Just tried it out today, 3.23.1. Has anyone managed to complete it since ILW and 3.23 has dropped?
Endless and constant spawning of enemies, the turrets can't decide if my ship is hostile or not and fix themselves after a few min, the reloading glitches, and a disappearing hacking key. A 6 person team wasn't enough.
I was really hoping to finish it IOT get the MkII hornet upgrade before the event ends soon, but unless CIG fixes these bugs and keeps the event running (which I don't think they'll do both) I don't think it's possible right now.
If anyone has complete it since the new patch, how did you manage to do it?

Surviving Senior Psychopathy: Informant Reports of Deceit and Antisocial Behavior in Multiple Types of Relationships
Crossposting audience: Even less than narcissism research, there is a huge dearth of research on denial, the last and arguably most disturbing and long-lasting arm of genocide. Similarly, denial is employed by serial killers and is a type of extreme psychological violence that decouples the system of language's sensemaking from its actual sensebacking isomorphism to reality, while still parasiting sensemaking's credit until the lie's energy final dies, revealing the true devastating truth and the double violence to what truth means itself in the wake of the crime. Some lies last for disturbingly long amounts of time, however, in a reactive and aggressive insistence on sheer social power. This subreddit aims to study that disturbing psychosis at the heart of denial.
https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Donna-Andersen/publication/357633633_Surviving_Senior_Psychopathy_Informant_Reports_of_Deceit_and_Antisocial_Behavior_in_Multiple_Types_of_Relationships/links/61e88ba8dafcdb25fd39e1eb/Surviving-Senior-Psychopathy-Informant-Reports-of-Deceit-and-Antisocial-Behavior-in-Multiple-Types-of-Relationships.pdf
Ability to deceive without meaningfully realizing damages in empathy is predicted by ASPD
Antisocial personality disorder (ASPD) and its theoretical target construct, psychopathy (Sellbom & Boer, 2019), are related conditions in which affected individuals routinely violate social norms and standards and cause harm to others (Polaschek, 2015). Robert Hare, for instance, noted that, "Psychopaths are social predators who charm, manipulate, and ruthlessly plow their way through life, leaving a broad trail of broken hearts, shattered expectations, and empty wallets." (Hare, 1993, p. xi). The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition (DSM-5; American Psychiatric Association [APA, 2013]) summarizes antisocial personality disorder as a pervasive pattern of disregard for and violation of the rights of others, indicated by failure to conform to social norms, deceitfulness, impulsivity, irritability, recklessness, irresponsibility, and a lack of remorse
Specifically, the traits were callousness, aggression, manipulativeness, hostility, deceitfulness, narcissism, irresponsibility, recklessness, and impulsivity
AMPD-ASPD/Psychopathy. Respondents rated index individuals according to nine AMPD-ASPD criteria. Specifically, the traits were callousness, aggression, manipulativeness, hostility, deceitfulness, narcissism, irresponsibility, recklessness, and impulsivity. Although these criteria differ slightly from subsequent versions of the DSM-5 AMPD,
Unempathetic behavior including disappearing without explanation, switching love on and off, making promises out of manipulativeness with no intention to fulfill them, failing to acknowledge hurtful actions, repeatedly showing denial and evasion of them, and isolating the victim from support as well as being evasive or outright deceptive about their past
characteristics such as dishonesty, inconsistency, insincerity, or superficiality, as well as manipulative or unempathetic behavior. Such characteristics reflected the endorsement of items about the index individuals, including lying about their age, sexual orientation, marital status, or occupation; disappearing without explanation; switching love on and off; making promises that failed to materialize; being manipulative; focusing predominantly on sexual interactions; failing to acknowledge hurtful actions; isolating the respondent from other social support; and being evasive about their past.
Enjoying the creation of drama, taking credit for the work of others, and blaming others for wrongdoing was seen
This included blaming others for their own wrongdoing, taking credit for the work of others, manipulating others in the organization, causing turmoil among co-workers, causing co-workers to be reprimanded or terminated, bullying others, or engaging in sexual harassment in the workplace
Most victims of these types later developed anxiety or depression, if not PTSD. Stealing their money in clandestine ways was a constant.

1. For instance, respondents reported experiencing significant psychopathology due to their involvement with the individual, as 88% reported having become anxious or depressed, and 70% reported suffering from PTSD. They also reported losses in numerous material domains, including financial, as 68% of respondents reported that they had lost money as a result of their involvement with the individual. Of these respondents, 27% lost $5,000 USD or less, 14% lost $5,000 to $10,000, 20% lost $10,000 to $50,000, 13% lost $50,000 to $100,000, 18% $100,000 to $500,000, and a further 9% lost more than $500,000, per their reports.

It didn’t get better, but got worse, with age
. Of these respondents, less than 1% reported that the index individuals engaged in much less manipulation, deceit, and antisocial behavior; 5% reported they engaged in somewhat less of this behavior; 36% reported that they engaged in these behaviors to the same extent; and 57% of respondents reported that the index individual became worse after age 50. Thus, a total of 93% of respondents reported that the index individual’s behavior was just as bad or worse after age 50.
Openly being cruel was witnessed, leading to more and more prosocial repulsion. Constantly looking for the next person to con was witnessed.
. As he aged, he seemed to care less about hiding his behavior, and he seemed to openly enjoy being cruel. The 'fix' he got from being abusive became more important to him than the 'cover-up.'" Another respondent wrote about her mother, "Nothing ever changed. She exploits, lies, throws tantrums, rages, abandons, pouts, defames, threatens, and would still be physically violent if she had the physical strength." Another respondent wrote about her former romantic partner, "He's constantly looking out for the next person to con. It is his life.”
Increased cruelty and increased volatility were seen over the years, not less
. As shown in Table 6, 21% of respondents said they saw a total personality change—"the mask came off." Respondents also spontaneously mentioned behaviors that associated with ASPD, such as a lack of empathy, an increase in callous-type behaviors (e.g. abuse or cruelty), as well as an increase in lies and manipulation. Only 1% indicated that the relationship became less volatile.

PLAYBOY Interview With Conan O'Brien Interview by Kevin Cook For Playboy Magazine February 1998
A candid conversation with the preppie prince of "Late Night" about his rocky start, his show's secret one-day cancellation and how David Letterman saved the day.
He was polite. He was funny. He gave us a communicable disease.
At 34 Conan O'Brien is hotter than the fever he was running when we met in his private domain above the "Late Night" sound stage. A gangly freckle-faced ex-high school geek he is "one of TV's hottest properties" according to "People" magazine. The host of "Late Night With Conan O'Brien" has become his generation's king of comedy.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Congested too, but O'Brien has far more to worry about than his head cold. A perfectionist who broods over one bad minute in an otherwise perfect hour of TV, he worries he might be anhedonic, "I have trouble with success," he says, "I was raised to believe that if something good happens something bad is coming." Sure things look good now "Rolling Stone" calls "Late Night" "the hottest comedy show on TV." Ratings are better than ever, particularly among 18- to 34-year-olds, the viewers advertisers crave.
But O'Brien only works harder. Despite his illness he taped two shows in 26 hours on three hours' sleep. He smoothly interviewed Elton John then burst into coughing fits during commercials. Later in his crammed corner office overlooking Manhattan traffic Conan the Cool gulped Dayquil gel caps. He coughed spewing microbes.
"Sorry, sorry," he said. Of course O'Brien can't complain. He came seriously close to falling to being banished behind the scenes as just another failed talk show host.
At his first "Late Night" press conference he corrected a reporter who called him a relative unknown, "Sir I am a complete unknown," he said. That line got a laugh, but soon O'Brien looked doomed. His September 13, 1993 debut began with O'Brien in his dressing room preparing to hang himself only to be interrupted by the start of his show. Before long his career was hanging by a thread. Ratings were terrible. Critics hated the show. Tom Shales of "The Washington Post" called it as "lifeless and messy as roadkill." Shales said O'Brien should quit.
Network officials held urgent meetings discussing the Conan O'Brien debacle. Should they fire him? How should they explain their mistake?
In the end of course he turned it around. The network hung with him long enough for the ratings to improve and the host of the cooler-than-ever "Late Night" now defines comedy's cutting edge just as Letterman did ten years ago.
Even Shales loves "Late Night" these days. He calls O'Brien's turnaround "one of the most amazing transformations in television history."
O'Brien was born on April 18, 1963 in Brookline, Massachusetts. His father, a doctor, is a professor at Harvard Medical School. His mother, a lawyer, is a partner at an elite Boston Law firm. Conan, the third of six children became a lector at church and a misfit at school. Tall and goofy, bedeviled with acne, he tried to impress girls with jokes. That plan usually bombed, but O'Brien eventually found his niche at Harvard where he won the presidency of the "Harvard Lampoon" in 1983 and again in 1984 - the first two-time "Lampoon" president since humorist Robert Benchley held the honor 85 years ago.
After graduating magna cum laude with a double major in literature and American history he turned pro. Writing for HBO's "Not Necessarily The News." O'Brien was earning $100,000 a year before his 24th birthday. But writing was never enough.
He honed his performance skills with the Groundlings, a Los Angeles improv group. There he worked with his onetime girlfriend Lisa Kudrow, now starring on "Friends." But Conan was not such a standout. In 1988 he landed a job at "Saturday Night Live" - but as a writer, not as on-air talent. In almost four years on the show O'Brien made only fleeting appearances, usually as a crowd member or security guard. His writing was more memorable. He wrote (or co-wrote) Tom hanks' "Mr Short-Term Memory" skits as well as the "pump you up" infosatire of Hanz and Franz and the nude beach sketch in which Matthew Broderick and "SNL" members played nudists admiring one another's penises. With dozens of mentions of the word that hit was the most penis-heavy moment in TV history. It helped O'Brien win an Emmy for comedy writing.
In 1991 he quit "SNL" and moved on to "The Simpsons" where he worked for two years. His urge to perform came out in wall-bouncing antics in writers' meetings. "Conan makes you fall out of your chair" said "Simpsons" creator Matt Groening. O'Brien's yen to act out was so strong that he spurned Fox's reported seven-figure offer to continue as a writer. He was driving for the spotlight.
By then David Letterman had announced he was turning shin - leaving NBC taking his ton-rated act to CBS. Suddenly NBC was up a creek without a host. The network turned to Lorne Michaels, O'Brien's "Saturday Night Live" boss. Michaels enlisted Conan's help in the host search planning to use him in a behind-the-scenes job. But when Garry Shandling, Dana Carvey and almost every other star turned down the chore of following Letterman, Michaels finally listened to Conan's crazy suggestion, "Let me do it!" Michaels persuaded the network to entrust it's 12:30 slot which Letterman had turned into a gold mine to an untested wiseass from Harvard.
O'Brien was working on one of his last "Simpsons" episodes when he got the news. He turned "paler than usual," Groening recalled. The Conan moseyed back to where the other writers were working, "I'll come back with the Homer Simspon joke later. I have to go replace Letterman," he said.
NBC executives now get credit for their foresight during those dark days of 1993 and 1994. They snared the axe and now reap the multimillion-dollar spoils of that decision. In fact, the story is not so simple. We sent Contributing Editor Kevin Cook to unravel the tale of O'Brien's survival, which he tells here for the first time. Cook reports:
"His office is chock-full of significa. There's a three-foot plastic pickle the Letterman staff left behind in 1993 - perhaps to suggest what a predicament he was in. There's a copy of Jack Paar's 'I Kid You Not' and a coffee-table book called 'Saturday Night Live: The First 20 Years.' His bulletin board features letters from fans such as John Watters and Bob Dole and an 8" x 10" glossy of Andy Richter with the inscription: "To Conan - Your bitter jealousy warms my black heart. Love and Kisses Andy."
"Of course it's all for show. From the photos of kitch icons Adam West and Robert Stack to the framed Stan Laurel autograph, from the deathbed painting of Abraham Lincoln, to the ironic star taped to Conan's door - they're all clever signals that tell a visitor how to view the star. Lincoln was his collegiate preoccupation: stardom is his occupation. Somewhere between the two I hoped to find the real O'Brien.
"As a Playboy reader he wanted to give me a better-than-average interview. I wanted something more - a definitive look at the guy who may end up being the Johnny Carson of his generation."
"Here's hoping we succeeded. If not I carried his germs 3000 miles and infected dozens of Californians for no good reason.
O'Brien: Yes, this is how to do a Playboy Interview -- completely tanked on cold medicine. I'll pick it up and read, "Yes, I'm gay."
Playboy: We could talk another time. O'Brien: (coughing) No, it's OK. I memorized Dennis Rodman's answers. Can I use them?
Playboy: You sound really sick. Do you ever take a day off? O'Brien: No. The age of talk show hosts taking days off is over. Johnny Carson could go to Africa when he was the only game in town -- "See you in two weeks!" But nobody does that now. I will give you a million dollars on the first day Jay takes off for illness.
Playboy: Do you ever slow down and enjoy your success? O'Brien: If anything, the pace is picking up. Restaurateurs insist on giving me a table even if I'm only passing by, so I'm eating nine meals a night. Women stop me on the street and hand me their phone numbers.
Playboy: So you have groupies? O'Brien: Oh yes. And other fans. Drifters. Prisoners. Insomniacs. Cab Drivers, who must watch a lot of late night TV, seem to love me lately. They keep saying, "You will not pay, you will not pay, you make me happy!"
Playboy: How happy did your new contract make you? O'Brien: Terrified. The network said, "We're all set for five years." I said, "Shut up, shut up! I can't think that far ahead." Tonight, for instance, I do my jokes, then interview Elton John and Tim Meadows. We finished taping about 6:30. By 6:45 my memory was erased and my only thought was, Tomorrow: John Tesh. And I started to obsess about John Tesh. Sad, don't you think?
Playboy: Not too sad. You got off to a rocky start but now you're so hot that People magazine recently said, "that was then, this is wow." O'Brien: I try not to pay much attention. Since I ignored the critics who said I should shoot myself in the head with a German Luger, it would be cheating to tear out nice reviews now and rub them all over my body, giggling. Though I have thought about it.
Playboy: Tell us about your trademark gag. You interview a photo of Bill Clinton or some other celeb, and a pair of superimposed lips provide outrageous answers. O'Brien: We call it the Clutch Cargo bit, after that terrible old cartoon series. They saved money on animation by superimposing real lips on the cartoons. I wanted to do topical jokes in a cartoony way -- not just Conan doing quips at a desk. TV is visual; I want things to look funny. But we're not Saturday Night Live; we couldn't spend $100,000 on it. Hence, the cheap, cheesy lips, You'd be surprised how many people we fool.
Playboy: Viewers believe that's really the president yelling, "Yee-haw! Who's got a joint?" O'Brien: It's strange. You may know intellectually that Clinton doesn't talk like Foghorn Leghorn. Ninety-eight percent of your brain knows the president wouldn't say, "Whoa Conan get a load of that girl!" But there are a few brain cells that aren't sure. When Bob Dole was running for president we had him doing a past-life regression: "My cave, get away." And then back further, "Must form flippers to crawl on to rocky soil," he says. There may be people out there who believe that Bob Dole was the first amphibian.
Playboy: Do you ever go too far? O'Brien: The fun is in going too far. It's a nice device because you get Bill Clinton to do the nastiest Bill Clinton jokes. We'll have Clinton making fart noises while I say "Sir! Please!"
Playboy: Are you enjoying your job now, with your new success? O'Brien: Well, there are surprises. I hate surprises. Like most comics, I'm a control freak. But I am learning that the show works best when things are out of control. Tonight I ask Elton John if he likes being neighbors with Joan Collins. He says he isn't neighbors with Joan Collins. He lives next door to Tina Turner. So I panic -- huge mistake! But Elton saves the day. "Joan Collins, Tina Turner, it doesn't matter. Either way I could borrow a wig," he says. Huge laugh, all because I fucked up. Later he surprised me by blurting out that he's hung like a horse. The camera cuts to me shaking my head: That crazy Elton. What can I do? Of course, I'm delighted that he went too far.
Playboy: That "What can I do?" look resembles a classic take of Jack Benny's. O'Brien: There's an old saying in literature: "Good poets borrow; great poets steal." I think T.S. Eliot stole it from Ezra Pound. Comics steal, too. Constantly. When I watched Johnny Carson, I noticed that he got a few takes from Benny and Bob Hope. When a comedy writer told me how much Woody Allen had borrowed from Hope, I thought, What? They're nothing alike. Then I went back and watched Son of Paleface, and there's Hope, the nervous city guy backing up on his heels, wringing his hands and saying, "Sorry, I'll just be moving along." Now look at early Woody Allen. You see big authority figures and Woody nervously saying, "Look, I'll just be on my way." Of course Woody made it his own, but he must have watched and loved Bob Hope.
Playboy: Who are your role models? O'Brien: Carson. Woody Allen. SCTV. Peter Sellers. When Peter Sellers died I felt such a loss, thinking, There won't be anymore of that. There's some Steve Martin in my false bravado with female guests: "Why, hel-lo there!" And I won't deny having some Letterman in my bones.
Playboy: You were surprise as Letterman's successor. At first you seemed like the wrong choice. O'Brien: I didn't get ratings. That doesn't mean I didn't get laughs. Yes, I had a giant pompadour and I looked like a rockabilly freak. I was too excited, pushed too hard, and people said, "That guy isn't a polished performer." Fine! But it isn't my goal to be Joe Handsomehead cool, smooth talk show host. Late Night with Conan O'Brien is supposed to be a work in progress, and now that we've had some success there's a danger of our getting too polished and morphing into something smoothly professional. Which would suck.
Do you know why I wanted this show? Because Late Night with David Letterman played with the rules and it looked like fun. Here was a place where people did risky comedy every night for millions of people. We had to keep this thing alive. There should be a place on a big network where people are still messing around.
Playboy: How bad were your early days on the show? O'Brien: Bad. Dave left here under a cloud: his fans and the media were angry with NBC. Then NBC picks a guy with crazy hair and a weird name. And the world says, "Harvard? Those guys are assholes." I sincerely hope that the winter of December 1993, our first winter, was the worst time I will ever have. I'd go out to do the warm up and the back two rows of seats would be empty. That's hard to look at. I would tell a joke and then hear someone whisper, "Who's he? Where's Dave?"
Playboy: You had trouble getting guests. O'Brien: Bob Denver canceled on us. We shot a test show with Al Lewis of The Munsters. We did the clutch cargo thing with a photo of Herman Munster. Unfortunately, Fred Gwynne, who played Herman, had recently died, and Al Lewis kept pointing at the screen, saying, "You're dead! I was at your funeral!"
Playboy: For months you got worried notes from network executives. What did they say? O'Brien: They were worried. The fact that Lorne Michaels was involved bought me some time. But Lorne had turned to me at the start and said, "OK, Conan. What do you want to do?" Now television critics were after me and the network was starting to realize what a risk I was. Suggestions came fast and furious. I kept the note that said, "Why don't you just die?"
Playboy: Did they suggest ways to be funnier? O'Brien: They were more specific and tactical. The network gets very specific data. Say there was a drop in ratings between 12:44 and 12:48 when I was talking to Jon Bon Jovi. I'll be told, "Don't ever talk to him again" Or they'll want me to tease viewers into staying with us: "You should tease that -- say, 'We'll have nudity coming up next!'"
Playboy: You did come close to being cancelled. O'Brien: We were cancelled.
Playboy: Really? You have never admitted that. O'Brien: This is the first time I've talked about it. When I had been on for about a year, there was a meeting at the network. They decided to cancel my show. They said, "It's cancelled." Next day they realized they had nothing to put in the 12:30 slot, so we got a reprieve.
Playboy: Were you worried sick? O'Brien: I went into denial. I tried hard not to think, Yes, I'm bad on the air and my show has none of the things a TV show needs to survive. We had no ratings. No critics in our corner. Advertisers didn't like us. Affiliates wanted to drop us. Sometimes I'd meet a programming director from a local station where we had no rating at all. The guy would show me a printout with no number for Late Night's rating, just a hash mark or pound sign. I didn't dare think about that when I went out to do the show.
Playboy: Are you defending denial? O'Brien: How else does anyone get through a terrible experience? The odds were against me. Rationally, I didn't have much chance. Denial was my only friend. When I look back on the first year, it's like a scene from an old war movie: Ordinary guy gets thrown into combat, somehow beats impossible odds, staggers to safety. His buddy say, "You could have been killed!" The guy stops and thinks. "Could have been killed?" he says. His eyes cross and he faints.
Playboy: How did you dodge the bullet? O'Brien: There were people at NBC who stood up for me. I will always be indebted to Don Ohlmeyer, who stuck to his guns. Don said, "We chose this guy. We should stick with him unless we get a better plan." He was brutally honest. He came to me and said, "Give me about a 15 percent bump in the ratings and you'll stay on the air. If not, we're going to move on."
Playboy: Ohlmeyer started his career in the sports division. O'Brien: Exactly, his take was, "You're on our team." Of course, it wasn't exactly rational of Don to hope I'd be 15 percent funnier. It was like telling a farmer, "It better rain this week or we'll take your farm away."
Playboy: What did you say to Ohlmeyer? O'Brien: There wasn't time. I had to go out and do a monologue. But I will always be indebted to Don because he told me the truth. Wait a minute -- you have tricked me into talking lovingly about an NBC executive. Let me say that there were others who were beneath contempt -- executives who wouldn't know a good show if it swam up their asses and lit a campfire.
Playboy: Finally the ratings went your way. Hard work rewarded? O'Brien: Well, I also paid off the Nielsen people. That was $140,000 well spent.
Playboy: Ohlmeyer plus bribery saved you? O'Brien: There was something else. Just when everyone was kicking the crap out of the show, Letterman defended me.
Playboy: Letterman had signed off on NBC saying, "I don't really know Conan O'Brien, but I heard he killed someone." O'Brien: Then I pick up the paper and he's saying he thinks I am going to make it. "They do some interesting, innovative stuff over there," he says. "I think Conan will prevail." And then he came on as a guest. Remember, this was when we were at our nadir. There was no Machiavellian reason for David Letterman, who at the time was the biggest thing in show business, to be on my show.
Playboy: Why did he do it? O'Brien: I'm still not sure. Maybe out of a sense of honor. Fair play. And it woke me up. It made me think. Hey, we have a real fucking television show here.
Of six or seven pivotal points in my short history here, that was the first and maybe the biggest. I wouldn't be sitting here -- I probably wouldn't even exist today -- if he hadn't done our show.
Playboy: The Late Night wars were hardly noted for friendly gestures. O'Brien: How little you understand. Jay, Dave and I pal around all the time. We often ride a bicycle built for three up to the country. "Nice job with Fran Drescher!" "Thanks, pal. You weren't so bad with John Tesh." We sleep in triple-decker bunk beds and snore in unison like the Three Stooges.
Playboy: You talk more about Letterman than your NBC teammate Leno. O'Brien: I hate the "Leno or Letterman, who's better?" question. I can tell you that Jay has been great to me. He calls me occasionally.
Playboy: To say what? O'Brien: (Doing Leno's voice) "Hey, liked that bit you did last night." Or he'll say he saw we got a good rating. I call him at work, too. It can be a strange conversation because we're so different. Jay, for instance, really loves cars. He's got antique cars with kerosene lanterns, cars that run on peat moss. He'll be telling me about some classic car he has, made entirely of brass and leather, and I'll say, "Yeah, man, I got the Taurus with the vinyl." One thing we have in common is bad guests. There are certain actors, celebrities with nothing to say, who move through the talk show world wreaking havoc. They lay waste to Dave's town and Jay's town, then head my way.
Playboy: You must be getting some good guests. Your ratings have shown a marked improvement. O'Brien: Remember, when you're on at 12:30 the Nielsens are based on 80 people. My ratings drop if one person has a head cold and goes to bed early.
Playboy: Actually, you're seen by about 3 million people a night. Your ratings would be even higher if college dorms weren't excluded from the Nielsens. How many points does that cost you? O'Brien: I told you I'm an idiot. Now I have to do math too?
Playboy: Do you still get suggestions from NBC executives? O'Brien: Not as many. The number of notes you get is inversely proportional to your ratings.
Playboy: What keeps you motivated? O'Brien: Superstition. We have a stagehand, Bobby Bowman, who holds up the curtain when I run out for the monologue. He is the last person I see before the show starts, and I have to make him laugh before I go out. It started with mild jabs: "Bobby, you're drunk again." Bobby laughs, "Heehee."" Then it was, "Still having trouble with the wife, Bobby?" But after hundreds of shows, you find yourself running out of lines. It's gotten to where I do crass things at the last second. I'll put his hand on my ass and yell, "You fucking pervert!" Or drop to my knees and say, "Come on, Bobby, I'll give you a blow job!"
"Ha-ha. Conan, you're crazy," he says. But even that stuff wears off. Soon, I'll be making the writers work late to give me new jokes for Bobby.
Playboy: Did you plan to be a talk show host or did you fall into the job? O'Brien: I was an Irish Catholic kid from St. Ignatius parish in Brookline, outside of Boston. And that meant: Don't call attention to yourself. Don't ask for too much when the pie comes around. Don't get a girl pregnant and fuck up your life.
Playboy: Were you an alter boy? O'Brien: I wanted to be an alter boy, but the priest at St. Ignatius said, "No, no. You're good on your feet, kid," and made me a lector. A scripture reader at Mass. He was the one who spotted my talent.
Playboy: What did you think of sex in those days? O'Brien: I was sexually repressed. At 16 I still thought human reproduction was by mitosis.
Playboy: How did you get over your sexual repression? O'Brien: Who says I got over it? My leg has been jiggling this whole time.
Playboy: What were you like in high school? O'Brien: Like a crane galumphing down the hall. A crane with weird hair, bad skin and Clearasil. Big enough for basketball but lousy at it. My older brothers were better. I would compensate by running around the court doing comedy, saying, "Look out, this player has a drug addiction. He's incredibly egotistical."
I was an asshole at home, too. My little brother Justin loved playing cops and robbers, but I kept tying him up with bureaucratic bullshit. When he'd catch me, I'd say, "I get to call my lawyer." Then it was, "OK, Justin, we're at trial and you've been charged with illegal arrest. Fill out these forms in triplicate." Justin was eight; he hated all the lawsuits and countersuits. He just cried.
Playboy: Were you a class clown? O'Brien: Never. I was never someone who walked into a room full of strangers and started telling jokes. You had to get to know me before I could make you laugh. The same thing happened with Late Night. I needed to get the right rhythm with Andy and Max and the audience.
Playboy: So how did you finally learn about sex? O'Brien: My parents gave me a book, but it was useless. At the crucial moment, all it showed was a man and a woman with the bed covers pulled up to their chins. I tried to find out more from friends, but it didn't help. One childhood friend told me it was like parking a car in a garage. I kept worrying about poisonous fumes. What if the fumes build up? Should you shut off the engine?
Playboy: For all your talk about being repressed, you can be rowdy on the air. O'Brien: The show is my escape valve. When I tear off my shirt and gyrate my pelvis like Robert Plant, feigning orgasm into the microphone, that shows how repressed I am -- a guy who wants to push his sex at the lens but can only do it as a joke.
Playboy: Aren't you tempted to live it up? O'Brien: I always imagined that if I were a TV star I would live the way I pictured Johnny Carson living. Carousing, stepping out of a limo wearing a velvet ascot with a model on my arm. Now that I have the TV show, I drive up to Connecticut on the weekends and tool around in my car. I could probably join a free-sex cult, smoke crack between orgies and drive sports cars into swimming pools, and my Catholic guilt would still be there, throbbing like a toothache. Be careful. If something good happens, something bad is on the way.
Playboy: Yet you don't mind licking the supermodels. O'Brien: At one point a few of them lived in my building, women who are so beautiful they almost look weird, like aliens. To me, a woman who has a certain approachable amount of beauty becomes almost funny. It's the same with male supermodels. They look like big puppets. So while I admire their beauty I probably won't be "romantically linked" with a model. I'd catch my reflection in a ballroom mirror and break up laughing.
Playboy: The horny Roy Orbison growl you use on gorgeous guests sounds real enough -- O'Brien: Oh, I've been doing that shit since high school. It just never worked before.
Playboy: Your father is a doctor, your mother an attorney. What do they think of their son the comedian? O'Brien: My dad was the one who told me denial was a virtue. "Denial is how people get through horrible things," he said. He also cut out a newspaper article in which I said I was making money off something for which I should probably be treated. So true, he thought. But when I got an Emmy for helping write Saturday Night Live, my parents put it on the mantel next to the crucifix. Here's Jesus looking over, saying, "Wow, I saved mankind from sin, but I wish I had an Emmy."
Playboy: Ever been in therapy? O'Brien: Yes. I don't trust it. I have told therapists that I don't particularly want to feel good. "Repression and fear, that's my fuel." But the therapists said that I had nothing to worry about. "Don't worry Conan you will always be plenty fucked up."
Playboy: When a female guest comes out, how do you know whether to shake her hand or kiss her? Is that rehearsed O'Brien: No, and it's awkward. If you go to shake her hand and her head starts coming right at you, you have to change strategy fast. I have thought about using the show to make women kiss me, but that would probably creep out the people at home. I decided not to kiss Elton John.
Playboy: Do you get all fired up if Cindy Crawford or Rebecca Romijn does the show? O'Brien: I like making women laugh. Always have, ever since I discovered you can get girls' attention by acting like an ass. That's one of the joys of the show -- I'm working my eyebrows and going grrr and she's laughing, the audience is laughing. It's all a big put-on and I'm thinking. This is great. Here is a beautiful woman who has no choice but to put up with this shit.
But it's not always put on. Sometimes they flirt back. Sometimes there's a bit of chemistry. That happened with Jennifer Connelly of The Rocketeer.
Playboy: One guest, Jill Hennessy, took off her pants for you. Then you removed yours. Even Penn and Teller took off their pants. O'Brien: Something comes over me. It happened with Rebecca Romijn -- I was practically climbing her. Those are the times when Andy and the audience seem to disappear and it's just me and this lovely woman sitting there flirting. I keep expecting a waiter to say, "More wine, Monsieur?"
Playboy: Would you lick the wine bottle? O'Brien: It's true, there's a lot of licking on the show. I have licked guests. I have licked Andy. Comedy professionals will read this and say, "Great work, Conan. Impressive." But I have learned that if you lick a guest, people laugh. If I pick this shoe off the floor, examine it, Hmmm, and then lick it, people laugh. I learned this lesson on The Simpsons, where I was the writer who was forever trying to entertain the other writers. I still try desperately to make our writers laugh, which is probably a sign of sickness since they work for me now. Licking is one of those things that look funny.
Playboy: Johnny Carson never licked Ed McMahon. O'Brien: We are much more physical and more stupid than the old Tonight Show. Even in our offices before the show there's always some writer acting out a scene crashing his head through my door. A behind-the-scenes look at our show might frighten people.
Playboy: One night you showed a doctored photo of Craig T. Nelson having sex with Jerry Van Dyke. Did they complain about it? O'Brien: I haven't heard from them. Of course I'm blessed not to be a part of the celebrity pond. I have a television show in New York, an NBC outpost. I don't run with or even run into many Hollywood people.
Playboy: You also announced that Tori Spelling has a penis. O'Brien: I did not. Polly the Peacock said that.
Playboy: Another character you use to say the outrageous stuff. O'Brien: Polly is not popular with the network.
Playboy: You mock Fabio, too. O'Brien: If he sues me, it'll be the best thing that ever happened. A publicity bonanza: Courtroom sketches of Fabio with his man-boobs quivering, shaking his fist, and me shouting at him across the courtroom. I'm not afraid of Fabio. He knows where to find me. I'm saying it right here for the record: Fabio, let's get it on.
Playboy: Ever have a run-in with an angry celeb? O'Brien: I did a Kelsey Grammar joke a few years ago, something about his interesting lifestyle, then heard through the network that he was upset. He had appeared on my show and expected some support. At this point my intellect says, "Kelsey Grammar is a public figure. I was in the right." Then I saw him in an airport. Kelsey didn't see me at first: I could have kept walking. But there he was, eating a cruller in the airport lounge. I thought I should go over. I said hello and then said, "Kelsey, I'm sorry if I upset you." And he was glad. He looked relieved. He said, "Oh, that's OK." We both felt better.
....See my other post with the last third of the interview

Hi there, (tldr available)
I'm trying to implement some sort of version control for an existing FileMaker solution.
This should've been implemented four years ago, when it was created, but alas, all we have is the current version.
I find it extremely frustrating how FileMaker stores everything in a single file, but DDRs and "Save as XML" grant good-enough functionality for me to see the changes I make per commit
This is of course not perfect, I can't just "checkout" a commit, and revert my software to a point in history, but with diff tools, at least I can see what changes were made when, and which steps to take in order to revert them
First, I've made a Git repository and extracted the DDRs (HTML and XML) and XML-save to it. But since this is a large project, then DDRs turn out to be 10MB html ddr, 50MB xml ddr, and 86MB xml save
This is not ideal in Git, as it was not designed to handle large files. It works, but it's not recommended, and I'm sure that given enough commits it'd stuff the repository.
Nine years ago, GitHub introduced the Git-LFS (Large File Storage) extension, which allows storing the larger files in a different dedicated server, and pointing at them within the main repo.
This works ok, and allows the developer to clone the repository without cloning the entire large file history, instead only downloading the checked out version of it. This does slow down push and checkout, but overall works, and takes less space on the local clones.
But actually, Git-LFS is kind of horrible. Before using it, I had like 16 commits in my tree, not a whole lot, not something too bad, but in order to convert the repository to LFS, I needed to amend the very first commit and configure LFS there, as the existing large file history does not just disappear.
This meant I had to rebase my entire repo, so that the files are nowhere but in the lfs server. Unfortunately, this also means I will have to rebase again in the future if I ever abandon LFS. It's not a simple install/uninstall, as an extension should be.
I've been looking at alternatives, such as different Git extensions that might operate better, Mercurial which states to have better large file functionality, Plastic, Perforce - There's just so many, and I'm not sure which to try out.
TLDR; Are people here using version control systems for FileMaker? And if so, how, and what are you using?

My husband and I play D4 together pretty much every day, and he prefers to play as a barb. When he started his game today, after the patch was downloaded, the Aspect of Bul Kathos is gone. It was still on an item he had in his stash, but no longer in his codex. I suggested maybe something happened with the patch so he try salvaging an item with the aspect on it and see if it shows back up in the codex that way. No dice. Any idea wtf going on?

Session 0: https://www.reddit.com/DeltaGreenRPG/comments/1d0l92x/impossible_landscapes_session_0/
(Okay, these will be long. Five players, lmao. Hadn't quite accounted for that)
Operation ALICE, New York, 1995
The Roster (Player/Character)
Lea (she/her): Jules Gradkowska - Agent MIRANDA. Journalist - research and human intelligence.
Iain (he/him): Ralph Bevis - Agent MILHOUSE. Academic - history and occult specialist.
Quinn (he/him): Richard Delapore - Agent MAVERICK. FBI Special Agent - criminal and forensic expert and the official 'face' of the investigation.
Phil (he/him): Jean Duvall - Agent MAIN. US Navy Master Chief Petty Officer - operational security specialist.
Duncan (he/him): Jake Little - Agent MALATESTA. Civilian contractor - computer and electronic specialist with a side line in hacking.
Rob_sothoth (he/him) - Handler. The arbiter of the world: the good, the bad and that which cannot and should not be named.
Background: The Agents of M-Cell are tasked with investigating the apartment of Abigail Wright. Missing since June, Delta Green has reason to suspect para-natural involvement. Their orders are simple: catalogue the apartment and remove anything deemed suspect for destruction.
Despite heavy changes made, full spoiler warning for Impossible Landscapes.

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Session 1 "The Apartment" (May 24th, 2024)
New York: Tuesday, August 8th, 1995
1:45pm - 3:32pm, EST
Entering the lobby of the Macallistar building in Kips Bay, NYC, the Agents first make a sweep of Abigail's mailbox. Agent MARCUS (M-Cell Case Officer) provided them with a complete set of keys, not to be copied. The mailbox is stuffed full with bills, junk mail, catalogues and offers; mail still being delivered by people who have no idea Abigail is missing. MAVERICK gathers it in a bag and they make their way to Abigail's apartment (Ground floor).
The Macallistar echoes an earlier age. Faded purple carpeting and design from the turn of the century. Opposite Abigail's front door is an old-fashioned telephone nook, complete with bench and curtain for comfort and privacy when phone-lines in individual apartment was an expense few could afford.
M-Cell enters the apartment, finding it somewhere between a hoarder's dream and crime-scene technician's nightmare. The small hallway leads to a living-room (the apartment's largest space), an adjoining bedroom and a kitchen and bathroom opposite each other. Aside from the hallway, on first inspection the only other uncluttered space is the kitchen, which doesn't really look as if it's been used much. MAVERICK ear-marks that as something he wants to check himself as the team begin taking stock.
The NYPD has left a box with copies of their files, including a list of tenants they interviewed, many, many evidence collection bags and a box of latex gloves.
The apartment is filled with various items, with almost no floor visible beneath the collection. CDs and CD cases are stuck or glued to the wall, along with mannequin parts, sketches and assorted pieces that might be ceramic or plastic arranged in odd patterns without reason or rhyme. Stacks of phone books, stretches of dyed fabrics stitched together, an antique claw-footed lamp. Bags, bundles of pictures (drawings and photographs) of seeming nonsense. No furniture is immediately visible in the chaotic mess.
MAIN finds the same result in the bedroom as the first Search rolls are called for. Something catches his eye in the anarchy of the bedroom.
MALATESTA begins sorting through the pile of mail. MILHOUSE at first begins helping, but seeing the scale of the cataloguing, volunteers to make a coffee and food run. MIRANDA begins photographing, while MAVERICK gloves up and asks for things to be passed to him such as brushes, anything with a handle really or something more likely to have fingerprints on it. He wants to see if he can grab a set of Abigail's prints, if that's possible.
It doesn't take MALATESTA long to work out Abigail stopped paying her rent and bills in or around March before disappearing in June. Money was coming in up to a certain point, apparently from a showing Abigail had at the Mercury Gallery in Greenwich Village in November the previous year. There's even a letter from the gallery owner asking about another possible showing; from the way it's written, it might not have been the first time he spoke to Abigail before she vanished. Then, the only money coming in appears to be from her father, though she doesn't appear to have used it to cover the rent. He also gets the building management company, Art Life and their address.
As the Agents work, with MAIN carefully picking his way through the bedroom towards whatever caught his eye and MAVERICK uncovers a battery-powered hi-fi under all the trash, MILHOUSE returns from his coffee run and bumps into someone else entering the Macallistar at the same time he is. After an awkward hesitation on the threshold, MILHOUSE spends a little chatting to Lewis Post, one of Abigail's neighbours. MILHOUSE passes a HUMINT roll and I ruled that having spent most of his time in academics and his fellow PhDs, he can spot signs of some kind of social anxiety. I felt that was a fair get for a good success.
Lewis is hesitant but forthcoming as MILHOUSE works that high charisma score, knowing what to say to diffuse any potential tension. As far as Lewis knows, he is FBI of some kind after all.
MILHOUSE: "Did she ever mention a boyfriend? Girlfriend?"
Lewis: "Our relationship wasn't really like that. We had coffee sometimes. Talked about art. The process." He thinks. "She might have mentioned someone, but not a name, only what they did. A salesman, but I couldn't tell you what they sold."
MILHOUSE: "Talk about anything else?"
Lewis begins heading upstairs "She mentioned moving, but not before she was ready."
Back in the apartment, MAIN voices what others were thinking. "Where was she staying?" No bed, no signs of habitation except for the assorted hoard of crap. MAIN finds a hand grenade nestled in some papers and art supplies near the bedroom's walk-in closet.
In the living room, MAVERICK finds a single cassette tape in the uncovered hi-fi and flips it on, finding the batteries still live. Everyone hears MAVERICK's conversation with his significant other, Natalie from the previous evening. MAVERICK realises it's cut up and out of order, rewinds it and then flips it over. He thinks the entire conversation has been split between A & B sides of the tape.
MALATESTA and MAVERICK both consider phone-tapping, but MAIN, grenade temporarily forgotten, asks how it ended up here?
SAN check for MAVERICK. Pocketing the cassette tape, MAVERICK closes down a bit and prepares to go over the kitchen with a fine tooth comb; perhaps this is how he copes?
Before MAIN can mention the grenade he's worried about, MIRANDA, MALATESTA, MILHOUSE & MAVERICK notice something on the wall behind where the hi-fi was previously buried under junk. Fixed to the wall, maybe with some kind of glue is a piece of brown packing-paper with some kind of symbol drawn on it. Everyone focuses on it.

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3:41pm to 5:22pm, EST
MALATESTA: "That certainly looks like what we're supposed to be worried about."
MIRANDA snaps a polaroid. MILHOUSE tries to examine it, but his Occult check can only give him the vague thought it's connected to demonology, but little else beyond that. MAVERICK is cautious, but more concerned about getting to work on the unusually spotless kitchen.
Carefully, MIRANDA removes it and a blaring sounds like something between a horn blast and explosion almost deafens the Agents. It seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, from right next to them and outside at the same time.
Everyone passes a CONx5 check and the subsequent SAN check. Through the living room's window, MIRANDA, MILHOUSE and MAIN see a yellow-cab in the street outside. The cabbie appears to have leaned on the horn as someone crosses the street. They appear heavily dressed for summer, possibly homeless.
Is that a snake draped across their shoulders?
MIRANDA takes a polaroid while MILHOUSE and MAIN head outside to investigate. The picture reveals in sharp clarity, the cabbie staring down the barrel as she snapped the shot directly at her. MAVERICK gets to work in the kitchen and MALATESTA picks over things in the living room and bedroom respectively.
Search rolls for those in the apartment.
Outside, the cab has turned the corner and the pedestrian has carried on, though MAIN and MILHOUSE are able to work out where they went. MILHOUSE heads to cut off the other side of the alley, while MAIN approaches from behind, getting the pedestrian's attention. It's the height of summer in NYC, the air reeks of gasoline, rotting garbage and baking, soiled concrete and asphalt.
MAIN finds a nondescript, seemingly homeless man by the state of his clothes, but with a python draped over his shoulders. MAIN strikes up conversation, lighting a Gitane cigarette and pointing to the snake. From the other end of the alley, MILHOUSE makes his way towards the pair.
MAIN fails an alertness check.
Is this guy sweating? It's hot and he's bundled up like it's winter. Is he sweating? Why isn't he sweating?
Back in the apartment, MAVERICK tests the kitchen for blood and body fluids, breaking out the spray bottle and UV light. There's no cutlery, glassware or dishware anywhere in the room, but as he's lifting what could be a print, finds a mechanical diagram drawn on a napkin taped above the inside of an otherwise empty drawer. MALATESTA & MIRANDA continue their search of the living and bedroom, with MALATESTA finding a card printed with the following:
"For a good time Call D - 999-202-9989"
On the reverse are a series of what appear to be street corner addresses in Brooklyn. Could be a sex-line, could be a way to see Red Band underground film screenings, could be something online related. MALATESTA drifts between a few circles and he pockets it out of curiosity. When MIRANDA locates the grenade in the bedroom, she is careful to give it a wide berth and locates what MAIN missed: a backpack radio in the bedroom's walk-in closet. She calls MALATESTA over.
Back in the alleyway, MILHOUSE rolls under 10% and passes his disguise check. Dressed casually and a college athlete to boot, he fits the general chad look in his New York Knicks shirt despite his academic leanings. Being loud and obnoxious like he's drunk, he barrels into the homeless guy with the snake who stonewalled MAIN.
Instead he hits MAIN as the man with the snake is there and gone in the space between blinks. One moment MAIN is looking at him and then MILHOUSE knocks him flat on his ass. Like a film edit. Just gone. MAIN crit fails his SAN check and takes 4 SAN loss without projecting. Instead, as he scrambles up begins kicking over trash cans and searching the alley while MILHOUSE tries to calm him down and get a handle on things.
As MILHOUSE is talking MAIN out of tearing the alley apart, MIRANDA and MALATESTA check out the radio. As it comes to life, they listen and hear the following:
"Exeter. India. One. Thirteen. Sierra. Twenty. Twenty. Forty-nine."
MAVERICK meanwhile, finding the kitchen bare oddly finds the refrigerator stocked. There isn't much inside, some milk unopened and a pack of cheese and deli meat. Expiration is months ago, but through the plastic and glass of the bottle it looks fresh. Curious, he opens the milk and finds it smells as fresh as the day it was bought. Months ago.
Passes his SAN check. Given what he heard on the tape, it's not the strangest thing today.
MAIN and MILHOUSE detour to grab some more coffees, more to calm MAIN down and give him a (successful CHAx5 check) to flirt with the coffeeshop waitress. On their return, MAIN heads into the bedroom, pulls the pin on the grenade and activates the firing lever.
Nothing happens. His "hunch" was correct. Despite failing to properly identify it, something about the shape of it didn't match modern ordnance. Like the radio, it's vintage and either deactivated or else rendered inert by time and age.
I gave MAIN a SAN point back, because why not?
As things begin winding down, MILHOUSE and MAVERICK puzzle over the weird fridge, with MILHOUSE sacrificing his green tea and MAVERICK a donut to see how "fresh" they are come morning between the fridge and not.

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After 6pm, EST
Between them, M-Cell take the rest of the evening to take care of home-scenes or any unfinished business they can get done with their resources at hand. They also divide the Operational evidence from the Case evidence, with MIRANDA taking the symbol, MALATESTA the backpack radio & phone number, MAVERICK the cassette tape (for obvious reasons) and MAIN the mechanical sketch on the napkin.
MIRANDA and MILHOUSE, using the former's academic credentials both stay on the case, with MIRANDA leaving her photos from the park to develop in her bathroom. While she fails her roll, she does help MILHOUSE identify the demon the symbol refers to and book-related lead. She hits up a criminal contact named Hugo to put out feelers for weird items she may be interested in. He agrees for a fee, which she negotiates in her favour.
Returning to her apartment, MIRANDA finds her photos of the dancing clown and watching crowd have developed. In every photograph, the clown is turned away from her, but the faces in the crowd are looking at her. That's not how she remembers it. Fails a SAN check. Projects on to her editor, knowing she's going to be taking a "personal day" tomorrow, and this after she agreed to go to the grill.
This will have consequences.
MAIN, unnerved by the day's events, not the least of which was being knocked on his ass by a fitter, younger man, heads out. He returns to the coffeeshop he and MILHOUSE visited and takes the waitress he hit on out on a date. After a romantic interlude, MAIN has a new bond. Her name's Marsha, she's 27 and very nice.
Breaking Operational Security, MAVERICK asks MALATESTA to come back to his apartment and check for possible surveillance. Despite suffering comparatively little SAN loss overall, MAVERICK is letting the day's events impact his behaviour.
It's trivially easy for MALATESTA to confirm there are no bugs in place, which really does narrow the options for how the conversation could have been recorded. Thankful, he asks MALATESTA to keep this to himself for now, to which the grunge-kid agrees. MAVERICK drops MALATESTA near his home and leaves, putting the tape in the player of his car as he pulls away.
MALATESTA lives near the Village and diverts to check out the Mercury Gallery. Though closed, it seems legit and he makes a note of it for later. Back at home, he breaks open the backpack radio and examines it. The battery is not connected to the radio itself, the wires having been stripped out, yet he and MIRANDA both heard a voice on the end of its phone-mic. He passes his SAN check and finds in place of one of the transistors a small, black stone which does not feel like stone at all and feels like it's body temperature. MALATESTA leaves it on his desk, covered in a cloth.
Alone in his apartment, MAVERICK watches his phone. The time comes and he does not call Natalie. A moment later, his phone rings.
Alone in the apartment, MAVERICK does not answer.

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Post-Mortem
We ended up playing for a touch longer than I intended, but I knew that would happen by the time the cab sounded its horn. Despite some tiredness and some drinking, we ended up with a really strong session in retrospect, which has set the overall tone of the campaign for me as GM going forward. Between the five players, two have been through one Delta Green campaign, one has experience with Pulp Cthulhu and two have varying levels of exposure. They all roleplayed the f##k out of their characters and while I was worried about just how weird I wanted things to get out the gate, it feels like the balance is correct and I've given enough avenues for further investigation they may want to pursue.
I got a far better sense, as did the players, as to what drives and motivates their characters and how they cope or don't cope with Delta Green work.
MILHOUSE is definitely setting himself up as the curious academic, Iain playing his interest as forever drawn towards what's there "to discover," he said in character. Perhaps a fool and his sanity are easily parted?
MAVERICK is the "all-American", Agent Cooper adjacent FBI Agent who butts up against the para-natural and is seemingly rocked by it, revealing a complicated and perhaps conflicted depth. In his previous operation with MIRANDA, MAVERICK killed one person, but something about this has gotten under his skin. I wonder what Natalie thinks about their missed call?
A hacker by trade, MALATESTA likes a puzzle as much as he does not like the "weird shit." He talks a good talk when it's about something he knows, but is much too shy to chat up his co-worker. He and MAVERICK had some friction in Session 0 when MAVERICK wanted to call him Mal, to which the younger man pushed back against. Yet, he now knows where MAVERICK lives. Maybe he can learn more? What will he do with that? Does he even want to?
As much as MILHOUSE, MIRANDA is likewise driven by curiosity and a need to know, but first and foremost to keep herself safe. She and him are not the same. There's a scar above her hip from a knife, and it still twinges from time to time. She's also the first to directly or indirectly involve a Bond in the investigation. I wonder what Hugo will or won't find? I wonder what those photos mean. MIRANDA wondered aloud whether the crowd or the clown was the "entity." What does that mean?
Despite being built like Jack Reacher (albeit in a sailor suit), MAIN projects a tough air but is clearly a man at the crossroads. He turns 40 before 1995 ends; middle age. When hit with a problem or something he can't otherwise work out, his behaviour swings from one extreme to the other. To date, he's coped with the case by: lashing out at trash cans in an alley. Chatting up a waitress and forming a romantic bond with her. Pulling the pin on a grenade he "thought" could be fake. It's day one. I'm here for it.
Our next session is scheduled for June 7th, 2024.
Until then, be seeing you.

AEW Collision, Mar 1, 2025:
Kurt Angle's TNT Championship Open Challenge
[Kurt Angle decides that to celebrate his Title win, he will be giving one unlucky soul a chance to be battered, broken, and rendered unable to keep competing. Whoever accepts this challenge is in store for a career ending slaughter, where Doc Samson will force them to retire.
Kurt waits in intense arrogance before a series of tranquil chords hit in quick succession, a sinister appetizer for what's to come, the words KATSUYORI SHIBATA fill the screen, and The Wrestler himself stomps to the ring.
Shibata - Angle, face to face.
Commentary is keen to mention Shibata is one person who definitely wouldn't feel any fear in the face of a threat like that.
"Katsuyori Shibata, well this is better than I imagined it would be. Now I get to finish what God couldn't and retire you for good."
And with those words, a declaration of war has been written and signed.
Shibata is able to match Angle for grappling early, keeping Kurt guessing with a series of holds. He gets hold of Kurt's arm at one point and is able to do some fair damage with an armbar. Kurt gets frustrated with Shibata who smiles at Kurt after avoiding his umpteenth submission attempt.
Angle slaps Shibata across the face, Shibata's head goes down, his eyes go cold. He throws a boot that rocks Angle in the face, Kurt goes to the corner where Shibata meets him with repeated forearms to the mouth. Shibata runs to the opposite corner, Angle meets him there with a charging shoulder thrust to the ribs.
Angle to the opposite corner, Shibata meets him with a pump kick, Shibata to the opposite corner, Angle charges in for a rolling axe kick, Shibata moves, Angle hits the turnbuckles, Angle upside down in the corner, Shibata to the other side of the ring, Katsuyori takes a moment to compose himself, focusing his energy before charging in for a corner dropkick crushing Angle into the turnbuckles.
Shibata pulls Angle up and gets a stiff forearm, Angle returns but his dominant arm is weak from the early attack by Shibata. The two begin to trade forearms, Shibata always seeming to strike quite a bit harder.
Angle gets a flurry of right and left forearms backing Shibata up, Angle runs the ropes and Shibata gets a spin kick to the midsection before kicking at the back of Angle's knee. Shibata begins to target the not fully healed knee of Kurt now, locking figure fours and bow and arrow submissions.
Angle is reeling on the ropes after the onslaught, Shibata runs the ropes and looks for a big boot to send Angle out, Angle catches the leg, hooks around the neck and suplexes Shibata to the floor. Angle dives off the apron crushing Shibata at ringside before hitting a belly to belly suplex into the barricade.
Angle shoves Shibata back in and attempts a Moonsault, Katsuyori avoids and Angle backs into the corner where Shibata gets a big boot. He grabs Angle by the back of his neck, sprinting to the opposite side of the ring and connecting with another big boot once he plants Angle there.
He grips Angle by the back of his neck and gets sixteen forearms to the ear and jaw area, he gets a running start to the other corner before circling back with another corner dropkick.
Angle rolls to the apron to create distance and Shibata follows him there. A flurry of forearms connect yet again before Shibata backs up and gets a running dropkick to the downed Angle against the steel post!
Shibata sends Kurt back in and gets a two count, Angle pulls himself up on the ropes and Shibata looks for a German, Angle grips onto the ropes for dear life, Shibata lands a straight axe kick to the targeted arm and Angle recoils, Shibata runs the ropes and Kurt gets a rolling axe kick. Angle looks into the camera, beads of sweat running down, a frenzied look in the face, black mouth-piece in.
He grabs Shibata up and gets a big belly to belly, he's on all fours at this point, stalking, waiting for his next opening. German Suplex, yet again, completes the trio by throwing Shibata onto his head. Shibata clutches at his neck, but Kurt won't stop. Fallaway Slam by Angle, bodyslam by Angle. Kurt climbs and lands a moonsault to the upper body and face of Shibata, crushing his skull against the canvas.
Shibata is able to answer the count, so Angle stalks a dazed Shibata. Angle Slam, Katsuyori on his feet, STO by Shibata. As Angle recovers from the STO, Shibata is able to get some breathing room from the series of throws he took. Both men get to their knees, head to head, eye to eye. They begin exchanging forearms once more, but this time Angle has a more even playing field due to the headache beginning to start for Shibata.
Angle begins mixing in uppercuts with his forearms, Shibata catches him on one of these with a backslide, Angle kicks out and Shibata greets him with a chop across the neck, spinning backfist, a trio of forearms. Angle stops reacting, and stares up at Shibata, he lets out a shout and Shibata goes for a fourth forearm. Angle ducks and pushes Shibata into the corner before dragging him out with a Rolling German Suplex planting Shibata on his head.
Shibata on his hands and knees, trying to catch his bearings and make sense of the fog in his vision. Kurt climbs and gets a picture perfect moonsault to the kneeling Shibata. Katsuyori barely gets the shoulder up, Angle stares in disbelief at the ref, leaving himself still pinned over Shibata.
Shibata latches onto the arm getting a Kimura applied on the wounded Angle. Angle writhes until he finally grasps the bottom rope to force separation. Shibata drags Angle into the center of the ring. He tees off on the shoulder blade with kicks, he slaps Angle in the back of the skull sending a cloud of perspiration flying.
Shibata calmly crosses his legs, sitting down across from the crawling Angle. Angle gets to his knees, the two begin chopping each other in the face. Shibata gets a knife edge chop to the ear of Angle, and Kurt gets enraged. He stands up and begins another forearm exchange with Shibata. Angle wins this time backing Shibata into the corner, repeated shoulder thrusts to the ribs follow, Shibata taking a seat.
Angle with a corner running dropkick of his own! Angle goes for it again, Shibata rises and looks for a pump kick, Angle catches him, hugs Shibata in and gets a fallaway belly to belly. Angle beckons Katsuyori up and runs the ropes, Shibata stops him with a leg lariat.
Angle crawls into the corner and Shibata starts repeatedly stepping on his head. Angle tries to crawl out of the ring, but gets paintbrushed with the boot of Shibata. He drowns Angle with scrapes of his boot, stomps and kicks. The referee eventually backs up Shibata.
Shibata brings Angle out of the corner with a snapmare takedown followed by a soccer kick to the spine. He runs the ropes for a penalty kick, which Kurt catches and turns into an Ankle Lock, with the leg trapped he pulls Shibata into a German Suplex.
Shibata on his hands and knees, Angle begins a waistlock and tries to bear hug Shibata on the canvas, Shibata crosses his legs in this position. Angle rolls Shibata, but he lands crossed legged again. This continues until Angle gets frustrated, Shibata begins elbowing Angle in the side of the face and Kurt releases his grip. He runs the ropes and Shibata gets him with a big boot followed by a German Suplex of his own.
Angle pops up and Shibata turns around into a rolling axe kick, Shibata doesn't fall, pump kick by Shibata. Shibata from the corner to a stunned Angle, big boot, Angle avoids, German Suplex by Kurt. He maintains waist control and pulls Shibata up, Shibata begins elbowing Angle to force release. Angle grips the wrist to prevent Shibata from creating distance.
Shibata kicks him in his bad arm, and Angle lets go. He oblique kicks him in his knee before kicking away at the head of Angle. Angle desperately headbutts Shibata in the chest, igniting something in Katsuyori. Shibata turns around, takes a deep breath, turns to Angle and refuses to do what he desperately wants to, thinking of his health.
He forearms Angle down to the mat and gets an octopus hold applied, Angle scrambles to the ropes, fighting out. Penalty Kick by Shibata. Angle kicks out and Shibata locks a sleeper. A focused trance look on the face of Katsuyori as he strangles Angle.
Kurt grips the ropes to force the break, Shibata clubs the arms away, grips back on, sleeper suplex. Shibata with a spinning backfist, Angle catches the wrist, he grips the other wrist, backslide, Shibata rolls through, clothesline by Angle, ducked, Shibata ties him up in position. He spins Angle out, he readies his hand, he connects.
BitchMaker to Angle.
Kurt collapses and Shibata takes his time to catch his breath and focus up, all that focus goes into repeated, poised strikes to the shoulder, underarm and elbow of the damaged Angle. Angle grips onto the wrist to try and drag his way up, Shibata kicks his grip away. Shibata goes to run the ropes, but Angle grips onto the wrist again, avoids a clothesline attempt, traps both arms. Straight-Jacket Suplex on Shibata.
All of the weight coming down on his head and neck. Angle pulls up Shibata, German Suplex #1, Shibata begins elbowing Angle in the ear, German Suplex #2, Shibata still driving his elbow into the ear of Angle, Release German Suplex. Shibata lays motionless, blood begins trickling out of the ear of Angle, physical evidence of the desperation Shibata felt.
Angle brushes off the doctor's attempts to check on him, Kurt with an Angle Slam, but Shibata digging into the wound on the ear, Angle loses his balance, Shibata on his feet. Shibata hooks on from behind, trapping Angle's arm.
するか死ぬか
He spins Angle out, rainmaker style and closes the gap with a sickening headbutt to Kurt. Kurt collapses, but so does Shibata. He lays exhausted, head throbbing. Finally after over a minute, he musters the strength to crawl to the cover.
One, Two, Kurt kicks out. Kurt rises before Shibata who is kneeling, clutching his head. Angle pulls him up for a German, but Shibata refuses to go, clutching the back of his head and shaking his head. It's not an act of defiance or resilience, this is a man trying to stay alive.
Angle, despite having animalistic tendencies, has respect for Shibata after tonight and he shows mercy. He sends Shibata into the ropes chest first and when Katsuyori rebounds, he's caught with an Angle Slam. A cover by Kurt over the defenseless Shibata leads to one simple phrase, but one that intensifies the fullness in Shibata's head.
'And Still.']
Kurt Angle (c) def Katsuyori Shibata to retain the TNT Championship
AEW Big Business Dynamite, Mar 19, 2025:
Kota Ibushi vs Kurt Angle (c), TNT Championship
[Shortly after defeating Shibata in the hardest hitting match of Angle's career, he begins to lash out at the company that gave him his first big break. New Japan.
He states that he can work circles around any NJPW darling that think they're special because they had a few flashy matches in a company nobody watches.
This summons Kota Ibushi, vignettes have been airing teasing his return, but he finally appears coming face to face with Angle. The following week is Big Business and the bout is on.
Ibushi's fluid striking is able to pause Angle, Kurt attempts to make up for the strike deficit with suplexes, but Kota is incredibly spry and able to land safely on most everything Angle throws at him.
Ibushi with a series of strikes ending in a roundhouse, Angle ducks, German Suplex, Ibushi lands on his feet. Dropkick by Kota sends Kurt to the floor. Ibushi with a Triangle Moonsault to ringside, leveling Kurt.
Ibushi sends Kurt back in and goes for a Last Ride, Angle escapes and lands a German Suplex to Ibushi. Kurt begins to climb the turnbuckles, but Ibushi gets up and powerbombs Kurt from the middle turnbuckle, Angle kicks out, and Ibushi flips him onto his knees for a Kamigoye!
Angle catches the knee, and gets an Ankle Lock applied. Ibushi rolls free and sends Angle into the corner. Knee blast in the corner by Kota. He runs the ropes and Angle catches him with a belly to belly over the top rope.
Kurt climbs for a Moonsault to ringside, Ibushi avoids. Ibushi charges into the ring, Triangle Moon- Angle leaps onto the apron and German Suplexes Kota on to the apron, Ibushi's neck bouncing as he cadcades to the floor.
Angle quickly gets Kota back in, and attacks the ankle, Kota struggles, half conscious. He finally makes it to the ropes and is able to get back to his feet. He unloads with palm strikes and a slap to the face of Angle. Kurt looks for a clothesline, Kota ducks and gets a Pele Kick.
Ibushi pulls Kurt up for a Phoenix-Plex, Angle lands on his feet, not allowing Kota to drive his neck into the canvas. Angle Slam connects, and with that, Kurt has vanquished another NJPW legend.]
Kurt Angle (c) def Kota Ibushi to retain the TNT Championship
[Kurt grabs a microphone and begins berating Ibushi. He says this proves it, all those New Japan darlings that these marks worship, they're old, they're broken down, and they are no match for a Wrestling Machine.
Angle looks to target Ibushi again, getting a chair in hand, when all of a sudden Battle Cry hits. Kenny Omega storms the ring, avoiding a chair shot before hitting a V-Trigger sending the chair into Angle's face. Kurt retreats as Omega helps Ibushi up and Kurt's next challenge becomes increasingly clear, arguably the greatest NJPW wrestler of all time, Kenny Omega.]
AEW Dynasty, Apr 12, 2025:
Kenny Omega vs Kurt Angle (c), TNT Championship
[In the weeks leading up to Dynasty, we get some good build for this match including Angle and Hobbs vs Golden Lovers in which Omega pinned Hobbs for his team, as well as a segment in which Kenny and Kurt come face to face.
Kenny in full Terminator gear, he tells Kurt that he's been a big fish in a small pond until now, and that he should be careful not to forget who the original wrestling machine is.
When it comes bell time, Angle quickly recognizes Omega as the most pure athlete he's faced to date. The speed, the intensity, the pressure. Omega brings all of it in his first title match since returning late last year to combat The New Elite.
Kenny comes charging for a corner clothesline, but is caught by Angle who looks for a T-Bone Suplex into the turnbuckles, Omega with a DDT reversal. Angle rolls out and Omega begins drumming up the Terminator rhythm. Tope Con Hilo clears Angle at ringside.
Omega goes to send Kurt back in, but stops on the apron, joining Kurt there. The margin for error is thin as Omega locks the arms and gets a Snap Dragon Suplex across the thinly padded steel.
Kurt's neck issues start to become apparent here as he clutches at it. Omega goes to Irish Whip Angle into the barricade, but the momentum is reversed and Kenny is sent rocketing towards it. He promptly hops onto it and executes a Moonsault from the barricade.
Angle catches him and delivers him into the steel post, face first. Kurt proceeds to climb to the middle turnbuckle and hit a Moonsault to the downed Omega at ringside. Angle sends Kenny back in and begins his repeated German Suplexes, on the third, Omega lands on his feet and boots Angle into the turnbuckles harshly, Kurt exploding against the corner.
Kenny gets Kurt up now for One Winged Angel, Kurt rolls forward into a pinfall, Kenny kicks out and Kurt comes in with a standing 450 knee drop across the surgically repaired abdomen of Omega. Kurt now focuses up and goes after the leg, applying an Ankle Lock. Omega kicks free and slips behind Angle for a Kotaro Krusher.
Angle kicks out and Omega is left gripping his ribs as he pulls Angle up. He gets Angle on his shoulders, wincing as he does so. Rolling driver followed by a Springboard Moonsault on Angle. Kenny holds his midsection before getting Kurt up in OWA position once more.
Kurt struggles so Omega shifts him to a German Suplex, but Angle rolls into a pinfall. Omega kicks out, however, and Kurt is hot on his trail. A crossbody by Kurt takes both men to the outside.
Kurt pulls Kenny up for an Angle Slam against the steel post. Omega writhes in pain as Angle lets out a dominant cry. Kurt sets Kenny up top, but Omega fights back with wristbone strikes, sending Angle to the canvas. Kurt fires up, springing to the top turnbuckle for an Avalanche Belly To Belly, he follows through, but Omega lands on his feet!
Angle didn't see it and gets up to gloat, believing the cheers are for him. Omega gets a frenzied look in the eyes and scales to the top rope. Missile Dropkick to the back of Angle's skull.
Angel crawls to the ropes, drool leaking from his lax jaw. Omega runs the ropes for a V-Trigger against the ropes. He then exits the ring breaking out a steel chair, the ref attempts to stop him but Omega brushes him off. He opens it and sets it in the center of the ring.
Step-Stool V-Trigger! Omega covers for a near fall, and goes into the corner, talking to himself and trying to figure out how to put Angle down. Kurt recovers and tries to charge in, Omega rolls off the back and attempts a rana as Kurt comes over. Kurt with an abrupt sit-out powerbomb reversal before shoving Omega out of the ring.
Angle from the apron with a Somersault Plancha. Kurt sends Omega back in and tries for the Angle Slam, Omega with an arm drag reversal before sliding behind Kurt for a Snap Dragon into the turnbuckles. Omega runs into the opposite corner and closes in with a V-Trigger against the turnbuckles.
He pulls Angle up out of the corner and sticks a Poisonrana. Angle is able to barely survive the count. Omega in disbelief takes Angle to the top, he's thinking Avalanche OWA. Angle scrambles out and lands an Avalanche Angle Slam!
Omega somehow kicks out, and Kurt is beside himself. He goes to the top rope, a rare Frog-Splash from Angle, Omega moves, Kurt kisses the mat. V-Trigger to the back of the head, Omega pulls Kurt up, One Winged Angel connects.
Omega has ended the TNT Title reign of Kurt Angle, avenged the good name of NJPW and become a Grand Slam Champion in AEW.]
Kenny Omega def Kurt Angle (c) to win the TNT Championship
Kurt disappears for a while after this, but when vignettes begin airing detailing Angle's journey back, he's spotted being coached by one man in particular. One of the greatest technical wrestlers of all time, in Dean Malenko.
AEW Double Or Nothing, May 24, 2025:
Kurt Angle w/ Dean Malenko vs PAC
[Angle's first match back takes place two weeks prior to this one when he and Hobbs take on The Lucha Brothers. A victory for Angle and Hobbs isn't enough as Kurt attacks Fénix after the bell, refusing to release the Ankle Lock. Malenko eggs him on, telling him to break Fénix's leg.
This brings out PAC, who comes to the rescue of his long time friend and stablemate. He gets in Angle's face and shows no intimidation as he backs Kurt up. With Double Or Nothing around the corner, Angle believes PAC will make for an excellent first victim on his way to the top of the food chain.
Angle focuses more on his submission work under the advice of Malenko, he targets the legs making it hard for PAC to execute his aerial maneuvers. PAC is able to trap Angle in the Rings Of Saturn late, but Angle finds his way out, and gets a grip on the ankle. Moments later, PAC is tapping out.]
Kurt Angle def PAC
AEW Fight For The Fallen, Jun 28, 2025
Kurt Angle w/ Dean Malenko vs Will Ospreay (c), AEW World Heavyweight Championship
[Following his dominant victory over PAC, Angle sets his sights on the top of the mountain and the man standing at the peak of it. Ospreay has become unanimously agreed upon as probably the best wrestler on the planet. Angle looks to disprove this theory, and take care of another NJPW castaway.
Ospreay has Angle vulnerable and closes in for Essex Destroyer, Angle reverses with a Northern Lights and rolls through scooping Ospreay up for a deadlift powerbomb. Ospreay lands a rana reversal for a two count, before looking for Os-Cutter, Angle catches him and hits a Lawn Dart, vaulting Ospreay into the middle turnbuckle.
He begins his trio of Germans, Ospreay landing on his feet from the third and getting a superkick on Kurt. An Os-Cutter follows for a near-fall. Ospreay goes to the far corner, and charges in for Hidden Blade. Angle ducks and gets his third German Suplex.
He sets up for an Angle Slam, but Ospreay snags an arm drag reversal. Vertical dropkick by Ospreay who lands on his feet, enziguri connects, Ospreay with a handspring but caught by Angle with a German.
Ospreay goes to the outside and Kurt goes up top for a Moonsault to the floor, swing and a miss and Ospreay climbs. Corkscrew Moonsault by Ospreay, he sends Angle back in. Os-Cutter catches Angle flush. Ospreay from across the ring now, Hidden Blade connects!
Three seconds later, and Angle's dreams of being a World Heavyweight Champion are dashed by the best in the world...for now.]
Will Ospreay (c) def Kurt Angle to retain the AEW World Heavyweight Championship
AEW All In, Aug 23, 2025:
Adam Copeland & Christian Cage (c) vs Kurt Angle & Powerhouse Hobbs w/ Dean Malenko, AEW Tag Team Championships
[Following a devastating loss to Ospreay, Angle refocuses his tag team efforts alongside Hobbs. With Copeland and Christian having made amends and gone on to capture the AEW Tag Team Titles, Angle and Hobbs are eager to knock the legendary tag team off the throne.
Copeland has Angle in position for a Spear after a prolonged period of control when Kurt reverses it into an inside cradle for a near fall. Angle creates distance and tags out to Hobbs who attempts to overpower the historic duo, but the tag team experience is too much for Hobbs and as he is inevitably defeated, Angle experiences yet another setback.]
Adam Copeland & Christian Cage (c) def Kurt Angle & Powerhouse Hobbs to retain the AEW Tag Team Championships
AEW All Out, Sep 6, 2025:
Bryan Danielson vs Kurt Angle w/ Dean Malenko
[Just two weeks removed from a victory over long time rival, Nigel McGuiness, Danielson is riding high and wants the most intense competition possible for All Out.
Naturally, this attracts Kurt Angle, a man who has never been submitted, yet has an incredible string of submission victories. He challenges Danielson's claims to be the best technical wrestler in the world, and promises to tap out The Dragon.
Throughout the dream contest, Angle targets and does significant damage to the knee and ankle of Bryan. Bryan attempts to apply similar limb targeting to the previously injured arm of Angle. With both men's history of neck issues, there's plenty of nasty envelope pushes in that department as well.
Bryan looks for a Busaiku Knee late when Angle catches him and gets a powerbomb reversal, he then applies a Boston Crab, squeezing the Achilles Tendon of Danielson. Bryan is able to edge to his back and roll Angle into a pin.
Kurt kicks out, and Danielson lands a roundhouse to a kneeling Angle, leaving him lamenting himself after he feels the effect on his leg. He pulls Angle up for a Dragon Suplex, but Angle breaks the grip and gets a Snapmare Takedown.
Bryan lands on his feet and begins blistering Angle with repeated kicks to the chest, wincing after every one. He finally backs up and tries for the roundhouse, but Kurt catches him in an Ankle Lock.
Kurt twists away at the squirming Danielson, who is able to turn just enough to start landing up-kicks to the bad shoulder of Angle. Danielson then gets a Triangle, pulling Angle in to the submission.
He traps the bad arm and begins striking away at the shoulder socket with elbows. Angle powers up, lifting Danielson before dumping him into the turnbuckles, crumpling Bryan into the corner.
Angle whips Bryan into the corner and he performs a Springboard Moonsault, landing on his bad ankle. Kurt slithers in and cinches an Ankle Lock in yet again. Bryan rolls out and gets a LeBell Lock applied, the bad arm of Angle angled awkwardly. Kurt makes the ropes and Bryan fires up into the corner.
He beckons Kurt up and closes the distance with a Busaiku Knee, Angle ducks, Bryan's bad knee hits the top turnbuckle! Angle Slam connects!
Kurt covers and in doing so obtains the single biggest victory of his career so far. An incredible effort from both men, and an incredible step forward for Kurt Angle.]
Kurt Angle def Bryan Danielson
AEW WrestleDream, Oct 11, 2025:
Bryan Danielson vs Kurt Angle w/ Dean Malenko vs Zack Sabre Jr., Ultimate Submission
[A victory over Bryan Danielson should have Kurt on cloud nine, but he can't help feel disappointed that he didn't deliver on his promise. He didn't tap Bryan out. He challenges Danielson, one more match, a thirty minute timer, no pinfalls, most submissions wins.
Rather than Danielson, it's NJPW's resident technical wizard, Zack Sabre Jr. who answers the call. He states that him and Angle have unfinished business. In the G1 Climax last year, Zack had Angle on the brink of submission but just as Kurt was about to give in, his body gave out and he passed out instead.
Zack has kept that goal in the back of his head since, to make the unsubmittable Kurt Angle tap out. Kurt says that he has great respect for Sabre Jr. but right now he is focused on Danielson.
Bryan enters and states a solution, a triple threat match, under Angle's proposed rules of course, to finally determine who the best technical wrestler in the world is.
Match time arrives and all three men feel the pressure in the air. Three of the most technically gifted pro wrestlers of all time engaged in a war for a chance to finally be crowned the undisputed king of tapping people out.
Twenty five minutes of pure grappling glory elapse, and despite some close calls, none of the three competitors have submitted. With five minutes remaining, all three men are volatile in their pursuit to finally get a point.
Bryan looks for a diving knee strike, when Kurt catches him and cinches an Ankle Lock. Danielson rolls forward and Zack leaps onto the shoulders of Kurt, ranas him to the canvas and locks a mounting triangle.
Bryan with a roundhouse to Zack, pulling him off of Kurt, Bryan proceeds to lock Cattle Mutilation on Sabre who kicks and struggles to survive the maneuver.
Kurt out of nowhere with a Moonsault to Danielson! The grip on Sabre Jr. released, Zack rolls out of the ring. Kurt focuses on Danielson, landing his trio of German Suplexes, Bryan on his feet during the third attempt.
Busaiku Knee, Kurt ducks just enough to catch Bryan across his shoulders. Torture Rack applied on Danielson, bending Bryan over his shoulders. Bryan shifts off the shoulders and locks a Guillotine on Angle, trying to cut off blood flow to the brain.
Angle attempts to reverse with a Northern Lights, but Bryan lands on his feet and maintains grip, forming a bridging guillotine. Zack slithers in, kicking Bryan in the knee and causing Danielson to kneel while keeping the Guillotine applied.
Zack gets a Triangle on Bryan while Bryan has a reverse Guillotine on Kurt, after a few moments, Bryan has to cut his losses with Kurt and try to escape Sabre's grip.
He inches free of the Triangle, getting grip on the legs for a Boston Crab. He tucks the legs and bridges back for a modified Muta Lock. He gives up and applies a seated Guillotine. No matter what Bryan does, Sabre fights on, less than a minute remains when Bryan locks the LeBell Lock.
He drives his knuckles into the nose of Sabre, eventually garnering color, as the crimson begins to leak into his mouth. Danielson covers the mouth and nose with his hands, seconds remain when Kurt rushes in to save the match.
Zack Sabre Jr. is drowning in his own blood.
Three, Two, Sabre Jr. taps!
With one second on the clock, Danielson forces a submission, Kurt was fingertips away from saving the match-up. Sabre Jr. is released and inhales big, gulping breathe, bile and blood leaking from his mouth. Angle gets to his feet and approaches Danielson.
A handshake follows as Bryan Danielson is acknowledged as the Ultimate Submission Master in one of the greatest displays of technical wrestling ever.]
Bryan Danielson def Kurt Angle & Zack Sabre Jr. in Ultimate Submission
What isn't made clear at the time is that this actually serves as Kurt Angle's AEW farewell. He bids farewell to Malenko, telling him to watch over Hobbs for him and vice versa with Hobbs. Less than a month later, his contract expires and he opts not to resign. Questions begin to flare up about where Kurt Angle may turn up next, rumors even begin to circulate that he may be done with professional wrestling for the foreseeable future.
Remember that thing about death and taxes?
WWE Royal Rumble, Jan 31, 2026:
[The Royal Rumble arrives, and as with any given Rumble, who knows what surprises may be in store?
The Men's Rumble match is occuring when entry number twenty-seven is about to be revealed. Medal sounds and the roof comes off of Kaseya Center as the words KURT ANGLE pan across the titantron. The Olympic Hero has arrived.
Angle racks up a couple of eliminations, tossing Johnny Gargano after a fun sequence and Shinsuke Nakamura after an exchange of strikes. Angle comes face to face with AJ Styles who engages in a staredown with The Wrestling Machine.
Before they can lock up, both men are ambushed by other participants, delaying the dream match. Kurt makes it to the final six, but runs into a brick wall when he attempts to eliminate Bron Breakker.
A back and forth of control ends with Breakker on top, landing a belly to belly over the top rope to eliminate Kurt Angle.]
SmackDown, Feb 6, 2026:
John Cena's Open Challenge
[Cena, entering the twilight of his career, goes back to his old open challenge routine, wanting to face as many young superstars as he can before he calls it a career.
His first of these challenges is answered by Kurt Angle himself, who comes face to face with the established Cena. In just his second WWE match, Angle wants to lock up with the GOAT.
Cena, perplexed and expecting a talent on the roster that he was familiar with to appear, poses a reasonable question.
"Who in the hell are you?"
'I'm Kurt Angle'
"Kurt Angle, huh? Tell me, what is the one quality that you possess that makes you think you can come out here and challenge the very best?"
Angle pauses, somehow, he knows exactly what to say.
'Ruthless Aggression.'
Angle clocks Cena and the bell rings, Angle's WWE debut and he has a chance to show that ruthless aggression against one of the most reputable names in wrestling history.
Cena starts out the contest believing Angle will be an easy foe and taking time to pander to the audience. It doesn't take long though for Kurt to gain his respect with a surprise German Suplex while Cena is standing on the middle turnbuckle.
Angle begins to unload with a variety of kick variations and suplexes, wobbling Cena. Cena avoids a Moonsault and lands a Code Red for a near fall.
He beckons Angle up for an Attitude Adjustment, and Angle shifts off the shoulders to begin his trio of German Suplexes. He bridge pins on the third and Cena muscles out.
Angle looks for an Ankle Lock, but Cena rolls free. Attitude Adjustment positioning, Angle lands on his feet. Another German Suplex connects and Angle rolls through, lifting Cena into an emphatic Angle Slam.
Cena narrowly manages to kick out. Angle sizes Cena up for one more Angle Slam, Cena escapes to his feet, Attitude Adjustment, Angle shifts into a roll-up on Cena.
Three seconds later, and Angle has defeated the 16x World Champion in his WWE debut. A shocked Cena watches as Angle takes his place as a hot commodity in WWE.]
Kurt Angle def John Cena
It's not long after this that Kurt finds himself some teammates. During a bout with Akira Tozawa and Apollo Crews of WorldWide, the team of Cedric Alexander and Damon Kemp receive some unexpected assistance from Kurt Angle.
Following the bout, Angle approaches Alexander and Kemp, shortly thereafter, forming Team Angle.
WWE WrestleMania 42 - Night 1, Apr 11, 2026:
AJ Styles vs Kurt Angle
[Ever since their unsatisfying face off at the Royal Rumble, fans and these two alike have been eager to get a proper match made. Angle wants a legacy fight for WrestleMania, another name to engrave on his record.
AJ Styles refuses to be viewed as someone to be put out to pasture and tells Angle to bring his intensity, bring his intelligence, bring his integrity and then come to terms with the fact that it still won't be enough.
Angle tries for an Angle Slam after Styles misses a Springboard 450, Styles maneuvers his way over and into Styles Clash position only for Angle to grip the ankle and turn it into an Ankle Lock.
Styles writhes and tries to make the ropes, but Angle drags him back into the center of the ring and sits down into a knee bar - ankle lock fusion forcing Styles to submit to The Wrestling Machine.]
Kurt Angle def AJ Styles
WWE Backlash, May 23, 2026:
Cody Rhodes vs Kurt Angle
[Following his massive victory over AJ Styles at WrestleMania, Angle and his posse set their sights on another established vet, Cody Rhodes.
Angle tells Rhodes that Kurt is everything Cody has claimed to be, at Backlash he'll expose Cody as a fraud and show him who the true American Nightmare is.
It's a hotly contested affair with Cody, less than a year removed from his World Title run, putting Kurt to the test. Cody is in the driver's seat when a ref bump leads Cedric and Kemp to interfere, Kemp is neutralized before Cedric inadvertently lays Angle out.
Cross Rhodes to Cedric, and another one to Kurt and Rhodes has pinned The Olympic Hero.]
Cody Rhodes def Kurt Angle
WWE King & Queen Of The Ring, Jun 27, 2026:
Damian Priest vs Kurt Angle
[Kurt enters into the King Of The Ring tournament following his loss to Rhodes, but not before kicking Cedric out of Team Angle. He's replaced by a man Angle knows well, the debuting Josh Alexander.
While Josh and Kemp pick up the tag team titles, Angle focuses in on the tournament. He is able to defeat Rey Mysterio in the first round, Dragon Lee in the second, Pete Dunne in the quarters, and Cedric in the semis.
Damian, meanwhile wins the RAW bracket and the finals are set. The Punisher vs The Wrestling Machine.
In a vein very similar to what an Angle/Undertaker match looks like, Priest muscles around Angle, only for Kurt to surprise him with his own strength. Angle works on the leg, rendering Priest's kicking ability useless and kneading him for the eventual Ankle Lock.
Damian looks for Razor's Edge, powering through the pain in his leg. As he chucks Angle, Kurt reverses with a huracanrana taking Priest off guard. Angle begins his trio of Germans, on the third attempt, Priest maneuvers free and gets a Thunder Clap on Angle.
He sets up for The Reckoning, but Angle hits a Southern Lights Suplex, sending Priest forward to the canvas. Angle gets an Angle Slam for a near-fall.
A Moonsault follows, but Priest gets a grip across the throat as Kurt comes down. He lands South Of Heaven for a close two count. Damian sizes up Kurt from across the ring.
Tornado Kick, intercepted, Kurt locks onto the ankle! Priest tries to roll out, kick Kurt away, but Angle is relentless and vice grips around the ankle, torturing Damian.
Priest eventually passes out from the pain, giving Angle a victory, albeit one he's only slightly satisfied with. Regardless of how, Kurt has won King Of The Ring and will now main event SummerSlam for the World Heavyweight Championship.]
Kurt Angle def Damian Priest
WWE Battleground, Jul 25, 2026:
Brock Lesnar vs Kurt Angle
[Brock, having returned in the Royal Rumble earlier in the year and announcing a retirement tour, culminating at SummerSlam in his hometown, sets his sights on Kurt Angle.
Kurt, one month away from main eventing SummerSlam, accepts Brock's challenge, dubbing him one more legend Kurt can send packing.
The match is evidently very intense with Brock showing his trademark dominance and Angle impressing with bursts of strength and out-grappling Lesnar.
Towards the climax of the match, both men begin exchanging German Suplexes. Brock eventually decides to do the continuous trio ala Kurt. Angle lands on his feet on the third attempt and rolls Brock into a deadlift German Suplex.
Kurt scales for a Moonsault, but Brock catches him in mid-air for an F-5, Kurt scrambles free and gets an Ankle Lock applied. Brock is able to fight out, applying a Kimura Lock. Kurt makes it to the ropes and Brock gets fed up.
Lesnar goes to the top turnbuckle for the first time in decades and attempts a Shooting Star Press. Kurt moves and Lesnar eats canvas, Angle immediately jumps onto the leg of Brock applying an agonizing Ankle Lock.
After minutes of Kurt's snake-like refusal to release his grip, he does what few have ever been able to do and makes The Beast tap out. After the bout, Brock shakes the hand of Kurt Angle and Kurt looks ahead to his titanic Heavyweight Title opportunity.]
Kurt Angle def Brock Lesnar
As Angle approaches war at SummerSlam, he decides that Team Angle needs an advisor. Someone that can guide them to their ultimate goal of every member holding gold. He says for three of the best technical wrestlers in the world, their advisor must be of a similar status.
He enlists none other than The Excellence Of Execution, The Hitman is in Team Angle. Bret coaches Kurt in the lead-up to SummerSlam, giving him tips and reviewing old tapes showing how he won his Titles.
CONT. In Comments

***Lily***
We all just stare at it for a while, waiting to see what it does. The first person to make a move is Wabbajack, inching his way closer towards it. As he gets close, he pokes it. As he does, I could swear it makes a squeaking sound.
He gasps as he picks it up. At that moment, I notice that the tail stays close to the ball of fluff, kinda flying around it. Maybe it has a set distance? He then proceeds to squeeze it a couple more times as it squeaks. “This is amazing!” He yells, squeezing it some more.
Eventually, it spins around to face him. It opens its mouth and out comes a tongue flying out like a frog and connects to Wabbajacks face. The rest of the body then comes flying towards his head as it bites his head, knocking over Wabbajacks hat.
I hear a muffled, “Aww. I was having fun. Oh well, got to admit though, it’s feisty.”
“It seems to be a Umoya Vulpes Uhane.” I hear to my right. I turn to see Mogsten looking into a book. “Fascinating! This seems to be the only other time that there has Ever been a recorded sighting of one. There is almost next to no information on its capabilities here.” He adds. He then slams the book shut as he exclaims, “I’ll pay whatever you want for him!”
I then hear more muffled noises say, “Wow! This guy must be really rare for Mogsten to offer anything. Still, first, Lily, how do you feel?”
I look back at the ball of leathery fur that has Wabbajack’s head in its mouth. I feel… something. I put my finger to my chin as I say, “I don’t quite know what I feel right now honestly.”
Wabbajack continues to try and speak as he says muffled again, “Well, familiars are rare, and the experience is different from person to person. Just don’t try to rush it and things should make sense I imagine. What do you want to name this fella?”
I don’t know honestly. But, first things first, “Could you get it off your head now? It’s hard to hear what your saying.” I say.
“Wait, Wabbajack has been talking?” Mogsten asks.
“Well, yeah. Haven’t you heard him?” I ask.
Mogsten looks at me funny and then back at the ball of fur. He then walks over to it and kicks Wabbajacks foot out from underneath him, knocking him down on his back. He then goes up to the fox ball and whispers into its ear. For some reason, as clear as day, I hear, “Can you hear me whispering Lily? Nod if you do.”
So, I nod.
“Fascinating!” He says. He then snaps his fingers as Gourdsten hands him a notepad and a pen. As soon as they are in his hands, he starts writing down some stuff. He stops to look at the fox ball and holds up the notepad to it. “Anything?” he asks.
“What?” I yell back.
He then shrugs and goes back to writing notes.
“Can I get back up now?” Wabbajack says, still muffled.
I rub my temple, wishing that the fox ball would just get off his head.
Just as I think that, it hops off and starts to walk towards me. Well, waddle may be a more accurate word. Or, whatever it is called for how gators walk. It then stops in front of me and tilts its head. Its tail then connects to the body and, as it does, the body stretches out, taking a noodle like shape. It then flies up and wraps its body around my neck! It yawns, and I think I hear it snore. Funny, like it is now, it’s kinda like a scarf. Although the breathing I feel from it adds to the soothing effect as well.
“Spectacular!” I hear Mogsten exclaim. I look towards him to see him fervently taking notes. I also happen to see Wabbajack had gotten back up, put his hat back on, and was walking over here as well.
“I’m amazed. It looks like this was a success.” Wabbajack says.
“Of course! Who do you think I am? Some amateur?” Mogsten says, not taking his eyes off my living scarf.
Regardless, the leather belly provides a good grip while the fur is Extremely soft. I could see myself falling asleep as well if I wasn’t busy trying to process everything right now.
“Welp, it all worked out. You got a familiar and Mogsten is one of the few who successfully summoned it.” Wabbajack points out.
Mogsten shoots up as he realizes it too as he says, “Yes. YES! I DID! People will come from everywhere to see my wares and request my talent!” He then starts dancing along with Gourdsten.
“Although, you’ll have to up security if people keep requesting familiars.” Wabbajack mentions.
The dance slowly comes to a stop as that fact sinks in and Mogsten says, “Blast.” He then snaps his fingers as he says, “I can provide a questionnaire and a test, that people will have to pay for as well! Oh hohohohoho!” He laughs as he starts dancing again.
Wabbajack just shrugs and turns back to me. He asks, “Well, introduced you to about most of the important places that are around here, all that is left would be the furniture then. Unless there is anything else you can think of?”
As I start petting my living scarf, I try to think really hard if there is anything else I need to know. We got equipment, some magic books for me to study, my mark of sentience, a familiar, had a fight or two with Wabbajack, and met his family. I shrug and say, “No, I actually think that was it.”
He wipes his forehead as he says, “Thank goodness. I can’t tell you how crazy today has been.”
I can’t help but let out a chuckle as I say, “You think it’s been crazy for you? It’s been one new concept after another for me.”
He looks at me, chuckles, and says, “Fair enough. I almost forgot that All this must be new to you.” I had just gotten changed back when he then walks to the flap leading to the front as he says, “Well then, shall we get some furnishing?”
I nod and quickly chase after him. As we exit the store, I decide to ask Wabbajack some more questions as we peruse the bazaar for any good furniture being sold. I ask him an important question, at least to me anyways, “Why do you do this job? With your talents and skills, you could do whatever. And don’t try to sell me on that Monster of Monsters thing. Don’t you get tired of it?”
He stops, sighs, and tilts his hat down as he explains, “Well, if you really intend on traveling with me, then I guess you’ll have to know sooner or later. Let me ask You a question first however. Do you think nothing good could come from death?”
I look down as I answer, “Well, I mean, there is always another way, right?”
He responds with, “True, but I have learned why being a hero is as disastrous as the destruction they prevent. If I had to guess, Silkie probably told you about That, right?”
I quickly try to look away but realize, I immediately sold myself out.
“I thought so.” He says. He then follows up with, “There was a reason for that. There was a warlike nation growing in power. The reason for that is that none of the other nations were taking it seriously, so they pillaged and plundered as much as they like. Now, what is the best way to convince a nation’s leader that an “insignificant” threat is an actual one without them laughing at you?”
I look up and try to consider.
Before I can however, he continues, “I played the part of the nation about to destroy everything, and…assassinated… that infant. When the king and queen discovered their child killed by, what reports believed was one of those “barbarians”, they then took the threat Very seriously. They beefed up security and their guard. When the nation was invaded, instead of being wiped out, they defended themselves and crushed the opposition. I admit, it haunts me most nights. The crying, the sadness, then the stifling quiet. I hated it. But, they didn’t have the time for me to convince them conventionally. That is why I do these things, so others don’t have to. If they were defeated, then the warlike nation would have just steamrolled over everyone else. Now, tell me, what happens when a culture developed entirely around killing others runs out of things to kill?”
I ask him this time, “Is this a rhetorical question or do you want me to answer it this time?”
He shrugs and says, “Only if you want to try.”
I sigh and start thinking about it. “If a culture based on war ran out of people to fight… then they would try to look to improving their lives, right?”
He pats my head as he says, “You’re a genuinely good person. If that was how it worked, I would hopefully be out of a job. No, unfortunately. Nine point nine times out of ten, they just start killing each other. Point zero five percent scenario that they manage to start invading other dimensions. And the last of it, would hopefully improve their lot.”
“That’s so sad.” I mention.
“Welp, that is why I am around, I imagine. I wish I could save everyone but then, it becomes a cycle of dependency. If they can’t manage to take care of themselves, then when the rock holding it all up disappears, then things just go back to being as bad as they were before. Sometimes it winds up being worse than before. So, while I am impressed of true-blue heroes, I don’t envy them. That’s why I take orders from my boss. He promised me that, if I listen to him, he could help me protect entire dimensions. And the best options are sometimes the darkest ones. And who better to wander the darkness than someone who just about everyone hates already?” he asks while pointing to himself.
While he says that cheerfully, I swear I could sense a sadness to it as well. As I think that, my familiar floats over to Wabbajack and starts licking his face.
“He-e-ey. Easy there. Didn’t think I was that tasty.” He says as he tries to wave it off.
“Wolfie! Stop it!” I say without thinking.
It looks back, tilts its head, and floats back to being around my neck.
“Wolfie?” Wabbajack asks.
“Yeah… I guess. I guess that is what I decided to name it.” I say as I pet its fur.
I hear him chuckle. I respond with, “What?”
“Nothing.” He answers. He then waves forward as he asks, “Well then, shall we continue?”
I smile and walk forward. I then see him catch up immediately. When he does, Wolfie then starts wagging her tail, I think.
“What’s he so excited about?” Wabbajack asks.
“She. And I’m not sure.” I respond. I have a suspicion but, there are still too many variables to answer before I can start providing answers.
Wabbajack puts both his hands up defensively as he says, “My bad.
Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I tell him.
We finally reached the bazaar and start looking around. As I am looking around, Wabbajack smacks my back and says, “That guy looks promising.”
I look over in the direction that he points, and I see a turtle person wearing some very poofy-looking robes, puffing smoke from a long oboe-looking pipe. Behind him, is some sort of tube-like machine. Wabbajack walks over to him, so I follow shortly after him.
As soon as he goes up to him, Wabbajack asks, “Excuse me good sir, what would you be selling here?”
There is a pause, he then lets out some smoke, and finally says, “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” I ask.
Another pause and he responds with, “Yep.” He then let’s out some more smoke.
“But then, what is this stall here then?” I ask.
As there is Another pause, I realize that this must be their shtick. He then answers with, “Fabrication.”
“Fabrication? You actually got a permit for that?” Wabbajack asks.
One pause later, he answers, “Yep.”
I look to Wabbajack and ask, “What is Fabrication and, why is it such a big deal?”
“Fabrication is a SUPER advanced form of blacksmithy. As long as you have the materials, you can determine what gets crafted, how it gets crafted, and what it looks like. The only catch is that it depends on the materials. Don’t expect to get golden bricks from grass. That requires rewriting at the genetic level, which you would have to be a master alchemist for that. Even I don’t have the means for fabrication. Although, the alchemy stuff can be pretty fun once you get past all that boring stuff. Not to mention profitable.” Wabbajack explains.
“Wait. You can’t do Fabrication?!” I ask in astonishment.
“Well, I could if I had the materials and patience for it. The time it takes to be permitted to fabricate Anything takes an unrealistic amount of time. I made it about halfway through before even I lost my patience.” Wabbajack answers.
“Why did you stop halfway?” I ask.
“Staying in a classroom for half a millennium alone, being told the yes and no’s of fabrication tends to make a lot of people go mad.” He continues to explain.
Before I can express my disbelief, we hear a very slow laugh, followed by, “Wimp.” I look over to the turtle man in time for him to blow some more smoke.
“You got me their old timer.” I hear Wabbajack say.
“Wait, why does it take so long?” I ask.
“Fabrication is a very meticulous process. Possibly the most meticulous. Not to mention, as I am sure you can imagine, it would be Very profitable for whomever can pull it off. It’s one of the most closely watched professions in all of Spiritopia. Not to mention, if someone of dubious morality decided to fabricate items, chances are that a LOT of bad things would come of it. You have to really have to be discerning when you break into the business. But, if you manage to pull it off, you are held in VERY high regards. Almost untouchable.” Wabbajack explains.
I then hear another, “Yep.” And another puff of smoke.
I then look at the turtle man and ask, “Does that mean you could make us some furniture?”
There is a pause as he looks me up and down. After a while, he says, “Nope.”
I am shocked. I ask, “Why not?”
Pause, puff, and says, “Inexperienced.”
I tilt my head down as I say dejectedly, “Oh, I see.” Wolfie also lets out a sad “hmmm”
Wabbajack then asks himself, “What about me?”
He then looks him up and down as well. This time, he scratches his chin. After a while longer, he says, “Yep. But I’ll charge you more than usual.”
Before I can exclaim my disapproval, Wabbajack says, “Deal!”
As I look to him aggravated, I then hear the turtle man say, “What would you like?”
Wabbajack looks to me as he asks, “What would you like? I imagine some drawers with a vanity mirror, a better bed, some sort of entertainment, maybe even a closet?”
I exclaim, “Wait just one minute! Why would you willingly pay more than normal?”
“Like I said, it’s a profession held in high regard.” Wabbajack explains.
“That.” As the turtle man starts to say something as well. “That and your reputation as Mr. Happy. But, I do like to make my own judgements as well.” He continues as he then lets out another puff.
“There you go.” Wabbajack says, pointing towards the turtle man.
I sigh and say, “Still strikes me as unfair.”
The turtle man laughs again as he says, “Inexperienced.”
Wolfie lets out a growl.
“Easy now, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Let’s not get upset over the finer details.” Wabbajack responds with.
I let out another sigh as I say, “Alright, fine. All the things you mentioned sound good.” I then puff my face.
Wabbajack then lets out a laugh as he says, “Alright. Don’t worry, if you don’t like something about it, we could always come back and change it now that we know someone who can fabricate stuff.”
He then looks at the turtle man as he asks, “Before we talk business, may we exchange names? My name is Wabbajack.” He then puts his hat to his chest and offers a small bow.
Pause, puff, and he says, “Polite. My name is… hold on. Been a while.” He then scratches his chin. He then goes, “Oh! That’s right. Thomas is my name.”
“That’s a good name.” Wabbajack says.
“Flattery won’t lower the price lad.” Thomas says.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Wabbajack responds.
I then put my finger to my chin as I think and start seriously thinking about what I want my room to look like. I honestly want to start pumping ideas but, as I think about it, I don’t really know what I want everything to look like, let alone what it would look like together. Especially since it has become very apparent that my level of fashion sense is not quite up to snuff as I once thought it was.
As I am thinking all this, I hear a meat-ripping noise that snaps me back into reality. I look towards the sound and I see that Wabbajack had ripped his arm off at the shoulder and is now holding it towards Thomas. I naturally let out a scream.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!” I yell.
They both look at me and Wabbajack asks, as nonchalantly as ever, “What’s up?”
““What’s up?” You RIPPED your ARM OFF!” I point out.
He looks at the arm he’s holding out and points at it with the arm that he Should be missing as he asks, “This arm?”
I look back and forth and the realization must have been obvious as he then asks, “You forgot about me being able to regenerate, didn’t you?”
I blush as I say, “Yeah…”. I snap out of my embarrassment as I think to ask, “But, doesn’t that still hurt?”
He just shrugs as he asks, “Yeah, why wouldn’t it?”
“Why did you rip your arm off then?” I ask in response.
“Because, we will just simply come back when you understand what would work best for you want for your own room and style. But, for now, this would be the perfect opportunity to give you a device to access the same font of information I have access to And a means of travel if we ever get separated somehow.” He explains as Thomas takes his torn arm and examines it.
Before I can say anything else, we hear, “Five currency…”
Five currency? Just five or five million? It couldn’t be so cheap after he said he would charge more than normal, right?
Just as I think that, Wabbajack says, “Awesome, here you go.” As he hands him five of those matte dice.
“What happened to being more expensive?” I blurt out.
Thomas just shakes his head as he just says, “Inexperienced…” Again.
Wolfie lets out another small growl.
“Now, now. Calm down. Fabrication isn’t expensive by any means since the customer has to provide the materials themselves. So, Fabricators can’t honestly charge a lot since they aren’t doing a lot.” Wabbajack explains while Thomas throws the arm into his machine and starts hitting buttons.
“That makes sense” I think to myself.
Next thing I know, Thomas throws me this small calculator like device. I look down at it and, while it does have the shape of a calculator, the symbols on the buttons are fluctuating and where the screen is supposed to be is this oval like projector lens and on the front-facing side is this little bulb, like what you would see on a remote control.
The confusion on my face must have been apparent as Wabbajack says, “Don’t worry, just fiddle with it and sooner or later you’ll figure out how it works.” He then pats my shoulder.
He looks back over his shoulder and says “Thanks Thomas, we will definitely be coming back. Phenomenal work.” He then gives a thumbs up.
Thomas lets out a puff after giving us a smug smile.
Wolfie takes his scarf form and wraps around my neck as Wabbajack pulls me along by the arm, he asks, “So what next?”
I put the calculator to my head as I honestly try to process everything that’s happened. Not to mention all the studying and practice I have to do just to make everything feel normal. All I can think to say is, “Maybe… it would be best if we go back home?”
“Yeah, that sounds good honestly. It’s getting late and your body needs rest to process everything that’s happened. It must be… well, actually shoot. It IS a whole other world from what you are used to. Best to take it slow. Even though today hasn’t exactly gone smoothly. Yilimet should also be done with all his shopping as well.” He says, using air quotes around shopping.
I guess the air quotes are because Yilimet has been cooking for a household of people with no sense of taste for who knows how long now. As I let out an audible gulp loud enough to make Wabbajack laugh.
With how crazy today has been, I expected the walk back to that spot with the two guards to be even more eventful but, nothing. Everyone pretty much just kept their distance for the most part. I think most were also just heading home.
As we get there, I see Yilimet holding an unusual number of bags as he says, “Hey you two, you wouldn’t believe the news I heard! Someone managed to summon a familiar after all this time and it didn’t go on a murderous rampage. Crazy, right?”
“Crazy, sure. Let’s get home. I’m sure things are going to be a bit more interesting than usual from here on.” Wabbajack says as he cuts open a portal home.
Interesting? Beyond a shadow of a doubt. I can’t help but feel like that, even by his standards, there will be quite some exciting and fascinating adventures ahead of both of us. Just as we all walk through the portal home together, Yilimet asks, “Hey, where did that fox come from?”
[First] [Previous]

I work as a mid level sys admin as part of a larger company, the larger company suffered a ransomware attack with crowdstrike installed and I am aware critical servers were not patched for a major vulnerability the machine has been in containment for the entire time and the vulnerability has disappeared but there is still an earlier vulnerability for the same application!? This in itself means that the other vulnerability is was still present on the machine as you can't patch around this hole. Also the vulnerability that is still listed the software is listed lowercase and all seems odd.
It would be good if someone with a superuser account could see how i could be blocked out from seeing this information or if its even possible. And if they could do the same with a security firm investigating the security breach. Or additionally I could talk to a crowdstrike representative anonymously as I have heard those above me are building their case as e.g crowdstrike let us down and didnt detect XY and Z

Short story I wrote for a writing prompt in writingprompts that I enjoyed. Wanted to share. would love feedback.
Thank you for reading :)
Twister
The knuckles of John’s left hand were squeezed white against the wheel of his old pick-up; he held his son, Alex, close with his other.
As they rattled down the uneven country roads, rain pelted their windshield with a fury. John continually glanced into the rearview. Thunder clapped at their back like the hands of god, and through the white flashes of lightning, he could make out a large barrel of rotating black smoke. Each time he looked back it seemed to have grown larger, and one singular thought repeated in his mind.
Make it to the cellar, he thought. Make it to the cellar.
He gripped his son tighter. He pressed the accelerator with a heavy foot, and the truck roared beneath them.
“Come on…” He muttered. He was driving nearly eighty.
“Dad?” Alex’s voice was small, and John could feel him trembling under his arm.
John rubbed his shoulder. “It’s okay, bud. We’re nearly there; it ain’t gonna get us.” He said it, but he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself.
“But Dad, I’m scared.”
Just then, a strong gust of wind punched the side of the truck, nearly sending it swerving into the ditch. With a squealing effort, John steadied it and accelerated faster. The boy had buried his head into John’s armpit. Limbs began falling from trees; scattered debris had carpeted the roads.
John looked down at his son, who was still wearing his blue Little League uniform and shaking with sobs. All of this for a damn baseball game, he thought, and looked back at the road. He stomped the brakes. Alex screamed as they lurched forward and John stuck an arm out to keep him from flying into the windshield. The truck skidded sideways to a halt on the wet road. A giant oak tree, maybe eight feet in diameter, lay flat across their path.
“Fuck.” John muttered as he smacked the steering wheel with his palm. There wasn’t any getting around that. He darted his eyes around, looking for some sort of a solution—anything—but all he found was fear. The swirling column of dark wind was getting closer and seemed much larger than before.
Through the darkness, John thought he could see the far-off flickering of the nightlight in front of their house. They were closer than he thought.
He grabbed Alex by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “We’re gonna make a run for it.”
“What?” Alex asked, his eyes wide with terror.
“I know, bud, but it’s our only shot. I—“
“No!” Alex shouted and tried to say more, but the words just sputtered out in incoherent globs.
“Hey,” John said patiently, but Alex was in hysterics and still rambling nonsense. John looked over his shoulder. Power lines were beginning to fall, and the transformers were popping into big blue sparks as they hit the ground. He looked back at Alex.
“HEY!” He shouted.
Alex stopped immediately and looked at him in surprise. John never yelled.
“Do you trust me?” John asked.
Alex moved his mouth, but no breath came to push the words out.
“Do you trust me?” John asked again, shaking the boy a little.
This time, Alex nodded yes.
“Okay, now listen, I’m going to pick you up, and we’re gonna run. I want you to close your eyes, and I don’t want you to open them again until I tell you it’s okay. Do you understand?”
The boy nodded again, and a tear fell down his cheek as he closed his eyes.
John scooped him up and creaked the metal door open into the rain. Lightning continued to pop overhead; there was a metallic smell in the air, like burning wires, and the humidity was thick enough to choke a man.
John held the boy's head against his shoulder and started in a sort of half run to the driveway. Alex felt heavier than he used to, and it made John wonder just how long ago it was since he’d held him that way.
Cold rain whipped at their back, sticking their clothes to their skin like slick velcro. John spat the water from his mouth as he trudged forward blindly in the dark. His muscles started to burn. His feet snagged on branches, trash, and other debris that had blown in, threatening to trip him, and sudden dips or rises staggered him as his foot met only air where he expected solid earth.
John could feel the boy sobbing once more. “We’re almost there, bud; we’re gonna make it.” This time, he really believed what he said. The driveway came into view as they rounded the last corner. Limbs the size of cedar trees blew past them like confetti. One cracked John in the back of the head, sending him and Alex tumbling onto the ground. The pain was brilliant. For a moment, he saw white, but his vision quickly cleared, and he looked up at Alex.
Alex sat with his knees tucked to his chest, holding a scrape. His skin and clothes were covered in twigs, mud, and pine needles, and his face was twisted with fright—contorted like one of those dramatic masquerade masks as he rocked back and forth. His eyes were open now.
The twister roared behind them like a gasoline truck chugging uphill. John scrambled to his feet, scooped Alex in his arms, and started toward the house once again. His head was pounding, his muscles were on fire, blood was thudding against his ears, and that same thought from earlier continued to swim laps around his mind.
Make it to the cellar.
He pressed on, planting one solid foot into the ground at a time, marching forward like a well oiled machine.
Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked down the driveway; wind whipped their wet clothes like flags.
John shed Alex from his arms and looked down at the wooden cellar door. He tried pulling it open, but the wind shoved it back down. It was picking up even more now. Shingles began to be sucked from the roof, and John knew that if he didn’t get this door open, he and Alex would follow closely behind.
He pulled as hard as he could, grunting with the effort. Alex had joined him in pulling at this point, helping as much as a nine-year-old possibly could. It began to come up a little, but the wind was powerful. John screamed and dug in harder. His muscles tore beneath his skin, his bones popped, he used every single ounce of himself now, and the door started to give. Once he’d gotten it halfway, the wind swung it the rest and it smacked the other side of the ground with a sound that resembled a gunshot.
“GET IN,” John shouted and grabbed Alex’s arm. He threw the boy inside, then jumped in closely behind. He didn’t even bother shutting the door; he just ran and pulled Alex to the opposite side of the room with him.
The cellar was dark. Screws and bolts and toolboxes filled with wrenches and other metal things shook and rumbled off of the shelves. A few baseball bats fell, clattered, and clinked across the concrete floor. Up top, it sounded like a giant lawnmower was making quick work of the farmhouse, eating it up like it was little more than a stray blade of grass. John could feel warm blood trickling down the back of his neck.
They held each other in the darkness, sitting there for what seemed like an eternity, but just as quickly as it began, it was over. The roar lessened, quieted, then disappeared as it got further away.
The two looked at each other, both covered in dirt and debris, and John knew that everything was gone. He knew the house was gone; he knew the farm was gone, and he knew that just about everything else he had ever worked for was torn to shreds in a matter of minutes. He looked at Alex, and when he looked upon his son’s face and saw the twinkle of life in his eye, he breathed a sigh of relief. That was all that mattered.
They sat for an hour in silence, not daring to step out until they were sure it was safe. A ray of light began to beam through the cellar door. John stood first. He walked to the opening and shielded his squinted eyes to look outside.
The sky was… blue. He hoisted himself upward and poked his head out of the cellar like a gopher. His barn was there. Bessie, his cow, was standing beside it, chewing on a mouthful of grass; the chickens strutted around the side of the barn, nearing the garden, which also looked untouched; the squash was even blooming. Behind him, their house stood tall, perfectly intact all the way up to the shingles. The oddest thing, though, was his farm pickup parked in the driveway—no worse shape than when they left for the ballgame.
John scratched his head.
“Dad?” Alex shouted.
“You can come up.” He said, puzzled.
Alex crawled out of the cellar in the same fashion as his father, and confusion dawned on his face as well.
“It missed us?”
John shook his head. “No way it coulda missed us. I don’t really know what to make of it.”
He really didn’t. They saw the twister coming directly at them; they heard the house ripped to shreds right above their heads; the farm truck didn’t make it back to the house at all, for Christ's sake. It just didn’t make any damn sense.
A feminine voice called out to them—a voice John recognized at the first syllable. “John? Alex?”
“Vick..” He mouthed and whipped his head around. A tall woman with blonde hair was walking around the side of the porch, stepping as gracefully as a doe. Her eyes were green as the pines behind her, and she gave a smile that held more reassurance than a million words could express.
She spread her arms wide. “My boys.” She said. John stood motionless, his mouth slightly agape. Alex pushed past him as he ran, “Mommy!” He shouted.
The woman wrapped the boy in a hug and lifted him from his feet. As she held his head against her shoulder, she pointed her eyes in John’s direction and held out her other hand.
He walked toward her, cautiously.
“John.” She said. “It’s me, I promise.”
John looked at her for a moment longer. He wanted to run to her, to wrap her up and lift her the same way she did Alex. For the past two years, there had been nothing in this world that he’d wanted more.
But his wife was dead. He watched as the cancer took her in 2014; he held her in his arms as she died in the hospital bed, and helped hoist her into the ground afterwards. Now she stood before him—healthy and as real as the sun beating down on his neck.
He reached a hand to the back of his head, feeling for the place where the branch whacked him. There was nothing—not even a tender spot.
He looked back up at his wife. “Are we…”
“Shhhh, dont think about it like that, John.” She smiled, “We’re together now, just be happy.”
John staggered a little, staring down at his hands; his once farm hardened callouses were gone now, smoothed over with soft, healthy skin.
“I—“ He began.
“Get over here and hug me.”
He looked up; his wife looked back at him lovingly with her direct, green eyes, and for the first time in so long, he felt happy. A feeling he’d grown a stranger to. A grin tightened across his face, and he watched as his old golden retriever ran panting toward him from across the yard just like she used to, only now, she had all four of her legs.

Disclaimer: this isn't a post about the content of Imaginarium Theater, if you don't like the mode because of the restrictions, the gameplay or whatever, fine, it's understandable. This post is gonna be about the new schedule and some other stuff. I usually don't make posts on Reddit but this time I'm so baffled about this topic and general reactions I just don't get it, I hope someone can help me please lol
With that out of the way, I've seen soooooo many people, way too many to count, being bummed about the fact that "we are getting less abyss/endgame than before" and I'm like... what? Some of these people swear that "they love abyss so much" or that "it's the only thing they do nowadays" and now that the rewards for it reset once a month instead of twice a month they won't do it anymore or something like that.
Do these people like abyss or do they just like the primogems that it gives? Because, newsflash, you can do the Spiral Abyss any time you want and if you want to play it twice a month, you can still open it and do it, it doesn't disappear after you clear it the first time.
Abyss line up already resets once a patch and it will probably be the same now, unless Hoyo decides to change it every month, but I think it will be alternating between 2 resets of Theater and 1 of Abyss one time and then 1 reset of Theater and 2 of Abyss, we don't know for now.
Also, I don't like doing this kind of comparisons because they are different games but when HSR did this exact same thing with MoC and PF the only words uttered by everyone for days was "Genshin could never" (very original, I know) but now that Genshin actually did... it's apprently bad? I don't get this either I'm sorry.
And also, overall we also have more primogems since we went from 1200 (600+600) to 1420 (800+620) a month but that's honestly the least of it, and if they did increase the primos from these two modes too much people would have started calling the game P2W so there's no winning either honestly lol
TL;DR: we have the same amount of abyss as before with an additional mode alongside it, I don't get why people swearing that they love abyss can only do it if the primogems are there.

hi wizard101 community! i’ve been playing wizard101 since 2011. the game is deeply meaningful to me and has served as an integral part of my childhood & life in general. and i’ve always been a big-time decorator, and greatly appreciate the pick-up-all and place in attic feature that lets me mass remove furniture from my castles as its very useful when i change my mind and decide to redecorate, and i feel many of my fellow wizards who enjoy decorating homes would agree.
however, feature is currently bugged and if you mass pick-up items and have them sent to your attic, the attic may “eat” said items and they will simply disappear. hard earned, sentimental items that are precious code items, or items we’ve spent HOURS or even DAYS searching/farming/fishing for, just poof. this happened to me whilst i was decorating one of my castles, i used the mass pick-up and place in attic feature, and some of my furniture disappeared and was lost in the attic abyss. i don’t know exactly what all i lost, but i did email kingsisle to no avail. so many players are dealing with this same issue as its a universal bug right now. it’s extremely frustrating, and kingsisle will not listen to the community and patch it. it’s so frustrating, in fact, it’s so frustrating that i cant enjoy playing the game anymore, because i and many others personally enjoy decorating as a primary part of gameplay.
many people have emailed kingsisle and spoken about this issue, though i fear it isn’t getting enough attention. i have no idea how to go about bringing this to the forefront of kingsisle’s attention, but i am posting this in hopes that somehow our community can work its magic and help solve this. not to self-advertise at all—i’m desperate at this point; but would upvoting this bring more attention to the attic glitch? should we as a community mass-email kingsisle? i want to get their attention on this, and i want them to know many wizards in our community ask them to prioritize fixing it in order to fully enjoy our gameplay. does anyone have any suggestions?

It was a Monday like every other. I was at the office entering expenses accounts into a spreadsheet. This week was different, I thought to myself as I looked at my calendar, Wednesday circled with the word "vacation" written within the box. As I daydreamed of spending time in my hometown with old friends and family, some of them, I hadn't seen since the accident. I was snapped out of my mind wandering when I heard the sound of my smartwatch alarm. A reminder to take my medicine. I opened my messenger bag and reached in to grab my bottle. I gave it a shake and heard the deafening sound of an empty bottle. I'm supposed to take two a day. I popped open the bottle and inside was a note, I unfolded the paper and it read: "remember to order meds."
When break time came around, I called my doctor's office to order more medicine: "Hello, good afternoon. Yes, my name is Brian Weber. Yes, I need to get a refill on my medication." I looked down at my empty bottle and read the label to the nurse. "Aripiprazole?" I answered. "Yes... Wednesday night? No, I won't be in town. Send it to 101 N. Carrie King Lane, Portland, Maine... Thank you, have a great day." I figured I could handle a couple of days without my medicine. I spent the rest of my lunch break watching videos about one of my favorite subjects, cryptids and mythology.
Tuesday came and went as normal aside from a terrible migraine I couldn't shake, I went to bed as soon as I got home. When Wednesday had finally come, I woke up to the smell of coffee brewing. I walked downstairs to see my wife, Laura, cooking breakfast. "Good morning, my love." She said, turning away from the stove. I stood there confused for a moment, and then I finally responded, "Good morning, bags already packed?" I asked as I walked to her and gave her a kiss. "Packed and in the car already." She answered as she scraped eggs from the pan onto a plate. I walked over to our six-month-old son, Nathan, who was sitting in his high chair and gave him a kiss on his head. "Morning, buddy." I said, and then I sat down to eat breakfast. We conversed about the route we were going to take, and I checked the weather and saw there was going to be snowfall at the halfway point. We packed up the car and headed out on our eight and a half hour journey to my hometown.
The start of the road trip was filled with eating some snacks, singing along to some music and just general chatting. We watched as the busy city highway turned to forest roads as Nathan babbled to himself and played with some toys. At the halfway point, the road began to disappear under the patches of snow and ice as Laura pointed out the snowy trees to Nathan. "Look at the snow in the trees, Nate." She said as he looked out the window and gave a giggle. He'd seen snow in the city, but this was his first time seeing a snowy forest. As we were driving down the forest road, I realized the car began to slow down. I tried pumping the gas pedal, but there was no increase in speed. Then the car came to a stop. "What's wrong, Brian? " Laura asked, concerned. "I'm not sure." I said as I turned off the car. I grabbed my gloves and zipped my jacket up to my throat. The cold air bit at my face and ears as I stepped around the front of the car. I lifted the hood of the car and I looked at the steam come off of the engine and components. I tried various cables and hoses, but nothing seemed loose. I shut the hood and stepped back into the car. "What's wrong? " Laura asked. "I think the engine might have overheated. Maybe we can let it cool off for thirty minutes and try again?" I said, trying to remain confident in front of my family. I didn't know anything about cars. I tried looking up what might be going on with my vehicle, but I had no signal. Nathan began crying, Laura unbuckled him from his car seat and checked on him. He didn't need a new diaper, so he must have been hungry. Laura unzipped her jacket and attempted to breast-feed him. "Sorry, Nate, but mommy doesn't have much milk for you." She said as she pulled him away and zipped her jacket back up.
Thirty minutes passed by, and I decided enough time had passed for the engine to cool. I turned the key, but it didn't start. I waited a few minutes and I tried again... nothing. I looked at Laura, who looked at me panicked. "This is a normal route to take, someone should drive by soon, and we should be able to get help." I reassured her. We had only packed a few snacks for the trip, but not enough food and water to last us a long time. No help came, no cars came, and no calls could be made out or received. As day turned to night, the car became colder and colder as the cold winter air crept its way into our vehicle. I looked out into the dark forest and I could see glowing eyes in the woods and I could hear the sound of wolves nearby barking and howling. Three days had passed, Laura and I were weak from not eating. We occasionally would open the car door to gather snow off the ground to eat it, to attempt to stay hydrated. Eventually, Nathan's constant cries shrank to a dull whine and eventual silence. I reached back to the baby seat where he sat under some blankets and felt for him. He was cold to the touch, Nathan had died. I'm not sure whether it was due to starvation or exposure, but he was gone. I leaned back forward, putting my head against the steering wheel and sobbed uncomfortably. The tears stung as they ran down my frozen face. As if fate couldn't be cruel enough, Laura tapped me on the shoulder and weakly pointed. Outside the car were those same wolves, now circling the car as if death itself had informed them of my son's passing. They couldn't get to us as long as we stayed in the car, but one thing was for sure, we weren't going to be able to gather any more ice. I had never felt so much despair in my life. I almost didn't want to be rescued at that point, I felt I just wanted to die and join my son in the afterlife. I laid my head down on the steering wheel and fell asleep.
I woke up the next morning to find Laura and Nathan's body gone from the car. I had noticed the wolves were gone as well. Perhaps she went to bury Nathan, though I'm not sure how she had the strength to do so. I dragged myself out of the car and grabbed the knife I kept under my seat for defense. I could see in the woods the flickers of light from a fire and I began to walk towards it. As I approached I could smell the intoxicating aroma of cooking meat, I could see Laura crouched at the fire ravenously eating away. She turned and looked at me and smiled as if to beckon me to join her. My mouth watering and my stomach in pain from not eating for three days I approached. I had stopped halfway when I stepped on some sort of soft cloth in the snow. I looked down and what I saw to my horror could only be confirmed when I looked at the shape of the meat that Laura had over the fire. It was the familiar shape of my son, my baby boy. I felt a menagerie of emotions wash over me, from disgust to horror, but the one that stood out to me at that moment was rage. I don't know where this strength came from, but in that moment of blind hatred, I plunged the knife into Laura's neck. She fell over gasping to scream in pain as her warm blood melted the snow by her. It only took seconds, but it felt like minutes as I stood there and watched her die. I walked back to my car and sat in the driver's seat. I grabbed a blanket from the back seat and just passed out. I don't know how many hours had passed but,
I had awoken to the sound of a scream. I stepped out of the car and tried to pinpoint where the screams were coming from. Was Laura somehow still alive? I thought to myself. Guilt filled my heart as I began to run into the woods towards Laura. I came to a clearing, but Laura was nowhere to be found. I heard some footsteps in the snow nearby, and I decided to pursue it. What I found behind those trees was not my wife, but a creature. It was tall and emaciated with gray skin and yellow eyes. It had a wide mouth filled with jagged teeth and no hair. It turned to me and let out a loud inhuman scream. Its breath was hot and smelled of both rot and death. I didn't bring my knife with me to defend myself, not that it would do me any good. I knew what this thing was and who it used to be. I turned and ran as fast as I could back to the car. I could feel its pursuit on my heels and then the feeling of hot iron piercing my side. I was lucky I had left my car door open, I leaped in and closed the door behind me as the creature slammed into the side of my car nearly shattering the window. I grabbed my side and it felt wet, my hand now covered red with my own blood. The creature looked at me through the cracked window, just accusing me with its accursed stare. I knew my time was coming to an end soon. The creature looked at me and opened its mouth and said with a deep monstrous voice, "Sir, are you okay?"
I looked up at a man in a forest ranger's uniform shining his flashlight into my eyes. I looked around and didn't see any monster. I looked at my hand, there was no blood. I looked in the back, there was no baby seat. "Sir, are you okay?" He asked again. I looked at the time on my dashboard, it had only been a few hours since I came to a stop. "Sir, are you traveling with company or alone?" He asked, his voice slightly muffled through the glass. I paused for a moment and looked back at the officer and rolled down my window. "Alone." I said. "Is there something wrong with your vehicle?" The ranger asked. I reached down to turn the key to my vehicle. It turned over without an issue. "Doesn't seem to be." I answered. The ranger looked me up and down and then said, "Be on your way then, you have a safe journey, sir." I nodded and rolled up my window and began to drive away.

It was a Monday like every other. I was at the office entering expenses accounts into a spreadsheet. This week was different, I thought to myself as I looked at my calendar, Wednesday circled with the word "vacation" written within the box. As I daydreamed of spending time in my hometown with old friends and family, some of them, I hadn't seen since the accident. I was snapped out of my mind wandering when I heard the sound of my smartwatch alarm. A reminder to take my medicine. I opened my messenger bag and reached in to grab my bottle. I gave it a shake and heard the deafening sound of an empty bottle. I'm supposed to take two a day. I popped open the bottle and inside was a note, I unfolded the paper and it read: "remember to order meds."
When break time came around, I called my doctor's office to order more medicine: "Hello, good afternoon. Yes, my name is Brian Weber. Yes, I need to get a refill on my medication." I looked down at my empty bottle and read the label to the nurse. "Aripiprazole?" I answered. "Yes... Wednesday night? No, I won't be in town. Send it to 101 N. Carrie King Lane, Portland, Maine... Thank you, have a great day." I figured I could handle a couple of days without my medicine. I spent the rest of my lunch break watching videos about one of my favorite subjects, cryptids and mythology.
Tuesday came and went as normal aside from a terrible migraine I couldn't shake, I went to bed as soon as I got home. When Wednesday had finally come, I woke up to the smell of coffee brewing. I walked downstairs to see my wife, Laura, cooking breakfast. "Good morning, my love." She said, turning away from the stove. I stood there confused for a moment, and then I finally responded, "Good morning, bags already packed?" I asked as I walked to her and gave her a kiss. "Packed and in the car already." She answered as she scraped eggs from the pan onto a plate. I walked over to our six-month-old son, Nathan, who was sitting in his high chair and gave him a kiss on his head. "Morning, buddy." I said, and then I sat down to eat breakfast. We conversed about the route we were going to take, and I checked the weather and saw there was going to be snowfall at the halfway point. We packed up the car and headed out on our eight and a half hour journey to my hometown.
The start of the road trip was filled with eating some snacks, singing along to some music and just general chatting. We watched as the busy city highway turned to forest roads as Nathan babbled to himself and played with some toys. At the halfway point, the road began to disappear under the patches of snow and ice as Laura pointed out the snowy trees to Nathan. "Look at the snow in the trees, Nate." She said as he looked out the window and gave a giggle. He'd seen snow in the city, but this was his first time seeing a snowy forest. As we were driving down the forest road, I realized the car began to slow down. I tried pumping the gas pedal, but there was no increase in speed. Then the car came to a stop. "What's wrong, Brian? " Laura asked, concerned. "I'm not sure." I said as I turned off the car. I grabbed my gloves and zipped my jacket up to my throat. The cold air bit at my face and ears as I stepped around the front of the car. I lifted the hood of the car and I looked at the steam come off of the engine and components. I tried various cables and hoses, but nothing seemed loose. I shut the hood and stepped back into the car. "What's wrong? " Laura asked. "I think the engine might have overheated. Maybe we can let it cool off for thirty minutes and try again?" I said, trying to remain confident in front of my family. I didn't know anything about cars. I tried looking up what might be going on with my vehicle, but I had no signal. Nathan began crying, Laura unbuckled him from his car seat and checked on him. He didn't need a new diaper, so he must have been hungry. Laura unzipped her jacket and attempted to breast-feed him. "Sorry, Nate, but mommy doesn't have much milk for you." She said as she pulled him away and zipped her jacket back up.
Thirty minutes passed by, and I decided enough time had passed for the engine to cool. I turned the key, but it didn't start. I waited a few minutes and I tried again... nothing. I looked at Laura, who looked at me panicked. "This is a normal route to take, someone should drive by soon, and we should be able to get help." I reassured her. We had only packed a few snacks for the trip, but not enough food and water to last us a long time. No help came, no cars came, and no calls could be made out or received. As day turned to night, the car became colder and colder as the cold winter air crept its way into our vehicle. I looked out into the dark forest and I could see glowing eyes in the woods and I could hear the sound of wolves nearby barking and howling. Three days had passed, Laura and I were weak from not eating. We occasionally would open the car door to gather snow off the ground to eat it, to attempt to stay hydrated. Eventually, Nathan's constant cries shrank to a dull whine and eventual silence. I reached back to the baby seat where he sat under some blankets and felt for him. He was cold to the touch, Nathan had died. I'm not sure whether it was due to starvation or exposure, but he was gone. I leaned back forward, putting my head against the steering wheel and sobbed uncomfortably. The tears stung as they ran down my frozen face. As if fate couldn't be cruel enough, Laura tapped me on the shoulder and weakly pointed. Outside the car were those same wolves, now circling the car as if death itself had informed them of my son's passing. They couldn't get to us as long as we stayed in the car, but one thing was for sure, we weren't going to be able to gather any more ice. I had never felt so much despair in my life. I almost didn't want to be rescued at that point, I felt I just wanted to die and join my son in the afterlife. I laid my head down on the steering wheel and fell asleep.
I woke up the next morning to find Laura and Nathan's body gone from the car. I had noticed the wolves were gone as well. Perhaps she went to bury Nathan, though I'm not sure how she had the strength to do so. I dragged myself out of the car and grabbed the knife I kept under my seat for defense. I could see in the woods the flickers of light from a fire and I began to walk towards it. As I approached I could smell the intoxicating aroma of cooking meat, I could see Laura crouched at the fire ravenously eating away. She turned and looked at me and smiled as if to beckon me to join her. My mouth watering and my stomach in pain from not eating for three days I approached. I had stopped halfway when I stepped on some sort of soft cloth in the snow. I looked down and what I saw to my horror could only be confirmed when I looked at the shape of the meat that Laura had over the fire. It was the familiar shape of my son, my baby boy. I felt a menagerie of emotions wash over me, from disgust to horror, but the one that stood out to me at that moment was rage. I don't know where this strength came from, but in that moment of blind hatred, I plunged the knife into Laura's neck. She fell over gasping to scream in pain as her warm blood melted the snow by her. It only took seconds, but it felt like minutes as I stood there and watched her die. I walked back to my car and sat in the driver's seat. I grabbed a blanket from the back seat and just passed out. I don't know how many hours had passed but,
I had awoken to the sound of a scream. I stepped out of the car and tried to pinpoint where the screams were coming from. Was Laura somehow still alive? I thought to myself. Guilt filled my heart as I began to run into the woods towards Laura. I came to a clearing, but Laura was nowhere to be found. I heard some footsteps in the snow nearby, and I decided to pursue it. What I found behind those trees was not my wife, but a creature. It was tall and emaciated with gray skin and yellow eyes. It had a wide mouth filled with jagged teeth and no hair. It turned to me and let out a loud inhuman scream. Its breath was hot and smelled of both rot and death. I didn't bring my knife with me to defend myself, not that it would do me any good. I knew what this thing was and who it used to be. I turned and ran as fast as I could back to the car. I could feel its pursuit on my heels and then the feeling of hot iron piercing my side. I was lucky I had left my car door open, I leaped in and closed the door behind me as the creature slammed into the side of my car nearly shattering the window. I grabbed my side and it felt wet, my hand now covered red with my own blood. The creature ripped the door open of my car and pulled me from my seat. It cradled me in its arms as I felt blood running down my face. It looked at me and with a deep monstrous voice it said: "You're going to be alright."
I looked up to see flashing lights and a paramedic at my open door. I looked around feeling dazed and in pain. There was no monster. I looked in the back of the car, there was no baby seat. "You're going to be okay." The paramedic had said again. "You've been in a bad car accident." He said. I looked around and saw that I was on a forest road, I had crashed into a tree. Beyond my broken windshield was the corpes of a deer. As I began to recall events leading up to the crash, the paramedic spoke to me again: "Can you tell me where you were heading?" I sat there dazed, I remembered, I was heading to my hometown for the holidays to visit my family. "Home." I said. "Were you traveling with company or alone? " he had asked. I thought for a moment recalling my vivid dream. I looked at the paramedic with a look that can only be described as a deep sadness, "alone."

Hey everyone,
So the 1.6.5 update had some issues (apparently that can happen if you wait a year and a half to release an update, who would have thought), so I spent last week fixing those. The latest version, 1.6.7, should be up now. The 1.6.5 version had some major problems with calendar progression, making days progress at 24 times the speed, which meant that dragons spawned a little too often (roughly every time you fast traveled), along with a bunch of other issues. These issues are fixed now.
While I had some time left waiting for the update to be approved by Nexus, I made some other improvements as well. This'll be the final final update for me for a while then, sorry for the inconvenience, hope you enjoy!
Best, Cosideci.

Update 1.6.7

Beast form overhaul (Vampire Lord and werewolves)

Vampire Lord and werewolf sync were technically implemented since the 1.0 release of Reborn, but it never really worked all that well. The 1.6 update broke beast form sync even further (naked Vampire Lord, animation desync, beast form disappearing when traveling through doors). I overhauled the beast form sync code, and it should be fully playable now! As a side note, there's one bug left with Vampire Lord, where if you spam the walk forward button as your player is transforming, the animation might be desynced. Simply wait for the animation to properly finish before walking and you'll have no issues!

Full patch notes

• Calendar progression sync fixed (no more infinite dragons, vampire transforming too fast, or any other time related bugs)
• Beast form overhaul (Vampire Lord and werewolves)
• Fixed a situational bug where spells would sometimes do double the damage
• Added a special menu in case you missed the ridiculous number of dragons from the borked 1.6.5 update (press F3 to open the debug menu, click on "Debuggers") ;)

@everyone, We will be doing the hotfix #50 update starting at may 28 2024 11:30 AM (UTC -4). When the patch starts, you will not be able to log in to the game and players in-game will not be able to enter the matchmaking pool during this time.
Players in a match or in-game will have 40 minutes to complete the match and exit safely.
The server will return to full service 2 hours after the patch starts.
During maintenance, all services, including the website, may be temporarily suspended to update various servers.
Changes:

• Fixed an issue where the rogue’s pickpocket ability would not work.
  
• Fixed an issue with crossbow bolts that had too many bolts.
  
• Fixed an issue where Ale could disappear from your loot when escaping.
  
• Fixed a crash issue when clicking on certain merchants.
  
• Fixed a bug with the Life after Death unique passive.
  
• Fixed an issue where you couldn’t move items around when resting.
  
• Fixed an issue where the balance changes to the Staff Mastery and Ironwill from the previous hotfix were not implemented.
  
• Modified the creep system to allow for more tactical decision making. Normal movement has the footstep sound range set to completely fall off at 2000 units (~20M). Moving while crouching has the footstep sound range set to completely fall off at 1500 units (~15M). Finally walking has the sound range set to completely fall off at 1000 units (~10M). The only way to completely turn off the footstep sound within these ranges is for a rogue to utilize a perk allowing them to crouch-move in silence.
  

Developer Comments:
This hotfix fixes some pesky bugs to ensure a smooth final week of the leaderboards. The new inventory system gives us renewed confidence as we shift gears on preparing for the next season. We have been working hard on the new wipe which will start a new chapter for Dark and Darker. It will be the start of the vision where instead of bouncing back and forth between trying to find an identity as a competitive PvP game versus a full-on looter RPG we will finally embrace the challenge of creating our own unique experience that combines both. As one of the first changes in this direction we have fully reworked the creep system. Instead of trying to replicate a competitive PvP game by forcing the silent creep, we have updated the system to give players multiple tools to adapt to unique situations that occur in our dungeons. We will continue to release more changes like this including a drastic balance test next week to give a taste of the new path. We thank you for your patience as we endured this growing stage. Finally, we plan to remove the Hold the Line package at the start of the season so get it while you can. See you in the dungeons!
Edit: Early Access Hotfix #50-1
@everyone, We will be doing the hotfix #50-1 update starting at may 28 2024 05:30 PM (UTC -4). When the patch starts, you will not be able to log in to the game and players in-game will not be able to enter the matchmaking pool during this time.
Players in a match or in-game will have 40 minutes to complete the match and exit safely.
The server will return to full service 2 hours after the patch starts.
During maintenance, all services, including the website, may be temporarily suspended to update various servers.
Changes:

• Fixed an issue where the weapon in the player's hand was sometimes not visible.
  
• Fixed an issue where merchant prices were displayed incorrectly.
  

Besides the 7 sins we've already got in the game, it's heavily hinted that there are 2 more, namely the black and the white sins, of all the sins we have the least amount of information about, only having black silence as a colour fixer and Heathcliff's sorrow as to go off about, which isn't alot
on the other hand, the white sin doesn't get talked about as much, it wasn't really mentioned directly or indirectly, nevertheless we still have alot about it even though it was never directly mentioned at all
​

First of all; Lobotomy Corp and the Library

in Lobotomy Corp, there's multiple instances of "changing", the most blatant one is the plague doctor changing into White night, a more subtle one is Ayin and X's case, where we are shown how Ayin abandon his old Self A, wiping his memory over and over, at the end of the game, X and Ayin are completely different people, with different believes on how things should be done
same thing happened in LoR, Carmen also "changed", leaving her old believes behind, Carmen before and after the events of lobotomy corp aren't the same person
​

The league of the nine

the League of the nine is in an interesting thing to talk about, their original number is 9, same as the number of sins, moreover, three of the members we have do fit perfectly with their sins
Yi Sang, with his Sin of Sloth, saw the league falling apart yet did nothing to try and fix it
Dongrang, Sin of Gluttony, not satisfied with the simple life he had at the League, tore it apart so he can seek a better life in one of the big Corps
DongBaek, Sin of Gloom, too stuck in the past and not willing to move over it
these three seem to have the strongest link to their sin that we've seen, the other three we have met haven't really talked much about their feelings or anything like that, but I remember Gubo saying something along the line of Envying Yi Sang for being a genius, and Rim's head looks like the Still water EGO gift, which is linked to Poise, which is linked to Pride
overall, there is a link between the League of the nine and the sins, all that talk was to get to this one point : Young-ji, he's an interesting case, we don't really see his face, and in one of the pictures, it's just removed, that thing reminds me alot of how Carmen had these black lines over her face in both the previous games, moreover, he was mentioned to have disappeared, to the point where no one can find him
setting him with one of the 9 sins, he does seem to have the same Sin as Carmen and Ayin of abandoning your old self

Conclusion

The white sin seems to be "abandonment" or "changing" or a mix of the two, leaving your old self behind (A and C), changing into something new (whitenight and C) and seeking a new life (C and Young-ji)

May 24th patch to fix the boulders indefinite disappearance did nothing. PS being a druid since release its really sad to see how boring they are.

After a long hiatus, I've returned to Skyrim Modding with a complete rework of my first mod. Banshi's Decorations adds merchants to Whiterun, Solitude, and Riften, who sell trophies, decorations, and replicas. Includes items like the Insect Jars but also quest rewards like Dawnbreaker. I've tried to make sure the items cost more to buy than to sell, and items require either completing a quest or already possessing one in your inventory to obtain.
This is a mod I built myself and have only ever tested myself. When I started I was very new to modding, and I'm entirely self-taught, so I would really appreciate testers/feedback. It's also really a work in progress but to wait until it was completely ready in every way would take years. For now, I'm turning my attention to Creation Club patches so that items like the creation club insects in jars are also available.
I mostly play in VR and this works with FUS (though there does seem to be some weird issues with the entrance in the Riften store on my playthrough, it's just a minor visual problem). The mod also doesn't seem to cause any problems if you delete and reinstall, or install on a game that's already in progress - the only issue is if you buy items that are unique to the mod, like the gold candlesticks, they disappear if you uninstall. If you buy something like the Thieves Guild trophies or Dawnbreaker, those stay even after uninstalling.