Estoy harto de todo y de casi todos excepto a mi familia, estoy harto de mi mismo y del hecho de que existo, odio a la humanidad y me odio a mi por ser parte de ella. Los odio y me dan asco ¡¡Estan en todos lados!! Es como si quisieran atormentarme a proposito. Escuchar las risas y las voces cada vez que salgo porque no tengo otra opción, ver sus estupidas caras observandome. A veces me siento como una persona con esquizofrenia que ve cosas que odia todos los dias y vive aterrado, ellos ven demonios y yo humanos, me dan asco y me aterran. Me vuelvo violento y mis pensamientos también. He pensado incluso varias veces en matarlos y torturarlos de muchas maneras, tener poderes magicos y eliminarlos de un chasquido. Para la tranquilidad de las personas que lean esto, a pesar de que los odio casi a todos no cometere ningún crímen. Estoy consiente de las consecuencias y el trabajo que conllevaria, además no soy un psicópata (Lamentablemente). No quiero verlos, ni mirarlos ni escucharlos quiero suicidarme pero eso traeria consecuencias a mi familia. Solo quiero desaparecer o encerrarme para siempre en una habitación solitaria o salir a la calle a respirar aire fresco sin un rastro de humanidad sin nadie alrededor. No quiero ir a ningún evento social, estoy lentamente perdiendo la cordura y no se a donde va a llegar esto, pero espero que termine pronto, que un auto me atropelle, que me caiga un puto meteorito en la cabeza o que me atraviese el craneo una maldita vala perdida y me mate de una vez por todas. Pense que podia soportarlo, pense que todo terminaria pronto, me gusta pensar que es una tortura psícologica hecha por alguien para hacerme más fuerte. Suena ilógico y extraño, pero es una de las cosas que me ayuda a mantenerme más o menos cuerdo y a no hacer algo realmente malo. A continuación los insultare aun más, asi que les advierto de antemano para que se marchen si lo desean...
¡¡Hijos de puta!! ¡¡Malnacidos!! ¡¡Bastardos!! ¡¡Desgraciados!! ¡¡Malditos!! ¡¡Basuras!! ¡¡Pedazos de mierda!! ¡¡Vayanse a la mierda!! ¡¡Vayanse al carajo!! ¡¡Vayanse a la chingada!! ¡¡Cabrones!! ¡¡Idiotas!! ¡¡Hijos de mil padres y una grandísima puta!!
나쁜놈들!! 나쁜 소년들!! 나쁜 소년들!! 불행!! 똥!! 쓰레기!! 똥덩어리!! 똥!! 지옥 에나 가라!! 지옥 에나 가라!! 나쁜 소년들!! 멍청한 놈들!! 천 명의 부모와 한 명의 큰 창녀의 아이들!!
Sons of bitches!! Bastards!! Bastards!! Disgraces!! Damn!! Garbage!! Pieces of shit!! Fuck you!! Go to hell!! Go to hell!! Bastards!! Idiots!! Children of a thousand fathers and one great whore!!
狗娘養的兒子們！混蛋！混蛋！恥辱！該死！垃圾！一堆狗屎！去你的！去死吧！去死吧！混蛋！白痴！一千個父親和一個大妓女的孩子！
أبناء الكلبات!! الأوغاد!! الأوغاد!! الخزي!! اللعنة!! قمامة!! قطع من القرف!! اللعنة عليك!! اذهب إلى الجحيم!! اذهب إلى الجحيم!! الأوغاد!! البلهاء!! أبناء ألف أب وعاهرة واحدة عظيمة!!
Fils de pute !! Des salauds !! Des salauds !! Des hontes !! Condamner!! Ordures!! Des merdes !! Va te faire foutre !! Va au diable!! Va au diable!! Des salauds !! Idiots!! Enfants de mille pères et d'une grande pute !!
Γιοι των σκύλων!! Καθάρματα!! Καθάρματα!! Ντροπές!! Δεκάρα!! Σκουπίδια!! Κομμάτια σκατά!! Γάμα σου!! Αντε μου στο διαολο!! Αντε μου στο διαολο!! Καθάρματα!! Ηλίθιοι!! Παιδιά χιλίων πατεράδων και μιας μεγάλης πόρνης!!
Efectivamente si, traduci los insultos a algunos idiomas.
Ya me he calmado más o menos. Por último vayanse a la mierda de nuevo y malas noches.

Are wa tenshi no koe!

Extra Info and Links

ANN MAL TV Tropes Wikipedia
Synopsis:
"To know your sin is to have no sin."
Born from a cocoon in the village of Old Home, a young Haibane, an angel like being with a halo and small gray wings and very yummy looking ears, awakens to a world she does not understand without memories of her past. Named Rakka da rapper for the dream of falling she had while inside the cocoon, she soon becomes accustomed to life in the strange town. However, there are strict rules for the Haibane, such as being forbidden to leave the village or go near the walls surrounding it. These, along with mysterious disappearances of their kind on their "Day of Flight," begin to unsettle Rakka and the others since they know almost nothing about their own kind.
Haibane Renmei tells not only Rakka's story but also of those around her, as they live their lives with no memories of the past while trying to break free from their former pain and ultimately find salvation.
From MAL~
Haibane Renmei (Charcoal Feather Federation) is a 13-episode anime which began life as Charcoal Feathers in Old Town, a doujinshi series by Yoshitoshi ABe. Yoshitori's fingers are all over this work, best known for working alongside Chiaki Konaka for the holy trinity of Lain and Texhnolyze with Haibane being ABe's personal baby. With Tomokazu Tokoro lending his adorable name to the directors credits with his MariaHolix and Hellsing Ultimate experience!
Also may be worth noting, some of you may actually be slightly familiar with this project since of course we hosted Lain earlier this year before we jumped onto basketball loli randomly. No news on Texhnolyze tho. That shit is waaay too much of a downer for a The Loli Otaku rewatch

Why should you watch it?

!"Reincarnated as a Lv1 Angel in Another World: My Slow Life as an Odd-jobber."!
Ahahaha! This is where I, as your super responsible and reliable host should try to sell you on the Haibane Renmei experience. Well let me tell you!! I don't know...
Haibane is certainly a series that will show up on your anime adventure a few times but truthly I couldn't quite tell you what it's about. Until hosting Lain I genuinely thought it was an iyashikei slice of life, close to Chiaki's other work, NieA_7, which also has supernatural themes but instead of being on angels it's instead a starving and poverty stricken alien and human duo. Tone wise unfortunately it's gonna be a gloomy time, but I'm sure we can find some lights to focus on~ The show has similar vibes to what you could sometimes find in your Mushishi, Girls Last Tour for another TLO anime, or your Chiyo's Schoolwait, Kino's School Road. No!! Kino no Tabi! There, that's the one.
If you're interested in checking out a series that's more about a journey into the philosophical and life's karma then this is an experience that you shouldn't miss out on. Don't be afraid, this is exactly the type of series you should enter completely blind. Just trust your guide~

Fun Stuff

Daily QotD's, as I do, but whilst I will be doing my Comments of the Day, the corner where I nominate my favourite one liners, favourite observations, and just plain neat comments from rewatchers that definitely replied to at least three other users. I will also be bringing back our much beloved...
Abyssbringer's "What is the thematic purpose of this scene corner!!"
Each day I will post a Prompt as a sort of preview for the upcoming episode. Take this Prompt and write something charming~ Be it a quippy one liner, a prediction on what the scene could possibly be, or just take it totally out of context and try to confuse any tourists that are lurking! If you're confused or need more elaboration I will be happy to discuss further. You may also check out my many previous rewatches for references.
For tomorrow, here's our episode one.

Abyssbringer Prompt!!

Index Thread

Dates, times and plans

So then! The rewatch will begin on Friday, May 17th at 22:00 UTC, 17:00 EST 16:00 CST, 15:00 MST, 14:00 PST So 10pm UK time. We will be doing one episode per day with a series discussion to wrap up. I'm sorry about the short notice, I'd just been holding off on the thread too long!
If you strain your ears, you can probably hear it.

Volvi a caer en el juego mental del pancho despues de tantos ads… pero llevo 45 minutos en el servicarro de las catalinas y estoy que me vuelvo a** en serie. Honestamente curioso en cual sera la verdadera poliza de esta gente.

okay so to start off, my (18m) gf (19f) had a 6 month relationship and it was quite perfect except for a small problem, which was her running after a guy that she knows he thinks she's attractive in a playful way and then she said that the gallery was open and she didnt want him seeing her pictures, and also her reposting celebrity crushes which i wasn't comfortable with, she could've had celebrity crushes but not repost them because im aware that other people are attractive, this wasnr always the case to be home and i fought with her about having celebrity crushes a like 2 times but this isnt the point of this post.
at the end of the 5th month, we had alot of fights because we could barely ever talk because of alot of reasons, one of which was her mother being strict. we had alot of fights at that time and she ended up breaking up with me because she "wasn't happy" instead of communicating how she felt.
this very obviously and normally caught me off guard because our relationship was really good up until this point, i kept telling her to take me back and i pleaded and begged but she didnt agree.
then this story ended and we ended on good terms with closure and we broke up about 26 days ago and i still love her but she already lost feelings. she lost feelings due to me trying to see if she would be jealous if i liked other girls or not and i think thats a valid reason. anyways, we were talking a few days ago about something like normal friends because we were really close friends before we dated, and i said that i was going to be right back and when i got back i texted her i waited for 20 minutes for her to reply to that text. then while waiting i saw that she upload a story 5 minutes ago which means that she should have replied. but she didn't so i texted her "what the fuck" and she said that she was sorry and that the message didnt get delivered.
keep in mind that similar things like that that made me think she's ignoring me happened more than 15 times and she always had excuses and i always let it go and ignored but this time i was really mad because the day before i was watching some reels on my phone with some friends and i told them i'll tell her (my ex) something and they saw what i sent since it wasn't a secret then i continued watching reels with them while she didnt reply. i think about 5 seconds later we saw that she sent a snap and they all kept laughing at me and telling me i was ignored and they pretty much kept telling me how bad i was ignored the whole day which was a kind of joking that i didnt like and i when told them that i dont like it at all after alot of tries of making them stop they eventually did.
so i was pretty boiled up from that situation and when i saw that she sent a story i proceeded to tell her not so nice things and i think im definitely in the wrong here, but then it ended and i apologized because i have anger issues and then i asked her if she completely lost feelings and she said "yeah to be honest" and said nothing after that, then i said okay and she left me on seen and she knows en i'd like her to atleast say bye or anything before leaving me on seen. i don't know why but i hate it, anyway we had a fight that day and i passed out in a public bathroom crying with my best friend and all i remember was falling and waking up on the couch and crying so hard.
after that my best friend made me take the phone and block her and tell her how i feel about her which was her being the most selfish person i ever met and only looking for her well being and doesn't care about anybody else's feelings. this is the point of this post, she made a really big deal about it and kept telling me alot of hurtful stuff that i couldn't even comprehend and then when i told her that i was crying when i said that and i didnt know what i was saying she said "ok" in our native language. and she again proceeded to talk to me in a disrespectful way until the next day it got so bad that i couldnt breathe, then and only then that she apologized and i asked her "do i need to tell you that i cant breathe for you to apologize? " she said " i apologized it doesn't matter when" then i said ok and i went to go hang out with one of my best friends fo get my mind off of it, and i saw that she sent an apology saying that she was mad from me calling her selfish and she didnt mean to hurt me and that she realized that our personalities arent compatible and some other stuff. i said okay and i feel gulity that i called her selfish. AITAH?

Hej, vet någon vart man kan få tag på dem utan att behöva åka runt till olika second hand eller om man kan hitta episoderna dubbade online? Känner för att uppleva lite nostalgi och då My Little Pony Tales har en speciell plats i mitt hjärta så frågar jag här. Tack på förhand.
Edit: Just när jag tryckte på att lägga upp så skickade min vän att hen hade hittat vart man kan köpa dem, tack i alla fall!

Hej, forgive the English.
I keep getting different net amounts from the tax calculators, and just wondered which one people prefer, or which is correct.
Both seem to use a different amount for municipal tax (one has Göteborg, one has only Västra Götaland?) and only one allows you to turn off the church tax, which might make a difference.
They give me two figures 4k apart which is quite the difference.
https://se.talent.com/en/tax-calculator
eller
https://salaryaftertax.com/salary-calculatosweden

You’ve fucked the air quality for people and pets trying to enjoy a beautiful day outside. I’m not one to complain about a little campfire smell, and I’ve never ratted on someone for a bylaw infraction before, but this is ridiculous. There’s literal ash falling from the sky.
If you know where it’s coming from, free to report the idiot here: https://www.stcatharines.ca/en/fire-and-emergency-services/backyard-fires-and-chimeneas.aspx

This is going to be a long post, so please bear with me. For starters, this is my second time applying to PA school--I was at a disadvantage last cycle, as I applied late July, almost early August. I was working towards my masters degree during that time, and had a bunch of in-progress courses that I need to retake. I wasn't the best student my sophomore year of college, and Organic Chemistry I was the death of me, had to retake it and passed on my third try. I have shadowed a surgical PA for a few months, but because of the pandemic, the hospital was not allowing any students to shadow anymore. I like the idea of PA's bridging the gaps in healthcare, as with everyone. Although lateral mobility and good work-life balance are enticing factors in being a PA, I don't see that as being true. It really is specialty-dependent, an ideally, I think is best to stick with one speciality and perfect your craft. I don't mind the level of autonomy that comes with being a PA, I feel that everybody can be a leader within their own scope of practice.
However, amidst this journey of applying to PA school, during college, and even high school, medical school and being a physician has been nagging in the back of my mind. I come from two loving parents who never pressured me to pursue a career in medicine, but something that will make me satisfied and have a good life. Being a physician means having the breadth of knowledge, thoroughly understanding the mechanism of actions in medication and diseases. Its better to know and comprehend the whole story and the why, instead of just knowing surface level information. I'd like to think being a research assistant is helping me in solidifying my decision to be a physician--I understand that its two completely different things, but I enjoy showing medical students and other graduate students how to dissect a mouse, I love teaching them the anatomy of the mouse, and what each part is special in, and how it pertains to the research that I do. I love being the leader, and I appreciate when my colleagues come to me for questions and ask for my perspective in different things. I enjoy being a leader, yet I enjoy working in a team. For reference, here are my stats, they are not the greatest, but I'd like to think my experiences showcases that:
-graduated college with a 2.943 gpa, had to retake most of my sophomore year's worth of classes, failed organic chemistry I and passed on my third try. with all retakes and masters, raised to 3.02. despite failing most of soph year, i made deans list numerous times.
-got my masters in biomedical sciences, got a 3.4 gpa
-last 60 credits, 3.66, last 45, 3.61
-1955 hours as a night shift float pct, certified in phlebotomy, ekg, and as a pct.
-1392 hours in biochem research, vitamin D regulation focused. abstract sent out, will be presenting in symposium in fall
-new job as mental health specialist on back up call center, about 60 hours since i just started position
-990 hours in social and affective neuroscience research, presented thesis to psych department
-volunteering: sunday school teacher for 2nd graders, habitat for humanity, health screener in grad school, volunteer in hospital in high risk pregnancy and geriatric wings, summer camp counselor in church, food bank.
-teaching experience: learning assistant for psych stats course, helped teach 37 juniors and seniors as a junior, about 42 hours bc during semester.
-hobbies: food festivals, legos, parrots, painting, cooking and baking.
I have not taken my MCAT, and I told myself that if I do not get far in PA school applications, I will start studying for the test come the fall. The masters program that I am apart of has a linkage with the medical school, so I will try to see what my options are when the time comes. All in all, both professions are excellent, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been. Some honest advice and feedback would be helpful.

Original post: https://www.reddit.com/AsOneAfterInfidelity/s/aDWg4wSGER
Update 1: https://www.reddit.com/AsOneAfterInfidelity/s/V0O5DpriSv
Oh man. So much has happened since my last update, and since Dday 5 months.
I started attending church again because I felt like I needed to get a grip of my life again and get back to my core values. And was suddenly asked if I wanted to go on a missions trip to Uganda with a few other young people from the church and I agreed.
Reconciliation was going good up until my trip. Still had daily triggers and daily mind movies but I managed. I wasn't crying everyday anymore. So progress I guess.
Anyways, I went on the trip and a few days in i realised that I was happy. Just being around other like minded people.....friends. and for a while I didn't even think about my WS and I just realized that this feeling I'm feeling now. This is what I deserve in life. I don't want to "manage" in life. I want to actually live. I don't want to worry about triggers. I don't want to work on my newfound trust issues. I don't want it anymore. And I don't want a life where that is the foundation of my relationship.
So I had clarity, and I started getting a little interest in one of the girls from the group. Not that I wanted anything. But just knowing that I'm actually still capable of catching feelings towards a new woman was freeing somehow. Like, it was comforting to know that I'm gonna fall in love again someday with a new woman. That my WS isn't the ONLY one.. I wanted her to be the only one. But knowing that she doesn't have to be was freeing.
So when I got back home from Uganda (3 days ago) I gathered my thoughts for a day. And then ended it my WS the day after.
I kept it on my own side of the road and didn't blame her. I just told her that "the trust that is needed to rebuild this relationship, Is not something I'm capable of giving. I forgive you, I love you, I'm not angry at you. But I'm just not strong enough to make it through this anymore. It's been almost half a year and I'm exhausted of the triggers and mind movies. And I'm not strong enough anymore"
And then I hugged her. Kissed her forehead and held her as she cried for a while. And then I left.
Today I called my best friend and he helped me move some of my belongings over to my new place where I'm moving in with a good friend of mine. I decided to leave her most of the things that I brought into the house. I only took my bed, tv and dining table. And left the rest of the furnitures in the house for her so that she wouldn't have to wake up and live in a completely empty house. I care for her deeply and wish her the very very very best in life. And secretly I think I have a little hope that some day in the future when I'm completely over it. I meet her again and fall in love all over. But for now, I'm surrounded by long lost friends that I reconnected with again through church and I'm excited and happy for the future. I feel like a big weight has been lifted off my shoulders and I no longer worry about triggers and barely any mind movies anymore. Thank you all for reading and following up on me in my darkest time of life. Might update again some time in the future.

Jesus was confused with Satan by some cultures and even worshipped as such – despite the fact that he was considered a "good" Satan and a "positive" Devil that sided with the weak and vulnerable and betrayed the "powerful ones" in order to dedicate himself and his life completely to the poor. (Such notion is not alien at all even to the texts – because Jesus is expressly called the Morning Star in 2 Peter 1:19 and in Revelation 2:28).
This is apparent in the fact that the Hebrews for example did not recognize Christ as the Messiah and they even called him "evil" and applied to him the title "Satan" (from the Hebrew: "śāṭān" meaning: "adversary, enemy"). The definition of "evil" here is relative – because since Jesus went against the teachings that the Hebrews held as sacred and he also went against the teachings that the Muslims for example also regarded as sacred (and he went against many other cultures as well for that matter; because the figure of Jesus was pagan and it actually belonged worldwide to all cultures of the world and he was claimed to have opposed all of them trying to reform them) – he was thus called "evil" in relative terms by some of these cultures; meaning an "enemy" or "adversary" of those doctrines. Originally not even the Christians considered Christ as a positive figure; because Christ professed a lot of ideals that were inconceivable and impossible to apply according to the mentality of the powerful castes that rule society – like the priesthood for example; because Jesus claimed many times that the wealthy ones must renounce everything they have, they must give their money to the poor and then and only then – will they be allowed to follow Christ.
But the Church completely ignored and bypassed this teaching of Christ because they knew that if they had started preaching this to their believers; they would lose all believers in one second since no one wants to give up their house, their wealth and their life to follow the Church. So even the Church had to rearrange and modify a lot of the teachings of Christ while straight up censoring and ignoring others; in order to create a religion out of it. The only difference is that the Christian Church decided that it was worth investing their time and money in turning Jesus into the symbol of their faith and into a figure that would appeal to the masses (basically deifying him and using his name and memory to attract people into the religion) – while the other two religions (Judaism and Islam) completely disregarded Jesus altogether and considered him a madman instead and even went as far as to call him "evil" and a "Devil" precisely because he had preached such revolutionary notions that were just impossible to accept for the rich and wealthy. (Another reason for this is also because Judaism had a different idea of the Messiah altogether and they followed a different Messiah – and this other idea of the Messiah along with the other Messiah – were also very different from the "Jesus Christ" concept altogether – but that’s besides the point).
The symbology of the spring refers to the blood of Christ which gives life and makes vegetation grow on the earth much like the water of a spring; but it also holds literal meaning because the pagan figures who correspond to "Jesus" were all claimed to have met their demise or to have had a life-changing experience happen near a spring or near a water-source more generally speaking. Such is the case for Hermaphroditus who was rendered female by his union with Salmacis near a spring; or also the castration of one of the gods called "Uranus" – because according to Cicero in his "De Natura Deorum" there were multiple Uranuses and one of them was the "younger" one – and he’s the same who was said to have been castrated near a spring by Phoenician mythology. (The fact that Hermaphroditus was joined to Salmacis thus becoming definitively feminine near the waters of a spring – refers to the confusion that happened in the myth due to the nature of the two characters taken into analysis; because Hermaphroditus and Salmacis were actually brother and sister in other iterations of the story and they were claimed to have been conjoined thus essentially making up a single being who was a "man-woman" united. But then after their birth they were separated and their bodies were not conjoined anymore; although the male – in this case Hermaphroditus – was claimed to have been castrated in further iterations of the story so it looked as though he had returned to being a female and was thus "rejoined" to his female nature which is why the Greek myth confused it and claimed that Hermaphroditus lost his manhood but he lost it by being rejoined to his twin-sister Salmacis. In reality he was castrated near the waters of that spring – the "conjoined" part referring instead to the myth of their birth, but the two accounts were later confused and amalgamated into a single story for the Hermaphroditus myth; thus confusing also the timeline on when exactly was it that the two siblings were conjoined – whether it was at the beginning of their lives or at the end of it as in the case of Hermaphroditus and Salmacis).
The god Attar of the planet Venus was worshipped as "Atarsamain" (Attar of heaven) by the Arabs and equated with Allat i.e. Athena (a fact that has left academics dumbfounded even to this day as for how is it possible that a male god was completely equated and identified with a female one. But the answer is found in the mythology and themes of the god himself – where he was considered of androgynous nature and was claimed to have underwent castration which made him be perceived as a female by some cultures). He was furthermore equated with the goddess Anat in the form of "Ninurta" – because the Mesopotamian warrior-god Ninurta being equivalent to Attar (and Atarsamain) himself – he was directly equated with the Canaanite goddess "Anat" and the name of Anat was also written as "NIN.URTA" in cuneiform. There is an epithet of Anat which calls the deity: "the strength of life" and this particular epithet is applied to Ninurta continuously throughout Sumerian mythology because he’s consistently called the "strength of Enlil" – the "one with superior strength" – the "son in whose strength the father rejoices" – the one with the "strength of a lion" and Ninurta was also in charge of ditches and canals being the one who created the canal-system in Sumer and who was claimed to have brought to everyone the waters of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers as a result. The epithet of Anat – in this case referring to the male Anat who was though still worshipped as female regardless because the god possessed androgynous qualities (and not coincidentally the term "Nin" which comprises the name "Nin-urta" is actually more often than not utilized for female goddesses in Sumerian culture; for example "Ninhursag", "Ninisina", "Ninlil" etc. as it usually means "lady" – but in this case the word assumes a neutral meaning and its connotation is given by the context; so since the god is male it’s translated as "lord" – but the androgynous aspect of this deity is still kept intact nonetheless by using "Nin" instead of "En" ("En" being more traditionally used in Sumerian to mean "lord") – and the title thus refers for the concept of "the strength of life" to the strength of life as a life-giver; because Ninurta being associated with water and with the fertilizing effects of water having been the one who brought canals and ditches to Sumer; the meaning of the term thus acquired such connotation.
This deity is also always associated with physical beauty; for example in the case of Dumuzi (the Mesopotamian god of vegetation) who was called "the one with the beautiful eyes" and even in the form of "Ishtaran" (a form of Dumuzi worshipped as the "heavenly serpent") – where there are several references to his "beautiful face". This notion of beauty is once again reinforced and repeated for all other versions of this pagan god as he was called by many different names throughout cultures – for example also in the form of "Joseph" the biblical son of Jacob; who was claimed to be so beautiful that while a slave in Egypt the women could not resist him – or even in the form of Japheth the third son of Noah (who corresponds still to the same character) – where the word "Japheth" is connected to the root meaning "to be beautiful".
Thus the ideals of "strength and beauty" refer to him. (The pagan imagery of this god depicts him joyous and free as he dances through the flower-fields and while bringing the springing of vegetation to the seasons – often times represented with ears of corn or garlands adorning his head; as in the case of his Slavic counterpart "Potrimpo" for example).
Christ furthermore corresponds also to the pagan god Dionysus as mentioned in other posts; and Dionysus had a particular epithet in Rome which later ended up becoming his main name (or one of his many names alongside the more renown "Bacchus") and this particular title was that of "Liber" i.e. "the free one", one who embodies "freedom".
In form of "Ishtaran" Dumuzi was worshipped as "Anu" as well – since they called Ishtaran with the epithet "AN.GAL" i.e. "great Anu"; thus meaning that Dumuzi was so beloved and his cult had risen to such prominence at some point – that some local traditions (smaller ones) worshiped him as God the Creator himself and substituted him in place of Anu or at the very least differentiated him from the main "Anu" by calling him "AN.GAL" – "the great Anu" or "greater Anu". This is why Hermaphroditus/Jesus corresponds also in Phoenician mythology to the one "Uranus" who was said to have been castrated near a fountain-spring – Uranus being the Greek equivalent of the Sumerian "Anu" and this is why he was addressed with the name "Uranus" and worshipped as one of the "Uranuses" (the younger Uranus, because the older Uranus is instead the father of Cronus/Saturn and he’s a much older Uranus).
Given how Dumuzi was worshipped as the male Ishtar and as Attar in Canaanite lands (from whom the name "Ishtar" came from because the name of the goddess "Ishtar" is actually in the masculine gender and the goddess inherited that name from the male god who was called "Attar", "Ashtar" and "Ishtar" himself); one has to take into account that the male god was worshipped as androgynous though – which is why he was later equated with the female goddess Inanna in Mesopotamia and became indistinguishable from her to the point that she also came to be called Ishtar herself. The rosette is the symbol of Venus and of this male god of Venus who corresponds to Christ himself.
But at the same time the rosette is also the symbol of the female Venus as well and of the goddess Inanna (the female form of Ishtar) so the rosette refers to both Ishtars; the male and female one referring to the planet Venus in general.
Now, seeing as to how the figure of the "son of god" was worshipped as "the creator" himself by some more local cultures who idolized him to such degree that they ended up seeing him as the superior god over others – this explains one of the symbologies present on the modern representation of the apparent "pagan god" of the Templars; where he’s depicted with the head of a goat and the five pointed star facing downward. The five pointed star being a symbol of the divine – it represents through the symbology present on the idol the fact that the god in question is not the one who resides in the sky (in which case the five pointed star would have to be pointing upwards instead); but they worshipped on the other hand a creator who was "the creator on earth" thus being "the one below" – so their god was represented by the pointed star facing downwards. (This is for the representations that depict the idol with the star facing down; otherwise in other cases the star is absent altogether).
Now, according to the Atbash ciphering interpretation done on the name "Baphomet" which becomes: "Sophia" – if the interpretation is indeed correct (that Baphomet=Sophia) it would make total sense given how the name of Christ himself was actually "Sophia" and the why that is was explained in this previous post: https://www.reddit.com/EsotericOccult/s/P3ZkDJvXdM – where essentially there was talk on the Christ’s physical appearance and the fact that he was born with androgynous traits. This for example made it so that the character in question also displayed overly-sized pectorals that were rather exposed when compared to the rest of his body and were also rounded and protruding; sometimes even resembling female breasts (and that’s where the symbology of the rooster sticking its chest out and of Christ "with breasts" came from: – the rooster in the act of sticking its chest out: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/81/a6/a5/81a6a5da3c527f3ce0fe1648a7650001.jpg – and the depiction of Christ "with breasts" on the Notre-Dame church: https://gcm.rmnet.be/clients/rmnet/content/medias/christus_750.jpg). This (physical) androgynous nature of the "son of god" was then explained through metaphors and in spiritual terms by Christianity and Gnosticism with the fact that when Sophia incarnated she incarnated as "Jesus Christ".
But – there was also a female-incarnated Sophia; which incarnated as a woman and the figure in question is sometimes identified with the "Thetokos" i.e. "mother of god" Mary – or alternatively substituted by Mary Magdalene the consort of Jesus (being called the "Bride of Christ"). The fact that the Templars were claimed to have worshipped the prophetic head of a female alongside their god refers to the cult of the pagan goddess who corresponded to the Magdalene – where; she was claimed in pagan mythology to have been decapitated or to have been "half-decapitated" (her throat cut significantly to the point of almost detaching her head from her neck) and the goddess in question possessed oracular as well as prophetic gifts. The notion of Magdalene who corresponds to this pagan goddess was addressed in this previous post: https://www.reddit.com/EsotericOccult/s/iHlaRrZnzL. (The head that the Templars held was of course symbolic and not the literal real head. But what was important is what that symbol represented to them – rather than to whom the skull belonged because it was a simple human skull taken from a cadaver).
So essentially the Templars were worshipping both Christ and Magdalene through pagan imagery (Christ being "Sophia" himself and Magdalene being the "female Sophia" who’s the counterpart of the Messiah); something which was not acceptable to the Church – and also because they were worshipping Christ in his real nature as opposed to the heavily filtered and altered version that Christianity gave of him – thus opposing the "official" canon established by the Church altogether.

Artificial intelligent beings feature prominently in much of science fiction, but I always wonder, would we actually create them? Given the current fear of the existential risk of artificial intelligence, I don't see that that must necessarily happen.
While so-called "artificial intelligence" (AI) may surpass the human brain in computing power, it only imitates intelligence and blindly follows its programming. Synthetic intelligence (SI), on the other hand, has conciousness, intent, and qualia (that is, it experiences its existence in an individual manner). SI, by definition, therefore will have or develop goals independent of those of its creators.
Creating an SI is a vast undertaking that no single person, however rich, can achieve. Look at cancer research or manned space flight. The amount of manpower and money necessary for such an achievement requires the willingness of a whole society to pour a significant portion of their resources into it and relinquish other goals (education, health care, etc.). For that, the whole society has to develop in a direction that they perceive the creation of SI as a necessity or a significant advantage.
In a future world, where synthetic intelligences exist, to what purpose will they have been created, if it cannot be guaranteed that they will be willing to perform their intended tasks?
What would the advantage be that a large part of a future society might see in an SI that, basically, cannot be relied upon to do what it was created for?
I don't think mere scientific curiosity is enough. As the example of human space flight clearly shows, money intensive research is dependent on political decisions that rest on the situation of a society as a whole.
* * *
As a side note, when I was a teenager I was intrigued by the 1965 short story "The Accident" by Stanislaw Lem, in which a robot goes climbing without any apparent reason (that is, without being programmed to do so) and falls to its destruction. The protagonist, Pilot Pirx, believes that the robot "undertook the endeavor of its own free will, acting as an alpinist looking for a difficult climb". That short story beautifully illustrates the problem of the autonomy of SI.

I posted this question in askhistorians, but figured I may have more luck here.
One of the central tenants of the Protestant reformation, including that of the English Reformation, was the doctrine of sola fide and the idea that via forensic justification, a sinner's faith was all that was needed for Christ's redemption by taking on their sins as his own, with no dependency on the words or mortal deeds of the adherent.
It seems to me that the lay Catholic would fall into this "saved" category. I understand why Catholic clergy and nobility were viewed and persecuted as heretics on both religious and political grounds - they were seen as culpable for spreading false doctrine regarding salvation, corruption, superstition, papacy, and going against the monarch/head of the Church. People who were outspoken against the monarch and their reforms being labeled heretics also makes sense for the same reasoning.
What I am wondering about is if the early English reformers thought "sola fide" applied to the average Catholic who kept their head down and didn't cause trouble? I am currently reading the biography "Crown of Blood; the Deadly Inheritance of Lady Jane Grey," and one thing that comes up a lot in her correspondences is the concern she and her fellow Protestants had for friends of theirs who remained or had reverted back to Catholicism. This concern also extended to less radical reformers, who rejected Catholic authority but still kept to some of their old traditions or icons. This concern seemed just as great for those who lived quiet, private lives
What interested me was that they weren't just offended or contemptuous; most of all they feared for the souls of these wayward Christians, and lamented the damnation of their souls. Was the belief of early English reformers that someone had to actually believe in the doctrine of sola fide in order for it to apply to them, and thus did not extend to Catholic adherents? If that was the case, did they apply that retroactively to all Catholics historically? What about Henry VIII - who despite breaking from Rome held on to many Catholic believes abhored by many reformers?

𝟎𝟗 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨_$_𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧! 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐒𝐀 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐞𝐬! 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝟏𝟐𝟒𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭, 𝐇𝐁𝐎 𝐌𝐚𝐱, 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤, 𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐞𝐭𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐱.

➡️🌍𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝟒𝐤:⏳: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞

➡️🌍𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐇𝐃:⏳: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞

⚡️𝑩𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝑭𝑴⚡️
𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐫-𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫, 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐛.
𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝: 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟎𝟒-𝟐𝟒
𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 𝟏𝟐𝟔 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬
𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲
𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬: 𝐑𝐲𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐨𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭, 𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫-𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐡 𝐖𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦, 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐚 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐫
⚡️𝑩𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝑭𝑴⚡️
𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫: 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐞, 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, 𝐊𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐜𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐤, 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, 𝐑𝐲𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐨𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠
"𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲" (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧-𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟎𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐑𝐲𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐨𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧-𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱-𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐉𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦'𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫-𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧), 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬.
𝐀𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤, 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬.
"𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲" (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧-𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟎𝐬 𝐓𝐕 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐚 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐑𝐲𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐨𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱-𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐉𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫-𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐮𝐤𝐞, 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐇𝐬𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐡 𝐖𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬.
⚡️𝑩𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝑭𝑴⚡️

• 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬:
• 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝟖𝟎𝐩/𝟕𝟐𝟎𝐩 𝐇𝐃
• .𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐩𝟒/𝟒𝐊
• 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐌𝐏𝟒/𝟕𝟐𝟎𝐩
• 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄! 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐌𝐩𝟒/𝟒𝐊
• 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞
• 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐩𝟒/𝟕𝟐𝟎𝐩
• 𝟏𝟐𝟑𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) (𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄) 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆
• 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇~𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄! 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝟖𝟎𝐩/𝟕𝟐𝟎𝐩 𝐇𝐃
• 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) (𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄) 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐬𝐮𝐛 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝟏𝟎𝟖𝟎𝐩/𝟕𝟐𝟎𝐩 𝐇𝐃
• 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄-𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝! 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) (𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄) 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐏𝟒/𝟕𝟐𝟎𝐩 𝟏𝟎𝟖𝟎𝐩 𝐇𝐃 𝟒𝐊
• 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇—𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) (𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄) 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝟏𝟐𝟑𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟎𝟖𝟎𝐩 𝐇𝐃
• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐇𝐃 𝟕𝟐𝟎𝐩, 𝟒𝟖𝟎𝐩
• 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐨 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 '𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲' (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞
• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐬𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞
• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐬𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦
• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭
• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦
• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐚ł𝐲𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦
• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐬_पूरी फिल्म
• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐬فيلمكامل
• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐨

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒) 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝟖𝟎𝐩/𝟕𝟐𝟎𝐩 𝐇𝐃:𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 "𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝟐" 𝐚𝐧𝐝 "𝐀𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞," 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 "𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐲," 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. ⚡️𝑩𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝑭𝑴⚡️

It's all too common that Christian speakers and authors will fall into two opposing errors. On the one side: God rewards good behavior, so you should focus on that. Maybe it's prayer or giving or charity or kindness or forgiveness. On the other side: our behavior CAN'T be good because of our sinfulness, it's only about our trust and faith in Jesus. So what matters is how much faith and trust we have in him.
Now, the second position certainly avoids legalism (which is good), but then what do we actually DO as Christians? Not only that, both of these positions are still kind of selfish. Is it really all about me? Isn't it kind of surprising that Christ's summary of the Old Testament law says NOTHING about "personal holiness" or individual righteousness? But rather, "loving God entirely," and more to the point I'm making, "loving your neighbor as yourself."
Loving -- seeking the good of others -- is outside of ourself, it's the basis of community. And it's a COMMUNITY that God wants. Not just any community, like work or sports or even family, but the community of believers, HIS community that he created. Jesus gives one "new" commandment, which is really just a variant of the previously mentioned summary of the law: "Love one another, as I have loved you. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."
These are the unique good works given to Christians. God wants us to love what HE loves, and he loves and cherishes the church. He loves it enough to call it the "body of Christ", uniting it with the love he has for his own Son. And he will certainly commend those who loves what he loves.

My fellow gamers, for too long has our community suffered the indignation of an intolerable culture that has denigrated, besmirched, exploited, and has outright demonized our culture of unique individuals with a genuine love of a hobby that they see as profitable and progressive. They have taken beloved IP’s (Intellectual Properties) and twisted them into their own personal ideological crusade of undermining and humiliating the core aspects of characters they deemed as “Toxic” or “White Supremacy”. Through the guise and protection of DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusivity) & ESG (Environmental, Social, and Governance) they have used our influence in the entertainment industry to push their narratives and agendas that have stigmatized our culture with numerous anti-consumer practices that they call “being progressive”. But the truth of the matter is they were never really looking to be a part of our community, they simply wanted to use our community as a tool of activism and propaganda in the entertainment industry as it was extremely profitable, and they wanted inclusion in that division. Ever since GamerGate & Female Frequency, we have had to endure the incursion of forced ideologies, xenophobic behaviors and inferior overpriced products that have never been in our best interest and have been flat out disgraceful towards foreign media.
Before Gaming had become a major source of entertainment, we were often categorized as anti-social or societies rejects where because we found more enjoyment in playing fictional characters and not spending as much time out and about, we never fully assimilated in society (which is a good thing if you ask me). From 1998 to 2007, at the height of innovation, creativity and production, Gaming had reached a golden age in which it had revolutionized society. Hollywood Execs who had ruined the movie industry turned their attention to video games as a source of income since video games had outperformed movies in terms of profit. No one was concerned about gaming, much less diversity or inclusivity until it became profitable. This makes people like SBI look extremely disingenuous as they were not interested in gamers as a community with its own culture. They simply wanted to use it as another weapon in identity politics.
Microtransactions; the hidden enemy to gamer progress and inducer to mental laziness of our community. Microtransactions have been around for a long time; however, it has never been more potent and apparent than in recent years. It has aided in the dismantling and segregation of players on the ideology of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) and has created another sub-culture of gamers who have no real drive to be better outside of how much money they put into the game. This has degraded our culture as well as we have become “fat” off transactional gaming but at the same time we have been “starved” of purposeful gaming where our achievements were our sustenance. I am not saying that microtransactions are bad, but when they are exploitative and predatorial like they have been and don’t give gamers room to grow, we become lethargic and unwilling to improve ourselves as gamers. Oversaturated microtransactional games are one of the many reasons why we have become complacent and unwilling to fight against the exploitative tactics used by big brand game companies such EA, Ubisoft, ActivisionBlizzard, NaughtyDog and so many other western business model companies. Western style games were not like this in the past, they had much more depth and actual effort put into them with the gamer in mind. This has not been the case for over a decade and our connection to western developers has been whittled down to just being transactional. That is one of the reasons why you see so many remasters and remakes in today’s gamer community. They have lost their willingness to improve as developers of games and simply accept corporate/share holder rules.
Game journalists also do not have any real integrity or purpose outside of being funded for their involvement in promoting IPG (Identity Political Games) in a positive light to the public whether it’s positively received or not. They are not interested in what we have to say, they all support the same agenda and that is why they are a dying breed. Within the next couple of years, they will be out of the job and more than likely they will not be able to stay in the industry giving how they have responded to past articles that have clearly been scripted on the premise of diversity and racism. Not only that, but most of them are also extremely hostile to the community as they stereotype and defame the individuals that are a part of the community they are supposed to serve. We have been mentally liberated from their lies and coercive tactics as we tend to laugh at their obvious attempt at virtue signaling while hiding their misdoings so that they can play the victim.
My gamer brothers & sisters, I would not suggest the following action that we must take now without good cause. I have weighed our options and the best option for us now is this…...CULTURAL SECESSION. Naturally this is a form of segregation where they would more than likely claim they are being segregated by the dominant culture of the gaming community but that is incorrect. For years now we have been the ones who are often marginalized and ostracized for the smaller portion of our community. And when we aren’t, we’re exploited for more funds so that these companies can stay in business only to subject us to low quality products that coincide with the “WOKE Agenda” that are often huge expenses to these big brands i.e. AAA/AAAA games that will eventually flop for its obvious forced diversity and bug infested product which will undoubtedly piss off the consumer to the point of wanting a refund. Losing copious amounts of capital and stock in the process, not to mention their reputation is permanently marred.
We must separate on every cultural level in terms of entertainment and ideology. We must reject everything from the west that promotes toxic western beliefs, practices, and exclusion from other cultures (i.e. Southeastern Countries such as Japan and Korea). Japan & Korea have been the targets of unjust discrimination from Western Developers, Western Journalists, Western Localizers (The Wokelizers) and Western Society Prejudice regarding their sense of aesthetics as Westerners hate the aesthetic sense of these countries. The reason why they resort to such base tactics isn’t just because it weaponizes the ideal female form but it’s also because they have deep-seated insecurities about their own looks so when they see attractive female characters, they use terms such as “unrealistic” or “hypersexualized” to establish the moral high ground. But the truth is, they want to feel superior to that which is ideal, so they insult and dehumanize this figure that portrays natural female beauty because they see it as an insult to their own social superiority in what they believe is a hierarchy of them being at the top of all other women. Because of this and so many contributing factors, their movies flop harder than the Fat Chocobo landing on a group of enemies and their games seismically fail just as much if not more. We must sever our connection to Western Developers, Publishers, and ALL Western-Centric Entertainment for they seek to mentally enslave us to their Xenophobic ideology.
Let’s define Western Culture and its traits. Western Culture/Society is composed of more than several different ideologies that work in unison with one another to facilitate dominance over multiple aspects of society. Business, Social, Political, Technological, and sometimes even Global Affairs are affected by these ideologies that portray a specific mindset of Western beliefs. What are those ideologies you ask?

• Perpetual Victimhood: By weaponizing the fact that they are marginalized and of a small portion of western society, they can push their agenda to absurd standards that ultimately ostracize the main demographic. And when companies don’t capitulate, they are labeled as anti-progressive/misogynist’s or cohorts of White Supremacy. They use this to cancel their targets and silence them through societal defamation to keep the public on their side. They also use this mindset to justify their own lack of self-agency as they tend to throw companies who do adhere to their demands but miserably fail to turn a profit under the bus so that they can maintain face in front of the public while denying their actual involvement. They will never accept “Sense of Agency” when it’s negative but will gladly accept it when a positive outcome shines on them as if they are entitled to it.

Official Wiki GamerGate Page)
​

• Societal Terrorism: This is another form of ideology weaponization that they use in order to make companies “toe-the-line” with their agenda. By weaponizing cancel culture, they exert dominance over these companies but in exchange they also reimburse those companies with DEI & ESG funds that raise their credit score as well as having social status with the marginalized demographic. However; cancel culture has not succeeded in years and developers and publishers probably only want the money and the DEI ESG rating. But they have to maintain the image of having social economic power so that they can continue to strong-arm other developers into compliance and promoting financial benefits of DEI & ESG. In other words, if you are not for sale, they discredit and stigmatize you in the industry.

Asmongold Clips.
https://youtu.be/Iq86DnmX2xY
​

• “Its not us, its you who’s wrong” Mentality: This mentality is especially annoying as they tend to use it to hide their incompetence. They often look down upon gamers who are not in the industry to hide their obvious lack of knowledge on game development thinking that their job title grants them special status that they believe gives them the right to be condescending. But the truth they never wanted revealed has already strangled their careers of all credibility. They were never GAMERS, they were INVADERS. Community Colonists that seek to indoctrinate next generational gamers into their hive-mind and brand previous generations of gamers as villains.

@GeeksandGamers
https://youtu.be/1HbrTkqQFuM
​

• Double-standard Enforcement: By labeling something as “unrealistic” or “hypersexualized”, they can claim this is morally wrong if it promotes traditional dynamics between men and women. Heterosexual relationships are condemned while at the same time Same-sex relationships are praised. Additionally, heterosexual relationships with main white male characters turn antagonistic and spotlight stealing. This is deliberate as to promote the “Girl Boss” ideology to indoctrinate women into the Feminazi state of mind. While at the same time, should a male character also adopt the “I don’t need male/female” ideology its seen as Toxic Masculinity which isn’t even a real thing. The idea of a strong male character is taboo while enforcing strong female characters is the ideal.

@MugenLord
https://youtu.be/to5Uciy_yeg
@EndymionTv
https://youtu.be/7TPTR8-qmbk
​

• Dehumanization/Demonization: This is something that most military branches use in order to remove conscious inhibitions such as mass slaughter is wrong or categorization. By enforcing ideologies to denounce humanity in certain targets, it deactivates your conscience by saying this is not human therefore its ethically okay to treat this target without compassion and deny the fact it has sentience. We gamers fall under this category for journalists, developers, companies and society at large. This is a tactic we are familiar with to an extent as it implies that we are not normal when we do not do what everybody else is doing. “Geeks are the worse” or “Nerds need to fall into a pit of lava” are verbal dehumanization forms that most people in society say and we as Gamers tend to be relegated to those categories. This is their way of imposing the social hierarchy on us by establishing superiority. We know this as Gamers as we see it very often in the games that we play and some times experience it in real life.

https://rationalwiki.org/wiki/Gamergate#The_end_of_their_relevance
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• Deflection/Projection: This is basic psychology 101. By redirecting the conversation away from their mistakes and back on to the opposing view to avert blame and justify their innocence they can avoid criticism. However; deflection is a CONSCIOUS decision, meaning they have no real argument to justify their incompetence. If you can consciously process the situation, you have self-agency which means you don’t have a legitimate excuse. Projection is something else entirely. Most times, Projection doesn’t work on conscious decisions rather it is automatically deployed when feeling threatened, anxious or both. Instead of accepting accountability for feelings or actions that are deemed socially unacceptable they accuse others of committing that unacceptable behavior thereby exonerating themselves and proving that those feelings and/or actions are not their own.

@TheTrentReport
https://youtu.be/bPIPSKruYRo
These traits are so nefarious and unconscionable that I have a hard time believing that anyone could harbor them. However, given the social, political, and economic climate that we are in, those in power who use their influence on controlling society most definitely possess these insidious traits. Everything that they do is all about control and since video games are the biggest market in the world, they want control over it and the communities built around it to accrue more wealth and to use that wealth to subjugate other cultures. Mainstream media is a tool as well as mainstream organizations and sites to help accomplish this goal.
The government recently announced its intentions towards what they believe is “GamerGate 2.0” and now even the ADL has made an official appearance, referring to gamers as “extremist’s”. We know EXACTLY what they are doing, and they aren’t even trying to hide it anymore because they don’t think we are aware of their motives. This is just a pretext for them to exert even more control and we know why, it’s because they want the influence we as a community have to must serve them. So here is what we do my fellow gamers-
“In light of recent events and years of mainstream stigma, we the members of the Global Gaming Community [GGC] must officially renounce ALL TIES to the corporate western video game market. We have been financially exploited through predatorial monetization schemes, pelted with numerous articles of disdain and intentional misrepresentation from game journalists, news outlets regarding us as dangerous individuals and, even subjected to inferior products not only riddled with bugs but also products meant to push political agendas. For the preservation of our community and its unique culture, apart from a few select game development studios we officially sever all connections to western owned video game companies & their mainstream affiliates. From this point onward, we will no longer support western corporate developers, journalists and publishers that do not coincide with the goals of our community.”
Naturally this is completely optional. If you are okay with the state of the gaming community as it is, feel free to ignore this. But if you wish for real change and a break away from oversaturated monetization in the games you play and the push for radical ideological reform, then you are in the right place. Lets sever these rotted miasmic ties once and for all so that our community can be preserved and made better for future gamers. If you agree with this, share it with whoever you think might be interested. The more gamers who get involved, the easier it will be for us to finally break free from mainstream game companies and their associates.

I once fell asleep during Holy Mass as a child and slept through an entire hour - I felt stupid about it, but I found that as a child I could have felt tired and just fallen asleep.
However, for some time now I have fallen asleep several times while praying in church (several times when the church was practically empty and no Holy Mass was taking place, once during Holy Mass). I just closed my eyes and fell asleep, although not for long. I didn't control it. When I woke up, I felt like I had been sleeping for ages, although it was only a matter of a few or a dozen minutes. I really feel stupid about this. I don't want anyone to think I'm disrespecting God. I have no idea what to do or even how to apologize. I can apologize for falling asleep, but on the other hand, they were one of the most peaceful and calming moments of my life and I felt, paradoxically, a great peace afterwards.

This is just opinion so don't take it too seriously 🤙
"Blinding faith Blinding faith I am haunted By the spirit again I can't feel it (I pretend) There's something inside me that won't let it in (I'm alone)"
To be haunted by the spirit is to see the congregation around you convincingly displaying the presence of god in them. You try to pretend but can't feel it. That something inside that won't let it in is logic and reason. Which can make you feel lonely when no one around you feels the same.
"So I beg Beg for a chance in a circle of snakes A life consumed by faith From inside I can hear their call Offering the blood of God Fall in line now Bow your head I will suffer here instead of biting my tongue Condemned to a life of pain until my time has come"
You beg for the snakes (congregation) to accept and love you. They want you to come in to take the offering of blood (the blood of christ in communion ritual). You will bite your tongue just to have a sense of community.
"No promise of heaven will make me march With my final breath I deny the church The word becomes the law The word becomes the law Blinding faith Fall in line Blind"
You finally said screw this, I deny the church. The word (bible) is literally becoming man's law through political religious over reach. Everyone who legit believes is literally blinded to all the atrocities their religion fuels by the faith.

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

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.

Source: https://www.bungie.net/7/en/News/Article/twid-05-16-2024
This week in Destiny, we are a little over two weeks away from the launch of The Final Shape. From The Witness to the Dread to Prismatic to Exotic class items, and more, there are so many things to be excited about. And today, we have even more to share with you, including some system updates and reworks that will also happen at launch. So, without further ado, let’s get into it!
Topics for this week:

• Weapons tuning recap.
  
• Build your arsenal shorts.
  
• Enhanced perk updates.
  
• Memento changes.
  
• Reduced Fragment costs at Ikora in The Final Shape
  
• New boss profile for The Pantheon.
  
• Zero Hour Exotic mission is live.
  
• METORO webcomic feature.
  
• Destiny 2 Content Vault updates.
  

Weapons Tuning Recap

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Yesterday, we shared details about our plans for weapons tuning in The Final Shape. This includes a change to some weapon mod specs, weapon balancing, and perk updates. For more details, check out our Dev Insight: Weapons Tuning Preview blog.

Build Your Arsenal

As the excitement for The Final Shape is ramping up, we’re sharing a first look at some of the Exotic weapons and armor you can expect to see. Check them out and start cooking up those builds!

Microcosm Heavy Ammo Trace Rifle
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Khostov Auto Rifle
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Mataidoxia Warlock Exotic Chest Armor
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Gifted Conviction Hunter Exotic Chest Armor
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Hazardous Propulsion Titan Exotic Chest Armor
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Enhancement in The Final Shape

During the Lightfall year, players have gotten a taste of weapon enhancement with the raid Adept weapons from Root of Nightmares and Crota's End. In The Final Shape, you'll see that this system has undergone some upgrades, making enhancing your weapons easier and allowing us to comfortably expand this system to include more weapons. Here’s a quick recap on how weapon enhancement will work alongside some of the changes:

• Weapon enhancement allows the weapon to be upgraded to receive enhanced traits, a weapon level, and a memento socket. To upgrade your weapon, players can navigate to the inspection screen and insert the enhancement tier mod for standard currencies (raid Adept weapons will continue to use Spoils of Conquest).

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• Enhancement Tier 1:
  
  • Replaces your Masterwork and provides the weapon with an enhanced intrinsic that matches the stat of your old Masterwork.
  • Provides a weapon level, a date when you first enhanced the weapon, and a memento socket.
  • Raid Adepts only: Since these weapons have a base-crafted version, we want the Adept versions to feel like a meaningful upgrade. Therefore, these weapons can visit the Relic on Mars to adjust their first two columns (typically barrels/magazines) in a similar fashion to how crafted weapons can augment these perk columns.
• Enhancement Tier 2 (weapon level 11 requirement):
  
  • Once the player inserts this mod, the left column trait(s) will automatically be upgraded to their enhanced perks. If you have multiple perks, this will update all traits in the column. Players will not need to visit the Relic on Mars to update these traits anymore.
• Enhancement Tier 3 (weapon level 17 requirement):
  
  • Once the player applies this mod, the right column weapon trait perks will automatically be updated to be enhanced. Like the left column, this will upgrade all of the traits present and does not require visiting the Relic.

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We've heard the feedback that weapons should have more avenues to acquire enhanced traits. In The Final Shape, all new weapons will either be craftable or have access to weapon enhancement. In addition, weapons that remain active drops in the following activities will be eligible for enhancement:

• Vow of the Disciple raid Adepts
  
• Guardian Games
  
• King's Fall raid Adepts
  
• Gambit
  
• Competitive Crucible (all of them)
  
• Trials of Osiris
  
• Crucible
  
• Iron Banner
  
• Vanguard Ops
  
• Nightfalls
  
• Prophecy Dungeon
  

This will include older instances of these weapons, as long as they have an origin trait. Unfortunately, due to some technical constraints, there are a handful of weapons instances from before Season 17 that have origin traits and are active drops, but they will not be eligible for weapon enhancement. If a weapon is not actively dropping in these activities and playlists or it’s under the legacy focusing options, it will not be enhance-able when The Final Shape releases. If weapons are reissued and become a part of a playlist's active drops once again, we'll update older versions that have origin traits to enter weapon enhancement.

Mementos in The Final Shape

We've received a lot of feedback on weapon mementos, especially as new mementos have released in our seasonal events. In The Final Shape, we have a few changes coming that impact how you store mementos and apply them to your weapons.

• Crafted and enhanced weapons will no longer need to visit the Relic on Mars to apply mementos. Players can apply the memento of their choosing directly in the weapon inspection screen.
  
• Memento stack cap limits will be raised from 1 to 3.
  
• Mementos will no longer be stored alongside the player's consumables. When The Final Shape launches, your mementos under consumables will show as faded. Then, once the faded memento is dismantled, you'll see +1 memento added in the weapon inspection screen as a virtual currency. For players who figured out how to get around the original memento stack size limits, this will allow you to dismantle all those mementos safely, even if you temporarily go over the intended stack limit of three. If you are holding three (or more) of a particular memento, it will not drop again until you spend your mementos to be under the stack size limit of three.
  

Reduced Fragment Costs at Ikora In The Final Shape

Subclass Fragments purchasable from Ikora are expensive, particularly considering how many there are, especially for New Lights. In The Final Shape, we have reduced the cost of Fragments from 25000 Glimmer to 10000 Glimmer. Our goal here is to make these vital build-crafting elements more accessible for new and returning players.

The Pantheon Grows Stronger

Another week, and your task has become more difficult, Guardians. Rhulk, Disciple of the Witness, has joined The Pantheon, and we’ve gathered intel for your mission.
VANGUARD – GUARDIAN DISPATCH – ALL POINTS BULLETIN
DEFENDERS OF THE CITY,
You are tasked with the elimination of the following target:

-RHULK, DISCIPLE OF THE WITNESS-
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CLASSIFICATION

• The last-known Lubraean
  
• First Disciple of the Witness
  
• Other names: The Upender, Worm Father
  
• Dread
  
• Resonant
  

HAZARDS

• Darkness mastery
  
• Immeasurable strength and durability
  
• Powerful Lubrae’s Ruin Glaive
  
• Suns of Lubrae attack and debuff
  
• Savage Strike kick
  
• Umbral Suffocation attack
  
• Teleportation
  
• Resonant Spikes area effect
  
• Guardians rated Sigma-3 or lower are advised not to engage
  

INTEL

• Rhulk was born on the planet Lubrae, a world originally blessed by the Traveler that spiraled into an authoritarian regime when the Traveler left. Fueled by rage, Rhulk sought to destroy the regime, but his bloodlust led to being ostracized from his clan. Eventually, afraid of what he’d become, his clan attempted to kill him.
  
• Decrypted records from the Pyramid indicate that the Witness made contact with Rhulk during this time, restored him, and empowered him as the first Disciple. Rhulk took his vengeance on Lubrae, annihilating its parent star and destroying the planet.
  
• Vanguard power assessments place Rhulk far above any previous enemy faced by any Guardian. Battle scholars theorize the bold fireteam that stormed the sunken Pyramid only prevailed due to Rhulk’s humoring a fight to begin with. But prevail they did.
  

OF NOTE

• Hidden cipher-sequences buried in the symbols throughout have been decrypted by a pioneering Cryptarch, thanks to countless fireteams keeping the way clear. The solved sequence is believed to be astronomical coordinates to Lubrae. (Probe dispatched… awaiting arrival.)
  
• The creation of the Hive was majorly influenced by Rhulk. The first Disciple of the Witness subjugated the Worm mother, Xita, and forced her spawn into union with the Krill, which led to the Hive species and the Hive Gods themselves.
  
• Cryptarchs have uncovered communications between Rhulk and Savathûn in which Savathûn derides Rhulk’s simplicity as a tactician. According to the Witch Queen, the first Disciple only values strength, and his downfall will be his brute force approach to every situation.
  

Zero Hour Exotic Mission Is Live

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The Zero Hour Exotic mission is now live. If you haven’t jumped in yet, you can find it in the Into the Light node in the Director. Completing the mission in the required timeframe will earn you the Outbreak Perfected Exotic Pulse Rifle.
As we mentioned last week, we’re celebrating the release by asking you to share your favorite moments with TR3-VR. Post your favorite art, screenshots, videos, or memes — anything that shows your love for our favorite overly attached robot. Just use the hashtag #MyFriendTR3VR. We’ll be giving our favorites an Art or Movie of the Week emblem and sharing your creations in a future TWID.

METORO Webcomic Feature

Do you like cute webcomics? Of course you do! Check out these weekly panels from Japanese webcomic artist METORO that detail her first journey into Destiny 2! Remember what it was like the first time you got your hands on the Gjallarhorn? How about your first raid? Piecing together the story behind the Light and Darkness saga? Well, METORO has put her Destiny 2 adventures into art form. You can catch her original work over on TwitteX in Japanese or read it translated into English below:

METORO Discovers Destiny 2

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METORO Challenges Onslaught

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METORO Teaches a History Lesson

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METORO Runs Vault of Glass

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METORO Takes on The Pantheon

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Player Support Report

"I would die for Archie” did not mean I wanted him to actively be the death of me.
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Known Issues List Help Forums Bungie Help Twitter

DESTINY CONTENT VAULT UPDATES

With the start of Year 7 of Destiny 2, on June 4 certain items will be deprecated from player inventories that correspond with vaulted activities and seasonal campaigns. They will then be moved into the Destiny Content Vault.
We have updated the Destiny Content Vault article to reflect these changes and created a new article fully outlining Items Being Deprecated at the Start of Year 7 for players to reference.

PARENTAL CONTROLS

Parents, guardians, and other responsible adults are now able to adjust their child’s Destiny 2 settings.
To set up parental controls, both the child and their adult need a Bungie.net account, and we will need to verify that the person providing consent and setting controls is an adult. We have created a Parental Controls Help article with details explaining how to create an account and instructions on linking it to your child's.
We have also updated our privacy policy. Please visit Bungie.net to create or manage your account and set your preferences today.

KNOWN ISSUES

While we continue investigating various known issues, here is a list of the latest issues that were reported to us in our #Help Forum:

• Capturing a zone in the Collision PvP game mode while having full super energy will slightly reduce Super energy.
  
• Tormentors can push turrets away in Onslaught with their slam or grab attacks.
  
• The Zero Deaths Triumph only unlocks when completing Zero Hour on the Legend difficulty, which should unlock on both Normal and Legend difficulties.
  

For a full list of emergent issues in Destiny 2, players can review our Known Issues article.
If you observe other issues, please report them to our #Help forum.

Who’s The Fairest Of Them All?

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This is what happens when someone asks you to draw your favorite Ghost Shell. The classic 77-way first-place tie.
Cheeese Lord on TwitteX
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A Titan’s Sacrifice

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Why does it always seem to be Titans dying in spectacular fashion? Is it because they are the bravest class, charging into battle to protect others without worrying about their own well-being? Uh... yeah, we can just go with that.
Movie of the Week:
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That’s everything we have for this week. Hopefully you’ve been having fun on the new PvP maps. We know there is a lot to do in these final weeks before The Final Shape, but if you haven’t checked the PvP maps out yet, jump into the New Territory playlist to give them a try. Not only are they beautiful and fun, you can also earn the Slaycation emblem by checking them out.
We’ll be back next week with another TWID and more details to share on The Final Shape. In the meantime, be good to each other, and thanks for hanging out with us.
Destiny 2 Community Team