Fentanyl patch equivalent to oxys

Still not completely sold just yet

2024.05.16 23:25 Baby_Dahl28 Still not completely sold just yet

Played the new season for maybe 12ish hours, but item rework is an improvement andwhere it should have been at launch. However, still has some glaring issues that need work. And some other things that would be great additions. Honestly feels like this last year was Blizzards way of beta testing the game prior to their new expansion.
Game updates are overall good. Brought it back to where it should have been at launch. Will it keep me entertained the entire season? Not a chance. Im 2 days in and getting bored of the repetition. Helltides to WT4, then NM dungeon until glyphs at least lvl 15, then to the 100 stuff, if not there already. But ive also already made each character and leveled to 100 in previous seasons. So i guess the desire to make alts isnt there now, but may be for newer people playing. If you bought the game, then there's no reason why you shouldn't give it a run for a day or two, but I wouldn't buy the game just because of this patch.
Not a fan of making us pay 4 additional times just to fight the lords of hell though. What's a Diablo game without Diablo!!
submitted by Baby_Dahl28 to diablo4 [link] [comments]

2024.05.16 22:21 jakefromstatefarm176 The time I overdosed on Fentanyl due to medical negligence

So this was in November 2023 and due to my wack ass immune system, I (15M) had gotten myself extremely sick to the point where I was vomiting almost every time I'd eat. And my body has a way of cascading things like this, so I it was no surprise when I started sickling.
I'm laying in bed, nauseous and in pain, just praying for the oxy to kick in so I can fall asleep and not deal with this hell anymore when this sharp pain starts stabbing me in my chest and I feel like I'm literally DYING. This pain I was feeling in that moment was worse than any sickle cell crisis I've ever had and I just assumed the jig was up and organ failure was imminent.
I couldn't get up from where I was laying (my mom's bed) because of the severe pain so I'm just crying so loudly and my mom wakes up annoyed and tells me to lay on my back and go back to bed but as i shift over a wave of nausea crashes over me and i begin vomiting all over my mom and her bed (woops).
Fully awake and freaking out by this point my mom picks up her phone and dials 911 for an ambulance to get me and I'm just crying like a little baby now in a pile of my own bile (too scared to eat anything because I didn't wanna barf) praying for the ambulance to get here. And after what only felt like 5 minutes, my mom runs to the front door to open it for the paramedics who lay me onto the stretcher and give me this drug I'm in too much pain to notice.
And then it calms me down. A lot. So much so that it feels like whenever I breathe, I'm breathing out all the air in my lungs and taking my first breath again like I've just been born. I vaguely feel the pain in my chest but my mind is so empty I cant even bother to think about it. I take a few deep blinks and then wake up in the ER with my mom sleeping in the chair beside my bed.
After this, it becomes a cycle of them giving me medicine, the pain subsides somewhat, and then the medicine wears off and my chest feels like it's getting knifed by a million UK roadmen. They start me off with morphine, and that doesn't do the job like it usually does, so then they give me Dilaudid AND morphine, and still yet I feel like the end is near. So they decide to pull out the big guns that worked on me when I was in the ambulance. Fentanyl.
Initially I was very skeptic and lowkey refusing treatment because of the stigma around it and the doctors reassured me over and over that it was safe and I had been given it before and blah blah blah even though these were the same doctors that would ask me how long I've had sickle cell for. But I was in so much pain that I just gave up and gave in and gave them the a-ok because their nagging was just too much.
They set me up with this little green button thing attached to my IV, that would allow me to press it whenever I felt severe and constant pain but would not allow me to exceed the "maximum dosage" they had put in place for my body. And to be completely honest this little button scared me at first. The entirety of my night nurses shift I didn't press the button once and just writhed there in the cold hospital bed because I'd rather die than willingly administer my own fentanyl.
But I wouldn't even be typing this story if I simply just hadn't pressed the button for the entire duration of my stay. It was now day 3 in the hospital and I hadn't got a single wink of sleep in the past 32 hours so I decided to press the button. It didn't hit me like it had in the ambulance, but when i tell you i relaxed, i RELAXED. I was finally able to shut my eyes and go to bed and stop myself from shaking my leg (self soothing thing I do when in pain). I woke back up to my nurse doing my 8 hour check up and for some reason, she was still bringing me morphine and Dilaudid despite me having the fentanyl push button thingy, but I was so out of it I just took the medicine so I could go back to sleep. It became I cycle of me pushing the button, falling asleep, being woken up to take additional opiates i did NOT need, then going back to bed, until early on day 5 in the hospital, my friends from school came to visit me. So obviously I try to be a good host and not to fall asleep despite me having pushed my button already for more fent (clearly addicted but oblivious because of this phantom pain my body is forcing me to experience) and coincidentally as my friends are still here, my nurse comes in for the 8 hour check up and gives me the Dilaudid and morphine again. I take the medicine and I look down at my green button because I'm not sure i've been awake this long in days and I see its glowing again so I press it.
bad idea.
I'm talking to my friends but something seems off, their voices seem so far away and there is black dots clouding my vision, I of course am so out of it that I somehow don't see any issue with these two things until I realized I hadn't said a word in like 2 minutes. Matter of fact, I hadn't even spoken for 2 minutes. My eyes go wide because I can feel my vision fading, but for some odd reason it was all black except a tiny pinhole in the center of my vision. I hear this faraway annoying beeping that I realize is the pulse-ox thing going kookoo bananas because I haven't breathed in so long and I see shapes moving around and my friends running to the hallway to get me help and all I can focus on is "If I'm not breathing, why doesn't it hurt?"
The nurses rush in and can clearly tell I'm overdosing so they put an oxygen mask over my head and say "Can somebody give him some Narcan?" and I'm laying here spectating what's going on to my own body from inside of my head wondering "I wonder what narcan is"
WELL I SURE KNOW NOW
The nurses push the Narcan in through my oxygen mask and I can suddenly hear everything perfectly. I say "woah" and then my entire body gets a flash of heat all over so I jolt up and say "WOAH" again and I look to the left to see like 6 nurses with 3 of them doing something with my arm that I obviously just messed up. But then the heat is gone, replaced by this freezing cold feeling all over and INSIDE my body. I can feel every one of my organs touching each other and they all feel cold and I just feel nauseous. By this point i was just in agony. It wasn't like any pain I've ever felt before I felt like not only was I gonna die, but it was gonna be painful and I'd feel each individual organ dying from inside my body because of how hypersensitive I was to everything around me. I could feel the scratchy hospital blanket and the way the grip of the hospital sock felt against the bed and it was all just too much for me and my head cocked straight up and i began vomiting so much liquid it was scary to watch. Feeling each chunk of food run down my throat was a sensory nightmare and it caused me to KEEP VOMITING and every time I'd move one of my limbs, it would completely jerk itself all the way to a full extended position which would shake my body and all my senses would be on fire and I'd cock my head back and continue vomiting. This was a pediatric hospital so the nurses had never dealt with anything this severe before so they were all just freaking out because I was actually tweaking so hard and I had knocked over everything they had put on my bed to help me. In addition to all this mess, I'd torn out my IV and started bleeding all over the sheets and the smell of barf mixed with blood was just such a strong smell I had continued barfing onto myself. My entire being felt cold inside and out so I was trying profusely to wrap myself in a cocoon but the nurses were so fixated on my blanket being covered in vomit and me like "contaminating myself" but I did not give a single fuck bro I was in so much pain and was so cold the only thought on my mind was the fetal position, and a cocoon. two nurses jammed those tubes that they have at the dentists office to suck your saliva down my throat so I didn't continue choking on my vomit, while the other 4 removed the fitted sheet from the bed trying their best not to interfere with my tweakage.
After they removed the sheet I had laid down and then I felt my organs shift in my body so I began vomiting again because anytime I sensed a new sensation, the big kahuna of nausea would hit me. I threw up onto the plasticky cover that goes over the mattress of the hospital bed but at this point there was only like so much left to throw up so a nurse wiped it away with an alcohol wipe. And the SMELL of that wipe gave me such sensory overload that I began crying to the point of basically screaming. As I shut my eyes really hard praying I'd fall asleep and escape the pain and coldness of my insides.
And the weird thing about all this is, I was there the whole time, y'know? Like I felt perfectly conscious throughout the entire process of being Narc'ed. I had no control over my body and anything I did, it just felt instinctual and had no thought behind it, but I was still actively thinking throughout all of it. I felt shame, embarresement, surprise, all like I was watching a movie. Except it was one of those 4D movie theaters where you can feel whatever is happening on screen, but not control it.
Eventually sleep overcame me and I woke up in the ICU with like 40 million wires attached to me a heating pack over my belly, and these bags around my legs that would inflate and deflate over and over. And all I could think in my head, was thank GOD it was over.
I had ended up getting myself a bone eating staph infection because some of my vomit got into the IV hole I'd torn out (I see why there were trying to take the blanket off) and ended up having to stay in the hospital for 10 more days so they could give me heavy antibiotics,, and had to do an additional 5 days at home self administering the medicine through a PIC line that went all the way from my wrist into my heart (it was so gross because they kept me awake while they removed it and it felt so weird).
A few weeks later the hospital called us back and apologized but they were using so much avoidant language and deflecting blame off of themselves so hard that it was pathetic to watch. Like you gave a 15 year old kid fentanyl through a SELF REGULATED SYSTEM and didn't expect the worst? Especially since I was being given Dilaudid and morphine on top of the fent? Get out my face with that smh.
submitted by jakefromstatefarm176 to Sicklecell [link] [comments]

2024.05.16 21:41 Lumpy_Vermicelli_883 How to cure with self extraction

This is for those that may have the urge to fix it yourself and know that ointments and cryotherapy leaves massive scars with the equivalency of spreading it just like extracting yourself because the doctors don’t know what it is unless you tell them. Even then, they don’t know how to treat it because it’s not as normal as genital warts or herpes. So take this advice as you’d like but understand. Everyone is different and everyone has different immune systems and have more or less MC then other people. I’ve noticed MC can be shaped differently for different people but generally speaking, all have a “pearl.”
How to extract:
So when you extract, take the circle from the acne tool and go over the MC as if you were to pop a pimple, then pressed down hard, and slowly drag UNDER the MC. This ensures that the thin skin is torn along with the pearl. I personally found success with using this method while wearing gloves in immediately taking a alcohol soaked swab to the bleeding area. Dispose of the pearl separately from everything. clean acne utensil each and every time you self extract a singular MC. Using the needle part of the utensil, can or may cause spreading through the bleeding. In which I don’t recommend. Clean wounds with 91% isopropyl alcohol and Bactine (separate swabs). Change out gloves for each and everytime you do these steps (will go through a lot). Cover wounds with hydrocolloid patches (used for acne). Leave on for 2 days and then remove to let dry out. You can shower with them on. Shower using Hibiclens. Don’t touch extracted spots with towel. Use paper towels to dry. Don’t touch spots with general towel when drying your body. Highly recommend powdering spots with baby powder if in genital area due to the moisture. Moisture and uncleanliness helps MC thrive like Genital Warts.
This method worked for me, along with taking Zinc pills to help boost my immune system. I’ve had one pop up randomly after 5 months of clearance but using the method above. They do not stand a chance against you. This is a mental battle, just make sure you’re ready to do whatever you can to accomplish this “chicken pox” derived infection.
Best of luck to you all!!
submitted by Lumpy_Vermicelli_883 to molluscum [link] [comments]

2024.05.16 21:34 nomad0451 What did landsknecht war camps look like (specifically during sieges)?

I'm currently drawing a comic, historical fiction, set during a siege in the early modern period. It's a fictional polish castle, under siege by german landsknechts. I'm looking for as much reference, preferably visual, of how the camps and siege trenches would be layed out, for when I draw the backgrounds. The tents, the market stalls and taverns with camp followers, all that stuff.
If any of you are up for it, i also have some more specific questions:
I hope you find this interesting to answer, I'd certainly be grateful for any guidance I can get!
submitted by nomad0451 to AskHistorians [link] [comments]

2024.05.16 20:00 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 5)

As the last orange light of day drained from the sky, the living dead in Club Vlad rose. Max the skeleton and Jessie the…not skeleton…sewed up the gaping Y-shaped incision on Dom’s chest under Merrick’s direct supervision. Dom sat there, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. He’d woken with a headache and a feeling of cold, and even now, he could feel the dull throb above his left eye. It felt like someone was tearing his brain apart with a fork. He had told Merrick, and Merrick had nodded sadly. “Is my brain rotting?”
“Most likely,” Merrick had said.
There was a certain peace in the idea of losing his cursed humanity. As Merrick had said, he would feel no pain, know no quandaries. He would live only for the night and for his master. On the other hand, watching someone like Matt sit and stare into the distance, drool coursing down his chin and nothing happening behind his dead eyes, scared Dom. He didn’t want to be a braindead idiot. He didn’t care about keeping his emotions, he just wanted to function.
Like Merrick.
There wasn’t much he could do, however. He was dead and that was the end of it.
Once Dom was patched up and dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie, Merrick called his children before him. “I have done my best to love and protect all of you,” he began. “Jessie, you were miserable with your grandmother, were you not?”
“Yes,” Jessie said tonelessly.
“You were depressed, bipolar, and cut yourself. Now you’re happy.”
“Yes,” she replied again.
“Joe, you were a two bit nobody staring down a ten year stretch in jail.”
“Yes.” Thin yellow liquid dripped from his nose.
“But now you are free.”
“Yes.”
“You appreciate what I’ve done for you.”
“Yes.”
Merrick flashed then, slamming his fist onto the arm of his wheelchair. “Then why do you keep fucking up? The police were here earlier. They have messages between you and Jessie. I told both of you to delete those. Then I find out that you bit someone and turned them despite my orders. We have an endless supply of blood here but you still went off on your own. How many are there?”
“Just one,” Joe said.
“Are you being honest with me?”
“Yes.”
Merrick sagged back in his chair, looking somehow older. “Joe, take Matt and go to her. Bring her back here before she causes any more problems. God alone knows how many people she’s changed. Too many vampires without a father will bring heat on us, and you know what happens in that case? We get pieces of wood shoved in our chests.”
Turning to Dom, Merrick said, “I have a job for you and Jessie. We’re nearly out of embalming fluid. You haven’t had your first dose and the rest of us are starting to get ripe as well. I have a contact at a funeral home. He texted earlier that the order he placed on my behalf has come in. I want you to pick it up and to pay him.”
Dom had never been picked for anything in his whole life. No one had ever wanted him on their team and no one had ever placed their trust in him the way Merrick was now. He was honored, proud, and would do anything to not let Merrick down.
“That cop who came here might be a problem,” Merrick went on. “We may have to deal with him, but we’ll leave that for another night. In any case, I want this place cleaned from top to bottom. If the police come, I want them to see nothing out of the ordinary.”
Now that everyone had their marching orders, they dispersed. Merrick handed Dom an evelope stuffed with cash, and Dom slipped it into the pocket of his hoodie. The other team - Joe and Matt - left, while the remaining vampires began tidying up.
A fleet of vehicles waited in the parking lot behind Club Vlad. Dom and Jessie took a black pedo van with no back windows. They drove in silence, the radio off. Dom did not want to hear music, nor did he wish to speak to Jessie. Their kinship was one of blood and circumstance, not one of words and emotions. He had no questions for her and wished to answer none of his own. The only thoughts he had were of the mission ahead and of the growing pain in his skull. He thought of the staring stupid Matt, of the decayed Max, and a shiver went down his spine.
What was left of his humanity recoiled at the idea of becoming like them.
The pain grew hotter, more intense. He forced it away and focused on driving.
The funeral home was on North Allen Street, next to a restaurant called Pepperjack’s. A tall, white house with dark shutters and a sign out front, it looked like a quiet, peaceful place. “Pull around back,” Jessie said.
Dom pulled the van around back and parked under a balcony, killing the headlights. They got out and went to the back door, Jessie in the lead. He assumed that she had done this before and that the seller would recognize her. She knocked, and a few moments later, the door opened. A youngish man with a shaved head appeared, wearing an apron and gloves. He saw them and tensed a little. Dom could smell, rather than sense, his fear, and his throat panged with thirst. “Come on,” the man said quickly. He stepped aside and allowed them to enter. Dom noticed that he walked behind them, wary of putting his back to them. “Do you have the money?”
“Do you have our order?” Jessie countered.
“Yes,” the man said, “I’m really risking my neck for this. They don’t just give embalming fluid away, you know. They keep track of it and if they realize I’m over ordering, someone from the state’s going to come down here and check.”
He led them into an embalming room. Three boxes sat on a table. Dom gave the man his money, and he and Jessie carried the boxes outside, loading them into the van. The whole time they were there, the man was edgy, like he was afraid they were going to attack him. Dom would be a liar if he said that the hot smell of the man’s blood didn’t excite him. Perhaps once his brain rotted away, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, but for now, he could.
A lightning bolt of pain shot through his head and he nearly dropped the last box onto the ground.
Once the man was paid, Dom and Jessie drove back to Club Vlad. In fifteen minutes, they were drinking side by side from two passed out partygoers, their reward for a job well done.
Meanwhile, across the city, Joe and Matt weren’t doing as well. They were standing outside of Heather’s apartment. Joe, slightly annoyed (anger being another emotion vampires could feel, along with fear) pounded on the door. He knew she was in there; he could smell the putrid odor of decay. “Let us in,” he said. “We won’t hurt you.”
Joe could barely remember changing her. He didn’t mean to, it just…happened. Like an unwanted pregnancy. You can bite someone as much as you want and drink as much as you want, but if you take too much at once and they die, you get the vampire equivalent of a baby. Joe liked the hunt. It was exciting. Having his meals brought to him Club Vlad didn’t arouse the same level of excitement. It was like shooting an animal tied to a tree. Or hiring a prostitute instead of wooing someone. No real satisfaction to it.
That was probably his greatest downfall. He had lured Jessie the same way, though Merrick was indeed interested in rescuing her from her grandmother. People you have saved obey just as well as people with no brains.
He felt fluid on his upper lip and sniffed. “Come on, let us in,” he said.
No response.
He looked at Matt and nodded to the door. Together, they rammed their shoulders against it. It shook in its frame. They were both dead and weak, but modern American architecture is even weaker, and the door eventually slammed open. The apartment beyond was dark, messy, and reeked of death. They searched high and low, and eventually found Heather huddled in a corner, trying to hide. She was naked save for a pair of panties, her body bloated and beginning to turn black. Her skin hung from her frame and her eyes were filled with blood and fear. It was a wonder no one had called the police yet. The smell was overpowering. “We’re here to help,” he said. “You have to come with us.”
She shook her head and trembled. Maybe she remembered that he was the one who did this to her. Maybe her memories had rotted away. Those were usually the first to go. Then your emotions, then your personality. Finally, your capacity for higher reasoning. “I’m sorry I did this to you,” he said. That was a lie. He was not remorseful. Nor was he proud, for that matter. It just happened. Like rain. “But I want to help you. We can fix you.”
No amount of coaxing or conjoling could induce her to move. Joe weighed his options. He doubted anyone would call the cops even if they heard the door coming down - people who lived in places like this rarely called the cops, which helped Joe and his cause immensely. Even so, there was the possibility. Every minute they spent here was a minute that something could go wrong, and Joe had a lot to lose.
So, too, did Merrick.
Giving up, Joe took out his cellphone and called Merrick. “She refuses to come,” he said simply.
The line was quiet for a moment, then Merrick’s voice came back. Cold. Calculating. “Then do what you must.”
That was the go ahead.
Hanging up, Joe looked around the apartment and found a wooden chair in the kitchen. He lifted it over his head and slammed it on the counter, shattering it into a million pieces. He selected the longest, sharpest, and sturdiest looking one. He went back into the room and directed Matt to hold her down. She fought, kicked, and spat, but she was weaker than even they were. They had been embalmed. She hadn’t.
Matt pinned her hands above her head and Joe straddled her. Animal terror filled her eyes and she whipped her head from side to side. Joe lifted the makeshift stake with both hands, and brought it down as hard as he could, driving it deep into her heart. Her eyes bulged from their sockets and a high, otherworldly scream ripped from her throat. She bucked, thrashed, and kicked her feet. Her resistance began to ebb away until she was twitching…until she was still.
Heather from OKCupid was dead.
Truly dead.
Joe couldn’t help wondering what it was like.
Pulling the stake out, he tossed it aside and got to his feet, Matt doing likewise. A soul petrifying scream might be cause for even the tightest of lips to start talking. “Let’s go,” he said. And together, he and Matt fled, leaving the poor, dead body of Heather behind.
***
As it turned out, one of Heather’s neighbors did call the cops. At 10;13pm, Vanessa Rodregiez arrived with two patrolmen and found the front door of Apartment 237 knocked down. Guns drawn, they entered, Vanessa at the head. The first thing she noticed was the smell. It jammed itself into her nostrils, shoved its tongue down her throat, and violated her - all without even buying her dinner first.
Vanessa hadn’t been at this as long as her buddy Bruce had, but she knew a dead, rotting body when she smelled one. They searched the premises, and sure enough, they found a vic in the bedroom, lying in the gap between the bed and the wall; it looked like the former had been moved, perhaps in a struggle. Vanessa knelt down to check the vic’s pulse, but stopped.
There was no need.
The vic - who looked like a female but could have been an overweight male - hadn’t had a pulse in a very long time.
Examining the body, Vanessa found a wound in the chest, just above the heart. Black, stinking goo leaked from it, and Vanessa gagged. She fisted her hand to her mouth, retched, and then ran for the kitchen sink. Her partner for the night, Jim Walsh, stared down at the stiff before him, and his face turned a sickly shade of green. He avoided puking because he didn’t nose fuck the wound like Vanessa had, but he wasted no time in getting out there, dry heaving in the hallway where the air was somewhat fresh.
After leaving her lunch in the sink, Vanessa radioed back to headquarters, and before long, the place was crawling with cops. The assistant medical examiner - who had taken over after Ed Harris quit the previous night - knelt over the body and studied it. A solidly built black man with a mustache, his name was Leon and he knew death just as well as his old boss, so when he said the vic had been dead nearly two weeks, Vanessa accepted it.
That begged the question: Who broke in and screamed just now? A relative? The caller clearly heard screaming and peeked out her door to see two males fleeing on foot. Maybe they found the vic and freaked out? Or maybe they were the killers returning to the scene of the crime. After all, the vic had clearly been murdered.
In fact, they found a likely murder weapon. A long sliver of wood soaked in black goo. Blood turns black after a while, but there was something different about this stuff. “What is it?” Vanessa asked Leon.
“I’m not sure,” Leon said and pulled off a pair of Latex gloves he’d donned to examine the vic, “could be blood or…”
“Or what?” Vanessa asked.
“Or something,” Leon said. “Give me a few hours.”
And a few hours it was. Just before 1am, Leon called Vanessa at her desk. “I think you should come down here,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later, Vanessa stood over Leon as he pulled the vic’s chest open with a pair of tweezers. “That’s the heart,” he said, “whoever stabbed her scored a direct hit, but this…this is what concerns me.”
He prodded a furry lump with the tip of his scalpel.
“What is it?” Vanessa asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, “it looks like mold.”
That word - mold - triggered a memory in her brain. “Ed said something about mold last night. He found it in -”
“The Mason boy,” Leon finished.
“Yeah. The one who got up and ran off.”
Leon turned away from Vanessa and looked at the dead woman - for it was a woman. Vanessa got the impression that he didn’t want her to see his expression. “I’ve known Ed ten years. I know something happened last night, but a stiff getting up and walking off? I thought he was confused. Now…I don’t know. That makes two bodies in 24 hours. And get this. The chest wound? It was done post-mortem. I can’t find a cause of death anywhere. Except maybe blood loss but it’s hard to tell at this point. And speaking of blood…”
“What?” Vanessa asked quickly.
“When I opened her stomach up, a whole shit load of blood spilled out. And a lot of it was a lot fresher than she is.”
Vanessa furrowed her brow in confusion. “You mean…?”
“It’s not hers,” Leon said. “I can’t be 100 percent sure until I run tests, but I’d put money on it.”
Vanessa’s head spun with information both new and old. You know that full, heavy feeling you get when a poo is brewing in your guts? That’s kind of what Vanessa was feeling, only in her head instead of her stomach.
Leon was just as mystified by the whole thing as she was and stayed up late to run a few preliminary tests. By sunrise, he had confirmed that the blood inside of Heather’s stomach was not hers. In fact, it had come from at least three different sources. “Is it human?” Vanessa asked over the phone.
“Yes,” Leon said, sounding troubled, “it’s human.”
In the cobalt hour before sunrise, Vanessa sat at her desk and tried to piece this whole thing together. They had:
  1. A corpse that (allegedly) woke up and dipped out
  2. A dead girl who’d been stabbed in the heart with a piece of wood after somehow ingesting the blood of three different people.
  3. Some missing kids
  4. Oh, and both bodies - the girl’s and the runaway corpses’ - had the same weird fungus in their heart cavities.
All of this - even the missing kids, Vanessa felt - was related. She just didn’t know how. The only answer that half way fit was that both of those bodies were vampires. Like…what’s a vampire but a dead body that gets up and walks around at night? And how do you kill a vampire? Why, you drive a piece of wood through its heart.
The idea that vampires were real was dumb, but the more she turned it over in her mind, the more she became convinced that it was at least an option. A lot of things people thought were fantastic and made up turned out to be real, so why not vampires too?
Shortly after 8, Bruce came in. He was just sitting down when Vanessa came in and slapped her report on the desk. “Buckle up, bitch,” she said, “things just got weirder.”
He stared up at her with one of those grumpy - but cute -expressions he was so good at putting on. As he read, however, his brow knitted. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a weary sigh.
“I have a theory - kind of,” Vanessa said, “but I don’t want to say it.”
“You might as well,” Bruce said. “It can’t be more kooky than reality these days.”
“Okay,” Vanessa started, “what if - and I’m just thinking out loud here - what if there are vampires in Albany?”
She expected Bruce to give her a dirty look, but he chewed it over, actually taking it seriously. “And those missing boys are victims?” he asked finally.
“Yeah,” Vanessa said. “That girl’s been dead two weeks. Maybe she bit Dominick Mason and he came back for revenge after realizing he was cursed to be a goddamn shit sucking vampire forever.”
Bruce nodded. “Yeah, but who turned her?”
“I don’t know,” Vanessa said, “I don’t know.”
***
Before dawn painted the eastern sky, Merrick Garvis sat in his chamber like a withered king, a mess of IVs hooked into his arms and neck. The vault was silent save for the soft noise of the machines as they filtered out the old embalming fluid and replaced it with new embalming fluid. Embalming fluid always made him spacy, like a drug. The others had gone first, and even now lay near comatose around him like addicts in an opium den.
As far as he knew, Merrick was the oldest vampire in the world, perhaps, even, the oldest vampire to ever live. Though he was not fully honest with Dom, he was not lying when he said that vampires rotted like any other dead thing. Conditions considered, you had a few weeks tops if left untreated. There may be living vampires in remote corners of Egypt or the northern most reaches of Russia, where the climate preserved dead things, but unless you made it to one of those places, you were pretty well fucked.
Merrick was not a proud man, nor was he concerned with saving face - the dead have no need for that. He was being truthful when he said that he feared death. What’s more, he feared being helpless. Deep down, vampires are people, and people don’t exactly have the greatest track record with caring for their infirm. He read once that the first sign of a civilization was a broken leg that had healed, as it showed that someone stayed with and cared for a fellow human long enough for them to get well again. In Merrick’s opinion, that was true…and thus there was no civilization. Merrick was fifty-one when he died in the year 1982. In his lifetime, he had seen The Great Depression, World War II, and a million small acts of cruelty and selfishness in between. He’d seen beggars starving in the streets, abused children shuffled out of sight and out of mind, and disdain for the poor and the weak.
The living were awful, and the living dead were no different. Once their humanity rotted away, they cared only about filling their stomachs. They were like ticks - they would drink until their bellies literally ruptured…and then keep on drinking.
That left him in a precarious position. He was old, his body was weak. He couldn’t stand unassisted and if left to fend for himself, he would decay into a pile of bones within days. He would be cursed to lay in one spot for all eternity, aware and hungry, little more than a ghost tethered to a black and still beating heart.
He refused to let that happen to him. Thus, he had created a family, a clan of vampires loyal to him and to him alone. He did this through acts of simple kindness and understanding…but also through deception. He knew, for instance, how to preserve the brain. He’d figured out how to do it early on - you pickle it. Like a fetus preserved in a jar. He sawed off the top of his own head and filled it with a special solution that kept his brain - and his intelligence - intact. It slowly drained out through the nose and ears in a thin, yellow liquid, but it worked well enough. He couldn’t save everything, however, and had lost vital things in the process, such as most of his human memories, his sense of humor, and some motor functions. He shared this secret with only Joe, and a few others before, because he needed a strong captain. He kept the others in the dark because vampires - like people - are easier to control when they don’t think for themselves.
Right about now, however, Merrick was beginning to regret sharing the formula with even Joe. Joe had brought him nothing but grief. Joe, you see, could think for himself. He could make decisions. He could go behind Merrick’s back. Joe had something called free will, and free will is a worse affliction than vampirism. Free will is messy, free will is dangerous.
Free will could very well turn Merrick into a pile of bones.
That was, of course, if they weren’t discovered first. Joe had made several mistakes lately, not least of which was the turning of Heather. Sitting there in the predawn hour, attended by Tony, his gay bartender and human familiar, Merrick decided to have Joe killed. There are only two ways to kill a vampire: The stake and the flame. The latter seemed somehow appropriate in this case. After Joe, there would be no more captains, only him, one father with absolute power. That was how it had to be. One man, one vision. Democracies didn’t work. That was especially clear today. Everyone was so divided and nothing ever got done. If the humans had one strong leader, they might go in the wrong direction, but at least they would go somewhere. Instead, they stagnated.
Merrick didn’t particularly look forward to killing Joe, but it had to be done. To protect the family. To protect him.
And Merrick would do anything…anything at all…to protect himself.
***
Vampires.
Bruce kept coming back to that single wor, hoping each time that he would chuckle at the absurdity of it.
But he never did.
Did that mean he believed it? Not necessarily, but damn it, he considered it a possibility, and that alone was enough to make him feel like a fucking clown. All the evidence he had pointed to vampires, but then again, it might point to other things as well. Like aliens.
But let’s say the whole vampire thing was real. Who, like Vanessa asked, was patient zero? Who started this whole mess?
A name came to mind.
Merrick Garvis.
He had not had time to check into Garvis the previous day, but by God, he was going to do it now. He ran his name and social through the system and everything seemed to check out. Merrick Garvis was born on June 31, 1963 in -
Wait a minute. Weren’t there only 30 days in June?
Bruce checked, and there were, indeed, only 30 days in the month of June. Hm. Bruce did a little digging and found something out. Before 1987, social security numbers weren’t issued at birth. You had to sign up, using other forms of ID. Merrick Garvis applied for his in April 1984 and the date of birth on his state issued driver’s license was June 31. Bruce spent an hour on the phone with the DMV and learned that they had never issued a license to a Merrick Garvis. He then spoke to the Social Security Administration, and after much wrangling and frustration, he managed to get a photocopy of the license Garvis used to get his social security number. It was dated 1983.
The face staring back at him was almost exactly the same face he’d seen at Club Vlad, except maybe a touch less stiff and waxy. Though not as rough looking, there was no way in hell Garvis was 20 in that picture. It had to be a fake,
Bruce thought back to the events of the previous two days. Missing bodies, staked corpses, hearts that still beat after death.
Vampires didn’t seem like such a crazy explanation.
And if anyone was a fucking vampire around here, it was Merrick Garvis.
submitted by Flagg1991 to LetsReadOfficial [link] [comments]

2024.05.16 16:43 TanyaSapien Practice Piece: Kyle's Departure

Note to the reader: This is a one-shot for writing practice and not canon to the Trappist universe I normally write in.
Everybody scoffs and rolls their eyes when given instructions they have no plan on following, and this was no different. Torrent Vindicti couldn't hit the delete button hard enough, the mutarin nearly chipping her claw in the moment of indignation.
A voice came from the other end of the bunks, “you alright, Tory? I felt that anger flare way over here.”
She silently scowled for a moment, exchanging an accusatory glance with one of her symbiont's tentacles before replying, “sorry, just really pissed off at some bureaucracy. Did I wake you?”
Kyle yawned and hopped down from his bunk, “Yeah. Was having a really good dream, was on this beach with a chick and…I'll skip the details but suddenly she's you and you were shouting something about murder and cowardice?”
She sent another telepathic flare, this time deliberately, contrition and apology, before speaking, “Yeah. A general advisory just came through on the news feeds. I um…I don't want to be the one to tell you, but your homeworld just had war declared on it.”
Kyle laughed a bit, getting a cup of khali juice from the drink dispenser, “who is it this time?”
“It still unnerves me just how efficient humans are at compartmentalizing their emotions. It's the Arakhin, who else?”
“That's hardly news. They're warmongers and the empire's got our back.”
“That's the part that pissed me off. I…look, I'm…so, our ship is technically company property and…”
The telepathic equivalent of an eyeroll came through before her symbiont began speaking through her, “Torrent sucks at using words, hi, Eddy here, we were ordered to send you to your death.”
Kyle just blinked, stopping mid-sip on his drink, “Okay, you have my attention. It's gotta be bad if Cur's hijacking your voice.”
Torrent and Eddy's tentacles twitched and she narrowed her eyes, still Eddy speaking, “please stop calling me that. I am Eddy, my image name is a type of current, not a canine.”
He just shrugged, “And my image name is a college frat stereotype, nobody's perfect. So how are you killing me, exactly?”
Torrent resumed being the one speaking, “The arakhin announced any and all humans found will be killed or taken as hosts on sight. The company has decided that having human crew onboard presents an unacceptable risk. We're supposed to give you your severance and dump you at the nearest station.”
She mentally braced, hardening her empathic receptors, expecting fury, worry, sorrow, anything in that spectrum. Instead she felt pure, unadulterated humor. The shock threw her completely off balance and she stared at him in confusion, both her minds struggling to make sense. It wasn't a trauma response, she'd been around humans enough to recognize the feeling when they slammed a door shut on an unwanted emotion, this was genuine.
Kyle noticed her blank stare and limp tentacles and he just smirked, “Glad to know they're finally afraid of us.”
She just blinked, giving a slight shimmer of her markings, a reaction he'd seen enough times to know it was the mutarin version of a confused shrug, as once again he was the source of the reaction.
He finished his drink before elaborating, “For being sanguivores, you guys really lack that predator insight. What kind of person puts out a KOS on an entire species?”
“Somebody who's angry?”
“Right. And arakhin are parasites, predators, egocentric to a fault. What makes a megalomaniac angry?”
It clicked and she gave an understanding “oohhh” in stereo, “heh, they're angry because they can't push you around?”
“Like a bully on the playground.”
“That's great for your species, but what about you personally? If I just dump you on a fuel depot on the tail-end of nowhere, you won't be able to find anybody willing to ferry a human, you might even get kicked out of the depot itself. People are panicking, arakhin are horrifying on a good day, but now they're on the warpath.”
“Let me worry about that. I take it Tourin and Granite don't know yet?”
“They're still in bed.”
“Look, I know it's eating you up, but–”
“Just say you don't want to go. I'll…we're near a nebula, I could say the transmission got corrupted. I could bide some time or something…”
“Tory, Cur, you two are a fine captain and I'm not gonna let my situation ruin a spotless record. I'll be fine. Just, you know, swing back around to pick me up after my friends finish making the galaxy's biggest lobster boil.”
“The other two won't stand for it.”
“Then don't tell them till after I'm gone. I'll borrow the starboard escape pod, we need to take it in for maintenance anyways, I'll patch it up while I'm out, maybe pick up some milk and bread…”
There it was, the pang she was waiting for. Finally his humor broke and she saw other emotions under the surface. It wasn't fear, though, it was sadness, with an undercurrent of loneliness, and something else, something buried. In spite of Eddy actively whispering in her mind not to reach out to it, she did. It was frustration, frustration and seething anger, pure, primal, and held like a caged beast deep in his subconscious. She doubted he was even aware it was there and quickly backed out before her intrusion into his mind was noticed.
He began transferring his passwords and files over, then gave her a terse salute, “Let's not complicate it with long goodbyes, alright? Just send the severance to that crypto account you kept mocking me for having. Finally coming in handy for something, right?”
She wanted to offer some platitude, but his emotions were starting to worry her. It was like watching a pot about to boil over. No, it was more like watching dents forming in a door as something on the other side strikes it, trying to escape. She simply gave a pulse of her markings, the equivalent of a nod, and sent him on his way.
The beast she saw lurking in his mind was actively burrowing to the surface.
She sighed to herself as she watched the escape pod shrink into the distance and Eddy spoke up in her mind, “I'd always thought the feral instinct thing was a myth. Never thought Kyle had something like that in him.”
Fear crept into the corners of Torrent's mind and Eddy coiled his tentacles on her arms, holding his host protectively, “You did the right thing for the safety of the ship.”
She sat like that for a while, staring at the black outside until she was snapped out of her trance by Taurin at the doorway, the Yenesh looked irritated and was holding up an empty box, “Where's Kyle? We're missing a rifle and ten plasma cells from the armory.”
Torrent couldn't help but smirk and start laughing, markings nearly strobing, “Oh I do not envy whatever arakhin bastard he crosses paths with first.”
submitted by TanyaSapien to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.05.16 08:29 HappyHiker88 My Surgery Experience

I crossed the post-op bridge yesterday, and figured I’d share my experience.
I was self-pay so my pre-op process was pretty short, just a month, which included 2 appointments with the surgeon (including consult), one with a dietician, and pre-op labs. I had my surgery date when I walked out of the consultation. My surgeon required a 3-day pre-op liquid diet, which was surprisingly easy except for maybe the last half day.
I did the robotic sleeve gastrectomy and my surgeon offered it as an outpatient surgery. I was a little wary of that, but he said he had done a ton of them with no issues and it saved a significant amount of money vs staying overnight in a hospital, so I went with the outpatient option.
They did the surgery and their only requirement to let me go home was to walk to the bathroom and pee, which I did within a couple of hours of waking up. I had one wave of nausea in that couple hour period that was dealt with with IV drugs and I was able to get and keep some ice chips and room temp water down. Due to family history with narcotics I tried to avoid them for pain but it was too much so I did have some fentanyl and oxy to help. I slept most of the rest of the day when I got home, but did make sure to get up and walk around as much as possible otherwise.
I was also equipped with a couple catheters in the upper incision site connected to a pain pump containing local anesthetic, which was to help with the incision site pain for all incisions for 72 hours. Unfortunately, they turned the flow on the pump to max and it was empty in less than 24 hours before I even realized it had adjustable flow. I was wondering why I wasn’t feeling any pain after I got home and that answered it lol. I had to remove the catheters myself and that was an…interesting… experience that was making my squeamish wife who unfortunately witnessed it shudder all day. The good news is, the pain hasn’t been all that bad anyway, I haven’t needed even Tylenol in over 24 hours. I think the real test will be tomorrow when undoubtedly there will be no more residual anesthetic in my system.
Things that haven’t been as I expected: -All the gurgling in my stomach. It’s just non-stop (well, drinking water helps some) -the (what I assume is) gas pain in my right shoulder. They told me that it would more than likely be in my left shoulder due to the liver blocking the gas on the right side, but no, I definitely feel it on my right. -a slightly painful pulling sensation inside the right side of my abdomen. This one has me worried enough I may call my surgeon tomorrow. Maybe I’m feeling some stitches where they stitched something to keep my sleeve from twisting? But then the pain still has me worried like maybe it’s tearing at something? I don’t know.
All in all I’d say that while the surgery hasn’t been easy per se, it has been a lot easier than I expected. Here’s hoping the rest of my journey will be the same!
submitted by HappyHiker88 to gastricsleeve [link] [comments]

2024.05.16 00:11 asksaboutstuff It's time for rearm to work on neutral items

If there's one thing I know about the Dota community, it's that people love Tinker. Ever since the last few patches, Tinker has nearly disappeared from our pubs. Around the world, Dota players are crying out for the return of Tinker, and luckily for you all I'm here to propose the buffs that this hero needs!
I think most people would agree that Tinker has 3 boring spells and rearm (free BoT counts as part of the ult). And while the intro paragraph is obviously a joke, for those of us that do enjoy the hero, the entire fun aspect of it is how rearm allows Tinker to interact with items in a way that no other hero can. A different approach to one of the major progression systems in the game makes the hero very unique and enjoyable to play.
Neutral items have been in the game for a while now, and yet still none of them interact with rearm like normal items do. When they were first introduced I figured Valve didn't want to have to deal with rearm when balancing them, but years down the line it's time to address the interaction. To give a glance at how this would actually change the hero, I've gone through the list of current neutral items with active abilities and rated the impact of each item (and chosen some that would need to be banned from working with rearm a la BKB).
Tier 1
Arcane Ring: Starting off with a bang! making +75 mana a rearmable effect would be a significant buff for a hero with heavy mana issues. Given Tinker's current state I don't necessarily think it would be broken, but it would be by far the best t1 neutral for him and would introduce huge variance into Tinker games based on whether or not he gets a free mini soul ring at min 7. Verdict: not rearmable
Royal Jelly: It needs to build charges over time anyways, so rearming the active ability basically does nothing. Verdict: allowed
Seeds of Serenity: +10 hp regen is nice but not that crazy. I don't actually know if the regen from multiple seeds stacks but I doubt it. Assuming the regen from multiple casts doesn't stack. Verdict: allowed
Trusty Shovel: Is sitting in fountain rearming to dig for bounty runes worth it? I very much doubt it, but I do know that if it's an option I'm going to have "support" Tinkers on my team doing it. Verdict: not rearmable
Pig Pole: Why chain hex enemies when you can chain hex yourself? Funny, but obviously not useful. Verdict: allowed
Safety bubble: Based on the wording I don't think rearm would cause the shield to instantly replenish.
Tier 2
Bullwhip: A small slow / speed buff being rearmable isn't a big deal. Verdict: allowed
Light collector: Not very useful unless you're trying to impress a Timbersaw player. Verdict: allowed
Tier 3
Craggy Coat: Permanent +12 armor could actually be pretty strong considering that Tinker doesn't care about movespeed. Unfortunately Tinker also really doesn't want to be in the middle of things to make good use of it. Solid ability but not OP. Verdict: allowed
Defiant Shell: Tinker obviously doesn't get a lot of value from free right clicks, so not very useful. Verdict: allowed
Dandelion Amulet: Rearming a 300 magic dmg barrier on top of defense matrix is very strong. Add that to the item giving 300 mana and this would be a powerful option. I'm on the fence, but I think this one might be a little too OP for a tier 3 item. Verdict: not rearmable
Doubloon: I didn't even remember this thing had a cooldown without looking it up. Useless. Verdict: allowed
Ogre Seal Totem: Basically a force staff, which is nice to have but usually not bought on Tinker due to slot restrictions. This feels roughly equivalent to Dandelion Amulet to me. I think it's a little bit overtuned as a rearmable t3 item. Verdict: not rearmable
Tier 4
Martyr's Plate: Just in case the enemy team is doing a poor job focusing you, you can do it for them! Obviously awful. Verdict: allowed
Ninja Gear: Permanent smoke is really nice for finding safe farm on the map in the lategame. The stats are useless for Tinker, which I think prevents this from pushing into OP territory. Roughly the level of utility to expect out of neutral items at this stage. Verdict: allowed
Stormcrafter: The cooldown is already so low that rearming isn't a very big DPS increase, and it requires you to be close anyways. Verdict: allowed
Ascetic's Cap: The status resist stacked with defense matrix is quite strong. However, this is most important for when you first get jumped, which doesn't require rearm. Being able to reapply the bonus status resist during a fight is certainly nice, but I don't think it's OP. Verdict: allowed
Havoc Hammer: A 0 mana AoE nuke is really strong with rearm. On the other hand, it scales on str and has very small range. It's a great farming item, but by this point Tinker will have lvl 18 and shiva's already, so doesn't have issues clearing waves. The nuke is actually a good chunk of damage, even with Tinker's subpar strength values. The short range definitely brings it down since you will be close enough for enemies to stop your rearm, but I think the added damage is just too much. Verdict: not rearmable
Mind Breaker: Tinker doesn't right click. If you really want to perma-silence someone orchid (or just hex, obviously) works better. Verdict: allowed
Trickster's Cloak: Some nice utility given that it doesn't take up a slot, but rearmable invis is already in the game and not very strong. Verdict: allowed
Tier 5
Book of Shadows: Pseudo perma-disable for an enemy or permanent invuln for an ally. Chaining this on an ally just makes Tinker the target instead, and enemies can BKB or go invis between applications. Casting it on an enemy makes them untargetable, so you can't truly perma-disable someone with it since you can't recast until after the effect ends. Also worth noting that you can't go perma-invuln yourself since it silences, and the cooldown is already super short. Obviously strong but not crazy for a t5 item. Verdict: allowed
Force boots: Rearmable force staff was OP for a t3 item, but by t5 it's fine. Verdict: allowed
Magic lamp: no lol. Verdict: not rearmable
Pirate Hat: By 60+ minutes sitting in fountain rearming dig might actually be a good, safe way to farm when the map is dark. Good or not, sitting in fountain is boring and shouldn't be promoted. Verdict: not rearmable
Arcanist's Armor: I have to confess that in all my 60+ minute games I've never gotten a good feel for exactly how much this item is doing. On paper the active sounds insane with 100% uptime so I would say it's probably OP, but idk. Verdict: not rearmable
Book of the Dead: What's a level 3 Necronomicon? The units get replaced on recast, so you can't build an army of them. I honestly don't think this ability is too crazy, though back when necrobook existed it didn't work with rearm. The stats are good on Tinker too which makes is stronger, but I still don't think it's out of line. Verdict: allowed
Mirror Shield: This would make Tinker nearly untouchable against a lot of lineups. It's already one of his favorite endgame items without rearm. Verdict: not rearmable
Seer Stone: Maphacks time! The ability is super strong with rearm, obviously. The stats on this are also amazing for Tinker, which I think pushes it past acceptable strength. Verdict: not rearmable
Thanks for coming to my TED talk if you made it this far. Anyways, this is mostly a QoL change since most neutral items either don't have cooldowns or give abilities that don't interact well with rearm. Meaningful buffs would happen at the t4 and t5 items, but Tinker is not a great user of most of those to begin with.
submitted by asksaboutstuff to DotA2 [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 22:55 HamsterIV Deck Commander, an FPS steam ship game where the captain maneuvers both ship and crew.

This will be a game where the player commands a Steam Ship from the helm of the ship. The camera will be locked to first person perspective behind the ships wheel, but the player will be able to see NPC crewmen on the deck as well as crew stations that can be manned. Success will depend on maneuvering the ship to get into good firing positions and managing the crew so that the guns are reloaded, the boiler fed, and damage is mitigated.
Control interface
* Keys A/D turn the ship left and right
* Keys W/S increase and decrease throttle.
* Left mouse click selects the crewman the player is looking at
* Right mouse click sends the crewman to the station the player is looking at.
Crew stations include:
* The Boiler - which needs coal to increase the steam pressure to make the ship go
* Cannons - that shoot at enemies in their fire arc, and need to be reloaded. One crew member is needed to shoot, but multiple can help reload.
* Weapons Rack - which contains cutlasses used to repel boarders
* Med Pack Dispenser - Used to revive downed crew members who are injured by enemy fire or borders.
* Patch Supply - which contains hull patches to repair holes in the ship letting in water
* The Bilge - which pumps water out of the hull. If too much water gets in it will cause a boiler explosion
* Drive Shaft and Gear Box- may get damaged and need repair. to allow forward/backward movement.
* Rudder control lines - may get damaged and need repair to allow turning
Combat encounters will vary between small fast ships filled with borders, medium ships that are equivalent to the player's, and large slow ships that the player has to dance around to stay in their blind spots.
submitted by HamsterIV to gameideas [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 20:06 OfficeBroad837 Anyone else worry that hormone replacement is becoming a grey market cash cow?

I'm quite happy on my estrogen patch and micronized progesterone. Both are covered by my insurance (I have a small co-pay) as well as my visit to my ob/gyn. I'm grateful I can at least get this much. I don't feel amazing, but I feel a bit better than before.
I'm also in a few FB groups and I follow a dozen or so women in the menopause space. Not a whole lot of consensus, which is frustrating. Maybe the lack of consensus is driving what I perceive to be an emerging grey market. I feel like some people are going completely rogue and it feels a little dangerous to me. There's compounded pharmacies (unregulated by the way) and new options are popping up every week it seems. No one knows where these ingredients are coming from. How do we know they're not coming from China, in the same way that fentanyl is? Or even less appalling....how do you even know you're getting the dose you think you're paying for? What's to stop these pharmacies from taking your money and then skimping on the hormone?
I'm curious about the recent explosion of telemedicine providers now offering hormone replacement injections. Injections?! Really? These are supposed to be better than pellets. And maybe they are - but at least pellets last 90 DAYS. Who wants to self- inject two to three times a week?! I mean, I realize there are limitations to the patch, and perhaps I just haven't hit that wall yet. But if I do, I'd rather ask for a stronger patch. Or two of them. Or bigger ones. I just can't picture a scenario where I'll be injecting myself every other day for the next 30 years? And yet - maybe this will be my reality and I shouldn't sound so shocked. But isn't anyone worried about what's in these things? Or how much they're taking? Some of these women in the FB groups are running around with the testosterone levels of 18 year old boys. I'm sorry, but that CAN NOT be good for you. I confess my libido could absolutely use some help, but I sure as hell don't want to have the sex drive of a frat boy.
And the prices!! I have heard about a couple specific places that seem to be popular around these places so I looked them up. These are basically med-spas. That's not really my jam, but whatever. It looks like they're licensed to do botox AND hormones and weight loss. One in Ohio and one in Florida. They don't take insurance, so everything is self-pay. And these prices are outrageous. I know a lot of women seem happy to get what they need, but isn't anyone worried that this stuff is becoming a CASH COW?! These doctors are raking it all in. While we're not talking about Narcotics, I'm having "Dopesick" flashbacks.
There's also online trans websites where you can buy things off-label to be shipped to your house without a script and you make the injections yourself. It saddens me that this is where people have to go for proper treatment. It feels dangerous. And kind of terrifying. I don't know....in the absence of any real clear direction here, I feel like we're on the cusp of some sort of huge hormone explosion and I can't tell if it's going to be great for women's health or a complete disaster.
Look, I don't want to come across as judgey. I may not be far enough into this journey where I've hit the proverbial menopause "wall" and done all I can do through a traditional doctor. I'm a little concerned though, I'm not going to lie. If we can't get enough of the RIGHT treatment legitimately, then is the grey market going to be our only hope?
submitted by OfficeBroad837 to GenXWomen [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 18:42 leatragg Best Guide/Content Creator to learn the game for high ranked

I'm a Dota player who also played League for a while. I play Smite casually from time to time with my girlfriend, mostly playing arena/joust. I'm considering learning how to play ranked conquest since Smite 2 looks promising. I would probably play as a Solo Laner as my main role since I play Offlane in Dota and Top when I played LoL and it seems to be the equivalent.
First, what should I consider as a priority in terms of game knowledge before starting to play ranked so as not to ruin other people's games?
Second, what is your main source of understanding the game at a "high level"?
What I mean by that is that in the other mobas I've played, there's always "cake recipe" content, that is, shallow videos that usually talk about the "best heroes in the meta", "best builds in the patch", and they don't give you an understanding of the game in general.
Normally I use ProSmiteBuilds to see what to do with items, but I would like to be able to understand when to make each item, adapt the builds, when to pick each god, rotations, timings, important aspects of the game, etc.
What would you suggest for me?
submitted by leatragg to Smite [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 13:56 In_Yellow_Clad If At First You Don't Succeed -- Part 110

[prev]
As it stood, my crazy plan certainly seemed to resonate with the gathered leaders, though they did offer their own suggestions as to how best to implement improvements and contingencies. I of course welcomed each and every one of them, then debated their merits and as the hours flew by we weeded out the ideas that simply would not work and expanded on those that would.
It was quite honestly refreshing to not have to do all the thinking for once, it felt nice to do a little outsourcing as one might describe it. Besides, as many would say I only had one point of view, well, two if we’re being literal, that of a human and an arachne, the former coming from a world without magic and monstrous beings like those I had surrounded myself with.
Their unique viewpoints had offered a wealth of possibilities and were in their own ways invaluable to the war effort. I am glad that they all managed to get along as well. I had seen no hint of animosity or long held grudges between any of them, not even the age old and quite frankly stereotypical hostility between the elves and dwarves had reared its head. In fact, the two races had seemingly fed into each other's ideas with excited glee, and I had almost expected there to be a bout of mad cackling near the end of their ramblings.
Of course now the meeting was over and we were all starting our preparations. The basic prep wouldn’t take that long, ensuring our warriors were all well supplied, their weapons and armor at peak quality before the battle was paramount. It was everything else about the plan that would take time, time we must ensure we had if we were to succeed. And so I headed for the Aberrant Spire, a place I had not been in a long time.
As I followed the streets I was reminded of my first delve into this city, back when it was fully under the control of vile abominations. I paused, looking at a short building on my right, large claw marks scoring the wall near the lip of the roof. I remember one of those beasts had attempted to climb up to get me as I traversed the rooftops.
Remembering that I felt a shiver run down my spine and issued a silent word of thanks that such horrors no longer existed in my new home, that vibrant life had returned to these hallowed streets. It was a place of hope now, not terror.
It was with this remembering of certain facts that I began looking for a faster means of travel to reach the Spire, as walking would be a long and arduous task indeed. Thankfully this was something that was already thought of, for as I meandered through the streets in my search I came across a somewhat raised walkway, except this walkway had a pair of lines worked from crystal or metal, I couldn’t rightly tell which, running through it.
I paused, wondering how I had never seen this thing before and in doing so I bore witness to its purpose. A merchant with a large wagon approached a circular pattern on the walkway, ensured his wares were well secured and then spoke a destination. At once a ball of energy surrounded him and the wagon, raising it all off the ground and then sending him zipping along, following the right hand line. Even as I watched, another traveler came from the opposite direction, the magic wrought into the pathway depositing them gently off to one side and they continued on their merry way.
I had to wonder why thing wasn’t around the first time I had come here, though the more I looked at the construction the stone looked somewhat fresh, perhaps it was simply a new addition and not something from the city’s past. Either way, it looked mighty useful so I stepped into the circle and took a deep breath.
“The Aberrant Spire.” I spoke clearly, and felt myself go weightless. The magic ball of energy formed around me, lifting me off solid ground and leaving me floating, which certainly triggered a slight fear response from my arachnid instincts. I was moved into position and then shot forward. It took all I had to not scream, sudden fear turning into excitement as my human experiences harkened back to several amusement park visits as a kid and getting to ride the roller coasters.
Though instead of loop the loops and corkscrews it was naught but straight lines and gentle curves that weaved through and over the city streets. Everything was a blur and yet I hardly felt it, really all that I felt was a vague sense of motion in my gut and the wind pulling at my hair, but that was it. I did see the spire come into view however, and steadily it grew larger and larger till at last it dominated the skyline.
My breakneck pace started to slow and just as it had with the other traveler, the magic gently shifted me to one side and then put me down softly. I found my legs were incredibly wobbly and as such I simply stood there and waited for the wobbling to cease. Once it had I stepped off the platform and down onto the street proper, finally taking in the sights as it were.
If the areas around the palace and the rest of the city were for merchants, common folk and nobility, then this area was almost exclusively inhabited by those with magical talents. I saw robed figures flitting to and fro, some hovering along on disks of light or wind, one even walked into a shadowy patch and vanished, presumably reappearing elsewhere. And over it all loomed the Spire, still as pretty and strange as it had been, though it seemed to glow with newfound life and vigor.
The teleporter complex seemed in working order as well, though it would have to be since new mages had taken up residence in the spire above. I made for the complex, many mages who had been engrossed in walking and thinking doing double takes as I passed. I simply nodded at each in turn and continued on my merry way, entering the complex and getting bombarded by the sounds of a busy building. Pages and mages zipped about, conducting their various tasks as they did, stepping into or out of the teleporters as needed. It felt almost like that one time I’d visited Grand Central, boy hadn’t that been fun.
I decided that I should probably get some directions to the person that would be most suited to help me with my plan, really whomever happened to be in charge of this place would be perfect for that and so I stepped up to a circular desk that seemed to be staffed by a mixture of elves, dwarves, humans and even a slime person, the latter wobbling in place and simply shifting their features about to face anyone that spoke to them.
I stopped before an elf, the woman looking up and recognition dawning on her face as she beheld me.
“Y-Your majesty! What brings you all the way out here?” She stammered even as she made to stand and bow. I waved her back down into her seat with a smile, the elf sinking back down into her seat.
“I have business with whomever is in charge of the Spire and I have found that I have no idea who that happens to be. I was hoping to change that, and get directions as well.”
The woman nodded, still a bit frazzled thanks to an unannounced visit by royalty.
“I-I can do that, a moment please your majesty.” She said, hunching over a large book that sat before her and furiously flipping through it. Once she found what she needed, she opened a drawer and pulled out what looked like some sort of talisman, setting it down before me on the desk. “Firstly, this will identify you as not only an authorized visitor to the spire, but also as royalty. Granted we all know you are but the spire itself wouldn’t and so would treat you as an intruder if you didn’t carry this with you at all times. And considering your authority over us all, it will allow you to access areas that would be otherwise restricted to normal visitors.”
As she explained its function I picked the talisman up and looked it over. It was a simple thing, not too gaudy though I couldn’t help but notice a coat of arms upon it that had a distinctly arachne flavor to it. I could swear I’d seen it before somewhere else, perhaps that would have to be something else I looked into later.
“I can call an escort for you, they can guide you right to the Archmage.” The receptionist spoke, snapping me from my thoughts as I affixed the talisman to my breast.
“That won’t be necessary, a map will suffice. I am an adventurer first and a queen second after all.” Chuckling, I watched her nod and pull a sheet of parchment towards her, a hand hovering over the surface and magic flowing from her palm onto the page. What looked like ink appeared on it, which then took the shape of the current room I resided in. Words even appeared, informing me that I could use any of the teleporters I wished.
“The man you are looking for is Archmage Yesric. As far as I know he doesn’t have any pressing duties today so you should find him sequestered in his office.” The receptionist rose and bowed again, keeping her hunched over pose even as I started to walk away.
“Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.” I said. I took a subtle look over my shoulder and was relieved to see that she’d sat back down and was currently in the midst of furious conversation with her coworkers. Which was fair, not every day a member of royalty comes asking for help right?
Stepping into the teleporter I was promptly deposited into the halls of the Spire, which now bustled with activity. Mostly staff it seemed, though I spotted several gaggles of younger folk all dressed in something reminiscent of school uniforms rushing through the halls, their expressions belying a desperate desire to reach their destination as quickly as possible. I had heard nothing about the spire being used as some sort of school, though I suppose it only made sense to train the next generation of magic users in a place where magic was dominant.
Looking down at the map I’d been provided, I was pleased to see that my current position was reflected upon its surface. But now there was a handy dandy guiding line that pointed down a hallway to my right. And so without further ado, I followed it. People naturally got out of my way, though whether that was because I took up most of the hall or because they knew who I was I wasn’t sure, either way I did my best to not impede their progress too much.
Turning a corner I was suddenly met with an empty hallway, one that slowly began to fill with black smoke. My gut twisted and my head felt heavy, my eyes began to flutter and then I blinked, the hallway was bustling with people, no longer filled with the smoke. I licked my lips, trying to shake the ghosts of the past and move forward, though my legs couldn’t help but shiver slightly with every step I took.
Floor by floor I made my way closer to my target, till eventually I was directed through a door into what looked like every executive's office that I’d ever seen, just with a fantasy twist to it. Or rather, it was the little office for a secretary that I entered, which presumably meant that through the next door was what I was looking for.
A bespectacled goblin lass looked up from a large tome and blinked at me, her eyes rather enlarged thanks to the lenses that sat before them.
“Can I help you?” She drawled tiredly, and I stepped up to a good distance from her desk.
“Yes, I’m here to speak with the Archmage.”
“I do not recall setting any meetings today. May I ask who wishes for this audience?” She said, flipping through another much smaller tome that sat nearby.
“Safa Eventra.”
She continued to look through this smaller book, before freezing, her head slowly turning towards me. Now she really seemed to be looking at me and I could only smile politely back at her.
“A-Apologies your majesty, a moment if you please, I must inform the Archmage of your presence.” She said, hopping down off her chair and scampering hurriedly towards the other door. I didn’t say anything, instead just engaging in the arachne equivalent of rocking back and forth on my heels. She slipped through the door and I could hear muffled speech before several loud thuds and some not so muffled cursing ensued. The goblin secretary appeared, leaning against the door after closing it.
“The archmage will see you in just a moment, your majesty.” She said, resuming her post and doing her best to look professional for me.
“That’s quite alright, I’m in no rush.” I responded, humming softly to myself as I looked around the room. A moment later, I heard a voice call out from the office and since that was my cue, I bowed my head to the secretary and stepped through the door into the archmage's office.
[prev]
submitted by In_Yellow_Clad to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 13:23 C17H23NO2 Got upgraded again. ( Pain medication )

So I recently made my first post here on this subreddit and my first post in general ( still new on Reddit even though I made the account years ago ), about getting a change from Tilidin to Tapentadol. I was taking Tilidin for my back pain for 10 years and Doc and I came to the conclusion that it is time for a substance change without increasing the overall dose too much. It is often heard that just changing around the substance is helping many people in dealing with their pain and Doc was not opposed to it, luckily. ( Found myself a great one ) Now I been to the doc again to discuss the latest ECG and blood test. Nothing worry-some there except a low-ish hemoglobin, and I told him about a pain I don't really get controlled for the last 4-5 weeks. It's right between my shoulder blades on the spine including the muscles left and right from it, and it makes walking and sitting a tragedy, but worst, totally messes with my sleep.
I do take 150mg of Tapentadol in the morning and evening and it was always really effective in what it did, just that this pain always punched through again after some hours. The IR Tapentadol I had ( 50mg/pill ) was not the best help. I had to take two sometimes three to tackle it so I can sleep, or move right after waking up from pain. He doesn't like me being dependent on so much IR medication, which I can totally understand ( the IR comes with a high, which makes an addiction "worse" and so on ), so the decision was made to change the substance again.
The surprising part is, that he went very high in the list instantly. Not a small jump to Morphine or Oxycodone, no. I will now test some Fentanyl Patches for a month. Damn. I have a lot of respect for that. Being from the medical field I know of its potency, and also dangers, so while I am thankful, I am also approaching the whole situation with a lot of respect. It's the 2nd lowest dosage of patches you can get, so we didn't go overboard there, but it still is a significant jump. That said I am happy that he listens to me and we approach everything on a professional non-judgemental level. After having been through years of terrible experiences with doctors in my youth. It's reaffirming and makes me happy / good for my psychological well-being to have such interactions. I am "excited" to see how this will turn out. I have high hopes for it and don't mind at all going over to patches and away from pills and IR pills. As I told my doctor: " I don't get happiness from being high, I get happiness from being able to live my life and do the things I love without pain stopping me from doing them. " I still don't have a proper diagnose, which is sad, but I get more than proper treatment ( many different medication , physical therapy, soon psychological therapy and so on ) so I really can't complain. A new set of diagnostics will be done in a few months in a special clinic focused on muscle / spine / etc pain. Maybe that will shine some light in the dark.
So...that was a lot longer than expected. I don't have any friends to share this with, so I thought I share it with you people. The ones that are the most likely to understand. Thanks for reading, and as a good measure, sorry for any spelling mistakes or impropewrong words. English is not my first language. x) Enjoy your day, I hope it's as sunny and warm as mine. C17
submitted by C17H23NO2 to ChronicPain [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 12:36 AnchorPointsOfficial Anchor Points: Age of Heroes Chapter 9 - Entropy

CHAPTER 9 – ENTROPY
DATE: MARCH 10th, 7 A.U. (AFTER UNIFICATION) LOCATION: SOL SYSTEM, ABOARD UTRN INDOMITABLE WILL
CAPTAIN HENRY O’TOOLE
"Ah, there you are Commander. Your message said there was something you wanted to talk with me about?" Henry asked as his executive officer approached the system map.
“Aye Captain, now's a good a time as any. As you know, the rate of disciplinary incidents has more than tripled in the last two weeks. We've had six fistfights, one near strangling, a few dozen counts of sexual harassment amongst different parties, and a few more incidents of a nature that I would rather not get into for fear of derailing the point of this conversation. I need additional resources to allocate towards ship internal security. With your permission, I'd like to borrow some of our more trusted marines to help the MA's out on their off shifts.” Commander Alvarez asked.
“Yeah, of course, take what you need to nip this in the bud. I can't say I'm entirely surprised; we expected a certain amount of this with the stresses of FTL travel. With everyone cooped up like this, maybe we should brainstorm some new outlets for the crew. Were there any specific incidents I need to get involved with?” Henry replied as he looked up from the list of updates and reports on his own console.
“No, I have it covered. It's just the regs state I need to ask permission to use marines for internal security matters.” The Commander waved it off.
“Excellent, continue to keep me in the loop then. Can I ask you a question?” Henry took the opportunity to ask something that had been bothering him.
“You just did. Hah! Just kidding, put the axe away boy! Now what would you like to know?” He said with a twinkle in his eye.
“I've seen your file, well, the parts that weren’t redacted anyway. If anything, I should be taking your orders! I mean, you're the Space Wolf! Nobody came even close to the number of ships captured or destroyed than you in the early days of the battle for the belt. Why would they want me to be captain when they had someone like you coming along the whole time? Why aren't you a captain anymore? By all right this should be your command, not mine.” Henry asked, after taking one last look around to verify they were still alone around the system map.
Commander Alvarez seemed stunned for a moment before he settled into a more pensive look.
“Listen, son, you're all full of the vigor and high passions of youth. By that I mean you've got a certain fire and aggression in you, yet I've seen you generally keep it balanced by wit and wisdom. You are a perfect match for the job, even if you could use some more real world experience. With some guidance, you'll do just fine, if you can keep strict standards for yourself and crew and a cool head when things get tough."
"I appreciate that, and I will definitely lean on your experience whenever possible. However, you didn't really answer my question... Why aren't you a captain anymore?"
"I... got a lot of damn good men and women killed in an impossible situation when we lost the Michigan-II, and I never truly got over it. No amount of medals, captured enemy ships, or the fact that I've saved many more lives than I lost can make up for that. I finally found peace with that, but that peace required that I relieve myself of any chance of future command. My legacy, for better or worse, is set in stone. Joining this expedition gives me another chance at adjusting the scales without breaking my former vows, even if the only people who will ever know it are here on the voyage with us.”
“So, you claim you have no aims or desires for leadership, but here you are a mere heartbeat away from it.” Henry said, carefully studying his executive officer's every reaction.
“My time for glory is mostly gone, yours is at your feet before you. To the world, I am retired in comfort and isolation. In reality you have me here to help make your will law. You can relax. I already turned down command of this expedition. I was plan A, why do you think they had to scramble to find you? I will take command of this mission only if you are incapable of doing so yourself, Sir. In the meantime, let my experience and whatever wisdom I can offer guide you.”
An emergency alert snapped both of their attention out of their conversation. "There's a fire in one of the officer's cabins?!" Henry’s pulse quickened as he referenced the map to find which one.
“Fuck, it started in Chantal’s room!” Henry said, horrified.
“I've got the CIC under control. Go on and get her out of there, I'll send the cavalry."
“Thank you, Commander.” Henry called back over his shoulder as he rushed for the quick lift.
The officer cabins were the in the very next deck overhead, so he was able to arrive quickly and break into a sprint. The ship shifted as it dodged some antimatter, causing Henry to slip and scramble back to his feet. As he rounded the corner he saw her door was closed and the keypad powered was off. He could hear thumps and muffled screaming from within the room.
"HANG ON CHANTAL, I'M COMING!" Henry shouted in the hope that she could hear him as he pried at the manual override panel.
Two modified Paladin exo-combat armor suits rounded the corner seconds later with a hospitalman trailing behind pushing a medical cart.
"WE'LL TAKE IT FROM HERE, SIR." A speaker-amplified voice spoke from behind him.
One of the Paladin suits accessed the manual control override and forced the door open enough for the other suit to reach in and pry it the rest of the way open as smoke plumed into the corridor. The second suit charged into the room with its flood lights on as a water cannon mounted on the right wrist sprayed flame retardant from a pack on its back. The first suit abandoned the door control and entered, emerging moments later with Chantal awake and coughing from inside the darkened door frame. She was quickly ushered into cleaner air, set gently down, wrapped in a blanket, and was quickly attended to by a hospitalman who began to check her vitals.
Relief flooded Henry’s mind as his adrenaline surge broke against the wall of worry he had built up during his mad dash from the CIC.
“Baby you came for me! I thought I was going to die in there." She pulled him into a tight embrace as she wept in cathartic release.
"Of course I did! I couldn't stand to lose you, especially not over something like this. So, what the hell happened in there?"
"Well you know me, I was all burning the midnight oil and then I smelled smoke! Then there were some sparks, the outlet pops then whoosh! My computer station and my desk are all ablaze along with half my notes, then the damned door wouldn't work! I had to drop to the floor under the smoke and pound on the door in hopes that someone would hear me. God, it was horrible... I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life." She replied with a deep shudder.
"You're safe now, it's going to be alright."
"I know, but what about my work?" She replied with a forlorn look back at her smoke damaged room.
"What about your work?"
"As you know, I lost a ton of it just now, but what’s worse is I don't even have the ability to recover them! Remember how I lost my backup drive last week? Like, I know I packed it and it is not here anywhere! It’s like some sick cosmic joke on me or something. Sorry! Gotta keep it positive, girl! I get to rethink my last few weeks’ worth of work from scratch... that was almost positive! I probably have most of this recoverable from email sent box backups. Fuck, what do you do if there's no good silver lining?” Chantal bemoaned.
Henry couldn’t help himself but laugh for a second, while his girlfriend stared at him, waiting for a response.
“I’m sorry, is this funny to you or something?”
“No, no of course not. This might be one of those times where the only silver lining is that you're alive. Plus, if anyone can remember and rebuild their notes, you can." Henry smiled down at her.
“Fine, fine, at least I am alive. I was only breathing smoke for a few seconds after all.” She said, rolling her eyes. “Thank you for rushing down here right away anyway, it means a lot. You're amazing, you know.”
Henry smiled, slightly uncomfortable for a moment, so he changed the subject.
“I do my best... Anyway, it seems like these electrical issues seem to be getting worse instead of better. Whatever patch these clowns have slapped on my ship to get her to pass inspection is clearly coming undone. What do you think is going on here?” Henry asked in mild exasperation.
“Honestly, I can’t tell you without digging into the systems myself, which I would rather avoid. My plate is full enough as it is right now, especially having to reproduce so much of my own work now. This ship has kilometers of power cables running throughout it, after all, and you have an entire loyal, capable team down there in electrical, so it should only be a matter of time before they sort it out for you. Let them do their jobs without harassing them too much, please?”
Henry felt a little irked at her for not giving him credit to know not to go overboard, but he stowed it, seeing as she ultimately was right.
“The crew has been under a lot of stress, too, between the technical issues with the lights going out, losing power to workstations, or the constant antimatter threat. More than a few people have tried to convince me to turn us around and return to S33 for a more in-depth refit and repair cycle before we try the mission again. So far, everyone has accepted the fact that we are continuing the mission without much argument, but I fear what may happen if these issues are seen as getting worse. Our orders are clear, though, we must continue the journey.” Henry said, uncomfortable with the implications, even if he didn't dare voice it.
“You should get on the Q-Comm to report the fire to S33. Maybe they will order us back to base after this.” She offered, looking for a solution to an impossible problem.
“Good idea, at least the Q-Comm is still working. It’s incredible to me those particles maintained their entanglement once we passed through the baryonic barrier. That alone has been a huge morale boost, being able to contact home base with no time lag.” Henry replied.
“It’s incredible to you because you only have a basic grasp of the science, hon. But that’s alright, very few people truly understand it. That’s in part what you have me here for anyway. Einstein called the effect spooky action from a distance; I always liked that line.”
Henry ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Chantal, with a shake of his head and a smile.
“Listen, Henry, I just had a crazy stressful experience and I need to unwind. Plus, I haven’t slept in almost a day, so I am bone tired. Let’s go to bed, huh? What do you say doc, am I clear to go?” Chantal asked.
The hospitalman closed her eyes and shook her head before responding. "Yes, you are cleared to rest, and only to rest, do you understand me?"
Chantal mouthed a thank you before she took Henry by the hand and led him off to the captain’s quarters. Henry felt no desire to fight it, nor flaw with her reasoning. Sleep sounded good, really good. Plus, he was about an hour from the start of his sleep shift anyway, and Alvarez had the CIC well covered. The lights flickered again, but Henry very purposefully ignored it.
“Hey, since we have a little time and we are both a little wound up, Why don’t we take a shower together real quick?” She said with genuine enthusiasm and a wink.
“Madam, I like the way you think.” The couple raced just a bit faster than regulations would have liked, and arrived at his door in record speed.
Inside the room they fell upon each other in great passion and need, stripping each other out of their BDU’s and underclothes. Henry tossed a giggling Chantal onto the bed, and proceeded to kiss her neck and nibble on her ear causing her to purr in anticipation before he moved down her chest, past her navel, and then eagerly began to move his kisses in between her thighs.
“Hah…. I haven’t showered. Are you sure? Oooookay! I think…. Hah…. Okay.” She said breathlessly as Henry began to work his tongue until she began to shiver and squirm before she cried out as she melted in his mouth.
“Enough, please, I can’t take it anymore! Just fuck me already!” Chantal pulled herself together enough to beg for it. Henry stood rigid and ready and set himself to granting her request, first slowly, and then with a growing intensity. She once more began to squirm as he paid close attention to her hip’s cues, knowing very well by now what she liked.
As she climaxed again, Henry lifted her from the bed and pushed her up against the wall, and then bent her over his desk for a bit before he could take it no longer and they finished together.
“Holy shit… my legs aren’t gonna work for a bit after that one. Help me up?” Chantal said in between shallow breaths.
“Yes, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.” Henry said as he helped her to her feet and into the shower, staying in longer than was strictly necessary.
Henry left the steam first, once more thankful that his cabin included its own small bathroom, rather than a communal one. Being captain had its perks, after all. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, then handed another to Chantal who gratefully accepted it before it dropped to the ground as she stared straight past him.
“Henry!" She squeaked as she pointed past him.
"What?" Henry asked, confused.
"Henry, someone was in here!”
On their bathroom mirror, wiped from the steam were the words TURN BACK.
Henry's blood ran cold and his adrenaline spiked him into overdrive. He waved Chantal back into the shower and put his finger to his lips. She nodded then wrapped herself in her retrieved towel and dropped to the shower floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, whimpering slightly. Henry moved silently along the wall, watching the visible half of his room for any movement. He then burst round the door frame, only to find everything perfectly, precisely as they had left it. The shock of finding nothing collided with the spike of his adrenaline surge, which only fed his growing unease.
“There’s nobody here!” Henry called out after checking the closet, the only other place someone could have hidden.
“Did you lock the door?” Chantal asked, her mind already working on the mystery.
“I set the security protocol to auto lock every time it closes.”
“Paul. We need to talk to Paul.” Chantal said, squeezing her BDU’s up over her hips with a few hops. Henry pulled on his undershirt before tossing over her bra.
“Why would we want to bring that weasel into this?” Henry asked, incredulous at to how he could possibly help.
“Because he has access to the surveillance tapes, why else?”
Henry stared at Chantal, brimming with rage, trying his hardest to keep it isolated to Paul over the invasion of his privacy.
“Did you just say surveillance tapes!?!” Henry asked in an icy tone. “That does it, I’m going to strangle him.” Henry said, moving with a purpose toward the door.
“Stop. Turn around and give me a kiss. I already disabled the video cameras, at least all the ones I could find. He has audio at best, even that I doubt. What he does have that I want is the data from the motion sensor that he had installed just in case you found the more obvious bugs. Unfortunately, I sabotaged its effectiveness by blocking the sensor with dense foam, but there might be enough of something to give us a clue."
“How in the hell do you know about all of this anyway, and why the hell didn’t you tell me?!” Henry roared.
“This entire enterprise is run by an intelligence agency; how can you not have seen that one coming a mile away? I have gotten very good at catching bugs over the years. Just because I expect the invasion of privacy to be happening, doesn’t mean I have to make it easy on them. Just be happy I already took care of the issue, alright?” She replied firmly while staring him in the eyes with raised eyebrows.
“You’re incredible, I love you.” Henry blurted out before he could catch himself. Chantal beamed and tackled him to the bed sitting on his lap.
“What took you so long? Never mind, don’t answer that. I love you too, man have I wanted to say that one for a while now.”
“You know these things aren’t easy for me. I had to be sure, I also didn’t want to mess anything up. We need to be able to work together even if we had turned out to be a bad couple.” Henry admitted, Chantal made an show as she thought it over, but she then smiled and helped Henry to his feet.
“Alright, my captain. You speak great wisdom. While I have certainly felt, and thoroughly enjoyed, the depths of your passion, it is really nice to hear about it too. I do think it makes it all the better that you rule said passion with reason. It’s just one of the many things I love about you.” She said, laying her hand over his heart.
Henry took her other hand and kissed it before replying. “I think above all, I wanted to make sure that I didn’t take you for granted, nor suffer the same in reverse. A wise woman once gave me some great advice there that I have taken to heart.”
“Okay, Romeo, maybe you have a better handle on these things than you think. Now… Let’s go interrogate Paul.” Chantal had a fire in her eyes that Henry was loving very much at that moment.
“I have wanted to turn the screws on that spook for a while now.” Henry smiled as he spoke, and he opened up the connection to the ship’s intranet through his neural implant to send a message.
MEET ME IN YOUR QUARTERS IN 5 MINUTES FOR A DISCUSSION OF CRITICAL IMPORTANCE – CPT. O'TOOLE
“That ought to get him there and alone.” Henry smirked. “Let’s go.”
Together, they made their way to Paul’s equivalent-sized quarters, which he had somehow secured for himself in the ship design to help facilitate his role as the official thorn in Henry’s paw. I guess being the captain’s handler has its perks as well. Henry’s eye twitched at the corner.
After making them wait far too long, Paul opened the door and gesturing them inside. The door closed and Paul turned towards them, narrowing his eyes, studying them both.
“Is this about the fire?” Paul asked before Henry punched the weasel right in the diaphragm, forcing him to gasp for air. The look of shock on his face as he bent forwards was priceless.
“What the fuck, Henry!?” Paul managed to choke out after a minute between gasps.
“Relax, I didn’t do any permanent damage, yet.” Henry said, Paul for just a second showed actual fear in his eyes before he sneered in defiance. “Oh? That got your attention, did it? Why were you spying on me?” Henry growled.
Paul closed his eyes, dropped his head, and began to laugh before Henry grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the wall. Foolishly, Paul even then kept laughing amidst the gasping. So Henry squeezed until Paul started slapping his arm, looking genuine fear once more growing across his face.
“Orders… I was following orders!” Paul managed to say amidst gasps and coughs.
“I thought it might be something like that. You're going to open up those files, now, and you're going to show me everything.” Henry said, dropping him to his feet at last.
“Fucking hell, Henry, I thought you of all people would have anticipated this was going to be the case. Do you think the people who made this all possible would simply let you fly around the most dangerous, advanced warship in human history without some insurance?”
“Don’t try and weasel out of your own personal culpability here. You may also want to think back to other people who were “only following orders” while performing acts they knew were wrong before you wave that line around like some get out of jail free card.” The fact that he had nothing to say spoke volumes.
“You should have told me, Paul.” Henry growled.
“That defeats the purpose! Plus, your girlfriend sabotaged them all before we ever left S33 anyway, and once more after! That type of tech doesn’t just grow on trees you know, and I don’t have an unlimited supply. You should be thanking me for covering for her and reporting back like things are normal!” Paul shouted in indignation.
“This is pointless, show me the files from around fifteen minutes ago, motion trackers, thermals, anything you have that's not blocked or sabotaged.” Henry commanded. Paul’s eyes narrowed, but after a long moment he huffed and closed his eyes.
Paul then sat down at his station and fired it up.
“Like I said, I've got practically nothing. No video, muffled audio and readings from what I assume to be a faulty motion sensor, that’s it. What are we looking for?”
“Chantal and I were, well, together. After we got out of the shower we saw that someone had written turn back in the condensation on the bathroom mirror. Only problem? My door auto locks when closed and only opens for my biometrics. That is why all of this even came up in the first place.”
“Motherfucker. That's a whole heap of bad news.” Paul said. Henry merely nodded, paying rather more attention to the screen to see if he could catch Paul in a lie about the extent of the spying.
“There’s nothing. No disturbances in the air that would even remotely resemble human movement between you two getting in the shower and you charging into your bedroom. With the noise of the shower and the distance to the microphone, there is nothing I can discern that is anomalous. You can see it all right here for yourself.”
Henry found himself even more confused and alarmed than before.
“How is that possible? Look again, run through some filters or something. There must be some evidence somewhere!”
“Alright, relax, I will get to work on this and get you a report by the end of C shift. In the meantime, you look like a mess. Get some sleep man! I can take care of it from here. Oh, and I want you to remember that I forgave you quite magnanimously for that little episode back there where you attacked me.” Henry and Chantal gave each other a look as Paul spoke.
“Wasn’t gonna apologize anyway, you had it coming. I’m going to hit the rack. I expect that report to be detailed and ready when I get up.” Henry took Chantal by the hand, and they left together, not waiting for a response.
“What a snake. Did you see him in there? Zero guilt or recognition whatsoever about spying like that. It just makes my skin crawl. Gives me bad memories.” Chantal said, turning pensive and quiet.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Henry asked, seeing that there was something clearly bothering her.
“I… had an uncle that lived with us from time to time and he would spy on me when I was dressing, try and sneak looks in the shower, stuff like that. Never touched me or anyone else that I know of, thank god, but man did it screw me up a bit still. Played havoc with my sense of security and even my sanity, never being quite sure it was real or all in my head. I wish I had said something, but I was afraid everyone would think I was overreacting or imagining it. I saw it in his eyes though, that look of... predatory lust. At least I didn't see anything like that in Paul's eyes. To this day it makes my skin crawl.”
“Good God, I can see how alone you must have felt in the middle of all that.” He squeezed her hand, she smiled up at him.
“Yeah, that was one of the hardest parts. I don’t think Paul is some raging pervert or anything, but it concerns me how normalized it was to him. Even if he isn’t being a creep with it, as if we can take his claims to be covering for me at face value. There is still no way I am going to let him have easy access to intimate videos of us, if I can possibly help it.” Chantal said before adding, “I’ll be all right, don’t worry about me. Let’s just get some sleep.”
Henry put his palm against the biometric scanner outside his room and the door slid open for them. They definitely needed some sleep after the emotional roller coaster of the past few hours, and the irresistible warm embrace of his bed called for him. The Q-Comm report could wait until he woke, he decided.
Better to have the electrical inspection ordered up, too.
I WANT A FULL REPORT AND INSPECTION PERFORMED ON THE ELECTRICAL FIRE IN CHANTAL’S ROOM BY THE START OF A SHIFT. – CAPT. O'TOOLE
Good enough. Henry thought as he sent the message. Now he could sleep. The chief could handle it from there.
MEANWHILE…
DATE : MARCH 10th, 7 A.U. LOCATION: SOL SYSTEM, ABOARD UTRN INDOMITABLE WILL
FIREMAN APPRENTICE SARAH CALLAHAN
It'll be back again tonight...
Sarah’s haunted thoughts repeated like a mantra. She had to be ready, but how? Her skin crawled and itched, the long sleeves of her BDU’s prevented her from being able to do anything about the painful sensation from the inflamed scratches they hid. She blearily rubbed at her sunken eyes, and she drained the rest of her coffee. All the numbers on the screen had started bleeding in together and her eyes hurt horribly, with the throbbing pain in her abdomen only compounding her misery.
“My god, Sarah, you look a wreck, hon. How have you been sleeping?” Yvonne, her shift partner asked, with concern in her voice.
“I have a monster tension headache, I just hope the meds kick in soon. Can you check my math? I need to get out of these white lights for a few minutes. Close my eyes for a bit, something, anything. I've been having nightmares again.” Sarah felt good, being able to admit it, and Yvonne had long since proven her friendship, so it was easier to actually speak.
“Yeah, no prob. As soon as I am done here I will check your readings and we can get out of here. Do you mean nightmares from the invasion?” Yvonne asked, carefully picking her words and tone.
“Kind of the same general themes, but different. Everything is going wrong, like the worst possible outcomes of my worst nightmares are all combining together. Like, it feels actively malicious, I don't know, its hard to explain...” Sarah said, bleakly.
“That’s hard, I am sorry. You need a shower, and an uninterrupted nap. Sleep deprivation plays all kinds of hell on the body and mind. I had a friend who went through an insomniac phase so extreme he would go days without sleeping. Wound up in the hospital after trying to drive to work while hallucinating his dead fiancée was sitting in the passenger seat screaming at him to watch out. Wound up rear-ending the car in front of him. Thank God he lived to tell the tale, but that is why it worries me to see you like this.” Yvonne planted her hand on Sarah’s shoulder as she told the story.
“Yikes, I think I slept like two hours into my sleep shift before I started having the nightmares again, woke up, and passed in and out of some restless sleep. It got really bad around oh three hundred. There were sounds... noises like scratching and a loud bang, and the shadows were moving. I just kept feeling like I was being watched, but everyone else seemed to be having disturbed sleep in their bunks. God, it was a creepy feeling.” Sarah took a moment to compose herself.
“I know how crazy this will sound, maybe that I am sleep deprived and likely hallucinating like your friend, but just hear me out. There was something there Yvonne, in the dark at the edge of perception, I could feel it. I also know I wasn’t the only one tossing and turning either. I could also hear scratchy whispering, too. I just hid, strapped in under the weighted blanket. At some point I slept some more, I must have, but not for what felt like a few stressful and draining hours. I'm just making a total mess of explaining this, aren’t I?”
“No, you're fine, girl! I am sorry that happened, my dorm has been pretty quiet, but I have always slept like a rock. Is there anything I can do?”
“I could use a hug.” Sarah said, which caused Yvonne to laugh, breaking some of the tension. They embraced warmly for a good minute, which did wonders for relieving some of the headache and her black mood.
“Thanks, Yvonne, I know it’s all in my head and it’s a vicious feedback cycle due to lack of quality sleep. Thanks for listening without calling me crazy.“ Sarah said, shying away from the last thing she hadn’t the courage to say.
She didn’t dare mention how she had hidden under the covers as she felt it get near. How she had felt something pushing on the mattress. How as her fear peaked, she herself peeked over the covers to find nothing there just to have the oppressive feeling evaporate along with the sensation of pressure by her feet. Her dorm mates all seemed to stop stirring after that, and only then did the nightmares stop for her that night. By then she was left with barely enough time for one last short sleep cycle before the start of A shift that very morning. This was a secret she would have to keep to herself, nobody would believe her anyway.
“I think I'll ask the Chief for a break from my duties today to rest and to visit med bay. Maybe they can give me something to help catch back up on my sleep.” Sarah said.
“Good idea, can I come with? I’ll back you up.” Yvonne said. Sarah smiled at her friend before she nodded at her before they checked off the last of their duties on site and headed away to find the Chief.
submitted by AnchorPointsOfficial to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 08:10 eagle2120 [Very Long] Marathon, Angela, and Eragon Connections. Fractalverse and Murtagh Spoilers

I've been meaning to make this post for a while but life kept getting in the way.
There is a bunch of new (well, new to me) stuff I've discovered over the last few weeks, and wanted to share my thoughts with you.
Let's start with the "prequel" (although never canonically confirmed) to the Marathon series was a game called Pathways to Darkness. The backstory for this game is:
Sixty-four million years ago, a large extra-terrestrial object struck the Earth in what would later be called the Yucatan Peninsula, in south eastern Mexico. The dust and rock thrown up by the resulting explosion caused enormous climactic changes in the ensuing years, and many of the Earth's species became extinct during the long winter that followed.
The object itself was buried thousands of feet below ground, its nearly two kilometer length remarkably intact. It remained there, motionless, for thousands of years before it finally began to stir-- and to dream.
Hmm. Buried below ground. Finally beginning to stir and dream. Who does that sound like?
Let's keep going.
The heat of impact liquefied the rock around it, which later cooled and encased the dead god's huge body far below ground. As it began to dream, it wrought unintentional changes in its environment. Locked deep beneath the Earth, strange and unbelievable things faded in and out of reality. Vast caverns and landscapes bubbled to life within the rock, populated by horrible manifestations of the dead god's dream.
As it began to dream, it wrought unintentional changes in its environment.. Locked deep beneath the Earth, strange and unbelievable things faded in and out of reality.
Like Fingerrats? Or like Spider-wolves?
Vast caverns and landscapes bubbled to life within the rock, populated by horrible manifestations of the dead god's dream.
Caverns and landscapes. I want to expand this point here for a bit because it's also mirrored across Alagaesia.
Let's start with Helgrind.
For any FV enjoyers, I've previously speculated that Helgrind is a reliquary, or a previously living being that was transformed (a la Ctein).
But the curious thing here is the timeline of Helgrind and it's tunnel system, taken with the above context.
Q: Assuming it wasn't built by the Ra'zac themselves, was the lair inside Helgrind purpose-built for the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka, or did they appropriate it some time after it was built? If it wasn't built for them, what was its original purpose?
A: Partially natural formations (linked to tunnels elsewhere in Alagaësia), partly expanded by the priests of Helgrind and Galbatorix himself.
But... The Ra'Zac didn't inhabit Helgrind until at least after the Humans came over. So these tunnels underneath Helgrind existed before the Ra'Zac, or Galbatorix ever set foot on Alagaesia. Which, I don't know about you, but a massive network of tunnels does not smell entirely natural to me.
So.. where else are there "natural" formations that link to other tunnels elsewhere in Alagaesia?
We've seen these "natural" formations in Vroengard:
Q: The deeps under Vroengard, were they created by the riders or was it a previous system of caverns that they repurposed?
A: Previous system. I mean, there's been work done on them, but... 'It looks similar, parts of it feel similar to the caverns that we encountered in this book. They both have that hole in the cave which goes deeper, with something in the hole that's not clearly defined.' Yeah.
And we've seen similar depictions in the Beors, and Nal Gorgoth. So from the Beors to Vroengard, "natural" tunnels exist underground. I don't buy that they are entirely natural.
Given the context of the Marathon game above:
Vast caverns and landscapes bubbled to life within the rock, populated by horrible manifestations of the dead god's dream.
I think these tunnels came from Azlagur.
Let's switch gears here, I want to talk about another archaeological mystery in the world of Eragon - El-Harim.
I believe El-Harim was heavily influenced by the (not canon confirmed, but implied) prequel to the Marathon games, the Pathways into Darkness
Pathways casts the player as a member of a US Army Special Forces team sent on a mission to the Yucatán Peninsula. On May 5, 1994, a diplomat from the alien race known as the Jjaro appeared to the President of the United States and informed him that on May 13, an ancient godlike being sleeping beneath a pyramid would awaken and destroy the Earth. The only way to prevent this catastrophe is to prevent the god from awakening. The eight-man Special Forces team carries a nuclear weapon, with the goal of entering the ancient pyramid, descending to the bottom level where the god sleeps, and activating the bomb to stun the god and bury it under tons of rock.
Getting into a bit more of the backstory:
Only during the last few centuries has the god begun to effect changes on the surface of the Earth. Grotesque creatures have been sighted deep in the trackless forest of the Yucatan, and strange rumors of an ancient pyramid-- which is neither Aztec nor Mayan-- in the same area have been circulating in the archaeological community since the early 1930's.
Pyramid, eh? There are two different options here I can think of that equate.
The extended FWW Map
First, in the extended map from FWW, we can see a Pyramid-esque shape - Different color, different slope, etc.
Or, second (and probably more likely), it could be El-Harim:
It is a very bad place. It’s a place where some bad things happened at one point and it’s not a good place to go walking around. I don’t want to get into it too much more because again, it’s a good possibility for another story and I want to keep thinking about it a bit more. It is in Alagaesia and we’ve actually been close to the location.
Many speculate that the below vision from Eragon in Brisingr, which was never explained in the main cycle, is of El-Harim:
And he rested, and visions beset him of a circular stone city that stood in the center of an endless plain and of a small girl who wandered among the narrow, winding alleys within and who sang a haunting melody (A Feast with Friends, Brisingr).
If this vision IS El-Harim , it's super significant because of these two descriptors:
circular stone city
narrow, winding alleys
Fractals. The city itself is a fractal, like Nidus for any FV enjoyers.
The narrow winding alleys are significant because of the descriptors of the Vanished/Grey folk:
The spaces between the structures were narrower than the humans preferred; the proportions were taller, thinner, which matched the images she had seed of the Vanished...
The ancient outline of the city was - as she suspected - a fractal, and the shape of it contained meaning.... At the nexus of the apttern, where it coiled in on itslef like a nautilus shell" (Shards, TSIASOS).
Narrow. Circular (Nautilus shell). Winding. Fractal.
Whatever this city is, El-Harim or otherwise, it is/was a grey folk/vanished city.
And given the quotes from above - "Its a place where some bad things happened at one point", and "dangerous, creeping, ancient, evil thing" - My guess is that the event that caused the Grey Folk to bind the AL to magic happened here, in El-Harim.
Alright, moving along.
Let's talk about the Az and the God. There are a few parallels I've talked around, but the BIG link between the two are Dreams. This is especially important because of the release of the world map recently.
We are the devotees of Azlagur, the Devourer. Azlagur the Firstborn. Azlagur the Dreamer. He who sleeps and whose sleeping mind weaves the warp and weft of the waking world. But the sleep grows restless" (Obliteration, Murtagh).
Versus
As it began to dream, it wrought unintentional changes in its environment. Locked deep beneath the Earth, strange and unbelievable things faded in and out of reality. Vast caverns and landscapes bubbled to life within the rock, populated by horrible manifestations of the dead god's dream.
I could write a whole post about the parallels between the two and their linkage to dreams, but I'll cut it short here for now to save room to dig in to other areas. Specifically, the Dreams connection is especially important because of the relase of the world map recently - I have another post here that gets into more detail, but the translations from the World Map in the middle translate to:
where dreams and dragons dwell
Dreams (!) and Dragons.
Combine that with the Etymology of the words:
Alagaësia ala = land gaësia = rich/fertile
Alalëa ala = land lëa = a beautiful dream
Elëa = the dream itself
So the planet, named Elea, translates to "The Dream Itself". Very interesting.
This is even more significant when you take into account this tweet chain from Chris, a bit earlier in March
Darn it. Just invented a name in the ancient language. Googled it to make sure no one else had used it ... only to discover that I had used it in an earlier book. Lol.
Can we ask what name?
Edurna
I believe the name was a potential candidate for the name of the planet of Alagaesia, which is important because of the etymology of THAT name (All credit to Zora for digging this one up).
Edurna sounds awfully like Adurna and Edur
Adurna meaning water and Edur being a prominence
Prominence. And Water. You know what that sounds like to me? Plaintive Verge. Just food for thought.
Second-to-last Az connection I want to cover: Hunger.
Whirling darkness swallowed him, and at the center of it... lay a formless horror - ancient and evil and from which emanated a constant merciless hunger (Dreams and Portents).
Versus a quote about the cosmic entity in Marathon:
Now I fear what that weapon has unleashed will destroy us. I once boasted to be able to count the atoms in a cloud, to understand them all, predict them, and so did I predict you, but this new chaos is entirely terrible, mindless, obeying rules that I don't comprehend. And it is hungry.
Now, the last piece of Azlagur-related lore I want to cover here is the "Black Sun".
In all of the visions, a Black Sun precipitates Azlagur's rise.
"A black sun rimmed by black flame hung against a darkling sky... The beast rose rampant against the black sun - A wingless dragon, apocalyptic in size, terrifying in presence. Destroyer of hope, eater of light"
Before getting into the Black Sun a bit more, there's an additional connection here I want to touch on - usage of the word rampant in connection with Azlagur.
In Marathon, Rampancy is the enhanced self-awareness of a computer AI, causing a progression towards greater mental abilities and destructive impulses. The destructive impulses, however, are primarily caused by being threatened or harassed. There are three main stages, as well as a fourth and final stage that is rarely achieved, to rampancy, named by the primary attitude of the AI during those times: Melancholia, Anger, Jealousy, and Meta-Stability.
There are some overlaps with what we see from the Maw.
And Melancholia.. that's an interesting word. Especially when taken into context the meaning of the name:
A melancholy dream of great beauty.
Melancholy.. Dream... The pieces of the puzzle are coming together. And Rampant...
Chris also uses that exact same verbiage when discussing a deleted scene from TSIASOS:
Q: I just finished reading To Sleep in a Sea of Stars and I have to know: it sounds like the Wranaui fought the corrupted during the Sundering but if that's true and it happened almost 300 years prior.... Who created the old corrupted? I've been questioning this for days!
A: That was actually in material cut by editors (some of the dream memories). Another Seed/Idealis was damaged and, when the Old Ones tried to separate it from its host, the xeno went rampant.
The xeno went rampant. Very interesting.
Alrighty, I keep getting distracted, back to the black sun.
The reason the Black Sun is important is because it always precipitates Azlagur's rise, throughout several of Murtahgh's visions. In each of them, there is a Black sun.
So, by this, we can extrapolate that the sun needs to be Black in order for Azlagur to rise (which is hinted at at the "Day of Black Sun" celebrations near the end of the book).
But... what does it actually mean?
There is a parallel in Marathon, their weapon:
The trih xeem (also "tri xeem") is an extremely powerful weapon that can be used to force a star into early nova... it was originally conceived and built by the Jjaro [The Old Ones/Vanished equivalent]. Much of the Marathon Infinity story revolves around preventing the Pfhor from using the tri xeem and inadvertently releasing a W'rkncacnter that is supposedly trapped within the Lh'owon sun.
So, the story of the last Marathon games revolves around preventing the usage of the weapon to release the cosmic-level baddie trapped in the sun. So, effectively, the antagonist is imprisoned by the sun.
But.. how does that translate to Azlagur and Murtagh?
The Black Sun requirement for Azlagur's rise could be construed as "imprisonment" by the sun; Azlagur cannot escape until the sun is turned Black. But it only really starts to come together when you piece together these pictures.
First, early concept art for the Fractalverse
You see the black orb, heading directly for the glowing star? Sounds pretty similar.
But that's not the smoking gun; look at the depiction of the black orb in the concept art, and compare it to the trih xeem, the weapon in Marathon.
A black orb with a trail heading directly for the sun. Almost an exact match.
OK.. so I get that it has some relevence in fractalverse, but how does it translate to Eragon?
Well, because of the Beors. Specifically, a picture CHRIS HIMSELF posted about the Beors.
Here
I propose that THIS black orb, at the top of the Beors (which, suspiciously, no one has traveled to) houses the black weapon. After all, the depiction is quite similar - A large, circular, black orb. Looks pretty similar to the other pictures.
And given the above context that Azlagur can only rise with a "Black Sun", the pieces all start to fit together. It's not perfect, but there are definitely a lot of overlaps.
Alright. I've been waiting for this one. The last piece. Let's talk about Angela.
Q: Will we get Angela lore? I feel like she could have killed Galbatorix and just didn't feel like it.
A: For those who don't know Angela is based on my sister Angela, because she breaks the fourth wall to a degree she has. Not only does she have plot armor, she knows she's in a story and can break the story itself. So, yes, she could have killed Galbatorix, but that would have made for a very bad story. That said, I do have an entire book planned around Angela, and it's very high on my list of books to write because it takes place before some of these other big stories I want to write. And that's also the difficult thing. I have my big storylines, and then I have a couple of one off side books I want to write, and it's just a question of time, energy and effort.
She knows she's in a story, and she can break the story.
Based on that, and several other descriptions I will get into in a bit, I think her story is directly related to the Marathon Infinity game.
Marathon Infinity begins as the Pfhor destroy Lh'owon using a Jjaro-derived doomsday weapon known as the Trih Xeem or "early nova". Unfortunately, the weapon also releases a powerful chaotic being: The W’rkncacnter, which threatens to destroy the entire galaxy. Because of the W’rkncacnter's chaos or by means of some Jjaro tech of his own, the player is transported back and forward in time, finding himself jumping between timelines and fighting for various sides in a desperate attempt to prevent the chaotic being's release.
and
In Marathon Infinity, a W'rkncacnter is imprisoned in the sun of planet Lh'owon. It is theorized by some that the W'rkncacnter's powerfully chaotic nature may be responsible for the jumps between realities seen in the game. When the Pfhor use a trih xeem device to send the star into early nova, the creature is released, to the horror and destruction of the Pfhor.
Angela is the Eragon-equivalent of the player.
She can transport back and forward in time, jumping between timelines, and fighting to prevent the chaotic being's (Azlagur's) release. Let's dive in.
First:
Q: Is it canon that Angela the Herbalist is a Time Lord and did she make a cameo in To Sleep in a Sea of Stars?
A: Is Angela the Herbalist is a Time Lord? That would be copyright infringement, so I'm going to say "no comment", but she is in To Sleep in a Sea of Stars. And there is a canon reason for this. And you should have no problem spotting who she is in that book.
So there's a canon reason she's in the book. Interesting. When you take that into context with the next bit
Q: On your last AMA on reddit, someone asked if any fan had guessed the identity and history of Angela correctly. You said nobody has guessed correctly and there's not enough information in the books to do so. That puts every fan theory out there on her wrong, correct? She's not the soothsayer, a time lord, grey folk, etc, correct?
A: Angela: Some of the fan theories have gotten parts of her history and identity correct. However, there's a HUGE aspect to her nature that no one has guessed (or least, not in a non-joking way). And no, I don't mean her being a Time Lord.
So there's a huge aspect to her nature that no one has guessed (at least at the time of writing). She's self-aware, knows she's in a story, and can jump around in time. And, similar to the Marathon games, it appears like only she knows that she's in a story.
So, based on the Marathon inspiration, we can guess that she is trying to accomplish the same thing - To prevent the release of the cosmic-level villain. We know that she has some kind of relationship with the Draumar:
In Murtagh, it’s revealed that Bachel and “Uluthrek” (Mooneater, Angela’s given Urgal name) met with Bachel explicitly going out to confront her (a courtesy not even offered to a Rider like Murtagh)
So, by extension, she has some kind of connection to Azlagur. This is supported by other circumstantial evidence in FWW as well:
Since we know that the Dream Well in Mani's Caves is similar to the Well in Nal Gorgoth I can assume that Angela is revealing the existence of the Draumar to Elva there? I feel certainly feel as if you're setting up her for something in the future series.
Heh. Good Catch.
So, she is clearly working with Elva to do something related to the Dream Wells, and she also previously confronted Bachel, many years ago. So throughout multiple years across the WoE, she is connected to Azlagur and the Draumar; her story clearly revolves around them/Azlagur, somehow.
Putting the above pieces together, my guess is that she is jumping around in different timelines, trying to manipulate actions of the past to prevent the rise of Azlagur. Just like the player character in Marathon. There's another piece of circumstantial evidence to support this assertion as well.
In Marathon Infinity:
After multiple "jumps," the player (seemingly the only one who realizes he is being transported between possible realities)
Versus Angela:
As hours passed, the stars turned above, night chill drew the heat from my body, and I fell into a curious trance, not asleep but not fully awake... The world altered" (On the Nature of Stars, FWW).
I believe this world "Altering" was the first time she experienced an alternate timeline, without knowing what it was at the time.
We've also seen her create "Doorways" as well - Although it's not clear if this is fast traveling (a la a Torque Gate), or truly opening a path to another timeline.
In Eldest:
"As they landed, he noticed a patch of white on a small hill nearby. The patch wavered strangely in the dark, like a floating candle, then resolved into Angela, who was wearing a pale wool tunic" (A Sorceress, a Snake, and a Scroll).
and then later, more concretely:
"I traced a line on the wall, reached out, and opened a door that wasn't there. ON the other side - nighttime, a beach by a black ocean lit only by stars, so many, many stars, more than there should be. Of course, I would not take Elva to my home, not yet. But this was a waypoint, a place to build and learn and grow... She stared into the gap, the impossible portal" (On the Nature of Stars, FWW).
Still, as always with Angela, so many questions.
Alright, we've reached an ungodly wordcount, so I'll call it here. There are still more connections I'm uncovering between the two series (such as the potential connection between the Gedway Ignasia and the "warning" sensation from Marathon), so I might make a follow-up post in the future with everything else I uncover.
As always, thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments, or if you've found any other connections between the two.
submitted by eagle2120 to Eragon [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 05:56 Ok_Ordinary1884 BF’s mom 3 weeks after she was told lump in breast hadn’t spread, died at 58. Metastatic. Aunt, 63, hospitalized 4x in 2 yrs but ‘there was nothing wrong with her.’ Last week aunt went to different hospital and diagnosis metastasized pancreatic cancer, she will pass any day. WTH?!

I’m sorry, it’s a been a rough ride. After becoming homeless due to substance abuse issues, his mom and aunt departed for a small town where they were able to rent a room for $150 a week. They both had income. His mom worked for city hall and had a small pension. The aunt has been collecting SSDI for 30 years and has had a doctor that was prescribing fentanyl, OxyContin, Klonopin and many, many others. My bf grew up in this environment and was only a couple of years sober. I refused to allow them to stay here. They secured an apartment once getting settled, halfway across the country, that they lived in for a bit until his mom collapsed and was rushed to a hospital and died. She had been told that the lump would be removed and she would be fine, 3 weeks prior. She was 58! The aunt has the emotional capacity of an 8 year old and the woman who had hosted them was called by the police when the aunt called 911. Aunt was sent off to a psychiatric hospital and this woman became her caregiver and took her home. It was later discovered that the pharmacist had refused to refill any more medication as the prescriptions were from a doctor in her home state. Fentanyl. Bad back. Okie dokie. The woman said that she found FedEx packages that had been shipped from the prescribing doctor. The aunt stayed with this woman who was adamant that she was substance free. The hospital was apprehensive to release the aunt into her care as she had spent 3 decades on heavy duty medication and was physically and mentally unstable. The woman is a nurse who works for the state. The aunt continued to complain of gastrointestinal problems and was seen by a doctor who said “it’s all in her head, there is nothing wrong with her” OK. Aunt was recently admitted in January to the hospital after becoming unresponsive and was sent from a hospital to a psychiatric facility and released several days later. (The details are fuzzy when dealing with a game of telephone and alcohol) She was sent home with the woman who continued to seek medical attention for her sudden incontinence and described fecal matter all throughout the house. Again last week, aunt collapsed and was rushed to the hospital covered in feces and a bedsheet. She was transported to ANOTHER hospital where she was diagnosed with metastatic pancreatic cancer. She is currently in hospice care at the woman’s home. The whole situation is astonishingly complicated and bizarre as well as emotional. I understand that small town doctors are not always as esteemed as big city doctors, but seriously?! 2 women, 58 and 63 in 2 years..? The aunt had a CAT scan in 2023 when she was dismissed as delusional. The hospital that diagnosed her said she had pancreatic cancer for at least 14 months. I am getting the details together as I write this. All information is coming from a woman I don’t know and clearly has financial motives. The family had been in a house that was passed down through 4 generations that burned down when the mom nodded off with a cigarette. 250K for the land was gone in 6 months and off they went. A side note, the brother had gone to another state and died at just 25 after the house burned down and the cause is still unclear. The brother and the house are unrelated to the issues with the mom and aunt, but are relevant background.
In my non lawyer opinion, malpractice by negligence is quite clear but I needed to spill it out.
submitted by Ok_Ordinary1884 to MedicalMalpractice [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 05:04 PreferenceUnable1121 vfio-pci built-in load order

Okay, so the setup is simple: a custom kernel with (mostly) everything built-in (as opposed to built as a module), and what I'd like to do is force vfio-pci to bind to devices before the actual device drivers do.
It's pretty simple with modules where you can either depmod stuff or built-in vfio-pci so it's loaded first, but, as far as I can see, there's no depmod equivalent for built-in's. Reading this, and looking at drivers/Makefile, it seems like it's possible to just move vfio up in the build order to get it to load earlier, but this seems almost too simple. Has anyone tried this? It doesn't seem like changing the load order like that would break anything, and I'm tempted to just do it™, but I figure I'd rather ask first before my PC starts producing some magic smoke.
EDIT: So yeah, the Makefile patch does actually work, at least in terms of modifying the load order. Whether or not it has any unintended consequences, it's not immediately apparent. Not that it should, seeing how you can technically build every driver except vfio-pci as a module.
submitted by PreferenceUnable1121 to VFIO [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 02:53 Pix0l3r I think having sex after a long time cured my patchy beard

Pretty much self explanatory.
To make it a short post I won't get too deep into it.
Basically I (M20) have been rather hairless when it comes to growing a beard, and not really a hairy guy all over except for a rather impressive head and pubic hair growth-rate.
Im not really sure if this is a universal experience among males but it seemed quite rare given I'd seen contemporary peers of mine grow the equivalent of a corporate beard with no patching. I asked, and obviously googled and was discouraged when encountered with the typical explanation of underlying diseases or hormonal disorders.
Either way, this could be a possibility since I'd say I'm rather low on the masculinity scale (not a big fan of sports, rather calm and not normally in the mood for competing) although at first I didn't want to quite pin it down to testosterone since I had fairly decent developing chest hair and Sagittal line in the abdomen, along with a sexually active and accomplished relationship.
Since that relationship ended, I did notice the low testosterone a lot more, then this year, after approximately 14 months of no sex, I met this girl and immediately felt so much of that energy back. It was like, FUCK where was all this energy for the last year? We instantly hit the ground running and coming onto my 20th birthday we slept together. It's been some weeks since then and it's like a honeymoon now (guess it's the start of the relationship).
But coming back to topic, ever since I met this girl all the bald spots in my facial hair began growing!
Could it be all I needed was to bounce back to life after a heartbreak to actually get my man act together?
I'm pretty happy now :)
TL;DR: OP got laid and grew a beard, off to chop trees and build a kingdom.
submitted by Pix0l3r to BeardTalk [link] [comments]

2024.05.14 21:13 babyyodaonline i just need to vent

this is my first time here but i'm joining this subreddit bc god my cramps today are so bad. they're not always this bad, even tho the first day or two is usually the worst. but this is one of the worst ones i've had in over a year
i took meds as soon as i saw i was bleeding this morning. no cramps but they slowly crept later. now with a heating pad it's still not working. i'm in so much pain and i just cry over anything (i've been watching tiktoks on how to help and seeing other women cry over their periods make me cry).
i'm also so stressed. i do freelance work and i have a project due tomorrow and i was hoping to finish it today! i was gonna pump out hours of work. i cant even think straight. the stress is just adding to the pain omg.
my lower stomach AND lower back are both in pain so i'm alternating my heating pad between the two areas.
i'm gonna make a target order for some heat patches and some soup or something easy and warm to eat later. if i didn't have this work project i could just cry it out for a day but the added stress and pressure is getting to me :(
i'm sorry im just venting here. idk what is going on bc my periods aren't always this bad. do you know the pain is equivalent to a heart attack? that sounds crazy with how much people downplay it but i legit feel like im dying 😭
if anyone has any immediate/ quick tips please share!
submitted by babyyodaonline to Periods [link] [comments]

2024.05.14 21:01 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 2)

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.
submitted by Flagg1991 to LetsReadOfficial [link] [comments]

2024.05.14 20:57 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 2)

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.
submitted by Flagg1991 to LighthouseHorror [link] [comments]

2024.05.14 20:56 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (Part 2)

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.
submitted by Flagg1991 to MrCreepyPasta [link] [comments]

http://rodzice.org/