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

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.

my friend and I are debating about this question our prof gave us, me addressing the latter vs her addressing the first one.
here's the problem btw
Should you address the leak of the iv drip chamber immediately or should you continue administering the medication and address the leak later?
what do you guys think? help😭😭

DC Next Proudly Presents:

NIGHTWING:

In Hunter Hybrid
Issue Fourteen: The Meek Shall Inherit
Written by AdamantAce
Edited by PatrollinTheMojave
 
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Dick's heart hammered against his chest like a pounding storm as he stood amidst the laboratory, flanked by Artemis and Barry Allen, the Flash. The weight of worry for Mar'i bore down on him unbearably, each moment without her amplifying his anxiety.
In the secluded closet hidden at the back of the lab, Dick and Artemis had found something haunting: a trove of withered seedlings, dead plants that looked alien in nature. Assuming the worst, but needing to confirm, Dick had quickly summoned a friend with a history of running genetic samples - none other than the Scarlet Speedster - to the scene.
Barry’s brow furrowed in concentration as he examined the specimens, having already run several tests.
“I'm limited in what I can do here; I'm a CSI, not a xenologist,” Barry admitted with regret, evoking his favourite chief medical officer of fiction. “Really, this really feels like a job for someone like Cadmus. Alien DNA is their whole deal.”
Dick could only grimace at the suggestion, reminded of the sickening experiments he had unearthed in the bowels of the Chicago cloning laboratory, of the dozens of aborted attempts at cloning Bruce Wayne. It was hard to stomach, especially knowing that he still had no idea who was responsible. “Not an option," he replied firmly. “Not Cadmus.”
Barry raised an eyebrow, his curiosity evident in his expression. “You don't believe those rumours about the Superboy clones, do you?" he asked. “They’re Reawakened through and through. Blame the other universes’ Cadmuses.”
In response, Dick shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s… something else.”
Barry then looked to Artemis and smiled. “It’s, uh… nice to meet you properly by the way,” he said. “I heard you, uh, shoot arrows.”
Despite the terrible situation they were in, Artemis allowed herself a snicker in response to the Flash’s awkwardness. “Among other things. It’s important to branch out, seeing as I know you already have an arrows guy.”
Just then, Tim emerged from behind a sliding door, draped in his red and black Rook gear, a stack of papers in hand. “Got the printouts you asked for,” he said, handing them over to Barry.
Barry swiftly flipped through the pages at super speed, his expression growing grim as he absorbed the information.
“What is it?” asked Artemis.
“What we feared,” he announced somberly. “The dead seedlings match the profile of alien species, with a significant DNA match for the Morning Eclipse sample you got from Starling’s fingernails.”
Dick's frustration boiled over, his voice dripping with anger. “Wilkof,” he spat, his jaw clenched in fury. “He let that damn killer plant loose.”
Tim struck himself in the shoulder in self-reproach. “I should've put it together sooner,” he muttered. “Wilkof knew plenty about Tamaran even before you let him speak to Mar’i.”
“It’s worse than we thought,” added Barry, and everyone’s blood turned cold. “This Dr Wilkof wasn't just releasing the Morning Eclipse, he was trying to propagate them; taking cuttings to grow more of them. We’re just lucky the Earth's sunlight is too diffuse for their growth.”
Dick's eyes widened in horror. “So he’s trying to create an army of killer plants?”
Barry nodded solemnly. “An army or a particularly menacing greenhouse.”
Artemis's brow furrowed as she pieced together a crucial detail. “Wait, a couple years ago they had me subbing in the bio department at school for a few months. I’m pretty sure plants grown from cuttings are meant to be genetically identical to the parent.”
Tim cursed under his breath and then reached for the printouts to give them a check over himself. “You’re right! Genetic variation only occurs after pollination. But these plants aren't self-pollinated. They're too distinct from the original sample taken from Mar'i’s attack.”
Barry's voice quivered as he raised a troubling possibility. “Could there be two adult killer plants on the loose?”
“No, it's not that,” Tim quickly replied again, his expression grave as he looked up from the stack of papers. “It's worse.”
Artemis' heart sank. “How could it possibly be worse?”
“The dead seedlings share identical DNA with each other. And every single one of their genes is present in the parent sample. But the parent also has additional chromosomes that all of the seedlings lack,” Tim explained as his eyes traced the text on the papers once more. “The parent had an extra 48 chromosomes.”
Barry's face paled. "48? Are you sure?”
“48? What does that mean?” asked Dick, looking rapidly back and forth between Tim and Barry.
Artemis gritted her teeth. “Humans have 48 chromosomes. The adult plant is half human.”
“Fully human,” Barry corrected. “And fully plant too. A symbiosis.”
“What does that mean?” asked Dick, scared of the answer he would soon receive.
“It means I think Wilkof merged himself with the plant.”
 
🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹
 
Ker-tonk.
Ker-tonk.
Ker-tonk.
Mar’i lay in the darkness of the car’s trunk, helpless. She couldn’t tell how long it had been since she last felt the sun’s warmth on her skin. She tried to summon childhood memories of Tamaran, of the sun her father had found oppressive and her mother found liberating. But they were distant and blurred, echoes from another lifetime - and another timeline.
As the car rumbled on, she focused on her senses, trying to glean any information about her surroundings. The air was stale and musty, tinged with the scent of oil and rubber. The vibrations of the road beneath her reverberated through her body, a constant reminder of her captivity.
Eventually, the car came to a halt, and Mar’i braced herself as the trunk door creaked open, flooding the confined space with blinding light. Blinking rapidly, she squinted against the harsh glare, feeling the rejuvenating solar rays bathing her, a stark contrast to the cold darkness of her confinement.
Dr Wilkof loomed over her, his appearance now almost normal except for a slight pallor that hinted at something darker beneath the surface. He reached out, his hands enveloping her wrists, which were bound with withered rope. Thick, barbed vines extended from the sleeves of his coat, renewing her restraints and further draining what little power reserves she had left.
As he dragged her up out of the trunk, Mar’i found herself in the midst of a desolate car park, surrounded by nothing but empty space and the looming silhouette of a large hangar. She had nary a clue of where they were.
“It will be easier if you don’t struggle,” he said, his tone devoid of joy or malice, as if he were simply stating a fact. But Mar’i knew better than to trust his words.
As Wilkof led her towards the hangar, Mar’i stumbled along behind him, the vines around her wrists taut like a leash. She tried to reason with him, to appeal to the vestiges of his humanity buried beneath the madness that gripped him.
“You don’t have to do this,” she implored, unsure of how much of his humanity really remained. “The plant doesn’t have to control you.”
Wilkof's eyes gleamed with a haunted fervour as he shook his head, the vines’ grip tightening around Mar'i’s wrists. “I've sacrificed too much to stop now,” he muttered. Those words carried a strange quality,like they weren’t fully his. Maybe it was the plant talking, maybe they were words he had rehearsed to himself enough times for them to become hollow. “I won’t let it all be in vain.”
For a moment, Mar’i was left to wonder what he meant by that. Then she remembered what little she knew about him, and a shiver ran down her spine. (He had fed the rest of his team from the lab to the plant, a grim sacrifice to fuel his delusions of grandeur.*
“No one cared about mild-mannered Hunter Wilkof,” he continued, his voice cracking with bitterness. “The plant promised to make me someone special, to make me famous.”
Mar’i shook her head in disbelief as she continued to be lugged along. “The plant doesn’t speak,” she insisted with a rising urgency. “Its pheromones mess with your mind, make you see and hear things that aren’t there.”
But Wilkof brushed off her words with a scoff. “I don’t care,” he replied, his gaze fixed on the hangar ahead. “I fed the plant like I was told, but the fame never came. I let it eat the only thing I ever loved. But… nothing changed.”
Her heart yearned to find some way to free him of the plant’s clutches, to help him see the light, but she knew well what desperation could do to a person, if left unchecked. She knew how far someone could fall.
“Then I realised… I wasn’t meant for prizes and celebrity,” he continued, deranged. “That wasn’t what the plant had planned for us. It’s just like you said in your Tamaranean fairy tale, the Morning Eclipse and its legend. I knew we were meant for infamy, but just one plant and its keeper wouldn’t do the trick. We needed a bigger family.”
At this point, Hunter stopped, and the pair had finally reached the mouth of the hangar. Mar’i searched through the darkness, but was struggling to see straight at all thanks to the toxic, draining effect of her Morning Eclipse vine restraints.
Wilkof just stared into the darkness, and continued. “I tried taking cuttings, but no matter how much blood, meat or southern exposure I gave them… it wasn’t enough, and they wilted. It wouldn’t tell me why it wasn’t working, and all I knew was that the plant was from Tamaran,” he confessed, his voice growing hoarse with emotion. “So I went to look for Starfire, but she was in space. And then… then I found you. A hybrid like me.”
But throughout Hunter’s grim confession, Mar’i was still missing some important details. “How did you know the plant was from Tamaran?” She defied him, “It doesn’t have a mind of its own, so it couldn’t have told you.”
Hunter smiled. “I used to drive out into the countryside and just leave my car behind, go for these long walks to clear my head when city life got too much,” he explained, a shroud of something resembling peace slowly falling over him. “I always felt guilty for it, reasoning I should have been spending that time in the lab, looking for ways to help people. But this one day, a few years ago now, I realised it was all worth it.”
He then pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed a button at its centre. As the lights of the hangar flickered to life, they revealed a magnificent sight, something Mar’i immediately recognised as a First Class Vegan Star Cruiser - a Tamaranean space vessel from the shipyards of Okaara - resplendent in hues of silver and violet. The ship stood tall and proud, a beacon of extraterrestrial wonder amidst the mundane surroundings of the hangar. But why was it here? And how did Wilkof have it?
He gestured towards the ship with an odd gleam in his eyes. “Suddenly, and without warning, this spaceship came crashing down through the sky just a couple of miles away, out here, where it was just me there to see it,” he explained. “So I rushed over, I searched the wreckage… and that’s where I found it. It was only a sapling, a baby really, and it called out to me. I knew I needed to take it home, back to the lab, back for testing.”
Mar’i shook her head. How was he to have known back then that the plant was pulling his strings?
“I stashed the ship away, knowing its potential,” he confessed. “The ship’s computer confirmed its origins: Tamaran. Apparently it even used to belong to a princess named Komand’r.”
Mar’i's mind raced as she processed this revelation. Komand’r - also known as the tyrant queen Blackfire - was Koriand’r’s sister, and Mar’i’s aunt. Someone she had already come across early in her time in this universe. Then, just in time for him to answer it without her asking, Mar’i happened upon another awful question.
“I got some guys in to make repairs, and another guy to… basically hotwire the thing, before I fed them all to the plant. But the ship won’t fly without one final security measure,” continued Hunter, his gaze fixed on Mar’i. “A pilot with Tamaranean DNA.”
 
🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹
 
Back in the lab, Dick, Artemis and Tim continued to put the pieces together, now sans Barry who had raced off to join Wally in combing the city for either Mar’i or the Morning Eclipse, not knowing that both were far from the city limits.
“Why Mar’i?” Dick demanded. “What does Wilkof want with her? Her Starbolts could be used to fuel the plant and its cuttings, but that’d only make a difference at night, when they can’t get sunlight for themselves.”
Artemis nodded in agreement. “Surely they can survive a night without sunlight,” she surmised. “So what else would he come to Mar’i for?”
“Could it be her DNA?” posed Tim. “Maybe he has a use for DNA from a Tamanrean.”
“What kind of uses?” asked Dick. It wouldn’t be that, but his mind once again returned to the cloning vats of Cadmus. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then what else could it be?” Artemis sighed, frustrated. All of this analysis, brainstorming and scheming, and they were no closer to finding the missing Titan.
Then, Dick’s face blanched with fear. “She knows the way,” he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper.
“The way to what?” asked Tim, his own anxiety rising.
“To Tamaran,” Dick replied with dread. “A place where the sun shines bright enough for a hundred Morning Eclipses.”
 
🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹
 
In the dimly lit interior of what was once her aunt Komand'r's ship, Mar'i's heart raced with fear and uncertainty, now strapped into her seat beside the demented Dr Wilkof. The vessel, a marvel of Vega System technology, exuded an otherworldly aura, its sleek silver surfaces shimmering with an ethereal glow. Yet, to Mar'i, it felt more like a prison than a wonder.
She couldn't shake the sense of dread that gripped her. Tamaran, a place she once called home, now loomed before her as an unfamiliar and foreboding destination. She knew of the tumultuous history of this universe's Tamaran, the tales of military coups and the reign of the Orange Lantern Larfleeze, all of which added to her apprehension. The planet had hundreds of Morning Eclipses, but none had ever merged with a sapient vessel before. The killer plants were best survived by being completely ignored, which wouldn’t be possible with an intelligent host scheming and bringing the plants to their vulnerable prey. Could she inflict that threat on Tamaran?
Wilkof's jubilant smile did little to assuage her fears as he spoke. “When we reach the planet - with its gleaming sun - I’ll have everything I need. I'll create more Morning Eclipses, genetically superior ones, and they will bond with Tamaranean vessels to enhance their intelligence. And then there’ll be no more sacrifices, just feeding.”
Mar'i's stomach churned at the thought of being complicit in Wilkof's madness. But she also knew that she was in no position to bargain. And he knew it.
With a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, Mar'i steeled herself for the task ahead and the ship hummed to life around them, hurtling toward an uncertain destiny.
Then, as they quickly hit sonic speed, Hunter turned to his pilot and prisoner, keen to share a thought he hoped would bring her peace. “I want you to know… once we get to Tamaran, I’ll never have to return to Earth again. Don’t think about where we’re going, think about what we’re leaving behind. This is you saving planet Earth.”
 
 
Next: Sun it up in Nightwing #15
 

"Greatness" when it comes to music, is discography, influence, longevity, hits, impact, Versatility
These all things Rihanna ticks boxes in, Michael Jackson ticks these boxes, as does Led Zeppelin, Beatles, Rolling Stones, Prince, Bob Marley, Queen, Pink Floyd and many more, hence making these some of Music's greatest Acts, Rihanna belongs up there
While Rihanna does not write or Produce her music, she still curiates, Michael Jackson did not play instruments or write a lot of his songs however that doesn't take away from his Artistry
https://youtu.be/n6N1_sxlBU8?si=VjyeCyuO-xG9KsM2 "We Found Love" by Rihanna (2011) one of the 2010s greatest songs with a Beautiful and Haunting EDM Instrumental, emotionally compelling narrative and Catchy hook with good Vocals
https://youtu.be/2IzNKRg5uZs?si=rRWMisrFSP1Jv084 "Man Down" (2010) a Reggae song, already showing how Versatile Rihanna is, however it's a dark song about a Young Woman taking revenge on a Man who Sexually Assaulted her, her Vocals are amazing here and this song proves her Vocal Range as she blends into Reggae so easily
https://youtu.be/pHQvdENN8GM?si=imvUQP-VBSy0Isan "SOS" (2006) an Amazing R&B hit that Samples the classic 80s hit "Tainted Love" showing Rihanna paying homage to the classics
https://youtu.be/C75J03JXz24?si=cQde35TtjryXuyTf "Dont Stop the Music" (2007) one of the Greatest Dance and Club songs of the last 20 years, where she samples Michael Jackson's "Wanna Be Startin Something" with a Futuristic and Electronic update which sounds amazing, a Classic Sensual Banger
https://youtu.be/xXD5tltX9Pg?si=bP6K2WYobO1N1m5z "Umbrella" (2007) I mean I don't have a lot to say, it's one of the most iconic Pop Songs of all time
https://youtu.be/wmGjajXDHKo?si=QOGaoK4Se0v7GlwV "Disturbia" (2007) a Horrorcore Genre song that WENT BILLBOARD NUMBER 1, what kinda Horrorcore songs goes number 1? This song displays Rihanna's influence by Michael Jackson's "Thriller" and was one of the most groundbreaking songs of the 2000s Popularising Autotune as an artistic effect
https://youtu.be/AjLD4ufmSlE?si=KgR8msbKyoQCRlg- "Shut Up & Drive" (2007) another Classic, this is one of thr greatest Pop Rock songs of the last 20 years, its a great Sensual song that is inspired by a Classic like "Whole Lotta Love" by Zeppelin, and it samples "Blue Monday" which Is a Masterpiece, Shut Up & Drive even has a hint of Grunge influence, again showing Rihanna leaving her comfort zone musically
https://youtu.be/QMP-o8WXSPM?si=WmqZlvMg7GVsJeVI "Love on the Brain" (2016) a brilliant song on Rihanna's last Album, it is influenced by 60s Soul & Blues ballads
Rihanna is one of the most Popular and influential Artists of all time, despite only having an 11 year music Career from 2005 to 2016, Rihanna has managed to become one of the top 10 highest selling Artists in history, the 2nd highest Female Artist ever behind Madonna despite Madonna having a 25 year headstart and Rihanna is creeping up in sales, she has 14 Billboard Number 1s, Beatles in comparison had 21, she's versatile, boundary pushing, has great vocal Range. I feel it's only fair she is worthy of a "Greatest Artists of all time" list
I'm not even sure if this is that unpopular IRL, most people I talk to in real life agree Rihanna is a Musical Legend, but Reddit is not Real Life, Reddit shits on anything Pop that isn't Michael Jackson lol
If I was to rate Rihanna's top 5 Albums

1. Good Girl Gone Bad (2007) is a 9/10
   
2. Loud (2010) is a 9/10
   
3. ANTI (2016) is a 8.5/10
   
4. Rated R (2009) is a 8/10
   
5. Talk That Talk (2011) is a 8/10
   

She doesn't have a 10/10 Album, like Thriller, Bad, Purple Rain, Led Zeppelin 1, Zeppelin IV, Abbey Road, Dark Side of the Moon and so on, but two 9/10 Albums is insanely impressive, someone like Ed Sheeran has never even made a 7/10 Album

I’m a new paramedic. 2 years of experience as an EMT as a mix of 911 and IFT. I started working as a paramedic about 3 months ago. Even as an EMT and during paramedic school I never really got flustered when things went sideways. Tonight I got truly flustered for the first time and it just felt like everything was going wrong.
We went for an old lady who probably was getting septic: fever, lethargic, elevated HR, elevated RR. first thing that went wrong was my IV wasn’t great, it was super positional which sucked cause she had PIPES, I just didn’t have the vein taught enough and it rolled slightly so I went in at an angle. I had good blood return and it flushed though. Decided to give her fluid challenge of 250mL NS. I forgot to move the BP cuff from the IV arm to the other arm, and that made blood back up into the extension which looks really freaky to patients, and then the fluids wouldn’t flow cause the IV was positional. And then I was trying to fix the excessive fluid in the drip chamber from the BP cuff cause pressure back up, and ended up with a bunch of air got in the line. At this point we were pulling into the ED bay cause it was literally a 4 minute transport and all I could do was disconnect the fluids, pull out the air that had gotten into the saline lock, and then flush it again and lock it. The whole situation just made me feel incompetent even though nothing that happened was really that big of a deal and I handled it all how I was supposed to.
I’ve never been flustered on critical calls before where things went weird so I don’t know why I did in this situation. Just feeling bad about myself and would appreciate words of encouragement!
Edit: I will say I kept my cool pretty well and hid that I was freaking out (I think at least) but felt really shitty afterwards

It’s my first egg retrieval today! I’m slightly nervous though. I’ve been put under once for an endoscopy and colonoscopy (apart of one of my yearly health checks) I was anesthetized and I woke up half way through that procedure LIKE LITERRALLYYY SAT UP WITH THE TUBE STILL IN ME 😆😆😆😆 okay anyway off topic and just hope that doesn’t happen today with my egg retrieval.
Also hugs and good juju to anyone getting their egg retrieval soon.
Hoping for good results today ❤️
EDIT: ER went smoothly! They made me stay for about 4 hrs after on an IV drip (voluven) to minimize the risk of OHSS, also got prescribed 3 days of cetrotide (itchy stomach can’t wait!!) The nurses asked me if I have very good alcohol tolerance (I do, not something I’m proud of) apparently it took a lot of anesthesia to keep me down and actually asleep, not sure what they used, didn’t ask. Collected a total of 22 eggies today. Hoping for good news in the next couple days!!
Oh also, I’m super bloated, no pain though, just very bloated with a lot of gas. Drinking lots of electrolytes and just burping and farting like Homer Simpson.

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Hi all. Long-time BB sufferer here, having suffered for over 22 years (since 2002 at the age of 16 or 17). I am now turning 39 years old this later year.
Like many on here, I have explored countless routes to investigate the cause of my BB to try and cure it. I thought it came from my nose (post-nasal drip), my gut (acid reflux), allergies, and dry mouth. In the end, it was none of these things. Here are some things I had done while trying to cure my BB, based on what I thought were the causes:

• Sinuses/Allergies
  • Surgery: Nasal Polyp Removal
  • Surgery: Deviated Septum correction
  • Surgery: Nasal passage widening using balloon sinoplasty to widen nose and help breathe through nose
  • Nasal irrigation devices to wash sinus using baking soda/salt solution
  • Allergy Medications
  • Allergy Testing and Allergy Shots
• Gut
  • All Acid/PPI medications (omeprazole, pantaprozole, etc.)
  • Multiple stomach endoscopies
  • Silent Reflux (LPR) Test
  • Surgery: LINX implant - a titanium ring now permanently sits on my stomach/esophagus to prevent reflux.
  • Multiple H. Pylori Tests (negative of course)
• Dry Mouth
  • Tried dry mouth meds (salagen and evoxac)
  • Have spent thousands of dollars over the years on Dry Mouth lozenges from Biotene, ACT brand, etc.
  • Mouth covering tape to prevent mouth breathing
• Other Stuff
  • Antibiotics
  • Probiotic toothpaste
  • Essential oils
  • Chlorhexidine Mouthwash
  • Castille soap
  • Bleach and hydrogen peroxide
  • Several hundreds of dollars worth of oral probiotic lozenges found on Amazon
  • The list goes on. You name it, I've tried it.

Around last year, I came across an ad on social media for Bristle, for testing of the oral microbiome. The company said something that was really critical to my journey: that 90% of halitosis cases stem from the mouth and the oral microbiome. Because we BB sufferers are always so good with our oral hygeine regimens, it's natural for us to assume the cause is something else apart from the mouth, which is why we tend to investigate sinuses, gut issues, and so on. However, more likely than not, in over 9 out of 10 cases, it has to do with an imbalance of bacteria in the mouth.
I took the test, and discovered that I had really high levels of two or three halitosis-causing bacteria, that reside in the gum line: Fusobacterium Nucleatum, Prevotella Intermedia, and Tannerella Forsythia. In addition to this analysis, the Bristle team offered a treatment plan and recommended that I use SmartMouth Clinical Strength mouthwash for 2 weeks, and afterwards, repopulating with oral probiotics for several months, to try and change my oral microbiome over time. I tried using the SmartMouth mouthwash, and it helped somewhat for sure, but only temporarily. I knew that it was doing something, and ended up going off the deep end: spending hundreds of dollars more on SmartMouth mouthwash over the course of several months, because I became dependent on it to mask my BB enough for me to go out of the house.
After some further investigation, I came across a different oral microbiome test that was based out of Canada, called OraVital. Similar to Bristle, OraVital does a microbiome test via saliva, and comes back with results (which in my case, matched the same bacteria I had discovered in the Bristle test). However, additionally, they offer a 3 week antibiotic treatment plan (amoxicillin/metronidazole mouthwash and gum ointment), followed by chlorhexidine mouthwash. This was much stronger than what Bristle offered. I did the treatment, and it helped enormously when I was on it. However, sadly, the BB returned when I completed the antibiotic solutions. I was sad and defeated once again.
Next, I came across a third oral microbiome test, by a company called Viome, called the Oral Intelligence Test. This test does the saliva sample, but doesn't give you a list of the bacteria they find. However, they give you an oral probiotic lozenge that is supposed to be custom for you. I noticed the strength of the oral probiotic lozenge to be 30 billion CFU. This was a clue for me, because other probiotic lozenges that I came across online were only in the range of 3-6 billion CFU. The fact that this was 30 billion meant that more probiotic bacteria were needed to combat the problem.
I ended up taking the Viome oral probiotic lozenges for some time, but experienced only modest results. However, they did help somewhat with my morning breath when taken before bed. But the BB always came back.
Over the course of time, it dawned on me. This problem is more severe. It requires more effort to remove the bad bacteria, and more effort/strength to repopulate with good probiotic bacteria.
It was then that I had a revelation that made all the difference. Instead of relying on oral probiotic lozenges, with their relatively minimal strength, why not use extremely high doses? I resorted to trying probiotic powder instead of lozenges. The dosages in some of these powders was over 100 billion CFU per scoop.
The Bristle test indicated that the bad bacteria I have were sensitive to reuterin, which is produced by the probiotic L. Reuteri. I came across L. Reuteri powder on Amazon. Additionally, I came across L. Salivarius powder as well, which a probiotic that produces a compound called saliviricin that kills bad bacteria as well.

• L. Reuteri Powder: https://amzn.to/44LMcPx
• L. Salivarius Powder: https://amzn.to/3KnX64Z

I began taking these two powders in the mouth, mixed with a bit of water (only a little bit, so that they do not get diluted). I also use water because I feel like this helps the probiotics swish through the gum lines, which is where my bad bacteria resides. Within 1 week of doing this, multiple times a day, I noticed a massive improvement. I knew I was onto something, and something big. I continued to do this for a couple of weeks, and noticed my breath getting better and better over time. However, it was not completely eliminated. I figured it would just need to be something that I would use before I went out. However, I noticed the improvement to be getting progressively better after 3 weeks, and then 4.
One thing to note here is that, for the probiotic bacteria to have optimal effect, you need to clean your mouth and tongue before using them. I read in a scientific study that they found probiotics had a significantly higher benefit when used after tongue scraping/brushing. I use both a tongue brush and then a tongue scraper, before I do the probiotic rinse. I also do not eat or drink water for at least 30 min after rinsing.
Within weeks of doing this, I noticed the bad taste in my mouth was gone, when I tried to search for it. My perceived 'dry mouth' was gone, and my saliva flow had increased significantly. I always thought I had dry mouth, but I came across scientific articles online which suggested that the bad bacteria is what was actually causing that feeling. Bad bacteria change the pH of your mouth and cause that taste and feeling of dryness. They reduce salivary flow.
I was encouraged by the results, and I then started doing additional research. There were other healthy probiotic strains out there that were good for the oral microbiome and for combatting bad bacteria. One that I came across was Weissella Cibaria. This bacteria is naturally found in the mouth, and can colonize it. L. Reuteri and L. Salivarius, on the other hand, are just passing through the mouth and do not stay there. Therefore, they can help the oral microbiome by killing bad bacteria, but do not have a permanent residence there. If you don't have a solid presence of good bacteria in the mouth, the bad bacteria that is wiped out can grow back. This is what happens when we use antibiotics. Sure, they're able to kill off bad bacteria, but even the small remnants can multiply back rapidly if there are not enough good bacteria to outcompete it. To get Weissella Cibaria, I found an oral probiotic lozenge that has a patented form called OraCMU:

• Weissella Cibaria Lozenge: https://amzn.to/3UH6ULR

Additionally, Weissella Cibaria is also present in probiotic foods like Sauerkraut and Kimchi, but UNPASTEURIZED only (pasteurizing kills all beneficial bacteria). I switched my diet to high in soluble fiber and fermented foods on a DAILY basis. This includes apples, celery, carrots, sauerkraut, kimchi, and yogurt. I eat a big bowl of some of these foods mixed up, at least once a day, for lunch. I also incorporated fiber gummies to ensure I am getting the adequate amount of fiber the probiotics need to grow in the oral microbiome (they need a type of fiber called fructooligosaccharides to prosper and grow).
I have gotten really big into fermented foods. I am constantly on the hunt for fermented foods and will try to have them whenever and wherever I can, as much as I can. They're not the most appetizing, and can smell pretty bad, but they are working to permanently shift my oral microbiome over time. I even got a yogurt maker off Amazon and began making my OWN L. Reuteri yogurt using a starter culture, half and half, and fiber powder (inulin). This will help create a lasting effect to permanently alter my oral microbiome to prevent bad bacteria from ever coming back.
The role of probiotics in curing oral imbalance cannot be understated. I have read multiple studies relating to probiotic research regularly, which has only begun exploding in the scientific industry in recent years. This is a really exciting time. After years of very limited progress on fixing halitosis, it seems that probiotics is the solution to combating the issue. One thing to note is that it takes time to rearrange your oral microbiome. It didn't get this way overnight. Getting out of it is the same.
In addition to populating the mouth with good bacteria, it is EQUALLY important to keep up with a regimen to clear the mouth of the bad bacteria, which must be done regularly and in parallel with the probiotic regimen. Every morning and night, I do the following routine:

• Tongue brushing with a Tung brush or orabrush (and go as far back as you can go)
• Tongue scraping with a metal scraper (as far back as possible)
• Brushing with Nano-Hydroxyapatite toothpaste which is beneficial for oral pH, removing biofilms, and mineralizing teeth. Some brands I use are Carifree and Boka -- https://amzn.to/44NGRav
• Flossing. I use the REACH Floss Stick.
• Tongue Brushing/Scraping again.
• Probiotic routine. For mornings, I do the powder. For evenings, I just take a couple of lozenges. I take the Weissella one, and/or well a Viome one that I have leftover from my Viome subscription. I also take them randomly throughout the day.
• Occassionally, I will use the SmartMouth Clinicial version of mouthwash for a nice cleanse of bad bacteria. There is a regular version and a clinical version, the clinical one is much more effective -- https://amzn.to/3ULAvUE . It is important not to overdo this because it can disrupt the good bacteria as well in addition to the bad.

Also want to emphasize the absolute importance of going to the dentist for cleanings as many times as your insurance covers. For decades, I did not visit the dentist, going years on end without cleanings. These treatments are essential for breaking up biofilms and plaques of all the colonies of bad bacteria. If untreated over time, they become more resilient and grow rapidly. They build protective shells around their communities which allow them to grow rampant and overpower the good bacteria of the oral microbiome. It is critical to go, and have the calculus and plaque disrupted and removed. Even if you don't experience relief from one or two cleanings, it needs to be done. It is the progressive effect over time that will cure the condition. Removing bad bacteria overtime while populating with good bacteria -- a one-two punch.
And that's about it. That's where I'm at now, and I will continue doing this routine for the coming year, because I have seen in the past how resilient this bad bacteria is. My goal is to continue hammering it down with probiotics, and not just to wipe it to oblivion, but to build a healthy diverse microbiome of good bacteria that will prevent it from ever growing back and out of control again. I still experience halitophobia - the fear of bad breath and reactions - even though I don't experience any. My mouth is moist and sweet. My saliva is flowing. But the fear of a reaction is a psychological condition, because it is what I've known for 20+ years. I hope to be able to shake it off over time through many positive interactions.
Good luck to all and God Speed!
Edit: If trying the probiotic rinses, I STRONGLY advise against swallowing the rinse afterwards. Please spit it out. The reason for this is that, if ingested, it would get absorbed into the gut microbiome. For a couple of doses, this wouldn’t be an issue. But if you were to take several hundreds of billions of probiotics everyday, over the course of several weeks, this could possibly have a detrimental effect on your gut microbiome. Ideally, you would just want the probiotics to apply to your ORAL microbiome alone, and not your gut microbiome.

I've seen the hype. My friends that used to be darker than me now look caucasian. It's crazy and it got me really curious. Which product works best? IV drips, soap or capsules? What brands? Personal experiences?

So, I've had this idea in my head about the concept of signing something so important that you have to do it with your blood. I'm thinking of a device, like a fountain pen, with a tube, hooked up to an IV in your arm.
Is there even such a thing, or a reason for such a thing? If so, where would this apply?
update,
So I get theres no such thing, yet. But what if the Blood Pen (tm) was redesigned so instead of a tube, a nurse could use one of the those blood sample vials, then connect it to the pen, as a blood/ink reservoir?
and of course, im not saying any one should be coerced into signing with blood. It would have to be a big deal, like in those movies where the guy sells his soul to the devil or something. So definitely not for a used car loan.

My mom passed away in April and I’m really trying to make sense of it. I’d never seen her sick a day in my life, unless you count her sensitive stomach and treatment for high blood pressure. Then she was gone as soon as we got her a proper diagnosis. It sounds like Mesenteric Ischemia is very easy to miss, and I was frantically looking for posts about it while she was in the hospital. So I thought I’d share this.
Mom started getting sick around Thanksgiving. By mid-December it was bad enough that she could not travel for Christmas. She thought she had a stomach virus and said she didn’t have the energy to pack or drive and didn’t trust her stomach for a 3 hour drive. She started eating smaller meals to manage the virus.
Mid-February was her first ER visit. She was admitted & stayed 2 nights. Diagnosis was severe dehydration. Her white blood cell count was high, liver and kidneys ‘wacky’. She was nauseated, lethargic, foggy brain. CT examined her head, “every organ”. They did an ultrasound and told her it was not an organ. She was eating full meals by the time she was released.
One of the doctors at the ER asked her why she was there. He really treated her as though she was overreacting, and likely made her hesitate to seek care any more urgently, despite her decline.
After release she was told her blood sugar levels were high. She was diagnosed with hypokalemia (low potassium). She started working on a pre-diabetic diet but remained nauseated.
Mid-March a CT scan showed hiatal hernia and infection of some kind. She was dehydrated again. She hired someone for at-home IV treatments. She was drinking bone broth and drinks with electrolytes. A stool sample showed good results & her dr scheduled more blood tests. She had lost 25-30 lbs by this point.
Her dr scheduled an upper GI and colonoscopy for May 1st to look for ulcers, hernia. Blood test confirmed elevated white blood cells are caused by an infection and they’ve ruled out cancer.
April 1 – Dr told her she had stomach ulcers. After colonoscopy and endoscopy the dr is worried about blood flow to stomach. After a CT scan, she is referred to a vascular surgeon. They will do an ultrasound and consultation.
April 9 – Biopsies from colonoscopy are clear. Dr diagnosed clogged arteries around the stomach. Mesenteric Ischemia diagnosis. Scheduled an appointment to insert stents or look to bypass surgery.
April 10 – Admitted to ER for failure to thrive. TPN set up for nutrition. Plan is to build up her strength for the surgery.
April 13 – Dr ordered Xray to check for a possible bowel obstruction, lactic acid test to look for dead tissue / sepsis, hemoglobin test to check for internal bleeding. Mom has upper GI pain & cannot control her bowels. Very weak, unable to get up & down from bed on her own.
April 14 – Bowel obstruction found, ordering another x ray before deciding how to proceed. Backing off meals but keeping TPN, in order to let her stomach rest. (she was barely touching her food at all). Since bloodwork looks ok they think it could resolve itself.
April 15 – Dr says vitals are good, sugar levels are good. Surgery delayed, not because she is too weak but because she seems better. (I think this info was relayed to me wrong). They assured us waiting will not cause permanent damage to organs or tissue. Blood flow “looks better” and they “aren’t even sure it’s a blockage” now. Mom was able to do PT and OT but was extremely weak after. Surgeon impressed with cognition.
April 16 – Mom was in a lot of pain, and they thought it was from the PT & OT exertion. CT scan came back once again confirming the bowel obstruction. Intestines are dilated. Keeping TPN, antibiotics added to IV. Ordered another CT scan & fasting (other than TPN). Blood pressure was up & down all day. Feet swelling for the first time. Abdomen expanding to a degree my cousin noticed from her bedside.
April 17 –In the middle of the night she became unresponsive. Dr found her stomach full of blood. Her esophagus tore where it meets her stomach due to weak tissue. Her stomach was full of blood. She’s too weak for stents or bypass and will not regain strength without that. Dr thinks at this point her body is infected from bowel perforations & cannot heal

Hey! I’m starting nursing school in about two weeks, and it looks like I have my first med math exam a few days in.
I’m HORRIBLE at math and I’ve been trying to watch a bunch of tutorials on med math. I’ve been doing okay, but I have so much anxiety over this. Last thing I want is to fail out of the program because of this exam.
For the first exam, do they typically expect us to know everything med math related (dosages, IV drips, pediatric, etc.)? How are the first exams like from your experiences?
Thank you!

It never lasts more than 36 hours or so and only happens every few months. You can see him having to push to get it out. In between it comes out in drips. He’s not even 5 yet so it’s not age related.
I’ve talked to the vet about it and brought them urine samples. Everything checked out each time. I’m going to have them do a scan to do further checks.
Has anyone else here experienced this? If so, what was the cause? Thanks in advance

I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+.
About me: I am a 40 year old player who has over 25+ years of RP experience. I am a Novella 3rd person player who plays Modern/Slice of Life/High Society/Crime/Political/Espionage style play (with some options for Supernatural, Historical, and Metahuman/Comic).
My Character: In 2011 I created the character whom I solely play now Patrick James Pierce IV a debonaire businessman equal parts John D. Rockefeller, and Caesar Augustus, hidden behind a Frat boy facade. Sadly I am not interested in making any new character BUT The good news is I have made it so Patrick can play with almost any sort of character and scenario.
What I Am Looking For: I am a male in RL and only play males because quite honestly I have no idea how to be anything else. I am also Hetero and therefore only want to play MxF SLs with smut BUT I will play platonic Male stories so we can Bro out and have our summer Bromance! XD
If interested in discussing ideas please DM me and I will offer more details into the Pierce Family and their Global Conglomerate Patrick controls as CEO as well as all the various SL ideas and Roles I am seeking to play!
Please note: All roles, writers, ideas, and Storylines are strictly 18+… I am very versatile and enjoy brainstorming ideas for roles you'd like to fill.
See pinned posts on profile for Character Details, Writing Samples, and More!

…Instead of the Nihil being the main antagonist of the series, it was the Mandalorians.
Okay, so this general feeling of mine has been prompted by the more recent releases in the series, more specifically The Eye of Darkness, in which the Nihil manage to take over massive swaths of the Outer Rim using something that they call the Stormwall and effectively become a bandit empire that overpowers every threat that the Jedi and the Republic throw at them.
I'm not a general fan of this. I mean, I've always kind of been reviled by the Nihil, which of course is meant to be the point, but now I'm just put off by them in a meta sense. They've suddenly gone from this barely functioning band of raiders to a freaking star empire that bulldozes everything in its path with the Stormwall. The Nihil in Phase One of the High Republic are this roving clan of marauders that just want to do whatever the hell they want with no consequences, and I had assumed that they'd stay that way in Phase Three.
In fact, all the way through the flashback stories of Phase Two, I had assumed that Phase Three would revolve around the Jedi and the High Republic weeding out the rest of the Nihil in a sort of roaring-rampage-of-revenge following their attack and destruction of Starlight Beacon, and the Jedi having to couple with their darker impulses and the consequences that come with that over the entire order, setting up how the Jedi Order came to be in the position that it is in the Prequels, as well as those working in the background, the corporations and the Sith and so on, would take advantage of the situation, setting the foundations for the decadence and corruption that exists within the Republic by the time of the Clone Wars.
But instead, the Nihil suddenly become this huge threat that, while definitely fragile and prone to infighting, is such a massive threat to everyone and so overpowered with their Stormwall and Occlusion Zone that I cannot help but feel like it completely defeats the point of the Nihil.
The Nihil in Phase One are a roving tribe of hedonistic raiders, whereas the Nihil in Phase Three are>! a violent star empire that can challenge the Republic and the Jedi on a one-on-one basis!<, and I can't help but feel like these two states of being do not coincide well with each other, not in such a short amount of time at least.
I can understand threat escalation, of course, but even then I feel like this is a bit much.
However, I feel like something like this makes more sense if we replace the Nihil with the Mandalorians.
Think about it, the Nihil are simply a dysfunctional group of bandits raiding anything and everything that they come across by the time of Phase One. The Mandalorians, however, are multiple clans of fighters and warriors, trained in the art of fighting everything up to and including Jedi and Sith, and have the capacity to wage war on a galaxy-wide scale.
Imagine if, during Phase One of the High Republic, the Nihil were simply a front for a clan of Mandalorians in a bid to try and return Mandalore to a state of galactic prominence, starting out as a group of renegades and mercenaries before pulling off a daring raid on Starlight Beacon and bringing it to the ground, using the deaths of the Jedi onboard to rally the other Mandalorian clans to their side and bring themselves up to the strength of the Nihil in Phase Three, taking over the worlds around Mandalore and turning it into the beginning of a new Mandalorian empire, only for the Jedi and Republic to come in and destroy them in a final battle, ending Phase Three with the Annihilation, or the Mandalorian Excision as it was named in Legends thanks to the Essential Guide to Warfare.
(And also, I like the idea of the leader of the Mandalorian clan(s) and the one holding the Darksaber at this time being someone who should seemingly be the exact opposite of Mandalorian values, that being instead of someone strong and capable, instead being this sickly girl who has to walk around with a cane and an IV drip, only to also be force sensitive and a cunning manipulator. It's just something that I find entertaining to think about.)
Hell, if you want to push it even further, change Mara Ro in Phase Two to a young Mandalorian, or even change the entirety of the Path of the Open Hand from a force cult into one of the more religious sects of Mandalorian culture, or even have them be deeply tied to the force themselves, maybe as a result of interacting with the Jedi or dark side adepts.
And you know what, if we're going the whole way? Change the motivations of the main villains of the High Republic as well. Instead of just simply wanting to hurt the Jedi and do whatever they want, how about they've instead seen visions of the future, of the Clone Wars and the Rise of the Empire and the First Order and all the chaos that came with it, and deciding that Mandalore needed to be a strong state in order to survive it, or even trying to save the galaxy by taking it over first to make sure that the horrors that they've seen in their visions never comes about.
Honestly, this are all just my own opinions. I'm not really the biggest fan of the Nihil, and I've never really been the biggest fan of the pure evil character archetype in fiction (that's not to say that it can't be done really well, but when it isn't, it just leaves the characters themselves feeling flat and boring), so I figured why not have a go at imagining something else to go in their place?
Feel free to agree or disagree with me. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

The Circus is back in town people! Here's what to brace for this season:
Kravis Bliss: Travis and Kourtney, consumed by their love and the new baby Rocky Thirteen, will be rare apparitions. They're too engrossed in filming "Kravis Does Kalabasas" with Travis's kids to haunt our screens much. They will tease their new show with the first sightings of the Rock to entice viewers. She will say "Like" and "I DON'T CARE" at least 14.5 times per dialogue scene.
Kim's saga thickens: Kim crafted the imperfect illusion of a soccer mom, all while weaving a clandestine romance in the shadows. A Kris Jenner masterclass in contradiction, if ever there was one. Will we find out if she's still trudging through law school, preparing for the "toddler bar?" Don't expect the ghastly spectacle of her "Pearl Necklace" Met Gala fiasco or leaving her minor child on the side of the road to haunt the screen. Some horrors are too cringeworthy even for this show. We will get at least TWO new UGLY cry Memes!!
Khloe's Love Life: Khloe is still captured in Tristan's web, and will perform the usual charade about her unparalleled joy as a single mom of three. She'll profess what a great dad, and best friend he is and that she doesn't read the comments while simultaneously going full gangster on those who criticize her (the comments she supposedly doesn't read). She will continue to push the narrative that she is singling and mingling and call herself a MILF more than once. Her lips will continue to grow and we aren't just talking camels. She's no longer involved with Good American Jeans, but Im sure that wont be discussed.
Kendall's Vanishing Act: The ghost of the Hulu era, Kendall, will materialize more frequently this year to take the heat off of Kim's pointless adventures and Kourtney's uncaring attitude. She'll complain every episode about her debilitating anxiety yet appear in sheer see-through garments at every bar, festival, and five-and-dime from California to the Hamptons, peddling her latest questionable celebrity-endorsed Tequilla brand. She will try to convince us and rave about how much fun she is while getting an IV drip with her bestie after finding the closest reserved handicapped parking spot. Benito Bunny. Devin. Sashay Away, Shontay you stay - Does anybody care about her relationships anyway?
Kylie's Rebrand: Prepare for a deluge of Kylie. She'll remain cryptic about her romantic entanglements but will drop hints about a special someone. As of a year ago when this was filmed, she was still smoking ciggies with him, shaving her jaw while Ozempicing and chasing the Parisian chic esthetic.
Kris's Waterworks: Expect Kris to shed at least one cry, drink a liter of Vodka, and say "You guys" at least twenty-five times per episode. She will continue to profess her undying (and blatantly insincere) love for Corey the Fixer, who everyone knows has a much younger girlfriend that he was caught kissin in da Club. Speaking of - He will be wearing those obnoxious D&G x Corey silks in EVERY SCENE he is in.
Lord Disick's Filler Time: Scott will fill the void, funding his naughty vices with his paycheck. With the troves of dirt he holds and no NDA to bind him, Kris ensures his coffers are well-stocked. Most of his scenes are filmed after "events" so he can "bring it up" when they stop by to visit (its all for show people. ALL for show).
Next-Gen Spotlight: The cameras will fixate on Kim's daughter and Kourtney's stepdaughter, grooming them for their presumed dominion over the Hip Hop and Fashion worlds.
Prepare yourself for a season steeped in shadows, contradictions, and the eerie familiarity of reality TV's endless charade of stupidity and lies by a bunch of over-inflated, bodies and egos.
Did I miss anyone? Not likely.

At the world’s top college of magic and technology, every day brings a new discovery -and a new disaster. The advanced experiments of the college students tend to be both ambitious and apocalyptic, with the end of the world only prevented by a mysterious time loop, and a small handful of students who retain their memories.
Surviving the loops was hard enough, but now, in his senior year, Vell Harlan must take charge of them, and deal with the fact that the whole world now knows his secrets. Everyone knows about Vell’s death and resurrection, along with the divine game he is a part of. Now Vell must contend with overly curious scientists and evil billionaires hungry for divine power while the daily doomsday cycle bombards him with terrorists, talking elephants, and the Grim Reaper himself -but if he can endure it all, the Last Goddess’s game promises the ultimate prize: power over life itself.
[Previous Chapter][Patreon][Cover Art]
“Four years on and the headache still sucks,” Vell groaned to himself.
Though most of the loopers had managed to make it to midnight alive, they had nothing to show for it but headaches. They had not succeeded in digging Cane out of the rubble, or investigating his apparent ghost theory in any other way. That was a complication, but not a fatal one. They had some leads to work with, at least, and Vell knew where to get started on the ghost angle. Vell gladly made the call that would get them started.
“Goooooood morning Mr. Harlan,” Harley chimed. “What’s happening?”
“Frog invasions, among other problems,” Vell grumbled.
“Oh, that’s a time loop headache if I ever heard it,” Harley said. She’d run into that affliction more than a few times.
“Yeah, it’s not great,” Vell said. “Listen, do you still have Garrett’s number?”
“Ooh, ghost problems, eh?” Harley said. “I’ll text it to you.”
“Thanks. I kind of got to get right to it, so I’ll have to give you the details later, alright? Love you, Harley.”
“Love you too, bud,” Harley said. “Say hi to Garret for me.”
Vell hung up the first call and braced himself for the second. He liked Garret, but he could also be a lot to deal with -a fact well-demonstrated by the phone call beginning with Garret’s theme music blaring over the phone. Once the bombastic rock and roll stopped, Vell was disappointed to hear a mechanical beep indicate the start of an answering machine message.
“Hi, you’ve reached Garret Geist, Ghost Getter,” the message said, in Garrett’s usual southern california drawl. “I’m currently on a long-term submersible mission to exorcise the ghosts of shipwreck victims who’ve been trapped undersea for centuries.”
“What?”
Vell knew it was a recording, but needed to voice his offense anyway. It was hard to truly be mad knowing Garrett was doing something so incredibly heroic, though.
“I should be back to the surface and ready to help in a few days, so please leave a message and I’ll get to you as soon as I can!”
The automated message clicked again and fell silent. Vell hung up the phone and let out a low groan of despair.
“Okay, we’re not screwed yet,” Vell said. “Just need to wait a bit.”
Vell brushed his teeth and rushed through breakfast, and then, right on cue, heard a knock on his door. He whipped it open to find a bothersome scientist once again at his door.
“Hi, good morning,” Vell said, as he opened the door. “You here to bother me about Quenay?”
“I- uh, I have some very interesting theories.”
“I’m sure you do,” Vell said. “If you can just hold on one second…”
Vell paused and waited. The bothersome student also waited, at least for a few seconds.
“What exactly are we waiting for?”
“This.”
Cane grabbed the student by the collar and yanked them away from the door. Vell invited him in and slammed the door shut behind them to really drive the point home.
“Thank you for that,” Vell said. “Did you need something?”
“Just to talk to you,” Cane said. “I was trying to get people together to hang out tonight. Figured you’d want in, if you’re not too busy.”
“I could probably make it, I just have to…”
Vell froze. He really should’ve come up with these lies in advance.
“You good, Vell?”
“I, uh, sorry, just losing track of things, mentally,” Vell said. “I’ve had a lot of people, uh, ask me for help with things.”
“What kind of things?” Cane said. “You need a hand?”
“Maybe.”
Vell contemplated how to proceed for a moment, and then figured he’d probably built up enough good will with Cane over the past four years he could just dive right in.
“You ever heard about frog ghosts?”
“Yeah,” Cane said, without so much as blinking.
“Oh, cool,” Vell said. “What about them?”
“Well, hold on, are you talking about frog ghosts as in the ghost of frogs, or a ghost related to frogs?”
“Either or, I guess?”
“Okay, because I don’t know anything about any ghostly frogs,” Cane said. “There is supposedly the ghost of a guy obsessed with frogs on campus, though.”
“Interesting. Tell me about the frog guy.”
“I don’t know all the details, it was kind of an urban legend even when my brother came here about a decade back,” Cane said. “All he ever told me was the this frog-obsessed sophomore died while studying, and he haunts the basement of the sophomore dorms, I guess. ‘Some say you can still hear faint croaking in the basement’ and all that horror story shit.”
“Interesting,” Vell said, again. “Let me look into that and we’ll circle back later, alright? I gotta go, see you.”
“Vell-”
“Sorry, kind of in a hurry, bud,” Vell said, as he left and shut the door behind.
“This is your dorm, dude,” Cane said.
***
“You were not exaggerating about this headache,” Alex said.
“We warned you,” Kim said. “Man, it’s almost better to die.”
“How do you have a headache, you’re made of metal!”
“It’s complicated,” Kim said. Her synthetic body did not spare her from the time loop headache, no matter how she rebuilt herself.
“Good morning everyone,” Helena said, as she whacked the door open with a crutch. “What did I miss?”
“Quiet down a little, please” Hawke said.
“Why?”
“Do you not have a headache too?”
“No, I died pretty early,” Helena said. “Got a frog on me.”
“You died from a frog touching you? What condition do you have that causes that?”
“Well it was a poison dart frog, so I guess ‘being alive’,” Helena said. Samson pursed his lips and said nothing. “What did you all get up to while I was busy being dead?”
“Vell found out the frogs were summoned by a weird frog-obsessed ghost,” Hawke said. “He apparently knows a guy who might be able to help.”
The loopers then proceeded to relax and chat about frogs, ghosts, and other miscellaneous topics for about seven minutes, which made it a lot less dramatic when Vell barged in and announced Garret would be unable to help.
“Oh come on,” Kim snapped. “What’s the point of knowing a ghost hunter if he never helps hunt ghosts?”
“He’s on some undersea mission to rescue lost souls,” Vell said. “Which makes it really hard to be mad at him.”
“And yet I manage,” Kim said. She didn’t begrudge Garret personally, but she had been hoping for their first easy win of the year. All the apocalypses thus far had been a major pain in the ass.
“Aren’t you people supposed to be able to handle things like this?”
“Yes, Alex, and we will,” Vell said. “Just would’ve been nice to have a professional on the job.”
“I’ll get the ghostbusting stuff ready,” Hawke sighed. He would’ve loved a chance to outsource their daily nonsense.
“Keep it on standby for now,” Vell said. “Ghosts have unfinished business or regrets. If we can help our ghost deal with whatever frog-related business he’s got going on, maybe we can fix this without having to bust anyone.”
“That’s your plan?” Alex said. “Be nice to the ghost that crushed a building and hope it goes away?”
“Yes,” Vell said, with a completely straight face. “And busting is plan B.”
“Bustin’ makes me feel good,” Hawke sang, as he grabbed all their various ghostbusting gear.
“True professionals at work,” Alex scoffed. Everyone else rolled their eyes and got back to work.
“Vell is an old pro at being nice to people,” Kim said. “Just ask Helena’s sister.”
“Don’t pat yourself on the back, Joan’s incredibly susceptible to manipulation,” Helena said. It was disturbing she’d say that, and even more disturbing she knew that. “That said, anyone dumb enough to get stuck as a ghost for decades will probably buy into your routine just as easily.”
“Thanks for your input,” Vell said. “I’m just going to go ahead and get started.”
He said that both because it was important and because it was an excuse to get away from Alex and Helena faster.
“Need any backup?” Samson asked, for similar reasons.
“I’ll check it out solo first,” Vell said. Historically speaking, he was the best people-pleaser, a dubious honor at best, but one that came in handy when dealing with a frog-summoning ghost. “I’ll let you know if I need backup.”
“Or busting,” Hawke said.
“Or busting,” Vell agreed. “I have to find out where the ghost is, for starters. I’ll be in touch soon.”
***
Finding the lair of the ghost was the first hurdle. As it turned out, the sophomore dorms had a lot of basements. Every building on campus had a lot of basements, so Vell was not all that surprised. At least these basements didn’t have booby traps or old experiment equipment in them. They mostly just had a lot of junk. Vell kicked aside some old food wrappers and scanned the room.
“Why do people treat these empty rooms like dumping grounds?”
“People are usually different when they think no one is watching.”
Vell whipped around and saw a transparent head poking through one of the nearby walls. A ghost if Vell had ever seen one.
“Oh, hi,” Vell said. “Uh, weird question, how do you feel about frogs?”
“I’m ambivalent at best,” the ghost said. “Are you looking for the frog guy? Because he haunts two rooms over.”
The ghost pointed to the right, down the hall, and Vell looked that way.
“Thanks,” Vell said. He took a few steps towards the door before spinning around to face the other ghost again. “Uh, do you need any help like, moving on? Finishing unfinished business?”
“Nah, we get wifi down here, so I don’t mind just chilling,” the ghost said. “Thanks for offering though.”
The ghost drew back into the wall and vanished from sight. While Vell was painfully curious as to how a ghost accessed wifi, he decided it was time to move on. The frog ghost was apparently close by, after all.
Vell followed the wifi ghost’s directions and hopped two doors down, barging into a subterranean room that was uncomfortably moist and smelled of mud and rainwater. Condensation dripped from the ceiling and onto Vell’s back, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. Unlike other rooms, this one was completely free of any garbage, but Vell took no comfort in that.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
A chill ran down Vell’s spine that definitely was not another drop of water. He waited two seconds, took a deep breath, and turned around.
“Hello.”
Vell was just inches away from another transparent face. This one had a slight green tint, with wide set eyes and a broad, flat mouth. Vell wondered if the similarities to a frog had been there during this person’s life, or if they just liked frogs so much their ghost had slowly shifted to reflect their passion.
“Hey! Hi, uh, nice to meet you,” Vell mumbled. “I’m Vell.”
“I’m Raine.”
“Neat, nice name,” Vell said. If Raine noticed the awkward hesitation in the compliment, he didn’t show it. “So, uh, I was wondering, well, I heard you were the guy to ask about frogs.”
The already wide eyes of the ghost got even wider, and visible excitement trembled through their spectral form. Vell began to think he may have made a mistake.
***
“So even though it’s the biggest frog in the America’s, the helmeted water toad is still only half the size of the Goliath frog,” Raine said. “Which must be wild for the helmeted water toad. Could you imagine crossing an ocean and finding out the people who live there are literally twice your size?”
“Must be pretty mindblowing, yeah,” Vell said.
“And that’s not even going into the real extremes,” Raine said. “Do you remember our pal P. Amauensis?”
“How could I forget,” Vell said, about something he had definitely forgotten.
“Not just the world’s smallest frog, but maybe the world’s smallest vertebrate,” Raine said. “Only seven point seven millimeters long, a literal fraction of the Goliath frog! Could you imagine meeting someone who’s only as big as your toe?”
“I actually did, once,” Vell said. “Shrink ray.”
“Oh. Was...was it weird?”
“A little,” Vell said.
“Wow. You almost know what it’s like to be a Goliath frog meeting a P. Amauensis,” Raine said. “I’m so jealous.”
“Yeah, I’ve done a lot of interesting stuff,” Vell said. “What about you, what’d you get up to when you weren’t studying frogs?”
Raine tilted his spectral head and stared blankly at Vell.
“You did do things other than study frogs, right?”
“Not if I could help it,” Raine said.
“Okay, uh...what did you like to eat?”
“Oh, I just ate food whenever I was hungry,” Raine said. “What I really liked to do was gather samples of different bugs and other frog dietary staples, so I could try to get a sense of their diet for myself.”
“Like, cooked bugs, or just raw, living bugs,” Vell said. He’d eaten a few different varieties of cooked bugs, just for the experience, but couldn’t imagine eating raw insects.
“If I could find them, yeah, live ones,” Raine said. “It got pretty hard after I got banned from the entomology department.”
“That’d do it,” Vell said. “So, did you, uh, go swimming a lot?”
“Oh yeah, all the time,” Raine said. “Until I got banned from the pools too. Trying to swim like a frog doesn’t work very well, and they got sick of having to rescue me, I guess.”
“You could’ve just swam like a person.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To...I don’t know,” Vell said. He was starting to feel like Raine’s entire life and unlife revolved around frogs. “Did you ever do anything, I don’t know, human?”
“Oh, I studied frogs,” Raine said. “Frogs lack the self-awareness to understand frogs. It’s their only flaw, really.”
“I see. So what’s your favorite frog?”
As expected, this set off a long rant, as Raine found it hard to pick a favorite and had to start listing pros and cons of various frog species. It was not exactly scintillating conversation, but it kept Raine talking instead of somehow summoning frogs. Vell kept reminding himself that was the real goal. He was not here to have a pleasant chat, he was here to prevent the frogpocalypse. Anything that kept Raine ranting was good. He was saving the world.
As Raine started ranking every existing frog species by maximum jump distance, Vell kept repeating that to himself. Saving the world, one frog jump strength at a time.

Many of you have probably seen the photos going around of people who’ve spotted bug corpses on bot planets. Just wanted to say, the day before yesterday I was playing on either Choepessa IV or lesath on a bot mission and I picked up 3 samples that were bug grubs. They were also found near a crashed pelican which explains how they made their way to the planet. If I find this again I will take pictures and post them.

Whaddup folks,
Getting all 4 removed on Friday. 33yo. Top 2 erupted normally but got cavities on the hard to reach side for toothbrushes. Bottom two are slightly impacted and require "partial bony extraction" per the billing document I got. Put this off for years. Because of anxiety and potential combativeness I am opting for "deep sedation" which I assume means a step above twilight sedation?
In 2015 and 2018 I attempted (and failed) suicide twice via overdose, the first time using migraine meds and Vicodin and the second time using a novel dissociative called deschloroketamine. While I'm in a leagues better place these days, you don't just attempt suicide and forget about it. The 2018 attempt resulted in my breathing stopping and I became totally unresponsive. I came to in a hospital triage room that, in my initial stupor and confusion, thought was a version of limbo - and in no way am I a spiritual person. The dimensions of the triage room did not make geometric sense and there were other silent, still bodies in other beds.
When I was back towards 70% cognizance or so and recovering in hospital, it hit me what the experience in between overdosing and coming to in the hospital was. Nothingness. There's nothing for you, or me, or any of us there. You can't ascribe qualities to it because it's nothingness you are not aware off - Death in a deputized form. An experience you can only talk about because you woke up.
I have been having daily panic attacks in anticipation of treading back into that territory - lost time and nothingness you aren't aware of; coming to in an unfamiliar room with medical staff. I am resorting to writing a few things on my arm as reminders for when I wake up that this isn't the same as the suicide attempt, to not freak out. During the consult, I let my surgeon-to-be know all this and was not impressed with his reaction - granted I don't know how many people like myself he's encountered.
While there's a lot of advice, experiences, encouragement, and hesitation on this subreddit, I've never seen anyone else chime in as a suicide survivor and the unique things that sedation may represent. Just remember that maybe the IV drip and whoosh into a silent, amnesic sleep for one person here might be the trauma of someone else.
I'm keeping these damn teeth when they're done btw.