Cigarettes and rebellion have always gone hand-in-hand, and in an age of cigarette packet-sized health warnings, now more than ever, smoking a fag says: 'I do not give a fuck.' But if Brandon Flowers is hoping to strike a seditious pose by sparking up at the start of the interview, it's not going according to plan. The Killers' frontman is on all fours rooting through the junk that carpets the anteroom at the band's rehearsal space. "Has anyone seen my lighter?" he asks, rocking back on his heels. The question hangs in the air while Brandon cocks his head, waiting for an answer like a meerkat listening for a predator. Twenty-five years old and with a delicate bone structure, there's something almost dainty about him. Receiving no response, he returns to his search. "Oh, Jeez," he sighs. "I had it just a minute ago."
It's a scene that emphatically does not suggest a rebel without a cause. The mess isn't helping. The Killers' HQ - an industrial unit sandwiched between a construction supplier and the offices of a housing development just off Dean Martin Drive in West Las Vegas - is ankle-deep in designer clothing. A Dior Homme suit lies crumpled by the door; there's a pile of shoes topped like a sundae by a pair of Marc Jacobs trainers; and anyone wishing to enter the shoebox room the band use as an office must negotiate a mountain of discarded jeans. Many items are identifiable as coming from the wardrobe of Hot Fuss, The Killers' hugely successful 2004 debut album - triple platinum in the UK with two weeks at Number One and five million sold worldwide. Look! There are the shirts, ties and suit jackets they wore when they thrilled Glastonbury 2005 with indie rock anthems Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me. That was the crowning moment of a two-and-a-half year tour that finally concluded in October of last year. It seems that after playing that final date in Miami, they returned to Vegas and shrugged off their image onto the floor of this bland white box.
Now a fine layer of dust covers the dead clothes. The Killers have no further use for white tuxedos on their second album, Sam's Town. Today, Brandon wears a black polo shirt, black pin-stripe waistcoat, black jeans and black boots. Where there used to be a layer of foundation, there is now a beard - an untrimmed beard at that. Dave Keuning (30, guitar), Mark Stoermer (29, bass) and Ronnie Vannucci (29, drums) all echo Brandon's black ensemble. Ronnie has added Aviator shades and a handlebar moustache for a dash of motorcycle cop, Dave's frizzy bubble of hair gives him a Marc Bolan-ish air, and there's something very teenage about Mark's scuffed Vans.
Short of walking around wearing sandwich boards saying, "Our new record is a bit heavier than the last one," The Killers couldn't hope to communicate that message more effectively. And they have gained some musical girth on Sam's Town. The pop hooks that made Hot Fuss so irresistible survive intact - see the ringing guitar riffs on first single When You Were Young - but there's a newfound punchiness, coupled with an epic sweep. The minor-to-major uplifts on Bones are fabulously dramatic, the coda to Why Do I Keep Counting? thrillingly intense. Comparisons to Bruce Springsteen have been made. If they overstate the case a little, they are at leaset qualitatively accurate. The Killers are back and this time it's serious - they've got the bootlace ties to prove it.
"Hey, it says here that Springsteen's headlining Glastonbury next year," shouts Ronnie, who's flicking through the NME. He nods sagely at the page without looking up.
"Really?" asks Dave, nicknamed Crazy Dave on account of his alledgedly volatile nature.
"The Boss is headlining one night, we're playing second on the bill the next night and Kylie's headlining the Sunday," says Brandon, charging like a bull through Michael Eavis' as-yet-unannounced line-up with what subsequently proves to be a characteristic gaucheness.
But that lighter is proving elusive. This being America, none of the people hurrying to-and-fro prepping the world for the release of Sam's Town smokes. Manager Robert Reynolds - Bobby Rey to the band - barks into his mobile, booking his band onto eye-wateringly demanding tours. "We're going to make a lot of money," he cackles to himself before switching calls to make a series of stern pronouncements on legal matters. Dave, Mark and Ronnie disappear for a jam session. Artwork is approved, B-sides are decided on and schedules are hammered out.
"I can't find it," Brandon says, finally. But he's not going to be denied the opportunity to underline The Killers reinvention with a puff of smoke. "Let's go to the gas station. I'll have to buy one. It's too busy to talk here anyway."
+
Brandon's black (of course) Volkswagen Touraeg four-wheel drive is barrelling down West Flamingo Road into town. "I was a bell boy there," he says, pointing out of the driver's window at the stucco facade of the Gold Coast casino. "I was working there when we were signed."
Coming from Las Vegas, it is perhaps inevitable that casinos play a big part in The Killers' story; not only is Sam's Town named after one, it was recorded in one, too.
The band began writing songs while on the road with Hot Fuss, turning up early for soundchecks to run through new ideas. On a trip home to Vegas, George Maloof, a hotelier known for cultivating famous friends, invited them to record the album in the new studio he'd built at The Palms, his flagship hotel-cum-gambling den. When the tour finished in October 2005, they returned to Vegas and spent five month finessing the songs they'd sketched out on the road. Then, in February, they decampled to the third floor studio at The Palms and recorded Sam's Town over 11 weeks.
Producer Flood (U2, Depeche Mode) encouraged them to experiment. They overdubbed, fiddled with synthesizers and played with new equipment. It took them five weeks to get the backing vocals right. The band sang the harmonies, then double-tracked them four times. The end result recalls Queen wondering, "Is this is the real life? Is this just fantasy?" When Ronnie, a trained classical percussionist, brought some kettledrums down, eyebrows were raised; but the fabulously bombastic coda on Why Do I Keep Counting? vindicates his indulgence.
"That's kind of the Ben Hur of the album," he says. He's not wrong. Sam's Town is a record on an epic scale. "Yeah, it has drama," he continues. "But, at the same time, I think it's a little more exposed than Hot Fuss. It's a little more naked. Last time it was about a lot of fictional things." By "fictional", Ronnie means that Hot Fuss wore its predominantly British influences for all to see. Brandon's taste in music is rabidly Anglophile - he constantly references The Smiths, The Cure and Joy Division - and it showed. By contrast, Sam's Town is an unequivocally American record. The lyrical imagery is pure American dream - cars, girls, wide-open spaces and escaping to a better life. "We're burning down the highway skyline/On the back of a hurricane that started turning/When you were young," sings Brandon on When You Were Young. That's the basis of the Springsteen comparisons then, though the lack of pathos more closely recalls another blue-collar rocker from New Jersey - Jon Bon Jovi.
The phrase "this town" recurs throughout the album, and it's always receding into the distance as The Killers escape to a new life. "This town was made for passing through/I never did get along with everybody else," sings Brandon on This River Is Wild. On Read My Mind he "never really gave up on breaking out of this two-star town", while on the title track he offers something of an explanation: "Nobody ever had a dream round here."
"With the first record, there was this feeling that there was this world out there that we didn't know," says Mark later in the day. Before The Killers, he studied philosophy: now he's their quiet one. "We wanted to get out and away from this and be somewhere else. We hadn't had a lot of experience - hadn't travelled much - then we were gone for three years. We didn't sit down and say that we wanted to make a record about how we're glad to be home, but that's what happened naturally."
It's not an angsty record. The Killers have already escaped with Hot Fuss, and, having done so, they view the experience fondly now they're back. There's a mistiness to Brandon's eyes as he explains how the album got it's name.
"Sam's Town is a casino on the edge of Vegas," he says. "I grew up in Henderson, which is out on the way to the Hoover Dam. My mom and dad lived in a trailer park, and my dad used to hitchhike up and down Boulder Highway, which is the only way you could get to Vegas. Sam's Town was the first thing you saw on your way in to town. So, when you're driving down Boulder Highway from Henderson, I always thought you finally knew you were getting somewhere when you saw Sam's Town. It was kind of like a beacon."
"It's not a completely American album," contines Brandon. "We still have our English influence, but we're also from the Wild West. Somehow we've managed to unify all that on this album. it's just such a perfect resemblence of what we are."
At the petrol station, Brandon rummages through the glove box looking for change to buy a lighter. "This is a great album," he says, pointing at Highway Companion, the latest from iconic American rocker Tom Petty. "I've always been a big fan of his. He's such a great American artist."
Yes, Brandon: we get the point.
+
When Brandon finally lights his cigarette, he smokes it awkwardly, like a child mimicking something he's seen the grown-ups doing. However, when he cheerfully admits that, "I feel the same mentally as I did when I was 12," it's not a knowing nod to the fact that he sometimes behaves like a loveably precocious child, but a reference to an unusually comprehensive grounding in pop music at an early age.
When Brandon sings about "this town", he doesn't mean Las Vegas. He means Nephi, Utah or Henderson, Nevada, where he spent his childhood. His parents are Mormon and he is the youngest of six children. "I was a surprise," he says. "I've got a 42-year-old sister." If he was issues about his "surprise" status, he chooses to gloss over them. "It turned out perfect because my brother was a teenager when I was a kid," he says. "He would bring home things like Rattle And Hum by U2 and I would watch it. I remember he bought Live In Dallas by Morrissey. It was always him watching these things, or his door was shut and you'd hear The Head On The Door by The Cure blasting through the house and rattling the walls."
The Killers were formed when Brandon answered an advert Dave had placed in a local paper in late 2002. Dave cited Oasis as a big influence; Brandon had seen them play recently and responded; and, as Dave has said in previous interviews: "He was the only person to reply to my ad who wasn't a complete freak." However, the band was born in Brandon's brothers bedroom.
"His room was like a shrine," enthuses Brandon. "It was a holy place. I wish I could show you a picture of it. It was covered in posters. There'd be a big picture of Elvis wearing a bow tie that just said 'The Smiths' [the artwork for The Smiths 1987 single Shoplifters Of The World Unite]. You had The Cure wearing face paint [the artwork to The Cure's 1985 single In Between Days] - all that kind of stuff. I remember Morrissey being on the cover of the NME, with the halo [from 1985] - stuff like that. You just wanted to know about these people 'cause they were so cool. My brother seemed like such a cool person. But he was a teenager, so he wasn't going to be that nice to me, a kid."
Brandon was fascinated by his brother's collection of music, magazines and posters, but he was denied access to them - officially, at least. "I would sneak in," he says. "I knew he'd be angry if he found out, but I would go in as soon as he left the house." For a long time Brandon was too scared to actually play anything. "That didn't come 'til later. I just used to go in there because I liked it. Then I got to the point where I'd actually take a tape out and put it in. It took more guts to do that."
It was a life-changing moment. "I was ten and the first song I played was Sing Your Life by Morrissey. I remember dancing about to it."
The lyrics to Sing Your Life include the lines, "Sing your life/Just walk right up to the microphone/And name all the things that you love/All the things that you loathe." It's intriguing to wonder what Morrissey makes of the neophyte he inspired with these lines.
Eventually, Brandon inherited his brother's tape collection. "It was around the same time CDs started coming out in a big way. He started buying CDs and gave me his tapes. And that was it: it took off from there. I got a hundred of the best albums - all the New Order, all the Morrissey, all The Smiths, The Beatles. I started buying posters. I went to see The Cure in concert. It was just kind of a continuation of my brother. And it was nice because, though my parents were strict, they were already used to it from him. There was no, 'My dad doesn't understand me,' or any of that kind of stuff. My mum likes The Smiths."
Brandon was 13 and his favourite band was late-'70s/early-'80s American new wavers The Cars, and particularly their jaw-droppingly catchy 1979 single Just What I Needed.
"I wouldn't exist without that song," he says. "That was the one. I remember driving around with my mum when I was 13, and we're living in Nephi - a really small town - and I felt so cool when I put that song on. Like: 'I have something that none of these kids I'm going to middle school with tomorrow have.' That excitement is what music's about, isn't it? That's why I understand the mentality of people that don't like us because we've sold so many records. I used to like it when no one else knew about a band. So I get that - I do."
+
Brandon's first band was called Blush Response. It was never going to work out. Not because he refused to move to Los Angeles with them, but because he is utterly - comically - shameless. He's given to making outrageously boastful statements like: "It's not like the '60s, '70s and '80s now. There are only a few bands around that are really good, that just do it. I mean, there's what, five or six of us?"
For the record, in Brandon's estimation, those bands are Franz Ferdinand, Razorlight, The Strokes, The White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and, of course, The Killers.
"I don't want people to think I'm lumping myself with other people just to make us sound cool," he says. Really? It sort of sounds like you are. But he just steamrolls through it. "Yeah, but you know what I mean," he says, grinning at his own cheekiness. He's so disgracefully forward you can't help but laugh along with him - Oh you are awful, Brandon! But joking aside, The Killers are the most commercially successful of all the bands he mentions.
Later, back at the rehearsal space, the band run through Sam's Town at deafening volume in preparation for the forthcoming tour - first the US, then the world. The infectious, almost contagious, chorus of When You Were Young sounds fabulous, as do the U2-like guitars and Twin Peaks synths of Read My Mind. Meanwhile, Smile Like You Mean It and Somebody Told Me benefit from the newfound harder edge.
They somewhat heavy-handedly underline the new direction by playing Paranoid by Black Sabbath and Get It On by T Rex. That's the thing: The Killers are not a subtle band. Their songs are like a wet kiss from a girl who's a bit too drunk. They are big and brash, and not everyone loves them for it. Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me might go down as well at hip nightclubs as they do on the festival circuit, but the DJs play them with the same guilty look they wear when playing a pop record.
"I hate that," says Brandon. "Like writing a song you can hum somehow cheapens it? It makes me think of this quote by Morrissey. Everybody knows how he read Oscar Wilde, Keats and Yates when he was growing up and that he wanted to be a writer. He was talking to this journalist who asked why he hadn't become a writer, and Morrissey said: 'What I do is more powerful than what you do because I can write down these words and you get it to a melody. How can you beat that?' I'm of the same opinion. I don't understand why a good melody that's memorable is a bad thing."
Being dismissed as pop particular aggrieves Ronnie. "When we first came out we got compared to Duran Duran all the time. Jesus Christ! We got a keyboard player now all of a sudden he's Nick Rhodes! Come on!"
"The people who criticise us for being too poppy don't get it," agrees Mark. "I think that's the problem with a lot of rock music. People are afraid to write a song any more. Either that or they can't. And that attitude hurts music in general. The best bands ever have all written great songs. You can still do it and do it intelligently and it can be original. This isn't a studio creation with a producer writing these songs for us. We're not Avril Lavigne, or something like that. We're a real band writing real songs, just like a punk band would do, except that we write pop songs."
You get the impression that The Killers knack for showboating pop hooks that border on vulgar is inextricably tied up with the brazen side of Brandon's personality. But while his ebullient charisma, not to mention the songs themselves, mitigates his outrageousness, there is a less attractive side to his ego. He has a combative streak. He can't resist taking pot shots at emo bands, notably Fall Out Boy, whith whom The Killers share an A&R man.
Has he heard how many emo kids it takes to change a light bulb? "No." None. They just sit in the dark and cry. It's a full 30 seconds before he stops laughing. When he does he admits: "Yeah, we've had problems with other bands. You know, when you walk in the room it's like..." He whistles the theme to The Good, The Bad And The Ugly. "We're like gangs."
And while the other members of the band are diplomatic on the subject of Brandon, you don't have to read too deeply between the lines to conclude that there have been internal issues, too.
"Some people will think Brandon's the big genius," says Dave, visibly bridling. "There are songs, such as Why Do I Keep Counting?, where he's written every note. But there are others, like When You Were Young, that were more of a collaboration - like Mr Brightside, where I had some of the music and Brandon came up with the lyrics. We always have arguments about who wrote what. The truth is that we all help in that process."
When asked how success affected them, Ronnie says: "There were certain things that needed adjusting. When you're on tour for two years, people can get a little needy. It doesn't help that you're surrounded by yes men and everybody's working for you. At times we've had to say, 'Who do you think you are?' to people. No one wears the trousers, but some people would like to. I think if it wasn't for the people in the band kicking each other in the ass... Let's just say there was some ass-kickin'."
It doesn't take a genius to work out whose ass needed kicking most often.
+
It's the following day and The Killers are back at their rehearsal space. The topic of discussion is what to wear in the video for Bones, the second single. It's a big deal: the director is Tim Burton. "I feel like Frank Sinatra when I sing it," announces Brandon. "With maybe a little bit of Morrissey and a little bit of Elvis, too."
Of course he does. But if securing the services of Tim Burton tells you one thing, it's that The Killers are about to get even bigger, perhaps even make the leap to the same level as Coldplay et al. Already stars, they are about to become superstars. Brandon can hardly wait.
"Do you know that Rolling Stone didn't want to put us on the cover last time," he says indignantly. "They didn't think we were stars. We sold five million albums! What more do they want from a band?"
Whatever was required, Brandon would be happy to do most things. "I'll do stuff that some people don't want to do, 'cause I want people to hear the music," he says. However, even he has limits. "The Rolling Stone thing made the record label think: 'What can we do to make them stars?' If I go on vacation with my wife, do they have to send somebody to be there to take pictures of me? Is that how you become a star? I don't want that. I walked down the red carpet one time and I realised I don't like it. But you don't have to walk down the red carpet for people to hear your music. We do still have some of that indie blood running through our veins."
He heads off at a tangent: "When you walk around Liverpool, you think of The Beatles, or you go to Manchester and you think of The Smiths or Oasis. I want you to come to Las Vegas and think of Sam's Town. And I think we've started to capture that, which is a truer version of The Killers, 'cause that's where we're from."
He pauses.
"I used to live across the street from Sam's Town. Maybe it'll be like our Abbey Road where people go to take pictures."
Is that what he'd like?
"I wouldn't mind it," he says, desperately hoping it will come true.
He puts a cigarette between his lips, looks down at his trouser pockets and pats them in search of the lighter he bought yesterday.
"Hey, I don't suppose you've got one?"

Just some basic facts to review! GOOD LUCK!

• Lysosomes contain hydrolytic enzymes and used for elimination of waste products.

· Peroxisomes contain H2O2, and breaks down very long fatty acids via Beta Oxidation.
· Microfilaments used in cytokinesis and Microtubules are used in pulling sister chromatids apart (anaphase).
· Prokaryotes (50S +30S) & Eukaryotes (60S +40S)
· Lytic Cycle involves cell lysis whereas lysogenic cycle involves integration into the genome.
· Meiosis I = Reductional Divison (2nn) Meiosis II = Equational Division (nn)
· Crossing over takes place in Prophase I whereas Disjunction (or non-disjunction in abnormal cases) takes place in Anaphase I.
· Primary oocytes are arrested in Prophase I and after menarche, divide into secondary oocyte which is arrested in metaphase II till fertilization.
· Interstitial (or leydig cells) produce testosterone vs Follicles produce estrogen.
· Acrosome reaction helps in the degradation of the zona pellucida whereas cortical reaction helps to prevent polyspermy by increasing intracellular Ca2+ concentration.
· Interneurons are present in polysynaptic relflexes and NOT in monosynaptic reflexes.
· Bronchioles relax and pupils dilate in sympathetic NS whereas bronchioles and pupils constrict in parasympathetic NS.
· Peptide hormones do not need carriers to travel in the blood stream, whereas Steroid hormones do need carriers to travel in the blood stream.
· FSH causes maturation of sperm in males whereas stimulates formation of follicles in females.
· LH causes interstitial cells to secrete testosterone in males whereas it causes ovulation in women.
· Aldosterone (mineralocorticoid) does not change plasma osmolarity and is secretded when blood pressure/volume is low whereas ADH (or vasopressin) decreases plasma osmolarity and is secreted when blood plasma osmolarity is high. Also, ANP is antagonistic to Aldosterone because it promotes excretion of Na+ and water follows.
· Ghrelin (hunger hormone) and Leptin secreted by adipose cells (satiety hormone)
· AA hormones: T3 & T4, NE, Epinephrine
· Steroid hormones: Cortisol, Testosterone, Estrogen, Progesterone, Aldosterone`
· Tidal volume is the volume of air in a normal breath whereas Vital capacity is the diff between (Total Lung Capacity-Residual Volume)
· Muscles used in inhalation are external intercostals, whereas during forced exhalation, muscles used are internal intercostals.
· In acidemia, need to hyperventilate to eliminate CO2
· In alkaelemia, need to hypoventilate to lower the elimination of CO2 to increase H+
· Arteries are thicker walled than Veins.
· Parietal cells secrete HCl and intrinsic factor. Gastrin is secreted by G cells of pyloric glands which stimulate parietal cells.
· CCK stimulates bile and pancreatic juices.
· Fat soluble vitamins: ADEK, Water soluble: B & C
· Descending loop of Henle: only water goes out, Ascending loop: only salts go out
· Gap junctions are present in both cardiac and smooth muscles but not skeletal.
· Ca2+ binds to troponin. ATP binds to myosin heads to detach it from actin.
· Penetrance is the proportion of population with a given phenotype who actually express the phenotype whereas expressivity is the different manifestations of the same genotype across the population.
· Genetic leakage is when individuals from a differnet but closely related species can mate to produce a hybrid offspring and therefore flow of genes occur between two species.
· Bottleneck effect: natural disaster, Founder Effect: a number of individuals of a population separate to form a new colony. Both these effects cause genetic drift in small populations.
· Eosinophils: parasitic infections, Basophils: allergies (histamine)
. Neutrophils (most abundant) & Basophils (least abundant)
· CD4+: MHC II, CD8+: MHC I, CD4: Supressor cells (autoimmune disorders)
· Gap junctions allow ions etc to pass through, desmosomes are used to anchor things together, tight junctions are used to prevent things to pass through. · Heisenberg: momentum & position, Hund’s rule: all orbitals should have at least 1 e, Pauli’s exclusion: opposite spin in paired electrons.
· DNA polymerase only adds nucleotides in the 5’ to 3’ direction.
· Anti sense (non coding) strand (3’ to 5’) is used for transcription.
· Methyguanosine cap at 5’ end and poly A tail at the 3’ end (post translational)
· Glucose-6-phosphate dehydorgenase is used in HMP shunt or PPP pathway. (2NADPH formed)
· Neglect syndrome: damage to the right parietal lobe, ignore left visual field
· Overt and Covert attention: Overt you move your eyes, covert you don’t
· Belief perseverance: still hold on to a belief despite new info to correct it. I’m fat (you’re not)
· Framing bias: the way inforation is presented (glass is half full/half empty)

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 12 Chapters Ahead)

Alain kicked in the door to the gun store, and they all flooded in. There was nobody there, as expected, so that gave them free reign to take whatever they needed. Alain immediately stocked up on ammo for his revolver and shotgun, slotting cartridges into the spaces on his bandoleer and belt. All the other men did the same, and a few of them grabbed an extra gun as well.
"Everyone good?" Alain called. They all answered back in the affirmative, and he motioned for them to follow after him as he sprinted back outside.
The remaining undead had taken notice of them now, and were closing in once more. Their group opened fire as Sable and Az rushed forwards.
"Watch your fire!" Alain warned as rounds passed dangerously close to the two of them.
"What the hell are they doing?!" Rusty called.
"They're clearing a path for us!" Alain shouted back. "Come on, we need to-"
A pair of sickening gurgles from behind him caught his attention. Immediately, Alain turned around, and saw the two sheriff's deputies standing there, their hands thrust through the backs and out the chests of Jack and Redd. Rusty raised his rifle to try and engage, but he didn't get a chance to fire before one of the deputies drew his own revolver and put a round between his eyes. Alain could only watch in shock as he fell backwards, dead.
The two deputies pulled their arms out of their unfortunate victims, then shook them to get some of the blood off as they advanced on Alain and Felix. Both men took a step back as they shouldered their long guns.
"Deputies Timms and Brayton," Felix surmised, looking at each man in turn. "You know, I almost didn't want to believe it when Alain first told me you were involved with all of this. The sheriff put you up to it?"
Timms ran a hand through his beard, uncaring of how the blood and gore from his victim left a trail of slick red through it. "He told us what we stood to gain if we helped him. After learning about that, how could we refuse?"
"And what would that be?" Alain growled.
Brayton grinned, showing off yellow teeth as he twirled his revolver almost absentmindedly. "What do you think would coerce someone to sacrifice other people?"
"I don't know."
"Ah, well… it doesn't matter; you'll all be dead soon, anyway."
"So confident of that, are you?"
"I'm confident enough, we'll say." Brayton turned to Timms. "You take the bartender, I'll handle the drifter."
Timms nodded, and then before Alain knew what was happening, Brayton had rushed towards him. He just barely managed to avoid the incoming arm thrust, the deputy's fingers brushing against his shirt, tearing through the fabric with ease. Alain fell back, discharging his shotgun as he went; the load of buckshot struck Brayton in the chest, opening it enough to expose his blackened heart, and he stumbled back, but recovered quickly.
Brayton let out a low growl, then drew his revolver and began firing off shots. Alain was forced to dive for cover behind a nearby building to avoid the incoming shots. Just as he reached concealment, however, a series of moans from nearby caught his attention. He turned and found several undead moving towards him. Without missing a beat, Alain fired off the remaining shell in his shotgun, taking one out, and then held it in one hand as he drew his revolver and killed the other two with a series of well-placed shots.
Alain wasted no time in reloading his guns once the trio of undead had hit the ground. He broke his shotgun open and ripped the spent shells out, then shoved two fresh ones in and closed the weapon. Before he could cock the hammers back, however, the building behind him erupted in a shower of splinters, and Brayton came marching through.
"I must say, you're not making this easy," Brayton told him.
"I thought you would've learned that by now," Alain replied as he cocked the hammers back on his shotgun. "After all, I did plenty of damage to you two back in the jailhouse earlier."
"A shame it didn't last."
"This will."
Alain shouldered his weapon and fired both barrels in the same motion. To his dismay, Brayton was able to duck back into the destroyed building at the last minute, avoiding most of the buckshot; a few pellets lodged in his throat and face, but it wasn't nearly enough to kill him for good.
It did succeed in getting under his skin, though. Brayton stepped out of the building, a scowl etched across his face. Without missing a beat, he advanced on Alain's position, drawing his revolver and firing it as he went. Several shots rang out, and Alain felt a sudden, searing pain in his left shoulder; he turned and saw a bloody patch on his shirt that was growing more intense with every passing second. He only stared for a second though, then turned and began to run, desperate to put some distance between himself and Brayton.
"There's no point in hiding," Brayton answered as Alain ducked back into Felix's bar, stepping over a small mountain of undead corpses in the process. "I'll find you eventually."
Alain sat down behind the bar, then tore open his shirt to get a better look at the wound. Brayton's round had apparently nicked his artery; it wasn't spurting blood, but it was bleeding heavily. Alain didn't waste any time, instead tearing his cartridge belt off his waist and cinching it tight just above the wound as a makeshift tourniquet. He then forced himself back onto his feet, and with shaking hands, reloaded his shotgun as he looked around.
The undead horde seemed to have been thinned out substantially in this part of town. That led him to believe that Az and Sable had instead moved on to another part of town, most likely closer to the mines, and were working on clearing a path for the rest of them. That meant they'd be of no help to him anytime soon – they were almost certainly too busy fighting the undead to realize him and Felix needed help.
So the two of them were on their own. Alain grimaced as the thought crossed his mind.
He needed to take care of Brayton and Timms, and fast.
Alain vaulted over the bar, wincing when he felt the movement disturb the bullet in his shoulder slightly.
"Not doing anything like that again any time soon…" he muttered as he propped himself up against a wall next to the opening where the door had once stood, then peered out into town.
From here, he couldn't see either of the deputies, but he could still hear sporadic gunfire throughout town, along with the moans of the living corpses that were still walking around. Cautiously, Alain stepped out from behind cover, his shotgun already readied against his good shoulder. He looked around once more, trying to see where either of the deputies or Felix had ended up.
The click of a revolver's hammer being thumbed back struck his ears, and Alain hit the dirt just in time for the bullet to scrape across the top of his head, taking a few of his hairs with it.
There was little time to dwell on that, however, as another round came from out of the darkness soon after that one. Alain rolled to avoid it, and just barely managed to get out of the way in time for it to embed itself into the ground next to him. Dirt, pebbles, and bits of spall impacted against his back, but once again, he managed to avoid serious injury. A vein pulsed in his forehead, and Alain forced himself to stand up before firing off two shotgun blasts towards where he thought the shots came from. He was rewarded with the sound of buckshot impacting against flesh, and knew he'd hit his target.
Before Brayton could have time to recover, Alain slung his shotgun and drew his revolver, then advanced upon his position. Sure enough, Brayton was busy pulling himself up off the ground; Alain emptied his revolver's cylinder into the deputy's head. Blood, bone, and bits of brain arced through the air, staining the ground and the nearby wall with a macabre mixture of crimson, white, and gray. By the end of it, the deputy's head had been sheared almost in half, with the remnants of his brain exposed to the outside world.
Alain stood there, wisps of smoke curling up from the end of his revolver's barrel. That should have been it for Brayton – no mortal would have been able to survive something like that.
Unfortunately, Brayton was no mere mortal. He let out a shuddering breath, then began to lurch forward. His movements were sluggish and slow, and there was a dull expression of pain on his face, but he was still alive. Alain paused at the sight of it, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Oh, you've gotta be fucking kidding me."
That was all he managed to get out before Brayton raised his revolver once again. Alain dove for cover; the bullet scraped across his lower back, just a few inches away from his spine. He scrambled to his feet, and only once he was back up did he realize that in the confusion, he'd dropped his revolver.
Alain went to reload his shotgun, but found that he was once again out of shells. He let out a muffled curse, then looked around for something he could use. Sable had told him that there were three ways to kill wights – removing the head, destroying the brain, and…
Alain's gaze landed on a nearby lantern hanging from an abandoned shop, swinging precariously from a rope. Even from here, he could see oil sloshing around inside it. A manic grin crossed his face, and he immediately made a mad dash for it. He got lucky – the deputy was caught in the middle of a reload, and was unable to shoot him. Alain ripped the lantern off the building, then hurled it at Brayton; it shattered on impact, coating him with oil. Once that was done, Alain reached into his pocket and retrieved a match.
"Mom always said those cigarettes couldn't be good for me," he said to himself as he struck the match against the building, lighting it. He turned toward the deputy, still coated in oil, and his eyes narrowed.
"I wonder what she'd say if she could see this."
He flicked the lit match towards Brayton, watching as it soared through the air. The flame made impact with the oil-slick deputy, and he caught alight immediately. An inhuman screech erupted from Brayton's throat, loud enough that Alain winced and had to cover both his ears. Brayton fell to the ground, his revolver dropping against the dirt and discharging harmlessly into the air as he rolled to try and put out the fire, but it was no use. In a matter of seconds, his movements stopped completely, his body reduced to little more than a charred corpse.
That wasn't enough for Alain. He sprinted over to where his Colt had fallen, retrieved it, and emptied the cylinder into what was left of Brayton's head, just for good measure. The body didn't even twitch as the rounds made impact, and by the end of it, his head had been reduced to little more than a jawbone still attached to the neck. Alain stood there for a moment, panting from exertion, before letting his arm fall.
Footsteps took him by surprise, and he rounded on them, only to relax when he saw that it was Felix, and he was apparently completely unharmed. The two exchanged a glance, and Felix's eyes widened.
"Shit…" he breathed. "What happened to you? You're covered in blood."
"I killed Brayton."
"Yes, I can see that. But did you have to put yourself through a meat grinder to do it?"
"Is Timms dead?" Alain asked.
"Yeah, he's done."
"How'd it happen?"
"I shot him in the head a bunch with my rifle. Why didn't you just do that to Brayton?"
Alain just scowled. Before he could reply, there were more footsteps – they both looked over and saw Sable and Az approaching. Both of them seemed a lot worse for wear, sporting more grievous injuries than they had before. Still, as Sable approached, her eyes widened when she saw Alain lying there.
"What happened to him?" she asked.
"Got shot," he grunted. "Hey, you needed blood, right?"
"Well, yes, but-"
Alain didn't wait to hear anything else, instead loosening his tourniquet. The blood began to flow once more, and he motioned towards his shoulder.
"Help yourself for a bit."
Sable went red in the face, but her shame didn't stop her. She immediately moved over to him, then latched onto the wound on his shoulder and began to drink. Alain winced when he felt her teeth lock into him and her tongue begin to lap up his blood, but he didn't stop her.
"I'm gonna be sick…" Felix said, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth as he watched the display in front of him.
Thankfully, Sable pulled herself away shortly after latching onto him. Alain turned towards her, and was surprised to see that many of her wounds were healed, though not all of them. Before he could inquire further about that, Sable began tearing strips off her gore-soaked dress, taking care to search for the few clean parts only, then wrapped his wound with them.
"You need a doctor," she declared. "But for now, that'll have to do. You can sit this one out if-"
"Stop," Alain managed to get out. "I'm not missing this. Help me up."
"Alain-"
"I said, help me up."
Sable hesitated, but ultimately obliged, pulling him to his feet. Alain stumbled a bit, lightheaded from pain and blood loss, but managed to maintain his footing. He slung his shotgun and reloaded his revolver, then turned back to the rest of them.
"Alright," he said. "To the mines."

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, Ickbard for the help with writing this story.

This will be my first, and hopefully last attempt at killing myself. I got two cornhole bags and a ratchet, I'm gonna try cutting off blood supply to my carotid arteries.
I've been struggling my entire life. I don't have any desire to be here anymore. I'm autistic, transgender, physically unattractive, obese, cripplingly depressed and lonely. I hate being transgender. I hate that I'll never be a normal girl. I have no womb, I have no ovaries. I'm fake. I'm stuck living in a shared living situation which is technically a residential care situation because of mom kicking me out of the house last year. Been to the psych ward twice. During my "psychosis" (in ancient times people going through psychosis were priests and shamans, now we are labeled crazy), I met God, Santa Muerte, demons etc. I know when I die, whether by my hand or by God's, at the end of that tunnel is me being reborn cis. God told me that I'll be reborn as a cis version of myself back in time when I was born in 1996. I was also told I'll meet Allie again and we will fall in love. She cut contact with me and my life has been meaningless without her. I'm looking forward to an end to the pain. Even if somehow none of that is true and it's a black void, I prefer the void than being male, and without her.
Goodbye Reddit. It's been fun over the years. Here's to hopefully being cis on the other side.

NoSleep link
“Ugh, Emma, can you get the trunk for me?”
The dim winter sun was setting over the parking lot, nearly devoid of shoppers at this late hour, aside from a van in one distant corner that had just started backing out of its spot.
I set my bag down in the passenger seat and rounded the side of my mum’s penicillium-green Camry, met with her impatient and lightly sweating face. I popped the trunk, allowing her to practically collapse into it with the weight of the groceries. Something burst in one of the bags, prompting her to curse under her breath.
“I just don’t get why you won’t stick a quarter in those trolleys over there. You get it back afterwards.”
Mum, still arranging the bags into a position that would stop them toppling over on the drive home, looked at me scornfully.
“The Walmart downtown doesn’t make you pay. None of the stores around here do, so why should I? You know we only come here to Aldi ‘cause it’s cheaper.”
“I just said you get the quarter back afterwards. It’s to make sure people put the trolleys back,” I sighed, knowing there was no swaying her. Instead of shooting back with some flimsy reasoning, mum patted her pockets and swore.
“Oh for goodness sake, I’ve gone and left my wallet at the till again, haven’t I?”
Before I could get a word out, she was gone like a rocket, racing against the store’s closing time. Night’s chill descended, raising gooseflesh, so I slammed the trunk and hopped back into the passenger seat, out of the cold.
I sat there, praying my mum had the haste to get back soon with the keys and start up the heating. There was something else, though. My heart made itself known with a rising, incessant pulse. Was something wrong?
“Not this again,” I groaned, shutting my eyes and following a basic breathing routine to calm my nerves. The anxiety was bad enough, but the anger I felt at the nonsense panic had always been worse for me.
“Just stop it. Lasagna’s waiting for us at home. It’s gonna be so g–”
I opened my eyes.
Had I heard something? No, not heard, felt? I leaned forward to scan the parking lot. Nothing. Then I jumped back in my seat. There it was again. It was subtle, so much so I was surprised I’d even noticed it. A light, but bone-deep vibration was emanating from somewhere. Almost like someone nearby was subtly trying to pull down on a gigantic zipper, one tooth at a time. The comparison should’ve sounded silly, but my heart continued to pound faster and faster until I was sure beyond a doubt that something bad would happen. Something was wrong.
It took me longer than I’d have liked to get out, with the seat belt clamping as I struggled to unbuckle. There was no smell in the air. Did it smell before? I couldn’t remember. No more cars in the lot, only the Camry. No more noise.
Again, that slight vibration in the air. Too low a frequency to determine its source, but enough to sense it was there. I tilted my head, staring up at lumpy clouds that cast shadows on each other. Ah, those clouds. I’ve always loved how they look around sundown. It helped to ease my heart a little.
Until one of the shadows moved.
I’m not stupid, I thought it was just a cloud’s shadow matching its slow drift across the sky - I squinted. The shadow wasn’t being cast on a cloud. It was above, or behind them, which made me realise whatever I was seeing, it wasn’t a shadow.
What happened next is hard to articulate. I’ve never seen anything else like it, before or since. The dark mass above the clouds began to sort of extend, beaming down at an angle, like sun rays but moving at a steady pace, or how water or ink moves up paper by way of capillary action. A black beam. But, it was more than that.
I was so absorbed in the spectacle, it hadn’t fully dawned on me that this thing was getting closer. Closer to me. And as it closed in, there was no mistaking it. While it continued to stretch all the way back above the clouds, the outline of it, the cross-section, was almost human-shaped. Arms, head, body, and legs, but the limbs ended in stunted nubs, like a stick figure.
By the time it stopped a good three or four storeys above, I still hadn’t moved. I couldn’t. I could do nothing but watch in disbelief as lights and layers of colour began to flash inside the human-ish figure, seeming to have parallax, as if whatever lay beyond was a space of its own.
Amazingly, something managed to distract me for a moment. A flash of light in my peripheral. A phone torch.
“Emma? Emma! Are you having a stroke or something?”
I blinked.
“What– no? I mean, I…”
Mum was back, apparently still without her wallet, now scanning the asphalt for any sign of it. Why didn’t I hear her coming back?
She clicked her tongue.
“Then stop standing there like an idiot and help me find it. Come on, it’s getting late.”
I did, in fact, keep standing there, glancing between her and the flashing shadow prism above us. I did a double take. Those glaringly bright, almost offensively coloured layers were speeding up towards the end of the beam, towards me, piling up on themselves to assemble a figure, stepping soundlessly out into thin air.
Mum kept calling for me. I heard her, but couldn’t process her words. Everything else was secondary to the figure above us. It had fully formed, cloaked in a coarse-looking gown, with skin so pale and shadeless it was as if it radiated a faint glow. The sound of rapid footsteps brought me back to myself, and I looked down just in time to see my mum, face painted in a teetering mixture of worry and annoyance. She went to speak but I held up a hand, and pointed to the figure.
Squinting at me, she looked to where I was pointing, and froze. The whole time, I’d secretly been hoping I was just hallucinating, but she saw it too. She saw something, at least, and that was enough to confirm what I’d been dreading.
“...who is that?” she asked. Her voice sounded so small and dry. If I could’ve spoken I’d have asked, “what is that?”
Instead, I watched on in terror as the figure began a slow descent, straight down. The closer it drew, the more of it I could make out. There were these iridescent lines floating across the surface of its skin, moving like sun patterns on the bottom of a swimming pool. Like the silhouette it had emerged from, it had no hands or feet. Just rounded nubs, although those on its arms had the same slight depression in the centre.
“Car… the car. Mum, the car, get in the car, now,” I whispered. No response. I reached out, grabbing her by the arm and shaking her. She was absolutely rigid. One of us had to move, and I imagined we were both hoping the other would do so.
A second figure emerged from the prism, identical to the first, except it was wearing a plain T-shirt and shorts. At the same time, the first one finally touched down on the asphalt and stood, tilting its head up, apparently waiting for the other to arrive.
If I had any lingering doubt that these things weren’t human, it was squashed when I saw their faces - or, lack thereof. I couldn’t see any ears, and where a face should’ve been was only a circular metal grate. Maybe gold, or brass.
The four of us stood there, still and silent. They stared at us, and we stared right back, completely lost in the foreign sight of the beings. A breath, then they turned to each other. I don’t know if I expected them to talk, but they didn’t. Not in any language I know. Faint at first, getting brighter with every pulse, constellations began to flash behind the metal face-grates of each of them. I heard nothing aside from a few damped vibrations, yet somehow, I knew there was a conversation going on.
Very slowly, I took a step back, and reached an arm behind me to feel for the car. All the while, my eyes stayed locked on the beings. I kept reaching, further and further. My fingers brushed nothing but air.
One of them abruptly turned and looked at me, or at mum, I couldn’t tell. My chest tightened. This wasn’t happening. It raised one stunted arm to point at my mum, releasing another cascade of flashing lights behind its grill face. The other crossed its arms and looked over too, like it was waiting for something.
I had to risk it. I pivoted, throwing a glance over my shoulder. The car was twenty, maybe twenty-five feet away. I didn’t remember wandering that far from it. I noticed something else then: the trees, the grass, all of the greenery surrounding the parking lot was… gone. It gave me the impression of a planet that had never evolved life, or where all life was extinct. There was only bare, dark soil enclosing the lot.
Seconds before I went for the car, mum let out a scream. One that I still hear from time to time, in dreams and background noise. I spun around to see the first being, the one wearing a gown, gliding across the ground with an arm outstretched. Mum didn’t have time to move. It came to a dead stop before her, arm still raised, and I saw something emerging from the small depression at the end of its stump - what I now understood was a hole. Whatever came out was darker than the night sky, and I couldn’t place its shape, but it looked like it was made out of a mass of ever-shifting black crystals.
Mum screamed again. It was more of a gasp actually, a gasp that lasted barely a second before a bubble broke free of the shifting appendage and fixed itself over her mouth, silencing her. Another four floated down to her wrists and ankles, binding her in place and stopping her from moving as one more broke off from the being. It looked a little like an arrowhead, or some other sharp, triangular tool, a razor edge cutting through the air and hovering just over her stomach.
I understood the danger then - not for me, but her. Abandoning caution, I leapt forward, yelling,
“Get away from her!”
But I rolled my ankle and went crashing down onto cold, hard asphalt. Dazed, I tried to lift myself, and managed to look up at the beings with blood pouring from my nose and a cut on my cheek. The one in front of my mum barely seemed to notice me, giving me a quick look then getting back to the matter at hand, whatever that was.
Mum squirmed against her restraints, issuing muffled groans through her nose. I forced my limbs to work, but I was held fast. Mounds of that shifting black crystal had smothered my hands, binding them to the ground.
I looked at my mum, helpless, terrified. She met my eyes, blinked away a tear, and squeezed her eyelids shut. At the back, the being wearing a T-shirt made some kind of gesture, like it was impatient, and the robed being nodded, turning back to mum and directing the arrow-shaped object. At the same time, her blouse began to lift up and off her, pulled by an invisible force and exposing her belly. The being hesitated for a second, and I felt a spark of hope, that it might show mercy.
But of course it didn’t.
The dark arrowhead pressed into her skin, slicing through layers like butter and dragging a line downwards, leaving a clean incision. Wasting no time, the being reached inside, fiddled around for a moment, then pulled out the severed end of my mum’s intestine. Blood and shit splattered the ground, trailing away from her as the being floated backwards, keeping hold of the organ until it was stretched to its full length.
I tasted bile.
“STOP! You fucks, you fucking–”
A gush of vomit interrupted me, flooding out onto the ground and mixing in with the intestinal fluids to create a disgusting, speckled pattern which prompted another wave of vomit from me and tears to cloud my vision.
“Please…”
I wiped my sleeve over my eyes so I could see. The being in a T-shirt had a long, pole-shaped protrusion stretching out from the end of its arm, extending to match the length of my mother’s intestines. It studied something for a second, before shrugging, and nodding at the robed being.
In the blink of an eye, the intestines retracted back like a frightened snake and piled back inside mum’s body. I just stared, not able to understand. The sides of the incision pulled into each other and appeared to heal completely in a matter of seconds. As soon as I’d processed this, I felt my restraints slacken then disappear entirely, and I shot to my feet, nearly tripping over again, and grasped onto mum’s arm.
I pulled, under the assumption that she’d been released. She wasn’t. Why weren’t they letting her go?
Freezing up, I cranked my head to look at the beings. More flashing lights. The one in a T-shirt was handing something over to the other, but I couldn’t see anything passing between them. Maybe it was something invisible, or something my mind just wasn’t built to perceive.
I continued to tug mechanically, trying to free her. Her skin was cold and slick and she was shivering. It did no good. The black crystal held fast. I nearly collapsed in relief and shock when the robed figure began to ascend back up to the prism it had come from, but the other grabbed onto its gown, communicating something. The robed being dropped back down, but threw its arms out in what I’d guessed was frustration. T-shirt gestured towards us again, still conversing with the other, waving its arms around. Still, the robed figure seemed to acquiesce and slid across the ground towards us again. Lights continued to flash behind its grill-face, all varying shades of orange and red. Like it was angry.
I couldn’t let it happen again, and lunged at it, planning to do - I don’t really know. I just wanted to protect my mum. Right as I made contact with the being, I felt a shift in the air. The fluid in my ears swirled. It made me dizzy. When my eyes stopped rolling to the side, I realised I was being held still by two pale, stunted arms, with odd patches of hot and cold travelling around on its skin. Somehow, I’d wound up in the arms of the being wearing a T-shirt, and those arms held me tight, tighter than any living thing should be able to.
“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!!” I screamed, flailing and lashing out. In a desperate bet for escape I tried to bite down on one of its arms. It felt like I’d been curb stomped, like I’d bitten down full-force on granite.
I kind of gave up after that. It just hurt too much to think. Instead, I took in my surroundings. Where was I again? Mum… mum.
The robed being was standing in the way of her, but it was doing something. I couldn’t see what, but by the way mum was squealing behind her gag, it made the first procedure sound like a pillow fight. I just cried. There was no other avenue for relief except the tears.
Then, everything went quiet. Mum trailed off into a whine, and then nothing. No wind, and no trees or leaves rustling, because they’d all vanished. Just me, mum, and these things. The one holding me loosened its grip and I gasped, gulping down stagnant air. It floated over to where mum was and the robed being stepped aside, finally letting me see what was happening.
I didn’t really want to know. I really, really didn’t. But my muscles were locked in place.
In one… hand? The robed being held one end of an artery it had pulled out of mum’s chest. Without warning, the two entities shot up into the air, coming to a halt somewhere above. As they moved, more blood vessels phased through the skin of mum’s body, contorting and straightening to fuse at their ends, forming an unholy, pulsing rope.
With speed faster than I could process, the beings flew away, vanishing into the night while clutching the single fused vessel of veins, arteries, and capillaries. There was blood, yes, but only a little. It all seemed to be contained in that one long tube they continued to pull along through the atmosphere.
From the opposite direction, they passed once. I saw them pass over one more time and disappear into the distance before the meaty vessel pulled taut. At the time, I hadn’t really pieced it together - I think they’d looped around the entire planet. Not once, but twice, and then some, in what couldn’t have been more than ten seconds.
I blinked, and they were back, standing in the parking lot and flashing their lights at each other. I didn’t even have the energy to whisper in protest. T-shirt looked reluctant in some way, and handed over more of something I couldn’t see to the robed entity.
As they did this, the red string they’d made from mum’s blood vessels pulled back by itself at impossible speeds, retracting out of over two loops of planet Earth and back into my mum, breaking apart, phasing back inside and reassembling into their proper structure. That’s what I’d guessed, anyway.
Glassy eyed and so, so pale, the crystalline restraints dissolved and my mum slumped limp to the ground. I stood motionless for a second before realising my own restraints were gone as well, and I bolted over to her.
I was whispering something. Assurances, maybe apologies, I can’t remember. The two beings watched us, then they ascended, back up to the dark prism and out of sight. It began to pull back, up into the sky, and when I blinked, all the trees and the grass were back.
It all felt normal. Almost normal. The only change was that the sky was a little darker, and my mum felt a little colder. Then a lot colder. I placed two fingers on her neck. There was no pulse.
When the paramedics arrived, they rushed over to us. Their movements were frantic but controlled. Just thirty seconds later, that urgent energy was gone, replaced by a dull rhythm that told me all I needed to know.
She was pronounced dead on scene.
The coroner later concluded that mum had simply ‘died’. No cause could be found, but brain damage signified a level of hypoxia. I guess that’s what happens when your blood is outside of you, even if just for a minute.
Strangely, I found my anxiety to diminish after that night. It still flares up now and then, but most of the time, there’s just this hollow feeling in its place. I don’t go to Aldi anymore. Seems silly to mull over something like that, but I can’t even be near those big parking lots now. I get my groceries delivered.
Maybe it sounds like I’m managing - I am. Inside, though, there’s a crack that can’t be fixed, can’t be filled. It’s worn down over time, gotten less jagged and easier to deal with. Things don’t really shock me anymore, or at least, the shock is dulled.
There will be no justice for her. Even if I sought it, I doubt we could ever even access whatever plane those beings hail from. Whatever power we think we have, all those things see when they look at us is a world of monkeys, banging stones together. I’m sure of it.
In fact, I’m willing to bet on it.
As much as they bet on my mum.

“Ugh, Emma, can you get the trunk for me?”
The dim winter sun was setting over the parking lot, nearly devoid of shoppers at this late hour, aside from a van in one distant corner that had just started backing out of its spot.
I set my bag down in the passenger seat and rounded the side of my mum’s penicillium-green Camry, met with her impatient and lightly sweating face. I popped the trunk, allowing her to practically collapse into it with the weight of the groceries. Something burst in one of the bags, prompting her to curse under her breath.
“I just don’t get why you won’t stick a quarter in those trolleys over there. You get it back afterwards.”
Mum, still arranging the bags into a position that would stop them toppling over on the drive home, looked at me scornfully.
“The Walmart downtown doesn’t make you pay. None of the stores around here do, so why should I? You know we only come here to Aldi ‘cause it’s cheaper.”
“I just said you get the quarter back afterwards. It’s to make sure people put the trolleys back,” I sighed, knowing there was no swaying her. Instead of shooting back with some flimsy reasoning, mum patted her pockets and swore.
“Oh for goodness sake, I’ve gone and left my wallet at the till again, haven’t I?”
Before I could get a word out, she was gone like a rocket, racing against the store’s closing time. Night’s chill descended, raising gooseflesh, so I slammed the trunk and hopped back into the passenger seat, out of the cold.
I sat there, praying my mum had the haste to get back soon with the keys and start up the heating. There was something else, though. My heart made itself known with a rising, incessant pulse. Was something wrong?
“Not this again,” I groaned, shutting my eyes and following a basic breathing routine to calm my nerves. The anxiety was bad enough, but the anger I felt at the nonsense panic had always been worse for me.
“Just stop it. Lasagna’s waiting for us at home. It’s gonna be so g–”
I opened my eyes.
Had I heard something? No, not heard, felt? I leaned forward to scan the parking lot. Nothing. Then I jumped back in my seat. There it was again. It was subtle, so much so I was surprised I’d even noticed it. A light, but bone-deep vibration was emanating from somewhere. Almost like someone nearby was subtly trying to pull down on a gigantic zipper, one tooth at a time. The comparison should’ve sounded silly, but my heart continued to pound faster and faster until I was sure beyond a doubt that something bad would happen. Something was wrong.
It took me longer than I’d have liked to get out, with the seat belt clamping as I struggled to unbuckle. There was no smell in the air. Did it smell before? I couldn’t remember. No more cars in the lot, only the Camry. No more noise.
Again, that slight vibration in the air. Too low a frequency to determine its source, but enough to sense it was there. I tilted my head, staring up at lumpy clouds that cast shadows on each other. Ah, those clouds. I’ve always loved how they look around sundown. It helped to ease my heart a little.
Until one of the shadows moved.
I’m not stupid, I thought it was just a cloud’s shadow matching its slow drift across the sky - I squinted. The shadow wasn’t being cast on a cloud. It was above, or behind them, which made me realise whatever I was seeing, it wasn’t a shadow.
What happened next is hard to articulate. I’ve never seen anything else like it, before or since. The dark mass above the clouds began to sort of extend, beaming down at an angle, like sun rays but moving at a steady pace, or how water or ink moves up paper by way of capillary action. A black beam. But, it was more than that.
I was so absorbed in the spectacle, it hadn’t fully dawned on me that this thing was getting closer. Closer to me. And as it closed in, there was no mistaking it. While it continued to stretch all the way back above the clouds, the outline of it, the cross-section, was almost human-shaped. Arms, head, body, and legs, but the limbs ended in stunted nubs, like a stick figure.
By the time it stopped a good three or four storeys above, I still hadn’t moved. I couldn’t. I could do nothing but watch in disbelief as lights and layers of colour began to flash inside the human-ish figure, seeming to have parallax, as if whatever lay beyond was a space of its own.
Amazingly, something managed to distract me for a moment. A flash of light in my peripheral. A phone torch.
“Emma? Emma! Are you having a stroke or something?”
I blinked.
“What– no? I mean, I…”
Mum was back, apparently still without her wallet, now scanning the asphalt for any sign of it. Why didn’t I hear her coming back?
She clicked her tongue.
“Then stop standing there like an idiot and help me find it. Come on, it’s getting late.”
I did, in fact, keep standing there, glancing between her and the flashing shadow prism above us. I did a double take. Those glaringly bright, almost offensively coloured layers were speeding up towards the end of the beam, towards me, piling up on themselves to assemble a figure, stepping soundlessly out into thin air.
Mum kept calling for me. I heard her, but couldn’t process her words. Everything else was secondary to the figure above us. It had fully formed, cloaked in a coarse-looking gown, with skin so pale and shadeless it was as if it radiated a faint glow. The sound of rapid footsteps brought me back to myself, and I looked down just in time to see my mum, face painted in a teetering mixture of worry and annoyance. She went to speak but I held up a hand, and pointed to the figure.
Squinting at me, she looked to where I was pointing, and froze. The whole time, I’d secretly been hoping I was just hallucinating, but she saw it too. She saw something, at least, and that was enough to confirm what I’d been dreading.
“...who is that?” she asked. Her voice sounded so small and dry. If I could’ve spoken I’d have asked, “what is that?”
Instead, I watched on in terror as the figure began a slow descent, straight down. The closer it drew, the more of it I could make out. There were these iridescent lines floating across the surface of its skin, moving like sun patterns on the bottom of a swimming pool. Like the silhouette it had emerged from, it had no hands or feet. Just rounded nubs, although those on its arms had the same slight depression in the centre.
“Car… the car. Mum, the car, get in the car, now,” I whispered. No response. I reached out, grabbing her by the arm and shaking her. She was absolutely rigid. One of us had to move, and I imagined we were both hoping the other would do so.
A second figure emerged from the prism, identical to the first, except it was wearing a plain T-shirt and shorts. At the same time, the first one finally touched down on the asphalt and stood, tilting its head up, apparently waiting for the other to arrive.
If I had any lingering doubt that these things weren’t human, it was squashed when I saw their faces - or, lack thereof. I couldn’t see any ears, and where a face should’ve been was only a circular metal grate. Maybe gold, or brass.
The four of us stood there, still and silent. They stared at us, and we stared right back, completely lost in the foreign sight of the beings. A breath, then they turned to each other. I don’t know if I expected them to talk, but they didn’t. Not in any language I know. Faint at first, getting brighter with every pulse, constellations began to flash behind the metal face-grates of each of them. I heard nothing aside from a few damped vibrations, yet somehow, I knew there was a conversation going on.
Very slowly, I took a step back, and reached an arm behind me to feel for the car. All the while, my eyes stayed locked on the beings. I kept reaching, further and further. My fingers brushed nothing but air.
One of them abruptly turned and looked at me, or at mum, I couldn’t tell. My chest tightened. This wasn’t happening. It raised one stunted arm to point at my mum, releasing another cascade of flashing lights behind its grill face. The other crossed its arms and looked over too, like it was waiting for something.
I had to risk it. I pivoted, throwing a glance over my shoulder. The car was twenty, maybe twenty-five feet away. I didn’t remember wandering that far from it. I noticed something else then: the trees, the grass, all of the greenery surrounding the parking lot was… gone. It gave me the impression of a planet that had never evolved life, or where all life was extinct. There was only bare, dark soil enclosing the lot.
Seconds before I went for the car, mum let out a scream. One that I still hear from time to time, in dreams and background noise. I spun around to see the first being, the one wearing a gown, gliding across the ground with an arm outstretched. Mum didn’t have time to move. It came to a dead stop before her, arm still raised, and I saw something emerging from the small depression at the end of its stump - what I now understood was a hole. Whatever came out was darker than the night sky, and I couldn’t place its shape, but it looked like it was made out of a mass of ever-shifting black crystals.
Mum screamed again. It was more of a gasp actually, a gasp that lasted barely a second before a bubble broke free of the shifting appendage and fixed itself over her mouth, silencing her. Another four floated down to her wrists and ankles, binding her in place and stopping her from moving as one more broke off from the being. It looked a little like an arrowhead, or some other sharp, triangular tool, a razor edge cutting through the air and hovering just over her stomach.
I understood the danger then - not for me, but her. Abandoning caution, I leapt forward, yelling,
“Get away from her!”
But I rolled my ankle and went crashing down onto cold, hard asphalt. Dazed, I tried to lift myself, and managed to look up at the beings with blood pouring from my nose and a cut on my cheek. The one in front of my mum barely seemed to notice me, giving me a quick look then getting back to the matter at hand, whatever that was.
Mum squirmed against her restraints, issuing muffled groans through her nose. I forced my limbs to work, but I was held fast. Mounds of that shifting black crystal had smothered my hands, binding them to the ground.
I looked at my mum, helpless, terrified. She met my eyes, blinked away a tear, and squeezed her eyelids shut. At the back, the being wearing a T-shirt made some kind of gesture, like it was impatient, and the robed being nodded, turning back to mum and directing the arrow-shaped object. At the same time, her blouse began to lift up and off her, pulled by an invisible force and exposing her belly. The being hesitated for a second, and I felt a spark of hope, that it might show mercy.
But of course it didn’t.
The dark arrowhead pressed into her skin, slicing through layers like butter and dragging a line downwards, leaving a clean incision. Wasting no time, the being reached inside, fiddled around for a moment, then pulled out the severed end of my mum’s intestine. Blood and shit splattered the ground, trailing away from her as the being floated backwards, keeping hold of the organ until it was stretched to its full length.
I tasted bile.
“STOP! You fucks, you fucking–”
A gush of vomit interrupted me, flooding out onto the ground and mixing in with the intestinal fluids to create a disgusting, speckled pattern which prompted another wave of vomit from me and tears to cloud my vision.
“Please…”
I wiped my sleeve over my eyes so I could see. The being in a T-shirt had a long, pole-shaped protrusion stretching out from the end of its arm, extending to match the length of my mother’s intestines. It studied something for a second, before shrugging, and nodding at the robed being.
In the blink of an eye, the intestines retracted back like a frightened snake and piled back inside mum’s body. I just stared, not able to understand. The sides of the incision pulled into each other and appeared to heal completely in a matter of seconds. As soon as I’d processed this, I felt my restraints slacken then disappear entirely, and I shot to my feet, nearly tripping over again, and grasped onto mum’s arm.
I pulled, under the assumption that she’d been released. She wasn’t. Why weren’t they letting her go?
Freezing up, I cranked my head to look at the beings. More flashing lights. The one in a T-shirt was handing something over to the other, but I couldn’t see anything passing between them. Maybe it was something invisible, or something my mind just wasn’t built to perceive.
I continued to tug mechanically, trying to free her. Her skin was cold and slick and she was shivering. It did no good. The black crystal held fast. I nearly collapsed in relief and shock when the robed figure began to ascend back up to the prism it had come from, but the other grabbed onto its gown, communicating something. The robed being dropped back down, but threw its arms out in what I’d guessed was frustration. T-shirt gestured towards us again, still conversing with the other, waving its arms around. Still, the robed figure seemed to acquiesce and slid across the ground towards us again. Lights continued to flash behind its grill-face, all varying shades of orange and red. Like it was angry.
I couldn’t let it happen again, and lunged at it, planning to do - I don’t really know. I just wanted to protect my mum. Right as I made contact with the being, I felt a shift in the air. The fluid in my ears swirled. It made me dizzy. When my eyes stopped rolling to the side, I realised I was being held still by two pale, stunted arms, with odd patches of hot and cold travelling around on its skin. Somehow, I’d wound up in the arms of the being wearing a T-shirt, and those arms held me tight, tighter than any living thing should be able to.
“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!!” I screamed, flailing and lashing out. In a desperate bet for escape I tried to bite down on one of its arms. It felt like I’d been curb stomped, like I’d bitten down full-force on granite.
I kind of gave up after that. It just hurt too much to think. Instead, I took in my surroundings. Where was I again? Mum… mum.
The robed being was standing in the way of her, but it was doing something. I couldn’t see what, but by the way mum was squealing behind her gag, it made the first procedure sound like a pillow fight. I just cried. There was no other avenue for relief except the tears.
Then, everything went quiet. Mum trailed off into a whine, and then nothing. No wind, and no trees or leaves rustling, because they’d all vanished. Just me, mum, and these things. The one holding me loosened its grip and I gasped, gulping down stagnant air. It floated over to where mum was and the robed being stepped aside, finally letting me see what was happening.
I didn’t really want to know. I really, really didn’t. But my muscles were locked in place.
In one… hand? The robed being held one end of an artery it had pulled out of mum’s chest. Without warning, the two entities shot up into the air, coming to a halt somewhere above. As they moved, more blood vessels phased through the skin of mum’s body, contorting and straightening to fuse at their ends, forming an unholy, pulsing rope.
With speed faster than I could process, the beings flew away, vanishing into the night while clutching the single fused vessel of veins, arteries, and capillaries. There was blood, yes, but only a little. It all seemed to be contained in that one long tube they continued to pull along through the atmosphere.
From the opposite direction, they passed once. I saw them pass over one more time and disappear into the distance before the meaty vessel pulled taut. At the time, I hadn’t really pieced it together - I think they’d looped around the entire planet. Not once, but twice, and then some, in what couldn’t have been more than ten seconds.
I blinked, and they were back, standing in the parking lot and flashing their lights at each other. I didn’t even have the energy to whisper in protest. T-shirt looked reluctant in some way, and handed over more of something I couldn’t see to the robed entity.
As they did this, the red string they’d made from mum’s blood vessels pulled back by itself at impossible speeds, retracting out of over two loops of planet Earth and back into my mum, breaking apart, phasing back inside and reassembling into their proper structure. That’s what I’d guessed, anyway.
Glassy eyed and so, so pale, the crystalline restraints dissolved and my mum slumped limp to the ground. I stood motionless for a second before realising my own restraints were gone as well, and I bolted over to her.
I was whispering something. Assurances, maybe apologies, I can’t remember. The two beings watched us, then they ascended, back up to the dark prism and out of sight. It began to pull back, up into the sky, and when I blinked, all the trees and the grass were back.
It all felt normal. Almost normal. The only change was that the sky was a little darker, and my mum felt a little colder. Then a lot colder. I placed two fingers on her neck. There was no pulse.
When the paramedics arrived, they rushed over to us. Their movements were frantic but controlled. Just thirty seconds later, that urgent energy was gone, replaced by a dull rhythm that told me all I needed to know.
She was pronounced dead on scene.
The coroner later concluded that mum had simply ‘died’. No cause could be found, but brain damage signified a level of hypoxia. I guess that’s what happens when your blood is outside of you, even if just for a minute.
Strangely, I found my anxiety to diminish after that night. It still flares up now and then, but most of the time, there’s just this hollow feeling in its place. I don’t go to Aldi anymore. Seems silly to mull over something like that, but I can’t even be near those big parking lots now. I get my groceries delivered.
Maybe it sounds like I’m managing - I am. Inside, though, there’s a crack that can’t be fixed, can’t be filled. It’s worn down over time, gotten less jagged and easier to deal with. Things don’t really shock me anymore, or at least, the shock is dulled.
There will be no justice for her. Even if I sought it, I doubt we could ever even access whatever plane those beings hail from. Whatever power we think we have, all those things see when they look at us is a world of monkeys, banging stones together. I’m sure of it.
In fact, I’m willing to bet on it.
As much as they bet on my mum.

A-to-Z Reasons For Not Smoking

Smoking damages almost every organ of the body, not just lungs. People are not aware of the extent of damage smoking causes. Following are 26 easy-to-remember reasons why smoking is so dangerous.

• A — Aging
  • Smoking speeds up one’s aging. Causes wrinkles prematurely.
• B — Bad keystone habit
  • Smokers are more likely to pick up other bad habits, like alcohol, hard drugs etc. They meet other smokers and might pick up their bad habits too.
• C — Cancer
  • Not just lung cancer. It can cause mouth cancer, throat cancer, and many other cancers.
• D — Diabetes Type 2
  • Smoking increases chances of getting Diabetes Type 2. Symptoms may include increased thirst, frequent urination, hunger, fatigue, blurred vision, poor wound healing.
• E — Erectile Dysfunction (ED)
  • Increases ED in males and infertility in both males and females.
• F — Fatigue
  • Smokers easily feel fatigued after a physical activity. They feel less energetic.
• G — Guilt
  • Smoking breeds guilt and shame. “What am I doing to my body? I have no control or what?”
• H — Heart diseases
  • Smoking can permanently damage your heart and blood vessels, leading to cardiovascular disease. Smoking can also cause coronary heart disease, which is the narrowing of blood vessels that carry blood to the heart.
• I — Immunity
  • Smoking reduces one’s immunity, making one more prone to falling ill to bacteria and viruses and other diseases easily.
• J — Jaw and TMJ problems
  • Smoking can lead to dental problems, including gum disease and tooth loss, which can contribute to jaw pain and temporomandibular joint (TMJ) disorders.
• K — Kidney diseases
  • Leads to poor blood flow to the kidneys and causes kidney damage over time. Can also cause kidney cancer.
• L — Lungs problems
  • Diseases like Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) and Emphysema. Above all, lung cancer.
• M — Memory and Cognitive Decline
  • Smoking can negatively impact memory and cognitive function. Smoking can lead to a decline in memory, cognitive flexibility, and global cognition. Smoking can also negatively impact attention, processing speed, and executive functions.
• N — Nicotine Addiction
  • Nicotine causes cravings and dependency. It reaches the brain within seconds, creating neurochemical hooks that lead to a strong addiction.
• O — Odour
  • Breath, clothes, car, house stink
• P — Passive/SecondHand smoking
  • A smoker is more likely to be with other smokers and thus inhale more secondhand smoke. As if first hand smoke wasn’t enough.
• Q — Quality of life deterioration
  • Smoking affects overall quality of life, leading to decreased physical health, mental well-being, and social interactions. Smokers often experience a lower quality of life compared to non-smokers.
• R — Restlessness
  • Smoking can cause restlessness and anxiety. Nicotine withdrawal symptoms include irritability and difficulty concentrating, leading to an overall sense of unease.
• S — Stroke
  • Smoking is a major risk factor for stroke, increasing the risk by three to four times. Smoking causes blood to thicken and clot in veins and arteries, which can block blood flow to the brain.
• T — Taste and smell
  • One’s sense of taste and smell deteriorates.
• U — Ulcers
  • Smoking can be a risk factor for peptic ulcer disease, which can cause stomach ulcers
• V — Vitamin absorption reduces
  • Smoking impairs the absorption of essential vitamins and nutrients, such as vitamin C and E, leading to deficiencies and associated health problems.
• W — Weakening of bones and muscles
  • Smoking contributes to osteoporosis and muscle degeneration. It reduces bone density and interferes with the body's ability to repair muscle tissue.
• X — eXtra effects
  • Smoking can cause negative cause-and-effects chain reactions in life. For example, somebody sees you smoking somewhere -> makes them see you in a bad light -> in turn causes them withholding a benefit in future. It’s like bad karma.
• Y — Yellowness and Discoloration
  • Smoking causes discoloration, leading to yellowing of teeth, nails, and skin. It also causes lips to darken and become discolored over time due to reduced blood flow and exposure to harmful chemicals.
• Z — Zzzz
  • Smoking affects Sleep quality.

I (52F) went to A&E back in late February because I waws having trouble drawing a full breath. Thinking I was going to be Rx'd some inhalers and perhaps referred to the respirology (I've been having problems for years but have never formally been diagnosed with asthma), you can imagine my shock when I was advised that I was being admitted because they were unhappy with some cardiac blood work results (they're working through those as I type).
Anyway, I'm on a waiting list to be seen by the Respiratory service (appointment is in mid July) but I've been given access to the radiology report(s) from all of the film they took on the day of my visit to A&E (X ray/CT scan etc).

A HOSPITAL NEAR YOU Patient Name: SomeWomanFromCanada MIS Number: 8186935918824 Hospital Number: 295375063 10118287 22/02/2024 CT Angiogram pulmonary Clinical Question:SOB intermittent worse this today, raised d-dimer and troponin?PE Findings: No previous imaging available for comparison. Adequate opacification of the pulmonary artery trunk (350HU). No pulmonary embolism from the pulmonary artery trunk to the subsegmental levels. There is reflux of contrast into the hepatic veins, no other radiological evidence of right heart strain. There is patchy atelectasis and parenchymal infiltrate in both lower lobes. There are small granulomas noted in the right upper, lower lobe and the left upper lobe and scattered tiny sub 2mm nodules in the right middle and lower lobes. No pleural effusion or focal consolidation. No endobronchial lesions. No thoracic lymphadenopathy. Unremarkable appearance of the imaged upper abdominal viscera. No destructive osseous lesions. Conclusion: No pulmonary embolism. Non specific patchy atelectasis and parencymal infiltrate as desribed. Dr Cassian Andor Consultant Radiologist GMC 2266977 This report is generated for the referring clinician. Should patients have queries regarding the report, these should be discussed with the referring clinical team. Reported by: Dr Orson KRENNICK

Can anyone please tell me what to make of this report?
I''m most interested in the references to _patchy atelectasis_ and _parencymal infiltrate_
From my limited medical knowledge, there's something going on in my lungs but it's not cancerous or anything icky like that nor is it cardiac in nature or a blood clot.
FWIW, I am prone to getting bronchitis every time I get a head cold (regardless of how mild the cold is); in the winter, cold air triggers repeated episodes of bronchitis (when I lived in Canada, I carried a bottle of Buckleys Mixture and an oral syringe in my purse all winter every winter because it was the only thing that would come close to helping the cough).
I've also recently been prescribed a 'blue' salbutamol (rescue) inhaler and a Clenil Modulite 100mcg (beclamethasone) 'brown' (reliever) inhaler by my GP (while I wait for my appointment with the respiratory service) ... I've felt better since I've started using them (I had a lung function test this morning and haven't had the Clenil Modulite since Monday night and am feeling a little congested in my chest.
Anyway, I am new to all of this and I thank you all for a) reading this far and b) offering your collective wisdom as I try to figure out WTF is going on.

DAY: MAY 14, 2024

• 5-14-2024CAN EATING OR DRINKING CAFFEINE BEFORE BED IMPACT YOUR HEALTH? Having a lot of food in your stomach before bed can redirect blood flow to your gut to digest the food, meaning there is less blood flow going to your brain. You need that blood flow to your brain to make sure you go into the different sleep stages. If you have caffeine in your system or are sensitive to it, the time to fall asleep can double. Caffeine has a half-life of up to 4.5 hours, so a safe bet is to avoid caffeine after noon.
• 5-14-2024RESEARCHERS DETECT HIDDEN INGREDIENTS AND QUESTIONABLE CLAIMS IN SUPPLEMENTS some supplement companies may mislead customers with unproven health claims and undeclared ingredients. The researchers focused on supplements that have been associated with the purported treatment or prevention of COVID-19 and other respiratory illnesses. During the pandemic, the use of dietary supplements skyrocketed throughout the world. “There was a big spike in purchase and use of these types
• 5-14-2024TEXT MESSAGES WITH FINANCIAL INCENTIVES CAN HELP MEN WHO ARE LIVING WITH OBESITY LOSE WEIGHT, UK STUDY FINDS text messages with financial incentives can help men who are living with obesity lose weight and could be a valuable alternative to traditional weight management programs. Men who were offered cash for hitting weight loss targets lost more weight than those not given a financial incentive,
• 5-14-2024EXERCISE BENEFITS THE BRAIN, BUT IMPROVING ITS BLOOD VESSELS MAY TAKE LONGER People with less consistent brain blood flow patterns may be at greater risk of dementia and cerebrovascular disease. To explore whether regular aerobic exercise can help, researchers at Iowa State University have conducted a pilot study, the results of which were recently published in the Journal of Applied Physiology. “The big take-away is that exercise is good for the arteries and brain, but its effects are complex and takes time to accumulate benefits
• 5-14-2024SOCIAL ONLINE TRAINING CAN HELP AGAINST LONELINESS AND DEPRESSION a ten-week, partner-based mental online training program boosted resilience, empathy and compassion, and deepened social connections. At the same time, these short daily, app-based practices done with another person, so-called Dyads, decreased loneliness, depression, anxiety and a negative outlook
• 5-14-2024TECH ALONE CAN’T REPLACE HUMAN COACHES IN OBESITY TREATMENT, STUDY FINDS technology alone can’t replace the human touch to produce meaningful weight loss in obesity treatment. The study, titled “An Adaptive Behavioral Intervention for Weight Loss Management: A Noninferiority Randomized Clinical Trial,” . “Giving people technology alone for the initial phase of obesity treatment produces unacceptably worse weight loss than giving them treatment that combines technology with a human coach
• 5-14-2024ULTRASOUND CAN HELP PATIENTS WITH A TYPE OF RHEUMATIC DISEASE LEAD LONGER AND HEALTHIER LIVES ultrasound can help patients with a type of rheumatic disease to live longer and healthier lives. These patients have so far had an increased risk of cardiovascular disease, which contributes to premature death. Patients with a type of rheumatic disease called radiographic axial spondyloarthritis, a disease that causes changes in the bones in the pelvis and spine, have poorer health quality of life than control subjects.
• 5-14-2024SCIENTISTS FIND REPEATED, SMALL HITS TO HEAD IN FOOTBALL PLAYERS CAN DAMAGE BLOOD VESSELS IN THE BRAIN The work involved specialized helmets that were used to monitor head impacts in 60 university football players. Credit: Dalhousie University Repeated blows to the heads of football players can damage the small blood vessels of the brain, according to research by Dalhousie University scientists from the Brain Repair Center who believe this damage may contribute to brain dysfunction in some athletes years after play has ended. The neuroscientists found that the brain’s blood vessels can get damaged by a succession of small hits
• 5-14-2024‘MICROPREEMIE’ BABY WHO WEIGHED JUST OVER 1 POUND AT BIRTH GOES HOME FROM ILLINOIS HOSPITAL Nyla was born at just 22 weeks weighing 1 pound and 1 ounce, making her what’s known as a “micropreemie.” She left Silver Cross Hospital on Monday weighing a healthy 10 pounds, and was taken home by her first-time parents
• 5-14-2024RESEARCHERS INVESTIGATE IF PHARMACOLOGICAL TREATMENT OF ADHD REDUCES CRIMINALITY pharmacological treatment of attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) reduced violence- and public-order related crimes. However, it did not reduce other types of crimes, among patients with ADHD in early to late adolescence considered to be in the gray zone (or on the margin) for such treatment.
• 5-14-2024A NEW DRUG SHOWS POTENTIAL BENEFITS IN THE RECOVERY OF PATIENTS AFTER A HEART ATTACK beneficial effects of the novel drug Sacubitril/Valsartan in the management of myocardial infarction (MI). The research offers new insights into the drug’s ability to reduce inflammation, cardiac fibrosis, and prevent dangerous heart arrhythmias post-MI. Cardiovascular diseases, especially MI,
• 5-14-2024STUDY EXPLORES ROLE OF EPIGENETICS, ENVIRONMENT IN DIFFERING ALZHEIMER’S RISK BETWEEN BLACK AND WHITE COMMUNITIES environmentally caused alterations to specific areas of the genome—known as imprint control regions—during early development may contribute to the risk of developing Alzheimer’s disease, and that Black people may be more affected than white people. The work adds to our understanding of the ways in which environmental factors can contribute to genetic alterations and disease susceptibility.
• 5-14-2024NEW AI TOOL IMPROVES RISK ASSESSMENT FOR HEART FAILURE CARE researchers have developed a powerful new risk assessment tool for predicting outcomes in heart failure patients. The researchers have made the tool publicly available for free to clinicians. The new tool improves on existing risk assessment tools for heart failure by harnessing the power of machine learning (ML) and artificial intelligence (AI) to determine patient-specific risks of developing unfavorable outcomes with heart failure.
• 5-14-2024FAR FROM TOXIC, LACTATE RIVALS GLUCOSE AS BODY’S MAJOR FUEL AFTER A CARBOHYDRATE MEAL A volunteer is monitored after being given a large dose of glucose to determine how well people switch from fat to carbohydrate metabolism as they age. In the tests at UC Berkeley, subjects had their blood monitored for labeled lactate and glucose, underwent periodic blood sampling, and had their breath monitored for oxygen and carbon dioxide.
• 5-14-2024STUDY EXPLORES WHAT MOTIVATES PRESCHOOLERS TO PREPARE FOR THE FUTURE Adults find it particularly easy to prepare for the future when they imagine how they will feel. Researchers at Ruhr University Bochum, Germany, have investigated whether this is also the case with preschoolers. The researchers conducted the study at the intersection of philosophy and psychology. They described their findings in the journal Emotion. Rehearsing for a school play, getting a present for a friend’s birthday and packing a book for a long car journey:
• 5-14-2024NEWLY IDENTIFIED PET BIOMARKER PREDICTS SUCCESS OF IMMUNE CHECKPOINT BLOCKADE THERAPY The protein galectin-1 (Gal-1) has been identified as a new PET imaging biomarker for immune checkpoint blockade (ICB) therapy, allowing physicians to predict the tumor responses before beginning treatment. Information garnered from Gal-1 PET imaging could also be used to facilitate patient stratification and optimize immunotherapy, enabling targeted interventions and improving patient outcomes. This research was published in the May issue of The Journal of Nuclear Medicine. Immunotherapies, such as ICB
• 5-14-2024RESEARCH LINKS SLEEP APNEA SEVERITY DURING REM STAGE TO VERBAL MEMORY DECLINE
• 5-14-2024SEVERE OBESITY IN CHILDHOOD CAN HALVE LIFE EXPECTANCY, GLOBAL MODELING STUDY FINDS
• 5-14-2024COEXISTENCE OF PSORIATIC ARTHRITIS, ATOPIC DERMATITIS MAY OFFER TREATMENT INSIGHTS
• 5-14-2024MEN WITH LOW TESTOSTERONE LEVELS MAY BE AT INCREASED RISK OF DYING PREMATURELY
• 5-14-2024CONGENITAL ANOMALIES FOUND TO BE TEN TIMES MORE FREQUENT IN CHILDREN WITH NEURODEVELOPMENTAL DISORDERS
• 5-14-2024RESEARCHERS REVEAL HOW LIPOPOLYSACCHARIDE BINDING PROTEIN RESISTS HEPATIC OXIDATIVE STRESS
• 5-14-2024STEM CELLS PROVIDE NEW INSIGHT INTO GENETIC PATHWAY OF CHILDHOOD CANCER
• 5-14-2024SAN FRANCISCO SET TO BAN ‘FOREVER CHEMICALS’ IN FIREFIGHTER GEAR
• 5-14-2024AN NRL PLAYER DIED AT TRAINING DUE TO EXERTIONAL HEAT STROKE. WHAT IS IT AND WHAT SHOULD COACHES AND ATHLETES KNOW?
• 5-14-2024FIVE CHARTS ON THE GLOBAL SUCCESS OF VACCINES
• 5-14-2024KIDS LIVING NEAR COLORADO AIRPORTS HAVE SLIGHTLY ELEVATED LEVELS OF LEAD IN THEIR BLOOD, NEW STUDY FINDS
• 5-14-2024STUDY SHOWS VIRUS THAT CAUSES COVID-19 CAN PENETRATE BLOOD-RETINAL-BARRIER AND COULD DAMAGE VISION
• 5-14-2024HOW BIG FOOD COMPANIES CAN DO MORE TO CREATE HEALTHIER FOOD ENVIRONMENTS
• 5-14-2024PROMISING NEW STUDY COULD LEAD TO A REDUCTION IN SYMPTOMS OF AMYOTROPHIC LATERAL SCLEROSIS
• 5-14-2024PELVIC HEALTH PROBLEMS ARE A COMMON EXPERIENCE FOR WOMEN—WHY MANY DON’T GET THE HELP THEY NEED
• 5-14-2024NEW RESEARCH PRESENTS ‘MINI-BRAINS’ THAT COULD ADVANCE ALZHEIMER’S TREATMENT
• 5-14-2024STUDY SHOWS HOW EXCESSIVE DRINKING AFFECTS OTHERS
• 5-14-2024NEW TRANSIT STATION IN JAPAN SIGNIFICANTLY REDUCES CUMULATIVE HEALTH EXPENDITURES
• 5-14-2024BINGE DRINKING IS A GROWING PUBLIC HEALTH CRISIS—HOW RESEARCH ON ALCOHOL USE DISORDER HAS SHIFTED
• 5-14-2024WHAT I’VE LEARNED FROM INTERVIEWING HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE WHO HARM THEMSELVES
• 5-14-2024STUDY REVEALS RACIAL DISPARITIES IN DIAGNOSIS AND DRUG USE FOR DEMENTIA SYMPTOMS
• 5-14-2024PEOPLE WITHOUT AN INNER VOICE HAVE POORER VERBAL MEMORY, FINDS STUDY
• 5-14-2024CONCUSSION EXPERTS WARN TERM USED TO DESCRIBE HEAD IMPACTS—’SUBCONCUSSION’—IS MISLEADING AND DANGEROUS
• 5-14-2024STUDY UNCOVERS PROTEIN INTERACTIONS AS A POTENTIAL PATH FOR ALS CURE
• 5-14-2024HOW BITTER FOOD CONSTITUENTS INFLUENCE GASTRIC ACID PRODUCTION
• 5-14-2024ADIPOSITY IN CHILDHOOD AFFECTS THE RISK OF BREAST CANCER BY CHANGING BREAST TISSUE COMPOSITION, STUDY SUGGESTS
• 5-14-2024COLD PLUNGING MIGHT HELP HEART HEALTH, RESEARCH SUGGESTS
• 5-14-2024STUDY EXPLORES POTENTIAL TARGET TO TREAT LIVER DISEASE
• 5-14-2024THROUGH TRADITION AND TRADE, TRIBE IN RURAL KANSAS WORKS TO RECLAIM ITS FOOD SOVEREIGNTY
• 5-14-2024UK SAYS PROPOSED PANDEMIC TREATY ‘NOT ACCEPTABLE’
• 5-14-2024BODY-WIDE MOLECULAR MAP EXPLAINS WHY EXERCISE IS SO GOOD FOR YOU
• 5-14-2024FIRST STUDY TO GLOBALLY MAP HEAT-WAVE-RELATED MORTALITY FINDS 153,000+ DEATHS ASSOCIATED WITH HEAT WAVES
• 5-14-2024EARLY DIAGNOSIS, TREATMENT OF PERIPHERAL ARTERY DISEASE ESSENTIAL TO IMPROVE OUTCOMES, REDUCE AMPUTATION RISK
• 5-14-2024ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE TOOL DETECTS SEX-RELATED DIFFERENCES IN BRAIN STRUCTURE
• 5-14-2024OVER 20,000 PEOPLE JOIN UK SEARCH FOR NEW DEMENTIA TREATMENTS
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I'm walking through a bustling underground train station. I push and shove my way through all the other commuters onto the platform. As I look around, there seems to be endless rows of platforms in both directions, stretching well into a dense fog. Further ahead, neat lines of railway tracks extend out from the fog and through the platforms. I instinctually look up at the info screen
Next train in ### minutes
I furrow my brow, squint to try and focus on the numbers but they're heavily pixelated and illegible. I look around at the other commuters, who stream onto the platform completely unaware of the anomaly. Most people are on their phone, or wearing headphones while some are talking to each other. No one seems to notice the malfunction with the screen.
That's when the absurdity of the situation clicks for me. Endless platforms, a wall of fog, unreadable numbers and people that don't care. It's all a dream. I bring my hand up to my face and pinch my nose, trying to breathe through it. An old reality check I remembered from back when I was trying to learn to lucid dream.
My heart rate jumped when I realised, that I couldn't breathe through my nose. Before I could even process this, another problem presented itself. I didn't know why I was here. I didn't know where I was going and I definitely did not know how I even got here. It seems as if reality ceased to exist right before I walked onto this platform. Just like it typically feels in a dream, you spawn in out of nowhere and don't really know what happened prior - except this wasn't a dream.
I knew I was sure of it because deep inside my bones I felt this anxious urgent message. I need to catch this train. It was a primal feeling.
At this point, my head is spinning and I need to sit down somewhere. I choose a silver bench with a middle aged woman sitting on it. She shuffles further to the left as I sit down next to her clutching my head and racking my brain to try and figure out what it is happening. This is what amnesia feels like, I thought to my self as I gnawed at scraps of messy muddled memories. Each image that came into my mind was just a fragment - A school, a library, sickeningly white walls. It hit me that I didn't even know my name. I was starting to hyperventilate but then my body kicked into autopilot. I started to take deep breaths, focusing on my diaphragm and calming myself down. It felt like I was trained to do this. I started to focus on the current situation.
Where was my ticket? Instinctually, I knew I had to have gotten one on my entry to the train station. I reached into my pockets and pulled out a scrap of paper. Scrawled in very familiar cursive:
*In case of memory loss, read the journal in your backpack*
Strange message but I didn't have any choice then to at least give the instructions a try. I removed my backpack and rummaged through it for the journal. I wouldn't really call it a backpack - more a tattered and frayed bundle of cloth that was reminiscent of a backpack. I finally found a series of small thick journals, bundled in cloth with their leather covers on the verge of disintegration. The pages still seemed in good condition though. Each cover was sequentially labelled which I'm guessing corresponded to the chronological order of the writings within.
The lady next to me was weirdly getting agitated. She kept stealing glances, her body shaking and eyes burning with a fierce rage. I slowly got up from the bench and began to step backwards. My backpack bumped into a pillar. The dull thud it made seemed to cause a drastic change to everyone around me though. They all snapped their heads, locking eyes on me and staring through my very soul. I felt exposed.
The rumble of an arriving train stole away their attention and within a split second everyone was ignoring me again, going back to their usual activities. It seriously felt like I had just imagined it and it was becoming more and more clear that I was having some sort of mental breakdown. Nevertheless, as the train slowed to a stop on the platform, I walked into it and found a seat. The train seemed to be old and new at the same time. Typical blue seats with abstract dirty patterns complete with a modern sleek interior of gentle curves clashing with a boxy dull metallic exterior and doors that looked like they belonged on a rusty submarine.
I opened the first of the journals and began to read. I soon realised that the handwriting was mine and within the next few moments I was attacked by a barrage of memories that had remained repressed and buried in the back of my mind.
*
My name is Jacob and I have been stuck here in this place called *The Limbo* for an eternity. When I say 'eternity', I don't mean it lightly. Back when I used to keep track I counted over 500 years through my wristwatch that never seemed to run out of battery. Now I know counting is meaningless. There have been periods like this where my mind falls into a deep trance and I lose my whole identity as I mindlessly wander in this place much like the entities that inhabit it. Occasional periods of lucidity breach this trance and then I find myself lost and confused. It's why I keep the journals with me. I think its some sort of psychological survival mechanism that human brains develop when faced with the infinite vastness of The Limbo.
Speaking of The Limbo, I've come to learn a few things about its nature through my stay here. Some of its been through people that I've come across (Yes others are also stuck here) and some has been through my own experiences. Perhaps the most important is the question of where I get my food and water. The answer is weird. I have never felt hungry or thirsty. The sensation of having cool water slide down my throat remains a memory so distant that it feels like the snippet of a childhood dream.
I guess the next natural topic about this place would be time. Through various experiences of mine (that you'll get to read about) and discussions with others, the leading theory of mine is that The Limbo exists outside of time itself. While I myself have fallen here sometime during 2001, I've met many others from various years like the 80s, 90s and even one recent fellow from 2043.
Most people in The Limbo eventually fall into a trance, withering away until they become one of the entities or become mere tools for them. It's probably naive but I keep going through this place with only two hopes. The first is to somehow get out of here at the right time point and see my son, who I never got to see. The second is to come out of this place and die so that I no longer have to live out the empty agony of eternity (I'll explain how you can't age or die in The Limbo later). Perhaps my hopes will dwindle as the centuries pile and I will become just like those who I look upon in pity now.
I am writing this consolidated diary of my experiences for several reasons. I'd like someone to know of my unending journey in this place. To be aware of the capacity of the human spirit to keep going in the worst of situations. I have never had a long term friend in The Limbo, but know that I consider you the reader a dear friend even if I never get to meet you because you will know my story. I'm also sharing this in hopes that there is more awareness of The Limbo. Perhaps the military and scientists can actually figure out what it is. Perhaps all of us can be brought home. Or maybe this can serve as a survival guide to those who may be unfortunate enough to fall through.
There are small holes in The Limbo. Most of them are barely large enough for a pinkie finger to fit in let alone a person, but sometimes I've come across one large enough for this journal to go through. I'm not sure what time or place these holes lead to, so the safe passage of this book into a person capable of reading it has about the same chances as me ever leaving this place.
The train I'm on supposedly leads to the edge of The Limbo, where the holes are large enough for humans to fit through. It's really more of a legend amongst the poor souls that are trapped here and I've followed trails and clues for a long time to even find this train.
There are only two ways this goes. Both outcomes would lead to you reading this book in your hands. I'll either find my way out of this hell or give up hope and slip this journal through a Hole. You will find my fate at the end.
I should stop rambling now though. It would be best to start at the very beginning.
*
I was rushing out of work in pure ecstasy. My wife had gone into labor while I was at work and been rushed to hospital. I needed to get there fast. People were glancing over at me over their cubicles in confusion as I packed up my work bag and rushed out to the elevators. I couldn't stop thinking about seeing my first son as the elevator made its way down. The elevator doors finally opened and I rushed out.
The ground entrance of the building I worked at, particularly near the lobby, is an intersection of various hallways. I was already walking to close to the wall when someone came rushing around the corner and bumped me right into the wall. I was only able to hear half their apology when I fell *through* the wall like it was just a holographic projection. In hindsight, I find it oddly funny how easy it is for a life to get ruined. Just when you think you've got it all, when everything is going smoothly, a small incident like that is enough to take it all away.
I found myself in a room that resembled a classroom. It looked as if someone who had never stepped inside a classroom was asked to imagine the space. Desks were arranged in messy uneven rows with the chairs facing various directions. The board at the front of the room was a seamless patchy mixture of both chalk and modern whiteboard and mounted way too low on the wall, nearly hugging the floor. A large teachers desk sat in the front of the room. The walls were filled with posters of absolute gibberish along with diagrams and pictures that seemed like they showed something tangible but no matter how close you looked you could never identify anything in the picture.
The initial confusion was replaced by an immense panic. My heart was drumming against my chest as I searched the room for a doorway to exit it. My mind was trying to rationalise the situation. I was trying to convince myself that this was just some old part of the building and I had fallen into a hallway instead of the wall.
I ran through the doorway at the far end of the room and found myself in a large hallway that seemed to extend forever in both directions. The walls were a muted grey and the floors were that typical dirty linoleum. Soon I would find out that the regularly spaced doorways on either side of the hall led to other nonsensical classrooms.
I ran down the hallway screaming for help in pure panic, which was a terrible mistake in hindsight. I stopped running down the hallway when I suddenly heard the distinct scratch of chalk against board. In this large empty space, the sound echoed and boomed. Since I was still refusing to buy in to the reality of the situation, my hopes were momentarily increased by the supposed presence of another person here.
I slowly walked over to the doorway that the sounds were coming from. My stomach filled with an uneasy dread. This deep primal instinct within me urged me to hold back. I peeked carefully in the classroom and saw a woman with their back turned to me drawing something on the chalkboard.
It took me a few moments to notice that it was a very realistic portrait of my face.
She was drawing lines across my throat, her long dark hair swaying as she drew in the details. The drawing was completed with a terrible slash across the throat, blood gurgling out. I was frozen in place, transfixed on the hauntingly beautiful realism of the picture.
She began to turn around slowly while humming a high pitched tune. To this day I can't describe the face I saw. It is still etched into my mind. A face full of so much hatred, so much anger that I don't think its possible for a human to make that face. It expressed an emotion beyond human understanding. No artist in the world could ever render the expression on the paper. No words could describe the pure fear that coursed through my veins as she stared at me and began to approach.
I turned around to run, only to realise that a bunch of school children had gathered around me. They were headless, the bleeding stumps dripping thick blood onto the floor in a rhythmic patter. Somehow they were laughing.
I shoved through the group and ran down the hallway. I wasn't sure where I was going. My whole world had shattered and now I was completely aimless in some nonsense dimension with horrors beyond imagination that wanted me dead.
*
The extract above is from this journal I found at the foot of a large tree on a hiking trail. It's a miracle that I spotted its faded leather cover given that it was almost buried under rotting leaves. I really don't know what to make of what I'm reading, so I'll be slowly transcribing bits of it in separate posts over the next few days.
I know this subreddit is good for this sort of stuff. I'd love if someone else could share anything they know about The Limbo. This whole journal feels like some sort of prank, but the words and memories within feel way too real.
I can't help but feel a connection to this story. My mum doesn't speak much of my Dad, who I know left before I was born. No one ever found out where he went.
I was born in 2001
X

Hi all, my mom has a life threatening condition and time is of the essence. She has blood clots in her legs and it currently reducing blood flow to her legs. She needs Femoral popliteal bypass surgery and we unfortunately do not have the financial means to get her the surgery. She means the world to me and I can't bear the thought if we were to lose her Please help with anything you can, it is immensely appreciated!
https://www.gofundme.com/f/open-her-blocked-veins-and-arteries?utm_campaign=p_cp%2Bfundraiser-sidebar&utm_medium=chat&utm_source=whatsApp

I’m a survivor.
Waking up in the morgue after shooting myself in the head was the worst experience of my existence.

When the illness was first reported, they called it The Burning.
The first few hundred thousand cases followed the same pattern.
Day 1-3 were a mild fever that did not respond to any medications and simply kept the temperature around 100F/37C.
Every one to three days after, the person’s temperature would increase by about 1F/.6C while still not responding to any treatments meant to reduce it.
Seizures, convulsions and death happened within 12 to at most 72 hours of temperatures reaching 108F/42C.
Some places tried ice-baths.
This lead to the first, and only, effective treatment for The Burning.
If the body responded to the ice-baths, the person's raising temperate could be arrested, slowed and even halted.
If it held at or under 106F/41C, the person had a chance to survive.
This worked in less 10% of persons who caught The Burning.
The majority died when they were unable to slow or halt the fever before it hit 105.
Anyone who survived 24 days after showing symptoms could recover, but only if their temperature was kept under 107 until at least day 30.
Once that happened, the body naturally normalized, reducing by about 1F/.6C every 24-36 hours until stabilizing around 99.5F/37.5C.
Patient Zero had been confirmed as symptomatic on October 3, 2030.
As we were only a decade past the C-19 virus, most countries reacted with quarantines, masking guidelines and social distancing.
But nothing stopped The Burning.
The problem was that we did not understand it until over a year into The Burning Pandemic, by that point there were 120 -150 million new infections worldwide every month.
We had that term wrong; it was 120 -150 million newly symptomatic persons every month not new infections.
The Burning did not have a 24-72 hour incubation period as was first reported and believed.
It had a 300 day incubation period.
A mathematician figured it out during the second year of the The Burning Pandemic shortly after developing symptoms.
By the time Patient Zero was identified, at least 40% of the world had already been infected, we just didn't know it.
When The Burning finally ran its course, less than 2 billion people were left alive.
About 1.3 billion people never showed symptoms, but they are Asymptomatic Carriers of the virus, even now.
The remaining 650 million people are the Survivors of The Burning, but the virus still lives in our veins.
No vaccine or treatment has worked to remove it from the population.
By 2055, the global population had increased by less than 150 million.
The Asymptomatic Carriers are nearly infertile.
The Survivors are completely sterile.
Additionally, all newborns experience a milder version of The Burning, but the survival rate is still very low.
Where the original Burning had over 90% fatality rate; the new Burning still claims about 55% of newborns.
What remained of the world powers were concerned by the abysmal birth rate but then in 2060 as a fractured, but globally united society, we figured out the other side effects of The Burning.
Those of us who survived had not aged in the 26-30 years it had been since our symptoms ended and our base body temperature stabilized around 1F/.6C degrees higher than prior to The Burning.
And none of us had developed any other diseases, while those with issues like diabetes, heart disease, cancer or other degenerative diseases saw them fade by 2040. We also never suffered annual colds or flus even when unvaccinated.
The Asymptomatic Carriers were aging much-much more slowly, yet were still just as prone to colds or flus as before but not degenerative diseases. Any degenerative disease they had prior to 2030 halted progression but did not fade.
Most of the world has re-labeled The Burning to “The Rebirth” or “The Immortality Virus” or “The Rapture,” the last mostly by the ultra-religious among the Asymptomatic Carriers.
We Survivors still call it The Burning.
Those of us in worse circumstances also refer to it, or the now we live in, as Hell.
We have managed to communicate without allowing those in power to know of the communication; it was painful.
We have confirmed, collectively, that we cannot die.
We also cannot stop the mental voices of the other survivors.
Once within 5 yards/meters of a fellow survivor, with a widening circle of affect the more survivors are nearby, we cannot help but hear every thought of every survivor within range.
The echoing reverberation is maddening.
I tried to silence it with a gun; this failed and it took several days for the brain matter to be completely cleaned out of my carpet when I got home.
Waking up in the morgue after shooting myself in the head is not really the worst experience of my existence.

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

Before going into it, I want to mention how this post was inspired by three things. One was user u/HastyvonFuego2 and their post on going down the rabbit hole on the Kendrick sub last week. It was also inspired by Childish Gambino’s first album release in nearly 6 years where I have been sitting on this idea for a while but he inspired me to finally post this week like he did (never posted on Reddit at all before so be gentle if I am not doing it right)! I was also inspired by an interview Bino gave to GQ about breaking down his most iconic characters. In this interview he says how This is America started out as a Drake diss but then he realized the song was too hard for just Drake so he kept working on it. He also talks in this interview about how all culture is about compression. Which means that yes, This is America is about the gun violence and police issues in America, but compressed in this video is also more about where that culture comes from which he shows is from a small handful of rap moguls, namely Drake, Diddy and Jay-Z (bear with me on this long post, I think/hope it will be worth it). At the end I talk briefly about how Little Foot Big Foot might be in this same vein of cultural compression.
[Intro: Choir]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, go, go away
The beginning of this song has no background music yet, which really gives it an ‘in the beginning’ feel. Then Gambino starts doing his dances with weird facial expressions. I will explain as we go through his video how those expressions and dance moves represent different famous rap moguls. One easy look to pick out right away is Jay-Z’s famous lip curl/growl look that Gambino gives with a head nod repeatedly. The colonial pants have been a hot topic, but since it’s only the pants that are colonial, Gambino is saying the bottom or basis for this violent culture in America is ultimately colonialism. The lyrics ‘Go Away’, are likely foreshadowing the rap moguls wanting other popular rap rivals to ‘go away’ or they will make them (aka murder them) for profit.
[Bridge: Childish Gambino & Young Thug]
We just wanna party
Party just for you
We just want the money
Money just for you (Yeah)
Usually you want money for yourself and to party for yourself, so this is a bit odd. But what Gambino is referring to is similar to these Diddy ‘freakoff parties’ we are hearing about where people who want to be famous are really partying for these rap moguls so they can get close to them. Where they suck up to them saying that they want to earn the mogul money from their songs.
I know you wanna party
Party just for free
Girl, you got me dancin' (Girl, you got me dancin')
Dance and shake the frame (Yeah)
Then this almost feels like the Diddy rebuttal where he’s like ya I know you want to party and you want to do it for free. Like Katt Williams says, “you gotta tell Diddy no”, it is never free to go to those parties. There are always consequences. When you are partying you are dancing, but shaking the frame could refer to how those boundaries/edges are being crossed, lines are blurred, etc.
Then in the video, the fellow who was playing the guitar gets shot and things turn dark from happy music. I believe that this guitar tune is meant to represent 2Pac and Nas’s song Thugz Mansion. It’s one of the original greats from ‘in the beginning’. Nas famously has always had major issues with Jay-Z too (More on why 2Pac and Nas later). It also represents how it was these moguls who murdered 2Pac like Jaguar Wright and Katt Williams keep saying. Where these murders only lead to more money and fame for the killers when the dead artists’ and their music are exploited more easily.
Also note that the gun gets taken away by a school kid after the shooting, more on this later as well.
[Verse 1: Childish Gambino, Young Thug, Blocboy JB & 21 Savage]
This is America (Skrrt, skrrt, woo)
Don't catch you slippin' now (Ayy)
Look how I'm livin' now
Police be trippin' now (Woo)
Yeah, this is America (Woo, ayy)
Guns in my area (Word, my area)
There is a song called Guns in My Area by Lil Weiner and Baby Chapox that paints a vivid picture of the everyday struggles and conflicts faced by those living in communities affected by gun violence. More compression of other songs and the American gun culture.
I got the strap (Ayy, ayy)
I gotta carry 'em
I am almost certain this line is referring to 2Pac’s song Changes. Throughout This is America, Gambino takes lines from Pac’s song: “They get jealous when they see you with your mobile phone” (referred to later in this a Celly, that’s tool) “That's the sound of my tool, you say it ain't cool, My mama didn't raise no fool”
“And as long as I stay black, I gotta stay strapped, And I never get to lay back” It seems like Gambino broke up these lyrics and scattered them throughout his song. This plays into the theme that everyone is using 2Pac and enriching themselves off of his image and music. I show below how this particular section of the video represents Diddy meaning that Diddy himself is exploiting his music (and alleging that Diddy killed Pac?). We could see this exploitation play out at length with how much Diddy milked the death of Biggie like in Every Breath You Take.
Yeah, yeah, I'ma go into this (Ugh)
Yeah, yeah, this is guerilla (Woo)
Yeah, yeah, I'ma go get the bag
The song Gorilla War by $uicideboy$ and Ramirez talks about getting a bag repeatedly in the course. Also in Otis with Kanye and Jay-Z their lyrics talk about going gorilla (I talk about this song more further down), so it could be referring to this as well. It seems like Gambino is trying to pull out lyrics from all across the rap culture and embed them in his song to highlight the ‘cultural compression’.
Yeah, yeah, I'm so cold like, yeah (Yeah)
I'm so dope like, yeah (Woo)
We gon' blow like, yeah (Straight up, uh)
I think that all of the school kids in the video represent all of the rappers that are signed with these big labels. Which is interesting because they are the ones facilitating the guns for the moguls in the video. You can see that the mogul is really focused on the kids and gets agitated and directs them to follow him whenever they stray off a bit like they are his pupils, or like he owns them. Then all of a sudden the camera comes into a scene where you can see more kids shooting a rap video and all shooting money from a Supreme gun. The camera zooms out almost to show you that this is the mogul’s whole rap empire they are looking over, all of their kids in one place (this empire already includes some chaos in the background). It’s subtle but hilarious, Gambino puts fricken chickens on the ground where the kids are filming the rap video. He is directly calling all of these rappers complete chickens for playing up this lifestyle and being the cause of so much chaos rather than coming out and telling somebody what’s really going on. Trying to get their money over everything else.
[Refrain: Choir & Childish Gambino]
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, tell somebody
You go tell somebody
Grandma told me
Get your money, Black man (Get your— Black man)
This is where things start to get interesting. Gambino is literally saying, go tell somebody about this! We all know what’s happening, why don’t you go let people know how bad it is? But like Jaguar Wright said, who do you tell when these moguls have the cops and feds paid off? This video is literally Gambino putting it all out there in this extremely popular song for everyone to see but yet we still just see the dancing and the violent chaos of people and police in the streets and not the root cause that is hidden in plain sight.
The vast majority of those who reviewed this video until now think this scene represents the tragic church shooting in Charleston in 2015. I think it does, but we also have to look at this from an angle of compression.
The people in the choir are all of the people who are currently singing the rap mogul’s praises and who are focused on going and getting what’s owed to them, get their money (who are also profiting off of the dead fellows music since it goes back to the original tune). You can see that each choir member has a distinct look to them. Think about who you are hearing about now who is about to be implicated in these freak offs and evil deeds. Is that Will Smith in the back left corner!? The short bald fellow in the front left maybe Kevin Hart? Rick Ross or TD Jakes maybe the bigger guy towards the back right? When the camera zooms in on the choir right at first to show their faces, doesn’t the guy in the bottom middle look like an uncanny version of Jordan Peele? Or is that meant to be Cuba Gooding Jr? Then just like the guitar fellow at the beginning, bang. You may be singing Diddy’s praises now, but he will cut you down whenever he suddenly feels like it.
I think almost for sure this initial section of the music video is Gambino acting as Diddy, because right after he shoots the choir, he does the elbow pump/chicken dance. At 3:14 in Diddy’s video for P.E. 2000 he does the chicken dance (he is up first in the video and I think Gambino is trying to say here I first present to you the first public enemy of 3 in this song). That elbow dance signals that it was Diddy and this is the end of his section.
[Chorus: Childish Gambino, Young Thug, Slim Jxmmi & Quavo]
This is America (Woo, ayy)
Don't catch you slippin' now (Woo, woo, don't catch you slippin' now)
Don't catch you slippin' now (Ayy, woah)
Look what I'm whippin' now (Slime!)
There have been many accounts of celebrities being given fancy cars after suffering abuse at the hands of these moguls. So these lyrics are saying that you better not slip up and tell people what’s really going on. And if you don’t look at this sweet carecord deal/movie contract I am going to give you. Beiber told this story about Diddy wanting to give him a luxury car.
Now suddenly, the dance switches from the chicken dance to a sudden bicep flex to signal us that we have now moved on from Gambino representing Diddy to our next mogul.
[Verse 2: Childish Gambino, Quavo, Young Thug, 21 Savage & BlocBoy JB]
This next chunk of the video is all about Jay-Z. I think this is the case because he throws his arms up in a bicep flex just like Jay does in the Otis music video at 2:38. And it makes sense Gambino would pick a dance move from a video with a huge American flag in the background to fit the ‘This is America’ theme. Gambino is mocking him saying, who are you really, the pretty guy or this hard gangster like Gambino shows in his dancing. Also right before they pan to the kids on the balcony, Bino also does Jay-Z’s signature lip curl look a couple times so we know it’s him and to signal the end of his section.
Look how I'm geekin' out (Hey)
I'm so fitted (I'm so fitted, woo)
Jay-Z is famous for making the fitted Yankees cap famous, it’s his signature look. More signs this verse is about Jay.
I'm on Gucci (I'm on Gucci)
Jay-Z has been seen in full wallpaper Gucci sweat suits but could also be referring to Gucci Mane who he hung out with at Beyonce’s tour around the time this song was released.
I'm so pretty (Yeah, yeah, woo)
I'm gon' get it (Ayy, I'm gon' get it)
Watch me move (Blaow)
These lines are probably referring to Jay-Z having a hidden preference for men, especially with the way Gambino flicks his wrist in the video when he says I’m so pretty.
This a celly (Ha)
That's a tool (Yeah)
On my Kodak (Woo) Black
I think that “this a celly, that’s a tool” harkens back to 2Pac’s lyrics in Changes where he sings, “They get jealous when they see ya with your mobile phone” then shortly after that he sings about the sound of his tool, referring to shooting a gun. But Childish flips these lyrics on their head. He is saying that it’s really the phone that’s a tool to be using, not a gun. And pans up and shows (the school kids specifically) on the balcony filming everything going on below. He’s telling the kids/other rappers, use your phone as a tool, you can record these bad deeds when you get blackmailed into being at the freak off. That’s how you can kill them and their career, not with a gun. Go tell somebody! There is also the reference to Kodak which plays into the picture taking theme, but also because Kodak Black has been accused of assaulting a teenage girl in a hotel room. So we have a good idea of what Gambino suggests all the kids start filming and collecting evidence of.
Ooh, know that (Yeah, know that, hold on)
Get it (Woo, get it, get it)
Ooh, work it (21)
Now we are onto Drake’s part. In the video Gambino starts doing the BlocBoy JB dance called Shoot. Drake is known for doing these little viral dance moves like in Hotline Bling. But not only that, this dance is also used in the song that both BlocBoy JB and Drake collaborate on for their video Look Alive. It starts at 2:07 in the Look Alive video. So this is Drake’s dance to signal his part is now starting.
Note this is where the pale horse rides by also potentially saying that Drake is one of the horsemen of the apocalypse. Interestingly, Drake’s collab with BlocBoy JB was pretty much the apocalypse for BlocBoy’s career, who hasn’t had a hit since.
Hunnid bands, hunnid bands, hunnid bands (Hunnid bands)
Contraband, contraband, contraband (Contraband)
I got the plug in Oaxaca (Woah)
They gonna find you like "blocka" (Blaow)
Again, we know this is Drake’s section because his song 10 bands starts out by saying “10 bands, 50 bands, 100 bands” almost identical to Bino’s lyrics here. Also Blocka was famously used by Biggie in his song Gimme the Loot which could be referring to Biggie's demise like Pac’s and making money from his death. Everything in this industry originates from pushing drugs, which has been alleged through the trafficking that Diddy, Jay-Z and Drake do through their private jets likely connected to their bosses, the Clive Davises and Lucian Grainges of the world. This escalates rap beefs and the whole culture to the next level where murder is often a consequence for young rappers in their prime when international drug lord money is involved.
An interesting point is this is the only time where Childish was about to shoot someone in the video, but where he didn’t have a school kid either handing him the gun or taking it away carefully from him. (Maybe also a diss at Drake that even though he acts hard he doesn’t shoot, he gets his horseman of the apocalypse to do his dirty deeds for him instead perhaps?). This is the beginning of the end for the rap mogul as he no longer has his kids doing his bidding for him. A simple message to show how the violence can be stopped, that these shootings can end when the kids stop enabling them. So then as soon as he can’t react in that moment and shoot someone his anger is forced to chill out, as shown by smoking a J, and to go back to exploiting the dead man’s music instead. If you don’t put a gun in someone’s hand when they are heated, those feelings too shall pass - kinda feel.
[Refrain: Choir, Childish Gambino, & Young Thug]
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, tell somebody
America, I just checked my following list, and
You mothafuckas owe me
Whose voice does that sound like!? It sounds a lot like Diddy to me, public enemy #1. This is basically saying that the moguls are the ones who we all owe it to for all of this glorified gun violence in America. That we owe them way more follows and likes for what a massive influence they have had on the violence and chaos we see in America today.
Grandma told me
Get your money, Black man (Black man)
(1, 2, 3—get down)
In Moneybagg Yo’s song 1, 2, 3, he also has a line that says “1, 2, 3, let’s go!” in a similar vein.
But something interesting I came across was Nas’s song Get Down where they use a sample from James Brown's “The Boss” that sounds extremely similar to the way Gambino screams “Get Down!” Which would fit well if the guitar singer from the beginning is meant to be Nas and Pac doing Thugz Mansion.
Also make sure you check out Nas’s song Get Down so that you can hear how much Jay-Z outright copied this song for The Story of OJ. From the musical structure with the piano and interwoven samples right down to the theme reiterated by the sample at the end of Nas’s song: “If that’s how our people are gonna get down, how are we ever gonna get up?”
SZA
Finally to wrap up the video, I have been stumped for a long time as to why SZA is randomly at the end of this video sitting on one of the cars. But I think I finally know why and it reconfirms that this last scene is all about Drake. If you watch Drake’s music video for Worst Behavior (not very Canadian of him to spell behaviour that way I might add) you will see Drake rapping and dancing with a few cars surrounding him and one of those cars has other rappers making cameos in it. In Gambino’s video SZA represents that car with a famous cameo. I think this is further confirmed when the black edges of the video start closing inwards at the end of This is America, the exact same way that Worst Behavior ends. So why SZA as the cameo then? Cause it reminds people that Drake is a p*do.
This is from an article in the Rolling Stone: In 2020, Drake revealed publicly that he and SZA had dated over a decade ago, well before she was an established artist (her earliest music goes back to around 2012; her critical breakthrough, Ctrl, came in 2017). On 21 Savage’s “Mr. Right Now,” Drake rapped about a newer fling who was a fan of SZA’s: “Yeah, said she wanna fuck to some SZA, wait / ‘Cause I used to date SZA back in ’08 / If you cool with it, baby, she can still play.” A few days later, SZA responded, corroborating Drake’s claim with a slight correction: they dated in 2009, when both would have been over 18. Since SZA would not have turned 18 until late 2008, she wanted to set the record straight. “in this case a year of poetic rap license mattered 🥴lol I think he jus innocently rhymed 08 w wait [sic],” she tweeted. “I just didn’t want anybody thinking anything underage or creepy was happening . Completely innocent . Lifetimes ago . [sic]”
If you have to specifically say something isn’t creepy and distance yourself from it being lifetimes ago, it usually is creepy. Drake would’ve been 22 when she was 17. Metro Boomin also happens to be on the Mr. Right Now track. He is currently in trouble for resurfaced old tweets showing how Metro used to tweet disgusting things about what he wanted to do to underage girls. Interestingly, Metro Boomin is also now beefing with Drake.
Drake doing his dance on the car of the original musician’s music seems to be accusing Drake directly of stealing 2Pac’s music. Orlando Brown recently said the cryptic statement that “Drake is Pac” which likely means he stole 2Pac’s approach/style/audience after his death. Gambino did some good foreshadowing here too with the recent AI release Drake put out of 2Pac.
This dance scene also signals that the Drake section is now over.
[Outro: Young Thug]
You just a black man in this world
You just a barcode, ayy
You just a black man in this world
Drivin' expensive foreigns, ayy
You just a big dawg, yeah
I kenneled him in the backyard
No, probably ain't life to a dog
For a big dog
The outro lyrics speak to how these gatekeepers keep black men down and control them with things like being forced to wear a dress to become famous or to submit to homosexual/p*do acts.. In the video, as I mentioned above, the black edges close in on Drake’s dancing scene in This is America. But they don’t completely close and end things like they do in the Worst Behavior video. Instead, in Gambino’s video, the camera pans to show the mogul running for his life with Young Thug’s lyrics almost like a quiet echo in the background. He isn’t running from the cops though, he’s running from the kids and from the public. When I mentioned earlier that the kids not handing over the last gun before Drake’s scene signalled the beginning of the end for the moguls, this is that conclusion. Where it is showing that if all the kids come together to stop enabling and rather expose the moguls, people will be chasing these bastards down once we realize what has been going on behind the curtain. Then the song that Young Thug is singing can just be a quiet echo of the way things were in the past.
If you don’t think Gambino would be this deep and that I went too far down the rabbit hole, do a Google search on the calculations that he came up with for why he sings about loving until 3005 in his song. He seems to go real deep with his lyrics. So a big question this leaves us with is, what did Childish Gambino witness in the rap industry? His whole rap career plays out like he is trying to avoid industry norms.
Even in Sweatpants, he has lyrics like:
No hands like soccer teams and y'all fuck boys like Socrates
You niggas ain't coppin' these, niggas ain't lookin' like me (Nah)
Nah, I ain't checkin' I.D. (Nah), but I bounce 'em with no problem
Seems like he is trying to make it really clear across his catalogue of music that he isn’t a p*do but that other rappers are. Where he is saying that he doesn’t need to ID his potential partners because he can tell they are obviously too young and that’s not hard to do.
Tell 'em, Problem (Problem!)
I'm winnin', yeah, yeah, I'm winnin' (What?)...
Rich kid, asshole, paint me as a villain
So who was trying to paint him as a villain, Drake? And that’s why the diss was originally meant for him?
Don't be mad 'cause I'm doing me better than you doing you…
Better than you doing you
Fuck it, what you gon' do? (What?!)
He’s taunting the other rappers cause he knows they can’t say shit if they are creeps. He has the same sentiment in Bonfire “It’s a bonfire, turn the lights out, I’m burning everything you mother fuckers talk about.”
Childish Gambino has always refrained from talking about the meaning of This is America whenever he is asked, and I can only assume that all of this is why.
Little Foot Big Foot
Now with his new release, Little Foot Big Foot and applying cultural compression to it, it has me wondering if he is referring to Megan Thee Stallion and the Nicki beef? People like Nicki (calling Megan Big Foot) have been claiming for some time she wasn’t even shot in the foot by Tory Lanez. There were many people laughing and making fun of Megan over getting shot. Which could be an interesting story for Childish to tell to represent how crazy this violent culture has gotten that people just laugh and blame the victim now when you get shot. Also a good metaphor for things like ‘shooting yourself in the foot’ for not having a lawyer look over potentially predatory industry contracts like in the beginning of his video. That you want to get in the cool kids club so bad you overlook it. Not as sure on this one though since the song just came out and I have only heard it a few times.
One last thing that is really interesting, there have been tons of artists on podcasts like Shay Shay talking about the strings these ultra rich moguls can pull. Like buying awards or gatekeeping people from being in the industry at all. There was even a story, I think maybe it was Gene Deal who told it, that when Killer Mike won at the grammys that Jay-Z was so angry he made sure to mess up his night by getting him locked up as soon as he left the awards stage. These moguls are extremely powerful and have an incredible amount of sway in the world/industry. If you check out Gambino’s profile on Youtube, his old music videos keep getting taken down, like Bonfire for example is just gone. Fans have been having to upload the videos themselves. There is a reply to a comment, on one of the fan uploaded vids, from Gambino’s account himself when someone asks why the videos are being taken down. His account just replies “Noone knows why :(“ Seems a bit odd all things considered and like maybe he has been at the mercy of these gatekeepers for going against the system.
I am so curious to know what the rest of you think about all of this!

The EXTREMELY detailed, mega-anxiety edition!!! Major events like consult and surgery day are labeled like this:
——— EVENT TITLE ———
Surgeon was Dr. David Whitehead and I saw him on Long Island (New Hyde)
Summarized list of major dates:
Consult: July 19 2023 Mental health letter acquired: August 9 Dates discussed: September 12 Pre-op appointment: December 18 Surgery day: January 8 2024 Post-op: January 17
November 11th 2022: Emailed northwell health for the first time, they emailed back saying to call. I was too anxious so I avoided it for a few months.
Called northwell a few months later but got too anxious talking to the person who picked up. They were being normal and talking normally, it was just personal anxiety on my part.
October 2022 - Early March 2023: Spent time talking to trans friends and family members about their timelines and processes for top surgery.
Looked into Penn medicine for a bit but wasn’t happy with the surgeons there, specifically as a nonbinary person. The patient navigational team however is lovely.
March 2: emailed Penn health patient navigation
March 3-10: correspondence and phone calls w patient navigation (absolutely wonderful people, some of the easiest phone calls I’ve ever had) Got lots of into on surgeons, things I’d need, processes etc.
Date unknown: phone call to Penn medicine asking about surgeons and possibly setting up as a patient (v long wait time on phone) Surgeon I had heard good things about only works w CHOP program and I’m was too old for that program. Other surgeons I was v iffy on.
March 23rd: Back to square 1. Called northwell again to set up an appointment. Everyone I spoke to was really nice. Could have set up an appointment within the week but decided to wait till the end of the semester. Scheduled a trans care and primary care appointment for May
Couple of calls In between for confirmations. Trans care appointment got moved around a bit and ended up being moved to a phone call.
May 8th: Trans care call: Basic preliminary questions like: Emergency contact, what you’re looking for, are you thinking of looking into hormones, experience w dysphoria or dysmorphia, mental health, and eating/nutritional concerns, things you might want doc to know, piercings or tattoos, do you do any drugs or drink often, etc. total call time was about 20 minutes. Doctor was incredibly kind, I still experienced a good deal of anxiety but the call was super easy, welcoming, and friendly. Got sent contact referrals for the surgeons, as well as trans-friendly therapists under my insurance.
May 9th: started looking at list of therapists and making respective emails and calls. Checking per session costs and double checking insurance. Most charge 100-150 per session. Got in contact w one.
May 10th: Called w first therapist talking about what I’m looking for, where I am in this process, if parents are supportive, and talking about costs. She was very friendly and affirming, wants to have a few sessions to get to know me and my situation before writing a letter. Understandable and expected, but frustrating.
May 15th: Primary care appointment: Went to northwell health primary care, parkinglot was a little scary (just a large lot with a lot of cars) but everyone working there’s is super kind. Office is incredibly affirming, pride flags and lgbtq+ art everywhere. Gave my insurance card, filled out some paper work, got called in pretty quickly. I have a needle phobia and medical trauma so I was panicking a bit in the office, nurse was good w me about it and doctor was very kind, I just requested to not have any blood work done that day and that was totally fine, so I could schedule that at a later date and go w a friend. Recommended to get blood work done before scheduling a consult w a surgeon. Also prescribed me a single dose anxiety med for the bloodwork which I was very happy about. I found over time that the anxiety meds unfortunately do little to nothing for my panic attacks personally when it comes to needles but regardless having a doctor acknowledge and respect that fear and listen to me was incredibly helpful and reassuring.
May 30th: Got blood work done in a different lab, went w a friend. Scheduling for that is super easy, I think I did it online actually I don’t entirely recall. they do take walk ins but I made an appointment to minimize complications and make sure I could prepare properly. Front desk/lobby area was a little spooky, but I think that is mainly just bc of my social anxiety. They take a urine sample, you give them your prescription, eventually they call you over for blood work. Quick and easy, tech was v nice and having a friend with me was incredibly helpful. Probably the best I’ve ever done with a needle despite the fact that I did still panic and get very lightheaded lol.
Got blood work results back within the next couple days, all looks a-okay! Neat :)
June 15th This day was incredibly difficult. I had my first session with a therapist to establish some ground knowledge around my dysphoria and the way that I view myself. Top surgery is something that I know from research and related experience Can be difficult and expensive to get and can take time, so much of my prep work has been on the understanding of taking things a step at a time and just knowing that the current way things are doesn’t have to be forever. It allowed me to be able to live with myself while prioritizing my health better. This read to the therapist as “not having the level of dysphoria [she’s] come to expect and look for in someone who is trans” and was largely based off the fact that I don’t want to go on hrt. Past that point I started to break down because now my method of learning to live with myself felt like it was actively going to work against me and prevent me from getting top surgery. I’m not good at talking about my dysphoria, I can’t imagine it’s easy for anyone, especially to a stranger I just met. It was rough, and I felt incredibly mentally drained after ending the session.
June 19th Called it quits with the first therapist, I felt incredibly disrespected and the one session we had put me in a mental spiral for days. It can feel some times in this process like the people you have to get permission from need you to be severely depressed and unable to wait another second for this procedure just in order to take you seriously.
After I left that therapist, I immediately got back to the list to find someone new. Spoke to a new therapist via email, but my insurance is kinda weird (Blue Cross Blue Shield out of state) so its off putting to some people. This therapist recommended I go through the office she started out at (Heart and Soul Counseling)
————- Time Skip ——————
IM BACK its time for some record keeping. Got super overwhelmed and lost the energy to document my process for some time so here goes.
HEART AND SOUL COUNSELING: My experience w/ this therapy office was mostly good. The person in charge, Jesse, was absolutely lovely and responsive. Never spoke in person, but any text/email interaction was prompt, respectful, and kind. The office is stellar with email/text communication, so I only ever had to call them once when I was initially inquiring about the office. This is something I wish all therapy/counseling centers did better, eliminated a ton of my anxiety and hesitation to speak to therapists.
I got set up w someone as quickly as possible and established what my goal was (to acquire letter document for my surgery team). I attended multiple session w the therapist, she was a kind lady but the sessions were unfortunately p miserable for me. We didn’t fit well, but I was willing to stick it out rather than backtrack on my process. She also did not invalidate me or accuse me of not being trans which was a major step up from my first therapy experience. Once I acquired my letter I did stop therapy there, I kindly explained to the therapist that it wasn’t a good match, but I may honestly explore my options at the office in the future. Receptionist there was also lovely and they had a cool fish tank.
———- CONSULT STARTS HERE —————
July 19th: CONSULT!!! My mama and I went to Dr. David Whiteheads office for a consult. Parking was a nightmare so I’m super glad I didn’t have to drive for this one (ty mama). Consult went really well, and the staff were all super friendly. Dr. Whitehead is cool, very chill energy and a bit intimidating, but I’m scared of everyone so that’s nothing new. First question he asked me is what I wanted/what he could do for me which caught me more off guard than it should have? I didn’t realize going into this process how many times people ask you what you’re having done even if it’s already written down, because there’s so much variety in what you can look for in the results.
We talked about the procedure, went through a slideshow n stuff, and discussed how I wanted a flat chest w/ no nipple preservation. They made sure to specify that my mental health professional letter had to include that I did not want nipple preservation because thats technically a “non-standard” appearance. Also had the first breast exam I’ve ever had in my life. Can’t say i’m a fan (not that I need to worry about that anymore!) Took pictures n measurements n such, and also discussed recovery supplies and care w me and my mom.
August 9th: After a plethora of painfully awkward therapy sessions, a decent amount of crying, and a couple breakdowns in friends cars/backyards, I got my therapist letter and sent it to the surgeons office. It ended up needing minor revisions to which I contacted Jesse from Heart and Soul and he got me the revised letter immediately. Unfortunately the surgical coordinator was out of office for the rest of the month the next day ;w;. Is how it be.
September 12th: Got a call from Surgical coordinator mid-painting class that I stepped out to take. Started discussing surgical dates!! She was kind enough to email the dates to me which was lovely because I was absolutely shaking/mind blank haha. There was an option for January 8th which felt like an absolute miracle the way it would work with my school schedule. It would give me a solid two weeks recovery time before spring semester began. Because it would be a couple months out, I was asked to contact her in the second week of October to submit documents to insurance.
(Timeline note: earliest date offered was in early December)
October 10th: Documents sent to insurance, predetermination started
October 30th: Received mail from my insurance approving my procedure as medically necessary (YAY) But! This is also where things get,,, fun! Dr Whitehead’s surgical coordinator, Alyssa, is a blessing and was very helpful and prompt with me despite the fact that I had to email her pretty constantly during this general time which I still feel bad about.
Around this time, my mom got diagnosed with breast cancer, which I reported to the surgical coordinator because it influences my family history (grandmother also had breast cancer). It was asked that I get genetic testing done because this could impact my surgical procedure. Now I’m handling the setup on this between helping my mom in her process setting up consults and considering her options because there of course is a lot of crossover to the steps I’ve already completed and am familiar with.
November 1st: Very kind person at cancer genetics calls me, sends me a family history questionnaire to fill out before I can be scheduled to see a genetic counselor. Filled out the questionnaire the same day.
November 8th: Called cancer genetics to check about scheduling, office was not open so left a message. Got a call back later in the day. I have a virtual appointment with a Genetic counselor Tuesday the 14th. Current plan is a mailed saliva genetic test but I’m going to ask if theres anything I can do to get results/materials quicker. If I can’t get results/feedback by December 8th my surgery date may get deferred.
Trying not to stress too much because there is little to nothing I can do about this, and I just don’t want to be sad. I’ve kept telling myself throughout this process to not get excited and not let myself believe anything is solid because something could happen at any time that might mess up my schedule or plan, and If I convince myself I’m in the clear, those changes will hurt a lot more. So far I think thats been a good move, because this really sucks.
My surgery date is still officially scheduled as of now as well as my first post-op. I will also ideally have pre-surgical testing done December 18th should I be cleared by genetics in time (Fingers crossed!)
ALSO! Def lean on friends if/when you can during this process. It can absolutely be challenging, and having a support system is incredibly important and helpful. I’m super lucky to have really lovely and supportive friends that are around to listen to me and send me pictures of stupid little animals.
November 9th: My mama is scheduled for her double mastectomy on December 4th
November 10th: Did some shopping with my mama for recovery supplies for double mastectomy/top surgery. Having watched a million and a half transition/top surgery videos and tiktoks and having read all the blogs and posts and tweets makes you a great support for someone suddenly faced with an upcoming double mastectomy! We might go shopping this weekend for some button ups and zip ups for her, clothes shopping is better done when you can try stuff on
November 14th: Meeting w genetic counselor: Victoria Webb, one of the loveliest medical care workers I’ve ever met. Had a virtual appointment with her to discuss and set up genetic testing. I explained to her about my situation w the proximity of my surgery and tight deadline as well as my willingness to do a blood test instead of a saliva kit to get results quicker. She was so incredibly kind and good with me, ended up being able to do a saliva kit and get results in time she deserves every good thing in life.
December 18th: pre-surgical testing: This was at the main hospital, everyone was really nice but I had a really bad panic attack despite being on Xanax.
The process is sort of like getting a physical. Measurements like weight and blood pressure get taken, lots of preliminary health questions. The people working with me were really kind and I was very open with them about my anxiety, it was visually apparent though anyway because I started crying the second we even started talking about the blood draw.
Once the equipment was actually brought into the room I started to panic. Both of the women working with me were really kind and helpful and tried to distract me and keep me talking the entire time, but I did still have a really horrible panic attack. Every muscle in my body locked up and I lost all my color, took a bit to get back to a spot where I could move and talk properly because my speech was affected too. It was a bit scary but funny to think about in post. Thanked the medical staff for being patient w me as always, a good portion of the anxiety is also guilt about making things harder for them. Got through it tho. Def eat before presurgical if allowed, I didn’t and that probably didn’t help!!
———- SURGERY DAY ————-
January 8th:
Ok so surgery day:
This day was very scary. Got my phone call the Friday prior for my surgery time which ended up being 1pm and I was asked to arrive around 11. Got there at 10 and went in at 10:30.
Called up to check in then in waiting room till someone brought me back to change. I told her right away about my anxiety with the iv bc that’s legit all I could think about. Got changed right after. I was generally shaky and a little disoriented the entire time because I was panicking but everyone was very patient with me. Clothes and belongings go in a bag in a locker and you get two gowns one that faces back and one that faces front. I was given underwear and a pad as well because lucky me I got my period a couple days before my surgery.
The pre-op area is a lot of little cubicles with curtain divider things, blue soft chairs, and medical equipment. Everyone I met and spoke to was very kind, but any time someone even suggested starting my iv I would panic. I was informed it would have to be placed in my hand and that terrified me, I’m especially anxious and sensitive about my hands and fingers. I think doctors and nurses tend to misunderstand exactly where my fear is with needles and ivs. It isn’t the pain that scares me, but the concept of veins and and anything being in them. Even writing this right now is horrible so I’m going to stop w any further detail. I spent the entire two-ish hours of pre-op absolutely terrified about this iv.
I wasn’t really keeping track of time but dr whitehead came in to do markings for surgery. They had cool rainbow socks on,big fan. Having your chest drawn on and just like, moved around n shit is such an experience. Felt bad because I kept losing my balance but doctor Whitehead is cool and I am 98% less scared about them now.
Probably my most favorite person I met during my entire hospital experience was the anesthesiologist. I know he told me what his name was but I couldn’t focus on or retain information at the time. He told me we could essentially put me to sleep with gas before putting the iv in and for the first time in probably a solid week I felt like I could calm down a little. He took a look at my hand and arm to check my veins which always does freak me out a bit but I’m more used to that kind of thing at this point and I know nothing bad is going to happen. One of the nurses came in with the iv equipment and he let her know that were going to wait till in the or which was also incredibly helpful because I absolutely panicked when I saw that little supply kit again.
V nice lady brought me into the or, I’d never been in one before it was cool. They had a little music speaker which was really cool. Took off blue jacket gown and they helped me onto the table. They put a warm blanket over my legs and my chest to help me calm down. Before long they gave me a mask w fun happy sleepy time gas, they let me keep my arms on my chest for a while which was really nice because I was still scared. I started getting loopy pretty fast but I still heard when someone mentioned where the iv equipment was and panicked a little because of that. I remember feeling them take my hand for that but never actually felt anything happen. Just some fear but the gas was v helpful obvi. Someone said they would see me in a little bit, and then I was groggily waking up in recovery.
Recovery was a little rough bc the iv was still there (fully wrapped up so I couldn’t see it though which was rad) but I was still really anxious about it until it was taken out and when it was taken out. For anyone that struggles w this i did not feel them remove it, just the tape. Everything was mentally much easier after that. After a while, going over instructions w parents, a cracker , some ginger ale and some juice, my dad helped me Get dressed and I was helped out to the car in a wheel chair. Ride was smooth bc of remaining numbness and meds except a few Bumps in the road
TOP SURGERY GOTTEN
My post op date was scheduled for Jan 17th and that’s the day I got my drains out followed by several post op check-ins. First week of recovery was miserable but things exponentially approved each day past that, and I went back to school in person two weeks post-op with driving and item-carrying assistance from friends!
Will upload recovery notes at a later date! Feel free to message me with any questions, more than happy to answer and give info! I’m a bit over four months out from surgery now and thriving 🥳

Hi everyone, I (38F) had a spinal fusion in February (L4-L5 ALIF 360 with posterior screw placement). First of all, I was very nervous to have the surgery but I had done several years of physical therapy, numerous cortisone injections, and a rhizotomy, so I felt I exhausted all my non-surgical options. It’s been 12 weeks and I’m feeling really good - all the pain I had in my back when I was standing/laying flat is gone and it is a miracle! I’m still having a bit of nerve sensation in my leg every now and then and a glimmer in my back if I overdo it, but it’s not really pain. So i am PSYCHED to not be in constant pain!
With that said, I have had a couple of "weird" side effects happen since surgery and I’m curious if anyone else has had or heard of these things.
First, my hands have usually been cold my entire life, but since surgery if my hands happen to be cold, there have been 3 occasions when one of my fingers will turn completely white just in one or two knuckles - and it is numb and tingly. If I warm up my hands in warm water it’ll immediately look and feel normal again. When I’ve looked up Raynaud’s phenomenon it looks like that, but just one finger. My doctor said Raynaud’s usually affects more than one finger so I don’t know. Has anyone suddenly gotten Raynaud’s after having spine surgery or had one finger turn randomly white?
The second issue is that, like my hands, my feet have also always been cold for my entire life. After surgery however, they were immediately warm. I thought that surgery suddenly fixed my bad circulation and I was into it. But then it started feeling a bit too warm, and my feet were also suddenly very dry where they haven’t been before. The bottom of my feet also appears more red/white splotchy (see photo). Then my left one started cooling off, and now my left one is basically coldemore normal to what it was before surgery, but my right foot is still warm. I can warm up my left foot with my right foot and it kind of weirds me out that they are different. I had a vascular ultrasound on both legs - no blood clots or artery/vein issues that they can see. The only thing it said was my right foot had very mild hyperemia, or more blood in it (which I assumed since it is warmer). My surgeon told me initially to see my PCP, who ordered this ultrasound, and now my PCP is telling me that I need to go back to my surgeon about it, lol. The only other thing that popped up in my labs was a slightly elevated thyroid which I haven’t had previously.
Has anyone heard of this? Since my foot has changed temperature since surgery I’m hoping it will just continue to figure itself out as my nerves continue to heal, but the right foot has been consistently warm, regardless of my environment for the last 12 weeks which seems like a good amount of time. Am I just going to have one hot foot forever?
Thanks for reading! - Cold Hands, Hot Foot

• Age: 31 (at time of injury)
• Height & weight: 5ft5 70kg
• Gender: Female
• Medications: None prior to injury
• Smoking status: Never
• Alcohol and drugs: Drink occasionally (1-2 pints AVG a month at most), drugs dabbled with the odd joint at uni but not a drug user.
• Previous and current medical issues: Listed in post

My wife suffered a ruptured splenic aneurysm during labour. It was Asymptomatic until labour and where it first presented due to the rupture. My son passed away as a result but after a CT-A it was determined that she had a dozen aneurysms on her visceral arteries (only on Visceral arteries), the largest being a 5.8cm aneurysm on her Right hipatic artery and a ruptured splenic aneurysm which was life threatening.
They embolised the splenic and then stented the right Hipatic/coeliac arteries and saved her life after 4 surgeries and a total of 24hrs under GA and 40 units of blood. Very thankful as I was told 4 separate occasions that she wasn't going to make it. The surgeons were genuinely the nearest real life thing to Dr. house.
She currently has perfused visceral aneurysms (GDA, SMA and splenic hilum) which are unchanged in size since July 2023. Overall reassuring appearances.
We've been discharged by the Rheumatology and Lupus consultants, all infectious causes have been eliminated, and are currently in the care of the Genetics consultants. I can't name all the various teams we've met with but it's over 15 separate consults of various disciplines.
It's definitely a connective tissue disorder as my wife has many of the other 'soft' symptoms such has hyper mobility of the small joints (fingers, thumbs etc.), born with an esotropia (corrected at birth) which has started turning outwards as she's aged, hearing loss (originally diagnosed as bilateral otosclerosis but not sure now as has nerve involvement), bruises exceptionally easily (often has large purple brusies without reason or remembering how), thin skin on thighs and under arms/veins visible, relatively elastic skin, high myopia. There's more but I can't remember.
My son died at 40weeks+0 so carried to full term. Laboured to 9cm. No uterine tears, delivered through CS, stitched back no issues, healed no issues.
We have since had a full CTD Genetics panel (Something like 35 genes tested for different CTDs) all returned negative. We had been running on the presumption of VEDs up until this point but panel confirmed it was not VEDs as there's no spelling mistake on the COL3A1 gene. She does have a variation on the SKI gene but geneticist has ruled that out as the culprit as she shows no signs of any other symptoms of SKI.
No family history of anyone else having anything remotely similar. My wife is one of 4, her mum carried all to full term. Had a full post-mortem and nothing was found related. Father has had a CT-A and has no aneurysms. One sister has had an MRI and is ruled out, still waiting on her other sister and brother but none of them have any of the soft symptoms. Her maternal grandmother had 5 children no complications, her dad is one of 4 no complications either. Grandmother on the paternal side has hearing loss also.
Any ideas? We keep being told it's probably something that's not been discovered but I just don't see that being the case. Of all the possibilities VEDs seemed so likely but she still doesn't quite fit it. Really looking for absolutely any ideas we can push the geneticist for any other testing we could try?
Ultimately we want to determine the cause as we want to know the risks of another pregnancy with my wife's embryos. Another pregnancy has been ruled out but we're trying to find out the risks of using her embryos with a surrogate or if it's possible to do a PGT to make sure it isn't inherited.

32, Female 5’2, 165
Issue:
I was diagnosed with a brain AVM in 2009 - 3 gamma knife treatments in 2019 to treat it once over & had a “blood brain barrier leak” (I think?) in February 2023.
I have never been prescribed a triptan until my new dr 2 months ago… when I asked if it was safe he asked me how “living in the box” was treating me. - I appreciated his confidence until I took my first dose because I felt like my head was going to explode.
He now wants me to get this “DHE” infusion that works similarly to a triptan with a black box warning of “fatal cerebral ischemia” 😳 when I KINDLY reminded him of my negative reaction to one dose of the triptan & asked him if he still thought it was a good idea he told me that it was good to do my research but that everything has a laundry list of side effects, even Tylenol & not to worry….
Is anyone able to offer a second opinion on this medication & Brain AVMs? I’m nervous 😥
BRAIN MRI NOTES:
Extensive abnormality in the posterior right temporal lobe, occipital lobe and parietal lobe. This is a combination of abnormal vasculature consistent with patent AVM/angiomatous transformation but also vasogenic edema and ill-defined white matter enhancement that is very likely radiation necrosis.
The FLAIR and T2 abnormality extends to involve the splenium of the corpus callosum. The enhancement is in the posterior most right temporal and inferior parietal/occipital region that is very likely radiation necrosis given appearance with ill-defined irregular primarily subcortical white matter enhancement. An additional similar globular irregular enhancement in the medial right parieto-occipital region medial to the occipital horn and atrium of lateral ventricle is also noted unchanged. In addition, there are enhancing vessels, angiomatous transformation and/or feeding arteries/veins related to the still patent AVM in the right hemisphere. These are most prominent in the high right parietal lobe. There is a single globular prominent cortical venous drainage in the right parietal region that extends to the sagittal sinus which appears patent. The extensive vasogenic edema and nonvascular enhancement likely radiation necrosis is stable.
The AVM is supplied by distal right MCA and PCA branches with dominant cortical venous drainage superiorly to the sagittal sinus. There are areas of substantial T2*hypointensity in the right parieto-occipital region in the deep white matter and in the subcortical region consistent with areas of hemosiderin staining or embolic material/calcification.
Medication: topamax 200mg 2x qulipta10mg , gabapentin 100mg 2x vyvanse 50 clonidine 0.1 vitamin d

My mother had a bilateral knee replacement done in Oct 2023 in a tier-2 city by Doctor A. Left one done first without any problems and right one done 5 days later with complains of tingling and burning sensation (at the foot) post the surgery. The discharge summary advised bed rest, normal diet and physiotherapy.
Two months later, the problem still persisted along with increased pain. Doctor A advised futher rest, and was told it would take time since she has diabetes and hypertension since 8 years.
With no relief after another month, she developed a small superficial bed sore at the ankle that was treated by doctor B in a different hospital in the same tier-2 city (Doctor A travels frequently and was unavailable most of thr time). Doppler scan indicated dilated veins and no deep or superficial vein thrombosis. Doctor C was instructed by Doctor B to do a pressure dressing every 3-4 days at her residence.
Three months later, the bed sore at the ankle increased to 2-3ins while Doctor C kept adding pressure bandages and peeling any black areas.
Tired of Doctor C, she visited Doctor B again at the hospital and he was shocked at the extent of damage. He did another doppler test and reported that there was no arterial flow in lower tibial artery and calcified plaques in lower limb arteries. Ignoring Doctor D's advice of conducting an angioplasty immediately, he went ahead with debriedment and advised further pressure bandage and bed rest.
After going through all this ordeal alone, my mother now revealed to me (I live in a different country) and our other relatives all of the pain she was going through alone.
I immediately took her to Doctor E in a tier-1 city who diagnosed that she has a gangrene heel and has severe calcification in her lower arteries and one blockage at the knee that was possibly caused/aggravated by the knee replacement surgery. She was at the risk of amputation if we had waited longer. Angioplasty was done immediately requiring 3 balloons and she is on vacuum dressing for the last 3 weeks
She is now heeling at the good care of doctor E requiring high doses of antibiotics and in the near future will need plastic surgery to close the open wound.
I think she is:
Wronged by doctor A for not evaluating her condition properly before conducting the knee replacement
Wronged by Doctor B for ignoring advice by Doctor D (to perform an angioplasty stat) and jumping to clean the wound without addressing the main problem and to make a quick and large amount of money
Wronged by Doctor C by primarily being incompetent and not updating status to Doctor B.
I want to know what legal actions I can take and also want to possibly file a PIL to make sure this kind of malpractice does not happen to anybody.
Please guide.

Bright illuminescant flashes bolted through the dark-lit sky, rushing and raging through clouds seemingly made of gossamer and finely woven felt. You could almost reach out and touch them if not for the raging storm ripping and hollering. It shone and splintered along the sky, splitting into a thousand arcs, each converging and convexing along the stars. Electrical currents spun like lavender spider webs along a farmhouse wall. The arcs traveled, painting a vibrant tapestry along its wake before reaching their climax and releasing a wicked KRAK as the lights slowly faded.
The gossamer clouds wept tears of dull acidic rain that fell, cascading downwards. Down to the swampy fetid fields below. Their droplets splashed and sizzled against the sand, slowly fizzing before hardening into a thin velvet glass before beginning all over again. A sad display of god’s fury laid bare and plain for all to see. The rain had begun just a week prior, but its assault had persisted in a constant pattern ever since. The swamp ached and squirmed in an agonizing way as the rain melted away any sign of basic life.
Puddles of the acidic deluge collected along a road leading to the once fertile silver mine, just three miles from the town of Crestfall. Near the edge of the road, a fork splits off into multiple directions. South of the fork leads to the entrance of Deep Rock Mine. The mine’s entrance stands agape, resting at the base of a mountain. The mine’s layout, a cavern of crisscrossing and haphazardly formed tunnels, awaited past the thick darkness entrapping the entrance. They curve and wind up the spine of the mountain, as well as descend deep into the now dead earth.
The face of the mountain was bare but rough. Rocks jutted and sloped along its curvature, forming a near mesmeric pattern of spiked granite. Towards the peak, a malicious and not all entirely natural pattern emerged. As the acidic rain fell, framing the mountainous backdrop, the pattern watched and waited. An almost human-like visage stretched along the face of the mountain like canvas pulled over a wooden frame. It’s design scorn into the rock itself as if meticulously laid out to warn any who dared breach the confines of the swamp.
Silence lingered amongst the misty atmospheric dredge, save for the muffled and subtle ambietic sounds of the rain. Through the dead foliage and gnarled remains of creatures recently passed, a sound rang forth. Distant exclamation and reverberated clanging rhythmically sounded from deep within the mine. Up and down the mine laid stalactites and stalagmites haphazardly stationed around every corner. Their abrupt positioning cast shadows wherever light felt unable to reach. The mine walls were smooth from years of work and toilage, along with the long uninterrupted tunnels, created an almost echo chamber for sound.
Abrupt crashes and distant thrashes echoed through the winding chamber. Its sounds detailed a fierce battle between clashing swords and fervent blows.
Or so it would seem.
A sword, emblazoned with the sigil of a raven, flew across the dimly lit room. Its body crashes and clings as it skips along the floor, its blade slashing and carving thin lines into the granite flooring as it makes contact with the ground. A fierce shadow sprawls along the cave walls, depicting a struggle between foes.
The wanderer-and recent owner of the raven crested blade-crashes to the floor. Leather straps firmly tied around his shoulder blades catch most of the weight of the fall, but pain still echoed through his nerves.
“Hells! You slimy bastard!” The wanderer winces and yells in a blinded fury. “You don’t play fair, and here I thought we were having a nice sport of it.”
No reply immediately came from his opponent, still standing off near a downed torch. Flame wisped and flicked along the ground, casting shadows and dreaded omens as if they were ripped directly from a child’s nightmare.
At once, the foe stepped forward. The shadows sprawled across the walls painted a disturbing picture of horror and grotesque form. Imaginative figures born from shadows were always so much more terrible than the beings that cast them, but in this case it was clearly the other way around. The foe opposite The Wanderer lurched forward, it's body a gnarled vestige of exoskeleton and mandibles. It almost resembled a large insect, like a praying mantis that decided its evolutionary cycle had not quite finished yet.
On multi-socketed legs, it snapped and convulsed along. Every movement of its body felt agonizing, as if the creature was hastily thrown together by a quite absent god. Various olive and violet fluids oozed and dripped from its husk like body as it vocalized terrible sounds. The creature-seemingly unable to speak-produced noises from its mouth that resembled a mix of gargles and marbles being tossed along a wooden floor. All the while, its grotesque pincer like appendage snapped and clicked almost involuntarily.
The wanderer-still recovering from his fall-slowly pushed his body along the cold rocky ground, his arm still pulsing with pain.
“Oh my, what big mouths you have.” The wanderer teased sounding much more worried than he intended. ‘Always good to keep in control of the situation. Confidence is key.’ As he was always want to say, but this wasn’t an ordinary situation.
His arm traced along the ground, reaching and prodding for his recently lost weapon. Daring not look away from the oncoming threat, he felt nothing. His sword was currently resting near the opposite side of the cave room, resting flat along the ground. Away from The Wanderer’s grasp, far away from being of any further use here it seemed.
Doubt surged through his mind, but only for a short time. ‘Doubt breeds more doubt, and further doubt breeds ruin’, another favorite.
Clenched palms moved along the granite flooring. Leather gloves scraped and bruised as The Wanderer lifted back to his feet, regaining balance and fervor. The arm that had broken his fall felt numb and altogether absent.
‘Dislocated most likely, not a big enough fall to break.’
The insect-like foe-still closing the distance between them-snapped and gurgled in an almost territorial display of aggression.
The Wanderer grinned, placing his uninjured arm against its opposite’s elbow, before violently, yet methodically, pushing it upwards. A clear snap, followed by a dull pop echoed through the room. Feeling began pouring back into his arm as the vibrating itch of numbness faded. Both arms began to raise, fists clenched, the leather gloves creased and squelched from the sheer pressure as his hands formed tightly wounded fists. Fists pointed squarely towards the all not entirely normal creature still gurgling and jerking along the shadow filled room.
“Oh...” The Wanderer began. “I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t enjoy every second of this.” His fists raised up, reaching level with the bridge of his nose. “Come one now, give us yer best.”
As if understanding -and altogether disliking- the series of vulgar remarks thrusted toward it, the creature squealed through its deformed face. The jerking motion its movement seemed to have before was replaced with a fluid dash as it quickly closed the distance between the two adversaries. Arms outstretched as its gnarled and jagged hands opened and closed with violent snaps and twinges. Reaching out, grasping the air between them. The gap closed quickly, much quicker than he anticipated, but not enough to catch him entirely off guard as he shifts weight from right the left. The slender frame of his body flanking to the side of the creature.
Shadows arched and flailed with each movement, creating a strange optical illusion across the cave walls. The subtle shifting wind and osculation of the two fighters created an almost mural of events through the flames. Clashing swords, trumpeting horns and creatures that rivaled the tallest spires in Etheral began to converge into an unrecognizable painting of events. The fire loomed, gazing at the creature, at The Wanderer. Its gaze almost purposeful and full of intent. Neither the two beings made any note of the grand display unfolding around them. Fire is known to be a harsh mentor, and an even harsher ally. If one was to wander too deeply into its wounding gaze, one might find themselves trapped, forever living in the tapestry it painted.
The creature was fast, but nowhere as fast as him. Once useless, now repaired, the dislocated arm wrapped between the creatures glistening forearm, interlocking before weight shifted again. The creature stalled as if to reorient itself to face the man, but its movements were not its own. Quickly and deftly, The Wanderer placed immense weight on his forward foot, counterbalancing against the creature as their locked arms rotated and shifted sideways. Arching forward, the shift in balance quickly broke as the creature began to lift in the air as The Wanderer’s rear leg lifted to relegate pressure onward. Flailing and spewing its noxious fluid, the creature flipped entirely, finally crashing to the floor in a savage crunch. The Wanderer stands above, looking downward as it convulses in a fit of pain (could it even quantify pain) and anger.
A greyish foul-smelling slime coated The Wanderer’s chest and forearm. Small indentions formed along the hard leather surface of his jacket, most likely from the not entirely cosmetic spikes embedded into the creature.
“Alright, now I’d say we’re fairly close to a draw here.” The Wanderer began. “How’s say we handle the rest with a bit more diplomacy and grace? No point and making a bigger stink than we already got, but telling by the state of yourself, I’d say you know all about stink.”
The maddening gurgle of the creature slowed as its body began to calm. Its arms moving outward, sprawling along the hard granite rock as its legs raise along with the rest of it. Wet dew drips along the ground, rippling and casting weird reflections from all directions as the creature steps slowly along their puddles. Slow anxious steps it takes. Its demeanor changes from a wild and disturbed animal to a more methodic and wary being. Eyes of bluish gray sink into its head, pupils moving slowly, analyzing and taking in information. It stands straight, back locked into an opposing stance. God it was big. The man couldn’t much get a good measurement before with its body slouched over in a hermit like stance. It must be at least seven feet tall, equally proportioned from its legs to its torso. The head was rounded, almost human, with its bug-like mandibles protruding in a horrific fashion.
The Wanderer had dealt with creatures before. Along his travels he had come across a litany of monstrous beings; Wargs, Secrolants, Jittering Fiends, Goblins, Spiderlings. None of them quite matched the state of this one. Although he had heard of such beings, none had crossed paths before. The way it moved, the way it thought, it all was abnormal. It's quite simple to take a beast down, some you anger and gain the advantage, some you outsmart, others you can simply scare away. But this one.... oh, he was a different breed entirely. The way its mood could change mid-fight, or how it seemingly understood what was being said. And the way it stared. Thoughts were jutting along in the bug brain of its, and when monsters start thinking, all strategy and preparation goes out the window. Unpredictable is what they become, and prediction was The Wanderer’s bread and butter.
Wary now he waits, staring back at the creature. Locked eyes, they waited. Eyes filled with thought, filled with understanding and reasoning -but most egregiously- they were filled with malice. The fight was not over, they had just reached half-time.
“Let it not be stated that I did not strive for peace and harmony at every turn.” The Wanderer quipped, his hand raised once more, ready for another assault.
A flame flickers, casting shadows once again. Shadows of a man holding wolves at bay, hands outstretched to create a distance between them. The wolves circled and plotted, looking for weakness at every tune, but finding none. Leaves fell, becoming ash as they reached the ground. A fire spreads amongst the ash laden floor, consuming the visage, the man, the wolves. All in consumed in an immense concentrated heat, until the shadows fade to nothingness once more.
The creature meanders onward, just a few steps at a time; looking on as The Wanderer holds his footing, fists raised and ready. Each step of its hard glistening exoskeleton crunches against small rocks and debris sprawled along the cave floor, knocking them aside, producing echoed wails that seemingly bounced from surface to surface. After the third step it abruptly launches at the man, arms outstretched once more in a fit of animalistic fury. Thought seemingly left its eyes as they glazed over into a dull grey, the feeling and reasoning sinking further and further to the back of its mind. The Wanderer grinned, his stance loosening as the soles of his feet began to trace an outline of movement, preparing and readying for a counteroffensive. As its dripping breached the outline, The Wanderer shifted his weight once more, quickly flanking the creature to the side once again, but something was off. His eyes traced the movements of its body, of its arms, of its legs. The animosity in them seemed to almost shift mid attack, becoming lucid and methodical. As if the creature was dancing along with him. Even tracing down to the ground, the footing was wrong. Not his footing. He was always perfect. The dance was memorized, trained, honed to a sharp edge. No, it was the creature’s.
Abruptly the creature’s body shifted, its legs tracing backwards, its torso shifting to the side. A corrective action, a counterattack to his counterattack. Shadows of the pair danced along the cave wall, depicting a wickedly abstract waltz. The creature’s arm whipped outward, its claws barreling towards the thin leather separation between his elbow and forearm. God, it was fast. Faster than The Wanderer. Rip, flash, a bright light, then the crashing of feet as the two returned to their original standing.
It all happened so fast. Faster than he could articulate. He was used to speed, used to tracking and understanding battle situations, creating countermeasures, analyzing the most likely move and executing it within a fraction of a second. All of that was done, but it was all wrong. The creature moved in peculiar fashion, acted as if it were moving on instinct while simultaneously acting with thought and strategy. How could it possibly go both ways?
As he thought, mouth slightly open, breath pouring between his lips in a hot and heavy fashion, he hardly thought of anything else. They had made contact, but there was no feeling. Checking for wounds mid-encounter was generally out of the question with beasts. Often, they gave little time for thought or first aid, but the creature stood and waited. The dull grey look in its eyes were gone again, replaced with the methodical gaze of a strategist analyzing a battlefield. The Wanderer lowered his right arm and traced it along the path of his elbow, reaching his shoulder before he felt it. A definite gash traced about two inches wide, the depth of it couldn’t be guessed, but it had breached the leather. As his hand returned to a fist, warm fresh blood dripped between the fingers, falling and coagulating against the dust and pebbles along the ground. He had indeed been injured, but there was no feeling to it. All felt well, and that’s precisely why all was, in fact, not well.
“You’re a strange one. Not quite like anything I’ve seen before, but I’ll get to know you real well soon enough.”
His eyes moved from the creature, scanning along the ground. Before when this was a simple clean-up, a weapon would be handy, but hardly required of someone with his skills, but this was anything but simple. Parameters had changed, he’d very much like his sword back now.
It was nowhere to be seen initially. The room was dark, with little else than a soft glow from the fallen torch illuminating a small area and casting shadows that obscured others. Then it appeared. Near the feet of the creature, the raven crested blade sat where it had since the beginning of this strange dual. Thoughts echoed along in his head, casting suspicions and doubt in every facet of the encounter. Things were not as they appeared.
A slight grin crept along his face again, before quickly subsiding. “Think I have enough time for one more go of it. Care to lead?”
The creature stood, watching and plotting before the dull grey of its eyes appeared once again, launching it into another fury. It lunged, arms outstretched again, running full speed to the man. He simply stood, his hands loosening from tightly wound fists of rock to loosely packed fists of snow. His palms opened slightly; his footing loosened as the heels of his feet digging into the hard rocky floor. They began to move slightly, tracing a straight horizontal line where he stood as he slowly began to back away. The creature, still in a frenzy, closes the distance fast. Seemingly faster than any previous assault as The Wanderer ceased his slow backing retreat, his feet returning to a strong stance, soles digging deep into the earth. He takes in a breath, his heartrate slowing. The light sounds of the cave begin to grow, becoming more apparent and concentrated. Small droplets of dew falling from the ceiling, wind softly blowing along, echoing through the harrowed halls and the flickering of a flame slowly speaking its ancient language. They all converged, mirroring themselves as The Wanderer’s eyes closed. Time seemed to slow as the creature came closer, its steps further apart, its maddening gurgling seemingly floating away. It stepped, stepped and stepped along the ground, pushing pebbles and dust without thought.
Finally, it reached the line carved into the rock. Its foot crunched, making contact with the earth, and in an instant its eyes reverted again. The grey dullness seeping away to its methodically stategistic norm. In that instant, The Wanderers eyes erupted open. The chittering thing’s arms stretch out for his neck, hoping to seize his artery with its horrific claws. Quickly, quicker than anything that day, The Wanderer moved in a fast range of motions that all seemingly happened at once. His weight once again shifted, flanking the creature. His arms locked into a position of counterattack. The creature quickly issued its own countermeasure, once again whipping its body and throwing its claw outward, aiming higher than before, aiming for his neck.
A flame moved. Shadows formed along the walls once more, although they showed a different scene. A scene depicting two swordsman locked in deathly combat. Their swords swinging violently but with grace and purpose. They clashed a thousand times. Each time sending a spray of bright sparks that swelled through the air creating intricate patterns that lingered before slowly fading.
The creature was stuck, unable to move, unable to continue its assault and unable to return to its desired location. The Wanderer's palm grasped the creature's wrist tightly, locking it into a hold. The grey of the creature’s eyes were completely gone now as its pupils darted around in panic. His hand arched forward, his foot kicking –what would assumedly be- the creature’s calf, buckling its knees and forcing it to the ground. Cracking and popping erupted from the joints of its arm as his grip tightened. It’s gurgling became sporadic, as if pleading to be set free. He simply watched it, once against studying its behavior, its patterns, its mannerisms.
“You really are special. Not like anything in the world I imagine, but what makes you so special.” The Wanderer clenched his hold tighter, the creature falls lower, its face pushing into the cold rock. “You were playing a game, weren’t you? You understand what I’m saying too, and that I can assure you is indeed something special. Predicting my movements, using the techniques against me. You weren’t just fighting for a meal. You were learning, weren’t you?”
The creature clicked and gurgled, chittering against the ground as the hard surface of its arm began to crack.
“Now, I’m not opposed to teaching if I aim to gain something from it, but what I won’t abide is being played with. Now...” He plants his foot against the back of the creature's neck, both arms holding its locked appendage in a pulling motion. “I think I deserve to know a little more about you my foul-smelling friend, and if I’m right up until this point, you outta know exactly what I’m saying. I also assume you know a threat when you hear one. So...” His grip tightens, his leather boot slowly crunched against the creature’s skull. “Tell me what you are, and where you learned to be so damn special.”
The creature’s eyes widen, the dull grey returning, filling its retinas as it begins to violently convulse. A shrill screech fills the room, echoing along the walls, traveling through the twisting and winding tunnels of the long-forgotten mine. Shadows creep along the cave walls once more, scattering and convulsing, twisting into horrid and unimaginable shapes. Creatures that belong to fables and horror tales begin flooding along the shapes as the flame whips and crackles. The torch quickly combusts, the flames turning a sharp blackish violet. Heat bellows from the waves of ember emitting from the now monumental display of hellfire as the shadows multiply, taking over every inch of coverage. The Wanderer’s ears tremble at the immense noise, his vision begins to weaken as the shrill echo reaches a climactic crescendo. Any more of this and it’s all over, lights out.
He looks downward to the creature, its mind warped with whatever dark arts influenced it. His grip tightens as his foot presses firmly against the back of its head. Slow crunching and cracking sounds begin to intermingle with the terrible sounds of its cry. As the boot came down, harder and harder, the creature’s terrible screech began to thin and grow in pitch, like the air being slowly released from a balloon. Then, a horrendous snap before the head was no more. Violet and green brain matter covered the area around its neck as small fragments of skull of tissue caked along the sides of his boots. All at once the cry stopped, and along with it the room slowly began to darken. The flame began to slowly dwindle back to its original size, its color returning to a soft orange glow.
The Wanderer stepped back; his eyes firmly planted on the now deceased creature lying before him. A pool of its blood slowly trickled along the floor, reaching for his sword. Slowly, his body lumbered to the lost blade. Its handle was wrapped in scaled pitch blade leather, its blade a vibrant silver, still glistening with oil. The visage of a raven prominently scorn into the finish of the blade itself. Before the foul-smelling blood reaches the blade, the man slowly leans down to collect it. His body ached, his arms felt heavy and as the world around him began to dim, he retrieved the blade. Weighing it in his hand he felt secure, like a lost piece of him was restored with its retrieval. It felt so much heavier than before, or maybe he had just been weakened from the encounter. He gazed down upon it, his hand clenched hard around the dark leather handle. A dark fluid began to pool around his hand, streaming softly down from his arm.
The Wanderer turned his arm over, now looking at the wound he had taken from the creature’s first counterattack. It didn’t seem very bad, or at least not as bad as previous wounds he’d sustained, but the bleeding was alarming. It streamed softly, almost without notice. The blood itself was dark as well, as if it had already begun coagulation. A strange wound. A worrying wound. Suddenly his head became light, the room began to dim, and the walls started to blur. No, everything about this was wrong.
In the strange lucid state he was left in, he almost didn’t notice the changes around him. A quite fell over the room, the flickering flame seemed to even quite down to a faint whisper. A soft noise crept along the ground. Soft tapping, the sound of pebbles and rock being pushed aside, dust parting between single soft strides. The pain in his head grew louder, his heartbeat thumping from his chest to his forearm, ending finally against his forehead.
What is happening to me?
As if to answer, a rapid movement jostled him back to reality as he quickly turned, sword still gripped tightly in hand. A quick flash of movement rushed towards him, its motioned and sounds all too familiar to him. As nimbly as he can muster, he raises his blade outward in an attempt to impale the newfound enemy now barreling towards him, but a twinge of searing pain in his shoulder halts the attack. All he manages is a defensive stance, sword raised, arm placed behind the blade to prepare for impact as the creature crashes into him.
They both fall, splashing into the violet puddle of dank smelling blood that has pooled along the cave floor. A creature –almost identical to the one lying dead beside him- lies atop the blade protecting his body. Its arms crash against the leather bracers protecting his soft flesh. Claws come crashing down, scrapping against leather, making large slashes in them but not enough to break fully through the thick coating. Slime and mucus drip down from its maw, coating The Wanderer’s arms and neck. His arms are placed defensively against the side end of the blade, separating the two, but he can feel himself weakening further and further. Rough outlines of the creature emerge through blurred vision. Heat travels along his arm and forehead, casting confusion and sweat to pour over his body.
What the hell is happening!?
Suddenly, the creature lunges its head down, breaching the space between the blade and The Wanderer’s neck. Its snapping pincer like mandible opening and shutting in rapid and rabid bites. Before it has a chance to make contact, The Wanderer frees one of his trapped hands and grapples the creature’s head. With strength slowly fading from his body, he fruitlessly pushed back the creature's disgusting face. With every inch he pushes, the creature seemingly gains two. A battle of attrition begins. Snapping, clawing, drooling the creature continues its unending assault. Reach for the soft part of his neck in hopes of ending the encounter in a single bite. Just one slip, and its lights out. Forgotten and left to be fed on to a host of disgusting bugs. The thought rips through his mind, his veins fill with hot fire, his muscles contract creating energy that wasn’t there before. He pushes hard against the creature’s head, pushing it past the breach in the sword until his arm reaches full length.
The energy’s fading, the small window of opportunity’s closing, and for once in his miserable life, he can’t think of a thing to do. The hand not grappling with the creatures head pulls free from the back of the sword. His fingers slowly begin moving, drawing a pattern in the air. Faint lines form, like strokes from a dry paintbrush. Lines sparkle and faintly crackle with weak power, power being sapped away. The pattern is rough and unfinished, its edges not straight, its lines fumbling. The feeling in his fingers is weak. Strength fading, the pattern breaks as his hand twitches before returning to the blade. Fire begins erupting from the torch again, the strange violet flame re-emerges and casts strange shadows once again along the cave walls. Shadows depicting men falling in the thousands, figures standing above them. A strange light emits from the wrecked battlefield as the dominant figures rise, floating above, breaching unending clouds and sending a cleansing fire downward. Fire spreads along the walls, engulfing the shadows, casting them far away as it shrieks and flickers violently. The Wanderer’s vision begins to fade. The world around begins to dull. Rocky walls, granite floors, the creature all fade, losing color and becoming shadows themselves. Heat wells in his head, as tears stream down his cheek.
I can’t.
Shadows slowly engulf him as the energy drains from his arms.
I won’t
The creature’s face inches closer and closer to its target.
This is where it ends.
The fire erupts, banishing the shadows away once more, filling the room with soft orange light as the creature lunges uninterrupted at its prize.
Then nothing. The pain of stabbing pincers ripping along his throat never occurs. Instead, a loud CLAP echoes along the walls. It’s deafening and almost endless, but it's over in an instant. A river of fluid splashes along The Wanderer’s face and body. It’s warm and thick like syrup but smells like rotten apple cores. For a moment, he contemplates if this is death. A strange death, and a strange place to end up, but who’s to know. Before long his eyes opened. The creature that stood hunched over him was still there, but its head was entirely missing. Fragments of skull and viscera lined the walls and floor around him as the creature stood cold, dead. Seemingly out of nowhere, its head just seemed to explode.
“Did...” The Wanderer began quizzically. “Did I do that?”
Before an answer could be given, a shuffle could be heard across the room, hidden against the far wall deep within the dark. Slowly The Wanderer rose, knocking the deceased creature away from him, the feeling and strength slowly returning to his body. He stared off to the dark corner, waiting in vain for his eyes to adjust to the dark. They didn’t. Bending down, he grasped his sword in one hand, and what remained of the faint torch in the other as he cautiously meandered to the muffled sound coming from the dark corner.
“Gods, if it’s one more of these disgusting fucking things, I’m straight gone.”
Slowly, the image of a man appears. He almost seemed affixed to the wall due to some form of slightly translucent webbing sprawled across his body. His feet were a few inches raised from the floor as he hung limply against the wall. A thin layer of the same substance covered his mouth as he muffled violently to The Wanderer, his eyes red and spread as wide as they could go. Near the middle of the webbing his right hand was tightly bound, unable to move. On the other side, it seemed he was able to shake loose enough to free it. A silver revolver with gold carved inlays held tightly between his fingers. Faint trails of smoke emanated from the pistol’s barrel. The smell of spent gunpowder lingered In the air, a smell The Wanderer had memorized.
The Wanderer looked puzzlingly at the man stuck to the wall, before a spark of remembrance and realization came to life in his eyes. Sweat beaded down the side of his head, slowing before soaking into his shirt collar. That chance encounter had taken its toll, and had gone on for longer than he thought, longer than he had hoped.
“Hells man, I had forgotten entirely of you. Why not speak up next time?”
The stuck man convulsed in a fit of annoyance and fury as The Wanderer laughed heartily.