Folding satellite chair

Hello all; I see alot of argument and misinformation being traded back and forth in the comments lately, and I've been doing my best to get ahold of an expert so I'm not so lost with these documents but that has stalled.
I elected to instead Google translate a few of the associated research and news articles posted on the internet archive by Alfredo Lissoni to demonstrate some basic facts that are claimed to be associated with the case.
The whole case DOES NOT rely solely on the documents sent in the 90s. Ive seen this so many times its gonna make my head explode. If you parrot this falsehood; you are not being intellectually rigerous and reading everything you need to read.
Find Roberto Pinnoti and friends full claims about the 1933 case here.
https://forum-termometropolitico-it.translate.goog/259673-x-files-fascisti.html?_x_tr_sl=auto&_x_tr_tl=en&_x_tr_hl=en&_x_tr_pto=wapp
No where else that I can find ties everything together like this link. If your serious about connecting claims to documents you must read the whole thing.
I'm rather certain that every newspaper I'm looking for in relation to the link above is on the archive but I'm having alot of trouble connecting a claim with a document in most cases because well, I don't speak/read Italian yet( am learning slowly)
Here's a few documents from the archive that were plainly important. I very carefully went over the Italian and English text as many times as my brain will allow so you'll have to forgive a few spelling discrepancies. In most cases I was typing the words from the newspaper word for word because of the image quality. This is not an easy task. It's no wonder that no one has done all this for free yet; because it's alot. I only did .01 percent of the work here and It's full of leads to study the actual historical side of this case.
This is not my final conclusions on the case; in fact I've gone to the beginning like this because I've already moved on a long way and connected alot of puzzle pieces in the timeframe after RS33.
This element of the case is trivial compared to the intreague and power dynamics between the germans, italian fascists, the vatican and the Americans.
A name you should look out for in the link above is Galeazzo Ciano.
My work is more focused broadly on this person because his diaries would later be coveted by Allen Dulles.
Allen Dulles personally visited Italy multiple times for these diaries and I am going to prove this action was not only because of their political importance but also because of their connection to the activities of the RS33 research. This work here ultimately has nothing to do with that element of my research; this should simply posit that the case from a historical standpoint has a real event associated with it.
Now I will say that the rest of the work must be done to independently verify the claims in the link above; but what I've seen is enough for me personally to go forward on.
I'm not claiming to have proven anything here on this post. Let's get that extremely clear because im not going to argue about it.
It's simply information.
Translated document 1
https://archive.org/details/cabinet-rs-33_20230330/page/n17/mode/1up?q=rs33
1.)A capo del Gabinetto RS/33, fin dalla sua istituzione, fu designato Guglielmo Marconi, sebbene il noto scienziato avesse più volte espresso l'opinione che al suo posto venisse designato l’astronomo Gino Cecchini. Mussolini -su parere di Giovanni Gentile- incaricò Marconi, senatore e di provata fede fascista, che ne faceva un elemento prestigioso ed anche politicamente affidabile.
Marconi però non partecipò mai a nessuna delle sedute del Gabinetto RS/33 che si tennero lui in vita, ma delegò costantemente un suo collaboratore che era indicato come dottor Ruggero Costanti Cavazzani, e che evidentemente era un nome di copertura di un personaggio mai identificato.
Altri componenti del Gabinetto RS/33 (RS stava per Ricerche Speciali) furono, nel corso del tempo e per periodi diversi, i professori : Dallauri, Pirotta, Crocco, Debbasi, Severi, Bottazzi e Giordani; nonché il conte Cozza quale referente organizzativo ed elemento di collegamento logistico con le massime gerarchie del regime: Mussolini, Italo Balbo, Galeazzo Ciano.
Il Gabinetto si riunì alcune volte per discutere di fenomeni oggi denominati ufologici e che all’epoca erano collegati ad attività di aeronautica militare. Il parere più diffuso tra gli esperti era che gli aereomobili sconosciuti fossero prototipi di velivoli inglesi e/o francesi. Solo in un paio di occasioni fu dichiaratamente posta la questione se tali oggetti fossero strumenti di volo interspaziale, e la questione rimase essenzialmente aperta. Il prodotto più consistente del Gabinetto RS/33 fu un dossier di una trentina di pagine che esaminava dettagliatamente tutta la casistica italiana, dal 1933 al 1940. Con lo scoppio della guerra (10 giugno 1940) il Gabinetto RS/33 fu ancor più militarizzato, e -cosa assai significativa- il governo nazista chiese più volte notizie, dati e dossier all’ente italiano.
Il Gabinetto RS/33 raccolse anche alcune fotografie di oggetti volanti non identificati ed anche un breve filmato realizzato sulle Alpi in occasione di un avvistamento notevole. Tali notizie sono ricavate indirettamente da altre fonti, poiché l'archivio del Gabinetto fu trasferito in Germania ed attualmente risulta irreperibile.
1.)Since its inception, Guglielmo Marconi was designated head of the RS/33 Cabinet, although the well-known scientist had repeatedly expressed the opinion that the astronomer Gino Cecchini should be designated in his place. Mussolini - on the advice of Giovanni Gentile - appointed Marconi, a senator with proven fascist faith, who made him a prestigious and also politically reliable element.
Marconi, however, never participated in any of the sessions of the RS/33 Cabinet which were held during his lifetime, but constantly delegated one of his collaborators who was indicated as Doctor Ruggero Costanti Cavazzani, and who was evidently a cover name for a person who was never identified.
Other members of the RS/33 Cabinet (RS stood for Special Research) were, over time and for different periods, the professors: Dallauri, Pirotta, Crocco, Debbasi, Severi, Bottazzi and Giordani; as well as Count Cozza as organizational contact and logistical link with the highest hierarchies of the regime: Mussolini, Italo Balbo, Galeazzo Ciano.
The Cabinet met a few times to discuss phenomena now called ufological and which at the time were connected to military aeronautics activities. The most widespread opinion among experts was that the unknown aircraft were prototypes of English and/or French aircraft. Only on a couple of occasions was the question openly raised whether such objects were interspace flight instruments, and the question remained essentially open. The most substantial product of the Cabinet RS/33 was a dossier of about thirty pages which examined in detail all the Italian cases from 1933 to 1940. With the outbreak of the war (10 June 1940) the Cabinet RS/33 was even more militarised, and - what is very significant - the Nazi government asked the Italian body for news, data and dossiers several times.
Cabinet RS/33 also collected some photographs of unidentified flying objects and also a short film made in the Alps on the occasion of a notable sighting. This information is obtained indirectly from other sources, since the Cabinet archive was transferred to Germany and is currently untraceable.
2.)Pirotta, Pietro Romualdo. Botanico (Pavia 1853-Roma (1936). Professore di botanica all'università di Roma (18831924) e di fisiologia vegetale pure presso l’ateneo romano (1924-28), fu l’ideatore e uno dei fautori più attivi della creazione del Parco nazionale degli Abruzzi. Copiosa è stata la sua produzione scientifica. Fra l’altro si occupò della peronospora e degli altri parassiti della vite, di istologia, anatomia ed embriologia vegetale. Scrisse anche un trattato di fisiologia vegetale; si occupò pure della flora romana ed eritrea, e del massimo interesse sono le sue pubblicazioni sulla storia della botanica. Senatore del regno, accademico d’Italia, dei Lincei, dei Quaranta e di varie Società di cultura italiane e straniere. Si ricordano le sue pubblicazioni sulla storia della botanica, in specie la Flora rorzana (1900-01), e il suo trattato di Fisiologia vegetale (1929). Fondò (1885) la rivista «Annuario del Regio istituto botanico di Roma», cui seguirono, dal 1903, gli «Annali di botanica». Alla scuola di P. si formò il nucleo iniziale degli studiosi italiani dei cicli biologici delle piante e dell’embriologia vegetale.
2.)Pirotta, Pietro Romualdo. Botanist (Pavia 1853-Rome (1936). Professor of botany at the University of Rome (1883-1924) and of plant physiology also at the Roman University (1924-28), he was the creator and one of the most active supporters of the creation of Abruzzi National Park. His scientific production was copious. Among other things he dealt with downy mildew and other vine parasites, histology, anatomy and plant embryology. He also wrote a treatise on plant physiology; and Eritrea, and of the greatest interest are his publications on the history of botany. Senator of the kingdom, academic of Italy, of the Lincei, of the Quaranta and of various Italian and foreign cultural societies. We remember his publications on the history of botany. in particular the Flora rorzana (1900-01), and his treatise on Plant Physiology (1929) the magazine «Annuario del Regio botanico di Roma», which was followed, from 1903, by the «Annali di botany» The initial nucleus of Italian scholars of plant biological cycles and plant embryology was formed at P.'s school.
3.) PIROTTA, Pietro Romualdo. — Botanico, nato a Pavia il 7 febbraio 1853. Ivi laureatosi in scienze naturali nel 1875, frequentò per qualche anno quel laboratorio crittogamico; nel 1879-1880 fu a Strasburgo per perfezionarsi presso il De Bary; nel 1880, in seguito a concorso, occupò la cattedra di botanica dell'università di Modena e nel 1883 fu chiamato a Roma, dove insegnò per 4i anni botanica e dove, nel 1924, passò alla cattedra di fisiologia vegetale che venne fino al 1928, epoca in cui fu collocato a riposo. Spetta a lui il merito di aver fondato a Roma, tra il 1884 e il 1889, l’Istituto e l'Orto Botanico attuali. Egli ha anche fondato e diretto per molti anni l'Annuario del R. Istituto Botanico di Roma e gli Annali di Botanica. È stato l'ideatore e il fautore più attivo della creazione del Parco nazionale d'Abruzzo, Nella sua copiosa produzione scientifica sono da rilevare principalmente i lavori sulla peronospora e gli altri parassiti della vite, i numerosi contributi all’istologia, all'anatomia e all'embriologia vegetale, le pubblicazioni sulla storia della botanica, in particolare quelle sulle Tabulae Phytosophicae del Cesi, la Flora Romana, la Flora Eritrea, il trattato di Fisiologia vegetale. È socio nazionale della R. Accademia dei Lincei, membro dei XL, e dal 1929 accademico d’Italia.
3.) PIROTTA, Pietro Romualdo. — Botanist, born in Pavia on 7 February 1853. Having graduated there in natural sciences in 1875, he attended that cryptogam laboratory for a few years; in 1879-1880 he was in Strasbourg to perfect his studies at De Bary; in 1880, following a competition, he occupied the chair of botany at the University of Modena and in 1883 he was called to Rome, where he taught botany for 4 years and where, in 1924, he moved to the chair of plant physiology which remained until 1928, period in which he was laid to rest. He deserves the credit of having founded the current Institute and Botanical Garden in Rome between 1884 and 1889. He also founded and directed for many years the Yearbook of the R. Botanical Institute of Rome and the Annals of Botany. He was the creator and most active supporter of the creation of the Abruzzo National Park. In his copious scientific production, the works on downy mildew and other vine parasites, the numerous contributions to histology, anatomy and to plant embryology, publications on the history of botany, in particular those on Cesi's Tabulae Phytosophicae, the Roman Flora, the Eritrean Flora, the treatise on Plant Physiology. He is a national member of the R. Accademia dei Lincei, a member of the XL, and an academic of Italy since 1929.
4.) Il Governo italiano promuove, il 3 aprile 1933, una legge speciale che fissa il finanziamento per la costruzione della Sede del Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche
Subito dopo il Direttorio del Consiglio dei Ministri affida lo studio del progetto al Comitato Nazionale per l'Ingegneria, costituendo allo stesso tempo un'apposita Commissione di studio presieduto dal Senatore Luigi Cozza
Il progetto definitivo viene redatto da Dagoberto Ortensi, che si occupa dell'impostazione architettonica e della decorazione e dell' arredo degli ambienti
L'edificio si estente su una superfice di 2.105 mq, a cui si aggiungeranno altri 1.720 mq di ampliamento previsti, Ha un volume di 54.445 me articolato su sei piani, per una altezza complessiva di circa 25 mt°
l'edificio viene realizzato dall'impresa di costruzione Tommaso e Alberto Mora, sotto la direzione di Antonio Carlini e inagurato il 21 Novembre 1937
4.)
On 3 April 1933, the Italian Government promoted a special law establishing the financing for the construction of the headquarters of the National Research Council
Immediately afterwards the Directory of the Council of Ministers entrusted the study of the project to the National Engineering Committee, at the same time establishing a specific study commission chaired by Senator Luigi Cozza
The final project is drawn up by Dagoberto Ortensi, who takes care of the architectural layout and the decoration and furnishing of the rooms
The building covers a surface area of 2,105 m2, to which another 1,720 m2 of planned expansion will be added. It has a volume of 54,445 m and is divided into six floors, for a total height of approximately 25 m.
the building was built by the construction company Tommaso and Alberto Mora, under the direction of Antonio Carlini and inaugurated on 21 November 1937
5.) Còzza, Luici, conte, — Ingegnere (Acquapendente 1867 - Roma 1955). Laureato a Roma nel e nel corpo del genio civile; dal 1925 al 1930 fu presidente del Consiglio superiore dei Lavori pubblici. È stato l’istitutore e l'organizzatore del Servizio idrografico italiano ed è autore di varie pubblicazioni sulle opere idrauliche. Senatore del Regno (1934)
5.)
Còzza, Luici, count, — Engineer (Acquapendente 1867 - Rome 1955). Graduated in Rome in and in the civil engineering corps; from 1925 to 1930 he was president of the Superior Council of Public Works. He was the founder and organizer of the Italian Hydrographic Service and is the author of various publications on hydraulic works. Senator of the Kingdom (1934)
6.)
Giordani, Francesco. Chimico (Napoli 1896-ivi 1961). Già accademico d’Italia dal 1930 al 1943, socio nazionale dell’Accademia dei Lincei dal 1935, ne divenne presidente nel 1958. Dal 1936 al 1943 fu presidente dell’IRI e dal 1956 al 1960 del CNR. Fu professore di elettrochimica e di impianti chimici presso la Scuola di ingegneria di Napoli e direttore dell'Istituto chimico di quella università. I suoi numerosi lavori (che gli valsero nel 1929 il premio reale per la chimica) riguardano specialmente l’elettrolisi, la catalisi e la cinetica chimica.
Si occupò anche di problemi economici, particolarmente rispetto alle zone sottosviluppate del Mezzogiorno (fu presidente dell’Associazione per lo sviluppo dell’industria nel Mezzogiorno).
6.)
Giordani, Francesco. Chemist (Naples 1896-ibid. 1961). Already an academic of Italy from 1930 to 1943, a national member of the Accademia dei Lincei from 1935, he became president in 1958. From 1936 to 1943 he was president of the IRI and from 1956 to 1960 of the CNR. He was professor of electrochemistry and chemical plants at the School of Engineering of Naples and director of the Chemical Institute of that university. His numerous works (which earned him the Royal Prize for Chemistry in 1929) concern especially electrolysis, catalysis and chemical kinetics.
He also dealt with economic problems, particularly with respect to the underdeveloped areas of the South (he was president of the Association for the development of industry in the South).
7.)
Vallauri, Giancarlo. Scienziato (Roma 1882-Torino 1957). Dopo aver frequentato l'Accademia navale di Livorno, si laureò in ingegneria presso la Scuola superiore politecnica di Napoli. Nel 1916, quando a Livorno si costituì presso l’Accademia navale l’Istituto elettrotecnico e radiotelegrafico della marina, V. ne divenne il capo e l'animatore di iniziative e di ricerche, di cui uno dei più mirabili frutti è l’eguazione di V., che rappresenta la prima teoria analitica del funzionamento dei tubi elettronici. Nel medesimo tempo si dedicò alla costruzione del Centro radiotelegrafico di Coltano, uno dei più grandiosi e moderni dell’epoca. Importanti sono gli studi da lui condotti nel campo del ferromagnetismo, che portarono alla conferma indiscussa dell’esistenza dell’isteresi magnetica rotante, allora assai controversa in campo internazionale. Intra-
7.)
Vallauri, Giancarlo. Scientist (Rome 1882-Turin 1957). After attending the Naval Academy of Livorno, he graduated in engineering from the Polytechnic High School of Naples. In 1916, when the electrotechnical and radiotelegraphic institute of the navy was established at the Naval Academy in Livorno, V. became its head and animator of initiatives and research, of which one of the most wonderful fruits is the equalization of V., which represents the first analytical theory of the functioning of electron tubes. At the same time he dedicated himself to the construction of the Coltano radiotelegraph centre, one of the grandest and most modern of the time. The studies he conducted in the field of ferromagnetism are important, which led to the undisputed confirmation of the existence of rotating magnetic hysteresis, which was then very controversial in the international field.
8.)
E' morto ieri a Torino il prof. Giancarlo Vallauri
Torino, 7 maggio
E' deceduto stamane all’ospedale delle Molinetto. dov'eth ricoverato fin dai primi di gennaio, il prof. Giancarlo Vallauri, eminente figura di scienziato. Nato a Roma nel 1882 da (umiriza Gi . origine piemontese, dopo ver partecipato Alla prima guerra mondiale come ufficiale di marina, diresse l'Istituto elettrotecnico della Marina fino al 1025, quando venne a Torino quale insegnante al Politecnico. di cu fu poi direttore dal 1933 al 1934,
Nominato membro dell'Accademia d'Italia, ne divenne vicepresidente per le scienze fisiche, matematiche e naturali. Fu membro del Consiglio superiore dei Lavori Pubblici. e del Comitato superiore Tecnico per i servizi elettrotecnici e delle comunicazioni; presidente di sezione del Consiglio nazionale delle ricerche: esperto della Societa deile Nazionj per ll servizio deile comunicazioni; presidente generale dell'Associazione elettrotecnica Italiana: presidente dell'Istituto nazionale « Galileo Ferraris» di elettrotecnica, componente del Comitato tecnico Interalleato delle Radiocomunicazioni.
Numerosi suol studi e pubblicazioni sia nel campo dell'elettrotecnica che della radiotecnica. Tra l'altro fu il primo a lurinulare la teoria matematica della valvola termoionica che si riassume nella e equazione di Vallauri ». Fu anche il precursore della misurazione a distanza del campo elettromagnetico irradiato da una stazione trasmittente
8.)
Prof. died yesterday in Turin. Giancarlo Vallauri
Turin, 7 May
He died this morning at Molinetto hospital. where he has been hospitalized since early January, Prof. Giancarlo Vallauri, eminent scientist. Born in Rome in 1882 of Piedmontese origin, after having participated in the First World War as a naval officer, he directed the electrotechnical institute of the Navy until 1925, when he came to Turin as a teacher at the Polytechnic. director from 1933 to 1934,
Appointed member of the Italian Academy, he became vice-president for the physical, mathematical and natural sciences. He was a member of the Superior Council of Public Works. and of the Higher Technical Committee for electrotechnical and communications services; section president of the National Research Council: expert of the Society of Nations for the communications service; general president of the Italian Electrotechnical Association: president of the "Galileo Ferraris" National Institute of Electrotechnics, member of the Inter-Allied Technical Committee of Radiocommunications. He studies and publishes both in the fields of electrical engineering and radio engineering. Among other things, he was the first to formulate the mathematical theory of the thermionic valve which is summarized in the Vallauri equation." He was also the forerunner of remote measurement of the electromagnetic field radiated by a transmitting station
Page 10 is unreadable to me
9.)
XIV GAETANO ArtURO Crocco - Commemorazione di B. Finzi. Il discorso inaugurale del secondo corso ebbe per titolo: « Dall’antiaereo alla base orbitale ». In essa affacciò l’idea del polistadio per accrescere la gittata, adombrò il problema del rientro per satelliti con equipaggio e quello del rifornimento nello spazio.
Fra le altre pubblicazioni ricordo quella su « La sopportazione fisiologica nei missili a reazione », la Nota lincea intitolata « La barriera della temperatura nei missili geodetici », quella su « Quesiti sui missili geodetici » del Seminario matematico e fisico di Milano. Ricordo altresì le belle sintesi «I fondamenti dell’astronautica », « Dal dirigibile al missile », « Anticipazioni di nautica interplanetaria », « Il primo passo verso l'astronautica » e molte altre, fra le quali sono degne di particolare rilievo le Note lincee « Formulazioni di Meccanica astronautica » del 1955, quella dell’Accademia pontificia « Possibilità e limiti della cosmonautica » del 1957. E’ stato memorabile il suo discorso inaugurale al VII Congresso astronautico internazionale di Roma nel 1956, nel quale, partendo dal satellite artificiale, si avventura nell'esplorazione siderale, valendosi della teoria della relatività. E' pure memorabile la sua proposta « Giro esplorativo di un anno Terra-Marte-Venere-Terra », ancor oggi detta « missione Crocco ». L'epoca più favorevole per la missione sarà il giugno 1971,
Nella Nota dell’Accademia pontificia del 1957 Crocco così profetizza: « L'alimentazione endogena del getto propulsore viene riserbata allo stadio finale di marcia, e si usufriusce dell’alimentazione esogena per partire dalla terra, frenare e ritornarvi. Gli stadi intermedi saranno percorsi a velocità uniforme senza consumo e le totali distanze valicabili consentiranno di scegliere le ricognizioni entro una sfera contenente 20.000 stelle. La più lontana richiederà 28 anni di vita dell'equipaggio per andare e tornare. Utopia! »... Ma, continua Crocco, «è stato detto che tutta la nostra civiltà è sbocciata dall’utopia ».
Dopo il volo del primo Sputnik, che realizzava quanto egli aveva vaticinato, concluse, al di là degli ottant'anni, la sua miracolosa attività di scienziato e di profeta col magistrale discorso al VII Convegno internazionale delle comunicazioni, tenutosi a Genova nel 1959, « Le determinanti dell'era astronautica », con quello tenuto nell'adunanza solenne del 1960 ai Lincei « Anticipazioni extra-terrestri » e con il suo contributo all'opera «Il mondo della tecnica » del 1962 « Il momento astro-cosmonautico ». E’ questo un piccolo trattato sull'attività spaziale dalle origini al volo di Gagarin, nel quale si spinge anche nell’ambito della teoria della relatività e della propulsione fotonica.
Ricordo infine i titoli di alcuni studi e meditazioni su problemi che esulano dall’aeronautica: « La proprietà scientifica », « La degradazione della ricchezza », « Il diavolo e la ricerca atomica » (storia della bomba atomica), « Discorso del gradiente » (riguardante l’accelerarsi esasperato del progresso scientifico), « Premesse scientifiche al diritto spaziale
9.)
XIV GAETANO ArtURO Crocco - Commemoration of B. Finzi. The inaugural speech of the second course was entitled: "From anti-aircraft to the orbital base". In it he presented the idea of the multi-stage to increase the range, he outlined the problem of re-entry for manned satellites and that of refueling in space.
Among the other publications I remember the one on «Physiological tolerance in jet missiles», the Nota lincea entitled «The temperature barrier in geodetic missiles», the one on «Questions on geodetic missiles» of the Mathematical and Physical Seminar of Milan. I also remember the beautiful summaries «The foundations of astronautics», «From the airship to the missile», «Previews of interplanetary nautical», «The first step towards astronautics» and many others, among which the Notes are worthy of particular note lincee « Formulations of Astronautical Mechanics » of 1955, that of the Pontifical Academy « Possibilities and limits of cosmonautics » of 1957. His inaugural speech at the VII International Astronautical Congress in Rome in 1956 was memorable, in which, starting from the artificial satellite , ventures into sidereal exploration, making use of the theory of relativity. His proposal for a "one-year exploratory tour of Earth-Mars-Venus-Earth" is also memorable, still known today as the "Crocco mission". The most favorable time for the mission will be June 1971,
In the Note of the Papal Academy of 1957 Crocco prophesies as follows: «The endogenous power supply of the propulsive jet is reserved for the final stage of travel, and the exogenous power supply is used to start from the earth, brake and return there. The intermediate stages will be traveled at uniform speed without consumption and the total distances that can be crossed will allow the choice of reconnaissance within a sphere containing 20,000 stars. The furthest will require 28 years of crew life to get there and back. Utopia! »... But, Crocco continues, «it has been said that our entire civilization blossomed from utopia».
After the flight of the first Sputnik, which realized what he had prophesied, he concluded, beyond the age of eighty, his miraculous activity as a scientist and prophet with a masterly speech at the VII International Communications Conference, held in Genoa in 1959, « The determinants of the astronautical era", with the one held in the solemn meeting of 1960 at the Lincei "Anticipations extra-terrestrials" and with his contribution to the work "The world of technology" of 1962 "The astro-cosmonautic moment". This is a small treatise on space activity from its origins to Gagarin's flight, in which he also delves into the theory of relativity and photonic propulsion.
Finally, I recall the titles of some studies and meditations on problems that go beyond aeronautics: "Scientific property", "The degradation of wealth", "The devil and atomic research" (history of the atomic bomb), "Discourse on the gradient" (concerning the exasperated acceleration of scientific progress), « Scientific premises for space law
10.)
Supponiamola di cinque, cioè “cinque volte quella che si risente in volo rettilineo o sulla superficie della terra, presa come unità. Trattasi di un elevato. ‘valore; di acrobazia pesante. In tale sopportazione. il peso del corpo del pilota diverrà mediamente di 360 chili, di cui 300 graveranno sul seggiolino e gli altri sui ‘comandi.’ Le sue braccia, distese sul volante o sulla leva di guida aggraveranno di una ventina di chili ciascuna e le gambe allungate verso la pedaliera dovranno complessivamente sostenere il sovraccarico di un centinaio di chili. Il cervello premerà per quasi sette chili sulla base del cranio; gli occhi affonderanno nell'orbita, generando il fenomeno del veder nero e le palpebre si appesantiranno come per sonno improvviso; i visceri s'insaccheranno nell'addome; la respirazione si farà difficile;
il cuore dovrà sospingere nelle arterie un liquido che per effetto della centrifugazione verso il basso assumerà una densità quintupla della normale.
tutto avverà come se il corpo del pilota venisse d’un tratto a trovarsi alla superficie di un pianeta, che diremo il pianeta X, ove la gravità fosse ‘cinque volte quella terrestre. Un tal pianeta non esiste nel sistema solare; perché su Giove, il più grosso, essa è appena due volte e mezza; ma la immagine è suggestiva ai fini della nostra esposizione.
Quali conseguenze anatomiche e funzionali l’organismo umano questo temporaneo gravame? Evidentemente’ non ne avrà se gli organi del volatore, appena cessata la manovra, saranno in grado di riprendere in piena immunità le loro funzioni; ed il tal caso quel pilota
10.)
Suppose it is five, that is, "five times what is felt in straight flight or on the surface of the earth, taken as a unit. This is a high one. 'value; of heavy aerobatics. In such endurance. the weight of the driver's body will become on average 360 kilos, of which 300 will weigh on the seat and the others on the 'controls.' His arms, stretched out on the steering wheel or on the driving lever, will weigh on the the pedal set will have to support an overload of around one hundred kilos in total. The brain will press almost seven kilos on the base of the skull; the eyes will sink into the socket, generating the phenomenon of seeing black and the eyelids will become heavy as if due to sudden sleep; the viscera will become encased in the abdomen; breathing will become difficult;
the heart will have to push a liquid into the arteries which, due to the downward centrifugation, will take on five times the normal density.
everything will happen as if the pilot's body suddenly found itself on the surface of a planet, which we will call planet X, where the gravity was five times that of Earth. Such a planet does not exist in the solar system; because on Jupiter, the largest, it is just two and a half times; but the image is suggestive for the purposes of our exposition.
What anatomical and functional consequences does this temporary burden have on the human organism? Evidently there will be none if the flier's organs, as soon as the maneuver has ceased, are able to resume their functions with full immunity
11.)
Dal 1951 in poi l’attività scientifica di Crocco, ormai vecchio, fu rivolta al volo nello spazio extra-atmosferico e all’astronautica. Già nel 1923, a dire il vero, aveva precorso i tempi con la Nota lincea « Sulla possibilità della navigazione extra-atmosferica », in cui proponeva di valersi della reazione provocata dall’efflusso dei prodotti della disintegrazione di materiale radioattivo. Si trattava, in sostanza, della propulsione ionica, ancor oggi non ancora realizzata praticamente. Nel 1927 aveva iniziato ricerche anche sperimentali sui propellenti solidi per i razzi, in collaborazione col figlio Luigi, e aveva poi ripreso tali ricerche fra il 1932 e il 1935. Segnalo altresì la Nota lincea del 1946 « Sulla applicazione dell'energia atomica alla navigazione interplanetaria ». Nel discorso inaugurale del primo corso di missilistica e astronautica, tenuto a Roma nel 1951, parlò dei missili geodetici, trattando dei propellenti e del calcolo delle traiettorie nell'ipotesi di terra piatta e in quella di terra
11.)
From 1951 onwards, Crocco's scientific activity, now old, was aimed at outer space flight and astronautics. Already in 1923, to tell the truth, he had been ahead of his time with the Nota lincea «On the possibility of extra-atmospheric navigation», in which he proposed making use of the reaction caused by the outflow of the products of the disintegration of radioactive material. It was, essentially, ion propulsion, which has not yet been practically achieved today. In 1927 he had begun experimental research on solid propellants for rockets, in collaboration with his son Luigi, and had then resumed such research between 1932 and 1935. I would also like to point out the Note line of 1946 « On the application of atomic energy to interplanetary navigation ». In the inaugural speech of the first rocketry and astronautics course, held in Rome in 1951, he spoke about geodetic missiles, dealing with propellants and the calculation of trajectories
12.) Pretty sure that's all the relevant pages for this one; the rest are either superfluous or establishing identity of those above, the Numbers are just To keep organized, not Page numbers.
Translated document 2
https://archive.org/details/ufo-crash-at-vergiate
1.)
Sullo stradale ira Novara e Magenta cinque operai che rincasavano in bicicletta durante un temporale sono stativi investiti dal fulmine e gettati violentemente a terra. Uno di casi è rimasto gravemente ferito.
1.)
On the road between Novara and Magenta five workers were returning home by bicycle during during a storm they were struck by lightning and violently thrown to the ground. One of the cases was seriously injured.
Soon to be translated document 3
https://archive.org/details/marconis-death-ray/mode/1up
This is going to require alot of help. My will To do this with a language I don't know is at an end for this moment.
The archives of the Newspapers reflected by Pinnoti may be fully available on the archive but without more expert translation Services I'm not totally sure. Let this be a baseline That the documents most likely exist. There are more things available to those to speak Italian I simply need someone to read it all; figure out which pictures are which and translate appropriately.

Selling my folding table, 4 ft long by 2 ft wide, adjustable legs (22" / 29") because I'm moving out!
Originally from Menards for $40 (https://www.menards.com/main/grocery-home/furniture/folding-tables-chairs/4-fold-in-half-banquet-table/81075/p-1642874302346240-c-7726.htm)
I have venmo/zelle, willing to meet near engineering or main quad, DM me if interested!

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
"...You take my life, but I'll take yours too
You fire your rifle, but I'll gut you too
So when you're waiting for the next attack, You'd better stand, there's no turning back...."
-The Warsteel Lady Age of Reasonable Concerns war chant
And Lo, beyond the Chained Gate awaits the Crusade.
For time beyond time, they wait.
Their blind seers scan the stars, following the threads of karmic debt.
When they witness a snarl in those threads, a knot of destiny,
Then unseals the Chained Gate, and followed by screams they charge
To scourge the unclean with fire; to eradicate their filthy biological heresy.
Rest well, young one.
You are guarded by warriors most fell.
Sleep in peace under their gaze, and know safety even in war
For the Crusade exists to destroy enemies more terrible than mere soldiers,
Hellfire against heresy, that we may be steel against steel. - Black Neko Hymn, as transcribed from Engrish-Emoji by historian Willdissolver, Neko Marine Tradition and History Preservation Project
Those early days were the hardest.
They were also the best.
I stood shoulder to shoulder with the finest Telkan and Terrans ever created by the malevolent universe.
They, who stood with me, I call my brother. - Meditations on the Barrier War, Lancer First Class Imna, Free Telkan Press, 25 Post-Terran Emergence
He was laying on the pavement, his face hurting. He was crying, his stomach hurting from the boot impacts. Another Telkani reached down, lifted him up. They introduced each other, put their arms over each other shoulders, and staggered home.
Naxen. I'm Naxen.
He was sitting in class, back straight, hands folded on top of his desk, watching the teacher as she taught how numbers added to other numbers became even bigger numbers, and how to take away numbers to make the numbers smaller. He was smiling, content and happy. He liked school. He liked his teacher.
He wished she was his momma.
I'm Naxen...
Lawsec was holding his arms while another one punched him in the stomach. His book bags were laying on the ground, his dataslate broken, his books torn up, his homework scattered. They were laughing as they punched him.
Naxen
He was back to back with another Telkani, fighting the older boys who hung out on level 28 and stopped the elevator to extort people. He lashed out quick, striking and pulling back before someone could grab him arm. Their jackets had the shining hologram of a bird of prey on it.
I'm Naxen...
He was in school, paying attention to science. Most of the other Telk weren't paying attention, but he was. So was his best friend. They still believed that education would pull them out of the The Hive and into success and luxury.
His name is Wrixet...
The compujudge had decided he was guilty. Incorrible, despite the fact it was his first offense. Breaking curfew, on the way home from a study group. Juve-Cubes. One month.
He wondered if his mother cried.
I'm Naxen...
He was getting jumped in. The fists pounded him as he tried to fight back, but he was outnumbered fifteen to one, but he still fought, unwilling to go down easy. Finally the command was snapped to stop. The people who had just been punching him cheered and poured narcobrew on him.
They gave him his own jacket.
Naxen
His father yelling at his mother. His mother and his two sisters crying. He stepped up and grabbed the old man, spinning him around. He pushed his father against the wall, the knife in his hand against his father's throat. He growled threats. He growled promises. He let his father go and the drunk stumbled out the door.
His mother yelled at him.
But it was fine.
I'm Naxen...
High School. Hanging with Wrixet and the others. Going home. HIs mother zonked out on Zipper. His sister crying to her to make food. Going with Wrixet to get food. The promise of education was gone, replaced with sheer survival.
I'm Naxen...
Getting out of the Juve-Cubes, coming home. His sisters trying to get his mother interested in his return. She didn't care. She was hurting for a Zip. Trashing the house, looking for some Zipper. HIs sisters crying. He got some from another ganger. She hit the Zip and collapsed on the couch.
He went with Wrixet to get food. Wrixet had made sure his sisters were fed while he was Cubed.
I'm Naxen...
'don't leave me, please, don't leave me' the sobs moved through his brain.
There was a jolt to his chest and head and the memories shattered.
He could hear singing, faint and far away, but he couldn't tell what they were singing or who they were. A child giggling nearby and raced away.
Data and information poured into his brain. Sensor arrays, weapon types, electronic counter-measures, electronic counter-counter-measures, phasic inhibitors, ammoforge consumption rates.
Most of it didn't make sense. It hurt his brain, like pieces of sharp glass.
Disconnected ideas went through his brain, ideas, concepts, information that he had no frame of reference for.
Grazing fire, suppressive fire, close air support, artillery support, fire for effect, flanking maneuvers, fighting withdraw, directed fire, point defense operation
He had no frame of reference. The data, the information, the concepts stuck in his bruised and battered mind like chunks of broken glass.
ERROR LOADING DATA: MASSIVE CEREBRAL TRAUMA PROTOCOLS INITIATED
More data. This time it built on references. How to handle a rifle, how to throw a grenade, how to march, how to run, how to climb. How to take apart and reassemble an assault cannon, how to maintain his anti-nuclear, biological, nanite, atomic, radiation, biological warfare equipment. How to use a radio, how to give commands, how to follow them.
He was different species, different people, all their memories layering down into a foundation.
He screamed inside his own mind.
I'm Naxen I'm Naxen I'm Naxen
More was built on the foundation. Fighting on battlefields under strange suns. It locked into the foundation and he suddenly understood what flanking was, what grazing fire was, what suppressive fire was, what close air support was and how to call it in with mission variables and theater logistics constraints.
Where am I?
More was layered on. How to give commands. How to follow them. How to interpret them. What was a legal command and what was an illegal order. The rules of warfare. The Orion Convention. The Hague Laws of Warfare Treaty.
What is happening? Who is doing this?
More. Armored unit training. He was a tanker, he was an APC driver, he was a dismount crew, he was a power armor pilot, he was a warmek jock. He drove a thousand armored vehicles under a thousand suns.
It all layered smoothly on top of what he had been before.
SOMEONE WAKE ME UP!
More data. Himself. His sensor arrays, his point defense, his indirect fire weapons, his directed energy and projectile weapons, his battlescreens.
He was the will of the Telkan people made manifest.
SOMEONE WAKE ME UP!
Another jolt. He screamed.
UNIT ONLINE - STANDBY TUTORIAL MODE burned through his brain and he screamed.
Everything faded, pulled back.
He could hear gurgling, hear hissing, hear clicking and the whine of high capacity capacitors.
Everything was misty, formless, he floated in the middle of gray mist.
There was a knocking sound.
He looked around. He couldn't see anyone.
The knocking repeated.
"SOMEONE WAKE ME UP!" he screamed.
A doorway appeared in the mist, burning white edging around it. There was a knocking sound on it, then the sound of a doorbell. It was the doorbell of the shabby apartment he had grown up in, and he remembered that the doorbell quit working when he was eight.
The door opened and a Terran walked through.
He was tall, but somehow seemed squat, a squarish head, the reddish-brown hair cut so close Naxen could see his scalp. His skin was a tan color, like the stripes across Naxen's spine that laddered down his back.
The Terran looked around for a moment, reaching up and shading his eyes. He dug into a pocket of his comfortable looking pants and pulled out a detector of some sort.
"SOMEONE WAKE ME UP!" Naxen screamed, flailing about but unable to do anything.
The Terran walked forward, looking around, almost bumping into Naxen before he stopped.
Naxen flailed around some more.
The Terran looked around again.
"Huh. Not even a sitting space. Give me a moment," he looked up. "Mother, generate a three by three by two living space with dev textures and snapping grid in this eVR space please. Light at the following coordinates, six point two lumens, Telkan vision optimized."
"Complying," came a woman's voice.
A box appeared, surrounding Naxen. It had orangish textures, with white writing on it. There was a grid that the textures fit in perfectly. The light appeared.
"There you are," the Terran said. He reached out and touched Naxen's arm.
Naxen felt like he was falling and rising at the same time.
The Terran caught him.
"Easy, easy," the Terran said. He knelt down. "Tell the computer you need a lounging couch and a chair, a table with a bottle of wine and two glasses."
Naxen just gulped but followed the instructions, calling out the 'coordinates' as the Terran read them off.
The Terran moved over and set Naxen on the couch, then poured a glass of wine and handed it to him.
"You're real new. Newest I've seen in a long time," the Terran said, sitting down on the couch. He looked around. "The majority of your brain, you right here, is sleeping. You had some crossloading difficulty so Mother asked me to check on you."
"Where, where am I?" Naxen asked.
The Terran waved at the walls. "Enhanced VIrtual Reality Construct built in the firmware embedded in your neural tissue and in your sentience disaster catastrophic damage protection housing," he said. "Long story short, we're in your mind."
Naxen tasted the wine.
Nothing.
Like he was tasting air.
"Hang on," the Terran said, seeing Naxen's expression. "Mother, sensory layer activation, two point five percent strength."
"Complying," the female's voice said.
"Try again," the Terran said.
Naxen tasted it, expecting air.
Instead he got lost in the taste. The bubbles, his mind figuring out just how many per square micrometer on his tongue there were, their rate of popping, the mathematical formulae to determine order of popping. The chemicals, then the coding that simulated those chemicals. The viscosity of the water, its heat dispersion ability.
"Mother, drop it to one point five," the Terran said.
He could suddenly think. The wine was just wine.
"That should be a good baseline. Your dopamine receptors aren't completely blown out from too many combat highs," the Terran said. He reached toward Naxen, pulled out a folder from midair, then leaned back and flipped it open. "Huh, Lance Corporal, Telkan Marine Corps. Three tours of duty in combat zones. Five years total. Awards for bravery. No wound stripes. Minor discipline problems."
He set the folder on the table.
"You're an iffy candidate. Surprised the Dark Neko grabbed you," the Terran said.
Naxen looked at the folder. "I wasn't a Marine," he admitted.
The Terran frowned, picked up the file, and looked it over. "Genecode match. Phasic aura match. Says you're a Telkan Marine," he tapped the folder. "You saying this isn't you?"
Naxen shook his head. "It is me, but I never did any of that."
"Explain," the Terran said.
Naxen launched into it. How he'd gone to see the Cathedral. How the Warbound had woken up. How they'd been grabbed by Lawsec. How the government had shoved them into a cryopod. How he'd awoken on a station full of shades.
How the Hellshades had pulled him apart and he'd died in his friends arms.
"I'll be right back. I'm going to get Glædwine," the Terran said. He got over, stood at the wall, then tapped on it.
The door appeared and the Terran left.
Naxen looked around.
"VR, huh?" he said. He cocked his wrists.
The holographic keyboard sparkled to life.
It took him a minute to find the library.
SimTelkan had been his favorite game when he had been around 10.
He began moving in furniture, painting the walls, putting up windows with views on them.
He discovered that he could slave a camera feed to one of the windows and look out.
He was inside a massive bay, surrounded by other Warbound.
He shivered for a moment, closing his eyes.
Momma, momma, I got another A! went through his mind, his young, optimistic, happy voice echoing in his mind.
He put pictures of his family on the walls.
His mother, before the Zip and the sniffers got her too bad. His little sisters, before Momma had then slinging pink behind the clubs. All of them together.
All taken from his memories.
The doorbell rang and he moved over to it, opening it.
"Huh, still naked," a large Terran in a set of thin silk shorts and a tank-top belly shirt said. He was large, thick of muscle and bone, with a care worn face deeply lined.
Naxen looked down.
"oh, sorry," he said. He concentrated and was suddenly in a pair of comfortable pants, work boots, a t-shirt, and his vest.
"Yeah, not a Marine," the big human said.
"Yup. Every Telkan Marine Warbound always first generates themselves in their uniform," the Terran from earlier said.
Naxen concentrated and got a comfortable chair for the newcomer along with another six-pack of narcobrew. He moved over and sat down.
The newcomer picked up the file and looked at it, paging back and forth.
"It's fake," he said, tossing it on the table. He touched his temple. "Kelvak, you here?" He nodded. "Come on over to the new guy's house. Need you." He nodded again. "OK, see you in a bit."
"How do you know it's fake?" Naxen asked, curious.
"You have top scores in everything, combat awards for bravery, but..." the Terran leaned back and took a drink off the narcobrew. "Guy like that gathers awards in garrison too. No award for superior marksmanship. No awards or certificates for going above and beyond doing something like creating and deploying a new PT program. Only combat awards," he gave a sniff of disdain. "That's a civilian writing it."
There was a knock at the door.
It was another Telkan who stood there.
"Name's Kelvak. Kappa to the living," the Telkan said. He waved at the room. "May I come in?"
"Yeah, sure," Naxen said. He moved over and sat down after bringing up another chair. He felt a slight wave of dizzyness and rubbed his forehead with the bottle of narcobrew.
"Forged military record. Not his doing. Got sent out to die," the Terran, Glædwine, said. The other one nodded.
The Telkan listened to Naxen describe everything. At one point a little bird manifested on the Telkan's knee and he sat there, petting it.
WARNING! NAMING STARTUP SEQUENCE WILL ENGAGE! ALL VISITORS MUCH WITHDRAW!
All three of his guests nodded.
"We'll see you in a little bit, kid," Kelvak said. He looked around. "It looks nice."
"Thanks," Naxen said.
"Come by, we'll watch some Charlie the Moo Moo together," the first Terran, Joebob, said.
"OK," Naxen said.
"Or you can come by and watch Gurlz Und Lankiez," Glædwine laughed.
They withdrew.
NAMING STARTING SEQUENCING ENGAGING!
Wrixet passed Imna another narcobrew, lighting a T-Bug smokestick.
Suddenly that massive armored chassis jerked.
On its chest, the flat bronze plate burned with an inner light.
The symbol for Nu appeared.
The chassis suddenly shut down, slumping, and the fire vanished.
The plate was blank again.
"We should move back a little," Imna said, starting to stand up.
"No. I'm right here. Life and death, he's my brother," Wrixet said.
Imna sat back down.
The chassis jerked again. One clawed hand spasmodically opened and shut, the claws clacking. The feed mechanism for the 30mm dual barreled autocannon clacked as the action ran a half dozen times in less than a second.
The bronze plate lit.
The sigil for Nu appeared.
The chassis slumped. THe plate went dark.
The symbol vanished.
"You can do it," Imna said, leaning and patting the foot.
"We're right here, brother," Wrixet said.
The chassis jerked.
The plate burned.
The symbol for Nu appeared.
The huge war machine raised its arms and roared.
The numbers Four and Four appeared after Nu.
"I AM ENRAGED BY THE TEARS OF THE PODLINGS!"
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

Chapter One
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Prev
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-Factory Floor of the White Flame Industries Magifactory-
“First of all, I’d like to introduce you to your new co-workers. To reiterate, they aren’t directly from the hell-plane.” Master Demonologist Thippily was in his element, smiling and excited. He stepped aside to reveal an engraved chest behind him. He opened it, revealing a neat grid of small dark rods, each in their slot. He pulled out a single ebony imp totem and held it high so everyone could see it. The room was bright, lit by the narrow windows spaced evenly around the huge room, and some glass skylights overhead, and astonishing extravagance for Pine Bluffs.
“This is the totem. Without going into some super interesting details, this is what projects the imp, as well as binds it to our plane of reality.” Grigory paused, clearly waiting for someone to ask him to explain in more detail. Everyone in the room had fallen into that trap before and knew to keep their mouths shut. “They need to be invoked into our reality, but the invocation is a very simple gesture. Interestingly, the invocation itself doesn’t require magic, it’s all self-contained, just hold the thick side of the totem and–”
Grigory flicked the totem with a swift twist of his wrist, summoning a muted thunderclap that heralded the appearance of a tiny, dull-red demon. It materialised midair, landing with a soft clatter of hooves on the stone floor. It regarded its surroundings with its one big eye and sat down cross-legged, its big knobby knees sticking out widely.
Taritha, along with most of the rest of the audience, took some involuntary steps back in horror. It was grotesque, inhuman—a parody of a man, so diminutive that she could have trapped him in a woven basket. Though taller than a squirrel, its scrawny frame suggested it weighed no more than one. Sitting perfectly still it was less threatening, but the air itself stank of hell. Looking around, Grigory and Stanisk were both smiling, like they were waiting for us to get a funny joke, while the entire crew stared horrified at the little imp.
Grigory continued, with a showman’s cadence, ”First of all let me once again say they are safe! Imp! Take this knife and bring me Stanisk’s ear!” The demonologist crouched low with his silvered steel pocket knife on his open palm.
Before anyone could react, the imp just said, “Nerp.” Stanisk for his part didn’t look remotely worried.
“No matter what you ask it to do, it will refuse the order if it would hurt any living thing. Very safe! Well, large living things? People and animals for sure!” Grigory folded his knife and put it back in his pocket. “Come to the side, I’ll show you more why this is the most potent magic I’ve ever used. I’ve not finished furnishing your quarters yet, so let's work on that.” He led them across the floor to the side where a few planks were on one of the shelves, practically lost in the scale of the room.
As he spoke, he performed a different and more elaborate gesture over the chest. Like popcorn, a steady stream of imps popped into existence; Taritha lost count at twenty, with more continuing to appear. Without hesitation, they pulled tiny tools from boxes. The low, wide benches around the perimeter were actually imp-sized workbenches designed for such tasks. “Imps, craft one writing desk, sturdy with martial engravings. Use both pine and walnut,” he ordered.They moved quickly and confidently, and without a sound, other than the tools against the wood. It was an overwhelming swirl of activity, with so much happening at the same time that she couldn’t follow it all, so she focused on a single imp. He (it?) wielded a chisel in both hands and shaped a plank while two other imps held the plank firm. In as little time as it took for her to take it in, it was done. It started on another plank, while yet another imp ran away with the finished board.
Edging closer for a better look, their rapid, nimble movements were even more unnatural. Their limbs were long and agile, flitted about with eerie precision. The sight clawed at my gut, as revolting as watching a spider write a song with a quill on parchment. Their faces, such as they were, barely watched their own work.
Still reeling from what she saw, Taritha watched as one imp finished up and another sprinted away with the board. Then, the first imp picked up a tiny broom to tidy his workspace. Once the sawdust and shavings were cleared, it replaced its tools and sat down on the workbench, legs crossed, back straight and his single eye open and regarding the demonologist. Looking further down the row, she saw that the countless parts had been assembled into what was by all accounts an amazing desk. The imps covered the entire bench, still too many to count.
A pot wouldn’t have even started to boil in the amount of time it took them to build that thing!
Grigory noticed the discomfort in the room; everyone seemed torn between their unease with the demons and their curiosity about the work being done. He decided to remove their distraction. 'Imps, stand at the kilns,' he commanded crisply.
“Merp!”
The imps bounded and sprinted across the entire factory to stand by the kilns, well out of the way, and stood in straight rows at the far side of the factory floor.
“Take a look, It might be a familiar level of quality. Oh, and those are the only two words they seem to know.” He gestured to the completed desk on the bench.
“Holy shit, they are as good as the guys that made our stuff in the barracks, this is amazing!” Ros gushed.
The desk, crafted entirely from wood, had no screws or brackets—only amazingly intricate joinery. Its surfaces were smooth to the touch, except for the vertical faces, which displayed scenes of war and battle. They were created in a palette of carved white pine and deep walnut, shaded with hellfire scorches—some almost too small to see.
“You don’t think that, uh, they’re the same guys?” Rikad ventured.
“No, I haven’t been sleeping on a demon bed this whole time? Have I?” Theros said with growing horror.
“Of course! Not just that, the mugs in the cabinet, the bedding, the clothes, literally everything from the midsummer festival! Imps made it all, most of that was late at night in my bedroom, to be honest!” Mage Thippily said, bursting with pride.
Theros looked down at his bright green shirt, one he’d worn countless times, and immediately pulled it off, threw it on the floor and took a few steps back. “It was touching me!”
Wow, he’s in really good shape, Taritha observed approvingly. A refreshing reprise from the stressful morning.
I’ve no idea how I’d react if I knew I was wearing demon-made clothes. Oh shit.
“Uh, were all the clothes you’ve given me made by imps?” She asked Stanisk, already knowing the answer.
His laugh was deep and rumbling, “I sure as goat balls ain’t been sitting in the lamplight with a lil needle! It's fine miss, they’re handy as hell. Put yer damned shirt on Theros, and let’s keep moving.”
Grigory continued, “Yes, don’t worry too much about complex imp commands, that’s my responsibility. You are welcome to come to the factory whenever you like if you need something, anything at all. But please, don’t make anything outside of this room, just to keep things neat.”
Mustering her nerve Taritha piped up, “Uh, Sir? Can they make me a new comb?”
The demonologist was almost giddy with excitement at her request. “Oh yes! Ask them to!”
“Uh, I’d like a comb please?” Taritha gently said towards the swarm of imps by the kiln.
Nothing happened.
“Ah, there’s a bit of a knack to it, miss. You’se gotta address ‘em, then make the request. Then stay silent for a bit, and they’ll go. Imps! Craft five wooden combs for a lady, all different styles.” Stanisk said firmly, with the same tone and cadence he ordered his men.
A small handful of imps sprinted across the floor back to their workbenches, and this time the combs were done staggeringly fast. The tool noise ended, and Stanisk collected the combs off the bench as they tidied up then sat cross-legged. He placed them all firmly into her hands with a big grin, his hands warm and callused. “Anythin’ that can be made, any time you’se want. It’s a better way to live.”
Of course, each comb was perfect and beautiful. Each was unique, all had patterns, textures, and carvings on the handle. Each was made out of both pine and walnut, giving a pleasing contrast with pale and dark.
I would have bought a plain one, but these are so much nicer than anything I’ve owned before.
The linseed oil was still a little slick on them, so she held off running them through her hair and gently placed them into her satchel. Already they were her most prized possessions.
Grigory added, “Feel free to get me or Stanisk if you need help, but you’ll catch on fast enough, they are simplicity itself! Anyways let's have a look at the common spaces, I think you’ll find them much nicer than that old warehouse!”
Grigory’s tour was terrifying and overwhelming. He introduced new appliances, concepts and enchantments with every breath. The kitchen had no fire, just pyrostones that could be activated by moving an inhibitor stone, and in both the ‘stones’ were carved into a pleasing functional shape. The water jugs were massive rooftop barrels, linked by copper pipes to a fixed basin he called a sink. There were countless other minor and major strangenesses. Even the plain parts, the high ceilings, the smooth tiled floors and sturdy doors blew her mind. She’d never seen anything as refined, effortlessly expensive. She assumed such things existed in the homes of the nobility, but she’d never seen a building as grand, let alone been inside one. The trappings of wealth and the unique, fully enchanted aspects ran together badly for her.
“--This mattress is a series of magically linked columns of woven wool that dynamically change their diameter, which in turn–” Grigory droned on excitedly gesturing towards a gorgeous bed, as big as her entire hovel.
“Sir, souls don’t exist at all, or just for demons?” Theros interrupted, his face clouded with worry.
“Oh. Uh, I’m sure you have a soul, just not one that I have any way of detecting, affecting or interacting with?” Grigory said. His brow was furrowed with concern. He continued as conciliatory as possible. “And afterlives are likely some extraplanar reality that is also entirely undetectable?”
“Whew, that’s a relief! Thank you milord!” his stress melted away and he returned his full attention to the tour.
“Right. Anyways, there are no hearths, the heating and cooling of each room is controlled by–” and Mage Thippily happily continued his tour. The men looked at each other, taking a half dozen different conclusions from the short exchange. They continued to the extravagant latrines, to the totally empty armoury, and finally ended on the factory’s roof.
As they ascended the final flight of stairs, Mage Thippily ushered his soldiers onto the expansive rooftop. "Here we have the rooftop garden," he announced with a grand sweep of his hand. The area had been meticulously reinforced, the stonework beneath their feet solid and reassuring. "Feel free to run drills here if you like. But," his voice warmed with pride, "this is my favourite part!"
The rooftop was a vibrant tapestry of newly potted plants, their leaves still tender and bright against the sun. They passed rows of greenery that hinted at future seclusion and colour. Familiar patio furniture, just like the ones they had at their last barracks, offered a semblance of continuity and sanity. In the centre, a gazebo stood like a freshly bloomed flower, its newness evident in the crispness of the vibrant canvas and the shine of the wood.
Approaching the north wall, Grigory leaned casually against the defensive ramparts, a solid structure that spoke of strategic design. His men gathered around, following his gaze outward.
Beyond the fortress walls, a wide expanse of forest stretched toward the horizon, its canopy a patchwork of greens and browns. Where the trees broke, the land transformed dramatically into a steep, rocky shore. Below, the Nerian Sea churned, its waves crashing against the cliffs with relentless, rhythmic fury. From this vantage point, the view of the coastline stretched magnificently—a panoramic display of nature’s unbridled power and beauty.
"I’m thinking of adding all-weather tables and chairs up here," The demonologist mused, breaking the silence as his eyes scanned the horizon. "Maybe some cover and heaters too, to turn it into a kind of three-season space." His gaze drifted back to his hirelings, a tacit invitation in his eyes. "Feel free to come up here whenever you like. I only ask that you don’t interrupt me if you see me reading or writing."
Taritha nearly scoffed aloud, the idea of interrupting him was so many layers of taboo that the thought hadn’t even formed. The men seemed more at ease here, and several took seats and talked excitedly. Others walked the long perimeter of the rooftop. The sides closest to the courtyard extended to the top of the perimeter walls, allowing them to walk all the way to the gatehouse. Ros stood near her, looking out at the ocean.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get to set foot in a palace like this!” he said in hushed reverence as she joined her.
“Yeah, the funny part is how humble the mage keeps making it sound. As if it’s a boring workman's hut. I have no idea how the emperor lives, but I bet he doesn’t have half as many things as the mage does!” Taritha grinned ruefully.
“Definitely fewer imps! What do you think of them? I think they are the most special thing ever!” Ros gushed.
“I don’t know. They disgust and revolt me, but I also see how they are useful. I worry my reaction is based on assumptions I’ve not examined? Mage, I guess Demonologist, Thippily has been nothing but kind and open in every interaction, so I think I’m okay? With living with demons.”
Just saying that out loud made her skin crawl.
“That’s good! It’ll be alright, if the Chief and the mage think it’s good, it’s good.” Ros declared resolutely. She envied his clarity.
“Yes, we just became a lot more dependent on his goodwill. On the other hand, he didn’t have to tell us anything. He could have lied or covered up,” she said, staring out at the ocean. She’d never been so high up. The slight slope of the woods meant she could see over most trees. It both scared and exhilarated her. She leaned forward to look down and was rewarded with dizzying vertigo. Holding onto the rough stone battlements with both hands she looked out into the grey blue of the inland sea. She could see some fishing boats, just specks near the horizon, far beyond the small scraggly islands that clustered near the shore.
“Are you gonna move in with us? You didn’t say anything when he made the offer.” Ros made another attempt at casual subtly.
That was the exact question she’d been asking herself. On one hand, it was an incredible offer: to live in what might be the most luxurious residence in the entire Empire. And it would be safer, too—while the guards weren’t exactly her own, here they might as well be. But at what cost? Memories of her mother, executed by the Church for witchcraft, haunted her. Would accepting this offer make the Church right about her bloodline? Would it make her just like the evil she’d always feared? Mage Thippily seemed certain that demons weren’t evil, just a chaotic part of a chaotic universe. He knew more about demons than anyone that’s ever lived!
It’s easier to sleep with a guilty conscience in a nice warm room with tall ceilings and a soft bed.
She made her choice, and her stomach lurched as if she’d jumped from the battlement. She took a slow steadying breath before replying.
“I’d be insane not to. Look at this place! Have you seen where I’m living now? No comparison!” Her light tone hid the storm of uncertainties that were making her lightheaded.
This doesn’t have to be forever. Plus the demons seem quiet.
“Let’s go get your stuff! I’ll help you move right now!”
“Ohhhhh, okay. I can’t think of a single reason not to do that right now,” Taritha said slowly.
They started back to the staircase, passing Stanisk on the way. He was quietly discussing something with the mage.
“Sir, is it alright if we go get Taritha’s stuff and move her in?” Ros’s voice crackled with excitement.
“Aye, that’s fine. Take a few others with you, to load the cart at the warehouse and get our gear too. You and the men take the rooms on the second floor, the miss here is too delicate by half for you’se brutes so set her up on the third, 3-C oughta work?”
“We can have a company dinner when you all return! Come up here when you are ready!” Demonologist Thippily commented from where he was sitting.
Stanisk added, “I probably don’t need to tell you’se but don’t NEVER discuss what happens here when in town. Never.” His tone was low and flat, but he made direct unblinking eye contact with them.
“Of course, sir,” Ros said and bowed awkwardly, and the herbalist nodded as they descended the way they came.
They made their way down through the residence side of the factory, crossing to the exit via the second-floor dormitories. Everything was so new, and a few things weren’t entirely finished –some doors leaned against the hallway, and several rooms weren’t furnished.
“There are twelve of you in security, excluding your boss, right?” she asked as they walked.
“Yeah, the same twelve as we had in Jagged Cove!” Ros confirmed cheerfully.
“So why do you reckon there are twenty rooms on this level, and I assume the same number on the other third floor?” she asked.
“Hmm, maybe in case we have visitors?” he offered.
“Strange. Oh, hey guys,” She greeted Eowin, Kedril and Theros as they waited at the end of the hallway.
“The Chief said you needed a hand with moving stuff?”
Ros quickly and clearly explained their plan, and they hooked up the horse and wagon and headed to town. The trip back to town seemed shorter as everyone quietly contemplated their new futures.
“So his, uh, helpers would have made all the stuff we’ve been using?” Kedril wondered aloud.
“Yeah, I specifically asked about the clothes! They all were. It sounds like everything he’s done, he kind of hasn’t done?” Taritha trailed off, unsure what she even thought.
“No, everything he did was even better! He made something that anyone can use! Any one of us could open a factory just like him now, it’s the magic that made the tool, which is a full step more impressive if you ask me,” Ros said.
“Wait, so all those people healed? Was that all with them?!” Theros said with growing horror.
“Nah, I was there, he‘s a regular mage too. I saw him heal them with normal biomancy.” She said as if she had a single other point of reference for what biomancy ought to look like.
They continued in contemplative quietude. The midweek afternoon was busy, and lots of townsfolk were doing their normal chores, fetching water, hauling bundles, and feeding their chickens. Their pastoral tranquillity undisturbed by the demonic horde just down the twisting narrow road to what was recently a swampy forest.
“You guys go on to the barracks and start packing, I’ll be able to bring most of my stuff by myself. I’ll meet you there.” Taritha said as they approached an intersection.
“I’ll give you a hand, the fellas will be pretty quick anyhow,” Ros said gallantly as he accompanied her home.
“Alright, but you can’t judge me for my hut! It’s hard to make a living here without a wealthy patron!” she said. She hadn’t really wanted anyone to know how she lived. City folk wouldn’t understand what it’s like scraping by to survive a winter.
“I’m already impressed! That you owned a place free and clear makes you one of the richest folk I know! Well definitely richer than anyone that would talk to me in the days before I worked for Mage Thippily!” Ros spoke with a smile neither proud nor ashamed of his past.
“What did you do before you were an elite mage guard? You said you were poor but city poor is like country rich! I bet you were the captain of the guard for some rich merchant or something!”” she guessed as she ducked past the hide flap into her hut. “Wait here.”
Ros found a hefty log of firewood with moss growing on one side of it. With a grunt, he manoeuvred it upright, fashioning a makeshift and somewhat precarious stool. Seating himself atop it, he settled in to wait for her, the forest sounds filling the quiet. “Something like that! I picked fruit in orchards, I swept alleys, I did plenty of stuff! I was way too scrawny to be a guardsman though. Stanisk probably only hired me because he’d had a few beers that night!”
The inside of the hut had some clanks and thumps but she didn’t reply. He folded his arms and looked around. He’d come to appreciate the ancient pine forests around the small town. They were actually in town, but surrounded as they were by trees, he felt like he was in the primordial forest. It was the first forest he’d ever seen and hadn’t spent much time in it. His duties kept him constantly busy, other than the work trip to kill the big staghog. Considering all the trees, mosses, low flowers, and darty animals he saw, it felt a little unfair that it just smelled earthy, with the barest hint of pine. If he were in charge of forests, they’d smell like a thousand living things all at once.
“Need a hand?” he offered after a bit longer. He didn’t want to rush her, but he was also happy to help. He was comfortable and wondering if he’d changed at least a bit. Sitting on a log with his thoughts was something he liked now.
“Thanks, Ros, I got it. Do you reckon I should bring my old mattress, or he’ll give me one like he showed us?”
“I can’t imagine him making you sleep on a sack of old hay, while we sleep in the magic beds he’s making. I’ll tell you what, if he does, you can sleep in my bed,” he offered.
“Hah! Just when I thought there were no wolves in these woods!” she retorted.
“Oh, Light no! I meant I’d sleep elsewhere! Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that!” he blurted. She poked her head out of the low opening, and Ros worried it was mainly to see his deep red blushing.
“Hah! Take this!” she said. His firewood stool fell forward with a bassy woomp as he went to take an ancient iron cook pot, filled to the brim with clay jars and a few dark glass bottles. He carefully held the precious cargo, aware of the clacking and rattling they made with even the slightest movement. A few seconds later she emerged with a few old dresses thrown over her shoulder and holding a stack of woven reed baskets in her hands.
“Just as well you came by, I had more stuff than I remembered. I hope I have space for it!” she said, slightly embarrassed. “Oh anyways, back to your big city days! It must have been hard to leave all that excitement and culture for this dump.”
“Are you kidding? I’m exactly where I want to be!” he said with disarming sincerity. “This is where the people I care about are, and it’s where the world will start getting better. I wouldn’t leave for, not for a whole sack of coins. Besides, I bet Stanisk is cooking dinner tonight, and he’s the best cook I ever met!”
Prev

Our Ring cameras keep missing things they shouldn’t. I’m looking for advice on how to proceed. It will help if you have some context.
My wife and I recently used my VA loan benefits to buy an investment house in what we’ll call an “up-and-coming” part of Houston, Tx. For those that don’t know, VA loans require you to live in the home for at least a year. We moved in 4 months ago.
The neighborhood is not without its charms, although I’m not convinced the pros have outweighed the cons. There are many new-builds going up like the one we bought, a great daycare a few blocks away, and bike lanes and speed bumps popping up every other week. There is good food nearby, and it’s quieter than our previous neighborhood. But the enjoyable silence is often interrupted by loud dogs, car alarms, shit-box Hondas blasting homemade SoundCloud mixes, fireworks and gunfire. There’s one neighbor two blocks away who often gets drunk (presumably) and repeatedly puts several mags through his pistol. It’s always around 2am. One of our neighbors had his second-story window shot out over the weekend. The cops said it was likely random, or a stray bullet, and not gang related or meant to be intimidation. But who knows. We’ve heard people will do that sort of thing in an attempt to ward off gentrification.
We also have the pleasure of living next to an abandoned building that we call the “treehouse.” We share a fence with it. It’s butted so close up against our property line that I can reach over the fence and touch it.
You can guess how it looks based on our nickname. Large weeds with woody trunks grow out of every orifice of the structure. Out of the stove pipe protrudes a plant with a stem as thick as a baseball bat. The house is wrapped in vines that sprout thick foliage from ground to roof. The siding that is still visible is covered in moss. The gutters are packed with dirt and dead leaves. They look like unkempt flower boxes with the many small plants growing up every few inches. The ground is covered in a thick layer of shrubs and thorn bushes that poke through to our side of the fence. If we don't trim them as they grow through, the dogs get snagged by thorn branches.
The treehouse creeks in the wind and the shingles and vinyl siding are beginning to fall off as weeds grow between the overlaps. A few windows are busted out. I’ve seen many opossums and raccoons climb in and out of the treehouse through the windows as well as holes in the eaves and soffits where the wood has rotted. The windows that are intact are covered with blankets from the inside. Each second story window has black, iron bars placed on the inside, which struck me as strange. Most homes in this neighborhood have barred windows, but always on the outside.
Last January, a harsh cold front came through. You may have seen “Texas freeze” in the news. Having lived through two of those already, we decided to skip town and stay with my wife’s parents who have a large property in a small town about 45 minutes away. We returned home to a loud hiss. I immediately thought a pipe had burst. I searched the downstairs, upstairs, and garage, but didn’t find any signs of water. When searching the outside of the house, I felt a mist on the back of my neck. I instinctively turned toward it and saw a puddle at the base of our fence that borders the treehouse. I looked over the fence and through the shrubs I could see an exposed pipe gushing water. The treehouse yard was flooded and was beginning to spill over into ours. I walked around the corner and turned the water off at the street which stopped the hissing and flooding. The power is also on to the house. I know this because, unfortunately, our master bath window looks directly into a second-story window of the treehouse that glows every night around the sill. My guess is a light was left on when the house was abandoned for good.
My biggest concern is a hurricane will hit Houston, as they do, and knock it over onto our property. We’ve reported it to the city but—shocker!—they haven’t done shit. Public works came out once, took pictures, cited it for overgrown weeds, and closed our 311 complaint.
In addition to that, the homeless in this area are aggressive. There is one who is nicer and more coherent than most, and so we try to help him out. But I had to put an end to that after he walked into our back yard while contractors were assembling our pergola and took a beer out of their cooler. I had a talk with him, and to his credit, he didn’t come around for a while. But lately he rings our doorbell at every hour. We finally unplugged it when he woke our 5-year old from her nap.
Speaking of contractors. A month ago they had about $500 worth of tools stolen from their truck while it was parked in our driveway. They knew the neighborhood and had locked the truck. But the thieves busted out the window, grabbed what they could, then sped off. The contractors ran to the front of the house when they heard the glass break and alarm go off, but were too late. And our garage camera didn’t catch any of it. This is when our Ring troubles began.
The same camera also missed my car getting stolen out of our driveway. Based on the 1-hour snapshot Ring cameras take, it was between 11 and midnight. Through a stroke of good luck, the cops recovered the car and insurance paid for everything. It’s parked in my garage right now (which is where it stays parked). We were very frustrated the camera missed the theft as my car was parked directly underneath it.
Our garage camera and gate camera, which have overlapping sectors, both managed to miss a package getting stolen. It was a man wearing a black hoodie and ratty jeans. I only know this because I witnessed it happen. Our home office sits over the garage and my desk looks out into the street. I watched as the bastard sprinted up to our gate, then sprinted off with our chewy order. I found the box lying in the ditch in front of the tree house a week later. The bag of dog food was missing.
The camera covering the walkway from the front gate to the backyard failed to catch an old window AC unit fall from the second story of the treehouse onto the walkway. The camera is maybe 10 yards from the window on a direct line. Fortunately it happened at night and no one was hurt.
I was really baffled when our backyard camera missed our patio furniture moving in the middle of the night. I was letting the dogs out one morning and almost tripped over one of the chairs. It had been moved and the cover was neatly folded and placed behind it. I asked my wife if she sat in it the night before and forgot to put the cover back on. She didn’t know what I was talking about. So, I opened the Ring app. 11pm. Chair where we left it with the cover on.12 midnight. Chair moved to face the backdoor and cover on the ground behind it. The chair was 3 feet from the camera. Someone made significant movement directly in front of it without triggering it.
I have to admit, although this sort of trespassing is common in Houston, it’s made me uneasy. It’s why I keep a gun in my nightstand.
Can any of this be explained? It’s especially confusing because we know the cameras work. My wife and I, our dogs, passing cars, and pedestrians trigger the motion sensors every day. We’re at the end of our rope with Ring. We’ve contacted them after each incident and they only ever suggest turning the sensitivity up, making sure the batteries are charged, and checking the Wi-Fi connection. We’ve tried it all.
I have zero evidence someone is meddling with them. But what else could it be? Maybe someone is hacking them?
Please let me know if you’ve had a similar problem and how you fixed it.

[First]: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1btq89j/a_victim_of_online_fiction_ch1/
I was midway between my chicken chip breakfast and my chicken chip mid-morning snack when Alex called me.
He was wearing a purple tie with little pinstripes on it – it’s hard to explain exactly why, but it was a very smug tie. The sort of tie a parking warden would wear as they write you a ticket for being one minute and 20 seconds over parked – that is... if parking wardens wore ties.
‘Alex, you’re looking happy. Who died?’
‘Mr Hill, have you checked the number of reads on your stories lately?’
I shook my head, ‘I’ve had a lot of other things on my mind. Just writing the damn things is hard enough.’
‘Oh right... the whole Victor thing... you realise that most of the problems in your life are brought about by you?’
I snorted, ‘If that’s the case, I must’ve done some messed up shit in another life to end up dealing with you.’
He sighed and some of his smugness disappeared, ‘Just check your reads.’
I brought up the stats table. They were looking good. Damn good.

	A Victim of Online Fiction	The One Who Walks Alone
Reads last 24 hours	40,000	1500
Reads all time	721,000	64,000

I closed the reads tabs and kind of regretted it because I had to look at Alex’s face again.
‘I don’t need a new computer – I’ve got enough chicken chips to last me a month, and I’ve already covered my rent for this month.’ I put a chip in my mouth and crunched down on it, enjoying the pained expression on Alex’s face, ‘does this mean I can pay my debt and get the hell out of here?’
Alex’s grin returned, ‘Not just yet Mr Hill. You’re a very special case. A million dollars is a lot to earn back. It’s gonna take you at least ten million reads to break even.
I sucked air between my teeth, ‘Ten million reads! Are you out of your god damn mind?!?!’
Alex shrugged, ‘You’re the one who read all that Wuxia... Naruto vs Goku epic fan fiction.... Battle of the ages, Sonic the Hedgho-’
‘-Okay okay... I didn’t ask you to read my entire browser history.’
‘All I’m saying is you dug the hole Mr Hill and I... being the generous and selfless manager that I am have found the next step to getting you out.’
He paused, like I was going to get down on my knees and sacrifice a baby lamb to him or something. Instead I just shoved another chip into my mouth and munched it loudly.
But even the chip couldn’t dampen his enthusiasm, ‘Mr Hill. You’re leaving the dorms. It’s time for you to go to the village.’
His hands were outstretched like a runner who’s just crossed the finish line. I made him wait in that position as I chewed on the remnants of my chip. Then I brushed the salt off my hands and yawned, ‘Nah. I think I’m just gonna stay here.’
Alex’s eyes widened, ‘Stay there?!? Man you don’t know how many authors have begged me – begged me to let them go to the village – and you just wanna stay in your grimy little dorm.’
I picked up another chip as Alex shook his head, ‘Mr Hill. Can you please refrain from eating while I’m developing you.’
‘Developing me? The only thing I’m developing from you is haemorrhoids.’
He waved his hand, ‘I’m not here to swap insults with you Mr Hill...’
‘...only because you know I’m gonna leave you crying…’
‘...I want you to go to the village. Mr Hill.’ he squeezed the bridge of his nose, ‘I don’t care about your feelings, your health, or what’s left of your sanity – we both know that. What I do care about is your writing, because that’s how you make me money. You going to the village will level up your writing career. I would not be saying this if it wasn’t true.’
‘Why don’t you just force me to leave, like you did with these dorms?’
‘Because whether I like it or not you’re more powerful now. You have people higher up watching you. I can’t just do shi- I mean things to you against your will anymore.’ he straightened his tie, ‘Remember how much you didn’t want to be in these dorms? Now you don’t want to leave.’
He stared into my eyes across the screen, ‘It’s time for you to reach the next level. You’ve earnt it.’
Our call went silent. He leaned back in his chair, waiting for me to make my move. I just shook my head, ‘That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.’
‘Don’t get used to it. You’ve just racked up a lot of reads this month... you’ll piss me off again soon enough.’
‘How about I piss you off right now-’
‘- Mr Hill, I-’
‘-I’m not going Alex. I like it here. I’m gonna save my reads and eventually get out of this shithole.’
Alex threw his hands up in the air, ‘Can’t say I didn’t try. There’s no reasoning with you. Go rot in hell.’
The call ended and I slumped back in my chair. I stared at the blank screen for a while, then slowly I turned my head.
Hera, Astra, and Victor were staring at me, mouths open.
‘What?’ I frowned.
‘Was that the gestapo?’ asked Hera.
‘Yeah. Alex wanted me to go to the village. I told him to stick it-’
‘-the village!’ Astra rushed over and hugged me, ‘Oh my god. That’s amazing.’
I frowned, went to speak, but Victor chimed in.
‘You managed that really quickly,’ Victor said, tapping at his keyboard much harder than he usually did.
‘It usually takes like years,’ Astra said, she leant back in her chair, ‘But look at you – our little Eli, all grown up.’
I stared at them, ‘Did I miss the admission class for this shithole of a place? I don’t see what’s so great about the village.’
‘It’s where all the successful writers go.’ Astra said, ‘There’s cafes, you can freely move around, meet other writers.’
‘All the pros go there,’ Victor said he picked up a can of soft drink, sculled it back and then crushed it, ‘Even the writer of the chicken story.’
I swallowed, ‘Yeah, well, too bad I told him to shove it up his ass.’
There was silence. The girls had their mouths hanging open, Victor was smiling and frowning at the same time.
Astra grabbed me, ‘Do you have a moment?’
I would’ve replied, but she was already pulling me into my room. She slammed the door and I rubbed my arm where she’d grabbed me.
‘It’s too late Astra, I already told him-’
‘’-no!’ I stared at the tears that were forming in her eyes, ‘Don’t blow this Eli. Don’t throw away this thing the rest of us have been working years for.’
‘I-I’d miss you. I’d miss you all too much. I’m fine just here.’ I bit my cheek, stopping myself from saying more.
She shook her head, wiped at her eyes, ‘Go there Eli. Show them what you can do. Show everyone who’s trapped that there’s a way out.’
I touched the side of her face, opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
I stared into those greeny-blue eyes and she stared back, this giant happy-sad-angry-frustrated smile on her face.
I knew I couldn’t say what I wanted to say. So I just let my arms slip down to her shoulders and pulled her into a hug.
****
It took ten tries before Alex answered my call.
‘Mr Hill! It’s not often I get a call back from you.’
I wiped my nose on the elbow of my shirt, ‘It’s not often that you... you...’ I shrugged, ‘Anyway. I want to go to the village.’
He leaned back in his chair, a big cat-like grin settling over his face, ‘Is that so?’ He folded his arms, ‘It’s not going to be easy to regain your spot. They may have filled it already. No one else is foolish enough to pass on the opportunity.’
‘Great.’ I gave a sigh of relief, ‘I guess I’ll stay here then.’
‘Not so fast Mr Hill.’
His meaty hand landed on the mouse, gave two clicks, then he nodded, ‘The guards will pick you up in an hour.’
I stared at him, ‘That’s it?’
He pulled at his tie, ‘No... that’s just the start Mr Hill. I’m going to deduct your increased rent out now, plus a little extra which I’ll use to pay Manuel.’
‘Who the hell is Manuel?’
‘He’ll be your guide to the village, show you around, help you get comfortable.’
‘And I need to pay him because...’
‘Because Mr Hill, I’m worried you’re going to do something stupid. Every time you get a taste of freedom you... how do I put this politely...’
‘...I lose my shit?’
‘Yes. Precisely. Plus, life is very different up there. I want to get you settled in and writing as soon as possible.’ Alex peered at the corner of his computer screen, ‘It’s 1pm now, you better get packing. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
I nodded and just as he went to end the call he stopped, ‘Oh, Mr Hill...’
‘Yeah?’
‘Good choice.’
****
Packing didn’t take long. After I shifted the boxes of my stuff out into the writing area I helped Astra shift her meagre possessions into my room so she could look at the stars each night.
Then we all sat talking until a groaning sound came from the metal door to the outside world. It slid open and two guards – one guy with a moustache and one without sauntered into the room.
‘You,’ said the guy with the moustache as he jabbed a finger at me, ‘You’re Mr Hill?’
I nodded and turned to my three dorm mates, ‘I guess this is it.’
Hera gave me a hug, then punched my shoulder, ‘I would wish you luck, but you’re a psycho like me. You don’t need luck. Just keep showing Crusher that you won’t take shit from them.’
Victor just nodded to me, ‘Take care out there Eli. I’ve heard of authors losing their writing ability to the village. Don’t let it take yours.’
And finally there was Astra. Eyes shining like stars.
‘You take care,’ she said, ‘I’ll see you on the other side.’
The guards grabbed the cardboard boxes that contained my worldly possessions (mostly chicken chips) and I picked up my computer, then waved a final goodbye to my friends.
The metal door opened out onto the dingy, rust coated hallway I’d come through when they’d brought me to the four-dorms.
The two guards’ feet tapped a beat on on the floor as we moved. We reached the end of the hallway, stepped into an elevator and the guard with the large moustache jabbed a finger at the button with the number 4 on it. The elevator gave a pathetic ding that died halfway through. The guard drew his fist back and gave the button a brutal whack. This time the elevator dinged with more enthusiasm and we started to move upward.
The moustached guard caught my eye, ‘You’d think with all the money they spend on you lot they’d at least get us a decent elevator.’
I just looked away.
The elevator opened onto a carpet lined hallway with fresh wallpaper and art hanging from the walls. At the end of the hallway were a pair of double doors.
On the other side of the doors was the brightest light I’ve ever seen. I was blinded as I pushed through and I felt heat on my face. The guards were calling to me but I ignored them and turned away from the light. As my vision recovered I saw green grass, and a tiny fern. They made me laugh. I turned back to the bright light and held the computer box up in front of it. Beyond the light was a blue ceiling with white flecks all through it. It took me a while longer to realise that I was looking at the sky. I lowered the computer box and closed my eyes and the sun’s light – which still seemed really bright – warmed my face.
‘Come on, you’ll have plenty of time for that when we’re gone.’ said the moustached guard, only this time he didn’t sound angry.
I followed the two of them down a row of beautifully manicured cottages. They were wooden with white picket fences – like something from a dream.
‘This one’s yours,’ said moustache man. He was pointing to a weatherboard cottage surrounded by lavender.
I blinked and the guy waved a hand in front of my face.
‘You hear me?’
I pointed at the cottage – it was four times the size of our four-dorm and about 50 times bigger than my first cell.
‘That’s mine?’
The guard grinned, ‘Yeah buddy.’
They walked up to the front door and dumped my boxes of chips and noodles – the boxes seemed tiny compared to the cottage.
‘Do I need a key or anything?’
The guards laughed, ‘No. There’s no crime here. Ever.’ The moustached guy patted my back as he left, ‘Welcome to paradise.’
****
I walked through the house touching everything – the door frames, the windows, the television, the solid oak writing desk. Then I found the bedroom. It was humongous with a king size bed all made up for me.
I dropped the computer I’d been carrying and ran over to the bed, bouncing up and down a few times before thumping down on my back on the mattress. The sun streamed down on my face and I slowly drifted off into bliss.

My girlfriend currently got a dog (brown lab) but we have a major issue. When she first got her she was fine and liked going on walks and being outside. After a couple months she began to be a lot more fearful and anxious of everything and when I say everything I mean EVERYTHING. She’s scared of people, obnoxiously loud things(even if it far away), scared of a folding chair sitting outside, any inanimate object and even if we have our garage open she won’t go outside to even pee. Anytime I need to take her out to go pee it’s always a hassle. I want to expose her more to open world but she won’t budge. I need help it’s coming to a point where she won’t leave my room. Idk what happened between those months while she was with my girlfriend but she is terrified of everything and it’s getting frustrating. She won’t even come down to my living room. Help what do I do! (I’m dog sitting for her at the moment but I wanted to be able to train her but I can’t with this behavior)

The hotel hallway is dim, illuminated only by flickering lights. Elena is nowhere in sight, running after her would prove useless. The fire escape is the best way to intercept her. As I opened the door, I hear the echo of feet pounding against stairs. It was her. Swiftly, I hop over the railway, she wouldn’t escape so easily.
Elena’s adrenaline was no match for my speed. I gain on her with every jump. She is almost to the exit. I can’t let her escape. I’m so close. She’s reaching for the door, but her ponytail lags. I jump over the last flight of stairs and reach out as far as possible. Relief washes over me when I feel her silky hair in my hand. I yank back as hard as I can, her head whips back followed by her shoulders. She stumbles back but I catch her. We wrestle in the stairwell but quickly I gain control. I pull her against my body and with one hand over her mouth, I slowly crack the door… All clear. It seems no one heard us in this deserted shithole.
“No one can help you now,” I whisper in her ear. She tries to bite my hand but only manages to graze my skin. “You're going to have to try harder than that.”
…

The sun begins to rise—a glimmer of light peeks through the hotel room's curtains where they don’t quite meet. I dim the bathroom light, my eyes are burning from the fluorescent bulbs. 

I turn to the mirror. It’s dirty, so my reflection is blurred, but it doesn’t hide the age starting to show on my face. My hair is beginning to thin, the bags under my eyes are now turning purple, and my eyes are bloodshot. Not only is my age showing, but so are the years of secrets and lies.
I run the sink faucet and splash the cold water on my face. The cold water stings and sends a chill through my body. My eyes lock on their reflection, they look unfamiliar.

 “Are you ready to talk now?” I call back to Elena. I watch her through the mirror. The tub is small and her knees are folded to fit inside. She is choking, the ropes binding her hands together have chaffed her wrists, there is steam rising off the wet towel on top of her mouth. 

My hair is greasy, it’s been days since I’ve showered. I wet my hands and run them through my hair. I feel a wave of adrenaline rush over me.

I walk over to the tub, and raise the towel from Elena’s mouth, “You ready to start talking?” I ask again. Elena weakly pushes her lips together and blows a raspberry, a mixture of drool and water flows out of her mouth. She was always a spitter, and now it was her only defense. “Save your energy.” I put the dripping towel over her face and turn the bathtub faucet. The water pours over the towel, and her body writhes. The rush of energy from the cold water doesn't last and my eyelids feel heavy. If I’m tired, I know Sam can’t last much longer. 38, 39, 40. I turn off the faucet. I lift the towel and slowly ring it out on her face. 7, 8, 9, 10. “Where the fuck is she” I scream. I am losing my patience. Elena is still gasping, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. I sling her over my shoulder and throw her on the bed just a few yards away. Quickly I hook the rope on her wrist to the handcuffs hanging loose from the bed frame. She coughs in rhythm and her eyes flutter shut, she must be exhausted. I need to rest before she wakes up. I sit in the chair in the corner but my body is still tense while my mind races. I know Sarah wouldn’t have told Elena where I keep the safe (change). They might not have gotten to her, or she could have escaped if they did. I can’t get the image of my house out of my mind, the tables turned over, the broken glass, the blood-streaked walls. The blood may not have been hers. She’s smart, she knows how to defend herself. She could have escaped. Did they even capture her? Was it all a trap to lure me? Is she dead? Is she suffering? I don’t want to think about it anymore, I need to rest. My eyes ache from holding them open, I concede and let them fall shut. 

…
I gasp and my eyes shoot open, I feel an aching chill take over my body. My eyes focus and Elena is smiling in my face. There’s an excruciating cold pain in my chest, I look down and I see a knife protruding out. I watch as Elena slowly turn the knife, ripping my chest open. Her eyes are glowing, hungry for my cries, I won’t give her the satisfaction. Slowly she pulls the knife out but there is no relief. She pokes me again with the knife, it’s dull and the pressure builds as it slowly penetrates my soft stomach. Again, she slowly pulls the knife out, wiggling it along the way.
“Where is she?” I gasp, blood slowly filling my mouth.
“Since you really want to know, I guess I’ll tell you.. She is in Baltimore, well her head is in Baltimore, her body is in Essex, and her legs in the Back River. She wasn’t easy to catch, you’d be proud.” I drain the emotion from my eyes, my face is heavy. Elena’s face twitches with disappointment.
She continues, “The funny thing is we don’t even need you. She told us where the safe is, all to save you. I promised we wouldn’t go after you if we got what we needed, which was of course a lie, we have to kill you regardless. Or maybe she caved because of the pain. We didn’t go so easy on her as I have with you. First I cut off her fingers, one by one, and her toes, but of course it wasn't enough. I’ll give it to her, she’s tough, I suppose you coached her in the event she got mixed up in your nasty business. Do you feel guilty about that? I would. The person I love most in the world is dead because of me. I couldn’t live with the guilt knowing that my innocent wife died in such a painful way; and trust me, it was painful. I like to call it the death by a thousand cuts. Too bad you weren’t there to save her.”
I can no longer tell the source of the pain. I close my eyes and let the pain run its course, I deserve to feel every moment of the unbearable agony. She leans in real close, I feel her hot breath on the nape of my neck “Her last words were ‘Help me, David.’”
My body shakes uncontrollably and the dark room grows dimmer, I’m ready for relief. “I love you, Sarah. I’m sorry”.

I recently got a lease in early February in a 2 bed/2 bath apartment with a girl my age that I’m friends with. We both have dogs and work opposite schedules so we thought it would be helpful with saving daycare/boarding costs. For starters she works ALOT more than me, and severely neglects her animal. He is locked up in a crate 22/24 hours of the day, just turned 2 years old. he has to be monitored at all times when he’s out because he pisses and shits on the floor, will eat anything in sight including socks, paper towels, shoes etc. He growls and will bite if you try to take something from him. She expects me to walk him and keep him out for an hour a day while she sometimes “forgets” to even take my dog out or just walks her quickly for 2 minutes to pee. She works 12 hour days on Fridays and Saturdays and then will ask me to also walk him Sundays when she’s out with her boyfriend all day. So the dog care is really 90/10 for me, where I’m in charge of both dogs 90% of the time. The second thing is the clutter. I’m extremely OCD and she is one of the messiest unclean person I’ve ever met. Shoes everywhere, jackets piled and slumped over the kitchen chairs when you walk in, trash and wrappers everywhere, dirty un rinsed dishes in the sink, molded food in the fridge, keeps her wet laundry in the washer for 2 days then will take another 5 days to take it out of the dryer because “she doesn’t have time and her dog will eat the socks as she folds”. Has never picked up a vacuum, cooks and leaves more dishes, and just all the works. I don’t even know what to do anymore. It’s only May. There’s another 9 months left. I violently have start shaking and getting stress tremors just from seeing the kitchen and living room. I cant keep cleaning up after her.

WARNING ⚠️ Baywater (3153) has become a high theft suburb.
We have lived in this area for 7 years. Sadly over the past 12 months, we have had the below stolen - Over 6 different break ins, all different people.

• 2 Snowboards and 1 pair boots.
• 2 Mountain bikes.
• 2 Kayak.
• 1 Large Swag
• Beach Gazebo and fold up chairs and table.
• tool box (left in tray once) gone next day.
• Laptop
• Gaming console and controllers.
• DELIVERIES (signed for and taken) constantly.

Not once have our stolen goods ever been recovered. Crime is sky rocketing in the area, be vigilant and re-consider moving to this suburb!
Locks are cut off with bolt cutters each time. Far worse for our neighbours, who have lost cars, electric wheelchairs and scooters. Even taking chargers for electronics or road signs.
This morning (5AM) another local junkie, cutting off a bike lock in the local primary school. Usually late evening junkies (10PM) stroll by with shopping trollys of stolen goods, everyday.
PLEASE start calling the police and reporting crimes. We do think crime has become to much in this area and are moving due to the surge in criminal activity and homeless people in tents, syringes at our beautiful park 😭😖. Not sure where they came from, but suddenly 3 tents at any given time in the Bayswater park/Ovals.
Ranked 13/100 for crime - horse shit.

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When I sit in big games. I buy in the minimum and wait for AA, KK, AK. Unless I am on the button or SB or BB with a suited connector or a small pair. But I generally sit and wait for these hands and even for 10J or pocket 9s on a raise. I sometimes even fold AK since it's very overated.
Does this strategy work? Yes and No. It works if the game is very big. If it's 1-2 NL it doesn't work because it's not big money. But I had AA once and someone raised $500, another raised $1200. Than I just called $1200. The initial raiser went ALL IN $3400 and reraiser folded I called. $6700 Pot. I won and just left. Didn't even tip the dealer.
Doyle said "All you need is a chip and a chair "

Everything goes quiet as you ascend leaving the planet surface behind
"HOLD ON!!!! BLOCKADE IS ABOUT TO OPEN FIRE!!"
You you scan the ship and the blockade up ahead through your tactical visor.
Energy signature warnings popup pm your tactical display. Taking aim you start firing at the blockade satellites. But countermeasures deflect your fire. Everything starts getting extremely bright. Erotic scenes flicker quickly in your view
Suddenly, your screen goes blank and you sit up rubbing your eyes
"HAHAHA gets you greenhorns everytime" the captain cackles
Shudders drop, and a shadow displays on the wall instead. You don't understand it but the captain moves slightly left and right.
There's a loud THUD on either side of the ship
"And....we are through... Those blockade satellites only face towards the surface."
A moment later the shudders open and you Lena back in your chair
You see the ship is in open space, with the blockade net well below you now. Everything seems so peaceful.
"Patrol wing approaching on our flank!" Ajax says "seven of them, taking aim"
You sight as many of the patrol ships as possible
"FIRE!!" Ajax yells
You let your beams fire hitting 3 out of your 4 targets, Ajax hits the same amount.
Three explodes the remaining four accelerate on you faster than you expected
Panic grips you as they are about to slice into the freighter and end the hundreds of thousands of lives on board.
A neon blue light slices through the remaining Arbiter ships, as a Dominion Frigate with a small Battle group appears from cloak.
"This is the Grand Vizier Amere, vanguard of the Imperial Dominion Fleet, identify yourselves" an imperial sultry woman's voice says
"Alpha, Jericho, Alpha, X- Ray Glory to the Dominion!" Ajax say
"Ajax! What are you doing in orbit! What's the sitrep on the ground. The Archon is in her final approach." She says
"It's not good, the resistance is barely holding up and even brief periods on the surface are enough to melt your mind. We managed to secure the energy drive overload signals of their reprogramming ships" He says
"We have roughly a million inhabitants off the surface in these freighters and there should be more launches across the surface of Roshak. The resistance is trying to get their people to safety before the Arbiters launch their ground invasion" Ajax reports
"Excellent Ajax, thank you soldier. We need to get this people to safety as our first priority. We will certainly draw some of the Arbiter Armada away. They are bound to recall their forces now that my presence is known. Send over the overload signals and I will use them at a key point in the battle to come" Amere says, "well done"
You don't know if it was your acsent or the appearance of the Dominion vanguard but you see ships soaring from the planet up to the Arbiter Fleet as the orbital bombardment of erotic scenes stops and repositions
One beam swings wide and hits your freighter, your mind filling with the full brunt of a capital ship bombardment.
Then it stops, as you see a neon blue shield surrounding your ships.
"We can seek refuge in the nearby asteroid belt to draw them away from the planet before they are fully in formation, , or retreat towards The Archons approach" she says "we must choose NOW!"
Asteroids Retreat

Die Studie "Feasibility of Biocybernetic Communication: An Analysis of Electrophysiological Patterns in Open and Covert Speech" von Lawrence Pinneo, Daniel Wolf und David Hall am Stanford Research Institute markiert einen Meilenstein in der Entwicklung direkter Gehirn-Computer-Schnittstellen. Gefördert von der Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) erforschte das Team von 1972 bis 1975 die Möglichkeit, einen Computer an die Gehirnwellen einer Person anzuschließen und so eine neuartige Form der Mensch-Maschine-Kommunikation zu ermöglichen.
Die Kernhypothese lautete, dass subvokale Sprache - das Denken in Worten ohne Artikulation - ähnliche Muster der Muskelaktivität und Gehirnaktivität erzeugt wie laut gesprochene Sprache. Durch Aufzeichnung von EMG-Signalen der Gesichtsmuskeln und EEG-Signalen des Gehirns während offener und verdeckter Sprache konnten die Forscher diese Annahme bestätigen. Ein Computerprogramm zur Mustererkennung identifizierte in den physiologischen Daten charakteristische Merkmale für spezifische Wörter.
Die Ergebnisse waren vielversprechend: "Wir kommen zu dem Schluss, dass sowohl offene als auch verdeckte Sprache durch die computergestützte Klassifizierung elektrophysiologischer Reaktionen identifiziert werden kann und dass ein praktikables biokybernetisches Kommunikationssystem durchführbar ist, sofern die Fehlerquellen beseitigt werden können."

Kommentierung Kempster 1976

Im Artikel der Los Angeles Times vom 29. März 1976 mit dem Titel: „Mind Reading Machine Tells Secrets of the Brain Sci-Fi Comes True” wird beleuchtet, wie das bemerkenswerte Regierungsprojekt der Gedankenlese-Maschine vorangetrieben wird:[1]
​
„Since 1973, a little-known Pentagon agency has been studying ways to plug a computer into an individual's bran waves or electroencephalograph (EEG) signals in the scientist's lexicon.
The Advanced Research Projects Agency says the $1 million-a-year program has passed its initial laboratory tests and is ready for determination of its military uses.”
„Seit 1973 untersucht eine wenig bekannte Agentur des Pentagons Möglichkeiten, einen Computer an die Gehirnwellen oder elektroenzephalographischen (EEG) Signale einer Person anzuschließen, wie es im Wissenschaftsjargon heißt. Die Agentur für fortgeschrittene Forschungsprojekte gibt an, dass das jährlich mit einer Million Dollar dotierte Programm seine ersten Labortests bestanden hat und nun bereit ist, seine militärischen Anwendungen zu bestimmen.“
Die Forschung verspricht nicht nur banale Anwendungen wie das bewegungsfreie Manövrieren von Objekten, sondern auch ernsthafte militärische Implementierungen, wie die ferngesteuerte Aktivierung von Waffen durch Gedanken.
​
„So far, this work has been conducted solely in the laboratory, with a subject who has electrodes attached to his scalp thinking an object through a maze. Scientists say the maze experiment works, heightening hopes for the project.
Other applications of the EEG may come much sooner. It may be only a matter of time before the machines will be able to read a person's brain waves to determine just what he is thinking.
Within two to five years, the Advanced Research Projects Agency hope to test the EEG-computer hookups in a wide range of military uses ranging from pilot training to interpretation of satellite photos of earth.”
„Bislang wurden diese Arbeiten ausschließlich im Labor durchgeführt, wobei ein Proband, dem Elektroden auf der Kopfhaut angebracht waren, ein Objekt durch ein Labyrinth dachte. Wissenschaftler sagen, das Labyrinth-Experiment funktioniert und erhöht die Hoffnungen für das Projekt.
Andere Anwendungen des EEG könnten viel früher kommen. Es könnte nur eine Frage der Zeit sein, bis die Maschinen in der Lage sein werden, die Gehirnwellen einer Person zu lesen, um genau festzustellen, was sie denkt.
Innerhalb von zwei bis fünf Jahren hofft die Advanced Research Projects Agency, die EEG-Computer-Verbindungen in einer breiten Palette militärischer Anwendungen zu testen, von der Pilotenausbildung bis zur Interpretation von Satellitenfotos der Erde.“
Die Experimente beschränkten sich bislang gemäß der Angaben der Regierungsbehörde und beteiligter Wissenschaftler auf Laborumgebungen, in denen Versuchspersonen mit Elektroden am Kopf Objekte durch mentale Befehle durch ein Labyrinth navigierten. Die Resultate dieser Experimente bestärken die Hoffnung in die Realisierbarkeit der Technologie, insbesondere für militärische und geheimdienstliche Zwecke.
George H. Heilmeier, der Direktor der Forschungsagentur, machte in seinem Jahresbericht an den Kongress aufregende Andeutungen über das EEG-Programm. Laut Heilmeier könnte die Technologie in zwei bis fünf Jahren in einer Vielzahl von militärischen Anwendungen getestet werden. Diese Anwendungen reichen von der Pilotenausbildung bis zur Analyse von Satellitenbildern. Obwohl er nur wenige Details preisgab, reichten die Informationen aus, um bedeutende Fragen aufzuwerfen. So wurde beispielsweise die Möglichkeit diskutiert, ob diese Systeme genutzt werden könnten, um die Gedanken von Kriegsgefangenen zu lesen oder unbemerkt in die Köpfe amerikanischer Bürger einzudringen. Die Wissenschaftler der Agentur halten dies jedoch für sehr unwahrscheinlich.
Ein wesentlicher Grund dafür ist die Notwendigkeit der individuellen Kalibrierung des EEGs. Die Bedeutung der Gehirnwellen-Diagramme variiert von Person zu Person. Daher ist es erforderlich, ein Baseline-Diagramm zu erstellen, indem man jede Person eine spezifische Reihe von Gedanken denken lässt. „Die Kalibrierung ist schnell und einfach durchzuführen, muss jedoch individuell für jede Person angepasst werden“, erklärte ein Wissenschaftler gemäß den Angaben von Kempster. Des Weiteren erfordern die aktuellen Programme das Anbringen von Elektroden am Kopf der Person, was zwar schmerzfrei ist, aber kaum heimlich durchgeführt werden kann.
An der MIT forschen Wissenschaftler jedoch an magnetischen Gehirnwellen, die ähnliche Diagramme wie die derzeit gemessenen elektrischen Gehirnwellen erzeugen können.
​
"Scientists for the research agency say it may be possible to pick up magnetic waves a foot or two from the subject's head, perhaps by placing a receiver in the back of a chair.
Could these waves be projected over distances greater than a few feet?
„We are now talking about a foot or several feet,“ one scientist said. „But the research agency has a pretty good idea of what it could be doing in the 1980s.”
„Wissenschaftler der Forschungsagentur sagen, es könnte möglich sein, magnetische Wellen in einem Abstand von einem oder zwei Fuß vom Kopf der Person aufzunehmen, vielleicht indem man einen Empfänger in die Rückenlehne eines Stuhls einbaut.
Könnten diese Wellen über größere Entfernungen als ein paar Fuß projiziert werden?
„Wir sprechen jetzt von einem Fuß oder mehreren Fuß“, sagte ein Wissenschaftler. „Aber die Forschungsagentur hat eine ziemlich gute Vorstellung davon, was sie in den 1980er Jahren tun könnte.“
Über die Möglichkeit, diese Wellen über größere Entfernungen als ein paar Fuß zu projizieren, sagte ein Wissenschaftler gemäß den Angaben von Kempster:
​
„We are now talking about a foot or several feet,“ one scientist said. „But the research agency has a pretty good idea of what it could be doing in the 1980s.”
„Derzeit sprechen wir über einen oder mehrere Fuß. Aber die Forschungsagentur hat eine ziemlich genaue Vorstellung davon, was sie in den 1980er Jahren tun könnte.“
Diese Diskussionen unterstreichen die technischen Herausforderungen und ethischen Bedenken, die mit der Entwicklung und dem möglichen Einsatz von EEG-basierten Technologien verbunden sind und zeigen das militärische und geheimdienstliche Interesse an Gedankenkontroll-Technologien.
Forschungen am MIT zu magnetischen Gehirnwellen könnten zukünftig eine diskretere Erfassung ermöglichen, indem beispielsweise Empfänger in Möbel integriert werden. Diese fortschrittlichen Methoden könnten die Reichweite der Datenerfassung erheblich erweitern und neue Perspektiven für die Anwendung dieser Technologie in den 1980er Jahren eröffnen, wie es ein Wissenschaftler andeutete.
[1] Kempster, Norman (1976). „Mind Reading Machine Tells Secrets of the Brain Sci-Fi Comes True”, In: The Copenhagen Gates (29.03.1976), URL: https://www.cphgates.com/en/section/mind-control/mind-reading-machine-tells-secrets-of-the-brain-sci-fi-comes-true-los-angeles-times (02.05.2024).
​

1.1.1.1 Kommentierung Bowart (1978): Operation Mind-Control

Während die zivilen Anwendungen von Pinneos Durchbrüchen in der Grundlagenforschung eine bereichernde Perspektive eröffnen, hebt Walter Bowart in seinem einflussreichen Werk „Operation Mind-Control“ die potenziellen militärischen Anwendungen und die damit verbundenen ethischen Herausforderungen hervor. Biokybernetische Kommunikation würde gemäß Bowart unter anderem für die Mind-Control-Programmierung von Attentätern mittels fortschrittlicher Gehirntechnologien eingesetzt werden können. Zugleich setzt Bowart sich mit den gravierenden ethischen Dilemmata auseinander, die aus solchen technologischen Entwicklungen resultieren könnten.[1]
​
„Military applications of a „mind-reading machine“ will someday allow faster computer input and output of information, remote control of war machines, and even the creation of animal or human robots to do the bidding of the military.”
„Militärische Anwendungen einer „Gedankenlesemaschine“ werden eines Tages eine beschleunigte Eingabe und Ausgabe von Daten ermöglichen, die Fernsteuerung von Kriegsmaschinen erlauben und sogar die Schaffung von tierischen oder menschlichen Robotern vorantreiben, die Befehle des Militärs ausführen..“
Dr. Adam Reed, der seinerzeit im Auftrag des US-Verteidigungsministeriums an der Rockefeller Universität tätig war, wird in Bowarts Publikation prominent erwähnt. Reed betonte gemäß Bowart auf einem Symposium der American Association for the Advancement of Science im Jahr 1976 sowohl die Möglichkeiten zur Erweiterung menschlicher Intelligenz durch diese Technologien als auch die damit verbundenen Risiken:
​
„Es ist wesentlich, dass die Menschen in der Lage sind, sie [die Computer] für ihre eigenen Zwecke zu nutzen, anstatt für Zwecke, die ihnen von der politischen Struktur aufgezwungen werden.“
Auf die Frage nach dem realen und gegenwärtigen Risiko der Gedankenkontrolle der Bürger durch die Regierung mittels Gehirn-Computer-Technologien, äußerte Reed (zitiert nach Bowart):
​
„Alles ist möglich. Aber die Regierung könnte uns heute alle einsperren, also ändert diese Art von Technologie nicht wirklich etwas an dieser Möglichkeit. Es liegt wirklich an uns, wachsam gegen Missbrauch zu sein.“
Obwohl Reed die theoretische Möglichkeit einräumte, dass die Regierung Gedanken in den Verstand einer Person implantieren könnte, vertrat er die Ansicht, dass dies praktisch noch nicht umgesetzt worden sei. Er mahnte jedoch zur Wachsamkeit und betonte, dass man sich bei einer Veränderung des politischen Systems und dem Auftreten von Missbräuchen aus der Gesellschaft zurückziehen sollte:
​
„If the political system changes and massive abuses appear likely, that would be the time to disappear from the society.“
„Wenn sich das politische System ändert und massive Missbräuche wahrscheinlich erscheinen, wäre das der Zeitpunkt, um aus der Gesellschaft zu verschwinden.“
Pinneo teilte Reeds zurückhaltende Ansicht gegenüber einem konspirativen Einsatz dieser Technologie zur Schaffung einer durch Gedankenkontrolle gesteuerten „psychozivilisierten“ Gesellschaft, wie sie zuvor von Delgado beschrieben wurde. In einem Artikel vom 28.6.1974 äußerste Pinneo sich gegenüber einem Reporter des San Francisco Chronicle skeptisch hinsichtlich einer unmittelbaren Bedrohung durch die Regierung mittels der Gedankenlese-Maschine und betonte, dass die Verantwortung zum Schutz vor Missbrauch bei jedem Einzelnen und Gesellschaft liegt; und fügte hinzu (zitiert nach Bowart):
​
„Alles ist möglich. Aber die Regierung könnte uns auch heute schon einsperren, daher ändert diese Technologie grundsätzlich nichts an dieser Möglichkeit.“
Gemäß Bowart sei die Wachsamkeit nicht ausgeprägt genug, denn ferngesteuerte Menschen seien bereits entwickelt worden, die für politische Attentate und andere gefährliche Tätigkeiten eingesetzt werden können.[2]
Die Diskussionen verdeutlichen die Notwendigkeit eines ethischen Umgangs mit solch potenten Technologien. Die Verantwortung für den ethischen Einsatz liegt letztlich bei jedem Einzelnen, was in unserer von Technologie durchdrungenen Gesellschaft zunehmend an Bedeutung gewinnt.
[1] Bowart, Walter (1978). Operation Mind-Control, Glasgow: Fontana, 258 f..
[2] Bowart, Walter (1978). Operation Mind-Control, Glasgow: Fontana, 260 f..
​
​

1.1.1.1 Kommentierung Victorian (1995): Lobster

Vor dem Hintergrund der signifikanten Fortentwicklung der Kommunikationstechnologien zwischen dem menschlichen Zerebrum und externen Gerätschaften, die initial in den Arbeiten von Pinneo et al. auf die Visualisierung mentaler Intentionen mittels der Translation von EEG-Patterns in visuelle Formate unter Laborbedingungen abzielten, hebt der Kommentar von Armen Victorian aus dem Jahre 1995 im Lobster Magazin den progressiven Übergang zu fortgeschrittenen Stufen der neuronalen Stimulation hervor: Diese Entwicklungsachse könnte, Victorian zufolge, von der simplen Repräsentation eines visuellen Punktes auf einem Schirm zu komplexen Systemen konvergieren, welche Radiofrequenzen für die elektrische Gehirnstimulation (ESB, Electrical brain stimulation) nutzen.[1]
In Anbetracht des bedeutsamen Fortschritts von Kommunikations-Technologien zwischen dem menschlichen Gehirn und externen Geräten, die bei Pinneo et al. ursprünglich auf die Visualisierung mentaler Intentionen durch die Übersetzung von EEG-Mustern in ein visuelles Format unter Laborbedingungen abzielten, hebt der Kommentar von Armen Victorian aus dem Jahr 1995 im Lobster Magazin den Übergang zu fortgeschrittenen Stadien der neurologischen Stimulation hervor: Diese Entwicklungslinie könnte gemäß Victorian von der einfachen Darstellung eines Punktes auf einem Bildschirm zu komplexen Systemen verlaufen, die Radiofrequenzen für die neurologische Stimulation (ESB, Electrical brain stimulation) nutzen. Victorian weist darauf hin, dass die Möglichkeit eines technologischen Missbrauchs, insbesondere durch autoritäre Regime, nicht von der Hand zu weisen ist.
​
„By 1974 Lawrence Pinneo, a neurophysiologist and electronic engineer at Stanford Research Institute in Melano Park, California, had developed a computer system capable of reading a person’s mind. It correlated brain waves on an eletro-encephelograph with specific commands. Twenty years ago the computer responded with a dot on a TV screen. Nowadays it could be the input to a stimulator (ESB) in advanced stages, using radio frequencies. The concept of mind-reading computers is no longer science fiction.
Neither is their use by Big Brotherly governments. Major Edward Dames of Psi-Tech said in April this year (1995) on NBC’s ‘The Other Side’ programme: ‘The US Government has an electronic device which could implant thoughts in people’. Dames would not comment any further.“
„Bis 1974 hatte Lawrence Pinneo, ein Neurophysiologe und Elektronikingenieur am Stanford Research Institute in Melano Park, Kalifornien, ein Computersystem entwickelt, das in der Lage ist, Gedanken einer Person zu lesen. Es korrelierte Gehirnwellen auf einem Elektroenzephalographen mit spezifischen Befehlen. Vor zwanzig Jahren reagierte der Computer mit einem Punkt auf einem Fernsehbildschirm. Heutzutage könnte er als Eingabegerät für einen Stimulator (ESB) in fortgeschrittenen Stadien dienen, der Radiofrequenzen nutzt. Das Konzept von Computern, die Gedanken lesen können, gehört nicht länger in den Bereich der Science-Fiction.
Auch ihr Einsatz durch überwachende Regierungen ist keine Fiktion mehr. Major Edward Dames von Psi-Tech sagte im April dieses Jahres (1995) im NBC-Programm 'The Other Side': „Die US-Regierung verfügt über ein elektronisches Gerät, das Menschen Gedanken einpflanzen kann“. Dames wollte keine weiteren Kommentare abgeben.“
Dass solche Technologien auch für unheilvolle Zwecke missbraucht werden könnten, ist nicht zu ignorieren. Die Macht, Gedanken zu kontrollieren und zu beeinflussen, könnte in den Händen eines autoritären Staates oder eines despotischen Staatsapparats zum machtvollen Instrument der Unterdrückung und Kontrolle werden. Dieses Potential des Missbrauchs erinnert an geschichtliche Lehren, nach denen eine Akkumulation von Macht häufig mit deren Missbrauch korreliert.
Hier steht die Menschheit an einem kritischen Scheideweg: Die Schaffung rigoroser ethischer Rahmenbedingungen, die die Wahrung der persönlichen Integrität sicherstellen, ist imperativ, um der Entstehung einer dystopischen Zukunft, in der unsere innersten Gedanken nicht länger unserer alleinigen Souveränität unterliegen, entgegenzuwirken. Diese Diskurse dürfen nicht ausschließlich in den Domänen der Wissenschaft und Politik verharren, sondern repräsentieren eine kollektive Verantwortlichkeit, um die humane Gestaltung der technischen Gedankenkontrollmechanismen zu gewährleisten.
Victorian bietet damit einen wertvollen Diskursbeitrag, der in einem Kontext steht, in dem das Konzept von Computern, die Gedanken lesen, bereits Realität ist – eine Realität, die nicht mehr nur in den Fiktionen von Big-Brother-Überwachungsstaaten existiert, sondern durch die Aussage von Major Edward Dames, dass die US-Regierung bereits über die Mittel verfügt, um Gedanken in Menschen zu implantieren, greifbar wird. Diese Proklamation, obgleich nicht weiter erläutert, unterstreicht die Dringlichkeit, die Victorian in seinen Kommentaren zum Ausdruck bringt. Edward Dames ist ein ehemaliger Militärnachrichtendienstoffizier und ein ursprüngliches Mitglied des Remote Viewing-Trainingsprogramms des US-Heeres sowie ehemaliger Ausbildungs- und Einsatzoffizier der Einheit für psychische Nachrichtengewinnung der Defense Intelligence Agency. 1989 gründete er die bis heute existierende Beratungsfirma „Psi Tech“, die als Privatunternehmen „Remote Viewing“ Dienstleistungen anbietet.
Die Reflexionen von Victorian aus dem Jahre 1995 betonen die notwendige Verantwortlichkeit jedes Individuums im ethischen Umgang mit machtvollen Technologien, wie sie durch die Pionierarbeit von Pinneo, Wolf und Hall in der Konzeption einer Gedankenlesemaschine manifestiert wurden. Diese Betonung individueller Verantwortung wird umso bedeutender in einer Ära, in der die Gesellschaft zunehmend von technologischen Durchdringungen geprägt ist. Ein Bewusstsein für die Implikationen solcher Technologien auf die persönliche Autonomie und Privatheit ist essenziell, um zu gewährleisten, dass die Richtung, in die sich solche Innovationen entwickeln, die humanistischen Werte und die Integrität des menschlichen Geistes respektiert und bewahrt.
[1] Victorian, Armen (1995). „Neural Manipulation by Remote Radar”, In: Lobster (December 1995), URL: https://www.lobster-magazine.co.uk/article/issue/30/neural-manipulation-by-remote-rada (22.04.2024); dieses Zitat findet auch Verwendung in Guyatt, David (2005). „Anti-Personnel ‘Soft-Kill’ Em Weaponry“, In: World Affairs: The Journal of International Issues, 9:4 (Winter 2005), 41-57, URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/48531829 (22.04.2024), 43.

Been WFH since 2020 and will remain this way.
My two teenagers make fun and call it my "Ghetto" office setup since they know I could afford more but choose not to since I am a simple person. The setup in my Study room:
--Desk is 36''X24'' with sliding keyboard tray which was from a realtors office left on the sidewalk with a FREE sign. Before it was a shakey folding card table. I have a 36'' vinyl board flooring on top for more real estate.
--Monitor is a Samsung LCD which family gave me years ago stored in the attic. Google says was released in 2005. 20 inch?
---Keyboard is my son's old Havoc Magic Eagle that he said sucks at age 15.
--Wireless mouse is $10 Logitech M305 that I bought years ago on Black Friday. -
--Chair is a $15 clearance from Target that my son didn't like. It has Elastic bands for the back and bottom...very breathable!
I mainly look at websites and PDF for my job. Maybe reference Excel and Docs on occasion.
No meetings at all, so webcam/mic/headphones not needed.
My plan is to work this job til maybe 2025/26 then travel, so not taking this too serious for an investment. I think upgrading to a 24 inch LCD from Marketplace for $50 might be nice upgrade.
Hey, it works I guess and no eye/neck/back/etc pain........yet.....

I tried posting this story on a few different subs but had to take them down. I’m not really sure how to properly format something to fit the guideline, this is just an experience I’m going through.
I only had a couple of dreams last night, because of a pretty loud thunderstorm that went on for a few hours. When I woke up, I checked the room just in case anything was open. The top drawer on a dresser was pulled out halfway and the closet was wide open, although I did leave it slightly open from yesterday.
My family has two cats that always love to explore that closet whenever I let them in my room in the morning. I’ve tried having them in the room at night, but it’s quite small and I don’t like having the door open. From where the bed is positioned in the room you can’t see the door at all, so that makes me uneasy – at least there’s a sound when someone opens it.
One of the dreams last night wasn’t so bad, so I’ll describe it here.
At first, the air felt cold, and it was dark all around. It smelt odd, like a mixture of earth and smoke, and there was a draft coming in from somewhere. I slowly started to gain a sense of my own body and opened my eyes to see an auditorium almost entirely made of steel. There were steel beams hanging down from the ceiling and the chairs looked like those cheap metal folding ones that give you an electric shock when you touch them. The carpet underneath it all was a dusty blue color, with small spots of mud that was concentrated around the entrance behind me. The walls were covered in grey paint with more steel beams and rods that supported the structure.
I felt like I wasn’t meant to be there yet, as if something was going to happen but it was still too early. I didn’t remember being in this room before, so left through the door behind me and walked into a large warehouse that had shelves full of tools and materials for maintenance I guessed. It was dimly lit throughout the warehouse, only a soft buzzing from the electrics along the outer walls and echoes from walking down to the other side. It took maybe five minutes to find another way out, which was a large and heavy fire exit door.
On the other side of it was a group of people standing by an entranceway with two sliding glass doors. On the outside, it looked like a normal day, with a blue sky and a paved area with a big oak tree planted in the middle. Someone from the group said something about taking a picture, I assumed they wanted me to take one for them, but then someone grabbed my shoulder and we all leaned in to fit the frame. They took a few photos, then showed us the pictures. I know there’s this whole idea that you’re not supposed to look at yourself in a mirror or a photo when you’re dreaming, but I’ve done it so many times now, and nothing has ever looked too strange or wrong to me. I tried asking what the photo was for, but everyone was too busy talking to each other and laughing about something. They seemed genuinely happy and excited about whatever was happening, I couldn’t help but smile too. One of the people caught me smiling and grabbed my shoulder again, in a way that seemed a bit aggressive, but perhaps he was just excited. He started to talk about how long it’s been since we last saw each other and started to list the actual names of friends I have. He spoke about the ‘old days’ and how much everything has changed for him.
As he talked, I realized that something was strange in how he and the others looked. It was more noticeable with him though, probably because he was so close. I don’t know how best to describe it, but I couldn’t pinpoint his age. Looking at everyone in the room, we seemed to be the same age, but I felt older than them. The only way I can think of it is that feeling when you see someone that you haven’t seen in a long time, and now they look ‘off’ because they’re older. You can see that it is them, only there are more lines on their face than there should be. Looking at the person in front of me, he looked the same age, but it felt like he was a few years younger.
We all filed into a hallway, everyone still chatting and laughing, coming to a large library with an open space in the middle and a high ceiling made of glass. The shelving units were enormous, with a strong scent of books old and new. Large empty tables were scattered around with all sorts of mismatched chairs pulled underneath. It was magnificent, bright, and airy – I immediately recognized it. A few months ago, I had another dream about this library, but that time it was completely abandoned. I remembered the shelves being knocked down, the glass ceiling was cracked, none of the lights were working, and the library was being used as a makeshift shelter from the apocalyptic weather outside. That dream only lasted for one night, but I remember spending a whole week in that library. Standing in it again, it felt brand new.
Some of the group had left at this point and gone to sit in different areas behind the shelves of books, but the person I had met was still right next to me, his hand firmly on my shoulder. He was still going on and on about something, but it was too fast to understand any of what he was saying. He tried to walk us both further into library and towards another hallway, but my shoulder was becoming too painful, so I turned to him and made an excuse to leave. He suddenly stopped speaking and continued to grin.
Once his grip loosened, I turned and left the way we came. Instead of going through the warehouse again, I went towards the square with the oak tree, and down the sloped path beyond it. It wasn’t long before the hand on my shoulder returned, however I kept walking. The person from before was trying to talk to me again, this time saying, “You’re going the wrong way, there’s nothing there, come back,” while tightening his grip. Finally, the slope evened out and we came to a set of stone steps. He sounded genuinely concerned now, his voice was softer and higher than before. I turned to look at him with his fake smile and eyebrows knotted in worry.
Just as I was about to try and leave up the steps again, the air turned cold and something hit the back of my head. When I woke up, I was back in my bed and freezing from the blanket being pulled off accidentally. This was when I noticed the thunder and lightning outside, rain crashing against the window. There was another dream after this one that woke me up in a sweat with my heart pounding. I won’t talk about it – it was confusing and included a few people I know, so I want to keep it private for now.
I’ve had a few thoughts about my previous post and realized how silly the end sounded. It’s not that I believe something is there when I sleep, but more of a fear that I’m already asleep, and something is there. My dreams have gotten extremely vivid to the point of being able to see, hear, smell, taste, and touch everything in them. I feel the pain from them even after I wake up, like the aching from my shoulder being held so tightly.
Still, I check the wardrobe because I need to know, whatever happens.

I’m hoping someone can try to reassure me if they have been through a similar experience because I am getting a little concerned about my daughters gross motor development. She has good head control and can roll back to belly and belly to back. She mastered the roll in both directions at 5 and a half months old, although still sometimes has trouble rolling in the left direction. She is tall and a little chunky. Was in the 81st percentile for weight at birth. So I’m not sure if maybe having the extra body mass may just make it more difficult for her to sit or stand. Everytime I try to see if she will stand on the floor with me holding her, her legs go instantly limp like noodles. She can’t bear any weight at all even for a short period of time. She can sit with support but even still she is very wobbly and will often try to slide her legs down out of the sitting position. I have tried to get her to tripod sit but she almost folds in half immediately and will topple over after about 5 seconds maximum. She also still slouches over to the side in her high chair and cannot push up with straight arms while on her belly. I am concerned because I have seen other friends babies standing on the floor with support and bouncing up and down by this age and they are sitting up independently without even having to support their arms. I try not to compare my baby to other babies but it’s hard sometimes. I am just wondering if my daughter’s development sounds normal or if there is a chance that she could be a little delayed. She is already babbling and saying dadadadada and she seems to be on time with her fine motor skills. Wondering if I’m just being paranoid or if maybe I should consider early intervention. Thanks!

Hello!
After a deep dive last night into the world of high chairs, I’m feeling a bit defeated. Does such a chair exist that I’m looking for??
-Under 200$ -Easy to clean (no cloth cover) -Safe -Not a huge footprint/folds up -And 90-90-90
The top recommendations I see are the IKEA and Tripp Trapp.
The cons for IKEA are hard to take off the tray and a huge footprint. Plus, you have to get all the accessories. The Tripp Trapp is expensive and hard to clean the crevices.

I was walking our dog Charlie when I saw the graveyard for the first time. A little white fence, not even knee high, ran in a circle around maybe a dozen small headstones. There was space for a small gate along the fence but it was empty now, like a missing tooth. Whether the gate was removed or never existed, I couldn’t tell, but the rest of the fence was in good shape. It even looked freshly painted.
“What do you think, Charlie?” I asked, pulling up my hood.
The sky had been threatening rain all week and it was finally making good. The Weimaraner tilted his head at me and then looked off toward nothing. The fact that nothing happened to be in the same direction of the graveyard, well, I figured it was a coincidence. But dogs always know, don’t they? When something is bad and dangerous and hungry and close. Charlie knew, even warned me in his own way. A shame I didn’t notice until after most everybody was…after it was too late to do anything about it.
Nicole was hanging up pictures when we got back from our walk. I started unpacking one of the billion boxes scattered around the living room. It appeared to contain roughly four thousand dish towels and a single chipped coffee mug. Charlie watched us, patiently, filled with the usual, unshakeable belief that if he sat long enough and looked adorable enough, sooner or later, one of his owners would produce a treat. He was correct and it was my wife who folded first, tossing him a dried sweet potato thing which Charlie gratefully caught mid-air.
“Like the neighborhood?” Nicole asked.
“It’s kinda perfect. Lots of folks out and about, saw a few other families moving in, oh, and there’s even a graveyard in the middle of the development. You know, like how we always dreamed.”
Nicole made an “ick” sound but overall seemed happy.
I heard Bryan and Anna thumping around upstairs, most likely still arguing about who got the room with the attached bath. If they hadn’t sorted it out by dinner, I resolved to think up a weird game they could play where the winner got first bedroom dibs. It was still early in the afternoon, so I caught Nicole up on what I’d seen in our new neighborhood while we unpacked. We were far from the only new occupants of Stone Brooke; at least four other houses had SOLD signs driven into their front yards like stakes through freshly vanquished vampires.
The development was less than a year old and I doubted it would make it more than another six months before being filled to the brim. That was fine with me. It meant our property value would keep going up, up, up and away.
“Do you think we’ll make any friends with our neighbors?” Nicole asked, opening a new box to unpack.
“We’ll be having joint ski vacations and holiday parties in no time,” I guessed. “I’ll try to chat some up next time Charlie and I make our rounds. I’ll even knock on some graves, if you’d like.”
Nicole scowled and shook her head. A thousand teasing jokes about the living dead limping up to our house ran through my mind but each evaporated before escaping my mouth. Eight years of marriage had left me with a finely-honed sense of when to be a clown and when not to push it. And, the truth was, I felt a small twinge of discomfort myself whenever I thought about the little cemetery. It was a family plot, old; would the bodies even be embalmed? Or would you find something rotted down to tar and marrow if you dug up one of the plots?
I shivered.
Nicole smiled. “Looks like maybe somebody just walked over your grave.”
“Not possible. I’m not leaving a body behind when I go, remember? Viking funeral? Have my brother launch fire arrows at a gasoline-soaked canoe with me in it. And then scatter the ashes somewhere meaningful,” I added. “Like the Grand Canyon or the ocean or the last Blockbuster on Earth.
Nicole called for Anna and Bryan and we sat down to a family dinner of move-in-day sandwiches and popcorn and whatever other road-trip snacks we still had from the drive. It was a good night. Bryan was distracted by his phone, a new friend or a girl maybe. Anna was joking with Nicole about something…something to do with school. I can’t remember what, exactly. I really wish I could.
That was the last time we all sat down together as a family for dinner.
I woke up in the middle of our first night in the new house. Some outside sound had entered my dreams. What was it? A whispering or a knocking or rasping. No, not rasping–rustling. Like the sound of many things moving at once but moving quietly, carefully, deliberately. I sat up in bed, blinking against the total darkness of the room.
There it was again; the rustling. Faint and far away, I guessed, but it was so eerie that I could hear it at all.
“Hey, Nicole,” I whispered. “Hey, are you awake?”
Nothing in response other than that rustle again in the dark. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere below me. I got up and stumbled through the room without turning on a light. I don’t know why I didn’t wake Nicole up to listen; I wish I had. I guess I didn’t want her to think I was crazy if I was the only one who heard the sound.
The rustling was actually fainter when I finally made it downstairs. There was only a little light in the house spilling in from outside through half-curtained windows. I paused on the second to last step down and listened. The noise was moving away, growing softer and less frequent. By the time I stepped on the living room rug, the night was silent.
I waited, listened for almost a full minute, then started padding back up the stairs. There was something unsettling about the rustling that made me glad it had stopped. I’d watched a Civil War documentary a few years back and they demonstrated how a battlefield surgeon would operate by sawing through a half a pig carcass then sewing up the wound. They’d pushed in real close during the last part of the demo so you got a great look and even a great listen..
The rustling I’d heard outside the house that night reminded me of the sound of the needle and thread slithering through the pig’s flesh as the surgeon closed the cut.
Wind, I thought. Dream. HVAC system. The first signs of a brain tumor. But probably just the wind traveling through the branches of the maple trees that line our street.
There’s a landing at the top of the stairs with a big window that looks out over the front yard. A silver-gray column of moonlight fell in through the glass, giving enough light to make out a shadow standing on my lawn but not enough to see it clearly. It was a man, tall but a little bent. I remember thinking maybe he was hurt so I moved closer to the window for a cleaner look.
The guy was right at the edge of my yard, nearly in the road. He was facing my house but I couldn’t pick out any details about him. Too many clouds and moonshadows for a good look at his face. We both stared at the other for a minute then the stranger turned and began to walk away. Or, ‘walking’ isn’t entirely the right word. He moved like a man who had just learned to walk and he almost, almost had it figured out.
His knees threatened to collide more than once and he was moving with a limp, favoring his right side. I watched him fall over twice, each time dragging his body along the road for a dozen yards or so before shakily standing up and continuing on like a shell-shocked soldier wandering out of a trench. Each time the man got near a streetlight he would veer away from the glow, stumbling back into darkness and always moving toward the treeline that marked the edge of the woods around our neighborhood.
I stood, frozen in the moonlight, as the night visitor slipped into the forest, movements jerking like a puppet with stiff strings. Then the figure was gone and I was left blinking, wondering if I was dreaming or maybe this was what sleepwalking felt like. It didn’t seem real, any of it; not the rustling, not the man in the yard.
Once I was back in our bedroom, I considered waking up Nicole. But what was I going to tell her? Hey dear, sorry to startle you, I think there was a zombie outside our house. Or maybe just a creepy neighbor. Or maybe your husband is just going slowly, gently, completely crazy. Before getting back into bed, I went and lifted the corner of the curtain on the window, peeking out at the last spot in the treeline where I’d seen the weird guy slip away.
I’m not sure what I was expecting; some trail of destruction, maybe, like Godzilla’s wake on his way to Tokyo. But there was nothing, no sign, no proof there was ever anything at all. Just the sleeping neighborhood, tucked away in the middle of silent woods. The trees were slick with the day’s rain but that would all freeze overnight if it hadn’t already. Streetlights stood out like nails driven into the night, these little bright scars in the dark. I followed the line of them from where it ended at the road back to where it started at the center of the house development.
The graveyard sat high on a hill there at the heart of the neighborhood where the lights started. Or ended, I guess.
I tried to put the bizarre experience out of my mind and laid back in bed next to Nicole.
Charlie and I were on another walk first thing the next morning when we saw another moving truck. This time, however, it looked like the family was on their way out. We stood under a tree watching the movers buzzing back and forth, big, quiet men with thick black belts around their stomachs. The departing family was helping, a man and woman with three three little boys. There was something about the way the parents were behaving that made me stop and observe everybody for a little longer than I usually would, especially with Charlie trying to pull on his leash to go after a Canadian goose.
The adults were zipping boxes from the house to the moving van at warpspeed, almost like they had a deadline. At the same time, both the man and the woman looked so exhausted I was surprised they were standing, much less zipping around like hummingbirds that learned how to drink coffee. They eventually noticed me and Charlie standing across the street, so I waved and walked over.
“Howdy neighbors,” I said, unleashing the most cheerful grin I could drag out.
The couple stopped moving boxes. They stood together, between me and their kids, and I got the unexpected but absolutely unshakable idea they were scared of me. Or, at least, awfully interested in me keeping my distance from their children.
I tried to smile even more disarmingly but it probably went in the other direction.
“We just moved in,” I said, pointing down the street. “How are you all liking Stone Brooke?”
The pair shared a look. They were both around my age, maybe mid-30s, and made an interesting pair. The woman was very tall, her face soaking in shadows cast by a gardening hat. The man was short and balding but muscled like a powerlifter. He took a step toward me and I instinctively tensed up.
“You should leave,” the man said, barely above a whisper.
“Okay,” I said, backing up, “I didn’t mean to-”
“No, I don’t mean here,” he said. “I mean this neighborhood. It’s not a good place.”
His–I assumed wife–was looking around the nearby houses while we talked. Something must have spooked her, because she took two steps forward and leaned in.
“Walter, we don’t know him,” she whispered. “He might be-”
“Okay, June,” Walter said, “okay, you’re right, you’re right. Buddy, I’m sorry, we don’t have anything to talk about. We’re out of here, hopefully before dinner.”
The couple turned away and walked back to their kids. Walter hesitated in his driveway, giving me one last glance.
“Listen, I’m sorry, you seem normal enough,” he said, ignoring the glare from his wife. “But you really should get out of Stone Brooke as soon as you can. We’ve only been here a week but there’s already so much…shit, if you are normal, you wouldn’t believe me. And if you’re not, well, we’ll be gone by tonight either way.”
Walter’s wife returned to his side, one delicate hand on his bowling ball of a shoulder trying to steer him away. She must have noticed my absolute confusion; the little bit of her face I could see from under the hat softened.
“If anyone knocks on your door after dark, you shouldn’t answer. Don’t go out after sundown, either. And if anyone you know starts acting…” She looked back at her kids. Two of the three were moving boxes from the house to the truck in a mini-conga line but the third, a little boy, was standing on the porch staring at us. “If anyone you know starts acting strange, just don’t be alone with them or let anyone else be alone with them. Do you understand?”
“Not at all,” I admitted but the pair were already gone, joining their kids next to the U-Haul.
The one boy was still separate from the others, still watching me and Charlie while we stood on the sidewalk at the edge of their yard. Feeling uncomfortable and confused, I gave the kid a friendly wave. He just stared until we left.
I tried to shake off the creepy encounter. Ten minutes of walking in the sunshine had me feeling fine in no time. Charlie and I took a loop around the rest of Stone Brooke then started heading home. I wasn’t planning on walking by the cemetery but that’s the way our route ended up winding. It was even smaller upclose; not the dozen or so gravestones I’d guessed the day before but maybe only seven or eight. The stones themselves were small and weathered. They were carved of something that was white once but had been sun-stained to a dirty gray. I couldn’t make out any names or dates from where I was standing just outside of the short fence. It didn’t feel right stepping into the cemetery to get a better look. I told myself it was respect holding me back from getting any closer.
Well, that and the fact that Charlie was not a fan of the area at all. He began whining as we approached the hill; by the time we were at the fence, Charlie was tugging at his leash, trying to drag me back toward our house down the street. And, weighing in at nearly ninety pounds of muscle and anxiety, he nearly succeeded.
“Easy, Charlie, easy,” I said. “We’re not going near the dead people.” He tilted his head at me. “Okay, we’re not going any nearer than we already are. I just want to look for a second, alright?”
It wasn’t alright. Not by Charlie’s measure. After about two minutes of trying to stand without getting wrapped up like an AT-AT walker by my dog’s leash, I surrendered. I took one last look at the graveyard before I allowed Charlie to lead us away. There were a few trees scattered among the stones. They were bare of leaves, which was normal for the time of year, but they were also stunted and sickly. The trunk of the tree closest to the cemetery gate appeared to be dry-rotted, its bark flakey and brown-orange in spots.
The last thought I spared the cemetery before leaving was that I didn’t like the faint smell I detected. Nothing crazy, it didn’t smell like death or anything dramatic; it was an earthy scent, like a field after a rainstorm but with the hint of something spoiled under all of it.
I let Charlie lead us home, walking quickly but not rushing. Nicole was up unpacking again when we walked in. The kids were still asleep. My wife had on gray sweat pants and my faded Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt. Her hair was tied up in a scarf. I remember thinking how pretty she looked, brown eyes jumping from box-to-box, looking for her next target, and smiling as she worked.
We spent the rest of the day just settling in, checking out the house, unpacking and playing games with the kids. Then we DoorDashed Chinese for an early dinner. I remember it being early enough that the sun was still out when it was delivered and just setting when Nicole took Charlie out for his evening walk.
Charlie returned alone half an hour later, dragging his leash and looking stressed beyond anything I’d ever seen from him.
“Hey, hey, buddy,” I said, opening the door he was scratching at. “Where’s your mom, Charlie?”
I stepped out onto the front porch, expecting to see Nicole running down the street after Charlie gave her the slip. But it was starting to rain and no one was moving anywhere I could see.
“Nicole,” I said loudly. “Hey, Nicoollle.”
She didn’t call back or come jogging down the road. My throat was feeling weird, so I swallowed then yelled her name, much louder this time. I tried to keep any tinge of panic out of my voice.
“Nicole!”
Charlie was sitting on the floor, still on his leash, looking up at me. He was whining so quietly I didn’t notice at first. I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Nicole. It rang for what felt like a few years before going to her voicemail. I tried again with the same result, then yelled out again, and then another call.
I felt it crawling up and over me, that panic, the anxious madness that you feel when a normal day teeters on the beam before falling into an awful damn day. That happened to me once before when I was in college and my uncle died suddenly in a car crash. I remember the phone call, the confusion, the resistance to the growing, unavoidable certainty that your life just changed in a terrible way.
My pulse was up and my stomach was cramped. I took a deep breath and called my wife for the fourth time in about two minutes. Maybe her phone was on silent. Maybe she was still out searching for Charlie?
In the rain? I asked myself.
Sure. She loves Charlie. She would look for him in the rain or a blizzard or a volcanic eruption.
“Okay,” I said out loud, “but after she couldn’t find Charlie, she would call me so we could all look. She would call.”
What if she was hurt?
The thought went off like a molotov in my mind, spreading until it was the only idea I could focus on. I pictured Nicole laying in some ditch or hollow with a broken leg, black sky pouring down on her. She’d call if she could, if that was the scenario, but if she couldn’t reach her phone for some reason, then she’d be counting on me going to find her.
I took Charlie off his leash and hustled upstairs. Bryan was in his room unpacking and Anna was sitting in a window nook reading. She looked up at me when I left the stairs and asked where mom was since she’d heard me calling outside for her. I told both of the kids that their mom was probably meeting some new neighbors and I was just going to pop out for a second to see if she needed anything. Anna was ten and accepted my excuse with a smile before going back to her book. Bryan, however, was thirteen and had a much better ear for lies. He gave me an odd glance but I smiled and promised I’d be back in two shakes.
Two shakes turned into nearly thirty minutes of me scouring Stone Brooke. It wasn’t a big development, maybe fifty or sixty houses spreading out in rings with the old cemetery in the middle. That was where the original farmhouse was when all of the land was owned by one family. I remember the real estate agent telling us that the day we toured the house.
It’s strange the places your mind will go for a distracting memory when your agitation is slouching slowly toward hysteria. I peppered my foot search for Nicole with frequent phone calls, which only resulted in stacking voicemails over voicemails. I scoured all three main streets, hood trickling with rainwater, my flashlight sweeping between houses and under trees. After an hour, I’d checked the neighborhood twice over, all except for the little graveyard. I wasn’t even trying to consciously avoid it but I realized I had.
The waist-high gate was unlocked and swung open when I lifted the latch, which was just starting to go to rust. I got the sense that the cemetery was once well-cared for and only recently had been more or less forgotten. There were a few weeds among the tombstones and a glass vase filled with nearly mummified flowers in front of one grave in particular but there wasn’t any sign of Nicole. The ground was soft from the rain but it was too dark to see much of anything. I did note that the entire hill was messy, more dirt than grass and quickly turning into pure mud.
“I hope none of the coffins float out,” I muttered, drawing my flashlight across the eroded markers.
There were lots of shadows and sunken places on the ground but nothing deep enough to hide a person. I walked home quickly, trying to stay a few steps ahead of the cold fear that kept flashing every imaginable horror that might have happened to my wife through my mind.
If I knew then what I know now about what actually happened to Nicole…the worst, darkest, most vile things I came up with, they weren’t even close.
I made my way home after the graveyard to tell my kids their mom was missing. Just the thought of starting the conversation was filling me with dread and a terrible guilt. They were children; how were they going to process this new, ugly thing? I’d do my best to summarize the situation for them and then I would call the police. That was the plan. Needing to wait twenty-four hours to file a missing persons report is a myth, I knew that. But the sheer surreal misery of the night was blanking my mind on what I would tell everyone.
Nicole went out to walk the dog right around sunset, so about 5pm or 5:30pm. Charlie came back holding his leash at 6:41pm. I remember the exact time because I checked my phone to see if there were any missed calls from Nicole as soon as Charlie appeared.
While I was walking up our driveway, I kept mentally rehearsing how I was going to break the news to the kids. Was there any good way to tell children their mom was missing? Should I inject optimism, sugar-coat, make promises? Or just be frank and completely honest and tell them I didn’t know if…
Not a thought I wanted to finish, even in my own mind, and I opened our front door still undecided how I was going to handle the next part. Then I saw Nicole sitting at the kitchen table playing cards with the kids and I froze. I stood there in the doorway staring until Anna noticed me and told me, look, mom’s home! I managed a limp smile and a nod.
My wife was facing away from me and when she turned in her chair, for an instant, I thought I was looking at a stranger. Then she smiled, really smiled, and it was just Nicole there, the same girl I’d met at a friend’s Halloween party fifteen years ago but now even more lovely. I grinned, still confused but nearly shaking with relief.
“Where were you?” I asked, attempting to sound calmer than I felt. “When Charlie came back, I went looking for you. I was worried that…well, I was worried.”
Nicole took a second to reply. Several seconds, actually. An odd look passed over her face, eyes closing, her jaw tight. Then she snapped out of it, whatever it was, and smiled wider.
“The dog had slipped away to chase a squirrel,” Nicole said. “I’m fine. We’re fine. We’re all fine. We just lost track of time. Sorry to worry you.”
“Okay but you could have called,” I pointed out. “And I called you.”
Another pause before she had an answer.
“I lost my phone chasing the dog,” Nicole finally replied. “And then we got all turned around and mixed up. New neighborhood, you know? Are you hungry?”
In our years together, we’d both gotten good at knowing when the other one was lying. That night, I genuinely could not tell. What she was telling me was plausible if not at all how I expected her to react to Charlie running. For that matter, it was already unusual that our dog would take off after a squirrel. And why would Nicole lie to me about all of it anyway?
But I pressed all of those concerns down into my chest and locked them there. It was a good night, I told myself, an eventful night, a terrifying night for a bit there, but now, everything was okay. We had all sat and played cards, then ate dinner, and then unpacked the last of our boxes before bed.
Nicole kept watching me all throughout the night. I acted like I didn’t notice. She was acting normal enough other than these brief pauses now and again, like she was stopping to think about what she was saying carefully. Her nose also began bleeding, which she stuffed with tissue, blaming the bleed on allergies. My biggest fear that night was she’d had a medical event or something and needed to go to the hospital. A fall turned into a concussion, maybe.
Or, God, a stroke?
Ultimately, Nicole wasn’t showing any signs of an emergency, so I tried to relax.
Still, I found myself watching Nicole for the rest of the night. She caught me looking while she was brushing her teeth. All she did was stop and smile at me. We laid down in bed and I immediately clicked off the light, telling Nicole that I was worn out. After a minute of silence in the dark, I felt my wife’s fingers on my shoulder. She pressed a fingertip to my neck and lightly brushed the space between my jawline and collarbone. It made me shiver; not in a pleasant way.
“Hey, that tickles,” I said, turning away.
Nothing for a moment and then her fingers were pushing against the back of my neck, not hard enough to be painful but not exactly comfortable either.
“What, uh, what are you doing?” I asked.
In response, Nicole kissed my shoulder. Or, it was half a kiss and half almost a bite. She didn’t break the skin but it was awfully close. I slipped away, putting space between us by rolling off of the bed.
“What the Hell?” I snapped.
Nicole didn’t say anything back. There was no light in the room, not even moonlight. In the blackness, I heard my wife shifting in bed.
“Nicole?”
Still nothing from my wife and now she wasn’t moving at all. Seconds stretched out and all I could think to do was stand dully waiting for things to feel normal.
“I just remembered I need to send some emails back to the office,” I told the darkness. “I shouldn’t be too long. I’ll just be downstairs. Are you heading to sleep?” No answer. “Okay, love you, Nicole. Good night.”
I heard her shifting again as I was leaving the bedroom. It was louder than before, a rustling that reminded me of something I couldn’t place. Whatever it was, I wasn’t a fan.
I ended up sleeping on the couch. I had a dream that people were standing outside of our house trying to look in the windows. There was the rustling sound from earlier, like running water or wind through a forest. I woke up to find Nicole standing halfway down the stairs, silhouetted by the light from my open laptop. She froze when I looked at her, stared at me, then softly walked back up the stairs.
There was no more sleep for me that night. I stayed on the couch watching TV with the lights on until dawn.