just some crazed conspiracy theorist, but so much of what he told me aligns with what I experienced in Epiphany Canyon.
I have some theories of my own, of course, but I'll have to update this post later to discuss them further. One of my nurses just came in to inform me that I have a visitor.
Let's see what Ryan has to say.

I like to do wrestling related book reports, and in the past, this sub responded really well to my posts. Again, though, if y'all feel like this isn't the kind of content for this sub, let me know, and I'll post elsewhere.
Very, very short book that didn't detail too much, with a large portion being Billy just ranting on the history of wrestling or fighting.
As always, I attempted to keep to chronological order of events, even though Billy didn't tell a lot of this in order, and he never dated any story.
(Note: the number of guys named "Billy" in this post is just unreal and gave me a headache)
Billy describes how his dad, grandfather, uncle, and great-grandfather were all world-class boxers or fighters. He says his father taught him a ton of things to do in a fight and even underhanded tactics, like using a pencil to defend himself. Billy says a 4H pencil had the toughest lead that you could sharpen out and use as a weapon. The best part was that it wasn't classified as a weapon, so you could avoid the jail time that came with having knives.
Billy describes running home from school as 3 boys chased him. When he got home, crying, his dad asked him what was going on. After Billy explained, his dad said, "You can either fight the 3 of them or fight me." Billy chose the 3 boys, and his dad went with him to make sure the fights were 1 on 1. After Billy beat up the 1st two kids, the third one wanted none of it. Billy says this was the first time he saw his dad was proud of him.
Billy dreamed of being a pro boxer, but one day, as a child, he was struck in the eye by a metal sign that some other kids were playing with and severely tore his retina. He spent 6 weeks in the hospital, and his boxing dreams were over.
Billy's uncle wanted him to try out pro wrestling because it was popular in the 60s, but Billy's dad wanted him to do amature wrestling, though it wasn't as lucrative as pro wrestling. Eventually, Billy was brought to a local YMCA where he started to train amature.
Before long, Billy's dad relented and took him to Billy Riley's gym, the same place that Karl Gotch trained and that Dynamite Kid would go train at as well. Billy even met John Foley there, who would go on to be a feared shooter and manage Dynamite Kid in Stampede Wrestling. Though if that's the only place you know John Foley from, then you won't have a high opinion of him.
John Foley was a legit bad ass shooter for most of his career, who was known to take liberties with guys. By the time he got to Stampede Wrestling, though, he was an old timer who was more known as a drunk who everyone ribbed. One story suggests where he lost his nerve, and that would be the time he was being a little too physical in the ring with Lanny and Randy Poffo, prompting their dad Angelo came to the ring, and all 3 Poffo men beat the living shit out of Foley. Bret Hart says he "never lived it down."
Billy says the best match he ever saw was a "friendly" sparring contest between Jack Dempsey and John Foley that left both men with black eyes, broken noses and blood coming out of their ears and mouths. Billy says they were still close friends after.
Billy calls shoot fighting/grappling "physical chess," and he spent 12 years learning this at Reilly's Gym, also known as the Snake Pit.
Billy learned "catch-as-catch-can" (or Greco-Roman) wrestling in The Snake Pit from Charlie Carrol.
Charlie Carrol was 55 years old and 155 pounds to Billy's 6 foot 2, 190 pound 17 year old, but Charlie hurt Billy every single time they sparred. Billy says that Charlie kept him humble.
Billy puts over modern MMA fighters but says the best modern MMA fighter couldn't hold a candle to a mediocre 1930s catch wrestler.
It's not a long book, but a significant section early on is just Billy going over the history of catch fighting and amateur wrestling all the way back to the 1800s. He complains that modern amateur wrestling is all about power and maneuvering for points and says he doesn't even watch the Olympics anymore. It's actually super fascinating as he details various amature techniques used in different Olympic competitions and where they originated from.
He tells a story of how when he was a teenager, his coach Billy Riley (who was 55 years old) would walk with him down the street and often try to grapple with Billy or show him some maneuver right there and Billy says people would stare at them like they were homosexuals and says it was so embarrassing. At the time, homosexuality was illegal in England.
Billy Robinson is critical of modern coaching, which he says consists of the coach giving a ton of positive feedback. Billy Robinson won multiple amature championship tournaments and bouts but never heard a good word from Billy Riley. When Billy Robinson won his first amature world title, he remembered Riley saying, "That was good." Riley would later explain that it wasn't his job to tell Robinson what was good, but it was his job to tell Robinson what was wrong and where he can correct himself. Interesting take on coaching.
In 1956, Billy placed 3rd at the nationals for amature wrestling. In 1957, he won the nationals tournament! Riley told Billy Robinson, "You've won all the cups and the medals. Why don't you take me out and buy me a steak dinner?" When Billy Robinson said he couldn't afford to, Riley said to him, "It just goes to show you kid, you can't buy steak with medals. It's time you turned pro."
Billy says he regrets not putting pro wrestling off another couple of years. He thinks he should have been amature wrestling in the Olympics. He beat everyone who eventually wrestled on the Brittish team, and he thought he could have won a medal.
Billy turned pro at 19 years old and was asked to help get pro wrestling going in Sweden. The problem was that the Sweden Olympic amature wrestling team wouldn't allow it unless the pros proved they were legit and could beat them in an amateur contest. Billy beat them all, including Alex Gronburg, a 2 time Olympic champion and former world champion, and Gosta Andersson, who quit after a minute, saying, "Hey, it's too dangerous for us."
Billy Robinson asked to go to Spain and wrestle for a new promotion, but as he was getting ready to leave, his coach Billy Riley warned him that if he worked for that company he would be black balled out of most major European wrestling companies. Robinson told Riley that he had given his word, and he said this was the first time he ever went against Riley's suggestion.
It didn't matter because Billy said the Spain promotion fizzled out before he even got there, but no one told him, and he flew to Spain for no reason.
He ended up staying in Spain, living with someone Billy referred to as "the English professor" who introduced him to people like Earnist Hemmingway and Sophia Loren and got Billy work in a movie
One day, the professor told Billy that his name was in the newspaper, and sure enough, Billy was being advertised in a new wrestling promotion. When Billy called them, he was informed that they had a job for him. For 2 years, 1960-1961, Billy wrestled in Spain and made a name for himself.
Billy would wrestle in tournaments and other tours during this time as well, in places like Germany and Belgium.
It was at these tournaments when Billy started noticing guys wanting to train with him and only him. Billy days. "It was odd!"
Billy loved zoos and had opinions on the good ones. He says he could spend all day just watching gorillas
Billy says he didn't like France much, saying that compared to places like Germany, Switzerland, and Austria, France was pretty dirty and gross back then.
Billy seems to have loved Lebanon the most, and being a huge history buff, Billy goes on a tangent about the history of Lebanon.
Billy wrestled in India in 1962, and on the way back, he stopped in Lebabon right before a war broke out, and he had to quickly escape.
Billy says his father told him that he should pretend to not know English when traveling and not be identified as an English speaking person. He said this advice helped him his whole life while traveling.
The first time Billy got to India, he was shocked at the poverty and state of it. He remembers seeing dead animals all over the place and people sleeping in the streets among rats. Billy also puts over India and a big wrestling country and said he had a good time there.
Billy says he was fortunate to wrestle the original Dara Singh. Dara Singh was a huge name in India, and he eventually went to prison for killing 3 men. He did it because those 3 men killed his brother, so it was a revenge killing. Years later, he would be pardoned and released. This is when Billy beat him in India.
In India, it was legitimately against the law for a Muslim to wrestle against a Hindu, so the Muslim community "adopted" Billy Robinson as their guy to fight the Hundu guys. It's pretty fascinating imo.
After India, Billy wrestled in Napal and said he had a great time, even wrestling private matches for the King of Napal.
While in Napal, Billy was ribbed into approaching a live leopard and says it was the first time in his life that he ever felt fear.
Billy even helped some Americans set up a play for the King of Napal, where Billy was the stage manager and even took a couple of bumps on the hard wood floor. He says the King loved it so much that he called for an encore, so Billy had to do the painful bump again.
Billy recalls one time in Napal, a local accidently hit and killed a cow with his truck. Since cows were sacred, the man was killed right there, and his body hung from a lamppost.
While in Germany wrestling a tournament that was cross promoting with a ten pin bowling competition, Billy met his future wife Ursula. She was working on the bowling side and Billy on the wrestling side. Billy says when their eyes first locked, he was in the ring, and she was in the front row. Billy says, "It was the beginning of the end, for my single days." 18 months later she came to England and they got married.
Billy says he played some charity bowling games against the Beatles in the early 60s.
Dave Ruhl was an extremely popular face in Stampede Wrestling out of Calgary, and through his uncle Ray Steele, Dave got ahold of Billy and invited him to Calgary Billy says Stampede promoter Stu Hart saw Billy wrestle one match and then invite Billy to come to Stampede Wrestling.
While backstage at one of his first Stampede shows, he saw a bunch of big gues in the dressing room talking. Through eavesdropping, he heard them talking about football and asked them if they were wrestlers or football players. They said football players, and so Billy insisted they leave the dressing room. Things got tense and heated, but eventually, Billy made it clear that if they didn't leave, he would remove them. He says they all scurried out of the room and notes that one of them was a young Wayne Coleman, the future "Superstar" Billy Graham.
After reading Billy Graham's book, it's clear that these two fucking hated eachother, with Graham calling Billy a bully who took liberties with less experienced guys in the ring. In Graham's book, he details how poorly Robinson treated him when their paths crossed in Stampede Wrestling. Graham's book made no mention of Billy kicking him out of a locker room nor the supposed contract with Verne that forbade Robinson from hurting Graham.
Down the line when Billy came to Minnesota, Billy Robinson claimes that Billy Graham insisted that Verne write up a contract that prohibited Billy Robinson and Billy Graham from squaring up. I don't know the validity of this claim, but Billy Robinson says Billy Graham was so scared that he only came to Minnesota with the guarantee that Robinson wouldn't hurt him.
This claim about a contract and Graham refusing to work with Robinson, might come from the time in Minnesota when Graham opted out of working with him in favor of Wahoo McDaniel. One time they were matched up and Graham approached Robinson backstage and made a show of wrapping razor blades in his taped up hands, warning Robinson that if he attempted to shoot on him, that Graham would "shred you from your face to the tip of your toes." This is all from Graham's book, with Billy making no mention of it.
In Bruce Hart's book, he tells a story about how they had The Stomper penciled in to challenge NWA World Champion Dory Funk Jr, but they had The Stomper face Billy Robinson 2 weeks prior. The two meshed so poorly that it devolved into an ugly shoot, with the fans chanting boring at them. Eventually The Stomper left and got counted out, before getting to the back and telling Stu he is quitting. They had no choice but to put Robinson in his place, and while the match was amazing and Robinson would be a good face for Stampede at the time, even Bruce calls him a bully and finishes it by saying "here's not to you Mr Robinson, there is no place in Heaven for those who prey."
After Billy wrestled Dory Funk Jr in an 1 hour draw, and after Dory invited Billy to the States to wrestle.
Before heading over to the States full time, Billy did tours in England, Japan, Singapore, Hong Kong and Australia where he won the World title for a company that Jim Barnett was promoting.
Billy met Jack Brisco in Australia, shortly after winning the world title there. Billy remembers there first match together, saying that Jack was trying to show off a little too much so Billy said he showed him a simple catch hold that put poor Jack in the hospital for a couple days! Billy says the 2 became friends and calls him a good amateur wrestler and great guy.
Jack Brisco was the one who first told Billy about "shoot wrestlers" in the States. Billy never heard the term before but says a shooter is just another word for catch wrestling.
Billy mentions a rib that Jack Brisco and Dick Murdoch played on him during that Australia tour. Dick introduced Billy to chewing tobacco and purposely misinformed Billy on how to enjoy it. Billy swallowed the juice and vomiting all over the place.
Another time, Jack and Billy were up in Billy's hotel room all night, talking holds and even practicing them on one another. It was middle of the night, so Billy was in his underwear when Jack asked him to go get the newspaper from down the hall. The second Billy got in the hallway, Jack locked him out and made Billy sneak back to his room a few floors up in just his boxers. Billy said this was the nicest hotel in Australia, too.
Billy says he got his first taste of American pro wrestling in Hawaii, where he wrestled for several months. Every single guy who writes a wrestling book inevitably ends up doing a tour in Hawaii.
It was in Hawaii where Billy met Verne Gagne, who was "wrestling" a tour there, but really, Verne was on vacation and wrestling as a means to vacation for free. A lot of guys did that with Hawaii back in the day.
Billy and Verne wrestled a tag team match together, and after Verne made sure to watch how Billy was as a singles wrestler. Verne asked Billy to come back to the mainland in 1972.
Verne even asked Billy to train his son Greg, and they ended up inviting several other guys to a small wrestling camp. The group consisted of Verne's son Greg, Ric Flair, Ken Patera, Jim Bunzell (who would later team with Ken in AWA and be one half of the Killer Bee's in the WWE), Bob Bruggers (a former Miami Dophins linebacker), and Hossien Khosrow Vaziri (the future Iron Shiek).
An infamous story happened at this camp, early on, Shiek was the only one of the 6 who had amateur experience, and one day he was boasting to the others about how neither Verne or Billy could get him on his back in an amateur bout. Billy heard about this and challenged him immediately to spar. Shiek was successful in holding his stance on his knees, with Billy unable to turn him. So Billy viciously dropped his knee into Shiek's thigh, fucking him up bad. Then Billy casually rolled Shiek over and said "told you I could flip you."
Billy acknowledges Sheik as a very good amateur but says he has a big head a big mouth. He knew Shiek wasn't familiar with catch-as-catch-can, ankle submissions, neck cranks or double wristlocks and took advantage of him. Billy just casually says "I knelt on his thigh in a way we do. He couldn't walk for two days and couldn't work out at the camp for two weeks."
Billy remembers a match he did early on working for Verne, where a fan in the front row was being obnoxious and screaming at Billy all match. After the bout, Billy went and picked the fan up out of his seat and smacked him a few times and notes how the fan stayed quiet the rest of the show. When he got to the back he was chewed our by Verne who was afraid of a lawsuit. Billy says the fan ended up getting tickets to a future show.
In the middle of the book he goes on a rant about the history of how wrestling started in carnival tents and how champions made money. He calls Gorgeous George a "carnie wrestler" and credits him for accelerating the change in how the general audience looks at pro wrestlers. He resents the sentiment that all wrestlers are showmanship guys and puts over himself and others like Lou Thesz as legit tough guys. Billy is always putting over his skills as catch fighter in the book.
Billy says he and Lou Thesz became pretty good friends.
Billy says Lou Thesz would call Ed "Strangler" Louis as the best wrestler of all time, while Billy says he would call Billy Joyce the best of all time. But he says that Billy Joyce said that George Gregory was the best of all time.
Billy describes one time he wrestled Verne Gagne with Lou Thesz as the special referee. Billy says that he and Verne weren't getting along at this point, so throughout the match, Billy was sorta abusing Verne and taunting him the whole time. Billy says he kept turning to Lou and saying "Look at this Lou!" And "What do you think of this Lou?" As he took advantage of Verne. Eventually Lou piped up and said, "Jesus Billy, take it easy on him, he is the boss."
Ed "Strangler" Louise had an "open" contract, meaning that if you were matched up against him and wanted to shoot, Ed encouraged it. What a badass.
John Pesek was a wrestler with legit Olynpic credentials. John Pesek decided to shoot on Ed Lewis when Ed was very sick and had boils all over. It was a hard fight but Ed won. Lou Thesz resented Pesek for attempting this and even had him black balled by the NWA later in his career. Lou never forgave John for shooting on Ed when Ed was sick and never admitted Pesek was talented in any way. Billy clarifies that John Pesek was legitimate in the ring and tells this story as a way to show Lou Thesz power back in those days.
Ben Assirati was a freakishly strong guy who was known as a legit street fighter. Billy says he was a masochist who not only liked to hurt people in the ring, but also liked to get hurt, himself. Ben Assirati tried to start a rival promotion in England, and was challenged to a legitimate shoot fight by promoters (and world class ass kickers) George Gregory and Billy Joyce, but Ben turned them down. Of course, when Lou Thesz was NWA Champion and touring through England, Ben made a big show of challenging him beforehand and even got the newspapers to print about it. On the night of the show, Lou had police block the entrance and not let Ben in the arena. Billy tells this story as if Lou was turning down Ben's challenge for the way he turned down Gregory and Joyce. But Billy really puts over Ben Assirati as a scary guy in the ring and says that people actually died in the ring with Ben. Wild claim that I couldn't back up online, though there are a ton of stories to speak on Ben's notorioty in the ring.
In Lou Thesz memoir, he stated that he challenged Ben first multiple times and Ben refused all of them
Billy says that when he first got to the States, Lou Thesz and Karl Gotch were close friends who respected one another. But something happened that led to the two refusing to speak to one another.
Billy says a lot of old timers were hot heads, and gives an example of when his son was born. Billy named him Spencer after Winston Churchill, but Karl Gotch got angry at this and said it should have been a powerful name like Thor or something silly. Billy says that he and Karl nearly came to blows in the street over this. So whatever fractured the relationship between Gotch and Thesz, it was probably minor and petty.
When talking about modern wrestlers, Billy always refers to them in quotations. Like in his book he says "pro wrestlers" as if he is air quoting when talking about modern guys.
Billy says a big difference between wrestling in America vs England was how much guys talked in the ring in America (called spots). Billy says this never happens over seas and says he didn't call spots verbally.
Another big difference is how pay structure worked. In America it was all based on the house and what the promoter felt you earned. Over seas, Billy says he and the promoter would sit alone and discuss the pay prior to the match. Ticket sales were irrelevant, you always got paid what you agreed to. He says America is where all the backstabbing and politicking started in wrestling.
Billy says Danny Hodge was probably one of the most dangerous guys from his time wrestling and puts him over as one ofthe greatest American wrestlers ever.
Billy describes an interesting concept for wrestling promoters back in his day. Every promoter had what he called a "policman" wrestler. When a new guy came in and wanted to challenge the top draw, he would face this "policman" wrestler as the top draw or promoter watched closely. For example, if you were looking to challenge Lou Thesz, first you would face Ray Steele as Thesz watched and judged, then after he and Ray would talk about the guy together.
While working for Verne Gagne in the early 70s, Billy was asked to wrestle with a green as grass guy and Verne told Billy to go 10 minutes before he beat him. This baffled Billy and Verne had to explain its a taping and they need to put on a good show. Billy says he shouldn't have done that, especially considering how Verne would go on to screw with Billy's payoffs down the line.
Billy says he took the kid down at the 9 minute mark and stretched him, nearly breaking his elbow as he screamed and cried and tapped out. Billy says the guy gave an interview later and said pro wrestling is the nastiest and most dangerous sport there is. Billy chuckles at this but he took some rookie and killed any interest the kid had in wrestling while abusing him.
Billy tells a wild story about a short real fight he had with Peter Maivia in Japan. Billy, Peter and a few other guys were eating at a restaurant when Peter got upset at how the menu and ordering system worked. Peter got so worked up that Billy yelled at him to calm down. Later as Billy was walking towards his hotel, a drunk Peter Maivia approached Billy looking for a fight. Billy attempted to restrain him, telling Peter as he held him, "Peter stop it. I don't want to hurt you." But Peter in his enraged, drunken state goes to bite Billy in the neck! Billy, having been trained in self defense and combat like this, knew to tuck his chin to save his neck, but Peter still bit down hard and into Billy's face! Billy says he still had scars from this 40 or 50 years later! When blood started pouring down Billy's cheek, he snapped and laid out Peter with an unspecified number of strikes that left Peter with a broken nose and two black eyes. He says the fight lasted all of 15 seconds. Billy says he had to go to the hospital to get stitches and shot for a human bite.
The next morning, Billy nearly kicked Peter's door down and told Peter he is lucky to be alive. Billy points out how biting the neck is an attempt to kill him, so he gives Peter a chance to try again. A very sober Peter backed down immediately
Billy says he saw an interview on Tv where The Rock claimed that Peter Maivia bit Billy's eye out and he needed surgery. Billy refutes this claim and says the only eye surgery he ever had was when he was a kid.
Billy says a lot of guys would spar once or train once with someone and then spend their whole career saying they were trained by that person. He gave an example of one time, Bill Watts called him up asking about Johnny Eagles, who said he trained at Billy's gym. Billy had a good laugh because Eagles stopped by his gym one time to borrow money.
Billy often goes on tangents or rants about bullies and how much he hates them. He calls them cowards who always back down when challenged. I guess that's why he doesn't see himself as a bully, while almost everyone who came up after him clarifies him as the biggest bully they ever met. I've read several, several dozen wrestling book, and only 1 guy didn't have anything bad to say about Billy. That was Dynamite Kid, who didn't have anything nice to say about Billy either. He was just the only guy to bring up Billy Robinson and not rant about how awful of a person he was.
If the only guy to not have a negative story about you in Dynamite Kid, then you may be an asshole imo.
Billy says he was AWA World Heavyweight Champion for 24 hours "until they changed the decision on me." I'm not a big AWA buff so if anyone knows this story I would like to hear it.
Billy briefly mentions the Gagne produced movie in 1974 movie, "The Wrestler" but unfortunately Billy has no tales from the set or stories about it at all. Billy alongside Dusty Rhodes and Dick Murdoch all appeared in the film.
One time while in Alberta wrestling for Stampede, Billy was invited along with a couple other wrestlers to have dinner with the Primier of Alberta (like a State Governor) and at the event Billy was asked to join the premieres wife in the morning. So when the wife reminded Billy about coming by at 8am the next morning, Billy used British slang in response and said "Yes, I'll come knock you up at 8 o'clock tomorrow." Poor Billy had to explain that where he's from, someone waking you up in the morning by knocking on your door is a knocker upper.
Billy calls Canadian wrestler George Gordienko the strongest wrestler he ever got in the ring with. George Gordienko was originally hoping to be a doctor before becoming an exceptionally successful wrestler and someone who Lou Thesz once called one of the best of all time. Gordienko has been lost to time for the most part since he was banned from the United States during the McCarthy era. George married a woman who was the head of a communist party in America and poor George never got to return. He continued to wrestle in the UK until a bad ankle injury forced him to retire. He pivoted again and became a pretty succesful artist. Super fascinating story imo.
Over in Japan, Karl Gotch was working for Giant Baba in the Japan Pro Wrestling Alliance and their competition, the International Wrestling Enterprise contacted Billy Riley and asked who was the best catch wrestler available to counter Gotch, who was doing big business for JWA. Riley immediately suggested Robinson, who was quickly invited to Japan for the IWE.
Karl and Billy were friends but working for rival promotions in Japan, so they could only meet and get together in secret.
Billy ended up winning the World title for the IWE and they asked him to move his family to Japan long-term.
Billy wasn't having a good time coaching the young Japanese guys and complained to Karl Gotch that it seems like their minds are elsewhere. Karl advised Billy to hurt one of them to get them in line. Billy refused and said he was their coach, he wasn't supposed to hurt them. This is wild to hear from Billy, who's entire reputation among the next generation was that he was a bully who liked to hurt people.
A week later Billy got caught in a snowstorm after fighting with his wife, so he was in a bad mood as he walked into the gym to train the young guys. One of them mouthed off so Billy says he lined them all up and wrestled each of them into submission. He calls it an accident, bit says he ended up breaking one of their arms that day and after that all the young guys took everything more seriously and treated Billy with more respect and admiration.
Billy seems to have mixed feelings on his time in Japan since he did well and early on was treated well by promoters. He said in Japan if you have something someone needs, you're a God in their eyes and your treated as such. He says if you need something from someone though, they always make it clear that they are in charge and treat you poorly. He says he and Karl both started to really resent the culture there towards the end of their runs in Japan.
It was after or near the end of his Japan tour that Billy and his wife got divorced. He doesn't expand on it in any way in his book. Barely gets a passing mention.
In the mid-70s Billy was in rough shape, his drinking was out of control and his knee was beyond fucked. Billy started working odd jobs outside the wrestling business, including a security job gig in Las Vegas where he was training other security guards and he managed a gas station in Minnesota. Billy calls this the lowest point of his life and says the gas station job was the most boring thing he ever did in his life.
Antonio Inoki contacted Billy when he was running the gas station and invited him to Japan for a big celebration show where they would have a match. Billy doesn't speak highly of the match and says he just had knee surgery and could barely get in the ring, but if you look up reports on his 1975 match with Inoki, all you see is massive, massive praise and people calling it one of the best matches ever at the time.
Billy calls Inoki the best Japanese wrestler of all time.
Yuko Miyato of The Union of Wrestling Forces International (UWFI) contacted Billy and sent him to Nashville to train guys to go to Japan for them and Billy says between himself and Karl Gotch, every wrestler they trained went on to be world champions. Billy lists Shigeo Miyato and Nobuhiko Takada as examples.
Billy says Yuko Miyato "really saved me." Billy says he was drinking excessively and gained a ton of weight after the divorce, and that his knees and hips had to be replaced. Billy says his nervous system was fucked up from all the years of grappling and he couldn't effectively train anymore. He got a 2nd life back in Japan and even became the head coach at his old Snake Pit gym after Riley passed away in 1977. Billy says he ended spending 15 years in Japan training the next generation of catch/mma fighters.
Billy talks about the difference in training Japanese guys compared to others, since Japanese guys are more scientific and teach techniques down to the specificity. Billy didn't teach like that, he taught concepts and ideas that anyone could use on anyone else. He struggled to get some guys over the "belt system" in Japan where a brown belt guy would never challenge a black belt guys. Billy says anyone can beat the best, regardless of their belt.
Near the end of the book, Billy again rants about modern guys and how they know one or two moves and consider themselves catch style wrestlers. Billy also rants again about bullies and how you don't train people by taking advantage of them. (Tell that to Iron Sheik) Billy cites Verne Gagne as an example of a guy who didn't know how to spar or lock in submissions, and would train guys by exhausting them before he jumped on them and shot for a hold. Billy says he and Karl Gotch resented that and made sure their training camps were the opposite of that. It's funny because Billy literally did this stuff with Verne Gagne! Maybe he is implying that he learned then not to that stuff, but he doesn't outright say it. Billy as as guilty of bullying as the Verne imo.
Billy thinks modern MMA is shooting themselves in the foot for not having pinfalls. He says that fighting off your back is exciting and opens the door for more to be done. He says that when a guy is trying not to get pinned, he may leave an opening somewhere for the other guy to take advantage of.
Billy complains how modern boxers are looking for knockouts and training to knock people out. He says that's not how it's done, you fight and wait for the opening, Billy says you wait for the knockout to come to you, you don't go looking for it. He laments the same thing in submissions as well, saying you don't go looking to lock in a submission, you maneuver around and wait for the opening to present itself. You wait for the submission to come to you. He is extremely critical of modern "catch style" wrestlers/ fighters.
Billy is critical of modern wrestling and fighting having such short time limits, saying that short 2 or 3 minute rounds means that it's all about power.
The book ends with Billy ranting about modern fighters and amateur wrestlers and how Catch wrestling was the greatest sport of all time. I hope I love something as much as Billy loved catch-as-catch-can wrestling.

Very, very short book that didn't detail too much, with a large portion being Billy just ranting on the history of wrestling or fighting.
As always, I attempted to keep to chronological order of events, even though Billy didn't tell a lot of this in order, and he never dated any story.
(Note: the number of guys named "Billy" in this post is just unreal and gave me a headache)
Billy describes how his dad, grandfather, uncle, and great-grandfather were all world-class boxers or fighters. He says his father taught him a ton of things to do in a fight and even underhanded tactics, like using a pencil to defend himself. Billy says a 4H pencil had the toughest lead that you could sharpen out and use as a weapon. The best part was that it wasn't classified as a weapon, so you could avoid the jail time that came with having knives.
Billy describes running home from school as 3 boys chased him. When he got home, crying, his dad asked him what was going on. After Billy explained, his dad said, "You can either fight the 3 of them or fight me!" Billy chose the 3 boys, and his dad went with him to make sure the fights were 1 on 1. After Billy beat up the 1st two kids, the third one wanted none of it. Billy says this was the first time he saw his dad was proud of him.
Billy dreamed of being a pro boxer, but one day, as a child, he was struck in the eye by a metal sign that some other kids were playing with and severely tore his retina. He spent 6 weeks in the hospital, and his boxing dreams were over.
Billy's uncle wanted him to try out pro wrestling because it was popular in the 60s, but Billy's dad wanted him to do amature wrestling, though it wasn't as lucrative as pro wrestling. Eventually, Billy was brought to a local YMCA where he started to train amature.
Before long, Billy's dad relented and took him to Billy Riley's gym, the same place that Karl Gotch trained and that Dynamite Kid would go train at as well. Billy even met John Foley there, who would go on to be a feared shooter and manage Dynamite Kid in Stampede Wrestling. Though if that's the only place you know John Foley from, then you won't have a high opinion of him.
John Foley was a legit bad ass shooter for most of his career, who was known to take liberties with guys. By the time he got to Stampede Wrestling, though, he was an old timer who was more known as a drunk who everyone ribbed. One story suggests where he lost his nerve, and that would be the time he was being a little too physical in the ring with Lanny and Randy Poffo, prompting their dad Angelo came to the ring, and all 3 Poffo men beat the living shit out of Foley. Bret Hart says he "never lived it down."
Billy says the best match he ever saw was a "friendly" sparring contest between Jack Dempsey and John Foley that left both men with black eyes, broken noses and blood coming out of their ears and mouths. Billy says they were still close friends after.
Billy calls shoot fighting/grappling "physical chess," and he spent 12 years learning this at Reilly's Gym, also known as the Snake Pit.
Billy learned "catch-as-catch-can" (or Greco-Roman) wrestling in The Snake Pit from Charlie Carrol.
Charlie Carrol was 55 years old and 155 pounds to Billy's 6 foot 2, 190 pound 17 year old, but Charlie hurt Billy every single time they sparred. Billy says that Charlie kept him humble.
Billy puts over modern MMA fighters but says the best modern MMA fighter couldn't hold a candle to a mediocre 1930s catch wrestler.
It's not a long book, but a significant section early on is just Billy going over the history of catch fighting and amateur wrestling all the way back to the 1800s. He complains that modern amateur wrestling is all about power and maneuvering for points and says he doesn't even watch the Olympics anymore. It's actually super fascinating as he details various amature techniques used in different Olympic competitions and where they originated from.
He tells a story of how when he was a teenager, his coach Billy Riley (who was 55 years old) would walk with him down the street and often try to grapple with Billy or show him some maneuver right there and Billy says people would stare at them like they were homosexuals and says it was so embarrassing. At the time, homosexuality was illegal in England.
Billy Robinson is critical of modern coaching, which he says consists of the coach giving a ton of positive feedback. Billy Robinson won multiple amature championship tournaments and bouts but never heard a good word from Billy Riley. When Billy Robinson won his first amature world title, he remembered Riley saying, "That was good." Riley would later explain that it wasn't his job to tell Robinson what was good, but it was his job to tell Robinson what was wrong and where he can correct himself. Interesting take on coaching.
In 1956, Billy placed 3rd at the nationals for amature wrestling. In 1957, he won the nationals tournament! Riley told Billy Robinson, "You've won all the cups and the medals. Why don't you take me out and buy me a steak dinner?" When Billy Robinson said he couldn't afford to, Riley said to him, "It just goes to show you kid, you can't buy steak with medals. It's time you turned pro."
Billy says he regrets not putting pro wrestling off another couple of years. He thinks he should have been amature wrestling in the Olympics. He beat everyone who eventually wrestled on the Brittish team, and he thought he could have won a medal.
Billy turned pro at 19 years old and was asked to help get pro wrestling going in Sweden. The problem was that the Sweden Olympic amature wrestling team wouldn't allow it unless the pros proved they were legit and could beat them in an amateur contest. Billy beat them all, including Alex Gronburg, a 2 time Olympic champion and former world champion, and Gosta Andersson, who quit after a minute, saying, "Hey, it's too dangerous for us."
Billy Robinson asked to go to Spain and wrestle for a new promotion, but as he was getting ready to leave, his coach Billy Riley warned him that if he worked for that company he would be black balled out of most major European wrestling companies. Robinson told Riley that he had given his word, and he said this was the first time he ever went against Riley's suggestion.
It didn't matter because Billy said the Spain promotion fizzled out before he even got there, but no one told him, and he flew to Spain for no reason.
He ended up staying in Spain, living with someone Billy referred to as "the English professor" who introduced him to people like Earnist Hemmingway and Sophia Loren and got Billy work in a movie
One day, the professor told Billy that his name was in the newspaper, and sure enough, Billy was being advertised in a new wrestling promotion. When Billy called them, he was informed that they had a job for him. For 2 years, 1960-1961, Billy wrestled in Spain and made a name for himself.
Billy would wrestle in tournaments and other tours during this time as well, in places like Germany and Belgium.
It was at these tournaments when Billy started noticing guys wanting to train with him and only him. Billy days. "It was odd!"
Billy loved zoos and had opinions on the good ones. He says he could spend all day just watching gorillas
Billy says he didn't like France much, saying that compared to places like Germany, Switzerland, and Austria, France was pretty dirty and gross back then.
Billy seems to have loved Lebanon the most, and being a huge history buff, Billy goes on a tangent about the history of Lebanon.
Billy wrestled in India in 1962, and on the way back, he stopped in Lebabon right before a war broke out, and he had to quickly escape.
Billy says his father told him that he should pretend to not know English and not be identified as an English speaking person. He said this advice helped him his while life while traveling.
The first time Billy got to India, he was shocked at the poverty and state of it. He remembers seeing dead animals all over the place and people sleeping in the streets among rats. Billy also puts over India and a big wrestling country and said he had a good time there.
Billy says he was fortunate to wrestle the original Dara Singh. Dara Singh was a huge name in India, and he eventually went to prison for killing 3 men. He did it because those 3 men killed his brother, so it was a revenge killing. Years later, he would be pardoned and released. This is when Billy beat him in India.
In India, it was legitimately against the law for a Muslim to wrestle against a Hindu, so the Muslim community "adopted" Billy Robinson as their guy to fight the Hundu guys. It's pretty fascinating imo.
After India, Billy wrestled in Napal and said he had a great time, even wrestling private matches for the King of Napal.
While in Napal, Billy was ribbed into approaching a live leopard and says it was the first time in his life that he ever felt fear.
Billy even helped some Americans set up a play for the King of Napal, where Billy was the stage manager and even took a couple of bumps on the hard wood floor. He says the King loved it so much that he called for an encore, so Billy had to do the painful bump again.
Billy recalls one time in Napal, a local accidently hit and killed a cow with his truck. Since cows were sacred, the man was killed right there, and his body hung from a lamppost.
While in Germany wrestling a tournament that was cross promoting with a ten pin bowling competition, Billy met his future wife Ursula. She was working on the bowling side and Billy on the wrestling side. Billy says when their eyes first locked, he was in the ring, and she was in the front row. Billy says, "It was the beginning of the end, for my single days." 18 months later she came to England and they got married.
Billy says he played some charity bowling games against the Beatles in the early 60s.
Dave Ruhl was an extremely popular face in Stampede Wrestling out of Calgary, and through his uncle Ray Steele, Dave got ahold of Billy and invited him to Calgary Billy says Stampede promoter Stu Hart saw Billy wrestle one match and then invite Billy to come to Stampede Wrestling.
While backstage at one of his first Stampede shows, he saw a bunch of big gues in the dressing room talking. Through eavesdropping, he heard them talking about football and asked them if they were wrestlers or football players. They said football players, and so Billy insisted they leave the dressing room. Things got tense and heated, but eventually, Billy made it clear that if they didn't leave, he would remove them. He says they all scurried out of the room and notes that one of them was a young Wayne Coleman, the future "Superstar" Billy Graham.
After reading Billy Graham's book, it's clear that these two fucking hated eachother, with Graham calling Billy a bully who took liberties with less experienced guys in the ring. In Graham's book, he details how poorly Robinson treated him when their paths crossed in Stampede Wrestling. Graham's book made no mention of Billy kicking him out of a locker room nor the supposed contract with Verne that forbade Robinson from hurting Graham.
Down the line when Billy came to Minnesota, Billy Robinson claimes that Billy Graham insisted that Verne write up a contract that prohibited Billy Robinson and Billy Graham from squaring up. I don't know the validity of this claim, but Billy Robinson says Billy Graham was so scared that he only came to Minnesota with the guarantee that Robinson wouldn't hurt him.
This claim about a contract and Graham refusing to work with Robinson, might come from the time in Minnesota when Graham opted out of working with him in favor of Wahoo McDaniel. One time they were matched up and Graham approached Robinson backstage and made a show of wrapping razor blades in his taped up hands, warning Robinson that if he attempted to shoot on him, that Graham would "shred you from your face to the tip of your toes." This is all from Graham's book, with Billy making no mention of it.
In Bruce Hart's book, he tells a story about how they had The Stomper penciled in to challenge NWA World Champion Dory Funk Jr, but they had The Stomper face Billy Robinson 2 weeks prior. The two meshed so poorly that it devolved into an ugly shoot, with the fans chanting boring at them. Eventually The Stomper left and got counted out, before getting to the back and telling Stu he is quitting. They had no choice but to put Robinson in his place, and while the match was amazing and Robinson would be a good face for Stampede at the time, even Bruce calls him a bully and finishes it by saying "here's not to you Mr Robinson, there is no place in Heaven for those who prey."
After Billy wrestled Dory Funk Jr in an 1 hour draw, and after Dory invited Billy to the States to wrestle.
Before heading over to the States full time, Billy did tours in England, Japan, Singapore, Hong Kong and Australia where he won the World title for a company that Jim Barnett was promoting.
Billy met Jack Brisco in Australia, shortly after winning the world title there. Billy remembers there first match together, saying that Jack was trying to show off a little too much so Billy said he showed him a simple catch hold that put poor Jack in the hospital for a couple days! Billy says the 2 became friends and calls him a good amateur wrestler and great guy.
Jack Brisco was the one who first told Billy about "shoot wrestlers" in the States. Billy never heard the term before but says a shooter is just another word for catch wrestling.
Billy mentions a rib that Jack Brisco and Dick Murdoch played on him during that Australia tour. Dick introduced Billy to chewing tobacco and purposely misinformed Billy on how to enjoy it. Billy swallowed the juice and vomiting all over the place.
Another time, Jack and Billy were up in Billy's hotel room all night, talking holds and even practicing them on one another. It was middle of the night, so Billy was in his underwear when Jack asked him to go get the newspaper from down the hall. The second Billy got in the hallway, Jack locked him out and made Billy sneak back to his room a few floors up in just his boxers. Billy said this was the nicest hotel in Australia, too.
Billy says he got his first taste of American pro wrestling in Hawaii, where he wrestled for several months. Every single guy who writes a wrestling book inevitably ends up doing a tour in Hawaii.
It was in Hawaii where Billy met Verne Gagne, who was "wrestling" a tour there, but really, Verne was on vacation and wrestling as a means to vacation for free. A lot of guys did that with Hawaii back in the day.
Billy and Verne wrestled a tag team match together, and after Verne made sure to watch how Billy was as a singles wrestler. Verne asked Billy to come back to the mainland in 1972.
Verne even asked Billy to train his son Greg, and they ended up inviting several other guys to a small wrestling camp. The group consisted of Verne's son Greg, Ric Flair, Ken Patera, Jim Bunzell (who would later team with Ken in AWA and be one half of the Killer Bee's in the WWE), Bob Bruggers (a former Miami Dophins linebacker), and Hossien Khosrow Vaziri (the future Iron Shiek).
An infamous story happened at this camp, early on, Shiek was the only one of the 6 who had amateur experience, and one day he was boasting to the others about how neither Verne or Billy could get him on his back in an amateur bout. Billy heard about this and challenged him immediately to spar. Shiek was successful in holding his stance on his knees, with Billy unable to turn him. So Billy viciously dropped his knee into Shiek's thigh, fucking him up bad. Then Billy casually rolled Shiek over and said "told you I could flip you."
Billy acknowledges Sheik as a very good amateur but says he has a big head a big mouth. He knew Shiek wasn't familiar with catch-as-catch-can, ankle submissions, neck cranks or double wristlocks and took advantage of him. Billy just casually says "I knelt on his thigh in a way we do. He couldn't walk for two days and couldn't work out at the camp for two weeks."
Billy remembers a match he did early on working for Verne, where a fan in the front row was being obnoxious and screaming at Billy all match. After the bout, Billy went and picked the fan up out of his seat and smacked him a few times and notes how the fan stayed quiet the rest of the show. When he got to the back he was chewed our by Verne who was afraid of a lawsuit. Billy says the fan ended up getting tickets to a future show.
In the middle of the book he goes on a rant about the history of how wrestling started in carnival tents and how champions made money. He calls Gorgeous George a "carnie wrestler" and credits him for accelerating the change in how the general audience looks at pro wrestlers. He resents the sentiment that all wrestlers are showmanship guys and puts over himself and others like Lou Thesz as legit tough guys. Billy is always putting over his skills as catch fighter in the book.
Billy says he and Lou Thesz became pretty good friends.
Billy says Lou Thesz would call Ed "Strangler" Louis as the best wrestler of all time, while Billy says he would call Billy Joyce the best of all time. But he says that Billy Joyce said that George Gregory was the best of all time.
Billy describes one time he wrestled Verne Gagne with Lou Thesz as the special referee. Billy says that he and Verne weren't getting along at this point, so throughout the match, Billy was sorta abusing Verne and taunting him the whole time. Billy says he kept turning to Lou and saying "Look at this Lou!" And "What do you think of this Lou?" As he took advantage of Verne. Eventually Lou piped up and said, "Jesus Billy, take it easy on him, he is the boss."
Ed "Strangler" Louise had an "open" contract, meaning that if you were matched up against him and wanted to shoot, Ed encouraged it. What a badass.
John Pesek was a wrestler with legit Olynpic credentials. John Pesek decided to shoot on Ed Lewis when Ed was very sick and had boils all over. It was a hard fight but Ed won. Lou Thesz resented Pesek for attempting this and even had him black balled by the NWA later in his career. Lou never forgave John for shooting on Ed when Ed was sick and never admitted Pesek was talented in any way. Billy clarifies that John Pesek was legitimate in the ring and tells this story as a way to show Lou Thesz power back in those days.
Ben Assirati was a freakishly strong guy who was known as a legit street fighter. Billy says he was a masochist who not only liked to hurt people in the ring, but also liked to get hurt, himself. Ben Assirati tried to start a rival promotion in England, and was challenged to a legitimate shoot fight by promoters (and world class ass kickers) George Gregory and Billy Joyce, but Ben turned them down. Of course, when Lou Thesz was NWA Champion and touring through England, Ben made a big show of challenging him beforehand and even got the newspapers to print about it. On the night of the show, Lou had police block the entrance and not let Ben in the arena. Billy tells this story as if Lou was turning down Ben's challenge for the way he turned down Gregory and Joyce. But Billy really puts over Ben Assirati as a scary guy in the ring and says that people actually died in the ring with Ben. Wild claim that I couldn't back up online, though there are a ton of stories to speak on Ben's notorioty in the ring.
In Lou Thesz memoir, he stated that he challenged Ben first multiple times and Ben refused all of them
Billy says that when he first got to the States, Lou Thesz and Karl Gotch were close friends who respected one another. But something happened that led to the two refusing to speak to one another.
Billy says a lot of old timers were hot heads, and gives an example of when his son was born. Billy named him Spencer after Winston Churchill, but Karl Gotch got angry at this and said it should have been a powerful name like Thor or something silly. Billy says that he and Karl nearly came to blows in the street over this. So whatever fractured the relationship between Gotch and Thesz, it was probably minor and petty.
When talking about modern wrestlers, Billy always refers to them in quotations. Like in his book he says "pro wrestlers" as if he is air quoting when talking about modern guys.
Billy says a big difference between wrestling in America vs England was how much guys talked in the ring in America (called spots). Billy says this never happens over seas and says he didn't call spots verbally.
Another big difference is how pay structure worked. In America it was all based on the house and what the promoter felt you earned. Over seas, Billy says he and the promoter would sit alone and discuss the pay prior to the match. Ticket sales were irrelevant, you always got paid what you agreed to. He says America is where all the backstabbing and politicking started in wrestling.
Billy says Danny Hodge was probably one of the most dangerous guys from his time wrestling and puts him over as one ofthe greatest American wrestlers ever.
Billy describes an interesting concept for wrestling promoters back in his day. Every promoter had what he called a "policman" wrestler. When a new guy came in and wanted to challenge the top draw, he would face this "policman" wrestler as the top draw or promoter watched closely. For example, if you were looking to challenge Lou Thesz, first you would face Ray Steele as Thesz watched and judged, then after he and Ray would talk about the guy together.
While working for Verne Gagne in the early 70s, Billy was asked to wrestle with a green as grass guy and Verne told Billy to go 10 minutes before he beat him. This baffled Billy and Verne had to explain its a taping and they need to put on a good show. Billy says he shouldn't have done that, especially considering how Verne would go on to screw with Billy's payoffs down the line.
Billy says he took the kid down at the 9 minute mark and stretched him, nearly breaking his elbow as he screamed and cried and tapped out. Billy says the guy gave an interview later and said pro wrestling is the nastiest and most dangerous sport there is. Billy chuckles at this but he took some rookie and killed any interest the kid had in wrestling while abusing him.
Billy tells a wild story about a short real fight he had with Peter Maivia in Japan. Billy, Peter and a few other guys were eating at a restaurant when Peter got upset at how the menu and ordering system worked. Peter got so worked up that Billy yelled at him to calm down. Later as Billy was walking towards his hotel, a drunk Peter Maivia approached Billy looking for a fight. Billy attempted to restrain him, telling Peter as he held him, "Peter stop it. I don't want to hurt you." But Peter in his enraged, drunken state goes to bite Billy in the neck! Billy, having been trained in self defense and combat like this, knew to tuck his chin to save his neck, but Peter still bit down hard and into Billy's face! Billy says he still had scars from this 40 or 50 years later! When blood started pouring down Billy's cheek, he snapped and laid out Peter with an unspecified number of strikes that left Peter with a broken nose and two black eyes. He says the fight lasted all of 15 seconds. Billy says he had to go to the hospital to get stitches and shot for a human bite.
The next morning, Billy nearly kicked Peter's door down and told Peter he is lucky to be alive. Billy points out how biting the neck is an attempt to kill him, so he gives Peter a chance to try again. A very sober Peter backed down immediately
Billy says he saw an interview on Tv where The Rock claimed that Peter Maivia bit Billy's eye out and he needed surgery. Billy refutes this claim and says the only eye surgery he ever had was when he was a kid.
Billy says a lot of guys would spar once or train once with someone and then spend their whole career saying they were trained by that person. He gave an example of one time, Bill Watts called him up asking about Johnny Eagles, who said he trained at Billy's gym. Billy had a good laugh because Eagles stopped by his gym one time to borrow money.
Billy often goes on tangents or rants about bullies and how much he hates them. He calls them cowards who always back down when challenged. I guess that's why he doesn't see himself as a bully, while almost everyone who came up after him clarifies him as the biggest bully they ever met. I've read several, several dozen wrestling book, and only 1 guy didn't have anything bad to say about Billy. That was Dynamite Kid, who didn't have anything nice to say about Billy either. He was just the only guy to bring up Billy Robinson and not rant about how awful of a person he was.
If the only guy to not have a negative story about you in Dynamite Kid, then you may be an asshole imo.
Billy says he was AWA World Heavyweight Champion for 24 hours "until they changed the decision on me." I'm not a big AWA buff so if anyone knows this story I would like to hear it.
Billy briefly mentions the Gagne produced movie in 1974 movie, "The Wrestler" but unfortunately Billy has no tales from the set or stories about it at all. Billy alongside Dusty Rhodes and Dick Murdoch all appeared in the film.
One time while in Alberta wrestling for Stampede, Billy was invited along with a couple other wrestlers to have dinner with the Primier of Alberta (like a State Governor) and at the event Billy was asked to join the premieres wife in the morning. So when the wife reminded Billy about coming by at 8am the next morning, Billy used British slang in response and said "Yes, I'll come knock you up at 8 o'clock tomorrow." Poor Billy had to explain that where he's from, someone waking you up in the morning by knocking on your door is a knocker upper.
Billy calls Canadian wrestler George Gordienko the strongest wrestler he ever got in the ring with. George Gordienko was originally hoping to be a doctor before becoming an exceptionally successful wrestler and someone who Lou Thesz once called one of the best of all time. Gordienko has been lost to time for the most part since he was banned from the United States during the McCarthy era. George married a woman who was the head of a communist party in America and poor George never got to return. He continued to wrestle in the UK until a bad ankle injury forced him to retire. He pivoted again and became a pretty succesful artist. Super fascinating story imo.
Over in Japan, Karl Gotch was working for Giant Baba in the Japan Pro Wrestling Alliance and their competition, the International Wrestling Enterprise contacted Billy Riley and asked who was the best catch wrestler available to counter Gotch, who was doing big business for JWA. Riley immediately suggested Robinson, who was quickly invited to Japan for the IWE.
Karl and Billy were friends but working for rival promotions in Japan, so they could only meet and get together in secret.
Billy ended up winning the World title for the IWE and they asked him to move his family to Japan long-term.
Billy wasn't having a good time coaching the young Japanese guys and complained to Karl Gotch that it seems like their minds are elsewhere. Karl advised Billy to hurt one of them to get them in line. Billy refused and said he was their coach, he wasn't supposed to hurt them. This is wild to hear from Billy, who's entire reputation among the next generation was that he was a bully who liked to hurt people.
A week later Billy got caught in a snowstorm after fighting with his wife, so he was in a bad mood as he walked into the gym to train the young guys. One of them mouthed off so Billy says he lined them all up and wrestled each of them into submission. He calls it an accident, bit says he ended up breaking one of their arms that day and after that all the young guys took everything more seriously and treated Billy with more respect and admiration.
Billy seems to have mixed feelings on his time in Japan since he did well and early on was treated well by promoters. He said in Japan if you have something someone needs, you're a God in their eyes and your treated as such. He says if you need something from someone though, they always make it clear that they are in charge and treat you poorly. He says he and Karl both started to really resent the culture there towards the end of their runs in Japan.
It was after or near the end of his Japan tour that Billy and his wife got divorced. He doesn't expand on it in any way in his book. Barely gets a passing mention.
In the mid-70s Billy was in rough shape, his drinking was out of control and his knee was beyond fucked. Billy started working odd jobs outside the wrestling business, including a security job gig in Las Vegas where he was training other security guards and he managed a gas station in Minnesota. Billy calls this the lowest point of his life and says the gas station job was the most boring thing he ever did in his life.
Antonio Inoki contacted Billy when he was running the gas station and invited him to Japan for a big celebration show where they would have a match. Billy doesn't speak highly of the match and says he just had knee surgery and could barely get in the ring, but if you look up reports on his 1975 match with Inoki, all you see is massive, massive praise and people calling it one of the best matches ever at the time.
Billy calls Inoki the best Japanese wrestler of all time.
Yuko Miyato of The Union of Wrestling Forces International (UWFI) contacted Billy and sent him to Nashville to train guys to go to Japan for them and Billy says between himself and Karl Gotch, every wrestler they trained went on to be world champions. Billy lists Shigeo Miyato and Nobuhiko Takada as examples.
Billy says Yuko Miyato "really saved me." Billy says he was drinking excessively and gained a ton of weight after the divorce, and that his knees and hips had to be replaced. Billy says his nervous system was fucked up from all the years of grappling and he couldn't effectively train anymore. He got a 2nd life back in Japan and even became the head coach at his old Snake Pit gym after Riley passed away in 1977. Billy says he ended spending 15 years in Japan training the next generation of catch/mma fighters.
Billy talks about the difference in training Japanese guys compared to others, since Japanese guys are more scientific and teach techniques down to the specificity. Billy didn't teach like that, he taught concepts and ideas that anyone could use on anyone else. He struggled to get some guys over the "belt system" in Japan where a brown belt guy would never challenge a black belt guys. Billy says anyone can beat the best, regardless of their belt.
Near the end of the book, Billy again rants about modern guys and how they know one or two moves and consider themselves catch style wrestlers. Billy also rants again about bullies and how you don't train people by taking advantage of them. (Tell that to Iron Sheik) Billy cites Verne Gagne as an example of a guy who didn't know how to spar or lock in submissions, and would train guys by exhausting them before he jumped on them and shot for a hold. Billy says he and Karl Gotch resented that and made sure their training camps were the opposite of that. It's funny because Billy literally did this stuff with Verne Gagne! Maybe he is implying that he learned then not to that stuff, but he doesn't outright say it. Billy as as guilty of bullying as the Verne imo.
Billy thinks modern MMA is shooting themselves in the foot for not having pinfalls. He says that fighting off your back is exciting and opens the door for more to be done. He says that when a guy is trying not to get pinned, he may leave an opening somewhere for the other guy to take advantage of.
Billy complains how modern boxers are looking for knockouts and training to knock people out. He says that's not how it's done, you fight and wait for the opening, Billy says you wait for the knockout to come to you, you don't go looking for it. He laments the same thing in submissions as well, saying you don't go looking to lock in a submission, you maneuver around and wait for the opening to present itself. You wait for the submission to come to you. He is extremely critical of modern "catch style" wrestlers/ fighters.
Billy is critical of modern wrestling and fighting having such short time limits, saying that short 2 or 3 minute rounds means that it's all about power.
The book ends with Billy ranting about modern fighters and amateur wrestlers and how Catch wrestling was the greatest sport of all time. I hope I love something as much as Billy loved catch-as-catch-can wrestling.
Billy passed away 1 year after this book came out, and it's said he died peacefully in his sleep.

Rough draft chapter 1 hope you all enjoy
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Rough rubble cuts into Dusk’s nearly sole-less shoes. He’s accustomed to the feeling of the stone reaching for his thin, pale skin. Yet, he’s never going to get used to the suffering he and millions of others are forced to endure. Luckily enough though all laborers are allowed a “lenient” break of 45 minutes each day. But truthfully, it’s just the cheapest way the Directorate can make sure their workers don’t die of exhaustion. He drags his feet laden with their usual exhaustion to where he always goes for his break. Most other laborers use their break time to beg for more food rations or search for material they can ingest, only because they don’t see the futility in doing so. Dusk, on the other hand, walks up to the top of the quarry and looks at the sky.
When he was just a boy he had done the same thing, looking up to the unrelenting carpet of smog and ash, when a ray of sunlight thwarted the darkness and gazed at him from above with the self-criticalness of an artist disappointed with their own creation. The radiance only lasted mere seconds before the eye was shut. Naturally, he was beaten senselessly by the sentinels for being the focal point of such a spectacle. But even with the overcasting of pain he’s never forgotten the feeling of the sun on his skin.
Ever since that day a vine of hope sprouted in his soul. Hope that there may be a way to be freed of this oppressive life he was raised in familiarity. Never has it happened again though and the others say he’s insane for dreaming of a better life. Dusk says they’re insane for never giving it thought. Those arguments never go anywhere.
Dusk’s lavender eyes trace the sky, being sure not to miss a square inch as he does every day, as if a machine destined to do so until it rusts. So, the nefarious factories continue pumping grim parades of ash impeding his success. A sentinel approaches. “Get back to work.” The voice sounds organically feminine but as though it has been through a voice changer multiple times before reaching Dusk’s ears, and nothing else about the figure looks feminine in the slightest. He stands up immediately, not allowing her an excuse to hit him. She kicks him to the ground anyways, he isn’t nearly strong enough to contest her decision. “I said get back to work!” Her voice gives a rolling glitch as she heightens her tone. He scampers up and brushes himself off, being sure to keep his necklace hidden from her.
He turns down the path down to the quarry and gives a warry look over his shoulder at the sentinel making sure she didn’t decide to continue his punishment. She didn’t and was instead walking back to her post by a clearance only door. Sentinels were said to be humans too, which is the objective truth, but nothing that would willingly give their soul to a being like the Directorate has an ounce of humanity left within them. Their triangular armor is laced with material to fortify it against Mortalynth specifically. A belt fits all of them and holds their extra material for their own expenditure. And all of them are fitted with a rifle that uses material to offensify their abilities. A metallic helmet covers their heads with darkened one-way glass for the face.
Dusk turns from the sentinel and continues down the shoddy path. His stride varies as he tries to avoid sharper rocks purely for the sanctitude of his feet. Dusk trudges around 200 feet into the quarry and steps out onto the shelf his outfit was assigned to today. The Directorate doesn’t discriminate against those who are made to work. Except those that have proven to have significant physical capabilities. Those people are forcefully taken by The Directorate and used to make more who share their genes. I see the outfit I belong to digging at a mound with pickaxes. One of the two sentinels watching over them notices Dusk and motions him to stand by him at attention, he does.
“IL-YM4K you’re four minutes over procedural break time, what is your reasoning?” The sentinel asks with the glitchy gravelly voice a cigarette addicted robot would have. “I fell down and injured my leg on the way down, sir.” Dusk internally grimaced, as he does every time he has to refer to the sentinels as anything other than monsters. “You’re a horrible liar.” The sentinel says, and promptly punches Dusk in the liver. “Pick up a tool and begin working. Reduced portions for your incompetence.” If the sentinel could spit at Dusk while he keeled over in pain, he would.
Dusk coughs and sputters as he regains his balance after being struck, his hand clasping where he was hit. He stands as straight as he can lest he gets hit again and he gives the sentinel a weak salute with his free hand. “Pathetic.” The sentinel says as he shakes his head and turns away. Dusk walks to the pile of tools and picks up a pickaxe of surprisingly good quality considering they were used by servants of The Directorate. He takes it with both hands, his liver now in a semi livable state, and walks over to Rigby.
Rigby is the closest thing he has ever had to a family. Dusk’s parents had been taken and used to create a stronger gene pool. They were both killed after they attempted to join a rebellion movement. At least that’s what Dusk had been told, he never got to meet them himself. Dusk makes his steps audible as if to announce his presence to Rigby. Rigby looks up for a moment and gives him a look.
“Off dreaming again?” Rigby says moving his eyes back to the stone he was mining.
“You act like there’s anything else to do.” Dusk replied, beginning to mine his own stone.
“There is actually, it’s known as not being late.”
“How’d he even know I was lying? There's no way I’m that see through.”
“The sentinel footprint on your shirt might’ve helped him a little.” Rigby said with a slight smirk.
Dusk looked down at his shirt and gave a prolonged sigh. Just then snapping them out of their conversation Dusk’s stone burst open and a glowing purple gemstone was revealed. A thimble of it falls out of the split stone. Dusk quickly attempts to bend over to pick it up, but a sentinel intervenes “Back away from the material!” they yell. Rigby quickly shuffles and shoves Dusk out of the way, and Dusk loses the thimble in the dust kicked up. “It was mine! I found the deposit!” Rigby said with enthusiasm. “Get away from the material!” The sentinel draws his rifle and aims it at him, he quickly raises his hands and backs away from the material “Woah hey sorry, it’s all yours.” Rigby says. Dusk gives him a stabbing glare, but Rigby continues looking at the sentinel, which holsters his rifle again and steps by the material, its luminescence being reflected in his visor. *kshhhk* “Calling recall crew to L-3SE, medium-large material deposit.” *kshhhk*
The rest of the outfit gathers at a distance in awe, material is rare, extremely so. There's a set amount of material in the cosmos, more cannot be created, nor can it be destroyed, only released. The times the Directorate allows people to see the power of material is far and few and only when it is being used for destruction. The sentinel’s attention turns to Rigby “IH-8LEF you’re eligible for compensation. You will receive your options in a week’s time.” He says, “Both of you leave with the others back to your providence.” His head is still positioned towards the purple gems.
Dusk and Rigby move into the small crowd, and Rigby is given many looks a few that should have the ability to kill, multiple of which from Dusk. After a moment a shuttle pulls up and the outfit is ordered to enter. Dusk sits down and Rigby sits as immediately across from him as he can. The shuttle starts and they make their way out of the quarry with quite a few rough bumps and dips.
Rigby is staring directly into Dusk’s eyes; Dusk can feel it. But he isn’t going to give Rigby the gratification of looking back, he looks up instead. “Dusk!” a harsh whisper rasps, which is ignored “Dusk!” The voice attempts again. “Be quiet.” A sentinel says, they’re sitting at the front of the shuttle. Dusk lets his eyes fall to where Rigby was peering into his soul, is that… excitement? In his eyes? Rigby’s eyes quickly look down and back up to meet Dusk’s. His crotch? Dusk gives him a weird look, and Rigby rolls his eyes, and looks down while widening his eyes, then looking back expectantly at Dusk. Dusk follows his eyes to his extremely worn shoes and Rigby moves them ever so slightly and there, through torn leather shoes, in between two toes caked with dirt, sits a thimble of glowing purple gemstone.
(additional info)
My hope is to add a magic element, material is going to be the way which people use other divines, Mortalynth is one of them, uranium is another.
(divines)
divines are essentially gods, they created champions to represent them in the cosmos a war broke out blah blah blah, essentially each inhabitable world was once a champion of a divine imbued with their powers. What happened to earth was that aliens found it and wanted to inhabit it, but the divines of moralynth and uranium were enemies so the aliens woulda gotten evaporated if they tried to raw dog the atmosphere, so before humans existed they planted moralynth on the surface of earth in order to weaken the divine of uranium's power. and the aliens genetically modified people, promising to give them what they desire the most, which led to sentinels.
Ill prolly change the name of uranium and material to something else so it wont be confusing for readers. feel free to ask questions

Title says it all, but I'm sure you would like some details or notes on my process.
I've put together a single world map that combines all the information we've gotten about the world: individual locations, continent names, majority race distributions, and other miscellaneous things. Here are three versions of it.
World map with all canon locations as of the start of the Manga. Discrepancies in longitudes between the two official maps are indicated in hatch marks.
The same map as above, just without location markers. Basically spoiler-free.
The same map again, but now just with continent outlines.

General Comments on Making These Maps

We've gotten two separate world maps from the Adventurer's Bible and then some cutaways in the Anime, and the two of them have very similar continent shapes. However, there are minute differences. I took the liberty of merging the two in a way that would make the most "interesting" shapes. I also added in probable islands that only existed on one or the other of the maps.
The biggest variation across canon maps is in the Eastern Continent and the Kakha Brud coastline. It makes sense, since it's been drawn the most and the one part that's been drawn at larger scales, but it's also frustrating since that's where the majority of the story takes place. Mapmaking is hard, and fantasy geography is harder, so I don't begrudge Kui-Sensei in the least for changing minute bumps in it as she developed her story.
I don't know if it was lost in translation, but the distribution maps never explained whether the areas marked indicated they were majority-areas for a given race, or plurality-areas. That's a big distinction that's not made here! We know there are lots of other races in Kakha Brud than just dwarves, and the magic school Marcille and Falin went to was mostly attended by gnomes and tallmen, despite being in dwarven territory.
One of the maps has exaggerated terrain features such as illustrations of mountains, highlands, trees, and rivers and lakes. While some of the rivers look impossible, I may try to see if I can turn that into an approximation of terrain features in the future, knowing what we do about the different continents.

Where's The Equator?

I genuinely don't know.
Embarrassing to say, yeah, but those are the breaks. I did my best to mark the two most likely locations as based on the full world maps we've gotten. Of the two, the one that makes it so there's a much larger southern hemisphere is my preferred one since otherwise a tiny world is even tinier.
We know that there are deserts on the Western Continent and the Southern Central Continent has rainforests / jungles, so somewhere around there is the tropics. Putting it too far north, though, doesn't match the Mediterranean Europe vibes of the Island. If the areas around of Utaya were detailed, or other southern locations were explored, maybe we'd be able to make a better guess. Perhaps we'll get some more information later on.
If there is a massive southern hemisphere, then another question comes up: what's there? Nothing? Fantasy Antarcticaustralia? Do they know in-setting?
All of this, also, is sort of assuming that the world is round and that the poles are both cold and the equator is hot because of real-world meteorology. There's a lot we don't know.

Comments about Locations

In no particular order:

• The Eastern Continent is the second most diverse continent of the bunch, with a total of 6 races, while the Western Continent is the most diverse with all 8 of the detailed Adventurer's Bible races present. The least diverse are the Central Continents and the Western Archipelago, tying at 2.
• What's with the elf enclaves on the Eastern and Western Continents? Are they politically independent of the Western Elves? Was Marcille's mother from the eastern continent?
• There are several islands off the eastern coast of the Northern Continent that have no majority race despite being south of the arctic regions. Does nobody live there, or is it populated by some other species not detailed? There is also one tiny, tiny island off of the Western Continent that had no coloration on any of the distribution maps.
• Utaya was apocalyptic. Based on the race distribution maps from the Adventurer's Bible, the area around its dungeon is completely bare of settlement by any humans or demihumans in a perfect circle that has a radius of dozens of miles, if not hundreds. We've been told that the Canaries placed a magical barrier and a monitoring team over the site since it wasn't fully closed, but if the map is true... yeesh. That's a containment sarcophagus for an area more massive than the entire Chernobyl Exclusion Zone. And that's the best they could do.
• On the Southern and Eastern Continents, tallmen, half-foot, and orc majority areas seem to be relegated to the highlands. Half-foots and orcs are only found on those continents.
• The Western Continent has lots of interesting regions. In the far north, there's an area where a majority enclave of oni (are they ogres when not from the archipelago?) and an orc population region is separated by a corridor of tallmen. On the northwestern coast, there's a large area populated by mostly half-foots.
• Also on the Western Continent, there's also a strange triple-point region on its far southern 'Toe'. There's some highland / badland humans, a gnomish-majority area, and one to two dwarf populations that all converge near the ocean on the southern coast. I like to think there's a city or something there to explain that.
• Why is the Southern Continent considered one continent while the Central Continents are considered two? Perhaps the Southern Continent used to be a single landmass, and it was shattered along its rift within historical memory.
• Also on the Southern Continent, there's a long sliver of dwarves poking into the borders between some tallmen and a maritime half-foot population. That wasn't an error on my part.

Stuff Related to End-of-Manga Spoilers

I didn't put the Lost / Restored Golden Kingdom on the map in any fashion because we never got a full look at its borders. That's the reason it's not on there.
Thank you for reading, and feel free to comment!

Ok, long wall of text incoming: I posted this on Gamefaqs a week ago after playing through the game 3 times in a row and getting to know the game's suspension/handling mechanics. I'm still very unsure of myself, and nobody has responded to the original post. It's a guide to my philosophy while tuning suspension in Underground 2 more than anything.
https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/boards/920467-need-for-speed-underground-2/80756275
There's not much out there about tuning suspension specifically for Underground 2. We don't have front and rear bump/rebound settings, tire pressure, cambetoe, adjustable limited slip differential, etc etc. So we're forced to try to understand what each mechanic was programmed to do.
I was really curious what you guys think. Don't be afraid of being too harsh. I want to understand this game better and get better at tuning.
Here's the whole post so you guys can read it:

Disclaimer: These are my opinions and experiences. I may be wrong about stuff. I don't know everything about this game. If I'm wrong, please drop a reply and let me know. I'd love to hear it. The more info we have, the better. Thanks.
My Suspension Tuning Tips/Thoughts/Notes/whatever: I'm making this post using my notes for tuning circuit/sprint/street x/URL racing. I try to tune for maximum grip and minimal drifting, but if the car does slide, the front should slide as much as the rear.
•Ride height generally should be as low as possible without causing trouble when hitting curbs. Rear height should be higher than the front. RWD cars may need the rear height to be a lot higher to keep from losing control off the starting line. If it's set too high then it can cause you to spin out while turning, so try to find a nice balance. As a starting point, set front height to the minimum, then rear height 5 ticks higher than the front.
•Front/Rear Springs control your initial turn-in pitch, and corner exit turning ability. Soften front springs or tighten rear springs for more turn-in pitch. Find a balance that works between the two. Some cars like softer springs, some like harder springs. Usually you want front springs softer than rear springs. Heavier cars like softemid range springs in my experience. RWD cars with bad oversteer problems might need the rear springs to be softer than the front. You'll probably spend most of your time tuning springs and sway bars.
•Front/Rear Shocks work similar to the "Stability Control" mode in the options menu as far as I can tell. Usually they control how your car reacts to bumps and such in other games. In NFSU2 I noticed they help drop down from jumps faster, and add stability in general. You always want the rear to be higher than the front when you adjust these. I usually put rear to max, then drop the front down a few ticks for better turning. Nothing fancy.
•Front Sway Bar adjusts your overall ability to turn, if you're having trouble with understeer in the middle of turns, soften your front sway bar or tighten the rear sway bar. That's why the game says to start with your sway bars I guess. I set front/rear together as low as possible and see when I start spinning out. That's my starting point. Then adjust the rear sway bar to find a comfortable balance between oversteeundersteer.
•Rear sway bar controls the amount of rotation the rear of your car has through turns in my experience. In general, softer is more stable and harder gives more turn potential at the cost of stability.
•Steering ratio/steering lock always should be set to the max in my opinion.
•Max out downforce and tire grip for solid, stable turns rather than drifting.
•Brake bias you'll have to mess with. If it's too far forward then braking from high speed will swing your rear to the front. If it's too far back it can cause instability when going into a corner. The goal is to not spin out when braking from a high speed, but still be able to turn into a corner a bit. If you need to be able to turn better while braking, go for more rear bias.
_____________________
•Some specific advice for a problem I kept running into: Some cars understeer halfway through a turn, but spin out on corner exit. When this happens, I recommend fixing the understeer problem first. My philosophy is if you're not understeering you won't over-correct and spin out on the corner exit. We don't have an adjustable limited slip differential in Underground 2, so we gotta work with what we got.
I can't cover everything, so I recommend googling the "sim racing suspension cheat sheet". It helps a lot when you're stuck and need more ideas.
I'm not going to get into Dyno Tuning, there's already great guides about that on Youtube.
Some of my suspension setups:
~Mitsubishi 3000GT~ (Front/Rear) Ride Height: -1.51 / -1.06 Springs: 4.94 / 10.00 Shocks: 9.03 / 10.00 Sway Bars: 2.82 / 7.86 Steering Ratio: 1.25 Downforce: 10 / 10 Tire Grip: 10 / 10 Brake Bias: 0.03
~Toyota Supra~ (Front/Rear) Ride Height: -1.29 / -0.39 Springs: 4.35 / 4.67 Shocks: 10.00 / 10.00 Sway Bars: 0.92 / 1.84 Steering Ratio: 1.22 Downforce: 10 / 10 Tire Grip: 10 / 10 Brake Bias: -0.14
I tuned some other cars but they already had decent handling so no point in posting them. I chose these 2 cars because A) I like them, and B) people say they have terrible handling. I spent a ton of time with the Supra, and I still think it needs the unique weight reduction or suspension to be any good. I tried unique suspension and shaved 2 seconds off my best lap time. So it definitely helps. You could try making the first few gears longer to help with wheelspin, but it's better to learn proper throttle control.
3000GT has a serious understeer problem by default. It feels great with the unique weight reduction. I took the unique ECU upgrade and Turbo on the 3000GT in different playthroughs and couldn't see a difference in the dyno test, but the unique ECU feels a lot faster in my opinion, plus you can do the rubberband trick. Google ECU Rubberband Trick and you should find it.
I don't know if people even come to this board anymore, but feel free to correct me on stuff, or ask questions, etc. Maybe tell me which car I should do next. Anyways, hopefully this post helps someone.
Good luck, have fun

Edit: I discovered a new problem and how to fix it. I should have mentioned in the Downforce section that it has the most effect at high speeds. If you notice at high speeds your car won't turn at all, then you can lower the downforce on the rear and it helps. Likewise if you're struggling with losing control at high speeds, lower the downforce at the front. It's a minor thing that doesn't come up very often, but thought I'd mention it for people serious about tuning.

Pro tip: fly radio control airplanes for 30 years or so prior to doing this install, and everything will be comically simple to understand. If you don’t have 30 years to learn push-rods and bell-cranks, read below for something kinda helpful. Also, some exceptionally irrelevant thoughts are italicized...
Right up front, this is specific fitment notes for the 2wd/Reverse shift kit from Raceway Ural, on my 2017 Gear Up (and maybe most 2014 to 2018 gen 1 EFI models?) I did this with the sidecar installed and while it’s fiddly, at no point did I curse more than usual, ymmv.
Start w/ gearbox in neutral (if you have a working neutral light... tell us what's it like being God's favorite?)
Take a picture of reverse pedal location, indexing, and position in case you ever want to put the old pedal back on when you upgrade to a newer (or older) rig (at which point the old pedal will have vanished and you'll need a replacement anyway)
Take a picture of the levers, mount, bushing, spring, and washer locations on the mount (no, actually, just take pictures of everything)
https://preview.redd.it/asr0d3njj1yc1.jpg?width=4080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e314ec3e70cd95daf02c2f3f8af880c98658533f
Pull shift handles and the pivot rod out of the mount, noting washer and bushing locations. Open the cotter pin slightly to hang onto the loose bits since it's not under spring tension anymore.
Loosen front tank mount cap-head bolts (5mm on my 2017 gear up, all dimensions are for my rig) n prop tank up w/ the official $290 Ural uranium glass wedge (or the superior random $4 hex key set) between tank and frame
https://preview.redd.it/mq1j1rsnj1yc1.jpg?width=3072&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=08097493b2bdc4ee9f666f333a0ad61833e6c8f5
Protect bottom of you immaculately pristine tank w/ painters tape to prevent scratches (or just lol at the dirt)
The instructions imply for 2014 to 2018 models you have to remove the ignition coils. You can be a wuss and remove them now, or be a true American and fight your way around them for a couple hours and then eventually have to remove them anyway (bonus points if you break something in the process and have to order a new coil). My coils were mounted to the coil mounts (shocker) with a 5 mm hex bolt and 10 mm nut (just thread them back onto the coils for now, and if you wanna disconnect the wire harness’, just know they’re short and might be a bear to reconnect). The left side has the crankcase breather hose in the way, but it's just a hose so will yield with enough cursing. The right side has the fuel line n filter in the way so if you’re not the smoothest over there, be ready to stink for a while.
Pull top engine mount nuts (13 mm) and the top bolt and nut (13mm nut on a 5 mm hex head bolt with the remnants of two disintegrating rubber bushings). Instructions mention reinstalling the ground wire but my ground lead was actually under the alternator adapter bolts so if you find the ground lead loose at this point, I'm just a better person than you.
Pull the now loose upper engine mount and toss it over your shoulder to ensure it's immediately lost. Mine put up a hell of a fight, but then calmly and easily slipped off when I rolled the top towards the front of the bike.
https://preview.redd.it/j62s14g0k1yc1.jpg?width=3072&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=4988d4598a31ba90a8e07969408731e05f2822a9
Install shifter kit tube where the upper engine mount used to live (this is where you'll learn the coils really do need to move). Install the nuts on top of the engine finger tight, capturing the ground wire if you happen to be cursed in that way (these are lock-nuts so don’t require thread-lock, but this is the part where you would start dabbing some blue Loctite if you’re over 55, or red if you’re under 25). Then install the upper bolt with the tattered dry-rotted remnants of the rubber bushings, and torque everything to gud enuf.
Go ahead and put those coils back now by attaching them to the tangs hanging off the new tube. Mine were only happy with the plug wires facing down. My breather hose clamp needed to rotate a little for clearance so apparently I’m now a master mechanic for coming up with the solution on the fly. If you disconnected the coil plugs, find a small child to reconnect them (there’s no way you’re getting your hands in there).
https://preview.redd.it/q6ovlva9k1yc1.jpg?width=3072&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7fc331be8a20e49ee4c21da53d3aa492563f742c
Slide the pivot rod and handles back in, noting the correct order of bushings, spring, and washers (per that picture you forgot to take), and swing it back and forth a bit to check tank clearance. Some have needed a nylon bushing to push the handles out for clearance, but I don't wear nylons so like a real man I just got a running start and blamo, no balls slapping my tank, ymmv (although some product pics out there look like the handle is right against the tank so watch out). You can fold the cotter pin now because there’s no way you’ll remember at the end of this mess, or you can wait until everything is adjusted so you can slide the handles off for clearance. Hmm, nah go ahead and pretend you will remember to fold it later.
Lower the tank and reinstall front mount bolts torquing to gud enuf to compress the rubber mounts and split them wide open.
Shift kit uses 1/2 and 7/16th wrenches for pivots and locking hardware to increase likelihood of grabbing the wrong size wrench beyond the limitations of metric hardware.
Now that the easy part is all done…
Neutral/Rev: Remove 13mm cap nut and use a 2-jaw gear puller (a small 2-3 jaw puller is like $10 at NAPA) to get the reverse pedal off the somehow incredibly rusty spline shaft, and chuck that pedal roughly in the direction you threw the upper engine mount (if you threw the nut with it, go find it because it holds on the rev/neutral lever). DO NOT pry or pull on the pedals or you will loose that fancy neutral light you were just clowning me about until the next time you split the gear box (never or 15K miles? whichever comes first I hear).
https://preview.redd.it/4w02o6ndk1yc1.jpg?width=4080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=a480075e23eb7b739589789cce7a41ee82351e8c
Quick note on the push-rod ends/adjusters, mine got about 14 turns from fully screwed-on to falling off, so that gives you about 10 rotations from shortest to longest (with 4-5 threads still engaged). Fully shorten them, then mark them with a sharpie or something so you can count rotations. Start everything with everything screwed all the way in.
I quickly realized no adjusting or placement is possible unless the push-rod ends (they are ball joints under a little rubber skirt) are tightened onto the levers and handles, so go ahead and tighten down the one on the spline shift lever (tighten the 1/2in lock-nut while holding the adjuster pivot with that 7/16th wrench). I put the reinforced (thicker) side of the lever away from the rod for an extra mm of clearance (but don't attach to the transmission yet).
https://preview.redd.it/5phgoh2il1yc1.jpg?width=3072&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=661a4e515b2153e89fa9499679fb611f4516bbda
The ball joints allow rotation but they’re tight, so I backed the lock-nuts off about 1/16th turn to allow free movement. Thread the rev/neutral push-rod (spline lever end) from front to back, under the throttle body and fuel lines and everything but the wiring loom, towards the rev/neutral shaft (pics or it didn’t happen). Attach the front end of the push-rod to the inside of the handle (left hand side of the right lever), and then you can see where the rear shifter lever ends up.
https://preview.redd.it/mh24ks86n1yc1.jpg?width=3072&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=945c044d00b463974739078913a179d78cf5cca8
Start with rev/neutral handle/knob located just ahead of the throttle cable housing w/steering at full right lock, this keeps it from being trapped or bumped, and keeps it from traveling too far forward when in Rev.
Pushing lever forward pushes the rod back which = heel on the pedal for Rev (reverse, not reverend, there's nothing holy here), and pulling the lever is toeing the pedal back to neutral (normal state).
(The ideal state for pushrods and levers is equal angles on both ends. If the control lever is vertical, the lever at the other end should also be vertical for equal travel. The angle of the push rod actually doesn’t matter (so long as they are the same and not too extreme like over 45 degrees away from 90).
Rotate push-rod (like a turnbuckle) up to 10 turns (you did mark it, right?) to lengthen it so the lever hangs vertically over the spline shaft for equal fwd/aft motion. Realize this isn't' possible and settle for it being tilted a few degrees. It's fine, I guess, I mean who cares or whatever.
Press the lever onto the spline shaft and loosely install the nut.
With everything in place pull the knob back and make sure the throttle cable doesn't hit it. Then actuate knob in both directions (while rolling the rig a bit if needed to find reverse), ensuring smooth operation, free of binding or interference or obfuscation or unnecessary suffering of cables/wires/small animals/people overly sensitive about their gender-affirming lifted pickup and it's leased tires (can you believe people lease tires? like what the heck, sell that thing and get a civic)
Tighten down that lever mount nut while holding the lever to avoid straining the gearbox internals.
Dag a little Loctite and tighten the push rod jam nuts to secure the ends.
Find out it won't start and remember you forgot to put the ground wire back on the engine mount and lift up the tank again.
AND/OR
Now that the easier of the two is installed… 2WD:
After studying the layout, I figured this one is easier to hit from behind (lol). Sidebar: you might want to install this 2wd linkage before doing the Rev/Neutral one since it’s under the Rev/Neutral lever, but you’d be wrong. It’s not your fault, just socioeconomic factors and possibly (likely) Y chromosomes clouding your judgment. Like most things you care about plowing into, you want to have a little practice before hitting this one so everything comes out right in the end.
You can try to use the included rear linkage but I found (at least for my gen 1 EFI rig) that it was too short and pulled the bell crank (the round metal direction-changer mounted where the old lever went) too far (it’s best to have it close to vertical when 2wd is engaged/lever at the rear wheel is forward, this way the bell-crank has clearance and good leverage to actuate both ways). My original rear linkage is longer and just what I needed to clear everything. I found it's best attached to the top of the bell crank for clearance.
So yea, I connected the og ball-end to top of the bell-crank. In my case I needed a washer (used a split washer for added girth) on the bolt to pull it up and clear of the mount (again, pics for attention). NOTE: this is the wrong pic, the lower ball joint will go on the bike side in a bit... dur)
https://preview.redd.it/5be4rum9q1yc1.jpg?width=3072&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b1fa4f952b7db414aa75ec6d61d35c65339bfdfa
I used the original spring and shoulder bolt, with the washer between the bell crank and the mount. This set the geometry for the forward link which needs to be as far aft as possible so that the bend (technically a jog) in the front push rod can clear the air pipe. If all those words didn’t translate to engrish, just know the jog in the forward rod needs to be as far back and close to the bike as possible to clear the air pipe, the way to do that is keep the bell-crank vertical when 2wd is engaged (handle pulled up and rear wheel lever pulled forward).
Now for the tricky one… what worked for me was screwing in the ball joint adjuster at the rear of the front rod (ugh, what does this even mean?) all the way, threading it under everything alongside the Rev/Neutral rod, and tightening that adjuster on to the BOTTOM/BIKE SIDE of the bell-crank (NOT LIKE THE PIC, do not tighten the jam nut just yet). Now you'll see how the jog tries to get at that air pipe.
Take a deep breath.
Get the sidecar axle positioned so you can engage and disengage the rear end and see where it put’s the 2wd knob. The front adjustment can be set to your preference but keep the handle clear of the tank so spirited travels don't cause any contact. Yes, adjustments require pulling the lock-nut (and sometimes also the bell-crank) but if you hold it against the lever, you can get an idea for where it should go. This is why you started this one from the back, adjusting the front is brutal.
Do not be tempted to fiddle with the back adjustments, you want the bell crank vertical or nearly so when in 2wd for your best chance of avoiding the air pipe. This might not even be a problem beyond the 2014 to 2018 models… but this is what worked for me.
Again, once the pivots are tightened down, cycle the whole mess back and forth and make any final tweaks needed to ensure (what passes for) democracy wins. Check to see if the levers interact much as mine needed some grease to stop draggin' on each other through their bushings (nothing very strong but also nothing I wanted to see happening).
And now with the tweaking dun... pull the bolts that should get some Loctite (like the 2wd bell-crank bolt, the rod jam nuts, and any non-lock-nut nuts) and give em a dab of blue (unless you're selling the rig soon then red is fine).
And that’s it. Putt back and forth out front, take her for a spin in the neighborhood, and don’t forget to notice you missed folding that cotter pin at the next oil change.
Operation video: https://youtu.be/FdTI-aiiZnE?si=x7Vk53qccowQEd-K
Yes, I try too hard but comments on anything else are totally welcome so I can unfuk whatever mistakes I made up there.
Cheers
EDIT: the bell crank pic is the wrong one (but it was the prettier one). The lower ball joint goes on the inside/bike side.

Casper's time in the void was shorter than usual.
Even without the evidence of passing time, there had always been a period where the young man settled into the distinctly unsettling feeling of nothingness. He'd said his goodbyes to Spectre the first, a geckin mech that had served him well, but would not follow him wherever he went now. It was geckin's property after all. After that, he powered down and had keyed for his casket to be ejected slowly, rather than be fired like an artillery shell to get him away from the current threat.
The moment he disconnected from the machine, he was plunged back into the dark, however, he didn't get a chance to 'settle' before light and sound returned. Casper was used to this now, it was always harsh to return to the real world, it hurt and was confusing as his mind reconnected with the various senses of his body once more.
There was a roaring din that deafened him immediately, even more so than normal. Before he could open his eyes, something was pressed over them. It covered the front half of his face and looped over his ears and behind his head, an elastic band holding the soft material firmly in place. The hands that manipulated him were careful, supporting his head and placing it back down, rather than letting Casper drop. The young man squinted, preparing for the pain of harsh bright light.
Instead, it was muted.
There were lights overhead and shadows and silhouettes that blocked it briefly as they moved around his casket, but the darkened, translucent material that covered his eyes prevented that stab of pain as his eyes, used to the dark, adjusted to the real world again. As he considered this, the dark figure slipped a set of earmuffs over his head and pulled a mic down, so it comfortably touched his lip. A deafening roar that Casper hadn't even begun processing yet died and he was left in a far more comfortable state.
Wherever Casper lay, rocked from side to side, the whole crew reacting and stumbling to the right, then left. However, the silhouette that was crouched over Casper reached out his hands and prevented the human's head from hitting the edge of the casket.
"We got you buddy, you,okay? You hurt?" Asked an unknown voice, the voice coming over clear and precise through the headset.
"Where's Qik?"
"She's fine buddy, let's get you sorted first, then we can see her, yeah?"
Casper nodded as he felt the casket being peeled away from his bottom half. The shadow over him turned his head and Casper caught sight of a pair of long ears, clipped back and out of the stranger's way as he spoke to someone else.
"Vitals are thready, looks like we need fluids, do we know how much these guys are supposed to weigh?" There was a pause. "Alright, just ensure we get transport when we land. Hey buddy!" The voice spoke to Casper once more. "Can you touch your fingertips for me? Like this?" The stranger made a familiar gesture, touching his thumbs to his fingertips in series. Casper knew this exercise.
Casper raised his hands, wincing as his skin once again felt sore in the open air, and tried to copy the speaker. The young human grit his teeth in frustration as he couldn't see to command his digits correctly, the thumb either not moving or seemingly not obeying.
"It's okay buddy, you looked like you hurt for a second there. Can you tell me where it hurts?"
"It's m-my skin. It's-it's fine, it'll calm down." Casper explained, trying to reassure the speaker. The shadow turned his head again, touching a hand to his own headset.
"Bird Two medical to hanger. Inbound thirty seconds, unknown species, pulse is thready, we got casket burn, subject is disorientated and likely severely malnourished. Get a bath ready." The rocking of whatever transport Casper was on board intensified before a firm judder ceased all further movement for the machines.
There was a flurry of activity as the crews that worked within the confined space of the vehicle seemingly all had jobs to do. A new lopel appeared above Casper and apparently was attempting to wheel him away.
"Can I see Qik?" Casper asked, feeling helpless as his legs merely twitched when he attempted to move them. He was utterly vulnerable in the hands of a whole new set of people and beings. The radio in his headset crackled and a familiar voice spoke to him. It was as if her lips were right next to his ear as she spoke, relieving him of his worries.
"I'm here Casper, I'm here. Just a few feet to your left. Lay back, these guys will do the work. Just relax, okay?" She asked gently. Casper tensed his whole body and sat upright, much to the surprise and mild panic of the lopel that was still half crouched, half sat on the shell of Casper's pilot casket. As the human raised his head and cleared the lip of the sarcophagus, he saw Qik was doing the same, a black headband was over her head too providing her welder's goggles and an oddly shaped headset with mic covering her ears.
She gave him a grin and a small wave that turned into a thumbs up. As always, she seemed untouched by the machine's drained aura.
"O-okay..." Casper replied, relieved to hear her voice and lay back down, much to the approval of the lopel that was being wheeled along with Casper. He was the spitting image of Qik, only instead of brown fur, he was a bright grey, with the exception of his hands, face and the lining of his ears, which had white fur.
"Are you friends with Qik buddy?" He asked with a still light tone, but with a hint of scepticism. Casper nodded his head, feeling tired, he laid his head back into the gel head rest of the casket and closed his eyes, releasing a tension he didn't realise that he'd been holding. The grey lopel touched the top of one his blunt claws to Casper's shoulder, waking him, the grey alien wore an impish grin.
"Took me four years before Qik started talking to me! You cooperate with the docs that we're about to meet and I'll trade you an embarrassing story about her at the bar, deal?" Casper couldn't help but match the creature's mischievous smile, which only broadened as the hot mic and headset was immediately bombarded with Qik's heated voice.
"You asshole! I'll cut your ears off!"
Casper couldn't help but join in with the laughter of the crew who were obviously also listening to the exchange. The grey lopel hopped down off the casket as he introduced a new set of lopels, who would then look after the human.
== 0 ==
It was nearly an hour and a half later before Casper saw Qik again.
The door hissed open, and Casper turned from the window from which he was staring out of, he couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face seeing her.
She was dressed in a set of clothes that Casper had never seen before. Gone was her signature Nerve Suit which she had worn under her jacket at any point that she wasn't undressed completely. Now she wore grey, for lack of a better term, lounge wear. It looked comfortable and baggy, although the waistband hugged her hips pleasantly. She did, however, still have on her jacket, reassuring him more than he realised. It was a slice of 'normal' while everything was unfamiliar.
"You get your bath?" She asked casually, strutting across the comfortably warm room with the peculiar lopel gait that reminded the young man of runway models. Casper nodded; his hair was still shaved close to his skull so it had long since air dried but was still dressed in nothing but a fluffy black bathrobe. He previously had every intention of donning the perhaps oversized jogging bottoms and shirt that had been laid on 'his' bed by someone unseen while he was freshening up in the bathroom.
"Yeah, I was going to get dressed but I got distracted." He explained, gesturing at the large window that showed the pair of them outer space.
Qik merely 'hummed' in agreement as stepped up next to the shorter human. Beyond the 'glass', was a purple and red nebula, frozen in time as they swirled together creating a beautiful display that had simply awed the man.
"You didn't get bored of all this going to the Geckin worlds?" She asked, still gazing out the glass. She gestured to the amazing display before looking down at him with an easy smile. Casper couldn't help but give her a smile back, his eyes wrinkling in the corner as he turned back to the cosmic event.
"No... I just kept to myself to be honest. Didn't have a window seat. It's... I don't know I don't have words." He explained honestly, he felt breathless, almost nervous, but couldn't put his finger on why.
"Remind me to show you the observation deck tomorrow." Qik offered quietly, slipping her thumbs into her waistline, and seemingly settling into a comfortable silence. Casper joined her a moment, before a frown flashed across his face, turning to her.
"Tomorrow? Why not today?" He asked, genuinely curious.
"You really feel up to talking to a hundred different people? You're the hot topic Casper. New species, new pilot. Even a few rumours of you besting me in a fight." Qik explained, an accusatory eyebrow rose to the ceiling as she side eyed him. Their initial fight was a sore spot for Qik, this Casper knew. He'd promised almost immediately afterwards to take the event to his grave and turned to her to offer his full attention.
"I swear I didn't say anything to anyone. I know about your reputation and-" A palm clamped over his mouth, silencing him quite effectively.
"Shut it." She demanded, releasing him, and touching the tip of his nose with a single finger.
"I know you didn't say anything. But my rig had a new head. A new head is a sign of someone taking your head off. The engineering crew are rather protective of their work and notice when someone's touched a single bolt, let alone replaced the whole thing. Don't worry, Just feign ignorance. But if you're up for crowds, I don't mind taking you to see the stars."
In hindsight, that sounded like more than what Casper felt up to. He still felt drained and tired. He knew himself well enough that interacting with strangers right now was ill advised. Still... he didn't want to miss the views.
"How long is our journey? Am I likely to miss anything?"
Qik snorted and turned from the window, resting her rump against the table that sat underneath it.
"Hardly. We're on our way to the next closest station, that'll be a five- or six-day trip. We'll trade, sniff for jobs, and get some free time. Plenty of time for you to star gaze."
Casper turned back to the window and squinted as he saw something move against the black. It was small, but just big enough to make it out.
"Hey, there's a ship out there!" At Casper's alert, Qik hummed curiously and turned her head, narrowing her eyes before turning back to the human.
"Don't worry, that's one of ours. Looks like a point defence platform. We're on the carrier, holding all the mechs and a slew of hanger space with repair docks for anything and everything. Problem is, we're a sitting duck on our own." She thrust a thumb over her shoulder at the window. "That 'little guy' is a massive frigate. You can tell because of all the little nubs on its edges." Qik explained. Casper leant forwards over the table and studied the ship. It was triangular in shape, but along its smooth edges, it did indeed have bumps, breaking up its profile every few centimetres.
"Those are turrets. It can handle everything from tiny drones to fighter crafts to anything roughly the same size as the frigate. Keeps them off the carrier's back. Keep looking out that window and you'll see its brother floating around somewhere. We have between four and six frigates following the carrier, each designed to keep a different kind of enemy off us. The one's without all those nubs will have a long straight piece, either on top or below it. That's a railgun. Those frigates handle the bigger problems."
Qik paused, before reaching out a large hand to grasp his shoulder gently. Her hand dwarfed him, but she never felt heavy to him, nor did her squeeze do anything but reassure him.
"Casper, you're safer than you've ever been on board this craft." She declared truthfully.
Qik pushed off from the table and walked over to Casper's bed, stretching as she walked until her fingertips brushed the ceiling. She threw herself onto his bed and gathered a pillow beneath her head with a comfortable sigh.
"Honestly, it's adorable how you still enjoy the stars. Everyone who's in space for a living just kind of forgets they're there." She offered from her lounged position on his bed. Casper turned to her and shrugged then tried to suppress a yawn, using a thumb to rub his eye as he spoke.
"It's new to me. I lived in a city; light pollution stopped me from seeing all but the brightest. What's the station like?" He asked, curious as aside from the intake, which he really didn't remember much of, he hadn't seen other stations.
"Geckin run, but it's on a major shipping lane. Expect a whole plethora of species. Although the ssypno and the geckin portions are kept separate, for obvious reasons." Qik explained. "It's got everything a private military company could want. Work, trading, entertainment, sex, whatever scratches your itch. "
Casper blinked at the casual nature of Qik and reminded himself that despite her softness with him, she was a hardened warrior, capable of handling herself and killing people without losing sleep.
"I think I'll steer clear of that last one." Although Casper was sincere, Qik merely snorted again as if doubting Casper's words.
"Again; adorable. You might change your tone after being stuck on this ship with no one but each other to keep you company." The lopeljack explained as she lay on Casper's bed. His eyes roamed on their own, from her wide, fluffy toes, past her almost dainty ankles, up her thick calves and knee-weakeningly thick thighs, to the curve of her hips and toned front of a fighter who kept themselves in their best possible shape.
It was all topped with a head and face that watched him carefully, her ears having fallen casually across her body. Her smile was a knowing one. Casper swallowed.
"There's worse people to spend time with." The young man offered, suddenly nervous. Qik merely grinned. The air had become charged at the first mention of sex. Whilst he wasn't fully inexperienced, Casper did not have a 'body count' he could rely on. Qik however exuded confidence and experience.
"You'd think so, but I'm the big bad Qik. Nobody wants to spend time with a cold bitch like me." She explained, grinning wickedly. Her tone was mocking, welcoming Casper into joining in and to deny her claims. He couldn't help the smirk that pulled one side of his face up.
"I wouldn't mind." Casper replied correctly with a more casual tone than he really felt, shrugging and pointedly ignoring the nervous shake in his hands.
"Well, how about you come here then, and I can welcome you to the crew properly...?" She asked, crooking a finger and reeling the young man in with zero resistance from him. As he clambered into the bed and felt the lopel's hand gently grasp the back of his head, bringing him in for a kiss, the human was struck with a thought.
If this were the spoils of battle, then maybe Casper could get very used to being a mercenary?
WolvensStories
Ko-Fi
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Just looking for thoughts and general critique. This has been a project I have been working on while I query lit agents with another manuscript. It isn't a genre I am overly familiar with so I wanted to know if I was hitting the right feeling. My worldbuilding has never been a concern but I tend to be less confident with some of my prose. I tend to be a bit wordy and overly descript so this was my attempt at pulling back on that.
Much appreciated!
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Chapter One:

The Profane Baroness

Being dead sounded nice right about now. Not a ‘world peace’ kind of nice but a ‘warm evening with nothing to do’ kind of nice. Raz didn’t necessarily want to die but she hadn’t slept in two days and was desperate for a break. She was overworked. Honestly, at the best of times she was just intolerably busy but the Church didn’t care if exorcists were well rested so long as their jobs were completed. Raz unfortunately had a greater sense of duty than self preservation, a pesky morality which interfered with her happiness more than she cared to admit. She hated it.
Right now, she hated her insomnia more but only because it was a larger concern. She could bemoan her commitment to doing good later. There were only so many annoyances one could spare focus for.
‘Prevalence is the guiding compass of animosity.’
An Alvidic scripture instinctually popped into Raz’s head. It was verse three of the first Sleeve of Anger, written by the Avatar of Wrath and his two apostles. The line was a personal favorite of hers. It always perfectly chimed in to justify her sour moods.
Another yawn began and Raz did her best to stifle it. She wasn’t used to being out this early. Mornings were weird.
The carriage she was in started to bump on freshly laden cobbles and Raz held on to the door handle for balance. Autumn air let the echo of wheels bounce between the high walls of nearby brick tenements. The streets were quiet and the din of a bustling community was all but missing.
Leather pulled taught and the horses sighed as the carriage came to a stop. The driver, understandably disheveled for the hour, opened the door for Raz despite her protests to him earlier in the day. He held out his hand but she refused the gesture and hopped onto the street.
“How many times must I tell you that I can get down just fine on my own?” She demanded.
The driver bowed. “Everytime, Madam Breaker. It is my pleasure and duty to insist otherwise.”
Raz smiled and rapped the man’s hat with a knuckle. “Very well. Until next time.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“No need. I have a few other appointments in the area after this one. I'll walk. You look tired, get some rest. And if anyone at the church wants to employ your time before you can get that rest you may tell them that I was the one who gave the order.”
The driver chuckled as he climbed back to his seat and tipped his hat. “As you wish, Madam Breaker.”
Raz turned from the carriage to face the Silent Sentinels standing guard outside a nearby apartment. Their silver spears glinted menacingly in the lamplights. She took a few steps forward and they moved to either side of the entrance, recognizing their own. Servants of Angels always had that same look of fatigue.
"Many thanks." She said as she gave the door a shove.
Once inside, Raz found herself toe to toe with half of the neighborhood’s constabulary. Whatever happened here had a considerable draw. Most officers waiting about were young recruits, all smiles and wide eyes moving back and forth from one foot to the other with a palpable energy. All heads turned to Raz as she stepped in, shining an uncomfortable spotlight her way.
She stood still, prey wandering into a wolf’s den.
A tall Officer close by broke the silence. “Sorry, ma’am. You aren’t allowed in the building at this time, police business. Sort of. Military business, actually. No one is allowed in or out.” He approached through the crowd with an ungainly strut. “The Sentinels should have barred your entry to begin with. Let me escort you back out and I will have a quick word with them.” He smiled while giving Raz a searching glance. “And if you are without escort I could keep you company until the matter here is resolved.”
“Not again.” A young man to his side joked.
“Save some for the rest of us, then.” Another quipped.
The Officer put his hand on Raz’s shoulder and her lip curled as his fingers dug in. He tried to guide her back to the doors but she didn’t budge. She held a stance strong as any stone.
Her words were succinct, “Remove your filthy hand from my robes or I will move it for you.”
The Officer stopped mid stride. He turned slowly, face twisting to disbelief.
The energy in the room suddenly shifted.
Smiles faded.
A hush pushed in a wave.
“You what?” He demanded.
Raz doubled down. “Remove your hand from me or I will snap every bone in it. All Twenty-seven. Then I will take your hat and feed you each corner until you learn some manners.”
Red crept up the Officers’s neck. His mouth closed with a snap, a sneer replacing his surprise.
Without giving him time to make a fool of himself, Raz parted her first cloak to the side. The gold insignia of the church glimmered just above her heart.
“Yes Ma’am! Right away, Ma’am!” The officer shouted as he jerked his hand away and took two steps back, head bowed, eyes to the floor. “Apologies, Ma’am!”
“Ah, now you get it. Took you longer than most. It seems Wisdom is chasing you but you are just too quick for it.” Raz said as she pointed to her robes. “The next time you see black and silver regalia I suggest you keep your mouth shut and move to the side.”
As if a beat had not been missed, the room had resumed its previous energy. Awe was suddenly in every mouth, every smile. A SpiritBreaker had come down from on high to spread her holy benevolence.
The officer wasted no time apologizing further. “Forgive my crook, Breaker. I meant no disrespect. If there is anything I can do to help all you need do is–”
“Just point to where I am needed.” Raz interrupted.
Without looking back up, he gestured a full hand to the back of the room where a staircase was hidden behind a circle of chatty Officers. Brown uniforms and black tri cornered hats parted like a canyon split by a river as she passed by. Their whispers rose as she walked, quick and giddy exchanges.
“First a Marshal and now a SpiritBreaker.”
“What an honor.”
“The wife won’t believe this.”
Raz had no smiles to offer their excitement. Their sentiments were kind if not misguided. She was nothing special. She had a job to do, same as them. There was no glamor to it.
Two floors up, a hallway bright with oil sconces led to a door where another young officer stood guard. He had taken his pocket square from out his coat and was using it to cover his face. He noticed Raz right away and tried to meet her halfway down the hall.
“Apologies, ma’am.” He said with a muffle. “This area is currently off limits–”
Raz flaunted her insignia once more. “Yes, I am aware.”
She tried to walk past but the officer kept ahead of her, walking backwards with an outstretched hand. “I have been told that a Breaker was coming but I still cannot permit you into the apartment before the okay is given. My superiors were very insistent, your holiness. Were it me, I would let you in without a fuss. I am a devout man. Please don’t tell the Angels of my disrespect.”
Raz sighed. “No disrespect given. You are merely doing your duty.” Her voice lost its power. “Can you at least let your superiors know that I am here and with a very busy schedule.”
The man gleefully nodded, happy to perform the task. He rushed back to the door and gave a brief pause to catch his breath but before he could turn the knob it swung outward. Four men shouldered out, trying to move the weight of a body twisted tightly in a black linen carrier. They shuffled gracelessly as the corpse in the sheets swayed, dripping a foul, brown liquid as it did. Their elbows banged from wall to wall and their boots squeaked on the wood. A herd of elk would have made less noise. To top it all off, another man was trailing behind them, laying out a line of handkerchiefs over the body’s droppings. He attempted to mop the remains with his foot while simultaneously trying not to look at it.
Despite the lumbering procession, each officer managed a quick bow as they passed the Breaker by.
“Forgive them.” A voice spoke from out the open doorway.
Raz turned to address the speaker and a tall man wearing the badges of a High Marshal smiled her way. His coiffed hair was thick and black, powdered to the popular style. It was tied in a neat tail that reached his shoulders. His navy and black trimmed uniform was clean and had a shine from complex copper embroidery. He stepped to Raz softly despite the heavy look of his riding boots.
“They are new recruits. Most of the Night Watch are, actually. They have to endure rights of passage to work normal hours. I am trying to wash away a bit of their green but tired men learn lessons slowly. Most of them were just about to retire for the morning before they received word of that body.” His voice was kind yet rigid with the iron of command. “Do not hold their lack of refinement against them, Breaker. I implore your forgiveness.”
“I know the hardships that come with surviving the tail of a long day.” Raz sympathized. “But you needn’t clear out the body on my account. I have performed exorcisms around them before. I can normally be counted upon to finish my task before the deceased get cold.”
“Your expertise is a gift, Breaker, but there were some sensitivities to this particular case that I am not in the position to divulge or let you see.”
“Is that why you still guard the door?”
“Precisely. I still have an officer clearing away some evidence.”
Raz waited for an introduction, raising her eyebrows and inclining her head.
The officer hid a yawn of his own while trying to kick one of the soiled handkerchiefs to the side. He quickly looked up with a sharp inhale, eyes a wide realization. “Oh goodness, how terrible of me! A thousand apologies, Breaker. My name is Denwater, Marshal Denwater, I am leading this investigation. It would honor me to know your acquaintance.”
“Speak easy.” Raz urged. “I hold no ill will against your breach of social protocol. I am no lady and spread no gossip.” She chuckled. “It looks as though you too have started your shift earlier than expected. I am no doubt sure you're a bit befuddled.” She bowed her head forward and a tangle of necklaces leaned with her. “My name is Razayel. If it pleases you, you may call me Raz, like ‘Rosaline.’”
“A pleasure, Raz.” Denwater responded with a deeper bow.
They both exchanged practiced smiles but there was no easy segway to conversation from where they arrived. It was too early for charming lilts.
The dread of smalltalk loomed.
Raz dug her nails into her palms.
Denwater cleared his throat and tried to straighten out his cravat. He squinted, searching for a common topic.
Raz looked at the apartment and rocked back and forth from heel to toe. She twiddled her thumbs behind her back. “So– Denwater is a peculiar surname for a human. Do you have a bit of Wen in your blood?”
“Well noticed. My Great Grandfather is Wen. A soldier. He fought in some of the last battles of emancipation.”
“Interesting.”
“Indeed.”
“Been a Marshal long?”
“A handful of years.”
“Oh good.”
“And have you been a SpiritBreaker long?”
Raz raised an eyebrow.
“Right. You have since birth. My apologies.”
Thankfully, a loud scream came from inside the apartment. The sound of broken wood and scattered furniture was met quickly by a few additional yelps.
A well set officer clutching a full burlap sack barreled out the door. He shouldered past Marshal Denwater and nearly tripped flat footed to the wood below. When he regained his balance he saw Raz and immediately scrambled to get behind her.
“Stars and Angels!” The man cursed. “O-oh thank the Gods you are here Breaker. A specter just tried to push a bookcase on me. I-I saw it. It looked at me with eyes deep as The Well. It held out its hand to me. It held out its hand as if to drag me down to the waters of oblivion.”
“Officer!” Denwater shouted. “Remember yourself!”
“Yes, sir! Sorry, Sir!” The man heaved breathlessly. He shot up rigid, straight backed with a salute across his chest. He then held up a hand to his head as a faint started to seize his body. The wall cradled him as he slumped against it. “My knees are butter. Ten years on the force and I have never had such a fright. Felt a chill enter my body. Heard a groan and there it was.”
Raz gave the man a searching look. “You saw a full body apparition?”
The man looked to the Marshal and Denwater gave an approving nod. “I don’t know about all that, your holiness, but it almost looked like a shadow had come to life and was trying to grab me. Before I knew it, books started to fall from the shelves and my training must've kicked in because I started running.”
Denwater put a hand to the man’s shoulder. “Go ahead and go home. Try to keep tight lipped to the others downstairs. Get some rest and I will debrief you tomorrow, understood?”
The man’s jowls shook as he nodded with a hurry and made a low bow before he walked with a quick step to the stairs.
“If this Spirit is capable of manifesting full body to normal folk then they must have been dead quite a long time.” Raz thought out loud. “Do you have any idea how many days have passed?”
Denwater’s lips went thin. “I am not at liberty to say.”
“What about the deceased? Can you tell me their name or which of the three faiths they held?”
“I cannot divulge that as well. This is a sensitive matter.”
Raz battered the Marshal with a weighty glare. “Well then, what can you tell me?”
Denwater straightened up. “I can tell you that I am quite excited to watch you work and help with our investigation if you can.”
“Help with the investigation? I am no detective. I perform exorcisms.”
“Yes. That is true. However, I am told that you have a remarkable skill with seeing the dead and right now that is a talent I am in need of.”
“That will explain why the church was so insistent that I needed to be the one to come to this appointment then.”
“I asked for you by reputation and told the Church to keep the news close to the stars. I hope you do not feel deceived in any way. Discretion is a necessity with these types of affairs. I hope you understand.”
“So not only is this Spirit hindering your investigation but you also hope to gleam some sort of insight to the victim’s final moments using my powers? Sounds like you have little information to help you solve a murder.”
The Marshal stayed his tongue.
“You don’t know anything about the victim, do you? It’s not that you are unable to tell me, it's because there is nothing to tell as of yet.”
“And you say you are no detective. Well done, Breaker.”
“Don’t try to lift my heart with kind words, Marshal Denwater. It won’t work.” Raz pointed to the door with an open hand. “Let's get this over with. I have a busy day.”
The Marshal turned on his heel with a smile and opened the way forward. “Hindering our investigation is an understatement. Evidence we take keeps disappearing only to show back up where we grabbed them from. The house creaks like someone is walking near you. I kept thinking I heard my men speak a few times but I looked up to see them across the room. Truth be told, I am not accustomed to this kind of phenomena. I wouldn’t say I fear it but it puts me at unease.”
Raz stepped inside and the sweet smell of decay assaulted the air. She disliked how much she enjoyed it. “That is how some of them feed. Nibbling on your emotions.”
“How charming.”
“Have you noticed your men feeling the same unease?”
“You saw for yourself.” Denwater said as he pointed to the books scattered on the ground. “Would it be a problem?”
“That depends. If the Spirit has lingered long enough or fed enough then there is a chance it has corrupted itself beyond a simple haunting to a Demonic incursion.”
“Wonderful.”
“That is why I am here. SpiritBreaker’s prevent as much from happening.”
Raz surveyed every corner of the sitting room. It was a large apartment for a Chalmish neighborhood. It had the loud modesty of a politician about it. Richly decorated curtains did their best to hold back part of the sun as it started to rise above the city walls. Expensive furniture, moved from their indented spaces, told the tale of repeated search attempts. Raz closed the entryway and noticed a small design scratched into the wood of the door frame. She bent down to get a better look as goosebumps prickled on her arms.
Symbols arranged into a diamond were etched into either side of the door near to the floor. They weren’t anything she recognized. It didn’t match any of the big three languages or their distant dialects. It wasn’t anything ancient or Angelic either but the more she looked at it the more she started to feel a chill. Her philology was unmatched at her parish so to see something alien was a peculiarity. To her surprise, Raz felt more fear than excitement.
“That is on all the doorways.” Denwater chimed in. “Looks like a filigree test to me. Likely to see which room would best fit the design.”
Raz continued to stare.
“Is it not?”
“I don’t know.” She said as she stood and took a step back to get a different perspective. “It looks like it has meaning but it is wholly unfamiliar to me.”
“Filigree. It is something you see in the houses of highborn folk. Not too uncommon.”
“I have been to many. My church has them as well. Those have repeating patterns to create a sprawling design but this looks different.” Her mouth was starting to dry up. “It looks like spellwork. But it isn't an Angelic script. Is it just on the one side?”
Denwater walked to a nearby door and opened it while Raz did the same for the entryway. The other side was untouched.
“Just the one side.” The Marshal informed.
The goosebumps came back. “It’s like a containment spell.”
The Marshal shivered. He could feel the same thing Raz was. “Beg your pardon, Breaker, but I think we should get back to the task at hand. There is much I must do with this investigation.” He gestured to a spot nearby.
Just off the sitting room was a dark, oval stain. Poorly cleaned residue still pockmarked the resting spot of the body. Raz walked over and bent down close to it.
“This is an advanced amount of putrefaction.” She remarked.
Marshal Denwater joined in. “Adipocere. You could see it falling from the body when it was hauled out. The victim was possibly dead for at least three weeks before we found them. We can ascertain that much at least.”
“I imagine that kind of decay is what made identifying the deceased a difficult task.”
“It would have, yes. However, that wasn’t why we couldn’t. I don’t think I would be out of line in telling you that this isn’t an ordinary case.”
Raz tried not to roll her eyes too hard. “You don’t say.”
“Decomposition is one thing but the victim was intentionally disfigured to ensure we didn’t find out their identity.”
“And that is why you need me?”
“That is why we need you.” Denwater agreed. “With your talents, you should be able to see the spirit of the victim as they were when they lived. Perhaps give us a positive identification.”
A small head poked from out the door Denwater opened. The wide eyes of a wary cat looked the two up and down.
The Marshal jolted with a spook.
Raz smiled and beckoned the cat closer with a few kisses.
“It was around when we got here. Not sure if it’s the victim’s.” Denwater explained as he tried to slow his breathing. “The window was open so it might have been a stray.”
“Not a stray.” Raz said as the cat made slow steps to her. “An animal’s instinct tells them to avoid a body that has forsaken rebirth. Only loyalty stays that fear. This little cutie was a pet, not a scavenger.”
“Your wisdom knows no bounds, Breaker.”
“It is just a simple fact.”
The cat had the brown, black, and white painted coat of a Calico. She stalked forward and pushed her cheek into Raz’s welcoming hand.
“Are all Breakers good with animals?”
“Cats have an affinity with me the same as Spirits.” Raz informed as she started to give small scratches to the chin. “They say that felines are guardians of The Well. They straddle the bridge between the waters of oblivion and mortal life which is why it is said that they have nine lives.”
The Calico’s purr had only just started before she hunkered down to the floor, pupils growing wide. Her back arched and raised the fur as she stared at something just behind them.
Raz stood up. “Seems like our ghost is trying to materialize again.”
Denwater shot up and put a hand to the hilt of his sword. “What should I do?”
“Nothing, until I tell you to. I know this is your crime scene, Marshal, but if you want to gain the insights you desire then you are going to follow my order without question.”
“I am at your disposal.”
“Good.” Raz reached into her top robe and pulled out a necklace. “Put this on. It won’t offer you any significant protection from attack but it should be enough. Until we know what kind of Spirit we are dealing with we will assume that it is hostile and means to harm us.”
“Harm us? Can it truly?”
Raz turned to look at the Marshal with a knowing glance.
“Don’t do this to me, Breaker. I have not encountered a Spirit before. I am feeling my courage dwindle with the minutes. Surely they can’t kill us. Those are just stories, right?”
“Some of the best tales are kerneled with truth.”
“Tell me you jest.” Denwater pleaded as he fumbled against the clasp of the necklace.
The Spirit had fed much on the man. Outside the room he was composed but it was all but lost when he reentered this space.
Raz shushed the man as she walked slowly to the other end of the living room where the books had been thrown from the shelf on the wall. A feeling like static started to charge the hairs on her neck. The air left a crisp wake as the room changed into something less amiable.
“In order to exorcize a Spirit.” Raz began. “We first must find out what faith it held when it passed. Until then it could either be a Human ghost, a Wen Burden, or a Chalm Geist. Human ghosts are easy because they are bound by the Passing Zodiac. If we know the time of death we can accurately determine its death traits and remove it with opposing scripture. Wen Elemental Burdens, on the other hand, are also simple to determine but much harder to get rid of.”
“And Chalm Geists?”
“We’ll cross that unruly bridge when we get there. Let us just hope it is one of the former.”
The Marshal and the cat cautiously followed behind Raz.
“Now. Why the books?” She thought out loud. “Why materialize after having them moved? Could be a possessive trait. That would help to narrow down our search.” Raz picked up a few of the books and tossed them back to the ground. She looked around, waiting for something to happen before she turned to the Marshal with a smile. “Denwater, could you do me a favor and fiddle about with the bookcase?”
“Aren’t you better equipped for such a thing?”
His voice was starting to strain. Just like any other animal, his body was starting to feel the effects of aberrant energy. His bones were tuning to the resonance of a haunting. Nothing compared to the aura of a site that was being stirred into a whip.
Raz took a few steps to the door and the cat kept by her feet. “Some spirits find Breakers familiar and won’t respond to their taunts. You, however, are just right to ruffle their feathers.”
“I want you to note that I am uncomfortable with this idea.”
“Noted.”
Denwater shook his head and bent down to pick up a few books and started to toss them one by one down to the floor. He kept looking over his shoulder. Something primal was taking over his brain. It felt something. His breaths were quicker. The slightest bend in his knees readied his body to sprint away.
It was the response Raz was looking for. Yes, some Spirits liked to avoid Breakers but that wasn’t the whole story. Some Spirits liked to stoke fear and feed off of it. Since being in the room, the Marshal had grown all the more nervous.
Skittish.
Only one spirit coveted possessions and consumed nervous energy close to this time of the year and all things considered, it could have been a much worse outcome.
Denwater picked up another book from the ground. A pair of gnarled feet stood next to it. As he rose, a body loomed near to him. Pallid flesh, barely covered in a dirty night robe, took in slow breaths it didn’t need. They held up a hand, long fingernails reaching for the Marshal.
“Don’t move.” Raz nearly whispered.
Denwater opened his eyes wide and looked up. He kept stiff, halfway to reaching down for a few more books to toss around.
Raz held out a hand to give something for him to focus on. They locked eyes and the Breaker could see the strength of his heart fleeing. Whatever tales he grew up on were suddenly behind him and his body could sense it. Fear was a natural reaction.
“So long as you stay still and don’t touch their things anymore, they will lose interest in you.” Raz tried to placate.
Growing wider still, Denwater’s eyes tried to spy his fate from the corner of his vision. He was a stone, unable to do anything but let his mind run away with dread.
“My Gods.” The Breaker gasped.
“W-what is it?”
“They are still disfigured. Even in death.”
Cuts, jagged and harsh like deep ravines scoured the face. There were no recognizable features. No rising cheek bones. No sunken sockets. Just the swollen tangle of flesh struggling to heal on a face abused and forsaken.
The Marshal braved a few words. “Is that abnormal? Have you never seen as much before?”
“No. Never. There is no way unless–” A sickly revelation rose. “Unless they were maimed long before they were murdered. Kept alive. Kept alive for weeks. Cut up. Tortured. Long enough until the depravity was the only thing the mind remembers. The Spirit recalls only the horror. It became them.”
“Race? Sex? Anything?”
“They aren’t Chalmish. The complexion could be either Human or Wen. The night gown is soaked in dried blood. It is concaved. Organs were taken. But the hips look wider. A woman. She is looking for a book now.”
Taking a clumsy step, the Spirit tried to look over the spines of books. It fumbled blind with a raised, crooked finger. It tried to feel for some kind of marking. It searched for some kind of familiarity.
Denwater took the chance to try and sneak away. He managed one silent tip toe but his energy pulled at the Spirit like a sprung trap. It immediately turned and raised a hand, opening its mouth wide. Scarred tissue stretched and tore. Broken teeth caked in dried blood yelled in a quiet fury. The Marshal had a wisp of transient vapor rise from the back of his head and wrap around the Spirit’s outstretched finger. He fell to the ground, sapped of power.
“Stop!” Razayel yelled as she held out a charm carved from dark wood.
The Spirit did not respond. The sound of its feasting was like air rushing through a winding cavern. The Marshal was losing consciousness. His life was being stolen.
Raz inspected the charm. “Odd. That usually works.” She lowered her arm. “If you weren’t currently glutting on my ally then I would happily remove you with scripture. But that takes time. Something we both don’t have. How unfortunate. I would have really liked to avoid doing this so early in my day.”
Raz took out a matching necklace to the one she gave the Marshal and dangled the fine, golden symbol with a tight grip. The silver chain began to radiate a dull glow. Similarly, the one around Denwater’s neck did the same.
“Sorry to do this to you, Marshal.” Raz said as she took a deep breath. “By the light of the stars and the Gods from which they shine, I, Razayel, mark you a heretic.”
The Spirit raised its head. Gritted teeth sneered. A low tone groaned in the air as a gurgle popped and bubbled deep in its throat. Feeling the snaring spell start to wrap around it, the Spirit spun quickly to agitation. It tried to charge at the Breaker.
“Scourge of the New Spring month, The Profane Baroness, I name you!” Raz shouted as the silver chain in her hand grew hot and began to sizzle her skin. The Spirit froze in place, midway to attack. “Angels of the Devoted Rivers guide my hand. Release your bargain and return to the cycle.”
The Spirit twitched.
“Release your bargain and return to the cycle!”
The calico clawed at the air between Raz’s legs. Her hisses echoed the prayer.
“Release your bargain and return to the cycle!”
The ghost’s tendons started to snap and pull back. A force, mighty as it was swift, struck out against the wild flails of the derelict soul.
“Release your bargain and return to the cycle!”
The Marshal’s neck began to burn. Skin started to smoke.
The ghost’s gurgles were rounded with pain. Its joints bent backwards as it tried to fight back against the power Raz commanded. It flailed, finally succumbing, falling to its knees. The broken body begged for release, forced into prostration.
The Spirit looked up with malice. “No!” It shouted while fighting back. It managed to stand again. The edges of its mouth tore as it tried to widen the hole to speak again. “You will not damn me, Breaker. I will not go back to the Well. I can not.”
Raz focused the core of her body into the necklace in her hand. The chain was starting to glow red. Her flesh cried out with a terrible, searing pain. Despite her efforts, the spirit did not go back to heel. In fact, it was able to raise an arm and shoved it between a few of the books left on the shelf.
Something was there. Raz could see it now. There were more sigils scratched into the wood behind the case. A hidden fuse, a trigger used to start the complex of a spell.
A freeze shot up Raz’s legs and into the back of her eyes. She exhaled a gout of frost and tried to squirm away from the effects but couldn’t. She was stunned. Stuck in place. Just as the Spirit was being held by a snare trap, so too was the Breaker.
In all her long years, Razayel had never felt anything like this. Spirits couldn’t work spells. Only Angels could.
“I will not go back.” The Profane Baroness declared once more. “I will run. I can outrun what is coming.”
The Spirit took its free hand and shoved it down its throat. Skin split and the jaw cracked out of place. Noise like a falling tree crashed as the Spirit pulled out a small gray sphere. It wretched a gout of scorched, jet liquid as it did. It stared at the Breaker between the mounds of scarred flesh of its face and threw the pearl to the ground. A wispy, gray mass slithered out afterwards and moved around the floor with a puff. It snaked across the wood and right to the cat between her legs. The mist rushed up its nose.
The Calico went limp before shaking violently on the floor. It wailed and hissed. The Spirit dissipated in an instant like it had never been at all. As soon as it was gone Raz regained control of herself.
Scrambling, the Breaker dropped her holy symbol and bent down to grab the cat but it suddenly snapped into action, scampering across the room. It howled as it ran into furniture at a full clip, smashing its new body against everything in its way. Raz had started to shake the cold away before the cat lept out the open window.
Razayel, wide eyed, hand throbbing with a shallow burn, looked to the window, to the unconscious Marshal, back to the window, and finally at the stain left by the corpse.
“Well that's never happened before.”
​
“The Living Zodiac is the breath from which an Angel sings.
The Passing Zodiac is the breath from which The Well deceives.
Peace comes with the cycle. Rebirth is as holy as the passing of stars.”

• The First Scroll of Stars 22:1

Thank you to u/mehakarin69 for the following additions:

• Killer Sans as a separate character
• Axetale Sans + Aliza (as well as their skins.)
• Last Genocide Sans as a separate character from Dusttale Sans
• Dust Sans' new base design
• The Fanon Sans taunt
• Dustbelief Papyrus as his own character
• Most of the new stages
• The Axetale Flowey skin
• The Othertale characters
• Underfell Chara
• Changes to the plot
• Lore clarifications

​
Characters

• Undertale:
  • Frisk
    • Base design: Whatever skin color looks closest to the game sprite. Closed eyes with really thick eyelashes. Short, brown, slightly messy hair. Black/Navy Blue shorts. Black socks. They have the manly bandana wrapped around their forehead, a bandage on their cheek, the tough glove, ballet shoes, and the heart locket. In addition to using the bandana in their attack animations as a mid-range attack, they also use the stick and throw their various consumable items.
    • Classic (Changes their model to an exact translation of their sprite to a 3d model. Expression is completely unchanging, with three rectangles representing eyes, nose, and mouth. Boots go all the way up the legs. No visible separation between pants and sweater.)
    • Lightner (Hypothetical Lightner Frisk design.)
    • Tenacity (Red scarf and blue jacket over their normal clothes. Gives Frisk a new intro and outro animation.)
    • Overtale (Goat Frisk.)
    • Overtale Nuvex version (Tanuki Frisk.)
    • Shifty (They have Mettaton’s haircut)
    • Prince (Underkeep boy version.)
    • Princess (Underkeep girl version.)
    • Zombie [Obtainable during Halloween event] (Green skin, tattered clothes, and eyeball hanging out of one socket.)
  • Chara
    • Base design: Chara’s design is a pretty faithful recreation, though they also have the locket around their neck.
    • Ghost (Transparent with a red filter and glow.)
    • Scary face (Completely black eyes and distorted smile that drips black fluid.)
    • Lightner (Hypothetical Lightner Chara design.)
    • Overtale (Goat Chara)
    • Underfell (Black overalls with a red heart on the front pouch.)
    • Prince (Underkeep boy version.)
    • Princess (Underkeep girl version.)
    • Vampire [Obtainable during Halloween event.] (Pale skin, fangs, black cape with red interior, dark green button-down suit, long black dress skirt.)
    • Dark Elf [Obtainable during Christmas event.] (Dark green cape and hood with yellow highlights, pointy ears, dark green light armor.)
  • Toriel
    • Teacher (Toriel in the teacher outfit she wears in the Pacifist ending and in Deltarune.)
    • Underswap (Crown and cape.)
    • Story Shift (Armor she wears in the Story Shift AU)
    • Overtale (Human Toriel)
    • Monarch (Underkeep dress)
  • Sans
    • No Jacket (Self-explanatory.)
    • White Slippers (Self-explanatory.)
    • Yellow Eye (His eye will turn yellow instead of blue in his attack animations.)
    • Overtale (Human Sans.)
    • Story Shift (King Attire from Story Shift AU)
    • Fancy Bones (Underkeep Sans outfit.)
    • Fanon (Sans wearing a white wig. Includes a special taunt where he pulls a blue glowstick out of his shorts.)
  • Papyrus
    • Cool Dude (Wearing his cool dude outfit.)
    • Scarf (Long, red scarf instead of a cape)
    • Jogboy suit (The clothes he wore in the Alphys date scene.)
    • Story Shift (Caretaker of the ruins outfit from Story Shift AU.)
    • Sir Papyrus (Underkeep Papyrus outfit.)
    • Santa Papyrus [Obtainable during Christmas event.] (Papyrus wears a Santa outfit and fake beard. His projectile attacks are now presents instead of bones, and he says “NYOHOHO!” instead of “NYEHEHE!”)
  • Undyne
    • Armor (Wearing her Royal Guard Armor)
    • Date Clothes (Dressed in the suit she wore during the Alphys Date Scene.)
    • Deltarune (Cop with no eyepatch.)
    • Overtale (Human Undyne)
    • Baroness (Underkeep dress.)
    • Android [Beat Story Shift Undyne in campaign] (Undyne’s Story Shift design.)
    • Creature from the Black Lagoon [Obtainable during Halloween event.] (Gillman face, fins on arms, large hands, webbed fingers, digitigrade feet, webbed toes.)
  • Alphys
    • Date dress (Dress she wears during the date.)
    • Teacher (Clothes she wears in Deltarune.)
    • Overtale (Human Alphys)
    • Lotus (Underkeep dress.)
    • Ghost Costume [Obtainable during Halloween event.] (Sheet over her with eye holes.)
  • Mettaton
    • News Anchor (Standard-looking news reporter clothes.)
    • Queen (Dressed similarly to Queen from Deltarune.)
    • One True Love (The dress he wears in his song “Oh! One True Love”)
    • Gothaton (Gothic clothing on Mettaton)
    • Overtale (Human Mettaton)
    • King Mettaton (Underkeep suit.)
    • Love Letter [Obtainable during Valentine's event.] (Red where black normally is, heart buckles on his shoes, heart-shaped halo, angel hair wings when in Neo mode, slightly pink hue to the grey parts, lighter pink on pink parts.)
  • Muffet
    • Buffet (Buffet is a blonde baker spider who appears in the fan comic “Cafe Frisk.”)
    • Underswap (Wearing her attire from Underswap.)
    • Royal Baker (Underkeep dress.)
  • Asgore
    • Mr.Dad Guy (Wearing Mr.Dad Guy sweater.)
    • Gardener (Wearing his clothes from the Pacifist route ending and Deltarune.)
    • Caretaker Asgore (Based on his outfit from Underswap)
    • Dr.Asgore (Based on his outfit from Story Shift)
    • Great Knight (Underkeep armor.)
  • Flowey
    • Starbucks Employee (Based on a Shenanigoons joke, which I felt should be there given how this idea came to be.)
    • Cyclops (Flowey in Horrortale.)
    • Boogie (Flowey in Story Shift.)
    • Wilted (Flowey in Underfell.)
    • Void (Gaster Flowey from Fatal Error.)
    • Robot (Flowey in Understeam.)
    • Infected (Flowey in Axetale.)
  • Asriel [Complete Story Mode]
    • Throwback (Normal clothes in God of Hyperdeath form.)
    • Boyband Asriel (Based off a piece of Concept Art of Asriel with boyband hair.)
    • Gardener (Clothes from his Mafiatale design.)
  • Genocide Frisk [Beat them in campaign]
    • Base design: Similar to normal Frisk, but with dust covering their hands, cheek, and sweater. They also have different accessories equipped. They use the real knife and empty gun in battle animations, and they wear the stained apron and the cowboy hat.
    • Classic (Same as Frisk’s Classic skin but with dust on their cheeks, hands, and sweater.)
    • fAnOn Vs CaNoN (Pink cheeks and open, red eyes.)
    • Happy Halloween [obtainable during Halloween event] (They now wear a Michael Myers costume.)
  • W.D. Gaster [Complete Story Mode on Nightmare mode.]
    • {REDACTED} (The Redacted sprite.)
    • Retsag Gnid Gniw (Upside down Gaster sprite fully realized.)
    • Everyman (The Everyman sprite from one of the Amalgamate battles.)
    • Memory Heads (Cluster of memory heads.)
  • Temmie Armor [Unlock every Frisk in the game]
    • Design: An Ironman-style suit of armor covered in Temmie's face and painted with the color scheme of Temmie’s sweater.
  • Burgerpants [$10,000,000.00 DLC (or 110% completion reward. One of the two.)]
    • Underworld (He looks the same except has a bruise on his arm which he got from bumping into a doorframe.)
    • TS!Underswap (Grillby’s branded delivery boy outfit.)
    • Burger-ley (Outfit swap with Berdly.)
  • Toby Fox [Get the Annoying Dog easter egg with every Undertale character including Burgerpants.] {WARNING: This character is insanely unfair to fight against. Use only if you do not value friendship or the structural integrity of your jaw and nose.}
• Deltarune
  • Kris [100% Completion reward]
    • Civilian (Non-Lightner form. Uses a giant pencil instead of a sword.)
    • Classic (Change skin color to match their sprite.)
    • The 13th [Avalable during Halloween event.] (Kris wearing a Jason Vorhees Costume.)
  • Susie [100% Completion reward]
    • Civilian (Non-Lightner form. Still has her axe.)
    • Punk (Black leather jacket with white undershirt and spiked wristbands.)
    • Evil Queen (Dressed like Bowsette.)
    • Containment Breach [Available during Halloween event.] (Torn-up clothes, green scales, sharp, bloody teeth, bone spikes jutting out of her back, and black hair going down to the tip of her tail.)
  • Ralsei [100% Completion reward]
    • Ralsei Dreemurr (Ralsei in Asriel’s clothes.)
  • Lancer [100% Completion reward]
    • Prince of Mischief (Bowser Jr. Scarf.)
  • Jevil [100% Completion reward]
    • Digital Circus (Swapped color palette with Pomni from The Amazing Digital Circus.)
  • Noelle [100% Completion reward]
    • Civilian (Non-Lightner form.)
    • Noelle the Red-Nosed Reindeer [Available during Christmas event.] (Gingerbread pattern dress and red, glowing nose.)
  • Berdly [100% completion reward]
    • Civilian (Non-Lightner form.)
    • Right out of High School (Outfit swap with Burgerpants.)
  • Queen [100% completion reward]
    • Metta-Queen (Outfit swap with Mettaton.)
  • Spamton [100% completion reward]
    • [BIGGEST] shot (Sparkling golden suit with dollar sign sunglasses and wads of cash jutting out of his pockets. Money particle effects appear whenever he moves, and one of his special moves is replaced with him dropping a palette of money on you.)
    • You Can (Not) [GET A REFUND] (Outfit based on Asuna’s plug suit from Evangelion.)
• Underswap
  • Sans [Beat him in campaign]
    • Rad Dude (Underswap version of the cool dude outfit.)
    • Christmas sweater [Obtainable during Christmas event.] (The sweater he wears in the Christmas Party comic.)
  • Papyrus [Beat him in campaign]
    • “THAT’S MY ATTACK!” (Change the orange parts of his design to blue.)
  • Chara [Beat them in campaign]
  • Frisk [Beat them in campaign]
    • Creepy (Frisk’s eyes and mouth are sewn shut.)
    • A true nightmare [Obtainable during Halloween event.] (Wearing a Freddy Kreuger costume.)
  • Napstabot [Win 10 battles as Mettaton]
    • T.S. Underswap (Napstabot in T.S. Underswap.)
• Underfell
  • Frisk [Beat them in campaign]
    • Flowerfell [Die to every Papyrus as Underfell Frisk] (Flowerfell Frisk’s design instead of Underfell Frisk’s. Similar moves, but their voice lines are different and their finisher cards are major scenes from Flowerfell.)
    • Collar (Red turtleneck and spiked collar around their neck with a gold chain hanging off of it.)
    • Blue and Pink (Sweater with pink, blue, and black stripes.)
  • Sans [Beat him in campaign]
    • Flowerfell [Die to every Papyrus as Underfell Frisk] (Flowerfell Sans’ design instead of Underfell Sans’. Same changes as Flowerfell Frisk.)
    • No Jacket (Self Explanatory.)
  • Papyrus [Beat him in campaign.]
    • Scarf (Wearing a scarf instead of a cape.)
    • Bad Dude (Underfell date attire.)
  • Toriel [Beat her in campaign.]
  • Underfell Asgore [Beat him in campaign.]
    • Casual (Underfell version of the pacifist ending clothes.)
  • Chara [Beat them in campaign.]
• Horrortale:
  • Aliza [Win the Betty boss fight on Insanity mode.]
    • Monster Disguise (Her disguise she wears in the comic.)
    • Horrortale Frisk? [Obtainable during Halloween event] (Aliza dressed as Frisk.)
    • Cannibal (Bloody teeth and bulging, bloodshot eyes.)
  • Sans [Beat him in campaign.]
    • Pink Jacket (Another tribute to Lythero.)
  • Papyrus [Beat him in campaign.]
  • Undyne [Beat her in campaign.]
    • Before the fall (Undyne from the intro of the Horrortale fangame, with a normal-looking eyepatch and crown, and splatters of blood across her face.)
  • Toriel [Beat her in campaign.]
• Glitchtale:
  • Chara [Beat him in campaign.]
    • Season 1 (The season 1 design.)
    • Total Hatred (Completely black with red eyes and mouth.)
    • Frisk [Beat him in campaign.] (Swap Chara for Frisk.)
  • Betty [Beat her in campaign.]
    • Amber [Beat campaign using only Betty] (Betty in her original form)
    • Hatred (Completely black with pink eyes and mouth.)
  • Sans [Beat him in campaign.]
    • Fear (Two pink eyes instead of two blue eyes.)
  • Jessica [50% completion reward.]
    • Original (Jessica’s first outfit design before the updated design.)
    • Hatred (Black eyes with blue pupils and black fluid leaking from eyes and mouth.)
    • Overtale (Skeleton Jessica.)
  • Gaster [Beat the first Error Sans boss fight.]
    • Void (Gaster’s form in the void.)
    • Original (Gaster’s season 1 design.)
• Story Shift
  • Chara [Beat them in campaign.]
    • Facing Demons (SS!Chara wearing SS!Asriel’s scarf.)
    • Reboot (Reboot Story Shift Chara design.)
    • FellShift (FellShift Chara design.)
    • Mask (Wearing a black mask with eyes and a mouth drawn on in red marker.)
    • Swap (SwapShift Frisk instead of Story Shift Chara)
    • Sweetheart [Obtainable during Valentine’s day event.] (Pink hoodie with cat ears and tail, and chocolate heart constantly in their mouth. No mouth animations.)
  • Asriel [Beat him in campaign.]
    • Classic (Wearing Undertale Asriel’s clothes.)
  • Mettacrit [Beat him in campaign.]
• Littletale
  • Littletale Frisk [Beat campaign on Unlooseable mode.]
    • Worker Elf [Obtainable during Christmas event] (Wearing a green elf costume.)
  • Littletale Sans [Beat campaign on Unlooseable mode.]
    • Elf on the Shelf [Obtainable during Christmas event] (Wearing a red elf costume.)
• Outertale
  • Frisk [Beat them in campaign.]
  • Papyrus [Beat him in campaign.]
  • Alphys [Beat her in campaign.]
  • Mettaton [Beat him in campaign.]
• Echotale
  • G!Sans [Beat twisted campaign.]
  • Echo!Frisk [Beat twisted campaign.]

(Note: Twisted campaign is an alternate version of the campaign mode with new battles and a second story that takes place alongside the main campaign. It’s also way harder. Sounds complicated, but there’s not a chance this game is ever getting made anyway, so it’s fine.)

• Underworld
  • Frisk [Beat twisted campaign.]
  • Sans [Beat him in twisted campaign.]
  • Alphys [Beat her in twisted campaign.]
  • Undyne [Beat her in twisted campaign.]
  • Muffet [Beat her in twisted campaign.]
  • Toriel [Beat her in twisted campaign.]
  • Asgore [Beat him in twisted campaign.]
• Katanatale
  • Frisk [Beat them in campaign.]
  • Sans [Beat him in campaign.]
  • Undyne [Beat her in campaign.]
    • Samurai (Dressed in samurai armor and a samurai mask.)
    • Frenzy (Dressed like Guts from Berserk.)
    • Armored Frenzy (Dressed in the Berserker armor.)
  • Gaster [Beat the twisted campaign tutorial.]
• Othertale
  • Undyne (Beat her in twisted campaign.)
  • Color Sans (Beat twisted campaign on hard.)
  • Natacarat Jester (Beat twisted campaign on insanity mode.)
• Outworlders
  • Error Sans [Beat campaign mode on Insanity difficulty.]
    • No Jacket (Self-explanatory)
    • Half-Error (halfway between Error and Geno.)
  • Geno Sans [Beat him in campaign mode.]
  • Fatal Error [Beat the true final boss (Insanity and up only).]
  • Dream Sans [Beat the Nightmare battle in campaign.]
    • Dream Papyrus (Based on a joke I sometimes make that Dream should have been a Papyrus. Replaces the model with a version of Papyrus that looks similar to Dream.)
    • The Mask (Wearing a Dream Minecraft costume.)
  • Nightmare Sans [Beat him in Dream’s campaign.]
    • Red (Dark red instead of dark green.)
  • Fresh [Beat campaign mode on Insanity difficulty]
  • Punk Frisk [Appears as the final boss of Fresh’s campaign. Beat them to unlock them.]
    • Base Design: African American with a ponytail that they dyed orange, wearing “YOLO” sunglasses like Fresh. They wear a sleeveless denim jacket, and underneath that jacket, they have a light pink shirt with an evil clown face emblazoned on it in black. They have a friendship bracelet on their left wrist, plaid tights, a denim short skirt covered in buttons, and long, black combat boots with yellow laces. They also have black lipstick, a nose piercing, earrings, and a gold canine. They go by He/She/They, so to any artists reading this who may be interested in drawing this edgy nightmare of a character, go with whatever gender you prefer.
  • Ink Sans [Beat campaign mode on Insanity difficulty.]
    • Star Sketcher (Based on one of Ink Sans’ alternate outfits)
    • Clean Brush (Based on one of Ink Sans’ alternate outfits)
  • Blueberror [Beat campaign mode on Destroy all Monsters difficulty.]
  • Core Frisk [Beat campaign mode on Destroy all Monsters difficulty.]
  • Paperjam [Beat twisted campaign on Destroy all Monsters difficulty.]
• Misc.
  • Disbelief Papyrus [Beat him in campaign.]
    • Pumpkin King [Obtainable during Halloween event.] (Disbelief Papyrus dresses as Jack Skellington.)
  • Dustbelief Papyrus [Beat him in twisted campaign.]
  • Dust Sans [Beat him in campaign.]
    • Base Design: Purple jacket with gray slippers.
    • Battle Damaged (Torn clothes and cracked skull)
    • Something old (Blue jacket and pink slippers)
    • Something new-ish (Blue jacket and gray slippers)
  • Killer Sans [Beat him in campaign.]
    • Zero Humans (Goku Black costume)
  • Last Genocide [Beat him in campaign.] (Finisher is Last Genocide phase 4.)
    • STAND PROUD (Dressed in Jotaro Kujo cosplay. Spirit Papyrus is dressed like Star Platinum.)
  • Last Breath Sans [Beat campaign on Insanity mode using only different versions of Sans.]
  • Reaper Sans [Enter the Konami code during the Error Sans fight and then beat the hardest battle in the game.]
  • X-Sans [Beat him in campaign.]
    • X-Chara (Swaps Sans for Chara and changes some attack animations.)
  • Sixbones [Beat them in twisted campaign.]
  • StorySwap Chara [Beat Sixbones on insanity mode.]
  • Seraphim [Beat him in Error Sans’ campaign on Destroy all Monsters difficulty.]
  • Axe Sans and Aliza [Beat them in twisted campaign.]
    • Beaten Down (Sans and Aliza’s outfits are damaged, and Aliza’s eye is covered with bandages.)
    • Axesanity (Sans is even more damaged than in the Beaten Down skin, and Aliza’s hood is popped and covered in dust. Aliza’s Red Butterfly attack is replaced with a Black Butterfly.)
    • Wedding Bells [Obtainable during valentine’s event.] (Sans in a suit and Aliza in priest garb. Aliza’s Red Butterfly attack is outlined with Axe Frisk’s spirit.)
  • Red [75% completion reward]
  • Papyrus.exe
  • Deigamer & Chara [Beat twisted campaign on Destroy all Monsters difficulty.]

Stages

• Undertale
  • Ruins
  • Snowdin
  • Waterfall
  • Hotland
  • The Core
  • Judgement hall
  • Throne Room
  • The Barrier
  • Mt. Ebott
• Undertale Yellow
  • Steamworks
  • Dunes
• Horrortale
  • Withered Ruins
  • Grillby’s
  • The Capital
  • Red Snowdin
• Misc
  • Schizophrenia (Dust Sans’ mind)
  • The Void
  • Omega timeline
  • Xtale

Feel free to suggest whatever characters or costumes you want to see added to this roster. My only rule for suggestions is I’m not allowing anything from Alphatale or Godverse.
Next time I post about this game concept, I will be going into detail on the controls and mechanics of the game.

Why?
I planned for lowering springs, but a mechanic friend recommended coilovers because it is inevitable.
After much research, I wasn’t convinced that more expensive coilovers were worth it for my use case. BC Racing BR seems to be the best entry level coilover that is good enough—like a WRX lol.
Specs
8k Front, 8k Rear. Whiteline LCAs (eccentric bolt version)
Install
This was my first ever suspension mod. Installation took about 6 hours and adjusting ride height took another 4 hours over a few days. I was having a difficult time getting the height adjustments dialed in. Also, I initially torqued the LCA bolts when the car was on jack stands, so I had to retorque under load. I’m lowered about 1.5” on stock tires and 18x8.5 +45 wheels.
Ride quality and Damping
This is the first time I’ve been in a car with coilovers. NVH has increased. I heafeel the road and exhaust more. There is a noticeable difference in the harshness of the ride. It doesn't matter what the damping is; you will be reminded the stock struts are bye-bye. Do I regret the coilovers? No way! The benefits of being lower and stiffer outweigh the cons.
I started at 15 clicks front and rear. I would occasionally bottom out over big speed bumps and going up my steep driveway lip. Also, the car felt like a boat at highway speeds. I am now at 21 clicks front and 20 rear, which is a good balance for me. I can tell the difference between two clicks—very surprised by that.
Alignment
I asked for OEM specs. The shop gave me more rear camber than I’ve seen here but it’s still within spec.
Front camber: -0.7 -0.8
Front toe: -0.01 -0.01
Rear camber: -2.1 -2.2
Rear toe: 0.17 0.17
Thrust angle: 0
Final Thoughts
I have no regrets getting these coilovers. More expensive models may provide better comfort but there's a lot of variables to consider. If I could do it over, I would get LCAs with rod ends. The eccentric bolts work fine, but they look like they could slip.