So I wrote my own horror story in my own language problem is I translated it to English and it’s an incoherent mess here it is In the dimly lit tunnels of the underground bunker, the sound of muffled moans echoed off the cold concrete walls. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and blood, and a sense of dread hung heavy in the air. In one of the dark corners of the bunker, a group of men gathered around a twisted figure, bound and gagged on the floor. His eyes were wide with fear, and his body trembled with each sickening blow that was inflicted upon him. "Please, stop," he begged, tears streaming down his face. But the men surrounding him only laughed, their eyes wild with lust and cruelty. One of them stepped forward, his cock already hard and dripping with pre-cum. He grabbed the man's head and forced it down onto his shaft, thrusting deep into his throat. The man gagged and choked, but the man didn't care. He just kept fucking his face, relishing in the feeling of power and control. As the man was subjected to this brutal assault, the other men began to undress, exposing their hard cocks and eager balls. They took turns violating the man's body, shoving their cocks into every hole and orifice they could find. They spit and piss on him, degrading him in every way possible. But it didn't stop there. The men became more and more sadistic, mutilating the man's body in unimaginable ways. They cut and tore at his flesh, leaving deep, bloody wounds that would never heal. They shoved objects inside him, ripping and tearing at his insides. They burned and electrocuted him, leaving him in a state of constant agony. As the man lay there, broken and battered, the men stood over him, their cocks still hard and ready for more. They laughed and jeered, reveling in the sickening display of depravity they had just created. But the man's spirit was not broken. Despite the pain and suffering, he still fought, still struggled to survive. And as the men continued to violate him, he knew that he would never give up. He would never let them win. And so, the gruesome scene continued, the man's body reduced to a mere plaything for the sick and twisted minds of the men around him. But through it all, he held on, determined to survive, no matter what horrors he had to endure. In the end, the man was left a shell of his former self, his body mutilated and broken beyond repair. But even in his darkest moments, he held on to the hope that one day, he would be free from the sick and twisted world he was forced to live in. And as the men left him, lying in a pool of his own blood and filth, he knew that he would never forget the horrors he had endured. But he also knew that he would never give up, no matter what. Sahar was a fighter, and he would always be a fighter. Even in the darkest corners of the flesh garden, Sahar would never lose hope.
Sahar lay there, his body a mangled mess of cuts, bruises, and burns. He was barely conscious, but he could still hear the sickening sounds of his captors laughing and jeering as they violated his broken body. But then, something changed. The men around him suddenly fell silent, and Sahar could hear the sound of footsteps approaching. He tried to open his eyes, but they were too swollen and crusted with blood to see anything. But then, a voice spoke. It was deep and rough, with a hint of a foreign accent. "Enough," the voice said. "These men have suffered enough. It is time for them to be free." Sahar felt a hand on his shoulder, gently lifting him up. He groaned in pain, but the hand didn't let go. It guided him through the darkness, towards the sound of the voice. As they emerged from the shadows, Sahar could see a group of men standing before him. They were all battered and bruised, just like him, but they had a look of determination in their eyes. "We are the rebels," the leader of the group said. "And we are here to save you." Sahar couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had given up hope, but now, it seemed like there was a chance for him to escape this nightmare. The rebels quickly went to work, freeing Sahar and the other men from their bonds. They tended to their wounds, doing their best to ease their pain. But then, something unexpected happened. One of the rebels, a man named Kaden, approached one of the captor's bodies. He was still aroused, and he couldn't resist the temptation of the corpse. He began to violate the body, fucking it with a savage intensity. The other rebels watched in disgust, but Kaden didn't care. He was consumed by his lust, and he wasn't going to stop until he was satisfied. Sahar and the other rebels were repulsed by Kaden's actions, but they knew that they had to focus on their escape. They gathered their weapons and supplies, and prepared to make their way to the surface. As they emerged from the bunker, they were met with a world that was unrecognizable. The streets were filled with the sounds of gunfire and explosions, and the air was thick with smoke and the smell of death. But despite the chaos, the rebels pressed on. They fought their way through the streets, taking out any enemies that stood in their way. And in the end, they emerged victorious. They had escaped the bunker, and they had taken their revenge on their captors. But as they stood there, looking out at the ruined world around them, they knew that their fight was far from over. They would have to survive in this new, brutal world, and they would have to do whatever it took to stay alive. And so, they marched on, determined to make it in this new, fucked up world. They were the rebels, and they would never give up.
Sahar and the rebels had been on the run for weeks, desperate to find a safe haven in the post-apocalyptic wasteland. They had heard rumors of an abandoned research facility, one that was said to be producing something called "flesh gardens." Despite the warnings of other survivors, the rebels decided to investigate the facility. They were desperate for supplies, and they were willing to take the risk. As they approached the facility, they could hear the sound of strange, otherworldly creatures. They were unlike anything they had ever seen before, their bodies twisted and fused with plant matter. The rebels fought bravely, but they were no match for the creatures. They were torn apart, their bodies mutilated and violated in unspeakable ways. Sahar was captured by the creatures, and taken deep into the heart of the facility. There, he was subjected to horrific experiments, his body slowly transformed into a grotesque fusion of plant and flesh. The creatures took pleasure in torturing Sahar, violating him in every way imaginable. They cut and mutilated his genitals, leaving him in a state of constant agony. As the days passed, Sahar's body became more and more monstrous. He was no longer human, but a twisted hybrid of plant and flesh. Tentacles sprouted from his body, writhing and pulsing with a life of their own. The rebels eventually managed to escape the facility, but they left Sahar behind. They couldn't bear to watch as he was subjected to further torture and mutilation. Sahar was left to die, alone and in agony. His body was a twisted, monstrous abomination, a testament to the horrors that had been inflicted upon him.
The plant-men wasted no time in subjecting Sahar to their sick and twisted desires. They bound him with vines and roots, immobilizing him as they went to work on his body. With sharp thorns and saw-like leaves, they sliced and diced at his flesh, carving intricate patterns into his skin. They ripped and tore at his genitals, leaving him in a state of constant agony. They whipped him with vines, leaving deep welts and bruises on his skin. They electrocuted him with electric eels, sending jolts of pain coursing through his body. But the worst was yet to come. They inserted tentacles into every orifice of his body, violating him in the most unspeakable ways. They fucked him with their tentacles, leaving him raw and bleeding. As the days passed, Sahar's body became more and more monstrous. The mutated plants fused with his flesh, creating a grotesque hybrid of man and plant. His genitals were mutilated beyond recognition, his body a twisted mass of tentacles and plant matter. The rebels, meanwhile, had become obsessed with finding Sahar. They had heard rumors of his capture, and they couldn't rest until they had rescued him. They searched the wasteland for weeks, following every lead and clue. They fought off bandits and raiders, determined to reach their goal. Finally, they located Sahar's whereabouts. But they found themselves confronted by an army of flesh-plant hybrids, guarding his chamber. A brutal battle ensued as both sides fought for control over Sahar's body. The rebels used every weapon and tactic at their disposal, but the flesh-plant hybrids were relentless. In the end, the rebels emerged victorious. But they were horrified by what they saw. Sahar's body was a twisted and mutilated mess, his genitals barely recognizable. But it was too late. Sahar's body had become an incubator for countless more mutated creatures. They were waiting to be born into this twisted new world order, ruled by unnatural desires fueled by sexual violence against humans turned into living organ farms.
The content is accurate but I want to fix my grammar so it sounds good.

It’s a beautiful summer day, warm but not overbearingly hot nor humid, and you figure it’s a good time to take care of the grass. You get out the lawnmower, rev it up, and go along slowly cutting swathes through the overgrown green… then suddenly the stupid fucking machine breaks down. You stop for a moment, contemplate kicking it, and attempt to restart. Through some small miracle the mower does return to function…for all of three minutes. Then it sputters out a mechanical wheeze, leaving not only the job half-done but also your afternoon plans.
Much like your lawnmower, starting pitcher Garret Whitlock can only handle so much of the role designed for him. He’ll graze through at least most of the front yard, but that’s as far as his cranky body can handle before breaking down.
Don’t believe me? Here’s a look at every single major league start by Garret Whitlock and how he followed up:

2022
The Red Sox granted Whitlock a short leash to open the season, as in his first two starts he threw a combined 109 pitches across seven innings. It was in his third start that the training wheels came off, and Whitlock celebrated with five dominant innings, giving up only two runs on a home run and striking out nine Angels. However he struggled mightily against the Braves in his next appearance, giving up three runs in as many innings, striking out five but also walking four (he did not walk a single batter in his dominance of the Angels).
Two more middling starts followed before Whitlock tossed another quality game against Baltimore—two runs allowed in six innings with four K’s and only one walk. He actually followed this up with an even better performance five days later facing the Reds, six innings without a single earned run allowed, no walks but strangely also no strikeouts. Anyways, the Angels got to Whitlock six days after that, whereupon he hit the injured list for the next month. When he returned, the Red Sox likewise returned him to his bullpen role, where he stayed healthy and productive until the last two weeks of a lost season.

2023
The Red Sox again attempted to use Whitlock as a starter to begin the season, and in his second start he once again trounced the Angels in seven innings of three-hit ball (two walks and five strikeouts). And once again, Whitlock struggled in his very next start and hit the injured list for a month.
Returning in late May, he pitched well in five innings against the Diamondbacks, was knocked around by the Rays to begin June, then gave the Sox two consecutive quality starts in which he pitched a combined 13.1 innings, 13 strikeouts, 2 walks, and 180 pitches. It looked like he was finally setting in to becoming a starting pitcher, perhaps even an ace.
Unfortunately, despite going seven innings in Minnesota Whitlock struggled (eight hits and four runs allowed), then had the worst game of his career against the usually punchless Marlins, battered around for eleven hits and six runs. After pitching the first frame in Toronto on July 2, Whitlock went on the injured list for a month. When he returned, the Red Sox likewise returned him to the bullpen, where he was both healthy and productive through the end of the season.

2024
The Red Sox once again attempted to use Whitlock as a starter to begin the season, and he fulfilled this trust in at least his first start against the Mariners with five dominant innings. Unfortunately, he struggled against the Angels in his second start (no runs allowed but four walks and four hits in four innings, albeit also four strikeouts), and after a decent outing against the Orioles he exited his fourth start early, which is where we currently are today.
My prediction at the time was that Whitlock will hit the injured list for the next month or so, whereupon the Red Sox will attempt to put him back in the rotation. He’ll pitch well for a handful of starts, pitch six innings in one of them, then immediately break down again. When he returns a month after that, he’ll be put back in the bullpen for the rest of the season. So far he has in fact been on the IL for the past month.

Ok, for starters becuase its the off season my club plays older men (seniors 40+) and us young fellas (cadets 14+) in pickup. And since I got in bball recently about 1 year ago I always struggle with team play (what to do on offense, mainly moving without the ball). Everyone there is very good while Im like average Joe in everything (lays, shooting, dribbling etc...) so I don't get a ball passed to me or when I do I get told to pass it back in like 5 secs, usually I just get the ball on fastbreaks, and some situations when I make a cut and everybody is around the basket so its like shooting a free throw. I do all kinds of cuts which I think if I got the ball I would make a layup at least like 5/10 times but I never get it. So please could someone explain what could I do to get more passes (do I have to make it count with an assist or basket everytime someone trusts me to pass it?). And even more important in like whole basketball thing, what should I do on offense except cuts, moving around... (I don't set screens because I'm not the "screen guy" if that makes sense). Also is it really as much as of my fault because I don't even know how good my in-game shooting, dribbling,... Becuase I don't get the ball as much in the game.

Fletch gently pushed open the large and lavishly decorated bronze doors of the university administration building and ambled out into the portico. He set his cup of coffee down on the pedestal of a granite pillar and pulled his cigarette case from the breast pocket of his tan trench coat. The old chief inspector plucked a cigarette from the ornately engraved case with slender fingers and wondered why the Kael let him come at all.
Something felt very off with the whole thing. The more he thought about it, the more he questioned the story he got. Mike Anderson was certainly depressed, but as far as Fletch could tell, he had not displayed any suicidal behavior. And why now? Fletch thought. Things were on the upswing for the kid. His grades were excellent, his family situation was good, and he was out of the house more this term than the last. Fletch scratched his mustache. Why would the seals hide the autopsy and the gun? He brought the cigarette to his lips, snapped the filigreed case shut, and slipped it back into the breast pocket of his coat. Fletch flicked open his lighter and sighed as he lit his cigarette. Murder.
It was a hopeless case. These days, warrants were approved by the seals, and even if they weren't, he doubted that he could get one anyway. His suspicion of foul play was backed by nothing but his instinct.
Fletch watched students hustle and bustle through the plaza in front of him as he puffed away at his cigarette and pondered his theory.
But why kill him now? They could have done it in complete secrecy while he was a POW. And it couldn’t be to keep what happened in Philadelphia under wraps. His death brings more attention to it. And he wasn’t a rebel. So why? Fletch sipped at his coffee as he flicked ash from his cigarette. Vengeance? Did he kill some noble brat during the war?
Fletch scratched at his grey mustache and glanced at his watch. I’ll have to follow that thread. He tossed his half-smoked cigarette into a puddle as he briskly walked down the steps and through the university plaza.
The withered investigator was deep in thought when he entered the parking lot. What do I tell that Enrique chap? He unlocked his car and crawled in. I certainly can’t tell him that his mate’s been clipped with no evidence. Fletch turned the key, and the engine of his little Volvo sputtered to life. It’s no bleeding use. I’ll just tell the lad they weren’t interested in sharing and keep my suspicions to myself.
As he reached for the shifter, Fletch noticed a delightfully thick manilla envelope stuck in the gap between the center console and the passenger seat.
He pulled the envelope from the crack. Gingerly, he opened it and pulled out a small note. It read We’re even now, prick.
Fletch smiled and couldn’t help but mutter, “The game is afoot,” as he flicked through the stack of documents inside.
Isabella poked her head into the large office and saw Professor Dret’la with a ball of dark green yarn on her lap and bone darning needles beset with carvings in her hands.
Isabella was struck with confusion. What? She crochets!?
The professor looked up from her labor, spotted the confused girl outside her door, and called, “Come in.”
Isabella walked into the office and took a seat. She gestured to the yarn in the professor's hands. “What are you making?”
The professor smiled as motherly as one could with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. “It will be a hat for my son. He just received his commission as a junior biologist, so he has to rummage around in freezers to get samples for his whole research team.”
Isabella blinked. This was not characteristic at all for the quick-tempered professor with a penchant for launching chalk across lecture halls at the mildest provocation.
Isabella shook off her shocked expression and gave the tall professor a dimpled cheek smile. “That’s so sweet! I’m sure he’ll love it. One of the best gifts I’ve ever received was a thick wool sweater from my mamma during a training exercise off the coast of Norway.”
The professor, still smiling, sat up straight. “I hope that’s the kind of reception I get.”
The professor’s demeanor hardened as she stowed the yarn and needles in the desk drawer. “Now, let's get down to business.”
Isabella gulped.
“To start, congratulations. You’ve passed our testing and been selected for officer training.”
Isabella asked, “Who else was selected?”
“There are nine others: Robert Rhodes, Elena Pavel, Hal Jellico, Zheng Li, Brooke Halsey, Colow Aden, Magnus Tordenskjold, Bill Lee, and Kazuya Yamamoto.”
Isabella didn’t recognize all the names.
“Should you choose to accept, you will be taking a prep course taught by Colonel Ocidea and I starting next week and lasting all through the summer. If we deem you ready, you’ll ship out for basic training and then off to the Royal Military Academy, where you can earn your commission.” Dr. Dret’la leaned in close to Isabella. “Do you accept?”
Without hesitation, Isabella answered, “Yes.”
“Mike, come over here. You’re going to want to see this.” Calty voiced from her seat in the front of the cockpit.
Mike rolled off the couch and walked into the front of the cockpit as the captain shouted, “Decelerate!” Mike couldn’t help but grab onto the back of Calty’s seat as the FTL drive kicked into gear. The cockpit glass dimmed just before blindingly bright blue jets of fire from the front-facing engines came into view. A bright green circle flickered onto the glass surrounding a marble-sized dot darker than the rest of the now dim screen. The dots and circles expanded at an extreme pace until they took up most of the display. Another dot appeared—minuscule compared to the other—surrounded by a red circle. The growth of the shadowy dots and the circles around them slowed and then stopped entirely as the engines sputtered out.
The HUD faded out of view, and the tint of the glass slowly lightened, revealing a vast planet embraced by blue-green ice with a colossal foundry in its orbit. The planet, a gas giant called Drassus, was orbited by four rings. One was made of containers, and the other three were made up of loose ore gleaming in the nearby star's light. Exhaust chimneys spewing gas and fire sprouted from the otherwise spherical foundry, giving it a sea urchin-like profile, which, together with the weave of pipes bringing fuel from beneath the icy surface of the planet below, made the foundry resemble an old naval mine.
The captain strode up to the front of the cockpit. “One-third ahead and steer 14 degrees left. We’re unloading in bay three.”
Six mech suits and a tug exited a plasma-shielded hanger as the ship came to a halt. The mechs glided to the front of the ship and started dismounting the external cargo bay from the Broken Fin while the tug hitched onto the opposite end of the ten-kilometer-long rack of containers.
A little while later, the tug pulled away with the load of containers, and the comm system blared to life. “Broken Fin, you are cleared to leave. The UO corporation thanks you for your business.”
The captain replied, “Our pleasure. Broken fin out.” as the ship pulled out of the loading bay.
He turned to the navigation officer and said, “Lock in coordinates for jump to Kael Prime.”
The captain went to the central control board and pulled up traffic control. “Tower 1, this is the Broken Fin. We request a jump slot to Kael Prime from Drassus.”
“Broken Fin, request granted. Your departure slot is at 16:33.”
Mike glanced at the top right of the ship's HUD and looked at the time. 16:21.
Better get my stuff together…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ship shuddered ever so slightly despite the inertial dampeners as it exited FTL. Mike was lounging on the couch with his bag at his feet. He was ready to get off this tub.
Mike idly watched flames lick at the cockpit window as the ship descended into the atmosphere of Kael Prime. He looked at Dreki, who was sitting on the other couch. His muscles bulged through his clothes despite wearing a white sweater so large it could be mistaken for the sail of an average-sized boat. Mike asked, “Do you know anything about what’ll happen to me now?”
The big Kael shifted in his seat. “Technically, I’m not supposed to tell you anything, but what the hell.” Dreki pulled the collar of his sweater down, revealing an angry white number burnt into his iron-gray skin just below the collarbone. “First, you’ll get branded.” He released his shirt and pointed to a small scar on the side of his head. “Then you’ll get an AR implant.”
“Where will I be getting that?” Mike asked.
“The Imperial Science Academy. We’re going to be staying there for a few days. They’ll run a bunch of tests and get you fitted for equipment there. After that, I’ll drop you off at the spaceport, and you’ll be off to Tlaxcalssus for basic training. After that, I don’t know.”
“Thanks.”
The ship shook as it touched down on the landing pad. “Time to go.” Dreki shouldered his pack and walked out the door. Mike fiddled with the straps of his bag as he followed Dreki down the ramp and to the far side of the ship, away from the rest of the passengers. Mike's nose was immediately assaulted with the acrid smell of sulfur from where the fiery exhausts of engines had melted asphalt. The spaceport was swarming with vehicles and filled with the constant roar of ship engines and a symphony of smaller equipment. Power loaders and mechs loaded and unloaded heavy cargo, shuttles bustled to and fro with passengers, baggage carriers snaked through the crowded landing pads, and vehicles that looked like floating garage doors zipped through the air at ankle height, bringing pilots and crew to their ships. Mike couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, in the heartland of the enemy, walking through what was essentially a ten-acre parking lot.
Dreki plopped his bags on the ground and yawned as he stretched his arms over his head. “Our skiff will be here in a minute.”
Mike tuned out the beeps and whirrs of the tank-sized forklifts and mechs unloading the ship and gazed out beyond at the horizon. You’re not in Kansas anymore, bub. Mike thought as he studied the skyline of the imperial city basked in the glow of the early evening sun. Some of the buildings wouldn’t look all that out of place on Earth, but the skyline was assaulted with abominations that pissed on the laws of physics as Man understood them. Tusk-shaped skyscrapers defied gravity with their seemingly unsupported curves, and even more absurd were pyramids stacked atop another point-to-point like hourglasses. Any delusion of normalcy that Mike could come up with was shattered.
Dreki picked up his bag and pointed to a slab of black marble speeding towards them at ankle height. “Here’s our skiff.” A railing popped out of the center as the skiff came to a gliding halt. Dreki boarded the skiff and took hold of the rail, and Mike followed suit.
They sped through the spaceport and stopped outside what looked to Mike like a train station. Dreki shouldered his bag and stepped off the skiff. Mike stepped off and quickly fell in pace with Dreki. The big Kael led Mike into a grand station bustling with people. Most were Kael, but there was a smattering of other species. Some stared at Mike, others glanced, but most completely ignored him as he followed Dreki through the hall and onto a platform. Unfamiliar aliens clearly weren’t an uncommon sight here.
The walls of the station were covered with mosaics depicting Kael warriors from the distant past. Dreki noted the human's curiosity and said, “The founders of the clans.” He leveled a massive hand toward an opulent, towering mosaic of a Kael warrior wielding a bronze falx. The imposing figure's body was made of blue gemstones, the eyes rubies, one tusk silver, and the other gold. “That’s the founder of my clan, Drekalla Gold Tusk.”
Mike asked, “How’d he manage that?” As he followed Dreki into a mostly empty train car.
Dreki plopped down on a bench. “He was the war priest of Hroptaug the Conqueror during the unification wars. After the wars were won, Hroptaug granted us the Steam Hills.” Dreki pointed through the train window at the mosaic of another warrior whose body was made of milky white pearls. “That one,” He paused and spat on the floor, “Tiblan the Terror, challenged Drekalla to a duel for most of that land. Drekalla was cutting him to pieces, but the craven poisoned his blade. Just before Drekalla could deliver the final blow, the poison reached his heart, and Drekalla died. The only wound on his body was a cut across his forearm that barely drew blood.” Dreki rolled up his sleeve, showing a scar that reached from his elbow to the middle of his forearm. “Every K’alla is cut the same way to remind us of the blood feud.”
Mike inwardly sighed. Kael and their damned feuds… “How long ago was this.”
“Seven thousand four hundred and fifty-one years ago.”
Mike held back a snort. The absurdity of it all. The first human law codes came about to stop blood feuds, and out here, they have feuds that have lasted longer than Earth's recorded history.
“How’s that feud been going as of late?”
Dreki’s face sagged, “Not good.”
They both grew quiet. Mike shuffled uncomfortably.
Mike glanced at the route display and broke the silence, “What's with the middle city, inner city thing?”
Dreki relaxed slightly. “Oh, so the city used to be a fortification. The inner city is actually a volcanic island. The middle is built over the river, and the outer city was built on the banks.”
“I see.”
The doors closed, and the intercom sounded, “Next stop, the inner city.”
Dale Robert’s wrinkled face was unreadable, and his highly decorated black and blue dress uniform immaculate as he led a horse through the street. He felt the eyes of thousands of onlookers on him, and he hated it. The pure black horse had a black leather saddle on its back. Two tall, glossy black boots were placed backward in silver stirrups, and the elaborate hilt of Mike’s basket-hilted broadsword jutted from the top of a black leather scabbard buckled to the saddle. Roberts followed the horse-drawn caisson bearing the flag-draped coffin of his old commanding officer. Not much farther now, he thought. The sounds of the cartwheels rolling and the horse’s tack jangling were wholly drowned out by boots stamping the ground in unison. Almost all of the 1800 survivors of the 801st regiment were there, resplendent in their dress uniforms, marching behind Mike one more time. The local police and fire departments joined them.
Roberts was unsure about it all. He felt that the poor kid's family would have preferred a smaller service back home in Colorado instead of this damn near royal procession. And Roberts was damn sure that the seals did not give their permission for this, no matter what the police chief said.
A reporter ducked through the police barricade and tried to ask the marching soldiers questions, but they remained stone-faced as the procession marched nearer to the gates of Philadelphia National Cemetery. Roberts handed the reigns of the riderless horse to another man in uniform and joined seven other members of Charlie platoon in pulling the casket from the cassion. They silently began their march to the grave, closely followed by General McCarthy, the man who was Joint Chief of Staff, and the color guard. Bagpipers began to blare, “Going Home.” Roberts heard the sound of gravpulse engines and looked up in dismay as a Kael gunship broke through the low clouds and descended to just barely above the cemetery. A loudspeaker blared, “Disperse at once.”

Leeds United 4 - 0 Norwich City

Leeds scorers: Ilia Gruev (7'), Joël Piroe (20'), Georginio Rutter (40'), Crysencio Summerville (68')
Aggregate score: Leeds United 4-0 Norwich City
Venue: Elland Road, Leeds, England
Referee: Jarred Gillett
Leeds United:

Starting XI	Notes	Subs	Notes
Illan Meslier		Karl Darlow
Archie Gray		Liam Cooper	83'
Joe Rodon		Charlie Cresswell
Ethan Ampadu		Connor Roberts	74'
Junior Firpo		Jamie Shackleton
Glen Kamara		Jaidon Anthony	74'
Ilia Gruev	7' 54' 83'	Daniel James	69'
Wilfried Gnonto	69'	Joe Gelhardt
Georginio Rutter	40' 56' 74'	Mateo Joseph	74'
Crysencio Summerville	68' 74'
Joël Piroe	20' 74'

Manager: Daniel Farke (Germany)
Norwich City:

Starting XI	Notes	Subs	Notes
Angus Gunn		George Long
Jack Stacey		Danny Batth
Shane Duffy		Jacob Sørensen	81'
Ben Gibson	63'	Kellen Fisher
Dimitrios Giannoulis	63'	Grant Hanley
Marcelino Núñez	6'	Sam McCallum	63'
Kenny McLean	90+1'	Borja Sainz	46'
Jonathan Rowe	37' 81'	Christian Fassnacht	63'
Gabriel Sara		Sydney van Hooijdonk	81'
Ashley Barnes	81'
Josh Sargent	46'

Manager: David Wagner (United States)
MATCH EVENTS
1': We're off!
4': Summerville gets the one-two and skips through the defense and fires but puts it high from wide.
6': Marcelino Núñez comes in late on Rodon, dangerous free kick coming
7': GOAL LEEDS!! They score the free kick! Ilia Gruev finds the gap at the near side! That's awful goalkeeping by Gunn who was hours late to jump.
20': GOAL LEEDS!! Gnonto fires a long forward pass to the far post, Gunn hesitates and doesn't get there, Joël Piroe heads it in!!
22': SAVE!! Ampadu misses on an interception, leaving Sargent one on one with Meslier but Meslier comes out quickly and smothers the chance!
35': A Gruev interception launches a Leeds attack, but Gnonto's low shot is easily saved.
37': Jonathan Rowe carded for diving
40': GOAL LEEDS!! Georginio Rutter smacks it in off the underside of the post!!
43': Another break by Leeds!! Gnonto is all alone! Oh but the shot is saved, another unimpressive finish by Gnonto.
45+2': Gunn dives to put away with a cross but gives it right to Gnonto! He tries to find room to shoot but he's blocked on the line by Giannoulis!
HT Leeds United 3-0 Norwich City [3-0 on agg.] Leeds are flying, and Norwich are likely flying home.
46': Norwich substitution: Borja Sainz on for Josh Sargent
46': We're back!
46': SAVE! Leeds nearly score a fourth goal just thirty seconds after the restart, but Gunn blocks the one-on-one chance from Piroe at close range.
51': Summerville's header skims over the top corner
51': Summerville cuts around the backline and fires from wide, blocked by Gunn at the near post.
54': Ilia Gruev with the tactical foul
56': Georginio Rutter lunges into Sainz
63': Norwich double sub: Sam McCallum and Christian Fassnacht on for Ben Gibson and Dimitrios Giannoulis
68': GOAL LEEDS!! Gnonto fires, again Gunn saves but again Gunn spills, it's comes over to Firpo who cuts it back to Crysencio Summerville who knocks it in easily! Gunn has been just awful.
69': Leeds substitution: Daniel James on for Wilfried Gnonto
74': Leeds triple sub: Connor Roberts, Jaidon Anthony and Mateo Joseph on for Georginio Rutter, Crysencio Summerville and Joël Piroe
81': Norwich double sub: Sydney van Hooijdonk and Jacob Sørensen on for Ashley Barnes and Jonathan Rowe
83': Leeds substitution: Liam Cooper on for Ilia Gruev
90+1': Kenny McLean into the book for a bad challenge
FT Leeds United 4-0 Norwich City [4-0 on agg.] Demolition! The Canaries bow out pathetically and Leeds moves on to Wembley

Welcome to the Peanut Gallery! Sorry for the gap in updates. As you can see, I am no where near as dedicated as the master of the craft, having to juggle work and other things too. This is apprentice Lara filling in for the master thestoryteller987 with high hopes he is doing well.

The tempo of Russian offensive operations in northern Kharkiv Oblast continues to decrease after Russian forces initially seized areas that Ukrainian officials have now confirmed were less defended

basically, as we stated in a previous summary, Russia will park its artillery close over the Ukrainian border, but not too close that it becomes a target. Ballpark figure, lets syay within 10 KM. Then from there it can, without problem, bombard everything and anything it sees fit without the worry of western weapons striking back. Russian forces advance,, but the artillery does not. And suddenly you're in a sticky situation. A big push doesn't happen because the big guns can't reach and Russia is back to meat wave tactics against 13km and 20km of fortifications.

The US Helsinki Commission stated that the US should allow Ukraine to conduct strikes against military targets in Russia's border areas amid an ongoing Russian offensive operation into Kharkiv Oblast from Russia, although US officials continue to express unwillingness to support such strikes

Hence this is why the US needs to lift this silly sanction. If Ukrainian can strike, lets say 20 KM from its border, that'll deal with the building up of troops, the over the border artillery and what not.
See I have a slightly different idea. Now the UK has already said we wouldn't necessarily be sad if they used Storm Shadows in Russia. which is largely a political move because there are not that many of them. but maybe, with the acquirement of US aid, Ukraine can use these to clear out their border region a bit. I think the EU needs to grow a pair of balls and lift the sanction. Let the US play at peacemakecareful positioning. Even if the UK/EU can't produce as much as the US< being able to focus US fully on defense would free up enough for over the border strikes. I can see the benefit of careful limits I think what the EU doesn't want is to see the leopards driving across into Russia. that strikes me as a big step. Arguably, russian tanks already took that step, but still. I can see why they are concerned about that. But as long as boots and wheels stay on Ukraine's side of the border, I think it's perfectly reasonable that anything else is free game.

Russian President Vladimir Putin continues to publicly prioritize the further mobilization of the Russian defense industrial base (DIB) while also attempting to assuage possible domestic fears about the negative effects of increased Russian defense spending.

He's juggling realism with politics. Realisticly, the DIB needs to pull its finger out because Russia is facing huge shortages, bigger than the shortages of the toilet paper and pasta in Covid times. But to do that he'd have to go onto a war footing (ISW thinks this would not even be enough) but he also knows that Russian's don't want that. At all.

Putin stated that "whoever masters the latest means of armed struggle faster, wins" and called for the Russian defense industry to "double, triple" production and create more effective, accurate, and powerful weapons in order to decrease Russian losses.

He can call for it, doesn't mean it's ever going to happen. I calll for a million pound every day. Still hasn't happened and I honestly think I'm more likely to get that million pounds than the Russian DIB is to triple its production.

Putin specifically noted that the Russian DIB must increase the quality of Russian weapons.

I'd love to see some statistics: Launches :: num of exploded on launch :: num of hit on target. Russian weapons miss a lot, blow up in the wrong place a lot, and explode with less boom a lot. Still a complete and utter pain in the ass, especially for Ukraine, but a reassurance for NATO in so far as NATO can shoot better, more accurately and with bigger boomage.

Putin is likely concerned about the economic and diplomatic implications of decreased Russian arms exports.

In short, Russia is unable to keep up with its commitments to other countries, like India. It essentially said: We can supply you with fancy shmancy weapons if you allie with us. You won't need to worry about Uncle Sam filling your back yard with democracy an d liberty because Big Daddy Putin has got your back.
Accept.. He hasn't. they delayed shipments to India, and so not only are they getting pissy, but other countries who took his word for it (Armenia) are now going wait... Can we actually trust this Vodca drinking guy know what he is saying?

The Kremlin confirmed the appointments of the newly formed Moscow and Leningrad military districts (MMD and LMD) and other military district commanders on May 15.

TLDR: A bunch of generals got moved about. A bunch of nobody's I don't know the names of or history. Sorry. This is why thestoryteller987 is better at this than me. In short, Russia likes to play his generals against each other to gain favour with him. Which works until they all become pissed off with him and cut off his head. Dschinghis Khan did something similar, and for him it worked... Kind of. Until he died. And the whole system collapsed/ And Putin is getting mighty old...

Russian sources speculated that the May 13 detention of Russian Deputy Defense Minister Lieutenant General Yuri Kuznetsov is only the beginning of a wider effort to root out corruption within the Russian Ministry of Defense (MoD).

It could be as ISW speculates although I personally think this is the cover for a bit of a purge. Putin needs yes sir men and loyalists and that chain has to remain strong. If someone becomes slightly discontent, that could spread.

US Secretary of State Antony Blinken announced during a joint press conference with Ukrainian Foreign Minister Dmytro Kuleba on May 15 that the US will provide a two billion dollar "defense enterprise fund" to Ukraine

This is going into Ukraine's DIB, the purchase of weapons, and purchasing weapons from other countries. This bit made me laugh a little:

helping Ukraine purchase military equipment and weapons from the US and other countries.

Basically, hey, here's 2 billion for you to give to me so I can give you a gun.

Ukraine's Main Military Intelligence Directorate (GUR) reportedly struck a Russian fuel depot in Rostov Oblast on the night of May 14 to 15.

Pop pop! Another depo struck by Ukraine lightning. Does Russia have many of these left now?

The Kremlin continues to add European officials to Russia's wanted list as part of Russia's efforts to assert the jurisdiction of Russian federal law over sovereign NATO member states.

This is so pointless. And we do it back. Putin is wanted by the hague. He's never going to stand trial, and if those individuals on Russia's list are captured, they won't either jjust for slightly different reasons. It's interesting though that Zelensky has been on and off the list a few times. Surely' he's the top target?
In summary though these wanted lists are an information campaign, part of Russia's vast info war tactics. Laying the ground for future work.

Russian forces recently made confirmed advances in northern Kharkiv Oblast, near Siversk, and west of Donetsk City.

ISW has a fairly low opinion of these advances, just the usual daily grind.

Ukrainian National Security and Defense Council Secretary Oleksandr Lytyvyenko assessed on May 15 that Russian forces will have enough tanks and armored fighting vehicles for the next year and half of fighting in Ukraine at their current operational tempo

Far too long, if you ask me! Someone give Ukraine some more guns so we can end this by Christmas!

Ukrainian officials continue to warn that Russian forces are systematically and increasingly using chemical weapons and other likely-banned chemical substances in Ukraine. The Ukrainian Support Forces Command stated on April 5 that Ukrainian forces have recorded 371 cases of Russian forces using munitions containing chemical substances during the last month and 1,412 cases of Russian forces using chemical weapons between February 2023 and March 2024.

Please give Ukraine what they need to bring this war to an end.
‘Q’ for the Community:

• So. US weapons striking over the border in Russia. What's your take?

• Join the conversation on /TheNuttySpectacle!

Tldr: A critical SYNDE coalition home hole is burned to the ground by HAWKS and hundreds of billions are lost or safelogged.

On Starting Points

One of the more contentious elements of any major conflict is identifying when, precisely, it actually began. In EVE, as IRL, that is particularly challenging given the breadth of metagaming which takes place. Did the Wormhole War begin when SYNDE decided last summer that they wanted to replace HAWKS as the dominant high-class wormhole group and committed to making that a reality? Did it begin when they solidified their alliance with the Initiative? When they build their wormhole coalition? When they seeded HAWKS home with capitals? Any of those, had they been out in the open, would likely have triggered open hostilities. But those plans and the steps towards their ultimate objective were carefully and smartly hidden from view.
The widespread SYNDE coalition assault on HAWKS C5 and C6 holes began on March 24^th. With the information we now have available to us, the real start of the war was likely the eviction of Voidlings during the first week of March 2024. HAWKS and their future allies were almost certainly unaware of the significance of that eviction, but leaked internal SYNDE comms put truth to the notion that SYNDE viewed that as a critical first step in isolating and crippling HAWKS. It was, then, the first overt act of war by SYNDE – though its place in that broader campaign remained shrouded for several weeks.
Voidlings is a small to midsize wormhole group. A few years ago, they were a growing low class wormhole group living in a C2 with HS and C3 statics. In 2022, they moved into a new home, a C5 wormhole with a C5 static. For non-wormholers, nearly every high class PVP group lives in a C5 with a C5 static. C5 space is both where the majority of high class farms are. The abundance of C5 statics means that living on the “C5 Highway” is often the best route to all forms of high class pvp and pve content. Honor brawls also almost exclusively take place in C5 holes.
So Voidlings grew from a low-class group into a high-class group, and they continued recruiting in an effort to become one of the relevant high class PVP groups. Their zkillboard suggests they participated in most traditional high class activities – farming, feeding, fighting, evicting, ganking, skirmishing. It appears they were supported during this period of growth by one or more HAWKS members. As a result of this affiliation they were not approached by SYNDE during their coalition-building period. Instead, they were marked for pre-war eviction both to be a preliminary test of coalition coordination and also to eliminate a potential HAWKS ally. Isolating HAWKS was key to the entire war plan.
SYNDE began seeding the Voidlings home with dreads in Feb 2024, ultimately bringing in 6 to support their eviction. At the appropriate time, a robust joint fleet led by SYNDE but also including key coalition allies TURBO and Stay Feral infiltrated the Voidlings home hole, installed a staging POS and began their eviction. They diligently held hole control, adding another half-dozen capital ships to their arsenal over the next several hours. A Voidlings eviction seemed inevitable, as they simply lacked the manpower and experience needed to prevent a collection of wormhole groups that large from evicting them. As is often the case when a home hole is under threat of eviction, batphones rang out across wormhole space. HAWKS, NOVAC and SL0W answered the call for Voidlings. The future SYNDE coalition was on already on standby to support this eviction if necessary, as well as future neutral LUPUS. SYNDE had also secured a commitment from the Initiative to support should the need arise.
At first, it did not appears that the batphoning was likely to change anything. SYNDE maintained diligent hole control, not permitting either Voidlings or any allies from bringing in ships or pilots via the Voidlings static. HAWKS rage rolled from their home to get into the Voidlings home, but was unsuccessful.
For the non-wormholers, when you rage roll a C5 static in order to connect with a specific C5 wormhole, you have a 1 in 531 chance of getting connected to that specific hole with each rage roll. Rolling into a specific hole requires days of 24/7 rage rolling and even then the odds are against you. Wormhole groups really only engage in this level of commitment for really high-level situations, such as the historical eviction of HK’s home hole Rage back in 2018.
Midway through the eviction, however, a frig hole popped connecting the Voidlings home with Horde space. HAWKS, NOVAC and SL0W immediately burned in shuttles to that frig hole, and SYNDE was unable to stop the vast majority of them from jumping into the hole and docking in the besieged Voidlings fort.
Voidlings leadership distributed their home defense handout Ravens to their comrades and the stage was set for a glorious home eviction defense fight. SYNDE and friends had a large 100-ship Barghest fleet supported by nearly a dozen capitals (dreads/fax) while Voidlings and friends could field 100 cruise Ravens with FAX logi and nearly two dozen long-range dreads. Range control and capital placement was understood by both sides’ FCs to be critical to the outcome of the fight. SYNDE had a fleet advantage, but one that could be overcome. Unbeknownst to the Voidlings side, once the frig hole popped SYNDE leadership had invoked their war alliance with Initiative, The Initative pinged and mobilized a 200-man Tengu fleet, travelling quickly to the wormhole chain’s entrance. Jumping in, the Initiative fleet docked in a nearby SYNDE farm and waited.
As a critical citadel timer approached, SYNDE FC Cyrus Kurush fleet warped dreads to range the full Barghest comp along with them. Bubbles exploded all over the grid, aiming to stop the Voidlings defense fleet from warping to a good position. This was an effective stratagem, as SYNDE knew that the Voidlings defense fleet would rely on FAX logi – so pinging around grid was not a viable option. The Voidlings fleet needed a clean warp-in, to a position favorable for their cruise Ravens. The dreads began bashing the fortizar, forcing the Voidlings fleet to commit the fleet or watch their citadel burn. The Ravens and their FAX logi aligned and warped, accepting a mediocre initial position that would permit the SYNDE dreads to apply well. Once the FAX landed, the HAWKS FC leading the Voidlings fleet called for all dreads to undock, and they were warped in to support this all-in defense effort. Those dreads landed, activated siege modules, and began primarying the SYNDE dreads.
After one SYNDE dread exploded and another started taking damage, the trap was sprung. Reports on both comms noted that a 200-man tengu fleet was on dscan. Confusion turned into delight on SYNDE comms and resigned frustration on Voidlings comms as the Initiative fleet landed on grid and immediately began fragging Ravens. What might have been a closely-fought battle quickly turned into a complete rout. Voidlings was able to extract a small number of dreads – but the butcher’s toll was a heavy one. Voidlings – having supplied all the ships used by the defenders – lost the entire Raven fleet and nearly all the capitals, for a total of 327b lost against 1117b killed. https://br.evetools.org/related/31001880/202403020300
The remainder of the eviction proceeded to plan, and all Voidlings citadels were destroyed. SYNDE celebrated a successful test run of their broader vision and campaign. In recent leaks that cover the aftermath, SYNDE lead Cyrus Kurush noted that although SYNDE had shown they could take on HAWKS alone, they would take advantage of their massive alliance to simply speed the broader war goal of taking all the HAWKS high class farms and taking their rightful place atop a New Wormhole Oder.

On Rallying Cries and Motivations

This leads to another critical element for how the war would unfold. Wars in EVE are won by motivated pilots first, and a war chest second. For some time, SYNDE and their primary allies had planted the seeds of resentment towards HAWKS among their members. This is not a challenging task, as most wormhole groups generally dislike each other to begin with. In casus belli discussions with HAWKS immediately prior to the war, and in coalition and leadership meetings with their side, SYNDE was fairly consistent about their war aims: take all HAWKS C6 farms, take HAWKS C5 farms, and take HAWKS home. Those farms were to be distributed to SYNDE and their allies, although the specifics were studiously avoided in discussions.
The leak of the SYNDE pre-war CTA gives real insight into members motivations going into the war. Typically, pre-war CTA meetings in EVE are full of hype, energy and enthusiasm. The Synde CTA, by contrast, seemed a much more pragmatic event. Members were concerned about their current farms, about the plan to deploy out of home and into a C6 staging, about working with blues, and about their ability to participate in NPSI fleets during the war. SYNDE lead Cyrus Kurush needed to make clear several times that the expectation was that even though many SYNDE members were also members of other LS and NS groups, they were expected to devote their full effort and focus to the upcoming war against HAWKS. It is almost impossible to take away from that CTA meeting anything other than a rather shocking lack of enthusiasm for the war from SYNDE line members.

The War in Heaven

On the other hand, HAWKS motivations were much easier to discern. This War presented an existential threat. In the eyes of the SYNDE coalition, HAWKS farms and home were both forfeit. Everything they had built over the preceding decade was destined for destruction. Isolated and outnumbered, this would be the ultimate test of HAWKS members’ commitment. The sudden and shocking rebirth of Hard Knocks was mirrored by a large number of longterm HAWKS members also resubbing.
Another critical and perhaps overlooked element of motivations on HAWKS side was the war vs peace element. Although “peace” in wormhole space is a decidedly violent affair in general, with pretty much every group killing every other group on a daily basis, it had been many years since there was a major, sustained conflict in wormhole space. Nullsec often differentiates between “Skirmish FCs” and “Strat FCs”, with the former leading normal day-to-day fleets of battlecruiser sized ships or smaller, and the latter leading the heavy fleets, cap fleets, super fleets or the sizeable, complicated fleets deployed in major conflicts. In the cartel world that is wormhole space, it might be more appropriate to differentiate between “Territory FCs” and “War FCs”. The former freely leads the wide range of fleets that fight, gank, camp and brawl throughout wormhole space on a daily basis. The latter wants to lead larger, more complicated fleets in direct support of a broader strategic initiative. In gaming as IRL, it is normal for highly skilled players to want to be challenged – and at some point, the normal day-to-day fights no longer satisfies those urges. In some cases, that leads to corps fading away (HK), in others, it leads to limited participation (many HAWKS members/FCs).
When this Wormhole War kicked off, it was promptly dubbed “The War in Heaven” by the HAWKS/HK side. This name refers directly to the biblical conflict between two rival groups of Angels – that led by Michael, and that led by Satan. Revelation 12:7-10:

7 Then war broke out in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back. 8 But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven. 9 The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.

It is not particularly challenging to figure out which side HAWKS was associating themselves with, given that the name of their CEO is Michael1995.
Perhaps more pragmatically, among members in both HAWKS and the reborn HK, this war was indeed a gift from Heaven above – a chance to dive into a massive, complicated campaign against a foe who was willing to violate wormhole norms in order to achieve their goals. During the first two weeks when HAWKS farms were burning, there is a sense that many of the HAWKS and HK leads were genuinely giddy about the opportunity to take the field and leverage all their accumulated skills, knowledge and experience against an increasingly-reviled opponent. Yes, things looked dire from the outside but internally, there was a mixture of enthusiasm and cautious optimism.

Headshots and Flipping

During normal wormhole fights, both brawls and skirmishes, it is generally considered poor form to headshot the other side’s FC. It happens sometimes, but is definitely looked down upon in the wormhole community. This is the sort of norm that disappears in the context of a large war, or any sort of existential threat situation.
At the strategic level, “headshotting” generally refers to destroying or debilitating the other side’s capacity to fight by taking home holes or staging holes. This would be a key element in the HAWKS strategy, and one surprisingly absent from the SYNDE side. From the very first week, HAWKS looked to take advantage of any opportunity, however fleeting, to headshot SYNDE and their allies. The early ATRAX eviction was the first example of this. It would not be the last, not by a long shot.
Another key tactic is flipping. Not flipping as in changing sides, but rather flipping as in unanchoring and then re-anchoring an Upwell citadel. Recall that when a citadel dies in a wormhole, every pilot’s possessions that remain in that citadel drop as loot cans on the grid. 100% loot drop, 100% of the time. Over time, as pilots join and then leave a group, hangar containers accumulate. Over the years, in successful wormhole groups, this frozen hangar trash can reach into the tens or hundreds of billions. This can make evicting a wormhole resident or group an increasingly attractive over time. A hole that has been owned for a year will not have much loot drop. One owned for many years will likely have a great deal more.
Years ago, intrepid wormhole residents realized that a good way to counter this mechanic was to “flip” their citadels: unanchor, get all the AFG/left corp loot for yourself, then re-anchor. There is risk to this, but for a pvp corp that maintains hole control, the risk is quite minimal.
HAWKS had lived in their current home for nearly a decade. A large, successful group like HAWKS accumulates a large amount of hangar wealth over a period like that, much of it frozen as members AFG or leave corp. During the first week of the War, HAWKS recognized this large oversight and unanchored all the structures in their home hole. A neutral observer might have thought that HAWKS were self-evicting. Through their spy, SYNDE knew that they were planning to flip them and stay in the fight. Unwilling to entertain a HAWKS home eviction at this early stage in the war, SYNDE watched as HAWKS unanchored all their citadels and replaced them with a dozen newly anchored fortizars – and clearing their citadel grid of thousands of loot cans. A steady stream of DSTs transiting in and out of HAWKS home confirmed that wealth was quickly transferred out to kspace.
In that first week, by “flipping” their citadels, HAWKS eliminated the majority of the financial incentives that generally come with evicting a pvp corp’s home hole.

Seeding an Apple

During the period where HAWKS farms were burning and SYNDE was soaring, on Tuesday April 2^nd, HAWKS rolled into the SUGAR home hole. Some of SUGAR’s pvp toons were supporting SYNDE, some were farming, others were out participating in NPSI roams in kspace. Few of them were in their home hole. HAWKS sent in a bait RF fleet of a trio of Leshaks while at the same time pinging for a Nighthawk fleet. SUGAR panic pinged as the Leshaks began RFing one of the many citadels in their home. With confusion reigning, SUGAR undocked a kitchen sink fleet including armor and shield, capital and subcapital. Once SUGAR began engaging, HAWKS brought in their heavy shield fleet. HAWKS then began dismantling the haphazard SUGAR home defense fleet, as captured in the first 3 minutes of this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ZKgFPbSaLk
After fragging much of the SUGAR defenders, HAWKS proceeded to reinforce every citadel in the SUGAR home. SUGAR lost 35bn in ships in a one-sided fight. SYNDE was dismayed by the poor SUGAR showing. https://br.evetools.org/b66452e6803aec30012694316
Those structures all repaired over the coming week.
On April 12^th , HAWKS returned and again reinforced all SUGAR structures, this time with no opposition. Following that second round of reinforces, SUGAR pinged and directed its members to return to home and adopt a defensive posture with rigorous hole control to prevent a HAWKS return.
Many SUGAR members by this point were now opposing their corp’s direction. They certainly disliked HAWKS, but they had historically disliked SYNDE and their allies just as much. Joining them struck many members as a short-sighted, unwise adventure. They had actively participated in reinforcing and blowing up HAWKS structures, only to discover that SYNDE was most often dropping replacement citadels as they got cleared. SUGAR line members felt they were doing a lot of work for little or no benefit.
On April 13^th, HAWKS rolled into the SUGAR home hole for a third time – this time with amor timers only hours away. SUGAR immediately sought to roll that incoming wormhole, throwing yacht after yacht at it, as well as a lone praxis. They were able to crit the hole despite losing yachts every few passes.
Sigils are a common ship used most often by Nullsec farmers looking to roll wormholes that threaten their peaceful farming, These Sigils are referred to by wormholers almost universally as “suicide sigils”. The SUGAR FC directed his members to get into Sigils, undock, nullify, and warp to the hole. That hole needed to die. It needed to die now. “Even mains?” one member – Scott Appleblade - inquired. “Even mains,” replied the FC.
Scott hopped into the sigil, and warped to the hole, forgetting to nullify. He landed in the bubble, and was immediately fragged by the HAWKS on grid. https://zkillboard.com/kill/116986540/
Scott, now sitting in Jita, asked for a route back into his home. The FC replied they had no kspace entries at the minute. Scott asked if one could be found. The FC replied not now, quiet, we’re still dealing with this hole. Scott logged off, seething.
Scott had not wanted this war from the very start. Scott had recently upgrade from a Class 3 farm to a Class 5 farm of his own. Scott enjoyed farming combat sites in Leshaks and dreaming of a brighter future. Scott had always dreamed he might one day save up enough to afford a faction FAX: the Loggerhead. He knew they didn’t make much sense and were rarely used, but Scott loved the “Poggerhead” meme. Scott prided himself on his memes. He would often meet people and knew right away that they would become a meme. That was just life, but an elite meme could memorialize that. Scott just wanted to undock from his home fort in a Loggerhead and enjoy the moment. That seemed less and less likely now that the SUGAR home was being reinforced weekly. SUGAR leadership was either absent or, frankly, being dicks. Scott was over it. He had worked too hard. He deserved better. His fellow SUGAR members did, too.
Scott waited until later in the day when he was able to get a kspace entry for his main back into SUGAR’s home chain. He flew his inty in, still seething but with a plan for exacting revenge coalescing in Scott’s mind.
For the non-wormholers, it is important to explain that when you are a member of a wormhole corp, you have a lot more access to corp assets than you likely ever would in a Nullsec or Lowsec corp. Due to wormhole mechanics, wormhole corps almost always have a “Shared” corp hangar in each citadel where commonly used ships and modules are available to all members. This usually includes rolling ships, and handout pvp ships, among other things.
Scott docked in their home fort. He hesitated for a minute as he surveyed those familiar surroundings, but then the rage came back. He just wanted to farm, and now he might lose that. All because of SUGAR leadership. He knew his corp mates understood and would appreciate his actions. Scott proceeded to move everything in the SUGAR shared corp hangar to his personal hangar. He did a double take – he had just acquired over 30b of assets. That would go a long way towards a down payment on the Loggerhead if he could get that to a trade hub.
One good idea begets another, and Scott repackaged every assembled ship he had just taken. He then put the most valuable elements into his two DSTs. He shuttled those out to Jita and back, and then repeated the round trip several times. During the monotony of the transits, Scott realized that nobody – not leadership, not his corp mates – had noticed anything. Even though he was now much wealthier, SUGAR was still in need of a wakeup call.
As he warped to the next wormhole, it hit him – the bookmarks! This is another major difference between Nullsec / Lowsec and wormhole groups. In kspace, one can navigate very easily, or at least with confidence about where you’re going. In wormholes, one needs corp mates scanning wormholes and making bookmarks, basically a temporary map that wormhole pilots use to navigate the ever-changing wormhole landscape. All members need access to those bookmarks, and the ability to create, edit and delete them.
Scott deleted them. All of them. No more going to help SYNDE. No more warping your dread to a safe because HAWKS had bubbled the fort. No more finding your way back after getting rolled out. With no bookmarks, SUGAR would need to stop and consider where they were and why. Scott was pleased with the neat metaphor. At least he thought it was a metaphor. Might also be an analogy. He wasn’t sure, but he was sure it was brilliant.
His DSTs landed on the next hole and Scott jumped. It was then that Scott noticed he had no bookmarks in the next wormhole. That knowledge, combined with his decision not to fit probe launchers on either of his DSTs, was not a positive development. Scott, priding himself on his judgment, weighed his current situation against all he had achieved this evening – over 20b of ships and mods in Jita, and a powerful statement to SUGAR leadership. That was worth the loss of two DSTs that only had about 1.5B combined between them. Scott self-destructed the DSTs, returned to Jita, and went to bed contemplating a brighter future.

When Espionage Meets Opportunity

Prior to shutting the doors a few years ago, Hard Knocks had been regarded in the wormhole community as the top wormhole group for espionage. In a world where information is power, they have always had a remarkable abundance of critical information. Unlike HAWKS, HK was aware of the SYNDE plans and coalition building not long after they were conceived. As allies joined the SYNDE effort, HK sought to penetrate those groups. SUGAR accepted a key HK spy in January of this year. Over the next two months, this spy would quickly work his way up the SUGAR hierarchy, demonstrating strong FC and leadership abilities. When the war broke out, he was one of the main FCs. His background in HK and HAWKS affiliated groups was no concern for SUGAR leadership as they committed to the SYNDE coalition.
When Scott pilfered everything from SUGAR shared and deleted all bookmarks, the spy noticed both. He consulted with his HK mates and decided it might be a fantastic opportunity. The spy reached out to SUGAR directors and offered to do his part in resolving the matter – they needed to cut off access to Scott and his alts, they needed to do it 5 minutes ago and they needed to tighten things up. He knew how to do it, and he was happy to help. There was only one SUGAR director online. He was unsure of how to best resolve the Scott situation, so he called up the CEO on his cell. The CEO and director huddled up and agreed that their best FC was the man to fix it. They gave director roles to a spy who’d been in corp less than 3 months. During a war. A war against HAWKS and HK.
SUGAR members woke up the morning of Sunday April 14^th, logged on, and discovered that every one of the structures in their home hole had been transferred to an HK holding corp. Their implant sets were all gone. Every single one. They were unable to dock. Most of their combat pilots were not even in their home hole. What was in the SUGAR home was a massive HAWKS coalition fleet.
And NOVAC was in it.

Stay on the Sidelines and You Will Burn

SYNDE’s diplomatic efforts had been widespread for the months leading up to the Wormhole War. They had enlisted the support of both large wormhole groups and small in building their expansive anti-HAWKS coalition. Two of the biggest pvp groups in wormhole space had consistently declined their overtures: LUPUS and NOVAC. Strong, independent, brawling groups, they did not like HAWKS, but they also didn’t like SYNDE. In proper cartel fashion, they were not interested in helping either of those groups achieve more power or territory. Truth be told they wanted both sides to lose. Better to remain neutral and pick the best course at a later time.
SYNDE did not push much until the first two weeks of the war. During that first week of burning HAWKS farms, according to SYNDE lead Cyrus Kurush, 16 or 17 C6 farms were transferred from HAWKS to NOVAC. LUPUS was the beneficiary of a smaller number of HAWKS farms. It was clear that under the weight of the broad offensive, many HAWKS members had opted to sell their farms to neutral wormhole groups. In most cases, it was HAWKS members selling farms to long-term EVE friends in other wormhole groups.
Cyrus Kurush was livid. He had already earmarked every HAWKS C6, and now many of them seemed to be passing out of the war and into the hands of neutrals who continued to refuse to join his coalition. He directed his lead diplo Zelvig to reengage with NOVAC and clearly relay his message. Zelvig did so, informing NOVAC of two key things: one, further receipt of any HAWKS farm would be viewed as an act of war, and two, while NOVAC was welcome to remain a friendly neutral during this early part of the campaign, the C6s they had already received from HAWKS should be seen as being held in trust for the wormhole community. Following the now-inevitable HAWKS eviction and removal from high class space, NOVAC would have to settle their farm accounts with SYNDE. With his customary enthusiasm, Zelvig gave NOVAC a timeline for their decision to join the coalition: as soon as the last HAWKS C6 farm fell, SYNDE would turn to the NOVAC C6s unless they had already joined. Zelvig estimated that gave NOVAC 2 or 3 more weeks to make a decision.
NOVAC made their decision that night, informing HAWKS leadership that they would be joining the HAWKS side. They asked only that they have a week to get their group organized and prepared. At the end of that week, NOVAC joined HAWKS, HK, Voidlings, and 418 in infiltrating a Vulture fleet into SUGAR’s home hole.

Sugar Free: J104037 Bleeds and Falls

Two things happened from the jump: HAWKS took and held hole control in SUGAR’s home hole while infiltrating additional pilots, and SYNDE pinged hard to get their coalition members to consolidate in Waffle House, the C6 hole that they had made their staging at the start of the war. It was chosen due to its C6 static, which permitted SYNDE to roll into HAWKS C6 farms and reinforce then destroy them at will.
With the HAWKS fleet swelling in numbers with NOVAC’s addition to their alliance, they openly docked in SUGAR’s citadels – now owned by HK. SUGAR members could only watch in horror as the citadel showed more and more reds docking in their fortizar.
SYNDE began rage-rolling in earnest, hoping to connect to SUGAR’s home. Cyrus Kurush was eager to test the new coalition Cyclone Fleet Issue doctrine they had theorycrafted to counter the HAWKS Vuilture doctrine. He preferred their blaster Megathron Navy Issue doctrine, but that had proven ill-suited to deal with the Vultures in the earlier brawl in the HK staging C6.
As would happen often throughout this campaign, luck favored the bold. SYNDE rolled into SUGAR’s home at a high point for SYNDE fleet participation. SYNDE immediately jumped sabres into system and fully bubbled their “in” hole, giving them the time they needed to warp their entire fleet to the hole. They avoided a repeat of the prior fight where they were unable to get their entire fleet in due to poor hole control. The full SYNDE fleet jumped through the hole, rolling it as they sent in the full 3b+ in ship mass. All told, over 150 Cyclone Fleet Issues flooded into the SUGAR home, along with support. The HAWKS fleet undocked to reports of 20 dreads on dscan as the SYNDE fleet warped to the (former) SUGAR main fortizar. SUGAR members had logged on the caps they were still able to pilot – some undocked from that forts, others from deep safes in system. As the CFI fleet connected with the increasing dread bomb, siege modules were engaged and the battle was joined.
The fight was a back and forth affair for a short period before some aggressive FCing by the HAWKS/HK/NOVAC FC team forced the SYNDE fleet to extract. At that point, a dynamic unique to wormhole combat emerged. SYNDE, realizing they could not win on grid, focused on extracting as many SUGAR capitals as possible. They would scan the new static C5 connection – as would HAWKS – and then each would race subcap fleets to that new hole and contest it. If SYNDE was able to get there first and keep the hole clear of sabre bubbles, SUGAR would warp their capitals to that hole and jump 3 of them out. That would kill the hole, causing a new static wormhole to appear one minute later where the two sides could repeat the process. With each new static wormhole, SYNDE continued to feed ships and lose combat capability.
A highly comedic situation occurred on one such hole. HAWKS warped their lone rolling carrier to it blind. In so doing, they hoped to be able to jump the carrier and briefly assert hole control – preventing more than one SUGAR cap from getting out, and also giving the HAWKS fleet time to tackle the others. The carrier landed right after the SUGAR caps did – but in a critical communication gap, the SUGAR caps did not know which 3 were supposed to leave on this hole. SYNDE sabres bubbled up, but the carrier was already on the wormhole. It jumped the hole with its prop on. A clamor erupted on SYNDE comms as they awaited guidance about which cap, if any, should leave. The HAWKS rolling carrier burned untouched back to the hole on the other side. A SUGAR Moros Navy Issue, frustrated at the indecision, jumped anyway. Most of the time, that would have rolled the wormhole, trapping the Moros Navy and rolling carrier on the other side. Luckily for the HAWKS carrier, it was a high-mass hole. The wormhole went critical but did not close. The HAWKS rolling carrier jumped back.
The Moros Navy had extracted, but the remaining SUGAR caps were now sitting around the now-dead hole’s bookmark. Many began burning away and out of the bubbles from the SYNDE sabres who had tried to protect that hole. SYNDE FC Cyrus Kurush ordered his sabres to get off the hole and stop bubbling their dreads, and they did. Forgotten in the chaos and indecision, the HAWKS rolling carrier decloaked, aligned out, cycled prop and initiated wrap. It was immediately primaried by both dreads and the SYNDE CFI fleet. Chaotic calls to bubble the carrier were met with hesitation as those same sabres had only recently been told not to bubble. The carrier entered warp as the bubbles were deployed. The carrier pilot shared this video of the bold carrier roll and escape. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DDgzA8J6j44&t
The carrier escape from a heavily bubbled grid marked the final turning point in the SYNDE extraction efforts. HAWKS sabres flooded the grid, tackling most of the SUGAR caps. After more fighting, the SYNDE coalition CFIs extracted from the grid, leaving the caps to their fate. As the caps began exploding and with the HAWKS fleet committed to their destruction, the SYNDE subcap fleet left via the new static.
The final totals for that fight were 48b lost by the HAWKS side, 144b lost by the SYNDE coalition side. https://br.evetools.org/b6633f295132a2a0012c77eb6
SUGAR had extracted 4 dreads, but at a heavy price.

Blue Balls and Explosions

With the clock ticking on the armor and hull timers of the SUGAR structures, SYNDE tried to reset in their C6 staging. Again, they pinged for their coalition to reassemble in that system. Again, they began rolling. That process continued for many hours.
The following day, on April 15^th, SYNDE would roll into the SUGAR home not once but twice. Both times, SYNDE only had a partial CFI fleet docked in their fortizar while the HAWKS side maintained a full Vulture fleet ready to undock on a moment’s notice. The HAWKS, HK and NOVAC leadership team knew that this was a critical moment in the campaign, and every effort was made to complete the SUGAR eviction.
SYNDE rolled into SUGAR’s home twice on April 15^th. And they immediately rolled the connection both times.
SYNDE lead Cyrus Kurush was personally scanning and rolling. He knew exactly what HAWKS had on hand, knew he could not contest for hole control, and just rolled the connection off quietly. Twice.
Cyrus Kurush knew that the integrity of his coalition required him to make every effort to save a key member’s home hole – but he was also very frustrated by SUGAR’s lack of readiness to defend their home. He had expected a lot more caps, more ships, more support. He felt he had beaten the HAWKS fleet in that large initial brawl, and had been let down by SUGAR. He did not want to risk sacrificing another major loss for a group that could not stand on their own two feet.

The Initiative to Regain the Initiative

The SUGAR Fortizar hull timers were on Tuesday, April 16^th.
A key early-war HAWKS ally, a small EUTZ pvp group called Czarna-Kompania, had infiltrated two dreads overnight. Two other groups had brought in one each. That dread force would give HAWKS the flexibility of hitting concurrent hull timers. There were multiple structures that needed to get hit over a two hour period. The dreads would let the HAWKS side bash those citadels while also keeping their subcap fleet free to fight for and maintain hole control if at all possible.
Hours before those timers, disaster struck the HAWKS effort. An A009 wormhole connection popped into the SUGAR home.
For an eviction, the worst possible wormhole connection is an A009 wormhole. It is a 16-hour frigate-sized wormhole that connects to a shattered wormhole that will also have a number of frig holes connecting outward to kspace systems. Frig holes cannot be rolled.
This meant that for the time leading up to the critical hull timers, there would be an unrollable hole into the eviction target, into SUGAR’s home.
By this time, it was clear to all involved parties that SYNDE had a close partnership with the Initiative. Although this was fraying some of the wormhole groups in the coalition, it still afforded SYNDE a chance to salvage the situation. SYNDE lead Cyrus Kurush formed an attack plan with Initiative leadership. During the hours immediately prior to the hull timers, SYNDE would assemble a heavy fleet in their staging, and rage roll for the SUGAR home. The Initiative would form a full bomber fleet, and travel to the C13 shattered wormhole. The second that SYNDE rolled in, they would execute a lethal 3-pronged attack: the SYNDE fleet would explode into the SUGAR home, all remaining SUGAR capitals and subcapitals would undock, and the Initiative bomber fleet would jump the A009. They would time those 3 critical elements based on the location, strength and composition of the HAWKS fleet. It was a good plan. If they could connect those three prongs, they would have 3 times the number that HAWKS could muster. Pings went out and the fleets assembled. Init travelled with a 300 bomber fleet to the shattered hole. SYNDE began rage rolling. About 50 SUGAR pilots sat on logon screen and waited on SYNDE comms.
HAWKS was aware of all of the above. HAWKS, working closely with HK and NOVAC strategists, devised a counter for the two concerning prongs. The SYNDE rolling threat had two counters. Within the SYNDE staging, there was a small fleet of yachts and a seeded, cloaked rolling carrier. In the SUGAR home, another rolling carrier sat ready to suicide roll if needed. Should SYNDE warp their fleet from the fort to a new wormhole, HAWKS was prepared to simultaneously warp both carrier and yachts to that same hole. They were confident they could stop the majority of the SYNDE fleet from making it through the wormhole.
The real threat was the Initiative, and that damned frig hole. HAWKS placed three sniping fleets around the wormhole and dropped a massive number of anchorable bubbles around it. On the hole itself were a mixture of smartbombing battleships and suicide dictors, each orbiting patiently. When the report came of the 300 Initiative bombers entering the shattered hole on the other side, the HAWKS team was ready and waiting.
The Initiative FC team, with a scout already in SUGAR staging, saw all of this. War-seasoned FCs, there was no scenario where they were jumping their bombers into that future charnal house. Unless SYNDE could pull those fleets away from the hole, it was an impossible standoff. The HAWKS battlecruiser fleet could not jump the hole. The Initiative bombers would not jump the hole. The Initiative bombers sat there and waited for SYNDE to roll in.
Meanwhile, in SUGAR staging, citadels came out of reinforce for hull timers and the allied dreads went to work. And everyone else waited. The SYNDE fleet waited on their fort while their FC rage rolled. The Initiative fleet waited in the shattered. The HAWKS alliance fleet waited on the other side of the shattered. One by one, the citadels began blowing up.
The SYNDE fleet stood down. The Initiative left the shattered wormhole and headed back to Fountain. SYNDE had gotten the full Nullsec batphone allied response, but been unable to take advantage of it.
Unconfirmable reports are that the HAWKS alliance looted nearly 200b from the various structures, including a large number of capital ships, on top of the 150b+ exploded. https://br.evetools.org/b661f2a2eddb48200112d82c5 (The three “friendly” caps that were destroyed were looted SUGAR caps that the allies decided to blow up rather than keep and exfiltrate from the hole.)
Some SUGAR members would still try to participate, but SUGAR was done as a fighting unit in the Wormhole War.
The next part will focus on what would become the most important battlefield in the Wormhole War – Waffle House, the SYNDE coalition staging C6.

I don't even know where to get started. I'm mainly writing to get everything off my chest in a community of folks who may or may not have had similar experiences in the past or present. I'd also like to add that creepy, unexplainable things have always happened around me since I was a little kid. So, here it goes:
I moved into my apartment in September 2023. I've always felt comfortable and calm in my home. Besides my usual nightmares (always had them, generally not too scary), everything was copacetic. Either at the very end of December or January 2024, things started getting weird.
It's important to note I live alone in a 1 bedroom apartment. The first time something happened, I was sound asleep and was awoken to 3 knocks on my bedroom door at 3 am. I usually slept with the bedroom door open and just started closing it at night. It was loud and deliberate. I just told myself I'd imagined it and while I was very scared, I drifted back off to sleep. The next day I was on the phone with my sister and told her what happened. Out of curiosity I knocked on my bedroom door and it was the exact same sound.
Over the next few months I heard 3 knocks at my bedroom door, bathroom, or front door around 3 am, 1 am, or 11 pm. I even had a friend visit in March and he was awoken to 3 knocks at the front door at 1 am. Around this time is the first time I heard my daughter's 7-8 year old voice say "Mom?" next to my bed then again a couple weeks later behind me at the head of the bed. My daughter is 12 and lives full time with her dad, so I knew and told myself "that isn't my daughter". I also expierenced what sounded like claw scratches across my stand up heater across each metal section (looks like a radiator) when I was fully awake laying down in bed. Another time I was in bed and for a couple seconds smelt sulfur next to my bed and got up and left my bedroom. After this I took my first actions.
I have a favorite tarot readepsychic I found on (a popular social media app I can't type because it isn't allowed) last year when he was first starting out doing free readings. I was on his live the night after hearing my daughter and asked him and the 13 other people in the live for advice. Him and a few people suggested burning sage (I cannot because it would set off the smoke alarms in the building). Next suggested using sage incense, making loud claps all over the apartment, in the nooks and crannies, to break up energy and get it moving throughout the apartment. Lastly, to open a window and ask whatevewhoever is they to please leave through that designated window. I couldn't find sage incense at Walmart so I got a plug in wax warmer and picked up palo santo/sage wax melts. I went home and did the ritual and I didn't have disturbances for 3 weeks.
During this time, I started leaving the bathroom light on with the door cracked, the bedroom door cracked, and the kitchen light on in the kitchen every night and slept with my winter hat with the top open for my hair as a face mask. Cut to Sunday night, I was woken up to the sound of wooden "pop!" hit the floor, like a staff or the wooden end of a broomstick next to my bed. I thought it was time to get up to go over to get my daughter up for school, but noticed it was completely dark outside. I had my hat over my eyes and told myself to stay calm and rolled over to pretend like I went back to sleep. A few minutes pass and I hear it again and this time feel the vibration on the floor (I sleep on an air mattress on the floor). I ignore it, then it happens 2 times in a row, I keep ignoring it, then it happens another 2 or 3 times in a row. I jump up and say "fuck this shit!" and dash to my living room, grab my purse, shoes, and leave my phone. When I got to the bottom floor I noticed it was 12:15 am. I slept over at my ex-fiances on the couch because I was so scared.
I go back to my apartment Monday night and start hearing a loud wooden "pop!" noise like when a house settles, but live in a concrete building and never heard it before. I was on the phone with a friend until midnight and kept hearing the loud crack/pop noise in the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom every 5-10 minutes for around 2 hours. I fell asleep on my papazon chair (ouch) because I was nervous about sleeping in my bedroom again and was woken to another pop at 2 am. I decided to just bite the bullet and fell asleep on my bed, but woke up every half hour or so, but no disturbances that I noticed. I left my apartment at 5:50 to get my daughter up.
I get back home at about 7am and decide I needed to take a nap from not getting a lot of sleep the last couple days and doze off at about 8 am. I was awoken at about 9 am to what sounded like a loud flick against the air mattress and I felt it, said "nope" and went to lay down (in a ball) on the papzon chair. I was woken up to the loud flick of the air mattress twice, then was awake and heard it again (like flick and air mattress moved). I decided I was leaving, packed up, wen to the bathroom and heard the same sound of the air mattress moving, got in my car and drove to my Dad's a hour in a half away, in part to see him, but mostly to get away from my apartment.
I'm still here now. I've told this all to my friend, sister, and Dad every step of the way and yesterday my therapist and peer support in detail. I'm nervous about being back at my apartment. I have so much fear in my heart and am just scared. I checked with my apartment manager today and no one has died in my apartment in the past. I called a local Catholic Church and left a voicemail with a preist to call me for guidance and hopefully meet up and discuss coming to my apartment with me. I have always been non-religous, but am open to anything at this point.
It's worth noting that I was having horrible, disgusting, wicked thoughts that were so bad I cannot tell anyone what they are because I don't want to be arrested when the disturbances started escalating.
Has anyone had similar experiences? How did you get them to stop? Do you now feel safe and secure in your home? Are you still living with (whatever) today?
Edit: I will not be checking this post while I'm at my apartment so fear of stirring up whatever is there. So my responses might be far between.

I never considered myself to be smart, but I never thought I was stupid. As Artemis and I left Athena's oasis, I couldn't help but ponder the enormity of what had just happened. My mind was beginning to clear up and reflection set in as I followed Artemis through solid objects, down rabbit holes, through fire, sleet, and bodies of water.
The fire didn't burn me.
The cold didn't freeze me.
The water didn't drown me.
To think that my stupid human brain caused me to err in judgement to such a degree that I would step into the domain of godhood where I didn't belong... all because I was horny. I cringed the thought away. Yes, it was the hottest thing that had ever happened to me, but the way Athena looked at me; it sent chills down my spine. There would surely be consequences for this, but Artemis had clammed up completely, and wasn't answering my questions.
"Artemis?" I whined. "Hey... I'm sorry. I didn't know this would happen."
She stopped in the middle of the woods. We stood surrounded by a captive audience of oak trees; it was eerily silent. She turned and cast me a long look before walking into one of the larger oaks. I sighed and followed her through it. On the other side, we were back in Thyra under a familiar violet menagerie of stars and planets. She had stopped, finally, sitting down and leaning back.
I stepped in front of her. "Artemis? What, umm... Whatcha doing?"
"Waiting," she said plainly.
I looked around at the desolate canyon.
"... Waiting for what?"
"Judgement," she sighed. "This will be the first place Father will look for me when he hears the news."
"Father?"
"You may know him as Zeus."
A little bit of sweat gathered around my temples. He was the main guy. Like the biggest name in Greek myth. Everyone knows Zeus. But judgement... what was about to happen?
"I thought we were going to go hunt some beast in the Underworld or something." I looked down at my rifle and ran my hand along the length of the barrel. "I was scared at first, but now I want to see what a weapon kissed by Hephaestus can do."
I scoffed. I didn't know where that kind of verbiage came from. Kissed by Hepheastus? What was I, a poet all of the sudden? When I looked up, she looked sick. Her face was sagging and her eyes were lifeless. She leaned back and laid flat on the ground, her arms and legs outstretched as though she were dead.
"I too was eager to hunt," she said in a forlorn tone. "But that was before, in my miserable judgement, I welcomed you into divinity."
That was the first time she'd confirmed it with her own lips and it struck me for the first time that this was truly happening. The weight of it fell on my shoulders and did my level best to suppress it down. I didn't want to think about the implications just yet.
"I thought it was just a blessing," I said, sitting down next to her. "I didn't know there was a limit..."
"Athena tried to pry you from my breast, but you were stuck to it like a stubborn babe. You refused to listen."
"I didn't even realize it!" I defended myself. "Why couldn't you have just blessed me in a different way? Why did it have to be so weird?"
"Each god and goddess may bestow blessings, but for each it is different, and tied to their domain," she answered. "I am the goddess of the hunt, but also of nature, childcare, and birth. My blessing is bestowed as such that reflects my divine purpose." She cast me an annoyed glance, "You are the one who has decided it is weird."
I set the rifle down in front of me and leaned forward, thinking carefully. I didn't want to dig my hole any deeper with Artemis. I didn't need her mad at me too. "I'm sorry," I said finally. "But on earth it's kind of a sexual thing."
"Your species is perverse," she said, closing her eyes. "Am I to blame for that too?"
"No!" I said quickly. "I'm not blaming you for a damn thing, but-"
"The blame lies with me entirely," she cut me off. "I brought you here. I took you to Athena's Oasis. I fed you the milk of the gods with my own breast. Who else is to blame but me? My father will certainly say as much when he finds us."
I swallowed. I didn't know what to do. I was in over my head; way out of my depth to such a degree that I wondered if maybe it was just a good idea to keep quiet and sit still. But I had one question that was burning behind my eyes.
"What's going to happen to you?" I asked.
She opened her eyes and stared at the sky as she contemplated. "... I suppose I'll be reduced to my base components and be remade a more capable daughter. They call it rebirthing."
"Artemis," I said softly. "That sounds like dying."
"There is no death," she refuted. "Only rebirth. I will be remade."
"Yeah, it still sounds like death to me," I pressed.
"It's the closest thing to death that goddess can experience," came a familiar voice from behind me. I turned to see Apollo walking slowly toward us. "Sister, sister," he chanted. "What have you done this time?"
I wasn't overwhelmed by his beauty this time, but I still felt my chest tighten. It was the same feeling as seeing an ex from a long time ago in a public space like the mall or the grocery store. A flutter of something that once was there, but nothing substantial.
"Word will spread," Artemis said, her voice cracking. "And when Father has discovered what I have done, he will do what is right, I am certain of it."
"Will he?" Apollo asked. "Because Father has never been one to overreact, yes?" His tone carried the faintest hint of sarcasm.
Artemis didn't respond.
"I can't help but feel responsible for all of this," I said, getting to my feet. "I'll accept full responsibility."
"That will not be up to you," Artemis said, sitting up and hugging her knees.
"You may assume all the responsibility you like," said Apollo, turning to face me. "But there is not a single god or goddess on Mount Olympus that will accept that. You were a simple-minded human when you erred. It is what your kind does. Would you curse an acorn for falling from a tree?"
"I get it, I get it," I rolled my eyes. "But it's not fair. Artemis didn't know I would fuck up the way I did. She doesn't deserve to die!"
"Make no mistake," Apollo said sternly. "It will not just be her, but Athena and Hephaestus for participating in this little charade." He turned his eyes toward the cracked canyon floor and sighed. "... And of course, I as well."
"No!" Artemis was on her feet.
"I will be punished for failing to alert Father to your wily machinations," he looked up at her. "I turned a blind eye. And I did it while Brian was still a human."
Artemis held his gaze for a second before turning and looking at me. "... The Fates," she whispered.
"The Fates?" I looked between the two of them. "What's going on?"
"Father will speak with the Fates," Artemis said as though in a panic, returning her attention to her brother. "They know all that is and all that will be."
"For humans," Apollo clarified, turning to me. "The Fates have no knowledge concerning the gods and goddesses. But everything that transpired around you while you were human will be a part of their knowledge."
"So Zeus will talk to them..." I began to put it together. "And you'll have no plausible deniability. They'll have seen you interacting with me here."
"Hephaestus and Athena as well," Apollo nodded. "None of us can deny what we've done here." He looked at his sister and scowled. "Because we trusted in her to know what she was doing."
This was a mess. A complete disaster of my own making. I was such an idiot. I should have known better than to trespass against the gods. For had I known that Artemis would pay such a price, I would have never chased such an audacious undertaking. I held one hand to my head and felt that same nausea that had overtaken me back at the oasis. My inner dialogue was changing. I was thinking in a voice that wasn't really my own. I could feel myself slowly changing somehow.
"Forgive me," Artemis said to her brother.
"He may," came another voice to her left. In the blink of an eye, a newcomer had manifested. "But I will not. I trusted you to know better, Artemis."
After only a moment, I recognized him. It was Hephaestus, but human-sized and not all glowy and scary. He also bore a nasty scar across the right side of his face. I hadn't noticed it in the shadowy forge, but it was distracting. He stared daggers at Artemis, his strong arms folded across his chest.
Artemis buried her face in her hands. "I did not mean to risk you all alongside me," she sobbed. "I am so ashamed."
"As well you should be," Apollo spoke furiously. "Father already detests Hephaestus. He will be rebirthed as well."
"He detests me," Hepheastus, turned to Apollo, "Because I dared to suggest he was wrong about something. Though, if you ask me, the old man has hated me from the moment he laid eyes on me."
"Stop, stop, stop," I lifted my hands. "Just... let's just think about this for a second. Why do we have to wait around for Zeus to find out?" I asked. "We could just, y'know, get out of here. Nobody has to be killed over this, we can just leave, can't we? He doesn't know anything yet!"
"You imbecile," Apollo seethed, putting his face inches from mine. "You know nothing about anything. Keep your moronic human notions to yourself for so long as they persist within you."
That broke my heart. I wrestled with the emotions that roiled within me. I took a step back and inhaled, holding the tears back. I wasn't going to cry. I was a grown-ass man. So why did I feel like a toddler in time-out?
"Actually," came a new voice from behind Artemis. We turned to see Athena caressing her chin thoughtfully. "While his primal human instincts compell him to flee... in this case, it might not be the worst idea."
"You've hit your head, yes?" Apollo asked. "You would take a human's side? So much for a goddess of wisdom. Take your council elswehere."
"Mind your manners, Brother," Artemis spoke up. "That is Athena you are addressing. You will hear her speak."
We all stood in a moment of tense silence. Athena began to pace around the gathered gods, patiently choosing her words before she spoke them.
"Father has had a hot temper as of the last few hundred years," she began. "Don't act like you all haven't been weary of him; that you haven't shared whispers of concern with your siblings."
Everyone turned their eyes away from her, as though unwilling to accept it. But I could tell from the expressions on their faces that she was telling the truth. Something was going on with Zeus, it seemed, but what? Why were his kids so afraid of him?
"He has been rebirthing gods and goddesses for small offenses as of late," Athena went on. "I, for one, have been living in fear of his ire for some time now. He is not the same as he once was."
"Do not speak ill of Father," Artemis came to Zeus's defense. "He is facing difficulties!"
"That is..." Apollo trailed off. "A hefty accusation," he said finally, staring the goddess down.
Athena stared back with equal ferocity. "Then why, Apollo, did you keep your sister's little venture to yourself?"
He remained quiet. I didn't know the gods bickered like this. I always assumed they were some big happy family just living in paradise, but it seemed like there was at least some degree of treachery afoot.
Afoot?
I winced.
"Your silence says it all," Athena smirked before turning serious. "What little empathy Father once possessed is gone. We can all wait around to be rebirthed to Father's liking," she passed her eyes over us. "Or we can flee. The worst thing that can happen to us is rebirth either way."
"I have yearned to leave his gaze for eons now," said Hephaestus. "I will join in an escape effort."
"There would be little effort required," Apollo announced. "There has never been an attempt to leave the pantheon. It would likely be as simple as walking through an open doorway. But this discussion is traitorous; blasphemers, each and every one of you."
"I will run with Athena," Artemis announced.
"Sister!" Apollo scolded.
"Athena is more than my sister, she is my best friend," Artemis balled her fists. "If it were anyone else who suggested it, I may not have listened. But Athena's wise words have guided me through great trials."
"I am with them," Hephaestus said to Apollo. "You can stay here with the accident," he eyed me angrily.
Artemis looked as though she wanted to come to my defense, but ultimately said nothing.
Another arrow through my heart.
"Hephaestus," I began my sentence without anywhere for it to go. "I... I might not be..." I flailed. Suddenly, I had a question. "Wait," I pointed at him. "Why can I understand you now?"
"Because, dear Brian," Athena answered for him, walking up to me and placing a hand against my forehead. "You are a god now. It doesn't matter whether Hephaestus likes it or not, you are divinity born of mankind."
"Well," I glanced around without moving my head. "What am I the god of?"
"She is checking," Apollo said. "Be quiet while she divinates your domains."
I felt a tingling sensation around my forehead. It tickled, and I couldn't help but giggle a little. It made Artemis smile and my heart soared.
"You are..." Athena spoke, closing her eyes, her concentration tightening. "The god of indulgence and isolation," she announced, opening her eyes and smiling at me. She removed her hand and stepped back, leaving me in a stunned silence.
"Did you just call me fat and lonely?" I blurted out.
Athena lifted her hand to her mouth and dimples manifested on her cheeks. Artemis did the same, but couldn't stifle her laughter. Apollo snickered and turned his head. I stood there with my mouth wide open as Hephaestus began to chuckle to himself. But he didn't look happy about it. He would smile and laugh before scowling it away, and then start laughing again as though he were being tickled while in a terrible mood. The others adopted an expression not dissimilar to mine and stared at the god of the forge.
"I can't stop," Hephaestus managed between breathy laughter.
"By the stars," Athena murmured. "I don't believe I've ever seen Hephaestus laugh."
"Nobody has," Apollo said in equal wonderment.
"That is your sense of humor?" Artemis asked, aghast. "It is so... childish! So unexpected!"
"I have no sense of humor!" Hephaestus barked, finally getting his laughter under control. "He did something to me!"
"I didn't do anything!" I threw my arms up.
"Perhaps," Athena smiled at me. "He also holds the domain of humor. I didn't search for it."
"Great," I said angrily. "I'm 'Hilarious', the fat and ugly Greek god of comedy, I love it."
Hephaestus exploded in a renewed fit of laughter, once more prompting the others to laugh again. I stood there in the center of it and frowned.
"Can we get out of here now?" I shouted.
They laughed harder.
This sucked.
Writing Prompt Submitted by u/blablador-2001

Yankees @ Twins - Thu, May 16

Game Status: Final - Score: 5-0 Yankees

Links & Info

• MLB Gameday
• Game Graphs
• Savant Gamefeed

	Yankees Batters	AB	R	H	RBI	BB	K	LOB	AVG	OBP	SLG
1	Volpe - SS	5	1	2	1	0	0	0	.273	.348	.432
2	Soto, J - RF	4	1	0	0	1	2	1	.302	.403	.517
3	Judge - DH	3	1	2	0	1	0	0	.262	.393	.555
4	Verdugo - LF	3	1	1	1	0	1	1	.250	.331	.405
5	Torres - 2B	4	1	2	1	0	1	2	.223	.301	.295
6	Rizzo - 1B	4	0	0	1	0	0	3	.250	.319	.405
7	Wells, A - C	4	0	1	1	0	1	1	.205	.318	.315
8	Berti - 3B	4	0	1	0	0	0	0	.262	.295	.262
9	Grisham - CF	4	0	0	0	0	3	2	.061	.244	.152
	Totals	35	5	9	5	2	8	10

Yankees
BATTING: 2B: Torres 2 (6, Ryan, Ryan); Judge 2 (15, Ryan, Sands). HR: Volpe (6, 1st inning off Ryan, 0 on, 0 out). TB: Berti; Judge 4; Torres 4; Verdugo; Volpe 5; Wells, A. RBI: Rizzo (23); Torres (11); Verdugo (20); Volpe (23); Wells, A (4). 2-out RBI: Wells, A. Runners left in scoring position, 2 out: Wells, A; Soto, J; Rizzo; Grisham 2; Torres. SF: Verdugo. Team RISP: 2-for-11. Team LOB: 6.
FIELDING: E: Schmidt (1, throw); Berti (3, fielding).

	Twins Batters	AB	R	H	RBI	BB	K	LOB	AVG	OBP	SLG
1	Julien - 2B	4	0	0	0	0	2	1	.222	.331	.422
2	Larnach - DH	4	0	0	0	0	3	1	.296	.346	.451
3	Correa - SS	4	0	1	0	0	0	1	.272	.364	.413
4	Kepler - RF	4	0	0	0	0	1	1	.304	.356	.500
5	Castro, W - 3B	4	0	1	0	0	1	0	.265	.327	.435
6	Santana - 1B	4	0	1	0	0	0	1	.208	.278	.389
7	Kirilloff - LF	3	0	0	0	0	1	2	.202	.262	.360
8	Margot - CF	3	0	0	0	0	0	1	.169	.231	.229
9	Vázquez - C	2	0	0	0	0	0	0	.171	.195	.207
	Totals	32	0	3	0	0	8	8

Twins
BATTING: 2B: Correa (7, Schmidt). TB: Castro, W; Correa 2; Santana. Runners left in scoring position, 2 out: Kepler. Team RISP: 0-for-1. Team LOB: 6.

Yankees Pitchers	IP	H	R	ER	BB	K	HR	P-S	ERA
Schmidt (W, 5-1)	8.0	3	0	0	0	8	0	103-69	2.49
González, V	1.0	0	0	0	0	0	0	12-8	2.63
Totals	9.0	3	0	0	0	8	0

Twins Pitchers	IP	H	R	ER	BB	K	HR	P-S	ERA
Ryan (L, 2-3)	5.1	6	4	4	1	5	1	93-60	3.57
Thielbar	0.2	2	0	0	0	1	0	9-8	5.79
Sands	1.0	1	1	1	1	1	0	18-10	4.82
Okert	1.0	0	0	0	0	0	0	6-5	3.29
Jackson, J	1.0	0	0	0	0	1	0	8-7	5.91
Totals	9.0	9	5	5	2	8	1

Game Info
WP: Ryan.
HBP: Vázquez (by Schmidt).
Pitches-strikes: Schmidt 103-69; González, V 12-8; Ryan 93-60; Thielbar 9-8; Sands 18-10; Okert 6-5; Jackson, J 8-7.
Groundouts-flyouts: Schmidt 9-8; González, V 1-1; Ryan 8-3; Thielbar 1-0; Sands 1-1; Okert 1-0; Jackson, J 1-0.
Batters faced: Schmidt 30; González, V 3; Ryan 23; Thielbar 4; Sands 5; Okert 3; Jackson, J 3.
Inherited runners-scored: Thielbar 1-1.
Umpires: HP: Paul Clemons. 1B: Andy Fletcher. 2B: Mike Muchlinski. 3B: Jansen Visconti.
Weather: 60 degrees, Partly Cloudy.
Wind: 11 mph, Out To CF.
First pitch: 12:11 PM.
T: 2:15.
Att: 31,569.
Venue: Target Field.
May 16, 2024

Inning	Scoring Play	Score
Top 1	Anthony Volpe homers (6) on a fly ball to left center field.	1-0 NYY
Top 1	Gleyber Torres doubles (5) on a fly ball to center fielder Manuel Margot, deflected by left fielder Alex Kirilloff. Aaron Judge scores. Alex Verdugo to 3rd.	2-0 NYY
Top 1	Anthony Rizzo grounds out, first baseman Carlos Santana to pitcher Joe Ryan. Alex Verdugo scores. Gleyber Torres to 3rd.	3-0 NYY
Top 6	Austin Wells singles on a line drive to right fielder Max Kepler. Gleyber Torres scores.	4-0 NYY
Top 7	Alex Verdugo out on a sacrifice fly to left fielder Alex Kirilloff. Juan Soto scores.	5-0 NYY

Team	Highlight
NYY	Anthony Volpe's leadoff home run (6) (00:00:23)
NYY	Gleyber Torres hits an RBI double (00:00:26)
MIN	Joe Ryan strikes out 5 over 5 1/3 innings (00:00:57)
NYY	Aaron Judge hits second double of the game (00:00:20)
NYY	Field View: Anthony Volpe's leadoff home run (00:00:44)
NYY	Clarke Schmidt matches career high with 8th K (00:00:06)
MIN	Ball boy makes impressive catch on foul ball (00:00:11)
MIN	Manuel Margot makes a leaping catch (00:00:20)
NYY	Victor González seals the 5-0 win (00:00:25)
NYY	Clarke Schmidt goes eight scoreless innings in win (00:01:29)

	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9		R	H	E	LOB
Yankees	3	0	0	0	0	1	1	0	0		5	9	2	6
Twins	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0		0	3	0	6

Decisions

• Winner: Clarke Schmidt (5-1, 2.49)
• Loser: Joe Ryan (2-3, 3.57)

Division Scoreboard

TB @ BOS 07:10 PM EDT
Next Yankees Game: Fri, May 17, 07:05 PM EDT vs. White Sox (1 day)
^{Last Updated: 05/16/2024 03:53:29 PM EDT}

Leeds United 4 - 0 Norwich City

Leeds scorers: Ilia Gruev (7'), Joël Piroe (20'), Georginio Rutter (40'), Crysencio Summerville (68')
Aggregate score: Leeds United 4-0 Norwich City
Venue: Elland Road, Leeds, England
Referee: Jarred Gillett
Leeds United:

Starting XI	Notes	Subs	Notes
Illan Meslier		Karl Darlow
Archie Gray		Liam Cooper	83'
Joe Rodon		Charlie Cresswell
Ethan Ampadu		Connor Roberts	74'
Junior Firpo		Jamie Shackleton
Glen Kamara		Jaidon Anthony	74'
Ilia Gruev	7' 54' 83'	Daniel James	69'
Wilfried Gnonto	69'	Joe Gelhardt
Georginio Rutter	40' 56' 74'	Mateo Joseph	74'
Crysencio Summerville	68' 74'
Joël Piroe	20' 74'

Manager: Daniel Farke (Germany)
Norwich City:

Starting XI	Notes	Subs	Notes
Angus Gunn		George Long
Jack Stacey		Danny Batth
Shane Duffy		Jacob Sørensen	81'
Ben Gibson	63'	Kellen Fisher
Dimitrios Giannoulis	63'	Grant Hanley
Marcelino Núñez	6'	Sam McCallum	63'
Kenny McLean	90+1'	Borja Sainz	46'
Jonathan Rowe	37' 81'	Christian Fassnacht	63'
Gabriel Sara		Sydney van Hooijdonk	81'
Ashley Barnes	81'
Josh Sargent	46'

Manager: David Wagner (United States)
MATCH EVENTS
1': We're off!
4': Summerville gets the one-two and skips through the defense and fires but puts it high from wide.
6': Marcelino Núñez comes in late on Rodon, dangerous free kick coming
7': GOAL LEEDS!! They score the free kick! Ilia Gruev finds the gap at the near side! That's awful goalkeeping by Gunn who was hours late to jump.
20': GOAL LEEDS!! Gnonto fires a long forward pass to the far post, Gunn hesitates and doesn't get there, Joël Piroe heads it in!!
22': SAVE!! Ampadu misses on an interception, leaving Sargent one on one with Meslier but Meslier comes out quickly and smothers the chance!
35': A Gruev interception launches a Leeds attack, but Gnonto's low shot is easily saved.
37': Jonathan Rowe carded for diving
40': GOAL LEEDS!! Georginio Rutter smacks it in off the underside of the post!!
43': Another break by Leeds!! Gnonto is all alone! Oh but the shot is saved, another unimpressive finish by Gnonto.
45+2': Gunn dives to put away with a cross but gives it right to Gnonto! He tries to find room to shoot but he's blocked on the line by Giannoulis!
HT Leeds United 3-0 Norwich City [3-0 on agg.] Leeds are flying, and Norwich are likely flying home.
46': Norwich substitution: Borja Sainz on for Josh Sargent
46': We're back!
46': SAVE! Leeds nearly score a fourth goal just thirty seconds after the restart, but Gunn blocks the one-on-one chance from Piroe at close range.
51': Summerville's header skims over the top corner
51': Summerville cuts around the backline and fires from wide, blocked by Gunn at the near post.
54': Ilia Gruev with the tactical foul
56': Georginio Rutter lunges into Sainz
63': Norwich double sub: Sam McCallum and Christian Fassnacht on for Ben Gibson and Dimitrios Giannoulis
68': GOAL LEEDS!! Gnonto fires, again Gunn saves but again Gunn spills, it's comes over to Firpo who cuts it back to Crysencio Summerville who knocks it in easily! Gunn has been just awful.
69': Leeds substitution: Daniel James on for Wilfried Gnonto
74': Leeds triple sub: Connor Roberts, Jaidon Anthony and Mateo Joseph on for Georginio Rutter, Crysencio Summerville and Joël Piroe
81': Norwich double sub: Sydney van Hooijdonk and Jacob Sørensen on for Ashley Barnes and Jonathan Rowe
83': Leeds substitution: Liam Cooper on for Ilia Gruev
90+1': Kenny McLean into the book for a bad challenge
FT Leeds United 4-0 Norwich City [4-0 on agg.] Demolition! The Canaries bow out pathetically and Leeds moves on to Wembley

Have been behind the plate and in the field for 10 playoff games so far... Minors, Majors, and Juniors and these are the major details I've noticed..
1. PROPER BASE RUNNING IS VITAL: Every game I've had so far (except a lone blowout) has featured base running miscues ranging from not stretching a single to a double to full blown TOOTBLANS. So many teams are giving away outs like it's Halloween.
Coaches need to start with drilling home the idea of running hard to first base and through the bag every single time. In a last night's game, consecutive batters were out on sure infield singles because (for reasons that defy all logic) they coasted the last few steps to the bag and ended up being out easily.
Then there's commitment to reaching the next base. Have watched so many kids run into outs because they can't commit to sliding or hesitate/panic when they realize there's going to be a play made on them. Again, in the same game last night, a kid tried taking 3B on a passed ball but inexplicably came to a full stop when he saw the ball was on the way. Kid could have walked to the bag but instead, he froze. When he finally snapped out of it, he tried retreating to 2B but his trailing teammate was already there and it turned into the world's lamest rundown.
Finally, there's situational awareness and it all comes down to knowing what to do when the ball is in the air. There've been so many double plays from kids getting doubled off and so many wasted opportunities of kids not running on contact with two outs.
2. THE BOTTOM OF YOUR LINEUP WILL MAKE OR BREAK YOUR TEAM: At least half the game have ended in walk-offs and in each of those, a kid at the bottom of the order has come up big- either with a fluke hit, working a walk to turn the lineup over, or sticking his arm up and making a clutch catch. In games where bottom of the lineup kids lived up to their reputations, it's all been a matter of them being able to be in the game and not just stand there and watch a fly ball sail over their head. These kids need to be kept engaged and know what to do when the ball was hit to them. One walk-off game ended on a single to right field. The RF made a nice play but threw the ball to second base (as if it were a routine play to the cut-off man) instead of chucking the ball home and the runner on 2B was able to coast in to end the game.
3. MITIGATE DAMAGE, DON'T LET THE WHEELS FALL OFF, AND NEVER LET THE KIDS SEE YOU'RE SCARED: Anything can happen in baseball and so many of these playoff games have been flipped upside down when one fluke play snowballs into another. Watching a string of coaches meltdown and send their teams into full-blown panic mode after a ground ball slips through a fielder's legs has gotten painful at times.
4. PITCHING: Sure, kids with wipeout stuff are great to have but the ability to get the ball over the plate is the most important thing. Here's how last night's walk-off ended: Walk, Hit Batter, Walk, Walk (tying run), Walk (winning run). I was on the bases last night and that final at-bat lasted probably 10 pitches. Batter kept fouling off anything close and when the fateful pitch came in, I could see it was a ball from out behind the short stop. Still, the kid's manager tried to argue it was a strike. Not a single out was recorded in that inning.
5. POSITIONING: I've noticed the best coaches are aggressive with moving players around to ensure compliance with participation but they always make sure to have a good catcher, shortstop, 1B and left and/or centerfielder.

The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.

Hello! My hair is the longest it's been since I cut it and dyed it a million colors in highschool, (then side shaves in college lol.) Right now the longest bits are to the middle of my back but I'm having some concerns.
I lose A LOT of hair in the shower. It's kinda crazy how much, I run my hand through my hair and a whole hair ball is woven around my fingers. I have had low vitamin d in the past which is what I thought was causing this but I've been taking vitamins for weeks and getting sun as well. My doctor (who runs blood tests on me every three months for other stuff) says nothing is wrong.
But also my hair is very fine and thin. I feel like I have to keep it in a braid or up with a hairstyle or else strands of hairs go everywhere, look like greasy tendrils, and risk getting broken off.
Right now I use Sally's generic color saving shampoo and conditioner as well as a hair mask with ginseng and caffeine. I also put oil on my scalp before a shower.
I don't use heat but I do dye my hair black every three to four months. My hair is naturally almost black but I just want it really black. I would rather not post a picture of my hair.

Every shelter you’ll go you’ll see a description of the animal worded like “This is Gabe. He such a sweet and cute ball of fur. He very shy at first but if you warm him up he’ll love you for the rest of his life” when in reality (they will never tell you this), Gabe was a dirty and sick feral cat his whole life and he was literally given a wash and had his testicles cut off two weeks ago and now he’s pissed at everyone and of course he will never bond with you because he was a feral cat his whole life.

I (21f) moved out and live with my bf. My mother works at Walmart and Ross as a side job. My mom continuously asks me for money. Me and my mother don’t have the best history and I personally don’t really like helping her, mostly due to the fact that I was raised poorly by her (when I say poorly I mean poorly parenting wise) my mom is a liar, very too faced women, and when I needed help and was doing things on my own, she didn’t help me.
My mom is a selfish person and if money is involved in anything, she’s a dog. My childhood was rough because of her and unfortunately my sisters will be as well (12 and 7 years old). She always begs my sister dad for money and he gives it to her but she would always use the kids as an excuse. He literally helps her with half of the bills and he gives her money for the kids but we never understood where all the money goes because she’s always crying that she can’t pay her bills, my sisters don’t have the best clothes and they’re always going to school looking a mess. My mom is the worst human being and I have so much resentment for her. She only contacts me when she needs money and will act like she wants to know how I’m doing so she can ask me for money. She’s put us in bad situations that I had to get ourselves out of (almost getting kicked out even though she knew months in advance that landlord was selling the house)
I also hate helping my mother because she never tries to improve herself, she continues her acts because she knows she has support systems in her corner that will help her whenever she needs. I usually feel guilty when I don’t sometimes and end up sending her money anyways. I want to cut her out of my life but I can’t because I don’t want to let my sisters suffer so I try and help them as much as I can. My mom doesn’t do her job as a parent, I resent her so much because she raised my sisters so poorly and I warned her of the outcome and tried to help her parent properly but my mom never listens. I feel bad for my sisters because this isn’t their fault that they’re bad and don’t listen.
Anyway, sorry about the rant but if she would put some effort in improving then ok but she doesn’t. Is it bad that I don’t like helping her and want to just stop?
Edit: I see people here saying that I’m upset that she’s poor, I wish I could type my whole life out but I can’t but I’ll give you guys some ideas. She raised me around a bunch of child molesters, in high school I needed her the most I was bad in school, hanging around the wrong crowd, I was crying out for help, when I was sitting in front of her face balling my eyes out telling her how I felt she laughed at me and called me crazy, since that day everything changed, I became a hate filled mess, that day if she would’ve been there for me I feel everything would’ve been different, that day will always be implanted in my brain till the day I die. My whole teenage years I tried building a bond with this women but she would tell me something different then turn her back and talk shit about me to my old step dad. When he was living with us, for years he was molesting me, I told her about it finally when I was 18 years old, instead of kicking him out of the house to protect her youngest daughters, she let him stay and didn’t say anything to him. I always did everything on my own even if it didn’t involve money, everyday when I didn’t have a car and I was taking the bus to and from work in the hot sweating heat, she never tried to help me, she’d get slick with me and give me an attitude. So yes I fucking hate her. I had a discussion with her years ago and told her I am not interested in building a bond but she needs to raise my sisters better then she raised me and she’s doing an awful job at it. She wants to move this random man that she met in Haiti into our home with my little sisters, she has no sort of awareness and I had to scream at her that I am not allowing her to let that random man in the house. (Maybe he isn’t that kind of guy but my mom is careless and I want to protect my sisters as much as I can) My mom cares about men more than she does her own daughters which is why I’ve been molested multiple times as a kid. For years I have been trying to teach my mother on how to be a mother, she could care less. So everyone jumping to conclusions that I hate my mom because she’s poor can fuck off, if anything I’ll take being in poverty if it means I’d be protected and loved by my mother.
There’s more to this but I needed her as a mother since I was young and she was never there so I don’t feel I should be for her either, I’m sticking around to help my sisters as much as I can but my mom can suffer for all I care.

This is part cry for help, part rant, part request to hear how others got through it.
I’m completely and utterly overwhelmed at work. I do a 9-5 and I’ve been averaging 9.5hr days for the last 3 weeks, starting early, finishing late and cutting breaks in half. Despite asking for help, there’s seemingly no resource available, so I just keep dropping the ball because I’m overworked, which I feel like I’m being blamed for.
Saying that, I work somewhere that the average person would snap my hand off for (not well paid, mind you, but very cushy when it comes to WFH etc.), so I definitely don’t want to leave, but I consistently come across as being utterly shit at my job. I barely ever get praise and there’s people I work with who are at the same level as me that never stop getting praised.
Does anyone else feel like this? If so, how did you get through it without getting sacked, because I genuinely feel it’s going that way.

i'm currently in south korea, where the movie had just premiered yesterday. now that i slept on it, and consulted the source material again, i decided to write this review. though i suppose, since there aren't that many people who have seen it yet, this is kind of a half-review, half-informational warning.
long story short: i didn't love it. it's still haikyuu, so there's still a lot of good in it, but lots of my fears about this match being adapted into an 85-minute movie came true. this will sound dramatic (and it is--because it's nowhere near as bad overall), but as far as the quality of pacing goes, i would sooner compare it to land vs aipath of the ball ovas than any season of the show.
and now, to get a bit more specific. (i will try my best to keep this concise, but my verbose ass is really bad at that, so please forgive me.)
i'd like to start at the end. there's a post-credits scene, so make sure to stay for it.it's the nekoma third-years running into suguru and mika (ch327) + a teaser of kamomedai (the last scene from ch326). this heavily implies the second movie will be karasuno vs kamomedai.
overall, i'd say the good things about the movie are this:

1. obviously, the voice acting.
2. the animation is movie-grade quality and certain scenes were really impressive.the first rally was breathtaking, for instance.
3. there were some really nice, small touches added.e.g. mop crew doing their thing between sets, karasuno boys drawn with hinata's hair when kenma said they all had a case of shoyo-itis, shimada getting a big usopp-like nose when he boasted about tadashi, etc.
4. i do enjoy the "hybrid" character re-design.
5. lastly, the final sequence of the match. (HUGE spoiler, dead dove do not click!)the camera pov becomes kenma - we experience the on-court action of the last couple of chapters as him. my feelings are actually a quite mixed on this, but i would ultimately classify this as a positive because it was a brave and unique directorial choice. i also appreciate the idea behind it, i'm just not sure if it entirely stuck the landing. it was very visceral, and in-line with the vision of the movie's narrative, as well as a sweet gesture toward the viewers. but in comparison to how beautifully the last couple of chapters of this match played out in the manga? ...i'm not sure what to make of it.

as for the bad parts, there's one small thing that bugged me: they did not re-draw the smaller flashbacks from previous seasons. unfortunately, the other thing that bothered me was much worse--the huge, pace-stunting cuts, which i would put into two basic categories.

1. the cuts bad for characterization. this is mostly about tiny scenes (like the reactions and inner thoughts of, or short dialogues between the onlooking characters), but there were a few major cuts.the two that come to mind right away: the beginning of the kenma and kuroo flashback (i was really looking forward to the part about "just a little bit of internal bleeding"), and the entirety of the grandpa ukai and coach nekomata flashback (this one, i can sort of understand--though i don't like it personally--but i suppose it makes sense, as to reaffirm that this is no longer about the older generation's battle).there might have been something else just off about the editing/storyboarding which made these cuts more apparent to me, but i can't tell after just one watch. i did leave with an impression that it was somewhat reminiscent of the ovas, though--a lot of the time, just going through the motions of the story rather than re-telling it, hitting the important beats but not caring to build up to it; something akin to a book report made to look like an inspiring adaptation. which leads me to the other category...
2. the cuts bad for the game. while they kept pretty much all of the most impactful parts of the match, the stuff they cut made it look like lots of unearned pay-off (like, you can't cut most of the grueling rallies up?? the hard fight for each point is what made earning them so rewarding???). this is probably my biggest gripe. i distinctly remember how i felt when i first read this match--the secondhand exhaustion, how moved i was by the camaraderie/history between these two teams, and having a sense that i'd witnessed a semi-conclusion of the story as a generational dream comes to pass. many of these feelings had not translated well to my experience of the movie.

that about covers my thoughts. i will be going to see it again soon, just because i'm a haikyuu nut. but i don't expect my opinion to change upon second viewing.
ultimately, i don't think it's a bad movie but it is a disappointing adaptation.

You are Jalen Brunson. (Cool feeling, right?) You catch the ball on the right wing and weave together some between-the-legs dribbles while you contemplate how you should score. Pound dribble to a step-back? The double-crossover-to-hesi combo to get to the paint for a classic floater?
Not this time. You call up good ole’ Isaiah Hartenstein — love that guy — for a pick, but it’s a ruse. As he approaches, you flash the quickest in-and-out in the land and reject the screen, blowing by your hapless defender like the Road Runner lapping the Coyote. Layup drills aren’t this easy.
As Knicks fall around him like so many orange, autumnal leaves, Brunson just keeps carving a path to points. He’s had five 40-burgers in 11 playoff games. There aren’t many guards in the league with as diverse a shotmaking profile. I wanted to dig deeper and figure out how he got all these buckets, particularly the ones inside the arc, where the artistry happens.
A shot chart can show you where the shots happened (sort of), but they can’t show you what kind of attempt it was. The NBA assigns a type to every shot, but the descriptions are both inconsistent and wrong too often to be useful for a micro-analysis like this. So, I hit the tape. I rewatched all of Brunson’s 244 two-point attempts from these playoffs and categorized them into several shot types (there is some discretion involved, art and science, but I tried my best to be consistent).
Here’s how he scores inside the arc, from least prolific to most. The Book of Brunson, if you will (or if you will not; that’s what I’m calling it, regardless). It starts a little slow, but I promise it gets exciting toward the end. Kind of like every single Knicks playoff game.
[Thanks for reading! I've collected nearly a dozen video clips illustrating my points. I think they add a lot to the post! They can be found in-context here or at the various links I've put throughout.]

7) THE DUNK

1 make, 0 misses, 0 FTM, 2.00 Points Per Shot (PPS)

Brunson is listed at 73 inches tall. If you believe that, I’ve got a bridge not too far from Madison Square Garden I can sell you. He only had three dunks in 77 regular season games, but he had one threadbare yet magnificent jam in these playoffs. Here it is: [video here]
When I played 2K (back when a single digit followed the “2K” prefix, yikes), that was called the “rim-grazer” package. Barely gets over the cylinder. Still counts!

6) Cuts

2 makes, 1 miss, 1 FTM, 1.67 PPS

Here’s the thing about Brunson. Brunson makes Brunson happen. He doesn’t need passes from teammates; he needs them to set picks, space the floor, and stay out of the way. In the regular season, 23% of his two-pointers were assisted, a low number. In the playoffs, that’s fallen to 15%. And calling some of these “assists” feels generous. You tell me how much the pass here had to do with Brunson scoring: [video here]
I digress. Back to cuts. Synergy has him in the fourth percentile for the share of shots finished off of cuts; it’s not his jam. By my count, Brunson has had precisely three field goal attempts off cuts in 11 playoff games. Two went in. For what it’s worth, Hartenstein had the assist on both (and in fact, Hartenstein’s 10 total playoff assists to Brunson are more than anyone else on the roster). Here’s one: [video here]
Understandably, the Pacers were not expecting it. Neither was I, but then again, I’m not paid eight figures to stop him.

5) Transition

6 makes, 3 misses, 3 FTM, 1.67 PPS

The Knicks, famously, are the slowest team in the league, and they’ve crawled in the playoffs. Might be too tired from the heavy minutes; have to save your energy for offensive rebounds, I get it. Josh Hart carries most of the transition load.
But every once in a while, someone will poke the ball loose and toss it up to Brunson. He’ll catch it, dribble, lay it up. Most of the time, he makes it; sometimes, he misses it. If it doesn’t sound that exciting, well, it’s not.
If you want to see one, here it is. I appreciate how he uses his weirdly broad shoulders to create space around the rim: [video here]
Brunson can’t really throw it down in a highlight kind of way (except that one time when he did!). Fast-break Brunson layups are about as dull as fast-break layups can be. Let’s move on.

4) Spinning (usually) fadeaways over his (always) left shoulder

13 makes, 8 misses, 2 FTM, 1.33 PPS

Okay, now we’re getting to the good stuff. I will lump most of Brunson’s middies together, as you’ll see shortly, but I am partial to the aesthetics of the spinning fadeaway.
I mean, look at this thing. It’s gorgeous. The footwork, the arc, everything. And always — always! — using that left shoulder as a pole to spin around: [video here]
These are difficult shots, but by my count, he’s shooting 62% on turnarounds! That’s wild. I wonder if he shouldn’t take more of these and fewer step-backs, although these are a bit harder to get off with bigger bodies on him. Brunson knows what he’s doing; I shan’t second-guess him.

3) Layups and blow-bys

29 makes, 23 misses, 19 FTM, 1.48 PPS

Layups are a massive part of Brunson’s shot diet, even if it’s harder for him to get to the rim than some of his less-normal-sized peers in the league. Shot a little better doing these against Philly with a jump-less Embiid than against Indiana, where he has gone just 14-for-29 by my count (although he’s drawn a handful of fouls, so that’s a bit misleading).
But it’s always fun seeing him break defenders in half on the way to the hoop like it’s the most casual thing in the world: [video here]
It isn’t casual, though. It’s a lot of work. I’m stressed about the impact of all this acceleration and deceleration on his joints, ligaments, and bones, and despite what the tenor of this piece may lead you to believe, I’m not even a Knicks fan.
I’m also stressed you’ll judge me by my chosen highlights, spent more time than I care to admit picking ones that will prove to you that I’m both knowledgeable and a little hipster. Brunson made Nesmith touch parquet twice in the ongoing series (which hurt me; I’m a huge Nesmith guy), but that’s a little too cool to be cool, you know what I mean? Here’s where I landed. Brunson’s not as big a pass-fake guy as you might expect, but he sure does love to pretend that a pick is coming: [video here]
Ah, now I’m second-guessing myself. Oh well. You know what Brunson layups look like. It’s all crazy dribble combinations and shot fakes in fits and spurts, starts and stops, that somehow end with him blurring to the hoop for a high-arcing shot off the glass.

2) Floaters

30 makes, 32 misses, 18 FTM, 1.26 PPS

The infamous Brunson floater. A cruel tool, one the Geneva Convention was specifically designed to combat. It’s unstoppable (except when it’s stopped).
Floaters are a weapon of last resort for too many point guards, the shot they puke up when they can’t get past their man. That can be true for Brunson at times, too.
But Brunson has weaponized the floater, often by using it to bait fouls. If he gets the hostage dribble on a defender, putting them on his back, you better believe he’s gonna throw the ball upward and his body backward to get the whistle (I thought they legislated that out of the game, but nobody told the refs judging Brunson). That’s not my favorite play, of course, but it’s hard to deny the effectiveness.
He launches floaters from everywhere and anywhere. Leaning left, leaning right, falling down. Contested, wide-open, in the middle of four bodies. Occasionally, Brunson reminds me of classic fight-movie scenes in which the protagonist is drowning in enemy combatants, buried so you can’t even see him, when he suddenly springs up, spraying bad guys everywhere: [video here]
People say Brunson is good at getting to his spots, as if there is a finite number. I don’t really agree. All spots are Brunson spots; the floater will come from whatever direction he chooses.

1) Step-backs, side-steps, pull-ups, and other hyphenates

31 makes, 45 misses, 12 FTM, 0.97 PPS

Even excluding the turnaround fadeaways and floaters, Brunson has shot more midrange jumpers than any other type of shot. Yeah, that’s sort of cheating; I’m lumping many different kinds of buckets into one bucket. Maybe it’s too broad to be useful. But frankly, some of these are hard to differentiate (and also, this post would be too long; if you’re still here, I appreciate you. Know that this started off being much longer in a way that benefitted no one.). You’d think it would be easy to tell a pull-up from a side-step, but I swear Brunson can combine these in ways that somehow don’t defy the laws of basketball (i.e., traveling). It’s hard, so eventually, I decided to lump them all together.
Midrange jumpers are generally looked down upon. You can see from my points-per-shot calculation how much less efficient they’ve been than everything else, but that’s the nature of the beast. Just because they don’t always go in doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate them.
Sometimes, it’s hard to manufacture even sub-optimal offense (and that’s particularly true in the playoffs). Sometimes, you gotta go out there and cook; as long as the meal’s not burnt, it’ll do. And sometimes, it’ll be g*dd*mn delicious: [video here]
In truth, many of these possessions are ticking grenades, and it’s up to our hero to jump on them. The Knicks try to run their offense, nobody else can do a dang thing off the dribble (not, mind you, that they receive many chances), and suddenly there are six seconds left on the shot clock. Brunson, thankfully, can do a whole lot in six seconds. This is great defense; it doesn’t matter: [video here]
The midrange isn’t dead; like wealth, it has simply consolidated into the hands of the few. Only players with sufficient star wattage are allowed to take them. And with a playoff run for the ages, Brunson’s been outshining nearly everyone.

Yankees @ Twins - Thu, May 16

Game Status: Final - Score: 5-0 Yankees

Links & Info

• Current conditions at Target Field: 60°F - Partly Cloudy - Wind 11 mph, Out To CF
• TV: National: MLBN (out-of-market only), Yankees: YES, Twins: Bally Sports North
• Radio: Yankees: WADO 1280 (es), WFAN 660/101.9 FM, Twins: Audacy, The Wolf 102.9 FM, WCCO 830, TIBN
• MLB Gameday
• Game Graphs
• Savant Gamefeed

	Yankees Batters	AB	R	H	RBI	BB	K	LOB	AVG	OBP	SLG
1	Volpe - SS	5	1	2	1	0	0	0	.273	.348	.432
2	Soto, J - RF	4	1	0	0	1	2	1	.302	.403	.517
3	Judge - DH	3	1	2	0	1	0	0	.262	.393	.555
4	Verdugo - LF	3	1	1	1	0	1	1	.250	.331	.405
5	Torres - 2B	4	1	2	1	0	1	2	.223	.301	.295
6	Rizzo - 1B	4	0	0	1	0	0	3	.250	.319	.405
7	Wells, A - C	4	0	1	1	0	1	1	.205	.318	.315
8	Berti - 3B	4	0	1	0	0	0	0	.262	.295	.262
9	Grisham - CF	4	0	0	0	0	3	2	.061	.244	.152
	Totals	35	5	9	5	2	8	10

Yankees
BATTING: 2B: Torres 2 (6, Ryan, Ryan); Judge 2 (15, Ryan, Sands). HR: Volpe (6, 1st inning off Ryan, 0 on, 0 out). TB: Berti; Judge 4; Torres 4; Verdugo; Volpe 5; Wells, A. RBI: Rizzo (23); Torres (11); Verdugo (20); Volpe (23); Wells, A (4). 2-out RBI: Wells, A. Runners left in scoring position, 2 out: Wells, A; Soto, J; Rizzo; Grisham 2; Torres. SF: Verdugo. Team RISP: 2-for-11. Team LOB: 6.
FIELDING: E: Schmidt (1, throw); Berti (3, fielding).

	Twins Batters	AB	R	H	RBI	BB	K	LOB	AVG	OBP	SLG
1	Julien - 2B	4	0	0	0	0	2	1	.222	.331	.422
2	Larnach - DH	4	0	0	0	0	3	1	.296	.346	.451
3	Correa - SS	4	0	1	0	0	0	1	.272	.364	.413
4	Kepler - RF	4	0	0	0	0	1	1	.304	.356	.500
5	Castro, W - 3B	4	0	1	0	0	1	0	.265	.327	.435
6	Santana - 1B	4	0	1	0	0	0	1	.208	.278	.389
7	Kirilloff - LF	3	0	0	0	0	1	2	.202	.262	.360
8	Margot - CF	3	0	0	0	0	0	1	.169	.231	.229
9	Vázquez - C	2	0	0	0	0	0	0	.171	.195	.207
	Totals	32	0	3	0	0	8	8

Twins
BATTING: 2B: Correa (7, Schmidt). TB: Castro, W; Correa 2; Santana. Runners left in scoring position, 2 out: Kepler. Team RISP: 0-for-1. Team LOB: 6.

Yankees Pitchers	IP	H	R	ER	BB	K	HR	P-S	ERA
Schmidt (W, 5-1)	8.0	3	0	0	0	8	0	103-69	2.49
González, V	1.0	0	0	0	0	0	0	12-8	2.63
Totals	9.0	3	0	0	0	8	0

Twins Pitchers	IP	H	R	ER	BB	K	HR	P-S	ERA
Ryan (L, 2-3)	5.1	6	4	4	1	5	1	93-60	3.57
Thielbar	0.2	2	0	0	0	1	0	9-8	5.79
Sands	1.0	1	1	1	1	1	0	18-10	4.82
Okert	1.0	0	0	0	0	0	0	6-5	3.29
Jackson, J	1.0	0	0	0	0	1	0	8-7	5.91
Totals	9.0	9	5	5	2	8	1

Game Info
WP: Ryan.
HBP: Vázquez (by Schmidt).
Pitches-strikes: Schmidt 103-69; González, V 12-8; Ryan 93-60; Thielbar 9-8; Sands 18-10; Okert 6-5; Jackson, J 8-7.
Groundouts-flyouts: Schmidt 9-8; González, V 1-1; Ryan 8-3; Thielbar 1-0; Sands 1-1; Okert 1-0; Jackson, J 1-0.
Batters faced: Schmidt 30; González, V 3; Ryan 23; Thielbar 4; Sands 5; Okert 3; Jackson, J 3.
Inherited runners-scored: Thielbar 1-1.
Umpires: HP: Paul Clemons. 1B: Andy Fletcher. 2B: Mike Muchlinski. 3B: Jansen Visconti.
Weather: 60 degrees, Partly Cloudy.
Wind: 11 mph, Out To CF.
First pitch: 12:11 PM.
T: 2:15.
Att: 31,569.
Venue: Target Field.
May 16, 2024

Inning	Scoring Play	Score
Top 1	Anthony Volpe homers (6) on a fly ball to left center field.	1-0 NYY
Top 1	Gleyber Torres doubles (5) on a fly ball to center fielder Manuel Margot, deflected by left fielder Alex Kirilloff. Aaron Judge scores. Alex Verdugo to 3rd.	2-0 NYY
Top 1	Anthony Rizzo grounds out, first baseman Carlos Santana to pitcher Joe Ryan. Alex Verdugo scores. Gleyber Torres to 3rd.	3-0 NYY
Top 6	Austin Wells singles on a line drive to right fielder Max Kepler. Gleyber Torres scores.	4-0 NYY
Top 7	Alex Verdugo out on a sacrifice fly to left fielder Alex Kirilloff. Juan Soto scores.	5-0 NYY

Team	Highlight
NYY	Anthony Volpe's leadoff home run (6) (00:00:23)
NYY	Gleyber Torres hits an RBI double (00:00:26)
MIN	Joe Ryan strikes out 5 over 5 1/3 innings (00:00:57)
NYY	[Aaron Judge hits second double of the game (00:00:20)]()
NYY	Field View: Anthony Volpe's leadoff home run (00:00:44)
NYY	[Clarke Schmidt matches career high with 8th K (00:00:06)]()
NYY	Victor González seals the 5-0 win (00:00:25)
NYY	Clarke Schmidt goes eight scoreless innings in win (00:01:29)
NYY	Condensed Game: NYY@MIN - 5/16/24 (00:08:07)
NYY	Yankees vs. Twins Highlights (00:02:43)

	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9		R	H	E	LOB
Yankees	3	0	0	0	0	1	1	0	0		5	9	2	6
Twins	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0		0	3	0	6

Decisions

• Winner: Clarke Schmidt (5-1, 2.49)
• Loser: Joe Ryan (2-3, 3.57)

Division Scoreboard

TB @ BOS 07:10 PM EDT
^{Last Updated: 05/16/2024 05:20:01 PM EDT}