We often feel grateful for the progress of our world, but is what we see today truly advanced after all?

I bring this topic up because we must consider all the worst-case scenarios that may unfold. What would happen if the power goes out? What would occur if there were major blocks in our food supply chain? Can we survive without modern technology and the grocery stores? Unfortunately, I don't think most of us could at the moment. These scenarios are not meant to evoke fear, but rather to inspire a deeper and more comprehensive examination of our current circumstances. Danger is an undeniable reality that we must face and, as men, take measures to mitigate them. While public institutions may offer assistance during challenging times, we must be aware that this help often comes at a significant cost to our autonomy and happiness (study history and watch what occurs to personal freedom in exchange for help, i.e. increased taxes, restricting policies, and inflation). My hope is that these worst-case scenarios will encourage us to implement holistic solutions and become true kings. In order to begin taking corrective measures, we must objectively look at where we are at and question the metrics we use to gauge progress. How can we accurately and objectively measure advancement?
I suggest that we look at the resiliency of a society through a multi-layered perspective in order to get that information. This prompts the question, what exactly is resiliency and why is it important to consider? To define resiliency, we must look at the quality of skills, internal resourcefulness, and tools that support a society’s ability to survive and thrive from a holistic standpoint. By gauging resiliency, we can identify the strengths and weaknesses of a society and gain insight into its ability to handle current and future challenges. In today’s world, we often see innovation in ways that have nothing to do with building true resiliency and progress, but to solely benefit a consumptive paradigm that revolves around entertainment, fast food, and false comfort. We even “innovate” to the detriment of nature and ourselves. How is this an advanced society and how did we get fooled into accepting the dire reality we’re experiencing today? It’s because the way we measure our standing or “success” in our daily lives has nothing to do with cultivating resiliency, but with superficial status games and how much access we have to means of instant gratification.
Furthermore, it's clear that many of our societal advances have been driven by the pursuit of increasing profit, power plays, and keeping people distracted from what truly matters. This is why we are primarily concerned with all things money. When academics make status reports, they often focus on GDP growth as the primary metric of success. Similarly, when people assess their personal lives, they tend to look at their bank account balances and the number of new gadgets they possess. Consequently, when we see increases in economic growth and personal wealth, we may fall further into the illusion of advancement. Technological innovation also contributes to this illusion of progress. While digital technology has undoubtedly advanced our society in many ways, it has also create a false sense of security and comfort because we think we have all the answers at our fingertips, instant access to entertainment, naked women, and food. In reality, our growing dependence and addiction to technology has disconnected us from essential survival skills and self-regulating practices that are crucial for our physical and mental well-being. The convenience and instant gratification provided by technology have resulted in an unhealthy imbalance in our relationship with nature, our community, and our own bodies. We have lost touch with the importance of self-care, self-awareness, and leading a balanced life. As a society, we must be conscious of this imbalance and make a concerted effort to regain the knowledge and skills necessary for a healthy and fulfilling existence. If we don't, then we will be caught off guard and be forced to accept help from sources that do not care about our best interest and our self actualization as men.
This raises the question: Are money and technology the best metrics for gauging our advancement as a society and as individuals? I think a lot of us are starting to realize that money isn't the end-all, be-all. People are starting to focus more on personal well-being and happiness. We're seeing people talking about how we need to stop looking at GDP and start looking at how happy people are. Instead of just checking our bank accounts, we should be asking ourselves, "Am I happy at the end of the day?, how healthy am I?, am I living in my true purpose?"So, how can we build towards becoming a truly resilient society? A society where people can have fulfilling lives, even if the electricity goes out. The answer lies in cooperation and self-empowerment. Coming together as a collective and sharing information, supporting each other in various areas of resiliency, such as food, water, housing, and happiness. People should feel fulfilled and satisfied with their lives, not just financially, but emotionally and mentally as well. We need to reconsider what it means to be an advanced society and create environments where people can live their best lives, pursue their passions, and find meaning in their daily lives.

As men, we have a unique opportunity and responsibility to lead the way in building a resilient society. By exploring and actualizing our ultimate masculine potential, we can become true kings - leaders who inspire, guide, and empower ourselves and others.

This involves cultivating essential skills, such as self-reliance, adaptability, emotional intelligence, and the ability to foster strong, supportive communities. By embodying these qualities and leading by example, we can create a ripple effect that encourages others to embrace resilience and work towards a more sustainable, fulfilling future. As we navigate the challenges and uncertainties of our ever-changing reality, it is crucial that we, as men, step up and become true kings who take action in shaping a society that prioritizes the well-being and growth of all its members. By understanding and improving resilience, both within ourselves and our communities, we can better prepare for and respond to the obstacles that inevitably arise.

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

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

Hi Everyone! I've been getting some DM's after the score release thread yesterday, and it seems like it might be helpful for some to hear my experience with the test, so here we go.
BACKGROUND: I'm a US MD student at a T20 who has done pretty well academically, but certainly not top of the class in anything.
THIRD YEAR: Throughout clerkships, I used a pretty standard way for studying for every shelf exam. I would do all of the anki found within the most up-to-date version of the AnKing step 2 deck, did all the Uworld for the clerkship once, re-did all of my wrongs on uworld, then took as many CMS's for that subject as I could. I'd throw in a couple review videos from Emma Holliday and Divine here and there, but overall this was the setup. Generally scored about 85th percentile or so on those, and ended up scoring 74% on this first pass of uworld.
DEDICATED: Gave myself 5 weeks to study for it just to have a little more flexibility in how hard I went each day. On average I bet I spent around 8 hours studying each day, except for practice test days where it was more like 12ish.
Anki: I reset the step 2 AnKing deck at the very beginning of dedicated and set the due date for two days before my test. This came out to ~800-1200 review cards/day, which I mainly did at the gym while on the treadmill or in between sets. I also made anki cards for my wrong answers on Uworld and NBME's, which came out to about 800 cards total.
Practice Questions: Uworld is still king. I did around 80-120 questions/day on timed testing mode nearly every day that I was not taking a practice test. I would do all of these questions in a row in the morning and review them later in the afternoon at lunch. For reviews, I would honestly skim through the ones I got correct unless there was a knowledge gap, and read through everything on those I got wrong + make an anki card. Ended up getting through 45% and scoring 85% on this. Only other practice questions I relied on were the AMBOSS high yield risk factors, ethics, 200 concepts, and vaccine/screening blocks, which I did during my first week of dedicated.
Practice Tests: Do as many of these as you can. Both UWSA's and NBME's are great, but if you're in a bind and can't do both, I would focus on the NBME's since questions seem more alike to those seen on the test. I also tried my best to take and review the tests on the same day so I had a better recolleciton of my thinking during questions, but idk if this helped that much and it was brutal getting through on some days. Here's the order I did them and my scores:
NBME 9: 244 (35 days out), NBME10: 253 (28 days out), NBME11: 260 (21 days out), UWSA 1: 260 (18 days out), UWSA 3: 255 (13 days out), Old New Free 120: 91% (11 days out), NMBE13: 264 (10 days out), NBME14: 261 (7 days out), UWSA 2: 268 (5 days out).
I did these in this order based off the recommendation of some friends who had taken the exam previously, but I don't think there's a right answer. I also didn't take NBME 12 because I heard horror stories (I'm just a scared little guy) or the old old Free 120 since I heard it wasn't super representative at this point. SUPER IMPORTANT BOLDED POINT - I would normally take 1-2 days following my practice tests doing uworld specifically on the areas that were weaker based on my test result. I think doing this really helped keep things efficient.
Podcasts: Divine Intervention and Emma Holliday are the truth. For DI I listened to the rapid review series (there's a good spotify playlist if you type in "divine intervention rapid review") and the QI episodes. I also listened to all the Emma Holliday episodes by the end of dedicated. I mostly did this passively while exercising or cooking.
Day before test: This video right here (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJgjMZk8\_To) is sweet. I followed a lot of the tips and found them helpful. Waking up early at 5 am and exercising helped a lot in terms of sleeping and calming my nerves. I also did NOTHING to study that day and recommend you do too. If you have to do something, try to keep it relatively light.
Day of Test: Got to the testing center half an hour early. I also had plenty of water with me and tons of different protein bars (shoutout kirkland brand protein bars) which I ate from during each break. The video I linked recommends having just a small cup of coffee before the exam to keep nerves stable, but if you're like me and a straight up caffeine junky you can do what I did and take caffeine pills before and during the test. I ended up taking one (200 mg) right before, another (200 mg) after three blocks, and a final (200 mg) after six blocks. Yeah I know that's a lot stop looking at me like that. For breaks I took my first after two blocks, one after the third, a longer one after the fourth, one after the sixth, and a final short one after the seventh. I will bold the following because I think this is what gives people an edge on test day, try to poop before the test begins. Nothing worse than thinking about that while trying to perform. Other than that, just be nice to the testing center folks.
OTHER STUFF: Try your best not to burn yourself out studying. Only you know what your capacity is, so strive towards maxing that out and no more than that no matter what those around you say. Also, try your best to eat healthy and exercise at least 3 days a week. Doesn't matter how you exercise, but just getting some movement is super helpful. I found going to the gym and mixing in anki was effective and efficient, but you do what's best for you. Last thing, try to find a hobby you can do at night after you're done studying. Mine was video games and seeing friends, but you do whatever makes you happy.
FINAL THOUGHTS: This test sucks man. It's long, the questions can be vague, and its stressful. That said it's also doable (especially compared to Step 1). The most important part is just doing your studying consistently and keeping yourself sane. That's easier said than done, but its definitely possible to do it. In the end, a lot of what happened in my case was just the form I got falling into my strengths, but being consistent with your studying and working on your weak areas through Uworld sets you up to be lucky.
tl;dr: 80-120 uworld questions/day, reset step 2 anking and set due date to near test date, take NBME's and UWSA's, hit weak areas, find a stress reliever, be cool to yourself, poop before test.
Put the word out that we all back up. Hope this helps someone.

As the last orange light of day drained from the sky, the living dead in Club Vlad rose. Max the skeleton and Jessie the…not skeleton…sewed up the gaping Y-shaped incision on Dom’s chest under Merrick’s direct supervision. Dom sat there, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. He’d woken with a headache and a feeling of cold, and even now, he could feel the dull throb above his left eye. It felt like someone was tearing his brain apart with a fork. He had told Merrick, and Merrick had nodded sadly. “Is my brain rotting?”
“Most likely,” Merrick had said.
There was a certain peace in the idea of losing his cursed humanity. As Merrick had said, he would feel no pain, know no quandaries. He would live only for the night and for his master. On the other hand, watching someone like Matt sit and stare into the distance, drool coursing down his chin and nothing happening behind his dead eyes, scared Dom. He didn’t want to be a braindead idiot. He didn’t care about keeping his emotions, he just wanted to function.
Like Merrick.
There wasn’t much he could do, however. He was dead and that was the end of it.
Once Dom was patched up and dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie, Merrick called his children before him. “I have done my best to love and protect all of you,” he began. “Jessie, you were miserable with your grandmother, were you not?”
“Yes,” Jessie said tonelessly.
“You were depressed, bipolar, and cut yourself. Now you’re happy.”
“Yes,” she replied again.
“Joe, you were a two bit nobody staring down a ten year stretch in jail.”
“Yes.” Thin yellow liquid dripped from his nose.
“But now you are free.”
“Yes.”
“You appreciate what I’ve done for you.”
“Yes.”
Merrick flashed then, slamming his fist onto the arm of his wheelchair. “Then why do you keep fucking up? The police were here earlier. They have messages between you and Jessie. I told both of you to delete those. Then I find out that you bit someone and turned them despite my orders. We have an endless supply of blood here but you still went off on your own. How many are there?”
“Just one,” Joe said.
“Are you being honest with me?”
“Yes.”
Merrick sagged back in his chair, looking somehow older. “Joe, take Matt and go to her. Bring her back here before she causes any more problems. God alone knows how many people she’s changed. Too many vampires without a father will bring heat on us, and you know what happens in that case? We get pieces of wood shoved in our chests.”
Turning to Dom, Merrick said, “I have a job for you and Jessie. We’re nearly out of embalming fluid. You haven’t had your first dose and the rest of us are starting to get ripe as well. I have a contact at a funeral home. He texted earlier that the order he placed on my behalf has come in. I want you to pick it up and to pay him.”
Dom had never been picked for anything in his whole life. No one had ever wanted him on their team and no one had ever placed their trust in him the way Merrick was now. He was honored, proud, and would do anything to not let Merrick down.
“That cop who came here might be a problem,” Merrick went on. “We may have to deal with him, but we’ll leave that for another night. In any case, I want this place cleaned from top to bottom. If the police come, I want them to see nothing out of the ordinary.”
Now that everyone had their marching orders, they dispersed. Merrick handed Dom an evelope stuffed with cash, and Dom slipped it into the pocket of his hoodie. The other team - Joe and Matt - left, while the remaining vampires began tidying up.
A fleet of vehicles waited in the parking lot behind Club Vlad. Dom and Jessie took a black pedo van with no back windows. They drove in silence, the radio off. Dom did not want to hear music, nor did he wish to speak to Jessie. Their kinship was one of blood and circumstance, not one of words and emotions. He had no questions for her and wished to answer none of his own. The only thoughts he had were of the mission ahead and of the growing pain in his skull. He thought of the staring stupid Matt, of the decayed Max, and a shiver went down his spine.
What was left of his humanity recoiled at the idea of becoming like them.
The pain grew hotter, more intense. He forced it away and focused on driving.
The funeral home was on North Allen Street, next to a restaurant called Pepperjack’s. A tall, white house with dark shutters and a sign out front, it looked like a quiet, peaceful place. “Pull around back,” Jessie said.
Dom pulled the van around back and parked under a balcony, killing the headlights. They got out and went to the back door, Jessie in the lead. He assumed that she had done this before and that the seller would recognize her. She knocked, and a few moments later, the door opened. A youngish man with a shaved head appeared, wearing an apron and gloves. He saw them and tensed a little. Dom could smell, rather than sense, his fear, and his throat panged with thirst. “Come on,” the man said quickly. He stepped aside and allowed them to enter. Dom noticed that he walked behind them, wary of putting his back to them. “Do you have the money?”
“Do you have our order?” Jessie countered.
“Yes,” the man said, “I’m really risking my neck for this. They don’t just give embalming fluid away, you know. They keep track of it and if they realize I’m over ordering, someone from the state’s going to come down here and check.”
He led them into an embalming room. Three boxes sat on a table. Dom gave the man his money, and he and Jessie carried the boxes outside, loading them into the van. The whole time they were there, the man was edgy, like he was afraid they were going to attack him. Dom would be a liar if he said that the hot smell of the man’s blood didn’t excite him. Perhaps once his brain rotted away, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, but for now, he could.
A lightning bolt of pain shot through his head and he nearly dropped the last box onto the ground.
Once the man was paid, Dom and Jessie drove back to Club Vlad. In fifteen minutes, they were drinking side by side from two passed out partygoers, their reward for a job well done.
Meanwhile, across the city, Joe and Matt weren’t doing as well. They were standing outside of Heather’s apartment. Joe, slightly annoyed (anger being another emotion vampires could feel, along with fear) pounded on the door. He knew she was in there; he could smell the putrid odor of decay. “Let us in,” he said. “We won’t hurt you.”
Joe could barely remember changing her. He didn’t mean to, it just…happened. Like an unwanted pregnancy. You can bite someone as much as you want and drink as much as you want, but if you take too much at once and they die, you get the vampire equivalent of a baby. Joe liked the hunt. It was exciting. Having his meals brought to him Club Vlad didn’t arouse the same level of excitement. It was like shooting an animal tied to a tree. Or hiring a prostitute instead of wooing someone. No real satisfaction to it.
That was probably his greatest downfall. He had lured Jessie the same way, though Merrick was indeed interested in rescuing her from her grandmother. People you have saved obey just as well as people with no brains.
He felt fluid on his upper lip and sniffed. “Come on, let us in,” he said.
No response.
He looked at Matt and nodded to the door. Together, they rammed their shoulders against it. It shook in its frame. They were both dead and weak, but modern American architecture is even weaker, and the door eventually slammed open. The apartment beyond was dark, messy, and reeked of death. They searched high and low, and eventually found Heather huddled in a corner, trying to hide. She was naked save for a pair of panties, her body bloated and beginning to turn black. Her skin hung from her frame and her eyes were filled with blood and fear. It was a wonder no one had called the police yet. The smell was overpowering. “We’re here to help,” he said. “You have to come with us.”
She shook her head and trembled. Maybe she remembered that he was the one who did this to her. Maybe her memories had rotted away. Those were usually the first to go. Then your emotions, then your personality. Finally, your capacity for higher reasoning. “I’m sorry I did this to you,” he said. That was a lie. He was not remorseful. Nor was he proud, for that matter. It just happened. Like rain. “But I want to help you. We can fix you.”
No amount of coaxing or conjoling could induce her to move. Joe weighed his options. He doubted anyone would call the cops even if they heard the door coming down - people who lived in places like this rarely called the cops, which helped Joe and his cause immensely. Even so, there was the possibility. Every minute they spent here was a minute that something could go wrong, and Joe had a lot to lose.
So, too, did Merrick.
Giving up, Joe took out his cellphone and called Merrick. “She refuses to come,” he said simply.
The line was quiet for a moment, then Merrick’s voice came back. Cold. Calculating. “Then do what you must.”
That was the go ahead.
Hanging up, Joe looked around the apartment and found a wooden chair in the kitchen. He lifted it over his head and slammed it on the counter, shattering it into a million pieces. He selected the longest, sharpest, and sturdiest looking one. He went back into the room and directed Matt to hold her down. She fought, kicked, and spat, but she was weaker than even they were. They had been embalmed. She hadn’t.
Matt pinned her hands above her head and Joe straddled her. Animal terror filled her eyes and she whipped her head from side to side. Joe lifted the makeshift stake with both hands, and brought it down as hard as he could, driving it deep into her heart. Her eyes bulged from their sockets and a high, otherworldly scream ripped from her throat. She bucked, thrashed, and kicked her feet. Her resistance began to ebb away until she was twitching…until she was still.
Heather from OKCupid was dead.
Truly dead.
Joe couldn’t help wondering what it was like.
Pulling the stake out, he tossed it aside and got to his feet, Matt doing likewise. A soul petrifying scream might be cause for even the tightest of lips to start talking. “Let’s go,” he said. And together, he and Matt fled, leaving the poor, dead body of Heather behind.
***
As it turned out, one of Heather’s neighbors did call the cops. At 10;13pm, Vanessa Rodregiez arrived with two patrolmen and found the front door of Apartment 237 knocked down. Guns drawn, they entered, Vanessa at the head. The first thing she noticed was the smell. It jammed itself into her nostrils, shoved its tongue down her throat, and violated her - all without even buying her dinner first.
Vanessa hadn’t been at this as long as her buddy Bruce had, but she knew a dead, rotting body when she smelled one. They searched the premises, and sure enough, they found a vic in the bedroom, lying in the gap between the bed and the wall; it looked like the former had been moved, perhaps in a struggle. Vanessa knelt down to check the vic’s pulse, but stopped.
There was no need.
The vic - who looked like a female but could have been an overweight male - hadn’t had a pulse in a very long time.
Examining the body, Vanessa found a wound in the chest, just above the heart. Black, stinking goo leaked from it, and Vanessa gagged. She fisted her hand to her mouth, retched, and then ran for the kitchen sink. Her partner for the night, Jim Walsh, stared down at the stiff before him, and his face turned a sickly shade of green. He avoided puking because he didn’t nose fuck the wound like Vanessa had, but he wasted no time in getting out there, dry heaving in the hallway where the air was somewhat fresh.
After leaving her lunch in the sink, Vanessa radioed back to headquarters, and before long, the place was crawling with cops. The assistant medical examiner - who had taken over after Ed Harris quit the previous night - knelt over the body and studied it. A solidly built black man with a mustache, his name was Leon and he knew death just as well as his old boss, so when he said the vic had been dead nearly two weeks, Vanessa accepted it.
That begged the question: Who broke in and screamed just now? A relative? The caller clearly heard screaming and peeked out her door to see two males fleeing on foot. Maybe they found the vic and freaked out? Or maybe they were the killers returning to the scene of the crime. After all, the vic had clearly been murdered.
In fact, they found a likely murder weapon. A long sliver of wood soaked in black goo. Blood turns black after a while, but there was something different about this stuff. “What is it?” Vanessa asked Leon.
“I’m not sure,” Leon said and pulled off a pair of Latex gloves he’d donned to examine the vic, “could be blood or…”
“Or what?” Vanessa asked.
“Or something,” Leon said. “Give me a few hours.”
And a few hours it was. Just before 1am, Leon called Vanessa at her desk. “I think you should come down here,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later, Vanessa stood over Leon as he pulled the vic’s chest open with a pair of tweezers. “That’s the heart,” he said, “whoever stabbed her scored a direct hit, but this…this is what concerns me.”
He prodded a furry lump with the tip of his scalpel.
“What is it?” Vanessa asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, “it looks like mold.”
That word - mold - triggered a memory in her brain. “Ed said something about mold last night. He found it in -”
“The Mason boy,” Leon finished.
“Yeah. The one who got up and ran off.”
Leon turned away from Vanessa and looked at the dead woman - for it was a woman. Vanessa got the impression that he didn’t want her to see his expression. “I’ve known Ed ten years. I know something happened last night, but a stiff getting up and walking off? I thought he was confused. Now…I don’t know. That makes two bodies in 24 hours. And get this. The chest wound? It was done post-mortem. I can’t find a cause of death anywhere. Except maybe blood loss but it’s hard to tell at this point. And speaking of blood…”
“What?” Vanessa asked quickly.
“When I opened her stomach up, a whole shit load of blood spilled out. And a lot of it was a lot fresher than she is.”
Vanessa furrowed her brow in confusion. “You mean…?”
“It’s not hers,” Leon said. “I can’t be 100 percent sure until I run tests, but I’d put money on it.”
Vanessa’s head spun with information both new and old. You know that full, heavy feeling you get when a poo is brewing in your guts? That’s kind of what Vanessa was feeling, only in her head instead of her stomach.
Leon was just as mystified by the whole thing as she was and stayed up late to run a few preliminary tests. By sunrise, he had confirmed that the blood inside of Heather’s stomach was not hers. In fact, it had come from at least three different sources. “Is it human?” Vanessa asked over the phone.
“Yes,” Leon said, sounding troubled, “it’s human.”
In the cobalt hour before sunrise, Vanessa sat at her desk and tried to piece this whole thing together. They had:

1. A corpse that (allegedly) woke up and dipped out
2. A dead girl who’d been stabbed in the heart with a piece of wood after somehow ingesting the blood of three different people.
3. Some missing kids
4. Oh, and both bodies - the girl’s and the runaway corpses’ - had the same weird fungus in their heart cavities.

All of this - even the missing kids, Vanessa felt - was related. She just didn’t know how. The only answer that half way fit was that both of those bodies were vampires. Like…what’s a vampire but a dead body that gets up and walks around at night? And how do you kill a vampire? Why, you drive a piece of wood through its heart.
The idea that vampires were real was dumb, but the more she turned it over in her mind, the more she became convinced that it was at least an option. A lot of things people thought were fantastic and made up turned out to be real, so why not vampires too?
Shortly after 8, Bruce came in. He was just sitting down when Vanessa came in and slapped her report on the desk. “Buckle up, bitch,” she said, “things just got weirder.”
He stared up at her with one of those grumpy - but cute -expressions he was so good at putting on. As he read, however, his brow knitted. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a weary sigh.
“I have a theory - kind of,” Vanessa said, “but I don’t want to say it.”
“You might as well,” Bruce said. “It can’t be more kooky than reality these days.”
“Okay,” Vanessa started, “what if - and I’m just thinking out loud here - what if there are vampires in Albany?”
She expected Bruce to give her a dirty look, but he chewed it over, actually taking it seriously. “And those missing boys are victims?” he asked finally.
“Yeah,” Vanessa said. “That girl’s been dead two weeks. Maybe she bit Dominick Mason and he came back for revenge after realizing he was cursed to be a goddamn shit sucking vampire forever.”
Bruce nodded. “Yeah, but who turned her?”
“I don’t know,” Vanessa said, “I don’t know.”
***
Before dawn painted the eastern sky, Merrick Garvis sat in his chamber like a withered king, a mess of IVs hooked into his arms and neck. The vault was silent save for the soft noise of the machines as they filtered out the old embalming fluid and replaced it with new embalming fluid. Embalming fluid always made him spacy, like a drug. The others had gone first, and even now lay near comatose around him like addicts in an opium den.
As far as he knew, Merrick was the oldest vampire in the world, perhaps, even, the oldest vampire to ever live. Though he was not fully honest with Dom, he was not lying when he said that vampires rotted like any other dead thing. Conditions considered, you had a few weeks tops if left untreated. There may be living vampires in remote corners of Egypt or the northern most reaches of Russia, where the climate preserved dead things, but unless you made it to one of those places, you were pretty well fucked.
Merrick was not a proud man, nor was he concerned with saving face - the dead have no need for that. He was being truthful when he said that he feared death. What’s more, he feared being helpless. Deep down, vampires are people, and people don’t exactly have the greatest track record with caring for their infirm. He read once that the first sign of a civilization was a broken leg that had healed, as it showed that someone stayed with and cared for a fellow human long enough for them to get well again. In Merrick’s opinion, that was true…and thus there was no civilization. Merrick was fifty-one when he died in the year 1982. In his lifetime, he had seen The Great Depression, World War II, and a million small acts of cruelty and selfishness in between. He’d seen beggars starving in the streets, abused children shuffled out of sight and out of mind, and disdain for the poor and the weak.
The living were awful, and the living dead were no different. Once their humanity rotted away, they cared only about filling their stomachs. They were like ticks - they would drink until their bellies literally ruptured…and then keep on drinking.
That left him in a precarious position. He was old, his body was weak. He couldn’t stand unassisted and if left to fend for himself, he would decay into a pile of bones within days. He would be cursed to lay in one spot for all eternity, aware and hungry, little more than a ghost tethered to a black and still beating heart.
He refused to let that happen to him. Thus, he had created a family, a clan of vampires loyal to him and to him alone. He did this through acts of simple kindness and understanding…but also through deception. He knew, for instance, how to preserve the brain. He’d figured out how to do it early on - you pickle it. Like a fetus preserved in a jar. He sawed off the top of his own head and filled it with a special solution that kept his brain - and his intelligence - intact. It slowly drained out through the nose and ears in a thin, yellow liquid, but it worked well enough. He couldn’t save everything, however, and had lost vital things in the process, such as most of his human memories, his sense of humor, and some motor functions. He shared this secret with only Joe, and a few others before, because he needed a strong captain. He kept the others in the dark because vampires - like people - are easier to control when they don’t think for themselves.
Right about now, however, Merrick was beginning to regret sharing the formula with even Joe. Joe had brought him nothing but grief. Joe, you see, could think for himself. He could make decisions. He could go behind Merrick’s back. Joe had something called free will, and free will is a worse affliction than vampirism. Free will is messy, free will is dangerous.
Free will could very well turn Merrick into a pile of bones.
That was, of course, if they weren’t discovered first. Joe had made several mistakes lately, not least of which was the turning of Heather. Sitting there in the predawn hour, attended by Tony, his gay bartender and human familiar, Merrick decided to have Joe killed. There are only two ways to kill a vampire: The stake and the flame. The latter seemed somehow appropriate in this case. After Joe, there would be no more captains, only him, one father with absolute power. That was how it had to be. One man, one vision. Democracies didn’t work. That was especially clear today. Everyone was so divided and nothing ever got done. If the humans had one strong leader, they might go in the wrong direction, but at least they would go somewhere. Instead, they stagnated.
Merrick didn’t particularly look forward to killing Joe, but it had to be done. To protect the family. To protect him.
And Merrick would do anything…anything at all…to protect himself.
***
Vampires.
Bruce kept coming back to that single wor, hoping each time that he would chuckle at the absurdity of it.
But he never did.
Did that mean he believed it? Not necessarily, but damn it, he considered it a possibility, and that alone was enough to make him feel like a fucking clown. All the evidence he had pointed to vampires, but then again, it might point to other things as well. Like aliens.
But let’s say the whole vampire thing was real. Who, like Vanessa asked, was patient zero? Who started this whole mess?
A name came to mind.
Merrick Garvis.
He had not had time to check into Garvis the previous day, but by God, he was going to do it now. He ran his name and social through the system and everything seemed to check out. Merrick Garvis was born on June 31, 1963 in -
Wait a minute. Weren’t there only 30 days in June?
Bruce checked, and there were, indeed, only 30 days in the month of June. Hm. Bruce did a little digging and found something out. Before 1987, social security numbers weren’t issued at birth. You had to sign up, using other forms of ID. Merrick Garvis applied for his in April 1984 and the date of birth on his state issued driver’s license was June 31. Bruce spent an hour on the phone with the DMV and learned that they had never issued a license to a Merrick Garvis. He then spoke to the Social Security Administration, and after much wrangling and frustration, he managed to get a photocopy of the license Garvis used to get his social security number. It was dated 1983.
The face staring back at him was almost exactly the same face he’d seen at Club Vlad, except maybe a touch less stiff and waxy. Though not as rough looking, there was no way in hell Garvis was 20 in that picture. It had to be a fake,
Bruce thought back to the events of the previous two days. Missing bodies, staked corpses, hearts that still beat after death.
Vampires didn’t seem like such a crazy explanation.
And if anyone was a fucking vampire around here, it was Merrick Garvis.

There are plenty of ways to convert ones paper flashcards to digital anki flashcards. After some research however I did not found a reliable way that suited my needs. The goal of this post is to document my workflow (just another workflow) so that people who find themself in a similar situation may be able to profit and save time and nerves.
Before we get started please note that English is not my native language and although I tried my best to get the spelling and grammar right there will most likely be (a lot of) mistakes.
Secondly I am running a Linux machine and I am using the command line for step two. That being said, I am no programmer and no Linux power user, if I can do it so can you! This However means there are most certainly more elegant ways to write the bash script and use the command line in step two. I appreciate any suggestions. Without any further ado lets get started:
The situation: I want to convert ~2000 paper flashcards to anki flashcards (yeah I know.. f me).

1. Scanning

I was quite lucky to have had access to a good scanning machine (Canon imageFORMULA). With that I was able to scan a whole chunk of flashcards ~50 at once. The software for that scanner saved EACH scanned flashcard as a separate pdf file. So every flashcard (front and back) was saved as a pdf file with the nametopic_xxx.pdf (important later). Note that topic refers to the topic of the flashcard and the xxx to the total number of scanned flashcards within that topic. For example: if I had 122 flashcards on complex analysis, I would scan them in four chunks (the scanner was not able to handle more than ~50 flashcards at once) and end up with pdf files ranging from 001 to 122 all named complexAnalysis_001.pdf ... complexAnalysis_122.pdf. So far so good till I learned that Anki can not import pdf files. Although there are Add-ons for that job I did not had any success with them.

2. Converting pdf to png

After some research I found out that you could quite easily use .png files to create anki flashcards. So converting all our scans is the next step. Turns out most Linux machines have quite a convenient command line tool for that job. You can use pdftoppm as part of the popplerpackage which is installed on most Linux machines (if not sudo apt install poppler-utils should do the job on Debian based systems). If we look at our example from Step 1. we can use the command

 pdftoppm -png complexAnalysis_001.pdf complexAnalysis_001 

to generate TWO .png files from that one pdf. We end up with the png files complexAnalysis_001-1.png and complexAnalysis_001-2.png where 001-1.png contains the front of our scanned flashcard and 001-2.png the back. Writing a little bash script (note: that is the first time I wrote a bash script so please go easy on me),

#!/bin/bash for ((h=0; h<=1; h++)) do for ((z=0; z<=9; z++)) do for ((e=0; e<=9; e++)) do echo $h$z$e pdftoppm -png complexAnalysis_$h$z$e.pdf complexAnalysis_$h$z$e done done done 

which iterates from 000 to 199, converted all my scanned complex analysis Flashcards to .png files. Isn't that cool?! Note that you need to change your directory to the location where all your files are when running the script. Also of note: You get an I/O error for every number for which there is no pdf file so in my example there will be an I/O error for 000 and every number >122. This however is nothing to worry about since the script just continues on.

3. So many PNGs... what now?

Now we want to create a .csv file with which we tell anki that the front for each of our 122 Flashcards is complexAnalysis_xxx-1.pngand the back is complexAnalysis_xxx-2.png. The Idea to import the Flashcards this way and how to create the .csv file comes from this post. The "explanation" on what is going on goes as follows: We can tell Anki to include a picture for the front and/or back of the flashcard. (I don't know any HTML so take my word with a grain of salt here) If we add to the front of our anki flashcards and to the back, we end up with a anki flashcard which is just like the paper flashcard. I believe this command tells anki so show the Image XYZ.png (this of course only works when the image XYZ.png is inside the Anki Media folder. More on that in Step 4). So the idea is to create a .csv file in which the first column includes the command for each cards front side and the second column the cards back side. In plain English: our spreedsheet (.csv file) has to look like this

Column 1 (Front)	Column 2 (Back)
complex Analysis 001-1	complex Analysis 001-2
...	...
complex Analysis 122-1	complex Analysis 122-2

only instead of complex Analysis 001-1 and so on.
I used LibreOffice Calc however Excel, google sheets and so on should all work similar if not even in the exact same way. Make sure all columns are formatted to text. In LibreOffice Calc we can connect two strings of text together with the command =CONCAT("text1","text2"). So first Column D represents the Flashcard # (Flashcards 001-122). Column E and F will represent the front (-1) and the back (-2 ) of our Flashcards. If we now call =CONCAT(D1,E1) (and=CONCAT(D1,E1)) in Column G (Column H) we get the String/Text 001-01 (001-02). We can now use this in Column A (and B) to assemble our full command by typing =CONCAT(CONCAT("") (and =CONCAT(CONCAT("")). I have prepared the Spreadsheet below:

	A	B	C	D	E	F	G	H
1	=CONCAT(CONCAT("")	=CONCAT(CONCAT("")		001	-1	-2	=CONCAT(D1,E1)	=CONCAT(D1,F1)
2	=CONCAT(CONCAT("")	=CONCAT(CONCAT("")		002	-1	-2	=CONCAT(D2,E2)	=CONCAT(D2,F2)

Why do we do this? Easy! If you now select Columns A - H and Rows 1 and 2 (so everything on the Table above) you can Drag them down all the way to row 122 (if you want to Add Tags for Cards you can type them in Column C). There is the ready to export spreadsheet for you! Export or save as a .csv file now and you are ready to go to the next Step!

4. Moving the PNGs into place

Move all the .png files which we created in Step 2 to your Anki Media folder. On Linux (if you have used ankis default installation) you can just cd into to folder with all your .png files and type the command

cp *.png ~/home/henry/.local/share/Anki2/User1/collection.media 

5. The magical Import

Almost done! Open up Anki. Go to File>Import and select the .csv file you created in Step 3. Now make sure "Front" ist set to Column 1 and "Back" is set so Column 2. If you added Tags in Step 3 make sure to set "Tags" to Column 3. Click on Import and you are done! All the scanned paper flashcards are now in Anki as digital ones, isn't that cool!
It took me for each, scanning and doing Step 1-5, about one afternoon till I had all my ~2000 paper flashcards in Anki. It is still some work but nothing terrible. I appreciate any suggestions and I am happy to answer questions if some arise. I hope this comes in handy for people in a similar situation. Happy studying everyone!

I know this is a silent hot topic but when I say take 5 min to make a call to make a difference I mean it! Much stronger than the "spammy" emails they get regarding these topics.
I called my local congressman DC office yesterday to talk about the CCP drone act, the assistant who took my call said I was the first to call in / hear about this. That alone is concerning (I'm in a busy Orange County district for Mike Levin)
Tell them your personal story, how it'll effect your business, first responders, the drone industry as a whole. If you need FAQ back it up with this: https://droneadvocacyalliance.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/FAQs-Countering-CCP-Drones-Act_2024.pdf
Scroll to the bottom for those security concerns that most are unaware of that its been through independent studies. Finally ask for a direct email to send this information to them.
While you're at it be sure to also mention the 2nd house bill titled Drones For First Responders Act, another NO vote... https://droneadvocacyalliance.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/DFR-Act.pdf
*Rant\* Hell DJI hardly allows those geofences to be lifted, we all know military zones are near impossible to open up without hacking the drone. Meanwhile USA drones have no geofencing, who here is more responsible when they (Elise Stefanik) making baseless claims of DJI drones spying on military sites... hah... Have they not discovered there's satellites or balloons actually doing that. *End Rant\*

I (30F) moved country in August of last year to finally join my husband (35M) after being separated by COVID travel bans and political happenings.
Since I arrived, some increasingly creepy things have been happening.
It started small (relative to where we are now).
Social media accounts being hacked. Mail going missing from the mailbox. The occasional strange sounds outside at night.
Since then, it's escalated to a level neither of us could ever have fathomed.
Someone who looks strikingly like my abusive ex (but isn't, because we've been no contact for a decade and he lives on the other side of the world, not even in the country I came from) hanging around outside, and someone who looks strikingly like my husband's late father, whose death affects him immensely to this day, following him in a car similar to the one his dad drove.
Social services receiving anonymous calls about our daughter, using my full government name with middle name, which not many people know.
Strange phonecalls, including maniacal laughter and someone playing animal sounds down the phone, only for the phone number to suddenly not exist when we or the service provider try to look into it.
Since December, things have really veered into feeling like an episode of Pretty Little Liars. My husband has showed up to work only to be told that he'd already called to book the day off, my mother-in-law has received bizarre phonecalls saying my husband owes someone money (which isn't true), and even friends who know nothing about the situation have reported strange happenings.
The scariest incident so far involved an old man we'll call Shakir (because he had a very similar name of Arabic origin). To clarify, I live in a European country where this kind of name is very unusual.
I first encountered Shakir when walking to the bus stop after meeting my friend for coffee in the town centre. I noticed him staring at me, checking his phone as if checking that I was the right person, then starting to follow me. He followed me onto the bus, then all the way home, eventually peering through the glass panel on the front door of the building I live in because I managed to get in and lock him out.
My neighbor, who is active military personnel (37M) was outside in the garden, so I told him that someone followed me home and was at the door. He went out and chased the man off, noting that he didn't speak much of the native language, but did appear to know my name and the name of another man living in the building. He told my neighbor that he was here to visit another neighbor, by name. After my neighbor didn't allow him in, he left, but 5 minutes later, my neighbor's phone rang from an unknown number. He answered, and the person on the other end said "it's Shakir... just wanted to say hello." That's how we know his name, but there was no way for him to have mine, and definitely no way for him to have my neighbor's number.
We called the police, but they were unable to trace Shakir.
We know that Shakir himself isn't the stalker, because he was too obvious and haphazard compared to everything else, but believe that he may have been sent either to follow me (and messed it up), or to intimidate me (which honestly kinda worked).
We've nicknamed the person behind this "the puppetmaster," because their personal hands-on involvement seems to be fairly low, they're just around behind the scenes making it happen.
What terrifies me is that I don't know what their motive is, or their next step.
What I do know is that if we solve the mystery and make it out in one piece, I'm selling this shit to Netflix.

Hi all! Celebration post here as Tuesday saw me earning my PMP first try with an AT/AT/AT score!
I want to thank this subreddit as I wouldn't have pursued it without all the great advice here; after a layoff a few months back I wanted to get it for better competitiveness in the market, and this sub made it so much easier.
I took mine in person after a few too many online horror stories of cancelled exams, but I also live in a major metro area where there are multiple in easy access range.
Like most here, I used Andrew Ramdayal's course on Udemy for my 35 hours; it also helped a ton with both the mindset & understanding how to do the application - even though I had to do the app twice, as my first wasn't formatted the way they like. Then I promptly got audited, but I was ready for the possibility and that only delayed me a day~!
Besides Andrew R, I found a few free practice tests through here, and then used the one in Andrew's course the day before my exam as my 'final' practice test. Combined with thoroughly reviewing what I missed both the night before & during the exam commute, I felt pretty good going in - and at the end of section 1 when I saw I'd flagged way less for review than I thought, I started feeling increasingly confident.
In the end I finished with a whole hour to spare, and once I saw the provisional pass promptly celebrated with delicious junk food.
Thank you to everyone here for all the help!
To future hopefuls - 1) Andrew R's Udemy course for sure; try using private browsing to get a discount code to make it even more affordable 2) Pop in here every day or two and try to answer the questions people ask for clarification on without seeing the correct answer first - just reading a coupleo f those posts most days helped reinforce & get me thinking in the mindset better 3) Practice exams are your best friend; had I not been trying to save as much money as possible I'd 100% have gotten PMI study hall; just reviewing what you got wrong and why every time will go a huge way to improving.
And you can do it! Don't give up!

Hey All,
Let me preface this by saying I was always a crappy student in school. Was never motivated, slacked off as much as I could, and pulled more allnighters the night before a test than I would have liked to - just to get an average score because I didn't study more in advance.
With that being said, I did officially pass the PMP on my first try on 5/14/24 with AT in all 3 target areas! I wanted to share my advice as I know when I first started studying I felt lost and wasn't sure if I was wasting time studying the wrong materials.
1.) PMI Study Hall is THE NUMBER ONE thing you should be studying. The questions on the test very closely mimic study hall. Look at the reasoning of why you got questions wrong and memorize the vocabulary as best you can (there are some vocab questions on the exam). As everyone else notes, the mindset is key. Caveat: use the expert questions as additional practice, but try not to confuse yourself with the explanations - some of them are contradictory to the PMP mindset. However, I wouldn't say skip them all together as some people suggest because it is additional practice. I did find there were some VERY challenging questions on the exam and maybe those were expert level. It's hard to say.
2.) Don't waste too much time/money spreading yourself too thin between all of the different study materials. This may sound controversial but - AR Mindset, 3rd rock notes, different PMP programs you can find online and pay for - keep in mind all of these people are making money off of you and of course they're going to tell you that their program is the best, no one ever fails after taking their course (BS - you can find plenty of people here that failed after meticulously studying AR's mindset course). My biggest problem with people who make their own "PMP Study Course" is that they're making up the questions themselves and you're not getting an accurate representation of what the exam will look like. The most helpful thing from these programs is probably the mindset - but again it could lead you astray. I would emphasize that PMI study hall was the single most helpful tool I used.
3.) David McChlaclan's youtube videos - primarily 200 agile questions, 150 waterfall, and the 7th edition PMP questions videos helped a lot - and helped break up the monotony of reading through Study Hall content every day. I would constantly rotate between study hall questions and then watch david's videos and follow along when my brain started to fry for the day.
With that being said, the questions he goes over are most likely generated himself or outside of PMI - but SOME of them look similar to the questions you'll find on the test - and his explanations really help you master the mindset of eliminating bad answers and narrowing them down to the right choice. He also really helps fill in the knowledge gap of the AGILE questions - which as many people state here on Reddit - are a huge portion of the exam. The agile knowledge and vocabulary around agile processes is KEY.
Side note: I specifically remember many questions about deliverables, and the stakeholders rejecting deliverables at the end of a project: what to do, what SHOULD the PM have done, etc. Maybe take a note of that, and how it relates to acceptance criteria of deliverables.
2nd Side Note: I never once referred to the PMBOK 7th edition guide or Agile Practice Guide Books - again I thought reading through these was like watching paint dry and felt it was a huge waste of time instead of just diving right into study hall and YouTube and cross referencing things when I didn't understand them (google searches for definitions, etc.).
Make sure you're not just memorizing the answers in PMI Study Hall (there are about 700 questions total) - mix it up between the practice questions and practice tests to make sure you're getting a well rounded understanding of all of the material.
TIme Management: This was harder than I thought it was going to be. I was taking too much time deciding between answer choices and reviewing answers for the first 2 sections of the test. This left me with 65 minutes for the last 60 questions and I REALLY busted through the last section as quickly as possible - I ended up with about 7 minutes to review my flagged questions for this section and got some peace of mine before submitting everything. With that being said, make sure you manage your time well from the beginning - mental fatigue really does start to wear on you.
Last rant: the power of the internet now is amazing. There is so much good content on youtube and people giving away free information - and that was a huge contributor to my success - especially when concepts in Study Hall/the explanations were confusing.
I never expected to pass AT/AT/AT - (I studied maybe 3 months total with 1-2 hours a day and sometimes not studying for days in a row - the last 2 weeks I turned it up hardcore and studied 3-8 hours a day depending on my mental capacity for the day). But with consistency and really dedicating yourself, it's possible. I thought the exam overall was CHALLENGING, some easy questions but some very tricky ones.
I just wanted to post this to say THANK YOU for all the helpful information and references to helpful study material. My success wouldn't have been possible without the Reddit PMP community. I'm very glad I'll never have to take that 4 hour, anxiety-inducing test again.

So I have been in contact with a law firm for a Junior Systems Admin role. I had interviewed with the HR recruiter who asked soft questions etc.
I then had a technical interview with the IT Manager. I prepped and studied and when the interview came around I did well and was happy with how it went.
I then interviewed with the SR systems admin and again I was quizzed and felt I did well.
So at 3 interviews deep I felt that I had done all I could do and put my best foot forward. A week and a half had gone by since my last interview so I emailed the HR recruiter asking for a status update. The next day she responds asking if I could have one last meeting with an outside IT consultant that they contract for trial technical work.
I will admit, I got pretty complacent thinking surely after 3 interviews with 2 of them being technical interviews, that this is simply a getting to know who I’m working with type of call. Nope. I was interviewed( he showed up 15 minutes late btw after already rescheduling once) and he jumped straight into technical questions. I was caught off guard and not prepared at all and blanked on several questions that I definitely know the answers too. The interview left me feeling deflated and I’m sure I wasn’t seen in the best light.
Point of this is to say, just because you have your certs, always be ready to prove that you know your stuff, because in this crazy job market, I feel like employers are finding any reason not to hire you over the other multitudes of applicants they come across. Best of luck to all of you and happy studying (or re-studying).

I am 19, and I'm a server at a restaurant and I host as well. I am known to be very responsible, always show up on time, never call out (as a general rule). I am a full time student, and I have a second job.
Recently, my DM (district manager), we will call him John, has been firing a lot of servers. John had come to me a few weeks ago, and asked me what position I liked to work in the most. He wanted to give me the position I wanted due to my "good hospitality". He expressed his satisfaction with my work ethic, and told me that he noticed how much of a good worker I am. He told me that a lot of people do not care about their job here, and that he could tell I do. So in turn, he was going to be firing a lot of people. That was very flattering to hear, I was thrilled, and he gave me what I wanted. However, with firing like 5+ servers in the span of 2 weeks, we now are low on staff for certain days, and this is a BUSY restaurant. Due to this, I've been staying hours over, in addition to my 35+ hours per week schedule.
I was thrilled to get that many hours, nonetheless, I am a full time student with a second job. I did not sign up to work a full-time schedule, especially during my semester. I am a part-time worker.
However, school ends for me next week, so working those hours would not be a problem, IN A WEEK, but, they scheduled me for almost 40 hours during finals week, in addition to my full time school schedule. Also, they never discussed the major increase in hours with me beforehand. I couldn't take off certain days this week for studying time, because my professors didn't tell us the final exam/paper dates until two weeks prior. The dates were TBA all semester, so I had no idea when they were going to be. Additionally, at my restaurant, we have to take off more than 3 weeks prior to the date. This created an issue for me.
I had no time to work on school, and working the scheduled 35+ hours, on top of staying over and taking a bigger workload because of lack of staff was exhausting me. So this past Sunday, I accidentally slept through my alarm, and was 55 minutes late to work. I have NEVER been late. This happened because I was up super late doing homework, because it is my only time to do it.
The restaurant had just opened, and so there was only one table I missed, but it was the bartender's table anyway, so they took it. I called the manager on duty as soon as I opened my eyes, and told them I'd be there in 10 mins. I was there in 10 mins, and I stayed 3 hours over my shift that day due to the lack of staff (because they fired two of the people for those shifts a couple days prior). It was mothers day, but I never complained, and kept a smile on my face even though I did not get to see my mom. I apologized to the manager on duty (who only manages one day a week), and I apologized to my main service manager, who I’ll call Rachel.
(FTR), I never ever complain about staying over or anything else, I pick up shifts that are needed on top of my set schedule, and I never ask to leave early. I also did not take off mothers day, unintentionally, so that is my fault.
Regardless, I was tired, and I still had 3 finals to finish for the next two days, and the next day (monday) I was scheduled for a double, 10 hours serving. I work in a college town, and 95% of our servers are college students. Additionally, My manager Rachel knows this. She went to the same college, and only graduated last year. However, she still scheduled me full-time hours the week of finals.
I knew I needed the next day off, Monday, to work on the papers, so I had tried to find coverage for my shifts. No one covered for me, so ultimately, I had to call out. Only my 3rd call out in all of my time being there, and all of my previous call-outs have been for ACTUAL reasons (sick, mom in hospital). It was my last resort, and I sent a whole paragraph on why I needed Monday off, and she told me she understood, even though I know she was not happy about it.
However, I understood the consequences of doing these two things back to back days, and I knew that a write up was a possibility. Also, I called out the night before, in hopes that someone would pick up my shift. I know that it is irresponsible to do so, the night before, but my education matters the most, and I have been burnt out.
Well, I received a write up yesterday. My first one ever, in my 6 years of working. Rachel sat me down, and explained that it is not a big deal, but that she had to do it. I do understand, but with my constant communication, and with it being finals week, I am just a small bit frustrated. Especially since other servers, who have worked there just as long as me, have done the exact same thing, and even more often. Additionally, one of the servers just quit for a week, and obviously did not show up for their shifts for that week, and came back with no consequences a week later. So I am just a little confused why I got a write up for this, and others have not.
Not to be cocky, but I know I am a hard worker. I know I do things efficiently, and that customers and management are satisfied with my work ethic. I take my job very seriously, and I care about doing the right thing. That is why I never lied when giving my reason for calling out. I always have clear and consistent communication with management. However, if I had just lied and said I was sick, would I have even gotten written up?
To provide some backstory, Rachel and I had a rough start when I first started there. She was not my main service manager at the time, and I had a feeling she did not like me. However, I did not say or do anything, and I took her criticisms and swallowed my pride. I never took an attitude with her, and never talked bad about her. Over time, her opinion of me has definitely changed, and I can see a difference in her respect for me. The other day, when I called out, she told me that she had noticed how much progress I have made. She told me she knows how hard I work. That was the first time I ever heard HER say anything to me about my work ethic. Additionally, she was not an a-$$ about the write up, and stressed to me that she knows the difference between an ongoing habit, and a mistake. She said this is a MISTAKE. She told me it won’t affect my schedule and reliability. She also said she doesn't like calling what I did a “write up”, and would rather call it counseling and documentation for our discussion. But, if that were true, why wouldn’t she just talk to me about it, instead of giving me a write up? I understand she has to answer to HER bosses as well, but then what about the other servers?
Regardless, I know that what I did was not right, I did not fight against the write up, and I peacefully accepted it. However, these are just my thoughts, and I want to know yours too.

PSA: It's super easy to get a copy of all the data Niantic holds about you by sending a simple email!
Niantic collects extremely detailed data about the distances you travel, your purchase history, session lengths, social connections, and so forth. Under the terms of their privacy policy (and bolstered by GDPR and the CCPA depending on where you live), you're entitled to receive a copy of this information if interested—all you have to do is ask.

How to Request Data

Send an email [privacy@nianticlabs.com](mailto:privacy@nianticlabs.com) from the email address associated with your Pokemon Go account with the following text or similar:

Dear Niantic privacy team,
I am writing to exercise my right under your privacy policy to receive a copy of the data you hold over me. I would like a copy of all data you hold, including but not limited to data on playtime, location, purchase history, and so on.
I hereby confirm my confirm my account details: my Pokemon Go username is [username], my Niantic ID is [Niantic ID, if applicable], and I am writing to you from the email associated with my account.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Best regards, [name]

Niantic may contact you to request further details verifying the ownership of your account.
Typically, you will receive a copy of your data within 3-4 weeks of making the request.

Donating Your Data For Science

If you're interested, you can also donate the data you receive for our scientific research. I'm a researcher from the University of Oxford (https://nickballou.com), and I'm sharing this information because (1) I want players to be empowered to understand their own gaming, and (2) we're interested in analyzing a fully de-identified copy of your data to understand how gameplay behavior evolves over time.
To participate in the study or read more about our privacy policy, etc, please see our website: https://gamedd.eecs.qmul.ac.uk.
(We have received permission from mods to share the study/survey here).
Good luck exploring your data—happy to answer any questions in the comments!

Seen: Season 9
Stepping back, I go all the way to the magical age, I wait for things to happen and allow the gods to destroy the world but instead I let myself be known to them, giving my greetings and sucking ass to the destruction god. The difference between the original is that I stick around for the aftermath after getting myself some elixir of eternity, talking and getting along with Salem until and making her think I am a manifestation of the mind and make sure she doesn't go inside the pool of destruction, but ultimately leaving her alone at the last legs of the journey so she can fall in later without my positive influence.
When Ozpin is reincarnated, I once again wait for him to begin moving and meet Salem, I then allow them to fight and return for my misdirection technique where I trick Salem, giving Ozpin enough leverage to get the girls out. I then lay the guilt on, HARD, about how she killed her own daughters and how she could have died millenniums ago if not for her pride and ego, being 1000x worse than her father. In the event this mental manipulation solves the problem and she admits her mistakes then yippee, but, otherwise, I continue with my plans by hiding the children and allowing them to find relationships while I continue researching the grimm. I take them to the lower islands on the map, clear out the grimm and use my own which I would either have tamed or learned how to herd and fake extreme grimm density. Slowly I build my population and selectively breed the people to be taller, stronger and not alter Ozpin's reincarnation cycle by using my own stock. When we start reaching modern stuff, I kill Cinder before she has the chance to take half of Summer's powers and allow Pyrrha to possess the half-dead corpse. I would have also come out at some point, possibly with my men, to continue the heavily guarded city beyond the mountains, using it as an emotional sponge to massively decrease the grimm population. Meanwhile, over the years and well after exploration had finished, the other islands in the south near Vacuo would have been cleared out and populated. Using these islands, a lot of resources would have been sent to Menagerie so their paradise/asylum/home was more than a tropical tourist spot with terrorists. Similar events would be done around the world like expanding Atlas with a city on its Eastern side that exploited the same deep dust veins.
Come the attack at Beacon, well that is simply an event that shouldn't be stopped, instead, the forces were to be relocated elsewhere and when everyone left with plot significance the soldiers could come in and clear out the rest. The story would continue until the ladies got to Atlas, at which point the plan to leave the planet would be progressed while I take the knowledge wish granter, killing Salem's agents and allowing Atlas to safely leave orbit while the spacial bridge was opened for the people under Atlas. Finally, entering the 9th season, I jump down and eat the time fruit, giving Jaune a wink as I surpass him and vanish to the beginning. Watching the gods grow up, I capture their destroyer and teach them responsibility before beating the shit out of them, knowing that their journey of discovery will force them to repeat their mistakes. With what needed to be accomplished done, I take the leaf and get behind Jaune once more so I can go exploring, collecting and learning. Once I have seen all I possibly can, I end up back at the tree using the leaves and go to the present, saving the cat and the demon for my trump card, modifying the lamp to hold them and give the cat the answers it wanted while making the demon more humane and able to change his size. I then once again leave team RWBY and friends with the cat and demon by my side with a bunch of leaves and a seed.
Now back and ahead of the story, I reconnect with my people, happily hearing how things have gone as directed and that Atlas has positioned itself above Vacuo, sending down massive amounts of resources upon request and establishing an inter-planetary defence network that utilises mechs, asteroids, lasers and drop pods. The best part is that after getting the help of the Tree, the final part of my plan has been completed where I reveal myself, showing off my army of faunus, silver-eyed, semblance-using, magic users. The best part is that the Tree wasn't just used for a time skip and secretly helped complete my final form.
Like Salem, her immortality allowed her to be drenched in grimm energy which would have eroded anything else, giving her control and partial traits, as well as a liking for destruction. But the truth of the grimm component is that it is like Venom from Marvel and has the opportunity to harmonise cells as free parts that work with even greater determination and vigour. Mixing it with a body is hazardous and wouldn't have the intended effect and using an immortal simply creates a balance because there is no means of contention. But since I spent the time gaining pawns and researching dust, I would have finally been able to conduct a hybrid formula of dust and grimm that could be injected into exceptionally strong individuals or immortals with a proper synchronisation rate. As for the cat, it offered the potential to enhance things even further by using its supernatural and reality-defying powers to simulate a consciousness for the grimm-dust cells that merged with my immortal ones, allowing the new mind to be absorbed and enhance my abilities over my own body. As for the demon and leaves, they have a different purpose, one that others thought wasn't needed when Salem arrived after a while with her flying gorilla and dragon fleet with a bit of native desert-type grim and migrating herds. When they came, using the satellite array and infinite powers of creation to create defences only made up in a child's imagination, also using Penny and her ice abilities to clear out and flatten desert mounds. Speaking of Penny, her soul project was mass-produced using those of a good nature, meanwhile, Penny became like the director or big sister to all the other androids with their cybernetic superpowers. Something that would be a massive help against Salem's latest onslaught of epic and never-ending hellfire and rattlesnakes. Eventually, Salem would be beaten and cornered where she would be sealed and imprisoned thanks to the combined efforts of everyone, making an overwhelming last-stand victory. But Salem's wishes wouldn't go unfulfilled and she would get to see part of what she wished for desperately, seeing the gods descend upon the world where they would be met with me. If you were properly reading by now, you would know I gave these gods PTSD once I showed my maddened face and gave them a roast about their failings as gods and abandonment of their creations before talking about the philosophies and sophistry for why humanity should live by mentioning everything, from our flaws to our cute quirks to our outstanding commitments. The gods would be made to seriously consider as they were buttered up by their shrines being decorated and freshly offered offerings. Finally, though, what would be the final straw is the tea which would have the leaves pushed into their mouths, bringing them back to the Tree for sorting, alls all that ends well

Have you totally lost the ability to concentrate on your work, studies, or even while watching a movie? Maybe you feel you never had this ability to begin with. Either way, you've started to realize how much it's impacting your life.
But it's not your fault. You were never taught how to pay attention. It was just taken for granted that you could do it. And before the advent of the internet, this seemed to be the case.
But things are different now.
There's a war on for your attention.
Today's distraction-driven world makes it nearly impossible to concentrate—even on the things that are important to you. Billions have been spent developing sophisticated, neuroscience-based products and services designed to steal your attention.
It's why millions of us, young and old, are feeling the dramatic effects of being unable to focus: poor memory, anxiety, brain fog, and a general malaise as we go about our days.
Yet at the same time attention is becoming increasingly scarce, it's becoming increasingly valuable. The ability to apply your innate human creativity to difficult problems for long periods of time is exactly what’s needed to stand out in a crowded world of people and robots. If you can't focus, you won't matter.
In fact, concentration is the key skill required to develop any other skill. It’s the bedrock of learning itself. Of writing. Of reading. Of listening. Without concentration, you can't do anything else well. You can't read a book, listen to a conversation, understand a lecture, or stick with a task.
The skill is essential to decision making, evaluating options, solving problems, staying on time, and moving through the world safely. Concentration is important to relationships, because if you can't pay attention to people, those interactions can only go so far.
Even traits such as motivation, assertiveness, and grit require concentration to develop, refine, and apply.
Attention is the most important ingredient we have to living a good, productive life.
And the ability to do deep, meaningful work is a superpower.
And I’ve learned it’s something that can be developed.
Five years ago I began noticing how much I was struggling to get the things done I needed to. It felt like I just didn't have enough time in the day. I used to be able to do it all, but now everything was such a struggle.
I realized that while I was still working the same 8+ hours each day growing my business, my output had diminished. Was it because I just wasn't passionate anymore? Was I simply getting older?
I began paying closer attention to my work. I noticed that for every hour I worked, 90% of it was spent doing short, shallow tasks: answering emails, responding to Slack messages, jumping in and out of meetings. And the remaining 10% of my time that I set aside to do 'deep work' - work that required total quiet and concentration - I'd be unable to focus for more than 5 minutes without getting distracted and checking email.
At home it was no different. I'd spend so much time scrolling social media, skimming news articles, hopping from one Youtube video to the next.
I realized these two things—productivity and attention— were related. All the time I spent rapidly context-switching from app to app (whether at work or home) rewired my brain to crave this type of stimulation. And when I'd actually try to concentrate, it would be very uncomfortable. I'd get anxious; I'd reach for my phone to numb myself.
So I had two options: work longer hours to get done what I needed to or figure out how to take back control of my attention and spend each minute working with the intensity and focus I used to have.
As someone who's interested in working fewer hours rather than more, the path to me was clear.
But I had no idea what attention was or how it worked, so I read everything I could about the topic. I learned concentration is like a muscle that gets stronger with training. I tried all sorts of techniques and exercises, some effective and some not.
I changed my environments at work and home, testing out new systems and workflows to limit external distractions.
I learned that the majority of distractions come not from the external world, but our internal one. Thoughts, feelings, memories, impulses. These are what cause discomfort and compel us to reach for distractions.
So I worked on developing psychological flexibility to help me accept and sit with discomfort in the present moment, while still taking actions that move me closer to what I value in life.
My life has changed dramatically. I'm nowhere near a guru and don't claim to be, but I can now work uninterrupted for long stretches. I don't feel the pull of my phone like I used to. I can be bored. I can listen better. My memory has improved. I’m less anxious. I've taken up writing and other new hobbies that I didn't previously have time for (or so I thought).
And I work less, not more. I'm able to do better work in less time, freeing me up to focus on what truly matters to me (hint: It's not work).
I'm still learning, and I've found the best way to continue improving is to document and share my experiences.
There are some great subs I was able to turn to for advice like productivity and nosurf, but none that were specifically focused on cultivating concentration. That's what I created attentioneering.
What is attentioneering? I describe it as the art and science of eliminating distraction and cultivating concentration to live a more meaningful life.
It’s dedicated to helping anyone improve their concentration and by extension, their life. You might be a knowledge worker or student or just someone who's noticed how a diminishing attention span is having a negative impact on your relationships.
I'm sharing everything I've learned and tried (and continue to learn and try), both what worked and what didn't. I encourage you to do the same and I hope we can engage in some great conversations to help each other improve.
In the near future I’ll be hosting some free workshops and guided deep work sessions where you can actually put into practice everything you’ve learned. If this interests you, leave a comment or PM to let me know.
In the meantime, subscribe, post about your experiences, add your comments, and let's go deep together.

What is SOAR

Security Orchestration, Automation, and Response (SOAR) platforms allow organizations to analyze threat intelligence efficiently, automate response workflows and triage incidents using human and machine power. Orchestration chains together individual security tools, tasks and processes to work together towards the same tune.

SOAR Capabilities

Three software functions are combined in SOAR: automating security operations, responding to security incidents, and managing threats and vulnerabilities. Thus, SOAR security offers a comprehensive threat management solution from top to bottom. Following the identification of threats, a response plan is put into action. Next, the system is automated as much as possible to improve its efficiency. One useful solution for reducing the burden on IT personnel is an efficient SOAR system.
Task Scenario TryHackMe SOAR
You are a SOC Lead who has recently faced a large breach investigation that took ages to complete due to a lack of automation. Your friend, McSkidy, recently advised you to adopt a SOAR and set up automation workflows to help your security investigations. McSkidy sent you a checklist for a Threat Intelligence integration workflow, and your task is to figure out how it works. Click the View site button at the top of the task to launch the site in split view. To automate the process, use the different screens to activate the elements required for the SOAR workflow. Run and test the workflow until you obtain a smooth transition on the flowchart to complete the task.

Room Answers TryHackMe SOAR

Room answers can be found here.

I'm having a hard time finding the appropriate phrasing for this question, but basically, I want to know how psych diagnoses are like/unlike those of physiological conditions.
For example, diabetes is diagnosed objectively, based on blood sugar levels, and can be attributed to the pancreas not producing enough insulin or cells not effectively absorbing the insulin it produces. But my understanding of psych diagnoses is that they are subjective assessments of cognitive and personality traits and that, for example, autism is not clearly defined by any measurable physiological metric, but rather, it is a matter of how various cognitive/personality quirks are classified by the psychiatric community, and there is no objective way to define or classify it.
Tl;dr would it be any more or less meaningfully accurate to say that a person "has autism" than to say that a person "seems autistic?"
I'm using autism as an example, but as I understand it, this applies to most paych diagnoses.
I'm not tryimg to discredit the study of psychiatry/psychology; I just want to understand, and I'm having a difficult time of finding any clear answers.

Hi!
I hope someone knowledgeable will be able to guide/help me.
I am 22 years old - my problem is that I have been experiencing a strong impostor syndrome from the beginning. I have done the DIVA test three times with different psychologists. Each time I scored high, and basically, everything fits together rationally. I do indeed recognize the impostor symptom in myself. I discussed this with a friend who is finishing psychology studies and also has ADHD, and he supports my perspective.
Additionally, my father, who committed suicide, most likely also struggled with ADHD (based on the DIVA methodology, I asked the family and matched it to events that complicated his life further, plus, of course, chronic depression).Everything was rather stable until 3 days ago when I had bad lack for a psychiatrist (where I did the last DIVA and a specialist was recommended) - an online visit. I don't want to sound conceited (also, I'm not a doctor), but I had the impression that the psychiatrist I consulted often didn't know the answers to my questions and was evasive. He seemed more interested in my money than in helping and understanding me (I have seen 2 psychologists, 2 therapists, and 3 psychiatrists, so I have a comparison whether someone cares or is genuinely interested). I have scheduled my next appointment with a doctor that is leading ADHD treatment here in Poland
Returning to the point, my impostor syndrome flared up additionally when the psychiatrist stated during the interview that "the symptoms I experience are rather mild, or I somehow manage them, otherwise I would have problems with studying and working" (my professional life is okay, but about 4 times below my potential because I have issues with fluctuations in activity - I work intensely for several days, and then have a few days of a depressive period - it's not like manic-depression, it's rather about activity and the ability to motivate myself to do things, not finding less painful activities, etc.). This surprised me because I perceive them differently (and they seem more concrete than just excusing my inefficiencies). So, of course, I continued the previously started research to feel more at ease.
I was prescribed a dosage that seems non-standard: Medikinet 10mg CR daily, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, and I can double it and then report back after finishing.All this has led to many questions and overthinking. The first day, 10mg didn't make much of an impression on me; it settled me a bit, I felt some interest, took the second dose in the afternoon as recommended, and, of course, couldn't sleep (despite 6mg of melatonin).
Yesterday, I took 20mg in the morning and felt the need to organize everything, and I cleaned the whole apartment, including scrubbing under the closet.Despite this, the impostor syndrome is so insidious that I keep wondering if I'm imagining things, over-researched, and adjusted the answers or interpretations of my life and events to fit the thesis.It's generally a terrible issue because I hope that after years of struggling with "depression," it will finally be addressed, and I can stop dealing with such matters and just focus on work - I am 22 years old, and my first visit to a psychiatrist for depression was around 15-16 years old.
Currently, I have the biggest dilemmas in the following areas, and I really hope someone could shed some light or guide me:

1. **Methylphenidate in a person without ADHD** - I couldn't find anything concrete on whether I can verify this - if, for example, I don't have ADHD, how should it affect me vs. someone with ADHD. It's so vaguely described on the internet that it's not clear if there's a concrete way to verify this to avoid questioning my own observations. Obviously, a solid diagnosis like a blood test or MRI for other diseases won't be available, but by nature, I'm a skeptic and need it grounded to sleep peacefully and not get into unnecessary discussions with people who barely understand the subject.
   
2. **Effectiveness of diagnostics** - I haven't encountered any data on how often diagnoses are invalidated. I read on Reddit (unfortunately, there are few better discussion places with a lot of content) that one girl had an ADHD diagnosis, took Adderall, and after about 2 years, it turned out it wasn't ADHD but some compulsive disorder. Is there any information on how many people with an ADHD diagnosis and prescribed treatment are misdiagnosed? It's known that in the USA, people sometimes stretch the truth to get Adderall, but I'm sure you understand my point and the essence of the matter.
   
3. **Dosage** - I have a bit of time left before my next appointment and wonder what I can do (but nothing stupid). My friend, for example, has 30mg CR in the morning and then has those on-demand Medikinet, which keeps him okay later in the day and doesn't cause sleep problems; he's considering switching to Concerta. From my psychiatrist, I basically got the information I already mentioned plus to avoid abusing alcohol. Is there anything I can change in these recommendations to not waste time? If I just take 30mg or 40mg in the morning (of course, gradually and checking the response weekly), am I exposing myself to any problems? I found out on my own that I won't die, but I'm interested in the effectiveness of this treatment, not messing around.
   
4. **A question completely omitted by the psychiatrist, and I didn't get any specific information, which is quite important to me**. In all the DIVA tests, I scored higher in adulthood than in childhood. In the last one, it came out as follows: Summary of symptoms according to DSM-5: I. Attention Deficit: Adulthood: 8/9, Childhood: 7/9 II. Hyperactivity and impulsivity: Adulthood: 9/9, Childhood: 8/9 III. Experienced symptoms are a source of significant problems, manifesting in at least 2 areas of life in both childhood and adulthood. After my own analysis, talking to my mom and sister, it's hard to deny that I had serious problems in areas affected by ADHD plus many “less obvious” symptoms that I learned about from PsychiatraPlus from Mr. Jóźwiak (thanks God he records because books and articles in Poland on the internet are often a disaster) in quite significant intensity. I'm still afraid of cognitive bias and fitting the situation to the thesis.
   

I noticed an increase in many symptoms attributed to ADHD after 2022 (when my father committed suicide, which involved PTSD therapy because I saw a lot, plus a depressive episode). Before, I might have had 2-3 such severe depressive episodes. I skimmed through (I emphasize because I might have missed something that would answer my question, and I don't want to appear lazy coming for a free ready-made solution) meta-analyses (The World Federation of ADHD International Consensus Statement: 208 Evidence-based Conclusions about the Disorder). This fragment intrigued me: "ADHD is rarely caused by a single genetic or environmental risk factor, but most cases of ADHD are caused by the combined effects of many genetic and environmental risks, each having a very small effect."
This, of course, suggested a possible scenario - a father with ADHD + trauma could have exacerbated my symptoms, hence now they are more noticeable to me than before, although it resonates more with me that conditions, tasks, and challenges I face have changed. I didn't observe myself in this regard before; I didn't have the knowledge; I attributed my failures to a different “legend” (I wasn't taught consequences, laziness, lack of discipline, if I tried harder, etc.) than ADHD. Obviously, I'm not so infantile as to expect someone to try to resolve this issue, but based on the current conclusive knowledge, how do you assess my line of thinking, does it hold together? Could I check anything else additionally?
To conclude, I know I need to find a good psychiatrist; I have one in mind, but it's pointless at this moment when I have prescriptions and "recommendations" to schedule and pay for a visit since I'll probably get not very in-depth answers (I also understand doctors don't have 2 hours to give a lecture on how and why things work), rather reassuring and "we'll observe." Whenever something stresses or confuses me, I just try to understand it, and when it turns out that my inherent skepticism activated unnecessarily, the problem disappears from the radar.
I hope someone will guide me to the right materials that will tell me a bit more about these issues. Once again, thank you in advance for any response and time spent just reading this post. If additional questions arise to provide a better answer, I am happy to respond.

Hi!
I hope someone knowledgeable will be able to guide/help me.
I am 22 years old - my problem is that I have been experiencing a strong impostor syndrome from the beginning. I have done the DIVA test three times with different psychologists. Each time I scored high, and basically, everything fits together rationally. I do indeed recognize the impostor symptom in myself. I discussed this with a friend who is finishing psychology studies and also has ADHD, and he supports my perspective.
Additionally, my father, who committed suicide, most likely also struggled with ADHD (based on the DIVA methodology, I asked the family and matched it to events that complicated his life further, plus, of course, chronic depression).Everything was rather stable until 3 days ago when I had bad lack for a psychiatrist (where I did the last DIVA and a specialist was recommended) - an online visit. I don't want to sound conceited (also, I'm not a doctor), but I had the impression that the psychiatrist I consulted often didn't know the answers to my questions and was evasive. He seemed more interested in my money than in helping and understanding me (I have seen 2 psychologists, 2 therapists, and 3 psychiatrists, so I have a comparison whether someone cares or is genuinely interested). I have scheduled my next appointment with a doctor that is leading ADHD treatment here in Poland
Returning to the point, my impostor syndrome flared up additionally when the psychiatrist stated during the interview that "the symptoms I experience are rather mild, or I somehow manage them, otherwise I would have problems with studying and working" (my professional life is okay, but about 4 times below my potential because I have issues with fluctuations in activity - I work intensely for several days, and then have a few days of a depressive period - it's not like manic-depression, it's rather about activity and the ability to motivate myself to do things, not finding less painful activities, etc.). This surprised me because I perceive them differently (and they seem more concrete than just excusing my inefficiencies). So, of course, I continued the previously started research to feel more at ease.
I was prescribed a dosage that seems non-standard: Medikinet 10mg CR daily, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, and I can double it and then report back after finishing.All this has led to many questions and overthinking. The first day, 10mg didn't make much of an impression on me; it settled me a bit, I felt some interest, took the second dose in the afternoon as recommended, and, of course, couldn't sleep (despite 6mg of melatonin).
Yesterday, I took 20mg in the morning and felt the need to organize everything, and I cleaned the whole apartment, including scrubbing under the closet.Despite this, the impostor syndrome is so insidious that I keep wondering if I'm imagining things, over-researched, and adjusted the answers or interpretations of my life and events to fit the thesis.It's generally a terrible issue because I hope that after years of struggling with "depression," it will finally be addressed, and I can stop dealing with such matters and just focus on work - I am 22 years old, and my first visit to a psychiatrist for depression was around 15-16 years old.
Currently, I have the biggest dilemmas in the following areas, and I really hope someone could shed some light or guide me:

1. **Methylphenidate in a person without ADHD** - I couldn't find anything concrete on whether I can verify this - if, for example, I don't have ADHD, how should it affect me vs. someone with ADHD. It's so vaguely described on the internet that it's not clear if there's a concrete way to verify this to avoid questioning my own observations. Obviously, a solid diagnosis like a blood test or MRI for other diseases won't be available, but by nature, I'm a skeptic and need it grounded to sleep peacefully and not get into unnecessary discussions with people who barely understand the subject.
   
2. **Effectiveness of diagnostics** - I haven't encountered any data on how often diagnoses are invalidated. I read on Reddit (unfortunately, there are few better discussion places with a lot of content) that one girl had an ADHD diagnosis, took Adderall, and after about 2 years, it turned out it wasn't ADHD but some compulsive disorder. Is there any information on how many people with an ADHD diagnosis and prescribed treatment are misdiagnosed? It's known that in the USA, people sometimes stretch the truth to get Adderall, but I'm sure you understand my point and the essence of the matter.
   
3. **Dosage** - I have a bit of time left before my next appointment and wonder what I can do (but nothing stupid). My friend, for example, has 30mg CR in the morning and then has those on-demand Medikinet, which keeps him okay later in the day and doesn't cause sleep problems; he's considering switching to Concerta. From my psychiatrist, I basically got the information I already mentioned plus to avoid abusing alcohol. Is there anything I can change in these recommendations to not waste time? If I just take 30mg or 40mg in the morning (of course, gradually and checking the response weekly), am I exposing myself to any problems? I found out on my own that I won't die, but I'm interested in the effectiveness of this treatment, not messing around.
   
4. **A question completely omitted by the psychiatrist, and I didn't get any specific information, which is quite important to me**. In all the DIVA tests, I scored higher in adulthood than in childhood. In the last one, it came out as follows: Summary of symptoms according to DSM-5: I. Attention Deficit: Adulthood: 8/9, Childhood: 7/9 II. Hyperactivity and impulsivity: Adulthood: 9/9, Childhood: 8/9 III. Experienced symptoms are a source of significant problems, manifesting in at least 2 areas of life in both childhood and adulthood. After my own analysis, talking to my mom and sister, it's hard to deny that I had serious problems in areas affected by ADHD plus many “less obvious” symptoms that I learned about from PsychiatraPlus from Mr. Jóźwiak (thanks God he records because books and articles in Poland on the internet are often a disaster) in quite significant intensity. I'm still afraid of cognitive bias and fitting the situation to the thesis.
   

I noticed an increase in many symptoms attributed to ADHD after 2022 (when my father committed suicide, which involved PTSD therapy because I saw a lot, plus a depressive episode). Before, I might have had 2-3 such severe depressive episodes. I skimmed through (I emphasize because I might have missed something that would answer my question, and I don't want to appear lazy coming for a free ready-made solution) meta-analyses (The World Federation of ADHD International Consensus Statement: 208 Evidence-based Conclusions about the Disorder). This fragment intrigued me: "ADHD is rarely caused by a single genetic or environmental risk factor, but most cases of ADHD are caused by the combined effects of many genetic and environmental risks, each having a very small effect."
This, of course, suggested a possible scenario - a father with ADHD + trauma could have exacerbated my symptoms, hence now they are more noticeable to me than before, although it resonates more with me that conditions, tasks, and challenges I face have changed. I didn't observe myself in this regard before; I didn't have the knowledge; I attributed my failures to a different “legend” (I wasn't taught consequences, laziness, lack of discipline, if I tried harder, etc.) than ADHD. Obviously, I'm not so infantile as to expect someone to try to resolve this issue, but based on the current conclusive knowledge, how do you assess my line of thinking, does it hold together? Could I check anything else additionally?
To conclude, I know I need to find a good psychiatrist; I have one in mind, but it's pointless at this moment when I have prescriptions and "recommendations" to schedule and pay for a visit since I'll probably get not very in-depth answers (I also understand doctors don't have 2 hours to give a lecture on how and why things work), rather reassuring and "we'll observe." Whenever something stresses or confuses me, I just try to understand it, and when it turns out that my inherent skepticism activated unnecessarily, the problem disappears from the radar.
I hope someone will guide me to the right materials that will tell me a bit more about these issues. Once again, thank you in advance for any response and time spent just reading this post. If additional questions arise to provide a better answer, I am happy to respond.

Hi!
I hope someone knowledgeable will be able to guide/help me.
I am 22 years old - my problem is that I have been experiencing a strong impostor syndrome from the beginning. I have done the DIVA test three times with different psychologists. Each time I scored high, and basically, everything fits together rationally. I do indeed recognize the impostor symptom in myself. I discussed this with a friend who is finishing psychology studies and also has ADHD, and he supports my perspective.
Additionally, my father, who committed suicide, most likely also struggled with ADHD (based on the DIVA methodology, I asked the family and matched it to events that complicated his life further, plus, of course, chronic depression).Everything was rather stable until 3 days ago when I had bad lack for a psychiatrist (where I did the last DIVA and a specialist was recommended) - an online visit. I don't want to sound conceited (also, I'm not a doctor), but I had the impression that the psychiatrist I consulted often didn't know the answers to my questions and was evasive. He seemed more interested in my money than in helping and understanding me (I have seen 2 psychologists, 2 therapists, and 3 psychiatrists, so I have a comparison whether someone cares or is genuinely interested). I have scheduled my next appointment with a doctor that is leading ADHD treatment here in Poland
Returning to the point, my impostor syndrome flared up additionally when the psychiatrist stated during the interview that "the symptoms I experience are rather mild, or I somehow manage them, otherwise I would have problems with studying and working" (my professional life is okay, but about 4 times below my potential because I have issues with fluctuations in activity - I work intensely for several days, and then have a few days of a depressive period - it's not like manic-depression, it's rather about activity and the ability to motivate myself to do things, not finding less painful activities, etc.). This surprised me because I perceive them differently (and they seem more concrete than just excusing my inefficiencies). So, of course, I continued the previously started research to feel more at ease.
I was prescribed a dosage that seems non-standard: Medikinet 10mg CR daily, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, and I can double it and then report back after finishing.All this has led to many questions and overthinking. The first day, 10mg didn't make much of an impression on me; it settled me a bit, I felt some interest, took the second dose in the afternoon as recommended, and, of course, couldn't sleep (despite 6mg of melatonin).
Yesterday, I took 20mg in the morning and felt the need to organize everything, and I cleaned the whole apartment, including scrubbing under the closet.Despite this, the impostor syndrome is so insidious that I keep wondering if I'm imagining things, over-researched, and adjusted the answers or interpretations of my life and events to fit the thesis.It's generally a terrible issue because I hope that after years of struggling with "depression," it will finally be addressed, and I can stop dealing with such matters and just focus on work - I am 22 years old, and my first visit to a psychiatrist for depression was around 15-16 years old.
Currently, I have the biggest dilemmas in the following areas, and I really hope someone could shed some light or guide me:

1. **Methylphenidate in a person without ADHD** - I couldn't find anything concrete on whether I can verify this - if, for example, I don't have ADHD, how should it affect me vs. someone with ADHD. It's so vaguely described on the internet that it's not clear if there's a concrete way to verify this to avoid questioning my own observations. Obviously, a solid diagnosis like a blood test or MRI for other diseases won't be available, but by nature, I'm a skeptic and need it grounded to sleep peacefully and not get into unnecessary discussions with people who barely understand the subject.
   
2. **Effectiveness of diagnostics** - I haven't encountered any data on how often diagnoses are invalidated. I read on Reddit (unfortunately, there are few better discussion places with a lot of content) that one girl had an ADHD diagnosis, took Adderall, and after about 2 years, it turned out it wasn't ADHD but some compulsive disorder. Is there any information on how many people with an ADHD diagnosis and prescribed treatment are misdiagnosed? It's known that in the USA, people sometimes stretch the truth to get Adderall, but I'm sure you understand my point and the essence of the matter.
   
3. **Dosage** - I have a bit of time left before my next appointment and wonder what I can do (but nothing stupid). My friend, for example, has 30mg CR in the morning and then has those on-demand Medikinet, which keeps him okay later in the day and doesn't cause sleep problems; he's considering switching to Concerta. From my psychiatrist, I basically got the information I already mentioned plus to avoid abusing alcohol. Is there anything I can change in these recommendations to not waste time? If I just take 30mg or 40mg in the morning (of course, gradually and checking the response weekly), am I exposing myself to any problems? I found out on my own that I won't die, but I'm interested in the effectiveness of this treatment, not messing around.
   
4. **A question completely omitted by the psychiatrist, and I didn't get any specific information, which is quite important to me**. In all the DIVA tests, I scored higher in adulthood than in childhood. In the last one, it came out as follows: Summary of symptoms according to DSM-5: I. Attention Deficit: Adulthood: 8/9, Childhood: 7/9 II. Hyperactivity and impulsivity: Adulthood: 9/9, Childhood: 8/9 III. Experienced symptoms are a source of significant problems, manifesting in at least 2 areas of life in both childhood and adulthood. After my own analysis, talking to my mom and sister, it's hard to deny that I had serious problems in areas affected by ADHD plus many “less obvious” symptoms that I learned about from PsychiatraPlus from Mr. Jóźwiak (thanks God he records because books and articles in Poland on the internet are often a disaster) in quite significant intensity. I'm still afraid of cognitive bias and fitting the situation to the thesis.
   

I noticed an increase in many symptoms attributed to ADHD after 2022 (when my father committed suicide, which involved PTSD therapy because I saw a lot, plus a depressive episode). Before, I might have had 2-3 such severe depressive episodes. I skimmed through (I emphasize because I might have missed something that would answer my question, and I don't want to appear lazy coming for a free ready-made solution) meta-analyses (The World Federation of ADHD International Consensus Statement: 208 Evidence-based Conclusions about the Disorder). This fragment intrigued me: "ADHD is rarely caused by a single genetic or environmental risk factor, but most cases of ADHD are caused by the combined effects of many genetic and environmental risks, each having a very small effect."
This, of course, suggested a possible scenario - a father with ADHD + trauma could have exacerbated my symptoms, hence now they are more noticeable to me than before, although it resonates more with me that conditions, tasks, and challenges I face have changed. I didn't observe myself in this regard before; I didn't have the knowledge; I attributed my failures to a different “legend” (I wasn't taught consequences, laziness, lack of discipline, if I tried harder, etc.) than ADHD. Obviously, I'm not so infantile as to expect someone to try to resolve this issue, but based on the current conclusive knowledge, how do you assess my line of thinking, does it hold together? Could I check anything else additionally?
To conclude, I know I need to find a good psychiatrist; I have one in mind, but it's pointless at this moment when I have prescriptions and "recommendations" to schedule and pay for a visit since I'll probably get not very in-depth answers (I also understand doctors don't have 2 hours to give a lecture on how and why things work), rather reassuring and "we'll observe." Whenever something stresses or confuses me, I just try to understand it, and when it turns out that my inherent skepticism activated unnecessarily, the problem disappears from the radar.
I hope someone will guide me to the right materials that will tell me a bit more about these issues. Once again, thank you in advance for any response and time spent just reading this post. If additional questions arise to provide a better answer, I am happy to respond.