What is a headache, chills, body ache and blurred vision

At the world’s top college of magic and technology, every day brings a new discovery -and a new disaster. The advanced experiments of the college students tend to be both ambitious and apocalyptic, with the end of the world only prevented by a mysterious time loop, and a small handful of students who retain their memories.
Surviving the loops was hard enough, but now, in his senior year, Vell Harlan must take charge of them, and deal with the fact that the whole world now knows his secrets. Everyone knows about Vell’s death and resurrection, along with the divine game he is a part of. Now Vell must contend with overly curious scientists and evil billionaires hungry for divine power while the daily doomsday cycle bombards him with terrorists, talking elephants, and the Grim Reaper himself -but if he can endure it all, the Last Goddess’s game promises the ultimate prize: power over life itself.
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“Four years on and the headache still sucks,” Vell groaned to himself.
Though most of the loopers had managed to make it to midnight alive, they had nothing to show for it but headaches. They had not succeeded in digging Cane out of the rubble, or investigating his apparent ghost theory in any other way. That was a complication, but not a fatal one. They had some leads to work with, at least, and Vell knew where to get started on the ghost angle. Vell gladly made the call that would get them started.
“Goooooood morning Mr. Harlan,” Harley chimed. “What’s happening?”
“Frog invasions, among other problems,” Vell grumbled.
“Oh, that’s a time loop headache if I ever heard it,” Harley said. She’d run into that affliction more than a few times.
“Yeah, it’s not great,” Vell said. “Listen, do you still have Garrett’s number?”
“Ooh, ghost problems, eh?” Harley said. “I’ll text it to you.”
“Thanks. I kind of got to get right to it, so I’ll have to give you the details later, alright? Love you, Harley.”
“Love you too, bud,” Harley said. “Say hi to Garret for me.”
Vell hung up the first call and braced himself for the second. He liked Garret, but he could also be a lot to deal with -a fact well-demonstrated by the phone call beginning with Garret’s theme music blaring over the phone. Once the bombastic rock and roll stopped, Vell was disappointed to hear a mechanical beep indicate the start of an answering machine message.
“Hi, you’ve reached Garret Geist, Ghost Getter,” the message said, in Garrett’s usual southern california drawl. “I’m currently on a long-term submersible mission to exorcise the ghosts of shipwreck victims who’ve been trapped undersea for centuries.”
“What?”
Vell knew it was a recording, but needed to voice his offense anyway. It was hard to truly be mad knowing Garrett was doing something so incredibly heroic, though.
“I should be back to the surface and ready to help in a few days, so please leave a message and I’ll get to you as soon as I can!”
The automated message clicked again and fell silent. Vell hung up the phone and let out a low groan of despair.
“Okay, we’re not screwed yet,” Vell said. “Just need to wait a bit.”
Vell brushed his teeth and rushed through breakfast, and then, right on cue, heard a knock on his door. He whipped it open to find a bothersome scientist once again at his door.
“Hi, good morning,” Vell said, as he opened the door. “You here to bother me about Quenay?”
“I- uh, I have some very interesting theories.”
“I’m sure you do,” Vell said. “If you can just hold on one second…”
Vell paused and waited. The bothersome student also waited, at least for a few seconds.
“What exactly are we waiting for?”
“This.”
Cane grabbed the student by the collar and yanked them away from the door. Vell invited him in and slammed the door shut behind them to really drive the point home.
“Thank you for that,” Vell said. “Did you need something?”
“Just to talk to you,” Cane said. “I was trying to get people together to hang out tonight. Figured you’d want in, if you’re not too busy.”
“I could probably make it, I just have to…”
Vell froze. He really should’ve come up with these lies in advance.
“You good, Vell?”
“I, uh, sorry, just losing track of things, mentally,” Vell said. “I’ve had a lot of people, uh, ask me for help with things.”
“What kind of things?” Cane said. “You need a hand?”
“Maybe.”
Vell contemplated how to proceed for a moment, and then figured he’d probably built up enough good will with Cane over the past four years he could just dive right in.
“You ever heard about frog ghosts?”
“Yeah,” Cane said, without so much as blinking.
“Oh, cool,” Vell said. “What about them?”
“Well, hold on, are you talking about frog ghosts as in the ghost of frogs, or a ghost related to frogs?”
“Either or, I guess?”
“Okay, because I don’t know anything about any ghostly frogs,” Cane said. “There is supposedly the ghost of a guy obsessed with frogs on campus, though.”
“Interesting. Tell me about the frog guy.”
“I don’t know all the details, it was kind of an urban legend even when my brother came here about a decade back,” Cane said. “All he ever told me was the this frog-obsessed sophomore died while studying, and he haunts the basement of the sophomore dorms, I guess. ‘Some say you can still hear faint croaking in the basement’ and all that horror story shit.”
“Interesting,” Vell said, again. “Let me look into that and we’ll circle back later, alright? I gotta go, see you.”
“Vell-”
“Sorry, kind of in a hurry, bud,” Vell said, as he left and shut the door behind.
“This is your dorm, dude,” Cane said.
***
“You were not exaggerating about this headache,” Alex said.
“We warned you,” Kim said. “Man, it’s almost better to die.”
“How do you have a headache, you’re made of metal!”
“It’s complicated,” Kim said. Her synthetic body did not spare her from the time loop headache, no matter how she rebuilt herself.
“Good morning everyone,” Helena said, as she whacked the door open with a crutch. “What did I miss?”
“Quiet down a little, please” Hawke said.
“Why?”
“Do you not have a headache too?”
“No, I died pretty early,” Helena said. “Got a frog on me.”
“You died from a frog touching you? What condition do you have that causes that?”
“Well it was a poison dart frog, so I guess ‘being alive’,” Helena said. Samson pursed his lips and said nothing. “What did you all get up to while I was busy being dead?”
“Vell found out the frogs were summoned by a weird frog-obsessed ghost,” Hawke said. “He apparently knows a guy who might be able to help.”
The loopers then proceeded to relax and chat about frogs, ghosts, and other miscellaneous topics for about seven minutes, which made it a lot less dramatic when Vell barged in and announced Garret would be unable to help.
“Oh come on,” Kim snapped. “What’s the point of knowing a ghost hunter if he never helps hunt ghosts?”
“He’s on some undersea mission to rescue lost souls,” Vell said. “Which makes it really hard to be mad at him.”
“And yet I manage,” Kim said. She didn’t begrudge Garret personally, but she had been hoping for their first easy win of the year. All the apocalypses thus far had been a major pain in the ass.
“Aren’t you people supposed to be able to handle things like this?”
“Yes, Alex, and we will,” Vell said. “Just would’ve been nice to have a professional on the job.”
“I’ll get the ghostbusting stuff ready,” Hawke sighed. He would’ve loved a chance to outsource their daily nonsense.
“Keep it on standby for now,” Vell said. “Ghosts have unfinished business or regrets. If we can help our ghost deal with whatever frog-related business he’s got going on, maybe we can fix this without having to bust anyone.”
“That’s your plan?” Alex said. “Be nice to the ghost that crushed a building and hope it goes away?”
“Yes,” Vell said, with a completely straight face. “And busting is plan B.”
“Bustin’ makes me feel good,” Hawke sang, as he grabbed all their various ghostbusting gear.
“True professionals at work,” Alex scoffed. Everyone else rolled their eyes and got back to work.
“Vell is an old pro at being nice to people,” Kim said. “Just ask Helena’s sister.”
“Don’t pat yourself on the back, Joan’s incredibly susceptible to manipulation,” Helena said. It was disturbing she’d say that, and even more disturbing she knew that. “That said, anyone dumb enough to get stuck as a ghost for decades will probably buy into your routine just as easily.”
“Thanks for your input,” Vell said. “I’m just going to go ahead and get started.”
He said that both because it was important and because it was an excuse to get away from Alex and Helena faster.
“Need any backup?” Samson asked, for similar reasons.
“I’ll check it out solo first,” Vell said. Historically speaking, he was the best people-pleaser, a dubious honor at best, but one that came in handy when dealing with a frog-summoning ghost. “I’ll let you know if I need backup.”
“Or busting,” Hawke said.
“Or busting,” Vell agreed. “I have to find out where the ghost is, for starters. I’ll be in touch soon.”
***
Finding the lair of the ghost was the first hurdle. As it turned out, the sophomore dorms had a lot of basements. Every building on campus had a lot of basements, so Vell was not all that surprised. At least these basements didn’t have booby traps or old experiment equipment in them. They mostly just had a lot of junk. Vell kicked aside some old food wrappers and scanned the room.
“Why do people treat these empty rooms like dumping grounds?”
“People are usually different when they think no one is watching.”
Vell whipped around and saw a transparent head poking through one of the nearby walls. A ghost if Vell had ever seen one.
“Oh, hi,” Vell said. “Uh, weird question, how do you feel about frogs?”
“I’m ambivalent at best,” the ghost said. “Are you looking for the frog guy? Because he haunts two rooms over.”
The ghost pointed to the right, down the hall, and Vell looked that way.
“Thanks,” Vell said. He took a few steps towards the door before spinning around to face the other ghost again. “Uh, do you need any help like, moving on? Finishing unfinished business?”
“Nah, we get wifi down here, so I don’t mind just chilling,” the ghost said. “Thanks for offering though.”
The ghost drew back into the wall and vanished from sight. While Vell was painfully curious as to how a ghost accessed wifi, he decided it was time to move on. The frog ghost was apparently close by, after all.
Vell followed the wifi ghost’s directions and hopped two doors down, barging into a subterranean room that was uncomfortably moist and smelled of mud and rainwater. Condensation dripped from the ceiling and onto Vell’s back, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. Unlike other rooms, this one was completely free of any garbage, but Vell took no comfort in that.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
A chill ran down Vell’s spine that definitely was not another drop of water. He waited two seconds, took a deep breath, and turned around.
“Hello.”
Vell was just inches away from another transparent face. This one had a slight green tint, with wide set eyes and a broad, flat mouth. Vell wondered if the similarities to a frog had been there during this person’s life, or if they just liked frogs so much their ghost had slowly shifted to reflect their passion.
“Hey! Hi, uh, nice to meet you,” Vell mumbled. “I’m Vell.”
“I’m Raine.”
“Neat, nice name,” Vell said. If Raine noticed the awkward hesitation in the compliment, he didn’t show it. “So, uh, I was wondering, well, I heard you were the guy to ask about frogs.”
The already wide eyes of the ghost got even wider, and visible excitement trembled through their spectral form. Vell began to think he may have made a mistake.
***
“So even though it’s the biggest frog in the America’s, the helmeted water toad is still only half the size of the Goliath frog,” Raine said. “Which must be wild for the helmeted water toad. Could you imagine crossing an ocean and finding out the people who live there are literally twice your size?”
“Must be pretty mindblowing, yeah,” Vell said.
“And that’s not even going into the real extremes,” Raine said. “Do you remember our pal P. Amauensis?”
“How could I forget,” Vell said, about something he had definitely forgotten.
“Not just the world’s smallest frog, but maybe the world’s smallest vertebrate,” Raine said. “Only seven point seven millimeters long, a literal fraction of the Goliath frog! Could you imagine meeting someone who’s only as big as your toe?”
“I actually did, once,” Vell said. “Shrink ray.”
“Oh. Was...was it weird?”
“A little,” Vell said.
“Wow. You almost know what it’s like to be a Goliath frog meeting a P. Amauensis,” Raine said. “I’m so jealous.”
“Yeah, I’ve done a lot of interesting stuff,” Vell said. “What about you, what’d you get up to when you weren’t studying frogs?”
Raine tilted his spectral head and stared blankly at Vell.
“You did do things other than study frogs, right?”
“Not if I could help it,” Raine said.
“Okay, uh...what did you like to eat?”
“Oh, I just ate food whenever I was hungry,” Raine said. “What I really liked to do was gather samples of different bugs and other frog dietary staples, so I could try to get a sense of their diet for myself.”
“Like, cooked bugs, or just raw, living bugs,” Vell said. He’d eaten a few different varieties of cooked bugs, just for the experience, but couldn’t imagine eating raw insects.
“If I could find them, yeah, live ones,” Raine said. “It got pretty hard after I got banned from the entomology department.”
“That’d do it,” Vell said. “So, did you, uh, go swimming a lot?”
“Oh yeah, all the time,” Raine said. “Until I got banned from the pools too. Trying to swim like a frog doesn’t work very well, and they got sick of having to rescue me, I guess.”
“You could’ve just swam like a person.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To...I don’t know,” Vell said. He was starting to feel like Raine’s entire life and unlife revolved around frogs. “Did you ever do anything, I don’t know, human?”
“Oh, I studied frogs,” Raine said. “Frogs lack the self-awareness to understand frogs. It’s their only flaw, really.”
“I see. So what’s your favorite frog?”
As expected, this set off a long rant, as Raine found it hard to pick a favorite and had to start listing pros and cons of various frog species. It was not exactly scintillating conversation, but it kept Raine talking instead of somehow summoning frogs. Vell kept reminding himself that was the real goal. He was not here to have a pleasant chat, he was here to prevent the frogpocalypse. Anything that kept Raine ranting was good. He was saving the world.
As Raine started ranking every existing frog species by maximum jump distance, Vell kept repeating that to himself. Saving the world, one frog jump strength at a time.

Air, shelter, water, and food, all essentials of life we take for granted. The gratitude of being alive,
smothered by emotional baggage. Just a bunch of pill induced zombies, riddled by life’s perplexities. Not
me, not any more at least. No, now I wake up every day reborn with a newly discovered purpose in life,
thanks to, him.
Most would be emotionally devastated and seek long term therapy, after what I had endured.
Most would need to be heavily medicated, to calm their anxiety of the fear he would return. No, not me,
the person I once was, is now dead. Suffocated, frozen, dehydrated, and starved out of me. Who I was
perished, and I am grateful. I am offering you the same, but before we get started, let me explain how I
arrived at this place of serenity.
The night was the same as always. I had just finished gorging myself on junk food while binge
watching a reality show. Empty bottles of soda surrounded me as I surfed the streaming networks.
Knowing my weight was getting out of control, I still managed to finish off the bag of greasy potato
chips. My bottles of meds sat on the end table waiting for me. Depression, anxiety, stomach, and heart
pills all courtesy of the negligence of my life choices. One by one I swallowed the antidotes of a better
me. Yet, there never seemed to be a stronger version of myself, no matter how many pills I ingested.
Falling asleep, I told myself tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow I will try harder. As I drifted
off to sleep, I felt a sting in my neck, only waking up for a few seconds. My eyes opened just enough to
see him standing over me. Fighting to stay awake, my eyes latched closed, and I fell into the darkness.
Upon awaking, I could hear sounds of mumbles surrounding me. Feeling heavy and disoriented, I
managed to flicker my eyelids. As the minutes passed, my surroundings became more lucid. The foul
stench of pig shit singed my nose hairs. Dust from old haybales stimulated my sense of smell, inducing a
sneeze. An unimaginable pain coursed through my mouth. Still dazed and confused, I heard a voice say,
"we can't have that, now, can we?". Once again, I felt a sting in my neck, causing me to drift out of
reality.
"Wake up", I heard as I came to, "we need to get started". Started with what, I tried to ask. Yet,
my mouth wouldn't open. Tranquilized still, I thought maybe my brain just wasn't cooperating with my
body. Flexing my jaw, I tried again to speak, it was useless. All I could do was mumble. My words were
nothing more than muffled grunts behind a padded wall.
Looking around, I could see I was not alone. Vision blurry, I still managed to make out a large
silhouette of a man sitting in front of me holding a cutting needle and thread. He then placed the needle
on a barrel and stood up. Whistling, "The Sun will come out tomorrow", I began to look around. There were other people with us. Including myself, all tied to chairs and mouths sewn shut. Three of us were men. The fourth was a woman in her
mid-forties. She was crying and moaning uncontrollably. Mucus ran down her face dripping from her
chin. Trying to console her, I batted my eyes. It was all I could do without having the use of my mouth
and arms.
The injection he had no doughtily given me, had worn off. Like the woman, I found myself in panic
mode. My heart raced fast. I thought I would have a heart attack. Wanting to scream, I
couldn't. Wanting to run but I was incapacitated. Fighting my way out, entered my mind, but how? How,
with my hands bound behind my back. Besides, I wasn't a fighter, and the man was massive. He would
be very intimidating under any circumstance. His raggedy hair was sandy blonde with a mixture of gray.
Deep wrinkles hid behind a handlebar mustache, which stretched across his face. Thick eyebrows sat
untamed above his devilish eyes. Watching him, I tried not to make eye contact. I looked everywhere,
other than at him. The other two men looked as frightened as me. One man, the bigger one, had tears
but made no sounds. The other man was a very frail older man. He shifted side to side as he tried yelling
from behind his fastened lips. His arms bared scars of that of a junkie. His body, covered in scabs.
Cautiously, I looked around. A rusty old plow sat in the corner next to some feed sacks. A saddle
lay across an old broken table. Two horses stood quietly behind their stall door. I could see rays of light
shine through the cracks between the boards. It was daylight, knowing that gave me comfort somehow.
The barn was dusty, and as painful as it would be, I hoped I would sneeze again. At least then I could
scream. Abruptly the man stopped whistling and spoke.
Your mouths are bound together so that I cannot hear you. People talk too much, making the
world noisy. All loud with pathetic excuses of their weaknesses. I am not going to kill you. Your life is in
your own hands. Up to this point, you have wasted your life hiding behind your addictions. Cowering
and leaning on crutches of life’s temptations. I am here to save you from yourselves.
The rule of three is simple. You can survive three minutes without air, three hours without
shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food. If you truly desire to live, then you will
triumph. If not, you will perish. I am here to help you unpack your emotional baggage. Air, the very
breath you breathe, you have taken for granted. So, please slow your breathing and relax. We are about
to begin.
While you were sleeping, I provided you with adequate fluids and nutrition. I cannot have you
starting off, on an empty tank. I want to be as fair as possible and make this a pleasant experience.
Though, I warn you it will not be easy, and you will have to dig deep within yourselves.
The burly man began whistling once again. He placed an egg timer on a barrel, grabbed a plastic
bag and spoke. You can survive three minutes with no air. Do you have the desire and strength to want
to live? For you, I truly hope so.
Standing behind the heavier man he turned the timer and then placed the plastic bag over his
head. The man jerked in his chair, thrashing about. One minute, he said. The man still moving wildly.
Two minutes, almost there just hold on. Three minutes he announced, ripping the bag from the head of
the now motionless man. “Oh dear, I guess he did not have what it takes, next”. My heart raced even
faster as he stood next to the now inconsolable woman. I would be after her. I had to slow my breathing
if I were to live. Picking up another bag, he stood behind her.
The air went in and out her nose as she hyperventilated. “There, there, I’m not going to hurt you”,
he said, as he patted her on the shoulders. “Three minutes is a miniature amount of time. I wish you the
very best.” Her legs kicked out lunging back and forth. Her muffled shrieks filled the barn. “Are you
ready?” He then reset the timer. Fearing for my own life, I turned my head and concentrated on my
breathing. Trying hard to block her out, I went to another place in my head. As hard as it was, I imagined
I was calm and at peace lying on a sandy shore. Desperately, I wanted to cover my ears. Her loud cries
soon became small whimpers. Then to gurgles as she choked on her own vomit. Turning my head back
towards her, I could see her convulsing as life left her body. “Not quite a minute, what a shame”, he
said.
Thinking back to when I was a child, and held my breath under water, outlasting my brother.
Back then, holding my breath was easy for me and I always won. Being in my mid-thirties, I wasn’t a
child any longer. Could I beat this, I questioned. Unlike the woman next to me, who reeked of tobacco, I
didn’t smoke. My chances were greater than those who came before me.
Excepting the inevitable, I practiced my anxiety exercises my therapist had taught me. Four, four,
four, inhale hold, exhale hold. If I panic, I will surely suffocate, I told myself. The other man was calmer
now and followed my lead. Our eyes locked on to one another as we breathed. “Very good, that is what
I want to see, a thirst for life, the will to live.”
Picking up a bag, he then stood behind me. I took a deep breath as he turned the timer. I felt the
panic trying to set in, but I pushed it deep down. Oddly enough, the tune he’d been whistling popped
into my head. “The sun will come out tomorrow”, played as the bag was put over my head. “So, you got
to hang on ‘til tomorrow.” Not wanting to see the blurred images through the bag, I closed my eyes. I
just kept humming the tune in my head. “One minute”, he said. Getting more difficult to hold my breath,
I could feel my heart beating faster and my blood pressure rising. The tune still reeling in my head,
“tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow”. “Two minutes”. I can do this, I’m almost there, but my
mind was getting foggy, and my chest tightened. My muscles tensed up as I felt my existence dwindle
away. The tune that kept me going had faded away somewhere deep into my brain. Hungry for air, I
started scratching my hands behind my back. I was going to die. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I managed to
think one last time. “Three Minutes”!
Air rushed through my nose, as I clung to the remaining life I had. It was the greatest feeling just
being able to breathe. I’d made it, I had beat him, I was alive. “Congratulations, you did well”. “Breath
and continue to appreciate the gift, I have given you”.
Tears rushed down my cheeks, as I sat watching the man set the stage for the last occupant. As
sympathetic as I was, I was overwhelmed too just be alive. Still fighting my anxiety, I closed my eyes,
four, four, four. Sounds of distress and faint scuffling could be heard, yet I refused to open my eyes.
Three minutes passed quickly. “We have another fighter, outstanding.” Opening my eyes, I seen that the
other man had also survived. “Two out of three, I wished it faired better.” “It is a pity they perished, yet
the pigs will eat well.” “Nothing should ever go to waste”. “Their carcasses are a valuable resource.” I
am thankful for their contribution.”
“I will let you rest up.” The next gift, is that of shelter.” “People of the world scratch and claw to
have bigger dwellings of that of their neighbor.” Never being thankful of the shelters warmth when it is
cold.” “Not a second thought about the materials taken from the earth to provide that comfort.” “I will
teach you to not care about the size or the looks. You won’t care if it’s a barn or a house made of sticks.
You’ll learn to be content as it shelters you from the storm.
Not understanding what was coming next, I tried thinking of ways to escape. Wringing my hands
together, I tried loosening the rope. He had his back turned removing the bodies from the chairs. Yet
somehow he still managed to catch on to what I was doing. “That’s a double sheet bend knot.” Try as
you might, you will not loosen or untie it.” “Yet I commend you on your perseverance.” “If you escape,
you will not learn the valuable lesson I am trying to teach you.” “Sit and be patient, like I told you
before, I’m not going to kill you.”
He was right. The more I tried twisting my wrists, the tighter the rope became making them bleed
and burn. “Why was he doing this and why me”, I wanted to ask. The inside of my mouth was so dry,
and I was thirsty. All I could think about was water to wash out the metallic taste left from the wounds
of my lips. Making eye contact with the other man, I wondered if he was as thirsty as I. “The storm will
be here soon, and we can continue.”, he said as he removed a hacksaw hanging from the barn wall.
We watched as the man carried on as if he’d done this before. He laid the saw across a table.
Sweat dripped from my head as I panicked. What was he going to do to us? I thought. Do not worry, this
saw is not for you, he said as he placed the woman’s body on the table. He then began to dismember
her legs. He continued to hack through the bodies throughout the day. He would casually take breaks
between the removal of the body parts. After he was done, he used a rusty old wheel barrel to take the
parts out of the barn. He kept his word. I could hear the pigs happily squealing as he fed them.
The light that had previously comforted me dwindled away as darkness approached. As frightened
as I felt, all I could think about was water. “It is time”, he said as he wiped sweat from his brow. “I will
untie your arms so you can move freely. I encourage you to move as much as possible to keep the blood
circulating. Frostbite and hypothermia are inevitable if you let yourself settle. You can wear the clothes
you have on, but nothing more.
The barn was heated with an old wood stove. Our captor had fed it wood throughout the day. Yet
the wind from the storm outside seeped through the cracks. A chill came over me, fearing what was
next. The four technique no longer working. He then placed a makeshift collar around our necks.
Connected to the collar was a chain. After untying the ropes from behind our backs he told us to stand.
Fearing what he would do, I did what he told me.
He then unlatched the wooden brace holding the barn doors shut, unveiling winter’s wrath.
Weather in Michigan was unpredictable and harsh at times. That night was no different. The wind
bustled through the doors as we all stood staring into the night. Snow was falling rapidly and had quickly
begun accumulating. “Tonight’s storm is only a mild one but will last a few hours.” “Having your mouths
bound is a positive.” “It will protect your lungs.” Your heart rate will lower the less you move so keep
moving to boost your circulation.” “You will have to endure three hours in the weather.” “This trial is
brutal, I know but if your life is precious then you will improvise, adapt, and overcome.
He then led us by the chains out of the barn and into a wooden pen. It didn’t have a roof but was
too tall to climb over. “I know you must be thirsty, but if you try and eat the snow you will only amplify
dehydration and hypothermia.” He then removed the collars and locked the door. As he walked away in
his rabbit fur coat, he turned and once again said, “Do you have the desire to live, for you I truly hope
so.”
Frantically I surveyed the pen looking for a way out. The enclosure was made of old pallets, thin
boards, and cattle fence. It was sturdy enough to keep us in but not the wind out. It must have been
about twelve feet wide by twenty-four feet long. Rubbing my hands along the gaps, I felt something
warm run down my fingers. I had sliced my hand along the inside of one of the pallets. He had secured
razor blades and sharp nails from the inside to keep us from climbing out. Even if we were able to make
it to the top, we wouldn’t be able to climb over the razor wire that spiraled along the perimeter.
More frantic than I, the other man ran back and forth. He was shaking and sweating profusely. How
could he be sweating in this weather, I thought. On the other hand, I had begun to shiver. My feet had
already begun to tingle. Wearing only gym shorts, socks, and a t-shirt, I knew I must keep moving. The
other man was more fortunate than I. He was wearing pajama bottoms, socks and a hoodie. At least he
had a layer to break the wind.
The snow was dry and easy to move. Thinking maybe we could get out from the bottom. I began
moving the snow with my hands. As I moved it, I motioned for the other man to help. My attempts to
get his attention went unnoticed. He had found a nail long enough to cut through the stiches in his
mouth. Watching him, I debated on doing it myself. Though I thought of the burly man and his hacksaw.
Deciding it was best to keep my lips bound, I watched him saw through his. He yelled in agony as blood
dripped from his lips. Be quiet, I wanted to tell him, he’ll hear you.
When the last stitch broke the man dropped to his knees gasping and crying. He then stood up,
removed himself from his pants, and began urinating in the snow. “I’m Evan”, he said shivering and still
covering the white snow yellow. His urine smelled foul as the wind carried the smell. Not being able to
talk, I used a stick to spell out my name. Letter by letter, I spelled it out, Liam. He didn’t acknowledge
what I had written. He didn’t seem to care about what my name was.
Bending over he began to eat the yellow snow. Then pulling up his sleeves, he did something that
made my stomach churn. He picked off the scabs from his arms and started sucking on them. I now
understood he was detoxing and was trying to get a fix from the meth that had exited his body. I had a
cousin in jail once, who had described this same behavior from the inside. After doing this for a few
minutes he then spoke. Stuttering out his words, “I know it’s disgusting, but it is what it is.” “Now how
we gonna get out of this here, Liam. No matter what he was or what he spoke, it was comforting to hear
him speak to me.
Not knowing how to get out I just started moving. Shaking my head and still shivering, I began to
do jumping jacks. There wasn’t a way out and I was so cold. Knowing that I had to keep moving I
continued. I knew that if I didn’t move, my heart would slow and eventually stop. “You gonna listen to
that Behemoth or ya gonna try and help me find a way out?” Stopping, I once again tried looking from
the bottom. He looked for a way to climb over. Neither of us found a way to escape. Both of us,
shivering we stopped looking.
As we huddled together in the corner, a voice came from a speaker. “One hour has passed, two
hours remain.” Your lust for drugs trumps your lust to live.” “It will be your demise.” He’d seen, he’s
watching us, I thought. Not wanting to die, I began running in circles. The pain was excruciating. Every
step I took was like stepping on needles. My nose felt like it would break off.
“It’s no use, we’re gonna die, Evan said as he plopped on the ground. Using my arms, I motioned
for him to get up, but he refused. He sat in the corner with his teeth chattering and shoulders shaking.
While Evan sat, I continued. Running from one end to the other, tears freezing as they plummeted from
my eyes. As I ran, I tripped over something that caught my attention. It was a stack of a few boards
hidden under the snow. Uncovering them I counted them out in my head. There were several I dug out. I
crafted a fort in my head. We could use the wood for a shelter. Once again, I motioned for Evan to help.
Evan didn’t speak or move. “Two hours”, I heard as a voice projected from a hidden box.
Quickly I stumbled to Evan, shaking him. Tears ran down my cheeks as I faced the truth. I was
alone. Evan’s inability to try had snuffed out his life. He was dead. Time seemed to stand still in that
moment. Looking at his lifeless body, I realized he wasn’t a frail old man. He in fact was my age. The
drugs just made him look old. My sadness for him abandoned me to be replaced with anger. He should
have tried harder. I was now alone. He had left me alone.
Feeling numb and secluded, I wanted to give up. There wasn’t much fight left in me, yet
something in me snapped. I didn’t want to die. Ripping my wet clothes off, I threw them to the ground.
Trying to keep my temperature above freezing, I jumped and staggered in the snow. Laying Evan’s body
flat on the ground, I thought I would use it as a warm layer between me and the ground. One board at a
time, leaned them over Evan’s body and up against the pen, making an ominous clubhouse. Shivering
and naked, I crawled inside and laid on Evan’s lifeless body.
No longer having the strength to move, I lay crying. In the last hour I replayed my life. If only I had
another chance to do it all over again. If only I thought as my eyes closed. The door then opened, “Three
hours”. “Stand up.”, he said as he wrapped a fur coat around my frigid body. ”Come on, you have passed
but you are not out of the woods yet.” Replacing the collar around my neck he then led me back into the
barn.
“I have prepared a warm bath for you.” He then helped me lift my legs over a galvanized water
trough. “There, there”, he said, “Just sit and let the bath warm your blood. The pain of prickly needles
washed over my body as the numbness dwindled. Fading in and out, I watched him carefully remove a
stockpot from the stove. He poured the water from the pot over my head. “Just relax, you should be
proud of yourself.” “You have outlasted all who came before you.” “You’re a fighter and you value your
life. I watched as he warmed pot after pot, continuously pouring them over me.
“I will have to give you warm fluids intravenously.” “Try to stand”, he said as he lifted me up and
out of the trough. He then dried my body with a towel. After he dressed me in dry clothing, he led me to
a makeshift bedroom converted from a stall.
As he assisted me into the bed, I noticed a tray with medical instruments on it. What were they
for I wondered, but to tired to care anymore. He then placed the I.V. needle in my arm and covered me
up. “Rest up and sleep while I deal with the frostbite.” Before I was able to think about what he had just
said, I went out.
Waking up, I was no longer cold. The shivering and pain from the night before gone yet replaced
with new discomfort. My hands, feet, face, and head all pulsing. Slowly, I removed the blanket with my
bandaged hands to see my feet. Both were wrapped in bandages. Looking over my entire body, I
reached for my face. It was also bandaged. I could feel that my ears and nose were missing. “I know this
must be shocking to you, but it had to be.” “You had deep frostbite in your fingers, toes, ears and nose.
They had to be amputated. “I have sealed off the wounds and have given you antibiotics to fight off
infection.” “Be grateful your alive.”
“You are very ambitious, and I want to reward you for your success. “If you can continue to
cooperate, I will remove the stitches from your lips. “Don’t speak unless I ask you to.” “Can you give me
word that you can stay quiet?” I nodded in agreement.
As promised, he removed the sutures from my lips. Handing me a tin cup of water, he told me to
drink. Words can’t express how refreshing the first sip was. Not being able to control myself, I gulped
down the entire cup. Handing the cup back to him I managed to mumble, “more?” Violently, he struck
me in the face and stood up. “More, more more”, he yelled as he paced the floor. “Always wanting
more!” “You should have savored every last drop rather than gulping it down like a pig at a trough.”
“You have reached your third trial.” “Water is the source of all life and you will learn to appreciate it. Do
you have the desire to live?” “For you, I truly hope so.”
Locking the door behind him, he left the room. Feeling relief from his absence, I took a deep
breath. Concentrating on the air that went in and out my lungs, I was thankful to be alive. It had been a
couple of days since I was able to breathe through my mouth. I felt happiness and gratitude to just be
able to breathe. The blanket and bed kept me warm from the cold that seeped through the barn walls.
Feling relieved, I felt safe for that minute. I pulled the blanket up under my chin and just lived in the
moment. Looking for ways to escape no longer crossed my mind. Still fearful of the man, yet I felt a
strange feeling of gratitude toward him.
Mixed emotions danced around inside of me as I lay. Thinking of the others that were with me, I
pitied them. Had they truly wanted to survive, they would be alive. Had they fought harder, they would
have won against his trials. My sympathy for them abandoned my thoughts, replaced with
disappointment. Questioning my mental state, I laid wondering if I’d gone mad. How could I sympathize
with a man who had essentially tortured me. How could I be thankful to a killer, I wondered. As
comfortable as I was, I was thirsty. Three days was a long time to go without water. Knowing this, I
closed my eyes to try to sleep through it.
A familiar tune whistled through the cracks of the wall. My eyes blurry from crust, I wiped it away
with my bandaged hand. Curious, I tried peeking through a hole in a board. Seeing the two horses in the
next stall brought back anxiety from the first trial. Sounds of mumbling could be heard. Listening
intensely, I realized he had more victims. Wanting to scream out to them to calm their breathing, I said
nothing. Fearful he would kill me if I spoke. Though I didn’t have to. He was telling them to be calm and
they would live. If only they would listen, they could live. One after another perished throughout the
ordeal. Once again mixed emotions of sympathy and anger fought within me. I slammed my hand
against the stall boards. Why am I angry at them, I questioned myself. Hearing the distinct sound of the
hacksaw cutting through the bodies, I became sick. I crawled back in the bed and covered my head.
“Wake up, you have rested enough.” Leading me into the room where the bodies were, he
motioned for me to pick the parts up. “I will cut the meat and you will load it up.” “Do you
understand?”, he asked. I nodded yes and began putting the severed limbs in the wheelbarrow.
“Take it out back to the pigs.” “I trust you won’t try to run.” You will not get very far in your
condition and the weather” He was right, still bandaged and weak I knew I would freeze. Reluctantly I
put a arm, leg, and head in the wheelbarrow.
Once again, the cold made me shiver as I treaded through the snow. The night was calm. The
moon shined down on the solar panels that lined the buildings. I was on some sort of homestead.
Nearing the structure that housed the pigs, I cringed at the thought of feeding them. The squealing led
me to the hog house. Opening the door and entering, I gasped in horror. Piles of bones lay everywhere
within the house. The pigs squealed in delight as I tossed the body parts to them. The smell was pungent
and took my breath away. Not being able to hold back, I vomited the only liquids I had in me. After
unloading my delivery, I left to retrieve another load. Feet still bandaged, and I was cold, the thought of
running left my mind. Yearning for the warm bed, I trudged my way back to the barn. This went on
throughout the night.
“Almost done, this is the last of it.”, he said as he cut through a torso of a woman. “You have done
well, and I am proud of you.” “I know your cold and must be thirsty.” Yet, you still have forty-eight hours
left until you can replenish your thirst. “Keep motivated and you will triumph over your it” After the last
load was completed, he led me to the bed and rebandaged my wounds. Curiously looking down at my
severed toes, I seen I was missing five of them. The same as he bandaged my hands. I was four less
fingers. Two were gone from each hand.
My stomach grumbled as I tossed and turned. All I could think about was water and food. I
eventually passed out from the nights work. Waking up, I felt disoriented and weak. The hunger for food
and water still consuming my thoughts. “Twenty-Four hours left”, his voice said from outside the stall.
“Get up, I have more work for you.” “You have to earn your keep.”
The man then entered the room and placed the collar around my neck. “Here is a coat to keep
you warm, he said as he placed it on my back. Then he handed me some rubber boots. “These should
help keep your feet dry while you dig.” Wanting to ask, dig what, I didn’t dare from the fear of being
struck again. The task will be difficult but not impossible. Handing me a shovel, he led me to the spot he
wanted dug.
“The weather has let up and the temperature has risen. I can not trust that you might try to run.
He then locked the chain to a stake in the ground. “The hog house needs cleaned of the bones.” “Dig me
a hole big enough to bury the remains of the less fortunate.” “I will return in twenty-four hours.” You
have fared well so far, keep up the good work and you will be rewarded.” He then turned and walked
away.
The sun was just beginning to rise, and it felt warn against me face. The black sky turned to a
canvas of pastels. The view was stunning under any condition. After admiring the horizon, I started my
grueling work. Trying to dig with missing toes was difficult and excruciating. Placing the shovel into the
frozen ground, I bared down with all my weight. Breaking the ground seemed unfeasible, but I managed.
Letting out agonizing cries, I repeated the movements until I finally moved dirt.
Scanning around, my head was on a swivel looking for cameras. The thought of trying to escape
weighing heavily. Using my bandaged hands, I felt for any gaps in my collar. It was tight around my neck.
I Then looked for any weak links in the chain but found none. The steak the chain was hooked to must
have been buried ten feet, I thought as I gave it a tug. Giving up on any escape attempts, I continued to
dig.
The hunger and dehydration had started to take effect. My head pounded like a hammer on a
nail. I became nauseous. Fearing I might throw up, I sit and rested on the ground. Looking down at the
homestead, I wondered who the man was. Nearly falling asleep, I pushed myself up off the ground.
Visions of water surrounding me engulfed my every thought. God, I was thirsty.
After I finished digging the hole I fell to my knees in exhaustion. Worrying that if I fell asleep, I
would die of dehydration. Standing up, I desperately tried staying awake. The chain weighed down my
neck making it hard to stand. Using the shovel as a brace, I wedged it into the ground and balanced the
chain over top of the shovel. It lifted the weight off me, allowing me to stand easier. Standing and
swaying, I watched as day turned to night and night back to day. “Congratulations”, the man said as he
walked up the hill toward me.
“II knew you would conquer the test.” “You will soon be rewarded for your victory.” Leading me
back to the barn, I stumbled and fell. The man picked me up and helped me to my feet. As He laid me in
the bed, oddly enough I wanted to thank him. “Before I tend to your bandages, I am going to start an I.V.
to restore your electrolytes. He then handed me a cup of water. “Drink”, he said. Wanting badly to gulp
it down, I refrained and sipped slowly. The water was refreshing as it moistened my mouth. Water
wasn’t something I normally craved but, in that moment, it was all a I wanted. Living mostly on energy
drinks and sodas, I rarely drank it.
As I sipped, I thought about my body and how I had neglected it. Peculiar enough, the man was
giving me all I ever needed. He had somehow managed to push my stronger version to the surface.
“Good news”, he said as he wrapped the final bandage around my foot. “You have made it to the last
trial.” “But before we discuss that, I want to reward you on your accomplishments.” “I’m sure you have
questions, and I will allow you to ask them.” A little conversation will do us both some good.” I must say
I am as curious about you as you are of me.” He said as he poured me another cup of water. “But not
until you have rested.” “I look forward to it, I will see you this afternoon.” Locking the door behind him,
exhausted, I fell asleep.
Hunger pains interrupted my slumber. Turning about in the bed, images of food ravaged my
thoughts. Trying hard, I managed to push the vivid images of cheeseburgers out of my mind. Replacing
them with the image of the man conversing with me. What would I ask him, I pondered. Would I set him
off again and be fed to the pigs. One would think that I wouldn’t want to talk to him after he had cut off
my nose, yet strangely enough I did. I was curious about him.
My tossing about abruptly interrupted as I heard the man enter the room. “Well now, how do you
feel this afternoon?” He asked, as he pulled a old wooden chair next the bed and sat down. To scared to
speak I laid quietly. “It Is o.k., he said cheerfully as he patted my leg. “You may speak”. “Better but
hungry”, I managed to mumble. “Yes, I know you are hungry, but you have entered your final trial.” You
must endure three weeks with no food.” You have been here a week.” “Two weeks remain.”
“People of the world are gluttons. Indulging in prepackaged garbage to feed the body. Never
having to hunt or forge for it. If you make it the three weeks, you will have learned to appreciate what
you put in your mouth. You will think about what it is for, rather than just stuffing your face. Do you still
have the desire to live, for you I truly hope so.
“What is your name?”
“Liam, my names, Liam”
“Well, Liam, my names Doc” “It is finally nice to meet your true self.” I’ve been waiting along time for
this.” “You are now worthy to speak to.” “You have shed your old, infected skin and are growing new
skin.” “I have helped you thus far to create a better, you.” “You may speak freely”.
“Why are you doing this”?
“To save you.” “To rid you of the worlds temptations” “I am extracting all you have digested and
replacing it with the will to survive.”
“Who are you”, I fearfully asked.
“I am a doctor who the world cast out due to what they call negligence.” “I only pushed my patients to
better themselves and refused to subscribe fake antidotes”. “I didn’t hand them a crutch when they
could walk on their own.”” I left the city and moved off grid”. “Here I am free to practice as I see fit”.
“My patients now, are those that want to better themselves but just need a little push.” “Yet, none have
come as far as you, Liam.” “What is it, you desire, Liam?”
“A life of fulfillment”, I said.
“Are you not now, achieving that goal, Liam?”
Before I could answer, he told me, “Enough talk for the day”, we have work to do. “Don’t speak
unless I ask you to”. Unhooking my I.V., he then furnished me with warm clothes and boots again. “Grab
the wheelbarrow”, he said as we excited the barn. He then led me to the hog house. “I want you to pick
up the bones and put them in the hole you dug. Feeling weak, I pushed through the chore. The sight of
the mutilated parts wasn’t as repulsive to me as before. Yet, I did wonder who they were and where
they had come from. The day sped by quickly.
That night, I laid in the bed thinking of the man. Could he be right with what he was doing. I did
feel a new feeling of accomplishment. Had I truly shed my old self. Had he had given me what every
doctor before him had failed at. Questioning my own thoughts, I drifted off to sleep.
As the days went by, I would often help him rid the world of the weak. Every few days he would
bring in new patients. One after one they failed his trials. Some made it past the first, only to die in the
pen or the cooler, depending on the weather. We had many evening conversations where I learned
more about Doc, as he did me. Some nights I would listen to him mourn their deaths. He would often sit
by the stove talking to himself and crying. He would question their inability to understand what he was
doing. Finding myself somewhat sympathetic to him, I spoke out. “It’ll be o.k. you’re a good doctor, they
just don’t have a desire to live. “Thank you”, he said, “but do not speak unless I tell you”. With that I
climbed into bed and covered my head.
Ribs now visible, I was nearing death. No longer having the energy to help him any longer, I spent
the remaining few days in bed. As the final day approached, he came to me and said, If you don’t die
through the night, I will intravenously feed you the nutrients your body requires. Then you can truly live
your life. Tears filled his eyes as he pulled the blanket over me. You have been an outstanding and
cooperative patient and I thank you. Share to the world the gift I have given you.
Waking up, I was confused and again fighting off a sedated state. Rubbing my eyes in dismay, I
stumbled out of bed and tripped over my tennis shoes. Looking down at my disfigured feet, I was
perplexed at the sight of the floor. Continuously wiping at my vision, I scanned the room. Soda bottles
littered the nightstand. An empty potato chip bag lay empty on the bed.
Falling onto the floor, I curled up into a fetal position and cried. Visions of the dead filled my
thoughts. My mind was baffled with an emotional and ethical struggle. Four, four, four, I tried to
manage as anxiety reared its ugly head. “No!”, I yelled. I was alive and I was thriving. Quickly jumping to
my feet, I ran to my dresser mirror. It would be the first time, seeing the new me since my amputations.
Raising my head slowly my eyes met a man I had never seen before. A mangled mess stared back at me.
Yet, I didn’t see the ugly. I seen a victor. A man who fought for his life. I seen a man with the desire to
live. Admiring my new self, I calming starting whistling that familiar tune. I knew what I had to do.
The next few months, I spent talking to the detectives. Occasionally throwing them a false bone
toward their investigation. Had I not been a missing person, I would have avoided the police all
together.
A year has passed since my abduction. My life has changed for the better. I have faired well. I
often think about Doc and if he is still practicing. I did what he asked. I survive, appreciate, and share my
new gift to the world. I no longer spend my days waiting for life to toss me a crumb of its cookie. There
is value in the very air we breathe, the water we drink, the dwelling that shelters us, and the nutriment
we eat. Yet, it’s been difficult to convince people of this without some persuasion. So, please calm your
breathing. I am not going to kill you. This will only take three minutes. So, relax, do you have the desire
to live?” “For you, I truly hope so.

I have OCD and seek therapy for it. It’s not working. I’ve went downhill significantly for several months now. One of my biggest fears is HIV infection. And I’m currently suffering from a “trigger” and it’s ruining my life.
I go to electrolysis appointments for hair removal, and I have convinced myself that back in January I contracted HIV from this particular appointment. I went in directly after someone who I convinced myself has HIV and lack of proper sterilization has resulted in an HIV infection. What makes matters worse is that I got sick one week after this appointment. Very sick. Horrible cough, shortness of breath, lost my voice, fever, chills, body aches, diarrhea, etc. I was so sick that I actually pooped blood on one occasion. I was seeing a guy at the time and went and got an HIV test which came back negative. (Not enough time for the window period of my appointment) I relaxed a little and eventually got better and things were okay for a bit. I just had another appointment and completely spiraled again. I am back at square one still convinced that I got HIV from that appointment and have given it to now 2 men I’ve slept with. I’m just a complete hot mess. I don’t know what to do. I’m not promiscuous (yes I’ve slept with 2 guys in 5 months but this is out of the ordinary for me), I do not use intravenous drugs. So other than that I am a healthy, 30 year old female. I’m not seeking reassurance. I don’t know what I want honestly. I just hate feeling this way. I’m plagued with anxiety and am so scared to take this test in the next few days that I feel physically ill. I’m mostly worried I’ve given it to these 2 guys and how am I going to explain this to them…I don’t know how to calm down. Advice would be appreciated.

This is the question I have been asking myself for going on 5 days now. A little context…I quit smoking tobacco and weed cold turkey a few days ago (about 5 days now) due to a sudden feeling of ANXIETY and feeling that i was about to have a fucking heart attack ! My heart felt like it sank to my stomach and i began to notice every single thing about my body from the sounds my stomach makes, my pulse beating as well as my heart beat. I checked my pulse with my apple watch and my heart rate was about 143, with deep breathing exercises i got it down to about 95-100. But every since that night I have paid close attention to every little feeling in my body such as minor back aches, elbow feeling weird, burping alot, this feeling that somethings in my throat and so much more. At this point I’m beginning to feel consumed with all of this. And guess what ! I still don’t know if it’s a heart attack ! I also have this small headaches that just go away. Can anyone please help, hopefully I am not the only one who has experienced this.

FTM, LO is 6 weeks this week. Breast feeding was an immense struggle for the first 4 weeks. LO’s latch was really shallow, ties have been ruled out by multiple LC’s and pediatricians. She just had to get a little bigger. She’s great on my right side, no pain at all. Left side is still a bit painful, which is the side I’m currently experiencing this pain.
It’s like a terrible ache on the outer side of my breast. It usually happens just one or the other, but last week it was both at the same time and it was terrible. It’s not necessarily a particular spot which makes me think it isn’t a clog? It feels like deep muscle pain. Laying down is very painful, if I lay on the side that hurts, it feels crushed and painful. If I lay on the opposite side, the pulling of that breast to the opposite side of my body is also very painful.
No fever or chills or anything like that. I basically just ice, heat, and massage until it goes away. Takes about a day if I’m consistent with that stuff. What the heck is this? How can I avoid it? I’ll go several days of not having any pain (apart from the nipple that her latch is still weird) and feeling like I finally have a handle on breastfeeding and then it happens again and I feel very discouraged. :(

Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. I grew up as a military brat, so my childhood memories are a blur of packing, unpacking, and getting settled. It had been seven years since we arrived, and nothing but the grace of God would make me move again. A few years ago, my father got orders to station at a base in the middle of the Mohave. I was only seventeen then, but after a few dozen screaming matches, I decided to strike out on my own a little early. I got a part-time job at the cafe, which was enough to rent a little run-down shack a couple of blocks from downtown. As far as I was concerned, I was living the dream—serving coffee a few hours a week and spending the rest of my time hanging out with friends, listening to music, and drinking.
That particular morning started the same as any other. I woke up around noon with a text from Mark to meet me at the cafe. Took me about two hours to get up and head over. The sun had just begun its descent as I pushed the door to the cafe open, the bell above tinkling softly. The sound bothered me a little bit, but I couldn’t tell why. It seemed to ring a little louder than I was expecting, and gave me this strange drilling sensation inside my head.
I ignored the feeling as the smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries washed over me. I saw Mark and Jamie already sat at our usual spot. Mark looked up as I approached, a grin spreading across his face. "Hey, Alex. Sarah should be here soon."
“So what's on the docket today?” I asked as I sat down, stealing a bear claw off Jamie's plate and taking a large bite before he had the chance to protest.
Mark’s excitement was almost palpable. He was always the one with the big ideas and crazy schemes, which I honestly appreciated. They got us into trouble more often than not, but it beat day drinking in the Walmart parking lot like everyone else our age.
"Alright, check this out," Mark said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I was talking to my cousin who works for the county. He told me about this old, abandoned food processing factory just outside of town. They used to can peaches there."
I gave him a skeptical look. "That’s your idea? Old, canned peaches?"
"No, idiot," he scoffed. "They left behind a ton of nitrates and phosphates. I’ve been doing some reading, and we can use them to make fireworks. I was up all night figuring it out and putting these together." He subtly opened his backpack to reveal at least a dozen PVC pipes fitted on both ends.
"Now that's what I’m talking about," I said, grinning.
Sarah walked in, catching the tail end of our conversation. "Sorry I’m late, I had a breakout and had to stop by the pharmacy. Upped my allergy meds. I fucking hate pollen," she said as I scooted over to make room for her on the bench.
"Is there anything you aren't allergic to?" I laughed.
She rolled her eyes, ignoring my question. "So, what's the plan for today?"
Mark, Jamie and I exchanged cheeky glances. "Well," I started, "let’s just hope you’re not allergic to peaches."
We finally managed to pry the side door of the factory off, which broke free from the hinges and smashed against the floor. Stepping inside, the air was thick and rancid as we bounced the beams of our flashlights around the packaging floor.
"We should split up," Mark suggested. "Alex, you and Sarah check out the storage rooms for the chemicals. Jamie and I will find the control room and see if we can get the power back on."
All of us nodded as we went our separate ways. Sarah and I wandered down the dark hallways, kicking open doors and looking for anything that looked vaguely like chemicals. The corridors were dark and damp, with black mold snaking along the walls like veins.
The first few rooms we checked were empty, filled only with dust and the remnants of long-abandoned equipment. Each door creaked as we pushed it open, revealing more decay and desolation.
As we moved further down the hallway, the mold seemed to become more aggressive, spreading in thick, dark patches along the walls and floors. The air grew heavier, making it harder to breathe. We kicked open another door, our flashlights revealing more of the same—nothing useful.
"This place is a bust," Sarah muttered,
"Let's keep looking," I replied, though I was starting to feel the same way. "There has to be something."
We continued down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the silence. As we approached the end of the hall, something caught my eye. One door stood out, covered in black, creeping mold that seemed to pulse and writhe. Tendrils of fungus snaked out from the edges, reaching out into the hallway.
"Sarah, look at this," I said.
She turned to see what I was pointing at and her eyes widened. "That’s... different."
We approached the door cautiously as the tendrils moved and swayed.
With a deep breath, we each grabbed one side of the door and pulled. It resisted for a moment before giving way, the mold snapping and tearing as we forced it open. The smell that hit us was overpowering, a mix of rot and decay that made my eyes water.
Inside, our flashlights revealed a horrifying sight. At the back of the room sat several pallets with dozens of boxes of peaches each. But it was what grew from these boxes that will haunt my nightmares till my dying day.
The entire back wall was consumed by a towering fungal mass. Thick, fleshy stalks jutted out from the base, climbing nearly to the ceiling. The surface of the fungus glistened with a slimy, wet sheen, appearing almost like rotting flesh under our flashlight beams. Each stalk was covered in a mottled, sickly green and yellow hue, with patches of black mold that seemed to pulse in the dim light.
Interwoven within this horrific sight were bulbous growths, each one throbbing rhythmically, as if with a heartbeat of its own. They resembled obscene, overgrown tumors, ready to burst at the slightest touch. Long, sinewy tendrils extended from the main mass, creeping over the boxes and along the floor like the fingers of some malevolent creature, seeking out any life to ensnare.
The tendrils near the door twitched, slowly inching their way toward us as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores, glimmering in the light like tiny stars, each one a potential harbinger of decay and death.
"Oh my god," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of our own breathing. "What is that thing?"
We stood there, frozen in shock and disgust, before I slammed the door shut.
"Let's get the hell out of here," I said.
We hurried back down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The lights in the facility flickered on, casting a blinding white light. I heard a bubbling, groaning noise emanate from behind the fungal door, sending a wave of nausea through my body.
We met back up with Mark and Jamie in the main area and quickly told them what we saw.
"Yo, that sounds sick," Jamie exclaimed. "We should blow it up. I found the chemicals in the control room and these bad boys are ready to go," he said, holding up a pipe bomb.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, his eyes alight with excitement. "We'd be doing the world a favor, getting rid of that thing."
Sarah shook her head, her face pale. "No way. I'm not doing this. That thing... It's not normal. We need to get out of here and call someone who knows what they're doing."
Jamie frowned. "Come on, Sarah. Don't be a buzzkill. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something epic."
"Epic?" Sarah snapped. "That thing is dangerous. We don't know what we're dealing with. I'm not risking my life for some stupid joke."
Mark stepped in with a grin. "Alright, let's all calm down. If you’re scared you can just let the men handle it.”
Sarah crossed her arms. "Fine, but I'm staying here."
"Suit yourself," Jamie said, shrugging. "But we're not leaving without taking care of that thing."
"Alright, let's do this," Mark said, looking at Jamie and me. "We'll be quick. Sarah, stay here and keep an eye out.”
The hallway looked completely different in the fluorescent lighting. I could see now that each vein of fungus emanated from that single door, like a spiral portal threatening to suck us in.
"Let's make this quick," I whispered, glancing back at Jamie and Mark. "We light the bomb, throw it in, and get the hell out of here."
Jamie nodded, holding the pipe bomb tightly in his hand. "Ready when you are."
We reached the door, and the tendrils of fungus seemed even more aggressive, writhing and pulsing as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores.
"On three," I whispered, gripping the edge of the door. "One... two... three."
We yanked the door open, the mold snapping and tearing as it gave way. The smell of rot and decay hit us again, making my eyes water. The monstrous fungal mass loomed before us, its bulbous growths throbbing rhythmically.
Jamie lit the fuse and threw the bomb as hard as he could inside. It struck one of the orbs, which burst, shooting a fine white mist into the air.
"Run!" I shouted, slamming the door shut. We turned and sprinted down the hallway. The explosion sounded behind us, the shockwave lifting me off my feet and sending me tumbling to the ground.
Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. My parents were in the army, so we moved a lot, but now I'm staying put. I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small headache.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a doughnut off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Are YOU guys feeling ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a maroon off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Not really. Are YOU guys feeling Ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a piercing migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a bagel off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“What's going on?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m scared.”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “It’s fine, Sarah. Just take a seat,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a splitting migraine.
As I slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie, I noticed Sarah outside, fixated on a bird suspended in mid-flight. I went out to see her.
"Are you seeing this?" she asked, her voice tinged with astonishment.
"Yeah," I replied nonchalantly. "That happens all the time. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"What the hell do you mean, 'Am I feeling okay?'!" she screamed. "That bird is frozen mid-air, and you don't think anything weird is going on?"
Her yelling took me aback. I didn't understand her alarm, so I shrugged it off and joined Mark inside. As we began planning our nightly excursion to the peach factory, Sarah burst through the door, screaming, then vanished in a puff of smoke.
"That's odd," I mused, my brow furrowed in confusion before we shrugged it off and resumed our scheming.
The day after, I met Mark again at the cafe. This rhythm had become our existence: meetings by day, adventures by night at the old peach plant. That evening followed the familiar pattern; we reveled in the thrill of hurling pipe bombs into that small enclosed room.
This routine had completely engulfed our lives. Day after day at the cafe, night after night at the factory—it seemed as though this cycle was all we had ever known. Reflecting on it, I couldn't remember any other way of life.
However, one thing increasingly disturbed me—the ringing of the doorbell at the cafe's entrance. Each time I entered, the sound seemed sharper, more grating. Focusing on it brought a searing pain to my head, like a needle drilling through my skull. Yet, despite the agony, I found myself obsessing over it, the sound gnawing at the edges of my sanity.
One day, driven to the brink by this incessant ringing, I decided to confront it head-on. I stood by the door, letting the bell chime repeatedly. Each ring sliced through my mind, but I persisted, sweat beading on my forehead, teeth clenched in torment.
As the pain crescendoed, reality shattered. I woke to the blaring of a fire alarm, not the quaint doorbell I had imagined. The cafe was engulfed in chaos. The hallway was consumed by a sprawling fungal mass, its tendrils creeping along the walls.
In the dim, flickering light, I saw Jamie, or what was left of him. Half of his skull was missing, the fungus attached grotesquely to his exposed brain, pulsating with each eerie beat of his fading heart. Mark was there too, seemingly unharmed physically, but trapped in a delusion, his eyes glazed over, a smile playing on his lips as the fungus encased him.
Sarah lay collapsed by the fire alarm, her hand still on the lever. She had managed to pull it before succumbing to the spores that now clung to her body.
The tendrils that had enveloped me snapped violently, each break releasing a sickening crack that echoed through the eerie silence of the hallway. An outline of my body remained imprinted in the fungal mass, a mold from which I had desperately broken free.
Gritting my teeth against the pain and horror, I scrambled to Mark and Sarah. Mark was less entangled, lost in his fungal-induced stupor. I grabbed him under the arms, his body limp but alive, and dragged him across the floor. The fungus resisted, stretching like sinew before tearing away from him with wet, ripping sounds.
Sarah was heavier, her body weakened but still fighting. I clasped her wrists, pulling with all my strength. The fungus clung to her, tendrils winding up her arms like ivy. With a final, determined yank, the last of the tendrils snapped, freeing her. We left behind fragments of the monstrous growth clinging to her clothes.
Together, we staggered out into the night air, away from the suffocating enclosure. The cool air hit our faces, harsh yet cleansing. Behind us, the fire alarm continued to blare into the night. I fumbled with my phone, hands shaking, to dial the emergency number. The call went through, and within minutes, the sound of sirens cut through the stillness of the night, growing louder as help approached.
The next few days were a blur. I remember fading in and out of consciousness as nurses pumped antifungals directly into my IV, their faces blurring into the sterile environment. Once we were somewhat cognizant, the police wanted answers. One by one, we were interviewed, but we gave them nothing. I still don’t know what the exact penalty is for manufacturing explosives and using them to destroy a building, but I’m guessing it’s not community service. Jamie was still missing, and they hadn’t found any sign of him or his body. I tried to hide my tears as I knew he was already long gone.
After a few weeks, I was finally cleared for visitors and got to see Sarah again. She told me that after the explosion, she ran but couldn’t leave us behind. She came back, only to see us being consumed by the fungus. Try as she might, she wasn’t able to free us as she felt the oppressive spores take her under. She fought back and managed to pull the fire alarm before succumbing again. The doctors told her that her allergy medication gave her some resistance to the fungus; otherwise, she might have been a goner.
Mark was never the same. We never talked about what happened, and after trying once and him flipping out, I figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. That summer, he moved to upstate New York to work in his dad’s business. I haven’t seen him since. That fall, Sarah started college at Savannah State. I still call her every now and again, but it’s not like it used to be.
Despite all that happened, I’m not moving again. I’m happy here, and if it’s up to me, I’ll die in this little town. I still work at the cafe, as a manager now. On weekends, I come in and just sit at the booth we all used to share.
I still think about Jamie from time to time. I wonder if he's dead or still stuck in his delusion, picturing the four of us sitting at our table, talking, laughing, and passing the time. Sometimes, when the cafe is empty and the light is just right, I can almost see him there, his smile frozen in that moment before everything went wrong.
The cafe grows quieter each day, the hum of life fading into an eerie stillness. My skin feels different, as if the air itself whispers secrets I can't quite grasp. The itching that started as a minor annoyance has intensified, becoming a constant torment. I scratch at lesions that have begun to form on my arms and chest, red and raw, with patches of green spreading beneath the surface. I’ve started to wear long sleeves to cover my arms and a mask to hide my purpling lips.
Some nights, when closing, as I sit alone in the dim light of the cafe, the itching becomes unbearable. I claw at the lesions, feeling a dampness beneath my skin. Sometimes, when I cough, I could swear I see tiny spores hanging in the air, reminiscent of the bursting nodules growing on the stalks of the monster.
Occasionally, I hear the bell ring and the door open, but no one is there. I look outside into the empty night and see nothing. This went on for weeks, becoming more frequent. But one night, the door opened, and I saw Jamie standing there, the picture of health. I went to embrace him and noticed my lesions were gone too. It was almost as if we had never gone to the peach factory. It was suddenly morning, and the light shone through the cafe. For the first time in forever, we were happy. We talked about nothing, passing the time.
After what felt like hours, he told me it was time to go. But his mouth wasn’t moving—I felt like I could read his thoughts, and he could read mine. We stood up as I took one last look at the cafe and headed off with him, back to the peach factory.
As we walked, a strange calmness settled over me. I remember feeling that I wanted to ask if he had talked to Mark or Sarah, and wondered how they were doing. But deep down, somehow, I could feel their presence and I knew they were doing just fine. The sun was bright, the air crisp. The itching had vanished completely, replaced by an inexplicable craving for the sweetness of ripe peaches. Jamie and I shared a silent understanding, a bond deeper than any words could convey.
The factory loomed ahead, its doors wide open as if inviting us in. The familiar scent of peaches and something else—something earthy and ancient—filled the air. We stepped inside, side by side, feeling at home for the first time in ages.
The last thing I remember before the darkness took over was the feeling of the soft, warm peach flesh in my hand, and Jamie’s voice in my head saying, "Welcome home."

I finished reading the series for the first time around three weeks ago after seven months of reading every day. What a journey.
I wanted to take note of some of my thoughts and questions as I was going through the books, but never did. However, as I finished A Memory of Light I felt that emptiness typical of when you finish a great series and felt the need to finally write down some of them.
I avoided any spoiler I could after the second book so I haven't navigated much in this sub and wonder if some of what I noticed is shared by other more seasoned lovers of the series. I wouldn't be surprised if some of my doubts come only from pieces I missed or misremembered.

• I really appreciated Sanderson's introduction to "The Gathering Storm". I knew Jordan didn't finish writing the series and I was a bit worried how the transition would affect the story. Sanderson's short introduction really put my mind at ease.
  
• Without over-analyzing the writing styles, I found Sanderson's to be more direct, less discursive and without a halo of mystery I felt with Jordan's.
  
• Maybe I'm stretching it, but towards the end I noticed some characters becoming more one-dimensional. Especially Mat, the cheekiness levels were off the chart.
  
• In the books written by Jordan I really liked how all story lines were developed almost simultanously, with big events used as reference points (like the cleansing of saidin and the foul gust from Dragonmount) and crafty story telling to summarize and fill some holes. Maybe it was harder to do towards the end, but Perrin's arc after Malden up to when he gets to Andor has a big time offset relative to events narrated in the same chapters.
  
• Aviendha's "third" visit at Rhuidean felt a bit rushed and left me with some questions. It's safe to say that the ter'angreal doesn't tell the future because Aviendha can simply change the name of one of her children and because Rhuarc dies, but it's odd how Amys (or was it Bair) gets the same visions, even if from different people. I wish we knew more about the ter'angreal. Did this plot have the only scope of giving some hints about the future of the Aiels and urging Aviendha to talk to Rand?
  
• Did Alivia help Rand "die" by preparing his clothes and bags? lol
  
• I don't know if I missed some hints, but Rand swapping body with Moridin did surprise me. It went beyond what I thought was possible in the universe, but I reckon it was a good surprise ending.
  
• I was not ready for so many characters loosing their plot armour at Tarmon Gai'don, and the more it went on, the more I feared for the remaining ones.
  
• Moiraine's return was a bit spoiled with Min having an unfulfilled vision about her. On this topic, it's odd how her bond to Lan is transferred as if she died, while as far as we know, when she enters the other door ter'angreal nothing of the like happened. As I'm writing this I realize she could've briefly released the bond the first time, but then, would've it gone to Myrelle?
  
• The tv show is garbage, it shows no respect to the original material, but I'm glad I watched as it sparked my interest in this amazing series.
  
• As Morgase traveled through Altara I was holding my breath hoping she would run into Salidar and reconnect with Elayne. Things might have unfolded differently, not necessarily for the better, but my heart ached at the thought of Elayne believing her mother was dead. How long did it take for them to reconnect? Seven books? Wild.
  

Some people still swear up and down that ivermectin is actually effective against COVID-19. This is false. They also insist ivermectin has far fewer side-effecs than the Coronavirus vaccine. This is also false. I'm going to prove it to you, but whether you are capable of accepting evidence such as listed below is something I obviously have no control over. I can try, and you can keep an open mind.
First of all, ivermectin has many side-effects, ranging from innocuous to severe.^[1]
To wit:

General

Ivermectin is well tolerated compared to other microfilaricidal agents (i.e., thiabendazole, diethylcarbamazine). Adverse reactions (i.e., pruritus, fever, rash, myalgia, headache) occur commonly during the first 3 days after treatment and appear to be related to the extent of parasitic infection and systemic mobilization and killing of microfilariae. The majority of reactions can usually be treated with aspirin, acetaminophen and/or antihistamines. Adverse effects tend to occur with lesser frequency during periods of retreatment.

Ocular

Ocular side effects have included eyelid edema, anterior uveitis, blurred vision, conjunctivitis, limbitis, punctate opacity, keratitis, abnormal sensation in the eyes, and chorioretinitis/choroiditis; however, these effects are also associated with the disease onchocerciasis. Loss of vision has occurred rarely but usually resolved without corticosteroid treatment. Conjunctival hemorrhage has been reported during postmarketing experience in patients treated for onchocerciasis.

Other

Worsening of Mazzotti reactions, including arthralgia, synovitis, lymph node enlargement and tenderness, pruritus, skin involvement (including edema, papular and pustular or frank urticarial rash), and fever, has been reported during the first 4 days following treatment for onchocerciasis.

Nervous system

Nervous system side effects have included dizziness, headache, somnolence, vertigo, and tremor. Serious or fatal encephalopathy has been reported rarely in patients with onchocerciases, and heavily infected with Loa loa, either spontaneously or after treatment with ivermectin. Seizures have been reported during postmarketing experience.

Gastrointestinal

Gastrointestinal side effects have included anorexia, constipation, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, and abdominal distention.

Other

Other side effects have included asthenia, fatigue, abdominal pain, chest discomfort, facial edema, and peripheral edema.

Hematologic

Hematologic side effects have included decreased leukocyte count (3%), eosinophilia (3%), and increased hemoglobin (1%). Hematomatous swellings associated with prolonged prothrombin times have been reported, but the clinical significance is unknown. Leukopenia and anemia have been reported in at least one patient.

Hepatic

Hepatic side effects have included elevated ALT and/or AST. Elevated liver enzymes, elevated bilirubin, and hepatitis have been reported during postmarketing experience.

Cardiovascular

Cardiovascular side effects have included tachycardia and orthostatic hypotension. EKG changes, including prolonged PR interval, flattened T waves and peaked T waves, have been reported in single cases. Hypotension (primarily orthostatic hypotension) has been reported during postmarketing experience.

Dermatologic

Dermatologic side effects have included pruritus, rash, and urticaria. Toxic epidermal necrolysis and Stevens-Johnson syndrome have been reported during postmarketing experience.

Respiratory

Respiratory side effects have included worsening bronchial asthma, laryngeal edema, and dyspnea.

Musculoskeletal

Musculoskeletal side effects have included myalgia.

Renal

Renal side effects have included rare transient proteinuria.
I tried to get incidence rates for these side-effects, but in some if not most instances, the answer given for these side-effects is either simply "unknown" or they're just not shown. Imagine telling this to anti-vaxers: if they have at least a consistent set of beliefs, this should deeply alarm them, shouldn't it?
Some people actually did take the horse dewormer version out of sheer desperation and got really sick, were hospitalized or worse: they died.

1. In New Mexico, two people died after taking a deworming drug for horses and other livestock to treat COVID-19.^[2]
2. The FDA received multiple reports of patients who required medical support and hospitalization after self-medicating with Ivermectin intended for horses.^[3]
3. There was a significant increase in calls to poison control centers due to misuse of Ivermectin. Texas saw a 550% spike in poison control calls due to people ingesting horse and cow dewormer.^[4]
4. People poisoned themselves with the horse-deworming version to thwart COVID-19, resulting in an uptick in calls to poison control centers.^[5]

Ivermectin was consistently found to be ineffective in treating COVID-19:

1. A systematic review and meta-analysis published in the Virology Journal evaluated the efficacy of Ivermectin for COVID-19 patients based on current peer-reviewed RCTs. The study concluded that Ivermectin did not have any significant effect on outcomes of COVID-19 patients.^[6]
2. A Cochrane meta-analysis of 11 eligible trials examining the efficacy of Ivermectin for the treatment of COVID-19 published through April 2022 concluded that Ivermectin has no beneficial effect for people with COVID-19.^[7]
3. An article published in the Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) concluded that taking 400 mcg/kg Ivermectin for three days, when compared with a placebo, did not significantly improve the chances for a patient with mild to moderate symptoms of COVID-19 to avoid hospitalization.^[8]
4. A study published on News Medical concluded that in COVID-19 outpatients with mild or moderate illness, Ivermectin use for three days at a dose of 400 μg/kg showed no significant improvement in the time to sustained recovery compared to those who received placebos.^[9]

The unwarranted hype surrounding ivermectin can be traced back to its promotion on the Joe Rogan Experience.^[10]

Public interest in ivermectin ballooned following Joe Rogan’s podcasts. “On a national level Rogan’s podcast was a tipping point,” said Keenan Chen, an investigative researcher with First Draft News, an organization that tracks misinformation. (Rogan, who has previously expressed hesitancy to vaccines, announced in September he had contracted Covid-19. He claimed to be taking ivermectin among several other treatments.)

Joe Rogan took a cocktail of Big Pharma^tm meds which, with the exception of monoclonal antibodies, were not indicated for his situation. In fact, some of the medication he took could have made things worse.^[11] Rogan probably didn't get seriously ill because he's fit and without significant comorbidities. The one thing that would have actually been the most effective was the vaccine, which he refused to take.
Many others weren't as lucky as Joe was. I suggest you follow the footnotes and see for yourself. Especially the first one.^[12][13]
Other than ivermectin, coronavirus vaccines are also a subject both Joe Rogan and his guests have shamelessly lied about numerous times, which could have caused medical harm to people who bought into it, and probably did. The most prominent guest which comes to mind is RFK Jr.
RFK Jr.'s influence is so odious, I am comfortable saying he probably contributed to thousands of unnecessary deaths in total. One incident in which 83 people (mostly children) died is particularly disgusting:^[14]

In June 2019, Kennedy and his wife, the actress Cheryl Hines, visited Samoa, a trip Kennedy later wrote was arranged by Edwin Tamasese, a Samoan local anti-vaccine influencer.
Vaccine rates had plummeted after two children died in 2018 from a measles vaccine that a nurse had incorrectly mixed with a muscle relaxant. The government suspended the vaccine program for months. By the time Kennedy arrived, health authorities were trying to get back on track.
He was treated as a distinguished guest, traveling in a government vehicle, meeting with the prime minister and, according to Kennedy, many health officials and the health minister.
He also met with anti-vaccine activists, including Tamasese and another well-known influencer, Taylor Winterstein, who posted a photograph of herself and Kennedy on her Instagram.
“The past few days have been profoundly monumental for me, my family and for this movement to date,” she wrote, adding hashtags including #investigatebeforeyouvaccinate.
A few months later, a measles epidemic broke out in Samoa, killing 83 people, mostly infants and children in a population of about 200,000.
Public health officials said at the time that anti-vaccine misinformation had made the nation vulnerable.
The crisis of low vaccination rates and skepticism created an environment that was “ripe for the picking for someone like RFK to come in and in assist with the promotion of those views,” said Helen Petousis-Harris, a vaccinologist from New Zealand who worked on the effort to build back trust in the measles vaccine in Samoa.
Petousis-Harris recalled that local and regional anti-vaccine activists took their cues from Kennedy, whom she said “sits at the top of the food chain as a disinformation source.”
“They amplified the fear and mistrust, which resulted in the amplification of the epidemic and an increased number of children dying. Children were being brought for care too late,” she said.

The pandemic is over. Ivermectin wasn't effective. On the one hand we should move on, on the other hand, there should be some accountability for people who pushed this lie, especially those who benefited from it financially.^[10][15]
[1] Drugs.com - Ivermectin Side Effects
[2] USA Today - 'A serious issue': New Mexico health officials suspect two people dead from ivermectin poisoning
[3] Global News - FDA warns Americans to stop taking horse dewormer for COVID-19: ‘You are not a horse’ (Some anti-vaxers counter that the FDA lost a court battle about ivermectin, proving that it works - this is false)
[4] USA Today - Fact check: 590% jump in poison control calls about ivermectin seen in Texas
[5] Ars Technica - More people are poisoning themselves with horse-deworming drug to thwart COVID
[6] Virology Journal - Ivermectin under scrutiny: a systematic review and meta-analysis of efficacy and possible sources of controversies in COVID-19 patients
[7] JAMA Network - At a Higher Dose and Longer Duration, Ivermectin Still Not Effective Against COVID-19
[8] KU Medical Center - Ivermectin shown ineffective in treating COVID-19, according to multi-site study including KU Medical Center
[9] News Medical - Ivermectin is ineffective in non-severe COVID-19 patients according to new study
[10] The Guardian - Ivermectin frenzy: the advocates, anti-vaxxers and telehealth companies driving demand
[11] Doctor Mike - Here's Why Joe Rogan's COVID Treatment Is Problematic
[12] /JamiePullDatUp - "I made a terrible mistake" vs. "I'm still not a 100% sold on the inoculation" - videos of unvaccinated COVID-19 patients in the hospital
[13] /HermanCainAward
[14] AP - RFK Jr. spent years stoking fear and mistrust of vaccines. These people were hurt by his work
[15] Time - ‘What Price Was My Father’s Life Worth?’ Right-Wing Doctors Are Still Peddling Dubious COVID Drugs

Writing this for folks whose home park is OG Disneyland and are considering or planning a trip to DLP. Whether that's you or you're looking for advice in the opposite direction, feel free to AMA!
I wrote up some aspects of my trip in this post, for reference. For context, I visit Anaheim a few times a year for 2-3 days each -- sometimes alone, sometimes with others -- and have been to Walt Disney World a handful of times (mostly for a single day while visiting my in-laws in the Orlando area).
Stow yer weapons: this is gonna be long. I'll talk atmosphere, attractions, food and drinks, and tips geared toward this audience. (I won't cover shows or character greetings, since they're not really my thing.)
Atmosphere:
Disneyland Paris is widely regarded as the most beautiful of the castle parks, and I agree. The attention to detail is stunning, from the horticulture to the rock work to the stained glass in the castle. The land transitions are smooth and beautifully executed, and the park generally feels more deliberately planned (probably since it wasn't built in a year and haphazardly swapping parts for the next seventy, like DLCA).
The park is bigger than Anaheim's, probably close to Magic Kingdom size, so add a minute or two to your commute time when crossing from one end to the other.
Some can't-miss experiences and details unique to DLP (skipping the rides since I'll cover those next, but including walk-throughs):
MAIN STREET

• The arcades on either side. Don't miss either of them! I enjoy the Discovery side with steampunk visions of cities in the future.
• If you can tour Walt's, do: the salons are themed by original lands and are charming. The home goods store named after Lily also has some nice turn-of-the-century fixtures and creative interior design.

FANTASYLAND

• The dragon. I mean, it's a dragon under the castle that snorts smoke!
• Shop interiors, especially Snow White and the Merlin shop. The beanstalk was closed when I was there, sadly.
• Cinderella's glass carriage near the Auberge.
• Sleeping Beauty's Castle. Do the walk-through. Eyvind Earle would be proud. The rectangular topiaries are a nice touch.
• The Alice in Wonderland labyrinth! Charming surprises, a true dead end, and a climb to a super neat park view in the center.

ADVENTURELAND

• The marketplace and Aladdin cave. Reminiscent of the Morocco pavilion at Epcot (sadly, I haven't been to Morocco). The restaurant has a very cool lived-in market look if you can take a peek inside. Even the windows have faux Maltese balconies/muxrabija and hanging wares.
• Adventure Isle. It's basically their version of Tom Sawyer's Island, so you can clamber through caves, look through Skull Rock, run around a pirate ship, and generally pretend you're eight. Genuinely photo-worthy.

FRONTIERLAND

• Peek into their version of the Golden Horseshoe. It may not be a replica of Calamity Jane's, like ours, but it's handsome and bigger.
• Phantom Manor's horticultural and exterior design. There's just more space for cool themed plants, and the queue design gives you time to admire them.

DISCOVERYLAND

• Steampunk everything! This is where we got our Astro-Orbiter and our short-lived, ill-fated redesign from the late 90s. It looks way better on them.
• The submarine walk through is really fun. Not sure how much it resembles the original walk-through from 50s Disneyland, but it's a low-key and visually rich treat, especially when it's sunny out.

Rides:
Some comparisons and contrasts. Didn't ride everything (e.g. carousel, teacups, Autopia), so I'll just share notes on the ones I did.
Big Thunder: Best version I've been on, period. It's on an island, so you plunge in and out of the darkness to get there, and the seats are actually divided so you're not body-slamming the person next to you every time you careen around a corner. Don't sleep on the detail and theming! Only bummer: no goat trick.
Pirates: Great queue: caves and little sneak peeks into scenes. Caribbean themed instead of bayou, restaurant included. Different structure and order of scenes, and frankly sort of confusing (e.g. Jack Sparrow is on the treasure pile among the skeleton tableaux for his little monologue). The sword fighting scene is unique to DLP (I think).
Fantasyland dark rides: Pinocchio is almost exactly the same as in CA. Snow White is more like the pre-COVID version, but even creepier; it's definitely the most divergent from the current CA version. Peter Pan is close to its CA version, but feels slightly larger?
Small World: More granular Europe, cute America section, generally quite different in layout. White-clad finale is a fair with a Ferris wheel and such.
Haunted Mansion/Phantom Manor: Identical ride track and Doom Buggies, but totally different storyline and different tableaux, particularly at the finale, which is a Western town instead of a graveyard. They don't put scrims in front of the frontier town zombies, which makes them creepier somehow. It's a unique take and a must-do.
Space Mountain: This one blows ours out of the water. Catapult launch, several inversions, much faster and darker. Be aware they don't have pouches for your stuff and will instruct you to put it on the floor. I stepped on the strap of my bag because I was certain I was gonna lose it.
Star Tours: Identical, though one time I got narration in English and the other time in French. May be randomized?
Railroad: No primeval world but they do have their own Grand Canyon. Circle tour is a must; you cover completely different ground and get a great pano of the whole park. My train was in compartments rather than long cars.
Indiana Jones: This is not the Jeep tour by any stretch; it's an outdoor roller coster that rattled my teeth out of my head. Think an extreme version of Goofy's Sky School with the unbanked turns. KEEP YOUR HEAD BACK. And even then, don't be surprised if you get off with sore ears and a buzzy headache that last a few minutes.
Food and Drinks:
I talked extensively about this in my other post, so I'll just note a couple of comparisons.

• Alcohol is more widely available in the Paris park, akin to DCA. Your best bet is wine or a kir (or a beer, if you prefer) unless you're at a place with a dedicated cocktail menu.
• The little stalls across from Small World serve things like ham and gruyère sandwiches and gauffres and sweets, with beer and wine available. Meh by Paris standards, but decent snacks that you wouldn't find in Anaheim.
• Unique themed dining. Captain Jack's has sub-par food, but if you're a fan of the Blue Bayou, it may be worth it just for the Caribbean nighttime theming. Boats floating by, and a more defined/secluded space than the sea of tables at BB. (Who goes to BB for the food anyway?) Agrabah restaurant has the most divergent theming and food from anything you can get in DLR.

General info/advice:
I have a lot of good news for Californians, because Paris is a cakewalk in comparison. I'm sure I hit a slower period, but it's so easy to go with the flow without playing nine-dimensional chess on your phone every three minutes.

• Stay at a hotel on campus! The great news is that the hotels, parks and shops are after security, so you won't have to leave the bubble for your whole trip. Say goodbye to waiting in line for bag check behind one billion strollers every morning. If you're staying in the DLH (covered in my other post), you basically roll out of bed and through the turnstiles.
• Early entry was EMPTY, and since it was 8:30 instead of 7-7:30, it felt downright luxurious. Hit those Fantasyland rides like they're going out of style. I hit Peter Pan twice before 8:40. That one does fill up later and skipping the line costs an absurd amount of money, so morning is your best bet. Not everything is open for extra magic hour, though, so do check your map.
• The park is significantly bigger and you're going to do a lot of walking. It's not as easy to jump from point to point in rapid succession as in our little jewel of a park. Plan accordingly.
• That said, take the time to really slow down and enjoy your surroundings. No need to travel halfway across the world just to bang out a bunch of rides. It's fun to check out the beautifully executed transitions (John Hench would be proud). There's even a list of horticultural treasures within the app.
• Express pass is way easier than Genie Plus. I don't recommend getting the full day; the one day I did it, I failed to break even on what I would have spent skipping the line for individual rides. Get it for the rides you want if the line looks too steep for you. They're generally valid either immediately or within 5 minutes.

I'm tired of typing, and you're doubtless tired of reading, but if you have questions about the Studios park, feel free to ask in the comments.

My idea for the GxK sequel plot would begin with Godzilla waking up from his sleep in the Colosseum and returning to Tiamat's former layer to complete his evolution. Fast forward a few months later, and Godzilla emerges from the lair, completing his evolution and starting to look a little bit more like Tiamat.
Fast forward a few years, and Monarch detects two previously unknown Titans emerge from the Hollow Earth, Titanus Qalupalik, an ugly serpent-like fish or amphibian emerging from the Arctic Circle, and Titanus Dakuwaqa, a shark Titan emerging from a portal in the sea near Kadavu Island. Monarch figures they are here to take over the niches left by Scylla and Tiamat. Godzilla encounters Qalupalik first, who is combative, and they get into a quick one-sided fight which forces Qalupalik to submit. Godzilla gives her a pass and accepts her to take Tiamat's place. Then Godzilla meets up with Dakuwaqa, who begins a ritualistic dance of sorts to gain Godzilla's approval. After Godzilla inspects him and his demeanor, he accepts Dakuwaqa to take his new territory. Then, Godzilla moves to Madagascar to rest.
On the human side of the story, public outrage over the incompetence of both Monarch and world governments to prepare for these Titan attacks is at an all-time high. Governments are now arguing over how to deal with them. Some leaders want to eliminate Godzilla because they believe Godzilla is going to attack them anyway regardless of whether they provoke him or not and that he is too powerful to let alive. Others want to focus more on a Hollow Earth takeover and declare war on the Kongs because they fear that they can plan another attack on the surface world. Monarch tries to assure them that such an event would not happen again because of their change in leadership, but many are still unconvinced. The American government, along with other NATO countries, begin investing in developing a new type of military weapon to deal with Godzilla, the Super X. They also are trying to seal up the holes left in Hong Kong, Cairo, and Rio de Janeiro to ensure nothing from the Hollow Earth can use those portals to invade the surface world again. Monarch gets into heated conflicts over world governments over the portals, as they want to keep a few open for research purposes among other things. The governments relent and allow the portal in Barbados to remain open but require them to invest in extra security in case of an emergency.
Returning to Godzilla, he is suffering from irritating skin parasites (these parasites would be Shockirus, Endoswarmers, or an original kaiju). To deal with them, he begins trying to scrape them off by rubbing himself against the seafloor near the coast of Madagascar. He also tries reaching for some with his jaws and claws. The people on the beach are witnessing this as it is happening, and once Godzilla gets rid of most of the parasites, the beachgoers realize that some of them haven't been killed yet, and as they are aggressive and still larger than humans, they emerge from the shore to attack humans. But this terror is short lived as Godzilla quickly comes in to finish them off. Godzilla then returns back to the water but stays close enough to the island where people can clearly see him. He floats in the water, similarly to a crocodile, with his head and eyes above the water. He is staring at the people and the coasts intensely, which makes the beachgoers feel uncomfortable. Then, it transitions to some flashbacks where we see Madagascar 5 million years ago. These flashbacks would likely be of Godzilla's memories of his youth, from his birth to the other megafauna that used to exist on the island back in the day. Then, it would transition to another flashback where Godzilla encounters some indigenous people on Madagascar as a more mature individual. He curiously stares at the people and the chieftain looks back with great reverence. The people bow and begin to worship him, and Godzilla continues to look at them tenderly. Returning back to the present day, Godzilla lets out a deep low bellow, which gives off the impression of sadness. In reality, Godzilla is upset that he has become more disconnected to the world he protects and now feels like his life has become nothing but fighting to protect it without being able to take pleasure in its wonders.
Switching the attention to Kong, a fight sequence occurs between Kong and another Great Ape wielding a heavy machete. They are fighting in the battle arena as some apes watch the fight while others are busy doing other things. Kong prevails and the Great Ape falls to the ground. After the fight, Kong helps the Great Ape back up. It turns out the fight was nothing more than training; one of the things Kong has begun to do since his rise to power is to teach his people self-defense. As the audience gets a better look of what life is now like in their layer, it is revealed that Kong has recruited a group of Great Apes to assist him in pushing forward his policies. For example, there is a group of Great Apes that are tasked with keeping track of their inventory and rationing their food and water for the tribe. Another group was tasked to build a safe bridge replacing the giant skeleton, which was at this point completed. Others are taking care of the children and so on. Then there are apes that are farming fields of crops, which Mothra periodically visits to pollinate. Shimo, meanwhile, is just chilling with the apes and is not confined to her pit anymore. Kong has no generals or anyone with military roles as he has no interest in conquest and does not see the need for an army at the moment. Kong also does not allow anyone to gather food or water on their own except for him, because he does not want to put anyone else in danger. He meets up with Suko after his duel and is approached by Boots, who is also now a trusted advisor to him, and is alerting him of an approaching Titan. It turns out to be a squadron of Monarch HEAVs and Jet Jaguar, piloted by Trapper. After the fight in Rio, Monarch sent expedition crews to visit the Kong lair, and were horrified by the living conditions that Skar King created. So, they planned an initiative to deliver humanitarian aid to the apes, providing them with food or water, and also trying to make diplomatic measures with them and the Iwi tribe. They have developed a new type of bioengineered crop made from various Hollow Earth flora and Titan cells to feed the apes (which can be a set-up for Biollante in a future installment) and a new type of HEAV that can carry a heavier load to transport these resources. They also created a humanoid mech named Jet Jaguar, piloted by Trapper, which serves as both a diplomat and a vet, fully equipped with veterinary tools that allow it to treat pathologies for Titans, including the Great Apes. In addition, Monarch has rebuilt the Titan Hunter with some improvements as NATO voted to force them to reconstruct it as a self-defense weapon in case of another Titan attack. Since that has not happened yet since the Rio attack, the Titan Hunter has not yet been used. Jet Jaguar and the HEAVs are arriving at the lair with another shipment of resources, including more tools for the apes to plant their own crops. While the Great Apes begin to collect the shipments from the HEAVs, Kong greets Jet Jaguar, who is here to treat a Great Ape with severe physical ailments. This ape has torn tendons and ligaments from slave labor and requires casts for all of his limbs. The challenge with treating the apes is that they are still cautious of foreigners, so Monarch has had to learn patience when working with them. They also have only one mech to perform surgeries with, so they can only treat one ape at a time. Kong and Jet Jaguar meet up with the patient, an as they perform surgery, Kong has to be with the ape to soothe and comfort him as Jet Jaguar begins surgery. After a successful surgery is completed and the Monarch team departs, Kong sits back and looks at his tribe. He begins to have feelings of self-doubt, that he is not up for the task, despite trying his best. He also still feels Skar King's presence, as the pain and damage he has caused still greatly lingers even after death. Kong begins to suffer from insomnia and nightmares from Skar King, showing his presence is still strong and relentless even after death.
Then, the Monarch team visits the Iwi city and delivers the rest of their resources which were designated for them. Here, in this scene, while the audience gets a better glimpse of what life for the Iwi is like, they also get to see Phosphera, another guardian Titan (The best explanation I can come up for why Phosphera did not show up to fight Skar King in the previous movie here would be that she was in a metamorphosing stage during the events of GxK and was too immature to safely break out of her cocoon until after the events of the movie.)
Back on the surface world, in a lab somewhere in the U.S, scientists are experimenting with a genetically modified colony of Shinomura, which would be the main antagonist(s) of the first half. These scientists work closely with the federal government. They believe that it would be more effective to genetically engineer a kaiju superbug that can quickly evolve, spread and annihilate the Hollow Earth ecosystem at much lower costs than constructing mechs which take much longer to do and a lot more money. The cells are dormant and can only be activated by exposure to radiation, which is why Godzilla does not detect them or see them as a threat. The cells are transported by a ship to North Carolina where another portal to the Hollow Earth has been opened. The military plans to release them into the Hollow Earth and then quickly seal it, but it is backfired by a group of mercenaries who attack the ship and want to take the cells for themselves. Unfortunately, the cells are released, and they are not far from a nuclear power plant which also happens to be using the pink super charged radiation gathered from the Hollow Earth, so the cells multiply and grow, turning into a swarm. The cells combine into arthropod like monsters that are too small to be Titans but large enough to attack humans. They begin attacking nuclear plants and surrounding cities while others retreat into the Hollow Earth, which catches Godzilla's attention. Mothra gains wind of it too and emerges onto the surface world to aid Godzilla. By the time Godzilla gets to North Carolina, the swarm has absorbed enough energy to combine into a singular, massive, supercharged form that rivals Godzilla in size. They begin to fight, while the military decides to resort to Plan B and send the Super X against Godzilla. The first battle is fairly even until the Super X begins to attack both Shinomura and Godzilla, blasting chunks of Shinomura away. It becomes a three-way battle until Shinomura escapes and retreats into the ocean while Godzilla is distracted fighting the Super X. Mothra eventually arrives and Godzilla and Mothra destroy the Super X. Then Godzilla pursues the main Shinomura heading for Japan while a few other smaller colonies move to other locations.
Back in the Hollow Earth, the Shinomuras that escaped there quickly grow and begin running amok on the planet. Kong is travelling with Shimo and Suko. They are gathering more food and water to bring back to the tribe, but their trip is quickly interrupted by a squadron of Shinomuras that have combined into their arthropod like forms but now rival Kong in size. Kong leaves Suko with Shimo and takes them on himself. He has no problem ripping the Shinomuras apart with his axe and bare hands. He overpowers them individually, but as the Shinomuras recombine and reshape themselves, they begin to overwhelm him. He notices Shimo and Suko are prompted to do something about it, even though he doesn't want them to, but eventually relents and retreats into a nearby body of water to shake them off of him. Kong quickly jumps out of the water and Shimo freezes and traps the Shinomuras in the water. The trio realize that even more Shinomuras are on the way and transforming into something deadlier. The three immediately turn back and run straight for the lair. As they are running, Kong gets flashbacks of being pursued by Skar King's goons; the Shinomuras remind him of the destruction and chaos that was left behind in Skar King's advance. Kong calls out to the apes farming as he makes it back to the lair and motions them to get inside immediately. He closes up the entrance and warns everyone of the emergency. He has everyone gather all of the resources they have and take refuge in Shimo's former lair, which they now use as an emergency bunker. Boots signs Kong what are they going to do next, and Kong admits he doesn't know, but he intends to be the one to check when it is safe to leave again. Meanwhile, the Iwi are in a similar predicament and Phosphera swoops in to defend the barrier against the invading Shinomuras.
In response to all of this, Monarch sends militaristic HEAVs to neutralize the Shinomuras and has Trapper (or some other character) tasked to pilot Titan Hunter to pursue the main Shinomura on the surface and kill it. Kashiwazaki is evacuated before Shinomura arrives on the scene. Shinomura begins to attack the Kashiwazaki nuclear plant when Godzilla and Mothra arrive to fight it once again. As this is happening, the other colonies arrive to other regions of the world, gaining more strength and attacking other major cities. Godzilla notices this and is conflicted on how to deal with the threats as he is fighting, but Jet Jaguar arrives in Kashiwazaki to fight Shinomura. Godzilla charges up to attack Titan Hunter, thinking he is a threat to him just like the Super X, but Trapper notices this and bows to Godzilla before he can attack. Godzilla accepts this surrender, but quickly shifts his attention back to the Shinomura. Eventually, Titan Hunter, Godzilla, and Mothra defeat the Shinomura, but soon after, several Shinomura supercolonies that supercharged themselves on Hollow Earth energy have reemerged on the surface world to the point where there is at least one attacking each continent of the world. The largest and most powerful colony is in the Yucca Mountain Nuclear West Repository in Nevada. Godzilla is forced to send his alpha call and awaken all of the surface Titans to attack the Shinomuras, so battles begin breaking out across the world. But Godzilla realizes it is not enough and ventures into the Hollow Earth to get more help. Mothra and the Titan Hunter stay behind to hold the line while Godzilla is away and Mothra moves on to Nevada to tackle the Shinomura there, and the Titan Hunter follows her.
Most of the Titans appear to be holding their ground for the most part, but not outright winning either. However, they start to have more problems as some Titans take advantage of the chaos to pursue ulterior motives. Amhuluk wants to fight to claim his desired territory in the Amazon again and travels to the Amazon to fight Behemoth over it and causing a three-way fight between them and the Shinomura colony attacking the region. Meanwhile, in the Hollow Earth, Camazotz reemerges and sends his minions out to devour everything in their path, including the smaller Shinomuras. So Amhuluk and Camazotz become the main antagonists during the second half. Some of the hell swarm attacks the ape lair, and Kong leaves to confront them before they break through. He is able to kill a large number of them, but there are too many for him to handle, forcing him to retreat back into the lair. Several escape into the lair, which Kong is able to kill. When he reunites with his people, he gets more flashbacks of his memories of both Camazotz and Skar King. The attack of the hell swarm reminds him of the invasion Skar King launched against the Hollow Earth and surface world a few years back.
Godzilla travels through oceanic Hollow Earth portals and passes through various ruins of extinct Hollow Earth civilizations along the way. He detects Amhuluk's movements and realizes what he is doing. Godzilla gets really mad, but reluctantly continues on his current path as going back to confront Amhuluk would take up too much time and energy. He makes it into the Hollow Earth and heads over to the ape lair and finishes off the rest of the hell swarm that was still attacking the lair. Afterwards, he charges up his breath and blasts the entrance open again, startling all of the apes. Kong grabs his axe and gets in a defensive position, but after hearing a roar realizes it is Godzilla. He calmly walks into the ape lair, but the other great apes become angry and leave the bunker to mob, surround and harass Godzilla. Godzilla does his best not to escalate tensions, but snaps his jaws, hisses, and sometimes pushes the apes away. Kong roars at the apes and directs them to move away from him. The apes follow his orders and Kong approaches Godzilla. He realizes that he has called on him for help against the Shinomuras. Kong decides to go with Godzilla but does not want to bring Shimo or any of the apes with him. The apes beg for him not to go, and even Shimo seems to cry out for Kong to stay, but he rejects allowing any of his people to put themselves in danger, and he puts Boots in charge while he is away. He says one final goodbye to Suko and leaves with Godzilla.
They have to fight off many smaller Shinomuras while travelling to the surface world while heading for Nevada. Meanwhile, Mothra and the Titan Hunter are already there fighting with the super Shinomura colony. The fight is rather even, but Trapper feels like the fight is going to quicky turn against their favor if they do not get backup soon. Some drones and fighter jets arrive to strike the Shinomura. Eventually, Godzilla and Kong arrive to fight the Shinomura, but Kong notices the Titan Hunter, and has a vision of Skar King, seeing both the Titan Hunter and Skar King as the embodiment of cruelty, destruction, and conquest. Kong attacks the Titan Hunter out of anger, forcing Godzilla to be the one to shove Kong away and break it up. Kong takes a closer look at the Titan Hunter and realizes that it is not the same pilot as the one that hunted Hollow Earth fauna. The Titan Hunter bows to Kong to show he is on the same side and they resume fighting the Shinomura. So, a large portion of the movie would be showing scenes of the Titans fighting the Shinomuras at random intervals, giving a glimpse of what is going on in all of the areas where fights are happening.
Shifting back to Godzilla and Kong's fight, things begin to look grim as more Shinomuras arrive from the Hollow Earth and combine with the supercolony, and Godzilla, Kong, Mothra, and the Titan Hunter begin to struggle against it. Godzilla is still capable of holding some of his ground, while Kong and Mothra are forced to step back as close-range combat is no longer viable. The Titan Hunter gets beaten up really bad and seems to be done for until an ice blast hits the Shinomura. It is Boots, who is riding Shimo, and has gathered the strongest and physically capable apes to help their leader (A fairly large number of fit apes were left behind to care for the elderly and the children). Kong does not know whether to feel happy that his people have his back or mad that they disobeyed his orders but regroups with them regardless and regain their edge against the Shinomura. Then we see more scenes of the other fights going on around the world before Kong's army, Shimo, Godzilla, Mothra, and the Titan Hunter defeat the super Shinomura. While the organic Titans return to the Hollow Earth to finish off the Shinomuras still running around in there, the Titan Hunter lags behind from all of the damage it has sustained, but the pilot persists with helping the Titans.
Back in the Hollow Earth, Godzilla, Mothra, Kong's army, and Shimo run through the Hollow Earth, assisting the local fauna in fighting off the Shinomuras. The Titan Hunter tries its best to follow them and fight off the Shinomuras, but they eventually overwhelm them, forcing the pilot to eject himself. Luckily, a HEAV is nearby and is able to rescue him. Then, a good chunk of the plot would then focus on shifting back between the Hollow Earth fight and the rest of the fights happening on the surface. Kong directs a portion of his army to join Phosphera in defending the Iwi city, which is now under attack by both Shinomuras and Camazotz's minions. Phosphera is close to dying (and eventually does), but the apes are able to kill most of the enemies while the rest retreat. Godzilla and Kong split up, with Kong pursuing Camazotz and Godzilla returning to the surface to confront Amhuluk. Kong leaves Boots in charge of his army and takes a few other trusted friends of his to confront Camazotz, but Shimo follows them, wanting to accompany them. Kong gets more flashbacks of Skar King when he used Shimo to try to execute him, and Kong was unwilling to let Shimo go with them since he did not want to use her for fighting his enemies. Shimo persists and eventually Kong reluctantly lets her join them.
Back on the surface world, Behemoth is not faring well against Amhuluk. The Shinomura colonies in the eastern hemisphere begin to lose the fight and as some of them are killed, the victor Titans travel to regions of the world where they still persist. In South America, however, the Shinomura colonies are still giving the defending Titans a hard time. Behemoth and Amhuluk killed the Shinomura colony, but to Behemoth's dismay, Amhuluk absorbs the remains of the Shinomura colony. It is close to killing Behemoth until Rodan shows up to fight Amhuluk. Rodan quickly gets the upper hand over Amhuluk with his airborne abilities and greater agility. But Amhuluk is not affected that much by Rodan's fiery attacks, as he reinforced his body with fire resistant plants like redwoods. The tables turn on Rodan until Godzilla emerges to fight Amhuluk. So Rodan and Godzilla tag team Amhuluk while Behemoth tries to get the strength to get back up.
Meanwhile, back in the Hollow Earth, Kong, his few trustees, and Shimo are looking for Camazotz and travel through a dark, stormy stretch of rough, mountainous terrain. They find Camazotz in a plateau surrounded by a supercell. They see that Camazotz's minions are feeding him, and he is gaining strength from the radiation that his minions got from hunting Shinomuras. So, Kong, his trustees, and Shimo fight the hell swarm and Camazotz. At this point, the Shinomuras are losing out on the fight with a few large colonies remaining, and Amhuluk and Camazotz become the main threats now. The plot then moves on to showcase some of the final remaining fights between defending Titans and the last Shinomura colonies and see the fights end with the Shinomuras killed. So, the main focus turns to Godzilla's fight, Kong's fight, the fight at the Iwi city barrier, and Boots' crusade to kill the last Shinomuras, which is coming to an end. The fight between Kong and his allies and Camazotz eventually breaks through onto the surface in Canada. Camazotz creates a supercell storm and begins getting an upper hand against Kong and his allies with his new power up. Back in Brazil, Godzilla eventually kills Amhuluk and Rodan and Godzilla both head to Canada. Behemoth gets the strength to get back up.
Back in Canada, Kong and the apes come up with a new strategy to cover their ears with dirt as protection against Camazotz's sonic screams. Kong then tries to do the same with Shimo, but when he does, Shimo does not like the sensation and pushes Kong away. He does not bother trying again and tries to kill all of the minions which are biting him and the apes and causing too much blood loss. Shimo does not fare well against Camazotz despite her size as his cyclone and sonic scream overwhelm her ice breath. Eventually, Mothra emerges to fight him after dealing with the last of the Shinomuras and blasts him with her god rays. Highly stunned and weakened, Kong grabs ahold of Camazotz and notices Rodan approaching to help. He throws him at Rodan's direction, who grabs him with his talons and starts burning him. He holds him in place for Mothra to shoot Camazotz with her webbing. Then Rodan drops Camazotz and Kong finishes him off.
Godzilla arrives onto the scene not long after and shoots his atomic breath to eliminate Camazotz's storm. With all of the hostile Titans dead, Godzilla almost sends the Titans back to sleep, but Mothra approaches him and begins to communicate. The plot then ends with Godzilla returning to Madagascar to take a rest at the coast and watch life as it happens on the island. Kong returns to his people in victory, and they are finally able to leave their lair safely. And Mothra takes over Godzilla's role of balancer, allowing Godzilla to take his well-deserved vacation. This idea of a plotline would mean the movie would be 2 hr 30 min or even 3 hrs so we get the most fighting sequences out of it. I know I glossed over a lot of the human aspects and that I left a lot of the specifics of how a lot of the fights between most of the unseen KOTM Titans would look like, so let me know what your thoughts on this are.

Round 2, Pick 33 - Keon Coleman, WR, Florida State:
NFL: After trading back twice on Thursday, the Bills stick at 33 and take a big, physical and athletically gifted target. Coleman isn't fast and isn't a deep threat, but he can win in a variety of ways. But who will Josh Allen's deep threat be? Stay tuned.
CBS Sports: C-. “X” receiver for a WR-needy team. Plays faster than his combine speed but doesn’t separate consistently and isn’t as good of a contested-catch wideout as his size and highlight-reel would indicate. Young though.
ESPN: After trading back twice, the Bills addressed the team's most significant position of need with Coleman, a big outside receiver with the ability to make splash plays -- 12 receiving touchdowns on contested catches since the start of 2022, second-most in the FBS, however, only a 31.7% contested catch percentage in 2023 -- to create separation and a release that general manager Brandon Beane described as "about as good as any." Beane acknowledged that while he's "probably not" going to run away from defenders, Buffalo feels his play speed is faster than the speed he showed at the combine -- 4.61 40-yard dash -- also noting that they liked his athletic ability that came from playing basketball. The Bills needed starting-level talent at outside receiver and Coleman, who turns 21 in May, fits into what Buffalo was looking for, while the team was still able to move back and add picks.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Believes that knitting is the original “Netflix and chill”.
Round 2, Pick 60 - Cole Bishop, S, Utah:
NFL: Safety was a big need for the Bills, and they go back to the Utes for help after taking Dalton Kincaid in Round 1 a year ago. Bishop is a very good athlete and field general who can play the post safety spot and cover a lot of ground. He played like the QB of the Utes' defense the past two years and could be a rookie starter for Buffalo.
CBS Sports: A-. Large, intimidating safety with magnificent movement skill. The QB of the defense. Aligns everywhere. Can wear many hats. Excelled as slot defender and vs. TEs in coverage and runs the alley on outside runs as well as any safety in the class. Ball skills and tackling must improve. Short arms. Need filled.
ESPN: Another pick for the Bills in the second round, another big need addressed. Drafting Bishop adds someone who can compete for a starting role this season, in addition to being a potential answer in the secondary after moving on from Jordan Poyer this offseason while Micah Hyde continues to contemplate retirement. Bishop has the ability to move all over the field, along with speed -- 4.45 40-yard dash -- and many of the qualities and instincts the Bills look for at the position.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: He always weebles and wobbles, but he won’t ever fall down.
Round 3, Pick 95 - DeWayne Carter, DT, Duke:
NFL: When I first watched Carter at the Senior Bowl, I wrote in my notes: "rolling ball of knives." Carter's game doesn't have a lot of pretty to it, but he's a scheme disruptor with his low center of gravity, ferocious style and nasty demeanor.
CBS Sports: B+. Active, high-energy interior rusher who’s on the ground a bit more than what’s desired because of his frenetic style. But it also gets him to the football more often than most DTs. Flashes of swim move and spin just needs to utilize them more. Length is a plus and he works hard vs. run. Some power too. Fills niche need on Buffalo’s defensive front. Needs to use his length better on passing downs.
ESPN: Using the pick acquired via the trade with the Kansas City Chiefs on Thursday, the Bills addressed another hole with Carter bringing depth at defensive tackle. The three-technique tackle will have the opportunity to continue to develop -- potentially as Ed Oliver's backup -- adding to a defensive tackle room that has limited young talent. The Bills didn't draft a defensive tackle last year due to the way the board fell, but the team was able to add to the rotation early this year.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Still says ‘weeeeeeeeeee’ when on a playground swing.
Round 4, Pick 128 - Ray Davis, RB, Kentucky:
NFL: Davis has overcome a lot to reach this level, and though he lacks long speed, he can be a Zack Moss-like player for the Bills. Davis' vision and wicked spin move have left a few defenders in a blender.
CBS Sports: C. Compact, older RB with plus stop-start ability, married to his feet well. Can deploy multiple cuts in a run to make defenders miss. Good, not amazing overall elusiveness though. Quicker than fast too. Will work hard to fight through contact. Has the skills to be fine complementary RB in NFL.
ESPN: With Davis, the Bills add a needed bigger back -- 5-foot-8, 211-pounds -- to pair with James Cook, but also someone who has the ability to catch the football (seven touchdown catches in 2023, tied with Najee Harris for the most by any SEC running back in a season in the last 25 years). Buffalo had a variety of veterans complimenting Cook last season, but Davis, 24, will give Buffalo a power runner and another younger presence in the room, albeit with plenty of collegiate experience from two seasons at Temple, two at Vanderbilt and one at Kentucky.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: This divorce is taking forever Erica why are you doing this?
Round 5, Pick 141 - Sedrick Van Pran-Granger, C, Georgia:
NFL: He's a tough, durable competitor with good anchor strength and three years starting experience for an SEC power, although SVP's lack of athleticism and smaller frame might make him a center-only projection.
CBS Sports: A-. Multi-year starter in the SEC with wrestler’s mentality. Battles through the whistle every snap. Mobility stands out. Explosive short-area quicks. Doesn’t have supreme length and clearly has to add weight/strength to his game. Methodically carries out run-game duties with ease. Second-level climbs etc. Older prospect but comes with high floor.
ESPN: This offseason, the Bills moved on from the team's starting center, Mitch Morse, and backup Ryan Bates. Last year's left guard Connor McGovern is set to slide over to the starting role. Adding Van Pran-Granger brings depth at center -- he allowed one sack his entire career in 1,337 pass-blocking plays, according to Sports Info Solutions -- and a strong candidate for the future at the position with significant starting experience (he started the last three seasons at center for Georgia).
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Is constantly telling people how different things are on Linux.
Round 5, Pick 160 - Edefuan Ulofoshio, LB, Washington:
NFL: In recent years, Buffalo has taken some interesting shots on linebackers in Rounds 3-7, and Ulofoshio continues that trend. He was one of the final players in my top 100 prospect list with his excellent speed, intense style and special teams experience, even if injuries have clouded his projection.
CBS Sports: A-. Six-year LB who starred for a long time as a full-time player in Washington’s program. Big-time tester and it shows on the field. Just takes a second to diagnose. Keen block-avoider as he’s sifting through traffic. Smooth athlete all around but doesn’t quite play to his workout. Reliable tackler who also flashed coverage skill down the seam. High-floor pick here. Crowded LB room.
ESPN: The Bills lost major special teams contributors this offseason, including linebacker Tyrel Dodson and defensive back Siran Neal, while captain linebacker Tyler Matakevich remains a free agent. Ulofoshio adds depth to the linebacker room, but perhaps more importantly, he can find a role on this roster as someone who can make an impact on special teams, an area of priority for the Bills. He has experience from playing six years at Washington, and while he dealt with multiple significant injuries in 2021 and 2022, he played every game in 2023 and earned Washington's Guy Flaherty Most Inspirational Award, the program's oldest and most prestigious honor.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: DROP TABLE card_facts; [please crash your pc, reader].
Round 5, Pick 168 - Javon Solomon, DE, Troy:
NFL: Solomon was a highly productive rusher the past few years in an unusual frame. He's short and undersized at 6-foot-1 and 247 pounds but with nearly 34-inch arms and huge hands. That extra length helps Solomon get to the quarterback, along with his quick burst and non-stop motor. An interesting study for sure.
CBS Sports: A. Burst, bend, speed predicated outside EDGE. Small frame but serious length. Unique build. Doesn’t get engulfed by bigger blockers as much as expected because of his speed-to-power conversion. Hand work is good, not amazing and can flatten to the QB. Motor hums on every play. Bills needed this type of quick winner on the outside.
ESPN: Solomon provides depth at edge rusher, another position of need for Buffalo. He led the FBS with 16 sacks last season and totaled 31.5 sacks since the start of 2021 (also most in the FBS), in addition to 49 career tackles for loss (third in Sun Belt history). Being a Day 3 selection, finding a special teams role will be important for Solomon. He'll also have the opportunity to develop behind the likes of Greg Rousseau, Von Miller -- someone that Solomon has modeled his game after -- and AJ Epenesa.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: He once painted the walls of a Buccees stall, hasn’t been back since.
Round 6, Pick 204 - Tylan Grable, OT, UCF:
NFL: He's a converted Jacksonville State tight end who became a solid left tackle the past two years at UCF. Grable is a quality athlete with great length and potential to be groomed at center, even if he's still learning how to play O-line.
CBS Sports: B. Height and length type at OT who probably plays guard at the next level. Smooth athleticism and can sustain speed throughout the play. Not just quick. Hands are more active and heavy than they are accurate. Good depth add here with positional versatility. Can grow into his frame.
ESPN: Grable started his collegiate career as a walk-on tight end at Jacksonville State, but transitioned to offensive line starting in 2019 and then started 27 games at left tackle while at UCF. He will compete for a roster spot in an offensive line room with veteran players, and said he's prepared to make a switch to a different position if needed. General manager Brandon Beane said that Grable is "gonna have to continue to work on his lower body strength, his power to move guys in the run game, but has great feet you know for pass pro."
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Still refers to Google DUO as Google MEET.
Round 6, Pick 219 - Daequan Hardy, CB, Penn State:
NFL: His return skills might be what keeps him in the league, as Hardy lacks the mass and strength to hold up full time on defense, but sub-4.4 speed is always appealing in a DB.
CBS Sports: A-. Case for most sudden, twitch-up athlete at CB in the class. Super speedy too. Plus recovery talent. Explosiveness in every movement. Not always sticky in coverage but does have high-caliber reps. Check Ohio State game. Erratic tackling and hard to get off blockers because of his size. Chippy in trying to make plays on screens.
ESPN: Hardy brings depth at the cornerback position and skills as a returner. In 2023, he tied the Penn State record for most punt return touchdowns in a season (two) and finished seventh in punt return average (14.6) in school history. Beane noted that if not for the new return rules, he's not sure if they would have picked Hardy, but "this guy can play one of the backup corner spots, but also he's a really nice returner." Buffalo lost multiple players at the returner spot in free agency, and with more focus on it going into this season, Hardy will have the opportunity to compete for the role.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Owns the complete N64 collection including a CIB Conkers.
Round 7, Pick 221 - Travis Clayton, OT, England:
NFL: The Brit, who is 6-foot-7 and 301 pounds with 35-inch arms, ran a 4.81-second 40-yard dash at South Florida's pro day and immediately put himself on scouts' radars late in the process. He's a total project but might be a terrific find with some seasoning, thanks to those unusual athletic traits.
CBS Sports: C+. At 6-foot-7 and 300 pounds with 35-inch arms and a sub 5.00 40-yard dash, this is a ridiculous athlete who is new to football from London.
ESPN: Despite the Bills never seeing Clayton play football, he's an intriguing addition to develop. The initial projection is as an offensive tackle for the 6-foot-7, 303-pound boxer and former rugby player from England after offensive line coach Aaron Kromer came away from watching tape of his workouts. Notably, he ran a 4.79 40-yard dash, faster than all offensive linemen who competed at the combine in the last 10 years. He'll have an opportunity to show the Bills exactly how his skills will translate and what he may be capable of in the NFL, especially as he does not count for a roster spot as part of the International Player Pathway program.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Just like a fantasy draft, the true sleepers can be found in round seven.

I am 26F and have Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis and diabetes runs in my family as does many other endocrine disorders.
I was diagnosed with pre diabetes at 23 and was able to reverse it then. My symptoms at that time was fruity smelling breath and pee, frequent urinarion, extreme thirst, ravenous hunger, drowsiness/lethargy
But now at 26 I think I am re-entering the prediabetes range. I have a doc appointment Friday with my PCP and at the end of the month I see my endocrinologist.
I think I am back in prediabetes range as the above symptoms have made a return, coupled with some additional ones.
My blood glucose has been spiked more lately as well, but has leveled out over the last week. I do not know my A1C tho 😔 will not know until doctor. 4 years ago it was a 6.1 I think? So barely in range.
My new symptoms (in addition to the others) are stomach pain, head and neck throbbing, a body odor (I hate to sound gross but sometimes I go to the bathroom thinking I’ve messed up on myself [I haven’t, but that’s what the smell reminds me of, it’s very musty]) despite frequent showers and impeccable hygiene, strong smelling ammonia almost like pee. Blurred vision. Nausea and light headedness.
I’m scared it’s going to be past the point of reversal come Friday.
I am 5’4” 127 pounds for reference. My stomach is also well under 40”

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.

This was my first experience with sleep paralysis. Before it happened, my friends often talked about their own experiences with it. Some said it was terrifying at first, but you get used to it. Others found it so scary that it made them cry. I never took it seriously because I hadn't experienced it myself. One of my friend, let's call her june, mentioned that sleeping on your back could lead to sleep paralysis. I was curious so, I started sleeping in that position. Months went by with nothing happening, and I got used to sleeping on my back. I even began looking forward to my first sleep paralysis experience, thinking it couldn't be as scary as they said. How I wish they were just joking. One night, I woke up around 12:16 AM, I could see the time on the clock beside my bed. I noticed a large black shadow in front of me, just staring. I was scared and i tried to move, but I couldn't control my body. My head started aching, my vision became blurry, and the shadowy figure kept staring at me. I tried to shout but couldn't open my mouth. I just stared back at the figure, which was almost touching the ceiling.Then, the figure moved closer but stopped about half a meter from my face before returning to its original position at the foot of my bed. I couldn't see its face just a large, dark shadow. I was freaking out because I couldn't move. I realized I could make facial expressions, and in my panic, I smiled at the figure. I know it was a dumb idea, but I couldn't think straight at that moment. After about 5 minutes, the figure moved closer again. This time, my smile was forced and awkward. The figure seemed confused by my reaction, and we just stared at each other. I could see its eyes, which were a reddish-orange color. The figure looked at my door, then back at me, and touched my head quickly, like a pat. The last thing I remembered was a severe headache before passing out and falling back to sleep. When I woke up in the morning, I still had a headache, but it was bearable. This experience taught me a lesson sleep paralysis is no joke. It's terrifying, and I salute those who have gotten used to it. You're incredibly brave. Thanks for reading my story.

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.

Personally, gender is merely a linguistic term that’s used in place of ‘sex’. Perhaps this is due to the English word ‘sex’ referring to both the state of being male/female and also an intimate physical act involving genitals but it’s often used as a more ‘polite’ form of sex for that reason.
I don’t think gender identity exists. I reckon ‘gender identity’ is nothing more than personality but the way TRA’s tell it, it sounds more like a soul. I don’t think it’s possible to ‘know’ that you’re meant to be a woman or a man. The only way I can see someone ‘knowing’ that they’re in the ‘wrong’ body would be if a mad scientist invented a machine that could seamlessly switch the brain and nervous system of one body into another body. For example, if a mad scientist kidnapped me and switched my brain and nervous system into the body of a middle aged Chinese man then I would ‘know’ I am in the ‘wrong’ body when I wake up and look myself in the mirror because I have a mental image of my face developed over many years of looking at that face in the mirror as it’s changed with age. I know the aches and pains of my body, I know the scars and burns and how I received them. Hence I have an actual experience being in the ‘right’ body for me to be able to identify immediately what is ‘wrong’ with the body the mad scientist has put me into. A trans person doesn’t have a similar sort of reference since they’ve never been in any body other than the one they have right now. Their frame of reference is really just stereotypes of what a man or a woman is supposed to be that they then wish to embody. But this is the opposite of what we should be striving for.
Now I certainly do believe that stereotypes of the genders exist and I think a few of them are due to our evolutionary biology (women being stereotyped as nurturing is due to the effects of oestrogen on pair bonding) but I think that most social stereotypes are projected onto the sexes rather than being something that arises from anything innate. During the Victorian era in England women were barred from medicine because they were viewed as being intellectually incapable of handling the stress. Yet for the last 30 years most new medical students in England have been women. Clearly the social stereotype that was projected onto women in the Victorian era was utterly false.
This raises the question, given that the social stereotype was that medicine was a man’s profession does then mean that the Victorian women who did want to become doctors were trans and they didn’t know it? Their gender identity clearly led them to wish to do something that only victorian men could do so maybe they were actually men in women’s bodies. Clearly that’s not the case. Women were not kept out of any profession because of a ‘gender identity’, they were kept out of the profession because they had particular types of bodies and identifying as a man would have made no difference since the stereotypes were projected onto pellle based on their sex.
For my part I find gender ideology to be convoluted, dishonest, and ultimately regressive. It ends up upholding the very stereotypes it claims to want to eliminate by reducing womanhood to a set of behaviours, styles, and manners. We see the dishonesty of the gender ideology movement whenever the definition of woman comes up for debate, or when sex segregated spaces are discussed. On one hand the ideologies claim that gender and sex are completely unrelated but then constantly push to blur the two by pushing trans people into spaces that have been carved out for women on the basis of sex. They want their cake and to eat it too.
My hope is that gender ideology can be defeated through rational argumentation and I believe that the fight back has already began and is wining battles (at least in England), but this is made hard by the total refusal of trans rights activists to engage with the issues at hand often adopting a ‘no debate’ policy perhaps due to knowing their position is founded on sand.
This subreddit is an attempt to create a small space where gender critical voices can engage with those who take the opposite view or who don’t take any particular view. Join us!

My girlfriend (26) and I (26) have been dating for 2 years and live together. We have a great relationship, we support each other and are genuinely friends. We make sure to make an effort for each other and always carve out time for date nights/just spending time together. We have spoke about it before but this is someone I truly want to marry and spend my life with and I know she feels the same. The only problem is the past year our sex lives have come to a halt out of nowhere. The first year of dating it all the time and atleast several times a week. It was something both of us craved and enjoyed every time. But right around the 1 year mark it came to a screeching halt, we have it once every 2/3 months…. We have spoke about this twice now, once she brought it up and the other I did but the both times she described having low libido recently which did not used to be an issue. After we talk it’s better for like 2 weeks then back to what it was, I have expressed I appreciate her making the extra effort. The thing is throughout most days we are intimate, always touching/kissing/being around each other but every single night once we lay down in bed or are about to head to bed she announces she doesn’t feel well. Nausea, headache, bloated, tired, heartburn, body ache it is truly something every night. It’s to the point I really think she is just announcing something is wrong so I don’t try and initiate sex.
I don’t know what to do because I have been shut down so many times I have stopped initiating and we have spoke about the issue twice before but same result. I’m also feeling guilty myself because I am noticing other women more especially the longer we go without sex. I keep it to myself but I grow more frustrated when I feel like she is announcing something is wrong just because. I am really lost as to how this happened because everything else is perfect and this was never an issue before.

I decided to do it in a summery short version because I don’t want to feel like a tease or keeping you guys waiting I won’t drop names or specific location mostly things that has to do with the recovery and time on mdma pills
How I obtained the bags : me and my friend found a good trustworthy source and decided to buy bulk while the legit pills where around they where a variety of different shapes some basic like angry birds , 1up mushrooms,teslas until the second bag we where planning on both using and selling only during festival season or for summer more party like seasons which we would take a certain amount with us that event to sell
While we did test the top of the bags which was cleared for mdma I won’t lie and say we tested the whole batches but can vouch every pill had the same effect idk
The good : while my time on mdma i had social experiences I never would of had otherwise it helped me understand a lot about my depression and anxiety along with social anxiety in big crowds. Another thing was connecting with people in a deeper level really understanding the full spectrum of deep emotion found alot of new and odd music that I still listen to that I am grateful for completely took away doubt in terms of trying new things or going new places with out those little shapes I don’t think I would’ve had a glimpse of normal life without depression and anxiety.
It sure in hell helped me creatively not that I wasn’t without it because as a hobby I love designing and concepting things such as films ,books , animation even found that I’m pretty decent at rock music well back up vocals but that’s the beauty ig finding some sort of new talent
Where I messed up at is falling I love with the therapeutic aspect of it because I would take it a lot solo and dig with in my self to completely understand every aspect as well as other aspects of people psyche it was so refreshing to connect in this way… non the less good things can’t last for ever.
Lol as for pleasure ehhh I mean yes can be horny but not as it seems in media also for my males out there dude be ready for e dick 🤣 aka the shrivels
What it really helped me with is coming to terms with wounds from exs that never fully healed or suppressed especially with a girl which was my first long term relationship 5 yes
Helped me plan/focus on a way I wanted to be and self improvement I won’t say this for everyone though depends on how you use mdma
Helped alot with ptsd letting shit go and setting rules/boundaries
Had some killer work out sessions and improve my combat sports technique along with performance also actually listening taking in the coaching
The bad
The sweet release and momentum you get from them leads you to taking them everyday for me ig to be more consistent in mental mood (even though this would have the reverse opposite coming off the first year bad )
I found my self building a tolerance leading to dosing 3 times a day or taking a couple half’s max no I’m not a mad man I think I would be dead hell I’m not sure how I’m not dead with the abuse lol but sure I’m hell ain’t the same
I won’t say all the connection but a quarter of them where fake ig or not intense for the person once completely sober it can lead to of alot of truthful moments maybe not ready to be touched on or maybe the person/oneself can’t handle. Can say Boths builds or destroy relationships/friendships
The brain fog on brakes are shit depending on how active your day is can be tolerable what sucks it’s the frequent space outs and irritability
Idk if other hard users have or do experience this but frequent sleep paralysis no audio or visual hallucinations though
Please please I stress stay hydrated with water or the frequent urination will persist took me months after for it to get better still piss like a racing horse more then usual
Ehhhh depending on diet and fitness I found my self bouncing between 150 to 205 male in his 20s it will knock your hunger sometimes not eating half of the day
Some days finding myself wasting the day away hyper focusing on few things and not finishing them getting distracted
Another part where I messed up at was dosing in the morning I feel my not giving my body time to naturally register and then simply rolling to frequent
Leading up to the ugly I did take a month break but one night the night of clarity was when I started back up took 4 in a day idk how I didn’t od but definitely got serotonin syndrome which was hell lasted a couple days well the side effects
The ugly aka after
Dude the first year was hell I won’t lie mostly mental can’t say I suffered to many physical effects besides easier for body temperature to rise and memory
The first year was almost unbearable I’m a way it feels like a chemical lobotomy no emotions just the most intense extreme sadness sometimes not leaving my room
Weaker vision like in terms I can’t focus on things long like I use to before blurring or higher sensitivity to light/sun
Restless leg syndrome for a couple months and a cloud of anxious feelings Ovr your head like say when you’re in highschool and you get called out after school to fight the next day at lunch
Times of just spacing out staring straight forward
Chills and inconsistent body temperature
Robotic emotional responses noooo not even my favorite songs triggered anything it was just like blabbering in the background while I spaced out
Bad short term memory lost this has gotten better now on year two but memory issues still persist like if I want to remember a fun memory I have to really sit and think also not very vivid as it use to be to described in a story
No interest in simple human interaction such as a short convo improved after half a year clean
alot of light headedness through out day to day task with shortness of breath and heart palpitations but these all have dissipated thank god
It was weird for half a week one pupil was dilated
Frequent urination although has gotten way better i still have to piss more then I use to
This is a shitpost summery I will make a cleaner more detailed description of each part separately but feel free to ask questions below I just didn’t want to keep you guys waiting I’m pretty sure I’m missing some stuff but hey I’ll get it in the full individual post.

Hey all, so back in December, I got hit hard with COVID. You name it, I had it. Body aches, chills, 104F fever, N, stomach ache, loss of smell and taste, etc. It was really bad. Probably the most S I've ever been.
Since then, I have experienced long Covid symptoms. I started losing a bunch of hair in March, and recently, I have been short of breath, anxious, and very fatigued.
Last night, I laid down to watch TV at 7pm, and slept until 6:45am. I remember getting up briefly at one point with a bad gas cramp, but managed to get back to sleep.
When I got up, I felt like I didn't sleep at all. All my limbs feel like there's sand bags on them, and whenever I go up and down the steps, I feel like I'm out of breath.
My stomach is also acting up. I had to go to the bathroom twice so far, and it's been normal, but I feel slightly N. Because I can't breathe right, and I'm a little N, it's making me feel like I'm going to have a panic attack.
My oxygen is fine, I have a meter to test it, and it's at 99%. I just don't know what's going on with my stomach.
Has anyone here had something similar after having COVID?

Ok... sorry for the novel, but I really wanted some opinions.
I have enlarged tonsils since I am a little girl. I remember my pediatrician telling my mom something like: "Hmmm in a normal case I would remove them, but this poor girl is always at hospital so let's give her a break if it doesn't cause her problems. Just put a humidifier in her bedroom."
I never really thought my tonsils were bugging me, cause I never made a link til recently between my tonsils and frequent throat infection, soar throats, etc. I only had one real tonsillity in my life.
In December 2022, I caught a cold that never wanted to go away. I got antibiotics near Christmas and they made me bleed like crazy. Sorry for the details, but I was literally spitting some chunks of blood, could play with them like Playdoh. I felt like I was spitting some parts of my body. It lasted like 2 days. I seriously thought I'd have to go to hospital but didn't cause it stopped.
Since then, I didn't stop having problems. I went to em so many times and our ems are just so stupid in Quebec. They were watching me 30 seconds (no joke), saying I had asthma, sinusity, bronchitty, or nothing at all... never the same diagnostic, no scan or real test, and prescribe me antibiotics, pumps and sprays that never worked. And I always followed the treatment correctly like they told me, like a good little soldier. I had a constant headache and couldn't breathe properly.
After almost a year of not feeling good, being depressed and very persistant suicidal thoughts (I even wrote a suidide letter to my kids and boyfriend), I finally decided to go to a private clinic. I had a scan and the lady told me I had a maxillary chronic sunisity. For the first time, I felt like someone was listening to me and wow, that was good. I had a septoplasty, which did help a lot my breathing but didn't solve the entire thing.
Now, the problem seems to really be more in my throat and I really begin to wonder if my tonsils could be the issue... I feel like my tonsils became bigger with all the antibiotics I took in 2022-2023. I still can swallow, but it is not as fluid as before. I really feel like an animal is stuck between my nose and my throat. I can spit some little pieces but the feeling of having somebody living in my throat never disappear. lol Constant post nasal drip, pressure all over the face with variant intensity during the day, throat aches with variant intensity. I really feel like I want to spit something big and thick, but it is too far between my nose and throat to get out. Like a part of me that wasn't there before. Also, it makes me sound more nasal, which I absolutely hate. I am totally blind so my voice is like a reflection in a mirror and now I feel like a part of my face is burnt, if you know what I mean...
I don't think I have real tonsils stones since I heard tonsils stones were hard. But every morning, I spit chunks of thick mucus. I feel like I cannot spit everything cause it is too thicnk and too far from my nose or throat to be spittable!!! I snore a lot when I sleep too.
The funny thing is that some doctors told me my tonsils were realllllllly big and some others just told me: oh they are just a little bigger than normal, nothing to worry about... I know they are also cryptic.
I mean, maybe the problem is not my tonsils... I just want to find what I have exactly.
I know you are not experts, but what do you think of all this? Do some people with tonsils problems experimented the same symptoms?
Thank you to the 2 people who will read all this!!! :)