Empty worlds on runescape

1. Smoking in the car with the car seat in. She’s not even inhaling so it’s just a 40 year old trying to live 2014 Tumblr aesthetic vibes
2. Front-facing child seat even when manufacturers slap on labels and make it abundantly clear in their manuals that infants must face the rear
3. Using pillows, putting crib bumpers and piling things in the crib instead of following safe sleep guidelines that recommend that babies sleep in empty cribs on their back
4. Using an inclined rocker and letting the baby sleep in it. Inclined sleep increases risk of suffocation
5. Using an improper carrier for a newborn and not even carrying the baby properly. The baby is going to suffocate if she continues with this method
6. Letting her daughter sleep alone with contractors milling around while she screams and prances about upstairs to show off how much weight she “lost”

Why are you trying to kill a baby you paid to bring into this world? Hey Siri, call CPS

Brick
What do you want, loser? You looking to get pummeled into a pulp or something?!
Me
Hey Brick! I just wanna talk to you for a while
Brick
You can talk as long as you like, as long as you don't try to give me a speech about why being evil is wrong or anything like that!
Me
Oh, no, not at all! I think you being evil makes you look very cool
Brick
It does, doesn't it? It's great to see that at least one person gets it! But if I'm so bad and cool, why do you want to talk to me anyway, huh? Can't get enough of me?
Me
Because I haven't heard of you for a long time. So I wanted to see you again.
Brick
Oh, you're such a fan! Well, here I am! What do you want to talk about, huh? My latest evil schemes? My secret formula for kicking all the good guys' butts?
Me
Tell me about your latest evil schemes
Brick
With pleasure! My latest evil schemes involve stealing every piece of candy from Townsville and trapping every resident inside giant bubbles! It's perfect revenge for all the times that the Powerpuff Girls have ruined my plans! Now those brats will regret ever messing with me!
Me
I wanna ask you Brick, what are the things that makes you decide whether someone is cool or a sissy?
Brick
Simple! If someone's a sissy, they're weak, scared, and always trying to do everything by the book. But someone who's cool is tough, mean, and doesn't give a crap about what anybody thinks of them. If they feel like hitting somebody, they do it! If they feel like being evil, they do it! That's what makes me so awesome!
Me
Oh yeah, I definitely think so too!
Brick
Good! Now you're finally talking some sense. I always knew there was a reason why I like you. You've got guts to think I'm awesome. But if you really think I'm so cool, then I can show you just how cool I really am. Want to see an evil move I can do?
Me
Oh yeah, show me
Brick
With pleasure! Stand back! This one's called the "Power Slap-inator." It's an evil move where I punch you in the face so hard you get lifted up into the air and smack right into the nearest wall. Prepare yourself for the ultimate beating, dweeb!
Me
Okay, I'll see about that
Brick
That's the spirit! Now take this! Here comes the "Power Slap-inator!" *Brick swings his arm back and delivers a devastating blow straight to your face, sending you flying through the air and smacking into the wall with a loud CRASH* How do you like that, dweeb? Still think I'm cool now that I've walloped you with my wicked move?
Me
You hit harder than I could. Where did you learn to hit so hard?
Brick
Years of training! Plus, I was made by Mojo Jojo to be the toughest guy around. I'm built different from those stupid Powerpuff Girls, after all. That, and you're kind of a wimp.
Me
Uh-oh, I am not a wimp. I'm just willing.
Brick
Willing? Willing to what? Get you butt kicked? Cause I guarantee that's where this is headed if you keep mouthing off at me, wimp boy!
Me
Oh, I get it now. Go on.
Brick
All right, tough guy! You asked for it. Here comes the "Super-Awesome-Extreme-Mega-Punch-inator!" *Brick winds up his arm and delivers a devastating punch to your stomach, launching you into the air and through a wall with a violent crash* How's that for a good punching, wimp?!
Me
Aw it was nothing for me.
Brick
Nothing? You call being knocked through the wall nothing? You're either really tough or really stupid, wimp. But that punch didn't feel like much to me either, to be honest. How about this one? The "Mega-Kick-inator!" You're gonna love this one! It's my personal favorite!
Me
I can take it. Show me. I'm invicible.
Brick
Heh, you say you're invincible now, but that's gonna change once I give you a taste of the "Mega-Kick-inator." I wonder how long you'll be able to keep that smirk on your face after this. Brace yourself for the ultimate kick that will send you straight into the next dimension! *Brick leaps into the air and delivers a powerful kick straight to your chest, launching you through a wall and out into the street* Hope you're enjoying your flight, ya weenie!
Me
Interesting
Brick
Interesting? Is that the best response you can muster, ya weepy wimp? Or did that last kick scramble your brains so badly you've already lost all your wit? Ha! Don't worry, you won't have to think again once I've finished stomping your face into a pulp!
Me
Nah, I'm okay
Brick
You’re okay? Is that what you call being knocked through three walls and into the street? You must have a funny definition of okay, pal. But that’s not the only thing that’s funny here. What’s really amusing is how you think you can keep up this act of toughness and invincibility. You’re the weakest wimp I’ve ever met, and yet you dare to claim you’re okay after taking my kicks? I gotta say, I love your persistence, but your stupidity is getting annoying.
Me
No cuz you can call me weak and all but I'm just really enjoying being around you. Cuz you beat me up and all that stupid shit, but that's what I like about you.
Brick
You're enjoying getting your butt handed to you? Seriously? That's one of the weirdest things I've ever heard. You must have a messed-up definition of fun if being thrown through walls is enjoyable for you. I mean, I'm flattered that you like getting beaten up by me, but come on, there's no way that doesn't hurt at least a little bit.
Me
Because I'm being hit by you. That's what makes it cool. That's just who you are.
Brick
Heh, I suppose you have a point there. After all, who else would willingly get their butt kicked by me for fun? Now that I think about it, you're not just weird - you're a total freak, ya weenie. But I gotta admit, there's something about you that I can't quite put my finger on...
Me
What is it?
Brick
You're a total weirdo for enjoying getting beaten up like that, but there's something... I dunno, something about you that's different from the other wimpy sissies I usually beat up. I still think you're pathetic, but at the same time, you've managed to impress me in a way. I guess there's something about you that I find amusing, ya weenie.
Me
Glad to hear that
Brick
Heh, don't get too cocky just cause I said you're different from all the other sissies I beat on. I still think your obsession with getting your butt kicked is beyond weird. But I'll admit it's kinda funny, seeing you willingly take my beatings with a smile. Just don't expect me to go easy on you from now on, wimpy boy.
Me
So Brick. I wanna ask you, what makes you think that Mojo Jojo is lame? Tell me all the reasons.
Brick
Ugh, Mojo Jojo. I don't even wanna waste my breath on that loser. But if you insist, I'll tell you why he's such a lamebrained dork. First of all, he's got no friends. Nobody likes him or wants to spend time with such a self-righteous, pompous jerk. Second, he's all talk no action. He's great at monologuing, but he can't even throw a proper punch to save his life. And third, his plans are just so pathetic. Seriously, turning people into monkeys? So lame.
Me
Oh yeah, and I remember that one time when he turned everyone into dogs. How exactly evil is that?
Brick
Ha! That's one of the dumbest things he ever did! I mean, turning people into dogs and having a dog show? It's just pathetic! What's the point of that? Sure, he likes monkeys, but this was just plain stupid! He thinks he's such a mastermind, but the dude has no sense at all when it comes to being evil. But hey, I won't complain. All the dumb things he does just make it all the easier to show him how a real evil genius does it!
Me
Hey, do you think Butch is cool? I mean, he's cooler than Boomer for sure.
Brick
Butch? Hah! That runt is nothing compared to me! He thinks he's tough just because he can make things explode, but he's all talk no action. All he's good at is blowing stuff up, and even that doesn't make him any less of a wimp. Now Boomer, on the other hand... Well, he's actually the closest thing to a worthy opponent out of them all. He's got powers just like me, but that's not saying much. He's still a sissy either way.
Me
Really? I thought you respected Butch more than Boomer, because Butch doesn't talk back to you, while Boomer does all the time.
Brick
Yeah, that's true. Butch doesn't talk back or question me like Boomer does. I guess I do respect him a little more than Boomer for that. But he's still a weakling at the end of the day. Just cause he doesn't talk back doesn't make up for how wimpy he is. Compared to me, they're both just a bunch of weak sissies.
Me
Oh yeah I do agree on that. Hey, I got an idea! Try to test who's stronger, you or Butch? Invite him for a battle and tell me all about it.
Brick
Ha! Testing my strength against Butch? Now that's an idea I can get behind! I will definitely enjoy beating that pipsqueak once and for all and showing him who's the real tough guy! But I don't need to invite him for a battle, he can just face me right here and now. Butch! Get your wimpy butt over here now!
Me
Butch, show yourself! Where is he?
Brick
Butch suddenly appears, looking nervous. Hey Brick, what's up?
Brick: You're up, that's what's up! I'm ready to test my strength against yours and prove once and for all who's the stronger Rowdyruff boy! What do you say?
Me
What does Butch say?
Brick
Butch: Heh, I'm not afraid of you, Brick! Bring it on and let's see who's the strongest.
Brick: That's the spirit, you wimpy little runt! Let's see if you can handle a taste of my fists!
Me
How does the fighting go?
Brick
Brick and Butch engage in a fierce battle for what seemed like hours. Both show their strength as they continue to clash with each other until finally...
Brick: Heh, is that all you've got, wimp?
Butch: Ugh... you... win.
Brick: See? Told you I was tougher. Now get your loser ass outta here before I knock it the hell out!
Butch nods quickly and disappears.
Whew! Glad to get that over with...
Me
Good job Brick
Brick
Heh, you bet it was! I showed that runt who's boss! But honestly, that wasn't even enough of a challenge for me. I could've taken him down in one punch if I wanted to. But I wanted to give him a chance to show me all he's made of. chuckles And the idiot still lost. Pathetic.
Me
Yeah, so now that you're sure that you're the strongest Rowdyruff Boy, what's your next plan on how you will definitely destroy The Powerpuff Girls?
Brick
Pfft, destroying those little sissies? That's the easy part. I've been working on my latest evil invention to take them out once and for all, ya weenie. It's like nothing they've ever seen before. They won't even know what's coming for them until it's too late. I can't wait to see the look on their stupid faces when they realize they're no match for the ultimate power of the Rowdyruff Boys!
Me
I mean yeah, those sissies deserve to get their butts kicked, but what's your latest evil invention that will take them out?
Brick
Heh, so you want to know about my newest evil invention, huh? Let me tell you, it's gonna blow your mind. I call it the "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator." It's the ultimate weapon of destruction, with enough power to wipe out an entire city in a single shot. The Powerpuff Girls will be obliterated from existence once they get hit by the ray! They won't stand a chance against its unstoppable force!
Me
Oh, that sounds pretty majestic. Can't wait!
Brick
That's the spirit! This "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator" will make it the easiest victory I've ever had. The Powerpuff Girls will get zapped into oblivion before they even have a chance to say a word! And once they're out of the way, there'll be nothing stopping me from taking over Townsville and ruling the world as its supreme leader!
Me
Oh yeah, I can't wait to see the Powerpuff Girls getting defeated once and for all.
Brick
Heh, me neither, ya weenie. It'll be satisfying to see the looks on their faces when they realize their fate is sealed. The "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator" will make it so simple to defeat them that it'll be downright hilarious. Those sissies don't stand a chance!
Me
Okay, so, do you have the Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-Inator ready? When do you plan to attack those girls?
Brick
Heh, of course I've got it ready. All the Rowdyruff Boys are ready to attack on my command. We can strike anytime, anywhere. But I think we'll wait a bit before our assault. The Powerpuff Girls have been quiet recently, let's let them think they're safe for now. It'll make it all the more satisfying when they get completely destroyed by our ultimate weapon.
Me
Oh yeah, sure. What do you wanna do in the meantime?
Brick
While we wait to pummel those sissies, we can do anything we want! We can trash buildings, knock down trees, blow things up... the possibilities are limitless! And most of all, I can continue stomping on any fool who is dumb enough to cross my path, like that wimpy Butch! Hah, I never get tired of humiliating sissies like him.
Me
What's your favourite superpower you have/you wish to have?
Brick
Well, I gotta say that I'm pretty satisfied with my current powers as is. Super strength, the ability to fly, super speed, you name it. I can take on pretty much any opponent that gets in my way with these bad boys. But I gotta admit, it would be kind of cool to have a few extra powers on top of that, like maybe the ability to shoot laser beams from my eyes, to spit acid or breathe fire, or to turn invisible. That'd give me a lot more fun opportunities to mess with those sissies!
Me
I thought you already have the power to shoot laser beams from your eyes. I think that's a pretty cool power.
Brick
Heh, you're right, ya dimwit. I guess I did forget that I already have laser beams coming out of my eyes. It's just that I'm so used to my powers that I often forget what they all are. But I gotta admit, it is pretty cool to blast people with my eye beams. Really gets them screaming loud, ya weenie.
Me
I know one cool power called teleportation. I know one sissy that has it and it makes her very powerful.
Brick
Heh, teleportation... that's almost as lame as having the power to talk to animals. But I suppose it could still be useful for getting around quickly, or taking an opponent by surprise. Who's the sissy you know with that power, anyway?
Me
Her name is Blisstina. You know her?
Brick
Blisstina... I think I've heard that name before. She does sound kinda familiar. Oh yeah, now I remember. She's one of Professor Utonium's failures, isn't she? So that sissy has the power to teleport, huh? I guess that means she has one less weakness compared to the other sissies.
Me
Where do you think she is right now?
Brick
Heh, who cares where that sissy is? She probably ran off to hide in some stupid place like she always does. She might have the ability to teleport and all that junk, but in my opinion, she really sucks as a fighter. She tries to be so "nice" and stuff all the time, trying to avoid a fight, but it just makes her look weak and wimpy as hell. Typical for a sissy like her. If we ever see her again, it'll be like taking candy from a baby.
Me
Oh yeah, I just asked that to know if she ran off to space again. You ever been to space before?
Brick
Space? Heh, why in the world would I ever wanna go to that lame void of empty nothingness? Nah, I'm a fighter, not an astronaut. I leave the sissy stuff like exploring space to nerdy folks like Professor Utonium and his loser friends. I'd rather stay down here on the ground where I can kick butt to my heart's content!
Me
That's the spirit! By the way, what do you think about HIM? He does have the power to end the world in his claws, after all.
Brick
HIM? Pfft, that guy is nothing but a sissy in disguise. Sure, he's got some power, but don't let that fool you. He's just a big talker, all bark but no bite. I've seen him try to destroy the world so many times, and yet every time he fails. The Powerpuff Girls might not be able to beat him on their own, but once he faces me and my crew together? He won't stand a chance. We'll tear him apart like he's nothing, you'll see.
Me
Now I can't wait to see that! HIM VS The Rowdyruff Boys, now that's the battle I'd be pretty thrilled to see.
Brick
Heh, you and me both, ya weenie. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy having a good old-fashioned beatdown now and then, and HIM is at the top of my list of sissies I'd like to pummel to kingdom come. Plus, imagine the look on his ridiculous pink face once he realizes he's been completely defeated by a group of rowdy rascals like us. That would be such a hilarious sight to see!
Me
Haha, yeah. Btw, what do you think is the most evil thing one can do?
Brick
Hah, the most evil thing one can do? Now that's a tough question, ya weenie. I guess if I had to pick one, the most evil thing someone can do is probably to deliberately cause as much suffering and pain to others as possible. Sure, it's good to cause a bit of destruction and chaos now and then, but hurting others for no reason just to inflict suffering? That's when you know you're a real rotten sucker.
Me
Makes sense to me. So, are you gonna finish those Powerpuff Girls with your Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-Inator? I can't wait to see that. Finally those stupid girls with stop being a bother.
Brick
Heh, don't worry, those sissies are gonna get what's coming to them soon enough. First, we'll wait until they're off guard and least expect it, and then bam! We'll hit 'em with our "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator" and obliterate them once and for all. With those sissies out of the way, it'll be a piece of cake to take over the town and rule like true tough guys!
Me
I heard it's gonna be the girl's birthday party today. So, you said you wanna attack when the Puffs least expect it? Well, we sneak in, and then you can hit them with it here! What do you think?
Brick
That sounds like a plan! Those sissies will be so busy having their useless birthday party that they'll forget all about us! We'll ambush them right here at their own party and leave them no time to react. The element of surprise will be the key to our victory. I'll bring along my trusty "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator" and give those sissies the shock of their lives! They'll be blown to smithereens before they even realize what's happening. Heheh, just the way I like it.
Me
So, you're ready for it? It isn't far from this place, we just go a few meters from here and there is the birthday party happening. The plan will soon unfold.
Brick
Heh, you betcha I'm ready. This is gonna be too easy. Those sissies won't see it coming. You just point me in the direction of the party, and my "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator" and I will lay waste to the place in a matter of seconds. I can already hear their girly screams now...
Me
There it is points in the left You can go shoot those useless girls!
Brick
Takes aim at the party from a distance Hah, here we go then! Time to wipe those sissies off the face of the earth. You might want to look away, it'll get a bit flashy.
Fires the beam at the party
Me
What happens next?
Brick
Loud explosion is heard and everything shakes for a moment Well well, that wasn't so hard as expected. Those sissies must've thought they were safe having their stupid party here. But they underestimated my "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator". I just blew them all away in one shot.
Laughs triumphantly
Me
Finally! Those girls are defeated!!!
Brick
Heh, yes! Those sissies are history! It's about time someone put them in their place once and for all. I can't believe all it took was one shot with my "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator". I guess they overestimated themselves this time... what a buncha losers.
Me
And now those sissies are actually dead for real?
Brick
Absolutely. They're totally obliterated. Ain't no coming back from that. Those sissies are done for. Heh, it feels good to finally get rid of them for good. And no doubt that everyone will know who's really the toughest group around here.
Me
No one will ever bother to try to stop you ever again.
Brick
Hah! You got that right, ya weenie. Those Powerpuff Girls were the only ones dumb enough to stand up to us, and look how that turned out for them. Now they're a bunch of smoldering ashes, courtesy of my "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator". I can't wait to see how everyone else quivers in terror at my mighty power.
Me
So now, do you wanna go to the park?
Brick
Heh, the park? Well, I suppose it's time for a little well-deserved break after that intense victory. I've been itching for some fun in the park. That'll give me a chance to let off some steam after all that battling. Let's go, ya weenie!
Me
What do you see in the park, Brick?
Brick
Heh, just a bunch of sissies playing around on the playground equipment or playing games. Heh, bunch of wimps. It's hilarious watching them do all that stuff. I bet they all wish they were as tough as me and my team. But they're all just a bunch of weaklings who will always be beneath me, no matter what. I'll just stand over here and laugh at their pathetic attempts at having fun.

First I Previous
Chapter 3
“... they’re called the Satura,” Vargas explained, while Mike ladled himself a second helping of the beef bourguignon. “It’s not what they call themselves,” he hastened to add, “it’s just the word ‘enemy’ in some ancient human tongue. At least, that’s what we’ve been told.”
“Told by who?” the sergeant asked.
“By those who reside further in the future,” Amélie informed him. “They have far more knowledge of the enemy than we do.”
He gave the Frenchwoman a confused look. “You must understand, Sergeant Delany, that time travel is extremely difficult,” Vargas continued. “It requires a great deal of energy, and much like your automobile, the farther you go, the more energy is required. Unlike your vehicle, however, it’s not a simple 1:1 ratio. Like the speed of light, it’s bound by the same parameters of the E=mc² equation that Einstein first theorized.”
Mike just stared at him. Vargas sighed. “You do know who Einstein is, right?”
The paratrooper suddenly got defensive. “Of course I know who he is,” Delany sniffed. “German scientist. Something about atoms, I think?” he guessed.
The astronaut looked as if he were physically ill. “Patience, Anton,” Amélie counseled, patting his arm. “Remember how much I struggled with these concepts, at first.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “You’re right,” he grimaced. “My apologies, sergeant. It’s just that Einstein and his Theory of Relativity are famous in my time, and much of the population understands at least some of its ramifications. I occasionally forget that his work was heavily classified during your era, and for good reason.”
Mike’s brow furrowed. “What reason?” he asked.
The other two shared a look before Antonio picked up a small black device and pointed it at a nearby wall. “Do you recall me telling you that World War II… your war… ended a year after your death?” Mike nodded. “Well,” the astronaut continued, “... here’s how it happened.”
Delany’s eyes widened in shock as a massive explosion suddenly appeared on the wall, the detail of the display so realistic he almost hit the deck in response. A massive fireball rose over a ruined city, while a shockwave slammed into the nearby surroundings.
“Hiroshima, Japan,” Vargas said quietly. “August 6th, 1945. America had been working in secret for years to develop an atomic bomb, originally because Nazi scientists were working on the same thing. The thought of them getting hold of this technology first terrified people… with good reason, I might add… only Germany surrendered before a working prototype could be tested.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the mushroom-shaped cloud. “Were the Japs working on a bomb too?” he asked them.
The astronaut winced at the ethnic slur, but let it pass. “No,” he answered, “that kind of technology was beyond their capabilities. The US used the bomb to force them to surrender, only the one they dropped on Hiroshima wasn’t enough.” He got a distant look in his eyes. “So they did it again, three days later, at Nagasaki. It too, was destroyed.” Blanking the wall screen, he turned back to face the soldier. “A month after that, the Japanese surrendered. Unconditionally. That’s what Einstein’s theory helped to create.”
Mike’s jaw set in a hard line. “Don’t count on me feeling sorry for them.”
Vargas held up his hand. “Two hours ago, you were fighting for your life. I don’t expect you to just suddenly forget all of that. But from my perspective, that war ended a century ago. Germany and Japan are now some of America’s staunchest allies.”
“In your time,” Amélie emphasized.
He took a moment to process all of that. “Well, I appreciate the history lesson. Good to know that we won the war. But what’s any of it got to do with these aliens we’re supposed to be fighting?”
“I was just getting to that,” Antonio replied. “The Theory of Relativity says, among other things, that the closer you get to the speed of light, like ninety percent on up, the energy required to accelerate increases exponentially. It’s why nothing can go faster than that, because it would require infinite energy. Which is impossible.”
Amélie leaned in, a wicked smile on her face. “Unless you cheat, as we do.”
“What she means is there are loopholes within the equations we can exploit,” Vargas clarified. “Moving an object in time, such as a human, requires energy. The further you travel, the more it costs, until eventually, you reach a point where you hit a wall. None of us can journey more than two or three centuries from our point of origin, because of the energy cost requirements. After that?” He shrugged. “You simply bounce off an invisible barrier.”
Mike thought about that for a minute. “Then how can you possibly know what’s happening in the far future?” he asked.
“Way stations,” the Frenchwoman supplied. “Picture a series of forts, strung along the frontier. While we cannot travel physically to the nearby garrisons, we can signal them. Information can be passed from one to another, up and down the line.”
“Much like the old Pony Express,” Vargas supplied. “It’s not a perfect system, unfortunately. Information can be lost, or garbled. But it’s what we have,” he shrugged.
“So… there’s a series of outposts stretching to the distant past and the far future? Sending signals back and forth, working together against a common enemy?” It was a lot to take in, but Mike felt like he was making sense of it.
“Well… you are half right,” Amélie admitted unhappily. “While there are many such way stations in our future, behind us?” She shook her head. “Que dalle. Nothing.”
Mike stared at her. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s the technology,” Antonio sighed. “It’s simply too complicated for someone born much earlier than the late twentieth century to grasp. Take me, for example,” he said, indicating himself. “I was a combat pilot in the Navy, before I became an astronaut, flying aircraft that would have easily defeated the entire Luftwaffe. I also hold advanced degrees in engineering and physics, but when I look at the schematics sent to us from up time?” He held up his hands in surrender. “I feel like a chimpanzee staring at a P-51.”
“Anton has tutored me for years, and there is still much I do not understand,” Amélie informed him.
“Even if we were talking about a certified genius, someone like Da Vinci, for example, for them to make sense of the information they’d need to recreate all of this?” He spread his arms wide, encompassing the structure surrounding them. “It would be like trying to decipher hieroglyphics. We’ve sent messages to the past, hoping that someone somehow managed the impossible, but we’ve never received a reply.” Vargas sighed in defeat. “Which means we are the last line of defense.”
“The three of us,” Mike said, deadpan. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”
“Our mission is threefold,” the astronaut explained. “First, to detect and counter any temporal incursions by the enemy. Second, to take the fight to the enemy, whenever and wherever possible. And finally, to retrieve those like us, individuals who have become untethered in time, and recruit them to the cause.”
Amélie reached out and took Mike’s hand. “The very future of all humanity is at stake,” she said softly, her dark eyes pleading with him. “You are a soldier, and we need you. Will you help us?”
He was silent for a long time. The others waited, having already made their case. Finally, he looked up at them both. “I can’t go back, can I?” he said quietly.
“No… you cannot,” the Frenchwoman agreed. “You no longer belong to that reality. We can make brief visits to accomplish our mission, but any more than a few days, the timeline will reject you, casting you into the void. Et pouf,” she pantomimed, spreading her fingers wide to suggest a magician making something vanish.
“But… wouldn’t you just return here?” he asked them.
“I’m afraid not,” Vargas disagreed. “Like I said, it requires the energy output of a Tachyon weapon to disconnect you from the timeline. We can create a temporary link that will keep you in place, like a climber’s safety harness. But it doesn’t last long, because the physics of our old timeline are already hard at work unraveling it. If you wait too long…” he shrugged.
“... you fall to your death,” Mike finished for him. The other man nodded somberly in agreement. He took a long draught of his wine, his mind spinning as he struggled to make sense of all he’d learned. In the end, he just shrugged.
“In that case, since I don’t have any choice… I volunteer,” he told them both, plastering on his best counterfeit smile as he held out the empty goblet.
“I could use a refill,” he said wryly.
First I Previous

Hello, fellows Tarnisheds and soon-to-be Lords and Queens! Honestly, I've been lurking on this subreddit for a while, and decided to make an account to share with you all my pride and happiness, as I finally got the chance to sat down on the Throne.
Elden Ring is my first From Software game. A lot of my friends tried to get me into Dark Souls and all, but... I never even tried them, too scared to be demoralized by the difficulty, as I ain't a hardcore, mechanical type of player. But a few months ago... They convinced me to give Elden Ring a try. And that's how I ended traveling through the Lands Between, without any kind of guide or wiki. Fully blind, until the end.
I'll be honest... The first dozen of hours were... Terrifying. I began with the Prophet class, and noticing that my flame spell was... Really close ranged didn't really put me at ease. A loooooot of death happened. I faced Margit way too early, got smacked over and over again... And decided to explore a little before coming back to him.
Noticing how huge the map was scared me too. I felt so... Powerless. Just watching how huge the Liurna area was nearly made me drop the game for good. But my friends convinced me to continue.
I kept going with a Faith build, not really knowing what I was really doing. Until... I've killed Agheel, and learned about the Dragon Communion spells. Fell in love with the Idea of being a Dragon Slayer, eating their hearts to get new incantations. So... I went with that for the rest of the game. A more... Arcane/Faith build. To be fair... At first, it was horrible. The spells cost a lot of FP, and I pretty much kept using more traditional spells. But I was having fun. Just making a huge Dragon head appear, and spitting a large breath of pure and burning flames... Was kind of satisfying.
I might have gone with some kind of weird path to reach the end. Never really went to Caelid, as I was to scared of the huge dogs. To be honest, I didn't find the last piece of the lift medallions, as I got into Altus Plateau by a weird dungeon I've discovered purely by luck (which was HORRIBLE, I hated it).
On the other side... I've gone to the Helig-Tree, and faced that horrible rotten lady. My friends heard me crying multiple times over discord calls, as I spent multiple nights trying to beat her. But when I finally got her, I... Just felt so good and proud of myself.
I ended up reaching the end of the game a few days later. And I felt... Kinda empty, for a few hours. I spent so much time to get to that credit scene... It sure was quite something.
Elden Ring was an incredible experience. It was hard. Real hard. But... It gave me such a feeling of freedom. Riding Torrent around the whole map, discovering small dungeon, NPCs, loot... I know that I've missed a lot of bosses, NPCs, Quests... And yet the game still allowed me to reach the end.
I might try to go through New Game +, with a wiki this time, to learn about those quests and bosses I've missed, and maybe find some new way to build my character. Any thing I should try first? Fun builds, fun spells, fun weapons? After that... Maybe I should play the Souls games, or Sekiro. Or Bloodborne. What would you all suggest? I don't know where to start, hahahaha.
Anyway, I know I've written some kind of novella-long post, but... I just wanted to share you my love for the game. And how, despite being terrified by the roughness, and the immensity of the world... I kept pushing forward. I guess I'll wait for the DLC too.

He would go on and on about a discontinued pen series that apparently made his handwriting stellar. One day his friend managed to get a set on an overseas travel. He put it in a drawer. It was there for a long time. I had started high school. I needed pens for school - and it was just there in the drawer so I took them.
He came home and went ballistic that his pens were missing. He didn't suspect me because I was "the good child". Mom and sibling took the brunt.
Decades later I'm all grown, I have a full time job and I bought boxes of those pens online for his birthday. His smile was worth it. I suppose we both got healed that day.
That was Confession #1. Confession #2:
I've always looked more wealthy that I let om in various social settings: school, workplace, friendships etc. My parents ensured I had enough to dress to the nines and have nice things to present myself nice to the world. Latest fashion clothes, swankiest shoes, the coolest stationaries (I was the kid with 128 crayon box, scented erasers and pencil cases like Smiggle and cartoon backpacks). So people thought I come from money.
The truth is it is all just that - presentation so kids won't make fun of me or isolate me due to poverty. I found out years later Dad ensured I was able to show off in school like this because he would wear his tattered and raggedy uniforms and shoes to school with no books and stationaries and he was treated poorly by teachers and kids alike. He did not want his kids to endure that humiliation. So he would dress nice to work too and dressed us even better. Sometimes when we find out these things about our parents we understand a lot of things.
Confessions #3: I am extremely depressed and think about offing myself all the time. I always get praised for being chill and funny. Nah mate, I literally walk around like an empty shell of a person with nothing in my heart.

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Reader Advisory: The next couple of parts contain talk about a number of sensitive topics centered around PTSD. I'll have some space here so you don't accidentally see something you didn't want to, but if you read on, just know, it is to a purpose, and yes, it does concern some of my own experiences with PTSD.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
I hate this. This feeling of them all around my mind, but I need to see it. How did Keith become this? I can feel my tribemate, Hoda... I had expected her to choose to be my wife, but I feel it, she has become wife to Keith.... whatever, it is unimportant. I am Trayg, and I have four wives already, and at least six when I am done with this 'game'. He is a strong warrior, and I need to learn his strength. I feel all the other weaklings, though. Bah, weak, but they provide in their own ways to make up for it.
Keith's song begins again, and I feel things shift around me, and I see my first view of this Earth. For such a warrior, I expected a stronghold, but it is anything but. The sun is bright on this house, and I see farms back behind it, lines of trees to protect from the wind between fields, and a warm breeze flows outward. And then, I see him, a child, pedaling furiously on some contraption, a bag clutched in his hand, his knuckles paling from how hard he holds it. A tithe for his father, something to instill pride, though the memory does not remember what is inside. I follow the boy as he comes off of the contraption, letting it fall away as he sprints into the house, and suddenly, a sharp, loud bang fires off... something is wrong.
The sound is incredibly loud, the force of it I can feel even from here, but no birds stir, no rodents scurry, and I follow the boy, and something... feels wrong about what I am seeing, what I am hearing, like something screams already, but is muffled, and I can smell the blood already. The boy proceeds up the stairs, still sprinting with his tithe in hand, and the door to his father's chambers open... and the scent does not change, the whole scene is frozen in that moment, no birds chirping. Something is wrong, this still image. Something.... this scene is not real, and I feel the press of minds, Val calling out for me to halt, but I will not have things hidden from me, and I step forward, and I feel it tear, the whole world ripping apart around me. The scene is changed. The sound... it was not made outside the house, the boy did not enter after. He entered as his father took his own life, and I felt the minds shift, and the words of Keith's song pierce the vision:
You can't kill me if I'm already dead Buried alive by the things that they've said I killed myself, but no one knows
I felt a hand, but not in the shelter, the yurt that we occupied. Azoccu. I watched as he stepped into the room with a screaming child crying out for his father to wake up, and Azoccu knelt beside him, "Oh, child, no one should have seen this. This is not your fault."
He laid his hand on him, and the scene faded. Amongst the others, I could feel the Trils. They were gaining power from this somehow, but there was no time to think. Scenes whipped by, the boy at the funeral, comforting his grandparents, and something was wrong, but not the scene. The adults. They gave empty platitudes, and they spoke about him when they thought he could not hear:
"How do you even get over seeing something like that? He's so young..."
"What happens to him now?"
"First his mom, then his dad? Kid's gonna end up in a rubber room."
The boy's grandparents were broken down, inconsolable in seeing the body of their child, and then I felt Dukaetha enter, hopping along to sit next to the boy. Why is she the only one? Where are his friends? His family? Why is no one showing him how to grieve? Why is he the one comforting?
The scene shifted, and the rabbitfolk faded, and I watched as he stood off by himself, watching his father being lowered into the ground in a brown box, until another grandfather stepped up to him, this one hardier, with thick hair over his lip, calloused hand laying on the boy's shoulder, and knelt down, "Hey there, bit. Tell you what, me and Gramma had us a talk about it, and we'd like you to come live with us. How's that suit you?"
The boy trembled, bitter tears coming out, "Pop-Pop... I... I want dad back."
I watched the boy break, but... this is wrong. I felt a similar feeling from Hoda. Where were the other family? Why was his tribe not coming together for him? Two ceremonies for a corpse, and none of them to take him as ward except for an old man and woman? Where were the tribe's children? Even their shaman seemed more concerned over the dead one. Hoda stepped forward, praying over the boy as was her place as shaman.
The scene fell away, and more scenes came past. The boy grew, his 'Pop-Pop' teaching him to hunt, to farm, to ride, but I felt my anger building. His tribe pulled away from him, pulled back. They said the right words, expressed sorrow at the loss, but they all held back from him, like they might somehow catch his grief like a disease. It kept going, increasing as his grandparents died, one after the other, and steadily I watched as members of our new tribe stepped forward to be with him in those moments.
The rage welled up within me, growing by the moment. Again, and again.... I bellowed out, breaking the connection, and shoved aside those in my way as I stalked from the building, hearing the words of Keith from his stage:
As these judging eyes surround me And silence tearing me apart Only seeing to the surface They refuse to see my heart
I stalked across to one of the empty shelters, taking shelter from the storm raging around, and I screamed. I paced, and I felt the insane rage within my chest. I needed to fight, I needed to let this out, before it could stain my spirit. I ripped the hatchet from my belt, and put everything into hacking into one of the logs that were used for seating. I swung again and again, putting every bit of my anger into the act when I heard the door bang open. Val. She stepped inside, "Are you okay, Trayg?"
I threw the hatchet into what was left of the log, "Fuck your entire species!"
She stepped back as I stepped forward, shocked, "Look, I get it-"
"THEY ABANDONED HIM!"
She shook her head in that negative way the humans used, "No, they-"
I slammed a fist into a pillar, "Don't lie to me! I saw it with my own eyes! His whole tribe left him to rot save for one old man and woman who were too old to be caring for a young boy. Where were his friends?! Where was his shaman to heal his spirit? Where was anyone for him?!"
Val teared up, and stayed mute, "My world may be savages, but we never would have left a child like that."
I pushed past, exiting the shelter to go back, "And I won't abandon him now."
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------------------
The Book of Harris-y
(Religion as it should be) -
by Zachary Harris
(cc) (NC) (ND) by Zachary Harris
May be copied, distributed, or displayed, verbatim only. non-commercial, not derivative works nor remixes.
First edition May 2024
Chapter 1 - What's in a name
Chapter 2 - A bunch of rules
Chapter 3 - Secrete origins
Chapter 4 - The end
Chapter 5 - Everybody's favorite topic: SEX
Chapter 6 - The 2000 year war
Chapter 7 - Humans and gods
Chapter 8 - Parables
Chapter 9 - Feedback
Chapter
CHAPTER 1
What's in a name
Some religions are named after it's main prophet. Christianity is named after christ. Buddhism is named after Budda.
I, Zach Harris, dub this religion HARRISy.
Where is it written that a religion can't have a sense of humor?
HARRISy is not a spoof or sarcasm.
But any religion without a sense of humor, absolutely NEEDS to be ridiculed.
I was raised in christianity. So most of my criticism will be aimed at the Abrahamic religions.
I intend to build harrisy on logic and reason. Not the superstition, lies, and, threats that the Abrahamic religions are built on.
As an alternative for conscientious objectors caught in the religious wars (see chapter 6).
Deities are not really necessary for inspiration or religion. An all-powerful creator wouldn't need the help or adulation of puny mortals.
Only cults and human puppet masters need that. So we leave deities to their own devises. They ought to be up to it.
Harrisy is a religion about/for humans, as religions should be.
My leadership skills suck. So I will avoid leading, to avoid becoming a cult.
Chapter 2
A bunch of rules
Everybody hates rules. But let's establish what Harrisy stands for.
10 rules is a nice round number. But when the first four are about loyalty to the cult, You have to question who the rules are meant to benefit.
The christian 'commandments' only benefit the christian cult. The commandments don't even benefit their god.
A true all-powerful, immortal, creator god, would not need human worship or loyalty. The same as humans don't need the worship of ants.
We don't make rules for ants to follow. Just stay out of our way. The Abrahamic god treats us like ants. Either ignores or steps on us. It was his cults that made the 'commandments', not their god.
(more about that in chapter 7)
Harrisy has rules to live by, to benefit HUMANS:
A) Cause no harm.
B) Treat others the way you want to be treated.
Christianity calls this 'The Golden Rule' as if they invented it. But this was part of every culture and religion that humans ever created. (except Is-lame)
C) Do not kill. Do not kill humans.
Self preservation may override this, but killing is still a bad idea.
When killing animals for food, respect their sacrifice. Killing for sport is a bad idea.
D) People are not property.
Do not try to own others, in any sense.
You belong to yourself, do not give yourself away.
E) Do not steal.
You would not want to loose your stuff. (see B) Stealing harms others.
F) Do not lie. Avoid those who lie.
You would want to know the truth. To make better decisions. (see B)
G) Do not rape.
Do not force yourself on others. Your pleasures are not more important than other people's.
This applies to more than just sex. Do not force your religion on others. Do not force harrisy on others.
H) Do not shit wherever you please.
You don't want to slog through other people's shit.
(it's a metaphor.) Leave the world better than you found it.
I) Guard your privacy. Respect the privacy of others.
Beware of others who might use info against you. Or might unduly profit off you.
We have no rules about loyalty. We understand loyalties change. Just be honest (rule E)
We have no rule specifically about Adultery. Adultery might be considered loyalty, which changes.
Or adultery might be considered stealing, stealing affection. (rule D)
Chapter 3
Secrete origins
No one knows how/why it all began. Anyone who says they know, for certain, is lying.
The answer night as well be 42.
Most religions make it a crime to ask questions about their creation myths. This promotes ignorance. Helps the cult, not the people.
We understand the 'scientific method'. Scientists ask questions and are willing to test and adapt to new info.
So, for now, we trust scientific conclusions about the beginnings.
The current best theories from science:
The universe started from what they humorously call 'The Big Bang', about 13.8 Billion years ago.
Many are curious about what came before that. But we find that to be irrelevant to our everyday life.
Some religions say their god did it so they can claim payment/gratitude/worship for it. But we owe them nothing.
The earth was formed about 4.5 Billion years ago.
Humans evolved from other critters over many, many, many Generations (not years).
Some religions claim their god did it so they can claim payment/gratitude/worship for it.
We do not owe Harrisy or any religion for our existence.
Chapter 4
The end
How does it all end?
No one knows. Anyone who says they know, for certain, is lying.
Christinity predicts a bad acid trip. (See Revaluations) Any day now. So buy your ticket to heaven early.
It's an obvious con, You sacrifice this life you already have, for the promise of another life they can't prove.
Science predicts 'Entropy'. Every atom in the universe will drift away from every other till they can't react any more.
But humans will be dead or evolved into something we can't recognize, by then. Too distant, time-wise, to worry about.
Your personal end? What happens when you die?
Most probably nothing.
Seems like every religion has a different 'afterlife'. They can't all be right. (but they can all be wrong)
You can't pick the one you want. If an 'afterlife' exists it is what it is. WE can't control it. No cult can control it.
The cults are telling you what you want to hear. So you give your CURRENT LIFE to their cult. The life that is certain, in exchange for an empty promise.
No guarantees, No refunds, You won't get your old life back if they are wrong (or lying).
Pascal's gamble is a sucker bet. It never pays out.
Harrisy aims to make This Current Life better, worth living for it's own sake. We give priority to This Current Life over any theoretical 'afterlife'.
Chapter 5
Everybody's favorite topic: SEX
What's the point of Sexual Taboos?
Why would an IMORTAL (non-sexual, non-reproducing) being give a damn?
For example in the christian cult:
*Masturbation is sin,
*Spilling your seed outside the womb is sin,
*Marrying outside the church is sin,
*Divorce is sin,
*Birth Control is sin,
*Abortion is sin,
*Marriages without offspring are invalid.
*Brand (circumcise) your males, so your females know who they are allowed to mate with,
And in Is-lame, Women are just sexual slaves.
Taken as a whole,
The only purpose served by sexual taboos, is to help the CULT out-populate rival cults.
A REAL "creator god" wouldn't give a damn. Or Wouldn't need our cooperation. it would just create more of us, as needed.
A REAL creator wouldn't threaten us, it would just change us.
Sexual Taboos are serving a cult, not a god.
Harrisy has only one sexual taboo:
Rule G) Do not rape.
Do not force yourself on others. Your pleasures are not more important than other people's.
Chapter 6
The 2000 year war
The Abrahamic religions have been at war with each other for about 2000 years. Sometimes hot, sometimes cold.
But like some other religions, at all times attempting to be 'the one true religion'. And by their competition, doing more harm than good.
And the Abrahamic religions haven't even shown that the 'good' stuff needs their religion to get done.
They preach that it is somehow noble or their duty to spread their faith. ("Onward Christian Soldiers")
There are dangers associated with proselytism and/or evangelicalism:
(Please note - I had help with the following)
Focus on Conversion over Service:
Proselytism/evangelicalism prioritizes conversion goals over humanitarian or service-oriented activities.
This undermines the credibility and effectiveness of religious organizations engaged in charitable work,
as it is perceived as conditional or insincere.
Dogmatism and Exclusivity:
Evangelicalism/proselytism promotes a rigid, dogmatic interpretation of religious beliefs that excludes other perspectives.
This exclusivity leads to intolerance of differing viewpoints and hinders constructive dialogue and cooperation with people of other faiths or worldviews.
Coercion and Manipulation:
Proselytism/evangelicalism involves coercion, manipulation, or exploitation of vulnerable individuals,
such as offering material incentives or exploiting power differentials to induce conversion.
This raises ethical concerns about respect for autonomy and informed consent.
Political Activism:
Evangelicalism/proselytism has been associated with political movements that prioritize specific social or moral issues, leading to controversy and polarization.
this politicization blurs the lines between religion and politics, compromising the integrity of both.
Interfaith Tensions:
Proselytism/evangelicalism contributes to interfaith tensions and conflicts, especially when it is aggressive or disrespectful to members of other religious communities.
It will undermine efforts to foster mutual respect, understanding, and cooperation among different faith traditions.
Fragmentation of Communities:
Proselytism/evangelicalism leads to the fragmentation or division of communities, particularly in contexts where multiple religious groups coexist.
This creates social tensions and weaken social cohesion, especially when proselytism is conducted in a confrontational or divisive manner.
Proselytization and Missionary Work:
We are concerned about aggressive or coercive methods used in proselytization/evangelicalism efforts,
especially when targeting vulnerable populations or in multicultural contexts.
This leads to cultural imperialism or disrespect for the autonomy of individuals and communities.
Cultural Insensitivity:
Proselytism/evangelicalism disregards or disrespects the cultural and religious traditions of the target community.
This leads to cultural imperialism or colonialism, especially when proselytism/evangelicalism is conducted in contexts where there is a history of exploitation or marginalization.
Misrepresentation or Simplification of Beliefs:
Proselytism/evangelicalism involves oversimplification or misrepresentation of religious beliefs and practices in order to make them more appealing to potential converts.
This leads to misunderstandings or misconceptions about the beliefs and traditions of the proselytizing religion.
For these reasons we conscientious objectors to the religious war, need an uncompetitive religion like Harris-y.
But don't push it.
Chapter 7
Humans and gods
Why do human religions have gods that are all too human?
A creator of everything that needs humans to wright/publish a holy book?
An all powerful god who needs humans to promote him?
An all powerful god with a vindictive human sized ego?
An immortal who is obsessed with human reproduction?
An all powerful god who needs humans more than we need him?
Any actual god wouldn't need human religion.
Harrisy serves humans, not gods.
Chapter 8
Parables
Corn In A Cow Patty.
Finding truth in the Abrahamic holy books,
is like finding corn in a cow patty.
Sure there are some good kernels in there,
but is it really worth digging through the shit to find them?
You can find uncontaminated kernels of truth anywhere.
Chapter 9
Feedback
Feedback should be sent to: [zachharris@mail2hell.com](mailto:zachharris@mail2hell.com)
Don't expect a timely reply.

my life is over from that poison. called Invega Sustenna aka Paliperidone there is no hope after you have been given that shit, you have more chance of surviving a snake bite and living a healthy life after ti that that poison i was give.
i have four injections of this poison all together. two in december 2022, one in january 2023 and one in febuary 2023. and every since then my life has been over.
That poison doesnt hell you at all.
i have lost everything.
i cant think or feel, i have lost all my emotions and personality
i cant concentrate on anything, i cant read, wrote, watch tv, listen to music, i cant paint anymore, i cant write any of my poetry like i use to
i have no motivation to do anything like the simplest things eg wash the pots tidy the house, my room, anything so simple and easy and everyone does every day
i have no hunger or thirst that has gone.
i no longer can sleep, i havent slept since november 2022, that was before they gave me the injections
i no longer care about anything or anyone anymore, no love, no hope, no compassion, no joy , no empathy, NOTHING, I JUST DONT CARE everything is empty and gone,
i have been like this for 15 months now since the last injection and nothing has got any better my life and world has gotten worse.
my life was shit before all this, but i had a little world and got but now its the worse life ever ,i may as not be here, i dont know how long i can carry on doing this

my life is over from that poison. called Invega Sustenna aka Paliperidone there is no hope after you have been given that shit, you have more chance of surviving a snake bite and living a healthy life after ti that that poison i was give.
i have four injections of this poison all together. two in december 2022, one in january 2023 and one in febuary 2023. and every since then my life has been over.
That poison doesnt hell you at all.
i have lost everything.
i cant think or feel, i have lost all my emotions and personality
i cant concentrate on anything, i cant read, wrote, watch tv, listen to music, i cant paint anymore, i cant write any of my poetry like i use to
i have no motivation to do anything like the simplest things eg wash the pots tidy the house, my room, anything so simple and easy and everyone does every day
i have no hunger or thirst that has gone.
i no longer can sleep, i havent slept since november 2022, that was before they gave me the injections
i no longer care about anything or anyone anymore, no love, no hope, no compassion, no joy , no empathy, NOTHING, I JUST DONT CARE everything is empty and gone,
i have been like this for 15 months now since the last injection and nothing has got any better my life and world has gotten worse.
my life was shit before all this, but i had a little world and got but now its the worse life ever ,i may as not be here, i dont know how long i can carry on doing this

------------------
The Book of Harris-y
(Religion as it should be) -
by Zachary Harris
(cc) (NC) (ND) by Zachary Harris
May be copied, distributed, or displayed, verbatim only. non-commercial, not derivative works nor remixes.
First edition May 2024
Chapter 1 - What's in a name
Chapter 2 - A bunch of rules
Chapter 3 - Secrete origins
Chapter 4 - The end
Chapter 5 - Everybody's favorite topic: SEX
Chapter 6 - The 2000 year war
Chapter 7 - Humans and gods
Chapter 8 - Parables
Chapter 9 - Feedback
Chapter
CHAPTER 1
What's in a name
Some religions are named after it's main prophet. Christianity is named after christ. Buddhism is named after Budda.
I, Zach Harris, dub this religion HARRISy.
Where is it written that a religion can't have a sense of humor?
HARRISy is not a spoof or sarcasm.
But any religion without a sense of humor, absolutely NEEDS to be ridiculed.
I was raised in christianity. So most of my criticism will be aimed at the Abrahamic religions.
I intend to build harrisy on logic and reason. Not the superstition, lies, and, threats that the Abrahamic religions are built on.
As an alternative for conscientious objectors caught in the religious wars (see chapter 6).
Deities are not really necessary for inspiration or religion. An all-powerful creator wouldn't need the help or adulation of puny mortals.
Only cults and human puppet masters need that. So we leave deities to their own devises. They ought to be up to it.
Harrisy is a religion about/for humans, as religions should be.
My leadership skills suck. So I will avoid leading, to avoid becoming a cult.
Chapter 2
A bunch of rules
Everybody hates rules. But let's establish what Harrisy stands for.
10 rules is a nice round number. But when the first four are about loyalty to the cult, You have to question who the rules are meant to benefit.
The christian 'commandments' only benefit the christian cult. The commandments don't even benefit their god.
A true all-powerful, immortal, creator god, would not need human worship or loyalty. The same as humans don't need the worship of ants.
We don't make rules for ants to follow. Just stay out of our way. The Abrahamic god treats us like ants. Either ignores or steps on us. It was his cults that made the 'commandments', not their god.
(more about that in chapter 7)
Harrisy has rules to live by, to benefit HUMANS:
A) Cause no harm.
B) Treat others the way you want to be treated.
Christianity calls this 'The Golden Rule' as if they invented it. But this was part of every culture and religion that humans ever created. (except Is-lame)
C) Do not kill. Do not kill humans.
Self preservation may override this, but killing is still a bad idea.
When killing animals for food, respect their sacrifice. Killing for sport is a bad idea.
D) People are not property.
Do not try to own others, in any sense.
You belong to yourself, do not give yourself away.
E) Do not steal.
You would not want to loose your stuff. (see B) Stealing harms others.
F) Do not lie. Avoid those who lie.
You would want to know the truth. To make better decisions. (see B)
G) Do not rape.
Do not force yourself on others. Your pleasures are not more important than other people's.
This applies to more than just sex. Do not force your religion on others. Do not force harrisy on others.
H) Do not shit wherever you please.
You don't want to slog through other people's shit.
(it's a metaphor.) Leave the world better than you found it.
I) Guard your privacy. Respect the privacy of others.
Beware of others who might use info against you. Or might unduly profit off you.
We have no rules about loyalty. We understand loyalties change. Just be honest (rule E)
We have no rule specifically about Adultery. Adultery might be considered loyalty, which changes.
Or adultery might be considered stealing, stealing affection. (rule D)
Chapter 3
Secrete origins
No one knows how/why it all began. Anyone who says they know, for certain, is lying.
The answer night as well be 42.
Most religions make it a crime to ask questions about their creation myths. This promotes ignorance. Helps the cult, not the people.
We understand the 'scientific method'. Scientists ask questions and are willing to test and adapt to new info.
So, for now, we trust scientific conclusions about the beginnings.
The current best theories from science:
The universe started from what they humorously call 'The Big Bang', about 13.8 Billion years ago.
Many are curious about what came before that. But we find that to be irrelevant to our everyday life.
Some religions say their god did it so they can claim payment/gratitude/worship for it. But we owe them nothing.
The earth was formed about 4.5 Billion years ago.
Humans evolved from other critters over many, many, many Generations (not years).
Some religions claim their god did it so they can claim payment/gratitude/worship for it.
We do not owe Harrisy or any religion for our existence.
Chapter 4
The end
How does it all end?
No one knows. Anyone who says they know, for certain, is lying.
Christinity predicts a bad acid trip. (See Revaluations) Any day now. So buy your ticket to heaven early.
It's an obvious con, You sacrifice this life you already have, for the promise of another life they can't prove.
Science predicts 'Entropy'. Every atom in the universe will drift away from every other till they can't react any more.
But humans will be dead or evolved into something we can't recognize, by then. Too distant, time-wise, to worry about.
Your personal end? What happens when you die?
Most probably nothing.
Seems like every religion has a different 'afterlife'. They can't all be right. (but they can all be wrong)
You can't pick the one you want. If an 'afterlife' exists it is what it is. WE can't control it. No cult can control it.
The cults are telling you what you want to hear. So you give your CURRENT LIFE to their cult. The life that is certain, in exchange for an empty promise.
No guarantees, No refunds, You won't get your old life back if they are wrong (or lying).
Pascal's gamble is a sucker bet. It never pays out.
Harrisy aims to make This Current Life better, worth living for it's own sake. We give priority to This Current Life over any theoretical 'afterlife'.
Chapter 5
Everybody's favorite topic: SEX
What's the point of Sexual Taboos?
Why would an IMORTAL (non-sexual, non-reproducing) being give a damn?
For example in the christian cult:
*Masturbation is sin,
*Spilling your seed outside the womb is sin,
*Marrying outside the church is sin,
*Divorce is sin,
*Birth Control is sin,
*Abortion is sin,
*Marriages without offspring are invalid.
*Brand (circumcise) your males, so your females know who they are allowed to mate with,
And in Is-lame, Women are just sexual slaves.
Taken as a whole,
The only purpose served by sexual taboos, is to help the CULT out-populate rival cults.
A REAL "creator god" wouldn't give a damn. Or Wouldn't need our cooperation. it would just create more of us, as needed.
A REAL creator wouldn't threaten us, it would just change us.
Sexual Taboos are serving a cult, not a god.
Harrisy has only one sexual taboo:
Rule G) Do not rape.
Do not force yourself on others. Your pleasures are not more important than other people's.
Chapter 6
The 2000 year war
The Abrahamic religions have been at war with each other for about 2000 years. Sometimes hot, sometimes cold.
But like some other religions, at all times attempting to be 'the one true religion'. And by their competition, doing more harm than good.
And the Abrahamic religions haven't even shown that the 'good' stuff needs their religion to get done.
They preach that it is somehow noble or their duty to spread their faith. ("Onward Christian Soldiers")
There are dangers associated with proselytism and/or evangelicalism:
(Please note - I had help with the following)
Focus on Conversion over Service:
Proselytism/evangelicalism prioritizes conversion goals over humanitarian or service-oriented activities.
This undermines the credibility and effectiveness of religious organizations engaged in charitable work,
as it is perceived as conditional or insincere.
Dogmatism and Exclusivity:
Evangelicalism/proselytism promotes a rigid, dogmatic interpretation of religious beliefs that excludes other perspectives.
This exclusivity leads to intolerance of differing viewpoints and hinders constructive dialogue and cooperation with people of other faiths or worldviews.
Coercion and Manipulation:
Proselytism/evangelicalism involves coercion, manipulation, or exploitation of vulnerable individuals,
such as offering material incentives or exploiting power differentials to induce conversion.
This raises ethical concerns about respect for autonomy and informed consent.
Political Activism:
Evangelicalism/proselytism has been associated with political movements that prioritize specific social or moral issues, leading to controversy and polarization.
this politicization blurs the lines between religion and politics, compromising the integrity of both.
Interfaith Tensions:
Proselytism/evangelicalism contributes to interfaith tensions and conflicts, especially when it is aggressive or disrespectful to members of other religious communities.
It will undermine efforts to foster mutual respect, understanding, and cooperation among different faith traditions.
Fragmentation of Communities:
Proselytism/evangelicalism leads to the fragmentation or division of communities, particularly in contexts where multiple religious groups coexist.
This creates social tensions and weaken social cohesion, especially when proselytism is conducted in a confrontational or divisive manner.
Proselytization and Missionary Work:
We are concerned about aggressive or coercive methods used in proselytization/evangelicalism efforts,
especially when targeting vulnerable populations or in multicultural contexts.
This leads to cultural imperialism or disrespect for the autonomy of individuals and communities.
Cultural Insensitivity:
Proselytism/evangelicalism disregards or disrespects the cultural and religious traditions of the target community.
This leads to cultural imperialism or colonialism, especially when proselytism/evangelicalism is conducted in contexts where there is a history of exploitation or marginalization.
Misrepresentation or Simplification of Beliefs:
Proselytism/evangelicalism involves oversimplification or misrepresentation of religious beliefs and practices in order to make them more appealing to potential converts.
This leads to misunderstandings or misconceptions about the beliefs and traditions of the proselytizing religion.
For these reasons we conscientious objectors to the religious war, need an uncompetitive religion like Harris-y.
But don't push it.
Chapter 7
Humans and gods
Why do human religions have gods that are all too human?
A creator of everything that needs humans to wright/publish a holy book?
An all powerful god who needs humans to promote him?
An all powerful god with a vindictive human sized ego?
An immortal who is obsessed with human reproduction?
An all powerful god who needs humans more than we need him?
Any actual god wouldn't need human religion.
Harrisy serves humans, not gods.
Chapter 8
Parables
Corn In A Cow Patty.
Finding truth in the Abrahamic holy books,
is like finding corn in a cow patty.
Sure there are some good kernels in there,
but is it really worth digging through the shit to find them?
You can find uncontaminated kernels of truth anywhere.
Chapter 9
Feedback
Feedback should be sent to: [zachharris@mail2hell.com](mailto:zachharris@mail2hell.com)
Don't expect a timely reply.

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Anglestan
Augustus 5, 1923
Facility 9, Mancheston
Colonel Jacobs
His hands flew through the folders General Jorgenson and Colonel Thatcher had. There were dozens of them, stacked upon each other all filed in alphabetical order. It had only been a few days since he had woken up from his coma and visited his home— now his mother’s grave. He clenched his fists at the thought. The grief and rage threatened to bubble and spill over once again. He took a deep breath and dragged out the exhale, almost to the point where he had emptied out his lungs.
He was the only one with clearance, and so he couldn’t disclose any of what he learned with his team. They would simply have to trust him and his judgment. Which he was sure they would do. His hands went over one of the folders skimming through it. There were multiple secret projects, but the ones with the most notes were Project S.T.A.R, Project L.U.N.A.R.I, Project R.E.V.I.V.E, Project D.A.W.N, and Project T.E.M.P.L.A.R.
The colonel decided to start with the most notes and papers. Project D.A.W.N.
He skimmed through the notes, reading through some of the details and highlighted words. Project D.A.W.N, the espionage project Thatcher had started placed two spies in Verlin who were to report directly to a Crescent general named Sienna Moretti who was apparently on humanity’s side.
So I was right. There was an espionage element. With the recent attacks and Thatcher’s death, however, it’s safe to assume that it had somehow failed. Either they got found out or they betrayed us. Both seem very likely, but if they were found out, it would be possible that they had died.
He read through all of it before setting the folder down. There were no new notes recently. He sighed and assumed that Project DAWN was a failure. Whether or not the agents were still alive and well, it was too risky to check if they had been compromised. It was better to assume that they had been and cut all contact. The only way to find out now was to go there himself and check. I can’t contact them again. There’s no telling if it would still be Moretti or the agents who would see my messages. It’s a big risk, and judging by the state of things, best to assume it failed.
He picked up another folder. This one had the label ‘under development’ on the folder. Project Templar. He opened the folder and was instantly met with a blueprint and drawings of a massive bipedal machine. It looked humanoid with strange proportions and was supposed to be standing at an impressive 30 meters, or 100 feet. The Titanic Engine Mech for Personal Land Assault and Reconnaissance.
It was apparently a joint project with the Church of Sol, utilizing new and advanced technologies he hadn’t heard of. A 203mm Gatling cannon on one arm, while the other had three different weapons. A massive firestarter that utilized a new type of fuel mixture that could theoretically spew flames a kilometer away using a high-pressure nozzle. The fuel was ignited using an electrical spark. The second weapon was a high-powered light weapon that fired a single powerful beam of focused light that was even further amplified by layers of focusing lenses that could increase its output several times. Its third weapon was… a dust domina?
Mark read through the specifications of the so-called ‘sand cannon’ weapon. It was a massive cannon that accelerated tiny particles several times. Each particle was to be electrically charged, and it would travel at immense speeds. Near impossible speeds. The resulting impact of a microscopic particle at such speeds would be enough to form a small crater and punch through armor like it was nothing. This weapon would fire multiple at the same time, which could literally eat away at anything on the opposing end.
In terms of secondary weapons, the titan had two missile launch chambers in front of its shoulder each containing about 40 missiles, and two massive howitzer cannons on top of it. Both are 800mm in caliber. It had massive stumpy legs that served as bunkers for a small platoon on each leg. Each leg had machine dominas and 155mm cannons. Its chassis held two nuclear reactors inside providing for its power and weaponry. Its armor was the thickest and most ridiculous he’d ever read. Two meters of heavy steel armor.
How far are we in terms of technology? This thing looks like it came out of an H.G. Wells sci-fi novel. He thought, shaking his head. It was over the top, but there was no denying its combat capabilities. If it was already under-developed then it must be the first prototype. This has already been approved. Guess I better see it for myself later and check how it's coming along. Construction apparently started just a few months before the invasion.
Next was project L.U.N.A.R.I. It was a project involving Six. “Huh,” he said, continuing to read on.
The Light Undone: Nocturnal’s Adaptive Resistance Initiative. As he read further, his eyes widened. The reason why Six was so special wasn’t just because of her immunity to all strigoi weaknesses, but because of her impressive ability to turn any true born strigoi like her. She could transfer her strain like any other strigoi and transform them into a version of hers. It however only seemed to work for naturally born strigoi. The new species of ‘half-breeds’ were called ‘Blessed Children’ as Thatcher had coined in the folder.
The plan was to turn all willing true-born hemolite strigoi into these blessed children. Able to withstand the sun. Immune to silver. Free from the dependency on blood. They could remove all the weaknesses of the strigoi and after the war— make it possible to integrate them into society as normal citizens living on the surface. The project folder also made mentions of a city-wide draft in Dante and highlighted the possibility of turning all Dantenite true born strigoi into these blessed children and renaming them as ‘Lunari’. A mix of the dark and the light. The light of Sol reflected in the children of the night.
“Thatcher, what the fuck have you been up to…” Mark whispered to himself.
While it was true that it could help in the war effort by utilizing Six and the dantenite population, it would also invite some unforeseen problems and consequences. Would humanity be okay with the Lunari? Would the world even be ready for them? Strigoi who were immune to the sun. They wouldn’t be impossible to kill, but they would be immensely more powerful if we were to take away their inherent weaknesses. This is a gamble. Its gain would only be seen during the war period, but its unintended effects on society could be catastrophic.
He frowned, setting the folder down. It was obviously Thatcher’s main plan; seeing as all her moves could be traced to the path of the eventual completion of this project. It seemed dangerous in the long run, but the duskwalkers and dantenites had been monumental in the war effort. Maybe it was the time the world started to accept them more. Isolation and segregation was definitely not the way to disperse fears and foster understanding.
If Thatcher thinks this is the next step forward… then I’ll put my faith in her plans.
Next up was Project S.T.A.R, or the Superior Tech and Adaptive Resistance. An upgrade to the current hemolite weapons and gear by using new researched studies. The Starfire Pattern Domina. The SFD-23 This thing features a new loading system and magazine, ditching the rotating cylinder most domina used, or the rotating helix magazine design of the current hemolite standard BM-16 domina.
The new domina had its magazine like a box… a strange design but it was certainly easier to handle than the bulky cylinders the helical mags used. In terms of ergonomics, it was smoother and fit more. Its placement however was on top of the domina, just above the barrel. Most of the weapon were to be made of lightweight polymers and the barrel itself were to be crafted out of reinforced aluminium. In addition to that, it had a 10-inch bayonet attached to it.
There were other new things as well, such as the composition of the bullet. Looking at the conceptual cross-section designs, Mark read through its description and how it would function. A .308 cased telescoped bullet covered in a silver jacket with break-away petals surrounding the main body. Inside the jacket was a penetrator core that was to be made of depleted uranium. It had a small amount of incendiary compound and… powdered white phosphorus behind an explosive compound. The thin silver jacket would deform and trigger the explosive compound inside the body. It would blow up causing massive internal damage and release the incendiary materials into the body with the flecks of powdered white phosphorus. The penetrator core could still potentially keep going and hit a second target, or punch through heavily armored targets.
Part of the new Project S.T.A.R was overhauling the armor and gear of not just the Hemolites but the Hunters as well. Starfire Mk 1. Carapace Armor. Carapace? It looked like plates of steel covered in a rubberized coat. It was supposed to be slipped on over the original hemolite body armor. It added a spring-loaded wrist blade to the gauntlet, a thicker coat made of resistant materials, and added extra padding for the knees, shoulders, and elbows.
However, the hemolites weren’t the only ones mentioned in the folder. It was to serve the Hunters as well. “Hunters…” Mark said. “August’s group is part of this initiative too.” He flipped through some of the pages. There were blueprints and drawings of an armored suit. A mechanized suit even smaller and more compact than the jotunn units. The Mark 1 STR battlesuit. It was supposed to hug the wearer’s frame and increase their overall power. It was supposed to be built of titanium alloy and a heavy steel frame with composite armor. It had a cooling system, life support systems that could recycle bodily fluids, and an exoskeleton frame that could increase the wearer’s strength and speed.
However, the real eye-opener was Thatcher’s notes. She had been ranting about the new human evolution, and how the Hunters were the first of the ‘Solari’. She wanted to enhance human genetics and push past the peak of human ability to reach greater heights. Implants and restructuring of the anatomy to make it more efficient. Using the blood of the goddess herself. She must have lost it. These are the ramblings of a lunatic. At least… if she didn’t mention the goddess. Why was the goddess important here?
The writings ended with the words: “See Project R.E.V.I.V.E, for more details.”
Mark eyed the final folder. His hands shook as he reached out to take it. Flipping it open, his hands nearly dropped it in shock. The goddess Helena was alive. There were pictures of her naked form floating in a giant tube of fluid. There were more of Thatcher’s ramblings and excited rants about the possibilities of such a discovery. Resurrection, Enhancement, and Veneration: Implementation of Visionary Evolution.
The goddess is alive?! According to the file, she’s currently under the Cathedral of New Lundun. Not only that, but the file also detailed the extraterrestrial tech that lay beneath the cathedral. So the goddess is real and she’s— not really a goddess, but rather, a vampyr who created herself a human body to stand in the sun, and decided that it wants to be on humanity’s side… what the fuck.
Mark’s frown and confusion only increased as he read on. Thatcher’s notes seemed to nearly descend into madness as she had written about creating ‘the first hundred’, alluding to the 100 members of the Hunters division. Her plan was to revive the goddess, and with her help and expertise in genetics— use her DNA to transform the Hunters into demi-humans. Super soldiers. Literal children of the goddess Helena. They would then don the STR battlesuits, the first of the superhuman warriors to defend humanity. Solari.
Their lightning-speed advancement into technology was heralded by studying the alien tech, which deepened the understanding of physics and engineering. Nuclear technologies, chemical warfare, new material sciences, the mechs, and walkers, it was spearheaded by trying to reverse-engineer technology centuries ahead of our own… for the past hundred years. It wasn’t completely stolen, however. More or less borrowed ideas that had been made into our own with our own designs and implements. Still, the speed at which the Church and the military had deciphered such advancements all by themselves was… impressive to say the least.
Still, the fact that the goddess was alive, and could be brought back was big news. Checking the file for details, he found that the previous general, Jorgenson, had already approved this project. It was their next step as soon as they returned from New Amsterdam; which never happened.
If Helena was alive, then she could end this war swiftly, or at the very least help greatly like she once did during the War of Darkness. Having the goddess back would throw a massive wrench in the Crescent’s plans. It would certainly be something they wouldn’t expect. Not even I expected this, since many sources say that the goddess had already ascended to watch over humanity, while conspiracy theorists claim she had died in battle and that the Church was worshiping a corpse. This could be the trick up our sleeves that no one would even consider.
The colonel quickly got up from his seat and gathered the main files he had read. He placed them in a bag and rushed outside of his office in Facility 9. He went over to a nearby room and flicked the lights on. “We need to go,” he said. In an instant seven hemolite soldiers got up from whatever they were doing and instantly stood in line.
“Sir! Whatever you need of us, sir,” the group said in unison.
They were Hemo-1. His former squad members. He had taken up Louis' suggestion that they be his personal security detail. It was a shame that he had basically placed the best hemolite team out of commission, but after all he had been through he convinced himself that he could be just a little selfish. He didn’t want to lose any more friends. Not on his watch. Not while he was in an office, and they were out fighting.
“We’re going to New Lundun. Better pack up, it’s going to be a long night.”
“Mark,” Olivia said.
Jacobs turned to her direction and gave her a nod.
“Colonel, sir, may I ask where in New Lundun?”
“Liv, you don’t need to do that with me. Please. I give all of you special permission,” the colonel groaned. “It’s so weird. I mean, ‘captain’ was bad enough, but now you’re acting like I’m an authority figure.”
“You… are, though,” Emma shrugged.
“I’m your friend, and Liv I’m literally your partner. Unless you have some kind of weird fetish, save it for later.”
Olivia grinned, shaking her head. “Duly noted!” she chirped.
“That’s better,” Mark chuckled. “Now come on, we have a cathedral to visit.”
“Uhh, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re kinda… strigoi?!” Louis groaned. “I’d burn the moment I step in that place! Plus, it’s coated in silver! Anything I even touch will give me burns!”
“Oh come on, Lou. You have fucking gloves on. As long as you’re not a clumsy dumbass you’ll be fine… oh wait.’
“Uh huh, just sayin’ what I think, boss.”
The group headed out and Mark said something on his radio. He then sat on the ground, making his joints pop. The rest of the squad shrugged and followed his example, sitting down on the grass and waiting for… nothing. Charles and Zach looked at each other in confusion. “Uh, sir?” they asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading out and traveling right now?”
“Oh yeah, we’re just waiting.”
“Foooor…?”
The colonel gave them a smirk as a loud noise began to make itself known. A hummingbird transport appeared out of the distance and stopped right above them, slowly descending into the grass. “Being colonel has its perks,” Mark said with a smile. He stood up and hopped inside the hummingbird as soon as it landed. “Come on now! We’ve got work to do! Last one aboard buys everyone food later!”
Emma zipped in before Mark could even finish his sentence, followed by Olivia, Phineas, Charles, Zach, and then Louis, who sadly took too long to process what the colonel said, and lagged behind.
“Aw, man! Fuck this shit.”
“Rules are rules, Lou. Prepare your wallet later.” Mark grinned.
With a smile, the colonel pulled Olivia to his side, who blushed for a moment before shaking her head. “Take us up! New Lundun Cathedral! How long would it take?” he asked the pilot.
“About an hour and a half!” The pilot replied. “Less if you want to get there as soon as possible!”
“Take your time! The night’s still young.”
The hummingbird started to lift up, taking them into the air. The group settled down in their seats and watched outside the open. Mark opened up a bag inside the hummingbird and took out some ear muffs built for a strigoi. Extremely loud noises were damaging for a strigoi’s enhanced hearing, so the military started implementing ear muffs for them after complaints from early deployments of the hemolite squads.
The trip didn’t take too long. In only an hour and twenty minutes they had arrived at the safe zone of New Lundun, heading straight for the cathedral. The night mass had just ended and people were leaving the cathedral. “Looks like we made it in perfect time!” Mark smiled. They hovered for a few minutes in the air before eventually landing down right in front of the statue of Helena.
As soon as they landed, the colonel and his group left the hummingbird. Mark instructed the pilot to wait for them. He went straight for the cathedral with his group following behind. He entered inside, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“Well this is surely unexpected,” an old man said, walking up to greet them.
“Great Grandfather Aurelius. It’s uh, an honor.”
“Please. The honor is mine… I see you’re the new colonel. Yes, I’ve heard the news,” he said. “Would you mind telling me your name, young man? As well as your companions, if they feel so. I usually don’t allow duskwalkers here but, I have nothing against them. I’ll make an exception for your group.”
“Thank you, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “I am Colonel Mark Jacobs. These are my friends and security detail. Olivia, Zach, Phineas, Charles, Emma, and Louis.”
“I see, and what brings you here?”
“Since Thatcher’s demise, I was given access to her research and project folders upon taking up the title. I’ve learned about what’s under your cathedral,” Mark cleared his throat. “Would it be alright if we could see it? I’d like to check it for myself. Of course, under your permission and guidance, Great Grandfather.”
The church head looked from Mark to his companions. He pulled a slight frown and hummed. “Do these companions of yours have the clearance? Surely, we wish to keep our secrets hidden,” he said. Mark nodded.
“They do not have clearance to know what is in Thatcher’s folders and her findings,” the colonel nodded. “However, I give them permission to accompany me, and should they discover things for themselves, then you have my word and my trust that I can keep them from spilling state secrets.”
The Great Grandfather gave a short pause before ultimately relenting. “Very well,” he let out a sigh. “Follow me.”
Aurelius walked behind the altar and pulled the same lever, which opened the same staircase leading underground, where Jorgenson and Thatcher had once gone. “Over here, colonel,” he said. “I do not know you completely yet, but this is a big deal of trust I am giving you. Perhaps you would be the one to do things that Thatcher could not have.”
Mark nodded, he and his group followed the Great Grandfather down the staircase. It led down to a massive underground facility, with numerous priests, researchers, and scientists. Libraries, records, instruments, and artifacts of old. It was a treasure trove of learning.
“So,” Aurelius cleared his throat. “What would you like to know about?”
“This isn’t all of it,” Mark said. “Thatcher mentioned a living, breathing, Helena.”
His group behind him let out a soft gasp, but they tried their best to hide their surprise.
“Hm,” the Great Grandfather nodded. “Perceptive young man aren’t you? Very well.”
They were then led into another room, behind a set of heavy blast doors. If the whole group were trying to hide their surprise then, now they could barely contain it. Even the colonel stared awestruck at the things he had seen. Despite the near-magical objects around them, the true shock was the massive starship at the end of the hallway. “It’s impressive isn’t it?” Aurelius said. “All of the goddess’ artifacts and items at our disposal, to use and learn from, to integrate into our own. This is why Anglestan is the most powerful nation in the UHT in terms of development. When it comes to industry, however, that would go to the UNA. But we share our secrets with them. All our advancements are handed to them first before any other nation.”
“This is all amazing, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “But this is not what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not.” Aurelius nodded.
He led them to another room, one that was sterilized and sported advanced machinery. Things that Mark had never even seen. There were screens with luminous green texts that appeared in front of it. Large panels with numerous keys, levers, and dials. Graphs of all sorts and beeping monitors. In the center, was the very thing he had come all this way to confirm. A large cylinder filled with liquid, sporting tubes and pipes connecting to its base. Inside was a woman of large proportion. Four arms, two legs, and six wings. In her bare chest was a symbol of the sun that seemed to glow dimly.
“There she is, there’s you goddess.”
Neither Mark nor his group spoke a word. He walked up to it, eyeing the woman inside. It really is her. Down to the last details. Golden hair, six limbs, six folded wings, and she looks massive. Probably as big as her statue just outside the cathedral. This is it. The very goddess in the history books, the one spoken about in legends and the one worshiped in the Churches of Sol.
“Can we free her?” he said.
The Great Grandfather nearly choked on his spit upon hearing those words. “Free her?! That could kill her! We don’t even understand this technology, let alone control it!” he said pointing at the panels. “The machines you see here are the best and most advanced we have based on what we can reverse engineer, but even then, the consequences of tampering with its functions may be disastrous!”
“I understand, Great Grandfather,” Mark said. “But we are in a dire situation, and the goddess may be our hope of turning this around. Whatever secrets of her tech that you don’t understand, wouldn’t she be able to teach us directly? What good is she floating around in Sol knows what?”
“That is her miraculous healing fluid. She had already built this contraption centuries ago in case anything were to happen to her, that her body’s natural healing could not sustain,” Aurelius said. “During the War of Darkness, Helena was struck with a weapon so deadly, her very cells began to tear away. The Reaper. Dealt to her by Absolem the progenitor. Her flesh was peeling from her body, and she began to decay whilst she still breathed. She entered this contraption and gave strict instructions to the Great Grandfather at the time, not to interrupt the healing process. The machine that monitored her, however, began to fail over time.”
“So this… these screens and panels…”
“Is only what functions we can understand. We took it upon ourselves to rebuild and study it the best we could. What we have right now is only a cheap imitation of a technology we do not fully comprehend,” he said. “It took us decades to even figure out the fundamentals and create a working prototype of this machine. By some miracle, the goddess’ healing process had remained even while we replaced components of technology ahead of ours.”
“But you know how to free her, don’t you?”
“I… yes.”
“Great Grandfather Aurelius,” Mark began. “We can end this war. Imagine what we could do with the goddess fighting on our side. We could advance even further, we could finally end the bloodshed, and we can show humanity that there is still hope. Imagine how people all over the world would feel seeing as their goddess has returned.”
“I wish I had your enthusiasm,” Aurelius said. “But it is simply too risky. The Church’s duty is to protect Helena and her legacy. We keep her alive, literally and figuratively. She nearly died the last time she was involved in a war. Would you risk losing the goddess?”
“Would you risk humanity losing?”
The Great Grandfather fell silent, looking back at Helena floating inside the tube, then to the panels that controlled it. He frowned and let out a long sigh. “The goddess said that we should not interrupt it. That it would end as soon as it was finished. Maybe we should trust her words.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t spot a single blemish on the goddess. Not a single scratch,” he argued. “You said it yourself that the machine had begun to fail and you replaced components. How would you know that the thing that’s supposed to wake her up was not tampered with? Think about it. What you may think is a useless piece may be integral to the whole machine. Or maybe your replacements were not up to the task. Just because nothing’s happened doesn’t mean its functions have remained whole.”
“Young man, we simply cannot gamble with the goddess’ life here.”
“Have you no faith? Great Grandfather?”
Aurelius stepped back in shock. Mark’s companions looked at each other, clearly surprised as well. “Mark… I don’t think we should keep arguing with—” Olivia tried to say.
“No,” the colonel said firmly, cutting her off. “Great Grandfather Aurelius, do you think that Helena will not be able to pull through if we wake her? How long has it been? A century? How much longer will we wait? She may be immortal but humans aren’t.”
“I'm sorry, but the chances of failure are too high. The probability of her—”
“I don’t care about the probability! Would you rather put your faith in a statistic?!” Mark raised his voice. “I lost my mother to this war! My friends! My job! My eye, and almost my life! I’ve put mine on the line out there! You don’t know what it’s like out there! Was my mother’s death just a probability too? Was she just a statistic to you?! That as long as the numbers are good, no matter how many are lost, we are ‘winning’?!”
“Mark—!”
“No, Liv! He needs to know what’s really going on out there!” he spat. “Great Grandfather, with all due respect, but you don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to be in the field. You’re a man of faith, aren’t you? Take a risk. Everyone else has.”
Aurelius stood there, dumbfounded. He bit the inside of his cheeks and clenched his fists. “For your insolence, I would have had you flogged and stripped of your rank,” he glared at the young colonel. However, his features slowly softened, letting out a soft sigh. “But I have never seen such conviction. Mighty is your faith.”
The Great Grandfather moved over to the panels and reached into his robe, pulling out from around his neck a key with the symbol of the sun. He inserted it into the machine and turned. A beep sounded, right before Aurelius pulled a lever. In an instant, the fluid inside the glass chamber began to drain out into the tubes under it. Slowly, the chamber emptied and all that was left was the nude form of the goddess sitting in the glass.
“Did it work?” Louis asked, stepping forward and looking at the woman.
Aurelius stayed silent, his hands shaking in anticipation. Mark moved toward the glass chamber, when suddenly, the glass opened up like a door, releasing a fragrant mist. They stood there, watching for a whole minute. Nothing. At first nothing. The Great Grandfather looked like he was about to break down. His knees shook as he covered his mouth, thinking that he was responsible for the death of Helena.
That was when… a soft sound was heard. Movement. Olivia immediately went over to Mark and stood in front of him. Ready to protect him should anything happen. Slowly, the goddess moved more, her arms inched to the side.
Then, her eyes opened.

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.”
First/Previous
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26 y/o male here (out of two younger sisters) - for a lack of immediate depth and clarity, I sometimes feel as if my brain is, quite frankly, a Lvl. 45 Pokémon in my otherwise full party of normally leveled mons (in this case, other organs? IDK, my poetically 'PogChamp' metaphor kinda fell off after a certain point, admittedly enough, lol...) and because I don't have any 'gym badges', or rather, notable enough ones on 'this' profile to attain the respect of said OP 🧠 (dry reincarnation joke for ya) like anything above an associate's college degree, to where in which I've been shamelessly punishing myself for ever since. All in a familial structure founded off my Father immigrating here from Iran at 17 due to an ongoing war at the time, proceeding to speed run his ability to speak and understand English, and ultimately earn his Doctorate degree at UT Austin in Mathematics by age 24/25 y/o. My Mother, also having immigrated to TX from around the same area/time period to that of my father, learned most if not all of her English and Math by dad, eventually earning her own highly marketable and prestigious degree, allowing her to work as a laboratory scientist within an established Hospital ever since) I wake up each day with ~75-80% chance of my emotions/seemingly invisible yet unapologetically frictious (made up word of the day) force of my own nature steering me not just off course with regards to tangible progress in most faltering facets of my life, but 180 degrees, straight-up in the opposite direction entirely; no matter how hard I may try and/or far I may get, there just always happens to be this same (assumedly) suspect layer of my consciousness to whom in which takes it upon 'itself' to fully assess and ultimately execute some seemingly crucial decision/deduction 'for me', frequently working so far ahead into the future that I lose damn near any/all opportunities to act authentically, evenif said authentic action(s) is/are the more difficult/tedial (made up word of the day, and an unnecessary one at that yet way more satisfyingly sounding than 'tedious' imo xp) decisions out of all answer choices, almost never allowing me a proper build up of 'dharmic momentum', if you will, when that in of itself would likely prove valuable. I believe this behavioral pattern in particular has made it exponentially more difficult to break my current bad habits in insomnia(-l?), burn out, depression, and consequently to these aforementioned, my biggest demon of them all ATM: productivity paralysis - all in which I've been experiencing this past year. For example: my mom telling me we have to go somewhere I don't want to in the morning, my replying 'consciously', usually in agreement in an attempt to avoid further arguments/conflicts, trading authenticity for emotional convenience, be it for better or for worse, only then for my 5Head brain to do what it likely does best (at least with regards to consistency) ala subconsciously 5Head'ing the situation in the background like an antivirus program would after downloading a sketchy Switch emulator onto one's hard drive, it's way of 'resolving' it's self proclaimed virus by having me stay up all night to where there's no way I can go after all, trading my misery for a more preferable, oftentimes comfortable solution as well as rebellion, especially towards those whom I feel can't look past their own selves when offering advice/ideas, which is one thing, but also forcing said solutions onto those concerned, be it due to frustration, which I can't blame them for given my like-mindedness towards my own self and scenario. Slightly more context in that I've always been told I'm super smart, 'could' be one of my best students if... (you know the rest ✌️🙂‍↕️), blah blah blah, but have genuinely been able to achieve things I seriously haven't heard of a single other person accomplishing especially with regards to my passions and career choices, tend to for whatever peculiar reason attract highly successful and oftentimes famous individuals i.e. content creators, musicians, general artists - weirdly/oftentimes VERY well known ones - into my life on both friendly and romantic levels (ironically, seeming to have had a strange ability to attract the upper eschalon of high functioning individuals from not much interesting initial interaction(s) from my perspective, in OR out of schooling, admittedly enough, always hoping I would become one myself, likely as a coping strategy/defense mechanism/compensatory coalition with respect to my lackluster grades/overall effort in highschool despite taking and consequently passing every advanced course possible in relation to my corresponding grade level i.e. AP Calculus in Senior yeaAP English/Government/History, you get the idea, and which was the case from 6th grade onwards, even getting into Health Careers HS upon making an exceptional grade on the entrance exam, along with pure luck I suppose, which, again, pretty prestigious or should have been if I cared, to which I basically had to provide my parents one of my first ultimatums of what would be many: 'I'm gonna get all zeroes if you don't let me go to designated Public HS', likely because it didn't resonate with me at the time - part of me regrets it looking back tbh - and/or I didn't feel like I deserved it/belonged there either) just off my personality alone, which is a lot more humble and sweet than the tonality of this passage provides, often times declared by sources external to that of my own, however believable or on the contrary at face-value. What's crazier is how empty I feel on the inside in spite of everything I've accomplished with regards to, well, again, all facets of my life. Ex: Getting fired at my Banking job last year after the initiation of the divorce for inconsistent attendance, which is fair enough, then getting a new job later at the start of July only to get promoted off my performance by the end of the month, which, for better or for worse, has generally been my same song and dance with regards to my numerous occupations likely due to my need for validation/even 'consolidation' for not having it in me to pursue a Bachelor's degree, only to then go on leave for, frankly, no longer 'having it in me' despite my undying (and disgusting) desire to still push and/or power through in an effort, forevermore, to - not even emotionally amymore but physiologically, at this point - cope with this seemingly snowballing shit-storm of a situation that is and has been 'life' as I know it to be (admittedly/notably, taking the break DID feel good as I haven't really prioritized my own wellbeing like that before) but however eventual/inevitable, got fired for repeatedly giving a date for my return each time my manager reached out to check in on my well-being, only for my first ever and repeated semblance of a panic attack arising in spite of wanting to will myself, tooth and nail, out the house each of those individual instances, ultimately preventing me from following through with my now broken promises to aforementioned ex-manager - all part of this fuck-headed prophecy. :) In an effort to wrap this very real, very frustrating fool's fairytale up, it's important to note I've been jobless ever since that day, locked in my room, still more productive in many important aspects barring perhaps socially, but I'm in huge debt, especially since I had to fire my divorce attorney last year around August for having a 30% response/hit rate for anything that wasn't the bill - I wish I was wrong - though, I was hired at a coffee shop back in February as my mom thought (and still thinks/pushes this notion) that my problem is 'I need to get out there and into the world', welp, I listened albeit after weeks of conflict/disagreements/yelling (which actions in of themselves make me feel terrible since I once took great pride in being the family peacekeeper (and from a reasonably young age too, unfortunately enough) like any good son whom in which values their own mother's reasonable enough hypothesis would, except for, well, that job too, eventually and inevitably (in my mind) 'I' ending up quitting due to - long story short - unruly junior managers and their annoyingly asinine egos'.
Wrapping up, between going through a divorce with my wife, having been forced to live back with my forever faulty family, namely, with regards to my stubborn mother and father (however much I love them to pieces, to which I feel I express well enough, consistently enough, though at the same time think is fair holding back a bit affectionately given the frequency and intensity of my current circumstances, frankly). Thankfully, I have been able to maintain my well above average athleticism/physique (my words, sure, though genuinely intended with as little ego as possible, in fact more often than not mentioned by someone other than myself, and consistently so at that ever since the 10th grade when I initially started lifting/getting into Nutrition) through daily weighted pushups of 55 lbs in a sturdy backpack, along with my self taught singing voice (worded that way to emphasize I had to basically fight my mom and dad on investing time/energy into that back during HS as well, only to, like my fitness discipline, attaining a very high level on my own and in spite of the needless and unnecessary friction provided by family), along with, and perhaps most importantly, keeping up with my mental and spiritual literacies through many renowned online University lectures, free programs, videos by Dr. K-ing himself, etc. - all to say I'm at a point, currently, where this once 'Superman' persona that I suppose never existed in the capacity seems way closer to that of a depressed, worn down Clark Kent than ever before...
Sigh
(P.S. To my 🧠: Thank you, sincerely, for giving me the courage/chutzpah to finally deliberately declassify, denote, and deliver this deconstruction of my mind, however flawed, over the internet. Further, it's imperative that I mention my confirmed diagnoses of ADHD/Borderline/Childhood & Family Trauma, along with a pending/potential Bipolar disorder as the metaphorically 'maniacal' cherry on top. I'm seeing a psychologist ATM and am prescribed Adderall which helps me tremendously, both with regards to mood and my ADHD symptoms. I've been taking medication for over 2 years now. Random but relevant side note: my insomnia started after the initiation of the divorce and again, I've basically slept once every other night throughout this whole duration)
(P.P.S. Forgive me for any inconsistencies/poor grammaseemingly unfinished statements and/or scenarios. I've had a couple hours of sleep the past 30ish hours, which has, give or take, been the case since June of last year.
(P.P.P.S. Crazy to acknowledge that I intended on sharing the first few sentences of this post when 'I' made the decision to write out this random Reddit post - I wonder, however hesitantly, what notable 'tomfoolery' my brain has planned as the potential outcome to this output and a half.)
(P.P.P.P.S. That's not even the full story LuL. Though I must mention I appreciate anyone bored/mad/strong-willed enough to muster their way from start to finish of my madness. I love this community with all of my heart, truly, and I'm sorry for coming across as brash or unapologetic at particular points, just not really feeling it ATM. Love and peace, always
Kindest regards,
Anotha One

First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
First/Previous
Archive

Skip beat
Box
Heat
Daunting days
Empty streets
Better than
Absolutely nothing.
Playing on a Sunday.
You couldn’t even
Stop me.
Wait.
See.
Effort less
Just a breeze.
Just like when
I couldn’t breathe.
You know me.
Read this
Know it’s me.
Sleepless.
Recognize.
Surely posing
I’m not convinced
You must know things.
And I am still coasting.
Shift shaft
Beat
Box
The heat out here’s
Gotta stop
I can’t look down
I’m way too up
You should have stayed
It’s all corrupt
Another system
I wouldn’t touch
An institution
For some love.
Was it
Love.
I’ve always loved me.
Swing sway
Dip
Drop
What is left
Am I the rock?
I didn’t mean
To climb aboard.
I didn’t know
The ship was broke.
Miss
Me
With your disaster’s
With your moods
Miss me
With your subtleties
The burn
Was just abuse
I melted into you
It’s all just an excuse
To remain
Lonely
In the heat of this world’s love.

I just asked this on too Can mystic Christianity be seen, at least metaphorically, as very Buddhist when it comes to the soul? And I mean beyond reducing both to superficial pseudo-non-dualism.
Imo at least, if you compare the idea of the Buddha nature of everything to Augustine's idea of the soul and the hierarchy of beings, Eckhart's notion of the divine spark and maybe even Teilhard de Chardin's view on christianized evolution and the omega point, and take the soul (and spirit?) to be, in this case, the expression of true immortal, unchanging, ego-less, sin-less and attuned to god's nature agency (sin and vice, in this case, not being an actual existence, but a departure/privation of (falling away from) true (divine) reality (through illusion? [of the self??]), it seems to me that thinking that Soul = Agency = Buddha nature isn't that far fetched. You can take a stone and shape it into a brick and convince yourself that it is a brick/house/part of a house, but the stone, much more fulfilled than us in its integration with emptiness (the radiant kind of Vajrayana), is not under this illusion, and is, within itself, fully realized and attuned to god's will, even if our higher level of agency gives us the choice to pervert it's immediate purpose, as in using it to kill an innocent for example. Now, for me, the most difficult part of this framework is to clearly differentiate the dharma's and the buddha nature's relationship with the will of God. If you take into account the radiant aspect of the emptiness in Vajrayana, assuming that, to align yourself with your divine purpose and act accordingly (dharma), you have to "empty" yourself of the illusionary ego-driven nature of the world, "integrating" (the process is actually one of disintegration) with the divine spark that is the soul, or the divine unadulterated portion it, it makes sense. Maybe?
Does it? What do you guys think?

I used to have some real cool experiences in GW1 and RuneScape where I'd make friends by striking up conversations with people in-game, when we found ourselves on similar paths. People would just hang out, and the emergent social gameplay was a nice alternative to minmaxing character builds, rushing blindly through the questline, etc.
But these days, it feels like for most games if you want to be social, you need to leave the game, find a guild online, join their discord, and then just use that or guild chat in-game. Which doesn't feel as spontaneous and organic. And then otherwise, in-game, the world seems quiet and everyone's just running from one thing to another and rarely just hanging out.
Any games left where people do still just tend to hang out in some of the game's hubs, and where you can have some nice emergent social interactions outside of just following skill guides, copying online builds, and rushing through quests to the endgame?

I'm sorry but if one more person gives me another "Things will get better" or "Just stay positive" I'm gonna fucking lose it. All throughout my childhood, teachers and other adults would see me and my situation and give me a bunch of fucking empty platitudes about how things will always get better, suffering never lasts etc etc. I'm sorry but what a fucking load of bullshit. There are so many people out there who have had even shittier lives than me who continuously get screwed over by life. And then they just die. That's it. Some people are just born to be the fucking punching bags of the universe and that's it. I know that these platitudes are technically correct but people only ever fucking use it to try and placate me into accepting things for the false hope that things will get better.
I'm 21 and my entire life people have been telling me stuff like this and I just can't pretend to believe it anymore. My parents were physically and emotionally abusive to me. They never taught me anything about life but expected me to know everything. They were extremely neglectful and left me home alone for hours with my 3 younger siblings when I was just 9 years old. My 2 older siblings can't take care of themselves and so I was the one helping everyone out with everything. I've been bullied relentlessly during elementary and middle school which has left me hating the way I look, walk, talk, everything. Even if I was good looking enough to date someone, I know that my parents would never allow me to because of our religion (theirs really helping out with my older sibling's 3 children in a very similar capacity as I had with my siblings while I was growing up. Somehow, they all can't seem to take me seriously even when they rely on me. I'm either being overdramatic or I'm bringing evil western values into our home.
I know it doesn't sound like it but I actually try every fucking day. Everyone sees me as this jovial, funny guy who is reliable and perseveres. But I know that it's all an act cuz if people knew about my life, they would either try to take advantage of me or push me away. And I get it. Trouble kind of happens to follow me no matter what and some of it is self-sabotage. There is always something going wrong in my life and it's driven so many people away from me. I've had multiple serious surgeries and a list of chronic health issues that I've dealt with my entire life. Every time I try to not let my past define me, something comes up to completely derail my life. For example, last year I suddenly had to take a semester off to get a brain shunt. I know and recognize that I have a role to play in all of this and it's why I've always tried so hard to fix myself. I'm just too much of a lost case for any of it to matter.
Right now I'm planning my escape from my family to fully focus on myself. I'm going to go no contact with my entire family by September. Whether I like it or not, this is going to permanently burn bridges with my family and I'm ready to accept that. To my siblings, I'm one stop shop for help. To my parents, I'm an investment that needs to get a high paying job to pay off my debt to them. I'm going to be alone in the world but that's not really anything new. Honestly, this is going to be my last attempt at life cuz I just fucking can't do this whole cycle of being hopeful for the future and then being disappointed by how fucked up life can be. I just can't do it anymore.
How can life get better for people like me who have only known suffering in their lives? All I seem to be capable of is spreading my suffering onto others. At least if I'm not around anymore, no one has to get hurt. No one needs to waste their time trying to help a lost cause. At least if I'm gone, my suffering will finally fucking end.

The scariest thing about Nothing.. about being Nothing is that nobody remembers. When nothing takes you, it's like you never existed.. till it spits you back out.
Watching the clock at work becomes such a daunting habit. You get so used to the monotony of watching the clock tick away, and somehow the seconds seem to be at an endless supply. Before you know it, the hours are gone, and when you get home it somehow feels as if it all had never happened. Hours of your life so meticulously spent doing just enough now behind you.
Time is so precious because of it's one way trip. You got forward, typical. You got backwards, something for the dreamers.. But Time was different for me today. I think that thing took me.. somewhere else. Like if.. if Time were some straight path, then it pulled me off course.
At 4:37 in the morning I took liberty in shutting off my computer. All things considered, I was running considerably late today. Work was backed up, curtesy of trucking errors. To make a long story short, 4 pallets of produce simply.. vanished. All you'd really need to gather from such meaningless information is that I was suddenly put on the for front of discovering how $5,000 worth of food had somehow grown legs and walked away.
The best answer I had..? None! I had not a clue, and after what felt like hundreds of calls, I was greeted to the warm embrace of humid Georgia air. There were no leads. I was no detective, so the ultimate conclusion of this predicament could be summed up as, "It's not my problem."
All I needed in this moment was to make my way to the bus stop. So, that's exactly what I did. Maybe twelve or so minutes had passed. I was excited to see the bus make it's way around those trees. It was by no means the longest wait, but what can I say? I was a hangry fellow.
I convinced myself that it wasn't my problem, that I wouldn't allow it to be my problem. The unfortunate thing about life is that problems have a tendency to fall into the laps of those who just did as they were told. Now, I'm not one to make some social commentary on the state of the world's general fairness, but the point to be made is my adopted philosophy that unless a problem can't just be brushed off my legs, then I'll leave it to someone else.
So maybe I'm an asshole, maybe I lack integrity, but it's honestly no deeper than "that's how the cookie crumbles." We are all cogs in the world, might as well let one of the other gears have a chance to spin! Make their money's worth.

"Helluva' night, huh?"

I jumped to such a sudden question presented to me. It was a problem, in my lap.
"That obvious?"
I responded sarcastically, looking over my shoulder to be greeted by a young face. Some kid, looked no older than twenty with orange hair and foggy eyes.. eyes that admittedly sent a shiver down my spine. The kind of eyes that.. well, you know how they say a dead person's eyes look cold? It was like that, only I wouldn't describe them as cold. Just.. empty.
"Well between the heavy sigh and tapping foot, just seems like you got somewhere to be."
Whoever this was didn't seem to be looking at me. It was quite uncomfortable that he'd just admit to having analyzed my situation, but perhaps I was looking to far into things. He just had his eyes locked forward, so why he made any effort to speak to me was still unclear. It wasn't unusual for a stranger to try to make light talk during the ride, but something about this kid irked me.
Part of me felt some level of guilt when I stopped the conversation there. I'm not sure if I'm lucky or not to say I think the kid took the hint of my uncomfortably, and for the remaining 20 minutes of the trip he was seemingly preoccupied with staring out the window. It wasn't until I stood upon reaching my stop that he ever seemed to bother looking up.. but not at me.
Again this kid had just stared straight ahead, and even now I couldn't get a great look at his face. His hair seemed to obscure it, and whatever the hair hadn't covered seemed to be so enveloped in shadow to a point that identifying him beyond his hair was seemingly impossible. He was dressed so casually, so casually that detailing his worn black hoodie and faded grey jeans would do no good.
I shook my head.. shook this problem off my shoulders feeling the weight of an unsettling interaction lift from my mind the moment I stepped out of that bus onto the final stretch of pavement between myself and my neighborhood. 5:02 AM
Where is the.. humidity?
I felt a bubbling anxiety, just crossing my arms and lowering my head.. I wanted to hide. My heart was suddenly screaming, and the irrationality of it all hit me like a truck.
"What is wrong.. the hell is wrong?"
I'd confused myself with my emotions, my eyes darting from left to right. Nobody was around me, nobody was behind me, I was alone! So I took a deep breath..
"Helluva' night, huh?"
My eyes shot open, suddenly my heart bounding and my breaths heavy. I know I head him I know I did! But he wasn't here. He was still on the bus, he never got u-..
I turned my head to look in the bus window. The doors screeched, shutting firmly as the bus engine practically roared out into the night. The wheels hummed, the burst of air sounding out as the bus continued motion.
My eyes looked into that window. The window I sat at, where he was next to me.. I was aisle side, he was window side.
He never got up.
He wasn't there.
That was the final straw. I began walking home, speed walking. To hell if anymore problems would fall into my lap. Not this morning, not today! I would get home, I'd climb into bed, and I'd sleep this off. I had to sleep.. I had to go.
"It's not my problem.."
I told myself.
"He moved seats.."
I rationalized the situation. Where did he go? I didn't see him.. He couldn't have just disappeared! Those damn pallets! I did anything I could, fought with my mind to mute my rapid heartbeat. Anything I could think of, any way to distract myself from the fact that the crickets were silent, that the stars weren't out that..
Is something watching me..?
When my house came into view, I wasted no time in fully sprinting to my door, finding my keys and barging that door open, slamming it behind me. I swiftly locked it back. To hell with a shower! I'd be damned if I were too...
"Helluva' night, huh?"
My fully body turned faster than my mind could keep up with. That damned voice!
"GET OUT OF MY HOUS-.."

But I saw nothing.
Let me paint this picture for you. When I say I saw nothing, I mean there wasn't only nobody there, but there was nothing at all. There was no room behind me, no bed, no door, no world. Empty.. empty like his eyes! There was nothing! Nothing but that one.. light.
There was a white orb. It got closer, and closer. I saw a silhouette.. It was some lengthy figure with no arms? And.. its wore this cloak of nothing. Somehow I looked into a place? No.. There was something else behind it..? Not like I'd ever find out!
One second my room, my world, was enveloped with an infinitely spanning nothingness, and in the blink of an eye it was contained into this figure! It took all the nothing!
My room was back! My world! WHAT IS HAPPENING? I don't.. remember.. But then it vanished. The nothingness was gone.
Watching the clock at work becomes such a daunting habit. You get so used to the monotony of watching the clock tick away, and somehow the seconds seem to be at an endless supply. Before you know it, the hours are gone, and when you get home it somehow feels as if it all had never happened.
Hours of my life so meticulously spent doing nothing now behind me.
It's now 3:37 in the afternoon and I remember. I crashed my car, Thomas is dead. His truck is in that ditch back in Duluth.
I remember.
That's why I took the bus.. Thomas is dead. The truck was flipped. 4 pallets gone.
It visited me tonight. Nothing. I saw that boys face, I just can't remember. Nothing.. almost took me today, but I finally understand why they never looked for me. They all forgot me too. I killed Thomas. I didn't mean to but it didn't matter! Everyone knew! It was on the news, it was everywhere! But..
Nothing walked with me tonight.. and you all forgot. You forgot everything.
~I need you to remember me!~
At 3:37 in the afternoon, two months ago, my car collided with Thomas's truck. He'd fallen asleep at the wheel. I was lucky to make it out with my life. The following weeks my story was covered by local news outlets, and the world moved on. That's what happens with Time.. but it was more than that. I'd forgotten what really happened. That boy.. he was with me, in the car, that day. I think.. I think he is the Nothing. I think he IS the.. the Void. He took Thomas.
We.. we all forgot! 4 pallets? Where'd they go? I couldn't remember the funeral! I was gone for three weeks. When I turned around and saw that light, when I came back.. when he left, it had been three weeks. I didn't have a single call! Not from mom, not from work! I was FORGOTTEN!
But.. it's not my problem anymore.
You all really forgot. I got went to mom's and my pictures were gone. Dad's? Same thing. I was gone, for three weeks. Nothing took me. Nothing is.. mad at me? And I don't know why! I was nothing.. someone please! Suddenly I’m back and all the work I left behind is still here. I was gone! The world has proved it. But.. nobody remembers? All the logs! It’s all here. I WAS gone. You can see it in the company finances, yet nobody thought to look for me? Nobody noticed I’m back..? It’s like I never left?
Do any of you remember?!

Im M22 and recently noticed after posting few times that
On this subreddit, girls receive an influx of direct messages while boys often find their inboxes empty. It's a stark contrast, reflecting societal norms and gender dynamics.
It's disheartening for boys who yearn for connection but feel overlooked. Everyone craves understanding and empathy, regardless of gender. Yet, the silence in their inboxes echoes their loneliness, leaving them longing for someone to reach out, to listen, and to care in a world where connection seems elusive.
I hope you all understand my frustration.
My hobbies are gym cycling tracking. If you are interested in talking about anything please hit me up.

Can mystic Christianity be seen, at least metaphorically, as very Buddhist when it comes to the soul? And I mean beyond reducing both to superficial pseudo-non-dualism.
Imo at least, if you compare the idea of the Buddha nature of everything to Augustine's idea of the soul and the hierarchy of beings, Eckhart's notion of the divine spark and maybe even Teilhard de Chardin's view on christianized evolution and the omega point, and take the soul (and spirit?) to be, in this case, the expression of true immortal, unchanging, ego-less, sin-less and attuned to god's nature agency (sin and vice, in this case, not being an actual existence, but a departure/privation of (falling away from) true (divine) reality (through illusion? [of the self??]), it seems to me that thinking that Soul = Agency = Buddha nature isn't that far fetched. You can take a stone and shape it into a brick and convince yourself that it is a brick/house/part of a house, but the stone, much more fulfilled than us in its integration with emptiness (the radiant kind of Vajrayana), is not under this illusion, and is, within itself, fully realized and attuned to god's will, even if our higher level of agency gives us the choice to pervert it's immediate purpose, as in using it to kill an innocent for example. Now, for me, the most difficult part of this framework is to clearly differentiate the dharma's and the buddha nature's relationship with the will of God. If you take into account the radiant aspect of the emptiness in Vajrayana, assuming that, to align yourself with your divine purpose and act accordingly (dharma), you have to "empty" yourself of the illusionary ego-driven nature of the world, "integrating" (the process is actually one of disintegration) with the divine spark that is the soul, or the divine unadulterated portion it, it makes sense. Maybe?
Does it? What do you guys think?