Plumbers putty and crushed granite sink
I did it again, a new Trimps novelization (more faithful to story messages than the other one) Tightniks Run Zero
2024.05.15 05:22 featherwinglove I did it again, a new Trimps novelization (more faithful to story messages than the other one) Tightniks Run Zero
[OC Intro: The game is modded to increase basic jobs cost, seasonal events are disabled. Much of the crash details are based on NASA/SP-2008-565 Columbia Crew Survival Investigation Report recommendations especially Chapter 3 "Occupant Protection".]
The ship is without power, and Tightniks can't run the radar much without draining the batteries. He has only a few minutes of APU power left, goes over the best clearing he can find, and radars it. It varies by only a few feet from the aerodynamic glideslope there. He spots it out on the cameras and circles to go after that spot. He's only at two hundred feet now. With one hand on the stick, he uses the other to open the pressure equalization valve on the side hatch, then at one hundred feet, gets it undogged. Depending on how much damage he's going to get, it's less likely to be stuck closed and trap him. The dynamic vacuum this pulls in the cockpit rips most of the survival pack data cards from that rack and scatters them across the landscape. Crap, I'm gonna need those! Refocusing on surviving the next few seconds, he turns on the radar for the final approach, takes a last look around, then straight ahead at his forward camera and PFD, he clicks his HANS and shoulder strap locks in; after that, he can barely move, but that now is better than dying in this crash with a broken neck. He's a decent pilot and brings up the flare gently. Bringing up the alpha on this delta-winged ship, he balloons a little, but keeps the nose going up and restores a zero aerodynamic sink rate just above the highest terrain indicated by the radar altimeter. The ship bumps a little in the ground effect, and he can see the radar altitude cycling irregularly up and down about five feet at a time. Rougher than it looked from higher up! The body flap protecting the dead engines hits first, and the nose comes rapidly down. It hits, the screens go blank, and Tightniks is surrounded by airbags, some lifting his feet from the rudder petals and his hand from the control stick. It's blinding, it's disorienting, it's noisy, and, to his relief, it's long! It takes several seconds before the crashing cockpit stops moving. How many times did he flip over? Did he go sideways and roll? Am I rightside up? Are we really stopped on the ground? The airbags deflate, and he can move his arms. He gets his restraints loose and inspects himself. "Uck!" he says out loud (without the 'f'). No broken bones. His pressure suit can take his blood pressure. 116/81, pulse 112, blood oxygen 99 reads off on his left arm, I'll friggin' take it!
The ship is amazingly intact from what he can tell. He can't get any readings. The systems test meter seems to be working, but can't find any voltages anywhere. The ship seems to be completely dead. Behind him, 10 passenger seats are all surrounded by airbags and the back of the cabin ends in some sort of dirt-and-gravel and there's a bit of daylight seeping in around the edges. He was the only one on board, though, so their deployment was mostly academic (they might have stiffened the structure a little during the crash, but that's probably trivial.) Tightniks gets out of his spacesuit. The air on this planet is actually breathable. He gets the hatch open, steps outside and-
"A green shimmer erupts then disappears, and you hit the ground."
The human emerges from the glowing green mist and hits the ground. Groans. Pushes against that ground, trying to get back up. Where am I? What's my name? I remember nothing. Aren't babies born naked? He's got a dark blue button-down shirt on. A uniform? A shoulder patch. Gets up, looks around. I feel really heavy. I'm not that fat, am I? He picks up a small stone from the ground, this also feels heavier than it should. He rises to his feet and holds it out somewhat (he's unable to fully extend his arm) and lets it go. The stone hits the ground near his feet quickly and with remarkable speed. It's the gravity, it's greater than it is on- ...where am I from? This is- ...not my home planet? "Oooh..."
"Ka?" it says.
What is that? It's cute, at least.
It is not tame. He has no hope of catching it on foot. The creature seems to like the berries. Maybe if I gather some of those into one place and set some kind of trap...
33s: First trap.
I got one! The human lumbers up to the trap and gets the catch open. Do you bite? It doesn't matter much to me; I'm so friggin' screwed.
It doesn't. It looks at the human with a sense of wonder, actually. A blink and tilt of the head. Seems almost to be asking, Is it you? My purpose? My savior? Once out of the trap, which is totally wrecked, he has to make a new one from scratch, it follows him around like a imprinted hatchling bird.
Wiry little fella, you are. You're going to need some bulking up to do anything useful. The- ...'trimp', I guess... The trimp seems just barely able to feed itself. The human lets him into the broken ship's intact cabin, and it curls up comfortably in a passenger seat for a nap.
1m03s: Second trap.
"Apparently the Trimps breed if they're not working. Doesn't look pleasant."
What are they doing?
The trimps appear to be androgynous, and these two have paired off in the back of the ship. They're holding something carefully within a few hours, feeding it berries, grass, and- ...corundum.
Corundum?? Whatever that is, it isn't a baby.
1m35s: Third trap.
Only it IS a baby! The third trimp he trapped immediately joined the other two in raising it. They have a strange diet of food the human has found compatible with his own body, but they also eat rocks! They're careful to crush and sort aluminate minerals from silcate ones and only eat aluminate. Actually, they don't eat aluminate, they're only feeding it to the baby.
2m06s: Fourth trap.
All four are raising the same child, who is just starting to toddle. It seems these fellas have alumina or maybe even aluminum bones. The human takes a nap and wakes to find the first child grown up and they're starting to raise a second child, all five of them.
2m46s: Huts.
The human found a working bit of electronics. He calls it a pad, but maybe it's more like a smartphone. It has plans for two residential structures. The first, the smaller one, he can build right away, but the second one needs something called "drywall", and he has to figure out how to make that before he can build it. Huts and houses, apparently.
3m13s: 10 pop, full, first farmer.
The trimp he trained to farm and make paper took an incredible 50 units of food to get bulked up to do the work, and now it's not participating in rearing the child. But less than an hour after the trimp started farming and pulping, the child was out on its own, and the trimps did not start another. The ten seats on the ship were all full. Well, eleven counting the one up front that the human sleeps in. The pilot starts exploring the area.
3m28s: Battle.
Wait, what are you do-
The hostile roars and charges at the human, but one of his trimps jumps in front of him with a stick and they fight. It started right when the human got far enough away from the ship that the hostile non-trimps away from the ship began to regard him as leaving his own territory. After the trimp defeats the first enemy, it continues after other hostiles.
3m53s: Shield I in Z1c5.
The human is easily able to recover the loot in the territory cleared by the fighting trimp. Then he sees something glinting in the- That can't be! What the heck is that? It's a data card that fits his pad. It quite clearly regards trimp combat. He gets it loaded into his pad and studies it. I can do this, it just takes some wood. He returns to the ship to discover that they had already started on a new child before the fighter had even expired in battle. The human concentrates on his research.
4m38s: Mskel in Z1c11 defeated.
The remains of this one seem rather white and shiny. It's titanium! This enemy had titanium bones! He'll store them away. They'll be useful someday, I'm sure.
5m52s: Dagger I in Z1c20.
Where are these data cards coming from? The human wonders as he loads this one into his pad, It's for a weapon it calls a dagger. He blinks. I don't know what a dagger is. I'll take your word for it, data card. Needs metal. He has gathered some, but ore is plentiful. He can just dig and smelt it whenever he wants. For now, I'll continue researching.
6m18s: Arable in Z1c21.
It's an old cave that trimps like to live in. Why weren't they able to live there before? How could these friendly critters be confined to only the exact spot where THAT thing, he looks back where he came from, not remembering that he piloted the wrecked ship to its current resting place, crashed? This is really strange. I'll let them fill up this cave before advancing further. Wait, what about defenses? The hostiles never try to reclaim territory that they've lost, so he stops worrying about that fairly quickly.
8m22s: First hut is 0.3% first ever AP.
The trimps seem fairly easy to please in terms of living quarters. Two move into his first hut and start raising a child. The human has his tent, uniform, and the heater pilfered from his space suit. Not much of a mud fan.
9m59s: Miners in Z1c30.
Oh, what's on this data card? Sl3niw? Oh, I'm holding the pad upside down. Miners. I can teach trimps how to mine ores and smelt met- 200 units of food? Each job is getting more expensive to train a trimp for. He puts his bee nickels to his eyes and spots another data card probably 10 enemies away. "Sc"? Does that means science? I can teach trimps to do science??
13m57s: Scientists in Z1c40.
Due to the expense of training trimps, the human couldn't afford to build them shields until now, he's got Sh1-3 made for the fighter to capture the science training data card. 14m02s: One head went into that turtlimp shell, that of his fighter, but two came out: his fighter still has his head on, and he managed to get the turtlimp's head off. It rushes off after the deadly penguimp in the next cell. The shields are not doing all that much good, actually, but they're better than nothing. The human picks up and loads the science data card and- Holy runny sugar-free fudge crap! 1000 food units, but it'll endow them with the ability to speak. Good. I'm getting bored with no one to talk to.
14m28s: Bloodlust purchased and AutoFight enabled (that delay after getting it is an effect of jacking up the job cost.)
As the human buries this expired little trimp warrior, he comes to the sobering realization that he has more trimp graves in his growing trimp colony than he does live trimps. And yet they seem more hopeful now than before I got to know any of them. They seem to think I'm the solution to all their problems or- Those two look east somberly, then notice that he's watching them and smile back and wave at him. ...one problem that is specific, but very, very huge for them. [The only reason I say 'east' is because that's right on a map, and the game advances right across a row, then up. I might say 'northeast' on occasion for that reason.]
20m47s: Z1c73, Miners taken.
Are you my new mining foreman? The trimp who took to the mining training has dark brown fur that lays flat on its head. It's unusual in not having any bits that stick out from its head, ahoge or whatever. This one is relatively quiet, and while it has assimilated the mining and smelting knowledge, it needs to bulk up to do any mining. Smelting is relatively easy, and getting a strong natural draft going in a furnace is almost trivial with the increased gravity. This trimp builds furnaces like nothing. And likes to nap in holes it digs right on the spot; it's weird that way. [Puchim@s Yukipo, and furnaces are not explicit in Trimps.]
21m58s: Farming in Z1c80.
The resourcing "books" are not data cards but paper scrolls, apparently lost to the trimps. It seems that they were civilized in the recent past and some calamity swept over the planet to reduce them to this. Did I have something to do with it? Amnesia sucks harder than a Dyson- ...what's a Dyson? Whatever, it sucks. This disaster happening just before I crash in the only spot with trimps still alive would be a seriously crazy coincidence! Something is really, really wrong about all this. [The author has not sought or received product placement permission or fee from Dyson Technology Ltd. or any resellers of their stuff, just they literally suck balls and made my favorite vacuum cleaner.]
23m50s: Builder in Z1c90.
They've rescued an, I dunno, gelding trimp? It just started to build a shed around the piled lumber I left to build one. It's really slow compared to me, and just banged its thumb, but it is super cute with that long reddish head fur. That particular trimp is also fascinated with pink ribbons and likes to decorate its head fur with them. Because of its inherent inability to participate in rearing children, it isn't counted in the population. [Puchim@s Io, builder on the basis of Iori seen building in 1x10.]
26m02s: Zone 2, 44 pop, 5.5s RC with Z0/1.
It's some sort of tactical manual - tactical coordination. Coordination! He's starting to sort out some trimpese on the research he has done so far. It needs a lot of metal, so they won't be able to implement it for some time. Hopefully, they're still good one at a time, but these enemies seem to be getting bigger as we go along. Uh oh!
27m33s: Gym in Z2c5.
It's some sort of training dojo or sporting arena. The human examines the ruins, I think I can back-engineer drawings for this, get one built, and see what happens.
29m02s: 1g, 47 pop, 10.8s RC with Z1/2.
The two fighting trimps now with their gym and coordination are dodging and blocking enthusiastically, and making much faster ground against the bad guys then a little while ago when it was just one trimp fighting at a time and unable to avoid the enemy hitting back.
40m46s: Fresh turkimp in Z2c74, 63 pop, 7.9s RC, Sh1-10, Da1-5, Bo1-3, Ma1-3, Hm1-3, 6g.
Oh, wow, the laborers seem really hot after this turkimp. He cooks it up and tries a slice. It's really awesome! I have to work alongside his laboring trimps to share it, but I'm getting used to the gravity now. That scroll we found back in Z2c10 really helped. Trimps' techniques and appliances for handicapped individuals, and I'm really handicapped in this higher gravity. He joins the woodcutters with the turkimp; they're the most numerous resource laborer right now, building more gyms, enough that the block/dodge ability of the fighting trimps is almost caught up to the enemy's ability to cause damage.
43m15s: Zone 3, 63 pop, 7.9s RC with Z1/2.
I'm neglecting my science and trimp scientists are really expensive. Curiously, that grey-haired one can't speak all that well, only says "Tai" and "Shijou", but it can write and draw like nobody's business. It's the only scientist so far. [Puchim@s Takanya: Online references probably still claim that she can utter the first two syllables of any word, but she can actually utter only the first two kana syllables of someone's name, most often the given name of basis human Takane Shijou, who also has that habit. (All the utterances of the puchidoru are based on the speech foibles of their basis humans except maybe Piyopiyo, where I haven't seen anything match up so far.)]
47m32s: Finally, we can make drywall and houses. 59m30s: Z3c77, 94 pop, 7.8s RC.
Oh, those poor things are really struggling up at the front. These trimps are enthusiastic and know no fear, but I still feel like telling them to stop for a while. I don't have the heart to keep them from trying while they're still doing some damage.
1h05m24s: Zone 4, 107 pop, 9.3s RC with Z3/4. 1h15m26s: Zone 5, 120 pop, 8.2s RC with Z3/4.
"What is that?" the human asks. He has three scientists. His first does all the writing, but the other two can actually speak. One of them hops up on a rock spire beside the human to reach his eye level.
At the next ridge line, over the lowest and most passable gap in the terrain, this really mean looking hovering sausage monster.
"I dunno," the scientist trimp shrugs, "But it's making me hungry. Looks like a perfectly cooked frankfurter from here." [John Morell's dubious dirigibles.]
"Oh, yeah," the human nods, "that's a blimp."
"A blimp?" the trimp tilts its head quizzically at the human, "How could you know?"
"I wish I could tell you, little buddy," the human extends his arm braces to descend the pass on the side of the zone boundary in the boss enemy's direction, then grunts, "Let's go kill it."
1h16m11s: Z1c9, 120 pop, 10.3s RC with Z4/5. 1h33m34s: Zone 6, 151 pop, 7.4s RC with Z4/5.
1h33m54s: TP in Z1c3.
"What's this?" the human asks, having picked up the little square document with the curling corners.
"Oh," the hungry scientist looks at it, "It's a garden path, follow me."
"You want to lead me down the garden path?" the human says.
"Yeah," the scientist says.
"Are you kidding?" the human asks.
"No," says the other scientist, "We don't get human humor. Listen, these fighters can't go, let them wear themselves out here, then we'll take the next group through this garden."
"Okay," the human nods, watching two more trimps join the fray as he issues the Z5 coordination orders, "they're doing pretty well after all that block training research we just wrapped up." [That's a common artifact, even in normal games, Z5 Traintacular combines with many gyms, enough population to add several trainers, affording Blockmaster, which is expensive on a run zero, plus a break on Tion Z5, a 40% all-stat increase. I don't think Zach designed it into the game on purpose, it just worked out this way.]
1h34m07s: 151 pop, 10.5s RC with Z5/7. 1h37m44s: Drop from Z6c39, TP for 3.
"Now we have these access map frags we can use to route through the old trimpopoli," the scientist explains, "Atlimpis for food, Morimpa for gems, Everimp for metal, and Impazon for wood."
"What about the garden?" the human asks.
"Well, we got lucky with Tricky Paradise," the scientist says, "but you can randomize the route and maybe get lucky. What's with that look?"
"Somehow, I'm remembering 'frag' as something that blew up with deadly pieces," the human says. [Different video games - ones with better graphics and worse gameplay Ｏ(>▽<)Ｏ]
1h39m59s: Blues back up to the top on series I...
"Tai, Tai!" the first ever trimp scientist stops the human just before he upgrades the mace and dagger to Mk.6 and Mk. 8 respectively. It has a note for him.
"Why do you keep calling me that?" the human asks, "Do you think that's my name?"
"Shijou, Shijou," it nods as though to indicate, I KNOW it is. Then it proffers its note again. The human takes it and reads, "Don't upgrade the first row equipment right now."
"Why not?" the human asks.
"Shijou," it points at the end of the mapped route, where there's a scroll sticking out of the thistles.
2h24m07s: Zone 8, 224 pop, 12.2s RC with Z7/12.
"Your settlement is getting crowded, there's Trimps in the streets, and you're taking heat. You feel a sudden strong desire to create a map, though you're not quite sure how that would help."
2h49m10s: Zone 9, 357 pop, 9.5s RC with Z8/15.
"You can't shake the feeling that you've been here before. Déjà-vu?"
The trimps really seem to like the new high capacity mansions, and the village has rapidly expanded since they started building them.
"There's something familiar about this," the human says.
"Tai," the grey one that writes clings to his arm and shows him a note that says, "Don't give up now."
"We must persist," says the yellow one has found a foothold it can grab onto and grabs the human's shoulder gently, "If you give up to early, we'll never solve this. You'll be stuck here forever."
The human puts his hand over the trimp's paw on his shoulders, then looks at him, "I can die, too."
"No, you can't," the trimp says quietly, "Please don't test that, tall one."
"Death is just another path..." he remembers.
"Gan," the grey one squeaks. [That's the first two kana syllables of "Gandalf"]
"...one that we all must take," the human continues, "The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it-"
"A green mist," the yellow trimp interrupts, "flash of fire, we're all gone and our progress forgotten. The wandering stars return to that day, and you again crash that ship- ...a little better every time."
"Wait," the human looks around, "have I been here before?"
"I-" the yellow trimp tries in futility to share what little it knows, "...or... somebody got just a little coolant into the-"
"Into the what?"
"This side up," the grey one's note says.
"Into the that," the yellow one points at the note, "It really helped. You- ...I don't think we've ever had mansions before."
Well, of course they didn't have mansions before. That was one of my ship's data cards. How did it get way out here? Will anything start to make sense?
3h02m13s: Zone 10, 387 pop, 8.7s RC with Z8/15; '28s: 11.1s RC with Z9/19. 3h16m41s: Tough snimp after food book, L10 rand dept from lo-hi-med 118/25/96, 4 Items.
"That's twice our frags led us to gem-rich Moria," the human says.
"Morimpa," the new red trimp scientist corrects, there now being 5 scientists. [There'd be more if there were more turkimp.]
"The question is how do we use all these gems?" the human looks at the village zoning plans again, "I like those mansions and all, but they use hardly any gems compared to, well-" he gestures at the pile of over two dozen thousand gems they've gathered, "-that! And still a lot of wood and lumber."
"I think there's something," the yellow one sighs, "I wish I knew more."
Quite some time later, after they're done looting that route for equipment plans, the trimps are again advancing through Zone 10, and he hears it.
"Tai?" the grey one wonders.
"Where are you going?" the yellow one asks.
"To the farm," the human answers.
"Whatever for?" the red one seems exasperated.
"Shijou?" the grey one sighs, then looks at the fighting front. It's been around long enough to remember, "Shijou!"
"You guys already get so much to eat this doesn't do you much good," the human explains.
3h32m33s: L11 112/35/78 rand sea, dropped from Z11c6 with disband, 4.
"What's wrong?" the red one asks.
The human comforts one of the wounded. Once trimps start into a zone fight, they have to finish before they bleed out. He's really bothered making them desert in front of that second turkimp. "They had a lot left in them," he sighs, rubbing his eyes, "but we can't keep that much dead turkimp at once, we have to leave it alive to use up all of this one."
"Shijou," the grey one presents a note, "We need this map right away, anyway. Don't worry about it, Tightniks."
"Tightniks?" he looks at the grey one, "Is that me? How do you know?"
"Tai," the grey one points at the top of the human's left breast pocket.
"Ah, crud," the yellow one curls its tail around in front of itself as trimps do when they're embarrassed, "Is that really a name tag?"
The human hadn't even noticed it since the green flash blew up his memory as he was stepping out of the ship.
4h04m22s: Block (sub-8h AP is only 0.3%), taking it, 504 pop, 9.8s RC with Z10/24.
It's a pretty thick book about using shields for block instead of hit points. The pad has the stats analysis. Sh3-1 is only giving us 9% of our hit points. Turning to his trimp scientists, he says, "It seems to me to be worth it."
"Let's," the yellow one nods.
"Shijou," it hands him a note, "It scales badly, but that won't matter for a long time. I think there's a way to undo it before it matters."
"Doing it." The human takes out his pad and starts scanning.
4h29m05s: L14 rand moun 137/26/80 is really good for a lo-hi-med. 4h30m52s: Hotels.
"Ah," the yellow one says, "I knew there was something. That must be it."
5h08m09s: L15 lo-hi-hi rand gard 129/28/82 (just got explorers). 5h09m32s: Picked up Wall.
"Dam," the human says.
"Damn?" the red one chuckles.
"No," the human says, "Earthen wall dam; it's a thing that makes artificial lakes by holding rivers back."
"Lakes?" the yellow one asks, "Rivers?"
"Oh yeah," the human says, "This planet doesn't have enough rain for those..."
5h48m21: Leaving Wall from about c70 to fetch Tion Z15.
"You can't resume the map from the same point if you start another," the human reads the grey one's note.
"We can go back to the same point on that route if we hold there and finish Zone 15, right?" Tightniks asks.
"Shijou!" it seems to be saying yes.
"Yes," the yellow one adds, "but we're out of Series III upgrades, and you need a fresh map route to start up Series IV."
"We should be okay," Tightniks says, "but if we have to start it over, I don't see that being a big deal." As they advance through the rest of Zone 15, Tightniks resumes his usual duties at the research desk instead building and running traps like he was before.
The trimps seem hopeful at this decision.
5h49m10s: Fresh turkimp. 5h50m16s: Zone 16, 1071 pop, 13.4s RC with Z15/75, 13m43s turkimp (skel in c1.)
"Z:16 Seriously? Another Blimp so soon?"
"So," Tightniks lowers his bee nickels and looks at the red one, "is it going to be boss fights at the end of every zone from now on?"
"Hmm," the red trimp looks up past the human at some random rock spire or cloud.
"Well?" the human persists.
"Yup," he says.
"Hmph," Tightniks grabs a Sw3-1 of the rack and advances towards the front, "Before then, we have another Mister Titanium."
"What does he like about skeletimps?" the red one asks the grey one as the human marches off.
"Shijou?" the grey one seems just as confused by that.
"He's not going back to the ship, and he's not getting himself killed," the yellow one smiles, "so I'll take it."
5h58m32s...
"Hey guys, go for the mortar!" the human suggests to his 75 fighting trimps in the Wall's boss fight.
"I can tell from your bedtime stories that you're used to the artillery in that other place," the yellow one gripes, "but fighting works differently here, there's no artillery."
And the human instantly collapses laughing, the scientists a little worried he might have injured himself in the planet's severe gravity. But he's okay, at least physically, "Mortar is the stuff between the bricks, fellas. That's is a brickimp, right?"
5h59m18s: Wall, 1076 pop, 13.3s RC, 1% AP for sub-8h finish, first L16 roll good 156/35/84 moun, 10 for the metal.
Beyond the Wall was a more edenic section of the trimpolis ruins, doubling the production of the lumberjacks. The trimps are actually really happy with the mode of all of the laborers moving between the three big jobs, along with the turkimp, except for the foremen specialized at leading the job. It isn't enough to boost their productivity, but the human goes to them with trays of sandwiches.
6h06m52s: 50 map run 0.3% AP...
6h19m13s: Zone 17, 1141 pop, 16.0s RC with Z16/94, no turkimp.
"Z:17 You climb a large cliff and look out over the new Zone. Red dirt, scorched ground, and devastation. Is that a Dragimp flying around out there?!"
"Hmm," the human surveys the new zone with his bee nickels, "Looks like crap. Any ideas?"
"You're the idea man," the yellow one groans.
"Set the map flag," he puts his bee nickels away, "We'll run a depth for practice and to load up on gems for more hotels."
"Righto," the red one gets to work.
6h44m34s: First DCP. (Draglimp Care Package; I refuse to call it a tribute.)
"Oh," the human says, "It's tame now, so it brings back gems in exchange for food?" He looks at his gaping scientists, "That's what it looks like, huh? Guys? Yo!"
"Tai..." the grey one sighs.
Draglimp, the dragimp imprinted on Tightniks, lands beside the human, drops some gems at his feet, and accepts some scratching behind its horns before diving into the food bowl.
"You tamed a dragimp???" Grey's note says.
"Well," the yellow one huffs, "I guess that happened."
8h18m53s: L20 depth of 154/27/79.
"Mapping up here?" the red one half closes one eye and tilts his head.
"Yeah," the human says while fitting together the depth map fragments, "With the coordination book not right at the end, we have an extra mark of coordination to take advantage of. Let's take our housing up to 2000 or so, shall we?"
"Okay," the yellow one says from a pile of logs, "What's all the wood for?" They had been collecting it for days now.
"The series upgrades follow a rather specific pattern," Tightniks explains, "Just on the other side of this blimp is Zone 21, where we should be able to find the Shield series V, right?"
"Shijou!" the grey one nods.
8h56m17s: 1% AP for 100 map runs, leaving it, 1751 pop, 24.8s RC with Z20/232. 8h56m54s: Zone 21...
"Ooooookay," Tightniks growls, "There is something off about this thing."
"Shijou?" the grey one looks at the yellow one with concern about their human starship pilot friend.
The human stoops, picks up the little green gem on the ridge between Zone 20 and 21, looks at it, huffs, and asks, "Any idea where this comes from?"
"Err..." the red one seems hesitant to say, "I think you made it."
"Really?" the human huffs, "How could that be?" Then he tosses it at Red, "See if anything reacts to it. It might be radioactive, so we should take turns to minimize exposure."
"Really?" Red's holding it now, "What makes you say that?"
"Because I'm pissed off for no reason I can figure out," the human says, "I think it's coming from that."
"Frags," the red one says quickly, "I think it's arranging a route. You're good with maps," it tosses the gem to the grey scientist.
"Shijou," the grey one says hopefully, and has a map drawn within a few minutes. [Whether it looks like the one in Puchim@s 1x61 is anyone's guess. That one annoyed me as well as Chihya.]
9h02m37s: L21 moun first roll was a decent 160/26/84. 9h21m00s: Starting run 5 of that map...
Tightniks had taken his anger out on some food and wood to build about 8000 traps. Now he's leaning against a rock spire in his increasingly tattered uniform. A nap begins, perhaps unintentionally.
Wild trimps are examining the pile, finding it unwelcoming, and also finding no place in the town, just mill about. It looks like they want to help.
"Ku?" it's a blue trimp, probably a farmer waiting for stuff to grow, climbs up on the rock spire the human is leaning against, starts patting him on the head, "Ku. Ku ku." [Puchim@s Chihya.]
9h23m09s: Still working that lap...
Tightniks wakes up from that nap, and the grey one is standing there. "Shijou," it says with a note of concern, although not much of one. The note it holds says, "It wasn't me."
"Oh, what wasn't you, buddy?" He stretches out a bit, feeling somewhat refreshed. It feels like somebody washed his face and hair while he was sleeping.
The grey one is also holding a small mirror, apparently broken off from a larger mirror and with the sharp edges filed down to make the edges safe.
The human takes it from the grey trimp and holds it in front of his face to discover that somebody has bound up all his hair into about twenty little pigtails. He touches them with his other hand to confirm. "Eh, whatever." He hands the mirror back and goes back to sleep. [Puchim@s Koamimami.]
9h30m08s: The following run...
"He's not throwing stuff every which way yet," the yellow one whispers to the red one, watching the human snoozing with his pad on his knee.
"You remember that, too?" the red one asks.
"'Remember'?" the yellow one turns to face the red one, "I s'pose that's better than imagining it."
"I remember it, too," the grey one says via a playing card sized note.
"If we're stuck in a time loop," the yellow one sighs, "maybe this cycle will be different."
"Tai..." the grey one admires him for a moment. Then thumbs in the direction of the mountain, "Heh, Shijou!" it laughs.
9h35m58s: Run 8, c9 of that map.
The scientists nap and take notes, and meditate and take notes, and draw stuff. The grey one often storyboards for the other nine because it's the best at drawing stuff. They have come up with a list, and most probably "order" (they're debating whether their ranking means "order" (sequence of things happening over the various loops) or "frequency" (what proportion of previous loops they have happened in). But they've come up with this, from first (or perhaps most often) to most recent (or perhaps least often):
- The ship crashes (they're pretty sure that happens every loop) - The human builds huts - The human teaches some of his trimps to speak and do science - The human builds houses - The human makes maps - The human builds mansions - The human blows up and gets himself killed somewhere around Z17 to Z21, often on a dragimp - The human only recently/occasionally builds hotels - The human only recently/rarely tamed a dragimp - The human only recently/rarely maps the Dimension of Anger
They're all agreed that that they have never finished the Dimension of Anger. What they are not all agreed on is that they've never done this conference to figure out whether they're in a time loop or what that might mean. [See also Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "Cause and Effect" ...which was sort of a time loop but they weren't going back in time. It's very interesting, but its meta makes no sense - no one ever went looking for the Bozeman in 80 years? No one who went looking for the Bozeman also got stuck? No one noticed the passage of time outside the little area of space where the not-quite-a-time-loop was happening? Errr... sci-fi writers, don't be half-assed about your time loops, lmao! Be like Harold Ramis- ...what am I saying?? (That would be Groundhog Day, which grafted a time loop into a romcom; there are no other sci-fi elements. But it was a full-blown time loop and not half-assed like "Cause and Effect".)]
9h54m06s: Dropped from Z21c95...
I think it would be a bad idea to bypass that green area, as much as I'd rather not face it. Both his domesticated trimps, which are breeding up a new group of fighters, and the wild trimps he has decided just now not to open the traps for, stare at him and point in that direction. He shoulders a huge Shield V-3 and grabs an Mace IV-2 as well and announces, "We're doing it." Thus equipped, he marches off into the Dimension of Anger.
10h27m53s: Taking Pi4-2; recently had taken Pa4-2...
The group at the front had expired, and the snimp in DoAc95 glares at the advancing colony of trimps, which had halted only because of it. It refuses to counterattack the vulnerable colony and its human, instead snorting and huffing, waiting for the next bunch of 232 fighting trimps to come in range.
Tightniks runs along the line of traps, releasing the recently tamed trimps, singing a song that he doesn't remember the meaning of, that he doesn't remember was crafted by an ethnically Chinese guy out of an African language, and later mastered by two caucasians over the internet before they ever met in person. "Baba yetu yetu uliye, mbinguni yetu yetu amina..." because it just happened to be stuck in his head. [Because the Doylian author decided on a whim to. Christopher Tin got it into Civilization IV and at the time (2010 July), I made the best video for it on YouTube, which got subsequently blown to shreds when Peter Hollens and Malukah re-recorded the song from scratch in their own voices and instruments in 2014, pity with no English translation, the purpose of my video.]
Noticing the last batch of metal he needs coming out of the furnace, he waves the waiting grey scientist to fire up the forge [to use the term properly and not as the game does], for it was time to wrap up the forging dies for the Spetum IV, Mark 2 pike heads.
"Shijou!" the grey one cheers, setting aside a snack that looks like maybe ramen, and starts jumping up and down on the bellows handle.
It takes a while for the human to chip out the tip in the two halves of the forging die, and then polish it, and then heat it up in the forge, and then quench it, inspect it, and put it into service crafting thousands of new pike heads for the fighting trimps.
But only one second passed on the map frame clock (10h27m54s) four cells behind that snimp, in the case being brooded over by this huge, and if it's honest, rather concerned megablimp.
10h35m45: Portal PB, 45 He, 4.247 He/hr, 1891 pop, 22.7s RC with Z20/232, no turkimp.
The last head of the map's boss monster goes limp as one of the fighting trimps' mace heads bounces of it, and the huge thing settles on its tail, resting on the package that seems to be the prize of this map. And there's a popping sound, and then something mechanical.
Is that a scroll compressor? Tightniks looks at the package. The deflating monster's lifting envelope material drapes over everything underneath it. "Red, Shijou!" he snaps and points, "roll up that side of it. Keep this part from sucking down on the extractor nozzle!"
All ten of the scientists jump in, literally, pushing the gas in the bag towards the compressor. Tightniks as well, rolling up the front.
Until he kicks, and nearly trips over, a smaller package that might be the explanation for the reason why the center of the monster's defense seemed to be a little away from the big package he could see. It's in the right place, he realizes. He gets it uncovered and reads stenciled-and-sprayed block letters on it:
"DT TIME PORTAL / THIS SIDE DOWN"
Perhaps the Dimension of Anger is so named because of the rage suddenly rising up in Tightniks' throat. It isn't so much as the free-floating aggression suddenly has an answer, there is definitely a fresh batch of rage and anger as he grips the nearest Mace IV, Mark 3 with both hands and gets it over his shoulder, its target obviously this object, anger at the realization he screams at the top of his lungs, "We are stuck in a mutha FAH-king time loop!!" His swing begins. [Tightniks almost never cusses, unlike Snugniks.]
submitted by featherwinglove to Trimps [link] [comments]
The ship is without power, and Tightniks can't run the radar much without draining the batteries. He has only a few minutes of APU power left, goes over the best clearing he can find, and radars it. It varies by only a few feet from the aerodynamic glideslope there. He spots it out on the cameras and circles to go after that spot. He's only at two hundred feet now. With one hand on the stick, he uses the other to open the pressure equalization valve on the side hatch, then at one hundred feet, gets it undogged. Depending on how much damage he's going to get, it's less likely to be stuck closed and trap him. The dynamic vacuum this pulls in the cockpit rips most of the survival pack data cards from that rack and scatters them across the landscape. Crap, I'm gonna need those! Refocusing on surviving the next few seconds, he turns on the radar for the final approach, takes a last look around, then straight ahead at his forward camera and PFD, he clicks his HANS and shoulder strap locks in; after that, he can barely move, but that now is better than dying in this crash with a broken neck. He's a decent pilot and brings up the flare gently. Bringing up the alpha on this delta-winged ship, he balloons a little, but keeps the nose going up and restores a zero aerodynamic sink rate just above the highest terrain indicated by the radar altimeter. The ship bumps a little in the ground effect, and he can see the radar altitude cycling irregularly up and down about five feet at a time. Rougher than it looked from higher up! The body flap protecting the dead engines hits first, and the nose comes rapidly down. It hits, the screens go blank, and Tightniks is surrounded by airbags, some lifting his feet from the rudder petals and his hand from the control stick. It's blinding, it's disorienting, it's noisy, and, to his relief, it's long! It takes several seconds before the crashing cockpit stops moving. How many times did he flip over? Did he go sideways and roll? Am I rightside up? Are we really stopped on the ground? The airbags deflate, and he can move his arms. He gets his restraints loose and inspects himself. "Uck!" he says out loud (without the 'f'). No broken bones. His pressure suit can take his blood pressure. 116/81, pulse 112, blood oxygen 99 reads off on his left arm, I'll friggin' take it!
The ship is amazingly intact from what he can tell. He can't get any readings. The systems test meter seems to be working, but can't find any voltages anywhere. The ship seems to be completely dead. Behind him, 10 passenger seats are all surrounded by airbags and the back of the cabin ends in some sort of dirt-and-gravel and there's a bit of daylight seeping in around the edges. He was the only one on board, though, so their deployment was mostly academic (they might have stiffened the structure a little during the crash, but that's probably trivial.) Tightniks gets out of his spacesuit. The air on this planet is actually breathable. He gets the hatch open, steps outside and-
"A green shimmer erupts then disappears, and you hit the ground."
The human emerges from the glowing green mist and hits the ground. Groans. Pushes against that ground, trying to get back up. Where am I? What's my name? I remember nothing. Aren't babies born naked? He's got a dark blue button-down shirt on. A uniform? A shoulder patch. Gets up, looks around. I feel really heavy. I'm not that fat, am I? He picks up a small stone from the ground, this also feels heavier than it should. He rises to his feet and holds it out somewhat (he's unable to fully extend his arm) and lets it go. The stone hits the ground near his feet quickly and with remarkable speed. It's the gravity, it's greater than it is on- ...where am I from? This is- ...not my home planet? "Oooh..."
"Ka?" it says.
What is that? It's cute, at least.
It is not tame. He has no hope of catching it on foot. The creature seems to like the berries. Maybe if I gather some of those into one place and set some kind of trap...
33s: First trap.
I got one! The human lumbers up to the trap and gets the catch open. Do you bite? It doesn't matter much to me; I'm so friggin' screwed.
It doesn't. It looks at the human with a sense of wonder, actually. A blink and tilt of the head. Seems almost to be asking, Is it you? My purpose? My savior? Once out of the trap, which is totally wrecked, he has to make a new one from scratch, it follows him around like a imprinted hatchling bird.
Wiry little fella, you are. You're going to need some bulking up to do anything useful. The- ...'trimp', I guess... The trimp seems just barely able to feed itself. The human lets him into the broken ship's intact cabin, and it curls up comfortably in a passenger seat for a nap.
1m03s: Second trap.
"Apparently the Trimps breed if they're not working. Doesn't look pleasant."
What are they doing?
The trimps appear to be androgynous, and these two have paired off in the back of the ship. They're holding something carefully within a few hours, feeding it berries, grass, and- ...corundum.
Corundum?? Whatever that is, it isn't a baby.
1m35s: Third trap.
Only it IS a baby! The third trimp he trapped immediately joined the other two in raising it. They have a strange diet of food the human has found compatible with his own body, but they also eat rocks! They're careful to crush and sort aluminate minerals from silcate ones and only eat aluminate. Actually, they don't eat aluminate, they're only feeding it to the baby.
2m06s: Fourth trap.
All four are raising the same child, who is just starting to toddle. It seems these fellas have alumina or maybe even aluminum bones. The human takes a nap and wakes to find the first child grown up and they're starting to raise a second child, all five of them.
2m46s: Huts.
The human found a working bit of electronics. He calls it a pad, but maybe it's more like a smartphone. It has plans for two residential structures. The first, the smaller one, he can build right away, but the second one needs something called "drywall", and he has to figure out how to make that before he can build it. Huts and houses, apparently.
3m13s: 10 pop, full, first farmer.
The trimp he trained to farm and make paper took an incredible 50 units of food to get bulked up to do the work, and now it's not participating in rearing the child. But less than an hour after the trimp started farming and pulping, the child was out on its own, and the trimps did not start another. The ten seats on the ship were all full. Well, eleven counting the one up front that the human sleeps in. The pilot starts exploring the area.
3m28s: Battle.
Wait, what are you do-
The hostile roars and charges at the human, but one of his trimps jumps in front of him with a stick and they fight. It started right when the human got far enough away from the ship that the hostile non-trimps away from the ship began to regard him as leaving his own territory. After the trimp defeats the first enemy, it continues after other hostiles.
3m53s: Shield I in Z1c5.
The human is easily able to recover the loot in the territory cleared by the fighting trimp. Then he sees something glinting in the- That can't be! What the heck is that? It's a data card that fits his pad. It quite clearly regards trimp combat. He gets it loaded into his pad and studies it. I can do this, it just takes some wood. He returns to the ship to discover that they had already started on a new child before the fighter had even expired in battle. The human concentrates on his research.
4m38s: Mskel in Z1c11 defeated.
The remains of this one seem rather white and shiny. It's titanium! This enemy had titanium bones! He'll store them away. They'll be useful someday, I'm sure.
5m52s: Dagger I in Z1c20.
Where are these data cards coming from? The human wonders as he loads this one into his pad, It's for a weapon it calls a dagger. He blinks. I don't know what a dagger is. I'll take your word for it, data card. Needs metal. He has gathered some, but ore is plentiful. He can just dig and smelt it whenever he wants. For now, I'll continue researching.
6m18s: Arable in Z1c21.
It's an old cave that trimps like to live in. Why weren't they able to live there before? How could these friendly critters be confined to only the exact spot where THAT thing, he looks back where he came from, not remembering that he piloted the wrecked ship to its current resting place, crashed? This is really strange. I'll let them fill up this cave before advancing further. Wait, what about defenses? The hostiles never try to reclaim territory that they've lost, so he stops worrying about that fairly quickly.
8m22s: First hut is 0.3% first ever AP.
The trimps seem fairly easy to please in terms of living quarters. Two move into his first hut and start raising a child. The human has his tent, uniform, and the heater pilfered from his space suit. Not much of a mud fan.
9m59s: Miners in Z1c30.
Oh, what's on this data card? Sl3niw? Oh, I'm holding the pad upside down. Miners. I can teach trimps how to mine ores and smelt met- 200 units of food? Each job is getting more expensive to train a trimp for. He puts his bee nickels to his eyes and spots another data card probably 10 enemies away. "Sc"? Does that means science? I can teach trimps to do science??
13m57s: Scientists in Z1c40.
Due to the expense of training trimps, the human couldn't afford to build them shields until now, he's got Sh1-3 made for the fighter to capture the science training data card. 14m02s: One head went into that turtlimp shell, that of his fighter, but two came out: his fighter still has his head on, and he managed to get the turtlimp's head off. It rushes off after the deadly penguimp in the next cell. The shields are not doing all that much good, actually, but they're better than nothing. The human picks up and loads the science data card and- Holy runny sugar-free fudge crap! 1000 food units, but it'll endow them with the ability to speak. Good. I'm getting bored with no one to talk to.
14m28s: Bloodlust purchased and AutoFight enabled (that delay after getting it is an effect of jacking up the job cost.)
As the human buries this expired little trimp warrior, he comes to the sobering realization that he has more trimp graves in his growing trimp colony than he does live trimps. And yet they seem more hopeful now than before I got to know any of them. They seem to think I'm the solution to all their problems or- Those two look east somberly, then notice that he's watching them and smile back and wave at him. ...one problem that is specific, but very, very huge for them. [The only reason I say 'east' is because that's right on a map, and the game advances right across a row, then up. I might say 'northeast' on occasion for that reason.]
20m47s: Z1c73, Miners taken.
Are you my new mining foreman? The trimp who took to the mining training has dark brown fur that lays flat on its head. It's unusual in not having any bits that stick out from its head, ahoge or whatever. This one is relatively quiet, and while it has assimilated the mining and smelting knowledge, it needs to bulk up to do any mining. Smelting is relatively easy, and getting a strong natural draft going in a furnace is almost trivial with the increased gravity. This trimp builds furnaces like nothing. And likes to nap in holes it digs right on the spot; it's weird that way. [Puchim@s Yukipo, and furnaces are not explicit in Trimps.]
21m58s: Farming in Z1c80.
The resourcing "books" are not data cards but paper scrolls, apparently lost to the trimps. It seems that they were civilized in the recent past and some calamity swept over the planet to reduce them to this. Did I have something to do with it? Amnesia sucks harder than a Dyson- ...what's a Dyson? Whatever, it sucks. This disaster happening just before I crash in the only spot with trimps still alive would be a seriously crazy coincidence! Something is really, really wrong about all this. [The author has not sought or received product placement permission or fee from Dyson Technology Ltd. or any resellers of their stuff, just they literally suck balls and made my favorite vacuum cleaner.]
23m50s: Builder in Z1c90.
They've rescued an, I dunno, gelding trimp? It just started to build a shed around the piled lumber I left to build one. It's really slow compared to me, and just banged its thumb, but it is super cute with that long reddish head fur. That particular trimp is also fascinated with pink ribbons and likes to decorate its head fur with them. Because of its inherent inability to participate in rearing children, it isn't counted in the population. [Puchim@s Io, builder on the basis of Iori seen building in 1x10.]
26m02s: Zone 2, 44 pop, 5.5s RC with Z0/1.
It's some sort of tactical manual - tactical coordination. Coordination! He's starting to sort out some trimpese on the research he has done so far. It needs a lot of metal, so they won't be able to implement it for some time. Hopefully, they're still good one at a time, but these enemies seem to be getting bigger as we go along. Uh oh!
27m33s: Gym in Z2c5.
It's some sort of training dojo or sporting arena. The human examines the ruins, I think I can back-engineer drawings for this, get one built, and see what happens.
29m02s: 1g, 47 pop, 10.8s RC with Z1/2.
The two fighting trimps now with their gym and coordination are dodging and blocking enthusiastically, and making much faster ground against the bad guys then a little while ago when it was just one trimp fighting at a time and unable to avoid the enemy hitting back.
40m46s: Fresh turkimp in Z2c74, 63 pop, 7.9s RC, Sh1-10, Da1-5, Bo1-3, Ma1-3, Hm1-3, 6g.
Oh, wow, the laborers seem really hot after this turkimp. He cooks it up and tries a slice. It's really awesome! I have to work alongside his laboring trimps to share it, but I'm getting used to the gravity now. That scroll we found back in Z2c10 really helped. Trimps' techniques and appliances for handicapped individuals, and I'm really handicapped in this higher gravity. He joins the woodcutters with the turkimp; they're the most numerous resource laborer right now, building more gyms, enough that the block/dodge ability of the fighting trimps is almost caught up to the enemy's ability to cause damage.
43m15s: Zone 3, 63 pop, 7.9s RC with Z1/2.
I'm neglecting my science and trimp scientists are really expensive. Curiously, that grey-haired one can't speak all that well, only says "Tai" and "Shijou", but it can write and draw like nobody's business. It's the only scientist so far. [Puchim@s Takanya: Online references probably still claim that she can utter the first two syllables of any word, but she can actually utter only the first two kana syllables of someone's name, most often the given name of basis human Takane Shijou, who also has that habit. (All the utterances of the puchidoru are based on the speech foibles of their basis humans except maybe Piyopiyo, where I haven't seen anything match up so far.)]
47m32s: Finally, we can make drywall and houses. 59m30s: Z3c77, 94 pop, 7.8s RC.
Oh, those poor things are really struggling up at the front. These trimps are enthusiastic and know no fear, but I still feel like telling them to stop for a while. I don't have the heart to keep them from trying while they're still doing some damage.
1h05m24s: Zone 4, 107 pop, 9.3s RC with Z3/4. 1h15m26s: Zone 5, 120 pop, 8.2s RC with Z3/4.
"What is that?" the human asks. He has three scientists. His first does all the writing, but the other two can actually speak. One of them hops up on a rock spire beside the human to reach his eye level.
At the next ridge line, over the lowest and most passable gap in the terrain, this really mean looking hovering sausage monster.
"I dunno," the scientist trimp shrugs, "But it's making me hungry. Looks like a perfectly cooked frankfurter from here." [John Morell's dubious dirigibles.]
"Oh, yeah," the human nods, "that's a blimp."
"A blimp?" the trimp tilts its head quizzically at the human, "How could you know?"
"I wish I could tell you, little buddy," the human extends his arm braces to descend the pass on the side of the zone boundary in the boss enemy's direction, then grunts, "Let's go kill it."
1h16m11s: Z1c9, 120 pop, 10.3s RC with Z4/5. 1h33m34s: Zone 6, 151 pop, 7.4s RC with Z4/5.
1h33m54s: TP in Z1c3.
"What's this?" the human asks, having picked up the little square document with the curling corners.
"Oh," the hungry scientist looks at it, "It's a garden path, follow me."
"You want to lead me down the garden path?" the human says.
"Yeah," the scientist says.
"Are you kidding?" the human asks.
"No," says the other scientist, "We don't get human humor. Listen, these fighters can't go, let them wear themselves out here, then we'll take the next group through this garden."
"Okay," the human nods, watching two more trimps join the fray as he issues the Z5 coordination orders, "they're doing pretty well after all that block training research we just wrapped up." [That's a common artifact, even in normal games, Z5 Traintacular combines with many gyms, enough population to add several trainers, affording Blockmaster, which is expensive on a run zero, plus a break on Tion Z5, a 40% all-stat increase. I don't think Zach designed it into the game on purpose, it just worked out this way.]
1h34m07s: 151 pop, 10.5s RC with Z5/7. 1h37m44s: Drop from Z6c39, TP for 3.
"Now we have these access map frags we can use to route through the old trimpopoli," the scientist explains, "Atlimpis for food, Morimpa for gems, Everimp for metal, and Impazon for wood."
"What about the garden?" the human asks.
"Well, we got lucky with Tricky Paradise," the scientist says, "but you can randomize the route and maybe get lucky. What's with that look?"
"Somehow, I'm remembering 'frag' as something that blew up with deadly pieces," the human says. [Different video games - ones with better graphics and worse gameplay Ｏ(>▽<)Ｏ]
1h39m59s: Blues back up to the top on series I...
"Tai, Tai!" the first ever trimp scientist stops the human just before he upgrades the mace and dagger to Mk.6 and Mk. 8 respectively. It has a note for him.
"Why do you keep calling me that?" the human asks, "Do you think that's my name?"
"Shijou, Shijou," it nods as though to indicate, I KNOW it is. Then it proffers its note again. The human takes it and reads, "Don't upgrade the first row equipment right now."
"Why not?" the human asks.
"Shijou," it points at the end of the mapped route, where there's a scroll sticking out of the thistles.
2h24m07s: Zone 8, 224 pop, 12.2s RC with Z7/12.
"Your settlement is getting crowded, there's Trimps in the streets, and you're taking heat. You feel a sudden strong desire to create a map, though you're not quite sure how that would help."
2h49m10s: Zone 9, 357 pop, 9.5s RC with Z8/15.
"You can't shake the feeling that you've been here before. Déjà-vu?"
The trimps really seem to like the new high capacity mansions, and the village has rapidly expanded since they started building them.
"There's something familiar about this," the human says.
"Tai," the grey one that writes clings to his arm and shows him a note that says, "Don't give up now."
"We must persist," says the yellow one has found a foothold it can grab onto and grabs the human's shoulder gently, "If you give up to early, we'll never solve this. You'll be stuck here forever."
The human puts his hand over the trimp's paw on his shoulders, then looks at him, "I can die, too."
"No, you can't," the trimp says quietly, "Please don't test that, tall one."
"Death is just another path..." he remembers.
"Gan," the grey one squeaks. [That's the first two kana syllables of "Gandalf"]
"...one that we all must take," the human continues, "The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it-"
"A green mist," the yellow trimp interrupts, "flash of fire, we're all gone and our progress forgotten. The wandering stars return to that day, and you again crash that ship- ...a little better every time."
"Wait," the human looks around, "have I been here before?"
"I-" the yellow trimp tries in futility to share what little it knows, "...or... somebody got just a little coolant into the-"
"Into the what?"
"This side up," the grey one's note says.
"Into the that," the yellow one points at the note, "It really helped. You- ...I don't think we've ever had mansions before."
Well, of course they didn't have mansions before. That was one of my ship's data cards. How did it get way out here? Will anything start to make sense?
3h02m13s: Zone 10, 387 pop, 8.7s RC with Z8/15; '28s: 11.1s RC with Z9/19. 3h16m41s: Tough snimp after food book, L10 rand dept from lo-hi-med 118/25/96, 4 Items.
"That's twice our frags led us to gem-rich Moria," the human says.
"Morimpa," the new red trimp scientist corrects, there now being 5 scientists. [There'd be more if there were more turkimp.]
"The question is how do we use all these gems?" the human looks at the village zoning plans again, "I like those mansions and all, but they use hardly any gems compared to, well-" he gestures at the pile of over two dozen thousand gems they've gathered, "-that! And still a lot of wood and lumber."
"I think there's something," the yellow one sighs, "I wish I knew more."
Quite some time later, after they're done looting that route for equipment plans, the trimps are again advancing through Zone 10, and he hears it.
"Tai?" the grey one wonders.
"Where are you going?" the yellow one asks.
"To the farm," the human answers.
"Whatever for?" the red one seems exasperated.
"Shijou?" the grey one sighs, then looks at the fighting front. It's been around long enough to remember, "Shijou!"
"You guys already get so much to eat this doesn't do you much good," the human explains.
3h32m33s: L11 112/35/78 rand sea, dropped from Z11c6 with disband, 4.
"What's wrong?" the red one asks.
The human comforts one of the wounded. Once trimps start into a zone fight, they have to finish before they bleed out. He's really bothered making them desert in front of that second turkimp. "They had a lot left in them," he sighs, rubbing his eyes, "but we can't keep that much dead turkimp at once, we have to leave it alive to use up all of this one."
"Shijou," the grey one presents a note, "We need this map right away, anyway. Don't worry about it, Tightniks."
"Tightniks?" he looks at the grey one, "Is that me? How do you know?"
"Tai," the grey one points at the top of the human's left breast pocket.
"Ah, crud," the yellow one curls its tail around in front of itself as trimps do when they're embarrassed, "Is that really a name tag?"
The human hadn't even noticed it since the green flash blew up his memory as he was stepping out of the ship.
4h04m22s: Block (sub-8h AP is only 0.3%), taking it, 504 pop, 9.8s RC with Z10/24.
It's a pretty thick book about using shields for block instead of hit points. The pad has the stats analysis. Sh3-1 is only giving us 9% of our hit points. Turning to his trimp scientists, he says, "It seems to me to be worth it."
"Let's," the yellow one nods.
"Shijou," it hands him a note, "It scales badly, but that won't matter for a long time. I think there's a way to undo it before it matters."
"Doing it." The human takes out his pad and starts scanning.
4h29m05s: L14 rand moun 137/26/80 is really good for a lo-hi-med. 4h30m52s: Hotels.
"Ah," the yellow one says, "I knew there was something. That must be it."
5h08m09s: L15 lo-hi-hi rand gard 129/28/82 (just got explorers). 5h09m32s: Picked up Wall.
"Dam," the human says.
"Damn?" the red one chuckles.
"No," the human says, "Earthen wall dam; it's a thing that makes artificial lakes by holding rivers back."
"Lakes?" the yellow one asks, "Rivers?"
"Oh yeah," the human says, "This planet doesn't have enough rain for those..."
5h48m21: Leaving Wall from about c70 to fetch Tion Z15.
"You can't resume the map from the same point if you start another," the human reads the grey one's note.
"We can go back to the same point on that route if we hold there and finish Zone 15, right?" Tightniks asks.
"Shijou!" it seems to be saying yes.
"Yes," the yellow one adds, "but we're out of Series III upgrades, and you need a fresh map route to start up Series IV."
"We should be okay," Tightniks says, "but if we have to start it over, I don't see that being a big deal." As they advance through the rest of Zone 15, Tightniks resumes his usual duties at the research desk instead building and running traps like he was before.
The trimps seem hopeful at this decision.
5h49m10s: Fresh turkimp. 5h50m16s: Zone 16, 1071 pop, 13.4s RC with Z15/75, 13m43s turkimp (skel in c1.)
"Z:16 Seriously? Another Blimp so soon?"
"So," Tightniks lowers his bee nickels and looks at the red one, "is it going to be boss fights at the end of every zone from now on?"
"Hmm," the red trimp looks up past the human at some random rock spire or cloud.
"Well?" the human persists.
"Yup," he says.
"Hmph," Tightniks grabs a Sw3-1 of the rack and advances towards the front, "Before then, we have another Mister Titanium."
"What does he like about skeletimps?" the red one asks the grey one as the human marches off.
"Shijou?" the grey one seems just as confused by that.
"He's not going back to the ship, and he's not getting himself killed," the yellow one smiles, "so I'll take it."
5h58m32s...
"Hey guys, go for the mortar!" the human suggests to his 75 fighting trimps in the Wall's boss fight.
"I can tell from your bedtime stories that you're used to the artillery in that other place," the yellow one gripes, "but fighting works differently here, there's no artillery."
And the human instantly collapses laughing, the scientists a little worried he might have injured himself in the planet's severe gravity. But he's okay, at least physically, "Mortar is the stuff between the bricks, fellas. That's is a brickimp, right?"
5h59m18s: Wall, 1076 pop, 13.3s RC, 1% AP for sub-8h finish, first L16 roll good 156/35/84 moun, 10 for the metal.
Beyond the Wall was a more edenic section of the trimpolis ruins, doubling the production of the lumberjacks. The trimps are actually really happy with the mode of all of the laborers moving between the three big jobs, along with the turkimp, except for the foremen specialized at leading the job. It isn't enough to boost their productivity, but the human goes to them with trays of sandwiches.
6h06m52s: 50 map run 0.3% AP...
6h19m13s: Zone 17, 1141 pop, 16.0s RC with Z16/94, no turkimp.
"Z:17 You climb a large cliff and look out over the new Zone. Red dirt, scorched ground, and devastation. Is that a Dragimp flying around out there?!"
"Hmm," the human surveys the new zone with his bee nickels, "Looks like crap. Any ideas?"
"You're the idea man," the yellow one groans.
"Set the map flag," he puts his bee nickels away, "We'll run a depth for practice and to load up on gems for more hotels."
"Righto," the red one gets to work.
6h44m34s: First DCP. (Draglimp Care Package; I refuse to call it a tribute.)
"Oh," the human says, "It's tame now, so it brings back gems in exchange for food?" He looks at his gaping scientists, "That's what it looks like, huh? Guys? Yo!"
"Tai..." the grey one sighs.
Draglimp, the dragimp imprinted on Tightniks, lands beside the human, drops some gems at his feet, and accepts some scratching behind its horns before diving into the food bowl.
"You tamed a dragimp???" Grey's note says.
"Well," the yellow one huffs, "I guess that happened."
8h18m53s: L20 depth of 154/27/79.
"Mapping up here?" the red one half closes one eye and tilts his head.
"Yeah," the human says while fitting together the depth map fragments, "With the coordination book not right at the end, we have an extra mark of coordination to take advantage of. Let's take our housing up to 2000 or so, shall we?"
"Okay," the yellow one says from a pile of logs, "What's all the wood for?" They had been collecting it for days now.
"The series upgrades follow a rather specific pattern," Tightniks explains, "Just on the other side of this blimp is Zone 21, where we should be able to find the Shield series V, right?"
"Shijou!" the grey one nods.
8h56m17s: 1% AP for 100 map runs, leaving it, 1751 pop, 24.8s RC with Z20/232. 8h56m54s: Zone 21...
"Ooooookay," Tightniks growls, "There is something off about this thing."
"Shijou?" the grey one looks at the yellow one with concern about their human starship pilot friend.
The human stoops, picks up the little green gem on the ridge between Zone 20 and 21, looks at it, huffs, and asks, "Any idea where this comes from?"
"Err..." the red one seems hesitant to say, "I think you made it."
"Really?" the human huffs, "How could that be?" Then he tosses it at Red, "See if anything reacts to it. It might be radioactive, so we should take turns to minimize exposure."
"Really?" Red's holding it now, "What makes you say that?"
"Because I'm pissed off for no reason I can figure out," the human says, "I think it's coming from that."
"Frags," the red one says quickly, "I think it's arranging a route. You're good with maps," it tosses the gem to the grey scientist.
"Shijou," the grey one says hopefully, and has a map drawn within a few minutes. [Whether it looks like the one in Puchim@s 1x61 is anyone's guess. That one annoyed me as well as Chihya.]
9h02m37s: L21 moun first roll was a decent 160/26/84. 9h21m00s: Starting run 5 of that map...
Tightniks had taken his anger out on some food and wood to build about 8000 traps. Now he's leaning against a rock spire in his increasingly tattered uniform. A nap begins, perhaps unintentionally.
Wild trimps are examining the pile, finding it unwelcoming, and also finding no place in the town, just mill about. It looks like they want to help.
"Ku?" it's a blue trimp, probably a farmer waiting for stuff to grow, climbs up on the rock spire the human is leaning against, starts patting him on the head, "Ku. Ku ku." [Puchim@s Chihya.]
9h23m09s: Still working that lap...
Tightniks wakes up from that nap, and the grey one is standing there. "Shijou," it says with a note of concern, although not much of one. The note it holds says, "It wasn't me."
"Oh, what wasn't you, buddy?" He stretches out a bit, feeling somewhat refreshed. It feels like somebody washed his face and hair while he was sleeping.
The grey one is also holding a small mirror, apparently broken off from a larger mirror and with the sharp edges filed down to make the edges safe.
The human takes it from the grey trimp and holds it in front of his face to discover that somebody has bound up all his hair into about twenty little pigtails. He touches them with his other hand to confirm. "Eh, whatever." He hands the mirror back and goes back to sleep. [Puchim@s Koamimami.]
9h30m08s: The following run...
"He's not throwing stuff every which way yet," the yellow one whispers to the red one, watching the human snoozing with his pad on his knee.
"You remember that, too?" the red one asks.
"'Remember'?" the yellow one turns to face the red one, "I s'pose that's better than imagining it."
"I remember it, too," the grey one says via a playing card sized note.
"If we're stuck in a time loop," the yellow one sighs, "maybe this cycle will be different."
"Tai..." the grey one admires him for a moment. Then thumbs in the direction of the mountain, "Heh, Shijou!" it laughs.
9h35m58s: Run 8, c9 of that map.
The scientists nap and take notes, and meditate and take notes, and draw stuff. The grey one often storyboards for the other nine because it's the best at drawing stuff. They have come up with a list, and most probably "order" (they're debating whether their ranking means "order" (sequence of things happening over the various loops) or "frequency" (what proportion of previous loops they have happened in). But they've come up with this, from first (or perhaps most often) to most recent (or perhaps least often):
- The ship crashes (they're pretty sure that happens every loop) - The human builds huts - The human teaches some of his trimps to speak and do science - The human builds houses - The human makes maps - The human builds mansions - The human blows up and gets himself killed somewhere around Z17 to Z21, often on a dragimp - The human only recently/occasionally builds hotels - The human only recently/rarely tamed a dragimp - The human only recently/rarely maps the Dimension of Anger
They're all agreed that that they have never finished the Dimension of Anger. What they are not all agreed on is that they've never done this conference to figure out whether they're in a time loop or what that might mean. [See also Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "Cause and Effect" ...which was sort of a time loop but they weren't going back in time. It's very interesting, but its meta makes no sense - no one ever went looking for the Bozeman in 80 years? No one who went looking for the Bozeman also got stuck? No one noticed the passage of time outside the little area of space where the not-quite-a-time-loop was happening? Errr... sci-fi writers, don't be half-assed about your time loops, lmao! Be like Harold Ramis- ...what am I saying?? (That would be Groundhog Day, which grafted a time loop into a romcom; there are no other sci-fi elements. But it was a full-blown time loop and not half-assed like "Cause and Effect".)]
9h54m06s: Dropped from Z21c95...
I think it would be a bad idea to bypass that green area, as much as I'd rather not face it. Both his domesticated trimps, which are breeding up a new group of fighters, and the wild trimps he has decided just now not to open the traps for, stare at him and point in that direction. He shoulders a huge Shield V-3 and grabs an Mace IV-2 as well and announces, "We're doing it." Thus equipped, he marches off into the Dimension of Anger.
10h27m53s: Taking Pi4-2; recently had taken Pa4-2...
The group at the front had expired, and the snimp in DoAc95 glares at the advancing colony of trimps, which had halted only because of it. It refuses to counterattack the vulnerable colony and its human, instead snorting and huffing, waiting for the next bunch of 232 fighting trimps to come in range.
Tightniks runs along the line of traps, releasing the recently tamed trimps, singing a song that he doesn't remember the meaning of, that he doesn't remember was crafted by an ethnically Chinese guy out of an African language, and later mastered by two caucasians over the internet before they ever met in person. "Baba yetu yetu uliye, mbinguni yetu yetu amina..." because it just happened to be stuck in his head. [Because the Doylian author decided on a whim to. Christopher Tin got it into Civilization IV and at the time (2010 July), I made the best video for it on YouTube, which got subsequently blown to shreds when Peter Hollens and Malukah re-recorded the song from scratch in their own voices and instruments in 2014, pity with no English translation, the purpose of my video.]
Noticing the last batch of metal he needs coming out of the furnace, he waves the waiting grey scientist to fire up the forge [to use the term properly and not as the game does], for it was time to wrap up the forging dies for the Spetum IV, Mark 2 pike heads.
"Shijou!" the grey one cheers, setting aside a snack that looks like maybe ramen, and starts jumping up and down on the bellows handle.
It takes a while for the human to chip out the tip in the two halves of the forging die, and then polish it, and then heat it up in the forge, and then quench it, inspect it, and put it into service crafting thousands of new pike heads for the fighting trimps.
But only one second passed on the map frame clock (10h27m54s) four cells behind that snimp, in the case being brooded over by this huge, and if it's honest, rather concerned megablimp.
10h35m45: Portal PB, 45 He, 4.247 He/hr, 1891 pop, 22.7s RC with Z20/232, no turkimp.
The last head of the map's boss monster goes limp as one of the fighting trimps' mace heads bounces of it, and the huge thing settles on its tail, resting on the package that seems to be the prize of this map. And there's a popping sound, and then something mechanical.
Is that a scroll compressor? Tightniks looks at the package. The deflating monster's lifting envelope material drapes over everything underneath it. "Red, Shijou!" he snaps and points, "roll up that side of it. Keep this part from sucking down on the extractor nozzle!"
All ten of the scientists jump in, literally, pushing the gas in the bag towards the compressor. Tightniks as well, rolling up the front.
Until he kicks, and nearly trips over, a smaller package that might be the explanation for the reason why the center of the monster's defense seemed to be a little away from the big package he could see. It's in the right place, he realizes. He gets it uncovered and reads stenciled-and-sprayed block letters on it:
"DT TIME PORTAL / THIS SIDE DOWN"
Perhaps the Dimension of Anger is so named because of the rage suddenly rising up in Tightniks' throat. It isn't so much as the free-floating aggression suddenly has an answer, there is definitely a fresh batch of rage and anger as he grips the nearest Mace IV, Mark 3 with both hands and gets it over his shoulder, its target obviously this object, anger at the realization he screams at the top of his lungs, "We are stuck in a mutha FAH-king time loop!!" His swing begins. [Tightniks almost never cusses, unlike Snugniks.]
2024.05.15 04:56 zaddar1 photos/ staring out from a smooth granite block
the suicidal
step out
into death
who am i to judge ?
for what eternity holds
no-one knows
the low reading aged
if you write something they can’t understand
then according to them
its your fault
so they reject
this is the path of mediocrity
and cretinism
all religions schism, narratives of homogeneity require force to maintain (which can be extremely brutal historically)
Knock Out Asinine Nits
photos
staring out from a smooth granite block
if not quizzical
then should be
stuck in eternity
like that
somewhere
there must be a couple that mesh
and get along with each other
somewhere
i’m gone
the world rolls on
i disappear
and appear
the pages of a book that flick through
some words rest
and others don’t
skimming stones
eventually
stop
and sink
rhoticity explained to me, i now understand it, but otherwise i wouldn’t have had a clue except for the joking use of irish, scottish, canadian or usa accents
i think the zen term "seamless monument" is a metaphor for reality, you can’t penetrate it, there’s no artefact of manufacture since it has no seam, it can only be traversed, which btw is the basic philosophical problem of existence, there is no "inner" reality that subsumes "the detail of being"
“ I m currently 16 years old and a "child prodigy". I started university at 14. I have thus far only received one grade which was not an A+. It was an A-. I have memorized 100 digits of pi, the periodic table, and most of the Dungeons & Dragons rulebooks. I am learning Latin, Ancient Greek, Biblical Hebrew, Sahidic Coptic, Spanish, and Italian. I just like old languages. I don’t have to study long — I have a nearly photographic memory. When I do study, I just write things out over and over. I am a very visual thinker, so I remember pictures. Ask me anything ! ”
ed. she also has ehlers-danlos syndrome and is ADHD
in my view, the languages are a big mistake, they interfere with each other
“ Why do you think that ? ”
the languages you list are particularly disjunctive its a heavy learning burden with heaps of "opportunity costs" and the skill is becoming increasingly redundant with AI translators
also my experience of polyglots is they get damaged in some way
the brain is not infinitely capable, beware of burning it in waste of time activities, which to be honest a lot of so called education is
dr. alan cole argues that zen masters are in fact "made-over" daoist sages
i would go further and say that the koan system involves the same sort of "puzzling process" as the tao te ching
when you hear this sort of crap from the policy making elites, no wonder china is a problem !
the real impact of the one child policy may be the scarcity of anyone at the higher levels of government or policy being able to think straight
of course, this is to the advantage of the west and is the same problem japan had in WW2, idiots determining their strategic direction
boundaries crossing
abatement of being
from this perspective
everything looks crazy
really ?
do you ever listen to anything outside your own echo chamber ?
sad souls
in the twilight of their lives
mumbling gibberish
the words of others
are not your own
if you actually understood
why wouldn’t you use your own words ?
time separates
that childhood intensity
fades
as the branches grow apart
what was not seen at the time
is now seen
you are not well read and have an "anti-creative" mindset !
i’m getting on in years and just can’t be bothered to deal with your hubris
good-bye
ed. the net is full of these entitled gen Z’ers with a deeply entrenched intellectual inertia created by a malfunctioning education system
valves, muscle, connective tissue, timing
easy to see how it can go wrong as we get older
this dynamic core of existence in the center of our chests where every beat needs to be followed by another
i think religion can be regarded as a hallucination, the hallucination being that a literary work is real, perhaps most easily seen in the beliefs of ancient egypt, what are the pyramids and all those smaller tombs about ?
the reification of stories
these people
who
rather than bringing something to the table
only
take
and
are
impertinent
with
it
the puzzle of the poetry of others
seems to need the conversion
into something
i understand
"the girl on a bulldozer" (2022), a good tightly written kdrama
caodong poetry 23; verses on master fushan’s sixteen themes #4; touzi; translated by suru
the jade hare conceives, entering the purple palace
reeds bloom on both shores, shadowing egrets
an old fisherman lifts his oar, dispersing mist, returning home
.
不落死活。 金雞日裏報春時。 玉兔懷胎入紫微。 兩岸蘆華映白鷺。 漁翁舉棹撥煙歸。
.
my reply
one day
the distance travelled
catches up with you
and you have arrived
.
one day
the distance travelled
catches up with you
you
have
arrived
ed. the terms in suru’s translation are very chinese and have a historical perspective, so i have "reworked" it into something modern that people will understand
“ ChatGPT-4 scored higher than 100% of psychologists on a test of social intelligence ”
hilarious
a tui calls
stunning the silence
my day is filled
with melody
ed. the tui is a new zealand native songbird
if you have ever attempted to count the number words in a book or whatever, which i have, count the number in a couple of paragraphs, then multiply by the inverse of whatever proportion of a page it is then multiply by the number of pages and i figure you get within 10% which is close enough
i’ve written millions of words, its like an exclusive club and its interesting to know who else is in it
giacomo casanova’s autobiography
the book comprises 12 volumes and approximately 3,500 pages (1.2 million words) covering casanova’s life from his birth to 1774
i have read most of it, people misunderstand him as a legendary lothario, but he is much more interesting than that
submitted by zaddar1 to zen_mystical [link] [comments]
step out
into death
who am i to judge ?
for what eternity holds
no-one knows
if you write something they can’t understand
then according to them
its your fault
so they reject
this is the path of mediocrity
and cretinism
staring out from a smooth granite block
if not quizzical
then should be
stuck in eternity
like that
there must be a couple that mesh
and get along with each other
somewhere
the world rolls on
i disappear
and appear
the pages of a book that flick through
some words rest
and others don’t
eventually
stop
and sink
ed. she also has ehlers-danlos syndrome and is ADHD
in my view, the languages are a big mistake, they interfere with each other
“ Why do you think that ? ”
the languages you list are particularly disjunctive its a heavy learning burden with heaps of "opportunity costs" and the skill is becoming increasingly redundant with AI translators
also my experience of polyglots is they get damaged in some way
the brain is not infinitely capable, beware of burning it in waste of time activities, which to be honest a lot of so called education is
i would go further and say that the koan system involves the same sort of "puzzling process" as the tao te ching
the real impact of the one child policy may be the scarcity of anyone at the higher levels of government or policy being able to think straight
of course, this is to the advantage of the west and is the same problem japan had in WW2, idiots determining their strategic direction
abatement of being
from this perspective
everything looks crazy
do you ever listen to anything outside your own echo chamber ?
sad souls
in the twilight of their lives
mumbling gibberish
are not your own
if you actually understood
why wouldn’t you use your own words ?
that childhood intensity
fades
as the branches grow apart
what was not seen at the time
is now seen
i’m getting on in years and just can’t be bothered to deal with your hubris
good-bye
ed. the net is full of these entitled gen Z’ers with a deeply entrenched intellectual inertia created by a malfunctioning education system
easy to see how it can go wrong as we get older
this dynamic core of existence in the center of our chests where every beat needs to be followed by another
the reification of stories
who
rather than bringing something to the table
only
take
and
are
impertinent
with
it
seems to need the conversion
into something
i understand
- not falling into life or death
the jade hare conceives, entering the purple palace
reeds bloom on both shores, shadowing egrets
an old fisherman lifts his oar, dispersing mist, returning home
.
不落死活。 金雞日裏報春時。 玉兔懷胎入紫微。 兩岸蘆華映白鷺。 漁翁舉棹撥煙歸。
.
my reply
one day
the distance travelled
catches up with you
and you have arrived
.
one day
the distance travelled
catches up with you
you
have
arrived
ed. the terms in suru’s translation are very chinese and have a historical perspective, so i have "reworked" it into something modern that people will understand
hilarious
stunning the silence
my day is filled
with melody
ed. the tui is a new zealand native songbird
i’ve written millions of words, its like an exclusive club and its interesting to know who else is in it
the book comprises 12 volumes and approximately 3,500 pages (1.2 million words) covering casanova’s life from his birth to 1774
i have read most of it, people misunderstand him as a legendary lothario, but he is much more interesting than that
2024.05.15 04:53 SpiderPidge Any plumbers here able to install my sink and toilet?
I have 0 idea how to even start with this. Are there any plumbers on here that could possibly install a sink and toilet for me? I would pay of course.
submitted by SpiderPidge to Chattanooga [link] [comments]
2024.05.15 04:35 HoopoeOfHope Grey hair
Some say that the night is the calmest time of the day, others never find serenity in the silence of the night.
I remember those nights when I woke up after short slumbers. I absent-mindedly made my way to the sink, purposefully keeping my head down as I washed my face.
Then came that one night, when I kept my eyes shut longer than usual after I had closed the faucet. I remember how I gathered all the courage I had, and I lifted my head slowly. I opened my eyes to see the mirror in front of me, and there I was looking at myself. A twenty-five-year-old man with more than twenty-five grey hairs on his head. That sight turned my apathy into rage. Without thinking, I raised my hand and I started to pluck every grey hair. Every time I plucked a hair I cursed a moment of my life. Hair after hair, I lost count. After I had plucked the last one that I could find I took deep breaths, looking back at myself. My hair was completely dark, like how a young man should have.
In awe of what I had just done, I stared at myself. I brushed back my hair with my hand, and as I did, I saw one last grey hair that hid underneath. I was determined to do to it the same thing that I did, but when I saw it by itself, I felt pity for it; for myself. It seemed as if it were begging for mercy, screaming "what have I done?" I slowly let it go and looked back into my eyes. I took some other deep breaths, and I told myself: "From this moment until the time those hairs grow back, I'll do what I can. To learn how to live, to escape this burden that I hold in my chest." I went back to my room, changed my clothes, and wore my jacket and headed to the house door. I put my hand on the metal handle, I remember how cold it was that winter. I opened the door.
I remember when I took the first step of my journey late at night. The smell of rain fresh in the air. The still water on the roads reflected the yellow lamps, creating a frigid world sparkling with dazzling lights. I slipped my hands into my pockets, and wandered aimlessly through the streets. No sounds were heard that hour, everyone was dreaming in their sleep. I walked between cars and through alleyways, reaching places that I never knew existed. I felt alone at that time, but that solitude was comforting. When I walk alone, no one knows where I go. My feet took the lead, head lost in thoughts.
I found myself on top of a hill at the edge of town. From that hight, I could see where the street lamps stop, drawing a line that separate the light from the dark beyond. Just before the last few lamps, I saw an old building that was abandoned before I was born. From the hill looking down, I could see that it had a large yard surrounded by a wall and a single gate. Everything about that building seemed dead, it was in ruins. I never knew what it was used for. Heard that it was an old storage but I don't know for what. That night, I didn't have the clarity of the mind to consider my decisions. I began walking towards it, wanting to see it up close.
I reached the gate. Its old rusted lock held the door shut with chains, but to my surprise, one of the hinges was completely dislodged giving me an easy access. When I entered I looked around the yard, There were many things scattered on the ground. Old tables, broken doors, and other things that I couldn't figure out how they ended up there. Every step I made was followed by a creaking of wood or the shattering of glass. I remember the way the building towered over me from that angle. The dark, open windows looked like the empty eye sockets of a skull staring back at me. The sound of the wind howling almost like it was daring me to enter. The stillness of that moment stunned me for a minute, and when I turned my back to leave, I heard a sound of something small calling from behind a corner of the building. I slowly moved towards it.
There, I saw a cat that had fear on its face. Next to it was a wooden barrel. When I approached the cat, it hissed at me. I was confused by that, why did it hiss at me instead of escaping? Then I heard a meowing of a kitten echoing inside the barrel. I knew immediately what this cat was protecting, she was the mother of that kitten. I examined the barrel from afar, I noticed that it was upside down. The upper side had a small hole on it, I assumed that was where the kitten fill from. I was certain that the underside didn't have a lid, so all I had to do was to carry the barrel slightly for the kitten to escape. However, every step I took forward, the mother hissed harder and backed up little by little. She couldn't understand that I wanted to help. I was concerned that she would either scratch me to keep me away, or even worse escape and leave her kitten behind.
I looked around me, I saw among the debris a long, wooden cane. I took it to reach the barrel without getting any closer. I walked around to the other side of the barrel where the mother cat couldn't see me. I slowly extended my arm holding the cane, grabbing the barrel by inserting the handle into the hole. I used the cane as a leverage, raising the side closest to the mother. The moment the gap became large enough for them to see each other, I heard the kitten's meows change from an echoing sadness to a bright call of longing. The mother without hesitation grabbed the kitten and ran away as fast as she could. Never looking back. I stood there asking myself: "If I weren't here this night, I wonder, would that kitten have died in that barrel?" I looked up at the face of the building again. Perhaps my feelings that night were only for me to save the kitten. I walked towards the gate again, leaving the building behind.
I walked the streets looking down. Without noticing, I reached a park that had no fence. It was full of children's games and flowers. It seemed like a memento of my past. The swings dangling without anyone to push. Standing next to the slide, I could see that I was taller than it was. It all seemed lost and forgotten, but what was funny to me was how the roses had the same colour of the pale sand under the yellow light. I walked and walked at that park, felt fatigued at the time. I saw a bench left alone in the middle of the grass. I sat there, reflecting on my life. And after some time, I buried my face in my hands.
I heard the sound of steps crushing the grass. They were getting closer until they stopped. I didn't even have the will to look up. I heard a raspy voice: "What's wrong?" I weakly looked back. Saw the face of a concerned old man. Many wrinkles on his face, hair completely white. When I saw him I tightly crossed my arms without saying a word, facing down and away from him. I could feel him staring at me, then without a word, he sat down next to me. The lamps turned off in unison as the light of dawn began to colour the sky. The hum of the breeze was contrasting the bitter silence between us. I didn't know that man and I don't think he knew me, but the circumstances of that encounter make two strangers seem like lifelong companions.
After a while, I heard his voice again: "You know, I remember when I was your age, I had done many foolish things that I am ashamed to admit. I had thrown away the future that I could have had. I regret everything that I did. But I am alive, and you still have a life In front of you. Don't waste it. You are still young". With those words he stood up and left. I saw his silhouette getting smaller and smaller until I couldn't see him anymore. I might have imagined it but the air felt easier to breathe then. The melody of the songbirds were in harmony with the beats of my heart. Amazing is the mind; it shifts from emotion to emotion on a whim, just like how the black night is replaced by the first rays of the sun.
It is that night that I so vividly remember. Now, many years have passed, I sit in my bedroom every morning combing my hair. The signs of age evident on me, my hair is completely grey. I remember that bittersweet night while holding back my tears from spilling, grateful for a moment that passed. I stand up to begin my day. Just as I am about to put my comb back in its drawer, I notice a single hair that has been caught between its teeth. I take that hair and look at it with a smile. The upper half is dark and the lower half is grey.
submitted by HoopoeOfHope to u/HoopoeOfHope [link] [comments]
I remember those nights when I woke up after short slumbers. I absent-mindedly made my way to the sink, purposefully keeping my head down as I washed my face.
Then came that one night, when I kept my eyes shut longer than usual after I had closed the faucet. I remember how I gathered all the courage I had, and I lifted my head slowly. I opened my eyes to see the mirror in front of me, and there I was looking at myself. A twenty-five-year-old man with more than twenty-five grey hairs on his head. That sight turned my apathy into rage. Without thinking, I raised my hand and I started to pluck every grey hair. Every time I plucked a hair I cursed a moment of my life. Hair after hair, I lost count. After I had plucked the last one that I could find I took deep breaths, looking back at myself. My hair was completely dark, like how a young man should have.
In awe of what I had just done, I stared at myself. I brushed back my hair with my hand, and as I did, I saw one last grey hair that hid underneath. I was determined to do to it the same thing that I did, but when I saw it by itself, I felt pity for it; for myself. It seemed as if it were begging for mercy, screaming "what have I done?" I slowly let it go and looked back into my eyes. I took some other deep breaths, and I told myself: "From this moment until the time those hairs grow back, I'll do what I can. To learn how to live, to escape this burden that I hold in my chest." I went back to my room, changed my clothes, and wore my jacket and headed to the house door. I put my hand on the metal handle, I remember how cold it was that winter. I opened the door.
I remember when I took the first step of my journey late at night. The smell of rain fresh in the air. The still water on the roads reflected the yellow lamps, creating a frigid world sparkling with dazzling lights. I slipped my hands into my pockets, and wandered aimlessly through the streets. No sounds were heard that hour, everyone was dreaming in their sleep. I walked between cars and through alleyways, reaching places that I never knew existed. I felt alone at that time, but that solitude was comforting. When I walk alone, no one knows where I go. My feet took the lead, head lost in thoughts.
I found myself on top of a hill at the edge of town. From that hight, I could see where the street lamps stop, drawing a line that separate the light from the dark beyond. Just before the last few lamps, I saw an old building that was abandoned before I was born. From the hill looking down, I could see that it had a large yard surrounded by a wall and a single gate. Everything about that building seemed dead, it was in ruins. I never knew what it was used for. Heard that it was an old storage but I don't know for what. That night, I didn't have the clarity of the mind to consider my decisions. I began walking towards it, wanting to see it up close.
I reached the gate. Its old rusted lock held the door shut with chains, but to my surprise, one of the hinges was completely dislodged giving me an easy access. When I entered I looked around the yard, There were many things scattered on the ground. Old tables, broken doors, and other things that I couldn't figure out how they ended up there. Every step I made was followed by a creaking of wood or the shattering of glass. I remember the way the building towered over me from that angle. The dark, open windows looked like the empty eye sockets of a skull staring back at me. The sound of the wind howling almost like it was daring me to enter. The stillness of that moment stunned me for a minute, and when I turned my back to leave, I heard a sound of something small calling from behind a corner of the building. I slowly moved towards it.
There, I saw a cat that had fear on its face. Next to it was a wooden barrel. When I approached the cat, it hissed at me. I was confused by that, why did it hiss at me instead of escaping? Then I heard a meowing of a kitten echoing inside the barrel. I knew immediately what this cat was protecting, she was the mother of that kitten. I examined the barrel from afar, I noticed that it was upside down. The upper side had a small hole on it, I assumed that was where the kitten fill from. I was certain that the underside didn't have a lid, so all I had to do was to carry the barrel slightly for the kitten to escape. However, every step I took forward, the mother hissed harder and backed up little by little. She couldn't understand that I wanted to help. I was concerned that she would either scratch me to keep me away, or even worse escape and leave her kitten behind.
I looked around me, I saw among the debris a long, wooden cane. I took it to reach the barrel without getting any closer. I walked around to the other side of the barrel where the mother cat couldn't see me. I slowly extended my arm holding the cane, grabbing the barrel by inserting the handle into the hole. I used the cane as a leverage, raising the side closest to the mother. The moment the gap became large enough for them to see each other, I heard the kitten's meows change from an echoing sadness to a bright call of longing. The mother without hesitation grabbed the kitten and ran away as fast as she could. Never looking back. I stood there asking myself: "If I weren't here this night, I wonder, would that kitten have died in that barrel?" I looked up at the face of the building again. Perhaps my feelings that night were only for me to save the kitten. I walked towards the gate again, leaving the building behind.
I walked the streets looking down. Without noticing, I reached a park that had no fence. It was full of children's games and flowers. It seemed like a memento of my past. The swings dangling without anyone to push. Standing next to the slide, I could see that I was taller than it was. It all seemed lost and forgotten, but what was funny to me was how the roses had the same colour of the pale sand under the yellow light. I walked and walked at that park, felt fatigued at the time. I saw a bench left alone in the middle of the grass. I sat there, reflecting on my life. And after some time, I buried my face in my hands.
I heard the sound of steps crushing the grass. They were getting closer until they stopped. I didn't even have the will to look up. I heard a raspy voice: "What's wrong?" I weakly looked back. Saw the face of a concerned old man. Many wrinkles on his face, hair completely white. When I saw him I tightly crossed my arms without saying a word, facing down and away from him. I could feel him staring at me, then without a word, he sat down next to me. The lamps turned off in unison as the light of dawn began to colour the sky. The hum of the breeze was contrasting the bitter silence between us. I didn't know that man and I don't think he knew me, but the circumstances of that encounter make two strangers seem like lifelong companions.
After a while, I heard his voice again: "You know, I remember when I was your age, I had done many foolish things that I am ashamed to admit. I had thrown away the future that I could have had. I regret everything that I did. But I am alive, and you still have a life In front of you. Don't waste it. You are still young". With those words he stood up and left. I saw his silhouette getting smaller and smaller until I couldn't see him anymore. I might have imagined it but the air felt easier to breathe then. The melody of the songbirds were in harmony with the beats of my heart. Amazing is the mind; it shifts from emotion to emotion on a whim, just like how the black night is replaced by the first rays of the sun.
It is that night that I so vividly remember. Now, many years have passed, I sit in my bedroom every morning combing my hair. The signs of age evident on me, my hair is completely grey. I remember that bittersweet night while holding back my tears from spilling, grateful for a moment that passed. I stand up to begin my day. Just as I am about to put my comb back in its drawer, I notice a single hair that has been caught between its teeth. I take that hair and look at it with a smile. The upper half is dark and the lower half is grey.
2024.05.15 04:21 StrangeAsAngels66 Advice for cleaning mildew backsplash on granite
I have granite countertops in bathroom. Water tends to puddle behind the sink faucet and i notice a little mildew near the bottom of backsplash in a hard to reach place. Any advice how to clean without damaging?
submitted by StrangeAsAngels66 to CounterTops [link] [comments]
2024.05.15 04:16 StarBurstero Analysis of Michael: The path to being human
Warning: This post contains chapter 261, so only read it after you've read that chapter! Also this post is 10% cringy, 50% analytical, 40% theory crafting. Hope you enjoy!
Now that Kaiser's flashback is over, it's time to analyze where Kaiser's character arc seems to be heading this match.
Kaiser's proof of originality I think what's most interesting about Kaiser is that while the backstory explained Kaiser's mentality, we've been seeing signs of who Kaiser is as a person even before the backstory. His way of speaking theatrically, his constant obsession with sinking other players into despair, his self-harming attitude, and even the way he treats Ness as a person. All of what we've been seeing as been building up to the current backstory that we're witnessing unfold in our eyes.
Now, let's talk about the originality of Kaiser.
https://preview.redd.it/gt93j21qfh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=c74caf91fb7bdccb3636ab3cf66af7d62aefb1e9
Kaiser is a complex character, but if I were to sum it all up. His environment brought out the monster known as malice. He's someone whose perception of love has been warped due to him being constantly tortured by his father. To him there is no such thing as kindness. In the world he lives in, you can only show kindness through the act of malice.
The act of hurting others and destroying their dreams brings him one step closer to being human. It explains the actions of Kaiser throughout the NEL, he isn't the type to play nice with others. While others would introduce themselves with a simple hello, he would rather introduce himself by challenging others to a fight as seen at the start of the NEL).
https://preview.redd.it/7uwrquwgjh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=69609b27a2f203221f32ea7c263c29835267917d
We've seen before that certain players in Blue Lock come from unfortunate homes and soccer is a means of escape to them. For Kaiser, it's no different and it's warped the way he views football. It is impossible to play football as a single person, soccer as a sport is one that requires you to communicate with your teammates and to craft plays to crush the opposition.
In order to counteract this level of teamwork, he created a single weapon to prove his individuality and sink his opponents into despair. That weapon being known as the Kaiser Impact. A weapon not born out of love, but pure malice. Even with such an invincible weapon, it's still a sport played by 11 people. Most people in his situation would have realized that they need to make a friend or at least a teammate they're on friendly terms with.
https://preview.redd.it/xdtvobcxkh0d1.png?width=1200&format=png&auto=webp&s=d242eba1fc3f30b0fc299e2b77da7537f661ee39
But instead, he decided to find someone that would be loyal to him to a fault. Somebody that couldn't challenge his ideas and wouldn't question him. Someone he could bring hope to and easily corrupt their heart. And that person being Ness, now before I dissect more into Ness and Kaiser's relationship. Let's take a quick moment to answer a question that a few people are wondering in this match. Even though Kaiser is such a talented player, why is his current level of play not as satisfactory?
Ultimate performance
https://preview.redd.it/e4qt3lpglh0d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=2fde1a2243319caab7603b596af2460e953eaa2c
So far in the current match, we've had 2 goals scored and each of them were done by a clash of peak performances. The first goal being a clash with Shidou and Charles pulling a similar move as the final goal scored in Ubers. And the next goal being scored by a clash of three players colliding their ultimate performances in order to score in this match.
Each of these goals were scored by following the proposed formula that Hiori explains in the panel above. Hunger -> Suitable Goal -> Flow -> Ultimate Challenge -> Peak Performance. Let's use Kunigami as an example! His hunger was destroying Shidou which transformed into his suitable goal of man-marking him. Leading him to reach the state of flow and having successfully completing his ultimate challenge of stopping Shidou, he reached his peak performance allowing Isagi and Hiori to make use of this.
If you've been reading so far and paying attention. In order to succeed in this match, you need to fulfill two simple conditions.
The path to being human
This section of the post was inspired by this comment from u/Zukiinis: Inspiration!
https://preview.redd.it/kdz4qdpxoh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=449f55e823606d2442e6a55d8bdbac538b04f834
There are a lot of things eating at Kaiser right now, but if I were to name the biggest one. It's the fact that his current ego is not the one that will lead to his best performance. This ego of hurting others through malice is something that is eerily similar to that of his father when he was heartbroken. It's an ego that was born as a result of that day.
But this current ego leads him to seeing himself as not human and to plunge all of his foes into despair and to reign over his teammates as a tyrant. It's one that dissociates himself from reality and leads him to believing he's someone not worthy of love. Which has given him a warp sense of view on his relationship with Ness and one that was possibly blooming into a friendship. It's true that Kaiser approached Ness with the intent of using him as nothing but a tool. But is that how their relationship has stayed throughout everything?
https://preview.redd.it/4vrtxt7dqh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=8ca8a1b5b71f7b7f694481de80f2c79ba698759d
If Kaiser considers Ness as a tool, then why is he openly laughing with him? Why would he allow someone else to touch his hair and get close to him? Better yet, why would he open his heart to someone else and reveal that part of his past? In Kaiser's mind he may consider Ness as nothing but a tool (currently), but his heart and actions are speaking differently. He's treating Ness as more of a friend, something that Kaiser has never had before in his life and has no way of knowing how to act with a friend. I'm pretty sure the concept of friendship is foreign in Kaiser's mind. So, where am I going with all of this?
https://preview.redd.it/ym8az2xyqh0d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=e593a01e66020d8eb3043eb192a3618157b10f6a
I (and many others) believe that Kaiser is on the verge of an awakening. When Kaiser first awakened his ego, it wasn't out of despair as Kaiser seems to believe. But it was out of the fact that he wanted to protect the one thing in his life that he learned to love, the one thing that his father was attempted to take away from him. A soccer ball, Kaiser didn't awaken his sense of identity due to malice as he seems to believe, but due to the fact that in the first time in his life he learned to love something.
I believe that Kaiser at the end of this match will learn to view himself as human and will start to learn of the concept of love. And for that to happen he needs to receive a similar trigger and that trigger will be when he's on the verge of losing Ness. Which I'm not sure how that would happen, but what better way to awaken Kaiser fully by having his rival Isagi stealing Ness temporarily by forcing a pass out of him. Which will potentially spiral Kaiser to despair and lead to the birth of his evolution.
https://preview.redd.it/0yk5udvqth0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=c5bc553ccc75879d92c01066dddca83dd4e424e4
So, why do I think Ness being almost taken away from Kaiser is the key to his evolution? I think the ball in the flashback is literally just Ness and is foreshadowing the future for this two. The current Kaiser is very abusive to Ness and simply treats him as the ball in his flashback. Someone who is there to just be obedient to Kaiser and not make up a fuss. But I think what's really interesting is that the ball (Ness) is Kaiser's only companion and the moment he was about to lose that companion. It sparked the birth of his ego and prompted him into action.
Interlude: Ness's evolution So, if Kaiser's evolution is linked to Ness being taken away, then what is the key to Ness's evolution? I believe Ness's evolution will come before Kaiser's evolution and the key to that will be seeing Kaiser in despair and being on the verge of almost giving up. This will spark Ness to unleash his creativity and try to make a play that will allow for both him and Kaiser to succeed. But Isagi will be the first one to notice this change and will run to the perfect pass course forcing the pass out of Ness as he hoped Kaiser could have read him. Once Kaiser sees this interaction of Isagi stealing Ness's pass, that will be when Kaiser will awaken.
Honestly, I imagine it'll be a mix of Bachira's evolution for Ness and a Barou like conqueror moment for Isagi.
Now, let's move on to the final act of this post
A weapon not born out of malice, but pure friendship
https://preview.redd.it/ooh9acuyvh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=82c7aedf44f2577e18efc51ba199513bcc2d00ea
Kaiser's whole character arc seems to be heading in a direction where he's being forced to discover who he really is as a player and to understand what he wants. And in order to do that, he's being constantly met with the same level of despair that he forced onto others. In order for Kaiser to reach his peak performance, he has to fight with the same intensity of ego as he felt first when he discovered himself for the first time.
And I think one of the main things that needs to happen is Kaiser is taking a moment of introspection (possibly on the bench after Noa swaps with him). Understanding that behaving like his father isn't the best way to move forward in life. Him being constantly obsessed with putting others in despair is clouding his judgement and leading to him making reckless mistakes that he would normally avoid. And most importantly to realize that he no longer sees Ness as a tool, but as a friend for the first time in his life. Leading to him accepting Ness's creativity and to stop berating him.
And if Kaiser does possibly get benched, I think it'll be the moment he goes back to analyzing the field and planning his moves accordingly. Which will lead to Kaiser utilizing Ness's imagination on the field and leading to both of them succeeding in their ultimate challenge. Which is...
Making the Kaiser Impact: Magnus succeed.
https://preview.redd.it/t7zig57qsh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=82c34d109d5ef278b2edd7dfe60056c33cb4e0e7
If Kaiser Impact was a weapon born out of an individual talent to drive those into despair. The Kaiser Impact: Magnus will be a weapon born out of a collaboration of peak performance to turn a 0 into 1. In order for this weapon to succeed, there are two main conditions that need to be fulfilled.
This weapon will be born out of Ness and Kaiser's peak performance. I imagine that once Kaiser and Ness scores the final goal, this two will be on better terms and Kaiser will actually put effort into treating Ness as a friend. The path to being human isn't easy, but all it takes is one single friend to make you human. Ask Ray Dark, he knows what I'm talking about.
My face after completing this post
And that's the end of my theory/analysis. I hope you enjoyed it, let me know your thoughts!
submitted by StarBurstero to BlueLock [link] [comments]
Now that Kaiser's flashback is over, it's time to analyze where Kaiser's character arc seems to be heading this match.
Kaiser's proof of originality I think what's most interesting about Kaiser is that while the backstory explained Kaiser's mentality, we've been seeing signs of who Kaiser is as a person even before the backstory. His way of speaking theatrically, his constant obsession with sinking other players into despair, his self-harming attitude, and even the way he treats Ness as a person. All of what we've been seeing as been building up to the current backstory that we're witnessing unfold in our eyes.
Now, let's talk about the originality of Kaiser.
https://preview.redd.it/gt93j21qfh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=c74caf91fb7bdccb3636ab3cf66af7d62aefb1e9
Kaiser is a complex character, but if I were to sum it all up. His environment brought out the monster known as malice. He's someone whose perception of love has been warped due to him being constantly tortured by his father. To him there is no such thing as kindness. In the world he lives in, you can only show kindness through the act of malice.
The act of hurting others and destroying their dreams brings him one step closer to being human. It explains the actions of Kaiser throughout the NEL, he isn't the type to play nice with others. While others would introduce themselves with a simple hello, he would rather introduce himself by challenging others to a fight as seen at the start of the NEL).
https://preview.redd.it/7uwrquwgjh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=69609b27a2f203221f32ea7c263c29835267917d
We've seen before that certain players in Blue Lock come from unfortunate homes and soccer is a means of escape to them. For Kaiser, it's no different and it's warped the way he views football. It is impossible to play football as a single person, soccer as a sport is one that requires you to communicate with your teammates and to craft plays to crush the opposition.
In order to counteract this level of teamwork, he created a single weapon to prove his individuality and sink his opponents into despair. That weapon being known as the Kaiser Impact. A weapon not born out of love, but pure malice. Even with such an invincible weapon, it's still a sport played by 11 people. Most people in his situation would have realized that they need to make a friend or at least a teammate they're on friendly terms with.
https://preview.redd.it/xdtvobcxkh0d1.png?width=1200&format=png&auto=webp&s=d242eba1fc3f30b0fc299e2b77da7537f661ee39
But instead, he decided to find someone that would be loyal to him to a fault. Somebody that couldn't challenge his ideas and wouldn't question him. Someone he could bring hope to and easily corrupt their heart. And that person being Ness, now before I dissect more into Ness and Kaiser's relationship. Let's take a quick moment to answer a question that a few people are wondering in this match. Even though Kaiser is such a talented player, why is his current level of play not as satisfactory?
Ultimate performance
https://preview.redd.it/e4qt3lpglh0d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=2fde1a2243319caab7603b596af2460e953eaa2c
So far in the current match, we've had 2 goals scored and each of them were done by a clash of peak performances. The first goal being a clash with Shidou and Charles pulling a similar move as the final goal scored in Ubers. And the next goal being scored by a clash of three players colliding their ultimate performances in order to score in this match.
Each of these goals were scored by following the proposed formula that Hiori explains in the panel above. Hunger -> Suitable Goal -> Flow -> Ultimate Challenge -> Peak Performance. Let's use Kunigami as an example! His hunger was destroying Shidou which transformed into his suitable goal of man-marking him. Leading him to reach the state of flow and having successfully completing his ultimate challenge of stopping Shidou, he reached his peak performance allowing Isagi and Hiori to make use of this.
If you've been reading so far and paying attention. In order to succeed in this match, you need to fulfill two simple conditions.
- Reaching your peak performance
- Collaborating with someone else's peak performance to score.
The path to being human
This section of the post was inspired by this comment from u/Zukiinis: Inspiration!
https://preview.redd.it/kdz4qdpxoh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=449f55e823606d2442e6a55d8bdbac538b04f834
There are a lot of things eating at Kaiser right now, but if I were to name the biggest one. It's the fact that his current ego is not the one that will lead to his best performance. This ego of hurting others through malice is something that is eerily similar to that of his father when he was heartbroken. It's an ego that was born as a result of that day.
But this current ego leads him to seeing himself as not human and to plunge all of his foes into despair and to reign over his teammates as a tyrant. It's one that dissociates himself from reality and leads him to believing he's someone not worthy of love. Which has given him a warp sense of view on his relationship with Ness and one that was possibly blooming into a friendship. It's true that Kaiser approached Ness with the intent of using him as nothing but a tool. But is that how their relationship has stayed throughout everything?
https://preview.redd.it/4vrtxt7dqh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=8ca8a1b5b71f7b7f694481de80f2c79ba698759d
If Kaiser considers Ness as a tool, then why is he openly laughing with him? Why would he allow someone else to touch his hair and get close to him? Better yet, why would he open his heart to someone else and reveal that part of his past? In Kaiser's mind he may consider Ness as nothing but a tool (currently), but his heart and actions are speaking differently. He's treating Ness as more of a friend, something that Kaiser has never had before in his life and has no way of knowing how to act with a friend. I'm pretty sure the concept of friendship is foreign in Kaiser's mind. So, where am I going with all of this?
https://preview.redd.it/ym8az2xyqh0d1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=e593a01e66020d8eb3043eb192a3618157b10f6a
I (and many others) believe that Kaiser is on the verge of an awakening. When Kaiser first awakened his ego, it wasn't out of despair as Kaiser seems to believe. But it was out of the fact that he wanted to protect the one thing in his life that he learned to love, the one thing that his father was attempted to take away from him. A soccer ball, Kaiser didn't awaken his sense of identity due to malice as he seems to believe, but due to the fact that in the first time in his life he learned to love something.
I believe that Kaiser at the end of this match will learn to view himself as human and will start to learn of the concept of love. And for that to happen he needs to receive a similar trigger and that trigger will be when he's on the verge of losing Ness. Which I'm not sure how that would happen, but what better way to awaken Kaiser fully by having his rival Isagi stealing Ness temporarily by forcing a pass out of him. Which will potentially spiral Kaiser to despair and lead to the birth of his evolution.
https://preview.redd.it/0yk5udvqth0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=c5bc553ccc75879d92c01066dddca83dd4e424e4
So, why do I think Ness being almost taken away from Kaiser is the key to his evolution? I think the ball in the flashback is literally just Ness and is foreshadowing the future for this two. The current Kaiser is very abusive to Ness and simply treats him as the ball in his flashback. Someone who is there to just be obedient to Kaiser and not make up a fuss. But I think what's really interesting is that the ball (Ness) is Kaiser's only companion and the moment he was about to lose that companion. It sparked the birth of his ego and prompted him into action.
Interlude: Ness's evolution So, if Kaiser's evolution is linked to Ness being taken away, then what is the key to Ness's evolution? I believe Ness's evolution will come before Kaiser's evolution and the key to that will be seeing Kaiser in despair and being on the verge of almost giving up. This will spark Ness to unleash his creativity and try to make a play that will allow for both him and Kaiser to succeed. But Isagi will be the first one to notice this change and will run to the perfect pass course forcing the pass out of Ness as he hoped Kaiser could have read him. Once Kaiser sees this interaction of Isagi stealing Ness's pass, that will be when Kaiser will awaken.
Honestly, I imagine it'll be a mix of Bachira's evolution for Ness and a Barou like conqueror moment for Isagi.
Now, let's move on to the final act of this post
A weapon not born out of malice, but pure friendship
https://preview.redd.it/ooh9acuyvh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=82c7aedf44f2577e18efc51ba199513bcc2d00ea
Kaiser's whole character arc seems to be heading in a direction where he's being forced to discover who he really is as a player and to understand what he wants. And in order to do that, he's being constantly met with the same level of despair that he forced onto others. In order for Kaiser to reach his peak performance, he has to fight with the same intensity of ego as he felt first when he discovered himself for the first time.
And I think one of the main things that needs to happen is Kaiser is taking a moment of introspection (possibly on the bench after Noa swaps with him). Understanding that behaving like his father isn't the best way to move forward in life. Him being constantly obsessed with putting others in despair is clouding his judgement and leading to him making reckless mistakes that he would normally avoid. And most importantly to realize that he no longer sees Ness as a tool, but as a friend for the first time in his life. Leading to him accepting Ness's creativity and to stop berating him.
And if Kaiser does possibly get benched, I think it'll be the moment he goes back to analyzing the field and planning his moves accordingly. Which will lead to Kaiser utilizing Ness's imagination on the field and leading to both of them succeeding in their ultimate challenge. Which is...
Making the Kaiser Impact: Magnus succeed.
https://preview.redd.it/t7zig57qsh0d1.png?width=960&format=png&auto=webp&s=82c34d109d5ef278b2edd7dfe60056c33cb4e0e7
If Kaiser Impact was a weapon born out of an individual talent to drive those into despair. The Kaiser Impact: Magnus will be a weapon born out of a collaboration of peak performance to turn a 0 into 1. In order for this weapon to succeed, there are two main conditions that need to be fulfilled.
- The ball must not be in motion
- Kaiser has to perform the Magnus
This weapon will be born out of Ness and Kaiser's peak performance. I imagine that once Kaiser and Ness scores the final goal, this two will be on better terms and Kaiser will actually put effort into treating Ness as a friend. The path to being human isn't easy, but all it takes is one single friend to make you human. Ask Ray Dark, he knows what I'm talking about.
My face after completing this post
And that's the end of my theory/analysis. I hope you enjoyed it, let me know your thoughts!
2024.05.15 04:02 paranome_ Boomers kicking down the ladder and the worst case of it.
Currently I'm someone in the trades who works in the service industry in a small metro area.
Let me tell you this the boomers have not just kicked down the ladder but also set it on fire in the residential service trade, partly in the commercial space, and maybe barely in the mechanical side of things.
Example? One of my bosses since the 70's Said his starting wage in 1970 was $8.6/hr for residential service work in his first year being a journeyman. Adjusted for inflation its $57.47 his first year a journeyman plumber. Working 60 hours a week in residential service.
What happens though as time goes on though is as these guys get old, they can't do plumbing or ac anymore. Then they get promoted to management, oh no someone has to pay their salaries though, they up prices. Oh, wait though the customer does not want to pay that price, and because of the laws of supply and demand they bring in more revenue by actually reducing prices, but they do not want to make less so they take money from the techs.
This cycle happens over and over again, it gets to the point where I'm at. 7 technicians, and 4 managers. Average labor for a residential service company in a major metro with a lot of overhead? $300-$400/hr for residential service work whether it be ac, heating, plumbing, or electrical. Parts back then used to be 40-60% the value of the ticket. Now the median is like 10% the value of a ticket to a max of 30%.
They would rather spend $8,000 to bring in a sales trainer to train a bunch of people to sell a $1,500 kitchen sink faucet to an old, retired couple than themselves retire; They can't though, they blew through all their cash and did not save it or just want to work forever.
submitted by paranome_ to BoomersBeingFools [link] [comments]
Let me tell you this the boomers have not just kicked down the ladder but also set it on fire in the residential service trade, partly in the commercial space, and maybe barely in the mechanical side of things.
Example? One of my bosses since the 70's Said his starting wage in 1970 was $8.6/hr for residential service work in his first year being a journeyman. Adjusted for inflation its $57.47 his first year a journeyman plumber. Working 60 hours a week in residential service.
What happens though as time goes on though is as these guys get old, they can't do plumbing or ac anymore. Then they get promoted to management, oh no someone has to pay their salaries though, they up prices. Oh, wait though the customer does not want to pay that price, and because of the laws of supply and demand they bring in more revenue by actually reducing prices, but they do not want to make less so they take money from the techs.
This cycle happens over and over again, it gets to the point where I'm at. 7 technicians, and 4 managers. Average labor for a residential service company in a major metro with a lot of overhead? $300-$400/hr for residential service work whether it be ac, heating, plumbing, or electrical. Parts back then used to be 40-60% the value of the ticket. Now the median is like 10% the value of a ticket to a max of 30%.
They would rather spend $8,000 to bring in a sales trainer to train a bunch of people to sell a $1,500 kitchen sink faucet to an old, retired couple than themselves retire; They can't though, they blew through all their cash and did not save it or just want to work forever.
2024.05.15 03:55 Necessary-Arm-5237 Everything that's going on and looking for advice.
Hey everyone,
I'm gonna just spill everything that's going on, and rant and I'd appreciate it if I could hear it from insight or advice from some people!! Thank you! I'm a guy (18) btw and my ex is a girl (18)
So me and my ex broke up about a month and a half ago. She brought it up with me about mid march out of the blue and said that her mental health was real bad and she didn't want it affecting our relationship, which is fair, I told her let's give it a month, let's try and work everything out, told her to maybe try therapy and let's try communicating and work it out because I loved her so much. After that it was thin ice for the rest of march, I tried so hard and she was just being distant. I stayed over the Easter weekend and she told me that she just doesn't see it working and wants the break up, I was like ok that's fine if that's what you need to do. While she was out of her house at work that weekend I was chilling at hers waiting for my own shift to start, I got curious and remembered she'd had a diary. The diary was a set boundary and I knew never to open it or read it, but in my mind at the time I thought what if there was something in there that could maybe help or understand her state of mind better yah know? When I did read the most recent entry I wish I didn't, she wrote some things that I won't disclose but she wrote that she had developed a crush on a guy in her uni class and that she was questioning "what if" Because they had similar interests and she believed that was something that we lacked (which honestly we didn't really, our childhoods are very similar, our humour is similar, the only things we didn't really have in common was a slight difference in music taste and TV shows etc but that never really bothered me) anyway at the end of the entry and she said "I won't act on it though". That whole weekend she was secretive about her phone, which she never was and "went to the toilet alot" we also went to have a shower after work and she left her phone open on the bathroom counter I picked it up and she freaked out, grabbing it and turning it off, when I questioned the reaction she said she had embarrassing photos she'd taken recently of herself and didn't want me to see them. Righttttt..... she left the room for a minute and left her phone and I ended up opening the conversation between her and this guy on her intsa and only saw the most recent message where he asked how everything was going, she replied with "it seems OK, everything seems mutual but I think everything's gonna be ok" something along the lines of that. I ended up telling her that I read her diary because I couldn't keep that to myself, she left the room hurt for about 10 minutes and when she came back I told her I also read her messages with the guy her face dropped like she had to explain something, but when I told her that I only saw the most recent one she seemed relieved. She ended up ignoring me for the rest of the night and going to sleep, I tried going on her phone after she feel asleep but she took my fingerprint and face id off, I didn't know her password unfortunately. The next day I stayed until I had work later in the afternoon but never mention anything because I didn't really think of it. For the first few days of the breakup we were still talking but then she randomly switched on me because I wasn't giving her space, giving me the cold shoulder etc. I ended up adding the dude on insta and messaging him, I found out through him that she was confiding in him and she was telling him our relationship problems, things she's never told me. I asked him to relay a message to her for me at uni and he did, she wasn't happy, she ended up massaging me and sending me a long paragraph where she doesn't really wanna interact with me anymore etc. I begged her to give me a 2nd chance just the usual shit you do and she was unresponsive and didn't seem to care at all, after our conversation she posted a new post on insta and the first picture was her and this dude next to eachother at a party, not sitting next to eachother but close enough. I've talked with some female friends and they've told me she's was emotionally cheating on me and yeah she was, whether she sees it like that or not. I never knew anything about this guy and their relationship tbh, I knew of his existence and that he recently went through a bad break up but other then that, nothing. I thought maybe she didn't tell me because of my insecurities etc and I also thought that she talked him for advice because he knew what she was going through but now that I look back I'm not to sure.
I was at a mates place 2 weeks ago and he told me that he thinks he saw her on tinder, he wasn't sure tho, we ended up making a new account on his phone and sure enough she was. Why was she on tinder if she's getting this attention from another guy? She also posted songs on her insta note which were clearly aimed at me, she also posted a song which was clearly aimed at me to make me jealous, the song is basically about a man and a women and how good they'd be together. Since then she's acted like I don't exist, but something that really got to me is that I saw one of her highschool friends where I work and she was telling me that they were at a catch up that my ex was present at and didn't speak bad about me, she told her friends that she broke up but when they all started a conversation about how hard uni was she mentioned and seemed quite chirpy at the fact that I recently got into uni. (I applied for uni after the break up and posted it on my socials when I got in) why act happy for me that I got into uni after being a cold bitch after the break up?
We ended up talking again recently because I needed a favour from her and she told me that when we broke up it was because her mental health wasn't good for us, but then she said that she didn't like the way she was treated during and after the relationship, she said that I destroyed her self worth because I made comments and my temper was bad. All of these things were at the start of the relationship and when I noticed it was hurting her I took a step back and stopped these actions, I apologised, worked on it and changed. It's like she was nit picking things and people have told me it's because she feels guilty but also because she's avoiding accountability.
She recently had a family member pass away and I messaged her my condolences after about 2 - 3 weeks of no contact and she said thank you, but after that I'm done. I hate the way I was treated and she's made me feel like shit and made me feel like some kind of monster with the things she said. With all of this do you think she'll come around and realise that she was not nice to me at all? I've also had a friend tell me that she'll realise that the grass wasn't greener and try to come back to me but to not let myself be an option. She said when she's ready she might reach out and we can catch up for coffee and be friends but if she doesn't start the conversation with an apology I know she hasn't done anything to reflect or change. But essentially will she come around and realise she wasn't nice at all and apologise or is this whole ordeal a sinking ship? I've been taking therapy and I'm in a better position then I was a month ago and I still get thoughts about her and miss her but I'm getting over it with the way she treated me.
Thanks for listening to my Ted talk and thanks for reading this big ass rant. Oh we were together for a year and 3 months if that helps with anything either. Thanks. Also Jan and February were fine and then in march she became distant. Thanks again.
submitted by Necessary-Arm-5237 to ExNoContact [link] [comments]
I'm gonna just spill everything that's going on, and rant and I'd appreciate it if I could hear it from insight or advice from some people!! Thank you! I'm a guy (18) btw and my ex is a girl (18)
So me and my ex broke up about a month and a half ago. She brought it up with me about mid march out of the blue and said that her mental health was real bad and she didn't want it affecting our relationship, which is fair, I told her let's give it a month, let's try and work everything out, told her to maybe try therapy and let's try communicating and work it out because I loved her so much. After that it was thin ice for the rest of march, I tried so hard and she was just being distant. I stayed over the Easter weekend and she told me that she just doesn't see it working and wants the break up, I was like ok that's fine if that's what you need to do. While she was out of her house at work that weekend I was chilling at hers waiting for my own shift to start, I got curious and remembered she'd had a diary. The diary was a set boundary and I knew never to open it or read it, but in my mind at the time I thought what if there was something in there that could maybe help or understand her state of mind better yah know? When I did read the most recent entry I wish I didn't, she wrote some things that I won't disclose but she wrote that she had developed a crush on a guy in her uni class and that she was questioning "what if" Because they had similar interests and she believed that was something that we lacked (which honestly we didn't really, our childhoods are very similar, our humour is similar, the only things we didn't really have in common was a slight difference in music taste and TV shows etc but that never really bothered me) anyway at the end of the entry and she said "I won't act on it though". That whole weekend she was secretive about her phone, which she never was and "went to the toilet alot" we also went to have a shower after work and she left her phone open on the bathroom counter I picked it up and she freaked out, grabbing it and turning it off, when I questioned the reaction she said she had embarrassing photos she'd taken recently of herself and didn't want me to see them. Righttttt..... she left the room for a minute and left her phone and I ended up opening the conversation between her and this guy on her intsa and only saw the most recent message where he asked how everything was going, she replied with "it seems OK, everything seems mutual but I think everything's gonna be ok" something along the lines of that. I ended up telling her that I read her diary because I couldn't keep that to myself, she left the room hurt for about 10 minutes and when she came back I told her I also read her messages with the guy her face dropped like she had to explain something, but when I told her that I only saw the most recent one she seemed relieved. She ended up ignoring me for the rest of the night and going to sleep, I tried going on her phone after she feel asleep but she took my fingerprint and face id off, I didn't know her password unfortunately. The next day I stayed until I had work later in the afternoon but never mention anything because I didn't really think of it. For the first few days of the breakup we were still talking but then she randomly switched on me because I wasn't giving her space, giving me the cold shoulder etc. I ended up adding the dude on insta and messaging him, I found out through him that she was confiding in him and she was telling him our relationship problems, things she's never told me. I asked him to relay a message to her for me at uni and he did, she wasn't happy, she ended up massaging me and sending me a long paragraph where she doesn't really wanna interact with me anymore etc. I begged her to give me a 2nd chance just the usual shit you do and she was unresponsive and didn't seem to care at all, after our conversation she posted a new post on insta and the first picture was her and this dude next to eachother at a party, not sitting next to eachother but close enough. I've talked with some female friends and they've told me she's was emotionally cheating on me and yeah she was, whether she sees it like that or not. I never knew anything about this guy and their relationship tbh, I knew of his existence and that he recently went through a bad break up but other then that, nothing. I thought maybe she didn't tell me because of my insecurities etc and I also thought that she talked him for advice because he knew what she was going through but now that I look back I'm not to sure.
I was at a mates place 2 weeks ago and he told me that he thinks he saw her on tinder, he wasn't sure tho, we ended up making a new account on his phone and sure enough she was. Why was she on tinder if she's getting this attention from another guy? She also posted songs on her insta note which were clearly aimed at me, she also posted a song which was clearly aimed at me to make me jealous, the song is basically about a man and a women and how good they'd be together. Since then she's acted like I don't exist, but something that really got to me is that I saw one of her highschool friends where I work and she was telling me that they were at a catch up that my ex was present at and didn't speak bad about me, she told her friends that she broke up but when they all started a conversation about how hard uni was she mentioned and seemed quite chirpy at the fact that I recently got into uni. (I applied for uni after the break up and posted it on my socials when I got in) why act happy for me that I got into uni after being a cold bitch after the break up?
We ended up talking again recently because I needed a favour from her and she told me that when we broke up it was because her mental health wasn't good for us, but then she said that she didn't like the way she was treated during and after the relationship, she said that I destroyed her self worth because I made comments and my temper was bad. All of these things were at the start of the relationship and when I noticed it was hurting her I took a step back and stopped these actions, I apologised, worked on it and changed. It's like she was nit picking things and people have told me it's because she feels guilty but also because she's avoiding accountability.
She recently had a family member pass away and I messaged her my condolences after about 2 - 3 weeks of no contact and she said thank you, but after that I'm done. I hate the way I was treated and she's made me feel like shit and made me feel like some kind of monster with the things she said. With all of this do you think she'll come around and realise that she was not nice to me at all? I've also had a friend tell me that she'll realise that the grass wasn't greener and try to come back to me but to not let myself be an option. She said when she's ready she might reach out and we can catch up for coffee and be friends but if she doesn't start the conversation with an apology I know she hasn't done anything to reflect or change. But essentially will she come around and realise she wasn't nice at all and apologise or is this whole ordeal a sinking ship? I've been taking therapy and I'm in a better position then I was a month ago and I still get thoughts about her and miss her but I'm getting over it with the way she treated me.
Thanks for listening to my Ted talk and thanks for reading this big ass rant. Oh we were together for a year and 3 months if that helps with anything either. Thanks. Also Jan and February were fine and then in march she became distant. Thanks again.
2024.05.15 03:45 TheTakingGiver Problems with sink overflowing washer standpipe
The other night I heard my water alarm go off in the basement and when I went down to check it discovered that some water had been leaking from back behind the washer dryer. I hadn't been running it but had just drained a full kitchen sink, and I think at the time the dishwasher was possibly running or had been running recently.
It wasn't a ton of water and by the time I got down to check it I didn't even see water actively dripping from anywhere, but based on what pipes were wet I'm pretty sure the water had come up out of the washer stand pipe. I tried filling the sink and draining it to replicate tonight and it didn't do it this time, but it did gurgle very loudly and the washer stand pipe shook while this happened. There was also a slight gassy smell.
The kitchen sink drain connects to the main wastewater pipe high up near the ceiling, and then towards the bottom of that pipe there's the washer stand pipe attached. I've had a plumber tell me in the past that this isn't vented, and my kitchen sink definitely gurgles quite a bit when you pour things down it and when the dishwasher is running. There's also a p-trap on the kitchen sink, in addition to the one in the basement attached to the kitchen drain line. My guess is this is because there at one point was a garbage disposal on the sink upstairs (found it in the garage) and they just smacked a p-trap on when they took it out. Because I'm pretty sure I don't need two?
Because the sink is up right against a window and I'm not too keen in running a pipe up through my walls and roof to vent right now, I'm guessing I'd have to install and air admittance vent under the sink. But I'm unsure if that'd fix the potential issue I ran into last night where water came up from the stand pipe, or if that was more likely caused by a blockage. Overall the sink has been draining at a fine speed.
Advice or correction on my understanding of things appreciated, I've only been a home owner one year and am learning new things every day with my century home.
submitted by TheTakingGiver to HomeImprovement [link] [comments]
It wasn't a ton of water and by the time I got down to check it I didn't even see water actively dripping from anywhere, but based on what pipes were wet I'm pretty sure the water had come up out of the washer stand pipe. I tried filling the sink and draining it to replicate tonight and it didn't do it this time, but it did gurgle very loudly and the washer stand pipe shook while this happened. There was also a slight gassy smell.
The kitchen sink drain connects to the main wastewater pipe high up near the ceiling, and then towards the bottom of that pipe there's the washer stand pipe attached. I've had a plumber tell me in the past that this isn't vented, and my kitchen sink definitely gurgles quite a bit when you pour things down it and when the dishwasher is running. There's also a p-trap on the kitchen sink, in addition to the one in the basement attached to the kitchen drain line. My guess is this is because there at one point was a garbage disposal on the sink upstairs (found it in the garage) and they just smacked a p-trap on when they took it out. Because I'm pretty sure I don't need two?
Because the sink is up right against a window and I'm not too keen in running a pipe up through my walls and roof to vent right now, I'm guessing I'd have to install and air admittance vent under the sink. But I'm unsure if that'd fix the potential issue I ran into last night where water came up from the stand pipe, or if that was more likely caused by a blockage. Overall the sink has been draining at a fine speed.
Advice or correction on my understanding of things appreciated, I've only been a home owner one year and am learning new things every day with my century home.
2024.05.15 03:20 threebicks Play mulch around base of tree
I would like to put ~4” of playground mulch on the lower area to the right of the tree for a swing set. The ground is kind of a soft wet lowland (not a protected wetland FYI). I had originally thought to fill in the area but this sub set me straight if I wanted to avoid harming my tree roots.
I’ve discussed my project with several landscapers. Their preference is to lay down a minimum 4” of crushed stone beneath the mulch to help it drain to avoid decomposition plus adding weed fabric. I’m thinking this adds expense and is potentially harmful to the tree. I figure if the much decomposes it helps the tree. I can add more.
I do wonder if the ground might be too soft though and risk issue with the mulch missing with it. The swing set will almost surely need buried concrete block “footings” otherwise I think soft earth is kind of ideal for a playground.
submitted by threebicks to arborists [link] [comments]
I’ve discussed my project with several landscapers. Their preference is to lay down a minimum 4” of crushed stone beneath the mulch to help it drain to avoid decomposition plus adding weed fabric. I’m thinking this adds expense and is potentially harmful to the tree. I figure if the much decomposes it helps the tree. I can add more.
I do wonder if the ground might be too soft though and risk issue with the mulch missing with it. The swing set will almost surely need buried concrete block “footings” otherwise I think soft earth is kind of ideal for a playground.
- Will 4” mulch risk the tree?
- More of a landscaping question, but does anyone thing this mulch just sink into the soft earth and mix with mud?
- If I wanted to firm up the soil chemically, would adding lime cause issue if the ph stays within the range for this tree?
- If I wanted to firm up the soil mechanically, would adding 4” of loose stone aggregate cause problems? (It seems like it kind of breathes). I’ve considered laying down pressure treated wood lattice ( like the type under a deck). It will sink into the mud and eventually decompose but for while it will add some structure in the softest spots. Would either of these mechanical solutions provide enough breathability? Any other suggestions?
2024.05.15 03:07 Bsul92 Anybody ever hit a curb so hard they ruptured their lipos?
Both looked like the top. (Good one on bottom for comparison). Sent my Maxx Slash off of a 2 foot wall today and I couldn’t see about the first 18 feet of the landing zone. Turns out there was a granite curb sticking up about 5 inches that was out of my line of sight. Truck went from 30 to 0 in an instant. The curb did not move, and I think that the batteries slid forward so hard that they crushed in On the front. Neutralizing in a salt water concoction in my backyard at the moment. 🤘🏻
Really lucked out because I didn’t notice right away and we drove it for about another 15 minutes before taking the cover off and finding this.
submitted by Bsul92 to Traxxas [link] [comments]
Really lucked out because I didn’t notice right away and we drove it for about another 15 minutes before taking the cover off and finding this.
2024.05.15 02:53 TheFertileSloth Install larger sink in existing granite countertop?
Hey everyone. I’m closing on a house next month and am trying to plan out some renovations. One thing we want to do is get rid of the split sink. Is it possible to have someone come out to cut the granite to a bigger opening and install a larger sink? Unsure if I should be calling a plumber or countertop folks first. Any guidance is appreciated!
Also curious on the cost for something like this if anyone knows.
submitted by TheFertileSloth to Remodel [link] [comments]
Also curious on the cost for something like this if anyone knows.
2024.05.15 01:37 YanksLakersRavensFan Leaking dishwasher, appears I screwed cover back on too deep and drilled into dishwasher minorly
Hi all,
My dishwasher is leaking around the bottom. I recently unscrewed the bottom cover to check for roaches and it appears I drilled a little too deep putting the screws back in. I'm wondering what I could use to plug it back up? I'm thinking plumbers putty and / or silicone caulk and smaller screws?
Thanks!
submitted by YanksLakersRavensFan to appliancerepair [link] [comments]
My dishwasher is leaking around the bottom. I recently unscrewed the bottom cover to check for roaches and it appears I drilled a little too deep putting the screws back in. I'm wondering what I could use to plug it back up? I'm thinking plumbers putty and / or silicone caulk and smaller screws?
Thanks!
2024.05.15 01:33 Digll Weird sewer / gas pipe and double drain mystery?
 | In the middle of a bathroom repair / mold removal from a corner roof leak. After removing all the drywall the path of this black drain pipe is a total mystery. submitted by Digll to Plumbing [link] [comments] The left down drain is from the sink and washer and dryer... it then goes up? And back down near the shower drain and where the hot and cold water enter the structure (this is a converter garage). Then a drain pipe comes up (right side of pic) that vents to the roof and connects to an old unused washer and dryer drain connection. Why... what is going on here. We're in the process of reframing this properly and terminating this buffoonery but id love more info from an experienced plumber while we wait for ours. Thank you |
2024.05.15 01:27 Digll Weird drain pipe discovered during repair / mold treatment.
 | Apologies for the bad picture, any plumbers help solve this pipe mystery? submitted by Digll to DIY [link] [comments] The left drain going down feeds from a sink that was removed and washer dryer. The middle one goes down near the shower drain and also has the in feeds water from the house (this is a garage conversion.) the right pipe coming up is the gas release to the roof and feeds a removed line from an old washer and dryer. What the hell is the black pipe in the middle doing and why? How would both these feed into the pipe to the sewer? Any plumbers that can shed a light on what's going on or why this would have been done appreciated. |
2024.05.14 23:47 S0MESTUDENT God's grace, I truly get it now
I always understood God's grace. But as of late, I haven't been able to feel an appreciation for it. As in I'm thankful, but I my mind and my emotions didnt seem to reciprocate. Thanking God for his grace seemed to be made up of vaccuos words. Until a couple of days ago.
To put it short, once I began to realise that my social anxiety (etc) wasn't controlled completely by the effects of porn, and of I performed well talking to people on a specific day, I shifted my focus from a worldly standpoint of trying to fix that by not watching porn, to what is the actual problem. My condition. I'm selfish. And my sin is an offence to God. Of course, I knew this before, but only now has it really started to sink in. And I do get partially emotional at times when thinking about it. The fact that I would rebel against a holy righteous God, who died for our sins. What makes me even more emotional is the fact that he would still come and save us anyway, should we accept his offer. It's almost craziness how he would still decide to forgive us not even a second after we sin and repent. Its almost foolish. We deserve his wrath. And even that...the fact that I don't understand the severity of his wrath or revere it makes me emotional also. Because my condition doesn't respect his sovereignty, and yet he still allows us into his presence.
Of course, the disregard of worldly benefits from nofap in pursuit of the kingdom can be dangerous when you lack reverence for God and to abuse his grace, but I hope that as long as im under God's grace, he'll crush me under the weight of my sin, so that my brokeness from sinning against God can be a pivot towards repentance and sanctification in his name. I don't want to be driven by worldly things. By if people like me or not. By how anxious I get in public. By how I "performed" talking to people that day. By how tired I am. Yes our suffering is valid, but it should drive us to the real issue at hand. Our sin.
God bless
submitted by S0MESTUDENT to NoFapChristians [link] [comments]
To put it short, once I began to realise that my social anxiety (etc) wasn't controlled completely by the effects of porn, and of I performed well talking to people on a specific day, I shifted my focus from a worldly standpoint of trying to fix that by not watching porn, to what is the actual problem. My condition. I'm selfish. And my sin is an offence to God. Of course, I knew this before, but only now has it really started to sink in. And I do get partially emotional at times when thinking about it. The fact that I would rebel against a holy righteous God, who died for our sins. What makes me even more emotional is the fact that he would still come and save us anyway, should we accept his offer. It's almost craziness how he would still decide to forgive us not even a second after we sin and repent. Its almost foolish. We deserve his wrath. And even that...the fact that I don't understand the severity of his wrath or revere it makes me emotional also. Because my condition doesn't respect his sovereignty, and yet he still allows us into his presence.
Of course, the disregard of worldly benefits from nofap in pursuit of the kingdom can be dangerous when you lack reverence for God and to abuse his grace, but I hope that as long as im under God's grace, he'll crush me under the weight of my sin, so that my brokeness from sinning against God can be a pivot towards repentance and sanctification in his name. I don't want to be driven by worldly things. By if people like me or not. By how anxious I get in public. By how I "performed" talking to people that day. By how tired I am. Yes our suffering is valid, but it should drive us to the real issue at hand. Our sin.
God bless
2024.05.14 23:32 Knowguy New Homeowner, worn out faucet replacement help
 | TLDR: Leaky failing faucet and never replaced one before, need help on hardware and install. submitted by Knowguy to Plumbing [link] [comments] Been a new homeowner for 3 years. Obviously have been learning how to fix things since this started. First time I need to replace a faucet. Our dishwasher (also needs replaced) is crap so we have been using the faucet like crazy and it’s starting to leak when turning in the water and drip below the cabinet when moving the faucet from side to side. I also hate how small the sinks are but with a 24” deep cabinet I don’t think I have many options for double sinks unless we go wider somehow.. Anyways can I replace this faucet without breaking something and what do I replace it with? According to the plumber I had go over this place when we first purchased this is more of a utility faucet and not kitchen faucet. Thanks ahead of time! |
2024.05.14 23:30 TheHaplessOne Affordable plumber to clean sink drain?
Hey everyone I’m currently dealing with drain flies in my apartment. I am actually losing my mind trying to get rid of them. All the recommendations I’ve been finding online and from friends and family aren’t working. As a last resort does anyone have a recommendation for a plumber to come in and clean the sink drain? It’s not clogged in anyway I just want it cleaned to see if that will finally get rid of the drain flies.
submitted by TheHaplessOne to Columbus [link] [comments]
2024.05.14 23:20 ElohimSelta Questions about Airgap and P-Trap
 | First off, sorry about my lack of proper terminology, i’m not a plumber myself, only assisted ever. submitted by ElohimSelta to Plumbing [link] [comments] At my work, we have a p-trap with an air gap. This was a new installation and has had issues with taking in any water at all. I spoke with some friends and the best i heard was that the funnel was level or lower than the output, so it probably doesnt have enough pressure to push water through. It cant even have a full second of water before its spitting up water on the floor. Also, in the second picture, the pipe fell out from having water in it. From all i know, would PVC cement prevent that? Its only held together by hose clamps currently, but fell out. All these together and there’s one other thing. This drain has cleaning agents running through it regularly, as its a dish sink at a restaurant, and when there was a leak, the plumbers sealed it with Window and Doo Caulk, which didnt last long. My boss said they’re gonna just loosen the hose clamps, plop it back in the pipe, and retighten the clamps.(He also splained me by saying the p-trap was the air gap, which i’m confident was just incorrect) I have two main questions. Are these good fixes? And is there any advice for how to handle this or any other problems we may experience? |
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]
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.
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]
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.
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]
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.