hello all. my friends and i just finished watching bodies bodies bodies (2022) and we are arguing about a scene. around about minute 41 or 42, while the girls are standing in the hallway, was there a figure holding a flashlight in the background? two of us can clearly see the silhouette of a person who turns off a flashlight before bee enters the room. our other two friends disagree and say that it's "a reflection" or even perhaps "someone from the crew that made it into the final cut". can someone with better eyes and a better understanding of the movie clear up this argument for us? thank you!

A few years ago, I decided I needed a major life change. Everything seemed to be going downhill- my finances, my mental health, my life. I would go weeks without sleeping sometimes as the heavy traffic passed through the city streets down below. Every time I went outside, I saw more homeless people, more needles and crack pipes littering the ground, more muggings and assaults and overdoses and deaths. The city had become a wasteland, and I knew it was time to leave.
I had no girlfriend, no wife, no kids. My parents had both died a few years prior and I barely talked to my siblings anymore. I had nothing to tie me down to this place where I felt like I was dying inside a little more each day.
That was when I sold nearly everything I owned, got in my car and drove up to Alaska to try starting anew. I bought a small cabin and a plot of land in the middle of its majestic mountains and dark, enchanting forests. In the winter, the Northern Lights would shine through like the eyes of God, sending out divine trails of light that danced through the sky in cosmic waves.
And while the move did help give me some peace of mind, in the end, the source of all my problems had ultimately followed me thousands of miles into this endless wilderness. It would take me a long time to realize the cause of all this misery was myself.
Because, as a wise man once said, “Wherever I go, there I am.”
***
I lived in that cabin for three months without any major issues other than the constant threat of bears, moose and wolves. I had a rifle and a shotgun for hunting, a small garden in the backyard and a solar panel to generate electricity.
“This is the life,” I said, relaxing on a hammock I had strung across the corner of the cabin while staring at the endless beauty directly outside the window. White-capped mountains loomed like giants in front of thick clusters of evergreens. A virgin covering of fluffy snow made the entire world glisten and sparkle. There wasn’t a house or road in sight.
“No work, no stress, no pollution, no cars honking all the time…” I closed my eyes, breathing in the clean air. I ended up falling asleep for a couple hours, waking up just as the Sun had started setting. Bright orange streaks mixed with the bloody smears of the fading light as it disappeared behind the mountains.
I groggily arose, stumbling over to make a cup of instant coffee. As I sipped it, I wandered around the room, looking for something to pass the time. There were still quite a few random objects left behind by the last owner that I hadn’t gotten rid of yet. I had moved in to find a stocked bookshelf filled with classics by Philip K. Dick, Isaac Asimov and Robert Heinlein. Bored, I started rifling through the collection, looking for something good to pass the time. As I shuffled past “A Maze of Death” and “Ubik”, something caught my eye.
A black, leather-bound book with no title or author name stood there, its cover faded with time and wear. Curious, I pulled it out and opened it. I saw the cursive scrawled across the pages in a neat, copperplate script and realized it was a diary left behind by the previous owner. The first entry was dated “January 9th, 2015.” This is what it said.
***
“I don’t know if I’m going crazy or not. I went into town to talk to my therapist yesterday and she said I should try writing everything down. She talks to me like it’s all in my head. But I know it’s not.
“When I first moved into the cabin, it seemed like Paradise. I never thought in a million years that something would be slinking around at night. I never thought it would be hiding under my bed, peeking in windows and following me like a shadow.
“Right now, I’m snowed in with a cup of coffee in one hand and my pistol in the other. I can’t sleep anymore. I keep hearing something shuffling around under the bed. Sometimes, I think I even hear ragged breathing, as if a corpse with dirt in its lungs had come back to life.
“I’ve caught glimpses of that thing in the darkness. Whatever it is, its skin is loose, almost falling off the bone. It almost looks like a naked, emaciated man. Its eyes are rotted and dark, its back hunched, its spine twisted and jutting out like tumors. It moves in this slow, jerky way, but I can never seem to catch it. Its body seems broken and out of alignment. Its legs bend the wrong way sometimes.
“By the time I turn on the lights or try to take a video of it, it’s always disappeared. But its fetid odor remains. It lingers in the cabin like a sweet-smelling, spreading infection.
“I don’t know what it wants from me. I want to leave, but with the storm raging outside, I’m stuck here, unable to get all the way back to town. The snow surrounds the cabin in mounds five feet high. I feel like a prisoner caged with a rabid beast, not knowing when it will strike.
“My wife claims she hasn’t seen or heard anything, but she keeps vanishing on me. Last night, she disappeared in the middle of a snowstorm. Where did she go? I asked her in the morning, but she said she was here the whole time. She didn’t remember anything. There’s no way she went into town. There wasn’t time and the trails were impassable that far down.
“Something’s going on here, but I don’t know what it is. I’m truly scared for our lives.”
I slammed the diary shut, not wanting to read anymore. I didn’t want to become infected by some kind of contagious cabin fever. If the last owner had gone insane in the mountains and started hallucinating naked corpses crawling around, I really didn’t want to know.
I shoved the diary back in the bookshelf, going for “A Maze of Death” instead. I tried to forget what I had read in the diary as I flew through the novella. All night, I tried to get the image of the naked, twisting man with rotted eyes out of my head, but I couldn’t.
I eventually fell asleep right before dawn. But, as my eyes were closing, I thought I saw a silhouette in the window- a starved man with excited, black eyes that seemed to be rotting out of his skull. I thought I saw him put his inhumanly long fingers against the glass as he leaned forward. I blinked, sitting up and glancing out into the white, snow-covered wonderland.
There was nothing there.
***
Another hunter occasionally followed the deer trails near my cabin. A frozen lake stood a quarter-mile away, the surface white and covered in thick drifts of snow. I bundled up, deciding to go outside for a hike in the frigid dawn. I strapped on my snowshoes and grabbed my shotgun, as I always did when I went outside. I never knew when a polar bear might be waiting around the next tree, after all.
I opened the door, seeing footprints pressed into the snow all around my house. At first, I thought it was that silhouette I had seen, the nightmarish thing from the diary. But the footprints didn’t go over to my window. They followed the trail twenty feet away, veering off towards the frozen lake at the bottom of the hill. I glanced down in that direction, seeing a black figure plodding slowly forward.
“Steve!” I cried, recognizing my only neighbor in a four-mile radius. He had a cabin about a mile away on his own little plot of land. He jumped, clearly startled by the sudden noise. His black snow pants and heavy fur coat swished together as he spun, raising his rifle high. When he saw me, he immediately lowered it and put a gloved hand up in a friendly greeting.
“Hey Josh! Surprised to see you up this early,” he yelled over the muted wintry landscape. Sounds always seemed different after it snowed, as if all the noise in the world had become faded and dead.
“Yeah, I’ve been having a little trouble sleeping,” I said, slinging my shotgun around my shoulder. “What are you doing anyway?”
“Just a little hunting, you know,” he said, giving me a sly wink. “Animals are always most active around dusk and dawn, it seems. That’s when I always have the best luck, anyway.” He stepped close to me, staring me in the eyes. “You do look like shit. Those bags under your eyes are big enough to carry groceries in.”
“Yeah, trust me, I know… Hey, this might sound a little weird, but did you know the previous owner of this cabin?” I asked. Steve’s wrinkled, old face fell into a scowl. His expression immediately became guarded and distant.
“Sure, sure, we met,” he exclaimed bluntly. He seemed to be searching my face for something, but I didn’t know what. His reaction left me feeling off-balance and nervous.
“Is he still around?” I said. Steve’s scowl deepened.
“Buddy, I don’t know what this is about, but he’s dead. He’s been dead. He died in that cabin, actually.” He pointed a finger at my home accusingly. With those words, my heart seemed to drop into my stomach. Waves of dread flowed through my body like water.
“How… how did he die? Like a heart attack or something?” I asked. Steve’s gaze turned downwards. He didn’t meet my eyes.
“Do you know that Alaska has the highest missing persons rate in the entire United States? It’s not even close. In fact, for the population size, we have far more people who go missing and never get found than anywhere else. They even have a name for it: the Alaska Triangle,” Steve said. “And we’re square in the middle of it.” I stared blankly at him, wondering where he was going with this. It seemed like a way to avoid answering my question.
“No, I didn’t know that…” I responded. Steve nodded, raising his head again. He heaved a deep sigh.
“Look, the thing with the last owner and his wife… it’s somewhat disturbing. If you really want to know, I’ll tell you, but it’s certainly not going to help your peace of mind. And it definitely isn’t going to help you get some sleep.”
“I want to know,” I insisted instantly. The wind started to whip past us. Flakes of ice and snow flew sideways in the sudden currents.
“Let’s go back to your cabin then,” Steve said, pulling his heavy fur-lined hood off and shaking out his long, black hair behind him. “I could use a bit of whiskey to warm up.”
***
We sat down with a bottle of Johnny Walker and two shot glasses. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but Steve certainly was. He chugged three shots in the span of a minute. I sipped at mine, drinking half and putting it back down on the coffee table with a thunk. Steve grunted, hissing through his open mouth for a moment.
“Ugh, that’s the good stuff,” he said, slamming his chest as the burning liquor worked its way down. Steve looked up at me with a new sparkle in his eyes. “Huh, so you want to know about what happened to Will Lenning. Well, I’ll tell you that no one really knows the whole story. I used to see him occasionally, come down and have a drink and talk. We all know each other around here, obviously.” I nodded, motioning him on. “He seemed like a normal, upstanding guy. He kinda reminded me of you, actually. A young guy trying to escape the hustle and bustle of the city life, the cancer of the American Dream.
“Well, he was here for maybe a couple months, I don’t know. Everything seemed fine. We used to go skeet shooting occasionally, have a beer, you know. We’d get together with a couple other hunters who live closer to town and sometimes play some poker. I never saw anything odd about Will. I never could have predicted what happened to him.” He heaved a long sigh at this, looking out the window at the sharp mountains with an expression of nostalgia.
“Well, what happened to him?” I asked, encouraging him to go on.
“He started talking about seeing someone peering in through his window at night. He talked about hearing sounds from under his bed while he was laying there in the dark- sounds like diseased breathing and shuffling. He started keeping all the lights on in his cabin twenty-four hours a day.” Steve leaned close to me. A glimmer of fear rippled across his pale, wrinkled face. “He started to lose his mind. Started digging holes all over the place, looking for something. Even in the middle of snowstorms, I would occasionally see him outside, digging. It seemed like he never slept anymore. It was classic cabin fever if I ever saw it.
“It was only a few weeks later that I came over here, concerned. I hadn’t heard from him in a few days, which was fairly unusual. I found the door hanging wide open. Propped up in a chair in the exact spot where you now sit, Will lay with a blast hole showing clear through his skull, a shotgun laying at his feet.
“And next to him, I found a blood-stained diary opened to the middle page. The last entry was stained with blood spatter, but still visible. I remember leaning down and reading it. It was only a few sentences long.” I glanced over at the bookshelf with the same diary, saying nothing.
“It said something like, ‘I see now what’s going on. The Twisted Man is leading me to the truth. Today, I will finally find it.’”
“And that was his suicide note?” I asked, my heart hammering in my chest. He nodded.
“Yeah. I went into town and got some rangers to come check it out. Eventually, they got cops and CSI there. They took all the stuff as evidence, including the diary,” he said. “Good riddance, I say. Reading something like that is never beneficial. Sometimes delusions spread like a virus, you know what I mean?” I did, but I said nothing. I glanced back at the diary, its black leather cover gleaming like a crouching snake.
And I wondered- if the police took the diary as evidence, how did it get back here?
***
“You said he had a wife living here with him, too?” I asked.
“Yeah… she went missing around the same time,” he said. “Pretty bizarre. The cops thought maybe she just moved away, but…” He shook his head grimly. “As far as I know, she was never seen again. It was like she had evaporated into thin air.”
After Steve left, I walked stiffly over to the bookshelf, taking down the diary. I flipped open through the pages. In the middle, I found the last entry. Spatters of old, darkened blood were scattered over the page like raindrops. I found the suicide note and read the date.
“January 27th, 2015,” it read. Will Lenning had not lived long after he started seeing the Twisted Man. I wondered if my fate would be the same.
The Sun had started to set outside as I sat with the diary at the small circular kitchen table, eating some stewed venison and rice as I read through the entries. At the end, Will Lenning said the Twisted Man had been trying to guide him somewhere, that, in fact, the Twisted Man had been trying to protect him from some great evil, rather than being the source of it.
I scoffed, feeling a flash of anger at his stupidity. His naivety obviously led to his death. But then a flash of insight struck me like lightning.
What if I was committing the same kind of stupidity? Perhaps I should just grab my gun and valuables and leave. I could take off on the snowmobile and be in town within a couple hours.
But, in my heart, I knew I would not. Something about the mystery of all this beckoned me to stay. Like a siren leading sailors to destruction, my curiosity called out to me, and I knew I would not be leaving that night. I needed answers.
And, sadly, I would find them.
***
I had fallen asleep with an empty bottle of beer in my hand. I sat in front of the TV, which only got satellite reception. There were, of course, no cable or phone lines threading their way through the forest. All of my power came from stored solar energy. Since I rarely watched TV and really only used it to cook or heat up water for bathing, the energy produced was sufficient even in winter. Tonight, though, I needed its sound, its mindless flashing of light and colors and canned laughter. It seemed to drive away the creeping, suffocating presence like a candle.
I woke suddenly. The TV flashed with static. The repetitive hissing of the white noise spit from the speakers like thousands of snakes. I glanced up at the clock. 3:33 AM. I looked around the dark cabin, confused for a long moment. I didn’t understand what had woken me so abruptly. The satellite had never gone out before, either, even with the howling winds and freezing hail of the Alaskan winter.
The TV started flickering as if the static were rising upwards. Black lines traced their way horizontally across the screen. The hissing deepened into a gurgle, and for a second, I thought I heard faint words behind the white noise. I thought I heard breathing, slow and diseased, like the death gasp of a drowning man.
A black line rose across the TV and an image came into view. The cabin was suddenly plunged into silence, except for the shrieking, wintry wind outside. I leaned close to the screen, confused at what I was looking at. It looked like a live camera feed of a room. As I took in the details, I realized it was my cabin. I saw myself in the chair, leaning close to the screen. I raised my hand, and the miniature version of me on the screen did likewise. Ice water seemed to drip down my spine as waves of dread coursed through my body.
“What the fuck is this?” I whispered, looking back to where the camera should be. It was just a coarse wooden ceiling in that corner. I turned back to the screen and nearly screamed.
The TV showed a pale, naked man crouching directly behind my chair now. With jerky movements, he rose, his broken spine twisting and shivering. A hissing voice rang out from the speakers. It spoke as if it had dirt and writhing maggots in its throat.
“He is a killer. The shadow of death,” it gurgled. “Many have fallen. Many lie buried across this forest. You will be next. He is watching you…”
Long, broken fingers with blackened nails reached out to touch my shoulders. I jumped out of the chair, stumbling back as I spun around in terror. My back smashed into the TV, and it fell to the floor with a shattering of glass and an explosion of light.
In those few moments before the darkness descended on me like a blanket, I thought I glimpsed a pale, sunken face with rotted, blackened eyes peeking out from behind the chair.
***
I turned on every light in the cabin, but there was no sign of the Twisted Man now. I knew I had to get out of there, though. I thought about the warning that the voice had spoken. If the creature wanted to attack me, then why hadn’t it just killed me while I was sleeping? None of it made sense. Who was watching me? The Twisted Man? And if he was, why warn me? Perhaps it was psychological warfare, I thought to myself. Perhaps the Twisted Man simply liked to play with his food before he ate it.
Thoughts raced through my head at a thousand miles an hour as I threw on snow pants and a couple heavy sweaters and coats. I covered up my entire body as much as I could to try to prevent frostbite. I had made up my mind to flee. There was no snowstorm tonight, though the entire landscape was blanketed in it and I knew the wind chill would be like an ice blade whipping against my skin. It was extremely dangerous to travel in the middle of the night like this in temperatures that might reach negative thirty degrees. Steve had been right, after all- Alaska had the highest missing persons rate of any state, and many of them were never found, their bodies likely frozen solid in the deep snow dozens of miles from the nearest town.
I grabbed my shotgun, jumped on my snowmobile and started heading to Steve’s cabin. I hoped I could wait there until the sunrise and then figure out what to do next.
But fate would take the decision out of my hands.
***
I felt like there were eyes watching me as I drove along the narrow, winding deer trail. The boughs of the evergreens reached into the path like greedy hands, grabbing at my coat and legs. More than a couple times, I thought I saw a pale, naked figure standing in the snow, but it had always gone when I turned to look.
I gave a sigh of relief when Steve’s place appeared in the distance. I could see the lights twinkling through the small windows of his log cabin. I pulled up next to his door, looking down. I saw two pairs of footprints there, one much smaller than the other. I found it odd, but shrugged it off. The snowmobile cut out with a sucking gurgle.
I knocked on the door hard a few times. Steve appeared after a few moments, groggy and half-dressed. He blinked slowly as he looked me up and down. His wrinkled face fell into a frown.
“Steve, I need a favor,” I said quickly. “Something weird is happening in my cabin. Can I stay here until morning, until maybe I can go to town or something? I can’t stay at my place tonight. I just can’t.” He nodded, yawning and motioning me in.
“You can sleep on the couch, I guess,” Steve said. “Put that shotgun somewhere safe, though, boy.” He had a partitioned bedroom in his cabin. It was significantly larger than my little one-room cabin, though it was basically still just a joint kitchen-living room, a small bedroom and a bathroom. He pointed to a well-worn couch in the corner and gave me an apathetic wave as he stumbled back into his bedroom, slamming the door.
I couldn’t sleep, though. I tiptoed around the room, looking at Steve’s bookshelf. He had a rather strange taste in books- lots of Anne Rule and true crime there. I saw dozens of books about Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, Richard Chase, Herbert Mullin, Jeffrey Dahmer and Richard Ramirez among the collection. At the end, a large, black binder stood, unlabeled and worn-looking. It reminded me of the look of that leather-bound diary for a second, and my heart dropped. But logically, I knew this was just a coincidence. Yet, still, I pulled out the binder, my curiosity piqued.
What I found inside filled me with dread and horror.
Countless news clippings covered the length of it. The first clipping was from nearly twenty years earlier, about a woman who went missing in the Alaskan forest while hiking. A later one confirmed that her body was never found, and that her family was still hoping that she might turn up alive somewhere. A reward was offered for any information, it said.
And every page after that was more of the same: missing woman, murdered prostitute, missing man, no leads. I kept flipping through until I found clippings about Will Lenning’s suicide and the sudden disappearance of his wife. On the article about the suicide, Steve had used red marker to scrawl, “HA HA!” next to it.
I heard the click of a gun being cocked from behind me. I froze as Steve’s voice traveled across the room like a whisper.
“How do you like my work, friend?” he asked, his tone jovial and mocking.
***
I still held the binder of horrors tightly in my hands as I stared open-mouthed at this man I thought I knew.
“It’s you? What, you killed Will Lenning and his wife? And a lot of other women, apparently.” Everything felt unreal, as if I were stuck in a dream. Steve’s grin spread across his face, but his blue eyes stayed cold and dead.
“Yes, well, she was cheating on him with me anyway. Just another whore, you know. They always get what’s coming to them in the end,” he hissed with hatred oozing from his voice. “It’s too bad, really. I just killed another slut tonight. I was planning on saving you for later. The urge isn’t too bad yet right now, after all. It comes in cycles, you see. It comes in waves…” I saw a glimmer of pale, naked flesh writhing behind Steve. With jerky movements, the Twisted Man came up behind him. I said nothing, just watching with wide-eyed horror and amazement.
“You need help, man,” I whispered. Steve laughed.
“Help? The only help they give people like me is a needle in the arm. You know that. That’s why it’s important to always cover your tracks…” The Twisted Man ran a long, broken finger across Steve’s neck. Steve gave a strangled cry and jumped. He spun around, screaming. I glanced over at my shotgun next to the couch.
I jumped for it as Steve turned back to me, firing his pistol twice. The first bullet soared high above me, raining wood splinters down on my head, but the second ripped into my leg. A cold, burning pain ran like fire up my shin. I screamed in agony and battle fury as I gripped the shotgun, spinning and firing.
Steve’s head exploded as the slug ripped through his brain. His forehead collapsed like a smashed melon as bone splinters and blood sprayed the wall behind him.
The Twisted Man stood there, hunched over, grinning up at me. I felt warm blood gushing from my leg as I stared back at him, breathing hard. I wondered if I was dying.
“You… you weren’t after me at all, were you?” I asked. “You were after… Steve.” But the Twisted Man said nothing. After a long moment, he slinked back into the shadows of the bedroom and disappeared.
***
As night crawled its way toward morning, I thought back to the words the Twisted Man had spoken through the TV, suddenly understanding everything.
“He is a killer. The shadow of death. Many have fallen. Many lie buried across this forest. You will be next. He is watching you…”
He hadn’t been trying to hurt me at all. He had been trying to warn me. He had probably tried to warn Will Lenning and his wife, too.
I wrapped my leg in gauze, gritting my teeth. The wound looked puckered and deep, but I could still move my foot, and the bullet had gone clean through the flesh. I poured alcohol on it, screaming in pain as it burned its way through my skin. After rummaging through Steve’s bathroom, I found some prescription painkillers and swallowed a handful of them with a beer. I knew I would need the opiate high to get through the pain of riding into town with a mutilated leg.
As the Sun finally rose, I made my way outside the blood-stained floors of the cabin to my snowmobile. Before I left, I glanced back at that horrid place, the scene of so much torment and death.
In the open doorway, the Twisted Man stood, his back hunched, his rotted lips grinning at me. His hand lifted up into the air with jerky movements and waved.
I waved back as I started the engine and headed into town.

A few years ago, I decided I needed a major life change. Everything seemed to be going downhill- my finances, my mental health, my life. I would go weeks without sleeping sometimes as the heavy traffic passed through the city streets down below. Every time I went outside, I saw more homeless people, more needles and crack pipes littering the ground, more muggings and assaults and overdoses and deaths. The city had become a wasteland, and I knew it was time to leave.
I had no girlfriend, no wife, no kids. My parents had both died a few years prior and I barely talked to my siblings anymore. I had nothing to tie me down to this place where I felt like I was dying inside a little more each day.
That was when I sold nearly everything I owned, got in my car and drove up to Alaska to try starting anew. I bought a small cabin and a plot of land in the middle of its majestic mountains and dark, enchanting forests. In the winter, the Northern Lights would shine through like the eyes of God, sending out divine trails of light that danced through the sky in cosmic waves.
And while the move did help give me some peace of mind, in the end, the source of all my problems had ultimately followed me thousands of miles into this endless wilderness. It would take me a long time to realize the cause of all this misery was myself.
Because, as a wise man once said, “Wherever I go, there I am.”
***
I lived in that cabin for three months without any major issues other than the constant threat of bears, moose and wolves. I had a rifle and a shotgun for hunting, a small garden in the backyard and a solar panel to generate electricity.
“This is the life,” I said, relaxing on a hammock I had strung across the corner of the cabin while staring at the endless beauty directly outside the window. White-capped mountains loomed like giants in front of thick clusters of evergreens. A virgin covering of fluffy snow made the entire world glisten and sparkle. There wasn’t a house or road in sight.
“No work, no stress, no pollution, no cars honking all the time…” I closed my eyes, breathing in the clean air. I ended up falling asleep for a couple hours, waking up just as the Sun had started setting. Bright orange streaks mixed with the bloody smears of the fading light as it disappeared behind the mountains.
I groggily arose, stumbling over to make a cup of instant coffee. As I sipped it, I wandered around the room, looking for something to pass the time. There were still quite a few random objects left behind by the last owner that I hadn’t gotten rid of yet. I had moved in to find a stocked bookshelf filled with classics by Philip K. Dick, Isaac Asimov and Robert Heinlein. Bored, I started rifling through the collection, looking for something good to pass the time. As I shuffled past “A Maze of Death” and “Ubik”, something caught my eye.
A black, leather-bound book with no title or author name stood there, its cover faded with time and wear. Curious, I pulled it out and opened it. I saw the cursive scrawled across the pages in a neat, copperplate script and realized it was a diary left behind by the previous owner. The first entry was dated “January 9th, 2015.” This is what it said.
***
“I don’t know if I’m going crazy or not. I went into town to talk to my therapist yesterday and she said I should try writing everything down. She talks to me like it’s all in my head. But I know it’s not.
“When I first moved into the cabin, it seemed like Paradise. I never thought in a million years that something would be slinking around at night. I never thought it would be hiding under my bed, peeking in windows and following me like a shadow.
“Right now, I’m snowed in with a cup of coffee in one hand and my pistol in the other. I can’t sleep anymore. I keep hearing something shuffling around under the bed. Sometimes, I think I even hear ragged breathing, as if a corpse with dirt in its lungs had come back to life.
“I’ve caught glimpses of that thing in the darkness. Whatever it is, its skin is loose, almost falling off the bone. It almost looks like a naked, emaciated man. Its eyes are rotted and dark, its back hunched, its spine twisted and jutting out like tumors. It moves in this slow, jerky way, but I can never seem to catch it. Its body seems broken and out of alignment. Its legs bend the wrong way sometimes.
“By the time I turn on the lights or try to take a video of it, it’s always disappeared. But its fetid odor remains. It lingers in the cabin like a sweet-smelling, spreading infection.
“I don’t know what it wants from me. I want to leave, but with the storm raging outside, I’m stuck here, unable to get all the way back to town. The snow surrounds the cabin in mounds five feet high. I feel like a prisoner caged with a rabid beast, not knowing when it will strike.
“My wife claims she hasn’t seen or heard anything, but she keeps vanishing on me. Last night, she disappeared in the middle of a snowstorm. Where did she go? I asked her in the morning, but she said she was here the whole time. She didn’t remember anything. There’s no way she went into town. There wasn’t time and the trails were impassable that far down.
“Something’s going on here, but I don’t know what it is. I’m truly scared for our lives.”
I slammed the diary shut, not wanting to read anymore. I didn’t want to become infected by some kind of contagious cabin fever. If the last owner had gone insane in the mountains and started hallucinating naked corpses crawling around, I really didn’t want to know.
I shoved the diary back in the bookshelf, going for “A Maze of Death” instead. I tried to forget what I had read in the diary as I flew through the novella. All night, I tried to get the image of the naked, twisting man with rotted eyes out of my head, but I couldn’t.
I eventually fell asleep right before dawn. But, as my eyes were closing, I thought I saw a silhouette in the window- a starved man with excited, black eyes that seemed to be rotting out of his skull. I thought I saw him put his inhumanly long fingers against the glass as he leaned forward. I blinked, sitting up and glancing out into the white, snow-covered wonderland.
There was nothing there.
***
Another hunter occasionally followed the deer trails near my cabin. A frozen lake stood a quarter-mile away, the surface white and covered in thick drifts of snow. I bundled up, deciding to go outside for a hike in the frigid dawn. I strapped on my snowshoes and grabbed my shotgun, as I always did when I went outside. I never knew when a polar bear might be waiting around the next tree, after all.
I opened the door, seeing footprints pressed into the snow all around my house. At first, I thought it was that silhouette I had seen, the nightmarish thing from the diary. But the footprints didn’t go over to my window. They followed the trail twenty feet away, veering off towards the frozen lake at the bottom of the hill. I glanced down in that direction, seeing a black figure plodding slowly forward.
“Steve!” I cried, recognizing my only neighbor in a four-mile radius. He had a cabin about a mile away on his own little plot of land. He jumped, clearly startled by the sudden noise. His black snow pants and heavy fur coat swished together as he spun, raising his rifle high. When he saw me, he immediately lowered it and put a gloved hand up in a friendly greeting.
“Hey Josh! Surprised to see you up this early,” he yelled over the muted wintry landscape. Sounds always seemed different after it snowed, as if all the noise in the world had become faded and dead.
“Yeah, I’ve been having a little trouble sleeping,” I said, slinging my shotgun around my shoulder. “What are you doing anyway?”
“Just a little hunting, you know,” he said, giving me a sly wink. “Animals are always most active around dusk and dawn, it seems. That’s when I always have the best luck, anyway.” He stepped close to me, staring me in the eyes. “You do look like shit. Those bags under your eyes are big enough to carry groceries in.”
“Yeah, trust me, I know… Hey, this might sound a little weird, but did you know the previous owner of this cabin?” I asked. Steve’s wrinkled, old face fell into a scowl. His expression immediately became guarded and distant.
“Sure, sure, we met,” he exclaimed bluntly. He seemed to be searching my face for something, but I didn’t know what. His reaction left me feeling off-balance and nervous.
“Is he still around?” I said. Steve’s scowl deepened.
“Buddy, I don’t know what this is about, but he’s dead. He’s been dead. He died in that cabin, actually.” He pointed a finger at my home accusingly. With those words, my heart seemed to drop into my stomach. Waves of dread flowed through my body like water.
“How… how did he die? Like a heart attack or something?” I asked. Steve’s gaze turned downwards. He didn’t meet my eyes.
“Do you know that Alaska has the highest missing persons rate in the entire United States? It’s not even close. In fact, for the population size, we have far more people who go missing and never get found than anywhere else. They even have a name for it: the Alaska Triangle,” Steve said. “And we’re square in the middle of it.” I stared blankly at him, wondering where he was going with this. It seemed like a way to avoid answering my question.
“No, I didn’t know that…” I responded. Steve nodded, raising his head again. He heaved a deep sigh.
“Look, the thing with the last owner and his wife… it’s somewhat disturbing. If you really want to know, I’ll tell you, but it’s certainly not going to help your peace of mind. And it definitely isn’t going to help you get some sleep.”
“I want to know,” I insisted instantly. The wind started to whip past us. Flakes of ice and snow flew sideways in the sudden currents.
“Let’s go back to your cabin then,” Steve said, pulling his heavy fur-lined hood off and shaking out his long, black hair behind him. “I could use a bit of whiskey to warm up.”
***
We sat down with a bottle of Johnny Walker and two shot glasses. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but Steve certainly was. He chugged three shots in the span of a minute. I sipped at mine, drinking half and putting it back down on the coffee table with a thunk. Steve grunted, hissing through his open mouth for a moment.
“Ugh, that’s the good stuff,” he said, slamming his chest as the burning liquor worked its way down. Steve looked up at me with a new sparkle in his eyes. “Huh, so you want to know about what happened to Will Lenning. Well, I’ll tell you that no one really knows the whole story. I used to see him occasionally, come down and have a drink and talk. We all know each other around here, obviously.” I nodded, motioning him on. “He seemed like a normal, upstanding guy. He kinda reminded me of you, actually. A young guy trying to escape the hustle and bustle of the city life, the cancer of the American Dream.
“Well, he was here for maybe a couple months, I don’t know. Everything seemed fine. We used to go skeet shooting occasionally, have a beer, you know. We’d get together with a couple other hunters who live closer to town and sometimes play some poker. I never saw anything odd about Will. I never could have predicted what happened to him.” He heaved a long sigh at this, looking out the window at the sharp mountains with an expression of nostalgia.
“Well, what happened to him?” I asked, encouraging him to go on.
“He started talking about seeing someone peering in through his window at night. He talked about hearing sounds from under his bed while he was laying there in the dark- sounds like diseased breathing and shuffling. He started keeping all the lights on in his cabin twenty-four hours a day.” Steve leaned close to me. A glimmer of fear rippled across his pale, wrinkled face. “He started to lose his mind. Started digging holes all over the place, looking for something. Even in the middle of snowstorms, I would occasionally see him outside, digging. It seemed like he never slept anymore. It was classic cabin fever if I ever saw it.
“It was only a few weeks later that I came over here, concerned. I hadn’t heard from him in a few days, which was fairly unusual. I found the door hanging wide open. Propped up in a chair in the exact spot where you now sit, Will lay with a blast hole showing clear through his skull, a shotgun laying at his feet.
“And next to him, I found a blood-stained diary opened to the middle page. The last entry was stained with blood spatter, but still visible. I remember leaning down and reading it. It was only a few sentences long.” I glanced over at the bookshelf with the same diary, saying nothing.
“It said something like, ‘I see now what’s going on. The Twisted Man is leading me to the truth. Today, I will finally find it.’”
“And that was his suicide note?” I asked, my heart hammering in my chest. He nodded.
“Yeah. I went into town and got some rangers to come check it out. Eventually, they got cops and CSI there. They took all the stuff as evidence, including the diary,” he said. “Good riddance, I say. Reading something like that is never beneficial. Sometimes delusions spread like a virus, you know what I mean?” I did, but I said nothing. I glanced back at the diary, its black leather cover gleaming like a crouching snake.
And I wondered- if the police took the diary as evidence, how did it get back here?
***
“You said he had a wife living here with him, too?” I asked.
“Yeah… she went missing around the same time,” he said. “Pretty bizarre. The cops thought maybe she just moved away, but…” He shook his head grimly. “As far as I know, she was never seen again. It was like she had evaporated into thin air.”
After Steve left, I walked stiffly over to the bookshelf, taking down the diary. I flipped open through the pages. In the middle, I found the last entry. Spatters of old, darkened blood were scattered over the page like raindrops. I found the suicide note and read the date.
“January 27th, 2015,” it read. Will Lenning had not lived long after he started seeing the Twisted Man. I wondered if my fate would be the same.
The Sun had started to set outside as I sat with the diary at the small circular kitchen table, eating some stewed venison and rice as I read through the entries. At the end, Will Lenning said the Twisted Man had been trying to guide him somewhere, that, in fact, the Twisted Man had been trying to protect him from some great evil, rather than being the source of it.
I scoffed, feeling a flash of anger at his stupidity. His naivety obviously led to his death. But then a flash of insight struck me like lightning.
What if I was committing the same kind of stupidity? Perhaps I should just grab my gun and valuables and leave. I could take off on the snowmobile and be in town within a couple hours.
But, in my heart, I knew I would not. Something about the mystery of all this beckoned me to stay. Like a siren leading sailors to destruction, my curiosity called out to me, and I knew I would not be leaving that night. I needed answers.
And, sadly, I would find them.
***
I had fallen asleep with an empty bottle of beer in my hand. I sat in front of the TV, which only got satellite reception. There were, of course, no cable or phone lines threading their way through the forest. All of my power came from stored solar energy. Since I rarely watched TV and really only used it to cook or heat up water for bathing, the energy produced was sufficient even in winter. Tonight, though, I needed its sound, its mindless flashing of light and colors and canned laughter. It seemed to drive away the creeping, suffocating presence like a candle.
I woke suddenly. The TV flashed with static. The repetitive hissing of the white noise spit from the speakers like thousands of snakes. I glanced up at the clock. 3:33 AM. I looked around the dark cabin, confused for a long moment. I didn’t understand what had woken me so abruptly. The satellite had never gone out before, either, even with the howling winds and freezing hail of the Alaskan winter.
The TV started flickering as if the static were rising upwards. Black lines traced their way horizontally across the screen. The hissing deepened into a gurgle, and for a second, I thought I heard faint words behind the white noise. I thought I heard breathing, slow and diseased, like the death gasp of a drowning man.
A black line rose across the TV and an image came into view. The cabin was suddenly plunged into silence, except for the shrieking, wintry wind outside. I leaned close to the screen, confused at what I was looking at. It looked like a live camera feed of a room. As I took in the details, I realized it was my cabin. I saw myself in the chair, leaning close to the screen. I raised my hand, and the miniature version of me on the screen did likewise. Ice water seemed to drip down my spine as waves of dread coursed through my body.
“What the fuck is this?” I whispered, looking back to where the camera should be. It was just a coarse wooden ceiling in that corner. I turned back to the screen and nearly screamed.
The TV showed a pale, naked man crouching directly behind my chair now. With jerky movements, he rose, his broken spine twisting and shivering. A hissing voice rang out from the speakers. It spoke as if it had dirt and writhing maggots in its throat.
“He is a killer. The shadow of death,” it gurgled. “Many have fallen. Many lie buried across this forest. You will be next. He is watching you…”
Long, broken fingers with blackened nails reached out to touch my shoulders. I jumped out of the chair, stumbling back as I spun around in terror. My back smashed into the TV, and it fell to the floor with a shattering of glass and an explosion of light.
In those few moments before the darkness descended on me like a blanket, I thought I glimpsed a pale, sunken face with rotted, blackened eyes peeking out from behind the chair.
***
I turned on every light in the cabin, but there was no sign of the Twisted Man now. I knew I had to get out of there, though. I thought about the warning that the voice had spoken. If the creature wanted to attack me, then why hadn’t it just killed me while I was sleeping? None of it made sense. Who was watching me? The Twisted Man? And if he was, why warn me? Perhaps it was psychological warfare, I thought to myself. Perhaps the Twisted Man simply liked to play with his food before he ate it.
Thoughts raced through my head at a thousand miles an hour as I threw on snow pants and a couple heavy sweaters and coats. I covered up my entire body as much as I could to try to prevent frostbite. I had made up my mind to flee. There was no snowstorm tonight, though the entire landscape was blanketed in it and I knew the wind chill would be like an ice blade whipping against my skin. It was extremely dangerous to travel in the middle of the night like this in temperatures that might reach negative thirty degrees. Steve had been right, after all- Alaska had the highest missing persons rate of any state, and many of them were never found, their bodies likely frozen solid in the deep snow dozens of miles from the nearest town.
I grabbed my shotgun, jumped on my snowmobile and started heading to Steve’s cabin. I hoped I could wait there until the sunrise and then figure out what to do next.
But fate would take the decision out of my hands.
***
I felt like there were eyes watching me as I drove along the narrow, winding deer trail. The boughs of the evergreens reached into the path like greedy hands, grabbing at my coat and legs. More than a couple times, I thought I saw a pale, naked figure standing in the snow, but it had always gone when I turned to look.
I gave a sigh of relief when Steve’s place appeared in the distance. I could see the lights twinkling through the small windows of his log cabin. I pulled up next to his door, looking down. I saw two pairs of footprints there, one much smaller than the other. I found it odd, but shrugged it off. The snowmobile cut out with a sucking gurgle.
I knocked on the door hard a few times. Steve appeared after a few moments, groggy and half-dressed. He blinked slowly as he looked me up and down. His wrinkled face fell into a frown.
“Steve, I need a favor,” I said quickly. “Something weird is happening in my cabin. Can I stay here until morning, until maybe I can go to town or something? I can’t stay at my place tonight. I just can’t.” He nodded, yawning and motioning me in.
“You can sleep on the couch, I guess,” Steve said. “Put that shotgun somewhere safe, though, boy.” He had a partitioned bedroom in his cabin. It was significantly larger than my little one-room cabin, though it was basically still just a joint kitchen-living room, a small bedroom and a bathroom. He pointed to a well-worn couch in the corner and gave me an apathetic wave as he stumbled back into his bedroom, slamming the door.
I couldn’t sleep, though. I tiptoed around the room, looking at Steve’s bookshelf. He had a rather strange taste in books- lots of Anne Rule and true crime there. I saw dozens of books about Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, Richard Chase, Herbert Mullin, Jeffrey Dahmer and Richard Ramirez among the collection. At the end, a large, black binder stood, unlabeled and worn-looking. It reminded me of the look of that leather-bound diary for a second, and my heart dropped. But logically, I knew this was just a coincidence. Yet, still, I pulled out the binder, my curiosity piqued.
What I found inside filled me with dread and horror.
Countless news clippings covered the length of it. The first clipping was from nearly twenty years earlier, about a woman who went missing in the Alaskan forest while hiking. A later one confirmed that her body was never found, and that her family was still hoping that she might turn up alive somewhere. A reward was offered for any information, it said.
And every page after that was more of the same: missing woman, murdered prostitute, missing man, no leads. I kept flipping through until I found clippings about Will Lenning’s suicide and the sudden disappearance of his wife. On the article about the suicide, Steve had used red marker to scrawl, “HA HA!” next to it.
I heard the click of a gun being cocked from behind me. I froze as Steve’s voice traveled across the room like a whisper.
“How do you like my work, friend?” he asked, his tone jovial and mocking.
***
I still held the binder of horrors tightly in my hands as I stared open-mouthed at this man I thought I knew.
“It’s you? What, you killed Will Lenning and his wife? And a lot of other women, apparently.” Everything felt unreal, as if I were stuck in a dream. Steve’s grin spread across his face, but his blue eyes stayed cold and dead.
“Yes, well, she was cheating on him with me anyway. Just another whore, you know. They always get what’s coming to them in the end,” he hissed with hatred oozing from his voice. “It’s too bad, really. I just killed another slut tonight. I was planning on saving you for later. The urge isn’t too bad yet right now, after all. It comes in cycles, you see. It comes in waves…” I saw a glimmer of pale, naked flesh writhing behind Steve. With jerky movements, the Twisted Man came up behind him. I said nothing, just watching with wide-eyed horror and amazement.
“You need help, man,” I whispered. Steve laughed.
“Help? The only help they give people like me is a needle in the arm. You know that. That’s why it’s important to always cover your tracks…” The Twisted Man ran a long, broken finger across Steve’s neck. Steve gave a strangled cry and jumped. He spun around, screaming. I glanced over at my shotgun next to the couch.
I jumped for it as Steve turned back to me, firing his pistol twice. The first bullet soared high above me, raining wood splinters down on my head, but the second ripped into my leg. A cold, burning pain ran like fire up my shin. I screamed in agony and battle fury as I gripped the shotgun, spinning and firing.
Steve’s head exploded as the slug ripped through his brain. His forehead collapsed like a smashed melon as bone splinters and blood sprayed the wall behind him.
The Twisted Man stood there, hunched over, grinning up at me. I felt warm blood gushing from my leg as I stared back at him, breathing hard. I wondered if I was dying.
“You… you weren’t after me at all, were you?” I asked. “You were after… Steve.” But the Twisted Man said nothing. After a long moment, he slinked back into the shadows of the bedroom and disappeared.
***
As night crawled its way toward morning, I thought back to the words the Twisted Man had spoken through the TV, suddenly understanding everything.
“He is a killer. The shadow of death. Many have fallen. Many lie buried across this forest. You will be next. He is watching you…”
He hadn’t been trying to hurt me at all. He had been trying to warn me. He had probably tried to warn Will Lenning and his wife, too.
I wrapped my leg in gauze, gritting my teeth. The wound looked puckered and deep, but I could still move my foot, and the bullet had gone clean through the flesh. I poured alcohol on it, screaming in pain as it burned its way through my skin. After rummaging through Steve’s bathroom, I found some prescription painkillers and swallowed a handful of them with a beer. I knew I would need the opiate high to get through the pain of riding into town with a mutilated leg.
As the Sun finally rose, I made my way outside the blood-stained floors of the cabin to my snowmobile. Before I left, I glanced back at that horrid place, the scene of so much torment and death.
In the open doorway, the Twisted Man stood, his back hunched, his rotted lips grinning at me. His hand lifted up into the air with jerky movements and waved.
I waved back as I started the engine and headed into town.

chapters 1&2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Link to AO3
For the first time in a long while Q’s bedroom didn’t feel empty. Next to him, lay the pinnacle of human beauty.
His little prince, exhausted after a single session of vigorous love-making, peacefully slept, curled in a cocoon of blankets and his newfound lover’s smell. Despite his promises to “ride Q all night long”, he went out like a light once he climaxed, quickly drifting off while still reveling in the afterglow.
But that wasn’t why Q was feeling worried. In fact, he was grateful for his student’s lack of endurance tonight because when their foreplay finally got to the serious stage, the older man came to an unpleasant realisation: he wasn’t going to get what he wanted out of this encounter. Yes, however tempting Iliya looked sprawled on the bedsheets, however shameless his moans and pleas were, however selflessly Q served him with his mouth, hands and hips, the only thing that got excited was his’s aesthetic taste.
Good thing Iliya didn’t notice his partner’s body lose interest before he fell asleep.
For the first time in a long while Q craved a stimulant. Caffeine, sugar, nicotine. Anything to dispel the dark cloud of the nasty disillusionment: the man he was in love with wasn’t going to keep him happy in the bedroom.
Could they work up to that? Perhaps. But despite Q’s best efforts to hint at wanting to be pushed around, submitted and taken over, Iliya only saw them as cute meaningless teasings, and insisted on being the one who was being serviced.
Could he deal with that? Wasn’t Iliya worth it?
Q sighed and climbed out of bed to look at the night city.
He should be grateful. It wasn’t a big deal, was it? As long as Iliya was happy, he could cope. He could always satisfy his own fantasies alone or with a simulation.
Which was the same thing really.
The ever-clear skies were getting greyish, which meant the night was coming to an end.
Ashtapadans lived almost throughout the whole day-night cycle, taking advantage of the safety of the night city and the mild climate that made being outside comfortable the whole year-round. The people below seemed impossibly small from the high floor but somehow as far away from Q as the perfect person in his bed just a couple steps away.
His bedroom wasn’t empty. But it felt dead.
Well, time for some work.
The only stimulant that was available.
Better do another round of checking the system status, or go through the surveillance cameras again. That would help him take his mind off of the swarm of the dark thoughts in his head.
The Turk was already sitting on the edge of the table, as if it had heard Q’s steps towards the room. Without any need to use the auglasses to see the little assistant, the man stretched his lips in a greeting, but the hologram’s facial recognition algorithms were too good.
“Not what you expected?” it asked, head tilted questioningly to the side.
“Please, T, I’m not in the mood,” Q said, plopping himself into the chair in defeat.
Had the Turk been listening? Hadn’t he closed the bedroom door?
“Alright, as you say. What can I help you with?” the simulation readily offered.
The man considered what could be the best course of action.
“Just run a check-up and notify me if anything is out of the ordinary,” he ordered. “Meanwhile, show me the main nodes and facilities’ cameras.”
“On it,” — the Turk froze for a moment, loading the 3D map on the desk that came to life, painting Q’s tired face with a blue hue, his sharp cheekbones and eyebags suddenly casting deep shadows.
Finally with something familiar to do, Q got to the methodical analysis of each of the critical points in the system, checking the logs and cameras in order. He knew that this process was supposed to be automatic as the AI ran diagnostics 24/7 without his help, but didn’t it mess up just yesterday? He could stumble upon another conspirators ring or a critical issue that the automatic process might have missed. A little double check never hurt.
After a while of watching its young master, the Turk spoke again, “There’s a couple of issues at the corn processing factory, and an incident with a cargo hound. The first problem is being dealt with and the hound is getting back to the main transport node and then to the repair facility to get fixed.”
So, nothing too serious, huh. Ashtapada ran like a clock. There had to be something he could be useful for though!
“What’s wrong with the hound?”
“It somehow got its front camera broken. Body sensors say there’s been an impact.”
“And the cargo?”
“Undamaged. The hound is going to be repaired and its logs loaded into the system for investigation and diagnostics. I’ll send you the report as soon as it gets generated.”
“Alright. What about the factory?”
“A couple of saccharification containers had a leak because of a pressure jump, the repair hounds already took care of that.”
Well, the system could at least to pretend to wait for Q’s order to send the hounds!
Realising where his thoughts were going, he immediately felt pathetic.
He wasn’t any kind of god, he didn’t even control the system in the slightest. The fact that he was allowed a glimpse into the inner workings of Ashtapada was a privilege, easily taken away if he wasn’t careful. But he needed to do something useful even if it was mere supervision.
“Turk,” he sighed. “Show me the saccharification containers.”
“Who are you talking to?” — came a sleepy voice from the door frame that Q couldn’t help but tune into immediately, like a mother hearing her baby’s crying.
Iliya was standing at the door, his ethereal silhouette pale against the dark rectangle. A loose sheet hugged his hips in a mock attempt at modesty that put a warm smile on Q’s lips.
“Just doing a bit of work, Cuddles, I’m talking to the system.”
“But where’re your glasses?” Iliya asked, coming closer, watching the desk curiously. For his bare eyes, it was lit up but didn’t display any sort of information, a normal person would need a pair of auglasses for that.
“I’m just using the voice recognition mode,” the man lied. “Bright light hurts my eyes.”
Iliya hummed in acknowledgment and came in, dragging the sheet behind like a very lewd wedding gown. Q’s unsatisfied hunger immediately stirred his insides, prompting him to tap his lap in invitation and get a couple of spare auglasses from the drawer at the same time.
“Come here, Cuddles, I’ll show you something amazing,” he lured, watching his lover gracefully approach.
He was so damn lucky to have this man in his life.
“More amazing that you’ve already shown me?” Iliya teased. He straddled Q’s lap, a warm back to a firm chest, and put the glasses on, instantly going “Whoahhh!” at what he saw.
“If the AI is the brain of Ashtapada,” Q murmured into his ear, hoping to sound seductive and not all lecture-y. “This is its heart.”
His arms instantly laced themselves around the narrow waist that clung to the warmth of Q’s body as Iliya’s buttocks teasingly shifted on his quickly heating seat.
“Amazing!” the boy breathed out, not failing to notice a warm palm snaking its way up his belly in a lazy motion. “Are those hounds? They look like ants from this angle.”
This awe-struck delight in the lecture hall and in the bedroom alike never failed to put a smile on Q’s face.
What they saw generated as a live 3D visualisation was indeed amazing. An enormous underground space, millions of tons of concrete shaped a little like a heart chamber with huge arteries of four main semi-circular tunnels coming out. The space was filled with hounds of various sizes hurrying to deliver the cargo, all sorts of pipes, wires and conveyor belts. The whole place seemed buzzing with activity even though the hologram didn’t generate any sound.
“Look,” Q pointed at one of the “arteries” with his free hand as the other caressed Iliya’s chest with the tips of the fingers. “This is the cargo sorting center. A hound that needs to transport something drops it off at this belt and it goes to the other part of the city to be picked up by another one.”
Iliya interlaced their fingers on his chest and showed his appreciation with a little wiggle of his hips in Q’s lap again.
God, he was temptation in the flesh.
“And this?” the boy asked innocently.
“Where the hounds go? This is the repair and modification facility. Here they automatically get diagnostics, maintenance and updates.”
“So cool!” — another brain-melting wiggle. — “And this?”
“This... ahh... This leads to the bio-ethanol factory,” — it was harder and harder to focus on the educational task and keep hands above the desk. — “See these pipes? They carry the fuel to the rest of the critical parts of the city.”
“And this last tunne... aahh! Q!”
“What? I’m just hoping for a little guided tour myself,” the man breathed into Iliya’s ear.
“Under my sheet?” he scolded coquettishly and last remnants of Q’s self-restraint ran dry in an instant.
“Let’s see if I can find my way without a map,” — he growled as his hands lost all shame and together with the mouth got to work on the treasure in his lap.
Hopefully, the Turk had enough decorum to disengage a while ago.
Like this, encompassed from all sides, the little prince was helpless to escape his teacher’s caresses. Encouraged by the writhing of the young body and the soft gasps, Q let his fingers tentatively slip under the bed sheet around the boy’s hips to find the hot hardness that already was leaking wet into the fabric. It was easy to lay back on the chair’s reclining support, making Iliya lose his balance and fall on the broad chest with a little endearing yelp. Like this, both of Q’s hands could explore what was to be had as he firmly grasped the already damp length as the other hand’s finger curled into the inviting heat of the place he had pleasured earlier that night.
“There, put your feet on my desk,” he whispered into Iliya’s neck between gentle bites, his own arousal catching up with his actions in a smothering wave that left him panting. “You’re so good and open for me like this, Cuddles.”
“Mmmhh…” the boy in his arms whined, doing as he was told, presenting a shameless picture of long graceful legs lecherously spread over the edge of the desk, with the other’s hands disappearing under the sheet around his hips. “What… ah… are you doing?”
Q let his finger slip into the tight heat just a little even though his lover was still wet from earlier, giving a couple of pumps with the other hand to admire the motions of his hands that looked deliciously lewd hidden like this under the fabric.
“It’s you who I must ask this question, my dear,” he went on, pushing the finger in and out slowly, circling the tip with his thumb to elicit another whine and a keen buckle of the other’s hips. “Do you know what you do to me, squirming like that in my lap? Do you know what your innocent sounds make me feel? Have you got the slightest idea how thoroughly your beauty ruined me?”
With those last words Iliya’s tortured motions halted. His mouth, too, stopped the soft panting and before Q knew it, the boy recovered his balance with the grace of a dancer he was, slipping away from his hands.
“What? Iliya? Did I hurt you?” he said hurriedly, his hands still itching to grab and squeeze and caress.
Iliya indeed looked hurt and indignant, and not in his usual flirty way. He stood a couple of steps away, and wrapped his bed sheet around his chest, as if protecting his assaulted innocence.
“Look, Q,” he said with a somber look in his eyes. He had never spoken like this before. — “I told you twice today to stop calling me beautiful. Why do you keep on doing it?”
“I… Did you? I... sorry, I thought you were just being coy,” Q scrambled for words, still sprawled on the chair, unsure what to do with his hands. “I’ll stop if you want.”
Oh, no. Had he ruined everything? So soon?
Iliya didn’t look impressed in the least.
“Listen, I told you I want you to stop but you ignored me,” he went on, clearly annoyed, pointing at the wall of the room where they started the evening. “I tried to be delicate, but looks like it takes me raising my voice for you to get it. It’s like you don’t see anything past my looks, just like everyone else!”
His student was indeed beautiful, even like this, looking daggers at him, but Q had the presence of mind to bite his tongue before letting it out. He just raised his palms in an attempt to reconcile.
“You’re right, Iliya,” — was it too much to call him Cuddles at a moment like this? — “I thought it was a simple compliment, but I should’ve listened to you the first time. I promise it won’t happen again. Come back to me?”
Iliya seemed hesitant for a moment looking at Q’s outstretched hands, the wetness of his body still lingering on his teacher’s fingers. The room wasn’t dark any more: the sun had spilled onto the walls and the furniture inside in an angry splatter of red.
“No. Sorry, but not now. You asked me not to call you Teach and I dropped it instantly. Because I respect your boundaries. Can’t you do the same for me?”
This was it. He did ruin everything.
Q’s shoulders drooped as he let his arms fall together with his gaze in defeat.
“You’re right, Iliya. It looks like I didn’t respect them. I apologise and hope you can forgive me.”
It was hard not looking at Iliya’s face, but it was terrifying to lift his eyes and meet something he wouldn’t be able to handle. What was in the other’s face? Hurt? Disgust? Resentment?
What was he supposed to say? To do? Was it over without even properly starting?
“It’s ok, Q,” Iliya’s voice came. It sounded a little choked, like the boy was forcing himself to calm down. “It’s new for both of us. I accept your apologies, but...”
But...?
But...?!
But what?
“...but I need some space right now. I‘ll go. I’ll see myself out,” he finished sternly, as if forcing himself into the firm tone.
“Of course,” Q said weakly, daring a glance at his Cuddles, wondering at the newfound depths of the other.
He’ll learn how to be the best partner for Iliya. He’ll have to.
“Thanks,” — the boy left the room to get his things and in a matter of minutes was already at the front door, hesitant. “Thanks again, I’ll see you... around, bye!”
Q covered his eyes with both hands and it wasn’t to block the bright sunlight that now filled the whole airy space with a blinding brilliance.
See him... around?

A few years ago, I was moving from Cleveland to Minneapolis. It had been the worst year of my life. The man I’d been dating for the past three years had been involved in a scam and squandered most of our joint savings along the way. Shortly after, I lost my job. I just couldn’t keep up with the pressure of finding a new place and surviving on breadcrumbs, and I just… broke down.
So I decided to start over in Minneapolis. I had a couple of friends who offered me a couch to crash on for a couple of weeks. I was looking to get a new job and start over fresh. I got on a greyhound with nothing but two suitcases and a handful of unread DMs.

It was a long trip. Most people stepped off in Chicago and Milwaukee, so for the final stretch of the trip there was only two people left; me, and a passenger sitting right across from me. A man in his early 60’s. He had a kind face and spent most of his time sending messages to his friends and family. I got the impression that this was some kind of event for him. He had a fanny pack with snacks, an extra battery for his phone, sunscreen on the tip of his ears, and a pair of ray bans resting on his trucker cap.
I talked to him a little. His name was Noah. He was heading home after a long consultation job out-of-state. He was some kind of environmental lawyer. He was all about public transportation and reducing the carbon footprint. I could tell he was a jubilant fellow – I don’t know a lot of people who speak so highly of their job.

About half an hour from our destination, the bus suddenly lurched. There was someone standing in the middle of the road, and the driver had done his best to steer out of the way. I saw a brief silhouette of someone small go by the window – possibly a child.
Moments later, we were thrown into a ditch, and the bus tipped over. In the blink of an eye, all turned to chaos. I was thrown out of my seat like a slack-necked doll, and there was this awful metal groaning noise. The side of the bus was torn open.
Suddenly, the world was still. My mind was spinning. I barely made it off the bus before I hurled, my inner ear screaming at me to lie down. Everything felt different. The air tasted metal. We’d driven straight into a field, leaving a long trail of bent grass and wild blue sunflowers behind us. As the engines of the bus died, all that was left was the flapping of moth wings. Looking back at the road, there was no one there.

I couldn’t see Noah, or the bus driver. I picked up my phone and called the police without a second thought. I felt disoriented, and the strangest details stood out to me. Like, how often do you stop to look at the shape of your phone, or stop to think about the actual code you use to unlock it?
While still on the phone, I was asked by the operator to check if everyone was okay. I moved to the front of the, saw the driver’s seat empty, and rounded the corner.
“Can you see them?” the operator asked again. “Is everyone alright?”
I heard the noise before I saw them. This thick, meaty squish. The tearing. Clicking teeth.
The kindly-looking Noah was sitting a bit further out in the field with a streak of blood trailing him. He was cradling the driver in his arms; slowly biting off pieces from the side of his head. Hair and all, slurped up like spaghetti.
It looked almost serene, like a grazing antelope.
“Excuse me, miss?” the operator repeated. “Can you see them?”
“Y-yes,” I whispered, breathlessly. “Yes, I do.”
“Is everyone alright?”
Noah looked up at me with complete disinterest. For a moment, his eyes met mine, and he was as calm as ever. There was no panic. No regret. Nothing. Like a dog enjoying a meaty bone.
“No,” I wheezed back into the phone. “N-no, we’re… we’re not alright.”

Yes, he’d killed and eaten that man. The moment we got off the bus, the first thing he’d done was to kill, and eat him. No hesitation whatsoever.
For a good fifteen minutes, I just stood there, watching. The police were on their way, but this was a bit out of their way. Noah didn’t seem to mind an audience. He just bit, chew, and swallowed. Bit, chew, and swallow. Thin spurts of blood stained his horn-rimmed glasses. But I couldn’t move or look away. I couldn’t bring myself to move or turn my back on him. I was just… frozen.
The moment the police arrived they didn’t even pull out their guns. They just stood there, staring in disbelief. Putting Noah in handcuffs and taking him away was completely uneventful. There was no struggle, no sudden attacks, nothing. Noah just looked disappointed to have his meal taken away, like a child tiredly reaching for his teddy bear.

I was so distraught after stating my witness account that I forgot one of my bags. I just took the one closest to me and got out of there. I couldn’t bring myself to call on my friends; I crashed at the first motel I came across. I sat up all night, staring into the ceiling, still trying to make some kind of sense about what I’d seen. I didn’t notice myself crying, and I didn’t notice how those cries slowly turned to screams. I just lay there, head empty, screaming into a cheap, tear-stained motel pillow.
Over the following weeks, I settled into a new place, a new job, and a new life. Everything was different, but in ways I hadn’t anticipated. I felt like an alien, as if the world had shifted. Like I’d seen something not of this Earth. Some of the most mundane things felt strange. Eating a sesame seed bagel at the café down on the corner felt like ashes in my mouth. All I could think about was teeth. Tearing. Ripping. Curious eyes looking my way.
But looking past all that, there was something else that kept crawling back into my mind; just how awful I was at judging someone’s character. How I hadn’t noticed the scam my ex had been wrapped up in, costing us our savings. How I hadn’t noticed how I was neglecting my work to the point where they had to let me go. And now this; how I couldn’t see that the friendly Noah on the bus had been ready to eat a living person at the drop of a hat?
It didn’t add up to me. How do you miss something like that?

I was one of the witnesses called in the trial that followed. I hoped it’d be a chance to finally put it all behind me. I said my piece, and I stayed to watch the proceedings. I had to know more about this man, and what turned him into this… monster. He didn’t look like a monster though. He was just a man in a suit. He even had the same glasses. I couldn’t look past his friendly demeanor – still as unbothered by this whole situation as the day I saw him bite down on raw flesh.
There was a clinical psychologist called to the stand. He’d been there to assess Noah’s mental state and was ready to share his findings.
“Mister Ayton is deeply confused,” he said. “To him, this behavior is not something new. This is something he’s been forced to do for years in order to survive.”
“Is he confessing further crimes?”
“Yes,” the psychologist continued. “But mister Ayton has lost perception of reality. He speaks of living in a forest, hunting people for food. He has no memory of ever having a family, or an occupation. To him, his life has been about… inhuman acts brought by never-ending strife.”
“And… you assess that this belief is a genuine response to trauma?”
“Yes, his belief is genuine,” the psychologist agreed. “This man has suffered a great trauma.”
There was a short pause as the psychologist checked his notes and adjusted his glasses.
“It’s… it’s as if he believes he comes from a different world.”

In Noah’s mind, he’d been a murderer for years, trapped in a sort of limbo state. His description of the world was horrifying; living in a space of ruptured reality, where the only certainty was famine and pain. He’d taken refuge in what he believed to be the shell of an abandoned bus. Suddenly, there were intruders in his space; one of which he killed and ate. The other he didn’t mind since he was already having his fill. According to his testimony, he was even willing to share. He wanted to be a good host.
His family spoke of another story. To them, Noah was a kind man with a busy schedule. There were pictures of him coaching his son’s basketball team. He’d recently celebrated 30 years of marriage to his wife, which he loved dearly. To them, this was an unreal nightmare. There was nothing in his history pointing to this kind of madness.
“Something happened,” they said. “Something must have happened on that bus.”
I hate to admit it, but I agreed. It just didn’t make sense.

I’m not sure what happened to Noah. There was a lot of talk behind closed doors, and most of what was said stayed there. The papers didn’t say a lot about it. There was mention of a case of “mutilation”, but every report about it was vague. It’s as if no one really wanted to report it. Maybe they didn’t know if it was a case of mental illness or something more sinister. Either way, there wasn’t much said about him.
I tried to put it out of my head. I caught up with my unread DMs. I’d been dreading reading worried texts, demands about unpaid bills, and whatever else might kick me further while I was down. I couldn’t go back to that world just yet, but I sort of had to.
But that’s where things took another turn.
I didn’t recognize these messages. Unknown names and numbers, asking me to call them back. One begged me to “reconsider”. Another sent me an address and a name. All kinds of strange, even coded, messages. Also; bank accounts. Payments.

That made me pause. I had no idea who these people were, or what they wanted from me. Had they gotten the wrong number?
I remember my second bag. I’d only brought the one, which I’d stashed away in my bathroom. I hadn’t opened it since that night. And the second bag, well… I still hadn’t talked to the police about it. But I decided that before I did anything else, I ought to at least unpack what little I’d brought. Even though it might be stained with blood, or worse. I couldn’t bear the thought of it.
But opening the bag, well… there was nothing of the sort in it.
It was my bag. I was certain of it. But there were no clothes or keepsakes. Instead, it had syringes wrapped in leather casings. Little clear vials; unmarked. Sheets of plastic, bags, duct tape, and knives. Several knives, of various sizes. All sharpened to perfection.

I picked one up. It fit perfectly into my hand, as if made for me.
Looking up at the bathroom mirror, there was something about the image looking back at me that I couldn’t recognize. While I could feel a frown forming on my brow, the face looking at me had a creeping smirk.
And I saw it blink.

That was only the beginning.
The police didn’t have my second bag. There had never been a second bag. There was only that one bag, and I couldn’t recognize a thing in it.
Even stranger, I couldn’t get in touch with anyone I knew. All numbers seemed to be out of commission. My parents, my sister, my friends… none of them. I couldn’t call them or find their social media profiles.
In my bag, there was a wallet. Several fake IDs, and thousands of dollars in cash.
I couldn’t recognize the president on the bill.

With every revelation, the smirk on my mirror image deepened. It would tilt its head the other way. It would look up and down; observing me. I’d raise my hand towards it, and it wouldn’t return the gesture.
Once, when I was in the bathroom, the bulb went out. I was standing there, fresh out of the shower, in complete darkness. I wrapped my cold towel around me, and I heard something. It sounded like a distant echo of my own voice, as if spoken from the other side of a window.
“…closer,” it whispered.
I didn’t say anything. I just held my breath, and listened.
“…I’m lost,” it continued. “…coming home.”
A finger brushed against my hair. I recoiled, and so did something else. I heard footsteps, moving away. As I opened the bathroom door and let some light in, the mirror image was nothing out of the ordinary. But somewhere out there, in the dark, I heard waning footsteps.

With every message I received, it was becoming increasingly clear that people were expecting something of me. That I’d move somewhere, meet someone, do something. I was asked about my equipment, about places and times. There were also a handful of threats from people expressing disappointment.
There was a knock on the door once. Another time, I saw a car slowing down to watch me through the kitchen window. There were mysterious phone calls at night. And whenever I stepped into a dark room, I’d stay clear of mirrors. If I stepped too close, I could hear something moving in there. Footsteps. Irregular breaths.
Sometimes, I’d feel the warmth of something reaching for me. Skin, just inches away.
Then, a hasty retreat.

I decided to retrace my steps. After all, Noah Ayton had been a family man before we swerved off that road. But what the hell had I been? Maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d changed.
I rented a car and took to the highway. I was having trouble navigating, ending up down a couple of roads I wasn’t supposed to. When I finally began to recognize where I was meant to go, the sun was already setting. I didn’t care. I was ready to drive through the night, if need be.
The first rain spatter came as soon as the sun set. The wind was picking up. I didn’t dare to look in the rear-view mirror. I didn’t want to think about what I might see.

I don’t know how long I drove. After a while, I stopped seeing other cars on the road.
Then, a shadow. Someone in the middle of the road. A boy?

I stepped on the breaks. A couple of moths thumped against my windshield as my car came to a full stop. I caught a glance at a side-view mirror, only to see a hand reaching out. I blinked it away.
I got out of the car, looking back down the road. I could still see the silhouette of a boy, walking away. Just like that night when the bus swerved off the road. This had to be connected; it just had to. I left my car running by the side of the road.
“Wait!” I called out. “Hold on!”
He didn’t stop. I was catching up, but as it turns out, I wasn’t the only one.

As I got closer, other figures emerged from the rain. Some of them looked like me. Others only held a vague resemblance. A select few were identical.
Further out, there were other figures. Some impossibly tall, others barely even human.
We all looked at one another; our heads turning in unison. Left. Right. Left. Like a ripple of thought, forcing us all to do the same. A collective impulse.

“I want my knives back.”
A voice breaking through the rain. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. I’d seen her in the mirror dozens of times by now. But this time, her voice was unhindered. There was no mirror in the way. I could feel her staring at me.
We were all spread out in a circle around the mysterious boy. A sort of beacon we’d all gathered around. And the closer we got, the stranger things became.
I lost track of time. I could barely feel the weight of my heartbeats as they quickened and slowed seemingly at random. The wind picked up, then disappeared, then reappeared. Rain, to snow, to hail, to summer sun. In one blink of an eye, the world was on fire. In another, we were standing in oncoming traffic; cars throwing themselves off the road to avoid us. In one place, the stars were gone and the ground was nothing but black sand.
In so many places, there was nothing left. No life. No sky. Nothing.

It was terrifying. I wanted to turn around to run, but I couldn’t trust the figure to my side not to take advantage. Instead, I stopped. A few moved closer, only to dissipate or be changed forever. One sprouted a third arm. Another was dragged into the dark by an unseen force. One fell to the ground, stretched, and bent like hot metal. Screams, cries, and hysterical laughter.
Slowly, the boy moved away. And with every step he took, I could feel my world slowing down. By the time I could feel the rain on my skin again, there was a hand on my shoulder.
I was grabbed, spun around, and pushed. In front of me; my twisted mirror image.
“Go home,” it hissed. “I’m done with this place.”

A push. Shadows growing distant, and the rain growing stronger.
A different rain.

There was an unknown car waiting by the side of the road. One more neatly parked. Similar to the one I’d used, but not the same. Going through the glovebox, I recognized several items. Looking in the back seat, there were two familiar bags.
I realized what had happened. I’d been gone, and now I’d returned.

I have been back here for quite some time now. Here, where Noah Ayton is an ordinary family man without any articles mentioning his name. I settled into my new place, and eventually got a new job. Got back in touch with my family and friends. I started to recognize the faces on my dollar bills again.
But a few things have happened. No one has seen my ex for a while. There was a string of disappearances around the area where I used to live, back in Cleveland. I don’t like to think about what has happened there. Am I responsible? If not, who is?
I’m not sure what happened that night. Not really. I think we got too close to something we shouldn’t, and what little sense we make of this world got mixed-up.
I can’t help but to look a little longer at mirrors. I lean my ear in to listen, making sure I don’t hear anything. I turn my head back and forth, making sure the image follows. So far, it does. But I sometimes get the sense that it doesn’t. Maybe in the dark, when I can’t look as closely.

If you find yourself near a strange sunflower field, keep your eyes on the road. Slow down.
And if you do get a little too close, watch your surroundings. Check your bills.
And in more ways than one – know your place.

SYNOPSIS: Walking your OP monster girlfriend home is easy. No one messes with you. Getting back to your house on your own? That's the tricky part.
In the deepest darkness, Norman is alone. Well, not quite alone. Some things are in there with him.
First Previous (See NEXT>> in comments)
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Norman was intimately familiar with the dark. He’d run and battled his way home beneath moonless skies shrouded by clouds more times than he could … okay, no, he could count them. Sometimes, his oxygen-drunk brain’s photographic memory seemed to turn him square. In any event, within the eyescraper was a darkness he had never known. It was cold, heavy, almost thick enough to touch, taste and smell. Well, maybe the smell had something to do with walking through the humid innards of an eyescraper. The air almost felt like liquid. The worst part? He knew what the dark was.
He knew there was no escape.
However, he also knew what a human was. They created possibilities where there were none. If there wasn’t a way out, he’d make one … and maybe get a few licks into the ‘rasta vampire’ who wrecked his smitelight.
Speaking of which, where was that guy?
John Crow might be right there, sneering over his shoulder. Or not. In this kind of darkness, who could know? Nonetheless, being unable to locate his eldritch tour guide give Norman the chance to examine his surroundings.
The nightsight didn’t need much. Just starlight, or maybe ambient luminosity from brighter regions of the city in the distance. It could even pick up moonlight filtered through the clouds, but in here? He could see maybe a few feet of shadowy shapes before the void claimed all. Infrared and other exotic settings didn’t fare much better. There was a way to get more light, but Norman was saving that, just in case. It wouldn’t do to trigger an attack from whatever lurked in the dark when he wasn’t ready to hit back. With his backpack snatched away by unseen forces the moment he entered the building, his options were limited.
Norman looked down. Even through his shoes, the ground had felt soft … no … squishy. At first glance, it seemed he was standing on a twist carpet. Upon closer inspection, there were no, thick, twisting strings of shaggy fluff. Instead?
Villi.
Maybe not quite, but they sure looked like villi. The finger-like protrusions of flesh wiggled at his shoes as though tasting them. He wondered what would happen if he wasn’t wearing prowlers.
Norman caught movement at the side of his eye.
He turned to look, not too quickly, not too slowly. The vaguest silhouettes stood before what vaguely appeared to be a window. At least he could see that much now. Stubby silhouettes, like The Neighbourhood Watchman. Not as stocky, but strong enough to pinch a penny in half between their greedy, grubby fingers.
They seemed to be staring at him, talking amongst themselves, but he couldn’t hear them. It appeared that they could see him. His nightsight was supposed to be better than nyctal vision. Maybe the darkness he experienced was specifically for him, like a one-way mirror.
Wait, they were pointing. Based on the rhythmic movement of their torsos … were they laughing at him!?!
Okay, it was officially Amy Time, except Norman had already tried to message her a dozen times. With tech like the nightsight? Of course he’d give it smartphone capabilities. In fact, its O.S. was based on open-source code from Golden Apple’s earlier days, adapted and updated with his own personal software.
Only, it wasn’t working.

__CHAT

• ARN74: WHY AREN’T YOU TRYING TO MESSAGE AMY!?! YOU OBVIOUSLY NEED HER HELP! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DIFFERENT!

Norman grimaced. Why did that troll of all people have to share his thought process?

__CHAT

• LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Why aren’t you out there helping him?
• ARN74: SHUT UP! Norman i KNOW you’re the type of egghead to install smartphone abilities into the nightsight just because! MESSAGE HER ALREADY!!!

Norman didn’t spare that girl the dignity of a reply. Also, who knew what would happen if he opened his mouth here? He didn’t really have to. The nightsight would interpret what he wanted to say. He could answer her … but he wouldn’t. He was sassy like that.

__CHAT

• INQU!SIT_R: what if he can’t contact her? like, something’s blocking the signal?

Norman grinned. How astute!

__CHAT

• NORMAN: Take notes, ARN74! SOMEONE was using their brain!
• ARN74: joke’s on you, dum boi! i don’t have a brain anymore ☺!
• LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Which explains sooo much.
• ARN74: Apt 3, #12, Casuarina Street
• LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Shutting up now.
• ARN74: i’ll be seeing you late at night when you’re half asleep and ripe for the picking 😋
• LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Can we do this later? I’d rather test my nova bombs after finding out how Norman lives or dies.
• NORMAN: I’m not some fictional character.
• LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: You act like one tho.
• NORMAN: 😒 Anyway, by ‘nova bombs’, he means ‘light-emitting weapons guaranteed to kill all nyctals in the area’. I installed them myself 😊. What I’m trying to say is please don’t attack him. Lemmy’s a “One last hurrah, I’M TAKING YOU ALL DOWN WITH ME!” kind of guy.
• NORMAN: Also, he’s filthy stinkin’ rich, my best cash cow! I pamper my Amy like the absolute queen she is, so if you mess with my cash flow, I’m comin’ for you myself 😡.
• ARN74: 😳
• ARN74: 🙄 hey, uh, if you don’t die or things go bad with Amy, can i have you?
• I’M-JUST-’IM: wait, she found that attractive???
• LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Nyctalcore, remember?
• ATTACK-OTAKU: I’M STILL HERE, INCREDIBLY SINGLE AND ALSO FILTHY STINKIN’ RICH!!! I’LL TREAT YOU LIKE A QUEEN AND TALK BACK AS MUCH AS YOU WANT!!!
• ARN74: cope dude. i’m not interested. Norman, give us Amy’s number. i’ll call her
• NORMAN: I already tried that.
• ARN74: then try again
• NORMAN: Okay. It’s **-***.
• INQU!SIT_R: … did it just get censored?
• JOHN CROW: .̸̖̺̘̗̅̅͘Sorry, boys and girls. It’s impolite to give contacts without consent. Naughty, naughty, Norman..̵̘͔̏͌͑͠
• NORMAN: GET OUT OF MY CHAT YOU ASHY-SKINNED EXCUSE FOR A BOB MARLEY S.C.P.!
• JOHN CROW: .̴̥̰̙͐͛͒̇͜Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings 😥. Too much internet’s a bad influence on you kids. Yoink..̵̮͇͓̓

Something plucked Norman’s nightsight from his face, demoting him from mostly blind to completely blind.
Finally, a new sound reached the edge of his hearing: the laughter of landlords.
Norman resisted the urge to throw hands like a brute. All that would do was get him punching air, only to fall on his behind and possibly get digested by the twisted carpet. He could play his cards early, but what would that get him? That escape plan was still pending.
And now, there was something panting up behind him like a mutt.
\HUFF! HUNPH! HUMPH!\**
Okay, time to hustle. Quick, shuffling steps carried him forward, not so fast as to crash into something, and not so slow as to get caught by whatever sloppy beast- oh, who was he kidding? That thing could probably outrun a man on the best of days. It was possible to trip and fall at a slow speed anyway.
He could very clearly hear the laughter now. It had gotten louder.
Norman bit back his primal thirst for sweet vindication as he hustled a little faster. The pants continued to close in.
He spotted sinuous lights slithering through the dark on what appeared to be a tall humanoid figure. They looked like the bioluminescent tattoo-type markings on John Crow. Norman sprinted towards them. He'd pick Mr. Affably Evil over whatever was breathing down his neck any day.
The panting thing accelerated.
A pale, hazy aura silhouetted John Crows massive dreadlocks. They spread out like the tentacles of an eldritch beast poised to pounce. Somehow, even in the dark, Norman saw his razor-toothed grin and the beady whites of his eyes.
John Crow’s dreadlocks sprang forth, racing past Norman and chilling the air around him. Norman heard an anguished wail as they struck the creature behind him. Its heavy form collapsed into the twisted carpet with a squelch.
Norman slipped into the small, ill-shaped room beside John Crow. Those dreadlocks cast only enough light for him to do that. The jerk, making him eat out of his hands! Norman dug his fists deep into his pockets, grumbling grumpy nothings.
John Crow let loose an ugly laugh. “.̵̢̠̪̓̈́͝Apologies for the theatrics, Norman. That filthy beast was getting uppity anyway. Besides, Dread here likes dinner and a show … Hmm … he likes you as well..̷̰̠̳́́͒”
An ice-cold dreadlock slithered across Norman’s chin. He ignored it. ‘Don’t feed the trolls,’ they always say.
Norman gave him a once-over. The nyctal was wearing his nightsight now, for the lulz apparently. John Crow gestured. Norman recognised the hand movements as augmented reality commands. Somehow, John Crow knew how to turn down the nightsight’s brightness so that the screen didn’t aggravate his light sensitivity. He was probably tweaking it a bit more to his liking.
Norman glanced about. He knew the room was small, but this was ridiculous. With that fleshy décor, it could almost pass for an organ. He spotted evenly spaced tumours on the wall, with numbers on their surfaces. Was this an elevator?
John Crow pressed the top floor button. It didn’t click, but squished. Thick membranes like vocal cords closed at the entrance: what passed for a door. Thin flagella locked into pores on either side to seal it shut. Norman felt the elevator ascend with a wet, sucking noise. He didn’t remember the landlords having this kind of stuff.
“.̵̡̪̫̿̀How do you like my inventions?.̴͎̟͒͠” asked John Crow. “.̶͈̲̣̎̾̿͐You wouldn’t believe how hard it is, getting this thing to grow an organic elevator. Grafting in the necessary organs was the trickiest part. You have it easy, working with rigid, inorganic materials that don’t outgrow their designated slots, but hey, when in Rome? You craft as the Romans do.”
So, this guy was an engineer too, on the borderline abominable end of the spectrum? Norman looked at him. Was that a flicker of kinship he felt between himself and the nyctal? Hard nope. He squashed that feeling like a bug.
Then, Norman heard it.
The sound seemed to come from a vibrating organ on the roof that reminded him of tripe, folded like the baleen of a whale. Hang on, was this supposed to be music?
If he strained his ears, he could make out the iconic song. The voice was wrong, though, if that could even be called a ‘voice’. It sounded like it was sung by an otherworldly entity. John Crow confirmed the song’s identity as he swayed to the the vibes, soaking them in with the utmost delight.
“.̶̡̠̪̥́̕… ‘Cause every likkle thing, is gonna be alright,.̴̥͚͈̣̓” John Crow sang along.
Norman side-eyed the guy. Was this for real? It seemed he’d been on point about the Bob Marley wannabe comment. He had no words for this level of cringe.
John Crow glanced at him and stiffened. The eldritch music-player stopped. Deathly cold crept into the air more than ever before. In the tense silence, the only sound was the sucking of the rising elevator.
John Crow spoke, his voice low and lethal. “.̷͒ͅ.̷̝̼̓̽.̶̣̓̌̋Norman .̴̖͇͌ͅ..̵̟͔̗̿ I understand that you are an uncultured swine.̵̨̹̹̞̎ However, this music is a gift from .̷̺̝̝̎́͋̚.̵̢̭͊̏́The Great One.̷̜͓͆ You WILL pay him the appropriate respect.̸̺̄̋̌.̵̬͒͊͋.̷͇̳̈́̏̾”
Norman couldn’t tell if ‘The Great One’ was Bob Marley or something else. Another question bubbled up. He shouldn’t ask. His lips twitched. He absolutely shouldn’t ask, but ohhhh his big mouth. The burgeoning force behind it couldn’t be tamed.
“… Or what?” he finally asked, simpering like a troll.
John Crow’s dreadlocks spread like serpents rearing to strike.
.

.................................. Five seconds later ..................................

.
“‘Cause every little thing, is gonna be alright,” Norman sang as he vibed to the beat with John Crow.
The elevator door peeled itself open. At least the new room was slightly brighter than the last. He could vaguely make out pouring rain beyond the windows. Nevertheless, most of the room belonged to the shadows. Norman had the bare minimum light necessary to see where he was going, and what, he presumed, John Crow wanted him to see.
The tall nyctal sauntered up to an easy chair. Scaled to his size, it almost looked to be a throne. Norman wasn’t surprised when it squirmed beneath his weight, because of course it was alive. John Crow reclined into it, frowning at his clawed feet.
He clapped twice.
A landlord skittered up to him and got down on hands and knees. John Crow sighed with relief as he rested his heels atop the landlord like a footstool. The smaller nyctal gnashed his teeth but, upon seeing Norman staring, he kept his displeasure to himself.
Norman raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to John Crow.
“So, how’d you get the landlords at your beck and call?” asked Norman. “They’re not big on outsiders.”
John Crow shrugged. “.̸̧͂̋̋They’re desperate. Their pride is on life-support. This little guy was their head of security, but he didn’t security hard enough, ain’t that right boy?.̴̱͉̝̆͒͠”
The sound of a landlord’s teeth grinding filled the room. He muttered something about what he’d do if he still had his key chain. John Crow’s toe bent at an unnatural angle to tap him with a claw. The landlord got real quiet after that.
“.̶̝̈̂Anyway, they hired me to pick up the slack..̴̡̝̫̌͘̕͝ͅ” John Crow continued. “Solve their problems for them. Their … .̸͙̦̹͐͜Amy-shaped problems..̴̻̮̬͇͌̇”
Norman turned up his lip with the utmost disdain. There sat John Crow, stippling his fingers as though he were the Premier League of big bads. That ignoramus had no idea. Few people did. Perhaps it was a given. Despite Amy’s public image as a ‘monster’, she didn’t act in a way that would tip them off. Who could know the truth? What Amy was, what she had always been?
Words burbled up inside Norman. His hand quavered. Impulse wrestled restraint. Impulse won. The hand rose. It stopped in line with John Crow. A finger stuck out, pointing at the nyctal.
Norman had assessed the situation. This guy wanted him alive, for now. John Crow was a self-controlled nyctal, which meant this wouldn’t be the death of him, probably. Norman’s lips parted. It was too late now.
“You ignorant dumb dumb!” he blurted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Become a free member on Patreon to read Part 16, 'Eat Crow', early! It will be released there today or tomorrow. For the visual 'mood writing' version (previously called 'artitext') and more Caribbean sci-fi, become a paid member for only $3! See links in comments.
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I'm still on the hunt for a pair of chinos that don't bunch up all around the knees when standing straight. Even after cuffing or shorting the length I find some brands still cling.
I tried the Rod and Gun ones on, and they seem to give the best silhouette and flow nice... Though they do look like they were designed to wear with chunky boots (RMs) compared to dress shoe/boot or sneakers. They are $160 a piece and do come shorted lengths which is nice
After a slim pair or even regular if it gives the look I am after
Any other suggestions?

It's a cold, dark knight in the town of Newbury, and the civilians were out and about, living their normal lives.
It's currently 4 hours after the Newbury Library has closed for the night, and the security guards were at work protecting the place from thieves, but little did they know, thieves were the least of the worries. A guard named Paul was resting in the Computer Lab while eating an egg salad sandwich without a care in the world. He radios in to ask the others if they've seen anything, but the walkie talkie appears to be malfunctioning and even starts bleeding something green. He begins to get nervous but sucks it up, and then he goes into the Juvenile Reading Center to investigate an odd sound.
Paul enters Juvenile Reading Center and the looks around the bookshelves for signs of a break in, but only finds an odd, orange glow coming from the bathroom. Paul walks in but finds no sight of any glow. He starts hearing banging coming from the third-to-last stall, and opens it to find nothing. Suddenly, he hears screaming coming from the second floor and rushes to find on of his partners, Holland standing in the middle of the hall, staring at nothing.
He slowly walks up to him to see if he's ok, but suddenly Holland turns around and reveals that his face was green and demonic looking. Paul gets scared and runs back down stairs with Holland in hot pursuit. He reaches the front entrance but the door gets blocked off by large bookshelves. The monstrous Holland gets closer and closer to Paul, but gets slapped in the face with Paul's sandwich and start writhing in pain due to the salt in the eggs.
Paul checks to see if he is alright until he hears the sound of someone shushing coming from the bookshelf to the right of the reception desk. He notices a trail of pink goo leading to an empty slot in the paranormal catalogue. A bright pink glow appears behind Paul as he turns around and screams in horror. Meanwhile outside, a dark silhouette is watching the chaos unfold while stuffing the stolen book into his coat.
The dark figure begins chuckling maliciously as green fog forms into the title. Just like that, a new dark chapter in Newbury's history, and one that will reignite an old band of heroes.

Hello.

Dynamite, April 3rd, 2024

• AEW Tag Team Title Tournament Semi Finals: The Young Bucks Vs Orange Cassidy and Trent Beretta

As Trent Beretta lifts Matt Jackson for a Gotch Style Piledriver, Matt Jackson executes a double leg takedown before catapulting Trent into the exposed turnbuckle. Falling back, nearly unconscious, Trent Beretta finds himself falling over the body of Matt Jackson who rolls him up for a School Boy pin.
1.
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The Young Bucks advance in the AEW Tag Team Tournament. The Best Friends are eliminated.
As The Young Bucks tease Trent's mother Sue on the outside, celebrating their victory, the mood inside the ring is much more grim. Chuck Taylor's head is buried in the corner on the opposite side of the ring, Orange Cassidy has rolled underneath the ropes and he looks disappointed. But out of the three best friends, the man who lost the match, Trent Beretta, looks the most devastated by the loss. Bent over, on his knees in the corner, Trent silently berates himself as tag team partner Orange Cassidy helps him to his feet. In a show of good faith, Chuck Taylor and Orange Cassidy walk to the turnbuckles opposite Trent and prepare to initiate their trademark group hug. A token of friendship that shows the AEW faithful that no matter what, all three men are best friends, and no loss could ever change that.
Trent Beretta retreats to his own corner and throws his arms in the air, ready to embrace his two best friends, when suddenly, he changes his mind and runs full speed at Orange Cassidy, blasting him with a running knee to the head...
They were best friends... until they weren't.

Dynamite at Daily's Place, April 24th, 2024

Orange Cassidy is nowhere to be seen in the last three weeks of AEW programming, however Chuck and Trent have numerous vignettes on Rampage with Chuckie T acting as a mediator for Trent, a sounding board to determine just what the hell happened after that fateful tag match on the 3rd. Trent can't seem to explain himself, but out of several conversations, we know the following.

• Trent was overcome with emotion by the loss.
• He wasn't thinking when he struck Orange Cassidy.
• He was ashamed he lost the match in front of his mother.
• And he is willing to talk things out with Orange Cassidy.

Promotional material for Dynamite at Daily's Place state "The Best Friends Will Hug It Out" as Chuck Taylor, Trent Beretta, and Orange Cassidy are all advertised. Trent and Chuck make their way out to the ring and Trent takes the microphone, reiterating what he has been saying for the last three weeks.
"I've come out here to apologize. I was so angry that I didn't just lose the match, but I lost control of myself. I don't know where my head was, but Orange Cassidy, I did not mean to hurt you. Now, if you would please, I would like to invite you out here so we can hug it out like best friends."
Orange Cassidy's music hits and Chuck Taylor wraps his arm around Trent Beretta's shoulders as "Jane" roars into it's crescendo...
... but Orange Cassidy is nowhere to be seen.
"....okay, I'm just gonna assume you missed your cue, buddy. So let's try this one more time... ladies and gentlemen, Daily's Place, please welcome Orange Cassidy."
"Jane" plays once more but yet again, no Orange Cassidy.
"Damnit, OC, I'm trying to be the bigger man and tell you I'm sorry. Now get your ass out here so I can apologize!"
"Jane" plays one more time.
No Orange Cassidy.
"Chuck, what the hell is this? I come out here in good faith as a favor to YOU. You promised that Orange Cassidy would be here, you promised that I could make this up. But HE can't even bother to show up?? What kind of friend is that?"
Trent slams down his microphone and sulks off to the corner to mild boos from the crowd as Chuck Taylor looks at the microphone at his feet. Trent slowly bends over, picks up the mic and says:
"Hey Trent, maybe Orange Cassidy would be a better friend if you weren't such a piece of...."
Chuck Taylor pauses and looks out at the crowd in Daily's Place before turning back to Trent Beretta.
"SHIT!"
The crowd erupts in cheers as Trent Beretta fumes at Chuck Taylor, then suddenly Trent pounces on Chuck as the two best friends have a catfight in the middle of the ring! Security storms the ring and separates the two, with an official Parking Lot Brawl set between Chuck and Trent at Rampage.

Rampage, April 27th, 2024

• Trent Beretta Vs Chuck Taylor, Parking Lot Brawl

I think everyone here is aware that this match took place in real life and Chuck Taylor has most likely retired. Because of that, I felt this match was important to include in this booking and I'd like to keep it exactly as it was with one small change.
At the end of the match, Trent Beretta smashes Chuck Taylor's ankle with a wrench and the referee determines Chuck Taylor can no longer continue. Trent Beretta's hand is raised as the victor and he begins to walk off as he notices a silhouette in the headlights of a beater. Trent Beretta walks to the driver's side window and looks in, finding Orange Cassidy inside, silently looking on with no trace of emotion.
"This is your fault... This is all your fault, OC. You made me do this."
Trent Beretta then walks away as Orange Cassidy continues to look on, no expression...
No expression.

Dynamite, May 1st, 2024

Don Callis is backstage with Will Ospreay talking about how much he hates subtlety and timing when Trent Beretta approaches him. Trent tells Don Callis that he has thought a lot about his career in the past week and that he is ready to entertain counsel. Trent asks Don Callis to give him a call and then walks off. Don Callis watches Trent walk away and then turns to Will Ospreay.

"Say... where the hell is Orange Cassidy?"

Over the next several weeks, we get a couple vignettes of Don Callis looking for Orange Cassidy in different places all around the world. Double or Nothing comes and goes and there is still no sign of the Citrus Supreme, until....

Dynamite May 29th, 2024

Don Callis looks up at a very normal looking house in Stewartsville, New Jersey.
"Well... this must be the place."
Don Callis knocks on the door and the door gently sways open, not even latched.
"Hello? Orange? Orange Cassidy?"
Don Callis walks inside and finds Orange Cassidy sitting on the couch in his living room.
"Oh my gosh, Orange Cassidy! I've been looking everywhere for you!"
"Hey."
"I hope I'm not interrupting, can I talk with you for a few minutes?"
"Sure."
Don Callis and Orange Cassidy sit at Orange Cassidy's kitchen table with a glass of orange juice in front of each of them.
"Thank you for agreeing to talk with me, Orange. I've been wondering, where the hell have you been?"
"Here."
".... we haven't seen you since Trent Beretta stabbed you in the back and kneed you in the face... Just.... How have you been feeling? What's going through your head?"
"Mmm... fine."
".... but what's going through your head?"
"Nothing."
"Listen, Orange, Trent Beretta crushed Chuck Taylor's ankle with a wrench. Chuck Taylor may never walk again, let alone wrestle... these men were your best friends for years. Surely, you must feel something."
Orange Cassidy takes a moment and takes off his sunglasses, looking Don Callis in the eye.
"No."
"No?"
The room is silent with only the ticking of the clock heard.
"What do you mean, Orange?"
Orange Cassidy sighs and puts his sunglasses back on.
"... I guess I never really cared about either of them."
The segment ends with Don Callis looking on in shock at Orange Cassidy's words.

Dynamite June 5th, 2024

Don Callis arrives at the building and he helps Orange Cassidy out of his car. The two make their way to the locker room when Callis is stopped by Will Ospreay.
"Oi, what the bloody hell is this, bruv?"
"William, I got him. I found Orange Cassidy!"
"Blimey, bruv, mate. Why did you bring this bruv, 'ere?"
"William, I'd like to introduce you to...."
Don Callis pulls out a big bouquet of balloons.
"THE NEWEST MEMBER OF THE DON CALLIS FAMILY!!!"
"Newest membah? Bruv, I think you've gone mental!"
"William, you don't understand. This man is a cold blooded killer! You saw what Trent did to Chuck in that parking lot brawl? Orange says he didn't feel a thing! This man is a mercenary, a slaughterer, dare I say it...."
Don Callis leans in close to Will Ospreay.
"... an ASSASSIN!"
"Bruv... you must be 'aving a laugh!"
"Oh, believe me, my friend, this man is no laughing matter! And you will see that when he steps in the ring with Serpentico, TONIGHT!"

• Orange Cassidy Vs Serpentico

Orange Cassidy comes out to Don Callis's theme and he has not removed his hands from his pockets. The bell rings and Serpentico charges in with a vicious spin kick that Orange Cassidy did not even attempt to dodge or block. Orange Cassidy falls to the mat and Serpentico, smelling blood in the water, goes up to the top rope for the Senton Bomb! Serpentico goes to leap off....
and his foot slips on the top rope.
Serpentico flies off the top rope and lands with a sickening crash as his body bounces off the top turnbuckle and onto the mat right next to Orange Cassidy. Orange Cassidy looks up and places his hand on Serpentico's chest.
1.
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Orange Cassidy defeats Serpentico.
Angelico, the second half of the Spanish Announce Project, takes to the ring and cuts a bilingual promo.
"Mierda... MIERDA! Orange Cassidy, that decision was bogus and you know it! If you have any guts at all, you will agree to face me in a rematch RIGHT NOW!"
Orange Cassidy has not moved from his position on the mat but simply nods his head yes. Angelico mounts Orange Cassidy and pelts him with punches as the bell rings and this match is official. Angelico lets up and roars out to the crowd before turning his attention back to Orange Cassidy. Angelico lifts Orange Cassidy up for the Fall of the Angels into the corner, but as Angelico goes to run off, Orange Cassidy's foot gets stuck on the top rope of the opposite corner and this catches Angelico off balance. Angelico falls to the mat with the body of Orange Cassidy landing right on top of him.
1.
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Orange Cassidy defeats Angelico.
After the match, Angelico and Serpentico pounce on Orange Cassidy who simply allows himself to be beat on until Kyle Fletcher and a returning Mark Davis of Aussie Open make the save. Aussie Open run off the Spanish Announce Project and hold Orange Cassidy's hands in the air to close the segment.

Dynamite June 12th, 2024

• Orange Cassidy and Aussie Open Vs Rush, Dralistico and Preston Vance

Aussie Open do most of the work and hit their finish on Preston Vance. Kyle Fletcher goes for the pin but Mark Davis stops him and asks him to tag in Orange Cassidy. Kyle Fletcher abides and allows Orange Cassidy to get the pin despite only tagging into the match once at the very end.

Dynamite June 26th, 2024

• Orange Cassidy Vs PAC in a qualifying round for the TNT Title Ladder Match at Forbidden Door

"Alright, Orange, you got him right where you want him. This is the man you beat for the International Title. Not the second time but the first time! You have this in the bag, Orange. Just follow the plan. Just remember the technique."
Orange Cassidy remains still as Don Callis is leaned over his shoulder whispering in his ear.
Orange Cassidy enters the ring to Don Callis's music and stands across the ring from PAC. The bell rings and PAC floors Orange Cassidy with a Superkick and a cover.
1.
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PAC defeats Orange Cassidy.
"Son of a bitch, you almost had him."
"That's it bruv, no more malarkey."
"William, please."
"This bruv couldn't lace my daisy roots."
"William, this man took you to the limit just two years ago at Forbidden Door."
"An' now he cannae make the card! I wouldn't bet a fiver on 'im, bruv. This is ovah, he's not fam, bruv, an' if I see him in the locky again I'll do 'im in, Adam and Eve it."
Will Ospreay leaves the locker room with a despondent Don Callis trying to console an unperturbed Orange Cassidy.

Forbidden Door 2024

Orange Cassidy isn't booked, but you know who is?

• Will Ospreay Vs Swerve Strickland for the AEW World Championship

Ospreay and Swerve have a very good, even match with neither man being able to one-up the other. Don Callis is losing his mind at ringside and nearly melts down as Swerve Strickland plants Will Ospreay with a top rope Superplex. Don Callis begins waving someone down the ramp as if begging for help and suddenly...
Orange Cassidy appears on the stage.
Orange Cassidy very leisurely walks down to ringside as Don Callis continues to wave him on, begging and pleading with Orange Cassidy to do something. By this point, both Ospreay and Swerve are on their feet and trading blows with Swerve getting the better of Ospreay, the first clear cut and decisive momentum shift of the match up. Will Ospreay is on his knees and Don Callis is begging Orange Cassidy to help him as Swerve Strickland is charging up for the House Call. Prince Nana rushes over and begins arguing with Don Callis about what he is doing. Orange Cassidy finally turns to face both men as Swerve runs to hit the ropes...
And Orange Cassidy leans his arm against the apron.
Swerve trips over Cassidy's outstretched arm and OC looks over his shoulder, almost as if to see what it was. Swerve faceplants in the ring and Ospreay springs into action, hooking Swerve in the Double Underhook, lifting him high, and planting him down with the Storm Breaker. Ospreay leaps up and goes to the corner as Swerve struggles to an upright position on his knees. Ospreay points at Orange Cassidy and gives a thumbs up, thumbs down before slicing Swerve's head off with a vicious Hidden Blade.
1.
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Will Ospreay defeats Swerve Strickland to become the new AEW World Champion.

Forbidden Door 2024 Media Scrum

Amidst many "bruvs," Will Ospreay admits that Orange Cassidy is the bangers and mash and states that he is now a full fledged member of the Don Callis Family. Orange Cassidy is seated next to Will Ospreay and takes one question from the media.
"Orange Cassidy, why did you cost Swerve Strickland the AEW World Championship tonight?"
Orange Cassidy ponders the question for a moment before he is interrupted by Don Callis.
"You don't have to answer that."
Orange Cassidy gently takes the mic and brings it to his lips.
"I guess I'm bad now."
Orange Cassidy very faintly raises his hand and gives a halfhearted thumbs down.

Dynamite, July 3rd, 2024

• Orange Cassidy Vs Penta El Zero M

Orange Cassidy is now dressed in black jeans and his Titantron says things such as "Boo me,""Fans suck," "I don't care," and "(about you)."
Penta dominates much of the match up with Orange Cassidy selling throughout and taking big bumps but consistently kicking out at 2. Penta goes for the Fear Factor but referee Aubrey Edwards is too close and she is kicked by Orange Cassidy's foot as Penta lifts him. Penta sets OC back down for a second and OC nails Penta with a low blow while Aubrey's vision is obscured. OC rolls Penta up with the Mouse Trap and scores a quick three count.
Orange Cassidy defeats Penta El Zero M

Dynamite, July 24th, 2024

• Orange Cassidy Vs Katsuyori Shibata

Orange Cassidy and Katsuyori Shibata start off by trading strikes very, very softly. OC boops Shibata's leg with a kick and Shibata returns the favor. Orange Cassidy pushes Shibata's chest and Shibata pushes OC back. Neither man is moved from their original standing position. The hits increase in frequency as OC rears back for the final blow which is a very, very soft kick to the dick. Shibata, uninjured, takes offense and begins lighting OC up for real with a series of hard strikes. OC is knocked down to a seated position and Shibata charges in for the PK but OC lays down then rolls Shibata up for a close two count. Shibata kicks out but rises to a not so soft poke to the eyes by Orange Cassidy who then locks in the Mouse Trap and gains the three count.
Orange Cassidy defeats Katsuyori Shibata.

Dynamite, August 14th, 2024

• Orange Cassidy Vs Daniel Garcia

Orange Cassidy and Daniel Garcia have a lackluster dance off that ends with Orange Cassidy rolling Daniel Garcia up while holding the tights for a three count.
Orange Cassidy defeats Daniel Garcia.
After this match, Orange Cassidy continues to halfheartedly dance in the ring when Swerve Strickland's music hits and Prince Nana appears on the stage. Nana and OC dance back and forth at each other until Swerve decks Orange Cassidy from behind with a House Call.
Swerve takes the mic and says if Orange Cassidy thinks he can take the world title away from Swerve with no repercussion, then OC is sorry mistaken. Swerve challenges Orange Cassidy to a Hardcore match at All In and tells Orange Cassidy that he WILL show up at Wembley because if he doesn't, Swerve knows where he lives thanks to Don Callis and he WILL drag OC to London if he has to.

All In 2024

• Swerve Strickland Vs Orange Cassidy in a Hardcore Match

Swerve Strickland does not need to drag Orange Cassidy to London as Orange Cassidy does make his entrance, but he comes with backup. Aussie Open flank Orange Cassidy on his way to the ring but Swerve meets them out on the ramp and drops Mark Davis with the House Call. Swerve then fights Kyle Fletcher up to the stage as Orange Cassidy continues to nonchalantly walk to the ring. Swerve fights Fletcher in the pit and sets him up on a table before driving him through the table with the Swerve Stomp. Swerve looks to the ring and Orange Cassidy is standing there with his hands in his pockets. Swerve storms the ring and looks under the ring, pulling out two bags of thumbtacks. Swerve enters the ring and tells Orange Cassidy, "Oh, you don't care? I'm boutta make you care," before dumping both bags onto the mat.
The ring is littered with thumbtacks as Swerve dares OC to hit him only to be blindsided by Konosuke Takeshita, who is making a return to AEW after participating in the G1 Climax. Takeshita hits a high knee that knocks Swerve out of the ring
Takeshita brings Swerve over to the Announcer's Desk and clears it off before lifting Swerve onto it. Takeshita draws Swerve up and lifts him for the Brainbuster but Swerve fights out of it and manages to drop Takeshita on the desk with a DDT. Meanwhile, in the ring, Don Callis has handed Orange Cassidy a broom and OC has begun sweeping the thumbtacks out of the ring and to the floor. Swerve sees this and comes into the ring, yanking the broomstick out of OC's hand and breaking it over his knee. Swerve circles OC with the broken broom handle and nearly stabs him but he is stopped by Don Callis who drops Swerve with a low blow. Callis leaves the ring and brings in a steel chair which he hands to Orange Cassidy. OC raises the chair above his head then opens it up, placing it on the mat and sitting in it. Don Callis looks to the heavens and produces a screwdriver from his pocket, ready to impale Swerve Strickland only for Prince Nana to clock Callis from behind with his weighted crown!
Nana rolls out of the ring and we are left with Swerve Strickland standing across from a seated Orange Cassidy. Swerve charges in only for OC to spring up, catch Swerve Strickland, and drop him on the chair with the Beach Break! OC goes into the cover:
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KICKOUT BY SWERVE!
Orange Cassidy looks only slightly disappointed as he slowly rolls out of the ring. OC rummages underneath the ring and produces a steel chain which he wraps around his fist. OC rolls back into the ring as Swerve is painfully trying to stand. OC measures Swerve and leaps in for the Orange Punch but Swerve ducks, catches OC, and drops him with the JML Driver! The crowd is on their feet as Swerve neglects the cover, crawls over to the now destroyed chair, and shoves it into Orange Cassidy's arms before hitting the ropes and delivering a chair-assisted House Call!
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2.
3.
Swerve Strickland defeats Orange Cassidy.

All In Aftermath

All in all, it was a bad night for the Don Callis Family.
Along with Orange Cassidy's loss to Swerve Strickland, AEW World and International Champion Will Ospreay fought Continental Champion Kazuchika Okada to a draw and failed to become a triple crown champion.
However, on the most personal note of all, Kyle Fletcher was injured by Swerve Strickland during the Hardcore match he interfered with.
Kyle Fletcher decided to fight through the injury for a title defense on Dynamite, but he was easy pickings for the new ROH Television champion....
Trent Beretta.
As Don Callis and Mark Davis tended to their fallen family member in the ring, Orange Cassidy looked to the stage at the man he once called friend, holding an heirloom that belongs to his family...
And he determined that something must be done.

All Out 2024

• Orange Cassidy Vs Trent Beretta for the ROH Television Championship

Trent Beretta uncharacteristically makes his way to the ring first for this match up against his former best friend, Orange Cassidy. In the same amount of time that Orange Cassidy has joined the Don Callis Family, Trent Beretta has been listlessly traveling from town to town, wrestling match after match, and he finally pounced on an injured Kyle Fletcher to make himself whole. Now, standing in front of the Chicago crowd, he waits to finally get his hands on the man he feels he should have buried long ago.
Don Callis's music hits, but there is no Orange Cassidy. Trent Beretta grabs the microphone.
"In case you blowhards in Chicago don't know, this is about to be an easy night. This man... hell, he's no man. This deadbeat you call a wrestler is too scared to face me. He doesn't care enough about you people to come out here. He doesn't care enough about this title to come out here, and he doesn't care enough about own best friend to come out here--"
"--there's no way this slacker is going to give you people what you want."

Dear friends,
I am slowly making my way through these awesome playlist cards and everything else I have received in the mail this month! I appreciate your patience. Please note I have been a bit disorganized so these aren’t necessarily in order of oldest cards to newest cards — it will be in a couple batches. Thank you all again!
~ <3 ~ <3 ~ <3 ~ <3 ~ <3 ~ <3 ~ <3 ~
u/addisonellison — Thank you for the cute postcard and lots of fun stamps! I want to go hiking more — over the winter my stamina dipped, and my partner also lives 2 miles from a nice Regional Park that we enjoy walking around. Did you write that you went fishing? For food or fun? What other fun hobbies do you have up your sleeve?!
u/credenda_ — Thank you for recommending Evil by Melanie Martinez! The smuckers postcard is so cute. My song recommendation for you is Firebender - Camilla Covington
u/cswl x2 — Thank you for the Wreck it Ralph card and the Pause card. I’m glad your physical & mental health is improving. Hope I’m right behind ya! >:D
u/federal-honeydew9131 — thank you for the playlist! I didn’t know all these songs but definitely early 2000s. Beautifully by Jay Brannan was so good, and sad! My song recommendation for you is Say Anything (Else) by Cartel. I was obsessed with the 3 songs I knew of theirs when I was a preteen lol
u/HeyMorganM — Thank you for the Glass Animals song recs! I have had Gooey and Creatures in Heaven in my playlist lately :) I have needed to explore their whole discography so thanks for the little push! My song recommendation for you is Fortune Eyes by Ley Soul
u/hispanglotexan — Thank you for the awesome Longhorn postcard! Their horns standing 7 feet apart is I think too much for my brain to handle lol
u/ikDoeDeDeurDicht — Thank you for the playlist on the cute frog postcard! I loved Onderweg and Emma Blackery’s Wolves. My song rec for you is Summer is a Curse by The Faim
u/inkyfingerspgs — Thank you for the playlist! I enjoyed Have You by Terror Jr. I officially need to look up Gossip! How have I never heard of Beth Ditto! I’m already obsessed with Move in the Right Direction. I will definitely be listening to their new music <3 My song rec for you is House of Pulp by Kaleida
u/lxaxs — Thank you for the cute Kildare postcard! It’ll be 103 degrees next week, so I am feeling the summer XD
u/major_ad5436 — Thank you for the AWESOME Effin’ Birds card (and your cute wax stamp!) I picked up my mail this morning and set it on my coworker’s desk. When she got in she LOL’d. Let’s just say there’s some issues with other employees being quite… let’s say lacking common sense and LAZY.
u/panda-pal - Thank you for the Yellowstone card! We went when I was young, we took Spring Break in Montana—Yellowstone was on our way. I remember the geyser smell but not much else, so I definitely need to go back :D
u/practical-tangelo22 — Thank you for the cute Barn Owl postcard! I loved the tidbits and getting to know you! I LOVE cats, and tropical punch and lemon lime olipop flavors :) What are you currently reading?
u/Simple-Reference-357 — Thank you for the playlist! And the cute jaguar goldish postcard :) I loved Good Help Is Useless - Death Cab for Cutie, Thinking of You - Sourwah, and EVANESCENCEEEE - Wasted on You. My song rec for you is Window by Still Woozy.
u/snerdboff — Thank you for the recommendation of Mel Parsons! I really like Little Sadness, I Got the Lonely, and Don’t Wait. My song rec for you is On Your Side by The Last Dinner Party
u/sregor71 — Thank you for the playlist! I loved Minneapolis by that dog and The Senator’s Daughter by Fountains of Wayne (thought they were a 1 hit wonder but never looked into them!). My song recommendation is Good Girls Don’t Get Used by Beach Bunny. I have like 4 favorites of them but this was on repeat a couple years back, and now I know the lyrics by heart lol
u/Rand_ston — Thank you for the playlist! I love the variety you included! All The Time by Bahamas is more my regular music taste but I enjoyed all of them. I think Kiss the Breeze was my favorite. And you suggested Get Down by Still Woozy! I LOVE their song Window its been on my repeat list lately. My song recommendation for you is Calling After Me by Wallows
u/rennbrig — Thank you for the playlist! Firstly, the meerkat stationary is so cute! Next, I LOVE Wait For it from the Hamilton Soundtrack, have to blurt that out. I was hesitant when Laika was the first song but as it picked up midway I really loved it and listened to the lyrics and enjoyed the new find. I loved Secret Senshi :) and Jhene Aiko is amazing I really need to delve into her music, and Josh Ritter! The first and last song is why my song recommendation to you is: Homeland by Chord Overstreet.
u/TyeDyeAmish x2 — Thank you for the vintage postcards! Idk why but the aged beige color of these cards instead of bright white of “today” is comforting lol
NO USERNAME... user sent a Kaweco Sport postcard — Thank you for the playlist! I LOVE Marina and already had Venus Fly Trap on my Liked Songs in Spotify. I really liked Espresso too! My song rec for you is Wait A Minute by Willow

The Jenga Building, officially known as 56 Leonard Street, stands as an architectural marvel in the bustling skyline of New York City. Designed by the acclaimed Swiss firm Herzog & de Meuron, this residential skyscraper redefines conventional high-rise structures with its unique and innovative design.
Rising 821 feet above Tribeca, the Jenga Building is instantly recognizable for its distinctive stacked-block appearance, reminiscent of the popular game Jenga. The tower consists of 60 stories, each floor boasting a different floor plate, giving the impression of individual blocks delicately balanced upon one another. This architectural feat required meticulous planning and engineering precision to ensure structural integrity while creating a visually striking silhouette.
One of the defining features of the property is its cantilevered balconies that jut out irregularly from various levels, providing residents with breathtaking views of the city skyline and the Hudson River. These suspended glass boxes add an element of dynamism to the tower's façade while offering exclusive outdoor spaces for its residents to enjoy.
Inside, the luxury residences of 56 Leonard Street offer unparalleled amenities and exquisite finishes, attracting affluent buyers and celebrities alike. From sprawling penthouses to sleek duplex apartments, each unit is meticulously designed to maximize space and comfort, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing panoramic vistas of New York City.
Tribeca, short for "Triangle Below Canal Street," is a vibrant neighborhood nestled in the lower portion of Manhattan, New York City. Renowned for its historic cobblestone streets, industrial architecture, and lively cultural scene, Tribeca has evolved from its industrial roots into one of the most coveted residential areas in the city. At the heart of this dynamic neighborhood stands the iconic Jenga Building, a symbol of modern architectural innovation and luxury living.
Originally an industrial district characterized by warehouses and factories, Tribeca underwent a dramatic transformation in the late 20th century. Abandoned industrial spaces were repurposed into spacious lofts and galleries, attracting artists, entrepreneurs, and affluent residents seeking a unique urban lifestyle. Today, Tribeca seamlessly blends its industrial heritage with upscale boutiques, gourmet restaurants, and trendy cafes, creating a cosmopolitan atmosphere that attracts visitors and residents from around the world.
The Jenga Building epitomizes the spirit of Tribeca's architectural evolution. Designed by the esteemed Swiss firm Herzog & de Meuron, this residential skyscraper stands as a striking symbol of contemporary design amidst Tribeca's historic streetscape. Rising 821 feet above the neighborhood, the property's stacked-block structure challenges conventional notions of skyscraper aesthetics, capturing the imagination of architectural enthusiasts and passersby alike.
One of the defining features of the architectural marvel is its unique façade, which resembles a giant game of Jenga with irregularly stacked blocks. This innovative design concept not only sets the tower apart from its surroundings but also creates a sense of dynamism and movement in the skyline. The tower's cantilevered balconies, protruding from various levels, offer residents unparalleled views of Tribeca's charming streets and the iconic New York City skyline.
Inside, the luxury development offers a collection of luxurious residences designed to cater to the most discerning tastes. From sleek duplex apartments to expansive penthouses, each unit is meticulously crafted with high-end finishes and state-of-the-art amenities. Floor-to-ceiling windows flood the interiors with natural light, while providing sweeping vistas of the surrounding cityscape.
Beyond its architectural significance, the Jenga Building has become a symbol of prestige and exclusivity in Tribeca's real estate market. Its coveted address, combined with world-class amenities and panoramic views, has attracted a diverse community of residents, including celebrities, business moguls, and discerning urbanites.
As Tribeca continues to thrive as a cultural and residential hub, the Jenga Building stands as a timeless landmark, embodying the neighborhood's evolution from industrial enclave to global destination. With its innovative design and luxurious offerings, the Jenga Building remains an enduring icon in the ever-changing landscape of New York City.
56 Leonard has become an iconic symbol of contemporary architecture, garnering accolades and admiration from both architectural enthusiasts and the general public. Its unconventional design challenges traditional notions of skyscraper aesthetics, pushing the boundaries of what is possible in urban architecture.
Beyond its aesthetic appeal, the Jenga Building serves as a testament to New York City's enduring spirit of innovation and progress. As it continues to captivate the imagination of onlookers and residents alike, the high rise stands as a timeless landmark in the ever-evolving skyline of the Big Apple.
https://newyorkcityapartments.com/the-jenga-building

https://theacheron.medium.com/rosa-luxemburg-fragment-on-war-national-questions-and-revolution-6db2c0d9cee2

Introduction (by Rida Vaquas)
...
There were three core strands to Luxemburg’s opposition to national self-determination. Firstly, it was materially unviable given that no new nation could achieve economic independence owing to the spread of capitalism. Secondly, pursuing national self-determination in the form of supporting independence struggles did not make strategic sense for socialists as it inhibited them from placing political demands upon existing states. Finally, and most saliently for socialists today, even if national self-determination was politically and economically more than a utopian pipe-dream, it would still be against the interests of the working class to pursue it.
...
National self-determination, in Luxemburg’s words, “gives no practical guidelines for the day to day politics of the proletariat, nor any practical solution of nationality problems”.11 As we can observe from Lenin’s policies on nationalities, there is no consistent conclusion that comes from the acknowledgment of this “right”. The only real conclusion is that affairs must be settled by the relevant nationality, which is presented as a homogeneous socio-political entity, as opposed to a site of class struggle in itself. The impracticality of this formula was not only resisted by Luxemburg, but also by Fritz Rozins, a Latvian socialist. Rozins, criticizing the position of Lenin in 1902, made the argument that several nations can occupy the same territory which problematized the demand for national self-determination.12
When examining contemporary manifestations of the national problem, these issues are thrown into sharper focus. In the case of Israel and Palestine, the framework of two competing claims of national self-determination which need to be reconciled with each other ultimately leads to endorsing an indefinite political and economic subordination of one nation by another. One way some sections of the modern Left attempt to address this is by rendering one nation’s claim (Israel’s) as inherently illegitimate, on account of its annexationist political project and racist domestic policy, and hence dismissing Hebrew Jewish people as constituting a national people with particular rights. However, making the right of national self-determination contingent upon the political project of its claimants would leave very few nations, if any, with this “right” at all, as its claimants tend to be an aspirational national bourgeoisie, whose class interests are tied to the continuation of the subjugation of the working class peoples within a territory, including working-class national minorities. The best way forward is to abandon such a “right” altogether, which assumes a basic unity between the interests of the oppressor and oppressed as part of the same nation. The question should instead be examined from the perspective of the common interests of the Israeli and Palestinian working classes against the Israeli state.
...
What fundamentally determined Rosa Luxemburg’s attitude was understanding that nationalism was not an empty vessel in which socialists could pour in proletarian content. The ideology of nationhood intrinsically demands temporary class collaboration, at the very least, to the advantage of the ruling classes. An article she penned in January 1918, intended as friendly criticism of the early Soviet government’s policy on nationalities, most clearly articulates this perspective:
“The “right of nations to self-determination” is a hollow phrase which in practice always delivers the masses of people to the ruling classes.
Of course, it is the task of the revolutionary proletariat to implement the most expansive political democracy and equality of nationalities, but it is the least of our concerns to delight the world with freshly baked national class states. Only the bourgeoisie in every nation is interested in the apparatus of state independence, which has nothing to do with democracy. After all, state independence itself is a dazzling thing which is often used to cover up the slaughter of people.”16
This has been vindicated by historical experience. When we look at Poland today, a right-wing government is installing “Independence Benches” that play nationalist speeches.17 The speeches were delivered by none other than Józef Piłsudski, a former leader of the PPS who later abandoned socialism altogether. The warning of the Polish Communist Party, published in 1919, a year after Polish independence, that bourgeois “independence” in reality meant “the brutal dictatorship of the bourgeoisie over the proletariat” has proven more correct than any fantasy about the achievement of independence offering a permanent resolution to the national question, opening up the battlefield of class struggle.18 The formation of new class states does not resolve national oppression, so much as redistribute it.
Revolutionary internationalism, or the so-called “international proletariat fundamentalism”, stands as a rejoinder to those who seek shortcuts to social revolution by the construction of nation-states. Yet it also allows for a more positive assessment of nationalities. Rather than being bound to the political form of territorial states responsible for the oppression of millions across centuries, the traditions, institutions, and languages associated with nationalities can become part of a universal cultural legacy and human inheritance that requires neither the violence of borders nor of class rule. We can be moved by the words of the poet Adam Mickiewicz without scrambling to statehood. Capitalist development has made the endgame of the exercise of national self-determination, the nation-state, a dead-end for socialists. It is now necessary to pose the national question once more and seek different answers.
...
Fragment on War, National Questions and Revolution (by Rosa Luxemburg)
When hatred of the proletariat and the imminent social revolution is absolutely decisive for the bourgeoisie in all their deeds and activities, in their peace programme and in their policies for the future: what is the international proletariat doing? Completely blind to the lessons of the Russian Revolution, forgetting the ABCs of socialism, it pursues the same peace programme as the bourgeoisie, it elevates it to its own programme! Hail Wilson and the League of Nations! Hail national self-determination and disarmament! This is now the banner that suddenly socialists of all countries are uniting under — together with the imperialist governments of the Entente, with the most reactionary parties, the government socialist boot-lickers, the ‘true in principle’ oppositional swamp socialists, bourgeois pacifists, petty-bourgeois utopians, nationalist upstart states, bankrupt German imperialists, the Pope, the Finnish executioners of the revolutionary proletariat, the Ukrainian sugar babies of German militarism.
...
Nationalism is an instant trump card. From all sides, nations and nationettes stake out a claim for their right to state formation. Rotted corpses rise out of hundred-year-old graves, filled with fresh spring shoots, and “historyless” peoples, who never formed an independent state entity up until now, feel a violent urge towards state formation. Poland, Ukraine, Belarussians, Lithuanians, Czechs, Yugoslavia, ten new nations of the Caucasus. Zionists are already erecting their Palestine Ghetto, provisionally in Philadelphia. It’s Walpurgis Night at Blockula today!
Broom and pitch-fork, goat and prong… To-night who flies not, never flies.
But nationalism is only a formula. The core, the historical content that is planted in it, is as manifold and rich in connections as the formula of ‘national self-determination’, under which it is veiled, is hollow and sparse.
...
In Russian Ukraine, up until the October uprising in 1917, nationalism was nothing, a bubble, the arrogance of roughly a dozen professors and lawyers who mostly couldn’t speak Ukrainian themselves. Since the Bolshevik Revolution it has become the very real expression of the petty-bourgeois counterrevolution, whose head is directed against the socialist working class. In India, nationalism is the expression of an emerging domestic bourgeoisie, which aims for independent exploitation of the country on its account instead of only serving as an object for English capital to leech. This nationalism, therefore, corresponds with its social content and its historical stage like the emancipation struggles of the United States of America at the outset of the 18th century.
So nationalism reflects back all conceivable interests, nuances, historical situations. It shines in all colors. It is everything and nothing, a mere shell. Everything hangs on it to assert its own particular social core.
So the universal, immediate world explosion of nationalism brings with it the most colorful confusion of special interests and tendencies in its bosom. But there is an axis that gives all these special interests a direction, a universal interest created by the particular historical situation: the apex against the threatening world revolution of the proletariat.
...
The Russian Revolution has awakened a fuming, foaming, trembling fear and hatred of the threatening spectre of proletarian dictatorship in the entirety of the possessing classes in every single nation. It can only be compared with the sentiments of the Paris bourgeoisie during the June slaughters and the butchery of the Commune. ‘Bolshevism’ has become the catchword for practical, revolutionary socialism, for all endeavors of the working class to conquer power. In this rupturing of the social abyss within bourgeois society, in the international deepening and sharpening of class antagonism is the historical achievement of Bolshevism, and in this work — like in all great historical contexts — all errors and mistakes of Bolshevism vanish without a trace.
These sentiments are now the deepest heart of the nationalist delirium in which the capitalist world has seemingly fallen, they are the objective historical content to which the many-colored cards of announced nationalisms are reduced. These small, young bourgeoisie that are now striving for independent existence, are not merely trembling with the desire for winning unrestricted and untrammeled class rule but also for the long-awaited delight of the single-handed strangling of their mortal enemy: the revolutionary proletariat. This is a function they had to concede up until now to the disjointed state apparatus of foreign rule. Hate, like love, is only grudgingly left to a third wheel. Mannerheim’s blood orgies, the Finnish Gallifet, show how much that the blazing heat of hate that has sprouted up in the hearts of all small nations in the last few years, all the Poles, Lithuanians, Romanians, Ukrainians, Czechs, Croats, etc., only waited for the opportunity to finally disembowel the proletariat with ‘national’ means. From all these young nations, which like white and innocent lambs hopped along in the grassy meadows of world history, the carbuncle-like eyes of the grim tiger are already looking out and waiting to “settle the accounts” with the first stirrings of “Bolshevism”. Behind all of the idyllic banquets, the roaring festivals of brotherhood in Vienna, in Prague, in Zagreb, in Warsaw, Mannerheim’s open graves are already yawning and the Red Guards have to dig them themselves! The gallows of Charkow shimmer like faint silhouettes and the Lubinskys and Holubowitsches invited the German ‘liberators’ to Ukraine for their erection.
...
The ruling classes once again show their unerring instinct for their class interests, their wonderfully fine sensitivity for the dangers surrounding them. Whilst on the surface, the bourgeoisie are enjoying the loveliest weather and the proletarians of all countries are getting drunk on nationalist and ‘League of Nations’ spring breezes, bourgeois society is being torn limb from limb which heralds the impending change of seasons as the historical barometer falls. Whilst socialists are foolishly eager to pull their chestnuts of peace out of the fire of world war, as ‘national ministers’, they can’t help but see the inevitable, imminent fate behind their backs: the terrible rising spectre of social world revolution that has already silently stepped onto the back of the stage.
It is the objective insolvability of the tasks bourgeois society faces that makes socialism a historical necessity and world revolution unavoidable.
No one can predict how long this final period will last and what forms it will take. History has already left the well-trodden path and the comfortable routine. Every new step, every new turn of the road opens up new perspectives and new scenery.
What is important is to understand the real problem of the period. The problem is called: the dictatorship of the proletariat, the realization of socialism. The difficulties of the task do not lie in the strength of the opponent, the resistance of bourgeois society. Its ultima ratio: the army is useless for the suppression of the proletariat as a result of the war, it has even become revolutionary itself. Its material basis for existence: the maintenance of society has been shattered by the war. Its moral basis for existence: tradition, routine, and authority have all been blown away by the wind. The whole structure has become loosened, fluid, movable. The conditions for struggle have never been so favourable for any emergent class in world history. It can fall into the lap of the proletariat like a ripe fruit. The difficulty lies in the proletariat itself, in its lack of maturity, or rather, the immaturity of its leaders, the socialist parties. The working class balks, it recoils before the uncertain enormity of its duty again and again. But it must, it must. History takes away all of its excuses: to lead us out of the night and horror of oppressed humanity into the light of liberation.

Title says it all – I’m after caps from other brands that fit like the ALD Unisphere hat. That one fits like a dream and it’s really hard to find others that are similar and not oversized. I love its low profile silhouette, so it doesn’t look like a bucket on your head, and the reinforced front panel so that the front of the cap keeps its shape over time and stands up nicely. If you can’t already tell, I’m pedantic about the little details, but I just think they make the cap actually look good on your dome. If anyone’s got any recommendations for hats with a similar fit / style, LMK. Thanks.

Read PART 1 here
 
Erik only emerged from his room at around noon the next day with puffy eyes and red marks and bruises on his face. He dragged his legs and hung his head as he moved.
Once he’d gotten something to eat, I waved him into my room and closed the door.
“Erik, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Why did you barricade your window with a table, chair, and wardrobe?”
“Uh, never mind that. This Old Henriksen guy. Did he get eaten by the Great Eel God in the past?”
“Nick, I really don’t want to talk about that right now. I don’t even want to think about Storålens natt anymore.” He sighed.
“I know, Erik, I’m really sorry. I just need to know this.”
“He got regurgitated during the festival, but that was a long time ago. Maybe before I was born, or at least when I was still a baby.”
“Did you see him before he stopped showing up in Maelstrom?”
“I barely remember. Think so. Lots of unkempt hair. Kept scratching himself.”
“Right, thank you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Pay him a visit.” I slung my bag onto my shoulders.
“You can’t be serious. He’s…probably dead or something.” Erik shook his head in disbelief.
“Won’t know until we actually look.”
“It could be dangerous, especially for a newcomer. You could get stopped.”
“Then come with me.”
He looked down at the floor.
“Erik, this is our chance to really uproot all this. Expose Storålens natt.”
He shook his head. “This festival has been running every year for centuries, ever since my ancestors first settled here. It’s not being stopped anytime soon.”
“We can just take the first step. Just visit Old Henriksen. Will you come with me?”
He placed his face into his hand, pacing in a circle. Then, he looked up and sighed. “You have a way with words, Nick. Let’s go.”
Heading out his door, we quickly headed up the terraces, Erik leading and allowing us to avoid anyone who would stop me. Several people watched us from windows, but nobody actually approached us.
It took a while, but we finally arrived at the top of the hill.
“Goddamn, I’d never leave my home either if this was the climb back.” I said, panting hard and wiping buckets worth of sweat off my forehead. I looked out over the rest of the village, at the completed festival square and the boats out on the calm blue water. For a second, I saw a massive snaking shape under the surface, just like I had on my arrival, but it vanished in the next moment. Was that the fabled Great Eel God?
Rubbing my eyes, I turned my attention back to Old Henriksen’s place. This house was old. The red paint was flaking off, the windows were boarded up, and the doorknob was entirely rusted. I tried it. Locked.
“If we kick it down, people will hear and tell the village chief.” I said.
“Don’t worry, I know a little trick.” He gave me a sly grin and pulled what looked to be a piece of metal wire, which he inserted into the keyhole.
“Is that a lockpicking wire? Erik, you’re naughtier than I thought.”
“Don’t tell anyone.” He giggled and worked away at the door. After about a minute of finicking and under the breath curses, I heard one final click and Erik turned the doorknob.
An overwhelming smell hit us immediately upon entry. I’d been in old buildings before, slept in them even. They have a strong musty stale smell to them. Old Henriksen’s house was on another level entirely. It was putrid rot that wormed its way down my throat. I gagged, as did Erik, as we tried to hold in our vomit. The rancid stench was unbelievable.
All the furniture were still in their proper places, untouched by any signs of struggle or human inhabitation. A thick layer of dust covered everything from the plates to the floor, which etched our shoeprints as we walked.
Erik put a handkerchief to his nose and I made do with the sleeve of my arm. Peeking into the lone bedroom, his bed was unmade, and a hole in the roof had been letting in rainwater, turning it into a grimy brown sponge for filthy water. Whatever the case, Old Henriksen had not been in this room in a long, long time.
“Nick, come here.” I followed Erik back out into the main room, where he pointed at a trapdoor in the corner. He leaned down and pulled it open. Unlocked. A ladder led down into darkness. We looked at each other.
“I have to go down to check.” I quickly said before he could express any doubts. “You can stay up here if you want.”
“I’m coming with you.”
The ladder shook and creaked with each step down I took, but it didn’t go down very far at all. I stepped on the dirt floor, putting my hands on my knees and gagging in a desperate attempt not to vomit. The revolting odour was even worse down here, packed into this small underground space and crowding out the breathable air.
I heard Erik come down behind me. He lit a candle, illuminating a small portion of the musty basement. We crept forward into the main room, lined with old shelves filled with various tools and cans. The ground was sticky with something. Our shoes squelched with each step.
A strange hissing groan came from just ahead, making both of us jump. I could hear something shifting, grinding against the ground. We stepped closer into the centre of the room, and that was when we saw it.
There was something long on the ground about the width of a large plastic bottle, occasionally squirming as we got closer.
“Oh my god.” I muttered.
“What is it?” Erik’s hands were shaking in terror.
“Find one end.” We followed it carefully as it snaked across to one end of the basement, and there we saw what it looked like at one end.
It was Old Henriksen, there was no doubt. He become long enough to stretch like rope across the basement. His skin was loose like torn clothes, covered in thousands of massive rotting ulcers and black sores, oozing fetid necrotic fluid onto the basement floor and coating it in a thin layer.
The top part of him ended in his oblong skull, but his skin had gotten so loose that his face had entirely detached, lying in a messy heap half a metre away. One eye on the side of his face not lying in his own rotting flesh goop looked up at us. He had no iris, just a small black pupil in his white beady eyes. He opened his mouth, where his few remaining teeth had turned razor sharp, and made the same hissing groan we heard moments earlier.
I felt something slowly wrap around my calf and let out a high-pitched shriek, leaping up and stomping on it. Old Henriksen hissed at me, and I looked down to see pencil-thin rubbery fingers as long as my legs retreating, attached to arms similarly disproportionately long. They were coiled all round the room, one even pooled in a corner like a heap of rope.
“Where’s his other end?” I asked. Erik nodded and we went along by his candlelight, following his sore-filled body with skin pooling off, until we reached the opposite corner of it. A shelf filled with heavy paint cans had toppled and practically shattered his legs. What was left was actively decomposing while he was alive, releasing even more of the septic stench. As much as his long eel-like body squirmed, the heavy shelf remained pinned over him.
“He must have gotten trapped down here and just kept growing and growing.”
“For…my whole life?” Erik gasped in horror. “How’s he not died of thirst yet?”
We walked back across to his head, where I had Erik lift the candle as high as he could. The ceiling was cracked in placed, and even know, the filth-water from his bedroom was slowly leaking through the cracks and dripping down into the basement, right into his open mouth.
“I-I can’t believe it.” Erik gripped onto one shoulder to support as he held his head in the other. “I’m getting lightheaded.”
“Alright, we’re getting out of here.” As Erik turned, I noticed Old Henriksen’s mouth moving. It sounded like a word.
“Henriksen? Did you say something?”
“Eeeee…” He groaned.
“Yes?”
“Itchy…” He scratched at a black wound the size of a basketball, fingernails digging into the rotting flesh and ripping it up.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Hungry…” I felt his other hand suddenly grab me and shove me towards him.
“Erik!” I cried out. I violently wrenched at Henriksen’s fingers, but despite his thin limbs, he was freakishly strong. He yanked me towards his face, where his mouth hung open. Erik rushed over, pulling at Old Henriksen’s arm, but he couldn’t overpower him either.
“My bag! Take his photo!”
“Now?”
“Just do it!” I screamed, shoving a shoe into his mouth and stomping on his loose skin. Erik unzipped my backpack and pulled my camera free.
“This button?”
Old Henriksen sunk his teeth into my sole, and I could feel the very tip of his fangs stab into my socks.
“Yes!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Now!”
Erik took aim and clicked, briefly engulfing Old Henriksen and me in a blinding flash. His pupil constricted immediately and he let go, letting out an unholy half-hiss, half-shriek as he raked at his eyeballs with his fingers. Erik grabbed me by the hand, and we bolted towards the ladder, scrambling up it as fast as our bodies allowed us to. We slammed the trapdoor shut and rushed out of the house, coughing the last of the awful fumes out.
Fresh sea air filled our lungs again and it was like ambrosia to us. We gasped and took deep inhales, clearly any dizziness we had. Breathing heavily, we sat down on the front steps of the house, trying to wrap our heads around what the hell we just saw.
“Old Henriksen. He…he’s what people who got regurgitated are turning into?” Erik asked, incredulity in his voice as he passed my camera back to me.
“They’re not just growing taller. They’re turning into human eels.” Erik buried his face in his hands, trying to make sense of it all. “They never told us anything about that.”
“What do you think happens to those the Great Eel God swallows?”
He didn’t reply.
“I’m going to get evidence about the festival.” I told him. “You can join me if you like.”
“I’m going home.”
“Erik…”
“You saw it yourself. My mom either gets eaten or she starts turning into one of those things. I don’t want to think about this anymore.” Erik got up and trudged off slowly back down the hill.
It didn’t matter. I’d do it with or without him.
 
I waited until the Sun vanished behind the western hill and darkness slowly fell onto Maelstrom once more.
Yet this time, it wasn’t the same omnipresent blanket of night. The festival square lit up, lanterns blazing, bonfires in braziers lining the sides of the square. Blazing torches adorned the open-air towers, each with one particularly tall villager standing there beating a drum. It lit up like a sole beacon in the darkness of Maelstrom and the surrounding forests.
Processions of villagers began to drift towards the festival square like moths to a flame. They mostly wore their usual clothes, but each carried a light source – handheld lanterns, fiery torches, the odd flashlight. Other villagers watched from the same or higher terraces.
I spotted the village chief standing before the raised platform. The tall man was dressed in a purple robe that glinted in the light of the flames around him. Before long a crowd had gathered, and the chief started talking to them, though I couldn’t make out the words from where I was standing.
A loud, deep, groaning call came from the sea, shaking the foundations of the village houses and vibrating my very bones. Maelstrom fell dead silent, all eyes staring at the coast.
Seawater began creeping in, slowly turning from abnormal tide into a full-scale of the coastal region. Everything not nailed down was swept away as water rushed down every street and alley. Then, something absolutely gargantuan emerged from the sea. I could see only its silhouette from here but it dwarfed the houses around it. Not caring about them, the giant eel pushed itself onto land, scraping across the slightly flooded ground and smashing straight through the first house it touched.
I could feel my hands trembling in sheer amazement at what I was witnessing. It continued dragging itself for a while, crushing houses and shoving the debris aside until there was practically a wall of smashed furniture and devastated walls surrounding it. With a great groan, the eel lifted its front section up and flopped forward, crossing half the coastal town in one move.
It landed with a massive crashing noise, shaking the ground beneath my feet. Hundreds of houses crumbled apart like a house of cards, crushed beneath its massive weight. It began its climb up the side of the hill towards the terrace. The entire place shook. Rocks dislodged and tumbled down the slope. Even as it continued pushing up the terrain, more and more of its massive, elongated body slithered out of the water. It must have been well over a hundred metres long.
At last, it reached the festival square. It rested its head onto the velvet-covered platform, fit rather snugly with the wooden roof above it and bent, angular pillars all around. Finally, it stopped moving and all was still in Maelstrom.
Taking the opportunity, I began to descend the terrace layers, running down the steep staircases. I could see the village chief and several other abnormally tall villagers approached it, splashing it with buckets of water. Other villagers began to dance and wave banners before it, casting shadows onto the eyes of the silent god-beast.
Finally, I arrived at the terrace where Erik’s home was located, one step up from the festival square. Finally close enough, I could get a good look at this eel god. It appeared to have…human skin? Pale, loose, wet skin hung from its body and pooled on the edges of the platform. It was absolutely covered in massive rotting wounds and sores. It opened its mouth wide, and from within I could spot more putrid oozing ulcers and disgusting gums lined with sharp fangs.
One of the chief’s tall assistants nodded and walked straight into its mouth, taking care to avoid the teeth. I thought he was about to stroll right down its throat too, but the eel god lifted its tongue and flung him off his feet. With a gulp, he vanished right down the monster’s throat without a sound.
The village chief made another call, and this time a regular-looking woman climbed in and was practically swallowed immediately too.
This was it. What I needed. I slung my bag onto one shoulder and pulled the camera out. Zooming in, I waited for the next person. In came a tall woman, who bowed to the Great Eel God before stepping in.
No, I had to get a photo with a regular-looking person or someone could get suspicious about fakery.
Footsteps and talking spectators began to approach me.
Shit. Hurry up!
One man, dressed in rags and with a white bandana around his head, carefully took his clothes off and handed them to one of the village chief’s assistant before he stepped into its mouth.
The footsteps closed in.
I clicked the button.
The bright flash enveloped the entire festival square.
The Great Eel God’s pupils immediately constricted.
Dozens of heads turned to look straight at me.
I felt my blood run cold.
The eel let out a deafening hissing call of pain and smashed its jaws shut. I heard the sound of screaming and snapping bones as it swallowed its prey. The village chief backed off in surprise as the furious eel god flung its head upwards, smashing the wooden roof above it into a million splinters that came raining down. Screeching ever louder, it pushed itself forward, opened its mouth, and enveloped three of the nearest villagers in one gulp, shredding one of them on its teeth. Blood spewed from its mouth as it swallowed them.
It swiped its head to one side, flinging several people off the square and sending the fiery braziers toppling off. Then it appeared to tense up and cracked its own body like a whip. Its lower half swept across half the coastal village in seconds. Houses were ripped off their foundations and broke to pieces. A tsunami of debris and the eel’s body tore through streets and boats alike. Dozens of people tried to flee before being enveloped and vanishing into the carnage.
Debris flung high into the air. Chunks crashed into the hillside. One massive metal piece landed on Old Henriksen’s house and collapsed it down into the basement.
At the square, the eel god continued its feast, snatching up villagers and devouring them. Yet they didn’t flee. Instead, they bowed, clasping their hands, and silently awaited their turn.
But not all. The village chief glared straight at me and broke into a run, scaling up the terrace steps with frightening speed. I felt my entire body freeze instantly as the tall man approached me with nothing but murder in his eyes, but I pried myself from my spot and broke into a run.
I could hear his footsteps. He was closing in. Closer and closer.
Thud!
I heard him cry out in pain and fall. Turning my head, I saw the chief lying on the dirt path, one hand on his bloodied head and a large sharp rock lying beside him. Another rock cracked him on the chin, and I looked up to see Sigrid on the next terrace up with an armful of stones as ammo, hurling them at him.
“Go, run!” She yelled at me.
“Sigrid!” He roared, getting to his feet and running up after her. Tucking my camera into my bag, I continued to sprint away as well, pushing past a woman in my way. I barely made it much further before I collided straight into Erik. We both fell to the ground, groaning.
“Nick! W-what’s happening?”
“Your god’s pissed off! It’s eating everyone!” I pointed over, where the eel had coiled around the entire festival square and was picking through the last of the villagers awaiting their eternal prize.
“My mom!” He screamed, pointing behind me. I turned round to see the woman who had just gone past me, currently scampering at full speed towards the festival square. “Stop her!”
Both of us scrambled up, chasing after her. She ran and ran, darting across the wooden boards that led to the now-abandoned open-air towers. Picking up a drumstick, she beat on the drums, yelling down inaudibly at the Great Eel God.
Erik pulled ahead of me and ran over onto the tower as well, grabbing onto his mother’s arm.
“Mom, stop it! Please!” He screamed. She yelled back, tugging away from him and slapping at his face. As I started crossing over the wooden board, I looked down to see the eel god bringing its head back and swinging it like a bat. One pillar snapped with a thunderous cracking noise. The tower violently leaned onto an angle, sending Erik’s mother tumbling over the side.
Erik leapt right off as fast as lightning, one arm grabbing onto the wooden railing and the other clutching her forearm tightly as she dangled over the festival square. He caught his foot on the edge of the railing on the way down and I heard an audible crack and an agonized cry from him.
The eel god pulled back once more and slammed into the tower again. Erik’s fingers slipped and he fell. Literally throwing myself forward, I slammed into the railing and caught his hand with my right, both of us clutching tightly. Pain immediately ripped through my shoulder in protest from the sheer weight dangling from it.
Down below, the eel god opened its massive bloody maw. Its loose skin rippled as it roared, waiting for its sacrifices. Dangling several metres up, Erik’s mother struggled to land in it, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Erik! Let go of me, now!” She screamed.
“No! I’m not going to!”
“Let go!”
“Mom! Stop this. Just come back home with me.” He pleaded.
“He’ll will take me to his eternal kingdom.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Let go of me, Erik.”
“Please.” Tears were streaming down his face. “Don’t abandon me too. Don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me alone!”
“Erik…”
“I’ll have no one left if you go! Don’t leave me too!” He screamed from the very bottom of his heart.
“Erik!” I cried out. I could feel his fingers slipping from my grip. My shoulder screamed in sheer white-hot agony. “I…can’t hold on much longer.”
The eel god snapped its jaws impatiently, waiting for its food.
“I’m not letting go!” He shouted.
“Erik,” his mother said gently, a calm look on her face, “it’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.” He desperately shook his head.
“Listen. You still have your life ahead of you. It’s okay.”
“I’m not letting you go, mom!” Erik wailed, his voice going hoarse from the strain.
“Erik. I’m just going to see your father again. I’ve missed him so much.”
“Erik, please!” I begged, clinging onto him with the tip of my fingers, the two positioned right above the snapping jaws of the eel.
“…goodbye.” Erik whimpered.
“I love you.” She smiled.
And he let go.
She fell for just a second, and then she was gone, engulfed by the Great Eel God.
With the weight lessened, he gripped my hand with his other arm, and I pulled harder than I ever had in my life until we both collapsed on the floor of the precariously leaning tower.
“Is the god going to puke them out now?” I asked.
“He should.”
We watched as the Great Eel God raised its head and screeched one last time, and it turned and began slithering sideways through the wrecked village back into the sea without regurgitating a single person.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He wiped his tear-stained face. “I don’t think I can stand.”
I looked down to see his right leg had swollen considerably and turned black-blue with massive bruising.
“Alright, careful.” I wrapped one arm of him over my shoulders and we very carefully clambered up the sloped tower floor and onto the terrace.
Before us stood the village chief, blood profusely leaking from his forehead. He stared daggers at us and in his massive hands he held a huge woodcutter’s axe.
He opened his mouth to speak or snarl or maybe curse us before he hacked us to death, but I interrupted him before he could.
“Chief. Are you going to keep your god waiting?”
His head turned, watching the Great Eel God crawling halfway to the sea, sweeping houses and bloodied corpses with it.
The village chief dropped his axe with a metallic clatter and ran off into the ruined village after it.
 
Dawn broke on a brand-new day for Maelstrom.
Erik and I sat wrapped in a blanket, him leaning into my shoulder, softly crying at the utter carnage that had ensued in his hometown. Different emotions swept across me. Guilt, relief, despondence. I really felt like I had to do it. To finally expose the cultish religion that had seized hold of the town for the past few hundred years. I’d never expected such devastation to occur.
Local country police officers swept through the town, while paramedics and firefighters worked to help survivors and find anyone buried in the rubble. The flashing red and blue lights alarmed me at first, but nothing emerged from the sea after us.
A paramedic had applied a splint to Erik’s fractured shin, and I’d told disbelieving police officers to get divers or a submarine to look into what was underwater. Right now, I could spot people in wetsuits wading out of the water after a dive.
Elsewhere, I could see Sigrid embracing her family as they were taken out on stretchers, hurt but alive.
“Erik.”
“Nick…I don’t know what to do now.”
“You could come with me.”
“With you?”
“If you don’t want to stay here, that is. I don’t know what Maelstrom’s future holds, but me and Addison, we’ll be going upstate. And what I’m saying is, I’d be happy to have you join me. Join us.”
He was quiet.
“It’s up to you.”
“I think…I just want to sleep for now.” He lay his head fully on my shoulder, and I carefully wrapped a hand around his.
A police detective came up to me, dressed in a drenched coat. All colour had drained from his face.
“You’re the one who called us to check under the water?”
“Yeah. What did your divers see under there?”
His teeth were chattering. “This information will go nowhere. You’re not to speak about this to anyone.”
“What did you see? What’s inside the water?”
But he didn’t answer. He walked away, shaking his head and staring at the sky, as if asking the heavens for an explanation.
Holding onto Erik even tighter, I could only wonder what had become of those eaten by the Great Eel God.
   
Author's note: IceOriental123 here! Hope you enjoyed this kaiju story!
This turned out to be my longest short story yet, and definitely took a lot of work.
You can check out my other stories in my subreddit at this link.
The subreddit's still WIP but the story list in the link is updated.
Thanks for reading!

Minimalism is more than just a design trend; it's a lifestyle philosophy that focuses on simplicity, functionality, and clarity. In home decor, minimalist design embraces the idea that less clutter leads to more space, both physically and mentally. If you're looking to create a serene and uncluttered living environment, here are some tips for embracing minimalist home decor.
Embrace Clean Lines and Simple Shapes
Minimalist design is characterized by clean lines, simple shapes, and a streamlined aesthetic. Choose furniture and decor pieces with sleek silhouettes and minimal ornamentation. Avoid excessive detailing or decorative elements that can clutter your space.
Opt for Neutral Colors
Neutral color palettes are key to minimalist home decor. Stick to shades of white, beige, gray, and black to create a serene and cohesive look. These colors provide a timeless backdrop that allows other elements in your space to shine.
Declutter and Simplify
One of the fundamental principles of minimalist design is decluttering. Take a Marie Kondo approach and keep only the items that spark joy or serve a practical purpose. Clear surfaces and uncluttered spaces will help create a sense of calm and tranquility.
Incorporate Functional Furniture
Choose furniture that serves a purpose and meets your needs without unnecessary embellishments. Opt for pieces with built-in storage solutions to keep clutter at bay. For example, consider a sleek circle rug that adds visual interest to your space while also providing a soft surface for your feet.
Use Lighting Strategically
Lighting plays a crucial role in minimalist home decor. Opt for simple and elegant lighting fixtures that complement your space without overpowering it. Pendant lights can provide focused illumination while adding a touch of sophistication to your room. Consider adding floor lamps in Dubai for ambient lighting that creates a warm and inviting atmosphere.
Focus on Quality Over Quantity
In minimalist design, quality always trumps quantity. Invest in well-crafted furniture and decor pieces that will stand the test of time. Choose materials like wood, metal, and glass that are durable and timeless. Quality pieces may cost more upfront, but they will last longer and ultimately save you money in the long run.
Create Visual Interest with Texture
While minimalist design favors simplicity, you can still create visual interest with texture. Incorporate tactile elements like natural fibers, smooth metals, and plush textiles to add depth and warmth to your space. A textured circle rug can add visual interest to your floors without overwhelming the simplicity of your decor.
Practice Intentional Styling
When styling your minimalist space, less is always more. Choose a few carefully curated decor pieces that speak to your personal style and complement your aesthetic. Group similar items together for a cohesive look, and leave plenty of negative space to allow each piece to shine.
Incorporate Nature
Bringing elements of nature indoors can enhance the serenity of your minimalist space. Introduce potted plants or fresh flowers to add life and color to your home. Natural materials like wood and stone can also create a sense of warmth and tranquility.
Conclusion
Minimalist home decor is all about embracing simplicity, functionality, and clarity. By focusing on clean lines, neutral colors, and intentional styling, you can create a serene and uncluttered living environment that promotes a sense of calm and well-being. Incorporate elements like floor lamps in Dubai, a circle rug, and pendant lights strategically to enhance the minimalist aesthetic of your space. Remember, in minimalist design, less truly is more.

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Life of Nerona Imu in One Piece தமிழ் - STill Tamil
Imu: The Shadow Sovereign of the World Government
Imu stands as the enigmatic and clandestine supreme ruler of the World Government in the One Piece universe. Residing in the majestic Pangaea Castle at Mary Geoise, Imu's identity is a closely guarded secret, known only to the highest echelons of power—the Five Elders. This secrecy is vital in maintaining the facade that no single person holds dominion over the world, thus preserving a delicate balance among the allied nations.

Possible Devil Fruits

Earth God Devil Fruit

One possibility is that Imu possesses an Earth God Devil Fruit. This hypothesis is supported by the green and earthen tones often associated with Imu’s appearances, suggesting a connection to the earth. In the broader mythological framework of One Piece, where Luffy is the Sun God and other characters like Admiral Ryokugyu (Green Bull) are associated with nature (Forest God), it is conceivable that Imu embodies the Earth God. The Five Elders could be symbolically linked to the planets Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, which revolve around the Earth, metaphorically placing Imu at the center of their universe.

Water-Water Devil Fruit

Another intriguing possibility is that Imu possesses a Water-Water Devil Fruit, also known as the Mizu Mizu no Mi or Aqua Aqua Fruit. This would grant control over water, a unique and potentially overpowering ability in the One Piece world. If such a fruit exists, it would grant Imu unparalleled control over one of the most fundamental elements, which is especially significant given the inherent weakness of Devil Fruit users to water.
"In the One Piece world, water is a weakness to Devil Fruit users. We haven't seen any Logia awakenings in the story until now. I believe if a Logia Devil Fruit awakens, it influences the people or things who come into contact with that Logia element. Thus, Imu makes every Devil Fruit user's weakness water."
This theory supports the idea that a Logia awakening could extend the fruit's influence, thereby exploiting the inherent weakness of other Devil Fruit users.

Sea Devil Fruit

A third possibility is that Imu possesses the Sea Devil Fruit, or Umi Umi no Mi. This theory draws a parallel between Luffy's Sun God Nika Fruit and a potential Sea Devil Fruit, emphasizing the opposition between the sun and the sea. Just as the sun is associated with fire, the sea is associated with water. Luffy's goal to liberate people contrasts with Imu's desire to rule and control, reflecting the opposing natures of a god and a demon.
"Luffy's motto or mindset is to free or liberate, whereas Imu's is to form a government and rule, like a realm. The third possibility is the Sea Devil Fruit, which is also foreshadowed by Oda at the start of the series. Luffy was struck in the water and trapped by a local sea monster in Foosha Village, and Shanks saved him. Now, it is speculated that Dragon may save him."

Human-Human Fruit, Model: Devil

The last possibility is that Imu possesses the Human-Human Fruit, Model: Devil. This idea complements the theme of opposites in One Piece. While Luffy's Devil Fruit, the Human-Human Fruit, Model: Nika, embodies the Sun God who aims to liberate, Imu's potential fruit could represent the antithesis—a Devil seeking to dominate and control. This would align with the Five Elders, who are believed to possess demonic Zoan fruits. Mary Geoise, often referred to as the "Holy Land," being ruled by such demonic entities, further supports the notion that Imu could be the ultimate demon in disguise.
"Mary Geoise is called the Holy Land but is ruled and controlled by demons like the Five Elders and Imu. So, Imu may possess the Human-Human Fruit, Model: Devil, just like the opposite to Luffy's Devil, the Human-Human Fruit, Model: Nika."

Appearance

Imu's true appearance remains shrouded in mystery, with only shadowy silhouettes revealed so far. They possess a humanoid figure with striking, almond-shaped eyes featuring red irises, each circled by a thin ring. Imu's attire is both regal and ominous—a crown adorned with four tall, sharp spikes and a long, flowing robe that extends dramatically behind them.

Personality

While much about Imu's personality remains unknown, certain traits and behaviors provide glimpses into their character. Imu has shown a particular interest in key figures such as Monkey D. Luffy, Marshall D. Teach, Shirahoshi, and Nefertari Vivi, often seen with their photographs or wanted posters. Despite a calm and serene exterior, Imu's actions reveal a ruthless and calculating nature. Unlike the more cautious Five Elders, Imu does not hesitate to order mass destruction to protect their secrets, as demonstrated by the annihilation of the Lulusia Kingdom.

Abilities and Powers

Imu's authority within the World Government is absolute, commanding the actions of the Five Elders and deploying devastating weapons like the "Mother Flame." This weapon of mass destruction, developed by Dr. Vegapunk, can obliterate entire islands in moments. Additionally, Imu possesses transformative abilities, allowing them to assume a massive, bestial form capable of consuming fire and wielding sharp, impaling tentacles.

Relationships

• Five Elders: The Five Elders are unwaveringly loyal to Imu, seeking their guidance on crucial matters and executing their commands without question.
• Will of D.: Imu harbors an intense hatred for those bearing the "D." initial, viewing them as ancient enemies. This enmity extends to figures like Luffy and Teach, whose wanted posters Imu has violently defaced.
• Nefertari Family: Imu's disdain for the Nefertari Family stems from Queen Lili's actions during the Void Century, which scattered the Poneglyphs. This animosity led to the assassination of King Cobra after he uncovered the truth about his ancestor and the family's connection to the "D." initial.
• Shirahoshi: Imu's hostility towards Shirahoshi is evident, though the reasons remain unclear. This is symbolized by Imu stabbing her portrait.
• Sabo: After inadvertently discovering Imu's existence, Sabo became a target for elimination to preserve the secrecy of Imu's rule.

Key Events

• Whole Cake Island Saga: During the Levely, Imu was first glimpsed in silhouette, handling significant photographs and wanted posters. They later convened with the Five Elders, determining the next target for elimination.
• Wano Country Saga: Imu's presence loomed large when King Cobra confronted the Five Elders. Imu revealed their disdain for the Will of D. and ultimately killed Cobra, with Sabo witnessing the event and subsequently escaping.
• Final Saga: Imu's ruthless decision to test the Mother Flame on the Lulusia Kingdom showcased their willingness to obliterate any threat. Imu also ordered the capture of Vivi, indicating an ongoing interest in her.

Imu's secretive rule and immense power position them as a central antagonist in the One Piece narrative. Their influence and actions shape the political and historical landscape of the world, making Imu a pivotal figure in the unfolding saga. With the potential power of an Earth God, Water-Water, Sea Devil, or Human-Human Fruit, Model: Devil, Imu's capabilities add an even more formidable dimension to their character, promising significant developments in the series' climactic arcs.

[First] [Prev] [Ardi's Backstory] [Lunch Oneshot]
Memory Transcription Subject: Duali, Independent Contractor Date [standardized human time]: September 21st, 2144
“Hey, I’m thinking of heading out to a bar tonight. Do you wanna come?”
“Hm? No, I don’t really like drinking.”
“Come on, I don’t think I’ve seen you go out to do anything other than your job or errands since we got to Talsk.”
“Correct.”
“It’ll be fun!”
He still doesn’t look convinced.
“You don’t even have to drink anything if you don’t want to. You can just see what I’m like when I’m drunk, or something. I don’t know. I’m paying?”
He looks up at me, then stands. “I’ll get my coat.”
I feel some giddiness, and gather my things, meeting Ardi by the door. He opens it for me.
“What a gentleman.”
“Duali, I don’t know where the bar is. Of course I’m letting you go first.”
“Sure.”
The walk isn’t too long, and there aren’t any words exchanged between us. It feels awkward talking to him while he’s walking for a while anyways, because he’s a quadruped. It’s hard to see the typical stonewall hardass whatever-the-hell-he-is personality when he’s below my waistline. We make it to the bar and Ardi rises to two legs, but I get to the door before him, and open it. He glances at me for a moment before walking inside, sparing me a quick comment.
“What a gentleman.”
I snicker. It wasn’t that funny, but Ardi’s once-in-a-blue-moon jokes always catch me off-guard. I head inside, and see the bar is pretty busy tonight. I gesture Ardi towards the end of the bar where there’s more seats open in a row, and we grab a pair of them.
“Alright, you got me out here. Now what?”
“I know a fun one.” I gesture for the bartender, and order a shot of something really strong. It’s on the very light end for Venlil liquor, but it’s Venlil nonetheless. I make sure Ardi gets a good look at the label, then slam back the shot. It’s a strong one, and I wince, but it makes it down.
“That’s it?”
“What? Alright, asshole. Hey, bartender! Get this guy a double of that.”
The bartender’s holding a conversation with someone else, but he wordlessly slides a double-shot of the same juice. Ardi raises an eyebrow at me. Wordlessly, he slams it back, then looks me in the eyes. I wait for the kick to hit him and… it just doesn’t.
“What? I thought you said you didn’t like drinking?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“The hell was that, then?”
“I said I didn’t like it, not that I haven’t done it. Besides, I’m from a people with lead insides.”
“So… if that was like nothing, then what does affect you?”
“I’m not sure you actually want the answer to that question.”
“Oh, come on! You can’t just show me up like that and try to coat it in a blanket of mystique! Let’s see it!”
I look at him expectantly. He tries to avoid my gaze, but can’t help himself from a few glances.
“Just this once, and you’re paying.”
“Hey, I know what I signed up for.”
Ardi beckons the bartender over, and asks for some Tunsian drink. The bartender says they don’t have it, so Ardi just says the proof instead. 190.
“What, are you trying to disinfect yourself?”
“No, then I’d go for a full 200. I just prefer it when there’s flavor.”
“Alright, pal. I get it. Go on, then.”
Ardi grabs the shot glass and whirls it around. He holds it towards me. “Get a whiff.”
“What a showman. Alright.” I take a sniff of the drink and my nose reflexively exhales. Yep, I think I get the point. It’s strong.
Ardi waits for me to get over my reaction, makes sure he has my attention, then he slams it back. I hear a grunt and a throat clear from him in a volume I don’t think I’ve ever heard him reach. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him shout. It catches me a bit off-guard. I almost think he actually did void his insides with that.
He lets out a couple coughs. “Yep, it’s alcohol. I’m not sure what you were expecting.”
He’s downplaying this? “Oh, come on. This was worth coming out for, right?”
“...Yeah, sure. I think I’ll stick to that stuff you got earlier. Bartender? How much for the bottle?”
“Alright, showoff.”
“Hey, I just know my tolerances. I’m still impressed with your display, if it’s any consolation.”
“You said ‘That’s it?’ when I did that.”
“Yeah, right. I did. It was bullshit. Good job.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Now, do it again.”

-----

Well, I’m somewhere above tipsy at this point. I don’t know where Ardi’s at. He’s been downing alcohol like a hospital drain but he’s just sorta… sitting there. Sitting still. His eyes, though. He’s not falling asleep or anything. His eyes have a… a lot of alertness to them.
“Hey, are you free tonight?” I look to my left. A human sat down next to me.
“Huh?”
“Aw, don’t play dumb. You wanna have a good time, or what? It looks like you’re trying to have a good time.”
I look at him blankly for a second. “I’m not interested.”
“What? Come on, I’m just having a chat. You seem nice.”
The bartender sees what’s happening and walks over. “Ma’am is he bothering you?”
“Yea.”
“What? No, come on, I was just having a conversation.”
“I think you should sit somewhere else, sir.”
“What, are you with the fuggin… Sivkit there or something?”
“Would that change anything?” My attention whips to Ardi. He’s staring intently at one of his empty glasses, but he speaks authoritatively.
“Oh, so you are?”
“Would that make this okay to do? Or would it make it less okay? I vote neither.”
“What are you talking about? I’m just chatti-”
“She said you’re bothering her. Do you have a blockage in your ears or something?”
“What?”
“Oh, so you do.” Ardi finally removes his gaze from his glass, and stands. “That’s fine, I speak nonverbally, too.”
Ardi socks the man upside the face, getting a gasp out of me and a yelp out of the bartender. “Hey! There’s no need for-”
Ardi isn’t paying attention to either of us. I see it in his eyes. They’re zeroed in on that man like he’s the only thing left in the universe. The man is already staggered, propping himself back up with a bar stool. Ardi advances wordlessly, and hits him again, sending him to the ground.
“Dude, what the hell!?” The man holds his jaw, lying on the ground. Ardi keeps walking towards him. The man sweeps out Ardi’s legs, and sends him tumbling next to him. I see some gratification on the human’s face, but more worryingly, Ardi’s. Ardi rolls over and kneels into the man’s rib cage before he can rise. The bartender’s rushing around the side of the bar to break it up. I feel like I should be doing something, but I just… don’t.
The human is winded by Ardi’s kneeling, but he swings up at him anyways. Ardi weaves from the blow and grabs the man’s collar, pummeling his face again. And again, and again and again. It’s like he’s in a trance. The rest of the patrons start to notice, and the bar goes from a brief moment of quiet to everyone shouting over each other, forming a crowd around the pair. The bartender can’t make it through the wall of people, and it looks like the human is already unconscious. I see his arms… twitching, with each blow.
“Alright, that’s enough! Out of my way, out of my way!” The bartender keeps pushing his way to the front of the crowd, with some getting the hint that they should move out of the way, but Ardi’s still just pummeling. I hear something snap in the human, and I bolt from my chair.
“Ardi, stop!” He doesn’t acknowledge me.
“Ardi, I said stop!” I shove him off the man, and his gaze finally leaves the human and locks onto me. I see the crazed look in his eyes. He isn’t just picking a fight.
The fixation in his eyes almost turns to… confusion? He looks confused as to why I would stop him. Then, he looks back at the human. He’s drawn blood, and not in any clean way. He seems to sober up a bit, but still slurs as he speaks. “...Sorry.”
He gets up, and walks out of the bar, navigating the crowd much more easily than the bartender as the patrons recoil from him. All eyes are on me. I quickly pay the bartender and rush out to catch up with Ardi. I find him not too far up the road from the bar. I can see the stagger in his step. “Dude, what the hell was that?”
He just looks disappointed. His words are slurred. “I told you… I don’t really like drinking.”
“Wait, that’s why? Alcohol makes you a maniac?”
He clears his throat. “Alcohol doesn’t make anyone anything. It just makes it harder to hide what you’re thinking.”
“What, and you were thinking ‘I really want to beat the shit out of this guy?’”
“I wasn’t thinking. I am now.”
“Sure, whatever. What are you thinking now?”
I watch Ardi half-trip on something. “I dunno. Maybe that dumbass was onto something.”
“What?”
He coughs. “Wanna fuck?”
Ah, yes. What a gentleman, indeed.
Well, my assessment from the beginning of the night was correct. It is hard to see the typical stonewall hardass whatever-the-hell-he-is personality when he’s below my waistline.

-----

Date [standardized human time]: September 3rd, 2145
…
I wanted today to be special.
We were right there, cozied next to each other, eating the same food under the light of fireworks. I… I really wanted to enjoy that. I thought it would be like in the movies. There was a human there proposing, even. It was like the movies, but just… not for us. It was just… painful. I don’t know… maybe I should be glad he left the festival? Just… cut our losses there, …try again tomorrow, I guess. The rest of the day was… not a lot better.
As I walk home, it’s deathly quiet. I only pass one Farsul not at the festival. She looks like a train wreck. I probably do, too. I mosey past her wordlessly, and make the rest of the stretch home.
Standing outside the door to our home, I take a deep breath. I’m probably not going to sleep well tonight. I unlock the handle and turn, with the clicks of the mechanism being the only sound I can hear. It’s deathly quiet, still. I guess he’s already in bed. I start putting away my things and winding down for the day… and see that Ardi isn’t in my bed. … “my” bed. What a joke. The last time he went to sleep in his own bed was months ago. I don’t immediately notice the tears at the corners of my eyes.
I… I think I need to drink something. I go back to the kitchen, and pull out a bottle of Terran red wine. I go to grab a glass from the cabinet, and I see a note. Unsurprisingly, it’s Ardi’s handwriting. Without even having translated it, I start feeling dread. I almost don’t want to know. I leave it on the counter and head back to my room to grab my holopad, and I pass Ardi’s room on the way there. I didn’t notice it before, but the door is ajar. I’ve just been so used to that because Ardi never sleeps in his own room. I peek in, and he’s not there.
“Ardi?”
No response.
“Ardi!?”
I snatch my holopad from my room and rush back to the kitchen. I need to know. I scramble to pull up my visual translator, but my hands are shaking. I watch as the translator gives me a readout, and I’m immediately floored by the first sentence.
No… no no no no no NO!
I yell at the top of my lungs, seated on the floor. “ARDI!?”
I scramble to my feet and run a lap around the house, yelling his name at every corner I round, and barge my way out the front door to see if he’s still close. I wasted so much time inside that I didn’t know mattered. I wish I saw the note as soon as I came in. I don’t see any sign of him, but yell into the night.
“Ardi!? Please, come back! Ardi!?”
“Your hubby gone missing?” I hear the irritating whining voice of our neighbor, and mindlessly grab a rock off the ground.
“Fuck OFF, Shyron!” I chuck the rock and it clips her in the arm. I shouldn’t have done that. I run inside with a huff before she can say anything, feeling ashamed. The tears are pouring, now. I slam the door behind me and pull out my holopad to try to triangulate him. His holopad registers as dead, and the last known location is here in the house. I try to check bank records, and I see his most recent activity is stocking up on physical credit chips to avoid any further digitally trackable activity. He’s really covering his tracks as much as he can.
…Why?
It’s hard to keep looking at the screen through the tears. Does… does he hate me that much? Was I just… some fucking fuckdoll? He never was the one to ask me to do anything with him… Why…? I pull the translation of the note back up. Maybe he explains? I read through the message, still holding some small semblance of hope somewhere that he’s not gone, or something got lost in translation, or he’s going to change his mind or this is his broken mind’s sick fucking idea of a joke. Instead I just… break.
He says he loves me.
No, he writes that he loves me. I wanted to hear it from him. I wanted to hear it from him tonight. I wanted to tell him it back, and let both of us feel it. From what he told me, it would be the first time he’s ever felt it. I wanted to give him that. I… wanted him to give me that, too.
This doesn’t feel like love. This doesn’t feel like love at all. This feels painful. This feels like the start of countless restless nights. I feel like my arms are empty when I need someone in them the most. I want to wake up from this, and have him be right there, where I left him last night. Maybe I don’t want to wake up at all.
I try to let myself calm down, but the longer I sit here, the more I just keep asking questions I can’t give myself answers to. It’s hard to breathe through the sobs. I’m lightheaded and I have a headache. I want this to be over.
I pull out my holopad and frantically find Ardi’s contact to message him. I don’t care about wording anything eloquently.
Please come back
Can we talk about this
Don’t go
I want you here
I want to talk about this
Please respond
I need you here
Please
Come back
I love you too
Please talk to me
Ardi
Ardi
Ardi
Ardi
Ardi
Come back
Please
Don’t leave me here alone
I’ll come with you
Please
We can move
If that’s what you want
Please come back
Please
I love you
Ardi please
Come back
Come back
Come back
I don’t know how long I spent just pasting and sending “Come back,” and I get too bored to count it all when I try, or I lose count. I know I didn’t sleep last night. I took some pauses, just to think, or rest my thumbs, or sob, but I just kept robotically sending more and more messages. None of them registered as “sent.” I don’t want to stand up. The floor I’m sitting on and the cabinet I’m up against are hard, my back hurts, my head hurts, my eyes hurt, and I’m tired, but I don’t want to get up. If I get up, and start doing something else, it feels like I’m accepting it. It’s like I’m just going to pretend I’m okay with this. I’m not. I’m not okay with this, and I’m not okay at all.

-----

Date [standardized human time]: December 18th, 2145
I awake to the sound of my holopad buzzing. I groan, and roll over to silence the call. I have operating hours for a good reason. As I pull up my holopad to silence it, I see the time and realize it currently is within my operating hours. I’m off-schedule for sleep again. I should be used to this by now. I wish I could blame it on Talsk’s day/night cycle being so awkward in comparison to Rentag, but I know that wasn’t an issue before. Begrudgingly, I roll out of bed and check to see what the job is, and…
It’s a message from myself - my own system I have idly running to keep tabs on targets, and for any of my clients I don’t get a notification, but… Ardi’s holopad came online. It’s shining like a goddamn cyber-beacon. Whatever he was using to mask himself is completely gone.
Holy… holy fuck. I… I sorta got used to the idea that I’d always just be waiting for this to happen. What the fuck? Was he hacked? Did someone take it from him? Is he dead? …Was it intentional?
Whatever, I’m not making the mistake of wasting time on this. Not again. I still don’t know if I want to beat the shit out of him or kiss on sight. Whatever, I can pick my Terran movie cliche on the way there. I just know I need to fucking move. Even still, I can’t help myself from the temptation. I check my message logs with Ardi. He hasn’t responded, but something finally changed. All my messages are registering as “sent.” That stupid “sending” animation or whatever on the app was like a fucking curse, and it’s gone. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. This is real.
I pull up the location to get an idea of what I’m dealing with. Aafa!? Fucking Aafa!? Is he trying to kill himself!? Stars above, what the hell has he been doing all this time!? I change into something a bit less casual, swipe some extra shirts to stuff in my go-bag, and I’m at the door within minutes. I pause, and decide to go back and grab the note - the one he left me. This is the last… anything he communicated to me. Before now, I guess. Even if it isn’t intentional, it’s like he’s real again.

-----

Date [standardized human time]: December 19th, 2145
I tried to finally sort my thoughts out on the ride over, but I spent a lot of it just… watching the readout on Ardi’s location. I saw the position of the holopad sway with his gait. It’s insane, but I could feel the familiar pace of his footsteps. I could tell when he was on twos or fours. I saw the spin of the holopad as Ardi probably chucked it on his nightstand before getting in bed, before it lied still, confirming that to me. I stopped watching the feed for a while when I saw that, assuming he’s going to sleep, but I checked again and it was upright again, in his hands. He’s sleeping poorly, too. Why did he have to do this to both of us?
I navigate my way into the capital and start zeroing in on where he is. His holopad has been moving around a bit, but he’s still in the same location. A… church? He has a lot to explain. I find my way to the rooftops and stay out of sight. I know this place is a shitshow even at the best of times. It’s surprisingly quiet, though. I think the residents started catching onto how much it sucks.
I finally find my way there and I ascend to the top of the building across the street from the church. It’s sort of busy, but not in any churchlike way. There’s armed guards at the front, for one. What’s captured most of my attention is the fistfight going on. It looks controlled enough, not that I care to intervene either way. Somehow, a pipsqueak by human standards is absolutely rinsing an arxur. I’m not in the mood to chuckle, but I exhale a little harder than normal when I see it. Someone should make a movie out of this.
Looking back at the church, I see other people spectating. They’re not really in a crowd, mostly seeming unaware or uninterested in each others’ presence. I’m surprised to see a farsul up there, in such close proximity to Ardi. I would’ve thought that he would either leave or make her leave. Maybe he doesn’t know she’s there. I caught sight of a Tilfish at one point, in one of the windows. I don’t think I’ve ever actually done a double-take before. His getup is cute.
I watch the arxur flop and the farsul run to him like a glass about to spill. Looks like she’s the medic. That explains the hat and vest, I guess. What… are they…? Damn. Good for them, I guess.
My attention is jolted from the pair to a small light I see form at the opposite end of the roof. It’s just there for a second, but it draws my attention to a silhouette I didn’t see before. A… familiar one.
Who am I kidding? I need to get the fuck over there. I scamper to a more concealed edge of the building I’m on, skip the fire escape with a glide, and find an angle on the next building to climb, with my nerves building. At least it slows me down enough to stay quiet. I really hope that he wouldn’t, but I don’t want him to start running if he hears me approaching. I don’t know where his head’s at right now.
I finally make it onto the roof and I’m mere steps behind him. It hits me that I still don’t know what to say. I don’t really have anything to say. He’s the one who has all the explaining to do. I guess I just came here for answers. I feel my heart beating so loud I almost wonder if he can hear it. I can’t wait any longer. I walk up behind him and just… put a hand on his shoulder. I almost regret it immediately, but he doesn’t recoil. He doesn’t even turn to face me to see who it is. I start to get the indication that he knew I was coming. Then, I finally hear his voice.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
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