Are you going to design your home? It’s essential to know how much you should pay for interior design. When it comes to interior design costs, you need to pay attention to everything you want in your home, such as materials, lights, colors, textures, and decor. All these aspects play a significant role in defining the personality of your dreams. In this blog, you will read the determination cost of the interior of your home, which includes 2 BHK and 3 BHK flats interior design with different project sizes.
A sophisticated home is simply designed with smart technology and patterns, but what if I say interior design can change the complete look of a simple 2 BHK home with smart innovation and excellence? Budget plays a major role in designing and creating a 2 BHK interior design home, which is based on the client’s taste and the material they want to invest in.

Factors Influencing 2 BHK Interior Designs:

Before designing any space, a few factors should be analyzed, which helps the designer learn more about it. Here, HSAA- the best interior designers in Delhi guide you in describing some of the factors that are preferable for designing a 2 BHK interior design and their costs.

• Size — The first important factor is size; the larger the space, the higher the price of interior design. The interior designer will give you an estimated cost for designing 2-bedroom apartments. Example- If the size of the room is 700 sq ft, it does not cost much for interior design but on the other side, if the room is about 1200 sq ft, the project price will be costlier.
• Property Evaluation- The evaluation of property is crucial in interior design. The designer suspects every tiny space in a 2 BHK household with each detail.
• Materials — Every property owner wants to have the best quality materials in their home. Of course, the premium can be costly, but they provide long-lasting value and make the home more meaningful.
• Renovation- In some cases, you will need to renovate the home instead of designing a new house; for this, you will hire an interior designer. For example, if you need to upgrade the plumbing systems or mold the electrical projects in your 2 BHK household, then there will be an average cost of renovating. If you included the cost of both renovation and interior designing, you would have a higher budget.

Estimation Cost Of Interior Design

As an interior designer, every part of the space is first analyzed, and then the cost is estimated. However, it’s a long-lasting process involving each detail of design and creation in every possible aspect. The cost includes the labor cost, material cost, and much more which is highly mentioned in the interior design prospectus. Furthermore, there are different sizes of apartments; the minimum can be around 600 sqft, and the maximum can be up to 1000 sqft. But the interior design firm in Delhi says estimations can vary from a simple interior design to a high-class interior design, depending on which kind of materials they want to have in their household.

Let’s dive into the price value of interior design :

• Cost of 2 BHK interior design:

The cost of a 2 BHK flat for interior design will be approximately in the range of 3.5 lakhs to 7 lakhs for simple yet basic quality, and a premium design household can cost between 7 lakhs to 10 lakh. It all depends on the size of the home, the type of decor, the kind of materials, and more. The price of the interior will rise based on the style and formation.

• Cost of 3 BHK interior design:

The design cost of a 3 BHK flat interior design varies depending on the material, design, laminates, and finishes of the project. The price value can be between 7 lakh to 12 lakh for the primary quality, but if you are looking for premium and luxury quality, then it would cost up to 15 lakhs, including everything.
Furniture Cost: 2 BHK, 3 BHK flats interior design
No matter how great the interior design and decor are, they can’t replace the vibe of furniture. Furniture is the most important element for interior renovation and design, and it can be used in a wide range of spaces, such as the living room, drawing room, study room, lobby, and other working spaces.
Explore the premium-quality furniture at HSSA~ the interior design studio in Delhi, which will enhance your home’s beauty and elegance. Choosing the right furniture can provide the aesthetics and functionality that directly influence interior design. When choosing furniture with HSAA, you will not only get good designs but also a budget-friendly range that should be taken into consideration. Plus, our prices are so affordable that they can easily accommodate every household, whether it’s small, medium, or high.

Modular kitchen cost for 2 BHK and 3 BHK interior design

The kitchen is the heart of the home, the place where we create the most priceless memories by cooking meals with our family and friends. The functional kitchen has taken the place of the basic kitchen. By this time, the demand for modular kitchens is increasing day by day in Indian households. At HSAA~ the kitchen renovation service in Delhi, offers you a cost-effective and stylish modular kitchen based on the 2 BHK and 3 BHK flats and apartments, including several elements such as woodwork, countertops, hob, sink, etc.
Modular kitchens not only make your kitchens elegant and beautiful but also provide maximum storage and transform boring display spaces into aesthetic spaces; however, every great thing comes with a price tag, and this puts a stop to dreaming of our dream kitchen interiors. So, at HSAA, the home interior design company, we brought you the complete breakdown of the cost of the modular kitchen interior in a nominal expected budget to build a superior dream kitchen in your home.

The factors influencing the cost of kitchen interiors

• Size of the kitchen: The cost of the kitchen depends on its size. The larger the space, the more modules will be required, and vice versa.
• Kitchen Layout: The layout depends on how you want your kitchen to be molded; for example, a kitchen with simple shutter units will cost less than a kitchen with smart technology, and other features like stylish corners for deep storage will have a high value.
• Materials and finishes: The kitchen designed with materials like laminates is reasonably less expensive than acrylic or lacquered glass cabinets.
• Extra Elements: The extra features and elements, including gadgets, accessories, and lighting, will add up the cost.

Living Bedroom aesthetics cost: 2BHK and 3BHK home interior design.

The living bedroom is considered an elegant corner of the house that captures different styles, textures, and color schemes. A living room is defined as unique and different from others by comparing it to other rooms in a home. Besides this, the living room is decorated with paintings, ornaments, accessories, and other items that set the mood of the house and reflect the personality of the room.
In addition, vintage and stylish living bedrooms have taken their place. Here at HSAA, you can explore the unique collections of living bedrooms according to your customized taste. Whether you are looking for minimalist, bohemian, contemporary, luxurious, or many more styles, you can easily pick from the trending designs that come in a budget-friendly range. We have a one-stop solution for all the bedroom interior design for 2 BHK and 3 BHK households.

The factors influencing the cost of Bedroom interiors:

As we talked about 2 BHK and 3 BHK, you need to calculate according to the cost of 2 bedrooms and 3 bedrooms.

• Bed frames: Bed frames play a crucial role in furnishing the bedroom. The price of the bed frame depends on whether you opt for a king-size or a queen-size bed frame. However, contemporary metal bed frames match almost any home interior, giving a classy and elegant look. But if you are looking for bed frames with high storage facilities, you can choose wooden ones, which come in an economical range. Other than that, the cost can be varied depending on the size and material.
• Nightstand: Install a nightstand near your bed and outlet that offers both functionality and aesthetics. This furniture piece enhances the overall look and provides comfort and convenience in the bedroom. The price range depends upon the materials and finishes.
• Wardrobe: A wardrobe not only adds functional value to the bedroom but also provides an aesthetic vibe to the corner. The cost of the wardrobe and cupboards depends on the types of styles you choose, such as sliding, hinged, loft, corner, glass, and more. Explore the exclusive and premium collection of wardrobes at HSSA~interior design firm in Delhi at a reasonable price.
• Mattress: Last but not least, the quality of the mattress is very important; the size, the brand, and the material are very effective in enhancing the living bedroom interior.

CONCLUSION

Even if you have a low budget, hiring a great interior designer is a must, and HSAA is always ready to help you and guide you through the full design and creation of your home. Our team has 35+ years of experience and lots of industry contacts to complete your home interior design work, including top-notch materials, laminates, and furnishings within your specified budget. Get in touch with us today!

Fashion is all approximately making statements, expressing individuality, and sometimes, indulging in a piece of luxury. Gold plated bracelets are the proper accent to obtain a lot of these desires. They offer a hint of beauty and sophistication without the hefty rate tag of strong gold. In this blog, we can explore how gold plated bracelets can remodel your fashion recreation, adding versatility, charm, and style to your wardrobe.

The Appeal of Gold Plated Jewelry

Affordable Luxury

Gold plated jewelry, including bracelets, combines the first-class of each worlds: the high-priced appearance of gold and affordability. This makes it reachable to a broader audience, permitting greater human beings to revel in the splendor and elegance related to gold.

Versatility

Gold plated bracelets are tremendously versatile. They are to be had in numerous patterns, from touchy chains to bold cuffs, making them appropriate for any event. Whether you're dressing up for a formal event or which includes a hint of glam for your regular outfit, there may be gold plated jewelry that suits the invoice.

Durability

When well cared for, gold plated bracelets can preserve their shine and luster for years. They are designed to face up to the pains of everyday wear, making them a practical preference for folks who need to revel in the look of gold without demanding approximate damage or loss.

Transforming Your Look with Gold Plated Bracelets

1) Elevating Everyday Outfits

One of the best techniques to transform your style interest is via the use of incorporating gold plated bracelets into your ordinary clothes. A touchy gold plated chain bracelet can add a touch of class to an informal jeans-and-tee ensemble. Alternatively, a stack of skinny gold plated bangles may want to make a formidable assertion, giving your look a gift-day facet.

2) Adding Glamour to Evening Wear

Gold plated bracelets are perfect for adding a touch of glamour to your nightwear. A chunky gold plated cuff bracelet can instantly elevate an easy black get-dressed, making you look effects sublime and complicated. For a greater delicate contact, choose a gold plated bracelet decorated with cubic zirconia or other gemstones. This provides sparkle and beauty, making you stand out at any event.

3) Mixing and Matching

The splendor of gold plated bracelets lies in their capacity to be mixed and paired with other portions of jewelry. Pairing your gold plated bracelets with distinct gold plated jewelry, such as necklaces, rings, or bangles, can create a cohesive and shiny look. Alternatively, you may mix gold plated bracelets with silver or rose gold portions for a current, eclectic fashion.

4) Layering for Impact

Layering multiple gold plated bracelets is a famous fashion that could rework your style sport. Start with some skinny, sensitive bracelets and gradually add chunkier pieces to create intensity and interest. This layered appearance works well with casual and formal clothing, including a dynamic and fashionable contact for your ensemble.

5) Personalized Pieces

Personalized gold plated bracelets, together with those engraved with initials or decorated with birthstones, add a unique and widespread detail to your bracelet series. These portions no longer most effectively beautify your style however additionally supply sentimental value, making them a loved part of your fabric cloth cabinet.

Choosing the Right Gold Plated Bracelet

Consider Your Style

When selecting a gold plated bracelet, don't forget your style. If you choose a minimalist look, opt for easy, unadorned bracelets. For people who love bold, declaration portions, look for bracelets with elaborate designs, gemstones, or particular shapes.

Think About Occasion

The occasion also performs an essential position in selecting the right gold plated bracelet. Delicate chain bracelets are perfect for regular wear, whilst intricate cuffs or bangles are best for special occasions or parties. Having a whole lot of patterns for your collection ensures you have the correct accessory for any state of affairs.

Quality Matters

When investing in gold plated jewelry, fine topics. Look for bracelets with thicker gold plating, as this may make certain they final longer and preserve their appearance. Also, don't forget the bottom metallic; sterling silver is a good preference for its sturdiness and hypoallergenic homes.

Caring for Your Gold Plated Bracelets

To preserve your gold plated bracelets searching for their quality, proper care is vital. Here are some suggestions to keep their shine and sturdiness:

Avoid Harsh Chemicals

Exposure to harsh chemicals, including the ones observed in cleaning merchandise, perfumes, and creams, can cause the gold plating to be put on off. Remove your bracelets earlier than cleaning or applying beauty merchandise.

Store Properly

Store your gold plated jewelry in a gentle cloth pouch or a separate compartment on your jewelry's container to prevent scratches and tarnishing. Keeping them far from direct daylight and moisture may also assist preserve their look.

Clean Gently

Clean your gold plated bracelets frequently with a smooth, damp material to do away with any dust or oils. Avoid the use of abrasive substances or harsh chemical compounds, as those can damage the gold plating.

The Psychological Impact of Wearing Gold Plated Jewelry

Wearing gold plated jewelry, together with bracelets, could have an advantageous mental effect. Gold is regularly related to wealth, fulfillment, and self-belief. Adorning yourself with gold plated jewelry can enhance your self-esteem and make your experience extra polished and placed collectively. This better feeling of self-assurance can affect how others understand you, making you seem greater elegant and self-confident.

Gold Plated Bracelets as Gifts

Gold plated bracelets make excellent presents for pals and loved ones. They are a thoughtful way to show appreciation and may be customized to make the gift even extra particular. Whether it's far for a birthday, anniversary, or just because of the fact, a gold plated bracelet is a timeless and fashionable gift for you to be cherished for destiny years.

Conclusion

Gold plated bracelets are a versatile and fashionable addition to any earrings series. They provide the high-priced look of gold without the high price, making them reachable to an in-depth variety of favorite fans. By incorporating gold plated bracelets into your dresser, you may easily transform your fashion game, including beauty, sophistication, and a touch of glamour to any outfit. Whether you select sensitive chains, bold cuffs, or customized portions, there may be a gold plated bracelet to match each fashion and occasion. Embrace the splendor of gold plated jewelry and permit it to elevate your style game to new heights.

My husband and I have been trying forever for a baby. And a few months ago I finally got the two lines that indicated our dreams were becoming a reality. I knew it would be high risk but I didn’t care about the risk, this was a dream I would regret not at least trying absolutely everything to fulfill.
The first few months my husband was extremely supportive. Waiting on me hand and foot, massages even though I wasn’t even showing yet. As the second trimester marched on his excitement only grew, slowly watching the baby grow at doctor’s appointments with me.
On the way out of a doctor’s appointment I tripped and landed terribly. Luckily we were right outside the doctor’s office so we could get help immediately. I faint at the sight of blood, so I don’t remember much after touching between my legs and finding crimson stains on my fingertips. When I woke up I was dazed but was so happy to feel my baby still doing gymnastics in my stomach.
My husband, however, must have become frightened that something would happen and slowly started to detach himself from my whole pregnancy. He only offered grunts in support as I picked out colors for the nursery. We had a late term pregnancy loss before so he was just scared of losing a baby again. It was easier to detach than accept something may happen. But you can’t live in the what if’s.
As I began to unpack the furniture for the nursery and set up the cameras for the baby monitor, I could see my husband's discomfort grow. His physical demeanor only got worse the more I progressed with the furniture.
Finally he stood up and shouted what he apparently had been holding in the last two months. “You aren’t pregnant anymore Liv! You lost the baby with the fall, there was nothing the doctor could do! A therapist told me to let you grieve how you saw fit but I can’t do this anymore! It is torture to watch you decorate our dead child’s nursery.”
I didn’t say a word, and just put his hand on my stomach because as I explained to him, I don’t care what the doctor says. I know my body and my baby. As he began to roll his eyes and was just about to lift his hand the baby kicked hard. My husband's face went from disbelief to horror.
All he could mutter as tears of true depression and fear began rolling down his cheeks was, “Liv, I saw them remove our poor sweet baby with my own eyes.”
As his last word slipped out, I could feel a searing pain. I was going into labor, and for the first time I was worried what that meant.
When I wake up I realize I am no longer home. In between bouts of unconsciousness, I take in the scene around me. The doctor screaming “WE HAVE TO SAVE IT!” and it all comes rushing back. I got told I was not pregnant by my husband and immediately went into labor. Which in my haze is a very hard sequence of events to process, hell even in my right mind that would be a difficult one.
I start stirring and the doctor notices and looks down at me, beaming with pride. My husband in a chair clearly drugged also is starting to rouse and try and piece together what happened. All he can keep repeating is, “what is it?” in a stupor. Like he truly couldn’t process what happened and what was currently happening.
As I become more aware, I try and find my voice. While raspy I am able to gasp out the words, “Where is my baby?!”
The doctor looks at me the pride evaporating and a cold expression taking over his face. “Your baby died months ago. Your husband watched us remove it. However, he did not see that I went on to take advantage of your willing and ready womb by implanting something much more important than you or your child would ever become.”
I blink taking in this information. I felt this thing grow in me, thought it was a part of me, loved it more than I loved myself. But that’s when I thought it was my child, my stomach begins turning and bile begins to raise into my throat.
“Would you like to hold what you brought to life, what you birthed?” The doctor said with a look of pure curiosity crossing his face.
“Yes..” I gasp before I can rationally consider his proposition.
Walking over with a bundle, he places it into my arms, and I look down with severe trepidation. Even though I have never seen it, I know it’s the thing I felt so connected to and somehow still do. Pulling the blanket away I see what could only be described as an abomination.
It was three different children stitched together to almost become one but not quite. Clearly in pain and not meant to exist. As a look of horror crosses my face the doctor sighs.
“I was hoping for a better reaction, that maternal instinct may win out. Too bad. Considering one of those babies IS yours. These three babies couldn’t make it on their own but together they could. I tried many times, but you are the first one to actually be able to last full term and have the baby survive. I hoped maternal instinct would have won over, it would have been easier.”
The bile rises again and I listen on in terror.
The doctor continues, “Since you’re the only one this has been successful with, there will be many more attempts we will require your hospitable womb for.”

First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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This is pretty straight forward and maybe I’m the weird one but I truly don’t feel comfortable doing them. I’m not up for touching strangers and the one time I decline shaking hands with some old guy working in a furniture store, my aunt was super harsh and embarrassed and explained that I HAD to do it. Unrelated but similar thing to being hugged. I don’t always accept hugs by family even and my mom calls me stupid and rude for that.

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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 240: Private Gallery
My, how quaint.
An underground maze.
If it wasn’t dark towers laden with bats, it was underground mazes filled to the brim with all the upholstery recovered from the Summer Solstice Festival’s annual bonfire.
Here beneath a barn utilised as little more than a cellar door, black was still the new black. An unending panorama of dark embroidery and furnishings to match any budding empress’s humble beginnings, ensuring I remained busy offering all the slightly different variations of wrinkling my nose could perform.
The porcelain vases featuring motifs of the wrong season? A mild scrunch. The candelabras burning below 98% of their height instead of being immediately replaced? Hints of a sneeze. The golden silk carpets clearly stolen from the cathedrals of the Holy Church? … A nod of my head.
But what I could have no complaints about was a door still swinging upon its hinges.
Poetry in motion, it painted the picture of a baroness desperate in her haste to stumble over her dress as much as humanly possible. Excellent news. We didn’t need to break another door today.
A surprise.
After all, the baroness seemed intent on breaking everything herself.
Bwoomph.
The sound of a heavy object being dropped came crashing through.
And then another. And another.
A commotion to rival the scuffling of two rival sons at our reception hall. The cadence of chairs, small tables and then backsides falling to the ground as insults became slaps and slaps became a scene of disgrace, all the while my sisters and I watched and snacked on the walnuts.
Sadly for the baroness, I chose not to stand idly by as she roughly squirrelled away her stolen possessions. And neither did Coppelia, who rubbed her hands together in gleeful expectation.
It was still the most innocent gesture she’d ever made.
“Should we let her gather up the loot pile some more?” she asked brightly.
I shook my head at once, my nose aching from the ceaseless wrinkling.
“Absolutely not. Even a moment is too long in this burrow.”
“We could double back and ominously stamp our feet to make her go faster, too.”
“Or we could merely offer our supervision instead. Come. It’s time to end our stay in the countryside. As well as this baroness’s grand misadventure.”
Already dreaming of my bed, I lightly pushed the door open.
A moment later, I was met by the sight of an adventurer’s most wanton dream come to life.
Within the centre of a bedroom chamber, chests laden with silver and gold crowns sat waiting for the first lout to claim as hardship expenses for chasing cats in an endless circle. The chests gleamed with an organised lustre, winking in unison as though counted and arranged to the coin.
It was a sight which contrasted with the desperate movements of the baroness.
Only brief snippets of her could be seen as she went to-and-fro in another room, accessed through a parted bookcase. Through the opening, I heard hints of calamity. Heavy banging as objects crashed to the floor, joined by the sound of ragged breathing to match a servant dashing up and down my bedroom tower to fetch grapes for me in quantities of one.
“Haah … haahh … hahhh …”
And now my curiosity was kindled.
Things worth more than chests of crowns. What could she possess, I wonder?
Sweeping past the gleaming pile of silver and gold, I made my way towards the parted bookcase, and then peeked through to see our baroness performing one last act of defiance.
With her golden hair as dishevelled as her dress, she was kneeling beside an assembled pile of what were unmistakably paintings. A veritable mountain of them, all framed in gilded brass. The scent of oil, watercolours and various pigments struck me more than any whiff of alcohol I’d experienced today.
Clearly a gallery of sorts. A secondary trove of treasure, but no less valuable. Rare paintings were worth their weight in silver and gold as much as any of the coins gathered in the chamber.
And also, to my horror, much easier to destroy.
“Haah … haahhh … hahhhhh …”
The baroness didn’t even notice our presence.
So absorbed was she in her final act of petulance, her only concern was to raise her feeble arms, weakened by all the disdain it required to gather so many heavy paintings in one spot.
All to set it alight.
With a look of desperation on her face, she raised a single candle, readying to set the oil upon the canvasses ablaze.
“Noooooope~”
“–Aah?!”
The same candle which was promptly plucked from her hand by Coppelia, who required no prompting to stop the destruction of precious treasure.
The baroness jolted in shock at Coppelia’s sudden appearance behind her, and even more so at the playful smile leaning towards her. A heartbeat later, she swiped at the candle, tearing away the topmost half. But it was too late.
The flame had already been extinguished.
“Noo … nooooooooooooo!!”
The baroness cupped her hands around the top, offering a tiny breath as she hoped to ignite it like the fading embers of a hearthfire.
She failed.
I took a step into the hidden gallery, ready to offer the coup de grâce to round off this minor detour into my countryside. A final reminder to my kingdom’s nobility, that whatever their rank, none were too lowly to be ignored.
“Ohhohohohohoho … how pitiable,” I said, my hand barely covering my lips. “Instead of a vain attempt to flee, you choose mindless destruction instead. I suppose I’ve no grounds to fault on this. You were wildly successful. Only that it was your own schemes which came to ruin.”
I gazed at the crumpled heap of the baroness as she turned around.
Her grey eyes widened as she viewed me.
All of a sudden, what colour remained upon her face drained to the point where if she threw herself on her bed, she’d be invisible against the white linen. Her only method of escape remaining.
It certainly wasn’t in the gurgling she made.
“Ah … n-no … wait …”
Her voice petered out, whatever words she spoke fading like a mousy squeak in the distance.
Ugh. The standards I endured.
Despite attempting a final act of spite, she didn’t even have enough vigour left in her to transfer that into the most cursory of insults.
“Now, this right here is what separates the barony from the city nobility,” I said, well and truly exasperated. “You may despise your peers, but know that Lady Tolent and Duke Valence at least performed their roles as expected. They were rude until the end. You’ve a considerable amount to learn.”
With a sigh, I took a step towards the mound of portraits.
Given what I’d seen so far, I doubted if any painting here was worth what the baroness deemed worthy enough to hide away like a dragon’s favoured treasure. But I was open to being pleasantly surprised.
Who knows? Perhaps she’d pilfered more than carpets from the Holy Church.
However–
“Wait!!!!!”
The baroness scrambled to her feet, arms raised as she blocked my path.
Despite her sudden burst of life, no colour returned to her face. It was like a ghoul raised as a puppet, desperately heeding the command of its owner.
“You … You can’t look!” she said, quivering. “None of this … none of this is for you!”
My mouth widened at the gall.
… Why, so she did have some insult left in her!
To insinuate I wasn’t worthy of judging these paintings was far more wounding than any generic disdain she could level against my superior wealth, standing, beauty and shape of my hair!
After all, I was exceptionally confident in my curating skills!
Anything less would see my own works being met by a chorus of snivelling! Amongst all who resided in my kingdom, it wasn’t traitors who were the most fearless to my ire! It was art critics!
“E-Excuse me! Rest assured that I’m more than capable of judging the qualities of any painting! When it comes to my assessment of art, my valuation leaves no detail unturned!”
Somehow, the baroness paled even more. Her eyes quivered like ponds in a gale.
A moment later–
“You can’t!!!!”
She threw herself at me.
A slow, lumbering tackle to match her anaemic state. I stepped to the side as she hurled herself past me, falling to a heap by Renise’s feet.
The maid looked down. She didn’t wear a single hint of animosity. Only pity and sorrow. Truly, she was too kind to ever have been in the nobility. I feared for her current role.
Still, I gave a sigh, before leaning over the mountain of paintings.
“Uwah~ this is a new one.”
As the light from the doorway fell upon it, Coppelia offered a hint of what was to be expected. She wore a peculiar expression, her smile oddly fixed as she gazed down at the nearest one to face upright.
I joined her.
And then–
“Hmm.”
I blinked as I assessed it.
A moment later, I glanced over those nearby. And then those nearby them.
Not only paintings. But portraits.
All featuring the same subject. A girl with long, dark hair and vivid eyes.
Many featured a dress hinting at a summer’s day. Shafts of golden sunlight was a common theme, along with a backdrop of a pristine tea table, laden with a familiar array of confectionery. Carrot madeleines and carrot cakes. The same ones I tactically placed for everyone else to eat at my mandatory tea parties.
Indeed. That made sense.
Since this was assuredly my tea table being presented. And that girl with a pleasant smile, unblemished features, a regal bearing and warmth radiating from her very presence was me.
I dug inside the mountain of portraits, lifting up another at random.
Yes.
It was me. Again.
In fact–
Every single portrait in this heap was of me.
At least a hundred or more. All framed and recently placed upon the walls of a hidden room. A private gallery to a baroness–one who was a keen painter. A corner had been transformed into a small workshop. Unlike the one found in her tavern, this one was far more organised. Easels and brushes were neatly tidied away, cared for as much as the paintings that had been created here.
“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!”
Ignoring the cry of despair behind me, I gazed at the heap of paintings, hand against my cheek as I considered the sight.
A short hum was all I required.
I turned to the stricken baroness upon the floor, her mouth wide as she waited for my judgement.
And then–
“Oho …”
I began to laugh.
“Ohoho … ohhohohoho …”
But this was no mocking laugh which spilled from my lips.
No … it was a laugh of pure delight.
“Ohhhohohoohhohohoohhohohoo!!”
True, nothing here was fit to be placed upon the Royal Villa’s walls. But few paintings were. This didn’t mean they were without merit. On the contrary, even a surface level impression of my face was worth more crowns than even a mosaic of the Grand Duchess completed by a thousand master painters.
But while better artists than her had painted me, few had painted more.
And this I could use.
Why … with this many paintings, I could fill up Soap Island with my imagery!
I could ensure that every tunnel possessed my permanent smile and watching eyes!
No matter where the soap miners hid, seeking respite from their days of hard labour and repentance, they could be met by the sight of my angelic face reminding them that I know and judge their every moment of unsupervised rest!
How … How wonderful!!!!
“A 7/10,” I declared. “Individually, they range between passable and acceptable. Except this one. There is something wrong with the nose. But when taken as an entire collection, the overall composition is greater than the sum of its parts. Alone, each is a verse describing a princess forced to adhere to her mandatory tea parties even as summer blooms a window away. But together, it is the sonata of a princess who continues in her duties without care to repetition or fatigue, reminding those whose hands falter when they should be mining soap that I do not rest, and so neither will they. Not an overly complex message, but then I wouldn’t wish it to be lost.”
Thus, I clapped my hands together in satisfaction.
“... Indeed, I shall put these portraits to excellent use!”
I waited for the gasp of relief which usually came with any of my scores which didn’t plunge into negative numbers. The baroness would not be destroyed by the world of fine art. Only ignored. The baseline criticism. She’d survive.
Providing, of course, that she ever woke from her stupor.
Looking down, I was appalled to see all the light had vacated her eyes.
Far from offering her gratitude, she lay collapsed in an untidy heap upon the floor, her body prone and motionless, her expression locked in morbid embarrassment, and with no signs of life other than the trail of drool which began to leak from the edge of her lips.
“Wow~” said Coppelia, leaning down to poke her cheeks. “You managed to kill her with just the laugh.”
I was appalled.
If this was the reaction to my satisfaction, I may as well be disappointed! That was always easier!
“C-Coppelia! I didn’t kill her! … Why, anyone who dies looking so slovenly would come back to life just to fix themselves!”
Also kneeling beside the fallen baroness, Renise gently shook the girl’s shoulder. Only a weak gurgling came out, wishing for an eternal night.
After a moment, Renise sent a slightly pained smile towards me.
“Um, by any chance … do you not have any thoughts regarding seeing so many portraits of yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well … do you not find it odd?”
I looked at her in puzzlement.
“... No? Why would that be odd? Isn’t it natural that people would wish to paint me? I’m a princess. And an excellent one, too. Better me than a fruit bowl, surely.”
Renise blinked … just before raising her hand to her lips in a small giggle.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
Words which advanced her on my family’s career ladder exponentially. I nodded profusely.
Mreoow.
At least until an unexpected sound filled the air.
I looked around in puzzlement.
“... Did I hear a cat?”
“Mmh~” Coppelia pointed towards the faux-vault door we’d passed. “More than one. There’s a whole bunch being kept nearby. It smells terrible.”
I threw up my arms in exasperation.
Why, no wonder the baroness sought the bliss of unconsciousness! It was to evade my utter disbelief!
The absolute state of my kingdom’s schemers!
First Trierport! Now Hartzwiese! To think it was an epidemic!
Just what were these people doing?! Truly, it’s one thing to undermine my kingdom. But that was a pale crime compared to their feat of singlehandedly fuelling the existence of the Adventurer’s Guild!
“It must be Tantrum and Peppy,” said Renise, far less aggrieved. “As well as all the others.”
I directed my bewilderment towards her instead.
“What is a … Tantrum and a Peppy?”
“They’re the names of the deputy guildmaster’s cats. The ones she was looking for. We should ensure they’re rescued before the night is done.”
I shook my head rapidly. No, no, no, no.
“I am not rescuing cats.”
“Hm? … Why not? Isn’t that the job of adventurers?”
“No, that’s the job of drunkards who mistake the commissions plastered on walls for requests to save a kidnapped princess. Besides, cats hardly need rescuing. Whatever bonds they find themselves in, they’re more than capable of slipping free by their own endless guile.”
Indeed, our only danger was that we tripped over a lazing cat hidden in the shade!
It’s a wonder they hadn’t escaped already. By the time we were done, I fully expected to see cats causing anarchy as they reclaimed the town, mewing from rooftop and windowsill with barely held contempt for the very people who fed them!
… Why, they should be ashamed!
“I see …” said Renise, with a hum of uncertainty. “Well, I suppose they’re known for their self-sufficiency. But even so, I feel that we shouldn’t leave them in the chance that their artfulness fails. There’s a very dangerous forest between here and the town.”
Coppelia clapped her hands together.
Her interest in the baroness severed, she leaned towards her next source of amusement, her smile alive with all the usual colours of the mischief rainbow.
“That’s right~ cats are pretty smart, right? There’s no way they’ll be caught by the slobbering horrors devoid of mercy and compassion which I kept from eating us.”
“Coppelia, you frightened them away with sticks.”
“Exactly. Sticks thrown using opposable thumbs which cats lack. And that means they know where they are on the food tree. They’re gonna stay here where it’s safe, waiting for the dumb humans to come fetch them like they always do, even though cats do nothing but hiss and scratch at them.”
I gave a cautious nod … all the while leaning further away.
“Yes, well, I’m glad you agree. We’ve no need to lift a finger to rescue them.”
“Mmh~ but even so, aren’t you willingly leaving gold on the table?”
“Excuse me?”
“I bet every cat has a poster somewhere up in the Adventurer’s Guild. That’s a whole bunch of change you’re leaving lying around that could be used for our apple strudel budget.”
I was aghast.
Not only at the suggestion our funds went entirely towards the apple strudels she ate before I could even touch them … but also because I knew exactly what Coppelia was doing!
My keen eyes could see through her deep subterfuge!
True, it was only prudent to ensure our personal finances were as secure as possible … but even so!
I had my pride!
In my darkest dreams, I still recalled the shame of rescuing a warehouse of cats in Trierport! There was no scenario in which I’d willingly suffer such humiliation again! Once my dignity was stripped, what was I, but a beautiful maiden without equal?
Indeed, I had no doubt in my mind!
I, Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea, would absolutely not resort to saving lost cats!
“The Adventurer’s Guild will never be happier,” said Coppelia brightly. “I bet that in less than a day, a literal army of adventurers will be swooping in to claim all the free cats for themselves. They’ll be everywhere. Literally everywhere. Productivity will be at its highest. You’ll be actively supporting the livelihoods of all those guys you see drinking themselves into a coma!”
Renise blinked, then looked at me with an expression filled with new warmth.
“Oh, I see! You intend to leave these cats behind to be collected by new adventurers. That’s very thoughtful of you. I understand now. This must be how high-ranked adventurers help their juniors progress and gain confidence in their skills.”
Renise filled the ensuing silence with her smile.
And then–
She slowly waved a hand in front of my face.
“... Miss Coppelia, why isn’t she responding?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. Her cogs get stuck every now and again.”
“I see … ? Should we do something or … ?”
“Mmh~ I’ll scoop up the striped ones! You get the normal ones!”
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Chapter One
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Prev
-Rooftop of the White Flame Factory-
Grigory smiled nervously at his men as they lounged on the rooftop patio. As the sun sank lower, he was happy to see them relax after the day's tensions. He’d wanted to give them their imps when they first arrived, or after the demonstration, but they seemed a little too skittish. Their reactions were causing him to doubt his strategy. If his most loyal supporters were repelled by them, wider acceptance was going to be a non-trivial hurdle. He’d been working on an improved version of the imps for months, but making them less threatening, or light forbid, ‘cute’, seemed deeply at odds with his plans. He hoped time might be the missing ingredient. Once they get a bit more familiar with them, they’ll come around. The imps were really nothing for them to fear.
The demonologist sat alone, observing how his men were dealing with the news. He was deep in thought, adjusting his plans and ruminating on his concerns. Was he forcing them to do things they weren’t comfortable with? The basis of his entire plan was that the whole world was to benefit from the imps, so it had to start somewhere, or he might as well give up. They seemed to be taking it as well as he could have hoped.
Catching a wisp of savoury smells, he thought it was scarcely fair to relax while Stanisk was busy in the kitchen. He rose to see if he could lend a hand with dinner. During their overland trek to the capital months ago, it was clear that Stanisk was a superlative cook, but Grigory was a dexterous helper. Much of what he knew about surgical techniques had been picked up preparing meals.
Grigory arrived at the great hall that served as the eating area. In the centre of the chamber, two long tables stretched across the room, capable of seating fifty, though only four simple chairs he had crafted a few weeks ago were present. His men had yet to grasp the potential of the imps' labour; instead of proper seating, they had improvised with crates and timbers haphazardly arranged around the tables. Near one table, a jute sack of potatoes lay abandoned on the floor, possibly mistaken for a makeshift seat. Grigory hoped they'd be eating the potatoes, not sitting on them.
Separated from the hall by a low half-wall, the kitchen bustled with activity. Stanisk sat on the thick timber counter, a casual sentinel over dinner’s preparations, while Jourgun and Klive stood nearby, deep in conversation with their commander.
Stanisk’s five imps, in their fancy clothes, dashed around the kitchen. Under his expert guidance they were preparing a grand feast. One was peeling potatoes, another stirred a great bubbling pot, while two were doing dishes.
“Sir, did you know that Stanisk’s imps have names? And fancy clothes! Can I have one like his?” Klive blurted when he saw his employer. “Uh, as it pleases milord, of course.”
“Plus mine bow when they bring us beers! They don't do that fresh out of hell!” Stanisk's toothy smile implied he might have been bowed at by imps a half dozen times already.
Grigory tilted his head and blinked for a second.
Surely a bit of clothes can’t have that much of an impact on their acceptance?
“Oh, Of course! Certainly!” he paused again. “Feel free to ask Stanisk for tips on how he made his.” Observing the bustling activity, “It looks like dinner is well in hand?” The kitchen was huge, far larger than the one at Planed Pine Peak Inn. A half dozen dishes simmered or baked, their aromas — exotic spices, rich gravies, and roasted meats filled the expansive space.
Stanisk replied without glancing away from the imps handling the tasks. “Well in hand, boss. Take ‘er easy tonight!” The imps' movements were quick and fluid, their antics distractingly comical at times. Grigory watched, smiling, as one imp hugged a yam to its chest that likely weighed more than it did, and made its way along the countertop from the vegetable sack to the cutting board. Each step was an exaggerated sway, the creature was badly top-heavy and teetering.
With effort he pulled his focus back, “Capital! I’ve a matter to attend to! Smells great already!”
Grigory went into the factory proper to whip up enough chairs for everyone. Simple wooden ones for now, but with cushions. Cushions were quick enough to make and he had a few cart loads of wool and woollen fabrics. He watched his imps work, glad he could share them with his whole team now. Obviously it made everything a bit riskier, but it was worth it. One of his concerns was that he’d been overlooking opportunities and uses. He was bound by only being able to think his own thoughts, so he was excited to see what non-demonologists would think of.
They carved and joined the pine chairs with their normal speed and accuracy, but watching them sew was its own reward. The imps wielded needles like longswords in their tiny hands, the points moving too fast to see clearly. They stacked up the plain cushions in a neat pile at the end of their low workbench.
He also didn’t have any utensils, placemats, serving spoons nor trivets either, since this was their first proper meal here. He commanded the imps to make those as well, and carry them like a row of ants from the workshop to the dining hall. The demonologist walked around the table, surveying his work. With a minor gesture of flame he lit the lamps, and frowned at the beige-grey of undyed wool of the chair cushions.
He pulled the chairs out, and one at a time enchanted the cushions to bright, cheerful colours. He was going to make them all company purple, but thought better of it. Enchanting colours was a fun spell to cast, because the act of changing its colour also unravelled enchantment as it went. Much like building and knocking over houses of cards, the end effect was a mundane unenchanted object, but in whatever colour he’d chosen. Having done the spell countless times for entire days to prepare for the midsummer tourney, he didn’t even have to check his notes for any of the hues.
Satisfied with his work, though slightly frustrated that his first and last red cushions weren’t quite the same shade, he sat down. He pulled a notebook out of his satchel and started making notes on his ideas for some improvements, mostly for his own use, but some to the things he’d be soon selling. Lost in his own world, he had no idea how much time had passed when Ros and Taritha joined him at the table.
“Good evening, milord,” Ros said deferentially.
The young herbalist elbowed him, “Come on, he had one rule! He was writing!”
“Oh! Terribly sorry, sir!” Ros stammered.
“Not at all, I was basically doodling. How’s your evening going, is everything to your liking?” Grigory closed his notebook and put it away.
“Amazing milord, These rooms are huge! They're bigger than some of the houses I was looking at!” Taritha said.
“Of course! No one wants to live in dingy cells! Glad to hear! It’s easy to make a place bigger when you are building fresh. Let me know if you find anything that needs fixing, our builders are still in town working on the harbour fortress now, but I can have them send someone if there is anything amiss!”
“I don’t reckon neither of us knew palaces this nice existed anywhere, milord!” Ros said with a shrug. “We might not be the best eyes for finding faults!”
“Heh! This is just the rustic first stage! Don’t worry about its crudeness for now, we’ll get there over time!” the demonologist promised, patting his satchel where the notebook of ideas was. His confidence was both unshakeable and unnecessary.
“Not to question your plans, but there are a lot more rooms than people. Are we expecting company? Are we hiring?” Taritha asked. Her eyebrows twitched slightly, having just questioned his plan for the first time.
“Big plans indeed! So that empty stretch east of the main building? That’s also part of our land grant. In a while we’ll be building a barracks there for our troops, while senior officers will stay in the main factory. That’s also why Stanisk will be taking a much more active role with civil defence. It’s central to our plan to secure the town, and by extension our own safety.”
“Our troops? Like us?” Jourgun asked, having joined them at the long table.
“Maybe? Probably not? We’ll see. The plan is to extensively recruit as we can afford it, since the pirate raid was just the beginning. We have something of incredible value, in the form of me, the imps and the factory itself. Many violent people feel they should possess every valuable thing, so we must be vigilant. Not to worry though! That’s just us planning for the worst. In reality, nothing like that will likely happen. Just by being well defended we’ll scare off the greedy.”
“Ah, like why it's dangerous for a beggar to wear a silk robe!” Rikad added as he joined them, along with a few others. The smells from the kitchen were intoxicatingly rich now, as Stanisk and Klive used the imps to finish and plate the meal.
“Just so, a lord can only have what he can defend, and because the first phases of my plan require a certain level of material wealth, I’ll need extensive defences,” Grigory explained as diplomatically as he could.
“The Empire itself will fear our might, milord!” Ros said excitedly.
“Nah, it won’t. That’s a dangerous thought. The Imperial army’s smallest deployable force is a legion, near enough to five thousand men. Even if we hit every hiring and training target, we’se not going to be in the business of fightin’ wars. Just enough to make us a spiky nut. The sort not worth chompin’,’” Stanisk called over from the kitchen.
“Oh,” Ros said, shrinking back into his seat.
“That’s more than all the men in the whole town!” Taritha lamented.
“Yeah, that’s why lil fishing villages don’t win wars. A legion is five thousand infantry with warships, supplies, siege cohorts, and command companies. If’n it’s a real fight, then they might deploy all ten Imperial legions. Then start raising more if’n they’re losing. We ain’t never gonna try to fight that. No nation in the world has ever picked that fight and won.”
To counter the grim tone settling over his celebratory dinner, Grigory chimed in with a reassuring smile, “We’re loyal Hyruxian subjects, and the legions protect us. We pay taxes in full, we’re on the right side of all this. We just want a bit of security against more, uh, regional actors. Besides, a large well equipped force lends our diplomacy weight we wouldn’t otherwise have.”
Now that the table was filling up and his men looked satisfied with his answers, he raised his voice to the kitchen, “How’s it going in there?”
“Good! I bought a deer from one of the hunters this morning, and it turned out just right!” Stanisk replied, personally putting the finishing touches on his creation. Aethlina moved across the kitchen to watch Stanisk work, making Grigory do a double take. He hadn’t realised she was even in the building.
“Oh! Capital! Everyone in the entire company is here now! Even better!” Grigory said, motioning Aethlina to sit by him. He was glad he’d made the full number of chairs!
Stanisk and Klive brought out plates heaped with slices of braised venison, steamed tubers and sautéed onions. Tubs of butter, bowls of gravy, and finally a heaping basket of fresh buns followed. Stanisk took his seat and, smiling with pride, “What’re you helpless kittens lookin’ at? Never seen dinner ‘afore? Dig in!”
The feast was a perfect end to a troubling day, and even though the conversation died down as they ate, Grigory observed every single one of his hirelings intently, relieved to see not a single one seemed put off by a meal made by demons. Catching Stanisk’s eye, he made an empty cup gesture.
“Imps! Bring us all some drinks! Wine, beer and water!” Stanisk shouted to his imps. With speed and efficiency, the little demons filled clay cups and brought everyone three drinks, exactly as ordered.
“Ah, dammit, I meant—It’s fine. Drink what you want and I’ll just dump the rest!” The chief of security’s good humour faded for an instant before returning twice as bright.
“No, I love having three drinks! And the water and beer are cold! In the summer! The gods themselves envy me!” Rikad declared.
“Uh oh! It looks like Mage Thippily made imps, but the imps made the real monster!” Kedril retorted, gesturing at Rikad holding three cups between his hands, rotating them to drink out of each, while spilling beer all over his own arm.
Their high spirits encouraged Grigory. He’d worried they would be morose and frightened tonight, after making them to live in what could be described as a hive of demons. Joking about the imps was beyond his expectations, so he smiled without speaking, sipping his red wine. Not his cherished Malaentian Red, but a nice varietal from the mainland he’d recently imported a few cases of. Once the plates were empty, Stanisk had the imps clear the table and start washing up while everyone remained seated at the long pine table, bellies full to bursting.
“That was spectacular Stanisk! Thank you!” Grigory offered, and everyone else chimed in a breath later.
“Nothing like a lifetime of bland ration bars for months to really spark an interest in what good food ought to be! I’m glad ya’se liked it,” the big veteran said dismissively.
“How is everyone finding their new accommodations? I know I don’t have all the furniture done just yet, but is everyone good for tonight?” Grigory asked, ever the eager host.
The men nodded and looked at each other. Complaining was frowned upon and nothing here was remotely a hardship.
“Capital! Glad to hear it, and by all means bring it to my attention if your needs are unmet!” Grigory sat still and everyone kept looking at him.
Now’s as good a time as any. It’s not even a surprise, I think I mentioned it a few times already.
“Ahem! So! I’d like to present each of you with your own imps! Some ground rules though; there may be people that aren’t ready for this style of magic, so I ask that you don’t mention anything about them anywhere outside of the factory. Or even imply there are any magical creatures, just that things get made here?”
He waited until they all at least nodded.
“Alright! Here you go, I have one for everyone! The imps are identical, so don’t worry about which ones you get. Um. Good luck?” With a shrug he reached down beside his chair and from a leather case he pulled a series of carved wooden boxes, and passed them out to everyone sitting at the table.
***
With a muted clatter, Taritha watched as the small dark boxes were distributed. She wasn’t sure if there was one for her, being fairly new to the company. She wasn’t sure how she felt; owning demons seemed like a big step, but the ancient urge to possess something nice or powerful was one she wasn’t immune to. Her heart leapt as a heavy box slid in front of her.
With trepidation, she touched it with one finger; it appeared to be regular wood, perhaps stained oak. The box was small and rectangular, quite thin, and she held it easily in one hand. It was narrow enough to fit comfortably between her thumb and fingers, its weight noticeable but not oppressive. She had expected dread, palpable evil, or something, but it just felt a bit heavy. Turning it over, she saw no visible clasps or hinges. The outside was covered in the flawless ornate carvings she was starting to grow familiar with. This time, the carvings depicted joyful industrial scenes—strong men swinging square hammers, smoke stacks, and laden ships and carts. The central image on each side was gilded with gold leaf, making it strikingly dignified.
Ignoring the excitement and increasing movement around her, she felt as if she were in her own universe. She slowly pulled on the lid, finding it opened on tiny hidden hinges, revealing three ebony totems inside. They were the size and shape of a fairytale wand, resting on a bed of lush green velvet, held in place by a broad ribbon tied in a perfect bow.
Even without considering the priceless nature of the artefacts, she was impressed, almost distracted, by the quality of the presentation. He didn’t have to go to such lengths; she’d expected them to be simply handed to her.
She slid one of the totems out without undoing the bow. It was cool and heavy but otherwise seemed normal. She could see layers of impossibly fine carving, this time gilded with silver. She could sense the potent magic in the object, but it felt strange. She’d examined other enchanted items before, and their enchantments were all transcendently beautiful in a complex and technical way. This was so dense it felt like nothing. Or perhaps everything? She wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t at all like the other objects. Stilling herself and trying to puzzle out its secrets brought her no closer to any revelation. She shook her head and resolved to investigate further in private. She returned the totem to its place in the box and gently closed it.
Only now did she notice the table was thick with imps, more than twenty darting and leaping energetically. Her colleagues had summoned theirs and were already giving orders.
“You two, throw the third imp as high as you can!”
“Merp!”
“All of you, cross the table as fast as you can, but walk on your hands!”
“Merp!”
“Duel with these forks!”
“Merp! Merp!”
The men were laughing and pointing between shouting out fresh orders. All the commands were pointless and frivolous, making Taritha powerfully uncomfortable. These were forces of nature, extraplanar beings of unimaginable power, and they were being made to sprint into empty mugs to see how far the mug would fly!?
She shot a questioning look to the master demonologist to gauge his reaction. He was smiling and complimenting their creativity, so maybe she was overreacting? Still, she had no interest in wasting them on silly games. Emergencies only. Or at least serious concerns only. Not for dodging knotted linen napkins, that’s for sure!
With the burden of responsibility successfully dodged, she was free to watch everyone else’s fun. The cacophony of excitement was so infectious that she found herself giggling and pointing at them racing as makeshift horses, with an imp bent over holding the tiny waist of the imp in front of him, while a third one sat atop as a rider. They were so silly looking and energetic.
“You’re sure this doesn’t hurt or anger them?” Taritha asked.
“Oh my no, it’s not like that at all. They have minds, but lack awareness, or awareness of their own mind I guess? It’s fine! They are just made out of the same stuff as demons, but not actually demonic.” The mage stood up and stretched. “They are remarkably durable, it’s unlikely anything short of silvered steel will harm them. I, on the other hand, am at risk of being badly over-tired already! I trust you will be okay, left on your own! I’ll see you in the morning!”
“I’se properly tired too, but if you want, let's pop into the factory and I’ll show you how to get them to make their own clothes. It’s just tellin’ ‘em to do that, so you’se might not need too much hand holding!” Stanisk pushed himself away from the long table, and motioned for them to follow him.
They went into the cavernous factory, just across the hallway. What was an impressive and huge room in the daylight was now an infinite blackness, like a starless night. A few men had grabbed leviathan-oil lamps off the table, and they huddled in a small circle of warm, safe light. They gathered around a long low table, and Stanisk laid out a few bolts of fabric. The fine weaves were familiar to Taritha; they were the same as those used in the clothes she’d been getting from the company.
“It’s simple enough,” Stanisk said as he put a heavy leather bag of tools on the table. “Just say what you want, with as much or as little detail, and they’ll just make that.”
“Imps, make a suit of legion plate armour, imp-sized, out of shoe leather!” Rikad said with glee.
“Merp!” replied several at once, as they began cutting and forming the leather without hesitation. The imps even used grey wool for the under-mail parts, and tiny flares of hellfire to warp the leather into the right shapes. Soon, a tiny suit of black armour lay on the table, looking like what an imperial heavy infantryman would wear, but distorted to the proportions of the gawky imps.
“I dub thee, Imperial commander, Real Imp. Don thy armour!” Rikad ordered. “Do they remember their names?” he asked over his shoulder to Stanisk.
“Oh yeah, they’re proper sharp!” he confirmed.
“Create an imp-sized lord's robe with a sash of office! When it is done, you shall be known as D’Imp Lomat! I might need a minute to think of the last one though…” Rikad said to everyone watching his imps.
Reluctantly, Taritha opened the box and invoked her three imps. She looked at them closely; as far as she could tell, they were perfectly interchangeable with every other imp.
Looking over the fabrics, she chose a striking blue, a deep red, and a golden yellow. “Imps! Make imp-sized sundresses, mainly white with these colours as a main theme. and matching coloured sun hats,” she added hastily. Their heads were distractingly inhuman, so covering them might help. She watched them work, even interrupting a few times to ask for embroidered details and minor adjustments. Once they finished, she had them don their new outfits.
Oh! The hems seem scandalously short on their long lanky legs! Better than before, but not by a lot.
“Imps, please put on the hats that match the colour of your dress.”
“Merp.”
Much better! They look like ladies now!
“You are now Lady Bluebird, Lady Crossbill, and…” She paused at the last one, thinking of songbirds that were as bright yellow as the fabric. “Miss Goldfinch!”
She leaned back and admired her little ladies. They were far less threatening now, and their dull crimson skin really made the dresses look extra vibrant.
“Dang Taritha, how did you make yours so pretty? I want some pretty ones!” Jourgun commented as he looked over.
“Drool over your own demons! These are mine!” she said playfully. There was an undercurrent of possessiveness that she didn’t expect, but these ones were hers now. “Anyways, I’m going to bed too, you guys are too slow! Have fun, boys!” she said as she devoked her imps. The new clothes fell to the work surface.
“Oh yeah, they don’t take that with ‘em, wherever they go, so just keep it in a lil bag or whatever,” Stanisk said when he saw her distress. “They gotta get dressed every time you invoke it,” he shrugged.
So much to learn today!
With a brave smile, she replaced the totems in the box and gathered the dresses and hats. “Mind if I take…” she said as she slowly lifted a lamp from near Rikad.
“Oh yeah, all yours,” he said dismissively, fully engrossed in examining the tiny lordly robes of D’Imp Lomat.
She went back to the hall, up the wide even stairs to the third floor. She’d only spent a bit of time investigating it earlier, as she and Ros had been anxious about being late for dinner. She saw the heap of her worldly possessions against the wall where she’d left them. The only furniture here was the bed, but by the sounds of it, getting some tables, chairs, and wardrobes would be easy enough tomorrow. She placed the totem box and the tiny outfits on the floor beside the bed.
The bed itself was unlike any she’d ever heard of. Crafted with thick pine beams and topped with a mattress of imported cotton, it was probably wider than her entire hovel. A family of five could sleep on it and barely touch. She couldn’t imagine a more lordly bed. Its refined look and the luxurious softness were worlds apart from the coarse fabric and straw she was used to. Sometimes in the fall, she’d add freshly fallen leaves to her straw mattress for extra comfort, but that was a fleeting pleasure. This bed, however, promised constant comfort. She eyed the pile of heavy blankets at the foot of the bed. Recently, she had bought a single blanket from the market, thin and scratchy, but these were the mage’s blankets—thick, plush, and impossibly soft.
She shut the heavy door and took off her tall boots. The floor felt smooth under her bare feet. Even having a floor was a new luxury; she was accustomed to hard-packed dirt floors like most everyone else. This wasn’t just a floor; it was a delicate herringbone pattern of different kinds of wood, obviously done by the agile imps. It was cleaner, smoother, and more level than any table she’d eaten off before the mage came to town.
She stopped admiring the floor and stripped to her shift. She felt exposed being so undressed around so many men. She reasoned it out—the iron and oak door was stronger than a hide flap, and this would doubtlessly be the safest sleep of her life. Just a reaction, not a reality. She left the lamp on the floor and got in bed.
With a panic, she yelped as the whole bed flowed underneath her, as if she’d stepped on the tail of a sleeping cat. She tried to get up but her feet were already off the floor, and she couldn’t find a stable purchase with her hands. She froze up to think her way out of it, and the bed stopped moving almost as soon as she did.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
Was this an enchantment gone awry? Some bed demon?
Slowly, she log-rolled towards the edge of the bed, and the mattress under her also slowly moved, but not enough to stop her. Slow and steady, she might get free yet. Finally, she was close enough to put a foot down and stand. The bed flowed back to being perfectly flat.
She stood up, with a hand to her sternum, trying to catch her breath.
Think! What did the mage say about this today? It would magically adjust? Maybe that was all it was doing?
She leaned over and gently pushed down with a single fist. It was super pliable, then increasingly firm. But it felt unlike anything else—stacks of clothes or hides all felt different when they got pressed.
It must be magic. No time to be timid, and it would be humiliating to go to either the mage or the chief about this.
The only spell she could reliably cast was a gesture of Mana-Visualization. It caused the invisible lines of arcane energy to glow visibly, in bright colours that hinted at their use and purpose. She cast it to better examine her bed. It wasn’t enchanted as she expected; rather, hundreds and hundreds of things inside it were, and they linked and overlapped in ways she wouldn’t understand if she studied enchantments for a decade. She involuntarily took a step back from it, like finding a hundred warhorses inside a small cabinet.
She dismissed the gesture. With renewed determination, she slowly sat down on the bed. It shifted but only a bit. It was very soft and comfortable. Slowly, she turned and laid back, fighting her panic as the mattress kept shifting everywhere her body touched it, unnervingly lifelike. Fully laying down, she stopped and the mattress stopped. Even as her eyes were still wide with terror, she started to calm down. To test her theories, she rolled onto her side, and the mattress under her hip grew softer, and the part under her ribs grew firmer, until the pressure equalised. Rolling back, she felt it shift again, and once more the mattress's firmness changed all up and down her body, stopping once it was the same shape as her body’s pressure, resulting in sublime comfort.
Oh. This is incredible. I get it now!
She reached to the foot of the bed, pulled one of the soft blankets up to her chin, reached down to extinguish the lamp and drifted off into a better sleep than anyone in the history of her family ever had.
Prev

Zack didn’t know why, but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end at the sight of his door knob. The eerieness of his near-empty room left a pit in his stomach and in seeing the doorknob that he hadn’t seen for years, suddenly jolted hidden or repressed memories of his youth. Times he would run from his bullies in the foster home Zack once lived in, now, this old building is being condemned and due to be demolished tomorrow. Zack can’t look away from the doorknob, the rust-covered bulb reminded him of his old life as a foster kid and being more of an outcast with the other kids in this house, Fists and insults would fly freely towards Zack daily, none more willing to be Zacks number one bully, Donny. Zack feels the palms of his hands start to sweat and the air around him completely conceals Zack in a fog of forgotten moments in his life here that he long wished had never come back. Hurtful moments… terrible moments…moments in this very room that Zack was slowly reliving in his mind, yet it felt as if it was happening in front of him. Beads of cold sweat stink Zack's eyes, forcing his eyes closed and rubbing them to help with the sting, to no avail. Zack didn’t feel like himself in this room, this place is as a time capsule for Zack. He was only holding terrible anxiety that had recently just been unearthed inside Zack and bringing with it, a long-buried trauma that Zack was not ready for.
The room itself felt darker to Zack and his eyelids fluttered to adjust to the new dim surroundings, A small beam of light broke through a crevice between some wooden planks blocking out most light from outside. The shaft lands solely on the doorknob, the old rustic metal seems to not exist and shines abnormally bright from the beam of light; Zack covers his eyes from the sudden flash and when looking about finds the room back to its original state all those years ago. “No this can’t be right” Zack rubs his eyes and looks back around to only see the room still as it was back then. Zack hears sounds that haven’t been heard around here for a long time, kids playing outside in the backyard. Zack walks slowly, very curious and at the same time nervous, not fulling understanding what is happening now. Looking through the window that was just covered in old wooden planks that were nailed shut, were now clear of all obstacles, revealing the source of the noise. Showing kids he remembered back when he was a kid here. All of them playing and yet he’d also be up here, away from the other kids, away from the insults and shame that the kids always brought for Zack. Zack gets a swift memory jolt again and remembers this day, he was standing right here when he saw Donny and his group of twerp friends messing around the yard as the others just tried to have fun playing kid games. Donny had his eye on the one person who showed Zack kindness here; Clair was tending to her patch of sunflowers she had been looking after ever since she came here. The boys around Donny watched as she watered them, all by herself, Donny took this opening to make his move on her. I couldn’t hear what was said, but it didn’t look like she was interested in his offer, this made Donny mad and his friends chuckled at his sudden rejection and fueled his anger more. She then got up and waved them all goodbye as she turned back and looked up at the window I was standing at. She then smiles and waves at Zack, but Zack gets confused and waves back at the past through the window. Donny huffs and looks up to the window as well and stares hate-filled daggers at me. Even a pre-teen that was the bane of my life here can still drive a familiar chill down Zack’s spine as Zack quickly drops his hand behind him and is frozen in fear.
The room is back to the eerie silence as before and the darkness creeps around Zack again as he backs up from the window slowly. Zack steps against the wooden floorboards don’t make a single sound, the cold sweat returns, falling from his forehead onto the dusty, dry wood under his feet, Zack wipes his forehead with a trembling hand and moves his gaze toward the door, thinking he needs to leave this room immediately but in reaching for the doorknob, it refused to turn, it was as if it was merely a prop, not turn even possible to turn it at all.”Oh no…what is going on with this door” Zack began to the knob hard and struggle with it, to no success, and Zack's annoyance, he took a second to calm himself and closed his eyes, and breathed in slowly. As it began to take effect and Zack’s heart returned to a normal rhythm, bangs from the door and the knob violently turned left and right. Zack jumped at the sudden crashing on the door, the banging and twisting of the doorknob Zack didn’t know what to do, just then A smaller hand reached out and held his trembling hand as the calming voice of a bygone friend to Zack heard; “It’s ok Zack” the phantom voice whispered in his ear, the violent crashing and splintering of the door in front of him sounded so muffed from the smooth, tunes of the voice, that it almost seemed nonexistent at the moment.” Donny likes to play rough Zack but I won’t let him pick on you anymore, ok”. Zack felt a warm sensation on his left cheek and even though he felt a hand in his, he was all alone in the room, the door was at the moment of burst but stopped as the room grew dark and still. The feeling of a friendly presence was gone and Zack felt the horror that he had always known his whole life.
The feeling of being utterly alone, and with the sense covering him like a thick weighted blanket, his eyes look again to the door knob. The single light beam falls back into sight of Zack, bringing him back to the present, the darkness engulfing Zack, matching the despair that covers him. Zack takes a moment to regain himself and steady his rapid heart rate before he is fit. The silence of the room was helpful for Zack to focus on slowing the pounding against his rib cage, The sudden rush of his rash past was something he was not thinking would be an issue, yet here he was, nearly having a panic attack in his old foster room. Zack’s eyes are closed, breathing in slowly through the nose and out the mouth. The Silence is then shattered by the sound of the rustic doorknob violently twisting left and right as if someone on the other side was trying their hardest to get the door open. Zack jumps at the sudden old doorknob twist in such a manner, and knowing that he is the only one left in this building, gives Zack pause to go towards the door in the first place. The doorknob popped and grind against itself on the turns Zack felt the person might just rip the worn knob off the door entirely. Zack’s mind wanted to reach out for the vibrating doorknob, yet he found his feet moving on their own, moving back slowly from the door.
A golf ball-sized lump of fear sat in the back of Zack’s throat; His fear of coming not just from the crazy moving doorknob, but now the voices Zack remembers hearing at a younger age. When running from Donny and locking the doorknob, holding back my tears, and shaking behind a closet door. Donny would beat on the door and nearly a few times rip the doorknob off the door of the room itself. One night Zack was talking with Clair and felt a tear come down his cheek, She knew Donny was the one behind all my troubles and had had her misdealings with his consent pursuits since we got around our teens, but she remained ever so kind to Zack.
Zack swallows that lump down his throat and whence at the door to the closest repeatedly banging and the doorknob loosening from the screws at this point, Zack decides to reach for the door and open it. Maybe it was blind fear, or maybe Zack decided to overcome whatever this place’s hold had of him and may still have. Zack's hands trembled as he reached a tentative hand towards the closest door and with each step a glimpse of a forgotten tragedy began to form inside Zack’s mind, images that flashed like a long picture book of some well-drawn sketch. Right footsteps first, as the moment of Clair and Zack hugging one another as young adults now, Zack had a bruise under his right eye and Clair was putting ice and tending to him. Something else was happening there. A second step; Clair and Zack's hands touched and a spark was ignited that was set the moment they first met. Zack returns with a light cruise of Clair's cheek and then they both share a lover's kiss, until now as Zack has this remembrance does he now know that Donny was watching this from outside through the window above that we proudly sat at and the kiss was on display. Only Donny was the only one there to see and he was not happy at all. Rage filled his eyes not because Clair wasn’t with him, but because she chose Zack over him. The third step and another, were the times after Zack felt happiest in the arms of Clair and she was happy in his. Just then a violent slam from Donny to the door to the room swung open with such force the shock of the noise scared Clair and Zack, Donny stood in that doorway with fire in his eyes and still…very still.
Zack feels the tips of his fingers reach the jerking doorknob and can’t understand the feeling that has overcome him here, but he is compelled to see this to the end. A final step and Zack places a hand on the knob and grips it, expecting the shake in his hand. No such thing, the door stopped pounding and the knob ceased its upheaval at Zack’s touch. Zack takes a huge breath and turns the doorknob. Nothing…No sound. No light. Empty and damp, say for a metal hook on the center back wall, stained with old, dry blood. Zack looks at it as if he can see it through the pitch black of the closet, then a hand grasps hold of Zack’s, and Zack gets a feeling of a female next to him but can’t see, any words or sounds of any kind yet Zack can’t help but see the hook and think back, back to that last moment with Clair, the kiss and the rage of Donny’s pain reaching us here. Donny in a fit of blind anger grabbed Clair by the hair and kicked Zack in the chest so that it nearly crushed his ribs in one blow. Screams from Clair for Donny to slop, but Donny does not do any such thing. He pulled her with him as he shoved Zack with his kick again, hard enough to land Zack into the broom closet of the room. Zack got up and almost hit his head on the jagged metal hook. Clair scratches Donny good in the face and Donny, In the attack Donny throws Clair from his grip, and Clair trips over lifted out of the rug, and crashes through the glass window facing outside. Zack and Donny are in a moment of frozen shock as the lifeless body of Clair lies mangled from the fall and the glass cutting her Donny then turns to Zack and tries to close the closet door on Zack and it is a struggle for both but eventually, Donny took a step back and then with a hard kick to the door, send Zack backward.
Zack is back in the dark closet and the room makes Zack feel alone and scared, like so many times before. A single tear forms and before it falls, a soft hand, gently wipes it away.
.

I (35f) have been married almost 10 years to 36M. We met/ started dating in college. His parents are visiting this weekend. Last weekend (Mother’s Day weekend) I spent hours prepping the house but have a lot more to do after work tonight and tomorrow.
We have been trying to fix up our older house for the last few years. We’ve been talking about painting the deck and I floated the idea, about a month ago, getting it done before his parents arrive. He agreed. 3 weeks ago I went out and bought all the supplies. I spent about 2 days moving off furniture, washing, scraping cracked paint, priming and doing most of the first layer. Last week I let him know I was overwhelmed with housework and that I thought we would be painting together. He agrees, paints with me for about 30 minutes before saying he was exhausted and needed to go to bed. I was tired too so I joined him. The next day (last Saturday) I brought up my disappointment again and he said he didn’t want to hear about it anymore so I was done painting and he would finish the rest.
Since having our second baby (6m) I’ve been feeling disconnected in our relationship (we’re both burnt out and overwhelmed) so I have been somewhat clingy and insecure. He half heartedly reassures me when I bring up my feelings then makes me coffee and few days in a row before going back to status quo. We have full time demanding jobs and two under two so I try to justify his lack of attention but it still hurts. Maybe if I did more housework/ childcare he would spend time with me?
Anyway… this week he has two days off, Wednesday and today (Thursday). On Tuesday he started telling me about some gardening he was planning and I was shocked. I asked him to please paint Wednesday. He got annoyed and said it will be finished by Thursday (which doesn’t leave a lot of time for me to get everything in order but I guess it’s acceptable). Wednesday he didn’t touch it, he said he was doing other errands all day (he does “nothing” for himself) which was various woodworking projects and the gardening. Then Wednesday night he had a bad sleep (toddler related but if he just let him sleep in our bed it would be fine - but nope that ruins intimacy). He was seriously grumpy in the morning and I was super nervous about the painting. He assured me it would be fine. At 10am I asked how it was going, no response. I tried calling at noon, still nothing. At 2 he texted asking if I’d still love him if I knew he slept until 1pm after dropping the kids at daycare. I was shocked but said of course.. please get it done today.
When I got home around 6 this evening I was shocked with how much was left. I immediately got pretty stressed with the idea of house guests being in the house in 2 days! I took over the kids and tried to let him work. At 8 after they were in bed I went to check on the progress and he wasn’t there. I called out for him and waited about 5 min until he showed up with a different pain brush. While waiting I was staring at the lack of progress. I wasn’t really thinking of the fact it had only been two hours. When he arrived we had the argument:
Me: what have you done since I came home Him: what!? Me: have you painted anything Him (shouting): are you effing kidding me, how dare you say that, I’ve done so much work Me (shocked): hey, please don’t shout or speak to me like that. That’s not nice (so lame but I repeated “that’s not nice” probably a dozen times in this conversation) Him: “get away from me. I can’t believe you said that. I don’t want to speak to you” Me: “what? You can’t be so rude. You need to calm down, speak nicer and apologize. That’s unacceptable “
He then storms back inside and starts pulling apart the kids playroom (to make room for a crafts table we bought last week). I run after him and beg him to stop - I literally don’t have time to rearrange all of the toys before the visitors. He ignores me and repeats that he doesn’t want to be near me. He can’t believe I would question his progress and that he has tonight to finish and he doesn’t want to hear about it.
I’m so sad. He’s had a short temper before but I can’t remember him ever yelling like that. When we were first dating I told him that my dad’s short temper made me miserable and I was so happy I could choose a partner who wouldn’t treat me or my children like that. I used to judge my mom for staying with my dad (as I’ve gotten older I realize it’s not so simple once married with kids). I would not stay together just for the kids but our family is so dependent on each other to function right now while we are in the trenches. We bought our dream house, we have a bunch of animals, we have 2 kids and work at the same job. We are currently on a tight budget but making it work with our two high incomes in a very HCOL city. For the last 10 years I’ve never imagined breaking up. We have so much fun together and our goals have been perfectly aligned.
At baseline he does a lot around the house and childcare. I carry the majority of mental load but that’s hard to change/ I like the control.
After the yelling I moped around/ hovered expecting an apology (silence). Our toddler called out so I went back in to read more stories. After, I came out and it was now dark. He was painting by headlamp. I decided I needed to at least help, then once the painting was done I could properly continue the argument or suggest sleeping on the couch. I got one plank in but couldn’t focus because I was so emotional. I’ve been contemplating the end of our relationship and he hasn’t said anything! He says he doesn’t want me to paint anyway because I would hold it against him if he didn’t do it alone by tonight. I said “you think that’s what I would hold against you from tonight?”. And he says “I dunno”.
Me: What is happening to us that you scream and curse at me then say nothing Him: you were so out of line with what you said, after all the work I was doing. You don’t even know how long it takes to edge Me: I don’t think I deserved to be yelled at. Him: … blank stare Me: I can’t believe you’re ok with that conversation and talking to me like that and then leaving it Him: I don’t want to get into it because I wouldn’t be able to finish painting Me: is the painting really more important than our relationship? You wouldn’t speak to your worst enemy like that. I don’t feel safe with you. I feel extremely sad. Him: more blank stare Me: how hard would it be to say “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that” Him: (mumbled, not looking at me) I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that Me: it sucks I had to ask for that. Good luck tonight.
Now I’m lying in bed trying to figure out the WTF happened. I’m not great around deadlines (anxiety, general nag and emotional) but it’s not helped by him constantly under-delivering on promises. When I don’t bother him he’s pretty pleasant to be around. Is it crazy to disengage, stop looking for connection and just wait until kids are in school then separate? Am I overreacting or under-reacting?
A lot of my sad feelings recently have been basically begging him to make our relationship a priority then having zero follow up. No sweet nothings or cuddles let alone date planning.
TLDR; Husband swore and shouted at me when I questioned his progress on a chore he promised to complete by tonight. I feel like a hard boundary has been crossed but I can’t imagine logistics of two kids on my own currently. HELP!?

Edit: sorry for the clinical formatting. I posted to askvet first. IYKYK.

• Species: dog
• Age: 2 y/o (Born 3/30/2022)
• Sex/Neuter Status: male/neutered at 12 months
• Breed: Mini Aussie, Border Collie mix
• Body Weight: 33 pounds
• History: adopted at 3 months from a rescue, litter was reportedly surrendered by an Amish farm, received all necessary shots and procedures, socialized at dog parks (starting at 4 months) and daycare (starting at 1.5 years)
• Clinical Signs: aggression and anxiety?
• Duration: anxiety starting around 6 months, aggression starting around 1.5 years
• General Location: Michigan

Cheddar's disposition has always been energetic and anxious. He is hyper around people other than me (running back and forth, jumping up on people and furniture, and insisting on pets/attention) and absolutely annihilates my apartment (single-handedly blew my chances of getting a deposit back) if left alone outside of his kennel. Until recently, those were my only concerns.
He used to be exceptionally (in my uneducated opinion) "well mannered" at dog parks. Due to the fact that he has to stay in his kennel when I'm at work, we go to the park most evenings and I started sending him to a doggy daycare for one or two days a week. On his second or third visit, the daycare workers reported that he snapped at another dog and had to go in "time out" in the kennels. Now I get similar reports about every third day that he attends. They also report that he is the "fun police" (barking at dogs for playing) and humps, behaviors which I haven't witnessed myself.
Prior to starting daycare, I had never seen him be aggressive even towards aggressive dogs. He used to just roll over and show his belly when confronted. Since then, I have seen him snap at dogs at the park. Most of the time it's when a dog is in his space, but the most recent occurrence was at a puppy through a fence with absolutely no provocation.

• Bite One: Last Friday, we went to the vet. It was a very, very long wait and he was incredibly stressed (panting, whining if I stopped petting him for so much as a second, and occasionally snarling/barking at other dogs) for the entirety of the visit. When the vet was finally able to get to us, my dog let him examine his teeth, ears, and eyes, but snapped when he tried to touch his belly. The vet made the call to muzzle him for the rest of the visit.
  
• Bite Two: Today, I took him outside to go potty after I got home from work, and we ran into a very sweet, high-energy neighbor. Cheddar was already pretty excited and began jumping and running back and forth as the neighbor approached. When they went to pet him he snapped at her.
  

None of the bites broke skin, but obviously these behaviors are escalating. I've already emailed a veterinary behaviorist, but I don't know how long it will take to get him services, or even whether I'll be able to afford them.
I don't want my dog to be this distressed, and I definitely don't want him to hurt someone. What else can I do to help him?

• Species: dog
• Age: 2 y/o (Born 3/30/2022)
• Sex/Neuter Status: male/neutered at 12 months
• Breed: Mini Aussie, Border Collie mix
• Body Weight: 33 pounds
• History: adopted at 3 months from a rescue, litter was reportedly surrendered by an Amish farm, received all necessary shots and procedures, socialized at dog parks (starting at 4 months) and daycare (starting at 1.5 years)
• Clinical Signs: aggression and anxiety?
• Duration: anxiety starting around 6 months, aggression starting around 1.5 years
• General Location: Michigan

Cheddar's disposition has always been energetic and anxious. He is hyper around people other than me (running back and forth, jumping up on people and furniture, and insisting on pets/attention) and absolutely annihilates my apartment (single-handedly blew my chances of getting a deposit back) if left alone outside of his kennel. Until recently, those were my only concerns.
He used to be exceptionally (in my uneducated opinion) "well mannered" at dog parks. Due to the fact that he has to stay in his kennel when I'm at work, we go to the park most evenings and I started sending him to a doggy daycare for one or two days a week. On his second or third visit, the daycare workers reported that he snapped at another dog and had to go in "time out" in the kennels. Now I get similar reports about every third day that he attends. They also report that he is the "fun police" (barking at dogs for playing) and humps, behaviors which I haven't witnessed myself.
Prior to starting daycare, I had never seen him be aggressive even towards aggressive dogs. He used to just roll over and show his belly when confronted. Since then, I have seen him snap at dogs at the park. Most of the time it's when a dog is in his space, but the most recent occurrence was at a puppy through a fence with absolutely no provocation.

• Bite One: Last Friday, we went to the vet. It was a very, very long wait and he was incredibly stressed (panting, whining if I stopped petting him for so much as a second, and occasionally snarling/barking at other dogs) for the entirety of the visit. When the vet was finally able to get to us, my dog let him examine his teeth, ears, and eyes, but snapped when he tried to touch his belly. The vet made the call to muzzle him for the rest of the visit.
  
• Bite Two: Today, I took him outside to go potty after I got home from work, and we ran into a very sweet, high-energy neighbor. Cheddar was already pretty excited and began jumping and running back and forth as the neighbor approached. When they went to pet him he snapped at her.
  

None of the bites broke skin, but obviously these behaviors are escalating. I've already emailed a veterinary behaviorist, but I don't know how long it will take to get him services, or even whether I'll be able to afford them.
I don't want my dog to be this distressed, and I definitely don't want him to hurt someone. What else can I do to help him?

Let me share my 3000h of modded wisdom with you, my fellow vanilla comrades. My attempt here is to provide you with as many as possible improvements to the base game while keeping the style, balance, and content as vanilla as possible. As they say, when it works the best is when you don't realize it is there. I guarantee you that after playing for a while with these, you will no longer be able to tell what's from the base game and what's not.
You don't know how to mod? Maybe this very basic guide will help. Please, note that many mods come with options to tune up your experience. It is recommended you give them a look.
You can find the steam collection here. Be aware that some of these mods require the DLCs. You don't have the DLCs? Just don't use the mod.
Dependencies:

• Harmony + Huglibs. Required by so many mods, you may as well be done with it and always have them.
• Vanilla Expanded Framework. While not as radically necessary as the previous ones, it's still a dependency fairly common. And this one actually does cool things on its own, like loading new modded factions without having to start a new game.
• XML Extensions. You won't be able to access the options of some mods without this.

Performance

• Dub performance analyzer. Enable the optimizations and override options, you can ignore everything else. If you want to disable alerts, use rocketman.
• Rocketman. By default, it should be good enough. This mod also allows to disable alerts you may don't care about, like, dunno, tattered apparel or unhappy nudity. It is recommended to run adaptive move occasionally (in stat cache settings).
• Performance Optimizer. More hacker magic. If you don't like the UI changes, you can disable them in the options. This mod does more performance stuff aside from that, so use it anyway!
• Performance Fish. You will have to install this mod manually, since it's not available in the workshop. You will also need to install its dependencies, Fishery and Prepatcher. Please, be aware that at the present there's an issue in which linking storages crashes the game. However, this can be prevented by disabling "TryFindBestBetterStoreCellFor" in the options.

Minor changes

• Optimization Meats. Unless you really want dozens of different meat types for some weird role-play reason, this mod will reduce the bloat on your kitchens.
• Better Animal Tab
• Better Info Card
• Conduit Deconstruct. A button to exclusively dismantle power conduits.
• Disable Automatically Select Travel Supplies
• Improved Need Indicator
• Map Preview. You can reroll as well!
• Prepare Landing. You can search world tiles matching your conditions. Goes great with Map Preview.
• Medical Tab. An easy way to overview your colony health.
• More Harvest Designators! e.g. harvest only fully growth plants.
• ModDiff. Great improvement of the mod mismatch screen.
• Pharmacist Temporary Update. Instead of always using the best medicine, now your pawns can use the appropriate medicine for the situation. No longer will they spent glitterworld meds on scratches!
• Smart Turret Covering. Fixes an issue with turret covers.
• PawnTargetFix. So that the autotarget prioritizes the closest enemy.
• Poisoned Food Stack Fix (Fix). Fixes an issue with meal stacks.
• Priority Treatment Ressurected. Doctors will finally prioritize keeping your pawns alive over taking a nap. Disable the option that prevents injured pawns from performing surgery, it has issues.
• QualityBuilder. You can set up a target level for furniture, and your pawns will reconstruct it until it's achieved. If I remember correctly, it's enabled by default for all new furniture? You can turn that off in options.
• RPG Style Inventory Revamped. Much better looking inventory.
• Replace Stuff. Allows to directly replace buildings, without having to deconstruct first.
• Research Tree. A better research tree.
• RimHUD. The best mod of the whole list, it will save you A TON of clicks.
• RimSaves. Overhaul of the save menu.
• Show Known Techprints on the trade screen.
• Show mechanoid weapons on the info screen.
• Smarter Construction. No more babysitting pawns when building walls.
• Stack gap. By default, pawns constantly refill storages. With this mod, you can configure it so that storages are refiled only when they're empty.
• Sun Lamp Honesty. Fixes an issue with sun lamps
• Just Put It Over There. Traders will deliver the merchandise, instead of dropping it on the ground.
• Trade Ships Drop Spot. Mark the spot in which orbital traders will deliver the merchandise, instead on whenever they feel like it. Doesn't work inside animal pens.
• Trading Options. Configure how frequent you want the traders to be.
• WVC. More work modes for the mechanitor.
• Save Settings. Allows you to save and load storage, production, and clothes settings. Works cross-save!
• No Max Bills. Removes the bill cap on workbenches.
• Better ground-penetrating scanner
• Colored deep resources
• Common Sense. Feel free to configure however you like it. I prefer it like this.
• Dubs Mint Menus. Improvements to a bunch of menus.
• Better Pawn Control. Improved management policies.
• Animals Logic. A lot of useful animal-related improvements. Disable the meat option if you're using Optimization Meats.
• Non uno Pinata. Pawns don't drop items when downed. Configurable.
• Bulk Smelting will save you precious time.
• Stonecutting Extended. The same as the previous mod, but for stones.
• Electric Stonecutting Table. To speed up the stonecutting even more.
• Faster Smoothing, a must for all mountain/underground out there.
• Do Your F****** Research. You can order pawns to research.
• Go the Fork to Sleep. You can order pawns to sleep.
• Meal Radius. Configure how far pawns will search for a table to eat.
• Home radius. Configure the size of the automatic home area.
• Smarter Visitors. Visitors will leave if things get dangerous.
• Custom Guilt Duration. Executions in vanilla are a pain because the guilty status goes away too fast. Now you can configure it.
• Dress Patients. Allows dressing of downed pawns.
• Way Better Romance
• Hunters Use Melee
• Injured Carry. Allows to rescue not downed pawns, no longer you have to wait for the bleeding to down them.
• Not My Fault. The player is no longer responsible for unrelated deaths on the map.
• Deep Storage + Simple Storage. Improves stockpile management.
• Pick Up And Haul. Improved hauling.
• While You're Up. Complement for the previous mod. Keep in mind that these two mods will trivialize part of the challenge by freeing a lot of time from your colonists. Just, dunno, turn up the difficulty a notch or something.
• Trading Spot. Marks where you want traders to stop on your map. It's a must if you use a desired path mod (I don't know if they have been updated to 1.5 yet).
• Vanilla Base Generation Expanded. Improved NPC base generation.
• Cut plants before building
• Psychic Harmonizer Lag Fix
• Fellow Ideology players, you're welcome.
  • Style Change Anytime
  • Persistent Precepts

Major changes

• Dubs Bad Hygiene. Plumbing!
• Vanilla Temperature Expanded. Lot of useful temperature-related buildings, as well as proxy heat, a very cool mechanic. Some buildings are redundant with the previous mod, just don't research the ones that you don't want.
• Death Rattle + Biosculpter Patch + Life Support. Changes the behavior of mortal wounds so they're not instakills.
• Dynamic Flooding. Inundations!
• Some Things Float. I recommend disabling the chance of pawns loosing their footing.
• Layered Wall Destruction. Walls aren't just destroyed, they become debris. Note that there's an issue in which the debris will spawn home areas.
• Yayo's Combat. Combat overhaul. You can disable the ammunition system if it's not your thing.
• Character Editor. Allows you to edit and save/load pawns.
• RunAndGun. Allows to use guns while moving, with penalties to accuracy. Don't enable the dual wield or search and destroy modules, they won't work.
• EPOE Forked. Fills in the gaps of surgery content in the base game. I recommend disabling the additional workstations and enabling direct crafting only. Less micromanagement, more fun.

Balance

• Beautiful Jade
• Almostthere1.5. Caravans no longer go to sleep two hours away from their destination.
• Stepping Stones. A more reasonable research path.
• Dubs Break Mod makes it so that severe mental breaks require severe negative thoughts.
• Fists Aren't Made of Steel. Reduces the unarmed melee damage, making prison breaks and tantrums much less frustrating.
• No Burn Metal. Sets the flammability of metal buildings, and others, to zero.
• Prisoners Fear Turrets
• Realistic Rooms Rewritten. Allows to tweak how pawns perceive room sizes.
• Ugh You Got Me. Social fights stop when pawns are sufficiently hurt or in pain. Doesn't affect masochists or psychopaths.
• Better Pyromania. Way less frustrating.
• Mortar Accuracy. Improves mortar mechanics.
• Graze up. Grazing rebalanced.
• Better Camp Loot
• Snap Out! Wardens can try to calm down pawns on mental breaks. "Try" is the keyword here.
• Peer Pressure. Opinions matter when converting someone.
• Better Gene Inheritance
• Vanilla Genes Rebalanced
• Gene Trader. Getting xenogenes it's hard, this should easy the burden a bit.

Content

• Sparkling Worlds. A bit of everything.
• Vanilla Traits Expanded. More traits.
• Vanilla Backstories Expanded. More backstories.
• Vanilla Chemfuel Expanded. Rimefeller but with less bloat.
• Vegetable Garden. More farmable plants.
• Vanilla Persona Weapons Expanded + More Persona Traits. More persona weapon variety.
• More Ideological Words + More Religious Origins. More ideology variety
• Events
  • Factional War
  • Raid Extension
  • Go Explore!
  • Vanilla Events Expanded
• Buildings
  • Blooming hedges
  • Panels & Frames
  • Simply More Bridges
  • Thrones plus
  • Tribal Crib
  • Utility Columns
  • Medieval deathrest coffin
  • Metallic Batteries. You can ignore the error, it'll work anyway.
  • Reinforced Walls
  • ReSplice: Core
• Gear
  • Crowns and Regalia
  • Fallout New Vegas - Elite Riot Gear
  • Maid Outfits :3
  • Wheelchairs

Atmospheric changes

• Interaction Bubbles + SpeakUp. Better social interactions.
• Enemy Self Preservation. Enemies severely hurt may try to flee.
• No One Left Behind. Fleeing enemies try to rescue their downed allies.
• Memorable Auroras. They now have a meaningful -if still small- impact.
• Sand Castles. The snowmen of the beaches. Or the deserts.
• Sandstorms
• Graying Hair. So that hair goes gray gradually with age.
• Childrens Drawings
• ReGrowth. Overhaul of biomes and much more!
• My Little Planet. If you're tired of supercontinents, but still want a smaller board, set planet coverage to 100%, and use the new planet size slider instead.
• Geological Landforms. New map shapes.
• Biome Transitions. More organic border biomes.
• Death Acidifiest. Vanilla death acidifier is lame, this is much cooler.
• Graphics
  • Yayo's Animation
  • Trait and Backstory Icons
  • Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Icons and Symbols
  • Vanilla Ideology Expanded - Relics and Artifacts
  • Vanilla Races Expanded - Custom Icons
  • Bionic icons
  • Spectacular Skullspike. They're rotable now!
  • Muzzle Flash
  • More Mini-Horns
  • Better Explosions
  • Better Vanilla Masking
  • Graphic Chair Overhaul 2
  • Not Overhead Meal
  • Graphics Settings+
  • Show Hair With Hats or Hide All Hats. This one takes a while to set up to your preferences, but oh it's so worth it.
  • Cuter Biotech Cat/Dog Ear Replacer. If you don't like the meat-colored animal ears from Biotech, this is for you!
  • Blood Animations
  • Gunplay. Trails can break some mods. If that happens, disable trails in options.
• Retextures
  • Parka Retexture
  • Retextured Apparel
  • Retextured Sculptures
  • Vanilla Beards Retextured
  • Vanilla Hair Retextured
  • Vanilla Pawns Retextured
  • Marbled Marble
  • Essentials: Stone (the stat changes won't work)
  • Vanilla Textures Expanded - Variations
  • Vanilla Textures Expanded
  • I Hate Daylilies
  • Biotech Mechanoid Retexture
  • Tastier Vanilla Clothes
  • Van's Steel
  • Glowing Healroot
  • More Vanilla Textures
• Audio
  • Ambient Rim
  • Realistic Human Sounds. Not very vanilla, but certainly very funny.
  • Actually Vanilla Music Expansion
  • P-Music
• Hairs
  • Erin's Hairstyles
  • Hard Times
  • Rimsenal Hair + Retextured
  • Roo's Hairstyles
  • Roo's Royalty Hairstyles
  • The Vanity Project
  • Won hair_men + Retextured
  • Won hair_women + Retextured

Bonus: comics! And the occasional animation. I noticed newbies aren't aware of these, so I linked the profiles of all the artists I could remember. Sorry if I missed someone. u/daleksdeservevictory, u/AzulCrescent, u/AetherealVanguard, u/ATTF , u/Aelanna , srgrafo, u/Fonzawa, u/Ivancmedia, u/zyll3, u/meto30, u/AeolysScribbles, u/cavalier753, u/GABESTFY, u/VectorData, u/arxian, u/Nguyenanh2132, u/sorrowful_dance, u/meto30, u/-desdinova-, u/truffli

I met a woman a while back who quit smoking, she started when she was 14 and was now in her 70s, so smoking was a big part of her identity and also she was terrified of running out of cigarettes.
So when she quit, she saved three cigarettes in her last pack, to make sure if she really, really needed them she could smoke them. But to make sure she didn't she tied this pack up in a big bed sheet. So she knew it was there but too big a hassle to get to.
And then I also read this story in a book by Alejandro Jodorowsky...

I met Alejandro in the seventies. We worked on the film Dune. Every day for two months, he brought me a new surprise in his totally surreal way of approaching the creation of a work, or any thought or situation, for that matter . . . One of my most gnawing problems at the time was smoking—how to spend these long hours with this fascinating person without affirming my thoughts through big puffs of “fumoduction,” cheerfully conversing over some refreshments on the terrace at a café, once the magic was implemented. Silence around the table, all the attention turned toward what I had started. Alejandro contemplated me with a discreet and friendly mirth. I thought about this dear smoke, intangible chum, always available, effective, and reassuring, with the merry clacking of the lighter, the scratching sound of the matches . . . Was I ready to abandon these apparently indispensable pleasures? But I also thought of the gray ashes, which invade everything, of the shortness of breath, of the phlegm and pain in the mornings . . . I decided to take the step! And then, I was very curious. Not only was I going to see Alejandro perform a magic trick, but also I was going to be the object. One last thing incited me to jump: the others sitting around me, waiting for my response. Was I going to disappoint them and deprive them of magic in action?
“Okay, I am ready!”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“Give me your pack of cigarettes.”
I took out my pack of Gauloises, a third of the way gone. Was he going to cast a spell on them, transform them into a pumpkin? After some bizarre incantation, he whispered with seriousness: “My magic is very powerful but very simple. To quit smoking, it suffices to make the decision, and that you have already done. The problem is to remember your decision, and that is where magic takes place. Who has a pen?” I extended to him my ballpoint pen and gazed, fascinated, at the precise gestures of my friend who took apart the cellophane wrapping on the pack. He took the pen . . . I was finally going to see into what cabalistic sign, what powerful charm, he was going to transform my opened pack. “It is very simple. On this side, I write this little word—No, and on the other side this little phrase—I can.” Alejandro wrapped the cellophane back around the pack, and he returned it to me as if it were a bomb ready to explode or nothing less than the Holy Grail wrapped in a golden fleece. I should keep this pack a half-dozen weeks until, completely cleared of the least desire to smoke, I make it a gift to a friend in need—one had to wonder what this “no” and “I can” meant. I have not, since, had the least desire to touch a cigarette again.

This got me curious what kind of weird tricks you guys might have used or heard about that are not the normal '5 Ds' or eating carrots or whatever.

I won't disclose its actual location, so if that's why you're here, sorry to disappoint. It's not time for that yet. However, I do think it's time to start getting the word out. I've noticed an increase in what I'll call "Antennas" lately, or people who can detect cross-planar phase shifts. Without getting into all the math (some of which I don't even know), this is basically a phenomenon which refers to entropy seeping into our universe from other realms or universes or whatever you want to call it. Simply put, people think our universe is a closed system to entropy, meaning that the disorder of any variable in our universe can only increase or decrease in direct proportion to other variables in that same system (the universe). Under this precept, we can establish rules like the Laws of Thermodynamics, and for most people, they're effective. But not for Antennas.
Put another way, if you throw a bunch of bouncy balls into a box, there are a number of different configurations that the balls could take on, with different speeds and magnitudes. You can calculate all of those if you have the right numbers. Now let's say you throw in another set of balls that you don't consider in your calculations of the initial set. Well, then you're not going to get an accurate picture of what's happening. Most people only see the first set and calculate based on that, but some people can see two, three, four or more sets.
You'll understand the concept better when I tell you the story, but I wanted to give you a primer on an important concept that will help you understand why this place, which I'll call "Area X", exists, and what the goals of the people who work there are.
Also note that I'm going to be using the alias "Trent" moving forward. Please refer to me as such in any direct messages.
***
Eighteen years ago I started working as an independent Home Inspector. I dropped out of community college after my first semester (not because I didn't find some of the subjects interesting, but because deference to a man or woman has never been my style) and started working some odd jobs. I did construction work for a couple years, then plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for six months. I've always found pleasure in using my hands, and getting dirty was never a problem for me. Still, having a boss really dragged ass, so I spent my free time working on creating my own business. It took a few years and lots of savings, but I finally managed to get basic set of Home Inspection equipment: Tyvek coveralls, a cheap half-face respirator, voltage & AFCI/GFCI testers, CO2 and radon monitors, an IR camera, and telescoping mirrors in addition to the boots, safety glasses, electric gloves, ladder, and toolkits I already had on hand.
My buddy at the time was in the business, but he was moving off to the coast, so he helped me get set up and even introduced me to some of his clients. Of course, by that time I had already gotten my State license, but I still was a bit apprehensive to work with insurance agencies. I thought I could make a living working independently, inspecting for mold or sizing up a house for a prospective buyer. Eventually, though, I realized I should probably take every job available to me.
Easing into the business went about as well as it could have. The clients my friend referred to me were very satisfied with my work, and I was able to retain them. Then, in order to increase my reach, I hired someone on Fiverr to build a website for my company which led to a marked increase in traffic and conversions. About six months through, I began to get on a first-name basis with the boys and girls down down at Allstate and Progressive, and they fed me some of the bigger cases. In fact, I got so booked by year's end that I had to hire someone to help manage my schedule and the Excel spreadsheet with all my finances. I capped off a successful year with a 5-star Google rating and a trip to Ireland to visit some family and friends and get piss drunk. When I got back, it was the grindstone all over again, until the summer when I discovered… well, you'll see.
First off, I want to say that I was never one to believe in the paranormal. I grew up watching the movies and hearing the ghost stories round the campfire like every other kid, but it never struck a chord with me. If I can't touch it or see it or hear it, does it really exist? Probably not. So don't go thinking this was a scared man seeing his own shadow. That being said, I had this sense that something was off about this house when I parked along the curb and looked through a large window, perhaps two times the size of my van, to a dingy, dark foyer.
The entire neighborhood was stacked with upper-middle class domiciles, though it seemed like only two thirds of them were occupied, mostly by professionals who commuted to the City every weekday, and the rest were empty. As a man who understands real estate, to say this was strange would be an understatement. Still, I had no problem appraising the mini-mansion for a couple of newlyweds looking to enter the community. I did some research on the property ahead of time, and it seems that it was owned by a couple of old timers who had gone off the grid some time ago. The water and electric bill were both unpaid dating back to 2004 (it was June of '06 now). The bank had repo'd the house (which only had about 100k left on it) and held it for a year and a half before putting it back on the market. I tried to find out more about the old couple who vanished, but there was nothing in the news.
I stepped out of the van in my coveralls and grabbed my suitcase which had my mask, gloves, and eye protection in it. I liked to do a preliminary survey first, running an eye test on the exterior then interior before bringing out the big guns (that way I could identify the areas where I think there could be problems instead of running a metal detector over the whole damn ocean seaboard). I was about to do just that when the window caught my eye again. It felt uncharacteristic of me to be so occupied with this window, but I detoured to the front porch and peeked inside anyway.
Most of the furniture had already been moved out, meaning all that was left was a single three-seater couch, a couple candlesticks on the fireplace mantle, a pristine chandelier overtop a dining room table, and the kitchenware: an oven, gas stovetop, marble countertops, and an island. I could see into the living room very clearly with the afternoon light, but the dining room was dim enough that there were a few structures I couldn't quite make out in the distance. One of them appeared to be some kind of china cabinet or bookshelf—I figured it was the former considering where it was located. The other shadow looked kind of like a grandfather clock. Or at least that's what I thought until it moved.
When I say it "moved", I don't mean to say that it picked up and walked away. If you're not familiar with the Necker Cube, I suggest you search it up, because that kind of illusion is the best way to describe what I saw. At first I was seeing the grandfather clock in a certain way—pushed into the corner of the room—and the next second my vision "corrected" and it was maybe five feet to the left of its former position. I shook my head and looked again and saw the grandfather clock in its second orientation, standing in the center of the room against the wall. I figured I was just seeing things, but even so I spent a little extra time dawdling around the Egress window, taking notes, and delaying the interior inspection.
When I finally grew a pair and went inside, I walked straight to the dining room. Sure enough, the grandfather clock was stowed away in the corner of the room. I spent a couple minutes watching it with my pencil and travel notebook out. I'm the kind of guy that likes to collect hard data when the chips are down. Unfortunately, the clock apparently already had enough fun and was content with sweating me. Oh, well.
I fitted my pencil behind my ear and pocketed my travel notebook, then flipped the rest of the first floor lights on and completed my prelim. I concluded that everything was pretty standard. If anything, the house was in better shape than I'd expect considering it presumably hasn't been lived in for a couple years. I say "presumably" because one can never count out squatters, even during those times. Mainly I was expecting more dust build up and cobwebs than there were. Perhaps someone from the department had come by recently. It's unlikely, but possible.
I did the same check upstairs and it came back mostly clean. There was a bit of staining near the attic I wanted to check for mold. Based on its color, it was probably just a minor case of Aspergillus, but better safe than sorry. Then I got to the basement, and, well, let's just count out the idea of anyone dropping by. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what I found.
The first thing that caught my eye was the long, slender body of a birch tree lying pale and dead across a large portion of the even larger unfinished basement's cement flooring. I had to do a double take to make sure I wasn't dreaming, but, yep, there it was. Its crown was sealed up in the wall with only its trunk hanging out, which made me think of those medieval pillory devices which locked up people's heads and arms. Then confetti-scattered around the tree and all over the basement floor was a minefield of broken glass and ceramic tangled up with a set of random objects. And when I say random, I mean random. There was an unfurled Somali flag (the blue one with a single star in the center), some packaged drinks and condiments branded with all sorts of different languages (I could only make out Gaelic and Chinese or Japanese, I couldn't quite tell), a broken dome-shaped security camera, an otoscope (the thing the doc uses to check your ears), Hot Wheels cars (okay that one isn't so strange), and the list goes on.
At that moment, I wasn't freaked out or disgusted. I was more or less just confused. I started walking through the rubble, trying to avoid the sharp fragments but pretty confident that my steel toed boots would crush most the pieces anyway, when I heard a clink just up ahead. I was able to spot the coin in time, just before it jingled to a halt atop an old Life magazine. I picked it up and noted right away its oval shape and bronze color—clearly not American made. I tried reading it, but not only was the language not English, it appeared to be so old that most of the lettering had been filed down. I looked up at the ceiling to see if it dropped from a shelf, but there was nothing that could have been holding the coin. I considered for a moment, looking around at the other junk, and had the crazy idea that maybe all this stuff just appeared here. I popped the coin in my pocket and headed back to the van when I stopped by the tree and realized something. It wasn't a birch tree—it was a palm tree. I just didn't realize because of how ashy and decayed the bark was.
Now at this point you might think I've been acting a little nonchalant for such a strange occurrence, and I don't blame you, but if you're gonna stick around with me that's just something you're gonna have to get used to. I guess I was just born with a screw loose, but I really don't scare easily, and I tend to look at everything pragmatically. If you dig deep enough, you'll always find another plausible explanation. That being said, I do want to get to the part about Area X, so let me give you the rundown on what I learned about this basement.
I ended up trekking back to the van and picking up my gear. I was no longer running the routine inspection, obviously, but I figured I might as well throw 30 thousand dollars of scanning equipment at whatever the fuck anamoly existed in that basement. Most of it came back negative. There was a bit higher-than-usual EM interference as picked up on the voltmeters, but nothing that screamed danger close. Still, it was enough for me to set up my volt testers and IR camera while muddling through the rest of the junk. I won't bore you with another list of items, but I did find one thing of value: a diamond necklace. And not just any diamond necklace, it was one of those Queen-wearing, multi-row, big-jeweled necklaces like out of some Historical Fiction movie from the thirties. I almost didn't pocket it because I'm used to expensive items being owned by someone… someone who might want it back. But I figured if there was ever a place the finder's keeper's rule applied, it was probably in this Quantum graveyard.
7 O'clock rolled around and I hadn't eaten. I'm a pretty bulky guy, carrying my share of both muscle and fat, and most people think that means I need to eat a ton but that's really not the case. Mostly I just get dehydrated easily, especially in the summer. That said, I was bordering on famished territory and considered heading out for a bite when I heard another sound. The first thing I did was check my scanners, and sure enough the voltage needle was fully spun to the right side of the dial. EM interference. Then I went to see what had dropped. I was able to pick the object out pretty quickly since I had spent the last 6 hours staring at the mosaic of a basement floor. It was a silver briefcase, like one of those out of a crime novel, and it was cracked open.
I had this sense then that I was standing at a precipice, and if I opened the briefcase and looked inside, I wouldn't be able to stop whatever would come afterwards. Part of me deep down knew that I was just that type of guy that had to know, and maybe this was my Hamlet moment where it would be a trait gone a step too far. But then again I didn't really believe in any of that sentimental bullshit, so I opened the briefcase.
The gun surprised me a little, but not as much as the piece of paper laid atop a case file reading in large black font, "FIND ME". I expected the envelope to have some missing person file in it, but instead there were all these schematics and blueprints for some kind of device. Whatever it was, it was pretty massive. Some of the lengths were hundreds of meters long. And what's more strange is based on the blueprint's locale, it appeared to be underground. I looked back through the pages a couple times, then checked the note—nothing strange there. The gun appeared to be a simple glock. I was no gun expert, but I had been to the range pretty regularly with my construction buddies, so I got used to the feel of a pistol and rifle and some of the different names; however, I realized pretty quickly it wasn't your standard glock when I couldn't find mag-release. That's when I noticed how light the gun felt. I tried to chamber a round, but again, there was no hammer. What the hell kind of gun was this?
I ended up throwing everything back in the briefcase, including the necklace, coin, and a few Koozies I found that were branded with one of my favorite sports teams (never let an opportunity go to waste). I put up all my shit back in the van and spun over to a local burger joint, got my fill, and went home. I made sure to draft an email to the prospective buyers, telling them the house had several patches of black mold and a bit of a rat problem before drifting off to sleep. Although I really didn't do much of that.
When I woke up, I took a cold shower and downed a can of Reign, then commuted to my gym and got a lift and some sauna time in before making the trip back to the house. I brought some extra supplies with me for some experiments I cooked up while not sleeping the previous night.
First, I had two camcorders set up on a couple tripods in either corner of the basement. I wanted clear footage of these mystery objects spawning in. Then I set up a voltmeter in a similar fashion, but I had a wire extending out of it on a circuit which fed to an alarm that would blare when the reading was over 250 volts. Upstairs, I rearranged some of the furniture so that the small number of tables, chairs, clock, cabinets, and other little pillows or vases I could find were scattered across the living room, dining room, and kitchen. Then I pulled up a lawn chair to the front porch window and waited.
I didn't have to wait long though. In about a minute, I started to notice some of the objects moving. It was strange. When a few of them would shift simultaneously, it was like looking at a holographic card that would change shape depending on where your eyes were in relation to the image. Every time I saw a shift, I felt an awkward feeling in my eyes. They went blurry for a fraction of a second, then there was a twinge of pain, as if my brain couldn't handle the contradictory stimulus. It didn't get more crazy than that though—until the alarm went off.
I had cracked open the small rectangular window in the basement to the side of the house so I would hear it. It took four hours and several strange stares from passersby walking their dogs before it rang, so I was a bit lost in my thoughts, but when I heard the beep I perked up fast. It lasted for maybe 5 seconds total, but what I saw was truly miraculous. The best way I can describe it is a pool of silver or gray or translucent light emerging in the foreground between me and the objects in the different rooms. A series of twisting tentacles sprouted from the gray octopus-like head and spun in a way that reminded me of that little kids ride at the amusement parks. Then the objects started to "heat up" is the way I describe it. Their position became relative, meaning they were here one second, there another, then they popped out of existence entirely. Suddenly the rooms were all empty, then they were full of things I had never seen before. Then five seconds passed and the octopus vanished and it was back to the same old objects in their usual places.
It took a few minutes to process what I saw, and even then I wasn't sure I really saw it. I went inside and looked around at my distribution of the house's furnishings. They were all there, intact. Then I went downstairs to check the cams. I rewinded a couple minutes and played it back, but there was no flying object to be found. Instead, there was some gray static that lasted half a second and then the object, a kid's treasure chest toy, was there on the ground. But you want to know the really strange part? I rewinded the tape again, and when I watched the footage back, the treasure chest was always there.
I later came to understand that these poppings in-and-out of our reality are only conceivable to a conscious mind that can track the interference patterns—not rote computational instruments. In fact, even most people can't do it (although everyone has at least a slight awareness of it, even if only subconsciously). Plus, locations like the basement of this house are very rare and kept under tight lock. That became obvious to me two days later when, after my normal morning routine, I pulled up to a driveway and curbside filled with unmarked government vehicles. Either bravely or stupidly, I pulled up to a few officers (they were wearing suits in 85 degree weather, so I assumed…) who were idling by the large fence of crime scene tape and asked them what the score was.
"There was a crime," said the short man with a unibrow.
"Oh, is that right? Damn shame. Someone break in? I have a niece who lives nearby, so…"
The man looked at his two compatriots, both of whom were wearing sunglasses and a "get this civilian fuck out of here" expressions. "Oh, yeah," he started in a reassuring tone that was so condescending it would have annoyed anyone except me, "we found a body. We think it was a homicide. Best to keep your kids away from here for a while."
I thumbed the stubble on my chin, my other hand outstretched on the wheel, and considered moving on, but my mouth had other ideas. "That right? But uh, isn't this house vacant? I mean, I don't remember no one living in it."
The short man, now tall with temper, said, "Yeah, some squatters. We think there was a dispute over some drug money. Nothing for you to worry about though, we got it under control. Now if you wouldn't mind moving along, we have a lot of work to do."
Oh, I'm sure you do, I thought, but only said, "Of course, sir, sorry for keeping you from your job." Then I rolled up the window and cruised on, keeping my eyes on the house which slowly diminished in the side-view mirror.
Luckily I had been smart enough to break down my camp and lug home all my equipment each night, so I didn't leave anything incriminating. I didn't move the furniture back, so maybe that would come back to haunt me, but considering the kind of shit going down in that house, I didn't think they would notice.
For any of you wondering about the conclusion of the house story, I went back a couple weeks later after the suits had left and the tape was taken down and confirmed that not only was the basement entirely cleaned out, but it was no longer exhibiting any strange properties. I looked for a story related to the house, maybe a made up murder of some kind, but there was nothing. That bastard lied to me and didn't even bother to cover his story up.
Now, in the aftermath of an event such as this, I really only had one of two options. I could forget it, move on, continue living life. The necklace was surely worth a fortune. I could sell it and have enough to retire, or at least hire enough people and expand my business large enough to retire within ten or so years. Or I could take all that money and invest it in my own PI business with only a single objective: finding out what those people knew, and why they were hiding it.
I think you know me well enough by now to guess which line of reasoning appealed more to me.
***
For the sake of brevity, I'm going to omit most of my encounters along the journey to discovering Area X. There's a lot to tell, and if it appeals to you perhaps I'd be willing to share at a later date, but for now I want to get this part of the story, the more proximal part, out in the open.
Three years ago, I discovered the source of what I'll call "The Receiver". This is the device that was schematized in the documents that I found in the briefcase. What it does is a complex answer, and how it does it is pretty much all speculation, but here's what I've been able to find out: this universe we live in is a node in a network of many other spaces. These spaces exist in higher dimensions that we cannot directly perceive, but using a conceivable analogy, just think about a flower with petals. The petals are these other dimensions which bleed into our world, which is at the center. However, it's not that pretty. We see the physical world through the lens of spacetime: sizes, speeds, etc. These other dimensions don't necessarily have space or time. In fact, what actually exists there, I couldn't say. The only data I have on them is from two sources: correspondence information and server data from the secret agency (which I'll call "the Organization") that keeps this under wraps, and first-hand experience with realms from these other entities, either directly (I experience it) or through the eyes of someone else with the same or greater abilities than I possess.
I referred to these people with abilities earlier as "Antennas", and I will continue to use the term. Antennas really come in three flavors, marked by the strength of their ability: weak Antennas, like me, are able to observe spontaneous interactions between our universe and other dimensions (phase shifts) when there is a strong force of collision like existed in the basement; moderate Antennas may see phase shifts occur at any point, and they usually are able to retain memories from across the different transformations; strong Antennas, and I don't know if they exist yet, but they are able to consciously interact with these other realms and cause phase shifts to occur.
I mentioned that moderate Antennas are able to retain memories from before and after a phase shift. Technically, all Antennas have this ability, but it's about degree. I can recall only very specific instances and without much detail. Moderates are usually able to pick out much more nuanced minutiae. At the lower end of moderate scale, most of those details fade or get fuzzy over time, but for the very strong Antennas, they hold onto almost everything. One other property that scales with strength is interaction with other conscious entities. Only a small percentage of moderates are able to do this. What's interesting is that these entities can possess (yes, like ghosts) people who aren't even antennas, but no one is aware of such possession at this deep of a level. I have several companions now, and only two have had interactions with these otherworldly beings. Not all of them are malevolent, some of them are whimsical or kind, but there are a fair share of demons out there.
Getting back to the point, Area X started as a government funded project in the 70's. At that time, they were focused on a few subjects: Artificial Intelligence, DNA sequencing, and psychedelics. Yes, they were part of the infamous LSD experiments. But they looked at these subjects through a common lens—there was something that the burgeoning tech industry, fueled by the advent of a commercial computer market, was missing. As the tech giants rose in the early 2000's and began to collect mass amounts of data, this other agency was decades ahead in a different metric, although it was completely (and still is) hidden from the public. Their efforts to understand psychedelic experiences led to a formalized method of understanding interactions between multiple realities. They built certain scanning equipment to detect anomalies like the one I found in the basement; although their tools were much more sophisticated and didn't utilize voltage readings. Then they ran tests in these areas. One area in particular is a hot-bed of phase shift interactions. That's where Area X is located (and the Receiver).
The Receiver is a giant electromagnetic orb that has trapped the kind of multi-dimensional energy that causes the phase shifts; since the Organization seized control of the lab, it's effectively become a map of the Earth in relation to these other worlds. For the past twenty or so years, the Organization has been studying this map, using the data big Tech companies have collected to essentially develop a Rosetta Stone for interpreting the meaning of the fluctuations in their scanning equipment. Recently, the public, though going the long way round, was actually pretty close to a breakthrough in this same department until recently when ultra-powerful LLMs surfaced, and the whole world began going down what I'd argue is the wrong rabbit hole of language processing. But I digress.
Area X is essentially a private military base built for defending the most impactful piece of technology ever invented. With the Receiver, the Organization now has the power to essentially predict any and all future outcomes, the only thing holding them back is the limitations of their own scanning equipment which will get better with time. To put it into perspective, the Organization has access to a kind of data allocation tool which in one day can produce over ten thousand times that the Big Data companies combined would be able to filter through in the next decade. You might think, then, that the problem is merely asymmetric power, and that is certainly a concern, but it isn't the main concern. The main issue is that this organization is actively recruiting (and kidnapping) Antennas from around the world in an effort to find or make one of them into a strong Antenna. In other words, they want a subject who is able not only to see the future, but to manipulate it at will.
balance to the world. I've been working on amassing resources, capital, and building my own team, and now I'm ready. You might ask why I'm posting this here. Wouldn't it be better to keep all this secret? Well, yes, it would be. But that's the problem. Nothing is secret anymore. They know about me and the others, and if I don't make a move, they will. In a way, this is a letter directly to the organization that I know, and I'm coming.
In a different way, I wanted to release this information to the public. There are lots of people out there waking up and realizing that the world they experience is not the one others experience. If you think you might be an Antenna, don't be afraid—you have a special gift that can be controlled. If you want more details on how to control it, or if you're interested in my mission, don't be afraid to reach out. This hasn't always been my life's work, but it is now.
At least until I die.

I won't disclose its actual location, so if that's why you're here, sorry to disappoint. It's not time for that yet. However, I do think it's time to start getting the word out. I've noticed an increase in what I'll call "Antennas" lately, or people who can detect cross-planar phase shifts. Without getting into all the math (some of which I don't even know), this is basically a phenomenon which refers to entropy seeping into our universe from other realms or universes or whatever you want to call it. Simply put, people think our universe is a closed system to entropy, meaning that the disorder of any variable in our universe can only increase or decrease in direct proportion to other variables in that same system (the universe). Under this precept, we can establish rules like the Laws of Thermodynamics, and for most people, they're effective. But not for Antennas.
Put another way, if you throw a bunch of bouncy balls into a box, there are a number of different configurations that the balls could take on, with different speeds and magnitudes. You can calculate all of those if you have the right numbers. Now let's say you throw in another set of balls that you don't consider in your calculations of the initial set. Well, then you're not going to get an accurate picture of what's happening. Most people only see the first set and calculate based on that, but some people can see two, three, four or more sets.
You'll understand the concept better when I tell you the story, but I wanted to give you a primer on an important concept that will help you understand why this place, which I'll call "Area X", exists, and what the goals of the people who work there are.
Also note that I'm going to be using the alias "Trent" moving forward. Please refer to me as such in any direct messages.
***
Eighteen years ago I started working as an independent Home Inspector. I dropped out of community college after my first semester (not because I didn't find some of the subjects interesting, but because deference to a man or woman has never been my style) and started working some odd jobs. I did construction work for a couple years, then plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for six months. I've always found pleasure in using my hands, and getting dirty was never a problem for me. Still, having a boss really dragged ass, so I spent my free time working on creating my own business. It took a few years and lots of savings, but I finally managed to get basic set of Home Inspection equipment: Tyvek coveralls, a cheap half-face respirator, voltage & AFCI/GFCI testers, CO2 and radon monitors, an IR camera, and telescoping mirrors in addition to the boots, safety glasses, electric gloves, ladder, and toolkits I already had on hand.
My buddy at the time was in the business, but he was moving off to the coast, so he helped me get set up and even introduced me to some of his clients. Of course, by that time I had already gotten my State license, but I still was a bit apprehensive to work with insurance agencies. I thought I could make a living working independently, inspecting for mold or sizing up a house for a prospective buyer. Eventually, though, I realized I should probably take every job available to me.
Easing into the business went about as well as it could have. The clients my friend referred to me were very satisfied with my work, and I was able to retain them. Then, in order to increase my reach, I hired someone on Fiverr to build a website for my company which led to a marked increase in traffic and conversions. About six months through, I began to get on a first-name basis with the boys and girls down down at Allstate and Progressive, and they fed me some of the bigger cases. In fact, I got so booked by year's end that I had to hire someone to help manage my schedule and the Excel spreadsheet with all my finances. I capped off a successful year with a 5-star Google rating and a trip to Ireland to visit some family and friends and get piss drunk. When I got back, it was the grindstone all over again, until the summer when I discovered… well, you'll see.
First off, I want to say that I was never one to believe in the paranormal. I grew up watching the movies and hearing the ghost stories round the campfire like every other kid, but it never struck a chord with me. If I can't touch it or see it or hear it, does it really exist? Probably not. So don't go thinking this was a scared man seeing his own shadow. That being said, I had this sense that something was off about this house when I parked along the curb and looked through a large window, perhaps two times the size of my van, to a dingy, dark foyer.
The entire neighborhood was stacked with upper-middle class domiciles, though it seemed like only two thirds of them were occupied, mostly by professionals who commuted to the City every weekday, and the rest were empty. As a man who understands real estate, to say this was strange would be an understatement. Still, I had no problem appraising the mini-mansion for a couple of newlyweds looking to enter the community. I did some research on the property ahead of time, and it seems that it was owned by a couple of old timers who had gone off the grid some time ago. The water and electric bill were both unpaid dating back to 2004 (it was June of '06 now). The bank had repo'd the house (which only had about 100k left on it) and held it for a year and a half before putting it back on the market. I tried to find out more about the old couple who vanished, but there was nothing in the news.
I stepped out of the van in my coveralls and grabbed my suitcase which had my mask, gloves, and eye protection in it. I liked to do a preliminary survey first, running an eye test on the exterior then interior before bringing out the big guns (that way I could identify the areas where I think there could be problems instead of running a metal detector over the whole damn ocean seaboard). I was about to do just that when the window caught my eye again. It felt uncharacteristic of me to be so occupied with this window, but I detoured to the front porch and peeked inside anyway.
Most of the furniture had already been moved out, meaning all that was left was a single three-seater couch, a couple candlesticks on the fireplace mantle, a pristine chandelier overtop a dining room table, and the kitchenware: an oven, gas stovetop, marble countertops, and an island. I could see into the living room very clearly with the afternoon light, but the dining room was dim enough that there were a few structures I couldn't quite make out in the distance. One of them appeared to be some kind of china cabinet or bookshelf—I figured it was the former considering where it was located. The other shadow looked kind of like a grandfather clock. Or at least that's what I thought until it moved.
When I say it "moved", I don't mean to say that it picked up and walked away. If you're not familiar with the Necker Cube, I suggest you search it up, because that kind of illusion is the best way to describe what I saw. At first I was seeing the grandfather clock in a certain way—pushed into the corner of the room—and the next second my vision "corrected" and it was maybe five feet to the left of its former position. I shook my head and looked again and saw the grandfather clock in its second orientation, standing in the center of the room against the wall. I figured I was just seeing things, but even so I spent a little extra time dawdling around the Egress window, taking notes, and delaying the interior inspection.
When I finally grew a pair and went inside, I walked straight to the dining room. Sure enough, the grandfather clock was stowed away in the corner of the room. I spent a couple minutes watching it with my pencil and travel notebook out. I'm the kind of guy that likes to collect hard data when the chips are down. Unfortunately, the clock apparently already had enough fun and was content with sweating me. Oh, well.
I fitted my pencil behind my ear and pocketed my travel notebook, then flipped the rest of the first floor lights on and completed my prelim. I concluded that everything was pretty standard. If anything, the house was in better shape than I'd expect considering it presumably hasn't been lived in for a couple years. I say "presumably" because one can never count out squatters, even during those times. Mainly I was expecting more dust build up and cobwebs than there were. Perhaps someone from the department had come by recently. It's unlikely, but possible.
I did the same check upstairs and it came back mostly clean. There was a bit of staining near the attic I wanted to check for mold. Based on its color, it was probably just a minor case of Aspergillus, but better safe than sorry. Then I got to the basement, and, well, let's just count out the idea of anyone dropping by. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what I found.
The first thing that caught my eye was the long, slender body of a birch tree lying pale and dead across a large portion of the even larger unfinished basement's cement flooring. I had to do a double take to make sure I wasn't dreaming, but, yep, there it was. Its crown was sealed up in the wall with only its trunk hanging out, which made me think of those medieval pillory devices which locked up people's heads and arms. Then confetti-scattered around the tree and all over the basement floor was a minefield of broken glass and ceramic tangled up with a set of random objects. And when I say random, I mean random. There was an unfurled Somali flag (the blue one with a single star in the center), some packaged drinks and condiments branded with all sorts of different languages (I could only make out Gaelic and Chinese or Japanese, I couldn't quite tell), a broken dome-shaped security camera, an otoscope (the thing the doc uses to check your ears), Hot Wheels cars (okay that one isn't so strange), and the list goes on.
At that moment, I wasn't freaked out or disgusted. I was more or less just confused. I started walking through the rubble, trying to avoid the sharp fragments but pretty confident that my steel toed boots would crush most the pieces anyway, when I heard a clink just up ahead. I was able to spot the coin in time, just before it jingled to a halt atop an old Life magazine. I picked it up and noted right away its oval shape and bronze color—clearly not American made. I tried reading it, but not only was the language not English, it appeared to be so old that most of the lettering had been filed down. I looked up at the ceiling to see if it dropped from a shelf, but there was nothing that could have been holding the coin. I considered for a moment, looking around at the other junk, and had the crazy idea that maybe all this stuff just appeared here. I popped the coin in my pocket and headed back to the van when I stopped by the tree and realized something. It wasn't a birch tree—it was a palm tree. I just didn't realize because of how ashy and decayed the bark was.
Now at this point you might think I've been acting a little nonchalant for such a strange occurrence, and I don't blame you, but if you're gonna stick around with me that's just something you're gonna have to get used to. I guess I was just born with a screw loose, but I really don't scare easily, and I tend to look at everything pragmatically. If you dig deep enough, you'll always find another plausible explanation. That being said, I do want to get to the part about Area X, so let me give you the rundown on what I learned about this basement.
I ended up trekking back to the van and picking up my gear. I was no longer running the routine inspection, obviously, but I figured I might as well throw 30 thousand dollars of scanning equipment at whatever the fuck anamoly existed in that basement. Most of it came back negative. There was a bit higher-than-usual EM interference as picked up on the voltmeters, but nothing that screamed danger close. Still, it was enough for me to set up my volt testers and IR camera while muddling through the rest of the junk. I won't bore you with another list of items, but I did find one thing of value: a diamond necklace. And not just any diamond necklace, it was one of those Queen-wearing, multi-row, big-jeweled necklaces like out of some Historical Fiction movie from the thirties. I almost didn't pocket it because I'm used to expensive items being owned by someone… someone who might want it back. But I figured if there was ever a place the finder's keeper's rule applied, it was probably in this Quantum graveyard.
7 O'clock rolled around and I hadn't eaten. I'm a pretty bulky guy, carrying my share of both muscle and fat, and most people think that means I need to eat a ton but that's really not the case. Mostly I just get dehydrated easily, especially in the summer. That said, I was bordering on famished territory and considered heading out for a bite when I heard another sound. The first thing I did was check my scanners, and sure enough the voltage needle was fully spun to the right side of the dial. EM interference. Then I went to see what had dropped. I was able to pick the object out pretty quickly since I had spent the last 6 hours staring at the mosaic of a basement floor. It was a silver briefcase, like one of those out of a crime novel, and it was cracked open.
I had this sense then that I was standing at a precipice, and if I opened the briefcase and looked inside, I wouldn't be able to stop whatever would come afterwards. Part of me deep down knew that I was just that type of guy that had to know, and maybe this was my Hamlet moment where it would be a trait gone a step too far. But then again I didn't really believe in any of that sentimental bullshit, so I opened the briefcase.
The gun surprised me a little, but not as much as the piece of paper laid atop a case file reading in large black font, "FIND ME". I expected the envelope to have some missing person file in it, but instead there were all these schematics and blueprints for some kind of device. Whatever it was, it was pretty massive. Some of the lengths were hundreds of meters long. And what's more strange is based on the blueprint's locale, it appeared to be underground. I looked back through the pages a couple times, then checked the note—nothing strange there. The gun appeared to be a simple glock. I was no gun expert, but I had been to the range pretty regularly with my construction buddies, so I got used to the feel of a pistol and rifle and some of the different names; however, I realized pretty quickly it wasn't your standard glock when I couldn't find mag-release. That's when I noticed how light the gun felt. I tried to chamber a round, but again, there was no hammer. What the hell kind of gun was this?
I ended up throwing everything back in the briefcase, including the necklace, coin, and a few Koozies I found that were branded with one of my favorite sports teams (never let an opportunity go to waste). I put up all my shit back in the van and spun over to a local burger joint, got my fill, and went home. I made sure to draft an email to the prospective buyers, telling them the house had several patches of black mold and a bit of a rat problem before drifting off to sleep. Although I really didn't do much of that.
When I woke up, I took a cold shower and downed a can of Reign, then commuted to my gym and got a lift and some sauna time in before making the trip back to the house. I brought some extra supplies with me for some experiments I cooked up while not sleeping the previous night.
First, I had two camcorders set up on a couple tripods in either corner of the basement. I wanted clear footage of these mystery objects spawning in. Then I set up a voltmeter in a similar fashion, but I had a wire extending out of it on a circuit which fed to an alarm that would blare when the reading was over 250 volts. Upstairs, I rearranged some of the furniture so that the small number of tables, chairs, clock, cabinets, and other little pillows or vases I could find were scattered across the living room, dining room, and kitchen. Then I pulled up a lawn chair to the front porch window and waited.
I didn't have to wait long though. In about a minute, I started to notice some of the objects moving. It was strange. When a few of them would shift simultaneously, it was like looking at a holographic card that would change shape depending on where your eyes were in relation to the image. Every time I saw a shift, I felt an awkward feeling in my eyes. They went blurry for a fraction of a second, then there was a twinge of pain, as if my brain couldn't handle the contradictory stimulus. It didn't get more crazy than that though—until the alarm went off.
I had cracked open the small rectangular window in the basement to the side of the house so I would hear it. It took four hours and several strange stares from passersby walking their dogs before it rang, so I was a bit lost in my thoughts, but when I heard the beep I perked up fast. It lasted for maybe 5 seconds total, but what I saw was truly miraculous. The best way I can describe it is a pool of silver or gray or translucent light emerging in the foreground between me and the objects in the different rooms. A series of twisting tentacles sprouted from the gray octopus-like head and spun in a way that reminded me of that little kids ride at the amusement parks. Then the objects started to "heat up" is the way I describe it. Their position became relative, meaning they were here one second, there another, then they popped out of existence entirely. Suddenly the rooms were all empty, then they were full of things I had never seen before. Then five seconds passed and the octopus vanished and it was back to the same old objects in their usual places.
It took a few minutes to process what I saw, and even then I wasn't sure I really saw it. I went inside and looked around at my distribution of the house's furnishings. They were all there, intact. Then I went downstairs to check the cams. I rewinded a couple minutes and played it back, but there was no flying object to be found. Instead, there was some gray static that lasted half a second and then the object, a kid's treasure chest toy, was there on the ground. But you want to know the really strange part? I rewinded the tape again, and when I watched the footage back, the treasure chest was always there.
I later came to understand that these poppings in-and-out of our reality are only conceivable to a conscious mind that can track the interference patterns—not rote computational instruments. In fact, even most people can't do it (although everyone has at least a slight awareness of it, even if only subconsciously). Plus, locations like the basement of this house are very rare and kept under tight lock. That became obvious to me two days later when, after my normal morning routine, I pulled up to a driveway and curbside filled with unmarked government vehicles. Either bravely or stupidly, I pulled up to a few officers (they were wearing suits in 85 degree weather, so I assumed…) who were idling by the large fence of crime scene tape and asked them what the score was.
"There was a crime," said the short man with a unibrow.
"Oh, is that right? Damn shame. Someone break in? I have a niece who lives nearby, so…"
The man looked at his two compatriots, both of whom were wearing sunglasses and a "get this civilian fuck out of here" expressions. "Oh, yeah," he started in a reassuring tone that was so condescending it would have annoyed anyone except me, "we found a body. We think it was a homicide. Best to keep your kids away from here for a while."
I thumbed the stubble on my chin, my other hand outstretched on the wheel, and considered moving on, but my mouth had other ideas. "That right? But uh, isn't this house vacant? I mean, I don't remember no one living in it."
The short man, now tall with temper, said, "Yeah, some squatters. We think there was a dispute over some drug money. Nothing for you to worry about though, we got it under control. Now if you wouldn't mind moving along, we have a lot of work to do."
Oh, I'm sure you do, I thought, but only said, "Of course, sir, sorry for keeping you from your job." Then I rolled up the window and cruised on, keeping my eyes on the house which slowly diminished in the side-view mirror.
Luckily I had been smart enough to break down my camp and lug home all my equipment each night, so I didn't leave anything incriminating. I didn't move the furniture back, so maybe that would come back to haunt me, but considering the kind of shit going down in that house, I didn't think they would notice.
For any of you wondering about the conclusion of the house story, I went back a couple weeks later after the suits had left and the tape was taken down and confirmed that not only was the basement entirely cleaned out, but it was no longer exhibiting any strange properties. I looked for a story related to the house, maybe a made up murder of some kind, but there was nothing. That bastard lied to me and didn't even bother to cover his story up.
Now, in the aftermath of an event such as this, I really only had one of two options. I could forget it, move on, continue living life. The necklace was surely worth a fortune. I could sell it and have enough to retire, or at least hire enough people and expand my business large enough to retire within ten or so years. Or I could take all that money and invest it in my own PI business with only a single objective: finding out what those people knew, and why they were hiding it.
I think you know me well enough by now to guess which line of reasoning appealed more to me.
***
For the sake of brevity, I'm going to omit most of my encounters along the journey to discovering Area X. There's a lot to tell, and if it appeals to you perhaps I'd be willing to share at a later date, but for now I want to get this part of the story, the more proximal part, out in the open.
Three years ago, I discovered the source of what I'll call "The Receiver". This is the device that was schematized in the documents that I found in the briefcase. What it does is a complex answer, and how it does it is pretty much all speculation, but here's what I've been able to find out: this universe we live in is a node in a network of many other spaces. These spaces exist in higher dimensions that we cannot directly perceive, but using a conceivable analogy, just think about a flower with petals. The petals are these other dimensions which bleed into our world, which is at the center. However, it's not that pretty. We see the physical world through the lens of spacetime: sizes, speeds, etc. These other dimensions don't necessarily have space or time. In fact, what actually exists there, I couldn't say. The only data I have on them is from two sources: correspondence information and server data from the secret agency (which I'll call "the Organization") that keeps this under wraps, and first-hand experience with realms from these other entities, either directly (I experience it) or through the eyes of someone else with the same or greater abilities than I possess.
I referred to these people with abilities earlier as "Antennas", and I will continue to use the term. Antennas really come in three flavors, marked by the strength of their ability: weak Antennas, like me, are able to observe spontaneous interactions between our universe and other dimensions (phase shifts) when there is a strong force of collision like existed in the basement; moderate Antennas may see phase shifts occur at any point, and they usually are able to retain memories from across the different transformations; strong Antennas, and I don't know if they exist yet, but they are able to consciously interact with these other realms and cause phase shifts to occur.
I mentioned that moderate Antennas are able to retain memories from before and after a phase shift. Technically, all Antennas have this ability, but it's about degree. I can recall only very specific instances and without much detail. Moderates are usually able to pick out much more nuanced minutiae. At the lower end of moderate scale, most of those details fade or get fuzzy over time, but for the very strong Antennas, they hold onto almost everything. One other property that scales with strength is interaction with other conscious entities. Only a small percentage of moderates are able to do this. What's interesting is that these entities can possess (yes, like ghosts) people who aren't even antennas, but no one is aware of such possession at this deep of a level. I have several companions now, and only two have had interactions with these otherworldly beings. Not all of them are malevolent, some of them are whimsical or kind, but there are a fair share of demons out there.
Getting back to the point, Area X started as a government funded project in the 70's. At that time, they were focused on a few subjects: Artificial Intelligence, DNA sequencing, and psychedelics. Yes, they were part of the infamous LSD experiments. But they looked at these subjects through a common lens—there was something that the burgeoning tech industry, fueled by the advent of a commercial computer market, was missing. As the tech giants rose in the early 2000's and began to collect mass amounts of data, this other agency was decades ahead in a different metric, although it was completely (and still is) hidden from the public. Their efforts to understand psychedelic experiences led to a formalized method of understanding interactions between multiple realities. They built certain scanning equipment to detect anomalies like the one I found in the basement; although their tools were much more sophisticated and didn't utilize voltage readings. Then they ran tests in these areas. One area in particular is a hot-bed of phase shift interactions. That's where Area X is located (and the Receiver).
The Receiver is a giant electromagnetic orb that has trapped the kind of multi-dimensional energy that causes the phase shifts; since the Organization seized control of the lab, it's effectively become a map of the Earth in relation to these other worlds. For the past twenty or so years, the Organization has been studying this map, using the data big Tech companies have collected to essentially develop a Rosetta Stone for interpreting the meaning of the fluctuations in their scanning equipment. Recently, the public, though going the long way round, was actually pretty close to a breakthrough in this same department until recently when ultra-powerful LLMs surfaced, and the whole world began going down what I'd argue is the wrong rabbit hole of language processing. But I digress.
Area X is essentially a private military base built for defending the most impactful piece of technology ever invented. With the Receiver, the Organization now has the power to essentially predict any and all future outcomes, the only thing holding them back is the limitations of their own scanning equipment which will get better with time. To put it into perspective, the Organization has access to a kind of data allocation tool which in one day can produce over ten thousand times that the Big Data companies combined would be able to filter through in the next decade. You might think, then, that the problem is merely asymmetric power, and that is certainly a concern, but it isn't the main concern. The main issue is that this organization is actively recruiting (and kidnapping) Antennas from around the world in an effort to find or make one of them into a strong Antenna. In other words, they want a subject who is able not only to see the future, but to manipulate it at will.
balance to the world. I've been working on amassing resources, capital, and building my own team, and now I'm ready. You might ask why I'm posting this here. Wouldn't it be better to keep all this secret? Well, yes, it would be. But that's the problem. Nothing is secret anymore. They know about me and the others, and if I don't make a move, they will. In a way, this is a letter directly to the organization that I know, and I'm coming.
In a different way, I wanted to release this information to the public. There are lots of people out there waking up and realizing that the world they experience is not the one others experience. If you think you might be an Antenna, don't be afraid—you have a special gift that can be controlled. If you want more details on how to control it, or if you're interested in my mission, don't be afraid to reach out. This hasn't always been my life's work, but it is now.
At least until I die.

First time posting on Reddit ever, bear with me. To preface, I (25M) have never been in a relationship but have been getting with guys since I was 19. Came out of the closet at 22, and started actually going on dates with guys at 23.
After many failed situationships, I've come across a man (27M) who I've been seeing consistently for a month and a half now. We've gone over to each other's places, I've met and hung out with some of his friends (on accident, we ran into them at a bar), and I've even stayed the night with him at his place. When we first started talking, I noticed that he would put in effort and text first and all that good stuff.
When we first started getting to know each other, he said he enjoyed my "communication style" and wanted to go on more dates. He's a very busy guy with a lot of weekend trips to weddings and such, and hates doing things during the weekdays. We've seen each other minimum once a week on weekdays, and he even put his job at risk once to not bail on plans we had already made. He's expressed that he feels very comfortable around me, and we've had a great time whenever we're together, cracking jokes, learning about one another, etc... When asked, he told me that he's looking for a monogamous relationship, which I am as well.
Lately, I've noticed that his energy has shifted. I find myself sending him memes on Instagram that just get left on read, and just reactions to my texts, barely any responses. He's expressed that he's very lazy and that social media/texting is a lot for him, so I try not to take it personally. I've see him online on Grindr very often, but he seems to be on for like 2-3 minutes at a time, which makes me believe he's just checking notifications, but my insecurities with dating are taking my head to a dark place and making me believe that he's sleeping with other guys while we talk.
I've also noticed that he takes antidepressants and stimulants (like myself), and have taken note of his shifting energy. His place is a hazard zone of a mess, and I've even offered to help clean it up (without telling him his place is messy), and to even build some of his furniture (which I actually enjoy doing, it's like adult LEGOs.) I'm under the impression that he's going through a depressive episode and is struggling to get by, which I can really empathize with, and I've told him that I've been there before and am there to even just listen.
I've tried having conversations about where we see this "situation" going, and often left more confused with his answers. He usually brushes off the question and says something along the lines of "I mean, we've seen each other a lot, you tell me..." He has a very avoidant conflict style and has even expressed that to me, so I try not to take his avoidance of the question personally, but the uncertainty is taking a huge toll on me mentally.
Now, when we hang out, all he wants to do is cuddle and do nothing, which I don't mind. I'd like to think he likes me because his love language is physical touch, and we don't spend a moment where we're not at least holding hands. I really like him, I haven't felt this way about a man in a long time. He gets me in a way that many people don't, and has brought out a good side of me I didn't know existed. Whenever I see him on Grindr, my heart sinks to my stomach, and am just confused on how to have a conversation with him in regards to where he actually sees this relationship going, what we're doing, and if he wants to be exclusive so we can both get off the apps. I'm usually not this insecure, but since this is the farthest I've been able to get with a guy romantically, I don't want to mess up what myself and a lot of my friends think is a great guy.

First time posting on Reddit ever, bear with me. To preface, I (25M) have never been in a relationship but have been getting with guys since I was 19. Came out of the closet at 22, and started actually going on dates with guys at 23.
After many failed situationships, I've come across a man (27M) who I've been seeing consistently for a month and a half now. We've gone over to each other's places, I've met and hung out with some of his friends (on accident, we ran into them at a bar), and I've even stayed the night with him at his place. When we first started talking, I noticed that he would put in effort and text first and all that good stuff.
When we first started getting to know each other, he said he enjoyed my "communication style" and wanted to go on more dates. He's a very busy guy with a lot of weekend trips to weddings and such, and hates doing things during the weekdays. We've seen each other minimum once a week on weekdays, and he even put his job at risk once to not bail on plans we had already made. He's expressed that he feels very comfortable around me, and we've had a great time whenever we're together, cracking jokes, learning about one another, etc... When asked, he told me that he's looking for a monogamous relationship, which I am as well.
Lately, I've noticed that his energy has shifted. I find myself sending him memes on Instagram that just get left on read, and just reactions to my texts, barely any responses. He's expressed that he's very lazy and that social media/texting is a lot for him, so I try not to take it personally. I've see him online on Grindr very often, but he seems to be on for like 2-3 minutes at a time, which makes me believe he's just checking notifications, but my insecurities with dating are taking my head to a dark place and making me believe that he's sleeping with other guys while we talk.
I've also noticed that he takes antidepressants and stimulants (like myself), and have taken note of his shifting energy. His place is a hazard zone of a mess, and I've even offered to help clean it up (without telling him his place is messy), and to even build some of his furniture (which I actually enjoy doing, it's like adult LEGOs.) I'm under the impression that he's going through a depressive episode and is struggling to get by, which I can really empathize with, and I've told him that I've been there before and am there to even just listen.
I've tried having conversations about where we see this "situation" going, and often left more confused with his answers. He usually brushes off the question and says something along the lines of "I mean, we've seen each other a lot, you tell me..." He has a very avoidant conflict style and has even expressed that to me, so I try not to take his avoidance of the question personally, but the uncertainty is taking a huge toll on me mentally.
Now, when we hang out, all he wants to do is cuddle and do nothing, which I don't mind. I'd like to think he likes me because his love language is physical touch, and we don't spend a moment where we're not at least holding hands. I really like him, I haven't felt this way about a man in a long time. He gets me in a way that many people don't, and has brought out a good side of me I didn't know existed. Whenever I see him on Grindr, my heart sinks to my stomach, and am just confused on how to have a conversation with him in regards to where he actually sees this relationship going, what we're doing, and if he wants to be exclusive so we can both get off the apps. I'm usually not this insecure, but since this is the farthest I've been able to get with a guy romantically, I don't want to mess up what myself and a lot of my friends think is a great guy.