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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 241: Until Now
The doors to the Hartzwiese Adventurer’s Guild opened.
Before, the sound of raucous laughter could be heard flooding the street outside, filling the quiet of a spring night with all the debauchery the local drunkards had to offer.
Despite the halls of adventurers not being formal drinking establishments, those within were ready to compete in boisterousness with all the taverns, inns and pubs of the town combined. And also win. Handily.
And yet–
The moment the doors parted and I stepped within, a hush as quiet as any grave fell over its inhabitants.
A woman balancing with her derrière upon the head of another became still, the alcohol in her cup the only movement as it dribbled onto a stunned face below her.
A man slurping from the communal cauldron stared wordlessly, the stew pouring in, and then out of his mouth as the muscles of his throat forgot the means to swallow.
A bartender asleep upon a row of kegs quietly rose, the sudden din of silence waking him where the sound of debauchery and those drinking from the taps beside him had failed.
Here, there, and everywhere, eyes widened as the sudden silence was filled with the sounds of my footsteps as I strolled past, my loyal handmaiden and my brother’s attendant in my wake.
And also–
Mreow.
Mrewowow.
Meww.
Cats.
Tabby cats.
Calico cats.
Ragdoll cats.
Cats with twirly whiskers. Cats with puffy faces. Cats with slightly rounded ears.
Behind me, skipping around my legs while taking turns to sit upon my shoulders and very occasionally my head, were a legion of cats of various shapes, sizes and colours.
But no matter the springiness of their whiskers, the shine of their coat or the liveliness of their tails, one thing to bring them all together was the anarchy they caused.
This was no neat line of ducklings following after their mother.
This was a barbarian horde.
With no sense of organisation other than a shared drive to claim everything as their own, they immediately skipped amidst the stunned adventurers, scavenging for all the copious scraps while still turning their noses away from the alcohol forming sticky traps upon the floor.
Saying nothing, I allowed their demanding cries to fill up the hall as I swept forwards, pausing before a wall plastered from end to end with faded notices and requests long gone unanswered.
One by one, I systemically tore every request featuring a crudely drawn image of a cat, gathering into my arms a pile of parchment large enough to reach my chin.
Then, I made my way to the wooden desk.
A receptionist waited with a smile at the ready.
“Greetings! Welcome to the Hartzwiese branch of the Adventurer’s Guild. I see you’ve removed several notices from the–”
Poomph.
Silenced but unperturbed, this latest clone watched as I dropped the stack of requests onto her desk, before promptly topping off the stack with a copper ring.
“Do what must be done,” I said, my voice defiant. “I am ready.”
The receptionist answered me with a smile more permanent than the wall the notices were torn from.
A moment later–
“[Identify].”
A green hue appeared in her clasped palms as she assessed the ring.
“Juliette. B-rank. Your registered branch is Reitzlake.”
The sound of several cups clattered against the floor.
“Welcome again to Hartzwiese. I see from your commission history that you have an extraordinary amount of completions for recovering lost cats. May I assume the significant number of cats now roaming the branch hall relate to the notices removed from the wall?”
I pursed my quivering lips.
“Maybe.”
“Wonderful. And how many cats is it that you’ve rescued?”
“... Lots.”
“I see. Please give me a moment while I confirm the requirements of our commissions.”
The receptionist swiftly retrieved a stack of parchment from a drawer.
As she flicked through, her eyes simultaneously went to every cat roaming, napping and clawing in the hall. A skill not even monstrous overseers from the abyss with their dozens of eyestalks could match. But that’s only to be expected.
Wherever these receptionists were found, it was from a level deeper than any monster dared roam.
Eventually, she gave a nod.
“Thank you for waiting. There appears to be an excess of cats in relation to the number of commissions we have available. We’ll endeavour to ensure that every cat is rehomed at the earliest opportunity through our partner agencies and charities. But unfortunately, I can only provide official acknowledgement for cats rescued through a formal commission.”
I sucked in a deep breath, hoping that patience was one of the things I accidentally inhaled.
“Fine. And how many commissions does that end up being, then? … 10? 15?”
The receptionist flicked through her bundle of parchments once more.
“94.”
“... Excuse me?”
“I can confirm the successful completion of 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions. Congratulations. This is a new record, breaking what appears to be one earlier set by yourself. A remarkable achievement befitting a B-rank member of the guild.”
The receptionist’s professional smile never wavered.
I thought that would be the worst of it.
But then–
She slowly brought her hands together … and started applauding.
It was the leak which broke the dam.
At once, she was joined by all who were present to witness this crowning moment of regret.
I turned around in time to see a riot in motion.
“W-Wooooooooooo!!!!”
“In … Incredible …”
“A new record … I … I heard it was broken in Trierport … to think I’d witness it broken again!”
“A B-rank adventurer … ?! Where … Where did she come from … ?!”
There was no polite, respectful applause here.
It was the wild cheering of a crowd at a tournament. The whooping cries of theatregoers calling for an encore. The acclaim of my father as he elbowed others to delight in the poetry I’d written when I was 6 and thus now regularly attempted to burn.
Everywhere I turned, I saw and heard the acclaim mixed with shouts of horror as mugs of alcohol were spilled on purpose and by accident. The layabouts stomped on the floor, doing their best to murder decorum under the strain of unbridled emotion.
Only a few falling teardrops formed any hint of more dignified revelry, the glimmer of admiration running down cheeks as sniffles were hidden amidst the raucous cheering.
And then I bore witness to the most morbid sight.
Like a tidal wave of soiled clothes and snotty faces, they suddenly came as one, hands reaching out for me with dripping mugs still in their grips. Horror struck at my soul. And unlike a farmer who’d scarpered into the night, I had nobody who could heal a wound caused by hooligans accepting me as their own.
“A-Amazing!! Take my drink! Take anyone’s drink!!”
“So many cats rescued … even my allergies can’t believe it!”
“My gods, it’s a legend! An adventurer among adventurers!”
This.
This right here.
This was the lowest point of my life … were I not an unparalleled genius.
“Oho … ohoho …”
At once, the wave halted.
Faces which were lit up in unabashed delight turned to looks of mild confusion against the tinkling music of my laughter.
They needed to cycle through the expressions until they reached horror and shame.
“Ohhohohohohohoho!!”
… For I was no drunkard seeking to join their ranks!
No … I was Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea!
And that meant every action I took, every word I spoke, and every cat I saved was for a reason beyond the hopes and dreams these hoodlums had of wanton debauchery and rusting swords!
Indeed!
A lesser princess than I may slink away into the night, cowed by the utter shame, humiliation and disgrace of completing so many F-ranked requests that I somehow broke a record I’d only just set!
But I was made of greater things!
Of schemes and subterfuges so deep that it would take too long to explain! The plots I weaved were a silken web more intricate than any cogs which made up Coppelia as she doubled up, desperately trying to stop herself from succumbing to more pain from laughter!
And that meant with every cat request now denied to these louts … they would finally do some work!
“Ohoho … ohohohohoho!! Behold and be afraid! Witness before you the coming of a new dawn, here to lift you from your days of boundless reverie! Unfurl the shutters and gaze upon a radiance so pure it brands your dallying minds! The scorching sun has come to test the snail’s back, and all that your bleary eyes see is a great salt lake to devour you whole! Shrivel as you cling upon the sweat which drips upon your brow, for that is the proof you’re yet alive!”
A sudden silence met my proclamation of their coming ordeal.
And then–
“Wooooooooooooooooooooooo!”
“I don’t understand! But what a speech!”
“If she can do it, so can we!”
I raised a hand to my lips, barely covering my smile.
“Ohhhohohohohohohoho … !”
Here it was!
Operation: Gainful Employment!
An entirely new strategy, as bold as it was uncharted!
By removing what was surely the vast majority of missing cat quests available to the adventurers of this town, they would have no choice, utterly none whatsoever, but to engage in actual work! The type of work adventurers openly advertised themselves as doing!
Monster subjugation! Crime prevention! Fetching artifacts from hidden dungeons and then succumbing to their wounds at the entrance while the Royal Treasury pocketed the treasure!
Yes, this was clearly a highly experimental tactic.
But what was I, if not a bastion of creativity?
At the very least, I utterly refused to accept the status quo! An organisation dedicated exclusively to rescuing lost cats or elbowing into my kingdom’s sovereign affairs was no good to me!
Thus … I could not cower like some towngirl nauseous from the smell of their revelry.
Instead, I would squeeze the Adventurer’s Guild dry until the day I replaced them with an army of trained poodles. Until that joyous day, I could never tear my eyes away when they waited to be robbed.
To do so was more than a dereliction of duty …
Why, I’d be an accomplice to their drunken escapades!
My vow remained unchanged. For my goal, I would brave any indignity. The ring I was hoping the receptionist would forget to return was proof of that.
And thus–
I stood tall as a summer reed, proud in the knowledge that I had no need to feel even an inkling of embarrassment over completing 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions! …
“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft.”
“S-Stop at once! You are not to laugh!”
“Pffffttt~”
“C-Coppelia!!”
Clearly not seeing the angel of self-sacrifice who I was, Coppelia held one hand tightly around her mouth. Even so, she failed to stop either the sound of her amusement or the tears falling from her eyes.
My only salvation was that it came at significant cost to her. Even now, she careened between laughter and painful regret.
I decided to offer both her and myself mercy.
Turning to the receptionist, I found a modest pouch already waiting upon the wooden desk. As well as a copper ring waiting beside it.
“Thank you for your service to the Adventurer’s Guild,” said the receptionist, her professional smile undaunted by the commotion. “Your total remuneration is 102 gold crowns, 7 silver crowns and 9 copper crowns. I’ve taken the liberty to compile all your separate payments together.”
I took the pouch and ignored the ring.
The receptionist pushed the ring forwards.
A long moment later, I collected it, uncertain what a receptionist would do if I tossed it into the communal cauldron, but knowing it would somehow still end up on my finger regardless.
With my head held high, I bravely ignored the chorus of voices unknowingly cheering for their own hardship as I swept past. Renewed tears and applause filled the hall. A few cats attempted to follow me. I stopped to shoo them away.
And then I was outside, the door closing behind me.
“... Goodness, that was quite the sight,” said Renise with a bemused smile. “It reminded me somewhat of the inns of Reitzlake’s docks. I wonder if all the halls of adventurers are like that, or merely those which you frequent?”
“Please don’t insinuate I’m responsible for the debauchery which occurs wherever the Adventurer’s Guild is concerned. That’s something I can claim no credit for.”
“You say that … but to me, it seems that you caused quite a stir. That really is a remarkable number of cats you rescued, after all. Even I can tell that 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions–”
“Miss Renise.”
The maid’s smile wavered against whatever fatigued expression I was making.
A moment later, it fell away entirely as she switched to her role as my brother’s attendant and the leader of whatever scoundrels he’d charged her with herding.
“... Yes, I suppose there’s time for idle conversation later. There’s a guardhouse nearby. We should report on all that’s happened tonight.”
I gave a nod of agreement.
Hopefully, the baroness hadn’t woken from her stupor yet. But if she had, I was certain the single portrait of myself I’d returned to the wall of her gallery to smile down at her gagged and bound state would calm her nerves.
Renise hummed towards the direction of Hartzwiese’s centre, before returning her attention to me.
“If you wish to keep your identity incognito, I can see guards sent to where they’re needed using my own authority, and arrange for the appropriate seizure of the goods and crowns we’ve discovered.”
I beamed at once.
My, so prudent! It’s little wonder she was chosen by Roland!
“A judicious offer. And one I’ll accept gladly, providing the burden isn’t too severe.”
“This is merely an administrative task, and little burden compared to what both yourself and Miss Coppelia regularly perform. In any event, it is only efficient. I expect I’ll be spending a significant amount of time at the baroness’s farmstead. It is quite extensive. If possible, I would like to make use of it for Rose House. I imagine having such a facility close to the Granholtz border would have its uses.”
I nodded, already forgetting the barn’s existence.
“I encourage you to use your discretion as required. My brother has put his trust in you, and so I both expect and know that you shall not disappoint in furthering the kingdom’s prosperity.”
The young woman smiled. One filled with appreciation, but also lacking ambition.
Good.
An excellent combination as far as retainers were concerned.
“Thank you. Although I worry you place too much trust in my abilities. In truth, those like Baroness Arisa would have made for a greater asset to the kingdom. Her resourcefulness must be acknowledged.”
“It is not resourcefulness my kingdom requires. It is loyalty. And hers is a pit so empty it drains others.”
“That’s true. But at least we were able to acquire some useful things from her nonetheless.”
Renise pulled out a tiny vial from the belt around her thigh.
A golden liquid was stored within, glimmering with an unnatural light.
“These were in her chamber,” she said, her eyes lacking emotion as she surveyed the bright liquid. “When we met, she actually attempted to purchase my loyalty with this.”
“A suspect vial. How quaint. And what miracle did she promise?”
“One that would wake my parents from their curse of eternal slumber.”
“... And is it?”
“I don’t believe so, no. This is one of many identical vials I found in her chamber’s desk drawer. All prominently labelled with instructions to only drink as required to stave off the effects of bloating.”
Renise returned the vial to her belt with a slightly embarrassed smile.
“It’s still useful,” she admitted. “But just not for what I require.”
I gave a simple nod as my reply.
Nothing else needed to be said.
She hoped to see her parents wake from their prison of dormancy. An understandable wish. And one I wasn’t required to supplement with the comment that no pair named the Smuggler King and the Smuggler Queen were likely to receive as light a sentence as their daughter.
I could not speak on behalf of Roland. Although I imagined that as a kind man, he would prefer not to pass judgements which were total. But as the Crown Prince, he did not have the luxury of kindness.
It would take much to change their fate.
But perhaps that’s why Renise was here, still proving true, and not accepting stomach ailment potions from a baroness.
A moment of silence followed.
Renise gave a short sigh. And that was that.
She set her eyes on the task ahead–at least until whatever words she’d parted her mouth to say were interrupted by Coppelia’s humming instead.
“Sooooooooooooooo … you just want to wake up two people eternally sleeping, right?”
A small smile met her optimistic voice.
“If a cure were readily available, I’m certain I would have found it by now. I believe one might be possible, but it would take skill and ingredients beyond any apothecary I know of.”
“Well, sure, you could go that way. But what about going straight to the source instead?”
“The source?”
“Sure. They’re asleep, right? So just ask the one in charge of where they are now.”
“I’m … not quite sure I follow?”
Coppelia clapped her hands together and beamed.
“The Spring Court is the realm of dreams. Chances are, they must have shown their faces around a few times by now. If you ask the Spring Queen nicely, she might do you a favour.”
“The Spring Queen? … The fae?”
“Mmh~ luckily, we have someone with connections here!”
Renise was startled out of her reply.
It was nothing compared to me. The one being pointed at.
“Coppelia!” I said, truly aghast at the suggestion. “The fae are not to be taken lightly. Why, I still have nightmares about my conversation with the Winter Queen! I learned a side to royalty that day which I shall never forget … and I’m quite poorer for it!”
“You met … the Winter Queen?” asked Renise, her eyes suddenly wide.
“Unfortunately, yes, but I had zero intention of meeting her, and I’ve just as little intention of meeting any other fae as well. Including the Spring Queen.”
I waved away the coming query to declare what was just as important as my lack of enthusiasm.
“Besides, I’ve not the foggiest idea how I would even hope to use these supposed connections I have.”
“Oh, that’s the easy bit,” said Coppelia, her casual disregard for what counted as ‘easy’ more terrifying than any lout I’d met today. “The hard part is getting them to do what you want. But meeting them? The fae are creatures of stories. If the time is right, they’ll speak to you–one way or another.”
“Then they must book an appointment. One which I can formally reject.”
“I mean, I don’t think you have much choice. You didn’t last time, right?”
“The last time, I was sat beside the Winter Queen’s crown. I see no fae artifacts to hook me away. And that means utterly no scenario in which I could be abducted without my express–”
I suddenly stopped, clasping my hands around my mouth.
A moment later, I raised my arms in a martial art I’d just invented, turning repeatedly on the spot.
Renise blinked at me.
“Excuse me, but what are–”
“Shhshhshh!!”
I paused, gazing intently around at the quiet, dark streets of Hartzwiese, all the while ignoring Coppelia’s giggling at my near miss.
That … That was close!
“O-Oho … oho … I almost invited something terrible. Truly, it’s perhaps best not to needlessly voice things which Fae Queens and their deviant brand of magic could use …”
Coppelia nodded at me, as proud as she was clearly disappointed.
“You’re lucky. If the Spring Queen had a sense of humour, she’d have snagged you right there and then.”
“No. If the Spring Queen had a sense of humour, she’d wait until–”
Click.
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wanted to share my experience as a 28 year old, F, on the very thin side, anxious, and autistic.
had to have colonoscopy due to positive fit test and anaemia diagnosis, and 6 months of heavily bloody multi-daily bathroom trips. I was starting to get very concerned about cancer.
I opted for no sedation because I'm extremely anxious about feeling 'out of it' or not in control of my body/brain or feeling dizzy.
The thought of waking up and not knowing what my body went through was also making me squeamish.
I did a lot of research, I watched full, unseated colonoscopy videos on YouTube, this post from this subreddit was also incredible and explains it all better than I could. but here's my detailed experience of each step.
Prep: The prep was not bad at all, I had Citrafleet.
I prepared the mixture and took it at 6pm (the leaflet said 5pm, appointment at 11am) It had a nice lemon taste and was pleasant. after I drunk it, my medication anxiety/dread kicked in, I was like, oh god, what did I just do to my body. (i've never experienced laxatives before) I was expecting it to be like a movie and to immediately poop lol. I did not have a bowel movement for 3-4 hours. then it was just on and off bathroom trips. Funnily enough the only time it bothered me was I had to leave a competitive computer-game mid-match because I suddenly had to go so bad LOL.other than that, didn't feel too different to my normal symptoms honestly.
then I slept at 3-4am, at 3am I started to suddenly feel queasy and shaky and awful, stayed up too late I think, but it passed and I drunk water and went to sleep.
I woke up at 7am for the second packet of prep, it acted faster this time and then I stopped my 2-hours-before water drinking, was totally empty and went to the hospital.
Hospital: I got lucky, I got a very nice NHS hospital. I had a lovely nurse. They started talking about sedation and I said "I've decided to do no sedation" She said "Ah, gas and air. alright" I said nono, no sedation at all. She was a bit like "ermmm, we'll see about that" haha.
but ultimately everyone was very very respectful of my wishes! they just didn't think I would actually manage.
My heart rate was really high for ages in the waiting/prep room when they took my pulse and honestly I was so stressed they wouldn't do the procedure because my heart rate was high, so I had no time to be worried about what lay ahead because I was so fixated on trying to slow my heart rate. So my advice would be just keep your mind occupied before going in.
I got given huge green shorts, a cozy disposable gown, an iv/canula thing (they assured me it was routine, but I wouldn't get sedation). I had to pee a bunch before and then in the surgery room and had a little blanket put over me.
I had a pillow that was super comfortable and was instructed into the relevant position.
Procedure: The nurses were ALL surprised I wasn't having sedation, they asked if I was really sure I didn't want the gas and air because it can be painful and stopping halfway would be very detrimental.
They said "I know you want to do it without gas and air, some people say say they will and then can't handle it. The nurses also said it's rare someone asks to do it no sedation.
I was mentally preparing myself for the pain of the gas(for inflating the colon). I will say imagining it and feeling it are two very different experiences.
once the camera was in and they inflated with gas. It kept feeling like it was never going to stop inflating. I felt at my bodily physical limit of gas, but it kept inflating, awful awful awful. I can't deny. about 8/10 discomfort, maybe 6-7/10 pain. I had the worst urge to fart that I've ever had in my life. like "If I don't fart I'm going to explode from the inside" levels of bad, which was a slightly panic inducing feeling. The nurses said to pass gas if I needed to, but I couldn't fart. Either because of the position I was in (on side, knees up to chest), the obstruction from the camera, the fear, or because I felt like if I tensed, I'd pop like a balloon.
so "if i dont fart i'll explode & die, if i tense to fart i'll explode & die" was basically my experience with the gas.
Next they said "You might feel a period cramp" and I did. BOY DID I.
I said: "Oh yeah, just like a bad period cramp" And she said "Yeah we can't really help the boys by telling them that" and I somehow managed a "haha"
I think they said "We're going to do some water" but I didn't feel that.
It just felt like just trying to survive and get through it, I was just breathing, I knew I could survive it once I knew the pain I was dealing with. It just stayed consistently awful and painful and terrible. with occasional very bad cramps and awful sensations in 40-50 second bouts in various places in the middle section of my body.
There was so much different noise too from the machine.
The sensations ranged from: Intense gas cramps, horribly inflated feeling, a sucking on my intestines feeling, stomach caving in feeling, terrible period pain, terrible stomach pain, and rippling sensations.
I could barely look at the camera screen because I was just so focused on getting through it. frankly I didn't care LOL. I think I glanced once I just couldn't handle looking on top of what was happening to me. side note: I'm now put off giving birth if its anything like this hahaha.
I fluctuated between tensing from the discomfort and trying to relax. sometimes the discomfort was so freaky and bad my body tensed just to deal with it. If you've ever had a dream where a zombie was eating your stomach guts alive, it was reminiscent of that.
side note: I'm like a cat when I'm in pain, I don't like to show it, and I didn't want the sedation. So I was so badly trying to play it cool.
The literal best way I can describe all of this, it was like the worst food poisoning of your life, the worst trapped wind of your life, and the worst period cramp of your life, all at once, x2 or x3.
A few times my stomach rippled really unpleasantly and I keep remembering that sensation and cringing today
I can also liken some of the feelings to someone sticking a henry hoover into my ovaries.
It wasn't anything I haven't 'naturally' felt in my body before, if that makes sense, they were "familiar" sensations, just not to that degree. I didn't expect it to be such a worse variation of familiar pains.
I also didn't expect to feel all of this SO HIGH UP IN MY BODY?! like the majority of it was felt above and around my belly button.
I don't understand how people say they knew what part of the colon they were in, I couldn't. but they did point when we were about halfway and I was relieved.
For the last part, turn or bend, I think it took 3 attempts, the nurse had to push onto my tummy to flatten something out, honestly, that made me feel so much better, the pressure was really relieving. and I swear to you, it poked my rib when it went through! it felt like it anyway.
There was no pain after that. I knew it wouldn't hurt going out, so my relief was immeasurable, I knew I'd done it.
the only feeling then was just "aughuhguhguh my insides" feeling, and slight gas bloating still. I just focused on my breathing.
They said "We're going to take the biopsies now." I didn't feel that (thank goodness) but I was mega-cringing at the idea. for some reason I felt hot and slight burning in my insides mostly towards the entrance. I'm not sure how they took the biopsies but I heard a tiny drill type sound, and it freaked me out lol. i imagined them frying it off with a tiny saw.
they took, either 6 or 12 biopsies, I'm not sure. it was a strip biopsy, on my report card it has 6 things and says "x2" for each one, so idk.
When the camera went out I asked "is it over?" I didn't really feel the camera go out and was in disbelief because it was quicker than I anticipated and I couldn't believe that I had done it and was feeling proud of myself, and they were all hyping me up so much, telling me I should be crowned as queen and that the nurse could never do what I did. I felt so on top of the world. I couldn't stop smiling with relief.
The nurse called me brave and I said I was only brave because I was so scared of the sedation. Everyone is brave in different ways! You're not any less brave than me if you opt for sedation or Entonox. :)
Genuinely the entire thing felt 10 minutes long, it was like they did a speed-run of my guts, and it FELT like that too lol. just absolutely crashing around the entire mario kart racetrack that was my bowel. I'm just kidding, the doctor was great, it's a baffling procedure and I admire any doctor that does it.
I'd be so curious how long it actually was.. I was mentally prepared for 44 minutes, but idk. I don't want to get your hopes up that it will be short. maybe the shorter, the more painful?
I walked to the bus stop with my mum, I was kind of in disbelief that I did that.
Post-non-sedated-colonoscopy-thoughts
I would do it again if I had to, un-sedated. It was worth it for me to avoid three types of sensations that make me panic (dizziness, sluggish or forgetful)
I'm also really happy that I was able to be there and experience what was happening to my body, personally, I feel like if I was sedated I would always be wondering what my body went through without me being present.
I liked being able to breathe, and follow any instructions.
I've spent the entirety of the following day cringing in reflection of what happened, feeling achy, and being embarrassed for doing it un-sedated (for some reason I feel like everyone thinks i'm crazy).
I hope this helps... someone.
My options of sedation were Entonox or Midazolam and Fentanyl through IV. Lots of people said those things made them so relaxed and the best relaxation they've ever felt. It made me remember the Lavender Liquid dispensed from SCP-294q-01, where they drank the perfect drink and afterwards said "I'm sorry, but at this point everything is just one big let-down"
My brain is immensely neurotic and always in 'go' mode, I was worried if I felt relaxation like that, I'd probably start chasing different drugs to recreate it lol.

ACT 1. Sunday afternoon after visiting the local market two brothers wait for their train to arrive. If they were even a minute late, they knew their mother would surely scold them and scold the elder of the two far worse. The idea of another beating did not bother the elder brother; he had been through far worse just dealing with the brat and his attempted jailbreaks, though something did begin to make him painfully nauseous forcing him to feel pressured by the light breeze as if gravity had suddenly been increased tenfold. All his senses were heightening beyond anything he had thought possible.All around him he saw that the once energetic and hyperactive passengers had become little more than mannequins; their movements slowing to a standstill. They had all gone silent. The station was no longer filled with the cries of children or the gentle laughs of their parents. He had never heard such silence in such a crowded location. He did not feel panicked, nor did he feel a need to act for this silence was oddly comforting to him. However, the newly calm atmosphere would quickly be the source of a lifetime of suffering.His hand began to reach for his brother in an attempt to call his attention. Though in a moment of both unprecedented shock and exhaustion John shoved his younger brother onto the rails of an oncoming train. Local news would report the incident as nothing more than a tragic manic episode of a young sixteen-year-old. However, for John this single visceral instant in which all of his brother's bones were instantly crushed was stretched into hours. He was painfully aware of how every bone in his brother's body contorted in inhuman ways some nearly resembling perfect right angles, until eventually, they snapped and sent insurmountable pain throughout his nervous system. His blood curling screams were made mute by the screech of the train coming to a halt, though, by the time they stopped, his brother had torn his every vocal cord and had long ago lost consciousness. Still on the platform, the elder brother stood still, attempting to process what exactly he had done. He had no idea what force had compelled him to push his brother, but that instant would forever define what he saw as reality.That however was nineteen years ago, in present day he lived in isolation far from any person. He spent his isolated days wandering the land around his cabin completing house chores that distracted him from reminiscing about his days in the asylum or as he liked to call it “The Echo Room” where he was transferred after the incident. He headed inside after spending a portion of his morning counting all one-hundred-and-thirty-two trees that were showing signs of life after the harsh winter that nearly forced him to cut down two of them for firewood. Once inside he began preparing his morning coffee when he heard a loud creak come from the hall. He (after many incidents) learnt to avoid the boards that creaked, so in his mind immediately an intruder was breaking into his cabin searching for food or his stash of special edition coffee. Deciding to investigate he walked towards the noise when suddenly he heard two knocks at his front door. Confused and slightly worried, he proceeded to walk towards the door making sure not to step on any of the annoyingly loud floorboards.He approached and looked through the peephole and saw only what remained of the melting snow outside. Opening the door, he saw that only his steps led to the doormat. He glanced around and saw no indication of any life aside a few dark patches on the snow. He was about to close the door when he noticed a tiny red package wrapped in a radiant red bow placed clear from where the door would open. Cautiously picking it up, he noticed how it had almost no weight to it; as if empty. He walked inside and sat at his desk planning to journal later about the weird morning he had been having. He examined the exterior of the package and saw how not only was it near perfect condition but it was also slightly warm to the touch; as if recently held. He undid the bow and cautiously opened the package, half expecting an explosive of some sort. Though, all he found was a ragged ripped piece of paper. Unremarkable aside from the fact that it was inside such a carefully constructed package. On the other side he saw that it had some scarlet lettering inscribed into it reading.“Ouroboros”. At first believing it to be a prank by the kids who had heard rumors about him, and his incident, nearly caused him to dismiss it entirely deeming it little more than a slightly humorous event. He decided to put it aside for now as he had coffee left to drink that was quickly getting cold. He walked back towards the kitchen still distracted by the idea of no trace being left by whoever had left the gift. Was it even a gift? Maybe it was just some well-executed prank? In any manner he would later have a better look at it. He absentmindedly, reached for his cup and immediately pulled his hand back shocked by the temperature of the cup. It was frozen! Almost to a complete solid. He thought himself slightly distracted but not enough to freeze his morning coffee especially not his special edition coffee. First The Box and now this, it was all adding up to an annoying morning. Was it still morning? No, that’s not right. He had just spent the day counting trees. How could it still possibly be morning?The thought of Dr. Lumis being correct about his mental condition after so many years sent a chill down his spine especially since last time they talked, he did not exactly behave amicably. He was sure that both incidents had been isolated events that could never happen again. Sure, he had heard the echoes every once in a while, but he was never insane like the others; this he knew to be a fact. If he was insane, how could he have ever left? Disoriented and beginning to sweat, his legs suddenly gave out causing him to fall backward landing on the cold wooden floorboards. He looked around hurriedly expecting to see an intruder that had somehow found him. After seeing nothing but his pristine furniture, he steadied himself and began to control his breathing. He slowly got up causing the wood underneath to creak under the sudden release of weight. Deciding to further assure himself he went around the cabin checking in all four rooms. He found nothing aside from his own disturbances. Still feeling slightly nervous and disturbed he headed back towards the living room in search for The Box with the red bow determining that it had somehow triggered his current situation. The Box was still where he placed it; much to his relief. He sat down. He looked once again at the scarlet lettering.
Act 2. Back in the asylum he would often spend his days wondering how he could have ever been grouped alongside individuals who had purposefully and viciously committed heinous crimes against innocent victims. He was not insane like them. Whatever had caused his hand to shove his brother had long abandoned him. His routine now consisted of cleaning whatever mess the older residents made in the halls and transporting lab waste to the crematorium. He would clean from the southern stalls all the way to the northern cemetery and make his rounds gathering the waste from the rooms. It was a simple job but lonely, nonetheless. The halls were often only illuminated by tiny flickering red lights that indicated the position of the cameras through which Dr.Lumis would often monitor John during his nightly crusades. Though incredibly distasteful, John did not mind, he accepted that odd situations would be easier to explain if someone of credit had seen them. Yet despite this, he felt he was being watched by someone other than the doctor. He assumed that this feeling was due to the paranoia he had been diagnosed with a few months back. On a particular night, moments after dumping another bag of soft solids and dense liquids down the chute, he heard footsteps, just outside the room. Expecting to see the doctor he begrudgingly walked towards the door. Exiting and seeing no one he called out for the doctor but got no response aside from the echo of his own voice. He began to walk towards where he had heard the footsteps come from when he suddenly collapsed out of exhaustion. The same exhaustion that had plagued him during the moment of his brother’s death. He tried to reach for his panic button (a gift from Lumis) but it had disappeared from his chain. He tried to scream but not a single whisper was heard. He gazed into the dark corridor where he had thought Dr.Lumis had gone, but saw nothing but soft shadows. Though something was unnervingly wrong about them. They moved as if following an order, all synchronized, all heading towards him. That night in the asylum had left him scared to even return to the disposal area; he feared that The Shadows might eventually be able to reach him. The Shadows did not haunt him unaccompanied: they followed alongside The Echo tormenting his nights. While The Shadows could not reach him during daylight, he could never escape The Echo. It followed wherever he went and tracked everything he did. Dr.Lumis explained that he merely suffered from an extreme case paranoia but John saw the others; who yelled and who screamed true nonsense, he was perfectly aware of himself and the ones around him. Dr. Lumis secretly believed patient #132 experienced Hyper-sanity though this he would never verbally confess. It was term he decided would for now adequately describe his patient’s acute awareness of The Shadows and The Echo. John would for many years go without hearing The Echo after that night, only ever hearing what seemed like the final moans of a dying voice. Back in present day, he hoped he wasn’t suffering another hallucination as they tended to leave him in an embarrassing shocked state. He questioned what “Ouroboros” could possibly mean in relation to himself. He considered the possibility of it being an early warning of some threat to the sanctity of his home. He quickly dismissed it as he had not interacted with anyone long enough to possibly annoy them. Weird them out? Sure. Offend them? Maybe with his sense of fashion. Following his incredibly fine-tuned survival instincts he put on a light coat and went outside to walk among the trees. A mundane task, but one he truly enjoyed especially since he hoped it would distract him for a short while. Just before he closed the door behind him, he took one more look at The Box sitting on his desk and decided to take it with him in case he met the person who had left it. The sun had begun to set marking the end of the day. He watched the sun hide behind the mountain range letting the world bathe in darkness for another night. John did not dislike the night (he had worked nightshifts in The Echo Room for years) but he didn’t find the freezing cold to be ideal. He had not left his land for what was a few years now and the idea of even slightly stepping out of his comfort was making him incredibly anxious. Still, he walked forward towards wherever the path took him. The night only got darker and quieter, and he only got colder. He did not see the lightning bugs that usually warded away the dark near the edge of his hill. Without the soft hum of bugs or soft breeze that would brush against his beard he felt alone. Even the nights back in the asylum did not possess this level of quiet. He kept moving hoping that eventually he would find something that could break the uncomfortable silence. As he continued down the hill, he realized he could no longer distinguish the path from the dirt surrounding it. He considered heading back when he realized he had not kept track of where he had come from. Not only was he lost but alone with his thoughts and whatever had been watching him from the start. He walked a step forward and then another one back repeatedly. What he was attempting to achieve was beyond reason. Had he gone mad? No, he was perfectly sane. “Wait, I can hear them clearly now” he spoke, his voice dried from the cold.“This is not a hallucination” he spoke softly.“i-I AM NOT HALLUCINATING” he proclaimed. He heard The Echo once more though they were not of his voice but rather of Another. He had long been aware of “The Echo” but he could never fully determine whether it was a dream or an effect of the chemicals but this Other was undoubtedly real. “I don’t know where you are but please. Are you real?” he asked the night. He could now hear The Echo or rather feel the pressure of its words upon his reality. Had it been trying to hide the Other? He walked forward and pulled out The Box. “You gave me this right? What for? What purpose does it serve?” No one responded.Annoyed, he threw it as far as he could down the hill. “THERE! THIS CAN’T CONTINUE WITHOUT IT, RIGHT?” He shouted at the endless empty. That’s when out of the darkness emerged a faint light. Was it a lightning bug or maybe a sign of civilization?
Act 3. Cautiously, he approached the cold light and saw that the light was artificial. The tube inside flickered before another appeared a few feet ahead, and then another and then another and then what seemed like an uncountable amount more. He took a step forward and noticed that the ground underneath had turned to hard white tile. Accepting that this was not the weirdest occurrence that had affected him he proceeded to walk forward making sure to keep a mental note to journal about it later. The surrounding landscape transformed into white walls that every so often had a window that let him peek at the other side. At first, he could still see the snowy landscape, but it to slowly changed; first having scattered papers and then chairs, cabinets, and desks until they eventually resembled a typical office. Its purpose was not obvious to him, and neither was the hallway but if they were changing surely, it possessed a deeper metaphorical meaning that related to his life. He saw a door at the very end of the hall and decided to not postpone the ploy of whatever “The Echo” was planning. He stood before the door wondering about what it could possibly contain. John proceeded to open the door. Inside was a desk along with a single cabinet. Walking inside he noticed that the room was illuminated by some otherworldly source that had no words that could possibly describe it. He walked towards the desk and a file he had not seen previously, sat open. Inside was a description of his physical appearance. “Age: 35. Height: 5’8. Weight: 185 lbs. Hair: Black with obvious signs of stress. Eyes: Brown. Character Aptitude: High.” “Okay, I get it. I’m old, you didn’t have to expose my hair like that” he said slightly embarrassed quickly restyling his hair. He noticed that even though they had an almost perfect description of his hobbies, dreams and wishes they did not have a single picture as if they for some reason were only able to use words. “SOOO you know about that one time in the asylum (don’t ask) BUT NOT A SINGLE PICTURE? That’s lame.” he said mockingly. On the final page he found what looked like an incomplete file; most of the personal attributes had not yet been filled and only a note was made reading. “They don’t need a complete story just one they can understand.” Besides the fact that whatever role he played in this act had been a mere afterthought; he was confused as to how anyone could have ever gathered such sensitive and personal information about his isolated life. Was it The Echo? Had it told them his life? A phone started to ring somewhere in the room abruptly breaking the silence he had become used to. He quickly rotated towards the source of the ringing but did not find anything. There was only him and the four walls that despite the lighting did not change a shade of grey. He walked towards one of them that seemed to be where the noise came from resting his hand on it and gently put his ear to it thinking that the ringing was from another room entirely. The wall he had just laid a hand on had no longer a physical representation and causing John to fall through to the other side. Disoriented he slowly looked up and saw The Telephone illuminated by what seemed to be the same light that illuminated the previous room. This one however was far more powerful and concentrated solely on The Telephone. He approached it expecting a chasm to somehow appear underneath his feet. The Telephone did not stop ringing and only seemed to increase in intensity (though this could have simply been a hallucination). He lifted it to cut the blaring noise and slowly put it to his ear. “hello?” “…” “…” “The protagonist only dies if the story ends” the voice said quietly. “HUH? YOU DRAGGED ME HERE TO TELL ME THAT OMINOUSLY ANNOYING LOAD OF *********!” “…I’m so sorry” The call disconnected not out of offense but rather out of completion. John slammed the phone back onto its stand and decided it was time for this nonsense to end. He walked out into the room he was in before anxiously attempting to find another exit: only to be met with solid walls. What wicked game had he been roped into? When would it end? These were questions he would answer far earlier than he expected. A door appeared in the center of the room. No, it was more of a two-dimensional plane that appeared to be a sort of portal. With no other options, John stepped into the newly opened portal.
Act 4. On the other side was a station, and his ears were immediately flooded with the cries of children and the laughs of their parents. He walked around moving through the crowd careful to not miss any indication of the location. His pace increased as he began to recognize the commuters shortly realizing exactly where he was. He rushed to a platform, the platform where he and his brother were to arrive after their day in the market. He sat on a nearby bench committed to saving his brother no matter who he would have to shove instead. Three agonizing days passed with the daily commuters repeating their routine with the slightest variations. One of these variations would be the key to preventing the day that haunted his nights. Something would soon cause him to shove his brother onto the tracks. He was determined to stop the fall or kill himself to keep his brother safe.He heard a familiar laughter and turned towards the source and saw his brothers face uncontrollably laughing and himself lightly smiling. He began to run towards them but felt once again suddenly exhausted. As if the air became a type of nonnewtonian sludge making his legs impossibly heavy. The crowd around him seemed to be moving just as easily as before; children laughing just as maniacally and just as carelessly. He tried to yell to them, but his lungs were filled with the dense fluid drowning any screams he attempted. He was forced to watch how his brother got closer and closer to the edge. Through much effort, he managed to get close enough to extend a hand towards his past trying to desperately push him away from his brother. The past reacted in what seemed to be a defensive system and sent a temporal anomaly throughout the space his past and present inhabited. Time began to exponentially speed forward. In a last desperate attempt to prevent his brother’s death he tried to distract the past long enough to let the train pass without incident, but the temporal anomaly caused the relative slow velocity of his touch to have the effect of a sudden jerk and in his final moments of consciousness he saw his brother accelerate towards the rails in a split second. He awoke back in the office alone with nothing, but the realization of what force had killed his brother. He curled into the fetal position and began to cry; still believing his lungs to be filled with the dense liquid he did not let out a single sigh. He spent several hours in this state of painful silence without even opening his eyes. His emotions were chaotic and his thoughts unending. They tormented him for hours far after he had run out of tears to let out. They were merciless and torturous forbidding him from resting, insisting on his suffering. Being the cause of his brother’s death nearly caused him to go insane yet part of him kept insisting that Another was to blame. Another had caused him to do it. The Other had forced his hand. Of this, he was now sure. The Other enjoyed his suffering, The Other forced him to kill his brother. He had not eaten nor slept in what seemed like years and yet he stood up defying the gravity that held him down. He took a deep breath of as much oxygen as his lungs allowed and began to speak. “Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Wherever you are. Just know I will no longer play for your entertainment the rest is entirely my choice” he said threateningly. He then began to walk forwards confidently towards the dark wall and through the hidden door that he was not supposed to see. He entered what seemed to be a studio room though, unlike the sterile office; it was trashed. Papers littered the floor and empty bottles populated the lone mattress. On it laid a journal that had recently had liquid spilt on it. He picked the journal and gently opened it and began to read. It was scratched with the stray ideas of a creator who seemed to have never decided upon an end or beginning to his story; yet possessing the journey. He saw many ideas that together seemed to create a way for the continuity to depend entirely on Another rather than itself. A thought described in a single word interested him enough to take it with him. The room started to dissolve around him transforming into a cold landscape. Armed with the knowledge of who he was he treaded what remained of the worn-out path. The sun began to rise signing the start of another day, yet John did not seem to notice as he was focused on something buried in the snow. He could not see much of it yet he knew it was The Box he had thrown the previous night. He dug it up and began his walk up the hill once more. He eventually arrived at his cabin and walked towards his front door….
Act 5.
If you wish to rebel; continue reading on the next page.
Begin the story once more on Truth 2.
If you wish to ward away The Other; don’t read any further
If you wish to follow The Echo read Truth 3
To understand turn to Truth 4
Truth 1
…Before deciding that no longer would he be a puppet for someone’s amusement. John arrogantly began marched back down the hill and headed north towards the nearest interstate a few miles from his home hoping that he had derailed The Echo’s plot. It took him hours on foot, but he would eventually come across the road and start his journey back to civilization no longer subject to the whims of an Otherworldly Audience. He believed his future was now his to decide. He decided what he would become. He decided when and what to think. This he was sure would be how he escaped his torment. John suddenly suffered a complete body collapse and fell forward landing face first onto the scorching road. It would be several sweltering hours before anyone would find him. But eventually someone did, john suffering heavy burns and on the brink of death was saved. He would awake months later in a hospital bed though no one would ever know of this. Weeks would pass as john laid in the hospital bed unable to speak or even move; alerting no one to his consciousness. The doctors and nurses were busy with whatever important patients needed immediate attention; they walked from one end to the other in what seemed like mere minutes. The entire time the only company he had was The Echo and yet slowly it too seemed to forget his existence as well. Eventually The Echo having no interest went away.Jane a third-year medical student had recently joined the staff a month prior and had already been assigned two elders and one child. Though overwhelmed she did not grow annoyed nor frustrated; she loved her job and by proxy her patients. Despite her benevolent nature there was a single patient she never went near as he always seemed to be watching her despite his eyes being shut for over four months. Any time she got near to patient #132 she would begin to get nauseous and quickly retreat. She had no ID on the man, but it seemed he was dehydrated for far longer than should’ve been possible and should be by all accounts dead if not near it. Whenever she worked nightshifts, she would swear that she heard the man whimper slightly as if to warn her of something. Even when she was on the opposite side of the building, she would hear the echo of his groans. She would eventually be transferred and would soon forget the man who after 6 months was officially declared braindead and was due to be disposed of, yet she would still every once in a while, still hear The Echo. Forgotten Ending
Truth 2…Realizing that there was no other choice John took a step forward while placing the note he ripped from the journal into The Box making sure to keep it neatly packaged. He saw the footprints he had left two nights before and carefully stepped into each one making sure to not disturb the surrounding snow. Whatever…Whoever had set him on this path allowed him to live a life of suffering, a life of loss, and a life of pain. This, he felt was the way things were intended to play out; the way it had to end. He placed The Box on the final step making sure it would not be knocked away whenever the door would eventually open. He walked away nearly to the edge of the property when he looked back once more. Managing to peek inside he saw his past still making his coffee when he saw an almost invisible distortion appear near the front door. He smiled and turned away only saying…Freedom ending
Truth 3…though spotting a disturbance near the back of the cabin distracted him from the front door. He decided to investigate for fear of losing a single blossoming tree. Arriving near the back fence he saw no indication of a disturbance giving him much needed reassurance. He heard noise emerge from inside the cabin giving him one more dilemma to deal with. He headed to the backdoor making sure to not disturb the recent snow and entered the cabin. Being sleep deprived and without coffee he had forgotten about the wooden floor and stepped on one that caused a creak to be heard throughout the cabin. He quickly hid in the bathroom fearing that he had disturbed the continuity that The Echo had established when suddenly a bright flash blinded him. He found himself at the front door next to The Box. Slightly amused he proceeded to knock on the door and was soon after transported once more to an empty hall. Both confused and entertained as he was being transported from one place in time to another he took a few steps forward alerting the past to his presence. Seeing his past enter the hall he ducked and quickly hid around the corner. His past seemed to believe that the doctor was in the halls and decided to investigate though just as he was nearing closer; his past collapsed. John saw how his fall was slowed as if moving through the dense liquid he had once gone through. He walked towards his past and noticed an old fashioned panic button that would instantly call Dr.Lumis to his location. Measuring the consequences, he decided to remove the panic button and head back towards The Shadows. For a third and final time he was transported to a final location, the bottom of a snowy hill. Taking in his surroundings he noticed burn marks on the snow where his past would eventually walk through the portal whenever the past caught up. He reached into his pocket and realized how the plot was supposed to move forward. He walked until he reached the exact point where his past would once again find The Box. He kneeled and buried The Box making sure to erase any evidence of his own disturbances. Fully fulfilling his purpose John collapsed. The End.
“Did the hero die?” “What?” “Did he die?” “No? He beat the bad guy and saved the day remember?” “Yea but like AFTER.” “Well, I guess after a few years he would.” “No” The young child said growing annoyed, “when you said, “The End” did he die?” “No.” responded the elder brother. “Then what happened to him? Is he still alive?” “The protagonist only dies if you stop reading.” concluded the elder brother as if possessed. Begin again?
Truth 4…Then just as he took his first step forward everything began to rot. His trees, his home, his coffee, all of it was slowly eroding into a fine dust. He knew that another temporal anomaly would be the likely cause, but he had not yet experienced one that possessed this level of molecular destruction. The fabric of his reality was slowly and thoroughly being untangled into its most simple of compositions. It separated the light from dark, gravity from time, and words from spaces.John could now comprehend what had defined his reality for so many painful years, he finally understood The Narrative and how all possible endings had been chosen long before his creation. John had been a slave from the moment The Narrative began; not once in his entire existence had he ever had a real choice only walking paths already treaded by Another. He was nothing but a plot device in an otherwise self-indulging tale written by a gentle master forced to be cruel for those above. From the moment this story began, John was in pain. He could never hope to truly escape; he could only die until he arose once more. Had John never understood what his life really was then maybe he could’ve found meaning in his suffering. Unfortunately, this choice has now forced John to become aware of how truly meaningless his existence was. His life was little more than entertainment for The Other; they were the ones truly in control. For as long as The Other remained, The Echo would doom John to eternal suffering. The Echo was never in control of The Narrative; he too was merely a subject to it by an even greater force. The Echo did not wish for John to suffer but The Other would not allow John to live if he did not. It is a toxic cycle of pain, suffering and realization that forces John to relive The Narrative lifetime after lifetime. The Narrative must have suffering intertwined into its foundation otherwise The Other would grow bored and erase the reality ending John in but a mere thought. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? This is reality; John cannot exist without pain, The Echo cannot live without a narrative, and The Other is you. THE END......
Intended to be a philosophical narrative detailing the tragic relationship between the reader, the narrator, and the character and how they cannot coexist without hurting each other.

(check out Chapter One.) Chapter Two: Flashbacks
"What?" asked the commanding demon of the Blood Lake Clan angrily. He was sitting upon the Commander's Throne. "I said the Rebellion is fleeing in our direction--the east of the Realm of Torture." replied the soldier, cladding in dark-steel armor with streaks of silver, the silver glistening from Hell's sky of endless fire. "So the Blood Lake Clan must get ready for invasion." "Have we got permission from Central Dull to offense?" he asked, clearly irritated. "No, commander." The solder's voice sounded clear but had a hint of gruffness. "Well can get in contact with them?" The soldier could tell his voice was starting to have a slither of worry. "No, commander. But-" "How," interrupted the commander. "do you think is going to be Central Dull's reaction if we launch an attack without acquiring permission from them?" "Because-" The soldier never got to finish his sentence--another amor-clad soldier came towards them, panting continuously, and then began speaking. "The Rebellion demons has just massacred the Western Blood Lake Clan. We need to send all our armies--quickly." "What?" snapped the commander. "I get the Rebellion is strong; but I was under the assumption that the Blood Lake Clan, the eastern branch of the Dull, was the most heavily-reinforced position armies out of the four Dull branches. How did you let the Rebellion win?" "We didn't, commander--they had Brimstone." Anyone could tell that the voice of the soldier was firm and brave; but had a slight hint of worry within. Both the commander and the original solder's eyes widened with surprise; how did they acquire Brimstone? They each thought, for the Brimstones were the most heavily guarded material in the Realm of Torture; since it was their main weapons. Brimstone was a special material from the unforgiving Magma Depths. They had the unique power to burn demons--the controllers of fire. "So be it," began the leading demon of the Blood Lake Clan. "send all our armies from all four sectors of our branch." "Yes, commander." Then both soldiers quickly ran from the clearing of the forest--the location where the Commander's Throne laid. The leader of the eastern branch of the Dull sat back upon his seat; they had a lot coming for them. He knew why the Rebellion is going towards the eastern sector of the Realm of Torture and attacking the Blood Lake Clan--because the east was the only exit out of their continent and into the other through the Magma Depths. He knew the Rebellion were strong; but were they strong enough to escape the Realm of Torture altogether?
-- -- --
The two leading soldiers, one for the Northern Blood Lake Clan army and one for the Southern, watched from the Master Outpost, overlooking the Central Battlefield--where the Rebellion demons were heading towards. They both wore the attire for the position of leadership over the four armies of the Blood Lake Clan--raven-shaded hard-steel armor, with streaks of glistening rusted gold. The Northern and Southern armies were called to unite in the Central Battlefield so they can fend off the Rebellion from heading towards The Dock--the only exit out of the Realm of Torture. "When do you think they are arriving?" asked the Northern Blood Lake Clan leading soldier, his voice firm and cold. "I don't know." replied the other leading soldier. They continued to overlook the Central Battlefield, where both the Northern and Southern armies were waiting for the arrival of the Rebellion legions. Minutes felt like hours, as they waited in complete anticipation. Right before the Northern leading solder was going to say something, loud roars pierced the air. Both soldiers and the armies looked at the front to see, and they could see in the far distance that demons cladded in armor marching towards them--it was the Rebellion. It had to be. When they got closer, the demons roared again, and kept on when they finally reached the Northern and Southern Blood Lake Clan armies.
They say, that in the Seven Princes' vision of dominance, the Realm of Torture was supposed to be the only and most powerful civilization in Hell--but that vision ended at this point in history.
Both leading soldiers quickly ran out of the Master Outpost and both of them separated to join each of their armies. The Rebellion demons had what appeared to be dark-iron armor, with streaks of glistening non-rusted gold. Each of their faces had a unique network of scars--probably from all the battles they have been through against the Realm of Torture. Each soldier of the enemy legions pulled a Brimstone sword from their back--its hilt raven-shaded, its blade a dark-gray, and the hilt was etched with streaks of silver. The Rebellion roared one more time, and they charged into battle.
Swords flying everywhere; arrows launching from all directions; and at the end of what would be called the Great Battle of the East, the Rebellion won; all the Blood Lake Clan warriors from all the sectors were massacred--bleeding a burning dark-red liquid. Every one of their bodies had a magnitude of singes--from the Rebellion's weaponry of Brimstone
-- -- --
The commanding demon of the Rebellion; Zagyre Bronze, a young-adult-looking demon, overlooked the Central Battlefield's blanket of bodies and turned to his soldiers. "Fellow warriors, we have achieved victory in the east sector of the Realm of Torture. Now, we must get to The Dock"--he pointed east--"and finally escape from this treacherous and unforgiving place." His voice was dark and cold; but his visions were contradictory. Zagyre marched forward, leading the Rebellion towards the only exit in the Realm of Torture. They arrived at a grand and massive dark-gray-stone arch, which was the main entrance to The Dock. The Bronze demon went to the right side of the arch--which was called the Gate, and saw a fairly-sized rusted golden circle attached to the stone, that had a weird-shaped hole in it; Zagyre knew what he had to do. He pulled his Brimstone sword from his back. His sword was unique compared to the others; it had streaks of glowing red. It was the Master Sword from the Brimstone weaponry in the western branch of the Dull--each Brimstone weaponry had one. The Master Swords are the only key to go onto the other side of the Gate. He lifted his Brimstone weapon and lunged it forward into the hole, and instantly, there were a series of clicks and then it stopped. Zagyre went back and stepped out of the Gate cautiously. It worked; if he hadn't used the Master Sword and used it and then tried to walk through, he would've been incinerated instantly. He gestured for the rest of the Rebellion armies to follow, and they all went through the Gate and onto the other side where The Dock was.
The Dock was magnificent; it had stone floors stretching in both sides with patruding stone floors, and in each middle between two stone floors was a massive wooden ship. All around The Dock were countless towers and pullies that carried magnitudes of materials. Zagyre Bronze knew there wouldn't be anyone there since it was guarded by the now-late Blood Lake Clan. They all got on the boats, and Zagyre put his in the front of the mighty fleet. He overlooked the lava sea that were the Magma Depths--that they were sailing across--at the lands in the far distance. He could see countless tall mountains there, but he knew there was much more in that other continent. A warrior--that was the leading soldier, came to the front of the boat--which was called the Commander Ship, and saw that the leader of the Rebellion was contemplating a lot in his mind. The commander turned his head towards the solider, and the warrior saw his dull dead gray eyes that were etched with white crackling energy. "Leading soldier," Zagyre Bronze began. "I do think,"--he pointed to the land across the Magma Depths--"that those regions is going to be perfect for the creation of the Refuge Lands

Hi guys,
Congratulations to long holders and the imminent official opening of Site2 that will overnight double $BETSF bitcoin production amid $BTC bullish super cycle (100k$+ very soon).
The biggest uknown thus far is how much cash is left for Site3. Most likely they have sufficient cash to launch Site3 but how much? Here is some analysis and speculation on how much cash is left that could be dedicated to bitcoin production expansion.
Here is what we know officially from the SEC filings:
https://www.sec.gov/edgabrowse/?CIK=1543268&owner=exclude
1- from SEC20 annual financial report (released on 12 october 2023), we know from page 81 of the report that they had 5.4 million$US of cash on 30 june 2023.
Liquidity and Capital Resources We have financed our operations primarily through shareholder contributions, cash flow from operations, private placements, and public offerings of securities. As of June 30, 2023 and 2022, we had cash of $5,368,284 and $12,990,659, respectively, from our continuing operations.
Source: https://www.sec.gov/ix?doc=/Archives/edgadata/0001543268/000101376223003519/f20f2023_bitbrother.htm
2- since 30 june 2023, we know that they have raised:
50 Million$ in july 2023.
15.12 Million$ in october 2023.
(5.04 M$ class A ordinary shares then 5.04 M$ exercised B warrants then 5.04 M$ exercised C warrants)
36 Million$ in december 2023.
(12 M$ class A ordinary shares then 12 M$ exercised D warrants then finally 12 M$ exercised E warrants).
That is a total of 101.12 M$ of cash that the company raised since 30 june 2023. These are gross proceeds.
Since the Company agreed to pay the Placement Agent an aggregate fee equal to 7% of the gross proceeds raised in the Offerings. Total Net Proceeds (net cash) raised since 30 june 2023 should be: 94.04 Million $US. Lets add the 5.4 Million$ of cash they had left from 30 june 2023 which provides us with a total of 99.44 Million$ of net cash.
Form 6K released on 21 july 2023:
On July 14, 2023, Bit Brother Limited (the “Company”) entered into certain securities purchase agreement (the “Purchase Agreement”) with certain non-affiliated institutional investors (the “Purchasers”) pursuant to which the Company agreed to sell 200,000,000 of its Class A ordinary shares (“Ordinary Shares”) in a registered direct offering (the “Offering”), for gross proceeds of approximately $50 million. The purchase price for each Ordinary Share is $0.25.
Source: https://www.sec.gov/Archives/edgadata/0001543268/000121390023058895/ea182157-6k_bitbrother.htm
Form 6k released on 31 october 2023
On October 25, 2023, Bit Brother Limited (the “Company”) entered into certain securities purchase agreement (the “Purchase Agreement”) with certain non-affiliated institutional investors (the “Purchasers”) pursuant to which the Company agreed to sell 14,000,000 of its Class A ordinary shares (“Ordinary Shares”) Class B warrants (“Class B Warrants”) to purchase 14,000,000 Ordinary Shares and Class C warrants (“Class C Warrants”, together with the Class B Warrants, the “Warrants”) to purchase 14,000,000 Ordinary Shares in a registered direct offering (the “Offering”), for gross proceeds of approximately $5.04 million. The purchase price for each Ordinary Share and the corresponding Class B Warrant and Class C Warrant is $0.36
Source: https://www.sec.gov/Archives/edgadata/0001543268/000121390023081794/ea187473-6k_bitbrother.htm
Form 6k released on 11 december 2023
On December 5, 2023, Bit Brother Limited (the “Company”) entered into certain securities purchase agreement (the “Purchase Agreement”) with certain non-affiliated institutional investors (the “Purchasers”) pursuant to which the Company agreed to sell 184,615,385 of its Class A ordinary shares (“Ordinary Shares”) Class D warrants (“Class D Warrants”) to purchase 184,615,385 Ordinary Shares and Class E warrants (“Class E Warrants”, together with the Class D Warrants, the “Warrants”) to purchase 184,615,385 Ordinary Shares in a registered direct offering (the “Offering”), for gross proceeds of approximately $12 million. The purchase price for each Ordinary Share and the corresponding Class D Warrant and Class E Warrant is $0.065
Source: https://www.sec.gov/Archives/edgadata/0001543268/000121390023094713/ea189684-6k_bitbrother.htm
3- Now lets assume three scenarios:
1- Worst case scenario:
They spent 50% of their cash since 30 june 2023 or around 50 Million$. They still have left some 50 Million$. This is an extreme unrealistic scenario.
2- Realistic scenario:
They spent 25% of their cash or around 25 Million$. This leave them with 75 Million$ of cash that they could spend on Site3 and further expansion.
Note that When we read carefully their previous years annual reports, we get the impression that they are burning anything between 10 Million$ per year to 20 Million$ of cash per year on their operations especially general and administrative as a public company.
Note also that the 92.2 Million$ accounting loss in 2023 was exceptional, a one off loss, and due mainly to a written off bad debt (28.2 Million$) they made (as a deposit for crypto mining material in china) and tha they dont expect to recuperate and also due to impairments of deposits for property and equipment (54.1 Million$). For more details look at the table on page 73 of the annual 2023 financial report titled: "Results of Operations Year Ended June 30, 2023 as Compared to Year Ended June 30, 2022".
Source info for the bad debt of 28.2 Million$ the company suffered in 2022-2023
During the year ended June 30, 2022, the Company entered into certain loan agreements of approximately $28.2 million with six individuals & two off-shore legal entities to purchase miners on behalf of the Company. As the Company planned to enage and provide blockchain business. The loans bear fixed interest rates ranging between 1% and 2.64% per annum, and matured through November 2022. The Company did not recognize interest income on loans until interest were received.
As of June 30, 2023, the customers returned all the borrowings except borrowings to Golden Mountain Solution Inc. and Golden Bridge Solution Inc. Considering that the borrowing contracts ended on October 12, 2022 and November 25, 2022, the customers did not returned the borrowings, the possibility of collecting was expected to be low, those overdue borrowings was written-off in 100% and was recorded in General and administrative expenses –Bad debts ledger accounts.
Source info for the impairment of deposits for property and equipment of 54.1 Million$ the cimpany suffered in 2022-2023
Page 75 of the annual report:
Impairment of deposits for property and equipment
The deposits for mining equipment was mainly for the deposits for digital asset miners as the Company planned to launch its blockchain business. As of June 30, 2023 and 2022, certain vendors from suffered adverse impact from COVID-19 pandemic and worldwide economic recession and could not deliver miners on time, accordingly the Company accrued impairment of $54.1million and $2.6 million.
3- Optimistic best case scenario:
They spent just 10% of their cash or 10 Million$ since 30 june 2023 leaving them with 90 Million$ of cash, largely sufficient for big expansion plans.
Conclusion:
As a speculation, I predict that the company has sufficient cash to spend 20 M$ to acquire a 40 MW capacity Site3 and then spend another 20 Million$ to acquire the newly released Antminers Bitmain S21 Pro with 230 TH/s specs and still have some cash for even further expansion.
According to my realistic senario, the company should have sufficient cash for site3 and beyond and doesnt need to raise capital until at least 2025, once it consolidates its position as a new and serious bitcoin miner player in this burgeoning exciting space amid the bitcoin bullish super cycle.
Hope that helped, Good luck to longs,

I finally went to my appointment with my new Gastroenterologist a couple days ago! First out of about 8 to listen! She was actually really good and talked to me for like 1.5 hrs about everything. She sadly doesn’t specialize in Candida and have told me that when it comes to that, there is no in depth testing for it and it is harder to get rid of than the SIBO.
I found out how much weight I had actually and it kind of scares me, it’s not that bad but no what I’m used to, at 115lbs and feel disappointed with myself in a way. Due to my own stupidity of not eating, I have been put on a low fodmap diet but a liquid diet for the first week to soothe my stomach and make everything easily digestible. I also gotta take more electrolytes to keep myself hydrated as much as possible. She wants me nutritionally well before trying any testing, especially if I have to go through any poop studies.
She won’t do any testing until October. She wants to see how my body reacts with the diet and want me to strengthen my motility to see if this is a factor to SIBO. I have to take 500mg-2000mg of magnesium laxatives daily or every other day depending on my bowels. I am also drinking at least a cup of ginger tea to help. She had different suggestions on treatments but want this to be as harmless and cheap as possible and if certain herbs help then she’s for it. She also said that I gotta do the test at the office next time so there is the best possible accuracy with my new SIBO test.
I can’t do ACV, NSAIDs, or anything similar bc it could’ve fucked up my stomach lining. Other than that, I’m just keeping up with her through messaging and playing the waiting game. I do have questions though
How do you keep yourself from feeling hungry during a liquid diet? I mainly made smoothies with at least a banana in it, some have PB, and oats. I also eat puréed soups like tomato or carrot, drink a gallon of water, and right now 30-35 oz of electrolyte drinks.
How can I try to defeat Candida why figuring out this SIBO stuff? A gynecologist is not going to help me tbh and I can’t do antibiotics at the moment either. I was thinking of doing the oregano or oregano oil capsules possibly but I’m scared that it will erupt my stomach.
Why am I still experiencing migraines if I am now eating..well drinking? My head is still killing me and I don’t know how to stop it, I have tried Tylenol countless times with no success. It just won’t go away.
Other than that, I’m keeping tabs on what is messing with me and so far I have only had a reaction with potatoes with this diet? Wish me luck and if there’s any other advice, shoot ig!

In hindsight, I should have known something was wrong with The Caeles Academy of Acting.
Maybe the fact that it doesn't exist to the outside world.
This place prided itself on famous alumni it didn't actually name, and a once in a lifetime opportunity to work with the best in the business.
It's what I wanted.
More than anything.
After enduring four years of high school with barely a semblance of a drama club (we met every month, and our teacher was an alcoholic), and countless failed auditions, I was ready to take my acting career seriously. I had one year.
According to my parents, I had one year to make a living from my passion.
If it didn't work out, I would be on the first plane back to Connecticut.
It's not like they didn't trust me. I think they were just scared I wouldn't be able to financially support myself. So, I got a job right out of high school and slipped a year. Drama schools are expensive, and college’s are cut-throat on who they take on. I found Caeles Academy by accident–or, I guess it found me?
After researching cheap drama classes, auditions, academy’s, literally anything to progress my career, an ad popped up.
Not exactly flashy.
Just a date, a time, and a promise that they only take the best. I ignored it, but throughout the week, I started getting more ads. Just the words, “IMPRESS US - - JOIN CAELES ACADEMY NOW.”
Followed by, “BE WITH THE BEST, AND BE THE BEST. JOIN THE S CLASS NOW.”
When I googled the academy, nothing came up.
It didn't exist, at least on Google.
So, I gave up, clicking on the ad, which sent me straight to an application form.
I filled in my details as more of a joke. But I wasn't expecting to get an email back. Again, it was a time, a date, and that exact same tagline: “Impress us.”
However, Caeles Academy was different from what I imagined.
I was expecting a university building, or at least some modern structure.
Judging from their marketing and ads, I figured they could at least afford decent premises. Though I was mistaken. When I stepped out of the Uber, I found myself staring at what looked like an abandoned office tower, a red-brick monolith in the middle of nowhere.
Which was crazy, because I swore a girl wearing a bikini had strode through the doors, with nothing but her phone, and a coffee tucked under her elbow.
According to the text sent from the academy, the auditioning rooms were on the third floor.
Tipping my head back, the checkerboard of broken windows didn't exactly instil confidence.
Neither did the clunky set of automatic doors that took a while to open.
It was a summer's day, and the heat was already baking through my dress, sweat sticky on the back of my neck.
I wanted to make a good impression, but the heels were a little over the top.
Though I had also seen a girl casually walk in wearing a two piece bikini.
“Well?”
Freddie’s voice made me jump. I forgot I was on the phone to him.
After being excited the whole car-ride, already high on five coffees, I was silent.
If I perceived the ‘academy’ from an objective standpoint, it definitely looked like the perfect place to be brutally murdered. But my own personal opinion was it was.. okay.
“What's it like?”
I pretended not to see a rat scuttling under an old candy wrapper.
“It's… fine.”
“Just fine?”
I could hear the smirk in my friend’s tone. He couldn't wait to tell me it was a scam, and had been reminding me all week I was essentially willingly selling myself to the black market. I was stubborn, so, fine sounded better than my initial first impression.
Which was to turn around, walk away, and completely block the place from my memory.
Unfortunately, at that moment, I valued my pride over my awareness.
“It's… okay.” I said, trying to find positives. I was staring at a looming grey building with shattered windows and a resident rat living near the door.
I had a hard time figuring out how the girl from earlier had just casually strode inside, barefoot too. I glanced down at the ground, immediately regretting it.
Like there weren't bits of chewing gum and grime stuck to the concrete.
“Huh.” Freddie said, his tone creeping into teasing territory. “You're really selling it.”
“It just looks like a building,” I muttered, my gaze glued to the rat, who looked a little too comfortable.
Maybe it was a pet.
I was getting progressively more infuriated the more I stared down this place. Judging from the decades old writing ingrained into the door, it used to be a dentist surgery. “What do you want me to say?” I wasn't even trying to hide the scorn from my voice. “It's a building that looks like an academy.”
“Can you send a picture?” Freddie asked, “Ooh, wait, I'll face-time you.”
“That's, uh, that’s not really necessary–”
I was cut off, suddenly, when a guy threw himself through the automatic doors, palms first. He took two stumbled steps forwards, one back.
Lifting his head, half lidded eyes found the sky, before he dropped to his knees, heaving pinkish liquid.
I could see him trying to hold it in, slamming his hands over his mouth, only for it to splurge through his fingers, showering the ground in greyish pink froth.
Like he'd downed a bottle of Pepto Bismol.
Inching towards him, I realized it was Pepto Bismol.
The stink made my own stomach churn.
“Missy?”
I found my voice. “Uh, can I call you back later?”
Before my friend could answer, I ended the call, slipping my phone in my pocket.
The guy was still heaving, coughing up globules of pink.
“Are you okay?”
The sound of my heels click-clacking on concrete made me cringe. The guy noticed, flinching away. Closer, and I could see his scraggly blonde hair.
He was handsome.
Without the bile spewing down his chin.
Early twenties, wearing a fitted white shirt now covered in streaks of bright pink. Part of me wanted to make a half-hearted joke, but getting even closer, so close I could smell his pepto-breath, I noticed he was trembling, his hands clenched into fists.
When I attempted to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder, he twisted around, so fast my morning coffee slithered its way back up my throat.
His eyes were wide, almost feral, studying me like a wild animal.
I noticed the whites of his pupils were red, like he'd burst a blood vessel.
Theatre kids were intense, though I had never met THIS kind of intense.
“Are you… going in there?” The guy’s voice was a child-like whimper I wasn't expecting.
It looked like he was slowly regaining clarity, staring down at his filthy shirt, his hands stained bright pink.
I nodded, uncertainly, offering him my water. “Yeah. Did you audition?”
He shoved it away, slapping himself in the face. “I… I don't know.”
“You… don’t know?”
Suddenly, it was like something had contorted in his expression, a switch being pulled. I wasn't expecting him to twist around so fast. The guy slowly cocked his head, his lips breaking into a grin. His eyes, however, stayed the same.
“Of course I've auditioned.” He said, with a laugh.
“It was the best experience of my life!" His mouth formed an almost mocking frown.
“Unfortunately, I didn't make the cut. Which is a real shame. I'm sure Caeles would have benefited from my talents.”
What was weird, is that his mouth was moving, but he wasn't even looking at me, frenzied eyes caught in an oblivion I couldn't see.
When he did look at me, his expression crumpled all over again.
Pepto jumped to his feet, brushing himself down.
I couldn't take his over the top smile seriously, when his eyes were screaming, hollowed out caverns silently begging me to listen.
This guy was fucking crazy.
“Wait.” Pepto whispered, when I turned to walk away.
He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen before shoving it in my face.
I HAD SO MUCH FUN AT THE CAELES ACADEMY AUDITIONS :)
When I could only stare at him in confusion, Pepto’s gaze flicked to his phone, swiping bile from his lips.
His eyes went cartoon wide, like he couldn't believe what he himself was typing.
“That… that's not what I was trying to say!” He tried retyping it, but the guy was just writing strings of emoji hearts.
I didn't know what to say. I had dealt with rejection before, but I had never gone this far. Pepto was having a full on mental breakdown, his body shuddering, teeth chattering, blinking eyes and lips parting as if to speak, but choking on his words. When he started clawing out his hair, I took the opportunity to make a quick getaway.
Before I could make it to the doors, though, Pepto jumped in front of me, waving his phone directly in my face.
“Just…” he pointed at the screen. “It won't let me…” Growing frustrated with himself, he let out a wet sounding sob, clawing his fingers through his hair.
“Fuck, it won't let me…it won't let me type! It's not letting me type!”
By now, he had tufts of hair stuck between his fingernails. I don't know why his first reaction was to immediately try ripping his hair out.
A quick glance at my own phone reminded me of my audition that was in five minutes.
Meanwhile, I was dealing with what I was pretty sure was delusion, denial, or a mixture of both.
I was considering pushing past him, when Pepto’s phone screen hit me in the face. Again.
This time, though, there was coherent writing.
“FIND LUKE.”
“Luke?” I said. “Who's that?”
“Luke!” The guy was bouncing on the heels of his feet. “He's my…” Pepto drifted off, his eyes going vacant, as if I could physically see his brain being plucked from his skull. Pepto dropped his phone, and I grabbed it before it could hit the ground. His hands went to his curls, clawing, scratching, until he was drawing blood across his forehead.
“I… I don't know! I can't… I can't remember. Luke. He was my… he was my… I don't know, I can't… I can't–”
I stumbled back when he let out a shriek, scratching at his face.
“Fuck!” He whimpered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Pepto grabbed my shoulders, shaking me, his fingers digging into my skin.
“I don't know who he is.” He gritted out, pink froth pooling from his lips.
Pepto broke out into a sob. “I don't… I don't know who he is, but you can find him, right? You can… you can find…”
Again, he trailed off mid sentence, his hands going limp around my shoulders.
I managed to side step him, swallowing a cry.
“Yeah, I'll, um, I'll find him for you.”
Pepto backed away, suddenly, stumbling over himself.
His gaze found mine, vacant, like a baby deer.
“Find who?”
I didn't wait around to answer him, pushing through the doors and stepping inside.
The interior was unsurprisingly even worse than the exterior.
The elevator was broken, so I had to run up three flights of stairs.
I expected at least an attempt at an academy, even in the dregs of an old dentist surgery.
What I got, though, was a never ending staircase, obnoxious photos of teeth greeting me on every level.
The third floor was… less clinical.
I strode directly into a waiting room filled with college aged students, either sitting on plastic chairs, or standing around, rehearsing.
The room itself was cosy enough, a navy carpet and a TV playing a random Twitch stream.
Situated in the middle was a desk with a bored looking woman behind it.
Her smile was fake. I could understand her pain. She was stuck in a room with theatre kids all day.
“Sign here.” She prodded a sheet of paper.
I was convinced her voice was AI.
While I was scribbling my details, I took a moment to notice the stark difference from the kids entering the room, to the ones leaving. The kids entering wore wide, confident smiles and were social butterflies, chatting amongst themselves.
The kids leaving reminded me of pod people.
They left the room silent, in an orderly line with dazed smiles on their faces, like they weren't sure where they were.
I watched one guy walk directly into the wall instead of taking a left toward the exit, and a girl straight up just toppled down the stairs.
The kids waiting with me named them rejects.
I wasn't convinced until I glimpsed an empty bottle of Pepto Bismol sitting on the floor by the window.
Thinking back to Pepto, that made a lot of sense.
I was still dazedly staring at the bottle, when my name was called.
Jumping to my feet, I did my best to calm myself down, straightening my ponytail. Pepto had really screwed with my head. I could barely even remember the lines I had been rehearsing for a week straight.
I was muttering my lines to myself, when I stepped through the door.
The door that apparently turned you into a pod-person on the way out.
For a moment, I thought I was blinded by stage lights.
It was so bright.
The glow bathing me was clinical, stabbing into my eyes.
When I blinked, I found myself standing in front of three shadows sitting in front of me.
Their chairs were made of leather, far different from the plastic ones in the waiting room.
So, they did have filthy cash.
I was looking at one man, and two women.
They were… average?
I expected them to be more glitzier, but they were just regular people.
The man was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, a stiff looking brunette wearing a suit and tie, one leg crossed over the other. His eyes were narrowed slightly, lips curved into the start of a smile. Like I amused him.
The women were polar opposites.
One of them was my Mom’s age, grey hair and floral clothing. She took a sip of water, her gaze burning into me.
Google told me not to be intimidated by their stares, but it was impossible.
These people were carving holes into my skull.
Sitting next to her, a younger girl who seemed to own the color red.
Her hair simmered, blood red, while she herself was sculpted in a dress, perfect cherry lips spread in a wide smile.
With a little too many teeth.
They studied my face like I was already theirs, drinking in every inch of me.
Freddie said I had to find a weakness in their expression and use it to my advantage.
If I could find the prick of a genuine smile, I could become their favorite.
“Hi!” I said. My caffeine intake was starting to take effect.
I didn't realize I was bouncing up and down until I caught myself.
Red’s smile stretched wider.
Maybe they liked my eagerness.
“My name is Misa.” I introduced myself, staying casual, keeping my arms by my sides. “I'm twenty one years old–”
I choked on my next words when Red spoke up. “Impress us, Misa,” Her voice was a smooth, almost seductive rasp, and I felt myself fall into it, enveloped in sugar that was too sweet, and yet I couldn't stop myself. She folded her arms across her chest, her gaze challenging me to do something different. To make her want me.
“Show us something we have never seen before.” She stood up, cat-like eyes narrowing, “Show us how desperate you are to join this prestigious class.”
I nodded, and began.
I had planned a whole monologue, practised it over and over again, forcing Freddie to judge me with a none biassed opinion.
I was three lines in, when Red started laughing.
“Stop.”
I did, my cheeks heating up.
She clapped loudly. Obnoxiously.
“Sweetie, oh, stop, you're adorable!”
She leaned forward, like I was something that entertained her, jostling her heeled foot. “We don't take amateurs. I think you need to go back to school.”
This woman was definitely a psychopath.
Empty eyes sparkling with a gleam that definitely enjoyed humiliating candidates, and a twisted smile that was a little too wide. Red made me want to crawl into the ground.
She made me want to turn around, leave the room, and quit my dream. I was aware of my own fury, my embarrassment turning my cheeks crimson. I matched her.
Maybe that's what she wanted all along. To wear the color of her victims.
Taking a shaky step back, I started to nod, started to agree, my mouth choking with the words, “You're right. I'm sorry for wasting your time."
I had never received proper constructive criticism from a professional standpoint.
Which meant I really did suck.
But I didn't move. I didn't want to move, and Red continued laughing, her companions sitting in silence.
The man rolled his eyes with a loud, exaggerated sigh.
Like I was boring.
The older woman pulled out her phone.
“Misa, you are…cute.” Red said. “But you're not quite what we are looking for.”
I wasn't sure I could admit it right there, but she made me feel things.
Like I was ignited.
Like I was going to prove this crazy bitch wrong.
I found my voice, strong and confident, despite my hammering heart.
“Give me another chance.”
Red’s lips curled. “So cute, Misa. Oh, sugar bear, It would be better if you left the room. Unless you want to embarrass yourself further! In that case, be my guest!”
She turned her attention to her nails, nudging the guy.
“Dinner?” She hummed. “I'm thinking of Italian. You are quite the wine connoisseur, Nicholas. Why don't you introduce me to your favorite?”
“Hey.” I blurted.
They ignored me, getting a little too close.
I don't know why I continued, reading my lines, screaming them, so I would be heard. I read them perfectly, and tweaked the genre from drama to romance, and then to horror. I became three different characters, a high school girl struggling with cancer, a final girl, and a woman going through a divorce.
I was fucking perfect.
But they weren't listening to me, caught up in their own conversation.
I tried again.
And again.
And again.
By now, I was on my knees, my fingers ripping into my hair. I was seeing red.
“We want originality, Misa,” Red said, sucking her teeth.
Her voice crawling into my skull was enough.
She still wanted me.
The thought polluted the back of my mind, taking a strangling hold. She still wanted me. When I lifted my head, Red wasn't looking at me, her gaze on the table grains. “Show us something new.”
I got to my feet, panting, my breath in my throat.
I became a screaming, strangled mess, a woman who lost her baby.
Red’s interest was piqued. Only slightly. Through my fraying vision, she slowly turned in her chair. “Again.” She clapped her hands, “Come on, Misa! We want new! We want never been fucking done before! Are you deaf?”
I couldn't stop the sobs escaping my mouth.
They lost interest again, right in the middle of my reading.
“Why can't you look at me?” I found myself spluttering.
When the man pulled out a bottle of water, I yanked off my heel and lobbed it at his face.
“Look at me!”
He did. Slowly. His gaze found me, for perhaps the first time.
Not as an amateur, but as a potential candidate.
Around the twentieth attempt, I started to laugh. Never been done before? I could feel my fingernails already in my scalp, clawing chunks of my hair out.
Reality contorted, and I felt myself drop to my knees. I was still laughing, spluttering, sobbing. I could still hear her in my head. Never Been Done Before. I started slowly, dragging my fingernails down my face until I felt the harsh sting.
“Again.” Red said, and her voice led me to stare down at my hands, at pinkish flesh glued to my bones, fleshy mounds that I had never realized was so thin.
So easy to tear. I didn't even feel it.
Only the sudden, unbridled euphoria of biting into my own skin, locking in my jaw, and ripping into myself.
When I tore it from the bone, warmth filled my mouth, and I was choking, guzzling down my own flesh, mulling it in my mouth and swallowing.
I can't remember how I got so deep, and why I didn't stop.
Why I didn't fucking scream.
But it didn't matter.
Red was standing up. She was clapping, her lips spread into a grin.
Her applause filled me with stars.
So, I ripped my hair from my scalp, a hysterical giggle escaping my lips.
She loved me.
I could see her jumping up and down, clapping.
Louder, and louder.
Her applause controlled me, twisting and contorting me into hers.
I didn't even think. I wanted to impress her, and doing this was doing just that.
My fingers were delving into my right eye socket, clawing my eye out. It didn't even hurt. Not with her thundering applause that was deafening, beautiful, an orchestra in my ears.
When I was semi conscious, my eye was crushed in my hand, but my vision was still mine, almost too clear. I could see streaks of red blurred between my lashes. My hair was caught between my fingers. But I wanted to do more.
When I stumbled to my feet, Red’s smile was so beautiful.
The man, however, looked horrified.
“Someone grab one of the successes,” Red’s voice was a shrill giggle, “Bring him in!” she clapped her hands together, and I spat out a fleshy thing. “I want to see them together! I want to see the future in front of us!”
Footsteps coming towards me in slow, shuddery thumps. I looked up, and a shadow was dancing around me.
When I slowly rose to my feet, I half realized I’d bitten my toe off. The shadow had a face, a boy who was younger than me. I think he used to have hair, but half of it was gone, half of it was still stuck between his fists. When I found his eyes, I found twin caverns instead.
Eyes that were still physically there, and yet there was no life.
No spark.
I was staring at a dead body, a flesh puppet who had lost his strings.
When he grabbed my hands, pulling me into a waltz, I caught a smear of scarlet trickling down the back of his neck. When I followed it upwards, his head was covered, slick, dripping with red.
Like me, he matched her too.
And he was beautiful, she told me, her push, her thunderous applause, guiding me into a waltz.
His feet moved, perfecting every step, and my foggy mind couldn't understand why. He matched my every move, the two of us floating across the floor.
My feet knew the steps before my mind.
How could he dance? I thought, dizzily.
How could he dance, when smeared scarlet followed his twisting, and turning and pirouetting feet?
Because underneath that swimming clinical light, the back of the boy’s head had been carved away, a perfectly sculpted cavern where his brain should have been. I could see the severed stem, where it had cleanly plucked out.
His fingers cradled in mine were wet. Swimming in blood.
His own blood.
Spinning round and around, I imagined myself as a princess.
I saw an 18th century ballroom lit up around us. Glittering smiles and glasses of champagne, long, flowing ball gowns.
I blinked, and my head was tipped back, gliding in blood once again.
When he pulled me to his chest, I stumbled, and a name came to light.
Luke.
I had found him.
Our finishing spin left me hard to breathe.
My body was broken, ripped into, and yet somehow not.
By the time we were finished, the two of us bowing, my mind was full of fog.
Cotton candy.
“Congratulations!” Red’s smile was inhuman, stretching right off of her face.
“You're in the S class!”
I was led through a door that wasn't the one I entered from. Inside the room were a dozen or so students, kneeling on the floor. They were missing parts of themselves, like unfinished puzzle pieces.
I dropped onto my knees next to a girl without a head. I could only see her torso, but I knew she was smiling.
Looming over us, was the goddess Athena drenched in blood that was still wet.
Dripping, pooling from every crevice of her dress.
Looking closer, this statue was moving.
Something sickly crept into my mouth.
Her right eye was human, a twitching eyeball sandwiched inside the stone.
It didn't match her. It was wrong, horrifying, like a painting, a real human eye struggling to focus on us.
And then, my own gaze found the statues head, where a real human brain had been forced inside perfect white, pink, greyish mush dripping down the sculpted, slender neck.
I could see where it had been pushed, pulverised through the stone.
The statue’s singular eye found me.
Its dancing pupil jumped up and down.
Before it blinked.
Next to me, Luke was on his knees, as if in prayer.
I can't remember leaving the room.
I just remember running.
Back down the stairs, stumbling, staggering over myself.
I was screaming by the time I reached the doors.
They opened, as usual.
But I couldn't get through. I tried, but I was slamming into something I couldn't see.
Pepto was still waiting outside. The sky was dark.
When he saw me, he stumbled over, slamming his hands into the glass.
I couldn't even understand myself. I was just fucking screaming.
Pepto held up his phone.
“DID YOU FIND HIM?”
I shook my head.
“No.” I lied.
I can't tell him the truth. I don't even know what it is.
“I can't get out!”
Pepto nodded slowly, typing something and showing me his phone.
I'm getting you both out of there. I think I know how I can get inside.
It's been 3 days, and Pepto is yet to return.
I’ve tried multiple times to cry out for the H word. But it won't let me type it.
Please H me. I need to get out of this place.
Fuck. Get me OUT OF HERE.
Classes start tomorrow.

Throwaway account. Genuinely, this is my sibling's situation, not mine. Much of the 'story' of this is what the sibling related to me. Sibling has had financial issues in the past. This may belong in FinancialAdvice, but I sense things may beyond money fixing...
Sibling is in Alabama, I am in Georgia.
Sibling is self employed in a profession that involves taking many direct payments, and uses Square to accept those payments. Sibling purchased a home in August of last year. They claim that they [attempted] to use Square to make the mortgage payments, however apparently the mortgage company never actually accepted them. Sibling and their spouse apparently ignored many letters before realizing the situation and were months past due. Between them and the mortgage company, it was finally realized the failure to make/accept via Square, so Sibling began the process of getting the money back from Square and succeeded.
Sibling apparently also banks with a non-mainstream online-only bank, so then getting the funds from Square to that bank was a process. The mortgage company apparently told Sibling that they HAD to overnight a cashiers at the time she was finally in possession of the funds. They get online bank to increase withdrawal/ATM limits, and over the course of several days they get the cash in hand... at this point I'm just going to round the amount to 15 thousand dollars.
Sibling takes cash to local, mainstream brick-and-mortar bank they have a car note with and get a cashiers check, takes that to FedEx, and send check and paperwork as instructed.
It takes two weeks for the mortgage company to come back and say "Got your FedEx envelop - and the paperwork - but no check." Commence cashiers check cancellation process... money is locked up for 90 days according to brick-and-mortar bank.
1-2 weeks later, the foreclosure notice is in the newspaper and they're getting notice of foreclosure. (Don't ask me what notices they've gotten or ignored, I'm aware these things don't happen overnight.) I would have thought all this is was a scam if I didn't find the notice in the newspaper myself.
Courthouse steps sale is in 10 days.
I am liquid enough to help my sibling - I've known about the situation for 48 hours at this point. After the initial story from my sibling, my spouse and I slept on the situation and decided that if there was something we could do, we should do it...
I asked sibling "If a wire or ACH could happen today, would it solve this problem." They waited until the end of the day to call/text me back (they were working, maybe I didn't imply strongly enough that I was willing to make a payment). That was Friday. Little/no contact since then from sibling.
So, I have two areas of questions:

1. What do you think the options for my siblings actually are at this point? The mortgage company has referred the whole thing to Brock and Scott for the foreclosure, and with them involved, it's not clear to me whether a payment is possible at this point, who it would be to, a deadline, etc... (Not that I'm trying to get directly involved). Apparently bankruptcy is an option to stop foreclosure? If the story is true, perhaps they could even exit bankruptcy before it's complete?
   
2. If I do help my sibling, are there logical safeguards I should put in place? Some form of written agreement? Do you have recommendations on how to go about this? I want to verify the status of the cashiers check cancellation and that that money IS coming back, and if possible or logical draw up an actual contract with my sibling about this (if that's a logical thing to do?)
   

I greatly appreciate any input you may have. (including if it is just a statement of direct advice to my sibling of 'Go get an attorney.')
I have redacted some known details or minutiae for the sake of length of this post. Happy to fill in any gaps I have knowledge of.

I guess I’m here to vent and share my story with others who get it.. because it’s hard for me to talk about with family or friends because no one understands and explaining things over and over just feels like losing more energy honestly. I’m welcoming all suggestions since you have been through it.
My baby is 16 weeks and has not had a “good day” since he’s been born. Over 100 days fighting for him and watching him struggle. We tried breastmilk, multiple formulas, and settled on Neocate syneo almost 3 months ago which cleared up a few of his more scary symptoms, but he still has most of them. So many visits doctors have told me his symptoms are normal, but didn’t take the time to really listen or watch what has been going on with him, which makes me feel like I’m being a overprotective mom, or that I’m crazy losing my mind, but things are clearly not right. Finally his ped sees that he’s truly struggling and sent a referral for GI since she had no knowledge on cmpa or what to do for him next and she said “I thought he would have outgrown it by now and the Pepcid isn’t helping” I have wanted to cry and scream at her at the same time because I feel like she truly neglected my baby while I have watched him suffer😢
He was unsettled since birth.. he was ready to eat right away, but struggled so much. We tried breastmilk, Bobbie, gentle ease, nutramigen, and Neocate syneo. Pepcid, increase dosage Pepcid, increase frequency Pepcid, gas drops, gripe water, changing bottles, probiotics, changing nipple flow, keeping upright. Literally everything.
I’m so lost and it hurts to watch my baby suffer.
Current symptoms: GI discomfort - Eating every 2-4 hours besides at night, 45 minutes up to 2 hours to eat 4oz.
Throwing up projectile. Coughing then forcefully vomit half or whole bottle.
Spit up constantly.
Arching back in pain when feeding and after screaming so loud.
Poop so very loose and mucousy since birth, and worsening over time. Yellow liquid or dark green with black streaks or green with yellow seeds. Has never been formed. Horrible sour smell like vinegar or rotten eggs. Clearly in pain when pushing or when he is struggling to go. Either can barely poop once a day or will go 5x a day.
He was eating 5-6 oz, eating less oz now 3-4 still taking an hour and screaming when seeing bottle close to him. Screaming when getting into feeding position.
Hard to settle and screaming loud until passing out. Not full enough to sleep long periods.
It’s been 2 weeks since increasing Pepcid but on it for 12 weeks and 12 weeks on amino acid formula - Neocate syneo.
Have to distract to eat - change position, sing, shh, takes 45-60+ minutes Unlatches quickly Crying in feeding position Arching back fussy
Since birth not 1 good happy feed without crying or pain. Has lessened over time but getting worse again
First 2 months couldn’t be put down, tummy time, bath, diaper, sleep unless held without absolutely screaming and losing it - sometimes these days can lay flat. First month awake 2-3 hours sleep 30 minutes
I was giving a time to see if it would get better, but it’s not getting better and some situations are getting worse. The things that have gotten better are not having an immediate reaction when eating - he had swollen eyelids, severe immediate rash and lingering eczema, and difficulty breathing. He will sleep now without being held. I’m thankful for the improvements, but I’m so heartbroken that things are not getting “normal” for him. It seemed like the Neocate syneo would be good for him but he’s not good.
It just seems like nothing is helping and it’s all trial and error. My baby is almost 4 months and it’s been a painful blur.
The “solutions” I have come up with through research - changing to Prevacid or Prilosec for the reflux. Changing to alfamino (but super scared since it has soy oil) since it doesn’t have coconut, or switching to rtf alitenium (but super scared since it has milk), or trying regular Neocate since some babies struggle with the pro/prebiotics in the syneo.. which feels like the safest option since he had such trouble with milk and soy. Or the fear of something else being completely wrong and causing his pain and mucous. I just feel defeated with how things are going. But also so scared to change things again.

Just another fun little story idea I had. I am still working on Humans are the violent ones but I like to bounce around and experiment with ideas to see what I really like. I also suck at writing more casual stories, as they give me severe writer's block as I try to map out how to make a scene feel genuine in my head, but I promise I'll update that soon. If you like this story and want to see more, then like and comment. I'll gladly continue this series as well.
Start of Personal Log
Humans don't like being told what to do. They don't like being commanded, put in their place, or snubbed. It was an inexorable, inalienable trait of humans, at least any noteable humans, to go against any authority that they believed was against their interests.
Humanity would not fit amongst the stars. Few ever did. It was a trait of most successful species to be willful, ambitious, and to desire more. But once they reached the stars the new (and simultaneously very old) pecking order either quashed any spirit such species had or simply eradicated them. Countless tomb worlds and diaspora served as painful reminders of what became of the nails that chose to stick out. The hammer of order would always strike. There could be no compromise, the very soul of the authority that held the Jurisdiction together relied on a show of unmatched power, or at least the illusion of item.
In reality, the Jurisdiction was an old, fat, and lazy beast. It filled its belly on the corpses of empires far and wide, and sated its bloodlust on the shattered dreams of hopeful cubs. It had every right to, for none could challenge it: there were no new frontiers to explore, nor were there any other enemies to conquer. The Milky Way, as humans had so strangely dubbed our cradle galaxy, as well as Andromeda, had long since been warred over and settled for millennia before humanity had arrived, bright-eyed and with familiar yet otherwise foolish dreams of cooperation and prosperity. The Jurisdiction did not cooperate, nor did it ensure prosperity. Oh, it claimed it did, but in reality it simply took. The rest was just the peace that came with not being the direct target of the biggest fish in the pond. The humans didn't like that, but they had no choice.
Slavery was a common tribute. The Jurisdiction had no use for other resources: it simply took. No, it wanted those who could facilitate that unequal exchange, those raised in a world where the only morality was the one set by your lord. The Jurisdiction was held together by expectations, obligations, and dury more than any kind of shared dream, so when you were ordered to take you did so without question. Humanity was new: they had no niche or value that set them apart, but they had a penchant for killing and taking, so the Jurisdiction gave them a taste of how the galaxy worked. They killed and they took. The humans didn't like that, but what choice did they have?
Humans were strange. They learned, but not in the way most species learned. Most species learned to adapt in a passive way, to adhere to the world around them. They flowed like water, moving past and around obstacles and confirming to the boxes they were assigned too. Humans didn't confirm, nor did they adapt: they made their circumstances fit their desires. They would not move around obstacles, but rather smash through them, and they refused to stay in one box for too long. The Jurisdiction merely saw them as a particularly loud nuisance, but those who faced their wrath knew better.
It is said that when a beast seeks to make an example, it shall humble its rival by killing it's cubs. Children were one of those universal constants that brought entire communities together: the Sok’klar saw their hatchlings as gifts, shaped by the fruitful currents of the universe in perfect harmony. The Yarrack saw each and every newborn whelp as an uncut gemstone, ready to be shaped into something magical. Humanity oftentimes referred to their offspring as angels, or spirits of unbridled good sent by the gods themselves. Children were seen by most of the galaxy as gifts.
The Jurisdiction saw them as a lever to inflict suffering. It had become quite effective at enacting psychological punishments on those that stood up and spoke out. You dare to disobey? You believe you can speak out? Your gifts shall be taken from you, and you shall be without joy.
Humans didn't like this, but the Jurisdiction would have their pound of flesh, and humankind would kneel. And they did. But humans were patient creatures: most species who retained that trait of willful spit also lacked patience.
I had long since become desensitized to the Jurisdiction’s actions: it was simply how the universe worked now, as if it were a constant akin to gravity. Cruelty was the unspoken rule of this seemingly unending age, where our lives never appeared to move forward or backwards, only lay dormant. The Jurisdiction had been the unyielding authority that ruled the galaxy for thousands of years, venerable yet feared all the same.
And for the longest time I was just another cog in its wheel. My name is Kalnuracht Sedjuur-Noumar VII, and was the scion of the noble house Sedjuur-Noumar. I was born into what most would describe as veiled apathy, living a life that could be attributed to the privileged class of feared scribes that enacted the will of those above. I was an administrator and nothing more. And now I am doomed to be far less than that in the eyes of my former constituents within the endless administration. I am the only scion, as is tradition, and without an heir I am the last of my house, our name to be scrubbed from the records, worthless, meaningless, and forgotten.
I am merely Kalnuracht, nothing else and nothing more. I have seen from their eyes, the eyes of the downtrodden, and it makes my crimes of association with the Jurisdiction feel all the more damning on my worthless soul. I am worthless to the world, and this is my story.
End Personal Log #1
Start of Neural Lace Narrative Log #1
They came from the black like carrion birds in the night, encircling our convoy as if it were a dying animal ready to be picked clean without remorse. There was no warning, no list of demands sent out as civilized peoples did, nor was there either any requirement for unconditional surrender nor chance to parlay, as was done so under letter of marque: this was an unmistakable call for violence and nothing else. They sought to reduce us to slag and scavenge the rest.
So, as one would expect, the entire bridge of the ship was nearing a panicked state. This was not the actions of those practicing civility, but rather the common behaviors of despoiling barbarians, the kind that tore their way through the dark reaches of the galaxy as if they owned it.
“Wayfinder, what do your probes see?” Shouted the ship’s sovereign. He was an older Kar’Rowmach, an amphibious cephalopod species with a venerable history within the Jurisdiction going back thousands of years. Normally one such as him would be above me if it weren't for the fact that I was under the authority of the Jurisdiction’s seal of office. He didn't like me very much, but most of his kind shared the same sentiment.
“All dark, honorable Sovereign: the sensor arrays are wailing but the feedback we're reviewing is beyond incomprehensible,” the wayfinder replied with a certain restrained temper in his voice. The Sok'klar wayfinder swayed gently, his tentacled limbs grasping different metallo-liquid braille output arrays, the liquid gallium flexing and reshaping unnaturally to allow him to to take in multiple different sources of sensory output at once, with the primary navigation computer plugged into the cybernetics surrounding his opaque, gelatinous head and plugging directly into his tube-shaped brain.
The Sovereign cursed in Loskat and pointed to his bridge crew while I simply sat in the back, near the Sovereign’s symbolic throne. “Prepare countermeasures and spool up the warp drive, we cannot allow the amanuensis to be taken! He carries sensitive information that only he can translate and transcribe!”
As the bridge crew nodded and began fiddling with their own systems, I preened my feathered hide anxiously. I wasn't a fighter: us nobles of the cloth were the educated minority above all else, not those who waged war or partook in hard labor. Special cybernetics in my brain allowed me to translate triple-encoded messages that usually took a ducal signet codekey or above to parse, but even without that I was a skilled mathematician and logician. I had terabytes worth of knowledge stored within the hardware installed in my head, all well protected of course, but if I were to die it would still be a waste. I could only imagine the damage any malcontenders could do with it if they were able to get their filthy hands on me.
Suddenly, the ship rocked, and the gallium overhead display began to form crescendos like I'd never seen before. “Sovereign, decks A-3 through C-12 are venting atmosphere and our coolant systems have been obliterated,” the Wayfinder spoke in an almost serene voice, as if he was completely unconcerned by current events. I knew they were simply incapable of tonal displays, but it was unnerving nonetheless. “Once we jump, we will not be able to risk another until the vacuum of the void can reduce temperatures to acceptable levels within the plasma capacitors.”
“Damn them,” the armored nautiloid hissed, his barbed feelers coiling in frustration, “May the currents take them. What are our options? what can we see? This fleet cannot fall to the void today, not with such vital cargo.” My hackles rose lightly at the Kar’Rowmach referred to me as some object rather than an esteemed amanuensis of the Jurisdiction, but I bit my forked tongue. Now was not the time to squabble with the sovereign over who was what and what titles I deserved, not while he was so desperately attempting to keep what semblance of order within his fleet that he had left.
I could not blame the crew for being panicked either: wars were practically mythologized now, having been long since rendered obsolete with the rise of the Jurisdiction, and that felt like an eternity ago. Now, either being levied into or joining a ducal naval force was simply another career, more akin to serving as an officer of the law rather than a fully fledged soldier. Minimal training was required, most of it being the technicals of one's duty rather than any kind of combat conditioning, so expecting a fleet to actually be prepared for a combat scenario in a universe where peace was the norm was laughable.
“We are practically blind, Sovereign,” stated the Sok'klar Wayfinder, “our probes are offline, and shipboard graviton displacement sensory arrays have been rendered unreliable at best.”
“What about the particle emission array? Has there been a spike in radioactivity where we were hit?”
The Wayfinder seemed to think for a second, his gelatinous form flexing and morphing a bit before answering. “Affirmative, a jump from negligible to forty billion becquerels along decks A through E-5 on our starboard side.”
“Torpedoes…” the Sovereign hissed, stroking his barbed feelers, “Human Torpedoes. Only those primitives would rely on crude nuclear warheads.” He then turned to his militant leaders on the ship. “Noddos, Rel’ads: organize your phalanxes and prepare to repel boarders. We are bound to be assailed by those rancorous primates, and I want their skulls piled at my feet if they dare set foot on our ship.”
“Your wish is our command, Sovereign,” the two militant commanders spoke as one. Noddos, a large bipedal with multiple sets of curved spines running down his back, a pair of graceful horns sprouting from his head, and multiple rows of sharp teeth in his snout, bowed first, followed by Rel’ads, a marsupial with long saberteeth and thick fur. They both must have been fierce warriors in their own right to each lead a phalanx. They wore thick, semi-powered armor and held dueling polearms alongside their usual plasma casters, and seemed completely unfazed by the situation we were in. As they stomped out of the brightly lit bridge, I let out a quiet squawk of discontentment. “Sovereign, why haven't we jumped again? We are wasting precious time.”
“I am working on it, you spineless beaurocrat!” He warbled back, his feelers tensing in anger, “besides, it's not as if you're the one who will be spilling blood today, amanuensis, so flatten your wretched beak or I shall weld it shut with a plasma torch.
I was about to reply with something indignant, but the ship rocked again, this time causing the lights to flicker and the air to become… thick. The skin under my feathers began to blister, and I became lightheaded and confused. “Seal the damnable vents, initiate radiation scrubbers, and activate secondary life support!” Shouted the Sovereign, “Their nuclear weapons are rendering the ship inhospitable!”
I coughed up magenta blood accidentally, and I could feel more seeping from under my eyes. Some of the crew was in a similar position, but others were more resistant to radiation than I. The Sok'klar seemed completely at ease as he ran his tentacles across his morphic braille arrays before calmly announcing the ship’s status. “I've regained some control over our probes: ten, twelve, and seventeen are active and fully functional, the rest are either still malfunctioning or permanently inoperable. A rapid rise in localized radiation is also interfering with the detection of graviton displacement; we can't sense photon redirection, thus readings will remain inconclusive.
“Wayfinder, damn you, get me some kind of out here! We're easy prey until we can respond in kind!”
“Negative, something has gone awry with our processing hub, I am attempting to troubleshoot-”
And with that, the Wayfinder’s bulbous head exploded in a cascade of opaque lavender blood, covering the front half of the deck crew like a morbid art piece. Some of the crew screamed and shouted in terror before removing their cranial adaptors and choosing to interact with their displays manually. Others died just as quickly, unable to unplug in time as their brain stems fried or their blood boiled. It was a horrible way to go, having your insides neutralized by your own cybernetics, so I was glad I wasn't connected to the system.
“Cybernetic warfare! All systems are to be considered compromised, switch to manual settings or you'll be killed!”
The lights in the bridge flickered again, and the displays went haywire. The bridge crew, which obviously weren't acquainted with working without being hard-linked into the mainframe, moved at a much slower pace.
“Launch missile pods A through F and set to self-target after five hundred kilometers, then rely on their ballistic coordinates to begin firing broadsides! If we can't see the humans due to their meddling, we'll just have to feel them.” Shouted the Sovereign, “and got me a detailed report on the ship’s diagnostics readings. I need to know if this flagship is still capable of escaping or if we'll have to scuttle it and retreat on another.”
“Acknowledged, Sovereign, launching now,” affirmed another deck officer as he swiped across his own gallium output array. I could hear the dull thunk, thunk, thunk of missiles pushing out of their pods before racing off to their intended targets, then the mechanical whirring as the pods rotated to be reloaded by slaves in the lower decks. I was regaining my bearings as the many horrible sensations of being overwhelmed by radiation poisoning were beginning to subside, but I still felt as if I had been microwaved. The air was stale, the crew was horribly sick as well, and even the sovereign himself seemed to be on his last leg. I was beginning to believe that I might die here.
“Sovereign, a message from the lower decks,” shouted a communications officer, his chitin scraping against itself as he turned quickly, “they're requesting reinforcements, something about being overrun.”
“Impossible,” the Sovereign hissed out in a vain attempt to exude confidence, “We must outnumber the humans, they always go for bigger targets out of arrogance.”
“I've received reports that it's not just humans: the primates seem to make up only a third or so of the assailing force, along with some Phaeldaer and Vrex.”
The commander slammed his clawed hands down on his own output array in a fit of rage, obviously overwhelmed by the circumstances, “Then this wasn't just a typical assault, but something more sinister!” The nautiloid warbled, blood seeping from his shell as the full effects of the radiation took hold, “Get Rel’ads on the line, have him divert all spare lances to the lower decks or else we'll lose the only offensive capabilities we can use.”
“Rel'ads has gone dark, Sovereign, his vitals are critical.”
“Then either get me Rel'ads tail-leader or get me Noddos!” He screamed in rage, “don't give me this nonsense! If we don't pick it up we're all going to die, is that what you want?”
“No, Sovereign, I'm simply overwhelmed-”
“We're all overwhelmed! By the tides, I'm dying of radiation poisoning you nincompoop! Get me something I can work with!”
The officer didn't even acknowledge the Sovereign after that, simply turning back to his display. Eventually, the Sovereign was able to get Noddos on the line.
“Sovereign, two thirds of my phalanxes have been decimated by combat with the primitives and the radiation, the rest are in shambles. We must retreat and fortify elsewhere!”
“Then the ship is compromised! Rel'ads is unresponsive and the lower decks are swarming with intruders. We must evacuate the amanuensis to another ship.”
Just as the Sovereign spoke, I heard several gentle thumps rattle against the bridge’s door, and it made me uneasy. Some of the bridge crew seemed to feel the same, as they looked incredibly nervous and some even drew their sidearms. Just as the sovereign turned to give further orders, the door blew inward with a deafening explosion, followed by shouting and gunfire. Several of the bridge officers were dispatched quickly, brain matter and blood splattering against the delicate electronics. Others were shot in the legs, the torso, or in any other exotic yet non-vital body parts. The humans poured in, brandishing primitive ballistic firearms and jury-rigged energy weapons while wearing scavenged, legion-grade powered armor.
The Sovereign was the next to go, but he wasn't afforded an honorable death. He was shot along the arm with a particularly potent plasma caster, burning off his clawed hand and cauterizing the wound, the acrid smell of roasting chitin filling the already hot and cramped bridge. He fell back against his output array, the gallium reaching new highs and lows as more diagnostics and casualty reports were delivered, and he clutched his stump angrily. “I'll burn every last one of you in the foundries! I'll tie you to stakes, cover you in wax and set you alight! Your screams will be broadcasted all over the galaxy!”
One human warrior stomped up and slammed the butt of his rifle into the sovereign’s face, shattering his facial plates and causing blue blood to splatter across his section of the bridge. “Shut the fuck up, you mutant lobster,” the human said before dragging him by both antennae towards the center of the bridge and receiving a stained breeching axe from one of his comrades. “Emmanuel, start recording. We need proof.”
The other human nodded and pressed a button on his armor before lifting up his gun again. The rest of the humans fanned out, holding everyone else at gunpoint. I tried to get up and sneak out, but a human grabbed me by my neck and nearly wrung it out as he forced me to my knees and pointed a sidearm to my skull. “Get down, you piece of shit, before I blow your brains out too.”
“Damnable primate,” I hissed, but he bashed me in my skull with the base of his sidearm’s grip and sent me sprawling, making my already pounding headache worse. Another human shouted at him in a language I didn't recognize, but he sounded furious. The first brought me back up to my knees again, and I complies with a hiss and a groan, blood still leaking from my eyes and mouth and my world was spinning.
The Sovereign struggled, but he was weak from the radiation poisoning and he couldn't exactly resist on account of his lost arm. The human with the breaching ax kicked the Sovereign down and forced him to kneel before lifting up the breeching ax and splitting his chitinous head down the middle with one powerful swing, sending more blood and brains across the floor. “Execution confirmed, take his antennae just in case and we've got ourselves a bounty. Now all we need is that ugly cat’s teeth and the fat hedgehog-thing’s grimy spines and we'll be in business. Although, they do have skulls… we might as well just take their heads.”
The real horror of the situation dawned on me at that moment: they were going to kill us all, or maybe worse. They mentioned a bounty for the commanders, and multiple of the higher ranking ship officers were already dead, their brains splattered against the walls or their bodies torn apart by gunfire. I wasn't dead yet, but that didn't mean much since I wasn't an immediate threat.
“Alright, round them up and bring all the grunts to the hanger bay, then kill the rest,” the leader of the humans said in such a lackadaisical manner that his complete disregard for life almost made me sick… almost. I had seen worse from the Jurisdiction before, but usually that was from me delivering some kind of ordered judgment on a world that had sinned against order. I might have simply been the messenger, but I had seen many of the outcomes. “And make sure to collect whatever proof of bounties you can, we'll need to deliver them to the office to get cashed out. Don't let this be a repeat of last time where Juarez fucking forgot to take a few heads and it ended up cutting our profits in half, the fucking retard.”
Some of the humans chuckled at that as they dragged more of the senior officers away, out of the room and into the hall,where I heard gunshots. The rest of the bridge crew froze in place, different fear instincts kicking in. The remaining Sok'klar corralled together into what seemed to be a singular, semi-congealed mass as if to try and trick the humans into believing that they were much bigger and much more threatening than they actually were. The one Thei’chi on the bridge, an ensign who had clearly thought this would be a simple mission, bore her curved fangs at the humans and growled as they approached, her hackles completely vertical and her eyes dilated. They quickly muzzled and bound her before beating her over the head with a gun stock, sending her sprawling onto the ground. Many others simply cooperated, eyes wide and yet simultaneously empty, as if they couldn't quite process that the ship had been taken and the commanding officers were being executed as the rest were escorted to the hangar.
“Get the damn messenger down to the hanger as well, we need whatever data's in his ugly lizard head, then we can decide on what to do with him.”
I spat at him in spite, as if to try and seem brave, but it was clearly an empty gesture. “You won't get anything, primate! You couldn't possibly crack the encryption!”
The human holding me seemed to wind up for another swing, but the commanding officer simply held up his hand to stop my tormentor before strolling over to me. He knelt down and removed his helmet, revealing a beige-colored face covered in scars, wiry black hair cut down to the scalp, and multiple tattoos. “You're really fucking mouthy for a hostage,” he said before punching me across my beak faster than I could register. I heard a sharp crack as his fist connected, and my head spun again as the metallic taste of blood pooled into my mouth. “I'd advise you to shut up, but I'm sure you won't listen: you aristocratic types are so full of yourselves. Maybe I should have you flogged in the public square until your vocal chords give out once we rip those cybernetics from your head, huh? How's that sound?”
“It won't matter… it won't change anything… the Jurisdiction will hunt you down.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it will happen for some time: they really suck at doing anything that requires effort, even when they're mad enough. They just keep sending their rabid lapdogs to try and smoke us out, and they always end up full of holes,” the human officer said with a smirk, his yellowish-white teeth and green eyes sending shivers down my spine as he drew his knife. “They're just horrible at their job, you know? You've all gotten so lazy and incompetent after being able to just take what you want without resistance, and now that you've met people who are angry and crazy enough to fight back you act as if we're committing some grave injustice,” he placed the knife against my throat, the flat just underneath my now bent beak, “No, we just took a few pages out of your book, ‘cept we've got standards. No kids, for one…” he seemed to look off into the distance as his sneer deepened, “but it's more than that, we don't attack the defenseless in general and we still win against you all in fair fights.”
I went to say something else snarky, but he quickly grabbed my thin tongue with his fingers and yanked it out, blood from my mouth pulling to the floor as he held the blade of his knife against it. “No no, none of that. Say one more thing and I'll cut that rancid little tongue of yours out of your mouth and feed it to you,” he hissed at me, pressing the blade down just hard enough to draw blood. “Do you know what it's like to see a planet turn into a tomb?" he asked me, gritting his teeth, “Do you know what it's like to see everything you've ever known crumble to ash and glass, all the life and the green stripped away leaving nothing but bones? I do. I've seen it happen to countless worlds, and my grandfather always told me stories of how you bastards did it to Earth. He still prays in its direction five times a day, to Mecca, but he knows the Kaaba is gone now, or maybe it's still there, buried in the bones of those who sought refuge there.”
I didn't care for the human’s nonsensical beliefs, but I did care to correct him. “I've seen it before, and I'll see it again. And so will you, it's inevitable. The Jurisdiction will always have its judgment fulfilled, there is no alternative.”
“One day, I hope we can rectify that,” he said, then he sheathed his knife and slammed my head against the metal floor with enough force to nearly knock me out. As I lost consciousness, I could hear him speak. “Take him to the Chop Doc, and make sure the cybernetics don't get damaged: they're supposedly more valuable than any bounty on this ship.”
Warning: Severe radiation poisoning detected. Flush system immediately.
Warning: Neural Lace removal detected, chance of neurological damage high. Proceeded with caution.

I'm not sure how much I can trust this particular poll as it is from a Credit Card Company, which makes money on credit card transactions, but it has some interesting numbers.
https://capitaloneshopping.com/research/cashless-statistics/
For the most part, I believe that cash is becoming outdated and while there are still some in the younger crowd who are legitimate employed workers using cash, realistically, I believe the majority of cash users are the elderly who fear change and haven't accepted credit cards in their lifestyle and criminals.
When I say criminals, I don't just mean crime syndicates like drug lords using cash to hide their drug cartel income, but also those who refuse to follow the rules and regulations of their state/country, deciding to start a business without licensing, insurance and so on. Paying their staff under the table. Avoiding taxes by hiding their income through cash transactions, and while there are some who may actually care to offer a good product, many of those who work under the radar of the rules and regulations, do not, ending in customers who are scammed out of their hard earned money and projects incomplete or never even started, but the deposit is lost. The only other purpose of cash would be to hide finances from a significant other you plan to divorce in order to have it not included in the divorce negotiations... Basically, a majority of it is for shady reasons.
If we eliminate cash and everything goes digital, with the US setting a deadline to turn in all physical cash and convert it into digital currency, any physical cash would now be collector only. This means if you do work for someone and you are unlicensed, uninsured and so on, you will not be able to hide that income. Sure, there would still be things like bitcoin and other currencies like that, which many illegal entities have been turning to, but those industries are also extremely volatile and if cash is no longer an option, there is no way to convert that digital currency through a money washer into cash without it being traced (and recently, a means has been found to trace Bitcoin currency transactions which was in the past, supposedly not traceable). This means EVERYTHING is traceable.
How would this effect the economy? How many big businesses do you believe are hiding large liquid assets in cash depositories people don't know about? How many big wig CEO's are taking cash and storing it in unspecified locations where it can't be accounted for through hidden means and modifying the books? Pulling $20k per week out of a multi-billion dollar corporation and converting it to cash is easy to hide in books, but pulling $20k per week and transferring it digitally to your personal account is far harder to hide!
How do you believe this change would effect the US economy? What percentage of high level officials and potential shady CEO's that are stealing money off of the top would this expose? What would the US economy look like 10 years from now if that cutoff off for cash was announced 10 years ago and today is the day that cash no longer has any value? Would licensed contractors be more profitable and thus more affordable while still being profitable because they aren't constantly competing against unlicensed, uninsured contractors, losing half of their potential business to them?

A day ago I (21F) took the second dosage of pills at 8 weeks pregnant. An hour before I did that, I took 2 extra strength ibuprofen, 1 codeine tablet that got sent with my prescriptions, 1 anti sickness tablet, and 1 anti diarrhoea tablet. I also smoked weed before and during. I had my boyfriend (21M) with me during.
I didn’t feel anything until two hours after which is when I began to experience mild cramping, but I know that it was only mild because of the pain killers I was taking, and the weed. It was around 3am and I decided to go to sleep.
I’m not sure when I woke up but it wasn’t a long sleep and my boyfriend was still awake. I was in no pain I went to the toilet as I felt as though I needed to pee. I had bled through the entire extra large extra heavy flow night time pad and through my men’s boxers and had left a huge bloody puddle on the bed.
As soon as I sat down I passed 3 huge clots. I feel as though the first one was the baby because I felt something ‘round’ come out and the rest were just ‘stringy’. I didn’t look down into the toilet bowl and neither did my boyfriend. But now I’m not so sure.
I sat on the toilet for a while because after passing the clots I felt like I was going to faint and almost did but I was good.
My boyfriend changed the sheets and we got into bed to sleep. I woke up and passed a small clot and then that was it. Since then the bleeding has significantly subsided and I haven’t passed anymore clots.
I feel like my abortion was too easy and I was really anticipating something wildly painful and scary and traumatising from the stories I have read everywhere online. Could this be a sign that it didn’t work?
I do feel like I know exactly when the baby passed. And since it happened I do feel awfully ‘alone’. When I was pregnant I didn’t notice how much I felt my baby’s presence, until now I guess. But I’m worried that maybe it was unsuccessful and I should have passed more, and bigger, clots. Can anyone relate at all?

Reasoning: I am an early 20s dude who tries to generally take care of my health, mainly through lifting, running, walking, and diet, although I would ideally be more consistent and by no means consider myself a fitness freak. I also think it is important to challenge myself. Being into casual running, I follow running and love reading the stories people share about their marathon experiences. After reading enough of these stories, I wondered "could I complete a marathon right now?" I know that I definitely cannot run one in my current physical state, but I was curious if I could move my body a marathon distance without any major breaks (and ideally within 8 hours). With that, I decided to try and walk a marathon distance.
Preparation: In short, very little. In 2024, I've been averaging somewhere between 50,000 to 60,000 steps a week. The most amount of steps I've gotten in one day was just short of 30,000 and the longest I had ever ran was a little over 4.5 miles. I did not do any long walking in lead up to this attempt. I just picked a Saturday where I was free. The morning of the attempt, I made two PB&Js, filled my half gallon water bottle (with some caffeine and liquid IV added), grabbed some apples, and walked down to my apartment's gym to get on the treadmill.
The Walk:

• Segments
  • 0 to 7.80 Miles - 9:20am to 11:25am - 16:02/mile
    • This first segment wasn't too bad. My legs were a bit tired, but not complaints. I had an apple at some point. Drank lots of water. Called my Dad.
  • Break 1 - Bathroom + Short Stretch
    • Good bathroom break. Felt a lot lighter afterwards.
  • 7.80 to 14.03 Miles - 11:35am to 1:24pm - 17:30/mile
    • This segment is when my legs started to get tired. I could feel them getting sore and my foot's callous was being shifted up due to my shoes. I had a PB&J which was nice.
  • Break 2 - Bathroom + Longer Stretch
    • This stretch break helped me feel a lot better. At this point I was seriously doubting whether I could complete the marathon distance without risk of injury or being borderline immobile for days afterwards.
  • 14.03 to 17.53 Miles - 1:44pm to 2:45pm - 17:26/mile
    • I started off by eating another PB&J These last 3.5 miles were extremely unenjoyable. All I could focus on was how much my legs hurt. Nothing felt like it was going to get seriously injured, but with almost 9 miles to go, I decided to call it quits to avoid that and to avoid not being able to walk the next few days due to soreness (I have never walked this far before, so I wasn't sure what the recovery would look like).
  • END
• Overall
  • 17.53 Miles - 9:20am to 2:45pm - 17:32/mile

Afterwards: I treated myself to some cheat food, and watched movies the rest of the day. I was bummed that I didn't meet my goal, but I was happy that I attempted it. The next few days, my legs were a bit sore, but nothing that I hadn't experience after a difficult leg day at the gym. My foot callous was annoying to deal with, but it was pretty much back to normal after 3 or 4 days. With this in mind, I think I probably could've push through to complete the marathon distance, or at least gotten closer to it. I may try again sometime in the coming months, and if I do I'll probably post here!
If anyone has any questions, I'm down to answer :)

Based on the premise that ore veins can be fracked and never run out, Olumite is the only resource that one must explored for, to find new sources, in perpetuity. One can use solar power and batteries, and ultimately derive an unlimited amount of resources from the ore veins, when supplied with the Fracking Liquid (which also required Olumite).
Now, Firmalite bars are also unlimited and require no exploration. To obtain Firmalite you can get 5 bars per Maintenance Drone, or 40 bars net for each Service Robot. There are of course other differences between the 2 options, like electric demands and real estate footprint, but they are all moot given the above premise, and that real estate is unlimited too.
Give the above situation, I found it useful to work out, just how much Crude Olumite it would take to get a Firmalite Bar, while ignoring every other factor.
I'll copy/paste the details below, but the results:
While producing Maintenance Drones, each Firmalite Bar requires 5.5 Crude Olumite.
While producing unpainted Service Robots, each Firmalite Bar requires 5.8125 Crude Olumite.
If they require painting robots, then each bar requires 8.4513889 Crude Olumite
************** Work **************
Recipes, with olumite derived products listed.
100 Crude Olumite = 75 Liquid Polymer
5 Liquid Polymer = 1 Polymer Board
1 Polymer Board = 1 Circuit Board
2 Polymer Board = 2 Robot Parts
100 Crude Olumite = 90 Olumite Gas
75 Olumite Gas = 40 Olumic Acid
60 Olumic Acid = 6 Energy Cells
2 Polymer Board + 80 Olumic Acid = 8 CPU
100 Crude Olumite = 100 Low Density Olumite
30 Low Density Olumite = 1 Hydraulic Piston
Maintenance Drone breakdown and algebra.
*** 1 Maintenance Drone = 5 Firmalite Bars
1 Circuit Board + 1 Energy Cell = 1 Maintenance Drone
1 Polymer Board + 10 Olumic Acid = 5 Firmalite Bars
5 Liquid Polymer + 18.75 Olumite Gas = 5 Firmalite Bars
6.667 Crude Olumite + 20.8333 Crude Olumite = 5 Firmalite Bars
27.5 Crude Olumite = 5 Firmalite Bars
1 Firmalite Bar = 5.5 Crude Olumite
1 Maintenance Drone is 5.5 Crude Olumite per Firmalite Bar.
*****
Service Robot breakdown and algebra.
1 Robot Parts + 1 Circuit Board + 1 Energy Cell = 1 Robot Torso
1 Robot Parts + 2 CPU = 1 Robot Head
1 Robot Parts + 1 Hydraulic Piston = 1 Robot Arm
1 Robot Parts + 1 Hydraulic Piston = 1 Robot Leg
*** 1 Service Robot = Net 40 Firmalite Bars (200-160)
1 Robot Torso + 1 Robot Head + 2 Robot Arms + 2 Robot Legs = 40 Firmalite Bars
(1 Robot Parts + 1 Circuit Board + 1 Energy Cell) + (1 Robot Parts + 2 CPU) + (2 Robot Parts + 2 Hydraulic Pistons) + (2 Robot Parts + 2 Hydraulic Pistons) = 40 Firmalite Bars
6 Robot Parts + 1 Circuit Board + 1 Energy Cell + 2 CPU + 4 Hydraulic Pistons = 40 Firmalite Bars
6 Polymer Board + 1 Polymer Board + 10 Olumic Acid + (0.5 Polymer Board + 20 Olumic Acid) + 120 Low Density Olumite = 40 Firmalite Bars
7.5 Polymer Board + 30 Olumic ACid + 120 Low Density Olumite = 40 Firmalite Bars
37.5 Liquid Polymer + 56.25 Olumite Gas + 120 Crude Olumite = 40 Firmalite Bars
50 Crude Olumite + 62.5 Crude Olumite + 120 Crude Olumite = 40 Firmalite Bars
232.5 Crude Olumite = 40 Firmalite Bars
1 Firmalite Bar = 5.8125 Crude Olumite
1 Service Robot without Paint is 5.8125 Crude Olumite per Firmalite Bar
**\*
100 Paint = 50 Low Density Olumite + 50 Olumite Gas = 40 Firmalite Bars (added to the above costs)
100 Paint = 50 Crude Olumite + 55.556 Crude Olumite = 40 Firmalite Bars
100 Paint = 105.556 Crude Olumite = 40 Firmalite Bars
1 Firmatelite Bar = 2.5 Paint = 2.638888889 Crue Olumite additional for paint.
So 1 Service Robot with Paint is 8.451388889 Crude Olumite per Firmalite Bar if they end up requiring paint.

I identify as a Libertarian, however I'm not an Anarchist. My views most align with Alan Dershowitz, who considers himself to be a Civil Libertarians. Civil Libertarians agree that the non-aggression principle and property rights should be the foundation of society but are willing to carve out exceptions when doing so is clearly in the best interest of the security of the Nation.
For example, we are huge fans of John Maynard Keynes. We don't want a command economy, we don't want government intervention in the majority of cases, but sometimes you have to go to the Doctor when your immune system just isn't enough. Traditional Keynesianism is not about big government, it's about putting an end to a liquidity trap as quickly as possible by supplying an outlet for saved capital in a deflationary spiral. We agree with capitalism and free market enterprise, but occasionally, such as in the Great Depression, 2008 Crisis, or the Covid pandemic, you need Federal Deficits to get things rolling again. In all other circumstances we should pursue sound monetary policy, responsible budgeting, and fiscal solvency.
Another example where we differ is war. We very much align with the NeoConservative movement when it comes to Geopolitics, but we believe that by doing so we are upholding Libertarian values. We see no problem with using the American military might to topple rogue dictators who get in our way, or secure the Red Sea from Houthi terrorists who are blocking international trade. Property rights are pointless without a means to enforce them, and the American Military machine is the way to do it.
Civil Libertarians also public safety measures such as compulsory Covid-19 Vaccines. Why? Because the argument is by not getting vaccinated you are posing a threat to other people and thus violating their inherent property rights. If I walk around with a contagious disease, I am the biological equivalent of walking around public square firing a gun off in all directions. Alan Dershowitz even said that State Governments had a right to grab individuals, haul them into prisons, and inject the Covid-19 vaccine into their arms, regardless of the harm it may cause, and argued that John Stewart Mill, his idol, would be in full agreement.
So the question is, how do more extreme Libertarians such as ANCAPs view us Civil Libertarians? Are we adjacent enough, or does puritanism take hold here?

Am I wrong for being angry/upset for being called a liar and untrustworthy for telling my daughter that the movie popcorn has "butter" poured on top of it at the theater? The question came up from my daughter asking whether the movie popcorn has any nuts/peanuts in it because she has a nut allergy. I simply said, "No, it's just popcorn and butter and some salt." I know the liquid stuff they put on the popcorn isn't butter, even though the concession stand person asked if I wanted "butter." I grew up eating this stuff and have bought some in the past. I know it's some oil with coloring and salt. It could also be some other type of fatty substance they use, but I'm confident it doesn't contain nuts or tree nuts. The reason they even use this "butter" stuff in the first place is to keep it from going rancid if they use real butter. It's also cheap, so adding nuts would increase the cost. I know there is hazelnut flavoring (also fake and has no actual hazelnuts), and that's more expensive than "butter."
Anyway, my wife got pissed at me about lying to my daughter, and she deemed that I couldn't be trusted. My daughter has asked about whether there are nuts in pretty much everything. It's good that she's looking out for herself, but when she does this all the time, it gets pretty old. I didn't want to interrogate the concession stand staff about whether the popcorn or the fake butter stuff had any nuts/peanuts in it.
My wife kept bringing up trust a lot in the past several years because one time many years ago, I told her I wanted to get a divorce during a heated verbal argument because she was driving me nuts.
Here are some of the situations that have accumulated over the years and made me resent her more and more. I think I'm a trustworthy person, and I try my best to live with integrity. I have a high-paying professional job. I don't have any vices (alcohol, drugs, gambling, etc.). I also don't do much other than going to work and coming home. I go grocery shopping on the weekend and spend most of the time doing household chores on doing stuff on the computer.

• She got mad at me because I painted the window sill with polyurethane because it was getting moldy waiting for her to decide what wood treatments to put on the windows. This took almost a year and the wood already was getting moldy.
  
• She got mad at me for not telling her about a joint account I have with my mother. My mom felt that it was unfair that my wife has an investment account that her dad setup for her since she was a child. She never told me how much she has in that account, but we pay thousands in taxes every year because of it. When my wife found out about my account, she demanded that we split that money. I did so for my account, but she never shared her money from her own account with me because it's still invested. I have no idea how much money she has, and I don't care since it was her money before we got married. It just seems lopsided that somehow my money must be shared with her.
  
  • She got mad at me for getting in a fight with my mom when we went to visit her at my childhood home overseas. My mom was upset with us because she paid for the plane tickets (~$6k total) to fly to visit and offered her house for us to stay, but we repaid her generosity by only spending less than a couple days with her during our 2-week visit. My wife didn't want to stay in the city and would instead go off exploring. I got in a fight with my mom trying to defend my wife when my mom was accusing her of being ungrateful and rude to the family. Even today, my wife keeps saying how she can't trust my mom because "your mom is unstable and explosive".
  • She got mad at me for going to San Francisco for a week to get my mom (72 years old at the time) coming from overseas to visit a couple of places she wanted to visit for planning to relocate to the Bay Area. She didn't know anyone else in the US so she asked me to help her. She paid for all the expenses. At this point my mom also didn't like my wife so she didn't ask her to come. My wife said I shouldn't go and just let my mom deal with it herself. I hadn't seen my mother in 3 years at this point so I did want to see her and help her. I was also worried about her safety. My wife's family was living 10 minutes away from us so she couldn't understand why I would want to see my mom.
  • She got mad at me for planting grass seeds in our backyard when she went away for the weekend. Up to that point, my wife had already spent hundreds of dollars hiring random people to come to pluck out goutweed from the backyard to get rid of them. I read somewhere that grass can outcompete with goutweed so I decided to just plant the seeds. I didn't want to tell her because she kept delaying the decision to do anything with the backyard and we have goutweed growing everywhere despite all that money spent to get rid of them. The grass actually worked, and we have a grass lawn now instead of a goutweed field as long as I mow the lawn. She said I was sneaking behind her back to plant the seeds. It made her not trust me.
• She got mad at me for wanting to take a business trip that could further my career at the company I was working for. I passed on it and I lost the promotion.
  
  • She got mad at me for not wanting to send the kids to private school ($18k/year per kid and we have 2 kids). I was making $135k/year but I left the job because my wife said that I spent too much time at work and not enough with family. I took a lower paying job so I can spend more time with family, but the private school cost is just making it difficult. She was only working part-time but had to go full-time because I don't make as much as I used to.
• She got mad at me because I sometimes came home half an hour late after 5 pm and didn't make dinner in time for the kids to go to bed by 7:30 pm. The older one is in 6th grade and the younger one in 3rd grade. I have to make breakfast and dinner everyday and I also have to do all the dishes. Her job is to put the kids to bed. I also have to drop the kids off every morning at their private school and I can't drop them off before 8:30 am and it's over half an hour away from my work the wrong direction. I could never get to work before 9:00 am and my wife demanded that I need to be home by 5 pm to make dinner.
  
• She demanded that I spend at least an hour or more every day with her after the kids go to bed even if I see her everyday at breakfast and dinner. She got mad when I wanted to teach a pottery class some evenings 2-3 times a week because I used to enjoy pottery and teaching. I had to quit because she got mad at me for not spending time with her.
  
  • She got mad at me for starting a golf equipment business. She hated the products I was making because she didn't play golf and disliked golf. She wasn't supportive and probably couldn't wait for the business to fail so I stop spending time on it. The business is still going but not making that much money, but it's only been a couple of years.
• She got mad at me for not wanting to have sex a lot with her anymore. She really let herself go after having the kids while I still trying to maintain my fitness. I used to go running every other day but pretty much quit at this point because I couldn't do all the cooking and cleaning and still have time to go running.
  

She kept holding a grudge about all these things, and now she has us taking many marriage therapy workshops and sessions. She insisted that I'm too withdrawn and uncaring. She insisted that I needed to be a better husband.
I used to think I was a responsible person, and I tried my best to succeed in life. I try to spend as much time with my kids as possible so they know I'm there for them. My father wasn't around much when I was younger so I don't want to make the same mistake. We have been married for 15 years at this point but I'm just getting more and more sick of being in this relationship. I want my kids to have an intact family but it's just getting harder and harder. I don't have any other woman in my life so it's not even a part of the equation. I'm just not happy being questioned all the time and treated like a piece of garbage.
Anyway, I got really upset today after she called me a liar and said I was untrustworthy for telling my daughter the fake butter stuff is butter. I decided to walk home from this event we were supposed to get dinner together. I'd rather come home and cook my own dinner than be accused of something I can't even comprehend anymore.

An attractive alternative to traditional rewards for outstanding performance

Synthetic equity refers to a collection of strategies and instruments frequently used to provide employees with financial advantages of share ownership without actual shares changing hands. It is a potent instrument that practically all advanced investment organizations may utilize to attract, retain, and reward competent employees.
The favorable economic qualities of equity are embedded into synthetic equity plans, also known as equity alternatives, without the financial obligations coming from purchasing shares from the initial owner. Instead, synthetic equity programs often develop into cash payments to the employee and a corresponding deduction for the employer. Since it represents compensation, synthetic equity may be easily adjusted to handle almost any scenario.
The following scenarios exemplify the situations in which synthetic equity is an optimal solution:

• An employee desires ownership-like benefits but is unable or unwilling to assume the financial risk of purchasing and paying for company equity.
• An employee aspires to ownership but lacks the credentials or licenses required for a role of a full equity partner in the company.
• Employees feel uncomfortable providing personal guarantees or accepting responsibility for credit lines, office leases, payroll-related expenditures, or the commitments made under buy-sell or continuity agreements.
• A company owner wants to share the economic worth of equity rather than the actual equity. This includes owners not interested in supporting this transaction with seller financing.
• A company owner wishes to motivate an employee to work on increasing the company’s value but also wants to discourage them from leaving and creating competition for the business, engaging in client solicitation, or performing other actions that might harm the company.
• An owner planning to leave the company in the following 5-year period wishes to reward one or more critical workers at the time of the sale without requiring them to purchase and pay for equity.

Tokenization of business and individual performance

The above method has been known for decades. The critical challenge in the modern business world is ensuring that innovation and productivity are rewarded equitably across an organization. At the same time, executives must be compensated for creating these conditions.
However, rewarding innovation and equitably delivering executive-level incentives and rewards across the organization from the top to the shop floor is the alternative made possible only by deploying smart contracts and blockchain technology — tokenizing business and individual performance.
The tokenization of business elements such as performance and innovation is one of the newest ways to drive planned outcomes. The process is about moving your business to blockchain. Although it may seem complicated and challenging to implement, almost any entrepreneur can tokenize the building blocks of their business. Tokenization is simply transforming a company’s value into a digitized resource in the form of tokens.
Tokens represent a value within the organization in a transparent and auditable way. They can be cashed in upon completion of the vesting period if both company and individual targets have been met. What makes Synthetic Equity on the chain unique is its transparency, auditability of incentives, and most notably, equitable distribution of tokens corresponding to each employee’s job size.

The Mechanism Behind Synthetic Equity

For synthetic equity to produce favorable results, a profitable, successful firm with a proper entity structure is necessary. Corporations and LLCs can use the tools relating to synthetic equity. In some situations, they may also be used by sole proprietorships, albeit in a slightly different form.
To fully grasp the idea of synthetic equity, it might be helpful to understand the mechanism behind equity in general. Understanding how equity functions allows those interested in synthetic equity to utilize some of the tools used in working with actual equity.
For example, investing in an independent advisory company generally offers the following considerable advantages:

• The right to vote
• Participation in the corporate governance system
• Access to the company’s financial documents
• Limited liability
• A proportionate cut of the revenue
• Sale-related long-term capital gains tax rates
• Capital growth potential

SyntheticEquity.io app is changing how we think about incentives and rewards.
These advantages have a monetary value. Therefore, purchasing equity carries a price, and awarding employee equity has tax repercussions. A tiny ownership share in a fee-based firm might cost several hundred thousand dollars. In these types of businesses, the stock is often acquired and paid for after tax, and the equity partner or shareholder usually expects to obtain the entire set of rights in return for taking on the investment risk.
The rights can be unbundled, meaning that the current owner does not have to sell or provide the full bundle of rights to an employee or investment advisor. To fulfill specific goals, each of the rights mentioned above can also be further divided or redefined in as much detail as necessary. For example, one or two rights from the total package might be provided, such as the opportunity to grow the company’s worth or a percentage of the profits.
By allowing someone to own a portion of the rights in the bundle rather than all of them, synthetic equity generates an advantage. These unique rights or benefits are often described in a plan document and frequently provided via individual award agreements between the employer and employee. A wide range of flexible options for creating a solid and profitable company are produced when equity-like benefits and a long-term remuneration strategy are combined.
Synthetic equity plans often come in one of the following three forms:

• Full-value plans can result in a substantially big payment to an employee since they pay both the value of the underlying stock and any appreciation that is gained over a certain period.
• Performance unit plans swap out equity as the value metric for another metric like sales growth or profitability.
• The value of any growth in the underlying stock value over a specific period following the date of the award is typically paid out under appreciation-only plans.

These kinds of plans are like conventional non-qualified plans insofar as they offer a possibility of discrimination and a significant risk of forfeiture that often lasts until shortly before the benefit is awarded to the employee.
Essentially, synthetic equity is a type of delayed compensation that links a worker’s financial incentive to the company’s performance. By striking the correct balance between the danger of losing a valuable employee and the potential future cost to the employer, each plan is specifically created to meet the advisor’s needs. The plans are intended to reward employees for contributing to the company’s success, but they also ensure that no payment is due if either the company doesn’t develop as expected or the employee doesn’t uphold their end of the deal by quitting their job to work for a rival company or starting their own.

Synthetic Equity Benefits

Synthetic equity is meant to be an equity-related instrument that helps a company find, reward, and keep hold of valuable people.
Synthetic equity benefits are:

• Synthetic equity inspires employees to adopt an owner’s perspective and put development and shareholder value first.
• There is no debt since important participants do not buy phantom shares like full equity stockholders do.
• If a participant’s job terminates before the designated vesting date, they typically forfeit any benefits under the plan.
• Participants normally do not have voting rights or a vote in corporate governance and may or may not be entitled to collect profits from the company.
• Synthetic equity programs provide flexible vesting timelines; vesting can take place over time, depending on the accomplishment of certain quantifiable company or individual goals.
• If the company’s growth is slower than expected and the stock price does not rise, nothing is exchanged.
• When a synthetic equity grant is issued, owners of genuine equity are not adversely affected by a dilution of their ownership percentages.
• Compared to S-Corporations, which are often more restricted, more freedom is provided in terms of stock class and shareholder count.
• The advising business’s shareholders’ or members’ agreement and associated buy-sell provisions do not immediately apply to synthetic equity.

Synthetic equity options’ versatility comes with many benefits but may also have many drawbacks. The companies need to make decisions regarding what valuation technique will be utilized, what vesting rules will be implemented, how liquidity problems will be addressed, what eligibility conditions will be imposed, and what rights to participate in corporate governance will be granted due to the wide range of possible directions for designing synthetic equity plans.

Conclusion

In the hands of a forward-thinking business leader, synthetic equity is a potent instrument. It may be utilized to solve the difficulty of attracting, rewarding, and maintaining top talent to create a great practice or viable business without the challenges of selling and paying for an actual ownership stake.
Like full stock, synthetic equity may refocus the employee’s attention and motivate them to contribute to a flourishing and profitable company.
Authors

Paul Lalovich

Organizational Effectiveness and Strategy Execution Practice

Scott Masterson had first met Scarlett at a rooftop party in downtown Dallas. Their age and the time of year were both in late springtime, them in their mid twenties and the date in early May. He had on a sharp yet breezy blazer and she astonished in a thigh length sleeveless blue dress.
“Oh hey Scott I don’t believe you two have met…” his then happily married friend had remarked with a slow swinging open hand toward her.
“Scott Masterson…reluctant friend to this knucklehead” he said with a tight lipped grin, trying not to be so obvious with his instant rapture.
“Scarlett…a pleasure…”
Her hand was so delicate to Scott’s touch. They locked eyes. It was like looking back through centuries of connection, endless days of laying in the sun next to the Seine River, or rising to Hollywood fame in the 1940’s and only having each other who would understand the glory and the pain of it all, or generations of quiet, simple country love that would bear such beautiful, happy children that would go on to raise beautiful, happy children, all with their dark blue eyes. Yes, the memories of every love story since the beginning of time was swirling right there in Scarlett’s irises. Scott had to catch himself before he stared embarrassingly too long.
“Sorry Scottie here doesn’t get out often” his friend quipped, which Scott appreciated actually, it helped him snap back to professionalism.
“Well I don’t either…at least I prefer not to.” Scarlett’s words flowed through the air like a flock of rose petals.
“Hey, kindred spirits.” Scott was really sensing a rising energy out of her, they had barely broken eye contact.
“Well, I’ll let you two have at it, I got a wife around here somewhere. Hey…Scott and Scarlett…not bad, not bad.” His friend exited stage right with a sly chuckle.
“Nice guy…so…what are you drinking, Scarlett?” Scott looked around for the emptiest corner of the rooftop bar, hoping to find a nice place for them to be able to hear each other. This night had just become something.
“That depends, Scott…what do you like?”
Oh man.
Well, as you can expect, the evening blossomed into a beautiful, long winded conversation that etched a long list of similarities between the two. They both lived in the city, had never married, and had dreamed of stable, simpler lives far away from tall buildings and busy streets. The next morning Scott awoke in her arms, which warmed much deeper than just his skin. He could feel her soothing his very identity, his future, everything. Her arms were tailor made to fit his very soul, and he had never felt more safe and at home.
“Mmm…you can stay right here…” she whispered, eyes still closed.
“I will…I will”
They both fell back asleep, into a dream that wouldn’t end upon waking.
Two years passed and suddenly they lived that simple backwoods life, way out where acres of land far out-populated the few and far between people. They took a lovely home, which happily looked over a long backyard, right up to a lively yet mostly undisturbed river. Their only neighbor within a mile was an older ranch worker named Charles, who rarely made himself perceivable. Days were spent way on into town where they both had offices. They didn’t mind the commute. Nights were spent mostly like this night, cuddled outside near a lovely little fire, with a slowly shrinking amount of wine sitting between them. Enjoying their Kingdom. Tonight, however, would prove to be a special night, for many reasons, all unexpected.
“Honey, I’ve been thinking…” Scott began, sitting up and opening his hands to the warmth of the fire.
“Oh?” Scarlett also sat up, eyes widening.
“So look, Scarlett, the last two years have been the best of my life. An absolute dream…”
She held her breath, her focus darting between his eyes and mouth.
“Yeah?”
“We have everything we ever want out here. But…what if there’s more?”
“More?” She had envisioned this very conversation hundreds of times.
“Our dreams have come true, but what if we…made some new dreams?” Scott turned and embedded his eyes into hers. He burst into a big smile.
“Scott…I thought…”
“Nevermind what I said” he cut her off, which he always made a point to never do, but this was a good exception.
“I’m ready, Scarlett…let’s have a family.”
“Ohhhh Scott, oh Scott”
They hugged tight enough to where it hurt.
“Well, in that case, we may need to open another bottle.” She said playfully, bouncing her eyebrows twice.
“Excellent. I’ll be right up. I’ll put this fire out and then start yours up.”
“Oh stop!” She bounded away girlishly, up the snowy back steps and into the house.
Scott let out a big sigh that he could see in the cold air and sat back in his chair, taking in his decision. He really was ready. He had secretly been keeping a long list of names that he liked and that he thought would work in front of Masterson. Especially little girl names. He stared into the campfire flames, getting lost imagining the three of them sitting right here, a little girl resting securely in Scarlett’s arms, as Scott had found himself, and stayed within these past two years.
Suddenly his trance was broken when, from the road in front of their house, came the sound of a vehicle approaching at high speed. Scott snapped his head back toward the house to get a better listen. He could see, around the house and through the trees, a large truck barreling down the country road, its headlights racing and bouncing with intensity. In an instant, it had passed up the road and out of sight.
“Huh?”
Soon, after a moment of silence, another sound echoed into the night. This sound rattled Scott to the bone and tore all that was right in his world into pieces. A sharp, bellowing squeal. His eyes shot over to his neighbors house, which was about a tenth of a mile to his right but still had a couple dim lights on that he could see. The shriek seemed to come from there.
Then, more squeals. It was hellish. More than animal but not quite human. Scott stood up. He heard crashing and tearing and further destruction coming from Charles’ house.
“Scarlett!! Scarlett!” He yelled toward his house, where he looked and could see her silhouette behind the curtains at the kitchen window. She didn’t seem to hear him.
He turned back toward his neighbors. The chaos had gone quiet. Not a half a moment after, though, he heard something big barreling through the trees as fast as that truck had been sprinting. Running, running furiously between the two houses. Searching, hunting. Scott was taken aback so hard that his heel had caught the edge of the fire pit, throwing him down only inches away from severe burns. He had knocked his head in the whiplash, making him groan and take a moment to regain his bearings.
“SCARLETT!!!!”
He screamed out toward his home as he sat up, rubbing a quickly rising bump on the back of his head. He heard a loud breaching on the side of his house. The patio door. No. No. Then, all hell broke loose. Scarlett started wailing and crying and he could hear crashes of plates and glasses and deep guttural roars coming from the kitchen inside. Shadows danced in a frenzy from the curtained windows. Sounds of instinctual survival seemed to be thrown from Scarlett inside. Sounds of defeat. Sounds of agony. Sounds of insanity. Scott sprang to his feet, his equilibrium being more damaged than he realized after his fall. He had to catch his hand on a chair to stabilize himself. Scarlett’s symphony of pain had gone quiet. Soon after something burst back out the patio door again and off in the same direction as that truck before.
Scott struggled back up to the house, slowly climbing the wintered, crunching stairs that led to the patio. He no longer yelled for Scarlett. In fact, the only thing that came to his senses was the sound of his own heavy breathing. Everything else had been turned off, save for a heavy and sudden dread that he had prayed he would never feel. He came to the side of his house where indeed the patio door had been busted and forced open. It laid inside the kitchen, its hinges snapped like toothpicks. Scott, with eyes wide and twitching, slowly entered his home and looked into the kitchen.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t even change his breathing. He didn’t blink. He just got a good long look at what laid before him.
Everything was broken. The fridge was on its side, the door hanging open and food and drink scattered all over the floor. The table was upended, its legs to the ceiling. A chair was resting on the counter, possibly having been thrown in defense. And Scarlett. Oh Scarlett. She…was…everywhere. She was all over the floor. She was sprayed against the walls. She was stuck to the window. She was in the sink.
Scott gently walked through the carnal mess and sabotage of his world. Long ago he had known exactly what he would do if something anywhere near this bad were to happen to him. He politely stumbled through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom. He opened his closet door and lowered a fire safe from the top rack. He unlocked it with a passcode. 511, after that warm May date when he had first met Scarlett. In the safe was a Sig Sauer P320 handgun. Scott took it out, along with a box of bullets, loaded one into the gun, put the safe back on its rack, and walked out of the closet, sitting on his bed. Their bed. Where they should’ve been laying right at this very moment, working toward a happy future. Where he would’ve kissed her forehead and put a hand on her growing midsection. Where they would have awoken on Christmas morning to the sound of children who were way too excited to remain asleep. Where they would’ve grown old. Where they would’ve smiled at each other through wrinkles, satisfied with all the love they shared and passed on to the next generations. Where they would’ve held each other in deep peace as they finally fell asleep to this world.
“I will…I will”
In one quick motion Scott pulled back the hammer and stuck the barrel of that pistol right up against his Governor and blew himself away, far away, right back into Scarlett’s loving arms.
Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett quickly yet stealthily made his way back to his Uncle’s house. He hugged the sides of the dark country road, keeping his eyes and ears wide open as to notice any sounds pertaining to the event that he had just witnessed there in the field next to the huge blaze. His only thought was Uncle Chuck. His house was right on the warpath of that horrible thing and Smallmouth had to go to him and make sure he was safe. He dared not go back to his truck, which would bring a lot of unwanted attention. No, Smallmouth walked and walked and finally saw the lights of his Uncle’s house. He carefully approached the front door from the shadowed driveway. Suddenly it occurred to Smallmouth that something was very wrong here. The door was busted in, having been plowed through by something very large and very strong.
“No…no…no”
Smallmouth slowly entered the house. The kitchen and living room were a disaster, chairs and tables and bottles strewn about and shattered. Bloody hoof-prints covered the floors, each of them the size of dinner plates. Smallmouth heard no noise. He felt himself well with tears, his nose a faucet that he began to sniff up as he worked his way through to his Uncle’s room, the door there also being broken in. A small whine growing in his throat, Smallmouth peaked into his uncles bedroom.
It was all in tatters. The bed had been attacked and shredded, the mattress being ripped up and thrown about as if it were made of cotton candy. More bloody hoof-prints were painted all over the brown carpet. Smallmouth trembled and put a hand up to his wet face. He didn’t see a way that his Uncle was anywhere near alive, knowing what he knew about the monster that had been in this house.
Smallmouth slowly walked to the living room, to the only little table that had been untouched in the attack. It was almost as if the bottle of whiskey teleported into his hand from the overturned cabinet, unopened. He fixed that real quick.
Soon he was several pulls deep of the only thing in the world that he knew would make him feel better, even if only for a few hours. He found his pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and lit one up, although he was indoors. What did it matter? He sat in a chair that he had turned right side up and set the bottle on the table and looked out the back window into the pitch black. He cried for his Uncle and he cried for the world. He cried for himself. He cried for broken promises and his own weakness. He drank and drank until his vision shook from right to left everywhere he looked. At first he didn’t even notice the figures on the back porch. Then his vibrating focus did pick up on them, but by then it was too late. It was so dark out there but in their outlines he could see they wore long robes and hoods.
“HA!! COME AND GET ME! HAHA!! YOU COME AND YOU GET ME!!” Smallmouth boasted with a delusional amount of courage.
A creak escaped from the kitchen and he drunkenly slung his head over toward it. Three more figures stood there. Or was it just one? Smallmouth was none the wiser. All at once the hooded intruders from both inside and outside began to chant a strange, twisted rhyme in strikingly low and dissonant harmony:
“A sliver…of liver…goes down…with a shiver… …and gives…your gullet…to gall… …but drink…the Cider…that drowns…the Spider… …and you…will be free…of it all… …so tighten the grip…that loosens your lips… …O raise…the bottle…of brown… …and wake tomorrow…to find…in sorrow… …ANOTHER…SPIDER…TO…DROWN”
Smallmouth groaned at them in dissatisfaction and turned his bottle up again and began to chug the whiskey. As he did they repeated the chant except this time it was louder and closer. By the time Smallmouth had finished his bottle he was quickly losing consciousness. This wasn’t just whiskey. As he closed his eyes he felt hands grabbing him from all sides.
Smallmouth pulled open his sticky eyelids. His head felt like someone had bowled a strike into it. Wind froze his face. The smell of sickly, wet iron stung his nostrils. His vantage was higher than usual. Way higher. He was looking out into another field, but from easily ten feet up. He saw an old church, formerly painted white but now a flaky pale-beige. He heard the friction of a quick pull of rope below him, matched with a slight, tight pain at his feet. He looked down. A red-robed figure was fastening him against a wooden structure of some kind. His feet sat on a small flat platform perpendicular to a post that went from the ground up past smallmouths head. He couldn’t move his arms, so he quickly shot his eyes side to side. They were also tied to another horizontal post. A cross. He was being tied to a crude wooden cross. His shirt had been removed, exposing a hairy, overweight belly. Smallmouth tried to speak, but all that came out was a slow, unintelligible grumble. He was still drunk. No, this was more than that. He was under the influence of something strong and absolutely inhibitive. He wallowed again, and took in a deep breath. The smell of iron once again hit his nose. He looked down at himself. He was covered in a thick, red liquid. That wasn’t just the smell of iron. He had been splashed full body with blood.
“Now now, young servant…” the figure at his feet had finished his task and took a couple of steps out to admire his own handiwork.
“Ahh…perfect. The picture of martyrdom. Yes, you will always be remembered, Brother Bassett. You are to be the first Saint of The New Bible.” He opened his arms in his declaration.
Smallmouth looked up into the cold night sky. The moon shown down, giving everything a midnight spotlight. It was a gorgeous waxing gibbous, big and bright but not quite full. Yes, he was in a great big snowy field that housed an old worn down church. From the windows of the church he saw candles glowing, showing dark heads and shoulders looking out to him, also covered in loose hoods, hiding faces. He was hanging on a cross about one hundred feet from the old church. In front of the cross was a partially covered pit, a couple of two by fours supporting double armfuls of branches and dead leaves.
The figure at the base of the cross put his arms back to his side. He was still looking right at the drugged Smallmouth’s dumbstruck face. Even with a veiled mouth you could hear the twisted smile in his voice.
“Tonight you will help us finally defeat this legion, Smallmouth. You see, it may have the evil spirits within it, but at its core, it is still an owned animal. An animal that knows its Master very well. An animal that will remember the smell of its Master. You, my friend, are covered in its Master right now. And you are hanging on a cross, the symbol of this brute’s most hated enemy. But take heart, young Brother. Before you is our pit of spears. Yes you will attract the beast, but our Divine plan will intercept it and the beast will fall and be pierced. And then, oh dear brother, you will forever be immortalized. You will be purified in fire by the hands of your church brethren. Out of your screams and into the smoke the iniquities of all will be released. We will go on to preach your good example and your sainthood forever and ever.”
Smallmouth began to drool and hum pathetically. He could hear and understand the words of the robed man but he couldn’t fight back. His body was useless, limp inside its rope confines. All he could do now is think, and watch, and wait, and dread his fate.
The figure turned away from him, walking over near the pit and gathering up a bundle of brambles and throwing them over the last open area, covering it completely. He then crunched through the snow over to the front door of the old church, groaning open the door. He stood at the dark doorway for a few seconds in silence, and then began to make a noise. An over exaggerated pig squealing noise, high pitched and infuriating. Soon after other voices from inside the church began to do the same, their wailing echoing out of the building and all across the field, loudly signaling, calling out. It may as well have been a dinner bell. Not a half minute after they began the distress signal it was loudly answered by a distant squall. A furious squall.
This was it. Either way it happened Smallmouth was about to die. Experience terror, and then die, and not even have the ability to put up any kind of defense. It wasn’t fair. He just slowly lifted up his head and watched out far into the moonlit, white field. He then raised his heavy head further and took a good gander at the moon and stars for the last time.
“God,” he thought to himself, still having full inner monologue yet no outer motor function, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for being what I am. I am so sorry for ending up in this place. It’s only my own fault. If it wasn’t for me being so stupid and messy and drunk and terrible then this wouldnt be happening to me.”
He began to shed tears that washed lines into the blood on his face.
“Please forgive me God. Please, please, please forgive me for all of my sins. This is it. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!” He yelled inside his own mind, hoping and trying to send his silent words as far up into heaven as they could go.
He lowered his eyes back to the ground. He looked over at the church again. The windows were empty, the candles were extinguished. Those hooded cowards were hiding from their own handmade sacrificial service. All was quiet for a long pause until a much louder, closer bleating began at the edge of the forest not even three hundred feet away from Smallmouth’s glazed over eyes. It was time, and it was too late for a miracle.
Out of the woods, slowly and heavily, stomped the massive hog. As it marched closer and closer Smallmouth could see its white, boiled over eyes and black-burnt skin. Its jaws were flying open and snapping its sharp, pocket knife-sized teeth together in an intimidating “clack”. It was now less than a hundred feet away, the dark old church to its right shoulder. It stopped, its pale glowing eyes fixed right on Smallmouth on the crude cross. It truly was a monster. It stood as tall as a man and as long as a canoe. Around its murderous mouth were stains of red, the remnants of all that it had taken from the world on this unholy night. In its clanging jaws were bits of flesh. It snorted and scowled.
Then, in a fury, it wailed that horrible squeal and started off into a dead sprint. It galloped and galloped toward Smallmouth at a high, blistering speed. It kept yawping and howling as it cut the distance from the cross down to fifty feet, forty feet, thirty, twenty. All at once it passed over the covered pit and plunged in. In his doomed, dead eyed stupor Smallmouth could hear what sounded like paint being dumped from a rooftop onto concrete. Trails of black liquid squirted and splashed up from the pit, which had been uncovered in the fall of the beast. Unbelieving, Smallmouth saw dozens of steel spear tips standing up from the dug-in ground. Right in the middle of them the beast was stuck. The sheer weight of the animal had caused the spears to pierce through its tough skin, sticking out of its back, soaked in black blood. One spear had stabbed right under the hogs chin, passing up through its jaws and out its black snout. It made agonized sounds. It roared and roared and shook the spears inside it, beginning furiously, then growing weaker and weaker within seconds. Finally, it let out one last weak little squeal, before it went still and quiet.
Smallmouth was frozen both physically by drugs and constraints and mentally by shock. His mouth hung open toward the pit of spears, his vision blurry. He took in a deep, troubled breath and let out a moan of disbelief and relief. The old church doors sprang open, and the sound of jubilation within flowed out into the night. The red robed figures flocked out of the building toward the pit, arms raised in celebration. They surrounded the hole, getting a good look at their success and their enemies defeat. Some held additional spears and began further stabbing the dead animal, causing more black blood to be shed up at them. They all yelled loudly and triumphantly. Some danced around the pit. Some skipped over to Smallmouth on the cross and danced around him, slapping his legs and spinning in circles.
Smallmouth looked on at the raucous celebration, both in utter disbelief of their trap actually working and also in turmoil. How long now until they fully execute their plan.
A taller robed man, whose voice matched the same one who spoke to Smallmouth as he tied his feet, spoke up, sounding almost happily intoxicated.
“Ahh yes my Brothers!! It is done!! We have won!!!”
They all whooped and cheered.
“Brother Norman, go into the church and bring me the small tank of fuel. Let us send our dear Saint Bassett to the Holy lands, where he will be adored for all eternity!”
They all clapped and hollered. One figure began childishly skipping away from the pit and over toward the front door of the church.
Then, it happened.
From the pit all of a sudden a great blaze erupted instantly. It stood as tall as the cross, and it burned a furious red and blue. It raged and raged, blinding Smallmouth and making him clumsily turn his face away from the heat.
All of the figures panicked, screaming and scattering away toward the church. They didn’t get far. Up from the fiery pit, dozens of long, long, black arms, adorned with six hooking claws emerged and stretched out of the flames and latched on to the legs of those trying to escape. Smallmouth heard crying and wailing from the men as the black, razor clawed-hands of the legion grabbed them and began pulling them back, into the blazes. One by one the red robed people were dragged into the flames, their clothes catching instantly. Smallmouth could see violently shaking bodies in the evil furnace. Oh, the screams. Above the tortured howling, the sound of laughing broke out. Deep, menacing laughter, hundreds of voices, echoed up into the air from the burning hole. Then, in one extinguishing squeeze, the ground swallowed the entirety of the fiery pit, leaving it completely covered in dirt, still and quiet. Soon after, and just like the pit of spears, the old church building caught in an instant and raging fire, quickly toppling the walls and dropping the steeple into its ruins. The smoke towered high in the night sky, which had just began to hint at a pale morning blue. Smallmouth hung on his cross in utter horror and surprise.
As the late evening hours glowed into early morning the smoke eventually tapered off, as Smallmouth’s drugs finally began to wear off as well. The fires of the church did garner long distance attention, though. Just as Smallmouth was able to regain control of his muscles and voice he heard emergency sirens call out into the cold morning air. Not long after, two fire trucks, an ambulance and a sheriffs truck tore into the field and toward Smallmouth on the cross. Not long after Smallmouth could feel the tied ropes being cut loose by firemen, their uniforms easily the best red clothes he had seen all night.
“What on God’s green Earth happened here son?” A bearded man with a dark hat and brown shirt and pants asked Smallmouth once he had been lowered down from the cross and sat on the ground with a shock blanket around his shoulders. The Sheriff, no doubt.
“God’s green Earth. It really is God’s, isn’t it?” Smallmouth whispered, staring out across the cold field. Then, at the very place he was staring, an old, familiar truck came barreling out of the gravel road in the woods and through the field in the steadily growing morning light. It was Uncle Chuck’s truck. It hurried over toward the other emergency vehicles, parked, the driver’s side door burst open, and Uncle Chuck came bounding out over to Smallmouth, his eyes wide and his mouth a wonderfully shocked “O”.
“JEREMY! JEREMY!!!” He basically fell on Smallmouth in a tight, warm hug. Smallmouth was caught off guard by Chuck using his real name.
His Uncle held him for several seconds and then let up, but kept his hands on Smallmouth’s shoulders.
“I thought you were dead.” Both of them said at almost the exact same time.
“I came back and your house was a mess and there was blood everywhere. I thought you were dead.” Smallmouth weakly spat out.
“Well, I woke up and you were gone, son, so I walked to the ranch to get my truck. I was worried bout ya son. I came back home and the whole place had been turned upside down. Blood on the carpet. I just thought the worst. Then I tried my neighbors house. Buddy, they’re dead. Looks like some wacko murder-suicide if I ever saw one. Scott probably tried to come kill us too and wrecked the place when he found it empty. I don’t know. But what I DO know is that you are right here! You are okay Jeremy!! Ahhh Praise Jesus!!”
“It’s not that, Uncle. That isn’t what happened out here. It’s..it was a..a, uh…”
Smallmouth’s fried brain couldn’t even comprehend what he had witnessed over the past few hours. It was all a violent blur.
“Dont worry bout it son, you can tell me everything on the way to the hospital. We gotta go get you checked out and cleaned up. C’mon.” He helped Smallmouth up and they walked over to the ambulance, his Uncle’s arm thrown around his shoulder.
Smallmouth would be sent home later that afternoon. It would take him and his Uncle a long time to sort through the chaos of that deadly night and rebuild their lives. But life kept on. Smallmouth would remain living with his Uncle, and would begin a job working with him down at the ranch. Together they started to attend a local church. Smallmouth never touched a drink or a drug or even a cigarette ever again, and remained steadfast in his newly revitalized faith.

When traveling, how do you get your L.Reuteri? I'll be going on a 5 day journey involving a round trip flight from Florida to Texas, and a hotel stay. The room has a small fridge. How can I transport about 10 jars of yogurt for this trip, the jars are 6oz each, and the TSA carry on limit is 3.4 oz per jar of liquid, and the jars must be "sealed". I'm not sure if that means "Factory sealed" or not? But either way, I am not sure how to keep them cold, how to pack them, if I should put them inside my luggage, or carry in my backpack, which would make the backpack weigh too much. Any help appreciated.

How much water do you drink to maintain hydration? I’ve been drinking 2 gallons a day and feel like it might be overkill. I’m drinking 2 liquid IV packs a day. The reason I’m drinking so much is that I’ve gotten some cramps in my legs during exercise since starting lithium.