Painful white sores on gums

I’m really trying not to be a downer because I am very excited for the game but I keep going back and forth in my head about pre-ordering the game because I would like to show my support for the 40k community but I’m actually a little shook about Saber Interactive developing this one.
The thing about Saber is they’ve virtually never produced a game that rates above 7/10 and it’s basically a coin flip that they produce games of that caliber at all. A good portion of their library has middling reviews. Well, I’ve played a few in the mid 2000s and 2010s and looking at their development library as a whole the first word that comes to mind is “derivative”. They make games similar to other games of their time but worse, somehow riding on the backs of giants and producing an inferior product with the advantageous foreknowledge of good game design. That’s not a great sign.
Their only real claim to fame is working on the Halo CE Anniversary and Master Chief Collection which definitely were not fan favorites on release but did eventually get much better. How much of that can be attributed to Saber’s involvement, I don’t know because they were part of a larger collective development team working with Microsoft Studios and 343 Industries. In general, they seem to be a company like Rebellion that specializes in porting games over but when it comes to making original/ licensed IPs they make lukewarm games or just kind of drop the ball.
I can tell they’re using some variant of the World War Z engine to pump out large hoardes of Tyranids on screen at one time and while that looks cool I have to wonder how intelligent the AI actually are because the AI in WWZ was not impressive and the enemy variety was sorely lacking. How much of that is lack of creativity versus engine limitations is kind of what I’m curious and worried about. I’ve also noticed in the 30 minute gameplay demo video they posted that a large portion of the game is combat-interrupting cutscenes/ setpieces. It seems like 5 minutes of fighting consistently gets interrupted by 3 more minutes of cutscene dialogue or forcefully panning the camera over to a point of interest. I felt like SM1 did a pretty good job of letting the levels run their course and maybe having a cutscene or 2. Don’t get me wrong, SM2 looks absolutely gorgeous but I almost think the devs feel that forcing the player to stop and gawk at the marvel they’ve created is somehow enriching the gameplay. It feels a lot more like dopamine edging by having these intense playable moments and completely turning off the adrenaline by having Titus gaze at some large structure or ship overhead collapsing, or having the crew stop to converse with some besieged Guardsman unit. Leave it up to the individual agency of the players to stop and gaze in wild wonder if that’s something they appreciate but otherwise keep your foot on the gas I’d say. What makes games intense is that they often don’t let up. The demo was just a bunch of tension and release in quick succession and I honestly was hoping more for a game with pacing like DOOM Eternal/ WH40K Boltgun. I know this game is not a boomer shooter but I’d like there to be good rhythm and pacing. I’d trade high octane co-op gameplay over visually/ technically impressive sightseeing any day.
I also noticed the game seems to feature the same linearity of SM1, which if I have one gripe about SM1, it is definitely that the game is practically an “on-rails” experience. There is very little in the way of freedom of exploration and almost all the “hidden” servitors and ammo caches were in painfully obvious places because they were often in the only other place the game would allow you to explore. It would be nice to be able to take divergent paths in levels or have larger arena style combat areas with rewards and secrets strewn about. Put a gun in a far-off artillery crater or stash a mounted gun up in bunkers that you can rip off the mount like in SM1. Also I would like secrets to be a little more thought out and rewarding. SM1 rarely utilized using melee weapons to break away barricades exposing secret areas and never utilized switches or levers to open secret pathways. Verticality was also sparsely used not only in general but definitely for the sake of hiding a secret way up top somewhere. I don’t know exactly what I expect from this I just mean to say I would want the levels opened up a little bit, and for rewards to be in places for players willing to take the time to find them. It would also be nice to have narrative setpieces that tell a story in secret areas like the Fallout Universe does. Let a secret path lead us to a scene of carnage or a tragedy or maybe even an ambush. So far we haven’t seen any of that.
I’m not writing off the game just yet but I would really like to be proven wrong about some of the things I noticed from the gameplay video. It’s hard to be excited in the age of modern gaming especially when we talk about preorders. I’d honestly like them to talk more about the beta key distribution date. I don’t even necessarily need to play the beta personally, but it would be nice to see a little more gameplay in the form of a single complete mission from start to finish.
What are your guys’ thoughts? Am I just being a pessimist? What concerns do you have? Are you guys excited? Am I worrying about nothing? I’d love to hear your feedback.

As a fan who grew up with the original series which opened my eyes on the power of storytelling, I m sorely disappointed.
To the creative directowriter: Story is king.
What the hell? How can you go from a simple but elegant and emotionally resonant black and white sketches with music score rivaling to Hans Zimmer to these disgustingly ugly cut scenes? I understand you might want to take a new direction but after watching a few test runs, nobody had the balls to stand up to Cunningham and said "bro... what the #!@$?" and change direction?
What is wrong with you? The end of Homeworld 2 opened so many possibilities for a sequel and you picked the worst. How can you transform such an original idea where everybody was emotionally invested in and turn it to a dollarstore production with a cartoony villain and an uninspiring hero (I already forgot her name). I didn't even understand or care what was her problem!
How many time do we have to see the protagonist "acting" with her eyes closed as if someone pooped in that tank with her hair flowing around her head with pre-hardware rendering hair physic? Did you have a professional team at your disposal or you just borrowed your cousin's access to Vancouver Film School's computer lab on the weekend? The reason you are trying so hard to force people to feel something because the story, the struggle, the arc are so weak and they fail at every imaginable level.
Less is more. Much more.
I will never forget the impact of the first and the second game. I will never forget how I almost cried at the "She insisted that she would be the last person to disembark and set foot on the homeworld". Perhaps Rob Cunningham, time for you to disembark from the franchise and let someone else more talented helm it. You are no Karan S'jet to take this franchise home.
I am not the one dwelling on the past, I am just disappointed on what the "future" just offered me for 220$. But I will swallow this bitter pills and go play again homeworld 1 and 2 remastered.
P.S. Scarring on ships are a good idea until you are so good at the game and capturing all enemies capital ships. When they survived after 1 or 2 battles, all you see are a bunch of burnt steaks on the screen (See picture). I literally headed into the final missions with 16 "burnt steaks" destroyers, not ships. This passed quality inspection?
/quietly shake my head

TLDR: I automatically leave any pain that isn't sudden/stabbing on read and never notice it. I've now gotten sick as a result. How can I try to notice it more?
So I have gotten myself pretty sick because I don't really register pain unless it's sudden or stabbing. A headache or soreness or whatever... I don't even really register it. A few weeks ago we found out my vision is a little fucked and that's because my brain is fucked. Everyone keeps asking "Are you sure you're not in pain?" because I probably should be. I'm staying in Emergency Department Observation for a second night. But I feel like I always do. If this is an emergency then I have just been living in an emergency as long as I can remember. LOL
I notice stabbing pain. Like I stepped on a nail. That hurt. But it didn't hurt having it just be there or pulling it out or walking on it was cleaned up. It's like I go "Well that's handled, let's leave it on read." Turns out that's not good.
I caught myself doing it during the lumbar puncture today. That came with a lot of new sensations. One of them was sort of painful at first but then it got demoted to "this is just how LPs feel and it is normal and expected." After that it was still a weird feeling I didn't like but it was kind of mildly unpleasant. I couldn't quite ignore it but I also didn't need to pay it too much mind.
ALSO: I can't remember pain. They keep asking for my pain level on a scale and A) there's not really any pain. and B) All pain feels like it's the same severity. Especially in my memory. I can't identify any of the injuries I've had as being more painful than others. It's just an even that happened. So that question is really hard for me. IDK if mindfulness can help with that at all though.

~Neptori~
A party was indeed hosted, set up to surround the burning mass of grass that the second creature had been hidden inside, the two severed heads spiked on massive rose thorns high above the half acre of angry flame were eyeless and toothless. Trophies for the queen’s pet Faeries and Fairies.
Tori was half certain she had seen a demon amongst the deadly, fake-friendly, party goers. His eyes didn’t just reflect the fire, they were made from fire. Sparks flew and skittered over his high cheekbones as they made eye contact in passing. A chill went down her spine, a warning and a threat.
She followed quickly after the queen, her gown had been replaced with a shorter gown resembling a white iris flower, the shoes of course matching to look like the stem. High, high heels that didn’t even touch the ground. They hovered over the ground as she fluttered her wings to stay just above her people. A subtle band of wild roses sat on her brow, Neptori only wondered about the thorns and how a flower could be so pale and yet so brightly yellow. Fluffy and tiny, the roses faintly resembled the clouds as the sun fell to make way for darkness in night.
Someone, at some point, had made sunflowers grow twice as tall as they were. They lined the main scenes of the party, their strong, velvety leaves bore golden, burning lanterns. An ashy pink smoke filtered flower shaped holes in the circular… those weren’t lanterns- fairies were nocturnal! Those were burning herbs, were they to keep predators away from the party or to heighten the pixie magic warping the sizes of everything. She took a light whiff taking in the earthy smell, the note of citrine and then the smell of honey fresh from a beehive… she suddenly felt very light. Shaking her head to shake the feeling, she finally caught up to the queen's side. Wings would have been entirely advantageous in this situation, Tori would have to do with waiting till the queen had settled on her throne at hearing distance.
Around and around the party they went, Tori being shown off like a prized pony. The queen didn’t seem to be too hated by her people, it was strange that she had said so earlier. Neptori pinched her brow trying to keep her thoughts from derailing. No, play by her rules and she will have to let Tori go. That’s what she would have to do. So around and around she went some more. Fairies drenched her in new garments. As they were the fashion capital of the realm, they were exceedingly horrified by a poor woman’s rags. Neptori accepted their gifts, too afraid to offend to deny the strange things they put on her. Her coat had been torn from her at some point, her trousers had been replaced with a purple petticoat and a pink pearl corset. Her boots were gone and her feet cried out in pain as she felt the dirt and clovers underfoot. As her toes dug into the soft heaven that was nature. A giggle escaped her, a scraggly cry really. It hurt but it was amazing. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken her boots off. Her smell was ripe and rank but she didn’t care, her toes weren’t cramped up!
she turned to see if the queen could see- but there was nobody. Just an empty field and those burning herbs finally burning up. The smoke was so thin it fell in scraggly whisps. The morning air seemed too crisp and clean and untamed. She burst into a sprint down the path of trampled grasses. Strange flowers and shrubs had grown underfoot but they were walked all over by what must’ve been an enormous crowd. Then a light, brighter than the awakening blue overhead, the sun. The first rays yawned over the land, sending a golden and blue contrast into the world. She had never felt so at peace. So at one with her surroundings. Her face was numb and cold with it, or maybe the reverse but she was only paying attention to the awakening surrounding her.
The bees and birds and the fairies… everyone began to stir awake as slowly as if time was blinking awake with them. She just stared with watering eyes, taking in the magic that thickened in the air. The scent of apple blossoms washing over her as the land was engulfed in golden hues of every color. Then it was green. The sky was alive with fluffy white clouds, scattered across that simple barrier of blue. It was all so beautiful and it thrummed around her, in her veins it pulsed.
Everything just felt so right, then a shadow fell around her. She turned her surely very glassy eyes to find the queen standing a wreck before her. “There you are pet.” She said with a crooked grin. Her eyes were bright red and brought out the earthy green hues within her irises. Her iris party dress was limp and her band of fluffy yellow roses was gone.
“Wha- “What happened?” Neptori cried out as her knees came crashing down to the dirt and rocks and ashes and… what had happened? “Your very first fairy party it seems.” She waved a hand and the perfect scene made way for the glowing petal walls of the fairy palace.

I got all 4 of my wisdom teeth removed on Wednesday, it's now Tuesday I have no pain and the top stopped being sore within 2 days the bottom stopped on Sunday ive been really good w not eating anything crunchy/spicy or using a straw, if my mouth isn't hurting anymore is it ok for me to eat takis I miss them. And when can I use a straw again?

Hello, last night I was enjoying myself in a bar in Mangwon, when I was challenged to an arm wrestling match by a fairly muscular young Korean man. This happens often because I am pretty big guy (6 foot 3 inches and about 300 pounds). I often try to decline because I have had tennis elbow in my right arm due to lifting, and I just don't like it.
He was pretty persistent and after I declined about 8 times, I finally relented and did it when his friends and other bar patrons watching. He was pretty intense about it, and call it pride, but I didn't want to give up either. Both of us probably had terrible form, as I can say for sure I've never arm wrestled in a sanctioned manner. After about 15 seconds in, there was an audible crack, he shouted in pain, and went completely white. A bone in his forearm most likely snapped. He was taken by his friends to the hospital, and the owner (who is a friend of mine) called the police just to be safe. I don't speak Korean well, but it seemed the police thought it was more funny than serious after seeing me, and how worried I looked. There were witnesses and CCTV showing that I declined many times, but I've heard in Korea I can still be on the hook for damages.
Has anyone ever experienced a similar situation, hurting a local in a sporting event or something, and what were the results?

Hello! I am a 28 year old male. I just spent 6 days admitted to the hospital with concerns about a cardiac event because I was having facial parasthesia (tingling, numbness), the same sensation in my left arm and to a less frequent extent, my right arm. I also experience lower jaw and tooth pain, but I can’t tell if this is a symptom or if it is secondary to the swollen tonsils and adenoids.
For context, my wife and son recently got sick. My wife was very sick. Enough so that she sometimes cried about how much her throat hurt and even got a couple of chest x-rays for pneumonia. She was tested for every common illness because she had an insanely painful sore throat, a VERY bad cough, a whisper quiet lost voice and her tonsils were huge. The only result that showed was that she had a past EBV infection at some point.
I also got sick, of course. However, things went differently for me. I got sick and developed a bad sorrow throat and that was about it. This continues to this day, which is 12 days later. It’s still quite bad. My tonsils are also huge, but not as big as they were. I have tonsil secretions but I had more before.
A few days into my sore throat, my left face began to tingle. It was… weird. No pain, nothing else really. Just tingle. Later on in the day, my lip went numb. I went to the ER thinking that I was stroking out or something but the CT was fine and they sent me home.
The very next day, my left arm started to tingle and hurt and my arm starting from under my armpit medially(if supinated) running down my upper arm but not below my elbow started to ache. My shoulder had sensations of cold as well. The tinglng sensation continues and it runs down to my hand where I feel pain that that travels around but is mainly in my palm, thumb and fourth/fifth finger. This also occurs in my right arm. In fact, it’s happening right now. Both sides of my face are tingling as well.
To be clear, Yale’s cardiology team did a very extensive workup including s PET/CT nuclear stress test, echocardiogram, several EKG’s, maybe a dozen troponins a chest X-ray. No cardiac pathology was revealed. The only thing that was somewhat weird is that my symptoms were alleviated several times by nitroglycerin, but this may very well be psychosomatic due to my extreme anxiety over it being cardiac in nature and causing panjc attacks that the nitroglycerin calmed by lowering my BP and distracting me with low BP symptoms, honestly. I am a very anxious individual and I was very laser focused on it being cardiac pain because of the location. So much so that I did not even think of the possibility of my illness being related during my hospitalization. They did test me for strep and COVID and it was negative but given the fact that my wife was negative for EBV, they did not think it necessary.
I am wondering if perhaps this mystery infection could have triggered GBS? I do see a neurologist but my closest available appointment is three months from now.
So, what do you fine people think? Do these symptoms sound like potential GBS? If so, would gabapentin help? How can I go about making this easier for myself? I do have an RX for that. Thanks for reading.

Hello,
I, 27 female, have been experiencing pain in my throat/potentially esophagus every time I eat. I started experiencing this in late April after a month or so of a lot of phlegm/clearing my throat after eating anything. It feels almost like a physical pain and below my jaw is painful to touch. It’s definitely not a typical sore throat. I went to urgent care and she told me since I am having ear pressure, phlegm and eczema on my eye (which I’ve never had before) that it was allergies. Flonase and Zyrtec haven’t been working infact Flonase seems to make my throat worse. I went to the ER after choking on food/intense pain and he told me it was GI not allergy at all. They want me to schedule an endoscopy but I’m not 100% whatever I have is being caused by GI. Im also taking famotidine for acid reflux and that seems to have given me way more reflux in my mouth than I’ve ever had. Oddly enough, around the first week of may the pain went away for about a week (only left by a sore jaw when I touched it), but it came back this weekend in full force. My throat is always in pain to the point where I’m not eating at all just to get through my work days so i can speak properly. Even drinking water usually hurts the right side of my throat. If anyone can offer some advice I’d really appreciate it!

Asgard 1827
The Trial of Asgard made national news in Valhalla . Brunhilde stood there in front of many gods, each vote determining her faith . Does she live or die ? Only odin can make that judgment. Heimdall opened a pamphlet speaking though his horn “ Brunhilde, eldest sister of the gods ! You stand accused of crimes against Humanity and Goding alike ! How do you plead ? “. Brunhilde rolled her eyes before speaking her mind . “How do I plead ? What crimes are you talking about ? I was making coffee before me and Randgriz were arrested on the spot “ she spoke out . “ Don't play dumb Brunhilde I saw you cast forbidden spells and illegal magic “ Odin told everyone. Despite the bold straight up lie hilde remained as calm as ever . Using magic and spells is more for Gondul and she is too smart to get caught. What did Odin really want and why is he dragging Randgriz of all demigods.“Nonsense ! My sister would never so such a ““SILENCE “ Odin shouted but Randgriz stood her ground ready to face death itself to protect Brunhilde. Meanwhile in another area. Loki used his blades to slice the doors open splitting them in half. Beelzebub was in the middle of an experiment his red eyes shooting at loki. “This better be good “ he whispered. “It is Brunhilde and Randgriz lives are a stake during the trial “ Loki spat out in a panicked state . “ Why should I care about some demigod's life when I don't even care about my own? “ Beel questioned. “It's because I know you hate Odin and would do anything to spite him how dare he label you as a freak when he is just as bad “ Loki answered “ Hurry we are running out of time ! “ . “What do you get out of this ? “ Beel stood up . “ I owe Brunhilde a favor “ A flashback of small Loki almost getting eaten by a giant snake until Brunhilde saved him by slicing it in half with a scythe
. “Be more careful child “ she turned around seeing the scared loki shiver .
The flash back ended with Brunhilde standing off to Odin . “Confess your crime or serve death “ A purple hue spear floated over him. “ I choose death, “ Brunhilde replied. “ Brun no ! “ Randgriz screamed buy it was too late . The spear launched at her body with such force blood she was pushed back to the wall. Brunhilde refused to give up despite all the pain seeping into her. “ This is the end of the road valkyrie…” Odin whispering. The last thing she saw was the gods demonic smile before everything faced to black.
“Is she alive ? “
“Wait “
“What if he killed her ? “
“Wait “
“ Is she dead ?”
“I will slap you “
“Yikes chill emo “
Brunhilde woke up in the lab with purple ,red and green eyes staring at her. “ What just happened…” Brunhilde felt a tight hug from Randgriz “ You are alive! “ Grizz cried out. “Yes …I am …” Brunhilde realized. “However at a price ….” Beel commented . “What did you do demon? “ Brunhilde hissed . “ Weird way of thanking someone for saving your life “ Beel brushed that comment off. The valkyrie gave him a weird look , “ Don't mention it I only did it to piss off Odin “ Beel shrugged. “Wait Mr Beel what “price “ are you talking about ? “ Grizz asked. “Oh well being a demigod you are more human then god now “ Loki jumped in stuttering at every word. “Meaning you can't fly , super strength and speed is gone, no more soul connection or anything that would make you a valkyrie “ Loki explained some more “ I had to do something to get Beel to save your life “. “ I'm not mad Loki “ Brunhilde took a deep breath “ This is just a sign that I need to leave asgard now …” Brunhilde stated . “I'm coming with you “ Randgriz sat next to her “ If I stay I'm dead Valkyrie walking “. “Plus it's no longer possible to survive here, however despite losing most of your powers there is still a place for you “ Beel mentioned “ Loki will take you “ . “Wait, what about our sisters ! “ Randgriz started to cry . Loki and Beelzebub looked at each other. “ We will figure that part out but remember if Odin catches wind they die too “ Loki pointed out . “Yes but faking our deaths still sounds horrible, “ Randgriz shook her head. “ Alright I'll do something you will see them again soon “ Beel told her “ Overall you both need to leave as soon as possible “ . “Follow me there is not much time “ Loki used his magic to make a portal . The scenery revealed a large Eiffel tower and people walking by . “ Once we step in there is no going back “ Randgriz shivered. “We don't have a choice “ Brunhilde stepped in holding Randgriz hand to help her . “Even if we never meet again Lord Loki, thank you for saving my life “ Brunhilde bowed down. “ No Brunhilde…thank you for saving mine “ Loki smiled, closing the portal. “So this is our new home “ Randgriz looked around seeing things that just aren't familiar anymore .
5 years later 1832
Late in the afternoon at the Salle Pleyel concert there was the sound of the piano . The fast paced music made everyone in the area cheer . The musician had blonde brown hair that passed his ears . He waved it back and forth like a rockstar smashing his keyboards so hard you would think he broke them. The crowd cheered his name “LISZT LISZT LISZT LISZT “ , fangirls jumped up and down going crazy over him . Brunhilde and Randgriz sat down in chairs watching the man go , “ His music is very rough and insane ..reminds me of home listening to vikings “ Brunhilde mentioned. “ I don't know who is making me more deaf the music or the annoying girls “ Randgriz covered her ears, “If it's too much for you then why did you bother coming? “ Brunhilde gave her a look. “ I don't wanna be alone “ Grizz admitted, “By the way ,..why are you wearing a suit “ Brunhilde wondered . “ The human women show too much window and well sister you don't show just the window the entire frame is gone leaving only thin fabric “ Randgriz gave her honest opinion. “ I don't need a lesson on modesty “ Brunhilde focused her attention on Liszt who kept playing . His piercing green eyes gave her a wink . “Was he winking at me ? “ Brunhilde turned to Randgriz. “Probably or at the other women fawning over him “ Grizz stated . “Yeah you're right “ Brunhilde relaxed some more “Not like I care he is a massive playboy breaking one heart after another I'm not going to fall for that plus I'm not a noble “. “You are right Hilde you aren't..you are a demigod , from our divine perspective human nobility is just fancy talk for commoner” Grizz whispered.
“ Randy shhhh we aren't in Valhalla anymore “ Brun reminded her , “ If looks could kill you would be a serial killer by now “ Randgriz laughed “ I mean I'm not wrong if an Archduke came to Valhalla and started bossing everyone he would be laughed at “. That comment made by a few folks behind her gave the sisters an irritated glare . “Shhh “ a man right next to Randgriz silenced her with his white glove .The concert ended leaving Liszt to step off the stage . He was quickly surrounded by fans causing Brunhilde to leave until she felt something hit her. Behind her was a red rose , she picked it up seeing the musician wave at her before being surrounded by more fans . “Come on Brunhilde let's go, I don't like parties “ Randgriz dragged her out towards the concert halls . “Oof I'm sorry “ she accidentally bumped into the same guy that sat next to him. He was a short guy with a big nose that spoke with a thick polish accident. “Sorry I'm looking for a man named Liszt “ he mentioned. “Down the hallway but you are going to have to wait in line “ Brunhilde pointed to the left before leaving . The man thanked her before walking in that direction, “He is very cute “ Randgriz thought. “Eh …okay let's go home “ she walked with Randgriz.
A few days later Brunhilde went back to the same concert alone this time to attend a mass . There she sat down reading the holy Bible while waiting for the preacher . “ Excuse me, is this seat taken? “ a familiar voice spoke to her . Brunhilde turned around, seeing the face once again. “Are you Franz Liszt ? “she asked while watching him sit down. “Yes “ Liszt confirmed sitting next to her “ Nice to meet you “ . “ Yeah I see ..” Brunhilde stuck her head back in the Bible. “Sorry if I was bothering you “ Liszt apologized getting ready to leave . “No you weren't, I just have a lot on my mind “ Brunhilde sighed. “Oh ..I hope the church can relax you ..lift those spirits up “ Liszt gave a warm smile. “Yeah” Brunhilde half smiled back , “So where are you from? I've never seen you around? “ he questioned. “Oh I'm from - “ Brunhilde tried to think of an answer. “Don't tell me your from heaven? “ Liszt answered "Wait how did you -”Brunhilde's face turned red from the blushing. “ “ Relax I was just kidding c Liszt chuckled . “Oh right …hahaha” Brunhilde joined the laughter

In 2016 I had VSG, and within a year, I was having issues with GERD. Tums and omeprezole kept it at bay til about 3.5 yrs ago. I had been given Famotidine and Protonix, and I maxed out the dose with minimal relief. Things were so bad that I could be sitting up, mid conversation, and acid would come out of my nose and I’d be choking. Last year I saw a new GI doc and after a few tests, he said the only relief I could get was from surgery. Because my insurance wouldn’t cover “GERD surgery” the docs had to write it up as weight loss. So I went through all the hoops, did all the appointments, got approved and was due to have the RNY conversion 6/23. However my cardiologist changed his mind. Did all the tests again and he finally approved again. Surgery was scheduled for 12/11/23, did all my pre-op labs and testing on 12/06/23 and on 12/10/23, the surgeon called to tell me the hospital cancelled. The news says they were going bankrupt and didn’t have all the staff nor equipment necessary for the surgery. Fast forward to 4/03/24 and I was told I could finally get the surgery, and I was scheduled for 4/22/24. I had my surgery and I felt amazing! No pain, was up and walking that day, no issues with keeping my fluids down, and was sent home on 4/24/24. On 4/26/24 one of my incisions opened and it wasn’t pretty. Was rushed back to the hospital where I found out that there was a hole in my stomach which lead to an abscess and sepsis. On 4//28/24 I was rushed into emergency surgery to have drains put in, hole repaired and abscess lanced and drained. Infectious diseases was called in to figure out how to treat the sepsis. On 5/09/24 I was rushed to a bigger hospital and had to have a stent put in the hole is. I was put on 2 major antibiotics and IV nutrition. I am still in the hospital, just had my first day with my white count normal. I’m being discharged on Friday, but I’ll be going home with IV antibiotics and TPN and I’m still NPO til further notice. In 3 weeks I have to get the stent removed, and 2 weeks after that I have to have still another surgery. Several times a day I wish I had just backed out. I know everyone says it’ll be worth it in the end, but I’m not sure. Anyone else have a similar experience?

I accidentally posted this to my username instead of my subreddit so here is is:
The Mortgage, Part 3
“Fuck,” I said as I drove to work in the old beater that only started on the fourth try because it could tell that I was pissed off. Ray’s case started at two o’clock, and I was heading to the office to get ready. “Fuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck. Fuck.” I’d wanted to tell Angela about Ray’s case, and how I was sorry that I hadn’t wanted to help him, but now I would, I would help him, and I would win, but then I’d gotten her all riled up on something else, something totally different, something way more serious.
My wife had given me a triple ultimatum: fix things up with her father, save idiot Ray from Sy-Co Corp., and somehow find a downpayment for the place she wanted to buy, in the little townhouse infill project in Bixity. It was like demanding I do a double bank shot, and then run over to the baseball diamond and hit a home run after first pointing to where it would land, Babe Ruth style.
Angela was mad at me, seriously mad. She’d slipped out that morning before I was even awake, sliding quietly past me on the couch. I didn’t realize she was gone until I heard the faint click of the front door closing. I jumped up, tripped over a blanket, and by the time I got up and my robe on, the elevator down the hall dinged, and Angela was gone before I opened the apartment door.
I swore at myself some more and pounded the steering wheel, “I fucked up,” I said, several times as I hit the wheel over and over again, until I accidentally honked it, and then looked all sheepish when the guy in front of me gave me the finger. I reached my office without further incident, but instead of walking in the front door, I went further down the hall, and into the office of Mark Cecil-Rowe, Barrister, LL.D, the man with the finest speaking voice I ever heard. When I entered his office I forgot for a minute about Angela and her father and sleeping on the couch the night before. I forget about everything, except the reason that I had come to Cecil-Rowe’s office: to stump him with a legal problem that I had solved, but which I was pretty sure he could not. In other words, I had come to preen and to brag and to boast. No one likes a showoff, and I had come to show off. I put my hand on the door and turned the knob. After a brief pause, I flung open the door.
“I’m a goddamn genius,” I said as I strolled into the older man’s office.
I noticed the echo of a hastily closed desk drawer hanging in the air. In Aaron’s office, where I rented space, a sudden act of concealment implied cocaine, but with Cecil-Rowe, the item in question was probably a mickey of vodka. I had the sense that he’d been drinking a bit before I arrived, but his powers of observation were unimpaired, and when he looked into my face, his expression showed sympathy, and actual pain.
“What have you done now?” he said, as set the papers before him to one side, and readied himself to hear my latest tale of legal brilliance.
“I’m a genius,” I said.
“Oh dear. Have a seat.”
“No really, I am. I’m a genius. I got this case that everyone says you can’t win, but I’m gonna win it, and when I do, I’m gonna look like a genius.” Cecil-Rowe gave me a sad indulgent smile.
“Whenever you tell me you’re a genius, I am always concerned about what is to follow. When you get wrapped up in what you call your genius, you tend to ignore the more mundane things we lawyers have to do to win a case. You think you’re going to win by genius alone.”
“Let me tell you why I’m a goddamn genius.” With effort I wiped the smug, self-satisfied expression that was on my face.
“Tell me why you’re a genius,” Cecil-Rowe said, “while I pour us a coffee.” He heaved his bulky body up from his chair and shuffled over to a counter. He picked up a carafe of hot coffee sitting on a hot plate, and poured two cups. “Speak,” he said, handing me one. I took a sip of the coffee, and told Cecil-Rowe the tale of Cousin Ray: his purchase of a franchise from Sy-Co Corp, its swift demise, the crash and burn in Commercial Court, the Minutes of Settlement, the seventy-one kilometer limit, and lastly, Sy-Co’s motion scheduled for two p.m. that very day, seeking an interim injunction shutting down Ray’s place.
Cecil-Rowe absorbed all this without the need to take notes. Instead, he sat back while he eyed me, taking the occasional sip of coffee, and smiling at the extravagant flourishes and details that brought out Ray’s story to full effect.
“Obviously Ray is dead on arrival,” he said, “but I guess this is the part where you tell me how you’re going to win.”
So I told him how I was going to win, but it didn’t have the desired effect. “I told ya I’m a genius, Mr. C,” cueing him to applaud, to admit what a brilliant lawyer I was. But there was no applause from Mark Cecil-Rowe. He looked at me without so much as a smile.
“You can cling to that genius notion as a consolation prize, after you get whipped this afternoon in court.”
“No way,” I said, “not a chance. I got this thing won hands down. I’m gonna kick ass in court today and--”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that, if you don’t have evidence?”
“What?”
“Evidence, Calledinthe9os. It’s what lawyers like me use to beat geniuses like you.”
“But I’m gonna win without proof. I don’t need proof. The argument I’m gonna make, relies on simple facts that are totally obvious, so the judge is gonna--” Cecil-Rowe stuck up his hand.
“Stop right there. I know what’s coming. You’re going to ask the judge to take *judicial notice.”
And he was right. That was exactly what I was going to do.
There are some things so obvious that you didn’t have to prove them, things that everyone knew. You didn’t have to prove that water froze at zero degrees and boiled at a hundred, or that Bixity was between West Bay and East Bay.
“You got it,” I said, “judicial notice all the way.”
“You’re going to tell the judge that the centerpiece of your argument, the lynchpin of your case is a fact known to pretty well everyone, and so you don’t need proof.”
“Exactly,” I said. Cecil-Rowe took another sip of his coffee, and left me hanging in the silence for a while before he spoke.
“If that’s true, then why does coming up with that argument make you a genius?”
“Oh, I said,”I didn’t think of that.”
“It is acceptable to rely on judicial notice for minor, ancillary points. But you never should walk into court thinking that the court will take judicial notice of your entire defence. It’s just too risky.”
“But how am I going to rustle up a witness in time for this afternoon?”
“Worry about that after you leave my office. I can’t help you with that. What I want to know, is why you’re doing this at the last minute.”
“What makes you think I’m doing this at the last minute?”
“Because you never would have resorted to judicial notice if you were properly prepared. If you’d opened this case a bit earlier, you’ve have everything lined up. But you got to work on it late, and so you want to rely on judicial notice. You’ve messed up, Calledinthe90s, and you know what my rule is when you mess up.” Cecil-Rowe didn’t extend aid to me, until I admitted the error of my ways. It was infuriating, but he was inflexible. So I fessed up.
“My idiot cousin Ray’s been trying to retain me for almost two weeks, but I was putting him off because I was mad at him. So now my wife’s mad at me, and if I don’t win this case, I’m dead. Plus her dad’s mad at me too and --” My brain roared into overdrive, a mess of family and law and fear, and at the centre of it, thoughts of Angela’s anger and her father. My mind took off, and then came to an instant halt at a helpful destination.
“Yes?” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Sorry. I just realized how to solve the evidence problem. Look, can I ask you about the thing I actually came here to ask you about?”
“You have a problem that’s worse than having no evidence? What could be worse than -- oh. You don’t have a retainer. Your client doesn't have any money.”
“Exactly. How do I get paid? That’s the problem.” I explained that Ray had no money, as in none, and that if he did have money, he wouldn’t spend it on me. Instead, he’d go back downtown and throw his cash at some big firm, who would take on his case, and proceed to lose it in a calm, careful, sober manner, ending in a reporting letter to Ray telling him that he’d lost.
“Now that’s a problem I can solve,” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Really? ‘Cause I can’t see a way around it. I think I’m gonna have to do this for free, and that really pisses me off.” Cecil-Rowe shook his head.
“You may or may not get paid, but you can set things up so that if you win, you’ll win pretty good.”
“How? Ray’s a deadbeat. Tapped out.”
“But is he desperate?”
“Totally. The first time he failed, he lost his own money, but if he goes under this time, he’s taking family money with him, and he’ll be the black sheep forever.”
“And he’s using family to emotionally blackmail you into helping him?’
“Like no shit. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I’m like a goddamn slave, being forced to work for free.”
“Never fear, young apprentice. I have just the thing in mind.” He reached into a drawer, and pulled out a form. “Fill in the blanks, and have him sign.”
I looked it over, and saw that the document was a retainer agreement. I whistled. “Holy shit. If he signs this, he’s almost my slave.”
“Close, but not quite” Cecil-Rowe said, “the Latin term for this is "contractus pro venditione animae"”. It’s the ultimate retainer agreement. Once Ray signs that, you own any cause of action he has against the person suing him. You can settle the case on any terms you like, and you get to keep whatever proceeds there are.” Cecil-Rowe placed the folder back in a drawer, and from his manner you could tell that the interview was over.
“Awesome, Mr. C. I’ll call you from Commercial Court when we’re done.”
“Commercial Court?” he said.
“Yeah, Commercial Court.”
“This just keeps getting worse. Take notes, Calledinthe90s, while I school you on Commercial Court. Commercial Court is a jungle, and without preparation, you’ll get savaged.”
“That’s what happened to Ray when--”
“Take notes, young apprentice,” he said, tossing me a pad and a pen. He started to lecture, and I took notes that I have with me to this day, in a safe deposit box downstairs in the vault at Mega Bank Main Branch.
* * *
By the time Cecil-Rowe finished schooling me, it was close to ten, and the case started at two. I didn’t have much time. I ran down the hall to my office, and called Ray’s restaurant. No answer. Then I called Ray’s house. I expected to get Ray’s wife, but the man himself answered.
“You’re not at work. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Sy-Co Corp served all my employees with a cease and desist letter. They all got scared and took off. The place is shut down.”
“You gotta fax machine at home?” He did, and asked why.
“I’m taking your case, but only if you sign the paper I’m about to send and fax it back.” I sent the fax, and five minutes later it came back signed, and it was official: Ray had sold me his legal soul.
I went out to the parking lot, got into my beater and drove fast. In less than thirty minutes I reached my destination. I knocked on the door, and when it opened, my diminutive mother-in-law poked out her head. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said.
“Sorry, Mrs. M, but I’m in a super hurry. I gotta rush to get to court to help Ray. But first, I gotta speak to Dr. M.”
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Not here?”
“He’s on his way to his bridge game. He left just a few minutes ago.”
“Where’s the club?”
“He’s walking there,” she said, and pointed down the street.
“Thanks.” I got into my car and headed where Mrs. M had pointed, passing big houses and new project with an “Opening Soon” sign. And walking past it was the figure of Dr. M.
“Hey, Dr. M,” I called out the window. He stopped and looked around, startled. But he didn’t see me, not at first.
“It’s me, Dr. M. Me, Calledin90s.” He leaned forward as if to see me better. I got out of the car.
“Is something wrong with Angela? Or the baby?”
“No, no not at all, sorry to scare you, it’s nothing like that. I need your help.”
“Oh.” He started walking again, and now it was my turn to be a bit stunned, watching my father-in-law walk away from me. I caught up with him in a few quick strides.
“Listen, I really need your help.”
“And I really need to get to a bridge game.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Ray.” That brought him to a halt. He turned to me, angrier even than he’d been the night before.
“Did you drive all the way out here just to make fun of me? To remind me of how you won, distracting me with nonsense about Ray’s case?”
“I mean it,” I said, “I can win Ray’s case. I can prove it in a few words.”
“Prove it, then.” So I did. I spoke words, only a few words, but they were the right words to speak to Dr. M, for the words I spoke were in his language, words that he understood perfectly.
“I understand,” he said, “you’ve come to boast some more, to prove that you were right after all.”
“I want to win Ray’s case, but I don’t have any proof of what I’m saying.”
“You don’t need to prove that two plus two is four.”
“This, I gotta prove, and I need you to help me prove it. I need you to come to court with me, as my witness.”
“I can’t do that. I didn’t witness anything.”
“As my witness. My expert witness.” Unlike a normal witness, an expert witness can give an opinion. An expert is there not to advocate, I explained to Dr. M but to instruct, to teach.
“My bridge partner won’t be very happy,” he said.
“But Ray will, and so will Mrs. M and Angela and--”
“Very well. Do you have a cell phone? We can call the bridge club from my car.”
* * *
We were on the highway getting close to the downtown exit, when my wife called my cell phone. Back then cell phone service was super expensive and my wife only used it for emergencies. Or when she was really angry. I picked up the phone, wondering which it would be.
“I’m so happy that you made things up with my father,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“My mother called. She says you took him with you, that you went out together.”
“He’s with me right now,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“To court. Going to court to win Ray’s case for him.”
“And you brought my father with you to watch?” She was so happy, I could hear in her voice that she was smiling. “That’s a great way to bond with him, Calledinthe90s. Look, I’m sorry I got so mad at you earlier, I really am. My dad’s a bit too sensitive and--”
“Sorry, Angela, your dad’s not coming to watch me.”
“Why is he with you, then?”
“He’s my witness,” I said.
“What?”
“His expert witness,” Dr. M said, loudly enough for Angela to hear.
My wife’s anger exploded into the phone. She wanted to know how I could expose her elderly, vulnerable father to the stress of a court case. I tried to tell her how I needed him, how there was literally no one else I could turn to, that her father was an expert, a true expert, and the judge was legally bound to believe him, but Angela heard none of this.
“Look,’ I said, “I promise you that--” And then I lowered the phone and pushed the red button, terminating the call. I’d learned that the best way to hang up on someone, was to do it when I was doing the talking. That way it looked like the call had dropped.
“I’m going to steal that move,” Dr. M said.
We rolled into the parking lot. I grabbed the cloth bag out of the back of my car, the bag that held my law robes and shirt and tabs, plus the other stuff I needed for court. It was one-thirty, still thirty minutes to go, not a lot of time to get robed and ready for court. It was just past one-forty five when I, with Dr. M in tow, opened the door to a courtroom on the eighth floor of an old insurance building that had been converted into a courthouse, the home of Commercial Court.
“Commercial Court is an exclusive club,” Cecil-Rowe had explained to me earlier that day, “the legal playground of the rich and powerful. They’ll know instantly that you’re not one of them.” And he was right. It was clear from the moment I walked in that I did not belong, for I was the only lawyer in robes. Everyone else was wearing a suit, and not some cheap thing off the rack like I wore.
There were a half-dozen lawyers present, and after they saw me, they exchanged knowing looks about the stranger amongst them. I ignored them, and walked up to the Registrar. I told him the case I was on, and he signed me in.
“First time in Commercial Court?” he said, eyeing my robes. “You know you don’t have to be robed in Commercial Court.” In other Superior Courts, you always had to bring your robes and get all dressed up. But Commercial Court had its own set of rules, and in the court for rich people, their lawyers did not have to wear robes.
“You’re here on the Sy-Co case?” a young woman asked. She was a junior like me, give a year or two either way. She was dressed in the finest downtown counsel fashion, some designer thing that Angela would know if she saw it.
“Just got retained,” I said.
“You know there’s no adjournments, right? We don’t do adjournments in Commercial Court. I’m just trying to be helpful, because I don’t think you've been here before. You know you don’t have to be robed, right?
“So I heard.”
“So where’s your material? You haven’t served anything, so how do you plan to argue your case?”
“I gotta witness,” I said.
She smiled. “There’s no viva voce evidence, either. Affidavit only.”
“We’ll see what the judge says.” There was a knock from the other side of the door to the judge’s chambers, and then the man himself entered.
I was amazed to see that even the judge wasn’t wearing a robe; instead, he was wearing a light coloured suit and a bright blue bow tie. He was dressed as good as the lawyers, all part of the downtown Commercial Court club, the playground of the richest and most powerful corporations in the City.
“Commercial Court’s not like other courts,” Cecil-Rowe told me earlier that day, explaining that most cases were over in fifteen minutes or less. A plaintiff showed up with some papers, and had a short consultation with the judge. The judge signed an order granting an injunction, or taking away a man’s business, or freezing his money. Commercial Court is where you went to get quick and simple court orders that eviscerated your opponent before the case even got going.
Defendants would appear sometimes in Commercial Court, Cecil-Rowe explained, but it was usually their last time up. Defendants always died a quick death in Commercial Court.
The judge took his seat, and then looked over the lawyers before him. His eyes moved along, and then stopped when they reached me, the one lawyer who was not like the others.
“You don’t need robes in Commercial Court,” the judge said to me.
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I said.
“What case are you on?”
I told him.
“He’s filed no responding materials,” my opponent said, “nothing at all.”
“I’m just vetting the list,” the judge said, “I’ll circle back to you two in a few minutes.” I listend while the judge vetted the rest of the afternoon list: a Mareva, plus a Norwich order, with counsel on those cases sent away in a matter of minutes.
Now the courtroom was almost empty, just the judge, two lawyers, the registrar and my star witness and father-in-law, Dr. M, who sat in the back of the courtroom dressed in an old business suit, put on hastily at his place two hours earlier, when I urged him to hurry it up, to not waste so much time on picking a suit.
“Back to you,” the judge said, addressing my opponent, “I thought this was an uncontested matter. That’s what your confirmation sheet said.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honour, but I didn’t know until I got here that the case was defended.”
“I got retained at the last minute,” I said, “barely three hours ago, the day after I read the papers. But I’m ready to go, ready to argue the case on the merits, so long as you grant me an indulgence, and let me call my witness, to let him testify in person instead of by affidavit, there being no time for me to draft anything.”
Opposing counsel was on her feet. “That’s not how things are done in Commercial Court,” she said, “or any court that I know of, for that matter. My friend (that’s what they make lawyers call each other in court, ‘my friend,’ even though you might hate the other guy’s guts),” the lawyer said, “my friend should have served his responding materials and filed them with the court. Instead, he’s taken us totally by surprise.”
“I’m sorry my friend is surprised by opposition,” I said, “but then consider, it’s my client’s livelihood that’s at stake. If my friend gets her injunction, Ray Telewu’s business is dead, and he loses everything. So yes, my client opposes the injunction, and yes, I’d like to call evidence.”
The judge didn’t consult the papers before him nor the books, but instead, he looked up at the big white clock on the courtroom wall. Its hands said two-fifteen.
“How long will your witness take, counsel?”
“In chief, ten minutes.” I’d practiced with Dr. M on the way in, and I was pretty sure he could do it in five, but I gave him a bit of extra time, just in case.
“We’ve got about two hours,” the judge said, “but I want to be fair to you and your client. Let’s take a fifteen minute recess so you can get instructions. Either we go ahead today with viva voce evidence, or we adjourn, and that will give Calledinthe90s time to file responding materials.”
When everyone came back, the junior’s boss was there, Senior Counsel, a heavy weight, one of those big guys downtown. Plus they brought this guy from Sy-Co Corp, the head of some bullshit division, with some bullshit title, Head of whatever, so that’s the title I’ll give him here. He was The Head. He was the man, the big cheese, the signer of the affidavit on which Sy-Co relied that day.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked Senior Counsel.
He stared at me, all lean and steel grey, looking every inch the hard hitting lawyer that commanded the biggest fees. “If you’re calling a live witness, then so can we. The Head will give evidence today, in advance of your client, so that the judge hears it from him first.” His junior smirked at me, and the two of them sat down, delighted that they’d thought of a way to one up me.
Except that they’d done it by exposing their client to cross-examination. The judge came in, allowed the Head to testify, and when he was done, I stood up.
“Just a few questions,” I said. Senior Counsel was stunned for an instant, and then he stood.
“This serves no purpose, Your Honour. The witness has confirmed the simple facts of his affidavit, and there’s no disputing it. Ray Telewu opened a restaurant less than seventy-one kilometres from Bixity City Hall, and that’s in breach of the Minutes of Settlement he signed.”
I did not bother to respond. Instead, I just stood, and I started to ask questions.
“Have a look at that map in your affidavit,” I said, and he did. I picked up my copy, and tore the map out of it. I passed it up to him.
“What do you notice about this map?”
“That it’s accurate,” the Head said, repeating his evidence in chief, amplifying it, talking about how the map contained perfect measurement.
“You will notice that the map is flat,” I said, laying it on the witness box before him.
“Of course it’s flat. That’s what maps are. Maps are flat.”
“But the earth is round,” I said, “or more properly, a sphere.” Senior Counsel was on his feet in an instant.
“What difference does that make?” he said.
“What you’ll hear from my expert witness, is that a flat map cannot accurately show Earth’s curves. A flat map distorts distances, and in this case, reduces them.”
“But that can’t be by very much.”
“In this case, by just over twenty meters,” Dr. M said from the back of the court.
“That’s my expert witness, the esteemed Dr. M.” I didn’t actually say Dr. M. Instead, I said his real name. But I’m not going to use the real names of my family here, so I’ll just keep calling him Dr. M. “Dr. M was a professor of Physics at the University of Bixity for almost thirty years. He has published numerous papers on particle physics, and is the first Canadian winner of the Wolf Prize for physics.”

• * * *

It went downhill after that for Sy-Co Corp. My father-in-law testified, explaining in simple language, language that even a child could understand, that the Earth was a sphere, that the shortest distance between two points on Earth was a curve, not a straight line. He summarized his calculations in plain English, dumbing down the math, so that everyone present imagined, if only for the moment, that they shared his understanding of a difficult mathematical equation.
Senior Counsel tried to cross-examine Dr. M, but it did not go well, my father-in-law indulging him, gently chiding him, continuing his explanations until the lawyer sat down, defeated by Dr. M’s mastery of the subject,his own lack of preparation and his inability to improvise. When counsel said that he had no further questions, the judge addressed us all.
“I’m not going to reserve, and I don’t think I need to tell everyone why. I think it will take about a minute for me to write a decision saying that the Earth is not flat. I’ll give you some more time after that, but after fifteen minutes, I”ll be back to render my decision.” He rose, everyone bowed, and he disappeared behind the door to judge’s chambers.
I pulled a piece of paper out of my file, and slammed it on the desk before Senior Counsel and his junior. “Fill in the blanks, and sign,” I said.
Dr. M’s head shot up at the commotion, and he shuffled over to see what was going on.
“What’s this?” Senior Counsel said, picking up the paper I gave him..
“Minutes of Settlement. You fill in a number, a big number, for the costs you gotta pay me. Your client signs, and then we’re done.” Senior Counsel opened his mouth to bargain, but I overrode him.
“You know your client’s going to lose; the judge made that obvious. Hurry up if you want to settle; we don’t have much time.”
At the end of most Canadian court cases, the loser has to pay at least part of the winner’s legal fees. That’s the way it’s been since forever, and I think it’s a good rule. Sy-Co Corp had lost, so it had to pay a good chunk of Ray’s costs, and Ray’s costs were somewhere between whatever bullshit figure I claimed they were, and where they actually ought to be. Senior Counsel took the paper over to his client. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back, with the form signed, and a number written in the blank space.
I’ll give it to Sy-Co Corp and their lawyer. It wasn’t a bullshit number, a low ball number. They gave me a real number, a number more like something I’d actually accept, a number that made sense to pay me in costs, in light of the success I’d had, and how I got it. It was a respectful number, a common sense number, and I appreciated it an awful lot.
I tossed the paper back at them.
“Add a zero,” I said, continuing on when Senior Counsel blanched, and his junior retreated a step. “I know what’s going on here. Your client sold mine a bullshit franchise, one with a history of failing.” The franchise had opened up again under a new owner not long after Ray had lost it and then it promptly failed again. Like I said at the start of this story, it’s an old story. It’s how some franchise companies make money. “Your client makes more money selling bullshit franchises doomed to fail, then it does from the honest ones that make money. So add a zero to that number, or Ray’s gonna sue you, class action and all that, for all the people you’ve fucked.”
The Head stepped forward from the benches and spoke to me.
“We get threats like that all the time, but no one follows through. They don’t have the money to fight us, and neither does your client. So go ahead and sue.”
“It’s true that Ray doesn’t have jack shit,” I said, “not a pot to piss in, but he’s my cousin, Ray is, and even if he doesn’t have money, he’s got me. Ray’s family, and for Ray, I’ll sue you guys for free. Hell, I’ll even pay the expenses. Plus I’m gonna put a jury notice in, too, come to think of it, ‘cause juries--”
Senior Counsel cut me off, and moved his client to the back of the courtroom. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back. I watched as Senior Counsel wrote a single digit on the Minutes, a zero, written right where I wanted it.
“You’ll have to initial the change,” I said to the Head of Sy-C0, and it gave me great satisfaction to watch him sign.
“Don’t forget,” I said the moment his pen stopped moving, “for the settlement to be valid, I need to get the money today. Right now.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” the Head said.
“Not if you want the settlement to stay in place. I’ll follow you back to your office, and you can put a cheque in my hands.”

• * * *

“What’s this?” my wife said when I entered the apartment later that day, after I’d driven Dr. M home, stopping first at a local pub for beers.
“It’s an absurdly expensive bunch of flowers,” I said, “although no flowers, however beautiful, however expensive, could expiate my--”
She took the flowers, and gave a kiss.
“My mom called. She told me what happened. You fixed things with my dad.”
“Yup,” I said. I had certainly done that. I’d made Dr. M a professor again, if only for a few minutes. Not only a professor, but an expert witness. The judge had declared him an expert in plain terms and Dr.M had beamed when he’d heard those words.
“And you won Ray’s case, too. But my mom didn’t know how, and I don’t know how you did it either.”
“I’ll tell you over dinner tonight,” I said.
“But we agreed no more dinners out; we have to save money, now that a baby’s coming.”
I passed her the envelope that I’d received a few hours before. She opened it, and took out a cheque, a cheque drawn up for an amount I specified, made payable to Mr. and Mrs. Calledinthe90s.
The moment I got that cheque, all I could think about was how my wife would react when I put it into her hands. I could not wait to see her eyes bulge, to hear her voice say “oh my god,” to hear her laugh.
She did none of these things. Instead, she cried.
“Does this mean we can buy a house?” The money wouldn’t be enough to buy a house, not nowadays, with prices being so crazy. But things were different back then in the 90s. Sure, the internet was barely a thing and cell phones were super expensive and a lot of things sucked, but I’ll give the nineties one thing: houses were cheap.
“I think so,” I said.

I’m on Propranolol 10mg 2x day and it was helping my andrelanine surges and palpitations at first. Now not so much. It keeps my heart rate down, but my adrenaline still goes kinda crazy. Not as bad, but definitely not like at first. I guess I need to increase my dose but I don’t want to because I’m gonna start ivabradine as soon as it’s approved by insurance. The propranolol has made me overly tired and I’ve been having chest pains and I think it may also be the cause. It helps with the panic attacks and keeps my heart rate down.
I’ve discovered I have Hyperpots and Mcas from floxing and am trying to keep my allergic reactions under control but I feel so feverish and run down and weak. My throat is slightly sore. I went to the doctor and they found absolutely nothing, AGAIN.
I feel nauseous and almost like I have the flu but they tested me for everything and nothing was there. I feel warm and tired. Could these symptoms be due the propranolol? I wasn’t feeling like this before starting it.

So I’ve been on the implant for about 4 months now, and I randomly started getting cramps, feeling bloated, stomach pain and a sore uterus. My periods not due for another 2 weeks. So it’s not because of that. I thought maybe it was because of having sex to much? Or my bf semen? Or maybe even a uti? Has anyone else been experiencing this???? It’s so weird because I never get cramps even when I’m on my period.

Hi, I’ll try to sum this up as best as I can. It’s been going on for many months.
I had a pulpotomy in February in tooth #30. Filling fell out after 1.5 weeks. Had it replaced late February. Noticed an abscess on my gum 2 weeks later. Have had 1 root canal and TWO retreatments on the same tooth since then. I Have had a total of 6 rounds of antibiotics to treat it. Last round was two separate antibiotics (z pack and something else - very concentrated only took 1x 3 days) and it mostly cleared it but not fully. That’s when I went to the Endodontics for the 2nd retreatment where he said he saw minor drainage. The abscess did not go away fully. It did shrink a ton but gradually filled back up again.
I decided to have the tooth extracted last Tuesday, the 7th (along with tooh #13 that has had TWO files broken off in it since March of 2023. That’s another story) . She said she did not see any drainage during the extraction .
I went to the er Thursday evening to be treated for dry socket in both. I have been in immense pain but am trying to push through without another packing so I do not delay the healing process.
However, THE ABSCESS IS STILL PRESENT AND AS BIG AS EVER. My dentist said I did not need antibiotics because it would drain on its own. It obviously hasn’t.
This nightmare has been going on since way before the pulpotomy was finally performed. I’m so drained and ready for it to end.
What can I do at this point? Should I wait until my dry socket is fully healed in a week or two and reevaluate? Should I demand antibiotics? My dentist said it’s too firm to cut open and drain. Is this thing going to spread to my brain and kill me!? Please help me! The mental toll this has taken on me is unbearable. Please give my answers.
*I feel like I should note that my dentist is a year 2 resident and that my insurance does not cover any other dentists within a 3 hour radius of me. *

This story has been published in Bloody Twine #1. This first book of mine was my "starter book," so it's very short. My other books are, at the very least, twice as long. In fact, "What's Under There?" is the shortest story I've written in the series, weighing in at just 1604 words. The average read time for it is only 6 minutes and 45 seconds. Enjoy!
WHAT'S UNDER THERE?
What IS under there?
Oliver walked into the kitchen and pulled on the hem of his mother’s dress. The woman looked down at him and smiled, but he knew she was not happy he was in here.
“Yes, my little one?” she asked.
“Can I have a cookie?” asked Oliver.
“May I have a cookie,” corrected his mother.
“May I have a cookie?” asked Oliver.
“You may, my little Ollie, but only one,” said his mother as she held up her right index finger in front of his little face. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
She ushered him over to the little square kitchen table and sat him in his booster chair. He was not a baby anymore, but he needed a little extra boost to properly reach his food.
The woman handed him his oatmeal cookie, and he held the big, round, edible disk in both hands. He took a bite of that delicious cookie, but there was a lot on his young mind, and he knew she could tell.
The older woman cocked her head to one side and looked down at him in strange concern. She smiled as she did so, an affect that Oliver was still not used to. His mother had never smiled so much until just recently.
“What is it, my little one?” she asked.
“When is Daddy coming home?” asked Oliver.
“Now, now,” said his mother with a wagging finger. “Your father has gone away. He’s not coming home.”
“He isn’t?” asked Oliver.
“No, no,” smiled his mother. “We talked about this, my little Ollie. Your father’s gone away, and he’s not coming back.”
He wanted to cry over this again, but he knew she would scold him if he did. She had told him the same thing yesterday, and he had cried then, and she had scolded him to the point where he had been terrified. It was something in her eyes that scared him so, and now he was too afraid to earn her ire again. Even so, his eyes watered at the thought of it, the thought of his father never returning home.
“Now, don’t you cry,” said his mother with a shake of her head. “Big boys don’t cry…I know something that will help, though. I know exactly what you need. You need a glass of milk for your cookie.”
He nodded his head in acceptance. He did not know why his father was not coming home, but he did not want to get in trouble anymore. Nevertheless, he saw something that bothered him, and it bothered him a lot. He couldn’t help but ask about it.
“Mommy, why is your face peeling?” asked Oliver.
His mother’s face was indeed peeling, peeling upon her left cheek, just a little, but enough to bother him, the pale skin off a tiny sliver, a fleck of jet black, like coal, beneath it.
“Don’t you worry about that, my little Ollie,” smiled his mother. “That’s not important.”
“Are you sick?” asked Oliver.
He had been wondering if she were ill, as she was not her usual self, and this bothered him…It bothered him a lot.
“Just eat your cookie, dearie,” smiled his mother.
Oliver took a bite of his cookie, but it tasted funny. He had not noticed it with the first bite, but now he did. He hesitated to have any more, but his mother would not have it.
“Eat all of it,” smiled his mother.
He took to eating the cookie again regardless of the taste. He did not want to get in trouble again.
“That’s a good boy,” smiled his mother.
She went to the fridge and pulled out the milk carton from it. She took down a glass from the left cabinet above the sink and poured him a tall glass of milk.
“Here you are now,” she said as she handed him the glass.
He eagerly took the glass with both hands, as he was sorely in need of a drink, but the milk tasted funny as well, just like the cookie.
“This doesn’t taste right,” said Oliver. “The cookie doesn’t taste right, either.”
“You asked for a cookie, and you got one,” said his mother. “I even poured you a glass of milk, Ollie. Now, don’t be ungrateful.”
His mother reached up and scratched at the left side of her face, and more of her skin peeled away, just a bit, but more than enough to make Oliver nervous.
“Mommy, why is your face peeling?” he asked again. “I don’t like it…”
There were small scratches on her face where her nails had raked across her pale skin, and these scratches left strange lines of ebony, like black trails in peach-brushed snow.
“I told you not to ask that, Oliver,” warned his mother.
She reached up and scratched at the skin of her left cheek again, and even more of her skin peeled away to reveal a small patch of pitch black beneath it.
Now Oliver really needed to know. He needed to know what was wrong with his mother, because something was wrong, very wrong, and he did not know what else to do but ask.
“Mommy, something’s wrong with your face,” he said nervously. “There’s something under your skin. What’s under there?”
His mother’s eyes widened as she turned up her lips in a weird, disturbing smile.
“Do you want to know?” she asked. “Do you really want to know?”
In truth, Oliver did not want to know, because something was very, very wrong, and he was suddenly afraid to know. There was something wrong about everything right now, from his father not returning home yesterday to his mother acting all strange. Everything right now was wrong, so whether he liked it or not, he needed to know, so he nodded his little head in silent reply.
“Okay, my little Ollie,” replied his mother. “I’ll sing you a song about it…but you won’t like it. You won’t like it at all.”
Ollie swallowed a chunk of cookie out of fearful reflex.
His mother stared at him with wide eyes as she sang with a smile.
“What’s under there? What’s under there?” she sang. “Under Mommy’s face, so fine and fair? What’s under there? What’s under there? Under pale, pale skin and long black hair?”
She reached up and peeled off more of her cheek skin, revealing a large swatch of black beneath it, about the size of a thumb, and Oliver’s little hands shook as he squeezed the half-eaten cookie in his clutching fingers.
“Daddy, Daddy, found a book,” sang his mother. “He dug it out of a hidden nook. It told a lot of horrid things, written for the ancient kings. He said the words, he read them loud, and then sprang out a turbid cloud. Black and slick and old as ages, it billowed from the musty pages.”
His mother continued to smile as she peeled off a large flap of pale skin from her left cheek. Beneath it were her teeth, the ivory pegs flawless in the light, but as she peeled backwards toward the end of her jaw, more teeth were revealed, all the same, but many more than there should have been, all the way back to the end of her jaw, all set in a line of ebony flesh beneath an outer layer of peeling, pale skin.
“What’s under there? What’s under there?” sang Oliver’s mother. “Under Mommy’s face, so fine and fair? What’s under there? What’s under there? Under pale, pale skin and long black hair?”
The cookie crumbled under Oliver’s grip, the flecks falling like dust to the kitchen table. He shook in his chair, his mouth partially open, his eyes wide, his skin blanching as he continued to watch and listen to his mother.
“Ancient, ancient, billowed, and swirled, it sprang from the pages and into the world,” sang his mother. “Existing long before Noah’s Sea, antediluvian, finally free!”
It was something in her eyes that caused Oliver to shake, the madness and fury in his mother’s eyes that held him in place in his booster chair.
“Daddy ran with all his heart, but he was quickly torn apart,” sang his mother. “Mommy screamed and tried to shout, but she was eaten from the inside out!”
His mother tore off the pale skin from the entire left side of her face, the flap of it falling onto the floor in a wet plop of a white sheet, like rain-soaked paper.
The obsidian flesh beneath the peeling skin was slick and looked to be made of tiny overlapping scales. Her left eye was a golden color with a single, black, vertical slit where a normally-round pupil should have been, and a fire was burning within that black slit, but frosty-blue, like a flame made of ice.
Even her smile was uncanny, as the right side of her face held normal teeth and lips, while the left side of her face held a lipless mouth with teeth that spanned all the way back to her neckline.
“Now it’s time for a little snack, made with fear in a fleshy sack,” sang his mother. “Alive, alive, where you cannot move! That makes for a more delicious food!”
She finished her song with unusual gusto, the very sound of it echoing around the kitchen to assault Oliver’s little ears without mercy.
Oliver’s terror-induced paralysis finally broke as he willed his muscles to move. He hopped down from his booster seat and ran for the kitchen door, but the drug in his cookie and milk slowed him down far too much for him to actually make it there.

Hey y'all,
Long time lurker here, but I wanted to make a post of my experience because I found a lot of reassurance from many folks here before I got my surgery.
I'm exactly seven weeks post-op today; I had a total laparoscopic hysto, including ovaries. For some background, I'm 34, 5'3 and 134lbs; been on T for 9 years now.
Surgery day: Nervous as hell, but medical team was amazing. Surgery took about 2.5 hours and I was able to go home the same day. I had a bit of trouble fully coming to afterwards, but after a nap, I was good to get up on my own and make my way to the washroom for the highly anticipated pee (can't leave without peeing). It did take me a long time to pee, but I managed a little something. There will be blood immediately after surgery, so it certainly can be startling if you've been without a period for years. Didn't eat much that day, as anaesthetic kinda ruined my appetite. Pain was tolerable, but getting up from the couch/bed was tough - you'll kinda have to roll out. I peed A LOT that evening (it did subside a bit the next day). Nurses said nothing over 5lb (I 100% did not abide by this because 5lbs is very light to me and I felt it silly) and no sex for 6 weeks.
First week: Pain was very manageable, just similar to sore abs. I continued my prescribed painkillers for a couple days and made the switch to Tylenol, which I took for another couple days and then I didn't feel like I needed anything. Bleeding was pretty mild throughout the first week. I think after about 4-5 days post-op, I was walking quite a bit (couple 10-15 min walks a day and general tidying around the house). I did get a little tired, but nothing bad. Drove my car around 4 days in. Was also drinking a dissolvable stool softener - you're really gonna want this. I never took it with top surgery, but hystos are so connected to your bowels, its just a must-have.
Second week: Went back to work after 12 days - I work in service and was on my feet 6-8 hours a day. I felt fine and didn't really overdo it. I didn't lift much over 10-15lbs, but was able to hustle. Bleeding continued to be quite light. I was pretty much cleaning my house as normal at this point, as well as walking my dog (though he is super young and a puller, so I was very cautious during our walks). Continued drinking the stool softener because I still felt a little discomfort when trying to go to the bathroom.
Third and Fourth weeks: Third week I just increased my walking, working and started to ease back into my routine. I will say my gas pains/bowel discomfort got pretty bad around this point - I've never experienced anything like it. It was obvious it was related to my intestines and bowels settling into a new place inside me, but it was so uncomfortable. I continued the softener every other day until the fourth week. Once I reached week four, I went back to the gym to do some stretching and isolation work on machines (leg extentions and curls, shoulder presses, rows, light curls and tricep work). I only went two days, that week, but it felt amazing to get back in there and move my body. I had no more bleeding at all after that week and had no adverse effects from going to the gym.
Fifth and Sixth weeks: Pretty much a full return to normal for me. Fifth week, I started increasing the weights (half my usual) at the gym and hit the exercise bike as well. Sixth week, I started my compound body work like squats, bench presses, light deadlifts, etc. Again, had no adverse effects. I'm now at week seven and I'm back fully to normal, in my opinion. My doctor has cleared me for all regular activities and I'm feeling great. This will be my first full week back in the gym and though things are feeling heavy as hell after all this time, it will come back in no time.
Some other things that I was worried about before my surgery: Muscle loss/Weightlifting - If you're in good shape beforehand and are a seasoned lifter, you're gonna be just fine. I was so freaked out about losing my muscle and physique, but it wasn't so bad. Just don't eat like shit and stay as active as you can. Things are gonna feel really heavy when you get back, but just go slow and focus on form.
Sex/Masturbation - I got myself off probably 2 weeks after and had some light bleeding, but nothing else. I waited again for another few days and it was fine after that. I continued to get off regularly after this with no adverse effects. Myself and my partner obviously didn't have penetrative sex during these 6 weeks, but we did manage to get by with some hands-on fun. I've yet to have the more "aggressive" penetrative sex I'm used to, but light penetration this past week has not bothered me - just go slow and make sure it feels ok.
Scarring - SO TINY. Seriously, just don't pick at them and keep them moisturized and they will heal great.
That's mostly all I can recall right now, but I'm happy to answer any questions. Sorry if this was long-winded, but I figured maybe it would help someone out!

So I'm coming off an old Razer Basilisk (V1, wired) moving to the Viper V3 Pro. I really like it so far, it's super light and grippy (white version) and the buttons feel great. But no matter what I do I can't find a grip where my ring and little fingers don't start cramping and getting sore after a while. I usually use a sort of relaxed fingertip grip, I find myself having to curl my outer fingers into the side so they don't drag on my mousepad. Will I get used to it after a while as my hand adjusts, obviously the big ergo Basilisk is very different from the symmetrical, rear hump Viper V3, or is the shape just not for me? I was considering a Deathadder V3 Pro instead, but I'm worried about the QC issues and the different coating (although I'm fine with smooth coatings to be honest, the white VV3 grip is almost overwhelming sometimes).

Hello Folks. Sweetie here, with a "lovely" memory that popped up when I was chatting with a friend.
((TW: Mentions of an authority figure laying hands on a minor, womanly issues, and a very, VERY pissed me....Oh and Light cursing..))
This takes me back to the early 00s. I was in high school and....was not doing good. I was undiagnosed and I refused medication (because I was a teen and knew all and nothing at the same time). This happened when it was assembly day (for school spirit or some other nonsense) and we were being herded into the gym like cattle...
This was the day my "Aunty Flo" decided to "bless" me that day. So, I did the only thing I could do... RUN FOR THE FUCKING BATHROOM! I ran so fast that I practically left scorch marks on the floor. Luckily I had my purse with me and was quite prepared. So, I tidied myself up, washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom. Upon my exit I was met with an extremely red faced teacher's aid (let's dub him "Grippy").
Immediately, I was grabbed by the shoulders, pinned to the wall and then shook as Grippy yelled at me.... I could make out "Thought you left", "dangerous out there" and "tell an ADULT!" Dude was almost foaming at the mouth screaming at me. I was already in intense pain and he made it worse, so I did what I could, which was "Just nod, apologize and say ok"..
APPARENTLY, my voice "sounded off", but he released me... THE NEXT DAY I was taken to the dean for "inappropriate conduct" . Grippy was there and said " I only see you as a student. I am married."
Can we say "OH HELL NAW!"..... Grippy thought I "enjoyed being touched by a male teacher's Aid".. After all that I went home, waltzed into the bathroom and vomited to the point where I almost lost my voice. I then proceeded to laugh and cry at the same time!
I may not have many standards back then, BUT THAT MAN MET NONE OF THEM! I know these days I have to be inclusive, but fuck bruh..... What the unholy FUCK......
Now, I know I was in the wrong for not telling anyone, but if I waited longer I would be in a puddle of blood. I had to visit the nurse for a thicker pad....Also my pain was like being repeatedly stabbed by white hot sabers....
TL;DR: Teacher's aid laid hands on me then told me it was my fault....
Thanks for reading....Take care and remember to take your medication.....

Hi guys, I’m a 23M that has been diagnosed with a probable virus after seemingly having tonsillitis. I’ve tested negative to everything - strep, STI’s, mono, influenza, covid etc. anything that can be swabbed or blood tested. All 4 doctors have no clue. I’ve been prescribed erythromycin (taking it for acne beforehand so doubled dose) for 6 days when there was white puss/infection coming from only right tonsil, then penicillin with erythromycin for 10 days after puss went away but still sore to swallow and swollen. Weird thing is halfway through the penicillin it flared up again, having around 5 tiny white dots appear predominantly on the inflamed right tonsil for a couple days. This was accompanied with swelling that made the tonsil protrude towards the uvula too. Whilst it’s settling down again after 4 days of dots, I still have swelling 3 weeks later. My main concern is the anatomy of my right tonsil because where the puss was coming from in the slit is healing so slowly and it’s like my tonsil has a little dangly thing/uvula of it’s own now lol. Could it be a stubborn tonsil stone or something causing the protrusion? Never had my tonsil look like this. I’ve poked around with a q-tip and it actually tucked in the dangly thing a little, with no clear stones or anything behind it or the tonsil flaps.
Current symptoms are barely any throat pain when swallowing, swelling and inflammation of right tonsil and moderate lymph nodes in neck, chronic fatigue, no fever, sporadic body aches and pains.
I’m lost because I’ve never been sick for this long for a respiratory issue and feel something’s not right.
Images: https://ibb.co/gVm74Zv https://ibb.co/C90CMd0

I started experiencing scout pain late Saturday night, this got worse on Sunday, and worse again on Monday. I went to the doctor when I started feeling burning on my forehead Monday night and got antivirals. Now the bumps are coming in. They are small like little red pimples—not too bad. The pain is worse on my scalp, but I have a few bumps on my forehead… And one on my eyebrow.
I was reading that shingles in the eye needs ti be treated as an emergency. I don’t have any eye pain. I had some mild dryness and pressure behind it, almost like a sinus infection, but that’s mostly gone now. But the guides so I read online say to treat eyes and ear like an emergency situation.
Is the rash creeping toward my eye the emergency? If not, where is my red line? Can you give me a redline for going to the ER and a redline for calling the ophthalmologist?
Also, should I take prednisone? The doctor said it was up to me, but I wasn’t sure if this would stop my body from fighting the infection.
https://imgur.com/a/USTlcam
5 11, white male, 193 pounds, valacyclovir

Hello everybody,
I have grown vestibular papillomatosis in my vestibular area more on my left side that causes me so much pain.it feels like a sore when touched and just more pain on my left side. It makes things incredibly worse. Does anyone else have this condition? Does it hurt you? Have any treatments helped? Please and thank you!

Blachowicz here.
Kept yah’ waiting, huh? Heh, sorry about that one, but I can explain. As we all know… we lost a few good men the last few months.
That’s the brutal part of a hybrid war like ours: We’re fighting a foe unconventional, with half our arsenal tied down because those who grant us authorization are either in disbelief of the true facts, or scared… or already assimilated. That being said our momentum recently was a change not seen in years, and because of that… despite the losses we have garnered, we were close through a breakthrough. One last night Krol pulls myself and other two must trusted squad leads into the back of our COP. There is one of our equipment cages, surrounded by m-bitter radios, tripods, and several hundred thousand dollars of equipment he brought us around a simple worn table. Before us he laid a map of eastern poland… red markings indicating cells that seemed to dot the countryside like a pestilence, or used to… as deep gashes of advance from raids had trisected their lines, even if ones did pop up in the interior.
It was a back and forth; an outside virus infecting Polska at it’s heart, and we were the antibodies sent to drive them out. To which… Major Krol points to one of the largest symbol on the map: a dark red diamond, the NATO symbol for an enemy unit, deep inside of an untouched wooded area, adjacent to a mountain ridge. Several jagged lines indicated entrenchment, with red horizontal lines indicating possible enemy control… or our contested control, for over 20kms surrounding it. Letting us all look, the Major lit himself a cigarette.
“Sir, you sure it’s wise to smoke in here with the dive tanks just behind us” 1st Squad’s lead quipped. “Fuck off” Krol dryly said.
“Alright… this is it… this is the one we’ve been searching for for years, this is the nucleus my predecessor commander died trying to find” he says, pointing to it. Not far from Zamosc, it was almost touching the border with Belarus, the contested area indicating the Strigoi did operate over it… indicating one of the largest spill through points. “-It’s an old soviet bunker, made during their 1960s initiative it was designed to hold the munitions and manpower of several units in the event of a NATO first strike” Krol explained. “It’s gotta be massive then…” I said gazing at the map; “Didn’t the army demolish all of the old soviet hulks near Belarus to prevent any infiltrations?” 3rd Squad’s lead asked. “National Police took the effort over… and by extension, the Strigoi. It was halfway demo’ed before they burrowed into it and have been using it as a bridgehead ever since. This is it…” Krol said. He looked around at all of us, a sense of certainty I had never seen before as he blew smoke from his nostrils; “We’ve been fucking around in the dark for so long, it’s hard to believe we’ve made any progress, but this is it. With this gone, this will set them back over a decade and the momentum will finally shift into our favor… into Poland’s… -Europe’s”.
I swear there was almost a flash of joy, of pride in his eyes and a phantom of a smirk before reality set back in “That being said… we can’t leave this to chance, especially not something as important as this. We’re going to have to go there ourselves… clear through every inch of that place, and tear it all down, piece by piece. I will be straight with you all… when we go, there will be some of us that aren’t coming back. -but we are going… a whole generation is counting on us, and unborn billions rely on us to succeed”. We all nodded, a silent agreement washing over us as we took this upon ourselves. Echo-1 spoke up: “So… They’re authorizing a raid? How big?”. “We’re rolling in as a hard target, armor, explosives, and air support” Krol answered, taking a drag off his cigarette. “Aviation? How the hell did we get that approved, we’ve gotten attempts shot down four times due to those leeches” I said in disbelief. “There’s too much evidence here pointing to the human trafficking tied to their actions… We’ve finally got too much weight pinning them down, to keep the hammer from slamming into their necks” Krol chuckled. He looked around “Any questions?”. “When?” Echo-3 asked. “Three hours. We’re hitting them in the dead of night, only time we could get the birds authorized. Get your boys ready. We’re rolling out” Krol said, dying the cigarette bud out on the table. I can’t begin to tell you the euphoria we felt leaving that cage, as our men started arriving, they did so a lot quicker, and with their heads a lot higher than they had in weeks. As Second Squad’s lead we were going to be one of the main arms of attack into the bunker, thus I made sure we had a breacher loaded with enough thermite, charges, and tools to cut through anything. Our shield bearer we ready to go, as was our assaulters, grenadiers, and machine gunner. I double checked each and everyone of their weapons; ensuring the feeder paws of our squad’s belt fed were intact, making sure every breach charge we had was properly set and packed. There was going to be no mistakes, no slip ups. The margin of error needed to be the smallest it had ever been for us tonight if we were going to make the gore spilt worth it.
Finally… there on the outside of the building, the bright LED lights kept the darkness of the ensuing night at bay as the roar of our MRAPs could be heard. It was said once that war is 99% peace, and 1% chaos, they were right. The slow periods where the blood slowed and the doubt creeped in was the worst… yet we all kept it at bay. We needed to, there was going to be no backing down tonight. All three squads were up, all of us ready to go… we circled up… short stares and shaky nods telling us one things: We were in this together, till the end… the finish line so many before us had been searching for, we were being granted tonight.
A single set of footsteps could be heard as we turned, Major Krol stepping into the center. He took the last drag of a cigarette, throwing it down to the ground and stamping it out onto the damp concrete. He looked around… his chin strap blowing in the weak air as he met everyone of our gazes… then mine… then looked around. “I want you to remember every detail of tonight, as you have every other night… when you are situationally aware, scanning for the enemy, liberating the subjugated, I want you to remember the sting of anxiety, the shake of adrenaline, the chill of the bunker, the heat of your weapon as it cuts them down… because tonight we are going to write every fine detail of our victory, their defeat, in history…” Krol’s words echoed deep into our souls. He paused for a moment, staring around he looked down… a small pause before he said “When you are ruthless in combat, remember to be patient, and reserved in victory. This conflict is for our existence… a lot of innocents have bled due to the mistakes of those who failed to listen, a lot of our brothers are now laid under because we had to bridge the gap of uncertainty with their lives. We remember them now… but in an hour? We forget them… when we raise our barrels, when we cut into those foes, and we liberate Polska!! This does not end tonight, but history puts everything in it’s place, and patience is the companion of the victor… All of our hard work will be cemented, no matter the obstacles we face in that darkness… no matter the demons, the blood, no matter what incomprehensible horrors, we will make them comprehend that to invade our land, to bleed our people, the justice will be paid in full… Load up. It’s time*”*.
The purpose in our steps was heavy as we climbed the back ramps of the MRAPS; Four of the heavily armored vehicles, one for each squad with an additional for attached personnel including our JTAC, the term means Joint Terminal Attack Controllers. With air support requisitioned to us for this operations, there needs to be a definite liaison on the ground who can directly communicate to the birds, and coordinate their fire and progress. I’d worked with many of them in the past, resourceful guys, quick thinking though I guess that comes with the position they hold of needing to quickly figure out what bombs to drop, on which target, at what precise points, whilst taking contact. He loaded in the lead vehicle with Major Krol… and soon, our convoy kicked off.
The drive was several hours as myself and my squad sat in the back of that forty ton goliath, the rumbling of the engine keeping us awake as the crap heater fought to keep the cold from the outside frost from setting in. I looked around to each of them, some were catching some sleep because even with the circumstances… better to get all the energy you can, than to stay awake for nothing. Others were checking their weapons… My gunner locked eyes with me, the same one from the village extraction… many of these men I had trained with for a while now, fought with for months.
We may have met on unconventional circumstances but those in JW Grom thrive on austere chance and create opportunity from scratch. I was pulled from my thought by the sound of a transmission, my peltors were set up for dual comms so I could both receive information from the Major and other leads, whilst communicating with my team.
Krol himself sent out: [“Approximately 10 minutes from enemy AO…”]. As the rest of the squads acknowledged, I quickly sent out [“Echo-2 Copies”], before kicking the boots of any of them sleeping: “Look alive, we’re here”. Through the exterior net armor of the MRAPS, and the bars protecting the small reinforced windows, we could barely see jack shit. I reached up, turning off the overhead light as we all looked through our nods to scan the outside. A dark wall of dense trees was shown before us, making it difficult to see… in addition to night vision capabilities we had also requisitioned ourselves some thermals… when mounted onto rifles they were bulky, made it a pain to aim down quickly, but considering the supernatural capabilities of spotting our foes we needed every advantage necessary.
I flipped out one of my tubes… scanning the outside with my scope. I looked over to one of my assaulters who had been assigned to man the turret of the MRAP, seated near the view screen as he controlled the 50. Cal. Each of the vehicle turrets had been assigned a direction to cover… we took the 9 o’clock, the left flank. “See anything?” I asked. He shook his head; “Negative… wait… I’ve got two cold signatures, front left heading to our rear”.
I quickly scanned the far tree line, at approximately 60 meters off our left were two cold signatures… followed by a third heading to our front… then another. They were surrounding us, moving at speeds so fast I could barely keep my reticle on them. Is this what the National Police saw? What they faced at that lodge without the benefit of a foot of heavy armor protecting them on all sides. Then… suddenly. Something slammed into the side of our MRAP so hard, it caused it to shake. From over the leader comms, Echo-3 quickly shouted [“Contact right!! 4 hostiles!!”].
One of the Strigoi… so bold, had charged and slammed into the side of our MRAP. I quickly looked to see the figure, a dark blue mass of cold energy through my thermal, back away without so much as a stagger… as they tried to flee into the woods, the white hot justice of Echo-3’s gun fired at them, cutting them down. “Blachowicz I’ve got a few breaking for our vic” my man on the turret called out, I spun around, spotting out the window.
Just then, Major Krol announced [“weapons free, watch and shoot for targets of opportunity…”]. I turned to him… “take those fuckers out-”. Without hesitation my vic’s turret began to quickly target them, and through the darkness I saw a stream of outgoing fire bisect one of them, the ISR of the black blood freaking out the optic so badly it didn’t know what temperature to register it as… but it did register it. As another was cut down, one broke through the tree line and latched onto the side of our MRAP. The thing tore at one of the outer net armor panels, usually made to stop RPGs. It grabbed at the bars near the windows, tearing one off… I lowered my rifle as we locked eyes through the reinforced window.
The thing… the Strigoi looked at me, skin cracked as putrefied muscle fibers seemed to leak through dead flesh. It’s teeth were corroded and worn down to sharp fragments, alongside newly mutated fangs that messily protrude from the jaws. Even through the thick walls of the MRAP I could hear it’s roar, as it then tried to punch it’s way through… it cracked the outer coating of the vehicle… but it wasn’t getting anywhere near. My machine gunner, seated next to me, seemed to chuckle at the sight, quippily saying “Yeah… fuck you too”. It’s then our vehicle lurched upwards, as we began to climb the small incline of the bunker. I knew the layout, mapped it in our head, the main entrance was built into the rocky side of an old cliff meaning we could easily set up a defensive perimeter around it, a horseshoe. Krol’s vehicle was first, taking to the right as Echo-3’s MRAP followed. My vehicle, third, left the incline and took a left and… that’s where things got complicated.
We’re still trying to work out what happened but… from what Joakim says his drone captured. Right when the MRAP turned, several of the monsters quickly slammed into the side of the vehicle, as another more bulkier one, pushed at it’s undercarriage. The result.. Was the 40 ton armored vehicle tipped over. It wasn’t uncommon, hell in some cases a well placed IED, a good shot with a recoilless rifle, have been known to tip over Oshkoshs and Maxpros all the time. But this beast? Needless to say we barely had a second to comprehend it as it leaned to the left; “Grab on to something-” is all I had time to shout. A mess of gear and men spilled onto one side of the vehicle as it slammed into the old gravel and dirt.
Several of my assaulters, my grenadier planted right ontop of myself and the others as we came to a stop. Someone’s knee slammed directly into the side of my skull, causing me to dazily bob in and out of consciousness as my face was smushed against the glass of one of the windows.
Through my peltors, the other squads were erratic;
[“Echo-2’s vehicle is down!!”].
[“Echo-3 to Echo-2… Echo-3 to Echo-2…”].
Krol’s voice came through the comms;
[“Echo-Lead to Echo-2… Fuc-... Echo-1 secure Echo 2’s flank, Echo-3”].
[“Echo-3 to other units, they’re spilling through, I’ve got several enemy combatants converging on Echo-2’s vehicle”].
I pushed the legs of my grenadier off my head as I fought to my hands and knees, unfucking my nods as I looked around… “Fuck it… we’re going lights on, shield your eyes” I muttered as I reached for the overhead lights and flipped them on. The bright LEDs bathed the inside of the vehicle as we all gained our bearings, a mess of multicam, gear, and weapons as we quickly pushed each other off. My gunner caught as he fought to realign his promask, from what I gathered one of the assaulters had landed directly into his gun, pushing it directly into his jugular, as pulled back at the rubber and coughed, freeing up his esophagus. We didn’t have time to think however… the sound of bending metal caught our attention… as the back ramp door of the MRAP was ripped clean off. I could barely believe it but as the white light of the MRAP’s interior poured to the outside, a hulking mass leaned in, the dead flesh on it’s face nearly fallen off as the hideous Strigoi leaned inside.
Without hesitation I aimed took aim, yelling “Keep to the deck!!” to any of those inbetween myself and the invader as I opened fire. A burst of full auto fire tore through it’s collar and neck, my men quickly clung to either sides of the fallen MRAP as a few more fired out. As the thing backed up, a blast of .50 cal fire quickly tore it to shreds, along with several others as I realized they were fuckin swarming over the outside of our vehicle. Echo-3’s vehicle continued to carefully fire on the Strigoi on the outside, the sounds of .50 cal ricocheting off the outside of our armor was enough to make the pucker factor set in.
[“Echo-3 to Echo-2”].
[“This is Echo-2, we’re green on ammo, equipment, men”].
[“Roger, we’re shifting fire, exit the vehicle”].
“Hurry up let’s go!!” I barked to my men, leading the way as I staggered out. I turned on my peq, taking aim at silhouettes in the brush as I began to fire. The sounds of machine guns lighting up the brush, as a sea of growls, howls, and incomprehensible roars fired back at us was the ambient noise of the night. My men quickly exited, my gunner being the last as he and I pulled back to the rest of the defensive perimeter. I set in my men to take up the frontal security, as 3rd squad took the right flank, 1st squad to the left. Major Krol and the JTAC were bickering with each other; “How far out are the birds”. “They’re entering airspace now…” Joakim said, already scanning his smart book.
I asked “What’ve we got?”. He then flipped through… to the NATO combined arms segment, quippily saying; “Apaches…”. This caused me to pause as Echo-3 turned their head whilst directing their squad’s fire “The hell… where did we get apaches from?”. “The Americans… they volunteered” Krol said dismissively as he took aim at the darkness, firing off a controlled trio. “Volunteered? They’re aware of what’s going on?” I asked.
Krol seemed to stop, glancing back at me before returning his focus “There’s a lot more going on than you realize, Blachowicz… Prep the breach, you and 1st are going on”.
I quickly pulled my breacher off the line, securing some thermite as the reinforced bunker door wasn’t going to go as easily as a conventional door breach would. 1st Squad pulled back, stacking up and preparing themselves to be the first in. All the while… Joakim gave his firing solution; “Alpha Hotel Two Five Nine, This is Bravo-4…… Type 2….”.
I snapped to my right, watching as a Strigoi managed to dark across the clear gravel field, only to be cut down by my gunner, the peq’s laser marking the burst as it tore through the beasts’ hips, as it hit the ground and still continued to claw, another GROM operator took aim and fired into it’s skull. Joakim popped up to his feet…. “Marking laser, high power…”. He then pulled out a target marking laser… if you’ve watched night operations, you’ve probably seen them.
The green laser than as it says on the label, marks targets. The pattern of which can vary… if it’s a point target, it’ll usually lasso an area, or remain on target until the target is removed with extreme prejudice. If its close air support, then it’ll be a line of the general area… and Joakim damn near marked the entire perimeter around us. He quickly pocketed the tool, turning back to Krol; “Don’t go past 20 meters unless you want to be liquidated”.
With that… 2nd and 1st stacked up at the door as 3rd squad took up the perimeter security. As Major Krol went over to Echo-1… I saw them. A single blinking IR strobe from the beasts as they moved on the far off horizon, converging from several angles… and fired. The sound of the Apache’s main gun, the M230, truly sounds like the hammer of god… the 30mm cannon shot through the dark sky, lighting it up as we saw three incoming streams tear up the woods. Only then as the sound broke did we start to hear their rotors as they broke and began to circle, firing again… then… Joakim dipped his head and looked to Krol; [“Foxtrot Mike, hang onto your teeth…”]. One of the Apaches fired off a AGM-114… a Hellfire. I barely saw it out of the corner of my eye as the Apache from our right flank fired off at a target approximately 200 meters off. A fireball lit up the forest as the horrendous roar echoed throughout… then went silent.
Echo-3 scanned the horizon carefully;
[“Echo-3 to Echo-Lead, enemy contact is starting to die down”].
[“Maintain perimeter, Close Air is to maintain fire mission until we are boots up, Break…”].
[“Echo-Lead to Echo-1, condition white has been met. Proceeds”]. I saw Echo-1 and his men quickly stack up close to the wall and gesture to me; Breaching. I quickly pulled my stack back against the wall as his and mine breacher quickly hit their actuators. Now under normal circumstances, it doesn’t take much for thermite to melt the locks off of a metal surface, in fact it’s a more precise took as alternative means get real medieval like saws, pry bars… we weren’t in the mood for precision, we need to breach their little lair, and drag them out. The sound of several pounds of hellfire burning through the metal could be heard around the corner as a sea of white and red sparks flew out… after several seconds, two of our men tossed a fragmentation grenade and a nine-bang through the opening… a series of concussive blasts and a large explosion rang out.
Echo-1 and his men maneuvered. 1st Squad quickly converged as we followed them in.
Stepping through the black wall of smoke, the dark abyss of the interior was illuminated in a white light as entered barrels raised. Shots rang out as several of the beasts near the entrance were cut down, though not immediately, rounds disconnected the shoulder of one of them, leading to their arm hanging limply by a single tendon as they roared… another series of rounds putting them down. What greeted us was a messy concrete hell of rust and debris, fecal matter, trash, and all kinds of obstacles laid in our way, our boots sticking to the floor. I thank every god we had promasks that night. I called my shield bearer up, 2nd squad leapfrogging ahead to take the next corridor as 1st squad checked their weapons.
One of my men mule kicked the metal door ahead, twice, finally the latch gave away as we tossed in a grenade. A horrifying roar was cut off as an M67 shook the walls of the ancient soviet mausoleum, frag and spall kicked off the walls as I moved in right behind my shield man. The cramped russian design meant there was barely enough space for three people, and that’s three normal people, not in 50kgs of kit, moving slowly and maneuvering against creatures of the dark. Still… we moved forward, my shield bearer and I pushing the pace as two stacked of either squad formed on either wall.
As we passed doorways they flowed in… “Door Left!!”, “Door Right!!”. “Move!!”.
Two men entered each side, no gunshots, we moved up, a roar came.
“Door left!!-”. A series of gunshots came out as we continued to push forward.
“Two down!!”. “Confirm them” Krol commanded, as a series of gunshots run out in response. From one of the doorways, a Strigoi emerged… a female… clumps of hair had been ripped from her decaying skull, as her blooded eyes locked on myself and my shieldman. The skin on her hands had been tore down to the point where barely her bones and tendons remain… looking like huge talons as she roared and lunged at us. He fired off his pistol, though the rounds did little to stop her as she pushed against our stack.
“Fuck!!” he muttered, somehow her strength caused him to stagnate, holding up the advance… fuck that. I shoved the muzzle of my MK18 into her ribcage, flipping the weapon to auto as I fired of round after round. The 5.56 salvo disconnecting her spinal column, causing her to fall as I continued to fire, along with a man to our right and left as the stacks reformed as we pushed to the end of the hall. I fell back, dropping the magazine and loading a fresh one, like clockwork a GROM Operator from 1st squad took my place. Krol was beside me as we approached the end of the hall.
[“-Prep an entry”] I radioed to my breacher, a comrade handed him one of the charges from his back panel as he took to the door, quickly securing it. We all moved as far back as we could, look away, exhale. The blast knocked metal and wood in all directions, scrapping against our uniforms and kit as we made our way in and what laid before us was… it used to be the center atrium of one of these bunkers. Soviet’s loved their grandiose designs, the complex was supposed to be a circular room around a central planning table… instead. It had been turned into some sort of church. Runes and old eastern Romuva pagan symbols written in black ink and blood across the walls, old rotten filing cabinets, long receipt terminals. In the center… several of the Strigoi were kneeling before the table where someone had been tied down, flayed, and… shared amongst the group. They rose to their feet, we aimed our barrels…
The ladder amongst turned to us… his skin wasn’t cracked, or flayed, it was smooth… it still looked dead as the body on the table but it seemed more… accustomed to it. I don’t know… evolved? Under the surface however I could see it’s darkened veins pumping whatever cursed blood ran through them as it locked two blood red eyes onto each of us. It’s nose had long since been turn off, exposing boney nostrils to the open air as it seemed to smirk. All across it’s body were the same symbols on the walls, in every cell… markings of death, of rebirth, of assimilation… From behind this seemingly Alpha emerges another figure I had never seemed before… dressed in a white cloak with a deer head.
"So they've followed the trail... they're too late" the Deer headed individual spoke, definitely not from here, a dialect similar to an Americans but... aristocratic? Each word was drawn out, assurance as if they had everything mapped down to our actions. They didn’t sound like they were from Poland or the east.
“Doesn’t matter…” the Alpha growled… and then, it lunged at us. Quickly breaking from their ground it slammed into my shield man knocking both him and myself at the ground as it displayed an intense feat of strength. Around us I could see several of the Strigoi leap at our comrades… though to no fruitful endeavor as I could see one GROM operator cut two down, as another got into a hand to hand confrontation… my breacher, crafty as they were, reached back and slammed one of the prybars of his kit into the skull of the beast.
The Alpha however was not content as it threw away the 90lb shield, sending it flying across the room as it grabbed my comrade by the skull. I quickly kicked up at it, firing my MK18 into it’s body as the rounds pierced it’s gray and rune covered flesh. The thing simply seemed to chuckle… that was until Major Krol blasted away at the side of it’s head, the alpha turned… and it’s smirk turned to a scowl when face to face with the major. A knowing pause almost like they had done this dance before…
The creature lunged, locking up with Major Krol as it swung and slammed railing. Krol didn’t back down however as he pushed against the creature, hiptossing it to the ground even as it tore at his armor and gear. But the beast pulled, both of them rolled and the Major was on his back as the thing reached for his neck. I fought to a kneel, firing into the creature messily with my MK18, trying not to hit my commander… then…
Click. A sound sends a chill up the spine of every warfighter during a firefight.
My gun ran dry. I dropped the magazine, looking to load another, but the thing came up and with one of it’s claws, sliced deep into my cheek, through the pro mask. I could feel my own blood go flying through the air as I landed hard on my back plate, spitting out red iron as I quickly tried to adjust my mask. Through my fogged up, blood covered lense… I saw my shield man raise his pistol, firing into the skull of the thing staggering it with a roar. Krol came from behind, drawing his knife he sunk it deep into the neck of it…. I reached for my rifle, forcing a new magazine in and damn near punching the bold release. ““Sir, down!!” I shouted, Krol rolled away, back to his own rifle as I fired. So did my comrade as he continued to fire his pistol… so did the Major as he fired his rifle. All of us chewing through that apex predator of darkness, that beast… the leader that had been preying on our people for so long. Layer by layer, muscle group by bone… eventually… the alpha landed on whatever was left of his back.
The silence of the fight died down as all of us checked our surroundings, GROM Operators putting controlled pairs in the heads and nerve stems of any Strigoi laying around… I flicked my weapon onto safe, letting it hang as I pulled off my mask. I dared not touch the wound on my face… the pain nearly crippling me if it wasn’t sheer will pushing me through, and adrenaline doing all it could to subdue it. The sound of the apaches continuing to lay hate drew us from our moment of contemplation as the Major went back to work; [“Confiscate any info, burn the rest…”]. He turned back to me as I shoved my damaged M50 mask back into it’s bag, chuckling as he looked at the sight; “You need a medevac, Blachowicz?” he quipped.
I shook my head, barely able to speak as I muttered; “Negative sir…”. The two of us scanned the room as my shield bearer went to collect his defense implement turned 90lb projectile, we scanned the center of the room, checking and confirming bodies, until we got to the last one alive. His white gown was soaked in red crimson and black ooze, as his dear head was mangled from bullet fire and impact from falling on it. I swear… the way his blood poured out of it though made me wonder if it was a mask. I gave it no second thoughts as he looked to Krol; “You… you can’t stop this, they’ve already-”.
The Major was in no mood for communication as his rifle snapped up and fired off three rounds to the body, four the head. The violent yet quick salvo ending the cultists life, I looked down at it, then to him as he remarked; “Have your squad drag him out to the front, burn the rest”. I stood alongside him, looking down as the sight of it’s deer head was both captivating and horrifying… the curiosity in me wanting to look closer at it fighting the primal instinct I had to burn the thing to ash. “-Haven’t seen one of those before…” I muttered, thinking the Major had an answer.
He didn’t. Krol saying “Neither have I…” shortly before he walked away, was what truly shook my soul about that entire night. Victory stood firm in our hearts that night as we stood outside of the bunker. The night sky burning with fire and white phosphorus as we watched the ruin burn from the inside from the other side of the lot. In the distance, the Apaches continued to scan and circle the forests, no longer firing…. Which meant they had driven any or turned to glass any enemy combatants within a four miles, probably both, more than likely the latter. Echo-1 patted me on the shoulder as we stood there, soaking it all in, though Krol looked none to pleased. “In the time it took us to take this one down, they’ll be trying to set up three more cells… that being established…” he said, looking to either of us, then to Echo-3. “-Hell of a thing we did tonight, been waiting for this one for a decade, cleanly, maybe more… but no time to rest on our laurels… we’ll have another task for us as soon as we’re boots down back home” he said, to which his eyes followed mine, the body of whatever cultist that was zipped up in a black body bag beside the wheel of one of the MRAPs. The fire from the bunker casting an orange hue over it’s shiny jet black outside, something didn’t sit right with me… “That wasn’t a Strigoi…” I said to Krol.
“That’s very clear…” the Major said, shoving his mask under his arm and lighting a cigarette. “So… someone’s helping them?” I asked. The meer notion of it shook me to my core, sickened me. This parasite was already badly infecting Europa, Polska… if it was spread like this throughout the world. Krol settled my nerves: “We’ll be ready… It’s not just us anymore”. As he said that, I realized what he meant… my eyes looking to the Apaches as they started to form up, leaving the areas as their thunderous propellers melted into the night’s calm, unnerving ambience.
It’s been a couple of weeks since then, Echo Detachment has been busy. We’ve gained good ground against the enemy and honestly I think in a few years, we might see a much larger change. For now… we must keep going, that being said the Strigoi aren’t the only ones we’ve been combating. Recently we’ve made contact with of some sort of extermination coalition, they’ve known about the Strigoi, and others plaguing the world, the level of corruption and corrosion on society goes deep. Regardless a lot of the units we’ve been working with are apart of NATO, such as this “4th Special Forces Group” of the American Military. I don’t know where the road from here leads, but we’ve gotten momentum on our side, finally. Just remember… these things are out there, in every town, every city, every nation… preying and waiting for you to be alone, vulnerable, so they can take you and replace you.
Watch your back, and stay safe.
For now, Blachowicz signing out. Until next time