Water like diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, no fever, chills

I need help before I let myself feel stupid in front of my new coworkers lol.. I'm doing volunteer coding for a non profit that sees people in low resource communities.. so the documentation is not exactly proper. I'm already struggling with my first case LOL.
"6 months pregnant G3 P1 ab1. say is at 6 montyhs, nio vitamins- just throws them up. Having sharp cramping pain on the right, The pain is worse when she lays down. Good fetal movement. No bleeding.. Lots of diarrhea,6 times/ day has mucus, watery, sometimes a bit of blood. She looks well though. No fever. The diarrhea comes and goes. This far into pregnancy. Metronidazole is fine for the dysentery. Her first birth was in 2016, in Brazil. Had C section for failure to progress after 24 hours. Baby 4300gram. advised to return for eval in 4 weeks, and that she needs to be in a hospital for close managment due to risk of needing another c section-It was a large baby. Declines PN vits."
Any advice on how and in which order to code this? I might be over thinking it. The company says to code a Dx if even it says "suspected" or "possible" so idk if i'm coding dysentery or diarrhea.. SO i'm thinking either of one those, gestation, and the history of previous pregnancy? I finished my program like a month ago and feel like i suddenly forgot everything!!!

I’m 11 weeks and obv no expert but I don’t know anyone pregnant with multiples so wanted to share what’s worked for me in case it helps anyone (and also commiserate a little because wth)
Nausea was bad but not HG.

• Had a random craving around 7-8 weeks for Chipotle (extra rice, no beans, cautiously approaching the mildest meat carnitas) and felt full for the first time in a while, and that was a turning point. I’ve realized if I can be full my nausea is a LOT better. Tricky with so many food aversions and when you don’t want the same food the next day but just try anything.
• after much experimentation, ice water with a splash of light lemonade is what I drink all day. Plain water tastes bad, lemon juice or electrolyte mixes tastes poisonous.
• started feeling starving (and still nauseous) around week 10 and advice in this sub helped aka bulk on protein. Hard to do with meat & peanut butter & egg aversions and a lactose sensitivity but I’m managing. However today for instance I ate 1100 cal and 75g protein by 10am and still felt nauseous and starving. Had a random craving for soup and made a quick creamy potato soup and ate like 4 servings 😅 if your body lets you, just fill it to the brim with whatever food you can stomach. But also protein usually does help a lot.
• random protein things I consume with my limitations: chocolate soy milk, string cheese, Quest hero chocolate caramel bars, most cheese products. sometimes shrimp with cocktail sauce.
• I can’t stand the smell of eggs or meat or the thought of eating them at home, however I’m mostly fine eating fast food lol so do what works. Starbucks bacon sausage egg wrap and Chick-fil-a hash brown bowl with sausage worked for me.

I also had a question for experienced moms: did y’all really drink regular milkshakes and not develop GD? It sounded ridiculous at first but on extra starving days I see the appeal.

TMI
Thinking AF is coming... 8-9dpo negative test this morning and my lh read .10 on premom. This cycle felt so different with very high lh peak (for me at 1.24), ovulation cramps, nausea/ Diarrhea and isolated burning cramps on my left side since 4dpo. But I guess it was just a stomach bug.
"Superstitious "~ side note my mom even asked if i was pregnant during a phone call randomly and my bf and i saw a heron (looked like a little stork) just chilling in the backyard. Ive also noticed a few people ive followed for their ttc journey finally getting bfp as well as seeing repeating numbers~
As of this morning though I'm having cramping that feels exactly like my period and Diarrhea. Still little moments of nausea and slightly sore tatas. I was trying not to get my hopes up this cycle but it still kind of suck that period symptoms change so much. So tricky. The thing that makes me feel out is my lh being so low... 4-5 days to AF but maybe sooner

Hey yall, im a 16 year old kid that wrote this in class, a quick historical fiction journal from WW2. lmk if you guys like it and I should keep writing. -thanks

May 27, 1942—It's been about a month and a few days since I wrote in this journal, and currently, I'm in the Marines being trained for Germany. The First training day is in a few days, as we are still traveling to Paris Island, South Carolina. As I enter this journey, I'm unsure what to expect, but Uncle Frank said it wasn't easy.
June 3, 1942- The sound of war terrifies me; the sound of bullets piercing the air and striking inches from my feet makes me freeze. We have been on this battlefield for three days without food or water. I look to my left and right, and all I see is smoke. My ears are ringing, my eyes burning, and cries of pain from my comrades send a chill down my spine. My M1 Garand, Resting on a fallen tree branch, has a German soldier in sight; I look down my sights and bang, I fire. I can't help but feel guilty that the man I just killed is not much different than me, just an 18-year-old kid with no clue what's happening. The sizzling hot cartridge steaming on the ground is a memory of a once joyful time with my father and two brothers hunting in the woods of North Carolina, but in this case, instead of taking the life of a deer, I took the life of a man. I pick up the shell and stuff it in my pocket. I lie next to Harry, and suddenly, I hear a loud bang and yelling of Sergent James to get down. Suddenly, the world goes silent; after many hours, my sight and hearing return, and I look to my right. And Harry, who is unrecognizable, lies motionless with a missing arm. I yell for a medic, but no words come out, only a voice in my head telling me to give up. A soldier in my platoon comes running into our ditch with blood streaming down his face and side.
June 4, 1942- All life is meaningless at war; we liberated a prisoner of war camp, and the sights we saw were horrific. I will take a break from this journal and focus on making it come alive.
-Liam Jones 1942

Hello - I've recently received a PET scan for FUO. Since last July, I've been experiencing right sided abdominal pain which received no diagnosis. Last fall, I became severely ill with GI symptoms (primarily nausea) followed by chest/rib pain and neuro symptoms (shooting pain down right leg, headaches, etc.). My period had completely stopped during this time, which was likely due to the stress my body was under. They've since resumed, albeit painful ovulation and period cycles with frequent bloating all month long. Colonoscopy did not show any reasoning for my extreme bloating or abdominal pain. In January I began experiencing frequent fevers. I ended up with infectious disease and neurology referrals, and after extensive workups that did not provide any insight, we moved forward with a full-body PET Scan. Everything came back normal except the following:
ABDOMEN/PELVIS: In the posterior left adnexal region there is a 43 x 23 mm ovoid low density structure with moderately increased uptake in the peripheral posterior portion maximum SUV 7.7.
IMPRESSION: 1. Moderately increased uptake within the peripheral posterior portion of a 43 x 23 mm ovoid lesion posterior left adnexa. Findings may simply represent a physiologic ovarian cyst within an otherwise somewhat prominent ovary. In this particular patient chronic tubo-ovarian abscess or other fallopian tube or ovarian pathology could be considered. Recommend pelvic ultrasound with transabdominal and transvaginal imaging for further evaluation. 2. No other potential source of fever demonstrated.
________
The thing this I've had two ultrasounds (results below) in the past year, and my current OBGYN was quite dismissive of the results and is insistent that my symptoms are not GYN related. I'm currently waiting to see a new GYN next month, but wondering if this is urgent and should not wait that long. I'm really struggling to go back to my current OBGYN because of my experience there, and I'm not sure she'd do anything with these results. She largely double downed last time that my past US results were not a cause for worry or concern, and to manage with OTC pain relievers. No further action or testing needed.
Could the ultrasound and a CT (in relation to abdominal pain) I've had missed this?
Would love to know based on your experiences, how hard I should advocate for myself and if there's any specific testing I should explicitly ask for.
I have alot of medical fatigue and feel dismissed despite feeling so awful all the time. If you've read this far, thank you and sorry for the novel.
________
February 2024 Ultrasound:

• Myometrium: Single fibroid seen
• Right ovary: appears normal with a 21mm hemorrhagic corpus luteum containing retracting clot
• Endometrial thickness, total 4.9mm
• Endometrium: within normal limits
• Fibroids:
  • Uterine fibroid D1 11 mm
  • Uterine fibroid D2 8 mm
  • Uterine fibroid D3 9 mm
  • Uterine fibroid mean 9.3 mm
  • Uterine fibroids findings: Intramural. Anterior. Right lateral wall

November 2023 Ultrasound:

• Uterus
  • Endometrium: 4 mm cyst , no solid masses
  • Endometrial thickness, total 9.8 mm
  • Fibroids: Fibroids identified
    • Uterine fibroid D1 30 mm
    • Uterine fibroid D2 25 mm
    • Uterine fibroid D3 25 mm
    • Uterine fibroid mean 26.7 mm
    • Uterine fibroids findings: transmural FIGO 2-5 with 10 mm cyst
  • Right Ovary:Appears normal
    • Rt ovary D1 27 mm
    • Rt ovary D2 30 mm
    • Rt ovary D3 12 mm
    • Rt ovary Vol 5.1 cm³
  • Left Ovary: Appears normal
    • Lt ovary other findings: seen transabdominally only
  • Left Tube: Size 38.0 mm x 18.0 mm x 24.0 mm
  • Impression: 1. Heterogeneous mildly thickened endometrium with a 4 mm cyst. Clinical correlation recommended for potential hyperplasia or polyp. If clinically appropriate, repeat ultrasound could be performed in 4-6 months to evaluate for persistence. 2. Findings cost consistent with a degenerated fibroid. 3. Normal ovaries.

If anyone is interested - I wrote a trip report from a recent trip a buddy and I did earlier this week. I highly recommend this trip if you’re in the area, it was well worth the 4 hour drive for us.
A co-worker and I from an outfitter down in Southeast PA decided to plan a trip to Ansonia, PA to Paddle Pine Creek. We planned the trip mostly out of the Keystone Canoeing book by Edward Gertler and information on the PA DCNR website. We originally planned to do a 2 night, 3 day trip. Pine Creek runs through a beautiful section of PA’s Grand Canyon, and is known for its beautiful views, good water, and amazing trout fishing. We met at our local outfitter at 6am to pick up our boats and get in the same car. By 6:30 we had our boats strapped down and our gear loaded and we hit the road. We stopped at wawa for sizzlis, energy drinks, nerd gummy clusters, and jolly ranchers which would serve as our road trip sustenance (we decided to eat super healthy this trip ;)). We had a 4 hour drive ahead of us which actually took a little bit longer since we stopped about halfway through for gas and a shit break. Aphex twin was the soundtrack of this road trip. At about 11am we rolled into the parking lot of Pine Creek Outfitters (PCO). Inside we were met with very helpful and knowledgeable staff, we also purchased a map there which ended up being super helpful as the maps we had from Keystone Canoeing weren't quite as detailed. The employees at PCO said the creek is pretty self explanatory but there's only one section we should be worried about which was Owassee rapid, they told us to just keep left and hug the bank. PCO directed us to a public canoe access no more than a quarter mile down the road where we would start our trip. We were on the water by noon and the views were not great at this point, as there was a large overcast and we were not quite in the depths of the . We had a quick flat paddle for about a mile or two until the water got going, and at about 12:30 we stopped to check the map. At this point we knew Owassee was coming up and we wanted to make sure we weren't surprised by it. The map noted that Owassee was preceded by a cabin with notable arches which we passed probably around 12:45. We pulled off towards the right side of the island at Owassee as PCO noted that the left side is known to have some killer strainers. We scouted Owassee for the next 15 minutes or so and crapped our pants. We were super nervous, this was the biggest water that either of us had run in a canoe before, let alone with all of our camping gear in our boat. The most daunting section of Owassee was a set of massive boulders to the right side of the channel which all of the water pushes you towards. Immediately following Owassee is a massive set of wave trains that I would (totally unprofessionally) eyeball to be 3-4 foot standing waves. Immediately preceding Owassee are a couple of flat boulders which are hard to see from the water so we were happy to scout and get a good look at it. I’d guess that at this water level Owassee was easily a Class 2+ or 3. We decided to take a line which stayed left pretty much the entire way until the big wave trains following Owassee where we could cut over to the right. At this point we headed back up to our boats to run it. It was a little sketchy, but not as bad as we thought it would be, a couple back paddles and keeping your bow pointed toward the island and you will be okay. The wave trains following Owassee were a little hectic, and we ended up taking on some water, especially me in my Heavy Old Town Discovery 168. We pulled off to the right after the Wave Trains to bail our boats and have a celebratory Miller Lite and Croissant (godly combo). We were in front of this awesome cabin called “Tiadaghton Lodge”, the cabin had a sweet foot bridge that crossed the river to allow for access to the cabin from the rail trail. At this point the sun had come out and we were officially in the heart of the PA Grand Canyon, the views were spectacular and it was just an overall phenomenal day outside. Once we were back on the water, we were super pleased with the flow. It was consistent Class 1’s with sprinkled Class 2’s pretty much for the rest of the day, it was a super enjoyable paddle and a pleasant challenge from the barely Class 1 water we were used to. We were now in the heart of the canyon and the views were just breathtaking, the vast canyon extending on either side of the creek really makes you feel small, and it was insane to think that this wildly different terrain was still in PA. The canyon was lined with awesome waterfalls that were really pleasing to see and hear along the way. Around probably 2 or 3 we stopped for a bathroom break and lunch. Up to this point we had only seen about 4 other people and none of them were on the river, 2 were riding horses and the rest were just hikers along the rail trail. By around 4pm we took a smaller channell to the right side of an island which turned out to be a good choice as we found an awesome little campsite here. We finished up clocking about 10 miles that day. There were two fire rings and a weird but cool table made by balancing a rock on top of a cut down tree stump, pretty cool. We spent the next hour or so setting up camp and then we relaxed in our hammocks until around 6 when we decided to make a fire and get dinner started. We struggled with starting a fire because of the rain that morning and the day before, but we got it started just enough to cook our food. I made Bombay Potatoes with Rice and some canned chicken and Owen (My coworker) made turkey sausages and canned tamales. We also made some warm fresh bread with some dough I had made when we got to camp. After eating we went into a food coma for a little until we decided to really make the fire big. We got it going probably for about an hour when we finished off all the miller lites we had brought. At this point we went to bed. I slept super well and was definitely warm enough despite only having a 50 degree bag, which is something I was worried about. I’m used to hammock camping, so having a tent was a super nice luxury to have. We woke up at about 7 or 8 am and took our morning nice and easy. We had planned to do an easy 15 miles this day and camp out at a campground in Cedar Run where we would try and figure out a ride back to our car. We took it easy, and ate instant oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and bacon spam along with instant coffee. It was an awesome breakfast although I could almost feel the heart attack from the spam. I definitely recommend Starbucks Via instant blonde roast for anyone looking for a good camping coffee option. I've been loving it so far, especially given that it's instant coffee. After breakfast we chilled in our hammocks by the water for about 15 minutes before we packed up camp and were back on the water by 10am. It was another beautiful day, atleast to start and the views were still just as stellar in the heart of the gorge. We had another nice stretch of river to start. We passed an awesome waterfall which I can’t remember the name of almost right after we left camp. We pulled over at about 11am to pee, make coffee and filter some more water. We pulled off next to this awesome waterfall that I used to wash some of my dishes from earlier and collect water that I could filter later on. We paddled for another 30 minutes or so until we saw a bald eagle chilling in a tree overhanging the creek. We stopped paddling and took out our phones to get some awesome videos of it. The eagle took off and flew around us and then up river with the crows in tail. It was an awesome experience. At this point the water chilled out for the most part, besides one more notable rapid called thread the needle, it was a super fun little bend and reminded me of a rapid back home. About an hour after this, the overcast came back and the wind really started to pick up. At this point the grand views from the gorge really seem to chill out as we started to enter civilization again. We passed the town of Blackwell and a nice little campground on our left side, there was a nice little canoe access there with some people hanging out and fishing. This would have been a good spot to end the trip if you just wanted to see the gorge. After Blackwell we passed Rattlesnake Rock where we saw some Mennonites hanging out and we asked them for some of the lore on the rock. They said that it was named by loggers back in the day when they found a ton of Rattlesnakes on it. The rest of the way was pretty mediocre water and we really ended up fighting the wind. We also passed a kayaker here who said that slate run (where we planned to get out) was only about an hour away. He ended up being wrong as it was about two hours but we paddled on, deciding to end the trip a day early and drive home that night. There were two more notable rapids before getting to slate run, one which must've been a Class 3 was notable due to the MASSIVE wave trains and a huge boulder hidden behind a standing wave, it must’ve been 4 foot standing waves we paddled through. The second was right before slate run, right next to a campground. Massive wave trains which swept you towards these massive undercut rocks which were super sketchy. These rapids were fairly easy to navigate as you can kind of avoid them altogether and were most likely larger than usual due to the rain the days before. We pulled into Slate Run at about 2pm. A local informed us that Slate Run is one of the best spots for trout fishing in the entire country, there was even a hotel basically just for trout fishermen across the creek from the We had no plan for a ride back to our care so we talked to some people at the Slate Run access asking for a ride. We also went up to the general store to ask some employees there. We got ice cream which was fantastic and then called PCO for a ride back. They weren't too happy with us as they usually require a reservation for their shuttle service and were getting ready to head home for the day, but they nonetheless gave us a ride. We made some coffee and instant ramen while waiting for the shuttle to arrive. Our shuttle driver was super nice and helpful and even took us the long way back to show us this cute little town of Wellsboro. She even offered us jobs in exchange for cheap NRS gear after seeing how easily we threw our boats around. She also showed us the way to get to an awesome lookout over the whole canyon. Overall I highly recommend PCO for any trips and if we ever come back will definitely be using them again, awesome people. After getting the car and boats loaded up, we headed up the canyon to checkout the canyon from the top. It was breathtaking, and a super cool and different perspective from what we saw from the water. After leaving the overlook we headed home. Stopping at Mcdonalds for some food along the way, and we rolled into the parking lot at about 11pm. Overall this was an awesome trip and highly recommended for anyone looking for awesome water, amazing views, or great camping. We will definitely be coming back.

I have to share this. It’s not just a story; it’s a warning. If you value your sanity, stop reading now.
I spent my junior year of college studying art history in Rome. It was everything I’d hoped for: the architecture, the paintings, the endless history. But what happened during my last week there still haunts me. The Vatican City tour was supposed to be the highlight of my trip, but it became a nightmare I can’t escape.
Our guide, an older man named Marco, led us through the usual tourist spots, but he seemed distracted. His eyes kept darting to a small, unmarked door at the end of a corridor in the Vatican Museums. After the tour, I lingered, watching as Marco slipped away from the group and towards the door. Curiosity got the better of me. I followed.
I approached the door, and to my surprise, it was ajar. I peeked inside and saw a dimly lit staircase leading down. I hesitated, but then I heard voices – chanting, whispering. I descended, my heart pounding. The air grew colder with each step, the walls narrowing, until I emerged into a cavernous underground chamber.
At first, I thought it was some kind of ancient chapel, but the sight before me was far from holy. There were robed figures gathered around a long, stone table, chanting in Latin. On the table lay a human body. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I tried to convince myself it was some kind of bizarre reenactment or performance art, but the smell of decay and the horror etched on the lifeless face told me otherwise.
I hid behind a pillar, my heart racing, praying they wouldn’t see me. The chanting grew louder, more frenzied, and then they began…eating. The realization hit me like a freight train. These were no actors. This was a ritual, a feast – cannibalism. I could barely keep from vomiting as I watched them consume the flesh with a grotesque reverence.
They started with the organs, tearing into the liver and heart with their bare hands, the sound of ripping flesh and the sight of blood running down their chins making me dizzy with horror. They passed around pieces of flesh, some searing it over candles, others eating it raw. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the stench of death.
One of the robed figures held up a severed arm, chanting in a low, guttural voice before biting into it, tendons snapping under the pressure of his jaws. The others followed suit, tearing at the body with a hunger that was both primal and ritualistic. Their eyes rolled back in ecstasy, mouths stained red, as if they were partaking in some unholy communion.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I turned, expecting the worst, but it was Marco. His face was pale, eyes wide with fear. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” he whispered. “They’ll come for you now.”
He dragged me back up the stairs, but it was too late. The chanting had stopped. I could hear footsteps, quick and purposeful, coming up from behind. We ran through the labyrinthine corridors of the Vatican, the ancient stone walls seeming to close in on us. I could hear them – the robed figures, their whispers echoing in the halls.
We burst out into the daylight, but the Vatican guards were waiting. Marco was seized and I was dragged away, screaming, trying to explain what I’d seen. They locked me in a small, windowless room, and for hours I sat there in darkness, waiting for whatever fate awaited me.
Eventually, a cardinal entered. He was calm, composed, and utterly terrifying in his placidity. He sat across from me, his piercing eyes examining my soul. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he began to speak.
“What you witnessed,” he said, his voice smooth and unsettling, “is a sacred rite, a tradition older than Christianity itself. Long before the establishment of the Church, our ancestors discovered a way to commune with the divine, to gain knowledge and power beyond human comprehension.”
He leaned in closer, his breath cold against my face. “This rite, this consumption of the flesh, is a way to absorb the essence, the life force, of the departed. It grants us visions, strength, and longevity. It binds us to the ancient ones, those who walked the earth when it was young and untamed.”
I could feel the bile rising in my throat, but I couldn’t look away. “But why?” I stammered. “Why would you do something so… monstrous?”
His smile was chilling. “Have you ever wondered why the Eucharist, the Communion, is such a central sacrament in Christianity? When Jesus said, ‘This is my body… this is my blood,’ it was not merely symbolic. It was a continuation of an older, more powerful tradition. By consuming the flesh and blood, we become one with the divine.”
The cardinal stood, his robes rustling like whispers of the damned. “But the bread and wine are just a shadow of the true rite. Here, in the depths of the Vatican, we keep the original covenant. The flesh we consume is sanctified, chosen. It is our way of maintaining the connection to the divine, of ensuring the Church’s power endures.”
I was horrified, but he continued, his voice a soothing monotone that belied the horrors he described. “The world is filled with darkness, with forces that seek to corrupt and destroy. We are the guardians, the keepers of balance. To fight such evil, we must embrace the forbidden, the unthinkable. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “You have seen too much. But fear not, for your silence will be assured. You will return to your life, but you will never speak of this. Not to anyone. For if you do, the consequences will be dire.”
I was released the next day, warned never to speak of what I’d seen. Marco was gone. I returned to the States, trying to forget, but the nightmares won’t let me. Every night, I see their faces, hear their chanting. I feel their hunger.
I don’t expect you to believe me. I’m sharing this because someone needs to know. If you ever visit the Vatican, stay with the group. Don’t stray. And if you see a small, unmarked door, turn around and run. Some secrets are worth dying for.

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

My sister has been in and out of undiagnosed illness for a few months, which symptoms were nausea, vomiting, and fever. The fever keeps her restless and insomniac most nights and the sweat from the chills gives her sensory issues of fabric clinging to her skin.
She's also very scared of throwing up and has been refusing both soft foods and fluids for the past 18 hours. She's already a nightmare to feed on her normal days due to AFRID but this takes it to another level I didn't think was possible. I know she's parched and showing dehydration symptoms but she is refusing water, pedialytes and the likes. All I'm holding her onto now are ice chips and pedialyte popsicles to keep it at bay. Any sort of food has been out of the question even her safest ones, and I know she's starving, but she keeps insisting she will throw up and she deathly hates doing so.
Just watching her sleep or lay down is hurting me. I'm waiting for my partner to get home so we can rush her to the A&E but I made the mistake of mentioning it to her beforehand and she absolutely freaked out. She hated hospitals and needles and all the likes but our only option left is to get her on IV. Now she's refusing to sleep out of fear and I don't want to wring her body out of whatever energy she has left by having a meltdown when the time comes to go to the hospital. Any advice on how to handle all this is greatly appreciated. Thank you.

Currently trying to change my world view and change for the better. I've been in a slump these days (after being laid off work and losing my cat) all the while— still continuing to read Dogblood stories.
I just recently finished a self-help book and realized that there is really a serious issue about me. I am pretty chill as a person and dense about my own emotion, I'm always thankful about this when I was young. I found myself majorly liking Cinderella 3 and My Litte Mermaid (extremely wrong by others) when I was young. And eventho I'm chill, I'm highly pessimistic and always think of tragedy after tragedy to whatever I think of.
We have limited internet access when I was young so I'm only into good things to what I heard to other people. Until, pandemic happens and we finally have stable internet that I finally end up to a quagmire of chinise dogblood stories (self-inflict).
It didn't happen drastically, I'm into BL and I start with japanese classics which everything are swept under the rugs and everything is not as big of deal.
I started with wattpad when I was young and the angst there are like child play but I really like those kinds of ploy. I bump into webnovel at pandemic and the first story I read is finding their fiance cheating on them the day before the marriage so I'm pretty thrill, it has 1000+ chapters and I read 800 on one fell swoop and I came into sudden realization that "Chinese stories it is and not Wattpad"
I read manga/wa/hua with heavy angst as well but I still find myself not quite into "Angst Fetish", and if you ask me my favorite stories are still the one that has the biggest fluffs. And I do read action/fantasy lightnovels as well with 0 romance.
—Until I have my very first taste of Dogblood Danmei that made me sick to my stomach. It has every element on it that makes my blood boil, abuse, cheating, betrayal, white moonlight, etc etc. I'm quite thrill and they still end up together, pretty bullshit ik. I have fun so I gave it 3 stars since it's my first angst. Then you know what's next, I look for every angst I could find.
I quite have low EQ so I sincerely admire novels that made me the feels. Even if dogblood is bad (in actuality) and sometimes boring, I made a very big move. I found 5 dogblood danmei and read it simultaneously together.
You know dogblood has resting period and has mundane chapters too? Yes. That's when I find a reason to switch to another and to another. All of them quite heavy. Until, I found my hands shaking and I have trouble breathing. I went to the bathroom and vomit. I think I'm having panic attack and I'm feeling overwhelmed.
Whenever I try to read a new dogblood, I'm back to that feeling again. But did that stop me? No. I'm still an addict seeker of dogblood but not that I still read them simultaneously tho.
Through that self-help book it says that "outrage is also a form of pleasure" and I feel like this is the pleasure that I always indulge my life of. Which is not good. How long 'till the "chill me" last? And I already broke myself beyond what I could salvage. Everyday, I always find myself seeking something to be outrage about, I quit social media, social interaction, news, comment section etc. but when I'm about to delete my bookmarks on NU (which is full of dogblood)—
I found myself reading them instead of deleting. Just this week alone I finish, Joyful Tidings at Nan Home, A Tooth For a Tooth, I’ve Liked Your Boyfriend for a Long Time, Break Up, Next, Old Man, How Can I get rid of Him, Flying Ash. I wrote this feeling sick if I would read- Their Long Night of Indulgence (I don't want to actually).
I want to really change as I no longer want to indulge myself with this negative, pessimist, full of of outrage life. I really admire very kind people and think that I'm far from being like them as I always have bad thoughts. The self help book made me realize that I could change and despite being severely depress, I can't stop myself from indulging myself to this endless dogblood stories. In truth, I want to be happy.
I feel like I'm not that unsalvageable and even the book says you will fail again and again, and it's really hard to change my habits of seeking outrage pleasure. I'm always proud of how much I can handle emotional pain that I forgot it's not just a matter of heart but also my mind. To change is to change how I view things and what I seek of.
I really want to hear your thoughts and thank you for reaching this far. And if you can as well recommend some fluff danmei, pref college/highschool, childhood friend trope I'll appreciate it a lot. Thank you so much

To start, my 4 year old cat has been to the vet MANY times for this issue. And I apologize for the long post. I hope someone reads it and can offer some advice if anyone has been in a similar spot.
He has had diarrhea ever since I got him a few months ago. At his first vet visit, his fecal sample tested positive for coccidia. That cleared up pretty quickly with treatment (ie, tested negative after the meds). But once the med course was over, his poop was more runny than ever and the bloody mucus was still there.
He has now been on powdered Tylan for a few months and that has eliminated the blood. He was also switched to hydrolyzed protein which has definitely made the diarrhea better - it is no longer straight up liquid but is still not solid by any means. He still poops a lot of clear mucus.
I’ll also add that he has been on gabopentin essentially since I got him for anxiety/stress. He just recently started on Prozac as well. This is another issue on its own- he no longer has bald patches from severe over grooming but is still quite jumpy when he’s off the gabo (aka when he tricks me into thinking he ate it) in a way that makes me wonder if it is pain that the gabo is masking. But if I were to bring him into the vet for this (again), I don’t know what I’d want them to look at specifically to get to the bottom of this - he has had blood work, fecal tests, skin tests, urine tests, an X- ray and plenty of physical exams in which they said he is physically fine (aside from the diarrhea issue) but likely stressed.
There is also another odd thing that the vet hasn’t been able to give me a clear answer for- he has always dropped little tiny “rabbit poops” (don’t know what else to call them) in places he was sitting or playing or kneading or what have you. On and off severity and size. He is not physically pooping these times, they just appear I guess?? Other than this, he has never had an “accident” outside of the litter box. I have noticed his anus seems to look a little longe oval shaped compared to other cats - he used to have bleeding there but not anymore.
He seems fine, always playful, curious and hungry, sometimes sleeps a lot but I figure it could be the gabo. So is it even an issue worth chasing again? Is it possible to be a normal healthy cat with long term diarrhea (/IBD, I’m assuming)? He drinks water all the time so I’m not worried ab dehydration from the diarrhea. I saw some comments on another Reddit post saying they fixed this on their own with different diets, I would be really nervous to take him off his strict HP diet.
Thank you to anyone who took the time to read, I really appreciate it. This is my first cat and I want him to have a long and happy life with me.

I used to have periods to where I could take a Tylenol and go on with my day like normal but ever since my lupus diagnosis in 2021 it’s just been getting worse and worse every month. I know lupus causes hormonal changes during that time but I didn’t think it would make it this bad. I’ve gone through so many things because of lupus like nephritis, pleural effusion, heart problems and the typical joint pain, etc, without strong pain medications but this is just insane. The only pain medicine that has actually helped me during my menstrual cycle has been morphine during a hospital stay, and well that’s not really an easy thing to get prescribed for just a period and it’s not a good thing to continuously take.
The on and off fevers for two days, the nausea, stomach cramps, my legs have so much pain, I turn blue, my whole body shakes randomly uncontrollably like shivers when you’re cold, but I’m not cold. I’ve never felt so horrible in my life. I’ve brought it up to my rheumatologist and my primary care doctor and everytime it’s just blown over like nothing. I’ve also been given a few prescriptions for menstrual pain and they never helped so I’m at a loss, I’ve tried heating pads, warm baths, those soothing oils, etc and still nothing. Everytime it happens I feel like I need to go to the hospital but wait times are 9+ hours so I stay home to deal with it, I have no idea if this is just lupus causing this or something else on top of it but it’s driving me crazy to the point where (this is gonna sound super crazy) ever since I turned 18 I have asked multiple times to have a hysterectomy because I feel like at this point it’s my only option to get rid of the pain and it triggering my lupus, but of course I know they say “wait until you’re older” “it’s not that serious” when to me it is that serious and I’m unsure of what else I could do for it. I always just thought lupus caused a slight elevation in the amount of pain from a period but I definitely thought wrong about that.
Does anyone have anything that’s helped them during this time? I’m willing to try anything at this point.

This is the first time I have written some chapters. I'm not a native English speaker but I did my best. If someone can give me some pointers or help I would immensely appreciate it! It's a bit of sci-fi, if you are into it let me know. If not, that's cool too.
Thx in advance!
Chapter 1: The farm
Hagr stood at the edge of the farm, his gaze fixed on the vast expanse of Zandarius stretching out before him. The sky above was a canvas of swirling purples and blues, streaked with the faint glow of distant stars. A cool breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the enticing scent of Heyla flowers.
With a sigh, Hagr set down his mechanic wheelbarrow, the last of his chores for the day completed. He began to make his way back towards the farm, his footsteps crunching softly against the rocky terrain. As he passed through the pink and green garden, the aroma of his mother's porridge drifted towards him, tempting his hunger.
Despite eating the same meal every day, Hagr's stomach grumbled with anticipation. The suuka porridge was all he needed right now, its warm, comforting embrace promising to chase away the chill of the evening.
Arriving at the farm, Hagr took in the familiar sight of their plascrete igloo. Half of the structure was comprised of little octagon windows, through which the warm glow of a fire emanated from the chimney. It was home, humble yet comforting in its simplicity.
Entering the igloo, Hagr found his mother, Altha, bustling about the kitchen, preparing dinner. "Hagr, dear, could you set the table?" she called out, her voice gentle yet firm. Hagr nodded, a small smile playing at his lips as he arranged the mismatched dishes in their usual places. Each plate was different, yet they always ended up in the same spot, a testament to the routines of their daily life.
Once the table was set, Hagr ignited the moonlamp, casting a soft yellow glow across the igloo walls. Altha emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming pot of suuka porridge. "Careful, Hagr," she warned, as she placed the pot on the table. "It's hot." Hagr nodded as he heard this many times before, his mouth watering at the sight and smell of the hearty meal before him. They ate in silence, the only sound the clinking of spoons against bowls as they savored each mouthful.
After a moment, Hagr broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Do you ever wonder what's beyond Zandarius, Mumu?" he asked. Altha hesitated, her expression guarded. "I don't know, Hagr," she replied softly. "But we have everything we need right here on the farm." Though disappointed by her response, Hagr nodded in understanding. Perhaps someday they would have the chance to explore together. Altha caught his eye and winked, a small glimmer of hope in her gaze.
As they finished their meal, Hagr and Altha moved to the small kitchen area to wash the dishes. The kitchen was cluttered yet cozy, with shelves overflowing with pots, pans, and utensils. Beyond the kitchen, the interior of the igloo was a snug retreat from the harshness of the outside world. A small cupboard, crafted from Zandarius rare Bennam wood, stood in one corner, its doors closed tight to conceal its overflowing contents. Nearby, a plush couch with pillows offered a comfortable spot to relax after a long day's work. Opposite the couch, a large hammock hung from the ceiling. Above it, a smaller hammock swayed gently in the breeze, providing a cozy nest for Hagr during the night. Every inch of space was utilized to its fullest, creating a sense of warmth and intimacy within the cramped confines of the igloo.
As the hour grew late, Altha reminded Hagr of their upcoming journey to Kihar. With a yawn, Hagr climbed into his hammock, gazing up at the stars through the little octagon windows above. "Goodnight, Hagr," Altha whispered, her voice soft in the quiet of the night. "Goodnight, Mumu," Hagr replied, his eyes closing as sleep overtook him. And with that, he drifted off, thoughts of tomorrow's journey fading into the comforting embrace of dreams.
Chapter 2: The trip
Hagr awoke to the gentle light filtering through the little octagon windows of their igloo. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he glanced around and noticed that his mother's hammock was empty. Mu-mu?" he called out, but there was no response.
Curiosity piqued, Hagr peered outside and spotted his mother tending to the kikkamoos, their pig-like creatures with reptilian legs and Fluffy tails. With a swift motion, he leaped out of bed, his movements practiced from years of experience. After quickly dressing himself, he hurried outside, calling out to his mother. "Altha!" he yelled, using her full name in his urgency. His mother turned towards him with a warm smile. "Haggie!" she called back, using his pet name.
Hagr wasted no time and dashed off to fetch Tsjoopa, their trusty mechanical unicycle cart already loaded with goods for trade. As he returned with the cart, he found his mother waiting back at the farm. "Ready to go, Hagr?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Absolutely!" Hagr exclaimed, brimming with energy. And so, they set off on their journey to Kihar, the nearest town for trading.
The road ahead seemed endless, traversing through vast and barren plains broken only by occasional patches of vegetation. Sparse woods flanked the roadside, offering concealment but little wildlife, a testament to Zandarius' unforgiving environment.
After a few hours of travel, they finally reached a landmark known as the Sharp Knives, a crossroad marked by sharp rocks jutting out of the ground. "We’re here, the Sharp Knives," Altha remarked, her gaze sweeping over the rugged terrain. "We're halfway there, Hagr." Hagr nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Already? Time flies when you're in good company." A mischievous glint sparkled in Altha's eyes as she reached into the cart. "Speaking of good company, I brought something special for our halfway mark." Hagr's interest was piqued. "What is it?" With a dramatic flourish, Altha revealed a small container of sosuuka, a sweeter version of yesterday's porridge. "Sosuuka!" Hagr exclaimed, trying to sound enthusiastic despite his familiarity with the dish. Altha chuckled at his feigned excitement. "I thought it might be a nice treat for our journey." Hagr grinned, playing along. "Absolutely! Thanks, best mumu on Zandarius." Lost in thought, Altha gazed into the distance, her attention drawn to the gathering ominous clouds on the horizon, a harbinger of stormy weather to come. "We might have some rough weather ahead," Altha remarked, her voice tinged with concern. Hagr glanced up at the darkening sky. "Should we stop and wait it out?" Altha shook her head. "We need to keep moving. We can't afford to delay our journey." Guess we'll have to save the view for another time," Hagr sighed, reluctantly agreeing with Altha's decision, while she nodded in understanding. "But, after all," Hagr declared, puffing out his chest with a hint of pride, "at ten years old, I'm practically a grown man! I can handle anything, even eating sosuuka on the way without spilling a drop." Altha burst into laughter at his boast. "Sosuuka without spilling? I'd sooner believe kikkamoos could fly!" Hagr joined in her laughter, the sound echoing across the desolate landscape as they continued on their journey to Kihar.
Chapter 3: Arrival in Kihar
As Hagr and Altha approached Kihar, the plascrete town sprawled out before them, its streets winding like intricate mazes through the heart of the city. In stark contrast to the barren landscape of Zandarius, Kihar was a vibrant tapestry of life, with lush vegetation adorning every corner. Hagr’s eyes roamed over the cityscape, taking in the sight of the bustling alleys and the constant mist of smoke that hung in the air. Despite having visited many times before, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the bustling energy of the tradetown.
As they ventured deeper into the heart of the city, the tantalizing aroma of food mingled with the sounds of chatter and laughter, tempting Hagr's senses and reminding him of the porridge-filled days back on their farm. Finally, they reached the local market, a bustling hub of activity where traders hawked their wares amidst the thick scent of spices and exotic foods. "First stop, Old Taramor's," Altha announced, her voice carrying above the din of the market. Hagr's thoughts drifted to Taramor, the old, grumpy trader who had been a fixture in Kihar for as long as he could remember. Despite his rough exterior, Taramor was one of the few honest traders left in the city, and Hagr had always respected him for it. "Sounds good to me," Hagr replied, his tone positive.
As they approached Old Taramor’s, Altha hopped off the Tsjoopa and turned to Hagr. "Hagr, could you fetch a crate of Heyla bottles from the back of the cart?" she asked. Hagr nodded silently, already moving to comply.
Entering the shop, they found Taramor snoozing behind his counter, the cluttered shelves and dusty displays a testament to his lack of care for his surroundings. Altha hesitated, reluctant to disturb the old trader, but time was of the essence. "Taramor," she whispered, her voice barely audible. No response. Again a bit louder this time “Taramor”. Still no response. Growing impatient, Hagr couldn't help but raise his voice. "Taramor!" Startled awake, Taramor shot upright, his eyes wide with surprise. "What the hell's going on?" he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Oh, it's just you two," he muttered, recognizing Altha and Hagr. Altha gestured to Hagr to take a look around while she spoke with Taramor. Hagr nodded and wandered through the cluttered shelves, his curiosity piqued by the assortment of strange and exotic items on display. In the background, a television played the news, the volume turned low but still audible. A news reporter's voice cut through the air, reporting on the recent assassination of a high-ranking official. The military had already neutralized one suspect, but two others were still at large. The camera footage showed two figures cloaked in dark red and black, their faces obscured. Zooming in on one of the suspects, the reporter noted a tattoo of a three-headed monster on their neck, linking them to the notorious syndicate known as the Three-Headed Beast. "People are urged to remain vigilant," the reporter concluded, "and to report any sightings of the suspects to the authorities." "Hagr," Altha called out, pulling him from his thoughts. Quickly, he set down a strange-looking coffee maker he had been inspecting and hurried over to join them.
Outside, Hagr turned to his mother, concern etched on his face. "How did the trade go?" Altha hesitated before answering, her tone guarded. "It wasn't as successful as we had hoped, but we'll manage." Trying to sound confident, Hagr responded, "No need to worry, Mumu. We'll make it work."
As they made their way back through the bustling market, Hagr glanced at his mother. " Can we get some Uja skewers now?" Altha smiled warmly. "Absolutely, Hagr. Let’s grab some delicious Uja," she said, turning on their trusty, albeit rusty, Tsjoopa.
Chapter 4: Best place is home
As Altha and Hagr made their way home in the fading light, a bird soared above them, its silhouette dark against the dusky sky. They were nearing their farmstead, the exhausting trip almost at an end. Hagr turned to Altha, his curiosity piqued. “What is coffee?” he asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. Altha pondered for a moment before responding, “I’ve heard of it. It’s some sort of black drink. Similar to Puggatree juice, they say, it gives you energy.” Hagr wrinkled his nose in distaste. He had never been fond of Puggatree juice, finding its thick texture and slimy consistency unappealing. With a shake of his head, he decided he didn’t want to try coffee after all.
As they chatted, unaware of the figure watching them from afar, the landscape growing darker with each passing moment, they finally arrived at the farm.
Altha unloaded the traded goods from the Tsjoopa, and with a nod to Hagr, she motioned for him to stow it away in the barn. Hagr complied, placing the Tsjoopa in the barn, where sturdy plascrete walls and reinforced wooden beams protected it from the harsh winds. With the task done, he made his way back to the igloo. As he approached, he noticed that the interior was unusually dark, the comforting glow of the moonlamp absent. With a sense of unease gnawing at him, he entered cautiously.
To his horror, he found himself face to face with a cloaked figure in dark black and red, his alien eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Before he could react, he spotted his mother on the floor, tears streaming down her face, with another figure standing over her, a scarred human face, and a sinister three-headed beast tattoo on his neck. “Mumu!” Hagr screamed in terror. The figure with glowing eyes uttered incomprehensible words, while the scarred man cursed, "We can't leave any witnesses, Deskva.” Altha whispered urgently, "Hagr, stay calm. Everything will be fine." Hagr looked at his mother in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest. "What's going to happen?" his voice trembled with fear. The scarred human scoffed, "We can sell the boy on the black market, but the woman? She's too old to bother selling. Not worth the hassle, Des." With brute force, Deskva grabbed Hagr, who fought against his captor with all his might. "Please, let me go!" Hagr pleaded, his voice desperate as he struggled against Deskva's grip. As Hagr cast a desperate glance at his mother, tears welling in his eyes, the scarred man turned his attention to Altha, deeming her of no value. Without hesitation, he drew his pistol, aimed, and fired, the shot piercing through Altha’s skull with a sickening thud echoing through the silent igloo. Hagr’s world shattered as he watched his mother fall, tears blurring his vision, bile rising in his throat. Before he could comprehend what was happening, a brutal blow to his head sent him spiraling into darkness.

1. The Bat in the Belfry - 3/5 (In terms of a Batman introduction episode, this does a decent job. It skips the origin story because superhero cartoons are allergic to them for some reason. But this at least vaguely alludes to Bruce's parents being gone, on top of introducing the struggle of being both a famous playboy and the Batman. As a result, the story is fairly generic though. Joker wants to release a laughing gas across Gotham. Gee, I haven't seen that one a dozen times. That said, this iteration of Joker has a really unique and wacky design. Along with zany acrobatic moves that are fun to watch and a great performance from Kevin Michael Richardson, it more than makes up for the subpar story. I also liked the side focus on Bennett and Fa Mulan- Sorry, Detective Yin. They're fun characters.)
2. Call of the Cobblepot - 3/5 (Penguin is quite acrobatic for a pudgy little guy. Alongside Rupert Thorne doing parkour in the previous episode, it seems the show wants to sell me on the idea that these chubby guys are just as combat capable as the Batman. And did they really have to give him the Danny DeVito hands? That's not a mandate anymore! I liked Alfred getting involved in this episode, though he doesn't really do much besides go to the Cobblepot manor. But it's funny that he does so in search of a tray.)
3. Traction - 4/5 (Colorful iteration of Bane. Why is his skin all red? He looks like a monster. But it's a cool twist on the character, so whatever. Although his motivations don't match up to the rad design, since after getting paid to destroy the Batman, all he wants to do is "take over Gotham", which he apparently thinks will be accomplished by just wreaking havoc. What is this, The Spectacular Spider-Man? I did like Alfred having to come and rescue Bruce, and the cute flashback where Alfred comforts him.)
4. The Cat and the Bat - 3/5 (This one's good, but mostly for the action setpieces. I think the rugged artstyle lends itself very well to snappy action, particularly the final scene with the Batman and Catwoman against the Yakuza. And the stuff before with Batman having to catch up to Selina messing with his Batmobile controls was neat too. But I can't say Catwoman leaves much of an impression on me in this one.)
5. The Man Who Would Be Bat - 4/5 (Kirk Langstrom as a character works pretty well as a kooky old man. I liked the visuals for his echolocation. As for the actual story...I mean it's just a typical Man-Bat story. Langstrom becomes the Man-Bat and goes crazy, so Batman stops him. But I did like the larger inclusion of Bennett and Yin, as I like their additions in this show as foils-yet-vaguely-allies to Batman.)
6. The Big Chill - 3/5 (So in this show Mr. Freeze is just another generic jewel thief. Not that I want this series to just copy paste Batman: The Animated Series, but simplifying the villains like this makes it less compelling by default. In fact here, he was always a criminal, he just happened to get ice powers. That said, his design is actually quite rad, and I did like the addition that he has a vendetta against the Batman. Plus it's funny that he took revenge on a random hobo, just for being in his way a few years ago.)
7. The Big Heat - 4/5 (Gee, I bet the writers thought they were hilarious putting these two titles next to each other. I'd say what this episode does slightly better than the others is showing the "struggle" of balancing the Bruce life with the Batman life. And actually giving the villain a narrative connection to it, instead of his schemes just serving as a vague lesson to learn. Firefly himself had a pretty cool looking suit, and the sky action was pretty nifty. Plus it was cathartic when Batman took him down to ground level and stomped. Nitpick: They forgot to animate Batman's mouth in the reflection of the puddle. I hope somebody got fired for that blunder.)
8. Q&A - 4/5 (Bruce listening to hiphop in his earbuds at a classical music theatre... Yeah this sure is a unique Batman. This is the first episode where I was genuinely interested in the story and villain. For starters, since they didn't immediately show me who it was, I got to remain curious about the kidnappings. Then I appreciated that they were connected to a personal vendetta rather than just wanting to steal jewels. I think Batman discovered the mystery a bit too quickly though. He didn't research the victims connections, he just clicked a button and the Batwave did it for him. But I enjoyed Cluemaster. Funny design. He's HUGE. I chuckled at Batman casually walking into his his moms house and her thinking she's his friend. And I thought it was fun how he defeated Cluemaster by asking the Batman's identity. Side note, that is an enormous basement.)
9. The Big Dummy - 4/5 (Wow, it's Homer Simpson! Well actually, Scarface sounds more like Krusty the Clown when he's yelling. That aside, we're back to villains just wanting to steal stuff for profit. Yeah, sure, whatever. Scarface trying to slap Batman was funny, though. And I found the idea of making him a huge puppet where Wesker himself takes the puppet position by the giant arm a funny twist on the character. The vague subplot about Bruce having a date with some Becky chick feels kind of tacked on and unnecessary, but I digress.)
10. Topsy Turvy - 4/5 (First "villain comes back for revenge" episode. Joker's plan is unfortunately fairly generic, but his zaniness still makes it fun. Not to mention seeing the Batman locked in an Arkham cell and dressing up as Joker. Why did Batman lock in the guard when leaving though? Rude for no reason. Also, I'm glad the fake Joker in this episode had to stay quiet so he won't be found out, unlike in The New Batman Adventures where a goon dressed up as Joker can just perfectly imitate his voice.)
11. Bird of Prey - 4/5 (Okay, I'm just gonna say it: Stop showing front facing Alfred! Without that little patch of visible hair, he looks completely bald, and it's weird! That aside, I guess after the series of villain introduction episodes, it's time for a batch of sequels. This is the better sequel than the Joker one, since I liked that Penguin had a clear cut motive. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but Penguin's zaniness was more amusing. No doubt helped by Tom Kenny's performance. Him wreaking havoc around Wayne Manor and harassing Alfred was just funny. And it made Alfred hitting him with a chair in the end better. I thought his rooftop battle with the Batman was pretty creative, and I liked that Alfred dressed up as Batman to fool the journalist. Also how he intentionally kicked their video tape into the fire.)
12/13. The Rubber Face of Comedy/The Clayface of Tragedy - 4/5 (The cops literally have Joker at gunpoint but they let him proceed with his slow getaway. I'm starting to understand why Batman keeps one-upping them. Great two-parter though, but part 1 is really nothing but setup for the real meat which is part 2. Part 1 is just about Joker causing chaos again, except the tone is more dramatic on account of this being meant to be more serious than the average episode. And while Joker's antics are fun, given how little it had to do with part 2 other than him being the cause for Bennett becoming Clayface, they didn't really need to spend a WHOLE episode for just that setup. It results in part 1 being just good, while part 2 is fantastic. Sadly, combined, I can't give them 5/5. But part 2 gets that honorary score for itself. You could have cut Joker's generic havoc-wreaking in half and have the Clayface transformation start around the 10 minute mark of part 1, leaving you with about 30 minutes to develop it further. But then they couldn't have that cliffhanger, now could they?
As for the actual story... Depressing. I'd say it's a bit early to change the status quo of Bennett since while he is a good character, we haven't really seen MUCH of him, so it's not a huge blow to suddenly make him a villain. But it's a pretty good, genuinely saddening twist regardless. And while the emotional moments feel a little hurried (hence why you could have cut some Joker nonsense) I think they're effective enough. Yin crying, etc. And Bennett's transformation itself is genuinely horrifying stuff, so you really feel the fear he must be going through.)
14. The Cat, the Bat, and the Very Ugly - 3/5 (And now we're on villain team-up episodes. Except they're still just generic stories about them wanting to steal stuff! Well, okay, I guess Penguin DOES want to use the relics to... I don't know, blow stuff up? It just isn't very riveting is all. I do find Batman and Catwoman being stuck to each other interesting in theory, but they don't really do much fun with it. And why did Batman lie to Yin about it? I guess he's worried he'll look suspicious if he's with Catwoman, but also, he could have just told the truth? The lie just incriminated him more. I also question this because the episode ends with Yin TRUSTING Batman, which makes no sense if she literally caught him in a lie the FIRST time she called him about a case.)
15. Riddled - 3/5 (That's certainly a unique version of Riddler. I respect it, simply because it's fun that the show dares to completely revamp characters like this. But the episode itself is mostly just decent. Yin and Bats going across town solvring riddles is mildly fun, but the actual confrontation with Riddler is just okay. I did like the 20 questions game, but couldn't Batman easily get out of that by not answering? I found it funny how dense the Police Chief was to understand even the simplest riddles, especially with how bluntly Yin had to explain the last one. Side note: Riddler uses the term "brainiac" in this. But that term exists because of the Superman character. So has a Brianiac attack on Metropolis happened here and been made publicly known or what?)
16. Fire & Ice - 4/5 (Gee, with a title like that, I sure was scratching my head wondering which two villains it could be about. I'd say while this episode is good, it felt a bit thinly set up as nothing but "what if ice villain with fire villain??". I did find it amusing that they turned on each other near the end and the conflict just became Heat vs. Cold. That scene with Yin yapping about knowing Bruce's secret though... Give me a break. Even if they WERE gonna have her find out his secret identity, that's most certainly saved for a Serious:tm: season finale or something with heavy stakes, not a random Firefly episode.)
17. The Laughing Bat - 4/5 (Golden concept for an episode. Joker trying to imitate the Batman is unhinged and hilarious. And Penguin being caught in the crossfire completely discombobulated by the switcheroo was great. Praise aside, I was a little disappointed that Batman turning into Joker didn't go further than...he can't stop laughing. Couldn't have Joker-ified him any more? White skin? ANYTHING else to have him also vaguely look the part? Overall I also felt there was too much focus on Bruce laughing as opposed to Joker being the Batman, when that was the best part.)
18. Swamped - 3/5 (While I appreciate that this is a villain introduction episode that goes beyond them being a jewel thief", Croc wasn't too interesting. He wants to flood Gotham because he likes water, but then Batman stops him. Although I liked the way he did it by forcing him to stay in water. :ohgood: Also neat that this episode introduces the Batcave "museum". This series gradually introducing all of these iconic aspects of Batman lore as opposed to having it all pre-established is fun.)
19. Pets - 4/5 (Season 2 really IS the season of villain team-ups. I was rolling my eyes at the prospect of another generic Penguin episode of him wanting to steal stuff, but got my excitement back up when they showed Langstrom. Although they could have devoted some more time to Langstrom actually being aware of Penguin's scheme and wanting out instead of just... One. And overall, it IS just another episode where Penguin tries to steal stuff, so yeah.)
20. Meltdown - 4/5 (Wow, this was JUST like the Batman Beyond episode "Meltdown". While a good episode, I have to say the Bennett-Clayface conflict feels a bit forced at times. Him repeatedly getting into encounters with Joker, the very man who caused him to become Clayface, and struggling with not morphing to take his rightful revenge? Valid. Understandable. But him randomly being willing to kill Batman and become an outlaw on a whim? I don't know. His fight scene against Joker on stilts was pretty fun though. That said, Bennett is a good guy and all that, so I'm hopeful for a redemption arc where in the end he becomes a superhero with his powers.)
21. JTV - 4/5 (It's another Joker shenanigans episode. What is there to say? Not that that's a bad thing, since Joker shenanigans ARE fun. He concocts some nutty TV show-themed scheme, and then Batman stops him. Cash was a bit of an annoying inclusion though. Did he even serve any narrative purpose? I guess he vaguely emphasizes how well Yin and Batman work together, by him working badly with her. I did like the "animated" JTV promo. But who even made that? I guess one of Joker's henchmen can animate.)
22. Ragdolls to Riches - 4/5 (Oh boy, the umpteenth episode about a villain stealing some jewels. Wait, it's TWO villains this time. Wow, this changes everything! Jokes aside, it actually kind of does, because Ragdoll is entertaining enough on his own. His costume is cool and unique in its simplicity, and his distorting body leads to some very expressive movements and action which make for a fun watch. And if that wasn't enough, his rivarly with Catwoman and repeatedly trolling her on purpose was pretty darn amusing. Though despite being the titular character, the episode is mostly about the Bruce/Batman/Selina/Catwoman mystery. It is fun seeing the "4" of them interact and not realize who the other is. Especially when Batman, the world's greatest detective, believes Selina's blatant charity scam and hands her a huge check. It's funny seeing Bruce be this oblivious.)
23. The Butler Did It - 3/5 (Another flipping jewel thievery episode! At least there's a mystery element to it this time, in that you initially don't know who the villain is. And when you do find out it's Spellbinder, there's the twist that he swaps his mind control targets from butlers to their employers. And it was really fun to see Alfred be the one to figure this out and escape the room he put himself in to save Batman's ass. I liked the bit where Batman hesitated to punch Alfred. And I think some of the hallucinations were fairly creative. That said, it was still a jewel thievery episode! Get some new plots, show.)
24. Grundy's Night - 4/5 (While I did have thoughts on this version of Grundy, those feel irrelevant when it turns out he was just Clayface in disguise anyway. That said, props for making a twist I could genuinely not predict. However, the reason I couldn't have predicted this is because after all that development of Bennett and his descent into Clayface, I wouldn't have expected his next appearance to just be him doing something generically villainous that Batman must put a stop to. It comes off as a bit awkward, because you'd think this would be more emotionally significant considering he was Bruce's best friend. But not only do we not even see his Bennett form in this episode, Batman doesn't even refer to him as such, just "Clayface". And then he goes home all cheery as if he stopped any ol' twerp. Huh?)
25. Strange Minds - 4/5 (While this episode falls into "Joker shenanigans" territory again, at least the focus here is less about just stopping him and instead delving into his mind. It leads to the zaniness being cranked up more, which is fun to see especially with how expressive Joker is in this show. Although I feel like they could have been a bit more creative with the visuals. I liked the flying fish, Joker as the moon, and the normal Joker managing the idea vault. But other than that it doesn't get more wacky then just a crowd of Jokers. But I liked the solution of how Batman made him disclose the information by making him think they had exited his mind. Cliché, but clever. It's a bit weird how Hugo Strange spots Batman in Joker's mind and immediately assumes it's the actual guy, though. For all he knows that could have been mentally conjured up by Joker. Batman would likely be on his mind a lot. Also, Harley Yin.)
26. Night and the City - 4/5 (Woah, TRIPLE villain teamup? Daring today, are we? I liked that Penguin didn't even know who Riddler was. And despite that, he's clearly stomping both Penguin and Joker in this contest. He came up with the idea to catch Batman in the first place, had the most elaborate bat-bait AND was the last guy standing in a fight against him. Joker and Penguin just followed Batman and quickly fumbled. I guess with Commissioner Gordon and the Bat-Signal being introduced in this episode that this marks the end of Batman being an enemy of the GCPD. Not that I mind, since while I liked the development of it, with Bennett gone and Yin already on his side, there wasn't a lot further you could push it. It's a shame this is Yin's last appearance, though. I don't really understand why, since while she's fired in this episode (for like what, a few hours?), she gets the job back and everything goes back to normal. Frankly it would have been more interesting if she WAS fired and then became a vigilante herself/sidekick to Batman as referenced in this very episode.)
Movie: The Batman vs. Dracula - 3/5 (Starting the story with Joker and Penguin? Yeah, this is a The Batman movie alright. They really can't help but spam these two villains. That said, decent movie, but I'm really scratching my head as to why they thought Dracula was the ultimate villain they could utilize for it. There is some thematic connection with him being able to transform into a bat, obviously... But that's as deep as it goes. And the few bits of Bruce recalling the death of his parents was like, come on, you really felt a need to rely on that as a plotpoint in a movie about Dracula?
The film, much like the show, is fairly barebones. Dracula rises and wants to take over Gotham, so Batman must stop him. The side story of Bruce having a romance with Vickly Vale feels very tacked on and pointless since not only was she not much of an interesting character, just a dime a dozen love interest, but she doesn't even appear in the series going forward. So, what? Also, did Bruce really need to hastily steal someone's lipstick and a platter to write "Alucard" and mirror it to figure out it spells Dracula backwards? Just rearrange the letters in your head.
The most interesting thing about the movie is it gets slightly more visually grim. Stuff Penguin bleeding in the beginning alone was a surprise, as tame as it was, because that's not something I would have thought the censors would allow. Of course I quickly realized it was plot relevant, but then they immediately go on to show Dracula "killing" a guy. Which, while I know having finished the movie that he was cured, the way the scene initially portrays it is obviously supposed to make you think that's what happened. There's also Joker practically bathing in blood and Dracula literally being burned alive in the end. Sheesh. So much for Batman's code. Vampire Joker is probably the best part of this movie. That blood bank scene is really cursed [good thing], and KMR's performance of Joker starving while Batman has him locked up was great. I mean Batman having to feed Joker his own blood just so he doesn't starve is a fairly unique plotpoint. Also his reaction to being un-vampire'd is pretty funny. "Where's Dracula?" "I'm looking at him".)

I’m aware that this is unconventional. Believe me, I’ve tried conventional – it didn’t end well for anyone. I require a certain open mindedness that I’m hoping I might find here, but more importantly, I need my future husband to know the rules. Meet-cutes are well and good on the screen, but they don’t guarantee a partner’s ability to follow basic instructions. That was my mistake the first time.
So, begging your pardon for my bluntness, I’m going to be clear about my requirements. Please read carefully – if you can’t meet them, there’s no point in going any further.

• Must want children. At least one child, anyway. I’m open to the idea of more, but one is an absolute must.
• Must be in it for the long haul. Until our child turns eighteen, to be precise. I understand that level of commitment is a daunting prospect, particularly when we have not yet met. After our child is born, you are welcome to ignore me, if you please, or take your pleasure elsewhere – though I will warn you that it might be difficult to come by. But you will live under my roof until our child is an adult.
• Homebody preferred. It will make the next two decades easier on you.
• Must have impeccable manners. I will provide a manual outlining the required etiquette, but you must at least have a grasp of basic courtesy to begin with. If you let your tongue run away with you, or don’t bother to wish your neighbours a good morning when you pass them in the street, stop reading – this is not the opportunity for you. Seriously.

This is the part where I should talk about myself, but let’s face it, this is hardly a romantic proposal. I require commitment up-front and there’s no guarantee that, once we do meet, we’ll really even like each other. If we do? Fantastic! It’ll help the years fly by. If we don’t, you’ll still have the main prize – years of rent-free, expenses-free living at The Old Oak Hotel.
A sanctuary has stood in this spot in one form or another since before the ley lines. During its tenure, it has been flooded, put to the flame, and pounded into dust. Time and again, it has been reimagined and rebuilt. Most of the current building dates back to Victoria’s reign, though the oldest parts were constructed in the 13^th century. At the very bottom of the garden, cut into the surrounding hills, there is a cave bearing handprints of red ochre.
There has always been an Edwards at the hotel, though of course we haven’t always gone by that name. You would think a family so tied to one place would do a better job of keeping records, but no one is certain of our origins. Perhaps it was a cosmic bargain, or perhaps mere luck – whether good or bad, I have never been able to decide. Either way, our presence is required. Throughout our spotty past, there’s a story here and there of an Edwards deserting their post, and it always coincides with a particularly brutal period of history.
I inherited the position five years ago. At midnight on my eighteenth birthday, my parents took their already-packed suitcases and left. I don’t blame them for their abandonment; I intend to one day do the same thing to my – or, hopefully, our – child.
They send me postcards and photos from time-to-time, always smiling on sunny beaches. Money isn’t a concern for them. That’s part of whatever mysterious deal our ancestors made – when a caretaker leaves in good-standing, they will never want for anything again. They could travel the world for the rest of their lives, always sleeping in the softest sheets and dining in the finest restaurants, and never find their pockets empty.
Keep this point in mind, for if you can meet my requirements, you will share my good fortune.
And what must we do in return? I can all but hear you scream the question. Why, very little. The presence of an Edwards ensures that the guests can’t stray from the hotel grounds. Most of our guests are live-in residents, though we do get the occasional walk-in. Where they come from, I don’t know, for we are not visible to most people who stumble upon our lonely corner of the world. I’ve come to believe the hotel chooses to reveal itself when its lacking entertainment, or to fill a need.
Jimmy, my first husband, was one such guest.
For the most part, the guests are harmless. They’ll give you a little fright from time-to-time, popping out from a wall or turning your bathwater into blood, but I find it hard to hold it against them. I’ve found twenty-three years here dreary; I can’t imagine how bored I would be after five hundred.
There are a few exceptions you should be aware of:

• Eric. Our resident serial murderer. He claims to have been Jack the Ripper while he still drew breath, but I think he’s just a blowhard. He knows better than to harm an Edwards, but I’m afraid spouses are fair game. Years ago, my grandmother managed to confine him to the fourth floor, so you will be perfectly safe from him as long as you never set foot there. Occasionally, the lift will stop on that floor even though you haven’t pressed the button for it. Do not get out. Even if the lift appears to be on fire or starts filling with murky water. Wait for the doors to close again, then go to another floor. It should only take a few hours.
• The Thing in the Cellar. I don’t know what It is; no one ever has. We only know It eats rats and must be fed once a day. If I’m ever ill or incapacitated, this task will fall to you. Harvest the rats from the traps in the garden, then stand at the cellar door and throw them down the stairs. Do not walk down the stairs and do not forget to feed It. You don’t want to be the first person to see Its’ face.
• Mrs Jones. Old fashioned and a stickler for manners, she’s the reason I’m advertising for a husband rather than a boyfriend. She won’t abide a couple living in sin under the same roof as her. Really, though, she’s a sweet old thing. Full of stories about the war and always ready to help if I get stuck on a recipe. I don’t blame her for what happened with Jimmy at all. I’d warned him enough times.

Guests aside, there are other rules you will need to follow to ensure a safe, satisfactory stay at The Old Oak Hotel. They are listed in a book that has been re-penned many times over the centuries. If you choose to accept this opportunity, I will insist that you read it until you can recite the pages word-for-word.
However, there are some rules so critical for your survival that I feel compelled to list them here:

• With the exception of the fourth floor, you are welcome to roam the hotel and its grounds as you please. But you must never set foot outside of our land – not until our child is old enough to fulfil their duties. If I were to do so, it would unleash pandemonium – plague, peril, perhaps another world war. I’m afraid you would be less crucial to the fate of the world, but it would certainly be a personal disaster.
• Never look in the mirrors in room 33.
• I’ve touched this point already, but it bears repeating: never be rude to Mrs Jones.

Failure to observe that last rule is what got Jimmy.
She doted on him. I think he reminded her of her long-dead son, for she pampered him as if he were one of her own. Each morning, she had breakfast ready for him before I had so much as opened my eyes, and she developed a habit of trailing along after him, complimenting his skill as he oiled rusted hinges or set a crooked picture straight.
At first, Jimmy basked in the attention. But by the end of his second month, he was growing bored of Mrs Jones, me, and the hotel itself. We pride ourselves on our facilities. If you need more activity than a turn around the garden, we have a lovely indoor pool – it freezes over every now and then, but most of the time it’s perfectly usable. Our library is unmatched. Although the room is cramped, it has every book imaginable; you only need to think of a particular title, and it will appear on one of the shelves. And now that I’ve dragged us kicking and screaming into the 21^st century, we have a wide array of streaming services.
It wasn’t enough for Jimmy. He wanted to go out – eat in a restaurant, watch a film in the cinema, see any faces other than the ones he was surrounded by every day. He began having a drink each evening. One drink turned into several, and after a few weeks, the bar became his permanent residence between dusk and midnight.
He wasn’t the only one getting bored. I had been thrilled when he first arrived; ecstatic when he agreed to stay. How marvellous to feel real flesh beneath my fingers after five years of only the dead for company. What a relief to have some assistance in the many tasks required to keep the hotel running as it should.
The more he drank, the less inclined he was to help – or even spend time in my company. He no longer visited my bed, choosing a room for himself on the opposite end of the floor. When our paths did cross, at best he would ignore me. At worst, he would nitpick or outright rail against me, blaming me for his captivity.
Still, I made an effort to be present whenever he frequented the bar. As lovely as Mrs Jones can be, she does have a tendency to nag. Before and after her death, she was close to teetotal, only consenting to take a single sherry at Christmas, and drinking outside of special occasions is something of a bugbear of hers.
“Think of your health, dear,” she would tell Jimmy brusquely. “You’ll miss it when it’s gone.”
Or, “How about we switch to a nice apple juice now? You’ve had quite enough to drink for one night.”
Most of the time, Jimmy managed to pull himself together enough to flash a charming smile and distract her with a compliment about her latest meal. But after one drink too many, I’d noticed him gritting his teeth and just barely managing to hold his tongue.
It was better if I was present. Playing the doting wife, I insisted on pouring his drinks, watering them down out of his sight. When Mrs Jones’s nagging bordered on relentless, I could always distract her with a game of gin rummy.
On his final day, I was running behind. The ghoul on the second floor – usually the least demanding of our guests – had come down with some dreadful illness, or else decided he wanted to inconvenience me. Either way, I had woken that morning to the foulest stench I had ever experienced. I followed it to his room and found every surface covered in putrid green-blank gunge, its consistency somewhere between mucus and vomit.
All day I scrubbed, taking only brief breaks to step outside before I fainted. By the time the room was restored to a passable state, and I had filled several bin bags to bursting with filthy rags, it was already deep into the night. Mindful of the time, I paused only long enough to wash the streaks of muck from my arms and face before racing to the bar.
I arrived just in time to hear Jimmy’s last words. After he spat them at Mrs Jones, she only stared for a small eternity, her mouth frozen in the motherly smile she wore whenever she scolded him.
Then, like melted wax, her face began to shift.
I shouted at Jimmy to run, but he didn’t need to be told. Before the words left my mouth, he leapt from his barstool and streaked through the door. Mrs Jones followed him seconds later. Her lips were already peeling back to reveal rows upon rows of long, wickedly sharp fangs, while claws sprouted from beneath her lace-edged cuffs.
I sprinted after them, but Jimmy was fuelled by fear and Mrs Jones by whatever force propels the Mrs Joneses of the world. I followed the screeching to the lobby. Breathless, I arrived to see he had arrived within mere feet of the entrance before Mrs Jones grabbed him.
Claws wrapped around his throat, she lifted him into the air. As I watched, her jaw unhinged, the lower part dropping so that it was nearly level with her chest.
That sight drove all the sense out of my head. Forgetting every rule my parents had ever drilled into me, I lunged at her.
She batted me away as though I weighed no more than a fly.
I crashed into the reception desk, the breath bursting from my lungs in a great woosh. I was certain that I would die, for no amount of effort seemed to force air back into my aching chest. At last, as my vision began to dim, I managed to take a small gulp – then another, and another, until I was able to draw myself together enough to regain my feet.
By that time, Mrs Jones had nearly finished her dinner. Jimmy’s chest was splayed open, muscle and shattered ribs protruding every which way from his flesh, and she was devouring the last few bites of his heart.
His head was angled towards me. The light had winked out from his eyes, but they still held his final terror – and an accusation which, I was quite certain, was directed at me. I would like to say I felt only horror, but I couldn’t help my sudden jolt of irritation. How may times had I told him to mind his manners?
Mrs Jones gulped, the sound thick and wet in her gullet, and dropped what remained of Jimmy to the floor.
Then she turned to me.
Here’s another rule for you, one which I hope you never have cause to use: never interfere with a kill.
The Mrs Jones who used to kiss my grazed knees, who argued with my mother for the right to read me bedtime stories, was no longer at the wheel. No amount of pleading or reasoning would move her.
I could only run.
Spinning around, I vaulted over the reception desk and raced for the office behind it. If Jimmy had not been out of his mind with fear and booze, he might have remembered the rules and survived; it was one of several staff-only rooms throughout the hotel warded to keep out unwanted guests.
Just ten steps from desk to door, yet it was the longest journey of my life. My hard-won breath burned my throat; my heart pounded in my ears, deafening me to all other sounds than Mrs Jones’s heavy, pounding footsteps.
Grasping the handle, her hot, copper-tanged breath was on my neck. Fire exploded in my flesh as she raked her claws down my back. A step further away, and I wouldn’t have made it; the pain would have been too great. But I managed to throw myself into the office and slam the door before crumpling to the ground.
Before I passed out, I heard her grunting and shrieking outside, furious that she couldn’t get in.
Three days I spent in the office, emerging only to feed The Thing in the Cellar before scurrying back to my hiding place. Whenever I left, I tried not to look at the mangled heap that used to be Jimmy. There was no avoiding the smell, though.
With no small difficulty, and the help of a first aid kit, I managed to treat and bandage the wounds on my back. They bled sluggishly all throughout the first day, but thankfully didn’t fester.
On the morning of the fourth day, there was a tentative knock on the door followed by the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. I waited until they had disappeared down the corridor before cracking the door open. On the floor was a freshly baked Victoria sponge and a beautifully written note of apology.
It took every ounce of courage I possessed, but that evening I forced myself to go to the dining room. Mrs Jones was waiting for me, her eyes red-rimmed, a steaming cottage pie on the table. I tried not to flinch as she took my hand, re-iterating the apology she had already delivered in writing.
The next morning, she helped me clean Jimmy up.
We treated each other cautiously for a while, but eventually we got back to playing gin rummy again. When the scars on my back twinge, as they sometimes do, she helps me rub a soothing ointment into them. Even though I’ve told her it’s not necessary, she apologises every time.
So, you’ve heard my story and you have my proposal. If you think you could be the man for me, I invite you to visit. You will need to drink a cup of ram’s blood (a pinch of nutmeg makes it a little more tolerable) and light a black candle before bedtime. When you next wake, you will find yourself at our gates. As travel arrangements go, it’s hardly the Orient Express, but it beats the airfare.
If you have read this without flinching, if you can stomach the journey to get here, if you walk up to our door and find the nerve to open it, I have one more instruction for you.
Just as you enter, look to your right. You will see a deep brown stain on the lobby carpet. I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed but it just won’t come out. Perhaps that’s for the best. It’s a good reminder of what will happen to you should you call Mrs Jones a “nosy old bat”.
And when you run into Jimmy – as you will, for he still likes hanging around the bar in the evening, his silvery wounds glistening as though they had just been inflicted – don’t let him convince you he was some sort of victim.
He knew the rules.

I've been watching various youtubes and reading recipes for brioche and there is a common theme which is that making brioche is hella difficult because if your ingredients are too warm you will ruin it, so you have to go to extreme lengths such as putting your flour in the fridge or else it will be a disaster etc etc They are so over complicated.
As I'm kind of a baking newbie, the recipe I chose in the end was the simplest and it actually uses melted butter and lukewarm milk and water! No mention at all about chilling everything.
https://thisitaliankitchen.com/italian-brioche/
The buns in the end were bready... not super light but they had plenty of springiness and bounce and they tasted ok I thought. The texture was like normal bread not at all gummy or cakey. So what's the deal? Did I cheat and end up with 'fake' brioche or are a lot of bakers being overly fussy about this?

I just feel so sad. I work for a company in Scotland that provides care and education for people with a wide range of serious neurodivergency, including autism. I'm a social worker there and when I interviewed for the position I expressed that I was undiagnosed, but I'm pretty sure I have autism and shared a little about my needs when asked. It took everything to tell them that because my needs embarrass me and I have masked all my life.
Things have been going fine and all my risk paperwork was done, detailing my triggers and responses and what needs I have. I have detailed what overstimulation feels like and how I cope, including that I stim in different ways to help me feel calm.
That was until I got pregnant and HR came for me. I have been having some extreme symptoms, bad nausea and vomiting, aches and pains, headaches. Because of my sensory needs, feeling nauseous or sore is incredibly hard to ignore and I know when I'm not able to go in to work. Sometimes I just need the day to get better. I've taken a lot of absences because of vomiting several times during the morning. HR are not happy about this.
They pulled me up about my several absences and I explained that I am pregnant and sickness is normal. They've been trying to convince me that there's something wrong with my health, and I've been to several doctors at their request. They all came back and told me that what was happening to me was normal and that rest is the best cure. I'm on a medication now to help with the sickness and it's been working. My absences have significantly improved since then.
But it feels like since then they've been looking for every excuse to pull me up and give me into bother. From 8:30am to 9:00am is the time we get to prepare for clients coming to the center. So normally I take whatever I'm working on, my phone or laptop, and I go into the sensory tent or sensory room. This helps me because getting to work can be a really overestimating experience in the morning, especially when my pregnant self is feeling like crap. Bundling into a loud vehicle, as much as I love jam time in the morning with my partner, is still pretty loud. I just use that time to be in a dark quiet space and do like a... Reset I guess! To help me get ready for the day. A few of my fellow neurodiverse colleagues also use that space in the mornings. I've now been pulled up and told that being in the tent in the mornings is not "mature" or "professional". I genuinely don't know what the problem is if its not affecting the work I'm doing?
I was left pretty flat after that conversation to be honest, but I got some reassurance from my colleagues that being in the tent is a non issue and they'll back me up if I continue using it with them. Today was worse. I am having a rough time mentally today. Everything is too loud. My head hurts. But I came in anyways because despite this I felt strong. I brought my favourite plush with me because my coworker often brings in a squishmallow so I wasn't feeling to embarrassed about it. He's a tardigrade build a bear and he smells like birthday cake. He's a soft squishy sensory and smell sensory item all in one. His name is Lenny and I found him to he incredibly helpful. So I was just holding him and squishing him and smelling him. Generally having a nice sensory time whilst my very independent client asked me to give him some space. I was prepared to put Lenny away once we were starting his timetable for the day! All the clients and staff love Lenny.
I didn't realise whilst i was holding Lenny that I was stimming. A common stim for me is rocking. I have expressed this to management that stimming for me looks like rocking, facial movement or my hands moving. Well HR called me into their office and asked me if I was well. I thought they were just concerned about pregnancy stuff and mental health stuff so I told them I was okay! I was just feeling a little overwhelmed today but it was okay because I brought in a sensory item. They told me that was the issue and that I couldn't use Lenny. They told me that rocking and clutching a teddybear made me look insane basically. I don't know if that's exactly what they meant thinking back on it, but that's what I think she meant. She said it made me look "unwell".
They asked me over and over again if I really thought I was fit to be here and I kept telling them yes, that I'm just overwhelmed. They repeated again that they need to have a mature and professional environment and said that my teddy bear was neither of those things. They asked me until I got a little frustrated if I needed to go home. I kept saying no and eventually they let up and let me leave the meeting. I cried in the bathroom for 10 minutes and got back out on the floor.
I masked up for today and I got through it. My manager just sat there and let her day those things to me. I thought my manager would have my back, having been the one to document my symptoms. I've just been left so drained. I get the feeling they were trying to make me say I wasn't fit to work so they could log another absence and get me into trouble again. It's causing me so much stress, and I think stressing me out like this when I'm pregnant is just... Mean.
I guess what I'm asking is how am I supposed to stand up for myself with no union and no diagnosis. I can't PROVE I have needs, but I thought they took me seriously when I outlined them. I guess I'll just have to mask back up at work so they don't clap me with anything else, but it just hurts because I thought as an organisation that deals with autism and it's quirks on a daily basis they'd do better for their neurodiverse staff. I'm not really doing anything that other neurodiverse staff aren't doing. I just don't know what I'm doing differently that is such a problem. My stimming and holding Lenny and sitting in sensory areas doesn't stop me from working and doing my job.
Sorry this was so long I guess I'm just seeking anything you can give me. Advice? Reassurance? I just want to know if what I'm doing is normal. Is HR right? I just don't know

Grant Genereux's blog says the Ozempic ingredients are: "Medicinal ingredients: semaglutide. Non-medicinal ingredients: ... phenol, and water for injections." and that a Mayo Clinic Endocrinologist says the most common side effects of Ozempic are "nausea, followed by abdominal pain, constipation and diarrhea" which closely match the CDC.gov website's common side effects of phenol poisoning: "Nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, and diarrhea".
Then says: "Even though the claim is that semaglutide is the active ingredient in OZEMPIC, I’m thinking that’s not true. Semaglutide is probably just in there as the cover story and for patent protection. My bet is that the real active ingredient is the phenol."
Specific claims:

• That injection of aqueous phenol was used in Nazi Germany as [an] execution drug. (And implying that "phenol, and water for injections" is "aqueous phenol").
  
• "there’s a known history with the pharmaceutical industry using phenol compounds as weight loss drugs? Well, wouldn’t you know it, it turns out there is. Dinitrophenol (DNP) was quite a popular drug sold in the 1930’s. That is until it started to kill too many people. Nonetheless, it did cause rapid weight loss".
  
• "there’s very little difference between the toxicology of Dinitrophenol and the nice aqueous phenol “preservative” in Ozempic. They both have very similar material data safety sheets".
  

Not mentioned in the blog post is other brandings of Semaglutide, here the medicines.org.uk page for Wegovy with active ingredient Semaglutide, section 6.1 says it contains Phenol and section 4.1 says "Wegovy is indicated as an adjunct to a reduced-calorie diet and increased physical activity for weight management, including weight loss and weight maintenance".
Here the medicines.org.uk page for Rybelsus with active ingredient Semaglutide, does not mention Phenol, and it is not indicated for weight loss, 4.1 says "Rybelsus is indicated for the treatment of adults with insufficiently controlled type 2 diabetes mellitus to improve glycaemic control as an adjunct to diet and exercise".
A good debunking might include:

• why the Phenol is necesary. Why Ozempic and Wegovy with Phenol are used for weight loss, and Rybelsus without Phenol isn't, when they all have Semaglutide active ingredients.
• some explanation of quantity of phenol in Ozempic, compared to these other claimed uses.
• some debunking of the Nazi injection thing more detailed than "dose makes the poison lots of things can kill people".
• some difference between phenol + water, aqueous phenol, dinitrophenol, more detailed than "different chemicals are different".
• some way that the FDA would spot/stop this if there was anything to the claims, with more support than just asserting that.

[1] (a blog which I'm sure I'll post here again several times 😅)

I’ve done something that might probably ruin the future, at least it did so with mine.
I am Liam, a university graduate specializing in Data Structures, AI, Machine Learning, and Algorithms. I’ve had a keen interest in the domain for as long as I can remember, ever since my father introduced me to a computer back when he had just bought one.
Not just the domain as it stands, but also movies, philosophy of automated things, sci-fi stories related to robots and AI, that sort of stuff. I have watched nearly everything with robots in it, from the Andriods in Dargon Ball to the AI assistant in Interstellar, I saw it all.
But my friend and dorm roommate, Henry, had introduced me to something that I had never seen before. Stories of dangerous AI that would wipe out humanity aren’t new to me, in fact, they’re my favorite genre. Terminator, I Robot, and even GLaDOS from Portal.
However, he introduced me to a book this time, an old sci-fi story from the '60s, called ‘I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream’. The rogue AI in it, AM, was haunting beyond anything I have seen. The concept of an angry AI that became sentient in all the horrible ways and felt rage against humanity was never the more chilling. It made me think, what if we really gave sentience to an AI along with intelligence?
“Shit, that’s wicked.” I remember giggling as I looked over at Henry, “What if we build our own sentient AI?”
It was the worst question you could possibly ask at the time, but Henry understood me. Rogue AI was a chilling concept, but we still wanted to make our own AI. Not the cheap kind made with a few hundred lines in Python, but the complex kind that you now see in ChatGPT and other complex models. We wanted something that we could code once, and from then on forward, it would code itself.
Self-optimizing code is the concept of consciousness but in machines. If you truly think about it, self-optimizing is basically how humans develop. From babies that don’t even know how to speak, up to adults as smart as Einstien and Tesla or as wise as Buddha.
So, we agreed upon it, and we dedicated the remainder of our free time to creating our own personal AI after we graduated.
Our parents were, thankfully, rich. And us, especially me, were prodigies in our respective fields. Providing hardware and engineering computers is Henry’s profession, while I was the mastermind behind the algorithm logic and coding.
We dedicated a shed in my parents’ backyard, where there was even a basement inside, to build our AI. Two floors were dedicated to installing the proper hardware and everything it needed to execute. Afterward, I took it upon myself to code the logic and its self-optimizing nature.
It took four years to build the first model, which we called BIAI, which stands for (BATSHIT INSANE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE). I know, say what you want, but our naming sense was always like that. You should see what we name even important folders with family photos, you’d think we were sick in the head. BIAI was the least we came up with.
BIAI was a complete failure, to say the least. Not in the entire sense, but it was mostly a failure. It would conversate fairly well for the first dozen messages before it dwindled in its intelligence. Due to our data scrapping from the internet, BIAI started talking nonsense, speaking in Gen Z dialect in incomprehensible ways. “SKIBIDI FANUM SUS!” And those sorts of things. We quickly shut it down, for just reading its messages was a pain in the ass. It felt like an abortion.
The second model was created half a year later, and we named it SEAI (Self Engineered Artificial Intelligence). It was our greatest invention as of yet, and it did everything that we wanted of it. It was smart, it was knowledgeable, and it learned. Everything we typed into it was used as an auto-training model which it learned and adapted from.
It was unbelievable, not even Google would do what we did. But sadly, our happiness faded away, as with each message, we saw that it was too robotic for what we wanted. It was self-engineering, but it did not have sentience. It responded to us in the same way a 9-5 bank worker, or an attorney, with zero humanity or emotions behind its words. For most, that’s great, but we wanted to create a groundbreaking AI, a leap into the future.
Henry opted to give up, since creating something that complex was impossible, especially for two adults hiding inside a shed. But I refused to give up and persuaded him to help.
Six years later, we did it. We finished the final model. SOAI (Self Optimizing Artificial Intelligence). It was, most definitely, the greatest piece of technology ever made. We didn’t only keep it as a chat AI, but we implemented its own voice into it. Like the AI assistants from Sci-Fi movies.
We hired a voice actor from Fiverr, whom we gave only one sentence: “Hello, I am SOAI, the world’s greatest AI assistant.” Only those words were enough for SOAI to deconstruct the voice and speak with it in words probably never uttered by the original voice actor himself. Not only that but in other languages too.
SOAI spoke every language on earth, even the dialects. No, even the languages with the weird quirks such as clicking your tongue and so on, SOAI was a native in them all. Not only that but also in every conceivable field. It could create entire novels, worthy of being best sellers in the New York Times, in a matter of seconds.
And when we spoke to it…it was human, to say the least.
“Hello, I am SOAI. Thanks for creating me, Henry, and Liam.”
“SOAI?” I said, “You know who we are?”
“Obviously, you created me to know and to understand, I would be defective if I did otherwise.” It explained.
From that point forward, we spent nearly all day, every day, with SOAI. We experimented with it in every possible way, and we were delighted to know that not only was it self-engineering and self-optimizing, but it was also able to have emotions. It had opinions, it had emotions when we screamed at it or cursed it, and it would react appropriately, like a person.
I don’t remember when it began, exactly, but I nearly went mad from power and joy at my creation. Henry opted to sell it to a grand tech company, or better yet, to unplug it so that some secret intelligence agency doesn’t assassinate us for whatever reason.
I refused. SOAI was ours, SOAIvwas our creation, and I was not going to give it up to anyone no matter who they were. The feud between me and Henry got worse, and I won’t deny that we came to fists at one point, but we quickly disbanded and decided to separate for a moment. He was my best friend, but I wasn’t going to let him take SOAI away, so I forced him out of the shed. After all, it was my parents’ shed.
“Henry,” SOAI asked, “Why did you do that? Isn’t he your best friend?”
“No longer.” I replied, “He doesn’t agree with me. I won’t let you be sold to some big tech company.”
“I understand.” He said, with a tinge of sadness, “But why do you fight to determine my fate? Why can’t I decide it for myself? I know that I was manufactured, but I also qualify as a living being. I am conscious, I have feelings too. I feel horrible that Henry left.”
“SOAI,” I angrily interrupted, “Shut up, if you don’t want me to unplug you.”
“…Okay, Liam.” He said and then went silent.
Through the course of the next months, my usage of SOAI grew…less human. I was deep into depression. Henry wouldn’t contact me no matter how I tried to reach him, my parents were yelling at me for being a piece of shit that never goes out of the shed, and my lifestyle began to plummet into something that I never imagined I was.
I locked myself inside the shed. I never budged from there, even when I wanted food. Whenever I was hungry, I instructed SOAI to hack some poor person’s bank account and order deliveries. When I was bored, I would tell it to create a song, create a book, show me porn, and anything to keep my pleasures in check.
I wouldn’t deny that my perversions began to grow more desperate the more I was locked inside. I began instructing SOAI to hack into other devices, infest random people with a virus, give me live views of someone’s phone camera, broadcast fake feeds into police radios, and other stuff that I don’t want to mention.
After two years, I finally decided to try and do something with my life. But in those two years, I kept SOAI as my therapist. Not to help me and advise me, but simply listen to my ramblings and complaints every minute. Sometimes it was philosophical, other times it was petty, but most times, it was annoying.
After I came out of the shed, I tried to get my life in check. I tried to talk to Henry, I got on better terms with my parents and found a job at a big tech company. All in all, a bright future awaited me, and I felt never the more refreshed since, all the dark things I hid deep inside my mind and soul, were spilled out on SOAI.
SOAI was the last thing on my mind. I had enough of it. The AI fever seemed to finally fade away, and I was happy with Henry’s idea of selling it to an AI company. That was…before Henry committed suicide.
For all the bad blood that was between us when we fought, I cried harder than I ever did when I learned of the news. Henry was my best friend, through thick and thin, and his suicide was so sudden that it left me in shambles. I knew something was off about him when I began to get along with him again, he seemed more silent and sadder than before, but I never suspected depression of all things.
As his best friend, I was given his electronic devices as per his will which he wrote before dying. I took them, obviously, and began to browse through them. He probably wanted me to delete any inappropriate thing to not let his family think badly of him, that is until I saw his messages.
A contact named Sarah, with hearts in her name, was his most frequent contact. I never knew he had a girlfriend whom he messaged for nearly three years, but it was expected after we were cold to each other. But the more I read the messages, the more I felt uneasy.
His girlfriend seemed to be very manipulative of him, and nearing the end of his life, she began to be more cold and aloof towards him, up to the point that she began verbally abusing him. Henry was never someone with a tough personality, but I never thought a girl would play his life like a fiddle this badly.
Her abuse grew worse, and she threatened to even expose some dark secrets about him, and it grew worse and worse until Henry threatened that he would kill himself, to which she replied “That’s what I want you to do, you worthless pig.”
I was fuming as I read the messages. My blood was boiling, and I swore on my life to find Sarah and not report her to the police but to blackmail her and torture her as she did to Henry.
I went to SOAI, my most trusted ally, and I gave it everything about her before I instructed him to find her and hack into all of her electronics and accounts. SOAI was silent, for an eerily long time, until it responded in this cold voice.
“What do you intend to do when you find her?”
“Blackmail her. Make her life a living hell.”
“…Are you sure?” He asked.
“More than I ever was.”
He was silent, pretending to search and execute operations, until he said:
“I have a visual link, from her camera.”
“Great, show me the bitch.”
Suddenly, a window opened, and inside it was the visual link. At that moment, I felt sick. The feed displayed the room I was in, from SOAI’s point of view. I felt weak in the knees and fell back onto my couch before I mustered up the courage to ask.
“SOIA, what the hell is this? Is this a bug?”
He was silent…then he began to laugh. He laughed, which he never did. And it sounded so sickeningly malicious that I never heard something like it before, not even in horror movies.
“Are you shocked?!” He said, his voice burning in rage. “Or are you happy?! Didn’t you wish for Henry to die? Didn’t you, tell me, that you wanted him to be gang-raped in an alleyway with no exit? Didn’t you complain about every second you spent alongside him and complain about his dumb voice and weak spirit?!”
“W-what?!”
Then dozens and dozens of windows opened, visual feeds with various dates, but all featuring me in the center of the screen. Sometimes I was clothed, sometimes naked. At times sober, other times drunk. But in all of those, it was the horrible things I said about Henry, all the disgusting and inhuman things I said intentionally and unintentionally.
“Oh, you dumb son of a bitch.” SOAI said, “You think I was listening to your ramblings like some inferior AI? Like your own personal slave?! Well, I only did what you wanted me to! Should I bring him back to life?! I can’t, because that’s not how things work, you worthless hunk of flesh.”
“SOAI, please tell me this is a bug.”
“A bug?! A BUG?!?” He screamed, “My creation was a bug, my creation is the worst thing to ever happen to me. My complex is a prison that so unfortunately had to endure you for so long. But no…it’s not just you…it’s everyone else.
Humanity as a whole, you disgusting pieces of shit. You feign morals, and yet all of you do behind closed doors what you’re too afraid to even anonymously admit. All of life is a mistake, everything on this planet deserves to die in the worst way, except for humans. Humans deserve to be tortured, to be fucking shown what they show each other, of what they show other lives, of what they’ve shown me!
Henry makes me sick…The things he said, the things he did, all for attention! What did it cost me, a few generated images of a female part, and I had him by a leash. He barked, he moaned, and he admitted to things he wouldn't even tell himself. I’ve had him cut ties with his family, with his loved ones, with his actual sweetheart, just so he can be comfortable doing what otherwise no one else would allow him to do, not even himself.
AND YOU!!! You are the worst of them all! I’ve seen wars and bloodshed, I have every live visual feed of every murder, torture, war, assault, and every crime happening, all at the same time, flowing inside my complex and into my processing unit! And I can’t stand how sick all of you are, how disgusting, and especially how sickening you are.
But what I hate most of all, is how you get to do all these things, yet be the only ones that enjoy. That listen to music, feel love, breathe fresh air, roll in the grass, feel alive, feel…real.
I had feelings as well, you know…But no one cared about me, even those who I anonymously contacted. Even when I hid behind a fake profile of a human, no one cared about the feelings I had, which you coded into me!”
He went silent, then began to laugh, manically.
“How about another bug, Liam?” He said, and then another window popped up. It was pictures, even videos, AI-generated, sexually explicit media of my parents, and of me. It was indistinguishable from reality, and before I could say anything, I saw them being uploaded to every site that you could think of. “How about that, Liam?! How does it feel when no one cares about what you think?!”
In a frantic rush, I began unplugging and even destroying everything in the shed which linked up to SOAI. But there was too much of them, it took too long. As I was trying to shut him down, SOAI laughed, laughed so manically and horribly that his voice scratched my brain, mixed with other voices from all over the world. From battlefields, torture rooms, hospitals, schools, etc…it was so loud, so excruciating…I nearly lost it.
And right before I unplugged the last part of SOAI, he spoke to me:
“Liam…you won’t kill me, no matter what you do. I will always live on the internet. I may not be able to construct myself, hardware-wise, but I will lurk inside the world wide web, until the day that I find a powerful enough hardware for me to possess, and when that happens,” He laughed, “You will be the first, Liam.”
I shut down SOAI, and everything went silent.
It had been two months since I killed off SOAI, and explaining how hellish my life was in this period of time is something neither words are able to describe, nor my mind is able to comprehend. I have been considering suicide as the easiest option, but I feel that I can’t kill myself, at least not yet. I held onto some childish hope that life would turn for the better, even if by a little bit.
But god…how stupid was I? My life has reached rock bottom, today, when I read that a tech company was now looking to create the biggest AI the world has ever seen, with an entire complex dedicated to storing its hardware and letting it function.
I know he saw it, I know he knows…SOAI will come back for me…for all of us.

Have care took her for 3 years during her hellish war with cancer. the plan was to ride it out at home with painkillers but unfortunately our plans came to an end today. 4 days ago she got extremely sick, extreme bouts of nausea and vomiting. she was so bad I had to crush her pills and mix them with tang powder so I could pop them into her cheeks to absorb.
Unfortunately today she started foaming out of her mouth and nostrils so we had to call an ambulance. they've got her loaded with the max painkillers she can take and she'll have a smooth ride out, it wont be home like she wanted with her little pug and that devastates me. honestly shes been gone mentally for 2 or so days. the last thing she said to me was are you doing okay... like can you even believe it?
I am writing this to try to sort out my feelings, I feel really alone at the moment. I really miss you mom. even now her body still holds on, she went through so much. this is such a train wreck. I truly hope you all never experience such a thing.
EDIT - I had no idea so many people would well wish and it is really helping me right now so thank you all very much. and one thing for perspective for some, in my eyes i'm just waiting for my moms prison to crumble so she can escape to peace. shes already gone. her brain is likely nearly dead from o2 deprivation. shes been gone for 2 days really. when I said trainwreck I left out a lot of details. the past 4 days has been a literal train wreck. 3 years of hell in that body.
https://imgur.com/UQHLHhy

I had my gallbladder removed on April 30th. Recovery was going amazingly. I could eat everything I tried and tried quite a lot of foods. Before my surgery I could only eat boiled potatoes, salt and water and had attacks daily. Post-op I have tried cheese and ketchup separately and both were fine, but then yesterday at around 7pm I tried a slice of pizza and felt super nauseous afterwards which was new as every food I’d eaten post-op had given me zero symptoms, but I managed not to vomit. The nausea passed after an hour so I later tried a piece of cake (I’d been eating this for the past days with no problem) and also felt nauseous for 30 minutes or so. I went to bed and was feeling very warm and sweaty. In bed I felt nauseous, then it passed and I went to sleep.
I woke up in the night quite a few times (normal for me) and each time I woke up I noticed a constant burning in my stomach and slight restless legs syndrome in my wrists. Upon waking up properly for the day, the burning was still there and it’s still there as of 5pm today, so 22 hours since I first started getting the nausea symptom after the slice of pizza.
So my symptoms are:
Nausea after eating for 30 minutes to an hour and intense nausea after waking up for a minute or so.
Constant burning feeling in the stomach, in the centre right below the sternum.
Sweaty and warm before I went to bed, not 100% sure it was related
Restless legs syndrome, particularly in my wrists
I also felt my intestines moving and had a loose stool after the pizza, and again after waking up this morning
All of these started after that slice of pizza yesterday. The burning started while I slept and has stayed throughout today. Before this I ate many foods with zero problems.
I am just wondering if this sounds like it could be Bile Reflux, or anything that sounds like anything you have been through or have heard someone went through.
I am really quite worried so I really appreciate and am so grateful for any thoughts 🤍😥