Truth or dare questions dirtyp

This one right here... https://www.reddit.com/martialarts/comments/1cm05tl/what_do_you_think_of_the_statement_bad_people_are/
It was fun so here's the long follow up. That bad advice that random older dudes kept giving me was the least worrying thing in those three hours of analyzing that church's security measures. I hit up a friend of mine that has a whole lot more security-specific training than I do just to see if I was overthinking things. Bro has taught me a lot, and I still try to make the trip once or twice a year to train with him. Between emails and a phone call I think I did a pretty good job of compiling our conversation. Most of the convo is also here but I'm not a shameless self-promoter on Tuesdays.
This isn't so much about martial arts or fighting or self-defense, but it probably is helpful and good discussion because a lot of you would hopefully give a crap about these same issues.
DC (Me): When I arrived I drove around the building and no one was posted at any of the 3 front entrances, at least not outside and visible. There was always someone at either of the 2 back entrances and the 1 north end entrance.
TF (The Friend): If someone is truly invested in safety they would have all doors covered, including the main entrance(s). Now maybe their thinking is the main entrance is where people come and go and it might be “uncomfortable” for visitors however we are talking about KEEPING PEOPLE ALIVE. To me that is worth the slight discomfort. And one way they could accomplish it without having to make it an uncomfortable experience is put “greeters” at the main entrance dressed in their Sunday best but they are actually part of the security response team. Those greeters need training in profiling, body language, situational awareness and of course the surface level expected things (firearm, hand to hand, situation specific training such as an active threat). Also does this place have security cameras? Security cameras need to monitor the entire property. And keep in mind people stake out places, plant things at places, etc during off hours. Cameras are a must. Want to make some money? Offer to install a system for them. I’ll help you.
DC: There was no mention to me of where first aid kits and AEDs are located in the building. I know where one AED is on the lower floor but it’s a 4-story building. Considering that I was outside the most heavily-traveled door, it would seem prudent for me to know where those are if I see someone get hit by a car or grab their chest and fall down.
TF: An emergency doesn’t always mean a violent situation. It could be someone suffering a heart attack, a child getting run over by a car driven by an 80 yr blind church goer or just a simple amputation of a finger because they are making sandwiches in the church kitchen. Every single floor needs to have multiple AEDs and COMPLETE first aid kits (that’s a whole class in itself – how to stock a first aid kit). I say multiples because you want quick easy access to one of those item no matter where you are at in the building. I don’t know how big the place is but even starting just by putting a complete first aid kit and AED at the N and S ends of the building is a good start along with training the congregation on CPR. You don’t need the piece of paper from a class, just get someone who knows how to come teach.
DC: Along the same line, no emergency action plans were provided. What to do if part of the building has to be evacuated for a fire or smoke? In case of severe weather or tornado threats what parts of the building should be evacuated and what are the safest areas to move people to until the danger passes? They might have these plans somewhere, but what’s the point if you don’t share them with the ones who would have to execute them.
TF: This is a mistake. There has to be an evacuation plan to remove as many people as possible from the building should something occur (fire, active threat, etc). If there are tornado shelters obviously that’s the safe spot for that specific situation. Many times the evacuation plan put in place can be used for multiple threats (active threat, fire, chemical spill, etc) because it’s about removing the people AWAY from the danger. And YES you are 1000% right those plans/routes need to be shared with EVERYONE in the congregation. When people do not know what to do or where to go there will be chaos, always. The people in charge might THINK they are going to be the go to person to provide guidance and manage the crowd but I will tell you when shit hits the fan no one is listening to them. People will be stepping on their own just to get out. With that being said, any evacuation plans that are created need to be drilled by the entire congregation. It could be done 10m before church for the next 6 Sundays to make sure EVERYONE knows the plan.
DC: It gets worse. There actually is no active shooter plan in place. Apparently some Lt. with the local police department will be doing an active shooter training in the future. I'll be in attendance with the lowest hopes in the room.
TF: This should be interesting and disappointing. My first question to him would be “What are your qualifications/experience to teach this? Have you experienced it first hand?”. Or is everyone looking at him because of his “label” which really means nothing other than that is his occupation that allows him to pay his electric bill. I have yet to see (other than myself) anyone put on a close to reality active shooter training session. Most people (law enforcement included) do powerpoint presentations. Unfortunately many “experts” teaching how to survive an active shooter situation think 4 hour Powerpoint presentations, statistics and cute acronyms are properly training people to survive one of the worst experiences a person could face. Powerpoint presentations do not save lives… ACTION saves lives! You know that though.
DC: Same with an active stabber, no plans there. Or at least no one could show me a plan.
TF: Same as the active shooter.
DC: Here's one you'll love. In the event of a person being violent, the directions I was given were to stay away, make a call over the radio, and let someone else come deal with it. They're also bringing in another security consultant (a former Navy SEAL, just like those three guys who all claim they killed bin Laden) to do de-escalation training at some point. I'm skipping that shit.
TF: I’ve always said if you can remove yourself from a situation that is the best way to increase your odds of staying alive. HOWEVER – there are some situations where immediate action is needed NOW! Especially if you are responsible for the safety of others the goal is to not only eliminate the threat but also minimize damage (limit the casualties). The other night we worked full blown knife attacks. I asked someone to demo with me. I slaughtered him with 20+ stabs/slashes in about 5 seconds and that was before he hit the ground and I mounted and continued. My point – the longer an event goes on the more damage innocents will experience. If you have time to go make a phone call then you have time to take effective action that works towards eliminating the threat and minimizing damage. Their suggestion to call someone else is so typical of people who have no concept of how violence really works (let someone else handle your problem…lol). No one cares for your life more than you do. It’s your responsibility. And regardless of what someone’s propaganda says about their label it still takes time to make a phone call, it takes time for someone to arrive and even when they arrive there is no guarantee they will even engage the threat. The overall goal for ALL VIOLENT ENCOUNTERS is to make the even AS SHORT AS POSSIBLE. The longer a violent event continues the odds of you leaving lessen and the odds increased causalities goes through the roof.
Poster's note: When he and I say we're going to train someone in knife attacks rather than knife defenses. The partner (the attacker) is going to be training on how to freaking stab you just as hard as you're training to resist being stabbed.. Rubber knife, protective gear and 100% stabbing vs 100% resistance, for advanced students, is a fun time. If you're wearing the pads you're going to get your ass kicked. He wasn't actually training his class how to go on stabbing sprees.
DC: This was one that’s not even related to fight skills or ability to engage a threat. There was not even a quick introductory rant on recognizing suspicious people or behavior. The more I talked to other volunteers the more I realized none of them had a clue.
TF: This is touched on in my answer to your first question. People who are determined to execute violent activity do not walk around with signs or flashing lights. It’s not always obvious like in the movies. They blend in and lay low until the moment to take action. These church people have no clue what they are doing. It’s all what I call “surface level thinking” meaning the basic stuff your average person who is inexperienced in the subject thinks of – “Get a police officer officer in our group to teach us something.” Teach you what? How to hand out traffic citations? “We have retired military this or that and retired law enforcement and a former rodeo clown who are packing heat during church.” Ok have they ever dealt with using their weapon when there is mass chaos and people screaming/running everywhere? Bullets only travel in a straight line and do not go around innocents if they are in the way. But just because someone has a firearm doesn’t mean they have the mindset to use it.
DC: You’ll love this one. 5 minutes before the church service let out we were told to call it quits for the day, before everyone in the building started filing out to the parking lot at one time.
TF: Do you mean the response team was training, etc and the church had you guys leave 5 minutes before the congregation got out? That ties exactly into my comment in question #1 about appearance/comfort level. Why hide it? Is there anyone in the church (or the world for that matter) that would disagree the world is getting more violent? Everyone knows it is… they’ve either experienced it or seen/heard news stories so why not put it out there that the church takes the safety and well being of their members SERIOUSLY? I have a saying I came up with once when I was talking to a place about active shooter training and they said it couldn’t be hands ons and they were hoping more for like a speaking engagement because their policy doesn’t allow physical contact. My response – “Until you put people before your policies, your people will continue to die.” And that’s just plain truth. Everyone is so worried about policy/comfort level they are putting that before the actual goal of saving people’s lives. If you are getting ready for a championship basketball game what should you do in practice? Play some damn basketball. Well if you are wanting to learn how to save your life/others in a violent situation what should you practice? VIOLENCE. Why would you do ANYTHING ELSE in practice than what you are preparing for? It’s not logical. I think the congregation would approve and love the idea that “their church cares”.
DC: On a scale of 1-10, how would you rate the building’s security measures? Is it fucked, or am I crazy and overthinking it because I am oddly OCD about details sometimes?
TF: I would give them a grade of 2 (at best) out of 10. You are 1000% on point on everything. You have training. You understand violent situations but you’ve been trained by someone and a group that has experienced it and knows how violence REALLY unfolds. The people who are in charge with this “security” policy at your church have ZERO experience and ZERO training. Imagine this - would you want a surgeon who has no education in operation and no experience to attempt to perform a life saving surgery on you? A question I would ask them is - "How SERIOUS are you about saving lives?"

1. I want to start by discussing the "colonizer" narrative. By definition, colonizers are a group of aggressors sent from an immensely powerful nation to forcefully settle one they have no claim to currently. In the case of Israel, Jewish people had occupied what is today Iran, Iraq and Israel for millennia. When what is now Iran (and much, much later the state of Iraq) formed governments hostile to Jewish people, they ended up in Israel because it was the last place Jewish people had already settled for them to go. The "colonizer" narrative is either uneducated or a willful ignorance made possible because of intolerance for Jews.
2. The voices who are the driving thrust behind wanting to bring down Israel as a state, and the people who are the driving thrust of anti-Semitism are the same people. Half a decade ago, when I was at a large, prestigious university in the Northeast, I heard very pathetic neo-Nazi types rail on, saying the most heinous things about Jews and Israel at the free speech wall. Today, I hear those same talking points at high school and college graduation demonstrations, and even on major news network broadcasts. I have to admit - I probably did not think we could sink this low as a nation.
3. Israel is one of the few legitimate nations in the region, meeting all the major tests of a legitimate state. They have defended their territory and won it from belligerent offensive forces several times. They have been recognized by all relevant international trade and cooperative organizations. They have a Declaration of Independence that was not, and is not, successfully contested. In real terms, the only other nations that satisfy these main tests in the Middle East are Turkey and the UAE. Iran meets some (but not all). All of the rest are, objectively, completely illegitimate nation-states drawn on a map by true Western colonizers with no real regard for cultural or ideological differences. They don't truly satisfy the tests for a legitimate nation. Pakistan, Iraq and Libya in particular must be fully dismantled before we can even begin to question the legitimacy of any of (Israel, Turkey or the UAE).
4. Not withstanding 1-3, aligning yourself with neo-Nazis, Islamic extremists and terrorist organizations on issues of great importance will not age well. When you are a US citizen and the Israeli government isn't even in your circle of influence, you are effectively shouting at trees on Israeli vs Gaza relations. Given this is the case, one has to wonder why a person would dare be overheard shouting such offensive things at trees in public - whether it be from a lack of education/awareness or true anti-Semitism.

My view is that we have to stop platforming and accommodating this. People can shout at their trees all kinds of heinous things. But that does not mean we should televise it or dignify it with a response. To be clear, people are free to say uneducated or offensive things. But my view is that people are being given platforms or holding onto platforms to spew ignorance and hate when they should not be able to do so - and that is something we can fix quickly and completely by not meeting these people where they are. We can refuse to engage with people when they are very uneducated or hate-filled - and force them to rise to our level if they wish to have a platform.

Boyfriend often calls me names, belittles me when I make mistakes instead of supporting me, and sexualise me in demeaning ways.
For exemple, during arguments, he may grope my breast while reciting what sounds like a pornographic horror movie.
« You like it you slut ? Isn’t that all you want? Say it, repeat after me; I. am. a. slut. »
It never fails to disgust me when he takes his penis out, and forces it onto my face. But don’t worry guys, he has a good reason; I speak badly to him. Since I disrespected him, then why should he bother respecting me?
(Although, what is even more disgusting is probably my longing for a little apology, a little word, a little something. I fool myself each time hoping it’ll come.)
Intimacy just isn’t what it used to be. No kissing, no touching, no foreplay, it’s like his love is gone, like he doesn’t care about bounding with me anymore. We still do it daily, but the pleasure is systematically focused on him. I used to want him all the time, and now, it’s like I forgot sex even exist. Back when my libido was high, he would mockingly call me a nymphomaniac, each time I initiated. It might sound playful, but in his book, a promiscuous woman is a worthless woman. When asked to stop, he innocently says that he’s just teasing me, and that i’m a bit susceptible. Playing it cool. Playing the fools.
Still to this day, even though I now rarely initiate, whenever I show interest in lovemaking, it’s like he can’t contain himself from faking exaggerated interest in a very obvious way, while groping me and saying the same kind of things. Shouting sillily that I love dicks too much. Kissing me willingly in a gross manner. I’ll spare the rest to your imagination. There’s too much to say.
He also teases me daily by singing my name, my old usernames, my family name, and even my mom's name, which makes me feel kind of harassed. Especially when I’m in the middle of/just done cooking dinner for him, cleaning his apartment, or doing any task for him.
(I basically assist him in everything he does.)
For example, anytime he wants an item, he just asks me to go grab it instead of ever standing up. I roll everything he smokes and he smokes a lot. He said it’d be nice if he learned how to do it himself. I'm always ready to teach him, but he hasn't taken it seriously once yet. I cook whenever he’s hungry, which is often at 3AM these days. I force myself not to sleep for hours each days so we can fall asleep cuddling together, often being promised to sleep soon at 2AM, only to end up in the kitchen at 3AM, and be told at 6AM that it’s not worth sleeping anymore, so you can go sleep and I’ll stay a bit more on the computer, alright ? I’m then the annoying one for pointing out his lack of reliability.
Due to that, we often wake up at noon, and he never miss on saying he woke up too late and the day is kind of ruined because I didn’t wake him up earlier. Which is absolutely false, as I serve him as the best alarm clock ever, coming in his bed every 20 minutes, cuddling and kissing his forehead gently, telling him to please wake up. But I can’t force him to. I don’t understand why he’d be upset I’m awake since 5PM and he only is since 9PM because of his own difficulty to wake up.
Anyway. If I dare being lazy or show reluctance to his requests, he’ll jokingly call me useless or be a little upset, saying i’m being mean to him. Truth is, i’d happily do it all, if he wasn’t so inconsiderate all the time. I love him so much, so I do it still, but quite unhappily.
These behaviours upset me, not usually to the point of actually starting fights, but rather retreat and cry on my own. He never reaches out to apologize.
When I retreat, the only kind of attention he gives at this point is rather sad. It consists of messages mockingly asking if I left to cry, if I’m smoking all his weed, sometimes he likes to bring out of the blue some old arguments we had, and other times he prefers to send memes, but it’s never complete without the massive amount of emoji he uses to usually indicate he is clowning me and we’re not having any serious discussion. Oh, and if I dare ignore him, then I’m a pathetic bitch. Even when I remove myself, he take offence of it, says I’m being mean, and that I should apologize for abandoning him.
I don’t tolerate his behaviour in the sense that I voice my discomfort every time. Every single things listed here, he knows bother me, because I always speak up. But in the end, he’s never apologetic when he should be. And I’m still here, next to him, like nothing happened. Days after days.
He never says « I’m sorry I’ve hurt you » and just hugs me. I crave that. I crave the simplest apology. « I’ve been too far » I can only wish.
Everytime these behaviours occurred, I’ve let him know that I dislike it, that the disrespect hurts. But it just keeps going on. This is my everyday.
How can I effectively communicate the depth of his hurtful actions and their impact on our relationship?
To the people who have dealt with a similar situation, what have you done that bettered the situation? I know I will mostly read it’s a lost cause, as people on this subreddit seems to mainly seek the courage to leave their abusive person. But that’s not my case. I don’t plan on leaving. I love him with all my heart but I wish his behaviour would ceases.
I wish he realised he is constantly disrupting my mental well-being. I wish he realised I’m slowly losing my spark. I wish he realised close to nothing he does benefits us. I wish he realised he could be a better partner. I wish he realised he would hate dating himself. I wish he realised he’s hurting his baby mama. I wish he realised he’s eroding my self-esteem. I wish he realise he is traumatising me.

My wife and I have been together for 15 years and through it all I have seen her get screwed over by women friends time and time again. She has a good heart, wants to help everyone and has nothing but good things to say about everyone. Yet her choice of friends somehow always turn out being chaotic trauma dumpsters filled with envy and jealousy.
For context, the ex-BFF in this story (we’ll call her Sarah since that’s what autocorrected when I typed “aitah”) and her have been friends since childhood. Sarah had a rough childhood and my wife’s family always took her in, took her on vacations and they were inseparable for many years. At times in HS, they had their falling outs of course and so on every 4-6 years after HS. Something would come up, Sarah would say something mean to my wife and they’d not talk for a year. Then, she’d come back in to her life. My wife rationalizes this as a friendship cycle which I would agree with except for the patterns and toxicity Sarah exhibits in her own life as well as others. She tends to gossip about others, has made some questionable decisions in her own marriage and most everything she complains or bitches about is purely conjecture and projection. She loves to stick a knife in your back and twist it as hard as she can when she’s feeling vindictive and many of her old peer group have many unkind things to say about her unbeknownst to her. Yet, my wife likes to see the best in people as well as being someone who can be influenced out of fear or intimidation (which Sarah has done many times).
Sarah’s attributes:
— Demonstrates deep seated resentment and jealousy towards my wife. Wife is kind, a complete bombshell and comes from a generous family. Sarah attempts to control her, makes lewd comments about her breast being too big and then gets breast implants herself, do as I say, not as I do mentality.
—Infidelity and the communication for the desire to leave her husband many times over.
—Sends my wife novels complaining about her relationship, co-workers and friends expecting full support and attention to her concerns; wife can’t get her to reciprocate about simple conversation, vent about her stresses taking care of our autistic children and the loneliness she feels just wanting friends.
—Throws her psychology degree and her accomplishments in my wife’s face when my wife is just trying to vent about her day, boasting of freedom and date nights (no kids)
—Boasts about going to their friends places for the weekend that is close to us (we live 3.5hrs a part) and taking trips, but never committing or trying to make an effort to see my wife for any meetups (or cancelling when we head down to my in-laws where they live).
I could go on, but I’ll continue with the situation….
(Philosophical conflict that I’m thinking about breaking out of spite)
My wife and I have been through hell and back in our lives. And out of each situation we overcome, I’ve stressed to her over time that situation dumping personal information about us to others will, over time, create a confirmation bias with her audience. I’ve seen it a million times in real life, on Reddit, everywhere. When there is a personal connection (friends) between two or more people, a singular narrative seen through the lens of one person is taken as the end all/be all truth and bad advice and information is suggested. So while you and your SO have worked out whatever issue you had and moved on, you can bet your ass the friend(s) you anger dumped on have indexed the instance in their databases, recollecting it when they need a topical punching bag in conversation amongst others and to slowly start suggesting relationship advice out of the resentment they feel by proxy from temporary issues you have since reconciled.
Unless it’s detrimental to your life, children’s lives or is a legal matter, I’m a staunch believer in people working out their marital issues amicably, peacefully and privately.
(Mother’s Day Drama) We are enjoying Mother’s Day. My boys and I are pampering mom, taking all duties off of her bc damnit she deserves it. Wish it was an entire weekend.
After cleaning, taking the kids out to get some cookies and then getting ready to make her dinner, she comes walking into the room, eyes red, crying and saying “I lost my best friend again”. She then proceeded to show me a one message text blaming my wife for something that she never clarified. It was cryptic stating: “I know what you were hoping I would never find out. Someone told me the desperate stuff you attempted even though we are such good friends, right”. It goes on to say that this why karma has come so hard for her in her life and she’ll pray for her. Sarah didn’t write anything else, blocked her on everything and just cut her out of her life like nothing. My wife is devastated and we still don’t know the full story of what she heard, just that it was something from high school 20+ years ago! And apparently she heard it earlier and waited until Mother’s Day to contact my wife.
Now y’all, you must understand, my wife and I have access to each other’s digital footprint on everything and have absolutely zero to hide from one another. I’m in IT and deal mainly with security and ethical hacking. I can say unequivocally that my wife has not stepped out or done anything, whatsoever. Furthermore, the text mentioned “Karma coming so hard for her” and the only thing she is referring to with this statement is us having children on the spectrum with in being more severe than the others, and not having “normal” children. And come to find out, this is some rumor Sarah heard from a mutual childhood friend about my wife back in HIGHSCHOOL and it wasn’t even true. Yet, she has the audacity to contact my wife on Mother’s Day and acts so righteous, tearing my wife’s world apart.
I literally want to download all of the text messages about her coworkers she talked shit about, her husband she didn’t want to be with and the drugging she does and send it to the school where she works and her husband anonymously to make her fe her own karma for the pain, anguish and loneliness she’s put my wife through on Mother’s Day and for the past 15 years. I most likely won’t, but shit, this woman has some bad juju coming her way. AITAH for feeling this way?
P.S. Please leave some comments of hope and inspiration for my wife so I can show her the world is still a good place filled with good people outside of her old childhood friends that are toxic AF.

HI - ok so just started the show and i am LOVING it, but I'm so confused on the role of Rebecca. My mom watched the show so I do know a spoiler about her *marriage to justin*, but im on season 1 now and just going through the motions of her kiss with joe. Does the family ever find out the TRUTH??? She's definitely becoming a villain in my eyes BUT the marriage later on makes me question this (also she married her half brother????? HUH???)
Anyway, if anyone happens to know if we find out the truth about her or if she is kind of the villain in the show, please let me know : ). Spoilers are totally fine by me.

First time home seller - We have a house listed for sale currently. Our contract with the realtor mentioned marketing materials and contract length, nothing about staging. It said that they will cover marketing. After we had signed and were getting the house ready to list, they decided staging might help it and suggested it.
They asked us if we were open to pay for part of it but we declined (the house has some of our furniture still). They offered to pay for it all. Now the house has been on the market for almost 30 days now with very few showings and some activity at open houses. We've had a few firm interests but no one putting in a offer. We've now added an offer deadline and plan to take it off the market if it doesn't sell by 60 days.
My question is are we obligated the keep the listing alive until we get an offer or can we delist it with no issues? Reason being that we aren't desperate to sell but were hoping to move closer to work due to a change in employment. However, if we're not getting a price/deal we want, we'd rather just stay. My concern is our realtor will be pissed because they would have lost money with staging/marketing materials, but the truth is we've had no luck so far with an open house every weekend plus a very open schedule for showings. Our realtor also doesn't want to lower the price (we prefer it that way too, but they advised against it).
If we ask them to delist, do we lose anything? Our realtor contract is until Nov 2024 but they told us we could cancel anytime no issue.

You make pretty regrettable mistakes when you're desperate. Unfortunately, desperation would go on to cost me much more than I ever thought possible.
When I was 19 years old my financial situation wasn't great. In what was left of a crumbling home would be my recovering addict twin sister, and myself. The unfortunate state of our home was all from the even more unfortunate passing of our parents just four years prior. The two hadn't died tragically by any means, thankfully. No.. our parents died of old age, a consequence of having us kids later in life, while not being able to take on the financial burden that would be.. us.
My sister was making the early steps into the college lifestyle, doing her best to stay afloat with my support in funding. Money was tight for the two of us, but as she became more well off on her own, the more content she was with severing the last remaining tie to her childhood.. me.
I didn't hate Xel for her decision, if anything I understood her distancing from this life.. even if it saddened me. So then it was just me! Left to a house with a hole in the ceiling. Believe it or not, life wasn't all to bad even with how considerably down in the dumps it otherwise seemed to be.
However, content as I might have been, it's human nature to want more than you have. Can't say I was to greedy to look for some comfortability in my own home..
And so there it was! The glistening letters of ink outlining my salvation. An advertisement I'd found plastered onto the wall of the small booth I sat at while I waited for the bus to carry me off to work. "$5,000 to those compatible for a recent scientific breakthrough." Under any 'normal' circumstances I would consider this a scam. Hell, I was skeptical as I scanned the letters. Had I been told of this opportunity through spam call or text I would've glossed right over it just as anyone else would have.. but I was desperate.
I think it was the fact that someone, some real person had to have put this paper up on this wall gave me some glimmer of hope for a quick cash grab. Listed bellow the promise of money was details for a number to call regarding interest in the proposition.
I took the bait.. I saw the line, and like some idiot I clamped my teeth down just for that hook to sweep me away.
The corporation I'd come to know as, "The Arsaction," would see me just a week later. There was a brief consultation. They took my weight, age, all things I would've expected. It wasn't until they pulled records regarding my familial situation that I began to find this whole ordeal.. suspicious.
To 'begin' to find things suspicious only at this point is foolish, something I full understand, but I feel the need to reinforce the fact that I, Lex McKarthy, was desperate.
Everything by this point seemed pretty legit. The blood tests, the doctors office, the tests were.. reasonable. What was I to suspect? Everything was so vague, and truth be told I honestly didn't even expect anything to come of this visit. All the doctors, all the consultants seemed so disinterested in my features.. but when they realized I had no one, everything seemed to change.
Suddenly ears perked, suddenly doors closed, suddenly I was.. exactly what they were looking for. Every feature of myself was so painfully average. I was anyman, I was.. nothing. Despite their best efforts to be discreate, I knew it was only the fact that nobody would come looking for me that peaked their interests.
My stomach dropped when I was faced with a pen in my hand, trembling over that NDA. Every fiber of me cursed myself for never considering putting just a minute of research into 'The Arsaction,' however a video briefing would ease my nerves. Nobody knew who The Arsaction was. There was no public record of their existence, and that NDA would make sure that they continued to never exist.
I was stupid, I was irrational, I was in over my head! But I was desperate.. and I had nothing else.
"I have nothing else.. I have nothing else!"
It was a mantra I chanted as I was injected with that substance. The substance that turned my blood orange, made my skin freakishly thin.
And then I went home.
That was it. I was given my sum of money, and I was sent home. They told me I was, "good to go," and no number of questions would get a one of them to speak. I was only met with who I'd assume to be security guiding me out of the building.
Not a word more of what I'd just been injected with, only given instructions to not dwell on mirrors for too long. That was it, just some ominous instructions. So I left, as befuddled as I arrived. Relief washed over me as I made my way home. The anxiety I'd received from such an ominous buildup was all waved by the fact that I was somehow just.. good to go?
Relief quickly turned to panic as the inherent nature of it all being too good to be true set in. I expected to die, I expected some visit from government agents, I expected anything and everything, but as months turned to years.. Nothing ever came of it. No mirror ever caused me any harm, which was its own anxiety I'd have to overcome simply because of the absurd nature or such a request.
I hoped it was.. some prank. Everything was well... for a time. Of course to disturb my peace, my sister called.
I just.. watched the phone ring. My sister, someone who I hadn't spoken to in upwards of 8 years was suddenly ringing me up. When I finally had answered, her question left me speechless.
"Hey Lex. would you happen to remember Mom's recipe for that egg toast? I think I left the cookbook at your place."
I felt my ears ring. The question was so.. casual. She entirely skipped the part where we discussed how she's been, how I'm doing. She spoke to me like we'd hung out only days ago.
At the time I'd thought I was just being dramatic, but looking back on it I can only justify my own hesitation to respond.
"W-..what?"
I stammered like a fool, but I was firm in my disbelief.
"Yeah, it should be in the book on the counter?"
I looked over my shoulder to my kitchen counter, past the toaster I never bought, and over to the book she spoke of. My jaw hung heavy, the whole interaction feeling like a dream.
With one hand I held the phone, and with the other I began to skim the pages of the book letting my eyes linger on mom's cinnamon roll recipe for a bit longer than intended.
"Lex.. are you ok?"
My sister inquired on the other end. I suddenly felt sick.. falling the the ground and laying on my back. This wasn't happening.
"Lex? Are you alright!?"
My sister repeated back more urgently, followed by her assurance that she would be over soon to check on me. But.. no company ever arrived. After hours the line just dropped, and I fell asleep there on that cold, wooden floor, paralyzed with a feeling I couldn't wrap my head around.
When I finally gathered the composure to stand I would try to call Xel back. A frown dawned my face when she never answered. Somehow this didn’t surprise me, and I was lead to believe that she had never called me in the first place. The thing is, the book was still on my counter, and her call was still logged on my phone.
Still, I hadn’t known Xel to do something like this. It wasn’t in her nature to do something so cruel, to act like all this time hadn’t passed.
But it has. Years have gone by and nothing but radio silence from her, a silence I feared would go on. The following days I would continue to attempt to call her, but to no avail.
I had to come to terms with the fact that, as quickly as she had returned too my life, Xel was once again gone. I’m ashamed to admit that, just as I’d forgotten that experience with The Arsaction several years ago, I’d forgotten about my own sister.
Even if she wouldn’t call back, I was inspired to begin looking through old family pictures, and this is where the oddities would start to fester.
I found a picture of Xel and I just.. eating breakfast. Usually my mom was off to work by then, but it was a special occasion. It was a day I remember so vividly. I was 14 years old at this time, and had awoke to the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls filling the air. After all, it was Xel’s and I’s birthday. All was right with the world, all as I climbed from the messy sheets in my dark room. It was abundantly clear that the bulb of the light beside my bed had burnt out over the course of the night, and the closed blinds didn't aid my vision as I stumbled around my room in search of my door.
An oddity presented itself in the fashion of aimless wondering. Where was the nob? One I'd become so accustomed to.. not needing to open? I'd never closed my door. Not the previous night, not ever. Not to the behest of my mother who'd always taken annoyance to closed doors, some trait of my grandmother's to which my mom had unfortunately inherited.
Breakfast took the form of two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, and slightly burnt French-Toast. My previous assumption of cinnamon rolls unfortunately missed the mark, however I wouldn't object to this. I wish I could convince myself that I was wrong. Something so mundane, something so insignificant to the events in this story, however the first notable instance of a curse that I couldn't pinpoint
My mother had already seen herself off to work by this point, and so I was faced with the responsibilities of seeing myself out to the bus. Some routine I'd become far too used to; The minutes passed, leaving me with nothing to do but wait by the door for a buss that would never arrive.
If the door being shut and the cinnamon rolls being a different meal entirely had left me with a minor confusion, then suddenly being seated in the passenger seat of my mother's car listening to the nonchalant complaints from my twin sister about the nuances freshmen year math shot me into a disarray I couldn't possibly quantify.
I think one of the scariest things for me is the fact that I thought nothing of it. I hadn't freaked out. No scene was made to express what should have been one of the more disturbing instances of my childhood.
I could chalk up the mistaking breakfast for something else as me just misremembering events.. But something unmistakable is the fact that somehow my mom both never drove me to school, yet the fact that she.. always had.
If you're confused, I understand. I am too, because the contradicting nature of my memory is something that haunts me to no end.
Things were easier as a child. That's often the case, but ever sense I stopped aging, I've begun to notice the oddities presented by life that are.. inexplainable. I'm not even sure where to start with researching my predicament.
The Mandela Effect is something that I feel needs no introduction. To those who don't know, the Mandela Effect, in brief, is a phenomenon that incurs when you "misremember" something. Think of a card, now imagine you saw that card as a child and it had a single heart drawn on it's center. Now, years later you are discussing this card with someone else just for them to tell you that the heart you swear, the heart you KNOW you saw.. was a diamond. You tell them they are wrong, you shake your head, chuckle nervously.. But then they present you with the card.
Your stomach drops. This can't be the card, there is no way! Only it is the card, and when you come to the realization that it is in fact the card you'd seen as a child, you are filled with a mix of confusion, fascination, and quite possibly denial.
Most often, the Mandela Effect is associated with silly things like books titles, and board game mascots, but my experience is far beyond such things. It's the only phenomenon I've found that seems even within the realm of explaining my predicament. Problem is, the more I think, the more is wrong.
All of me wishes it all ended with that one childhood experience! But it didn't. In fact, the more I consider my childhood, the more contradictions I notice. Part of me believes I could handle this if it was limited to my childhood, but it's not. This.. experience... It effects my every day!
I'm not losing my mind, I'm just picking up crumbs that I never dropped. Not.. losing my mind, just finding more "mind" than the inventory should account for.
As I stop and think now, I’m understanding that my memories are.. overlapping. Other mirrored versions of myself and my memories will occasionally cross paths, and when they do it causes me to misremember. Not because I don’t remember, but because my memories conflict with one another.
I wish I could see someone about this, but I’m worried the consequences of me seeking someone out.. still, we make dumb mistakes when we are desperate, and I’m starting to feel desperate again.

WARNING: This story contains strong language, mild violence & fictional political radicalism.
(Note, this story portrays the human side in a morally negative light. If you do not like that, then turn back now.)

ULJJAK KASERKOR, ANDZAKTAR, THE HOMEWORLD, ANDZAK EMPIRE, 11,772 A.C. 

Standing in the centre of the Andzak Governing District, in the heart of the Andzak Empire, is the Tree of Civilisation. While there is no direct translation into Human Standard, the meaning of the tree, including its name, stood for the long continuity of Andzak civilisation and the Andzak Empire.
Surrounding the tree were the marvellous palaces of the Imperial Government, the Imperial Advisory Council directly appointed by the emperor among them. The palaces were meant to be opulent and expensive, as if you were a lowly governor coming in from the Outer Provinces, the rows and rows of perfectly symmetric crystalline walls combined with the mirrors to allow the Andzak aristocracy to witness the superb influence of the Imperial Authorities.
Looking into those spotlessly clean mirrors was me, Deputy Governor Uljjak Kaserkor. According to Imperial audits of my activities, I am a "sub-par administrator, foreign to both the Andzak Empire and it's traditions, and the Andzak aristocracy" as Councillor Dlirij once said. In short, they've been looking for an excuse to exile me to a low-ranking advisory position on a third-band world out in the middle of nowhere.
And, as such, I am keeping this diary to myself, so in the event that Councillor Dlirij or one of his cronies tries to bring up charges against me, I am capable of fighting them effectively.
So, what am I doing, thousands of lightyears from my homeworld looking up at the Tree? I am here to report to the Advisory Council of an intense gamma-ray disturbance next to the uninhabited system of [UAG-2113]. Gamma ray disturbances of this scale usually mean the development and testing of superluminal weapons, which are severely restricted under the [Interstellar Accords].
Superluminal weapons are capable of obliterating entire solar systems if given enough energy. The most powerful superluminal weapon ever tested by the Andzak Empire vaporised 3 light-years of space, and fried every unprotected electronic within 117 light-years.
So this means it is understandable that the Empire might be concerned by yet another civilisation in hold of these excessively powerful weapons, especially if they don't know who has them, and they're being tested in the Centauran Reserves, an area that has barely been explored by the Empire due to the Centauran Pandemic a hundred years ago.
By my side, is the Military Advisor Vraxh Huljukrj. To be honest, we don't get along, and while I technically outrank him, stripping him of his rank would be an essential guarantee that the Regional Military Consul would be pissed. Vraxh has gotten into the Armed Forces through nepotism with the Consul.
"So you're bothering the Advisory Council with third-world bullshit just because one sensor buoy near a system nobody's ever heard of in the middle of fucking nowhere read some extra spicy particles?"
Vraxh, for whatever reason, still won't understand the severity of the situation, despite me having explained it to him at least a hundred times over the past 2 weeks we've been travelling here.
"I have explained this to you half a dozen times Vraxh, if you pester me about this decision one more time I will eject the rest of your belongings into space!"
To be honest, I haven't been particularly kind to him either. He kept bugging me with intentionally annoying overexaggerated questions over the 2 weeks we've been travelling here, so while he was in the bathroom, I ejected the bed in his room into the vacuum of space. While he wasn't amused, I found it incredibly funny.
"Okayy, fuck! Fine.."
Maybe I'll have even garnered his false support when the aristocrats in the Advisory Council wonder what I'm doing there.
Me and Vraxh right behind me walked up to the meetings desk. Behind the desk, is a short and relatively aged Andzakian in the uniform worn by imperial servants. He is looking at his holopad, appearing to have not noticed the two borderworlders at the desk. I attempted to grab his attention.
"Hello, sir?"
The imperial servant didn't appear to be surprised, and just looked up at the two with a condescending glare, confirming that he did infact know they were there, and just didn't pay any attention.
"Imperial Advisory Council case #1,714?"
He said the words sharply, as if he had already thought of them hours in advance.
"Yes, sir. A gamma ray disturbance in syste-"
"I don't care. Wait in the lobby, when you are called, arrive on time."
The servant interrupted me rudely, before pointing at a sitting area in the lobby.
I walked over to the lobby and sat down, with Vraxh reluctantly following me. After half an hour of awkwardly silent waiting, the loudspeaker in the lobby called,
"Uljjak Kaserkor and Vraxh Huljukrj, attend conference chamber C-1 immediately."
I immediately got up pulling Vraxh with me, before hastily making my way over to the conference chamber.
The guards at the door opened the heavy chamber doors with a loud thunk.
Sitting in the furthest conference seat was- god damn it, I shouldn't have come!
Sitting in the fanciest conference seat of them all, was Councillor Dlirij, with the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen.
"Deputy Governor Uljjak Kaserkor. What matters do you disturb the Advisory Council with this time?" Dlirij said, in generic aristocratic government drone.
I steeled myself with my own government training, before responding through nearly clenched teeth,
"Councillor Dlirij, thank you for coming to address my meeting."
Saying it was my meeting whilst also not using the formal address style was something I knew would piss Dlirij off, but thankfully he couldn't do anything about it according to the formal rules of the palace.
Indeed, Dlirij's grin reduced and he just looked me in the eyes, before saying,
"Deputy Governor, get straight to the point. What do you have to show me?"
I laid out a briefcase on the table, opening it and beginning to explain.
"3 weeks ago, an intense gamma event occured in the uninhabited system [UAG-2113], 3,679 light-years from the Homeworld."
I took a deep breath.
"As you would know as a Councillor, Councillor Dlirij, gamma-intense events in this fashion nearly always signal the activation of a superluminal weapon, legally considered an ultraintense weapon by the Interstellar Accords and thus prohibited for any Interstellar State to possess them aside from the Andzak Empire, the Union of Galactic Republics, and the Ksirlok Dependency."
I paused.
"I am requesting an Advisory Council initiated investigation into what caused the disturbance. If this is not achieved, it could be greatly threatening to the order in the Galaxy."
I then handed Dlirij the papers, which he started to look through.
In the silence while Dlirij looked through the papers, Vraxh had said nothing. I gave him a subtle glare for him to contribute, which he did. He reluctantly said, without thought,
"Councillor Dlirij, the Military Consulate will be the next to be contacted, if we do not succeed here."
I was not pleased with what Vraxh had said. He tried to challenge the Councillor's authority with a threat to go to the military establishment if we got nowhere here. I opted to remain silent though.
Dlirij looked at Vraxh with a glare of anger, before looking back down at the papers.
A few more awkward minutes passed, before Dlirij passed the papers back to me.
"So, you spend 2 weeks travelling to the Imperial Homeworld and the most honourable palaces of the Empire, with your little sidekick, just to bother me, Hasjaxhar Dlirij, with gamma radiation readings from one isolated buoy, nevertheless in the Centauran Reserves, where it has been proven by the Imperial Surveying Authority that there is no intelligent life?"
Dlirij's hand moved underneath the table.
"Councillor Dlirij, I believe you are mistaken by what I have given an explained to you, please-"
At this moment the guards burst through the door, before knocking us both out with the butt of their plasma rifles.
...

SEVEN FOUR EIGHT, NEW YORK CITY, TERRA, ALMIGHTY CELESTIAL STATE, 147 A.R. 

"...Comrades! On this date, July 16th, 147 years since the Revolution, humanity has taken yet another great leap under the leadership of the State. On this day, we have successfully detonated a superluminal weapon."
"A weapon that breaks the laws of the universe, a weapon that propels an object at thousands of times the speed of light, before dropping it back into realspace just before it hits its target. A weapon that, prior to today, the distant enemies of humanity cannot have dreamed of. A weapon that has just obliterated the Wolf 359 star system. Due to the ingenuity of our technology, not only do we get to witness the flash of our excellence, but we can also observe from this distance with our electronics intact!"
"Today, from this date, humanity is not only indivisible, but invincible! We, led forwards by the State, shall never be destroyed by those distant in the void, and our Black Banner shall soon fly on every planet in the Milky Way!"
The crowd cheered.
From my position, it looked fairly typical for a propaganda gathering. Soldiers surrounding the speaking Party official on a tall podium, with the Black Banner of the Almighty Celestial State flying calmly but sternly in the wind. Mounted to structures surrounding the gathering area are various slogans of the Celestial State, among them "HUMANITY INDIVISIBLE" and "THE STARS ARE OURS".
Truth be told, I am not an avid supporter of the ideology or the State. I come from a rural background in the middle of nowhere in North America, and have only joined the Armed Forces because the Party Militia showed up for their quota of soldiers.
In the State, all jobs are connected to, and thus in support, of the Armed Forces. While I was perfectly happy to continue living a solitary life with my family in rural America, I honestly didn't have much choice, and so here I am.
After the gathering, we are told to go back to our barracks and thus be assigned roles by the commanding officer.
I come through the door, and am immediately escorted to the commanding officer with two elite Party Militia members to my side.
"Soldier #7,487,782,311. Due to demand, you are being changed from Military Communications to Reconnaissance starting immediately. You will be transported to the Orbital Station, before boarding a Javelin class reconnaissance ship. The ship will not set sail into the void immediately, so the new crew can get accommodated."
"Got it, commissar. I will be ready in 5 minutes."
The commissar seemed to offer a pleasant nod, before stamping my identity card with the official Government stamp. It read,
"ALMIGHTY CELESTIAL STATE
#7,487,782,311
APPROVAL TO LEAVE THE MANHATTAN DISTRICT
ISSUED BY C.O. #2,349,522 - IF DISCREPANT CONTACT NUMBER ON SLIP"
I packed all of my belongings into a state-issued carrying pack.
Looking at how many belongings I have, pretty much just my uniform and Communication Device made me reminiscent for a time I never lived. How was the world before the Revolution? According to my family, the world was far better before the Revolution. They even had food that they could buy from private individuals, and not just State rations, which I find hard to believe.
The Communications Device had a light next to it's camera that blinked red every few seconds. This was to indicate that the camera was actively recording and watching me. I decided to stop thinking treasonous thoughts, and finished folding and packing my uniform, before taking my carrying pack with me.
After leaving the barracks, I walk past a building with the Emblem of the Celestial State painted on one of the walls, with artistic sunrays surrounding it. There are soldiers saluting the emblem, surrounded by armed party militia, while reciting the pledge of loyalty. I continue walking between two barracks towards the rocket area.
This base is lucky specifically to have it's own dedicated orbital rocket area. If I was stationed out west, I'd likely have to spend hours in the back of a troop transport vehicle being driven to the nearest site.
After a few minutes of walking down the bleak path, I reach the rocket area. There are people queuing to get in the rockets, and I join the queue. All of the soldiers infront of me look at the very least uncomfortable, and some look terrified. While looking ahead of me, a place ahead of me I see a vaguely familiar face.
"Eight one four, do I recognise you?"
His eyes go wide, and he recognises me almost immediately.
You see, this is a childhood friend of mine. Was my neighbour, in the rural countryside and the absence of the state, fuck, even when some parts were controlled by the Resistance, we could play forbidden games from the pre-revolution world.
I moved away from him probably 4 or 5 years ago with my family, which ended up being a mistake. It was in a larger community where the Guards showed up and conscripted me alongside a number of my family members.
"Yes, yes! I recognise you! An-"
Without even thinking, I cover his mouth with my hand.
"Don't!"
His face goes white and he realises the mistake he was about to make, and thus addresses me the proper informal way.
"Seven four eight, how have you been?"
"I've been decent. Can't say too much to be honest. Just bumbled around trying to look for something to do. Then I ended up here. You know how that's like."
Eight four one chuckles.
"Yeah, I know how it is."
We both tried to avoid treasonous language, which prevented us from having a meaningful discussion. It was nice to catch up though.
The line slowly moves forwards. I am close enough to the entrance of the orbital craft to hear a commotion ahead involving my friend.
"Soldier #8,142,327,494! Present your identity documents!"
The Soldier ruffles through his carry pack looking for his identity documents, and after a while, finds them.
"Eight one four! These documents do not have the commissar stamp!"
Two militia members point their service rifles at my unfortunate friend. I am enraged and know what is about to happen, but there is nothing I can do. I look around and see the guardsmen in the guards building, as well as a few guards snipers in watchtowers above us.
I helplessly watch as a third guardsman knocks him to the ground with the butt of his rifle, before he is hand and leg cuffed and escorted away. New militiamen come out of the guards building to take up their positions. I just silently hang my head, performing a neutral expression.
I arrive at the front of the line.
"#7,487,782,311! Your permission slip!"
I feel for it in the pocket in my pants, as that's where I left it.
Except, my pocket is flat, with no identity documents, I frantically feel inside the pocket, and do not feel them.
My face goes white and it feels like my knees are about to give way.
I look inside my carry pack with the guard giving me an intense stare. I find my documents, and hand them to the guard. He checks and verifies them, and I am let past. While walking past the guard, I hear over my shoulder from the other guard,
"Seven four eight. Do not forget the location of your identity documents next time. You know the consequences."
I walk aboard the ship without holding up the line, and sit down in a cramped troop transport seat. It wouldn't matter, entering orbit only takes a few minutes.
I look out of the orbit craft door towards my friend being escorted away into the distance, he gives me one final, depressed look, before him and his escort round the corner.
After a few minutes, the last soldier in the line is boarded onto the ship, and a loudspeaker voice calls to the gathering area that the ships will be leaving.
The landing door closes and the ship shudders. Due to the lack of windows, I have no idea what is going on outside. I am pressed back and down into my seat, as the ship accelerates into the sky.
The acceleration gradually slows until I can only feel the shudder of the ship fighting the atmosphere as it leaves. Gradually, gravity weakens and I begin to feel no weight in my seat.

EIGHT ONE FOUR, NEW YORK CITY, TERRA, ALMIGHTY CELESTIAL STATE, 147 A.R. 

As I round the corner, I see my friend's look on his face. Steeled sadness. I appreciated it in a world of no emotion.
The guardsmen around me had tied my leg cuffs too tightly but were also forcing me to hurry up and walk at their speed.
As I am forced underneath the temporary holding shelter, my leg cuffs are cuffed to a support beam of the structure. The guards then walk into the commissar's office, while a guard in a watchtower keeps an eye on me.
I see the landing ship my friend is on slowly start hover into the sky. Blue plasma shoots out of its 4 engine ports. It stops increasing in altitude, turns around and rapidly accelerates. I see it shoot off into the distance with a vapor cone around it's tail. The extremely loud rumble of it's engines slowly gets quieter and quieter, until it disappears from view.
The guards return from the commissar's office.
Both with neutral steeled expressions return to the shelter. I am held down and injected with a needle, and my vision slowly fades to black.

I (24m) am considering taking a break with my gf (25f) because her family sucks. Let me explain.
I’ve been dating my girlfriend for about three years now, and it’s been great. We go on dates often, communicate well, and have a great connection. Currently, we are in the “messy middle,” where we both live at home with a long distance separating us. It can be inconvenient at times, but we usually meet up every weekend or so as we save for a house or apartment.
The issue isn’t her, it’s her family.
Her brothers are the least motivated and accomplished people I know. One spends hours at a time packed away in his room gaming away, with no sense of the world. The other is distant, ignoring calls and texts until a bank transfer is needed.
Her mother is newly engaged and barely spends time at home, so this behavior goes unchecked. My girlfriend has to take care of everything at the house— cooking, cleaning, laundry, and so on. Currently, neither brother is working (despite being out of college for over a year each), and they wake up at 5-6pm, expecting their every whim to be taken care of. They don’t even mow the lawn, the one semblance of responsibility they have.
When her mother does come home, she dumps her laundry, pots, pans, and everything off at the house, expecting my girlfriend to take care of it. The stress is debilitating, and she feels no escape. Unfortunately, we both are still in a position where we cannot yet move in together.
It’s gotten to the point where each time I call to check in with her, she’s crying about her family and how she’s treated (yes, almost every day, multiple times a day). Initially, I was able to offer support and visit, spending time to make sure she’s okay and feels appreciated. More recently, I’ve been admittedly short with these calls and complaints. I still listen to her concerns, but I’m struggling to sympathize anymore; it feels redundant, and I can’t comprehend a family being so vindictive and lazy. At this point, I occasionally question the “truths” I’m being told, as there’s surely no way I’m getting the full story, right? It seems like a modern-day Cinderella story.
This complaints have been ongoing for the past six months, with no end in sight, and it’s draining to think about. I’m an easygoing and tolerant person, but I have my own concerns to voice as well, and I recently have felt that I can’t share those stresses, as it seem infinitely lesser in comparison to her situation. This has taxed my mental health, and I’m at the crossroads of standing up to her family, or taking a break (or more) on the relationship.
Does this make me the asshole? I understand as her partner I should listen and care for her concerns, but when it’s reoccurring so often, I can’t help but mumble and grumble. What’s truly been eating away at me is the thought that down the road, these people could be uncles, grandparents, or godparents to my kids. It scares me, because I don’t foresee any change.
I appreciate any advice, recommendations, or reality check the community can offer, and will happily provide additional details if needed.
TLDR: My gf’s family is among the laziest and most inconsiderate people I know. While it isn’t my gf’s fault, it makes me consider taking a break on the relationship, or just up front telling her they need to be better. WIBTA for this?

You make pretty regrettable mistakes when you're desperate. Unfortunately, desperation would go on to cost me much more than I ever thought possible.
When I was 19 years old my financial situation wasn't great. In what was left of a crumbling home would be my recovering addict twin sister, and myself. The unfortunate state of our home was all from the even more unfortunate passing of our parents just four years prior. The two hadn't died tragically by any means, thankfully. No.. our parents died of old age, a consequence of having us kids later in life, while not being able to take on the financial burden that would be.. us.
My sister was making the early steps into the college lifestyle, doing her best to stay afloat with my support in funding. Money was tight for the two of us, but as she became more well off on her own, the more content she was with severing the last remaining tie to her childhood.. me.
I didn't hate Xel for her decision, if anything I understood her distancing from this life.. even if it saddened me. So then it was just me! Left to a house with a hole in the ceiling. Believe it or not, life wasn't all to bad even with how considerably down in the dumps it otherwise seemed to be.
However, content as I might have been, it's human nature to want more than you have. Can't say I was to greedy to look for some comfortability in my own home..
And so there it was! The glistening letters of ink outlining my salvation. An advertisement I'd found plastered onto the wall of the small booth I sat at while I waited for the bus to carry me off to work. "$5,000 to those compatible for a recent scientific breakthrough." Under any 'normal' circumstances I would consider this a scam. Hell, I was skeptical as I scanned the letters. Had I been told of this opportunity through spam call or text I would've glossed right over it just as anyone else would have.. but I was desperate.
I think it was the fact that someone, some real person had to have put this paper up on this wall gave me some glimmer of hope for a quick cash grab. Listed bellow the promise of money was details for a number to call regarding interest in the proposition.
I took the bait.. I saw the line, and like some idiot I clamped my teeth down just for that hook to sweep me away.
The corporation I'd come to know as, "The Arsaction," would see me just a week later. There was a brief consultation. They took my weight, age, all things I would've expected. It wasn't until they pulled records regarding my familial situation that I began to find this whole ordeal.. suspicious.
To 'begin' to find things suspicious only at this point is foolish, something I full understand, but I feel the need to reinforce the fact that I, Lex McKarthy, was desperate.
Everything by this point seemed pretty legit. The blood tests, the doctors office, the tests were.. reasonable. What was I to suspect? Everything was so vague, and truth be told I honestly didn't even expect anything to come of this visit. All the doctors, all the consultants seemed so disinterested in my features.. but when they realized I had no one, everything seemed to change.
Suddenly ears perked, suddenly doors closed, suddenly I was.. exactly what they were looking for. Every feature of myself was so painfully average. I was anyman, I was.. nothing. Despite their best efforts to be discreate, I knew it was only the fact that nobody would come looking for me that peaked their interests.
My stomach dropped when I was faced with a pen in my hand, trembling over that NDA. Every fiber of me cursed myself for never considering putting just a minute of research into 'The Arsaction,' however a video briefing would ease my nerves. Nobody knew who The Arsaction was. There was no public record of their existence, and that NDA would make sure that they continued to never exist.
I was stupid, I was irrational, I was in over my head! But I was desperate.. and I had nothing else.
"I have nothing else.. I have nothing else!"
It was a mantra I chanted as I was injected with that substance. The substance that turned my blood orange, made my skin freakishly thin.
And then I went home.
That was it. I was given my sum of money, and I was sent home. They told me I was, "good to go," and no number of questions would get a one of them to speak. I was only met with who I'd assume to be security guiding me out of the building.
Not a word more of what I'd just been injected with, only given instructions to not dwell on mirrors for too long. That was it, just some ominous instructions. So I left, as befuddled as I arrived. Relief washed over me as I made my way home. The anxiety I'd received from such an ominous buildup was all waved by the fact that I was somehow just.. good to go?
Relief quickly turned to panic as the inherent nature of it all being too good to be true set in. I expected to die, I expected some visit from government agents, I expected anything and everything, but as months turned to years.. Nothing ever came of it. No mirror ever caused me any harm, which was its own anxiety I'd have to overcome simply because of the absurd nature or such a request.
I hoped it was.. some prank. Everything was well... for a time. Of course to disturb my peace, my sister called.
I just.. watched the phone ring. My sister, someone who I hadn't spoken to in upwards of 8 years was suddenly ringing me up. When I finally had answered, her question left me speechless.
"Hey Lex. would you happen to remember Mom's recipe for that egg toast? I think I left the cookbook at your place."
I felt my ears ring. The question was so.. casual. She entirely skipped the part where we discussed how she's been, how I'm doing. She spoke to me like we'd hung out only days ago.
At the time I'd thought I was just being dramatic, but looking back on it I can only justify my own hesitation to respond.
"W-..what?"
I stammered like a fool, but I was firm in my disbelief.
"Yeah, it should be in the book on the counter?"
I looked over my shoulder to my kitchen counter, past the toaster I never bought, and over to the book she spoke of. My jaw hung heavy, the whole interaction feeling like a dream.
With one hand I held the phone, and with the other I began to skim the pages of the book letting my eyes linger on mom's cinnamon roll recipe for a bit longer than intended.
"Lex.. are you ok?"
My sister inquired on the other end. I suddenly felt sick.. falling the the ground and laying on my back. This wasn't happening.
"Lex? Are you alright!?"
My sister repeated back more urgently, followed by her assurance that she would be over soon to check on me. But.. no company ever arrived. After hours the line just dropped, and I fell asleep there on that cold, wooden floor, paralyzed with a feeling I couldn't wrap my head around.
When I finally gathered the composure to stand I would try to call Xel back. A frown dawned my face when she never answered. Somehow this didn’t surprise me, and I was lead to believe that she had never called me in the first place. The thing is, the book was still on my counter, and her call was still logged on my phone.
Still, I hadn’t known Xel to do something like this. It wasn’t in her nature to do something so cruel, to act like all this time hadn’t passed.
But it has. Years have gone by and nothing but radio silence from her, a silence I feared would go on. The following days I would continue to attempt to call her, but to no avail.
I had to come to terms with the fact that, as quickly as she had returned too my life, Xel was once again gone. I’m ashamed to admit that, just as I’d forgotten that experience with The Arsaction several years ago, I’d forgotten about my own sister.
Even if she wouldn’t call back, I was inspired to begin looking through old family pictures, and this is where the oddities would start to fester.
I found a picture of Xel and I just.. eating breakfast. Usually my mom was off to work by then, but it was a special occasion. It was a day I remember so vividly. I was 14 years old at this time, and had awoke to the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls filling the air. After all, it was Xel’s and I’s birthday. All was right with the world, all as I climbed from the messy sheets in my dark room. It was abundantly clear that the bulb of the light beside my bed had burnt out over the course of the night, and the closed blinds didn't aid my vision as I stumbled around my room in search of my door.
An oddity presented itself in the fashion of aimless wondering. Where was the nob? One I'd become so accustomed to.. not needing to open? I'd never closed my door. Not the previous night, not ever. Not to the behest of my mother who'd always taken annoyance to closed doors, some trait of my grandmother's to which my mom had unfortunately inherited.
Breakfast took the form of two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, and slightly burnt French-Toast. My previous assumption of cinnamon rolls unfortunately missed the mark, however I wouldn't object to this. I wish I could convince myself that I was wrong. Something so mundane, something so insignificant to the events in this story, however the first notable instance of a curse that I couldn't pinpoint
My mother had already seen herself off to work by this point, and so I was faced with the responsibilities of seeing myself out to the bus. Some routine I'd become far too used to; The minutes passed, leaving me with nothing to do but wait by the door for a buss that would never arrive.
If the door being shut and the cinnamon rolls being a different meal entirely had left me with a minor confusion, then suddenly being seated in the passenger seat of my mother's car listening to the nonchalant complaints from my twin sister about the nuances freshmen year math shot me into a disarray I couldn't possibly quantify.
I think one of the scariest things for me is the fact that I thought nothing of it. I hadn't freaked out. No scene was made to express what should have been one of the more disturbing instances of my childhood.
I could chalk up the mistaking breakfast for something else as me just misremembering events.. But something unmistakable is the fact that somehow my mom both never drove me to school, yet the fact that she.. always had.
If you're confused, I understand. I am too, because the contradicting nature of my memory is something that haunts me to no end.
Things were easier as a child. That's often the case, but ever sense I stopped aging, I've begun to notice the oddities presented by life that are.. inexplainable. I'm not even sure where to start with researching my predicament.
The Mandela Effect is something that I feel needs no introduction. To those who don't know, the Mandela Effect, in brief, is a phenomenon that incurs when you "misremember" something. Think of a card, now imagine you saw that card as a child and it had a single heart drawn on it's center. Now, years later you are discussing this card with someone else just for them to tell you that the heart you swear, the heart you KNOW you saw.. was a diamond. You tell them they are wrong, you shake your head, chuckle nervously.. But then they present you with the card.
Your stomach drops. This can't be the card, there is no way! Only it is the card, and when you come to the realization that it is in fact the card you'd seen as a child, you are filled with a mix of confusion, fascination, and quite possibly denial.
Most often, the Mandela Effect is associated with silly things like books titles, and board game mascots, but my experience is far beyond such things. It's the only phenomenon I've found that seems even within the realm of explaining my predicament. Problem is, the more I think, the more is wrong.
All of me wishes it all ended with that one childhood experience! But it didn't. In fact, the more I consider my childhood, the more contradictions I notice. Part of me believes I could handle this if it was limited to my childhood, but it's not. This.. experience... It effects my every day!
I'm not losing my mind, I'm just picking up crumbs that I never dropped. Not.. losing my mind, just finding more "mind" than the inventory should account for.
As I stop and think now, I’m understanding that my memories are.. overlapping. Other mirrored versions of myself and my memories will occasionally cross paths, and when they do it causes me to misremember. Not because I don’t remember, but because my memories conflict with one another.
I wish I could see someone about this, but I’m worried the consequences of me seeking someone out.. still, we make dumb mistakes when we are desperate, and I’m starting to feel desperate again.

Asgard 1827
The Trial of Asgard made national news in Valhalla . Brunhilde stood there in front of many gods, each vote determining her faith . Does she live or die ? Only odin can make that judgment. Heimdall opened a pamphlet speaking though his horn “ Brunhilde, eldest sister of the gods ! You stand accused of crimes against Humanity and Goding alike ! How do you plead ? “. Brunhilde rolled her eyes before speaking her mind . “How do I plead ? What crimes are you talking about ? I was making coffee before me and Randgriz were arrested on the spot “ she spoke out . “ Don't play dumb Brunhilde I saw you cast forbidden spells and illegal magic “ Odin told everyone. Despite the bold straight up lie hilde remained as calm as ever . Using magic and spells is more for Gondul and she is too smart to get caught. What did Odin really want and why is he dragging Randgriz of all demigods.“Nonsense ! My sister would never so such a ““SILENCE “ Odin shouted but Randgriz stood her ground ready to face death itself to protect Brunhilde. Meanwhile in another area. Loki used his blades to slice the doors open splitting them in half. Beelzebub was in the middle of an experiment his red eyes shooting at loki. “This better be good “ he whispered. “It is Brunhilde and Randgriz lives are a stake during the trial “ Loki spat out in a panicked state . “ Why should I care about some demigod's life when I don't even care about my own? “ Beel questioned. “It's because I know you hate Odin and would do anything to spite him how dare he label you as a freak when he is just as bad “ Loki answered “ Hurry we are running out of time ! “ . “What do you get out of this ? “ Beel stood up . “ I owe Brunhilde a favor “ A flashback of small Loki almost getting eaten by a giant snake until Brunhilde saved him by slicing it in half with a scythe
. “Be more careful child “ she turned around seeing the scared loki shiver .
The flash back ended with Brunhilde standing off to Odin . “Confess your crime or serve death “ A purple hue spear floated over him. “ I choose death, “ Brunhilde replied. “ Brun no ! “ Randgriz screamed buy it was too late . The spear launched at her body with such force blood she was pushed back to the wall. Brunhilde refused to give up despite all the pain seeping into her. “ This is the end of the road valkyrie…” Odin whispering. The last thing she saw was the gods demonic smile before everything faced to black.
“Is she alive ? “
“Wait “
“What if he killed her ? “
“Wait “
“ Is she dead ?”
“I will slap you “
“Yikes chill emo “
Brunhilde woke up in the lab with purple ,red and green eyes staring at her. “ What just happened…” Brunhilde felt a tight hug from Randgriz “ You are alive! “ Grizz cried out. “Yes …I am …” Brunhilde realized. “However at a price ….” Beel commented . “What did you do demon? “ Brunhilde hissed . “ Weird way of thanking someone for saving your life “ Beel brushed that comment off. The valkyrie gave him a weird look , “ Don't mention it I only did it to piss off Odin “ Beel shrugged. “Wait Mr Beel what “price “ are you talking about ? “ Grizz asked. “Oh well being a demigod you are more human then god now “ Loki jumped in stuttering at every word. “Meaning you can't fly , super strength and speed is gone, no more soul connection or anything that would make you a valkyrie “ Loki explained some more “ I had to do something to get Beel to save your life “. “ I'm not mad Loki “ Brunhilde took a deep breath “ This is just a sign that I need to leave asgard now …” Brunhilde stated . “I'm coming with you “ Randgriz sat next to her “ If I stay I'm dead Valkyrie walking “. “Plus it's no longer possible to survive here, however despite losing most of your powers there is still a place for you “ Beel mentioned “ Loki will take you “ . “Wait, what about our sisters ! “ Randgriz started to cry . Loki and Beelzebub looked at each other. “ We will figure that part out but remember if Odin catches wind they die too “ Loki pointed out . “Yes but faking our deaths still sounds horrible, “ Randgriz shook her head. “ Alright I'll do something you will see them again soon “ Beel told her “ Overall you both need to leave as soon as possible “ . “Follow me there is not much time “ Loki used his magic to make a portal . The scenery revealed a large Eiffel tower and people walking by . “ Once we step in there is no going back “ Randgriz shivered. “We don't have a choice “ Brunhilde stepped in holding Randgriz hand to help her . “Even if we never meet again Lord Loki, thank you for saving my life “ Brunhilde bowed down. “ No Brunhilde…thank you for saving mine “ Loki smiled, closing the portal. “So this is our new home “ Randgriz looked around seeing things that just aren't familiar anymore .
5 years later 1832
Late in the afternoon at the Salle Pleyel concert there was the sound of the piano . The fast paced music made everyone in the area cheer . The musician had blonde brown hair that passed his ears . He waved it back and forth like a rockstar smashing his keyboards so hard you would think he broke them. The crowd cheered his name “LISZT LISZT LISZT LISZT “ , fangirls jumped up and down going crazy over him . Brunhilde and Randgriz sat down in chairs watching the man go , “ His music is very rough and insane ..reminds me of home listening to vikings “ Brunhilde mentioned. “ I don't know who is making me more deaf the music or the annoying girls “ Randgriz covered her ears, “If it's too much for you then why did you bother coming? “ Brunhilde gave her a look. “ I don't wanna be alone “ Grizz admitted, “By the way ,..why are you wearing a suit “ Brunhilde wondered . “ The human women show too much window and well sister you don't show just the window the entire frame is gone leaving only thin fabric “ Randgriz gave her honest opinion. “ I don't need a lesson on modesty “ Brunhilde focused her attention on Liszt who kept playing . His piercing green eyes gave her a wink . “Was he winking at me ? “ Brunhilde turned to Randgriz. “Probably or at the other women fawning over him “ Grizz stated . “Yeah you're right “ Brunhilde relaxed some more “Not like I care he is a massive playboy breaking one heart after another I'm not going to fall for that plus I'm not a noble “. “You are right Hilde you aren't..you are a demigod , from our divine perspective human nobility is just fancy talk for commoner” Grizz whispered.
“ Randy shhhh we aren't in Valhalla anymore “ Brun reminded her , “ If looks could kill you would be a serial killer by now “ Randgriz laughed “ I mean I'm not wrong if an Archduke came to Valhalla and started bossing everyone he would be laughed at “. That comment made by a few folks behind her gave the sisters an irritated glare . “Shhh “ a man right next to Randgriz silenced her with his white glove .The concert ended leaving Liszt to step off the stage . He was quickly surrounded by fans causing Brunhilde to leave until she felt something hit her. Behind her was a red rose , she picked it up seeing the musician wave at her before being surrounded by more fans . “Come on Brunhilde let's go, I don't like parties “ Randgriz dragged her out towards the concert halls . “Oof I'm sorry “ she accidentally bumped into the same guy that sat next to him. He was a short guy with a big nose that spoke with a thick polish accident. “Sorry I'm looking for a man named Liszt “ he mentioned. “Down the hallway but you are going to have to wait in line “ Brunhilde pointed to the left before leaving . The man thanked her before walking in that direction, “He is very cute “ Randgriz thought. “Eh …okay let's go home “ she walked with Randgriz.
A few days later Brunhilde went back to the same concert alone this time to attend a mass . There she sat down reading the holy Bible while waiting for the preacher . “ Excuse me, is this seat taken? “ a familiar voice spoke to her . Brunhilde turned around, seeing the face once again. “Are you Franz Liszt ? “she asked while watching him sit down. “Yes “ Liszt confirmed sitting next to her “ Nice to meet you “ . “ Yeah I see ..” Brunhilde stuck her head back in the Bible. “Sorry if I was bothering you “ Liszt apologized getting ready to leave . “No you weren't, I just have a lot on my mind “ Brunhilde sighed. “Oh ..I hope the church can relax you ..lift those spirits up “ Liszt gave a warm smile. “Yeah” Brunhilde half smiled back , “So where are you from? I've never seen you around? “ he questioned. “Oh I'm from - “ Brunhilde tried to think of an answer. “Don't tell me your from heaven? “ Liszt answered "Wait how did you -”Brunhilde's face turned red from the blushing. “ “ Relax I was just kidding c Liszt chuckled . “Oh right …hahaha” Brunhilde joined the laughter

Hey y'all, thanks for being here, I want to thank my parents, my friends.. Oh, sorry, I dont know how to start writing those things, so I guess I should start from the beginning? Here i go:
It was a sunny day in 1996, when a sweet young lady had a contraction and... Oh gosh, sorry again. I will fast forward a bit.
Well, as the title says, I am 28, and I'm brazilian. Let me cut the chase and answer the top 3 questions I get all the time.

1. Yes, we are forced to play soccer from an early age. You need to play at least 1 soccer game every week or else... oh boy, things get messy
   
2. Yes, all South Americans learn how to dance at the age of 2, I may have missed a few classes, tho.
   

3 No, not every brazilian has a big booty, I know you weren't ready for that, I'll give you some minutes to process it, and then we can go on.
Ok, now a bit about me, what do I like? Great question, let's see, I love movies, specially thriller, some of my favorites are Shutter Island, final destination, the pursuit of Happiness, inception and a lot more, we can talk about movies for, like, 30 minutes then I will get bored and change the subject but you got the idea.
I love series too, especially comedy, Friends are my favorite ones, and Ross and Rachel shouldn't end up together. Do you think you can change my mind? Try it, I dare you!
I like to work out and stay active, probably because of all those years forced to play soccer at school, now my body needs it. I have a cute border collie too so if you read all this and thought "omg he is so boring, I can't stand anymore" then just bear with me a little longer and you can see Loki in all his glory once you pm me.
I like to go out with my friends, and play some games together, I own a small collection of boardgames so if you are into that we have something to talk about too, my favorites are single player rpgs but I love playing coop games as well.
If you want to get an idea of what I look like, I'm 5'10 (177cm), brown eyes, and hair, and we can exchange pictures at any time.
You read this far? OMG, ME TOO! Send me a chat request, and let's see how it goes. Just behave yourself cause I am legally allowed to handcuff you.
See you soon! :)

Content warning: a bit of not-safe references, very cringe writing, and dialogue
Memory transcript subject: Nikonus, Chief of the Kolshian Commonwealth
Date: [standardized human time] March 15th, 2131
It was that time again. A meeting of which nobody can know. There was always a bit of guilt inside me for partaking in such activities. However…
It was what was best for the commonwealth.. and best for me.
Only a select group on both sides knew the truth of this war and our societies. None of the public knew of the deal our people and the Arxur have made.
I hope it stays this way.
“Alright sir we’re here” Looking to my right I saw one of my guards holding a pristine rifle. The armor of this special unit was shiny and in the best condition.
“Let’s get this over with” I fixed my robe, it was best to look presentable. Especially for these meetings.
This space station, in the middle of nowhere, floated while being guarded and hidden from the galaxy.
We only do these meetings every so often just to get on the same page and plan what will and won’t happen. It’s nice to stay on the same page.
I remember when I first got the job of Chief I couldn’t believe this would be a part of my job. At first, I didn’t want to do this but as time went on I got used to it.
Entering the station I saw groups of Arxur, Farsul, and Kolshians all together. Some exchange intel and others keep guard. I imagine this sight would confuse anybody.
Enemies together like this.
Passing by people they greeted me and then went back to their business. Everything here was almost like a clock. Tight and on time.
“Alright Nik we can’t follow you any further” I gave a little tail flick as I stood at the door. In this room was where me and Ginzel would meet.
Everything in that room would not be known to outsiders unless they were at the top of the top.
Grabbing the door handle with my tentacle I opened it and entered. Some kind of Arxur music was playing, it was almost like one of those Paltan bands that would play in bars.
Almost soothing to the soul.
“Ah, Nikonus you’re here” Ginzel was sitting in one of the soft chairs made of that nice Fabric from Nishtal. In his hands, he was eating a bit of Venlil. “Come and sit! The chefs prepped some dine for you”
Walking over I sat down in the chair to face the Arxur. I could see different scratch marks and scars on him in different places.
He wasn’t wearing his armor like he would be in public or just in normal places. Then again looking at it, it would probably be somewhat annoying to be constantly wearing that everywhere.
In front of me was a plate of fruits handpicked from the best orchards and a glass of some exotic wine. Its coloring and density were elegantly elite.
Taking a sip the rich flavor filled every part of my mouth exploding with flavor. Yes, it was indeed elite as expected.
“So Nikonus let’s get to it. I was thinking about sending some generals over to one of those Harchen worlds, what do you think?” Thinking about it.. it wasn’t a bad choice. It could definitely have some people up in arms.
“Alright but make sure it’s not too devastating. While we can lose a few worlds here and there we don’t need everyone thinking it’s a full-blown invasion” Ginzel nodded in agreement. Our understandings and agreements were mutual.
We talked for so long about different points and plans. I talked about raiding some cattle ships so some of his people wouldn’t be fed. Mainly to boost recruitment numbers and have some good press.
However as the talk continued I found myself becoming more bored and tired, I could feel myself blanking out from time to time. Recently I have found myself just not enjoying life or my job as I used to.
Maybe I was just bored of it all, the bureaucracy, the constant news and updates, and managing the Federation had taken a toll on me.
With the constant bickering of the politicians about the weirdest matters. And the nagging of the Nevoks and Fissans about who gets what.
I just…. I don’t…
“Nikonus!” I shot up in surprise. Ginzel was right up in my face. Backing up I could feel my face turning a bright blush of purple. “You there?”
I couldn’t speak, I was in such a shock and fluster. My tail wagged at a fast pace that I couldn’t control.
“I-I uh yeah I’m fine” Quickly going up from my seat I grabbed my things and began to walk away.
Before I made it past the table Ginzel stopped me. Confusion set in as he placed me against a table.
“Ginzel what are you-!?” Ginzel silenced me and looked deep with his eyes. I could see some sort of worry on his face. This wasn’t normal or anything I’d seen before.
“Nikonus I….. don’t know what to say. It’s just that” Oh my stars he didn’t! Did he? “Ever since we first met I just…. By me this going to sound cringy but I couldn’t stop thinking about you”
I couldn’t stop blushing. What was going on with me!? This wasn’t ok, right?
“But Ginzel what about our reputations? If people find out that you… I” Ginzel didn’t seem to care, he didn’t seem to be concerned.
“Oh come on Nik we will just silence them like we always do. And… I’ve been craving some thicker meat as of late” OH STARS OH STARS I-
“Ginzel I’m not sure now is a good time” The huge Arxur backed away slightly. I could see the scars on his… huge chest.
We both looked at each other in silence. The air was still, it was hard to breathe.
As I thought harder and harder I couldn’t keep myself from grabbing Ginzel. He seemed surprised at me.
“Sorry, Nik I thought…” Putting a tentacle to his mouth I looked away. There was some kind of sadness going over me.
“It’s ok Ginzel maybe some other time might be better?” I tried to lighten things up but the Arxur in front of me seemed disappointed.
“Alright….. well till we meet again?”
“Sure”
Exiting the room I gave my guards a signal and we started to head back to the ship. Each step I took I thought of what just happened.
Should I? Should I not? As I walk I head back to that boring and tiring life I live. I think about how I feel and how I act. Maybe it would be good to let loose.
Screw it.
Stopping in my tracks I turned around.
“Nikonus?” Looking over to my guards they both seemed surprised. Their minds racing with questions.
Everyone seemed surprised and what was happening. I rushed back to the room, hopefully Ginzel was still there.
“If you excuse me I think I forgot something in the room” Quickly shutting the door I discovered Ginzel sitting there in a chair. He was facing a screen watching some sport I believe.
“Nik!” The Arxur seemed surprised as I wrapped my tentacles around him. The scaly skin felt nice.
This was going to be fun.

As requested by u/ahhh_ring_king_king here is my Jcole post.
I Saw a take years ago online that said Cole makes music for black suburban kids. It was a funny statement that always stick in my mind when I think of him. I knew this one guy years ago who was the most sheltered dude. He was the biggest Jcole fanboy.
I'm not really trying to generalize here. Obviously there are people from the inner cities who listen to Cole. And people of evey color who listen to Jcole.
The point I'm trying to make is that Jcole more or less makes music that isn't really that polarizing. It is just music that the average people can relate to that don't really raise a lot of questions about society and morality. While he can get introspective, comparing his records to that of Kdot, it is night and day. While Kdot was rapping about seeing a light-skinned guy getting his brains blown out. Jcole was rapping about sleeping with a girl from his math class.
Putting that aside, Cole didn't win anything. He backed out of a beef and decided to not expose a child sexual predator for the evil that he is. How is that a win? And he backed out of the beef so he will forever have a bronze medal IMO.
I don't think Kendrick regrets a single thing from this beef. He even said the drizzler was gonna do this in his first diss euphoria. Do you think Kdot didn't think the drizzler was gonna make shit up about him? He was prepared for that. A Person with a strong moral code will not regret exposing an evil child sexual predator because he made some rumors about him hitting his SO and raising another man's child. Although big allegations, exposing him for the evil that he is was necessary. And it outweighs the unverified allegations he threw Kdot's way.
But yeah, Cole just went touring with Drake. He definitely had an idea about what Drake was doing. He may not have known the full extent or just chose to look the other way. Idk. But one thing is certain, his moral code isn't as strong as Kdot's, and that is okay.
Obviously most people would choose their own peace over doing the "greater good" but true heroes always choose the greater good. That is what separates Kdot from Jcole and the rest of his peers. He is literally morally superior, that is not a subjective statement.
Half of the Jcole fans are coping, and the other half are deadass. But the truth is, Jcole did not win in the slightest. This was a complete L for him. Hell, I Wouldn't be surprised if a large amount of this copium and memes about him online isn't just PR covering his ass.
We gotta stop giving Jcole attention. Their rapper just toured with the drizzler. Cole fans have no ground to talk down on Kdot and say Jcole "actually won".
Just wanted to speak my peace because I keep seeing "Cole actually won" and "Cole rn" memes and posts everywhere.

Last week, General Motors announced that it would end production of the Chevrolet Malibu, which the company first introduced in 1964. Although not exactly a head turner (the Malibu was “so uncool, it was cool,” declared the New York Times), the sedan has become an American fixture, even an icon, appearing in classic films like Say Anything and Pulp Fiction. Over the past 60 years, GM produced some 10 million of them.
With a price starting at a (relatively) affordable $25,100, Malibu sales exceeded 130,000 vehicles last year, a 13% annual increase and enough to rank as the #3 Chevy model, behind only the Silverado and the Equinox. Still, that wasn’t enough to keep the car off GM’s chopping block. The company says that the last Malibu will roll out of its Kansas City, KS, factory this November; the plant will then be retooled to produce the new Chevy Bolt, an electric crossover SUV.
With the Malibu’s demise, GM will no longer sell any sedans in the U.S. In that regard, it will have plenty of company. Ford stopped producing sedans for the U.S. market in 2018. And it was Sergio Marchionne, the former head of Stellantis, who triggered the headlong retreat in 2016 when he declared that Dodge and Chrysler would stop making sedans. (Tesla, meanwhile, offers two sedans: the Model 3 and Model S.)
As recently as 2009, U.S. passenger cars (including sedans and a plunging number of station wagons) outsold light trucks (SUVs, pickups, and minivans), but today they’re less then 20% of new car purchases. The death of the Malibu is confirmation, if anyone still needs it, that the Big Three are done building sedans. That decision is bad news for road users, the environment, and budget-conscious consumers—and it may ultimately come around to bite Detroit.
When asked, automakers are quick to blame the sedan’s decline on shifting consumer preferences. Americans simply want bigger cars, the story goes, and there’s some truth to it. Compared to sedans, many SUV and pickup models provide extra cargo space and give the driver more visibility on the highway. In a crash, those inside a heavier car have a better chance of escaping without injury—although the same can’t be said for pedestrians or those in other vehicles. (That discrepancy inspired a headline in The Onion: “Conscientious SUV Shopper Just Wants Something That Will Kill Family In Other Car In Case Of Accident.”)
This narrative of the market’s dispassionate invisible hand tossing the sedan aside holds intuitive appeal, but it leaves gaping holes. For one thing, federal policy has, in many ways, ]distorted the car market to favor larger vehicles](https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/24139147/suvs-trucks-popularity-federal-policy-pollution). Fuel economy regulations, for instance, are more lenient for SUVs and pickups than they are for smaller cars, nudging automakers to produce more of the former and fewer of the latter. Another egregious example: Small business owners such as real estate agents can save thousands of dollars by writing off the cost of their vehicle—but only if it weighs more than 6,000 pounds, a stipulation that effectively excludes sedans entirely.
Carmakers, for their part, powerfully influence consumer demand through billions of dollars spent on advertising. Because SUVs and pickups are more expensive and profitable than sedans, manufacturers have a clear incentive to tilt buying decisions away from small cars and toward larger ones (which helps explain ad campaigns designed to confer an undeserved green halo on SUVs).
Even those who don’t want a big car may feel pressure to upsize, if only to avoid being at a disadvantage in a crash or when trying to see what lies ahead on the road. Such people find themselves trapped in a prisoner’s dilemma, preferring that everyone had smaller cars, but resigning themselves to buying an SUV or pickup since others already have them.
For all these reasons, modest-size sedans like the Malibu are disappearing from American streets, supplanted by SUVs and pickups that seem to grow bulkier with every model refresh. (The Chevy Bolts produced at GM’s Kansas plant will be bigger than the previous Bolt model, which was retired last year.) This pattern of ongoing vehicle expansion, a trend I call car bloat, is especially advanced in North America, but it’s visible worldwide. In 2022, SUVs alone comprised 46% of global car sales, up from 20% a decade earlier.
From a societal perspective, the decline of the sedan is a disaster. Consider road safety, an area where the U.S. underperforms compared to the rest of the rich world, especially for pedestrians and cyclists (deaths for both recently hit 40-year highs). Larger cars have bigger blind spots, convey more force in a collision, and tend to strike a person’s torso rather than their legs. They’re also heavier, with propulsion systems that guzzle more gasoline (or electrons) to move, producing more pollution in the process. Their weight also catalyzes the erosion of tires and roads, spewing microscopic particles that can damage human health as well as aquatic ecosystems.
Despite the myriad problems of car bloat, the federal government has taken no steps to restrain it. In the absence of regulations or taxes, carmakers have ample reason to abandon their sedan models in favor of SUVs and trucks. The higher margins of larger cars is especially precious now, as the Big Three scrabble for money to invest in electrification and autonomous technology, as well as to pay for the rising costs of wages and benefits that they agreed to last fall during negotiations with the United Auto Workers.
Realistically, it would be a Herculean task to pivot back toward selling small cars, even if American automakers wanted to. Although adept at selling high-priced, feature-laden SUVs and trucks, they’re far less experienced at the low-margin, high volume business of producing cheaper small cars. That is one reason (though hardly the only one) that China’s booming market for EVs, including many modest-size and affordable models, is sowing fear throughout Detroit—and in Washington, too.
Where does the shift from sedans toward SUVs and trucks leave everyday Americans? With a strained wallet, for one thing. With its MSRP starting at $25,100 the Malibu has been one of the most affordable U.S.-produced cars, costing barely half as much as the average new vehicle, which exceeded $47,000 in February (the Malibu is also at least a few thousand dollars cheaper than the Bolt that will replace it at the Kansas factory).
Especially when factoring in higher interest rates and spiking insurance premiums, cars are becoming a financial strain for many Americans. According to the federal Bureau of Transportation Statistics, the average annual, inflation-adjusted cost of owning a vehicle and driving it 15,000 miles hit $12,182 in 2023, an increase of over 30% in just six years.
Over time, the elimination of sedans leaves the Big Three vulnerable if consumer preferences shift away from enormity. “Legacy car companies haven’t done a great job of thinking long term,” said Alex Roy, a cohost of the Autonocast podcast. “Gutting lineups is probably good for manufacturing efficiency, but not having one vehicle in a given product segment is short-sighted.”
Due to sprawled development patterns and woefully underfunded transit, many American families will still want a car even as they become more expensive. But, as I argued previously in Fast Company, a surge in vehicle prices could compel some households to swap a second or third car for a minicar or e-cargo bike that offers limited range, but costs only a fraction as much. Already, golf carts are popping up in places far removed from the retirement and beach communities where they have been a mainstay: In New Orleans, they’ve become so popular that the city is adopting new ordinances.
With the Malibu’s death, is clearer than ever that Detroit has abandoned the affordable sedan. They may yet live to regret it.

OOC: co-written with NotTooSunny
It was an ordinary day at the New York City Library. People wandered in and out of the building, unaware of the monster that lurked among them.
The only people who seemed to know the danger these mortals were in were Harper and Amon, who entered the building with glowing bronze swords at their hips. The bulky weapons seemed to have escaped the notice of the other library patrons, which was a good thing. The job description had made it clear that they were meant to remain inconspicuous in completing their task.
Harper had traded her usual bright orange camp shirt for a more discrete cropped black t-shirt and pleated pants. She had been insistent on coming up with a persona for them on the train ride from Montauk Station into New York City. They were meant to act as high school students researching for a World History paper on Ancient Greece. Now that they were inside the library, she had stopped her incessant rambling to peruse a riddle book, in what she had insisted was preparation for their job.
As they wandered through the bookshelves, she remained absorbed in the dog-eared children’s book, thumbing through the pages to find a riddle that would be fitting of a sphinx.
“Here’s one, Amon,” she said, narrowly avoiding a collision with another library patron as she read, “What is something that runs but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?”
The dark-haired son of Apollo glanced over from a shelf of dusty atlases, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “That is an easy one,” he replied simply. "River. Try me with something more challenging next time around." He adjusted the collar of his striped button down, which he had layered with a navy blue sweater in preparation for the chill of the air-conditioned interior.
“The real riddle is where we can find this sphinx,” Amon glanced around the spacious reading area, eyeing the dark wooden staircase with its ornate railings. “The boyfriend and girlfriend who tried this last time, they found her by a bookcase.”
“A bookcase,” Harper repeated derisively, closing her book to theatrically scan their surroundings. “That narrows it down.”
Ignoring Harper’s mockery, the son of Apollo paused suddenly, his dark eyes glazing over with concentration. His hearing dulled, the surrounding footsteps and rustling pages fading into the background as if muffled by a thick curtain. Amon searched for the energy signature of the monster he knew lurked among the mortals. It was a subtle shift, like trying to discern a whisper in a crowded room, but he felt a faint, abnormal energy hanging somewhere up above.
“I say we try the second floor,” he said as he snapped out of the tracking trance, offering no other explanation to Harper.
“We could do that, sure,” Harper said, words laced with blatant doubt at his sudden certainty. “I say we try asking the Visitor’s Center. I know she's supposed to be disguised by the Mist, but the librarians have to have noticed something.”
“You can go ahead and do that.” The small smirk from earlier was now spreading across his face. “But you can’t be upset if I find the sphinx and solve her riddle before you even get there.”
Harper rolled her eyes, but she made no attempt to stop Amon from walking towards the staircase. After a moment she set off after him, footsteps even against the wooden steps.
Up on the second floor, Amon moved quietly, his dark eyes scanning the hallway for anything out of the ordinary.
I know you’re up here.
He stopped at every heavy-looking mahogany door, peering through each muted glass insert. He felt the air grow thicker with ominous energy at every step, so he knew the monster must be near.
One of the doors was slightly ajar, a suspiciously open invitation. Or a trap. The dark-haired boy caught sight of a cat-shaped figure on the other side before ducking down and motioning sharply for Harper’s attention. He unsheathed his kopis from his belt, bracing himself for confrontation.
Harper crouched against the wall, hand on the hilt of her sword as she tried to peek through the frosted glass pane. She held her breath, ready to move at Amon’s signal. He held out three fingers and then put them down one by one. When he hit zero, they stood in unison, flinging the door open together.
When Amon and Harper stepped inside, the body of the sphinx lay motionless on the floor.
The rest of the room was in disarray, littered with disheveled chairs and broken bits of chalk. A window on the other side of the room had been forced open, the curtain fluttering in the wind.
“No way,” Harper said. The door clicked shut behind her as she pushed past Amon into the room and kneeled to study the monster’s limp figure.
The sphinx had the large body of a lion and the eerily human face of a middle-aged woman, hair tied back in a severe bun and foundation caked onto her high cheekbones. Fangs jutted out of her red-painted lips, and eagle wings sprouted out of the space between her shoulder blades, folded tight against her back.
“Monsters dissolve into dust when they die,” Amon remarked, keeping his distance as he watched the subtle rise and fall of the monster’s ribs. “She must have been knocked unconscious.”
“Right,” Harper agreed, “The real question is who. And why.”
She hovered a hand over the cat's shoulder, set on rousing her. Before she made contact, the sphinx's eyes snapped open, round irises surrounded by shocking yellow sclera.
"Slain!" she wailed. Harper staggered backwards. Amon’s arms instinctively reached out to catch her, but she didn’t stumble near enough to make contact. "I am slain!"
With feline grace, the sphinx rose to her feet. A white tape outline marked the placement of her previously prone body on the floor. The muscles in her legs rippled as she paced in front of Harper and Amon, massive velvet paws silent against the carpet.
"And you, my dear heroes," she roared, eyes narrowed in an accusatory glare, "were too late to save me!"
The sphinx sniffed, composing herself. She leapt onto a wooden table. The table legs creaked underneath her weight. "Fear not," she tutted, "Fear not. For you can still avenge me. If you are able to determine the murderer and their weapon, then I will obtain justice, and all will be right with the world.”
“Your riddle is a murder mystery,” Harper said, confusion written across her face. Amon raised an eyebrow. The sphinx chuffed, a low rumbling sound reminiscent of laughter.
“You sought that hackneyed question about man? The Sphinx that the storytellers remember is far less adaptive than I am. I am not interested in your ability to regurgitate the information you have read. Nor am I interested in taking advantage of the nonsensical rules of your English language.”
“I am here to satisfy my own curiosity: does modern mankind still possess the ability to engage in deductive reasoning, or do they only seek to make themselves appear intelligent? Do not speak,” the sphinx said, a pointed look at Harper, who had opened her mouth to interject, “You will answer my questions when you play my game.”
“The potential murder weapons are scattered throughout this room,” she continued, leaping off the table. “And the suspects have already provided their testimonies for your review. Rest assured, I have made certain that their statements contain no lies.”
A shimmering, translucent energy began to swirl around Harper and Amon’s feet, beginning to take shape as holograms with a flickering, ephemeral quality.
A projection of Cerberus materialized first, his three massive heads snarling and snapping in unison. A ribbon of text appeared by his paws to translate his growling: "I was guarding the entrance, my duty unbroken."
Next came the Minotaur, his towering form pacing within the labyrinth on Crete. He snorted and pawed at the ground, the holographic maze shifting behind him in the background. The translation text appeared: "Confined within these walls, no escape for me."
Lamia's projection flickered into view, her serpentine lower half coiled around her as she wept in her cave. She glanced mournfully at the holographic images of her lost children: "My grief consumes me, innocent of this crime."
A shimmering Hydra emerged next, its nine heads snapping at invisible foes. Each one moved independently, showcasing its ability to act on its own. The translation for the hissing head at the center read: "Engaged in battle, I could not have killed."
Typhon materialized with a thunderous roar, his colossal form fighting against restraints under Mount Etna. His immense size and power were palpable, even in scaled down holographic form: "Bound by chains of the earth, I could not have roamed free."
Echidna’s hologram appeared last, her form a mix of human and serpent, lounging in a dimly lit cave. She looked directly at the viewers, her expression both defiant and amused. The translation text by her side read: “I dwell in my lair, uninvolved in such petty affairs.”
The sphinx swiped at the last projection as it faded, deeming her handiwork satisfactory. “There is not enough information to deduce the killer using evidence alone. Because I am fair, I will provide you with three hints before your final guess. Be forewarned: if you fail to provide a correct answer, you will both perish. Is this understood?”
Harper spoke. “If we answer correctly, you will leave this library for good.”
“If you answer correctly, I will permanently relocate. It is a preferable option in comparison to another death. Now, do you agree to the terms and conditions?” the sphinx said primly, regarding Harper and Amon with casual disdain. The pair nodded. “Very well.”
The sphinx dropped onto the floor and let her head loll back, pretending to be dead once more.
Hint #1

Suspects	Weapons
Cerberus	The Shirt of Nessus
The Minotaur	Siren Song
Lamia	Harpy Talon
The Hydra	Celestial Bronze Sword
Typhon	A-C Encyclopedia
Echidna	Cerberus Fang

Soon after the Sphinx had laid back down, Harper and Amon began to scour the room. A small pile of prospective murder weapons formed on a nearby table.
“We can easily eliminate the siren song,” Amon rushed to speak over Harper, eyeing the small glass vial of swirling gray matter that they had found nestled behind a row of books on metalworking. “It is a luring mechanism, not a murder weapon.”
“We could rule out Cerberus’ fang too,” he pointed at the enormous yellowing tooth, about the size of the small baseball bat Amon used to have when he played in the little league. “If we take the hologram as ground truth, all of his teeth were intact there.”
Harper used her kopis to prod at the stained tunic that had been hidden in a desk drawer, being careful not to touch it with bare skin. “The Shirt of Nessus is a viable option. It would be easy for any of the suspects to lay it down and wait for the hydra venom to kick in.”
“I am not ready to rule out the bronze sword either,” Amon noted. “Monsters have access to heroes and the weapons they leave behind.”
“Most of these monsters don’t even have opposable thumbs,” Harper argued, running a hand over the sword they had found by a power outlet. ”They don’t have the dexterity to wield a sword.”
“I do not imagine that the technicality would be that granular.”
Harper laughed. “Oh, the number of teeth in the Cerberus hologram tell all, but we’re drawing the line at opposable thumbs.”
“I suppose that that logic would also rule out the harpy talon and the encyclopedia easily as well,” Amon admitted. “Which would be too easy.”
“I’m just that good at logical deduction.” Harper said proudly. “If my assumption is correct, then the poisoned shirt is the only one that makes sense.”
Amon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest as his dark eyes bored into Harper. “It would not necessarily matter what our first guess would be anyway.”
“Can you provide an argument for any other weapon? Or are you intent on purposely making an illogical guess?” she countered cooly.
“Fine,” Amon acquiesced. “Since you are so adamant about the shirt, we can guess the shirt, and be incorrect. It does not matter. What about the suspects themselves?” He clasped his hands behind his back, his steps measured as he started to pace across the plush red carpet of the room.
Harper smiled, smugly accepting her victory. She strode towards a chalkboard at the side of the study room, inscribing the list of weapons and suspects with a fresh piece of white chalk.
“All of them have alibis,“ she began. “I think that-”
“Some make more sense than others,” Amon spoke over Harper, irritated by her minor triumph. “Cerberus, for example, is under the service of Hades. He says he did not leave his post, and he could not have done so without permission or dire consequences on the process of the dead.”
Harper silently seethed as Amon spoke, meeting his rationale with reluctant acceptance before starting again in a louder, exaggerated tone. “I think that the ones with the shakiest alibis are Lamia, the Minotaur, Typhon, and Echidna. No witnesses can confirm their locations. In fact, Lamia provides no location at all.” Harper circled those names. She looked at Amon with a forced smile, allowing him a moment to provide more commentary.
“Lamia? Well,” there was a hint of mockery in the sneer that tugged on the corner of Amon’s lips. “I would imagine her emotions rendered her… Too fragile and unstable to carry out such an act.”
“You’re kidding,” Harper scoffed, searching Amon's face for the slightest hint that he was joking. “Her grief is what moved her to kill children in the first place. I doubt it would suddenly be incapacitating. She’s just appealing to your sense of superiority, and I can’t believe that you’re falling for it.”
"It is not about superiority. It is about logic," Amon retorted, bristling in defense. “You cannot deny that emotions cloud judgment. Maybe the sphinx wants us to leverage our knowledge about her past crimes to reason that she was not thinking clearly in this case either.” Amon had no other evidence that pointed towards Lamia as the top suspect, but he had dug deep enough where he was now ready to stand firm in his reasoning.
“Murder,” Harper countered, eyes narrowed in a venomous stare, “-does not require you to think clearly. Haven’t you heard of a crime of passion? If anyone’s judgment is clouded right now, Amon, it’s yours.”
The son of Apollo squared his shoulders, his expression hardening. "I understand the concept of crimes of passion, thank you.” His dark-eyed stare returned Harper's gaze, unflinching at the intensity. “But our investigation must be rooted in facts, not assumptions based on emotions. And the facts are,” he resumed his pacing once more, “that Lamia cannot be the culprit, as she is the only suspect that openly admits to being innocent of this crime.”
Amon had considered this from the very start, but provoking Harper like this had proved to be far more amusing.
Harper crossed Lamia’s name off of the board. She swallowed down her anger, fighting the urge to continue pressing the issue in favor of returning to their list of suspects. She pointed her piece of chalk at the next names on the list. “The Minotaur and Typhon are trapped, or so they say. How could they have done anything?”
“Their alibis revolve around their inability to escape,” Amon pointed out. “Not that they were unable to commit murder. The Labyrinth, in fact,” he raised a dramatic finger, “has several moving passages that could have permitted the Minotaur to move and commit murder without an official escape.”
Harper considered his words for a long moment, trying to find the flaw in his reasoning. Seeing none, she placed a dot next to the Minotaurs's name.
“Typhon escaped his prison in the Second Titanomachy. He could do it again,” Harper said thoughtfully. “Though I don’t understand why he would do something like this. He’s the Sphinx's father. The same goes for Echidna.”
Amon, who had been nodding at Harper’s assessment of Typhon’s abilities, pursed his lips at her observation of parentage. “I do not see how this could possibly be relevant to the logical puzzle at hand.”
Harper spoke slowly, as if the answer was obvious. “What motive would they have to kill their own daughter?”
“Harper,” Amon began curtly, folding his arms across his chest. “Half of the Greek myths revolve around immortals killing their own children.”
“Then we should pick one of them,” Harper declared, pivoting her argument instead of admitting her logical blunder. “They would have more of a motive than the rest of the suspects, if anything.”
“The Minotaur can escape much more easily than Typhon can. Motive aside, it is the most logical guess,” Amon concluded, adjusting his collar haughtily. “I will remind you that we picked your choice of weapon. It is only fair that I select the monster.”
“Fine.” Harper agreed, her gaze stormy as she turned back towards the sphinx. “We accuse the Minotaur of killing the sphinx with the Shirt of Nessus.”
The sphinx opened one eye. “None of these are correct!”
Hint #2

Suspects	Weapons
Cerberus	The Shirt of Nessus
The Minotaur	Siren Song
Lamia	Harpy Talon
The Hydra	Celestial Bronze Sword
Typhon	A-C Encyclopedia
Echidna	Cerberus Fang

“Two more hints left.” Harper announced, crossing off the Minotaur’s name and the poisoned shirt on the chalkboard with a flourish. It was not ideal that her initial logical deductions had been incorrect, but at least Amon had also been wrong. She couldn't resist a snide comment. “I knew it wasn’t the Minotaur.”
“So you still think it’s Typhon.” Choosing to ignore Harper’s taunting, Amon rested his hand on a nearby desk, studying the lists on the chalkboard before him. He had taken the Minotaur error as a personal failure, and was determined to get the suspect right this time.
“I do.”
“Why not Echidna?”
“She’s too emotional to kill someone, obviously.” Harper said sarcastically. “Her frail female arms are probably too weak to even hold a weapon.”
The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes. “Objectively,” he began, ignoring her quip once more, “Typhon could not have lied about his inability to roam free. A natural disaster freed him from Mount Etna during the Second Titanomachy, but he could not recreate those conditions on his own.” Though his tone remained aloof, it was clear that Amon was relishing in the opportunity to flaunt his mythology knowledge.
“Maybe,” Harper argued, stubborn. “But Echidna’s statement was less ambiguous than his. Typhon just explains his predicament; he doesn't provide a real claim. Echidna explicitly says she was not involved.” She thought for a few more moments, rolling the piece of chalk in her hands. “Echidna could have released him? They would be accomplices.”
Amon shook his head. “There was a single murderer. Not two. The sphinx would not lie about the premise of the game.”
Harper stared at him coldly, but could offer no rebuttal. She turned her attention to the board. “Typhon is a giant. He’s capable of using the sword.”
“But the specificity of Echidna’s denial is still incredibly suspicious. ‘Petty affairs’ is a strange way to phrase a murder. But,” Amon added reluctantly, “I understand the logic behind Typhon. I suppose it is your turn to choose the monster, and we will still have another guess to work with.”
“As for the weapon,” he continued, “I still think the sword is the most viable option, given that the siren song and the fang can be ruled out and the shirt with the venom was, well,” Amon pursed his lips, fighting the urge to smile, “incorrect.”
Before Harper could interject, Amon turned towards the sphinx at the front of the room. “We accuse Typhon of killing the sphinx with a Celestial Bronze Sword.”
“One of these is correct!”
Hint #3

Suspects	Weapons
Cerberus	The Shirt of Nessus
The Minotaur	Siren Song
Lamia	Harpy Talon
The Hydra	Celestial Bronze Sword
Typhon	A-C Encyclopedia
Echidna	Cerberus Fang

“Aha!” Amon raised a triumphant finger before pointing it at Harper. “I told you,” he gloated, “Typhon had no escape route.”
“You were right,” Harper admitted, staring down at the carpet so that she would not have to look at his smug expression.
“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, and turned back towards the lioness with crossed arms. “We accuse Echidna of killing the sphinx with a Celestial Bronze Sword”
“One of these is correct,” the sphinx announced. Her mouth twisted in amusement, fangs bared in a menacing smile.
READ PART 2 HERE

Let me preface this with saying I'm from Philadelphia, so I'm used to shitty highways. I'm used to bad drivers. I'm used to staring longingly into the nearest body of water and contemplating driving my car into the murky, traffic-free depths.
But nothing could emotionally, physically, or spiritually prepare me for the Dan Ryan.
I began my drive in Philly at 8am on Sunday, stopping for a couple of hours in Pittsburgh to see the Cubs beat the Pirates before resuming my excursion. Nothing exciting here, the roads were empty, the sky was clear, life was good. Somewhere around Toledo I realized that while my car is a 25-year-old POS, its a POS with a convertible roof, so I put the top down and soaked in the rays for the rest of the journey. This will be relevant later. I meandered my way through Indiana, watching civilization gradually return as I made it closer and closer to Cook County.
And then, like feeling as Hannibal when confronted with the Alps, I turned a corner and was arrested in my journey by a near-endless wall of brakelights.
At this point, I'm tired. I'm hungry. I don't want to be sitting in bumper to bumper traffic on Mother's day. Come to think of it, why are you all on the road at 10pm on Mother's day? Go give your mother a hug.
Driving this accursed road left me with more questions than answers. Why, with the frequency of mile marker signs, were there cars abandoned in the left lane? Why does the muffler-less vehicle in front of me insist on flooring the accelerator and slamming on the brakes every time traffic moves an inch? Why didn't I just take public transit?
So here I am, practically parked next to the Sox L stop. Fine. Bad enough. Perhaps I mutter a few choice words at the expense of the highway.
But then it starts to rain. Out of a near-clear sky, one singular cloud begins to drift closer to me. and closer. And suddenly, like the target audience for North Shore Adult Diapers, it began to dump water. We're talking torrential rain, out of a clear sky, localized entirely over a tiny patch of land. And entirely over the fully exposed interior of my car. And over me, my clothes, and the 36 pack of Tastykakes that had dutifully traversed the midwest with me. Now I understand that logically the highway is not capable of complex emotions. I understand that its less likely that the highway heard me tell it to go fuck itself. I understand it's even less likely that a strip of asphalt can control the weather. But dammit, that fucking expressway made it rain out of pure spite.
Dan Ryan had won.
I pity the poor souls given the name Dan, Ryan, (or God forbid both) as their very being will be forever tainted by their association with this most monstrous of roads.
TLDR: I dared to insult the Dan Ryan and it pissed on me.

Blachowicz here.
Kept yah’ waiting, huh? Heh, sorry about that one, but I can explain. As we all know… we lost a few good men the last few months.
That’s the brutal part of a hybrid war like ours: We’re fighting a foe unconventional, with half our arsenal tied down because those who grant us authorization are either in disbelief of the true facts, or scared… or already assimilated. That being said our momentum recently was a change not seen in years, and because of that… despite the losses we have garnered, we were close through a breakthrough. One last night Krol pulls myself and other two must trusted squad leads into the back of our COP. There is one of our equipment cages, surrounded by m-bitter radios, tripods, and several hundred thousand dollars of equipment he brought us around a simple worn table. Before us he laid a map of eastern poland… red markings indicating cells that seemed to dot the countryside like a pestilence, or used to… as deep gashes of advance from raids had trisected their lines, even if ones did pop up in the interior.
It was a back and forth; an outside virus infecting Polska at it’s heart, and we were the antibodies sent to drive them out. To which… Major Krol points to one of the largest symbol on the map: a dark red diamond, the NATO symbol for an enemy unit, deep inside of an untouched wooded area, adjacent to a mountain ridge. Several jagged lines indicated entrenchment, with red horizontal lines indicating possible enemy control… or our contested control, for over 20kms surrounding it. Letting us all look, the Major lit himself a cigarette.
“Sir, you sure it’s wise to smoke in here with the dive tanks just behind us” 1st Squad’s lead quipped. “Fuck off” Krol dryly said.
“Alright… this is it… this is the one we’ve been searching for for years, this is the nucleus my predecessor commander died trying to find” he says, pointing to it. Not far from Zamosc, it was almost touching the border with Belarus, the contested area indicating the Strigoi did operate over it… indicating one of the largest spill through points. “-It’s an old soviet bunker, made during their 1960s initiative it was designed to hold the munitions and manpower of several units in the event of a NATO first strike” Krol explained. “It’s gotta be massive then…” I said gazing at the map; “Didn’t the army demolish all of the old soviet hulks near Belarus to prevent any infiltrations?” 3rd Squad’s lead asked. “National Police took the effort over… and by extension, the Strigoi. It was halfway demo’ed before they burrowed into it and have been using it as a bridgehead ever since. This is it…” Krol said. He looked around at all of us, a sense of certainty I had never seen before as he blew smoke from his nostrils; “We’ve been fucking around in the dark for so long, it’s hard to believe we’ve made any progress, but this is it. With this gone, this will set them back over a decade and the momentum will finally shift into our favor… into Poland’s… -Europe’s”.
I swear there was almost a flash of joy, of pride in his eyes and a phantom of a smirk before reality set back in “That being said… we can’t leave this to chance, especially not something as important as this. We’re going to have to go there ourselves… clear through every inch of that place, and tear it all down, piece by piece. I will be straight with you all… when we go, there will be some of us that aren’t coming back. -but we are going… a whole generation is counting on us, and unborn billions rely on us to succeed”. We all nodded, a silent agreement washing over us as we took this upon ourselves. Echo-1 spoke up: “So… They’re authorizing a raid? How big?”. “We’re rolling in as a hard target, armor, explosives, and air support” Krol answered, taking a drag off his cigarette. “Aviation? How the hell did we get that approved, we’ve gotten attempts shot down four times due to those leeches” I said in disbelief. “There’s too much evidence here pointing to the human trafficking tied to their actions… We’ve finally got too much weight pinning them down, to keep the hammer from slamming into their necks” Krol chuckled. He looked around “Any questions?”. “When?” Echo-3 asked. “Three hours. We’re hitting them in the dead of night, only time we could get the birds authorized. Get your boys ready. We’re rolling out” Krol said, dying the cigarette bud out on the table. I can’t begin to tell you the euphoria we felt leaving that cage, as our men started arriving, they did so a lot quicker, and with their heads a lot higher than they had in weeks. As Second Squad’s lead we were going to be one of the main arms of attack into the bunker, thus I made sure we had a breacher loaded with enough thermite, charges, and tools to cut through anything. Our shield bearer we ready to go, as was our assaulters, grenadiers, and machine gunner. I double checked each and everyone of their weapons; ensuring the feeder paws of our squad’s belt fed were intact, making sure every breach charge we had was properly set and packed. There was going to be no mistakes, no slip ups. The margin of error needed to be the smallest it had ever been for us tonight if we were going to make the gore spilt worth it.
Finally… there on the outside of the building, the bright LED lights kept the darkness of the ensuing night at bay as the roar of our MRAPs could be heard. It was said once that war is 99% peace, and 1% chaos, they were right. The slow periods where the blood slowed and the doubt creeped in was the worst… yet we all kept it at bay. We needed to, there was going to be no backing down tonight. All three squads were up, all of us ready to go… we circled up… short stares and shaky nods telling us one things: We were in this together, till the end… the finish line so many before us had been searching for, we were being granted tonight.
A single set of footsteps could be heard as we turned, Major Krol stepping into the center. He took the last drag of a cigarette, throwing it down to the ground and stamping it out onto the damp concrete. He looked around… his chin strap blowing in the weak air as he met everyone of our gazes… then mine… then looked around. “I want you to remember every detail of tonight, as you have every other night… when you are situationally aware, scanning for the enemy, liberating the subjugated, I want you to remember the sting of anxiety, the shake of adrenaline, the chill of the bunker, the heat of your weapon as it cuts them down… because tonight we are going to write every fine detail of our victory, their defeat, in history…” Krol’s words echoed deep into our souls. He paused for a moment, staring around he looked down… a small pause before he said “When you are ruthless in combat, remember to be patient, and reserved in victory. This conflict is for our existence… a lot of innocents have bled due to the mistakes of those who failed to listen, a lot of our brothers are now laid under because we had to bridge the gap of uncertainty with their lives. We remember them now… but in an hour? We forget them… when we raise our barrels, when we cut into those foes, and we liberate Polska!! This does not end tonight, but history puts everything in it’s place, and patience is the companion of the victor… All of our hard work will be cemented, no matter the obstacles we face in that darkness… no matter the demons, the blood, no matter what incomprehensible horrors, we will make them comprehend that to invade our land, to bleed our people, the justice will be paid in full… Load up. It’s time*”*.
The purpose in our steps was heavy as we climbed the back ramps of the MRAPS; Four of the heavily armored vehicles, one for each squad with an additional for attached personnel including our JTAC, the term means Joint Terminal Attack Controllers. With air support requisitioned to us for this operations, there needs to be a definite liaison on the ground who can directly communicate to the birds, and coordinate their fire and progress. I’d worked with many of them in the past, resourceful guys, quick thinking though I guess that comes with the position they hold of needing to quickly figure out what bombs to drop, on which target, at what precise points, whilst taking contact. He loaded in the lead vehicle with Major Krol… and soon, our convoy kicked off.
The drive was several hours as myself and my squad sat in the back of that forty ton goliath, the rumbling of the engine keeping us awake as the crap heater fought to keep the cold from the outside frost from setting in. I looked around to each of them, some were catching some sleep because even with the circumstances… better to get all the energy you can, than to stay awake for nothing. Others were checking their weapons… My gunner locked eyes with me, the same one from the village extraction… many of these men I had trained with for a while now, fought with for months.
We may have met on unconventional circumstances but those in JW Grom thrive on austere chance and create opportunity from scratch. I was pulled from my thought by the sound of a transmission, my peltors were set up for dual comms so I could both receive information from the Major and other leads, whilst communicating with my team.
Krol himself sent out: [“Approximately 10 minutes from enemy AO…”]. As the rest of the squads acknowledged, I quickly sent out [“Echo-2 Copies”], before kicking the boots of any of them sleeping: “Look alive, we’re here”. Through the exterior net armor of the MRAPS, and the bars protecting the small reinforced windows, we could barely see jack shit. I reached up, turning off the overhead light as we all looked through our nods to scan the outside. A dark wall of dense trees was shown before us, making it difficult to see… in addition to night vision capabilities we had also requisitioned ourselves some thermals… when mounted onto rifles they were bulky, made it a pain to aim down quickly, but considering the supernatural capabilities of spotting our foes we needed every advantage necessary.
I flipped out one of my tubes… scanning the outside with my scope. I looked over to one of my assaulters who had been assigned to man the turret of the MRAP, seated near the view screen as he controlled the 50. Cal. Each of the vehicle turrets had been assigned a direction to cover… we took the 9 o’clock, the left flank. “See anything?” I asked. He shook his head; “Negative… wait… I’ve got two cold signatures, front left heading to our rear”.
I quickly scanned the far tree line, at approximately 60 meters off our left were two cold signatures… followed by a third heading to our front… then another. They were surrounding us, moving at speeds so fast I could barely keep my reticle on them. Is this what the National Police saw? What they faced at that lodge without the benefit of a foot of heavy armor protecting them on all sides. Then… suddenly. Something slammed into the side of our MRAP so hard, it caused it to shake. From over the leader comms, Echo-3 quickly shouted [“Contact right!! 4 hostiles!!”].
One of the Strigoi… so bold, had charged and slammed into the side of our MRAP. I quickly looked to see the figure, a dark blue mass of cold energy through my thermal, back away without so much as a stagger… as they tried to flee into the woods, the white hot justice of Echo-3’s gun fired at them, cutting them down. “Blachowicz I’ve got a few breaking for our vic” my man on the turret called out, I spun around, spotting out the window.
Just then, Major Krol announced [“weapons free, watch and shoot for targets of opportunity…”]. I turned to him… “take those fuckers out-”. Without hesitation my vic’s turret began to quickly target them, and through the darkness I saw a stream of outgoing fire bisect one of them, the ISR of the black blood freaking out the optic so badly it didn’t know what temperature to register it as… but it did register it. As another was cut down, one broke through the tree line and latched onto the side of our MRAP. The thing tore at one of the outer net armor panels, usually made to stop RPGs. It grabbed at the bars near the windows, tearing one off… I lowered my rifle as we locked eyes through the reinforced window.
The thing… the Strigoi looked at me, skin cracked as putrefied muscle fibers seemed to leak through dead flesh. It’s teeth were corroded and worn down to sharp fragments, alongside newly mutated fangs that messily protrude from the jaws. Even through the thick walls of the MRAP I could hear it’s roar, as it then tried to punch it’s way through… it cracked the outer coating of the vehicle… but it wasn’t getting anywhere near. My machine gunner, seated next to me, seemed to chuckle at the sight, quippily saying “Yeah… fuck you too”. It’s then our vehicle lurched upwards, as we began to climb the small incline of the bunker. I knew the layout, mapped it in our head, the main entrance was built into the rocky side of an old cliff meaning we could easily set up a defensive perimeter around it, a horseshoe. Krol’s vehicle was first, taking to the right as Echo-3’s MRAP followed. My vehicle, third, left the incline and took a left and… that’s where things got complicated.
We’re still trying to work out what happened but… from what Joakim says his drone captured. Right when the MRAP turned, several of the monsters quickly slammed into the side of the vehicle, as another more bulkier one, pushed at it’s undercarriage. The result.. Was the 40 ton armored vehicle tipped over. It wasn’t uncommon, hell in some cases a well placed IED, a good shot with a recoilless rifle, have been known to tip over Oshkoshs and Maxpros all the time. But this beast? Needless to say we barely had a second to comprehend it as it leaned to the left; “Grab on to something-” is all I had time to shout. A mess of gear and men spilled onto one side of the vehicle as it slammed into the old gravel and dirt.
Several of my assaulters, my grenadier planted right ontop of myself and the others as we came to a stop. Someone’s knee slammed directly into the side of my skull, causing me to dazily bob in and out of consciousness as my face was smushed against the glass of one of the windows.
Through my peltors, the other squads were erratic;
[“Echo-2’s vehicle is down!!”].
[“Echo-3 to Echo-2… Echo-3 to Echo-2…”].
Krol’s voice came through the comms;
[“Echo-Lead to Echo-2… Fuc-... Echo-1 secure Echo 2’s flank, Echo-3”].
[“Echo-3 to other units, they’re spilling through, I’ve got several enemy combatants converging on Echo-2’s vehicle”].
I pushed the legs of my grenadier off my head as I fought to my hands and knees, unfucking my nods as I looked around… “Fuck it… we’re going lights on, shield your eyes” I muttered as I reached for the overhead lights and flipped them on. The bright LEDs bathed the inside of the vehicle as we all gained our bearings, a mess of multicam, gear, and weapons as we quickly pushed each other off. My gunner caught as he fought to realign his promask, from what I gathered one of the assaulters had landed directly into his gun, pushing it directly into his jugular, as pulled back at the rubber and coughed, freeing up his esophagus. We didn’t have time to think however… the sound of bending metal caught our attention… as the back ramp door of the MRAP was ripped clean off. I could barely believe it but as the white light of the MRAP’s interior poured to the outside, a hulking mass leaned in, the dead flesh on it’s face nearly fallen off as the hideous Strigoi leaned inside.
Without hesitation I aimed took aim, yelling “Keep to the deck!!” to any of those inbetween myself and the invader as I opened fire. A burst of full auto fire tore through it’s collar and neck, my men quickly clung to either sides of the fallen MRAP as a few more fired out. As the thing backed up, a blast of .50 cal fire quickly tore it to shreds, along with several others as I realized they were fuckin swarming over the outside of our vehicle. Echo-3’s vehicle continued to carefully fire on the Strigoi on the outside, the sounds of .50 cal ricocheting off the outside of our armor was enough to make the pucker factor set in.
[“Echo-3 to Echo-2”].
[“This is Echo-2, we’re green on ammo, equipment, men”].
[“Roger, we’re shifting fire, exit the vehicle”].
“Hurry up let’s go!!” I barked to my men, leading the way as I staggered out. I turned on my peq, taking aim at silhouettes in the brush as I began to fire. The sounds of machine guns lighting up the brush, as a sea of growls, howls, and incomprehensible roars fired back at us was the ambient noise of the night. My men quickly exited, my gunner being the last as he and I pulled back to the rest of the defensive perimeter. I set in my men to take up the frontal security, as 3rd squad took the right flank, 1st squad to the left. Major Krol and the JTAC were bickering with each other; “How far out are the birds”. “They’re entering airspace now…” Joakim said, already scanning his smart book.
I asked “What’ve we got?”. He then flipped through… to the NATO combined arms segment, quippily saying; “Apaches…”. This caused me to pause as Echo-3 turned their head whilst directing their squad’s fire “The hell… where did we get apaches from?”. “The Americans… they volunteered” Krol said dismissively as he took aim at the darkness, firing off a controlled trio. “Volunteered? They’re aware of what’s going on?” I asked.
Krol seemed to stop, glancing back at me before returning his focus “There’s a lot more going on than you realize, Blachowicz… Prep the breach, you and 1st are going on”.
I quickly pulled my breacher off the line, securing some thermite as the reinforced bunker door wasn’t going to go as easily as a conventional door breach would. 1st Squad pulled back, stacking up and preparing themselves to be the first in. All the while… Joakim gave his firing solution; “Alpha Hotel Two Five Nine, This is Bravo-4…… Type 2….”.
I snapped to my right, watching as a Strigoi managed to dark across the clear gravel field, only to be cut down by my gunner, the peq’s laser marking the burst as it tore through the beasts’ hips, as it hit the ground and still continued to claw, another GROM operator took aim and fired into it’s skull. Joakim popped up to his feet…. “Marking laser, high power…”. He then pulled out a target marking laser… if you’ve watched night operations, you’ve probably seen them.
The green laser than as it says on the label, marks targets. The pattern of which can vary… if it’s a point target, it’ll usually lasso an area, or remain on target until the target is removed with extreme prejudice. If its close air support, then it’ll be a line of the general area… and Joakim damn near marked the entire perimeter around us. He quickly pocketed the tool, turning back to Krol; “Don’t go past 20 meters unless you want to be liquidated”.
With that… 2nd and 1st stacked up at the door as 3rd squad took up the perimeter security. As Major Krol went over to Echo-1… I saw them. A single blinking IR strobe from the beasts as they moved on the far off horizon, converging from several angles… and fired. The sound of the Apache’s main gun, the M230, truly sounds like the hammer of god… the 30mm cannon shot through the dark sky, lighting it up as we saw three incoming streams tear up the woods. Only then as the sound broke did we start to hear their rotors as they broke and began to circle, firing again… then… Joakim dipped his head and looked to Krol; [“Foxtrot Mike, hang onto your teeth…”]. One of the Apaches fired off a AGM-114… a Hellfire. I barely saw it out of the corner of my eye as the Apache from our right flank fired off at a target approximately 200 meters off. A fireball lit up the forest as the horrendous roar echoed throughout… then went silent.
Echo-3 scanned the horizon carefully;
[“Echo-3 to Echo-Lead, enemy contact is starting to die down”].
[“Maintain perimeter, Close Air is to maintain fire mission until we are boots up, Break…”].
[“Echo-Lead to Echo-1, condition white has been met. Proceeds”]. I saw Echo-1 and his men quickly stack up close to the wall and gesture to me; Breaching. I quickly pulled my stack back against the wall as his and mine breacher quickly hit their actuators. Now under normal circumstances, it doesn’t take much for thermite to melt the locks off of a metal surface, in fact it’s a more precise took as alternative means get real medieval like saws, pry bars… we weren’t in the mood for precision, we need to breach their little lair, and drag them out. The sound of several pounds of hellfire burning through the metal could be heard around the corner as a sea of white and red sparks flew out… after several seconds, two of our men tossed a fragmentation grenade and a nine-bang through the opening… a series of concussive blasts and a large explosion rang out.
Echo-1 and his men maneuvered. 1st Squad quickly converged as we followed them in.
Stepping through the black wall of smoke, the dark abyss of the interior was illuminated in a white light as entered barrels raised. Shots rang out as several of the beasts near the entrance were cut down, though not immediately, rounds disconnected the shoulder of one of them, leading to their arm hanging limply by a single tendon as they roared… another series of rounds putting them down. What greeted us was a messy concrete hell of rust and debris, fecal matter, trash, and all kinds of obstacles laid in our way, our boots sticking to the floor. I thank every god we had promasks that night. I called my shield bearer up, 2nd squad leapfrogging ahead to take the next corridor as 1st squad checked their weapons.
One of my men mule kicked the metal door ahead, twice, finally the latch gave away as we tossed in a grenade. A horrifying roar was cut off as an M67 shook the walls of the ancient soviet mausoleum, frag and spall kicked off the walls as I moved in right behind my shield man. The cramped russian design meant there was barely enough space for three people, and that’s three normal people, not in 50kgs of kit, moving slowly and maneuvering against creatures of the dark. Still… we moved forward, my shield bearer and I pushing the pace as two stacked of either squad formed on either wall.
As we passed doorways they flowed in… “Door Left!!”, “Door Right!!”. “Move!!”.
Two men entered each side, no gunshots, we moved up, a roar came.
“Door left!!-”. A series of gunshots came out as we continued to push forward.
“Two down!!”. “Confirm them” Krol commanded, as a series of gunshots run out in response. From one of the doorways, a Strigoi emerged… a female… clumps of hair had been ripped from her decaying skull, as her blooded eyes locked on myself and my shieldman. The skin on her hands had been tore down to the point where barely her bones and tendons remain… looking like huge talons as she roared and lunged at us. He fired off his pistol, though the rounds did little to stop her as she pushed against our stack.
“Fuck!!” he muttered, somehow her strength caused him to stagnate, holding up the advance… fuck that. I shoved the muzzle of my MK18 into her ribcage, flipping the weapon to auto as I fired of round after round. The 5.56 salvo disconnecting her spinal column, causing her to fall as I continued to fire, along with a man to our right and left as the stacks reformed as we pushed to the end of the hall. I fell back, dropping the magazine and loading a fresh one, like clockwork a GROM Operator from 1st squad took my place. Krol was beside me as we approached the end of the hall.
[“-Prep an entry”] I radioed to my breacher, a comrade handed him one of the charges from his back panel as he took to the door, quickly securing it. We all moved as far back as we could, look away, exhale. The blast knocked metal and wood in all directions, scrapping against our uniforms and kit as we made our way in and what laid before us was… it used to be the center atrium of one of these bunkers. Soviet’s loved their grandiose designs, the complex was supposed to be a circular room around a central planning table… instead. It had been turned into some sort of church. Runes and old eastern Romuva pagan symbols written in black ink and blood across the walls, old rotten filing cabinets, long receipt terminals. In the center… several of the Strigoi were kneeling before the table where someone had been tied down, flayed, and… shared amongst the group. They rose to their feet, we aimed our barrels…
The ladder amongst turned to us… his skin wasn’t cracked, or flayed, it was smooth… it still looked dead as the body on the table but it seemed more… accustomed to it. I don’t know… evolved? Under the surface however I could see it’s darkened veins pumping whatever cursed blood ran through them as it locked two blood red eyes onto each of us. It’s nose had long since been turn off, exposing boney nostrils to the open air as it seemed to smirk. All across it’s body were the same symbols on the walls, in every cell… markings of death, of rebirth, of assimilation… From behind this seemingly Alpha emerges another figure I had never seemed before… dressed in a white cloak with a deer head.
"So they've followed the trail... they're too late" the Deer headed individual spoke, definitely not from here, a dialect similar to an Americans but... aristocratic? Each word was drawn out, assurance as if they had everything mapped down to our actions. They didn’t sound like they were from Poland or the east.
“Doesn’t matter…” the Alpha growled… and then, it lunged at us. Quickly breaking from their ground it slammed into my shield man knocking both him and myself at the ground as it displayed an intense feat of strength. Around us I could see several of the Strigoi leap at our comrades… though to no fruitful endeavor as I could see one GROM operator cut two down, as another got into a hand to hand confrontation… my breacher, crafty as they were, reached back and slammed one of the prybars of his kit into the skull of the beast.
The Alpha however was not content as it threw away the 90lb shield, sending it flying across the room as it grabbed my comrade by the skull. I quickly kicked up at it, firing my MK18 into it’s body as the rounds pierced it’s gray and rune covered flesh. The thing simply seemed to chuckle… that was until Major Krol blasted away at the side of it’s head, the alpha turned… and it’s smirk turned to a scowl when face to face with the major. A knowing pause almost like they had done this dance before…
The creature lunged, locking up with Major Krol as it swung and slammed railing. Krol didn’t back down however as he pushed against the creature, hiptossing it to the ground even as it tore at his armor and gear. But the beast pulled, both of them rolled and the Major was on his back as the thing reached for his neck. I fought to a kneel, firing into the creature messily with my MK18, trying not to hit my commander… then…
Click. A sound sends a chill up the spine of every warfighter during a firefight.
My gun ran dry. I dropped the magazine, looking to load another, but the thing came up and with one of it’s claws, sliced deep into my cheek, through the pro mask. I could feel my own blood go flying through the air as I landed hard on my back plate, spitting out red iron as I quickly tried to adjust my mask. Through my fogged up, blood covered lense… I saw my shield man raise his pistol, firing into the skull of the thing staggering it with a roar. Krol came from behind, drawing his knife he sunk it deep into the neck of it…. I reached for my rifle, forcing a new magazine in and damn near punching the bold release. ““Sir, down!!” I shouted, Krol rolled away, back to his own rifle as I fired. So did my comrade as he continued to fire his pistol… so did the Major as he fired his rifle. All of us chewing through that apex predator of darkness, that beast… the leader that had been preying on our people for so long. Layer by layer, muscle group by bone… eventually… the alpha landed on whatever was left of his back.
The silence of the fight died down as all of us checked our surroundings, GROM Operators putting controlled pairs in the heads and nerve stems of any Strigoi laying around… I flicked my weapon onto safe, letting it hang as I pulled off my mask. I dared not touch the wound on my face… the pain nearly crippling me if it wasn’t sheer will pushing me through, and adrenaline doing all it could to subdue it. The sound of the apaches continuing to lay hate drew us from our moment of contemplation as the Major went back to work; [“Confiscate any info, burn the rest…”]. He turned back to me as I shoved my damaged M50 mask back into it’s bag, chuckling as he looked at the sight; “You need a medevac, Blachowicz?” he quipped.
I shook my head, barely able to speak as I muttered; “Negative sir…”. The two of us scanned the room as my shield bearer went to collect his defense implement turned 90lb projectile, we scanned the center of the room, checking and confirming bodies, until we got to the last one alive. His white gown was soaked in red crimson and black ooze, as his dear head was mangled from bullet fire and impact from falling on it. I swear… the way his blood poured out of it though made me wonder if it was a mask. I gave it no second thoughts as he looked to Krol; “You… you can’t stop this, they’ve already-”.
The Major was in no mood for communication as his rifle snapped up and fired off three rounds to the body, four the head. The violent yet quick salvo ending the cultists life, I looked down at it, then to him as he remarked; “Have your squad drag him out to the front, burn the rest”. I stood alongside him, looking down as the sight of it’s deer head was both captivating and horrifying… the curiosity in me wanting to look closer at it fighting the primal instinct I had to burn the thing to ash. “-Haven’t seen one of those before…” I muttered, thinking the Major had an answer.
He didn’t. Krol saying “Neither have I…” shortly before he walked away, was what truly shook my soul about that entire night. Victory stood firm in our hearts that night as we stood outside of the bunker. The night sky burning with fire and white phosphorus as we watched the ruin burn from the inside from the other side of the lot. In the distance, the Apaches continued to scan and circle the forests, no longer firing…. Which meant they had driven any or turned to glass any enemy combatants within a four miles, probably both, more than likely the latter. Echo-1 patted me on the shoulder as we stood there, soaking it all in, though Krol looked none to pleased. “In the time it took us to take this one down, they’ll be trying to set up three more cells… that being established…” he said, looking to either of us, then to Echo-3. “-Hell of a thing we did tonight, been waiting for this one for a decade, cleanly, maybe more… but no time to rest on our laurels… we’ll have another task for us as soon as we’re boots down back home” he said, to which his eyes followed mine, the body of whatever cultist that was zipped up in a black body bag beside the wheel of one of the MRAPs. The fire from the bunker casting an orange hue over it’s shiny jet black outside, something didn’t sit right with me… “That wasn’t a Strigoi…” I said to Krol.
“That’s very clear…” the Major said, shoving his mask under his arm and lighting a cigarette. “So… someone’s helping them?” I asked. The meer notion of it shook me to my core, sickened me. This parasite was already badly infecting Europa, Polska… if it was spread like this throughout the world. Krol settled my nerves: “We’ll be ready… It’s not just us anymore”. As he said that, I realized what he meant… my eyes looking to the Apaches as they started to form up, leaving the areas as their thunderous propellers melted into the night’s calm, unnerving ambience.
It’s been a couple of weeks since then, Echo Detachment has been busy. We’ve gained good ground against the enemy and honestly I think in a few years, we might see a much larger change. For now… we must keep going, that being said the Strigoi aren’t the only ones we’ve been combating. Recently we’ve made contact with of some sort of extermination coalition, they’ve known about the Strigoi, and others plaguing the world, the level of corruption and corrosion on society goes deep. Regardless a lot of the units we’ve been working with are apart of NATO, such as this “4th Special Forces Group” of the American Military. I don’t know where the road from here leads, but we’ve gotten momentum on our side, finally. Just remember… these things are out there, in every town, every city, every nation… preying and waiting for you to be alone, vulnerable, so they can take you and replace you.
Watch your back, and stay safe.
For now, Blachowicz signing out. Until next time

Hello,
So, I was recently seen by a C&P examiner for a increase, and for the most part she was fairly bland with all the questions. No compassion. It didn't feel genuine at all nor were there any questions that she allowed me to speak outside my scope of what has been going on with my PTSD that has gotten worse. She seemed uninterested with some other things I had to say. All she asked was my occupation, what it was before, and what I'm doing now, basic questions here and there that seemed like straight SUPER BASIC ass bullet point questions about "what does anxiety mean to you" "what does depression mean to you" etc. Then she went on to asking a couple of questions of my last evaluation, and from the key points I noticed since my last evaluation based off the questions she referenced is that; I'm now taking medication for my PTSD (haven't before), seeing a therapist, my increased alcohol intake, low sex drive, and how it is affecting my workplace. I couldn't even tell if she wrote everything down, but I know she typed for at least half of the things I've said in regards to those things listed.
My biggest question to you all is have y'all ever encountered something like this with a positive outcome when it comes to someone like this? I'm thinking about just going to the VA for another C&P examiner but a lot of people are telling me to just wait it out. Any stories positive, or negative are welcome. I just need the cold hard truth cause now my anxiety has peaked, and I've been thinking of the worst right now in now thinking back of how the C&P went and how I should've been more direct or if she doesn't even believe me based off her bland answers.

As a child, my world revolved around the sunny streets of Simi Valley, California, and the constant absence of my father, Victor Drake. He was a legendary snowboarder, a thrill-seeker whose exploits were broadcast on television screens across the country. But to me, he was just Daddy, a distant figure whose presence was more often felt through the flickering glow of the TV than in our own home.
As the years passed by, I found myself growing more and more aware of his absence. I would watch other children playing with their fathers at the park, their laughter echoing in my ears like a cruel reminder of what I was missing. I would press my small hands against the warm glass, imagining each passing car as a messenger carrying my father's love. But no matter how much I hoped and prayed, he never seemed to come home.
Instead, I found comfort in the warm embrace of my grandparents, who took me in and raised me as their own. They became my surrogate parents, filling the void left by my father's absence with love and affection. But there was always a shadow lingering over our home, a sense of longing for the one who should have been there with us.
"Why doesn't Daddy stay with us?" I would ask, my voice trembling with emotion. And every time, my grandparents would offer the same explanation: "He loves you very much, sweetheart. But he has to travel for his work."
I accepted their words at face value, too young to question the truth behind them. "He's always too busy for us," I would mutter bitterly to myself, my young heart heavy with disappointment and betrayal.
There was one day...I wandered through the hallway of our house, I overheard my grandmother speaking on the phone. Her voice was tinged with frustration, her words clipped and sharp.
"You can't just not see her, Victor!" she exclaimed, her tone pleading. "She's your daughter, for crying out loud. You have a responsibility to her."
I stood frozen in the hallway, my heart pounding in my chest. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks—my dad was choosing not to be a part of my life, and it was tearing my family apart.
I felt a surge of raw emotion welling up inside me. Anger, sadness, confusion—all swirling together in a whirlwind of chaos that threatened to consume me whole. Without a word, I turned on my heel and fled, my footsteps echoing through the empty house as I raced back to my room. Slamming the door shut behind me, I collapsed onto my bed, tears streaming down my cheeks unchecked.
I didn't want to face the world outside, didn't want to confront the painful truth of my father's abandonment. So I stayed locked away in my room, the days blurring together into a haze of loneliness and despair. Outside my window, the sun continued to rise and set, casting long shadows across my walls as time marched on without me. But inside my sanctuary, time seemed to stand still, the outside world fading into insignificance as I retreated deeper and deeper into myself.
I spent those days lost in my own thoughts, wrestling with the thoughts that haunted me, searching for some semblance of understanding in the chaos of my emotions. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the crushing weight of my father's absence, the gaping hole in my heart that refused to heal.
And so I remained trapped in that dark cocoon of despair, my only solace the faint glimmer of hope that someday, somehow, I would find the answers I so desperately sought. But until then, I was content to stay locked away in my room, sheltered from the harsh realities of the outside world, nursing my wounds in silence. Hoping that one day, he would come home and we could be a family again. That he would want to be my dad.
But whatever god was out there, must've heard my cries, answered my prayers.
I was ten now. I heard the front door creak open, the sound echoing through the silent house. My heart leaped into my throat, my pulse quickening with a mixture of anticipation and dread as I waited, holding my breath, for what would come next.
And then he was there, standing in the doorway, his familiar silhouette framed against the harsh glare of the midday sun. For a moment, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't believe that he was actually here.
But there he was, my father, Victor Drake, holding out his arms to me with a tentative smile, as if unsure of whether he was welcome or not. And in that moment, all the anger and resentment that had consumed me for so long melted away, replaced by a flood of overwhelming relief and joy.
He had gifts in hand, peace offerings to soften the blow of his absence. A new pair of ice skates, gleaming in the sunlight, a token of his love and a promise of better days to come.
I wanted to hate him, to lash out at him for leaving me all those years ago, for breaking my heart and abandoning me when I needed him most. But as I looked into his eyes, saw the vulnerability lurking behind the bravado, I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Instead, I threw myself into his arms, clinging to him as if my life depended on it, my tears mingling with his as we stood there, locked in an embrace that felt like coming home. And in that moment, all was forgiven, all was forgotten, as we basked in the warmth of each other's love, united once more by the bonds of family.
But even as I reveled in the joy of his return, a nagging doubt lingered at the back of my mind. Did forgiving him so easily make me stupid? Was I setting myself up for heartbreak all over again? Only time would tell, but for now, I pushed those thoughts aside, content to lose myself in the embrace of my father's love, if only for a little while longer.

I had a boss who was hired around the same time I was and was paid three times as much as I was, yet he couldn't even type on a computer or figure out spellcheck. He gave me a negative performance review because I let him publish a document that had a spelling error in it that he didn't catch. How dare me.
When our finances started failing, I was the one axed instead of him because he was 64 and I was 28, even though he had 0 leadership skills and I was essentially begging him to communicate and be open-minded to new ideas. He was terrible at giving instructions, provided me no training because he didn't even know how to do my job, and he viewed questions as signs of me not being qualified rather than being qualified enough to pursue answers and not act solely on my assumptions, as he does.
He was fired from his previous job for running that place into the ground. I giggled when I heard that the institution plummeted even deeper without me and that they had to hire 2 people to replace my role. I had a lot of ideas to avoid that, but he didn't like my ideas and pushed the blame on me for causing failure (ultimately just following his orders). It's almost as if I had a modern master's degree and he was less qualified than me on every gauge except length of work history.
It didn't surprise me when one day his wife dropped by to say hello, and he just asked, "What do you want?" She should have divorced him a long time ago because (1) he's insufferable as a person and has no emotional regulation skills, and (2) he takes no accountability, including with raising his children.
Her first sign to leave should have been that 2 days after she gave birth to their first child, he went on a solo vacation that she didn't even want him to go on, but he didn't see the issue and still doesn't. I'm amazed there was even a second child. She does everything around the house and he'll just watch TV and go golfing with his friends. (His wife worked in a different department and called or stopped by for various reasons during my time there. We talked a lot.)
Oh, to have the unquestioned and injustly tolerated authority of a salaried white Boomer man who was bumped up the corporate ladder when it was expected rather than earned...and whose angry threats were yielded to rather than seen as red flags that he didn't know how to collaborate and was unwilling to recognize that someone may have a single insight he doesn't.
He acted like he was doing everybody a favor by working there rather than retiring. As if going on 2-week vacations during our busiest scrambles of the fiscal year (he took 6 vacations in 10 months and would more than not show up to work at least an hour late and leave hours early to go golfing) was helpful at all.
My biggest regret in life is not being 15 years older. Might have had a shot in that work economy to have a better paying job and more influence than a discarded peanut shell.